Dust - Chapter One.
2 Aug 2011 09:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
curiouswombatAnd, as promised - here is the first full chapter of Dust. For anyone who doesn't understand the title... I'll explain it much later if you still haven't worked it out!
Chapter One; The Precious Years are Gone
Word Count 2,560
Rated PG
Warning - character death - obviously!
Beta'd by S2C
Art by Ellynn Ithilwen.
Disclaimer: Many of the characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien. (And Joss Whedon if he is at all bothered that Tindómë once spent a short time in his care...)
Chapter One - The Precious Years are Gone
But now I know and I don't want to believe it
Where does it leave you now
That the precious years are gone?
Precious Years, C & R McDonald
Even by the standards of men the time was not long between Boromir and Gilraen’s son becoming Steward and the arrival of the summons to the King’s House that Legolas had been dreading. There was nothing special in the wording, nothing to give away the reason for the request that Prince Legolas, Lord of Ithilien, come to stay with his friend and comrade of old, Aragorn, King Elessar; but Legolas had felt a cold chill run through him as the messenger handed him the letter.
As if in confirmation, there was a letter, also, for Tindómë. This was written by Queen Arwen, with none of the usual questions about Rumil, Haldirin, or Ithilienne, or asides about news heard from her brothers. Instead it simply requested that Tindómë and Rumil come and visit her in Minas Tirith, in a fortnight’s time, accompanying Legolas; no mention of their children.
None of the three preparing for the visit were at all surprised when Gimli arrived in Eryn Ithil a few days later accompanied, as usual, by an escort of Rohirrim.
Tindómë was not party to the conversation between Gimli and Legolas, the first evening after the dwarf arrived, but she could make an educated guess – Legolas had said the same things to her at least three times since the arrival of those letters, and she had found herself agreeing, whilst trying to give the other side of the argument as well.
Yes, Aragorn was still physically fit – for a mortal man aged two hundred and ten, anyway. To be honest, Tindómë reckoned he was pretty fit for an average, non-Númenórean-type, man of about sixty-five or so, although she wasn’t really an expert; when she’d thought she was mortal herself everyone over thirty-five had been ‘old’ – and since she had lived amongst the elves she had actually schooled herself to be less aware of numerical age.
Yes, he would probably live a good few years more if he let nature take its course. Goodness knows how much longer as none of his forefathers for a good few generations had lived their full life-span and died in their beds.
Even yes, it was cruel to consider dying and taking Arwen with him beyond the Circles of the World; away from the brothers and grandfather who treasured their time with her.
But, Tindómë had argued, if they were right and Aragorn was calling for his friends because he wished to say his farewells, then he must have a reason to choose to use the gift of his line now. Perhaps, as a healer, he knew that he had some illness that would soon weaken him. Perhaps he feared he was going senile… uh… losing control of his memories.
They could only know, she had said, if they asked him; and even then he might not give an answer that they could easily accept.
As Legolas and Gimli talked in Gimli’s cottage, Tindómë sat quietly on the balcony of her own home with Rumil – but the possibility of Aragorn’s death was not far from their thoughts, either.
“I do not think Arwen would want me to record their deaths, meleth,” Rumil said thoughtfully, “could Legolas and Gimli be wrong?”
“I wondered about that, too,” his wife admitted, “but perhaps she wants you to record that they were both in good health and not failing or suffering?”
“You might well be right…” he sighed softly before speaking again. “It will bring many changes if you are right.”
She nestled into the curve where his arm held her against him and thought for a moment or two. It was still a wonder to her that she could remember so much – perhaps not a completely elven, total-recall, memory, but still so much better than she would have expected had she remained Dawn.
It did not take long for her to find the exactly the words she had ‘filed’ almost a century before.
“Rumil-nín, you said to me, when we passed through Lothlorien, ‘Our time in this place is over. But we are together and we are happy… In an Elf’s life there are many changes. You and I are young, this is the first time we have moved on – but it will not be the last… It is how it is.’”
She paused for a few seconds, and then added, “We are still young…”
She could feel Rumil smiling; she didn’t need to turn to see his face.
“We may be young; but you are very wise for your years, meleth. We have done what we set out to do here. These trees are happy and healthy, and the ground is fertile. I remember also saying, then, that there are other places in Middle Earth where Elves dwelt and dwell no more. I said that our time in that place was over, and I meant the Golden Wood. Soon our time in this place will be over, too.
