Suffering

Suffering

Chapter 3

*looks at the reviews and then does the happy dance* Yay.

Farewell: You’ll definitely want to drag Arryn away from Elrohir to bash Glorfindel over the head after this chapter *evil laughter*

Earelen: *contemplates stringing them out for a while longer just to see what happens…*

Cass: I think they are concentrating on the flaws in their own characters as well. I do have an argument planned … as in big major bust up time… *even more evil laughte
Ka
Kalurien: A slightly different type of angst here … I hope it’s not squirm-worthy

And … *drumroll* Nemis: thanks for lovely reviews, but thanks even more for beta-ing this chapter, pointing out flaws and help with names.


A/N: ** this** denotes indirectly reported thoughts; *this* denotes directly reported thoughts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Celebrían wandered through the gardens of Imladris. Between deft fingers she wove tiny flowers into an intricate garland, such as the elves of Lothlórien delighted in. Now and again she paused to pluck a flower from the ground and add it to her creation. For a while, under the dappled sunlight of spring, she set aside her cares, resolutely pushing them from her mind, and was once again only the child of Galadriel and Celeborn, not the embattled and unloved Lady of Imladris.

As she turned a corner, she saw, a little way ahead, a booted foot dangling from a tree. Following the long limb up with her eyes, she glimpsed her husband and her heart, troubled anew, beat faster. He sat astride a branch, reading, and his hair was unbound, flowing around his shoulders. He had shed his formal robes and was simply clad in muted colours which emphasised his pale skin and dark hair. A small smile playerossross his face and he seemed more like a recalcitrant elfling who had escaped from his tutors than a great lord and veteran of many battles.

As Elrond tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, Celebrían contemplated his fine profile and was overcome by a wave of love so strong that it rocked her where she stood. There was such nobility in those sunlit features, such warm sincerity.

*I know I should not blame him for not loving me. ‘Tis not his fault that he cannot feel as I do…*

But in some deep corner of her mind it rankled, souring her gaze.

She wished he would make love to her as she desired.

**It would be a melody of scorching, sweaty skin and entangled limbs, a dance of feverish lust tempered with love. His hands would slide across her, at first feather-light, and then strong and swift, followed by his talented mouth, eliciting gasps of surprise from her. Those long, slender fingers would explore her most delicate areas until she arched against him, and then he would fill her, and she would be completed, consoled.**

As it was, although her body burnt with the fire and ice of his skin on hers only a few nights previously, she sometimes simply dreamt that his wistful smile was meant for her, and that he would laugh against the curve of her neck as she related some anecdote to him.

Abruptly, she realised that she was blushing and shook herself from her reverie. Placing the crown of flowers on her fair hair, she spun on her heel and walked away, trying to recover some hint of her composure.

Out of the corner of his eye, Elrond watched her leave, more miserable than ever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Celebrían stared viciously at her husband. Elrond, however, was oblivious, engrossed in conversation with the Noldo on his other side. In exasperation, she turned her piercing blue gaze on the girl, but Luinen, too, seemed indifferent, more interested in looking up worshipfully into Elrond’s grey eyes. For his part, he grinned down at her.

“Indeed, Elrond-nîn, you are the most amusing creature,” she giggled.

“Only when in such charming company,” Elrond smiled unabashedly.

Celebrían bristled and stabbed at the meat on her plate with sharp strokes, not eating it but slicing it up into smaller and smaller morsels. Indeed, she found that her stomach rebelled at the thought of touching the food soaked in piquant sauces.

*If he wants … that, he has me* she fumed irrationally, but dread that her husband’s beloved might sit by his side suffused her.

Glancing up from the ritual massacre on her plate, her eyes met Glorfindel’s.

“Luinen is very lovely, is she not?” he inquired with mock innocence.

“Aye.” Celebrían impaled a carrot with her knife. “My husband seems quite taken with her.”

It was only with great effort that the golden-haired elf prevented himself from laughing at the chagrined note in her voice as he nodded sagely.

“When did they meet?” she inquired. “They seem rather … ah … intimate.”

“I believe that Luinen came to Lindon shortly after its foundation.”

Celebrían’s heart sank: not only was the she-elf, whom she already hated with a burning passion, by far her elder, but she had in all likelihood been by Elrond’s side as he mourned Elros’ passing.

*How did she comfort him?*

Jealousy roared within her, colouring her cheeks a deep scarlet, and she tossed her head proudly.

“Then this visit must be … nice for him.”

