Disclaimer: I own nothing here, I just steal JRR Tolkien's characters and fool around with them.

When I finished A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían, I wanted to write something light (I had no idea High Princes of Tirion would turn in such an AnGsT fest at that time). Subsequently, this was banished to my "to write" list.
The idea never quite left me alone, with now this as a result.
More parts are planned, but I can't really say anything on how fast they'll come (if at all).

This would pick up where A Tale of Elrond and Celebrían ended.
Angst, a little reasoning in vicious circles, and of course, Elrond/Celebrían.
R for this first instalment, which can hopefully survive on its own as well.

My thanks to kalurien for giving it a look-over as usual, and for providing me with the title (and telling me to post it). ;)
Also a thank-you to all the people who put up with me on LJ.
You are all great writers, and an inspiration to boot.
I'm lucky to have you around.

For when the Great Ring was unmade the Three Rings of the Elves failed also, and Elrond was weary of Middle-earth at last and departed seeking Celebrían, and returned never again.
'The Peoples of Middle-earth', the History of Middle-earth, volume 12, by J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien (The Making of Appendix A)

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Passing into the West
by Nemis

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She woke as she always had on Aman, alone. The warm body she had thought was beside her was not truly there, the larger part of the bed was cold. It was not the cold draft which came in through the window that chilled her flesh, and almost her heart in an attempt to protect her from the sadness which followed almost at once.

So it was a dream, Celebrían thought, turning onto her back and staring at the ceiling. It had been merely another instant in which she had been allowed to see her husband, touch him, without actually doing so. Allowed to feel his hands caressing her thighs, loose strands of his hair tickling her bare skin... His lips so hot, warming her, returning to her, and with that completing her.

With a soft but exasperated sigh she pressed her hands against her eyes.

Had it truly been better to leave Middle-earth? So she could be subjected to these frustrating figments of her imagination? So she could feel this emptiness, would have to go on, confronted with his absence every single day...

Harshly she dragged her fingers through her hair and squinted her eyes firmly shut.

She wondered, not for the first time, if she would know of his death, if it were so.

Even if evil had now been vanquished, and how heartening was it to believe it had been, what if it was not true? One mere unguarded moment, a twist of fate, the One's unforeseen intention, and it could be so; her loss would become too great to bear indeed. Would she be able to wait for him until he returned from Mandos? Uncertainty ruled her heart in this matter. She feared she would not be. Instead she would do that which she had been fighting so many years now, and join him, so that she could feel him, and the comfort of his fëa, even if that was the only thing that would remain for them.

If he would decide to return.

A sudden cloud pressed on her mind like a dull ache at this unwanted thought, and she understood all too well what Irmo and Estë had attempted to tell her not too long ago. You are not healed yet, Celebrían.

Could she ever be healed with Elrond still in Middle-earth?

For what if Elrond had decided to remain there? That indeed all the contact they had shared after she left for Aman had been in her mind alone. What if he did not feel the urge to leave Middle-earth yet, the lands of his birth, the lands that he had helped protect, and which lay so close to his heart? She could not rule it out, it was an uncertainty that only his presence could chase away.

How easy it is to harbour animosity after so many years... When I left, he insisted on it, he allowed me to go, but what if it is no longer so? What if he had a change of heart? What if he hates me for leaving?

All could have changed.

It was one of those many moments when despair was so much easier to give into. She did not experience such instances as often as she once had, but when they did come upon her they never failed to tempt her beyond belief.

But then, just before she allowed for tears, her gaze fell on a piece of clothing, grey in colour, draped over a chair on the far end of the room. For an instant she could not identify it.

Not hers. Certainly not hers.

Quickly she threw the blankets away, confronted with the morning chill which had free reign because the drapes had been pulled aside, leaving the window wide open, and the air able to enter and depart as it pleased.

I have not left them so, she realised.

Barefooted, she neared the chair and collected the grey tunic, for that was what the formless shape had been, a tunic. A single moment she simply stood there, the garment in her hands. The sense of it felt exquisite to her, not because of the fabric being expressedly soft, or beautiful, for it was not. Fine, yes, not common, but not extraordinary either. Pressing it against her face as if it were a last way to be absolutely certain, she smiled. It was only a mere detail that made the tunic so marvellous. The fact that it belonged to her husband.

She was certain, quite, quite certain, that she had not brought this here. She had not packed it as a remembrance and taken it out last night in a desperate attempt to bring him closer.

This was his.

He had brought it.

He had worn it.

He was here.

