Thanks to Bejai and Marnie for the beta.  Any mistakes you find are all mine.

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Chapter One – A New City

The daily market of Ost-in-Edhil bustled at every hour of the morning.  Colorful stalls filled the great square, spilling out into the surrounding environs.  A diversity of kindreds and cultures flowed together with remarkable peace in a new city where the corners of the cut-stone buildings were still sharp and the steel-bound wooden gates still fragrant with the scent of the trees. 

Sellers of a surprising variety of wares, goods, and produce enthusiastically enticed the swirling throng of elf, man, and dwarf to buy.  Bright, clamorous speech and lively hucksters’ songs rang out from every direction.  Enticing aromas and strains of music swirled through the air.  An ever-changing combination of sights, shouts, and scents rolled over the eager shoppers in waves, lifting up a normal day into a buoyant fair.  Even when swept into narrow places and forced to slowly eddy around, the crowd was cordial, ready with laughter rather than curses, for there was much mithril to spend and it was actually safe to walk the streets with it. 

Glamien, with Celebrian in tow, and the two vigilant guards escorting the nanny and little princess walked leisurely through the congested alley of the corn vendors.  Some of the people bowed as they passed, but all stepped around them, not expecting the little party to move aside for anyone. 

Glamien’s destination was the stall at the end of block.  As had become usual, she would buy a half-measure of the fine-milled grain.  Certainly, the cereal for sale there was the very best available short of the Ivonwin.  However, what she really came for most every day was, in her opinion, the very best gossip found in the city.  This was always her first stop before going about any other shopping.  She never knew how long she might be talking and did not wish to stand around holding packages nor unkindly burdening her escort when she had one.

Eventually, the four came up to the busy booth and Glamien exchanged pleasant greetings with Elrach, the proprietor.  He finished seeing to his current customer then turned to her, leaving his son who worked with him most days to look after the other insistent customers who had been waiting long before Glamien had arrived. 

Elrach was one of the first friends Glamien had made upon arriving with the Lady Galadriel and the remainder of the Lord and Lady’s household almost a year ago.  The Lord Celeborn had come to Eregion nine years before.  Though ever eager for his wife and daughter to join him, Galadriel had been hesitant.  At first, she insisted that Celebrian was too young and she, not Celebrimbor’s folly, needed her mother’s attention.  Then she had worried that the city was not safe enough for their precious child.  Often Celeborn had journeyed to visit them in Lórínand, though he had to travel through the dwarves’ realm – and rely on their king’s good will towards the master smith – to do so.  Only last summer, Amroth Amdirion had personally delivered them into the joyful Lord’s arms.  After hearing Elrach’s harrowing stories of the violence in the earlier years of the colony, Glamien was glad they had waited so long.

The elegant city that Celebrimbor planned had been impossible for him to build, much less hope to manage, before seeking the aid of Celeborn and Galadriel.  The master smith who dreamed of a new Gondolin was neither a ruler nor a governor.  Yet Gil-galad gave him the royal warrant he asked for.  Most reasonably assumed it to be repayment of a political favor; not an award for past lordship.  So it all went out of Celebrimbor’s control when the news spread of the discovery of a mithril mother lode in Khazad-Dûm.  Chaos reigned while the Brotherhoods and Guilds the master smith had invited to help build his colony vied for control, exploiting the absence of royalty and taking advantage of Celebrimbor’s inexperience.  All desired for themselves alone the incredible wealth and power that was to be had.  The worst sorts of brigands were drawn by the promise of easy riches.  Bandits terrorized the few passable roads.  Pirates stalked the rivers.  Gangs raided farms and burned homes.  Whoever they did not run off was forced into labor or to pay ransom.  Among elves, men, and dwarves alike, there was rampant theft and even cold-blooded murder, but little justice.  What was meant to be a glorious capital was naught but the myriad armed camps of hostile factions. 

Celebrimbor rightfully appealed to Gil-galad who did send troops, but their commanders became corrupted and the lawlessness continued.  In desperation, Celebrimbor journeyed to Amdir’s realm to beseech his old friends and an ‘arrangement’ was made.  Celeborn returned with Celebrimbor and order was at last brought to Eregion.  The army was cleansed.  Would-be rulers were put in their places.  Trade routes were made safe.  Peace was enforced.  Decent folk who cared more about making a good living rather than stacking up silver were welcomed and protected.  Construction was begun on the city.  The Lady came to grace the new realm with her beauty and glory.  What had been a sorry failure for four decades became a great success in one.  Every farmer, herder, and forester and every merchant, craftsman, and artisan knew who had been given rule of the colony, but also knew who was actually ruling their lives.  The common people gratefully paid respect to all three rulers of Eregion, those nobles present cooperated, and the High King wisely did not interfere.

Glamien admired Elrach and his family for surviving through it all.  Having come from Lórinand, she had never experienced that kind of turmoil.  Instability and social upheaval frightened her in a way orcs did not.

For his part, Elrach had enjoyed Glamien’s company from their first conversation.  She was of the better sort of people that had started coming to what he considered his city and her visit was a highlight of his day.  She was always eager to listen while he spoke of goings-on unafraid, unlike in the past.  She would remark sagely, only sometimes asking a question, and shared in his amusement at other people’s follies.  No one had known that she was a familiar of the rulers’ household until the first time she brought darling little Celebrian with her.  Now Elrach also enjoyed the cachet Glamien’s patronage carried as well as her interesting - yet always discrete – tidbits about life with the Lord and Lady.    

The two friends completed their loose ritual of chatting about the weather and the day’s offerings for a few minutes before lowering their voices and getting down to their real business. 

“Alas, times are too good,” said Elrach, pleased that he could say that.  “I’ve not much to tell today.  The tiff between the stone-cutters and masons has been settled.  That entertainment is over.  My youngest grandson has lost his first tooth and that’s not very thrilling after three other boys.  So where do you take the heryn tithen today?”   

Celebrian patiently held onto the cord around her nanny’s waist just as she was supposed to.  She was content for the time being, sucking on a half of dried pear and watching the different people go by.  The guards for the day, Nítmilrû and Faunaur, stood in the way of anyone who might accidentally bump into their charges or get close enough to be rude.  She liked being out even if she had to quietly stay with her nîni.  Later they might walk through the Glad Edreb where there were nice trees and people would give her little toys and favors.

“We’ll be goin’ quite far,” answered Glamien.  “All the way to the new tailor’s street to get her a ready-made slipover for play.  She’s ‘bout outgrown this one as you can see.”

“Aye, in fact I’d say she’s ready to sprout up.  Though it’ll be quite a long while yet ere she catches up to her parents’ stature.”  Elrach winked at Glamien to let her know that he knew the child was listening though she did not show it.  Glamien smiled very proud of the princess she had cared for since newborn. 

She had begun to bring the lass along with her lately and was quite pleased with her conduct.  The child slowed down her nanny’s progress, but did not tire quickly and then have to be taken back before the trip was over.  She was very good about keeping hold of the looped cord around Glamien’s waist so that she would not get lost or occupy her nanny’s hands.  Unlike most children, this one never needed to be told to do something over and over again.  It was as if she clearly understood the reason for a rule and thought it a good idea that she would adopt for her own sake.  However beneath that seemingly compliant nature, Celebrian was a guileful child who could at times be quite stubborn.  She obeyed her parents.  Her nanny she obeyed more or less out of habit.  Anyone else’s orders she might or might not choose to tolerate. 

Glamien felt a sharp tug on the cord and excused herself to Elrach. “What is it, hên?”   

She did not point, as she had been instructed by her naneth that it was impolite.  Instead she looked over at a dark-haired fellow leaning against the wall of the bakery shop on the corner, then back to Glamien, then back to the fellow once more.  It was obvious this strange elf was watching her. 

Glamien knew that Celebrian did not like being stared at and certainly not by someone so suspicious-looking.  He was not very tall, quite strong-looking, and dressed in brown and green forest-dweller garb.  His features were of a common cast, except for grey-green eyes.  His plain bow was heavy like a Galadhrim’s and almost as tall as he.  A hithlain cloak was thrown back from a plain tunic, no undershirt.  He wore a quiver, rather raddled, and a slim blanket roll slung across his chest with a small pouch and stone knife on a loose belt.  His fitted leggings smoothly covered the tops of soft, simple shoes and neither had any visible laces. 

“He’s Laiquendi,” Elrach informed her.  “There’s a band of them gone down the street earlier looking for plain waybread and lembas.  ‘Twas nothing remarkable about them.  Though you ne’er see many this side of Tharbad.”

“You didn’t think them worthy of mention?”

“No,” he replied looking puzzled at her concern.

“What’s he waiting there for?”  Her greater concern was that Elrach had forgotten about them until he was asked.

“Who knows?  Them to come back.  You two maybe?”  He spoke in a conspiratorial whisper and comically raised his eyebrows, implying his friend’s worry was silly.  Instead of relaxing, Glamien became more irritated.  She stared back at the looker-on who did not turn way. 

The green-elf made a slight movement with his shoulders and Glamien caught a glint off the handle of a long knife tucked beneath his quiver.  She was sure that he had revealed it on purpose.  Celebrian pulled down heavily on the cord, almost hanging on it.

Glamien had been summarily ordered to not chance anything untoward concerning Celebrian.  Her parents had personally assured her that they would uphold any precaution she took.  So she turned to Faunaur, the senior guard, and causally said, ”Have him arrested.” 

The guard had been paying close attention and knew exactly whom she meant.  He waved over a civil patrolman and gave him some instructions - the last of which was to remove the fellow to the barad-tir for questioning.  The patrolman and his partner approached the Nando and took hold of him.  He protested then, after listening to them, obviously decided to cooperate.  They all walked off in the direction of the Aradeib; the green-elf glancing back at them only once.

Glamien bent down to Celebrian’s ear.  “See, lisillë.  The bad eledh is gone.”

Celebrian nodded her head in agreement and resumed sucking on her piece of fruit; her hand a sticky mess.  She looked at her níni with happy eyes and smiled sweetly.  Then she was distracted, as were many others, when a small, fluffy dog suddenly started excitedly barking at something or someone.  Its sparkling silver leash fringed with tiny bells made a clamorous jingle as the animal struggled to be let down from its flustered master’s arms.  People all around turned to look and laugh.

Though she gave no outward sign, Glamien could tell the child wanted very much to play with the dog.  The owner was familiar to her by sight as a neighborhood denizen.  Elrach had spoken fair of him.  Since the day’s news was trivial, she closed their conversation.  With a knowing grin about dogs and children, Elrach exchanged her regular purchase for her newly minted coin, making a little show of it. 

“Thank you very much, maerves!  You’ve bought the very best and anyone here will tell you so!” announced Elrach.  Not stopping any work at hand, his son and also his neighboring boothmen automatically raised a loud “Yea!” at his prompt.  Without turning around to look, Elrach flipped the shiny copper piece high up into the air and it landed squarely with a sharp chink in the change basket behind him.

Unimpressed and forcing herself to politely smile, Glamien thanked him again and handed the small sack to Nítmilrû.  Faunaur hovered over her shoulder as she took the child over to the dog’s elegant master who, having gotten his canine under control, was honored to introduce himself and very happy to present his pet to the princess.  Celebrian greatly enjoyed having the friendly dog lick her hand clean, laughing merrily to the delight of every passer-by.

While the little princess was cheerfully playing with the dog, a patrolman came up to Faunaur.  Glamien saw that Nítmilrû was keeping a good eye on Celebrian, so she turned her attention to what was being said by the patrolman.

“The Annon-torthmo says they left by the east gate and all points are alerted to detain them if they return.”

“Good.  But, I doubt they shall.  From all appearances he was just a drifter.  Thank you.  That is all.”  The peace officer went after a polite nod in Glamien’s direction.  Faunaur moved to stand beside her.

“There is no need to return if you wish to go on,” he said to her.  “He was probably just curious about her.”  He grinned and added, “Or flirtin’ with you.”

Glamien was not in a mood to joke.  The look she gave in response to his teasing set the guard back on his heels.  “We’ll go on,” she said flatly. 

Celebrian’s parents wanted their daughter to have some time away from the heap everyone called a palace and yet be safe.  It did not please Glamien that everyone else, even their guards, seemed to think the child needed no protection at all. 

Could none believe that there might be someone - some dangerous fool - unafraid of the Lord and Lady’s wrath?  Someone for whom the prospect of a stupendous ransom could overcome both reason and fear?  Or worse, some mad monster given to perversion determined to grab her for his prize?  Being of a very practical sort, Glamien was satisfied that this particular threat had been well removed.  But, there would be a next time.  She cared not that the green-elf might just have been a curious fool.  If that proved true and she ever saw him again... well, maybe then she would apologize... and then again, maybe not.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

Celebrian, Sell i Nos Galadhad – Celebrian, Daughter of the House of the Trees

Celebrian’s date and place of birth is not recorded.  However, it appears that the first time Elrond truly sees her as a woman is at Imladris.  So she was probably born after 650 Second Age and not in Lindon or Eriador else the two would have met as adults before Eregion was settled.

Galadriel is said to have brought with her to Lórien mallorn seeds given to her by Gil-galad, which were a gift from Tar-Aldarion.  The first Numenorean ships landed in Mithlond around 600 Second Age.  Galadriel and Celeborn could have left for the east anytime after that year.  It is also said that the trees did not take root in Lindon and “did not reach the height or girth of the great groves of Númenor”.  So, it probably took considerable time and care to grow the trees of the Golden Wood.

Ost-in-Edhil was founded in 750 Second Age.  However, Eregion is said to be settled by Celebrimbor, by Celeborn & Galadriel, and by all three as early as 700 Second Age.

Lórinand – Valley of Gold (Lorien), a later name for Lindóriand, Vale of the Singers (the Lindar), Amdir’s realm where Lenwë’s people, the Nandor, originally settled.  This realm extended along both sides of the Anduin river valley, down to Fangorn and up past Amon Lanc until the establishment of Oropher’s own realm which encompassed the Greenwood.  Lothlorien was originally only a principality within Lorinand.

Laiquendi/Laegrim – Green-elves of Ossiriand, the realm of Denethor, son of Lenwë, in Beleriand.  Denethor migrated with his followers to Beleriand after the Nandor had been settled in Lindoriand for some time.  The green-elves are wood-elves just like the Silvan whose forbearers are also the Nandor.

Ivonwin – Yavannildi, the maidens of Yavanna who grow the lembas corn

maerves – good woman, goodwife

heryn tithen – little princess

hên – child

naneth/nana – mother/mom

barad-tir – watch tower, guard house

Aradeib – Royal Houses, headquarters/government buildings/City Hall

lisillë / lisullë – sweetie diminutive of sweet, fem./masc. Quenya - Galadriel’s endearment for her daughter

eledh – an older word for elf

Glad Edreb– Open Forest PublicPark

Annon-torthmo – great-gate controller Gate-keeper

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Chapter Two – A Quiet Cell

Hrassa sat on his heels, waiting, back against the wall with his arms resting across his knees; staring, awake in a deep dream.

He had been in the small, barred cell since morning and the sunny day was waning into a glowing evening.  It appeared that he might have been forgotten.  With that dull thought intruding, his mind slid away from restful stillness to reconsidering his present situation.

There had been no interrogation.  The only question asked was for a name.  Then, they just locked him up and left.  No one since.  The only other cell, the one across from his, was still empty.  Not that being incarcerated here, alone or otherwise, was a hardship.  He had been given fresh bread when they put him in.  The cell was dry and swept; its air fresh.  There was a clean blanket, a water jar, and covered bucket.  He liked being out of the direct sun.  The stone walls did make the cell a little cave-like.  Too much stone was the problem with Golda cities in general.  Not enough trees or plants and a ‘park’ did not make up for it.    

A huge blowfly flew in through the high, grated window; its green-burnished body flashing in the fading light.  Not the sort of visitor Hrassa was hoping for.  The fly dipped through the cell bars and noisily circled the foyer of the small cellblock before flying around the corner, disappearing down the hallway.  It would be back for there was no exit that way, only the shut door into the outer corridor.

If it were one of his former traveling companions in here, the poor fellow would by now have gone mad to get out, yelling for his keepers.  He silently sighed.  Perhaps he should have stayed with the company instead of hanging back.  But having caught a glimpse of the child, he simply could not help himself.  She looked so like the Rîn at that age.  With that silvery hair, she had to be Elmoi.  Though from the way she was dressed, very likely the pampered doll of a Noldor lord with a Sindar lady wife.  A Nandor mother would never have dressed her in those clothes whatever her husband’s wishes.

