Chapter 50 - The End.

A NOTE BEFORE READING

With this chapter, it is important to understand my concept of Elanor-Glorfindel's half-Elven children and their aging processes. I developed a simple calculation to work this out, so that they would appear to age at approximately half the speed of a normal human. However, this works so that in their childhood years, they developed as usual, and slow down as they age. Thus, we have the following calculation:

Their kids are mortal, and look normal till the age of 4. Then, you multiply by 0.436 and add 4 to calculate how old they look. (works out that at about 30-33 they are "of age", ie. 18).

Once they reach 65 (or looking approximately 30 years of age) it becomes 0.436 + 2 until death.

So…

Where x is the biological age and y is the appearance:

If x 4, then x = y.

If 65 x 4, then y = x * 0.436 + 4

If x 65, then y = x * 0.436 + 2

(NOTE: in these calculations, the asterix (*) stands for a multiplication sign).

I hope that this makes sense, and explains why the children look younger than their biological ages in some of the snippets. I thought this was important to clarify before reading. But, this done—carry on! Toward pain and ruin!

June 10th, 5 FO. (Fourth Age)

Sunlight coaxed forth vibrant blossoms. Lilies opened dainty buds in the warmth of June, scattering the valley with a delicate frosting of white.

The valley was a magnificent place, rather like a cleft in the earth. Approached from most directions, it was almost impossible to stumble across. Many travellers missed a wondrous sight because of this. Despite sheer sides, isolation, and the depth of the fissure, it was exquisite. The rock walls were towering and graceful in their height, whilst the floor of the valley was split in two by a gushing river. It parted the rolling grass, shouting in its clear exuberance.

At one end of the valley stood a house. Truthfully, the title "house" was a rather ludicrous understatement. It sprawled over an extensive area in a haphazard fashion, spanning multiple levels and split by courtyards and walkways. Each frame, column and cornice was elegantly carved in the image of flora and fauna. Its intricacy and precision was beyond any human hand, and many visitors to this house were found spellbound by its magnificence. Beyond the "house" itself were a variety of other buildings and garden fixtures. The trees and shrubs surrounding it were both fragrant and fruitful, and the fountains were no less lovely than the main building. There was a stable block and forge, along with several outdoor terraces with trellis' and climbing vines forming a dappled ceiling.

For a house so large, it was unusually quiet on this early summer's day. Truth be told, it held few occupants compared to days of old. Many halls and rooms were now empty, swept clean and bare. There was something haunting about those rooms. As such, the occupants who remained tended to avoid the desolate wings.

Still, it was not entirely empty and silent. There were more than a dozen devoted occupants, and a small handful of these were outside on this balmy day. Any visitor could locate them, upon a springy lawn ornamented with tiny daisies, for they were loud and cheerful in their high spirits.

They were a merry party of four, two grown, and two small individuals with no less cheer than their supervisors. One of the adults was swinging a small girl by the hands. He was a tall individual of perfect stature; broad shoulders, narrow hips, and possessing lean, well-formed muscles. Standing at six-and-a-half feet, he had glistening gold hair which fell to his shoulders in a straight, silken mass. His eyes were bright, and he moved with the easy athleticism of his race. Narrow, clean-cut face; angular jaw; straight nose. His pointed ears protruded slightly from amidst his hair. Greater than all of these beauties, however, was the broad smile of perfect bliss which masked his countenance. His large hands held firmly the wrists of the tiny girl.

She was laughing with enjoyment to match his. Rich blonde hair hung in wispy ringlets over her small head. She looked to be about five or six years, and promised to be a woman of some height and beauty.

Beside this energetic pair were another two, seated more sedately upon a blanket—a woman and a baby boy. The boy could only be a year or two, and was being kept out of mischief by a very firm mother.

She was, perhaps, the most interesting of the party. She lacked the inhuman beauty of the Elvish man, yet she could not be called unhandsome. Her hair was the exact mirror of the small girl's, though thicker and curlier. She would have possessed a trim figure had she not been heavily pregnant. Her face was thin, with a pointed chin, a titled nose, broad smile, and deep-set eyes which mirrored the ocean. There was a mature, womanly attractiveness about her; this was no fleet girl, but a mother and a lady of wisdom. She was watching the man and girl with a silent smile, whilst simultaneously keeping a firm hold of the tiny boy's tunic.

"I am flying!" cried the girl, letting shout a tinkle of sweet laughter as her feet left the ground and she whirled above the grass.

"What manner of creature is this?" her father laughed, slowing so that the girl reconnected with the earth. "I am sure that I am not a being of the air! You must have acquired such things from your mother, little Merry."

"I think so," Merileth replied gravely, though belied by the twinkle in her eyes—Elanor's eyes.

