"I've got word from Elrond," Galadriel fell onto the bed next to Mairon.

"Oh yes?" Mairon gathered her into a tight embrace, moving over her.

"He conveys his regards, advising that all is well, and Celebrían's studies go as planned," she narrated as she read the parchment, while Mairon made himself busy sneakily distracting her with his hands and lips traveling her neck and breasts. Galadriel's breath hitched — almost involuntary reaction to her man that she struggled to control. "He asks to send Cúron to Imladris, as he had noticed her missing him."

"So attentive, this Peredhel," he interrupted his lips' trail over Galadriel's neck, as his skilled fingers were almost done with the lacings of her tunic. "Good idea. Me and this hound should not be under the same roof. Dog really thinks about murdering me every time we cross paths." With this, he pulled the letter out of the hands of his flushed beautiful wife, forcing her attention back to him.

As the weeks passed, Celebrían fell into a comfortable routine in Imladris. Her mornings were spent with the healers, absorbing their knowledge like a sponge. She delighted in learning the properties of various herbs and the intricacies of Elvish healing techniques. Her fingers grew deft at preparing poultices and her mind sharp in diagnosing ailments.

Yet as much as she enjoyed her morning lessons, Silmeriel found herself constantly distracted, her thoughts drifting to the afternoons. For it was then that she would meet Lord Elrond in the Hall of Lore. As the time drew near each day, her heart would begin to race, her palms growing damp with nervous anticipation. When the moment finally arrived, she would make her way to the grand library, smoothing her dress and checking her hair one last time before entering. And there he would be - tall and regal, his dark hair gleaming in the soft light, a gentle smile gracing his lips as always.

Elrond proved to be a patient and engaging teacher, his vast wisdom leaving Celebrían in awe. He seemed to know everything - from the history of the First Age to the intricate workings of dwarven runes. But it was more than just his knowledge that captivated her. It was the kindness in his eyes, the gentleness of his voice, the way he listened intently when she spoke. She only mentioned her hound once in passing, yet he knew to surprise her, bringing him to Imladris. He was so caring, so attentive to her needs, and she wondered how did she deserve such grace.

With each passing day, she found herself more and more drawn to him. She began to notice little things - the elegant arch of his eyebrows, the graceful movement of his hands as he turned the pages of a book, the musical lilt of his laughter. Her heart would flutter when their fingers accidentally brushed as they reached for the same scroll.

Yet along with these new, exhilarating feelings came a growing sense of confusion and doubt. Celebrían chastised herself for her foolish daydreams. Surely Lord Elrond saw her as nothing more than a student, a child in need of guidance. How could she even think of him in such a way? It was madness.

Elrond found himself consumed by an eagerness that bordered on impatience, yearning for the moments when he could cast aside the burdens of leadership and hasten to the Hall of Lore to meet his enchanting pupil. Each day, he counted the hours until their meetings, and when those precious moments arrived, he endeavored to prolong their lessons for as long as propriety allowed.

On the days when Celebrían was occupied with the healers, Elrond's mind was plagued by a restless distraction. The scrolls before him, once sources of wisdom and enlightenment, now seemed dull and uninspiring. His duties, once carried out with unwavering diligence, became tedious and burdensome. Often, he would find himself wandering to the window of his study, his gaze drifting across the square in hopes of catching a glimpse of the girl's lithe figure near the entrance of the Healing Hall.

When he did see her, his heart swelled with a mixture of joy and envy. He envied those who had fallen ill, for they had the fortune of her healing touch and presence. The mere sight of her filled him with a yearning so intense that it took all his willpower to maintain his composure. As these feelings grew, so too did the sadness that consumed his heart.

The gardens of Imladris, resplendent with their vibrant blossoms and tranquil streams, held little solace for him now. The ancient trees, whispering their secrets in the breeze, seemed to mock his inner turmoil. Even the majestic views of the valley, with its rolling hills and distant mountains, could not soothe the ache in his heart.

Elrond's thoughts returned again and again to Celebrían, her radiant smile, and her sparkling eyes. Her presence had become a beacon of light in his life, casting shadows over all else, making everything, that was once important to him, fade from his heart, leaving space only to her. And yet, the more he dwelt on this impermissible desire, the deeper his sorrow grew. He questioned his own sanity to be so enchanted by a love that was beyond his reach, and so young and innocent for that matter.

