Epilogue
"Sirs? Your seats are ready for you," the same, absent-minded young man told the elf and dwarf. The two, deeply immersed in nostalgia, looked up, almost surprised to see that the sun was high in the noon sky and that the shadows of the ships and trees had nearly disappeared.
Only then, it seemed, did they realize that they would be leaving the shores of Middle-Earth. Legolas looked back at the old man, whose familiarity nagged at the back of his mind, and smiled. Gimli put a hand on his friend's arm, and together, with a last look at the old man, made their way, with the young man, towards the shores.
The dwarf looked back at the blurry grounds of Middle-Earth and the stories that Legolas and he had told flooded back to his mind. Such wonderful memories were attached to this good earth. Here was where his friends were buried. Here was where his home was. Could he leave it for all of eternity, never to return?
"Wait," he spoke, and Legolas stopped.
Gimli turned back and knelt, taking off his gloves. Then, with the aged, wrinkled fingers of an expert craftsman, he buried the edges of his palm into the loving soil of his home. Nothing could replace that smell of the earth, damp, raw, and utterly indomitable by any. He closed a fist around the loose, moist mud around the havens and clamped it into a ball of… of… were there words to describe this?
One last touch.
One last memory.
Wordlessly, the elf joined the dwarf on the ground. Though most of his life had been spent in trees, the children of the earth, he also had to pay tribute the mother of his home. "Take it with you," he whispered gently, and saw the glistening pearls of tears form at the edges of his friend's eyes.
With his other hand, Gimli hastily wiped them away, and shook his head, as if waking from a dream. He laughed at himself and tried to dismiss the entire thing, but Legolas saw him put the earth in the same pocket that contained the Lady Galadriel's three hairs.
"Come, let us go." He put a hand on the dwarf's shoulders and led him towards the ships. Then, with excitement and sorrow in his heart, he looked back one last time at the land of his birth, and stepped onto the ship, never to return.
The old man sat where he was, puffing away at his pipe and watched the two contrasting figures, one tall, one short, one lithe, the other stout with age, walk side by side. An elf and dwarf. Two unlikely friends, caught at the end of their time, ready to move on.
He had seen them before in his youth, but because of his ignorance, he had laughed then. Now, after hearing about their stories, after knowing them, he saw only the beauty of their attempt to bridge a gap between two declining races. If only humans could do that, he thought sadly. IF only Gondorians and Rohirrim could live together in harmony. If only they did not look down upon the Wild Folk and dismiss them as barbarians. If only the Rangers of the North had not been exiles.
These two told of a time lost to him. When he had traveled with them, he had been young. He remembered the honor with which he had delivered that staff to the great King Elessar.
Yes.
Those were the Lost Years. They were gone forever. His name would not live on in history books. He had just been an outcast. A Ranger of the North.
Halbarad was his name, and he was the last of their kin.
When he was gone, the Dunedain would end.
And yet, he did not feel that he had wasted his time with the two. They had told him their stories and had made him remember.
Now, he began to recall his own tales of the lost years, and he realized, that they were not so long and sad as he thought.
The End
Well, that's the end of those vignettes. I hope that you liked my interpretation of Legolas and Gimli's last journey over the sea. Were you surprised at who the old man was? Hee hee... Please review!