I'm totally out of inspiration, but I did not want to miss the chance, so I thought I could tidy up this for the occasion. Happy birthday, Nilmandra, and heartfelt thanks for your dedication.

THE RING GOES WEST

Long has been the road -and painful- from the Land of Light to the City of the White Tree.  Change, change is the curse, she silently acknowledges and then smiles bitterly, for change, she believes, must have reached even those who once felt safe and protected beyond the Pelori… Change, who is brother to time, as she has finally come to learn after all her long years in Middle Earth.

“My lady...”

“King Elessar…”

“I would not intrude…”

“I fail to see how... These are the King’s gardens, I am told...”

He smiles and nods obligingly. For all his youth, this one has always been sure of his fate, and has embraced it with a grace that made him an equal among those doomed, be them Eldar or Edain. Proud of his burden, he carries himself with the quiet self-assurance and the grave dignity of one who knows he is not second to anyone who walks the lands of Hither, she notes not for the first time. 

“Would you walk with me, my lady?”

He proffers his arm with the mix of respect and connivance that has always distinguished their relationship. Bold son of a man, she thinks with a brief wave of regret, who dared claim the gift of a Firstborn with such impertinent confidence…and such honourable steadfastness. As he leads her to the western side of the garden her thoughts stray to the one whose life was claimed by another daring  Edain who followed his own fate.

But this is not Beren; she reminds herself, banishing the unexpectedly fresh pain of that memory from her mind. She searches his face for the traces of kinship, and forces herself to rejoice in the faint likeness he bears to those she has kept from her thoughts for long ages. The strength and wisdom of the Noldor, the pride and sorrow of those who fell lowest and rose highest shine dimly in this king of Men, and she allows herself to bask in that knowledge. This is all that shall remain of the line of Finwë in Middle-earth, and with this last admission she suddenly knows that her task is done, her time fulfilled, and her suffering close to an end.    

“I would like you to keep this, my lady, in the hopes that one day you will be able to return it to its rightful owner.”

Lost in her thoughts, she has not noticed his uncomfortable silence and uncharacteristic hesitation as they came to a stop before the western wall of the secluded garden. Now she lifts her hand to receive a purse of soft leather emblazoned with the White Tree.

She handles it with care, wondering, while her slender fingers, on their own accord, untie the leather lacings and tear its folds open.

And then she gasps.

“Please, tell your lord brother that his oath has been more than fulfilled for three ages of this world, and that it is my house that rests forever in his debt,” he pronounces solemnly, bowing deeply before her.

The Ring of Barahir.

For the first time since Celebrían sailed, a tear graces the face of the Lady Galadriel.

A/N: Of course there's no suggestion of this being the final fate of he Ring of Barahir.