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Today was a fateful day.
It was the day Gimli, son of Gloin, was scheduled to die.
He was an old dwarf now, old and feeble. He wasn't bitter about it. He'd helped on the quest to destroy the Ring, for Mahal's sake.
When Gimli died, he was lying on his bed, writing in his book. He felt someone needed to make sure the elves didn't get all the credit.
His beard was white, his hands pale, his skin thin, wrinkled and liverspotted. He was too old to stay any longer on Arda. Granted, he didn't get the noble, glorious death he'd wanted, but really, who cares?
Just as he finished writing The End, he felt a great shock, as if he was dumped in a bucket of ice water. A great flash came behind his eyes, and Gimli heard- a thunderous sound, that in some way wasn't a sound. When it faded, he was standing by his bed.
Staring down at his body.
It was far frailer then he'd realized. Gimli looked at his beard. It was red again, now. He looked very much the same as he had on the Quest. He stretched experimentally. It no longer pained him. All arthritis, all ailments that come with age, had vanished.
A soft voice sounded. "Ready to go?"
He whirled. Instantly, he grabbed his axe and aimed it at the elfin intruder who had somehow entered his room.
Long, black hair cascaded down her shoulders. Her face had the same angular, beautiful features that most elves had, but on her they were colder, more emotionless. She had on a simple grey dress with long sleeves and no adornments, and a black cloak, fastened with a pin of polished, dark stone. Her feet had on simple, black boots. Delicate, long, pale fingers curled around the scythe she was leaning against. And, her eyes were pure darkness, cold and unfathomable. Swirling patterns decorated the skin near her eyes. Black those marks were, and hypnotizing. She was beautiful, but frightning. Alien.
Seeing the axe, she laughed. It wasn't a good sound. A melody, but...strange.
"Allow me to introduce myself," she said. "I am Gwanath."
Gwanath...death, in Sindarin. Legolas had told him.
He asked Gwanath, "And what do you want, elf?"
Gwanath raised a perfect eyebrow. "Well, surely you want to pass on from Arda? Mahal is waiting."
Gimli did not fully comprehend. Who was she, to take him...on?
He said as much, and Gwanath sighed. "I swear," she muttered. "Tell a story to Men, and they'll not only tell it to all the races of Arda, but muck it up too." Focusing on him again, she said, "I am the Reaper. I reap the souls of creatures who die and take them to whatever Afterlife awaits them. Men call me Death, the unimaginative little twits." She added, "Close your mouth, son of Gloin, you look like a bloody fish. Surely you knew you were no-longer living?"
Gimli closed his gaping jaw with an audible click. Then he spoke thus, "Um, yes, I did know. I just didn't expect a woman. Or an elf, of all races."
Gwanath did not comment, only stood tall and said, "Are you willing to go, or do you wish to remain as a spirit, a ghost? I don't advise that course."
Gimli stood still and said nothing. He was not sure this was not a trick. Multiple tales had been told to him of demons, pretending to be helpful. What was he to do?
Then he gasped, as shadows in the corner expanded and contracted, and Kili, nephew to Thorin Oakenshield, and his childhood friend leapt out.
Kili didn't look a day older then he had the last time Gimli saw him. Except, there were a few small changes. Black hair, for one thing. Also, the arrows in his quiver were black, as obsidian. And, his eyes were a near perfect match to Gwanath's, however his were brighter, less soul-freezing.
"Kili-how?" Gimli stammered.
Gwanath did not look pleased to see Kili there. "Kili Blackarrow. What do you want, little shadowfear? You have no business here."
Kili replied laughingly, "Why, I just wish to say goodbye to my friend, seeing as this is the last I will see him till the end of Arda, when I pass on. Surely you will not begrudge me that, Lady Death?"
Death grumbled, but stepped back. Kili turned back to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's good to see you, Gimli."
"Same to you," Gimli answered. "How?"
How are you still here, Kili?
Kili smiled. "Well, when Gwanath mentioned spirits? I was forced into that path."
Unable to think of anything to say out loud, Gimli signed in Iglishmek, the dwarven sign language, I'm sorry.
Kili smiled, but it had little humor."Well, that's why I'm here."
He put both hands on Gimli's shoulders, locking their gazes. Gimli had never seen him so serious. "Gimli, you have to go on. I hate being a sprite. People have walked through me, and it gets so lonely, some nights... It's not a good choice."
Gimli thought about it. Alone, except for others forced down the same path? No.
Turning to Gwanath, he said, "I'll go with you. Although, I do have a question. What's that scythe for?"
Gwanath said, "Tradition." She then smiled, and led him out the door.
And that is how the son of Gloin, member of the Fellowship, entered the Afterlife.