Glorfindel grinned. "Well, you've quite worn your Ada out; perhaps it is time to return and bother your mother."

Elanor raised an eyebrow at her husband, and shifted slightly on the picnic blanket. Her husband merely responded with a cheery wink.

"Can I go walking instead?" Merileth inquired, looking between mother and father. "And can I take Gael?"

Elanor glanced at her young son. Just shy of his second birthday, Gaelben promised to possess his sire's irrepressible energy and enthusiasm for life. He was not the image of Glorfindel, possessing features of both parents, but he undoubtedly matched his father's personality.

"Yes, so long as you remain within sight," Elanor consented, nodding. Merileth beamed and reached for her brother's hand.

"Come on, Gael! Let's go walking!"

Both parents watched with soft eyes as the two little ones scampered across the grass. Merileth darted between shrubs, cupping flowers beneath her slender fingers. Gaelben followed at a slower pace, supremely delighted with his freedom.

"Now Glorfindel," said Elanor, turning upon him with mock severity. "Do not tell me you are getting old and tired as a parent!"

The one addressed grinned impishly. "Tired? No. Rather weary of swinging about till I grew giddy? Yes, meleth."

"Good—I cannot have you growing old," Elanor quipped, taking up a piece of sewing she had laid aside in her efforts to restrain Gaelben.

Glorfindel did not reply. He watched as his wife's slim fingers took up the piece of mending and began to wield the needle with honed skill.

The past five years had passed with uncanny swiftness in the peace of Rivendell. Despite having lost many of its chief residents with Elrond's departure, the Last Homely House was nevertheless a haven for those who dwelt there. Glorfindel could not imagine pleasanter days beneath the sky. Each moment was filled with interest, watching his small daughter reach for the world with open hands. Gaelben's birth had been a fresh delight, introducing a son to his experience—and now, he thought, glancing at Elanor's blossoming form, a third child as well.

Oh, he was happy. Elanor continued to grow in his estimation with each passing day, managing any and every situation with calm and skill. Sorrow had touched her—but it had not bittered her. Farewelling family had not soured her humour, her delight, her interest; she was as sweet and fresh as a spring. Grief was interwoven in a complex tapestry of emotion.

"Do you know it's impolite to stare?" Elanor inquired mildly, in Elvish. She twinkled at him, and Glorfindel realised his thoughts had strayed out of consciousness.

"Forgive me, melui; I was lost in thought."

"Thoroughly lost," his wife quipped. Her knowledge of Sindarin was, by this point, extensive; nevertheless, she always seemed able to infuse her speech with a cheerfulness and foreign intonation which was both captivating and endearing.

Glorfindel grinned again, before reaching out to take away the sewing Elanor busied herself with.

"Come, now; there 'tis little time in which we may speak uninterrupted with two little ones present. Put aside your work, and look at me with your love-struck gaze, wife."

"I would disagree and remind you of all the times that Erestor and the twins spirit our offspring away," mused Elanor, "but I do not really enjoy sewing, so I shall capitulate."

"What a wise woman I have married," Glorfindel chuckled.

"You had not worked that out by this point already?" she gasped, in mock horror. "When we have been married what—six years?"

Glorfindel held up his hands in self-defense. "I am fortunate you are heavy with child, or I know you should demand a fight to avenge your honour—and probably win."

"Definitely win," Elanor muttered, switching back to the Common Tongue. Looking at her husband's teasing expression, she burst out laughing, and he was not long in joining her. It was Glorfindel's greatest joy to make her laugh.

Several minutes and one half-hearted tussle later, they sat close side-by-side. Glorfindel had one watchful eye on Merileth and Gaelben, who were playing happily. The other was fixed upon Elanor, scrutinising her smooth countenance while his arm held her close. His wife looked very content—exceedingly satisfied, largely pleased.

And yet… there is something a little out of the ordinary, for I cannot say she looks perfectly happy.

"Are you happy, vána?"

Elanor raised an eyebrow at him as if he had gone mad. "What makes you ask that?"

"Are you?"

"Yes—very."

Glorfindel studied her closely. Elanor did her best to ignore his inspection, staring pointedly at the scenery about them.

"You like it here?"

Elanor gave him a playful jab in the ribs then. "Dearest, if you continue with these questions, I shall wonder if you are giving me a hint!"

"I am not," he disputed, calmly. "I have merely been watching."

"Oh? And?"

"And whilst I could concur that you are enjoying yourself, I can tell that there is some very deeply-buried dissatisfaction which plagues you. You shall never tell me if left unprompted, so I sought to discover it for myself. And," he concluded, adopting an aggrieved air, "you are making it very trying to uncover it!"

The fit of laughter which consumed Elanor at that moment took several minutes to recover from.

