Disclaimer: Nothing to do with Tolkien's brilliant writings belong to me. They belong to him. What a surprise, right?!

Time Frame: Any time between Elrond and Celebrían's marriage, and shortly before Celebrían is captured in the Redhorn Pass. Take your pick.

A/N: Well, first off, it's ridiculously late where I'm at right now. I'm officially brain dead. Ah well...school should be interesting tomorrow!...today? Secondly, thank you again to everyone who reviewed last chapter: a guest, Anagram-Analogy, Greenleaf's Daughter, and Oleanne. Thank you guys again! To all of you who have favorited or alerted, thank you as well! And to all of you lurkers: I hope you're enjoying it, and I would love it if you would drop off a few quick words on your way out! Thirdly, this chapter has not been beta'd, due to it being ridiculously late (as mentioned above). However, I really wanted to get this out tonight because...

This chapter is for Greenleaf's Daughter. I hope, perhaps, this chapter may be able to start your day today off better than yesterday! Thank you so much for all of your support, and ideas, and creativity, and just always being around to talk to! Le hannon, mellon nin!

Translation:

Meleth: Love

~Healer of All Hurts~

The sound of someone in the small storage room, rummaging through one of the many stacked on the shelves, was what first alerted Elrond that something was amiss. Turning aside from the main hallway, he slowly opened the door, and stepped inside.

He instantly knew who it was that had caused the disturbance, despite the fact that his view of said person was obstructed by a set of shelves bisecting the room in half. A small knot of worry sequestered itself in his gut. Naught but healing supplies were kept in this room.

"Celebrían?" Elrond called out, leaving the doorway and stepping further into the room. The noise stilled abruptly, as if the other had frozen. "Celebrían, are you in here?"

"Yes, I am here," came the hesitant reply a few seconds later.

Elrond stepped around the edge of the shelves, his gaze sweeping back and forth as he searched for his wife. He finally found her at the far back of the aisle, her back turned to him as she searched one-handed through a crate halfway up the shelves.

"Celebrían?" Elrond asked, hurrying forward. "Are you well?"

Seemingly giving up on her search, Celebrían turned. "I am fine," she replied, and smiled semi-convincingly. Elrond frowned and drew nigh. The slight twang of freshly spilled blood was tingling the air, and it grew stronger as he approached his wife.

Celebrían twisted her right hand out of sight and into her skirt. Elrond noticed the movement, and his frown deepened as he stepped forward. Taking her wrist, he drew her hand away from the protective folds of cloth, and into the open air where he could see it. Celebrían allowed him to take her hand, although grudgingly.

"It is nothing serious," she informed Elrond lightly, and attempted to pull her palm from his grasp.

"Let me be the judge of that," Elrond replied, his fingertips carefully probing the skin. She hissed in sudden pain as one finger brushed the flesh close to her thumb.

A long, deep gash ran diagonally down from her palm directly beneath the pointer finger, all of the way to the heel of the palm. It continued to ooze blood, staining Celebrían's fair flesh crimson as it trickled down between her fingers in rivulets. Elrond winced in sympathy as he applied pressure to the center of her palm, checking for nerve damage, and Celebrían hissed again.

"Well, I do not believe there is any damage done to the nerve, which is good. Come, let us go to my study, where there is more light. I can clean and suture the cut there," Elrond offered.

"Really, Elrond, it is not that serious of an injury. Surely it does not need to be stitched?"

"It is a very deep cut, Celebrían," Elrond said firmly. "It will heal much faster and much less painfully if it is closed."

With a sigh, Celebrían relented. "Very well then."

Elrond led the way from the storage room and down the hall toward his study, Celebrían following close behind.

Within only a few moments, Celebrían was seated in a chair pulled over to the window and into a ray of sunshine, her hand resting palm-up on the arm rest. Elrond was washing his hands, preparing to clean the wound.

"How did it happen?" Elrond asked.

"It does not matter, really," Celebrían said loftily.

"Celebrían," Elrond admonished. Celebrían did not reply. "Please?" he added when his wife was no more forthcoming.

With another sigh, this time one of slightly more exasperation, Celebrían relented.

"I was pruning the roses, and the pruning knife slipped," she admitted ruefully. "As I said before, it is inconsequential, really."

Elrond knelt beside the chair and began to wash away the blood and small particles of dirt and dust that had settled into the cut.

"Inconsequential to you, perhaps," Elrond stated, "but important to me. How else am I to know what to expect when cleaning the wound, or closing it? For example…"

Celebrían could not help but chuckle slightly. He could go on indefinitely, once started on such a topic such as that one. She leaned forward and kissed Elrond to silence him, then settled back into her chair.

"Yes, meleth, I know," Celebrían said with another chuckle. "I merely did not want you to know of my foolish clumsiness." She blushed slightly.

"I would not care even if you were the most ungraceful creature that had ever walked Arda, so you should not either," Elrond replied, and smiled in return.

Finished cleaning the wound, Elrond turned his attention to the precise action of suturing the small wound. Silence fell as Elrond concentrated, and Celebrían watched and waited, keeping her hand as still as she could.

"There, that is done," Elrond announced after a few more moments of silence. He cut the thread, and turned to deposit the needle on top of the small healer's pouch that he kept in his desk at all times – it would need to be cleaned before placed back with its brothers.

It seemed that Elrond was not completely done, however. He took out a small jar of a thick ointment and, daubing his fingers in the sludgy mixture, rubbed it gently into the freshly stitched gash. Coolness seeped down through the skin and the pained flesh, settling down in the deepest part of the injury. Celebrían sighed slightly as the pain dissipated.

Elrond wrapped her hand twice with a thin white bandage. "It will keep the ointment from rubbing off," he told her, then moved off to return his supplies to their place, and wash his hands.

"Next time," Elrond said as he returned and reached down to take Celebrían's good hand in his, "don't allow that pruning knife to get the best of you. You are an elf, it is an inanimate object!" Celebrían laughed lightly. "Don't allow it even an inch of leeway, or it will take advantage of you, and take your actions as submission," he added with mock severity. Celebrían continued to laugh, and Elrond smiled in return, then pulled her to her feet.

Elrond kissed Celebrían softly, her hands still safely held in his. It seemed to her that tiny waves of warmth seeped into her injured hand, soothing the inflammation and washing away the pain.

Celebrían stepped forward so that she her own body pressed to Elrond's, their clasped hands trapped between them. Elrond leaned down and kissed her again, then pulled her to him in a tight embrace.

"Thank you," Celebrían murmured up to him.

"Always," Elrond replied.