Chapter Twelve: A final goodbye

Elessar and Eldarion refused any help flatly and with grave faces and tearful eyes, marched through the lands bearing Legolas' dead weight between them.

They walked the long miles to Minas Tirith, only stopping when one of them was going to faint from fatigue.

As they walked, they found a crowd following them.

For the final march through Gondor and to the White City, they had nearly twenty people from assorted lands following them.

Men who had known Legolas because they had fought alongside the beautiful and courageous elf. Women who remembered when the kind and giving elf had helped restore their villages after the attacks. Children who were told in songs of the bravery of the elf.

Legolas had not met many of these people, but he had still influenced them.

Accidentally, Elessar had to brake Legolas' arm in order to get it to lie at his side. They had closed his eyes and managed to move his jaw upwards and close his mouth. He no longer had such a panicked look on his face, instead looked relatively peaceful.

Gladrau's body had been discovered and it had taken fifty men of Rohan the good part of two hours to pull him out. Already armourers were flocking from all over Middle-earth to hacking at the skin.

Dragon scales made one of the most durable and hardest armour in the world. It was as hard as Mithril, if not slightly more, because it also protected the wearer from magic. The only downside of dragon scales was that it was fairly clunky and hard to walk in.

Gladrau's teeth were also being removed by the looters. In many cultures, dragon teeth were seen as a symbol of protection. They had holes bored into them and then were threaded onto string or metal chains.

News travelled quickly to Gimli in the mountains and reluctantly, the dwarf agreed with Legolas in saying that: "Horses are the quickest form of travel short of flying."

With a crooked smile he looked upward and murmured to his dead friend: "It doesn't mean that I like them."

Gimli traded some gems for a brown mare after realizing that the boisterous black stallion might be a bit to wild for his liking. Then he set out and intercepted the party on their way to Minas Tirith.

Mounting a hill, he looked down and saw the group weaving their way slowly, but surely towards the city gates. At the front of the party were King Elessar and Prince Eldarion. Their faces were almost yellow with exhaustion and they had black rings around their eyes that were puffed up from the almost ceaseless crying.

Gimli then saw the body of his friend.

The elf's straight nose was unmoving and a brief memory raced through his mind.

flashbackEnd flashback

Never would he see that proud nose scrunch up again. With that thought, Gimli howled loudly and falling from his horse, sprinted towards the body. He reached it within seconds; dutifully the two men slumped slightly so that Gimli could see his friend.

"Legolas, you crazy elf," he sobbed as he clutched one icy hand tightly, as if it was his only lifeline.

"You said that you would never leave me."

Gimli could simply not believe it. Legolas was always going to be the one left behind when everyone else went ahead. He knew that, many times he was pensive because of this and a couple of times, Gimli had seen the elf brush away tears and put on a shaky smile.

Legolas knew the price he was going to pay for his friendship to mortals. He had been warned about it, and against his sense, he went ahead and befriended several mortals who looked up to and admired him. Hell, Gimli thought, they even loved him.

Gimli knew that he had found a trustworthy and immensely honest friend. Legolas was surprising. Even after their long friendship, he could still surprise Gimli.

His death had certainly done that.

Gimli had never thought that Legolas would never be foolish enough to go and slay the dragon on his own. But then, Legolas had much of Thranduil's obstinacy. Then again, he was also easy to injure if you insulted his pride.

Elessar tilted his head to stare at his one-time companion. "He promised all of us that at one time."

'I promised him that', Eldarion thought and with a shaking hand, smoothed down the golden hair that was still remarkably shiny and glossy.

'And I broke my promise'. Eldarion had let Legolas go ahead to his doom without hardly any protest. He had just resigned to the fact that Legolas was going to fight a dragon.

If he really loved Legolas so much, he would have followed him to the ends of the earth. Maybe he was lying when that frozen night Legolas had asked for comfort and he had given it willingly. Maybe it was not love but something it was mistakenly often for- lust or desire.

Gimli let his hand drop down and the group continued on. The stout warrior marching ahead planning things he could say at Legolas' funeral.

Around them swirled the snow more harshly, if it was possible, than before.

~ One month later~

They had decided that Legolas' sending off should be one not marked with black and mourning, but celebration and joy, as much as they could not bear it.

They had left the bleak halls of Minas Tirith behind. Gimli had suggested, knowing dearly how his friend felt claustrophobic when in stone buildings. He knew that if his friend was going to die and had to have a funeral, it would be outside, beneath the sun and sky that he loved so much.

A couple of the elves had wanted a royal memorial, fit for the station that Legolas was: a prince among elves. But even they knew that Legolas had never wanted his rank. More did he wish the feel of wind brushing through his air, than that of a metal crown.

