High Princes of Tirion
by Nemis
The ending is slightly NC-17-ish, nothing big though.
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Chapter Two Homecoming (part two)
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Ereinion watched the procession move towards the stables, and tried, from his high position on the roof, to discern some of the Elves among it. With a smile he called to the others below.
‘Perhaps it is best we all cease our labour now, and welcome the guests.’
Climbing down he began making his way across the grassy meadow, up the hill, and started counting the horses, before raising his hand in greeting and recognition.
It was Elrond who first returned it, but as the High Prince neared the group, Glorfindel too, sounded an enthused greeting.
‘I should have known you would be here.’
Ereinion smiled and began walking parallel to the riders, who would be dismounting as soon as they had reached the stables and house. Celeborn was the next to call to him.
‘So, what designation do you go by now?’ The question was in jest, and Ereinion smiled broadly.
‘My Lord will do fine, Celeborn. As it always did.’
Laughter came from the group and both Elladan and Elrohir returned the nod they had received from the Elf, unknown to them. His broad smile, which was strangely familiar, never seemed to waver.
‘Celebrían, your husband did not exaggerate, you have fine sons there.’
Elladan observed his mother’s beam, as the Elf-lord, for that much he had been able to make out, seemed to take a shortcut across the hill, no doubt to meet them down at the house.
When they finally reached the stables, the Elf indeed already present, Elrond seemed anxious to introduce them.
‘Ereinion, meet Elladan and Elrohir…’ He motioned Mîrlinde closer as Elrohir bowed his head solemnly. The Tales of Gil-galad had been a large part of the twins’ childhood world, their parents never shying from anecdotes and stories about the High King.
‘My Lord Gil-galad?’
The Elf gazed upon him for a moment, before giving a solemn nod.
‘The title was given a long time ago, and those were very different times then. Now I am simply Ereinion…’ He shook the hands of his friend’s sons with a pleased expression.
Elrond raised an eyebrow.
‘He forgets to tell he is also a High Prince of Tirion now...’ With a warning look, Ereinion cautioned Elrond in case he intended to add to this title with a more recent epessë. ‘... and a house-builder.’
Relieved, Ereinion nodded, as he smiled at Mîrlinde.
‘Not a very good one at that, but I suffice in carrying timber. You must be Elrohir’s lady… We have imagined much what you were like. Be welcome.’
He narrowed his eyes when he spotted the small boy, a hand clasping his father’s trousers.
‘And who is this? The third generation of the House of Elrond?’
Squatting, he extended a hand to Elernil, who took on a relieved smile and came forward to catch it.
‘You remind me a little of your grandfather when he was younger... Though I imagine you resemble your father more. I am called Ereinion. I like your shirt.’
‘I am Elernil... ’ The young boy blushed, looking down at the silver stars on his blue tunic. ‘I liked the stories about Aeglos.’
A chuckle rippled through the bystanders and Ereinion grinned.
‘Did you know I actually named my first horse like that?’
Elernil’s eyes grew large.
‘Can I see it?’
Ereinion pressed his lips together.
‘It passed away some years ago, I am sorry to say.’
The Elf-child nodded.
‘Do horses go to Mandos too?’
Mîrlinde looked at the Elf-lord, afraid her son would somehow offend with these questions, but his glimmering eyes had not left the young one’s face.
‘I am not certain, because I was not very observant concerning such things… Hmm… But I suppose they do. Though perhaps not in the same manner as you and I would.’
Breathless, Elernil nodded and Ereinion rose, looking at Elrond, who had observed the conversation amusedly.
‘Very well. We go inside?’
‘We do.’ Elrond smiled.
—~~*~~—
Celebrían rested her head against Elrond’s shoulder as they were seated on one of the benches that stood in the tranquil gardens of the house. She listened to his voice resonating in his chest as he spoke. Somewhere, far away, the sound of the still-continuing feast could be distinguished. They had slipped away a while ago.
‘We both came here more or less alone too… Still, your father must be disappointed. I was disappointed too, when I had to travel all the way to the Gardens of Lórien.’
Looking up, she smiled at the confession. He seemed truly worried at the moment, and she wondered whether she should share her father’s words with him. Because he had been right. Of course her mother had already known he was coming.
