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But some time later Galadriel and Celeborn together with Celebrian departed from Imladris and went to the little-inhabited lands between the mouth of Gwathlo and Ethir Anduin. There they dwelt in Belfalas at the place that was afterwards called Dol Amroth; [there their son Amroth at times visited them], and their company was swelled by Nandorian elves from Lorinand.

----The Unfinished Tales: The History of Galadriel and Celeborn

The wind was rising again, bringing with it the calls of the seagulls and pale trails of clouds. Soon, the people of Edhellond would take their boats out and take advantage of the rising wind to sail on the deep blue sea that surrounded the citadel.

Celebrían observed a small company of Elves come to the beach, their merry laughs mingling with the cries of the seagulls that flew over them. They had brought harps and violas with them, and soon the sky would start to resonate with sweet melodies and songs.

The maiden turned her back to the merry company, and slowly started to flank the cliff that surrounded the beach. She was not in the mood for songs or dances or entertainment.

“Elrond Half-elven is soon coming to Edhellond” — those were the words that a scout had brought to her parents just that morning, while they were sitting in the great room that faced the sea, with the calm noise of the waves falling against the white cliffs under them. A simple message that preluded nothing but a diplomatic visit, but that had sent her into a frenzy for a good part of the day.

Now, standing on the high cliffs that surrounded Edhellond, the wind playing with her silver curls, she could finally stay alone with her thoughts.

Celebrían, the breeze seemed to softly whisper to her, as she started her slow descent towards the woods that surrounded the citadel. But she didn’t stop nor turn until she was under the green leafed roof of the forest, and the sea wasn’t in sight anymore, and the cries of the seagulls gave way to the soft twittering of the sparrows.

Those were not the cool and ancient woods of her childhood in Eregion, full of fir trees and hollies. Woods that she knew like the palm of her hands, and where none could find her, if she wished it. Her companions couldn’t match her swift stride, nor flew across branches and hedges like she did, as if she was without weight. For this reason, they called her ‘little Nessa’, and her feet were so nimble that she could join the fawns in their rides without tiring.

Wish that I was there again! Back when her life was simpler, when her friends were still with her, and not scattered along the Eriador, or dead. Back when her mother laughed more heartly, and her father didn’t stare at her with worry in his eyes, back when Celebrimbor was still alive, and the sounds of his forge filled the streets of Ost-in-Edhil.

But that was lost to her, lost in flame and darkness and in the cunning plots of the Lord of the Gifts. There was nothing anymore to return, nothing but ruins and the memories that haunted them.

And so, she ran on and on across the forest that bordered the sea.

Running away was what she had always done back then when the war was still going on, when her father was far away on the battlefield and her mother was strengthening the defences in Lothlórien.
Celebrían remembered how long she had wandered in the woods of the Silvan kingdom, away from everyone and everything, discovering new paths, following the course of the streams.

Celebrían had usually gone by herself, for she did want to remain alone with her thoughts. But sometimes, Amroth, the golden prince of Lórien, went with her, showing her all the marvels of his realm that she’d missed on her previous explorations.

They had grown close, in those dark days where the war was raging across the Misty Mountains. He had listened to her, and gently soothed her doubts when she had told him that she felt useless and weak, to stay here to wander alone in the woods, while her father was lost and her people scattered.

“You don’t have a warrior’s soul, and that’s not a fault of yours, my friend,” he had told her. “Not everyone has to fight, and there are some souls who would be easily broken by war were they forced to go on the battlefield. Nor would your mother ever want you to risk your life, not when you’ve grieved enough in these times.”

At the time, Celebrían had considered herself wise for not falling in love with Amroth, the charming prince who had become her closest friend. His heart was already taken, and such a love would only ruin their friendship. So, it was with a light demeanour that she had said farewell to him, to search for her father in Imladris, the new refuge of Lord Elrond.

And it was there that her heart, whom she had thought so sure and steadfast, had failed her. She had managed to avoid falling for Amroth, hearty and elegant like one of the trees of his golden wood, only to find herself taken by the crepuscular, calm charm of Elrond Peredhel.

She could have laughed at her own folly. If there was someone who was out of her league, that was Lord Elrond Half-elven, herald and trustworthy confidant of the High King, son of Eärendil and Elwing, the two heroes whose courage had finally managed to bring down the reign of terror of the Dark Lord. Younger than her parents and the High King, and yet already wise and venerable enough to be taken in high counsel by them, as fair as Lúthien must have been once, and fiery as the long-gone Kings of the Noldor.

And yet, despite all of this, he had been nothing but infinitely gentle and caring to her. He had listened to her opinions with attention, as if she was a great queen, and never made her feel lesser for her youth and naivety. Never had Celebrían felt so revered and understood at the same time. Even Amroth, caring friend as he was, had treated her more like a little sister, rather than a young woman in her own right.

Elrond, he with the stars within his eyes and the night in his hair, whose name she had whispered countless times when she had laid awake in her bed, unable to sleep. Elrond, whose gentle and skilled hands she had imagined on her skin, awakening a passion that she had never felt in all her centuries-old life.

And then he was coming to their home, and she would see him again after almost an entire yén, look once again into his fair face and see how such separation had changed them.
Celebrían bore no illusion that he was there for her: the Lord of Mordor was defeated, but not even the Valar knew what he was planning in his desolate realm, what webs he was weaving to bring ruin to them all. His seeds had been scattered, and he was just waiting for the reaping.

And yet, selfishly, arrogantly, she wished that Elrond was coming to her, that he had missed her as she had missed him, and that such longing had driven him in the deep South, so far away from the northern mountains where Rivendell dwelt.

