A/N: Well, here we are! This is it! Thank you to everyone who has read, and a special big thank you to everyone who has commented, good or bad. I take great pride and pleasure in knowing that whether you're just finding the story or if you've been here all along, you felt moved enough to tell me about it.

Na lu e'govaned vin.


Epilogue - The Founding

Legolas sailed for Valinor many years before Hermione did, though she had to convince him to go in the end.

"I will be with our children," she said to him. "And you must go soon if you wish to take Gimli with you."

"But why can you not sail now? Are you not ready?" Legolas asked.

"I am waiting for something. Or the Greenwood is," Hermione mused. "I am meant to be here, to be Elvenqueen. It is time you stop fighting the Call of the Sea. You are suffering, and I cannot bear it."

Legolas kissed her, squeezing his eyes shut. "My heart shall weep until I see thee again."

Hermione stroked his hair with one hand. "Sweet waters and light laughter, my love. We will meet again on the shores of Valinor."

-l-

An age passed, then two, then three. More and more elves sailed, and the shorter lived races began to forget them. Lothlorien was no more, and the last elves of Imladris moved to the Greenwood when Rivendell's wards failed, until they too sailed. Still, Hermione waited, bidding her children and grandchildren goodbye, assuring them that she would follow when she could and giving them letters to take to Legolas.

As more and more elves sailed the centaurs and unicorns moved closer into Hermione's Halls, and Hermione welcomed their company, for she was the last. If not for her ability to speak with the trees she would have gone mad from loneliness long ago.

Then came the day that Hermione had been waiting for.

-l-

It started, as many worthwhile things did, with a hobbit. She was tall for a hobbit, and had strawberry blonde curls, an easy smile, and rosy cheeks. Like all hobbits, she was built sturdy and round and was wearing a very sensible dress with thick stockings and walking boots. She carried a staff and had a pack on her back and was singing a silly song to herself about badgers and buttercups.

But the most important thing was that when she sang, the forest sang back. This hobbit had magic.

Hermione asked the trees to tell her about the hobbit's traveling companions next. There were two dark haired Dunedain, both richly dressed. The man was tall and the image the trees sent of his face made Hermione reel, for he was almost an identical match for Estel, Hermione's sweet little Estel who had been dead for so very long. The man wore blue and carried a staff like the hobbit's, though his had a living snake wrapped around it. The woman was resplendent in green and leaning on her staff as if she did not exercise much.

The last companion was a burly dwarf with bright red hair and an intricately braided beard. He carried a staff as well, though he also had an axe strapped to his back and a sword at his waist. He was wearing well used armor beneath a rusty brown tunic that bore the device of a rearing lion.

Hermione contacted the centaurs and asked them to bring her the travelers.

-l-

"Welcome," Hermione said, poised elegantly upon her throne in a display designed to impress, "to the Halls of the Elvenqueen." She was wearing a dress of dove grey that had a pattern of a willow tree embroidered on the skirt in white thread, with real diamonds used to form the leaves. A cape made entirely of swan feathers floated around her, the train carelessly tossed over one side of the throne to trail down the steps that led up to the dais. Her crown of branches, accented with white roses that contrasted starkly with her steel grey hair, completed the picture. To those standing before her she appeared as an angel or a goddess might, her skin lit with the light of her race.

The four stood there, elf-struck, and Hermione was hard pressed not to grin.

The hobbit was the first to shake herself out of it, bobbing a polite curtsey. "Thank you kindly, your majesty. I'm Helga Hufflepuff of Huffpaddington Place. I must say this is ever so exciting! I grew up hearing tales of High Elves, but I never thought they were true!"

Hermione stood and descended the stairs of the throne dais so that she could stand before her guests, the train of her gown and cape sliding behind her in a whispering sea of silk and feathers. "You would be surprised how much truth there is in old tales, my dear hobbit. Now tell me, are you related to the Tooks in any way? You remind me of one I once knew."

