The handfasting of Haldir and Tirathnavir was the most blissful event Mithmír had ever attended; and beautiful as only Elven gatherings can be.  The ceremony was held in the evening under the soothing light of Elven flames borne high by the grey-clad candle-bearers.  The wind played gently in the mallorn leaves, and rustled the hair of those assembled.  The binding was made sacred under the great bows of the eldest tree, and the clear voices that rose up in Elvish songs blessed the loving union.

Mithmír, decked all in grey as the other Elves about her, had only seen such happiness a scant few times in her life; and never had it had the mellow and long-awaited quality given to it by the long lives of the Firstborn.  She nearly cried to see her two great friends find such bliss together, and her mind strayed to Legolas who was so far away.

Mithmír was the last Elf to leave the two lovers alone.  She kissed each of them in turn, embraced them, and whispered her blessings before parting ways from them in the wood.  That night the aging Golden Wood was given fresh life once more by the bonding of two minds, souls and bodies.

***

Time went slowly in Lothlórien afterwards, though there was much joy and merriment.  Mithmír missed Tondfael and Legolas greatly.  Though the happiness and evident love of Tirathnavir and Haldir gave her solace, she could never get the one she loved out of her mind.  Often she would find Brialvastor wandering among the trees, and would talk with him of the thoughts which distressed her, of how she wished to go home and yet felt she could not.  She felt out of place even with Haldir and Tirathnavir: they were never unkind, but they shared something now that she never could, and it left her alone.

Despite her worries, living with the Elves was as blissful as it always was.  Every night there was singing and dancing and talking, all with a great feast accompanying them, and being in the presence of Elves was wondrous like all else.  Mithmír was flattered to find that they all treated her with great respect: many addressed her as Aratirith, and all gave her the courtesy due to an Elf.  Many insisted on honoring her in ways saved only for the High Elves, in light of her mother's bloodline, and often asked to catch glimpses of Tegalu.

As for Mithmír's view on the ring she had been given, it was complicated and many sided.  She found that the more she wore the ring the more she loved it; but it was a quiet and almost maternal love; unlike the ravages of her time being in the presence of the One Ring.  At first she had noticed nothing new happening as the result of the beautiful ring's power; but soon she realized that many small events had passed her notice previously.  Any endeavor she undertook with good spirit was fruitful; friendships blossomed; and while she wore the ring – nearly always – she could heal an ill-mood with her voice and calm words which came as if from without herself, though they used her lips to make themselves heard.

Eventually, however, the time came when she awoke one bright morning to know that she had to leave.  A great longing was in her heart, and some tide she could not resist was tugging at her soul and drawing her back to Gondor.

She had expected to have to tell the other Elves of her choice, but to her surprise as soon as she emerged from her room the first Elf to see her, a female, bowed and said:

"Maer lend!"  Good journey!

The other Elves all appeared to know as well, and many gave her small parting gifts.  Brialvastor was saddled; the Dúnedain's weapons given a special session of cleaning and care; and bags were laden with lembas and water.  Mithmír dressed quickly in her riding cloak and boots; fastened her friendship bracelet tighter on her wrist, and checked Tegalu was securely on her finger before she said goodbye to her beloved friends.

She was surprised to find that they were waiting for her mounted on two white mares.  Tirathnavir laughed at her look of shock.

"Did you think we would not come to your wedding, Mithmír?  Did you really assume that we should be so heartless?  Haldir, we have a worse reputation than we know!"

Mithmír smiled with excitement and mounted Brialvastor quickly.  "You ride with me?" she gasped.  "You ride with me to Gondor?"

Haldir nodded.  "Of course, Rochiwen.  We will not have you be lonely; and we wish to see your wedding – and also meet Legolas again.  I have only met him briefly, and Tirathnavir has been in his company even less, I believe.  If you will have our company, lady, we would ride with you, yes."

To her surprise, Mithmír found that she was nearly crying with joy.  "Of course!  I should be honoured to have your company…"

The handfasted couple smiled to her.  "Then we ride after you, Mithmír.  Lead the way.  We can keep your speed.  These mares, Dregaú and Gailind, can travel easily as fast as your stallion."

Mithmír grinned and quickly rearranged her weapons: Celebdîn strapped to Brialvastor's side but easily in her reach; her bow on her back; her daggers at her waist.  Finally she twisted one hand in Brialvastor's mane and called out:

"Navaer, Lothlórien, malthen-taur!"  And then, after a pause, and to her friends this time,  "Noro avorri!"  Farewell, Lothlórien, golden-wood!  Ride fast!

And then the three riders and their steeds were away; and soon their galloping hooves were heard in the Golden Wood no more.  Instead, they were travelling over the downs South, towards the White City of Gondor.