She could see him even now, as if he was in front of her, and not still along the road, riding on a tall grey steed, donned in a shining armour, his standard of blue and silver rising high above the head of the riders. In her mind, he wore no helm, but his dark hair was unbound, flowing in the wind as if a splinter of the night itself had been trapped on it.

And for now, she could do nothing but count the days till his coming.

**

It was evening, and the dark violet dome of the sky was decorated only by a passerby cloud, like fine lace upon Varda’s mantle. The only sound that broke the absolute silence in the Edhellond’s empty halls was the gentle noise of the waves crashing against the rocks below.

Celebrían, half-spread on the cushions of a little couch, threw a glance at the dark sea out of the window, following the patterns that the seafoam drew on the surface of the deep waters.

When Elrond had arrived at Edhellond, the dust of the road on his armour and a tired look on his eyes, she had felt her heart almost burst within her chest. As much as the fatigue was written on his entire face, he had smiled as soon as he had seen her.

In that moment, she had felt that there was no choice but to play the part of the host’s daughter, welcoming and charming, as best as she could, lest she betray her emotions in front of him. But it had not been easy, and she had desperately wished that they were alone, to have the possibility to finally talk to him as she had wished to do in all those years, without eyes staring at them and judging them.

It was so then that Celebrían had stopped wandering in the woods around the Citadel, so as not to miss any occasion to meet with Elrond, spending most of her time in the library, in the hope that he would join her, but even so, her mind was in such a disarray that it was difficult for her to concentrate on what she was reading, regardless if it was a book of poetry, or a war chronicle, her ears constantly searching for the sound of steps in her direction.

And yet, there hadn’t been many occasions to talk with him. Elrond spent a long time talking with her parents behind closed doors, on matters that no doubt had a connection with the threat of war that hung above Eriador since the defeat of the Dark Lord. Celebrían had immediately given up the idea of trying to eavesdrop on their conversations, for the fear of getting caught, ending up looking like a mischievous kid in front of Elrond.

And so, the days had passed, with little to no change. Elrond dined with them, and such were most of the occasions in which she could talk to him. But it was always in the presence of other people, and Celebrían missed their private conversations in Imladris, where none had disturbed them while they were walking under the fir trees of the valley, talking about everything that crossed their minds.

Doubtless he had his own reasons to act this way. Celebrían had not missed the letter sealed with the High King’s emblem that he had given her parents on the very first day he had arrived at Edhellond. And she wished not to bother him more than necessary, not when he was already carrying so much burden on his shoulders.

And yet, she felt so alone, so near and yet so far from him. All her childish hope that he had somewhat come for her had vanished like morning dew under the heath of the sun, and she felt foolish for having even thought about it.

She was immersed in such thoughts, when she heard a brief knocking on the door of her chamber, that made her heart jump to her throat. A mad thought suddenly crossed her mind, for what if Elrond had finally come to her, and was standing beside her door at that very moment?

“Enter!” Celebrían suddenly straightened her back. But a sudden wave of disappointment hit her, for the one who was standing at her door was no one else but her mother, already dressed for the night, with a long pale nightgown that flowed around her, and her hair, that she usually kept in tresses above her head, unbound.

“Did I disturb you? I felt the need to speak to you, my dear.”

Celebrían repressed a sigh but smiled at her mother. “No, I was ready to get to bed, but we can talk, if you wish. Come, sit with me.”

Galadriel crossed the chamber in a few light steps and sat beside her daughter, the flames of the candles dancing on her long-unbound hair, that moved like it had a life of its own while she walked.

It was rare to see Lady Galadriel with her hair loose on her shoulders, her vibrant locks flowing on her shoulders like a cascade of molten gold. She often preferred to keep them in braids around her head, those golden waves sparkled with silver, which shone in always new colours according to how the light touched it, as if it was once again capturing the rays of the lost Trees of Valinor.

Celebrían was reminded of when she was little and used to pass her tiny hands into those luscious curls, marvelling at how vibrant they looked, and how different they were from her own pale silver. She let herself relax a little, as her mother put a hand on her shoulder.

“What do you want to say to me?”

“Well, where do I begin?” Galadriel said in a calm, soothing tone, in disagreement with her piercing eyes. “I and your father had long talked about you, for in recent times you seem … odd. You look tired, my dear. Have you slept well lately?”

“Not much,” Celebrían admitted. She lowered her eyes, for she had no will to meet her mother’s inquisitive gaze. She wondered what her parents had thought of her sudden melancholy, and how much they had discussed it. “I have nightmares.”

“Oh, my dear.” Galadriel’s voice seemed to soften. “Do you want to talk about it? I too … suffered from them for a long time. There was a period where they came to me night after night, to the point that I came to dread sleep.” She sighed. “I mislike seeing you so haunted.”

“I am not.” Celebrían suddenly felt the need to get away from her mother’s touch. “Nana, those are … are not nightmares like the ones you described. They will be away soon, without the need for you to worry about it.”

She had suffered from nightmares, in those trying times during the War of the Rings. Only the open air and the green dome of the trees had managed to give her some consolation, and they had gone on for a while, till she came to Imladris. It was to Elrond, then, that she had confessed the nature of her troubles, one evening in Rivendell, on the shore of a quiet pond. And it was thanks to Elrond, to his gentle hands and calm words, that she had managed to finally sleep untroubled for the first night in a while, knowing that he, too, shared a similar burden, and had a remedy for it.

The nightmares had stopped troubling her since then, but she felt no need to reveal this to her mother.

Nor the fact that what troubled her restless nights were not nightmares, not really, but gloomy thoughts about how dark the future looked ahead of her.

