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Finding Celebrian  by Dragon

It was dark in the bedchamber, the cloaks that had been draped across the windows blocking out the brightness of the stars and the full moon. Little was visible through the gloom except the dark head amongst the paleness of the pillows and rumpled bedcovers.

The sleeping elf was tossing and turning fitfully, rapidly getting tangled in the sheets and blankets. His lids had been fluttering slightly in his uneasy sleep and they suddenly shot open, his eyes but two deep dark pools in his white face.

Elrohir sat with a jerk, unfurling tightly clenched fingers from around crumpled fistfuls of blankets. His body was damp with sweat and his hair was sticking to his face, wisping up slightly with each struggling gasp for breath. He could not remember what his dream had involved, but the feelings of fear and helplessness lingered even after waking.

They were growing even now he was free from the dream world. The familiar shadows of the wardrobe and chair seemed to be changing and taking shape. . .

Shaking his head to dispel the images that were forming there, Elrohir tried to keep his breathing steady, swung his legs onto the floor and huddled on the edge of the mattress. His nightshirt had started to feel cold and clammy, and he shivered compulsively as he wrapped his arms around his body for warmth and comfort.

He could feel his heart pounding desperately against his ribcage, and his chest lurching arhythmically up and down with each gasp for breath. He had not been able to count his ribs so just a few months ago, surely. He would not been so shaken by a mere dream.

Moving without the customary grace of his people, the younger twin got to his feet and shakily made his way over to the window. He drew aside the fabric and tugged open the wooden frame, allowing the crisp night air to flow into the warmth of the room. It would snow before long, and the dark air was still and silent.

It was a cloudless night outside, the stars seeming to be extraordinarily bright above the dark outlines of the trees and the mountains. One star seemed to be sparkling particularly brightly over the valley as it had since his childhood, its shine not diminished by the pain and grief that overwhelmed him.

Angry tears filling his eyes, Elrohir turned away from the window and kicked at the dark clump of his cloak on the floor. What did he know anyway? He was protected from such things, safe in the west. Sailing the skies, looking down on the people of Middle-earth, the Silmaril gleaming shamelessly from his brow. Did it not see the families weeping? Did it not find its spirit dimmed?

The half-elf stumbled back to his bed and perched on the edge of the mattress, his strong fingers digging into the soft blankets. He had thought that he could smell blood. He was almost sure that he could taste the metallic tang at the back of his mouth. It was strange how the scent lingered.

He had thought that that journey would never end. Even Glorfindel's spirit had been waning at the end, stumbling as he had dismounted and leaning heavily against Asfaloth as he caught his breath. He had watched him sitting beside the fire on those hazy nights, staring into the flames, eyes dark under the bright gleam of his hair. Bargaining with his soul.

Maybe the journey would not ever end. The road that they travelled had changed and he did not know where it led. He was not even sure that he was on the road any more.

The door swung silently open, and a slim figure seemed to glide softly across the room to stand at the younger twin's side. A slender hand was laid softly on his shaking shoulder, and squeezed comfortingly.

Elrohir looked up soullessly, his eyes large and empty under the dark lashes. His sister. She would try to help him, attempt to heal his soul. She always had tried to make things better. She would not succeed, for he would never speak of the hurt with her - but it gave her purpose to try. Her nightdress was pure white in the moonlight, trimmed with the silky embroidered flowers and fruit that their mother loved.

He could remember Elladan's badly disguised horror at wearing garments with similar decoration on his day of initiation into the Imladris Guard. He could remember how he had teased his brother mercilessly and how Arwen had tried not to laugh.

Elrohir blinked, and nodded stiffly, signifying his acquiescence to her company. Arwen did not smile, merely sitting down beside him, her weight causing the mattress to dip under him tilting the pair closer together. She felt warm and comforting, like his mother had once been. He could remember the three of them sitting in the rocking chair by the window so many years ago, he and his brother snuggled up against their mother's body as she had brushed their hair and sung to them. Everything had been so safe and secure then. Letting out a shuddering sigh, Elrohir leant his head against his sister's shoulder, letting her soft curls brush against his sweaty forehead.

Arwen wrapped her arm around his back and patted his shoulder gently. It was strange how strong and muscular he felt now, for she still thought of him as her brother - the one who had showed her the blackbird's nest and had held her hand when she had jumped from the diving rock - not as a bloodthirsty warrior. She did not believe that he could hurt anyone, but now some of her friends had been murmuring that they had been warned to keep clear of the Sons of Elrond. Nobody knew how the half-elven twins would react.

