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Part Three: Losses

"Do you think you can do this?"

"I do not think I have much choice in the matter," the Elf said despondently as he tied their packs onto the horse. His appearance told much of the inner struggle he was enduring. His skin was pale and dark circles ringed his eyes, giving the Elven lord the outward properties of fair exhaustion.

Gimli had already made comment to the Elf on his appearance. But asking Legolas to convey what his insides felt was akin to asking Thráin to be parted from his gold. Such event would not be forthcoming. But still, he needed to ask. "What of the affliction?"

There was no answer. The Elf carried on with his task. Gimli reflected on this and concluded a response would not come, even if he were to ask it a dozen times over. Candor was something Legolas reserved for truly bad times. And so in such that he did not receive a reply, Gimli opted to see Legolas' condition as passable. He really had little choice, though he told himself to be wary. He knew he would need to watch his friend carefully in the next few days. He knew their travels could not go well as they were already starting inclined toward the bad.

Apprehension lined the Dwarf's face. Not only did he have need to concern himself for his friend's welfare, but the message they had received foretold of imminent doom. Though this day's arrival was not unexpected, it could not have come at a worse time. But then, Gimli thought, is there ever a good time to hear of a friend dying.

Two friends dying, he corrected himself. For there was no doubt that Aragorn's death would lead to the untimely departure of Arwen as well. The fair lady was strong in many ways, and Gimli admired her much, but her love for her husband went beyond mortal love, and Gimli felt sure her plight would be dismal - that is if she remained long at all.

And then looking at Legolas and his somber face, he thought, Perhaps even three will part ere we are done. With that true tragedy though, Gimli shook the thought back, refusing to allow himself reflection on the subject. Still, he could not help but ponder the beauty and frailty of the two Elves in his circle of close friendships. It struck him unfair that the Valar had graced the Elven race with so much. They were greater than all other creatures for their wisdom, their strength, their beauty. But it had been a cruel blow for the gods to gift them with feelings, for as abundantly as they adorned those other virtues, they lived equally so in their emotions. And so they hid themselves to all but their own. It was no wonder that those who did not know Elves pronounced them aloof and quite distant, for it took much to bring an Elf to concede to real feelings. Their reactions were deeper than any Man could know. Surely a mortal granted with such emotions would be driven to madness. And yet Gimli's two Elven friends had knowingly given in to their feelings and loved mortals in the truest sense of their being. They would pay for their weakness with their lives.

Gimli took his place on the horse, much as he and Legolas had in earlier days. In all his long years, Gimli had never learned to ride, and still held great trepidation for the beasts. He preferred to have Legolas drive them, and never wavered in his mistrust for the seemingly handsome, four-legged creatures his friend so admired.

The Dwarf looked up to the sky and worried for their ride. The weather, as was typical for that time of year, was unpredictable. It was still Winter, but Spring was nearing, and the chaotic nature of climate was prevalent. The air was fair for the day, but Gimli noticed gray clouds looming ahead as they prepared to draw themselves West. He was amused that for the unseen qualities of the weather, he had become, in his old age, fairly as good at predicting the elements as the Elves. He almost opened his mouth to speak on it, but knew Legolas was not in the mood to banter this trait. And yet he knew it would rain soon and he sensed a temperature change as well. His discernment of climate, however, was based on atmospheric moisture and its ability to raise aches in his old bones, and not to the innate charms that gave Elves this talent.

Gimli considered the road ahead. Bad weather would not make their journey easier, and the pall it would cast could not aid in the dire circumstance they faced. He sighed deeply, bracing himself for what he knew would be one of the hardest journeys he had ever undertaken.

****

Aragorn's son was as handsome as his father had ever been. Tall, graceful, lean and well-muscled, he exuded the finest qualities of his father and was a walking tribute to the elder's noble bearing. He had become a champion in the field, and he was highly esteemed by his militia. And he had won reputation in the courts and council chambers for his abilities to debate all matters of state. He was renowned for his fairness and consideration and was not one to be pigeonholed into stereotype. If anything his unpredictability made him refreshing as a leader even if it cost him allegiances at times. He was loved by his people, and he in turn loved them back. His heart was in Minas Tirith and he was undeterred in his devotion all things of Gondor. And for that, his greatest love was for his father. The two had been inseparable from early on and the king's son had learned his stewardship well and directly from the kingdom's master. Eldarion was every inch a Man Aragorn could take pride in.

