Sorry, a fair amount of writer's block is the pitiful excuse I have. But this story is important to me. Thanks for reading, by the way. If you haven't seen my profile, I'll be gone for almost three weeks. I take back chapter two being hardest to write—it's this one that takes the cheese. *scratches head and looks at chapter with a sigh* Fanfiction has a notorious reputation for DELETING COMMAS AND LETTERS. All Sindarin names come from the Sindarin Name Randomizer. I was too lazy to actually hand-pick the words out this time, but usually I take a lot of care in selecting names for my characters, even if they are minor.
Happy reading.
(insert disclaimer)
Chiaroscuro - (3)
'Life is full of misery, loneliness, and suffering – and it's all over much too soon.' –Woody Allen
main genres: insanity/drama/angst/tragedy
The days rapidly flew by, and Imladris almost seemed a peaceful haven to Celebrían. The birds sang to her in the mornings, rousing from her sleep gently and friendlily, the sun shined enticingly as if pleading for her to rise from the bed and look at it, and the wind breezed in through the windows, touching her face gently as if to say, 'Get up, get up…!'
It was pure accident that they would meet by the trees. Celebrían undecidedly meandered to the gardens after waking from a light slumber, allowing her feet to guide her where they pleased. By chance, as she padded slowly, barefoot, into the stone-tiled orchard, marveling at the age and height of the noble trees around her, she caught sight of a dark-haired Elf standing at the largest tree of them all, shoulders squared compulsorily, but head bowed and face hidden by strands of dark hair covering his eyes. Unbidden, the memory of him, coldly dismissive towards the woman, rose to the forefront of her thoughts, and she shook her head, sighing, trying to free her mind from that particular recollection.
At the sound of her sigh, he turned around, and his grey eyes widened at the sight of her.
"Morning, Lady Celebrían," he greeted, surprised. He glanced down, almost guardedly, and saw that she wore no shoes. "Barefooted?" he asked quietly.
"Ah, yes," she replied, flushing slightly and glancing down at her feet. The soil beneath them was soft and pliant, like a soft ivory bed cover. But perhaps she should have worn shoes… Would it make her seem more ladylike? She glanced back up and found Elrond's eyes twinkling enigmatically. "I was… I…"
Tongue-tied, she gave up on continuing that sentence.
"It is very relaxing to walk around barefoot," he finally said after looking back at the large tree, saving her from having to come up with a proper response. A soft, almost painfully nostalgic expression appeared on his face. "May I ask what you are doing out here at such an early hour?" he asked, without turning back to her.
"I…found it rather dull, sitting in my rooms," Celebrían replied slowly, cautiously choosing her words. If Elrond yet again 'lost his mind,' as her father put it though she had yet to see it happen, it could not possibly end well. "And I was feeling rather inquisitive today."
He turned back to her with a small smile and held his hand out for her to take. "Then…would you like to explore Imladris?" Seeing her uncomprehending look, he particularized, "I would be delighted to guide you around."
Celebrían did not voice her thoughts aloud at first. Undoubtedly, she felt uncomfortable walking around unfamiliar territory with Elrond, who had seemed so tense in her mother's presence before—not to mention that fact that Celeborn had told her beforehand that Elrond was considered 'unstable,' his reputation with women 'legendarily infamous and blown out of proportion,' and prone to 'anxiety attacks.' Foreign to Elrond's actual anxiety attacks, which only seemed to others that knew him well—such as, say, Glorfindel or Erestor—as transitory stints of explosive melancholia, she decided against the foreboding feeling in her stomach telling her to be wary of Elrond and took his hand, smiling in return.
"I would love to."
The only place he had to time to show her was the marketplace. It was the busiest section of Imladris, filled with a diversity of businesses, stalls, and people. As soon as Elrond stepped foot into the large square, one person recognized him at once and stepped up to greet him…and surprised, greeted Celebrían as well. Many people heard of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel's arrival in Imladris, but to find that their daughter was walking around the streets unchaperoned with Elrond was unspeakable and pointblank-unacceptable. It was quite hard to believe that Elrond had no ulterior motives, but it appeared that he genuinely didn't, by the way he regarded Celebrían as he would regard everyone around him.
He held her hand.
