Return to Valinor

By: DLR

Rated: R

Pairing: Elrond/OFC

Disclaimer: Yes, it all belongs to Tolkien the Magnificent and I'm only going to say it once, okay?

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Chapter One

Outside the Halls of Manwë

Taniquetil, Valinor

The Fourth Age of Middle-earth

(But in Aman, who knows)

Glorfindel and Culurien exchanged concerned looks.  "Mellhîr," Culurien said urgently, reaching down to shake his shoulder.  Elrond sat up slowly, and wiping the tears from his eyes, managed to compose himself.

"It went fine," he said to Glorfindel.  "Why do you ask?"

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow.  "Fine?" he repeated.  "You return from an audience with the highest of all the Valar, you come out and fall down onto the road in hysterics for ten minutes, and you tell me it went 'fine'?"

Elrond sighed and got to his feet.  "Do you suppose there is an inn somewhere near?  I am quite parched."  He looked puzzled.  "Where are Mithrandir and Galadriel?  It would be helpful to have guidance from one who has been here before."

"They both departed while you were inside," Erestor explained.  "Mithrandir mumbled something about an appointment, and Galadriel espied someone she knew from long ago."

"How inconvenient," observed Elrond.  "It appears we will be reduced to asking directions from passing strangers, provided we even know where we wish to go."

"An inn," exclaimed Glorfindel, harkening back to Elrond's earlier thought.  "Come, I believe I have spotted one."

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Bilbo wondered if he heard correctly. "What was that you said?"

The elf rolled his eyes just a little bit and looked as though he thought the hobbit smelled bad.  "Gwiluvor," he repeated, "the specialty of the house."

Apparently he had.  "And what might that be, exactly?"

"The distilled glandular extract of butterflies," the elf explained patiently.

"Butterfly glands . . . ?" began Bilbo, incredulous.

"He will have the mulled cider," put in Frodo hurriedly, "as will I."

"Very good little master," the Elf said.  "Gwiluvor for the rest of you?"

The elves of Middle-earth exchanged apprehensive glances.  "Indeed yes," said Elrond quickly, ever the diplomat.  "Gwiluvor all around, my treat."

"What will we do now?" Culurien asked as they cautiously sipped their drinks.

Elrond sighed.  "To tell the truth, I had not thought too much about it.  Just getting here seemed a trial in itself."

"I really do not see what is so superior to Middle-earth."

"You will change your mind once we visit the gardens of Lórien," Elrond reassured her.  "Perhaps that should be our next move."  He paused, uncertain.  "Is there such a thing as a map in this place?  I have no idea where the strongholds of my ancestors may be, let alone who is alive, who is still in Mandos, or who is reincarnated."

He looked at the concerned faces around the table and sighed once more.  "I am sorry; I should have formed better plans."  He closed his eyes and his voice broke slightly.  "I am so very tired, please forgive me."

Erestor patted his arm and stood.  "You have seen to things the last five thousand years, sit and rest, I will see to this."  He came back shortly with a rolled up parchment.  "A map," he informed them triumphantly, unrolling it on the table.  Everyone stared at it in silence.

"Well?" asked Glorfindel with a raised eyebrow.  "Does any of this mean anything to you?"

"The House of Finwë in Tirion," Elrond concluded.  "We will journey there and be offered hospitality hopefully, and then those who are in need of healing will depart for Lórien."

"A logical plan," said Glorfindel.  "This calls for another round of drinks."  He beckoned to the waiter.  "Would anyone be loath to pints of ale all around?"  His voice sank to a whisper.  "I do not think I desire any more gwiluvor." 

The sighs of relief could have been heard all the way to Middle-earth.

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The House of Finwë

Tirion on Túna

"What does it mean," Culurien asked him, "to be summoned to Mahanaxar?"

Elrond folded his fingers and stared at them.  "This is where the Valar hold council and sit in judgment."

"The Valar wish to judge you?" she asked, amazed.  "Whatever for?"

