Epilogue: "…and What Happened After."

Legolas Thranduilion returned to his father in the winter of the second year of the Fourth Age (Gondor Reckoning), with the recommendation that a small group of warriors and healers be sent as the first elven settlers of Ithilien, clearing the way for others who would come later. In the spring of Year Three, he returned to the section of forest that had been gifted to his people with a group of twenty Mirkwood elves, including five healers, just in time to assist in the birth of Mel's twin boys, whom she named Legolian and Lasnér.

In the sixth year of the Fourth Age (five years after the last of the Entwives fell into everlasting slumber), Galith Fimbrethilien, accompanied by Bregalad of the Lost Rowans and the elf Elladan of Imladris, set foot for the first time in the forest of Ithilien. And she knew it. She knew the breeze in her limbs, she knew the earth beneath her feet. After so many years, the enting had found her garden.

This came at a time of sadness for Melody and Boromir, who were mourning the loss of a third pregnancy, but the arrival of their surrogate-daughter, and the knowledge that she would remain with them, did much to lift their spirits. By the time Galith was tending to her garden for its second flowering, the couple had welcomed their fourth child into the world, calling her Caerulhinn (a name that was as close to Mel's mother's name, Carolyn, as they could get).

Though Mel taught all her children to understand and respect the trees of the orchard and the forest, Caerulhinn had a closer affinity to growing things than her siblings. By the time of her second birthday (and well into Mel's fifth pregnancy, a boy they would name Belhindîr, a subtle reference to Boromir's father) she was insistent, in the way only small children can be, that the trees spoke to her, a claim the adults in her life brushed off as childish wishfulness. That is, until the day the girl boldly announced the arrival of a band of orcs on the border of their valley, just in time for Legolas to arrive and confirm that the threat was very real indeed. The orcs were dispatched and Caerulhinn was taken a bit more seriously after that.

As the well-known (and soon enough, also well-liked) friends of Prince Legolas, the Gondorian orchard-keepers were given the greatest care the Eldar could offer them, in regards to protection, trade, and even medicinal aid. But though the community of elven settlers was a great boon to Mel and Boromir, they were not immune to illness, or the grief that came with it. In the year FA 12 the couple was blessed with another son, but then forced to part with him after only a few short months, lost to a rapid and fatal cough in the coldest winter they had yet experienced. The loss of the boy nearly parted Mel from her own life, barely brought back to herself by the time spring returned to Ithilien. But she was never quite the same afterward, more prone to introspection and melancholy than laughter.

The orchard-keepers were also known by most in Emyn Arnen as the trusted and dear friends of Prince Faramir. They weren't often seen within the city walls, but it was well-known that the prince often visited the hidden valley in the forest, sometimes accompanied by his wife Eowyn, and sometimes their son Elboron as well. On one of these occasions, in the year FA 17, the family returned with a new addition, a girl of sixteen, tall and slender with long, dark hair and striking gray eyes. Famiriel was taken as the Lady Eowyn's handmaiden, and it was rumored for a time that the girl was meant to be pledged in marriage to the young Elboron, as she was so often seen in the boy's company. In two short years, however, those rumors were quite thoroughly dashed, when she instead wed the son of a cloth merchant and settled quite happily in the thriving middle class of the city. Prince Legolas himself was said to have crafted the garland of flowers that adorned her hair, and Prince Faramir gifted the rings that the couple exchanged. And for the first time in eight years, watching her daughter join her life to a man she loved, Mel felt true joy again.

Less than a year later, Boromir and Mel's seventh and final child was born, a girl they named Andreth. When she came of age, she gave herself in marriage to an elf, one of a group of Lothlorien elves that had come in recent years to join the Ithilien community: his name was Orophin, brother of Rumil and Haldir, former March Wardens of Caras Galadhon, all of whom had come to Ithilien following the departure of their Lord and Lady. None of the brothers could ever quite understand why this pleased their new mother-in-law quite so much, or why there were tears in her eyes when she first caught sight of Haldir's own wife... a healer named Eregwen.

There were of course, in the years that followed, a plethora of grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren. Legolian and Lasnér both took wives (though later in life than was customary, as they both seemed incapable of settling on a thing for longer than five seconds at time and were prone to acts of jest well into adulthood) and moved into Emyn Arnen with their eldest sister, establishing a trade route through the connections of the Ithilien elves and Famiriel's business-savvy husband.

