Epilogue – A Time To Say Goodbye

Galadriel sighed softly, laying down the thick parchment with a gentle smile. It was all here, she thought; everything they had done, even things she had not known about until now … all written and recorded as Laurè had sworn it would be. She glanced out of the window at the golden mallorn trees, breathing in the sweet fragrance of her beloved home. Soon, she would leave it, to enter the Undying Lands with the other Ringbearers to begin anew and prepare for her husband to join her. It was too painful to stay here any longer.

Great tears formed in her eyes as she recalled the final days of her closest and dearest friend. Laurè had ridden hard to tell her of the victory over Sauron, and had been cajoled into returning to Gondor with them to give Arwen to the man she had loved for so long. But in those days following the wedding, Galadriel had watched her friend grow heartsick and melancholy, too lethargic to even raise a smile. They had escorted her home, to Lothlórien, everyone in the party concerned for her as she rode slumped and silent beside them. She had retired to her room when they had arrived, and no one had heard a thing from her for two days. When, finally, she could bear the silence no longer, Galadriel had mounted the steps to her friend's room, entering with no little fear of what she might find.

Laurè lay on the bed, her pale blonde hair spread around her head like a halo as it caressed her shoulders and sides. Her shift was of the purest white, untouched by the grime that usually covered the warrior-maid. Her hands, once white and soft, now callused and hard, lay clasped gently against her stomach, cold to the touch as the Lady of the Golden Wood reached out to her dear friend. Galadriel's eyes had closed in denial of what she saw, her knees had buckled at the sight, and she herself was discovered, hours later, kneeling beside the body of Laurè of Lothlórien sobbing bitterly into her friend's blankets. Celeborn had taken her gently to one side, his eyes full of the same bitter grief and abiding sadness as he took his sorrowing wife into his arms to try and comfort her for what she had lost.

Laurè still lay upon the bed, now decked in a gown of deep green, her bow and arrows by her side, Angùrei resting in her hands, as she waited to be committed on her final journey. Galadriel sat at her friend's desk, only feet from her, looking through the papers her friend had gathered and written in her long life. She had found the account of the Change and their subsequent lives quite by accident, and now, as she opened a drawer to replace it, a folded parchment caught her eye. Her name was written in that well-loved neat hand, and she opened it with trembling fingers.

'My dearest Galadriel,' she read, 'Gods, that sounds formal, doesn't it? Not like me at all … anyway, Ria, we've known one another for an unbelievably long time, and if you're reading this, then I've done the incredibly selfish thing and left you to cope all alone. If I'm not dead, what on earth are you doing rifling through my things?'

Despite herself, Galadriel laughed, hearing her friend's sarcastic tone in the familiar letter. She read on, half-afraid to know what prompted such a letter to be written in the first place.

'I've seen a lot in this life, and not much of it was good. I have never stopped grieving, from the moment I left my family, through everything that has happened since. I remember every face and name I have hurt, I recall each circumstance of death or misfortune I have caused, and I cannot begin to tell you how that hurts. My family, my friends, my husband, my children … apart from you and Celeborn, everyone I have ever loved has died, leaving me behind to face all this alone. And I have been alone; even Aldamar knew that.'

A lump caught in Galadriel's throat as she nodded to herself. No amount of companionship or love had ever been able to fill the gaping hole in her friend's heart left by the loss of her family all those thousands of years ago.

'I cannot blame anyone but myself for the aching inside me. It was my decision to leave them, and it has always been my way to be as stubborn as possible about things I know will hurt, but for a short time, took the pain away. Every loss and tear has been my own fault, and I fully accept the responsibility. The only trouble is, it all adds up.'

The room was completely silent; even the birds in the trees outside had stopped their singing as the golden-haired ruler stared at the page in her hand.

'I can't go with you to the Undying Lands, my friend. I would only bring you down. The truth is, I can't live with the pain inside me any longer. I can't spend eternity pushing away the sorrow, waiting for that elusive day when I might be able to grieve for all I have lost. I gave up everything for this world, and now I have nothing but my love for you left. You have been closer than a sister to me, and I thank you for it. You are the best thing in my life, Ria, and I am sorry to leave you, but you are not alone. You never have been. You have a husband who adores you, grandchildren who worship you, and I know you will find Celebrían again once you land in the West. Live long, sister, and be happy. And know that even if you can't see me, I'm right behind you, always.'

Galadriel swallowed hard, lifting shaking hands to her eyes to wipe away the tears that had fallen freely down alabaster cheeks in response to the unbridled love she could feel had written that letter. On unsteady feet, she stumbled to the bed, kneeling beside it once more to place a soft kiss on the cold forehead.

'Be at peace, Niamh,' she whispered. 'I'll remember you … always.'