As Arwen left the House of the Kings the great doors closed behind her with a final, fateful thud.  She came down the time-worn steps and it seemed to her brothers that all the ravages of age and time had fallen on her in an instant.  No longer their little sister, she looked older now; her face worn with sorrow and lined from a life lived with both great joy and an even greater loss.   Her head seemed covered with a cap of silver lace and frosted strands threaded the braids of her dark hair.

Elladan and Elrohir had already made their own parting with one they loved like a brother, leaving her to make her own final – and eternal – farewell.  As she emerged into the silent street they stepped one each side of her, enfolding her with their love and comfort.  Elladan cast his cloak about her shoulders to ward off time’s bitter embrace.  “Come, little sister,”  he urged.  “Our ship awaits.  Will you sail with us?”

The light in her seemed quenched as she nodded sadly, leaning against him for support; as frail as a wilted flower.  “Yes.  There is nothing here for me now.  We will sail.”