Rating: R
Pairings: Elrond/group/ m/m, m/f.
Summary: A wedding in Rivendell sparks memories of the city's founding and early history. Events from Elrond's past haunt his dreams.
Feedback: Write me if you want to. I might even answer.
Notes: Usual series flashbacks and friendships, uses books and movie as canon, plus embellishments.
Rivendell, in a time before the Great Ring's rediscovery...
Elrond looked up from the fire as Lindefal called out to him from the loft above the study. "Are you coming up here?" he asked for the third time, leaning over the balcony railing with towel and comb in hand. "We have a lot to do tonight before the wedding tomorrow. Thunder rolled and the typical cold winter rain increased in intensity as gusts of damp breezes blew in and around the open chamber. Giving in before Lindefal became really peevish, and waiting for a third request was really pushing it, Elrond rose and climbed the stairs to the loft. He was undressed already and in a loose sleeping robe, and he prepared himself for major fussing and grooming. He always left all the details to Lindefal and Erestor on these occasions, and found it made his life so much easier. But he did enjoy a good wedding, and the feasting and dancing afterwards. This would be a welcome break in the lazy flow of winter days.
He looked around as he came into the bedchamber. Lindefal had turned down the bed, for two he noticed with a raised eyebrow, and the bath steamed in the cool air. A tray of small containers sat on his broad desk, and robes were hung and spread across every surface as Lindefal determined the perfect layers and colors of formal garments for the ceremony tomorrow evening. Lindefal took his hand and led him to the brighter light near a wall lantern.
He held out a richly embroidered russet robe and turned it in the light so the silver threads in the complex woven pattern caught the light. "The embroiderers just finished this tonight and sent it up for you to wear tomorrow. They just create more beautiful patterns down there every day," he gushed as he turned it this way and that in the light. Elrond took the garment in his hands and studied the complex interweaving design of stems and leaves, caught up a chain of floral links. The design was mesmerizing and had great depth and detail. The artisans at Rivendell excelled at their crafts, and indeed created more wonderful works with every project they completed. "This is beautiful," he said as he touched the delicate threads with an appreciative finger. He had always had a secret soft spot in his heart for formal celebrations, a fondness cultivated in his younger days at the Court of the High King.
Lindefal was standing near the bath and had already taken off his tunic and settled the short stool at the head of the basin. He held a small container of cream and the silver comb he favored. Findalor entered the chamber through the upstairs doorway and reported that all was well in the house and along the borders. Elrond nodded as he stood at his desk and lifted a lid from one of the small pottery bowls there. "What are these?" he asked with a careful sniff of the contents. There was a faint hint of summer berries in the blend of this one. "Galenbrethil sent up samples of new concoctions for you to try, something for every part of the body it seems," Lindefal waved the small bowl in his hand, "This is for the hair and we can try it out tonight." Findalor walked over and took a look at the tray, "Anything to eat there?" he asked. Elrond gestured to a tray of cheese and bread near the fireplace. Findalor cut a chunk of each and poured a mug of ale from the heavy pitcher nearby. Checking the patrol stations at night always made him hungry. He was glad he made it in before the downpour started in earnest.
Elrond picked up another bowl and smiled at the violet color of the glaze on the container, a signal of purpose for the contents. He gave it cautious whiff, and then dipped a finger into the pale greenish cream. He tested the silkiness between his fingers with a strange look on his face as he recognized some of the ingredients and their purpose. His eyes squinted as he concentrated on the texture and fragrance and his pharmacological knowledge kicked into high gear. The subtly fragrant lotion warmed his skin and tingled as his fingers rubbed it across their tips. He closed his eyes and smiled a broad smile as he cupped his hands under his nose and inhaled deeply. Echoes of the sea, trailing green ivy, the earth after a rain, the sweetest of roses, the exact scent was difficult to pin down.
Findalor was watching from across the room and noted the strange expression and odd smile. He observed the careful testing of glide and fragrance, and registered the broad smile of appreciation. It was also a guilty smile. "Is that what I think it is?" he mumbled through a mouthful of cheese. Only something as exotic and rare as that would bring that dreamy expression to Elrond's face. The substance was fabled among experienced lovers and thought to be a myth by most. Elrond nodded as he inhaled the heady scent again. Renewed gales of rain swept past the eaves and the wind howled down the fireplace chimney, and Elrond heard nothing, saw nothing, experienced nothing expect that extraordinary feeling and scent cupped in his hands.
It was indeed lanfalin, and Elrond had not enjoyed its use for many, many years. He had recognized the old concoction from ages past. He knew that this formula was rare and exotic, and had not been made up around here in many centuries. It had been a part of his life at the Court of Gil-galad, one of the more decadent pleasures of that elegant and sensuous environment. He mentally thanked Galenbrethil for finding the ingredients somehow; he would make certain she got to experience its effects personally.
Some of the special aspects of the lotion were the result of a delicate blending of two plants that were now thought to be rare to the point of extinction. He reveled in the idea that they survived. He licked his fingertip remembering the slightly sweet taste as the warming effects were began to infuse his entire system with a feeling of well being and relaxation.
He picked up the tray and walked across the room to the oversized square bed. He set it down on the small table nearby and took up a sampling of the cream again. A little shiver went down his spine as he rubbed a bit on his lip. The chemical effects of this one worked quickly. "Lindefal, come here and show me which ones you favor," he said in a low and purring voice. His expression was becoming predatory with desire. "Findalor, come see for yourself."
Pre-occupied with the schedule he had planned for the evening, Lindefal sighed and stepped over to the bed without registering the tone of voice. He reached for another bowl and sniffed it, took a small amount and rubbed it across the back of Elrond's hand. "This one will be very nice for sunburn and dry skin," he said absently, "And the one in your hand has many uses. I imagine it could become a bedside favorite from the description in the note she sent along." As Lindefal looked intently at the tray of fragrant creams and lotions for another he had liked, he was surprised to feel fingers grip the waist of his leggings and pull him close. He suddenly noticed the aural charge in the air that flowed across his skin with a tickle, and he saw the violet colors of Elrond's desire form familiar patterns in his mind.
Findalor had come across the room to look things over, and was nearby brushing breadcrumbs from his hands. He dipped a finger into the creamy substance and took a sniff, and dabbed a bit on his lips. He would never forget this wonderful stuff and the only time he had felt its effects. He counted himself lucky he had had the chance long ago. The subtle fragrance was indescribable but unmistakable, and always stayed in the back of one's mind. He smiled a wolfish smile at Elrond over Lindefal's shoulder as his jacket slipped off his arms to the floor. His tunic followed next. Findalor laughed a low laugh; Lindefal had no idea what was coming.
Lindefal looked up from the slender fingers at his waist to the dark gray eyes that twinkled at him in mischief. He felt the lacings on his own leggings slip loose, and firm hands slide inside the fabric against his flesh. He marveled yet again at how the lacings of any garment seemed to just fall away at Elrond's command. "How did he do that?' he wondered for the millionth time. Their energies supercharged and whipped around them as Lindefal responded despite himself, and Findalor added to the mix with growing desire. Yet there was a new element to the patterns, a more complex flow of energies and sensations surrounded them. Lindefal had joined with these two countless times, in various moods and levels of pleasure, but he had never seen these patterns before, they spun and reformed and broke apart and rejoined in a hypnotizing fashion, and he felt a growing warm and relaxed feeling spreading. His skin tingled anywhere he was touched. Elrond had a devilish smile and a gleam in his eyes as he stepped closer, and Findalor laid his hands on Lindefal's shoulders and pressed against him from behind.
Lindefal felt the glide of the new cream against his firming flesh and he guessed it was more than a lubricant by the feelings that were starting to spread from his groin, not the usual sensations, but enhanced somehow. His shoulders warmed where Findalor seemed to be rubbing them with the smooth and creamy substance while humming quietly to himself. Wondering how all this got started; he was still attempting to cling to his schedule for the evening. He looked at Elrond and said, "Now, you have not tried this new robe yet, and the bath is getting cold," He stuttered, " Findalor, don't you have things..."then caught his breath in a gasp as agile fingers teased him into attention. He grabbed Elrond's arms to keep his balance and fell back on Findalor as he was embraced from behind. Findalor's fingers caught in the fabric and slipped the loosened garment from his hips.
The evening schedule changed instantly as his leggings dropped to the floor. Elrond purred into his ear, "You will like this, Lindefal, you know how you enjoy new sensations." The new cream was very nice and silky, and it did odd things to his skin, warming and teasing it even as his mind responded to the aural invitation to join the others body and soul. He opened his mouth to protest half-heartedly, and was silenced by a gentle thumb sliding across his lips. The silly cream even tasted good.
Elrond's long slender fingers slid around his face and into his auburn hair, drawing him closer for a lick, then a nip on the bottom lip. The playful kisses grew deeper and more intense. Their lips warmed and tingled as the cream was engaged with their body heat. He felt Findalor's strong hands caress his chest and stomach and slide down in to grasp him firmly. Even as he moaned in pleasure he wondered in the back of his mind where his plan for the evening had gone awry. He was not sure he trusted these two with heaving breaths and hungry eyes, they knew something he did not, and he was trapped between them in a tight embrace. He thought they might finish right there all over him and be done soon judging by the crashing feelings and colors he was picking up around him.
Elrond grasped Lindefal's face again and kissed him with a deep need. Lindefal noticed that he felt where every touch had been with a trailing feeling of warmth and pleasure. His lips were tingling as Elrond moved away to kiss Findalor over his shoulder, pressing him between them. They laughed and embraced around Lindefal, who was getting into the spirit of the evening now, with body and soul both now suddenly engaged.
