The healing wing was as silent as the air after a lament for the lost ones. One of the healers, an older elf, blond and part Vanyar from his appearance, waved her through to an antechamber, most of his attention focused upon a draught he was preparing. Glorfindel opened the door to her, and pressed a finger against his lips as she entered. Elrond was already at work. The ripple of silent music in the air chimed chords within her the moment she entered. The room was filled with sunlight, the window open to let the song of the rivers filter through. High, arched windows looked out over the falls of the Bruinen and the open valley along the narrow bridge that led over to the paths that climbed steeply out into the wilds. One wall was lined with carved cabinets in which were stored a collection of books and numerous bottles of healing herbs. A single fat flask of miruvor and three glasses were set out on the shelf beneath. A small chest of drawers sat to the left of the door. Behind the door a chair had been pushed hastily out of the way. The single bed was set facing the windows; Elrond was half stood beside it, one knee on the matress. His hands were clasped around the limp ones of the elf who lay upon the pale sheets, his face more ghostly than the clouds at night. A faint rainbow of colour seemed to flit and dance around Elrond, sometimes visible, sometimes only a presence in the air. Celebrían could feel the steady pulse of power emanating from her husband, the power of the elements collecting around him at a silent summons and flowing from him into the elf. The greying aura encircling the younger elf drifted listlessly, and every so often she could hear below the sound barrier a faint snap, like a thread breaking. Greenish energy poured along his skin. The room disappeared from Celebrian's vision as she opened her eyes to the energy currents, watching Elrond fight to conduct the power into the fading elf. The outline of grey marked his soul, its bindings strained beyond resistance, fraying as she watched. The in-pouring energy danced along the fragile barriers, lining the murky energy of a failing spirit, linking to the fraying strands of his soul, turning the blackening threads to a pale green and then to white as they were reinforced.
She was vaguely aware of the healer who had let her in pass her, but remain standing back from the bed. His voice brushed past her ears seemingly in tune with the energy currents as he spoke to Glorfindel.
"It had to be today," he murmured. "I've been working on two others all morning, and another of the tinctures that required infusion with power: my strength is spent." She realised, as though from a great distance, that he felt drained of energy, his aura as flat as waters stilled after a storm.
"It's not going to be your fault, Aranel," Glorfindel said, his own voice muted with the atmosphere. His eyes were trained on Elrond, he too watching the ebb and flow of currents.
They spoke with clinical detachment, as if the outcome were already foretold. Celebrían kept her eyes on her husband, watching him pouring into the fading elf the music of the Valar that the sylphs and nymphs of the elements sung into him, found herself crossing her fingers and whispering a prayer to Elbereth that he would succeed.
The energy currents jumped abruptly, changing to a silver-violet colour, and Elrond's own aura paled.
"Whoa," Glorfindel pressed a flask into her hands. "Steady, rainbow," he added, speaking now to Elrond and stepping up beside him. His own aura flared into a bright white glow and he took the hand Elrond reached out to him. For a moment the light surrounding their grips shimmered, and then merged as Elrond drew on Glorfindel's energy as well as his own.
Aranel moved away from her side to lay a hand on the forehead of the elf and exchange a glance with Elrond. The fading elf's aura was now toned with light purple, that blended seamlessly into greens and whites, layers of colour folded over and over the thin line of grey that still encircled him. The air was still aquiver, the heat of energy making it shimmer as the connection was slowly withdrawn. Elrond's breath ran out in a shuddering gasp and he swayed slightly, steadying himself with a hand on Glorfindel's shoulder.
Aranel came and took the flask from her, then glanced at Elrond again and gestured abruptly to the cabinet. "Miruvor," he barked at her, and moved away to fill a vial with the solution she had been holding. She backed quickly away. The air felt too thin and fragile around her and her hands shook as she poured a glass. She crossed to Elrond and he accepted it absently, taking a quick drink and then checking the pulse of the elf, now seeming to sleep.
Aranel tilted back the elf's head, inserting the vial between lips parted by his fingers and gently administered the contents, massaging the elf's throat to help him swallow.
"He's still with us."