One day Elrond would return once again on the battlefield, and she had no way to say whether he would come back alive or join his ancestors in the Halls of the grim Mandos. She had no way to say if confessing her love to him would bring him joy, or yet more sorrow. Nor whether he did love her back, their love a little thing against hardships of war , or if he did not, leaving the spectre of the refusal hanging between them forever, would be a bitter thought souring irredeemably their relationship. And how could she do it to a man who would sooner than later face again the possibility of his own death?

“Such is my hope, my dear.” Galadriel gently pulled one of Celebrían’s silver locks over her ear. “I just cannot bear to see you so … haunted. I miss seeing you laugh.”

“I do what I can.” She sighed. “The Valar know that I would be happier, had this war never started.”

“We all would, I fear.” Celebrían felt her mother gently stroking her back. “But that’s not all of it, is it? These are sad years, aye, but I do think that it’s the presence of our guest that makes you so restless.”
Celebrían felt herself freeze. Her mother knew , then, and she had no doubt that this was what Galadriel was referring to, what she had spoken of with her father.

That was the last thing she wanted. Her parents, as loving as they were with her, they did still see her as their little girl, as if no time had passed since they were able to pull her up in their arms. And now their little girl had grown and had the wants and the needs of a full woman.

Celebrían mused gloomily that this had to be the reason why her mother had come to talk about such matters, and not her father. Celeborn had always been the one to whom she’d preferred to confide in, when she needed some advice from her parents, but probably he had thought that she would be less embarrassed to talk about such matters with her mother.

Doubtlessly her mother meant well, but despite how much Celebrían loved her, Galadriel was often difficult to deal with, the fire of her spirit burning so brightly that she almost feared to get scorched by it. And often Celebrían found herself thinking that she had to thank the Valar that Galadriel was her mother, for her fierce nature could have been hard to deal with, had she been but a stranger to the golden daughter of Finarfin.

For a moment, she thought about lying, but she quickly discarded the idea. Denying was useless, for her mother would know it for a lie. She just asked: “How did you guess?”
“I did not read your mind, if that is what you’re asking.” Galadriel’s voice was gentle. “But your eyes spoke for you. Everytime you see Elrond, it’s like no one and nothing else exists for you. You look at him like the fathers of the Atani must have looked at the rising Sun, once. And I never saw you acting in such a way, my dear.”

For I never felt in such a way, for none, she thought. Celebrían sighed. There were things her mother needed not to know. “Nana, I understand your worry, but I fear you exaggerate your concern. Lord Elrond is … he is very fair, as once his foremother was surely. Is there really anyone who can take their eyes off a descendant of Lúthien?”

“Aye, but I would not believe that you love him only because he’s beautiful, do you?”

“No, obviously not.” Celebrían felt herself blush violently and bent her head to hide it. Her mother would never dare to enter her mind without permission, aye, but she had other ways to read one’s secrets. “He is wise, gentle, and caring, and I cannot think of a man who is braver than him, facing death twice, in battle as in tending wounds, trying to save as many as possible.”

“I would never doubt it.” Galadriel sighed. “He is a brave young man, and wise, and I am very fond of him for Elwing and Nimloth’s sake. But Túrin, too, was a brave young man, and valiant like few, and that brought Finduilas to her doom.”

Finduilas. Celebrían felt a cold shiver along her spine. The cousin she had never known, long dead before her birth. A graceful maiden, the tales told, with long hair of spun gold and a sad gaze due to her unhappy love.

“But Elrond isn’t Túrin, Nana.”

“Aye, indeed.” Galadriel sighed. “Yet… look at what he made of you. You are constantly on the edge, as if you cannot stand when he is not in your sight. And for what, then? His mind is locked to me, and I cannot tell what his thoughts are, nor do I wish to intrude upon his secrets. I do not know if he feels for you what you feel for him, nor if he ever will.”

Celebrían bit her bottom lip, trying to fight the tears. Those were the questions that had plagued her for long, too, and what had caused her to choose to never reveal to Elrond the love she bore him. Better to live with the doubt, rather than to confess just to be refused.

After all, there was no proof that Elrond felt anything for her but a deep companionship. The rare times he had touched her hands, her arms, her hair, he had barely reacted to such contact, as if he was touching the skin of a sister, rather than a potential lover.

Was she truly a second Finduilas, condemned to love a man that held no such feelings for her?

Celebrían was shocked that her voice did not tremble, when she replied: “I know. I too do not know if he loves me, or not.”

“And that’s why I think that it would be better for you to forget about this whole deal. You should not ruin your life in the hopeless pursuit of something you cannot have. You’re young, and will have plenty of occasions to be happy again, my dear.”

“I wish that it was as easy as you say. I can’t just stop being in love.” Celebrían sighed. “Was it that easy for Celebrimbor, you think? Did he just stop being in love with you?”

Galadriel did not answer. She circled a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, and gently pressed her against her breast. Celebrían did not refuse her, content to just be held in her mother’s arms, inhaling her sharp scent, like the one of the blossoms of a hawthorn. She closed her eyes, and finally allowed herself to sob.

“No, it wasn’t like that.” Galadriel gently lulled her, as she had done countless times when Celebrían was nothing but a little child. “Beloved of mine, the Valar know that I never want to see you suffer from the pain of having your love denied.”

Celebrían replied nothing, just letting herself get out her sorrow. She had forgotten how comforting it could be crying in her mother’s arms, despite all her promises to not have her parents treat her like a child anymore.

It was just after that she let go of the tears that she had tried to fight for so long, and after her mother had offered her comfort and a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, that Galadriel finally spoke.