Even as Lindefal's eyes rolled back and closed in pleasure, and as he relaxed into the sturdy bodies close to him, he made one more attempt to be the dutiful aide. He started to say, "We have things..." Elrond pressed closer and whispered in his ear, as fingers roamed, "Those things can wait." Lindefal could not tell if the bed rose to meet them, or if they fell into it, he was melting into total abandon to the sensations all around him.
He remembered only waves of ecstasy in the night, but could not have explained the sensations to anyone. He lost track of where he began and the others left off, and was overwhelmed by the echoes of three releases simultaneously echoing back and forth within his brain. He grabbed the pillows tightly in the firm belief they would keep him on the bed and prevent his floating off into space. He felt his own release roll across him in wave after wave after wave in a prolonged euphoric state of endless pleasure. In the back of his mind he thought he might really come to like this lanfalin stuff.
They awoke in the light of dawn stuck to the sheets wrapped around them, having tested every property of the all samples during the night. Strands of hair clung to their faces and to the pillows as they struggled to untangle themselves from sheets and limbs and sit up. They brushed hair away from sleepy eyes and remembered why they were glued to each other and the sheets with smiles. It took some conscious thought to get their limbs moving again. Elrond looked at a bruise blossoming on his arm and one on his thigh, and had no memory whatsoever of how he had come by them. They always collected these little souvenirs when the bed was full and lovemaking active. Findalor was pulling his sticky tangled hair back off his face as he sat up and laughed at the darkening badges of love Elrond carried. Elrond pointed to Findalor's neck with a smile, someone had been a bit carried away in nibbling there it seemed. In an impromptu council in the middle of the oversized bed they decided the shower to be the best location to try the new soaps. The sheet trailed after Findalor's broad back as he rose from the bed, still glistening with an ample application of the sunburn cream.
The large cistern of water next to the fireplace chimney held many gallons of warm water. As they stood together beneath the broad spray the lanfalin reactivated with the touch of hands and warm water, and invited further exploration and play. Lindefal was thinking, as he braced himself against the stonewalls of the enclosure and leaned back onto Elrond with a moan, that he needed to reconsider the shower as a useful alternative to long soaks in the basin.
In the meantime Findalor lathered up the samples and tested them on assorted shoulders, arms and legs. He told Elrond, amidst moans and thrusts, and comments from Lindefal to leave them alone just a bit longer, that the manufacture of lanfalin would have to be limited or the entire settlement would never get out of bed. Elrond laughed and remarked on its cost and rarity. Their excesses in the night had exhausted a good supply of it already. It would have to remain a rare and legendary treat for lovers after all.
Lindefal became his old efficient self after they stepped out of the stone walled enclosure and dried themselves. There was much to be done before evening, and he hoped that the incessant rain would give them a break by then. Enough of resting and love play for now, back to work. He marveled at his clear head now he was awake and well bathed. He could still smell that tantalizing sweet scent on his skin however.
His wish was granted as the steady stream of cold winter rain softened and cleared away in the late afternoon. As the evening bells rang out at dusk the community gathered on the damp lawn below the Great House for a winter wedding. The setting sun's rays slanted through scudding clouds in rosy beams. Elven weddings were held outside and in the open air as an invitation to the spirits and all of nature to bless the event. Elrond stepped up on the long low platform at the end of the lawn that served as the place of honor for all outdoor events. The wedding couple awaited him with smiles and folded hands. They were pleased to have the revered and beloved Master of the House bless their joining.
He served a dual role here: as Master of the House he approved their joining and blessed the union, and as the senior ranking resident who had been married, and who had a family himself, Elrond would announce the pair's intentions to the gathered community and seal their bond. He served as symbolic father to both during these ceremonies, and before as well, as he searched their hearts carefully when they visited him in his study to discuss their intent, first individually, then as a couple. In Rivendell, by the time he entered into the activities, there was little doubt that a pair had found their true soul mates and would bond for life. In the open and free-thinking environment there, youth had many years to court peers and dally under semi-watchful eyes on the road to maturity. Arranged marriages here were rare, and negotiated with the intended couple's hearts in mind.
As in the other Elven settlements, in Rivendell, rarely were marriages undertaken without grave thought and consideration, and the psychic bonding between a loving pair was always exceptional. Radiant energies signaled to all a good match. Lasting love and devotion of any sort was a state shared with others sensitive to aural expression. Elrond had no doubts at any time that these two were already bonded in spirit and soul, their deep happiness and contentment with each other was easy to read with little effort. Part of the Elven ability to read true characters and understand hearts was based on sensitivity to emotions expressed in various fashions. While body language was a clue to the hearts of men and Elves both, Elven thoughts and desires were also radiated outwards in colors and patterns of feelings.
This afternoon Elrond was dressed in his most formal layers of robes and the new embroidered outer robe was elegant to the extreme with its gentle folds and soft drapery. He wore the wreathing circlet of Mithril as symbol of his status as Master of Rivendell. Lindefal and Erestor both loved weddings and, as a result, they were all-out affairs. Lindefal always made certain the Master of the House was well rested, properly attired and in a suitable mood for the joining ceremony, and that was not always an easy task. In fact he thought he remembered he had worked very hard all night last night to ensure a relaxed and well-rested Elrond for the day of the wedding. And the Master of the House had the softest skin and shiniest hair, and a few bruises, to prove it too.
Erestor also delighted in the preparations: the gathering of greens for the tables and the dining hall, the making of traditional foods, and the excuse for more wine, more song and more dancing than usual. Days this winter had been serene and slow, and the ceremony promised to be a high point in a week of dark and rainy days. As the day cleared, spirits rose. Elrond secretly enjoyed the formality on these occasions, and would have actually selected elegant attire on his own if he had not had a fussing Lindefal brushing, straightening and tidying him in a flurry of hands.
He believed a serene and traditionally symbolic bonding ceremony, and a rousing feast afterwards, was a gift to the couple from the community. He also understood that these ceremonies strengthened bonds between the residents as well. As the afternoon drew on Lindefal fussed with the silken sash for the third time. He started to redo it again until Elrond gently stopped his hands and said, "Lindefal, it is fine. Go see to yourself now, the evening bells will be ringing soon."
As he stepped up to the couple in the center of the platform he held in his hand the small wreath of holly and red berries that symbolized the everlasting, yet prickly and sometimes painful, nature of a lifetime's love and bonding. It was tied with a pale green ribbon with long fluttering ends trailing and tinkling with little silver bells tied at the ends. He faced west, where the undying lands and all their futures lay, and the couple looked over his shoulders to the east and to the dawning of a new life together.
The gathered community was quiet and respectful in their attentive observance of the ceremony. Legolas stood in the front row watching with interest. He had arrived the week before, and having missed the twins, who were already out on patrol, had been drafted to assist with Erestor's preparations as an extra pair of much needed hands. Weddings in his father's settlement were more a business arrangement between families for some type of gain, and the ceremonies were short and lacking somewhat in the elegance he perceived here. The feasts there were more drunken celebrations for the males, unlike the joyful gathering of the community here.
He smoothed his new robe and felt both uncomfortable and very grand at the same time. It was a gift from Erestor for the occasion in thanks for his assistance with the preparations. The dark green velvet cuffs turned back to display a delicately woven pattern of many colors. It would have to stay in the growing collection of belongings held for him at Rivendell; it fit nowhere else in his life. He adjusted his cuff and looked back at the celebrants before him as the ceremony started. Lindefal was also front and center, enjoying it all. Erestor, busy in his role as master of all festivals, slipped in beside him, late as usual. They stood arm in arm beaming in the setting sunlight. The couple could have been their own children they were so proud. With the break in the weather, everything was going perfectly.
The ceremony was simple and brief, but laden with meaning and tradition Allaryn and Falidar stood before Elrond dressed simply in loose robes the green colors of abundant life. He nodded at each one and smiled warmly at them. They bowed before him one at a time to receive the fatherly kiss on the top of each of their heads that commenced the ceremony. A warm bubble of happy auras surrounded them as they stood apart from others.
As the senior ranking member of the community, these two were his children for the day, and his performance of the ceremony was his blessing of the union. Appropriate gifts from their new "father" would appear later at their doorstep. As they established their household together, gifts would be left secretly at their doorstep in the night, an old tradition that bound them to the community without knowledge of the donors. To find out who had given a gift was bad luck and the gift was returned immediately. Donors acknowledged the true spirit of the game, and this rarely happened.
As the Master of the House, Elrond had provided the simple green robes that indicated they were pure of heart and spirit in this venture, and had passed his examination of their motives. Elrond liked them both and had observed their love grow over the centuries. Falidar was a silversmith of enviable talent, and she was a master potter. Examples of their craftsmanship were often given as gifts to visitors and graced many a home in the community. He made the elegant silver pens Elrond so favored for his desk and in the library.
Falidar raised his right hand, and Allaryn laid her left one against it, palm to palm. Extending their joined hands to Elrond, this was the final show of mutual acceptance and their declaration of love. Their hands bore the marks of their trades in scars and calluses; they were honest, hardworking hands that could express the utmost delicacy and expression through their craftsmanship.
Elrond took their extended hands in his left one, and turned to face the gathered crowd. Holding the small wreath aloft in a jungle of bells, he spoke aloud, "Allaryn and Falidar have pledged undying love and the desire for a lifetime's bonding by the action taken before you now. This wreath, a symbol of their union, contains the evergreen holly, its sharp thorns, and the red berries that return each year. Our blessings for them are: that the union be as everlasting as the holly, that the union easily overcome the prickly thorns of life, and that the union be as fruitful as the berries that return to grace the branches each year."
Turning again to the couple Elrond paused, and carefully slid the wreath over their extended hands. The small bow was on top, and the tiny bells jingled as the long ribbons moved. It was a small wreath and did fit over their hands, but with a few scrapes and pricks, it drew blood. He formally held his hands out to them, displaying the small scratches on his own fingers and red welling droplets, the act of sharing their pain was part of his role as their symbolic father. There was enough discomfort to make the point a reality to the celebrants.
