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The Teacher	By : pip Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 14764 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Author's Note: With apologies for the long wait. Also, there's no sex in this chapter. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Forty-six
That evening, almost all of Imladris was gathered in the Hall of Fire. A large area had been cleared, upon which a stage had been built, and the tables and chairs were grouped in an informal cosy arrangement, which meant a quiet but excited hum of conversation filled the hall.
It was almost all of Imladris at any rate, since as Elrond looked around he realised there were several notable exceptions. Celebrían was missing of course, but so was Legolas. The twins were not present, but they were off camping somewhere and had been for a couple of days. Elrond had been surprised to learn that Arwen had volunteered for backstage duty, which meant he and Thranduil were sat at their table by themselves.
Normally there were any number of elves who would be happy to keep the company of himself and Thranduil, and so Elrond could not account for their being left alone. Glorfindel was off in a darkened corner somewhere with Gildor as usual. Many of Elrond's friends had their own families, but of those who were unattached, there was no sign. Elrond frowned, suspicious, but it was too late to worry about it now. At least Thranduil was here next to him.
“Do you have any idea what this is about?” Thranduil asked, and in his voice Elrond heard an echo of his own disquiet.
“Not a clue,” Elrond answered, picking up his drink to sip at it, pretending to an assured ease he did not quite feel. Thranduil followed suit, and Elrond tried to ignore the sensation of being observed. He felt it, he was sure, and yet no one seemed to be looking in his direction. Oh, but it did not matter! The light was darkening as elves went around extinguishing the brightest of the lamps. The hum of conversation died away, and all eyes turned to the stage.
At first there was nothing, but then – unseen – a rich baritone began singing of willow trees and long, green grass. It was a song Elrond knew well, though he had only very rarely heard it sung. It was the song of Tuor to his infant son upon their escape from Gondolin, telling of Ulmo. There was a longing in the cadence of the lyrics that stirred the heart, and made you shiver. It's haunting melody lingered in the air as the singer continued into new phrases.
Elrond had closed his eyes to listen, but then Thranduil touched his arm, and he looked towards the stage, where a light was gathering. The cast had gathered silently, and now stood still, frozen until the light was upon them, and now Elrond knew why so many elves were missing; many of them had bit parts in this. It was a city scene – Gondolin – a place that had existed and been ruined long before Elrond was even born, but there were those around them in the Hall whose collective gasp meant the scenery was very accurate indeed.
They all knew what came next, and when the peaceful scene descended into panic and screaming as Gondolin was attacked, a noble blond elf stepped out of the melee. Armed only with a sword and shield decorated with a golden flower, he seemed drawn to an eerie red glow off-stage. Behind him, Elrond heard Glorfindel's sudden exclamation, followed quickly by Gildor's calm tones as he reassured his lover.
Thankfully, they saw no more of Glorfindel's fate, and the story on the stage followed a group of refugees as they fled the city. In the background, King Turgon was slain, but the chaos was left behind by the escapees. They fled through a passage that led out onto a plain as the scenery on stage turned around them, and then across mountains. It was a hard and perilous journey, but the scenery changed to a more forgiving idyll full of willow trees: Nan-tathren.
Throughout the song had continued. At times drowned out by the action on stage, now it came back into its own, and it was Tuor who was revealed to be singing to his son in the meadow, who gazed up at him with an expression of wonder.
As the final lines rang out, the survivors of the Fall of Gondolin at last came to the sea, the last plaintive notes of the song hanging in the air.
The stage darkened and applause rang out, but another scene presented itself almost immediately as the lights brightened again and the small orchestra took up the musical accompaniment.
Now Eärendil was older, and working on the hull of a ship with Círdan. There were a few titters here and there in the audience at the sight of Lindir bumbling about on the stage wearing a beard. Even Elrond felt his lips curve into a slight smirk, and he chanced to look beside him at Thranduil, who shook his head.
“Lass nín... I really don't think we should tell Círdan about this,” Thranduil murmured, and Elrond covered his mouth, laughing as quietly as possible.
