High Princes of Tirion
by Nemis
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Chapter Fifteen Escapades
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‘What are they doing now?’
Elrond made to walk over to the railing, but Celebrían caught his hand.
‘Stay, Master Peredhil. They will be fine.’
Biting his lower lip, Elrond’s face betrayed he was not at all certain of the reliability of his wife’s reassuring words.
It had seemed a good idea, having Arinmîr around Celebriníel, but between the two of them they seemed to go on more adventures than Elladan and Elrohir ever had at the same age.
What worried him were not exactly the adventures, but rather the broken fingers and arms that had accompanied them. Whereas he had always expected his sons to behave in such a fashion, after all, he and Elros had acted in a like manner, his daughter was a different matter altogether.
‘Arwen was never like this.’
Laughing, Celebrían rose and pulled him along, away from the courtyard and into the house.
‘Perhaps you were too busy at the time, but I can assure you Arwen was exactly like this. Did you forget that time when she and some of the other children of the house...’
‘... the night-time swimming near the waterfall,’ Elrond smiled. ‘How could I forget?’
None of the adults in the house had had any idea of the nightly escapades of the younger inhabitants during the warmer of summer evenings. That was, until both the Lord and Lady of Imladris, on an innocent evening stroll, had spotted some small lights near the waterfall of the South Bruinen and had decided to inspect the occurrence, only to find near to seven elf-children merrily diving from rocks into the lukewarm spring, at a time when they were supposed to be wandering the fields of dreams.
They had never confronted their daughter with their findings, but Elrond recalled always spending the time around which the children turned homeward seated on the balcony, hidden from view, making certain all was well.
‘I still wonder how she never noticed we knew,’ he mused. ‘You would have expected them to be quieter if they wished to stay unobserved.’
‘Yes.’ Celebrían smiled, no doubt envisioning the same as he was.
The climax of those nightly wanderings had been when one of the elflings had accidentally plunged into the water and onto some rocks that had been too close to the surface. Not Arwen, but nevertheless enough to make her confess and promise not to go there again, while her friend got off with some fractured ribs and a very nasty cut.
‘So you suggest I do nothing?’ Elrond asked doubtfully.
‘Well, for now, I do, yes.’ Celebrían replied, squeezing his arm with a smile.
—~~*~~—
‘Is he... Are they gone?’
Arinmîr looked up.
‘I think your naneth pulled your adar away just now.’
Celebriníel caught his arm.
‘Good, come on.’
With quick paces they were out of the main gate of the house and onto the street.
Once there, the silver-haired girl shot between some Elves passing by and Arinmîr followed, finding her waiting.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked, knowing she had most likely planned something already.
‘You’ll see,’ she smiled, before running off again.
It being the last day of the week, Tirion was filled with people coming for the weekly market, and Celebriníel was headed straight into the centre of the activity. Arinmîr found her again at a stall with small chicks, one of the yellowish creatures softly squeaking as it sat in Celebriníel’s hands.
Apparently, it was not able to keep her attention very long, because the next moment she carefully placed the animal beside its friends again, only to run off once more.
For a moment, Arinmîr feared he had lost her, for the street was easy to oversee and he did not see her anywhere. The next moment he heard a sudden ‘Catch!’, and was only just in time to seize a bright red apple that was moving towards him through the air. It was followed by Celebriníel running by and waving at the owner of the fruit-stand, calling a “thank-you” back as she carried three more apples, pressed against her upper body.
And yet again, they continued their way through the crowd, through the streets.
Before he knew it they stood before the entrance leading to one of the houses of the High Princes; Arinmîr recognised the sign in the metal framework of the gate. Looking in through the metal bars, Celebriníel seemed to wait a moment before smiling and turning.
‘Hold the apples.’
Frowning, he did as she asked, and watched her put her fingers to her lips and whistle shrilly. Placing her hands on the bars again, she waited, her face attentive.
Then, from somewhere within either the house or the gardens, the whistle was returned, and she smiled, turning and taking the apples again. Motioning him to follow, they kept beside the high walls for some length, until finally they reached a small door, which looked as if it had not been used for years.
