Archive of Our Own

When the coronation was over, Gimli and Legolas kept their promise to visit Fangorn and the Glittering Caves. They spent many weeks wandering, tranquil in their hearts after the exhaustion of war, and at peace in each other’s company, talking of their dreams for the future now peace was assured.

Each found the other to be the perfect travelling companion and at length, once they had explored the treasures of forest and cave to their satisfaction, they found themselves faced with a regrettable truth. It was time to go home.

It wasn’t that they didn’t want to go home - after a year or so away, they longed for family and hearth, and to lose themselves in their respective pursuits once more. Gimli, in the forge and on the training ground, underground where a dwarf truly belonged. Legolas, free in the Greenwood, his bow and knives to hand and friends by his side; hunting, singing, and making merry.

But when it came to say goodbye at the gates of the elven palace, Gimli found it hard to turn away, and Legolas wasn’t quite ready to go inside.

“When you pass this way to return to Minas Tirith, I will join you and we can travel together most of the way, at least to Ithilien. Even in times of peace there is safety in numbers on the road,” Legolas said at last.

They had spoken many times of their plan to travel together again, but it felt reassuring to repeat it. Legolas spoke instead of saying other things that wanted to bubble up, disconcertingly.

Despite the fact that this was a well-worn discussion, Gimli joined in with alacrity.

“You can be sure of that, laddie,” he replied, looking a little more cheered. “In 3 moons time, on the 1st day of the first moon of Spring, I will be here again. There will be many fine craftspeople who will want to test their skills building the great new gates of the city. They’ll rival any of the great dwarven works once they’re finished!”

“I am relieved to hear you are your usual prideful self, Gimli,” Legolas laughed. “Now I can leave you in confidence that all will be well with you!”

A shadow passed over Gimli’s face. “Yes, elf, I’ll be fine, and pleased to be among sensibly-sized people with decent beards.”

Legolas replied in kind, with a slightly forced jocularity. “It certainly will be a wondrous thing, to get rid of the crick in my neck from all the looking down, at long last.”

He placed a hand on Gimli’s shoulder, now serious and meeting Gimli’s eyes. “Stay well, my friend, and give as many of my regards to your family as you think they will tolerate.”

Gimli clasped the hand at his shoulder. “And you, laddie, and you.”

Then he turned away and marched off towards Laketown, and didn’t look back.

~~~

Over the next few months, Legolas settled back into life in the Greenwood. He was relieved to find his father well, and his usual laconic, otherworldly, haughty self.

Thranduil would never be exactly doting, but Legolas knew he loved him deeply and they understood each other well, after centuries together. Thranduil understood that Legolas yearned for freedom and adventure, quite at odds with Thranduil’s love of home and sanctuary. It was the reason Legolas rather than Thranduil had attended Elrond’s summit.

However, Thranduil was also a possessive father and Legolas wasn’t sure if Thranduil was ready to let him go. It was time to find out. They sat together after dinner, each with a glass of the strong elven wine that Thranduil favoured.

“Father, a rather wonderful opportunity has presented itself,” Legolas began. “The King of Gondor has invited me to settle in Ithilien and restore it to its former glory.”

He checked his father’s expression, which seemed interested but benign and felt safe to continue.

“I would like to go and take a few of any Greenwood elves that would also relish the challenge.”

Thranduil inclined his head graciously. “You may go, my son, and take those kin who would also go. However, you may not take the captain of my guard.”

Legolas was confused and then understood. Thranduil had ever persisted in thinking there was something between him and Tauriel and nothing Legolas said seemed able to shift it.
“Understood, Father,” he said with a faint sigh, unable to discuss it an umpteenth time.

Tauriel was one of the people he would miss most, but his heart did not belong to her, nor hers to him. Tauriel’s heart was lost at the Battle of the Five Armies, decades ago, although Legolas was the only person alive who knew that secret.

Young Prince Kili, quite fair even to elven eyes, and so sweet-natured and pure of heart. How briefly he had been here and then gone, and now Tauriel was facing eternity without him.

Legolas had observed her strength in the face of her loss for many years now, and was determined that he wouldn’t meet such a fate. He’d survived this long without love, and was better for it. Happier, or at least more content, and free to enjoy his immortality without hindrance.

Thoughts along these lines had often come to him lately; he supposed because of all the romance in the air back in Gondor.

“No, this elf has no need of spouses and love,” he concluded as he always did at this point. “A stout and loyal friend by his side, that’s all this elf needs.” And his thoughts turned, as they often did, to Gimli.

~~~

It seemed like far too long, an age, before a party of dwarves stopped once more at the gates of the elven king, although it was the agreed date.

The night before, Legolas could hardly rest, checking and rechecking his equipment as if he was an elfling leaving home for the first time. He couldn’t help chuckling to himself at his keenness for adventure once again, as he checked his bag one last time.

Legolas and his friends settled in Ithilien and started the long work of restoring it to its former natural beauty. Gimli and the dwarves were nearby at Minas Tirith, taking part in the rebuilding of that city to glory. It had been a wonderful time for the two friends being located so nearby, and with Aragorn and Arwen and many other friends at hand.

Eventually it was time for Gimli and his community of dwarves to continue on to Helms Deep and the Glittering Caves behind. For, Eomer, now Lord of the Mark, had given Gimli lordship of the Caves and the right to settle there.

“How marvellous it has been, here in the White City these past months,” Gimli said to Legolas, as they sat together on their last night before Gimli set off. They sat on a balcony overlooking the city, a tankard and a wine glass respectively in their hands.

Lamps cast such a golden glow over the scene that Gimli’s hair and beard looked set with rubies and topaz, instead of the practical forked beard braid, and long braid down his spine that Gimli preferred when working or travelling. Legolas looked at his friend and drank his fill of the dear face and person before him.

“Yes,” Legolas softly replied, coming back from his reverie. “It has been a joyful interlude. It feels almost like a holiday, or a charmed moment of stillness between adventures.”

Gimli chuckled. “Beautifully put, and like being on holiday, I know it must end but I wish I could stay forever, despite greatly looking forward to my next adventure. Still, matters of state and trade will bring me back this way often enough.”

“And in between times, I will write to you with news of these parts, and perhaps you would do the same?” Legolas said, already planning how often he would write, on what occasions and how the letters would make their journey.

In truth, he thought, the many communities of a free Middle Earth would depend heavily on messages, letters and trade as it developed prosperity and security for all its peoples. The Greenwood had long prospered as the Gateway between Erebor and Dale, and the South. Gondor would be rebuilding its connections with the southern lands now that they were free of Mordor.

And perhaps the Shire would no longer be overlooked, if their people wished to take their place on the world stage. Although, Legolas suspected they would not wish, aside from those unusual, adventurous hobbits of the Fellowship.

Yes, a regular correspondence with the Lord of the Glittering Caves, situated as they were so centrally to inhabited Middle Earth, would be prudent and part of his contribution to the development of their trade, peoples and society. He nodded in satisfaction at his clear reasoning.

The following morning, they clasped arms in the manner of elves saying farewell. As they gripped each other, reluctant to let go and set into motion their parting, Legolas bent over and gently touched his forehead to Gimli’s in the dwarven manner.

His pulse thudded in his throat briefly and he heard Gimli’s sharp intake of breath. Had he overstepped? But he couldn’t regret it for a moment, because that brief touch, skin to skin, warmed him and filled him with affection. He knew that he would recall the sensation often in the months ahead. Yet partings were so hard, and the touch lingered a moment too long before Gimli pulled back.

“I would show ye the proper dwarven head butt if I wasn’t afraid of further addling your brain, laddie,” he said, sounding shaky. So, Legolas had overstepped, then. He felt his cheeks redden annoyingly.

“I apologise,” he said as smoothly as he could, although his voice sounded a little roughened to his own ears. “I was nervous about shaking loose that walnut that rattles between your ears.”

They grinned at one another, taking comfort in their familiar banter, before Gimli turned and left.

Always him leaving me, Legolas thought to himself nonsensically, before turning away himself.

~~~

So was set the pattern for the following years, and it seemed as if everything would stay the same forever.

The Glittering Caves

To the Elf of Ithilien, My Esteemed Friend, Second-Placed Slayer of Orcs.

I thank Mahal for the gift of my recent stay in Ithilien. You will be pleased to hear that my business with the Handorians concluded successfully and a mutually satisfying agreement was reached.

However, now that I am back home in my rooms under the mountain, I find my mind strays back not to the hospitality of those people, and the likely enrichment and prosperity that our agreement will bring to my people, but to the far briefer but in my mind, more present time I spent in Ithilien with you, dear friend.

Who would have ever thought my mind would be filled with memories of soft scents on the air, of trees in blossom, and verdant pathways? And yet they are, because those are the pathways I walked with my dear friend, and long will I treasure the memory of all our conversation, covering every topic under stone!

Or rather, under moon I should say to my delight - you will be pleased to know my conversion is almost entirely complete. Yet does it please me to be back under my mountain.

To be custodian of such treasures, to bring its glories to the fore so that even the most rock-weary dwarf gasps in wonder! Well, that can’t be measured. But I would have my friend here to share it with.

I look forward to our next meeting, may it be so happy and auspicious,

Yours, etc.

Legolas sat on his bed, surrounded by the modest luxuries of an elven prince. Elves did not choose to accumulate possessions, and he was no different. But everything he did own was both useful and beautiful. His bed looked like it was grown from the very tree his bower was situated in, and over it was spread an exquisitely soft blanket, made of deep, green velvet. He rarely felt the cold, but like most creatures, slept best feeling safe and cocooned.

He re-read the letter in his hand for the umpteenth time, his other hand absentmindedly stroking the pile of the velvet. It was soothing and Legolas was feeling in need of comfort. The letter was beautiful, filled with warmth and affection as all Gimli’s letters were.

So why did Legolas feel so alone and bereft?

He cast his mind back to Gimli’s recent visit mentioned in the letter and knew that he was still feeling unsettled. There had been grey in Gimli’s beard and at his temples. Gimli was still as doughty and strong as ever, but that grey had been a shock.

Gimli, it occurred to him in a way that hadn’t felt real before, was going to die and leave him behind for eternity. The realisation shook him.

He suddenly remembered with perfect clarity the image of a child in Gloin’s locket and understood that he would witness Gimli’s entire lifespan. Oh, he’d had mortal friends before, and felt sorry at their passing. But now he felt as if he was removed from the current of life, looking in at a window where all life was happening, bright with warmth and light, and he, separate and outside.

He saw Gimli through the window, lordly and magnificent in his maturity. Wearing jewels in his beard as befitted a great dwarf lord, holding court among his people. And he saw how far away Gimli was, how remote Legolas himself was - and soon to be parted for all time.

Panicking now, he tried to count up how many years he had left of Gimli in his life but concluded that it didn’t matter. Were it a hundred, were it a thousand, it would be too few; because eternity was immeasurable, and Gimli would be absent from every minute.

Now, passing into the West didn’t seem like his well-earned rest, but a prison sentence. He understood that once there all his cares would be washed away but the thought of that made him leap to his feet in alarm and start pacing his room. How could the loss of Gimli be washed away? To wash away the pain would be to lose a part of the whole that was his friendship with Gimli. Good and bad, it was all precious.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he sat at his desk and drew out pen and paper.

“I have lost mortal friends before,” he told himself firmly. “It is the bittersweet gift of immortality, to be left always with only a memory of someone, and to continue.”

But as he tried to start his reply to Gimli, his hand trembled. A ball of emotion rose in his throat. He tried to push it back down where it belonged, but it threatened to overwhelm him. He battled for mastery of himself, but it was no use.

“I’ve lost friends before!” he cried aloud. But which part of himself was he trying to tell? Then, he knew it was his heart. Somewhere along the line, or perhaps from the beginning, Gimli had become more than a friend. He was necessary to Legolas’ happiness and wellbeing.

Legolas loved him, and he couldn’t imagine his life without Gimli in it. His heart felt like it had split in two, and he sat there, pen in hand and eyes unseeing, stricken with grief.

~~~

A new day brought a better perspective. Gimli would probably enjoy another 100 years of life, and Legolas would enjoy them alongside him.

He resolved to look for signs that his feelings were returned, but didn’t hold out much hope. Surely honest, direct Gimli would have told him if they were, or at least have been unable to hide them. No, it would be best to leave things as they were.

“If I tell him, it might come between us and end our friendship. He wouldn’t want the burden of my unwelcome feelings,” he told himself, and wished he had someone he could confide in.

Although the elves that had come to Ithilien all those years ago were his friends and loyal supporters, he often felt the distance of his rank between them. And even then, he had suppressed these feelings for so long; he was afraid of what would happen if he did take the lid off.

He couldn’t help smiling at the thought of their expressions as he blurted out tales of love of a dwarf. Tales of longing and quite juvenile pining, but there it was.

At the thought of their faces, he recalled how remarkable it was that an elf and a dwarf should become friends, and decided that should be enough for him. He heard his father’s voice, saying dismissively, “Unseemly.”

~~~

It was the 98th year of the Fourth Age when a rider came to Ithilien bearing a letter for Legolas.

He recognised the seal and straight away, retired to his tree top chamber to read it in peace.

Sitting at his desk, he smoothed the paper, his heart beating a little harder in his chest. Once it was open, it would be done, and he wouldn’t have it to look forward to anymore. And he did love to savour every letter, to last him until the next one, or even better, the next meeting.

Having delayed as much as possible, it only remained to slide a knife under the wax seal and crack it open. He smiled to himself as he read the first few lines with their familiar tone.

Aglarond

To the Elf of Ithilien, formerly Comrade at Arms, now Friend of a Dwarf, if not Dwarves,

I hope this finds you well, among your green leaves and spring flowers. You see how, dweller under stone as I am, the passing of the seasons above are still in my ken. More to the point, so is the turning of the wheel of the year, and the passing of the moon. And this brings me to the purpose of this letter.

Legolas frowned. It was not like Gimli to beat around the bush like that. He read on.

It is my happy duty to write this letter, this invitation in fact. On the 5th full moon of the year, we of Aglarond will be holding the confirmation of the Lady Throris of our fair land in the Glittering Caves, and I would esteem it greatly if I could count on your presence.

Such ceremonies are rare among my people, but rarer still to be attended by outsiders. Still, times are changing and as a gesture of friendship to the peoples of Middle Earth, we are inviting our friends across the lands.

Aside from my lordly duty to invite you, I will be so glad to see my friend again, and hope you will be able to stay some days. It is also in my heart for you to meet our soon-to-be confirmed Lady. I would have you know her better. Reply with haste,

Yours etc.

Legolas sat back in his chair, poleaxed - the letter fluttering from numb fingertips to the floor. Of course, of course. He could expect nothing less. Hadn’t he always known this day would come? But - Gimli was to marry. Well, then. That was that. Right and proper, for a dwarf lord to marry, and secure the succession. To provide stability for his people.

Legolas thought these sensible, worthy thoughts, but even as they ran through his mind as if by rote, and his fingers found the fallen letter, picked it up and folded it neatly, smoothing the creases, his second thoughts came back online from where they had momentarily whited out. They told him what he now knew - that there had been hope. Now extinguished.

~~~
Legolas paused on the threshold of the great gallery, as the chamberlain announced him. Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned towards him and he mustered his nine hundred years of courage and looked back.

Thankfully, he could see Arwen and Aragorn, and Eomer’s son Elfwine, and he made his way over to them.

The noise of hundreds of dwarves chatting to each other in the cavernous stone hall was deafening. The roof was supported by rows of pillars, each one bearing a sconce filled with torches, so the room was ablaze with light - and heat.

For all their stone-loving ways, dwarves kept their halls boiling hot, to the taste of elves - although Legolas had become a little more used to it over the decades of visiting the Glittering Caves.

He took his seat next to Aragorn and exchanged greetings, Arwen leaning across Aragorn’s lap to clasp his hands, her eyes sparkling. Trumpets sounded and they turned their attention to the front.

