An Honest Elf

by meganichan04

Ever wanted an insider's opinion on the Fellowship? Legolas tries to tell it like it is, by way of his journal. Legolas' pov

3. Return of the King

Author's Note: Welcome back, everyone! So nice to see you all again! Welcome to the third and final chapter of An Honest Elf. It has to be the last chapter, since the Return of the King is the end of the trilogy. Bummers. I was really attached to this fic. Thanks so much to everyone who read, and double thanks to everyone who reviewed. I couldn't stay motivated without you. If I knew how to thank you in elvish, I would.

Disclaimer: All characters, places, battles, etc. (and four adorable hobbits) belong to Prof. Tolkien and the New Line Cinema people. Just know that I am indeed fortunate to be able to spoof their breathtaking work in my own, slightly humorous, little way.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Dear Diary;

Greetings, from the road to Isengard! Didn't I tell you this was would happen? I'm becoming better and better at picking up on what's about to go down. Quite a far cry from the trusting, wide-eyed little elven prince who set out from Mirkwood so many months ago. I almost wish I had known then what I know now. If my insight was as clear back then I would have run screaming when Daddy asked me to ride to Rivendell. But then, I never would have made so many...interesting...new friends and had so many opportunities to show exactly how much of a stud I am. Ah, well. Life goes on.

Gimli keeps trying to tell me all about how great the caves of Helm's Deep are. He wants me to go down with him and take a look at their wonder, their splendor, their majesty, etc. I told him that if we manage to survive this war, and if he agrees to accompany me through Fangorn, I will go back to the caves with him. He agreed. I triumphantly congratulate myself on escaping an unpleasant underground field trip. Even if we do both live to see next year, there is no way Gimli would go willingly into Fangorn. Ha, ha, I win. You go, Legolas.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

Oh, my goodness. Orthanc must have an absolutely awful drainage system. Our horses are up past their hocks in nasty brown water. This entire place is flooded like the palace bathrooms after the nursemaids give the children their evening baths. And, honestly, the water is probably just as dirty. Merry and Pippin say the ents did it.

Yes, we were finally reunited with our furry little companions. They have yet to stop giggling, which I attribute to the great barrels of pipe weed they were puffing away at when we found them. Gimli was speechless. However, I'm willing to ignore their odd smoking habits. They did feed us, after all. And it's nice to have some cheerful, non-dwarfish faces to look at.

...Oh, who am I kidding? I missed the little bunnies! I want to hug them and squeeze them and yell at them and put them on leashes so they never get away from us again! No one can know this.

Right now we are preparing to go and see if we can't talk some sense into Saruman, who is still sequestered in his tower. Not even the ents can flush him out. Speaking of ents. I still want to talk to one. And maybe surreptitiously pluck off a leaf or two when it isn't looking. You know, as a souvenir.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

Well, at least I got to shoot SOMEONE, even if it wasn't Saruman.

He came out on the balcony to negotiate, and Gandalf and King Theoden gave him a large piece of their mind. He flipped like a hobbit at an adventurers' convention and started with the threats. I was ready to shoot him, I really was, but for some reason everyone told me not to. Why, I still cannot figure out.

Then Theoden's old advisor, Grima, came crawling out and made a scene. You won't believe this, Diary, but he and Saruman began to argue and the wizard kicked him in the head. Burn. Apparently that was the straw that broke the Wormtongue's back, because he dove on Saruman and stuck a dagger between his shoulder blades. I returned the favor with a friendly arrow, but by then the wizard was already tumbling down off the tower. He landed on a mill wheel. A spiky one. Everyone cringed. Even I winced. Ouch.

At least Gandalf got a nice paperweight out of the exchange. I'm not sure if Grima tossed it at us, or if Saruman dropped it, or what, but Pippin got hold of it all the same and was immediately entranced. I get a bad feeling about this. I mean, it's only a glass ball. Why does it fascinate the little hobbit so? Maybe it's just that hobbits like shiny things. Yes, that must be it. I think Frodo has proved that point beyond any doubt.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

Our second stay at Meduseld, King Theoden's golden hall, is turning out infinitely better than the first. Everyone is still coasting on the adrenaline rush from winning the battle at Helm's Deep. I think that right at this moment they could be persuaded to jump a Nazgul, they're that worked up.

