Greetings. If you were wondering about my long absence—or perhaps you just thought I was being lazy again—I'm here to clarify that I was gone for three weeks on a mind repose. :) I'd like to believe I made some excellent friends within the confines of my own imagination. But I have forgotten all of their names.
There may or may not have been a degeneration/regression of my writing skills. I haven't written much in three weeks, which is a lot of time, even for me. *laughs nervously*
But I bring to you the fourth chapter of Chiaroscuro.
Chiaroscuro - (4)
"A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the otherscrazy?"—Albert Einstein
main genres: insanity/drama/angst/tragedy
"Adelurui has left Imladris," Glorfindel informed Elrond as they sat at the table, breaking the silence as Elrond fidgeted listlessly in his chair.
Elrond looked up from where he sat, a faintly perturbed expression on his face, as if he had not expected the news. His eyes widened imperceptibly, searching Glorfindel's face for any suggestion of deceit. When he was certain, with a sinking feeling, that Glorfindel was not attempting to pull some sort of a trick over him, he drew in a breath unhappily and gazed vacuously at his gleaming silver plate again. The fingers of his left hand curled into the table cloth as he gripped a handful of it. Glorfindel was not the kind to tell falsehoods to draw an antiphon from Elrond, and Elrond should not have anticipated it of him. He looked back to Glorfindel and saw that the Elf was awaiting his reaction.
"That was a foolish decision," Elrond finally stated, his lips barely moving, posture stiff. "Her death would have been prolonged if she had remained." His voice was toneless, and his eyes were blank as he held Glorfindel's unfazed gaze. "A pity she did not remain."
The ring on his hand gleamed pellucidly in the large dining hall. People busily bustled about the floor, but Elrond and Glorfindel remained seated quietly, the former sitting at the head of the large table. Elrond's fingers remained restless, at one point tapping the table, or staying in place, twitching nervously. Elrond's eyes flickered back and forth from one side of the hall to the other. Then, catching Glorfindel's eye, he smiled uncertainly, and his hand reached for the knife, the tips of his fingers skimming across the silver handle.
Without warning, his eyes firmly fixed on Elrond, Glorfindel sent his fork flying towards the knife, and its tines trapped the knife in place, the points digging sharply into the wooden mahogany table. The table shook slightly, and the ringing of metal echoed down the hall until it faded.
"Not here," Glorfindel told him quietly.
Elrond's mouth twisted into a displeased frown, and he asked softly, "I cannot incise the finger withstanding the ring that sits upon the hand with which I wield the blade, and you have stayed my hand by binding the knife to the table. Do you really think I would cause a disturbance in front of all of these people? What do you take me for, Glor? I am not so irrational as to make a scene right here, right now."
"Do not put up fabricated pretenses of innocence and release the bitterness you have because you are being forced to bear the ring. Your hand twitches towards the knife, Elrond, but your throat is that which your fingers seek."
Gripping the handle tightly, Elrond's knuckles turned white, and the two stared at each other challengingly.
At this point, the party from Lothlorien entered, and Celebrían looked worriedly around the large hall, seeking the dark-haired Elf from yesterday, sitting at the head of the table, his face pale and gaunt. His right hand unmistakably was where Vilya was enthroned. Confused, Celebrían thought back to yesterday, when she saw Elrond in the armory, gripping a sharp blade and holding it to his…right hand… She quickly fought to maintain her composure when she felt her mother's gaze on her. She stumbled in on Elrond during so many inconvenient times!
Though she continued glance to Elrond, he never seemed to turn his head. From the distance increasing between them as the company moved to the other end of the table, he only appeared to be speaking calmly to Glorfindel, and in low, hushed tones. She could not hear them over the loud voices of everyone else in the hall, and she wished to gather the courage to apologize to him for yesterday. Her eyes nervously went to her mother, who stared at her almost as blankly and emotionlessly as Elrond had in the arsenal.
Reluctantly, she took a seat at the other end of the table. But as she accommodated herself to the spindled chair, Glorfindel gracefully slid out of his seat, and Elrond abruptly pushed his chair back into place as he brusquely swept out of the hall. Celebrían began to lower her gaze to the plate when he suddenly turned and caught her attention. She felt rooted to the spot, flinching inwardly as he looked away, the same scowl in his grey eyes. The ice in his gaze was so chilling that Celebrían could have been with her mother crossing the Helcaraxë, or even struggling to overcome her own Grinding Ice in the cold, sunless expanse of gloom.
She had never seen such melancholy eyes before, but then, when he had looked at her, she saw nothing but stony resentment.
Glorfindel led him to a secret clearing, enclosed by a ring of old, majestic trees. Pity that they would witness violence here. "You are acting like a child."
"I am acting like a child," Elrond repeated, deadpan. "Then why am I wearing the ring? Children are not fit to wear rings. Children should not wear rings until they are ready to shoulder the responsibilities of an adult. Marriage, ruling, power—children do not rule realms."