"I—I'm sorry," she wheezed, "but your face really was too funny. Oh, and the baby is kicking! Glorfindel!" She grasped his hand eagerly and brought it to rest just below her navel. As Glorfindel's large hand spread across her full stomach, he felt a sharp jab from within her. A delighted expression crossed his face.

"I can never understand the ways of babies," he admitted; "and somehow I find that tiny movement so enthralling!"

"It always is," his wife smiled, softly.

Glorfindel leaned across and kissed her gently on the temple. Her hair smelled sweeter than the June lilies.

"And still, you have not escaped from my interrogation, Elanor Ingrid, the Fair."

The lady addressed sighed.

"I do not know what answer to give, dearest. I am very happy—though you are right, there is a small feeling underneath which is hard to pinpoint and yet makes me feel a bit—off." She was silent for a moment. "It has taken quite a while to notice it there at all. We are always so beautifully busy with the children, and the twins; we've visited Georgia, and our days are full. I've only recently isolated the problem."

"I wish you would tell me, meleth." By this time, Glorfindel was watching her with heartfelt concern. He was profoundly thankful he had trusted his instincts enough to question her.

Please, Eru, let her be well—let it not be serious…

"I believe I am a little lonely, and finding it very hard to live in a house of memories," Elanor said, at last. "Now before you jump in, and tell me I have plenty of company—you are quite right. I do. Yet as nice as it is here, Rivendell without Rivendell's people is rather forlorn. It's like we've moved into a house that we loved because of its previous occupants! Oh, it always was both of our homes... but it's not the same. I am sure you feel it, don't you?" She turned wide green eyes towards him.

So that is it…

"I will confess that Imladris is vastly unlike the days of yore which are still fresh in my memory."

"I'm not seriously displeased, dearest, as I do love it here," she hurried to add.

Glorfindel smiled and kissed her cheek again. "I know. But, we had best think ahead; the twins intend to uproot soon and make a journey south-east, to Gondor, for they long to see Arwen again—and I believe Legolas has recruited their aid in a greater restoration of Gondor's gardens. It has been over two years since you last saw Georgia, Elanor; she has not yet met Gaelben. Erestor remains here because we do, as do the other Elves of the household. We ought to consider travelling to Gondor, and—" he added with some effort, "—perhaps moving down there permanently."

Elanor looked at him with such wonderment on his face that Glorfindel's heart thudded.

"Would—would you—"

"For my love? I should do aught that I could. I have never been able to refuse you, Elanor."

She buried her head in his shoulder, and Glorfindel stroked her hair. His eyes continued to follow the children's play; Gaelben was busy plucking buds from plants and throwing them, whilst Merileth made a wreath for her hair.

I am glad I know what concerns her, he told himself, firmly. Yet it is no easy task to consider, departing Imladris. It is both our homes, though I suppose it holds more pain for Elanor than for I. It is a reminder of Elrond and of the Eldar—the life that she cannot have, and must farewell as she ages.

Knowing that, can you really deny her the longing to move elsewhere?

…no.

"I'm sorry," Elanor said, after a moment. "Oh, I do feel so emotional when I'm pregnant! Even if it's ridiculous for a woman of nearly thirty to cry. Ugh." She wiped her eyes. "I didn't know how much it does hurt, to be here, until I stop and think. I have kept myself busy to put it off, Glorfindel. Every place is a sharp reminder of all who have gone—I can hardly bear to go into Elrond's study, and I wouldn't except that the children love it there. I miss Georgia, being so far away." She shrugged helplessly. "I did not realise that one could come to both love and hate a place. Especially not Rivendell. It has always been so perfect! But as the months have passed, and with the next baby coming… it's more and more of a reminder that life is running away with me and I can't slow it down! Not to mention how ungrateful I feel, wanting to leave a place that I loved and longed for desperately during the war."

"I forget how the passing of the years seems to you," Glorfindel said, soothingly. One hand traced a gentle pattern on her shoulder. "If this place grows distasteful to you—we shall go."

Elanor squeezed his hand. "I appreciate that more than I can say, Glorfindel. But there's no need to rush. We must wait for the baby to be born, and be old enough to travel. I can stand some time yet. But—thank you."

"You are welcome."

At that, Elanor relaxed into his arms, and they both sat in silence to observe the little ones' antics. Glorfindel would not show his wife how much the prospect of departing Rivendell pained him. Rather than stirring memories of loss, the familiar halls were a beautiful reminder of days gone by. In Elrond's study, he saw that first day of meeting with Elanor nigh on eight years before. He saw her face, then almost childlike, as she learned to muddle her way about in an unfamiliar world. In the feasting hall dwelt many images, both past and present—and Elanor. Added to that were images of even earlier times, when he had first made the acquaintance of Elrond son of Eärendil. They were sweet memories.

