Canon-compliant
AU. Of the kisses of Celebrían daughter
of Galadriel. This ended up being way longer than intended, and I left
some parts out that I thought of later.
But I’m satisfied with the flow of this so I’ll leave it. Definitely related to “Fading Away” and “Awareness”,
but also serving as a counterpoint to “Goodbyes”, which is from Elrond’s
POV. Sort of a life-story-like
piece. Takes place (at first) in Lothlórien,
and then in Rivendell, and then in the Undying Lands.
Disclaimer:
I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any other works of Tolkien’s
Pairings:
Elrond x Celebrían
Characters:
Celebrían, Galadriel, Celeborn, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen (mentions other
random elves)
Warning:
canon-compliant AU, heavily implied sex, kissing (one would hope), sexual
undertones, mentions of childbirth, pregnancy, implied torture and non-con,
implied war/violence
Song: ...And Then I Kissed Him
Words:
2,194
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kiss (noun):
a caress with the lips; a gentle touch or contact; an expression of affection
Her first
kisses were from her nana and her ada.
Celebrían
remembered them even when she was fully grow, pleasant little dreams
half-hidden in the haze of memory that followed her into her years of adulthood. They were always gentle things, those little
gifts. Sitting in her nana’s lap,
feeling tender lips brush over the tip of her nose as she giggled into soft
white lace. Being lifted up by her ada
into the air and twirled, squealing in delight at the feeling of his chapped
lips on her rosy cheeks.
Feeling
hands cradle her face as goodnights were whispered in her ear and a tiny kiss
was pressed to her brow. In that spot,
she would feel the love of her parents spread outwards until she drifted off in
the rocking embrace of that pure sensation.
They were
lovely things, those little gifts.
Always did they bring warmth and love upon her heart, and their memory
always soothed away the worry and sorrow in her spirit when the days darkened
with shadow and her parents’ eyes grew saddened and cold.
They
always allowed her to smile. Just a
little bit.
Even when
there was nothing left to smile for. She
remembered.
---
But those
little kisses were nothing like his kisses.
Her nana’s
kisses were like a moth’s wings in the twilight, full of delicate sweetness and
underlying affection that could not be spoken in mere words. Her ada’s kisses were all warmth and sunshine
streaming through the forest trees, playful and teasing and bringing forth
laughter.
But his kisses…
The first
time was a shock. Standing beneath the
boughs of lantern-speckled trees, a clearing breaking overhead into the
heavenly dome, they had been together. And
his eyes had sparkled with each and every star, reflecting down at her,
enchanting her and holding her hostage.
Celebrían
remembered the first touch of his lips.
Elrond’s lips.
They had
been hesitant, barely a touch at all.
But it had felt like nothing she had ever known. Like fire igniting beneath the tingling flesh
of her parted, shocked lips. She
remembered how her breath had caught and held.
How she had struggled to gain her next breath in the wake of such a tiny,
vastly powerful gesture.
“Would
you allow me to court you, my Lady?” he had asked.
Somehow,
she had found the air to say “Yes”.
And he
had kissed her again.
---
Those
kisses only became deeper. More
wild. Harder to control. Harder to stop.
Before
him—with his strangely aged beauty akin to the finest of ancient wines upon the
blissful tongue—Celebrían could not understand what it was that drew together a
man and a woman in the way of lovers.
Her handmaidens had tittered and whispered about it behind demure hands,
their eyelashes fluttering as they beheld the guardians walking past in packs,
backs straight and eyes glued in forward position looking so composed and so
handsome. There had been so much
blushing and giggling. So much sighing
with dreamy eyes.
Celebrían
had seen beauty in men. But she had not seen this heat. Had not felt this passion scorch across her
skin and fill her cheeks with blood.
Nor fill
her belly with molten fire.
That was
what those kisses did. They started as a tiny searching brush, a
teasing caress to part her mouth, to share her air. Teeth gently scraped the too-tender skin of
her lips to her punctuated gasp. And then
he would tilt her head and they would connect.
