Cold Comfort

Cold Comfort

Winter, 2759

Elrond made his way carefully down the stairs towards the bridge. Even the nimbleness of the Elves might falter in such extreme circumstances; the snow was at least six inches deep and covered every surface in sight. Across the valley, only a few dark patches of rock and some damp shadows underneath the canopies of Imladris showed against the crisp white shroud. With the bitter cold came an eerie stillness, all sound accentuated and every line sharpened. So it had been for months, and the grey skies showed no sign of clearing.

Elrond crossed the bridge, with the Bruinen roaring below, though he noted the subtle difference in its song. Although she ploughed on through the cold, unlike her sister rivers in the north, the waters flowed much slower than usual, with the ice atop the Misty Mountains remaining solid. He only hoped there would be no need to raise the river and bar the ford at any time, for the Loudwater might not have the strength to muster her waves.

When he reached the house, he found it similarly cold and empty despite the fires burning in almost every room. The corridors and terraces lay bathed in steely sunlight and a few melancholy songs tried to coax Spring to return, but otherwise the place seemed far too quiet and lifeless for Elrond’s liking.

But then, it had felt that way for a long while now. For that part of his life that gave the house its glow was gone and would never return.

Once again, Elrond sighed deeply and felt his heart grow weighty as he took off his cloak and made his way through the place. It pained him to think that he was almost used to her not being there. He no longer turned a corner in the passageways and expected to see her, or passed the door to her chamber and was stung by disappointment when he found the room empty. Slowly he was coming to terms with her departure, no matter how much he resisted. But then the rational part of his mind forever tried to persuade him to accept it. There was no point in grieving all his life, or dwelling upon the fearsome loneliness that beset him every night. She would not come back, no matter how much his heart called to her. Nor would he want her to return and face misery again. She was happy in the Blessed Realm, and he ought to rejoice in that.

Only by his death would he join her again, he mused. Or perhaps there was a chance – the slightest chance – that the alliance he and Gil-galad had forged might still fulfil its purpose and end the reign of evil. In that case he might sail West, free of obligations and find her there. But if he was not slain and Sauron’s might remained undefeated, he would fade, unable to leave without abandoning his promise, forever alone and sundered from Celebrían.

Tears welled in Elrond’s eyes but he held them back, and paused to look out over the snowy terraces for a moment until he recovered his composure. To think that he would never hear her laughter again, or see that sparkle in her eyes – the Dark Lord could inflict no harsher punishment. Never to feel her touch, that could propel him into the grasp of ecstasy in but a moment – he closed his eyes and covered his face with his hand, stubbornly refusing to weep.

He could not succumb to the torment. There was too much to do. On a grand scale, he had to honour the promise he had made to Gil-galad, that he would bear Vilya and wield its power to protect the Elves so long as the Shadow was upon the world. Thinking of smaller things, he had already handed all the bread his kitchens could make to the Rangers of the north and more was needed. There was no way of knowing how long this winter might last, and soon even the larders of Rivendell might run dry. Plans were needed, and for that he would have to be calm. Imladris would not go hungry simply because its master felt dejected.

He carried on down the hallway and came at last to the kitchens, though it surprised him to find only one elleth working at the ovens. She looked up at him as he came in, and swept her silver hair behind her ear as she straightened, having checked each of the ovens in turn.

‘Where are the others?’ Elrond asked, setting the empty breadbaskets down on the scarred wooden table in the centre of the room.

‘I sent most of them to check the larder,’ replied the elleth. ‘Maedwen said the flour was running low, so I thought it best to have them check all we have, whilst this batch is baking. How did you fare on your mission?’

Elrond shrugged lightly. ‘We brought some comfort to those who were hungry, but they will be hungry again as soon as the bread runs out. Their crops cannot grow until this frost abates, and it shows no sign of doing so. All we are doing, Emmelin, is dressing the wound, without attempting to heal it.’

‘That is all we can do,’ said Emmelin. ‘Or so a wise master said a few days ago.’

Elrond smiled. ‘You ought to pay no heed to my words. I feel far from wise these days.’

‘How so?’

‘Nothing,’ replied Elrond after a pause. There was no point in forcing his cares onto others, for they had ample supply of their own. ‘The bleakness of the countryside weighs me down, that is all. Alone on that road, it is easy to get lost in memories.’

‘The Lady never feared to tell me what was in her heart,’ Emmelin told him. ‘Except in those last days. I like to think I offered her some advice when first she came to Imladris, and that I shared the burden of her woes. I would like to help you also, if I can.’

‘Yes,’ breathed Elrond. ‘You were a true friend to her.’