Looking at him, Gimli admired the way in which he bore his worry. It was plain that the Man was anguished, and yet he remained composed and decisive. It was foretelling of how he would rule, for Gimli knew the strain he must feel at seeing someone so dear being parted could not be easy. Yet he felt confident the reign Aragorn had started would continue in good stead, if it did not indeed surpass the elder's good intent.

And despite Eldarion's troubles, he remained a fair host. As he escorted the Dwarf and Elf to his father's chambers, he asked of their travels and of news in Ithilien and Rohan. And then knowing them well as he did from their many years as a companion to his father, he expressed his concerns.

"He will not live much beyond this day," the prince said with sorrow.

"And what of your mother?" Legolas asked with kind intent.

"Alas, she grows thin in her worries and she almost never speaks now, save to him. I fear her parting grows near as well, and I will lament two deaths, not one," Eldarion uttered with a pained expression.

"Your grief is great and we share it with you, for we love your father and mother with an equal adoration, though it cannot rival your own love. These are not easy times, my lord, and we are here at your need. Call on us for anything and we shall serve," said Gimli with a humble bow.

"Your gesture is grand, dear ones, but I would also offer you my service, for I can see that this event is deeply troubling for you as well. You are more than just friends to my father and mother, and even my sisters and I. More in keeping, you are like family to mine. Let us compromise and offer our support to each other, and let it stand at that," Eldarion said as he bowed more deeply to them.

"You do your father justice, Eldarion," said Legolas with quiet admiration. Gimli scrutinized the Elf's face carefully. He was pleased to see Legolas managing without falter.

They proceeded their long walk until they reached the king's rooms. Eldarion led them in. The light was growing dim, but the sconces illuminated the room enough to discern the figure at the far end of a massive carven bed. His great frame seemed small in the enormity of the berth and sadly it belied the truth of his body. His head was propped with a mound of cushions in varying fabrics and sheens and despite his diminishing force, he still appeared regal. He was bedecked in a robe of palest grays and lavender spun of elven silks. His hair was still dark, though it was heavily tarnished with light streaks that matched the whiteness of his beard. The creases on his face revealed his age but his eyes conveyed an earnestness that had been there even in earlier years. Despite all appearances, the Man was still stately.

Gimli remembered their meeting the prior Summer. Even then Elessar's health was clearly in decline, though none spoke of it. His steps no longer had vigor, and his body seemed pained by the years of physical stress. He tired easily and his appetite left him. Yet his voice remained strong and his mind was astute. He chose not to focus much on tasks of his title, choosing instead to linger long hours in the gardens with his ever-beautiful wife. He brushed off attempts to garner his notice, and told all callers to take up matters with his son. He wanted serenity in those days, and he surely deserved it. But it had been upsetting to see the former Ranger's waning interest in the world, and this was more a sure sign of his demise than anything his body conveyed.

As he lay on his bed, the Dwarf could see a sadness crease his old friend's demeanor and yet there was something else there that Gimli struggled to name. It was almost relief, and perhaps even anticipation, though neither word seemed fitting for the look Gimli saw. Acceptance. That was it. It was a strange combination and Gloin's son marveled at this remarkable quality in his king, for the Dwarf was unsure he could meet his own death with such grace. It was easy to admire Aragorn's bravery still.

Legolas and Gimli were brought directly before their friend. They could see their friend's face light up as they approached and eyeing each other they silently and unitedly agreed that perhaps there was opportunity to bring yet some mirth. Grasping this chance, they wasted no time in falling into old habits, bantering lightly with each other for their king's amusement.

Aragorn said, "I am happy you are here. The weather has held and I trusted your journey was uneventful, but now I worry. You look tired, Legolas."

"I am, my lord. But I would not say it is fatigue from travel that labors me. Quite truthfully, I have not rested well of late. There is much that troubles my sleep, and I think I may speak plainly when I say it is most namely a noise that penetrates the peace of my nights," the Elf said with a stern face. Yet the corners of his mouth curled up slightly as he hinted a smile. "I hate to lay blame, but if it should be named, you could say the source of my weariness rests," he said turning to face Gimli, "with the Dwarf." A spark flickered in his eye.

