The Greenwater

A/N: Thanks for the hits, and thanks to Caz for being a fan!

****
The army of Uruk-Hai stopped at the base of the great wall of Helm’s Deep. A deep, anxious silence shrouded both men and orcs. Then, without warning, the orcs began beating their spears and swords and axes against their shields. It was like the heartbeat of a great beast and it grew rapidly, shaking the ground and pounding in the veins of every warrior there. Each army waited restlessly for the other to make the first move.

They didn’t have to wait long.

A soldier in the autumn of his life had been shaking with nerves since he had taken his place on the parapet near Legolas. Sure enough, when the din-horde had gathered below, the arrow that had been carefully knocked and so diligently watched by the old man was let go. Later, he would say that it was because of the rain that had started to fall. But now, ten thousand elves and men watched as the arrow shot cleanly over the wall and into the throat of an orc on the front line. The beat stopped and all grew silent.

“Dartho!”1

Aragorn’s command came clear across the parapets and elves and men froze, watching as the injured orc croaked, grabbed his wounded throat, and then fell to the rain-soaked ground. An orc snapped his head upwards and stared at the men on the wall, and he opened his mouth, releasing a great, blood-curdling battle cry. The noise multiplied as each orc joined in and the sound was like iron against steel. Suddenly they charged the wall, swarming like ants.

“Tangado a chadad!”2

The order was repeated among the ranks and Théalyn steadied her bow, knocking an arrow and taking aim. She waited, her hand aching to release the arrow. Beside her she heard the groan of twenty bow-strings as elves prepared themselves.

She heard Aragorn’s cry to release the arrows and Théalyn’s fingers loosened. She watched the arrow sail neatly over the wall and wedge itself between the shoulder and chest plates of an orc. She turned to the elf beside her, not knowing that on the other wall, Legolas would say the same:

“Faeg i-varv din na lanc a nu ranc!”3

Pulling another arrow from the quiver, she watched the battle below her quickly unfold. Her eyes widened as she watched a group of orcs scurry to the wall, carrying a long ladder on their shoulders. They stopped at the wall and slowly leaned the ladder up, making a way over the wall.

“Aragorn!” Théalyn screamed, craning her neck to catch the eye of the Ranger.

His head swiveled and he looked to her, a look of panicked questioning in his eyes. She knocked an arrow and took aim at the orcs below and looked back to Aragorn. “Pendraith!”4

Aragorn rushed to the wall and took in the sight below. He prepared to strike even as he cried out the orcs’ use of ladders. The elves near Théalyn had already begun their siege, whipping arrows into the mass and knocking off those that would breach the wall. More ladders came, however, and with them, more orcs. Pitching the longbow to one side, Théalyn drew her sword and waited.

The rain was heavy now, and the mud and stone was cold and unforgiving. Théalyn watched an orc charge and she neatly side-stepped it, cutting her sword in a wide arc and slicing her enemy across the gut. She then spun and sliced two more, catching the first one in the arm and the second one in the thigh. They howled in pain but advanced on her, swinging their crude iron weapons. She blocked them as best she could and they split apart, each attacking one side. A blade bit into the flesh of her upper arm and she cursed as she felt the blood start to seep out of the gash. She parried as best she could, blocking a thrust that came too close to her chin and bringing the sword pommel down on the back of an orc’s head. He fell like a sack of grain only to be replaced by two more.

She felt someone behind her then and she turned, ready to attack, a battle cry already on her lips. Haldir’s face came into view and she scowled slightly and then nodded as the elf flattened his back against Théalyn’s. They fought like this, back to back, helping to fend off their foes. The clash of swords rang sharp and Théalyn and Haldir moved across the wall, luring the orcs away from the Keep.

Still, the orcs flooded the causeway and Aragorn’s command caused the company of soldiers above the ramp to open fire and cease the ramming of the gate. The elves followed suit and took aim at the sides, where the orc armor was thin or lacking, but the orcs continued their attack.

A commotion started below, one that caused a great, blinding light to flare up from the muddy battle ground, accompanied by the shouts and cheering of orcs. A lone orc soldier ran, brandishing a torch, and he made way for the drain at the bottom of the wall.

“Tongo hon dad, Legolas!” Aragorn cried.5

Théalyn paused a moment to watch as Legolas took aim and shot the orc in the shoulder. Still the orc continued.

