The Time of Growing

by ElectricSheep78

Not all that grows is green and good. A shadow grows over Mirkwood, its darkness bleeding into the heart of the Elvenking while elsewhere an ancient power has awakened, a power who will bring a reckoning to all who walk upon Middle-earth, One who seeks to end the dominion of Man and begin a new era - a time of growing, a time of healing, a time for nature to take back what's hers.

14. Leave-taking and Letting Go

A/N: Please note that sentences in italics within conversations are in the speaker's native language. Also, I'd like to thank Slyshy21 for recently favouriting this story and margie-me for favouriting and reviewing :D

Vales of the Anduin

"You did what?" Celegon's vehement demand made Gilorn feel like flinching, but he refrained and stood firm.

"I forgave him," he calmly repeated.

Celegon raked his fingers roughly through his long hair, mussing the usually meticulous warden's braids he wore along the sides. He was bewildered beyond words at his brother's endless ability to do the inconceivable. "Gilorn…"

"I know what you would say, but we were meant to be here, Celegon. We were meant to meet these edain when we did. Why else would the Lady insist we travel through the Vales? She knew. She has seen it," Gilorn argued passionately. "It is all connected. All of it! Us, our journey, these edain, hír Fangorn. All of it!"

Celegon shook his head, still too livid to speak without harsh words he would regret. He bent and snatched up his quiver, fixing it to his back and fastening the buckle.

"What are you doing?" Gilorn asked warily.

"You may wish to stay in this Valar forsaken camp, but I do not. You may wish to forgive this...this horse lord, but I do not. I am leaving." Celegon slung his satchel over his shoulder and picked up his bow.

"But...where will you go?" Gilorn watched with a small frown creasing his brow as his brother strung his bow.

Celegon glanced up at his brother's worried expression and sighed. "Not far, do not worry. To the tree line just there," he inclined his head towards the dark woods. "I will keep watch. I do not trust these edain to do it." He gripped Gilorn's shoulder and gave him a grin that was not at all reassuring. "Fear not, little brother. I will still be within shooting distance." Celegon wrapped his grey cloak around himself and gave one last scowl in Marhwini's direction before stalking off into the darkness.

Gilorn stood watching his brother's retreating form until it completely melded into the shadows, apprehension niggling at his heart. He did not like the idea of Celegon alone in the dark with so many dangers lurking in the night and debated on following, but the loud clearing of a throat roused him from his thoughts. He turned to find Fram behind him, along with Frumgar and a quite beautiful, and clearly pregnant, young woman standing between them.

Gilorn could not help but stare at the girl. He could not recall the last time he had seen a pregnant female and he found her fascinating. Elven pregnancies were rare, and he had never known personally any elleth while she had been with child. He found himself greatly desiring to touch her rounded stomach and attempt to connect with the new life within but stifled the urge to do so.

"If you don't mind, my brother wishes to introduce you to his wife. She greatly desired to meet the one who saved her husband's life," Frumgar said, nodding towards the young woman. She held a large flagon of mead and was looking up at Gilorn shyly. "I understand if it's not a good time. My grandfather…"

"No, no, worry not," Gilorn murmured with a distracted wave of his hand. He tore his eyes from the girl and looked at Fram, who was beaming proudly. To the Elf, the couple looked barely out of their adolescence, yet they were wedded and expecting a child. The ways of Men were strange indeed.

Oblivious to the Elf's astonishment, Fram placed his hand on the small of his wife's back and urged her gently forward. "This is Metta, my wife. Metta, this is Gilorn Angolion. He shot that orc dead in the eye from a distance you wouldn't believe!" The girl's eyes widened as she pushed a lock of curly, blonde hair behind her ear.

Frumgar translated his brother's words with humour while Gilorn nodded politely. Metta extended her hand to the Elf for a handshake but instead of taking it, he gently grasped her fingers and brought her knuckles to his lips for a light kiss. "My lady Metta, it is an honour to meet you." Her cheeks pinkened and she smiled widely, glancing over to her husband with a giggle.

Fram raised an eyebrow at the display. "Is this an Elvish custom?" he whispered to his brother.

Frumgar shrugged and grinned mischievously, whispering back loudly, "I don't know. Do you want me to ask him?"

Metta shot them both a look learned from her mother that silenced the pair immediately. She stepped towards Gilorn, holding the flagon of mead out for him to take. "This is for you, offered in friendship and gratitude. You have given me my husband's life this day, something I value more than my own, and you have given this child its father." She lovingly rubbed her rounded belly with one hand and smiled softly thinking of the babe within, "For this, we are in your debt. I have nothing of value to offer you as a reward, but whatever you ask I will give it with gladness." She looked up at him earnestly, tears brimming in her eyes.

