To Live Again: The Road to War {Lord of the Rings Fanfiction}|

24. Many Partings

It is in the ethereal glow of the twilight hours that the people of Greenwood choose to honour the fallen. The forest beyond the city is flooded with the simple blue tinged light of ghostly lanterns, each glass lantern held in memory of the dead.

Fresh earth has been ploughed under the shade of the great trees of the majestic wood, the final resting places for those that we will part with tonight. Most have already been buried here, and there are far too many fresh mounds laden with flowers and lanterns of remembrance.

I walk steadily a step behind Thranduil, carefully holding the silver chain of my own lantern, and I don't even attempt to hide the tears as they openly fall from my eyes. We lead the procession of the fallen warriors - the last to be given a farewell.

Since Thranduil is the head of the guard, he of course felt that it was not only his duty, but his honour to be the one that would lay these brave souls to rest. Although I know that this is not the only reason. Torphen's death was a deep blow for him, the ellon was like a brother to him and I know this is his small way of trying to say goodbye.

The sorrowful but haunting voices of the Silvan folk erupt around us, each voice joining with the other to skilfully weave together a harmony that reflects the tremendous loss felt in each of our hearts. The sound makes me waver and in order to shield my tears I gently reposition the hood of my grey-blue chiffon robe, so it falls ever so slightly over my face, obscuring the grief etched in my features. There is no need for title or places of respect tonight, everyone stands together, even Oropher is crownless and dressed simply in silvery greys. These elves do not wear black to signify mourning; they wear the pale colour of the stars - paying homage to those stars and the peaceful dreams that they wish for their departed.

It takes all of a few moments to lay the dead in the cold ground.

I stand off to the side to watch as Thranduil helps Olban lay his son in the earth...beside his beautiful wife. I inhale sharply and feel my face contort in anguish, but I refuse to give into the grief - not yet.

My tired eyes scan the sea of faces until I spy the familiar mahogany mane of my closest friend. Oliel's face is completely blank and void of feeling, as she stands rigidly by her new husband. I note the deep purplish bruises and thick scar that remains prominent on her face, although she has attempted to hide it with a carefully positioned navy headscarf. I observe how Aradan tries to take her hand, but they remain balled up fists at her sides. However, most of my attention is drawn to the still and silent elfling that rests in her uncle's arms.

Tears slip quietly down the child's cheeks as she regards the burial of her parents, but there is something very accepting in her pose. She seems resigned to the truth of the matter that her mother and father are gone and this shall be the last she sees of them. Her dignified manner and strong resolve almost floors me, but it also gives me a little perspective. If this child can stand in the face of great horror and remain strong, then so can I. I will not cave in the wake of such atrocities, and I will not let my people do so either. Here we shall stand, and here we shall remain, strong and undivided until the war runs its course and peace prevails.

When the last dustings of earth are laid on the graves, those of us of who stood in watch begin to come forward and place our offerings of remembrance on the fresh mounds. Mostly it is flowers, and candles, or personal mementos belonging to the fallen. I wait and watch as Thranduil gives Olban his son's sword, which had apparently been shattered during battle, but he had the smiths remake it for this night. Olban bows in thanks and stakes the weapon into the heart of the grave, and then a completely shattered looking Gilron appears, held upright only by Tinuben, to place a garland of flowers around the shining silver of the blade. She openly weeps as she presses her hands into the dirt.