Celebrían realised Elrond was speaking to her, and she nodded mutely. The tight knot inside her started to unclench. The fragility of the elf, as pale as a spectre upon the white of the sheets, unnerved her; the frailty of existence was for Men, and a stranger to their kind. Yet the antithesis of immortality confronted her, contained within one of her own. Elrond's hand came to rest on her shoulder and she reached up to grip it, finally tearing her eyes away from the other elf's face.
His back to the windows, Elrond stood in an aura of sunlight. Despite the energy he had expended he stood steady and calm like the cliffs before the sea. He paused to exchange a few words with Aranel and then, taking her arm, led her out of the healing wing and into the corridor.
"I'm sorry if that upset you," he said, closing the door behind them. "I thought it would help if you saw what Imladris is dealing with in terms of repercussions from the last Age."
She glanced back at the impassable, blank door and quelled a slight shiver. "Do you have to do that often?" she said, and then the next words rushed out before she could stop them. "Oh Elrond, are our people so weak?"
"Weak?" He stopped short and stared at her, incredulous. "Did you see weakness in there? Strength comes in many forms; we each have our own. Was Aranel weak, for knowing his limitations and calling me to aid him? Was Glorfindel weak in helping another of our people? Was I?"
"I didn't mean you," she shook her head, knowing she was trembling but unable to stop. "That elf � he was...dying."
Elrond inclined his head. "His name is Tarador," he reminded her and began to walk again.
With a twinge of guilt, Celebrian recalled being introduced to the younger elf during the first few days she had spent in Imladris.
"I'd forgotten," she admitted. "He is a one of the secretaries, isn't he?"
Elrond nodded. "Yes. He came to Lindon as a scholar, much as I did, but around the time that Erestor was steward there. Tarador came with me to the Battle of Ereigon and remained here thereafter, once Imladris was established. Erestor appointed him when we were setting up, primarily for his intelligence, and," he half smiled at something he did not share with her. "Possibly his insastiable enthusiasm for anything that could challenge that. Including," he added, "Warfare. Though I suspect he much regrets that now."
"He fought in the Last Alliance," Celebrian surmised, rather soberly.
Elrond nodded. "Yes. He and Dairuin were in Glorfindel's decuria."
Elrond paused, his thoughts his own and for a few moments they walked on without speaking. As they began to descend the stairs, Celebrian asked carefully, "Who is Dairuin?"
"Who was," Elrond gently corrected her. "He was slain in the last assault on the Black Tower." He sighed. "That Tarador did not fall with him was..." he hesitated over the word, "unexpected."
Celebrian looked at him. "Why 'unexpected'?" she asked, the word tasting unfamiliar on her tongue.
Elrond drew in a long breath and held it while he considered his words. "Tarador and Dairuin were bound," he explained. She nodded, having gathered as much, waiting for him to continue. "Few so joined survive the death of their beloved," Elrond said eventually. "Such is the nature of a true marriage alliance, where hearts and souls are united."
Again she nodded, but held her tongue, sensing he needed to gather his thoughts while he stated the obvious.
"I believe," Elrond continued. "That his loyalty to Imladris has bound him to Arda this long. In his dedication I can liken him only to Erestor, to whom duty comes before all else." His lips twisted into a parody of a smile; there was no humour in it. "Or perhaps," he added softly, "To myself." He was quiet, again considering.
Celebrian felt her stomach roll uncomfortably, recalling Elrond's own loss; she had all but forgotten it. Since the first night he had shown no signs of his own grief.
"I thought," Elrond said finally, "I hoped, that having withstood a century, Tarador would have the strength to continue through the Ages, until time could right his loss with rebirth. But there is so much time." He sighed. "Tarador's strength wanes; his courage turns now to face the unknown of Mandos's Halls, wherein perhaps he will sooner be reunited with his beloved. Yet I cannot, with a clear conscience, release him unless his will is clear to me."
"You would let him go?" Celebrian stared at him.
Elrond glanced at her. "It will not be my choice to make." The finality of his words appalled her and she folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself. "I will need to speak with him when he awakens; Aranel will send for me."
"Yourself?" Celebrian asked, a little surprised.
"Of course." Elrond's eyebrows lifted, surprised in turn.
"Oh." Having half expected Aranel to do it, she wondered why she had made that assumption.
