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?
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.
She'd come to know him well at long last.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.