Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all characters pertaining thereto are not at all mine. I just like to play with them, and I promise to return them only slightly worse for wear. Really though, Tolkien, this one is pretty much all your fault.
Rating/Warnings: Teen. High Teen. Trigger warning: rape, although very non-explicit (thus why it is only Teen, and not Mature).
It is my belief that Celebrian was raped by the Orcs during her capture. Tolkien never says explicitly one way or another, but it is my interpretation that she was, based off of his wording (and a few other things which I'd rather not go into here).
Time frame: about 5 months after Celebrian was rescued from the Orcs
Important Note: As was the case with Come That Day, this story in and of itself is complete. However, I intend to write a much longer story that talks about this time in general, and this story may present itself (in this version or, more likely, another) in the larger, more comprehensive tale. However, this was written as a oneshot, and as such is meant to stand on its own.
A/N: I thought I'd try to write some nice El/Bri fluff to ease me back into writing, since I took a break for a few days. Yeah...the whole fluff thing wasn't working. So I somehow ended up writing this instead. It's something that's been on my mind for a number of months now, and something I've been wanting to write, but just haven't had the time. It's written now though. Which is kind of nice. Although it kind of hurt to write it. Granted, that could be because it's 5 in the morning, and everything feels different then. Ai, my sleep schedule is really messed up, and band starts Monday. Wonderful...
Anyhoo, I hope that you all enjoy, and I'd positively love it if you leave even just a few words on your way out! I adore hearing from you all, even if it's just an anonymous "I liked it" or what have you. If you did like it, that is... Honestly though, the only way I can know what I need to improve/change/not change is if I'm told something is good, or bad, or needs work, etc. And since I'll be including this into a more comprehensive tale eventually, I'd appreciate any and all feedback all that much more! Honestly though, most importantly, I hope you enjoy.
~The Stars Will Be Your Witness~
The stars will be your witness
On this lonely, moonless night,
As you bend your broken heart out
And the tears that run won't dry.
The room was dark and silent, although the curtains had been flung away from the windows to allow the light of the stars to shine into the room. The furniture was cast with a frozen, silver light, with moonbeams lying sprawled across the carpeted floor, and reaching toward the lifeless and cold hearth. No breath of wind tickled the lacy curtains, or stirred the weary air within the room. While the air still tasted of the early days of spring, it felt oddly heavy and dead, as if the wind itself was shackled with grief.
The large bed was piled high with blankets, but only one lay where two should have been. Silver hair tumbled limply across the white of the pillows, the once-gleaming locks now dull and lusterless. Blue eyes were half-shut, as if the sleeper was halfway unconscious – not merely sleeping.
A second figure sat slumped in a chair beside the bed. His head rested on the top of the coverlet, dark hair spilling out across the top blanket, even as one arm hung between his knee and the edge of the bed. His other hand was stretched out above his head, palm up, as he if had been reaching for the woman who slept uneasily, yet he dared not touch her.
A soft cry was all that it took to shatter the brittle peace that held the room in its grasp. The woman in the bed whimpered, and her face took on a look of pale terror as she began to quiver in fear.
Elrond awoke almost instantly at the sound of Celebrían's cry. He sat up slowly, wary of accidentally startling her awake – a mistake he had made before, and wished to never make again – and then cautiously stood. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and then reached out for her carefully.
He began to hum just before his fingers touched her shoulder. His voice was soft and tired, but there was beauty to it nonetheless, and while the tune was haunting and sorrowful, it was also peaceful. It was much like the feeling you get at the end of a tale, when all I is finished and put to rest – when the fallen have been buried and mourned, and the hero has returned home to his family – and you know that all has been put to rights, but that all will never be as it once was.
Celebrían calmed slightly at the sound of his voice, but as he lightly placed his hand against her shoulder, she jolted awake. She shrank back away from his touch, trying to cower into the pillows soft mattress, to shield herself from his presence.
"Easy there, my Celebrían," Elrond murmured, drawing his hand away, and moving so that she could clearly see his face in a faint ray of starlight. "Easy, dear one. You are safe."
Celebrían did not move for an eternal second as she watched Elrond fearfully, as if afraid that he was suddenly going to vanish, or perhaps morph into something hideous. Then Celebrían gave a dry sob as at last she seemed to come to herself, and she reached for Elrond.
Elrond took her in his arms, settling back against the headboard as he sat with her propped up against his chest. She lay limp against him, her head cradled on his shoulder, both hands holding weakly to one of his.
With her body against his, Elrond could feel Celebrían's trembling – could feel the fear as it raced through her veins like cold poison. "Hush now," he crooned, running his free hand through her hair tenderly, gently massaging her head to relieve the headache that he could sense mounting. "Hush, Love. I am here, and I will let nothing harm you – not tonight, not tomorrow, nor any day after." He began to hum again, that same bittersweet melody that was all at once peaceful and sorrowful.
Slowly, Celebrían's raw fear began to ease – an echo of the nightmare that had gripped her – so too did the walls that she had erected around her mind. Elrond closed his eyes, and although he did not cease to gently play with Celebrían's hair, he carefully began to pull the images and the memories of the images from her mind.
