Author's Note: Many thanks to Arathlithiel for proofing the story. I'm deeply sorry if the theme bothered you so much…
THE PASSING OF THE ELF-FRIEND
Morning was soft south of Eressea. Half hidden by the gentle swells of the hills around it, a small house stood near a swift flowing creek, shaded by stately mallorn trees, which shed their scarlet and gold leaves about the patio and garden strewn with elanors and niphredils. Legolas sat watching the leaves fall.
"Do you miss them?" he whispered, looking up, as though he was talking to the silent trees. "Do you miss them once they go away?"
He was expected somewhere, but he couldn't make himself go. The journey was too laden with pain, the destination was pure sorrow. Legolas stood still upon the path leading out to the grassy path beyond the mallorn trees, his heart heavy, his mind aching. His breath felt fiery in his lungs, though the soothing breeze was gentle upon his blond hair. He sighed deeply, and started walking, head bent, feet dragging.
He strode along the grassy path, the jade-green robe he wore sweeping the ground but unsullied. As he reached the eaves of the mallorn trees, the gentle Eressea sun warmed his face and he looked up. The rays of the sun glinted in his eyes. The bright elven eyes were glittering with tears.
On he walked along the path, heedless of the sweet scented nephredils and elanors. Presently he arrived on the foot of a small hill. A stone arch stood to one side of the hill. Elvish runes were carved all along the smooth stone surface.
Here dwells Gimli son of Gloin, Elf-Friend and Lock-Bearer, a dwarf from Middle Earth beyond the sea,one of the Fellowship, brave and gentle
Legolas sighed and wiped his eyes with his long, fair hand. He smiled and walked under the arch, into the twilight under the hill. An elfmaiden, tall and beautiful, carrying a crystal bowl in her hand, was standing in the stone hallway.
"How is he?" asked Legolas softly, his eyes peering into the gloom beyond the hallway.
"He had a restful night," said the elfmaiden. "He is getting weaker, that I deny not. But he is comfortable and happy."
"Thank you, Nessa," said Legolas, "I will go to him now. You may rest."
The elfmaiden bowed slightly and left. Legolas walked to the far end of the hallway, passing tall marble-like walls carved with vivid images of the saga of the Fellowship of the Ring. Here a detailed picture of the council of Elrond, with Gimli the dwarf sitting beside his father Gloin, and some other dwarves, while Legolas and other elves were depicted sitting curiously close to the dwarves' seats. There a scene from the battle of Helm's Deep, the Rohan riders and little Uruk-hais portrayed in meticulous detail. In a corner there was a scene where the Fellowship members, together at last, were having a celebration by the bastion of Gondor, with the stately White Tree as their background. And in the centre of it all, was a big, almost life-sized depiction of Legolas and Gimli, riding together on their Mark horse, Arod. As Legolas walked on, battling his reluctance to arrive at the end of the hallway, the pictures seemed to be brought to life by the flickering flame of the torches set on the walls.
But finally Legolas came upon a circular chamber. Pillars stood along the wall, elaborately carved with the likeness of creeping vines. The walls were glittering with gemlike sparkle. The floor was of smooth, mirror-like granite, black and shiny. And in the middle of the room, lay Gimli the Elf-friend, on a bed covered with earth-coloured blankets, woven from the sheer and flowing elven silk. He was asleep.
Legolas went to the bed and sat beside Gimli, looking sadly at the dwarf's face. Nearly fifteen score of years they had spent together in Eressea, after the perilous journey crossing the sea to the Undying Land, land of the fair first-born. Many a good time they had had. Gimli had wrought a beautiful cavern under the hill where he spent most of his time, hewing, smoothing and carving the stones. He had helped build Legolas's home, a small elven building with a marble fountain right in the middle, surrounded with a vast, lush lawn of grass and flowers. Legolas had taught Gimli the joys of singing and poetry, and of the friendship and trust between all elvish beings and other creatures of the realm. And they had sat together for many days, in Legolas's house, or Gimli's cavern, chatting endlessly of the days long ago, when they had marched in a desperate journey to save the world.
But while Legolas had remained fair of face, youthful of build, Gimli had grown greyer and more stooped with age. The face Legolas beheld in the twinkling light of the torches was that of a very old dwarf, whose beard had gone all white and silvery, and whose skin was lacklustre and parched.
The eyes that opened as the dwarf awoke, were without the fire they used to hold. There was resignation there, and exhaustion. But as the eyes focused, a smile broke on Gimli's lips, and for a very short while, Legolas glimpsed the Gimli he first met in Rivendell many years ago.
"Is that you, Master Legolas?" said Gimli, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Or have my eyes tricked me into thinking the elven maid was my bow wielding friend."
"'Tis I, Gimli, my friend," said Legolas. "It isn't your eyes that play trick on your mind. 'Tis these torches that are at fault. How many times have I begged you to light this room with elven candles? They are far brighter."
"Ay, you might be right," laughed Gimli. "But they do not remind me of our caves in the East."
