AN: So here is the much anticipated (or not) second epilogue to my Eowyn/Legolas inkle 'Longing'. It took a little longer that I would have liked, but I have two other stories on the go right now! I'm very happy with how this turned out, and I hope you all are too. I may in the future consider more L/E inkles (like, their 'married years' or whatever) but for now this is it. Enjoy.

And...review :)

-Melanye

A Night Between Two Days

You don't need to bother,
I don't need to be,
I'll keep slipping farther,
But once I hold on,
I won't let go till it bleeds.

-Bother by Corey Taylor (Spiderman soundtrack)

His smooth porcelain hand gently clasped the fragile and aged one of his wife. Blue eyes containing the very depth of sorrow met silver ones filled with an equal amount of peace. He knelt by her bed, clutching her hand to his chest and using the other to smooth back the delicately braided hair.

Today was Eowyn's birthday. For one hundred and twenty years she had graced Arda with her beauty, and ninety-two of them had been spent with her adoring husband. Never could it be said that any other of her line had lived with such joy and love of life, but now that would soon be over. Today she would leave it.

It is said among the elves that when a mortal life comes to its end on the very day it began, the person had lived their life to the fullest it could possibly have been. This thought was little comfort to Legolas who felt his spirit slowly slipping away with hers, as if the ground beneath his feet had dropped away. Their souls were bound to each other and, though many times throughout the years they had spoken of her eventual end, now that the time came he felt it would be his also.

Standing behind him, as a quiet and reassuring presence, was their family. Their daughter and three sons stood behind their father, with many of their own children and even some of the older grandchildren. Their faces were deceptively young, for the years had not touched them as yet, but the deep wisdom and unmeasured sorrow dwelt in their eyes, growing the deeper with the knowledge that their mother would soon flee her body, leaving their father devastated in the aftermath. Mortal themselves, but still long-lived, they watched the end of their matriarch with mingled sorrow, fear and acceptance. They did not have the same grief as their father, for they understood that this was a journey that they would one day take themselves. Their father, however, would take a different path.

Ever since their marriage, Legolas had searched through records, archives, journals and forgotten writings of all the great sages of men and elves for an answer to his desperate question. He could not accept that one day his wife would leave him forever, lost irretrievably to the Song from which she had come, for he knew such beauty and love could only have been borne of the Great Song of Illuvatar himself. The search had obsessed and consumed him, but still there was no answer. Finally Eowyn herself was the one who calmed his frantic search with a mere touch of her hand and the whispered words, 'sîdh, meleth nin. Enjoy what we have now, and whatever will be will be.' *peace, my love*

The search ended.

In the years of searching the books of lore and forgotten volumes of Gondor, Rohan and Rivendell he had found one train of thought that seemed to be a constant in all the writings. Often the wording was different, told in verse or tale or even as established fact, but the message was the same. None of the other books had told it better than one he had found on a shelf in Rivendell under years of dust.

'Death is a night between two days,' it said, 'Though to us it seems as if all is lost when our beloved of the Edain forsake this world for we know not what, my heart tells me that this is but a crossing. I am certain that in the end of days when Illuvatar at last commands the Valar to put an end to all that they have made, and the veils of this world are pulled back, my daughter will be there, awaiting my embrace.'

Those words he had found in a book said to have been salvaged from the realm of Doriath before its fall, written by the hand of Elu Thingol, father of Luthien. Legolas believed them, and for a time he had peace, until he felt the spirit of his beloved parting from his.

"Do not despair, my love," Eowyn's weak voice entreated him. "I have lived more in my long years than I ever thought possible. Experienced such joys and sorrows as most people merely dream about. I feel now that it is time to leave you, my only regret is the pain my passing will cause to you and our family. I beg of you, meleth, do not fade from life, not yet." Legolas looked up at these words, meeting her eyes once again, praying that it would not be the last time.

"Eowyn," his voice broke with tears, "that may not be possible. Even now I feel I will soon despair of this world if I should go a day without you in it, and that my soul will seek yours in the timeless halls. Alas that Illuvatar cursed us by sundering the paths of his children!" he cried. Behind him, their children heard the anger in his voice and were afraid. His hand gently cupped his wife's delicate face as he continued, anger tempered by despair. "How could there be such beauty in the world, only for it to wither as a flower that is cut from the earth? How is it that you are doomed to die while I am cursed to live?"

"Doomed?" she said. "Cursed? No, my love it is not so. If I could live a thousand more years on this earth and be happy with you I would, but now that the Gift of Illuvatar is upon me, I am content with the life I have been given. To look back on my long life and remember the joy and love that each day with you has brought me sets my heart at ease for what is to come. Nay, not doomed, love."

"Doomed to leave such a life of happiness, then?"

"Blessed to have had such a life at all, meleth. There are many of your kindred who live many times my own life and never have half as much joy as I have been given." Legolas considered her words, and was forced to agree.

"Do not begrudge your days in Arda because of me."

"Not because of you-"

"Yes, because of me. Had I not captured your heart long ago and claimed it for my own, had you not bound yourself to a mortal's soul you would still delight in life rather than wish to leave it." Legolas sighed and brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

"But had you not, what would there have been for me to delight in but for the forest and the sky? I have had you and our children to fill my days, and I would not trade that for all the light in Valinor."

"Then I am glad, for now you have our children and their children to fill your days with joy again."

"But without you-"

"My love, do you not yet understand?" She raised her head slightly to look him in the eye. "After all your searching and studying, have you not found the immortality of the Edain? It is in our children, love, that I will live on. I am in each of them, just as my parents were in me. This is the gift of Illuvatar, that in our children we shall live longer than those named 'Immortal'." She brought her hand up to his face, and wiped away the tears from his cheeks. "Do not grieve for me, love. I go now to rest, and it is one I have well earned. Navaer, meleth nin. I love you."

Legolas stayed as their children said their farewells, and even after all had left he still clutched his wife's hand in his. He stayed even long after her breathing stopped and her fea fled the world while she slept. He did not cry when it happened, but in the long nights for years after he would gaze west at the stars and shed silent tears for his lost wife. Though the grief never left him, and he was less playful and happy in the years after her death, she had been right. Their children gave him strength, and in each of their faces he saw something of what he had lost, and was comforted.

When at last their children passed on, and the realm of Gondor was now being ruled by the great-grandson of Eldarion son of Elessar, Legolas of Ithilien, last of the Nine Walkers left Middle-Earth. He built a ship on the far western shore, and was never again seen by mortal eyes.