Author's Note: There are several aspects of this story which you may consider AU. For the most part, I try to stick to canon, but I have tried to throw in a few twists which I think can be considered inspired by and in keeping with canon though not directly in canon (if that makes sense). I also do not hold that ALL elves abide by Laws and Customs, as I think it unlikely elves divided by so much time and distance would have the same customs (we can see those differences in the wood elves in The Hobbit as opposed to Elrond's people). So I ask for some grace as I try to explore my own version of the Silvan people, who in my verse DO shorten long names like nicknames. Thank you.

Never Alone

Prologue

Eryn Lasgalen

1 Gwirith, Year 29 F.A.

The rain poured down upon the earth and newly green trees, driven in sheets by gusts of wind, drenching the elf standing motionless before the bridge that spanned the river. Beyond, along the opposite bank, stands of beech lined the path leading away from him.

Lightning flashed, followed by the crack of thunder, yet he stood silent and unmoving, as he had since the last of his kin had ridden away from this place.

That had been hours ago, and the sudden storm hailed the coming of darkness.

Salty streams from once bright grey eyes mixed with the rain, flowing down his fair face in rivulets. His brilliant gold tresses, now dulled with the soaking downpour, hung in disarray around his shoulders, twisted and matted by the rain and wind. He paid it no mind.

He simply stood, alone in the rain, in a land that would never be home again.

Minutes passed. Or it could have been hours; he had no concept of time in the rain. Unable to bear the empty sight of the bridge any longer, he let his gaze slowly travel over the many trees that had been his friends since he had been old enough to walk amongst them. It was very likely they might never see an elf again or hear elven songs, for once he had departed this place, he would never return again.

It would become a ruin, a place of legend, myth, and ghost stories to the Men in the surrounding lands.

He had not thought his people would ever leave this place. Of if they did, it would be long after he had sailed West.

Yet, it had happened. They were all gone, and he was alone in what had been his home for all the years of his life.

A piercing pain shot through his heart, and he gasped out loud, pressing a long fingered hand to his chest. He had never liked saying farewell, and this time it was almost unbearable. He could not do this, did not wish to! And yet, he must.

His head lowered in grief.

He should never have come to say goodbye alone, but he had not wanted any of his friends to see him like this…as he knew he would be. Shaking his head, he turned to face the stone gates that led into his beloved halls – now empty of all who had once filled them.

Unable to bring himself to enter those silent depths just yet, he sat against one of the pillars, dropped his head into his hands, and Legolas wept.

To Be Continued...

Gwirith - Sindarin for the what we know roughly as the month of April. Means "new/young/budding"