Helga nodded her head enthusiastically. "Oh yes! On my father's side! There's none what actually have the name left anymore, but we hobbits are very good about keeping up with our family trees. My great great uncle was a Took, and even if the name is gone the Tookishness comes through, if you understand my meaning."

Hermione could not help but laugh, and then laugh harder at the reaction of her guests to the bell like tones of her laughter.

"And what of you, Master Dwarf? From where do you hail?"

"Begging your pardon, your majesty," he said in a bold, brash voice. "I am Prince Godric, third son of Gryffindor, King of the Hidden Mountain. I have ventured far from my homeland in search of glory and adventure, and met dear Lady Helga when she was fleeing from a pack of goblins! She's a nose for trouble, as she says, and I thought traveling with her would be just the thing for a warrior of my caliber! Those other two Big Folk just started tagging along. No idea why."

The man who looked so like Estel snorted and rolled his eyes, plainly used to the dwarf's attempts at teasing. Hermione turned her attention to him and the woman beside him.

"You are Dunedain," she said.

The woman looked surprised, her blue eyes widening, but the man merely watched Hermione, his expression wary. "We are," the man agreed. "Though few know that term anymore. Most refer to us as warlocks." He gave a bow, careful to keep his staff upright so as not to upset his snake. "I am Sal-Elessar Slytherion, and this is my cousin Rowyn the Ravencaller, both of the line of the Forgotten Kings."

Unable to stop herself Hermione reached out to touch him, only to draw back when Sal-Elessar's snake hissed at her. He offered no apology for the animal's aggressive behavior, merely watched her with calculating eyes.

"Tell me, Sal-Elessar, Rowyn, Godric, and Helga, what brings a group of such mixed company to my wood?"

"We've all got magic!" Helga blurted out before any of the others could stop her. "And that makes folks plenty nervous of us, and make no mistake."

"Aye," Godric put in. "There's been killings and burnings, and with all the fighting and running from those that hate us just because, we've barely a chance to learn more than how to make pebbles float." He gave a bloodthirsty grin. "Though that's mighty useful when you want to fight long range and you don't have a bow handy."

Rowyn was frowning and Sal-Elessar's hands tightening on his staff, both watching carefully for Hermione's reaction. Hermione did not doubt that if she showed even a hint of hostility, Sal-Elessar would not hesitate to fling his snake at her to buy he and his companions time to flee.

Hermione smiled at Helga and Godric and opened her arms wide. "Then you shall stay here, and I shall teach you all I know. The Greenwood has ever been a haven for those who truly need it, and I would have it continue to be so."

"You would teach us magic?" Rowyn burst out, her eyes alight with a passion and spark of life that had been missing until that very moment.

Sal-Elessar subtly put himself between Hermione and Rowyn. "Why?" he demanded. "Why do this for us?"

Hermione met his eyes. "Because it is the right thing to do. Because I have been waiting for you four. And because if you are truly of the line of the White Tree, then I am your many times great Grandmother."

Hermione would cherish Sal-Elessar's gobsmacked expression until the end of days.

-l-

For ten years did the Elvenqueen train the four. Godric excelled at battle magic and Rowyn at runes and arithmancy. Helga worked hard at all subjects, but was only truly good at making things grow and communing with the trees, though she cheerfully said to any that asked that being a tree-talker was plenty enough for a hobbit. Sal-Elessar's blood ran true, for he became Hermione's equal as a healer and potioneer, his facility with snakes allowing him to design rituals and spells that none but another Parselmouth would be able to replicate.

In the eleventh year of their apprenticeships the four could pass any test Hermione put to them and she knew they were ready. It was time for her to say goodbye.

Helga cried at their parting. So did Godric, the dwarf never being shy about showing his emotions. Rowyn and Sal-Elessar showed her blank faces, angry that she would leave them, but not angry enough not to see her off. Hermione understood. For Rowyn and Sal-Elessar, shunned because of their powers and their extended lifespans, Hermione was the only real parent they'd ever known.

"I have one final gift for each of you," Hermione told them, reaching into her bottomless bag.