"Children do not rule realms," Glorfindel agreed, his pale blue eyes glinting angrily. "So stop acting like one, and fight as you did during the Second Alliance."
"Do you really want to see me, lost in war, bloodlust, disgust for myself…? Do you want to see my destructive side?" he asked coldly.
"You've already shown it to me," Glorfindel replied unfeelingly.
A clear ringing reverberated through the trees and through Imladris. All was silent. The birds were quiet. Elrond was not singing. The two stood in the field quietly, and Elrond's sword was a mere three centimeters from Glorfindel's neck, and would have sunk into his skin if it had not been for Glorfindel's quick reflex. Unsheathing his sword only a fraction, he pushed the revealed blade against Elrond's sword, eyes narrowing.
"Then fight me!" Elrond yelled. "Fight me as you fought the Balrog."
Glorfindel swept the blade aside and answered Elrond's challenge by pulling his own blade from its scabbard. "You insist on challenging my patience, do you not?"
Elrond smiled bitterly.
With small hesitant smiles that eventually burst into widespread grins, Elrond and Glorfindel traveled down the hallway to the Healing Wing, both bearing wounds so remarkable that one would think they were ambushed by orcs. The cut under Glorfindel's eye was swelling, and Elrond's cheek was marked deeply with a gash. Glorfindel tugged at the tourniquet around his shoulder that Elrond had made for him.
He started to retell fighting Ecthelion in Gondolin, closing his eyes and remembering the towering white city walls and the flash of silver, the ringing of metal, and a chiming, carefree laugh.
"The Elf was drunk half the time, but damn graceful as a swan murdering a fish." He opened and rolled his clear sky blue eyes with wry amusement.
Elrond laughed, and they continued down their way, the atmosphere light for once. Of course…until he broke the silence again with a simple question. "What am I, then?" Glorfindel blinked, and an alarm went off in his head, a warning that flashed before his mind seconds afore he registered it. Elrond continued self-deprecatingly, "Am I a seagull?" His voice was filled with scorn now. "Would that she turned into anything other than such a beautiful creature. The mere thought of her as one of them has polluted my entire approach towards the graceful race. I will never have sea-longing as long as the white gulls cry."
Before Glorfindel could respond, to convince him otherwise, they arrived at the Healing Wing. Elrond weaved in and out through the cots, brushing his hand along the closed, secretive doors, and Glorfindel followed him helplessly. Already, Elrond had descended into a foul mood, veiled behind his thin, hollow smile for anyone who looked at the pair.
The two were stopped right as Elrond prepared to enter the small room of herbs and salves. A woman grasped Elrond's wrist unsubtly and pulled him down to a kneeling position, eyes frantic and alight with wildness as she searched his eyes.
"Did you…know her?" she asked, and though blood and saliva leaked from her lips and dribbled down her chin, she ignored it. "Ade…lurui?"
Elrond froze, and Glorfindel felt his hand search the hilt of his sword again, instinctively.
Not far from where Glorfindel and Elrond stood, as Celebrían prepared to step forward and speak to the latter, she stiffened as well, remaining in her place as if she had been caught at some sort of an underhanded scheme in the dark of night. She backtracked slightly, standing behind a pillar and gripping her wrist nervously, a flush of guilt heating her cheeks as she listened to the conversation behind her.
"Yes, I did."
Did, her mind echoed.
Elrond's voice carried on rather calmly, despite the seriousness of the situation. "I suppose she is dead now?"
Even if Celebrían couldn't see his face, she flinched at his tone.
"Elrond," Glorfindel hissed, low enough that Celebrían could hear it but the mortal woman undoubtedly could not.
If Elrond even did hear it, he gave no indication and knelt down next to the dying woman, contorting his facial features into a convincingly concerned and caring expression. "Tell me," he coaxed her softly, resting her cool palm against her burning skin. "Tell me what happened. Be freed of your burdening knowledge."
The tone in Elrond's voice sounded predatory to Celebrían, and she shook where she stood, but still, she remained in the same position, careful not to move or draw attention to herself.
"T-Those wicked…cruel men took her…abused her…killed her…" the woman mumbled. Her dark brown eyes went unfocused in confusion, one eye shooting off in an entirely different direction as her body trembled under the pressure of trying to recall. She drew in a shuddering breath, reliving the experience of hitting the hard floor after falling from her horse, and croaked, "Lord Elrond…she might…have loved you…?" with a question, unsure if it was her place to say so.
Elrond closed his eyes and removed his hand from the woman's face, remembering Adelurui's dying face, marked with deep gashes, an eye gouged out, neck ringed with blue and purple flowers under her pale, soft skin. He stood slowly, opening his eyes again, but before he could say anything further, the woman took in another deep, quaking gasp, and her body stilled. Elrond turned to Glorfindel wordlessly, tugging at Glorfindel's tourniquet, and they both vanished into the small room, their soft whispers trailing behind them like mistreated animals.
