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BS
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Thursday, July 29, 2004

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-
Warnings: More drama and AU-ness.
Notes: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.
The End, at long last.

Ephemeral

epilogue

The East-West road was hard under his feet. He hadn't been on this road for nearly eighty years, but necessity demanded it. He walked next to Lindir, who kept his eyes firmly fixed on the West. Estel's father and siblings rode on great gray horses ahead of him. He would have journeyed with them, but he could not bear to walk next to the steeds. In a long string of shimmering faces and graceful bodies, the Elves were leaving Middle-earth. This would be their final flight. The Elves only stopped when their horses tired. They walked in waking dreams. There could have been music, Estel thought. Many of his companions seemed to be moving to some unknown rhythm.

Estel felt a certain sense of contentment. There was peace in Middle-earth. The Enemy's power was broken, his son was on the throne of Gondor, and everything had turned out for the best. He had finally been able to see Minas Tirith. The White City had taken his breath away, and he was looking forward to spending many long years there. He had seen his son's coronation -- it had been a rather pompous event. Now, Anarion II ruled over the land. The people seemed to be happy. There was the matter of his marriage -- Estel hoped that he could marry out of love. There were none royal or noble that he could wed without violating blood relations. But, there was no shame in marrying out of one's caste. Estel wanted to see the day his son would wed.

He hoped, once the last of the rotten were driven from the land, that he could see Fornost. The thought had never left him, even after all the years he spent in Rivendell. He had long ago realized how foolish he had been in his goal. Still, he would have liked to go there. To see it. He would, he knew -- eventually when the years of his life waned to a close. Then, he would go there. He hoped to die there.

After the coronation, he had returned to Rivendell. His home seemed different -- aged. The antiquity was pressing in the air. The tranquility that he had so enjoyed was gone. All around, the Elves were saying a farewell to the land that had been their home for many ages. As was the way of Elves, they were not rushed in their task. They took their time, walking through the valley and the surrounding lands. Estel did not walk with them. He had begun to feel underfoot again. This was the last of the Elven time in Middle-earth. It was their goodbye, not his own. He had spent the last several weeks before the departure in his room, packing away what he was taking with him to Minas Tirith. He had taken only what meant the most to him. He had despaired when Elrond had told him that Estel's beloved library would be left to rot. Without asking, he had taken his most-read books and had stuffed them in his pack.

He had intended to depart for Minas Tirith as the Elves had left. Then, Arwen had come to him and had asked him to walk with them to the Gray Havens. He had been hesitant. A farewell in Rivendell would be heartbreaking. Just the thought of staying behind in the ruins as he watched his family walk away from him brought tears to his eyes. He wanted to travel south. Elrond and he had sent a letter to Anarion II, telling him of his father's impending arrival. An escort was to be sent past Rohan to meet him on the road. Instead, Arwen wanted him to travel all the way to the Havens, then turn East, then South. He did not want to be on the road alone. Yet, he had agreed. This was his sister. After she sailed West, he would never see her again. She had asked him to spend time with her, and he would not deny her request. Elrohir had told him that he would send a message to the king, telling him of the delay. Estel had never seen a messenger ride south, but he did not doubt his brother's word.

So he had journeyed with them. Oddly, his family made no effort to be with him. After Arwen had asked, and for this sole purpose, they did not seem to care. He kicked mud away from his boots. The Road had changed little since his last visit. It had rained hard throughout the week, and his new black leather boots were being scuffed and worn. The Road seemed lighter, though. When he had been a child, it had been empty, dark, and ominous. Now, the sky was a stunning blue, the grass was green, and the sunlight was shining on his back. The long shadows passed over the road. There were people on the road -- Men, who stopped and stared at them in awe. There were more, working in fields and herding livestock. Estel walked for several days, until he was too exhausted to go on. The Elves did not seem to tire. After stumbling through several miles, he sat down off of the road. The grass was soft under him. Eventually, he felt a touch on his leg. He wearily opened his eyes and turned to see Elrond standing next to him. His father sat next to him and wordlessly entered the strange land of Elven-dreams. Estel slept soundly, not even gazing up at the night sky.

In the morning, they walked steadily until Amon Sûl loomed to the north. Estel stared at it for a long time as he strode to keep up with the travelers. He fought down his emotions as best he could. The sight of the mountain and its jagged teeth on top made forlornness well inside him. Sudden images of the attack he had suffered in its shadow rose to his mind. He could feel every blow landing on him -- the cracked shoulder, the twisted ankle. He hurried onward, not looking at the summit. The days seemed to crawl by as he walked with the departing Elves. He often wondered about their thoughts. For most of them, Middle-earth had always been their home. Only a few were true exiles, departed from across the sea. They walked with an anxious step. Long had they been sundered from their home.

