Chapter 44 – “No Man Is An Island”

In the end, given the gradually increasing sense of loss that had pervaded the elvish camp over the previous week or so, all of it gearing towards this very morning, Penny had not expected the preparations for their departure to seem so strangely ordinary and everyday.

While it was true that she and the ellith in her tent had their perfunctory stand-up wash and dressed in almost total silence, that was, frankly, nothing unusual compared to most mornings of late; and whilst few amongst the elves seemed to be indulging in breakfast, the Dunedain most certainly were (even if, admittedly, only because no Ranger goes travelling on an entirely empty stomach if he can possibly help it). Indeed, with the hustle and bustle of dismantling tents, readying horses and preparing for the off, there was little time to wallow in misery at leaving friends, and it was pretty much business as usual.

It was the little things that gave that the lie, however.

There was almost no talk or chatter anywhere in the camp. Even the small group of Gondorians travelling with them as far as Isengard kept their voices to a low murmur and breakfast amongst the Dunedain was held in almost total silence.

Merry actually refused to eat a second breakfast. Under any other circumstances this would have caused a flurry of concern from the rest of the hobbits that he might be sickening for something, but then Pippin was not that much better since he did accept a second breakfast but then left much of what was offered to him untouched. It had been hard enough for him when he had left Minas Tirith, but now he would be leaving Beregond and Faramir behind him – two men he had come to love dearly.

Aragorn was in the camp from just after dawn, little more than an hour or so after Elrond’s return. The first thing he did on arriving was to visit his father-in-law in his tent, the two spending a good half hour together before Aragorn then went to oversee his men.

Clearly Aragorn was as concerned for Elrond’s well being as he was for Arwen’s.

Of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir themselves, however, there was no sign right until the last, and indeed their tent was the very last to be dismantled. When Elrond finally appeared amongst the throng he showed no obvious signs of distress or the long, heart-rending night he had no doubt spent in the hills. However, those who knew him even as little as Penny did could see he was, if not withdrawn, then certainly had an air of restrained solemnity about him. His eyes were not nearly as bright, as ready to laughter as they usually seemed to be. No one approached him, and if any looked in danger of doing so, his sons, Erestor, Glorfindel or Mithrandir stepped towards them on his behalf to answer any question or finalise any routine details about preparations.

Arwen was nowhere to be seen and was, presumably, up in Edoras somewhere. Penny did not know if she would appear at all to see them off, and would not have blamed her in the least if she did not.

Aragorn would be riding as far as Orthanc with around thirty of his men who now formed, in effect, his personal guard while the rest of those who had travelled from Gondor would stay behind with Faramir and Prince Imrahil, but more importantly with Arwen. There was no reason for her to accompany her husband and unnecessarily put herself through the hardship of outdoor living so unsuitable for royalty. Penny wondered what it must be like for Aragorn to have to leave her, knowing how much she must be hurting, let alone to then have to travel with Elrond for a week (especially given he was, in effect, the cause of the separation); but diplomacy necessitated that the Queen remain in Rohan, strengthening ties between the two countries now that a prince of one would marry the sister of the king of the other whilst Aragorn’s importance as ‘The King Returned,’ let alone as the new, rightful owner of Orthanc, meant he had to travel that far with Gandalf to see what (if anything) had become of that place and the wizard within it.

After breakfast, as Penny headed off to fetch her saddlebags and ready her horse, Halladan took her by the arm, saying, if she had a moment, King Elessar had asked to speak to her personally about Corunír. He led her over to Aragorn who was in conversation with Faelon nearby. Arvain, helping to load the horses, spotted them and, after a murmured apology to the man next to him saying he would return as soon as he was able, jogged over to join them.

Faelon, Arvain and Halladan stood silently as Aragorn spoke, his face grim and his tone serious.

He was appalled by the behaviour of Corunír both last night as well as prior to it. He could not apologise enough that Penny had been subjected to such unwanted attention (with such dishonourable intentions behind it) from a man of Gondor, one who was a member of the court and who, it had been thought, had better character than he had now proved himself to possess. However, he was also aware that she had had some concerns that Corunír might be too harshly viewed and Aragorn wanted to reassure her that he had taken that into consideration - (it seemed that Faelon, true to his word, had indeed walked straight back up to the Meduseld after he had left Penny at the camp and spoken to Aragorn as he had promised he would) - as well as the fact that she had suspected Corunír had actually been trying to apologise just as the others had intervened.

“You show him too much pity and kindness,” Arvain muttered to Penny, though not unkindly.

“No, Arvain,” Aragorn replied, “I am sure Pen-ii only wished to make it clear that the situation was not, perhaps, as bad as it might have immediately appeared. Is that not so, Pen-ii?”

Penny nodded.

“He was drunk and foolish, I think, more than black-hearted.”

“And before last night?”

Penny could not find an answer for Halladan’s question and he gave her a look that said ‘exactly’ by way of response. Faelon seemed to agree with him.

Even without the events of the previous night, Aragorn continued, Corunír would not have been amongst those to have joined him on the journey to Orthanc, but despite that it was only fair that Penny should know what had been decided. Corunír was now not even to stay at Edoras with the rest of the lords of Gondor. Instead he had been charged with the job of taking some messages back to Minas Tirith where some ‘other work’ would be found for him.

As Aragorn put it: “Better a use is found for his limited skills elsewhere than him kicking his heels in indolence and getting himself into trouble here.”

Aragorn apologised profusely once more that she had been so put upon and disrespected in a manner so ill-deserved of one he held in high regard. However, he expressed (no doubt not for the first time) his gratification that Halladan and the others had been nearby to step in so quickly. Then he excused himself to go and oversee the preparations of his men.

