Disclaimers: Obviously not my characters.
Warning: This takes place after the end of RotK, so it might be a bit of a spoiler if you have yet to read the book.
Author's Note: Wow…I wrote something…it's fan fiction…but…that's okay too. Anyway, this comes from thinking too hard about why Celeborn did not leave Middle Earth right away and what his reasons would be when he was able to go at last to the Undying Lands. :]
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So much had changed since the Ringbearer accomplished the impossible. Everything was transformed and the end of all that Celeborn knew had come and gone. All that was save his own kind. Though the world would never be the same, he knew that he was not as different as he had been in the countless years that had gone before.
Yet in ways he must have been. He had changed in small ways when his daughter had transformed into a stranger. He had felt a subtle change when Arwen had mad the decision to stay in Middle Earth. Even Galadriel had made her exeunt and with her, Elrond and Mithrandir and all the other Ringbearers. Elladan also had departed, but with an urgency that none had suspected, Elrohir had chosen to remain. Not for forever, but for a time.
So they remained. Had it been days? Had it been years? Had it been moments? Celeborn couldn't tell and couldn't bring himself to care. Since the time had come and gone, he remained as solitary as possible though he knew his grandson followed him like a shadow when Elrohir thought the Lord of Lorien was otherwise occupied.
He found the younger elf's worry sweet, he was thankful for it. But he was not comforted. Only the trees provided that for him. He spent his days there and indeed often his nights.
How could he leave all this? How could he leave this land that had always been his home?
Always.
There was a word that not even an Elf could trust.
How much had he given to this Middle Earth? How much had it given to him? And taken?
He had been a father once. He could still see those twilight days of Celebrian's childhood. See her radiant smile, see her dancing among the trees. Why did it feel even now that she had died?
He had been a husband once. He could remember the last time he and Galadriel had held hands and shared promises to be reunited in the Undying Lands.
"You will join me when ever you can come, when ever it is your time to leave."
Her words.
Why had that promise of a new beginning seemed so much like the end. The end of the end of the… Had he lost his way? Had he forgotten everything?
He placed a gentle hand on one of the mighty, ancient trees of his land, golden leaves now. There was a brief pain that Galadriel was not here and that so many others that he loved were not here. He was letting himself be devoured by grief. Like his daughter? Like his wife?
He closed his eyes and all that slipped away and there was only the wind and the leaves and his breath. They all joined together and there was healing. It was here so long as he was here.
What would become of these groves if he left?
There was a lingering pain. For a moment he could see a hopeless future, dark, angry, new trees being born with roots of blood and violence. The old ways forgotten or bent completely into a new form.
He almost laughed as he felt the tears escape from his eyes and make its watery way down his cheek. He had always prided himself on being too proud to cry. He had been glad of it.
He had forgotten that not everything would last as long as he would. Had it been a choice given to him, he might have chosen mortality. If only for the trees. If only for love of the trees.
Where was the laughter and music? Where was the time when everything seemed safe and unchanging? Why did everything have to change? Why did he have to change?
He felt so old and so very young at the same time. He had been a father once…no, he had already thought about that. He had been a grandfather too…no, he was a grandfather. Wasn't he?
He felt a hand on his shoulder and sighed as he swallowed back tears and recovered himself.
"Grandfather?"
Yes, he was a grandfather.
"Ah, you have found me again," Celeborn managed softly, almost smiling.
Elrohir reminded him of all he would miss if he remained. Not the young elf's intention, but a fitting purpose. He had always loved this one best, not that the others might have minded.
Celeborn had always felt utterly replaceable and utterly superfluous next to his wife, next to Mithrandir, next to even his son-in-law. Only Celebrian and Elrohir had made him feel different.
Galadriel had too when she was not the White Lady. He felt only awkward when she was. It was all he could do not to stutter. Or perhaps to blush for she was enchanting even to him when she took control of any given situation. But she was always in the largest piece of his heart and he would have denied her nothing.
"Yes, I have. Though I often fear I will loose you the longer you remain here."
Celeborn turned his gaze to his grandson. Blue met grey and he searched for something to ease Elrohir's obvious concern.
There was nothing, so the stare continued.
