Imladris Revisited
By: DLR 2002
Disclaimer: Characters owned by JRR Tolkien
Elrond/OFC
Rated PG13 for necking
Chapter 14
Elrond was laughing. He held a small child in his arms, a female with black curly hair and bright green eyes. He was tickling her and she was giggling with delight.
Culurien looked at them both and smiled. She was holding a child as well. They were all very happy.
Elrond turned and saw a tall figure with silver blonde hair walking towards them. "Celebrían," he whispered, shocked. She held up her hand, palm facing him, and then she turned away and walked towards a figure standing in the shadows.
Elrond's eyes snapped open and he sat up. He struggled to think clearly. He wanted to recall every detail immediately, for he might not be able to later. He ran his fingers through his hair and sat there quietly for a time.
Eventually he became aware that somebody was speaking to him. It was Lindir, holding out a garment. He slid the robe over his head and got out of bed.
Elrond went out onto the terrace and sat down while Lindir brought him a hot drink. He sipped it and stared out at the mountains for a long while.
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Culurien had been upset to find Elrond gone the morning after their long talk.
She had questioned Lindir closely, but he would only tell her that Elrond had said not to worry about him. She got the distinct impression that Lindir was quite worried himself.
He has run away from me, Culurien thought. She spent the three days he was gone pacing the length of her balcony, looking down the road, or climbing one of the high towers from which one could view the entire valley.
One day it was so damp and foggy she could not see at all and she achieved nothing but to give herself a cold chill.
Arwen showed very little concern. "He has been taking care of himself for a long time, I am sure he is fine." She spent all of her time worrying about Aragorn.
Culurien was not convinced; she was more aware of Elrond's mental state than Arwen.
Then he had returned. He seemed happy and relaxed, smiling at everyone.
Culurien did not approach him. Her mind and her heart were unsure of their feelings for him, but the rest of her body had no such doubts and every inch of it trembled at the memory of his touch and she felt a burning ache, low in her abdomen every time she caught a glimpse of him.
And he did not approach her either. Culurien was certain more than ever that he had left for the sole purpose of avoiding her, that he regretted saying anything about his past to her and that he was still annoyed with her. She could not convince herself that he was probably very busy with the management of the house after being away three days.
What is the matter with you? she said angrily to herself. You should be happy to still have a roof over your head. Maintain a grip, she thought, with a wry smile. So rather than worry herself into a frenzy, she spent most of her time in the Hall of Healing arranging, cataloging and refining the many ingredients that she and Elrond had collected over the last few months.
Elrond's heart felt lighter than it had in some time. The trip had been a good tonic for him and that, combined with physical exertion, had left his mind remarkably clear.
Lindir had told him of Culurien's inquiries and he had noted the concerned looks she had thrown in his direction. Better and better, he thought. Let her worry about him for a while. He smiled to himself. He had to be out of his mind to take Glorfindel's advice about love affairs, but damn, the elf was right, he did get results and left no trail of broken hearts behind him. He must be doing something right.
Elrond busied himself in the administration of Imladris for several days and put Culurien out of his mind with a great effort.
At midmorning, one day, all of his tasks accomplished, Elrond recollected an additional duty. Another High Day was approaching; he must get down to the kitchens to have a council with Caladir, the kitchen master. Elrond did not believe in 'sending' for people when he wished to see them, he much preferred poking his nose into all corners of his household.
It was after luncheon when he entered the main kitchen, a veritable beehive of activity as usual. He looked around, smiling and then his heart stopped. Culurien was there, up to her elbows in dough, covered with flour. Elrond stood transfixed.
Miriel, the senior baker, looked up at him and smiled. "Good day, Master Elrond."
"Good day to you, Madam," Elrond returned. To Culurien he asked directly, "what are you doing?"
"Learning to bake bread," she answered happily.
"Why?" asked Elrond.
"It is a useful skill," said she.
He looked bewildered. "So you just said to yourself 'today I will learn a useful skill?"
She smiled at him. "Actually, I came down here early this morning to gather some herbs from the garden. One thing led to another and I am still here."
Elrond watched her work, fascinated.
"Did you come here on an errand, Master?" Miriel asked him.
"Oh, yes," Elrond recalled, standing. "I must speak with Caladir." He reluctantly took his eyes away from Culurien and went in search of that elf.
When he returned, the loaves of bread were in the oven and Culurien was dusting off her hands.
He addressed Miriel. "May I steal your assistant for a short while?"
"Certainly, Master," she responded. "We are finished here."
Elrond took Culurien by the hand and led her through the outside door into the garden. They walked down several paths until they found a secluded bench and sat. Elrond looked at her in silence for a while.
"Did you have something you wished to say to me?" Culurien asked, feeling a bit unnerved by this scrutiny.
"Not with words." He lifted his hand to her face and traced a line in the flour. Her heartbeat quickened at his touch and she looked into his eyes.