While Arvain went back to finish help loading the horses, Faelon explained Aragorn’s thinking in a little more detail. Sending Corunír back to Minas Tirith with messages provided a reasonable pretext to explain why he was being sent away. That it was sudden and out of the ordinary would indeed raise eyebrows, especially given word would have spread regarding his rather public actions last night, but by having some sort of explanation it meant it would not be overly humiliating for Corunír (though still cause enough comment for him to feel severe discomfort, as was only right and proper). Indeed, Aragorn would have had every right to simply have told Corunír to ride back to Minas Tirith without any excuse whatsoever other than that he had so displeased the King that he was no longer welcome in his, or his wife’s, company. Corunír knew it and had been very grateful to Aragorn for the magnanimity he had shown him, Faelon said. He had also sobered up pretty damn fast when faced with a furious Aragorn, apparently, but then who wouldn’t?

Included in amongst the letters, however, would be one to Corunír’s immediate superior officer in the Gondorian guard with orders that Corunír had been volunteered to spend several months protecting Gondor’s southern borders at the earliest opportunity, and certainly to have been sent on his way before the King returned to Minas Tirith.

It was still relatively unstable down in that neck of the woods and they needed all the manpower they could get. Not only that but Corunír was a good soldier if a poor civilian and “clearly something of an indolent wastrel when not properly occupied” (which was, apparently, the least scathing of the comments Aragorn had made about him to Corunír’s face). As a consequence, even though he was being humiliated by being ‘sent home,’ he was also being provided with a means by which he could prove his worth, have time to reflect, and perhaps win back favour from on high if he showed signs of genuine remorse, maturity and change. If not, well, then at least he was far enough away from the court for Aragorn not to have to deal with him firsthand or even on a regular basis.

“It seemed the most reasonable course,” Faelon ended by saying. “He is left in no doubt that he has acted in a manner ill-fitting his station and most displeasing to the King and any right-thinking man, but his past has been taken into consideration and he has a means by which to make amends.”

Halladan made a sort of snorting noise that indicated that Corunír had got off lightly as far as he was concerned and if the little toerag actually ever grew up enough to make amends he would happily eat his own boots.

“Speak of the devil,” Penny muttered, in English. She had just looked up only to spot a certain young man coming towards them with a suitably shamefaced look about him.

“What do you want?”

Halladan had stepped forward immediately, looking ready to ‘escort’ Corunír from the vicinity by the scruff of his neck (and preferably unconscious) if given any possible excuse to do so.

Faelon laid a hand on Halladan’s arm, looking not at Corunír but at who was accompanying him.

“Well met, Fimorndír,” he said. “To what do we owe the honour of your company?”

“I believe Corunír has something he wishes to say,” Fimorndír replied. “Forgive our intrusion, Lady Pen-ii,” he inclined his head towards her as he spoke, “I realise this must be a little uncomfortable. I felt it best to accompany him over here if only to,” he glanced at Halladan, “‘smooth his approach’ shall we say.”

Everyone looked at Corunír who looked at the ground.

“Well?” Halladan said at last somewhat testily.

Corunír raised his gaze to Penny’s right ear (with occasional glances at her face) as he spoke.

“I… I am deeply ashamed of my conduct last night, Lady Pen-ii. I am truly sorry. It was unforgivable. I brought shame on myself and on Gondor. You… you did not deserve to be so treated.”

This last statement seemed to Penny to be the hardest for him to say and sounded more to her as if he had rehearsed it: as if it was what he felt should be said rather than his having any true conviction behind it. It was of note, perhaps, that without his characteristic wide, toothy smile he looked merely sullen and petulant.

“No, she did not,” Halladan spat. “Lady Pen-ii is easily worth ten of you, you wretch. Even if you could not have seen that, then it should have been enough for you to know who she counts amongst her friends and protectors. It is bad enough that you showed so little respect to them, thought them of such little consequence, let alone insulted this lady and dared to lay your hand on her.”

For a brief moment something in Corunír’s eyes made it look as if he would like to reply to Halladan, only circumstances would not permit him to do so. Then he caught the furious glare Halladan had had fixed on him this whole time and, just as quickly, the mask of contrition came back down again. He looked at his feet once more without saying a word.

Frankly Penny felt that Corunír’s apology was not wholly sincere. He was indeed sorry, perhaps, but more for the trouble he had got himself into (as well as possibly feeling genuinely embarrassed by his outrageous outburst whilst drunk) rather than having actually amended his opinion of her. She debated whether she should at least thank him for apologising if nothing else since undoubtedly it had been hard to do with Halladan, Faelon and Fimorndír staring him down as well as Aragorn’s scathing opinion of him still ringing in his ears, but in the end she decided she could not do it. Stuff decorum or what might be expected of her: there were principles at stake; and if Halladan could still be this angry about it and Aragorn so appalled as to send this man (effectively) to the front line, then stuff Corunír too. Besides which Halladan had more or less answered in her place.

So she ignored him and turned to Fimorndír instead.

“It has been a pleasure to get to know you, my lord. Please send my love to Meresel and the children when you return. I miss them already. Tell her I shall write as soon as I reach Imladris.”

Fimorndír returned her smile with a warm one of his own and thanked her. He stepped forward, kissed her hand and wished her every happiness in the north.

“Meresel shall be sad to learn you are not to return, but I know she only wishes you well, and she will be happy for you so long as you are happy wherever you might be. She considered you a true friend from the first, and loves you dearly.” He paused, and when he continued he did not lower his voice or make any attempt to spare Corunír’s blushes. “And I am truly sorry for my cousin’s behaviour. I can only assure you in the strongest terms that, if his family has anything to do with it, he will learn from this shameful episode.”

Then he left, shepherding a still somewhat subdued Corunír with him.

“Arrogant pup,” Halladan muttered with some venom as he watched Corunír leave.

“Indeed,” Faelon agreed. He turned to Penny. “Leaving him behind will be no great loss, eh?” He grinned. “Are you all packed?”

Penny admitted she was but still had to get herself ready, so excused herself and headed off.

Just before she lost them from view she glanced back to see Halladan still glaring in the direction Corunír had disappeared in. She smiled. There was definitely something rather pleasing about having someone get quite so furious on your behalf.

By the time everything was packed away, the supplies augmented by various things Eomer had insisted on pressing upon them – such as casks of Rohirric beer (which the Dunedain were most pleased to see being loaded onto the horses, it had to be said) – and everyone was ready, quite a crowd had gathered to bid them farewell. Not only the locals, of course, but also the Gondorians from Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth were there to take their leave of the elves they had got to know as well as the Dunedain that many had fought alongside and then befriended in the months since the War had ended.