Belhindîr (so like his namesake that it sometimes caused Boromir pain) found his greatest delight in arms, as his father had done. The day he came of age, he kissed his mother, shook his father's hand, and struck out for Minas Tirith to enter into the service of the White Tower, accompanied by a letter of recommendation from Prince Faramir himself. He quickly rose through the ranks, eventually taking an honored position as a guard to the newly established White Tree of the King. Mel pretended not to notice when Boromir wept at this news.

Caerulhinn never married, but took over the managing of the orchard from her parents, calling the trees her partners and friends. Though over time she had lost the ability to hear them speak, she could still sense their needs better than anyone in her family (except her mother, of course), and the orchard flourished under her care. She did eventually take one of Andreth's children under her wing, a young boy known to spend more time in the forest than at his lessons anyway, and taught the child all she knew, and so the orchard was kept in the family for generations beyond record.

Legolas never strayed very far from the orchard. Though his duties took him far and wide in the earth, he always returned to the hidden valley, always drawn back to the place his soul called home. He loved all of Mel's children (and grandchildren and great-grandchildren) as his own blood, and spent many contented hours chasing the littlest ones through the trees, the ringing sound of childish laughter a balm on his heart and the smile on his orenyanil's face all the love he would ever need.

But in his contentment, he forgot that the lives of Men are fleeting. And all things must someday come to an end, even if we are not ready for them, can never truly be ready...

The day everything changed, for the last time, was a fine, sunny day in late summer. Every window in the little cottage had been thrown open to let in the light and the breeze, fragrant with fresh grass and apples not quite ripe. It would be harvest soon and Caerulhinn was out tending to the trees with her young charge (not so young now, though his half-elven heritage gave him a more youthful appearance than his years might suggest).

Legolas sat at the kitchen table and watched as Mel puttered about, cleaning up the breakfast things and the preparations from the lunch she had packed for her daughter. Her hair had turned gray and was worn in a long braid down her back now, but she remained remarkably hale for a woman of over one hundred years. Legolas knew that his expectation for the life spans of Men was skewed, but even he had begun to suspect something amiss. Her husband's hair had turned white many years before, and he did not get about quite so well as she did, when he got about at all.

Mel took a rag and wiped the table, Legolas lifting his cup of tea so she could wipe beneath it with the comfortable familiarity of a long established relationship. He felt as if he had always been here, as if his soul had always lived within this small moment in time and the rest of him had only just now caught up. Mel shook out her rag, stood back with hands on her hips to survey her work, and caught his eye.

"What?" she asked, mirroring his smile, her bright green eyes still sharp within the folds of her face.

"I was only thinking how much I love you, orenyanil," he said comfortably, taking another sip of his cooling tea.

Mel rolled her eyes and flapped her rag at him.

"Aye, and I, you, mellon-nîn," she said, turning to gather a plate with a few pieces of bacon and a slice of toast, reaching for another cup of tea.

"I'll take it," Legolas offered, setting down his empty cup and taking the plate from her hand, "Sit a moment, you work too hard, iaur-dî."

Mel rolled her eyes and muttered something quite uncharitable under her breath in Legolas' native tongue, but she did as he bid her, and Legolas took the plate and fresh cup of tea out of the room, using his elbow to maneuver the kitchen door open and step out into the bright light of morning.

Boromir sat just outside in a chair by the door, his eyes closed, a contented smile touching his lips as his chest rose and fell in slow, steady cadence. Not wishing to disturb, Legolas turned to set his burdens on the grass beside him, but Boromir stirred anyway, despite his care, coming to slow wakefulness and blinking the haze from his watery gray eyes.

"Ah, Legolas," he said, reaching out to take Legolas' hand in his own, the skin wrinkled and thin, but the grip still insistently firm, "Guren glassui, mellon-nîn vell."

This sudden declaration from the normally stoic Gondorian startled Legolas and he took Boromir's hand a bit more firmly himself.

"I 'ell nîn," he said, with a stuttered hesitancy, "Ci va… That is, are you alright, my friend? Do you need anything?"

Boromir chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest.

"No," he said, "No, nothing but your company and the one I have loved these many years. Call her for me, would you? I would spend this lovely morning with those who know me best."

