'This is it,' Berethor thought, 'the final leg of the journey.'
Berethor and his companions, Hadhod and Elegost, had come quite far in a very short amount of time, no doubt because of their excellent steeds and Berethor's constant push for the Elvish port of Mithlond. In the span of a few short days, Berethor had been driven mad by the memory of Idrial, spoken with the King of Gondor, and then proceeded to leave Minas Tirith with Elegost and Hadhod. He'd fought through sleep deprivation, the terrible and heart wrenching fear of rejection, and he'd even gone up against the shadow of the Dark Lord, Sauron.
None of this prepared him for what lay ahead, however, and when there were only a few short hours until the city came into view, Berethor found himself feeling rather ill. The company had slowed to a fine trot, and with every step, Berethor felt his stomach stir uneasily. After he'd come all this way, what if Idrial simply scoffed at his feelings?
What would Berethor do if his friends had gone all that way for nothing?
The answer to that was simple: Berethor would be eternally grateful. He'd already promised the both of them food, lodgings and the like, should they have need of it; and for their role in his journey, however it ended, he would be forever in their debt.
So the real question would be how Berethor would react. Would he fly into a rage? Would he fall to the ground bawling like an infant? He was a grown man who'd seen the horrors of war and conflict firsthand, but the horrors of the heart were new to him. Could he bear the heartache if Idrial were to turn him away?
"There is no need to look so gloomy, Berethor," Elegost said, smiling at the Captain of the Guard, "remember what you came here for."
And there it was: Elegost, Berethor's best friend and most loyal companion, was always there for him, whether they were destroying Uruk-Hai bands in Eregion, or participating in a cross-country race against time for a seemingly hopeless cause. Even when all hope was lost for him, Berethor's greatest ally continued to spur him forward.
"Aye lad, eyes on the horizon."
Hadhod, of course, was still there as well. The wear of travel had begun to seep through the dwarf's façade as his advanced age began to affect him, but still, he simply reminded Berethor to look forward into the future.
But even with all of his friends behind him, even with all he'd done and seen, even with the terrors Berethor had faced, the image of Idrial behind his eyes had turned against him. For the last few days, that image had kept him going when other men would have slept, or eaten, but now…
"I'm not sure I can do this," Berethor said suddenly, pulling on the reins for bring his horse to a standstill.
The city was nestled upon the horizon between a line of hills, silvery and pristine as the sun set behind it, but Berethor felt fear crawl beneath his flesh as he stared at the light.
How would Idrial react to Berethor's arrival? Would she know why he was there? Was it possible that she already knew he was coming?
Meanwhile, miles away from where Berethor's company sat, mounted upon their horses, Idrial was standing upon her balcony, watching the exact same sunset. Laurial, ever the caring and concerned friend, entered Idrial's room, smiling at how calm and peaceful Idrial looked as she gazed into the light over the harbor. The sun glinted off of the waters like the scales of a giant, shining serpent as the waves rocked to and fro.
"You look well, Idrial," Laurial said happily, leaning against the balcony railing with her friend as she, too gazed out to the waters of the Gulf of Lune.
"I feel well… finally," Idrial added.
"Have you given any more thought to what you're going to do now? What are your plans for the future," Laurial asked, fixing Idrial with a stare as she continued to look at the horizon. The blonde elven maiden turned and smiled at her friend for a moment before a gentle tear fell from her eye.
"I've decide to leave with Lord Celemerad," Idrial said quickly, holding up a hand at the same time to stifle her friend's slaughter of questions, "it's for the best. This is the most clear headed I've felt since…"
"Since you were with him?"
Neither of them needed to say it, but Laurial was of course speaking of Berethor, and the time Idrial and he had spent traveling together. Idrial sighed and tossed her braid over her shoulder as she often did when flustered.
"I knew it was a mistake to tell you about that," Idrial cursed.
"Mistake or not, you should not be so quick to turn and run."
"I'm not running from anything!"
Idrial glared at Laurial for a time, but when no more was forthcoming, Laurial turned away from her friend.
"I'll go speak to Celemerad," Laurial replied flatly, "you can leave with him at first light."
"Laurial," Idrial called, but it was too late. With the clack of leather boots upon stone and the swish of her long red hair, Laurial had disappeared.
Idrial let loose a sob.
