Imladris Revisited
By: DLR 2002
Disclaimer: Characters owned by the estate of JRR Tolkien
Elrond/ OFC
Rated: PG

Chapter 8

Culurien learned much from Elrond that spring. They spent some time together, hiking through the forests, collecting berries, plants and roots to replenish the supplies in the Hall of Healing. He helped her improve her writing skills until she showed great competency, both in that area and the knowledge of herb lore.

Culurien also learned that Elrond was apt to be moody; relaxed and pleasant one moment, cranky and impatient the next. She often saw him just sitting and frowning at no one and nothing in particular, lost in some disagreeable, dark memory. To be fair, though, he usually came right out of any black mood when teased about it, becoming approachable and genial once again, for a while, at any rate. He seemed to enjoy teaching her, however, and those times were the most pleasant.

She also spent time with her new friends, the minstrels, becoming braver with each passing day. She had some knowledge of the harp and accompanied her songs, but never in front of any large group of people. Any one passing through the Hall could hear her, however, and thus she developed a following of admirers, though she herself was unaware of them.
Her vocal gift was more than just 'beautiful' as Arwen had said. Even by elvish standards it was exceptional.

A High Feast day approached and she steeled herself for a public performance, although she did not tell Elrond, wanting to surprise him.

Culurien had also made good use of her time in the matter of wardrobe, both sewing and supervising the making of dresses, so she was no longer destitute in that area. The day of the feast found her wearing an emerald green gown that matched her eyes, long sleeved and form fitting, (but not thin) low cut, (but modestly so) that flared out from her hips and fell in graceful folds to the floor. She had a gold embroidered belt that hung low on her waist and her red-blonde hair flowed loose over her back and shoulders with green ivy and yellow flowers wound through her tresses.

Elrond paused in his conversation as Culurien entered the Dining Hall, although he did not trip at the sight of her, he suddenly felt as though the room had grown a great deal warmer and it seemed to be a little bit difficult to breathe.
He had not invited her to dine next to him this evening and she did not appear to be looking for anybody in particular. She saw him and smiled and for a moment he thought his heart had stopped, so beautiful did she look.

He found himself standing next to her, though he did not recall moving his feet.  "Hello," he said, only barely remembering in the nick of time how to speak.

Culurien smiled.  "Hello to you as well."

"Are you…" he stopped. "I mean, have you… that is…" he stopped again, all coherent thought abandoning him.

She put her hand on his shoulder and peered into his face.  "Are you feeling quite well?"

"No," he said. "I mean yes… I do not…" he paused. "What are you talking about?"

"Elrond," she exclaimed, very concerned now, "what is the matter?"

"I do not know," he said. "I have not the foggiest notion."

Foggy is right, she thought. "You are not yourself.  Perhaps you should sit down," and she guided him to a chair.

If I am not myself, who am I? Elrond wondered absently. He smiled and began to laugh quietly.

Now Culurien was totally bewildered. She took a quick look around, but no one was paying them any heed.  "Elrond! I ask you again, what is it? What is wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, wiping his eyes. "I am fine, do not distress yourself."

She was not ready to let it go just yet. "What is so amusing?"

"I know not," he said, dismissing it. "Me, I suppose, the situation… actually, nothing, nothing at all."

Their eyes met and she held his gaze for a moment. He did look normal, now.

"I was trying to ask if you were meeting someone for dinner," he managed to say finally.

"Actually, no," Culurien replied smiling. "Erestor did ask me a good time ago, if I would sit next to him at some point, but he has not mentioned it lately."

"Well," said Elrond, hiding his disappointment, "He is sitting there alone so perhaps you should join him." Culurien paused, searching his face.

"Possibly I could sit between you two gentlemen?" she asked, hopefully.

"That would be fine with me," he said, "although Erestor may not relish the thought of sharing you. Also he would probably think it odd if you ask him to move over a seat."

"You are right, no doubt," she said reluctantly. "Well, first things first, let us see if he welcomes me."

They made their way to the head of the table. Erestor looked up as they approached and his face lit up when he saw Culurien, then fell again when he saw Elrond behind her. When she came right before him and addressed herself to him, he was completely overwhelmed. She sat down to his right and Elrond sat to the left in his usual seat.

It was a delicious meal, the kitchen having out-did itself once again. It was the elvish New Year, called 'Yestare,'* the day before the first day of spring.

Even though Erestor had his back firmly facing Elrond for most of the meal, Elrond could not miss the doe-eyed looks he was giving Culurien. He found that the only way to quell his growing irritation was to turn the other way and demand Glorfindel's constant attention, who in turn was irritated because he wished to converse with his own dinner guest.

Why, oh why, in the name of all of the Valar were these banquets ever invented? thought Elrond, peevishly. He was Lord of Imladris; perhaps he could abandon the custom.
He amused himself imagining this and other even more revolutionary thoughts for the rest of the meal.

Elrond went to collect Arwen after dessert.  As he offered her his arm, she whispered teasingly in his ear.  "You are frowning again, what have I done now?"  She had surprised him by the question.  "I know not of your misdeeds.  What have you done?" For indeed he had not seen much of her recently, her preference for entertainment being confined mostly to long solitary walks. He did not think even Culurien saw much of Arwen lately.

"Nothing, I was jesting," she said, looking at her father thoughtfully. He seemed so distracted and distant.

Elrond escorted her to their seats, not looking back, not wishing to see where Erestor and Culurien went. He listened to the musicians unheeding, his eyes wide open, but seeing little.

"Adar," said Arwen, her excitement breaking through his fog. "Look."

Culurien was standing in the centre, in front of the minstrels. The music started. She opened her mouth and the room was filled with her sometimes sweet, sometimes strong soprano voice.
Another elf sang with her, taking the low parts of the song while Culurien took the high. The tune was a happy one about woodland feasts and dancing, experiences of her Mirkwood home, no doubt.

Elrond sat entranced. He made no movement at all, his eyes never leaving her face. He realized right then, at that very moment, that his heart and soul were no longer in his possession, but belonged to another.

The song was not especially long and when it was ended, the group of elves who had gathered in front applauded with enthusiasm.

Culurien curtsied prettily and turned to sit behind a large harp that was standing on the floor. She sang and played alone for this song. Elrond thought later that it had been about dreams or unicorns or something, but his attention was not focussed on the lyrics, so he could not be completely certain.

At the end, with much exuberant applause, the audience allowed her to retire. Elrond stood, his hand held out, beckoning her to him. When she stood in front of him, he laid his hand on the side of her face. His eyes glistened with emotion.

"I name thee Linariel,"* he said in a clear voice, loud enough for all to hear.  "For thy song is the sweetest sound in Middle-Earth."

The audience burst into wild applause.

                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*April 6th
*Song of the morning star