Author's Notes: Well, it's been a long absence from fanfiction writing or at least posting stories. This story has actaully been done for over a year now, but I haven't had the time to edit it nor to really post it. What can I say, college is consuming my soul. On another note, I never truly meant for this to be as long and drawn out as it was. In fact, it was only to go as far as Legolas' musing at the old Council of Elrond. Then the rabid plot bunny decided to run away with the story, dragging me in tow. Legolas was not supposed to make it all the way back to Eryn Lasgalen. He just really, really!, wanted go home I guess.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters used below or any of the places in which these characters inhabit. All is owned by JRR Tolkien and his estates. I mean no infringement upon this author's work and only write the following tale to ease my own mind.

Rating: G

Summary: After Aragorn's death and Arwen's self-appointed exile to Lothlórien, it is said that Legolas built a gray ship and traveled to the Havens with his elf-friend, Gimli. This is the tale of saying good-bye to everything that is Middle-earth: the people, the places, and the memories.

Now, the story…

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A PLAYER'S STAGE

By: Susie

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"Haste therefore each degree,

To welcome destiny:

Heaven is our heritage,

Earth but a player's stage;

Mount we unto the sky…"

Adieu, Farewell Earth's Bliss

Thomas Nashe

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The delicate hand reached out and gently rested on the back of the stone chair. The long fingers took cares to follow the detailed designs that were long ago craved into the hard surface by a gifted artist. A sigh arose from the mouth of the being whose hand trailed along the old seats that spoke clearing of longing and remembrance. It was musical even though bathed in sorrow and was also unmistakably Elvish in origin. The elf, who stood alone, was the youngest prince of Thranduil, one of the Nine Walkers in the War of the One Ring, and a dwarf-friend. Legolas Greenleaf removed his hand from the chair and stepped around the prone object to stand in front of it.

One day, so long ago, it had been his seat. The years had come and gone and, although the chair looked slightly more worn, it was still the same pale granite color. Staring at the seat, Legolas could almost feel the hard back that had forced him to sit straighter than normal. He could remember how the seat was always cool no matter how long his body remained there. Turning to face his back to the chair, the archer slowly lowered himself down and instantly he felt his mind journey back into the past. Looking outwards, his eyes fell on the other chairs in the half circle. They, like the persons that had once occupied them, all bore resemblance to one another, although the patterns were slightly altered given each its own unique quality.

The elf's eyes turned to a seat a few down from him. It was where Gimli had sat next to his father during the Council meeting. A smile graced the elf's porcelain features as Legolas remembered his first impression of the dwarf. It had not been flattering in the least and he never would have thought that the son of Glóin would become one of his dearest friend not six months later. It appeared as if the Valar had quite the sense of humor! Smiling at the thought of his friend, the archer shifted his eyes over a few more chairs and found Boromir's. The smile slowly faded as the first pang of loss settled into his heart.

The Son of Gondor had been the first and only casualty of the Fellowship during the actual journey towards Mordor. Although his time with the Fellowship had been cut drastically short, Boromir's deed, especially in Legolas' heart, would never be forgotten. He had been a brave man and one that the elf wished he had the time to better know. If Faramir, whom the Elven prince had gotten to know and love as a great friend, was anything like his brother then Legolas knew he would have found a great companion in the elder son of Denethor. Yet, fate had not allowed this to happen. It was not Boromir's fault that the One Ring's power took hold of him and no one had ever blamed the man for the ill that had befallen him at the Ring's hand. The son of Denethor loved his city dearly and felt the power of Isildur's Bane would help the White City; he had been deceived by the powerful creation of evil. Even Legolas had felt the pull of the Ring in his mind, yet the Ring's focus was not upon the elf and he had been spared the fate that Boromir fell to. It was a great loss to Middle-earth. Softly, Legolas murmured a lament for the fallen man.

