For Widfara

6. Tomorrow

He has passed away at last, the last mortal in Tol Eressea, my dearest friend, my brother in every way that mattered, in every way but blood. I watched him breathe his last, slower and slower each one, until at last there was no breath at all. He was very, very old for his kind, and tired, and his beard lay on his breast like a blanket of snow. Mithrandir is here, and the room is filled with Elves, both great and lowly, but it feels empty now to me. Empty and cold. I touch his hand and feel the hollowness of a mortal husk whose fea has fled. He has left me, but I cannot begrudge him his rest.

"So passes Gimli, son of Gloin," a voice murmurs. More voices raise in lament, but silence fills me. Tomorrow the sun will rise, I will walk on the white sand as I shall for countless ages to come, and the cold sea will foam over my feet. How shall I feel it for the greater, colder pain under my heart? Tomorrow Elbereth's countless stars will shine bright above me. How shall I see them for the tears in my eyes?

*****

Tbc...