Beta: None
Pairing : Celebrían & Elrond
Rating: PG
Author’s Note: Sorry if the earliest chapters were short, I’ll try to add in more context. I’m not an expert on Tolkien, nor have I read all his works, but I’m telling Celebrían and Elrond’s story my way. Sindarin and Quenya are self-translated – I guarantee nothing!

~~~~~~~~~~
“Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives.”

*William Dement*
~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~
The Grey Havens
3 March TA 2509
Afternoon
~~~~~~~~~~

She just sat there, a solitary figure on the vast stretch of shore. Above her, the shrill cries of the white gulls pierced the silence of the empty beach, while distant shapes of white ships moored further beyond the Harbour seemed to her like mist – something that you could not feel, but surrounded you like gentle puffs of airy clouds.

After a while, the girl stood, her blue robes clinging to the waves as they washed over her feet, and began to wade into the shallow water.

Audun, his back weary from bending down to check under the beds and in the wardrobes, was temporarily relieved of his aching when he stretched up and looked out from the upper towers.

“That girl!” was the immediate thought, when he had stared long enough to ascertain he had not been mistaken.

”She’ll get herself drowned, that’s for sure, if she doesn’t stop at the rate she’s going …” muttered Audun, as his eyes tentatively watched the little girl’s progress further and further into the stormy sea – already dark clouds were gathering on the horizon, and shorts bursts of thunder could be heard in the distance.

She was woken by music. It beckoned her, lilting and insistent; delicate music, played by delicate instruments that she could not identify, with one rippling, bell-like phrase running through it in a golden thread of delight. There was in this music so much of the deepest enchantment of all her dreams and imaginings that she woke smiling with pure happiness at the sound. In the moment of her waking, it began to fade, beckoning as it went, then as she opened her eyes it was gone.

Not entirely. She sat up, finding herself in a comfortable bed with the warm afternoonÂ’s light shining on her, quickly flung the velvet covers and followed the last strain of music past wide halls; past staring elves, who were not without curiosity as to what a little elfling like her was doing alone; past corridors and flights of steps until she reached the sandy beach, sitting down to rest her feet after a long walk.

When the music grew fainter still, she started out to the sea, in the hopes that it might be coming from it Â…

The girl uttered a cry when Audun, having ran down all the way gasping for breath grasped her waist from behind, vainly trying to escape Audun’s firm grip, but already he had hauled her up and away from the sea. When he set her down, she said wistfully in Quenya: “They’re calling for me. There, across the waters – can you hear them?”

Audun stared in shock, wondering if the world had just gone bonkers, or something had gone seriously wrong with his hearing. What call? And who was that? As far as his eyes could see, there was no one there that the child claimed she had been talking to. Or thought she had been talking to, unless it was a figment of her imagination.

”Tell me who were you talking to,” Audun spoke softly so as not to alarm the girl, who was obviously not paying attention to his words as she showed increasing signs of wanting to run back to the frothy waves again. The girl was no more four or rive at the most, and here she was speaking the ancient tongue so easily, so naturally, as if she had spoken it all her life.

Here his thoughts were interrupted, because a voice called to him from behind. “Audun? What in the Valar –” Aëthra stood as stiffly as she took in the strange sight before her. When she made to carry the girl, the child let out a shriek before running to hide behind Audun. Smiling wearily, Aëthra said, “I think she prefers you, Audun. Come along, we’ll take her to Lord Elrond and let him decide what to do with her.”

~~~~~~~~~~
“Cowards die many times before their deaths,
The valiant never taste of death but once.”

*William Shakespeare*
~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~
The Misty Mountains
3 March TA 2509
Night
~~~~~~~~~~

Celebrían could never tell when day started or when night ended, so intermingled was time in that dark, dank cavern that she would have readily believed weeks had passed already. Beyond that dull throbbing of her temple that stubbornly refused to cease, beyond the loud grunts of the orcs as they passed to and fro in the sparely torch-lit space; beyond the bruises on her wrists where roughly-hewn ropes held her fast, she heard, or thought she heard someone humming softly near at hand, in notes that was clearly elvish.

Raising her head slowly, she found herself in a straw-covered cell that was padlocked by iron-wrought bars, with a dank smell of stale air that permeated through her bones, and then she gave a startled gasp as her handmaiden turned her face to the light.

“Idríl! Oh, by the Valar, how –” In the next cell, although her face was stained with tears, the plucky elf-maiden managed a reassuring smile at her mistress.

“I found myself here when I woke up, and as I felt lonely in this dark, rotting cave, I decided to hum a tune to keep my spirits up. Might we not have a chance of surviving, my lady?” Idríl asked. Ever a happy-go-lucky person, she was not daunted by capture, nor even the threat of death. However, just as Celebrían started to reply, the orcs outside their cells suddenly quieted as a single orc armoured in steel approached the maiden.

This was Gorbag, who would later become a captain in Mordor, although he was serving in a lowly position in the Misty Mountains. Now he gestured to the orcs who guarded the cells.

“Open it,” he hissed in a rough grunt. Celebrían shook in fear – she had heard fearsome tales from the elves who rode against the orcs, and from her sons – they were vicious creatures who delighted in torture. This time was no exception Â… only it would be much worse. They obeyed quickly, and brought in a brazier filled to the brim with burning coals, setting it aside, and backed out.

“So,” Gorbag mused aloud, “finally we meet, wife of Elrond. It will be better for all of us if we finish this business as quickly as possible,” he said softly, menacingly. “If I had my way, well … but since I’m obliged to someone, you’ll simply have to be … co-operative. Where is the Light of Valinor?”

Celebrían raised her chin and stared defiantly, but did not answer. Her mind was awhirl with questions: How did he know who she was? And the Light of Valinor – how could an orc ever know about it? It was an artifact or a person, seers said, which kept Valinor safe from plunging into darkness. The tale had been passed down from generation to generation, and only within noble families. A long silence followed, in which the two orcs leered at both their captives, and Gorbag growled.

“No answer? I have no time to waste.” He leaned his face close to hers. “Tell me, or I’ll …” She gathered saliva and spat it into his face. He recoiled violently. “Hold her!” he said to the orcs, and seized the front of her clothes. With one heave he ripped it open down to her waist, and with the other chain-mailed hand he took a single, burning coal from the brazier and lowered it towards her skin. “Where is it?”