And to the surprise of everyone who paid heed to his entry into the emporium…
…he didn't seem to be distracted.
"Good morning, Elrond," the Elf greeted him. "And good morning to you as well, fair lady."
Celebrían didn't even look shy; Elrond was faintly impressed.
"How has the trade progressed?" Elrond asked. Though he disliked discussing business terms, especially in front of personal company, it was out of habit and simply because he found himself inarticulate with Celebrían.
"Not well. Bad blood runs through generations, it seems. Elves and Dwarves don't mix."
"Still unwilling?"
The Elf snorted. "Understatement of the century. One of them sent Bragollaeg off with a whole bucket load Dwarvish curses and raised weapons. If I had been there…" He trailed off with a good-natured smile. "Well, I should get back to work and let you continue you on your 'tour…'" He gave Elrond a sort of knowing look and went back to his stall, picking up on his earlier preoccupation.
Elrond shook his head with a slight laugh. He turned to Celebrían with a soft smile. "That was Taladir. Sometimes, he likes to imagine that he's there at the forefront of danger, battling dangerous adversaries with our warriors. Glorfindel says he'll make the ranks if he can get those hands of his calloused to the point that holding a sword by its hilt doesn't 'hurt', or so Taladir says."
"Oh?" Celebrían said playfully. "Does it hurt to hold the hilt of a sword in your hand, Lord Elrond?"
He nodded seriously, but his eyes conveyed quite the contrary. "Very. My hands are not hands meant for blades." He held his hand out before Celebrían and guided her fingertips gently to touch his palms. Quietly, he asked her, "Do they feel calloused to you?"
"Slightly," she affirmed. "But I suppose that is because you had to take up a sword at least once in your life." She traced the lines on his hand gently. "You are a healer."
"Perceptive," he complimented her.
"Ah, no, I only know because your name is quite widespread. You're considerably renowned in Middle-earth."
"I suppose you mean infamous. I sincerely doubt that Lothlorien hasn't heard of my reputation with women."
"But you still have helped many people," Celebrían replied, insistent to alleviate the sudden grave countenance Elrond took on.
She grasped his hand tightly and gave him what seemed to her as a reassuring squeeze, but Elrond regarded her slowly and silently, retracting his lower lip slightly in thought. Then his gaze slipped past her. He regretted it now. He regretted it greatly. The light in his eyes was unfocused, and Celebrían realized that he was now staring past her head—though it was quite easy, as Celebrían was rather short in comparison to Elrond. However, his eyes focused once again, and she turned around, curious.
"Lady Galadriel," Elrond said, sounding almost subdued. "Hail."
"Lord Elrond."
With a polite nod, Elrond excused himself from Celebrían and Galadriel's presence without any pretense of reluctance. His pace was hurried as he went back in the direction he and Celebrían had come from, his head bowed and distracted. Galadriel turned to Celebrían, her blank gaze revealing nothing.
"You went around Imladris with Lord Elrond." A simple statement that made Celebrían feel as if she had done something wrong. Why did her mother always have this influence over everyone?
Celebrían confirmed this. "His company is very pleasant."
"His company is equivalent to that of a snake's toothless smile."
"Mother!" Celebrían protested, her voice hushed as she pulled Galadriel along the cobblestone road. "Lord Elrond seems to me a much agreeable person."
Galadriel gave no indication that she heard the defensive tone in Celebrían's voice. She didn't seem to be willing to spare her daughter's feelings or mindset either. "Celebrían, do you know the full extent of his reputation with women? Would you still be willing to face him if you knew why he would engage in such activities as seeking women who die young?" She didn't take to the trouble of keeping her voice low.
By the look on Celebrían's face, Galadriel knew her daughter had misjudged the situation…perhaps by far.
"What… What sort of reason…?"
"Oh, it's good to see you can find your way back to your study," Erestor noted wryly as Elrond came into the room, tight-lipped. "Now, come here. At times like these, we need your presence, and this is a very important matter."
"For what?" Elrond asked warily. "If it is that…"
Glorfindel crossed his arms over his broad chest, fixing Elrond with a firm gaze. Just from looking at his eyes, Elrond could tell that the 'Incident' from yesterday was still fresh in his mind.
