Disclaimer: All of Arda belong to Professor J. R. R. Tolkien.
With very great thanks to Nemis for beta-reading, and to all the lovely people who have reviewed.
The Courtship
Eight
"Who are you, Elrond?"
She asked the question as if it was the simplest thing in the world. He had realized days ago that this had to come sooner or later, but now as she stood there staring straight into him, face to face, Elrond was almost unable to meet her eyes. His heart constricted once, hard, then held still. Maybe she already knew, knew everything.
"I am a friend, Celebrían," he replied. "What else I was, or might have been, is not important right now. It is your path--your memories, your world that you must find again, and I can only--"
The speech he had prepared was but empty nonsense, and he did not continue. He turned his face aside so that she would not see his eyes, but Celebrían, too, moved slightly, so that she was still before him. He looked down. At their feet, the grass caught the light of morning, vivid as jewelled blades.
"Who are you?" she repeated, more softly this time.
She was still watching him, Elrond knew, watching and waiting patiently like she had always done, a long time ago. Back then he had made her wait half an age for an answer. Neither of them moved. And then suddenly the walls just weren't holding anymore. He lifted his head and saw her, standing before the blue Lórellin with her hair in the breeze and the dew. She was as young as the sun.
An eternity passed, and Celebrían was the one who lowered her gaze.
"Your eyes," she said slowly. "Your eyes have spoken."
"Celebrían," he began again. Then his voice failed him again.
She did not respond immediately. When the next question came it was only a whisper.
"Were we wed?"
"We were. For the greater part of an age."
Abruptly, Celebrían turned and took a few steps away along the water's edge, then almost as abruptly halted again.
"I feel a fool, for not knowing from the first." Somehow she squeezed out a tiny grin at him, but her voice was tight and dry.
"All these days, Ríanna, if I could come just a single step closer, I would have lost myself in the blink of an eye. If I could speak and say something, anything to you, I would have said--everything. But I could not. I cannot."
"Will you walk a little with me? About the island?" she asked. Perhaps she had not heard him at all.
They walked without speaking for a while by the shore, the lake's flashing expanse to their left, the forest to the right with its shadows. Elrond hung back, wordlessly berating himself for his weakness of the last few moments, while Celebrían's gaze remained firmly on the ground before her, never glancing back, but whenever he began to lag she would slow as well. The island was tiny, and in no time at all they were once more by the slanting willow to which they had tied the boat.
"I apologize for my discomposure just now, Elrond."
It was not what he had expected yet characteristic of her. For what it was worth, he was grateful that she still addressed him simply by name, no retreat into strangers' courtesies. They stopped.
"And I also," he replied, thinking rationally once more. "Not so long ago, I told you that I could never know the things you were going through, no matter how much I wished for it. I still remember this. My foolishness and confusion are my own and of course you do not need them added to your troubles--that much I understand. I expect nothing and I will not--"
"That was not what I meant," said Celebrían. She was looking at his face again. "That was not what I meant," she repeated. "I am sorry. The knowledge of this was...It was stunning to me. But I saw--I remembered seeing--I saw you there in the sun, asleep. At peace. And...it was brief but my heart felt full of light."
At first, Elrond merely stared at her. Relief, then hope, then the knowledge that neither relief nor hope was somehow the right thing raced in succession through his mind.
"That I remember, too," he said.
She smiled, faintly but she actually smiled. Neither of them quite noticed it but they had begun to walk again, slowly and side by side, towards the middle of the island this time. The trees spread silent and tall above them, and after only a few yards the light of the lake was lost in another world. The morning faded back to stars, and from somewhere in the distance--much more distant than possible, given how small the island had seemed a moment ago, a part of Elrond noted irrelevantly--the breeze brought the floating trace of a song, intermittent, voice of some hidden bird that he could not name.
"Did we--do we have children, Elrond?"
Although it sounded like a question she was not asking one, not really. To his own surprise, Elrond found that he had recovered his poise. His mind was ramparted again and he was ready to answer, or so he thought.
"We have two sons," he replied. "We have a daughter. They tarry still in Middle-earth, for a while longer."
His voice was calm now and the words came smoothly, and he hated himself for it, yet it was not a lie. The thing was that it was not even a lie, strictly speaking, in Arwen's case.
"She has your eyes," said Celebrían softly.
"I'm sorry?"
"I caught a glimpse of her. In memory, or rather in a vision before me. She was only a little girl but now I know, now I am sure. She has dark hair like yours, and grey eyes. Like yours."
This time, the inward defences held. "You will know," he replied. "She will come to you, just as you remembered. As a child, as she grew up before you eyes."
He did not know what else he could have said to her. Celebrían nodded slowly. Then she said, a quiet and too-obvious statement, "There is much that you have not told me."
For an instant, Elrond feared that she had sensed something from him after all. He tried to think of something reassuring to say, but Celebrían continued, "I wish I can give you an answer this moment, Elrond, the answer you want. I wish it never happened, whatever it was that killed me, and you did not have to see me like this. But please, do not say more. Not now."
"I will wait," Elrond said, then realized immediately that even such a few words carried too many implications. Celebrían, too, must have heard it, but though he used to be able to read her eyes he could no longer.
"Shall we?"
The lake turned out to be only a short hundred yards or so back along the path, although Elrond could have sworn that they had walked a long way into the woods. They emerged from under the canopy into white daylight, blinking. She would not know yet, not about Arwen nor about what had happened, Elrond told himself, for the walls about his heart were still there and he could feel them. But the truth was that he wasn't sure. Maybe they had been long gone without his knowing, melted in the silver sun that already blazed high in the sky. But he could still feel them like lost limbs.
"I wish you to know, Celebrían, that for all that we shared--all that we had together, back in Middle-earth, I expect nothing from you, now or ever," he said when they had pushed away from the island, and the wide waters of Lórellin were once again spread about them. "Whatever my feelings, I wish you to know that if you find your heart troubled or pressured even in the least by my presence, if you believe that you would regain yourself more easily without me--just speak. I will leave the Gardens and go back to Tirion with no further questions."
"I want you to remain."
"Do not let the generosity of your heart prompt you to speak too quickly. Think about this, please. Tell me what you would have another time."
For the remainder of their return she was silent, and the only sound was that of splashing oars upon the waters. The shore approached, its shades of green coming alive in the sun. These trees had been only shadows when they last left in the night.
"Don't let go of me."
Elrond glanced up. They were on the dock tying up the boat. "Last night," said Celebrían, eyes focused on the ropes and the oars, not on him, "it seemed that I escaped out of an endless, cold place, where I could see nothing though my eyes were open. Yet it sank away from me as I woke, and the only things I still knew were the words. Don't let go of me. I knew I was saying them, over and over again in--that darkness. And now...I believe I was saying them to you." She let out her breath, almost a sigh. "So, selfishly, I want you to remain."
"Well, I won't let go," began Elrond, nearly managing to keep his voice quick and light. "But maybe later you will tell me that things have changed. I will understand." He wanted to say more, much more, but Celebrían turned to him, something almost defiant in her face, and he sensed that she was the one regretting a momentary weakness now.
"I will not let go of you," he said, nothing else. Celebrían looked at him, then nodded.
"Thank you," she whispered.
For the short walk back to the house, he made himself refrain from offering her his arm. At the path's end, they found Galadriel sitting in the garden, next to the little fountain where the two of them had talked together in the night. There was a book on her lap, but it looked like it had been opened to the same page for hours. Rising to greet them, she smiled, but both Celebrían and Elrond saw right away the worry in her eyes.