A/N: I suggest re-reading chapter sixteen.

Epilogue

“For everything you have missed,
you have gained something else,
and for everything you gain,
you lose something else.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Creek Halls, Aster, Missouri. Thirteen years later…

The small pale hands stretched towards the top shelf of the closet, their goal a beige cowboy hat stuffed there. The boy wobbled precariously on his tiptoes, his hands brushing the edge of it. He fumbled for it once more, clawing at the shelf as he suddenly lost his balance. He fell backward, the hat and other things crashing onto him.

“Ow.”

Rubbing his head, he looked down at the items sprawled around him. A small wooden box with the letters “EL” engraved on it caught his attention, and he carefully picked it up. He had never seen this before, why was it hiding in his mother’s closet? He unlatched the lock easily, two items falling into his lap. The first was a silver bracelet that clinked melodically as he examined it. The second was a very old journal, its cover emblazoned with gold and green designs of running horses. Curious, he opened the cover, and read the neat handwriting on the first yellowed page.

“I hope one day, this will help someone understand at least part of my life. What happened in the days written here are so wondrous, no one might believe it. But it happened. No amount of explaining can go into the depth of what I’ve experienced, all because of one woman’s pain.

I have tried to consider whether the path I have taken is of my own making, or simply one into which I’ve drifted with eyes closed. Time passes in endless moments, which rushing past, have defined the path of my life. Until this change came, I rarely stopped to examine that path. What if I long ago I had stopped and took stock of each precious moment before it passed? Would I have seen the endless forks in the road that shape my life? Might I have chosen another path that would lead away from here? Would I have met the same fate as my foremothers?

I feel an inevitable pull these days towards something that calls me home—“

“Kelvyn!”

Startled, he dropped the book, looking sheepishly at the figure in the doorway of the bedroom. Abby folded her arms, staring at him suspiciously.

“What’re you doing in mom’s closet?”

Against his will, he turned red, as he did every time he looked at his foster-sister. Though she was a year older than him, he had a gigantic crush on her. His hands fumbled behind his back for the silver bracelet, and he stumbled to his feet, slipping it into his pocket. He would give it to her later. He reached for the cowboy hat, and plopped it on his head, grinning mischievously.

“Now I couldn’t go riding on Halloween without a cowboy hat, now could I?”

She rolled her eyes and he followed her out of the room, down the hallway. On the floor, the journal’s last page slowly unfurled, catching the stray beams of light from the nearby window.

“All I hope is that someday this unborn child in my belly will read this and understand that I love him or her eternally. No matter what happens.

-Evelyn Lynch.

House of Arandur. 21 Cermië, 3019.”

The children’s footsteps echoed loudly in the hallway, as they ran out the front door laughing. Kelvyn skidded to a halt on the porch, nearly banging into his mother, Leora Langley.

“What’re you two doing?”

“I caught him in your closet. He wants to play dress up,” yelled Abby from across the yard.

“Do not!” retorted Kelvyn, taking off across the lawn.

Leora shook her head, watching them run towards the stable. “Kel, take Blitz this time, not Basil. His arthritis is acting up.”

The boy waved his cowboy hat in the distance, the stable door closing with a slam behind him. She sighed, turning towards the house. The boy was similar, but different in many ways from the somber woman who had turned up on her doorstep thirteen years ago. Evelyn Lynch’s empty sad eyes haunted her to this day, as she had handed over the legal rights to her property and son to the Langley family. They had never seen her again.

Shaking it off, Leora wandered towards the kitchen, wondering what to make for dinner.

July 22, Fifty years later…

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear grandpa [father, Kelvyn], happy birthday to you!”

The dark haired head bowed over the cake, and he blew out the candles in several breaths. He glanced up at his family, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at his wife.

“Abby,” he said wistfully. “Now can we open presents?”

“Still the same man I married,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Sure, the kids are about to lose it anyways.” Their four grandchildren leapt off their seats, running towards the living room where the presents awaited. Abby gestured to her son and daughter helpfully. “Elena, William, you might want to catch them before they tear everything open.”

