Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien.
There are three drabbles under this cut - all continuing to look at 'my' Rumil who, whilst 'a warrior first and foremost' has always been an artist. Now, Aragorn is dead, and the time is coming to move on.
It was hard to decide which pictures to take on the journey West. Some were created especially for this; pictures of Arwen, her husband, her children, meant for her parents and grandmother. Some were for his own pleasure. But others…
They were severing ties with elves who had chosen never to take sail, and their ties with those mortals they had grown to know were all severed, now, by death. There may be relatives of the first, and it was right, Rumil thought, that the mortals who had helped defeat Sauron should not be ignored.
More pictures were carefully packed.
Rumil remembered this moment well.
After the Galadhrim had been gone for some time he and Orophin had returned, with others, to Lothlórien. As they walked the overgrown path he had concentrated on the voices of the great mellyrn.
He would take this picture to Her Ladyship and let her know that the trees were not sad. They did not sorrow that the elves were gone; they had been pleased that the party was there amongst them, but it was as if they welcome them as visitors…
Their voices had been like those of gently woken elflings, drowsy with sleep.
Almost all was ready. Soon they would eat their last meal here and board the waiting ship.
Nature would reclaim this place as it had Lothlórien. In little time, maybe a yén or so, there would be nothing but the trees. Their time here was over.
He reminded himself of his words to his wife when they left the Golden Wood.
“In an Elf’s life there are many changes. You and I are young, this is the first time we have moved on – but it will not be the last, meleth. We have each other. It is how it is.”