Hello there, everyone! Let me just start out by saying that this is a one-shot dedicated to a reviewer from my other story, The Beautifully Dark Sister. Cathael approached me with this idea after she became the 100th reviewer for my other story. Given that the main character of this one-shot is based off of my OC in BDS, I would recommend that everyone at least familiarize yourself with that story first, otherwise much of this is not going to make sense. I suppose you could chance it here though… all you need to know is that this is an OC who is an Elf and she is losing her horse to old age. Sadness heavy. Grab tissue box – especially if you do read BDS.

I hope you like it, my friend!

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Tolkien's, and not even the idea for this scene. I do however own Arathell and Daeroch.

Arathell could hear tiptoeing behind her, accompanied soon after by a dreary sigh, but she did not bother to turn her head.

Long legs were stretched out in front of her, kicking lazily at lumps of hay. In her lap was the heavy head of her dearest friend.

His panting was rough and uneven, but there was peace in his eyes that made the ache in her heart burn all the more fiercely. She stroked her fingers through his mane, trying her hardest not to cry. Daeroch had always been too good at reading her emotions, and she did not want for his last moments with her to be trying to comfort her. It was she who was supposed to be comforting him.

His dappled grey coat was shivering as coldness began making its sweeps over his massive form and when they reached his head, her whole body shook with him. He looked up at her, so sad with tired grey eyes. His nose was as smooth as velvet, like he was only just born, free and wild and full of life.

She wished more than ever that she could block the noises that were reaching her, finding them only causing her more pain than she thought she could possibly endure. His pants were mixed with melancholy whimpers, whining and pleading with life for one more moment. Arathell knew that her friend had been ready to go to the Halls of Mandos for some time, but it seemed in his last moments, fear overtook him.

"Hush, my friend," she cooed, pushing her forehead onto the long white stripe that ran down his face. "I'm here." He whimpered again and she saw a teardrop land on his fur. Grey eyes were moving furiously in their sockets, trying desperately to hold onto something, and his hooves gave anxious and tight kicks, unable to muster enough strength to truly run from Death's hand. "Oh, my love," she breathed. "Look at me now," she begged, unable to stop more tears from running down her face and onto her loyal companion.

He stilled underneath her and she met his soft gaze, normally full of mischief and cunning. Now, he was afraid, not wanting it to be the end of the race. His grey eyes pleaded with her for one more moment, and if it had been in her power, she would have granted him eternity. "There," she whispered, hand moving down his neck which was becoming increasingly cold. "You will have my love now and always, Daeroch. I could never have wished for a better friend to carry me away on my adventures." He whimpered again, as if he was dismissing her goodbye. "It will be alright soon. In moments, you will run with your brothers and sisters again amid a field of green and the warmth of the sun. No more blood, no more fear – only love and happiness. You won't even miss me once you arrive, I'm sure." She sniffled.

If a horse could glare, she was sure that Daeroch would have been the first to learn. A fierce neigh erupted in the stables, strong and defiant like in the days of old. All of the other ponies here were quiet, anxious and knowing the feel of Death and most likely praying they would be overlooked.

Simply put though, and his defiance rang out as clear as day: she was a filthy liar and he would never go a day without longing for her.

"Maybe there will be a nice mare there waiting for you," Arathell tried again.

He didn't seem to like the idea, but it wouldn't matter for much longer. "I'm here, Daeroch."

He fought against it for as long as possible but after only a minute, she felt his head sink more into her lap and the shininess of his eyes dimmed to nothing more than a mirror.

At this moment, her heart truly broke and her head fell backwards as tears ran over her face. She did not scream or anything of the like, but she body shook with the pain of having to say goodbye to her friend.

A hand clasped her shoulder, but Arathell could not bear to look at its owner, needing the solitude. "He will wait for you with the Valar," the voice murmured, and the pain was too great in Arathell's head – so great that the voice was muffled and she could not even recognize the owner. "Do you mean to bury him here?" the speaker continued.

Arathell didn't know how to answer the question, so she merely ignored it, hoping the voice and its owner would leave her alone to properly mourn the loss of her friend. Eventually, the hand and its owner left her be, and Arathell was slowly able to calm herself.

Her fingers danced more through his mane, brushing out the knots that always seemed to have festered in his hair. She was never sure how he did it, but with one great toss of his head, it seemed that knots were able to infect and breed in his mane. It would drive Arathell absolutely mad when she had to brush it, knowing that he would never really allow her the duty. He thought it hurt too much and he was quite proud of his unruly mane, she had learned.

With that thought, she stopped pulling on the knots, leaving them as messy as they were to begin with. She would not steal his identity now; it would be an insult to his memory.

She thought back to the speaker's question, wondering if she should bury Daeroch here. He wasn't born here; in fact Imladris was leagues away from here and transporting his body would not be an easy task.

He never felt like that was home anyway.

Daeroch had been like her – never really knowing where his true home was, but if she knew anything, he was more at home here than he was anywhere else.

Yes, he would remain here, but she would conduct the business herself. Her stallion was precious to her and had been hers since the moment of his birth. She had raised him, loved him, taken him into battle, and their friendship had been close. Arathell couldn't bear the thought of anyone else being present at the moment she laid him to rest. No one was there at his birth except her, and no one would be here now.

Oh, Daeroch, she thought, closing his fun-loving eyes with care, regretting it in an instant and wishing she had had one more moment.

But that was always what she would want, wasn't it – one more moment?

There it is! I hope you like it, Cathael! I actually started crying a little bit when I wrote this! Saying farewell to one of my own characters is definitely not fun.

But this was a wonderful experience, and I think that it closed some gaps fairly well. Let me know what you think!

And that goes for everyone! I would love to hear from you!

Love you all lots!

LM