The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R Tolkien. This is purely for fun and no profit is being made.

I don't know how Tolkien died, this just seemed appropriate.

He took another short breath and Manwë was cold. He coughed and Manwë shook.

The everlasting darkness that surrounded the Halls was getting darker; the echoes on the stone seemed distant. Manwë could barely focus on the grave face in front of him, the edges were blurred. Most unusual.

'So it has come to pass.'

'What?'

Death ran a hand through his hair.

Manwë looked to the ceiling, for some reason He was up, always had been, always will be. 'I know you must've had good reason for saddling me with him, but honestly, it's easier to get blood out of a stone,' he mused aloud.

Death sighed and cleared his throat, ignoring Manwë's comment as usual.

'Námo, elaborate.'

Death said nothing.

The Valier entered. They all wore the same expression. One of confusion, impatience...fear.

'He is leaving us' said Vairë.

Manwë's blood ran cold. 'Strange, I didn't know I had blood' he thought.

His wife squeezed his hand, her grip was usually firm but today Manwë couldn't feel it. The twinkling eyes were cold and dim. Something was very wrong.

Vána started to cry. Followed by Nienna, and to Manwë she seemed to be crying not for Arda, but for herself.

'We knew it had to happen, we would not live forever. He would not live forever. He has been getting ill for a long time. Now it is just getting worse.' Námo's deep voice broke the air, not as loud as usual, Manwë felt.

'How ill?' Nessa's childlike voice asked.

'The illness I deal in' the Doomsman answered, 'the illness that does not get better.'

'But we have to go on!' someone cried, 'what will happen to Arda without us?'

'There will be no Arda, this is the end, the end of the end, of everything.'

'But...but the Books?'

'The Books will keep our memory alive, not us.'

'That isn't enough.'

'I know.'

'It's not fair! I don't want to leave! I don't want him to leave!'

'You cannot make demands of Eru, Ulmo' Námo said, a poe-faced as ever, 'nor can you make demands of Him.'

'I...I'm going to die...' whispered someone.

'We're all going to die. But maybe we'll see each other somewhere afterwards, maybe we'll...'

Everyone was crying now, even Tulkas, even Námo. The tears didn't taste salty to Manwë, they didn't taste at all.

Suddenly He slipped out of consciousness and the light went away.

'Manwë, I think we should go home now' whispered Varda, 'you need to say goodbye to the eagles.'

They left, Nienna followed. In a few minutes all the Valar had gone, gone to say goodbye to the places, the people they'd never known they loved until now.

Lorien turned to his brother, 'it was good while it lasted wasn't it?'

Námo laughed, but the sound didn't ring out, it was hollow. 'It was certainly interesting!'

'It was nice knowing you, brother.'

'The same.'

These Halls. I have been walking them since the dawn of everything, since we were just a dream of a dream of a dream in His mind. And now it goes. Where? Even I do not know. But all I know is...it will be peaceful there...

He coughed once more and Námo broke into a million little pieces.

The bird song stopped, the rivers ceased to flow, He died that morning and He was smiling.