It was a practice that he had become very adept at of late – pulling fear, and the thoughts and memories that caused the fear, from another's mind and into his own, and leaving in its wake something else. Of course, it did not truly take away the memory, or the fear that the memory could cause, but it temporarily dampened the effect.
But never once did he cease to hum.
In this case, what he left in the wake of the nightmare was a lullaby – an ancient, half-remembered song that Elrond could vaguely recall his mother singing to him and Elros so very long ago. He had never been able to remember the words to it, but the melody was sweet and comforting, and to him it had always meant peace and safety. Even after all that had happened, and all that had once meant those things to him had been burned and drowned in blood or passed on beyond the Circles of the World, the meaning of the melody had never once changed. And as he drew the poisonous fear from Celebrían's mind, he felt her begin to relax as she too sensed the meaning behind the ancient, half-forgotten lullaby.
Yellow eyes gleaming in the shadows cast by flickering torches. Hideous faces leering at her, showing filed teeth pitted and stained from their last meal. Raucous laughter as she shrunk back, away from them.
If Elrond's melody faltered, Celebrían did not notice. She merely lay there, absolutely still, listening to the music as it wove through the air, strangling the deadened feeling and stealing away her cold fear.
Claws tearing at her – at her dress, at her hair, at her very flesh. A cry of pain as nails bit down into the soft skin of her breasts, scoring deep gouges that oozed blood lethargically.
He kept singing. How he managed it, he would never know, as a thousand emotions boiled through him – rage, terror, horror – threatening to steal away all rational thought. But continue singing he did, just as he had every night before, and he bound the fury and the aching sorrow into a tight ball, and lodged it away into a locked corner of his mind.
A dozen hands holding her down as she kicked and thrashed, trying to break free, to drive them back, to keep them from her. Rough hands forcing her legs apart. Laughter as she screamed.
Elrond felt something warm and wet drip down his lip from his nose. He reached up and quickly wiped the thin trickle of blood away, smearing it across his knuckle and the back of his hand. For the first time that night his lullaby hitched just for an instant, but Celebrían did not seem to heed the hesitation, nor the jump in his voice.
Darkness all around, for the torches had been taken when they left. She lay in a pool of filth, unable to move even if she had had the strength, the cruel chains binding her fast. Then a whisper, a soft voice on the wind, calling to her. She looked up, just barely able to lift her head, hardly daring to hope. And there he was, coming swiftly to her rescue, light driving back the darkness. She reached for him, his name on her lips. And then the image shattered. The light wasn't his pure, golden glow, but flickering firelight. And the face wasn't his, but theirs. They had come again.
Words slipped into Elrond's song as the melody changed into a different lullaby, this time one that Celebrían had sung to their children. It was simple, and mostly nonsense, but he hoped that it would remind her of older, happier times. He hoped that it would remind her of the joy of their children.
Her breathing evened out further, and Elrond could sense a sort of peace fill his wife. It was not what one would call wholly peace, nor anywhere near complete, but he knew that she would, at least, be able to sleep again. Carefully, he slid out from behind her, laying her head back down on the pillows, and then eased himself off of the bed.
Although she had improved from the first weeks after she had been rescued, she would still awaken in sheer terror if someone lay close to her as she slept. Sometimes – on the good nights – she would hold his hand as she slept, and it was those nights that Elrond would hope that she would indeed recover.
This was not a good night.
Celebrían released Elrond's hand, and he moved to settle into the chair once. His entire body began to shudder, as if caught in the throes of a fever. He ached, both within and without, and in mind and soul, and he could feel as his body fought him.
His iron will locked, and he forced his body to quit shaking, and his stomach to cease trying to tear its way from his gut. He could not, however, stem the blood now trickling steadily from his nose by sheer force of will.
"You failed her, Peredhel. You deserve this pain," a snide, cruel voice whispered. "You did not save her then, so you cannot save her now."
Elrond doggedly wiped the blood away, leaving crimson smears on his hands and fingers. He would not give in now. He could not.
"Why do you even still try? She is broken – damaged. And it is your fault."
Elrond clenched his head between his bloody hands, trying to fight back the splitting headache that was gaining strength with each passing breath. He gritted his teeth, swallowing any sound but that of his ragged breathing.
"This is all your fault. Everything you touch breaks. What do you think will come next – your children perhaps? They will break. They will all break, for everything you love dies. And they suffer. They always suffer. Why did you ever dare to love her?"
Silent tears coursed down Elrond's cheeks, gleaming silver in the starlight, and he rocked back and forth silently, head still clutched between his fists.
If only he could turn back time. If only he had known! What use is the gift of foresight if it cannot even save those you love?!
At last the tears ran dry, just as they did every night, and he was left trembling and alone by Celebrían's bedside. Sleep would not come to him again that night.
He would clean his hands before Glorfindel came in the next morning, and would make sure that there were no traces of blood on the blankets or splattered on the floor. Just as he did every morn.
And then he would smile for everyone's sakes, and stand straight and tall. And he would hold his children up as they stumbled under the weight of their grief. And he would hold up his people as they bowed beneath their sorrow. He would be strong for everyone else, just as he always had been. Just as it had always been demanded of him.
But there, in the darkness of the night, with only the stars to bear witness, he was alone. And he was broken.