Onstage, the young Eärendil was called from his work, and at last Elrond saw Celebrían, playing the part of Elwing. Though he was aware he had seen the dancers, filled in with a lot of extras, so far there had been no dancing, and the scenery changed swiftly, depicting the marriage of Eärendil and Elwing.
The narrative was presented quickly, telling the story in simple terms. Eärendil helped Tuor to build a ship with purple sails, and his parents departed for the West, Idril gifting Eärendil with the Elessar before she went.
Elwing grew heavy with child, and he and Elros were born. The troupe had drafted in a couple of tiny elflings with dark hair to play their part, and Elrond smiled, though in his heart he began to understand that this was partly his story, that Celebrían had thought it up for him. It was impossible for him not to think of Elros, and he breathed a deep sigh, shaking his head when Thranduil looked at him in concern.
Elrond thought about that for an instant. Legolas was backstage at this very moment. What part would he play? Suddenly, Elrond thought he knew, and he sighed silently, wondering how it would happen, and how he and Thranduil would bear it.
Meanwhile, onstage, and in a new ship, Eärendil and his three companions began their voyages, but the way to the West could not be found, and they began navigating for home. In the night Eärendil stood at the helm alone while his companions slept. The music altered, a child's soprano began a melody that soared, and Elrond watched as Celebrían appeared again. Now she was dancing. Her costume was all billowing white taffeta with winged sleeves. She was the white dove, come to Eärendil with a Silmaril.
The routine was long and very technically challenging. Even Elrond with his limited knowledge could see that. A mixture of ballet and acrobatics, Celebrían appeared to fly, leaping between pedestals hidden in the scenery, circling Eärendil and his ship. The shapes her body made were so exquisite that Elrond thought everyone in the room must be entranced, himself included. At times such as these, he realised that Celebrían was a born performer. She displayed herself to the whole room without any hesitation whatsoever. As her dance drew her nearer to Eärendil, something about the dance changed. It assumed an erotic quality as Eärendil sought to capture her, time and again moving too slowly to halt her as she pirouetted and spiralled.
She shared her passion with them all, and yet she was his. Elrond leaned forward a little. When this was over he would take her to bed with him, and she would be completely exhausted. She would be easy, welcoming and passive, barely able to move. He would love taking her then, slowly and tenderly until she begged. Elrond tried to will the image of that away, resting his elbows on his knees. He sneaked a look at Thranduil, but it seemed he only had eyes for Celebrían. Then his gaze flickered to Elrond, and in his eyes was a mixture of envy and understanding as he took in the way Elrond was sitting forward in his seat.
Elrond shook his head and resumed watching his wife. The dance drew to an end as Celebrían almost seemed to fall, collapsing onto the deck of the ship in a flurry of white, only to lie still. The desire for her among many was palpable in the room, and she had inspired it purposefully no doubt. Elrond watched as Eärendil walked over to her, crouching down to take her into his embrace. She fell back over his arm, and one could see the line of her neck, the swell of her breasts, her slender frame, the length of her legs. And the bright gem she carried that shone with a light of its own...
How had they garnered such a prop?! Elrond gasped and almost stood up in shock, his reaction to Celebrían forgotten. It was the light of Gil-estel, probably borrowed from Galadriel. So, she had managed to capture it, then? It was as close to a Silmaril as it was possible to get. That blessed light, that originally came from Laurelin and Telperion. The atmosphere in the room changed subtly from a desire for Celebrían, to lust for the light she brought with her. At once it did not seem so ridiculous that lives had been lost for the sake of those jewels. The stage darkened, leaving only the shining light in the centre, held in Celebrían's hand. Then it was snuffed out.
The Hall erupted into applause almost immediately. There were cheers and whistles, and people talking animatedly about the dance to the people seated nearest them. Elrond leaned back and relaxed at last. He felt Thranduil's eyes on him, and he smiled.
“No,” he said, his voice dry. “Before you ask, I will not share her.” He looked around him and found himself staring at Haldir and his brothers, who had come back with the dancers, probably to watch this show. “Well, not tonight, at least,” he added quietly, to himself.
There followed a short interval, and while the Hall of Fire grew lively with talk and laughter, Elrond remained lost in his thoughts, remembering so many things that he had not thought of for an age. Thranduil stayed with him, unspeaking, and as the lights dimmed again for the second act, Elrond slowly reached across the table, taking Thranduil's hand into his own.