Gilorn slowly took the flagon from her hands, staring thoughtfully into its depths while listening to Frumgar repeat her words. She waited and watched him expectantly. Gilorn met her tear-filled gaze with a sad smile. "My lady, you owe me nothing. It eases my heart to know that I have brought you joy. That is reward enough." He drank of the mead then, finding it both overly sweet and overly harsh, but managed to swallow it down without grimacing.

Her lips curved with happiness and a slow tear rolled down her cheek when she heard Frumgar translate. Fram draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and leaving a kiss atop her head.

The youngsters' obvious love for one another sent a warmth spreading through Gilorn's chest, a warmth that mingled with the sharp sadness of knowing these bright sparks of life would fade all too quickly while his own would go on indefinitely. His eyes were drawn once again to Metta's pregnant belly, and it did not go unnoticed.

"Would you like to touch it? You can if you want. Sometimes you can feel the baby move," she offered and saw hopeful surprise light the Elf's face when her words were translated.

"Are you sure?" he asked, glancing to Fram. Fram's lips twitched with amusement and he nodded towards his unborn child. Metta took Gilorn's hand and placed it on her belly, moving it around until she found just the right spot under her ribs on her left side.

"Here. This is the head," she said, lightly pressing Gilorn's hand so he could feel the hard, round lump beneath. His eyes crinkled with delight and a slow smile began to form. Metta moved his hand again down lower towards her navel and he could feel a smaller, sharper shape. "And this is..a knee I think, or maybe an elbow." She pressed his hand again and the baby twitched at the disturbance, rolling into a new position. Metta laughed at the sheer wonderment on the Elf's face and Gilorn could not help but join her.

"In all my long years never have I experienced such a thing. I thank you, truly," he said, reluctantly withdrawing his hand. "Your son is healthy, I can feel it, and happy. He senses your love and rejoices in it."

"Son?" Fram asked excitedly as soon as Frumgar had finished relaying the Elf's words.

"Yes, a son. I could feel clearly his strong spirit within you," he said, nodding to Metta's belly. The couple beamed at each other.

"Do you hear that, Frumgar? I shall have a son!" Fram exclaimed, slapping his brother hard on the back. Frumgar grunted and Metta gave her beloved an indulgent smile. He grasped her face within his hands and placed a hard kiss on her lips. "Of course I would have loved a daughter just as much."

"Of course." Metta rolled her eyes and looked thoughtfully back to Gilorn. She chewed her thumbnail nervously for a moment before throwing her arms around his waist and squeezing him tightly. "Thank you," she whispered in uncertain Westron.

Gilorn was taken aback, unaccustomed as he was to displays of female affection. He stood very still looking down at the golden blonde head resting against his heart, his hands hovering at his sides. He could feel every curve of her feminine form pressed against him, the firmness of her pregnant belly, the strength in her slender arms as she clung to him, and he found the sensations not at all unpleasant. He looked helplessly to Fram, slightly panicked and unsure where to put his hands or of the propriety of hugging another man's wife. He found no help in the smirking young man, so settled for patting her awkwardly on the back. "There, there. All is well," he offered lamely.

Metta finally released the Elf and backed away, giving him a sheepish grin and blushing fiercely. She turned then to her husband and kissed him soundly, murmuring quiet words of love, and gave Frumgar a quick peck on his whiskered cheek before hurrying off to join a group of young women waiting impatiently in the distance.

"She's going to be the envy of every female here, mark my words," Frumgar said wryly as he watched the women surround Metta and walk away, chatting animatedly and casting longing glances back at the tall Elf. The tips of Gilorn's ears turned pink. He busied himself straightening his already perfectly aligned tunic and took another gulp of mead.

"What did you say?" Fram asked, suspicious of his brother's smirk and the Elf's obvious discomfort.

"Nothing," Frumgar strolled casually away to get his own flagon of mead, followed closely by a persistently questioning Fram.

Gilorn shook his head to clear his mind from strange thoughts of mortal women and settled down comfortably in front of the fire, tossing one end of his cloak around his shoulders. He considered emptying the flagon of mead into the grass but decided that would be too rude and ungrateful. He finished it off quickly instead, wrinkling his nose and forcing it down. Setting it aside with a grimace, he drew his knees up before him and wrapped his arms around them. His eyes and thoughts lifted to the stars and he let his mind wander as he listened to the crackling fire and far off voices, slipping into a sort of waking reverie but not quite walking the paths of dreams. He was disturbed by the sound of heavy footsteps drawing nearer and knew it was Marhwini approaching. A hot flash of anger sparked through his calmness, but he ignored it, choosing instead to hear whatever the man had to say.