The sharp Elven eyes opened quickly and turned towards the place where the hobbit Frodo had sat bearing the One Ring. It was amazing that one so small and inexperienced could accomplish so very much. He bore the fate of all the Free-Peoples of the land and he never once backed down. Legolas knew the halfing had his doubts and fear, but he did want needed to be done. The bravery that Frodo, and all his Shire companions, shown would always amaze the elf-prince. Legolas did not know if in his heart he possessed the strength that Frodo had and he hoped that the small hobbit had found peace in the Gray Havens for no one deserved it more.

And of course, Legolas thought as he moved his eyes to the head of the circle, there is Lord Elrond's seat, although slightly facing Aragorn's chair.

All those years ago Legolas had not missed the protective nature of the elf-lord to his foster son. It was something that the future King had also not missed, much to his distaste. Stepping away from his chair, Legolas stood in the center of the half circle turning slowly. Before him sat empty chairs that at one point in time held many great people in them. Many of those that had been the occupants of those chairs were now gone. Elrond, Mithrandir, Bilbo, and Frodo had passed over the sea to the Gray Havens, seeking the peace that Middle-earth no longer offered them. Sam had, of course, faithfully followed his Master. Many years since their departure had occurred and, though it pained his heart, the archer knew that there was a good chance that the little halflings were no longer in the realm of the living, for even the Undying Lands can not keep mortals alive forever. It was the mortals' gift, Legolas knew, that they were not bound to Arda as the Elves were. There was something greater awaiting them and, that ultimate peace, was theirs alone to behold. Along with Sam and Frodo, Legolas knew that their companions Peregrin and Meriadoc had also passed, although he had been their to witness the small hobbits' funeral. They had been buried in the Hall of the Kings in the White City as was their right. They were more than worthy and, in the end, it brought joy to Legolas' heart to know that they were honored so greatly in death.

His father had warned him, long before the Council of Elrond, that befriending mortals was a dangerous business. Your heart will only be broken, Thranduil had said and Legolas listened. For many long years he listened and stayed away from those that would die one day while he continued to live. He listened to the warning and kept his heart closed off to those of the mortal races. As it was, he watched people whom he came to recognize wither and die before his eyes while he never appeared to age. He felt a small pang in his heart whenever he would find his way to Lake-Town only to see that the men he had known were no longer and a new generation had come in its place. The prince knew that to befriend a mortal would never suit him, for he did not know how he would be able to deal with the inevitable loss.

All had been well until one day, while he was patrolling the eastern border, a Ranger had fallen victim to orcs. Without thought, the archer jumped and saved the man's life. It had seemed like such a trivial thing at the time, but in the end, it was so much more. That injured man had changed the prince's life. The way of the mortals quickly become an object of fascination for the young elf and he found all his questions being answered by this man. For the month that the man recovered in his home, much to his father's chagrin, Legolas befriended him. Aragorn, son of Arathron, became a constant companion to the elf-prince. Their friendship would hold stronger than any Elven friendship Legolas has possessed and, it was because of this mere Ranger, that Legolas found himself becoming a part of the mortal world. It was as if a door had been opened to the him. For many years the pair, man and elf, would share adventures, pain, tears, blood and so much more. They became more then friends, they became brothers, and that bond held true until…

Legolas bowed his head.

…until only recently. Barely a month ago, the King of Gondor had finally fallen victim to his fate. Aragorn passed away and his lovely wife, Arwen, had left for Cerin Amroth in Lothlórien where she was to fall to the fate of mortals under the leaves of the place where she had long ago met Estel. It had broken the prince's heart to say goodbye to his dear friends and still the losses torn at his very soul.

A dangerous business indeed, father.

Legolas knew that if he had never ventured out of his home or never saved Aragorn's life his own would be much different. And yet, so much emptier. His mortal friends were his life. They had offered and given him so much that without them Legolas did not think his long time on Middle-earth would have been nearly was worthwhile even if they were only in it for a blink of an eye. The joy and love that his mortal friends had given him filled his heart with more contentment than Legolas ever thought it could hold. Just as their ultimate deaths had filled his heart with more sorrow than he felt it could stand.