She had ignored them as fully as she could, but the whispered threats and dark rumours had crept their way into her thoughts. She had been unable to prevent flinching when the door had been slammed shut with a clap that had sent a plate off the wall, and she no longer could embroider placidly as Elladan whirled knifes or sharpened swords.

She knew that they were not dangerous. But yet. . .

~*~

Erestor peered over the slanting desk at which he was working through the remaining pile of papers, and glanced disapprovingly at the two elves standing by the window. Outnumbered now by those who did not wish to undertake serious and problematic matters in a serious and thoughtful manner, the windows had been flung open and baskets of bread rolls and dishes of jam, butter and honey were scattered across the desks. Elladan and Glorfindel were standing close together, talking rather loudly as they thumbed through a sheaf of jam-stained papers. With a guilty little jump of glee, Erestor realised that Elrond's eldest son was now slightly taller than the Balrog-slayer. A small triumph maybe, but a most satisfying one, for an elf that had become used to being towered over by two mighty warriors.

"I shall ride out this afternoon. . ." Elladan declared energetically, his pensive scowl disappearing at the thought of action.

Glorfindel frowned slightly, and Erestor nearly laughed. Elladan had thrown his heart and soul into the running of the valley, and it amused him to see Glorfindel having to subdue someone even more impulsive and eager than himself. The younger elf was a breath of fresh air in the study, offering ideas and taking on the most menial tasks with good spirit, but he was not his father. The three older elves had become well tuned with each other during their years together, knowing each other's rhythms and thoughts before they spoke or took action. The past few days had been characterised by many bumps, spills and interruptions as Elladan had failed to respond in the manner expected of his father.

"It shall reinstate them as part of the community. They cannot have confidence in a leader that they do not see." Elladan spoke passionately, and moved to face the blond elf, squaring his shoulders ready for an argument. "You would not run the Guard in such a manner."

Glorfindel predictably stepped closer to the younger elf and eyed him appraisingly, then shaking his head slightly, stepped back and raised his eyebrows. "Elladan, Elladan. . . the valley is a community, not an army."

Erestor shifted nervously and gave Glorfindel a grim look. While the Balrog- slayer had managed to avoid direct confrontation, he had not been able to resist the mocking tone. In his time here Glorfindel's good nature, Elrond's refusal to become agitated and his own steadfast calm had prevented small irritations from becoming cause for bloodshed. With two such hotheaded elves though, Erestor suspected that the atmosphere would come a little strained before long.

Elladan's eyes narrowed, and for a short moment Erestor thought that he could see all the worst of Galadriel and Elrond in that grey glare.

"Perhaps it would be well to treat our people with the respect you show to our soldiers." Elladan spoke with excessive calm. "Perhaps it would inspire loyalty. . ."

This time it was the blue eyes that narrowed into angry slits, and Glorfindel's mouth drew into a thin line.

"Now," Erestor shot to his feet and hurried across to the two confrontational elves, positioning himself between them, "It cannot harm to try."

Catching Erestor's eye, Glorfindel stepped back with an exasperated huff and relaxed his aggressive stance. He should not have allowed himself to rise to the bait, for he knew that lately that he had been far too sensitive of any criticism - implied or otherwise - of the way that he organised the Imladris Guard. While he and Elladan got along well on the training fields, it seemed that their egos could not both fit comfortably into even the most spacious study. It would not help to have internal conflict amongst the counsellors now, when the valley most needed steady leadership.

"It cannot." Glorfindel confirmed, slapping a friendly hand on Elladan's shoulder heavily enough to send him stumbling forwards. "Go. I am sure that the foresters will appreciate it."

Elladan regained his footing and glared at the blond elf, although his tone had become rather more playful. "If we do not march as one. . ."

Glorfindel sighed loudly, and reached out an arm to draw the elder twin into a rough hug for a moment before releasing him. "Aye. Aye. . . we shall see."

Taking advantage of the momentary truce, Erestor bustled across the room to burden them with a mountain of parchment and an impromptu council on the fish and meat stocks for the winter, hoping to unite the pair in their shared hatred of paperwork before the argument could re-ignite. They would be the best of friends again once they left the confines of the study, but for now, an important part of ensuring the smooth running of the valley was keeping the pair from each other's throats.

