My Immortal
Shattered Teacups
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He had the gift of foresight, but he had not seen this coming, not in any of the little hints life usually left. Something was amiss, of that he was certain, and yet the coming of this morning did not herald devastation as light broke upon the horizon in a splendor untouched by the evils of the world. He watched it as he ever did, clothed in fine robes even before the dawn, ready for the affairs of the day. A perfect picture of ageless serenity, Elrond of Imladris stood within the dim of his bedchambers at the window, in his hand a cup of hot tea that had not been tasted waiting. His eyes were as gray as the morning skies, sweeping over the trees and taking in the vision of life beginning anew for another day. It was a peaceful time, when the past seemed to fade away and cease to matter. These precious quiet moments were a cleansing to the Lord of Rivendell, a rest from the pressures of day-to-day business. It was a ritual he rarely failed.
This morning he seemed to need it more than usual. He had not been sleeping well, and while it was true Elves required less rest than most creatures beneath the stars, long periods without took it's own toll. He accredited it to the building evidence of growing darkness, the threat of Mordor gradually strengthening as time passed. His sons suggested so innocently that perhaps his advanced age was getting to him. But deep down Elrond simply felt uneasy in a general, unnamable sense of the word.
The air was growing chill and soon snow would come to Rivendell again. He was a creature of the fall; he enjoyed the beauty of the leaves burning the treetops in bright shades of russet and gold. The softness of that season, the fading light and quiet of the harvest was like coming home to him. The snow would erase all of that, dimming the life surrounding his city and not only that, but it secretly served as a reminder to him of how short time was growing. He felt it; the last age of the Elves was coming to a close. With that came a sudden feeling hidden inside of unfinished business. He liked not to think on just what that business was, but the signs were everywhere. The darkness touched Mirkwood now and would continue to spread until no corner of Middle-earth was untainted.
There was time before the worst of it would come, but not enough. Never enough.
These brooding thoughts brought him back to the source of his immediate disquiet. This business with Celebrían was growing less and less comfortable as the days passed. He worried for her, his sons who searched and Arwen who kept trying to find out in her own subtle ways what was going on. It made him feel tense inside, this uncertainty.
Absently Elrond ran his thumb across the band of Vilya on his finger, touching the metal as if touching its power. Through it he could maintain the lands, cause the plants to thrive and command the very waters to stand guard over his valley. But it could not bring his wife back to him, nor tell him where she was. He thought again upon speaking with Galadriel through the Ring's power.
The bond between Celebrían and her parents ran deep and both the Lord and Lady held such power as to be able to sense the walk of others. They knew their daughter had not passed to the Halls of Mandos. While that relieved Elrond, it did not answer the questions and there was something else—a tone within the words of Galadriel's thoughts passing to him. When she was of a mind his mother-in-law could be remarkably difficult to penetrate. What she may have suspected she never said, but her words did nothing to quell the malcontent of his heart.
He had then done only what he could in sending his sons. He waited for their return with baited breath, though he did not show it always. For as busy as he was and how heavy his burdens, he never forgot for one moment the family that surrounded him. He was the foundation of Rivendell, but he felt he would be nothing without his foundation in them. Not after all he had lost in this world.
Elrond took a breath, unwilling to travel that weary path again. He pushed the past from his mind and embraced his present as the gates of Rivendell were opened suddenly. His chambers overlooked the front yard of the mansionary, front and center in a symbolic greeting to any that entered the secret valley. Lifting the cup to his mouth he watched and waited to see who was coming at so early an hour.
The tea never made it past his lips.
They came into the city upon travel-worn mounts, three Elvish riders, their gait somber and each looking worse for wear. Raven hair and stormy eyes identified his twin sons, but the golden hair of the rider behind them was too light and the build too masculine to be who it should be. Elrond called up images from memory and saw him for who he was. The Prince of Mirkwood trailed his sons, his head bowed and his bearing weakened. Blood colored his hair in streaks. Startled, the Lord of Rivendell searched his sons again, having taken for granted that they would be all right. They always were. Tragic things did not befall this family.
There was nothing visibly wrong with them, other than a little wear as if they had been in a particularly bad scuffle. But something did catch Elrond's attention. The elder twin did not ride alone, he saw upon looking again, but bore a form covered in his own cloak. Elladan shifted his position on his dark horse, looking up at the window as if knowing his father would be there. Their eyes locked for one fleeting moment and then his son brushed the hood from his mother's face. Golden hair fell in messy tumbles from the dark fabric, strands of sunshine that were matted by sweat and by blood.
The cup of tea hit the floor and shattered.
The sound of it filled his ears as he turned away from the window and looked upon the great wooden door keeping him from the reality of this terrible vision he had just endured. Part of him wanted to look again, to be sure it had not been some sort of twisted working of his imagination, but he did not turn back. There was no time.
His pulse steadily rising, Elrond rushed out from his bedroom, from his study and into the dim halls that had not yet seen the glory of full daylight. It was silent out here, unpopulated by the usual movement that would come in only an hour's time. No matter the speed of his pace, Elrond could not seem to get through his own home quickly enough. Had his grace failed him, he would have tripped in his haste to traverse the stairs.
At the bottom he ran into Glorfindel, who had been rushing to trace the path Elrond was making. Wide, blue eyes met his and for a moment nothing was said, then the other Elf came forward, clasping his hand over his Lord's arm. "You saw," he surmised solemnly.
"Yes," Elrond replied in a quiet way, finding it difficult to speak just now. His mind was filled with many wonderings, from how his wife had come to be in such a state to what the extent of her sufferings had been. These questions swirled within him like a spring windstorm sweeps across the land.
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Author: Ruse
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings isn't mine and nor is Elrond, unfortunately, nor Legolas or Aragorn. No infringement intended.
A/N: This was actually supposed to be the first part, but I decided to change it..so if it has that tone, that's why. ;) Thanks for the reviews!!! Hope you enjoyed! hands out cookies