"My children, as you face this first trial of joining together, knowing there is celebration ahead of you, so let all the trials in your life be so easily overcome." With these final words, Elrond bowed to them and stepped aside. Each took a ribbon and pulled it to untie the entwined bow so the wreath fell away easily. This was another symbolic act that revealed they were one entity now, and that they could overcome hardships together. Amidst cheers and greetings from the observers they stepped down into the crowd for handshakes and back patting, with hugs and kisses for everyone.
The scratches of the three pairs of hands were dabbed with a small green cloth that became a keepsake of the event. Elrond smiled as she tucked the cloth away safely in her belt. The cloth bound him as their protector through the mingled drops of their blood. She also carefully tucked the ribbons of the holly wreath into her belt as well; it would hang over their door for the first year of their marriage for good luck, so it was carefully guarded now. The small silver bells tinkled gaily in the evening air.
Somewhere in a drawer in his study there was a small box of simply carved wood. Within it lay a folded cloth and the tiny silver bells from his own wedding, amidst the dust of another Holly wreath. He thought of it now and then on occasions like this. Celebrian had reached out to ring the small bells every time she had walked under their doorway for good luck. Amidst the memory and the reality of the tinkling of bells he was brought back to the present when Allaryn took his arm and stood on tiptoe to bestow a kiss of thanks upon his cheek. He gave her a hug of congratulations. He'd always thought she had the sweetest smile.
Arm in arm, Elrond and the wedded couple led the community to the Dining Hall where groaning boards decked with holly and evergreens awaited them. The tiny bells of the wreath jingled as they walked. The couple sat at the places of honor at the Master's table and enjoyed the special attention of everyone. Small bits of holly and other greenery from the tables were tucked behind an ear or into the hair of the diners in celebration of the wedding. Game, fruits and vegetables were symbolic of the community's fruitfulness, and were offered to the couple in celebration. Wild and natural grains, simmered in tasty sauces, promised plenty and fertility. Wine, mead and dark ale were poured from seemingly bottomless jugs.
Small wedding seedcakes with honey drizzled over them promised the sweetness of the life, and a tiny tart fruit hidden inside every other one again warned of the trials and tribulations a long life had to offer. Licking sticky fingers was part of the treat. Licking other's sticky fingers was also a treat and added a new twist to the use of the communal meal to flirt and seek pleasurable partners for the evening.
Feeding cakes to each other, the diners also got to lick, kiss or wipe away drips of the sweet stuff in a flirting game. Legolas enjoyed the feasting aspect of the wedding. He was a frequent enough visitor now to know many residents and have friends in the household. He sat between Erestor and Findalor with ease and watched the amazing variety of food pass by with savory and sweet smells wafting across the table. Erestor slipped a perfect holly leaf and its red berries into the braid over Legolas' ear and popped a small seed cake neatly into his mouth with a laugh and nary a drip of honey. He held out a sticky finger for a lick, and with a blush Legolas gave it a quick kiss. He and Glorfindel discussed across the table how weddings differed in Lorien and at Mirkwood, so close yet so far apart in practice and ceremony. Merriment reigned.
After all had eaten their fill, the tables were pushed back against the wall and music struck up to draw dancers to their feet. The traditional first dance of a wedding ceremony was starting. Snaking lines, led by the newlyweds, started slowly in a complex and tightly intertwining motion that led back to itself and tangled the dancers into spirals and wheels. Symbolic of the inner connectedness of life, they moved slowly in and out and around and under raised and lowered arms. Increasing in musical tempo, the dance sped up and the challenge was continue to hold the dancer's hands before and behind each one, and to continue the established sequence of steps and patterns. Finally the music exceeded the dancer's abilities to keep up, and there was a general collapse of the pattern in breathless laughter and cheers from on-lookers. Erestor and Elrond came from the center of the tangled group as a new tune struck up.
Taking the hands of new partners, they established a line facing a line in a dance that moved in a stylized and flirtatious manner, alternating individuals from each side in a series of steps and side steps. Partners slid around partners in close steps, brushing shoulders and wrists, standing behind and before in poses of temptation and flirtation. Participants laughed and panted through the solemn steps as they caught their breath from the previous complex race around the dance space. Dancers could find themselves frozen in intimate poses with new partners as the musicians called the tune and stopped it where they pleased. As the music ended abruptly, Elrond bowed to Findalor and Legolas gallantly kissed the hand of Galenbrethil as they found themselves face to face and hand in hand. Glorfindel's merry laugh carried over the buzz as the dancers realigned themselves.
Harps strummed a rapid series of notes and another complex and intertwining movement began. Round after round swirled partners in turns and steps around the wide central space. Finally begging off to rest Elrond shed another layer of robes and gathered his discarded garments and the circlet into his lap as he eased himself into a chair. He brushed back loose strands of hair and accepted a glass of mead gratefully. The server smoothed his hair back for him with a smile, tucking in loose strands that immediately fell forward again in lively waves. Elrond caught her hand and bestowed a kiss on the wiggling fingers, before she turned away with a smile and laugh. The beloved Master of the House was popular among the residents, but his amazing hair had real fans. Findalor sat next to him panting and out of breath as well. He was in a jovial mood and took a brimming mug of ale from a smiling server. They complimented each other on a successful festival and acknowledged the ideal break in the weather for the afternoon event.
Legolas flew by in a swirl of steps, ashen hair flying behind him. He was pulled along by strong hands around his wrists; he was rapidly developing advanced dance skills this evening. Findalor laughed heartily at the concentration apparent on his face as he was drawn along in the dance. Full body contact, and teasing and flirting slides and turns during the slow and complex steps were other new things he was getting used to as well.
They watched as the graceful and lithe dancers swirled in the steps, arms outstretched, hands held in precise fashion, and delicate fingers waving here and there. A turn of the head this way or that helped to establish the stylized motions of the dancer as they moved, then froze, then moved again. Findalor thrust his empty mug into Elrond's hand as he was invited into the next dance by a strong arm that brooked no denial. A server filled the empty cup and Elrond was able to toast the dancers with two hands with much laughter and teasing around him.
The cheerful sounds, swirling colors, and general feeling of well-being was a delight to Elrond. The atmosphere in the hall was one of acceptance and comfort, feelings radiated by many happy beings. There was no place he would rather be than here tonight. In a rare acknowledgement of his achievements, he was proud of the couple, proud of the community and thankful for the towering hall that held them all together tonight. His name was called and hands waved at him to join another spiraling dance. He managed to slide in mid-step. As he and Legolas turned and stepped back into a line Legolas asked if all weddings were normally this energetic at Rivendell. Elrond laughed and replied over his shoulder before he turned and moved away, "Always."
The hours crept by and Elrond finally wandered away to bed contentedly, leaving Erestor as Master of Ceremonies in the festival atmosphere. The community would sleep in the next day and have a holiday from their labors. He held his outer robes over one arm, carried the circlet in that hand, and had a final glass of mead in the other. He was smiling and humming along to himself as he wandered the empty corridors to his chambers. He knew the newlyweds would be the last to leave, and that they were responsible for blowing out the candles as they left, another symbolic act of their responsibility to the community and its resources. The remaining harper would play as they did this and follow them to their new doorway, his final blessing also considered good luck. The harper would hang the holly wreath over their door as he blessed their union, and ring the small silver bells to welcome them home.
Elrond had climbed the stairs from the library to his study a bit unsteadily, still humming along with the tunes faintly wafting through the air. He carried most of his garments over his arm, and he marveled at their combined weight. Small wonder he was so tired after these events! He gathered up the trailing sash before he tripped over it, and gathered up the long hem of his robe while he was at it. He was having enough trouble finding the next step as it was. He had shed the layers of garments throughout the evening as dancing demanded freedom of movement, and the wine was warming to both soul and body. Why waste the chance to really celebrate when he was actually allowed to let loose himself? He had lost count of the glasses and mugs, or was it bottles finally, of wine and ale that had passed through his hands. He was feeling very mellow now, and a bit dozy as he passed through the arching doorway into his study.
He laid the robes over a chair and wandered over to the large well-cushioned chair in front of the fire. He flopped down and stuck his feet out with a sigh of contentment. Sitting in his darkened study, he listened to the party as it carried on in the night. The fire had died down to glowing coals and he watched the sparks and colors and dozed in his chair. It had been a long and busy day, and a long but enjoyable evening. He had even had time during the rainy morning to actually visit with Legolas in the Library at lunch, and as they helped deck the Dining Hall with evergreen boughs. Then Lindefal had sought him out for the preparations for the evening's events.
He brushed back long tendrils of dark hair from his face, wondering what state his elegant braids were in now. He imagined they were in quite disarray. Ducking under raised arms in a vigorous dance was not the best way to maintain a well-kept appearance.
He lifted the Mithril circlet from his lap where he had laid it. It reflected the rosy glow of the fire in its spirals and curls. The small maker's mark on the inside was the tiny leaf design that Celebrimbor had used. It had been a gift from Gil-galad when Elrond left to found Imladris, and had been made by the master smith himself. Though their parting had not been on the best of terms, the deep regard of the High King was expressed in the gift that a messenger had delivered to him on their second day out from the havens. The note had simply stated in Gil-galad's strong strokes, "To the new master of his own fate. May it sit lightly upon his brow." The circlet was priceless beyond measure to him, and eased the pain of the harsh words they had exchanged when he left.
The circlet was thing of simple beauty and refined elegance. It had no magic to control like the other gift from Gil-galad. Made also by Celebrimbor, the magic ring Vilya hung on its golden chain in a cavern deep beneath the city on a simple shrine. Slowly spinning in space, hanging from its suspending frame, it preserved the valley in timelessness, and promoted general well being with its innate powers. With careful manipulation Elrond could use it to achieve changes in the weather, the river and the environment around them. To use it was a draining and uncertain action, and he rarely sought to evoke its power. He had accepted the burden of guardianship that day at Dagorlad with little thought it would rest on his shoulders permanently.