"My fault you say! How can your lack of sleep be my doing?" Gimli asked, acting the role of wounded foil.

"Oh Gimli, if only you should be awake through such an event, you would know," Legolas said shaking his head sadly. "Alas, Elf-friend, but you snore. Quite loudly it seems, for your noise carries clear to my bedchambers, and those are noticeably removed from the end of the house you occupy," the elf said with a bemused smile.

"Do not find blame in my innocent slumber. Your difficulties should be blamed on the shortcomings of Elven ingenuity. Were your house properly constructed with walls fair thicker than a lattice of branches, I would dare say your sleep would be less interrupted," the Dwarf responded.

"And yet, I am not alone in this. I have received complaints from many neighbors as well," the Elf said with feigned protest.

"More evidence to my point. Elven ingenuity and poor architecture," Gimli said stabbing a finger in the air smugly.

"I suppose you think walls of granite and beam are the only appropriate materials for building?" the Elf jibed.

"Well they do offer privacy from unintended visual displays," Gimli defended, and then as an aside to Aragorn he said, "Quite truthfully, your majesty, the Elf has no modesty!"

And so it went. The king chuckled lightly at the amusement their anecdotal banter brought him and it brought all of them pleasure to see merriment break the sadness that had stifled the room.

Gimli was amazed at the Elf's seeming recovery and realized it was much a ruse. He guarded his jealousy, for he wished at times the Elf would paint a false-front for him. But he knew also there was a price to pay for pretending good health, and Gimli feared Legolas would exhaust himself far too quickly. But for that moment, Legolas showed no signs of the ailment nor the troubles that had flagged him all that day, and he seemed as clear-headed and fair as he had ever been in prior days.

The same could not be said for Arwen. While her beauty had not waned, her eyes revealed her age, and Gimli saw when he looked at her the same acceptance of death that Aragorn displayed. True to Eldarion's word, she was distracted and seemed not to hear what they said, only focusing herself on her beloved. She never looked away from him as if she were trying to memorize every detail of his presence, and Gimli knew as he gazed upon her that had he any doubt before, it was gone. Aragorn's death would be fatal to her as well.

****

Faint light of morning filtered into the room as his eyes fluttered open. He had the dream again. He awoke to it and knew a smile was pressed to his face. It gave him hope. His life was failing. His body was dying. But he was not afraid. It was inevitable, he knew. He only despaired that it had to end so soon. He was not prepared to be separated from his loved ones, and he did not think he would ever be ready for that event. But then, there was the dream. He believed in it. She had come to him again, and he felt certain there was a chance for something more. He prayed he was right. It gave him the strength he needed to face this next step.

He was tired. His body labored to continue. He needed to say his farewells. He needed to make sure all the details were complete. He needed to touch and hold his beloved one more time. He did not want to die, but he understood that he had no choice.

A gentle hand caressed his cheek. Soft and aromatic, like the petal of a rose it was. He glanced up to see the sweet face of his wife. His eyes misted as he looked upon her. So tender. So pure. Their love had been the miracle that fulfilled his life, and he could not think of a moment of regret he had spent in her presence. How lucky have I been to have found this eternal love? She is my jewel. My starlight. For even a moment with her is worth a lifetime of happiness.

He lifted his hand to conjoin hers, fingers intertwining and lingering against his cheek. He pulled her palm to his lips and softly kissed it as she drew her face closer in to his. She stroked his brow, studying his weary face. And then Aragorn said, "It is time, my love."

Arwen nodded, and a single tear spilled from her eye.

****

Gimli watched Legolas' face. He knew what he would see there. Depression and sorrow. It mirrored his own expression. But affirmations of these emotions were not what he was searching to find. They were apparent. He was trying to discern if any more signs of illness were looming. Especially since the Elf had become so incredibly tight-lipped this morning. If this had been an earlier time in their lives, Gimli would have shrugged it off to Elven emotions in the throes of difficult circumstances, but with Legolas' current history, the Dwarf could not afford to be so careless with his concerns.

