For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity.
~William Penn
Two cloaked figures stood shoulder to shoulder, faces shrouded in the shadows of the garden.
It was not the way of their people to put in statuary marking the past deeds and fair faces, but days and duty had changed much. What was tradition but the commemoration of time?
Cold marble could never hope to hold the warmth of a blooded being, illuminated by the light of the soul and spirit. Their people were some of the finest artists still treading fair Arda, but even they could scarcely hope to capture the essence of those who even now were passing into legend.
"Who will remember them once we are gone?"
Hands rose and pushed the cowl back, revealing a face not unlike that gracing the cold white marble. Ageless hands, strong, callused from honor and duty and now, love. "The land will remember. Even now the trees sing her song."
"Trees fall to decay. Then what?"
A shake of head and Elrohir turned to his brother. Twins, they were alike in every way except those they were not. He reached up to push the hood from Elladan's head, finger capturing the drop of sorrow before it could trace down an ageless cheek. "Arda will echo her song in the Music until it and we cease to exist."
"I wish I could be so content." Ever the critic, the scouring wind of truth, Elladan was never content with platitude or tradition. "I..."
Words had ever been Elladan's ally, but now, when time itself seemed to turn as a traitor and bind them, his tongue was mute. Elrohir, far more fluid, pulled his brother to him, and laid his head against Elladan's. "As do I."
Light flowed into the garden, a soundless swell of ancient power. Glorfindel, hand to his heart, inclined his head in a bow.
It was a summons that would wait no longer. The thing they both dreaded and sought for succor.
Memory in the form of liquid sorrow dropped like stars, one last offering of love for a sister they would not see again until the world was unmade. Even then, Elladan would have said nothing was certain.
Twin shadows fled the garden, leaving the light to trace cold marble with fingers that had known the living model. "Farewell, Undómiel." Glorfindel smiled softly, and the light that lived in him touched the cold, carved face, for a moment making it seem alive. His fingers fell and again he put a hand to his heart. "Aure entuluva. Day shall come again."
My thanks to EverleighBain for reading this over and encouraging me to post. Here's to coffee together one day! :D