He sometimes awoke to find himself standing barefoot and in his sleeping robes before it in a daze as it slowly spun and glimmered in the dim light of the cave deep beneath the foundations of the Great House. It whispered to him of power and desire in a silky voice in the back of his mind. He would stand and stare at it for long periods of time in these cases, as it moved in some unfelt current of time and energy, flashing and sparkling in its crystalline cave. He could still feel its cool weight and living presence around his neck, though the last time it had rested there had been centuries ago. The horrible circumstances surrounding his gaining of this ring gave him the power to resist its seductions. He often wondered how Gil-galad had had the strength to relinquish it and hang it around his neck on that fateful morning. He touched it as little as possible now.
Thoughts of Gil-galad and their complex relationship lingered as he held the beloved gift of the Mithril circlet in the dim quiet of his study. Their rift had been mended during the three years of preparation for war, and they shared intense times over the seven years of the siege of Barad-dur in Mordor before the High King's death. The extended period of stress and the nightmarish environment there had blurred his memory of those times into an uneasy swirl of words, actions, smells and colors. The pillar of smoke from the funeral pyre was often the only clear image in the nightmares that roused him, even now, from sleep. It was sometimes the only image from those days his mind could bear to remember.
Brushing those thoughts aside, he picked at the rich fabric of his robe as its color changed in the flickering light of the glowing coals. He smiled as he rubbed his hand along his thigh, enjoying the silky softness of the fabric. The feeling cast his mind back to when he had first had elegant garments to wear, after years of hiding in the forests with Maglor's rough Court as an orphaned fosterling. He had cast his fate to the wind upon reaching his legal age, and he appeared at the seaside Court of the High King seeking a position. Gil-galad had seemed so distant and beyond the common ilk that he had felt little hope for his lot as he presented his case to the King informally in the gardens. The King's easy acceptance of him and the interest in his family, and his personal well being, were astounding to him. Members of the Court had actually known his parents in the past, and welcomed the long lost son to their hearts and homes with open arms. As his position increased in responsibility and authority he found he was moved to chambers in the royal wing. The High King appreciated his intelligence and political skills, among other things. Rarely incorrect, Elrond's judgment of character and reading of intent of those who stood before the throne was a valuable tool for the King in his daily activities.
Even as he served the King, and enjoyed wealth and authority with his new position, he was free to dally at his leisure with others. Yet his days and nights were often filled with study and reading, and he spent many hours side by side with the robust High King as they debated a course of action, a difficult case, or some historical event. He became increasingly responsible for the King's schedule and assisted at sessions of the Court. They sailed on long voyages with Cirdan, as the King loved the sea. Elrond revered and worshiped Gil-galad, but feared what a closer relationship between them might mean to him.
He ate at the high table and was privy to all councils. His place by the King's side gave him the opportunity to learn many valuable lessons in leadership and statesmanship. From this place he saw deep into the hearts of others caught up in the vortex of power and desire that surrounded a seat of power. These lessons had determined his later course as Master of Imladris, where he was a leader among willing followers, not a ruler over subjects. He sat back as coals settled in the grate and he closed his sleepy eyes as memories washed over him. A turning point in his life flashed before him. He rubbed his cheek absently in the memory of it.
In an entrapment gone awry, Elrond had learned just how much he was feared and envied for his place in the High King's favor at the Grey Havens. Lured to a lonely seaside tower one evening on a pretense, he climbed the spiraling stairs warily and paused as he saw Tundalir and another waiting for him on the upper landing. The tension in the air signaled danger, the colors and patterns were not friendly. As he turned to leave he was grabbed from behind by strong hands and dragged upstairs into the shadows.
Tundalir, the impatient and brash head of a large family seeking advancement in Court, leaned forward. His plan was to remove the impudent newcomer and thus create a vacuum where others could move up in authority. Taking the dark braids in an iron grip, he kissed Elrond roughly, remarking after that he would soon know what some members of the Court found so amusing. "I'll learn why the King thinks you so dear," he growled. A sharp slap across his face made his intent perfectly clear, and the heavy ring on his hand cut a gash across Elrond's cheek. A second blow knocked him back into the Elf holding his arms tightly behind him, and blurred his vision. He could taste blood on his lips. "And I'll know why others mourn you when your body washes up on the shore, " he said with a leer as he roughly pulled at the layers of robes.
Other hands grabbed painfully at him as they pressed around closely. The combination of their heavy scents sickened him even as he focused his energies and gathered his strength. He felt ropes brush against his hands and jerked them away from the tight grasp. Struggling to escape the rape he pulled away from the three treacherous Elves and stumbled down the stairs. The layers of robes that concealed his charms and tantalized his admirers saved his life now, as he was able to twist away and slip through their fingers. A knife was knocked loose from one of the attackers as he turned, and it fell down the stairs and bounced between his feet as he slipped and hit the wall with a shoulder. He tumbled down the final few stone steps. The three raced after the youth with outstretched hands and curses. He could not escape them now as their plan was in already motion and they were revealed as traitors.
Elrond crashed onto the pavement and rolled up against the feet of the High King Gil-galad. He had raced up the tower staircase and gained that landing just as Elrond stumbled down the stairs. The murderous trio stopped short as they saw the High King catch the dark haired figure with bleeding cuts and torn robes, and help him to his feet with a strong arm.
The attack and narrow escape had been all too clear to Gil-galad as he climbed the curving stairs, their voices carried in the narrow passageway. Warned of the murderous plan by others, and he had raced to the isolated tower in fear he was too late. Relieved to see that Elrond was still alive and relatively unhurt, his fury increased uncontrollably at the sight of blood on the split lip and across the pale cheek. He stopped and picked up the long knife at his feet, and handed it to Elrond. Elrond handed it away to a guard with a shudder.
Tundalir felt Gil-galad's anger in a sudden swing that caught him unawares. The blow from a furious fist inside a heavy leather glove knocked the treacherous Elf to his knees and he collapsed down to the stone floor dazed. The guards restrained the High King's brawny arms as he stepped forward to strike again. His extreme anger and great strength could have made the next blows fatal, and the death would be then have been dealt unjustly.
Gil-galad honored his counselors and selected them with great care. He would permit no injury to them, and especially to his aide and protégé, Elrond. While not yet lovers, he had a deep fondness for those flashing eyes and rapier wit already. He considered an attack on one of his inner circle to be an attack upon himself. Elrond was too valuable for his skills and intelligence, and had found his way into the High King's heart long ago. The King shook free of the guards and composed himself as best he could. He stood straight and tall, and even in anger, summoned every once of dignity and leadership within his command. He was not High King for lack of charisma and personality.
Trapped on the top landing with the stairwell blocked by guards and counselors, the perpetrators were stripped of their privileges and rank and denounced as traitors by the King in a formal announcement, though he was barely able to speak the words plainly. The guards were too late to stop one of the attackers from stepping to the windowsill and throwing himself out onto the stony shingle far below. The slow waves lapped against the unmoving figure, robes and hair swirling in the foamy tide. His spirit would not join the others in the undying lands now, but he chose the final death himself, and did not accept it from others.
Tundalir was pale and silent, the implications of his actions becoming all too clear to him now. He realized that in his deep envy and jealousy of Elrond's position, he had not comprehended the true measure of their relationship. Now he saw real strength of character in the quiet figure leaning against the wall and blotting his bleeding lip, and he understood that Elrond had earned his place at the King's right hand. He read the depth of their relationship in the Kings blazing eyes and heaving breaths. Everyone stood frozen in anxious silence.
Gil-galad turned and officially asked Elrond if he wished to mete the same punishment that he had been threatened with: rape and then death by slit throat. The guard held out the knife that fallen at his feet. It was Elrond's right as the injured party. Wiping at his cheek and blotting the blood from his lips and teeth with his sleeve, he recoiled at the question in disgust. The King shook his head and said, "Then I shall see it done it for you. Are you going to stay and watch, or leave?" The guards moved to secure the prisoners. Justice would be swift and brutal.
Still shaking his head Elrond turned and descended the spiraling stairs. He had no wish to watch Tundalir's traitorous behavior rewarded with just due. He made it all the way to the ground floor and the stony beach before he was sick. He looked up from where he stood braced against the wall and saw the guards standing near the body awash in the rising in the tide. That night the families took the bodies, and the belongings they could carry, and left the havens for a much different life inland.
Elrond's loose layers of robes had allowed him to escape the strong hands grabbing at him, but the smell of their heavy perfumes as they pressed close and groped him was burned into his mind and was in the fabric. He had thrown those robes out of his upper story window and shouted to the gardeners to burn them. He soaked in hot water for hours afterwards. Cirgalad came with medicines for the cuts and bruises, and his fatherly presence and wisdom allowed no self-pity, but was supportive in this unsettled time of shock and recovery. He hummed and tsked as he examined the cut and bruised cheek, and applied a soothing cream to the swelling lip.
"You'll have a dandy black eye tomorrow too," he said as he turned the obedient head in his hands this way and that checking for further damage. He asked the question that had rankled in Elrond's mind all evening, "How did you misread their intentions? Didn't you know? You have always caught the slightest guilty twitch in others before now." Elrond shrugged, and then winced, at the movement, his shoulder had hit the wall and the floor both, and was painful tonight. Cirgalad took it in his strong hands and soothed the energy flow as he checked the joint carefully. He had to admit to himself this had been a very narrow escape. He would have been one of the mourners had their plan been successful; Elrond had worked his way into many hearts at Court. "What a hard lesson to learn," slipped out of his mouth as he stepped around behind the youth to hide his expression. He secretly adored Elrond as if he were a son.