Their visit last night had been pleasant, and it had actually brightened his companion's mood. So much so, in fact, that Gimli felt comfortable parting to separate rooms, as was expected, and he did not feel compelled to check on the Elf's well-being later in the night. But with his friend's darkening demeanor today, he began doubting his own wisdom. The Dwarf was perplexed and he pondered his difficulty in determining his friend's condition. After all these many months of living daily with the cuivëar, Gimli found more than ever that he could not fully recognize the disease when it struck. It was frustrating to him that the illness was so elusive, and he had been forced to put more faith in his intuition than he could in physical signs. Unfortunately his intuition had been wrong as often as it was right of late, and Gimli suffered serious self-doubt. Still he noted, Legolas appeared alert, even if he was not talkative and Gimli finally acquiesced that signs of impending illness were not visible to him at present.

They had been called back to the king's chambers, and this time Gimli felt certain their visit would not be so pleasant. Word had come that the king had suffered much in the night, and Gimli focused his mind on preparing for the worst. Upon entering the room, the Dwarf's suspicions were confirmed. The pervasive mood told him the end was near, and he doubted that any amount of playful teasing between he and the Elf could chase that dread away.

Looking upon the king from the distance the vast room afforded, Gimli could see that so much of the spirit within Aragorn had parted in the course of a night. The mood in the room was penetrating, and the Dwarf's impulses told him to depart quickly for fear of his own reactions. He felt an overwhelming desire to sob out his despair, but he knew if he did so, the effect in the room would multiply. The Dwarf coursened his heart, fighting against the sting of tears that pushed to broach his eyes. If ever there was a time to be strong, he knew it was now.

As had been before, Aragorn's son, Eldarion, was there, sitting quietly nearby, ready to attend to any needs the old man may have had. Arwen also drew near, sitting perched on the edge of a chair, vigilantly watching his every breath and gauging the emotions of those who parted company from her love. Each gesture she saw was acknowledged in her eyes, and the pain of watching her was as great as was watching him. At the moment that they had entered the bedchambers, her eyes were fixed on her two daughters, and Gimli wondered how Arwen could endure such pain as he saw the king's hand lift to brush away a tear from the youngest one's face. The tenderness of that gesture registered in her face and new tears flowed down her cheeks. As they parted from their father, the women turned their gaze on their mother. Stepping to her side, they urged her to rise by gently lifting her from her seat and brought her aside to make private tribute to her tears. It was a heartfelt expression, and Gimli turned away from the scene in appreciation of the familial love it stirred.

Grief was attacking Legolas' face as well, but Gimli noted that he composed himself well as Eldarion escorted him to the king's side. Gimli stood back silently and watched as the Elf knelt beside the bed and leaned in close to his old friend's face. Gimli could not hear their words, nor did he think he wanted to hear them. It was their final departure, and he did not dare intrude in a moment so private. They spoke long and with sincere feelings though it was all a blur of soft whispers. Gimli watched as they clasped hands in a warrior salute and the Dwarf was amazed at the calmness Legolas maintained. For his own part, Gimli nearly felt his control waver as he saw the Elf's head bow before delivering a kiss to Aragorn's brow. And then Legolas arose, casting his eyes down, keeping his face a mask as a tear escaped his eye. With invisible steps he left the room and Gimli's heart lurched at the aloneness exuded by the tall figure.

At last, Gimli was drawn near his old friend. Absently he fingered the pendant he wore. He had chosen it specifically for this occasion as he knew it had significance to all of them. It was a memory, and he hoped that it's appearance would give them the strength to move on from their pain. He mustered memories of his own and recalled the friend he had known so long ago. The mysterious dark Ranger with fierce warrior talents and noble character appeared before him. He remembered their many adventures and the awe and love he felt for the Man who had stood at his side in battles fought for the good of all. Gimli reflected on those memories as he looked upon his comrade in those final few minutes. His love was deep. And being that, he remained firm in withholding his remorse as best he could, for he knew his old friend looked at him with like memories in turn.

Aragorn spoke in a weak voice, "And now we depart, dear Gimli. My friend."

Gimli's voice caught as he answered, but he cleared his throat and began again, "Tis but short time as I am certain we will meet again, old comrade."

"Perhaps we shall," said the king as he clasped the Dwarf's hand. He saw now the pendant and a twinkle of long past memories caught in his eye. "You are wearing Galadriel's gift."

"I thought it may be appropriate," Gimli said as he touched at the tear-shaped jewel. Suspended at his breast a golden threaded braid of a hair was captured in a sparkling crystal. It was held in its place at the Dwarf's chest by a chain that matched the hue of the gentle tendril.

