Disclaimer: Own nothing of Lord of the Rings, Peter Jackson, J.R.R. Tolkien, any of the characters or actors playing the characters.

PG 13 - Character Death. Angst. Violence.

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Elladan sighed, looking over the ship that was soothingly rocking in tune with the waves gently crashing against the dock. He and his twin brother were the only elves left in Middle Earth.

Legolas had finally departed with Gimli nearly five hundred years before them, but they had felt the call to stay for a bit longer.

Legolas had accepted their decision and had only wished them well. He had tucked the letters from them to their parent’s into his tunic, gave each an affectionate hug and a sad smile, then climbed aboard his ship and set sail.

Life had been hard for the Elven Prince in the years before he had left. So many of his friends had died not of battle wounds but of old age. Each had died peacefully with Legolas looking on, wondering why and not the first nor the last time what a cruel fate it was for him. He had watched the fellowship joined together, watched it break apart, regroup with many more than nine companions then over the years watched it break apart again, to meet where Elves rarely went. The Halls of Mandos.

Merry had been laid to rest next to Eomer in Rohan, while Pippin had been laid to rest next to Faramir, each as their allegiance had been during the great war of the Ring. Now but a dusty chapter in a long forgotten book. Eowyn had also died and was laid to rest near her husband, the faithful Steward of Gondor. Lothiriel, Eomer’s wife had also passed and soon Legolas had found himself surrounded by his closet’s friend’s children.

Each death had brought the grieving elf ever closer to the edge of despair, and Elladan and Elrohir both knew that only Gimli’s life had kept Legolas from death after Aragorn’s own death.

Legolas had wept bitter tears over the news of Arwen’s death and indeed the twin son’s of Elrond had worried that even Gimli would not be able to keep the Prince alive for much longer.

It took little pressure to convince Legolas to sail and take Gimli with him.

Elladan and Elrohir both hoped that the haunted look in the Elven Prince’s eyes would soon disappear in the Valinor.

They had stayed in Middle Earth until they could hear their names being called in the gentle but often violently wind swept sea.

Taking on last stroll in the mighty city of Minas Tirith they were comforted by the fact that several children were flocked around a minstrel who was telling the glorious tale of The Fellowship of the Ring and how they won the war against Sauron.

The names of Frodo, Samwise, Aragorn, Gandalf, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Merry and Pippin were each known by the children who gasped in all the right places even though they had heard the tale countless times.

Elladan and Elrohir had stayed hidden against the side of a building listening to the story and once finished they watched with gentle smiles as the children fought over who could be one of the fellowship and who would be the Orcs and Nazgul.

Elladan and Elrohir had watched with a sort of sadness but knowing that if the tale lived in the hearts of children, then the humans would forever be immortal in the minds of children who wanted to be them.

Their ship built and ready for the journey they cast one last long look at the place that had been their home for countless years, they stepped onto the ship and without another look backwards, they sailed for the Valinor.

Though they would never remember how long the journey took them, they would always remember the loud outcry of joy when they peered over the edge to see a vast amount of friends and family.

And at last they were reunited with their long departed Naneth.

Thranduil was there along with his three elder sons, but not Legolas or Gimli for that fact. Too busy answering questions and receiving hugs their own question was lost for nearly a week as their Ada was extracting every little bit of information from them that was possible.

When at last they raised their question, they were met with a sad smile. Half horrified the twins began to ask a flurry of questions but were stopped when a knock was heard.

Quieting they waited to see who was at the door. It was Lomion and Thalion, both had been sent over by their Adar who knew that the twins would want to know where his youngest son was.

They were cordially greeted by Elrond and then by the twins. Once seated around the comforting warmth of the fire, and with a nod between the two Thranduillion’s Lomion began his tale.

“It all started about four hundred and fifty years ago.” The elder of the two Thranduillion’s began. “Everyone connected with Gimli started to notice that he could not move as he used to and his jibs at Legolas were getting slower and slower.”

---Flashback---

“Gimli? Are you awake?” The fair-haired elf questioned quietly in the stillness one night.

A snore answered him.

Biting his lip, Legolas carefully stood up and eased his way to Gimli’s bed. He and Gimli both stayed with his parents because of the simple fact that Legolas was not married and didn’t want to have his own household anytime soon.

