Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or locations mentioned in this, that honour is reserved for the estate of the good Professor J. R. R. Tolkien
Spoilers: Major Return of the King spoilers.
A/N: This fic was written as a response to a challenge on the 15-minute ficlets community in response to a photo showing a iron gate. Exactly 15 minutes after first seeing it, I finished this, my very first LotR fic ever. Since then, it's had very minor re-writing, based on advice from reviewers. My sincere thanks goes to Christianmystic for his sindar advice for the first re-write, to all my reviewers for the correct spelling of Celebrían, and to Nimrodel of Imladris for tightening up a sloppy phrase or two. This fic first appeared on my livejournal.
Elrond stood at the gate, transfixed. Why was this so hard for him? He should be running inside, eager, laughing, calling out her name. How long had they been apart? Human kingdoms had risen and fallen in that time. There was absolutely no reason for him to prolong their separation.
And yet, here he was, standing at the gates of Valinor like a fool. Why was he hesitating? Hadn't he been dreaming of this moment every night for countless years? Longing to hear her voice, feel her touch, see the sparkle in her eyes, that magic sight that seemed as if the lights of Eru had been caught for him alone to gaze upon.
She had often called him "El-nín", but she was his star.
Ai, my Celebrían, how I've waited for you. Now my work at long last is done, and I am with you again forever; if I will but pass through the portal that lies open, waiting.
Tears streaked down his cheeks. Long hours past he had seen Frodo run ahead of him, then stop and turn to him.
"Lord Elrond? What is wrong?"
"I... I am fine, Frodo. I need to collect my thoughts"
Olorin had drawn the young Hobbit near to him. "Come, Frodo. Leave the Lord alone with his thoughts." A look of understanding passed from the Istari to the Half-Elf, then. Elrond nodded, and tried to convey his gratitude to his old friend, but the wizard had already gone forward, Frodo at his side.
He had been standing stock still ever since, Vilya weighing almost as heavy on his hand as it had in Arda.
A sound pierced his reverie. Her laugh. He knew then he could delay no longer. And in that final certainty, he knew the cause for his delay.
The question is not Why, but How? How am I to tell her that she will never see our Daughter again?
Steeling himself, Elrond walked through the gate, never looking back at the stately grey ships beached on the shore.