Even as Eomer and Eowyn arrived from the Meduseld, Prince Imrahil, Lord Faramir and Queen Arwen accompanying them as formality dictated, trays of silver cups were taken through the assembled groups of those leaving. Each cup had been filled with a rather strong spiced wine, and the serving women and boys carried more in silver jugs if needed. Everyone was to take at least one sip (several people sharing one cup in most cases) as was the Rohirric tradition by which visitors were bade farewell and wished a safe journey home.

Penny was at some remove from the head of the party, but could still see the moment when Eomer and Eowyn spoke to Merry. She could see him flush with pride as they gave him a small, silvered horn, and he had an air about him which seemed to suggest that he was trying not to bow his head with shyness but stand proud and look them both in the eye as their praise of him seemed to deserve. Indeed many of the Rohirrim came to shake his hand, or bow their heads, their hands across their chests, by way of both bidding him farewell as well as acknowledging his standing amongst them all for his feat on the field and the sterling duty and loyalty he had shown Theoden King on their journey here.

However, when she could catch sight of them, most of Penny’s attention was focused on either Arwen or Elrond, both of whom seemed to be hanging back a little from the formal farewells (as well as each other, it had to be said).

Aragorn and Arwen were standing side by side the entire time the farewells were made and the stirrup cup drunk. Her brothers each came to kiss Arwen before mounting their steeds and making their way to the head of the train. Aragorn was the next to take his leave of her. His horse was brought to him by Faelon, whom he thanked and dismissed to his own horse. Then he turned to Arwen and said a few quiet words to her before cupping her face with one hand and kissing her cheek tenderly. Arwen smiled in reply, seemingly as if to try and reassure him. Her eyes kept glancing towards her father, though.

As Aragorn pulled himself up into his saddle, Celeborn and Galadriel came to their granddaughter. Galadriel hung back, allowing Celeborn to take his leave of her first. He kissed her brow and, just as Aragorn before him, seemed to try and reassure and comfort her. He stood back, his shoulder near touching Aragorn’s knee, as Arwen then turned to Galadriel.

They held each other for quite some time, unmoving, and all the while Galadriel spoke softly to her. Then as she pulled back from her a little, she brushed Arwen’s cheeks with her thumbs as if to dry the tears even as they fell, kissing her hair and holding her hand. Galadriel was smiling, albeit sadly, as she spoke and seemingly would not leave till at last Arwen had smiled in return, glancing up at Aragorn as she did so, no doubt in response to something her grandmother had said. When Galadriel finally turned to join Celeborn, though, for all she still smiled, her eyes spoke of her sadness; and, as she took Celeborn’s hand and headed down the slope towards where their horses waited, they filled with tears.

Then, as at last they all set off to the sound of horns blowing from the walls of Edoras (and nearly every Rohirrim nearby, it seemed) and as Aragorn finally moved away, but only after exchanging one more glance with Arwen, after seeking reassurance once more that she would bear her pain in spite of his absence and that he should not worry, Arwen finally crossed over to where Elrond sat already astride his horse.

His head had been bowed, so he had not seen her approach, but as she neared him he looked up as if she had softly called out to him. She stepped forward to reach up and take his hand. Elrond looked into her eyes, perhaps saying words that none around them could hear, his lips not moving, before placing his other hand on her cheek as he stooped to kiss her brow. He looked at her for several moments more, then nodded almost imperceptibly before he let go of her hand, smiling sadly all the while. Then he turned his horse to follow his sons who were already on their way down the hill.

Eleniel came to stand beside Arwen, taking her hand in her own, and together they watched as the long train began to move. Penny did not need elvish eyesight to know Arwen was weeping.

Not till they were some way gone from Edoras did Elrond turn to take one last look at her still standing, still watching him go, though now only visible to an elf’s keen sight from that distance. His face was etched in pain, his jaw tight and his eyes seemed filled with the weight of the many years and sorrows he had seen as he gazed in her direction for a full minute or so. Then at last he faced forward once more.

He did not look back again.

For all that day he rode in silence, his sons on either side of him, and few except those dearest to him said any word to him as they travelled but rather left him to his grief.

Those first few hours as they made their slow, inexorable way towards the mouth of the valley, then turned west to follow the line of the mountains, were amongst the most desperate Penny had known. For a good hour there was near total silence. The soft thud of the horses’ hooves, the jangle and creak of bridles and loads on the horses’ backs the loudest noises amongst them. There were occasional low murmurs from the Gondorians who travelled as one group, Aragorn amongst them and most of the Dunedain riding with them, but even that was subdued and sporadic.

There was no singing for quite some time.

Then at long last Lindir was the one to break the silence, though the song he sang was one of grief and loss. Another followed, singing of Luthien’s choice, then another. Aragorn sat, silent and straight in his saddle all the while, though Penny suspected it was hard for him to hear them, to know its cause.

Penny started out riding beside Lindir, with Mireth and Celebdor walking nearby, but within an hour she had been joined by Halladan and Arvain, and she was grateful for their presence given the all-pervading mood amongst the elves for most of the morning. In the afternoon, after they had stopped all too briefly for their midday meal, she joined them both once more even though they were now in amongst the Dunedain. It made a pleasant change to have the occasional song from a mortal then, though they were as careful in their choices of subjects as the elves had been when the funeral party had set out that first time from Minas Tirith. Thus several Dunedain sang long ballads about ancient tales involving their own ancestors and the Gondorians replied with some equally ancient song involving centuries-old battles with the Haradhrim.

The sun shone bright, the sky a clear blue as they travelled. It was a beautifully fine day, horribly incongruous with the feeling within the party. Clouds were building above the mountains, however, and Halladan was not the only one to glance at them and predict rain for the following day. When they finally made camp they did so huddled under the eaves of a wood that nestled up against the foothills of the mountains, as much to provide some shelter for the horses if it rained in the night as most there seemed to think it would.

