| Mornië Main
Characters: Gilraen, Elrond This story was written for Parma’s seventeenth fanfic challenge. ~***~ Elrond looked with sadness in his eyes the frail and pale woman. She was lying on her bed, eyes closed. Her breathing was profound and calm. Elrond sighed as he looked upon Gilraen. Gilraen the Fair, Gilraen the Strong was now only a shadow of herself. The elf knew Death was near, for the Numenorean woman was letting go of her strength. A path of Darkness was ahead of her now. Although gifted with a very long life, she was doomed. She did not have the choice the Half-Elven was confronted with. And his heart was crying at the idea of her loss. Elrond did not want to remember her as a weak form white-skinned and fading. But he knew he could not stop the wheel of the seasons. Age after age, he had watched so many loves, hates, friendships and betrayals. What was eternity when you only have memories to cherish? She moved lightly on the bed and opened her eyes. The Lord of Rivendell rushed to her side and took her fragile hand in his. Life was still pouring in her veins and he felt a strange relief overwhelm him. Gilraen smiled lightly and studied her friend’s face. For a long, very long time she stayed lost in her contemplation. Elrond had never sensed so much intensity in silence. He smiled when the old woman slowly raised her other hand and touched his cheek, a feathery touch on his skin. She mirrored his smile and began to speak, in a quiet and slightly broken voice. “Mellon nîn, the time has come. All my life was conducted by one purpose. My son. Elessar. Hope will rise again in Middle-Earth. You know it, do you not? Death is both a curse and a blessing. I will not have to face the dark times ahead, like you do. Remember what I said and know I have no regrets” “I once had a choice to make” murmured the Elven lord “I do not regret it either.” His voice sounded weird even to his ears. Words were difficult to form. And even if he had witnessed hundreds of deaths, this one was amazingly painful. The woman took in his features one last time. “Thank you, my friend.” These four words were the last to escape her mouth. Elrond held her hand until her breathing ceased and her small body went limp on the mattress. Tears were running down his face, bitter farewell. He would never know this luxury. And he understood why the elves would one day leave Middle-Earth and go to the Grey Havens. There, Eternity would be painless. He remembered what she had said the first time he had seen her, still young but her face grave. The words came to life and fell from his lips in the silent room, last trace of a woman that once was. “Onen i-Estel Edain, ù-chebin estel anim.“
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