"I always wondered how it come that Gimli left Middle Earth with Legolas Thranduilion, and here is how I envisioned it. I know I am no good at writing, but I wanted to give this to you! I wish you all the best for Christmas and for the New Year. Stef"

GIMLI' S DECISION

In the chilling air of the wintry afternoon, four men stood still, their backs straight, heads held high. They stood, tall and proud, the guard of honor to the White Tree of Gondor and the garden that nowadays surrounded it. It had not always been so; these men were young, but all of them had heard stories of the War of the Ring and of the time of the Stewards before the return of the king, on their grandfathers' knees, who had heard them at their fathers'.

When Denethor had sat at the foot of the throne in the White Hall there had been no garden on the rocky spur dominating Minas Tirith, and the Tree itself had been but a gnarled trunk, consumed by time and the sundering from its rightful masters. There had been no legends either, seated right beneath the Tree, glowing softly in the clear air, and every now and then the guards exchanged amazed and worried glances. Amazed, because no mortal could fail to feel awed by this most beautiful and graceful of elves, now that their own Lady could no more be counted among the Firstborn. Worried because they knew the elf would not be here for long now.

Two days before, Peregrin Took, last of the four Hobbits who had taken part to the ring quest, had passed away in the king's palace. His life had been long and happy, age fulfilling the promises of his generous heart, his last years spent in quiet peace near his oldest friends, who had been with him till the end. In the contemplation of his serene visage the three remaining members of the Fellowship had sustained each other, Man and Dwarf pondering on what was left of their own time, the Elf doing much the same, dreading the imminent (at least in his eyes) loss of his two remaining companions.

And now, after Peregrin had been put to sleep together with the kings of old and the faithful stewards, the King had returned to his Halls walking slowly, leaning heavily on the arm of his still young and beautiful Queen. Wherever the Dwarf had retired to, the four Men did not know, but the Elf had come here to sit under the White Tree, his face composed and his gaze lost far away, into the West, humming a voiceless tune of profound beauty and even more profound sadness.

A few more years now, the Men could not predict how many, and Elessar, first king of this New Age and last of the kings of old would leave his beloved realm and the Elf would be gone forever into the Lands of his people, beyond the sea. Well aware of this the guards stood strong and faithful, already regretting that which would be lost forever to the World of Men.



Burdened by age and pain, Gimli son Gloin, lord of Aglarond, walked slowly the immense Halls of Minas Tirith. He had retired to rest that afternoon, and to weep in peace away from prying eyes the loss of one of his oldest friends. But more than his own pain, more than for the Man who had his unfailing Lady with him, and even more than for Peregrin himself, who had had a very long and beautiful life, the Dwarf's valiant heart ached for the Elf, for his Elf, as he had come to think of the elven prince since so many years.

The damn pointy-eared princeling was not equipped to deal with mortality; and why for Manwë's breath should he have been? Stick to his own race, that his Elf should have done, and after a little time what bonds the Quest and the War of the Ring had forced upon each and all of them would have started to fade.

Even the Sons of Elrond had done so, too aware of the necessity to create a distance between themselves and their foster brother, their own sister. The few years they had spent in Imladris after their father's departure had brought the needed acceptance and peace to them. Come the time, they had bade their final farewell to their siblings and to these shores in good spirits, their hearts strong and ready to go on through this last of separations.

Legolas, on the other hand, young in the eyes of the Eldar and strong headed, stubborn as a dwarf, had not been ready to cut clean his relations with the mortals, who had come to mean so much to him. His heart too generous and capable of too much love, he had stayed, out of more than duty or loyalty. Out of real friendship and love he had remained, forsaking his beloved Wood, his own family, braving even sea-sickness and the constant call of the gulls, true bane of his people, to stay with his boon companions. But mortals' lives were too brief in the eyes of the Firstborn, and every new loss, though long expected, had been a blow of immense magnitude to him.

Gimli considered all this over and over again in his mind, painfully aware of his own fragility: he did not know how much more Aragorn would live, but he knew that he would not survive long after the king passing, and worried for his Elf.

Would Legolas survive them both and go home to his people? Thranduil had been skeptical about that: the king of the Woodland realm had tried all to convince Legolas to sail with him when he had finally left for Valinor, all but put his reluctant child on a ship by force. He had not been above pleading with the Dwarf, something Gimli would have never believed had he not been there to speak with the haughty Elf himself. And even though he had refused to talk to Legolas then, on this sad afternoon the Dwarf reconsidered his position and the possibilities, coming to a decision.

Sure, he would have to ensure to be strong enough and to resist a little longer after Aragorn, but well, he was a Dwarf, was he not? He was resilient and stubborn enough to will himself to live for as long as need demanded and even to leave his Mountain and Caves and brave the horrifying, endless expanse of the Sundering Sea.

Yes, Gimli decided, he would live enough to deliver his Elf safely to Aman and to his father, to what healing could be found there.

He went then in search of his friend, knowing full well where to find him, not at all surprised to find his absentminded wandering had brought him near Legolas. That a Dwarf would walk on instinct toward the trees rather than the rocks, he mused to himself.

Greeting the Guards with a court nod, the Dwarf walked straight to the Elf; he recognized at once that his friend was in Ôlpathu, a state he had seen Legolas in often enough, and took the Elf's hand, gently tugging him on his feet and toward the Palace.

If Gimli had ever doubted the complete trust his elven friend had accorded to him, here was proof of it: Legolas did not leave his dream landscape but followed quietly, still humming softly, a new quality of joy in it, acknowledging his dearest friend's vicinity, offering and asking what consolation could be found in each other's presence on this most hard of days. Prescience had never been a gift to any of Aule's children, but Gimli knew in that very moment that this would happen again on the day Aragorn would be lost to them, and this only added to his resolution.

The Dwarf escorted the Elf in amicable silence along the many corridors of the Citadel, and any who happened to encounter them would not forget this sight. Come to his own rooms, a sober apartment Aragorn had set apart for him on the very eve of his coronation all those years ago, the Dwarf settled the Elf in front of the fire, on the warm fur carpeting the polished stone floor, and went to retrieve his brush and comb.

Then he unbraided the golden tresses, combing through the silky strands, singing softly a sweet ballad the Hobbits had been want to sing during feasts in the days of old, immediately after the war, when there had been so great a victory to celebrate and so many losses to regret at the same time. The elven tune died away as Legolas listened intently, brought back in time by the words, reliving through his perfect memory a great celebration in Meduseld, after Theoden's funeral. Gimli knew his friend was newly aware, but feigned to ignore it.

Gimli stopped his song abruptly, and with a steadying breath said the words that would change his future and hopefully save his Elf from the horror of fading alone in the lands of the mortals:

"Not long now, dearest Legolas; soon you will be free to go over the sea and find all that was meant to be for the Elves by the Valar. Would that I could come with you and see her again, for there is nothing in this world which could compare with her beauty and my heart bleeds to think I will never see her light again…"

And, too aware of Legolas' sharp intake of breath, only in his heart he added: "could I come with you and see you restored to the happiness you deserve, my beloved".

Manadh
(The End)


NOTE: Is that not absolutely glorious? Thank you so very much, Stef :D