The fly came back as expected.  It flew straight to him and buzzed annoyingly around his head.  Be gone, pest!  It veered away to land on the rim of the bucket, tasting for food.

Just what was it had brought him to Eregion in the first place?  Simply drifting with the company, he had not been allowed a vote about coming here.  It was they who wanted to come see things for themselves.  Though not, as claimed, out of concern that Úmanyar were being oppressed.  The Lord and Lady were here now and they would certainly prevent that sort of thing just as they had taking up rule in Harlindon.  No, it was more for the entertainment then anything else.  Admittedly, his own condemnable curiosity had lured him out of the forest.

The fly began scuttling around, flicking its wings.  Whether it was excited or frustrated he could not tell.

Why did it comfort him so much to know that the Lord and Lady were doing well?  Until now, he had not thought of the lass as a means to approach them.  But, he must suppose if she really were Elmoi that she would be near to them in some way.  Her family might even belong to Celeborn and Galadriel’s household.  They liked having children, especially kin, around them.

The fly had become very still, tensely poised on the side of the bucket as if trying to decide its next course of flight.

How had he gotten himself arrested anyway?  He might easily have left without ever having seen the child.  Still, he had seen her.  And once again, he was pitiably intrigued and drawn in by the ineffable nature of Lindi royalty.  After so long being separated from it, he had thought to be over this weakness or at least able to resist.  But, the sight of her had suddenly caused him to remember Beleriand... Ossiriand, the way it once was, wide ranging and open... how he had gladly served with the nothrim among Denethor’s warriors... left Amon Ereb half alive... then came to serve Nimloth when she was made their Rîn. 

The fly lazily launched off and left the cell by the way it had come in.

Maybe he should not have offered his friendship so quickly.  The child had seemed unafraid when he made eye-contact with her.  The nursemaid, despite obviously being Silvan, had taken it as some kind of insult.  How could she have possibly misunderstood his earnest gesture?  Yet here is where he had ended up.  Still, had he not done his punishment for any small trespass by now?

There was a subtle shift in the air and he knew the door onto the corridor had been stealthily opened.  Then closed.  Someone was coming down the hallway toward the cellblock.  Someone trying to very quiet.  Barefooted... small... wearing a skirt.  He smiled.  It had to be her, come to get another look at him.  The little ruschên!  What if she had gotten him arrested on purpose?  He broke into a wide grin at the possibility then quickly hid his amusement behind a blank face.  She was trying to peek around the corner without being seen. 

“So,” he spoke clearly, making sure to sound unthreatening.  “The huntress has finally come to inspect her prey.”  Come and look for I cannot harm you.

She hesitated, considering what to do.  Then she stepped in from the hall and stopped still before his cell, feet together with her shoes held behind her, making certain to stand out of his reach through the bars.  His breath was taken away.  In the twilight of the dimming prison, the little lass he had beheld in the over-bright daylight stood revealed as the child princess she truly was. 

She was dressed in an exquisitely made formal court gown of snow-drop white and butterfly-hued blue with a frost line of silver trim.  Her shining starlight hair was made up in Lindon fashion; unbraided and loosely gathered with glittery combs and pins, tumbling down her back.  Soft tendrils like broken spider’s silk floating around her face.  Her large eyes were like pieces of smooth, polished jade, glowing from within.  She wore no circlet.  She did not need it such was the grace upon her brow.  Seen like this, she bore an astounding resemblance to Nimloth, made more splendid by light petal-pink skin.  Her countenance was one of shy wisdom.  He was right.  No doubt about it.  She was Elmoi.

Once over her monumental decision to come out in plain view, she examined him with unbounded curiosity.  Peering at him through the bars, she tilted her head this way and that, trying to discern something of his nature.

As always he was curious too.  Who were her parents?  Were they from Harlond and someone he might already know?  How had she kept him here – isolated – until she was able to sneak away and visit him?  To find out, he first had to get a conversation going.

“Shall I stand for the lady?” he asked.  I am at your command.    

She became wary, straightening her head and shoulders thoughtfully. 

“Yes,” she replied, affecting the tone and manner of a high-born, adult lady. “Stand up so that I may see you better.”   He nearly burst out laughing.  It had been an age since he had had an encounter with such absurd aristocratic airs.  And now from such a precocious child!  He stood and came closer to the separating bars.  I am at your mercy.  He extended his arms, putting out his empty hands, and turned around twice. 

“Is the lady pleased or shall I be discarded back into the wild?”  Her reply startled him.

“You are a poor specimen.  Better to feed you to the hounds than let you out to weaken the herd.”  His face must have betrayed him for she immediately relented.  “Oh no, I didn’t mean it!”  She was honestly distressed for having scared him, not necessarily for what she had said.  However, his shock had not come directly from her.  The Rîn had once said almost the same thing to him and he suddenly remembered all the stranger stories he had heard about Mandos.  Not that he actually believed any of those stories about being reborn.  He had personally known people returned from the dead.  They were themselves, not likenesses. 

“Please my lady, I hope so!”  Since she had lowered her defenses too, he decided to try for a hit of his own.  “Were you any other... “  He made a vague, helpless gesture.  “Well, then I might have known ‘twas only teasing and not taken such a fright.  But my lady is Elmoi and your kindred speak ever truthfully.”  He bowed his head to her.

“I am Celebrian, not this Elmoi,” she haughtily corrected, somehow looking down her nose at him despite her short height.  “Are you mad or zany that you think I am someone else?”  He fell dumb at this.  She had no understanding at all of what he had just said about her!

He could not think of what next to say.  Had the girl been intentionally deprived of her heritage?  Even a Noldo would proud to claim his child to be of Nos Elmo if he could.  Something was amiss and his curiosity, as usual, prompted his tongue.  He impulsively decided to reveal his true name and give due respect to his heritage.

“My name is Hrassa.”  That felt surprisingly good to say.  It had been a long time since he had been himself and not just given out a name to go by.  “I beg your pardon if I was mistaken.”  Then he bowed as one should upon introduction.

“That’s a Laiquendi name!”  The little princess’s face brightened even more with delight.  She dropped all affectations and became an excited child.  “You say it differently, but I know what it means!  Cliff!”  She was not precisely correct, but he was impressed all the same.  Then more impressed when her language changed from elegant Sindarin to a lilting Nandorin dialect, her accent reminiscent of the Doriathrim. 

“So you really are Laegrim?!  I’ve never met a real green-elf before!  I’m Galadhrim from Lórínand.  Are you from Harlindon or Emyn Uial?  Our house is in a tree, is yours?  Or have you only a talan?  But in the north, don’t you get cold in the winter when you sleep?  Do you ever sleep or are you always awake?”  Her words spilled out so quickly he barely got all she was saying and he was hard put to keep up with his answers.  To be able to converse with her in his native tongue was unexpected fun.

“... you’re the first real Galadhrim I’ve met... I have no home... I’ve been awake for more than a fortnight, but have been longer... I do like to sleep when I can... ”

“My gwador says even a wood-elf has to sleep sometime.  You heard me come in, didn’t you!  And I was being ever so quiet!  Why are you here?”

“... your gwador is right... you were very quiet... ”

He found himself once again uncertain what to say.  Her simple question asked so much.   How should he explain his lack of destination?  His trust in fate and the natural course of things?  What was the best answer for a young child?  Just the facts, of course.

“... I was wandering with a company and I thought you looked like someone I knew... ”

“A wanderer!  Where have you been to?  Have you seen the sea?  Who did you think I was?  Oh yes, Elmoi!  Does she have hair like mine?  Sometimes people say I look like my naneth.  But they’re just toadies because I don’t, not really.”

“... yes, I’ve seen the sea... the Elmoi are many people, not just one person... a few have your color but also golden or very black... ”  He was enjoying watching her almost bounce with every new thought that came into her head.  Like a flittery, little bird suddenly come to perch on a branch close-by.  Only he must not reach for it lest he scare it away.   

“Oh, like Lindi, I see!  Where do Elmo and his tribe live?  My ada’s grandfather has that name too.  So does Master Apsaron’s brother’s wife’s father.  He thinks he’s a funny fellow, but he’s not.  Master Apsaron is much funnier.  Lord Halanco had a white horse called Elmo, but he doesn’t have it anymore.  I think it died.”

“... no, not a tribe, but a small clan – like a very big family... the Galadhrim are a tribe... ”  She was so charming!  Surely, she knew this about herself.  But not the reason why?  “I’ve heard of the Golden Wood where your people dwell... who’s your ada and nana?”

She abruptly stopped chattering and looked at him as if he was indeed crazy... or stupid.  What had he said wrong?

The door to the corridor thudded open.  They both gasped with surprise and turned to face the hallway.  A voice called out for her.  A voice he immediately recognized.

“RÍANEG!” 

The little princess jumped, her clutched slippers leaping out.  She swiftly put on her shoes.  Backing up a few steps, she took on the pose of a demure maiden; her hands gracefully folded in front of her, head level, eyes downcast.  Hrassa despaired of her tactic.  That’s not going to save you!

Celeborn, resplendent in the court clothes of a high lord, shimmering grey and glimmering white, strode into cellblock with great determination, followed meekly by the jailer with his clanking keys and disheveled ledger.  Upon seeing the Lord’s face, Hrassa relaxed – relieved.  Celeborn was not intending to do anyone bodily harm as might be feared from the threat in his voice.  Hrassa knew all too well what that kind of determination looked like.  Still there was small chance of the little princess getting away unpunished.  Unless he helped her. 

Well, he would help her and find out how it was that, if she were a member of the Lord and Lady’s household, she knew not her rightful legacy.  Fate had them cross paths and he would yield to that.  Considering everything, he might be serving himself as much as her.  He spoke instinctively as he stepped up to the bars, grasping them, his face looking out between.

“Caun-anim.”  Seeing Celeborn’s troubled eyes when he turned to look, Hrassa was stung by the unexpected hurt he saw he had caused.

The Lord drew a quick breath and held it.  “Hrassa?  ‘Tis you?”  He ever so slightly shook his head in denial.  ... but, you’re dead ...  Hrassa clearly heard that thought and for a heartbeat felt what Celeborn felt.  Rarely did he hear another’s precise thoughts and he knew it had happened only by the Lord’s power, not his small abilities.  But, he would have gladly have missed this occasion.

“Nay.”  His throat was clear; his voice steady.  Still, he could only say that one word. 

Celeborn barely hesitated before he ordered the jailer to, ”Let him out.”

“No!  He’s my catch!” Celebrian protested.  Then frightfully realized that she had spoken aloud and without leave.  Celeborn’s chin lifted slightly, but he did not turn to look at her.  He gestured to the jailer to proceed.  The nervous functionary fumbled the key in the lock a bit before the door was finally swung open.  Hrassa came out slowly, his eyes fixed on the pallid little efling, trying to reassure her.  And himself.  We’ll be all right.  With a shooing wave of his hand, the Lord dismissed the jailer who all but ran back to his station.

“Hrassa,” said Celeborn, calling back his attention.  The Lord looked long at him with the same displeasure he would a bow found to be strung too taut.  Which was what Hrassa felt himself to be.  And if Celeborn chose to pull, he might snap in two.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

Celebrian, Sell i Nos Galadhad – Celebrian, Daughter of the House of the Trees

Galadhad – the Trees - the Two Trees; one of the days of the week is Orgaladhad, ‘Day of the Trees’; in “Unfinished Tales”, there is a reference to Celeborn made by Celebrimbor as ‘Celeborn of the Trees’; the full-elven Sindarin royals (as opposed to the half-elven Elweans) are associated with Telperion by virtue of their names and silver hair, Galadriel is associated with Laurelin and both Trees together by virtue of her golden hair – *so* I have used ‘the Trees of the High Elves’ as seen on the West Gate of Moria as the device of Celeborn and Galadriel

Lindi – the Nandor kindred’s name for themselves; they are of the Lindar – the kindred with the largest population of the original three kindreds and led on the Great Journey by Elwë and Olwë; the Vanyar and Noldor came to call them the Teleri – the Nandor led by Lenwë left the Journey and settled in the Anduin river valley

Úmanyar/Úamanyar – literally people not from Aman (the Lindarin kindreds and cultures of Middle-earth)

Nos Elmo – the House of Elmo; another way to say the Children of Elmo

Elmoi – the kindred and clan of Elmo and his descendents; yet another way to say the Children of Elmo

Elmo stayed with his brother Elwë in Beleriand instead of going to Aman with his other brother Olwë; Elmo’s son was Galadhon whose sons were Galathil and Celeborn; Nimloth was Galathil’s daughter

Lindon – formerly Ossiriand, the ‘land of seven rivers’ belonging to the green-elves, the Laegrim.  The Noldor name which means ‘Land of Music’(Song) or ‘Land of the Singers”.  Those Eldar, both Noldor and Sindar (surviving refugees from Gondolin, Nargothrond, Menegroth, Balar, and Arvernien) who did not go back with the Host of the Valar after the War of the Wrath came there when Beleriand was inundated.  The Gulf of Lhûn, where Mithlond was located, divided it into Harlindon (south) and Forlindon (north).

adar/ada – father/dad

naneth/nana – mother/mom

gwador/gwathel – brother/sister who is not a sibling

edhel – elf (edhil is the plural)

nothrim – Household or clan members (collective form of nos)

Rîn – crowned fem., a title for the lady chieftain of the Laegrim

Caun-anim – prince-mine, My Prince literally prince-for myself

Ríaneg – Queenie diminutive of Rian

Golda – Noldor Nandorin

ruschên – fox child

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Chapter Three – A Sad Demise

Hrassa stood face to face with Celeborn, waiting upon the prince’s next move.  He dared not let his neutral expression slip and lose his only means of keeping Celeborn guessing and engaged.  The Lord allowed the strain upon Hrassa’s control to build before he ever so slightly advanced upon him. 

Celeborn’s eyes narrowed and his jaw shifted.  Without the aid of voice or thought, Hrassa knew what Celeborn was thinking.  There in his hard stare was one of the most terrible accusations that could be leveled at any warrior.  Hrassa also knew he had little choice in how to answer it.  Either he braved it out with dignity or crumbled in admission. 

Mustering all his pride and determination, he forced himself to withstand Celeborn’s accusing glare.  The last thing I’m going to do is beg mercy for being a little wayward.  The Lord’s expression did not change.  Well then… very... wayward.  He had gone without taking proper leave.  But even the most faithful hound will sometimes run off, seemingly without reason.  You know yourself that distance does not lessen loyalty.  The Lord’s jade eyes continued to bore into him.  So what if it has been almost four ennin?  Oh but please, do forgive me for not getting myself killed just so I would have a proper excuse for not running back home in a wink!  Still no change.  It looked like humor, flippant or grim, was not going to save him from the worst.  Was Celeborn even listening?  Just what do you expect me to do?  Whine and lick your boots?

He set his own jaw, focusing on one firm truth.  I did not desert you!

Celeborn closed his eyes in concentration.  He slowly drew a deep breath through his nose and released it through slightly parted lips.  Opening his eyes, his brow unfurrowed and all emotion fell away.  But by cleansing himself of his anger, Celeborn also drained away his warmth.  Even so, Hrassa was glad for winning this small bit of ground.  He had avoided being rashly judged and condemned outright.  His satisfaction was extremely short-lived however, for then the Lord did exactly what Hrassa did not want.  He turned his attention to the fidgeting little princess. 

“Celebrian,” he said – the cold calm with which he spoke chilled the very air, freezing the girl solid.  “Go to the Lady and inform her that I am seeing to an unexpected... guest.”  His cold stare stilled Hrassa’s tongue before he could part lips in an attempt to speak.  “Say to her that I request she punish you for your escapade.”  Oddly, after these icy words, where Hrassa had expected her to remain frozen in trepidation, the child defrosted with a snap.  Now she looked more sorry, but certainly less afraid.  Perhaps she had discovered, as had he a long time before her, that Galadriel was not as inventive at enforcing discipline as Celeborn.  “Now.”

“Yes, Ada!” she replied with an undeniable undertone of relief, as if she had indeed escaped any punishment.  She scurried away fast as a squirrel despite her cumbersome apparel.

Hrassa looked to Celeborn, incredulous at what he had heard her say.  Or rather what she did not say for a respectful fosterling would have said ‘Adar Celeborn’ not...

“... Ada... ?”

“Yes.”  The Lord nodded, his mouth pulling into a thin line, chagrined at her antics.  “Yes,” he said in Laegrim Nandorin.  “She is our own.” 

With this, Celeborn broke into a joking smile, greatly amused at Hrassa’s loss of aplomb.  He softly laughed; his smile brightening.  Then, intense as a brilliant lamp suddenly unshuttered, his spirit shone forth beyond simple pride in his offspring. 