Kicking it with a foot, the door soundlessly opened and Celebriníel entered, waiting for Arinmîr before pushing it shut again.
They stood under a large tree, almost concealed by the shadows. It was almost as if they had left the soft murmur of market day behind them, had entered into a different world, because all that could be heard were birds, merrily chirping as if it were Laer and not the end of Firith.
Celebriníel went first, following a path of stones, which ultimately led to a small stream. Stones were placed within it so that the other side could be reached without much effort. Skipping from one rock to the next, Celebriníel sounded a greeting and tossed up one of the fruits, which was caught by a dark-haired young Elf, who had the same smile as Celebriníel’s father. He nodded at the both of them, seemingly waiting for their arrival.
‘Suilad nîth. You brought your friend?’
‘Arinmîr,’ Celebriníel smiled, as she poked the young Elf in the ribs.
‘I know,’ he grinned, half-heartedly trying to stop her poking. ‘Aurehen’s brother.’
Looking back at Arinmîr, Celebriníel rolled her eyes.
‘You know Elernil, do you not? My nephew.’
Elernil glared at her, again in a fashion not unlike that of his grandfather, but the girl ignored him. Arinmîr only nodded.
‘Is he coming?’ Celebriníel enquired, walking on.
‘Who?’ Arinmîr asked, not certain if he wished yet another stranger to join them.
‘Her friend,’ Elernil smirked, before turning and following. ‘But I know not if he will come.’
Leaving one of the remaining two apples on the white bench, Celebriníel tucked the other away in a pocket of her dress, and walked over to the house, against which an ivy had secured itself, all the way up to a balcony. Gazing up, Arinmîr observed the doors standing open wide.
Testing a vine of the climbing evergreen briefly, she found her footing and the next moment was clambering up with un-ladylike agility. Elernil motioned Arinmîr to sit down, as he bit into his own apple.
‘She will return presently.’
‘What if someone sees her?’
‘The master of this house will not mind. Not at all,’ came the reply. Arinmîr sat, a blush on his cheeks, watching Celebriníel place the apple on the stone barrier that served as the balcony railing.
He was still uncertain if the High Prince living here would appreciate climbing onto balconies. Nervously he turned the apple in his hands, as he watched Celebriníel descend again, leaving the fruit shining in the sun.
The High Prince that lived in the house had heard the sharp whistle, knowing it announced the presence of the youngest silver lady of the House of Elrond. Indeed he had heard the whistle be returned, and for a moment considered leaving his work, some annotations on a conversation with his father earlier in the morning about the amount of apprentices a craftsman was allowed to keep.
But for some reason he had not. He had not descended into the gardens as was often the case. It was not the first time he had decided not to come down, and Celebriníel, if she even came to visit him and not Elernil, seemed to understand.
And still, somehow, the paper had not been able to keep his attention much longer after that.
He had imagined her entering through the small backdoor, crossing the stream and continuing into the gardens, possibly bringing something. She always seemed to bring something.
Turning his chair, stretching out his legs languidly, he had observed the balcony, looking out on the sky above, and some higher branches of nearby trees. He had not been left waiting long for the small hand to deposit the apple on the edge of the balustrade.
Waiting a while, watching the red skin of the apple reflect the sun, he could not help but smile.
And then he had risen and stepped onto the balcony, picked up the object and clasped it in a hand as he too, descended via the ivy.
Celebriníel sat on the bench, her back towards him as he neared, and he moved some hair away before bending down and bringing his lips close to her ear.
‘Thank you, princess.’
She looked up at him, a glimmer in her eyes.
‘So you decided to come?’
‘Whether I eat your present here or in my study matters little. It seemed more social here, so my choice was swiftly made.’ He winked at Arinmîr, who stared at him, somewhat taken aback.
Elernil left the bench to make room and dropped onto the grass beside the other young Elf, giving him a encouraging poke.
Sitting down, Ereinion collected a flick knife from his pocket and crossed his legs, resting his apple on his knee as he silently asked for Celebriníel’s apple, which she had not touched.