“Dago han! Dago han!”6

The Elf Prince’s second arrow hit the other shoulder, and now the orc stumbled, but he still carried on with his quarry. He cleared the opening of the drain and Aragorn’s eyes grew wide with fear.

In a great explosion, the out wall of Helm’s Deep came crashing down. Théalyn lost her footing but was grabbed up by Haldir and drug to safety. He frowned at the wound on her arm and tore a length of his cloak then. His fingers worked fast, winding the strip of cloth around the cut on her arm and tying it tight with a knot to stop the bleeding.

Stone debris sailed through the air, taking orcs, but smashing into the ranks of elves and men as well. With a new way into the stronghold, the orcs piled into Helm’s Deep by the hundreds. Théalyn watched from above as Aragorn lay unmoving in a flooded ditch. She made to go but Haldir held her fast at his side, motioning to the now running figure of Gimli. She watched the dwarf launch himself from the wall and down into the melee beside Aragorn. The Ranger stirred and stood next to Gimli, and together they prepared to fight off the invading horde or Uruk-Hai.

“Let’s move to the other side!” Haldir shouted as he stood and pulled Théalyn behind him, brandishing a sword along the way. He felt Théalyn’s arm slip from his hand and he turned back to catch hold of her again.

She was in the midst of a group of eight orcs, and she was a flurry of blonde hair and blades as she slashed first one, and then another, and still another. The black blood of the servants of Isenguard stained her hands and the ends of her soaking hair, and yet she continued, hacking and cutting, bringing down the enemy one by one. Haldir nodded to himself, confident that she could hold her own, and he stormed up the stairs, ready to defend another wall.

Théalyn’s muscles screamed in protest as she one hacking blow after another and her injured arm stung where rain and sweat and dirt had been ground in. It was no use. There were too many of them. When one Uruk was felled, two more sprang in its place, and Théalyn swallowed thickly as she was quickly becoming out numbered. Her hand fell to her belt and she drew the dagger from its sheath. She blocked a blow and sliced her opponent across the thigh and then turned, driving her sword under her arm and into its gullet. It struggled, a strangling curse in its throat, and then she pulled the blade clear, turned once more, and pushed the orc to his knees with a booted foot. She brought the sword around her head and sliced the orc’s head clean off, watching it hit the stones and roll away into a waiting pile of bodies. She finished off a second, and then a third, and it was then that a band of elves came to her aid, standing next to her and slaying the mob with a flash of swords.

She turned and looked then to the upper parapet and watched as Haldir delivered a nasty blow into the neck of one orc. Voices rose up from the level of the Keep as the King of Rohan called for all forces to fall back to the Keep at once. The orcs were beginning to take over Helm’s Deep.

“Nan barad! Nan barad!”7

Théalyn looked to where Aragorn stood in the midst of battle, calling the ranks back to the Keep. She looked back to Haldir and called his name.

Aragorn heard Haldir’s name being called and he looked to find Théalyn still standing, although a little worse for wear, looking up at the top parapet. He followed her gaze and saw Haldir still fighting, his movements brutally quick and precise. Orcs were falling around him like flies and Aragorn called his name as another fell.

“Haldir! Nan barad!”

Haldir finished slicing through the belly of his enemy and looked down to Aragorn, nodding. He called to the elves on the wall with him to head for the Keep, but he continued fighting as he moved. He attacked one orc from behind, but was unaware of his left side. An Uruk laid a blow to his arm and Haldir’s eyes narrowed, piercing the orc with his gaze. Still the elf fought, laying another blow. He looked to his arm in disbelief; how could he have been attacked so easily?

Théalyn watched in slow motion as another orc reared up behind Haldir. She screamed his name and her feet were already carrying her up the stairs to the top of the wall. Taking the last steps two at a time, she arrived in time to see Haldir struck in the back. His eyes grew wide, and for a moment, he seemed to focus on Théalyn. Her eyes mirrored his and she froze, watching as the March Warden fell to his knees. The orc behind him prepared to strike the fatal blow but Théalyn was too fast for the foul being. She had plucked the bow from a fallen elf and knocked an arrow just as the orc focused on her with a snarling growl. She released the arrow and felt a tear slide down her cheek as it pierced the thing’s helm and pushed clear through the head.

“Haldir!”