As the healer applied the medications and checked him over thoroughly they talked long of personalities and power, roles and position. Elrond was no stranger to love play for position and gain among members of the Court, and well knew of the shifting politics that surrounded a throne. But the attack on him personally had been vicious, motivated by greed and a lust for power. It was unexpected and brutal in intent. He was shaken and extremely annoyed that he had not seen it coming. Tundalir had been in the King's study just that morning with no indication of unrest or dissatisfaction. He had been very successful in masking his true thoughts and feelings from Elrond's astute observation. The others had been absent from council lately and thus concealed their feelings.
Elrond was uncomfortable with Gil-galad's firm point of view that murderous intent deserved nothing less than the strongest and most final of punishments. Gil-galad had raged later that evening in his study, still furious that such actions could even be thought of for someone within his inner circle, much less directed at his personal aide and confidant. He ranted and declared that to attack a member of his personal council was to attack the very foundations of his Kingdom, and he strode about the room in angry circles. He listed the strengths Elrond had to offer and the severity of loss if anything ever happened to him. "A thousand deaths would not be enough for those traitors," he barked.
Still unnerved from the attack, Elrond rubbed his eyes and brushed back his loose hair as he sat on the long window seat overlooking the gardens below. He touched his split lip gingerly. As he looked out at the sea glimmering in the moonlight a cool evening breeze blew in across his shoulders and stirred his hair. He smelled the honest scents of the seaside in the night air. The courtyard below was quiet and deserted, the community was reserved in the aftermath of the afternoon's events, and roles and positions were shifting as a result of the executions. Opportunity for advancement came indeed with the vacant positions at Court, but not as Tundalir had planned it.
He was brought back to the present as the King's words grated on his ears. Elrond was realizing how important he had become to the King, and just how much his support and assistance was appreciated, but he also heard more beneath the words. He heard the possessiveness and unrestrained anger that was the King's weakness. Silently he rose and left the chambers as the King stormed and ranted about traitors in his midst. Gil-galad stood in surprised shock as the heavy door slowly closed with a click of the latch, and he found himself alone. He caught his breath and regained his composure, his deep affection and concern for his aide had driven him to reveal too much perhaps. He calmed himself and regretted his outburst. He never failed to learn something new from that dark and silent spirit every day they spent together.
Elrond sailed with Cirdan for a long sea voyage shortly afterwards to clear his mind. Hours in the riggings and holding the day watch high on the mast's platform restored his balance and self-confidence. The sun and wind scoured his soul and skin clean from the effects of the attack. Lying on the gently rolling deck and watching the stars whirl about overhead as sailors told old tales in quiet voices passed the crystal clear nights away. Tales of Earendil sailing the skies with the Silmaril bound to his brow and Elwing at his side affected him strangely. To be the son of legends was cold comfort indeed in the stillness of the lonely night, he barely remembered their faces now. Others did however, and often remarked on his likeness to his mother. Cirdan had embraced his interests as if he had been a long lost relative due to his regard for Elrond's father.
Elrond returned to his duties and his responsibilities with a renewed appreciation for his position and the wealth it brought him, and he understood that vigilance was the true price of power. Gil-galad welcomed him home him with gusto upon his return and arranged that he had more responsibilities at court than ever. While his free time was more limited now, and he felt the presence of his new personal guards acutely, he accepted these changes as inevitable. He grew used to knowing someone watched his every move now. He saw his future stretching out before him into a dark abyss. He wondered where his path would lead him.
Life resumed its normal flow soon thereafter. He continued to wear the fashionable multiple layers of rich garments that spoke of conspicuous consumption and wealth, he raced his horses to victory with a notable recklessness, and he became a much sought after lover due to his usual unavailability. But he could never after abide the odor of strong colognes and scents.
He turned the circlet again in his hands and enjoyed its soft silver glow in the firelight. Lightweight and springy, yet strong and beautiful, there was nothing else like this rare metal. He smiled as he noticed the Holly wreath's pricks and scratches on his fingers. Such an old fashioned ceremony, yet so meaningful. His own life had borne its share of unexpected sadness and tragedy. He remembered the red drops of blood on Celebrian's snowy wrist as her father slid the wreath over their joined hands. He still loved her and missed her intensely in the dark hours before dawn. She had gone so long now.
Celebrian had attracted his eye early on and they became friends over the reach of time. She began to fill the void in his heart that had lain untended over the years after the death of Gil-galad. They walked along riverbanks on sunny afternoons when they were able to meet, deep in discussion of art or science or history. His mind was never on the subject as her honey blond braids gleamed in the sun, or her sweet smile entranced him. His hand sought hers as they passed under leafy boughs, or she laced her arm through his, pressing close. They danced in the glades to ethereal songs in the cool evening air, and they walked together deep into the night.
She wore a constant smile in his presence, as his true thoughts were always clear to her. She had inherited her mother's extraordinary ability to see into other's minds and hearts.
Their lengthy acquaintance allowed them to become comfortable with each other as life drew them apart and threw them back together again over the years, and they begin to feel the sadness at parting more deeply each time. Increasingly he thought of her as more than someone whose company he enjoyed as they met now and then. She began to fill his waking and sleeping moments with memories of a gesture, a soft touch, a kiss farewell. He began to know the pains of real desire when he was away from her.
She was a free spirit and cherished her independence, and he accepted that as part of her uniqueness, it was also a trait of her father. Elrond knew she would always be the mistress of her own hours and days, even as she pledged her love to him under the stars. Celeborn had spoken with his daughter and granted his blessing to their joining, but he left the winning of her mother to the couple. Elrond's legendary parentage and bloodlines, lifetime achievements and leadership skills, and his wisdom and gentle spirit, had gained him the proper position to ask for her daughter in marriage. But it was his depth of feeling and limitless ability to love that won her over in the end.
Celeborn had led armies into Eriador with Elrond, and had an appreciation for his true measure, but Galadriel had reservations, as his mixed heritage was both a strength and weakness in her mind. As he stood before her in the glade that held her mystical mirror, he was both nervous and calm at once. He stood before her in relaxed grace as his true self. He knew he was naked and vulnerable before her probing mind. She gazed long into the still waters in the stone basin, her face an unreadable mask. Stepping down, she stood before him, her aura cool and precise around him. He could feel the sweep of the millennia around her and her ageless beauty and deep wisdom were overwhelming.
The depth of love for Celebrian she found in his heart set her back, and she looked deeply through his gray eyes into his soul. The tragic losses that marred his life were revealed to her as well, and the lonely darkness she found there softened her heart and tears welled in her crystalline eyes as she felt his loss and pain within herself. She saw her daughter gleam in his heart as a single bright star in that inky pitch of night, and she was lost to his suit. She reached out and brushed his cheek with her hand and offered it to him for a kiss. "Welcome son," she said softly. He bowed low before her, and touched his lips ever so slightly to her fingers. He knew in his heart he would always be on trial with her, but he welcomed her acceptance of him as it was offered.
How long they had waited to seal their bond, and how long ago that had been. So true the ceremonial warnings, so meaningful the blessings offered. He sighed. Her independent streak had taken her out on the road to Lorien the day she was attacked and kidnapped, and had started the sad tale of their days of grief and despair. Her overwhelming pain had driven her to seek the undying lands early, and she waited for him there.
He shook his head and rubbed his tired eyes. Events from the past loomed close to him on nights like this. Unlike some of the pressing duties of his position, weddings were ones he truly enjoyed, and his pleasure in the events of the long and busy day banished the shadows of his past. The feeling of satisfaction and joy in his role today still warmed his heart. He decided he was tired and starting to lean towards melancholy. He rose and climbed the curving stairs to his bedchamber.
Crossing the tile floor, he laid the precious circlet in its box and pulled off the last robe. He threw it across the chair as he undressed, remembering the others left downstairs. Lindefal could fuss with them tomorrow. He was content to be alone tonight and see to his own needs. Wrapping himself in a soft blanket from the foot of the bed he lay down across the clean snowy sheets and billowy pillows. He just wanted to be still, and he wanted the room to stop spinning. He closed his eyes and was soon adrift in a dreamless state.
Winter rain cascaded down in sheets. The howling wind entered his thoughts as he drifted in a deep state of unconsciousness. He slept through the storm tonight, yet dreamed of another, long ago. In a different time, a winter much earlier, yet as wet and cold as this one, when he had stood in a tent and watched endless rain sweep down in torrents as he tied a wind-loosened flap. The view of the valley had been much different then.
In the early days of the settlement, only tents had stood along the river as the site was studied for their new settlement. It was the autumn of 1697 of the Second Age and Elrond had arrived in this hidden place with a group of soldiers and their families, and refugees and survivors, all prepared to began life again far away from the havens near the sea and the embattled plains of Eregion. They would start fresh far away from old memories and old relationships. Shipwrights and stonemasons were ready to lend their skills to the establishment of a new home.
As construction of the foundation for the house began, winter set in and was hard and cold on the band who, while normally somewhat immune to the weather, were tired in spirit and still beaten down by the defeat of the combined forces sent to drive out Sauron's forces from the plains of Eriador. The brutal death of Celebrimbor and the destruction of the beautiful city of Ost-in-Edhil by Sauron and his armies was a terrible blow to the survivors. Sent by Gil-galad with troops to relieve the embattled city, Elrond's forces were too weak, and they were beaten back. The fall of the bulwark against the growing evil was a blow to Gil-galad, and the tragic loss of Celebrimbor, admittedly brought on by his own actions, was hard to bear.