Legolas did as his friend bid and Mel came, brushing back the tendrils of white hair from her husband's brow with everlasting tenderness.

"What is it, love?" she asked, "Can I get you something?"

Boromir hummed and shut his eyes, leaning into her soft touch with a look of such untroubled pleasure that for the first time in a very long time, Legolas felt as if he were intruding. He was just debating the merits of slipping away quietly, when Boromir's eyes opened again, his gaze filled with calm serenity.

"No, Melody," he said, "I need nothing but you."

Mel smiled and sank into a matching chair beside him.

"Well, I suppose I could see my way to spending one idle morning, anyway," she said, tossing a smirk at Legolas and tapping the ground before her with her toe, "Come, orenyanil, sit. You are the younger, and so shall have the grass for your cushion."

"I am older than the both of you, many times over," Legolas pointed out, but sat graciously enough at Mel's feet.

The morning was already warm and drowsy, and soon enough Legolas' head was resting comfortably on Mel's knee, one of her hands carding absently at his hair, the other held in Boromir's.

Suddenly Boromir sighed, a contented sound, though something in it caused Legolas to raise his head and look at his old friend.

"The lady Goldberry was right," Boromir murmured, his eyes closed, his creased face turned up toward the sun, "About so many things. Hope, and joy, and love beyond measure…"

He trailed off and opened his eyes, turning to Mel and smiling.

"I would not trade one moment with you, Melody, for all the rest of time on this earth."

Legolas felt Mel stiffen and he looked at her. She wasn't smiling. She was staring at Boromir, searching his eyes, her expression closer to concern than contentment.

"What is it, love?" she asked finally, though the endearment did not hold the same tenderness as it had before, "What ails you?"

Boromir sighed and laid his head back again.

"Nothing, except that which troubles all Men," he murmured, "All things must end… yet more of Goldberry's wisdom. She knew so much that I could only guess at."

Mel sat back hard in her chair, and Legolas could see the stubbornness in the set of her shoulders.

"All things must end," she said, with a haughty bite to her tone, "But not before their time. And I am certainly not ready to be parted from you, so I say it is not your time or mine."

This last part felt slightly more tremulous than the last, a bit more frightened and desperate than stubborn.

"The day will come…" Boromir murmured, but then trailed off. They were all silent for a long time.

Then Boromir seemed to rouse himself and smiled at Legolas, who felt a sinking weight wrap around his heart.

"Will you sing us a song, Legolas?" he asked, "It feels like a morning for songs."

Legolas obliged and the moment passed, as did the morning and the day, in its own peaceful way, time an ever flowing stream that stopped for no one, no matter how you tried to dam it up.

And in the quiet stillness of the summer night, in the darkest hour just before dawn, Boromir of Gondor breathed his last contented breath.

He was buried in the far western corner of the orchard, closest to Minas Tirith and the White Tower to which his first life had been wholly given, beneath the shadow of the apple trees to which he had devoted his second life. In the days that followed, Prince Faramir would commission a stone to mark the place, white marble inscribed with the cryptic words: "For Love, He Gave All."

But for now, there was only a plank of wood on which had been written the name 'Esgalion of Ithilien' (a name which he had taken to with more ease and frequency than the name he'd been born to, in the end) and the words:

Devoted Friend

Doting Father

Dearest Love

Be At Peace, Son of Gondor

Legolas stood at Mel's side in the light of the setting sun, Caerulhinn having returned to the house to write the letters that would be delivered to the rest of her siblings, scattered in the great wide world. They would come, of course, from all their varied corners, Andreth first as she was closest, the twins and Famiriel when they could get their families gathered, Belhindîr as soon as he could be granted time from his duties to make the journey. Galith would come as well, Legolas knew, the daughter that the forest had given them, the daughter of their hearts if not their blood. They would descend on the orchard in a swarm of comfort and support for the mother they loved, in memory of the father they had worshiped. But now it was quiet in the last light of the fading day, and Legolas held Mel's hand, waiting for her to be ready. He would wait forever, if that was what she required of him. There was nothing he would not do for her.

"I knew…" Mel's voice was distant, and she shook her head, as if to clear it, "I mean, I've suspected, for a long while I thought… but I didn't want to believe."