The only small beacon of light through all this was his ever-faithful friend Gimli. The dwarf, while not young anymore, was still healthy and would bless Legolas with companionship for more years yet. When the dwarf passed, a thought that the elf tried valiantly to avoid, Legolas was not certain what he would do. Grief, it was said, could kill an elf and the archer did not want to think of that fate befalling him. The future was something that Legolas did not like to think about for it held too much sorrow and uncertainty.

He knew his own fate, for that had been sealed during the One Ring's War on the Path of the Dead. The crying of that gull had opened a flood of need for the sea that he never knew he would face. Sea-longing, as many referred to it, had been a part of his life ever since. Constantly, the sound and the song of the sea was in his mind. It invaded his thoughts and his dreams; a moment's peace from it was never a possibility. In some part of his heart, he did not want the constant song of the sea to leave him for it seemed to complete him even while it tore him apart. As the days and years passed, it grew in intensity and one day soon Legolas knew he would need to depart. The pain of the longing would no longer be bearable.

Sadly, the prince knew this day was coming closer. The song was not as easy to tune out and completing even daily tasks was proving more difficult. Soon, he knew, they would become impossible. The gray ship that would bear him needed to sail soon. Although, he longed never to leave his dwarf-friend behind and so, he held onto Arda with every fiber of his being. He would not leave his friend until the very last moment; until all his strength had waned, for he knew Gimli would do the same. Legolas knew that his elvellon would hold onto life for as long as he could out of fear of leaving behind the elf. Truth be told, Legolas knew he would too beg his friend not to leave his side for, when Gimli did, the archer did not what he would do or, even worse, who he would be. With his friend by his side, Legolas knew who he was; he was someone's brother in all but blood. Without the dwarf, the elf would be lost. So, he would hold true to these mortal lands until parted from his friend by death because he could not be alone.

With another sigh that held immeasurable amount of sadness and even some fear, Legolas looked over the old Council seats again. With a smile, a true tribute to how strange Elvish emotions could be, he remembered the sheer absurdity of the Fellowship that had finally been chosen to follow the One Ring to its destruction. Four hobbits, two Men, a dwarf, an elf, and a wizard. Those Nine had held the fate of Middle-earth in their hands and somehow they had succeed. Against everything, they had won and evil had been destroyed; the light had beaten the darkness. In truth, if Legolas had not been apart of the entourage, he never would have believed the final result. Even odder was that it had been two hobbits that destroyed the Ring. Yes, the other Fellowship had done their share, but Frodo and Sam were the ones to whom the true credit had to be given. For the remainder of his life, the elf-prince would never be able to answer what gods had been watching over them, but, whomever they were, they had truly blessed those Nine.

"And what pray-tell is so amusing?" A gruff yet familiar voice broke into Legolas' thoughts. "I find nothing humorous about being in a land full of strange Elves."

The son of Thranduil turned to find Gimli standing behind him. He had not heard the dwarf approach although he was not entirely surprised given how in-depth in his thoughts he had been.

"I was simply remembering, elvellon." Legolas answered in his melodic voice that covered the surprise his friend caused him with ease. The dwarf only nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but the elf continued. "And I do not understand why you still insist on believing Elves are the strange folk. If anything, you are the strange one, being a dwarf within Elvish lands."

Gimli grunted slightly before speaking. "I am only here because you feel it necessary to drag me all across Middle-earth and I fear for your safety. For, without me, you would surely find yourself in numerous disastrous situations."

Legolas' silver laughter echoed slightly. "I dare say you are the one who gets me into trouble! Remind me again who it was that got us lost in those caves under the Misty Mountains?"

The dwarf shrugged. "I haven't the faintest idea." Legolas pinned the full-fury of an Elvish glare upon his friend, but the son of Glóin no longer seemed phased by such things. He returned the glare and then continued. "I do not seem to remember such a circumstance. Perhaps that Elvish memory of yours is fading in its old age."

