High Princes of Tirion
by Nemis

For all my LJ-friends and faithful reviewers. You people are almost as nuts as I am. ;)

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Chapter Thirty-One     Whether Or Not Time Matters

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‘Ah, Naneth, we cannot stay.’ Elrond smiled as he embraced the Elf-lady. The wind tugged at their hair, as it always seemed to do when they were together. He suspected it had been the same in Sirion. Wind and water and his mother appeared to be irrefutably linked together in his mind.

Elwing returned the embrace, then pulled back slightly and directed a forgiving smile towards her son, even if it was clear she was disappointed. Elrond had read it in her eyes as soon as he had told her they would be going on to Tirion.

It was worrying, he thought. They would come here, and too often nothing would be left of their normal pleasantness. And then they would let the sea influence them further, and melancholy ruled. His mother deserved to have them come here and be happy.

‘I wish you would come to Imloth,’ he whispered. ‘The sea...’

Elwing smiled.

‘It does not influence my heart as it does yours, Ion-muin.’

With a shake of the head that seemed to indicate that coming to Imloth was not an option, Elwing touched his cheek. ‘At least promise to visit more often, Elrond.’

Embracing her more firmly, he chuckled, suspecting there was little point in attempting to persuade her.

‘Unless I am much mistaken, Briníel shall be in Tirion more often now.’

‘And you need such an excuse to come here?’ Elwing teased.

‘No,’ Elrond whispered against her shoulder, suddenly serious. ‘No, of course not.’ Withdrawing, he looked at her. ‘Next time I shall come without excuses.’

Offering his arm, they walked down together.

Once outside, Elrond watched Ereinion lean against the shoulder of Celebriníel’s horse, while she sat in the saddle looking down on him. It struck him that the both of them looked so content.

‘I spoke to him, when they arrived here,’ Elwing told him as she too looked on, ‘Celebrían needed solitude, but he needed to speak.’

Pressing his lips together, Elrond halted.

‘He seems to speak to everyone but me.’

The Elf-lady shook her head.

‘You know this is not true.’ She paused a moment before going on. ‘He loves her. And she loves him.’

Elrond eyed his mother suspiciously.

‘Have you been speaking with Brí?’

With a laugh Elwing squeezed his arm.

‘Even if I had not, I would still have noticed how the two of them look at each other. She can heal his hurt, Elrond. And he can love her.’

Nodding slowly, Elrond looked aside to find Celebrían approaching, also ready for their journey. She stretched out her hand and he caught it.

‘In a way I had to learn how to love again,’ he said, making both the ladies quietly smile.

‘He was a quick learner,’ Celebrían winked to Elwing.

‘I had a good teacher,’ Elrond replied seriously, meeting Celebrían’s eyes and exacting some pressure on her hand.  If not for her, he would have kept to what he had vowed after the Last Alliance; never to bind himself to anyone. Not in Arda Marred. What a half-life that would have been...

—~~*~~—

‘You will not come with us? To Elrohir’s house?’

Ereinion smiled up at her.

‘I already disappeared without a word for two days. I must return to my affairs.’

Reaching out and touching his cheek, Celebriníel smiled as well.

‘So I will be in Tirion, and you also, and yet we shall be apart?’

Taking the hand she brought to his face and pressing a kiss into the palm, he averted his gaze. Releasing it, he touched the hem of her dress casually before looking up again, grinning mischievously.

‘Supposedly, you could have your brother’s wife invite me for dinner.’

Blushingly meeting his eyes, she nodded.

‘I think I can see to that.’

At that moment Elrond and Celebrían, together with Elwing, neared the two, and Ereinion returned to his horse as Celebrían mounted and Elrond said some last goodbyes to his mother before doing the same. Without much ado, they set out, not truly in a hurry. Keeping next to Celebriníel for most of the journey, they discussed the weather in Tirion, the visit to the library which was officially the reason they were going to the City now, and not to Imloth. Ereinion could not deny the mere idea of her presence in Tirion did something strange to him. Pleasantly so, but strange nevertheless.

They were not in haste, however Elrond did not intend on arriving in Tirion too late in the day. He gathered that if they were to keep to an easy pace after clearing the sand dunes they would reach the rim of the City in the afternoon. Celebriníel and Ereinion rode in front of them, talking animatedly.

‘How long do you intend to stay in the City?’ Celebrían asked, and he was well aware she had known his thoughts and tried to prevent them turning darker.

‘I cannot tell you,’ he replied with a smile, sending her a quiet thought of gratitude.

‘I would like to spend a little while in Tirion,’ she told him. ‘See my family.’

‘Then we shall,’ he nodded.

The rest of the journey was uneventful, with clear skies and a cool breeze to accompany them. In front of the northern city-gates Ereinion took his leave, trying very hard not to cast too many lingering glances at Celebriníel, Elrond noted, taking some slight amusement in it. He was trying, even though there was definitely something they were keeping quiet about.