And so they had decided upon it.

Legolas' body was to be put on a raft and it was going to be floated into the river so that in some morbid way, he would cross the sea finally. Even if it was a journey in which his soul was not partake.

They had waited nigh on three weeks so that all who were close to Legolas, could make their way to Ithilien, the place where the prince had desired to set up an elven colony. Alas, the elves were going to remain there, for they too fell in love with the beautiful woods, but they were going to be leaderless.

From the Fellowship of the Ring came Elessar, Gimli the dwarf, and only two of the hobbits: Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. Affectionately known by all as Merry and Pippin. They were getting on, nearly eighty. Their hair was no longer the dark blonde and brown colour it was previously, but a distinguished silver. Their eyes still sparkled mischievously.

Frodo Baggins had passed over the Sea many years ago along with Gandalf the White. Boromir, son of Gondor and brother to Faramir had sadly died at Amon Hen. His soul rested now in the Halls of Mandos if all was well. Boromir had tried to take the Ring of Power for his own, however he had paid up for that with his own life and bravery in battle.

Samwise Gamgee, the faithful companion to Frodo, was living happily in the Shire with his wife Rosie and their numerous children. The old hobbit was getting stiff joints, but he still worked hard in the garden and the pain did not affect his friendly nature that was hard to match anywhere else. Sam was as loyal friend as Legolas was a skilled warrior.

The pony ride to Ithilien would have been hard on him and so Sam had decided to stay. It was mainly due to the fact that "Little Elanor's going to have an even littler Elanor!"

The proud father was soon going to be a prouder grandfather.

The elves were the first to be on the beach in Ithilien. Their raiment was white, so white that it nearly blended in with the snowy surroundings. But their shining hair gave them away; otherwise no one may have noticed them.

Their faces were stony, but their eyes were filled with grief and joy intermingled. They were filled with the loss of their captain, the elf who had led them back to Middle-earth, and there wasn't an elf there that at some time harboured their doubts about returning. Though, there was also joy at the thought that Legolas was going to the Halls of Mandos, there he would be re-united with his mother.

Next came the hobbits, clutching each other for support and weeping softly.

After that came the men that Legolas had known.

Eomer came, now feeling guilty for the harsh words he had spoken in a heated moment before. He bore the crown of the King of the Mark well. He was a dutiful King, devoted entirely towards his people. He wished them to have a better reign under him, then his uncle when so much hurt had been caused. Behind him and occasionally touching him to make sure that he was well, was his wife. The daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. She knew Legolas not, but felt that she should support her husband.

Faramir and Eowyn came hand in hand. The fair maiden once cold and beautiful in features had softened considerably after the birth of their first child. The brow haired cherub, burbling and chuckling, brought so much happiness to his parent's life. The child was being minded by a nanny for the day though. They thought that the babe would be too noisy for a sad occasion such as this.

Faramir was quieter then his brother Boromir, who was also greater known then he. But he was a good leader in the land of Ithilien. Wise and knowledgeable after his upbringing in the law courts of Gondor. There was some who said he was too cautious and did not speak much, most ignored that though.

Behind them came Prince Imrahil. He had grey eyes that were sympathetic and his dark hair had been combed neatly and braided. The slight point in his ears was the only thing that suggested the small remnant of elven blood that he possessed. That tenuous link between Legolas somehow managed to make him feel closer to the elves and for that, he mourned more, he did not cry though.

Walking down the sand and to the riverside next was Gimli. His beard was going a dark rust colour with age and it was lined with grey. Dwarves can live long lives and this dwarf was no different. Gimli was still somehow healthy. As Legolas once said: "Its a wonder that you manage to survive when you're forever smoking. It must be the fact that you live to annoy me." His leather skin was lined with wrinkles but he was still hale and sturdy as ever. Gimli was walking slower than normal. Whether it was due to the maelstrom of emotions rushing around in his head, or the wound he received in his leg during a fight with wargs.

Proud and tall walked the King of men, Elessar the Elfstone. His face was sad indeed and it seemed to watchers, that all the ages of the world were piled on his back. Next to him, his constant support and guidance, Arwen Undomiel walked, her dainty feet making not a print in the sand. She was robed in silver so that she looked like a lofty star high up in a snow filled sky.

Her blue eyes were even and dry, even as she looked at Gimli, immediately they filled with compassion and warmth. Separating slightly from her husband, she walked alongside the dwarf, sharing her comfort silently.

Finally, the saddest party walked forward.

Eldarion.