‘Peel it, or not?’
She handed it to him.
‘Not.’
With a confident movement he cut it in half, resting one part on his other knee, and slicing the second piece once more. Removing the core, he returned the parts, first one, then the other, to Celebriníel. The two small central parts he threw onto the grass a little further away, and immediately birds came to collect it, pecking at it readily.
Smiling, Celebriníel bit into her slice of apple and looked at Ereinion.
‘Story?’
Having turned to slicing his own apple, Ereinion narrowed his brow.
‘Tell me which one.’
‘Battle story,’ Elernil grinned.
Ereinion squinted at him.
‘On such a beautiful day?’
‘Something about music,’ Celebriníel smiled.
‘Hmm, yes,’ Ereinion nodded thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps... Yes.’ He smiled.
‘Do you know the small streets, in the oldest part of Tirion?’
‘South-side.’ Elernil nodded. He had been there often on errantry, for many of the old families still lived there.
‘Well, by the water, long ago, lay the workshop of a craftsman, a builder of instruments.’
He watched the three younger Elves look at him, even Elernil attentive, apparently having never heard the story before. The High Prince smiled, and continued.
‘His home had only two doors, one leading to a narrow but busy street, the other to a peaceful garden, not much larger than an average room.’
He removed the core from the remaining pieces of Celebriníel’s apple.
‘Once, there had been a tree in this garden, but during a bitter winter it had died. Perhaps its time had arrived, in any case, the ways of Ilúvatar often seem incomprehensible.’
Ereinion handed the pieces of apple to Celebriníel, who eagerly accepted them.
‘Much disappointed, for he had greatly enjoyed the singing of the birds in the branches of the tree, the craftsman had taken down the tree, very carefully so the little garden would not be damaged. Removing the branches, he had split the trunk in the direction of the graining, before putting the wood in a far corner of his house. Years passed, and it is told the craftsman only left his workshop to get turpentine, sandarac and dragon blood, from which he made the special varnish for his instruments.’
‘Long, the wood waited in the corner, and the craftsman forgot about it. But one day, he accidentally came across it and judged the wood old enough. From this wood, he resolved to make the most perfect instrument that would ever come out of his hands.’
‘Many seasons did he work on it, his hands coveting the wood in silence, polishing it until the last rough spot had disappeared. It was after Rhîw, just before the celebrations of Ethuil would begin, that the instrument was finished at last.’
‘From his workshop, the craftsman looked at the celebrating people with a smile, and said softly to himself: “Will there be one player among them that can make my harp sing?”’
‘As the celebrations got underway, a young musician came into the workshop, the youngest son of an important Lord. He wore beautiful clothes, especially made for the celebrations. His skill with the harp was renowned, and with him came beautiful ladies as well as countless lords, his friends. He walked through the shop and gazed upon the many instruments.
‘When he let his fingers brush against the strings of the harp, the craftsman warned him: the harp had magic power and was made from special wood; only then, when the instrument was handled by determined fingers, if it was moved by a talented heart, only then would its music sound.
‘The lord was insulted and grabbed the harp. But the instrument refused. It only produced disharmonious sounds. He persisted, but after a while his friends had enough. The beautiful ladies left. The craftsman left his work-shop.
‘The musician removed his beautiful clothing, left only in a simply tunic and trousers. Then, and only then, alone, surrounded by silence, with a heart full of trepidation, distress and loneliness, the lord took the harp to hand, forgetting his name, his weariness.
‘It was early in the morning that the craftsman heard a melody, strangely familiar. Deeply touched he looked through the window into the garden. There he saw the young musician, playing the harp, without strain and very natural. From the stump in the middle of the garden, which once held the trunk from which the harp had been made, now grew strong, new branches. They moved, very unhurried on the breeze and on the elegant branches birds settled as if they had never been gone.’
Biting down in one of his own four pieces of apple, Ereinion smiled.
‘Satisfied?’
‘Yes!’ Celebriníel grinned, snatching away another part of the High Prince’s fruit. ‘Good story.’