She had been doing so well. After last night she had been so proud of herself for having kept it together, but losing Laurial's friendship was a major blow, and now it seemed she'd be leaving in the morning, before she would have a chance to apologize. With nothing left to do, Idrial gathered what was hers from the large, grand guestroom, and tossed it into a fine silk satchel. She rarely kept much on her person, especially since the fall of the Dark Lord. Finally, she lay in her bed, staring at the finely bound cover of the Tale of Beren and Luthien. If only there was some sort of answer to her problems, some sort of guidance hidden within the musty pages of the tome...
But there wasn't, there was no hope, and Idrial resigned herself to that. To think otherwise would be the height of folly.
A personal messenger from the House of Celemerad came to verify Idrial's intent to leave with the Elven Lord, and after a moment of hesitation, Idrial confirmed that she would indeed be accompanying him the next day. Idrial fell asleep quite easily that night, the events of her day coming to a sharp and painful point that left her craving some peace.
The next morning passed in what seemed to be a haze for Idrial, who woke late, made herself presentable, and was soon after met by the same messenger from the previous evening, who escorted her to meet the Lord of the House.
Celemerad was dressed rather plainly in fine sky-blue robes with a simple bronze circlet upon his brow. The elf-lord smiled before extending his arm to Idrial. It was a huge honor, most would agree, to lead a procession of the fair-folk as they made their way to the vessel which would ferry them to the Undying Lands of Valinor. Idrial, however, felt very little as she wrapped her arm through Celemerad's and, as one, took the first step in what would be a long and incredible journey.
But the journey wasn't what interested Idrial. She was more interested in what lay at the end of that journey: a place where she could finally rest and relax, and finally have the peace she'd fought for in decades passed.
With each step, Idrial came closer and closer to that very peace as she and Celemerad wound their way through the halls of his estate and shortly managed to find the pale light of the morning sun.
Mithlond, the Elven port, was called the Grey Havens by the race of men, and striding out into the foggy morning now, Idrial could understand why. There was a chill in the air, and the skies were all cast in a thick layer of clouds as the sun failed to break through.
The ship was in sight, rocking heavily at the port as the water churned from the winds. Beyond the Gulf of Lune was the Great Sea… but right now, Idrial would simply focus upon the ceremony of leaving, itself.
As tradition dictated, there would be a guide of sorts to the lands of Valinor. Idrial had been offered this position, and so when she and Celemerad arrived at the ramp leading to the ship, she turned and bowed to the Elven Lord, who smiled gratefully and returned her bow as he made his way into the deck of the ship. The company of elves that had followed them silently from Celemerad's house all mimicked their lord, bowing to Idrial before alighting upon the ship's main deck.
One by one, Idrial watched them bow to her and proceed up the ramp, until only she remained.
Idrial's sharp elven ears picked up a strange sound coming from the center of the city, where the market had laid when she'd passed through. It was faint, and sounded vaguely of celebration and revelry. She ignored it, turning to look at the city in all its glory, and knowing that she was about to leave everything she'd ever known behind.
A strange wind blew past her from the gulf, and she felt a sense of uncertainty strike her. Everything would be different for her from then on. All of her friends, and all of the places she'd been, from her favorite haunts, to the locations of her most death-defying battles, would be forever lost the moment she stepped aboard the ship.
Idrial turned back to the ship, where Celemerad and his kin were waiting for her. She stepped up the ramp, holding her head high as she looked anywhere but the faces of the elves before her.
"Idrial, WAIT!"
The voice was faint as footsteps pounded against the white marble of the port. From within the confines of Lord Celemerad's house came three figures, sprinting as fast as they could.
At the head was Berethor, and behind him ran Hadhod and Elegost. Bringing up the rear, and gaining fast were what appeared to be a loose assortment of gate guards and servants from Celemerad's estate, all of which were chasing the two humans and the dwarf. With a laugh, Elegost turned and fired a strange arrow that exploded into a fine dust upon impact. The effect upon normal humans, animals, and weaker Uruk-hai would stun them and render them unconscious for a moment, but with elves, they only seemed to slow down slightly.
"Guards," called Celemerad, gesturing for his men to take formation surrounding the ship.
Within moments, several of his guards had done just that, and with enemies upon all sides, Berethor raised his hands in surrender, followed closely by Hadhod and finally Elegost.