“Indeed, my lady.” Once again Glorfindel found himself desperate to tell his friend the inklings which had begun to steal into his mind. “Would you perhaps like some more of this wine?”

Seeing her husband toasting the visiting beauty, Celebrían held her goblet out eagerly.

For a while, the heady drink dulled her rage enough for her to talk politely to the Noldo when the visitor deigned to notice her.

“So you are Elrond’s child bride?”

“I am no child,” Celebrían replied with suitable equanimity, “but I am Lord Elrond’s wife.”

There was no mistaking the emphasis on the last word. She toyed with the stem of her wine glass as the other said liltingly, “How wonderful that must be for you!”

The silver-haired elf nodded curtly, wishing that she had her mother’s impenetrable aura of power and dignity. Turning away from the discussion which scalded her heart, she looked at Glorfindel, “Might you refill my glass? I find that it is empty.”

After that, the festivities swam before her eyes as more and more wine slipped between her lips. If any save Glorfindel noticed the uncharacteristic gaiety of their lord or the solemn silences of their lady they gave no sign of it.

Elrond knew that it was foolish to flirt so outrageously with Luinen, for whom he felt nothing but mild friendship, and who he realised had once tried to ensnare him, intrigued by his power, but it scarcely seemed to matter.

**Whom could it hurt? His wife who did not care for him? And it was so pleasant to sit beside someone who seemed to find him appealing, and, as the night wore on, to share stories of times gone by.**

Above all, he was wounded to his core and needed to feel something more than melancholy adoration. Tonight, it seemed, was a choice between nothing and nothing. Accepting its inherent weakness he chose the path which appeared to assuage his pain, at least for a moment.

Celebrían fumed silently. Reaching out an unsteady hand for the bottle, she refilled her glass.

*What right has she? He is my husband, not hers*

At last Elrond took her arm to lead her to the Hall of Fire, and murmured, “I trust you, enjoyed the feast, my lady?”

“Indeed, my lord.”

They lapsed into an uneasy silence between fragments of stilted conversation as they sat side by side before the blaze. Formal politeness seemed to chill the air between them, no matter how sweet the singing was.

Celebrían still seethed

*I wish he was mine … I could make him mine, in body if not in spirit… I might take him and seduce him…*

She squirmed involuntarily at the thought, but as the singing continued it not only refused to leave her, but solidified…


~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Elrond walked up the stairs to his chamber, acutely aware of his wife’s presence by his side.

**If he reached out he could touch her, caress her luminescent skin…**

But he did not, keeping his hands resolutely by his sides.

As he sat on the bed, removing his outer robes and other signs of his office, he was astounded to see Celebrían approaching him, slowly and fearlessly unlacing the front of her dress. Enraptured he watched as the creamy flesh spilled out, barely able to catch a breath. She came nearer still, until he could feel the whisper of her breath on his face. Swiftly, she removed the mithril circlet from his head, smoothing his hair with one hand, and then she sat astride his lap, kissing him with sultry abandon.

Elrond groaned as her tongue slipped past his lips to explore the cavern of his mouth. Opening his eyes slightly, he saw that hers were glazed.

*She is drunk. She understands not what she does*

He made to push her off, to spare her this indignity, but she resisted his attempts, pouting. Then she leaned forward and deliberately suckled the tender point of his ear, drawing it into his mouth and lavishing the attentions of her tongue upon it. Elrond was hopelessly aroused, and all reason sped away.

Gently, he lifted her in his arms and pushed her backwards onto the bed, hearing his own harsh breathing and the pounding of his heart loud in his ears. The touch of her hands on his face, sliding round to tangle in his hair and run across his shoulders, drove him to the edge as he kissed her once more with desperation.

Striving to regain some semblance of mastery over the situation he bit her lip gently between his teeth until she moaned, and then, kissing a path along her jaw line, fastened his lips on her ear, tantalisingly grazing it with first his tongue then the tips of his teeth. However, Celebrían was not to be outdone and took the opportunity to kiss the base of his neck ferociously, sucking the tender flesh into her mouth.

Elrond felt heat pooling within him, driving him onwards as he grew harder and harder. He stroked her back encouragingly, still concentrating on her ear before attending to the other in a similar manner.

Through the dull fog of wine Celebrían pressed her body against his, not caring why he was here, or whom he wanted, merely that he was in her arms and she could feel his need against her, trapped between their bodies.

Elrond moved fully atop her, simply gazing down at her face, memorising every entrancing line and the glint in her half-lidded cerulean eyes. He never wanted this moment to end, although he knew that it must.