A fine feast is in the works for later this evening, to honor the fallen and celebrate our hard earned victory. I think lady Eowyn plans to stick to Aragorn like a butterfly to a meadow clover. Aragorn looks uncomfortable. If he's having trouble with this, then let it serve him right. Arwen is back at Rivendell pining away for him as I write, and he doesn't even have the guts to gently spurn Eowyn's advances. If he acts like he's beginning to enjoy these advances, I am going to tell on him – not to Arwen, but to lord Elrond. I think that would be much the more painful for the little Ranger playa, and I told him so. He blanched like a boiled cabbage. I think he's going to stay away from lady Eowyn this evening.

Merry and Pippin are ecstatic in anticipation of the food and ale and songs and dancing. Gimli just wants the ale. Oh, and beer. And possibly a giant greasy plate of unidentified meat, the thought of which makes me slightly ill, but mostly the ale and beer. I am not touching even a drop of wine. Drinking is what got me into this mess in the first place! No way am I going to take any chances of doing something even more stupid.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

I am so stupid.

I could have refused. I should have refused. But when that snide little dwarf challenged me to a drinking contest...you know the rest, I'm sure.

I thought, why not? Any wood elf, even myself with my embarrassing lack of ability to hold my wine, should be able to drink a dwarf under the table. So I took him up on it. By the time he was starting to sway on his stubby little feet there was a pile of empty mugs in front of us and I couldn't feel my hands. I was seeing three dwarves spinning around in front of me. Then he said something about little hairy women and I nearly lost everything I had been drinking. Gimli hit the floor at the same time I hit the door, sprinting frantically for the little elf's room. At least I beat him. It is a painful victory.

After that I wandered outside to get some fresh air. I think everyone else was going to bed, because I couldn't hear the hobbits' cute little drinking ditties anymore. Not that it mattered much at the time. I'm not sure how long I was out there, but after a while Aragorn came out as well. I surely was not going to give him reason to taunt me, so I pretended to be gazing dramatically at the sky. I believe I said something cryptic about the stars being veiled. Or something like it. He didn't notice anything strange. Good thing it was dark and he couldn't see how green my face was. I would never live it down, and that is saying a lot.

I was just about to suggest that he go back inside and get some sleep (I was feeling sick again) when we both felt something exceedingly unpleasant. Sauron, that flaming pestilence on the face of our Middle-Earth, the Big Nasty himself, was come for a visit. Aragorn and I both ran, he back inside the hall and I back to the bathroom. It was not a good night.

Later I found out what happened. Through the pulsing pain of the worst hangover of my ancient life I learned all about palantiri and why curious little hobbits shouldn't touch. It just gets better and better, doesn't it, Diary?

Gandalf took Pippin and ran for Gondor on Shadowfax. I feel horrible for Merry and Pippin, to be parted this way. They've been through so much together. It must be terribly traumatic for both of them. I really do feel bad about it. But then, maybe I just feel bad in general. That could be it. I am never drinking again.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

The beacons of Gondor have been lit. I think Gandlaf might have had something to do with that, because from what I hear of Boromir's father, he would rather take a flying leap off the top of Minas Tirith than ask anyone for help.

Aragorn has once again plied his persuading charms on the king, and Theoden has agreed to ride to Gondor's aid. That means that I am also in for the long haul. This whole journey has kept me amazingly fit and trim, however, and I do need to work off those extra calories from that feast the other night. Must keep my elvish figure. Slaying a few dozen more orcs ought to do it.