"I always try," Elrond said, as though he too wondered that. "Healing isn't ever just about mending the body, and I cannot walk away."
"No, I should have realised," Celebrian apologised, silently reminded herself to think before she spoke. She sighed. "I'm sorry." Guilt inched up her throat. "I did not mean to-"
Elrond cut her off with a shake of his head. "It strikes so many of our kind thusly," he replied gently, "to see how far it is we may fall. Look not for destruction and failure, though those are so much easier to see in this aftermath." Again he faltered, his eyes haunted and his voice held less conviction as he continued. "There is still life here, Celebrían, and the potential for renewal, for rebirth. For survival."
"I think perhaps I have seen so much of that I had forgotten that its counterpart weighed so heavily on the scales," she murmured, slightly ashamed of herself.
Elrond smiled a little tightly. "Then the next time you shall remind me; according to Glorfindel I am far to skilled at brooding upon the darker side of things."
Celebrían managed to laugh at that. "I shall endeavour to remember that, my lord. It would not do any good to have the Master of the Valley sunk into despondency."
"No," Elrond said quietly and Celebrian, still smiling, did not see his eyes fall to the passageway. "No, it does not."
Night reaped the daylight from the valley, gathering the light into little sheaves. Elrond was unusually quiet as the lord and lady of Imladris prepared for bed. Undressed to her under-gown, Celebrían crossed to him and slipped her arms around his waist. She rubbed her cheek against the dark curtain of his hair.
"How now?" she murmured. "Are you still so weary?"
Elrond's hands covered hers, entwining their fingers. "No," he said, somewhat tiredly.
He turned to kiss her, his hands sliding up her back to pull her close and hold her. His fingers a constant, urgent pressure on her back, she raised her mouth to his, yielding to the quick intensity of his kiss. She wound her hands into his hair, grasping the braids as he lifted her from the ground and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He was trembling, she realised, though she could not have said why. He kissed her as she had him on that first night, as though his every breath was found within her. As though she was all that stood between him and desperation. Yet when she surfaced long enough to draw breath herself, his eyes, his face revealed nothing of the grief she could taste beneath his kiss; his own self-control tempered him, not she.
She lifted one hand to touch his cheek and cup it, about to ask what moved him. But his eyes broke contact with hers at the sound of a door opening close by, and a volley of knocks rattled theirs. Elrond released her and hurried to the door, scarcely giving her the chance to snatch up a robe and wrap it about herself. She heard only four words, before Elrond was gone.
"...my lord - come quickly!"
She knew where to find him, though, and in her dressing robe she ran down the moonlit corridors to the healing wing.
The air changed in density the moment she entered, the softness night giving way to an atmosphere fragile and quivering like the fallen leaves before an irresistible gust. She froze, pinned back against the door by the presence of Mandos within the room. Aranel was standing at the bedside of Tarador. The white light of Ithil poured in through the window, casting the faces of the elves into milky relief. The Vanya's face was deceptively neutral, calm detachment suffusing him. The sight of him chilled her to the core. Elrond was half-knelt upon the bed, his hair shrouding one side of his face, Tarador's hands clasped once more in his. Yet this time the music of the elements that flowed from him into the fading spirit ebbed and dipped in as it sought to suspend the moment when life would surrender the low, sonorous lament that she could hear beneath the silence. The bitter-sweetness that brought tears to her eyes and hope to her heart in one. She put her hands over her ears and, though she could feel the chords still touched within her, the music was silenced; the call was not for her.
She could still hear Elrond, though his voice was muted. "Tarador, speak; is this your choice?"
The younger elf swallowed dryly and shook his head. "I have no choice, my lord." A shiver passed through him. He closed his eyes and sagged against the pillows, muttering, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Celebrían closed her eyes as if that somehow could silence Tarador, but his voice had already faded. His lips continued to move, and that she could still see behind her closed lids, repeating the same words over and over and over.
"I cannot do this," Tarador's whisper came, hoarse but urgent. "I cannot stay here any longer. I held on, I tried, my lord, for you, for our people. It's my duty, but I..."
"Shh," Elrond reached out and cupped the younger elf's cheek reassuringly. "You have not failed in your duty, Tarador; I am in your debt for the courage you have showed in sustaining this valley."