“Why do you love him?”

Because he was the only one who treated me as his peer, the only one who saw me as his own equal.

“It’s complicated”. Celebrían sighed. “Would you be able to tell me that easily why you love Ada?”

“Because he understands me.” Galadriel smiled, the first real smile since the beginning of their conversation. “And he cares not about what others say. As a husband worthy of you should do, my dear.”

“And that’s the whole matter, Naneth.” Celebrían felt the need to straighten her back, and to look at her mother in her eyes, as she had avoided to do before. “Do you trust me enough to find for myself someone who’s worthy of me, as you say?”

“Of course, my dear.” Galadriel frowned. “I meant not to imply that you lack judgement. I just … mislike to see you so sorrowful. You, who were always the joy of our home. But I guess that I cannot protect you forever, and I especially cannot protect you from your own heart.” She gave her daughter a sad smile: “Leaving you to choose your own road, isn’t that after all what my father did with me?”

***
The sun had started her descent towards the Border of the World in the outermost West, when Celebrían turned on her steps, deciding to arrive in Edhellond before the night fell. She was not scared of the night, but it was better to not stay alone in the woods in those uncertain times, even so near to the Sea, and to Elven dwellings.

After the conversation with her mother, Celebrían had decided to keep herself occupied, to distract herself from the thought of Elrond, and not to worry her parents too much. She had once again started to wander in the woods, near the coast, where the fresh scent of the sea meets the one of the fir trees. Albeit this had not completely made her forget about Elrond, this had relieved her heart a little.

Some days before, Elrond had sat near her while her mother was playing her harp, singing a sad Quenya song that she had learned in her youth in Aman, her deep voice ringing on the high stone ceilings and filling the hall with the sound of her longing, for the lost Aman and the fair palaces of Tirion, for the scented woods of Araw lit by the mingling of the lights of the Two Trees.

He had smiled at her when the song was finished, and they had exchanged a short, enjoyable talk. They had talked of nothing special, for they were in the middle of a hall full of people, but the conversation had managed to cheer her heart a little, for Elrond’s voice was sweet, and when he looked at her, it was like a star shone on his face.

Celebrían smiled remembering it, as she took the path that led to the beach, for it was the swiftest road to the citadel. As she walked, a bird, disturbed by her coming, opened its wings and flew away, a peck of white against the changing colours of the sky.

But as soon as she came where the forest finished, and the beach started, she stopped frozen in her tracks. Not far away, walking with his feet bare at the water’s edge, there was Elrond’s tall, stately figure, turned with his back to her. His dark hair danced in the breeze, unbounded, and Celebrían stood there for a long, agonizing minute, uncertain of what to do.

Call him, with the risk of disturbing him, who had clearly come here to stay alone? Or to trace her steps back, before he could even manage to take notice of her?

But before she could decide, Elrond turned, and immediately noticed her. The surprise on his face soon turned to amusement.

“Celebrían!” He was dressed in a loose white shirt, and simple trousers of grey cloth, but he looked as fair as ever, his deep grey eyes so like the evening sea near to them.

She became suddenly too aware of her dishevelled hair, and of her bare feet, still dirty from the grass of the hills. As his gaze wandered on her, she felt a rush of heat to her face.

There was nothing else to do, and she moved closer to him, letting the water gently caress her naked feet, washing away the spots of grass.

“I wasn’t aware that you were here,.” she said, trying to hold that piercing gaze. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“No disturbance could ever come from you.” He smiled. “Rather, you saved me from my own loneliness. Would you like to join me?”

She swiftly reached him. “Oh, absolutely.”

They stayed silent for a while, as the sun slowly began lowering beneath the Border of the World, and Gil-Estel rose in the violet sky, its pale rays mingling with the radiance of the dying sun.
Elrond’s profile, raised as he looked at the lonely star hung above them, looked like one of the silver cameo brooches that Celebrimbor used to make in his laboratory in Eregion, delicate carvings where the skill of Fëanor met Nerdanel’s one.

In that moment he really looked like he had stepped out of one of her mother’s tales from the First Age, the beauty of the Eldar and the strength of the Edain combined in his fair face.

It took a while before she could find the words again. ”What … what were they like?”

“They?” He looked at her, the light still reflected in his grey eyes.

“Your parents. I … I mean if it doesn’t bother you… But I always wondered how it would be … to be their son.”

“To be their son, you say. Well …” he sighed. “What can I say? I would say that I wonder the same, for I feel like I never really had the occasion to be such.”

She felt her cheeks turn hot once again, but this time in shame. “Forgive me for asking such questions.. I didn't mean to …”

“No, no, do not worry yourself. Come, let us walk while we talk?”

“Very gladly.”

Elrond offered her an arm, and she took it, hoping that her face would not show her blush too much. As their hands touched, Celebrían was suddenly too aware of the skin on his arms, casually stroking against hers from time to time.

She inhaled, forcing herself to focus on the rough sand under her feet, or the breeze that filled her lungs, rich with the taste of salt.

Anything but the beautiful, lithe, strong body near hers.

“You asked me about my parents, and you deserve an honest answer. So, here it is,” Elrond’s voice was calm, and even if it seemed to not betray any emotion, Celebrían could sense a note of melancholy under it, so thin that she would not have even guessed it, had she known him less. “I do not remember much about them, for I was but a child when I was sundered from them, and my memory sometimes fails me.”

“My mother … sometimes I remember. She always wanted to keep me and my brother near to her, she misliked when we played hide and seek, for she lost track of us. She used to carry us with her when she spoke to her people and sang ballads of lost Doriath to us in the evening before she put us to bed.” He sighed. “My father … he eludes me. His face is like a cloud, for I never really got to know him. The few things I know, is because Lord Círdan told me, for they had been friends before my father sailed for the Undying Lands. My brother took after him, both in mind and desires; they both had a mortal soul.”