Well, I think I'll go out to the stables and visit my good friend Arod. Maybe I'll take him an apple, or some sugar cubes. And perhaps I might also bring along a bar of soap and a change of clothes, while I'm at it. It's likely to be the last bath I ever take. Might as well enjoy it.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

We are riding for Gondor, and picking up reinforcements along the way. I can't say that I am thrilled about the ride, for, once again, I am saddled with dwarf.

Lady Eowyn is up to something. She thinks no one has noticed, but you can't slip much past these baby blues. I think Aragorn is also aware that something is up, but he's not telling on her. I myself think it's about time that girl got a chance to show what she's made of. If I had to dawdle around and miss out on battles like she does I would have gone insane long ago.

However, despite Eowyn's enthusiasm for the fight, I think we may be in trouble. King Theoden is severely short handed in the cavalry department, for the sheer size of the battle we are about to undertake. But hasn't that been the story of our quest so far, to be hopelessly outnumbered and still triumph against all odds? Maybe Aragorn is our good luck charm after all. I would make an effort to stay closer to him if he didn't smell so bad.

But right now no one can be close to him, because he is locked up in the tent with lord Elrond. Yes, lord Elrond snuck into camp a little while ago, bearing a suspiciously sword-shaped package. I think he has finally realized that if Aragorn kicks, so will his little Arwen, and he has grudgingly come to give us a new ace in the hole. It's about time, if you ask me. But no one will. I have two jobs on this quest, shooting things and looking pretty. Might I say I do both rather well.

Are you ready for my latest prediction, Diary? I think that Aragorn is going to take the new sword and go to ground beneath the haunted mountain we are currently camped under to recruit the help of an entire subterranean city of the living dead. More glory for Aragorn heir of Isildur, etc. etc. Not on my sundial. Must sign off now and saddle up Arod. Both the men and the horses are terrified of this mountain, but I think I can persuade my horsey friend to carry me at least to the doorway.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

Well, that was certainly an interesting trip. It reminded me of when I was little, and my brothers would tell me scary stories and then send me to bed alone down the dark hallways with no lantern. Sniff. They were so mean.

As predicted, the horses spooked and bolted before the door. I don't really blame them. They are only simple beasts, after all. Gimli was afraid to go into the tunnel. I don't really blame him. He is only a simple beast, after all. But then I thought, a-ha! The perfect opportunity to get him back for proposing that foolish drinking game. I ran in after Aragorn like a rabbit pursued by hounds, and in order to preserve his dwarfish honor, the mud-bunny literally had no choice but to follow me. Revenge is sweet.

I am going to miss Arod. I got quite attached to him. Maybe I can go find him again sometime. I'm almost positive he ran back to king Theoden and the other Riders of Rohan, so he is probably still with them. Oh, but the tunnel! I almost forgot.

To me, it wasn't so very frightening. It was more like a bad dream than anything else, with vague and ghostly pale shapes of horses and men long since dead floating about all around you. Gimli very nearly made me laugh, trying to blow away the spirit hands grasping at the air around him. What I would do for entertainment without him around is beyond me.

The ghostly city was truly remarkable. The ghosts themselves were not. Downright creepy. And their king was having nothing to do with Aragorn, even though he carried the sword Anduril. I know it was foolish, but I wasted an arrow on him, just to be sure he was really not solid. (The ghost king, not Aragorn.) Obviously I hit nothing, and shortly after all the spirits disappeared. The cave began to quake, and what amounts to an avalanche of skulls came raining down on us. We barely got out alive, and as it was I had to keep pushing Gimli out ahead of me. It must be horrible to be so short.

We came out on the other side of the mountain, just in time to see an entire fleet of heavily manned corsair ships sailing up the river to assault Minas Tirith. I think Aragorn was seriously about to cry. He felt horrible, being unable to make the ghosts fight for us. He just looked so very pitiful that it was all I could do not to give him a hug, despite his lack of skill in wielding a washcloth. As it was, I just put a comforting hand on his shoulder. I can't slip and make it seem like I really do care for these people. Even though I do.

