"But I promised him that we would never again part in this life!"
"Olórin, can a promise made in changing times be sure to endure until the end? Times have changed, and an age is ending. Many have died before."
"Nothing will take his place. He was mine; one of the only things that I ever had here that was my own."
"Olórin, before you were sent, were you not taught that there would be sorrow and pain in the world that you are in now?"
Olórin, or more well known as Mithrandir or Gandalf, lowered his eyes. He knew that the answer to all of those questions was yes.
"Olórin, he is not immortal. He is only a horse, and you know this. He will live as long as it is appointed to him. Remember what I have told you."
Then the dream faded. Gandalf opened his eyes. The room was slowly losing the night's darkness and the moon faded. The wizard sighed as he remembered. Aragorn's coronation had already taken place, and three days earlier he had ridden into Rohan from the north, where he had been looking at familiar sights in Middle Earth for perhaps, the last time. Then he decided to come to the Golden Hall to see Éomer, the king of Rohan. When he got there, Shadowfax started acting strange. When he was put into the stables at Rohan, he did not want t o leave Gandalf's side. He struggled slightly, and the wizard had to calm him down with some soft words. Then he went grudgingly to the stable.
Later that evening, Gandalf went to visit Shadowfax. The horse seemed very restless and uneasy. He was breathing heavily and panting. Gandalf was worried about him, so he asked one of the Rohirrim about it. He came and looked at Shadowfax. Then he looked gravely at Gandalf. "This horse is very old… although he is one of the Mhearas, and he has lived a long life, he will not live forever. He is dying of old age."
Gandalf got out of bed and looked out the window. The sun was slowly rising. He sighed again. He knew that his dream had not been a normal dream, but one sent to him by the Valar. They had indeed taught him much before he came to Middle Earth so prepare for the tasks that would be placed upon him. He knew that his tasks were completed, and that soon he would go across the sea to Valinor with the others that had been chosen to come as well. He was hoping to be able to take Shadowfax, as well. He tried to shrug off the possibility that the horse might not make it to Grey Havens...
A day later, Gandalf went into the stable to see Shadowfax. The white horse was lying down, and when the wizard came in he looked up at him with sad eyes. Gandalf knelt down beside him and stroked his mane. Shadowfax nuzzled against his hand. Then the wizard got up and swiftly left the stable.
The next day, the man of Rohan that he had talked to four days earlier found Gandalf in his room.
"Your horse is…"
Gandalf held up his hand to keep him from speaking further. The solemn look on the man's face told him all he needed to know, but it was not what he wanted to hear.
"Thank you," he murmured. "You may leave me now."
The Rohir nodded and left the room.
Gandalf's first impulse was to go to the stable and see if the man's words were true, but he knew that it would be no use. Shadowfax had died. He was no longer the White Rider. Shadowfax was gone. Gandalf sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at the floor. He remembered the time when he had first met Shadowfax. He was wild and untamed. And after that the horse would only allow Gandalf to ride on him. He was the swiftest horse in all of the land, swifter than the steeds of the Nazgûl, and even the Elves' horses. But now he was no more.
Gandalf felt a lump in his throat and a weight like lead in his chest. Then, after a moment, he covered his face with his hands and submitted to grief.