Legolas squeezed her hand.

"There was nothing you could have done…"

But she shook her head again, as if he were missing the point of her words, so he fell silent.

"No," she said, "No, there wasn't. Not for him. He was right, of course, he was trying to tell me, but I wasn't listening, I... wasn't ready."

Her voice broke and she took a breath to compose it.

"I could never be ready," she said, "Never, not if I lived for a thousand years."

She raised her hand to the light, turned it so the emerald of the Yavannacor glittered in what remained of the sun's rays.

"Legolas?"

His eyes were still fixed on her face. Her eyes were still fixed on the glittering jewel.

"If I asked it of you, would you do one last thing for me? One last, unquestioning thing?"

He answered without thought.

"You know that I would."

There was a pause. Then Mel released his hand and, smoothly, as if she'd been doing it all her life, she slipped the ring off her finger, letting it come to rest in her upturned palm. She held it out to him.

"Take it."

For several moments Legolas could only stare at the glittering bit of green and gold. He had never once seen her without the ring on her finger. Not once in all the long years he had known her. It seemed so much a part of her that he was reluctant to put out his hand for it, to part it from her skin where it seemed so natural and true. But he had said that he would, so he reached out and plucked the tiny thing from her, holding it up between thumb and forefinger.

It was lighter than he had expected. Somehow he had always thought of the Yavannacor as a terrible weight, though Mel carried it effortlessly enough. She wore the mantle of Calenhiril as naturally as she wore her own skin. And Legolas had the terrible gut-twisting sense that he had ripped away some tiny piece of her soul and now held it in his fingers. He turned to look at her...

She was older. Though Legolas' sense of the scale of Men's lives was hopelessly distorted, he had never once thought Mel looked her age. Until this moment. Nothing had physically altered of course, but there was some sense of relenting, of bowing under the weight of something that was no longer there, releasing a burden that was no longer meant to be born. She still gazed at the ring held in his fingers, but it was with a look of fond release, as she had looked when sending her children off into the world.

"Keep it," she said, taking his hand in hers again, "And when you go your way, as you must, take it with you. Take it across the sea, to the land of light and silver glass. And if, someday, you should see my Mother…"

Her smile widened slightly and he saw a spark of something mischievous in her gaze.

"Tell her my work is done," she said, "And she shall have no more than that which she gave me in the beginning. I'll give no more to the Valar. This…"

She reached up, as if to brush her finger against the ring, but pulled back at the last moment.

"This is my final gift."

Legolas nodded and with great reluctance, palmed the ring and put it in a pocket. Mel leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Will you stay with me?" she asked.

Legolas pressed his cheek to the top of her head, reveling in the soft touch of her downy gray hair.

"Always, orenyanil," he whispered.

"No," Mel sighed, and he could hear the smile in her voice, "No, not this time. Just 'til the end."

Legolas turned and pressed his lips to her hair.

It was three years later that Melody Bernston, now more often called Lindel of Ithlilien (though she had never quite gotten used to that name, and all who knew her well called her Mel), joined her husband for the final time on the western edge of the orchard, by his side as she had remained through two lifetimes and now would ever be. As Legolas stood gazing down at the freshly turned earth, he thought Mel had been right on that day three years before. He wasn't ready. He would never be ready, not if he lived for a thousand long years. He held the Yavannacor clenched tightly in his fist and a tear tracked down his cheek, the first he had shed for the one that held his heart.

There was a rustle in the trees, but he did not turn. From the periphery of his vision he saw the entwife approach, her long, deliberate strides bringing her cautiously to his side. Galith's hair had lightened in the seventy-five years since she'd arrived in Ithilien, to the soft corn silk hue the old songs told about and her green skin had smoothed rather than wrinkled. On the cusp of the prime of her very long life. She stood for a long while by his side, swaying gently and humming a tune that Legolas didn't recognize, though it was sad and soft and gentle. A song of endings.

"I have decided," she said at last.

Legolas didn't acknowledge this. It was like hearing words from a great distance.

"I have decided," she said again, "To plant my seed."

Legolas finally managed to rouse himself enough to look at her. The entwife kept her own large eyes fixed on the graves of the two people she had loved most in all the world, her surrogate family. Legolas knew how much she had loved them. And how much they had loved her. The least he could do was share in her grief.