Their lips met in a feverish kiss. She opened her mouth wider and their tongues touched, sending a shiver of excitement right down to her toes. Their arms went around each other and Elrond caressed her back.
One hand slipped down her hip to end up stroking her inner thigh. She pulled back far enough to speak. "Please."
Elrond let go of her. "I jump too far ahead."
"You do," she responded.
They sat for a moment in silence, catching their breath.
"May I make a rule?"
"Certainly," he said doubtfully.
"No touching below the shoulders? Not yet."
"Unlimited touching above the shoulders?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.
"Agreed," she said. "Agreed," he smiled.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her again, deeply. Taking her bottom lip between his teeth, he bit it gently. His lips moved to the side of her face, nuzzling the soft skin just beneath her ear.
His mouth was hot as he traced the line of her jaw with his lips and tongue. He turned his attention to her ear and took the edge of it into his mouth, biting it, and then licking it, his tongue invading all the delicate crevasses.
Her breathing became ragged. "Oh Elrond, what are you doing?"
"Merely following the rules," he murmured, his breath burning in her already over-heated ear.
"This is a public place."
"We are not in any state of undress," he mumbled, his tongue tracing the fine veins of her throat.
"Not yet," she whispered.
He sat back and contemplated her, his face flushed, his blood pounding. Suddenly, Culurien started to giggle. He was perplexed. "What," he asked, "is so amusing?"
Culurien continued to laugh, her hand over her mouth as she pointed at him.
Elrond looked down. He was wearing a long, knee length belted black tunic over his breeches. It was covered in flour.
"Well, it appears we will have to get undressed after all," he said with a smirk, regarding both of their white powdered garments.
"I believe a damp towel will be just as effective," she said, moving to go fetch one.
"Culurien, wait." He caught her hand and drew her back down beside him.
"I do have something I want to say to you." He faced her. "I had not planned on saying it now, in this place, but maybe it is the right time." He took a deep breath.
"We face an awkward situation, you and I. Under normal circumstances I would ask you to betroth yourself to me and you might accept. We would exchange rings and be married in a year.
"But these are not normal circumstances. I cannot get married, I cannot ask you to bind yourself to me, but I can give you a ring and it may mean something to you."
He reached into his pocket and took out a small object wrapped in tissue. He put it into her hand. "I have carried this about for a while."
She looked at his face, hesitating, and then she opened the paper. It was a beautiful golden ring with a brilliant green emerald set in the center surrounded by small diamonds.*
Culurien was overwhelmed. "I cannot wear this."
"Nay, you cannot, not at this time," he agreed. "At least not on your finger, but perhaps next to your heart." He took a gold chain from around his neck and gave her that as well.
She continued to stare at the ring in her hand, saying nothing.
"I give you this ring in anticipation of a promise I will make as soon as I am able. Your choice is to decide whether to wait for the promise or conclude this is a fruitless venture, doomed to failure." He paused, watching her face.
"I will wait for the promise," she said softly. "Have you any insight into the future in this instance?"
"Nay." He shook his head. "No real vision, only dreams, which are not to be trusted."
She looked up quickly. "You had a dream about us?"
"Yes," he answered, "about four nights back."
Her eyes grew wide. "So did I, four nights back. We were very happy. We had children, a boy and a girl."
"I had exactly the same dream," he said quietly.
"Who was the silver lady?"
"Celebrían," he said softly.
"I thought as much," she said. "What was she trying to tell you?"
"I know not," he answered. "Dream interpretation has never been an interest of mine. They give no clear indication of their meaning and also one's mind may put its own stamp on the events."
"Exactly," she said. "I thought at the time it was wishful thinking, not an omen of the future, although this throws it into a different light. If it is a prediction, who is doing the predicting?"
"I know not," he said again, his brows knitted together. "But I have prayed for guidance. Manwë, perhaps?"
"It is not much of a guide," said she. "It gives you a conclusion, but does not tell you how to get there."
"Perhaps it is not a guide but a reassurance; Do not worry, all will be well in the end."
"Humph," she snorted. "Well that is something, I suppose. Where and when will this 'end' take place, I wonder?"
"I suspect the Blessed Realm, since we have children," he said gently. "All hurts are said to be cured there."
She smiled thinly. "That takes care of where, what of when?"
"That is cloudier. I stay in Middle-earth through the end of this Age, until the Great Evil is broken and the power of the elves diminished." He considered a moment. "Perhaps another century or so."
"One hundred years?" she said in astonishment.
He nodded. "Give or take a decade."
"One hundred years until we can be married?" she asked, shocked.
"It is not that long," he said.
"Not to you, maybe, for you look back on a life-span ten times that of mine. To me it seems an eternity."
Elrond put his arms around Culurien and she laid her head on his shoulder.
"Do not worry; all will be well in the end."
"I love you, Elrond Peredhil," she sighed.
"I love you as well, Culurien Linariel," he answered.
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*Author's note. Because this is not a traditional elven betrothal, I chose to ignore traditional elven betrothal traditions.