“But it will take some time to build the ship, even if Legolas feels he must sail quickly… and we will take our most prized possessions with us. We will have Haldirin, and Ithilienne, and we will surely find a place in the West to make a home.”
Tindómë didn’t answer him. After a few minutes he spoke again.
“You are worried.”
She replied, slowly, “I am sure Ithilienne will sail with us. She would follow Legolas even if we chose not to.”
That touched on something of which they were both aware but they had never really discussed. Briefly they let their thoughts merge together – and they were, as Tindómë had expected, almost identical. She brought to mind, now, Haldirin. Haldirin walking hand in hand with an elleth, smiling at her, and then bending his head to kiss her…
Rhîwen. Daughter of Legolas’ brother. Princess of Eryn Lasgalen. Who had visited Eryn Ithil three times in the past fifteen years. Haldirin had managed to spend time in Eryn Lasgalen on a couple of occasions over the same period. It was beginning to look, young as they were, as if they were growing closer to each other than one might expect for elves living so far apart…
“He will come with us,” Rumil said firmly. “He is as loyal to Legolas as any warrior to his Lord even though he is still young. Not to mention how close he is to Ithilienne, and how close is his link to you, meleth.”
“He is so like you, husband-mine, that if you are sure, then I will stop worrying about it. Well,” she was honest, “I’ll try to stop worrying, anyway!”
“We may have many years before we need to think of sailing, yet,” Rumil said, but Tindómë could feel his emotions – he was not guarding them – and he didn’t really believe what he said.
……………………………..
It was a solemn party that left Eryn Ithil to travel to Minas Tirith. As always, Galanthir rode alongside Legolas, but there was no need for his ‘shield’ on this trip***, although Eriathwen had continued to accompany him for trips when there would be formal balls and dinners. Any questions as to why they had not wed, despite her being introduced over the years as Legolas’ ‘intended’, were met with the explanation that elven courtships could be very long.
When they reached the Citadel Gimli and Legolas went to their own suites, Galanthir slid into his usual role as Legolas’ ‘manservant’, and Tindómë and Rumil were shown to the rooms they usually used on such visits. Everything felt normal and yet… A maid arrived within a few minutes of their arrival to ask if both Rumil and Tindómë would attend her Majesty, and one look at Arwen was enough to convince Tindómë that they were right about the purpose of the visit.
Arwen had once admitted to Tindómë that she had expected that, once she had made her choice of mortality, she would begin to age as a woman would – her hair become grey over time and her skin lined. But such had not been her fate – her hair was still the colour of the darkest night, her skin smooth; and yet, today, she looked older. It was hard to define exactly how; there was a slight stoop as she stood, a dulling of her eyes, but more it was a loss of her inner glow.
For an elf, she came quickly to the point – Aragorn had, indeed, decided that it was time for him to hand over the Kingship to Eldarion and to take Iluvatar’s gift to mortals of an escape from their decaying body; he had decided to die. She had tried to persuade him that there was, as yet, no need but his mind was made up.
“Is he ill?” Tindómë asked.
“No,” Arwen said, sadly, “but he finds that he does not remember the name of every servant, and he fears the loss of his faculties. He needs to rise twice most nights to empty his bladder and he fears that he may lose control.”
‘M’kay,’ thought Tindómë, ‘maybe a bit more information than I needed there!’
“He has chosen. He says I should not try to hold him back, that I would see him unmanned. And so we make our preparations.”
Arwen spoke directly to Rumil, “I would have you make a last record to take to Father and Mother. I know Legolas has fought the cry of the sea throughout all the years since I came here and it is his love for Estel that holds him in Middle Earth. I do not think he will tarry much longer once we are gone.
“I know you,” she nodded at Tindómë, “have promised to sail with him. I would ask you to take the record of my life, our life here, with you for my parents.”
“It is a hard duty, my lady,” Rumil said, “but we will both do as you bid.”
“Thank you,” Arwen said softly, “I expected no less of one of my Grandparents’ warriors.”
……………………………..
*** See ‘The Right Kind of Shield.’
……………………………..