He did not desire to leave, for that reminded him that years had slipped away and he was, ever so slowly, losing the woman he loved.

And yet, he would place Elanor first. He would elevate her needs, for Elanor had been transplanted from another world, and had farewelled her foster-father and friends for good. Glorfindel's thoughts of Imladris were like balls of sunshine, warmed by the knowledge that he would travel across the sea and be reunited with those whom he loved eventually… even if it meant a final farewell to the woman beside him. Elanor, more precious than the purest jewel—she had not the longevity of his outlook. She was a creature of moments. He would adjust his stride to match hers, and savour those days and minutes and hours.

To Gondor, then, we shall go. Perhaps we shall dwell in Minas Tirith, or within Ithilien. Glorfindel glanced down at Elanor's soft head. Wherever it be, I shall see her days perfumed by pleasure.

April 19th, 23 FO.

"Glorfindel—would you fasten this?"

Elanor turned and presented her back to her husband, gesturing awkwardly at the unlaced dress. "It's very difficult to tie myself."

"Certainly, meleth." The Elf moved to stand behind her, pulling the ties until the dress fit snugly around his wife's still-slim form.

Elanor stood silently, a smile tugging at her mouth as she felt Glorfindel moving about her and adjusting the garment.

"This is a beautiful gown," he remarked, pausing in his ministrations to kiss her neck. Elanor shivered slightly, her smile fading, then brushed the skirt fabric with her fingers. The gown she wore was one newly-commissioned. Elanor had opted for an unusual choice in selecting the burgundy-red silk, sewing it with Arwen's aid according to the latest fashions in Gondor. The neckline was a broad scoop, whilst the waist peaked to a v-shape. The skirts, without breaking tradition, were long and full. Once Glorfindel was done, Elanor twirled in place and looked up in his face with a smile.

"I am glad you like it; Arwen and I constructed it together."

"You are lovely." Glorfindel's long hands reached out to cup Elanor's face, locking his gaze on hers. "And exceedingly beautiful."

Oh…

Elanor flushed bright pink and pulled his hands away with a nervous laugh. "Thanks, dear."

She moved toward their shared bed, brushing aside various discarded garments and gathering them in a pile.

These ought to be washed. I'll put them out for Brúnel… dear Brúnel… I ought to send her some of those tea leaves, they might help with her achy joints…

The couple had been allocated a beautiful suite of rooms in a newly-refurbished wing of the Citadel of Minas Tirith. It was a lofty suite, especially set aside for Elanor and Glorfindel whenever they visited the White City. Despite its beauty, the room never really lost its hotel-like feel for Elanor, though she enjoyed her visits to the nation's capital; generally because visits meant family and friends.

"Elanor?"

"Mmhmm?" She turned around, smoothing her expression.

"Why is it that every time I speak to you of late, compliment you… you pull away?"

A knot formed in Elanor's stomach, and she dropped her gaze to the floor.

And, she wanted to say, why is it that you must push the issue?

She steeled herself and shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance. "I do not know what you mean."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at her in stunned disbelief. "Elanor, I wedded you over twenty years ago. Do not expect me to be blind."

He's far too perceptive for his own good sometimes!

You would never have married a stupid man, Elanor.

No, that's true.

Still fighting, Elanor titled her chin. "I just—I don't see that there's a problem."

Her husband's expression faded. His eyes spoke pure compassion, and he moved toward her slowly.

"Elanor." The word was imploring.

Don't you dare…

He continued forward, reaching out for her and pulling her into his chest. She had no effort to resist; better to hide her face in his tunic fabric and forget the reflection, forget what the world looked like from the tired eyes of a woman of forty-eight.

Forty-eight.

"You are beautiful, meleth."

Elanor pulled away roughly.

"You cannot say that!" She grabbed his wrist and tugged him across the room to where a full-length mirror stood. "See?"

She stared aggressively at herself in the mirror. Very little had changed in essentials over the past twenty years. Elanor of old still shone out of the deep-set green eyes; her hair had lost none of its lustre, nor had her figure softened. The changes were more subtle, yet no less distasteful for the young woman. There were lines about her eyes which had developed in recent years. She was, she admitted, "good" for her age, bearing minimal wrinkles; but as she looked across at her husband's figure… her resolve broke and several tears leaked out.

"Elanor—"

She smothered her face with slender fingers. Salty tears leaked onto her skin. Glorfindel did not interrupt her, but simply pulled her close again and waited for the crying to subside. He had grown wise in the previous two decades.

And you love him, and he loves you, a persistent voice intoned. He knew that you should age as mortals do, and he loves you nonetheless. Why do you draw back?

Sucking in a breath, Elanor peeled her fingers from her wet face and looked up at her husband. He was still wordlessly perfect. She traced his jaw with one fingertip, and his blue eyes kindled with love.