‘I do not think you need to worry about it, El-nîn. My mother has a way of being foresighted.’
‘And what is that supposed to mean?’ Elrond replied, a little vexed, crossing his arms over his chest.
‘Nothing,’ Celebrían grinned, as she sat up, kissing him on the cheek. ‘Nothing at all...’
Chuckling, she moved her lips closer to his, soft caresses that she knew he couldn’t resist. The master of the House indeed quickly forgot his slight irritation as he found his lady’s lips with his own.
—~~*~~—
Without being conscious of his son-in-law’s worries for him, Celeborn searched through the minimal belongings he had brought with him from Middle-earth. He had his wedding-ring safely around the index-finger of his right hand, but he was uncertain where he had left the silver ring Galadriel had worn during their betrothal, her gift to him upon their marriage.
He had not accidentally left it, had he? Of course not... Or had it perhaps...
If he indeed had, which was probably not the case, he assured himself, it would be forever lost…
A hand on the small of his back made his heart skip a beat. He turned with a smile.
‘Celebrían, you scared me, will you not...’
But it was not his daughter that stood behind him.
‘And so Celeborn the Wise returns to the Blessed Realm…’
‘So it seems, my Lady.’ he nodded, holding in his hand, as if by chance, the object he had been searching for.
The Elf-lady nodded at the silver band.
‘Do you still keep it as close as you used to, long ago?’
Celeborn smiled.
‘I try to… Much as you keep yours, I assume.’
The profundity of her eyes only seemed to have deepened since her own arrival here, and somehow, the weariness that had once been there, that he had seen grow during long years, had disappeared.
Like his daughter had healed, like Elrond had healed, Galadriel too, had healed. Was he himself in need of such curing? he wondered. Offering her his hand, it was gracefully accepted.
‘Im melesse tye, Alatariel...’ he spoke softly, though there was no need for it; they were alone in the room.
‘Allow me to heal thee, my Lord...’ Galadriel whispered back, before gently kissing him.
Giving in without having to think, Celeborn felt her peacefulness envelop him and could do nothing but give in.
Withdrawing, he locked his gaze upon her face, his voice tired when he used it after a long while.
‘I am weary indeed, meleth-nîn...’ he looked at her and ran a finger along her cheek. ‘Can you heal me?’
Smiling, Galadriel embraced him, and as he felt her lips gently meet with his, he answered, realising if anyone was able to heal him, he was now in her arms.
—~~*~~—
The soft tunes of some soothing music half-woke Elrond from his sleep. Drowsily he reached out for Celebrían, but found her gone.
Rolling out of bed he sat on the side for a moment, before rising entirely and entering the next room. There he found her, back turned towards him, sitting next to the window.
Her fingers almost did not seem to touch the wires of the instrument before her, and Elrond knew the wind had much to do with the harmonics of the harp, and that Celebrían was greatly aware of it too.
Possibly therefore she was not aware of him.
An almost simple melody carried through the rooms, plain, were it not for the depths of memories that lay beneath it. It seemed to unfold itself with a certain hesitance, as if forbidden, or feared unsound. Perhaps the quality was even more calming because of it.
It was one of Arwen’s childhood lullabies, one of those that Celebrían had composed herself, like mothers do.
Elrond did not recognise it immediately; it lay too well hidden within a greater theme.
As smoothly more harmonies were introduced, he noticed there was indeed some aural uncertainty in the music, tension even. Very softly, as if her voice would almost not carry the tune further than a whisper, Celebrían began to hum along, slowly, pensively throughout.
Approaching quietly, Elrond watched her intently. He wished to reach out, to tell her he knew, he understood, and that it did not matter, that this sadness was allowed. Bringing up a hand to guide silver hair behind an ear, he bent down to kiss her temple, before sitting down behind her.
Arms encircled her, and his fingers found well-known strings to accompany her. As arms and bodies brushed against each other, he felt her sit back.
Celebrían felt the warmth of his body settling against her. She had not heeded her surroundings since she had risen, not expecting her lover to wake, not paying much attention to the touches of his mind upon hers, knowing them to be part of his dreams.
Or perhaps this was a part of her dream... Perhaps she slept still...
