Day 3 of my midterm marathon! This chapter is sort of like an interlude between The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers, and is sort of ties up some of loose ends that irritated me when I didn't address them.

Chapter Nineteen
(everything is spoken in Elvish)

~ Eldarion ~
I looked up anxiously as Lord Celeborn entered the room. He looked as lordly as ever, but sadness hung around him. I couldn't stop the questions once he got within hearing range.

"Is he all right? Will he make it?"

Celeborn managed a faint smile as he placed a fatherly hand on my shoulder. "Calm down, Eldarion," he advised, his warm voice tinged with amusement.

I sighed, trying to follow Celeborn's advice. "And here I fancied myself so much more grown up than Estel," I muttered to myself.

Celeborn laughed as I looked up sheepishly, realizing that I had forgotten – for the thousandth time, I was sure – keenness of Elven hearing. Since had I had been in Lothlórien for so long among the Elves, I had come to realize the many differences that made our two kindreds estranged. Elves far surpassed me in strength, speed, beauty, and many other nuances of life. They were of the twilight, and were the older children of the world.

But the Elves faded now. Even Lady Galadriel, I knew, had begun to accept that she and her kindred would diminish to make way for my own kindred.

My own kindred. I grimaced. In the stories and songs of old, it was sung that the Elves were fair, immortal, and wise, and that Men were gifted with endurance and strength and hardihood from the days that they had been young and had first awoken under the brilliant fires of Arien. That strength, however, had not availed Isildur when Lord Elrond had counseled him to cast the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom after Sauron had been defeated.

Sometimes I doubted my own race. It wasn't exactly the most glorious endeavor to pursue in my spare time, but it sometimes seemed the most proper. Men had diminished along with the Elves, although we retained little now of our former power while the Elves seemed to have retained much more.

"Estel is young yet," Celeborn said kindly. "And you were considered an adult by the standards of Men ere she was first born. But all the children of Númenor age quickly, for they too share in the wisdom of the Eldar. Estel is wise as well, and her wisdom serves her well."

I mustered a sad smile. "Sometimes she seems very far away from me," I murmured. "As though she is right beside me joined at the hip and heart and soul and yet is separated by the thinnest veil."

Celeborn regarded me sadly. "I would advise you not to dwell upon it," he advised, turning to lead me towards the place where healers were tending to Boromir. "Estel has had to fight on her own for many years now, and she has not yet grown used to having an older brother who wants to protect her."

I laughed. "It is more than just me, my lord! From what I hear, Lord Elrond and Aragorn and even Legolas view her as family as well."

Celeborn laughed as well. "Then she is indeed well protected. Although, with so many brothers around her, perhaps she is willing to break free of your protection once in a while and taste freedom. She was a slave for a long time."

"Except that Lord Elrond is not her brother," I muttered.

Celeborn merely smiled.

We entered the room where Boromir lay. Lady Galadriel looked up as I moved swiftly to the Man's side. "How is he?" I asked urgently.

She gave me a ghost of a faint smile. "You did well, Elessarion," she said, ignoring my question. I did not care too much for her praise right now. I did not want the Fellowship to be broken with Boromir's death. True, it had already begun to break with the death of Mithrandir, but . . .

"You feel that there is no need for further bloodshed." Galadriel's voice was serene, and I looked up at the Lady. As usual, she had read me perfectly and voiced my thoughts as if they had originated in her herself.

"Yes, my lady." I looked down at Boromir. He was pale, paler than I'd ever seen Man before. His skin was cold to the touch, as if his skin was but a barrier, a veil that held his life force still.

I squeezed my eyes shut as memories arose. No. Boromir had not been the palest Man I'd seen lying in the embrace of death.

I stumbled through the field. Once it had been gold and green with grain and grass, lit by the rays of the morning sun as if on fire. Once children had run through here, giggling and playing games. Once horses had grazed here and helped pull plows and helped till the soil. Once farmers had come here to plant and harvest in the never-ending circle.

But now everything was different.

