An end to many things

The great walls of Minas Tirith had seen better days. The slow process of rebuilding was on its way and while the sounds of cheers and laughter could be heard throughout it's stone halls, it was a bittersweet sound. Many grieved for the lives lost to Sauron's army, but each day brought them more closure as mass burials took place. In the midst of their happiness for their new crowned king, the scent of despair still hung in the air as the burning of orc bodies left a foul stench of death behind them.

Despite all of this, it was a happy time. The war of the ring was over. Rebuilding had begun. And while some lives had ended, already more were beginning. The great banquet halls of Minas Tirith remained open and the people of Gondor were treated to feasts and dancing almost every night. Aragorn was determined to win the moral of his people, and if it took a banquet every night for the rest of the year, he was willing to do it.

Another night of being treated to delicacies ensued, only this night was more honorable than most. This banquet was in honor of the Fellowship, of the lives lost, and of Rohan. The many peoples of Gondor had returned recently from Rohan after Théoden's burial. The Fellowship had remained by Aragorn's side for the last few months and were finally about to begin their journey homeward. Or whatever was left of this place that still stood tall and glorious in their memory.

Drunken laughter filled the nights and reverberated through out the tower. The men of Rohan had since left back to their land, but they were not forgotten as random cheers echoed through out the night. "To Rohan!" shouted a group of particularly drunk and happy group of men. "To Rohan!" The rest of the men in the hall replied.

Great banners decorated the walls, and beer flowed freely through the cups of the men. Women danced, great dresses twirling across the room. In the corner a group sat, looking exhausted, but exuberant with their triumphs. Merry leaned back in his chair, holding a pipe fondly to his chest, "How I've missed you Longbottom Leaf".

Merry and Pippin eagerly smoked as Frodo chuckled at them. Gandalf also sat back with a pipe in his hand. Legolas held a beer in his hand, and Gimli held two. "The men of Gondor have fine ale, but it lacks against the dwarfish brew!" Gimli roared out, quite obviously drunk.

"My fine friend, you have had too much to drink," Legolas teased his short friend.

"Ah, I know how to hold my liquor, Master Elf." Gimli's ale slopped from his cup and his words slurred together. It was their last night in Gondor before they returned home and no one gave him any more comments on his drinking, though they knew he would have a hard time rising for his return voyage.

These are the thoughts of Gimli on returning home:

He does not know what he will find. He has had no word from his people. Did war reach them? Where they safe? Did they need to rebuild? He knows that his part in the fellowship was necessary and was imperative, but he cannot help feeling a pang of guilt at leaving his own people to defend themselves. He knows there were many great warriors among them, but still the image of the Mines of Moria torments him constantly from the back of his mind. He is anxious to return home, but fearful of what he will find. He knows the worst is over; there is no more need for the fellowship. Still, he doesn't feel right about leaving his friends. He is comforted in the fact that while the fellowship breaks apart, their friendship will not. He does not let his concerns show, for a great warrior dwarf has no fears.

"For Frodo!" A cheer erupts from across the room. Frodo feels himself blush, feeling undeserving of this attention.

"Frodo, don't be so modest," chirps Merry.

"You saved all of Middle Earth! Because of you there will be peace always!" Shouts Pippin.

"Peace? Yes." Mumbled Gandalf. "For now."

"Gandalf," Frodo begins, "Sauron's armies have been destroyed, what more is left to trouble your mind?"

"My dear hobbit, a great evil has passed from this land indeed, but evil has not died. For as long as good remains, there will always lurk evil in the darkness." This statement held a sense of foreboding in Frodo.

"Don't listen to him lad," Gimli yelled over the roar of laughter from a nearby table.

"Yes, Frodo," Legolas put forth, "He issues none but an old man's worries."

"Hm. Yes, yes indeed. A very old man." Gandalf smiled to himself. "Legolas is right dear Frodo, I'm nothing but an old fool." He grinned at Frodo from behind his pipe.

"Gandalf?" asked Pippin, "Where has Sam gotten off to?"

"Ah. Dear Sam, I'm afraid, is quite anxious to return home. You will find him preparing for your travels."

"Dear Sam." Frodo chimed fondly, more to himself than to anyone else.

The night continued on through out the night, until one by one the groups, the couples, and the individuals drifted off to their chambers to sleep. The hobbits left first, chattering excitedly about returning to the Shire, Gimli left next, though not by choice. He was dragged out of the room after passing out at the table. Gandalf left the great hall, more so to think on his own than to go to sleep. And as the hall began to be sparser and finally empty, only Aragorn, Arwen, and Legolas remained. Sensing words being left unspoken, Arwen excused herself and lightly kissed Aragorn on the cheek. It was the kind of kiss only elves could give. A touch so light and gentle you could hardly even tell it existed, if not for the warmth that immediately spread through out your body. A slight smile swept across his face, then he glanced at his friend and the smile became one of welcome for him.

"Legolas…"

"I must thank you for your great hospitality, my friend."

"Legolas, no thanks is necessary, I owe you my life."

"And I, mine."

"What troubles you my friend?"

"Nothing troubles me, only thoughts that entertain my mind. I am thinking of leaving Mirkwood."

"Leaving? To the Undying Lands?"

"No, not yet. My time for the Undying Lands is far from come, not until past your time, Elissar."

"I am thinking of starting a new Elven colony… I am sorry my friend, this is not what I have come to discuss with you."

"Then speak your mind my friend," Aragorn motioned to Legolas to sit beside him.

"I suppose I feel as though I have stayed by your side for so long, it seems odd to consider leaving."

"Ah, Legolas," Aragorn smiled. "I feel the same. You have become a dear friend to me, but now that the War of the Ring is over, I feel it is time for us to return to our lives."

"Yes." Legolas said smirking at his friend, "Your life with Arwen."

Aragorn looked back at him. "Yes. I don't know how I could live with out her."

"You are lucky my friend. I know I leave you in good hands." Legolas rose and seemed content with the outcome of their conversation.

"Take care, my friend. I should expect word from you that you had a safe journey?"

"You do not worry that I can not take care of myself, Elissar?"

Aragorn grinned, "Of course not my friend."

They both rose and held each other, as good friends do, and said goodnight. Legolas went to his room, but did not sleep. His mind was not troubled, only busy. He could sense something… but he didn't know what. Something was about to happen. Good or bad? He could not sense. An adventure? Yes. But of what sorts? He sat cross-legged on his bed, his golden hair reflecting the light about him. His eyes remained closed, his stature peaceful. As the sounds of the outside crept in through his window, with the silver strands of moonlight, he allowed himself to lie down and rest. That night he slept better then he had since before the war.

And thus begins the tale of the journeys of Legolas after the War of the Ring: