In a Time of Sorrow
Chapter Four
Thanks to Nemis for betaing.
Thanks for all the reviews.
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It took a few moments for them to realise that a party of strangers milling around in the courtyard was the focus of attention. They exhaled in relief.
A tall blond elf sat astride a horse, looking disdainfully down at Erestor who was trying his utmost to soothe the visitor's injured pride.
"I am Lord Halmir, and I come as an emissary from Círdan at the Havens to discuss matters of great import. I expected to be greeted by the Master of the House, not by some lowly underling."
Erestor bridled and looked helplessly to Glorfindel, but the seneschal only shrugged, having already been rebuked.
"Lord Elrond is indisposed." Elladan stepped forward.
"And who might you be?" Halmir's eyes swept over him.
"I am Elladan, Elrond's son." The Peredhel drew himself up to his full imposing height.
"Lord Círdan would not want me to be greeted by an elfling." The Sindar elf waved his hand in dismissal.
"Nor would the Shipwright wish to endanger the life of the Master of Rivendell," an imperious voice came from the archway which led into the interior of the house. The assembled elves looked up in surprise to see Celebrían standing there, her gown crumpled and her face weary. "Lord Halmir, my husband is gravely ill and cannot greet you. You must accept our hospitality in his stead."
"What foolery is this?" Halmir riposted. "We elves do not fall sick. Let Elrond of Imladris meet with me and cease in the profession of these ridiculous excuses for avoiding our discussions, however much he might dislike them."
Blue fire flashed in the silver-haired elf's eyes.
"As you are so fond of reminding us," she replied tautly, "my husband has human blood. Because of this, he has contracted the plague which sweeps through these lands."
Halmir was taken aback, but he still blustered, "If he is as ill as you say, let us judge for ourselves."
There could be no mistaking the cold fury on Celebrían's face.
"The Lord of Imladris is far too ill to receive visitors. You will have to accept that I speak the truth, Halmir,"" she said icily, her use of his name reminding him that while her husband had taken no royal title, he far outranked this petty Sindar noble, as did she.
Sullenly, he acquiesced. Behind him Celebrían could see a tall slim youth, who, despite his black hair, bore a profound resemblance to the emissary, but she dismissed it from her mind. Turning, she hurried back in doors, her flower-laden children at her heels, leaving the household to deal with the visitors.
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Darkness surrounded him, stretching from horizon to horizon. There was neither light nor sound, and time itself seemed to have slowed to a crawl. Elrond knew not how long he stood in that desolate place before the first figure emerged from the shadows. Soon, however, there was a great crowd before him.
The Peredhel stared, recognising in that sea of faces all those he had cherished. Celebrían and their three children, standing close to one another. Elwing, her fingers entwined with those of Eärendil, from whose face shone an unearthly light. Gil-galad, once more whole and alive, his coronet upon his dark head. Elros, as young as he had been when he chose the Doom of Men. His dear friends, Glorfindel and Erestor, and a host of others whom he had known in the long years.
Elrond's heart filled with joy to see them all, love welling up within him until it was all he could feel. He started towards them, a torrent of words springing to his lips, a dazzling smile of welcome dawning on his face.
But they turned from him, scorn written on their features, and passed once more into the indescribable void. Only one was left.
"Maglor!" Elrond stretched his hands out in greeting to the elf of whom he had grown fond, despite all the crimes which hung between them.
Maglor's face contorted in disgust.
"I may be a kinslayer," he spat, "but I was never such a traitor as you. You let your king die. You allow your children to wander in the wilderness and your wife to languish in your gardens while you devote more of yourself to books than to her. I may be damned, but my sins are nothing compared to yours."
Elrond felt the cruel words rend his soul asunder.
"Mag… Maglor…" he wept. "Please … no … speak no more. I know I have been foolish but…"
"But nothing," the Noldo laughed harshly, the sound seeming incongruous in this place of nothingness. "I wish my father had been there that accursed day when I found you. "Fëanor would have known what to do with such a worthless whelp as you. He would have left you to burn in the ruins of Sirion, or have thrown you into the sea after your mother."
The Peredhel could no longer bear the condemnation in the singer's sweet voice and cast himself into the abyss which yawned before him, willingly surrendering himself to oblivion.
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Halmir fiddled impatiently with the fine stem of his wineglass as he gazed sidelong at the members of the household arrayed around the table.
"It is unusual that the family sit down to their meals thus, is it not?" he remarked snidely to Arwen whose robe was slightly torn from a tussle with a rose bush. Her brothers looked no better, the sleeves of their hastily donned robes rolled up to their elbows, their black hair barely combed and their breeches covered in grass-stains from where they had wrestled in the grass, desperate to work off some of their nervous energy.