Kneeling down next to the still figure, Legolas studied his friend. There were more lines on that care worn face... More gray hairs in the still full beard and hair... There was a slowness in his movements that weren’t there a decade ago... And in the darkness Legolas could not help but feel afraid.

Frodo, Sam and Bilbo had all died before he had made it to the Valinor. Frodo, bless his small heart had at last found his peace in the stillness and calm of the Valinor and had died with his faithful friend, guardian and gardener by his side. Sam had died only a few hours later. Bilbo had managed to outlive the both of them, living almost two months after their deaths. But he had died in the end as well.

He still grieved for them, Legolas supposed. Their deaths had come as a surprise to him. He had thought that once in the Valinor the hobbits would become immortal like an elf, but it was not to be.

The deaths of the three hobbits had awoken a silent fear in the depths of his heart that if the hobbits could die in the Valinor, then a single dwarf could also die as well. And then the Elven Prince would truly be the last of the Fellowship.

Suddenly unable to bear the thought of Gimli leaving him, Legolas fled from the room into the cool night air outside.

The stars twinkled merrily at him, but Legolas felt no gladness rise up within him like usual. They reminded him too much of when....

He turned away violently from the thoughts of his friends whispering their farewells to him.

Everything haunted him now, with the memory of what had been. The stars shone as brightly as when the Three Hunters made their trek across the plains to rescue two young hobbits. The whisper in the trees lulled him as gently as they had when the Fellowship had passed into Lothlorien, tired and heart sore with grief over Gandalf’s death. The gently caress of the wind was the same as it had been on the very top of Minas Tirith as Aragorn had been crowned King Elessar. The ground still felt the same as when he walked forward to the Black Gate leading into the very heart of Mordor.

Every touch reminded him of what had been, and what could never be again. At least for him anyway. The Fellowship was almost reunited in the Halls of Mandos, all but Gimli and him. And he would never be allowed in the Halls of Mandos now that he was in the Valinor. Though an elf could die, it would be a very rare thing indeed.

He knew his parents, siblings and friends all tried to understand for him, and though he appreciated the effort he knew that they would never understand the depths of his silent pain.

“Ion?”

The younger elf started out of his thoughts at the sudden voice. “Yes Nana?” He replied quietly.

Lalaith hesitated not knowing what to say to ease her son’s pain, but wanting to be by her son to help at least to try and understand some of it. “What burdens your heart so?” She asked wrapping her arms around his slender frame in a quick, but warm embrace.

“Sometimes I wish I had never met Aragorn.” Legolas said softly. “That I had never met the hobbits, Gimli, Boromir, Faramir, Eomer, Eowyn.” His voice trailed off as he stared into a distant memory. “But then I know that I would never had lived as I had in Middle Earth. My friends close beside me, always there to help pick me up when I fell, friends who would easily take a sword or arrow for me. Friends who would willingly give their lives just to save me.” He sighed. “I always knew that they would die, but I don’t think I realized what death was until they started to leave me.” His voice cracked.

I never hated death, until they started die. I hated the fact that they could go somewhere I couldn’t.” He choked on his words. He pressed his palms of his hands to his eyes, trying to rub the sudden headache away.

“Oh Legolas.” Lalaith soothed, she really didn’t know what to say. Her experience with men had not been as her son’s had been. Personally she thought them weak and filled with greed, but wisely choose to say nothing. She supposed that she actually should be grateful that Legolas had had so many good friends surround him, but she could not help but feel angry that her son had chosen such friends. Mortals, men doomed to die and that had left her youngest child in agony over their deaths.

And then there was Gimli, son of Gloin. A dwarf, who happened to be living in the same household as her. She still even after fifty years did not really know what to think of the friendship between her son and the dwarf. It was warm and affectionate and at the same time very bold often rude and the names they called each other!

There were a few times when grandchildren had come over and she had felt the need to place her hands over their ears so that the words spoken during their ‘arguments’ wouldn’t be heard.

She had once complained to Thranduil about their frequent arguments, but he had simply replied that it was certainly better than tears. Which was very true, but still!

“What will I do when he dies?” Legolas whispered. He turned haunted eyes, full of memories of his friends dying.

“You will remember them.” Lalaith offered. “You will keep them immortal by your memories of them. In your mind they will always live. And once you are married and have children, you will pass their stories on to them and then they will tell their children and in doing so, your friends are every bit as immortal as we are.” She gently smiled at him.