There was joy bubbling up irrepressible as a mountain spring; a clear fountain flowing out from a deep, pure source.  It washed over Hrassa, soothing and smoothing away his anxiety.  His long fading sense of self-consequence was startlingly revived.  What he did with his life mattered.  Living an honorable life was not a sacrifice – it was a privilege!  This blinding truth ebbed into a glowing liquid peace that ran off like rainwater from the leaves of his past days and collected in the sparkling, green pools of the smiling Lord’s eyes.  Thus he remembered why Celeborn was Caun-anim.

“Congratulations, my prince!”  Well done!  Joy was definitely in order.  If any had asked him before this moment, Hrassa would have said that the Lord and Lady would remain forever childless. 

Despite Galadriel’s heartrending courage, after several attempts, there had been only painful disappointment and loss.  From which no cure was to be found at the hands of any healer.  The wise knew it had naught to do with the doom of an Exile.  It was their personal tragedy.  Obviously once more, not by the power of one or of the other alone but by combining their strength, they had surmounted what seemed unbeatable misfortune.

“Thank you, cogndîr!”  Celeborn clasped Hrassa’s arm and both threw their arms around the shoulders of the other.  They closed in the tight embrace of warriors who were also dear comrades.  When they released, there was no more strain between them.  All their arguments, all their trespasses against each other, were mutually set aside for the sake of reunion and happy news.

“How is it I’ve heard nothing ‘til now of this welcome miracle?” Hrassa asked.  He was eager to know.  “For I’ve kept my ear to the ground.”  Celeborn gave him a smug smile. 

“She was born in Lothloríen and is unknown to most.  Many even now do not realize that she is our daughter and not another of our wards.  Apparently, people think we long ago lost the desire to have children of our own.”  Hrassa chuckled to himself.  He knew he could wager his treasured knife that Celeborn and Galadriel would never completely turn their minds to other things.

“More likely they think as I thought.  That children of your own were not part of your fate.”

“Well, as much amusement as I get from seeing people suddenly realize the truth – and that it was made so by will and not just wont – I dislike having it talked around.  Though there be much time yet, I dread the many suitors that shall appear.”  He looked pointedly at Hrassa.  “Her current admirers are enough of an annoyance.” 

Outwardly Hrassa kept a straight face, but inwardly he was laughing.  Celeborn had always disapproved of his high regard for the Children of Elmo.  Apparently, he was so convinced this fascination held his bowman so fast that Hrassa was deceased rather than departed.

“Then let me comfort you some, my prince,” he offered.  “Though I’ve indeed been captivated... ” he cocked his head toward his former cell “... I’m not enthralled.  Not any more than I was by you or your lady or Nimloth.”  After all, he had walked away from the Lord and Lady and had stayed away until now.  The Rîn he had simply worshiped as any warrior should his queen.  His loyalties were not any more insane then Celeborn’s.

Celeborn grinned, not quite believing him, but all the same accepting his words.

“If you say so.”  His cheerful expression changed, becoming perplexed.  A shade of the same hurt Hrassa saw before was there again.  “Hrassa, you disappeared on a simple errand.  I had everyone out looking.  My lady wearied herself into exhaustion for sight of you.  We reckoned you dead, mellon-nin.” 

Being called his prince’s friend was disarming.  As he was sure it was meant to be.  But, he was not ready to discuss his long absence from their household.

“I got lost,” he replied with a light shrug.  “It’s taken me a while to get my bearings.  I’m very sorry to have grieved you.”  He sincerely meant his apology.  Never had he wished to distress his prince, the Lady, or any friend.  He had gone away rather than do that.  But still, distress is what he had caused.  That they would so want him back had never occurred to him.  What unintentional hurt might his return inflict upon them all?

“Quite a long while.”  Celeborn rested his hand on Hrassa’s shoulder, pressing gently.  “You have been missed.”  Enervating warmth flowed through the touch into Hrassa.  The Lord was not going to let him get by with so little explanation.  “And I think you have but suddenly left the hidden paths you have been on.  Why return from Eryn Dûr now?” 

Hrassa felt compelled to answer.  Though somehow not urgent, his answer was much wanted.  Why?  Celeborn only became impatient with people when dealing with truly important matters and he himself was not that important.  How should he answer, at least for the moment, without refusing to answer at all?  Well, since he was only a simple elf... he would tell the simple truth.   

“I saw her in the market place.” 

Looking surprised, Celeborn removed his hand.  He flourished a glad smile as if relieved of some particular worry.  This piqued Hrassa’s curiosity and he was poised to ask what his prince had expected his answer to be.  However, Celeborn immediately went on.

“Ah, then I am sure you chose to let her see you.  And then she chose to snag you.  It might have been anyone with an interesting mime that caught her attention.”  He waved his hand in a vague gesture, both dictatorial and dismissive.  “More importantly, her willfulness was thwarted by mine.  So it does not count.”  Hrassa laughed aloud, completely forgetting his pending question. 

In the past, they had had a long running debate about fate and free will.  His prince was all for will and he for fate.  Apparently, Celeborn considered the discussion merely suspended and was ready to start it up again – as was he.

“Even so, ‘twas I she took!  Someone you know very well!  Additionally, I was aware of her breeding though not her kinship.  I’d no expectations of being brought here.  Yet see, she has returned me to you.  That’s beyond coincidence or intention – ‘tis fate.”

“No, I disagree, for you chose to let me see you as well.  Though I probably would have recognized you soon enough.  Celebrian did not intend to turn you over to me and I got you from her anyway.  It would have been another day before Hendituo’s return and his seeing you on his roster by that given name.  Why, you would have been put back out on the street or to work in the brickyard.  Certainly, not brought to my attention.”

“Another day longer and then I might have had the time to find out why she’s so ignorant.”  Celeborn took affront at his undeniably clever daughter being called ignorant. 

“She is not!” he exclaimed with not-quite-mock indignation.  “You of all people to say such a thing!  She possesses more history and lore than you find in many adults who would dare to call themselves learned.”

“She knows naught of the Elmoi.”  Hrassa let his disappointment show.  “Of what she is.”

“She knows her family – their names, their places, their deeds.  She is just too young to know all about them.  Be assured she knows what she is.  Galadhrim, as we are no longer Doriathrim.”  Celeborn’s words were firm, self-convincing.  “And that is all we are since there is no more Elmoi.”

“Of course there is!”  Hrassa was more incredulous at this statement then Celebrian calling the Lord her ada.  Was this another joke or did his prince mean to bait him into a new argument with this proclamation?

“Let me be clear,” Celeborn quickly rejoined.  “We do not deny our kin nor they us.  But, the nothrim that grew up around Elmo and Oioloth is no more.  It has been scattered and no longer has a center.”  His prince looked uncharacteristically befuddled.  “You have not seen this?”  With no further reply from Hrassa, he became concerned, leaning towards him and putting his hand solicitously on Hrassa’s arm.  “This upsets you?”

“Yes,” Hrassa admitted.  He was indeed upset.  His mind told him that nothing alive remains unchanged.  He had returned and – very reasonably – things had changed.  Much for the better.  So the clan had faded away.  What was different now than a moment ago?  Had it not actually disappeared from his life long ago when he had trailed off?  Yet despite accepting this, his heart continued to hurt.  Was he so foolish as to think it would always be there with or without him?  With a sigh, he closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“Pardon me, my prince, if I mourn at this moment, for I did not before and they deserve it.”

The worthy nothrim he had been one of was decreed gone.  They had been the guardians of their peoples, quietly proud in their unheralded duty.  Whether Falathrim, Doriathrim, or Laegrim, the unseen badge they all had worn was the name of the loyal Elmo.  More than a clan or brotherhood – practically a kindred all of their own.  However, even though he now gave them their due, acknowledging the Elmoi as history brought no relief of his... woe?  Exactly what was it he was feeling? 

“Please forgive my bluntness,” said Celeborn.  He moved his hand to Hrassa’s back, offering sympathy, genuinely wanting to comfort him.  “But, you surely knew the end was coming before you went away.  Indeed your disappearance was part of our demise.”  Hrassa calmly nodded, only lifelong habit kept his emotional turmoil contained behind a blank face.  However, Celeborn knew him too well and could sense he was struggling with strong feelings.  “Tell me of your sorrow.” 

It touched Hrassa that his prince was more than willing to share his sadness, that he kindly sought to relieve him of his... ?  What manner of sorrow was this? 

He took a breath to speak.  Only he had nothing to say.  He simply could not sort it out well enough to articulate it, not even in a vague thought.  It was incredibly visceral.  As if his instincts were fighting, and not quite succeeding, to best his intellect.

Something else, some other conclusion about the Elmoi, was deeply unsettling, not just the dissolution of the clan.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

ennin – year/years – a Valarian year consisting of 144 sun years

mellon-nin – my friend

adar/ada – father/dad

nothrim – members of a household or clan (a nos)

Caun-anim – My Prince, prince-mine literally prince-for myself

cogndîr – bowman  Nandorin

Elmoi – the kindred of Elmo and his descendents; another way to say the Children of Elmo

Oioloth – OC wife of Elmo

Eryn Dûr – Dark Wood – a Nandorin euphemism for having gone missing or lost in madness

reminiscent of Nan Elmoth

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Meanwhile back at the palace…

                                        Hrassa and Celeborn’s reunion continues next chapter

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Chapter Four – A Lordly Hunt

Celebrimbor rushed out of his rooms still shrugging into his most elegant short coat and roughly pulling down the sleeves.  He was intent on completing one last task in a long day of catching up on his neglected duties as liaison to the High King and the Council.  It irked him that to get it done he had had to don court clothes rather than walk out in an everyday tunic and apron.  The only good thing for this having been an ‘office’ day and not a day well-spent in the workshops was that he had not been delayed even more by needing to bathe before changing.

It also irked him that during formal affairs there was too much traffic from the kitchens and the service wing to use the back hallways where he could have stayed out of sight.  That was his preferred route even when, despite the occasional crowd, the quickest way to traverse the length of the palace to Celeborn’s chambers was the main gallery.  But now, as late starting out as he was, his preference was beside the point.  Most likely, Celeborn was already amidst this evening’s guests and Galadriel would be unbearable if he implied any disrespect towards her lord husband by not bothering to dress appropriately for a meeting in public.

His frown quirked into a crooked grin, albeit short-lived.  Actually, he did not mind Galadriel keeping him in line.  With a lifetime of examples to study close at hand, he knew he lacked the will to act like a ruling lord and probably always would.  Yet for all his great affection for her, at times he wished the Lady was still in Lothlórien for then these necessary fêtings would still be the relaxed affairs he had previously enjoyed attending.  Regardless, having to dress up was irritating when all he needed was fifteen minutes with Celeborn.  For the moment though, he was driven by the thought that if he got this one, small thing out of the way, he might set aside his governing duties for more than a few days – and be able to concentrate on his real work.

The regular dispatch from Gil-galad was no worry, just the usual, ongoing judiciary vagaries and not urgent in any sense.  Something easily passed along by his secretary to Celeborn’s.  However, the accompanying letter from Elrond needed surer attention.  Their little triumvirate was stepping on the wrong toes again it seemed.  He could use Celeborn’s help in quelling the complaint before it reached the Council’s sensitive ears, forcing that august congress to react.  The whole matter was simply one more of many bothersome clashes with whiny bourgeoisie.  But, he told himself, recalling some of Celeborn’s more lightsome remarks, bourgeoisie with clout.  “Worse than wealthy dwarves” was what the Lord had said with gross disregard for whoever might overhear him.  Celebrimbor certainly if silently agreed. 

His lips compressed in displeasure as he quickly strode down the balconied hallway, arms swinging.  Where once he had beheld the decor with pride, he no longer cared to even notice the ornate doors and balustrade of the upper floors.  Less than a decade in place, they were already pitiably old-fashioned and an eyesore.  The future, more magnificent palace filled his vision now.  That was to be a dwelling worthy of his art and race.

Galadriel had expressed the desired result to be ‘eternally sustaining’, an unchanging aesthetic that would draw diverse peoples together to consort in peace within the secure walls of their city.  Enthused by excellent mead and memories of the innovations that had glorified Gondolin and Nargothrond, he had gallantly sworn to her that he would make it so.  Ost-in-Edhil would defy its martial name, overcome its history and eclipse the staid cities of Lindon.  Celeborn had simply raised his cup to that goal.  But, Galadriel had taken up Celebrimbor’s enthusiasm and further declared that what they had barely begun would evolve into a timeless pinnacle of Eldarin culture whose beauty and tranquility would unify the hearts of all the peoples of Ennor

He laughed aloud remembering that drunken discussion.  What hubris!  A prerogative that belongs only to true genius.  So naught to fear that he or Celeborn would ever fall prey to it.  Nor Galadriel if Celeborn kept up his penchant for sarcasm.  “So, my lady, it shall be by the chisel and brush, not the sword and pen, that justice and mercy are preserved and order maintained throughout the civilized world?  My thanks to you for such glad tidings ‘cause then, upon Valaroma, I’m going fishing.”  However he might speak, in action his fellow prince was reliably pragmatic.  One could always count on Celeborn to straighten things out. 

If asked nicely, Celebrimbor was sure that his old friend would connive a plan to take care of the current upset involving those mithril-bloated merchants much more quickly then any he could think up alone.  In addition - and indeed the greater reason for talking face to face - he might convince him to carry out the task himself just for the fun it might afford.  And so, Celebrimbor would have one less, time-consuming job to do.  That was if the Lord was in a good mood.  Of late, everyone seemed cheerless – including himself.  That ends tonight, he resolved smiling.  The times had so improved in this past year that any sort of gloom was no longer warranted.

However, on reaching the stairs leading down to the rear foyer of the palace, his supposedly resolute smile slipped a little.  There were noticeably few people present in the foyer, which meant the evening’s festivities had indeed already begun.  Only with luck would he catch the Lord before he began his obligatory attendance upon the Lady and escape having to stay there most of the night with her himself when he had better things to do.  Admittedly, he had come to hate Galadriel’s soirees upon the dais and how he was expected to perform for her guests.  The legerdemain he had once willingly demonstrated for enlightenment and amusement had become onerous.  Why Celeborn had stopped dancing was no mystery to him.

So on descending the stairs, he was pleased to spy his youngest aide, Aurthôn, standing attendance on his own aristocratic wife, Laerlínath.  She was an attractive elf-maid whose coloring Celebrimbor, rightfully within an artist’s purview, adjudged to represent her name quite nicely.

Like so many others, Aurthôn’s wife had joined her spouse but recently.  In fact, she had arrived only a week ago after a longer separation than most.  Easy to tell from how they acted when together.  Celebrimbor could not keep from grinning whenever he saw them.  It was surprising to him how much he liked Aurthôn and Laerlínath as a couple.  Perhaps even a little more than Galadriel and Celeborn.  But, then no one is worthy of her.  He always did enjoy the happiness of others as though it were his own.  Galadriel said it was this capacity that made him a better person than his father and grandfather.  The natural principle that great artists must suffer to become great, not find easy contentment in the ordinary, was his own joking excuse for not being a better smith than either.

He was still shaping an opinion of Laerlínath.  So far, she had seemed much like all the other ladies – pretty, polite, adequately educated, well-spoken, and ambitious for her children’s sake.  Though, the young couple had yet to start a family.  They had reasonably decided to wait until they were reunited permanently in their new country.  Finally meeting her after years of listening to Aurthôn’s pining, Celebrimbor felt certain they had some familial designs already in motion.  And he was glad for it.  The prospect of another niece or nephew for him to utterly spoil and then pass back to the poor parents to deal with entertained him immensely. 

Being a scribe and not a professional artist made Aurthôn an odd one for his family, which was probably the reason Celebrimbor had liked him right off.  He was the younger son of provincial nobility - in fact, an afar kinsman from an obscure branch of the family sprung from Celebrimbor’s departed elder sister.  With Celebrimbor being long estranged from most of his family since defying his father in Nargothrond, Aurthôn had been both surprised by and eager to accept his incredible offer of employment.  Young and adventurous, the ellon had claimed he was more than ready to face the dangers of settling Eregion.  There had been moments when Celebrimbor doubted the inexperienced clerk would come through, but Aurthôn continued to fulfill his assignments with few mistakes and had fortuitously survived the worst of it after all.

Celebrimbor was proud of his choosing this youth over the others he had considered.  If the intelligent, hard-working fellow kept on as he had been, he would become a good counselor someday.  On more than one occasion, Celeborn had advised Celebrimbor to invest some of his precious time in cultivating a counselor of his own.  Before now, he may have been able to rely on friends and colleagues, but if he ever again wished to work on his smith-craft untroubled, he must acquire a trusted counselor dedicated to his interests alone.  Celebrimbor was hopeful that Aurthôn would turn out to be that one.

But, that was as much in the future as the new palace.  Right now, if he was going to speak with Celeborn before his reliable old friend entered the great hall, he had best get his promising young aide to provide some aid.

Aurthôn was becoming a bit exasperated with his beloved as he listened to her going on and on about her plans.  She was sounding rash and somewhat carried away articulating her ambitions, not as thoughtful as she usually was.  This excited state coming over an impressed newcomer to the City was an all-too-familiar effect of the social freedom emigrants discovered.  Still, she was very attractive when passionate.  Watching her, he was finding it hard to force a halt to her rant.  Happily, it appeared she was coming to closure by herself and might now listen to his advice.

“I am determined, herven-nin!” she declared with affectionate ingenuousness.  “You may have a right to order me to stay behind, but absolutely none to stay in the background.  I am as ready as you to take my chances at a career.  I will have my own place in this court!”

“I condone your goal, guren,” he earnestly replied.  He took her hand between his, caressing it so that their wedding rings grazed against each other.  “All I am asking is that you take the time to learn more of the people with whom we now live.  Despite my letters, you seem yet naïve.  Not all the customs followed here are our own.  And you know not how malicious some people can be towards those whom they perceive as oppressors.”

She gave a rueful little laugh, one beautiful eyebrow raised.  “Do you mean the Úmanyar... or the Amanyar?” 

“Both,” he said helplessly smiling at her.  “And the Firimar.  I say again, the Galadhrim are unlike the grey-elves of our old homeland.  They won the peace and have a legitimate stake in the City’s prosperity.”  He fervently wished they were not standing in the middle of the foyer for all to see, but under the shadows of the surrounding arches where they might kiss uncensured.  Absconding there earlier might have kept Laerlínath’s thoughtlessly-voiced opinions from possible censure as well.  The resident court gossip would not have seen them and then maneuvered his wife into verbal indiscretion.  Nensûlos, you low-born... just you wait.  “Would you please just watch what you say from now on?  Do not trust or repeat any more of the gossip you hear – especially about our rulers.”  He squeezed her hand to halt a ready remark.  “Yes, melethril – rulers! – all three of them.  Accept things as they are and do not judge as is your habit.”

“Why ‘tis my moral duty as a lady!  Is there aught else you disapprove of me?”  Her challenging eyes suddenly looked past him, her engaging pout turning into a thin, polite smile.  “Lord Celebrimbor is coming straight for us.”  Her gaze returned to his face and she removed her hand from his.  “I will... consider... your advice, herven-nin.” 

Aurthôn sighed and turned to greet his employer.  The odds of spending an entire evening with his wife whether in agreement or argument had just fallen to none.  The master smith was relentless when he had a task in mind.  He would pursue it wherever it might lead and until done to his satisfaction.

“Aduial vaer, Lord Celebrimbor,” said Aurthôn when the prince came up to them.

“Aduial vaer, gwenyr,” Celebrimbor cheerfully replied. 

Aurthôn instantly became wary.  Not only was the master smith present at a formal event, but appropriately dressed and acting pleasant.  …and calling us ‘kin’?  

“Vinne, I need some help.”  Although, Celebrimbor using a familiar address had somehow become normal.  Exactly when that had happened, Aurthôn was not quite sure, but he could never bring himself to be so familiar in turn.

“How may I be of service, my lord?”  He shot Laerlínath a subtle warning look.  Let her be silent and so not aggravate him, he hoped without any real hope of that happening, and maybe I can convince him whatever this is can wait until tomorrow.  Of course, with the mood his wife was in, she ignored him and spoke.

“Please let me know if I too may be of assistance, Lord Celebrimbor.”  Aurthôn cringed inside, anticipating a reprimand.  He strove to keep a pleasant face. 

“Ah, lovely Lady Laerlínath,” said Celebrimbor with a broad smile.  He executed an elegant bow certain to impress any lady.  “I would never think to impose upon you yourself.  But, if you would be so generous as to relinquish your excellent husband into my hands for just an hour, I would be very grateful.”

To Aurthôn’s confusion, the lord had not reacted badly to his wife’s intrusion into his business, but appeared to be in genuine good humor.  For weeks, Celebrimbor had been disinclined to trade courtesies with anyone.  Could it be his oft offhanded employer liked Laerlínath?  More he feared that his very traditional wife would be taken aback by the master smith’s flirting with her as he was prone to do with any female, high or low, he found worthy of his notice.  But, Aurthôn was wrong again.

“Certainly, my lord.”  She also smiled in a most charming and open manner.  “If you might recompense me for the hour I am so sorely deprived with an hour of your own gracious company?” 

“How gracious of you, my lady!”  Then, Celebrimbor pointedly made no such promise, which Aurthôn knew disappointed Laerlínath.  The lord’s behavior must have encouraged, at least for a moment, one of her more fantastic ambitions - to be included in the royal social circle.  Something far beyond possible for a clerk’s wife.  “Come along Vinne,” ordered his employer.  “We are looking for Telpë.”

“Telpë?” questioned his lady.  This girlish tactic to keep them with her surprised him a little.  She knew perfectly well to whom the master smith was referring.  Flirting and now feigning ignorance like the silly ellith she had always criticized?  Well, she had said she was determined and now he was beginning to understand as to how much.  As her husband, he was obligated to lend her his support.  At least, until it became a problem to his career.  On any account, he would much rather stay with her a bit longer too and endeavor to return from the pending hunt with a prize for his mate.  So, instead of rushing through a reply and letting himself be taken off, he decided to play along and put on a show of spousal patience.

“Lord Celeborn,” he explained, donning a tolerant expression.  “Just as I am ‘Vinne’.  Though in the Lord’s case, it comes more from appearance than name.  However, only family call him that.  I do not think a search will take very long, guren.”  Blushing slightly from having slipped and used an endearment, he turned to Celebrimbor, who looked disconcertingly amused; eyes twinkling, holding his hands behind his back.  “I shall bring Lord Celeborn as quickly as possible, my lord.”  By returning here, he might be able to introduce his wife to the Lord for which he knew she would later show her deep appreciation.

“Nothing of the sort!” said Celebrimbor, sounding almost jovial.  It was obvious he knew exactly what Aurthôn was doing.  Fortunately, the prince was inexplicably amused by it.  “Cruise down the gallery and when you spot him, send a page to me and try to keep him out of the great hall.  I will be looking in the assembly rooms.  If he is nowhere to be found or already with Galadriel, come tell me yourself.  I will not need you after that.”

“Yes, my lord,” he responded, ready to abandon his wife since he would return to her at least before morning.  “I shall be back soon, my lady.”  First he, then Celebrimbor, sketched a bow to take leave of Laerlínath. 

They had barely started to turn away when his lady took a delicate pinch of Aurthôn’s sleeve behind the elbow to hold him back once more.  “My lords... !”  The master smith appeared to be holding back a laugh.  Aurthôn felt slightly embarrassed that his wife seemed so absurd.  

“Perhaps I might question the servers?” asked Laerlínath.  “What does the Lord care to drink?  Someone will have carried it to him or have orders.”  Aurthôn found himself smiling with pride at her smart suggestion.  From his changed expression, his employer would agree that the idea was a good one.

However, just as Celebrimbor started to reply, an excited shout cut him off.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

Firimar – Mortals (Men), I am using this term for the humans living on the mainland instead of Atani or Edain; the inhabitants of Numenor being of a different breed

aduial vaer – Good Evening

guren – my heart

herven-nin – my husband

melethron/melethril – lover masc/fem

gwenyr – kin (plural of gwanur)

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Chapter Five – A Strange Debate

Pale light seeping in from the outer corridor and hall spilled out across the floor of the cellblock in a broad puddle of yellow glaze.  Through the grated window above, a diffused glow gently lit the walls and cast soft-edged shadows of the hard bars over the cell foyer in unnaturally straight stripes of hazy gray.  Hrassa stood silent and perplexed, looking at Celeborn, who was standing close at his side and patiently waiting... expecting him to say... something. 

For the third time in barely an hour, Hrassa found himself without words.  But this time was different.  This was not momentary shock or surprise.  Nor was it sorrow as Celeborn had assumed and it utterly confounded him.  His chest shivered.  What’s happening to me? 

It was like getting an unmistakable whiff of smoke in a gusty forest.  The breath stalls and speech is instantly halted by a gripping uncertainty inhaled with the acrid scent on the wind.  A gut-twisting anxiety pounces and the urge to flee bites deep.  But no matter what the fear, Hrassa had not let panic overrule him since becoming an adult.  He shook his head both in denial and – illogically he was well aware – to try and shake loose his tongue.

Celeborn moved his hand up from where it had been resting comfortingly on Hrassa’s back to surround his shoulders with a strong, supportive arm.  His other hand gripped Hrassa’s upper arm and the bowman found himself being dragged forward. 

“Come on,” commanded his prince and forcibly conducted him from the cellblock into the outer corridor. 

Celeborn rushed him down to the far end of the brightly-lit passage.  He could feel a fresh breeze and, eager to reach its source, found his feet.  They turned and went through a tall gate of slim, metal bars that opened to the outside.  Stepping down onto the gritty ground, Hrassa pulled free and strode into the very middle of the wide, bare space so that he might stand as far as he could from the surrounding walls.  Throwing back his head, he heaved a sigh of relief.  Being able to look up and see stars, although made slightly fainter by the city’s night glare, he was loosed from his choking anxiety and in control again.

He took a deep breath and looked to see where he was.  The smooth stone walls all around were twice his height and topped with tall, sharpened spikes.  He turned around to see Celeborn silhouetted in the only entrance.  This was an exercise pen for prisoners.  But unlike any of the older fortresses he had known, it was thankfully under an open sky. 

Celeborn began to slowly walk out of the pool of light at the gate’s steps to join him.  Hrassa turned away to stare at the dim opposite wall for he found it hard to look his prince in the face.  Only a little earlier, he had arrogantly thought himself better than his fellows for never needing to flee confinement.  But, if not brought out just now, he probably would have fainted like a helpless maiden.  Celeborn stopped to stand at his side, also gazing at the featureless wall.

“Even seasoned sailors suffer seasickness sometimes,” sympathized his prince.  “Even sailing smooth seas.”  Celeborn looked sidelong at him wanting to see his opinion of such atrocious alliteration. 

He was as yet unable to smile, but his speech had returned.  And he never could resist a blatant prompt.

“Say that thrice in a trice,” he replied, pleased at how steady his voice was although he still felt a little shaky inside.  “Thank you for bringing me to shore, Caun-anim.”  Now please, point me towards the forest.

For a few moments, they remained still and just listened; mentally sifting through the myriad sounds and accompanying smells that drifted over the high, stone fence.  Hrassa recalled how he and his prince had always been companionable hunters, whether crouched behind a cramped blind or camped on the narrowest ledge.  At those times, they could listen together for hours without any dissent.  But eventually the hunt ends and the catch must be brought home to feed the family.

“Hrassa,” Celeborn quietly asked, “who did you think the Elmoi were in this new age?”

A rush of nostalgia warmed him, settling the last nervous twinge in his stomach.  Celeborn was resorting to the conversational way he had often used in the past to try and gently lead his stubborn cogndîr round ‘bout to what he saw as a foregone conclusion.  They had often engaged in this friendly game of persuasion on winter evenings in Tol Galen’s longhouse.  Providing the Rîn and everyone else with amusement more often than agreement between themselves.  At any rate, a simplistic argument would help relieve him of his lingering unease, but could he muster up any of his old debating skills, left unused for ennin?

Start with the question.  Immediately, he realized that when Celeborn had said the Elmoi were gone, he had rather expected the clan to decline and disappear, but never the family.  Yet, that was how he had taken it.

“The high princes,” he replied.  “That is... those here in Ennor... you, Amdir and Amroth, Oropher and Thranduil, Elrond... and now Celebrian.  All descended from your grandfather. You all are the true Elmoi.  No matter the minions such as myself.” 

Celeborn turned toward him with a keen look, obviously gauging whether Hrassa was up to a challenging discussion or to take it easy on him.

“So you now address royalty as you all?” asked his prince, eyebrows raised in disapproval.  The Lord looked down his nose at Hrassa without the slightest tilting of his head.  “Shall I then say we all?” 

Sui adar, sui iell.  Familiarity gave Hrassa confidence.  His prince’s haughtiness did not indicate anger, but that he would not tolerate an apathetic defense.

“Perhaps just to be clear as to whom you are referring,” he replied, adopting a matter-of-fact expression.  He knew exactly what was coming next.

“And what of our wives?”  Celeborn stepped forward and turned to face him directly, crossing his arms.  “Are they minions?” he asked in a challenging tone.

“Yes.”  As expected, his answer did not sit well with Celeborn for this was one of many matters where his opinion had been severely contrary to his prince’s.  However, embarking down a familiar path together, however entangled, felt good.  “Even those with close kinship to Elmo were not given the powers as were given to you all.”

“Powers?  Such as?  And do not start with any silliness about charm,” Celeborn warned. 

Hrassa resented the remark.  After having observed so many of them - lived among them - he could say with certainty that the Elmoi ‘charm’ was real.  There was nothing silly about what could happen whenever his prince opened his heart to another.  That was exactly what had happened only minutes ago.  And had Celeborn not already accused him of falling to Celebrian’s charm?

“Then I shall not,” he flatly replied, smoothing out all remaining signs of emotion from his face.  Contesting the point would be futile. 

It had always been thus with this particular prince.  Celeborn dismissed this inherited trait with the same disdain that a lady without vanity might dismiss her extraordinary beauty and then proceed to veil her face just to prevent further distraction.  Most of the time, Celeborn hid his true face, if not always his thoughts.  There were very few he allowed to know him that well. 

As part of his odd humility, he did not seek the affection or approval of everyone he met.  Therefore, to many he seemed careless of their feelings.  Hrassa would say that they came to that judgment by unknowingly wanting to find favor with the Lord only to feel rejected.  So disaffection and disapproval were what his prince often received.  As far as Hrassa was concerned, Celeborn’s órë was who he was, that included the so-called ‘charm’ of his bloodline, and his hiding it seemed wrong.  Better that you followed the example of Thingol and Dior in this one thing rather than Elmo.

There was something to appreciate about Nimloth’s practical handling of her followers.  No doubt something she learned from Melian and Luthien.  Galadriel was equally capable when she bothered.  Perhaps the way ellith were raised helped them to deal better with adoration, accepting it without being an embarrassment to themselves or their worshipers.

All beside the point!  He was angry at himself.  He had allowed Celeborn to distract him and set a limit upon their debate.  Well, prisoner or ‘guest’, he would not let himself be kept in such a subordinate position that any more of his arguments could be so summarily dismissed.  Straightening up, he clasped his hands behind his back and modulated his speech in the accordingly authoritative tones of a royal messenger, which he once proudly had been.

“The Children of Elmo are the true princes of all the Lindarin kindreds, not just those of Doriath and Ossiriand.  Any of you may migrate unhindered across our borders just as the true king may call upon his peoples’ loyalty whether they be Teleri, Sindar, Nandor, or Silvan.  You all may choose a home among any of these, wherever you please.”

“And we all have always done so.  Along with our wives,” Celeborn added with emphasis.

“The Lady was not bequeathed this power by any forebear.  Not even by her mother’s father.  Olwë severed his ties with the King where Elmo did not.  The Lady is Galadriel only by your spoken word.”

“Mine alone?  It matters not that Thingol honored their kinship so well that he welcomed my lady and her brothers and not other Noldor?” Celeborn lightly scoffed.  “That Finrod was given Nargothrond and not one of our princes?”

“I remember you saying at the time that kinship was an excuse – not the reason.”

“So I did.  Another power?” 

Apparently, his prince was willing to digress about his lady wife but not her brother.  It was clear that, as in the past, Celeborn was not going to allow any examination of the circumstances surrounding the awarding of Nargothrond.  Irritating - given Hrassa’s curiosity and his own proximity to the business.  He was almost certain that Celeborn was responsible for the Noldo seemingly superceding not only his prince, but Oropher too, in Thingol’s favor.  But, there was no point in pressing this subject any more than half-a-dozen other intriguing incidents concerning the King’s dealings with the returned Children of Finwë.

“The Onodrim acknowledge only the Elmoi.”  Hrassa had always considered this very indicative.  “They do not speak with other Eldar – nor other peoples, for that matter.”

“Only because they have little reason to do so,” explained Celeborn, with a dismissive frown.  “It has naught to do with us all or even their being taught to speak by our elders.  ‘Tis just their preference.”

“You wonder at my preference and not at Fangorn’s?  But then, he is more deserving of your esteem.”  Although he spoke archly, Hrassa felt this to be true.

“Certainly,” replied his prince with a slight smile.  “And I do not forget that you and Beren were also worthy of his notice.”

“Beren had the Rîn’s grace with him.  I was merely her messenger.”  In truth, he felt quite honored to have been one of Nimloth’s heralds and a trusted agent.

“Such humility,” drawled Celeborn, calling him on his false modesty and deliberately slowing down the pace of their exchange.  “Still, you unfairly discount Beren and yourself.”  Keeping his arms crossed, he began to walk in slow circle around Hrassa, the grainy sand crunching under his feet.  “Do you wish to continue?”

“Is there somewhere you have to be?”  Of course, there was.  The Lord was too well dressed not to be expected elsewhere.  Must we go back inside?  He made to cross his own arms, but was actually hugging his chest. 

“No.  Not really.”  Celeborn had stopped behind his back.  “Let us go on.”  Hrassa was quite aware of the silent exchange between his prince and someone at the gate.  He found it interesting that Celeborn was putting him ahead of other, probably more entertaining, matters... as if Hrassa were a real guest.

“Possessed of great intelligence and art,” he said, changing tact.  “The Naugrim alone did not build Menegroth.  And long writings were made before any Golda ever returned to Ennor.  The ships of the Falathrim, not the Noldor, sail fearlessly on the open sea.  The Noldor know nothing of weavings such as the Laegrim can make nor possess a greater lore of plants.  Only one Golodrim minstrel have I ever heard to even equal Daeron and none of them can truly dance.  The Elmoi, by their actions if not by their own hands, brought these accomplishments to our people.  What’s more, no one has ever surpassed the craftsmanship of the swords made by Elmo’s kinsman.”

“There is no more genius among our people than there is among the other Eldar kindreds,” said Celeborn as he came around to once more stand facing Hrassa.  “Gondolin was built by the Noldor alone and was more fabulous than Menegroth by all accounts.  My brother was no Rúmil.  Nor was Daeron whose music, I most certainly agree, did exceed all others’.  However, there are few jewel-smiths among all the Lindar - who also do not weave mithril as well as the Noldor.  Personally, I am glad Eöl never came to Aman and there further improved his skills.  Besides our kindred’s undeserved disgrace from his crimes, there might have been a second Fëanor.  And I will add that the healing arts especially continue to improve because those of greater talents within each kindred have long shared their knowledge instead of keeping it only for themselves.  Go on if you can.”

“Generous, just, and merciful – if only sometimes forgiving.”  He threw that it for all the good it might do him later when the Lord decided what was to be done with him.

“The High Kings were and Gil-Galad is as well.”

“Cunning, if not wise, in warcraft.”  An amused smirk flashed over Celeborn’s face, telling a pleased Hrassa that his prince was enjoying himself, not just patiently taking care of his sickly bowman.

“Not all would say that was so.  Many in Ennor would press you to prove it.”

“There are tales aplenty to be told.  If Noldor loremasters ever cared to write them down for those many to read.”

“Tales never asked for.  To be told by whom?  You?  Hrassa, you might accuse most historians of unreasonably exalting the Noldor over the Lindar, but you yourself are as biased as they come.”

“Not biased.”  He purposely smiled.  “Only as helplessly loyal as you.” 

“I am not helpless and let us, at least for the moment, continue to avoid the subject of yourloyalty,” stated Celeborn, expertly covering up his humor with more hauteur. 

“Clever in intrigue.  Gil-galad himself can tell a tale of you.”

“Well, he would not within anyone’s hearing, I am sure.”   

Hrassa decided that Celeborn had had dismissive direction of their discussion long enough.  He wanted to keep the mood friendly, but before it reached its conclusion, he wanted to also have exercised some control over their match.  Since his prince seemed affable, he thought he would chance some not-so-subtle sarcasm.  With practiced affectation, he raised up his face to Celeborn’s and feigned a look of solemn wonder, infusing his next words with a tone of naive respect. 

“Of greater mind and stronger will than any Golodrim prince.”  Celeborn barely stifled a laugh, severely pressed to keep a straight face. 

“Compared to whom?” his prince asked, after a loud sniff needed to maintain his composure.  “Fingolfin?  Please!  And if you mean to say we all are more than they, would that be stubborn and overbearing or self-absorbed and tyrannical?”  All of which were past indictments of the Noldor made by Hrassa.

“Fingolfin could not call up the wind nor bring forth water from stone,” he continued straight-faced, making to appear completely confident that his rulers were far superior to any others.  “He did not hear the trees speak nor would have understood them if he even tried to listen.”

“And none of the Elmoi could ever have stood long enough before Morgoth to speak, let alone to sing.”

“Only because none but Luthien and Fingolfin were ever desperate enough to try it and see.” 

“That might be.  I certainly would not have dared it nor let anyone I cared about do so.  I would have stopped Luthien – and Beren – if I had been there,” said Celeborn, adamant. 

“Loyalty unmatched,” Hrassa deliberately went on, maintaining his aplomb.  “You all have remained with us instead of crossing into the Uttermost West – unlike the Golodrim princes.”

“There were few of them left alive,” Celeborn almost chuckled, but was able to keep to a tight smile.  “And there is Gil-galad in Lindon and Celebrimbor’s presence here to point to.  I think if you asked Elrond he would tell you he stayed not only for the sake of his mother’s people, but his father’s people as well.  Also, “ he unfolded one arm to point a finger at Hrassa “ you must include Galadriel if you insist that she is not one of us all.”  Relaxing the gesture, he waved his hand in a vague – dismissive – way.  “Really you have not said anything to make your ‘true’ Elmoiunique or rare or above any other nobility.” 

With that said, Hrassa understood the struggle between his instinct and his intellect that had blunted his speech.  It was indeed a deep and natural fear that had emerged unexpectedly to push him to the verge of panic.  And not a panic without reason.  Time to end this.

“Fair and beauteous beyond all others.”  He made himself to almost glow while uttering these worshipful words; absolutely certain of their effect.    

“Stop! Enough!” pleaded Celeborn, finally laughing aloud as he held his hands up in surrender.  “You stoop to flattery.  Oh, forgive me.”  He melodramatically brought his hand to his chest.  “You would never do that!  ‘Tis only your superstitious Nandor awe that impelled you to utter all this birdcrap.”

Absurdly, Hrassa found himself happily laughing inside himself at himself.  As he was practically born and bred to follow Târ and Rìn, his own órë probably was the reason for both his praise as well as his strange attack of panic.  Yet, he had no wish for a change of heart or to be freed from the imperatives in his blood.

“’Tis wise you never speak thus when others are around,” joked Celeborn, grinning and his eyes sparkling.  “For they would think you very foolish or under some sort of spell.”

“Why isn’t that how you keep your lady following after you wherever you trek?  Or perhaps she is just as foolish as I?”  Fanuilos!  I should not have said that!

Celeborn laughed ruefully, shaking his head, without the usual anger roused by the old insinuation that Galadriel was more than besotted with her lover.

“Hrassa, some may call you insolent, others might say courageous or possibly mad, but no one shall ever call you humble,” declared his prince.  “You are by far too proud of your faults.”  Then he quieted and became sober.  “And I suppose I am much the same.”  He repeated his earlier passed-by offer, correctly confident that Hrassa could now accept.  “Tell me of your sorrow.” 

Indeed, the discussion had been very helpful.  Hrassa clearly understood now that it was not simple loss that troubled him.  It was not what was past, but what was in the future that had so frightened him.  Still frightened him though he could now hold it at bay.

“I... feel... that if you discard your namesake that youdiscard every power.  Even though I know that isn’t possible.”  He paused, cloaking himself in his recovered dignity.  His fear was not unreasonable and he had to make Celeborn understand its cause.  “You all shall always be our princes.  But removing the badge of Elmo’s name will reduce you all to lesser people, closer to ordinary.”  He unfolded his arms and held out empty, supplicating hands to his prince.  “Mostly, I don’t want anyone, especially any of you all, to ever think that you have diminished and so then cease to be the lords your people depend upon.”  He spoke with all the sincerity he could muster and not appear manic.  ”If the Elmoi disappear... so will the Lindi.”

Celeborn’s eyes narrowed, darkening.  “You’re afraid that we demote ourselves and therefore shall neglect our people.”  Stepping away, he turned his back to Hrassa and stood, head down, thoughtful for a few minutes as if weighing the possibility.  Or dealing with the insult.  

“Perhaps, to let our sovereignty and way of life slip further into the hands of the Edain and Noldor,” he said over his shoulder.

Exactly!  Hrassa prayed that Celeborn would raise his head and boldly promise that the Elmoi had not yet vanished and would never be gone.

“Listen to me, Hrassa,” said his prince, turning back around, his eyes filled with compassion.  “As unhappy as this is for you, try to understand.”  Hrassa nodded yes; a new worry growing that what he would hear next might indeed be too sad to bear.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

Sui adar, sui iell – ‘like father, like daughter’

Onodrim – Ents

órë – spirit (heart, inner mind) that is the underlying personality, one’s innate nature

ennin – year/years – a Valarian year consisting of 144 sun years

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

Rîn – crowned fem., a title for the lady chieftain of the Laegrim

Târ – royal masc., a title for the lord chieftain of the Laegrim

Golodrim – Noldor

Golda – Noldo Nandorin

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Chapter Six – A Little Bird

Celebrian’s high-pitched shout shocked the air like a sharp whistle, the resonating echo bouncing all around the high ceiling and colonnade of the large foyer.  With a child’s carelessness of decorum or caution, the little princess, her arms flung forward, launched full charge for her intended prey before he was able to discern from wherever she was coming.  Fortunately, Aurthôn happened to be looking in the right direction.  He grabbed Celebrimbor’s arm and forcibly turned him around to face his petite attacker. 

As if carried on a flash-flood of air, she came rushing over the floor – hardly a rustle from her silken garments and no din from her feet – to fearlessly pounce up high onto the surprised master smith, her clutching fingers reaching for his nose. 

“Odhgwador!” she cried.

The lord caught her around the waist with his broad hands barely in time to hold her off at arms-length.  Thus saving his nose and also keeping her from landing hard against his chest, enough to throw them both over.  Bursting into unabashed laughter, he spun her glimmering form around flowing with the force of her headlong dash.  Her feet swung out, nearly striking both Aurthôn and Laerlínath, who had to quickly hop back to get out of the way. 

In a smooth motion, Celebrimbor swooped the girl up over his head to spin in place so swiftly his hair lifted high behind him and her skirt clung to her legs.  With a squeal of delighted fright, Celebrian extended her arms and stretched out her body, arching like a swan.  She broke into ticklish giggles that rapidly dissolved into a breathless, babyish gurgle.  Every one of those few people in the foyer watching the two and were infected with her happy thrill.  A pair of young elf-maids near the gallery entrance laughingly clapped their hands in vicarious approval.  Uncontrollably grinning, Aurthôn looked to his wife expecting her to be just as thoroughly caught up in the child’s joy.  Instead, Laerlínath’s expression was all apprehension.  It gave Aurthôn momentary pause.  Was she frightened for the little princess or perhaps of her?  For here was the very one Laerlínath had short moments ago alarmingly called the ‘supposed’ child of Celeborn and Galadriel. 

Aurthôn had already seen that Laerlínath like many a new-comer was resisting the plain truth about Celebrian.  Not only because the Lord and Lady had had no children of their own before her, but because of a buried prejudice, that many in his wife’s family and truthfully his own too, bore against Celeborn and Galadriel.  They had never conformed to Amanyar customs, always remaining proudly Sindar – especially during their reign in Harlindon.  That was motivation enough for some to depreciate any of the couple’s accomplishments. 

And despite Aurthôn’s caution not to believe rumors, Laerlínath, again as did most, seemed to have settled on the seeming likelihood that Celebrian was a child of Amdir’s near kin, if not actually his.  The Sindar, fairly or not, had a reputation of giving their younger children to close kin to raise as their own, not just as a foster.  Of course, thinking Celebrian to be Amroth’s sister was not so terrible an error when there was even more salacious innuendo unfit for a lady’s hearing being offered by caitiff gossips such as Nensûlos.  Why did I ever let him near you?  In their old home’s society, his pious wife had always remained aloof from lies and liars as a matter of personal principle.  Her holding to her principles was one of the things that made Aurthôn proud of his wife.  So, there was some small cause for him to question whether she was concerned for Celebrian’s safety or simply worried that avoiding the darling child on principle would be a barrier to her stated goal of a place in court. 

But, as quickly as it came, Aurthôn dismissed the thought.  His wife had such a loving nature that she was of course anxious for the princess, not herself.  He moved to stand beside her to offer some solace.

“ ’Tis fine.  They are just playing,” he said with a broad smile.  Laerlínath made no sign that she had heard him; her worried eyes did not leave the flying princess.  Celebrimbor had begun reversing directions without warning.  He tossed the child up, spinning around below her, before catching her and continuing to spin.  He tossed her up to spin over his head before catching her to spin together again.  Celebrian was becoming breathless and red-faced.  “I know that your father and brothers never played in this rough fashion with you, but - ”

The lord abruptly stopped altogether and turned his elf-cygnet over in mid-air by tossing her up even higher with a slight sideways twist.  He then stepped aside as if to let the little bird crash to the ground in some careless jest.  Laerlínath’s breath caught softly.  Her eyes widened slightly with fear as she leaned forward with intent to prevent the child’s fall.  Aurthôn wrapped a restraining, but also reassuring, hand around her arm. 

Dress and hair fluttering, the bright fledgling bent as she came down backwards and smoothly, if not gently, landed before hitting the ground; sitting upright on the master smith’s extended left arm – a joyous, laughing elleth firmly perched on the branch of a mighty oak.  Her right hand clutched the left shoulder of her arbor’s coat and the other lightly rested on his left hand, a chivalrous support to a lady’s touch.  His right hand became a footstool for her dainty feet.  Laerlínath breathed a sigh of relief.  After which, a furious disapproval took over.

“Forebear, guren,” Aurthôn whispered, keeping hold of her arm.  Eyes angrily fixed on Celebrimbor, she neither nodded to Aurthôn’s words nor softened her mien.  But, she did refrain from pronouncing judgment on what she clearly considered outrageous recklessness. 

“Look here, where are your stockings, laesiel?!” cried Celebrimbor, trying to sound displeased, but unable to hide his amusement at finding inappropriately bare feet inside delicate slippers.  “Do not tell me you have ruined yet another pair?  What have you been up to?”  He gave her a stern, but still good-humored, look.

“Here in my pocket!” she proclaimed, overjoyed that the master smith had asked.  “See, I took them off so I would not ruin them!”  With her left hand, she pulled them out from a hidden place in her skirt and presented the neatly folded bundle to him obviously hoping for praise of her practical solution.

“How clever!”  His words were received as a great reward and she shone with pride.  “But, your poor shoes... ” he teasingly added with a sad shake of his head.

“Oh, they are not ruined inside!  I only had to put them back on for a bit.”  She shuffled her feet against his hand and the slippers fell to the floor.  Celebrimbor delicately tickled her toes before she pulled back her feet with a filly-like snicker.  “I am sent to the Lady!” she squeaked, then smiled very sweetly.  “Will you help me put them back on?” she asked, wheedling the master smith.  Her glistening jade eyes softened, making her look very helpless as she proffered her stockings to him.

If he had not already known that the child would reject any offer of his help, Aurthôn would have gladly volunteered.  He somehow missed seeing that this was exactly what Laerlínath had in mind and she slipped from his grasp.  She eagerly stepped forward gracefully extending her open hands.

“My lord, please allow me be of assistance,” said his wife, wearing a cheerful smile where an instant before had been a ferocious frown. 

It struck Aurthôn that only moments ago, for the sake of her advancement, Laerlínath had sought to be pleasant to his employer where she would normally have taken offence.  Was she now meaning to impress not Celebrimbor but Celebrian?  Would she actually seek the patronage of the Lord and Lady using the little princess after condemning her parents’ claim that she was their own child as a lie?!  He was barely able to mask his shocked confusion at her display of what he would once have believed was uncharacteristic hypocrisy.  Just how far would she compromise her convictions?  Overwhelmed with doubt, he feared his trust in her betrayed.  He wanted to grab her and shake her.  Why are you doing this?  Was this the same noble lady he had properly courted and corresponded with for so many years?  His hard-earned treasure who he thought he knew so well.  Could her feelings about him be as changeable?  And then, confusion turned to hurt.