During the interval, the elves working on the play had not been at rest, but had changed the scenery on stage, and Elrond saw before him the Mouths of Sirion just before the remaining sons of Fëanor descended. He and Elros had been six years old, and he barely remembered those times. His first memories were of the violence and death as the settlement was attacked, when he and Elros were somehow lost in the confusion.
Now he saw things that he knew, but had not been old enough to appreciate at the time. How the fear had turned the people against each other; some choosing to stand bravely, only to be cut down, while yet others sided with Maedhros and his brothers. A great sorrow rose up in his heart when he saw the little elflings stood close together in the centre of the stage, crying for their mother, while the battle went on around them, and they were ignored.
Celebrían reappeared as Elwing, searching desperately for them, but by accident was kept from finding them again and again. When she finally saw them, it was only for an instant before they were snatched up by Maglor himself, kicking and screaming.
Elrond knew, of course he knew, that their mother had never abandoned them. The violence on stage was clear. So many had died, slain and butchered by their enemies, by former friends, by their own neighbours. It had never been shown so clearly to him as he saw Celebrían hold the Silmaril to her breast: Elwing had believed her children to be as good as dead, because many elflings had been killed too. What made them so special? What indeed, except that she held the Silmaril, the cause of it all, and he saw his own mother's heart in that moment so clearly.
Celebrían ran across the stage, so fleet as the scenery turned with her, the screaming and the fire and the blood left behind as she dashed up to the top of a cliff at the edge of the sea, with Maedhros in pursuit, but her intention had never been to escape. Elwing believed her children probably already dead, her husband away at sea, perhaps lost. She had the Silmaril, but it was no prize to her. It was the cause of an endless cycle of death and destruction. And Elrond knew then, as his own mother knew, were it to find it's way into the hands of Maedhros, it still would not be over. Because it existed, it would bring trouble again. And so she took it with her, in the hope that it would never be recovered, in an attempt to rescue them all, even Maedhros and his remaining brothers. Celebrían faced the edge, tucked the Silmaril in near her breast, spread out her arms and jumped.
Elrond was not so lost in the story he was ignorant, and he surged to his feet, only to realise that Celebrían had been caught safely in the billowing blue sheets that were being used to represent the sea. Her trust and confidence was astounding. His heart stopped pounding so heavily as he sank back into his seat, again reaching for Thranduil's hand.
Many scenes followed. Again, Elrond saw the tiny elflings who were playing the part of himself and Elros, and their eventual “rescue” from the cave behind the waterfall.
Even Elrond caught his breath when Elladan and Elrohir shared a scene together. He'd thought they were away from Imladris. Clearly, he had been kept in the dark on purpose.
Elrond saw the moment their decision was taken, a decision that would separate them for the rest of time. They danced and then stood before each other, identical for the last moment, a large ornate frame between them to symbolise a mirror. And yet... each time Elladan approached the mirror, Elrohir had aged. Elrond could not look away, even when he saw himself approaching Elros' throne upon what had turned out to be his last visit, his twin grown old and grey, somehow less real, watery, as if he did indeed retreat behind silver glass.
The mirror shattered, and the scenery seem to break with it, sundered in two, a representation of the lands of Middle Earth at the end of the War of Wrath, but it may as well have been Elrond's heart in those moments as he remembered Elros. The stage went dark for a minute or two, as new scenery was hastily moved into position, and when the lights went up, there was a new world.
This was Lindon. Elrond recognised it easily, and he squeezed Thranduil's hand in reassurance as what he expected came to pass. Legolas, playing the part of Oropher, leading elves away to the east to found his Kingdom.
Although the show kept away from Elrond's more personal history after that, it was hard to watch. The war in Eregion that had brought him east, only to fail. The building of Imladris. The first defeat of Sauron. So many things. The Númenóreans had saved them then, the line of his own brother Elros, but he saw their ultimate betrayal too as Sauron worked his poison upon them, and their tragic end.