It was as if she had woken in a strange place, and had simply needed a moment to recognise her surroundings. His warm body had been beside her, his hands had touched her skin, his lips had met hers. Not a dream. Not a dream...

No one would deny Elrond Peredhil had an inclination for exploration. Perhaps it had lessened over the years, or by the strains of duty, but since neither mattered anymore at this point, it would be fitting if he were using the early morning to discover something of this place, the Gardens of Lórien.

If he was here, she would find him.

Leaving the chambers, heart filled with hope, she found herself in the hallway, the last stars shining down through the open parts of roof, late in departing, perchance because they were still speaking to the son of Eärendil, their brightest earthly companion.

For a moment she felt sad for Elwing. To be wedded to a star...

An honour, of course, but does honour hold one during the night?

With calm but determined steps she walked through the unoccupied chambers nearby, allowing her eyes to explore only long enough to establish Elrond was not present.

Her hand on the wall, feeling the intricate carvings beneath her fingertips, heightening her sense of awareness, she moved towards the balcony that bordered her rooms. She should have searched there first. The light was different, different than she had known it on Aman before, but so familiar. It was like an aura which she had taken for granted, and which she only now realised she had missed. The carrier of this light stood on the small terrace, deep in thought.

His hair unbraided, strands of it were moved by the wind, but somehow the wind did not dare disturb this picture of silent contemplation. He was eternal, Celebrían thought, yet somehow mixed with time.

Quietly she neared.

As if he felt her presence, he turned, and she observed a most warm and wonderful smile play across his lips. His inner peace was not the same as it had once been, instead it was more one of tiredness now, caused by lack of rest, by pain, by sorrow, by suffering. It was the tiredness that came from Middle-earth.

And yet he did not give into it yet, she knew, as he held out a hand for her, a glimmer of worry in his grey eyes, even if he knew all too well that due to his Edain blood he was more aware of the cold than she would ever be.

'You should have dressed warmer, this morning is...'

She looked at him, almost not believing, not accepting, and then suddenly feeling everything fall into place. Without speaking a word, she threw her arms around him, encircling his waist. Smiling, picking up on her thoughts with the same ease as he would have a thousand years ago, Elrond silenced himself and enveloped her with his arms as well, resting his head on hers.

'I should not have left you.'

She did not answer; there was no need for it. It did not matter now.

From somewhere; the acoustics did not allow Elrond to precisely locate the origin of the sound, someone sang, and there was a soft music accompanying it.

Where they, the two of them, had sought the inside the previous evening, others had remained, had not slept, but had instead told their tales, sung their lays, sitting there as they likely had for ages on end beneath the trees.

Elrond closed his eyes.

No more councils. No more decisions concerning life or death. No more separation from his other self.

At this point, he was unable to decide whether he had paid a high price for this, his presence here, now. Or whether, somehow, he was being repaid for all his efforts.

I did what I had to do, he thought. Not because someone wished me to, not truthfully. I did what I believed was right...

He felt her hands on his back, holding him close as he held her close, her face resting against his chest.

Had it been worth it? To be without this for so long? This touch, this feeling?

She had told him he would like it here. That there was so much to explore within his own mind. Yet a part of him felt lost, even in her embrace. It was as if an endless period lay before him, in which nothing and everything mattered, and he could not help but wonder what his reason for being here was.

'Do you think,' he whispered, 'that it is possible to go without purpose for long?'

Celebrían gazed up at him, and began to tell him not to worry, and he wished to trust the unspoken words.

But at almost the same moment, there was another whisper in his mind, and he was overwhelmed by a feeling of loss that he suspected had been lurking within him ever since he had left Imladris. He wondered if he had tried to forget it. As if that were ever possible.

'Ssh,' she hushed, pulling him towards her. Closing his eyes he rested his head against her shoulder and felt her fingers go through his hair.

Close to blame he was, blaming himself for not accompanying her to Aman, the knowledge that if he had his daughter might be here now foremost in his mind. It was a selfish thing to think, but there it was. Or what if he had gone to Lórien with his wife that fateful journey, to protect her as was his duty, as he had sworn to on that blissful day they were married? Perhaps all could have been avoided... So many things could have been avoided if he had simply tried harder.

'Our daughter sends you her love,' he managed to whisper, before tightening his grasp on her, feeling her answer, infected by it as well. She slowly pulled him down with her, their embrace never breaking.

Looking at her seated on the stone beside him, eyes as filled with tears as his own were, he realised this would not do. He would not burden her with this also; she had gone through so much already. These misgivings should be his own.