Today, as she entered the Hall, Elrond was bent over an ancient text, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looked up as she approached, his eyes softening with something, that she would recognize as affection, should she be just a little more courageous.

"Ah, Lady Celebrían," he would greet her warmly. "I trust your morning studies went well? Come, I have something fascinating to show you today."

She moved closer, acutely aware of his presence. The scent of parchment and ink mingled with his own unique fragrance, a combination that never failed to make her head spin slightly.

"What is it, my lord?" she asked, peering at the text.

"An account of the healing practices of the Noldor in Valinor," he replied, his eyes shining with excitement. "It details techniques long forgotten in Middle-earth."

As he began to explain the intricacies of the text, Silmeriel found herself captivated. As shameful as it was to admit, not by the lore, but by the way his hands moved gracefully as he spoke, tracing the lines of text, and she couldn't help but wonder what those hands would feel like caressing her face.

She shook her head slightly, trying to dispel such thoughts. It wasn't proper, she knew, to think of her mentor, of the great lord in such a way. And yet, with each passing day, she found it harder to deny the growing warmth in her heart whenever she was near him.

As the lesson drew to a close, Elrond's hand accidentally brushed against hers as they both reached for the same scroll. A jolt of electricity seemed to pass between them, and for a moment, time stood still. Their eyes met, and Celebrían saw something flicker in Elrond's gaze – a flash of longing quickly masked by his usual calm demeanor.

"I... I should go," Celebrían stammered, her cheeks flushing. "Thank you for the lesson, my lord."

As she hurried from the hall, her heart pounding, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. That night, as she lay in bed, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and desire, she realized with a mixture of exhilaration and fear that she was falling in love with Elrond.

Silmeriel tossed and turned in her bed, unable to find rest. Her mind raced with thoughts of Elrond - his gentle smile, his wise eyes, the brush of his hand against hers. She sat up with a sigh, knowing sleep would elude her.

Padding softly to her desk, she lit a candle and took out a fresh sheet of parchment. Her quill hovered over the page as she struggled to find the right words. Finally, she began to write:

*My dearest Ithriel,

I hope this letter finds you well. Life in Imladris continues to be wondrous, yet I find myself in need of your counsel. Something has happened - or rather, is happening - that I scarcely know how to describe.

Oh sister, I fear I'm falling ill, yet this is not an ailment of flesh, but of my heart, of my fëa. And this infirmity seem to have no cure, at least not for me… I wish I could tell you more, yet, even as I am writing these words, I fear that it all becomes too real. And it frightens me so. For there is no hope for me here, I can never be good enough… For the one I'd wish to see me, looks at me and see naught but a foolish and disinteresting child, I'm sure.

I'm torn, Ithriel. Part of me wants to revel in these feelings, to let them consume me. But I know it's folly. What should I do? How do I quell these emotions before they overwhelm me?

Please, if you can, write back soon. I need your wisdom now more than ever.

Your loving sister,

C.S.*

She sealed the letter with trembling hands, resolving to send it at first light. Exhausted by the tumult of her emotions, she finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.

As Elrond watched Celebrían hurry from the Hall of Lore, he felt a pang in his chest, a longing that both thrilled and terrified him. He sank into a nearby chair, running a hand through his dark hair. The touch of her hand lingered on his skin, a phantom sensation that refused to fade. He cursed himself for his weakness, for allowing his control to slip even for a moment.

What was happening to him? She was so young, so innocent. He was her mentor, tasked with guiding and protecting her, not... not whatever this was becoming. And yet, with each passing day, he found himself more and more drawn to her. Her quick mind, her gentle spirit, the way her eyes lit up when she discovered something new - it all called to him in a way he had never experienced before.

But it was more than that. There was a connection between them, something deeper than mentor and student, something that made his heart race when their hands accidentally touched, something that made him want to protect her, to cherish her...to love her.

Love. The word echoed in his mind, both thrilling and terrifying. How could he, the Lord of Imladris, guardian of the last homely house east of the sea, allow himself to fall in love with this young, beautiful girl? How could he have allowed himself to be so utterly captivated by someone who he could never claim as his, someone that he was forbidden from loving? It was folly, surely. She deserved someone better, someone… Mairon wouldn't murder upon finding out.

And yet, as he sat there in the dimming light of the library, surrounded by the wisdom of ages, Elrond found himself unable to banish thoughts of Celebrían from his mind - these images played before his eyes, a sweet torment. He stood abruptly, pacing the length of the hall. This could not continue. To harbor such feelings was inappropriate, a betrayal of the trust placed in him. He must distance himself, must maintain a proper decorum.