It was only two more days until the dinner that all those who had been invited knew to be the King’s farewell. The twins had arrived at much the same time as the group from Eryn Ithil, accompanied by Glorfindel and Lord Celeborn. Tindómë had never seen any of the four look as they did now; as if they carried the weight of Arda on their shoulders, as if none of them would ever laugh again.
She had known, always, that the ‘sister’ of her earliest memories would grow old and die. She knew, in fact, that Buffy was doing exactly that, in her own time, in her own dimension – last time Radagast’s ‘window’ had enabled them to communicate Buffy looked like someone’s Grandma and spoke of hip replacements and the damage so many years of martial arts had caused. But, for the elves, so little time had passed since they realised that Arwen had chosen death over immortality – chosen love over blood-kin.
Legolas and Gimli sat at the top table, beside Aragorn, and neither looked any happier than the Els. Tindómë had seen little of them since their arrival in Minas Tirith – they had spent most of their time alone together, or with Aragorn. The deaths of Pippin and Merry had been hard for them – this one would be worse.
Eldarion and his family took their places, as did The Steward with his family, his brothers and sisters, and his mother; Gilraen still in dark colours, mourning her husband. Aragorn’s two other daughters sat with their own families, including representatives of the Royal family of Rohan, and the Princes of Dol Amroth; even a great-grandson who was heir to the ruler of the Havens of Umbar.
As Rumil quietly sketched faces, and jotted notes, Tindómë looked at everyone and considered that there would be elven blood through the ruling houses of much of Middle Earth for a long time. Arwen and Aragorn, she thought, would be like Queen Victoria was to Europe back in the old dimension. Sometimes there would be a ruler who had them more than once in his family line and would achieve a great age that would make him (or possibly her) memorable for generations to come and so on.
Arwen and Aragorn would achieve a form of immortality; just not one recognised by elves.
……………………………..
Aragorn had made a speech. Tindómë had expected him to – but she had rather hoped he wouldn’t. Surely everyone knew how much he cared for them and that he had faith in them all for the future? It was a bit like watching The Oscars had been back in Sunnydale. She was certain he’d already said his personal farewells. But it was a kingly sort of thing to do – even if it probably made things even harder for Arwen, and their brothers, and everyone else.
Now she sat with Rumil in the room beside the library where he usually worked; it was not a day for being alone. She remembered Anarion, the librarian who had crushed on her… over a century ago. She did not know the name of the current librarian. It came to her that she, too, was withdrawing from the mortal world – it got harder to keep making friends only to lose them.
The Citadel was amazingly quiet. The whole place was already in mourning, she thought, even though the King probably still lived. Or maybe he didn’t. She wondered how long it took a Númenórian to die. Arwen had said her farewell to Tindómë, quietly, before the official dinner; but Tindómë didn’t know if the Queen intended lying beside her husband and dying at the same time, or whether she was going to wait to mourn him, or… well, it was really outside Tindómë’s experience, Arwen’s too. No-one seemed to know quite what the correct protocol was.
She was going to miss Arwen. More than she would Aragorn, to be honest. He was usually a bit busy being King; Arwen liked to sit and chat and, when you got to know her, she had the same sense of humour as her brothers. Legolas might feel bereft at the loss of Aragorn, and Tindómë would do her best to comfort him, but she wouldn’t really want to come back to Minas Tirith with no Arwen here. Perhaps it was time to leave Ithilien.
Before the sun reached its peak a bell broke the silence. It was followed by the sound of pigeons being released, close by, the soft sound of their wings easily audible in the stillness of the Citadel. The news of the King’s death was being taken to all his lands…
……………………………..
…………………………………………………………….
Character notes, etc. -
Galanthir – on of Legolas patrol from Mirkwood days – he travels as Legolas’ ‘servant’ whenever he goes, officially, to Minas Tirith.
Eriathwen – Tindómë’s friend who began to also accompany Legolas on such visits to ‘shield’ him from the constant attempts by the noblewomen of Gondor to marry him – or marry him off to their daughters.
Radagast’s ‘window’ – a magic item made by Radagast to enable occasional communication between Dawn/Tindómë and her ‘sister’ from California.
…………………………………………………………….
Chapter Two is here
Chapter One; The Precious Years are Gone
Word Count 2,560
Rated PG
Warning - character death - obviously!
Beta'd by S2C
Art by Ellynn Ithilwen.