Elrond glanced across the table at Thranduil now, watching avidly as Legolas played his own grandfather, keeping the same secrets, making the same mistakes again. The war that cost all of them so much, and Oropher his life, never really won, the darkness lingering in a subtle red glow just off to the side. The watchful peace, ended, and to the centre of the stage came a selection of the actors they had seen. Elladan, playing Elrond. Legolas, made up as Thranduil this time. Here was Lindir again in that ridiculous beard, as Círdan, and the elf who had appeared as Glorfindel. It was a representation of the White Council, Elrond realised suddenly. There were others. Someone Elrond didn't know represented Mithrandir.
What could they do against Sauron now? There were no great armies left, except for his idle thought about Eryn Galen and Thranduil, which might be fancy. Yet clearly the actors on stage represented hope. But for the two that walked out next, there were no actors. Galadriel and Celeborn stepped out onto the stage, hand in hand, taller than the rest, and Elrond gasped out loud, their arrival and presence in Imladris having been kept secret.
Elrond...
They seemed to speak in concert, their eyes gleaming, and yet only he heard their voices. They echoed in his head – it was impossible. And yet, he had been spoken to before this way, hadn't he?
I come to remind you of my lesson, meldir nín.
That was Celeborn speaking to him. The lesson... Elrond remembered it now, from their conversation so long ago at Thranduil's palace. All this time he'd thought it was a lesson about love, but it had been about this... strange form of communication. Belatedly, he realised he was clutching Thranduil's hand very tightly, and he let go with a distracted word of apology, noticing that the entire cast were on stage, taking their bow. He applauded with the rest, but could not take his eyes away from Galadriel and Celeborn.
Do you hear me now, Elrond?
Galadriel. As he looked at her, it seemed she must be moving towards him, as before, yet now he finally understood.
I hear you. I hear you both. Welcome back to Imladris.
He inclined his head slightly, and there was a sudden light of long-awaited victory in Galadriel's eyes.
We have much to discuss, away from listening ears.
Elrond was suddenly distracted when Celebrían flung herself into his arms, completely oblivious to the strange conversation Elrond was having with her parents, her eyes sparkling with joy. “What did you think?” she demanded quickly. “Did you like it?”
Naturally, he slid his arms around her, holding her steady on his lap. “A triumph, mell nín,” he said aloud. “And I must say the ending is quite a revelation.”
Celebrían smiled. “I was not sure, but my mother said you would love it.” Elrond chuckled. Had she indeed?
Tomorrow...
Elrond projected the word in Galadriel's direction without looking, and the answering musical laughter made him certain he had been heard. He turned his head to Thranduil, but he was deep in discussion with Legolas, whispering things into his ear. Whatever it was made Legolas' cheeks flush a pale pink. Elrond sensed he was not needed there.
Celebrían was still wearing her costume, and despite the nature of the show they had just been treated to, Elrond made a conscious decision to escape his fate. At least for this night. Or maybe, he thought as he stood and pulled Celebrían towards the nearest door, maybe he was simply giving in to it.
“It was wonderful, frightening, painful, but beautiful, meleth nín,” he said into her ear as they slipped away. Celebrían smiled, and he squeezed her hand. “Are you tired?” he asked.
“Ai! Elrond, I am completely exhausted!” she exclaimed, leaning against him now that they were in the corridor, alone. Elrond smiled as he led her to their rooms.
“Excellent...”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thranduil and Legolas left soon after that, with a promise to return in the spring. Galadriel and Celeborn stayed for a while longer, and for many hours they sat together with Elrond, speaking in silence. Galadriel confided more clearly her distrust of Saruman, and the strong feeling of betrayal provided by her foresight. She had looked long into the mirror, but could discern nothing, which meant that the betrayal had not yet come to pass. Was there a way to avoid it?
In his own turn, Elrond apprised them both of his own thoughts regarding Eryn Galen and the spiders. To his surprise, they both readily agreed with his assessment. His thoughts about Thranduil he shared too, and at this there was agreement as well.
But can you do it? Galadriel wanted to know. When the time comes, it must be certain. All may depend upon it.
I will help you as much as I am able, but the instruction must come from you, I believe. I hold trust, not power. Celeborn stared intensely at him, and Elrond sighed inwardly.
