63. Habit
As he did every morning, Legolas walked out his front door and stared eastward, toward the dawning sun.
Was Eldarion still alive? Did Ithilien still flourish? The Shire? Eryn Lasgalen?
Would his father ever join him here?
As he had for the last decade, he then turned and looked up the hill, toward the rowan tree he'd planted at it's crest. He didn't need to see the low bench - or the stone carved with Gimli's name that marked the grave there.
"Legolas, come in and break your fast."
She'd come to know him well at long last.
"Coming, Naneth…"
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