"It's just—" Elanor began, fumbling for words. "Oh, I suppose I should have known it would be like this. But you don't know how hard it is, to be aging—become an old woman—while you are…" She gestured mutely at his lengthy form.

Glorfindel's expression did not alter.

"Would it matter to you if I were the same?"

Elanor shook her head emphatically. "No. And there is nothing either of us can do; but I feel—foolish. And… not good enough. For you."

"Cast that thought back from whence it came!" her husband cried, indignation written in every line of his face. "Elanor, you are every bit good enough for me—too good, perhaps, in loving me." He relaxed to a smile. "If I proclaim to you that your appearance matters not, will you believe me and cease worrying?"

This is why you married him.

She gave a hesitant nod. "I'll try."

"Be decisive, dearest," Glorfindel laughed, grasping her chin between his fingers and kissing the side of her mouth. "You either shall, or you shall not." He kissed her several more times, travelling across her cheek and onto her neck.

Elanor laughed. The sound bubbled from her stomach and erupted in a light tinkle. "Alright, husband. Now stop that, or we won't be fit for company!"

Merileth Katharine hurriedly brushed off her skirts and breathed deeply. Her heart was palpitating slightly; her mother always hated tardiness, and she was cutting things very fine. It was, unfortunately, rather too easy to lose track of time whilst ensconced in the libraries. She had learned the error of her ways whilst racing in unladylike fashion toward her family's suite. By the library clock, she had realised with a sickening jolt that she only had ten minutes until they were expected to dine with royalty.

How is it that this always happens to me? she moaned inwardly.

Hoping that she looked vaguely respectable, Merileth opened the door and passed into the sitting room beyond.

"Merileth! Where have you been! And your hair so mussed. Come now, quickly," came Elanor's half-hearted remonstrance in Sindarin. Her daughter adopted a meek expression.

"Sorry, Mother."

Mother smiled at her, more of a twinkle in her eyes than Merileth had observed in many months. She was busily engaged with neatening her other two offspring. Father stood to one side, smirking slightly.

"That is alright. Just go and see to your hair—it's a little out of order. We'll be ready to go in five minutes."

Merileth nodded and slipped out of the room to the adjoining bathroom. She moved towards the mirror, already tugging pins out of her long, thick hair. The golden curls massed about her shoulders as she struggled to detangle the fastenings.

The face which looked back at her was slim with a pointed chin and small, smiley mouth. She had an upturned nose, finely arched eyebrows and deep-set eyes which moved from green to grey depending on her mood.

You are the image of your mother, Father oft said, winding his finger around one of her curls. The words caused Merileth to smile. She had never been as beautiful as her younger sister, or even her brother. They had inherited their father's Elvish good looks. Still, the reverence in her Father's voice when he compared her to Mother was enough to make Merileth treasure the resemblance, imperfect as it was.

However, the thin face had not matured as Elanor's had; it was the sweet face of a child just beginning the journey to womanhood; a girl of thirteen or fourteen. Merileth's years, in truth, numbered twenty-four, and it was peculiar growing up among mortals who aged at nearly twice the rate. She was mature in mind, at least, if not in body.

"Merileth Kate!"

"Coming!" she called in response, swiftly coiling her hair into a low bun and securing it. Several curls wisped becomingly near her ears and at the nape of her neck.

And I suppose that's as good as it will ever get.

She hurried back out of the bathroom, to discover the rest of her family assembled and ready to go. Her father, as usual, was neatly attired in Elvish garb. Beside him stood Gaelben, who appeared as a handsome boy of twelve with light blonde hair hanging to his shoulders. He shared traits with both parents, though he had Elvish beauty and promised to attain his father's inches.

"Where were you this afternoon, Merry?"

Merileth glanced at her younger sister, Hÿril. The girl was two years her brother's junior, and her grey eyes sparkled with unspoken mischief. Unlike both of her siblings, Hÿril's hair was darker, a deep sandy blonde. She was frequently compared to their Aunt Georgia by her parents.

Merileth shrugged. "In the library."

Hÿril appeared a little disappointed at the mundaneness of her response, before turning to her mother.

"Can we go now, Mum?"

"Certainly," replied Mother, her face breaking into smiles. As Hÿril scampered towards the door, a cheerful Gaelben in tow, Mother winked across at Merileth. The latter brought up the rear with her father.

"What books were you perusing, Merileth?"

She smiled up at her father. "A history of Erebor and Dale, Ada."

"Leaving your Elvish history untended?" Father quipped, nudging her gently in the ribs.

"I believe I was more than amply instructed in the history of the Eldar in my early childhood," came her swift response; "besides, Mother always reminds us about having a well-rounded education!"

Father's eyes softened, and he grinned again. "Indeed, little Kate."