"I fear that one day I will keep too much of a distance between you and me that when I find you, you will become like the Ent in that song."
They both exchanged a sad smile. Celeborn managed a nod though he could not help but think that despite the lack of obvious similarity, it was when Elrohir smiled that he looked the most like Galadriel.
The Ent in that story…
The Ent that had loved the trees so much that he became one. Ents did become trees, but Celeborn wondered if it was love…or something else that made them become too much like the trees they shepherded.
In the days that had directly followed the destruction of the One Ring, Celeborn had met the Oldest of the Ents, Fangorn. He had found a kindred spirit there and would have spent more time but for the inevitable wedding of Arwen to Aragorn.
Even blood did not last forever. Even blood changed.
"You remember the song, Grandfather?"
"Yes, I remember."
"Would you like to be alone?"
"No, no. It is not you, young one. I am just distracted."
Words were useless weren't they? It wasn't distraction. It wasn't restlessness. It wasn't emptiness.
It was something he could understand even worse than the forest they stood in.
Change.
What was there that even the slightest notion couldn't change?
He stiffened slightly as Elrohir hugged him but he returned it almost desperately, certainly more desperately than Elrohir had. He missed when the three children had been little and the days just as young and fair.
What is there that does not change?
"That does not change?"
He had said it out loud. He sighed again and looked away as Elrohir looked up.
"Are you afraid of change, Grandfather?"
Celeborn winced for the young Elf sounded so much like Galadriel, no chiding in his tone, only understanding.
"I think that I may very well be," He said betraying none of the weakness that he felt ought to have accompanied the words.
"There must be things that do not change."
Certainty. A gift that only the young possessed.
"Everything that could never have changed has changed, Elohir. Perhaps it was only folly and old age that prevented me from seeing it."
"You aren't old."
Celeborn chuckled. "Oh?"
"Well, you're not too old."
"Too old for what?"
"To change."
Celeborn shook his head. Perhaps the only thing that didn't change was him. He didn't see the need, didn't feel like there was anything to change, though obviously everything else did.
"But I do not change."
"You cannot be all that does not change. The Race of Men changes, that is true. This world will change and even in small ways our kind will change, but…does love change?"
"Hm?"
"Even when Mother became…when Mother changed, we still loved her. Arwen has changed and I—I still love my sister. Even if you became a tree, Grandfather, I'd love you."
Celeborn smiled at the idea of becoming a tree and at the glimmer of hope he saw in Elohir and perhaps in the notion of something that did not change.
Certainly the younger Elf was right. Even when everything changes, didn't he love all that had? He loved this world, these trees. He loved his wife, his children, his kind.
But he'd have to choose.
He frowned. That is why he was here after all. That was why he stayed.
He was given a luxury, the luxury of choice, the luxury of never changing. A gift, a curse, a way.
But the love he had, the love he received, that love would always be there.
"You are right, love never changes. But does that make it any easier?"
"Yes and no."
Celeborn had meant to ask the question to himself, but Elrohir was right. Because it did. Because it didn't.
Words were useless weren't they?
He clasped a hand on his grandson's shoulder. "Thank you."
"Should I leave you alone then?"
"Yes, but I will come find you shortly."
He smiled as Elrohir left and looked up at the trees. It would take more time, but he would leave.
Maybe because he could not change, because he could not watch it all fade away. Maybe that was because he loved those who had passed on to the Undying Lands. Or maybe because every new beginning felt like an end, a small death. And to live forever, you had to die. You had to love and lose and love again.
He had made a promise to Galadriel and he had made a promise to a stranger who had once been his daughter. If everything did not change, he might never have her back.
He touched the tree in a gesture of the farewell he would give to Lorien. Would it be in days? Would it be in years? Would it be in moments? It did not matter, for more importantly when that farewell came, it would be in love.
But now Celeborn too could hear the Sea and he would have to leave. He weakly made his way back to his grandson. The end had come and he was still here. He would that which never changed and he would hold to love and those who loved him.
He heard the Sea, he felt the salt-sting of his tears and so he did not turn around. For those who loved him would forgive his decision. For those that loved him and remained behind would always have his love.