“And you? You did not take after him?”

“Not from what I have been told of him. Lord Círdan always said that I am more like my mother.” His voice lowered. “And, if the tales that came from the Blessed Lands are true, we made the same choice.”
“Your choice …” Celebrían looked at him, but once again, his gaze was lost on the distant sky, his expression unreadable. “Can I ask you yet one more question, without sounding impolite?”

“You can. I told you; you deserve an honest answer from me.”

“You … have you ever come to regret it? Or… did you ever have any doubts?”

Elrond turned to stare at her, and suddenly she felt as if she was standing over the edge of a cliff, between the solid earth under her feet and the void. So deep was his gaze, that it seemed like an abyss ready to grasp her.

“It’s not easy to explain.” He gave her a little smile, that it did not reach his eyes. “But aye, I did regret it, once, when … when my brother died. He was … half of my soul, so his loss was almost … It destroyed me. I asked myself why he wished to sunder our souls forever, and I hated him for making the choice I discarded, and then I hated myself for not being able to follow him in his fate. I …”

“Elrond.” Before she had realized what she was doing, she had grasped his arm. “Are you …?”

“I am fine.” As quick as it had come, the terrible moment passed, and Elrond gently put his hand on her own, long and elegant. “I was just lost in my memories. I did not mean to scare you. It is better that I stop if you would rather…”

“No, I was just worried for you. I did not want to force you to continue, if it pains you. But—” Celebrían intertwined her fingers with his own, suddenly aware of his touch, of the warmth of his fingers, of how strong and graceful they were at the same time. “I liked hearing your tales. If that is your wish too, I would like you to continue.”

“As my lady wishes.” He smiled, lowered their entwined hands, and made a gesture for her to follow him along the water’s edge.

“There is not much that I can say of my parents, unfortunately. As I told you, we were separated too soon, and I fear that Lord Círdan would answer your questions better than me. My mother and father have my love, but it feels like I love a ghost, a long-gone memory, rather than two living people. I can just hope that my sire can look at me in his eternal wandering, and that one day such sundering will be over, and that we will all be finally reunited. But if such a moment ever comes, I fear that it will happen too far in time to be of any consolation.” He looked at the sea near them, the sea that had once swallowed his parents, as if he could grasp some glimpses of them between the waves.

“Elrond.” She wanted to touch his face, to hold him in her arms, to make him know that he was loved. “If any consolation may come from this … I am here. I am here for you, and I always will be.”

His thumbs started to draw light patterns on her palm, without thinking. “I know. And for that, I will always be grateful to you, my lady.”

Gratitude was different from love, aye. But how could she blame him? How could she do that, when she had heard the pain in his voice when he had talked of his brother? The hidden sadness in his voice when he had mentioned his parents?

“As I am grateful to you for … for talking to me when I first came to Imladris. You managed to put my troubled mind at rest, and to soothe the pain of my losses.”

“I do remember.” Half of a smile appeared on his face, evoking once again the evening where they had walked near a stream, under the stars and the high branches of the trees, and she had opened her soul to him. “You told me that Celebrimbor was very dear to you. I knew him a little, but I mourned him, so I cannot imagine how you must have felt.”

“He was a dear friend of my parents, and toward me, he had always been nothing but gentle.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I do not care what they said of him … later. Even in his darker moments, Celebrimbor’s mind was always free and uncorrupted.” Celebrían moved near him, to the water’s edge. The water was cold against her toes, but it was pleasant enough. The slimy touch of a little fish tickled her ankle.

“Nor that I would dare to doubt your words.”

“Aye, but others would, I fear. He takes the blame, when the fault all lies with the Lord of the Gifts, as he called himself when he came there.” Celebrían moved against Elrond. Albeit they were not touching, his mere presence seemed to warm her, as warm as the water around her feet was cold. She idly wondered if she could touch him again.

“Not everyone would fault the ones that Sauron broke with his lies and deceptions, fortunately. One may say that arrogance and blind pride guided the Silver Hand, aye, but he did not deserve the terrible punishment that the Deceiver inflicted on him when he did not reveal the position of the Three.”

On hearing the name of the Dark Lord, Celebrían shivered, despite Elrond being near her, and the summer being at the door. The people at Edhellond usually avoided pronouncing that name, as if they feared to evoke the dark shadow of the one who bore it in their sunny citadel, and even her mother said it as little as she could.

“I blame him not, too. The Deceiver had … his own ways. Have you ever met him? The Lord of the Gifts, I mean.”

“Once.” Celebrían hesitated. Her mother was quick to send her away from the Citadel when the Emissary of the Valar was around, in a little homely estate on the fair hills of the Hollin, and Celebrían had never complained when it had happened, for she felt more at ease in the woods rather than in the Citadel where the last of the House of Fëanor was slowly losing his own heart. “And I will never forget it, I fear. He looked … strange. I can’t really put my mind on it, but he was a bit like a mirror of polished silver. Fair, but constantly changing its surface, never looking the same twice, and never revealing what it hid under that shining exterior.”

“It was quite my impression, too,” Elrond said, and he furrowed his brow, lost in memories. “I did wonder if it was the same for all the Maiar, if Melian too, my foremother, did look like that, and maybe I could have overlooked that, were it not for his honeyed tongue that put me at unease. I am not one made for flattery, and I value sincerity over empty courtesy.”
Celebrían felt strangely relieved to hear that.