There was Gimli, stepping to the dais, escorting a magnificent dwarrowdam on his arm - Throris. Gimli was a vision that was a testament to the worth of gems and metal to his kind.

His beard had been separated into many strands and formed into a lattice, each geometric junction secured with an emerald, so that his beard hung like a jewelled curtain. Its weight must have been immense, hanging as it did to his waist.

His hair, by contrast, was loose, clipped throughout by engraved silver clasps, and held neatly to his brow by a silver fillet set with more emeralds, and diamonds too.

His clothes were velvet, in dark reds, trimmed richly and embroidered, and on each wrist, he wore an almighty silver gilt cuff, carved with runes, and symbols of his house and lineage, or so Legolas imagined.

He often wondered when he saw similar visual evidence of the dwarrow’s secret language, but would never presume to ask. He knew how jealously the dwarven folk guarded their secrets.

Gimli and Throris took their seats and the ceremony started. But as the celebrant raised his arms and intoned the opening words, Legolas’ ears started to buzz. His throat was uncomfortably dry. It must have been the heat.

He struggled to remain composed, discreetly loosening his garments around his neck, feeling sweat trickling into the hollow of his throat. Whatever else came to pass, he must not show his discomfort - he already drew far too many eyes as the only elf present. He would not disgrace himself by seeming weak.

The celebrant droned on or so Legolas assumed; so focussed on maintaining his outward appearance that he barely heard a word.

There was a roar and cheering from the crowd, and Legolas was finally able to breathe again. But he could hear and see the esteem and honour Throris was held in by her people.

Later, Legolas was escorted by the chamberlain to the Lord Gimli’s private chambers. He banged his head on the doorway, feeling foolish and out of place as he came into the room. The room was thronged with dwarrow, arrayed in their court finest.

Legolas had spent far too long choosing his robe and diadem set with white gems for the event, and knew they were of the finest craft of elves, but they felt drab amongst the court of Gimli.

At the back of the room, Gimli and Throris stood chatting, and seeing them together, Legolas realised just how out of place he was, and how right they looked. Her queenly bearing and fresh-faced joy to be standing at Gimli’s side were exactly what Gimli deserved.

He felt still more foolish, carrying his childish secret of unrequited love - and of course, now it would remain for all time, a secret.

He felt simultaneously ancient as he surveyed the room, alive with bright lights and the chattering, resplendent crowd. A scene that had played itself out so many times in the course of his long life, although the players changed depressingly often in the mortal world.

It was at times like these, alone in a crowded place, when he felt the most remote. There were quick glances from groups of dwarrow, some sliding away again with scarcely a pause in conversation - they were the ones who were used to their Lord’s strange taste in friends.

Then there were the shocked or perturbed glances of visitors to the Glittering Caves, who were perhaps not so used to seeing a lanky elven prince looming over them.

A couple nodded in a friendly fashion - those closest to Gimli who had had dealings with Legolas on previous occasions - but none came forward in friendship. He was once again on the outside looking in.

He was just contemplating slipping back out of the door, when Gimli came over.

“Well met, Legolas,” he said jovially, his cheeks ruddy with happiness and warmth. He clasped Legolas’ elbows and pulled him down to touch their foreheads together. Legolas’ heart was soothed to feel that touch. They straightened up, and smiled at each other.

“It’s good to see you so happy, my friend,” Legolas said, smiling. “Congratulations to you both, and I wish you many years of joy.”

It wasn’t easy to say, but seeing how happy Gimli was made it easier. Gimli was aglow with joy.

“Come Legolas, escape with me - I need air!” declared Gimli, and grabbing Legolas’ sleeve, dragged him out of the door. He set off at a brisk pace and Legolas stumbled in his wake.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked.

Gimli laughed and replied, “Come, come!” and dragged him some more. To the end of the corridor and up some stone steps they went, and came at last to a balcony, set deep in the mountainside, but open in part to the valley and the sky.

The air was crisp and the full moon of the fifth month hung low in the sky, the horizon barely dark although the pole star shone palely just above.

Legolas fortified himself with a look at the star, so remote and alone like him, yet ever constant and a sight to strengthen his courage. Gimli was his dearest friend and deserved him at his best, not lost in maudlin fantasies. He smiled as warmly as he was able, and began.

“I admit to being taken by surprise, dark horse Gimli - to receive your invitation. Not a word of this had you breathed before. Am I to understand this was a whirlwind affair?”

Gimli guffawed. He sounded almost giddy. “Not a bit! I’ve hoped for this day since the day Throris was born. Of course, it wasn’t fair to ask her sooner, no one needs that pressure growing up. But as soon as she came of age, I asked her. And she blessed us all by saying yes!”

Legolas gaped in astonishment. From the day she was born? Then this was a political match? Not that it mattered. He knew how sacred marriage was in dwarven culture. He continued doggedly, his mouth shaping platitudes while his brain tried to function again.

“You have done well to secure lifelong love and companionship, my friend.”

Gimli paused and looked at Legolas a little more sharply. “Legolas? I’m not wed if that is what you are thinking? Throris will be the Lady of Aglarond - my anointed heir.”

Now it was Legolas’ turn to pause. “You are not wedded? What was that ceremony? This celebration?”

Gimli looked in wonder at Legolas, and another emotion flitted across his face. In Legolas’ tortured mind it looked for a moment like hope.

“She has married our people, promising to cleave unto them for as long as Mahal has appointed her to do so. It is a very solemn undertaking, and we dwarves who love certainty, value this rite greatly.”

Gimli spoke softly, and Legolas saw one of his hands hovering, as if it would touch Legolas’ arm. He swallowed, the noise sounding loud in the sudden quiet. Legolas felt utterly frozen. He managed to say through numb lips, “You seemed so joyous. I have seen husbands on their wedding day look less giddy than you, this day.”

Gimli’s hand at last landed, gripping Legolas’ wrist tightly. Legolas felt his pulse start to thud in his throat and wondered if Gimli would be able to feel it through his sleeve.

“You thought I was getting married,” said Gimli. Legolas nodded.

“You seemed very pleased for me,” he continued. “You would see me wed?”

“I would see you happy,” Legolas replied softly. They were both quiet, and the night air came gently in on a spring breeze, caressing Legolas’ face. It was a tender caress, and that, plus Gimli’s firm grip on his wrist emboldened him.

“Gimli…” he started.

Gimli dropped his wrist and stepped back, looking flushed.

“What think you of this place? I thought to make at least one place in this mountain that an elf might like.” He turned away, sweeping his arm to encompass the balcony.

Legolas, nonplussed, looked about him. The balcony was enclosed nearly all the way around, but a dome of rock had been removed to create a balustrade to the front and a portion of clear sky above. There was a bench on either side of the door, covered in velvet blankets and cushions.

“It’s cosy,” he said at last.

“Good, good, you like it,” replied Gimli. Then he added almost hastily, “I thought to provide a pleasant space for visiting elven delegations,”

Legolas gave himself a shake - for a moment, he had thought Gimli had made the solar for him! Of course it would make sense to provide such a facility for visiting dignitaries to take the air during a visit.

He quailed a little to think he’d almost spoken. That had been a close call and he was going to have to get a tighter grip on himself if he didn’t want to ruin everything. Gimli’s friendship was already more than enough.

~~~

And so, many more years passed in peace and industry, in the respective lands of Gimli and Legolas, watched over and cared for by their friends and the friends of all people of the Light, King Elessar and Queen Arwen of Gondor.

There were many meetings during those years, one notable event being for the birth celebrations of Anárion, grandson of Aragorn and Arwen, in Minas Tirith. It had been the first time in a long time that those friendships formed in the days of the Ring were renewed - of those who remained.

After joyful greetings, Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn had sat together at the grand celebration that evening, once the speeches and marvellous banquet had been done. They had shared pipe weed, beer and wine according to their preference.

“It seems like only yesterday that your strapping son was a babe in arms, Aragorn,” said Gimli at last, once all the catching up had been done.

Aragorn puffed on his pipe, still looking every inch like a king of old. Although his hair was still thick and curling on his shoulders, it was pure white.

“Yes,” he replied, “Although the years have been filled with joys and riches beyond my wildest imaginings, they have unaccountably started vanishing past more quickly than I can count. What a life! I can’t complain.”

Legolas heard the note there in his old friend’s voice - the note of nostalgia, of satisfaction in a life well-lived that seemed to come to humans nearing the end of their span. He hoped that Aragorn would be with them for many more years, but he recognised another gift of mortality - knowing the end would eventually come, and growing weary, ready to put down their burden and welcome their rest.

As always thoughts of death made him turn his gaze towards Gimli, who sat there laughing at Aragorn.

“Ah, that I should see the Ranger, Strider who ran for three days and three nights - a grandpa with his pipe! Bring some slippers for an old man, someone!”

Gimli’s cheeks were ruddy with warmth and ale, and his dark eyes bright and merry. His hair and beard were still burnished bright with ruby and topaz in the candlelight, although shot with silver these days.

How Legolas loved this dwarf! To be with him after six month’s separation was a joy to be treasured. He thought of the chest in his room in Ithilien, full of letters from Gimli that sustained him in the long gaps between meetings, and was content. He was glad to be here, trying to savour every moment to last him once they were parted again.

Lords of Glittering Caves and Forests, or rather, leaders of their peoples were bound first and foremost by duty, and Legolas and Gimli were ever dutiful. Yet, Gimli had never married. He had Throris as his heir and seemed unconcerned about his lonely state.

Legolas did not make the mistake of many other elves in assuming it was because dwarves had stone hearts and lacked finer feelings. After all, half of his own feelings for Gimli were based on the strength and depth of that mighty, loving heart which had proven itself so true. To friend and kin at least, if not, as one might dream, to Legolas himself as more than a friend.

~~

Minas Tirith

Dear Legolas

It is my duty to write the worst letters I have ever had to write. Our king, my dearest husband has passed where we cannot follow.

Although he seemed as strong as ever, age must have been stalking him without my say so or knowing. For, two days ago, he retired to bed after a quiet evening sat with me, a glass of wine by his side. We had sat quietly, speaking of nothing of consequence but at peace after a busy day with the Council. And then, with our family, and I remember him holding the baby in his arms, full of delight.

Then yesterday morning he didn’t awake, having passed peacefully in his sleep. I could ask for no better end for my love, but my heart shakes with rage nonetheless that he has been taken from me.

Legolas, you will receive the formal invitation shortly, but his funeral will be held in 10 days, and I would love friends to be there. Your friendship - yours and Gimli’s - was forged in hardship and endurance, and its worth proven a hundred times over and of immeasurable value to Aragorn. Thank you for standing alongside him all these long years, and for being a good friend to me, too - and Gondor.

Your friend, Arwen

One day, after a flurry of letters, Gimli arrived once more in Ithilien. The trees were decked in early summer glory, every shade of green sparkling, shimmering or darkly glowing according to its bearer’s nature, ever moving in the afternoon breeze.

Legolas and Gimli grasped each other’s arms and touched foreheads, their own blending of each other’s traditional greetings that had emerged over the decades.

As his skin kissed Gimli’s in a light touch, Legolas felt his heart sing with the sudden note of joy he always felt on seeing his friend after a separation.

“Treacherous heart that sings to greet a friend on such a sorrowful day!” exclaimed Gimli, in anguish.

Legolas’ heart gave another, less pleasant jolt before he got a hold of himself and realised that Gimli was referring to his own heart, not somehow discerning the state of Legolas’ own treacherous song.

Legolas’ people stepped forward to relieve Gimli and his retinue of dwarves and pack ponies, and show them to their lodgings. All was bustling and action, while Gimli and Legolas stood at the centre, unwilling to release each other, finally with someone who understood the depth of their grief.

That evening, the trees were full of the songs of elves, singing their lament for the king, as they had done since the news arrived. Gimli and Legolas sat together in the gloaming and listened, each with his thoughts of Aragorn.

At last Gimli spoke. “Aragorn and Arwen have brought peace and comfort to Gondor and the lands of the West after a long decline. It is well that his passing is commemorated so fittingly.” His hands clenched on his knees, as he fought with his own sorrow.

“He was much loved by all,” Legolas answered. “Some of my people have informed me that they plan to head into the West. Aragorn was friend and kin of elves, but now they feel the chill of the age of humankind truly coming. They feel fear for the future, however wise the son of two great leaders should prove to be on the throne.”

Gimli looked sharply at him.

“I hope you don’t intend to follow them?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going. You won’t get rid of me that easily,” he replied, smiling sadly.

~~~

The next day, they started for Minas Tirith, Gimli in his place behind Legolas on a horse. Arod had long been set free to re-join his herd, having grown too weary to carry people any more.

There had been a time when each occasion had involved the dance of Gimli pretending that he preferred to walk, and Legolas pretending that he carried Gimli on sufferance, but nowadays it was just assumed. If they travelled together, they could travel in comfort and at greater speeds on horseback, and that was that.

Now Legolas felt truly comforted. The solid presence of Gimli behind him let him feel that he could face anything. That they would stand together as they had done during the war of the Ring, and emerge victorious.

It was in that spirit of comforted and ready to comfort that he reached Minas Tirith and finally greeted Arwen. He took in her immense, unchanged beauty as he placed his hand over his heart, and then bowed low, Gimli bowing at his side.

Arwen stood at a tall window which overlooked the city, Legolas and Gimli having been shown to the royal residential quarters. They were luxuriously appointed, with dark blue carpets, and beautifully embroidered tapestries hanging on the walls.

But everywhere there were also signs of home - a pipe, a stack of books, a craft basket. On a side table there stood a child’s abacus made of brightly coloured wood. By the fireplace, a dog bed held two hounds curled together and watchful of their lady’s visitors.

Arwen took each of their hands in turn and smiled bravely, although it clearly cost her, in the tremble of her mouth.

“Thank you so much for coming, beloved friends. You strengthen our family and I with your presence,” she said. “Sit with me, and tell me your news. And I will tell you of the arrangements for tomorrow. There is much pomp attendant on saying goodbye to a king in the land of men.”

They took the offered armchairs arranged around the fireplace, which was lit with a small fire. Despite the month, very little warmth penetrated the stone of the palace. In any case, it was pleasant to see a bright flame. The hounds settled down again once everyone was seated.

Gimli spoke first. “I would have come for reasons of duty and politics. My domain owes much to the friendship of Gondor and its king - and queen. But I am here for love, and I am full of sorrow. My lady, please accept my most sincere and heartfelt condolences.”

He placed his hand on his heart in the elven way, and bowed his head respectfully. The young dwarf who had so impressed the Galadhrim with his exquisite manners had only grown in statesman-like stature since those days.

Then it was Legolas’ turn. “And from all in Ithilien, and from my heart, we share however minutely in the well of your loss and grieve with you. A light has gone from the world and all tremble at the great loss, and fear the change it will bring. If it would comfort you, we would stay awhile and take your errands, or divert you, or grieve with you. Whatever might support and aid you.”

Arwen smiled more genuinely at that. “And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your loving generosity. I am going to have days, I know, when it will be overwhelming to realise that I will never see my love again in this life.”

At this, emotion sprang on her and she took a moment to compose herself, tears welling in her eyes. While she did so, tea was served and each took a cup and breathed in the delicate fragrance.

Once the servers had left the room, Arwen continued.

“But I lived long in the understanding that this was my fate, to be left behind and alone for however long I should live. Don’t be alarmed!” she added at their expressions, “I will not fade! I am a grandmama!” Now her expression was filled with pride, and joy. “I have children, and grandchildren, friends, purpose and industry. I will mourn my love as long as I live, but I will live. He left me behind. Now I must carry the mantle for both of us.”

Legolas smiled back at her. “It is wonderful to hear you speak thus, dear Arwen. I should have known that in choosing a mortal life, you would choose to embrace it wholeheartedly. Mortals do not fade, and neither shall you.”

“May you be reunited in the Halls of Mandos when the time comes, and may it be a long distant day for the sake of all who love you here,” added Gimli.

“And then we will go where only Ilúvatar knows, as is the fate of humans,” Arwen replied.