The instant he chose to close his mind to her, he felt her fingers dig into his arm, and then her hands moving to touch his face, her lips everywhere, while he closed his eyes, suddenly alone, even though he should not be.

'I do not deserve that, El-nîn,' she whispered, her voice breaking.

He shook his head.

'You do not understand, I cannot put you through this; you have endured so much already...'

The panic that had come over Celebrían quickly turned into anger. It was as if they were separated all over again this time by choice instead of necessity. Not this time. She would not allow it. Grasping the front of his robes, her eyes met his intently, burning.

'I would rather go to Mandos than allow you to go through this by yourself... It is not yours alone to bear. She was mine also.' Increasing the grip on his clothing as he averted his gaze she shook her head, tears blurring her vision. 'Mine also, Elrond.'

Bowing his head, a quavering breath escaped him, and he looked up at her, not able to speak.

I wish for your help, but should not... I must bear this alone...

'It is not your solitary sorrow!' She shook him forcefully. 'You are not meant to bear it alone!'

Exasperatedly, she pushed herself away, chest heaving, tears on her cheeks, desperate.

Bringing up a hand, aware her eyes remained locked with his, he touched her cheek, attempting to dry her tears.

'Celebrían...'

So much a part of him, how would he survive without her? Could he truthfully stand the pain he carried within him and live the same half-life he had lived before, during those years they had spent apart?

'Elrond... please...'

He could not. He moved trembling fingers over her face. It was her pain also... If he was weak, then hopefully Eru had given her the strength to balance him.

Somewhere between touching her face and his fingers reaching her hair, their minds were meeting again, and her relief comforted him more than he could have expected.

Then, suddenly, she rose to her knees and embraced him, her lips meeting his with force, her feelings flooding him. Pulling her against him, he looked up at her as she released him from the kiss.

Never again, promise me, never keep it from me again... I cannot bear it.

He nodded, touching her cheek.

Catching his hand, she shook her head.

'I have seen visitors here that experienced much pain and doubt while trying to come to terms with their pasts. As I have been told a stay in Mandos is confrontational, a healing can be that also. You must realise it is never the same, not predictable. Everyone has their pain. And to master it is never easy.'

He had not expected his time here to be short, nor had he expected his pain to be taken away with a quick and effortless movement of the hand of Irmo of Lórien. But he wondered what he had expected. It would be easy to go on like this, he thought, pretending nothing had occurred.

'It is often not wise to attempt to forget something without being reconciled to it,' she whispered.

He looked at her.

'The reconciliation is the healing?'

Rising, she offered her hand.

'Often, it is.'

Taking it, he pushed himself up.

'Often?'

'Come back to bed, El-nîn...'

'You will not tell me?'

Her eyes were regretful when she looked up at him.

'I cannot tell you. I have not the answers.'

Silently they entered their chambers again, and Elrond absently discarded his clothing as Celebrían drew the curtains. He slipped between the sheets, joined by her a moment later.

He felt as he remembered feeling when they had only just been married; both not yet used to sharing a bed, the luxury of being loved, of partaking in love. It was as if it was new, and yet familiar.

From there, he recalled how at Imladris she would wander into his study randomly, sometimes merely to bestow a kiss on his lips and run her fingers through his hair. And how, when his duties had called him to other parts of the house, he would find silent indications of her presence there in his absence; a flower placed on the paper he had been working on, a note, lines of poetry in her hand.

How she would quietly observe him from a distance and touch upon his mind. Glorfindel, if present on such occasions, had usually muttered the two of them were incorrigible, before stalking off, leaving them to proceed to the things newlyweds tended to engage in at such times.

Neither of them had come from Middle-earth unscathed. He embraced her gently.

You said that no one should bear pain alone. But you...

She turned in his arms, resting a hand on his waist.

My pain could not be healed entirely yet, El-nîn.

Would it never be entirely gone then, the past, regret over choices made? he thought. It had to be something one could learn to cope with. They would together. They had to.

We can.

At the quiet whisper he looked up to meet her eyes. He wished to believe her. But the exact answer as to how to achieve this eluded him. Instead of letting it worry him further, he concentrated on the only thing he seemed to be certain of at present.

'I love you,' he whispered as he ran his fingers over one of her breasts, feeling her arch against him, her eyes closing.

Pushing himself up, brushing the length of his body against hers, he found her lips, kissing her deeply as he moved his abdomen against hers. The muscles in his arms stood taut under the weight of his body, and he felt her move her hands over his upper arms. His entire body was alert to everything; every small movement, touch and thought.

Celebrían embraced him as he kissed her.