Until this moment, he had been willing to assume that Laerlínath’s current ambitions had risen out of the euphoria that many people experienced when arriving in this incredible city-state which offered everyone so many new opportunities.  As her husband, he had been prepared to help her in all her endeavors.  But, he realized something now.  Since her arrival, she had disregarded his advice again and again.  Did this mean that his innumerable letters full of description and discoveries were not forgotten, but discredited?  Did you ever actually read them?!  Was it you or someone else that answered me?  His heart plummeted, fearing he had been intentionally deluded by the one he loved most ... used... as she apparently intended to use anyone, including this innocent child, to get what she really wanted.

Celebrimbor, putting on his manners, was making introductions.  Which is what you doubtlessly expect the child will provide to her parents.  Thus, allowing his wife to presume entrée into anywhere the Lord and Lady might be.  Something he himself had yet to accomplish.  Because I never thought my integrity an acceptable price!  He took a deep breath.  His emotions were getting out of control.  He tried to find some objectivity, but was unable to dampen them.  It wounded him to his core that his lady wife, well-bred and respectable, had turned into a common courtier.

Well, he need do and say nothing to correct her distasteful behavior.  Nensûlos was probably telling anyone that might listen that Laerlínath was a new follower.  By the morrow, the Lord and Lady would doubtless have report of her subscription to the prevalent rumor and Celebrimbor too.  Laerlínath would find herself forthwith on the outside of the court society she craved.  Lesson learned and deserved.  She would find what society might remain for her at her own level – as was befitting in the first place.

“Celebrian, this is Laerlínath, the wife of Aurthôn whom you know... ” Celebrimbor nodded towards his aide “... Laerlínath, this is Celebrian, the daughter of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, gwatheliel-nin.”  His gladness in naming the little girl his niece was plain.  Celebrian gleamed, very pleased that he was her uncle.  The affection between them was endearingly sincere.  When the child turned back to Laerlínath, she made no polite acknowledgement of the introduction.   Laerlínath bowed, her smile frozen in place.

Aurthôn was now certain that Celebrimbor did indeed favor Laerlínath for before this he was sure he would have been referred to as ‘Aurthôn whom you have met’, not ‘Aurthôn whom you know’ – an acquaintance, not a familiar - a subtle but important difference.  So now, he was torn between being proud and ashamed of Laerlínath.  He should not be resentful that his wife might raise their status above what he had done already.  Yet, he was greatly disturbed at how she was going about doing it.

Then, the princess acted towards Laerlínath just as he had expected and, if he had been more attentive, might have warned her of.  Despite Celebrimbor’s endorsement, Celebrian shrank from Laerlínath’s touch, pulling her stockings away when the lady reached to take them.

“No!” she cried, angrily turning to Celebrimbor.  “You, Uncle!”  Laerlínath dropped her hand and stepped back.  Despite his hurt feelings, Aurthôn instinctively came to her side.  He, if no one else, could see she was made a little embarrassed and upset by the child’s rejection.  That had been his experience too and he felt sorry for her.  There were people, even if only one or two, still watching and they would talk.  So besides hurt and angry, he also felt guilty for not being sharp enough to keep her from inviting the rejection.  He had had time to establish himself before Celebrian’s arrival with her mother.  The girl’s reaction to him had not reflected too badly on him.  Still, he was sure there were some he had to deal with whose cooperation was less than it would have been if the little princess favored him in any way.  Laerlínath would suffer the same and likely more.

“Celebrian, I only have two hands,” complained the lord.  He in turn became wheedling.  “Please let the kind lady help me.”  Celebrimbor was perfectly willing to permit Laerlínath some sway with him.  Celebrian, on the other hand, was certainly not.  Aurthôn had often seen how possessive the child could be concerning her uncle.  He remembered in which letters he had mentioned this very thing to his wife and his sympathy for Laerlínath faded.

“No.  Nítmilrû.”  Celebrian indicated her disregarded guard.  Laerlínath’s eyes went wide and she turned questioningly to her husband.  Now, you look to me?  For something as innocuous as a familiar, if lowly, bodyguard being chosen over a relative stranger of greater rank? 

“As you please,” said Celebrimbor, in unmistakable mimicry of Celeborn’s usual response to his own lady wife.  Whether she was aware of doing it or not, Celebrian responded by angling her head in just the same manner as would Galadriel.  “Nítmilrû, do you mind?” he asked.

The guard said nothing and his face revealed nothing of his opinion.  Coming forward, he proceeded to pick up the fallen slippers and gave them to Celebrimbor to hold.  After gently rubbing any dirt from the child’s feet, he tugged on the willingly surrendered stockings.  Taking the shoes back, he carefully brushed out the insides with his fingertips and replaced them firmly on the princess’s feet.  Then he lightly slapped the bottom her shoes twice as one would the helmet of a warrior when the fellow was made ready for battle.  Celebrian was delighted with the joke.

“Hannon le!” she said with a politeness that contrasted sharply with her treatment of Laerlínath.  Without responding, the stoic guard stepped back to become once again unnoticed.

“So, why are you going to the Lady at this late hour instead of your bed?” questioned Celebrimbor using his mock stern look again.

“To receive a punishment for my escapade.”  The little princess sounded almost proud she was to be reprimanded.  She alternately tapped her re-shod feet against her restored footstool until both were stilled in a surprise grab that set her to giggling again. 

“Oh ho, so you have been up to something!”  Celebrimbor’s smiled indulgently and released her feet.  “Well, tell me.”  He cocked an ear in her direction.  Celebrian leaned in to whisper into her uncle’s ear, shielding her mouth from sight with her hands. 

As he often did upon report of her antics, Aurthôn found himself thinking that the little elleth was more like a little ellon.  Much like his young self had been – all in and of the moment and not the consequences.  Celebrian was simply different than any female elfing he had ever known.  Perhaps, the same kind of youngster her formidable mother must have been.  Certainly, she grow up to be as beautiful... in a Telerin way.  Laerlínath was tugging at his sleeve, wanting his attention.  He reluctantly turned to her and found her giving him a puzzled look.

As the child spoke, Celebrimbor’s smile left his face.  It came back only when she leaned back and spoke facing him again.

“Do you think the Lord will let me keep him?” she asked in a serious way.  The master smith responded without his previous humor.  He was not pleased with her question and spoke with strained lightness.

“Keep him?!  A Laiquendi warrior is no pet.  Think you to keep Nítmilrû on a leash or in a cage?” 

She was taken aback and vigorously shook her head, wagging her silver hair into shimmering ripples.  “No, no, as a retainer!  My bowman and... !”

“Hear now, hên,” said her uncle, firmly halting what was sure to be a long stream of chatter.  “You are much too young to have any sort of follower.  You already have a pony you need take better care of.  Be happy you have a good family to care for you.”  And he kissed her affectionately upon the cheek as if he were her father.  With equal fondness, she kissed him upon his cheek.  Laerlínath’s mouth went agape then shut.  Her hand sought Aurthôn’s and he reflexively gave it a comforting squeeze.  Then, he realized he might have been wiser not to have done so.  Laerlínath could not be thinking what he thought she was thinking – could she?

Celebrimbor set Celebrian down on her feet.  He stooped and straightened her clothes, even smoothed her hair.  Exchanging smiles, he took her by the shoulders and touched his nose to hers.

Laerlínath leaned her shoulder upon Aurthôn’s, completely flummoxed by the master smith’s attentions.  Aurthôn was tempted to laugh at her speechlessness; selfishly pleased at her absurd conclusion.

It was laughable.  How could she ever believe Galadriel would be unfaithful – for any reason whatsoever and with anyone whomsoever even Celebrimbor?  Or that Celeborn would not know and not do something about it – faithful friends of not?  Only a fool would think that Celebrimbor would be so utterly stupid as to openly lavish affection on both mother and daughter, thus inviting suspicion, if they had such a secret to hide.  And with that incredible shade of star-bright hair, how could Celebrian be anyone’s daughter but Celeborn’s? 

Why not instead accede with the most scandalous rumor of all?  That the Lord had gotten the child on some fertile maiden and that the Lady herself had arranged it?!  The only falsehood that made any sense was that the little princess was a gwanur fosterling.  But, Laerlínath apparently had lost sight of that explanation along with both her common sense and female sensibility.  Continue to disdain my advice if you so like making foolish mistakes.  Having to accept the truth after making this incredibly ridiculous assumption would certainly dissuade her that she knew what she was about in this new place.

He had grown up around Sindar and respected their customs although he did not follow them.  Sadly, many traditional Amanyar still misunderstood and disapproved of certain of their ways.  These grey-elves from Lórinand with their even more casual displays of affection were sure to surprise, if not affront such people.  Admittedly, he too had been occasionally surprised by the difference between the Galadrim and the Sindar of Lindon.  And I wrote to you about it!  Did you disbelieve my ability to observe?  Take me to be a gullible fool at the mercy of ‘simple’ elves? 

His erratic thinking must have emerged readable upon his face.  From her troubled expression, his wife appeared to have finally caught onto his helpless slid into emotional chaos.  However, she did not confront him having to deal with her own unhinged conclusions.  Her state of mind spurred to get a better hold on his.

“Go to the Lady and please do not mention that you saw your uncle,” begged Celebrimbor.  With a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes, Celebrian nodded.  Celebrimbor stood and looked at the guard who remained completely motionless, giving no indication if, whether questioned or not, he would likewise accommodate the lord’s request.

Aurthôn felt Laerlínath literally shiver free from her self-imposed shock.  He looked at her half expecting to see that she had realized her erroneous conclusions and that her normal intelligence had returned.  To his astonishment, she had regained her determination.  She took a deep breath like one preparing to plunge into an ice-cold pond.  This time he was ready to stop her and kept her hand when she started pulling away.

“You are wrong,” he breathed close to her ear, only for her to hear.  And maybe I was wrong about you.  He determinedly set aside his confused feelings for his beloved’s sake.  “You said you would consider my advice.  I say hold off.”  Her expression did not change, rather it hardened.  “You know not these waters!”

She gave her husband a sharp glance and leapt in by offering, “Shall I see you to your lady mother, heryn?”

Under a narrow and brilliant stare the little princess’s mouth compressed into a rebellious pout.  But after a short moment, it relaxed; the lower lip pulling in thoughtfully.  To the surprise of all, Celebrian agreed.

“Yes.  And I shall introduce you to my nanath.”  Before anyone thought to speak, the princess grabbed Laerlínath’s hand and quickly began leading her forward instead of the older lady bringing the child along.  The guard silently followed a few paces behind, a grey shadow.

Aurthôn’s surprise was swiftly spent, changing to concern as he watched them go down the gallery, further and further away.  A hand settled on his shoulder and he turned to see Celebrimbor, who was once again as bemused as when he had greeted Aurthôn earlier on this - what had become a most stressful - evening.

“You are right to worry.  Her first meeting with the Lady and your lovely wife will be facing an aggravated Galadriel without the mollifying presence of her Celeborn.”  The master smith sounded sure that his fellow lord would not be there when Celebrian and Laerlínath arrived upon the dais.  “I pray she is of a steady sort,” he added almost wistfully.

“She is,” Aurthôn replied, trying to sound confident.  Steady enough.  He hoped.  For what if the Lady had already heard the tattle or suspected Laerlínath’s new folly?  Suspect! She might know immediately when the little princess brings her forth.  He suddenly felt like he was the one that had been spun around and around.  Was that what the child intended?  To use his wife as a diversion from being punished? 

“You should tell her to be more careful.  That child has unsuspected depths.”

It was practically the same advice Celebrimbor had also belatedly given him after his first, and unnerving, meeting with Lord Celeborn.  As in the aftermath of that encounter, Aurthôn was full of conflicting emotions.  He felt sympathy for Laerlínath’s humiliation from rejection with more yet to come.  He was angry that in his wife’s want for distinction, she had cast aside her principles and dashed his faith in her.  He was confused by the loss of her usual acuity.  He felt guilty for not being quick enough himself to prevent her mistakes.  He was hurt by her disregard of his hard-won wisdom.  He resented her apparent swiftness in gaining her goals where he had taken years.  However, these tumbling feelings were swept aside as inconsequential by his fear for his beloved’s survival in the wake of the Lady’s potential ire.

“Shall I set off now?” he asked of his employer – Celebrimbor might still be wanting to speak to Celeborn.  If he found the Lord quickly, he would be dismissed and could be there all the sooner to comfort Laerlínath after her encounter with Galadriel.  “Or perhaps question the servers as suggested?”  At least, he could salvage some pride in his wife’s one smart tactic tonight.

“... We are off... to the west vestibule,” muttered Celebrimbor.  From his distant expression, the master smith appeared to be working out a bit of strategy himself.  “If Telpë intends to put Hrassa up as a guest... it is to there they will come before either goes to the great hall.”  He slowly looked Aurthôn over from head to toe.  “And I mean for you to become good friends with the green-elf.”

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

guren – my heart

hên – child

hannon le – thank you

heryn – princess

odhgwador/odhgwathel – uncle/auntie parent-brother/parent-sister who is not a parent’s sibling

gwanur – kin

gwathelion/gwatheliel – nephew/niece sister-son/sister-daughter who is a daughter of a sister who is not a sibling

laesiel – baby fem. babygirl

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Chapter Seven – A Simple Question

A faint, festive reel with deep drums and whistling pipes abruptly started up and gaily danced over the far wall into the bare prison yard, adding absurd punctuation to Celeborn’s drawn-out pause.  From his mulling expression, Hrassa thought that his prince was unsuccessfully seeking a kind way to confirm his fear that the Children of Elmo were faltering and his dismay only grew as he anticipated what Celeborn would say once he did begin to speak.

For Hrassa already knew that Ennor would become the land of the Hildor and that this particular fate was in place for fulfillment.  It was a disappointing doom for Arda, but as inevitable as the End.  Eventually, like a weighty heirloom handed from parent to child, this new city in which he was captive, and those in older lands too, would become the legacy of humans.  Mankind would slowly take possession of Middle-earth.  They would settle in the same forests where now dwelt only the elves and overwhelm all other races besides.  Hrassa just wished that it might not have happened while he yet lived.  The Edain, the greatest and best of Men, had gone off and he had not seen enough evidence that those Firimar left behind would ever properly care for their inheritance.  Not even if the Númenoreans did come back to lord over them.

How disheartening to discover – and through his own órë at that! – the transition would start when the Lindarin princes lost distinction among their own people.  If their decline had begun, Celeborn would know.  And by the strange power of words, he would speak it aloud and make it so.

Staring down at the ground, Hrassa took a deep breath and slowly let it go, endeavoring to find some sort of acceptance or resignation.  His initial reaction to the nothrim’s demise was done; the alarm raised by his instinctual wisdom explained.  Both emotions had caught him embarrassingly unprepared, but he could prepare himself for the next disappointment.

“Hrassa...” said his prince.

He was able to raise a stalwart face to Celeborn, who upon seeing his bowman’s resolution to bear up softly... smiled.  Hrassa’s back stiffened when a sharp gleam flashed in Celeborn’s eyes and he took on an odd insouciance as if the frivolous music, which was slowly growing louder, had taken hold of him.  In a decidedly offhanded manner, Celeborn did exactly what Hrassa had done earlier and took on a courtly, straight-shouldered stance, hands held behind his back.  Perhaps he meant merely to lighten and not to make light of, but his mimicry only darkened Hrassa’s defeated spirit.

“If you please,” his prince nonchalantly instructed, “be patient and listen while I lay out the situation for your clearer understanding.”

You mean to lecture me?!  He would have protested, but Celeborn would simply have pointed out that he had not known about Celebrian, had he?  And rightly say there might be other things he had missed over the last half-millennia.  So although peeved, Hrassa did not speak, but also did not hide his annoyance.  Oh, I see!  You think to mete out a punishment for my running off.  Withholding my freedom is not enough for you?  Turning severe as swiftly as he had mirthful, the Lord fixed Hrassa’s in a cautioning stare that warned he had best do as asked.  A warning his bowman strongly resented.  However, Hrassa maintained a tight-lipped response and Celeborn reverted back to imitating his bowman’s prior formality.  Still not finding the mockery all that amusing, Hrassa noisily shifted his feet over the gritty ground.

“I am at your disposal,” he said with a subtle derision that any other would not have caught.  The Lord tilted his head back, putting on a show of haughty perseverance.  His expression was quite condescending, which further soured Hrassa’s mood.

