Only One Left

by Elfgirloflorien

Gilraen. wife of a dead chieftain of the Dunedain. mother of a young son who is the only hope for mankind, as the last descendant of Isildur's line. What did she do with all the tragedies that fall into her life? Third short story added!

3. At the Last

A/N: this story won second place at Tolkien's realm on Livejournal in the fanfic prompt contest, Peace.

She watched as her son rode away for the last time.

The twilight was calm, cool with wetness after a short shower of rain. She had not asked him to stay till the morning, though the words had been heavy on her lips. It was his destiny to leave, hers to stay, and she should not delay it by a few hours, though her heart willed her to speak the words and stay his ride.

He did not turn around to wave goodbye.

Perhaps it was better this way. The parting, swift, brief, sharp with its' own agony, but soon passing into the mists of time. It was already hard enough on him, for with perhaps a glimpse of the farsight that told her the same thing, he had seen they would not meet again. If she had but spoken a word, he would have gladly stayed. But she had not spoken those words, which were against all fate, against all the hope she had laid up during all the long years without her husband by her side.

The hoofbeats along the path were growing fainter.

This doom had been given her from the first, she knew. From the time she put her hand into her husband's at marriage, this final act was fated. She had walked through all these years with a steady grip on life, through the tragedies that strew her path, with only one single goal: to bring her son up. To that fate she had walked with a sure tread, seeing only the line in front of her.

And now that was completed. Her doom was finished. The fate was sealed. She would not see her son again. Her role in the drama of life was ended, for now and forever. All the control, all the preparation she had built up to, was over.

He was nearly out of sight along the shadowy path.

She felt no despair. No grief. No anger, that her role in history was finished. She had worked all her life for others, now she had the only thing she desired for herself. A quiet, gentle death, peace in knowing her life was completed, and that whatever happened next, for good or ill, would not concern her. At the last, she had what she wished.

Her son passed out of her sight along the darkening path through the wood. And as the light faded, she remembered the last thing she had said to him, before he left, before her task was fulfilled.

Onen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim.