Suffering

Suffering

By Losseniaiel

Disclaimer: If I owned Elrond, he’d be too tired to organise the Council *grins deirtily*. Mind you, he’d also have pushed Isildur into the Cracks of Doom. Luckily for my sanity, he’s all Tolkien’s.

Rating: Almost certainly NC-17.

Summary: Elrond believes that his love for Celebrían is not reciprocated. Celebrían believes that her love for Elrond is not reciprocated. This comes very close to destroying their marriage… Silly elfies. Cue much angst and repressed emotions

A/N: The first two parts of this chapter are broadly from Elrond’s point of view; the last is from Celebrían’s.

Reviews are like hot chocolate on a cold day, so please hit the button or send feedback to losseniaiel@yahoo.co.uk (This is my correct email. The address which was up before was due to my sheer incompetence *grins in embarrassment*)
 
The corridors of Imladris were dimly lit as Celebrían dragged the Master of the house towards their shared quarters with indecent haste. Her hand curled warmly around his, tugging him eagerly forward when he began to slow, striving for a semblance of his usual decorum.

Glancing back, Celebrian caught sight of Elrond’s expression of failed dignity.

Giggling, his wife tangled one hand in the back of his silky dark hair, tugging his head down for a languorous kiss.

Caught off his guard, Elrond was overwhelmed. As he lost his footing and stumbled, Celebrían was trapped between his body and a convenient pillar. Looking up at him, a wicked gleam appeared in her blue eyes.

With a contented sigh, she pulled Elrond close. The Peredhel smiled, abandoning all resistance to the charms of his wife, and with it, all propriety. He no longer had enough concentration left to care what any passing elf thought. He wound his hands into Celebrían’s hair, marvelling at the silver strands which caressed his hands. He traced his fingers in light swirls over the sensitive skin at the base of Celebrían’s skull, and she shivered against him. At this slight movement, Elrond gasped against her mouth, clutching at the last shreds of his self-control.

Pulling back, he murmured, "Meleth-nîn … bed. Now."

"Oh really?" Celebrían stepped forward so that her loose gown brushed against his clothing. "Do you not want to stay here?"

Her eyes provocative, the silver-haired elf reached down and cupped her husband’s erection through the heavy brocade.

"We could just stay here, my love. All Imladris sleeps, save for the two of us."

The fingers of that disconcerting hand made lazy circles.

Elrond’s breathing was hoarse and ragged in that quiet corridor. With an effort, as if unused to such a motion, he shook his head.

"I fear that what I want would take too long, and we would rather shock Erestor on his way to his breakfast," he said with a sly smile.

Moving suddenly, he caught one arm under Celebrían’s legs, and, firmly clasping her body to his chest, began to close the distance to their bedroom with long strides. Celebrían hooked her arms around his neck, savouring the texture of his hair. She breathed gently against the hollow of his throat.

After what seemed like an eternity, they crashed rather ungracefully through the door of their quarters. Elrond let Celebrían’s feet slide to the floor. She pressed herself even closer, enjoying the proximity of his tall, lean frame, and his sharp intake of breath.

Freeing one hand from clutching one of his great embroidered cuffs, she resumed her earlier ministrations. Elornd whimpered faintly, and Celebrían’s knees shook.

Then, her hand was imprisoned in an iron grip.

"Stop," Elrond whispered. "My Celebrían, you have to stop. I cannot … I shall lose control if you do not."

A smile danced in Celebrían’s eyes.

"I like it when you lose control. It reminds me that you can."

"Fear not, you will not have to wait long for that," he smiled. "But I have been neglecting you sadly."

As one, the couple moved to the ornately decorated bed. Celebrían sat on the edge, and watched as Elrond shrugged out of the velvet outer robe, admiring the smooth movements, and the lithe angles of his body underneath the layers of cloth. Her contemplative eyes met his glittering grey ones as he knelt on the floor before her.