Upon reaching Elrohir’s house, Elrond lingered in the stables with Celebrían and Elrohir until he watched Celebriníel wander off with Mîrlinde. The three of them followed the two ladies into the house shortly after.

Leaving Celebrían in conversation with Elrohir, Elrond stepped into the next room, intent on simply finding a chair and getting lost in his thoughts. But this did not prove imminent.

As soon as he entered, a familiar figure rose.

‘Elrond.’

‘Glorfindel.’

Frowning a little, quite uncharacteristically, the other Elf-lord shook his head.

‘I did not intend to...’

Raising a hand, Elrond let a smile slip over his lips as he stepped closer.

‘I am aware you did not.’

Catching Glorfindel’s arm prior to embracing him tightly, he chuckled.

‘Promise to leave a note next time though.’

‘I should not have taken her in the first place,’ Glorfindel commented.

‘I fear she would have gone alone, mellon-nîn.’

Glorfindel nodded.

‘Perchance you are correct. But Elrond...’

Stepping back, Elrond looked at him.

‘Yes?’

‘I never intended to make it seem like I was choosing sides in this.’

With a sigh Elrond patted him on the shoulder and sank down into a chair.

‘I would have been angry with you some days ago, but...’ He shrugged.

‘But?’ Glorfindel asked, sitting down on his own chair again.

‘Ereinion and I spoke, and Celebrían... I suppose she is right in saying I should not worry before there is truly something to worry about.’

—~~*~~—

Still dressed in his travel clothing, Ereinion sat behind his desk, utterly unable to get anything done. Playing with the beautifully shaped glass pen he always used, he listened to the variety of sounds it made hitting various objects on his desk. A knock sounded on the door and he stopped, eyes fixed on whoever it was that was about to enter. A messenger? Hopefully...

He attempted to keep a disappointed look off his face when his father came in.

Fingon was not deceived.

‘Not who you had hoped for, Ereinion?’

Folding his arms on the desk before him and resting his head upon them, the younger High Prince growled softly.

Sitting himself down, Fingon smiled.

‘Does this have something to do with Elrond being in Tirion, perchance?’

Ereinion made a muffled sound that Fingon took to be confirmatory.

‘Are you so set on having a philosophical discussion this evening?’

Lifting his head and scowling a little, Ereinion rose and walked over to the balcony. As he stood there he shook his head.

‘I do not like waiting for messages, Adar.’

‘Oh, you were already far from patient as a child, it does not surprise me.’

His father’s words brought a ghost of a smile to his lips. Stepping into the sunlight, Ereinion closed his eyes, keeping silent. Suddenly it seemed birds chattered louder, more happily.

He considered his childhood to be confusing, most of the time. He was never quite certain whether particular memories were of a past long gone, or more recent. But he recalled a moment in which he thought he had been completely happy and content, small as he had been. He was not certain, but he thought it had been here, on Aman.

All he recalled with certainty was lying asleep in his mother’s arms, in a garden, oblivious of the past, not thinking of the future. Even then, there had been times when the smell of tents was in his nostrils, and the sound of winds chasing across plains he did not recall in his ears. He had not understood the images, and they had subsequently mattered little to him. Memories of different childhoods merged continually.

The importance had lain in his small arm around her waist, his fingers tangled up in her hair, his face buried against her, feeling her arms around him. She loved him, his nana, and at that point it had been all he needed.

This memory quickly merged into one of his earliest memories in this life.  She stood there, in perhaps the same garden, hand in hand with his father, who rested tentative eyes on him.

‘He looks so much...’

‘Yes.’

‘Does he remember?’

Her voice had become a whisper, but he, small as he was, had heard nevertheless.

‘Sometimes I think he does. No nightmares though.’

‘Not yet.’

He recalled his mother casting a warning gaze at his father, and then releasing the tall Elf-lord to come over where he, their son, was sitting in the grass, picking him up, holding him close.

‘There is your Ada, Ereinion-nîn.’

With a smile, he had met the grey eyes of the other Elf.

‘Ada.’

It was easy to recall Fingon’s face, a flurry of emotions flying across it, amazement, amusement, love and fear. And then his father had walked over, and sat down on the grass. On that same afternoon, as Ereinion had listened to his parents talking, he had crawled onto his father’s lap, only to fall asleep with the pleasant murmur the adult’s voice resonating in his chest. It was one of the few clear moments he recalled.

It was that same voice that called him back to the present.

‘I came from your mother. She asked whether you had time to have dinner with us tonight.’

Forced back to contemplate his future, even if it was a very near one, Ereinion felt insecurity creep back into his thoughts.