“Your time in the wilderlands has not entirely worn away the polish you acquired in courts long past,” Celeborn replied with purring sarcasm, a weak smirk pulling at a corner of his mouth.  He paused; one eyebrow rose in challenge, daring Hrassa to say more. 

But, he chose silence – mostly because someone was coming up behind him and not bothering to be quiet about it.  It was to be expected.  His attitude had plainly shifted away from congenial.  Any conscientious guard would assuredly move to stand by closer than the gate.

With measured steps, a grey warrior similarly uniformed to the brown keepers in the gaol slowly walked up without asking leave or offering a salute.  He stopped close in, taking up an advantageous position flanking both Hrassa and Celeborm where, if need be, he could quickly leap in-between the two of them.  Hrassa assumed him to be Galadhrim.  For the imposing fellow did not have his nor Celeborn’s leanness and bore a mixture of Noldor and Sindar features; his resolute expression tautly held in place by a decidedly Silvan attitude.  Interestingly, he was armed with a pair of long knives.  Certainly not someone to be disregarded.

Hands deceptively loose at his sides, the warrior locked eyes with Hrassa, conveying how supremely disposed he was to stop whatever Hrassa might think to do next.  So, Hrassa relaxed his body, dropping his head slightly, to let the guard know that the prisoner had been properly put in his place and was no threat.  Having pegged him, the guard glanced at the Lord, looking for permission to do more.  The fellow obviously thought Hrassa belonged back in his cell.

Because he acted so familiarly, Hrassa assumed him to be the Lord’s personal guard.  He fully expected Celeborn to make introductions and alleviate the tension.  Instead, he waved off his bodyguard with an icy look and an almost imperceptible jerk of his head.  To the fellow’s credit, he hesitated and decided for himself that it was all right to obey.  He left them unhurriedly, letting Hrassa know with his own cold stare that he was quite ready and capable of taking down any green-elf.  In all, a very different kind of conduct than when Hrassa was himself charged with watching over important persons.

He had always been more companion then servant and was expected to act accordingly.  Politeness had been a requirement and he had always been treated politely, never excluded or ignored as was this guard.  No, not quite true, he corrected himself.  Golodhrim always tried to put him out of their notice, even after having been introduced.  Except for Galadriel.  But, he knew that was because she had liked him at first sight.  It suddenly occurred to him that maybe her daughter had reacted to him in much the same way.  Maybe there was more of the Lady in the little princess then could be seen in the child’s face and coloring.

After the guard’s ordered retreat, Celeborn relaxed back into his almost capricious semblance and again over-elaborately prepared to speak – straightening up, taking a deep breath, clearing his throat – being intentionally irritating.  Did you order this wretched music?  Nienna weeps!  Let’s just get this torture over with!  Wearing the self-satisfied visage of a smug tutor, Celeborn finally began Hrassa’s unwanted lesson.

“Elros, who was Thingol’s heir and Elmo’s heir too, chose mortality with the Second-born.  Sovereignty of Ennor has passed onto the Edain and they to Númenor.”  He paused to see if Hrassa accepted what he clearly meant to be a foundation for his following statements.

As if there’s any way to deny it.  Elros was Elwing’s eldest, who was Dior and Nimloth’s surviving eldest.  Both slain parents were the only child and heir to their own parents.  But, it does not mean that Númenorean kings should rule over quendi!  Celeborn’s eyebrows quirked for a quick second before he proceeded.

“If there was to be an elven-king for those not departed after the War, it had to be Gil-galad.  He is royal, Noldor and Teleri both, and of the noblest-born Sindar.”

So, as with his tendency for mockery and sarcasm, here was another way his prince had not changed.  He continued to avoid saying outright that Erienion’s mother had been Elmoi.  Like Galadriel, the lady had left her kin in the north to be joined to her husband’s people and Celeborn honored that choice.  He supported their princely descent but never implied that, as chieftain of the nothrim, he had any lordship over Orodreth’s children.  Only once had Gil-galad tried to do that to Galadriel.  Only once.

“Erienion watched over the people that fled to Arvernien and was the leader of our alliance during the War.  He was rightfully made King of Lindon, its cities and territories.”

Whether the High King of the Noldor had been the leader of the entire alliance, which included the hosts of Ossiriand and Eriador, was arguable as far as Hrassa was concerned.  That young Elwing and Cirdan had deferred both leadership and rule to Erienion was true.  However, the Laegrim would have not have allowed Gil-galad command even in battle and certainly not the Doriathrim, if not for Celeborn and Galadriel saying that they must.  Also, he considered Lindon to be two realms – Forlindon and Harlindon – united into one for the same reason.

“Although you personally – and I admit I too – want to include Elrond with us all, your ‘true princes’, we cannot.  Not anymore than we can include Olwë and by your own judgment.  Elrond severed his ties when he chose to stay with Gil-galad and continue to follow Amanyar ways.  Subsequently, the people of Harlindon rejected him as an heir of Elwing.  Else he would have become their prince just as planned and my lady and I could have remained at Nenuial.”

Hrassa was not surprised by the hint of bitterness in Celeborn’s voice while saying these last words.  The Lord and Lady had intended to keep their realm in Eriador.  Glad to return to the first place they had ruled together and where they had earned their anessi.  Leaving that idyllic home and taking over the rebellious southern realm was not what they ever wanted to do.  More, Celeborn had seen Elrond’s unanimous appointment as an important step towards keeping the kindreds united, the final objective of the last council of the alliance.  His prince had greatly believed in that goal.  However, now as in the past, if Celeborn harbored any real anger over the subsequent civil crisis and being forced to leave Eriador without a lord to watch over it, he kept it hidden.  Unlike Oropher, who had never restrained his resentment over the decisions of the King’s Council.

The Council’s disdain for Oropher as an alternative to Elrond had been especially galling for that proud prince.  He had been the de facto lord of the Doriathrim – comparatively few had gone to Sirion to be with Elwing – and he had been preferred by the Nandorin populace.  So much more preferred that many had openly pledged their allegiance to him.  Fortunately, Oropher never resented Celeborn and Galadriel being made the rulers of Harlindon.  By that time, he was more than ready to leave things in their hands and to take his set-aside ambitions into his own.  He had left Lindon promising never to return.  Now, he was lord over all the Silvan of the vast Eryn Galen – which had to gall every Noldor member of the Council.

A long time prior to Celeborn and Galadriel’s removal to Lindorínand, Hrassa had walked away thinking he too would never return.  When Oropher and his host departed east, he had not let Celeborn send him along with them.  And later, he would not allow his service to be given away to anyone else.  But, never was the peace imposed by the Lord and Lady one he could unquestioningly defend.  Rather then let mounting disagreement destroy his loyalty, he had left.  Deciding that if he could not well-serve them, he would serve no other.  If he had known that they also would eventually leave Lindon, maybe he would have stayed.  Held on somehow.

“Happily, the need for my lady and I to keep the peace passed,” Celeborn explained.  “We... ah, I suppose correctly, I... chose to quit Lindon and seek a place with Amdir.”  The reason why had piqued Hrassa’s curiosity ever since he had first heard word of it. 

As part of the compromise to keep Lindon whole and balanced, Celeborn had given his word to Erienion that as long as there was no Amanyar lord in Eriador, there would be no Úmanyar.  Since they could not go back, why had the Lord and Lady not once again gone forward and built a new home in the open lands?  They better than any could establish a new realm from practically nothing.  This colony, saved from ruin, was proof of their even greater skills.  Eregion might have been theirs and theirs alone.  Ost-in-Edhil could have been a Sindarin city.

So then why did they go to Lorínand?  What had Malgalad – no, he must remember to say Amdir.  No one, especially that Galadhrim guard, would appreciate a lowly archer using their ruler’s childhood name whether he knew him then or not.  What had Amdir offered them that Gil-galad had not?  Celeborn and Galadriel had given up a large kingdom for a small principality.  Was being landholders for their beloved foster-son that much better than being the most powerful vassals of the King?  Was there reason to create the Golden Wood beyond beauty for its own sake?  Or had they sacrificed all their wealth, power, and influence simply to have Celebrian?

Celeborn was watching him closely as he pondered.  Suddenly uncertain where he was being lead, Hrassa pulled back his thoughts to focus on what had actually been said and not his own fanciful conjecture.  What had these past moves to do with the Elmoi princes today?  That Elrond was the only one left in the west, but he could not be counted anymore?  That the Children of Elmo had abandoned the Eldar and had submerged into the Silvan?  Then, what were the Lord and Lady doing in Eregion with Celebrimbor?

He noted his prince’s now glittering eyes – another warning sign.  But, one could never say whether it meant a mood fair or foul, only that it would be fierce.  Of course, now when Hrassa was wanting to hear more, Celeborn did not elaborate further.

“My first point...” said the Lord in a tight voice.  Hrassa suddenly realized he had spoiled Celeborn’s conclusion by having interjected it earlier.  Thereby, irritating the Lord as much as if he had actually interrupted.

“Our true King is gone,” Celeborn stated absolutely.  “His heirs have gone.  Elros and Elrond are no longer part of the Lindar.  No King of the Edain can be our king.  Gil-galad was the only one left that could rule the Eldar.”  The warning sign was true; Hrassa could see something was brewing behind the Lord’s seemingly calm front.  But, he was still unsure what it was.  “However, for the surviving Doriathrim and remaining Falathrim living under the rule of the High King and his Council, there will not be another Aran.  There will not be another Rîn or Târ for the lingering Laegrim.  More importantly, neither Amdir nor Oropher acknowledge Gil-galad as their lord or ally.”  His prince became adamant.  “There is no king in Ennor for any of us all to serve.”

“So what?” Hrassa burst out, speaking louder than he intended.  Fanuilos!  I will not let you dismiss yourselves as purposeless!  “The Children of Elmo live and your people need you all!”  He meant to say more, but Celeborn halted him by swiftly bringing around his hand and holding it flat up to Hrassa’s face, silencing him.  And also – Hrassa sensed behind him – halting the guard from joining them again as well.

“No!” Celeborn commanded with force.  “Listen as I have asked.  I have a second point... ” He stepped towards Hrassa, crowding him and holding him motionless with a powerful stare.  In the imposed stillness, the delicate, sly smile he had started out with returned.  As the incongruous carnival music suddenly became contemptuously louder, the Lord leaned in even closer to place that smile next to his cogndîr’s ear and softly said, “... who said we all must remain princes?”

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

Aran – the king of Doriath and the Sindar, essentially the high king of the Lindarin and Ennor

Târ/Rîn – high chieftain/chieftainess of the Laegrim

nothrim – members of a household or clan (a nos)

órë – spirit (heart, inner mind) one’s innate nature

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

quendi – the elves’ name for their race before Oromë called them Eldar

anessi – a given or added names Quenya – plural of anessë - I do not know if there is a Sindarin equivalent of this word

Hildor – Aftercomers, Men

Firimar – Mortals, Humans

According to Unfinished Tales, Oropher and Amdir were Sindarin princes from the First Age.  As such, both could have Elmo as a forefather and be kin to Celeborn.  I place them among the grandchildren of the younger brothers and sisters of Galadhon, eldest son of Elmo and father of Galathil and Celeborn.  I think it likely that the other side of Celeborn’s, Oropher’s, and Amdir’s parentage came from the nobility of Lenwe’s and Denethor’s Nandor.  Thus, Oropher and Celeborn would be welcomed by the Laegrim.  Amdir was obviously welcomed by Lenwë’s Nandor.  I think Amdir was already established in Lorien before Oropher left Lindon. 

The “War” referred to here is the War of Wrath waged by the Valar and their Host against Morgoth which preceded the inundation of Beleriand.  Eldar who wished to remain in Ennor migrated to Lindon, which is what the Noldor called Ossiriand, the homeland of the Laiquendi.   Harlindon was already occupied by the native Laegrim and other Sindarin refugees including Doriathrim.  The Noldor emigrants would have settled in Forlindon, lands previously occupied in part by Caranthir.  Mithlond, the havens of the Falathrim is on the bay of the gulf that separates the north and south lands.  Further inland is Eriador and the hill country surrounding the lake, Nenuial, where later Numenorean refugees would establish their own kingdom.  Something that might have been difficult to do if there were an established elven realm there already.

“lordship over Orodreth’s children” – Gil-galad has two family origins.  In the version most people know because it is in the Simarillion, he is the son of Fingon and cousin to Orodeth, Finrod, Angrod, and Galadriel who are the children of Finarfin, son of Finwe, and Earwen, daughter of Olwe.  In the other version in The Peoples of Middle-earth, he is the son of Orodeth, who is the son of Angrod.  I go with the latter for the reasons stated there and it makes a lot more sense.  If sent away for safety as an elfling, Ereinion would certainly go to Cirdan, the neighbor and ally of Finrod, King of Nargothrond, the kingdom bestowed by Thingol.  Orodeth inherited Nargothrond from his childless uncle because Angrod had died at Tol Sirion.  Turgon, Fingon’s younger brother, inherited the high crown after him instead of any son because there was none.  Gil-galad became High King after Turgon died in the destruction of Gondolin and because Turgon had only a daughter, Idril the mother of Earendil.  The title had passed through Feanor’s line (actually turned over) to Fingolfin’s line and then to Finarfin’s line.

Unlike with the Noldor, it appears that among the Umanyar, rulership can be pass through the eldest offspring whether male or female. 

“chieftain of the nothrim” – just to be clear about how I see the matter: Celeborn was appointed to this position over his elder brother Galathil by Elmo.  This did not change the line of inheritance.  The responsibilities as head of the clan would revert back to Nimloth’s children if Celeborn did not name a successor.

Malgalad – Most accept this as another, but discarded, name for Amdir, the first King of Lorien and Amroth’s father.  The name means ‘gold tree’ ie Mallorn. (In this case, ‘galad’ is the older spelling of ‘galadh’).  With this ‘tree’ name, he fits right in as a kinsman of Celeborn, Nimloth, Galathil, and Galadhon.  And Oropher, too.  Like Erienion who was fostered by Cirdan in relative safety by the sea, I have Malgalad fostered by Celeborn and Galadriel in relative safety across the mountains at Nenuial.

A/N Once again, my deepest thanks for the kindness of friends here at SOA. 

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Chapter Eight – A Dangerous Future

Startled, Hrassa let go of his halted breath in a sharp exhale.  What?  Had he heard right?

Slightly gaping, he swayed back on his feet needing to see his prince’s expression and gain more clarity.  Celeborn leaned away as well and they awkwardly looked at each other, face to face.

With the cheerful music mocking his repeated loss of composure, Hrassa watched the Lord’s wily smile blossom into a full-blown, laughing grin.  His face shone with delight at Hrassa’s disorientated stare.  Then in a blink, his riant amusement was hidden behind a playful clandestine mien.  Laying a confiding hand on Hrassa’s shoulder and drawing him back in, Celeborn bent forward to once more whisper into his bowman’s ear, sounding very pleased to provide further explanation.

“The Children of Elmo are no longer children.” 

Hrassa shook his head.  What do you mean?  In fact, he did know what was meant – he just feared to believe it and be disappointed.  Celeborn dropped his hand from Hrassa’s shoulder and stepped back a few paces.

Arms poised, the Lord gracefully spun once around and transformed.  With a theatrical flourish, he became a street conjuror prepared to perform his entertainment, complete with appropriate musical accompaniment.  He slowly raised his lightly-closed right hand to the height of Hrassa’s chest, keeping his other hand behind his back.  When Celeborn elegantly opened his right hand and pointed to the palm with his left, Hrassa expected to see a pretty beryl in it as would traditionally be used in such simple slight-of-hand.  Instead, something invisible, yet amazingly substantial, was revealed.  Hrassa felt its existence, resting there in his prince’s hand, save he could not determine the shape of the thing.

Just as the music had approached nearer and nearer until the sound had become annoyingly loud, it now began to march away, losing volume.  Celeborn’s mellifluous monologue made the quieting atmosphere eerie.

“Amdir and Oropher are not yet made Kings as were Elu and Olwë.”

He flamboyantly waved his left hand over the clear contents of his right, enchanting it.

“But, they shall be soon enough!” he said with a stagy proclamation. 

He placed his left over his right hand then opened them to reveal a change.  He cupped them together so both could support the unseeable object that was made suddenly weighty. 

“And so, the disjointed Silvan tribes shall become cohesive nations.”

This was not in any way, shape or form, what Hrassa had thought to hear when he had wished for the Elmoi to be reprieved.  Kings to stand up to the encroachments of the Golodhrim and Firimar!  Royal rulers of equal rank to Lindon and Númenor who could not be discounted as lesser lords simply on the premise of their titles!  The sovereignty of the Lindar revitalized!