The three old friends spent a pleasant evening together, joined by Arwen’s son and daughters, grown adults with children of their own.

The grandson whose birth they had celebrated was already a sturdy young boy, with little of the elf in his appearance but handsome all the same. He was brought by his nurse to say goodnight to his grandmother and father, and to take a sneaky peek at Arwen’s guests. Although Legolas was unremarkable enough for someone with an elven grandmother, his gaze kept drifting back to the sight of a real dwarf lord.

Gimli’s hair was braided tightly and his beard in its customary fork, as he preferred for travel. However, his clothes dripped with gems and rich embroidery, and each fork of his beard was clasped with an emerald the size of a hazelnut.

Legolas wondered if Gimli had chosen emeralds out of affection for him, whose delight in all things green was a source of affectionate teasing between them. Then he chastised himself for his foolishness. That kind of symbol would be a statement of intent to court someone in dwarven culture, he knew that much.

It was just coincidence then, and Legolas pushed down the disappointment. He instead admired how well the green looked, striking against Gimli’s vibrant hair.

Over the course of the evening, Aragorn’s grandson skilfully delayed his bedtime many times by asking for one more story about his grandpapa, and the adults were only too happy to indulge him. Wine and food were brought out, and each story was toasted, with a sigh of remembrance and a smile for someone so very dear.

That night, once everyone had gone to bed, Legolas took himself to a lonely balcony to see the stars. He wasn’t tired, and moreover felt restless. The evening, and Arwen, had given him much to think about, none of it comfortable.

He had always assumed - taken comfort in - Arwen and Aragorn being parallel to him and Gimli; the immortal and the mortal.

But being in the company of their family and seeing the reality, the gifts of their life together - suddenly it struck him that he had only half lived. Elves married young if they were going to, Arwen being a rare exception. He, on the other hand, had spent nearly one thousand years on this earth, never knowing what it would be like to be held in the arms of one he loved.

As he wrestled with this, he heard the door back in the room open, and light-heartedly recognised the heavy tread of Gimli. Gimli came out onto the balcony, smiling.

“Hello, laddie, I thought I’d find you here.”

“You don’t usually struggle to sleep, my friend?” Legolas answered. Gimli looked away, across Minas Tirith laid out below them, a few lights twinkling here and there on the terraces of the city. At last he spoke, his face still turned away.

“The loss of Aragorn has hit me hard, laddie. Life is short for us mortals and I’ve been careless with my allotted time, long though it is compared to a human. Being with Aragorn’s family tonight, I realised - what have I got to show for my years?” he turned to look at Legolas with a pained look. “Beyond wealth I mean, which it turns out feels cold on this sad and lovely night.”

Legolas startled to hear his own doubts spoken aloud, but he tried to reassure his friend.

“Your legacy is a great one, beyond wealth. You have created a peaceful city in the caves that prospers and will endure. And then there is the peace that you have been part of bringing to dwarves and elves through the Fellowship, and our friendship - no small legacy. A life of worth and honour in fact.”

He smiled as genuinely as he was able, but felt an answering pain that dimmed it. Gimli seemed to search his face for further answers, but apparently finding none, he sighed and looked back out over the sleeping city.

The moon and stars were bright in the sky and Legolas saw the way their light sparkled on Gimli’s jewels, and on the silver threads in his beard. Gimli gripped the balcony and huffed, in annoyance or frustration.

“You describe a life you might read in a history book. A book of saints and kings. I might have heard such tales at my tutor’s knee.”

He turned and grabbed Legolas’ wrist as he had done all those years ago in the solar in the Glittering Caves. Legolas’ treacherous pulse immediately galloped in response.

Gimli shook his head fiercely.

“It doesn’t sound like any kind of life for a real person, made of flesh and blood. Is that my lot, a dwarf captured in dusty pages, for dwarflings to study years hence?”

“You unsettle me with this fey mood, dear friend. I have not seen you like this before.” Legolas’ lips moved stiffly as all his attention was on his wrist, which sang where Gimli clutched it. “Many would count themselves blessed to have lived a life such as yours.”

His mouth shaped the words as his brain looked on aghast at such insincerity. Say what you mean! It cried. Tell him, yes! Such a life is cold - I live it.

Then Gimli seemed to search his face, and as if finding no answers, released his wrist and turned towards the balcony.

“What of love, though, Legolas?” he asked the cool air blowing gently around the balcony. “Tonight, I saw Arwen in the embrace of her kin, held and supported through this toughest of times. I have no need for children of my own. Never even thought about it, beyond naming my heir. But - “he took a deep breath and turned to face Legolas. “-I’ve been lonely.” His voice shook minutely on the last word, but his gaze was as brave as ever.

“You honour me with your sharing,” whispered Legolas, unable to respond with any more meaning. Many times, he had felt poised at this moment, only for Gimli to back off, it felt, when Legolas stepped forward.

Or so it seemed, but Legolas had lost all perspective and his judgment was clearly shot to pieces. He shook himself internally. Weren’t they dear friends, and could he respond as a dear friend would?

“I am lonely, Gimli,” he added softly. Gimli turned slowly back to face him. He felt his stomach swoop and his legs shake.

Gimli deserved to know that he had been loved, all these years. He gripped the balustrade, and let resolve stiffen his spine. He remembered he himself was a powerful warrior, one of the Nine Walkers and the Three Hunters.

“Although I have loved,” he added, “but never dared to be loved in return.”

Gimli moaned, a wordless sound like anguish. “What do you mean, Legolas, who do you love?”

It was time. Legolas fell to his knees, and took hold of Gimli’s hand, holding it to his cheek. Feeling unburdened at last, he spoke.

“It’s you, Gimli, of course. It’s only ever been you.”

“Could an elf truly love a dwarf?” Gimli replied, in a tone of wonder.

“I cannot speak for all elves and dwarves, but this elf certainly can.”

A glow of joy shone on Gimli’s face, illuminating it.

“Oh, what fools we’ve been! My heart has been yours since near first we met, when we walked in the woods of Lothlorien.”

Legolas laughed, feeling happiness bubbling up in him, as if it could make him float away entirely.

“Why have you never said anything in all that time?” he asked.

Gimli gently cupped Legolas’ cheek in his huge hand. “I had been planning to tell you the night of Throris’ confirmation - that night I could see other futures for me. But you seemed so pleased that I had wed! And then you said “Gimli” in that way of yours that says I am mis stepping…. “

“‘That way’?” interrupted Legolas. “I have no ‘way’!” He laughed again at the sight of Gimli’s incredulous expression. “I had been about to tell you, but then you started babbling about elven delegations, and I thought you were trying to change the subject!”

“Fools, the pair of us,” exclaimed Gimli. Legolas released Gimli’s hand and they fell into each other’s arms, exclaiming in wonder and happiness.

“How I have longed to kiss you,” Legolas said shyly.

“Then kiss me, and never stop,” replied Gimli.

Legolas’ heart pounded in his throat, but he leaned forward and kissed Gimli, feeling the warm, firm lips beneath his and whiskers tickling his face. They both gasped a little at the sensation, and kissed again and again. Each kiss lit a spark that made Legolas’ breath tremble in his chest, until eventually he had to pull away to fill his lungs again.

Gimli took his hand and pulled him to his feet, and led him to a sofa inside the room. They sat holding hands and smiling at each other. Gimli was the first to speak.

“How long have you loved me, laddie?”

Legolas smiled in reply, echoing Gimli’s words.

“Since near first we met; everything I discovered about you drew me deeper.”

Gimli shook his head sadly.

“Then we are truly fools, who have squandered our greatest gift. Think of all the years I could have been holding you in my arms.”

“We have still had each other,” Legolas protested.

“Yes, but a fragment of love. Let me show you one fragment more,” Gimli replied, and led Legolas by the hand further into the chamber, where a bed lay.

Legolas hesitated. “Are you sure, Gimli? If we lay together tonight, then we will be wed in the eyes of elves.”

Gimli drew Legolas to sit beside him on the bed, cupped his cheek and kissed him gently.
“I am sure, and I don’t wish to waste another minute,” he said softly and together they discovered a new joy in each other’s arms.

Later, Legolas slept, his face nestled comfortably in Gimli’s thick, soft hair. In his dreams, Galadriel came. Even asleep, he knew that this was real. She reached out her white clad arms to him from far away, and beckoned.

“Is it time to come?” he asked her.

“You know it is so. Build a boat and come,” she replied.

“I’m not leaving him,” he cried, trying to turn away from her.

Galadriel smiled warmly and radiantly and answered, “Build a boat for two, and be sure of a warm welcome for your Elf-friend.”

The next morning, Gimli and Legolas awoke in each other’s arms, and smiled and smiled at each other, exchanging more kisses and seemingly unable to stop.

“I feel as foolish as a young one, courting,” Gimli exclaimed.

Legolas laughed, a delighted peal of laughter.

“We have earned the right to a little foolishness,” he said, kissing Gimli’s nose, forehead and each cheek in quick succession.

They giggled and kissed some more, feeling the heat of the previous night reigniting low in their bellies. At last, their thoughts turned to the day, and their plans.

“I’ve been thinking that I don’t want to waste another minute, ghivashel,” Gimli said as they lay on their sides facing, Legolas’ arm draped comfortably across Gimli’s waist and Gimli’s hand cupping Legolas’ neck and the back of his head.

He hesitated a little before continuing.

“If this is agreeable to you, I want to hand over Aglarond and come and stay with you in Ithilien.”

Legolas gasped. “You would give up your caves, for me?”

Gimli shook him gently. “Of course, fool of an elf! We are wed in the sight of elves, if not dwarves, and you are my One. Too long have we spent apart. I don’t think you understand how far I’d go to be with you, ghivashel - my treasure.”

That reminded Legolas, and he told Gimli of his visit from Galadriel.

“Are you sure I would be welcome, and that it wasn’t just a dream?” Gimli asked.

“I am sure it wasn’t, and know that Galadriel named you Elf-friend.” Legolas hesitated. “I have felt the call of the Sea for a long time, but would never leave Middle Earth while you were here. If we go soon, we can have the time together we deserve. If we stay here, you will die - forgive me! And I will be left alone, for all eternity.”

His voice broke a little, as he named his greatest fear that he had carried all those years in secret. Gimli pulled him even closer and stroked his hair, and covered his face in kisses.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered in between kisses. “Dwarves don’t fade or break, we return to stone. Feel how sturdy and strong I still am. We will build our boat, and be together.”

“I can feel how sturdy and strong you are,” replied Legolas impishly, and pressed their bodies close, his arms wrapped around Gimli and holding tight.

~~~

The next few months were a whirl. Legolas and Gimli returned to their respective homes and prepared to leave. Gimli handed Aglarond to Lady Throris, confident that his beloved city was in safe hands.

His people were sorry to see him leave, but marvelled at the new found spring in his step. It wasn’t usual for dwarf lords to abdicate, being generally hale and hearty to the very end. But the general feeling was that he had earned his rest.

Those closest to him were aware of how often his feet had taken him to Ithilien over the years, and of the remarkable friendship their lord had with an elven prince. Indeed, that friendship had led to close ties between the two peoples, in trade and exchange of craft and skill.

Once in Ithilien, Gimli and Legolas’ boat quickly took shape. They spent their days in labour, and their nights in joy at being together, and Legolas truly understood what he had almost given up in renouncing love for friendship and safety.

During the evenings, they would sit under the canopy of leaves, a tankard and a goblet each to hand, and Legolas would tell Gimli about the Straight Road, and about Aman. Or what he knew of it through the tales of his kin.

They worked hard on their boat, by unspoken agreement feeling that time was not on their side. Although Gimli was indeed strong like a stone, he was also becoming slower and stiffer as his body returned to the stone, as the dwarves spoke of death. His glorious colour was fading from his cheeks and hair.

Gimli told Legolas many secrets, confident that Mahal would allow it as Legolas was his spouse in the eyes of the Valar. One evening, he told him of the dwarves’ afterlife.

“We learn that we return to the Halls of Mahal, our creator who the elves call Aulë, and there we remain with our kin until the remaking of Arda.”

Legolas was disquieted. “Then by accompanying me to Valinor, I am keeping you from being reunited with your kin.”

Gimli’s gaze turned inwards as he considered his reply. “I can’t know Mahal’s plan for me. But dwarves believe in right action, and since I joined the Fellowship in Rivendell all those years ago, I’ve rarely felt wrong-footed. Mahal whispers our purpose in our ears at our births, and although we don’t remember it, the feeling stays with us when we’re following that purpose. Whatever lies ahead for you and I, my treasure, I know I’m on the right path. I don’t know how, but I will see my kin again someday, somehow.”

They smiled at each other, and held hands.

“Who knew that I would wed such a philosopher? You are so sanguine, my love!” said Legolas, teasing lightly.

“Makes a change from being called ‘stubborn’ and ‘pig-headed’ I suppose!” Gimli replied, but he didn’t seem particularly upset, judging by the sparkle in his eyes and his soft smile.

~~~

In no time at all the boat was ready, and Legolas and Gimli set sail, slipping away in the dawn light. Goodbyes had been said already, and Legolas’ people at least were used to their friends leaving; in fact, very few remained.

The boat was built from the strong, grey-coloured wood beloved of elves for boat-building. It had a tarpaulin shelter constructed at one end with bedding and stores, because no one knew how long the journey would take. There were no maps to guide them and despite the name the Straight Road was anything but, being not fixed in space or time.

Gimli, whose people had never left Middle Earth, had no language or conceptual understanding of the path to Valinor, but he trusted his elf to guide them true, using whatever skills the elves were endowed with.

Still, the first part of the journey was reassuringly familiar, if unknown to either of them having never travelled so far into the southern lands. Sailing out the mouth of the Anduin and into the Bay of Belfalas and seeing the wide-open sea ahead brought the enormity of the journey home.

They had sheltered overnight at the mouth of the Anduin in order to have a full day’s sailing the following day, and the sun was just rising behind them as they sailed out into the bay.

Legolas and Gimli stood on the prow of the ship and gazed about them. Neither had ever seen the open sea. The water was quite calm, and the dawn painted the tops of gentle waves in amber and gold. The sky was a soft pink and the lightest breeze stirred in their sail.

The boat was made in the elvish style, like a swan with wings lifted, ready to glide over the waves. Gimli hung on to the swan’s neck with one hand and gripped Legolas’ hand tightly with the other.

“In all my days…,” he murmured as the dawn and the sea conspired to show their fairest faces to the travellers.

As they left the shelter of the bay the wind picked up, filling the sails, and within a day they had long left sight of land behind. Now was the true test of faith for Gimli, whose people were not seafarers and did not hear the call of the gulls. But Legolas was full of delight, at last able to hear their cries without melancholy, at last able to respond to their call as he made the journey home.

There was still no sign of a distant shore, or a sign of their intended path as the sun began to set in front of them. The sky was awash with oranges and pinks near the horizon, the last remnants of the sunset, and a band of indigo was starting to show above, with the first star hanging palely in the blue velvet. The travellers decided to turn in for the night and see what the next day would bring.

Legolas offered to stand first watch, having an inkling. Sure enough, once Gimli was safely ensconced in the deep pile of bedding in their tent in the stern, things started to change.

First, night came rushing in as if it had been waiting only for Gimli’s eyes to close. Then the sea turned black. Legolas could hear the waves murmuring against the flanks of their boat and the water shone like obsidian, a weak moonlight glinting on the crests of the swell. Then with a little jerk of excitement, Legolas noticed the stars were disappearing, and then the moon.

Now their boat seemed to hang in the darkness and suddenly, Legolas realised that he could no longer hear the waves. The boat gave a barely perceptible lurch and - it was somewhere else. Now there was no sea or land, just stars above and around, and the great galactic arm of the Milky Way arching overhead.

As if in a dream, Legolas trimmed the sail as if for strong wind. Then he walked silently to the stern and took hold of the rudder. Nothing happened. He closed his eyes for a moment, and allowed his heart to feel the call of Home.

