'Tomorrow is not in Today, and all of your yesterday's are only a matter of Time.'

The breeze trickled fading leaves across the terrace. The rustling sound they made as they brushed the creamy flagstones was the only thing that disturbed the peaceful landscape of Elrond's gardens.

The Eldar noble sat crosslegged on his favoured bench, his long fingers absently smoothing the velvet fabric of the emerald throw that covered him. In his lap sat a book, which he earnestly studied, and by his knees rested his youngest - Arwen.

She was engrossed in the mending of a particular cloak, her agile fingers deftly stitched the silver thread in a flowering pattern, her concentration matching that of her father. It was a fairly common sight in the late afternoon - Elrond favoured this spot. Nothing seemed out of place or unusual, everything was as it always was...quiet...peaceful...waiting.

It was like Elrond heard a continuous 'tick-tock' in his mind. Like he was constantly being made aware of the passing time, and as his eyes drifted to the sun dial at the entrance of his private terrace, he felt the grind of passing moments much more acutely.

Rising from his seat, he absently ambled to the decorative gold and marble time piece, and hovered over it expectantly...like it should give him an indication. Sadly, the shadows creeped around the circular dial, speaking of nothing but the ever present movement of time and no answers for him. No precise time that he could count towards, nothing to pin his expectations to, just waiting...always waiting.

Arwen raised her head from her work upon hearing her father sigh...again.

She felt her brow crinkle as her expression morphed into something between conpassion and irritation. Whether her father was aware of it or not, he had sighed uncountable times in the past few hours, and his outward worrying was beginning to stress the elleth.

Dropping her needles and thread, Arwen tilted her head to the side and observed her father. He was quietly distressed, it was easy to tell, she was certain he was far more troubled than he cared to admit. Her mother had promised to be home by summer's end, but summer had been and gone and autumn was truly in full flourish. It was very unlike her mother to not keep to her word, for she was well aware Elrond preferred routine and order. He kept to plans and arrangements with military precision, Celebrian's unanticipated prolonged stay in Lorien was definitely causing him anxiety...unnecessary anxiety in his daughter's eyes.

She had felt the lure of Lothlorien, and she knew how easy it was to postpone a trip home. Arwen had assumed that her mother had simply felt the urge to remain longer with her parents, probably because Celeborn had guilted her into remaining with them. No doubt playing on his daughter's softness for him. Celebrian did dote on her father, much like Arwen doted on her own...it was maybe a hereditary fault.

"You will make yourself ill with worry Ada," Arwen commented dryly, as she flicked her silken ebony hair over her shoulder. "Nana is simply taking her time, appreciating the world, as you so often tell her to do."

"Perhaps she is," Elrond answered lightly, not keen on provoking a squabble with his daughter over his inability to refrain from incessant worrying.

"You sound unconvinced?" Arwen queried, her elegant eyebrow rising up her forehead in disbelief.

"It is unlike your Naneth to not inform me of changes to her plans. I am merely concerned of her intentions, if she waits much longer winter will come and the pass will not be open to her. I do not want her travelling in dangerous conditions." Elrond quietly answered his intuitive child, and attempted to conceal the true selfish panic in his features.

Arwen's lips pursed, and she simply looked away, not wanting to point out the obvious lies in her father's statement. He was worrying, as usual, and about far more than just adverse weather conditions. Instead she shrugged her slender shoulders and returned to her sewing, letting an awkward silence descend upon them. Elrond gave a little audible huff at his daughter's silent judgements, and straightening his robe he decided a stroll was in order. A little dilly dander around the gardens would distract him nicely.

So off he went, in more the style of a determined warrior than a affable gentleman. As much as he tried to conceal his anxiety he knew, deep down, that he could not deny his fretting. It appeared to him that the more stressed he became the quieter he got. He was well aware his daughter was picking up on that all too familiar trait of his, and he now felt even more worry that his fretting was causing her to become anxious too. Removing himself from the situation seemed like the best idea, at least now he could brood in peace, without feeling guilty.

