Come Back to the Valley by StarSpray

Chapter One

As war loomed, it was decided that Celebrían should leave Lórien and go north to Imladris. If everything went wrong, her mother said, she would have a much better chance of reaching the Havens from there. Celebrían had not argued; she did not want to see war again, and she did very much want to see Elrond. It grieved her to part from her parents, though, as the Shadow in the east loomed ever larger, and Amdir began to marshal his forces.

She reached Imladris just in time to see the armies of Lindon and Arnor arrive. The valley was scarcely large enough to hold them all. While the lords and generals debated stratagems and marching routes and supply lines, Celebrían busied herself in the workshops. She was a child of Ost-in-Edhil, and had spent her childhood under the feet of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, and between their teachings and those of her mother she was no mean craftswoman herself. Those who had survived the wreck of Eregion greeted her gladly, and put her to work inlaying runes upon shields and armor—signs to ward off rust and the wear and tear of regular use, and also the enchantments and fell weapons of the Enemy and his servants. And when she was not singing herself hoarse as she carved careful runes into metal or into wood, she joined Isildur's wife Princess Lirulin, and her sister Lady Lícumiel, in running the household and ensuring the kitchens—both in the main house and scattered throughout the camps—had enough supplies to feed the ever-growing number of soldiers.

At last, the time came for the armies of Arnor and of Lindon to depart. Overhead the sky grew pale with the coming dawn, but shadows still hung over Imladris. In the gloaming the many streams and little falls seemed to shimmer, as though last night's starlight had been caught up in them and had yet to fade away. The tree-shadows remained dark, but for the flickering of torches as the many rows of tents were swiftly broken down and the soldiers gathered. Banners bearing the stars of Gil-galad and the waves of Círdan, and the White Tree and Stars of Anor, and the Star of Eärendil bounded by niphredil that Elrond used all fluttered in the breeze, though as yet their bright colors could not be seen.

Celebrían stood on a porch that overlooked the valley, doing her best not to watch as Isildur and his elder sons said farewell to Lirulin and little Valandil nearby. As she watched the light slowly grow in the valley, Elrond approached. He was dressed for travel and battle, and wore the cloak that Celebrían had brought for him from her mother; had it not been thrown back over one shoulder she might not have seen him coming at all. "Lady Celebrían," Elrond began, and then stopped. His face was very grave; he seemed to be having some sort of inner struggle; his features seemed sharper than normal, with his hair pulled back into tight battle braids, not a single dark strand out of place. Finally he said, "I have been a poor host to you. I am sorry for it."

It was not what he had meant to say, Celebrían was certain. But she also knew that it was, perhaps, better not to speak now what he really meant. "I did not come to be a pampered guest," she said, offering him a smile. "But if you feel badly, you can make up for it upon your return."

Elrond did not smile in return. "I hope I shall be able to," he said. "But all is dark before me—I cannot see through the Shadow out of Mordor. But I feel a heaviness on my heart—that few who leave this valley today shall ever return to see it again, that the darkness will swallow then."

Celebrían looked at him. She was not famed for her wisdom or foresight—that belonged to her mother—but she was not without such gifts, though they came to her but rarely. Now, though, she knew what Elrond spoke of when he talked of all the world being shrouded in darkness, obscured by the designs and powers of the Enemy. But… "I do not think that will be your fate, son of Eärendil," she said. As she spoke the sun crested the mountains over their heads, and pale light fell upon them and upon all the valley. A lark burst into song in a nearby meadow, and closer at hand a nightingale trilled.

His smile was small but sweet. A horn called, echoing off of the mountains, and closer at hand someone called to him. "Farewell, my lady," he said, with a bow.

Celebrían remained on the porch until the last of the soldiers disappeared from the valley, leaving it strangely empty and silent, but for the sound of flowing water.