"May I sit?" the old man's deep voice quietly inquired, unsure of the welcome he would receive.

Gilorn did not speak but motioned for him to sit. Marhwini lowered himself slowly to the spot of grass on the Elf's right, sloshing a bit of mead onto his lap in the process. He swore under his breath and brushed himself off as best he could, much to the amusement of the Elf beside him. They sat in silence, the Elf watching the stars and the man watching the flames.

"I am truly sorry," Marhwini said, his words slightly slurred from drink.

Gilorn scrutinised the old man for a moment before looking skywards once more. "I am sure you are."

"Where is your brother?"

"In the forest, keeping watch," Gilorn replied. "You are safer this way."

Marhwini was unsure whether that meant he was safer because the Elf kept watch or if he was safer because the Elf was not near. Probably both. "I see you met my granddaughter," he shifted his weight to make himself more comfortable, though comfort was fleeting when sitting beside the icy Elf. "Fram tells me you say she'll give him a son."

"Yes."

The old man fidgeted with his cup and took a long drink, attempting to drown the anxiety burrowing into his gut. He wanted to question the Elf's certainty about the child, but thought better of it, assuming some sort of strange Elvish magic was involved. He was startled when the Elf turned to him abruptly, piercing him with those bright blue eyes.

"Have you come to trade pleasantries, or have you something of importance to say? For I am in no mood for petty conversation," Gilorn snapped and did not miss the nearly imperceptible flinch in the man's face.

"Aye, there is something I wish to say," the old man sighed and looked down at the flagon he held too tightly in his hands. He examined the rough, calloused palms, the grubby nails, the many scars that marked many battles, the unkempt grey hair hanging down his chest and, for the first time in his life, he felt inferior to another being.

"Then speak," the Elf commanded.

Marhwini drew in a deep breath, steeling himself for what he had to say. "I know you are troubled by the loss of young Edgard. I saw you when Gerolt laid his son at Eda's feet, and I saw you when they laid his body on the pyre. I know you blame yourself, but the fault is not yours." He watched the Elf stiffen at his words, all expression falling from that too-fair face. "Yes, Edgard died, but Fram still lives and he lives because of you. It seems you had forgotten that earlier today, so I thought you needed reminding." He glanced to his left to find the Elf staring beyond him to where his grandsons stood conversing. Marhwini heaved a great sigh and returned his eyes to his lap. "I needed reminding too. It was wrong of me to doubt you, to accuse you, but you must understand. You must understand the responsibility I have to protect what's left of my people, to bring them to safety. This...Ent. It is beyond my ability to comprehend. I have seen many wars and the mindless destruction of Men, but to see the very earth itself rise up against us…" he shook his head in disbelief. "What am I supposed to think of that? How do I protect them from such a thing?" He looked to the Elf, hoping for an answer.

"You cannot," Gilorn said simply. "It should not have happened, and I do not know why it did. As I said, Ents are gentle creatures. They have walked this earth since its beginning and have never harmed anyone or anything that did not harm them first. They are not evil, nor are they monsters to be feared. They love their trees above all else, protecting them and nurturing them, and rarely leave their forest. Hír Fangorn, he...suffered a great loss, retreating from the world. For long years I hoped that he would awaken. I attempted to call him back many times over the last millennia, but I failed. We failed. It has been more than a century since I attempted it last. I suppose I gave up, and with the threat to our borders...no one has left the golden wood in many years. Until recently." He visibly shook himself from his memories and met the curious brown eyes of the old man. "I am determined to discover why this happened, to find hír Fangorn and speak with him. It will not bring back the lives lost, but perhaps it will prevent the loss of more."

Marhwini grunted and downed the last of his mead. He had a fair idea of how he could prevent the loss of more lives caused by these...Ents. "There are more of them then," he muttered, almost as if to himself.

"Yes, there are more, though they remain in their forest."

"Forthwine, my son, he has followed this...Fangorn...across the river two days ago. I don't know if he still lives, if he'll return to me. Such losses are not easily forgiven." Marhwini met the eyes of the expectant Elf. "I have no love for these Ents and do not wish to settle my people anywhere near them. Are there safer lands to the south, lands not occupied by evil creatures or evil Men?"

Gilorn considered the man's words, sensing anger and resentment along with the cold calculation of a born leader. "Aye, there are safer lands," he said slowly, "though the Men of Gondor deem them to be in their possession. They are also sparsely populated by tribes of Drúedain...wildmen, who are unfriendly and dangerous, though small in number and not as well armed or organised as your people."

"We have had dealings with the men of Gondor before." Marhwini stared thoughtfully into the fire, trying to recall the name of Gondor's current king. "Where are these lands?"

