Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places
thereof
Title: Manifold Aria
Summary: When Lady Celebrían is taken captive by the Orcs, Elladan, Elrohir, and Elrond set out to find her, leaving Arwen guilt-ridden in Imladris. As the hunt ensues, each has his own story to remember; a mother's absence, a childhood struggle, a time in captivity, and happier times. Main characters: Arwen, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Celebrían.
Author's Note: As I have been able to find minimal information on certain topics, namely the childhood of Elrond and his courtship of Celebrían, when these subjects are mentioned I will be largely inventing things. If you don't like that, I suggest you not read on. You have fair warning, so please no flames.
*****
"My lord?" Glorfindel asked nervously. It was unusual for the warrior to feel nervous about anything. This was not just anything. The Lady Celebrían of Imladris had left, weeks before, to visit her mother in the woods of Lothlorien. Word had only just reached Imladris that Lady Celebrían did not arrive in Lothlorien. The Orcs found her first.
Lord Elrond stood by the window, gazing out at the twins, Elladan and Elrohir. Elladan sat on a stone bench, playing gently with his brother's hair. Elrohir sat on the ground, leaning against Elladan, his head resting lightly in his brother's lap. They spoke quietly; Lord Elrond could not make out their words, by hearing or by the motions of their lips. How was it that, although they had grown and were by Elven standards adults now, Lord Elrond saw them still as children? There were similarities, of course: as they had as children, the boys voiced one opinion, spoke as "we" instead of as "I", and still sat them same way on garden benches. Elladan still favored a low guard when fencing; Elrohir still kissed his first arrow for luck.
"Elrond," Glorfindel said quietly, touching his friend's shoulder. "You must act."
"Yes. Of course I must," Lord Elrond replied, swallowing hard. He wished to close his eyes, just for a moment, and allow himself to slip back to better times. But he could not do this, for Celebrían depended on him, and so did her children: the twins, in their serenity, and Arwen. Arwen. . . "Glorfindel, what of Arwen?"
"It is she that brought us this news. She managed an escape, hardly scathed, and lies now in the Halls of Healing."
Lord Elrond nodded at this, accepting it. Though it was pleasing news he did not smile. Sorrow overshadowed any possible joy. Celebrían was the love of his life; his heart belonged to her. With swift, assured movements Elrond strode to the door of his study and said, "I am going to take my wife back from those creatures."
"My lord, you have three children to see to first," Glorfindel replied. He did not mention Imladris: being Elrond's chief advisor, Glorfindel was always in charge of Imladris in the absence of Elrond himself. The children, however, were not as easily passed about.
Elrond paused for a moment. He had not intended to tell the boys. They would wish to accompany him, would refuse to stay in Imladris. It was better that no one spoke to them of what had happened; that way they could not try to leave and put themselves in the way of danger. Arwen would understand, of course, why he had to leave her alone: she had always been somewhat comforted by the presence of her parents.
"At least speak to them."
"No," Elrond said with a shake of his head. "It is better this way. They need not know."
Glorfindel considered this. It was unjust, and he knew it, and Elrond knew it. There was no point in saying out loud things that were mutually known already. Elrond may have been the Lord of Imladris, but, in the opinion of Glorfindel, this did not give him the right to treat his children in such a manner. They should know. "Peredhil," said Glorfindel in a voice that proclaimed him high in both might and honour, "you may be Lord of Imladris, and my superior thusly. But I was known to your father ere you came into this world, and knew you ere you knew even your own name. By you or by me, they will know of their mother's fate."
Elrond meditated on this for a long moment. Glorfindel meant what he had said. Could he spare those moments in speaking to his children? Slowly Elrond nodded. "I will speak to them, Glorfindel. It would be best that they hear this from me."
Glorfindel clapped his friend on the shoulder and told him he was a good man, and that he had known all along that he would make the right choice, then said, "I will make your preparations for this journey while you are with the young ones. Valar be with you."
*****
Arwen Evenstar, renowned as the most beautiful woman in all Middle- earth, hung her head. Waves of ebony locks fell forward, shading her from accusing eyes, catching on the points of her ears and hanging back. "Oh, I deserve it!" she cried, pulling back her hair and throwing up her head. "Let the world see me for what I am!"
Guilt plagued the young woman. Since her return to Imladris, she had done what little she could. 'Unscathed' was a relative term. Arwen had suffered a slash from an Orc scimitar, opening a substantial portion of her lower arm. She and her mother were attacked by Orcs on their journey to Lothlorien, the land of her mother's kin. Though both women carried weapons, they were vastly outnumbered. In the heat of battle, when Celebrían turned to her daughter and, in Elvish, shouted, "Go!" Arwen could think of nothing. She acted.
