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Greenleaf & Imladris 12 - Prelude to Grief	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 5842 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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.

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Part VI: Sundering

Viressë TA 2510

She left as soon as passage west was possible. So depleted was her blithe spirit that she did not even have the strength to await Celeborn and Galadriel’s reply to her husband’s missive regarding her waning. By the time her sorrowing parents got to read the letter, she was already on board the ship that bore her to the Undying Lands, away from all that she loved.

“Will you be comfortable in Finarfin’s halls?” Elrond asked her the eve of her departure. They were lying in the bed they had shared for nigh two and half millennia, Celebrían snuggled in the protective embrace of her husband. The bouquet of reawakening vegetation wafted through the windows, the clean smell of new greenery refreshing the denizens of Rivendell.

“He is my mother’s sire. My grandsire,” she murmured, nuzzling her cheek against his throat, breathing in his scent, one she deemed more alluring than the most costly fragrances of Middle-earth. “I will be well cared for in his home.”

Elrond made no answer save to kiss the top of her silver crown. He hugged her thin form closer. The signs of fading were clearly apparent now. She was closer to gaunt than slender, the veins in her throat and hands standing out starkly against her too white skin. Her silver hair while thick and long had lost some of its wondrous luster and her lovely eyes were dulled by exhaustion and the constant onslaught of guilt.

The dreams had come back in full accompanied by ever escalating bouts of violence against those who tried to help her when she was in such straits. Her guilt over her actions however unintentional refused to abate. That it was her husband and sons who most bore the brunt of her furies only further exacerbated her self-castigation. Add to this the constant resurgence of pain from her wounds and it was a wonder that she had lasted this long.

Elrond stroked his wife’s argent locks tenderly, pressing kisses now and then to her temple and cheeks. He did not see the lessened sheen of her hair, or the pallid tone of her skin or the increasingly obvious boniness of her form. In his eyes, she was still the fairest Elf in all Arda.

“Would that I could go with you,” he murmured.

“If only you could,” she softly agreed. “But you still have a part to play in the future of these lands.”

Elrond sighed. In that moment, the weight of his exalted heritage seemed almost unconscionably heavy.

“I pray that the years will pass swiftly that I may join you soonest,” he whispered.

Celebrían looked up at him, her eyes limpid with devotion. “‘Tis my prayer, too.” The blue pools then darkened with foreboding. “But do not hasten to my side if by doing so we should lose our children to your brother’s choice,” she added urgently. “Keep them to the path, hervenn”—husband—“I beg of you.”

Elrond hesitated then nodded. It was a never-ending source of apprehension for them. If he could, he would have urged his sons and daughter to go with their mother and not await the day of his own departure. But he knew they were not ready to forsake Middle-earth. His greatest fear was that they would never forsake Middle-earth at all. Nevertheless, he strove to assure his wife that he would do his best to hold them to his path. He would not burden her with yet another grief; she already bore more than she could bear.

He sighed once more as her lips turned into his neck. They had seldom coupled since her harrowing experience. She’d been in too much pain too often for such indulgences. But now...

“Love me,” she whispered against his skin, her warm breath raising prickles of desire along his flesh. “I would take the memory of this night with me unto the West.”

“As you wish, seron vell”—beloved—he murmured.

He granted her desire and more. They did not know when they would enjoy the bliss of each other’s loving once more. And so they coupled through the night, gently and slowly so as not to tire her past endurance, but thoroughly and ardently to create enough memories to carry them through Elbereth only knew how many lonely years.

********

Only her children, Legolas and the closest members of Elrond’s household gathered in the courtyard to see her off. Gildor Inglorion waited with his company of Elves by the arched gate leading out into the valley beyond. It had been her desire that her farewells to these dearest few should remain private. She spoke to each softly, tenderly. Almáriel and Iorwen wept while Lindir strove not to upset her by breaking down in her presence.

Erestor forgot all about restraint and dignity when she lovingly embraced him and he hugged her back fiercely, tears streaming down his cheeks. She had always been so kind to him, never treating him as anything less than a member of the family. She turned to Glorfindel, whispered a few words of gratitude and counsel to him. When she hugged him after, the Balrog slayer was seen to shudder with the effort not to weep.