That evening was amongst the strangest Penny had ever known. The elvish camp was filled with song for the first time in days, but they were all long, low laments. It was not quite the same as when Gandalf had fallen, Legolas explained to her as they sat together at the Dunedain fire. After all, Arwen was not dead, and there were several there even amongst the elves who would see her again, himself included. Indeed for Aragorn no less than his brothers-in-law or even Lord Celeborn, it must have been strange indeed (if not strangely upsetting) to have so many round them in effect mourning one they loved so well and would see all too soon (in their respective relative terms, of course).

That said, for those who would not see her once more then this was much like the first blow of grief. However much they had known of her choice for years, however much they had known from when she and her brothers were born that such a choice would lie before each of the three children of Elrond, this was their time to express their sorrow at knowing they would never see her again, and not merely in the usual sense whereby the elvish fea would go West and wait in Mandos’ Halls to be reborn when it felt so ready. No, Arwen was lost in the way that all mortals were lost to them, and who knew if they would even see her once more after the world was unmade.

Little wonder, then, that Aragorn spent much of that night in the company of the Dunedain.

He sat silent, staring into the fire, a tankard of Rohirric ale in his hand that he managed to make last for the entire evening. Few spoke to him, leaving him to his own thoughts, but each time someone near him started up on a tale or piece of poetry he looked up and smiled gratefully, no doubt glad of the distraction. It was perhaps of note that none amongst the mortals sang that night but left all songs to the elves as was, perhaps, their right.

The elves were left pretty much to themselves that evening – all others huddled round the Dunedain fire, or else making up their own fires in their own sections of the camp. All were muted and subdued in their talk –an instinctive reaction to what else was going on around them as much as a conscious sign of respect.

Gandalf stayed with the elves, doing what he could to comfort them and reassure them. Indeed there was no great communal gathering of the elves that night. Rather most wandered in small groups into the woods, or else sat individually or in small numbers here and there about the camp. It was a time for reflection on their loss.

As for Penny, even though she felt deeply for Aragorn, sat in silence as he was only yards away from her, it was Elrond who most occupied her thoughts. She was not even sure why he more than Galadriel who, of course, was in much the same position as him. She too had nearly lost her daughter, just as he had nearly lost his wife. She too had seen terrible things in her long lifetime. She too would never see Arwen again. Even so, Galadriel, when Penny occasionally spotted her, whilst clearly sorrowing, still seemed strong and serene. She also had Celeborn to comfort her – her equal, her partner. Elrond, yes, had his close companions, his sons, but it might have been easier to bear his pain, perhaps, if Celebrian had been with him.

One thing that Penny could not get out of her head was that he had to sail West and tell Celebrian the news that Arwen would not be following behind him.

As she listened to the choral swell of voices from here and there, some singing the same tune, others singing entirely different ones, and yet all combining to create a strangely beautiful, haunting and sorrowful whole, she had never felt more overcome with a sense of loss. Given this was coming hard on the heels of her own confrontation of her own grief in Edoras, it made it that much more painful, since she could empathise that much more.

In the end she found it more than she could bear and excused herself from the company even though it was still relatively early. Nor was she in the least bit surprised to find her tent empty when she got there, nor to have no sign of the other occupants for the long hours she lay awake on her bedroll unable to entirely shut out the singing as best she might. She had no idea what time Mireth and the others finally came to rest, but it was far later than usual.

The next morning Penny woke up to find the heavens had opened in the night. The ground was sodden, the clouds low and while it was not raining as heavily as it had been at dawn (so she was informed), it was still raining enough to make sure breakfast was cursory and had inside the tents or under the shelter of the trees. It also meant no morning cup of tea (which upset the hobbits nearly as much as it annoyed Penny, it had to be said).

It was not the best way to start the day, especially not after the dismal tone in the camp the night before.

Mireth lent Penny a spare cloak that she assured Penny would keep out the wet even though it was seemed far too thin a material. Penny knew better than to question elvish craftsmanship (given it could border on the ‘magical’ at times) and accepted it gratefully, wrapping it round herself and pulling the hood up before she made a dash for the treeline and the general position of her mare.

She did not envy those having to dismantle the tents and awnings in this weather.

That the rain showed no sign of stopping any time soon did nothing to lighten the mood amongst them all as they rode or trudged along under the glowering skies. Thunder boomed in the nearby mountains and there was the occasional lightning flash way up above them. Penny sincerely hoped that the storm would not travel their way and tried not to think about the number of people she was riding in amongst who had umpteen metal objects about their person. About the only thing that could be said for the weather was that, despite the rain, it was not too cold.

Of course, given the persistent rain, it did mean that the Dunedain, mostly riding in one group for much of the morning (though one or two did mingle with the Imladris elves on occasion), all had their dark grey cloaks wrapped about them with the hoods up, obscuring their faces for the large part. Every man among them had his cloak fastened by a silver star-shaped pin on his left shoulder. They were quite a sight and every bit the “Grey Company” that Penny knew so well of old.

It was strangely surreal for her to see them like that since it meant that for first time Penny got a true flash of insight into a moment from the War: how they must have appeared to the Rohirrim when they had first arrived from the north. Indeed from the moment they had left Edoras they were travelling back on exactly the route the Dunedain had taken all those many months before, riding hard and fast, the wind at their heels and a desperate urgency driving them on. They would be back-tracking on themselves from now on for almost the entire journey home.

Only this time, of course, they were missing seven amongst their number.

Slowly the party made their way along the well-worn trail that led from Edoras to Helm’s Deep, keeping close to the mountains as they snaked up and down their foothills, through briar and copse, and across many fords that crossed the rivers and streams that flowed down from the mountain valleys. Of course the watercourses were running fast and full with the current weather, but the fords were well established and well maintained and still relatively shallow for the most part even after the hours of rain. Despite that, each time they came to one, many of those on foot doubled up on horseback nonetheless. After all: an elf prefers not to get his finely crafted elvish boots wet if he can possibly help it. The Dunedain to a man, chuckling and shaking their heads, actually offered their horses to those elves without one and happily splashed through the streams beside them without batting an eyelid, even if the water was running at calf height. Such things were all in a day’s work to a Ranger.