What if Celebriníel had not asked? Perhaps Elrond did not like the idea... No, that was nonsense. But if, for some reason or other, an invitation was not forthcoming, it might be better to be with his parents than here, alone.

Sitting forward, Fingon folded his hands.

‘What should I tell her?’

Just as he was about to answer, another knock came, and Ereinion turned to find Elernil in the doorway, several despatches in his hand. His eyes were questioning.

‘If I intrude...’

Fingon chuckled and motioned the younger Elf inside.

‘No, I dare say he has been very much waiting for your arrival.’

Crossing the room with large strides, Ereinion took the messages from Elernil, mirroring the younger Elf’s smile weakly. There were two. The first he opened to find an invitation for dinner, the official kind, in Mîrlinde’s precise hand.

The second was almost identical, the same paper, only bearing no name, no address of any kind, merely the seal of the House of Elrond.

Nodding to Elernil, he held it for a moment, then walked back to the balcony. Placing his index finger between the red wax and the paper, he carefully opened it, sitting down on the stone balustrade.

No doubt with this you have also received the invitation.
I have to admit, I acted a little silly about it, Mîrlinde will be able to tell you.
I am acting silly about this as well, my hands are shaking, I do not appear able to come up with something to write, and there is a fluttering in my stomach I cannot explain , all because I know you will be reading, holding this in not too long a while.
Even if I will not be able to feel your lips on my skin tonight, or even hold your hand shortly, I know that soon I shall.

Until tonight,
Yours with all my heart,

C.

P.S. I will have you know Adar did not scowl when he heard you were coming.

He chuckled out loud at her last remark, looking at it with amazement. Reading the lines again, feeling quite the same flutter in his stomach as Celebriníel had described, Ereinion finally rested his hand and the letter on his knee.

When he looked up, he noticed his father on the threshold. Fingon was watching him attentively, intelligent eyes perceptive as ever.

‘Did it say what you wished it to?’

Slowly he nodded, and smiled.

‘Yes, it did.’

‘You seem content. I do not think you have been like this for a long time.’ Fingon leant against the doorpost. ‘And all this after... where did you go, the past two days?’

Ereinion broadened his smile, in his mind a fitting reaction to the past days.

‘I went to the sea, Adar. I talked, I sailed, and I made peace with... myself.’

Fingon did not seem surprised.

‘It shows.’

‘I... How did you know you loved Naneth?’

The question slipped off the younger Elf’s lips easily. Raising an eyebrow, Fingon stepped onto the balcony and sat down.

‘I take it you do not truly wish an answer to that?’

Bowing his head, Ereinion still undeniably beamed.

Fingon chuckled and nudged his son.

‘So it has happened?’

‘I believe it has.’

‘Tell me about her.’

Needing a moment to gather his thoughts, Ereinion shook his head.

‘I am not certain what to tell you.’

‘Noldor, Sindar, Vanyar, Teleri?’

He laughed.

‘I would say a little of all.’

Fingon grinned.

‘Born in Middle-earth then?’

‘Born on Aman.’

‘So many different flows of blood in her veins and yet born on Aman? This narrows things down. A prominent family?’

Meeting his father’s eyes, Ereinion felt his face redden.

‘You have no idea.’

‘You would not tell me her name?’

Self-consciously Ereinion met his gaze.

‘Not yet, Adar. But you shall know it soon, I promise.’

‘You go to her tonight?’

Nodding shortly, Ereinion took a deep breath.

‘I do.’

With a small smile, Fingon’s eyes rested on the paper in his son’s hands shortly.

‘And yet that letter bears the seal of the House of Elrond...’ he said slowly.

Opening his mouth, Ereinion made to comment, certain his father had now guessed, but Fingon rose and brought up his hand. 

‘I will not ask further, Ion-nîn. I trust you will tell me when you are ready.’

Again meeting his father’s gaze, Ereinion could hardly miss the glimmer in the grey eyes as Fingon rested a hand on his shoulder a moment, then touched his cheek before going inside again.

For a little longer did he simply sit on the balcony before he folded the letter carefully and tucked it away, rising to find a hot bath and appropriate clothing.

—~~*~~—

‘Would he send confirmation?’

Mîrlinde smiled as she looked around the closet door to find Celebriníel nervously fidgeting.

‘He could, but it is not strictly necessary. Something in white?’

Holding out a dress she watched the young Elf-lady’s face become even more worried.

‘I suppose...’

Raising an eyebrow and walking over to where Celebriníel sat, she smiled.

‘You realise he will very likely not care what you wear?’

‘I cannot say I do care about it much,’ she admitted with a sigh, ‘I merely care whether he comes.’

‘He will come,’ Celebrían said as she entered the chamber. ‘Something green perhaps?’

‘Possibly,’ Mîrlinde nodded. Partially pulling out another dress, she looked at it thoughtfully. ‘Or even red...’