Disclaimer: Many of the characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien. (And Joss Whedon if he is at all bothered that Tindómë once spent a short time in his care...)
Chapter One - The Precious Years are Gone
But now I know and I don't want to believe it
Where does it leave you now
That the precious years are gone?
Precious Years, C & R McDonald
Even by the standards of men the time was not long between Boromir and Gilraen’s son becoming Steward and the arrival of the summons to the King’s House that Legolas had been dreading. There was nothing special in the wording, nothing to give away the reason for the request that Prince Legolas, Lord of Ithilien, come to stay with his friend and comrade of old, Aragorn, King Elessar; but Legolas had felt a cold chill run through him as the messenger handed him the letter.
As if in confirmation, there was a letter, also, for Tindómë. This was written by Queen Arwen, with none of the usual questions about Rumil, Haldirin, or Ithilienne, or asides about news heard from her brothers. Instead it simply requested that Tindómë and Rumil come and visit her in Minas Tirith, in a fortnight’s time, accompanying Legolas; no mention of their children.
None of the three preparing for the visit were at all surprised when Gimli arrived in Eryn Ithil a few days later accompanied, as usual, by an escort of Rohirrim.
Tindómë was not party to the conversation between Gimli and Legolas, the first evening after the dwarf arrived, but she could make an educated guess – Legolas had said the same things to her at least three times since the arrival of those letters, and she had found herself agreeing, whilst trying to give the other side of the argument as well.
Yes, Aragorn was still physically fit – for a mortal man aged two hundred and ten, anyway. To be honest, Tindómë reckoned he was pretty fit for an average, non-Númenórean-type, man of about sixty-five or so, although she wasn’t really an expert; when she’d thought she was mortal herself everyone over thirty-five had been ‘old’ – and since she had lived amongst the elves she had actually schooled herself to be less aware of numerical age.
Yes, he would probably live a good few years more if he let nature take its course. Goodness knows how much longer as none of his forefathers for a good few generations had lived their full life-span and died in their beds.
Even yes, it was cruel to consider dying and taking Arwen with him beyond the Circles of the World; away from the brothers and grandfather who treasured their time with her.
But, Tindómë had argued, if they were right and Aragorn was calling for his friends because he wished to say his farewells, then he must have a reason to choose to use the gift of his line now. Perhaps, as a healer, he knew that he had some illness that would soon weaken him. Perhaps he feared he was going senile… uh… losing control of his memories.
They could only know, she had said, if they asked him; and even then he might not give an answer that they could easily accept.
As Legolas and Gimli talked in Gimli’s cottage, Tindómë sat quietly on the balcony of her own home with Rumil – but the possibility of Aragorn’s death was not far from their thoughts, either.
“I do not think Arwen would want me to record their deaths, meleth,” Rumil said thoughtfully, “could Legolas and Gimli be wrong?”
“I wondered about that, too,” his wife admitted, “but perhaps she wants you to record that they were both in good health and not failing or suffering?”
“You might well be right…” he sighed softly before speaking again. “It will bring many changes if you are right.”
She nestled into the curve where his arm held her against him and thought for a moment or two. It was still a wonder to her that she could remember so much – perhaps not a completely elven, total-recall, memory, but still so much better than she would have expected had she remained Dawn.
It did not take long for her to find the exactly the words she had ‘filed’ almost a century before.
“Rumil-nín, you said to me, when we passed through Lothlorien, ‘Our time in this place is over. But we are together and we are happy… In an Elf’s life there are many changes. You and I are young, this is the first time we have moved on – but it will not be the last… It is how it is.’”
She paused for a few seconds, and then added, “We are still young…”
She could feel Rumil smiling; she didn’t need to turn to see his face.
“We may be young; but you are very wise for your years, meleth. We have done what we set out to do here. These trees are happy and healthy, and the ground is fertile. I remember also saying, then, that there are other places in Middle Earth where Elves dwelt and dwell no more. I said that our time in that place was over, and I meant the Golden Wood. Soon our time in this place will be over, too.
“But it will take some time to build the ship, even if Legolas feels he must sail quickly… and we will take our most prized possessions with us. We will have Haldirin, and Ithilienne, and we will surely find a place in the West to make a home.”
Tindómë didn’t answer him. After a few minutes he spoke again.