She went to Sal-Elessar first. "Pride in your ancestors is all well and good," she told her grandson. "But do not let love of what has been overshadow what can be." She held out a golden locket. "For that which is closest to your heart."

Rowyn was next. She would not look up, so Hermione gently grasped her chin, making the woman meet her eyes. "Oh young Rowyn. You remind me so much of myself as I once was." She pulled out a mythril diadem, studded with star sapphires. "To you I say do not close yourself away in your tower and forget to live. There is more to learn than what can be found in the pages of a book. Remember that."

Hermione handed the elven coronet to Rowyn and watched the woman put it on. "I will remember, Grandmother," Rowyn promised, the sapphires and mithril shining against her black hair.

Hermione moved on to the boisterous dwarf who had entertained and frustrated her by turns in the past decade. "This may seem a paltry gift in comparison to the other two," Hermione said as she pulled out a large grey hat with a wide floppy brim. "But it was worn by one of the greatest wizards I have ever known and has been a dear keepsake to me since he passed from this world. This is the hat of Mithrandir. Wear it in good health." Bending, she pressed a kiss to the top of Godric's head before putting the hat on him, making him flush a ruddy red that clashed with his hair and beard. "Protect them," she whispered.

"Aye," Godric whispered back.

Last of all was Helga, trying to put on a brave face through her tears. For the hobbit Hermione knelt and removed her own crown. "I leave my castle to all four of you, but the forest is yours alone, Helga Hufflepuff. May your song join to those who have come before."

Hermione lowered the crown of living willow onto the hobbit's strawberry curls, watching as the branches rearranged themselves to fit on Helga's smaller head.

"I don't know that I can do this!" Helga burst out, wringing her hands. "I'm just a hobbit, and a silly one at that. And I still can't hit the broadside of a barn with a battle spell, no matter how many times Godric shows me!"

Hermione laughed and pulled the little she-hobbit into a hug. "I have every faith in you. Hobbits can do amazing things when they are determined enough. The fate of this world has rested on the shoulders of more than one hobbit, and as you can see it is still here."

With that Hermione stepped back and took the four in. Helga Hufflepuff, Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. Her students. The Founders Four.

"May the leaves of your tree never wither. May your paths always be golden. May your friendship always be true. Hold to each other, my children, for you shall not see me again."

With that final goodbye Hermione climbed into the silvery boat that would take her down the river, to the sea and beyond. She did not let herself look back, so she did not see the centaurs galloping to the river's edge, but heard the thunder of their hooves.

"Hail to the First Star of Evening! She who taught us to read the sky!" the centaur chief proclaimed. Others in the herd took up his call.

"Hail to the White Lady!"

"Hail to Stagrider!"

"Mother of Magic!"

"Hail to the elves!"

"Hail," came Godric's voice, "to a friend!"

"Hail to our mentor!" Rowyn shouted.

"Hail to her song!" Helga added.

Sal-Elessar's salute encompassed them all. "Hail to the last Elvenqueen!"

"Hail to the last Elvenqueen!" umpteen voices agreed.

Looking ahead, Hermione wondered if this was the beginning of the history of her old life, if it would all happen as it did before. Would they turn her halls into Hogwarts? Would Sal-Elessar leave them in the end? Had she gone back in time instead of into another world as she'd always thought? Was the artifact that would send her human self to the Greenwood something her elven self had made?

Or was this a new story for a new world that merely echoed the old? Perhaps Hermione's presence had made a difference. Perhaps Sal-Elessar would take her words to heart and not put so much importance on the blood of his students. Perhaps Rowyn would be the one to leave. Perhaps they would not start a school at all.

Ah well. It mattered not to her. This was their world now, to do with as they would. It was time for Hermione to let go, time for her to see her loved ones again. She tilted her face back, basking in the sun against her skin. She imagined she could already hear the sounds of sea birds calling, already smell the salt in the air. Yes, her long wait was done at last.

With no other elves there to do it for her, she raised her voice to the heavens to sing her own lament, the story of her life. The time of the Elvenqueen was over.

She was for Valinor.