That image of her mother was forever in front of her. Whenever Arwen closed her eyes, there was Celebrían, surrounded and swamped by her attackers, fighting bravely but it was a fight of folly, for the Orcs were closing on her already. Blood flowed slowly from a cut on her forehead. In the midst of her panic she was calm, and thought of her daughter; of saving her daughter if not herself. . .
"Mama!" Arwen wailed, curling into a ball again. The cut on her arm had been poisoned, and it was only by luck that Arwen reached her home alive. The healers--though not her father--had tended her wound. Though she would live, would heal in full with hardly a scar to show, she would not be fully active for a few days yet, at least. In the mean time, there were plenty of things she could do. Embroidery, for example. Why was she known for embroidery? If only Arwen had made herself known for her skills with a blade--!
The healers had long since decided to ignore Arwen. When she began to have her crying fits, there was nothing anyone could do to help her. Peace was what she craved, what she could not have, for her mind secluded her and tormented her. She would die, she thought, by her own hand, but the Valar had fixed their minds against such action. "Arwen?"
She looked up, rubbing her eyes with her wrists. "Ada?" she asked. Her hysterics had subsided, but her tears still slipped from her eyes, running down her cheeks. "Ada, I--I did everything I could, I swear I--"
"Shh, hush, Arwen," Elrond said, holding her as he had not in centuries. For many minutes Elrond was not the lord of Imladris, but simply the father of his daughter, and as such he rocked her gently as she clung to him, until she was calmed completely. "Now, you are all right?" he asked, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Not injured or upset any longer?"
"No," Arwen replied with a small smile.
"Then, Arwen, I will tell you what I must and be gone: I am going to be away for a while, finding your mother. I am going to bring her home."
Arwen nodded, thinking this over. "Namaarie."
[1]"Tenna' ento lye omenta," Elrond replied.
"Ada?"
"Yes, Arwen?"
She reached out and took her father's hand before he could leave, and said, "The Orcs? Kill every last one of them."
"Oh, child," Elrond said, in a voice such that Arwen feared he would lecture her on the merits of peace, "I will."
*****
[2]"An Elven maid there was of old,
A shining star by day:
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,
Her shoes of silver-grey,"
Elrohir sang gently, watching as though he could see his very words floating to the wind. Elladan's quiet braiding of his twin's hair had not gone unnoticed, rather unmentioned: it was fine by Elrohir, for he was in quite a pleasant mood that day. It had been a lazy day, the hours of weapons practice gone in the blink of an eye, and the twins had retreated to the gardens to spent the rest of their day in peace and song. Something had made Elrohir stop, an ill feeling. . .but it was gone. "Elrohir?" Elladan asked.
"A star was bound upon her brows,
A light was on her hair
As sun upon the golden boughs
In Lórien the fair.
"Her hair was long, her limbs were white,
And fair she was and free;
And in the wind she went as light
As leaf of linden-tree.
"Beside the falls of Nimrodel,
By water clear and cool,
Her voice as falling silver fell
Into the shining pool.
"Where now she wanders none can tell,
In sunlight or shade;
Or lost of yore was Nimrodel
Ands in the mountains strayed."
Now Lord Elrond had come to his sons in the gardens, and stood beside them, his hand on Elladan's shoulder, but was without word. Elrohir knew of his father's presence, but he sang, anyway. Let the Elven lord spoil his own fun, but Elrohir intended to enjoy the remnants of the song. Instead of stopping his singing, as he knew his father would bid him, Elrohir only sang louder.
"The elven-ship in haven grey
Beneath the--"
"Elrohir," Lord Elrond said, interrupting. Elrohir looked up at his father, and disobediently added, "mountain-lee. . ."
"Elrohir, please."
At this Elrohir did stop, and both boys looked in alarm to their father. Never had they heard his voice so strained. What was wrong? Elrohir raised one hand furtively, and Elladan clasped it.
"Your mother. . .your mother is a captive of the Orcs," Elrond said, as briefly as possible. The boys could not speak. They held tightly to each other, afraid, in part, and disbelieving. "I am going after her--"
"We are coming with you," Elladan interrupted, jumping to his feet. Elrohir's head was displaced then, and he too stood, without word and yet saying as much as his brother. Elrond looked from one identical face the next, their expressions set, shoulders squared, chins raised in slight loyalty and defiance. "We are going with you," Elladan repeated. Elrond knew that he meant this as much as had Glorfindel, and suddenly tears threatened him with the sudden understanding that his boys were no more his.
"Very well."
*****
1. Tenna' ento lye omenta; Until next we meet
The Lay of Nimrodel, as recounted by Legolas; The Fellowship of the Ring, page 381
TBC, and feedback would be appreciated!!