It was Aragorn. He raced the steps as well and slid to a halt at Haldir’s side as Théalyn looked on. The March Warden fell effortlessly into Aragorn’s eyes and the Ranger and the Eraddnian looked on as his last breath left him. His blue eyes softened and then emptied, and Aragorn cradled the fair-haired head in the crook of his elbow for a moment. Putting a hand on his chest and then Haldir’s, Aragorn spoke the parting words of a fallen warrior, and then gently laid the elf’s body aside. He then flew to his feet and with a great cry of anguish he attacked the orcs head on once more, eager to avenge his fallen friend.

Théalyn tossed the bow aside and pushed her way to Haldir’s body. Those around her did not seem to notice that she was no longer fighting. She bent and grasped Haldir’s leather curriass and turned, pulling him over her shoulder and struggling with his weight. Aragorn continued his battle as Théalyn made her way along the parapet. The elves which she passed looked on with worried looks, but she kept her eyes trained forward. Haldir’s army provided her cover as she brought the March Warden’s body to the Keep.

****
“A rider in white approaches!”

Éomer mounted Firefoot with ease and turned the horse in the direction of the call, watching as the white horse and rider came up over the brow of a hill and down into the valley the Rohirrim were currently using for camp. His eyes recognized Shadowfax immediately and he knew then that there were only two possible identities of the rider. The mearas would only let the King of Rohan or his sons ride. But Éomer had been there the day that Gandalf Stormcrow had requested the white stallion, and he knew in his heart that it was the wizard that approached. He pressed Firefoot into a canter to meet the wizard.

“Hail, Gandalf Stormcrow!” Éomer called out as the old man drew Shadowfax in to a walk.

Gandalf smiled and bowed his head shortly. “My heart is glad to have found you, Éomer, son of Eomund! But I am no longer the Stormcrow!” He then cast aside the grey riding cloak, revealing his blinding white garments beneath. “I am now called Gandalf the White!”

Éomer’s face broke into a grin and he laughed, his spirits immediately lifted. “Tell me, has my uncle been cured of his sickness? Has Grima been defeated?”

Gandalf nodded as he walked Shadowfax beside Firefoot as they headed to the camp. “Your uncle was manipulated by the servants of Sauron. I cast Saruman out and bade Grima leave Edoras.”

Éomer nodded, but his smile was fading as he took in Gandalf’s haggard appearance. “You have ridden long and hard, and yet I do not think it was to bring me just this news.”

The wizard wasted no time. “Isenguard has been unleashed. An army of orcs, greater than any ever seen, has laid siege on Rohan.”

“I thought as much,” Éomer confirmed. “How many men are at Helm’s Deep?”

Gandalf shook his head gravely. “Not enough.” He paused then and watched Éomer closely. “I came across Théalyn as she set out for Minas Tirith,” he continued. “But I fear that Gondor will be of no aid to us now.”

At the mention of Théalyn’s name, Éomer shifted in his saddle, feeling the excitement of battle suddenly boil his blood. “She was well?”

“As well as one in her situation can be. I am sure she made it to Gondor safely.”

Éomer nodded, but he did not dwell on this information. “We must ride for Helm’s Deep,” he said, more to himself than anyone. He looked at Gandalf. “We are late in coming to this battle, and I fear we will not see victory.”

A small, knowing smile spread across the old face then and Éomer raised an eyebrow in question. “It is never too late, my young friend,” Gandalf assured. “Aragorn, son of Arathorn, leads the armies of Rohan with your uncle.” He looked out to the camp of Rohirrim and then back to Éomer. “We must hurry, though.”

Éomer nodded and turned Firefoot to the camp. “Rohirrim!”

A hundred pairs of eyes all fixed on the Third Marshal of the Mark.

“Battle is forged at Helm’s Deep! Our king calls for aid!” Éomer smiled as he was met with loud cheering. “Take only what is necessary! Weapons, armor, shields – we go to fight against Isenguard; against Saruman, who would have your king lying as an invalid as your lands burn!” More cheers erupted and the men began strapping armor on and saddling their horses.

“Make haste!” Éomer ordered. “We must ride fast and true! Sunrise will see us at Helm’s Deep, and there we shall be victorious!”

