Disclaimer : You can go no further (Haldir, Fellowship Of The Ring)

Author’s note : I admit it, I swiped the title from a work by my own wife. Bad me. I’ll make it up to her later . . .when she swipes my ideas and we’re even again :D

Or as Pasha ToH put it : Pasha (06:43:12): chuckles, how appropriate

Summary : He saw her leave, and knew the Evenstar was fading. He was called from beyond the sea to watch over her in her final hours. Written in the first person.

I saw her leave. She was alone, and my eyes alone saw her walk out from the gates if the White City. I knew what that meant . . .the king was dead. I had known him almost all his life, I had trained him in the art of the bow. Well, not alone I should add. His brothers and a certain Wood Elf were also instrumental in his training. He was the only human I ever came to trust with my life, and would ever be the only human. But my grief was not turned towards my sword-brother Estel, but to Úndomiel.

There was nothing to hold her to the city now, and I knew where she was going. The Evenstar was returning to her home. I straightened as something drew me, more than my eyes, to follow. The seed basket fell from my hand as did the tool I was using to plant them.

Eyes rose from the group I was working with. The Wood Elf I have mentioned, Legolas Thrandulion, was working along side me, and his dwarf companion, too, was there. He, Gimli, was visiting from his own realm not three days ride from the city. They visited each other often, being inseparable.

I turned my head to look at them both, and I could tell they had both seen her, it was difficult to miss a lady in black against the white stone walls. I heard Legolas sigh softly, he too felt the grief fill him, and the dwarf too was not untouched. We had not had the time to say our goodbyes to the king, but I suppose in retrospect, it was better this way.

Legolas’ eyes watched the single figure following the road that hugged the mountains for several more seconds. Then his eyes, mine following, turned towards the port of Osgiliath. Something within him wavered, and I knew what it was. There was a large ship within the docks, he had built it himself, knowing that this day would soon be upon us.

He turned to me, knowing what it was that bade me stay. “I will wait for you,” he said. Without another word, he took hold of Gimli’s hand and walked across the field, not to the White City, but to Osgiliath.

I barely registered his words as my feet took me in the opposite direction. My bow and quiver, almost a part of my being, nudged gently against my back as I walked, and against my thigh my blade tapped gently. I had a sworn duty to fulfil, and not even the call of the white gulls could dissuade me from that task.

The gates in the wall of Pelennor opened at her silent approach, the guard on the watch were silent. They knew why their beloved queen was leaving, and where she was going. Their beloved king had already departed to the Halls of the Glorious Dead, that place where they believed their spirits flew to upon death.

She did not turn her head, no word was uttered. She was as silent as Mandos itself. I do not know if she knew I was even there, she did not seem to notice anything around her, or even the passing of day into night. She walked and I followed.

It took four passes of the sun to reach the Merino Stream, and yet we had barely paused for breath. She had neither stopped for food, water or sleep, and there was no stop at all on the banks of the ford. She was oblivious to the frigid water, and I was oblivious to all be her. I was charged with her protection. At the stream we met the first obstacle, the border post of the Rohirrim. It must have been a strange sight to them, an elven lady alone walking from Gondor.

I saw them get to their feet and call to her, but there was no answer. As she approached ever closer they caught sight of me. They froze, undecided if I presented a threat or not. I drew my blade and held up a hand.

“Let her pass, men of Rohan, for not even your bravery can stop the passing of the Star of Evening.”

They parted to either side of us, heads bowed in respect, and Úndomiel passed by them, unseeing, unspeaking. I set my blade to slumber once more and followed, and nary a word was spoken until I was gone from their camp.

“Evenstar? Queen of Gondor.”

“If she is here, that means . . .”

“The king is dead.”

“I will take word to Edoras.”

I heard no more.

Up ahead there was a river. My elven ears could hear its song. It was the Onodlo, Entwash in the common tongue. I knew it was too deep to wade across, and too fast to swim. I need not have feared, through the grey light was dawn I made out the forms of six men, none of whom were armed. In fact, it seemed from their presence that they had been waiting for us, indeed expecting us, for behind them on the river was a ferry. Apparently, word of our presence in the land had been sent north, and preparations had been made.

It was heartening to me, to see their care for one who was not of their realm. Had her beauty and fame spread so far across Arda that they loved her as much, of not more than I? My honour and duty was one thing, but their respect and love was something that I had not fostered in my heart. I was doing this because I was called to it. Did I do this because I wished to be here? Did my heart rest fully on the care of my lady Evenstar? Or was it merely a power above my own that forced my steps?

