1. The Light of Morning
He was on his way to his bedchamber. His feet made no noise on the silky smooth wood of the floor, only his robes whispered a faint swishing sound as he moved along the corridors of Rivendell. The golden flames of cream-coloured beeswax candles flickered in the slight breeze created by his passage. There was a hint of honey in the air, dulled by the heavier scent of the wax.
As always when he reached the door of their bedchamber, his heart sped up. It did not race, but it quickened its pace noticeably. Although the rebuilt Imladris was very different from the house he had built for his first family, the fear and joy and pain of the past would never leave him. He was whole and healed in body, mind and soul. But the many centuries he had shared in this valley with Celebrían and his first three children would always be a part of him.
Just as the fear to lose what happiness he had would probably always be a part of him.
He rested his hand on the door handle. It was made of bronze. It felt cool and solid to his touch. The door itself was made of maple wood, cream and honey, carved with leaves. He heard the soft sound of his love's breathing. He opened the door and stepped into the room.
He closed the door behind him without making any noise. He leaned against the door and his breath caught almost painfully in his throat.
There she was.
She lay in a pool of silvery moonlight. Her dark, shoulder length hair was spread around her head in a tangled halo of dark waves. Her face was turned towards the window. There was a soft smile on her lips. Tonight the seas of her dreams were calm. As it was summer, she wore no nightdress or shift. She lay naked in the moonlight and the covers had slipped down to her thighs, a mirror of her tangled curls.
Her hips were gently rounded from bearing his children, a thought that immediately tightened things low inside of him. The moonbeams seemed to stroke her beautiful curves. The scars she bore glistened like trails of molten silver on her body.
He leaned his head against the door to steady himself. He could see the memories of pain in every inch of her body. Pain she had born for him. Pain of light and pain of darkness. Screaming for the sound of a baby's first wail, screaming for the sound of an orc's evil cackle.
He swallowed painfully against the memories assailing him.
He swallowed painfully against the tightening of desire that was strong enough to make him inhale sharply.
Just to see her there, lying in the moonlight, with her hips so round and her breasts so ripe on the silken sheets…
He drew a shivery breath and crossed the room.
He loosened his robes and let them fall to the ground in a whisper and rustle of silks and brocades. As the moonlight hit the pearly skin of his arms and chest, he sank down on the bed.
Now, closer, he could see dark shadows under her eyes. The two youngest children were teething and taking it out on their mother. Her skin was so pale it almost seemed translucent in the moonlight. Suddenly she seemed to him more fragile than a sculpture of glass, and light as a feather, to be tossed this way and that by the winds of destiny. She was mortal. She was human. He heard it in every breath she took. He felt it in every kiss they shared. He could smell it in the blood she had shed on his hands, on a dark night, so many years ago, and during the hours of birth. And yet, the only thing he could feel right now was desire.
Desire that was so powerful, desire that gripped him so tightly that he almost moaned with a feeling of pleasure and pain.
"Nihil," he whispered as he slid down on the bed next to his wife, hoping against hope that she would feel his need and wake for him.
"Hmmm," she breathed and turned towards him, reaching out for him, barely aware.
He felt his member straighten against his stomach with an urgency that was almost more pain than pleasure. She strained towards him, caught in a web of dream and desire. And he caught her and held her, just as he felt himself held and caught. He reached out for her breasts and trailed feathery kisses along her collarbones. As always the touch of her scars brought tears to his eyes. As always, she kissed his tears away.
Suddenly her eyes were open and bright with a desire that was wide-awake and could not be contained for much longer. He slid his hands down her sides, down and down, trailed her hips to the dark curly hair he loved to stroke so much. And deeper. Deeper. Into the warm, wet darkness of desire they had shared so often. She shuddered against the delicate touches of his probing fingers. He moaned into the soft spot of her neck just below her ear. The scent of her hair and her hot skin drove him almost over the edge. His skin burned with desire by now, filling the room with a soft white light that equalled the moonlight dripping from the rocks and the trees outside in the sheltered valley.
"Nihil, my love," he gasped.
I can't lose you.
Ever so tight.
Never. Never, never, ever.
Deeper, tighter, deeper and again.
He collapsed against her. She shuddered against him. Fear spent in passion, anxiety and agony alleviated by love.
Nevertheless Elrond gathered his wife in the tightest embrace he could give her and still keep her comfortable and he did not let her go until the morning light called him back to his duties.
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This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.