Author's Note:

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Gilraen

Elrond's brows snapped close in a frown.

"You wish to leave?" He asked in surprise and confusion.

Gilraen nodded wordlessly. She stood in front of his desk with her hands clasped before her, even when he offered her a chair. He sat behind his desk, sprawled leisurely in his chair, his desk strewn with papers of importance.

Elrond gave a soft sigh and sat straight. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. He rubbed his hands up and down his face before he raised his eyes to meet hers. For a moment she pitied the esteemed Lord. He seemed weary. He leaned forward and placed both his hands upon his desk.

"Has something gone amiss?" He asked softly. "Tell me, and I will remedy it."

How can an Elf, older than the ancestors long forgotten, remind her of her husband? There was a brief flicker of resemblance across Elrond's face and there was no doubt in her mind that her husband was indeed his kin, albeit a mortal one. She never missed her lord husband as much as she did in the recent years. Aragorn's long absence worsened her feelings, and as each day passed she found her body grew older. Among the Elves, her aging only stood out starkly. Among her own, she could at least feel her mortality was not unusual.

"I was well taken care of, and whatever I asked for, I was given and more," Gilraen assuaged him. "But there is nothing more for me here," Elrond rose from his chair, ready to argue but she held up her hand. "My son is loved. He was raised here. His memories of father are only of you. This is his home. But as for myself, I miss my people. I wish to return to them." Elrond remained where he was, studying her with his grey eyes. It never ceased to amaze her how much he discerned simply by doing that. Then he sighed and relented.

"Very well," he said at last. "I will arrange a company for you to escort you to the nearest settlement."