In a Time of Sorrow
Chapter Two
Disclaimers: No, they still don't belong to me.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to Nemis for betaing send out even larger amounts of chocolate than before
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By the next morning, the tale of the illness of the Master of the house had spread throughout Imladris. Although most mourned, there were a few darker rumours.
"When he dies … for it is certain that he will, for he will succumb like his human kin … Indeed, have you heard tell of the death toll in Arnor alone? Well, when he does, who will get you-know-what?" one Sindar elf muttered to his companion.
"Well, it could be the Lady Celebrían, she is strong enough, but she is, after all, female, and she will not take his death well. Or it could be one of the twins," replied the other, "but they are too young and reckless. What think you that it will be Lord Glorfindel?"
In a heartbeat, he found himself pinned to the intricately decorated wall by a deadly hand.
"Never speak such words again, do you hear me?' Elladan's teeth were tightly gritted. "My father will recover, and, in Mandos' name, if you air sentiments like these in my hearing, you will not live to see it."
He felt his more cautious twin prying his fingers away from the gulping elf's neck, and Arwen hovering anxiously by his shoulder.
As they moved away, the eldest reluctantly, leaving a trembling wreck behind them, Elrohir called over his shoulder, "I may have saved you from an unpleasant fate at the hands of my brother, but never forget what Lord Elrond has endured. Then, as now, he triumphed."
Together they retreated to their parents' chambers.
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Shooing her anxious progeny away once more to sleep and then gather ingredients for a soothing tea, Celebrían finally rid herself of the fussing healers who had no more to add at the present time than their fears.
Afraid to jolt her husband, she crept onto their bed, curling herself around him; alleviating the burning heat of his limbs with her own cool ones. With shaking fingers she brushed stray strands of hair away from his face, tenderly tracing the arch of one eyebrow. Dazedly, he opened his unfocused eyes.
"You are here?"
"But of course, where else might I be but at your side?" she soothed him.
He reflected for a moment.
"But where am I?"
"You are in Imladris, my beloved," her voice broke. "You are at home."
Elrond nodded.
"I feel so weak, as if deathly poison runs through my veins," he croaked.
"Speak not such words, my beloved," she pleaded. "For you are merely ill, and will recover."
"How so? How can this be?"
"'Tis because of your human heritage, it seems, and because of your valour in tending the sick. You have the plague." Her exquisite face was sad yet proud.
"'Twas not valorous," he chuckled weakly, "for it was my duty, and I did not know that this would happen to me."
They were silent for a few moments, but Elrond grew restless.
"Celebrían," he sighed. "Do not leave me, but might you move away? I am burning with a terrible fire, and the heat of your body is more than I can bear."
Suppressing a sob, she moved back to the chair and reached for a pile of soft cloths lying ready. She dipped one in a basin of herb-scented cold water and, laying it on his feverish brow, found her hand once more captured in his clammy one.
"How Elros would laugh at me now!" His wide eyes blackened with sorrow. "But he is not here, and I miss him so much, at this time above all, for I am so very frightened."
"Shush, pen-nîn tithen." She clutched his hand, pressing a tender kiss to his knuckles. "Tell me about him."
And somewhere in the midst of a bittersweet tale of a fine summer's day spent playing by the sea, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep, his cheeks soaked with tears.
Glorfindel came to sit beside the lady, looking very much as if he had not slept, his usually beautiful face grey with exhaustion.
"Celebrían," he said softly. "Celebrían, you must rest; you must eat. Leave him with me for a few hours."
"No," she returned spiritedly. "Why should I sleep when you do not, Glorfindel?"
"You must try for his sake. You are no use to him as you are."
"But he is my husband!" she wailed, emotion overcoming her. "How can I leave him so?"
"Must I then set your sons to carry you to some suitable room, and you daughter to guard the door?" Glorfindel asked. Seeing how distraught she was, he gathered her into his arms, rocking her gently. "There, there, faeg hên."
As her muffled sobs subsided, he guided her from the room. Wandering aimlessly through the corridors, she found numerous curious eyes fixed upon her, scrutinising the tearstains on her face. The normally quiet lady was hard pressed to restrain herself from cursing them in the foulest language the border guards of Lothlórien knew. With a start, she realised that she was still clad in the gown she had donned to greet her husband's return, and that its fine fabric was creased beyond repair. Although she could not care less about her appearance in such dire times, she made her way to Arwen's chamber where her maids appeared to have congregated after their expulsion from the sick room, and chose new garments at random, tugging a comb roughly through her resisting hair.
A hovering maid pressed a lump of bread and cheese into her hand, and she accepted it, without really knowing what she did.
With shaky steps Celebrían made her way to the little pavilion on the water's edge where Elrond had first confessed his love to her in a nervous whisper.
Mindlessly, her thoughts bent on the wonder of that day and the horror of this, she began shredding the bread and cheese between her fingers. Soon she was surrounded by a hoard of eager ducks, but she paid them no attention. Finally, she curled into a ball on the stone bench and slept fitfully, the silver ring which Elrond had worn during their betrothal clutched in the palm of her hand.
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The elf-lord awoke to fingers on the skin of his wrist, and cringed at the touch. The healer smiled reassuringly at him before tilting his head up and pouring a noxious draft down his throat. Elrond coughed and spluttered at the foul taste before swallowing. Through the fog which seemed to surround him he glimpsed Glorfindel regarding him anxiously.
"Well met, mellon-iaur," he gasped sardonically, and the blond lord was by his side instantly, scattering the assembled healers in his haste.
"Do you feel better, little one?"
Elrond desperately wanted to tell his friend reassuring lies, but his eyes betrayed him.
"It is no better," the golden-haired elf stated bluntly. The Master of Imladris tried to shake his head, but he winced at the effort, for the rasp of the cotton on his neck stung like a hail of arrows.
"Nay…" he trailed off. "Where is Celebrían?"
"I practically had to threaten your wife with the Imladris Guard before she consented to rest. She should be sleeping."
Elrond murmured his thanks. Despite the terrible agony it caused him, he raised his arm to touch Glorfindel's hunched shoulder.
"When … when I am gone, take care of her for me. You should send a dispatch-rider to Lothlórien as soon as possible, for she will need Galadriel and Celeborn by her side." He gritted his teeth against the pain.
His companion sucked in his breath sharply, before responding. "I believe that Celebrían has already told you not to indulge yourself in this folly. Pray comply with her requests."
"But I feel it, Glorfindel. I feel death approaching, and in my mind's eye I can see Mandos beckoning to me." He began to fumble for Vilya.
"Do not even think of giving me that accursed ring!" the other barked. "I will not take it, for it is your burden to bear, and bear it you shall, until Sauron is finally defeated."
Elrond relented under the force of his glacial stare, but his own eyes were filled with death.
TBC
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pen-nîn tithen – my little one.
faeg hên – poor child.
mellon-iaur – old friend.
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