~*~

Celebrian woke slowly, enjoying the warm peace of her bed before the memories could invade her sleepy happiness. It was a beautiful winter's morning - frosty and crisp, and the sun bright in the cloudless sky. Mist was rising over the skeletons of the trees and the few remaining straggly leaves, and for the first time that season, the snow that covered the Misty Mountains had extended down to powder the lower slopes and hillsides.

She felt well today, in a way that she had not thought that she would feel again. Perhaps it was her dream that had cheered her so. Lingering images of white sands, bright sunshine on green leaves and ripened grain, the brilliant blue of a clear sky, and happy voices singing and laughing. Lately such dreams had been happening more and more frequently, chasing away the black shadows of the caves.

As she sat up in bed and wrapped a soft cape around her thin shoulders, Celebrian bent to kiss her husband's cheek and ran her fingers through his hair. He had grown paler and thinner of late, and fine lines were forming around his eyes and mouth.

His eyes flickered open, the clear grey almost immediately clouding over and darkening with anxiety. It had not even been like this during the days before their sons' birth. She wished that she did not have to burden him so. It hardly seemed fair after all he had suffered and seen. When they had made their vows she had added a silent pledge to protect him from what she could, and to let him have the happy family that had been taken from him.

"Celebrian. You are well?"

She could feel his eyes scanning her face, searching for any sign of pain or distress. His hand had reached up to touch her chest, trying to sense any injuries or hidden trauma.

"I am well." She kissed him again, taking his hand in hers. It was strange how much easier it was to move closer to him when holding onto the remaining threads of the dreams. "Very well."

Elrond looked worriedly at her for a second and then, realising that her smile was genuine and lit with real pleasure, matched it with a rather tentative grin.

"Today. . ." Celebrian rolled over to hug her husband, and beamed with triumph and delight. "Today is beautiful."

~*~

The day was beautiful. The grass of the northern training fields had been sprinkled with a little snow, and the bare oak trees that bordered the training ground shone silver as the winter sun fell on the frosty limbs. The pale frosted grass was trampled in patches where the soldiers were practicing fencing, the green coming through in darkening patches under the elves' rapidly moving feet.

Elladan stalked among the practising pairs, offering criticism and comments as he observed their technique and weaknesses. He was very young as yet for a captain of the Guard and he was acutely aware of Glorfindel leading a training group on the other side of the field. Probably sharing the same field by design. The blond elf seemed to consider it his duty to keep an eye on him. It seemed to have passed the notice of most of the elves of Imladris that he and Elrohir were no longer nine-year-old elflings.

He spent a few moments longer explaining and demonstrating a move to some of the youngest and least skilled of the elves under his command, and then, realising that Glorfindel's group had ceased their exercises some minutes before, stood up rapidly.

"Halt!" He was uncomfortably aware of the Balrog-slayer watching him with a rather smug - if small - smile, and was unsettled enough to be a little late in calling his group to attention and dismissing them.

The streams of soldiers passed away across the grass, joining the path and merging into one long line with those soldiers that trained with and were under the command of other captains. As the mass of grey cloaks and gleaming mail passed into the shadows of the trees, Elladan turned to face Glorfindel, who was strolling casually towards him.

"My Lord." Elladan dipped his head in formal greeting, and stood straight- backed as he awaited formalities. Although they had known each other since his birth, Elladan still had to conform to all the usual expectations and traditions of a captain.

"At ease." Glorfindel smiled rather distractedly as he sheathed his sword, and began unbuckling his wrist guards. "The training went well."

Unsure whether this was a question or a statement, Elladan nodded and made a grunt that could be interpreted in any way that the blond elf chose.

Glorfindel grinned, and paused in pulling off his protective leather gloves to look thoughtfully at the elder twin.

"Any problems?"

Elladan looked at him dubiously, before reminding himself that this was a routine question asked of all captains.

"No. . ." There was little point in mentioning the troubling whispers and rumours that made his position difficult. He should not be bothered by the slight hesitations in obeying his commands, or the insolence that one or two of the elves had displayed.

Glorfindel noticed the pause, but did not press the point. He had always been available for the twins if they had wanted him, and he trusted that Elladan would seek him out when he was ready to talk. He tried to be available for all those under his command.

"Your group is maintaining their attendance? It has been an unsettling time."

