This takes place, oh, about a thousand years after the destruction of the ring. Aragorn is the last of the fellowship alive. Italics are flashbacks or dreams, whatever Aragorn's mind is supplying for him. They are what happened on a certain fateful night. "~~" means speech, and '~~ ' means thoughts.

I do own something in this chapter! Rohallie, Legolas' sister, and Aragorn's children, Merribell and Boromir (now who is he named after?) are all mine! (Merribell and Boromir are around 4)

This is for everyone who asked me for the next part, that's why I took my time to type it up and did my very best to get it up ASAP. Thanks for the encouragement, AJ, Snickers, Tinabedina, Teegan, Imhotep, attizzikah, and Eruantale. I'm sorry for making you wait so long.

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Aragorn sighed, as the wind blew through his hair. His eyes were closed as he breathed in the rich scent that reminded him so much of Middle Earth. After much searching, he had finally found his destination. Opening his eyes, he frowned at the ruins that lay before him.

'Not much to look at anymore. Even the forest is gone.'

He shrugged, ruined or not, this building was the last bit of Middle Earth on the planet. Even the mountains surrounding Mordor, and Mount Doom itself, had fallen to time. No mortal knew that these ruins were actually part of Middle Earth, no mortal even believed in Middle Earth. They thought this was just another war torn ancient city. Scooping up his pack, he headed off towards the last city of Middle Earth, the elven city that for millenia had remained hidden within the mighty Mirkwood.

"It's good to see you again, you crazy elf!"

"Aye, and you haven't changed a bit, stupid dwarf!"

Aragorn smiled as the two friends bickered with each other. It was good to see Legolas again, he had missed the cheerful elf. The fellowship was having a reunion at Mirkwood, and he had brought Arwen and his children, Boromir and Merribell, with him.

"Have you been eating right, elf? You're so thin, and pale! Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine. Aragorn, who are these charming children?"

Aragorn noticed Legolas' curt answer to Gimli's question, and how he had changed the subject quickly, but paid no heed as he introduced his children. Legolas led the entire group into the main hall. A summer solstice feast was already in progress. As Legolas had once told the hobbits when asked of Mirkwood, "Mirkwood is a place of much celebration. We're always love having excuses for parties and feasts, where we sing and dance until our legs can not hold us up any longer, then we dig into a wonderful meal. When we are full, we start singing and dancing again. It is always a lot of fun at a Mirkwood feast. You should come see one some day."

Pushing open a rotting wooden gate that hung from one hinge, Aragorn picked his way through the overgrown paths of Mirkwood. His mind supplied images of that fateful night, the last time he had visited Mirkwood.

Legolas didn't join in the dancing that greeted the fellowship, he declined politely, saying he had already danced before the fellowship arrived, and did not wish to dance more at this moment. His eldest sister, Rohallie, had come over to join them. She and Arwen had been best of friends in their youth, and still remained close. Merribell already loved her; she called her Auntie Roly.

"Legolas, what do you mean you've already mmph."

Merribell had trotted over and shoved a chocolate filled croissant into Rohallie's mouth, efficiently gagging her. No one noticed the mints clutched in her hand that Legolas had given her to do that.

The doors leading into the once grand palace were completely overgrown with weeds and ivy. Aragorn drew his sword which he kept hidden under his long coat and sliced them out of the way. He traced the slanted elvish writing carved into the golden plate embedded in the door.

'Welcome to Mirkwood. Friends are enjoyed, while foes are scorned. To enter these gates with an evil heart will ultimately seal your fate. If your heart is sweet and good, you will never regret your stay.'

All visitors entered these doors to meet with either the King or another member of his family, which is why the greeting was here instead of at the main gates to the city. He pushed open the door, it creaked, and he winced at the sound. When Thranduil ruled, everything was kept in repair, this door would have never creaked once. Striding quickly down the main corridor, he found himself in the great hall. Portraits of elven royalty, faded with age, still hung in their ancient splendor along the far wall. Mirrors wrapped around the other three, some were cracked, but most still shone dully through the layers of dust and grime collected on them. Aragorn wiped part of one off with a rag he found on the floor, most likely one of the plentiful tapestries or curtains adorning bare places amoungest the mirrors. The one he wiped clean had been one that had an image etched into it. An elf playing a flute and sitting under a tree appeared with every wipe of the cloth. When light shone on this, it had reflected off the colors glowing on the mirror, making the picture seem real. That had been so long ago. The color had long faded, but the elf remained, sitting forever under his tree.

With a sigh, Aragorn turned from the etching and walked up to the portraits. Many elves he did not recognize, but every now and then he picked out a feature he had seen in Legolas.

"This one has his eyes, that one his nose, both of these have his hair, here is one with his smile..."

Aragorn's voice seemed too loud as it echoed around the deserted room. He frowned, this room was never one to be empty in the past.

'This place brings back so many memories. I can not believe that the elves are truly gone.'

He stopped at the last portrait. A family picture, King Thranduil sat in the middle of the picture. His wife sat to his right, while Legolas stood behind him. Legolas' many sisters surrounded them all. Heisatantly, Aragorn stretched out a hand and caressed the painted cheek of the elven prince. Legolas was Thranduil's only son, his pride and joy. Everyone had loved him. Aragorn's hand dropped back to his side, and he left the main hall, to find a place to rest that night.

Pushing open a door that seemed intact, Aragorn thought he had stepped into the Mirkwood that existed when Legolas was alive. Painted and carved trees and plants were everywhere, flowers hung from the ceiling, drying. The ceiling was painted like the sky, the bright blue bringing a smile to his face. For some reason, this room was preserved from time, even though the rest of the world it came from faded away. Moving over to sit on the bed, carved from an enourmous tree trunk, he smiled up at the canopy that hung over it. When he laid back, the bright sky ceiling was hidden from view by a skillfully woven cloth. Stars and the moon seemed to sparkle from the midnight blue depths of the new 'sky'. He soon found himself drifting to sleep, smiling up at the false stars. His dreams, however, would soon remove his smile. They never failed to.

Legolas was smiling as he listened to Aragorn and Arwen, they had taken a detour through Lothlorien on their way to Mirkwood, and had visited with Lady Galadriel. Aragorn would never forget what had happened during their talk. One moment, Legolas had been listening with a smile on his face, the next, he was clutching his chest gasping for breath. Time seemed to slow down then. Legolas fell forward onto the table choking, although he had not eaten anything. The hobbits and Gimli rushed to his side, while Boromir and Merribell started to cry. Arwen and Aragorn were trying to get Legolas onto his back, and trying to get him to calm down when Rohallie, who had been dancing, heard the crying children. Her scream echoed throughout the room as she ran to her brother, pulling him to the floor and crouching over him. Legolas fell still after a moment, as Rohallie whispered over him, her elvish words trying to call him back. His eyes fluttered open for a moment, as he whispered one word. "Good-bye." Legolas' eyes closed for the last time as his body became limp. By now, all in the hall had stopped their celebration, and were waiting with baited breath to see if their prince was all right. In the silence, you could have heard a pin drop. Rohallie's whisper was much easier to hear, however.

"He's dead."

It took a moment of shocked silence for the elves to realize what Rohallie had said, but once they did, their voices were all raised into an unearthly wail, one both anguished, and frightened.

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TBC...