Title: Manifold Aria
Summary: When Lady Celebrían is taken captive by the Orcs, Elladan, Elrohir, and Elrond set out to find her, leaving Arwen guilt-ridden in Imladris. As the hunt ensues, each has his own story to remember; a mother's absence, a childhood struggle, a time in captivity, and happier times. Main characters: Arwen, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Celebrían.
Author's Note: As I have been able to find minimal information on certain topics, namely the childhood of Elrond and his courtship of Celebrían, when these subjects are mentioned I will be largely inventing things. If you don't like that, I suggest you not read on. You have fair warning, so please no flames.
*****
"My lord?" Glorfindel asked nervously. It was unusual for the warrior to feel nervous about anything. This was not just anything. The Lady Celebrían of Imladris had left, weeks before, to visit her mother in the woods of Lothlorien. Word had only just reached Imladris that Lady Celebrían did not arrive in Lothlorien. The Orcs found her first.
Lord Elrond stood by the window, gazing out at the twins, Elladan and Elrohir. Elladan sat on a stone bench, playing gently with his brother's hair. Elrohir sat on the ground, leaning against Elladan, his head resting lightly in his brother's lap. They spoke quietly; Lord Elrond could not make out their words, by hearing or by the motions of their lips. How was it that, although they had grown and were by Elven standards adults now, Lord Elrond saw them still as children? There were similarities, of course: as they had as children, the boys voiced one opinion, spoke as "we" instead of as "I", and still sat them same way on garden benches. Elladan still favored a low guard when fencing; Elrohir still kissed his first arrow for luck.
"Elrond," Glorfindel said quietly, touching his friend's shoulder. "You must act."
"Yes. Of course I must," Lord Elrond replied, swallowing hard. He wished to close his eyes, just for a moment, and allow himself to slip back to better times. But he could not do this, for Celebrían depended on him, and so did her children: the twins, in their serenity, and Arwen. Arwen. . . "Glorfindel, what of Arwen?"
"It is she that brought us this news. She managed an escape, hardly scathed, and lies now in the Halls of Healing."
Lord Elrond nodded at this, accepting it. Though it was pleasing news he did not smile. Sorrow overshadowed any possible joy. Celebrían was the love of his life; his heart belonged to her. With swift, assured movements Elrond strode to the door of his study and said, "I am going to take my wife back from those creatures."
"My lord, you have three children to see to first," Glorfindel replied. He did not mention Imladris: being Elrond's chief advisor, Glorfindel was always in charge of Imladris in the absence of Elrond himself. The children, however, were not as easily passed about.
Elrond paused for a moment. He had not intended to tell the boys. They would wish to accompany him, would refuse to stay in Imladris. It was better that no one spoke to them of what had happened; that way they could not try to leave and put themselves in the way of danger. Arwen would understand, of course, why he had to leave her alone: she had always been somewhat comforted by the presence of her parents.
"At least speak to them."
"No," Elrond said with a shake of his head. "It is better this way. They need not know."
Glorfindel considered this. It was unjust, and he knew it, and Elrond knew it. There was no point in saying out loud things that were mutually known already. Elrond may have been the Lord of Imladris, but, in the opinion of Glorfindel, this did not give him the right to treat his children in such a manner. They should know. "Peredhil," said Glorfindel in a voice that proclaimed him high in both might and honour, "you may be Lord of Imladris, and my superior thusly. But I was known to your father ere you came into this world, and knew you ere you knew even your own name. By you or by me, they will know of their mother's fate."
Elrond meditated on this for a long moment. Glorfindel meant what he had said. Could he spare those moments in speaking to his children? Slowly Elrond nodded. "I will speak to them, Glorfindel. It would be best that they hear this from me."
Glorfindel clapped his friend on the shoulder and told him he was a good man, and that he had known all along that he would make the right choice, then said, "I will make your preparations for this journey while you are with the young ones. Valar be with you."
*****
Arwen Evenstar, renowned as the most beautiful woman in all Middle- earth, hung her head. Waves of ebony locks fell forward, shading her from accusing eyes, catching on the points of her ears and hanging back. "Oh, I deserve it!" she cried, pulling back her hair and throwing up her head. "Let the world see me for what I am!"
Guilt plagued the young woman. Since her return to Imladris, she had done what little she could. 'Unscathed' was a relative term. Arwen had suffered a slash from an Orc scimitar, opening a substantial portion of her lower arm. She and her mother were attacked by Orcs on their journey to Lothlorien, the land of her mother's kin. Though both women carried weapons, they were vastly outnumbered. In the heat of battle, when Celebrían turned to her daughter and, in Elvish, shouted, "Go!" Arwen could think of nothing. She acted.