"Exactly that," Glorfindel said mercilessly. "But why do you find it so repulsive?"
"Why should I not? Why should we all not?" he replied. "There is nothing good in those damn Rings. What truly repulses me is that mere jewelry hold so much power over an entire race, be it willing possession or disinclined guardianship. Did Fëanor's grandson learn nothing from the fates of his uncles? The outcome of every single one of their lives seemed not to discourage him at all, but positively influence his decision to forge more fashion accessories. It's almost as if the eldest one's fiery—" He stopped mid-sentence, words catching in his throat. He attempted to try again, but found his words running dry. "After all, no one even knows if Maglor is still—" His tongue failed him, his speech halting, and he allowed himself a strangled cry ripping from behind his teeth as he looked sunken in despair. "I am reduced to such a wretched mess!"
"It's your body's defense mechanisms, perhaps," his golden-haired friend suggested, moving aside to get to the point. Sitting on Elrond's desk almost innocuously was a wooden box, unassuming and simple, yet held in there was one of Elrond's greatest antagonists. "Wearing this won't make you a bloodthirsty villain, Elrond. It might sting slightly—and perhaps irritate your skin if you don't take to it, but otherwise…"
Elrond seemed to have more interest in discussing what Glorfindel had said before, however, and showed no signs of hearing what Glorfindel had said afterwards. "Defense mechanisms? Why would you come to the conclusion that my impaired speech defensive?"
"Quite obviously, you suffer trauma from everything that's happened to you, from the most positive influences to the most devastating stimuli," Erestor answered instead. He removed his glasses carefully, almost as if expecting for a physical blow and subsequently discarding his spectacles first so he might put them on later. "Have you spoken to Mithrandir lately?"
"I have. Not even he knows if I am insane or not."
"Surely you would know?"
"Do you think it of me?"
Erestor laughed humorlessly. "If you do not know, why would I?"
"Judge me."
"Judge you? Perhaps I will, if you put her on."
"Her? You named the anathematized thing?"
"Vilya is a feminine name," Erestor said in his own defense, good-naturedly. "And though she can't speak back, she makes a fine companion for your skilled hand."
"Oh, so you're getting lascivious now?"
"Pardon me—I should have taken into consideration that you know nothing beyond holding a woman's hands."
The only two dark-haired Elves in the study stared at each other, both of their gazes hard and unyielding. Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply. Then, he informed Erestor and Glorfindel quite flatly, "I will not bear it."
"Well, it's nothing to be borne, per se. Just something you must wear."
"You're the ruler of a realm, Elrond. You're doing this for the sake of the people that depend upon you."
"I cannot believe it," Elrond grumbled. "You're using that old trick, Glorfindel. The 'dependency' card. I was just fine being alone!" Somehow, the topic completely digressed. It wasn't about the ring anymore, or ruling a realm. His tone, from an almost childish huff, turned to a stony, resenting tenor. "It would have been easier if I had been by myself—being associated with a person so closely only brings pain. From what I have been put through, what else can I think of love? What makes love? True heart-rending, anguishing pain. No one knows love until they've lost it, until it retracts from their grasp and they reach out helplessly, fingertips brushing against it futilely, pressing their arm against the constraining bars of a glass cage that you cannot break—and why, that makes you think, 'Why didn't I recognize it earlier? Why didn't I appreciate it before I adulterated it?' Because true love is deceiving. You don't know what it is. I don't know what it is. I've never had it within my grasp! If they ever loved me—!"
He stepped forward, and on instinct, Glorfindel and Erestor stepped from the desk, both cautious of Elrond's intentions. Glorfindel's hand almost flew to the hilt of his sword. Elrond caught the movement.
Does it hurt to hold the hilt of a sword in your hand, Lord Elrond?
Yes.
"Do you really think you know what it takes to wield a sword, Elrond?" his voice asked gently. Elrond felt a warm hand at the small of his back, guiding him away from where the other one trained, thrusting his left hand forward and truncating the 'training dummy' that faintly resembled a dark wraith. Its head rolled to the floor, and the shoddy makeshift crown fell from it, the three tin circles jarred and shaken from the rough landing, separating from the 'crown.'