The morning’s travel was much like the previous day’s – with a subdued feeling to everything. The elves sang, but their songs still spoke of loss, though perhaps on broader subjects now such as loss in battle or those who had faded through sorrow. Penny’s gaze returned to Elrond time and again whenever she caught sight of him. He still seemed to hold himself proud and tall, an air of seriousness about him, but his expression spoke of how troubled he was, that and the gentle attention shown to him by those around him: his sons, Erestor, Glorfindel and Gandalf in particular.

Celeborn and Galadriel rode with him for much of the day, though they spoke little. Indeed for an hour or two in both the morning and the afternoon Aragorn rode near him also, indeed they rode side by side for several miles more than once. Aragorn’s part in it all had long been forgiven and Penny was glad to see it.

Lunch was had under the cover of some trees, but by then the rain was beginning to ease. Patches of blue could be seen in the distance and within an hour or so of setting off once more, the drizzle had finally ceased and the sun was breaking through the clouds once more.

That evening they made camp early and near to a wide tributary of the Entwash so that bathing could take place.

As she and Mireth readied themselves in their tent, gathering together their soap, shampoo, towels and clean clothes, Penny tried to talk to her, to ask how she was faring, but could not find the words to do so. Mireth, however, seemed to guess what Penny was trying to say when Penny stayed her by the arm but then said nothing, merely opened her mouth a few times only to close it again with furrowed brows.

“Do not be concerned, Pen-ii. I am sorrowful, yes, but the pain will pass,” she reassured her. “We long knew this time would come. It has been hard to have seen it, but I am glad to… to have had the chance to have said goodbye, to tell her how much I love her, to let her know I shall miss her terribly…”

Mireth ran out of words herself at that point. Penny hugged her before the two then wordlessly made their way down to the river hand in hand.

Nor were they the only ones to wander through the bushes and trees to the riverbanks in silence. Indeed it was the first bathing session on their journey so far that Penny had known with little to no talking or song, even on the bank. However, the lack of much social chit-chat delaying matters did mean that the river was clear that much quicker than usual for the males to then bathe in their turn. Nor was it just the ellyn who took the opportunity to wash the dust of travel from themselves: it was that much more pleasant to be able to change out of damp, rained-on clothes into clean, dry ones if you had had a good scrub down beforehand, after all.

The evening passed in much the same manner as the previous one. The evening meal was relatively communal and afterwards many stayed where they were talking quietly or else listening to the same sort of sad, slow songs as had been sung all day. Elrond was amongst them for a little while. Celeborn and Galadriel were seated near him, his sons tending to him and fetching him cups of wine or else keeping those around him busy with conversation so he might be left to his own thoughts if he so chose.

Once or twice someone might pass by and cast him a sympathetic look, or gently touch him on the shoulder or the arm, but no more than that. There were no words that could truly express the sympathy everyone there felt for his situation. Besides which, as Mireth had said, for all they were sad for their loss they had known it was coming and had had time to prepare themselves. Indeed what was going on these past few days was something like a cathartic release of sorrow, more than a true mourning or grieving (as had been done in Lothlorien when they had learnt of Gandalf’s fall). Even so, those who would see Arwen once more kept themselves at one remove for the most part. Thus later in the evening even Elrond’s sons, when not tending to their father, joined the mortal company that had gradually wandered over to sit at the Dunedain fire as on the previous night.

For the time being, however, they stayed with the elves until Elrond left the company and headed for his tent. Erestor and Gandalf went with him, with Celeborn and Galadriel only a few minutes behind him.

Penny, sitting with Lindir and Mireth, watched him go. For two days and two evenings now her thoughts had been almost entirely focused on him. She had seen the few moments of people showing him sympathy and comfort, seen the gentle attention of his sons, the occasional, soft word in his direction from Gandalf – it was clear how much pain he was in. She knew it was not her place, and yet at the same time, knowing his story so well, having felt for him so deeply for so many years, there was something deep within her that desperately wanted to say something to him, desperately wanted to let him know that she, and countless others from her time, cared and cared deeply about his current situation.

Not only that.

The general sense of loss amongst most of the elves, the songs they sang, the communal act of grieving, or expressing their sadness at least, was also having an effect on her. It was not only that her own grief helped her to empathise but to be surrounded by others feeling something similar was a double-edged sword. True, it was strangely cathartic for her to lose herself for a while in their expressions of loss when she could bear to do so, but many there had no notion of her situation (which was also so very different to theirs) and it meant that, when push came to shove, she could not exactly ‘join in’ or find any true ‘release’ for her pain as they were managing to do.

The longer their sorrow continued, the more an acute awareness of her own loss built within her without any outlet for expression. She was beginning to feel somewhat overwrought to say the least.

Perhaps it was that that meant she felt for Elrond so keenly – her own heightened sense of emotion due to personal circumstances. Whatever the case, when she finally felt she could bear it no more and had to escape to sit with the Dunedain for the rest of the evening, she found herself wandering in the direction of Elrond’s tent on her way to their fire.

Those who had first followed him there earlier in the evening had returned to company round the fire as far as she knew, and she found herself turning over and over in her head whether, given he was now possibly on his own in his tent, she should not at least take the opportunity to express, if not condolences, then at least some sort of acknowledgement that she felt for him and his loss. She remembered how he had turned away from her when he had briefly spoken of Arwen’s fate to her that time they had sat in the embrasure in Minas Tirith, how it obviously had pained him even then to mention it. His unusual reticence and reserve, his withdrawal from the general company since they had left Edoras showed how much this hurt him, for all he understood and accepted it, for all he had had all those years to prepare himself.

But then he had been through this before: Penny did not doubt for one moment he was as much remembering and mourning his brother right now as he was Arwen.

It was out of the question, though. He needed time and space, and even those who had known him for long years were not imposing themselves on him. Seeing the occasional gesture or word others had given him she had wished she could find a way to do the same but knew instinctively such things would only be appropriate coming from his equal, and she most certainly was not that; and not because of anything that had happened between them in Minas Tirith. It was a simple fact, that was all.

