Hunger

Hunger

Disclaimers: This world belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and his estate.
I am making no money and intend to infringement of copyright.

Rating: NC-17.

Summary: During the Last Alliance, Elrond remembers better times and
gets a rather pleasant surprise. Elrond/Celebrían.

A/N: *this* indicates thoughts.

Thanks to Nemis for betaing.

Feedback is almost as good as finding Elrond on your doorstep.

 

Elrond walked alongside Isildur, occasionally
commenting on the man’s narrative as he told of a skirmish which he had been
involved in that day, and which seemed to bode ill for the future.

"The troops are tired and demoralised, worn down by the long years. I
do not know how they will respond to this new onslaught," Elendil's son finished.

The elf pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off the tide of exhausted
despair.

"We can only be strong ourselves, and not allow the darkness to
overtake us, and pray that they will follow our example."

In his secret heart, he feared that his own example would be lying down on
the ground in the middle of pitched battle and giving into fear.

*No!* He shook himself. *I shall not do that*

But the years in which they had been encamped on the Dagor
Dagorlad had slid sluggishly by, wearing atm alm all,
feeling more like aeons, and he could only imagine how it affected the mortals.

Finally, Isildur left him standing outside his
tent, and he stripped off his armour, peeling the filthy fabric underneath it
from his skin, and doused himself with a pitcher of water, shivering in the
brisk breeze. He scrubbed at the ingrained grime streaking his pale skin, and
matted in his dark hair, wondering if he would ever be rid of it.

Donning a set of clothes which was only marginally cleaner, he sat down at
the small camp table, suddenly so hungry that it hurt. He withdrew a wafer of lembas from the package before him, and started to nibble
on it, taking a crumpled piece of paper from a pouch which hung around his
neck. Unfolding it, he read the words which were burned into his memory.

"Greetings to Elrond, Lord of Imladris, from Celebrían, daughter of Celeborn…"

The beginning was formal enough, repeating a conventional formula, but then
the elf-maiden began to relate amusing tales of mutual acquaintances, and the
tone grew warmer. However, it was the end which he treasured.

"I miss your company, Elrond, and the conversations we had in Imladris. Do you remember them with fondness? I hope that
you do, and that this war will be over soon, and we will meet again.

Your Celebrían."

Gazing at those lines of elegant writing, he finished his meagre meal,
dusting the last crumbs from the palms of his hands, but he found that he was
still hungry, unsatisfied by the way-bread.

*But what do I want?*

He remembered pear juice running down his chin, and felt a deep craving for
the fruit, so sweet and tender … so like her.

*I would bite into it and let the taste fill my mouth. It would be
reminiscent of the gentle stirrings of autumn and the balmy summer whichecedeceded it, of better times and places where the Shadow did not fall*

As he pondered, a sudden image came to him, of the trees of Imladris caught by the first glory of autumn, swaying
gently in a breeze which was not tainted with foul dust. His heart swelled at
the thought of home, but he sensed that that was not all.

*Why dthisthis call to me? Why do I wish for a pear like a starving man?*

Celebrían … he remembered now as if he had never
forgotten.

It had not been the first time he had seen her, weary to the bone, her
travelling clothes torn and a radiant smile lighting her face with joy at
seeing her father again, but a later visit. She had returned to the valley in a
brief moment of peace, and they had walked together in the gardens, her blue
velvet skirts rustling against the grasses.

Overcome by a romantic impulse, he had plucked two fruits from an
overhanging branch and they had eaten the pears, laughing joyously between
mouthfuls.

Then, she had leant over and wiped away a trail of juice which had trailed
down his chin, before absent-mindedly sucking the fragrant liquid from her own
finger.

They had stood and stared at each other, twin blushes staining their cheeks.
In a futile attempt to break the tension he had grabbed her by the hand and led
her to a perch high above the waterfalls. There they had sat in silence until
the rays of the setting sun shone he vhe valley, gilding the waters and the
roof of the house.

 Elrond shook his head abruptly. She was not here, on this desolate
plain with its stench of death, and he had to way of knowing if she understood,
let alone returned, his deep and growing love for her…

With a sigh he heaved himself out of the folding chair and, stripping off
his tunic and boots, crawled into his bedroll.

*Oh to be clean again, and sleep in a bed which does not reek of the
fires of Mordor. To be able to dream without my sword
close at hand. And just maybe, if the Valar permit me
that happiness, she might lie beside me, her silver hair shining in the
moonlight, a bright river cascading over her naked back…*

Elrond felt the erection, which he had been trying to ignore ever since he
had recalled her innocent touch, grow harder still. Against his will, his
fingers fluttered across the straining bulge and he gasped quietly, glad that
as the Herald of the High King he was permitted a tent of his own. Reluctantly,
he withdrew his wandering hand.

*This is no place to indulge such fancies. Sauron's
forces could attack at any moment…*

But the thought would not leave him, and his treacherous body was obstinate
in its arousal. Eventually, he surrendered to its blandishments, and, his
fingers trembling, unlaced his breeches. He grasped his hot flesh in his hands
and closed his eyes firmly, imagining Celebrían
before him, her face eager with desire, and her blue gaze consuming him.

He stroked his hands along his shaft, hissing with pleasure, his head flung back
and his hair cascading across the rough pillow.

*Might she do this? Dare I hope?*

As one hand encircled his tip, he reached the other down to cradle the
tender sacs, caressing them lightly. When he thought that release was near, he
drew back, allowing his mind to linger on the curves of her body under her soft
gowns and the way that the sunlight illuminated her face as she smiled up at
him.

Resuming his urgent touches, he felt the head of his erection grow slick,
and his grip tightened, his movements more frantic. His breathing was harsh and
ragged in his own ears. This time, when he felt his body tighten in
anticipation he did not deny it. With a few swift strokes, he spilled his seed
into his hand, his back arched in ecstasy.

"Ai … ai … Celebrían, my beloved."
He ground his teeth together to prevent a shout, which would surely have
raised the entire camp, expecting some new horror, devised by the Enemy.

As his pounding heart quietened he felt an unexpected touch against his
mind, and reached for his sword, but the thoughts of the other were drowsy and
carried no menace.

"Celebrían?" he tried tentatively.

"'Tis I … you called out to me."

In the half-darkness, Elrond felt his face flush scarlet.

"Yes … but …but … How is this possible? How can you have heard
me?"

"I do not know, meleth-nîn," she responded, and he could almost
feel the smile in her voice. "I only know that your passion awoke me from
my dreams…"

If it was possible, the colour in the half-elf's cheeks increased, and he
buried his head in the pillows, but he ventured boldly, "Do I offend you
with my thoughts?"

"How could you?" He heard the dim echo of a giggle. "Do I not
love you more than life itself? Do I not yearn for your touch?"

"You love me?" His tone was incredulous.

"Yes," she murmured. "I love you and hunger for you, El-nîn, and I await the day of your
return."

"As do I, celeb loth-nîn,
as do I," he whispered sincerely in the quiet of his own mind. "If
that day arrives, will you be mine?"

"I already am," the answer came back, borne from afar, "so
let no fears nor doubts assail you…"

As he drifted into sleep, he was gifted with an image of her, her fair
tousled hair spread across pristine pillows, sheets only reaching her waist, a
loving smile gracing her face.

And when he awoke the next morning, and went into battle, he could still
feel her loving presence in the back of his mind.