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The snows in Imladris did not fall often, but when they did, the valley held them close as though reluctant to let them go. The river whispered beneath thin ice, and the evergreens bowed under soft white crowns. Lantern-light shimmered from the Last Homely House, and winter birds darted in bright flashes of blue between the branches.
Elrond paused beneath the carved archway, a small parcel hidden within his sleeve. He had faced kings and battlefields with far greater calm than he managed now. It was Midwinter evening, when gifts were exchanged among those dear to one another, and he had decided—at frustratingly long last—that Celebrian was dearer to him than any other.
She came toward him across the snow-bright courtyard as if drawn by the same thread of thought. Celebrian wore soft blue and white wool, bright threads like starlight woven through the silver fall of her hair. The birds followed her, bold and curious, swooping past in lilting arcs.
“Elrond,” she greeted, warmth in her voice despite the cold. “You look as though you’re anticipating some foe at your gates rather than a festival table.”
He smiled despite himself. “It would be easier to greet one.”
She laughed—clear, light, and never unkind. “Then it is fortunate I come alone.”
They walked together beneath overhanging boughs. Snow muffled every sound save their steps and the breath they shared in the cold air.
“I have something for you,” Elrond said at last. His voice felt strange in his throat, as though he had borrowed another’s courage to use it.
“Do you?” Her eyes brightened with quiet delight. “I had hoped.”
He stopped beside a low stone wall and offered the parcel with both hands. It was wrapped in pale cloth, knotted with gold thread. She untied it gently, reverently.
Inside lay a slender circlet, wrought in silver and white-gold. Tiny enamelled leaves and blossoms wound along its surface—delicate, precise, inlaid with pearl. It was elegant without ostentation, a reflection rather than an statement.
Celebrian’s expression softened. “It is beautiful.”
“I remembered,” Elrond said carefully, “how you spoke in the autumn of missing the white flowers of Lórien when winter comes. I thought… perhaps…” He faltered. Words, usually so willing to serve him, slipped away.
“That winter need not mean absence?” she finished gently.
He nodded.
She brushed her fingertips along the circlet, then lifted her gaze to his. “You remember much, Elrond Peredhel.”
“It is both my gift and my burden,” he replied. “But some things I am glad not to forget.”
A faint color touched her cheeks. “Walk with me a moment longer?”
They followed the curve of the garden, where the snow lay pristine save where birds had hopped and foraged. Celebrian carried the circlet as though it made from fragile spun frost.
“I have something for you as well,” she said at length, a spark of mischief lighting her voice. “Though it is not so fine as what you have given me.”
She drew from her cloak a small bound book, the cover soft with age. Gold letters spelled out Tengwar in a neat, elegant hand.
“I asked the lore-masters for fragments of history from your earliest years,” she said. “Those not written in chronicles, but in remembrances. Songs, sayings, little scraps of daily life in Sirion. Not of heroes—but of children.”
He stared at the book in wonder. It was a kindness he had not remembered he needed until now.
“I thought,” she continued gently, “that sometimes one who carries the weight of an age should be reminded that he was once young.”
Emotion rose unbidden, and he bowed his head lest she see too clearly.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Celebrian smiled and reached for his free hand. “Then we are even. You have given me a promise of spring, and I have given you a piece of your past.”
Their hands lingered together, neither withdrawing.
Snowflakes drifted between them. The lanterns glowed golden through the early dark. Somewhere, faintly, laughter rose from within the house.
“Shall we go in?” she asked, though her fingers did not leave his.
“In a moment,” he replied, steady now. “This—this is a good place to stand.”
And for a time, they simply stood together beneath winter’s hush, shoulder to shoulder, as though the valley itself blessed the quiet beginning that had, at last, been spoken into being.