“But still, I don’t think that Celebrimbor was so quick to fall at some blandishment,” Elrond continued. “No, Annatar did offer him what his heart desired the most, and that was his ruin. He had no hope of winning against his own wishes. And it is tragic, because despite disowning his father, it seemed that in the very end he couldn’t escape his own blood.” He sighed. “Neither me, nor Celebrimbor could.”

Son of Eärendil. Aye, surely Elrond could be proud that his father was the Star of the Morning, but what was such honour compared to growing up without his love?

Celeborn had always been there for her, since her very first breath. She could not know how Elrond had felt, how such loss had weighed on his soul.

“You talk as if you knew him well.” She was strangely surprised to hear Elrond speak of Celebrimbor this way.. In the long years she’d spent in Eregion, Celebrimbor had rarely talked about Elrond, and only concerning formal matters.

“Not as much as you do, I fear.” He smiled, as the breeze caressed his long dark hair. “But once when he still dwelt in Lindon, Celebrimbor tried to talk to me, about how lonely it was for him to be the last of his line. He sought some consolation in the knowledge that I was dear to his uncle’s heart, at least for those few years we spent together … but I fear that I ultimately disappointed him; to me Fëanor is nothing more but a name from my history books.”

“And maybe it’s better that Fëanor remains as such, a name in songs and books, and nothing more.” She studied Elrond’s face, the high cheekbones and the full lips that had inhabited her dreams for more than a century. “Such legacy didn’t bring much luck to Celebrimbor. It seems that Fëanor’s name still could cause strife even now.”

Celebrían suddenly remembered a friend of hers, that used to play with her among Eregion’s hills, that had later taken pride in becoming part of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, to work for Lord Celebrimbor like his apprentice, and thus to learn the secrets that the Silver Smith himself had learned from his great forefather. Such joy and glory had come to their end when the Necromancer himself had sacked Ost-in-Edhil, and her friend had died alongside her companions.

“Your mother would agree on such a matter.” Elrond gave her a sad smile. “Aye, let Fëanor become a memory and a tale, for such a spirit has no more space in our world. And let us hope that no one else would force on his descendants such a terrible burden as the one that he placed on his own sons.”

It was easy, so easy to forget that Elrond had once seen the darkest parts of Fëanor’s legacy, that it had been only because the kinslayers hadn’t completely forgotten about pity and compassion despite their cruel purpose, that he still lived and could talk here with her.

They remained silent for a while. Then Celebrían felt the courage to speak once again.

“Were they kind to you? Maedhros and Maglor, I mean. If it doesn’t pain you to talk about such matters … for my mother says that it is better for certain things to lie in the past, and to leave the dead at rest.”

“Your mother is wise.” Elrond’s voice was gentle, but he avoided her gaze as he spoke. “Kind … not at first. Later, Maglor was, and taught us the use of the harp as well as the sword. Maedhros mostly kept away, and let his brother handle us, for he had little to no time for us. They weren’t cruel, and Maglor’s teachings I still hold dear, but I will never forget the fear I felt in those terrible first days of our captivity, nor do I know if my heart will ever be able to forgive it.”

“Nor that it should be expected of you.” Celebrían replied, and she said nothing more, for what words could console him of such pain?

They didn’t talk for a while, just listening to the waves lapping against the shoreline.

“You’re right, too,” Elrond said in the end. “And now that Celebrimbor is gone, gone are those ties to my past too. And maybe that’s a sign for me to bury my past, to leave the memory of Maedhros and Maglor behind, and to go on with my life. I cannot be haunted forever by their ghosts, and by what they have done.” He drew out a long sigh, and he got out of the water, letting his feet dry in the breeze, as if he got tired of the sea all of a sudden.

“Maybe you’re right.” She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the wind caress her hair. “As I should do too, I fear, for I still cannot forget what Eregion once was. But how? I wasn’t even able to bid a proper farewell to Celebrimbor, and now he’s gone, and maybe we’ll never meet again on this side of the Sea. I would have loved to say a proper goodbye, had I known that I wasn’t going to see him anymore.”

Celebrían had to fight the tears once again. In her last days at Ost-In-Edhil there hadn’t been time for parting well from anyone, for her mother had insisted that they and their followers move as quickly as possible and in secret, in the middle of the night, fearing that Celebrimbor had been corrupted by Annatar so thoroughly that he would try to imprison them, had he known of their escape. At the time, Celebrían’s worries had been all for her father, who had not come with them, despite her mother’s insistence and pleas, and she would have never thought that that would be the last she would ever seen of Eregion, and that the next time she crossed the same road, Ost-in-Edhil would be a wasteland.

“I … your loss grieves me too, Celebrían”, he seemed to hesitate to say the next words, looking at her like he had noticed she was fighting her tears. She immediately wiped her eyes, furiously. “I didn’t know him as you did, but such a loss was terrible for all our folk, both for his peerless skills and for his noble heart.”

She nodded, unable to find the words again. She suddenly remembered that Elrond had come to aid her father, during the Sack of Eregion, and that he had witnessed the terrible ravaging of the body of Celebrimbor, the dignity of rest denied to him, put on a pole in the mockery of a standard.

Both Galadriel and Celeborn had refused to tell her what happened during the Sack in details, as to protect her from that cruel news, but she had heard it all the same, from the whispers and the fearful speeches of the Eregion refugees in Imladris, who were alive only thanks to Elrond and Celeborn’s combined efforts.