When his eyes blinked open again, he could see stars rushing by, so fast they were transformed into streamers of light, so fast it was as if the boat was fleeing down a tunnel of light, so fast - and yet he felt perfectly still - and exhilarated.

So, this was the straight road which once bent over the curve of Middle Earth and now… now? Legolas lacked the vocabulary to understand what he was seeing and feeling; this sensation of great speed yet being perfectly still, not even a breeze to ruffle his hair, the only movement the blood in his veins of which he now became aware.

He couldn’t feel air on his skin, or hear anything at all. Not the crack of the sail, not his feet on the deck. He lifted his hand and examined it, and saw the way it seemed to glow in the strange streamers of starlight, and felt comforted that he, Legolas, still stood there, wherever there was.

The star tunnel abruptly came to an end and it was like blowing out the last candle in the sleeping night. All was perfectly dark. He couldn’t see his hand, or the boat. It was utterly black. He felt the darkness creep over his mind and knew nothing more.

Either sometime later or in the next instant, Legolas awoke, disorientated, his cheek resting on the smooth, grey deck. It was bright with sunlight and when that registered, Legolas leapt to his feet. He rushed to the stern and knelt next to Gimli who slept on. He placed a hand on Gimli’s shoulder and gently shook him.

“We’re here,” he said, softly and fondly, “You slept through the whole thing!”

As Gimli, grumbling, pulled himself upright, Legolas gasped. “My love, you are restored to your prime!”

Gimli slowly looked down and stroked a hand down his beard, now magnificently flame-coloured once more. He laughed.

“Well, I’ll be! Will you look at that, laddie? I haven’t seen that colour for fifty years!”

Legolas threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly, and crying and laughing at the same time. They pulled back and looked at each other smiling, while Legolas dashed happy tears from his cheeks. At Gimli’s expression, he explained.

“I am so greedy, beloved - to turn the clock back is everything I had ever hoped for. Now we’ll get to live our lives together again.”

“You daft beggar. It’s not greed, it’s love. May we never be parted again,” Gimli vowed solemnly and they kissed, the hot, soft melting into each other that never seemed to grow old.

They had come to rest by a white, sandy beach. Close by inland were dunes, covered in grasses and beautiful flowers, with a cutting through them providing a path. They quickly pulled their few belongings together into their packs, and with Gimli’s axes and Legolas’ bow and long knives, jumped down on the sand.

“Oh Gimli, it feels so wonderful, take off your boots and feel the sand between your toes, it’s warm!” cried Legolas who had immediately shucked his, and was wiggling his toes in the sand. Gimli was tolerant but unmoved.

“Dwarves would never take their boots off, not for all the sand in Valinor!”

Once the boat was secured on the sand, they had a drink and a little bread, cheese and apples from their packs. It seemed to be morning time, and so with excitement racing in their veins they set off through the cutting to explore.

They found a land every bit as heavenly as they had anticipated. A wide, open land underneath a perfect blue sky, and everywhere, thousands of flowers nodding and sparkling in a gentle summer breeze. As they set out on the path, a host of people appeared on the hill in front of them, which quickly resolved into a dozen familiar faces.

“Mother!” exclaimed Legolas and he started to run.

“Frodo! Sam!” Gimli cried, and also hurried, although at a more sedate pace than his excitable love.

The two groups combined and exploded into noise and joy at being reunited. As well as Legolas’ dear mother, who he had not seen in many hundreds of years, and the hobbits, Gandalf and Bilbo were there. And at the back, smiling like kindly parents, stood Elrond and Galadriel, shining in the sun. Thranduil was also there, a little more reserved than the hobbits, but still looking warmer and happier than he had in the whole of Legolas’ time in Middle Earth. Each of them glowed in their prime, all cares washed away, health and vigour reborn.

However, as the party finally subsided enough to start walking to the elven city over the hill, Gimli observed that there were no other dwarves present. Not that he had expected it. Still, no other of his kind had been granted the boon of respite in the elven home, and as long as he lived, no other dwarf would he see again.

He felt a great loneliness spasm momentarily in his heart, and briefly gripped Legolas’ hand in comfort. Yes, it would be beyond strange never to hear Khudzul spoken, or be among those who knew his customs, but it would be worth it.

~~~

Several months later, Legolas was woken by the merry song of elves in the street outside his and Gimli’s home, as he had been nearly every day since their arrival. It seemed like he slept most every night here, where sleep was a pleasure and dreams its gift. He sprang out of bed and threw open the curtains, listening with a pleased smile for Gimli’s daily grumble.

By the time tea was brewed and bread, eggs and fruit laid out on their kitchen table, Gimli was up and shuffling barefoot into the room. As always, the fresh scent of the tea seemed to help him finish waking up.

Legolas smiled again, at the change their new life had brought to Gimli, allowing him to take his time and be at ease.

After eating, and clearing away the breakfast things, they habitually went for a walk through the streets of the elven city. It was a beautiful place, with houses each seemingly designed for the whim of its owner; some adorned with random turrets or bay windows, some with gardens or fountains in front.

Each one was a close cousin of its neighbour, carved out long ago of white stone and polished white wood, so that their whole was an elegant harmony.

The streets were grass paths that never seemed to get worn or long, although many feet walked albeit lightly upon them, and many horse’s hooves too. Everywhere there were flowers of every colour, shape and scent. Even Gimli found his mind soothed and his spirit lifted to walk its streets and live there, although it couldn’t have been further from the rock hewn, jewel bedazzled caverns of his former home.

Often on their walk they would stop at the market to buy the fresh produce they didn’t make or grow at home. In retirement, as they called it, they found they had plenty of time for learning how to make their own bread, and grow fruit and vegetables.

They even had a tiny flock of chickens to provide eggs, although the chickens had rapidly gained pet status, and Gimli tried not to think about what would happen if one shuffled off its mortal coil. He knew that he could not envisage adding Lucy, Lucky or any of the others to a pot.

Other times their path would take them to Frodo and Sam’s little cottage. It was clearly inhabited by hobbits because it had the most delightful garden, full of pumpkins and tomatoes, and country flowers like honeysuckle and lupins. There was a bench beside the green front door, perfect for spending an evening, with a pipe stuffed full of weed.

Gimli also enjoyed visiting Legolas’ mother, who seemed not to notice that nearly a millennium had passed since her son had been her baby, and thus provided Gimli much amusement at his beloved’s expense. She had the abundant silver hair that marked her Sindarin heritage and a voice like silver bells, but her character was warm and sunny.

In his serious moments, Gimli saw how wonderful it was for Legolas and Ellarion to have their chance to be in each other’s lives, after it had been taken so savagely from them before at the hand of the orcs.

And then Gimli would think of his own mother and family, and tried not to regret that he would never have his own reunion in the halls of Mahal. He would always shake himself when he caught his thoughts straying that way. If the lord of all, Ilúvatar could read his thoughts he might strike him out of paradise for his ingratitude, and separate him from Legolas.

Sometimes they would visit Bilbo, who had rooms in Gandalf’s home, high in a tower. From there they could see views across Aman, from the encircling seas where Legolas and Gimli had washed up, to the long chain of the Pelóri mountain range which bisected the length of the land. This separated the elven city from the cities of the Vanyar and the Valar who dwelt beyond the mountains where none could pass.

Bilbo was much the same as he had always been; a scholar, a lover of song and story, and that puckish mischief that he had gained in older age. His cheeks were plump and rosy, and his hair sun-kissed and curly, like a hobbit in his prime. But his eyes told a different story. They were often shadowed, or looking far away beyond sight, and Gimli and Legolas assumed it was the burden of the Ring, even here in Aman.

There was one more person Legolas had been overjoyed to find again - Tauriel. She had been absorbed into a gang of younger elves who spent their days roaming the woods, hunting, swimming in the lakes and climbing trees for the sheer joy of it.

He had pressed her again and again to join them at home for dinner but she always deflected. At last, Legolas saw the way her eyes lingered on Gimli - his hands, his broad shoulders and unruly hair, and began to understand. How would he feel if Kili had been the only dwarf allowed in Aman, and Gimli had been lost to him for eternity? After that, he left her alone, but a seed was planted in his mind - that this wasn’t happy ever after for Tauriel, just forever without her love.

The day he made this realisation, he and Gimli were in the kitchen. He clattered a few pans around under the pretext of washing them, sat down at their table, hopped up again - and Gimli put his hand on his arm, stilling him.

“What’s bothering that pretty golden head of yours?” Gimli asked in his gruff, fond way. Legolas sighed and sank back into his chair.

“I’m not good with injustice,” he started, at which Gimli snorted and muttered, “Not half.”

Legolas quirked a corner of his mouth at him and continued.

“Here we are, our dreams of being together in paradise come true. But we’re here on a whim! What if Galadriel hadn’t declared you Elf-friend? I’d be just like Tauriel, condemned to immortality alone. Without you.”

The thought galvanised him again and he hopped up and started busying with the tea things, partly to hide from Gimli how agitated he was becoming. Gimli wasn’t fooled a bit and came over, sliding his arms around Legolas’ waist from behind and pulling him close.

“I’m sorry for her and anyone not with their One. I’m so grateful to be here with you.”

Legolas turned around in his arms and stroked Gimli’s hair and cupped his cheek.

“I’ve learned about love in your arms,” he said. “But haven’t you noticed? The mortals that are here do age, albeit slowly. I’m going to lose you eventually, even here.”

He felt distraught. Gimli drew Legolas’ head down level with his and whispered a Khudzul word in his ear. Their eyes found each other again.

Gimli said, “Can you remember that word? It’s my Dark Name and you must never say it out loud. But you are my spouse, and now, when I die and when the world is remade, we will be able to find each other again.”

Legolas repeated it over and over in his head until he felt it was secure. He felt the name settle in him and knew it was the final piece linking him and Gimli together, come what may, and felt a little more peace than before.

~~~

It was Legolas’ mother who helped them find their feet in their new community by telling them where to safely go and who to meet or avoid. For it was not paradise in the home of the elves.

“Our city was founded in the hills yonder,” she said, indicating through the window. “There live some elves who never left Aman, and those elves who first heard the Call and crossed the Sea. The city grew as more arrived, along the fingers of the foothills and now into the valley, where your own cottage is.”

She had been smiling sweetly as she spoke, as she seemed helpless to do in the presence of her only son, but now a solemn expression settled on her lovely face.

“Don’t go there, my darlings.” She had accepted Gimli as her son’s chosen one in the same tender way as all her dealings with Legolas.

“The elves who live there are ancient. In the highest reaches there are those who are worn so thin by time that they flit like memories, from dance to song to tree. Others are lost in contemplation of the stars and never return. And nearer to us but still high in the foothills are those who remember only war if they remember Arda at all - and they will be no friend of a dwarf.” Here she squeezed Gimli’s hand apologetically.

“You make immortality seem rather daunting, Mother,” said Legolas, feeling a chill in his heart.

Here in the lower town however, there was happiness and diversion enough. Musicians arriving in Aman would flex their fingers and settle into decades of serious practice, at long last hopeful of becoming masters of their instruments. Composers whiled away the days chasing arpeggios and themes, and scarcely noticed time passing.

Elves would spend weeks planning expeditions to view the stars and Valinor’s single moon, at once similar to the one that circled Middle Earth and yet so strange, close as it hung in the sky.

There were sounds of metal work and carpentry carrying in the morning air, and every elf who was interested had a workshop dedicated to their craft. In this, Gimli finally felt at home, and spent part of every day working at his own master craft.

He was learning to use the strange alloys and jewels found in this strange land, but would wonder - where were the mines that brought those gems to the city? For that matter, where were the farms, the wood and paper mills? For although many people kept a vegetable garden or hunted deer and boar, they were not living a subsistence farming life. There was plenty and more for everyone.

When he explained this to Legolas, he got a laugh and a fond stroke of his whiskers.

“It’s magic!” laughed Legolas, “you are in the land of Manwë here. He created this home for elves, so of course it contains everything that elves need or want.”

Gimli tried to look grumpy, but failed under the charm of his elf.

“I suppose my own people are enjoying the magic of Mahal in his halls just the same, although they have passed on beyond this life.” And as always, he stopped himself yearning to see them before it could take hold.

~~~

Time passed, and Legolas continued to learn about love in the boundless warmth of his dwarf. Gimli taught him Khuzdul each day, and learned to let go of secrecy, if only with his One.

But slowly and surely like a poison seeping into paradise, tinting everything a little greyer and darker, Legolas started to grow angry.

He asked himself what the purpose was of Aman and why elves were bound to the world. Valinor started to feel like a waiting room some days, where he waited for Gimli to die and leave him for a pointless eternity.

At other times it felt like a golden cage, where everyone experienced only joy from care except him, trapped in his growing anger and looking out at freedom.

Time passed slowly and quickly for elves, and it had never mattered before. He loved living with Gimli and waking each morning, but now he became miserly, counting how many days of happiness he had already used up of his allotted number, forever too few.

And time passed slowly and yet without measure for elves, so it seemed like no time had passed when one day he visited Bilbo and found an old hobbit. He had knocked on the door and heard the familiar voice call, “Come in.”

In the sitting room, with its beautiful view down the hill and towards the sparkling sea, he found Bilbo. He was reclining on a chaise with a light, silvery blanket tucked all around him although it was a warm, soft spring day.

On his lap a book lay open, Bilbo’s hand resting on the pages, and Legolas saw it looked frail, almost transparent. Casting his eyes to his friend’s face, he saw that Bilbo's smooth apple cheeks were sunken these days, although when it had happened, Legolas couldn’t say.

He went and knelt by the chaise.

“I find you still abed at nearly noon today, my friend?” He smiled warmly and Bilbo smiled in return.

“I am rather tired these days, and a little cold,” He rested his head back and his gaze turned to the window and the blue sky beyond, beautiful and flawless like everything in Aman.

“I’m tired, Legolas,” he said softly, “and I’ve been through this once. Boring!” he declared, some of his normal feistiness showing through.

“I’m not even sure why I’m here,” he continued, almost to himself. “I would have gone to sleep, and not known the waiting….”

“Waiting for what?” asked Legolas, interested to hear someone give voice to a thought like his own. At that, Bilbo fussed a little and tried to brush it off.

“Oh, nothing important, I misspoke.” But there was a look in his eyes that told Legolas he was close to something, and his excitement made him pushier than usual.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, more gently. Then a piece of the puzzle fell into place. “Or who?”

Bilbo became agitated.

“Oh, to speak freely to someone, who would it hurt?” he muttered.

“If it would bring you ease to speak -” Legolas replied. Bilbo huffed and rustled around on his chaise, fussing with his blanket. Then he turned his steady, bright gaze on Legolas, who waited patiently. He had learned a lifetime ago not to underestimate this intelligent, proud hobbit before him.

Bilbo seemed to gather himself to speak.

“Mark you, Legolas, I have never spoken of this to another soul, and I’ll thank you to keep it stowed behind those teeth if you please! Not that you won’t be telling that dwarf of yours, but I’d prefer it spread no further if you care about an old friend’s privacy.”

Legolas placed his hand on Bilbo’s nearest arm, lying on the blanket and squeezed gently.

“You honour me with your confidence, Bilbo, and Gimli and I would never betray it.”

“It’s all so long ago now,” Bilbo sighed, “but I never seemed to learn the trick of letting go. There was a dwarf, you see-” His eyes darted to Legolas to gauge his reaction, before fixing on the blue sky beyond the window.

“Thorin. He left his mark on me, on my soul and I’ll always carry it. Not that he knew anything of it! All this ridiculous pining! And I never even told him how I felt. Anyway, now I have only hope - that I’ll fall asleep and wake up in the world remade, and see his foolish, stubborn face again.”

He turned to look at Legolas again, for once a veil of sadness over his face.

“But it’s been so very long.”

Legolas’ heart sank with sorrow.

“Yet more proof that the elven home is no paradise,” he said. “This is punishment indeed and for one so worthy of reward!”

“I suppose it ‘was’ designed for elves; they seem happy enough.” Bilbo’s voice cracked a little as he spoke. It was Legolas’ turn to gaze out of the window, his eyes searching for the distant horizon.

“Some maybe, but not all. And my own happiness makes me aware of how lonely I could be here, in this crowd of my kin.”

He turned and gripped Bilbo’s arm again, suddenly full of fervour.

“It’s not right, and I intend to do something about it! No elf should be kept here against their inclination. And no elf, hobbit or dwarf, should be kept from their One. That is no rest, respite, or reward!”

Bilbo chuckled at Legolas’ zeal.

“Hearing you speak, and seeing your eyes sparkle with purpose, Legolas - I realise it’s a long time since I have seen such a spark of life. I think you’re onto something. Even if it were possible for anything to change.”

Legolas sputtered indignantly. “Even if it were? I’m going to see Manwë. He loves his children. Aman was surely conceived as a gift, a most perfect home. Not a waiting room, empty of true life, a never-ending dance of living until we all fall at last into the world remade.”

By now, Bilbo was grinning broadly, shaking his head fondly at Legolas’ rant, which had resulted in him springing to his feet and pacing the tower room, cluttered as it was with all of Bilbo’s books and other precious things.

He settled himself back on his chaise and pulled the blanket closer, still smiling fondly and saying, “That’s good, my dear. Let me know how it goes.” And he tried so hard to quell the little spark of hope in his chest.

