Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1

Chapter 5: The Meadow

Celebrian hovered nervously outside the door to the mayor's office, wringing her hands and frowning. She could hear Elrond's voice through the gleaming wooden door, along with the softer speech of Galadriel. After a sleepless night of uncertainty and unease, Celebrian had gone in search of Elrond, only to be told he was in a meeting with the mayor of Tol Eressea. She had nearly given up.

But, she had convinced herself that she must find him, to give him another chance to speak with her. She felt foolish for running away as she had. Her anxiety was only amplified by the solemn silence of the government offices of Tol Eressea. Of course the mayor would greet Elrond as an honored guest, he was an elf of great renown even on this side of the ocean. But, the thought of her husband as the respected statesman made her uncomfortable. As child of Galadriel and Celeborn, she had been exposed to pomp and pageantry all her life. But, she had been surprised when starting a new, simpler life in the West, to find she did not miss such formalities one bit.

She didn't belong here, this was a mistake. For probably the fifth time, she spun to leave, determined this time to go back to the sanctuary of her home and the predictable comfort of her paints. But, she heard the soft click of a turning doorknob. Celebrian turned back, her escape thwarted, and met Elrond's eyes with a confidence she did not feel.

Elrond would have been no less surprised to see Sauron himself standing in the hallway as he was to see his wife. He froze in the doorway, studying her openly. She looked small in the airy corridor, her hair wound in a thick braid over her shoulder. One arm was held more gingerly at her side, careful sutures crossing the reddened skin.

Elrond might have stared at her for an age had he not felt Galadriel jab a finger into his back. He jumped slightly and stammered, "Your—your arm?"

Stupid, he scolded himself, How could I say something so stupid?

"It's fine," she said. She inhaled loudly, drawing herself up and saying, "I have to go gather plants. I'm nearly out of blue paint. Do you want to walk with me?"

There was an almost child-like eagerness in Elrond's face as he nodded quickly.

Celebrian managed a weak, relieved smile. She inclined her head toward the door and turned away, not looking back to see if he followed. As she emerged into the morning bustle of Tol Eressea, she could feel him move close behind her, sense his eyes on her as he patiently followed. She bit her lip, uncomfortable, and ashamed for being uncomfortable. He was her husband, she should not react like this, with fear and mistrust. She felt so wretched, so torn, but fought to hold her shoulders straight and walk with controlled steps down the streets.

Elrond curled his hand into a fist, his eyes fixed on Celebrian's right hand. He wanted to take her hand so badly, he thought he had never wanted anything so much in all his life, but he hesitated. She still had a frail wildness about her, like a barely broken colt that might bolt at any second. That she had sought him out, it was a start, and he dared not risk this shaky arrangement.

So, he kept his arms carefully at his sides. Celebrian then stopped so suddenly that he nearly ran into her, and he looked up, seeing a short elf maiden staring at him in obvious suspicion.

Elrond kept his eyes neutral, stepping up to Celebrian's side as she greeted, "Tellora, how are you this morning?"

"I'm all right," she murmured, her sharp blue eyes not leaving Elrond's face for a single moment.

"Tellora, this is Elrond, my—my husband," the slight hesitation was noticed by all three, Elrond in particular. "Elrond, this is Tellora, Gaerdhal's younger sister."

Elrond bowed before her, resisting a slight smile. Her gaze had lost none of its venom, and despite her small stature, she was a formidable creature, he could see that already. She nodded frostily back, but finally turned her eyes on Celebrian. "I have not seen you in days, Celebrian. You must come visit Gaerdhal and I tonight."

Celebrian glanced nervously at Elrond, "Yes, I will try, Tellora. Please, thank Gaerdhal again for me for fixing my arm. It is feeling much better today."

"I will do that. You both have a good day," Tellora said with forced courtesy.

Tellora continued down the street, a frown creasing her round, normally playful face. She wished she could have told Celebrian the truth. That Gaerdhal walked about their home like a ghost, he hadn't smiled all day, and he was not eating. But, though she was not the most tactful elf, Tellora knew it was not the time or place. Celebrian would see for herself soon enough the dull pallor that had filled Gaerdhal's face and soul.

But, what was to be done? Tellora wondered in frustration. Maybe her brother was right, maybe there was nothing else for him to do but fade into the shadows of Celebrian's life. It was just so incredibly unfair.

Further down the street, Elrond was trailing behind his wife, looking about him now at the graceful but subtle architecture and brightly painted shutters of the buildings they passed. He leaned in toward Celebrian, whispering around a grin, "I don't think she likes me."

Celebrian could not resist a wry smile of her own, "Tellora does not bother with the false pleasantries other elves get bogged down in. She is a realist. I think that is why I like her so much."

