Talion knew at once that he was dreaming, yet never before had his dreams been so clear and bright.

He stood on the road to a city he had never seen before, built onto a hill and of white stone like Minas Tirith, but she was not the rising tiers to the palace on high. Instead, there were many buildings of varying heights, every one artful and open, with streams and rivers and waterfalls running throughout, with many elegant bridges and walkways in the slenderest of arches.

He knew at once, without knowing how he knew, that this city was built in the fashion of Númenor before her fall.

He blinked, and then there were two people coming towards him on the road. His heart began to pound even before he consciously recognized them, but his feet felt anchored to the earth. He couldn't run to meet them, only wait for them to come to him even as tears rolled down his face.

"Ioreth. Dirhael."

It was more than a thousand years since he had last seen them alive. Ioreth was as beautiful as her last day alive, her eyes soft and warm and free of pain and fear. Dirhael looked a little older, a man in his prime, the confidence and strength and adulthood he had never lived to reach.

The moment they were in arms' reach, they all embraced. "I have missed you, Talion," Ioreth whispered softly.

"And I you," Talion answered, "More than anything. Both of you."

Dirhael grinned.

The Man looked at them both, smiling at him. "Am I dead?"

That made their smiles fall. "No," Dirhael said finally, "and you never will be."

For a moment, everything stopped - and then resumed. "What?!" Talion gasped, "Never?! I am not one of the Elves - my life is sustained by the New Ring! If I but remove it-!"

He made as if to do just that, but Ioreth laid a hand on his own. He went still at once, looking into her eyes and seeing there the same grief that he now felt. "It is the Will of the One," she said, tears of her own beginning to well up, "You are sundered from the Fate of Men. He spoke to you once before: 'Death is not your destiny today, Talion Wind-Rider.'"

All his breath left him at once, and he fell to his knees. His wife and son did so as well and pressed close, their arms going tight around him - almost as tight as his own around them. He knew what this was now.

This was goodbye, more final than their last.

As if she knew his thoughts, Ioreth pulled back just enough so she could tilt his head up to look him in the eye. "This is not goodbye forever, Talion," she said, "but it is for a good, long while - until the return of Morgoth and the Last Battle. Then, even the least of the race of Men shall be recalled to live at last in true peace when the world is made anew."

Dirhael nodded in assent and said, "This also is the Will of the One: The Old World has passed away, and soon Middle-earth and all her lands will have no more need of even you, Wind-Rider. Gather whatever you think you will want or need, and go West. The Straight Road is open to you."

Ithildin was not the last of the fire drakes, but their numbers had been growing perilously thin for many years. Yet all the new technology from the so-called "Modern Age" was a boon to him; Talion didn't fully understand it, but with some things called "DNA extraction" and "genetic modification" and "cloning", a number of labs across the globe and their scientists produced healthy, fertile eggs for him, ones that were not closely related enough to be a problem. When he went west, he could continue breeding his beloved drakes in the Undying Lands, where they would not fade.

The eggs were packed into Ithildin's saddlebags with the utmost care, and she seemed to understand the importance of what was being done, for she did not move so much as a centimeter even with all these strangers climbing all over and around her. She was a descendant of Daerwen and had very much inherited her ancestor's later temperament, which made it all the more impressive.

Then, at last, after almost a decade of preparation, Talion stood in the ruins of the Grey Havens and looked west toward the setting sun. He would have sworn before the altar of any god the world over that now he could see it; a thin but impassable veil had been pulled back, and the sun which now shone on him was not the same one which had risen that morning.

"You truly must go?"

The ex-Nazgûl looked back.

The king of the Reunited Kingdom stepped up next to him, looking impeccable as always in his charcoal gray suit. Even though he was now mostly king in name only, Gondor and Arnor having transitioned to a constitutional monarchy long ago, Gladhron was still greatly loved by all his subjects, as most of his ancestors had been.

As Talion was. He had been Lord of Mordor for so long that many had forgotten there ever was a Lord before him, even though Sauron had ruled for many, many thousands of years more. The War of the Ring was ancient history, and the Ages before that more myth than fact.

The world had moved on.

"Yes," Talion said finally, looking back to the sun sinking toward the horizon, "It is the Will of the One. I am no longer needed, and so I must depart."

Gladhron sighed. "I will miss you, my friend. As will we all."

"And I will miss you." Talion's gaze briefly went sly. "Although I will not miss you throwing up on me."

"For heavens' sake, I was two! You need to let that go!"

The Man laughed and stepped forward, the king also opening his arms. They embraced tightly, then stepped back. "Go in peace, my friend," said Gladhron, "Pruzah wundunne, and wind be with you."

"And also with you," Talion answered, swinging up onto Ithildin's back. He made a tsst noise to get her attention, and she got to her feet even as the king stepped back. The ex-Nazgûl took up the reins, even though he didn't really need to, and at his signal, she launched herself into the sky, streaking for the horizon.

The sun set before them, but Talion still felt it the moment they passed beyond the walls of Arda. It was like flying through the briefest bank of fog, just a breath of damp, chill air, before it was gone as fast as it had come.

Night descended, and the stars came out, seeming brighter and clearer and closer than in Middle-earth, and in the distance he saw Eärendil's ship Vingilótë, the Silmaril glowing bright at its prow. The sea below them faded away, leaving them flying through space itself, though gravity still kept them anchored below.

(He had been out to space once. Just once. The lack of gravity had been thoroughly unsettling, but he'd still been in awe of it all, watching Arda spin below, together with Anar and Isil in their near eternal dance.)

Vingilótë vanished after a time, but the sea returned below. Talion knew at once that they'd crossed over into Aman; the air was sweet and refreshing in ways beyond anything in Middle-earth, and he could faintly taste the salt spray, hear the distant cry of the gulls. The sun rose behind them, hours passing, but Ithildin never seemed to tire; perhaps the air refreshed her, too, and lent strength and endurance to her wings.

The sun continued to climb as they crossed the Shadowy Seas, the Enchanted Isles flickering away below them, there one second and gone the next. At last there was a distant shimmer of land, and the Tower of Avallónë rising above Tol Eressëa. But he turned Ithildin away to the more distant shore of Aman itself, thinking to find somewhere quiet, away from the Eldar, where they could land, get their bearings, and then approach in their own time.

That decision was taken out of his hands when he glimpsed two small figures on the shore, one of whom was waving up at him. He pulled the barest touch of power from the New Ring, and his vision sharpened. It was Frodo and Sam, looking better than he had ever seen them, bright smiles on their faces, and with them was an Elf with long dark hair and flame-blue eyes-

Talion's eyes went wide.

It couldn't be.

But it was.

Ithildin sensed his will and brought them in at once to land. Talion nearly threw himself out of her saddle, lunging for the Elf.

It was clear the Elf had been expecting to be hit, and had intended to let him do it. He was not expecting to be briefly checked to make sure he was real before being pulled into a fierce embrace.

More than a thousand years had passed since he had last seen Celebrimbor. In the early years, he had raged over the other's betrayal, ripping down entire mountains over this Elf that had shared his body and soul for nearly a decade before leaving him to die. Yet when all his anger was finally spent, he had mourned his apparent death, grieved his loss even more than his own family. He had loved his wife and son more than his own life, but Celebrimbor had been a part of him for so long that he'd almost forgotten what it was like to be alone in his own flesh.

"You ass," Talion said on a shuddering breath that he refused to call a sob, "You've been missed."

And after a moment, his embrace was returned, the Elven smith hugging him back just as tight.