Until the End of Days
By Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: *bows*. The characters, the world of Middle-earth – all Tolkien's. Forgive me, Oh Great One, I am writing for joy, not profit.


There are tales so important and filled with so many emotions and fates it has no clear beginning or end. The tellers of the tale are forced to make a beginning – and to find an end.

You could end the tale when the world ended, when the Elves gave the greatest gift any can give. It would be a despairing end, for none would know of their sacrifice. Perhaps there is a better end.

For when the Elves gave their immortality to spark life a-new, they became a part of it.

Perhaps some humans would dream of the sea sometimes and feel a strange certainty that there was a lost world out there, sunken in the sea. Lurking beyond the surface of consciousness was the spirit of the Elves, alive in the new life.

And when the life they had sparked died, they went with it. Beyond the veil to whatever waited those who die from this world. Perhaps they were there granted shape once more and reunited with their kindred.

Perhaps too with the other kindred who slowly died out as well – the dwarves, the hobbits, the Ents. Perhaps after rebuilding the earth they faded away like the stars, dwindling as the world became less.

Maybe even the spirit of the Orcs were freed from cruelty and regained some of the shape they had once had.

Perhaps a father met again his child there. Perhaps Elrond saw once more the Evenstar of his people. Perhaps Gimli and Legolas met again there and held each other for an eternity. Some friendships even time cannot diminish.


And thus the tale would end where it began. Legolas and Gimli. And the echo of the past, lingering in the air until the end of days.