Disclaimer: All of Arda belong to Professor J. R. R. Tolkien.
Thanks to Nemis for beta-reading, and to all the lovely people who have reviewed this.
The Courtship
Four
The phrase of music was long and slow, and incandescent as the morning that lay golden upon her hair. At first, it was a voice in solitude, wavering and rising for just a few steps, then turning downwards in melancholy, searching. Now the notes of the lower register spoke in response, while the first voice, returning, circled and rose once more, as if touched by some faint and tender hope. Yet here the player hesitated, and the tune hovered on the strings, close to fading. She repeated the last few notes; it seemed to Elrond that they came from far-away places.
The first time he had heard the melody was on the Seventeenth of Laer, year 1701 in the Second Age of this world. Far in the past, and each moment in his memory clear and full as yesterday. It was the first time that he met her.
On that warm, green day, he had just returned from the north. Prompted by an impulse, he had left his horse to his companions, and climbed alone up the steep trail that switchbacked narrowly through the forest. Once more, he saw in his mind's eyes the cliffs above the house, where he had stood and gazed down upon the camps nestled in the arms of the valley. The slopes of Imladris still bore the marks of the recent siege, but the ground was already covered with the wild roses and sunbursts of early summer. He remembered the voices of the pines; mingled among them the breeze brought a low, distant humming--the bustle of saws and hammers from the main courtyards. Though the war was over for the moment, the stronghold would yet serve its purpose.
It was a long while before he descended again. He entered the house by a side door, through rough, deserted halls that had not so long ago quartered the wounded. Now the rooms lay empty but for a few sad and fair things--a finely carved flagstaff in the corner, a painting of a girl in its frame of silver vines leaning against the wall--which had somehow been rescued from Eregion against the ravages of chance and battle-flames. A feeling both temporary and mournful hung about them, like that of lost children. And then he heard the sound of a harp. Two or three simple tones stirred, soft and tentative, little more than an echo: the first few notes of an unknown melody. But he recognized the instrument: it was his own.
The tune bent gently to the lower register. The room from which it fluttered was only a short way down the corridor; it had stood bare when he last left for the moors, but now from the doorway Elrond saw that the floor was piled high with crates and packing-boxes, hiding the harper from view. Through the openings between the slats, he glimpsed patches of dark vellum and bright bindings, here and there a flash of embossed gold. His books from Lindon. It was then that a second and deeper voice entered upon the strings, seemingly to answer the first. Yet here the player hesitated, and a single note stretched out in mid-air, gradually vanishing to emptiness. It was repeated, then once more. Noiselessly he stepped around the stack of crates in front of him.
In a square of sunlight at the back of the room stood the tall, ornate harp that he had last seen in his own study, back in the house of the high king. A strange maiden was beside it, her hand lingering over one of the strings. With a small frown of concentration, she reached up for the peg, gave it a tiny turn, then plucked the note once again.
"I must apologize for the instrument being out of tune. It has been long untouched."
With a quick movement, the maiden spun around, letting her hands fall to her sides. The afternoon glow caught in her hair. She had blue eyes.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir." Her voice was rich-timbred, and almost startling for some reason, though he could not have explained precisely what it was that he had expected. "It is such a lovely instrument. Yet it seemed a little lonely, I feared."
Elrond came closer, joining her in the bright rectangle beneath the window. Slowly, he lifted a hand and touched a string. The sound was familiar, of course--and as remote as the other side of the sea.
"Does it?" he asked, the question really for himself. "Perhaps that is not so surprising. After all, it has been six years, and a long journey from Lindon."
She looked up, regarding him half-curiously, half-musingly, and he saw that she understood.
"I am sorry," she said. "Now I feel that it was out of my understanding. And my place."
"No, not at all," replied Elrond with a shake of the head. Already he was regretting having spoken too soon, too much. "There have been too few melodies of late. I am glad of it."
The maiden smiled, turning her head a little, and lightly ran her hand down the harp's elegant arch.
"But how foolish of me indeed, not to have seen. Surely it is Master Elrond himself to whom I speak, is it not?"
At his arched eyebrows, a merry gleam lit her eyes. How remarkable they were, he thought.
"You speak of the instrument as its master, my lord. It stands here, among an entire library in boxes from Lindon." She gestured at the crates surrounding them. "But these precious things are not meant to languish in a storeroom, surely. One can only surmise that they have just recently arrived, and are yet awaiting their owner--and I was told that the lord of the stronghold was away riding against the orc-bands that still plague the northern fells. And..." With a grin she patted the dark-stained wood. "Not to mention the Star of Eärendil engraved right here on the harp, Master Elrond."
"It is just Elrond, please. But you have the advantage of me, lady."
"Celebrían, daughter of Celeborn, my lord." She matched his bow with a graceful curtsey.
