Imladris Revisited

By DLR 2002

Disclaimer: Characters owned by estate of JRR Tolkien

Elrond/OFC

Rated: PG

Chapter 1

The Third Age of Middle-earth. Year 2951

The road north from Lothlórien to Imladris was a hard one, time had not improved it. The treacherous mountain paths daunted even the hardiest of travelers.

A small band of people on horses, well armed and heavily cloaked to keep out the whirling snow had completed the trek across the high pass. They made their descent into the lower valley as night was falling. Wearily, they rode on, for this was the last leg of their journey and they hoped to reach refuge before the night grew old.

As they climbed lower, the air grew warmer and they uncovered their hands and faces. Beautiful to look upon, they were, most of them with long black hair and a bright light in their deep, grey eyes, for they were the descendants of Fingolfin of Valinor, and were the last remnants of the great princes of the Noldor in Middle-earth.

The Lady Arwen pushed back her hood and breathed in the warmth of the evening air. The journey had been a long one and although well guarded, she missed the protection of her brothers, whose ceaseless toil with the Dúnedain of the north kept the road at least passable.

The horse close behind her stumbled, sending a cascade of loose rock and pebbles toward the valley floor. Arwen looked back with concern at the rider. Her friend seemed nearly asleep, startled into wakefulness by the slippery path. "It is all right," Arwen whispered. "We are nearly there."

Culurien nodded, her bright eyes widening as they took in the surroundings. She unfastened her cloak and let it fall across the saddle in front of her. Her long, curly hair, golden with a touch of red, shimmered in the twilight.

The party crept slowly downwards, making nary a sound, for even horses of the Elf-Lords can move silently at will. Suddenly, ahead of the path and to their right, a voice rang out in a sharp tone of command. The language was that of Quenya, ancient tongue of the Noldor, but seldom used in Middle-earth. Culurien did not understand it. The travelers halted in their tracks. Gelmir, leader of the company, dismounted as a shadowy figure approached them, holding aloft a bright lantern which shone into their faces.

"Stay, Elemmakil, it is I, Gelmir, escort of the Lady Arwen," he said in the same language.

Some dozen archers, standing in the darkness, relaxed their arrows at the command of the Captain of the upper gate.

"Be not surprised you find us wary," said Elemmakil, switching to Sindarin, the common tongue of the Elves. "For you were not expected for another day."

"We made much haste," answered Gelmir, "traveling by night as well as by day and we are indeed weary."

"If by that you mean 'enough of this chit-chat,'" smiled Elemmakil, "then go on with you by all means. My Lady."  He bowed to Arwen, then faded into the darkness. At the base of the cliff they were greeted with great joy by Arminas, keeper of the Lower Gate who sent messengers ahead to alert the household.

"Welcome home my Lady," he said to Arwen as he helped her to dismount.

"Thank you Arminas," she said.  "It is good to be back, finally." She called to her maids. "Please assist Lady Culurien to a guest room close to my chamber while I speak with my father."

They nodded and hurried to do her bidding. Arwen watched them escort her friend up the stairs and out of sight. Culurien, leaning upon the maids heavily, looked weary beyond all words.

I hope I am doing the right thing for her, Arwen thought. She turned as she saw her father come out of the Hall of Fire, many elves trailing behind him.

Elrond Peredhil, last High Prince of the Noldor in Middle-earth, Lord of Imladris, had changed little in the century or so that had passed since Arwen had last seen him. He held out his arms and she ran into them. They embraced for a moment and drew back, each looking searchingly into the other's face.

One or two more lines of weariness, she thought as she gazed at him, for Elrond, she knew, shouldered much responsibility in the trials and troubles of Middle-earth.

Elrond smiled down at his daughter. "Well met, at last, Undómiel, your presence fills me with joy. It has been far too long since I last gazed upon you. How was the journey and what news of your grandsires and their kin?"

"All is well," she said, "but I will speak in more detail to you after I have changed and washed."

"Then come," he said, pulling her arm through his. "I will escort you to your rooms."

