Pineapple Fetish: Here it is! And of course I'm not going to tell you if Falenor dies, that's ruining the story!

The Mourner

Although it was morning and a golden light filled the rest of Rivendell, dark shadows covered the tomb. Aragorn had come here this morning, although he did not know why his footsteps had led him thence. Normally the tomb would have been empty, and so Aragorn was surprised to see a figure kneeling there.

The tomb was a marble statue of a man, lying asleep upon the cold marble. A small statue of a pony stood nearby, its long tangled mane flopping over into its eyes.

"It is Anduin the Valiant," Aragorn told the back of the kneeling man, coming to stand beside him. It was a young man, just come to manhood, with black wavy hair cut as a hobbit and dark blue eyes. The man did not turn to look at Aragorn, but the muscles around his mouth tightened and his blue eyes flashed.

"I know who he is," the stranger said angrily. Aragorn started back at the aggressive tone.

"The Council will soon begin," the ranger said softly, considering putting a hand on the stranger's shoulder and then deciding against it.

"I did not come for the Council," the young man responded coldly. "I came to mourn. In peace." Aragorn stood back, his grey eyes troubled, but he bowed and turned to walk down the corridor.

The stranger did not move, but remained kneeling at the tomb. His fingers traced the inscription there:

ANDUIN

ELF-FRIEND

HEIR OF CALENOR

Tentatively he stretched out a hand and placed it upon the cold stone ones. The fingers of Anduin were small and slender.

"It cannot be," the young man whispered to himself. Swiftly, with trembling hands, he slid his two rings from his fingers. One was a golden band, the seal of Calenor. The other was a strange ruby ring, the ring of Anduin. Both bands slipped easily onto the statue's fingers. "Impossible," the man said softly, looking at the ringed fingers.

For a time he sat in silence, even though his knees ached and he grew cold.

"Why did you come here?" Elrond asked, stepping out from the shadows where he had been watching and placing his hands upon the strange young man's shoulders.

"To mourn," the stranger repeated.

"You would not have brought the Rhaw Nur if you came simply to mourn," Elrond persisted. Under his hands, the young man's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Many still believe that I am driving the ponies to sell them," the young man said softly. "That is not true. They are dying out, uncle. They are dying and I cannot save them. The herd upon the slopes above is the last of the Wild Breed. I have collected them, gathering those who have escaped into the wild, buying back those I and my father sold, stealing those whose owners would not sell.

I am going to drive them North. I am going to try and breed them back and release them into the hills of Brethil."

The Elf lord sighed softly, for he knew that the fate of the Rhaw Nur and the line of Calenor were bound together and had been since the birth of Calenor.

"Why did you return the rings?" he asked, catching sight of the bands glimmering on the statue's fingers. The Elven sculptors had taken great care to ensure that the rings would fit on the sepulcher.

"The time of those rings is over," the man replied. "I am the last heir of Calenor. I will return to Brethil with all that remains of the Rhaw Nur."

"The evil spreading from the One Ring will find you there," Elrond warned him. "You seek to save the Rhaw Nur, but if the Ring returns to Sauron then they will die."

"Come to the Council," Elrond said after a pause.

"I did not come here for your Council," the man replied.

"But I asked you to, and you came to Rivendell when you knew it was being held."

"This was my last chance before I returned north."

"Come to the Council," Elrond repeated softly. "Please, thel'ion." (sister-son).