"He could have stayed."

"I know."

"He should have stayed. Just a little longer."

"I know."

"Erestor, why didn't he stay?"

Holding Arwen closer to him, he shook his head. "I don't know," he whispered in a choked voice.

He had found her, curled up beneath a dying mallorn, cold and shivering. He could not believe it was her at first, pale and thin, nothing like the vibrant and youthful elleth he recalled from the years spent in Rivendell. Rivendell, another long forgotten thing, bricks crumbling now from disuse, and gardens growing wild. Lorien was in its death throes, and the caves of Mirkwood had long since been left discarded. Only the few in East Lorien and Ithilien remained, and they were wary and hid and sometimes he wondered if they were even still there or had diminished.

Not that he really cared. He felt he had died long ago, when the ships had sailed at the end of the last age. The one he had lost was not through death, but lost he was, to the cry of the gulls and the billowing silver sails that disappeared over the water, into the west, taking with them his love and his heart.

"I don't know," he spoke again, stroking her hair and rocking her gently where they sat on the ground.

"If he were an elf he would not have left," she said bitterly.

A quiet and sad sort of laughter came from him and turned to piteous sobs. "Ah, if only you could understand, but at least you have the kiss of death before you, instead of so many, many unfathomable years alone."

"He left you," was her only reply as Erestor's arms tightened around her, and hers around him. And she understood him, and his grief, as he did hers. Her kiss was meant to comfort him, but could she help it that he opened up to her, and that she then pressed forward. Their tongues collided, and whether they thought of each other as they began to rip at the clothing the other wore, or lovers lost, neither said nor could tell.

Their bodies did not ache with the need of lovers, but with some other desire - to be touched, held, and completed, one last time, before death take them or time forget them. Fierce, yet bittersweet their coupling was, as Arwen rested in the frosted grass of Cerin Amroth, and Erestor leaned down to press his lips upon hers. "I have never- he was my only-"

Erestor quieted her with his lips once more, and admitted to her, "I have only ever had one beloved and no other, but on that I do not wish to dwell." Touches and caresses began anew, and boldly she took him in hand and led him as she willed, until he was sheathed within her and both panting in mutual passion for what would be the last time.

They were slow, savoring each movement. There was no thrusting of hips, no harsh words, only murmurs of poetic phrases and a gentle joining of their bodies as their souls gave comfort to each other as they could. When at last sweet release came to them, they clung to each other with dry, red eyes focused on each other, unable to lament their losses any longer, finally accepting their fates at the completion of this act.

Sleep came to her, and he watched over her as he had on nights when dreams haunted her slumber and her parents unable to chase her demons away. This final time he prayed for her, and for her mysterious journey ahead. In the dull grey hours before the first light, she opened her eyes and touched his face with her hand, and did something she had not done since leaving Gondor.

She smiled.

"I had a dream. That I watched you walk upon the white shores."

"It was a dream," confirmed Erestor, but Arwen shook her head.

Taking hold of his hand, her fingers traced over the smooth metal of the simple gold band he wore. "Glorfindel would not wish this for you. Sail, or swim if you must. Please, I do not wish to leave and not know that you will be safe. Please, do this for me. You will regret it if you do not."

Knowing it to be her dying wish, he found himself unable to say no. "But sail with me, then, so that you have no regrets."

"I have none," she reflected, "and I shall not sail." Her eyes blinked as the first rays of the sun shined upon them. "Is it morning already? I am still so tired."

"Then sleep, and I will stay with you," promised Erestor. The smile was still upon her lips as she closed her eyes and he imparted upon her one final kiss, for when he raised his head to look upon her beauty, it was only her beauty that remained. He closed his eyes, and opened them to find that the light of the Evenstar had diminished, and that he was alone, with nothing but a memory.

The trees rustled as the air whispered through them, and upon the wind, he heard the cry of birds and smelled the salt of waters to the west.