Disclaimer: Please see previous chapters.

Rating: K. There's really nothing here except some foreshadowing of canonical events.

Time frame: Uh...I'm honestly not entirely sure? Third Age. After the wizards all come. Before Redhorn. After White Council has been convened. (I'm of the opinion that there were far more Councils than the ones that Tolkien explicitly talked about). So yeah. About mid-Third Age.

A/N: So I really, really, really should not have stayed up writing this. I'm currently at my university's orientation, and it's something like 2 in the morning, which means I'll be getting something like 5 hours of sleep at the most tonight. And today left me literally trembling and close to passing out from exhaustion. So yeah, this might not have been the best of ideas. However, writing this actually really helped me to calm down and destress after today. So that was good, and honestly I'll probably sleep better after doing so. Enough rambling though!

Thank you so very much to each and every one of you who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed! Truly, you all brighten my day immeasurably. It's so amazing to know that people are still reading and enjoying the things I write. Even to those of you who are simply lurkers-thank you so much for reading, and I hope you are enjoying! Of course, I'd love feedback, even if it's nothing more than a simple "I liked it!" Most importantly, however...enjoy!

This was a response to the prompt: Write a short story using the three words 1) clouds, 2) desk, and 3) flaw. (Prompt courtesy of Jabber)

~He Feared~

The clouds hung low over the rich valley of Imladris, hiding the glittering waterfalls behind pearls of mist. Even at high noon, the sun hid behind the swirling veil, her warm rays blocked by the silvery shroud. The air was cool and wet, carrying the secret of rain and mountain storms upon the pathways of the wind, the breeze bearing the fresh taste of pine and freshly melted snow down from its peaks.

Elrond stood with his back to his desk, staring out of the window with his hands clasped before him. Silver eyes matched the swirling fog drifting in loose tendrils across the land, lost and uncertain. He was silent and pensive, brow drawn down into a gentle frown, and his mouth was settled into a thin line.

Only the opening of his study door drew Elrond's attention away from the tremulous world beyond the window. He half-turned to see who dared intrude upon his privacy and silence, but whatever sharp word he held ready on his tongue died when he spied silver hair and blue eyes.

Celebrían wordlessly slid into his arms, her hands clasping at the small of his back as she lay her cheek against his breast, and let loose a gentle sigh. For a long moment, the two simply stood in perfect silence, utterly content to merely bask in the other's presence.

At last, however, Celebrían drew away, unclasping her arms and stepping back just enough that she could look into her husband's eyes. "The Valley is troubled this day," she said softly. "You are troubled this day." As she spoke, she lifted a hand and tenderly cupped his left cheek, long, slim fingers trailing in his hair and behind his ear before coming to rest on his cheekbone. "My Love…"

Elrond sighed, and turned away. "I do not know if the weather is the cause of my unease," he admitted, "or if my unease is the cause of this weather." His tone took on a bitter edge, and he chuckled darkly. "Such is the way of the world now, though, is it not?"

Celebrían slid her arms around her husband's waist, pressing herself against him as he turned back toward the window once more. "Tell me. What is it that troubles you?" she urged.

Elrond's hands came down to rest upon Celebrían's, and his eyes closed as, for just a moment, he allowed himself the peace of his wife's healing touch. His shoulders bowed, his chin drooped, and the rigid tension bled out of his back.

"There is darkness," Elrond confessed at last. "There is darkness, only I cannot sense from where it comes. There is a shadow of malice, only I cannot discern who – or what – may be causing it. There is evil, but it is a mere shadow on the edge of my thoughts.

"Moreover, Saruman's leadership of the White Council weighs heavily upon my heart. He is wise, and a great wizard – I will not deny that. And yet there is something to his words – some guile, or some hidden purpose that it seems I can sense, and yet I cannot fathom. Yet even of that much, I cannot be certain. I know that Gandalf trusts him, and yet your mother does not.

"And lastly, the matters on which the White Council grow more dire with each passing year. Wolves and trolls moving down from the mountains; Goblins and Orcs hunting in the day. The last two winters have been growing colder, and the days growing darker. These are warning signs, Celebrían – of that I have no doubt. And yet a warning for what?"

"You spoke of a darkness," Celebrían said. "Could it be this darkness – this evil – which draws these portents?"

"Perhaps," Elrond said. "And yet I cannot be certain. I cannot even be certain that the darkness that I sense is from without, and not from within." His tone took on a wry, sardonic note, and his lips twisted up into a humorless grin.

"Elrond," Celebrían chastised gently, slipping around him so that she was once more facing him. "We all have our flaws – you just as any other Elf or Mortal in this world. And yet," she went on, when Elrond's grin only grew and his eyes sparked in perceived triumph, "just because you have your own flaws – such as too strong a sense of duty – does not mean that there is darkness within you." Now Celebrían lifted a hand to rest over Elrond's heart, while her left hand rose to his cheek, mirroring her earlier movement.

"There is no shadow of evil within your heart, Elrond," Celebrían whispered, and her eyes blazed with the intensity of her words. "There is only light, and strength, and the desire to do what is right." With that, Celebrían leaned up, and sealed her statement with a kiss.

"And as to the White Council, and Saruman?" Elrond asked, but there was gentle teasing beneath his words. "What do you have to say about those dilemmas?"

"You must decide that for yourself," Celebrían said with an innocent smile. "While I may share in your burdens, and in being Lady of Rivendell…" and suddenly her expression fell into seriousness, her smile fading, "…I believe that the matters of this coming evil, and of Saruman and the White Council – those are all issues that you must come to your own conclusions. I do not think it is my place to have any hand in those. Not this time."

Elrond frowned, perplexed as to what Celebrían may have meant. But he did not ask. Somehow, he doubted that she would know the answers to his questions.

"You know where to find me," Celebrían murmured, with one final brush of her fingers along her chin. And then, with that, Celebrían turned and departed, opening and closing the study door with as much sound as she had entered.

Elrond turned to watch her leave, his eyes lingering for a moment on the sturdy, wooden door. But then he turned back to the window, his stormy silver gaze falling upon the swirling mist. It had thickened, since last he had looked. A grim smile twisted his lips.

He was no closer to the answers he sought. Instead, it seemed, his own questions had only multiplied. Instead, the fog had thickened. And in the depths of his heart, he feared that his light – the light that had always guided him through the swirling mists before – would go out, leaving him stranded and alone.

He feared. But he did not know why.