The gathering of the exiles and survivors, and the departure from the Grey Havens had not been easy. Elrond felt the full fury of the High King's temper as he argued the need for a new settlement. More survivors and exiles came into the seaside port every day, weary and afraid. Each point he made was countered by the King in increasing anger. While they had drifted apart to some extent, the King's possessive nature was challenged by Elrond's request to leave Court. Reaching the difficult decision that he must seek his own path and leave the Grey Havens behind him, Elrond was no longer content to live in the shadow of the King. He mustered all his negotiating skills and used his softest voice in persuasive arguments.
He finally received permission to depart and found a new city with the King's shout, "Leave me then!" and a heavy book flew across the room to slam against the closing door. Its wooden cover made a resounding crash as it hit the planks of the door and fell to the floor. Elrond leaned against the closed door in the hallway, shaking from the intensity of their argument. He left his luxurious suite and all his possessions in the city and gathered his band together, camping on the rise above the beach as preparations were made. The King was noticeably absent from the bustle of activity, and from their departure among well wishers. Cirdan furnished travel gear for Elrond, and arranged pack animals for the group.
The King had sent food supplies and extra clothing along two days out into their journey as he regretted his angry outburst and sullen refusal to aid them in their preparations. He found his chambers to be quiet and lonely during those days. He stood in the center of Elrond's rooms and looked at the books, the maps, and the elegant robes in the cupboard. He ran a hand down the fine textures of the garments folded neatly on the shelves; he could smell the subtle and delicate scent Elrond favored in the fabric. The empty bed neatly made up haunted his thoughts. The room was quiet, empty and lifeless now. Its spirit was gone. He spent time in the stables among the fleet footed horses that won race after race under Elrond's expert guidance and made a decision to relent and apologize to the beloved one who had left such a shattering chasm in his life. He was still learning life lessons from that one.
The woven bag containing the Mithril circlet had been tied to the saddle of Elrond's favorite horse, with the little scroll attached. The dark gray animal led the string of racehorses that Elrond had trained and loved in his years at Court. The elegant robes suitable for urban chambers left behind had been replaced by a gift of heavy woven cloaks and warm clothing, sturdy boots and fine leather gloves. The King had decided that Elrond should not feel the cold hand of winter grip his body, even as his own heart felt the icy pangs of loss.
The days of their journey eastwards had been difficult in a cold and wet autumn. They were slowed and finally stopped by a severe snowstorm along the foothills of the Misty Mountains. They watched the skies with interest as they camped along the river in the deep valley they found, and felt they could deal with cold rain in the winter months if it did not snow along the valley floor. The location was perfect otherwise.
As they were forced inside the tents by incessant rain, and as they existed on meager fare, plans were laid, discussed, and drawn out for the Great House spanning the River Bruinen. Vineyards could flourish in tiers along the cliff sides of the smaller valley that led away from the river. Fields and pastures would nestle perfectly in the side valley. The promise of a new life inspired them all to continue with stalwart hearts through the winter. Every skill would be needed in those beginning days, and all sleeves would be rolled up, all hands dirtied in the building process. The losses and terror of their past days were lost in the hard work and straightforward task of survival and building.
With ample timber and plentiful stone, deep caves in the cliffs and beneath the ground, and the wonderfully clear, rushing river, this hidden place was enchanted and perfect for their needs. Deep clay banks nearby provided malleable stuff for roof and floor tiles, drainage pipes, heating ducts, and for cooking and dining vessels. Ample mineral deposits provided glaze materials. A pottery and kiln grew up quickly to meet the many demands. An early and embracing warm spring, and a moderate summer, enabled them to build with speed and success, and they established themselves before the next cold winds blew.
The Great House, the Last Homely House East of the Sea, rose on arched foundations spanning the river, embracing the landscape with exterior stairs and corridors, and wide open arches. Soaring roof timbers spanned great spaces with ease as shipwrights put their skills and engineering talents to new uses. The stonemasons from Eregion excelled in their art for their new home. The security of its location deep in the valley prevented any need for fortification or protective walls. This was to be place of refuge and learning, guarded by vigilance and secret paths. The thick forest of the plains of the foothills hid the steeply descending paths to the valley floor.
Fires roared in the interior twined halls that next winter, and evenings of song and tales started a tradition that continued across the history of the Great House. The large Dining Hall and the Hall of Fire were built of need at first, and came to be established as customary for communal use as the community grew. Serving as the heart of the Great House, and eventually the entire settlement, the Dining Hall and the Hall of Fire were open to all and nourished many bodies and souls over the millennia.
Cirgalad and Galenbrethil had come with them from the Grey Havens to start a medical school, and they were instrumental in the building of the greenhouses and the gathering of plants to start the gardens they needed to supply important medicines. As a skilled healer himself, Elrond supported this effort and had diverted hands and resources to the greenhouses from the start. The school had his blessing from its beginning and he laid many of the stones in its walls. He taught himself there occasionally, and he had come to learn to work with his patients as students assisted or observed. Their presence contributed to the sense of learning and freedom of thought that characterized Rivendell's philosophy of being.
Their hard work in the early years made the valley flourish, and fields and vineyards yielded their bounty to stewards and greens men who worked long days and devoted their lives to making the earth provide for the residents of Imladris. The initial necessity of the sharing of all tasks also became a ritual that continued into more prosperous days. The investment of time and skills in the everyday life of the city bound the residents together in a sense of extended family and proprietorship.
Elrond's casual leadership, hard work and willingness to tackle any job, from laying stones to mixing mortar to hoisting ceiling beams, won him the respect of the new settlers. His hands quickly grew as callused as any workman's and he often had a smudge of paint or dirt across a cheek, brushed there by a busy hand. He was rarely seen without his heavy mud-splashed boots and thick leather gloves. He could be found atop a roof beam with pegs and hammer in hand one day, then be seen hauling stones or digging trenches for the house's water system the next. They laid water pipes still warm from the kilns in the rush to finish as much as they could before the next winter set in on the valley.
Eating quick meals on foot during short breaks, or as he walked to a new task, his ready smile and words of encouragement, his dedication to the tasks at hand, and his camaraderie with everyone, won him the deep devotion of the settlers as the days passed by. The soldiers who had come with him already appreciated his leadership skills on the battlefield, their families and the exiles from Eregion came to honor him and respect his attention to their well-being. From the beginning Imladris was unique in thought and form, different from any other Elven settlement. Elrond's heart, soul and spirit imbued it with life. As he laid the stones in the paths, in the foundations and in the walls, the house became the physical embodiment of his beliefs and desires.
The flow of centuries washed across the settlement, and in the oddly slowed flow of time there, minutes and seasons were noted in the washing of dishes, the grooming of horses and the planting and harvesting of the fields. Additional buildings were added as needed and the community prospered. Guests at the settlement were swept along in this feeling of communal effort and often contributed more than their share towards household duties. Those who might never set foot near a cooking fire or scrub bucket at home found themselves serving, mopping and scrubbing with a cheerful heart and feeling of accomplishment.
The kitchens and pantries became famous not only for the fare that sallied out those doors, but for the lively environment found there after the meals. Knowledgeable guests were always first in line to wash dishes, rub damp elbows and hips, steal a kiss, and laugh the night away amongst the suds and crockery. If the Hall of Fire and the Dining Hall were the heart of the Great House, then the kitchen and pantries held its freethinking soul.
He stirred in the large bed and gathered a fluffy pillow into embrace as the thunder rolled along the valley walls. In his dreams images flowed through his ancient memory in a tumble of colors, smells and sounds. He saw Imladris rise from the riverbed as a wondrous and beautiful settlement in a slow replay of those early days.
The arrival of the ring Vilya to Rivendell cast a timeless spell over the inhabitants and all who entered the lush valley. It came home with Elrond after the war. It froze the fading process in the Elves, and slowed the aging process of all who lived there. As Herald for Gil-galad in the armies of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, Elrond had many responsibilities, and found himself at the front line more often than not. He had received the King's magic ring for safe keeping the fateful morning of the day that Sauron was dissolved. His defeat came at the high cost of the deaths of Gil-galad and Elendil.
In the months after the dissolution of Sauron, the stronghold of Barad-dur was demolished, and the gathered armies disbanded and returned to their homes to resume the lives that were shattered by 10 years of preparation and war. Rivendell had been drained of its resources, the river fouled and the land scarred by the three years of preparation for the battle by the thousands of warriors of the combined armies that camped there. It was restored during the seven years of war and awaited the return of its Master and the residents who survived the ravages of the battlefields of Dagorlad.
In the days before the war, in his wisdom and through contacts with others, Elrond was aware of the larger picture of events across Middle Earth, he knew of the growing darkness outside their borders, Elrond had believed change was coming soon, and knew that Sauron's strength was growing again. However, Gil-galad's decision to gather the combined armies of the free peoples of Middle Earth at Imladris, and to train them there, froze his heart as he read and reread the brief decree scripted onto the parchment scroll. It was not a request, and he was bound to the will of the High King of the Elves.
He sat silent and brooding in his chambers and considered all the vistas that lay before him, dark vistas opened by a few words written on a page. The High King's bold handwriting scrolled across the parchment page in large letters, "Prepare to receive, host and train the combined armies of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men at Imladris." Ribbons fluttered from official seals, and he saw Elendil's mark at the bottom of the page. When he was ready to listen, the advisors who brought the decree filled him in on details of the King's plan. His reply to the High King was brief. A rolled scroll contained the simple message in his flowing script: "Come all." He sealed it with his ancient seal in red wax over golden ribbons, and a messenger sped from the courtyard to deliver the answer. Only the dire need for the strongest force possible to save the free peoples of Middle Earth caused Elrond to relinquish his beloved settlement to inevitable ravishment.