~~~

Returning to his cottage, Legolas followed the source of hammering to the workshop tucked into a shed at the bottom of the garden.

Inside there was a long wooden bench along one wall, swept immaculately clean every day. Above it on the wall hung every type of tool a metalsmith might require. There were many tiny drawers too, full of wires of different gauges, gems and other mysteries of Gimli’s craft.

The left-hand side of the workshop was dominated by the forge. It was a crucible of flame which Gimli constantly tended when it was in use, sometimes with fuel, or with air from enormous bellows, or by banking the flame with cunning doors and traps to maintain the white-hot heat within.

Gimli was there, shirtless but wearing an enormous leather apron and gloves, and a visor protecting his face from the fierce heat. He held something in place with iron tongs and was briskly hammering it into shape.

Legolas smiled to see him so engrossed in his work that he hadn’t even noticed him enter. Then he looked up and put down his tools. He pushed back his visor and smiled back at Legolas.

“Hello elf, what brings you into my sooty, filthy workshop?” Gimli said, grinning. Legolas could practically see the quote marks around ’sooty, filthy’ and grinned in return, remembering that particular bout of the teasing which they both enjoyed so much.

“Can’t an elf come and see his dwarf?” he replied, lightly. Gimli looked again at Legolas and came over, not fooled in the slightest.

“What happened, ghivashel?” he asked.

“I know you are glad to be with me,” Legolas replied, “but can you bear not seeing your kin again?”

It felt good to finally bring it out in the open after glossing over it for so long. Gimli took his hands.

“What’s brought this on? Of course, I miss my kin. But I can bear it, because I’m here with you. You’re my destiny. No one gets everything they want, and I’m full glad the part I got was you.”

“Thank you, meleth nîn. You reassure me and I’m glad to hear it. But I don't think it’s right anymore.”

Gimli looked at him with shock. “You mean that I shouldn’t be here?”

“No! No!” Legolas said, quick to reassure him in turn. “I meant that I am with you, and my kin, as is right. But you have had to choose. It’s just not fair. And, I saw Bilbo today, and - oh Gimli! He is dying of old age - again. And he had a One, and has had to endure what is effectively a second sentence of life without him! This surely isn’t the reward for the service he gave to us, all the peoples of Middle Earth.”

Gimli was astonished. “Come, sit and start at the beginning, and tell me the whole tale.”

“I will, but then I will tell you what I must do, because I cannot rest or enjoy my life until I know that all beings are receiving their just rewards.”

Legolas told Gimli about Bilbo and Thorin. Gimli’s mouth dropped open at Thorin’s name. “My kin! It’s almost unbelievable, though they did journey together into fame among my people in service of Erebor.”

“If you can believe in an elf loving a dwarf, why not a hobbit?”

Gimli smiled softly at that, and took one of Legolas’ hands in his own dark, weathered looking ones. Legolas had the hands of an archer, calloused and strong.

“I do believe it,” he said gently and they both smiled helplessly at each other.

“I’m going to see Manwë,” Legolas said, once they had finished their gazing.

Gimli gaped. “But we aren’t allowed to pass over the hill! We’ll be refused passage to his halls.”

“My beloved, this is one journey we cannot make together. Even if I can gain passage, a dwarf would surely be refused.”

Legolas squeezed Gimli’s hands by way of apology. Gimli snorted, a combination of amusement and disgust.

“If you think I’ll be parted from you now, laddie, after all we’ve been through to be together, ye’re much mistaken!”

Legolas shook his head, smiling fondly.

“I would expect you to say nothing less, and I am loathe to be parted from you. But go alone I must. I know it, I feel it in my bones. I might slip by unseen where a dwarf might be noticed. You know it to be true. You heard my mother speak of those old ones who might not tolerate the presence of a dwarf. I must go alone.” He looked entreatingly into Gimli’s eyes.

“Okay,” replied Gimli at once. Legolas now looked suspiciously at him.

“You were remarkably easy to persuade, star of my heart. You are planning to follow me, are you not?”

“Absolutely not, my greatest treasure, you are a warrior of great renown and completely able to take care of yourself,” Gimli replied promptly and although Legolas continued to glare suspiciously at him, wouldn’t crumble and remained adamant that Legolas would travel alone to the halls of Manwë.

~~~

Once Legolas had made his preparations, he knew he could leave at any time. But something held him back. He thought of Bilbo and Tauriel and perhaps others like them, segregated from those they loved.

He thought about himself, doomed to eternity alone once Gimli finally passed beyond his reach. Perhaps Gimli would at last pass to the halls of his forefathers and spend his own eternity alone until the world was remade. His heart ached but still he made no move to leave.

Eventually, he had had enough of indecision and went to seek the counsel of Galadriel. The great lady had stayed in the lower city, seemingly feeling a sense of responsibility towards all the elves who travelled along the straight road from Arda, to see them settled and well.

As a high elf of Noldorian lineage, her place was assured across the mountains in one of the two high elven cities, but her heart was with her friends, friendships formed in the long centuries in Middle Earth.

Legolas found her as always radiantly beautiful, and possessed of the unearthly serenity, grace and power that had always marked her as a being beyond his own sliver of immortality and magic.

But, despite her magnificence she greeted him as always, warmly as a friend. Once they were seated in an arbour in her garden, heavy with scented blossom and dark, glossy leaves, she turned to him and smiled.

“What brings you here to me today, Legolas?” she enquired in that knowing way of hers.

You already know, don’t you? he thought and she smiled more widely.

“Tell me anyway,” she said, an edge of mischief creeping into her expression.

“Are you happy here, my lady?” he asked. She looked briefly startled, and he tried to hold her gaze, but it was like looking into the sun. He looked down at his hands instead and attempted to still them.

After a moment, she replied. “I am happy here. I am with those I love, and I have purpose - as a self-appointed steward of us elves of Middle Earth. Or so it has come to seem.”

Legolas’ ears pricked up at the tiny hint of uncertainty in the Lady’s words.

“How did you come to your appointed role? How did the elves who arrived here before you, manage?”

“You ask the right questions, my friend,” she smiled. “When I arrived, there was a vast city full of strangers. I knew not where to find my family and friends, or where I would live. Luckily of course, I arrived in a group of the good and the brave, and we soon found our way. But the city is not wholly benign as I’m sure you have learned. I decided to ensure that all newcomers would be welcomed and housed, and reunited with their loved ones; although there weren’t many more that came after us, as we were one of the last boats. Official boats from the havens that is,” and she darted a mischievous look at Legolas who caught it with a grin and a duck of his head.

“Now, I try to help the older elves, who….” She paused.

“‘Who’ what, my lady?” Legolas urged gently. Galadriel shook her head, as if to shake off an unwelcome thought, and continued.

“Who are finding it hard to find a reason for living.”

She and Legolas looked at each other, Galadriel’s eyes searching his face.

“Some of our kin have been here for 10,000 years, Legolas. Even for elves, that’s a long time without change, in a place where nothing ever changes.”

Legolas shivered, thinking of the elves at the top of the hill his mother had warned him about. Around him, the leaves and blossoms murmured in the soft, barely there breeze. Overhead, they formed an arch shading them from the midday light, the sky an ever-constant azure and fathomless dome above.

He turned back to Galadriel.

“I could mention it when I go to see Manwë.” He laughed helplessly at his presumption.

Galadriel burst out laughing, a sound like musical bells and summer raindrops.

“Some might say healing the enmity between two races of Middle Earth would be enough for a lifetime, but you, Legolas, will also undertake to remake elven society too?”

Legolas persisted. “Yes, my lady, because if not me, then who? I cannot live like this for ever more. However this land came into being 10,000 years ago, things have drifted since. It may be a blessed rest for many, and for a long time, but no one can sing and dance, and look at the stars forever. And-” he grew solemn. “And not without their One, or their kin. Then it becomes a bad place, not a good one.”

Galadriel sighed, and gazed off into the distance, her voice soft and weary.

“I cannot see your path, Legolas, or the outcome of your journey.” She turned to look at him, her hands folded in her lap, her golden hair around her shoulders like a cloak.

“But what grace I have in this place as bearer of Nenya, I send with you on your errand. Although I cannot see, I can sense that you are an agent of great change, Legolas Thranduilion, and go you must.”

“Yes, go I must, my lady, come what may,” replied Legolas, no more certain that he was doing the right thing, but with a firmer resolve nonetheless.

~~~

The following morning, Legolas and Gimli sat at the table in their kitchen and breakfasted together. There was warm bread from the oven baked by Gimli, and honey from their own hives. There were berries from the garden they tended together, admittedly with Gimli working under close supervision from his One, being unused to growing green things. There was also fresh cheese, for which they traded with a neighbour, who kept goats for milk.

“What will you do today, beloved - once I set off?” Legolas remarked once he had eaten and folded a little of the bread and fruit in a cloth, for his travel pack.

“I thought to spend the day with Bilbo,” Gimli answered. “He loves to reminisce about his travels with dwarves and their adventures, and I am happy to hear him.”

Legolas smiled affectionately. “A perfect meeting of friends.”

He stood up from the table and Gimli hopped down from his chair, using the step that enabled them to be of a height when they dined. Gimli strode purposefully to their front door where Legolas’ pack waited, and lifted it, holding it out to Legolas.

“Here you are,” he said gruffly. He held Legolas’ gaze unwaveringly, but Legolas could see the subtle tells that said this wasn’t easy.

Legolas shouldered his pack and knelt before Gimli, their arms going around each other into their familiar places, an embrace a thousand times in perfecting. They kissed tenderly, Gimli’s soft, thick beard tickling Legolas’ smooth face as it had always done.

“Come back to me, laddie,” Gimli whispered, his lips almost touching Legolas’ as he spoke. Legolas kept his eyes closed, the better to drink in the scent and sensation of his beloved, and commit it to memory.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he replied, just as softly. And with one last kiss, he stood quickly and left their little cottage.

“Come back to me, laddie,” Gimli repeated to the closed door, and tried to keep his heart stout and his fears at bay.

~~~

Legolas set off along the street that led to the main thoroughfare of the city, his stride long and his pace brisk. Although his heart suffered at the thought of leaving Gimli behind, the thrill of a new adventure after so many decades of living quietly was upon him.

The sun had not long been up, but the main thoroughfare when he reached it was busy with fair folk going about their business. The grass underfoot was as fresh and green as if it had grown that morning. An avenue of fair, white trunked trees curved graceful branches over the way, dappling the sunlight that reached the passers-by below.

In this part of town, Legolas knew many, and spent the first half an hour of his journey returning greetings. Many folks sat on balconies enjoying the morning sun; eating, or playing here a lute, there a lyre or guitar, so that the whole street was alive with music and voices speaking, laughing or singing.

Yet by the grace of everyone present, it was a harmonious blend of sounds that lifted Legolas’ spirits, and reminded him of the beauty and joy of this paradise they had been granted.

On he walked and now he was passing into the foothills of the great city. Elves still bustled and played and sang to each other, but he didn’t know them. The sun was now high overhead, so he stopped in the shade of a tree and ate his bread and fruit from home.

Gimli made excellent bread, his huge forearms and hands made for kneading, and that thought made Legolas smile. He carefully shook out the cloth they were wrapped in once he was finished, and folded it.

It was a fine piece of linen, a piece from a set his mother had gifted them as a housewarming present. And though he cared not for possessions, the double attachment of his mother’s gift and thoughts of his own cosy home with Gimli made him stow it neatly away in his pack.

After a drink of water from his flask he set off again on the road, now going gently uphill. He looked ahead and saw the same avenue, the same fresh emerald grass under foot and magnificent trees lining the route. It was as pristine as if Manwë had created it that morning and yet, Legolas knew it was thousands of years old.

“What would that do to an elf?” he muttered to himself as he set off again.

By late afternoon, Legolas had reached high into the oldest parts of the city. Here there was no bustle, and no elves to be seen. He walked along street after street, seeing no one, his light footsteps silent on the grassy way. Sometimes the back of his neck would prickle and he would slowly turn, but there was no one visible.

The heavy scent of jasmine hung on the air and no breeze stirred it. The leaves on the trees barely moved, and it seemed ten times hotter than the newer parts of the city below.

Every now and then he would turn a corner and see through a gap in the houses, back down the whole of the valley, to the sparkling, white-tipped water of the bay where he and Gimli had once landed.

The sun was now low in the sky behind him, and as he watched the sea, it dropped behind the hills, flaming the sea orange and red. Legolas found a place to sit, and watch the last fanfare of the day. Slowly the sky over the bay darkened, until only the vast emptiness there told him it was the sea. Lights started to appear on the slopes of the foothills below, until the whole town before him was twinkling with warmth and light. Around him, there was no such stirring.

Legolas decided to wait for the first stars and walk on. It was still early, and this didn’t feel like a hospitable place to spend the night. However, as the first stars started to appear, the streets around him woke up.

First, he heard the star songs of elves, lifted in melancholy beauty to the skies; exquisitely lovely, a sound that spoke to the soul of every elf. Legolas felt his heart squeeze with unnamed sorrow and turned his face to the stars, bathing in their beloved light.

Then elves started leaving their homes and drifting into the street, each wearing long white robes and as beautiful as the day they were made. But they were so insubstantial it seemed as if they drifted along on the breeze like leaves, rather than walked, and their hair shone with unearthly silver lights, and their hands and bare feet were so slim as to be nearly translucent.

They didn’t seem to notice Legolas as they floated by, each led somewhere it seemed, but without purpose or energy. And Legolas shivered when he gazed at their lovely faces and saw nothing but a shadow of a person who was once vital, and had lived a life. Maybe a good one, maybe nothing extraordinary, but theirs - and faded almost into memory, soon to be forgotten if not already.

Legolas snatched up his pack and walked as briskly as he was able, tempted to break into a run and leave this dismal place behind. As he ploughed on, he noticed the houses were starting to thin, until at last ahead he could see the mountain range in all its forbidding splendour.

The moon had risen as he had walked and by its light, he could see that the street would end shortly and become an ordinary path, worn through a cleft in the summit ahead. The path became unfinished, although still smooth and no wider than two horses might ride abreast.

The cleft was deep with sheer, rocky sides, and at its entrance vast, ancient stone warriors stood guard, their expressions severe and the hilts of their swords clasped in both hands. Legolas hesitated at their foot. If he passed between them, he would be going somewhere expressly forbidden to everyone in the city.

One option therefore would be to keep going, and hope for the cover of night to reach the palace of Manwë before being discovered.

However, Legolas speculated that it was unlikely that Manwë would be deceived by darkness. This pocket universe was created by Manwë and held in his hands - it was unlikely that it kept secrets from him. He decided to keep going, thinking that speed was his only advantage. Maybe he could reach the palace before his presence was detected by scouts and a unit sent to capture him.

He ran, the light-footed, tireless stride of all elves, and as he ran, he smiled in memory of an epic run across Middle Earth with Aragorn and Gimli, and he wished that they were running with him now.

As he ran, his long stride eating up the distance, he almost thought he heard Gimli’s heavy but indefatigable boots pounding along behind him, and smiled again, feeling comforted and a little less alone.

The landscape around him was wild country, stretching in every direction. Legolas knew that to the right of the road, the wild, grassy slopes and hills would give way to the cities where the highest elves lived, hidden from sight. Far off to the left, he could see the Woods of Oromë.

Ahead of him as he ran, an immense, white shape started to come into focus out of the dark on the horizon, and Legolas’ heart skipped a beat. It must be the palace of Manwë built on Mount Taniquetil, where none but the first of the kindred were permitted; the Vanyar, the light elves.

He was not welcome here. On he ran, holding his purpose firmly to him.