"South of here and still on the western shore. More than a week of travel, at least, at your current pace. You will pass both Lothlórien and the forest of Fangorn, and will need to ford the Limlight, though it is a river with a gentle flow. You should have little trouble. The lands you seek lie beyond."

"It is good to know that the end is near, that safety and the green pastures of home are within our reach." Marhwini sighed.

"You will still have to deal with the Drúedain," Gilorn reminded.

"And we will. We have encountered far worse than scatterings of wildmen." Marhwini gave the Elf a confident grin, but it soon melted away into a thoughtful frown. "And the forest of Fangorn is home to these...Ents?"

Gilorn felt a coldness touch his heart upon seeing the vengeful glint in the man's dark eyes. "Aye, it is, and I would bid you not to enter. It would be unsafe and unwise," he warned. "The same can be said of the Golden Wood. I cannot guarantee your safety should you decide to breach our borders, especially with such numbers of armed men."

The old man chuckled. "Don't worry, we won't be visiting your forest. I think we've had enough of Elves and their forests." Marhwini paled when he realised what he had said and to whom he had said it. He held up his hands in apology. "I did not mean to say...I meant…"

Gilorn snorted and shook his head, waving a hand in dismissal. "I know what you meant, and I think I can safely say the feeling is mutual," he smirked.

Marhwini chuckled nervously, glad the earlier tension seemed somewhat lessened with the jest. "Care for another drink?" he asked with a pointed look at the Elf's empty flagon.

"No! Definitely not." Gilorn answered firmly, his look of horrified distaste bringing genuine rumbling laughter from the old man at his side.

OOOOOO

The sky was beginning to lighten when Celegon finally returned to the encampment. He found Gilorn stretched out alone near the dying fire staring up at the sky. Celegon squatted beside his brother, resting his arms on his knees. "Did you have a pleasant evening conversing with your horse lord?"

Gilorn's eyes remained fixed on the bright stars, taking in as much of their beauty as he could before the sun outshone them all. "Did you have a pleasant evening alone in the dark?"

"I did, as a matter of fact," Celegon smirked, but his face soon softened as he observed his brother's wistful adoration of Elbereth's creation. "Come, we should go. We have far to travel before our journey's end," he spoke gently, resting his hand over Gilorn's heart.

Gilorn placed his own hand atop his brother's and turned his face towards him. "We must find hír Fangorn, Celegon. He crossed the river only two days ahead of us. We can still catch him up if we make haste."

"No, little brother, we cannot." Celegon raised a hand for silence when Gilorn sat up quickly, ready to argue. "Hír Fangorn is beyond our reach for now. His path is not ours, and our path is not one we can stray from. You know this, Gilorn. We must hold to our appointed task."

"But he has awakened! Finally, after all these centuries, he has returned to the world. And something is terribly wrong, Celegon. Some evil is at work here, I am sure of it. There is no other explanation. Hír Fangorn needs help, he needs healing, and we can give him both. How can we abandon him now, when he needs us the most?"

"Gilorn," Celegon spoke firmly, "I will not forswear my duty to the Lady, and neither will you. I will not allow it. Think, little brother." Celegon shook Gilorn's shoulders lightly. "Think with your head and not your heart."

Gilorn knew his brother was right, he knew they could not abandon this mission, but it saddened him nonetheless. His head dipped in defeat. "But he is alone," he murmured.

Celegon stood and brushed himself off. "Onodrim are always alone, except for their trees, and what lies across the Anduin but the largest mass of trees in Middle-earth? He will undoubtedly come across Eryn Galen in his wanderings and Thranduil will immediately know of his presence. Who better to help him in his distressed state?"

"Perhaps you are right, but…" Gilorn began hesitantly, "do you not feel it? A...wrongness? I cannot put my finger on it exactly, but it is there...just beyond my senses." He stood and strapped his quiver to his back, frowning in thought as he fastened the buckle. "Did you hear what Frumgar said? About his eyes? Celegon, hír Fangorn did not have glowing green eyes."

"Perhaps he was mistaken," Celegon offered with a shrug, not entirely believing it himself, but hoping it was true.

Gilorn shot him a biting look and bent to grab his satchel and bow. "No, Celegon, something is wrong. Something is very wrong."

Celegon put an arm around Gilorn's shoulders and began to lead him slowly away from the campfire and into the early morning darkness. "I know," he said softly and gave his brother a squeeze. "Let us hope Thranduil will have a solution."

The brothers stopped midstride, hands reflexively moving towards their weapons when a figure emerged from the shadows and approached them with hesitant, unsteady steps. The woman stopped a short distance away and stood wringing her hands. Framed by wild blonde hair, her face was a picture of sadness, pleading for deliverance from her anguish, and her red-rimmed, watery eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Gilorn.