****
“Im naer,” came Aragorn’s soft words.1

Théalyn’s head shot up from where she was bowed over Haldir’s body and she found herself face to face with Aragorn. He looked to Haldir’s empty face and then back to Théalyn. He stretched his arm out over the body and held his hand out, waiting for Théalyn to take it. Her hand shook as she did so and Aragorn frowned at the coldness in her touch.

“E u-ar hired rad,” Théalyn answered in a weak voice. She looked down at Haldir’s face again and her eyes squeezed shut to stop the flow of tears.2

Aragorn sighed, shaking his head. “No, do not think that.”

Pulling back from his touch, Théalyn looked once more at the Ranger before her, her eyes narrowed with anger and frustration. “He should have sailed to the Grey Havens long ago, Aragorn.” She smiled bitterly and shook her head. “He was not fond of the race of men, you realize.” She saw Aragorn nod and she continued. “He thought that men would surely destroy all that they had made, and yet he stayed to fight while his kin left Middle Earth.”

“Just as you did,” Aragorn said gently. “Théalyn,” he began again softly. He frowned then, for he did not know what to say next.

“Am man harthach?” Her question was quiet but reasonable.3

Aragorn’s face was lined with sadness for a moment. “If we do not hope for ourselves, who will?”

She frowned at his answer, but she accepted it because she believed no one else could answer. She turned to the door of the small antechamber in the Keep that Théoden had set aside for the preparation of Haldir’s body and saw Legolas standing, looking on with a pained expression.

“Aragorn,” he began slowly. “The king awaits you in the main hall. Will you go to him?”

“Aye,” Aragorn said, closing his eyes briefly. He stood then, leaving Théalyn at the side of Haldir’s body. “There is still a battle to be won, Théalyn.”

She nodded, but her fingers touched Haldir’s hair briefly and she looked to Legolas. “Will you stay with me a moment, Elf-Prince?”

Legolas smiled and nodded his head, and moved aside to let Aragorn pass. Once he was gone, Legolas shut the door and joined Théalyn at Haldir’s body, kneeling opposite of her. He touched his heart and then Haldir’s, and his silvery voice could be heard as he repeated a small prayer:

Navaer, Haldir, na-dem pedim ad.
Nir tol erin baded lin.
Losto mae;
no i Melain na le.4

His blue eyes found Théalyn’s then. “I did not know him well, but my heart is sad. I am sorry for your loss.” He paused a moment more and then stood. “The armies of Isenguard will not rest for you to say all that you need to…if you need to say more.” He then turned and left.

Théalyn could hear the muffled din of the hordes outside of the keep and she knew that she could not linger here longer than needed. Her fingers touched the scrap of Haldir’s cloak that was tied around her wound and she saw the torn edge where it had been pulled off. She pulled at the knot then, tugging the strip of wool loose, and she folded it neatly before pressing it into the cold palm of Haldir’s hand. “They will meet a bloody death, Haldir.” She surged to her feet and laid a hand on her chest, copying Aragorn’s and Legolas’ gesture, and touched Haldir briefly. Squaring her shoulders, she shed the last of her tears for the March Warden and took her last look.

“Le cenithon ned lu thent,” she said with a smile.5

****
“The fortress is taken. It is over.”

Théoden’s words hung in the still air of the Keep while the sounds of the orc army still thundered outside. Théalyn joined Legolas and Gimli at Aragorn’s side as the King of Rohan conceded defeat.

Aragorn shook his head and rushed forward. “You said this fortress would never fall while your men defend it! They still defend it! They have dieddefending it!”

Théoden’s gaze wavered and he looked away from Aragorn and to the faces of Gamling and then to Théalyn, weighing his options. A loud crash sounded suddenly and all eyes fell on the double doors of the Keep. They shuddered from the force of the Uruk-Hai battering-ram.

Aragorn crossed the stone floor and forced Théoden to look at him. “Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?” He frowned at the king’s silence and pressed on. “Is there no other way?”

Gamling stepped forward then of his own accord. He knew that what Aragorn said was true; he believed that there was still a chance for men to defeat Saruman and his armies. “There is one passage. It leads into the mountains.” Aragorn seemed to find relief in this, but Gamling continued gravely, “But they will not get far.” He turned back to the door and listened to another hit of the battering-ram. “The Uruk-Hai are too many.”

Aragorn shook his head and grabbed Gamling’s shoulder to get his attention. He looked into the hazel eyes and pleaded silently for a moment. “Tell the women and children to make for the mountain pass. And barricade the entrance!”