Idrial stood on the ramp leading to the main deck, her eyes wide as she visibly shook, though Berethor couldn't tell why. It was obvious she was surprised, but whether she was happy, or irate remained to be seen.
"Who are these men, and this dwarf, to storm our city… and my home," Celemerad asked.
"Elf Lord Celemerad," Hadhod said, dropping to one knee and indicating for Berethor and Elegost to do the same.
It took a moment, but finally they mimicked Hadhod, who had a very hard look in his eyes as he glanced at his comrades.
"Ah, you look familiar… Ambassador Hadhod, wasn't it," Celemerad asked, the stern look he wore lessening slightly.
"Aye, Lord Celemerad."
"Then tell me why two men and yourself have come all this way, and speak quickly, lest I think war is coming from the King Under the Mountain."
The statement left a chill pause in the air. The elves were a peaceful people, and hearing one speak of outright war was strange, to say the least. Without further ado, Hadhod cleared his throat and stood, staring into the azure eyes of the Elf Lord.
"No, sire, we of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth have no quarrel with your ilk. You'll surely notice that my companion's attack, while misplaced, caused no real harm to your men."
Hadhod gestured to the men encircling them, all of whom looked fine, though a few looked tired from Elegost's Arrows of Sleep.
"Noted, but not unexcused," Celemerad said quietly.
"Of course. Anyway, Elf-Lord, my companion here wishes only to speak in private… with her," Hadhod finished, pointing to Idrial upon the ramp, whose eyes widened even further, though she made no move to descend.
"And why should-" Lord Celemerad began indignantly.
"My Lord," Idrial said suddenly, turning to look at the blue-swathed figures, "I would deign to speak with him. I know this man, he means us no harm."
"But-"
"He was among those of us who actually fought the Dark Lord," Idrial said suddenly.
A murmur fell over those assembled as they heard Idrial's proclamation. The elves nearest Berethor glanced at him with narrowed eyes, as if sizing him up. Berethor, on the other hand, tried not to look offended as everyone did the talking for him.
"So this is the man who led your party," Celemerad asked, his shining blue eyes brimming with renewed interest as he surveyed Berethor, "the man who dealt the final blow?"
"Indeed, and I think he wishes only to speak to me for a moment," Idrial said hurriedly, "if I could-"
"Of course, you may speak with him. All I ask is that you remember the time you spent here in Middle Earth fondly," Celemerad said, a knowing look upon his face as he smiled and waved Idrial down the ramp. The guards parted, and so Idrial descended from the ship, coming to a halt before three haggard and travel-worn companions.
"Idrial," Elegost said.
"She-elf," Hadhod sighed, glancing at the Captain of the Guard, who was staring at Idrial rather blankly
"Idrial," Berethor breathed, hardly daring to believe it. He'd come all that way, he'd gone through so much, and finally here he was, standing before Idrial, who looked resplendent and… angry? Wait, was she angry at him?!
"What-no-by the-and all of you..." Idrial pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment before glowering at each of them in turn.
"Explain yourselves!"
Berethor, Hadhod, and Elegost were all suddenly thrust into the past, when Idrial was once a silent acquaintance on their journey. None of them really felt that they knew her, not even Berethor, but after a time, she became more and more motherly and caring… but now, that matronly anger was showing once again.
And still, Berethor was lost in the way Idrial's eyes sparkled. Still, he was absorbed in her stance and the way the chill morning made her cheeks flush with color. Just by being in her presence, he was so enamored that he forgot he was currently trespassing, and that Idrial was moments away from sailing off to the Undying Lands.
"We, that is- Idrial, I wanted to-" Berethor began sheepishly.
"Out with it," Idrial said loudly, the entirety of the port watching the exchange as Berethor quailed before the blonde elven maiden.
Berethor was shocked by how angry she was, and in an instant he understood why. He was, at that moment, just as frightened by Idrial as she was of him. He'd shown up, unannounced, chased by guards and simply demanded an audience, even though she was about to embark on what could be considered a once-in–a-lifetime journey.
For a moment, all Berethor wanted to do was apologize, insist he'd made a mistake in traveling all that way, and then depart. He wished to sacrifice his own happiness so that Idrial might enjoy herself, roaming around the Undying Lands, where eternal peace flourished and art and culture were nurtured.
But then his pride interfered.