This was surely a side of his wife he had not seen before. He lengthened his steps to reach her side, glancing at her in curiosity and then looking back at his feet.

"I painted that," she said nonchalantly, waving a hand at a mural on the side of a dress shop. It was a nearly effervescent collage of vibrantly colored birds of sorts he had never seen before. They flitted among green vegetation, appearing so life-like he would swear he saw their feathers ruffle in the breeze.

"Celebrian," he said, and she looked back at him. He was gazing at her with such feeling that she blushed a deep red, "Celebrian, it is wonderful. I—I didn't know you painted."

"Neither did I," she said casually, continuing down the road and trying to cool down her scarlet cheeks by force of will alone. "I didn't learn it until I came here. I didn't have too many options when I was confined to my bed for four months. It was either that or needlework. And I always rather despised needlework."

They were leaving the city now, and Elrond watched her climb the rocky path ahead with ease. She clearly came here often. He gazed about at the towering pines, their deep green slashing through the bright blue sky. "It is beautiful here," he commented, scrambling to catch up with her. She stopped, glancing around with narrowed, searching eyes. Finally, she started into a clearing, yanking handfuls of rather nondescript grasses and shoving them into a pouch. All pretenses of dignity forgotten, Elrond hurried through the whispering grasses, imitating his wife. He walked over to her, offering up a handful of the precious plants with the same expectant vulnerability with which a child presents a fistful of dandelions to an adored parent. The absurdity of it was not lost on Celebrian, who fought a wide grin. Finally, it broke over her features, and she laughed deeply, her shoulders shuddering. Elrond watched with awe the change that came over her, the dancing light of her eyes, the soft curve of her lips as she smiled at him. It transported him back five hundred years, to a similar sunny day of pine-scented air and trilling laughter...

"Honestly, Mother, you've packed enough for at least two armies. You are planning on coming back from Lothlorien at some time, aren't you?"

Celebrian narrowed her eyes at her son, "It is only one trunk, Elladan. I do not think that is unreasonable."

"But, it is all dresses," he complained, grunting as he tossed the heavy trunk onto the back of an old mule, "What in Arda do you need so many dresses for?"

Celebrian turned to her loyal horse, a chestnut mare of similar gentle disposition to her master. She rubbed the horse's neck thoughtfully, telling Elladan. "There are certain expectations of me in Caras Galadhon, Elladan. I must appear a certain way to others while I visit."

"What do you care what they all think of you? Is having a dress for every day of the month that important in Lothlorien?"

Celebrian smiled indulgently, meeting her son's gray eyes, "It is a different world from here. I can assure you of that."

Elladan digested this, but looked up as his father descended a flight of stone stairs, brittle leaves crunching under his feet.

"Your escort awaits you, milady."

She batted at his arm. "Don't use titles with me, My Lord."

He chuckled, but then a frown crossed his handsome face. "What do you need that big trunk for?"

Elladan nearly doubled over with laughter and Celebrían rolled her eyes skyward.

Elrond cocked his head, wondering what he had missed. He saw that Elladan was securing the last of his mother's luggage onto the mule and it would soon be time for her to go. He took the reins of Celebrian's horse, and began leading it to the gates. Celebrian fell in step beside him, slipping her hand into his. "I wish I could go with you," he said apologetically, looking over at her.

"You have duties here, I understand that. Next time, Elrond, next time we will go together."

"That won't be until five or ten or so years from now, right?" he asked with thinly veiled hope.

"Elrond," Celebrian sighed, "I thought you and my parents were getting along better."

He smiled ruefully, "We are, but your father can be awfully intimidating."

"Is that why you are not coming with me? Because of them?"

Elrond looked over at her again, expecting to see her eyes dancing with playfulness, but was surprised to see deep seriousness, even hurt behind the question. He paused for a moment, then said, "No, Celebrian. I really must stay here. Things don't feel right anymore...don't feel safe. Do you sense it too?"

Celebrian did not answer right away, but finally murmured, "Yes. I don't know exactly what it is, but there is something in the air."

"Maybe you should not go," Elrond said cautiously.

She shook her head, dismissing his worries immediately, "I'll be fine. Nothing is going to happen to me, I've made this trip a hundred times." She looked up, studying the sky and narrowing her eyes, "It smells like a storm is coming."

Now, in a meadow in Tol Eressea, Elrond struggled not to think of that time, tried not to remember the sound of her choppy, labored breathing as his sons brought her to him weeks later, the sight of her bruised and bloodied face looking up at him. Elrond shook his head briskly, watching as the same woman, now healed, turned away and moved through the windswept grasses. Over the whistling of the rising winds, he faintly heard her say, "Hmm...It smells like a storm is coming."

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