He ran one hand up her slender thigh, pushing a wave of filmy fabric out of the way. He thought that she had never appeared so beautiful, nor so desirable, as she did then, pale hair veiling her eyes, face flushed.

At an excruciatingly slow pace, his fingers travelled up her leg. The palm of his hand brushed her soft curls. As Celebrían pressed herself against his inquisitive touch, Elrond gently slipped one finger into her hot folds. With a whimper, she moved her hips in time with his leisurely exploration.

An expression of delight settling across his face, Elrond withdrew his hand, despite Celebrían’s protests.

"This wet already?"

"Always," replied Celebrían, pulling the dampened hand towards her. Her eyes fixed upon his face, she drew his fingers into her mouth, tasting her arousal on him. Elrond’s eyes flickered closed, and he moaned quietly.

"This is entirely unsuitable, meleth-nîn," he forced out.

"What?"

"All these clothes. Definitely inappropriate. As the Master of the house, it is my duty to rectify this situation," he elaborated teasingly, with a lecherous expression on his face.

"Only when the lady permits, my lord," Celebrían responded, but she bent forward to enable him to unlace the back of her dress, shivering at the touch of his fingers on her bare skin.

Standing up, Celebrian allowed the fabric to fall to the floor. Then, she returned to the bed, pulling Elrond down with her, and began to unfasten his tunic, kissing his chest as each new inch was revealed.

Sitting up, Elrond bowled Celebrían onto her back. Pinning her hands above her head with one hand, he licked a leisurely path from one ear, down the line of her jaw, and back up to the other, which he nibbled on, teasing with first teeth then tongue.

Abandoning this delightful preoccupation, he mirrored Celebrían’s earlier actions, kissing his way down her body until his face rested between her breasts. With one fluid movement, he caught a nipple in his mouth, and suckled, rolling the other between his fingertips. The soft sounds which Celebrían began to make only increased his awareness of the painful tightness in his breeches, and, increasing his speed, he switched the attentions of his mouth to her other breast.

When Celebrían began to quiver under his touch, Elrond released her hands, and slipped the remainder of the way down her body.

Experimentally, he kissed inwards from her thighs, his tongue dancing across her skin. As he lapped at her wetness, Celebrían rested one hand on the back of his head, urging him closer, and Elrond willingly obliged. With infinite care, he grazed her cris ris with his teeth, and slid two fingers in and out of her in a deliberate rhythm.

Celebrían surrendered to the combined bliss of pounding sensation, and the vision of his tumbled midnight hair falling across her body. Helpless, she murmured her husband’s name with loving ferocity as orgasm overwhelmed her. Feeling her body clenching around his fingers, Elrond smiled with satisfaction.

After recovering in contented silence, Celebrian wriggled down the bed and kissed Elron the the mouth.

"Now it is your turn," she whispered against his lips, as Elrond felt nimble fingers undo the buttons of his garments. He freed himself promptly from the confining material, and felt those warm hands close around his erection.

As Celebrían lowered her mouth to encircle him, her tongue dancing around his over-sensitive tip, Elrond moaned, feeling the heat building inside him mount until it was unquenchable.

Breaking free of Celebrían’s almost unbearable embrace, Elrond propped himself on his elbows above her, drinking in all her features with one sweeping glance.

"Now?" he asked solemnly.

"Yes," Celebrían replied. "It’s been too long."

Despite the situation, Elrond was amused.

"Meleth-nîn," he smiled, "I believe it was only this morning."

 
"Precisely," Celebrían said.

With one smooth stroke, he entered her. Swiftly, they established their natural rhythm, moving in perfect time with each other.

She gazed up into his fathomless eyes, and, wrapping her arms around his neck, sighed, "I love you, Elrond."

At that, Elrond’s breath became harsher and faster, and he gladly surrendered his soul and himself to the woman who lay in his arms…

 
Grey eyes blinked slowly at the ceiling above them. Elrond Peredhil returned to consciousness, drowsy with the pleasure of his dream. In the shadow-land between waking and sleeping, he smiled at the fading visions. Only gradually did cruel reality penetrate this glorious folly.

Unwilling to accept it, Elrond rolled over, and caught sight if the silver-haired figure slumbering beside him. Everything flooded back, and it was only with a great effort that he prevented himself from burying his head in the pillow and weeping.

"Why?" he whispered in the darkness of his own mind. Why did it have to be thus, that he was bound to a woman who did not love him, and, worse, why did it have to be that he loved her this much?

Elrond had adored Galadriel’s daughter since that wretched, far-off day when he had first seen her. His heart had been torn when their marriage had been arranged. Rationally, he knew that he should decline Celeborn’s offer of his daughter’s hand, yet his foolish heart betrayed him, and he accepted the match. He realised that the woman whom he took to his house and his bed did not love him, yet he found himself unequal to the task of resisting the temptation of waking up next to that mithril-hued beauty every day.

Unfortunately, Elrond mused, it seemed that he had underestimated precisely that element of temptation which overcame him in her presence. He tried to avoid her, to relieve her of his unwanted attentions, but time after time he was lured back by her charms.

Curling onto his side, Elrond cursed his lack of self-controlrsedrsed his fate of unrequited love. With utmost disgust, he became aware of the sticky wetness trapped in his light clothing, warm against his lower stomach.

With one last fleeting, desperate glance, Elrond heaved himself from the warm bed where he knew he would find no joy in the embrace of his beloved.

Clutching a velvet robe around his body, shivering convulsively, he stumbled into the garden.

The stars, which for so many long years had been his guides and guardians, now mocked him, promising hope which could never be fulfilled.

Elrond’s head sank into his hands, and he wept softly, furious with himself for binding such a glorious creature in a marriage which she did not want.

Irregularly at first, then steadily, rain began to fall, until water cascaded from thees,ees, and Elrond’s thin garments were plastered to his body. Huddled against the driving wind, his thoughts whipped hither and thither by his inner turmoil, desperately trying to quell the rising tide of despair, to instil in himself an appropriately bloodless sense of propriety, the Master of Imladris sat for hour upon hour, lost to the world.

Again and again, his wayward reflections returned to that dream. His thoughts strayed from the course which he had allotted to them, as he wondered what could have been. Elrond longed to feel Celebrian’s lips willing and hot on his skin as they had been in the dream, instead of the dutiful embrace which he acce wit with similarly indifferent assent. He knew that he could not demand such passion from her, that he had been inexcusably selfish when he had married her. He convinced himself that it was ridiculous to hope that she would remain with him until the end of Arda, regardless of her marriage oaths.

It was thus, rain-drenched, shaking with cold and barely contained despair, that Glorfindel found the Lord of Imladris when the dawn lightened the eastern sky.

The golden-haired elf guided his friend to the hot springs, steadying Elrond’s quavering progress. He peeled off Elrond’s sodden clothing as the younger elf stared mutely at the tiling, and then withdrew tactfully.

Although his thoughts still whirled incessantly, Elrond succumbed to the soothing heat of the water. There, washing the evidence of his fruitless desire from his treacherous body, he reached a painful decision. He would not press his unwanted lust on Celebrían. He had married her, much to her evident disgust, but he would demand nothing more from her than an heir. Elrond might be an unloved husband; he was determined he should not be a despised lover.

 
Celebrían was awake, as she had been for hours, morosely studying the patterns carved into the walls of the Master of Imladris’ chamber.

She wondered why she had ever agreed to be bound to this elf for eternity, whom at the time of their betrothal she had scarcely met. All she knew was t no no matter why she had submitted to her parents’ wishes, these had soon become the last thing to govern her actions in consenting to this unfortunate match. In the year of their betrothal, she had been captivated by him. The sheer fall of dark hair, the intense stare of those silver-grey eyes, the elegance of Elrond’s precise movements had fascinated her. From secret corners, she had watched the play of emotions across that expressive face, and caught snatches of his deep, grave voice, punctuated by his unexpectedly joyous laugh, as he discussed some matter of importance with Glorfindel and Erestor.