Celegon felt his brother tense at his side, glancing over to find the colour drained from his face and his lips parted in shock. The woman moved slowly towards them, this time holding her hands out to Gilorn. Much to Celegon's surprise, his brother stepped forward to meet her and allowed her to grasp his hands tightly. She looked up directly into Gilorn's eyes and spoke to him earnestly, though neither Elf could understand her words. She released his hands and placed her own on either side of his face, stroking his cheeks tenderly with her thumbs. Her long, well-worn shawl dropped from her shoulders and fell in a pale heap at her feet, but she paid no heed. Recognition finally dawned in Celegon's mind when he saw the faded blue dress that had been partially hidden beneath the shawl, the faded blue dress still stained with dark smears of blood. The dead boy's mother. No wonder his brother looked as if he had seen a ghost.

"Eda!" a man's voice called from nearby, snapping Celegon out of his daze, but Gilorn still seemed mesmerised by the woman's sad eyes and unintelligible words.

Gerolt rushed from the shadows, relief plain on his face when he spotted his wife. He stopped behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders, nodding once in greeting to the Elves and whispering into her ear. The woman let her hands slide from Gilorn's face with a sad smile and leaned back into her husband's chest.

Gilorn could still feel the warmth on his cheeks left by the woman's hands as if his skin had been visibly marked. He could not look away from the endless sadness in her eyes, seeing himself reflected within them. Marhwini had said the fault was not his. For a little while he had believed it to be true, but when he had seen her emerging from the darkness, when he had seen the anguish in her eyes, he knew he was the cause of it. He knew the blame was his. He had not been observant enough, quick enough, skilled enough to spare her this pain. He deserved her anger and her husband's retribution, yet here they stood before him looking at him with kindness.

Gerolt moved to stand at his wife's side and extended one hand, keeping the other firmly planted on her slender shoulder. Gilorn looked at the man in confusion and hesitated before taking the calloused hand that was offered. Gerolt gave him a small smile and spoke quietly, pulling him into a rough, one-armed embrace. He clapped the stunned Elf soundly on the back before releasing him and backed away to stand once more behind his wife.

Gilorn could hear Celegon softly call his name. He knew they must go, that their time was running out, but he could not tear himself away. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "It was my fault," he confessed in a harsh whisper and reached out for the woman's hands. He held them tightly, trying to make her understand. "It was my fault and I am sorry." Unshed tears stung his eyes as he looked from wife to husband, the pair of them taken aback by the Elf's emotion. He dropped her hands and fell to his knees before her, his eyes level with a dark streak of blood on her dress. "I do not deserve your forgiveness for I have failed you both, but I ask it nonetheless." His long hair, so pale it appeared white in the starlight, fell over his shoulders as he bowed his head and placed himself at their mercy.

He felt the soft touch of the woman's hand as she gently stroked his head, then the warmth of her embrace as she knelt and took him into her arms. She held him tightly and he clung to her in return, the image of his mother withered in grief fixed firmly in his mind's eye. She hummed a soft tune as she held him, stroking his long hair and rocking him slightly. Gilorn knew tears had spilt from his tightly closed eyes. He could feel their trailing warmth on his cheeks but he cared not. The woman pulled away after long moments and once again held his face within her hands. She shook her head and spoke to him, smiling through her tears, and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. She rose to her feet and her husband draped her with the shawl he had retrieved from the ground. She bent to give Gilorn one last kiss on the top of his head before walking away, her husband's arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders.

"Gilorn," Celegon spoke his name softly, coming to stand beside his kneeling brother and resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. His heart ached for him. "Are you well?"

Gilorn nodded, wiping the tears from his cheeks. "I am well." He stood and brushed the dirt from his knees and straightened the straps holding the quiver on his back.

"You know it was not your fault," Celegon stated matter of factly. "It was not your fault today and it was not your fault all those centuries ago. You cannot save everyone."

"And well I know it," Gilorn muttered looking up to the fading stars.

"Our mother never blamed you and neither did that adaneth. It is only you who thinks of blame."

Gilorn did not answer so Celegon stepped in front of him, forcing his brother to meet his eyes. "I never blamed you either."

Gilorn exhaled a shaky breath. "I know." He gave a weak smile and walked past his brother, bumping his shoulder playfully with his own. "Let us go before the entire camp wakes and you are forced to converse with edain at this early hour."

"Your consideration is very much appreciated," Celegon smirked and they headed to the tree line side by side and eager to be on their way.

The Elves sped their pace the nearer they drew to the trees until they were in a full sprint, the lure of rustling leaves and high branches too strong to ignore, their Silvan blood singing with the close proximity of a forest. It was a race by the end, with Celegon leaping onto a low branch with a triumphant laugh only seconds before his brother.

