Day's Ending, Day's Dawning

Day’s Ending, Day’s Dawning.

Disclaimers: Middle-earth and Aman and all their inhabitants belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his estate. I am making no money by this and intend no infringement of copyright.

Rating: NC-17.

Summary: Elrond and Celebrían meet again in Aman.

Feedback: Yes please.


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She pulled him behind her, a silver comet with noontide darkness in its wake. Through the streets, smiling at the bemused bystanders, through the open sunlight courtyards, redolent with the heavy scent of flowers, under archways wondrously wrought. Down tiny alleyways, bustling with the throb of life, and into the burnished, overwhelming blue of the sky. Diamond dust on their clothes and in their hair, but naught so bright as their eyes.

And then into the broad, fair courts of the house, up the winding stairs, ded ded by the sudden darkness, and into the room, creamy linen, and sweet coolness, and familiarly strange lines.
Much he had seen, much done, and not the least of it in the fleeting hours since the swift tide had borne him to the long-lost shore, but all paled as his eyes caught and held on a slender volume open on the table: his, and yet always hers.

"I was reading while I waited for news of the tide," Celebrían smiled tentatively. "I was thinking … I was remembering the day when you gifted it to me…"

"Imladris," Elrond murmured. "Before e’er I could speak of my love. Would it have been better, I wonder, if I had spoken of it that day? Would the world have changed? Would we have been spared this parting?"

"Oh El-nín." And suddenly the sorrow of the years flowack ack into her eyes, as the evening winds on the shore. "Oft I have wondered that. But, no, ‘twas as it was, and your duty bound you from me then, as it bound you from me in later years."

"My duty…" He remembered that which he had forgotten in the headlong fervour of their flight. "Oh Eru, with such hurry we departed after my audience in the Ring of Doom…"

"Pen-nín tithen, it matters not. If it had been imperative that you remained, we would have been stayed. You were heard and judged, and that is all past. Now there is only you and I and…" She trailed off, her eyes anxiously searching the bleak uncertainty of his face.

"Yet still I await your judgement." His gaze met hers for a fraction of a heartbeat, then slid away.

"I judge you as I always have: the finest being in all Arda." She approached him, some flicker of apprehension still showing in her clear blue gaze. "And now there is only you and I … and a bed."

"Truly?"

"Truly."

And in that instant, Celebrían found herself crushed in Elrond’s embrace, his sturdy arms encircling her, his heart beating once more against hers in a steady rhythm. The peredhel dropped his head atop hers, dark to her light, light to her dark, and breathed in raggedly, inhaling her scent, her very being, as if he were afraid this would be proved to be a mirage.

"Ai … I thought that … I dared not hope that things would be as they were…"

"Never as they were, Elrond, never as they were. Mayhap we shall find them better by far, for all our partings, and for all the wildness of the wide seas." Clutching him to herself, intoxicated by the smoothness of the velvet under her fingers and the ancient melancholy of his eyes both, she felt her ardour leap high, as it always had. This was completion, this certainty.

"Celeb loth nín," he sighed against the crown of her head, his breath a mere whisper. "My Celebrían." As if of its own accord, set ablaze by her fire, his mouth moved lower, seeking out the sensitive tip of her ear, and gently, ever so gently, suckled it, pausing only to rake his teeth across the burning skin.

"Ai…" She turned her attention to the wan slit of flesh visible under the high collar of his robe, the threading pulse which ran fast and desperate. "Ai, I think that you have missed me, meleth-nín."

"More than words can tell." As he spoke, the words rumbled through her, a shock like lightning on a summer’s day.

"Very much?" She slid her hand down the narrowest of gaps between their bodies, to come to rest on the unmistakable evidence of his desire. "Aye, I see ‘twas very much indeed…"

He lifted her hand away, his own trembling ever so slightly, and she felt a momentary confusion. But the next moment he kissed her deeply on the lips, his hands roaming through her hair, across her back and down her slender thighs, sweeping her into his embrace, into desperate proximity, yet as light as a feather, as gentle as the touch of the breeze fluttering through the trees outside the window.

With infinite care he unlaced the bodice of her gown, sighing with pleasure as her breasts spilled out into his waiting hands, milk-white and full.

Elrond shot a look up at her through his black lashes, which she had always loved to trace as he slept, his eyes thunder-dark. Entreating, she saw, begging for permission as he never had, never but for that one time, that first night. With a small smile curving her lips, she granted him what he sought, and the elf-lord bent to her. Celebrían’s head fell to his shoulder, and she hissed delightedly, twining her fingers in his dishevelled locks.