~~~

The sky was again lightening in the east, when Legolas grew close enough to discern the features of the great palace. He was completely alone, not another elf or creature had he seen all night on his long run, and this was disconcerting. In the tales of old, those elves who had remained in Valinor, or returned in the Second Age, were by all accounts often warlike, not afraid to defend their interests rigorously. Where were they, then?

His feeling of unease grew as he approached the gates of the palace. They stood open, unguarded. The palace arose in magnificence before him, glowing as if it was carved from a single pearl. It soared to the sky with many slender towers, each cunningly crafted to be open to the elements with huge windows and balconies. But not an elf was to be seen.

Legolas slowed to a walk and stole through the gateway, every one of his hunter’s senses on high alert. He resisted the urge to touch his two long knives, but it was comforting to know they were there.

The palace was silent, and in the atrium Legolas found himself, there was nobody, no dust, no signs of life - or decay. It was cool but not cold. He remembered that when an elf was tired, or died of a wound or despair, they could dwell in the Halls of Mandos before being reincarnated in their original bodies. Was that where everyone was?

The atrium led to a long, wide corridor, glowing and white, and that led through an opening which led - to a vast woodland glade, cast in twilight overhead and open to the sky. Under trees, in bowers and nooks, on the soft, dusky grass, countless elves lay, sleeping, or so it seemed.

With his heart in his mouth but drawn ever forward, Legolas walked among them, more softly than ever.

Their faces were serene and beautiful, which told him precisely nothing, because elves were nearly always serene and were always beautiful. Unlike the elves in the upper city who had seemed so gossamer thin that they might blow away, these elves looked hale, as if they had all nodded off at a starlight viewing party. Some lay curled in twos and threes, some lay alone, their hands folded on their chests like knights on ancient tombs.

Legolas’ neck started to prickle. He could feel immense magic in this place. Not least the sleeping elves, but also the existence of this woodland whose boundaries were so distant they were out of sight, existing here in the middle of the pearl palace on a mountainside.

Then through the trees came an elf, robed in sapphire blue, dark-haired and crowned in flowers, gently smiling at Legolas and holding out his hand. Without conscious thought, as though his soul had bypassed his mind and taken charge, Legolas fell to his knees and bowed his forehead to the grass, knowing he was in the presence of the King of the Valar.

Manwë said, “Greetings, my beautiful child,” and his voice was so musical and kind, and so powerful and ringing with harmonics that Legolas wept. He felt a hand stroke his hair and then urge him to his feet, the hand beneath his elbow. He stood and had a glimpse of Manwë’s dark blue eyes, and then looked down at his feet, his own eyes burning as if he had looked at the sun.

“Come and sit with me, little one,” Manwë said, and led Legolas to a soft patch of grass under a magnificent oak tree, its leaves bright as if it was spring.

“I have been waiting for you, little one,” he continued, and his hand stroked Legolas’ head again and down his hair, and Legolas felt immediately calmed and soothed.

“Speak, little one, tell me why you have come.”

All Legolas’ many years as a fierce warrior and prince seemed to have deserted him. Even in the presence of his mother and father he didn’t feel so young, or so stripped bare of the armour of his years and experience.

He attempted to look at Manwë, but was unable to raise his eyes to his face, and settled for looking at Manwë’s hands instead. Although flawless, something about them spoke of working, and that comforted Legolas enough to speak.

“My lord, you have gifted your children this paradise in Aman, and rest for those weary of their toil, and happiness and peace everlasting until Arda is remade. I am aware of what a gift these years have been, and please don’t think me ungrateful but -” He stumbled now it was time to speak. Who was he to be in the presence of a Valar and criticise?

“Continue,” Manwë said, his voice full of kindness and a smile. So Legolas explained about Kili and Tauriel, and how Tauriel had lived the life of a good elf, good and true, but was now being subjected to numberless years without her One.

“And is there any other elf who is suffering in this way?” Manwë asked, and Legolas couldn’t help looking up at the smile in his voice, nearly laughter. He met the dreadful eyes and saw only love there.

“There is me,” he whispered. Manwë nodded and he continued, braver. “There is Gimli who grows old and who is a great hero of Middle Earth, who helped save it from darkness, who helped - me, in every way to start really living, and who is separated from his kin. But from whom I would dread to be parted.”

Manwë sat placidly, his legs crossed under his robes, and his hands folded in his lap. “What do you ask of me?”

“I would ask that the barrier between the lands of Valinor and the Halls of Aulë be removed. And if there is a land where Yavanna takes her hobbits after their lives have run their course, may that land be joined too so that the three races are not segregated. We must and should be friends, and if the world is to be remade, there should be no old enmity carried forward to mar that paradise. I know not what happens to Humans.”

At last, the words had been spoken, and Legolas relaxed as much as he was able, in the presence of the Vala who even as he sat there in repose, radiated an unearthly power that made every cell of Legolas’ body vibrate with a primal terror.

“Their fate is known only to the Maker,” replied Manwë. His gaze grew distant as if in thought. Then he turned once more to Legolas and smiled.

“Even in their afterlives you would unite the races of Arda. What a special creature you are.”

Legolas felt stricken by the compliment. “I am a fighter, my lord. I do not seek to change the world, but I cannot help -” again he faltered to voice a criticism, “- fighting for what is right. Or at least as I perceive it.”

“It is all that can be asked of any being. Is there anything else you would fight for?” Manwë asked. He now wore a kind but solemn air, and Legolas shuddered to be taken seriously, as if he had anything important to say.

“There is one more thing,” he began, and Manwë smiled warmly again. Legolas had the sudden feeling that Manwë knew exactly why he had come, and with it came frustration, even anger at feeling manoeuvred.

“What’s even going on here?” he blurted. “Who are all these elves and why are they sleeping, if that’s even what is happening? Why were we tied to creation? Why are we made to linger on past use and pleasure? It seems elves tire of life and fade here in this place of our eternal bliss. When Gimli passes on, how will I live for eternity without him?”

He let out a huge breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding, and felt his hands and body shaking minutely to have spoken so many words and so passionately to the King of the Valar, no less. He awaited Manwë’s judgment with his head bowed, but relieved.

At that, Manwë sighed, and took Legolas’ hand in both of his, like a father holding his child’s hand. Legolas lifted his gaze once more and saw that sadness had stolen across the noble, grave face.

“Who can fathom the mysteries of Creation, my child. We who are immortal saw immortality as a valuable gift. But over the millennia of your years, I have witnessed that it is no gift to those limited by flesh, by time and space. These sleeping elves are those who could bear it no longer. They rejected rest and renewal in the Halls of Mandos. So, I have granted them this sleep, but their numbers increase every year and my palace grows like a morgue, and I know not how to help them.”

Legolas gaped at these words. One of the mightiest beings in creation, at a loss! But as he stared, an idea started to form. He spoke slowly, trying the idea on for size as it unfolded.

“If the halls of the Valar were made as one, but still designed according to the customs of their people.... It could take many years for every individual to overcome the mistrust of those other races. The enmity of dwarves and elves formed over aeons so it will take work to undo.” Here he smiled to himself. “Although the work will go easier with the friendship of the hobbits, who understand unity above all beings of Middle Earth.”

His eyes rested on the sleeping forms of elves nearby, their white robes ancient in style, their fingers folded on their breasts or together as if in prayer. He continued.

“Dwarves have been made for patience and endurance, so I know not what they would wish for. But I wish there to be a gateway, where those who have tired of bliss, or who feel their life’s work is done, or who wish for an ending, can pass through and be at peace.”

He felt his lip tremble at the thought of Gimli finally leaving this place and how it would leave him longing for an ending like that, peaceful and unknowing.

Manwë spoke, his voice once again rumbling like fire through Legolas’ veins. “I must confer with the others. Return to your home and friends, my dear child.”

He stood and still holding Legolas’ hands, lifted him to his feet. He towered over him, dreadful and mighty in his awful beauty.

“Thank you for making this journey, Legolas,” he continued, “Although it was strictly prohibited.” And he smiled once more to take the sting from his words, and turned away, and was soon lost to sight among the trees.

So, Legolas turned too, back through the woods, past elves who had been born back when the worlds were new, back through the arch and out into the immense antechamber that led to the outside.

His heart was weary at the thought of the long journey ahead of him, and his body exhausted as an elf’s rarely was at the stress of the encounter with Manwë, kind though he had been. With reluctant steps he walked through the grand entrance into the sunshine beyond. There, sitting on a low wall, for all the world as if he was relaxing in the sun, sat Gimli.

A peal of laughter escaped Legolas’ lips, threatening to turn a mite hysterical. Weariness forgotten, he ran forward and threw himself into Gimli’s arms and hugged and hugged him.

At last, he drew back. “What are you doing here?” he laughed, looking over every inch of the dear face and drinking his fill.

“Just in case you needed a hand, laddie,” Gimli replied, “although I see I needn’t have worried. Of course not, a doughty warrior like yourself.”

At that, Legolas pressed a swift, hard kiss to Gimli’s lips. “You are wrong, my love. I do need you. Let us go home.”

They set off down the long road, through the empty country that led back to their home, Legolas’ hand in its comfortable spot, on Gimli’s shoulder. Legolas told Gimli everything he had learned, and asked for, and Gimli exclaimed in delight at his beloved’s audacity at making demands of the Valar.

And high in the turrets of the palace, unbeknownst to them, Manwë stood and watched them leave. His expression was grave and thoughtful, but his eyes were kind, and there was the merest hint of an uptick at the corner of his mouth, which might suggest a smile.

Once they had made their journey home, using Gimli’s previous detours to avoid the less friendly parts of town (“So it was your dainty tread I heard while on my lonely way!” Legolas had declared, laughing), they were glad to sleep a night in their own comfortable bed.

Although Legolas rarely needed sleep, he had grown accustomed to the practice of spending some of the night in bed, due to the pleasure of being so cosy and close with Gimli. And that night as he lay there with Gimli in his arms and his eyes open, sightlessly staring through the skylight to the stars above, a dream came.

In it, he walked alone in beautiful woodland and came across two silver birches, slender and shining, whose green crowns entwined to form an arch below. Nearby there was a stone bench, and he sat and gazed at the space between the trees, and felt great peace.

When he awoke the next day, he knew that he had been shown the gateway, and that it was his responsibility to let all beings in the land know that it was there for them, when they were ready to move on. He also knew who he would need to enlist to make it happen, and after quickly explaining to Gimli, made his way to the home of Galadriel and Celeborn.

They sat together under the spreading canopy of a mallorn tree, its silver bark and golden leaves the sibling of all the magical woodland of Lothlorien. The grass beneath Legolas’ feet was cool and velvety to the touch, and just as exquisitely emerald in colour as every blade of grass in that magical place. In the shade of the tree, Galadriel’s unearthly glow was more apparent than ever. Celeborn knelt beside her on the grass, his own hair and skin lit by an inner eternal sunshine.

Once, in a wood long ago, Legolas had found their majesty, immense age and significance intimidating. Now, he knew their friendship, bound together as they were by their shared history in the War of the Ring. That was not to say he had quite forgotten just who they were. He explained his visit to the palace of Manwë, and his dream, and asked if he could show them the place.

“For all the kindred who live here must have knowledge of it, whether they choose to pass through or no,” he added.

Celeborn spoke first. “Elves were granted immortality as a gift. We do not experience time or consciousness as mortals do. Why would you think there are elves who would seek a way out? Or welcome mortality? Humans fear their deaths. We have been gifted a treasure, yet you would see it as a curse?”

But Galadriel laid a gentle hand over his, and looked solemnly at Legolas in that way of hers that seemed to pierce his innermost thoughts.

“Nay, my lord, it is not a gift although at first it seems like one. Yes, humans fear death, but it is the reason their short lives are so sweet, and their experience of it so full of vitality.”

All the while as she spoke, she looked at Legolas, and he knew that she saw his memories of the fading elves in the high city, and the slumbering, depleted elves in the palace.

“Long has my mind turned to those of our kin for whom life has become a pall.” She smiled, her sudden, dazzling, impish smile. “It took a special kind of elf to so simply and elegantly supply a solution.”

Feeling hot around the ears, Legolas demurred. “I was not looking for renown, lady, far from it. My motives were selfish. One day I will weary of life, and I will not wish to linger on, a shadow for whom all use and purpose has faded away. When I feel that time has come, I will step through.”

“As will I,” murmured Galadriel, “And gladly. Now, my purpose is renewed. I will go among the kindred and let them know that at last, they have a choice.”

Celeborn turned his hand over and clasped hers, and smiled at her fondly, seeing his remarkable wife rather than the highest of elves, who had struck fear into the hearts of so many unworthy.