The other adults disappeared into the adjacent room, leaving the older pair alone in the kitchen. Abby encircled her husband’s neck, sighing as she kissed him on the head. He glanced up at her, his grey eyes deep and wistful.

“You have that look again,” she whispered.

“What look?” he said innocently.

“The one you’ve gotten every year since you were born, thinking about her.”

He patted her hand and rose from the table, smiling. “Don’t worry about it.”

Later that evening, as the night deepened, Kelvyn sat on the front porch with his wife, watching the grandchildren chase fireflies. The youngest, Anna, suddenly came running from the direction of the woods, dropping a glass jar full of bugs.

“Grandpa,” she said loudly, running into his arms. “There’s a strange woman by the creek.”

He shot a look at his wife, who began calling the other children to her.

“Stay here,” he whispered to Abby.

She nodded, a worried expression on her face. He picked up a shovel from near the stable, making his way along the tree line towards the shore. The distant lights of the barn cast a yellow dimness across the dark water, revealing a shadowed woman standing in its midst. Her green eyes were sad and watchful, and she extended a hand towards him. The face was strangely familiar; he could’ve sworn he’d seen it before.

“Who are you?” he said loudly, breaking the stillness.

“Kelvyn,” she said, her voice like silver bells. “Come with me.”

Mindlessly he dropped the shovel and walked forward, his eyes transfixed. He reached for her hand, and suddenly he was falling forward, into the depths of the creek. He gurgled and fought the current, a burst of brightness blinding him. He swam upward towards the surface, which was shimmering bright and blue above him. He gasped for air desperately, his vision refocusing once more. To his astonishment, calm turquoise water lapped around him spreading into the distance and splashing against the golden beach of a nearby shore.

Where am I?I must be hallucinating.

He trudged out of the water, his shoes heavy and filled with sand. He noticed an older woman nearby, who had stopped in her tracks, and was staring at him. She was dressed in a long crimson dress, her long dark grey streaked hair blowing out behind her. Her attire belonged at a renaissance faire rather than the beach. Awkwardly he straightened out his drenched clothes, and approached her cautiously.

“Excuse me ma’am. Could you tell me where I am?”

She stared at him a moment longer, studying him closely before answering. “Dol Amroth.”

The wheels of his memory turned, and it suddenly hit him. He locked gazes with the strange woman, taking in the lines in her face and the light blue eyes. Deep inside, something unlocked in him, and let out a flood of emotion.

“Mother?” he asked unsurely.

“Kelvyn?”

As he nodded, she reached for him troubledly with her withered hands. He gripped her firmly, being careful not to hurt her. “I don’t believe it.”

She stepped back, tracing his face with her fingers. “Come. Your father and sisters are in the house.”

He looped his elbow through hers, and helped her walk along the sand, their sights fixed on the high white walls of Dol Amroth ahead.

The end.

.-.-.-.

A/N: Yes this really is the end. I can hardly believe that five years later, this is DONE! I thank all of my readers. I am going to keep writing fan fiction, especially Lord of the Rings stories involving Boromir and Faramir. I have a huge story planned that I have been working on for several years. Let’s just say the notes on that one are 100+ pages…

If you have any questions, I’ll update with answers on this page at the end.

S/N: T o clarify a few things. The box that Kelvyn opened is the same one Anna Stewart (Leora Langley’s mother) brought Eva in chapter sixteen. The journal and bracelet are Eva’s, and were left for her son when she momentarily traveled home (Elena forced her to give up the baby). Kelvyn grew up at Creek Halls, raised by the Langleys. He married his foster sister Abby (the baby in chapter sixteen), and they had two children named Elena and William. His son William eventually married Mercy Hollinger (great-granddaughter of Elena’s son Samuel), healing the rift between the families. I didn’t include this in the ending, as I didn’t feel it was necessary.

Boromir died a year after his son came back, living to the ripe old age of 105. :D He and Eva had a second daughter named Fíriel several years after Elora and Kelvyn were born. Eva died four years after Boromir.