Yet still he held back, his questing hands merely grazing her collarbone as he encircled her nipple with the tip of his tongue.

And suddenly she understood.

"Elrond." She tugged herself away from him, and pulled him upright. "I told you that things were not as they once were, did I not?"

He took a step back, tugging at his clothing, his face marred with contrition.

"Aye. I am sorry, hiril-nín. I did not think. I apologise…"

She shushed him with a single finger pressed to his lips.

"I am not a vessel of china, to be broken with a single touch. The wounds, which once were m tro trouble me no more. You need not fear that you will break me."

"Are you certain of this?" He traced the silvery line of the scar at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, the sole physical reminder of the torment she had endured.


Celebrían decided that words were not enough. Wrapping her arms around his neck she drew him into a kiss, almost bruising in its intensity, letting the full force of her desire –untrammelled by any lingering delicacy – flow between them.

At first her eyes were closed with the power of this overweening emotion, but at last they flickered open … to find Elrond’s wide and beatific, glassy with long-repressed tears. She remembered then that he had never cried at her maiming, never let his grief slide from him in salty sorrow. It had been too deep, too painful, had pierced too much to the core of his very being to ever let go. And he had wanted to remain strong for her, to be her lonely spar in the tempest. But no more: she was healed, once more the elf-maiden of fire and ice he had married. And so he cried, and yet, as he did so, he was stronger than he had ever been in his self-imposed solitude, and his fire-quickened fingers were fumbling under the silken fabric of her dress, unsteady with passion.

It gave way with a rip, but she cared not: he was returned to her as she to him, as it was o but but not; a difference, yes, but new joy forged by the long years.

He came to her then, no longer tentative, no longer afraid that this elf-maiden might shatter under the desperate longing of his mortal blood, of his half-divine certainty, of his Elven wistfulness, and he was everywhere. A demanding presence that encompassed the room and spread beyond, as if he had only now discovered his Maiar heritage, for the depths of the earth were within this, and the high, swift flight of the birds were in the fingertips that seared her skin.

This time, Elrond’s mouth upon her breast spared nothing, doubtless, dauntless, as he drew her closer, ever closer.

"Melethron-nín." ‘Twas hard to think … ai, ‘twas hard even to breath, and she found no more words. Instead, she tussled with the intricate fastenings of his robe, cursing the duties of his office that compelled such ornate raiment. A glimmer of amusement graced his upraised eyes, darker now even than a minute before, rain-hued and a little teary, filled with laughter at her extravagant language.

"I had forgotten that you knew such words, melethril." He caressed the curve of her breast with whispering tenderness.

"You should not have; you taught me."

"Aye, that I did." So long ago, so very long ago in those dark days before their vows, before the first fall of the Shadow. So very long ago it seemed now, as they looked back from that room with the sunlight of Val str streaming through the windows and dappling their forms as she arched into his touch.

But there was no time for remembrance, for his tunic, which he had donned with morning in wanhope, silver as her hair, parted beneath her fingers with yet another rending of fabric. And this did not matter either.

Celebrían smiled, with a little sadness for the lost years mingled with her joy, but only a very little, and nuzzled into his warm flesh, feeling the crisp dusting of hair against her cheek.
"Be comfortable there, sweeting. I intend to be a very long time about this," he teased, trailing his hand down one of her legs, and then up again, a tide of fabric flowing before it. "A very long time. Aiiii…"

She had turned her head sideways and drawn one of his nipples into her mouth, biting on it gently, eliciting this gasp of surprise from him. Drawing back, she blew a breath of cold air across it, before switching to the othe
"
"Very long?"

"As long as I am able." He smirked down at her. "But if you cease not your attentions, I fear that that shall not be long."

She giggled as he tenderly freed her of her encumbering sleeves, his touch still delicate, but not as if she was some crystalline ornament, but instead a jewel he wished to savour.

Noldor, always Noldor, she reminded herself, despite his Sindar heritage. But she knew, with an ineffable certainty, that the jewels he sought were never wrought from the earth. And she felt her Noldorin heritage most keenly at that moment, the jewel-fire licking at her soul, for he what hat jewel, as if he was a sapphire beyond the measure even of Aulë, deep and dark.

Her gown fell to the floor, gilded by the sunlight, intermingled with his robes, and he stood before her, clad only in dark breeches and boots, his arms around her once more, his head tilted to catch her mouth until she could scarce breath for the pounding of her heart.

Celebrían could feel every rib under his skin, a sore legacy of the bitter years.

"I must ask Amarië…"

"What?" And she was entrapped, as at the first, by the searing quality, the grey fire of his eyes.

