“…he released the captive leaf, letting it enjoy a second, unlooked-for life before it wafted down, down, to settle lower… he suddenly longed for the leaf to live, fly back to spring and become green again. He longed for all the woods to be green and wind to sigh with the mysterious voices of his first days.”
Fortress of Eagles, CJ Cherryh

The mallorns no longer made an unbroken roof of gold; naked fingers of silver crisscrossed patches of open sky. Still, the leaves drifted down, shrouding the mound of Cerin Amroth in splendour.

In the way of elven flesh, nothing but a drift of rusty-black wool poking through the pile of bright golden leaves marked the place where Arwen lay; had lain; was no more.

Celeborn slumped against a mallorn trunk; both the morning and the evening were gone from his world. Arwen had died alone, but Nienna grant she had been not afraid. Had Aragorn waited for her? Foolish thought. Celeborn was bound to Arda, but was the final outcome, in that unfathomable place, already assured and they were together still? If only she had had the courage to leave with him.

His brow rose at the hypocrisy of the thought, and his mouth twisted ruefully. Courage indeed, for his granddaughter to trust in Eru. He knew where his love dwelt, and still he feared. Was it courage to stay and share the fate of Middle-earth in this Age of Men, or courage to face the uttermost West at last?

He would find Galadriel.