Since the time I put up "The Day", I often wonder what Elros had been thinking of his own impending death. This is set a few weeks before he returns the Gift (as Aragorn would say), and it may come out a little differently than what I originally intended, but enjoy anyway.

Disclaimer: I own Faramir. Not.

The years are upon me, I know.

I have felt it for some time now... since my dear Lady, greatest of my mortal love, passed on years before. I shed tears at her entombment, true, but I did not grieve. Others may think it odd, but I realised then, somehow, that it would not be long until I join her.

I shall leave my kingdom at the beginning of its height, and I do not regret it even once. I do not seek immortality. I have not once considered that my choice, made an Age ago, may have been wrong. No, I am content with my life, long as it is to an Edain. And I will leave Numenoré in good hands. My son is more than able to shoulder this responsibility.

Though I know not what Iluvatar has ordained for the feä of the Secondborn, I shall embrace this fate as if it is yet another adventure, and I shall rejoice, for I shall soon see my Lady again, as well as my ancestors – Beren and Luthien, and Idril and Tuor. And I shall learn of their story and their history so that all my questions are finally put to rest.

There is only one thing... one thing I wish, even as I know it is not possible. Ai, how I wish that he is here, with me, sharing my last days in this land I have built with so many others. Letters we have exchanged, whenever a ship arrives from Lindon. I know of his doings, as he knows mine. Seldom we spoke of our minds, of our wishes, for there was no need to. We know each other more than any could ever guess, and we know what lies in the heart of the other, for it is the same.

I am holding such a missive now, in my trembling hand (for I am not what I used to be). It is the latest one, dated some months back. He writes of his duties, of the city now flourishing under the High King's care, of the squabbles he often endure with our Noldor cousin (I have to smile; Gil-galad has always been somewhat... controversial in his rulings). Very little he speaks of his own life, and it pains me, though I sense that all is well, if only rather hectic. He has always been the quiet, subdued one, seldom willing to share his pain with another, unless it be with those closest to him – and sometimes even then.

I remember the day the Valar lay down the irrevocable choice to us, as the only pair of Peredhil left in Enna. My choice – to be as Beren was – had come as a surprise to him, and he was not able to hide his shock and anguish from me. That night, he sought no comfort, instead he disappeared into the forests until Anor rose. Gil-galad, who was about to call for a search party, saw his return; the white face, the haunted grey eyes, the shaking hands, the weariness – and had instantly rushed to his side just as he collapsed. I knew why: both of us had felt the diminishing of our bond, though he seemed to fare the worst. He did not rise for the whole day, and when at last he stirred in my arms (for I have been caring for him), it was all I could do not to break down in front of him.

And his first words to me after? "Even though I do not understand, still I love you, and I forgive you." And I could no longer hide my tears from him as he held my shoulders and soothed me, just like he often did. Yet he would not – could not – display his own grief to me, as he had numerous times before. Only to Gil-galad (much later, I had learned) had he allowed his true emotions to surface, and that grieved me even more than anything else he did.

And for that reason, I will not – can not – ask him to come. He has endured much, yet has always remained so calm and brave, even as his heart bleed and cry out in anguish. It will hurt him so much to see me as I am now: old, barely able to walk, signs of age evident on every feature once so much like his. And I could never bear to see him looking at me with calm and love in his eyes, while hiding his fear and grief and sadness inside. Always wanting to be brave, he is.

I shall compose my last letter to him then, telling him the truth, and asking for his forgiveness yet again. And he shall receive it long after I return this Gift Iluvatar bestow upon me. And I know it is for the best. Let he remember me as I once was, and let he tell others of me as the first King of this wondrous land, and as the brother he loves.

The years are now upon me. And I, at last, am ready to leave.