Some of the days blurred into a dim haze. He was aware of walking, of following the Elves in front of him and the ones trailing behind him. There were many that he did not recognize. He knew all the Elves of Rivendell, but they had been joined, before leaving the valley, by the departing Elves of Mirkwood. They ignored him for the most part. He had never been fond of the Elves outside of Rivendell. They did not know him, seldom spoke to him. He felt like an intruder walking among them. They instantly recognized him as a human -- no matter how clean-shaven he made his face, no matter how high he walked on his toes, or how pristine he kept his clothing and hair. They knew without looking at him that he was an imposter. Still, they were not rude to him.

They reached Bree two days later and wound around the town so that they would not walk through the city. They intersected the Greenway, then turned northwest again. Estel did not look at the city. He would not think of his past time there. They walked directly with little rest. Estel's steps were heavy. He was weary of traveling and longed for a good sleep that he had not had in many days. He said as much to Elrohir, who had dismounted and was walking next to him. Elrohir touched his shoulder lightly. "We will be resting soon, Brother." He motioned directly in front of them. "Ahead is an area known as the Shire. We are meeting with the last remnant of our party. Then, it will only be a week before reaching Mithlond." Estel nodded in acknowledgment. He knew that hobbits came from the Shire. He hoped he didn't see any.

They traveled in a blur. If anyone saw them save wildlife, they only noticed a quickly-passing shimmer of light. There were only a few days until they entered the Shire. The sun was high in the sky. The grass was a pale green color. Leaves blew to the ground, dead and crumbling in the autumn breeze. There were songbirds in the trees above him. He could see them hop along the branches. He had a passing notion that the birds were singing a farewell to the Elves, but the idea quickly passed. Still, he wished that he could hear their song. To his right, a roebuck raised its graying red head and watched their movements. Estel watched it for as long as he could until they were past the area.

They passed over slowly-sloping hills. The incline was so gradual that he did not realize that they were climbing until he noticed the slight descent. He kept his eyes focused ahead, drowsily opened. He refused to look back. He would face this same turf on his return journey, and he did not wish to see it again before then. Estel glanced at the trees around him. They were old and intimidating. He tried to keep his thoughts away from their ancient bark, but found that his eyes were continuously drawn to them. He tripped over roots and rocks as he walked, anxious for rest. Elrohir had implied rest once they reached the Shire, but it had yet to come.

At length, they entered a large clearing and began to sit and mingle. Estel leaned against a great oak tree. He nodded into an exhausted sleep. He dreamed briefly of a grove of trees. Moonlight lit them, and he could see an ancient elm tree, an oak of many seasons, and a thin beech sapling. They rose straight from the ground with no alterations. Then, suddenly, the elm's trunk twisted and its broad limbs became gnarled. Bowwood grew at the base of the trees. Estel wandered along the grove. He put his hand against the sapling and could feel its lifeblood inside. The leaves shivered and shook.

Estel awoke with a jerk. He looked around, trying to remember where he was. He rolled his weary shoulders, trying to massage the pain that lingered. There were more Elves in the clearing. They dressed in white, their faces regal. He looked over the area, trying to find his family. His brothers were nowhere to be seen, but he spotted his sister easily. She was standing next to their father and another Elf-lady. Elrond was wearing a gray mantle, his hair braided back majestically. There was a silver circlet on his head, and a bright silver star bound on his brow. The Elf-lady was dressed in flowing white. Golden waves of light cascaded down her back. She was smiling wistfully, her eyes constantly looking over the land. They fell on him, and Estel felt a chill shiver down his back. He had seen her before, from somewhere. She smiled at him with knowing eyes, and he was forced to look away.

They rested there the rest of the day and into the night. In the morning, the Elves readied their mounts and stood around the clearing. They appeared to be waiting for something, ears and eyes searching the woods. Estel stood next to his sister, who had not yet gone to her palfrey. She smiled at him sweetly and then her face lit up. Around him, he noticed several Elves singing lightly. Elrond was holding a small silver harp, playing it faintly. Estel looked up suddenly and saw two ponies approaching them. He recognized them as the hobbits that had visited Rivendell a few years before. There was a commotion to his right, and he saw for the first time that the old hobbit Bilbo was among them -- had been among them for some time. There were greetings and words exchanged among them. When the Elves spoke to the hobbits, it was in Westron. Estel ignored their conversations and after a time the party started walking again. The hobbits rode in the front of the procession.

They kept the same steady pace, and crossed over a series of low hills, the White Downs. There was a flat space, and then more hills -- the Far Downs. The undulating terrain was only barely noticed. He could see a low rise, and the Elves going over it. And then they disappeared and he climbed the hill and saw them walking up another one. This continued for three days, and then they left the downs behind and crossed tall hills. Once the hills were behind him, he looked forward. The land was suddenly flat. There was a smell of water on the air. The sun was setting, and the light shined directly into his eyes. He closed them into a squint, and walked blindly, trusting himself not to fall on his own feet. They traveled over the seemingly endless flat land into the night. They stopped in the darkness and rested -- the horses were looking very weary. Estel lay awake that night, thinking and watching the stars. In the morning, it would be one full week since meeting with the hobbits. He had studied maps well and knew that they were very close to Mithlond -- the Gray Havens.