And she
could feel them come together. Could
feel his tongue everywhere inside her mouth.
Could taste his heady flavor on every inch of her overwhelmed palate.
Her hands
would thread through the dark hair at his nape, pulling him closer…
And then
he would pull away. Cut the strings of
their wholeness and leave her hanging, panting softly in the scant few centimeters
that lay between their flushed and impassioned faces. So close and so far away.
“Not yet,”
he murmured. “Not yet.”
But soon…
Soon they would be married. Man and
wife. Soon he would be her husband. And then they would not need to stop when the
flames grew high in the intimate darkness and began to consume their waking
thoughts with a red glow. Then they could
clash like thunderstorms over the plains, and they would come together
entirely.
---
In a kiss
far more intimate.
Together
in their marriage bed.
Celebrían
had never imagined.
She had
never imagined…
---
The first
time she held her sons in her arms, Celebrían had been sweaty and exhausted
from the birthing of twins, long and arduous as it had been. The bed upon which her marriage had been
consummated was the bed upon which she gave birth to her husband’s heirs.
And they
were beautiful.
She held
them, cradled them close and stared down into their red, slightly wrinkled
newborn faces. Identical, but she could
tell them apart already, for they felt so different when they resonated with
her heart. Each with ten tiny fingers
and ten tiny toes and big milky blue eyes.
They
would be gray in the end, she imagined.
Like his.
Beyond
words, she lifted them close and ignored her fatigue. She pushed aside her discomfort and the
dripping black at the corners of her vision.
She
pressed their first kisses against their tiny foreheads.
“Elladan
and Elrohir,” she whispered. And pressed
their second kisses in the same spot again, taking in their softness and
breathing in their sweet baby-scent. She
wanted to remember this moment forever. “My
sons.”
---
Celebrían
often wondered if her sons remembered her kisses the way she remembered her
nana’s kisses.
How often
she loved to kiss their chubby little cheeks!
How often did she shower with adoration their cute button noses! How she loved to hear their squeals when she
pressed her lips to their ticklish little bellies!
It was
different giving the kisses away. But
she loved it just as much.
The sound
of childish laughter filled the afternoon all around her, and in bliss she
leaned back to soak in the sunshine and the autumn cool of the valley dyed all
orange and red and gold with the Fading.
Everything was so peaceful… so perfect…
Until she
heard the crying.
Like any
mother, she was up as soon as the wail sliced through her paradise. They were only across the courtyard, her two
babies, but they were just out of sight and her heart was fluttering hard in
the back of her throat with worry as her shoes clicked over stone and…
And
Elrohir was on the ground sobbing, tears and snot on his reddened face. Big puffy eyes looked up at her pathetically.
He had
scraped his knee. Poor thing.
With a
sigh, she scooped him upwards and set him upon one of the ornate benches,
kneeling before his sniffling form as she crooned. Elladan was at her side looking worried,
clutching at her skirts with fidgeting hands.
“Ah, don’t
cry, ion-nín,” she murmured as she stroked the tears from Elrohir’s cheeks. “Let
me see you knee, my darling.”
“Hurts,”
the child whined.
Carefully
did her fingers explore the scrape, using the edge of her dress to wipe away
the sparse amount of blood and dirt to reveal a tiny scrape beneath. For, indeed, that was all it was. Just a scuff from the rough stone upon soft
skin. Already, Elrohir’s cries were
nearly quieted as he watched her wide-eyed.
“Let nana
kiss your scratch better, darling.”
“Kiss it
better?”
Celebrían
nodded. “Like magic,” she replied, pressing her lips in a breathy caress across
the angry red mark twice as once her own mother had done for her. “See. Does it feel better now?”
Her
youngest son wiped his nose on his sleeve and sniffled again. But he also nodded, looking satisfied now
that he was not bleeding all down his leg.
More fright than pain, Celebrían realized. And such an easy affliction to fix.
“Good.”
She added a kiss to his forehead and lifted him from the bench, setting him
once again upon his spindly legs. “Now go and play. But be careful this time, ion-nín!”