Gamling hesitated only slightly, but when Théoden didn’t object to Aragorn’s orders, he set about arranging for word to be sent to the women and for timber to be brought to seal the entrance as best they could.

Théalyn stepped to Théoden then and took his hands in hers, holding them in a strong grasp. The old king looked at the woman before him then. He took in her dirt-smudged face and the damp, disheveled hair; he frowned at the cut that had scored her chin and at the deeper gash in her left shoulder. “So much death,” he breathed, closing his eyes briefly. He looked back over his shoulder at Aragorn. “What can men do against such reckless hate?”

“Ride out with me,” Aragorn said suddenly, a light shining in his eyes that gave Théoden renewed hope. “Ride out and meet them!”

A small smile played on Théoden’s features. “For death and glory,” he said slowly, turning from Théalyn.

“For Rohan,” Aragorn agreed. “For your people.”

****
“I didn’t think I’d be on the back of a horse again so soon!” Gimli cried as a soldier boosted him up onto Faron in front of Théalyn.

She laughed at the grizzled words of the Dwarf and kicked Faron into gear, flying out of the Keep and towards the Horn of Helm Hammerhand. Drawing her sword, she easily hacked through the orcs, for they swarmed on foot and she had the advantage of being on horseback. Gimli cried out in triumph as orcs fell left and right, and he swung his axe once or twice, splitting helms and severing limbs as they went. At the base of Helm Hammerhand, Théalyn stopped and Gimli slid from the saddle, stumbling on his feet for a moment.

“I have never been to battle with a woman before this night,” Gimli started as he looked up at Théalyn. “If I ever have the chance again, I hope that it is you.”

“And I have never met a Dwarf before this night,” Théalyn countered, turning Faron back towards the main gates of Helm’s Deep. “You are stout in stature,” Théalyn said with a laugh. Gimli grumbled, but she continued. “But you are stout in heart and mind, as well. I thank you, Master Dwarf.”

She turned then and Faron dashed down the stone walkways as the first bone-shaking cry of the Horn blasted through Helm’s Deep. She waited a moment, watching as Aragorn and Théoden burst through the gates of the Keep, Legolas and Gamling and the rest of the Rohirrim close behind. She was supposed to steal back to the Keep after depositing Gimli, but she could not go back. She still owed Haldir.

She cursed herself and her stubborn ways, but drove Faron harder to catch up with the rest of Théoden’s party, taking out orcs along the way. Faron flew like an eagle down the causeway, happy to be mounted once more after two days of stasis. He screamed and pulled at his reins, willing his mistress to let him go faster. She loosened her hold and opened him up, letting him take the lead. The air was cool in the pre-dawn light and she could see the first golden flares of sunrise over the hilltop. Her hair flew out behind her with the length of her cloak and she held her sword high, calling out her name and her mother’s name and the legacy of her kind.

Legolas turned in his saddle to see Théalyn catching up to him and he spun Arod around to spend the ten seconds it took for her to meet him.

“I thought you were supposed to go back to the Keep!” He called with a mischievous grin. He slashed an orc and pressed his horse on.

“I’ve never been known to do what I am told!” She countered as she pulled Faron up and away from a pile of corpses. She kicked his ribs and she and Legolas flew to flank Aragorn and Théoden.

And then suddenly, all things stopped for a moment as the sun peaked higher in the east and two figures appeared on the hilltop. A shiver ran through Théalyn as she looked on; she knew the shape of that helm and the broad spread of shoulders. Her heart leapt and she choked on her tears as she recognized Éomer. Éomer, her heart of hearts, was there with his Rohirrim to wage war and fight for his people. She cried his name, swinging her sword in a wide arc.

“Éomer! Éomer Eadig!”

Aragorn looked on in wonder, breathing a name as he did so. “Gandalf.”

****
“Théoden King stands alone,” Gandalf began as he held Shadowfax steady.

Éomer rode up beside the wizard and looked down onto the valley below. He saw his uncle riding tall and proud, and beside him was Aragorn. “Not alone,” Éomer assured him. He turned behind him to the four hundred men he had mustered from across Rohan. “Rohirrim!”

The cavalry flanked him and he drew his sword, the sunlight glinting harshly on the blade. “To the King!” He kicked Firefoot’s ribs and Gandalf let out a cry to battle as well, and in a sweeping wave of horses and swords, the Rohirrim went to battle.