"I must ask Amarië how she persuaded Finrod that ‘twas not a sensible idea to fast his life away in grief for that which could not be changed, for you have grown thinner, my love, in my absence. I wonder if you have eaten in the last sennight."

"Only a little," he confessed. "I was so nervous. Do I so displease your eyes?" Once more she felt the tremors of his ill-suppressed laughter within her, surrounding her.

"Nay," she giggled. "Never that."

"I am relieved."

She skimmed her hands around his sides, delighting in the sure play of the muscles of his back at her touch. But the heat was too strong to be denied now, and, once more, her hand crept lower, sliding across him, until he gasped, sinking into her, his eyes shuttered.

"The bed, melethril," he forced out at last.

"I know." But she did not desist, instead finding the lacings of his breeches, and unfastening them with hurried motions, pausing only for long, lazy strokes.

Their breath came in gasps now, torn with emotion, as they fell to the floor, limbs entangling, oblivious even to the chill of the tiles on their bare skin. Elrond ducked his head to savour the taste of her skin as much as her impatient response. She tangled her hands in his hair and pulled him downwards. With a lecherous grin, he fastened his mouth about one nipple, biting on it gently, while the fingers of his left hand played with the other. Her grip relaxed unconsciously as she sighed with pleasure, feeling the warmth pooling within her, and she slid one hand down his body, testing his warm flesh, revelling in the smooth skin beneath her palm.

"Ah, my lady thinks to divert me from my task…" he teased.

"That would very depend on which task you speak of. If you mean to polish all the silverware in the house…" She trailed off with a strangled gasp as he spread her legs before running his tongue along her, catching at her most sensitive areas in a languorous sweep. So long it had been, so very long… And the shiver of pleasure, while not exactly unexpected, caught her off her guard.

Celebrían locked her ankles together behind her husband’s back and hummed with pleasure as he tormented her with his skilful lips and hands, alternating between the two to bring her to the very brink of pleasure, only to withdraw agonisingly.

"The years may have taught you patience, but to me they have given nothing but the knowledge that if you do not cease this torture, I shall not be held responsible for the consequences," she gasped, writhing as he slipped one long, deft finger inside her.

"And what might those be?

"These…" She grasped his shoulders securely and rolled him onto his back, clasping her thighs around his, her slender hands pinioning him to the floor. Elrond looked very far from displeased at this turn of events, as he wrapped one hand in her mithril-hued hair and brought her in for a desperate kiss. He was so very ready, had, in truth, been so since he first caught a glimpse of her in the crowd, the face for which he had longed in the long, cold nights, awakening alone and unsatiated. And now… he groaned with pleasure as she brushed her slick wetness against him, and he involuntarily bucked his hips up against hers, his eyes flickering closed.

"Open your eyes, melethron-nín, open your eyes," she commanded, holding him securely to the floor.

He did as he was bid, gazing up into her face, her shadowed blue eyes.

"I am ready, herven-nín," she whispered, and sank down upon him, taking him within herself, grimacing from the twinge of pain that ran through her. Her nails bit into the bunched muscles of his shoulders. He merely smiled up at her. "Too long; it has been too long, my love."

"If you…"

"Nay." She moved slowly against him, determined to drive away the lingering discomfort. Propping herself up on one elbow, her other hand tentatively found the juncture of their bodies, fluttering against herself.

"Nay. No need for that." He replaced her fingers with his own, finding the exact spot with deft strokes, and she arched into his touch, whimpering with pleasure. "No need for that now."

Celebrían bore down onto him, biting her lip to restrain herself. Slowly, they found the ancient, certain rhythm, and the five hundred world-weary years seemed as naught. They could not deny it, could not falter in their ever increasing pace, until none could have told who rose and who fell with the swelling beat. Finally, with all the world falling around them, Elrond brushed her lips with his.

"Tolo an nín, meleth-nín."

She surrendered then, allowing her desire to wash over her and around, encompassing her entire being. As she flexed around him, he followed her downwards, drowning in it, his mind meeting hers at the very zenith of pleasure.

Gasping for breath, he gathered her to him, secure in the determined beat of her heart against his.

"Maybe the next time we should try to make it to the bed."

"Maybe," she replied with an affectionate indolence. "Welcome home, meleth-nín."

And he was.


FINIS

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Herven-nín – my husband.
Hiril-nín – my lady.
Celeb loth nín – my silver flower.
El-nín – my star.
Meleth-nín – my love.
Tolo an nn, meleth-nín – come for me, my love.
Melethril – lover (female).
Melethron-nín – my lover (male).