But then, just when we were all feeling pretty depressed, our luck once again changed for the better. Wonder of wonders, from out of the mountain came the ghost king, declaring that they had had a change of non-existent heart and decided to join our team. Aragorn was thrilled. Only my steady elven hand still on his shoulder prevented him from doing his happy dance. If anything could scare away a spirit king and his army, it would be Aragorn's happy dance.

Right now we are waiting on the shore, about to show the corsairs what utter havoc an army of the un-dead can wreck. The sea is beautiful. I can't stare at it enough. After all of this is done, I must come back. I just wish the silly seagulls would stop crying. I can't get the sound out of my head, and it does get on one's nerves.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

Whee! I've never been on a boat this size before. It's so liberating! I just wish we were out to sea, not sailing up a river toward Minas Tirith. But I suppose my fun will have to wait. Minas Tirith is sure to be under siege right now. The White City seems to be a popular place to attack.

We got on board with no trouble, thanks to our new friends. They're not bad at all, for a bunch of dead men. I think they must have secretly been itching for battle, after all that time underground.

Aie, these seagulls! The shrieking is enough to drive one mad! It haunts my every waking thought! I just might be driven back to the sea for the one and only purpose of shooting them all and ridding the world of their annoyance. Aragorn and Gimli don't seem to mind them, but they are horrid, I tell you!

Aragorn continues to strut the deck. He really thinks he's hot stuff, doesn't he? Well, need I remind him who was about to cry at the foot of the big scary mountain yesterday because he thought he was a loser? I will never understand humans.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

Why can't Gimli just accept that I am clearly the superior being? I lost count of the orcs I slaughtered on the plain before Minas Tirith, the wild men that fled before my knives and arrows, and if anyone in present company can brag to offing an oliphant plus riders single handed, I would like to meet him. And that slimy little mud-bunny had the gall to inform me that a beast that size, that was mowing down our riders the way Sam mows the grass, still only counts as one. Yes, one THOUSAND! Or at least one hundred. Not just ONE! What is his PROBLEM, Diary? Yeesh.

In other news, straight from the battlefield – Lady Eowyn has, beyond a doubt, proved that she is a better warrior than she is a cook. Had I been there, there might have been some debate over which of us was to slay the Witch King's ride and subsequently the Witch King, but as I was occupied with my oliphant she took care of the problem beautifully. She broke her arm in the process, yes, and we might have thought that she was dead for just a moment, perhaps, but Aragorn has already healed her up like new. Well, perhaps not quite like new, but well enough for Aragorn.

When the Nazgul went for her uncle Theoden she just lost it! It was truly amazing, or so I hear from Merry. He was in on it, too, you know. Or so he says. All I know is that Pippin found him sprawled and half dead on the battlefield, and we found the both of them curled up there together several hours later. So...are they dating, or what?

I'm sorry, that was awful of me. My attitude has really gone down the tubes lately, hasn't it? I'm a bad, bad elf. Sigh. What I need is some cookies. Cookies always cheer me up. All I have to do is find a kitchen that isn't in shambles, bake some cookies, and go up to the healers' hall and share them with Eowyn and Merry. And Pippin, since he can't be gotten away from Merry. For the sake of politeness, I shall not comment on this again. Ah, cookies. I feel better now. ...And Gimli can't have any.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

I HATE that pissy little Ranger! He went and opened his mouth and tomorrow morning we march to Mordor to battle it out in front of the Black Gate! Something about distracting Sauron so Frodo and Sam can make it to the Ass Crack of Doom without getting caught. I swear to you, Diary, if that man makes one more wrong move in front of me today I'm going to have to ride back to Rivendell and tell Arwen that he died in battle. I just hope she doesn't think to check my saddlebags for body parts.

I was just coming down from the healers' hall when it happened. I was carrying a tray covered with cookie crumbs and empty milk glasses and thinking that maybe Daddy might not be so bad after all. At least he never tried to burn me alive, like Faramir's father. Faramir is Eowyn's new friend, and also our own dearly departed Boromir's little brother. The hobbits love him.

