ARGH!!! Why can I not write short stories? Why??? Have decided that this really is too long to post as just one chapter, so will split it into two.

Am very happy though as yesterday discovered that numberplate of father's car reads 'Elu'. Am also very annoyed with self that did not notice earlier. But hey. It says Elu. Coolest bloke alive in first – or is it second? -age, right? (Well actually, disagree, but seeing as Finarfin cannot be effectively shortened to three letters, plus fact that would be very difficult to change letters on numberplate, will remain silent.)

Disclaimer: Gil-galad is actually mine, but I'll pretend he's Tolkien's to humour everybody. :) Hmmm. Middle Earth is, regrettably, not mine; neither are all the places I've mentioned, neither is Sauron (woah), neither is anybody but Latharien. :) Ah, the more I invent, the more I find myself owning… I do take good care of my characters, you know. I let them out of their cages for their daily exercise in the mornings, I always feed them regularly… I'm a good owner. :D

Because it's meant to be read altogether, the chapters don't have names. Simple. Good excuse for me not having to think of them, isn't it? I thought so, anyway.

Now that you've read my babble, you'll have totally forgotten the first part of the fic, so go back and read chapter 1 again, then come back to this chapter but skip the disclaimer, etc. – and it'll read ok. I hope. ;) On with the story.

~~~~~

The messengers come less often now. Their news is all the same: the siege continues; there is no progress. After the victorious battle just east of Imladris, he wrote to me, telling me that all went well, that soon they would return. Yet he did not reckon of the long years that would be spent in the siege of the Dark Tower.

The siege endures still; now Anarion second son of Elendil is slain, of a stone flung from the tower. I fear for my lord, though I know that 'twould take more than a single stone to defeat him. A brave warrior is he; strong, skilled, valiant, the greatest leader the Elvenhost could have. Yet still my heart is anxious.

I wait day by day for news; no one comes. Lonely, I wander the gardens again, then the woods. They are empty, silent: not a bird sings in the trees. So too are the streets of the city; they are gone, all gone to fight. I remember the times I walked with him, as I wander now timeless; gone is the laughter, the song, the music. The city is not sleeping; it is dead.

I begin to lose hope of their return. Seven long years it has been now, and no word, not even from Elendil's city in the north. As I walk in the silent gardens, I hear the sound of hooves, perhaps a few horses, outside. There has been no rider to the city for a long while. Running to the door of the palace, I pause on the white marble steps when I see a messenger in the garb of our army, his company of two men holding the horses below. He wearily climbs the steps, bowing when he reaches me. I try to read his eyes, what news does he bring?

'Your ladyship,' he says. They have ridden hard, a long way; the horses' flanks glisten with sweat.

'I come as forerunner to the army of Elendil, and those remaining of the Elvenhost.' Those remaining… A sickness strikes my heart of a sudden.

'And what of the Lord Gil-galad?' I say, surprised at the sound of my own voice; I have not spoken in a long while. He bows his head.

'Both he and the king were slain, my lady, fighting bravely side by side, in the onslaught of the Dark Lord himself.' I am stunned. Slain… my lord… It cannot be true.

'Yet we were not wholly defeated. For the son of the King, in the darkest moments of despair, took up his father's sword, and brought down the Dark Lord. His armies were overcome; we were victorious.' He continues to tell of the battle. I hear not his words. Does he think I care for it? Nay, my lord is dead; nothing shall erase that. I curse the name of Sauron in my head. Dead… my lord is dead. As the messenger continues to relate to me the story of the siege, I flee the palace entrance. I run through the halls barefoot, to the high tower, there to stand upon the balcony. The sun begins to set; I look out to the east. Upon the plains I can see a greatly diminished host moving slowly towards Lindon; their armour shines no longer, they are battleworn, exhausted. I turn from the ruin, the supposed victory, and look out across the sea. A breeze blows, not from the sparkling waters, but from the east, out across the waves. Seabirds wheel and dive, soaring serenely through the air. How I wish I could become one of them, forget these sorrows… but I cannot. He is gone, gone from these lands.

In my wildness I cry out for him: 'Ereinion!' The wind catches my voice, bearing it far out to sea to mingle with that of the gulls. But there is no reply. Long had I awaited his return; now I knew that he would never come back. I fell to the floor, my eyes closed, the tears running down my cheeks. Now I knew what anguish could come of such joy in the love we once had; I was broken, broken in two. This life suddenly felt as a burden to me; I wished only to leave, to leave this accursed land that had taken him from me, as I had always known it would eventually.

I know not how long I stayed there, weeping, the cries of the gulls as the lament in my heart. I knew nothing but sorrow, pain, loneliness. All I wished was for it to end, yet it did not. Never had victory tasted so bitter; indeed, I could see no victory. And so there I remained.

~~~~~

I live in hope that in the Blessed Land I will be allowed to forget the sorrows of Middle Earth. Yet the sorrow is truly in my heart, broken in two at his death. Yet as I think of it, the wound was made already, when he left Lindon, when he left me. I do not blame him; he had no choice. Yet there is still a part of me that cries out: 'Ereinion! Couldst thou not have let it be, and stayed with thy love?' For he loved me as I loved him, I know, and great too must have been his own sorrow at our parting. Maybe he shall be released from Mandos, his spirit set free, to walk again in Aman as one of the Quendi. And there, maybe, we shall meet again, and walk forever through the sweet sunny meadows, hand in hand, under Anar the eternal shining bright.

And so here I stand, at the prow of a silver ship, my hair loose and blowing in the wind. I look not back towards the cruel land which has taken him from me, for which he gave his blood; to men now shall lie the charge of overcoming the Dark Lord, of completing what even the Elves could not. The sun shines bright upon the water, I feel the breeze in my hair. It is time to return to the land of my fathers.

~~~~~

But long ago he rode away,

and where he dwelleth none can say;

for into darkness fell his star

in Mordor, where the shadows are.

~~~~~

(May it be/music at end of Gladiator plays in background) ;)

Interesting? Wow, I spent a whole… day and a half on that. When I should have been doing my art coursework. Great. :) Therefore I need nice reviews to make up for the evil looks I will get from my art teacher next week. See, it all makes sense. :) Hope you enjoyed. Almost made myself cry reading it through. Probably only because it was quite late at the time… :D Night.

xxx