Aragorn's eyes never left the pendant. Gimli could see it invoked thoughts in the fatigued king's mind. Elessar's voice was wistful, "What would you say to her, Gimli? If you could see her again, what would you say?"

Gimli started at the abruptness of the question. He wondered how Aragorn knew he pondered this thought. It was a phantom wish, one he knew could never be fulfilled. And yet despite the impossibility of it, his mind had many times wandered that path over the last several months. His thoughts drifted to his memory of her face and the exquisite ethereal quality of her voice. He remembered his unabashed admiration of her grace and the awing nature of her effortless power. Oh how he longed to see her again, for if he could he would ask her to give him the one thing he desired more than all other material goods accumulated in life. It was a yearning he could not fulfill and he knew only she had the strength to see it done. "I would ask her to save Legolas," Gimli quietly blurted out.

Aragorn exhaled deeply and drew his eyes away from the stone. Looking with tired eyes into the Dwarf's face he said, "So it is true. Legolas, too, is dying."

Gimli gasped, realizing that he had not meant to speak this thought aloud. But it was too late. The king knew, and all he could do was acknowledge the truth. "I did not mean to reveal that to you, my lord."

Aragorn smiled weakly. "Have no worries, Gimli. I already suspected. It is very distressing that he should die now. It was not ordained this way…so unfair." His eyes drifted off for a moment as he thought, then he returned them to the Dwarf's face. "It appears you and I would speak to Galadriel on mutual cause. And now my mission is even clearer. For I too would ask the Lady for salvation. And in fact, I have asked for it already," he said alertly. Gimli blinked at this revelation, pondering the statement and wondering on the state of the king's mind. Hallucination was a possibility with the end so near. But Aragorn's gaze was steadfast and Gimli recognized the sincerity of his friend's belief. "I speak seriously, my friend. I have had such a vision. The Lady Galadriel has come to me in my dreams. Thrice now it has been, and each time she told me that I may make my plea in Mandos' House. It has inspired my hope."

"And what would you ask if you see this vision fulfilled?" queried Gimli, intrigued now by the earnestness of the king's speech.

Aragorn gazed upward with reverent hope. "I would ask that Arwen and I be given a place there," he whispered. He turned to gaze again at his lovely wife. He sadly spoke, "She has forsaken her immortality for her love of me and so a place for her exists no more among the Valar. I would ask that she be allowed to linger again with those fair people, even if it is only in a spirit world. And I would ask that I be allowed to stay at her side."

"How do you know if they will grant it?" Gimli asked in a whispered return.

"I do not know. And it is not a meager thing I ask, but it is my hope that the Valar will see the eternal light of our love and fulfill this last wish. Even if I am just a mortal." He squeezed Gimli's hand and said, "And now I know that, if they will allow it, I will plead for Legolas' life as well. He should not die. That is not how it should be."

"I am most grateful to you," Gimli choked, not sure if he truly believed Aragorn's dream, but moved by the gesture nonetheless.

"In the meantime, my friend, I must ask one last service," Aragorn said as he released the Dwarf's hands.

Gimli drew nearer. "Anything, my lord," he said in a raspy voice.

"Stay close to our friend. He is diminishing rapidly, and he has not much time left in this world. You bring him joy, and I think in the end he would want you near as he wanes," he said weakly, with a frown creasing his brow. Then his face eased up and he said quietly, "I will plea for his life, but you must give him the will to hold on as I do."

"I will do the best that I am able, my friend," Gimli said sadly. And then he kissed Aragorn's hand, and said, "Farewell," as he stood to leave. He masked his face from emotion. Quietly, he stepped away.

****

He found Legolas where he knew he would be, in the one place where he always found solace. Outdoors. And on this day, in the palace gardens. Gimli looked at the rigid posture of his friend's back and sighed before drawing near. Three steps he took, and then the Elf's hand was raised. Bent at the elbow, the palm was held up and the head was gently shaking. No. The Dwarf read it — do not come. He froze in his place. Rain gently fell about him and he pulled his cloak more firmly shielding his head and body from the wetness. He noted that the Elf had pushed his own hood aside and was looking up at the breaking clouds. Droplets of water washed Legolas' face, and Gimli understood. He was crying. Turning in one quick move, the Dwarf spiraled around and went back into the building. He left Legolas alone.