And then who, but who comes running up to me with this idiotic grin on his dirty, stubbly face and ruins my good mood? Aragorn! He's thrilled that his brilliant plan of mass suicide before the gates of Mordor was approved. Who approved it, you might ask? Well, I'll give you a hint. Either this old man really loves Frodo, or he has finally flipped and entered his second infancy, or he has something that severely needs compensated for. Or it could be all three at once. Have you guessed who yet, Diary?

I hate Gandalf.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

I'm stuck...with the dwarf...again. On the way to Mordor. And I probably won't be coming back. I'm beginning to be concerned about where, exactly, my life is headed.

Why, oh WHY didn't I run when I had the chance? Maybe it was the hobbits' pitiful little faces and bright, tearful puppy eyes when they found me frantically stuffing rations into my pack this morning. Maybe it was Aragorn's sniffled accusation of "You don't like me anymore!" as I was stalking toward the stables. Maybe it was simply Gimli running in circles around me, flapping his fat arms and screaming "Chicken! Chicken!" as I tossed the saddle on Arod. I'm not quite sure. But the fact remains that I am going to Mordor with the rest of them.

I had a dream last night, Diary, that I was standing on the cherry on top of an enormous cupcake with all the soldiers of Rohan and Gondor. Gandlaf was there, and Aragorn, and Gimli, and all the rest of our happy, dysfunctional little family. And all around us, in a great ring that should have been the chocolate frosting on the cupcake, were orcs. Thousands and thousands of orcs. Above us loomed a great, fiery eye, waiting to see when the cherry would be swallowed up by the frosting. Now either the powdered sugar that I used to bake my cookies yesterday went to my head, or that was a rather obvious premonition.

The one positive side to this whole experience is that I got my horse friend Arod back. After the mountain he did indeed go back to Theoden's troops, and I found him in the stables happily munching hay this morning. I almost want to set him loose and tell him to run like a fool back to Minas Tirith. I wish I could, not that I'm not already a fool. Between tongue-kissing an orc and marching to Mordor... I would choose the orc. Seriously.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Daddy;

We're completely surrounded by orcs. Mordor is hideous. I'm almost scared out of my sarcasm. But not quite.

Daddy, I want you to know something. If I die and you somehow come to be reading this diary, know that I am sorry I was such a bad son. I didn't really mean to make you pull out your hair. But I feel that the time has come at last for me to admit a few things.

I'm the one who put the itching powder in your tunic drawer. The half-crazed squirrel under the banquet table when you were discussing that big, important treaty with the men of Dale? That was me. The ink ring on the underside of your ceremonial crown? Me, as well. Pretty much everything bad that has happened in your hall since I was old enough to know what a prank was, and that was a LONG time ago...all of it me.

Remember all those times the other boys told you I was a spoiled little brat who was always trying to get them in trouble, and you never believed them, and they had to do cleaning duty at dinner for a week? Well, they weren't exactly lying. Tell them I'm sorry, too. They can have all my stuff.

Oh, well, um, I think a charge is about to commence. The first and last charge, as it were. Aragorn is yelling something to his people, no doubt something brave and heroic. Too bad the chances of anyone surviving to repeat it are slim.

Uh, Daddy? I love you. Really.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

I am not sure what to say.

I suppose I'll start with stating the obvious. We won. I'm still a little bewildered as to how that happened. What are the chances that Frodo would destroy the ring at the exact moment when the free armies of Middle-Earth were about to be destroyed by Sauron's forces? It's just too weird.

Aragorn has been dancing around me all day, waving his hands in my face and saying "I was right and you were wrong! Loser! Loser! Stuck up, pessimistic, pointy-eared LOSER! Ne-yaaah!" I nearly socked him.

Strangely, Gimli's attitude toward me has totally changed. He has begun to call me "laddie" instead of elf, and is treating me as one would treat a... well, a friend. I asked him about it and he looked surprised, asking me if I didn't remember saying we were friends right before the battle.

