A/N: This story may deviate from the strict plotline of either the books or movies of the said fandoms. I err on the side of blending both mediums for the reader's pleasure.
You're welcome, I'm sorry. Enjoy reading.
Aragorn gazed out over his balcony to Gondor, his kingdom. The kingdom he had never thought he would be able to rule-and yet here he was, a king. But at such a price!
It had been a long time ever since the War, but everything was still vivid in his mind, and he could summon familiar faces to his mind even now. Those he had lost: Theóden, Boromir, Haldir. Of course, there were those who still were alive: Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, Merry and Pippin. Frodo and Sam, well, they were at Aman now-a rightful place for one who has suffered so much under Sauron. Then there were his people, the mighty men of Gondor and the Rohirrim, those whose names were forgotten but their deeds continuing on.
Aragorn found himself smiling and turned to go back inside.
Maybe it was time for the Fellowship to reunite again.
Gandalf, dressed in blinding white, rode to Helm's Deep on Shadowfax, galloping right into the fortress without nary a call. He knew very well who would meet him there, and he knew he wouldn't be rebuked.
Sure enough, someone emerged from behind a door, heading down the stairs to meet him. Short and squat with a full beard, the dwarf came over with a wide grin to greet him-hopefully not by a headbump, as it was their custom.
"Gimli, son of Gloin, Lord of the Glittering Caves!"
"Gandalf, what brings you here?"
Gandalf frowned, surprised. "Did you not hear?"
Gimli squinted up at him and raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"The Fellowship-or what is left of them-is called to Gondor."
Starting, the dwarf picked up his axe and asked if there was another war.
"No, not at all..."
Silence. It seemed as if the Dwarf was undecided, so Gandalf extended a hand over to him and bid him ride. "You shall know presently why we are called," he said. "Legolas will be there," he added, knowing that the mere mention of the Elf would be enough to convince Gimli to come along.
Sure enough in a few moments they were riding away from Helm's Deep, headed towards Gondor and its king.
Back at the Shire a bustling figure ripped the peace apart, a string of curses and exclamations from farmers echoing through the air as he passed through. Like Merry cared-he'd been hearing those complaints ever since he was young and still, even after all his heroics, the townsfolk of the Shire still saw him a whippersnapper. A kinder, bolder whippersnapper at least.
Merry rushed to Pippin's home, where he found the hobbit already preparing his bag.
"Oh, Merry!" Pippin exclaimed.
"Are you ready yet? The escorts are waiting outside."
"So soon?"
At this Pippin scrambled to get everything he needed, Merry taking his time gazing around the home of his friend, gazing at the pictures on the wall and the papers on the table, Aragorn's letter among others. He pushed away the scrolls and found something black under them. Picking it up, he raised it up to his face to see what it was.
A shirt of black hue, a white tree in the middle of it, stars at the tips of its branches-the emblem of Gondor.
"Ah, right, I'm also bringing that," Pippin said, snatching it from Merry's hands. The tinge of embarrassment mingled with pride was in his voice as he clutched the cloth. "To... to return it to Aragorn."
"You kept it this long?"
"Yes... a small reminder of our old adventures." Pippin gazed at the cloak wrapped around Merry's shoulders and smiled. "So I'm not the only one."
"What? It's warm. I like it. Reminds me of Galadriel and Lothlórien when the four of us..."
They looked at each other, both thinking the same thing and yet not daring to speak a single word. Frodo. Sam.
"We've, we've got to go, now," Merry said.
Throwing a few more items into his bag, Pippin slung it over his back and stepped outside, Merry behind him. The two were heaved up by a soldier each onto their respective horses, and off they went.
In Mirkwood, inside the palace, Thranduil drew back the drapes to his son's room to see him preparing for his journey.
"It is a long way from our realm to Gondor," Legolas said, without even looking up from a piece of parchment he held. It was an invitation by Aragorn from Minas Tirith, calling all of them to a 'reunion' of sorts. All who could come, however-Frodo and Sam were at the Undying Lands now, and Boromir, well, even the magic of Elves could not say where his soul rests now...
"You must leave as soon as you can, then."
