Twice as Much

The land where the leaves fell not, the place where the deathless dwelt, the first home of the Eldar and their last one as well. Free of either rot or rust, the Blessed Realm spread out radiantly, evergreen and timeless. What a joy to be welcomed in the kingdom of the Valar, despite so boldly defying their rule by bringing with him a child of Aulë. Yes, when Legolas set sail across the glistening sea he did not do so alone: with him was Gimli son of Gloin, a dwarf of great renown, skilled and charming and brave as no other. By some miraculous grace he was allowed to stay, and Legolas was glad he would get to share the rest of his days with such a remarkable companion by his side.

But things did not turn out exactly as he had expected.

Contrary to his belief, the Undying Lands did not grant immortality. It was a hard truth for Legolas to learn, though Gimli remained surprisingly unaffected. If he felt any sorrow, it was at the thought of his friend having to deal with the loss alone.

"I have always known where my fate lies," He said, his voice soft and steady. "I made peace with that, long before setting foot on this land. I was willing to follow you, not because I hoped for eternal life, but because I could not bear the thought of leaving you. That is what pains me now, dear friend, knowing that after my departure I will not be able to comfort you."

Life in the Blessed Realm, however, allowed little room for mourning a loss that had not yet happened. Many long years did the friends spend together, all full of mirth and wonder. They reminisced often about their time in Middle Earth: how they met, the Fellowship and the Quest, and the many adventures that came thereafter. But they didn't grow complacent, wallowing in the memories of a time and place they could not return to. On the contrary, their lives in Aman prospered. They met people and places they only knew from song or legend: Vana's garden, Mahal's forge, the pearly city of Alqualonde. Finrod Felagund was delighted to talk with Gimli (Galadriel had spoken highly of him), asking him questions about his people and the affairs of men on Middle Earth. Other elves' reactions ranged from wary to amused, though Gimli, in the end, was always able to win them over. He settled with Legolas on the island of Tol Eressea, near the home of the ringbearers, and became, as far as he was concerned, the happiest dwarf to ever live.

-.-.-.-

It was not a shock when the time finally came, but Legolas was hardly ready. Gimli's beard had turned from lively red to ashen gray, his eyes became clouded, and his hands weak and trembly. He lived many times over what he would have had he stayed in Middle Earth, but not even the powerful magic of Aman could stop aging altogether.

Legolas held him in a close embrace, hands clasped, both of them knowing full well what was coming. Gimli was not afraid: he'd done what he was meant to, and he'd done it right. He had been granted a privilege denied to most, and he had made the most of it. But there was still one thing left for him to resolve, before welcoming his fate with open arms. And though Gimli did not speak, Legolas knew what he ought to do.

He would not grieve. He would not surrender himself to sorrow. He would try to find happiness, even if he never felt whole again, even though he knew the wound in his heart would not heal. He promised this to Gimli in a gentle whisper: That he'd sing and dance and laugh twice as much, for the sake of the times they spent together. That he would rejoice in his place, so the joy would be doubled. He would do it knowing that's what Gimli would have wanted.

And that was all.

Legolas cried as he felt his friend drifting away from the world, closing his eyes with a smile on his face, as though he was going to sleep after a particularly good day. His body went limp in his arms, still warm, but no longer living. Legolas kissed his brow, and there they lingered, together alone.

-.-.-.-

Gimli got a proper burial in the way of dwarves, just as he had requested. His loss fell heavy on the people of Aman, who throughout the years had gotten to know him and love him. Many elves mourned his loss, Lady Galadriel amongst them, though none were hurt as gravely as Legolas. Olórin was of the maiar the most affected, and in his wisdom, he assisted Legolas through grief. He helped him fulfill the promise he had made to Gimli just before he passed away.

In the years that followed, Legolas sang his praises, he danced in his name, he laughed at the memory of their adventures and their games. He told his tale time and time again so Gimli, Lord of the Glittering Caves, would not be forgotten. He spoke of his rough, kind hands, his wide, shameless smile, and his beard red as fire. He talked of his stout legs, his sharp mind and noble heart. Gimli the smith, the warrior, the poet. Skilled and brave and gentle like no other. The greatest of the children of Aulë. It was Legolas' deed to let everyone know that, to make them understand at least a fraction of his prowess, his virtue. The memory of the first dwarf to ever set foot on Valinor would not fade; Legolas would make sure of it. And he would be twice as happy, knowing that he had loved Gimli, son of Gloin.