His tone was so bland and calm that Elladan knew immediately what he was referring to. Elrohir still trained under Glorfindel's command, where they had both been assigned following their initiation into the Guard. Elrohir had never been as driven as he had been, and had seen no hurry to progress through the chain of command. He was still happy being a nameless nobody, being ordered by someone else - allowing his life to rest in another's hands.

"Aye." Elladan sighed, and looked at Glorfindel, his expression troubled. "Elrohir?"

"He has not attempted training for some weeks." The blond elf sighed, and stared across the field to the snow-covered hills and distant mountains. "You have heard the whispers?"

Elladan did not speak for a moment, then nodded slowly, his eyes on the ground. He had hoped to keep such troubles from the ears of his father, and if Glorfindel knew. . .

"I do not believe that your father is yet worried." Glorfindel frowned as he watched the younger elf's face, and reached out to draw him close. "This is not for you to bear, Elladan. Not alone."

The half-elf shrugged off the embrace, then leant back against Glorfindel's body, needing the comfort as much as he wished that he did not.

"He will come. He will recover. . ." Elladan paused and turned to look at Glorfindel's sceptical face, adding defiantly, "It will just take time."

~*~

"Elrohir." Elladan made his way noisily into his brother's room, halting abruptly and raising his eyebrows as he saw his sister sitting with her arm protectively around his twin. "I see you are already awake!"

Elrohir's eyes rose briefly to meet his twin's before sinking back to his bare knees. Both he and his sister were still in their nightclothes, and they had both become cold during the long night.

"It is time you rose." Elladan stated firmly, crossing his arms across his chest and standing with his feet wide apart.

Elrohir did not respond, but Arwen tightened her grip on his shoulder.

"He is resting still, Elladan. He did not sleep well." Her voice was soft and held its usual sweetness, but there was an unusual rigidity in the words she spoke.

"He has been resting for well on a month now." Elladan stated, raising his eyebrows incredulously in an attempt to taunt his brother into action. "Do not tell me that he is still too weak to train."

Frowning slightly at her brother's tone and the stressed 'too weak', Arwen got to her feet and walked over to the elder twin's side. He was still hot and sweaty from training, his muscles tense under the creased tunic and leggings. Close to, she could feel the aura of taut energy shifting as he transferred his weight from foot to foot - intense and ready to snap.

"Come, let us go to breakfast." Arwen murmured softly, placing a hand firmly around her elder brother's mail-clad arm, and tried to lead him from the room.

"Yes. Breakfast." Elladan said calmly, easily shaking off his sister's hold to stride across the room to the bedside. "Come Elrohir. Brother! You may dine in your nightclothes."

The elder twin grabbed the younger twin, and attempted to drag him from the bed. Gasping in surprise at the force with which Elladan was gripping Elrohir's arm, Arwen rushed over and tried to hold the elder twin's wrist steady.

"No, Elladan. Do not." Arwen dug her fingernails deep into Elladan's arm - a technique she had adopted as a child, finding it the only reliable way of fending off tickling hands - however it made little impression through his thick tunic sleeves.

Elrohir struggled furiously, using his free hand to hit out at anything that was and was not within his reach.

"Go. . ." The younger twin kicked off the remainder of his bedclothes and tried to hold onto the mattress to avoid being pulled onto the floor.

"You must. . ." Elladan's shout was abruptly cut off as Elrohir's foot collided with full force with his knee, and he staggered backwards, releasing his hold on his brother's arm.

"Stop! You must stop!" Arwen shouted, her voice high-pitched in worry. Elrohir had just scrambled back onto the bed and was glaring darkly at his brother, and Arwen sat down beside him, wrapping her arms protectively around his chest.

Elladan stumbled into the wooden doors of his brother's dresser, accidentally sweeping a pile of towels to the ground as he fumbled for a hold.

"You must come." He struggled to his feet but did not approach his brother, aware of the depth of his anger, and afraid of what he might do to anyone that came between them.

"No." Elrohir said blandly, knowing that this would aggravate his brother far more than any unkind or vicious retort.

Elladan's face darkened, and he balled his hands into fists. Why could he not see that he had to do this? That he was trying to help him.

"They do not think you will recover!" Elladan cried out in despair, kicking one of Elrohir's boots with enough force to send if flying across the room. "You must at least try! You cannot give up now. . . you cannot."

Suddenly seeing the bright tears of frustration in her brother's eyes, Arwen released the younger twin from her hug, and held out an arm for her elder brother.