His thoughts were confirmed by midmorning of the next day. The smell of water grew strong, and then he could smell nothing else. A wide body of water opened up before them. He stood staring at it for a long time, and then tears sprang from his eyes. He had never wanted to see this -- his last farewell to the people who had raised him and loved him. He would be lost without them. He hastily wiped the tears away with his sleeve. It would do no one good to cry.

They came at last to the Havens, and Estel looked at it dispassionately. It seemed rather plain compared to the majesty of his home in Rivendell. There was a great white ship on the water, though, and it took his breath away. He glanced at the assembly of Elves in his company. Were they all to fit upon it? No, he realized and saw smaller gray ships behind it. They were greeted by an Elf that Estel had never seen before. He was gray-haired, and had a beard. He stared at him, perplexed while he spoke to Elrond and Galadriel. Elves were not supposed to have beards. As they spoke, Estel saw Mithrandir standing there, next to the ship. He felt almost saddened by the knowledge. All of the great were passing from Middle-earth forever.

Two hobbits suddenly came riding to them. They shouted to their hobbit compatriots and began making solemn goodbyes. Estel thought of how he would make his own farewells. Sobbing, no doubt. Words would be useless to him, perhaps a long hug or a kiss. They certainly would miss him only a little. They were departing to the bliss across the sea, and would not need the sorrowing thoughts of little deaf Estel trapped in his own mortality. He felt the sting of his tears and rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. There had been no purpose but pain in cavorting with his family on their sojourn to Mithlond. He reminded himself that he should have traveled south immediately.

Bleary-eyed, he watched with a heavy heart as the Elves began filling the boats. He looked at each of them as they departed, trying to feel blessed that he had seen an event that would never happen again. It took hours to move all of the Elves into the boats, but they were not rushed. They did not look back to the shore, or at least not at him. The hobbits boarded hastily, and he stood a short distance from the three that were being left behind. They had each other for comfort. Estel had no one.

At long last, only his father and siblings remained. They walked to Estel and Elrond put his hand on his shoulder. Estel felt the tears flow freely then. Elladan and Elrohir moved to stand behind him and put their hands on his shoulders. Arwen stood to his right and firmly held his hand in hers. They were saying something to him -- could see their faces moving in speech -- but he could not read what was said. His shoulders shook as he sobbed, and it took him a moment to realize that they were walking towards the ship.

He wiped his eyes on his very wet sleeve, and kept them open long enough to look at Arwen, who was tugging on his arm. "You have known, Brother, that this time was approaching. There is little need for tears, for soon we will leave the sorrows of this realm behind us." She was smiling softly.

They were pushing him as she spoke towards the ship. His feet were nearly to the edge of the docks. "This sorrow you shall forget in the Undying Lands," Elrond said.

"I . . . do not understand." As he spoke, they were on the incline to board the ship.

And then he was on the ship, looking bewildered.

"You are accompanying us West, Brother," one of the twins said.

"There was some sort of arrangement. The details have already been worked out," the other replied.

"But . . . ?" He looked back to the shore. Where there had been only three hobbits before, now stood a taller figure. He realized that it was his son, hand held high in farewell. His mind was spinning -- how could they take him to Valinor? He turned and saw the Elf-lady standing to the side. She smiled at him warmly and the doubts fizzled from his heart.

Middle-earth was his home. He loved it and had never thought of leaving it until his death. There was much there that he still wanted to do and see. Yet . . . he loved his family more than the land. Without them, home was not home. He was unsure if he would truly be permitted into Aman. He would try, though. He turned back to the shore and stared at the little figures until they became mere blurs in the distance. Then, he turned to the West and watched the orange of the setting sun light the water. He closed his eyes and thought he saw that the world was silver. There were green rolling hills and white shores. The sunlight was wonderful, and the moon was large in the sky. His heart warmed at the thought.

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Ephemeral adjective. Lasting or living for a very short time.

Our days begin with trouble here;
Our lives are but a span,
And cruel death is always near,
So frail a thing is man.
(From the New England Primer)

After the loss of his hearing, can a deaf Estel still fulfill his destiny? AU.

Time for long-winded author notes? Not really. Just a few short ones. I enjoyed writing it. I got a lot of my details and facts from History of Middle-earth, Volume XII, I think it was. Oh -- and Unfinished Tales. I tried to keep it more or less on track. I hope someone enjoyed reading it. I thank all my reviewers, but especially grumpy (who reviewed every chapter). Thank you, very much.