The grass and grain had been trampled and burned. Ashes covered the ground that had once held rows and rows of vegetation. Blood and salty tears soaked the black ground instead of water and rain. Instead of happy children, working farmers, and grazing horses, bodies littered the ground like shells covered the ocean floor.

One face after another caught my eye. There was a young man, barely sixteen years of age. And beside him lay an old man, experienced in years and my senior many times over. But both had died; both were pale and ice-cold to the touch.

I knelt by the side of one particular body, choking back tears. Here lay Círdan, my sister's fiancée. His eyes, once a dark green, now were closed, never to be opened again. She would never see him again.

"Eldarion . . ."

The plea was faint, so faint that even an Elf would have barely heard it.

I hurried to the side of my father. "Father," I choked out. I saw a wound in his side. His armor had completely caved in on that side; no doubt his ribcage was broken.

"Eldarion, it's too late." My father stopped me from trying to staunch the wounds. He instead pressed a ring into my hand, pushing it away from the wounds. I stared at him in confusion for a moment before recognizing it. The Ring of Barahir. One of the heirlooms of the Believers. Tears overwhelmed my control as the conclusion, blunt and cold, reached me.

My father was going to die.

"Father, I – "

"Do not mourn those who leave," my father interrupted. Pain flashed in his eyes as he spoke his next words. "With the death of your mother and sisters, you are the last heir now. Galadriel's position – it comes to you now." His voice weakened suddenly, and his hand dropped away as his eyes closed.

My father, Lord Elessar of Gondor, was dead. Now he would join my mother, Lady Kiria, and my sisters, Tinúviel and Estel Elessariel, along with the countless other Believers who had died because of our beliefs.

"Your father did not die in vain, Elessarion," Galadriel said suddenly, breaking into the memory of my father's death. I glanced up at the Lady of Light, who studied me with an air of sadness that was tempered by wisdom. "And nor would he wish for you to forever hold yourself accountable for his death."

I inclined my head, grateful that she had stopped me from dwelling on the subject as I was wont to do. Haldir had played the same role in my life many times as he had become a brother to me as he taught me the skills of the wardens of Caras Galadhon.

"As to Denethorion. . . " Galadriel glanced down sorrowfully at the Man. "He heals. But he must sleep for a while longer. The poison of the wounds has sunk its claws deep into him, and it will take much effort on his part to repel the damage that has been inflicted."

I frowned as I absorbed her words. My original plan had been to rush Boromir to Galadriel, have him healed, and then rush back to join my sister and the others in Rohan. But if Boromir was to require an extended period of rest, obviously this plan would not work.

My frown deepened. Now I was torn between my responsibility to Boromir and my desire to see my sister. This is the very position that all Believers had tried to get away from being squished into – and now I knew why.

Sister or comrade? Family or friend?

After learning so much about how Boromir had been seduced by the Ring and had tried to take the Ring from Frodo, I had thought that I would hate the Man the moment I met him. I had watched him with narrowed eyes the whole time I had known him, although I knew that my lord had cast some questioning glances my way for them. But I had not cared. I had not trusted Boromir, and that mistrust had grown when I had witnessed his argument and insulting of my lord.

But Boromir had, slowly, gained my trust. Even after his argument with my lord, he had continued to serve the Fellowship faithfully, and was now lying near death because he had tried to protect some of the Fellowship.

"We will offer Denethorion shelter until he is healed," Lord Celeborn said suddenly, exchanging a knowing glance with the Lady. "And when he is healed, we will send him on his way to Rohan."

I bowed to the Lord and Lady. "Once again, your generosity astounds me," I murmured gratefully. Indeed, I was astounded. They had taken me – a complete stranger – in, sheltered me, taught me, entrusted me with their secrets, and basically treated me as one of their family. In retrospect, I was, in a way, related to them through the Lady Arwen and Lady Celebrían, but that was so distant – and they had perfect reasons to not accept my story.

But they had, and for that I would be eternally in their debt.

Lady Galadriel was watching me with a faint smile when I returned my gaze to her. "It is nothing, my child," she countered softly.