Like
nothing had happened, they were off romping again, laughing in the afternoon
sunshine.
Little
kisses. That was all it took.
If only
the world stayed so simple forever.
---
When her daughter
was conceived unexpectedly, Celebrían looked forward to the birth with great
excitement. To having a girl-child in a
house full of men. To having a
companion, an heiress to teach her sewing and weaving arts, to dress up in
pretty gowns and spoil with gentle baths and evenings of hair-brushing and
braiding.
But, as
with her sons, the beauty of her newborn daughter in her arms for the first
time had caught her unawares.
Arwen was
perfect. A perfect baby, quiet and
contemplative as she yawned up at her mother and blinked those huge blue
eyes. Again, Celebrían knew—perhaps as
only a mother would—that they would fade to her husband’s gray.
To
Lúthien’s gray.
Such a
beauty her little lady would be. And
Celebrían could not help but press butterfly kisses to that precious face.
Somehow,
she knew… knew that Arwen needed all of the kisses she could gather and give…
Somehow,
she just knew…
---
Knew
that, many years later, she would give no more kisses.
No more
could she stand to feel the kisses of her grown sons upon her cheeks—
Once she had loved them and cherished each one, for grown
boys so rarely desired the attentions of their mother and so rarely allowed
their persona of adult gravitas to fall so that she might give the gesture back
in return—
And no
more could she give her daughter kisses upon the brow—
As she often did if only to wish the young girl luck and
send with her beloved little one eternal love and guidance. If only to let her youngest child know that
she would always be there—
No more
could she even bear to be touched by her husband.
She could
not bear to receive his kisses. Not upon
her hands. Not upon her brow. Not upon her cheeks.
Not upon
her lips.
Touch
made her hollow heart quiver in terror, left her hovering as a shadow of a
ghost holding on to life by the thinnest of spider’s threads. Each brush of fingers brought remembrance of
searing pain. Each brush of lips left
her remembering only the horror and the violation.
She
wished she could tell Elrond it was okay, that she would get better. She wished she could see his eyes light up in
hope. She wished she could feel the
warmth that once suffused her being when his kisses rained upon her skin.
But
wishing did not change reality.
Wishing
would not make the kisses warm.
Wishing
would not heal her open, rotting wound.
---
Time
helped.
In the
Undying Lands she had all the time in the world. Here, seasons never changed. Here, there was no evil shadow. Here, the days were peaceful and the nights
were tranquil.
Here,
there was no need to be afraid. She
could allow the divine Light to seep back into her flesh and warm again her
bones with easy slowness. To burn away
the nightmares and memories hidden in the cobwebs strung from the darkest
corners of her mind.
Here, she
came to be almost at peace.
Almost.
But
something had been missing. It took her
many years to see it. To feel it.
The absence
of kisses.
Her nana
and ada were across the Sea. Her husband
and sons and daughter were across the Sea.
Her heart and soul and life were
across the Sea.
And she
missed them. Missed their kisses. Missed their voices. Missed their love.
More than
anything.
And she
knew that she could not be healed. Not
yet.
Not yet.
---
Not until
she saw him again. Elrond.
All of
her body screamed to be near him, to take hold of him and never let go
again. Peace these shores may have
offered, but they did not offer the love and companionship she remembered.
They did
not offer the beautiful feeling of warmth that slid through her aching body
when she slung her arms about his neck and embraced him tight.
They did
not offer the shocking wonder of feeling his arms—his actual arms, corporeal
and tangible and real—squeezing around
her tautly in return.
They did
not offer the all-consuming feeling of rightness
when their lips came together again and again and again. Frantic and breathless and full of awe.
Until
they came apart and stood together on the docks, sharing their breaths. Each staring into the other’s eyes. And Celebrían could do not but reach upwards
and cup that beloved face in her hands as she wept tears too sweet to be sad.
“I’m
here,” he murmured, lost in her.
And she
kissed him again. Equally lost. Equally found.
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