His room overlooked the place where the Elf stood. Gimli could watch him from there and he felt safe. Knowing that he was not needed for now, a sense of relief washed over him as his real emotions poured out. They hit him like a wave and he reeled at the immensity of their impact. Sobs choked him though he had no control over them, and he heard himself bawl a renting cry. Numb and yet overwhelmed in grief he felt. He was completely unsure of himself and his arms folded over his chest as he rocked in his wails. His mind worked so clearly. Every detail of the room was apparent to him. And yet he could not control his own moans nor the tears that flooded his eyes. He whipped himself around looking for a clue as to how to control this emotion that filled him. And then he gave in, and allowed the cries to swallow him up as he gave in to his grief. He sank into the chair next to the window. He could see Legolas standing alone there, and he knew his own tears matched his friend's. His thoughts focused on Aragorn and he poured and he poured and he poured out his lament.

The day dragged on. Shadows crept the walls as his cries lingered. The room vibrated echoes of his sorrow. He cried for long hours though he became unaware of time. The memories of Aragorn danced before him, and each brought new tears. He cried aloud at their assault without hindrance or shame.

Time moved on and it felt like nothing and forever. At last his sad reverie was broken as he became aware of the sound of bells ringing through the city streets. They were repeated and picked up again and again as more towers took up the call. Gimli knew in that moment it was done. He lowered his eyes. "Goodbye, my old friend," he whispered as the last tears fell.

He was spent. Every emotion he had mustered was gone. And in their place he felt numbness and exhaustion. He sank deeper into the chair as if his spine too was gone. He watched Legolas still from his vantage point. The Elf had not moved. He knew in his heart he should get up and try again to approach, but he felt so very tired. He could not remember the last time he had felt this drained. His arms felt limp and heavy. His fingertips tingled. His head ached, and a pain ran from the base of his neck all the way to his temples. He unclenched his jaw and the ached immediately lessened though his eyes still burned from the tears he had cried. He closed them to drive out the fire within them and he allowed his body to relax for the first time in days. And then he slept.

When he opened his eyes again, it was dark. He was surprised he had fallen asleep so easily, and felt uncertain of the time. His head still throbbed as memories of his misery returned, but he felt somewhat more rested. And yet he knew he could easily sleep much, much more. He considered laying down on the comfortable bed. Then his heart quickened, and his eyes darted to the window. Legolas was not there! The sleep that had, only moments ago, penetrated his body now fled, and he felt panic at the loss of his friend. He jumped up from the chair and ran to the door. The lights of the hall were still lit, and he realized it was not all that late as he could hear the sounds of people still moving in various parts of the house. Composing himself he walked to the door of the room he knew his friend occupied. He knocked lightly, but there was no answer. More concerned for his friend's well-being than his privacy, Gimli tried the handle. The door swung open lightly with his gentle push. Gimli suddenly felt like an intruder. He could not bring himself to enter but instead peered into the room. Looking about for signs of the Elf's presence, he breathed a sigh of relief. Gimli saw Legolas laying on the bed. His body was turned away from the door and curled slightly in a sleeping pose. He was there. The Elf remained fully clothed and the bedsheets were not disturbed, almost as if he had collapsed into it. Gimli did not fret over that — he had almost done nearly the same only moments ago. He was consoled to see his friend resting and so he silently closed the door and returned to his own room.

****

Legolas was lost. There was no doubt in Gimli's mind. It was happening again. It only made sense that his friend wandered blindly in his stupor. It only made sense, for Gimli knew the heartache of losing Aragorn would have weakened the Elf's control over the disease. It only made sense, and Gimli shuddered at the dread he had felt all along since this journey began. He should have been more vigilant. It only made sense and there was no other explanation. Still Gimli valiantly searched for one.

Eldarion was the first to notice. He came knocking on Gimli's door to apprise him there would be an informal gathering of family and friends that afternoon. "I tried to tell Lord Legolas, but he was not in his room. Will you pass the invitation on to him?" the heir asked.

"Not there?" Gimli paused in concern.

"No. Nor did I see him downstairs in the dining chambers," Eldarion informed. Then seeing the Dwarf's concern, he said, "Master Gimli? Is Legolas all right? He has seemed so distant to my perception."