*She will never be in my bed thus willingly again. I know that she cannot imagine what this means to me, but I find that it is not in me to care while she is here. How could I refuse her the slightest wish, the most outrageous demand of her heart? She is my everything and I am nothing. What more is there in Arda than that?*

But Celebrían was impatient, incandescent with desire. She tugged at his long tunic, and when the buttons refused to yield before her wavering hands she tore the silken fabric until she could touch his skin, running her hands across his chest and down his flat stomach until he inhaled sharply. Trembling she found the fastenings of his breeches, working them loose hurriedly.

Elrond shivered beneath her touch.

**This was not real… this was not true. The dawn would bring cold light into the room, and with it would come innumerable regrets…**

Yet still he pulled her closer, savouring the proximity and the sensuous movements of her body beneath his own.

It was so perfect, such bliss to be able to hold her close, to feel her pliant and ready in his arms. There was no past, no future, only now when they were aflame with need…

Slowly but inexorably he trailed his hand down her body.

*I would give all eternity for this*

Finally, his nimble fingers began to encircle her clitoris, and Celebrían moved against his hand, sighing with joy, her breaths short and ragged. He found her as slick and wet as in the dreams which has awoken him to many a dawn, and she arched against his touch. With a final swirl of his thumb, she cried out, satiated yet wishing for more.

“In … me … now?” she whispered hoarsely, and Elrond complied, relinquishing his whole being to her.

As he buried himself in her welcoming body, he wondered what or who had engendered this in her. A wave of melancholy overcame him, but soon the sensations coursing through him were too powerful, and even his sadness was momentarily cast aside.

He looked down at her, willing and flushed, a small smile touching her lips, the light of the candles shimmering on her skin. She wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him deeper. Resting his weight on his elbows he kissed her sweetly, and thrust into her one final time, spilling himself into her, giving himself up to the darkness and the light. As both bliss and sorrow washed over him, he heard her gasp again, and felt her muscles contract around h
H
He collapsed on top of her, replete but desolate. After a moment, he began to move away, but Celebrían curled herself around him, soaking up the warmth of his lithe body, refusing to let him roll away. In a tangle of limbs they fell asleep, lulled by each other’s presence.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“What in the name of Mandos did you think you were doing?” Celebrían stormed, not caring who heard her.

“I … I … you would not let me go…” Elrond stammered, flushing scarlet.

“I presume that in the heat of your passion for nameless beauties you forgot that you are a grown warrior and could easily have freed yourself?”

He winced at her sarcasm.

The pounding in her skull combined with a sense of shame to fuel her anger.

*Dear Eru, I seduced him … I could have slipped in my drunken stupor and then he would have known that I love him. How he must have been laughing, thinking of his Luinen while he lay in my arms…*

But there was no trace of laughter now in Elrond’s face. He perched on the edge of the bed, deathly pale, his torn tunic defensively wrapped round himself and his gaze averted. Between his fingers he held a single button, wrenched from the fabric, tracing the smooth surface repeatedly.

“I did not wish to use force on you and I …”

“You thought I was a suitable vessel to expend your lusts into?” she snapped. The memory of how he had felt inside her was too much, and she felt the desperate urge to lash out at him, to hurt him as badly as he had hurt her. “May I remind you, Lord Elrond, that I am your wife and not your whore!”

With that she pulled the sheets back over her head, retreating into the dimly lit cave. Looking at the trembling figure, he was consumed with guilt and made no further puny attempt to absolve himself.

*She is right. I should never have taken her, but I wanted her so much and she was so willing …I am indeed a great fool*

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Elrond selected the coldest pool of all and plunged his body into its depths. The icy waters closed over his head, stinging the spot where Celebrían’s nails had caught his skin as she raked them down his back.

He scrubbed himself vigorously until his pale skin glowed pink.

Returning to where his clothes awaited him he towelled himself dry and drew a comb through his hair, braiding the still damp locks harshly. He shivered as the cool fabric touched his skin, and, making sure that all was in order, strode away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Glorfindel was already in the study, a sheaf of papers clasped in his hands. He turned to greet his lord, and a wicked smile dawned on his face.

“I see that you had a pleasant … evening,” he grinned. “May I ask whom with?”

“What do you mean, Glorfindel? I have no time for such frivolous riddles; the business of the day awaits.”

The other gestured to the base of the elven lord’s throat, but the confusion on his face persisted.

