This is a drabble which came to me after reading a comment on Irishbroque's story 'Half Lit'. Thanks for the inspiration!
Disclaimer: I in now way own Lord of the Rings or any character therefrom.
Death, it was always somewhat of a mystery; it eluded him, it puzzled him but it did not threaten him. Yet, it did. After all, this was a battle and no battle came without the risk of one's demise. To man death was a shadow looming over them, ever present, ever haunting. It came upon them as the grew old and lurked o'er their bedsides. It clouded the thoughts of the brave and caused them to hesitate. However, death could bring peace of mind and an end to pain. Men would die and let their worries be at rest, but not he. No, he would live with them for ever.
Legolas sighed. Long had he thought about the departure from the world of the living. How many years had he mused over his undying life. There had been times of war where even a elf as he might have died, and yet he was not afraid. To him that was a mystery; death. It always caught him by surprise. Such as the time when Mithrandir fell to his supposed death in Moria. To see one die before his far seeing eyes produced a chill in his body. It seemed blunt and unreal to him, Legolas Greenleaf. His eyes focussed on Estel, his companion and his comrade. Estel would one day die, likewise the long-lived dwarf Gimli would also perish. It pained his elven heart, truly it did, to think of these companions laying in the eternal earth. A noise made him turn from his position on the sil of the sick hall. With another sigh Legolas Greenleaf returned to aid those wounded from the war. And though his hands worked to heal, his eyes were far off seeing death.