"How foolish of me indeed," said Elrond in perfect seriousness. "I should have surmised from your features and the unusual brightness of your hair--" (And from the joyful light of your eyes, he almost said) "--that you are not from Eregion, nor have I seen you in Lindon, at the house of the king. I did not expect you to arrive so soon, Lady Celebrían. Your father spoke much of you, yet in my excuse I must say that I imagined you as--much younger, from what he said."
"It is just Celebrían, please." She blushed at his words. "Mother and I arrived only yesterday. Yours is a very beautiful land, my lord."
She spoke earnestly, he could see. It was true that the valley was beautiful. If he had only come to it under different circumstances.
"I am sorry that I was not here to welcome Lady Galadriel and you to it; I would like to make my amends. Will you take me to your mother?"
To his surprise, Celebrían glanced away, and did not immediately reply.
"Oh, I am sure you will meet her soon," she said, hesitating. "After all, she and Father--what I mean is that we arrived only yesterday," she repeated, gazing into what must have been an expression of confusion on his face. Her cheeks were fast blooming like roses.
"Oh." Realization dawned upon Elrond, and he looked away briefly as well. It was only after a moment that he noticed that he had laid his hand against the pillar of the harp, next to hers.
"It was a striking melody that you played just now," he cast about, hoping to give her time to recover. "I would like to hear more of it."
Celebrían nodded. She seemed relieved.
"I will play it for you, from beginning to end."
It was not until much, much later that she'd finally written the tune down, at Arwen's insistence. He, of course, had not needed to see the music on paper by then. The piece had been within him as if it had always been there, since the day of his birth: the beginning to the end, the speaking and the response, two voices woven. It had remained silent ever since she was gone.
But now, her hands faltered. The melody, a fine thread, spun and flickered, beginning to slip between the strings. Amid uncertain shadows, Celebrían wavered, repeated the last chords, tried to catch hold of just a few more. The two lines tangled--no, that was wrong, she thought--what came next? She could not find it, the way back--and the phrase hovered in emptiness, between rising and falling...
And another voice caught it. A little distance away, she heard someone humming, very softly: the harmony suspended, then two tones down, then a gentle scale rippling forward. The phrase turned. Holding out her hands, she picked up the notes one by one, until the tune rose and crystallized to a single chord, not yet resolved. It glinted in the air for a long beat, all that remained, and was gone. Nothing more came.
Celebrían raised her eyes, and found Elrond standing there in the doorway, watching her pensively.
"Thanks for helping me out," she said with a smile.
He came into the room. The warm early light from the open windows caught in his grey eyes.
"I would play it for you, all the way to the end."
His voice was quiet and sounded perfectly serious. Celebrían studied him, not sure if he had meant it as an offer.
"It was only the beginning that I have remembered, was it not?" The question was rueful, even though she should have been glad. He must have known it well, the melody, she thought.
"Perhaps that is not so surprising," replied Elrond. "After all--after all it must have been a long while."
"Has it?" she asked, wondering at what might have been left out of his words. It was strange that she had never asked herself the question. "I only wish that I can find it complete. That I can know--know in truth--there is more."
"There is." Another pause. She could tell that he was weighing and choosing each word with care. "Much, much more. The tune grows richer, more intricately entwined. More beautiful. To me."
What was it in his gaze that she could not read? How quickly the clouds filled those grey skies.
"There is something about this music," she said, frowning slightly, explaining the thing to herself, really. "As if it should be already within me--should have always been there. Like a key. Yet today was the first time that I have recalled more than merely the first line."
"The rest will come."
Celebrían lowered her eyes briefly. The rest will come. Perhaps. She stared at the harp, its varnish gleaming in the clear sun, and at Elrond's right hand laid casually against the pillar. It was a fine strong hand, and looked like it had known the strings of harps, and many other things besides. Her own hands were on the instrument's arch, the reassuringly solid wood pressing against the palms. The rest will come.
"I believe so. I hope so. Though I know not yet the reason it seems important to me. And--I want to hold on to it."
He understood. He must have understood, from his eyes.
"I am sorry," he said. "I would like to tell you that I can understand, knowing that I cannot. I would like to tell you about this music, and everything else, too, but I do not believe your heart wishes for that. I would like to ask you--well, too many things. I would like to ask you that if, I mean when you remember the melody, all of it, you would play it for me. But that would be presumptuous of me, I think."
Startled, Celebrían looked into his face. It took her a moment, then she shook her head.
"It's only the bare beginning," she said. "But I would still like to play it some more, the little that I remembered, so that I will not forget it again. Please, will you stay awhile, and tell me if I make a mistake?"
Elrond appeared to consider it, then nodded.
"I won't make a sound, then."
She could not but grin just a little, and put her hands to the strings. The familiar opening, and like flowing water the next phrases followed. Elrond remained next to her, listening.
Although he did not realize it himself, she saw that there was the bare trace of a smile playing about his lips.