Aragorn, last in a long line of fosterlings, was gone. Arwen,
always their little sister, had passed. With the deaths of their
sister, and one they had loved like a brother, there was nothing to
bind them to Middle Earth any longer; nothing to stay for. Even
Imladris was fading and dying. The ravages of time could no
longer be denied.
Pausing only long enough to pack essentials for the journey, and
mementoes they could not bear to leave behind, they consigned fair
Imladris to the care of those who remained. They rode for the
havens, arriving at dusk, the long firth shining ahead of them,
glimmering softly in the moonlight.
Cirdan greeted them. “Welcome to Mithlond, my lords. You have
been expected. We sail at dawn.” Nodding to the
grey-bearded shipwright, they boarded the ship, feeling deep
sorrow and loss at the memory of all those who would never now join
them. Yet amid the sadness there was hope – expectation of joyous
reunion with those long missed who had gone before, anticipation of a
new land to explore – and they would always be together.
As dawn broke, the ship slipped away down the long grey
firth to the sea.