Drabbles

Elrond and Celebrían

I

Regeneration – (double drabble)

The youth held his sword tightly, casting a glance at the older warriors. Though his hroa was not as broad or muscular as theirs, he moulded his lithe form into an image of their stance and practised finding the blade’s balance. Unlike his first attempts, when he had dropped his wooden sword more times than he cared to remember, Elrond moved with sleek grace, soon forgetting to compare himself to the others.

The wind whipping the rough shores of Lindon also ruffled his dark hair, which had grown about as long as it ever would. The others still remarked that he might take years before he would be ‘full-grown’, but Elrond knew that he was ready. There were so few of them left after the great re-shaping of the world. So many famed warriors had fallen. It was up to him, and to the others of his era, to protect the Eldar in Middle-earth.

He swung the blade around, slicing the sackcloth orc in half. Across the clifftop, one of the warriors applauded.

‘Well dispatched…’ he said, but checked himself before adding, ‘child’.

This, more than anything, made Elrond smile. But only for a moment, before he resumed his training.

II

Doubly Blessed

She studied his frown, trying to interpret the lines upon his brow, discern the meaning of his pensive sighs. His hands pressed against her, firm but not unkind, though she did not know how the touch could tell him anything. Still, she knew to trust him. His understanding of the ways of the hroa far surpassed any other of his kin. He would ensure the babe was well.

Finally Elrond stepped back and took his hands from her belly so that he could caress her face.

‘All is well,’ he said, then added with a smile, ‘with both of them.’

III

Departure

I cannot allow my selfishness to harm you so. We are as one being and your pain swells in my heart too. Though the thought of these halls empty and devoid of your laughter chills me, and I do not know how to continue without you, how can I force you to remain?

Let me think of you in Aman, on those white shores in the warm sunshine, where one day we shall embrace again and all this will be forgotten. Let me embrace the knowledge that you are free and happy once more. That is all I can ask.

IV

Hope

"He is sleeping." Her whisper seemed to echo through the night-steeped halls.

Elrond nodded, his expression dark.

"All is lost," she breathed, stifling tears.

"Only if we make it so. The last of the blood of Númenor lies in that crib. He shall be safe here so long as is necessary."

"But he is the last…can even Imladris truly protect so precious a vessel?"

Elrond frowned. "Here he can be hidden, and known by another name."

Then, leaning over the sleeping infant, the elf lord whispered, "He shall know his true name in time. Until then, he shall be Estel."

V

Time Heals

He had thought he would rush into her arms, unable to stifle the urge to possess her after all those long years apart, but as he embraced her, Elrond felt the passage of time slow until it was meaningless. In that land, there were no great ages; a century was no more than an hour, and so, surrounded by ethereal song and laughter, he held her close to him and kissed her. There was no urgency. Long years may have passed but they meant nothing now. Upon the shores of Eressëa, reunited at last, they would have an eternity together.