His head dipped slightly to show that he had heard her words and accepted them. After a few moments of tranquil silence he looked at her with tears in the gray-blue eyes so like his Adar’s.

“But.” He whispered quietly, sadly. “They will still die in my dreams.” He gave a wan smile to his Naneth, then turned and silently went back inside.

Lalaith stared up at the stars as if wondering why the Valar had put such hardships in front of her youngest son that he still had yet to face. His life had already been filled with pain and hardship so why, here in the peace of Valinor, the haven for Elves, did he have still face turmoil?

Though she knew if Gimli had not sailed with Legolas, Valar only know why they allowed him to enter, Legolas might have given into the grief and pain of his tender heart and faded, she could not help but feel a little twinge of anger at the dwarf. Even though she knew that the dwarf could not help being mortal than she immortal, she often wished that Gimli had died in Middle Earth, then perhaps Legolas could have found his peace and safe-haven at last.

She shook her head. She wasn’t being reasonable at all.

“Lalaith?” A soft voice from the doorway called.

“I’m right here Thranduil.” She called back quietly.

“What are you doing out here so late at night?” He greeted her by wrapping his arms around her slender frame.

She sighed, leaning into his warm embrace. “Legolas was just out here.”

“I know.” Thranduil nodded. “I saw him sneak back into his room with Gimli.”

“My heart aches for him.” She whispered.

She felt rather than heard his heaved sigh. She knew that her husband had a special connection with Legolas because of her departure to the Valinor when he had still been but an elfling.

“What will happen to Legolas if Gimli dies?” Lalaith questioned. “Can he fade here in the Valinor? Will the Valar allow him to go to the Halls of Mandos?”

“I don’t know.” Thranduil replied honestly.

“You remember how he was when arrived here.” Lalaith continued.

“Yes.” Thranduil said simply. “I remember.” He gave a pained sigh. “How could I ever forget?”

He would always remember the grief and weariness upon his son’s pale face. The tears he had shed not only in happiness at last arriving with the peace of the Valinor and reuniting with his family, but also of bitterness, that now he would never be close to his friends.

‘At least.’ He confided to Lomion one night. ‘In Middle Earth their bodies were still there and that would be the closest that he would ever be able to be by their side again.’

Lomion had in turn told Thranduil of the words and had hoped in due time that the shadows would flee from his little brother’s eyes.

But it hadn’t. It seemed to only grow.

Thranduil sighed. “I will talk to him tomorrow.”

“Gimli?” Legolas called out to the smaller being. “Awake!” He cried as gaily as he could. “The sun has already risen!”

He easily swung his legs over the side of his bed and began to unlace his shirt. His quick movements stopped when he noticed Gimli’s silence.

“Gimli?”

It took him a few seconds to realize that there was no rise and fall of Gimli’s chest, that the usual snores were silent.

“Gimli?” There was fear in the voice.

Two quick steps brought the lithe elf to the dwarf’s bedside.

“Gimli?” He shook the figure.

There was no response.

Legolas began to shake.

“Gimli?” He whispered.

His hand slowly reached out and touched the dwarf’s still, peaceful face. Tears slowly began to well up in the blue-gray eyes.

He sank to the floor. Even resting on his knees, the bed was low enough for Legolas to clearly see Gimli’s face.

“Gimli?” He questioned again, his voice choking with tears.

There was still no response. No movement. Nothing.

With a sob, Legolas flung his arms around the small still figure. “Gimli!” He cried. “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me alone! Please Gimli. Don’t leave.”

Footsteps sounded outside the door but Legolas paid no attention. “Please Valar!” He cried. “Don’t take him from me!”

A hand was gently placed on his shoulder. “Come Legolas.” The low melodious voice sounded in his ear. “He is gone.”

“No!” Legolas wailed in agony. “He can’t be! I didn’t even say goodbye to him.” He sobbed.

His arms were gently pried from the small, still figure.

“No!” Legolas shouted, his grief taking a hold on him and replacing it with anger. “I will not leave him!”

“Legolas!” A voice shouted. “He is dead!”

“”No!” Legolas yelled. “He’s just sleeping!” He fought the hands pulling him away. “He’s just sleeping!”

“Legolas! Stop it! Stop it!”

They were dragging him away from Gimli. “No!” Legolas pushed the hands away. “I promised I would stay!”

Something pressed against his face.