In the years that followed, Celebrían had heard her father praise Elrond’s prowess a lot, he who had fought bravely against the Dark Lord’s forces, despite him being outnumbered and cornered. Elrond who until the last, despite the horror that had overcome his army at the sight of Celebrimbor’s broken body, had encouraged and consoled his soldiers and had never shied from fighting at the forefront.
It was rare to hear Celeborn praise someone, especially when it comes to matters of battle, so Celebrían had been somewhat pleased to hear that.

“It comforts me to hear that he’s still honoured, he and the ones that died alongside him as well.” She sighed, crossing her hand on her breast. “A yén has passed, and yet I still grieve. I do wonder if I’ll ever stop grieving for them. An entire city, full of life and songs, now fully gone … even if all of them were allowed to return from Mandos, and to cross once again the Sundering Seas, nothing will be the same.” She embraced herself, feeling suddenly cold. “And why? As you said, it was all because Celebrimbor could not escape his blood, and the curse of his House?”

“I do not know, I fear. And I wonder if I will ever want to know such an answer.” Elrond let out a long breath, extending her a hand to get her out of water. “As for the pain, Celebrían … I do not want to offer you false words of comfort. The grief does not pass easily, and maybe will never pass. But … one can find a way to live with it, till the day where you’ll be able to put it away in your heart, not to forget it, but to start to live again.”

Celebrían remembered the night of more than a century before, in Imladris, where she had been too tormented by nightmares to sleep, and he had given her comfort. She thought about what he had said about his parents and inhaled.

“I … such is my hope, and I fervently hope so. But oh, Elrond … I do feel so lost sometimes. I am but a girl to my people, little more than a child, and yet I have lived long generations of mortal men, but … I do wonder what’s even all of this for. You said that one cannot escape their blood, and I fear that you’re right.” The words were coming to her lips, almost like they were water spilling out of a brooch, and she couldn’t help but talk, speaking out loud what she had always kept inside. “What am I without my parents? I am nothing without them, and yet I am nothing compared to them, too. I do not have my mother’s fiery spirit, nor do I have my father’s steadfastness. What I’ll be destined to do, then, if not to be forgotten and to fade into obscurity, the lacking daughter of two great parents, unable to live up to their legacy?”

“You are not lacking, Celebrían.” Elrond clasped her hands in his own, looking at her straight in the eyes, his grey gaze deep and piercing. “You have an open road in front of you, and your steps are only your own. Don’t set yourself for failure even before you have taken the first step on the path you choose.”

“But what if I don’t even know what path I should take?”

“When the moment will arrive, you’ll know.” He gave her half a smile. “There are so many paths to choose… the future unfurls in many unexpected ways, and one cannot force it by taking a decision before the right time has come.”

Celebrían sighed. “I suppose that you’re right. I see now why you are famed for being a wise man.”

Elrond let out a chuckle. “So people say. I dare not to call myself wise, however, because I do think that one that calls himself wise, rarely is. And I do sometimes feel that I do have very little wisdom of my own.” He rubbed his chin, pensively.

“And I am even less wise than you, then.”

“Do not devalue yourself. I do think that you have wisdom, in your own way. You just need to be patient, and to remember that such things need time to be cultivated, once again.”
“Thank you, Elrond.” She finally smiled. “You … I did need to talk with you. I really did.”

“I know.” He unclasped their entwined hands to raise one of hers, and gave it a little kiss on her knuckles, a light touch of lips, but that filled her with a warmth that she had rarely felt before. “Do not restrain yourself, Celebrían. I know that you fear to misstep, but … I would never judge you, my friend.”

“I won’t, then.” She finally felt her heart become lighter, and in a sudden burst of bravery, she answered him by raising on her tiptoes and kissing his cheek. It was nothing more than a fleeting contact, but it filled her head to toe with heat, despite the impending chill of the night.

Maybe Elrond would never love her as she loved him, and one day that would break her heart. But that night, he was near her, and the star of Eärendil was high above them in the middle of the sky, and for the moment, it was enough.

Chapter Text

But some time later Galadriel and Celeborn together with Celebrian departed from Imladris and went to the little-inhabited lands between the mouth of Gwathlo and Ethir Anduin. There they dwelt in Belfalas at the place that was afterwards called Dol Amroth; [there their son Amroth at times visited them], and their company was swelled by Nandorian elves from Lorinand.
—The Unfinished Tales: The History of Galadriel and Celeborn

The moon was high over Edhellond, and not a single soul was awake in the Citadel, but for the lone sentinels awake on its white towers. Celebrían was deep in her dreams, her long hair spilled on the pillow like a halo around her head, when a sudden touch on her shoulder woke her up.

She slowly opened her eyes, still half-dozing, her mind numbed by the sleep as she stared blankly at the moonlight falling on her bed. And in that ray of pale light, that painted her dark room of silver, she saw Elrond, standing in front of her, like he had just come out of one of her dreams.

“Elrond”, she exhaled, the last vestiges of sleep completely forgotten. She straightened her back to sit, and looked at him better. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled, his grey eyes turned silver by the moon ray. “Soon I’ll return to Imladris, and I wanted to bid you farewell.”

“You could have done it tomorrow!” she kicked away her sheets, and in a jump, she was in front of him. “How did you even get in? Did you fly, like your mother?”

Elrond laughed, and she felt his arms around her, warm and strong and real, not a mere dream. “Maybe. Would you believe me, if I told you so?”

Celebrían touched his face, her heart beating furiously in her ears. He shouldn’t have been there; he wouldn’t have risked damaging the relationship between him and her parents by sneaking alone into her chambers … or would he? A strange warmth filled her, and she felt herself blush.

“Don’t tease”, she replied, feeling bold enough to press her body against his, as to better look into his eyes.