They walked silently up the stairs and through the great hallways of her childhood home, so different from Lothlórien where one dwelt high up among the trees. Great tapestries adorned the walls, along with many paintings and the occasional suit of elvish armor arrayed on a stand.

He left her at a far doorway, bidding her to come to his chamber as soon as she was refreshed.

Arwen bit her lip as she washed, wondering how she would tell her father about the plight of Culurien. He would be understanding of course, but would he be able to help her, she worried. It would also be awkward discussing with him semi-intimate details of her friend's marriage, when she herself had no experience of males.

Finally, she finished her toilette and made her way to her father's rooms. She was admitted by Lindir, her father's servant. Elrond stood with his back to her, turning as she entered the room. He has shed his heavy robes and was clad in simple breeches and a tunic. How much younger he looks, she thought, when divested of all the 'lordly' trappings of his position. Tall and slender, he was, with long black hair pulled back off his face. His deep grey eyes lit up at the sight of her.

"Come in, Undómiel, sit," he said, as Lindir poured out wine. "Start talking and do not stop until morning."

She laughed and they spoke of many things both old and new. After some time, she began to think again about that which had brought her hither. Perhaps this will be easier than I thought, she mused. Elrond sat on the sofa with his legs drawn up, his arms around his knees, looking relaxed and happy, seeming for a while at any rate to have forgotten about the White Council, the threat of the Enemy and the troubles of Middle-earth.

"Adar," she began, clearing her throat.  "I have need of a favor from you."

"You have but to name it," he returned.

Arwen took a deep breath. "I have brought a friend with me from Lothlórien."

Elrond raised a dark eyebrow. "Boyfriend?"

She looked at him and snorted. "No, of course not."

"I should hope not," Elrond jested, "since you apparently have smuggled him or her into the house without my knowledge."

"My friend was in no condition for introductions tonight."  Arwen continued. "She is deeply troubled and I have brought her to you for healing."

Elrond became more serious. "Go on."

Arwen told the details of Culurien's sorrow, as they had been related to her.

"She is very young," she continued, "being only about six hundred or so. Much too young to get married, let alone has it arranged for her. Although she did say that she grew to love her betrothed as the engagement went on. She was not born in Lothlórien, although Gwindor was of those folk, she is one of the wood elves of Thranduil's kin, the daughter of a cousin of his. Even though she was connected to royalty, her betrothed was considered to be of greater lineage, being a kinsman of my grandmother Galadriel, and of Noldorin descent.

"They were married and came to live at the Land of the Golden Wood. Some hundred years passed and still she had not given him a child. He was deeply concerned about having no heir, being the last of his line. He went before Celeborn and declared her to be barren. He requested an immediate annulment."

Arwen paused and raised her eyes to Elrond's. "As you know; such a thing is unheard of. My friend was left in complete disgrace."

"Perhaps the, ah . . . fault, was not on her side," Elrond said gently. Arwen shook her head.

"Nay, he remarried with haste and his bride is said to be with child already." Arwen blushed at this point, for although she was almost three millennia old, she had lived a very sheltered life and had no experience with procreation, love, or lovers of any kind, other than what might be glimpsed from the outside of such relationships.

"I see," said Elrond, ignoring his daughter's embarrassment. Arwen collected herself.

"My friend was in a quandary. She could not return to her father in Eryn Galen for he would consider himself disgraced by her husband's rejection of his daughter. She could not stay in Lórien for obvious reasons." Arwen paused and her eyes glistened with tears. "She threw herself into the Silverlode and would have drowned if not for the swift actions of Haldir, captain of the guard. At this point I suggested that we come to Imladris, for she is full of despair still, with no hope left in her heart."

Elrond sighed. "You, of all people should know how little skill I have in repair of the soul."

Arwen pondered this, remembering her mother. "Then you will not help her?"

"Indeed, no," said Elrond. "I will do what I can, although I fear it will not be enough."

"Very well," said Arwen, rising. "I will bring her before you in the morning."

"Will she be up to council appearance?" he asked. "Perhaps I should visit her chamber."

"We shall see," said Arwen, closing the heavy door behind her.

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