Thus when she got to within a few yards of his tent, sanity prevailed. She knew intruding on him was entirely the wrong thing to do. She stopped, stared at the tent entrance for several seconds lost in thoughts of what he must be going through and how much she felt for him right at that moment. Then she turned around and headed back the way she had come.

As she did so, however, she very nearly walked straight into two ellyn who she had not realised were only a few feet behind her.

“Oh! Elladan! Elrohir! I did not see you…!”

The brothers looked at her, their gazes equally curious. She looked back, somewhat startled but also feeling strangely guilty at having been ‘not quite caught in the act.’

“Did you wish to speak to Father?” Elrohir expression was gentle, if a little knowing as he asked.

“N-no, no.”

“You are quite sure?” Elladan asked in his turn. “Was it important? Could we help?”

“No, in truth I was just on my way to join Halladan and the others,” Penny replied falteringly.

She could not help a guilty half-glance behind her in the direction of Elrond’s tent as she said this, though.

“It would be best to leave him for the time being, Pen-ii” Elrohir said softly, and not unkindly. “I am sure you understand.”

Penny nodded.

“Yes. Yes, of course. I realise. I was not going to… I know, of course, it would not be appropriate…”

“He needs some time, that is all,” Elladan explained.

Elrohir was already walking past her when he turned back to her.

“We shall let him know that you were…,” he hesitated as if looking for the right way of putting it, “thinking of him. I am sure he would be most touched to know of it.”

Penny smiled gratefully.

“Thank you, Elrohir.”

Elladan bowed his head slightly as he came to stand by his brother.

“You are most welcome, Pen-ii. And we thank you for your concern on his behalf.”

And with that they both headed towards their father’s tent.

Penny turned away, making her way towards the Dunedain fire, feeling both relieved that she had not been so foolish as to try and see Elrond as well as grateful that Elladan and Elrohir had not only guessed at what she had half-considered but also been so understanding and kind about it. That they would pass on her sentiments to Elrond on her behalf was also far better than anything else she could have thought of (which would have invariably necessitated her intruding on his distress in some way and thus were to be rejected entirely out of hand).

However it did not end there.

No more than half an hour later Elrohir arrived at the fire, spotted Penny and made straight for her.

“Pen-ii? He is asking for you.”

It was all he said, but Penny immediately knew who he meant. Judging from the look Aragorn gave her, so did he, as did Halladan and Arvain who were sitting beside her and exchanged a glance before looking up at Elrohir in some surprise.

Penny blinked at Elrohir. He was clearly waiting to escort her back with him. She stood up in some confusion.

“Should we be there also?” Halladan asked, indicating his brother as he spoke. “As her guardians?”

“He did not ask for you, Halladan. You are welcome to accompany me if you so wish, but I am sure he will send for you if he feels you are needed. In truth I do not know myself what this is concerning.”

Elrohir threw Penny a reassuring smile, though his last few words had not reassured her in the least. She glanced at Halladan, feeling not a little worried now. Halladan nodded his understanding at Elrohir and stayed put, gesturing to Penny that she should fellow Elrohir as he had requested.

“We will be here if you need us.”

Whether that was said to her or to Elrohir, Penny was not wholly sure.

She tried not to catch Aragorn’s eye as she left.

When they reached the tent Elrohir motioned for her to stay outside for a moment as he went in. Penny could hear him saying ‘I have brought her, Ada,’ just before the tent flap fell shut and cut off whatever else was said inside. Almost immediately, however, the flap opened once more and Elrohir beckoned for her to come in. Penny did so somewhat apprehensively.

Inside Elrond was seated on cushions to one side of the tent, a cup of wine in his hand and Elladan beside him.

“Ah, Pen-ii. Good. Thank you for coming.”

Elrond’s smile was thin, formal. He was trying to make an effort in spite of his current mood.

He indicated a space on the cushions next to Elladan.

“Come. Sit.”

Then he turned to Elladan.

“Would you mind leaving us, Elladan? You too, Elrohir?”

There was the briefest of glances exchanged between his sons before both inclined their heads with a murmured ‘of course, Father’ and then both left. Elladan gave Penny a somewhat unreadable look as he passed by her.

“Would you care for some wine?” Elrond asked her once she was seated.

“No, I thank you.”

A brief silence fell. Penny felt nervous as hell. She had been wary enough before but once he had sent his sons out so they were entirely alone she had felt her heart start to beat that much faster. Just what on earth was this all about?

She looked at him, staring into his cup for a moment, the weight of years in his face. It seemed so very strange, and rather distressing, to see a face so young look, well, so old.

“My sons told me of what happened earlier.” Only now did he look up at her. “Thank you for the sentiment, Pen-ii. I am grateful to you.”

The smile he gave her was so filled with sadness that Penny felt her throat tighten and her eyes prickle in spite of herself. She could find no words, just nodded.

His gaze slid away from her and there was a pause before he spoke again, his voice quiet but desperately serious.

“Tell me what happens at Cerin Amroth.”

What?!

Penny felt as if someone had kicked her in the gut. She was speechless. Her mind reeled. She could not believe what he had just said, refused to believe it, was having difficulty processing it. She had not quite known what to expect him say, but that had most certainly not been it.

Penny was looking at him in absolute shock. Elrond looked back calmly as if gauging her reaction to his request, reading much from her facial expression alone.

At last Penny came to her senses. This was impossible! There was no way she could tell him of such things, and yet for him to ask, let alone for him to have insisted they be left by themselves before he did so, he must have had some inkling of what her answer would involve.

“Pen-ii, I am sorry if I have startled you, but I must insist on an answer. What is the significance of Cerin Amroth? I have thought long and hard on this, and I would not ask this of you if I was not certain I wanted to know the answer. Do not tell me there is no significance in it; do not dissemble. I saw the look you and Arwen shared when we passed by there in Lothlorien. I know, or can guess, part of what your answer will be.”