Celebriníel groaned.

‘Not red.’

Both Elf-ladies looked back at the younger one sitting on the bed.

‘And this?’ Celebrían said, pulling out a dark emerald dress, satiny and with silver embroidery at the sleeves. The lining was silver also, providing a striking accent to the emerald.

Celebriníel eyed it warily.

‘The silver?’

‘Try it.’

‘Briníel?’

Looking up, she found her father in the doorway. With a smile he offered her his hand, making a small movement with his head that appeared to indicate he wished to speak with her. Glancing at her mother and Mîrlinde, Celebriníel rose and neared him, taking it.

Elrond met Celebrían’s eyes for a moment before stepping into the hallway. Celebrían turned around and winked at Mîrlinde.

‘Perhaps we can lay out some dresses, it will make it less of a task for her to choose.’

In the hallway, Elrond could not help notice his daughter was now almost as tall as her mother, the same silver tresses, the same eyes, even though there was not the same look in them. He had glanced into mirrors often enough to recognise it. Oh, the look was unmistakably his.

‘All is going well, meluihên?’

‘Once I have something to wear, I believe so, Ada,’ she replied with a weak smile, before lowering her head and averting her gaze. Gently Elrond touched her face and moved away some strands of hair. Celebriníel shook her head. ‘I know I am being silly, and I am aware you do not agree...’

She straightened her shoulders and steeled herself to meet his eyes, but instead of disapproval she found his face as kind as ever. It reminded her of... summer, somehow.

Elrond hesitated shortly, but then placed a hand on her shoulder. And then, without intending to do so, he pulled her closer, into his arms, safe and sound exactly as she had been when only very small.

‘Ai, meluihên.’

‘I am sorry, Ada.’

‘Do you feel that tingle in your stomach? Pleasant and nerve-wracking at the same time?’

He felt her nod against his chest.

‘Do you realise he is also Gil-galad?’

If you do, he said to himself, then you have nothing to apologise for.

But instead of answering this question, she withdrew a little, and met his gaze.

‘You did not ask me why I went to Tirion.’

Simply watching her face, Elrond silently encouraged her to speak.

‘I tried to...’ she began, and then started over. ‘I whispered to him, and then... He did not intend for me to... He did not know I could feel what he felt. You must believe me, Ada.’

The look in Celebriníel’s eyes had become beseeching, and Elrond curiously observed her.

‘What was it you felt?’

‘It is hard to explain. He was afraid, and yet not so... I could smell it... the stench of the place he saw...’

‘The place he remembered,’ Elrond interrupted.

‘Was it... Mordor?’ she asked tentatively.

‘Possibly,’ he said, releasing her. ‘Most likely.’ Lost in thought, he stared at the wall blankly. ‘But you felt it via him?’

He turned his eyes to face her again. Clasping his sleeve, she nodded.

‘That is why I had to go. I could not leave him to deal with something I caused... And it was so real.’

This time she embraced him, and he was glad to give in, if only because it provided him with some precious moments to consider what she had told him. At length withdrawing and offering his arm, Elrond led her back into the chamber, where Celebrían immediately met his eyes.

We must speak, meleth-nîn.

Some dresses were lying on the bed now, and beside him he felt Celebriníel turn as uncertain as earlier. He smiled at his daughter reassuringly.

‘Something white. You and your mother always look well in white.’

Kissing her on the forehead, Elrond then felt Celebrían catch his hand. Giving a last nod to Mîrlinde, they stepped outside and continued down the hall, ending up on a balcony.

‘Elrohir was in the kitchens just now. I believe they plan to have a meal prepared that is fit for...’

‘A High Prince?’ Celebrían offered, stepping closer to the rail.

A smile slipped onto Elrond’s lips.

‘Yes.’

Celebrían breathed in deeply and overlooked the garden contently.

What did our daughter say to have caused you more worries, melethron-nîn?

‘I am actually not worried,’ Elrond replied. ‘Somewhat surprised, rather.’

He walked over to the beautifully carved balustrade and ran his fingers through the back of Celebrían’s hair.

‘Surprised?’ she whispered.

He nodded quietly, even if she could not see.

‘He saw Mordor, and she felt it through him.’

Leisurely Celebrían turned.

‘They are bound?’

With a shake of the head Elrond pressed his lips together.

‘You and I were not truly bound when we could sense each other’s thoughts, even if it was accidentally. Remember I was aware you crossed the Bruinen when you came to me, a year before we were wed?’

And yet it means...

Resting an arm around her waist, Elrond pulled Celebrían close.

Yes, it seems to.

Slipping her arm underneath his, she rested a hand on his back.

‘It does not worry you?’

He stared into the distance.

‘Strangely enough, it does not.’

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ion-muin: dear son

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