"Let me go," Tarador's voice came softly; a repayment asked for his service.
Elrond's face was grave; slowly he nodded. "I can, Tarador. If that is what you truly seek."
Empty blue eyes lifted. "What is there left to live for?"
For the first time Celebrían felt the spirit reach out, draw in a little of the life Elrond offered him. She stared at her husband; awaiting his words, hope almost choking her. But the emotions in Elrond's eyes kaleidescoped beneath a sudden swell of tears. Tarador smiled. Then he was gone.
Elrond closed his eyes for a moment, lowering Tarador's hands to the bed.
"Go in peace, Tarador," he murmured softly. "Find your freedom."
Celebrían could feel the tears on her cheeks as she watched the two healers exchange glances, and Aranel stepped forward to take over. His hand gently grasped Elrond's shoulder and guided him away. For half a moment, Elrond resisted, his eyes lingering on the dead elf, then slowly he yielded and walked toward the door. She stepped forward, half-blinded, seeking him. He paused beside her, touched her cheek, brushed away the tears with his thumb and walked out of the healing wing alone.
Celebrían sipped at a glass of miruvor, holding the edges of the blanket draped over her shoulders together with one hand. Tarador's features were imprinted upon the patch of floor she had been staring at since Aranel guided her to a seat. The blue eyes were quiet in death; his smile still in place; his chin lifted as though he travelled to the Halls with...pride, and courage, and... She pressed her hand over her eyes to stop the fresh welling of tears, clutching at her blanket around the stem of her glass.
A hand came to rest on her shoulder. She lifted her eyes, tears fragmenting Aranel's face as he looked down upon her.
"My lady," Aranel took the glass from her and set it on the nearby cabinet, crouching down before her. He took her hands and held her wet eyes with a calm, steady pair. She felt a wrench of guilt that he felt moved to ease her grief on top of his current concerns. But Aranel's voice held no reproach. "Come, dry your tears now. Strange as death may seem to you, young one, it is not forever; that is for life alone. The paths of some cross into the realms of Mandos; the paths of others do not. Each must choose his or her own way, their own company or their own solitude. Do not weep for one who chose his way; Mandos welcomed him and his care is ensured."
The quiet words slowly smoothed the floor into its pale, marbled flags once more. Celebrían wiped at her eyes. She nodded. Aranel's hand gave her knee a squeeze before the healer stood.
"Get some rest," he said.
"I should find Elrond." Celebrían rose too.
Aranel looked at her sharply. "He'll be back," he said. "In his own time."
Celebrían nodded, brushing down her dressing robe, and left to find Elrond.
The moon traversed the corridors as it arced slowly across the sky, lighting Celebrian's path as she searched the corridors of Imladris for its lord. Their chamber had been dark and empty when she glanced into it. Lonely and unwelcoming as it looked she had avoided it, but now she returned toward it seeking a port in the silent storm that seemed to have shaken Imladris. No one save Elrond and herself it seemed had been awoken by the healers' request for aid, but the quiet was too quiet. Imladris felt deserted, separated from time, as if the valley itself had sought to follow the call of Mandos but the Hall doors had been closed to it, leaving it suspended. She slipped inside the bedchamber, closed the door behind her, and wrapped her robe more tightly about her. The room was icy cold; enough to make her shiver and her candle gutter in the rush of wind. The drapes billowed inwards like malevolent black phantoms. Batting one aside as it swept out to enfold her, Celebrían realised that the balcony doors were open. She set her candle on the vanity and the spark went out. Abandoning it, she hurried over to the doors to close them.
She came to a standstill before she reached them. Outside, the chair in which she usually sat to read in the evenings was occupied, by Glorfindel. The night breeze, calmer than it was in the chamber, rippled his golden hair; his gaze was directed to the far end of the short balcony, concealed by the flying drapes. Stepping up to the doors, Celebrían realised Elrond was standing there. He faced the valley, his eyes trained upon the middle-distance; the hands that gripped the balcony rail were white at the knuckles. Had he been there all along? she wondered, and moved to stand upon the threshold.
"My lord?"