Kissing her bare shoulder, Elrond plucked the instrument’s strings, trying to remember how long it had been since they had shared it. Cutting short his playing after a while, he moved his ministrations elsewhere.
Her belly soared as he touched it, and the heat shot up into her face and ears, she could feel its rush. Resting his face against her bare skin, she recognised the warmth of one who had only recently woken from slumber.
Softly stroking her abdomen, Elrond lay his other hand on her thigh, slowly pulling up the soft material that was now positioned between his fingers and her skin. His lips had already found the tender flesh of her neck.
Wanting his comfort, wishing to be taken into the warmth, Celebrían left the instrument to the devices of the wind.
Turning and rising she felt Elrond retract his hands from her body, and found in his eyes a fear if having somehow offended.
With a smile, she caught his lips with her own. Moving his hand up her thigh, he sighed, relieved, feeling her hands in his hair, hearing her respond likewise. Cold fingers moved to his neck, softly caressing the sensitive skin there, as they exchanged soft kisses.
Catching one of his wandering hands, she pulled him up, and led him back to their bed.
There, she leisurely helped him remove his clothing, every once in a while yielding to his entreating lips. Elrond returned the favour gladly.
Together they settled into the bed they had both left previously.
Lying down against her, he began kissing her gently, not the breathless kisses he gave her when he had first arrived on Aman, but more languid, comfortable ones.
Still, Celebrían felt their heat on her skin, and she closed her eyes, arching her back a little, pushing her breasts up against his chest. This was what she wanted, yearned for; the simple embrace of husband and wife, for her lover to take her and keep her. He was warm, his entire body was very, very warm. And soon, she sighed happily, he would be burning against her, burning within her…
Elrond smiled and moved down a little, sampling a nipple with wet lips, licking and softly biting, until he heard her gasp softly, burying her hands in his hair.
Leaving the rigid nipple, he descended further, pressing lips and tongue against her, tasting her milky-white skin, taking in her scent. How he loved her, still, always, how she completed him, he thought.
He felt a finger follow the rim of his ear, up the tip and down again, as she shifted beneath him, sighing deeply, rubbing his shoulders, pushing up against him, informing him, nay, beseeching him, to come to her.
Seeing a fire had lighted her cheeks, he recognised the same flames that were ablaze in his loins.
He moved up to meet her lips again, allowing her tongue entrance, before completing their bond finally. As soon as he did, he felt her muscles tighten around him, delightfully tense.
‘Ahhh, melethril…’ he whispered, and she smiled breathlessly, her hands on his waist, waiting there, lightly.
Her ragged breath excited him and he found his own matching it, as they began moving in unison, a rhythm perfected over the years, a steady pace, since there was no real hurry… Then Celebrían groaned and pressed her thighs against his waist, moving her hands to his back, claiming his lips mercilessly, her mouth ravaging his. He gasped, but the sound was smothered as the kiss endured.
Suddenly, Elrond felt hot, felt sweat trickle down his back, as Celebrían pulled him closer, deeper within her…
He moaned hoarsely as she locked him into an even tighter embrace, his thrusts increasing, his only wish to feel her warmth around him, around more of him…
Celebrían felt him turn into blistering heat. Tongues duelled for a more complete penetration, as hips drove against hips, Elrond pushing down, and she up.
Groaning, neither was willing to end the merging of lips, not even to breathe. Then Celebrían gasped and he felt her tremble beneath him, releasing his lips entirely, arching her body, lifting her hips a little, her head thrown back in abandon. Not a breath later, he plunged after her and felt her shudder underneath him once more, as he spilled deep within her.
Resting his forehead against her, he felt wet lips press themselves against his shoulder, as she stroked his back, her breath, still as irregular as his own, pleasing on his skin.
Feeling sleep overcome her, Elrond too, gave in.
The last thing he heard, far away it seemed, was the wind playing softly with the strings of the harp.
If something had been different this evening, this night, between them, in the way it had only happened twice before, neither of them had been aware of it...
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epessë: “after name”
Im melesse tye, Alatariel…: (Quenya) I love thee, Alatariel (Alatariel is Telerin for “Maiden Crowned with a Radiant Garland”)
meleth-nîn: my love
melethril: lover (female)
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