When at last he resurfaced from his internal debates, Elrond found himself meandering along the river path. The setting sun had turned the crystal water into a glittering stream of golds and pinks, the colours reminded him of the sheen of his wife's hair and the blush of her skin. Again, Elrond was left confused and agitated as to why Celebrian had not sought to tell him of her intention to stay in Lorien? It was simply not like her to be so careless!

With yet another breathy sigh, Elrond sank down on the bank to enjoy the pretty display of the setting sun.

He watched the ripples of the water, he listened to the glorious melodious of the birds, he inhaled the calming scent of nature - anything that would bring his mind rest.  Yet, he found no peace.

With an agitated click of his tongue, he bent his head and rubbed the tension from his brow in thought.  Here, in the position, he spied a butterfly pass him.  Just a little cabbage butterfly; all white winged and innocent, the image made him smile.

In interest he followed the little creatures flight to the nearest thickets.  He enjoyed the mesmerising fluttering and tumbling of the insects wings - such a dainty little thing.

His fond smile fell, almost instantaneously, as with one wrong twist the butterfly caught her wings on an elaborate web.

In a moment the world froze, and the tiny horror spectacle played out before Elrond's eyes with unnerving clarity.

A large and hostile spider leapt from the shadows of the thorns, it's creepy limbs dancing viciously and possessively towards the beautiful little creature. 

The butterfly fluttered and fought with all it's life's strength, but the poisonous bite of the spider was swift, and with one strike she became still.  Her joyful flight ceasing by one cruel and unfortunate move in time.

A horn split the resounding peacefulness of Imladris, but Elrond remained transfixed on the shattering sight of a spider gorging delightedly on an innocent life.

He heard his daughter scream his name, but still he could not look away as her wings turned from brilliant white to brittle grey.

The stench of death hung in the air...time was up.

xXx

"They would have used the mountain pass," Elrohir spoke quickly and urgently to his twin, as he passed him a quiver full of arrows.

"Elrohir, even if that is so," Elladan spoke with a broken and stoney voice, thick with grief as he checked the tack of his horse one more time.  "Even if we can make decent time, she would be at least three days from us...the orc pits beyond the mountains...we...we need to start there."

A painful sob broke the tense words between the brothers, and they both looked to find their sister bent into their father, her shoulders trembling from her grief as she hid her face in his chest.

Their father was as still as they had ever saw him.  His pallor chalk white and his lips almost blue with the shock.  Neither of them had knew their father to be without words, without strength or courage for guidance, but now he was shell-like and crumbling before their very eyes.

"Elladan," Elrond spoke his eldest son's name like a ashen whisper, his shadowed and hallowed eyes lifting to look at him but not really seeing him.

"Yes Ada?" He answered, unsure if he should send for healers or ask the guards to take his father's weight for it seemed he was about to topple.  "Ada, have you saw something? A vision of Naneth?"

"Yes," Elrond replied, his mouth bone dry and dusty to talk.  He closed his eyes for a moment, reliving the death of the butterfly moments before the guard raced to him holding the blood stained cloak of his missing wife.   His memory sifted through the images until understanding struck him.  "She has been poisoned," the announcement was met with horrified gasps, "she may yet be alive...find her ion nin...I can heal her."

And with that the twins mounted their horses, and with an escort of skilled warriors, fled Imladris in the night in search of their stolen mother - their lady and light of their father's heart.

Elrond passed his daughter to a maid, for he had no words to comfort her, and a feminine touch would be better to help her in this time than his desperate grief.

He waited until the pavilion emptied, he waited until silence descended on his home, and he waited until he could bear it no longer.

Crumpling to the ground, he gave up a huff of air from his lungs - an anguished ghost of a sound that filled the night air with sorrow.  His hands balled into fists around the stained, satin, cloak in his hands, and he wept; hard, broken, fearful, tears that shook his frame....and for once he did not care who saw.

"Celebrian," he cried weakly, "meleth nin...hold on..."

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A/N: Well, this has been laying around begging to be finished.  It should be really short.  Thank you if you still actually remember this plot.

Music: Time by Anastacia - a song that reminds me very much of the tragedy of Elrond.