Gimli considered this question. To lie would be to protect Legolas' reputation. But at what price? he thought. To be truthful would be to garner support if he needed it. "He is not well, friend. I must try and find him if I may before he worsens. Of more, I cannot say."

Genuine anxiety creased the prince's face. "My lord, if he needs any aid, all you need do is speak and all the powers of this city will be at your disposal."

"Thank you, Eldarion," Gimli said as he grasped the younger Man's arm. "You will be the first to know if I succeed or fail." And with that Gimli made his departure in search of his friend.

He searched the house in as much of a nonchalant manner as he could muster, acting as if he had simply lost track of his companion. He politely asked of the Elf's whereabouts and was courteously told over and over again that Legolas had not been seen. He continued his search on the grounds to no avail. A cold rain dampened the air and his breath floated before his face in a mist as he walked.

Minas Tirith is a very large city. Gimli swallowed back his fear as he looked upon the municipality from its highest tower. He no longer suspected the Elf to be within the king's home. He felt certain Legolas had somehow escaped the palace walls and was roaming the streets beneath him. But where? Steeling himself for the worst, he redressed in his travel garb and began searching the alleys and roadways around the palace walls.

Icy rain began to fall, and a cold air chilled his bones. He pressed on. Down and down he went, descending each level of the city as his desperation grew.

A clock tower began to ring, and Gimli saw that he had to return if he were to make his appearance at the gathering. He found himself torn. He feared the predicament of his friend, but he also knew Aragorn's family expected him, and perhaps even needed him. But in the end, he ignored the clock and carried on as fear won out and his gloom grew.

Night fell, the streets of the city echoed with the sound of his feet on wet cobblestones. A pelting rain fell, stinging his skin with its touch and freezing on the walkways making his steps slick. Still the Dwarf searched, descending level after level, scouring the streets for the Elf. Finally, Gimli felt he could go on no more. Fear, dread, exhaustion and hunger rocked him. His mind reeled with anxiety as scenarios of disaster played in his mind. He turned back and his thoughts went to Eldarion's offer. He knew Legolas would not want to be noticed this way, but Gimli disregarded the Elf's feelings for the sake of real fear. Legolas must be found, no matter the consequences.

He returned to the house and directed himself straight to his room. His clothing was quite damp and he needed to change before he sought out Eldarion's help. He would ask for the palace guard to continue the search. As a group they stood a better chance of finding Legolas than Gimli could alone.

On the off-chance he would be successful, he tried Legolas' room once again as he passed. Small hope glimmered there, but as expected, there was no sign of the Elf.

Gimli then turned to his room and opened the door. It was dark inside, and only dim light filtered in from the window. The Dwarf stepped in and closed the door. He was momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then he gasped as he realized he was not alone in the room. The highlight of a body was cast near the window and he was about to call out at the intruder when he recognized the silhouette. "Legolas!" he called out.

He ran to his friend's side, groping him in the dark as he found himself immersed in relief. But his feelings were fleeting and he was plunged rapidly into despair. His hands felt sopping wetness and he realized Legolas' clothes were soaked through. Dread gripped the Dwarf's heart as he felt uncontrollable shivers shake the Elf's body. Gimli looked at the face. Locked again in illness, Legolas' eyes were vague and clouded. A glassy stare permeated the space where the Dwarf stood. But there was more wrong here and the Dwarf sought to find it.

Instinct took over as he looked in those eyes. He could not dismiss the Elf's stare to the effect of Sea-longing and he touched his friend's brow. Blazing heat registered in his fingertips as he pulled them away from his friend's face confirming the knowledge his mind had known already.

Gloin's son frowned deeply. A Dwarvish curse escaped his lips. Gimli grew afraid as he became unsure now what to do. The eyes had given it away. Legolas' body raged with fever.

TBC

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A/N: I need a fire to drive me on. This chapter came much faster than I expected, and has depleted me a bit. I need some encouragement for the next one as I'm starting to feel a little like Gimli does. Have no fear, as I know where I am going with this though constructive comments would help me. I will not desert this, but please do review., he corrected himself. For there was no doubt that Aragorn's death would lead to the untimely departure of Arwen as well. The fair lady was strong in many ways, and Gimli admired her much, but her love for her husband went beyond mortal love, and Gimli felt sure her plight would be dismal - that is if she remained long at all.