“You are worried.”
She replied, slowly, “I am sure Ithilienne will sail with us. She would follow Legolas even if we chose not to.”
That touched on something of which they were both aware but they had never really discussed. Briefly they let their thoughts merge together – and they were, as Tindómë had expected, almost identical. She brought to mind, now, Haldirin. Haldirin walking hand in hand with an elleth, smiling at her, and then bending his head to kiss her…
Rhîwen. Daughter of Legolas’ brother. Princess of Eryn Lasgalen. Who had visited Eryn Ithil three times in the past fifteen years. Haldirin had managed to spend time in Eryn Lasgalen on a couple of occasions over the same period. It was beginning to look, young as they were, as if they were growing closer to each other than one might expect for elves living so far apart…
“He will come with us,” Rumil said firmly. “He is as loyal to Legolas as any warrior to his Lord even though he is still young. Not to mention how close he is to Ithilienne, and how close is his link to you, meleth.”
“He is so like you, husband-mine, that if you are sure, then I will stop worrying about it. Well,” she was honest, “I’ll try to stop worrying, anyway!”
“We may have many years before we need to think of sailing, yet,” Rumil said, but Tindómë could feel his emotions – he was not guarding them – and he didn’t really believe what he said.
……………………………..
It was a solemn party that left Eryn Ithil to travel to Minas Tirith. As always, Galanthir rode alongside Legolas, but there was no need for his ‘shield’ on this trip***, although Eriathwen had continued to accompany him for trips when there would be formal balls and dinners. Any questions as to why they had not wed, despite her being introduced over the years as Legolas’ ‘intended’, were met with the explanation that elven courtships could be very long.
When they reached the Citadel Gimli and Legolas went to their own suites, Galanthir slid into his usual role as Legolas’ ‘manservant’, and Tindómë and Rumil were shown to the rooms they usually used on such visits. Everything felt normal and yet… A maid arrived within a few minutes of their arrival to ask if both Rumil and Tindómë would attend her Majesty, and one look at Arwen was enough to convince Tindómë that they were right about the purpose of the visit.
Arwen had once admitted to Tindómë that she had expected that, once she had made her choice of mortality, she would begin to age as a woman would – her hair become grey over time and her skin lined. But such had not been her fate – her hair was still the colour of the darkest night, her skin smooth; and yet, today, she looked older. It was hard to define exactly how; there was a slight stoop as she stood, a dulling of her eyes, but more it was a loss of her inner glow.
For an elf, she came quickly to the point – Aragorn had, indeed, decided that it was time for him to hand over the Kingship to Eldarion and to take Iluvatar’s gift to mortals of an escape from their decaying body; he had decided to die. She had tried to persuade him that there was, as yet, no need but his mind was made up.
“Is he ill?” Tindómë asked.
“No,” Arwen said, sadly, “but he finds that he does not remember the name of every servant, and he fears the loss of his faculties. He needs to rise twice most nights to empty his bladder and he fears that he may lose control.”
‘M’kay,’ thought Tindómë, ‘maybe a bit more information than I needed there!’
“He has chosen. He says I should not try to hold him back, that I would see him unmanned. And so we make our preparations.”
Arwen spoke directly to Rumil, “I would have you make a last record to take to Father and Mother. I know Legolas has fought the cry of the sea throughout all the years since I came here and it is his love for Estel that holds him in Middle Earth. I do not think he will tarry much longer once we are gone.
“I know you,” she nodded at Tindómë, “have promised to sail with him. I would ask you to take the record of my life, our life here, with you for my parents.”
“It is a hard duty, my lady,” Rumil said, “but we will both do as you bid.”
“Thank you,” Arwen said softly, “I expected no less of one of my Grandparents’ warriors.”
……………………………..
*** See ‘The Right Kind of Shield.’
……………………………..
It was only two more days until the dinner that all those who had been invited knew to be the King’s farewell. The twins had arrived at much the same time as the group from Eryn Ithil, accompanied by Glorfindel and Lord Celeborn. Tindómë had never seen any of the four look as they did now; as if they carried the weight of Arda on their shoulders, as if none of them would ever laugh again.