Celebrían couldn't count how many times she had stumbled in on Elrond during untimely situations, and this especial occasion shocked her beyond reason. She covered her mouth and walked away, all thoughts of apology forgotten as only one thought remained on her mind.
Evade him.
At first, Elrond didn't even realize it. He didn't even know when he began to unconsciously search Celebrían in the crowd of Elves. But deep within his mind, someone told him—he was quite sure it wasn't him that informed himself—that the Elf-lady was avoiding him. He only now began to realize it as that one day she walked into Elrond without even noticing it until she looked up. Then, she began to apologize profusely and hurried away, keeping her head lowered, gaze focused on her feet.
He had even begun to suspect that she had become disgusted with him, but it seemed that it wasn't the case when she entered his study the next day, holding her hands behind her back subtly to hide her trembling, laced fingers.
She honestly hadn't meant to make it so obvious. But what really bothered her was the internal conflict in her mind. Was she avoiding him because of the woman's death, or Elrond's immense sorrow for her death? And if it was his sorrow…then what did it mean? That he might have loved that woman? That said a lot about Celebrían as well. With horror, she came to the conclusion that it was both.
Elrond was in study, looking over orc reports when Celebrían came in. The door closed behind her loudly, the sound reverberating through the open space, and Celebrían tensed at the sound. Elrond looked up, and at the sight of her, he smiled softly.
"Greetings, Lady Celebrían," he said gently. "What brings you to my study?"
"I can't answer that question," Celebrían replied, smiling ruefully, "for I don't know the answer to it myself."
A soft laugh rang through the office, and Elrond's eyes lit up like a match. "No? Well, a reason is never needed for company. I was feeling rather lonely here all by myself…" He gestured for Celebrían to sit in the chair before him. "How have you been?"
"Confused, my lord." She took her seat before him, moving aside her skirts.
"I don't suppose you'll want to tell me why," he joked, winking at her. Whatever had made him feel so carefree around her, he didn't know. Maybe he just didn't want her to avoid him again, he thought, as he sat still under her silent, ill-hidden scrutiny. "But if you do, I'm quite fine with listening."
To this day, she still didn't understand why she would have just come out and asked him that question. "Did you love her?"
Elrond's eyes widened imperceptibly, but he still maintained his good-natured smile. He chuckled humorlessly. "You heard. Adelurui was killed."
Hearing the woman's name from his lips caused Celebrían to feel an odd, sinking sensation in her stomach, and she faintly wondered if it was jealousy. "Yes," she answered honestly. "I am sorry for your loss."
"No," Elrond suddenly said, and Celebrían jumped, startled at his tone of voice. It was held with a burning conviction, his gaze searing across her skin as she watched his eyes flicker across her face, searching for something. He stood, walked around the table, and placed his hands on the armrests of her chair, trapping her there as he leaned forward and stared deeply into her eyes. "No," he repeated softly, "I didn't love her. We knew each other for only a day." A kind smile twisted his lips upward. "If she had stayed, it would not have ended in her demise. Four months. She would have lived four months longer. I foresaw it."
Celebrían's voice quivered. "Is it true then?"
Elrond tilted his head to the side, and strands of dark hair fell before his grey eyes. His hands moved over hers, fingertips digging into the armrests' cushions as he pinned her hands in place. "What, exactly?"
He sounded condescending as he looked down at her, peering over the rim of his golden-rimmed glasses. Celebrían felt her cheeks flush, but whether at anger or embarrassment, for the life of her she couldn't tell.
"That women die within ten years of your advances," she stated.
Surprising her greatly, Elrond started to chuckle. His eyes twinkled with malicious amusement as he regarded Celebrían, and he leaned closer. Their noses touched briefly, but he pulled back only a centimeter as they made contact. "Are you afraid to die, Lady Celebrían?"
She slapped him.
He stopped laughing, astonished, and leaned back.
Celebrían abruptly felt the full consequence of her action dawn down upon her. She had slapped him. He had been infuriating, but she had slapped him. He was the host! How could she have…? Before she could gather all of her thoughts together, Elrond rose calmly, freeing Celebrían from the stifling, claustrophobic feeling that suffocated her. He looked down at her with the blankest expression she had ever seen—even surpassing that of her mother's—and her throat locked. Apprehension weighed down on her shoulders. She felt tears rise in her eyes, but she couldn't seem to look away from the person she had just slapped.
However, Elrond kneeled down, bowing his head, and murmured quietly, "My apologies, Lady Celebrían. I was out of line."
Relief swept through her. But his next words made her feel chilled to the bone.
"I will take my leave of your company and request for Glorfindel or Erestor, or both," his mouth twisted into a smile—but she saw the frown it truly was— "to accompany you throughout Imladris. Have a nice day."