“Why?” And her voice cracked even as she asked. She was more upset by this than by anything in the past few days. “Why ask this of me? I… I cannot. Please do not ask this of me.”

He took her hand, looked into her eyes.

“Sometimes it is easier to face the known than fear the unknown. I know full well what I ask of you. Do you forget I know what it is to bear true knowledge of the fate of those I love? Answer me, and I will explain to you more fully. Please, Pen-ii, tell me of Cerin Amroth.”

She knew he was in earnest. She knew he would not let her leave till she had told him. She had no choice.

“I would not for the world speak of this to you.”

“I know.”

A tear fell onto her cheek and she could see his eyes were wet also.

“Tell me.”

“She… Cerin Amroth is where…” She dropped her head, unable to look him in the eye, struggling to hold back the tears, as her voice fell to a whisper. “It is where she will die.”

There was no sound from Elrond but she felt his hold on her hand tighten almost painfully. When she glanced up at him she could see his eyes were shut as if he was struggling to contain his emotions. He was nodding slightly, as if her words had been more of a confirmation of his suspicions than anything new to him. Then he let go of her hand, bringing his hand to his forehead, even as he rested his elbow on his knee.

“She lives a long and happy life,” she continued suddenly, her tone urgent, desperate to try and reassure in the midst of all this pain. “Hers is a great love, Elrond. She and Aragorn… they will be so happy together. Theirs will be a glorious reign, a Golden Age for Gondor and all of Arda, such as it has not known in long years. They… they will have many daughters.”

He looked up at her at last.

“And a son. Eldarion. He shall be a great king like his father before him.”

She was trying to smile through her tears at him and he was returning it, albeit hesitantly.

“Daughters? A son?”

She nodded.

The smile broadened a little, if sadly and somewhat ruefully.

“I shall be sorry not get to know them for myself.”

“Elladan and Elrohir will tell you all about them, I am sure.”

He nodded. “That shall please Celebrian, to know she has granddaughters.”

It pleased Penny enormously to hear him say that, let alone to hear him mention her so easily in her presence. She could well imagine his thoughts had turned to Celebrian often in the last few days.

“But you did not explain, Pen-ii, how came she to be there? What happened? You say she lives a long life?”

He was not looking at her but at some point ahead of him, waiting for her answer.

“Aragorn and Arwen… theirs is a love that becomes history. They are remembered as Luthien and Beren and Tuor and Idril were before them. Their love never wavers, and they shall be truly happy. Aragorn shall live a long life, long even in the years of the Dunedain. In him will be something like the Numenoreans reborn. But at long last he will know it is his time. He knows his history. He knows to cling to life, to power, to wait till he is infirm in mind and body is not the thing to do. At long last he will accept it is time to lie down and sleep the sleep of the dead.”

Elrond nodded. He was still in profile to her so she could not gauge his reaction to any of this.

“Arwen… Arwen will do her best to persuade him not to, but he will tell her he has no choice, that it is his time at last. She… she will be distressed at his passing.”

Elrond hung his head.

“She will not regret her decision. She loves him to the last, never once looks back.”

She knew he was weeping now, silent, slow tears tracing down his cheeks.

“She will say farewell to her children, refusing all escort, and make her way to Lothlorien. A year after Aragorn dies, she will lay herself down on Cerin Amroth, the place where they plighted their troth centuries before, and there she will…”

Her voice trailed off into silence. For quite some time the only sound was the soft, shuddering breaths from Elrond as he tried to maintain his composure.

“She will find his passing hard to bear.”

Penny nodded, though she knew he was not looking at her, probably talking more to himself than her.

At last he turned to her.

“Thank you. I know this was hard for you, and I would not have put you in this position only… I feared so much that she might not have the choice of when, that life might be torn from her. It happened so nearly to… I wanted to make certain, to have that reassurance. Forgive me if this was difficult for you, it certainly was difficult for me to hear it, and painful, but despite that you have eased my heart, Pen-ii, and it will help me to think on what you have told me in my grief. I can leave knowing that she will be as happy as her mother and I, that she will know a love deep and true. She will live as good and as long a life as I could have hoped for in her circumstances. That will do much to ease the pain of leaving her behind me when I sail West.”

“I am glad this could be of some small comfort to you in your distress.”

And she meant it. The words fell out of her like some courteous, automatic formality, but she meant them. She was somewhat bewildered and upset by it all, but she was glad that in some way she had helped him.

“Time is a healer, Pen-ii. It is something we elves have in abundance, of course. The wounds never fully recede, but the pain eases over time.” He looked at her once more. “I should know, after all.”

She did not know what to say. Another silence fell between them.

“And what of you, Pen-ii?”

“Me?”

“What of your hurts? I am sure these last few days and weeks have been just as hard for you. So much grieving and remembrance around you, how could it not be so? I have lost a daughter, but you… you have lost everything you have ever known.”

It cut too near the bone. With everything she had been feeling the past few days, let alone the last few harrowing minutes, for him to hit straight to the heart of the matter was too much. She felt emotion overwhelm her then, tears spilling hot and fast before she could stop them, though she fought against them as best she could.

“Ai, Pen-ii,” he breathed, a look of such tender sympathy in his face as he took her hand that it only made the tears fall faster. “You have had so much to think about, so, so much. Only now you realise, perhaps, the enormity of your situation.” He nodded. “It can happen. Grief can be delayed and sometimes hit all the harder because of it. You have made good friends, Pen-ii, those that love you well already. Use them. Talk to them. Believe me when I tell you that it is best to express such pain if you can find a way than to attempt to struggle alone. I know you know that.” He paused and gestured vaguely in the direction of the tent entrance. “You hear their song? That is their way, our way, of coming to terms with our pain. You must find your own way also.”

“But everyone has been through so much. They have lost those they love in battle, in terrible ways, but my family are not dead…!”

“Do not compare, Pen-ii. Your grief is no less valid than anyone else’s. Indeed to have that finality, that ability to say farewell, to bury the dead, that is part of the healing process, but unfortunately you have not had that. And you have lost so much more than family and friends. We know, we understand how difficult this has been for you. We remember how you raged in Imladris; we realise how constrained you have felt by a society so very different to your own. Do not consider your pain any less or any less worthy than anyone else’s simply because it is different, if not unique.”