Gilorn hung from the branch by his hands and smiled up at his brother, his feet swinging above the grass. His smile slowly faded and he released his hold of the branch, letting himself drop the short distance back to the ground.

"Gilorn? Come. We go." Celegon watched as his brother looked back over his shoulder to the encampment. Shadowy figures could now be seen milling about the camp, beginning their day in the misty greyness of near dawn.

"I cannot leave without a proper goodbye. It would be...rude." Gilorn began walking back the way they came and heard his brother mutter a few very human swears. "You need not accompany me. I will not be long," he said over his shoulder.

"It would be rude," Celegon muttered under his breath. "They do not deserve your consideration, Gilorn, or your kindness. Not all of them," he called.

Gilorn paused and looked back at his brother, his head tilted curiously and his lips quirked with humour. "I only go back for one, not all."

Celegon huffed and crossed his arms. "Go on then, but do hurry up." He shook his head as his brother walked away and settled in to wait, making himself more comfortable on the branch.

Gilorn arrived back in the camp to the startled glances of those he passed as he seemingly materialised from the mist and shadow, blending into his muted surroundings with his warden's garb. He ignored them all, even Marhwini himself, as he glided through the camp. The old man opened his mouth to greet him, but Gilorn merely passed him by without a second look, his eyes focused on his destination.

As the Elf approached the campfire, Fram quickly rose to his feet, his sullen expression lightening. "I thought you had left without saying goodbye," he said with a crooked grin.

Frumgar was knelt feeding the fire and preparing to cook a small breakfast for Metta, who still lay sleeping beside her husband. He glanced over his shoulder to see the tall Elf looming above him and stood quickly, annoyed that he had not heard the Elf's silent approach and surprised that the grey-clad figure was there at all since he had been nowhere to be found within the camp only a little while ago. He nodded a greeting and watched with a confused frown as the Elf stepped around him to get to his brother.

Gilorn studied Fram's smooth, beardless face and hopeful expression, then glanced down with fondness at the young man's sleeping wife. She was lying on her side, her body curled protectively around her pregnant belly and blonde ringlets spilling onto the ground around her. Reluctantly, Gilorn looked away and met Fram's earthy brown eyes. "I returned so that we may have a proper parting of ways." He watched Fram's eyes flick to his brother as Frumgar repeated his words, and saw the boy's grin broaden.

Gilorn stood for a long moment, thoughtful and silent, before slowly pulling a white-fletched arrow from his quiver and rolling it between his fingers. He smoothed the white feathers then held it out to Fram. "Take this. Let it be a reminder of your second chance at life, a chance not to be wasted."

Fram took the arrow reverently in both hands and stared it with wide eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, tightening his grip.

"I wish to give you this as well." Gilorn reached down and pulled a small, vicious dagger from his boot. Its grip was made of smooth, dark wood and inlaid with silver in a swirling pattern. The blade itself was sharp and double-edged, with no adornment other than its unusual brightness. "Protect her and protect your son, and when he is of age pass this to him so that he may, in turn, use it to protect those he loves." Gilorn flipped the dagger, catching its blade between his fingers, and held it out to Fram hilt first. "Its twin I still carry."

Frumgar had come closer to admire the exquisite blade and distractedly relayed the Elf's words as he watched his brother accept the priceless gift.

"I thank you, truly, and I swear I will do as you say." Fram clutched the precious gifts to his chest and bowed low to the Elf.

Gilorn placed his hand on his heart, bowing slightly himself. "I doubt we will meet again so I will say namárië and wish you safe travels. I hope you find the home you seek. Farewell, sons of Forthwine." With a final nod and a swirl of his grey cloak, Gilorn turned and strode away, the two men watching silently as he disappeared into the shadows.

When he reached the tree line, Marhwini was waiting there with two horses saddled and provisioned. The old man was looking up at Celegon who was still perched on the low branch, but now with an arrow nocked and pointed at the ground at the man's feet. "What is happening here?"

"Your brother will not accept my apology, but I was hoping you would accept these horses to help you on your way," Marhwini replied, still watching Celegon with narrowed eyes. "They are two of our best, and they seemed to be fond of you. I know you will look after them." The old man held the reins out to Gilorn who accepted them with a slight bow.

"We thank you for your kindness and will gladly accept these fine horses," Gilorn said with a hand over his heart. He spoke quiet Silvan words to the chestnut mare he had ridden the day before, scratching between her ears and enjoying the feeling of her warm breath snuffling in his hair.

"It is much less than you deserve, but the most I can give," Marhwini smiled sadly as he gave a few final pats to his beloved horses. "I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for my people." He glanced up to Celegon. "Both of you." He extended his hand to Gilorn who accepted it with a firm grip. "I wish you safe travels. May your road be easy and your journey uneventful."