He slipped an arm about her shoulders as they continued along the black and white marbled corridors. A few minutes later, the party arrived at a majestic set of ebony double-doors. Elanor, leading the party, opened them deftly and they slipped inside.

The room beyond was thoroughly familiar to Merileth. It was a long room, extending along the western side of the citadel. The ceiling was vaulted and the outward wall was broken by a series of arches leading directly to the tiled balcony beyond. Warm spring scents filtered through, and the young woman always found great delight in its sweet smell and open-air style. It was a room very much after the Elvish part of her soul—even if the human, practical side wondered what would happen if the weather grew bad. Today, however, the sun shone, and the entire quasi-room was gilt like a palace.

"Ah! They're here at last!" cried someone.

The room was furnished a little peculiarly. There were several rugs upon the pale marble floors, potted plants artfully positioned, and in the centre a sturdy table in a dark timber. It was lined with chairs, and more than half of these were already occupied.

"Yes, we are here," smiled Mother, as Father hastened forward to pull out her chair. "Forgive us for our tardiness."

"It is of no matter," Aunt Georgia smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze her sister's hand as Merileth and the others took their seats. Half a moment later, the food arrived and the company resumed its uproarious chatter.

Lunches such as these were always a joy for Merileth. It was very nice to watch her parents and their companions in such easy chatter—and, she admitted, exceedingly satisfying to consider that they were not merely friends, but royalty. For there, at the head of the table, sat King Aragorn—Uncle Aragorn, in private; very tall and lordly, his dark hair now frosted in places but ever as handsome as of old. Had he been dressed in rags, Merileth was sure he would still manage to be impossibly regal.

Still, it would be hard not to look like a King, when one has Aunt Arwen as one's wife…

Merileth's gaze turned to the woman who occupied the far end of the table. Aunt Arwen was a lifelong friend of her father's, and still caused Merileth's heart to flutter with childish admiration every time she spoke. Her hair was unspoiled raven black, her skin as moonlight, and her eyes possessing the depth of a dusky sky. Aunt Arwen was also Mother's foster-sister, and had a soft spot for all of the latter's offspring. Merileth had spent a great many sweet hours in the company of the Queen of Gondor.

She smiled to herself at that, mind straying to pleasant memories. Hunger dragged her back, and she made more of a concerted effort to devour the flavoursome meal Minas Tirith's chefs had prepared.

"Elfwine!" came a warning call. Merileth's eyes turned to her cousin.

Despite the fact that Elfwine was only fifteen, he already appeared far older than Merileth. He was a handsome boy, possessing elements of both parents which rendered him at once rugged and fair. At this particular moment, he was very delicately tying Hÿril's braid to the back of her chair. Merileth's younger sister had turned to converse with Lady Éowyn, and Elfwine had seized his moment whilst her back was turned. He had made good progress by Aunt Georgia became aware of her niece's plight.

The young boy sent his mother a pained look. For the first time, Hÿril noticed what had occurred, and promptly landed a solid punch on Elfwine's arm. He gaped indignantly at his young cousin. To her right, Lady Éowyn struggled to contain a smirk and even Georgia strained mightily for composure.

"Enough, Elfwine," came a curt word from Uncle Éomer.

Merileth smiled. They were all there today—Uncle Aragorn and Aunt Arwen; Uncle Éomer, Aunt Georgia and Elfwine; Lord Faramir with Lady Éowyn and their sons, Elboron and Hador; Lord Boromir, Uncle Legolas and Gimli, and Merileth's own beloved family.

It was a rare day that all of them gathered together in that fashion, for the various leaders were frequently busy in the administration of their own realms. Of Faramir and Éowyn the young peredhel saw a good deal, for Elanor and Glorfindel's family had established themselves beneath the mighty trees of Ithilien. Merileth treasured these moments, glancing across the table between the members of the party. She loved her young cousins, adopted and blood-related alike, and had scarcely less affection for the other assorted individuals amongst them. Legolas' countenance was smooth and handsome still, whilst the Men present had grown lines as they progressed past the milestone of a half-century. And yet, there was no loss of kindness in Faramir's grey eyes, nor beauty diminished in Éowyn's fair face; Uncle Éomer was as gruff yet fiercely loyal as Merileth had ever remembered him, Gimli's temper as easily roused, and Mother—Mother had not altered.

Merileth had gathered many such images over her score of years; she took great comfort that, whilst the seasons moved—nothing changed in essentials. Elfwine would continue to tease and prod, Aunt Georgia would never cease laughing, Lord Boromir would observe with silent lips and twinkling eyes, and Father would lend his quick wit for the benefit of the party.

If nothing ever really changes, Merileth thought, I shall be a happy woman indeed…

March 18th, 69 FO.

