Disclamer: All Tolkien's. I own nothing other than the plot.
Lilies in the Dead Marshes
The battle has ended, and with it – the war. Victory was with the men of the west, and it was said by the healers and the sons of Elrond they will recover after some needed rest and nourishment. They all stood, bewildered. It was over...? They won...? Peace, it seemed, was now here.
Peace...
Suddenly, as if out of nowhere and startling after the long pause before it, a great cheer rose from the weary warriors to echo in the desolate land in front of the fallen black walls of Mordor.
That night the men spent in restored spirits: in spite of exhaustion after many hard days of either fighting or riding, and this special fatigue caused by fear and lack of hope – they found that none of them were tired. Instead, they set together – Rohan, Gondor and Dol- Amroth in one circle – and laughed. Still, the joviality did not prevent Gimli from seeing – and wondering about – the Mirkwood elf's silent conversation with Aragorn.
The next day dawned clearer and brighter than any other.
All around the camp, the men prepared to leave – hardly able to wait to return home to their loved ones and always mindful of the wounded who still needed caring. They knew the journey would be slow – and so meant to depart all the sooner.
Folding his bedroll and checking his pack, Gimli saw Legolas preparing to mount his horse, not even waiting for the rest to be ready. Not even waiting for his passenger. So, he made his way to him before he would do so, throwing in a shout for good measure.
"Hey! Where do you think you are going, Elf?"
"Gimli!" Came the response, and the dwarf wasn't sure if he heard surprise or exasperation in it. Whatever it was though, Legolas recovered quickly and said "I am taking a different rout than the rest of the party. Do not worry about transportation, for spoke with Aragorn and either he or one of the twins will carry you with them."
There was a hint of dismissal in his voice, and that served to bring the dwarf ever closer to ire. "So you move the excessive baggage to a different horse!" he indignantly accused.
His friend looked startled "What? Nay! Gimli, I do not attempt to get rid of you. It is only that I need to do something before returning to the citadel – and that something is rather privet... None come with me, and we shall ride together the rest of the way once I'll rejoin you on the rode."
Gimli's sole response was a look that could well develop into a staring contest if it wasn't for another voice and another person drawing closer.
"Nonsense!" said Gandalf "I happen to know where it is you are going and have one which I wish to visit as well! And besides," he continued, voice softening and looking at Gimli, "you will need a friend."
Knowing resistance was futile, the elf accepted his doom.
It was the fourth day since the left the company, and the terrain only served to bring them nightmares. Waking up from such a one, Gimli was surprised to find it was morning. Even more surprised he noticed the elf gone, though Arod stood nearby with Shadowfax. Slightly alarmed, he woke Gandalf and (once a little of the wizard's grumpiness subsided) told him what happened.
"Come." Said the wizard, and led him the few feet still standing between them and the Dead Marshes.
Waking slowly, head bowed in reverence and respect, they noticed the faces in the water – orcs, men and elves. Floating atop the water above some of the firstborn, the noticed lily petals, numbered in tens, then hundreds, then thousands and they could not count anymore. In the end of this odd, endless trail, they the Mirkwood prince as he was kneeling to lay a single lily down to float on the water. They briefly wondered where he got the flowers from.
"Legolas?" it was Gandalf, Gimli being too stunned by the sudden realization of who these elves must have been, and the expression of pure grief and age on his friend's deceivingly – young face.
The Mirkwood elf did not reply or even turned to look, as if deep in thought or prayer. Then, just when the wizard prepared to ask again, he whispered so low they did not know wither he spoke to them or himself. "They deserve at least this much."
His friend drew closer, only to feel more helpless when they saw the one the prince knelt in front of, and the meaningful golden crown on his forehead. Even Gimli knew enough to know the first woodland king – and Legolas' grandfather – died in the war that claimed the life of the rest of these faces. Breathing deeply to prevent doing something anti- dwarfish, he laid a hand on his companion's shoulder. At that, Legolas turned his head to look at him (Gandalf, seeing he was in good hands went in search of the body of Elendil in order to give him the happy news).
"I was supposed to be in this battle." The elf said, his age apparent now not only in his eyes, but words and voice as well. "I was supposed to fight in this battle. But father insisted on going, and the kingdom could not stay ungoverned and unprotected. The king had to lead the people..."
"All the better." came the gentle response "I would not wish to have you also in there, for then – how would I have met you?"
His heartfelt words did not bring as much as a smile to his grieving friend. "You do not understand!" the Mirkwood prince shouted, though the voice was no stronger than a winter breeze "Many were my friends! Many of those in here – two thirds of those setting out! – grew up with me. Many were my teachers. Some of them watched me grow. Some I watched grow, for they were even younger than I was back then." After a pause he added "None of them deserves that!" he whispered, referring to the endless stretch of murky water that covered the various bodies.
Gimli squeezed his shoulder tighter, and stayed with him, until he finished his silent goodbyes. "They don't deserve it," he thought to himself "but I am sure your presence brings them peace."