“I will help you,” he said.

~~~

Then came a day like no other. At first, all seemed like any other day in the Elvenhome. The sky was tranquil, a cerulean dome arching over all, sheltering a peaceful, verdant land below. The trees swayed gently in the customary soft, shimmering air, and the streets bustled with elves going about their business.

But Legolas hadn’t slept well, visited by dreams of Gimli’s sorrow at being separated from his kin in this life. He had dreamed of Tauriel, and others from his life in Middle Earth, but he awoke with just flashes of the dreams already fading in the morning.

“Gimli, will you walk with me in the forest today?” he asked over breakfast. Gimli agreed, an act of great love, as his understanding of trees hadn’t grown much in the intervening years, although he conceded the colours were lovely and the shade pleasant. So, they packed some food, planning to spend the day under the canopy.

“I need a change of scene,” said Legolas, but that wasn’t quite it.

They strolled along the paths between the trees. Throughout the thousands of years that elves had walked here, their footsteps, although light, had marked the winding routes through the trees which led to favourite clearings, or outcrops where stars could be viewed, reclining on the sward.

Now they meandered, but Legolas felt drawn to the south, away from the city and towards the wild lands.

However, as they left the treeline, instead of encountering the rocky incline they would normally have scrambled up for the view, cut into its face was a vast, oaken door. They gaped. Its furniture was sturdy, well-wrought black iron. Its wood looked ancient, hardened by time.

“That looks like dwarfish work,” Gimli gasped. They looked at each other, excited. “Could it be that the Valar have granted your other request?”

Legolas gripped Gimli’s hand.

“Try the handle, meleth nîn!” he said, “I hardly dare hope!”

Gimli took hold of the huge iron handle, but it wouldn’t budge. He threw his shoulder against the door, but it was futile. Then he turned and smiled knowingly at Legolas and rapped smartly on the door.

“Of course my people wouldn’t leave a door open for any sort to come a-wandering in!” he said proudly. He went to knock again, and as he did so, the door opened a few inches and a dwarfish face peeked out, looking as amazed as they felt.

“Who in Mahal’s name are you? - An elf?!” he shouted, and behind him, a huge cacophony of voices erupted.

“Dwarves!” cheered Gimli, “‘Tis I, Gimli, son of Gloin. Are my kin there?”

At that the door was flung wide open, and in the crowd of faces beyond, Gimli saw his father, his mother, his sister, and many other faces dearly beloved to him. He burst into tears and ran forward into a hurly burly of dwarves, half of whom were trying to hug him, and half of whom were trying to surge forward to look at the elf.

Legolas stood bemusedly by, and waited. Gimli was now inside the doorway, and Legolas became anxious, afraid that the doorway would suddenly slam shut and Gimli would be taken from him.

Then, someone familiar stepped forward. It was Thorin Oakenshield, not aged a day since Legolas had last seen him, lying in state after the Battle of the Five Armies, a dwarven lifetime and more ago.

The look he gave Legolas was mostly neutral, although it promised questions shortly. First though, there was the matter of the heaving scrum of dwarves beyond the doorway.

“Quiet!” Thorin roared. At once, everyone stopped and looked at him. “How are you at last returned to us, Gimli, son of Gloin?” Thorin asked. “And is that – Thranduil’s son?”

The hubbub started to rise as every dwarf present shouted their own questions, but it was quelled when Thorin raised a hand.

Gimli’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, and his smile was as delighted as Legolas had ever seen it, broad and beaming. “The Valar have seen fit to allow elves and dwarves to mingle in friendship once more,” he declared.

There was a murmuring among the gathered assembly who apparently felt that ‘friendship’ was putting it a bit strongly, and that it might not be the boon the Valar had intended. Once more, Thorin held up his hand for silence.

“I see we have much to discuss.” He raised his voice so all could hear. “This is not some chance meeting, or a matter of indifference that we can ignore. We have waited in the Halls of Mahal, as our Maker intended, some of us for centuries. Until now, we thought we would wait alone until the world was remade. Now there is change.”

He softened his tone. “We dwarves don’t like change. But we will discover what this means, come what may. We don’t know if this doorway is permanent, so no dwarf will pass through it until we know more. We will form a council, here on the lintel.”

Here he turned to Legolas. “Perhaps the elves would like to send a delegation.”

Legolas bowed courteously, and replied, “I will assemble some of the kindred to come here.”

It was arranged between them that by nightfall in Valinor (for there was no visible night and day in the Halls of Mahal), elves and dwarves would meet to discuss what this would mean for their peoples.

But as Legolas turned to go, and Gimli reluctantly left his family to take his place by his side, another dwarf stepped forward. It was Kili.

“I would go with them,” he said to Thorin,” I care not if I get stuck, if -” He turned to Legolas, “Is Tauriel here?”

Legolas smilingly nodded, excited to be about to bring her such a gift.

Thorin apparently knew all about Tauriel, because after a token protest about Kili’s safety, he brought their foreheads together. He said, “You’d better not get stuck here - I won’t be answerable to your mother. Or Fili,” and gave him his blessing to leave.

The three set off on the path towards town. But as they walked, the woods started to fill with elves, drawn to the feeling of magic in the air, and curious to know its source. They met Galadriel, walking arm in arm with Gandalf.

“We know what you have done, Legolas,” she said, pretending to chide him, and walked on past.

“Well, it looks like the delegation is on its way,” muttered Gimli to Legolas, and turned to speak to Kili, but he was off at a run through the trees.

Then Legolas saw red hair, and it was Tauriel. She gaped, and then laughed, and cried, and kneeling, held out her arms for Kili to run into. They held onto each other, and Kili took her face in his hands, and they kissed messily, still laughing, and crying, and shaking their heads in disbelief.

Legolas felt peace wash over him. In all his long life of striving and fighting for what he believed in, this felt like a milestone, and he was content.

~~~

The door didn’t disappear overnight and so the final resting place of the dwarves and the place of rest and bliss of the elves were united. Leaving the discussions about what it would mean to the great and the good, Legolas and Gimli went to visit Bilbo, knowing how important this would be to him.

“Hello, what’s all the fuss?” he greeted them, from his chaise. Legolas knelt at his side and took his hands in his own. He told him what had happened, and being Bilbo, he then had to divert to the full story, about his trip across the mountains to the forbidden lands and Manwë’s palace. Finally, Bilbo allowed him to continue.

“Bilbo, Thorin is there,” he said as gently as he was able. Bilbo snatched his hands back and tucked them under his blanket. He stared defiantly at Legolas.

“Of course he is, where else would he be?” he said, testily. After witnessing the ecstasy of Tauriel and Kili’s reunion, Legolas was nonplussed.

“Before you say anything further,” Bilbo interjected, “Be clear about one thing. I told you - what I told you - in the expectation of never seeing that oaf of a dwarf again. Nothing has changed.”

Legolas and Gimli gaped in amazement, lost for words. Gimli spoke first.

“What is this, Bilbo? The Valar themselves have given you this opportunity to see your One again!”

At this, the fight left Bilbo.

“I am so old, Gimli, what use would I be to him now? No, it’s better this way. I have my memories. And, if he ever thinks of me, better it be of a hobbit in his prime, quick and clever, nimble and curly-haired. That’s the best way.”

And although Gimli and Legolas did their best, Bilbo would not be persuaded to be taken to the door, however soft the litter, and full of blankets, and carried by the tenderest of friends.

Next, Legolas and Gimli went to see Frodo and Sam, to tell them about Legolas’ petition to unite the peoples of Middle Earth.

“So we have found the door to the Halls of Mahal. Maybe there is a door somewhere to the Summerlands of Yavanna,” Legolas finished.

Frodo and Sam looked at each other and Legolas could see the hope shining in their eyes.
“Rosie,” breathed Sam. As one, he and Frodo leapt to their feet and ran for the door, Frodo calling, “Sorry! Bye! Thank you!” over his shoulder as they went.

They came back that night, dispirited and tired, but resolved. For many days and nights, Legolas and Gimli helped them search the forests and hills of Valinor, but they never did find an entrance to the Summerlands.

~~~

Eventually, Frodo and Sam invited Legolas and Gimli to meet them with Gandalf at Bilbo’s. It was late afternoon, one of a hobbit’s favourite times of day. Sure enough, an extravagant tea had been laid out, with a pot of tea brewing, the best china, finger sandwiches and a selection of cakes that made the table groan.

After many decades of friendship with hobbits, Legolas and Gimli knew better than to indulge in serious conversation during the serious business of eating. No one spoke for some time apart from, “Another cup, my dear?” and, “Would you kindly pass me the fancies?” and the like.

Once everyone had eaten their fill, a sizeable amount in the case of all three hobbits, Frodo spoke.

“Friends, we asked you here today because we have some news.” Both he and Sam looked solemn.

“You mean to go through the arch,” said Legolas, stricken. Gimli started, but Bilbo and Gandalf didn’t seem surprised.

“There’s no entrance to the Summerlands, then,” remarked Bilbo and the three hobbits looked sadly at each other.

“I feared as much,” said Gandalf. “The origins of hobbits are much less clear to us than that of dwarves and elves. I have suspected that they share the Fate of humans, which is a mystery known only to Eru Ilúvatar.”

“Why didn’t Manwë say so?” Legolas asked.

“He may have thought Yavanna could intercede on the hobbits’ behalf. They are under her protection.” Gandalf replied.

“Don’t be sad!” exclaimed Frodo, looking from one to the other. At his side, Sam sat closely, stalwart in his support as always.

“We know that the gateway in the woods is a gift in its own right. Sam and I have lived for two or more lives of a hobbit. I have been able to leave hurt behind, we have squeezed every bit of joy out of these lives and are thankful for it. But if we can't see Rosie again, or Sam see his children, then it’s time to move on. I feel it as strongly as I felt the call to the Grey Haven, back in Middle Earth.”

They spent the evening together, the six of them reminiscing about the past and the people who had been dear to them but were now a part of history. The retelling of the old stories of valour, adventure and fellowship felt familiar and comforting at the close.

The room grew dark and cosy, and they lit candles, not wishing the evening to end. This was the true magic, as if they were robing Frodo and Sam in memories to prepare them for the road ahead, and each of the others reinforcing their memories for when their own time came.

Once it was truly dark, and the stars were coming out, they left the house and wended their way through the streets, and onto the path that led into the wood where the gateway lay.

As they passed under the trees, lights started springing up like dim white stars, left and right. Elves were gathering, drawn to the magic that encircled the Ring Bearer and his faithful companion; two humble hobbits walking the path, hand in hand. Ethereal, melancholy voices lifted in tribute and farewell, until the woods were alive with starlight and song.

Sam and Frodo had said their goodbyes to Bilbo at the house, the others waiting outside to give them their privacy. Now, the remaining five of them reached the two trees, their branches intertwined, clothed in leaves which glowed with the luminescence of Spring in the dim light.

Their honour guard of elves had melted away as they approached the gateway, and now the five members of the Fellowship stood before it.

“Don’t go,” Frodo requested sweetly, holding a hand out to Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli. “Bear witness to our joy in life and our passing into peace.”

“And who knows?” interjected Sam, “Maybe adventure!”

Frodo laughed gaily. “I thought you had had your fill of adventure, Samwise Gamgee!”

He held Sam’s hand tightly, and with one last smiling look at their friends, they turned forward and stepped under the arch, and departed. Legolas saw two lights like fireflies spin up into the air on the other side of the trees, and then they too were gone.

~~~

After Sam and Frodo had left, Legolas felt a doom settle on him. Frodo and Sam had seemed so certain and so at peace with going! Legolas felt nothing like that, quite the opposite. He clung still to life; life with Gimli, in their perfect little home, filled with purpose, and surrounded by friends and family.

He knew that Frodo and Sam had shown them the way, and that the time would come when he and Gimli would also feel the pull to go who knew where. That time seemed as far off as ever.

Meanwhile, things were happening up at the halls of Aulë. First Fili, Dis and Fili and Kili’s father, Vili had agreed to leave the Halls, and come to meet Tauriel with Kili at the home they had built in the woods - halfway between the dwarven door and the elven city.

They had not become trapped there and had returned to the Halls, speaking of fresh air and a change of scene.

These qualities did not appeal to the deep dwarves, any of whom could cheerfully spend their whole lives underground. But there were those who had been more used to the outside world, Thorin among them, who ventured out.

And it came to Legolas’ notice that Thorin had been seen at Bilbo’s house, and Legolas and Gimli grinned with pleasure at each other when they heard that news.

~~~

The years passed in peace and happiness. Progress in the friendship between elves and dwarves was slow, but the original delegations of elves and dwarves had formed a council, tasked with bringing their peoples together as was the will of the Valar.

Many dwarves stubbornly stayed in the Halls, awaiting the remaking of Arda, but most could sense that things had changed. There was a new vigour in the air. A sense that life, or the afterlife, or whatever this was, was for living. That elves and dwarves had been gifted this opportunity for a second go at it, and that it shouldn’t be wasted.

So Legolas’ world was turned upside down one day when Gimli said to him, as they sat at their table eating breakfast, “My darling, it’s time for me to go.”

Legolas knew with a jolt exactly what he meant. His heart thudded in his throat, all his fight or flight instincts triggered.

“You can’t, you can’t!” he cried, rushing around the table to fall to his knees at Gimli’s side. He buried his face in Gimli’s lap and pulled him close. Gimli ran locks of Legolas’ hair through his fingers.

“My treasure,” he murmured as he did so. “Come,” he said gently, urging Legolas to his feet. “Let’s sit side by side, so I can see your face and we can talk.”

He led him to the comfortable sofa where they had spent many evenings reading and chatting, Legolas’ feet tucked under Gimli’s thigh. Legolas struggled to compose himself.

“Are you not happy here?” he asked. “We could go to your fathers’ halls if you preferred? Or - I could stay here and you could go if that is what you wish?”

“Nay, nay,” said Gimli tenderly, shaking his head. They gripped each other’s hands and sat knee to knee. Gimli’s eyes searched Legolas’ face.

“I have loved these years with you, my One, and I have loved these additional, unlooked-for years with my kin. My happiness is complete. It’s just time for me to go. I can feel it.” He smiled helplessly at Legolas, repeating Frodo’s words from years before.

“I’m not ready,” Legolas whispered, “I can’t go with you.”

They stared at each other in mute sorrow, dry-eyed and acknowledging that they would finally be parted.

Gimli gently touched his forehead to Legolas’ and spoke softly in the intimate space between them. “It’s ok, ghivashel, I know. Come to the two trees with me, when it’s time?”

One day, Gimli woke first, unusually, and shook Legolas gently awake. “Who would have thought an elf would turn into a slugabed?” he said, smiling warmly down at his beloved. Legolas blinked open his eyes and smiled drowsily up at him.

They got up, moving quietly in the dim light of dawn, and ate breakfast.

Gimli dressed in his leather jerkin, breeches and hobnailed boots. But he left his armour and his axes behind.

“I don’t need them anymore, and they’re only part of who I am,” he said, and hand in hand, they walked slowly through the woods to the gateway.

At the stone bench, they sat down. It was going to be another glorious day, and the woods around them were waking into life. Butterflies on the wing flitted from flower to flower. The merry, busy sound of birds started to fill the air. It was just the two of them, and it felt like it always had been.

They turned to face one another, and Legolas stroked Gimli’s braids and beard, and cupped his cheek, and lastly, peppered his eyelids, forehead and cheeks with kisses, before fitting their lips together and falling into one last kiss.

Eventually they pulled apart and looked into each other’s eyes. Legolas willed the world to disappear and leave him only with those brown eyes, so dark and deep, so wise and warm. He could shelter there to the end of days. Gimli squeezed his hands and stood up.

“Stay here, my treasure,” he whispered, and without hesitation, turned and walked slowly through the arch. The sunlight fired his hair with amber and rubies, before in the next breath, he was gone.

Legolas sat and watched a single firefly spiral up and up into the sky, past leaves and into the brightness above, where it too disappeared.

Legolas sat there all day, watching the creatures around him going about their busy lives. He admired every shade of green represented in the leaves, and played a game with them, thinking up rarer and rarer shades. Each time a bold leaf would show it, until he knew that all the glory of the Valar was around him, changeless and eternal, as was he.

At that, at long last, he cried, sitting there on the stone bench. He cried to be finally parted from Gimli, a pain rising up into his throat that felt bigger than he could contain in his body.

And yet as he battled with the pain that threatened to submerge him, he realised that he didn’t believe in his soul that it was a permanent separation. His tears dried, and hope was in his heart once more.

Oh, but he was weary. He looked longingly at the gateway, so peaceful and innocent framed there by its two elegant, swaying trees. How easy it would be to step through and finally be at peace. And - to be reunited with Gimli, although he didn’t know how.

But he felt that restlessness that spoke of unfinished business. Everyone, including Gimli, had been serene and accepting that it was time to move on. Legolas knew that he still had something to do.

With heavy feet and a heavier heart, he headed back to the city and his cottage, which would be cold, and never feel like home again, now that its heart was gone.

~~~

In the days that followed, Legolas visited with his mother and father, and Tauriel and Kili in their snug home in the woods.

Bilbo was no longer in his little round room in the tower of Gandalf’s house. He had one day been borne, with great courtesy and ceremony, to the Halls of Mahal by the dwarves of the Quest for Erebor. And there he dwelt in honour, and although frail and tetchy, by all accounts in bliss with Thorin.

Legolas, new in his grief, avoided that place, for fear of meeting Gloin and Mirim and seeing shared devastation in their eyes.

By rights, Gimli should be here with us, instead of lost to Elven magic, he imagined them saying, reproachfully. He knew it was true, and in the dark, often blamed himself.

Sometimes, alone in the night, he cried with loss and longing, and cursed Gimli for being so brave and going on ahead. Then he would catch himself, because Gimli was always brave, and wouldn’t be Gimli if he wasn’t.

Sometimes he visited Gandalf, who often seemed lonely without his housemate. It was one such day, when they sat there in the cool green shade under trees, sitting in companionable silence, each quietly contemplating nature busy around them.

Legolas turned and smiled ruefully at Gandalf. “I apologise, old friend, I am not good company today. My thoughts stray towards what-ifs.”

Gandalf seemed to come back from far away, his eyes distant. He focussed and smiled ruefully in return. “I apologise too, Legolas. My mind seems to be clouded with dreams these days, I’m barely here half the time,” and he looked so full of yearning, perhaps for these dreams, that Legolas was concerned for him.