“But…”

“No, Pen-ii,” and he was surprisingly firm as he spoke, his own grief and pain suddenly put to one side for a moment. “I insist upon this. You will only do yourself more hurt if you do not try and understand me. You will only hurt those who already care for you all the more if you refuse to accept what I am telling you.” He was trying to catch her eye as he spoke, trying to make it clear he was in earnest. “Grieve for them, Pen-ii. Remember them, mourn them and make your peace with your situation. Please.”

She nodded, tears still falling, albeit slower now.

“Promise me, Pen-ii”

“I promise you, Lord Elrond.”

He nodded once, satisfied with her answer and that she had meant it sincerely. He cupped her cheek for a moment and smiled, if sadly.

“Come, enough of this. I have no desire to upset you any more than I knew this talk might do so already. Forgive me. Let us get some air and look at the stars and remind ourselves that time moves on, for better or for worse.”

Even as he spoke, however, his name was called loudly from outside.

“Come.”

Elrohir appeared.

“Forgive me, Father, but Erestor and Grandfather were wondering if…”

“All is well, Elrohir, tell them to come in. We are finished here.” He glanced back at Penny, smiling reassuringly. As he did so Erestor and Celeborn entered, Elrohir and Elladan behind them. Elrond and Penny got to their feet. Erestor, Celeborn, Elrohir and Elladan were struggling to keep their curiosity under control, looking from Penny to Elrond and back again.

Penny suddenly felt horribly awkward.

“I should probably get back to the others,” she muttered.

“But of course, Pen-ii.” Elrond inclined his head. “And thank you once again. Truly you have done me a great service.”

Penny nodded and smiled awkwardly before muttering her apologies at the others and fleeing the tent. She knew it was all too likely that her ears were burning the moment she left.

However, that was not her main focus as she hurried back to the Dunedain fire. Instead she was thinking over what Elrond had spoken of at the last, what he had asked of her. The elvish songs of loss and grief were floating round her as she passed through the camp, stirring up those same emotions and, on top of everything she had just been through, she was close to tears once more when she finally reached the circle of people sitting and chatting quietly at one edge of the camp.

She hesitated, unsure that she was really up to just sitting down in amongst them as if nothing untoward had happened in the last half hour at all. She made to turn away, thinking she might head back to her tent, but it was too late. She had been spotted.

“Pen-ii!”

Halladan was on his feet even as he called out to her, a smile on his face. Arvain was not far behind him

She stopped, at an utter loss as to whether to leave or stay, to speak or remain silent, trying not to cry and at the same time wanting to weep till she howled.

Halladan had reached her, could see the state she was in by the distant fire’s glow. His smile faded.

“Pen-ii?”

His voice was quiet, his expression concerned. She looked up at him, saw the compassion on his face and lost it completely.

As Arvain joined them she was already sobbing into Halladan’s chest, his arms wrapped around her.

Author’s Notes:

The stirrup cup is something usually more associated with riding to hounds, where a cup of wine is drunk before the beginning of a hunt. However, its basis is in the Scottish Highlands where it was a farewell drink shared by the hosts and the visitors before the visitors left for home. It is clear that the latter was what Tolkien was thinking of when he had the Rohirrim use a similar thing.

In the chapter “Many Partings” (Return of the King), Eowyn and Eomer speak to Merry, embrace him and present him with a small silver horn with a green baldric, with riders and runes of virtue engraved on it:- “‘This is an heirloom of our house,’ said Eowyn. ‘It was made by the Dwarves, and came from the hoard of Scatha the Worm. Eorl the Young brought it from the North. He that blows it at need shall set fear in the hearts of his enemies and joy in the hearts of his friends, and they shall hear and him and come to him.’” Merry goes on to use the horn to rally the hobbits to fight back against the men and ‘Sharkey’ when they return to the Shire.

For those that might not be familiar with the books: the Dunedain (and Elladan and Elrohir), having journeyed south via the remnants of the Greenway and through the Gap of Rohan, met up with Aragorn and the others just after they had crossed the Fords of Isen (when Aragorn and Theoden were returning from Isengard, Gandalf having just left them all to ride south to Gondor with Pippin). The Dunedain accompanied Aragorn to Helm’s Deep where Halbarad alone joined him as he looked into the Palantir and wrested it from Sauron’s control. Once he had revealed himself to Sauron he knew he had to move and move fast – hence his separating from Theoden to take the Paths of the Dead (as Elrond had advised him to do in a message he sent via his sons). He, Elrond’s sons, Legolas, Gimli and the Dunedain thus took the overland route to Edoras and then Dunharrow (behind which was the way to the Paths of the Dead) so they could ride flat out and get there in little more than a day, whereas Theoden, Eomer, Merry and the Rohirrim took the mountain route which would take them three days to get to Edoras. So, the moment they left Edoras the Dunedain were, in effect, retracing their steps. The only exception to this will be the detour via Isengard after they cross the Fords of Isen.

For what it’s worth: one day, when this fic is finally finished, I intend to write ‘Elrond arriving in the West to be met by Celebrian only for him then to have to tell her of Arwen’s fate.’ It’s a scene/moment that’s haunted me for a good long while.

The reference to ‘Aragorn knowing his history’ is regarding the kings of Numenor. Like them, he can ‘choose’ when to lie down to die. Holding on till you are utterly decrepit and senile is what happened more than once – a choice made through selfishness and a desire to hold on to power than any wisdom or sense of good rule. It was one of many things that led the Numenoreans down the slippery slope that led to their taking Sauron as a friend and advisor, worshipping Melkor, challenging the Valar and ended in Numenor itself being thrown into the sea.

As ever, my sincere apologies for the length of time writing chapters takes these days. RL, as ever, makes writing time extremely limited. Also a huge thank you to all those who are still reading, or have only just started reading this (which given the length this thing now is, is a feat in itself), and especially to those who take time out to leave reviews, comments or get in touch. It’s much appreciated.