A/N: The first chapter after the revelation of Aragorn's fate. It's quite short, I'm afraid, and as things are going at this moment, I guess that the next one's gonna be short, either. The story's coming to its end, but I hope that you won't leave in the last three (?) chapters. You all have been with me for so long….*g* and HUGE THANKS.

To be honest, I thought that most of you would prefer Aragorn being dead, but after having read the reviews for "Shattered" I feel that I was wrong. Mhm, so I excuse to all those who wanted Aragorn to be alive, and at the moment I'm toying with the idea of writing sort of an "alternative end" to Alda mi mornië, that means: re-writing "Shattered", so that Aragorn's still alive and then going on with his life as the king of Gondor – but with all those changes such imprisonment and torture would cause in a Man….a slow poisoning of his soul, so to say. What would you think of it? It would be great if you told me your opinions, but as I said I still *toy* with the idea and I haven't made up my mind about it yet.

Miss Pennyworth: I'm afraid, but I *must* tell you that Aragorn is dead indeed. There will be no such thing as …. I don't know…. just nothing like "Gandalf was mistaken" or such. I hope I don't disappoint you. Thank you for that absolutely nice review! I *loved* reading it!

Araphel: I'm absolutely sorry that I disappointed you. Your review was the main reason for me to even consider writing an alternative end. Thus I'd truly appreciate if you told me your opinion about it. But, please try to understand, I just couldn't go for such fairy-tale end – meaning that Aragorn was still alive – after all those dark thoughts in my previous chapters. Remember Gandalf thinking about a destroyed Arwen…..

Snitter: As you can see I followed your request of getting to know about Legolas. I hope I did it right *g*. And, do not forget to go on with "DoM"….*g*

dshael, Aralondwen, insane one, Lady Winter, dictionaire: Sorry that I disappointed you…. but I just thought it would fit better with Aragorn dead. Nevertheless I truly would have preferred to meet your expectations…

Julia: I'll e-mail you… I promise!

Durheled: Thank you for supporting my idea of the story's end *g*. You were one of three…. Thanks!

So, that was a long Author's note…. Didn't want it to be so long, but now it's enough: Enjoy "Confirmation"!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. (That simply makes it easier.)

Confirmation

 "Oh Undómiel, oh evening star, what tidings are you bringing?"

Legolas was staring into the deeply black sky, having just spotted the bright star in the west. Night had fallen some hours ago, the day disappearing with a beautifully colored sunset, and now he eagerly waited for Gandalf's return. In his liking, the wizard had already been gone for too long.

"Oh Undómiel," the Elf repeated then, almost pleadingly, "I wish for good tidings! The stars are flowering in the sky and the world is fair beyond the borders of Mordor. This night shall not turn into an evil one. Bring us back the man you love, and let us forget the malice of the Dark Age. The return of the King would rejoice any heart in Middle-earth and our own people, Undómiel, could depart with gladness, and sorrow would vanish from our minds. For many thousand years have we dwelt in Arda, delighted by the green woods, the quiet murmur of the wind, the song of the waters. We have witnessed Sauron gaining power only to be overthrown in the Battle of the Last Alliance, we watched the rise and fall of Númenor, the great Men diminishing from the lands, and we perceived the Dark Lord surface again. Now, that He is finally defeated and the greatness of Númenor could be restored under Aragorn's sovereignty, we could sail to Valinor with the knowledge that we have fulfilled our tasks in a decent way. Men would not need our help anymore, Aragorn and his children and grandchildren would teach them our manners, and millennia would have to pass until we would be forgotten. Oh Undómiel, shall your tidings be good! For if they are ill, many of the things our people have been fighting for would prove useless. Elves and Men and Dwarfes would have been slain in vain. Without Aragorn being King we will be forgotten until not even memory will remain to tell of us. The howl of the wind will become sad and gloomy, for no one will understand its murmur. The water will cease to sing, for no Elf will sit there to listen. Alas, my heart cries at these thoughts! Men have not yet learned how to be one with everything, they are merely seeing when looking at something. Only few in whose veins Elven blood is cursing can see and understand. Alas, in each moment of our journey from Rivendell to Tol Brandir I perceived the difference between Boromir and Aragorn! The tramp of Denethor's son, never minding where his feet touched the ground, breaking branches while running through the wood. In Aragorn's soft tread, however, there was our Elvish grace and skill. Twigs never seemed to bother him, he walked the same path as Boromir did, but the branches appeared to yield to him. Alas, he would be the last of Númenor! He shall not be dead!"

"Though I fear it." The Elf added after a short moment, murmuring softly, despair appearing in his voice.

For a tiny second, Legolas felt as if the evening star had blinked at him, but closing his eyes, he quickly disregarded the thought.

Another hour was slowly dragging on, torturing the Elf in its own way. By now he almost regretted that he had not accompanied Gandalf, then he would have known sooner. This way he just felt so helpless, but also so hopeless. The more time passed, the more he believed that Aragorn could not have survived. The thought grew ever more convincing, ever stronger in his mind.