Ithilien was filled with the musical rustling of the trees. Winter was still a near memory, and many trees had yet to don their mantle of blossoms. The evergreens bore the task, however, whisking back and forth in the cool air.

The land between the Pelennor and Mordor was a sweet land, and never more so than in the years following the War of the Ring. Then the Elves had come, touching with practiced hands the life which grew there and causing it to burst forth in a flurry. Gardens had formed beneath their fingers, a riot of buds and petals. All traces of filth had been washed away, and the canopy of leaves had come to shelter the settlements within.

This part of the forest was quiet, notwithstanding the music of leaves. Only one building broke the landscape; a peculiar erection, mixing various types of architecture in a haphazard way with surprisingly pleasant results. It was fairly low and large, built in a U-shape out of irregular stones. Between its three wings was a courtyard which was accessed by wide archways coming from the house. It appeared well established, for creeping vines had ensconced themselves across the stonework and tiles of the roof.

Inside, the rooms were generous and airy. None of its occupants desired to be stifled for lack of air, and many windows were left open year-round.

Nevertheless, as Glorfindel stood in one room on that early spring day, it felt as if the walls should press him into oblivion.

Before him was the large bed he had shared for many years now. The coverlet was embroidered and white, unruffled save for a slight lump which indicated the presence of a person. The lump was small and shrivelled with age, yet the face which looked out of the bed from the pillows was bright.

"Glorfindel, dearest, do sit down."

Glorfindel, staring at the foot of the bed, swallowed hard.

"Glorfindel, please."

With a sigh, he drew his eyes back to her face—the face that he loved, treasured, and longed for more than anything.

Elanor was watching him steadfastly. As the rest of her had diminished, her eyes had never lost their brightness or loveliness.

"Only her eyes retain their beauty—and yet seem overlarge in a countenance so thin."

Glorfindel struggled to meet her loving look. Just as he had observed those many years before, with Elrond and Gandalf in Rivendell, he was struck by the words now. Her skin was lined and papery. The once-capable arms were fragile, her body shrunken to a miniscule size in her slimness. Yet her eyes—they were wonderful. Deep and light-flecked as the sea, full of hope and love.

"Please, meleth; why don't you speak?" she asked, voice thin and raspy.

Glorfindel moved slowly and sat in the armchair by her bedside. Her weak fingers reached for his, scrabbling on the coverlet. He took them between his own supple hands. Had one not seen the love in both faces, one might have believed that the Elf stood above a grandmother. As it was, his countenance burned with painful passion.

"You must rest, Elanor; eat, and rest, and be well."

He watched as Elanor's lips turned up in a smile then. She had not forgotten how to laugh.

"I do not think rest will affect the cure you desire, husband," came her irrepressible sally. "I am sorry, I shall have to disobey you… just this once." Her feeble strength did not allow for much, yet she squeezed his hand as best she could.

Glorfindel sobbed.

He hated death, hated death with all of the passion in his sensitive spirit. His body raged with it, pulsing and throbbing in a fury of righteous indignation.

She does not deserve to be taken! She should not! Why must this happen? Why must Elanor, sweetest and most beautiful of all beings, be ripped from me so cruelly? From our children? Answer me, Eru Ilúvatar, if you know aught of compassion!

His mind screamed, pouring forth a tirade of wrath.

Death was new, unfamiliar, repulsive. Death was not part of anything Glorfindel had known, and its ugly hand stole upon that which he loved.

He hated it.

For weeks, he had been consumed by his ire. His eyes looked only upon his wife, as if to pour into her the vitality and youth of the Eldar. He struggled and strained with all that was in him—desperate.

Elanor shifted slightly on the bed.

Immediately, the tempest shifted backwards. His mind was wholly devoted to the sweet, aged face before him; his fury formed the backdrop upon which the scene was projected.

"You know," Elanor whispered, with a soft smile, "I have learned a lot of things since I appeared on the plains of Cardolan, Glorfindel Goldflower." Pause. "I have learned how to start fires, to string bows, to sew and to hunt. I believe I was almost considered useful by I got too tired to move." She smiled again, and several tears marred Glorfindel's face. As Elanor looked at him, several droplets of moisture formed on her own cheeks.

"Elanor—"

"Hush," she remonstrated him lightly. "I may not have long, and you really ought to let me finish."

Eru, must she be so brave!

"When I married you, I was angry. I was angry because all I could think of was the fact that we would be in this situation someday—this very situation. And, it seemed to me that all you wanted to do was ignore it. On our honeymoon, half of my mind was utterly consumed by worry. What would we do? Would we talk about it? How would we know?" She broke off, a fit of coughing rattling her tiny form. Glorfindel smoothed her forehead until she was composed, and continued.