"They do not summon one without cause," Elrond explained.  "Notice they do not ask for you."  He looked sadly grim.  "I have not lived a blameless life."

"What are you speaking of?" She laid her hand over his.  "You talk in riddles."

He closed his eyes.  "I have never spoken of this to you, I fear I still cannot."

"Please," she whispered, stroking his cheek.  "Just tell me."

He sighed.  "You know about Gil-galad and our past together. I have never told you, however, of the manner in which it began.  I know I have stated previously how I would have willingly done anything he asked, for I was beholden to him, but actually, that came later.  In the beginning, he forced me."

Culurien was silent while her finger continued to caress his face.

"This I learned from him, to just take what one wants, in selfishness," Elrond continued.  "I was too young and naïve to know it was not the normal way of things.  I was, in fact, too young to have any control of those urges he awakened in me so prematurely, too young to have much of a clue as to right and wrong."  He paused for a long moment. 

"Tell me," Culurien whispered, "you are nearly there."

Elrond stared at the table.  "I became enamored of a young female, a maid in the palace.  I forced her, as I had been forced."

Culurien paled.  "With violence?"

"Nay, with persistence, perhaps, but it was still wrong."

"What will happen if judgment goes against you?" she asked gently.

"I would be barred from Valinor, sent to Tol Eressëa, perhaps" answered Elrond.

"Which is . . ." she started. 

". . . not very different from Middle-earth," he finished. "As far as relief from weariness is concerned."

"Mellhîr," Culurien whispered as her lips sought out his, her breath warm on his face.  "I will go to the ends of Arda to be with you."

"I pray it will not come to that," he said, rubbing his cheek against hers.

She put her arms around him tightly.  "Wherever you may be, I will know happiness being at your side."

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Idril looked up from her sewing.  She was silent as she watched Culurien pace the terrace nervously.  "I am certain everything will be fine," she murmured after a while.

"When I see his face," Culurien said, half to herself, "then I will know."

Idril smiled.  "You are a better judge of my grandson's demeanor than I.  When last I saw him, he was just an infant."

Culurien paused in mid-stride as she heard the door close and his familiar footstep in the hallway.  His face hid all expression as he greeted his grandmother first.  "Suilad, Naneth-adar," he said, embracing her. 

She raised a hand to his cheek. "Elrond."

He met Culurien's eyes and her heart sank.  He gave his grandmother a quick kiss, and then held out his hand.  "Walk with me, Linariel."

They meandered through the bright flowers silently until Elrond gave a little snort of laughter.  "I am reminded why I chose not to come here some six thousand years ago."

Culurien turned to face him and was encouraged by the glint of humor she saw in his eyes.  "Yes?"

"The scrutiny," he answered.  "Having every move one makes analyzed in depth.  The situation I was worried for was barely an issue," he elaborated.  "It appears I have been adequately repentant."

Culurien was puzzled.  "So you were summoned for what reason?"

"Vilya," said Elrond.  "The Ring of the Air.  I had it in my possession, why did I not throw it into the Crack of Doom and unmake it when I had the chance?"

"But . . ." began Culurien, "this was an elven ring, it was not evil."

He smiled.  "My argument as well.  Apparently its tie to the One Ring held much significance with the Valar.  Because the knowledge that achieved the making of it came from Annatar, his corruption lived within it although sully it with his black hand he did not."  There was a pause as they walked once more.

"So, I am guessing this had an agreeable conclusion?"

"Agreeable enough," said Elrond.  "By and large I have earned the approval of the powers that be."

"Then there is something else," she continued.  "I could discern it when you came in, you are troubled."

"Nay."  He shook his head.  "Not so much troubled but tired, weary beyond words.  It was quite an ordeal, this judgment."

Culurien put her arms around his waist.  "I deem it is time for the healer to be healed."

"Indeed," he said with his breath hot against her ear.  "The gardens of Lórien await us."

She trembled beneath the touch of his hands.  "There is no hurry, is there?"

His voice was muffled in her hair as he loosened her clothing, his caresses finding their way to bare skin.  "No hurry at all."

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