For once, the melancholy seemed to have completely disappeared from his face, as she had rarely seen him. That Elrond, joyful and with a laugh on his lips, showed her a face that she wasn’t used to. A face that he showed only to her, perhaps, and this didn’t displease her. “Tell me why you’re really here.”

“Well, I can’t bid you a proper farewell tomorrow, in front of everyone.” And before she could even realize what he was doing, she felt his hand on the small of her back, pressing her against his body, and his lips gently touched her own.

None of the endless daydreams she had about him, about how his lips would taste, had prepared her for such a kiss.

Her heart a thunder in her chest, her lips opened, welcoming his tongue into her mouth, yielding to his gentle invasion. Nothing mattered anymore but his body pressed against her own, his hands gentle but firm against her back, the warmth of his mouth on hers. Her hands, almost as if they possessed a will of their own, travelled on his back, stroked his unbound hair, finally feeling the texture as she had always wanted to do.

There was no more hesitation, no more embarrassment, nothing of what had plagued her for so long. No more doubt between them, it was like they were always meant to do this. And as if she had done it countless times, she gently drew him into her bed, between the silk covers where she was alone just an hour before.

Celebrían had no idea of how they had gotten naked, but she didn’t care, as her eyes were only for Elrond, for his agile, graceful form, revealed to her as she had always longed to see him. And now he was into her arms, as naked as the day he was born, his long, strong hands on her breasts, on her hips, between her legs. She barely muffled a scream as he pulled one of her nipples between his fingers, sending a shiver through her whole body. Her hands couldn’t stop touching him, too, his back, his shoulders, his buttocks, stroking his long hair, as dark as the night and as soft as silk.

And then, between a kiss and another, he was suddenly inside her, his body hard and warm between her legs.

She cried out, grasping his shoulders to keep him against her breast, as he was filling her, pushing his hips against her own and sending waves of pleasure along her spine at every thrust, his hands voracious on her skin.

Celebrían pushed her head back, her legs wrapped around his waist, as Elrond’s warm mouth hungrily tasted the soft skin of her neck, of her shoulders, their bodies joined so tightly that she couldn’t have said where he ended, and she started.

It was like he had become her whole world, as if nothing existed anymore, but their bodies united in a dance of lust and love. And then, everything faded, when in Elrond’s arms, she cried out her pleasure as the climax reached her.

***
Celebrían suddenly woke up to an empty room.

Morning light was shining through the open windows, and she was utterly alone between the white sheets. Not a trace of anyone’s body near her, not even the slightest, faintest whiff of a scent different from hers.

Celebrían inhaled, unable to believe her own eyes. But no one was there, the door was locked as she locked it every evening, and she was still dressed in her nightgown, even if she remembered too well that she’d shed it from her body in the haste to join her lover.

Had it been nothing more than a dream?

Celebrían closed her eyes, and returned once again under the sheets, her arms tightened around her body, as if to awaken the memory of another body against hers. Such a strange dream, then, for she had never felt anything like this before, a dream that did not just fade away once awake, but that seemed to linger like a memory.

She could still feel the ghost of Elrond’s kisses on her skin, the imprints of his fingers on her thighs.

She shivered at the thought, pressing her legs against one another as to still evoke those sensations. Celebrían had dreamed of him before, both in Imladris and in Edhellond, and this new nocturnal union was nothing like she had experienced before, too strangely vivid, too warm for being just a mere fantasy.

But how? There was no trace that someone else had slept with her the night before, and the door was closed from the inside.

Her mother had once talked to her of Melian the Maia, the divine Queen of Doriath, weaving spells and enchantments in her Girdle, so that none could trespass in her realm without her will, and how she had taught such skills to her best student, Galadriel of the Noldor. No trace of Melian remained anymore in Middle Earth, after she had long abandoned it in her sorrow, but her blood still ran in the veins of her descendants, Elrond Peredhel as the line of the Kings of Númenor.

Celebrían wondered if Thingol too, the great King of the Grey Elves, had once felt like she felt now, if he too had the impression of having stumbled into a dream, as he had seen the fair Melian, a spirit as old as Time in the shape of a woman of blood and flesh, as he had been lost in her eyes?

Celebrían shivered, putting her knees under her chin. Had he read into her heart’s most secret desires, as Melian had once done with the ones who sought her counsel, and acted accordingly, knowing that she waited for nothing else but to hear that he loved her?

But had he really dared to do such a thing? She remembered the evening on the beach. It didn’t seem something that Elrond would do, not keeping faith in his word to not share the burden of his fate with someone else. Nay, he would not run to her not caring for the consequences that such an action may bring on her.

And then what? Had he desired her as she desired him, and for a strange chance of fate, they had met in a dream, a dream that had felt real thanks to a little trace of Melian’s power ?

She had no idea, and worse, she had no idea of how to discover it. She couldn’t speak of it with others. Her mother, wild and carefree in her youth, who had taken her father as a lover in a bitter age of enmity between their people, would not be bothered if she had heard that her daughter had let Elrond slip into her bed, but other people would talk, and judge.

And if it had been nothing but a dream, would it be wise to reveal such a thing to Elrond, with the risk of upsetting him, and turning him away from her forever?

Better to stay quiet, then, and to dwell on the memory of the past night.

Was it just a vision, nothing more than a dream? If it was so, then, it was a sweet dream, something that would keep her company in the years that lay above them, long years of darkness and war, that would inevitably see Elrond return once again on the battlefield. And that was a comfort to her, for she would never forget the sensation of Elrond’s skin against her own, of their bodies entwined. It would be a moment stolen in time and now forever fixed in her memory.

Nothing more than a dream, aye, but sometimes, dreams are sweeter than reality.