Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR characters, whose births are credited to J.R.R. Tolkien.


The next day, I creep to Boromir's horse and tie a charm of peace to the decorated horn of his saddle. Whether or not he notices is no concern of mine. With his hot-tempered demeanor, he'll need the charm to ward the darkness from his heart.

"Mother," Aragorn's voice sounds from somewhere behind me.

I turn. He seems calm in all but his eyes. They sparkled brightly with an unfamiliar emotion. Are those tears I see? On the verge of slipping down his weather-worn face? How long has it been since I last saw him shed a tear?

"Mother," he choked a half-sob. I opened my arms as he reached for me and enveloped in his arms. "Mother, mother, mother, mother!"

I rub his hair soothingly and hum his favorite childhood lullaby. When Aragorn stops shaking, I stop humming but continue to stroke his hair. I should have trimmed it for him last night, it may become more shaggy as he journeys. What's wrong? I sign.

He is silent. I know his answer. The Lady Arwen, again?

"Mother, I do not want this journey to be my last."

Worry not, my little Hope. How many times must I tell you, I'll always be with you?

"Mother, one mustn't joke about a situation like this."

You think I jest? Oh, dear Hope, no matter how old in Man's years you have passed, you'll always remain a child to me. My son, I will come to you when the time is right. I will come to you when you call me. Though we share no blood, you are still my child that I will always love. I hug Aragorn, and he finally relaxes in my arms. These tender, vulnerable moments come rare to him; wishing to earn Elrond's approval to ask for Arwen's hand, he suppressed his immaturity and became a Ranger. Only in times of great emotion regarding the lady or me, would cause the emotions to overwhelm him.

"Thank you, Mother. Will you take care of the Lady Arwen for me, as well as yourself?"

Why don't you ask her yourself, I grin. My son's eyes widen as he turns to see the object of his affection standing a ways behind him. He turns back into that gruff Ranger and not the smiling sapling I'd raised. I turn away from their goodbyes and see the others coming out in the dawn's rays.

Meriadoc and Peregrine walk in-step. Merry bounces about, smiling from ear to ear. He stretches and grunts, "Umph, great day to take a walk, eh, Pippin?"

"A very marvelous day, indeed Merry," Pippin says. Merry and Pippin continue their mindless chatter about the lovely weather and their coming journey.

"Ah! Lady Lyraniel!" Merry calls. "Just the lady I was hoping to see! Can you think of a way to prevent ravenous beasts," Merry looks pointedly at Gimli, who stands warily near the one pony, "from devouring all our rations on the journey? I do dislike traveling on an empty stomach!"

"Speak for yourself, young hobbit!" grumbled Gimli, catching Merry's tone. "You two-legged gophers eat everything in sight! I won't even have the chance to eat anything, because you two will have finished the food before we leave Rivendell!" Gimli sighs and looks at me. "But between you and me," he says conspirationally, "so long as they don't get the drink, I'll be dandy. Dwarves can live through anything as long as they have drink." I raise my eyebrows and nod my understanding. Gimli grins. "My lady, I -"

"Lady Lyraniel, your presence is requested by Gandalf," Legolas steps up behind me. Gimli glares at the elven prince.

"Now wait here, elf, I was -" Gimli blusters. I touch his arm and smile at him. I incline my head in farewell and leave to find the old wizard. Behind me, I can hear a flustered Gimli shouting at an apathetic Legolas, with Merry and Pippin laughing at the insults being thrown. I assume Aragorn and Arwen had a rough parting. I can see it in the way my son fists his sword, and in his sullen grey eyes that look colder than usual. Arwen has disappeared, I assume to either wish for my son's safety, or to watch his departure from a high window. At this age, I trust the lovers to handle their entwined futures.

I see Gandalf standing with Elrond, speaking in low voices. Boromir leans against a pillar, watching them with narrowed eyes and a sullen face. Frodo walks slowly towards them, supporting feeble old Bilbo. Sam hurries behind them, sporting double packs and an array of cooking utensils. Other elves are gathered in the parting place, talking quietly amongst themselves and surveying the Fellowship with varying emotions: hope and good humor, but also desperation and despair. No one says anything demeaning, knowing full well that if this journeying troupe does not succeed in its mission, the elves will depart for the Grey Havens and leave Middle Earth to its destruction.

I smile in reassurance and glide towards the group. I raise my hand in greeting, and I catch Elrond's eye. Two steps later, I fall into oblivion. The last thing I see before the black wave rises up before my eyes, is Elrond's shocked expression as he reaches for me. My ears register panicked shouts. And then, nothing.