This matter troubled me, but I pushed it the back of my mind. I had a duty to fulfil. Arwen Úndomiel stepped onto the ferry, a flat-bottomed boat more a raft than a boat, with a man at the tiller. I stepped behind her. She said nothing, did not even turn to see who was with her. Her heart and soul had already left her, her body merely following their path to her home.

The ferry took only moment to cross the river, ropes keeping it steady from both banks. I turned slightly to the man driving us forward as he spoke. “You will be needing the ferry back, my lord?” he said, respectfully sombre.

I considered his quietly spoken words. My lord? I hesitated overly long in answering. What had he asked? “Aye, that I will, but the time of my crossing is not yet known.”

He nodded, accepting without question. “I will be here.”

I admired in him the unfailing and unquestioning loyalty. He was here because he wished to see the passing of Úndomiel, to be honoured with aiding her, not because he had been paid or coerced. I saw no money pouch on his belt, and there was no resignation to royal request in his countenance.

I crossed the river and no further words exchanged. Arwen continued walking, even though she was unaware of anything beyond putting one foot in front of the other. It saddened me to see an elf in this state, say nothing of who she was or that I knew her. I had heard it spoken that when an elf loses the will to live they fade from consciousness and die, but I had never seen it. I knew death. I had seen it too often to mistake it for something else. My queen, Evenstar of my people was dying.

Suddenly something left me, the force that had been driving me onwards for the past several days was abruptly and utterly gone. Me feet stopped, no longer were they compelled against their will to return to Lorien. I was confused.

Then it came to me. For the first time in all my years among the trees of the earth, I was faced with a choice, do what I had been ordered to complete, or do what I wanted. I blinked, I remember blinking, my surprise was more potent than anything I had ever felt before. There was a choice? The fact that I even had a choice never occurred to me before. I had always equated every action I undertook as my duty to the lady Galadriel, my word, my service was hers. It was not a choice. I took neither joy nor pain from it. It simply was.

Now, something was different. I realised that there had been a choice in all things, and I had unerringly chosen duty. Duty, duty, duty, with no thought to love, honour or respect. I did what was necessary and nothing more. That I could have been rewarded for choosing or even rewarded simply for doing what was asked was a new concept to me.

I had never doubted my love of Undomiel, but as a common soldier I was far below her. She had never looked upon me as anything other than a soldier, and I expected nothing else. She was the heir of our queen, and had kept herself all these long centuries for the heir of men. I truly believed, and still do, that that was the right thing to do. But I still loved her. That had been my choice.

I knew what I would do. I took a bold step towards Lorien, regardless for the loss of the force that brought me hither. I chose to finish this task, and no man or beast, nor power above or below, would stop me. Someone had to protect the queen. Lorien was not free of orcs as the lands southward.

I knew that I had but to ask and the men of Rohan would have followed my footsteps into the heart of Elvenden, but they respectfully kept their distance.

Thus it was, without hesitation, that my mind was set. To my mind there was no choice. My heart and soul were for my Evenstar. I would follow her to the ends of the Earth and back again, were she to bid me. I would do so willingly, because I loved her.

I did not immediately note the burden lift from my heart, the shedding of old insecurities, my confusion and indecision had fled. I would much later associate this change of heart with that moment at the edge of my old home, the land I had once guarded with my life against all intruders, and that included a small creature named Frodo, bearer of the One Ring. Suddenly my steps were light and focused . . .I had a purpose.

I followed Arwen into the empty forest realm of Lorien. There were no elves there now. Those lands had been emptied, the inhabitants either going into the west or south to Ithilien to heal the sickness left by the Dark Lord, and then to sail when they could bare the call of the sea no longer.

We took to the narrow path northward towards the river. To my surprise, Arwen went straight to the bridge across the Celebrant, which my father built. It was still standing. There was no fault in her steps, and never a pause to listen to the song of the river.

In the far side, the undergrowth was thicker than ever before abruptly opening out to clear forest. The growth further in seemed hesitant and less intrusive, but stick thick about the ankles. We had reached the city.