'Aragorn must be dead,' he reasoned, 'how could I even assume that the Dark Lord spared him? Certainly did the Unnamed not leave the world without assuring that his greatest rival had died in overwhelming agony! And even if that was the last thing He had done. Letting Aragorn live would have been sort of another triumph the Captains of the West gained, and that He could not have stood. Alas, maybe Aragorn had still been alive at the time Frodo cast the Ring down into the fires of Mount Doom! And then He plunged a knife deep in his heart, just to kill him, even if He had not enough time left to torture his enemy appropriately!`

Suddenly a soft sound of nearing footsteps ripped the Elf out of his thoughts. He almost started, ere he calmed quickly, recognizing the tread: The wizard was finally returning.

At first Legolas did not even turn his head, sparing himself a tiny moment in which he did not have to know about Aragorn's fate. His keen ears, though, merely heard the heavy breath of one single being: Gandalf's exhausted inhales. Aragorn's deep, slow intakes were not with the wizard.

Curtly the Elf again glanced to the evening star, now hiding behind wispy clouds, its light dimmed by them. And with that he knew. Slightly he bowed his head westward, acknowledging the fair ere he turned around slowly.

"Alas," he murmured quietly after the first second had passed, his eyes now calmly resting on the bent wizard who still carried Aragorn's lifeless body in his strong arms. "You have finally returned." His voice was small and soft, and never would anyone know whether his words had been directed to Gandalf or the dead Man.

The Elf leaped off the wall he had still been sitting on, and went slowly over to Gandalf who had not moved since reappearing in the dark gate leading into the Barad-Dûr. Legolas' features bore the calm grief of the Elves, no tear was in his eyes. But deep sadness stood in them, and such strong suffer which Gandalf had never before seen in any other of the Fair Kindred.

Gently Legolas stroked over Aragorn's pale brow, then cupping a bruised cheek, he pressed a soft kiss on his friend's forehead. His lips were met by icy cold.

Grieving he lifted his head to look into Gandalf's eyes. "He suffered," he stated, not the least questioningly. "His soul bears the torture of many days."

The wizard merely nodded. He could not bring himself to tell the Elf of the various wounds that covered Aragorn's body, the Eye cut into his chest. Maybe Legolas would never get to know, or he would tell him when years had passed and he made himself ready to sail into the west. Only then the pain might have diminished to a mere sting in his heart, now it was as if it was aflame, being eaten up from the inside.

But the Elf needed no further confirmation. He could guess from what he had seen and it tore his heart into two pieces. Aragorn had been his friend, but such death he would wish to none of his enemies. Two weeks at Sauron's mercy, and then dying alone, abandoned by everything that had a tingle of life in it. Merely cold walls to watch the last intakes of breath, the shuddering rise and fall of a dying chest.

He grieved deeply, nothing had ever caused such pain before. No dead hunter in his youth in Mirkwood, no slain Elf on the battlefield against Sauron. Legolas felt an unknown wetness well up in his eyes – a tear, he realized.

Again he looked down on Aragorn's serene face, taking in every detail of his features, and in his eyes was overwhelming sorrow. Abruptly then, the Elf turned and went the few steps to the place where the two horses stood. Nothing kept them anymore in this dark land and as soon as possible he wanted to leave Mordor. Aragorn had not survived, but he deserved to be returned to the fair countries, to be brought to Minas Tirith, his own city which he should have entered in glory.

Taking Arod's bridle, Shadowfax followed him willingly as Legolas took them over to Gandalf. The wizard was still standing at the door, not bringing himself to move. Faintly shaking his head, Gandalf denied the unspoken question in Legolas' eyes: No, he himself would take Aragorn in front of him. No other would be able to refuse him that.

Nodding curtly, the Elf reached out to hold Aragorn for the time Gandalf needed to mount his horse. The Man was surprisingly light in his arms, and in a way it comforted Legolas to touch his friend's skin for one last time. He was so cold, but it sort of confirmed him of his death being the truth. There was no chance of life in this icy body, no warm blood cursing through veins. He indeed was dead.

A grim smile was on the Elf's fair face when he lifted his head to meet Gandalf's eyes, and his own was mirrored in the Istari's. The wizard was sitting on Shadowfax' back, holding the reins in his right. His left supported Aragorn's back while Legolas raised him to place him in front of Gandalf.

The man finally came to sit on the horse, his head falling back on the wizard's shoulder. He looked like a small child that had tired after a long day and had fallen asleep in his fathers arms: Young and vulnerable, the black hair cascading on his shoulders only deepening this impression. Gandalf wrapped his left arm around Aragorn's stomach, pressing him tightly to his own body.

"I will not leave you alone, my friend," he murmured into Aragorn's ear, "I could not be at your side in your last hours, and this grieves me deeply. Alas, one must kill me to make me lose hold on you!"

Almost violently Gandalf spurred Shadowfax in a fast gallop, only wanting to depart from Barad-Dûr. The image of the Dark Tower rising into the sky was something his eyes did not have to see, it would always be in his mind.

Legolas leaped on Arod's back, following his both friends, a heavy weight of sorrow on his heart. For days had he feared the worst, but having it confirmed hardly made it easier to bear. Aragorn was not anymore.

A/N: Did you think about my idea of writing an alternative end? How would you like it? Should I forget it at once? Should I attempt writing it? And last, but not least: How did you like this chapter?