Imladris Revisited
By DLR
Disclaimer: Characters owned by JRR Tolkien
Elrond/OFC
Rated: PG
Chapter 4
Culurien stared after him, a puzzled expression on her face. What did I say, she thought, that would be amusing to him? She shrugged, dismissing the matter from her mind. She sought out Arwen's room where Culurien knew she would be dressing for dinner. She had not seen her friend and hostess for a day and a half. The door was opened by one of Arwen's maids, who stepped to the side to admit her.
Arwen was already dressed and seated at a small desk, submitting to having strings of jewels woven through her hair. She jumped up when Culurien entered and ran to embrace her friend. "I apologize to you," she said. "I meant to look in on you earlier, but I have been a little preoccupied."
"Stay, Arwen, relax," exclaimed Culurien, who was nearly pushed over by the energy of her friend's welcome. She looked at Arwen's face with wonder, for the lady positively glowed.
"What in all of Arda* are you on about?" she asked.
Arwen lowered her voice. "I must talk with you."
Culurien raised her eyebrows. "I am listening."
With a wave of her hand, Arwen dismissed her maids and led her friend to sit next to her on the sofa.
"Last night I was out walking in the forest," she started. "I was alone, which I am actually not allowed to do, even in Imladris. There, as I was walking, I met someone." Here, at this point, excitement showed in her dark grey eyes.
"It was a Man," she said, squeezing her friend's hand.
Culurien looked confused. "A mortal, you mean, a visitor?"
"Nay," said Arwen, "he said he lives here."
Such a thing was unheard of in Culurien's experience. Mortals did not live with elves, at least not in Eryn Galen or Lothlórien. Imladris, however, had a reputation for being a refuge for many a struggling wayfarer, be he man, dwarf, or elf and Elrond was a generous host.
But live here? Culurien was astounded.
Arwen went on. "He told me his name was Estel and that he was heir to Isildur, which I had already guessed, for the heirs to the throne of Gondor have all been raised in Imladris, ever since Isildur was slain and the kingdom lost. My father feels an obligation to the descendants of the kings of Númenor for they are of his blood.
"Also, he wants them to grow up learning the wisdom of the Eldar if they are to be good kings, should the throne be regained.
Here, she paused and laughed. "He is only twenty years old, such a new-born babe by our reckoning, but mortals need to grow quicker, I would imagine. He is very compelling, somehow." She had a faraway look in her eyes.
Culurien stared at her friend. "Arwen, am I wrong or does this not bode well? You talk as if you were falling in love with him!"
"Of course I am not," said she, talking a little too loudly. "I am merely intrigued, that is all. I have known few mortals."
She was a little piqued by Culurien's apparent disapproval; she would like to have confided a little more in her friend, but now she did not know if she dared.
"Is this paragon going to be at dinner this evening?" Culurien asked.
"I have no idea," Arwen said, "but will you come down tonight? I will point him out if he is there."
Culurien made a snorting noise. Mortals were all too easy to spot, as far as she was concerned, even with her limited experience of them.
"I am not dressed.....," she began.
Arwen jumped up, saying, "there is time, come, I will help you."
Culurien was still reluctant. "Your father already extended to me a special invitation to sit next to him and I declined. If I show up now, I would be obliged to do so and you would not be able to do any pointing at all."
"No matter," said Arwen. "You should be able to tell who he is without me. Echoing Culurien's earlier thoughts. Come, please, there will not be time after all if we sit here dawdling."
Culurien reflected on how Elrond's daughter disliked taking no for an answer. The privilege of her position, no doubt, she mused, allowing herself to be led back to her own room.
She had only brought two evening gowns with her, hoping to have more made eventually, and really too depressed at the time to give her wardrobe much consideration before they left Lothlórien. Much to her dismay, both dresses hung on her like sacks.
"Stay," said Arwen. "I am smaller than you, or at least I was, something of mine should fit you better." She rushed from the room while Culurien sat in her shift, looking forlornly at herself in the mirror. You are a right little waif, she thought. Though if the truth be told, she had increased more inches during her marriage than she would care to admit, so she did not look as bad as all that at the present. Thank Eru I did not lose my bust, she thought, pulling the shift tight for a moment.
Arwen's re-entry into the room with an armful of gowns made her start, and she fell back into the chair heavily. To Culurien's consternation, all three gowns fit her like a glove and were all very provocative, being low-cut, thin and clingy.
"You have worn these?" she gasped when she could find breath.
Arwen nodded. "I did in Lothlórien, when it was warm. I do not know why I even brought them to Imladris; Father would skin me alive if he saw any of them on me."
"It is not warm and we are not in Lothlórien," Culurien argued.
"You are difficult to please," Arwen retorted, annoyed. "I thought you wanted something that fit."
"But… but..." stammered Culurien. "Oh, never mind," she sighed. "I must have a shawl around here some place."
"Well, either that or wear your own dresses," said Arwen, still slightly peeved. "At any rate, you may keep them. Father will certainly not skin you alive."
Most assuredly not, thought Culurien, remembering the expression she caught in Elrond's eyes once or twice this afternoon.
"Here, sit," said Arwen, changing the subject and smiling. "Let me fix your hair while there is time."
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*Earth