He comes.

To some he was The Wise; the appellation amused him.

To foes confronting the fell hand of the argent-crowned warrior lord, he was executioner.

To our daughter, he was her healer of hurts, silver-tongued story-singer, patient teacher, proud protector.

To me? He was my anchor in Endor, my roots, my nourishment. Upon me alone he bestowed his ofttimes tempestuous, ofttimes tender, ever-impassioned love.

Our endless separation has tattered my soul. But now, as his white ship approaches quayside, I savor the first faint brushes of his mind on mine.

I clasp my gold-banded hand to hide my trembling.

~~~

She awaits.

She stands in solitude amidst the throng, a pillar of white-gowned elegance bewreathed in a rippling aureole, regal in her dignity.

Disembarking, I am drawn to face her.

Others see the glacial magnificence of towering Taniquetil; but I alone glimpse Orodruin's perilous fires concealed beneath — and grasp the profound cost of masking such passions behind her public guise of serenity.

Her eyes betray her turbulence to me: wrath, sorrow, anticipation... despair?

Did you fear I would not come, my love?

I raise my gold-banded fingertip to her grave and beautiful face, then caress away the single scalding tear.

[There] is no record of the day when at last [Celeborn] sought the Grey Havens, and with him went the last living memory of the Elder Days in Middle-earth.

The Fellowship of the Ring, LoTR Prologue, Note on the Shire Records