Berethor's pride throbbed in his aching feet, his sore back and his tired limbs as he faced down with an angry elf. It fluttered in his heart as he thought about what all he'd gone through to get to Idrial, and how much farther he'd be willing to go, and so without any sort of hesitation, and without any sort of shame, Berethor decided enough was enough.
"I came here to tell you that I love you Idrial," Berethor stammered, loud enough for all assembled to hear, "I came here to tell you how much you mean to me! Idrial, I broke off my marriage, I travelled all the way here to the Grey Havens-"
"And now what? You expect some sort of reward?"
"No! I knew full well that when I got here you'd likely turn me away! I knew that when I came here, you'd act like you are now, but I'm done suffering in silence!"
Berethor turned to all the elves, not just the guards surrounding him, but the civilians as well, raising his voice so that it rang out, loud and brazen over the crowd.
"I love Idrial! I'd go to the ends of the earth just to tell her that," Berethor roared happily, turning once more to face the blonde elf, who was now so red in the face she might've been a strawberry, "and now I have."
With that, Berethor stepped forward and dropped to one knee, and all the elven folk gasped, thinking that Berethor was about to try and garner a marriage, then and there.
"Farewell, Idrial. Know that I will always think of you fondly, and I hope… I hope you will do me the same courtesy."
Berethor stood gave a bow to Celemerad before turning and walking clear through the encirclement of guards and making his way, leisurely, towards the city gates, the road, and the incredibly long and slow journey home, to Minas Tirith.
"I lied," Idrial whispered, her head filled with magical moments spent with Berethor, before the fall of Sauron.
Even during the war, where all seemed lost, and it was just Berethor, Idrial and their companions around the campfire, Idrial couldn't have felt more at home with the disgraced Captain of the Guard. There had been so many tender conversations between them as they'd laid upon the cold stone of the Mines of Moria and stared up into the dark ceilings above. They had shared a few kisses here and there as well, and when Idrial had told Berethor of his and Morwen's fate together-
"I lied," Idrial called again, all of the good times they'd shared coming forward at full force, like a mental waterfall, "Morwen was not your destiny."
"Destiny is a funny thing, Idrial," Berethor called back, not bothering to look over his shoulder at the woman, "I've never really believed in it."
"Then believe in this."
Berethor felt a gentle breeze rush past him, and he spun around, only to find Idrial's arms already around him, her lips pressed upon his as they gently rocked to and fro. A cry went up from Elegost and Hadhod, who'd been slowly trailing after Berethor, and quickly transferred over to the elven crowd as everyone cheered.
Celemerad smiled, knowing that his vision from earlier had come to pass. Idrial was a fine woman, but she did not love Celemerad, and after his first wife, the Elf-Lord was not eager to replace her. He took his hood from his head, and with a sigh he urged the ship away from the port, strong eldritch magics pushing and pulling at the ship as it wound its way across the Gulf.
But that is where we find ourselves losing track of the main event, where Idrial and Berethor reunited at the Grey Havens, and finally found the courage to love each other.
One month later, Berethor returned to Minas Tirith, and he said goodbye to Elegost and Hadhod, who'd stayed at his side through thick and thin. He then took Idrial to be his bride, and they were married in a ceremony ordained by the King himself.
Gondor, Rohan, and all of Middle Earth was still reeling from the War of the One Ring, but even with all of the sadness, death and despair, light was found in the hearts of these two young lovers… and unlike Beren and Luthien, they both lived to tell about it.
Who doesn't love a happy ending, am I right? In truth, I'm quite pleased with how the latter half of this chapter turned out. I had a general scene ready in my head, but this turned out quite nicely. In the end, Berethor and Idrial end up married together, in Minas Tirith. Berethor better be happy, cause Idrial pretty much gave up Heaven (Valinor) to be with him.
And so concludes another of my stories! If you have no idea who these characters are, I'd suggest you get yourself a Playstation 2, and a fun little game called Lord of the Rings: The Third Age. It's a turn based strategy game that really couldn't have been done much better. This fic just gave the characters a proper ending, and a little more fleshing out.
To those of you that took the time to read this fic, I am eternally grateful. I know it was sorta slow and angsty, but I mean, c'mon, that ending was worth it... right?
Also, the Tale of Beren and Luthien should be out soon, if it isn't already! Go and get it!