"Elladan. . ."

The sympathy and understanding in her voice only served to increase her brother's anger. If nothing else, the half-elf could not stand to be pitied. Especially not for such a sign of weakness.

"I wish I could fight this for you, I wish I could." Elladan bellowed, picking a glass of water up from the dresser and flinging it towards the wall where it smashed in a silver explosion of shards of glass and droplets of water. "But I cannot. I cannot do that, Elrohir.

Neither of his siblings replied, and the eldest son of Elrond spun abruptly on his feet and stalked out of the room, clapping the door shut behind him.

~*~

"I will be fine." Celebrian smiled at her husband, and stood on tiptoes to give him a goodbye kiss. He had insisted on accompanying her to the doors of the large chamber where, by tradition, many of the female elves gathered to embroider or weave as they spoke of their families and homes. She had known that he would.

He had been as frustratingly insistent as the days of their children's births had approached. Worried, no doubt, that she might enter labour between their sitting room and the southern halls. As if she would be without aid from the dozens of elves who had spent the previous months offering advice, a friendly ear, and gifts of tiny blankets and garments. She had learnt much from the experienced mothers in this room, listening to all that was said as she embroidered flowers and leaves onto a variety of impossibly small tunics and nightshirts.

"You will be." Elrond confirmed, drawing her into a comforting hug, then adding anxiously, "You do not wish me to stay?"

"I will be fine." Celebrian repeated patiently, a playful smile teasing the corners of her mouth. She could see one of her friends through the open doorway, half hidden behind a loom, and the quiet murmur of familiar voices made her feel surprisingly happy.

"I shall come and meet you." The Lord of Imladris added firmly. "Then we may have our meal, before resting."

Celebrian smiled softly at him, but made no comment. She had every intention of sampling the delicious food in the elegant setting of Elrond's hall tonight, but decided that it would be better not to spring too many new ideas on him at once. Her husband could become very stubborn when he felt that too many matters were sailing out of his control.

~*~

The log split cleanly under the axe's blade, the wood releasing a faint scent of summer wood sap into the frosty air. It was bitterly cold up here in the northernmost reaches of the valley, and the ground in the glade was frozen hard and had a good covering of snow.

A large fire had been lit in the centre of the clearing, and a number of elves were seated on the tree stumps that surrounded it, warming their hands and sipping mugs of a steaming drink. Piles of freshly cut logs lay at intervals around the clearing, ready to be loaded onto carts or sleds to be taken elsewhere in the valley.

Elladan was glad of the brightness of the fire and the lingering smell of wood smoke, or he doubted that he would have been able to find the elves among the dense forests of the mountainside. The foresters patrolled and managed the woods around the refuge - not border guards as such, but if any person or creature managed to slip past the watchers on the edges of the valley they seldom travelled more than a few miles into the woods.

They were a strange and silent folk, dressed in shades of greys and browns and their hair loose around their shoulders. They had greeted his arrival with little more than a few curious looks and a momentary break in the rhythm of axes against wood. They had stood aside when he had dismounted, allowing him to tether his horse and pass amongst them to reach a very ancient elf that was standing in wait for him.

He had not spoken at first, merely handing Elladan an axe and directing him towards a pile of roughly hewn logs. As the younger lord of Imladris set to chopping them into smaller chunks suitable for use in domestic fires, the wood elf watched him closely. Eventually, the younger elf having completed the task to his satisfaction, the old elf leant his weight against the wooden shaft of his axe and waited for Elladan to pause. The half-elf was attacking the logs as if they were orcs, putting all his anger and frustration into each swing of the axe.

"Come." The elf spoke at last, and nodded towards two unoccupied tree stumps close to the fire. "You have not come here to freeze."

Elladan stopped abruptly, wiped the sweaty handle of the axe with the cuff of his shirt, and handed it to the young elf that had appeared from nowhere to relieve him. In return he was given a thick pottery mug filled with a creamy liquid that smelt sweet and spicy, and led to the fireside.

"Greetings." The half-elf settled himself onto the cold wood of the tree stump and hugged his knees to his chest for warmth. He took advantage of the momentary pause in conversation as he took a large swig from his mug to survey his counterpart. The old elf was dressed like all the other foresters, and his rusty coloured tunic was covered in bits of bark and wood chippings, but Elladan suspected that he would have been able to identify him as the leader even if the others had not stood aside. There was something in the way that he held himself that reminded him of Glorfindel and his grandparents and others that had been mighty in ages past, and his face held great wisdom.