‘I am glad,’ Ereinion smiled. ‘But I suggest you run back to your brother’s house now, or your parents shall worry. And I will go back to work.’ He threw the other two left-over parts of apple to Elernil and Arinmîr as he rose and pocketed his knife again.
Observing the ivy for a moment, he decided against ascent that way and entered the house, disappearing from view.
Leaving the bench, Celebriníel smiled and helped Arinmîr up, looking down at Elernil, who was munching.
‘See you tonight?’
‘At dinner, certainly.’
‘Good.’
The next moment, the elflings were off again. Elernil smiled, and stayed in the sun a while before returning to his duties as well.
Gazing up at the sky before entering he shook his head.
It would only be a few days before this season would end. In a matter of weeks, there would be snow, he predicted. There would most certainly be.
And that would be fun, he mused. It always was.
—~~*~~—
‘Look out!’
Ereinion turned as he heard the warning, but even as he started a quick evading movement it was already too late.
The snowball hit him against the side of the neck, some of the pieces slipping into his tunic, the cold substance making him hiss in surprise.
Both Celebriníel and Arinmîr doubled over giggling, as Elernil stood nearby, evidently the intended target of the projectile.
‘Next time yell “duck”...’ Ereinion mumbled, as he tried to remove the snow from inside his clothing. For a moment he regretted taking off the afternoon and coming to Elrohir’s house.
Then he saw Glorfindel too, hand covering his mouth to keep from bursting out into a fit of laughter.
‘That is it,’ he said, brushing off his shoulders. ‘No more playing.’
Bending down he collected some snow, moulding it between his hands, and with a quick movement hurled it into Glorfindel’s direction, already bending for the next hand of snow.
Temporarily occupied with his mirth, the golden-haired Elf was too giddy to make even the slightest attempt to dodge the projectile and it therefore hit him precisely in the centre of the chest.
Surprised, eyes wide, he looked at Ereinion, then to the two children next to him, who were by now laughing even louder, and scurrying away to flee the wrath of the Elf-lord that would no doubt soon follow.
Arinmîr saw a chance to launch yet another snowball at Glorfindel, before running off as fast as his legs could carry him, into the direction Celebriníel took, towards Ereinion and Elernil, who had unmistakably allied themselves against Glorfindel.
Now very much alert to the objects flying into his direction, Glorfindel ducked to collect himself ammunition too.
With a quick movement he near-caught Arinmîr’s snowball, but it disintegrated into powder as it met his hand.
Not letting it bother him, Glorfindel used the little snow that stuck to his hand to add to his own snowball and hurled it towards the four Elves, expecting to hit at least one of them.
Ereinion sounded a warning and the group dispersed, in time to avoid the first snowball, but not the second, clearly meant for the High Prince.
Squeals of the delight sounded from the younger Elves as it hit Ereinion against the back.
Meanwhile Elernil had taken advantage of Glorfindel’s distraction as the Elf-lord had watched the snowball reach its target, and now tossed up his own snowball, seeing it fly high and then promptly hit Glorfindel half on the head and half on the shoulder.
At the same time Ereinion had sent off more projectiles into Glorfindel’s direction. Celebriníel and Arinmîr stood mostly observing, their faces red with excitement, running away laughing if a snowball came too near.
Elrond and Celebrían watched on from one of the higher galleries as the snowy battle proceeded down in the courtyard below. With a smile on his face, Elrond looked at Celebrían and threw off his outer robes, giving them into his wife’s care.
Raising an eyebrow she watched him descend a nearby stairway, as Glorfindel meanwhile seemed near defeat, being attacked by mostly all other participants.
Celebriníel ran up to Ereinion and grinned broadly.
‘We win?’
With a smile, Ereinion looked back at her.
‘Of course you win,’ he said, and then suddenly felt the collar of his tunic being pulled away and a load of snow inserted into the space created.
‘Aaah,’ he exclaimed, arching his back and immediately attempting to release the cold from between the clothing and his skin. At the same time he turned to find Elrond, smiling innocently.