Now, I remember the battle. I remember fighting to get to Aragorn when he was being slowly squashed by a mammoth beast of war. I remember the eagles clashing with the Nazgul right over our heads. I remember the Black Gate and the tower of Barad-Dur crumbling to the ground, the very earth giving way under the feet of the orc armies, and Mount Doom exploding in a maelstrom of liquid hot magma. But I do not remember in any way insinuating that the dwarf and I are friends. He must have been hallucinating. But I must admit... it is rather nice to not have to think of witty comebacks for our fights anymore. Perhaps I'll just let it be and see how things progress.

Well, I think I shall go and see how Frodo and little Sam are getting along. It seems like they should be waking up soon. Heh, I wonder what they'll think when they wake up clean and dressed and in a comfortable bed. They'll probably think that they've died. Doubly so when they see Gandalf. I must go and see if they scream "GHOST!" when they lay eyes on him.

Oh, and I must also remember: carefully rub out that last entry. It no longer applies.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

I'm sorry I haven't written in awhile. Looking back over past entries, anything that has happened in the last few days seems positively tame. I really would hate to bore you, after all. No, I am not getting lazy!

Let me see. Over the past few days, since we returned to Minas Tirith, I have been extraordinarily preoccupied with three major activities: taking hot baths in my own private washroom, eating hot meals that contain no jerky, dried fruit, or lembas, and signing autographs. Life is good.

Can I tell you something, though? I am beginning to dread returning home. Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but I am afraid that after all I have been through in this last year, I will get bored when I go back to Mirkwood. Somehow I just don't think that greasing the hilt of Daddy's sword, or any of the countless other fun little games that used to delight me so, can compare to this new life I have become accustomed to so quickly.

I don't want to say goodbye to the hobbits. When will I ever see them again? It's not like elves can really just skip into the Shire and come calling at Bag End. And when are four hobbits going to get together and pop into Mirkwood for a friendly visit? Most likely never.

I don't want to leave Aragorn. Not only will I miss our petty little arguments dreadfully, but I shudder to think what will happen to the kingdom of men if that pissy little Ranger is left to his own devices to govern it. Just this morning I caught him sitting on the throne of Gondor, which he isn't allowed to do until he is formally crowned, mind you, making these horrible noises and pretending to be steering a runaway oliphant. As I said, Gondor is in for it now.

I don't want to be parted from Gandalf again. Thinking he was gone once was bad enough, but to not see him again by my own choosing? Not acceptable. I've also gotten fond of Faramir and Eowyn, the love birds. I don't want to miss their wedding.

And Gimli. By the Valar, what about Gimli? What will I do for entertainment? Who will I poke fun at when I'm feeling blue? What about our agreement to see Fangorn and the crystal caves at Helm's Deep together? Not that I really want to go nosing around some grubby caves, but still.

Suddenly I feel ill. Now I realize the meaning of what Daddy is always telling us: "Never get attached to mortals or animals. They all die someday."

But why is that, Diary? Why do only elves live so long, and why is it that only they can go across the sea and never look back whenever they get bored with Middle-Earth? Can it be that my people are... racist?

...Suddenly it all becomes clear. Pardon me Diary, but I have to go think about some things.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

I have come to a decision.

I won't leave Gimli behind! I refuse! I will not set one foot into that boat at the Gray Havens if the mud—uh, I mean dwarf isn't coming with us. I can almost see it now. I can see it so strongly that it's almost like a vision of what is to come.

"Legolas, get in the boat," Daddy will say.

"No!" I will cry, crossing my arms and pouting.

"No?" Daddy will ask in amazement at my refusal.

"Not without Gimli!" I will point firmly at the dwarf. "We're friends!"

Daddy's mouth will fall open at my audacity. "That's absurd! Elves and dwarves can't be friends. Now get in the boat." By this point all the other elves are staring.

"They can, we are, and I won't." I am moving dangerously close to a tantrum.