It felt eerily strange walking back into that place. It was so quiet, so still. The mallorn trees were long dead, having given up the light upon the passing the Galadriel across the sea. Now they stood bare and dead, like fingers pointed accusingly at the sky. The city, once fair and filled with voices was now desolate and choked with new life; life that recognised me as elf, but did not fall back at my command. These new trees were those that would overrun our sacred places, filling them with life unseen in our time. Our time was long gone, and I knew it. Lorien was no longer an elven realm.

We had passed right through the city, to my surprise. I had expected Lady Arwen to stop within Caras Galadhon, but she continued northwest along the road to Cerin Amroth, the hill where she gave her troth to Aragorn.

It was there that her journey came to an end. I watched in despair, for I knew this was the end. I did not know the hours that passed, as she was motionless and silent. The moon reached up over the distant horizon, it’s single eye searching through the trees made naked but the passing of autumn. Slowly Úndomiel was bathed in the first silver light of the full moon.

I wondered if I should have been there, that perhaps she was waiting for me to leave, but she had made no sign that she even knew I was there. For an infinitesimal moment I thought that I did not want to be there either, but my heart was to hers. I could not leave, even if I had wanted to. This was where I had chosen to be, to hear the last breath of my lady, my queen . . .to feel the thrill of my last honourable task upon this land. Being the March Warden of Lorien was thrilling, but not fulfilling . . .being the guardian of the last light, I had found my place.

Was I Gilrushim? I would not know. It was said that one elf would remain when all other life had ceased and the end of the world comes. I had not expected, nor deigned to interpret the legend as a parallel of my task now. Also, I am no noble. I am but a common elf of Noldor descent, and not up to the task of overseeing the last days of Arda, but then that is not for me to decide. My task was far less significant, but no less important.

I stood there watching the moon rise up from its bed and cross the dark sky, and as it did so the light of the Star of Evening grew fainter and fainter until it finally went out. And as I watched her descend, with grace to the earth, I knew without stepping closer to see her face, or to touch her pulse that Úndomiel was no more.

But, step closer I did. I knelt beside her to cup her pale cheek. The cry rose from my throat before I even realised it was forming. I lowered his head to hers, my tears falling upon her brow, unbidden and yet wanted, keenly and inexplicably.

I remained in the depths of mourning for far too long, I knew that. The sun had risen and set three times before I lifted my head again. But it was not time that drew me from her, but the sound of voices, voices from within and voices from without. Rough, raucous voices were approaching, and they did not sound like men, and they were too roughly spoken even for dwarves.

I had a choice before me . . .remain in the depths of my broken heart and die, or protect my lady one last time for a party of marauding orcs that were closing in on this lonely and unprotected place. If they found us, they would kill me, and feast upon our remains. Orcs did not think twice before plundering a fresh grave. Meat was meat to them. I could not allow such a thing to happen to my Úndomiel.

Drawing my long blade, I struck the earth to part it like a hot knife through butter. It was not as easy as I paint it, but nevertheless, I managed it and without complaint. I reverently lifted Undomiel’s body into the cleft, folding her dark cloak about her. I drew myself back from the grave and lowered my head, eyes closed and hand to my heart. The words I spoke were Quenya, a tongue I had not spoken in over a century, too few of us were left that spoke its sweet lilt. “Elbereth, to whom honour belongs, our lives depend and our hearts follow . . .Valar of my soul, cover from sight this daughter of the Eldar, granddaughter of our queen, Galadriel, wife of Aragorn, son of Eärendil. Carry her soul to Mandos, take her body into your care. To Elbereth I send my words of prayer.”

I was surprised, though I knew I should not have been so poor in faith, but I was surprised nonetheless. The Valar, in their power, closed the hole, leaving no sign of it ever being there. In my mind was one word of warning. Run!

The voices were closer now, and soon they would be upon me. I had no wish to shed blood in this sacred place. Melting into the trees, I skirted their position and passed right by them unseen. They were not orcs, though in times gone by they may have been mistaken for them. They were wild men, of a sort, but not a savoury clan to have truck with, as a result I did not make myself known to them.

They were armed, having heard my cries, and had entered the sacred hill to flush me out. I raised a brow at their less than stealthy manner. With the fanfare of noise they were making, I doubted that even the deafest creature would have remained. These peoples would take up our lands after we were gone, though there were precious few of them, and they did not live so very long as did other tribes, having lost the birthright of immortality, being only peredhil.