She had known, always, that the ‘sister’ of her earliest memories would grow old and die. She knew, in fact, that Buffy was doing exactly that, in her own time, in her own dimension – last time Radagast’s ‘window’ had enabled them to communicate Buffy looked like someone’s Grandma and spoke of hip replacements and the damage so many years of martial arts had caused. But, for the elves, so little time had passed since they realised that Arwen had chosen death over immortality – chosen love over blood-kin.
Legolas and Gimli sat at the top table, beside Aragorn, and neither looked any happier than the Els. Tindómë had seen little of them since their arrival in Minas Tirith – they had spent most of their time alone together, or with Aragorn. The deaths of Pippin and Merry had been hard for them – this one would be worse.
Eldarion and his family took their places, as did The Steward with his family, his brothers and sisters, and his mother; Gilraen still in dark colours, mourning her husband. Aragorn’s two other daughters sat with their own families, including representatives of the Royal family of Rohan, and the Princes of Dol Amroth; even a great-grandson who was heir to the ruler of the Havens of Umbar.
As Rumil quietly sketched faces, and jotted notes, Tindómë looked at everyone and considered that there would be elven blood through the ruling houses of much of Middle Earth for a long time. Arwen and Aragorn, she thought, would be like Queen Victoria was to Europe back in the old dimension. Sometimes there would be a ruler who had them more than once in his family line and would achieve a great age that would make him (or possibly her) memorable for generations to come and so on.
Arwen and Aragorn would achieve a form of immortality; just not one recognised by elves.
……………………………..
Aragorn had made a speech. Tindómë had expected him to – but she had rather hoped he wouldn’t. Surely everyone knew how much he cared for them and that he had faith in them all for the future? It was a bit like watching The Oscars had been back in Sunnydale. She was certain he’d already said his personal farewells. But it was a kingly sort of thing to do – even if it probably made things even harder for Arwen, and their brothers, and everyone else.
Now she sat with Rumil in the room beside the library where he usually worked; it was not a day for being alone. She remembered Anarion, the librarian who had crushed on her… over a century ago. She did not know the name of the current librarian. It came to her that she, too, was withdrawing from the mortal world – it got harder to keep making friends only to lose them.
The Citadel was amazingly quiet. The whole place was already in mourning, she thought, even though the King probably still lived. Or maybe he didn’t. She wondered how long it took a Númenórian to die. Arwen had said her farewell to Tindómë, quietly, before the official dinner; but Tindómë didn’t know if the Queen intended lying beside her husband and dying at the same time, or whether she was going to wait to mourn him, or… well, it was really outside Tindómë’s experience, Arwen’s too. No-one seemed to know quite what the correct protocol was.
She was going to miss Arwen. More than she would Aragorn, to be honest. He was usually a bit busy being King; Arwen liked to sit and chat and, when you got to know her, she had the same sense of humour as her brothers. Legolas might feel bereft at the loss of Aragorn, and Tindómë would do her best to comfort him, but she wouldn’t really want to come back to Minas Tirith with no Arwen here. Perhaps it was time to leave Ithilien.
Before the sun reached its peak a bell broke the silence. It was followed by the sound of pigeons being released, close by, the soft sound of their wings easily audible in the stillness of the Citadel. The news of the King’s death was being taken to all his lands…
……………………………..
…………………………………………………………….
Character notes, etc. -
Galanthir – on of Legolas patrol from Mirkwood days – he travels as Legolas’ ‘servant’ whenever he goes, officially, to Minas Tirith.
Eriathwen – Tindómë’s friend who began to also accompany Legolas on such visits to ‘shield’ him from the constant attempts by the noblewomen of Gondor to marry him – or marry him off to their daughters.
Radagast’s ‘window’ – a magic item made by Radagast to enable occasional communication between Dawn/Tindómë and her ‘sister’ from California.
…………………………………………………………….
Chapter Two is here
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 03/08/2011 08:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 03/08/2011 08:35 pm (UTC)The stories have grown a bigger and bigger cast as the years have gone on - I'm really glad that you felt you could tackle it!
no subject
Date: 17/08/2011 09:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 17/08/2011 09:58 pm (UTC)So hard for them, I think, because their own sense of loss is different. It must very, very painful when a friend or family member dies; especial as it will almost always be by accident or trauma - they never have the time to adjust to the upcoming separation - and yet there is a knowledge that somewhere down the road they will meet them again.