Gil-galad and Elendil arrived with banners waving and trumpets blaring. Multitudes of tents had been pitched along every spare inch of space, and the normally peaceful valley was turned into a war camp, with forges ringing night and day and the manicured lawns turned into training fields. The leaders had exercised what control they could, and order was enforced strictly, but the sheer numbers of Men and Elves involved was overwhelming. Patrols rode regularly and routine was strictly enforced, and Gil-galad, Elendil and Elrond were frequently seen riding the length and breadth of the encampment, keeping accounts of the forces, their armament and training. On these outings Gil-galad saw the clouds form in Elrond's eyes, and he noted the grim and silent mask settle on his face as the valley's green abundance faded over time. During the brief moments together alone in their renewed intimacy he sought to ease that sadness in vain.
On dark and tortured nights during the years of preparation, Elrond left the sleeping King's side and wandered the balconies and terraces of his beloved house. Renewing their old relationship was unavoidable in the circumstances, but he had reservations about the wisdom of it. This crashing together of his old and new lives just echoed the slow destruction he saw of all he had achieved over the past years. He vowed to himself to restore the valley's beauty and bounty, and make it a secret refuge if they survived the coming war. He knew what paths he would close and how he would restrict entry into the deep valley. His necessary abilities as a warrior warred with his gentle scholarly spirit in these dark and silent hours. As he stood in armor on its highest balconies the night before their departure, observing hundreds of campfires flickering in the darkness, the goal of establishing Rivendell as a refuge for the weary and as a place of peace was graved deeply into his heart.
Gil-galad had immediately appreciated and respected the hard work and years of effort that had built Imladris into the unique Elven settlement it was, but his reports had not prepared him for the beauty and serenity of the house and its surroundings. He spread the encampment as far downstream as he could manage, and Elendil's forces were well down river, but even this action could not preserve the valley over the next three years. The remaining residents, watching the last of the army head out of the valley on the fateful day they marched towards Mordor, were wracked with grief and fear of the coming events, and surrounded by ruin at home. Only the work of restoring their beloved Imladris kept them occupied and sane through the next seven years of waiting. They wondered exactly who they would receive down the steep paths after the war, but they worked diligently in hope of victory.
Elrond stirred in a cold draft and pulled up another cover, the soft pillow embraced his head and his hair fanned across the snowy linens in coils and waves. His homecoming to the valley after years of rough living on the road and in tents pitched on the smoke-filled and blasted plains of Dagorlad washed him a feeling of relief and sadness in his dreams. There was no one nearby to receive the radiating thoughts and dark memories that he sent out unconsciously in his sleep. He was a small figure curled up alone in a sea of snowy linens.
Much of the damage to his beloved Imladris had been repaired in the seven years he had been away. But he still saw the scars beneath the new growth as he walked alone along the riverside and in the glades. He had wandered every inch of the settlement, the riverside and the pastures day after day as he regained his strength and his "center". He sought to leave behind his violent role as warrior and military commander, and to resume the peaceful and scholarly life as Master of the House, Lord of Imladris. The scars on the land matched the scars on his soul, present, but hidden from most eyes. Only those who knew where to look saw them.
After the grief and loss of the past few months, his dreams for a safe refuge gave him strength to continue. New residents and old comrades in arms, Findalor, Lindefal and Erestor took up various management roles easily as the population increased with those returning and those who were new to Imladris. Old ideas and new ones merged into the next wave of development for the refuge. Galenbrethil noted his increasing ease at being home again, and after a few weeks the ring and its golden chain disappeared from around his neck. She never asked about it and he never spoke of it. Her one brief experience with the ring had convinced her she wanted no part of that powerful magic.
When he had returned from the war he was glad to be home, but he claimed the newly built wing off of the library hall as his own to avoid his old rooms, and old memories. He did have his favorite oversized and extravagantly carved bed disassembled and rebuilt in the loft over the new study. It had been a gift to him from the woodcrafters on the day they had all moved into the completed Great House, and he cherished the devotion it embodied. After many months of living in tents along the riverside as they built the huge house, to be able to collapse into a real bed, with soft new linens, within walls and under a real roof, was a completely overwhelming experience of accumulated emotions. When he was able to climb into the oversized bed again after his return home from years away at war, the feeling was exactly the same. He restlessly turned again in the large bed and threw an arm out across the wide and empty expanse beside him. His mind eased as the rain diminished into a soft mist, and he finally rested in a deep and dreamless peace.
The next day dawned gray and misty and the community stayed in on Holiday from their winter labors. Everyone spent a lazy day recovering from the celebrations of the night before. Elrond read most of the day in his chair before the fire; he was not interested in food, or walking or any work. Napping the gray afternoon away, he was awakened by the evening bells. Dinner was a quieter affair tonight with a smaller crowd, Legolas and Glorfindel sat at his sides at the main table and conversation was random and light.
Back in his study, Elrond shooed a fussing Lindefal away and kicked off his shoes. He looked through the cupboard and found a soft and worn robe tucked away. He crossed it over and tied it off with a mis-matched sash. The embroidery was simple and the colors faded, but it was ample and loose and warm. Lindefal hated this robe as much as he hated the worn and patched leggings Elrond also favored. These items had to be protected from Lindefal's zealous management of the clothing cupboard.
Padding down stairs in bare feet he searched for his favorite pair of soft leather slippers, and found them under his desk. He retreated to his chair to watch the fire and enjoy the sweet mead of the last season. The fire crackled and sparked in the fireplace. Candles cast a warm light across tapestries, bottles, books, and maps: the furnishings of his study, his heart and his soul. This room was his alone now, and it reflected its master's tastes and interests. No longer was there a frame of embroidery standing by the fire, no toys were scattered across the floor. Those years of his life had passed by and were long over. His children passed through the study rarely now. The pale wine in his crystal goblet sparkled in the firelight and the etched designs of the glass cast tiny rainbows as he turned it in the light.
The pattering of raindrops had stopped and rolling thunder sounded down valley. Winter in Rivendell was a time of rest and easy contemplation, time flowed around the residents without measure, and late nights and late mornings suited the season. Naps were common. One could almost say the city and its residents slept through winter like the earth did, resting under its coating of fallen leaves. The break in the weather and the wedding had been a welcome change in the easy flow of lazy days.
He thought he might relax and enjoy the quiet tonight, but he felt oddly unsettled. His schedule was off and a day of rest made him restless tonight. He looked out the arched windows as lightening flashed and distant thunder rolled around the eaves. He rose and wandered the study, until he found himself pausing on the landing at the top of the stairs. He leaned on the damp banister and looked out into the heavy fog that wreathed Rivendell. The mist swirled before him in waves and eddies and he descended the stairs in the stillness around him. The wall lanterns cast soft light in the heavy air as he stepped into the deserted courtyard. The passing House Guard patrol lifted hands in silent greeting; they were accustomed to seeing the Master of the House roaming at all hours. In fact, it was part of their duty to ensure he came to no harm, but remained undisturbed on his outings. They noted his direction and watched as he picked his way along the narrow path to the greenhouses in the dim light of lanterns along the path.
Aimlessly his mind wandered in the stillness, yet his feet moved with a purpose, seeking the winding stairs to the greenhouses. Desire was forming images in the back of his mind. Tired muscles sought a soft touch, perhaps a more vigorous release. The mist grew into a light rain. He walked along the trail through small gardens and glades and crossed over the bridge arching across a narrow chasm between the two valleys. The greenhouses loomed up in the mist as ghostly shapes in front of him.
He entered into the moist warmth of the first long and narrow room. The green houses were built snuggled against the cliff side, and they were warmed and watered by natural hot springs from deep beneath the earth. He inhaled the deep and rich smells of the earth and of green life. He stopped here and there to touch a specimen or sniff a blossom as he passed by. He heard faint voices from a hallway nearby and paused.
Soft moans and the aural patterns of a joining radiated out into the hallways. The aisles were quiet and disserted except for the one figure who moved quietly along the plants, touching one here and there. He paused as the emotional backwash from Findalor and Galenbrethil swept over him with familiar patterns, colors and vibrations. Their final cries and soft voices carried along the second wave of expressed feelings. Elrond eased his tense shoulders with a shrug and a wry smile played around his lips. Galenbrethil and Findalor were already passing the night in the comfort of each other's arms. He had hoped to find one or the other here, and he had found both, and found them too late. Now he was unsettled in both mind and body. He walked on along the aisle to go into the next building, plans changed.
The mist pressed against the glass and the flickering lanterns cast a mysterious glow highlighting the fronds and stems and leaves that ranked along the tables in rows of fantastic shapes. He touched the delicate unfurling head of a fern. He allowed the moist air and the green aromas to infuse him and he became one with the earth beneath his feet and the life energies expressed by the carefully tended greenery surrounding him. Being alone in the greenhouses with the scents of the plants and soil, and the gentle vibration of their life essence soothed his soul. He wandered in the twilight of the spirit that rested Elven minds as the pattering of rain on the glass filled the air with soft sounds.
He remembered how the glass had been blown, then flattened for these thick windows, and he loved the way the sunlight played off their ancient patinas now. Some of the earliest buildings in the settlement, the stone walls had risen and then the glass roundels were added, and complex arches were created and filled with glass above the ground. He had laid the stones in the walls and helped set the glass in the windows. He had directed the gathering of plants needed to start the medicinal gardens. He felt his most serene here in the moist warmth of the glass houses.
The linked houses made of glass windows had fascinated Legolas on his first visit there. He was surprised as he toured the linked rooms containing seedling nurseries, drying rooms and lecture halls for the students. There was nothing like this in his father's halls, and nothing similar at Lothlorien either. The long low buildings nestled into the cliffside were just another expression of the unique environment that characterized Rivendell. He had smiled at the sight of rare flowers gathered from his part of the world, and made a mental note to bring more on his next visit.
He had tested the creams and soaps in the distilling rooms with good-natured interest. All this tending of plants was not really something he understood or cared about, he walked along the narrow paths amongst the plants because it made Elrond happy to be there. Legolas was content to spend time with him wherever they were. He thought he understood the restrained affection he got from Elrond, and he felt the underlying aural currents of affection as well. He regretted the distance maintained between them, and tried to comprehend the difficult situation they found themselves in.
