Epilogue

Two months passed before Aragorn was crowned king. In that time, Minas Tirith had been repaired to a standard that meant that the population had a permanent roof over their head, although perhaps not the most comfortable conditions to live in.

Aid had arrived swiftly shortly after Aragorn had sent out pleas. Representatives from every free kingdom of Middle Earth came to Gondor, (including the kingdoms that had not been privy to the cry for help,) just to confirm that Sauron had indeed been vanquished. All kingdoms save one.

No word about anything from anyone had come from Mirkwood. The messenger sent there had returned stating that everything seemed fine there, although the messenger had simply handed the letter containing Aragorn's account and request to one of the guards of the palace, who had made it quite clear that the King of Mirkwood was very busy and not to be disturbed and that visitors were quite unwelcome in the forest. 'Much the same as always,' Aragorn thought.

Except nothing was the same. Not anymore. The one who had plagued the forest for so many years was gone to the Valar knew where, the sole heir to the throne of Mirkwood had died bringing him down, and they were now in a new age of this world.

Legolas' body lay in a stone tomb, yet the tomb had not been sealed. Part of Aragorn was keeping the elf because he knew he ought to return it to Thranduil at some point, but part of him, (the least healthy part of him,) kept holding onto him because he couldn't bear to let go. Guilt and regret ate away at him every time he saw Legolas' body, every time he was reminded of how the elf had constantly tried to prove he had changed, how that desperation to do good had eventually cost Legolas his life, the life that never should have been extinguished. In short, Aragorn was blaming himself.

Of the orcs that had escaped the Sauron's destruction, the vast majority died soon after from starvation, now that their master was no longer there to supply food. The few that did manage to scavenge enough to survive did not survive long, as they were killed by men as they went in search of food more tasty than deer flesh.

The celebrations that took place in Minas Tirith following Sauron's downfall were marred with grief, as Sauron had brought Gondor to its knees. The Fellowship finally understood Boromir's reasoning for wanting to use the Ring to save the White City, they finally understood why the man's need had been so dire. Gondor had borne the brunt of the attack, and while the other lands were celebrating the destruction of their greatest foe, the families of Gondor were grieving. Those who had escaped the orcs were now confronted with losing wives, husbands, children and parents. There were families, like the Steward's, that had been completely obliterated in the siege, and the few that had survived now found themselves alone.

Eowyn, who had been among those to escape the pillage of Minas Tirith, returned to Edoras shortly after to take up her uncle's seat in the Golden Hall, burying the soldiers who had died at Minas Tirith outside the capital of Rohan.

Frodo had informed the rest of the Fellowship that he would not return to the Shire. Lady Arwen of Rivendell had sent a messenger to Gondor, telling Aragorn that she would not be sailing to the West, instead choosing to remain in Middle Earth. However, she offered Frodo her place on the last ship to Valinor, and, much to the dismay of Sam in particular, he had accepted.

It was the morning of the coronation when a herald announced that a representative of Mirkwood had arrived. Aragorn met with them in the courtyard, to be confronted by King Thranduil.

"King Thranduil," Aragorn said, inclining his head respectfully.

"Lord Aragorn," Thranduil replied, mimicking the gesture.

"You got my message then."

"About a month and a half ago," Thranduil responded coolly.

"You took your time."

"It is a long way from my realm to Gondor," Thranduil pointed out, his tone unchanged but his eyebrows raised to indicate his displeasure. "And I must confess, I was not sure whether or not I wanted to come, and when I decided that I would, we did not rush here. I was in no hurry to confirm what you said about my son."

"Your highness?" Aragorn asked quizzically, not quite understanding.

"Tell me, Lord Aragorn, if somebody told you that your son had died, and yet offered no proof, but you knew in your heart that they would not lie, would you hurry, desperate to confirm it, or would you cling onto the vain hope that perhaps just this once, they had made up some fictional story?"

Aragorn remained silent, unsure how to answer.

"May I see him please?" Thranduil asked.

Aragorn simply nodded bleakly, before guiding him towards the tomb. Thranduil dismissed the elven guards with a brief nod of his head.

The tomb was small and made of white marble, yet it was high enough to stand in. It was unguarded, and Aragorn simply pushed the door open, before leading the Elvenking inside.

Thranduil paused in the door, staring at the lifeless body that lay there. Without a word, Thranduil brushed past Aragorn, and walked slowly to gaze into his only son's white face.

"Legolas," Thranduil breathed. He shut his eyes, and allowed a tear to roll down his face. He took a deep breath in, before opening his eyes again, eyes that were now overflowing with tears, blurring his vision. Thranduil didn't wipe them away, he just let them fall.

"Why did he die, Aragorn?" Thranduil breathed, so quietly that all Aragorn could hear was his name.

"I'm sorry?"

"Why did my son die?" Thranduil repeated, his voice rising, showing sadness and anger. It was thick, and Aragorn could only sympathise with the Elvenking. After all, Legolas should have been immortal, and Thranduil was going to have to live with this loss for the rest of time. It was a hurt that he should never have had to bear.

"Aragorn," Thranduil said when the soon-to-be king did not answer, and Aragorn couldn't ignore the desperate plea that had crept into Thranduil's voice.

"He died... to save Middle Earth."

And it was true. For nobody ever forgot just how close Middle Earth had come to falling to Sauron. For if Gondor had fallen, none of the other free kingdoms would have had the strength to withstand the growing power of Mordor. And it was only the actions of Legolas, when all hope seemed lost, that saved Middle Earth from total ruin.

THE END