"But it is indeed an unusual and tragic course of events which leads us to this day, and we must all mourn its coming." Gelmir blushed faintly as the words left his mouth but met his father's quelling stare resolutely.
It was only her upbringing which prevented Arwen from cheering at the much-needed retort coming from such an unexpected quarter. Shooting the youngster a thankful look, she raised her glass high.
"That it is. Let us toast to the Lord of Imladris' safe recovery." Her fingers trembled as they clutched the goblet, but with a great effort she kept her voice steady.
Much though he might dislike the Master of Rivendell, distrusting his mixed blood and suspicious of his motives in refusing the crown of the High Kings, Halmir did not wish Elrond dead. Nor was he entirely indifferent to the quavering emotion in the Lady Arwen's plea. With a brief nod, he drained the fragrant wine from his glass. His son did the same with a brief prayer on his kind lips, and the frightened folk of the haven followed him.
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Elrond turned to Celebrían who stood by his side, garbed all in sky-blue, silver filigree jewellery glinting in the sunlight. With one hand he tucked a white rose into her shining hair, and with the other he drew her to him, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, one of the many they had shared in their enduring devotion. He admired the play of her eyelashes on her cheeks, amazed as always that she was his…
But she stiffened against him and backed away, her nails digging into his arm. Baffled, he looked at her with confusion in his grey eyes.
"What is it, melethril-nîn?" he inquired.
"Do not call me that," she hissed. "I am not yours. I never was."
"You are not mine?"
"No. You disgust me. How could you think that I would love you, you with your Edain blood which coarsens your features? How could I love a half-elf?"
She crept closer, winding her arms sinuously round his neck.
"You will never belong," she whispered in his ear, "least of all in my arms. You revolt me. No longer will you press your odious caresses upon me."
Then she laughed, much as Maglor had.
"I never loved you," she repeated. "This is my love."
And she embraced a faceless elf who suddenly stood by her side, and kissed him, her hands roaming across his slight body. Elrond was rooted to the spot, watching her display in mute misery.
"Well? What have you to say, Elrond Peredhil?" she said, raising her head from her lover. But he could find no words to express his anguish.
~*~
He awoke to find Celebrían leaning over him in concern.
"No!" he yelled, leaping from the bed. "Do not torment me so, my beloved. I shall leave you alone, I promise. I never thought that I could keep you. I never imagined that you would love me. Please…"
She stared at her husband with wide eyes as he stood, shivering and naked, in the corner of the room. She advanced towards him with her hands spread, her heart shattering.
"I love you, El-nîn," she pleaded. "You are my only star."
He cringed away from her, but she steadfastly held out one hand to him.
"Trust me, meleth-nîn. I am here, and I love you and cannot bear to be parted from you."
He looked at her with his eyes black with fear, but eventually he threw himself at her brokenly, shaking with tears. As he did so, his knees buckled under him and he collapsed into her waiting arms.
As she supported his lean frame back to the bed, he sobbed, "I … I thought that you did not love me … that you desired another…"
He sank into the soft pillows, and she tilted his chin up until the starlit grey eyes met hers.
"Never have I desired another as I desire you, body and spirit. I love you; I need you; you are my soul," she vowed. Despite his fever, she pressed a light kiss to his lips. "See."
He nodded silently, drawing her close. After many minutes of sheer exhaustion, he found his voice.
"Stay with me."
She sat beside his bed as the tide of delusion ebbed. She drew her fingers through his dark hair, gently removing the tangles until it shone despite his illness. Tenderly, she began to braid it, her fingers whispering across his temples. When they skimmed the sensitive tips of his ears, he focused on her. Celebrían smiled tremulously.
"Herven."
"I was dreaming?" he asked.
"Aye, it seems that 'tis the course this disease takes." She finished her task.
"And you love me?"
"Always," she choked. "How could you doubt it?" She held up her right hand so that he could see the intricate gold band on her index finger.
"Forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive." She smoothed the furrows from his forehead. "'Twas merely because you are sick."
As they sank into silence, she saw his eyes become suddenly clouded with fear.
"What is it? Share your concerns with me," she demanded worriedly.
"It is the onset of the final stage of the disease, is it not, my lord?" Hildor stood in the doorway, bowing slightly.
"Yes," Elrond croaked. "Once the … once the dreams pass, come the … come the…" His voice failed him.
Celebrían crossed the room to confront the healer.
"What then?"
"Once the dreams have passed, my lady, the patient begins to cough blood; palpitations follow. Few who reach that stage survive."
"He knows this?"
"Naturally," Hildor's voice held a note of pride despite the dire circumstances.
"Gather my children," she commanded.
TBC
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melethril-nîn – my (female) lover.
El-nîn – my star.
Herven – husband.