“What do you dream of, may I ask?” he enquired.

Gandalf sighed. He turned more fully to face Legolas. “To be mortal,” he said simply. “To live a human life, to be part of something. I’ve lived so long, on the outside looking in. What would it be like to belong? To fall in love? A quiet pipe in a cosy chair, opposite another chair and a smiling face and a warm fire.”

Legolas was shocked. “Forgive me, Mithrandir. But you have unimaginable power and have lived among elves and humans for thousands of years! Did you not - have friends?” He hesitated a little and added more quietly, “You had us. You still do.”

Gandalf nodded, his eyes crinkling with warmth. “I did and do have friends, and I have been greatly blessed. But I am an instrument of the Valar, and always had to keep myself separate, never get too involved or too comfortable. Always roaming, tinkering. Manipulating, I suppose you could say.”

“But only out of care and responsibility for Middle Earth!”

“Yes, the whole of Middle Earth. She was a remote and unfeeling mistress.” Gandalf smiled sadly. “I know it’s unreasonable, but at the end of everything, I wish I could have something for myself. My own life to spend as I wished and with who I wished.”

He huffed and shook his head in annoyance. “Oh, don’t listen to this old fool, Legolas! When the elves and I are done waiting in this blessѐd place, and the world is remade, perhaps I’ll be sent back to Arda to do it all again!”

“You have served the Valar well, old friend,” Legolas answered softly, “You deserve your reward.”

“Legolas, I would not have you mistake me.” Gandalf sighed. “This is my peace, my gift for long service. And I am not ungrateful, to spend eternity in the company of friends.”

But Legolas knew, and was sure Gandalf realised too that Aman was very slowly but surely emptying, as mostly elves so far, but the occasional dwarf, opted for the unknown peace through the gateway in the woods. Maybe it would take 10,000 years, but eventually Gandalf would be alone in this place, and that was a thought that Legolas couldn’t countenance and was determined to change.

~~~

This time the journey to the Pelóri mountains held no fears, and there was no reason to linger at his cottage, which seemed less homely and welcoming than it once did. He set off straight away after taking his leave of Gandalf, and made good time through the streets and boulevards of the Elvenhome.

Even the upper streets of the city which his mother had warned him about so long ago held nothing to fear any more. The few elves on the streets greeted him cordially. Legolas had become something of a celebrity, heralded “Bringer of the Peace” much to his discomfort. Those of the most ancient elves who remained moved with purpose. It seemed that knowing they could leave at any time had sweetened the staying, for some.

He had set off much later this time, and was still far from the path through the mountain when night fell. It was a beautiful evening, as they always were. Legolas decided to stop for the night.

The road had been steadily climbing all day. Now he found a rocky nook by a stand of trees to the left of the road, and settled onto the grass, wrapped in his cloak. Below him, down the long slopes that inclined steadily to the sea, he could see the soft golden lights of many lanterns.

Overhead, the night sky revealed the splendour of its stars, scattered like white gems on a velvet cloth. The constellations had become familiar to him over the years, but to him lacked the familiarity and stories of those of Middle Earth.

At this, he realised that he still thought of Middle Earth as his home and felt a strong pang tug his heart. For what, he wasn’t quite clear, but it was all tied up with the past, home and Gimli. He lost himself in the reverie and wandered far in his dreams, but he did not sleep.

The next day, as the sky first showed a glimpse of light in its eastern fringes, Legolas set off again, up the path towards the great sentinels that guarded the way. As he passed them, his keen ears heard the sound of hooves and bridles jingling ahead.

His pulse quickened - it seemed it wouldn’t be so easy this time. He reached the crest of the hill and saw on the other side a company of elves in armour, on horseback. And at the front on a horse whose magnificence made even fabled Shadowfax look like a pony, waited Manwë.

He was clothed in a blue cloak that glowed with radiance in the early dawn light, and a circlet set with blue gems shone with an inner gleam against his dark skin.

His company of elves were the noblest and fairest Legolas had ever seen, each one stern and proud in their helms of mithril and gold. Among this company, Manwë sat astride his horse, and his fierce beauty outshone them all, his stature immense and towering.

Legolas sank to one knee and bowed his head, his body moving without conscious thought.

His lord spoke. “You have returned once more, Legolas, despite knowing you are forbidden here.”

Shame stole over Legolas as he knelt there. Who was he to challenge the wisdom of the Valar? He was about to apologise, but then came to his mind’s eye the image of Frodo and Sam, stepping through the gateway of the two trees, their hands clasped, and their beings infused with joy.

“I apologise, my Lord,” he said at last. “My impertinence knows no bounds. I know I am nothing more than a wood elf, bound to keep to the lower town. But -” He looked up at Manwë and saw his eyes were still kind in his stern face and decided to press on. “I only acted so that the weary could find peace and that life in this sacred land could have meaning for elven kind.”

A faint suggestion of a smile glimmered on Manwë’s face and emboldened Legolas to carry on.

“There is an injustice I would see righted - the cruel hand that a loyal servant of the Valar, Mithrandir, has been dealt.”

At his words there was a jingling and a rustling among Manwë’s elven company. Not quite a muttering, they were clearly too well drilled for that, but nevertheless a disconcertment.

Manwë, to Legolas’ astonishment, was now smiling broadly, his eyes full of mirth.

“Pray continue, oh most impertinent of my children,” he said, the sting of his words belied by his mirthful expression.

“When Aman empties, be it 10,000 years from now, Mithrandir will remain. Perhaps with the remaining Ishtar wherever they may be, perhaps not. But a lonely and thankless task it will be awaiting the remaking of the world, be it one or be it five. He has cared for and guarded Middle Earth for many an age but has never belonged. If it is acceptable to you, might he be returned to Middle Earth as an ordinary person, to live out a mortal life as he might? To be among them to love and be loved?”

Finally the impassive assembly broke ranks. There were titters and faces turned to each other to smirk and raise eyebrows. Legolas did his best to ignore them and fix his eyes as well as he was able on the face of his Lord, although it almost burned to do so and made his body tremble.

Manwë raised a hand and the host fell silent.

“You ask too much, little one,” he said. “Olórin and the other Ishtar were created to serve.”

“And serve he did. And no one deserves a real life more,” Legolas whispered, scarcely able to believe he was arguing with the King of the Valar. His whole body was rebelling against his audacity and he fought the urge to sink to the ground like a frightened dog.

Manwë’s gaze seemed to sharpen on him at that, and he dismounted from his horse. He approached Legolas and crouched down before him. He took his hand and lifted him up to his feet, and once more the company broke out in murmurs.

Manwë held his hand in his enormous one and lovingly stroked Legolas’ hair like he had before.

“My beloved son,” he murmured so quietly the words were meant only for Legolas. “I believe the note of you was woven into the Song in the Beginning, that the note should ring out to mark the turnings we must make. I believe it to be so and thus you are our gift, our key for remaking the world one day. Nothing less.”

He pressed his lips to Legolas’ forehead in benediction and released him. Legolas’ legs collapsed gratefully and independently to where the ground held him, utterly overwhelmed.

Smoothly and effortlessly, Manwë remounted his horse. Then he said, “It shall be so. But he will have no memories of his former life, and he will be mortal.”

Legolas spoke through numbed lips. “Thank you, fair Lord of the West. I believe that is exactly what he would wish.”

Manwë raised his hand again and the entire company circled around, and was soon lost in the distance, in a cloud of dust.

Marvelling at his continued existence after being confronted by an armed company of the mightiest elves, and on slightly shaky legs, Legolas turned for home, excited to tell Gandalf the news.

~~~

One day not long after, neighbours and friends awoke one morning to find Gandalf simply gone. Although he knew that it was a cause for celebration, Legolas missed his old friend’s presence, a steady constant in his life for hundreds of years. He started to feel restless and finally understood how Gimli had felt in the time before his departure.

Legolas wasn’t unhappy. His father and mother were still living in the city and seemed to show no signs of wearying, perhaps making up for the centuries that they were parted. Celeborn and Galadriel were still there in their self-appointed task to help any elves move on, who were tired of their immortal life.

He visited Tauriel and Kili in their cottage in the woods. They had no plans to move on, although Kili hoped to persuade Tauriel to one day move to the Halls of Aulë, there to wait out eternity and the remaking of the world.

At last he did what he should have done long before, and visited Gimli’s parents, Gloin and Mirim in their chambers in the great stone halls of their forebears.

Mirim tried to fuss him into a chair, but knowing the indignity of elves trying to fold into dwarf-sized furniture, he opted to sink gracefully to the rug in front of the fire, bringing him to everyone else’s eye line.

At once it brought a swirl of emotions to the fore, as he remembered accommodating in the same way so he could be eye to eye with his beloved. He struggled with his feelings for a moment, while Mirim bustled tactfully with the tea service, and while Gloin watched him with a kinder gaze than he had once done.

Legolas marshalled himself enough to exchange pleasantries while tea was passed around. Dwarves in the after-life seemed to continue pretty much as before, engaging in their chosen craft and observing the rituals and customs of their race.

Legolas would have said the immortal elves were patient, but it was nothing compared to dwarves. Although a few had passed through the gateway in the forest, most continued year in, year out in the Halls of Aulë, or Mahal as they called their Maker, which heaved with vigour, the sound of bellows, hammer and chisel.

And above all, with the noise of thousands of rowdy, sociable, gregarious dwarven folk living their best afterlife, as busy and interested in everything as they had always been.

This so described Gimli too that the thought started to shake him again, and he turned to his hosts with an apologetic smile.

“I am sorry I have not visited before, honoured parents of my beloved. Being here is both a wonderful reminder of Gimli, and a dagger to my heart that your son is not here by your side, in the halls of all his kin.”

Gimli's parents shared a speaking glance that seemed to galvanise Gloin to speak.

“We don’t blame you for Gimli’s decisions, young one,” he said gruffly. “That boy had a head as hard as stone and nothing could steer it that he wasn’t willing to allow. I know, because he got it from me!”

They smiled at each other, and Legolas felt something release inside of him that had been coiled, hurting him for too long.

“I came to ask your forgiveness nonetheless, lord father of my beloved. And to let you know - it is time for me to leave. And I hope - oh, I hope - to be reunited with him once more, even if it is at the remaking of the world. But I can’t wait here until then. My life’s journey is done.”

Gloin and Mirim looked at each other again and this time Mirim spoke.

“Things have changed, Legolas, even here in this timeless place. Perhaps it was the coming of Bilbo, who’s shaken us dwarves up, good and proper. He says the Valar didn’t remake the entire afterlife and nothing less, so that we could all stay stubborn and ignorant about other races - although to be sure, he was looking at Thorin when he said it!”

Legolas burst out laughing at the picture of a chastised Thorin and Gloin chuckled.

“Bilbo’s seismic effect on those around him has clearly not diminished in old age,” Legolas answered.

“Well that’s the thing,” Mirim replied. “He hasn’t aged a day since he arrived. You must come and visit him, now you are finally here. But anyway, that wasn’t what I was going to say. Legolas, you needn’t go unless you want to. There is a place for you here with us if you would like. And if you stayed, I’m sure we could get you a chair that fit!”

Legolas laughed and said he was happy on his rug, thank you. Mirim came and sat beside him, and took his hand. He looked down into her warm brown eyes, so like his beloved’s, although her hair was a silky, soft brown, unlike the flame of Gloin and his son. She stroked his hand lovingly, and warmth stole into a new place in his heart.

“You wouldn’t even be the only one of your kind, my little one,” she said, and he did feel little, and loved. “Kili will have his way and draw Tauriel here soon enough, and of course Celebrimbor has been here with Narvi since practically the moment that door appeared in the hill. And if you ever miss the starlight, which I know you elves are wont to do - well, you can pop your nose out of the doors whenever you like. Oh! And we can show you our chamber of stars, which rivals anything the music of the gods scattered out there above stone.”

Legolas smiled and smiled, and squeezed her hand. But he said softly, “Thank you, lady mother of my beloved, but my feet have been turning towards the gateway in the forest since the day dear Gimli left that way, and now it is time to go.”

He shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry I can’t explain it any better, but it’s more than a feeling. It’s a knowing, in my bones, that the work - and joy - of my life in this plane is complete. I must go.”

At that, Mirim cried, and hugged him ferociously, and he put his arms around her and held on tight.

Later, he visited Bilbo and found him just as Mirim had said, ruling over his band of fiercely protective friends and a helplessly devoted Thorin with his familiar warmth, wit and common sense. Then, Legolas left the Halls of Aulë and made his way into the woods.

He hadn’t set off with this journey in mind that day, but found his feet turning nevertheless to the path that led to the gateway.

Twilight was starting to silver the uppermost branches of the trees, and the woods bustled with life, going about its business preparing for the night. Legolas reached the stone bench and sat down, and listened. Somewhere close by he could hear birds settling in to roost, chittering to each other as they snuggled side by side.

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves in eddies all around him and through the arch it was no different. He could see leaves moving and he could hear their sound, and he marvelled at this work of magic so powerful and yet so innocuous.

Hours passed and he sat and listened to the sounds of life around him. The moon started rising in the sky and the night creatures came out of their daytime nooks and nests and called to each other, sounding plaintive in the night air.

Presently, he heard elves approaching, their feet almost soundless on the grass. He saw Galadriel come gliding between the trees, and with her came Celeborn, and then his parents, and Kili and Tauriel.

“You don’t think we would let you slip away unnoticed, did you, my darling?” said his mother, sitting beside him on the bench and putting her arm around his waist. She rested her head on his shoulder and he rested his head on hers, with a sigh.

“These years have been wonderful, Mother,” he murmured.

“It’s been worth everything,” she whispered back. He turned and hugged her, and then stood and hugged his father. Thranduil stiffened a little in surprise, but then Legolas felt his arms go around him in return, hugging him back tightly.

“You are loved,” he whispered fiercely in Legolas’ ear, before releasing him and standing back.

Legolas smiled at everyone gathered, and then nodded to Galadriel.

“Look after them,” he said and then turned and stepped under the arch.

For a moment it was perfectly quiet, even the owl pausing in her hunt. The world held its breath. Then Legolas’ family and friends watched as a spark, like a firefly, took flight, twisting and swirling up, up into the night sky, until it disappeared from sight.

~~~

Epilogue

A smiling young woman knocked on a door. It was a well-made oak door that spoke of skilled craftsmanship. It opened to reveal a young man with piercing blue eyes under enormous dark eyebrows, giving him a rather grumpy expression. She faltered slightly, but then his eyes crinkled and he smiled, transforming his face.

“Hello and good welcome,” she said smiling once again, “My mother bade me send over a few bits to get you started, you being new.” She held out a basket in which was packed some eggs, a loaf of bread, and some packages wrapped in brown paper.

“I’m Doreth,” she added shyly, liking the way his smile had reached his eyes.

The young man had a shock of blond hair sticking up from his head, and he smoothed a hand over it, obviously a habit formed from trying to tame it - pointlessly as it turned out. It immediately sprang back up.

“Thank your kind mother for me, Doreth, and yourself for bringing such a warm welcome to a new neighbour. If it pleases her, might I call on your mother this afternoon and introduce myself?”

Doreth suppressed an alarming urge to giggle at his words. Was she not the eldest of five, and almost 21 years old?

“She would, we would be delighted,” she replied. “And who shall I say will be stopping by?”
At this, the young man held out a hand to shake.

“Gandalf,” he said.

~~~
In another place, and another time, a boy was having his bright red hair smoothed down by his mother.

“Ok, ok, stop fussing!” he said, trying to wriggle out from under her hand, laughing.

“I just want you to look your best, just in case there’s someone nice there tonight!” she protested, smiling.

“I would say fat chance, you’ve seen my friends,” he replied, “But apparently, George is bringing his new mates from Uni, so who knows?”

“I’ve got a good feeling about this party,” said his mum, teasing.

“Alright Mum, you’re embarrassing me,” the boy said, as he grabbed his rucksack and swung it over his shoulder. But he grinned and winked as he walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.