‘I had the impression she needed one. She was like a dove caught in a great hall when she first came here, and I cannot say as I disliked having one of my own kin to speak with. I am not at odds with the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, but there are some things only the Sindar understand. Oh, I know your lady was not wholly Sinda but still…’

Elrond regarded her with a distant look in his eyes. ‘I am glad she had other friends besides myself,’ he mused.

‘An elleth needs the company of her fellows.’

‘And I do not wish to know what you discussed,’ said Elrond with a wry smile.

‘Perhaps not,’ mulled Emmelin. She crossed the kitchen and carried a large ceramic bowl over to the table, where she then set about mixing the ingredients for the next batch of bread. The smell from the ovens, meanwhile, drifted lazily across the crisp winter air. At least in that room it was warm, despite the back door sitting ajar. Outside, skeletal trees scratched against the window frame and glittering icicles dangled from the lintels. Elrond stared at the scene for a long while, thinking how beautiful it might have been, had the cold not brought such devastation to the world.

With a sigh, he lowered his head. ‘I cannot see the path any more.’

‘Your foresight has left you?’ asked Emmelin, stirring the mixture.

‘No, I have seen some shadows of what will come, vague imaginings only. But selfishly I long to know what part I must play.’

‘Hardly selfish, Master Elrond, for we all wish to know our path.’ Emmelin wiped her hands on her apron and regarded him curiously. ‘Yours is veiled?’

He nodded. ‘But perhaps I do not want to findit,’ he added quietly, speaking more to himself than to her. ‘No matter how wisely I set foot upon the road, I am lost by the end of it. This world robs me of all I hold dear; year after year I see it fade. Was this the payment for my choice? Was I so selfish in choosing the grace of the Eldar that to compensate, I must lose all those I love?’

Emmelin glanced at the floor, then approached him. ‘I was barely of age when I came to Imladris with my husband,’ she began. ‘I watched with awe as he set out, resplendent in his armour, and not once did the truth of it hit me; that he left me to face an enemy so terrible that whole nations had fallen by his hand. Only as the days wore on and Baraso did not return did I realise that he might be slain. Then I dreaded each new morn, for it might bring the news I did not wish to hear. I no longer dreamed of your homecoming, for I feared he would not be with you.’ She held out her hand, gazing at the slender band of gold upon her finger. ‘And when you came to me with this, I felt the world end. Such pain, as if my heart were torn in all directions, and that wound has never fully healed. I would have abandoned life. I no longer wanted it, if every day I was to be plagued by visions of his torment.’

‘Forgive me,’ said Elrond.

‘I have naught to forgive you for. Those nightmares would have been worse, had you not eased his passing on the battlefield. He was slain already. You showed him mercy where the orcs would not. But more than that, you held out your hand to me, though your pain was great indeed and you had suffered more than most at Barad-dûr, and you taught me to be strong again. You, who saw those horrors first hand, ignored your need and listened to my sobs until I could face the day without tears. Even in that darkness, there was some good. No matter what ills befall us, we cannot succumb, Elrond, so you taught me. For then the Dark Lord has won. Perhaps many of those whom you love have gone, but there are many more in this world who love you.’

She forced a smile, a look of deep understanding passing between them for a moment.

‘And more so,’ she added, ‘you let me stay here, rather than return to the windy shores of Lindon with my kin.’

‘The folk of Imladris would have it no other way,’ said Elrond. ‘For you cook far better than I do.’

‘With all respect, Master Elrond, some of the furniture here could cook better than you do.’

Elrond pouted, but laughed. ‘You as well. First my own children turn against me and refuse, albeit subtly, to eat anything made by my hand…’

‘We cannot be masters of all trades, Elrond. You have a way with herbs when it comes to healing.’

‘There is nothing wrong with the food I prepare.’

‘Of course not,’ laughed Emmelin with a mock curtsey. ‘Forgive me, I did not mean to offend.’

Elrond feigned annoyance for a while and folded his arms. ‘I was going to offer to help with the baking, if the others are busy.’

‘Some are busy, some are out in the woods looking for fruit, others are hunting. Some are hidden in the house, I know not where.’

‘It was never quiet,’ mused Elrond looking about, ‘whilst she was here. She always kept the house alive with song and laughter.’

Emmelin paused. ‘Baraso rarely laughed. I used to tease him for it, though that only made him keep all the more serious.’

‘You will see him again, though.’

‘I know. One day I will sail to the West and I hope he will be on the shores of Eressëa, waiting for me. Perhaps you will be onboard the same ship, and when we reach the Blessed Realm, your lady will be standing on the white sands too.’

Elrond lowered his head. ‘Many things must change before I may leave Middle-earth.’

‘Come,’ said Emmelin. ‘Help me with this bread. Perhaps I might teach you something and your children will no longer shun your cooking.’