The sunbeams peered into the room, a different kind from before. The darkness that Sauron's magic had cast on Mirkwood had slowly began to lift after the War, and even Thranduil himself could feel the forest become lighter as the air and the rivers carried away the remnants of the evil that enslaved it for so long. Maybe in a few more centuries, it would be called Eryn Lasgalen once more.
"Bring my greetings to the King of Gondor."
"That I will do, father," Legolas said as he stepped past his father, a satchel slung around his body. Formerly he would've brought a bow and a quiver, but there was no need of that now. The land was at peace, after so long.
He left for Gondor and its king.
As he entered into the courtyard, flowers wafted down from the trees above Legolas, setting everything in a hazy, dream-like paradise.
And there stood his host, his distinctive crown recognizable even by mortal eyes from such a far distance. If that didn't give him away yet, then his royal robes and soft yet stern gaze would have as he turned to meet him with a smile.
"It has been a long time ever since," Aragorn said, offering an Elvish hug.
"A few decades are all but a blink of an eye for us immortals," Legolas said.
"You are the last to arrive... Gimli, Merry, Pippin and Gandalf await us in the hall. Come, let me take you there."
They passed through the familiar hallways of the palace of Gondor, the white walls and its balcony still remaining the same, and most of the battle damage from the War of the Ring repaired by Aragorn-the repairs rendering the palace even more glorious than it was before. Truly dazzling. As they passed the courtyard, Legolas noticed the White Tree of Minas Tirith, formerly faded and old and now lush with flowers and leaves as if it was spring.
The doors to the great hall opened and immediately Merry and Pippin flew from their seats and greeted Legolas, both with playful bows. Gimli sat there, raising his glass of rum in greeting, pleased to see that at least Legolas was wearing something plain. If he hadn't, well...
"The Prince of Mirkwood," Gandalf greeted, dressed in his immaculate white robes, clutching his staff in hand. "Well, now we are complete!"
"Let the celebration begin," Aragorn said.
The feast was grand, even if it was created with the fact that only six people would be eating. Anything that any of them would want or even prefer was there-berries and nuts, venison and meats beside green, leafy vegetables and every kind of wine you could imagine. Desserts, sweets and pastries were piled in one corner with fruits from far lands beside them.
"This seems too luxurious for such an insignificant event," Legolas remarked, not even knowing where to start.
Aragorn smiled and leant over. "Well," he whispered, "Have you seen the Hobbits eat, much less Gimli?"
"I suppose it is not a bad idea to provide more than what is needed..."
They shared stories of past travels and battles they had gone through together, Gimli insisting almost every five minutes that he beat Legolas in every battle, whereas Gandalf quieted him with the reminder that the result is more important than the path taken to get there. Merry and Pippin burst into song after enough liquor and laughed at Aragorn's flushed face as they told of how he snored on especially warm nights. At one point they'd sunk so low as to throw food each other for a few minutes, which Merry and Pippin started. The whole thing ended with banners torn apart and Gandalf and Legolas arguing as Gimli tried to strangle Aragorn.
The arrival of a few bewildered servants broke the frenzy.
Even then, everyone was in good spirits, and yet there was a twinge of gloom in all their revelry.
Merry, at one point, gazed at the two empty seats with a lonely expression. "It's a shame Frodo and Sam aren't here to celebrate with us."
"Shame," Pippin said.
"They are very happy there, lads, the both of them," Gimli said, taking a long draught of rum.
"They were the ones who won this peace we have now," Aragorn said.
"It would be a pleasure to have them here once more," Legolas said.
Everyone fell silent for a long moment.
"There is no time for such depressing thoughts," Gandalf said, rising to his tall frame. "They would want us to be enjoying this reunion, not wallowing in sadness and pity."
Aragorn attempted a smile as he raised his glass and nodded. "Gandalf is right. Still, will we have a toast for our other comrades who are not here with us?"
"Aye!" Gimli said.
"Aye!" everyone else put in.
"To Frodo and Sam, and to the Fellowship," Aragorn said. "And to all we hold dear."
"Cheers!" they all cried, and their glasses chinked together.
chink Chink CHink CHInk CHINk CHINK CHINK CHINK
The sound grew deafening and everything changed, the glimpse of a beach quickly overcome by a blinding ray of light.