‘You would better run, Peredhel, for I shall not act lightly once I...’
‘What?’ Elrond grinned, before indeed making a hasty retreat.
But Ereinion, forgetting the icy cold that still occupied his tunic momentarily, had already lunged for his friend’s legs.
Elrond could do nothing but be wrestled down, but had not expected his daughter to enter into the jest, as hands began rubbing snow against his face and neck.
‘Briníel! No!’ he laughed, trying to protect himself, not being very successful as Elernil too, joined in the assault.
Glorfindel, his face red from the similar cold treatment it had been given not moments ago, helped Ereinion up as they watched Arinmîr stuff snow down Elernil’s shirt, Elrond trying to tickle Celebriníel into surrender.
‘I like winter,’ the golden-haired Elf-lord smiled, and Ereinion nodded, eyes glimmering.
‘Tis a most wonderful season,’ he agreed, slapping Glorfindel on the back and edging away as the Elf-lord discovered yet another cold wet mark had been created on his clothing.
As Glorfindel gave chase to Ereinion, Celebrían ventured into the gardens, perhaps too ethereal to be too much of a target for anyone. Elernil, shrugging off his assailant, came towards her and caught her hand, pressing a kiss against her cheek before following the two Elf-lords, Arinmîr in tow.
Celebriníel broke free of her father’s hold and ran towards her mother.
‘I can stay outside?’
Celebrían smiled.
‘Be off then.’
She watched her daughter dash off, and then turned to her husband, who lay stretched out in the snow, his face bright, possibly because of the beaming smile on it. Shaking her head she offered a hand to help him rise.
‘How cold you are, Master Peredhil,’ she chuckled, as she took his icy hand in her warm one.
‘I feel quite heated,’ he replied, allowing her to beat the remaining snow off his back, knowing she lingered longer than necessary.
‘Perhaps you were hit against the head too hard with a handful of snow,’ she commented teasingly.
Not giving her an answer he pulled her close to kiss her, but at the same moment became aware of the increasing silence around the courtyard suddenly.
Looking over his shoulder cautiously, both he and Celebrían found the others watching, looking too innocent for comfort.
‘I believe now might be a very good moment to edge away, meleth-nîn.’
Laughing, they both stepped back before swiftly starting their retreat toward the stairway, trying to flee the avalanche of snow directed after them, succeeding admirably.
Once up the stairs, Celebrían felt a twist of excitement in her abdomen, as Elrond leant over the railing.
‘No warm drinks for you!’ he called down, receiving another snowball as a reply. He dodged it only barely, and sent a glare down.
‘What makes you think we make exceptions for High Princes?’
Pulling him back by the tunic, Celebrían placed her arm around him, looking down as well, as Ereinion had now made himself the main target of the group.
‘Winter is a most wonderful season indeed,’ she whispered with a smile.
‘But cold,’ Elrond said, blowing into his hands. ‘Will you warm me up, Lady?’
‘I could fetch you a nice hot drink, draw you a bath... Or would you prefer... other methods?’ she asked innocently, as she leant against him.
‘Other methods?’ Elrond smiled, as he turned and leant against railing. ‘Well, if you believe they would warm me up...’
Celebrían caught one of his hands and glanced up at him, pressing her lips against his fingers.
‘I believe they could be very successful.’
Slowly she kissed him, lips meeting only very lightly, her free hand on his side before slipping down, resting on his hip before starting a less straight movement a little further down.
‘I suddenly suspect... they would indeed be very successful,’ Elrond whispered hoarsely, as Celebrían’s lips wandered down, pressing kisses against his cheekbone, her hands not idle either.
‘This is a very sudden discovery, my Lord?’
‘Yes... Very...’ he said slowly, closing his eyes as he indeed felt the warmth flood back into his body, though perhaps “heat” would be a better term.
‘Hmm, I assumed something of the like.’
With a small smile Celebrían caught his hand and Elrond allowed her to lead him into the house.
Garments were exchanged for kisses, slowly, unhurriedly.
