Epilogue.

A/N: Dr. Charles D. Keeling, the man who alerted the scientific community about the effects of mounting concentrations of CO₂ derived from by human activities upon global warming back in 1955, died last week. Some truths take elven pace to seep into human conscience, it’d seem.

The End of Arda  

Somewhere in Patagonia, South America. Last days of the Earth. 

“Why did you remain, Celeborn?” 

They were comfortably sprawled under an overgrown bush, enjoying the night breeze. Days were now too hot, even that south and surrounded by water, and they preferred to remain awake by night. Climate had deteriorated seriously in the last twenty-five years. Life had become impossible in most parts of the world, due to an unbearable rise in temperatures, fires, floods, freezing, droughts, volcanic eruptions and earthquakes caused by the growing instability due to the huge amounts of sediments freed from the ocean’s floor.  Some optimistic predictions announcing that the freezing brought about by global dimming and the increased warming due to greenhouse effect would cancel each other had been ruthlessly updated by reality.  

They led a quiet life, almost hobbitish in its simplicity, Celeborn thought at times with amusement. They tended to their orchard and the few remaining animals. Hunting and fishing were exercises in patience, suitable for two long-lived elves like them, and long conversations were their relished pastime.  

They had moved down to the small warehouse, fishermen’s wharf and airport area, partly because the only remaining humans lived there and partly because ghosts at New Future had become almost unbearable even for them.  Silence was heavy, up there, and jungle reigned among offices, barracks and labs. The feeling of decay, the smell of defeat was too much for them. They had lived up there until their communication system finally collapsed. That had been ten years ago, when they had last heard the wonderful voices of their two friends, who had decided long ago to meet the end at their own camp, in Central Asia. Celeborn understood that only too well. Many colleagues had decided to remain there and Maglor and Daeron would not desert them.  

“You’re younger, you speak first,” he prompted his friend, who was lazily stretched with his head comfortably reclined against the trunk. 

“I…I promised my Adar that I would take care of his forest...” he answered nonchalantly. Celeborn almost choked in outrage. 

“When did you lose your compass Thranduil? No, don’t answer me; being modest as he was, your father surely understood that all forests in middle earth were his forest…” 

“Except Lórien, of course,” Thranduil agreed placidly. 

“Of course,” Celeborn conceded with a twisted smile. “Seriously, now,” he insisted softly, “Why did you remain?” 

Thranduil changed position twice, as if trying to find a way to accommodate his thoughts, rather than his long limbs, and finally sighed. “In truth…I’d guess…because I had no other reason…” Despite Celeborn’s understanding nod, he felt that he had to elaborate, if only to make it clearer for himself. “There was the forest, and my people, and then…there was always something else, another day, another fight, another try...” he spoke softly, almost to himself. “Of course I miss my wife and my children, but…I learnt to keep the pain at bay by concentrating in just another day… until… it became… a dull pain, something familiar, an almost welcome reminder…In your case it must be the same, I’d say, only a dull fear, rather than pain, though, “ he added wit a provoking wink. 

“You almost got, me, Thranduil, I thought you were finally being serious! “Celeborn laughed out heartily. He liked the way his friend had shed his calm, efficient scientist role and had effortlessly turned back to be the wild, bantering and fighting elf he had known and admired for ages. When facing danger and despair, Thranduil Oropherion was one of the best companions an elf could ask for, he thought fondly.  

“Aren’t you afraid of what your lady wife may do to you when she lays hands upon you, then?” Thranduil insisted with mock worry. 

“Afraid?” Celeborn let a wistful smile shine briefly in his silvery eyes. 