She reached out until he took her hand, then she guided him around to her side of the table. He rolled up his sleeves, slid his hands into the bowl and eased his fingers into the mixture, as Emmelin, beside him, did likewise. As they kneaded the dough, she watched Elrond closely, her shoulder against his.

‘See,’ she whispered, ‘You have a gentle touch. I do not understand how you manage to…’

‘To ruin all?’ he finished. ‘Perhaps I am just gifted.’

‘I think Men say ‘special’.’

She carried on working, but cocked her head to one side, listening, her hair falling over Elrond’s shoulder. ‘The house is quiet today. And I wish they would sing something more pleasing. There is enough sadness in the world today without that.’

‘There are so few of them, that is all. It is not sad as such, just empty. But we cannot spare folk for songs when our food grows scarce.’

‘This is ready,’ Emmelin said, and gently brushed Elrond aside so that she could lift the bread mixture from the bowl and slap it down on the flour dusted table to roll it out flat. Elrond cleaned his hands on a rag by the window then came back to Emmelin’s side to watch her as she cut the sheet of dough into small rectangles, ready for baking.

‘Once those others are done, these can go into the ovens,’ she muttered. ‘Then I think I shall make some lembas as well, for it may come to it that we need greater sustenance. Though I will make that alone. It is not your place.’

‘I know, and I would not think to interfere with a bread-maker,’ said Elrond. ‘I feel uneasy standing here while everyone else works. I ought to do something, perhaps make draughts for the sick amongst the Men…’

‘You have been out all day in that cold, amongst the sick and the starving. None will begrudge you a spot of rest. And I am glad of the company if truth be told. I notice how quiet things are too, at times.’

‘You must miss him,’ Elrond said gently.

‘These days more than ever,’ sighed Emmelin. ‘When all outside is cold and grey, that was when I wished him to be by my side the most. When that wind howls outside my room, I wish he could be there to hold me, the warmth of his touch keeping all other things at bay. That sounds foolish…’

‘Not at all. I fully understand. It is the smaller things that I miss most. In two hundred and fifty years, I have not heard anyone breathe my name into my ear, or touch my cheek…’

‘Or run his hand over my hair.’

Elrond let out a dry laugh. ‘Or looked at me so that I knew I was loved and wanted.’ He let his head sag and brushed some flour off his hands. ‘Sometimes I want it so badly, even just to feel her arms about me again…’

Emmelin stepped forward and took his hands, squeezing his fingers gently, though she kept her gaze averted. Elrond thought, for the briefest instant, that he saw a tear catch the light upon her cheek.

‘Aye,’ she whispered. ‘None of your balms can soothe that.’

She fought to stifle a sob, but Elrond drew her into a hug anyway and held her against him. For a long time they remained in each other’s arms, each lost in their own recollections. Elrond felt her tears against his neck but said nothing, simply tightening his hold on her a little to remind her he was there. She reached up in return and laid her arm around his shoulders, nuzzling into his dark hair. When at last Emmelin looked up, her eyes were slightly reddened, her cheeks flushed.

‘Forgive me,’ she whispered.

‘I have naught to forgive you for,’ replied Elrond.

Perhaps a gust of winter wind blew into the kitchen at that moment, for all seemed frozen for a while. The gentle heat from the ovens wafted over their bodies, while the world outside the windows gleamed white. Elrond held his breath as Emmelin continued to stare up at him. Then without knowing why, he leaned forward and kissed her.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be so intimate with anyone. He cupped his hand around the back of her head and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, though every action was automatic. He vaguely knew that he should stop, but a stronger part of his fëa had control of him then. It felt so good to have another’s body pressed against his own, or to feel her reciprocate his kiss.

Emmelin, surprised at first, made a faint effort to pull away, but as soon as his lips touched hers, she felt her body jerk into life, as if she had woken for the first time in a hundred years. He held her firmly but not harshly, his arms strong but also gentle. She ought to protest, or at least to distance herself, she thought, but his was such a warming embrace, and naught would come of it, surely? They were no more than friends, seeking comfort in each other’s touch. She tried hard to ignore the strange idea that she might want him. No good could come of that, and that was not truly what she desired. Yet she desired someone. Elrond was there, so different from her husband but those differences caught her eye all the more. She took up handfuls of his long, dark hair as she kissed him and remarked how subtly he was distinct from the true-blooded elves, his muscles slightly more prominent and his features just a little harder. She had never noticed any of these things before.

Elrond drew back and pressed his forehead against hers, sighing deeply. Emmelin gasped, catching her breath while her heart raced. She glanced towards the kitchen door, which sat open. Anyone might pass and see them. Yet still she found herself rooted to the spot and unable to prize herself out of his arms. Elrond mouthed the beginnings of an apology, but she kissed him before he could finish.