Glorfindel glanced toward her before Elrond turned; the Elda's features were unusually expressionless. Elrond's was briefly shadowed with an array of false expressions he was too tired to use as disguise; each drifted away before it formed and left him drained. His dark hair was tangled, as though he had been running his hands through it, and the skin beneath his eyes looked bruised and raw.
"Celebrían," he said tiredly.
She hesitated in the doorway. Her skin itched with the need to be embraced, to be reminded of life when she still felt the brush of death; but his stance seemed too brittle to dare lean against him. Nonetheless, he held out an arm to her. She took his outstretched hand instead, stepping up close to him, not protesting when he moved his hand to her shoulders.
"Why did he die?" she whispered, feeling tears in her eyes again as she remembered the courageous glimmer in the lifeless stare. "Why did he want to, now, after a century...?"
Elrond's arm tightened around her and she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. She closed her eyes, did not see Glorfindel's flick up to watch his lord's face.
"A century alone," Elrond's voice was as empty as the passages of Imladris, "Offers nothing to fill the place of what should have been an eternity together."
"It offers a test of strength and of courage in mind and in heart and in soul." The conviction in the strong, clear voice startled Celebrian, and she opened her eyes to find Glorfindel had risen. His eyes were trained intently upon Elrond. "In solitude much is learned that would not otherwise be, about oneself, the needs of others, and of Arda itself. The same would be demanded in the Halls of Mandos, which are empty of all others until such time as one is reconciled with oneself; only then can one be so with others. Our place in this world is one within the greater work of Eru. The path upon which we stand is given to us, though we make choices along the way we are never unguided. We are who we are born to be; we must become so along the path we are meant to walk. Nothing happens that was not meant to happen." Glorfindel stood now beside Elrond, one hand laid upon his shoulder.
Elrond stepped away from them both. "Would that you had been there, when Tarador asked for reason."
"You know it, as well as do I." Glorfindel faced him steadily.
Elrond's shoulders lifted and then fell. "I know."
He walked away from them both, back into the bedchamber and began to secure the drapes, dropping to one knee to fasten the ties lowest to the ground. Celebrían stared at him, surprised by the warm kick of anger low in her stomach. You knew? You knew and you let Tarador go? She stared at her husband, incredulous.
"I thought you were supposed to be a healer?" Celebrían stepped forward, and pushed Glorfindel's hand away when he put it out to stop her, ignoring his sharp, warning glance. Elrond glanced up at her, startled by the attack but made no move to stand. "Healers don't let other elves destroy themselves, Elrond! If you knew why then-"
"Because sometimes," Elrond said, his quiet voice parting the haze of her anger, "being a healer means knowing the limits of your capabilities and that of your patient. There was nothing here that I could offer Tarador; Mandos alone could counsel him, Nienna comfort him, and Vaire show him the way on. Would you have me usurp the Valar, my lady?"
Celebrían almost stamped her foot in impatience. "He looked to you for help, Elrond."
"No." Elrond straightened up. "He looked to me for release." He walked to stand before her and took her gently by the shoulders, giving her the slightest of shakes when she looked away. "The stars above will shine forever, but sometimes their light must go out before it can be remade to brighten eternity once more. One day, when it is time, Tarador will return to Arda and Dairuin too." He echoed Aranel unconsciously as he added; "Only life is forever."
Grudgingly Celebrían lifted her eyes to meet Elrond's steady, serious stare. She felt Glorfindel move past them, briefly squeezing Elrond's shoulder before he dematerialised into the outer chamber like a spirit of the Lady. Elrond stayed standing with her, his fingers rubbing her shoulders gently. She put her arms around him and stepped close, resting her cheek against his.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, feeling like a child cradled against him.
"Do you understand now?" he asked. One hand stroked her hair.
She nodded mutely, slightly ashamed of her outburst but unable to completely banish the sourceless resentment inside her.
"Good." Elrond kissed the tip of her ear and then released her. "Now I must go back, my lady. Aranel has relieved me of the duty of seeing to the release of Tarador's spirit-house, but those among his family and friends who live in the valley will have to be awakened and told."
"Can I not help you?" Celebrían asked, and saw a glimmer of surprise in Elrond's eyes before he smiled. He held out his hand to her and she took it.
"That would be most welcome."
To be continued...
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