****
Théalyn watched in awe as Éomer rode ahead, pushing Firefoot to the limit as he slid down the loose gravel of the hillside, and she had to squint as the sun came blasting up from behind the hill and blazed down in its blinding glory. Helms were burnished, swords seemed to be of mithril, and the cries of men could be heard clear across the din of orcs.

The orcs, for their part, had turned at the sound of Éomer’s cry and had waited, foolishly, for their fate to come. As the sun came up, the light blinded the orcs, causing them to shield their eyes. The Rohirrim tore down the hill and the battle was joined.

Pushing her way into the heart of everything, Théalyn slashed at her enemies, cutting deep and punishing them for Haldir’s death, for the death of Éomer’s parents, and for Théodred. The heat of battle burned in her heart and she was blind to all but the orcs. Their bodies broke; they were stabbed and cut, gorged and beheaded. Onward she rode, pouring all of her emotion into every move. She had never fought so smoothly; she changed direction, turned, parried and guided Faron with only her knees. Faron did his share as well, crushing orcs beneath his punishing hooves and rearing up to smash heads and ribs. She saw Aragorn and Legolas in the distance and watched as Théoden struck fast and deep with the deadly edge of his sword.

Faron reared sharply suddenly, and Théalyn’s cloak whipped around her body as her horse stepped back and then sideways. She pulled at his reins but his ears flattened against his head suddenly and she cursed as Faron bucked, kicked with hind legs, and then bucked again, dislodging Théalyn from her saddle. She was tossed uselessly to the ground and she struggled to her feet to find herself face to face with a hideously disfigured orc. She prepared to fight.

****
Éomer’s eyes shifted from the green of Rohirric cloaks to the black armor of orcs and he knew that men had won the battle. They now outnumbered the armies of Isenguard and he felt his heart ease a little. Gandalf’s white cloaks flared out behind him as he brandished his staff from the back of Shadowfax. The Third Marshal of the Mark smiled as he recognized the Elf and the Dwarf he had encountered upon meeting Aragorn, and he was glad to say that he had gone into battle with those who did not live in the world of men. They fought to defeat Saruman, not to save face. He watched the battle unfold and come to a close.

A flicker of dark blue caught his eyes suddenly and he squinted. He didn’t want to believe what his heart knew to be true, but he didn’t have a choice. There, in the midst of orcs and men, was Théalyn, his heart of hearts, brandishing a sword, her telltale cloak waving out behind her like a beacon. He watched as Faron grew more and more agitated and he knew it would not be long until Théalyn was tossed.

Firefoot screamed as Éomer kicked him into action. His anger weighed heavily in his mind now. He had asked Théalyn to go to Gondor and she had promised, and yet here she was in fighting in a war. He was thankful she was still alive, but he could not understand why she had chosen to disobey him. Even more was the fact that Aragorn and his uncle had not stopped her from joining the battle. Cursing, Éomer rode nearer to Théalyn and watched as Faron bucked her from the saddle. She didn’t move for a moment and then she pulled herself up, finding herself challenged by an orc.

Éomer slid from Firefoot’s saddle and he drew his sword. Running at top speed, Éomer attacked, swinging his sword and crying out his rage and fury for all the things he had been through. Now, Théalyn had disappointed him and his heart was bruised as he laid his fatal blow, saving Théalyn’s life.

****
The orc’s head was cleanly separated from its body and Théalyn jumped, startled. The body fell to the side and there stood Éomer, his sword black with the blood of orcs. His eyes widened first and then narrowed sharply. He said nothing as he whistled at Faron and grabbed the horse’s loose reins. He shoved the animal towards Théalyn.

“Take him. The fighting is at an end.” His words were clipped and the anger he was feeling was barely concealed.

“Éomer,” Théalyn breathed as she moved to him.

Éomer shook his head once and pulled Faron so that the horse’s body was between him and Théalyn. “I said take him. He is over-excited with battle. I will deal with you later.”

****
1. ‘I’m sorry.’
2. ‘He has lost his way.”
3. ‘Why do you still hope?’
4. ‘Farewell, Haldir, until we meet again. A tear comes on your parting. Sleep well; may the Valar be with you.’
5. ‘I will see you in a short time.’
(www.councilofelrond.com)