"Greetings." The elf nodded slowly then leant over to slap Elladan on the back as he turned pink and began to cough at the taste of the drink. "It shall warm you."

Elladan wiped his streaming eyes and took another cautious sip. "Indeed."

The wood elf took a gulp of the drink, and looked at him appraisingly. "It has been long since we have had visitors."

"Aye." Elladan said carefully, hoping to change the focus to the fact that he was visiting them now, rather than the long time during which they had taken the foresters for granted. There was something about the ancient elf's bright eyes that unsettled him. "It is high time for counsel."

The old elf nodded smoothly, then looked hard at the elder twin. "Yet you are not Lord Elrond himself."

"I represent my father." Elladan said quickly, then realising that his tone may have sounded over-aggressive, introduced himself. "I am Elladan, eldest of the Sons of Elrond."

The forester made no comment, but his expression softened slightly. He had recognised the visitor as one of the sons of the valley before the rider had even entered the glade, but had been waiting for the half-elf to announce his presence.

"All is going well with the wood stocks." Elladan said, trying to think back over the documents that he had been perusing that morning but only getting a vivid mental image of his sister's face looking at him with horror and fear. "There is plenty in the cellars, and the forge and dairies are well supplied."

The forester grunted and nodded, hiding his amusement admirably as he took another gulp of his drink. He had no understanding of why the elf lords of the Noldor insisted on creating records and paperwork out of the simplest tasks. Any one the foresters could have provided a concise approximation of the amount of firewood required during the winter, and confirmed how much had already been supplied. "You rode out alone."

The comment had sounded quite innocuous, but the forester watched with interest as the half-elf froze momentarily then turned to glare at him, chin resting on his balled fist. The dark brows had drawn together, and his voice was carefully without soul or tone.

"It was my mother."

"Aye." The forester paused, noticing the way that the half-elf had dipped his head forwards allowing his loose hair and thin braids to fall over his eyes. "So it was."

Unsure of how to respond to this, Elladan picked a few angular wood chippings from the bare ground and began piling them on each other, trying to model a deer or horse.

"You saw things that you would rather you had not." The forester spoke in a low voice, intended for only the half-elf and himself. He had seen such things once, done things that he would regret for the duration of Arda. He would not wield a sword again.

"It was worthwhile." Elladan declared too loudly, drawing several curious stares in their direction. Lowering his voice, he leant forwards and repeated himself with almost pitiful insistence. "It was worthwhile."

The older elf waited for a moment, watching how the young elf-lord remained tense and angry, waiting for him to come to judgement.

"I do not doubt it." The forester spoke calmly, and Elladan's shoulders sagged in relief at the confirmation of his beliefs. Sighing deeply, he tucked some of the curtain of dark hair back behind a pointed ear. He did not know why the opinion of this strange elf mattered to him, but it did.

The old elf reached out to brush the back of two fingers against the half- elf's jaw. He sensed that the younger elf was teetering on a knife-edge, struggling to come to terms with what he had done and seen. "Do not deny yourself the hurt and fear, child. It will do no good in the end."

Elladan drew back, his voice suddenly becoming uncertain. "I. . ."

The forester held up his hand for silence, then gestured round at the surrounding trees.

"I remember when these trees were young and fragile - yet saplings. I remember the harsh winter gales howling through these woods, tearing down those that had not laid roots deep enough, and snapping others that grew too high. I remember the summer fires spreading through the woodland, scorching their trunks and branches. Many did not grow again. And now. . ." The elf sighed, then took a deep breath, looking around at the thick trunks and wide canopy of the mature trees. "Now we burn them. Yet come next spring, there will be fresh saplings, growing in the new light. They will be trampled and stripped by the wandering deer, and others will wither and die in the first winter frosts. But in time. . . time is a great healer."

Elladan scowled at the ground, shaking his head vigorously. The memories were still so strong, so intense and hurtful. "I shall never forget. . ."

"No," The forester said patiently, then rose smoothly to his feet and offered the half-elf a hand, "but in time you shall remember less often."