The tips of his fingers were still cold, as was his face, but slowly, very slowly, the heat began to travel from only specific body parts to the rest of his flesh as well.
Pressing her lips against his ear, Celebrían chuckled and began whispering, wooing him into that delightful state of mind and body in which nothing mattered, where everything was peaceful, and time did not exist.
He guided her back onto the bed, and they lay there for a while, simply enjoying the whispers, gentle touches upon mind and flesh, limbs entwined.
Neither could be certain how precisely the next stage of lovemaking was initiated, but it was, and kisses became more heated, deeper, bodies were pressed closer, in anticipation of more corporal pleasures to come.
With a satisfied sigh, Elrond finally gave in as Celebrían placed a leg over his hip and pressed closer. They exchanged soft kisses as he allowed his hand to travel from her back to her thigh, softly caressing, before completing their union.
Smiling, he stroked the silver hair that fell over the arm he had placed around her, never taking his eyes of her enraptured face, her eyes lightly closed, biting her lower lip as her body reacted to his.
His own heart pounded in his veins, and yet he was slow in all of his movements, prolonging, enjoying, knowing there was no need to rush. As long as he was with her, there would never be need to rush again...
Celebrían sighed contently and pulled him along as she rolled onto her back.
Arching her spine slightly as her husband sought a new position, she felt one of his arms slip underneath her, holding her closer as he supported his weight with the other. Out of habit she pressed her thighs against his sides, as hot lips began to explore her neck.
It was hard to imagine there had been moments when she feared he would find another, when she had been here, on Aman, and he still there, in Middle-earth. That somehow his heart, which she knew very well was bound to her, had been bound to her for over an Age, would perhaps beat for another, that time and distance would sever their connection. Those had been short moments, and only few in number, but she remembered them nonetheless.
Childish insecurities they now seemed, she smiled, and as she looked up, she found Elrond return both gaze and expression, before bending down to kiss her.
Perhaps there would be a time when these more carnal pleasures would not be of importance anymore. A time when body and spirit were no longer two separate things, but more or less one. For now, they were not, and she was glad for it.
Countless kisses had they shared over the years, of many different kinds, some much resembling the one before, or a kiss before that. And yet it appeared there was never sufficient breath to satisfy desire, never enough to continue as long as they pleased.
Celebrían rested a hand on Elrond’s face as he withdrew from the merging of lips. Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips against the palm, his movements unwavering, though undeniably nearing the point they were working towards together.
Listening to his breathing becoming more apparent, deeper, it did not surprise Celebrían when she noticed hers did the same, jointly sustaining the fire within, making it surge yet again.
When their eyes met once more, his had grown dark, as they always did in moments of passion.
Groaning hoarsely, Elrond rested his forehead against her shoulder, not ceasing his tenders, not withdrawing the arm which still lay underneath her, his fingers on her flesh, even now slightly raising her.
All I need... he told her. Is you alone...
Clasping his back she pushed upwards, as he returned the pressure, the embrace causing them to reach what they had wished to. Another open-mouthed kiss partially smothered moans of pleasure, while ardour was spent.
Welcomed in Celebrían’s arms, Elrond settled against her closely, then looked up to meet her gaze.
She stretched a hand and let the tips of her fingers gently wander over one of his reddened cheeks.
‘Warm again, El-nîn?’
Grinning broadly he nodded, then rested an arm around her and pressed his lips against her neck.
‘I am somewhat disappointed though.’
Attentively following the edge of his ear, Celebrían frowned.
‘Disappointed herven? Of what, exactly?’
Chuckling, Elrond brought his lips close to her ear.
‘That we do not have snow all year round.’
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Laer: (Sindarin) summer
Firith: (Sindarin) autumn
Rhîw: (Sindarin) winter
Ethuil: (Sindarin) spring
nîth: youth
the story Ereinion tells is loosely adapted from a wonderful children’s book “Le Luthier de Venise” (translated as “The Voice of the Wood” in English) by Claude Clément. I merely butchered it a bit and changed the cello of the original story to a harp. My heart-felt apologies to Mr. Clément.
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