DISCLAIMER- I don't own LOTR. But if you go by this story, does Tolkien.?

This is a one chapter fanfic. Please R+R! =)

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Namaarie to home.

And so it was over. The last Elves left in Middle-Earth were to leave, to sail away to the Undying Lands, and leave the fate of that land to the hands of Men.

With them would go the great forests, Lothlorien and Mirkwood, and the great Elven city of Rivendell. Lost; forgotten to the history books and left to crumble into a shadow of their former glory.

With these Elves passed the last of the Company, the last member of the Nine Walkers; Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood. All those he had cared for had died, succumbing to that unavoidable fate that came to all mortals.

As the time came to break all ties with the past, he remembered those words his father had spoken to him, in those years when his first friend stopped laughing, stopped breathing, stopped living.

"Son, only a fool surrounds himself with mortals and then grieves when they die,"

"Then Father, I am a fool."

A fool. That's what he was. All he was. The last great thing he could do was at least leave something, anything, so that those in the future would never forget the Elves, the Hobbits, the Dwarves, those great people he had come to know throughout the years.

They shouldn't be allowed to forget the War of the Ring, that ultimate struggle between good and evil. So he had ordered some of the records from the halls in Mirkwood to be placed in a chest, along with Bilbo's Red Book, and buried. Maybe one day someone would find it.

"Prince Legolas? Its time to go." said a young Elf. Legolas sighed.

Time to go. Time to leave. Never to return.

As the grey ship sailed away and the sight of Middle-Earth grew dimmer and further away, all he could do was whisper; "Namaarie, Arda.. Namaarie." as a small tear coursed its way down his cheek.

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Many years later, a young man was digging in his garden when his spade hit something hard in the ground.

"What's that?" he wondered, and carried on digging. After around half an hour, he was amazed to find a small chest in the ground.

"I wonder what is inside?" he thought to himself, and he hit the lock as hard as he could with the hilt of his shovel. The lid flew open and he found himself immersed in a great cloud of dust. He coughed and waved his hand to try and clear it, and what he saw inside was amazing.

Reams of parchment were in the box, and they looked to be very, very old. He gingerly picked one up and read it.

"'A history of Middle-Earth'. How very odd," he thought. His train of thought was interrupted by a young voice calling his name.

"Father? Father, Mother said it was time for you to come in for tea," said his son. The man turned. "Thank you, Christopher. Tell her I'll be there right away."

As Christopher sprinted away again, John Ronald Reuel Tolkien picked up the chest from the dirt, and carried it into his house.

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That's it! So, please review and tell me what you think!