grundyscribbling

Summary: With Celebrían gone, Círdan is concerned about Elrond.
Bingo Number: I20
Prompts (Cards): Loneliness of Separation (Lord & Lady of Imladris), The Sea (Echoes in the Waters)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1395
Notes: I've written this so it could be read as in the Daughters of Celebrían 'verse (in which Elrond believes Celebrían is dead) or as Tolkien wrote events, in which Celebrían sailed West after being tormented by orcs.

“Again, Elrond?” Sympathy warred with concern in Círdan’s voice. “I can’t see where this helps.”

Elrond looked up from where the salt water was caressing his toes. He wasn’t sure if the sea was such a comfort to everyone – possibly it helped to be the son of a line that had long been favored by Ulmo. Then again, possibly it just helped that his earliest memories of the sea were good ones. Once, it had meant good times – happy, carefree days, family, and safety.

“It doesn’t help much,” he confessed. “But it’s the best I can do.”

And now, it was the closest he could get to his beloved.

Círdan hoisted him to his feet.

“Come sit with me a bit, young one. We’ll have tea.”

It was less an invitation than an order, and Elrond found himself moving before his brain registered that this was not Balar, he was no longer underage, and saying no was actually an option.

Círdan took no chances, though, and put an arm around his shoulders to steer him away from the shore and back to Círdan’s snug little house. He marched Elrond into the kitchen and sat him in a chair while he put the kettle on.

“I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise to find you haunting the shore,” Círdan said. “But from what I’ve seen, this isn’t helping you. These repeated trips to the sea are only making it worse.”

Elrond had no idea what he was supposed to say to that. There was nothing that would make it better, so he couldn’t see where it made things worse. The water helped. So did the thought that Celebrían might well be standing on the other side of the Sea, looking East as he looked West. They’d never been parted for more than a few months after they were married – and aside from the Last Alliance, seldom before that either.

Círdan set a cup of herbal tea in front of him. Elrond started to decline, until he caught the scent. It had been an Age since he last smelled this particular blend.

“Is this some Sindarin ritual?” he asked curiously.

He’s tried to learn, over the years, but he knew perfectly well there was still much he didn’t know about his mother’s people.

Círdan snorted.

“No, but I remember what Oropher took with him, and I happened to have something fairly close. I thought I’d give it a try. Figured you needed the reminder.”

“This time is different,” Elrond said. “Celebrían is not Elros. We haven’t been parted for all time. I’ll see her again on the other side of the Sea.”

“True,” Círdan agreed. “But this business of coming to stand at the edge of it won’t make life without her any easier. You need to make up your mind: stay or sail.”

As a young man, Elrond might have protested that it was easy enough for Círdan to say so, but the years had taught him differently. Duty held Círdan to these shores, not his own desires.

“I wish to sail. I wish to be reunited with Celebrían as soon as may be,” Elrond admitted. He hasn’t been able to admit it to anyone at Imladris. Not when he needed to be strong for his children, and reliable for his people. “But I am not free to do as I wish.”

Círdan glanced at Vilya.

“You could pass it to another,” he pointed out. “You would not be the first to do so.”

“Ah, but you had first pick,” Elrond sighed. “I do not think Radagast suited to be a ringbearer, do you?”

“He’s not the only one of the Istari,” Círdan pointed out.

“I note you did not offer Narya to Curunir, though he claims leadership of the Istari,” Elrond said with a shake of his head.

He could not quite put his finger on why, but he had a feeling the less the white wizard knew of rings, the better.

“You need not give it to one of them,” Círdan laughed. “There are still elves in Middle-earth, my friend.”

Elrond laughed mirthlessly.

“Celeborn can’t take it, not when we agreed years ago that they should be kept separate. Thranduil would want no part of what he’d call Noldorin foolishness if he knew of it, and he’d skin me alive if I offered it to his boy. And that’s mild compared to what the I suspect the Avarin leaders would do if I suggested it to any of them. It would have to go to one of the Noldor, and there aren’t many of them left. Galadriel already has Nenya. That leaves only Glorfindel.”

“You can’t possibly object to Glorfindel.”

“How can I hand such a burden to him so that I can sail, knowing he would also happily return?”

Círdan looked less than convinced by that, but chose not to argue the point.

“Gildor, then. He may dance around it, but the lad definitely considers himself a Noldo. And you can certainly trust him with it – Finrod’s son isn’t about to concede anything to Sauron.”

Círdan’s eyes narrowed as Elrond started to object.

“You’re making excuses, Elrond. What’s really stopping you? And don’t say that bloody trinket of Celebrimbor’s. If need be, I’ll take it myself. I’ve held one before, I can do so again.”

“If I sail, my children will be forced to make their choices. I don’t wish to pressure them.”

“And…?”

Círdan crossed his arms and leaned back in his own chair, his posture making it clear that he was prepared to wait until he got the real answer.

“And I want to see it finished, Círdan! To know Sauron is defeated, and my duty to Elros’ descendants is done. I want to sail with a clear conscience, not feel like I’ve left a mess for someone else to clean up!”

“That’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it?” Círdan asked thoughtfully. “You want to know Sauron is done. But is this really about your brother’s descendants?”

Elrond couldn’t quite meet the older elf’s eyes.

If he was asking the question, Círdan already knew. Not that it was difficult to work out. Those orcs hadn’t just happened on his wife. They were hunting for her. They’d been sent. Whether it had been because she was his wife, Galadriel’s daughter, or because she’d irritated Sauron a time or two entirely in her own right didn’t matter.

He had discovered to his own surprise that he has the same desire for vengeance that motivated his father’s grandfather and great-grandfather to march across a frozen wasteland to challenge a vala. He could only hope he was wiser in how he acted on it than they had been.

“Putting off answering won’t make it less true, Elrond.”

“It’s mostly about Celebrían,” he admitted quietly.

“I trust Erestor’s making sure you’re not fixing to do anything foolish?” Círdan asked, pinning him with a stare he remembered only too well from his younger days. “And as you were raised by Noldor, I am prepared to define ‘foolish’ for you.”

“No, I’m not going to do anything foolish,” Elrond replied with some asperity. “Just not going to sail until I’ve seen Sauron destroyed.”

“Are you sure I don’t need to define the word?” Círdan said drily. “Gorthaur may be diminished, but he’s still beyond the power of the elves – or even the power of the half-elven.”

Elrond forebore to mention that he wasn’t the only elf – or even the only Ringbearer – who wanted to see Sauron ended. Galadriel had already wanted to see him defeated utterly before he meddled with her daughter.

“Maybe not destroyed,” Elrond conceded, only because he recognized it might be impossible to destroy him completely. “But his power can be broken to the point that he would not be able to rise to trouble Middle-earth again.”

It could have been done, had Isildur been willing to do it. It could be done, if Isildur’s Bane were found…

“Well, everyone needs a hobby, I suppose,” Círdan sighed. “At least between Glorfindel and Erestor we can be sure you won’t go running off to Mordor with some mad scheme to bring him down. Though I suppose they have to keep half an eye on Gildor as well.”

Elrond glared at him. Running off to Mordor, indeed!

Círdan grinned.

“Ah, there, you’re looking more yourself already.”