"It will be in my garden," she said, "As it must be."

She called most of the forest of Ithilien her garden, all but the land that encompassed the valley. That belonged to the Calenhiril, a gift from the Valar.

"But I would…" She paused and swayed a bit more fervently, humming in a way that reminded him strongly of Treebeard, "I would honor them. Should my seed bear an Ent, I would call him Calenian, if a Wife, Calindel."

She looked at him now and Legolas could see the tears shimmering in those large eyes.

"Do you think...?" she asked, "Do you think that would honor them? Do you think it good?"

Legolas felt the tension drain out of him. His grip on the ring in his palm loosened.

"Yes," he said, his voice tired, so very tired, "Yes, it is very good."

Legolas Thranduilion left the forest of Ithilien for the last time in the eighty-first year of the Fourth Age. The community he had established was thriving through the joint efforts of Men and Elves, and the forest flourished under the watchful eye of the ent and the entwife that few even knew to be there. So Legolas went to his friend Gimli, Lord of the Glittering Caves, and dwelt with him for a time as he had always promised he would do. But it was no great secret that the elf was uncommonly melancholy, or that his heart yearned for the sea. And so, in the year 120 FA, following the death of King Elessar of Gondor, Gimli passed the lordship of the Caves on to his son and accompanied his friend to the Western shores, where together they built a ship and sailed away, bound for Valinor. As they crested the waves of the tide and the land of Middle Earth faded behind them, Legolas turned his eyes to the horizon, an emerald ring warming gradually in his clenched fist.

Thus ends the story of Calenhiril, the name spoken ever after in the forests of the world with love and reverence.

And never again was there a tale of Fate so thwarted.

Translations:

orenyanil (q)- my heart (inner mind) friend

mellon-nîn- my friend

iaur-dî- old woman

Guren glassui- I thank you from my heart

mellon-nîn vell- my beloved friend

I 'ell nîn- It was my pleasure.

Ci va(er)...- Do you feel well?

Name Meanings:

Lindel- Song or Melody

Esgalion- The Son in Hiding

Famiriel- Jeweled Huntress (a form of Faramir's name)

Legolian and Lasnér- Green-Son and Leaf-Man (obviously named for Legolas)

Caerulhinn- Loud Song of the Earth

Belhindîr- strong, lithe, slender (the same meaning of Denethor, but using different word roots)

Andreth- This is the name of a daughter of the first Boromir (the one that our Boromir is named for). The original Andreth fell in love with an elf-lord, but because the elves were at war they were never able to be together. I thought I could give this daughter of Boromir a happier ending in a time of peace.

Calenian- Green-Son (since Galith knew Boromir as the Son of Gondor and the wife of Calenhiril, this is a mash up of that)

Calindel- Green-Song

Other tidbits of information that might be of interest:

For those who might be curious, my head-canon for Loriel (the servant-girl from Second Chances), is that she comes to Ithilien in service to Lady Eowyn and eventually becomes the official dress-maker of the White Lady of Ithilien. She and Mel never met again in the course of my fic, so I wasn't able to drop this into the narrative, but that's my take on it :)

Acknowledgments:

There have been so many people who have encouraged me on this journey, it's hard to know where to begin. Every single review, favorite, follow, kudos, message, and good thought has helped and been appreciated more than I could ever express. I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your support over the many years this has taken me to complete.

An open call to all fans:

This is a call to anyone who desperately wishes that Mel and Boromir's story wasn't over: it doesn't have to be! Though I have written the last work I will be doing for this story, I am officially opening up the Changing History saga to all fanfiction writers everywhere! I encourage those of you who need more Melomir (or would like to explore the stories of their children, or any of the myriad of other original characters in this fic) to please consider writing a companion fic, a fanfic of my fanfic, an AU, anything you like! All I ask is that you please link back to me or my fanfiction in your story somewhere, so that others can read the original (in a sense ;P) material as well. And if you do write something, even if it's small, even if you think it isn't any good, I would love it if you let me know! Feel free to drop me a line anytime, either here or on any of my social media sites (I'm 'fogisbeautiful' pretty much everywhere), and direct me to your work, I'd love to see what you come up with!

Thank you guys again for everything that you do, and everything that you will do. I seriously can't thank you enough for taking this incredible journey with me.