Gilorn gave the man half a smile. "Namárië, Marhwini son of Marhari. Safe travels. May you soon find the green pastures of the home you seek." The old man returned his smile and turned away, striding back to his people. He lifted a hand in farewell but did not look back.

"Well, this is fortunate indeed," Celegon said as hopped down from the tree. He slid the arrow back into his quiver and hooked the bow onto his back, walking over to the grey horse he had been loaned the day before. He smiled and spoke to him gently as he stroked his neck, praising his fine coat and his strength. The horse tossed his head proudly, nickering as if he agreed with the Elf. Celegon chuckled. "Perhaps your former master is not such a fool after all, hmm?" he said to the horse. "Though if he thought to buy my forgiveness with a horse he was sorely mistaken."

"Ai, Celegon," Gilorn chided. "It is a gift of great value given by an adan who has very little. Do not make light of it."

"True enough. Now, what shall I call you, eh? What is your name?" Celegon stroked the ash grey muzzle and grinned to himself. "I think I will call you Hithrenor*. A perfect name."

Gilorn snorted. "Hithrenor? Very original." He hopped nimbly into the saddle of his own chestnut mare and adjusted his cloak around him.

"Do not insult my proud Hithrenor. He is not as quick to forgive as I am." Celegon pulled himself up onto the horse, settling comfortably into the saddle and reaching out to comb his fingers through Hithrenor's creamy white mane. "Do not listen to him," he murmured to the animal while cutting his eyes at his brother. "Yours is a fine name for a fine horse." The horse snorted and tossed his head in agreement. "And what grand name will you bestow upon your mare?"

Gilorn thought for a moment while he gathered the leather reins in his fingers. He glanced up at the fading starlight, a wistful smile curving his lips. "Tindil*."

"Fitting name for a horse of yours," Celegon smirked and moved his horse closer to Gilorn's. "Come. We go." He clapped his brother on the back and with a squeeze of his legs, Hithrenor shot off into the early morning mists.

Gilorn followed, glancing one final time over his shoulder in the direction of the encampment of Men...in the direction of his beloved Golden Wood. He raised himself in the saddle and leaned forward to whisper words of speed into Tindil's ear. He could not contain his joyous laughter as the horse sped through the grey dawn, the wind whipping his pale hair and his cloak behind him. It was not long before he caught up to his brother, and they raced side by side ever northwards through the fading of night.

OOOOOO

The Elves stood quietly observing the scene before them, their grey cloaks and pale hair stirring in the gentle breeze. A swathe of devastation lay before them, marring the beautiful landscape and the golden afternoon, yet the birds still sang their cheerful songs and the insects hummed along as if the ground around them was not painted with blood and gore.

A gaping hole in the ruined earth was all that was left of Treebeard's long slumber, but the dark splashes of old blood staining the grass and the remnants of crushed, indiscernible corpses littering the area was definite proof of his awakening. The trees nearby were lined with a multitude of eager carrion birds while several larger birds circled high overhead, slicing through the blue sky on their wide-spread wings. The birds watched the pair of Elves with beady black eyes, waiting impatiently for them to depart so that they may continue their grim feast undisturbed, and gave the occasional harsh caw to speed the interlopers on their way.

Gilorn swallowed hard, though his throat felt dry. "Once again we have come too late. What evil is this, Celegon, that would drive an onod to such destruction?"

"I know not," came his brother's nearly inaudible reply.

"What do we do?" Gilorn looked to his brother with anguished eyes that shone with unshed tears.

Celegon put his arm protectively around his brother's shoulders and pulled him closer to his side. "We go on. We hold to our appointed task. We do what has been asked of us by those wiser than ourselves." He gave Gilorn a reassuring squeeze before guiding him away and back to their waiting horses. "We make for the Pass."

As he mounted Tindil, Gilorn looked to the east, to the shadow in the distance that was Eryn Galen. If anyone could help the Lord of Fangorn, it was most assuredly the Elvenking. He could only hope that Treebeard was heading in that direction. He greatly desired to ride with all haste straight to the forest, straight to Thranduil, to seek his assistance as he had wished so long ago, but he knew his brother was right. They must go on. He pulled his gaze back to the north, to the high mist-crowned mountains that loomed over Middle-earth. Their path led them beyond those peaks and far from home. Gilorn lowered his chin, determination shining in his eyes. He would follow his brother, he would fulfil his duty, and then he would seek his answers.

OOOOOO

Lothlórien

"Hope is not lost. It sails from the West." Celeborn blinked up at the darkened ceiling, his wife's troubled words drawing him from his reverie, so he rolled to his side and found her still in a restless sleep.

