THE RED RIDER ; lord of the rings {legolas} ✔

•epilogue•

Epilogue
Fo.A 120
Legolas

It began with the gull.

A sharp cry on the wind, a white gull called as it flew just too far north, just far enough for me to hear it.

After that, it came faster. Light songs on the air, a feeling in my gut, the constant crashing and falling of the waves in my head as the ocean beckoned me towards Aman.

I had not forgetten. One hundred and twenty-two years had gone by since Elenathrian had passed over the sea, one hundred and twenty-two years I was without her, and I did not forget.

I did not forget how much I loved her.

It would be different, surely, when I saw her again, when I took the inevitable journey across the Great Sea, but it had been far too long.

I'd enjoyed my time here, as she'd said I would. I traveled once more with Gimli, remained friends with Aragorn and Mireclya and Faramir and Eowyn and Eomer as you must when you've been through a war together.

There were moments, I remembered, where I'd thought I could stay, where I very nearly thought I may avoid the Sea altogether, very nearly forgetting Elenathrian. Then, as fate would have it, the gull came everytime, whether in the air or in my mind, to remind me of my promise. I would not forget.

The death of Aragorn was the last string cut. Gimli and I remained in Gondor for the funeral, as Aragorn was buried beside Mireclya, who had died two years previously. The old necklace had been taken from his neck, and hung in a strong glass case between the two tombs, with an inscription few knew the real meaning to : Not in the darkest of times, not in solitude or anger or sadness, should we give up - not ever. This pendant, belonging to the King and Queen Elessar, hangs here as a reminder to never give up on your destiny, not on your people, not on your friends.

It would be familiar to some, to those who had heard the real story of how Aragorn had gotten the necklace from Mireclya, but that number remained to be seen.

Gimli and I were alone.

We spoke little, most of the time, not really needing to anymore, now such good friends that we rarely kept secrets; he'd known for a long time now of Elenathrian and I, and certainly knew of the call of the Sea in my mind, though I never spoke of it.

He knew I needed to go over the Sea.

Several weeks after the funeral, I began to make arrangements to leave, knowing it could not be put off. My need to see Elenathrian grew deeper, the call of the Sea louder.

One particular afternoon, as I stood behind the graves of Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck (there had been talk of moving them beside Aragorn and Mireclya, knowing of their great friendship) I heard a voice in my mind - one that I had not heard for a very, very long time.

Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil.

It was the Lady of Lorien.

Long have you endured the call of the Belegaear. You can wait no more.

I hesitated, however, for only one reason, which I find should be obvious. If I left, Gimli would have no one left from our adventurers, no one to remember them with : only the gate of his own creation, the timeless images and inscriptions upon the gate of Minas Tirith.

Gimli, son of Gloin, the Elf-friend, is worthy to cross the Sea. His heart is pure, his intentions good.

I remember exhaling, then, because I remembered letting Elenathrian go. It was the curse, and the blessing, of the Eldar.

If there was one thing I wanted to be constant, one thing I could help, it was that I wanted a friend to be by my side, for the rest of time, from the day I'd met him. I had lost everyone else. Gimli had always been there.

And so it was set.

Gimli and I set out the next day, sailing down the Anduin, where it would set us free into the depths of Belegaear and into the west - never to be seen again.

There was a farewell feast, a party to show the true beginning of the Fourth Age; now there were none left who could tell the tales, none who had been there to experience them.

(Little did I know, of course, that Samwise Gamgee, while he'd been in Middle Earth, had finished the Red Book of Westmarch, which would be copied and published many years later as a true account of our adventures, for Sam and Frodo had recounted everything truthfully and poetically. I also hadn't known, until our boat touched the Sea, that Sam had departed for Aman sixty years earlier, before the deaths of Merry and Pippin.)

I felt old beyond measure, my years in Endorë flaking off me as our boat sailed through the peaceful waters, making me watch them pass before my eyes. Knowing that there was nobody left in Middle-Earth who was alive while I'd been adventuring with my friends, fighting for the freedom of the world itself, made me feel strange, like I had already been cast out.

I shook my head when Gimli came up beside me at the bow. An eternity of peace would do me as good as it could get.

An image of Elenathrian came up in my head, her glorious red cloak swirling about her in battle, her eyes meeting mine across the field for the very first time, and I was watching her and would never stop.

I could not forget her. For me, she was the symbol of hope. Sav'estel, I heard her murmur in my ear, and I had to smile.

"Gimli, my old friend," I said finally, "are you ready?"

"A bit late for that question, lad, seein' as we've already left," Gimli chuckled in response. He glanced at me, and then his expression was solemn. "It's a real honor, Legolas."

I inclined my head with a smile, and turned back towards Middle-Earth, watching it slowly disappear over the horizon.

I was thrown back, suddenly, to the day Elenathrian rode away from Minas Tirith for the last time.

I'd rushed all the way up to the courtyard from the stables alone, standing at the rail as the sun slowly rose higher in the sky. I watched her red cloak vanish over hills, and the shadows of the land were cast of Guldurelon, making him resemble the black steed he'd once been. I'd smiled. It was the last ride of the Red Rider.

Who could forget that?

It was the one thing I'd made sure of, the one thing she would've wanted. The one way she wanted to be remembered. I told stories of the Red Rider, continuing her legacy, making them as epic and wonderful as they'd truly been to me, telling the stories of her battle and of the dread her foes had had from facing her until the name held just as much power as it once had, and she would live on in the great stories.

Days passed, or perhaps weeks, but it didn't matter, for time was irrelevant where we were going.

One day, at last, land appeared on the horizon and approached just as quickly as Middle-earth had vanished behind us. We were soon going to dock in the Valinor, here to stay forevermore.

"It's beautiful," Gimli said with a sigh.

I smiled; as we approached, I saw a tall, blonde figure stand upon the shore of the Valinor, for she had seen us, and known. The call had settled in my mind, and I was home at last.

She raised a hand in greeting as we got closer. A beautiful smile graced her features, the sea breeze playing with her hair; nothing had changed about her. She was wearing a long, red cloak.