“Why did you stay? tell me,“ he wouldn’t let the subject go, Celeborn knew. “I can only add that for me it was a question of pride, since I did not intend to let you earn all the praise and share it with your Noldorin in-laws…” 

“In all truth, my friend, I cannot tell. I never heard the call, I fear. I miss my wife, of course, but... that was never enough, not when I knew that she would always be there and there was so much to be done here... Honestly, I don’t know…” 

“Well, we’ll learn soon,” Thranduil, said offhandedly. “Only, I would like to meet Pengolod before the end, and make him eat his Dagor Dagorath rubbish, word by word…why!“he added, mocking exasperation in his voice, “do you see the sun falling from the sky, and Tilion following after her, and Morgoth returned and Eonwë and Turin fighting him? Mmm… I could make a decent Eonwë, I suppose, but… no way we have a silvery haired Turambar… see what I mean? (1) 

“And what about our favourite myths, then?” Celeborn was doubling up with laughter at Thranduil’s reasoning, “Darkness is here to stay, and as the fires and eruptions progress, we’ll see less of the sun…” 

“Oh, yes, and the women shall come out of the sea… pity there are no animals left in this ocean to take the land over... I wouldn’t mind it if had been a drowning, after all, but it won’t be thus here, my friend, I chose our location only too well...no earthquakes and no volcanoes…” 

They remained there in companionable silence, at times speaking, at times singing, and at times simply stargazing as they had done for uncounted nights during the long ages of the world.  

“Inti, Inti!” (2) 

The shouts were urgent, amazed. Both elf-lords stood up quickly, walking towards the path that led to the small harbour. 

“Inti, down there!” 

The old man who still cared for the aeroplane with the same dedication his father and his grandfather had shown before him was panting heavily and pointing down to the harbour.  A reddish shimmer was visible down there. Thranduil looked worried. 

“No volcanic craters in the vicinity, and no methane sediments in the surroundings, to cause such fire, “ he said slowly, “I’d better go have a look...” 

“Maybe the sun actually fell from the sky?” Celeborn suggested amusedly, following Thranduil through the now little used path that wounded its way through the dense jungle down to the port, and then added playfully, “My lord Eonwë?” 

The radiance became brighter as they neared the small harbour, yet the dense vegetation made it impossible to discern its source. 

“I hope you won’t be too disappointed to learn that a small volcano has been born under your feet, my friend… ruining your perfect location…” Celeborn was still joking when his friend’s gasps made him look ahead and he immediately froze, standing in the wooden pier, his mouth wide open. 

There, amidst the calm sound, the most beautiful ship that ever sailed the seas or skies pitched lightly in the midnight tide, its white sails gently veering in the soft breeze, and the blessed mariner stood at the rudder with the Silmaril upon his brow, spraying the dreadful darkness with its brilliance. 

A friendly scornful voice greeted them as they stood there, too amazed to say or do anything. 

“If you intend to stand there gaping until the end of Arda, my lords, you may be close to reaching your purpose…” Maglor’s voice them shook them from the sudden spell, and both looked at each other in wonder. 

“I can see a boat below you, my friends, would you mind moving up? I don’t believe Lord Eärendil has much time to spend here….” Daeron’s amusement was unmistakable, and that was what Thranduil needed to get started. He hurriedly walked the pier to find the mooring of the small boat and untied it. 

“Celeborn! He urged his friend, “Come on!” he said, hurriedly descending the wooden ladders and boarding the precarious ship. 

But Celeborn seemed rooted there, paralysed by disbelief, his gaze wavering between the brilliant ship and the darkness behind him. 

“Celeborn, it is over!” Thranduil’s warning had no effect upon him. He took a step back, and then another. He wouldn’t desert them in the end. 

Celeborn looked in the eyes of the old man who had been the last child born in the area. He had followed them, and now stood at the beginning of the pier, his dog by his side. The old man was a good mechanic, and a wise man, versed on the myths and traditions of his ancient people. His simple, hopeless life had always reminded Celeborn of his own, desperate fight. Tied to Arda, much as they were, he had lived in an almost elven way, taking each day as it came, with little worries about the future and few things to regret.   

“Go, my lord,“ the old man said softly, bowing before him. “The sun has come to take you home…” 

Celeborn closed his eyes briefly, and then put his right hand to his heart and bowed low. Then, he turned back abruptly and joined Thranduil in the small boat.  

“What madness possessed you, Celeborn?” Daeron reproached him as they boarded Vingilot, ”for a moment I feared that you would remain... how was I supposed to explain that to your wife?” 

But Celeborn had only eyes for Eärendil, who smiled softly as he guided his ship to open waters. 

“Which of you is playing Turambar, now,” Thranduil valiantly fought to hide his emotion as the shores that had harboured them for so many years faded away in the darkened night. Celeborn found that he could not speak. 