“No.” He wheezed through the cloth. “I promised.... I... would....” His eyes rolled back and his world went black.

The tall dark haired elf sighed. He had come to know Legolas like another son in their times together back on Middle Earth and to know that the young elf was going though such tormented agony was nothing less than painful to himself.

“Has he woken up yet?” He asked softly.

Thranduil looked pained at the question. He had hated the very sight of the drug that Elrond had given him a few years previously. But the very hysteria that Legolas had flung himself into had been nothing less than terrifying. He had quickly told Lalaith to douse a cloth with the drug and with his own two hands had placed it over his youngest son’s nose.

And had watched with tears in his own eyes and a pang in his heart as his son slowly slipped into oblivion.

“No.” Thranduil replied simply. He had quickly summoned his other children as well as Elrond as soon as he was able, hoping that if Legolas was surrounded by the ones who loved him it might help him emotionally.

“Quite frankly.” Thranduil continued. “I don’t know what to do with him when he does wake up.” He saw the other elf look at him curiously out of the corner of his eye. “Will he fade after this? Or will he regain his hold on life and continue to live?” He sighed, shaking his head. “I lost him once when I departed before he did.” He paused. “I don’t know if I can do that again, and this time being forever.”

Elrond laid a compassionate hand upon his friend’s shoulder. He knew how the Elven king felt. He had left his three children in Middle Earth. His daughter would remain there forever. His twin sons he had no idea about. Their parting had been silent. They didn’t whisper a word telling if they would someday leave Middle Earth or stay, leaving their father to wonder nearly every day what would happen to them.

“When the time comes.” He offered quietly. “You will know what to do.”

“But what.” Thranduil’s brow furrowed in thought. “If he needs to be set free, but I hold him back? Or the opposite?”

Elrond laughed softly.

Thranduil turned toward him curiously.

“Isn’t it amazing.” Elrond began. “That even after so many years of being parents we are still stumped on what to do when something happens.” He smiled at the Elven King. “You will know what to do. Trust me.”

Thranduil slowly nodded, accepting his friend’s words.

“Thranduil?”

The two males turned at the feminine voice.

“Yes Lalaith?”

In the few hours that had transpired since Gimli’s death, Lalaith had seemed to age. There were bags under her eyes and she seemed tired.

“Gimli is prepared.” She said simply. She had decided that it would be her job to prepare her son’s best friend’s body. Even though there were many times that Lalaith and Gimli had not gotten along, there had been a mutual respect between the two, mainly for Legolas’ sake.

She sat down and poured herself a cup of tea. “Is Lomion still sitting with Legolas?” She questioned tiredly.

“Yes.” Thranduil replied.

“He should be waking soon.” Elrond reassured.

“What will he be like when he wakes up?” Lalaith inquired. “Will he be the same as this morning? Or will he be calmer.”

“I quite frankly don’t know.” Elrond replied honestly. “That particular drug happened to be one that I usually used on my patients who were in need of surgery immediately.” He paused thinking on all the patients he had had in Middle Earth. “They woke up fine, perhaps a little groggy and a little confused about their surroundings, but other than that.” He shrugged.

“Adar!” Lomion’s call quickly brought Lalaith to her feet and the other two elves hurrying towards the door.

His heart pounding furiously, Thranduil jerked the door to Legolas’ room open.

And stopped in his tracks.

‘He looked like a wraith.’ Was Thranduil’s first thought. His son’s usually fair face was sheet white, the listless gray-blue eyes standing out startling against lack of color.

His head was pillowed in Lomion’s lap, while he stared blankly ahead, lost in a distant memory or just trying to erase the memories.

Lomion’s fingers gently combed out his golden hair, but Legolas gave no indication that he even felt the soothing motion.

Thranduil carefully eased to his knees and gently took his youngest son’s limp hand in his. “Legolas?” He called softly.

“He’s dead Ada.” Legolas said listlessly, startling his father and the elves around him. “He’s dead.”

“I know.” Thranduil said helplessly. “I know.”

Legolas gave a small sigh. “I’m tired Ada.” He said quietly, blinking sleepily against the pale light filtering in through the high window. “Can I sleep?”

Thranduil threw a helpless look towards Elrond, who nodded.

“Yes my little leaf, you can sleep.” Thranduil whispered, pressing a familiar kiss to his son’s forehead.

Legolas gave a winsome but wan smile then let his eyes close and fell asleep.