Legolas swallowed hard when she came to him. As always, she regarded him with maternal affection. The prince near came to tears himself. Ever had she been like a second mother to him since the passing of Ithilwen. He pridefully held them back; bit his lower lip lest it quivered. He sighed sadly as she drew him into her warm arms, stroking his fair hair as she would one of her own children. She drew away and took his capable archer’s hands into hers.

“Be strong for my children,” she softly implored.

“I will, my lady,” he promised. Their regard drifted for a spell to the twins and Arwen who awaited their turn with their mother. Legolas’ eyes met Elrohir’s and the prince unexpectedly blushed.

Celebrían noted the exchange; her gaze lingered a moment on Elrohir, reading his demeanor with unerring comprehension. With this sudden insight into her younger son’s heart, she also beheld something of the future as the foresight of her line came upon her. She turned back to the archer, pinning him with a look that both heartened and warned. “What you share with Elrohir is beyond compare, Legolas,” she gently counselled. “Hearken to your heart if you would see it prosper.” At his startled stare, she added, “Your fate—and his—are one and the same.”

“What – what do you mean?” he asked in confusion.

“You will understand when the time comes,” she replied. She pressed a parting kiss to his cheek then walked to her family. Legolas could only stare at her, perplexed, a frown furrowing his brow.

She opened her arms to her children, embracing each in turn. Elladan openly wept, as did Arwen. Only Elrohir remained dry-eyed though his expression was no less sorrowful. Their mother spoke to each of them, gazing at their faces as if to memorize each and every line and curve of their features.

“My ever dependable Elladan,” she said to her firstborn. “Do not burden yourself with duty to the exclusion of your desires, gwaniaur.”—older twin. “I would see you happy with your heart’s choice.”

Elladan smiled faintly at her. “I will keep my eyes open, Nana”—Mama—he murmured.

“Eyes and arms,” she teased gently and caressed his crimsoned cheek. “Whoever you may choose, he or she will be most welcome into our family. Always remember that, ion.”—son.

“I will, Nana.”

She looked at Elrohir. Her eyes softened in understanding when he unthinkingly glanced in Legolas’ direction.

“And you, Elf-knight?” she crooned. “Have you found what you seek?”

Elrohir started then gazed at her in wonder. “Mayhap.” He looked at her a little anxiously and lowered his voice that only she might hear him. “I would that you did not mention this to Ada.”—Papa.

“You would keep this from him?” He nodded somberly. “And Elladan? Does he know?”

“I think he suspects.”

“Why, ion nîn?”—my son? “Why such reticence?”

Elrohir sighed. “Because I know not if it will ever come to fruition. I do not desire anyone’s pity, not even Ada’s or Elladan’s.” Again he beseeched her. “Please say nothing, Nana.”

After a pause, she nodded and hugged him close. “Keep faith, gwanneth”—younger twin—she whispered into his ear. “Never lose hope that your desire will be granted.”

When at last she turned to her only daughter, her eyes suddenly widened and she grew even whiter than anyone thought possible.

“Nana!” Arwen exclaimed, catching her in her arms. “Are you ill?” Elrond and the brethren came closer and flanked them.

Celebrían shook her head then looked up at the Elf-maid. To her family’s alarm, her eyes shone bright with frightened tears.

“‘Tis just that I – I had the strangest feeling that I would never see you again, iell nîn,” she gasped.

Arwen stared at her. “That is absurd, Nana!” she insisted. “We will be together again.”

“I hope so,” Celebrían faintly said.

Elrond softly said: “We will always be together in our hearts, meleth.”—love. “No matter where our paths lead us.”

His wife looked at him, her eyes swimming. And then she bit her lip and embraced Arwen. “Whatever happens, I want you to be happy, dearest,” she said. “Let nothing deter you, Arwen, not even us.”

For once, Arwen could not find the words to say and in lieu of speech, she conveyed all her love and sorrow in their tight embrace. They parted most reluctantly, Celebrían letting her gaze linger on her daughter’s countenance for the longest time.

Gildor Inglorion now approached them.

“It is time,” he quietly said.

Elrond nodded and placed a hand on his wife’s arm. Celebrían looked at her children one last time then let her husband lift her onto their steed. Elrond mounted behind her and, with a grave nod to his sons, turned the horse towards the gate, his wife secure in the curve of his arm.

She did not look back. She could not. It would have been too much to bear to look upon her grieving children as she departed from their home. And their lives.

******************

Glossary:

Viressë - Quenya for April

To be continued…
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Greenleaf & Imladris 12 - Prelude to Grief