Legolas stared at his friend. Sadness was in his eyes.
"Do you miss your home, Gimli?" said Legolas.
"You have asked that question many a time, Master Elf," said Gimli. "Why?"
"Because had it brought you just a little more peace and joy, I would gladly take you back."
Gimli smiled a little. "This is my home, Legolas. I am home."
"Yet you are alone. Kinless you are, brethrenless. Are you not lonely at times, pining for the sight of a fellow dwarf?"
Gimli was silent for a while. His eyes had closed and Legolas thought he had fallen asleep again. His breath, though regular, was riddled with a wheezing sound.
Age is a vicious foe, thought Legolas. It's a plague without cure, a wardless bane. And death… Legolas closed his eyes, unable to think about the utter darkness and desolation of such a cold word as death.
He had witnessed many passings. The death of Boromir. The death of Merry and Pippin. The death of Eomer. The death of King Elessar of Gondor. Each parting had been a terrible wrench to his heart. But the thought of losing Gimli was the heaviest and most difficult to endure. Yet the time drew near. The parting was close.
Gimli opened his eyes again. "I do not miss my kindred, Legolas, my friend," his voice was hoarse, but gentle. "For I have you. And the Lady is here. And Gandalf. You are to me dearer than brothers destined by the same blood. I shall never feel alone here. I have told you this many times. Why you should doubt me in the end, I never could understand."
"Not the end," said Legolas desperately. "Say not the dreadful word."
"Legolas," and the dwarf's eyes shone with warm affection. His gnarled hand reached out and touched Legolas's arm. "This has to end. If I were to be granted immortality, think of the bother I would pose in your world, in your life."
"You know that it is unthinkable for me to even dream that you are a burden. If you can say it, Gimli, is that how you see our bond of this many years? A nuisance?"
"But my good Legolas, look at me," said Gimli despairingly. "I am hardly the Gimli that you knew. I am but a sickly, worn out dwarf now. Old and grumpy and tired."
Legolas was silent. He sighed deeply. "Tired. Yes, I warrant that you are tired. But I am yet to be tired of your company, Gimli. For to me, you are always Gimli son of Gloin of old."
Gimli smiled. "And I still can't beat an Elf in gentle speak. My dear Legolas, how I'm going to miss you. And a dwarf saying this, this is truly rare indeed."
Legolas would have wept then, had the room not suddenly glowed with a soft radiance. Gimli looked toward the door, his face radiating pure joy.
"My Lady," he called. He tried weakly to sit, but couldn't. "I am sorry that I could not welcome you in the proper manner. My limbs are failing me even now."
The Lady by the door came beside Gimli's bed and reached out her hand. She gently stroked Gimli's forehead and the dwarf closed his eyes. For a while he looked much, much younger, his face glowing a rosy hue and his smile nearly childlike under his bushy silver beard. Lady Galadriel closed her eyes. Enormous pain was etched in her fair face and a teardrop slid down her cheek. She bent and kissed Gimli softly on his brow. As she sat on the bed, she looked at Legolas, and the agony that they shared was so great that the light of the torches seemed dimmer and a chill crept into the room.
"My dear friend," said Lady Galadriel. "Forgive me for not visiting you sooner."
"My Lady, you are never far from me," whispered Gimli. From under the coverlet he drew out his hand. Clutched in his wrinkled fist was a small crystal sphere. Set inside it were the three strands of golden hair, the hair that came from Lady Galadriel's own tresses, bestowed on Gimli on the day of his leaving Lothlorien with the Fellowship of the Ring.
Lady Galadriel was beyond speech. She was smiling, but there was great sadness in her eyes. Legolas wanted to look away but could hardly move.
Lady Galadriel took Gimli's hand and began to sing softly. Gimli closed his eyes and presently Legolas could hear his deep, peaceful breathing.
Lady Galadriel sat for a while more, gazing at Gimli, then at Legolas.
"There are ways that I can ease his pain," she said. "But I am afraid that for your kind of wound, I am powerless. My heart goes out to you, Legolas Greenleaf. It is a great loss you are facing."
"And great loneliness," said Legolas faintly.
"My hope is that your memory shall sustain you and help you heal."
"My memory shall betray me, my Lady," said Legolas. "For I shall carry it alone."
They sat in silence for what seemed to be ages. Presently Lady Galadriel stood up. She cradled Gimli's cheek in one fair, soft hand, and gently kissed his forehead. Then she walked around to Legolas and placed her hand on his shoulder. Legolas closed his eyes and felt warmth seeping and spreading through his body, easing the stiffness and aches that he felt ever since the terrible dread came upon him and seemed to stifle his very breath.
He stood up and bowed slightly, "My Lady."
Lady Galadriel smiled and her eyes were pools of peace and healing so deep that Legolas felt almost himself again. Then the Lady went out of the chamber. Alone in the torch lit bedroom, Legolas continued to battle his disbelief and denial. To an immortal being, death is forever a mystery that defies understanding. Especially the death of someone so dear like Gimli, his best friend of hundreds and hundreds of years.