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Leaving Ithilien
The land before me lies green and glowing in the early morning light, the flowers bloom bright in the fading kiss of the night's rain and the trees bow and flutter new leaves in the soft spring winds. Ithilien is more beautiful than it has ever been, or so I think; the pain of the shadow is gone and the land is more than recovereid, it is as if it had never been. All that we had hoped to do is done and the cycle of life is restored to its glory and if there are scars upon its soul they cannot be detected even by an elf.
But though the birds sing and bees hum their chatter cannot hide the hard truth that the land is silent now and that it no longer knows me.
It is more than two hundred circuits of the sun since my Elven Lord and father in his pity allowed me to bring my kin to heal this land, for he saw its pain and mine. For two hundred circuits of the sun the cry of the gulls have echoed in my dreams and unguarded waking moments and only in being so close to the sea has there been true peace. This place has been my refuge when their cries became raucous and this land has made it possible for me stay and honour my vows, those promises made to my comrades and to him, my father. But the years have turned often enough now that those vows are nearly spent and the time to heed the cry of the gulls draws close. I watch the clouds gathering in the west and know that five more sunsets will see me gone from here for ever.
My kin are already gone, those who brought salvation to Ithilien have been called back to my father's lands as their tasks were completed and the land bloomed anew. It is ten circuits of the seasons since he last rode here to view what had been done and to see the last of his people safely home. He judged all that we have accomplished good and it eased my heart to see his smile, his joy at this land renewed, knowing how much it cost him and my people to make the land before me possible.
Only I remain now, along with the few he had set to care for me and to watch over this undertaking until I leave for the Havens, a day that fast approaches for the world is changing and the age of men tightens it grip. All that I once knew of them is passing into history and soon that history will fade to story, as will I and those that dwealt here with me.
Today I heard that the sixth generation of Faramir's line had departed the world and that a new Prince goes to pledge his loyalty to his King in Gondor. I wonder what this prince looks like for it is two generations of men since I looked upon one of Faramir's line and saw no familiarity to the Prince I had known in look or manner. The king he goes to make his oath to is also new to the crown, for it is but three seasons since his father departed, and just one since I learned of his mothers going. Yet he is not young in the years of men, even as measured by those with elvish blood, and his own reign might yet be short.
My father's realm still prospers, the forest now restored and well worthy of its name. As for its king, my Elven lord and father, he is as strong and vigorous as ever, despite his battles with the evil over more than an age still the world does not seem to weigh upon him. When I compare my own weariness and longing to his steadfast endurance I can only hope I am not a disappointment to him.
Yet even he will leave, I think, knowing that the time of our kind is almost past. I hope that he will sail with me though as yet I have not asked of his plans. If he chooses to stay here in this world until Namo collects him then I have promised myself to bear the loss without comment or complaint, but in the privacy of my thoughts I cannot deny that the idea of such an outcome fills me with dread and sorrow.
Only one of my comrades of the Fellowship remains now for the others sailed long ago, taking ship with the Lady of the Golden Wood and with Elrond who could no longer bear the world when the elven rings failed, not even for the sake of his daughter. So only one of them remains now to remember this land as the blasted waste it was before my people came. Gimli son of Gloin has been a stalwart and loyal friend but now time wearies even him. We spoke of this but last night for he told me that the passage of years starts to weigh upon him and asked again if there was a hope that he might be able to sail with me to Valinor. He knows that the time for me to do so draws close and he greatly desires to look upon the Lady of Lothlorien once more before he goes to join his fathers in whatever halls of waiting await a dwarf. Truly his affection for her is unswerving.
Yet I have no certain answer for him. My father has made representations to Cirdan on his behalf and it is agreed that he will be allowed to board the ship with me, but whether we will find the straight way if he is with us Cirdan cannot say. There are none left now who might tell us how the Valar will decide, Mithrandir is long since departed and Radagast has no answers. But I will not abandon my elf friend and travelling partner whilst there is hope, and I have promised that he may voyage with me and if he is denied entry then we will sail the seas together until his spirit departs. He laughed at that and said that if cannot find the straight way then we should put into the next port so that he will at least have ale enough whilst he waits for his passing.
I did not tell him that once we sail for Valinor there is no returning to port.
The western clouds are still some way away and the land basks in the warm glow of the sun and I smile as I recall the joy there has been here. Yet I cannot help but wonder how much of this beauty restored will survive the age of men. Something in me whispers that its time will be short and I find that I do not want to see its destruction. This Ithilion is but a breath in time caught between two ages, and those who recall how and why it came to be made will soon be forgotten. Elves and Men may be kin but their estrangement is complete, for the music deems it must be so. Their memory is not my memory, their joys are not my joys, nor are their loves my loves.
Perhaps that is why the call of the sea grows stronger with each passing day, why the bird song now echoes the cry of the gulls even here and on such a day as this. I am being called home and I will not grieve for the leaving because this Ithilinen cannot be my home now except in memory, the age of men rushes on and soon a memory is all it will be.