He does not instruct, only advise. Galadriel's eyes twinkled in amusement, and Celeborn actually turned his head in surprise at the gentle teasing, then rolled his eyes and gave Elrond a long-suffering look. The three of them laughed softly, out loud.
When the time comes, Elrond thought seriously, I will tell him outright if needs be. He will obey me.
It bothered him, to be prepared to use Thranduil in such a way, to be prepared to manipulate him. These were machinations Elrond did not believe in, as a rule. And yet there seemed to be no other option. Thranduil's blood ran hot, hotter than his father. If needs be, Elrond would construct a prison for Oropherion, but it did not sit easily with him.
When the time comes. The words came from both of them, as reassurance, and Elrond reached out. They took his hands, sitting in a perfect circle. The time was not here yet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the years passed, Elrond refused to dwell on those things, so far away for now. Instead he lived, and the White Council met intermittently over the years, when they could, as Sauron's return gathered momentum. More orcs and trolls gathered in the Misty Mountains, keeping Imladris' forces busy, as well as Elladan and Elrohir. Many of the passes were permanently shut, and only one or two very secret ways remained open, meaning visits between himself and Thranduil became rarer. Legolas, too, although he seemed prepared to fight to appear at Imladris periodically.
Celebrían was often at home, her own visits to Lórien similarly curtailed. She still made some, once or twice a year, as she could not keep away from her parents or Haldir for long. Elrond too still managed to brave the mountains with Legolas for the purpose of seeing Thranduil.
The mind-speaking seemed to work at a great distance, although Galadriel warned him they could be heard when so far apart. And so it was via Thranduil that he communicated most clearly with Celeborn and Galadriel, since Celeborn was more often at Thranduil's palace than Elrond himself. Sometimes, he and Celeborn even met there.
But it was Legolas who captured Elrond's attention during those years. Unasked, he became Elrond's unofficial escort over the mountains, journeying with him, fighting side by side with him, and those times filled Elrond with fresh zest for everything. Having Legolas' love was like having a wild bird come to your hand. No matter the time he spent at Imladris, he never lost that untamed quality, and in the woodland of his home he was king, even if his father occupied the throne in the palace.
Legolas knew the woods so well it was astounding, and with him Elrond even felt echoes of Oropher. With Legolas he learned to take his rest in the trees again, instead of in a comfortable bed in the palace. Despite Elrond's great age, Legolas made him feel young, and he cherished that as much as he adored Legolas' body and treasured his soul. There were no misunderstandings between them, no barriers, no misplaced concern.
Elrond began to look forward to the times when Legolas would appear, so much so he could hardly concentrate on his writing. Celebrían teased him about it endlessly, conspiring with Legolas when he did appear, and Elrond enjoyed it all. Still, he feared for Legolas' safety, journeying over the mountains. It was getting more and more dangerous in that region; he had the reports of the twins to prove it. Elrond's feelings of unease grew until there could be no doubt they were prescient, but he could not forbid Legolas to travel.
Then one day Legolas was late. Since they could not send messages so easily, they prearranged times for their visits. Celebrían was gone on one of her more rare outings to Lórien, so Elrond was alone. Arwen was already there, opting to stay with her grandparents for an extended time rather than dare the crossing.
Elrond busied himself with pointless inconsequential things as he worried, yet when Legolas appeared, all of his fear seemed overwrought and dramatic. For a day or so, everything was quiet, and then a member of the guard Celebrían had taken with her appeared, exhausted and incoherent. Celebrían's party had been attacked not long after they had set off. The elf had escaped, and though injured had managed to get back to give warning.
The news was like a knell in Elrond's heart.
Before the half hour had passed he had saddled his horse, dressed in armour with his weapons at the ready. Legolas went with him, and Glorfindel. The twins too, upon discovering the commotion when they returned from their daily jaunt joined in, as frantic as Elrond himself.
Those feelings of unease had come to him for Celebrían. Elrond could not believe he had been so blind, but he rushed off before he could even think to curse himself for misinterpreting his foresight in such a way.

To be continued...

Author's Note: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and that the events in the chapter made a bit of sense.
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The Teacher