“You have a … a … How do I put this delicately?”

“You have never put anything delicately before, mellon-iaur,” Elrond said wi gho ghost of a smile.

“You have a … a mark such as one receives during the act of love.”

If Elrond had not felt so miserable that it was almost a physical presence around him, he would have laughed at Glorfindel’s uncharacteristic choice of words.

“Ah. I see. Here?” He touched his fingers to the lightly bruispotspot.

“Aye. May I enquire in whose arms you received it?” Glorfindel asked, blithely unaware of the effect of his words.

“My wife,” Elrond replied curtly. “I do not so lightly forget my marriage vows.”

The golden-haired elf’s eyebrows shot up.

“I had not thought…”

“Then pray continue not to think.” Suddenly all the fire seemed to go out of Elrond and he swayed. “’Twas as good as rape. She was intoxicated; she knew not what she was doing. She rightly chastised me this morning.”

Glorfindel decided that this was an appropriate moment to share the details of his conversation with Celebrían.”

“My friend, I spoke to your wife,” he started, but Elrond cut him off.

“Speak no more, my comrade. I know I have done her grievous wrong,” he sighed. “I should not have taken one so young, so pure, to be my wife. There can be no love between us. This was a mistake.”

“But Elrond…” Glorfindel tried to make himself heard, only to be stilled as his friend raised one trembling hand.

Regaining control over his voice, the Master of Imladris said, “Shall we proceed to the business of the day?”

*Perhaps…* mused the blond elf as he settled himself into a chair. *Perhaps I was mistaken. And after all what has ever been gained from meddling in the affairs of the Half-elven?*

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Even the lowliest of the household could not have failed to notice the tension between their lord and lady in the last month. It echoed in the air, affecting, it seemed even the stone on which Imladris was built. Unseasonable rain fell day after day on the valley, leaching all colour from the light, and it was a rare occurrence indeed to catch a glimpse of Anor’s rays.

Celebrían paced uneasily outside her husband’s study, twisting one cuff in her hands until the velvet was thoroughly crumpled. Her heart was in turmoil. Again and again she reached her hand to the doorknob only to withdraw it abruptly. She felt like a caged beast, unable to either flee of accept her fate.

*I do not wish to tell him this. I do not wish to see…*
…*

Indeed, she barely had seen him since the feast. Night after night he would bury himself in his study, only returning to their bed in the slow dark hours, if at all. Celebrían would shiver, stubbornly alone in the expanse of chill sheets. When she rose in the morning, he was already gone, returning once more to his duties.

*Perhaps he uses those hours to think about the charms of a certain elf from the Havens* she reflected bitterly.

Her wide strides and troubled face were attracting curious glances from passers-by. Finally, she grappled with her fears, and, almost sick with dread, ventured into the room.

Elrond sat behind his desk, concentrating on the scrutiny of a volume of history, an official document in his free hand and one leg slung carelessly over the arm of the chair.

Noticing her presence, alerted by the soft fragrance which clung to her body and made his head spin, and the rustle of her skirts across the tiled floor, he kept his head bent over his work, feigning bored disdain.

“Good day, my lord,” she greeted him icily.

“And to you, my lady,” he replied composedly, not lifting his gaze from the page in front of him.

Celebrían settled herself into the free chair, smoothing her flowing skirts with nervous, bird-like movements. Deciding that she could no longer delay her admission, she blurted out, “I believe that I am with child.”

The fragile paper tore under Elrond’s fingers. Flinging the book to the floor he approached her, his eyes almost black with emotion. Grabbing her hands he kissed them impulsively.

“Really?” he asked in an overjoyed whisper. Delight at the prospect flowed through him.

“Yes. It must have been…”

Elrond released her. It had been that night, the recollection of which brought him to the brink of destruction. It had to be; he had not so much as touched her since then.

“We will have a family,” he laughed, his happiness overcoming even those memories.

“Indeed, my lord.” Her foolish pride, which she had so often cursed in her parents, prompted her to continue. “I believe you will no longer press your lusts on me once the child is born?”

His brilliant eyes clouded over.

“No, my lady. I shall no longer come to you.”

With a swift nod Celebrían swept from the room.

Left alone, Elrond walked to the window, looking out at the dripping green expanse below him. Repressing his despat tat the thought that he would never hold her in his arms again, he concentrated on her news.

“I shall be a father,” he smiled. “I shall be a father.”


TBC

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Elrond-nîn – my Elrond

Mellon-iaur – old friend.