"Legolas, you're making a scene. Don't you dare embarrass me!" Most of the elves are trying to hide their laughter. Daddy is close to panic. "Now get...in...the boat!"

"I won't! You can't make me! You were always so mean to me, Daddy!" With that I fall flat on the dock, hair flying every which way, kicking and thrashing, screaming bloody orc slaughter. Eldar, I am a brat.

"LEGOLAS!" Daddy screams, looking ready to burst a vein. One of his advisors has to hold him back lest he topple over the rail in his fury. "This boat is pulling out in ten seconds, whether you are on it or not. I'm not telling you again, mister!"

"By the Valar, Thranduil, can't you handle your own son?" one of the other High Elves will snigger.

Daddy has his red face buried in his hands. He's about to crack, I can sense it. "Alright! Fine!" he finally bawls. "Bring the little mole, see if I care! Just get in the (long, obscene, non-translate-able stream of elvish) BOAT!"

"Yay!" I spring to my feet, all smiles once again. "Thank you, Daddy!" I toss the dwarf over the rail and hop aboard...never knowing what plans Daddy has of hurling Gimli into the waves when we are safely out to sea.

... My, my imagination is certainly churning today, isn't it? And no, I am not being overly dramatic!

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

Today was Aragorn's coronation. I resisted the overpowering impulse to jump up and scream "I object!" I might have done it if anyone had had the decency to say "Speak now or forever hold your peace." They will say it at weddings, but not at something so important as the crowning of the new king?

Speaking of weddings. Aragorn and Arwen are finally to be wed. Lord Elrond delivered the willing victim personally. I pity the poor girl, really I do.

I was congratulating him right after he had got his crown. We were doing our manly hand-to-shoulder, good-job-I-knew-you-could-do-it-never-doubted-you-thanks-for-always-being-there routine, when Elrond came waltzing up. Aragorn looked confused for a moment, bless his simple heart, but then Arwen stepped out from behind a large fan and gave him the big brown fawn eyes. I swear that man nearly knocked me off my feet getting past me to get to her. The thanks I get for being loyal to the end. Nearly trampled into the flagstones for a kiss. Sigh. He's only human, Legolas. Remember that.

After that things happened pretty fast. The hobbits bowed to Aragorn. Aragorn bowed to the hobbits. We all bowed to the hobbits. There was mass bowing all around. Then we had refreshments. The white tree was, and still is, blooming, scattering snow white petals all about the celebration. All in all, a good day.

O.O.O.O.O

Dear Diary;

The day that I was dreading has finally come. The final breaking of the Fellowship of the Ring is upon us, and once again I am bereft and without antidepressants. Sigh.

The little hobbits are going back to the Shire. Gandalf is going with them for a while, but is then leaving to go...wherever it is Gandalf goes when he isn't anywhere else. Aragorn is picking up full kingly duties, and will of course be staying in Minas Tirith. And Gimli and I are going off to see the world. It is both happy and sad.

However...not everything is dark and gloomy. We have made a pact, not only the eight of us, but all our close friends as well, to meet at Rivendell for Yule. We have each sworn a sacred oath, upon our honor, to be there. I am a bit worried, as we swore this without checking to see if having the reunion at this particular location was okay with Lord Elrond, but Arwen has promised to butter him up.

Well, Diary, this is it. Time for me to saddle up Arod and depart upon my next journey.

I have decided to leave you in the library at Minas Tirith. One day, my records might prove useful for something. Oh, don't worry so much. If I have anything else worth writing down, I will use the new book. It is as if I am closing this particular chapter of my adventures, and moving on to a new one.

Looking ahead, I can only hope that what awaits me can even half compare to what we have already experienced. Farewell, my faithful Diary. And wish me luck. Remember, I am traveling with a dwarf.

O.O.O.O.O

The End.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Author's Note: Geez, I hate to see this one end. Thank you again, everyone, for your support. And remember...we celebrate Yule in Rivendell. Hope to see you there.