~*~

Elrond wandered aimlessly through the halls of Imladris, suddenly aware that he had nothing to do and nobody to worry about. It was a strange feeling after the weeks of constant anxiety and fear. It reminded him somewhat of the first time he and Celebrian had walked the boys to training, leaving them in the watchful care of the training master. There was the same mixture of joy and sadness.

He felt lost without Celebrian after the weeks they had spent side by side. It seemed unnatural that she should not be walking alongside him, leaning on his arm or talking in her gentle voice. Perhaps he should go and seek out Erestor. The outstanding reports and documents were bound to take his mind from needless anxiety about his wife, and there would doubtless be plenty of them to capture his attention.

He should see Glorfindel too. It had been a long time since he had talked informally or joked with his friend, and the Balrog-slayer had never failed to lift his spirits. He could not remember the last time that they had gone this long without speaking, save the first few awkward weeks after their introduction. He had known that the blond elf would be waiting for him should he ever wish to talk, and perhaps for that reason he had never sought him out before. But now he needed the company badly.

~*~

Celebrian bit her lip in concentration as she matched a bright red thread against the other flowers in the border of the nightdress that she was decorating. It had become her tradition to give each of her children some special garment each Midwinter, embroidered with patterns that she knew that they would enjoy. She liked to think of her boys having some reminder of home even during the long and dangerous periods they spent out in the wild, especially now.

She had been late starting this year, but she was determined to finish before Midwinter's morning if it was the only thing she did between now and then. All three children had always loved the Midwinter festival, and she hoped that it would be able to coax the now rare smiles to their lips.

There would be a nightdress for Arwen, of course. She had always enjoyed making clothes for her daughter, and although Arwen was now a fully-grown elf-maiden and objected to having buttercups and daisies sewn onto her ribbons and skirts, Celebrian still loved designing the colourful borders and chains of silken flowers.

The boys were rather harder to choose for. Usually she would decorate the collars and cuffs of their shirts and under-tunics with patterns of stars and autumn leaves, but this year she thought she might make something a little more permanent. The twins, and Elladan especially, had a way of wearing out garments rather quickly. It would have hurt her to think that if she had not returned home they would have had little to remember her by.

The Lady of Imladris shook her head slightly and rethreaded her needle with a golden yellow, ready to begin carefully outlining the paler primrose of the centre of her flowers. It was lucky that she had plenty to do, for her companions had not been the distraction that she had thought they would be.

In fact, they had barely spoken.

The atmosphere of the room was shifty and almost unbearably tense from words not spoken. Whenever she bent her head to concentrate on a stitch or to search through her basket for a particular shade of silk thread, she could feel their eyes resting upon her, assessing her every move - but when she looked up again, not one face was turned to hers.

They had smiled at her when she had come in, and had looked pleased when she had taken her customary place at the corner of one of the window-seats, but after that things had become more difficult. She had commented on a beautiful pattern that a friend of hers was sewing, and had received numerous compliments on her few stitches in return. There had been a smattering of polite conversation about the baby blackbirds that had nested outside the window the previous spring, and now another recently married maiden was talking about a tune that she had learnt.

It seemed almost as if they were playing some sort of verbal party game, each eager not to be left talking when she raised her head. Even some of her closest friends - friends that she would have stood by to the end if necessary - seemed to have nothing to say. Hoping, no doubt, that if they did not mention it, the dark shadow in their midst would cease to exist.

She added a few stitches of pale pink to highlight some lilac petals, and began knotting off the thread. It would not be wise to speak. Her mother would never have done such a thing. But then her mother had never lived through such a thing.

"None of you have told me how you spent your autumn." Celebrian spoke softly, smiling slightly as she untangled some skeins of thread. "Shall I take the first turn?"

Her companions looked at each other awkwardly, trying not to appear as if they were actually doing so. Their anxiety and discomfort was clear in their eyes, but for once, Celebrian did not care.

"May I start?" She began placing her threads and pins into her basket, and tied the ribbon that held the thread box shut with an elaborate bow. "Not one of you have asked me about it."

There was an uncomfortable mumbling from one corner of the room, and while some of her friends looked down, their faces shadowed with shame, others were bright-eyed with forbidden interest and morbid curiosity.

"Do not be afraid to speak of it. I will not remember what you said, or how you fumbled to find the words to use. I will not even remember how you did not meet my eyes, or how you struggled to avoid the words that you feared to speak." Celebrian tucked her embroidery back into her basket and got to feet, looking around levelly at her old friends. "I would have only remembered that you spoke to me."




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