"Galadriel," he quietly spoke her name, trailing his fingers down her arm. She did not wake but continued murmuring, a fleeting frown touching her brow at the sound of his voice.

Celeborn laid a cool hand upon her cheek and breathed her name once more, calling her back to the waking world as he so often did. She gasped and blinked awake, her eyes wide but unseeing, still lost within her dreams. Blind to her surroundings, her husband's touch was all that anchored her to reality.

"It has begun," she said, her voice hardly more than a harsh whisper. "It has begun and I have sent them into grave danger. I fear they will not return to us. Celeborn!" She reached blindly for her husband, clutching at him and pulling herself into his waiting arms and against the length of his body.

"I am here," he murmured into her hair, placing a kiss atop her head.

"The trees, Celeborn, the forests! And our precious mallyrn! How can we stop this? How can we stand against…"

He felt her ragged breaths on his chest, felt her body shudder against his as she clung to him. He felt her fear.

"It has awakened," her voice deepened as she spoke the words. "It has awakened within him. This should not have happened. It should not be possible."

Galadriel pulled back within Celeborn's embrace so she could look upon his face, her gaze now sharp and focused solely on his as she laid her mind open and showed him what lurked within her dreams. His eyes widened and his heart quailed at what he saw. She lightly stroked his brow until his worried frown smoothed. "How are we to stand against such a thing? How will I…" Her words trailed off and a slow tear rolled down her pale cheek as she studied the ring glinting on her finger.

Celeborn placed his lips over the falling tear and brushed her golden hair away from her face and over her shoulder. "We will stand as we always have, my love. Together." He watched as her delicate fingers brushed over the ring's clear gem and saw a flame of white light flicker within it.

"Together," she whispered. Galadriel looked up into the face of her beloved and pressed her lips to his. With a sad smile, she reluctantly pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed. She felt him move to sit close behind her, his proximity and bodily warmth a welcome comfort.

At her bedside on an elegant table sat an ancient remnant of her life in the West - a small strongbox of silver and gold, a gift from one whom she had thrice denied. She had kept it all this time as a reminder of the perils of pride and of Ages long past in a land far away. Over the years it had held many trinkets that were dear to her, but now it held a treasure of a different kind. Galadriel sat the box on her lap and lifted the lid, admiring the scattering of silvery seeds hidden inside. The little mound of mallorn seeds resting on black velvet had long been the box's only inhabitants, but now Nenya, the Ring of Adamant, would join them. With a deep breath, Galadriel pulled the ring from her finger, holding it tightly and sending up a silent prayer before nestling it reverently among the precious seeds. Slowly she closed the lid and turned the tiny key, securing the priceless items within.

"I place this in your keeping for now, my husband. Find a secret place to hide it, a safe place that none may know. I must hurry to my Mirror and see what it holds. I fear great evil is upon us. I fear…"

"I know what it is you fear, Galadriel," Celeborn said from behind her, gently squeezing her slender shoulders. "Go, my love, warn the others and do what you must. I will take care of this as you ask."

She rose to her feet, placing the box in his waiting hands and a lingering kiss upon his waiting lips. His gaze was warm on her bare skin as she crossed the room to fetch the gossamer gown so carelessly discarded during the night. Galadriel glanced over her shoulder with a regretful smile once the thin material had slid over her head and into place.

"I shall return to you as soon as I am able," she whispered.

Celeborn watched her soundlessly glide from the room and out of his sight, knowing it would be hours before he saw her again. "I will be waiting," he spoke the words softly to the space she had vacated, his thumb absently stroking the flower-like star wrought in gold on the box's top. He lifted the box to eye level and studied it with a slight frown. "Now what am I to do with you?" he queried, not expecting an answer but receiving one nonetheless.

Tbc...

OOOOOO

Helpful Definitions

Edain / adan - men / man
Hír - Lord
Elleth- Female Elf
Drúedain - wildmen
Onodrim / onod - Ents / Ent
Adaneth - woman
Namárië - Farewell
Mallorn / mallyrn - the golden trees of Lothlórien

Hithrenor - gray one
Tindil - lover of the stars

And I thought I'd finally reveal the meanings of these names as well:

Celegon - swift/agile
Gilorn - star tree
Angolion - sons of deep lore/magic

A/N: So what did you think? This will be the last we see of Celegon and Gilorn for a while...ish. Will you be sad to see them go? They'd love to stick around, but they're needed elsewhere for very important business. Can you guess where? And me...well, I have business with a certain Elvenking in Mirkwood.

Once again, thank you for reading, reviewing and following this story. Your support and feedback are always greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the story so far. I'd love to hear what you think!