He was dressed regally in rich velvets and smooth satins that flowed over his body like water. His hair hang down limply, lacking the healthy finish that it normally had. His skin was sallow and his eyes seemed to be lacking glint or character. They were devoid of happiness and were ringed with grey lines.

He was taking it the hardest and there was not a night that passed, he didn't cry himself to sleep. Not since the discovery of Legolas' body, had Eldarion allowed himself to be hugged or comforted by anyone. His own father was dismissed sharply and his mother knew better than to try.

Four elves had been selected as worthy candidates to bear the raft forward. They were strong and loyal to Legolas until death itself.

The vessel was a small boat crafted by the skilled river men of Ithilien with help and guidance from Prince Imrahil. It was made from the silvery bark of the willow tree and engraved lovingly onto the side was pictures of flying birds, ships, trees and swords.

Lying inside it was Legolas' still form. The golden hair that flowed down his body was now still as a dammed river. The silver clothes that would have rippled over his body was now as still as the clothes drawn onto a model in a picture.

Lying next to him was his two knives retrieved lovingly from the ice. Some strange phenomenon had made them appear on the ground, when surely they should have sunk. Clasped in his hands was the bow of Celeborn and he wore proudly his gauntlets with the tree of Mirkwood on, stitched in golden thread.

Over the silver clothes previously mentioned was something wondrous that enhanced the wonder that surrounded Legolas.

Gimli had strangely purchased some of Gladrau's skin and had all the time that he wasn't mourning, locked himself in a smithy and set about making the armour with a feverish energy. As he banged it into shape, Gimli felt some satisfaction but he couldn't still help but gasp at the final result.

The main part of the armour, buckled around Legolas' chest had been a dull red when Gimli had bought it. After all the work and polishing he had done to it, it was a shining red like that of fresh blood. Vivid against the pale skin and it shone like nothing else. In the sunlight it seemed to turn a deep purple, while in other light it was a blue. Mainly it was carmine, a beautiful red with purple intermingled.

It was a suitable piece of armour for a skilled warrior.

The elves that stood on the beach opened their mouths as everyone made a crescent shape around the jetty. A heartrending melody came forth that sang of Legolas. It was soft and could barely be heard above the crash of the waves.

Eldarion closed his eyes as fresh tears started to pour out onto his hot cheeks. It he listened hard, he could almost hear Legolas' own unique voice.

Elessar also closed his eyes and bowed his head. Seeing the King doing this, everyone except for the elves followed suit. Aragorn could distinguish the words sung in accented elvish. The phonetics of the piece was silky smooth and rolled over the elf's tongues.

They sung of his valour in battle, his wisdom, his kindness and the prince that they all looked up to and admired. It was not the shallow praise that is often used when you speak of heroes. They were skilled people with the sword and were valiant, but all that came naturally to them.

Legolas was naturally an introvert and he had to fight hard for this position where he was venerated so much and held in such high esteem. And he had to fight for people's attention.

Elessar remembered the shy elf that he once knew and then compared it to the modest and reserved elf that used to be. It might not sound much of a difference in words, but it was in actions.

Legolas when he was younger was so silent that he almost became invisible. Many would call the prince shy today, but he was far louder and more confident.

The elves kept on singing as Eldarion, Elessar and Gimli stepped forward to take the boat from the patient bearers.

They walked forward, Gimli leading them, as he was too small to help. They walked along the jetty and lowered the boat into the water.

Eldarion paused for a second, his hand momentarily letting go of the wood and Elessar only just renewed his grip otherwise the boat would have been taken out already.

Gimli was weeping openly as he stared at the body of his friend.

Eldarion had caught himself waiting for Legolas to sit up. For those eyes to open and blink slowly as if awakening from a deep sleep. But they didn't.

"Eldarion?" Elessar asked.

The prince shook his head and made himself nod.

"Its time."

Gimli choked and with a sob leant down and caught the frozen hands and kissed them. "Bless you lad," he whispered in dwarvish though none could understand the harsh tongue.

"Aratoamin" [my champion] Eldarion cried, ignoring the looks that the elves and his father were giving him. "Melamin," [my love]

Elessar stiffled a gasp and just nodded. "Quel esta," [rest well] he said and pressed a kiss onto the elf's forehead. "The Valar knows you deserve it."

With a look at each other, the three bent down simultaneously and gave the boat a small jolt.

The boat jerked and was caught by the waves of the river.

The people there stood there in silence watching as the boat made its way down the river Anduin.

From there it would meet the Sea in the Bay of Belfalas, and from there, it could travel anywhere.

The only sound was that of the elves' constant singing weaving through the broken sobbing of a bereaved lover.

~

Please review.