The rider urged his horse on through the night. Urgent was the letter he carried, and he knew its contents. The message had been awaited for more than a century. He hoped he could reach his destination in time.

Legolas stood overlooking the harbour, the shadows of early dawn still obscuring him from view. Above him Eärendil moved across the sky. It was time. With the morning tide, the last ship would sail into the west, bearing the last of the elves to Valinor.

Legolas cast his gaze down to the dock below. There she sat at the quayside, beautiful and serene. He had built her in the style of the great ships of old. She was the largest ever built, she had to be. Everyone had to be carried home. There would never be another time. He had decorated the ship with stars, and most thought them a representation of Earendil. He would smile softly and say nothing. His star knew, but he said nothing either. It was a symbol of undying love between them, and no words were needed.

Legolas gazed at her sleek sides and a tear slid down his cheek at all he would be leaving behind, although it was not much. His brother lay in sleep in Rath Dînen, and Evenstar had faded into the mallorn trees.

Legolas could hear the white gulls calling him, their voices as keen now as ever, if not stronger. They were getting louder with each passing hour, and with the passing of time it ached all the more. There was no turning back. All chances of turning back were gone, all choices made. It was time to go.

Legolas turned to gaze at the sleeping face of the being he loved more than life. The past one hundred and twenty years had been the best years of his life, even though he had spent them watching the dwarf grow old. Time had been an unknown quantity before they had met, passing like the unending cycle of the seasons.

He sighed gently as he carefully brushed the white hair from Gimli’s face, a tender caress. He smiled. “My beloved star,” he whispered. “The call home is strong this dawn, and here you lie unknowing.”

Beyond the window, hushed expectation filled the air. Quiet voices greeted and converged as elves descended to the dock to board the ship for home.

“In blissful slumber, my love,” he whispered. “But where I go, you cannot follow. Were it within my power to grant, but it is not, and now we must part.”

Legolas’ whispered voice wavered and Gimli slept on. He reclined for a long while, watching him sleep before removing the mithril crown from his forehead and placing it in Gimli’s relaxed fingers. Then he kissed him. “Good bye, meleth nîn. May the rest of your days bring you peace and Elbereth, in her grace, shine upon you.”

The sound of voices below the portico were joyous, as were the white gulls, voices that within him were singing, but he had to leave the biggest part of himself behind.

Legolas lay down beside Gimli to wait, not wanting to wake Gimli just yet. He watched him sleeping, memories of their life together bringing a smile to his lips. Yes, he knew he would take Gimli with him in that small way.

He could hear a single horse on the stone streets outside, wending its hurried way to wherever it was going. It mattered not. All that mattered was spending these last moments watching his love sleeping, committing the sight to memory to take with him. The relaxed brow, the wrinkles around his eyes, the thick but soft beard, it was all the Gimli he could take with him, and he had to make it last.

Legolas sighed, not wanting the hurt to interfere with this moment. All he wanted was the joy of watching him, the memory of all they had shared. “I love you,” he whispered.

Gimli woke to the sound of knocking. He rolled over to face the door and opened his eyes. “Who is it?” “It is Oromir, messenger to the king. I bring an urgent message for Lord Gimli of Aglarond.”

Gimli rose at once, walked to the door and pushed back the bar. On opening the door, he found a man standing on the threshold. He was breathless, as if having run a great distance, and in his hand he held a letter pouch. Gimli took it as it was handed to him and he opened it at once.

“Does the sender need a reply?” Gimli asked.

The breathless man shook his head and suddenly beamed with great delight, which confused the dwarf. “I do not think so, my lord,” he replied. “But, I was ordered to offer whatever aid you would require.”

Confused, Gimli unfolded the fine parchment and read the words written there. “Lord Gimli of Aglarond, Lock-Bearer to the Lady Galadriel, she bids you come home. Your faithfulness and service to Elvenden has been rewarded and well deserved . . .” He lifted his eyes to the man before him who seemed unable to contain his elation. Gimli’s face broke into a grin as he burst into laughter.

“We must hurry, Lord Gimli. The ship leaves within the hour.”

Gimli nodded. “I’ll get my things and wake Legolas,” he crowed and turned back into the room. The man followed.

“Do you have much you wish to take with you?” the man asked.

“No, just my backpack,” Gimli replied. “I had it all packed up ready to leave for Aglarond this morning.” Gimli leaned across the bed and shook Legolas’ shoulder.

“Meleth, the most wondrous news. We will not be parted this day.” Gimli looked into the open eyes of the elf. “Legolas?”

Oromir turned from lifting the pack from the table and heard a low moan. He watched the dwarf bend over and press his face to the elf laying on the bed. Oromir moved closer and touched the elf's pulse point. His skin was warm, but there was no beat.

“He could not bear to be parted from me,” Gimli realised softly. “He lost all hope.”

“What do you want me to do, my lord?” Oromir asked gently. Gimli could do nothing, not think or speak. “My lord,” Oromir urged him gently. “You must leave now. I will tend to Prince Legolas. The king will want to know.”

Gimli sobbed quietly and nodded. He kissed the soft forehead and closed his eyes. “Good bye, my love. May the Valar return you to me in Valinor.”

He stood from the bed and wiped his face. “Bury him with his bow, quiver and blades.” Gimli lifted the fallen crown that still sat within his palm and gazed at it carefully. “He took this off, placed it in my hand.”

“Take it with you, my lord,” Oromir suggested. “May it ease your grief.”

Gimli swallowed and looked at the man with empty eyes. “I must away. Do honour no less to him than you did to my brother, the king.”

“Yes, my lord. I shall see it done,” Oromir promised.

Gimli donned his pack and took with him the crown of the Sindar and the pass of Galadriel, and did not look back. With a heavy heart, he obeyed the summons of his Lady and boarded the ship and sailed into the west.

Within his soul went the laughter, the memories of one Legolas Greenleaf, for whom his world revolved, whose smile he sought as sweetly and as desperately as he sought his own breath, and whose love brought him a contentment he had never known.

He stepped upon the white shore, but made no move to celebrate. She was there to greet him, the otherworldly smile that graced her lips seem all the more fragile. He looked up at her, the Lady whose face was more lovely than anything he had ever seen. In his outstretched hand he offered her the lock he had kept safe for more than a century. “My gratitude, my Lady,” he said quietly. "Is given unreservedly, but your message came too late, and I come to you incomplete.”

Galadriel regarded him gently, the smile that adorned her face slipped into memory. “As Luthien sang at the gates of Mandos, so may you.”

“That is my intent,” the dwarf replied. “But I am no elf. Aule did not bless his children with the voices of nightingales, not like she-whom-the-world-lost. But I believe Eru knows the songs you cannot sing, and a song is a prayer of the heart. So I shall sit at the gates of Mandos in silent vigil, for Eru knows my heart. Words are unnecessary.”

Galadriel watched him leave the shore and take the road of the reborn, where his feet alone walked in the opposite direction. No other being than Luthien had taken the road to the Halls of Waiting, and she never returned. Not knowing if she would ever see him again, Galadriel watched until Gimli had vanished into the distance.

El fin