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Anson sat alone, silent and stiff, gazing into the night. The journey was over. All that remained now was to go back home. Back home to his family, his dear family, his dear home. Where was the joy and happiness he had expected? What was this great weariness that slipped over him, engulfing him, weighing him down and crushing him into the earth? Afternoon tea... How often he had thought on that during their journey, and missed it. What a simple little thing it was, and what peace and contentment and joy it brought. No more. The simple things contained joy no more. Only a weariness.
Lira's face, pale and beautiful in death. He had stood apart from the others, not going close to her. He was afraid. It felt like the end of all things with Lira gone. He hadn't even looked at Gorby. Dear Gorby, who had stayed with him even when he longed to go with the others. Dear Gorby, what pain he must be feeling now! How much he had loved Lira. They had all loved Lira. Nobody knew how much Anson had cared for her. Elf though she was, she was as dear as a sister to him. She had been as a mother to him when his own mother had been so far away. The pain of her passing was deep. It was too deep. Life could not be lived.
He stood from where he had been sitting upon the ground and moved towards the pavilion. He slipped in gently, softly approaching the bed on which she lay. She was just as she had been before, silent, pale, and fair. She had always been fair. What peace was on her features! The wreath Gorby had placed on her head still crowned her lovely hair. He touched her hair gently, marvelling at its beauty. Tears were rushing unbidden to his eyes, tears that did not come through the songs of lament. He let them fall as he looked upon her face, and his heart burned cold with grief.
"Lira, Lira, why did you die?" he murmured through the sobs that racked his body. "I needed you to be my friend and sister all my life. My father doesn't care for me. He doesn't understand me. I always make him unhappy. But you understood me. Did I make you unhappy? But you made me so happy. You didn't think I was a fool because I was scared and timid, but you let your bravery stand as a shield for me." He sat down on the ground next to her bed in great weariness. "Oh, Lira, I have no one to protect me now."
An arm went about his shaking shoulderes; someone sat down beside him. A curly head pressed against his own and a comforting pair of eyes looked into his own. "Dear Anson, don't you know I'm going to protect you?" a voice said softly. "We've always been friends, haven't we? Lira's gone, and I know it hurts you. It hurts me too. But you aren't alone. I'll take care of you." It was Gorby, dear Gorby who had always been like an older brother, ever since they were children. Anson felt like a child again. He put his head on Gorby's shoulder and wept. How many times had Anson been the comforter to his younger brothers and sisters, and now how sweet it was to be the one comforted.
"Gorby," Anson choked through his sobs, "I wish I were dead."
"Hush, hush," said Gorby. "You don't really, Anson. Don't you want to go back to the Shire? To the green fields and the merry dancing at the inns?"
"Such things hold no joy any longer. I can never be happy again."
Gorby blinked away some tears. He understood. "It's all right, Anson," he said. "We both weep over Lira. But happiness can never be taken wholly away from us. We have our homes and families still."
"Lira was my family... she was like my sister and mother." Anson broke off and relapsed into his tears, and Gorby held him as a father would hold his little child who had woken up after a dreadful nightmare.
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