Most of all, Celebrían had fallen in love with the Elrond she observed working, deftly dealing with all the problems which beset a sanctuary such as Imladris. She marvelled at the quick brain and sharp wit which she had never expected to find in this warrior-lord.

She had found herself, as that year drew to a close, unable to break her betrothal, to free herself from the Half-Elven whom her heart had chosen, much against her better sense. She had hoped beyond hope that one day Elrond would grow to love her as she did him, but twenty years had passed, and Celebrian began to understand how agonising the fleeting cycles of the sun must seem to a mortal.

She saw the light die from her husband’s eyes as his gaze rested upon her, replaced by a harsh, bitter expression, and that fine jaw set hard.

Celebrian began to contemplate her choice with anguished regret, as one year faded painfully into the next. She had bound herself beside a man who could not love her, would surely despise her if he recognised the feelings which she harboured for him. In this wasteland of a marriage, she was united until Arda itself ended.

And today … today had been truly miserable, Celebrían reflected.

When she had touched one hand lightly to Elrond’s arm at the evening meal, merely to emphasise her comments, he had stiffened as if faced by Sauron himself, and wrenched his sleeve from her fingers.

In bed, he had made no sign that he wished to touch her, not even with the impersonal, distracted embrace to which she had become accustomed.

Without a word, Elrond had given himself over to sleep, and Celebrían had despairingly followed his example.

It was his agitation which had awoken her, aware as she was of his every movement. Warily, she glanced over to ascertain whether he suffered one of the nightmares which wracked him from time to time. It was only amid the chaotic fear which followed in their wake that Elrond would curl willingly into her arms, desperate for the comfort of her soft hands smoothing his tangled hair away from his face.

But tonight was different. His lips were slightly parted, and curved into a tender smile. Listening intently, Celebrían could detect the fervent pounding of her husband’s heart, as his breathing became shallow The There could be no mistaking that response.

As gentle gasps began to escape Elrond, and his fingers fluttered by his sides, Celebrían shifted uncomfortably, intensely aware of her wish that it might be her who aroused such reactions in him. But it could not be.

Celebrían considered it obvious, as Elrond arched his back, a delighted and adoring expression spreading across his face, that whoever he found in his dream, he cared for deeply. Loved.

Covering her face with her hands, she wondered who the maiden could be who had captured her husband’s heart. Who had the power to wring such a response of wonderment and desire from the normally reserved Lord of Imladris? Celebrían was suddenly engulfed by a wave of incandescent fury such as she had never felt before. How dare the girl? How dare he?

So involved was Celebrían in her fury-induced contemplation of the ceiling, that she did not immediately realise that Elrond was awake. Unwilling to speak to him, she feigned sleep until he clambered from the bed as if scalded.

Now, lying alone in that empty space, she felt fiery tears prickling her eyes. He could not endure her presence when he had suffered such tantalising visions of his beloved. Queasiness swamped the Lady of Imladris as she imagined the loveless eternity before her.

In such grim thoughts, she passed the dark hours. Finally, consumed by misery, and beyond the release even of tears, Celebrían sat upright, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees. She stared fiercely at the wall before her.

She was the daughter of the Lady Galadriel who had seen the light of the Two Trees in the Day before days. She would plead with no one, not even her beloved. Celebrían would not ask for love from one who would not give it freely.

She raised her chin defiantly, smudging away her tears with the back of one hand.

And when she greeted her grim-eyed husband at breakfast, it was with chill formality alone.

TBC

 
A/N2: Just to clarify (I’m sure everyone got this): the first section is the product of Elrond’s rather over-active imagination. *hee hee*