"Old age?" The prince raised an eyebrow. "I think if either of us is becoming senile it would be yourself. I remember quite clearly that it was you who took many a wrong turns that ended with us being lost for two days in that underground prison you seem to enjoy so much."

Gimli said nothing, but walked to stand next to his friend whom was still in the middle of the semi-circle. The experience that the two friends were arguing over had taken place during their promised journey across Middle-earth. It had been a small mis-direction on Gimli's part for he was more than certain that the path he had taken would lead him out of the deep caves. He had been mistaken, and although Legolas complained at him for hours on end at having to spend another two days under ground, the dwarf was certain that the elf had known the way out, but sought to give his friend a hard time. To this day he still have never received an honest answer from the prince and knew that he never would. He had, over the course of the friendship with Legolas, begun to understand the Elvish sense of humor. It was a truly peculiar thing, for Elves seemed to get the great joy out of making others feel like a fool. It appeared to be a goal to make one be as uncomfortable as possible and, when that was accomplished, then the elf truly felt satisfied. It was an enjoyable thing to watch yet Gimli loathed to be the subject of Elvish mirth and would much rather be a spectator.

The pair now stood side by side in the old place of Elrond's Council in the Third Age. Gimli, like his Elven friend had done earlier, was immersed in old memories after pondering the "Cave Incident." He thought fondly of those that he had come to know so well over the journey across Middle-earth. He had many memories, both fond and horror filled of that time of war. Looking at the lithe elf next to him, Gimli was reminded of the fondest gift he had received from the War of the One Ring. His friendship with Legolas was dear to his heart even if the pair acted much like the bitter enemies they had started out as for they constantly seemed to be in a one verbal war or another. The son of Glóin knew that his friendship with Legolas was strong and would hold for many more years. Although, with the recent death of Aragorn, Gimli's thoughts had turned to his ultimate mortal fate and what that meant to the friendship he held with the son of Thranduil.

Gimli knew he would not live forever, although he was able to admit he had many years left in him. The sad and bitter truth was he was getting old while his elf-friend stayed as young as ever. The dwarf had seen the painful grief etched on Legolas' face when Aragorn had left them, a looked that would pass over his Elven features not a week later when the Lady Arwen departed for Lothlórien. The sorrow on the prince's features broke his heart, for Gimli was pained to think of what would happen to his friend ere he passed on. He knew that he was the last of the Legolas' mortal friends on the shores of Arda and, when he finally died, what would become of his friend? It appeared as if the Elven prince would be alone in the world, a thought that caused Gimli's heart to constrict.

Shaking his head, Gimli cleared his mind of such horrid thoughts. It seemed like death had been a common companion as of late with the passing of such mortals as the hobbits, Éomer, Éowyn, Faramir, Aragorn, and Arwen. Though they had not all occurred in a short time, with each new death, the pains of the prior ones rung true. With the King of Gondor's passing and his Queen, Gimli was reminding of all those that he had loved whom had moved on to the next life. Somehow he could find peace knowing that one day he would join them, but what of his friend? Legolas would never rest with his mortal friends for that was not his step in the after-life. He knew however that the prince's thoughts had already entertained this depressing fact and did not want to dwell on it. There were still many years to live and he would not allow them to be sundered by the thought of his death.

"I remember this place like we were here yesterday."

It was the elf's soft voice that broke Gimli out of his reverie. Looking around the circle of seats, he found himself nodding his head. Just as easily as the elf next to him, the dwarf could picture the faces of those in the Council.

"As do I, my friend." Gimli stated and added, "It had been many longs years though."

"Yes," Legolas agreed. "Many years." The statement ended with a long sigh that clearly spoke of all that had passed in those long years.

Gimli looked at each seat for a moment before speaking again. "There were many great people who sat here and many that did not."

The Elven-prince nodded, but said nothing. It was a time to mourn those that had fought for so much and had finally passed onto another world. There battle, like to two friends standing before the old seats, had been long and hard. Neither could find any fault in those that had passed on finally finding the peace they worked so hard to achieve.

TBC…