“I assume that you pretend to be a half-sized Eonwë, then?”  Maglor’s sarcastic wit helped shake Celeborn from his contemplation. 

“Daeron, will you play Turambar? This oversized fëanorian ego can play Ar-Pharazon’s entire army, (3) if he cares to join in… we intend to enact the Dagor Dagorath…since the end seems a bit different from what we were told…” 

“Last time I saw him, “ Eärendil spoke for the first time, “Lord Eonwë was readying his gear…” Celeborn and Maglor exchanged a knowing glance. Only the two of them, apart form Eärendil, had seen before the powerful Maia in full battle mode, and the sight had been impressive enough to make them shiver after all those ages. 

“What’s going on there, Eärendil?” Celeborn finally asked, as a thoughtful silence overcome them. 

“In truth, I don’t know, my friends. I don’t know what we can expect to find…” 

“But surely you were told…” 

“No. I simply thought that it was about time someone carried you home…even if there may as well be no home at all…” 

“Your presence was comforting throughout these long years, my friend,” Celeborn said softly, clasping the Mariner’s arms in silent acknowledgment. 

“So, we may as well be banned, nobody told you to bring us back...” Maglor’s voice held a hint of panic not even him was able to completely hide, shame and uncertainty rising to colour his pale features. 

“Look!” Thranduil’s voice called his friends to the stern. Below them, the earth was rapidly becoming smaller as they gained height. The darkened cloud of fumes and pollution shrouded it, and reflected the vast fires that consumed its surface. Volcanoes, earthquakes, oceans in fire, the Amazon rainforest, or what was left of it… the earth was dying slowly but steadily, and it was nearing its end at an even pace under their stunned gazes and silent tears.  

And then, the darkness that kept the solar radiation from reaching the earth’s surface mercifully hindered their vision, and they were spared those nightmarish last sights. 

“So, what happens now?” Daeron asked softly. Nobody had an answer, and the five elves sat there, as Vingilot sailed the starry skies unwaveringly. 

“Is it me, or the Silmaril is becoming even more brilliant?” Thranduil asked after some time. 

“Eärendil?” 

“I…it never behaved this way before,” the Mariner confessed, shrouded in a silvery light that extended to his companions. They looked at each other in wonder, for it seemed as if they became translucent under that shimmering mist that advanced to engulf the ship. 

“Your father must have violated one or two hundred safety regulations when making these things, Maglor, “ Thranduil grunted in exasperation. 

“Of course he did, whom do you think he was?” Maglor laughed, “None of you were there, of course, but Varda hallowed them and it was then said that not before the end will they be undone...and their light freed…and the secret of their making unveiled, “ he added in a hoarse voice, as the shimmering jewel began to pulse intensely. 

“Look!” Eärendil had walked to the prow and was pointing to a distant star that shone brightly with a red heartbeat that matched the Silmaril’s.  

And then Celeborn felt it. First it was like the distant rolling of the waves on a rocky beach, but then it grew to a deep sound, an overwhelming melody of impossible beauty that seemed to come from the very light and pulse around them as the radiance grew in intensity shrouding them and seeping into their bones.

I see it now, he thought with a peaceful smile, as the distant star grew closer and its light extended to reach them in a steady rhythm. A moment before the blessed light engulfed them Celeborn saw his wife’s beautiful face smiling at him.

I’m coming, my lady, I’m almost there.

THE END 

A/N Many thanks to those who read and, particularly, to those who reviewed. Special thanks, too, to some kind reviewers who took the time to gently point out some blatant –and completely unintentional- kicks to English language, which, to the best of my limited skills, have been dutifully fixed.  

Notes: 

(1)Thranduil refers of that prediction of the Last Battle, or Dagor Dagorath, when Morgoth shall come from beyond the walls of the night, and the Sun and the moon shall be lost, and Eonwë will fight Morgoth in despair for the loss of Arien and Arda shall be destroyed by his rage. It is also said that Turin Turambar shall fought beside Eonwë in that final battle. 

(2) Quechua word for the sun. The Sun was the supreme god in the Incas’ cosmology. 

(3) In the Akallabeth it says that the army of Ar-Pharazon will remain in the Caves of the forgotten until the Last Battle.