But even as he made this resolution, Elrond knew in his heart that it was already too late. The seed of love had been planted, and try as he might to uproot it, it had already taken hold, its tendrils weaving through his very being. His heart had been captured, irrevocably and completely. The question now was what to do about it - and whether he had the strength to do what was right.

In his quest for the cure and distraction, Elrond resolved to depart from Imladris for a time and seek the company of his dear friend, Durin, King of the Dwarves. He believed that putting distance between himself and the source of his heartache might offer some respite, enabling him to clear his troubled mind. With a heart heavy with sorrow, he bid a poignant farewell to Celebrían the very next day, keeping the parting words short in order to avoid revealing too much. As he left, he forced himself not to look back.

The familiar halls and gardens of Imladris faded behind him, their beauty unable to console him in this moment of departure. The road stretched out before him, leading to the realm of the Dwarves, where he hoped the camaraderie and counsel of Durin would bring him some measure of peace. Yet, even as he journeyed away from the beloved valley, the image of Silmeriel lingered in his thoughts, a constant reminder of the connection that had ensnared his heart.

Silmeriel was rushing to the Hall of Lore, her heart light with anticipation. Despite yesterday's sad thoughts, she could not deny it - this was the highlight of her day, the cherished moments she spent with her mentor she would not change for anything else. She eagerly awaited the chance to sit before him, where her gaze could linger on him openly as his words transported her to realms of stories and legends, science and poetry. She would sit there, enraptured, for hours if she could, but he, ever burdened by his duties, kept their lessons too brief for her liking. Oh, how she longed for him to stay a little longer, to weave more tales for her eager mind, to be close enough for her to feel his smell and warmth.

When he did extend their time together, she would return to her bedchamber with a joy so profound that her smile seemed unending. On the days when she assisted in the Hall of Healing, she often found herself drawn outside, her eyes seeking the windows of the Great Hall where his study was. On especially sunny days, she could almost discern his figure behind the glass, a silhouette of wisdom and grace. Or perhaps it was merely her longing, painting his image upon her vision, driven by the deep desire to see him.

She could not fight it anymore, she could not deny she was utterly and hopelessly in love. The gardens of Imladris, in their full bloom, seemed to mirror her own blossoming feelings. The air was rich with the fragrance of flowers, and the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze whispered secrets of the heart. Each step she took towards the Hall of Lore was filled with a mixture of excitement and yearning, her thoughts consumed by the man who had become the center of her world. Perhaps, today will be the day that she musters enough courage to tell him how she feels, and be what may.

So when, instead of their usual lesson, he apologized and bid her farewell without so much as a lingering glance, it felt as though a glass of icy water had been dashed against her face. She watched him depart, her heart aching for a single backward look that never came. Of course... What had she expected, silly girl? He was a great Elven lord, burdened with the weight of duties and the care of a realm. Why would he spare a thought for... her? And to think that she almost opened up her heart to him…

Slowly, with leaden legs and a heart heavy with sorrow, she dragged herself back to her chamber. Over and over, she replayed his goodbyes in her mind. It was not his words, for they were as courteous and eloquent as ever, unmarred by any lapse in manners. It was the way in which he spoke them—so few words, devoid of meaning, with no hint of regret at parting. He had scarcely looked her in the eye.

Could it be that he had grown weary of her at last? Grim thoughts gnawed at her mind, never releasing their iron grip. She felt as though her heart was being crushed by an unyielding vice. Could she somehow be the reason for his departure? Had she unwittingly offended him in word or deed? Had she failed to show enough gratitude for all he had done for her? So many "coulds" and "whys" danced in her mind, each one more dismal than the last. Not a single hopeful thought pierced the gloom that enveloped her.

Silmeriel felt utterly helpless. She collapsed onto her bed, tears streaming down her cheeks. Is this what love feels like, she wondered? How could something so beautiful bring such profound pain? In truth, she understood the absurdity of her situation. Lord Elrond had left for important matters of state. Of course it was not because of anything she had done, she was not nearly that important. Why would he consider her feelings in the midst of such affairs? Feelings he likely had no inkling of, for that matter. Yet this understanding, the light cast by her clear mind upon her hazy heart, did little to alleviate her anguish. She missed him desperately already.