A few days ago Elrond had watched as Legolas gently unwound a budding frond in wonder. The sunlight filtering through the ancient glass windows played softly on his ashen hair and across his sunburned cheeks. Days out in the brisk and cool air and winter sun while gathering greens had put color and life into his pale features. Elrond appreciated the feigned interest in the plants, sparked by occasional real wonder at an unusual specimen. He found himself standing with arms crossed again; it kept wandering fingers out of trouble. The desire to touch was sometimes unbearable at this close range.
He had decided he would do nothing to jeopardize Legolas' ability to visit Imladris, and Thranduil had eyes everywhere. Legolas rarely came without a contingent of fellows to accompany him on the road, and they kept a close watch on him while he was a guest in Imladris. He had taken up the habit of riding the border patrols with Elladan and Elrohir as part of his keep, and Elrond accepted this with mixed feelings. While it was something Thranduil could understand and accept, it meant long nights and days when Legolas was there as a guest, but away from the house.
Elrond still remembered being overwhelmed by the glory of the Court at the Grey Havens, the charismatic charm of the High King, and his own hapless feelings at being a penniless orphan, however noble his family tree. He had been swept along in an emotional maelstrom in his sudden change of fortunes. His acceptance at Court, and the favor of the King, had led him to a crossroads in his life, and to a relationship he avoided in fear, then embraced with passion. That decision haunted him still.
He would not force a relationship now where he was uncertain of the outcome. He had learned too many painful lessons in his long life to rush onto anything this important without due consideration. In a lifetime spanning millennia, due consideration could take centuries. Anyway, the youth was still underage for making his own decisions. Elrond recognized his position and power could influence the emotions of one younger and learning his way in the world. And, he admitted to himself with brutal frankness, the pain of denial he could manage, the pain of another deep loss would be simply unbearable.
The dark ranks of tables with their burdens of greenery were empty now in the drumming of the raindrops overhead. He did not know how long he had been there when a gentle touch on the arm brought him back to the present. "Are you well?" Galenbrethil asked softly. He nodded without turning around. "I knew you were there in the hallway, why didn't you come and join us?" A shrug was the only answer she got. The rain increased on the windows and glass roof, the steady pounding of heavy drops that marked winter in Rivendell. She moved closer and slid her arms around him, unmindful of the raindrops that had gathered on the fabric and in his hair. She gave him a gentle hug and laid her face against the soft stuff across his shoulders. She knew this garment; it was an old favorite, one that signaled the rejection of his role as leader in favor of comfort. He relaxed somewhat in her embrace and decided he was being unfairly cross with her.
She snuggled in closer. The fragrance in the fabric was subtle and fresh, she had sent it up to Lindefal just the other day, and he had already used it in the laundry. He must have liked it, and Elrond tolerated it, as it was clear and light. Everyone knew no heavy scents were allowed in the Master's Chambers, though few knew the whole story. Strands of his long loose hair tickled her nose; it waved in coils in the damp air. She slid her warm hands inside the crossed fabric and touched his cool skin; she was content in the embrace.
He stood very still, and she felt nothing from him, no whipping of energies or strong emotions, and no colors. He was very withdrawn and restrained tonight, and disappointed she guessed. He could have joined them earlier, he would have been welcomed, but she knew he had arrived too late to enjoy himself. She chanced a quick mental feel along his channels of energy and found no major disturbances in the flow. She was called on this examination by his quiet words, "You can stop that now, I am fine." He was normally tolerant of her little invasions.
She moved to his side and put her arm through his, they were leaning against the sturdy worktable. "Shall we stay here the night then? Listen to the rain and just pass the hours away?" she asked. She waited for a response to this gentle baiting. She drew designs in the sand with her bare toe, uncertain of what she expected to happen next. He sighed and placed his hand on hers, clasping his fingers over her slender ones. The faint light from the few lanterns here and there cast wavering shadows on the glass above them, the aisles were dim. The rain streaked the glass and ran down the roof panels and the side windows. Pattering sounds continued around them, they were encased within the warmth and glass as if they were fragile plants themselves.
"Thank you for the lanfalin you made up, it was as wonderful as I remembered it could be," he said softly. She smiled and nodded, " It does have some interesting effects, I just tried a bit of it. We have several starts of the necessary plants in the nursery now. Perhaps we can get them to flourish and make another batch." She looked at him with a sly smile, "Cirgalad told me that you were quite familiar with its uses already." He turned to her, and could smell the sweet scent of the cream on her lips and face. She blushed in the afterglow of her time with Findalor, and the warming effects of the lanfalin. Taking her pale face in his hands he leaned forward for a kiss. The edgy need she knew so well crept out as his aura flared around them. Entangling his hands in her hair he kissed her again, harder, and stepping forward, pressed her back against the table edge. He relished even the faintest tingle from her lips as he kissed her again, and the lanfalin reactivated.
Still aroused from her play with Findalor, and tingling from the lingering effects of the lanfalin, she pressed against him as well; along every inch she could manage. She could feel his energies start their whipping passage around them. She surrendered her own identity from experience and let her mind float freely, open to all sensations. Her robe crept up her legs and around her hips in a slow dragging glide and his fingers caressed the soft flesh of her thighs as they gathered the fabric into rising bunches. She placed her hands inside his robe and drew the soft fabric aside, the sash fell away. The combined masking of sensation where they were clothed, and the burning touch of skin to skin supercharged the sensations for them.
She was swept along in his projected need and desire, and rose on her toes to sit on the table in a flowing motion as he moved forward and slid into her easily with a moan. He could absorb some of the effects of the lanfalin from her skin, and the mildly increased warmth of his contact with her added to his pleasure. Findalor must have been very creative in the sharing of the new experience. Wrapping her legs around him tightly she leaned into him and arched her neck back for a round of bites and kisses as they moved as one in the darkness. She lost herself in the merging sensations of desire and gratification they shared.
Findalor wondered where she had gotten to, and heard soft voices. He rose from the bed grabbing a blanket for cover and stepped out into the hallway. In the rain and dim light it was impossible to determine where she had gone. He looked down both aisles and saw movement in the flickering light down the long aisle to his left. He stopped as their radiated feelings reached him with a tingle and flutter across his skin. As he recognized their familiar patterns he rubbed his tired eyes with warm hands, then regretted the action as the delicate skin of his eyelids warmed and his eyes watered in response. He held his hands away from him and looked for a source of water to wash his hands.
Elrond leaned over her and buried his head in her shoulder, her long hair hiding his face. His need escalated rapidly and she felt him peak quickly through the feedback patterns of their shared emotions. No simple play tonight, loneliness and despair wavered at the edge of her consciousness as a dark but familiar presence. It was always a shadow in his mind. She wondered for the thousandth time how he managed day by day with such memories always lurking so close. She lay back on the table as they melted into shared rhythmic patterns of pleasure, and he collapsed across her panting. Their auras scintillated and colors and emotions flowed outwards around them. She thought perhaps it would have been better to turn that page and not recreate the old potions after all, the feelings were almost too powerful to bear, and the effects lingering.
He laid his head on her stomach in the bunched fabric of her gown and sighed. She caught her breath and her identity in the aftermath of the quick building of tension and sudden release of their joining. He stood and gently arranged her gown around her legs as she sat up. He gathered his robe around him, picking the sash up from the floor. "Will you stay with us here?" she asked softly as she adjusted the crossing of the fabric across his chest.
"Findalor is waiting for you I imagine," he replied. He kissed her again and turned to walk away. Passing along to the first greenhouse he gave Findalor a nod of greeting. He stood by the door washing the lanfalin from his hands and face in a bucket of frigid water. He watched with mixed feelings as Elrond opened the door and walked out into the downpour without missing a step. He wished life could be simpler sometimes. "I hate winter," he said as he turned to look at Galenbrethil standing behind him.
"So do I," she answered.
She stood and looked at the closed door and asked herself why she cared now if he left her this way. She was up at the Great House less and less it seemed, and found herself more involved with the classes and students in the greenhouses. She had often wondered why she continued to expose herself to invasion by his violent dreams, and why she dealt with his shifting moods. Then a sly look, a gentle touch, or a loving smile would melt her heart. His compassion and warmth would touch her as she watched him skillfully, but gently, treat an injury, or settle a dispute, or exercise his role as mentor of the community with sincerity and joy, as he had done at the wedding yesterday.
She touched the interlacing silver chain around her neck. It was a masterpiece of delicate workmanship by Falidar, and had been waiting for her on her pillow one night as a gift in thanks after a particularly troubled week of nightmares had been comforted by her presence. Her robes and other jewels also came from his requests to the craftsmen of the community. She lacked for nothing she could desire.
Her days were full enough now; her role in the community had changed over the years. The ancient book of formulas she had uncovered one day in an old cupboard had kept her busy for days mixing and distilling old-fashioned creams and lotions. She had heard of the remarkable success of these items from Lindefal, and had orders for more of everything. Her students kept her busy as well, and Findalor made the evening rounds of the greenhouses regularly. He saw to her needs also and they were comfortable old friends and lovers. But tonight proved she was still in the Master's mix of needs and wants. She realized his pain and need and love had carved a niche in her heart that only he could fill. She knew he needed her not only for her healing skills, but also for her love. She knew in her heart he loved her in his own way.
Findalor placed a strong arm around her shoulders and they walked down the hallway to her rooms. The warm and moist air stirred in a draft and lanterns flickered as they passed through the arched doorway and closed the heavy wooden door behind them.
As she embraced him in the darkness and snuggled against his warmth she smiled into his hair and kissed his neck in affection. She was content now, loving and beloved, and who knew what tomorrow would bring?
The End
Continued in "Gifts From The South"
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