I looked back at the hill through the trees, but I did not stay longer. To do so would mean death for me. I did not wish to die for my heart was still young. There was life still to live upon the white shores. Using the trees as cover I slipped away returning to the edge of Lorien where the trees met the plains. I lifted my eyes and scanned the grasslands. Far and away the ferryman stood awaiting my return. It was of no concern to me at present, however, the animal beside him was.

I gave a shrill whistle and the horse’s ears and head lifted. Upon the air I heard its reply. I had reckoned correctly, it was one of the Maeras, one of only a few left. I was witness to more than one end in these last days.

It was not many minutes before the mighty steed arrived and bore me with speed southward to the ferry. The shocked man of Rohan, red in the face from running after the escaped ‘brute’, as he called her, and then running back to his post upon seeing my approach, puffed breathlessly at me as I dismounted.

“She is a good mount,” I accorded. “Loyal and obedient. Brute is a word I reserve for orcs.”

The man looked shame face. “Yes, my lord.” He then, strangely for a man, turned to the horse and nuzzled her face. “I apologise, old girl. But, you gave me a fright, leaving me behind to think you gone for good.”

She snorted, and nudged him, mostly likely to remind him, affectionately, of how ridiculous that notion was. I could sense the love they had for each other.

The man took me across the river once more and I thanked him. I had not gone far before I realised the horse was still with me. I glanced back at the man questioningly.

“She would carry you, my lord. Ithsaul can carry you southward far quicker than your feet. Just be sure to send her home when you get there.”

I bowed to the man, hand to my heart. “My gratitude and my oath, Elf-friend,” I said.

The ride south took less than the walk north. In just two days I was within sight of the walls of Pelennor fields. At the gate I dismounted and spoke to the horse before pointing her north and bidding my fond farewells. It would be the last Maeras, indeed the last horse, I would ever see. I stood until I could see her no more, my elf eyes resting for a moment on the dark band of trees many leagues to the north. It held no sway for me now. There was nothing for me there, only death.

I went without delay to Osgiliath and to the harbour. There sat the boat, serene and patient. I was the last to board her. No sooner had I come into sight than Legolas saw me, and speaking something I could not hear, Gimli appeared beside him. I walked down to the dock and boarded, silent and pensive.

“Is everything in order, Haldir?” Legolas asked.

“The Evenstar has set and will rise no more,” I replied. I felt the wave of sadness flow through the elves aboard. I had felt it for days.

“She was beautiful, and ever shall be,” Gimli said softly. “The evening will be lost without her, but it is not the end yet. She who is the Lady of the Woods awaits us across the sea.”

Ever the optimist, I thought. How is it that one that I had once dismissed as base and lower than dirt could lift my heart? I knew the answer as truly as I knew the breath that soaked my lungs and the sun that warmed my cheek. All stars are reborn in their time. Time is one continuous circle. Úndomiel would live again.

Finally, I smiled. It was something I had never done before, even as an elfling at my mother’s feet. It felt strange on my face, and must have been stranger still to witness. Legolas gazed at me, greatly surprised to see it. He fingers touched the upturn of my lips and knew. My heart had been lifted, that honour and not duty was my soul’s kin. Legolas, he whom I had despised as unworthy of my kindness, or my respect, smiled back at me, a slow, knowingly gentle smile and clasped my shoulder.

A sob of some deep pain coursed through my being at this acceptance, when I had shown him none. He was calling me kin and for a moment I felt unworthy of it. Who was I, a simple soldier to naysay a Prince? I reached out and held him to my breast. I could tell he was most surprised, his arms followed shortly after, holding me. I lost myself in that embrace. I needed it, as much if not more than I needed air to breathe. My lady had passed into the realms beyond life and the pain would lessen, I knew that, but the love of myself had come to me, not through devotion to duty or a forced action by the powers that created us. I had gone willingly into that dark place of mourning and willingly returned, though it bade me stay and wither, as is the want of a broken elf. But not I, I loved life.

“Come, mel terien. We are going home,” Legolas whispered, though why he whispered was lost on me. The ship was filled with Sindar, Noldor, and several other tribes of our people, all with hearing beyond that of man. They all would have heard his words. But it was with love that he spoke them softly. I smiled again.

“Aye, my beloved brother. I am ready.”

Legolas drew a white blade and struck the rope that held the ship fast to the dock, and at once she surged forward into the channel of the Anduin. I did not look back. Middle Earth was no longer my home. My home was ahead of me, in the west.

El fin

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