She reached up and guided his hands of her shoulders, pressing his palms against her breasts. Feelings that had not stirred in two thousand years shot through her nerves like bubbles through wine and she smiled as she felt his hardness grow, the sensation prompting her to squeeze closer to him. Emmelin took hold of his hands and slipped them beneath the silk of her dress, shivering as his palms brushed over her bare skin, her nipples swelling to push against him. Elrond kissed her cheek and neck, stepping towards her until the table pressed into her bottom and they could go no further. Emmelin perched on the edge, draping her arms around his shoulders, and parted her legs so that he could come nearer, then hauled up her skirts as Elrond fumbled with his robes.

Emmelin threw back her head, shaking her hair loose. She waited for him to disrobe enough to enter her. Her pulse throbbed in her ears and again she looked towards the door, icy chills dancing over her skin and not from the wintry breeze. Kissing her deeply, Elrond shuffled forward and suddenly she felt him touch her most intimate parts, easing himself inside her. Emmelin kept her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her, as he pressed in deeper.

Elrond took a handful of silver hair and brought it to his lips as he began his thrusts. It had been so long since he felt that unique, moist warmth, or the lightning flashes of pleasure shooting through his body. He increased his pace, closing his eyes so that he might lose himself in the sensation, enthralled by her sighs and moans. She lapped at him, not near enough for a full kiss and each brush of her tongue against his lips inflamed him all the more. Never in the quarter century since Celebrían left had he been able to forget everything in this way.

She whimpered into his ear, letting out small gasps each time he pushed into her, then she wailed as his fervour increased. So long, he thought, so long without this release. No wonder the worries of the world bogged him down, now that Celebrían could no longer draw out his fears and pain.

Emmelin dug her nails into his back, convulsing on the edge of her climax, almost weeping, nearly screaming. As the heat intensified in his loins, Elrond knew he too was close, and ached for it.

‘Celebrían,’ he whispered softly, as he finally let go.

Another moment froze on the air. Emmelin sank back, propped up with her elbows on the table and her legs still entwined around him. Elrond withdrew, struggling to catch his breath, and wiped a stray tear from his cheek. Then they remained for a long while, letting the aftertaste of their affair fade.

Elrond prized her limbs from his hips and tidied his clothes, then finally turned and looked down at her. Emmelin stared back, also tearful and breathless, her dress dishevelled. Only after a long while did she sit up, fixing her clothing and avoiding his gaze.

Elrond ran his fingers through his hair and shuddered. ‘Emmelin…’

‘Say naught of this,’ she whispered, her voice shaky. She buttoned her dress and brushed the flour from her skirts. ‘It means nothing, for we both know where our hearts lie.’

‘I should not have…’

‘’Should not’ is of no good when the thing is done. I am no child and you did not force me.’

She straightened suddenly, looking over her shoulder at the ovens, where a faint wisp of grey smoke curled up towards the ceiling. She raced across and pulled down the door, releasing yet more smoke in a great cloud.

Elrond folded his arms, watching her for a long while as she darted from one oven to the next, finding the same disaster in each one. She gathered up rags to guard her hands, then fished the blackened loaves off the stone shelves inside, knocking them into the empty mixing bowl.

‘I am so sorry,’ Elrond said.

‘Perhaps you do have some curse upon you,’ muttered Emmelin as she dumped the smouldering remains of her baking onto the table. ‘I have never burned so much as a crumb before you came in to help…’

‘I did not mean…’

‘I know what you meant.’

She turned slowly to face him. ‘The world is full of evil things, and in this marred state, who is to say what is right any more? What is done is done.’ She shook her head. ‘I do not love you.’

‘I know.’

Elrond sighed deeply and wandered to the door. ‘What do you want of me?’

Emmelin shook her head and leaned forward on her fists, staring dully at the tabletop. ‘I do not know. I do not wish to speak of this just now.’

‘We have work that must be done first,’ agreed Elrond. ‘If you wish it, I will stay silent on this.’

‘It does not need to be remembered,’ said Emmelin. ‘We simply needed company. There was nothing more.’

‘Of course. And nothing more shall happen.’

‘It cannot.’

‘We both have others waiting,’ breathed Elrond. ‘One day you will be with Baraso again.’

‘And you with your lady.’

Elrond lowered his head.

‘No more,’ said Emmelin. ‘I must salvage this while I can, and make a new batch.’

Elrond nodded, lingered for a while longer at the door, then finally slipped out into the corridor.

As he walked away, he heard Emmelin weep again, but knew he could not turn back. Though it tore at his heart, he carried on through the house until the sound was far behind him.