Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1
Chapter 3: Never the Same
Celebrían looked down at the ground in front of her, watching with sudden fascination as an ant wound its way through the blades of grass. She did not look up, even as she felt Gaerdhal draw away, heard the crunch of Elrond's boots over the gravel of the road. Tears burned her eyes mercilessly, and she closed them, shutting out the silent progress of the ant, the sunlight and the shadows and the entire world, sure she could not face this moment. This was all she had wanted and desired for all these years, but now that it was happening, she was terrified. She wasn't ready.
Above the strange roaring sound in her head, she vaguely heard Gaerdhal say, "My Lord Elrond, my apologies...I'll...I'll be moving on now."
But, Gaerdhal could not simply leave Celebrían so clearly distressed. He dropped back to one knee, gripping her shoulder. He whispered her name and finally she looked up at him, her eyes nearly wild with clashing emotions. "You will be all right, Cel. Your wish has finally come true."
She nodded mutely, and watched as he rose, walking stiffly down the path back to the city. And, suddenly, they were alone.
The silence was ominous, not even the birds dared sing in such charged air. Celebrían had imagined this moment so many times, pictured herself running to him in joy, her hair flowing out behind her, throwing herself into Elrond's strong arms. But, she could not seem to bring herself to even look up at him. All she could do was squeeze her arms tighter around her legs, curl further into herself and try not to sob.
Elrond had imagined their reunion too, but his speculations were not as cheerful. He had pictured her in a grand home with a handsome new husband, emerging lazily from another elf's bed. There had been images of betrayal and rejection, but none of it had compared to this. All the terrible visions he had conjured over the centuries were not half as terrible as the reality he now faced. Watching her cowering before him, refusing to even meet his gaze, hurt him in a way he had never felt before. Seeing her nearly in the arms of that son of a goblin that had just scurried wisely away was painful enough, but watching her now, turned inward in fear, was like a nightmare.
Elrond took another step, the fine cloth of his cloak brushing the scratchy grass. Celebrían never saw the look of agony that filled his gray eyes as he stared down at her, she was still trying to resist a torrent of hot tears.
With almost shamed interest, Elrond studied his wife. She was beautiful, more beautiful even than he remembered in his dreams. Her hair shone silver across her shoulders, shot through with highlights of gold. He could see a thick white scar slashing across her brow, and recalled with horrible clarity the night he had sewn that wound shut.
The thought of what had torn them apart now drove Elrond to his knees. He ducked his head, looking into Celebrían's face and whispering her name. He reached out and brushed his thumb over the scar, picking up a strand of hair at the same time and sweeping it out of her eyes. Finally, her eyes opened, but she could not look at him, she just stared intently at the ground again.
"Celebrían, I love you."
She broke down, her face twisting as a sob shuddered up her chest. Elrond's arms closed around her, but she did not relax. Her body remained as stiff as if he was a stranger. Elrond pulled away, tears of hurt biting his own eyes.
"Where—Where are the children?" she stammered, glancing past him.
"They're not here, they're in Middle Earth. They're...they're not coming. There's so much I need to tell you, I..."
"Not coming?" Celebrían said incredulously, "What in Mordor do you mean 'not coming'?" I want to see my children!" Her voice rose with barely contained hysteria, she knew she had to calm down, but how could she? How could she maintain composure knowing she may never see her children again?
She struggled to her feet, brushing past Elrond and into the trees. She had no idea where she was going. She just knew she wanted to get there fast.
"Celebrían!" Elrond called, spinning after her. He had gone only a few steps when he stopped, cursing in frustration. He shook his head, gritting his jaw until he feared his molars would crack. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Gaerdhal entered the cool darkness of his home, and saw that his sister had closed the shades against the afternoon sun. He fell awkwardly into a chair, bowing his head, suddenly too exhausted to do anything else. He didn't even look up as the door creaked open.
"What's wrong?" His sister, Tellora, asked in her usual no-nonsense voice. He reluctantly looked up from beneath his lashes, and saw that she carried a massive armload of folded sheets. She was a launderer, working in a shop below their home. Gaerdhal bit back a sigh, sitting up straight.
"I went to find Celebrían in the hills. As I was speaking with her, Lord Elrond found us."
"What?" Tellora gasped, dropping her laundry onto the counter and pulling up a chair, "What did you do?"
"I left," Gaerdhal shrugged, "What could I do?"
"You could have stayed, stayed by her side like you've always done."
"He is her husband," Gaerdhal said quietly, "I have no right to be near her anymore."
"Where has he been for all these years?" Tellora snapped, jumping angrily to her feet. She had a special gift for voicing what others dared not say, and Gaerdhal could not resist a dry smile. She retrieved her washing with choppy, violent motions, yanking a jar of soap from the cupboard. "If you ask me, you are the one who has helped her, cared for her for all of these years. You have rights. Don't forget that."
Tellora shifted the heavy load in her arms, waddling to her older brother. Her face softened and she said, "Are you going to be all right, Gaerdhal?"
He looked up, a half smile cracking his face but not reaching his troubled eyes, "I'll be fine. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'll be fine."
She smiled back, but sensed that he wanted to be alone. She turned for the stairs, groping for the top step with her foot since she could not see where she was going around the armful of laundry.
When Tellora was gone, Gaerdhal rose, wandering aimlessly from room to room. He began to note as he walked all the things in their home that Celebrían had given to them, or absent-mindedly left behind after one of her visits. There was the embroidered pillow in the sitting room, a green cloak on a hook by the door, a half-eaten pie she had baked for them the day before. Gaerdhal ran his hand carefully over the painting in the hallway, feeling along the rough canvas with his fingertips. It was an image of the sea, the white spray of waves as the sun rose behind them. Celebrían had painted it for him, it must have been 300 hundred years ago now. She is so talented, so can do anything, Gaerdhal thought with a quiet grin. It fell quickly from his face as he realized things would never be the same again. That same beautiful sea Celebrían had masterfully captured on canvas had now delivered to their shores a force that threatened to turn his world upside down.
Huge thanks to my reviewers Tigerlily, isis whit, alena and especially Kirsty-Q for giving me a good laugh and helping me get my butt in gear with updating!!