He seemed adamant to revive happier memories of Imladris. Slipping away for their first time of lovemaking, outside, the stars above them, the rest of Imladris continuing the feast without them. She recalled chasing away the sadness in his grey eyes. How they instead glimmered with love and pleasure, how suddenly the ancient Master of Imladris resembled a boy of not yet fifty springs. His years had counted more than hers, but it had not mattered. Long nights of chuckled whispers, followed by gasps of pleasure.

'In a way we start anew. And yet not so,' he whispered, hands rediscovering familiar places on her body.

'Yes,' she nodded, touching his face as tears filled her eyes again.

'Do not cry, my sweet,' he whispered, moving his lips over her face. 'Please...'

Five nights and four days of pure bliss during which no one had asked for them, no one had interrupted them; they had lived as if there was nothing outside, no Imladris celebrating, no darkness looming somewhere just beyond the horizon. They had talked of everything that was important to them, had laughed and felt all the other felt, had loved, had learned, had forged the first link of a connection that was to last as long as Arda.

It was now as it had been that time when they shared an actual bed together for the first time, having already tasted of bodily pleasure in the hours before, but somehow nervous all anew. He had been nervous then, an eternity ago. His experience had been elsewhere, he was wise Master Elrond in libraries and councils, not where it concerned a lady that was his wife, and the pleasures found in the bedroom.

As he had then, he looked down on her, breathing heavily.

Soft thighs pressing against him were almost too much, and he closed his eyes to search for composure. Fingers reaching out for his heated flesh ascertained he did not find it. She did not ask him, as she had not then, and the only thing that remained was to sink into her, if only to make her struggle shortly for breath and close her eyes in rapture.

Who commenced it he could not tell, but then they were in motion, lips locked and bodies close, skin on skin, heat meeting heat. Gasping he felt her pull him closer, hands on his back, exacting pressure, and he turned his lips to her neck, pressing deep within her to make her arch up, allowing him to softly bite her neck, causing her to hoarsely moan.

His eyes closed, he felt a hand on his face, leading him back to her lips, meeting her tongue, and it was impossible to think clearly. The hand went on to tangle in his hair, fingernails of the other grazing his spine.

Raising himself slightly, he looked down on her, bringing up a hand to touch her face, sweeping away unruly strands of hair.

Underneath him she met his movements, her slender body reacting on his every move. With a smile he ran a thumb over the blush on her cheekbone, and her eyes flashed open, their blazing blue pulling him in even more.

The hand that had rested on his shoulder now travelled down his chest, halting at his abdomen before lowering further. Fingers teasingly urged him on, but he shook his head, not willing to increase speed.

Forcing her legs apart further he buried himself deeper, feeling their bodies press against each other again. Kissing her, he felt her move her arms around his neck, a lazy tiredness overcoming her. Smiling, he continued, feeling her grip on him increasing, fingers digging into his flesh. Hand on her waist he could do nothing but watch her face as he moved, her lips pressed together now, as lost as he soon would be.

The difference between them now was that they were both aware of how to influence the other, as if playing a game they had invented the rules of. As she gave in, Celebrían increased her grip on him and met his lips with bruising passion. Hearing her whimper, feeling her moan softly against his lips, Elrond felt his stomach flutter; all too well aware he was the reason for her pleasure.

Resting his forehead against her shoulder he groaned, unwilling to give in, but she did not allow it. Hooking her legs around his waist, tightening around him, she felt him shake his head.

'Meleth-nîn...' he grumbled warningly.

'Melethron...' she answered, knowing how even her breath against his ear affected him now. 'Give in.'

He did. There was no other way. He felt the sweat on his back, the heat in his face, his entire body, her heat around him, and that was his undoing. All his thoughts gone, his head light, he gave in, spending deep within her.

Rolling onto his side he embraced her closely, feeling her press him against her, and he contently kissed her shoulder as she cradled him against her. Pressing her lips against his forehead, Celebrían hooked one of her legs with his and smiled.

They lay together a long time before Elrond broke the silence, his fingers caressing her back.

'You know what will come, do you not? You have seen similar situations.'

Closing her eyes, Celebrían nodded.

'I... have seen others before us. I know what could lie in the near future.'

Even if she had not intentionally wished to keep it from him, Elrond suspected she had not shown him everything. The worry for him seemed too present in her mind for that. Their worries for each other seemed to have control over many decisions.

'I do not wish it to come between us, Brí.'

Releasing him and turning onto her back, she gave him a fragile smile as he watched her intently.

'It will not come between us, El-nîn. If we do not allow it to, it can only make us stronger.'

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