That image of her mother was forever in front of her. Whenever Arwen closed her eyes, there was Celebrían, surrounded and swamped by her attackers, fighting bravely but it was a fight of folly, for the Orcs were closing on her already. Blood flowed slowly from a cut on her forehead. In the midst of her panic she was calm, and thought of her daughter; of saving her daughter if not herself. . .
"Mama!" Arwen wailed, curling into a ball again. The cut on her arm had been poisoned, and it was only by luck that Arwen reached her home alive. The healers--though not her father--had tended her wound. Though she would live, would heal in full with hardly a scar to show, she would not be fully active for a few days yet, at least. In the mean time, there were plenty of things she could do. Embroidery, for example. Why was she known for embroidery? If only Arwen had made herself known for her skills with a blade--!
The healers had long since decided to ignore Arwen. When she began to have her crying fits, there was nothing anyone could do to help her. Peace was what she craved, what she could not have, for her mind secluded her and tormented her. She would die, she thought, by her own hand, but the Valar had fixed their minds against such action. "Arwen?"
She looked up, rubbing her eyes with her wrists. "Ada?" she asked. Her hysterics had subsided, but her tears still slipped from her eyes, running down her cheeks. "Ada, I--I did everything I could, I swear I--"
"Shh, hush, Arwen," Elrond said, holding her as he had not in centuries. For many minutes Elrond was not the lord of Imladris, but simply the father of his daughter, and as such he rocked her gently as she clung to him, until she was calmed completely. "Now, you are all right?" he asked, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Not injured or upset any longer?"
"No," Arwen replied with a small smile.
"Then, Arwen, I will tell you what I must and be gone: I am going to be away for a while, finding your mother. I am going to bring her home."
Arwen nodded, thinking this over. "Namaarie."
[1]"Tenna' ento lye omenta," Elrond replied.
"Ada?"
"Yes, Arwen?"
She reached out and took her father's hand before he could leave, and said, "The Orcs? Kill every last one of them."
"Oh, child," Elrond said, in a voice such that Arwen feared he would lecture her on the merits of peace, "I will."
*****
[2]"An Elven maid there was of old,
A shining star by day:
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,
Her shoes of silver-grey,"
Elrohir sang gently, watching as though he could see his very words floating to the wind. Elladan's quiet braiding of his twin's hair had not gone unnoticed, rather unmentioned: it was fine by Elrohir, for he was in quite a pleasant mood that day. It had been a lazy day, the hours of weapons practice gone in the blink of an eye, and the twins had retreated to the gardens to spent the rest of their day in peace and song. Something had made Elrohir stop, an ill feeling. . .but it was gone. "Elrohir?" Elladan asked.
"A star was bound upon her brows,
A light was on her hair
As sun upon the golden boughs
In Lórien the fair.
"Her hair was long, her limbs were white,
And fair she was and free;
And in the wind she went as light
As leaf of linden-tree.
"Beside the falls of Nimrodel,
By water clear and cool,
Her voice as falling silver fell
Into the shining pool.
"Where now she wanders none can tell,
In sunlight or shade;
Or lost of yore was Nimrodel
Ands in the mountains strayed."
Now Lord Elrond had come to his sons in the gardens, and stood beside them, his hand on Elladan's shoulder, but was without word. Elrohir knew of his father's presence, but he sang, anyway. Let the Elven lord spoil his own fun, but Elrohir intended to enjoy the remnants of the song. Instead of stopping his singing, as he knew his father would bid him, Elrohir only sang louder.
"The elven-ship in haven grey
Beneath the--"
"Elrohir," Lord Elrond said, interrupting. Elrohir looked up at his father, and disobediently added, "mountain-lee. . ."
"Elrohir, please."
At this Elrohir did stop, and both boys looked in alarm to their father. Never had they heard his voice so strained. What was wrong? Elrohir raised one hand furtively, and Elladan clasped it.
"Your mother. . .your mother is a captive of the Orcs," Elrond said, as briefly as possible. The boys could not speak. They held tightly to each other, afraid, in part, and disbelieving. "I am going after her--"
"We are coming with you," Elladan interrupted, jumping to his feet. Elrohir's head was displaced then, and he too stood, without word and yet saying as much as his brother. Elrond looked from one identical face the next, their expressions set, shoulders squared, chins raised in slight loyalty and defiance. "We are going with you," Elladan repeated. Elrond knew that he meant this as much as had Glorfindel, and suddenly tears threatened him with the sudden understanding that his boys were no more his.
"Very well."
*****
1. Tenna' ento lye omenta; Until next we meet
The Lay of Nimrodel, as recounted by Legolas; The Fellowship of the Ring, page 381
TBC, and feedback would be appreciated!!