"Then, one day," she rasped, "you said something; you said that you would not leave me, or our baby, for Valar or any other place. You said you'd stay. And you did, and little Merileth came to lighten our days. Why, she's a woman now! I can scarcely believe it."

"Nor can I," Glorfindel agreed, voice breaking.

"Now that taught me something. I thought—I thought that we had to talk it out, to do it my way, for our situation to work." The words were slow, stilted; Glorfindel clung to them with every fibre within him, treasuring the labour of love which she poured out. "Then, you said you would stay. There was no discussion, no question, no agreement. We did not reason our way through; you loved me, you stayed. You taught me something then, my darling—"

Glorfindel wept in earnest then, pulling her hand close to his face and covering it in salt tears.

"Oh, Elanor, if—"

"Don't you dare say you wished you'd done that differently," came her surprisingly energetic reply. "I wouldn't have changed that for the world. It didn't fully hit me until I said goodbye to Georgia that day, when she was riding down to her wedding to Éomer. She made me promise to appreciate love. She reminded me that, wherever we were, and however limited our lives are, we have love."

Love—and heartbreak! Loss!

Elanor was silent for a moment, watching him. It was as if she could see into his eyes, see the storm which howled within. One tiny, shaky hand lifted off the coverlet, and she touched his cheek.

"Meleth-nin, dearest of all; do not rage in loss. We love. We have loved. And you shall continue to love, for Merileth and Gaelben and Hÿril. They shall need you, and you will take them across the sea and continue loving them for the rest of time. Promise me."

Glorfindel shook his head. No. That was not how things should be.

"Elanor, you should be with us," he cried, in anguish. "There should be no separation! You should sail upon the boat to the lands of the Eldar, see your children grow to full stature! This is not how things should be!"

His voice rose in a steady crescendo until it broke. The whirlwind peaked, and tears began to fall furiously. He fell to the floor, kneeling beside her bed and weeping onto the coverlet beside the only one he wanted forever—the one who was leaving.

"Promise me, Glorfindel; please."

It was as if the words fell like a single note; a clear, bright sound which pierced the inescapable rage which drove him. He continued to cry until all tears were spent. Then he breathed.

"I promise, Elanor."

She smiled. "Good. There isn't any use fighting it, dear. I tried. It only made me weary. But I have clung to the beautiful memories. We have so many, Glorfindel, so many—" Elanor choked, and Glorfindel brushed away the tears.

"We do."

"Keep them," she urged, strong. "Please. Write them down. Teach our children. Share the full story, meleth—keep it alive for yourself, for them."

Glorfindel nodded. His words were spent, and his heart burned.

Elanor's face grew peaceful. Then she gave a playful smile; faint, altered, aged, yet fresh.

"I am glad," she gasped, "that you are well-behaved for me on my last day. It is very considerate of you."

Her lungs moved, taking in air with a colossal effort. She exhaled. Eyes fluttered closed. Her hand-hold softened.

And Elanor breathed no more.

THE END

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR ON AGES AND NAMES

Merileth Katharine born April 3021

Gaelben Rínor born July, Year 3 of the Fourth Age

Hÿril Rhoben born August, Year 5 of the Fourth Age

Merileth, as articulated in the previous chapter, means "rose". Katharine means "pure".

Gaelben is a name which means "pale/glimmering", whilst Rínor, his unmentioned second name, refers to "remembrance". This was chosen because Gael is a form of remembrance for both parents, as well as referring to Elanor's longing for his heritage to be remembered.

The final child, Hÿril Rhoben, is named for being "ready for action" and "untamed/wild" respectively. She is called thus in homage to Georgia. She is most alike to her aunt in personality and attributes.

WELL...

It is done. I don't think I can quite articulate how hard this was to write, to express Glorfindel's pain, Elanor's growth and the passing of the years. And yet, as hard as it was, it also felt right. Once I realised that this was the course I needed the story to take, it seemed to flow so beautifully. As much as I know I shall cause pain with the ending, I am satisfied with it.

It has been a long journey - almost a year to the day, exactly - since I began Elanor's tale. She started through a conversation with a friend about fanfiction, and the crazy thought that maybe I, Emily, could write a half-decent fanfiction that people would read. 50 chapters, 220,000 words and over 230 followers later and I have been so blessed to realise that there are people who have come to love Elanor as I have. Those of who you have read and reviewed and kept up with her story have given me a great deal of joy. I wrote Elanor for myself, but there is a fairly substantial part of her that is there for you, too.

And so this is it. Perhaps I will add another chapter when I have been able to fully encapsulate my emotions, but right now I'm a teary mess and it's over.

I may even include an epilogue, but it will be brief indeed. This truly is the end.

So I shall conclude by offering my most heartfelt thanks - this has been a delightful journey. I am so grateful.

Tapping out for the last time...

FINWE.