*********

I frowned, scanning my room once more. What have I forgotten now? Haldir and the other wardens loved to tease me about how I would always – whenever I left Caras Galadhon for somewhere else – feel as though I had left something behind. I had never met an Elf who had that problem, but, of course, if they did they would not be a warden. Wardens could not be subject to fretting about items left behind when Orcs were roaming the borders.

In any case, as always, I had this nagging feeling that I had left something vital behind. But for the life of me I couldn't figure out what it was. I sighed, frustrated, and crossed my arms over my chest.

And yelped as a fellow warden slammed into me, knocking me to ground.

"Calanon!" I exclaimed in annoyance, scrambling back to my feet. Calanon had been one of the first Elves to befriend me after Haldir had taken me under his wing, and although over five centuries separated us by age, we had grown close.

The golden-haired, green-eyed Elf grinned at me. He gestured around my room. "Leaving? What did you forget this time?" he teased.

I scowled, pushing past him. "Yes, I am leaving, Calanon. Lady Galadriel has granted me leave of Caras Galadhon and my duties."

Calanon grabbed my arm, making me drop whatever I was holding, and yanked me around. "What?" he asked in a low, deadly voice. "What happened? Why are you being dismissed?"

I blinked, startled. I hadn't evoked such a passionate response in Calanon since we had discussed the deaths of our fathers. Then what he was saying dawned on me. "Oh. No, no, nothing like that. My sister –"

"Your what?" erupted a voice near the door.

I turned to see Rúmil, one of Haldir's brothers, staring at me from the doorway. Calanon gave me a similar shocked look.

"You have a sister?" they asked in tandem.

I burst into laughter as the two Elves threw each other annoyed looks at asking at the same time. Calanon gave me a warning glare, and I stopped laughing so I could explain. "Yes, my sister, Estel. She was part of the Fellowship that Lady Galadriel let enter Caras Galadhon, along with my lord, Elessar Arathornion."

More shocked looks. "You are one of the Dúnedain?" Rumil asked. "I never would have suspected that. . ."

"But now that I think of it, you do resemble Elessar," Calanon said thoughtfully, studying me more closely. "And it would explain your natural skills with a bow and sword if you were a descendant of the Númeoreans."

Rúmil snorted, recovering from his shock about Estel. "If you count my brother as a target," he retorted.

I flushed. That had been embarrassing. Haldir had begun instructing me in archery, and my aim had been so bad that I had nearly sent Haldir to Mandos – unintentionally, and, to the other wardens, hilariously.

The smile faded from Calanon's face as he looked around, seeing all the items that were missing from their normal places. "So you really are leaving?" he asked. Rúmil edged closer, the same question in his eyes as well.

I nodded sadly. "Lady Galadriel says that soon you and all the other Elves will either sail to Valinor or stay behind with Lord Celeborn. I cannot sail to Valinor, so I am going out to find a place for me in the world of Men. In any case, my lord has welcomed me to join the Dúnedain. But for now, I join the Fellowship."

Rúmil's shoulders sagged as he absorbed the words. "You don't mean to return," he stated. All the laughter drained from Calanon's eyes.

I hung my head. Rúmil was always soft-spoken, but somehow he managed to make his words leave more of a lasting impression than even Haldir's loudest orders. And his words always managed to make me feel like a child caught in mischief.

"No," I said with great effort, raising my head to look him in the eyes. "No, I do not plan to return." I raised my voice slightly as Calanon made to interrupt. "The Third Age is ending, Calanon. And when it does, the time of the Eldar will be over. The Lady herself will soon make the journey over the sea, and so will others. Caras Galadhon will empty as your people go either over the sea or to Imladris or other Elven havens that survive. The time of Men approaches, and as kin of the King of Gondor and Arnor, I must play my part. I cannot linger in Caras Galadhon forever whilst my kin fight to save Middle-earth from the dark lord."

Rúmil nodded slowly. "I understand." He looked at me with acceptance in his light eyes. "You are wise for one so young to accept your fate thus."