Elrond heard his voice, in the background, as he was steered away. "And that, Elros, is how you decapitate your enemy."
"What does it take, Maglor?"
Elrond's hand enclosed around the latch of the box. "I'll wear the damn Ring—I'll wear it to my destruction!"
"It takes an understanding of what you wield it for," Maglor replied, kneeling down so they were eye-to-eye. Elrond smiled hesitantly, unsure, and at such an ingenuous, trusting face, how could he not smile back? But Maglor did not. He maintained the soft frown and placed his hand on Elrond's forehead. "A sword is crafted for one reason. Despite what people say to justify sharpening a rod of metal, there is only reason. To kill." He was about to continue, but his expression contorted into that of a worried, faintly apologetic one. "I am sorry, Elrond… That was insensitive of me to…"
"No, no…it's fine, Father," Elrond mumbled.
He lifted the lid, releasing it from his grasp, and it swung down onto the table. Jewelry. It was always jewelry, prioritized before everything else.
"Ah, you cut yourself on the blade…" Tenderly, Maglor lifted Elrond's hand up to the light, and Elrond shied away from the vibrant crimson liquid dripping down his fingers. "Here, press the cloth against the wound to stop the bleeding. Does it hurt?"
Does it hurt?
To kill.
Elrond felt pain—excruciating pain. The Ring constricted on his finger, and the coarse metal banding within dug into his skin.
"Brother! You hurt yourself!"
"Oh…yes…" Elrond glanced down at his finger. "That… That's only because my hand slipped…and then I cut myself on the blade."
Elros laughed. "You aren't fit to hold a sword."
Elrond forced a smile. "Maybe I'm not. I think I'd prefer to be a healer…"
"That's all right; I'll protect you."
"Fine with me—when you get injured, just come back to me and I'll keep you alive."
Face pale and wan, Elrond made his way into the armory, pushing aside suits of armor, shields, and hanging scabbards. His fingertips brushed the wooden table where the knives lay, and he stared at the ring for a while. The sapphire stone set within sickened him. He curled his fingers into a tight fist, shaking uncontrollably as he glared harshly at his hand. Dried blood caked the opposite sides of the band around his finger. If there was some way to remove it, to alleviate the suffocating feeling…
He was drowning again.
The gleam of a dulled blade caught his eye. His eyes flickered around the room, searching for something sharper, but they all hung from the wall, waiting to be used for training, not amputating fingers. The blade almost seemed to smile stultifyingly at him, and he frantically tried to focus on his reflection. Pathetic.
"This… I can remove the Ring…" he mumbled, his lips twisting upwards into a vicious, malevolent smile.
Gripping the handle of the knife in his hand, he lowered it, shakily, to his dominant hand, glowering at the finger that thing sat on.
'I never understood physical self-harm.'
'…Now I do.'
Just as the blade touched his skin lightly, though not breaking through it, the door opened again, and of all people to walk in! Celebrían gracefully entered the room, holding the door open, speaking to someone softly. She looked over the room—and she caught sight of Elrond. Elrond stared at her, surprised, and her lips parted in horror. In a split second, she slammed the door shut, hurrying over to Elrond and seizing the knife from him. She looked up at him, slightly intimidated by their differences in height. He was much taller and stronger and could have easily taken the knife back from her, with the least amount of force.
"What were you thinking?" she asked, frightened and yet reproaching. "You said your hands are not hands made for blades!"
Elrond gazed at her, and his expression almost seemed confused. "Why, M—" he cut himself off, tilting his head to the side and placing his palm on his forehead. He breathed in, closing his eyes. Then he opened them, and Celebrían stepped back reflexively at his unfriendly look, an odd, cold feeling snaking up her spine. For once, Elrond didn't appear to be the rational, lucid Elf she thought he was. His earlier friendly demeanor in the market was gone.
With lips set in a thin line, Elrond moved past Celebrían and left the armory, without casting a glance at the guard waiting outside who was surprised by his presence. Celebrían remained inside, lips quivering and shocked.
"Lady Celebrían?" the guard asked tentatively, opening the door. "If you'd like, we could go visit somewhere else."
Celebrían's silver eyes went to the blade in her hand. Turning around and placing it on the table, she nodded and exited the armory as well.