“A totality far greater than the Elves of the West.”  The last words were said with a discernibly sarcastic undertone.

Hrassa remembered how Celeborn had never liked that particular epitaph of the High King and the realm of Lindon.  Before the Council itself, he had officially objected to it, declaring it merely a polite way to say ‘calaquendi’.  That it showed disregard for the dignity and customs of Nandorin elves.  Most of the Council members had shaken their heads, deriding his objection as ludicrous.  Most of Harlindon’s inhabitants had nodded when told of the Lord’s protest, agreeing with him.

“Perhaps there can be no one king for all the elves in Middle-earth,” posited his prince-turned-enchanter.

He smoothed one hand and then the other over what he loosely held captive as if petting a small creature.

“However, there can be – and shall be! – an alliance as once there was in Beleriand and this time made by equals.  Eldar and Edain, elves and men.  Not Caliquendi or Moriquendi.  Not Amanyar or Umanyar.  Not Atani... Not Avari... But, the Children of Ilúvatar... ”

With dawning comprehension, Hrassa openly stared in wonder at the scope of this feat.

“I have watched Elrond grow in wisdom,” Celeborn said changing to a gentler, nearly nostalgic, tone of voice.  “I know he will eventually seek his own path.  Oh, he is still learning; trying to find a balance between his studies and his duties.  In that he is like Galathil.”  He rocked his open palms, one side up and the other side down rolling them, as if the invisible inhabitant were confusedly climbing over and between them.  “But unlike my brother, he shall rule.  As the son of both his parents and on his own terms.  In that he is like Dior.  Elrond will be a king in his own realm someday.”  Celeborn paused, looking down at his cradling but now stilled, seemingly empty hands.  “It is entirely possible that Lindon itself shall come to him... for Ereinion is doomed.”

A shiver of awe and pity for Gil-galad passed through Hrassa’s heart.

Celeborn again closed his hands around the phantom future laying within, hiding it completely.  Then, he splayed out his fingers and opened his hands, separating them and turning them over, offering first knuckles then palms, to show that whatever had been there had disappeared.  Presumably, just tucked up a sleeve.

“All of which,” he said raising both hands in the same nonchalant gesture that Celebrimbor had always used to conclude his expert prestidigitation, “is remarkably more than I had hoped for at the beginning of this age.”

Hrassa reveled in the thought of Amdir and Ororpher ascending.  Their peoples had certainly claimed them as their rulers and it was appropriate if not previously conceivable.  But, to where would Elrond go?  Since he was both Noldor and Sindar, could all parties agree that there would again be a lord at Nenuial?  Or, if he could accept Amdir as suzerain, perhaps Edhellond?  It suddenly struck Hrassa that something other than self-acknowledged shortcomings might be preventing Celebrimbor from becoming the King of Eregion.  Maybe the very remedy to those shortcomings?

As the broader meaning of kings in the making sank in, a long-sleeping anger awoke in Hrassa.  The frustrating paradox of pride he had always felt about his own prince compelled him into sounding discontented with what from all appearances, albeit translucent, would seem to be a very good thing.

“’Tis well that they become Kings, but what of you, Caun-anim?” he stridently demanded.  “Oh, I know the answer already!  Never.  You are strict in your duty and more strict with your loyalty.  Whether you are steward to another or assume royal rule, you will never take the title of ‘King’.  For the only Aran is Elu Thingol.  This is because you have bred true from Elmo.  And also from Lenwë.  ‘Tis the same loyalty of Cirdan and Denethor.  None of you ever presumed such a title when you might have easily.”

“Rather we eschewed it,” was Celeborn’s brittle reply, his eyes throwing off sparkling splinters of jade glass, once more the Lord and no common elda.  “So you think me another Elmo?  Then let us lay out that premise.”

He straightened up to his full height, virtually looming over Hrassa.  Glaring down his nose, he pinned his bowman with pointed words.

“Elmo carried on after the loss of Elu as if the King was still alive and that faith proved true.  I have as well endeavored to carry on as I should and keep faith with our sovereign people.  Unlike Olwë, when Elmo might have gone to Aman, he remained in Ennor where he was much needed.  I too am myself and not my elder brother and will go where I am needed, not wherever I might.  Elmo and I both have wedded to other kindreds.  Though for me ‘tis a kindred further removed than the Nandor.  My lady wife is also one who is wise and strong and some would say more than my match.  The Galadhrim have grown up around us as did the Elmoi around my grandfather and his lady.  His eldest gone, he had other children from who have sprung great princes.  My eldest is gone, even more swiftly carried away, but I have another child who will raise princes to be reckoned with.  There was Nos Elmo; there will be Nos Galadhad.  Whose Children will be of all the kindreds of Ennor.”

So here is the root of it!  Celebrian’s lack of legacy now made sense to Hrassa.  Apparently when the Lord and Lady retired into Lindorínand, and contrary to logical assumption, Celeborn had not given up on his hope of melding the societies of the Amanyar and the Úmanyar into one.  It appeared that the reason, beyond friendship, for his prince’s aide to Celebrimbor was victory in Eregion where he and Galadriel had been defeated in Lindon.

Celeborn had merely chosen to end their efforts to use Gil-galad and Elrond.  Now, he meant to create a new nos that might supervene royalty and cross cultural lines just as his grandfather’s had within the Lindar.  But, that goal meant reshaping his daughter.  She and her children could not be loyal only to the Úmanyar as the Elmoi naturally were.  So Celebrian was not being schooled in that demanding duty, but trained to a more encompassing noble obligation.

And few would ever suspect the Lord’s distant targets and long aim.

“See,” said Celeborn, arms now crossed, watching Hrassa closely with bright, narrow scrutiny.  “There shall be a nothrim of princes watching over their people.”  The Lord was perilously close to appearing smug.  “Feel better now?” 

No!  I don’t!  Hrassa was more aggravated than consoled.  Even if amazed by the scale, he was not surprised that the Lord had a hitherto unspoken design in progress.  He had learned long ago that with any task Celeborn undertook he always had at least two purposes in mind, if not more, though he might speak aloud of only one – usually the least significant.

By admitting this truly ambitious plan to exert a sustained influence over the future of Middle-earth, his prince was entrusting Hrassa with what amounted to a secret desire, the sort of personal secret he would admit only to a close friend.  Hrassa had been that... had been... what am I now?  Surely no longer someone to be so trusted.   This thought made him realize that if Celeborn would reveal such a personal motive, then he was intentionally diverting attention away from an even more important goal.  Just as you did earlier when I would have asked what you thought was the cause of my disappearance!  Curse this curiosity of mine...  He was going to ask even if it was in vain.

“Actually, I do feel a little better,” he said, speaking from his own disarming honesty.  “However, what’s the other reason you and the Lady left Lindon?  Why must there be an alliance?”  It was a practiced shot in the dark that struck closer than Hrassa had expected.

Celeborn hesitated, clearly trying to decide whether or not to tell him any more.  After a few moments, Hrassa could see that as he had more or less figured, his prince would not.

Is it so dangerous a thing to know?  Having watched Celeborn silently consider the possible consequence of saying it, Hrassa concluded that it was something threatening, not merely political and Galadriel had a part in it.

How had Celeborn persuaded her to go to Lorínand in the first place?  She would be wise to any of her husband’s persuasions after having been convinced by him to give up Nenuial.  It was unlikely that watching Amdir reigning over his realm would be that rewarding for her.  Certainly not dwelling close-by to Oropher.  There was room aplenty in Harlindon to grow a mallorn forest if that was her only desire.  Impossible that Celeborn would promise a child if she would simply follow where, as he had already said, he wanted to go.  Why leave if there might be a daughter and not a son to rival Gil-galad or Elrond?  Or perhaps because they did know that a daughter was to be and did not wish for another episode such as had happened with Elwing.  But, he felt sure the Lord and Lady could have managed any grand plans even in the very midst of the High King and his Council.  He had personally witnessed them carrying off that very sort of thing.

No, none of that seemed an explanation.  This unspoken cause was something else entirely... something darker than dynastic aspirations and government.

Accepting the possibility of real harm befalling anyone involved was keeping Celeborn silent, Hrassa thought it best to follow his prince’s lead and stay just as silent as he about the subject.  However, Hrassa also felt duty bound to caution his prince about a danger concerning this secret he knew already existed.

“My lord, may I say one thing more and then be done with thismatter?” he asked.  With a curt nod, Celeborn indicated that Hrassa should speak his thoughts.  Although he did not uncross his arms, his prince was obviously pleased by with his bowman’s request, his concerned expression easing.

“The color of the coat and not the creature has changed.”  An old tawarwaith proverb often proven wise when dealing with a canny cwenda like his prince; one that Hrassa told himself he should have remembered before now.  “Really, I’m comforted that you all merely change your wardrobes and not yourselves.  Oropher and Amdir and their sons may wear crowns.  Elrond may even take up an Úmanyar style to replace his Amanyar attire.  You and your lady might dress up your daughter in whatever new fashion you please.  Gladly, I concede that these differences shall make no difference.  Our people remain well watched over.”  He inclined his head in respect.  “Elmo’s traits remain present in you all.  ‘Tis yours and their undeniable lineage.  You all will continue to bear his gifts and burdens, generously bestowing your grace upon your people as always.  For the real difference you all make is not in our eyes, but in our lives.”

Lifting his head and stepping forward, he dared to take Celeborn by the shoulders, resisting the urge to shake his prince and for certain bring the guard down upon himself. 

“Tell this to her, Caun-anim!  You especially know how it feels to helplessly wonder at your temperament and instincts.  Give your daughter an explanation, the reason for her tendencies – now and not later!  Don’t let her grow up to fear how her heart runs so deep even into lightless depths.  Do not leave her at the mercy of her gifts.  The Rîn was proof of Elmo’s blood in your brother.  Celebrian is further proof of you... and of Galadriel.  Your daughter will not meekly refrain from interfering in the doom of others.  Whatever mantle she dons, her órë is fixed and the time is coming when it will exert itself in far-reaching deeds both good and ill.  Is not this ‘escapade’ evidence enough?”

“You cling to the past when you should embrace the future, Cogndîr.”  Celeborn replied with a half-hearted scowl.  “Another old and very trite saying.“  He slipped a hand under Hrassa’s hair and affectionately gripped the back of his neck.  “I was not instructed in my heritage until I came to Eglador and met an inveterate nostel too much like you.  I think it was just as well.”  There was no surrender in his words.  Hrassa released his hold on Celeborn’s shoulders, dropping his hands uselessly to his sides.  “Even a strong trait can be undone,” Celeborn went on, sympathetic but unpersuaded.  “Indeed, you are yourself one whose natural state has been greatly affected by imposed circumstances.  And perhaps not for the better.” 

Celeborn kindheartedly smiled, releasing Hrassa’s neck after a gentle squeeze, and began to lead his bowman by the arm to the gate.  To Hrassa’s relief, the fading music switched to a pleasant ballad-like theme.  Finally...  He took it as a favorable sign.

Fate had brought him to Eregion, he concluded, to warn his prince against a clear mistake and help the little princess learn a lesson.  Well, he had done so.  Task accomplished, he let go of any remaining agitation; there was no longer any point to it.  But, as had Celebrian and the Elmoi, he saw that Manadh too had fled in the wake of the Lord’s will.  Likely, he would be waiting quite a while for it to come back.  So, no reason not to be a ‘guest’, I suppose.  Celeborn would release him after a reasonable detention.  He might as well wait and rest up here as anyplace else.  He fervently hoped that whenever Fate did come skulking back to lead him away again that if there were another task he was meant to do it would, for a change, be made absolutely clear to him.  Nor cost him such peace of mind.

“Come, mellon-nin,” Celeborn said pleasantly, setting their pace to the slow beat of the dimming drums.  “Let us find you a more comfortable place to bed down.” 

Oh?  I am a real guest?  You might have told me that sooner.  The grey guard awaited them, holding open the gate.  His umbrage at the Lord’s camaraderie with a malefactor was not completely concealed by the blank expression he had dutifully put on.  Or him at least.

“Although,” his prince added, “not necessarily a more suitable one.” 

“Ai, it’s so clear where the aewlaes gets it from,” Hrassa replied with a sad shake of his head. 

They looked at one another and broke into laughter.  Happy to be eachother’s company once again, they went inside down the corridor to the jailer’s strongroom and got Hrassa’s gear.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

Aran – the King of Doriath and the Sindar, essentially the king of the Lindar and Ennor

Golodhrim – Noldor, Exiles

Firimar – Mortals, Humans

manadh – fate, fortune, doom

cwenda – quende Nandorin

elda – one of the eldar

mellon-nin – my friend

tawarwaith – forest-folk

nos – a family or household

nothrim – members of a household or a clan

nostel – a member of a household or clan

aewlaes – birdbaby chick

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Chapter Nine – A Feminine Touch  

Seeing his aide’s troubled face, Celebrimbor felt a momentary pang of guilt.  Aurthôn was clearly concerned for his engaging, and guilelessly ambitious, young wife.  Galadriel might be too much for such a delicate, aristocratic maid.  She had reacted badly to Celebrian’s initial petulance; a harsh word from the Lady might do her in. 

“I pray she is of a steady sort,” he said, hoping Aurthôn would say she was. 

“She is,” Aurthôn replied, sounding confident.

If her husband was sure, then there should be little reason to worry.  However, as he reconsidered Celebrian’s hesitant acceptance of Laerlínath’s offer to escort her to her mother, Celebrimbor reluctantly admitted that his clever niece just might be planning something beyond assuaging her mother’s insistence on decorum.

“You should tell her to be more careful,” he advised.  “That child has unsuspected depths.”  He felt tempted to tag along and to see how the lady fared facing the Lady.

But, the opportunity to perform a knightly rescue would be left to another, the master smith decided.  With Celebrian’s startling news about Hrassa’s return, his own schemes had necessarily shifted.  Securing Celeborn’s help with an inconvenient matter had become less important then securing a foothold in an unfolding situation.  Neither he nor his aide could be spared to save even the loveliest elleth from embarrassment when the well-being of others – including himself – was at stake.

For unlike most servants who would act impulsively out of love and loyalty, the cogndîr could not be restrained by any lord other than his own.  As dangerous as a captive wolf left off the chain.  Seemingly calm under his master’s hand, only to leap forth with no warning.  Hrassa had given his friendship to Celebrimbor, so he would listen to any orders from the master smith out of courtesy and regard.  At court, the bowman would conduct himself according to expected protocols.  He would follow the orders of his commander in battle.  Nonetheless, Hrassa did not obey anyone – except Celeborn and Galadriel.  He had so thoroughly endeared himself to them that he had always been permitted an ill-considered breadth of freedom.  Proving even the wise can on occasion be foolish.  And now, Celebrimbor assumed by his being welcomed back as a guest, unfettered forgiveness as well.  More times than not, the Laegel had indeed proven himself a great boon to his lords.  Even so, he was an unpredictable, self-directing threat to anyone who dared approach his ‘family’ with what he perceived as even the slightest hint of malice.

Being accepted as a friend by a Sindar prince, especially Thingol’s influential nephew, had been a major turning-point of Celebrimbor’s life in Ennor.  Celeborn’s judgments were accepted by all to be wise and just.  Whomever he would pardon from a crime was considered redeemed, if not innocent.  His friendship, however, could be seen as politic or extended in pure self-interest.  But, never Hrassa’s.  Celebrimbor had not participated in the Kinslaying at Alqualondë anymore than Galadriel and her brothers.  Nevertheless, in Beleriand, not every Noldo was given allowance for that whether they deserved it or not.  Úmanyar that would have called the master smith Exile Scum to his face or scorned him as a scion of Fëanor despite Celeborn’s friendship had treated Celebrimbor with respect – because Hrassa did.  Due in great part to these two friends, he was not smeared with the bloody brush of his kin’s deeds.  Both friendships had helped him as much as Orodreth’s to repudiate his father and uncle’s conspiracy in Nargothrond and free himself from an oath he had never taken.

He distractedly wiped his calloused hands slowly down the front of his elegant coat as if wearing his leather apron, an acknowledged habit when preparing for a delicate task.  The artist within him always was more confident than the politician and the artist was clearly dictating his next stroke.  Sometimes the success of a piece depends solely on timing.  Not only when envisioning the result, but in discerning the readiness of the medium.  More, his aide’s usefulness had suddenly become more evident.  Now was the time to make use of this tool and feel out his skill with it.  He was certain.  If he did not act now, he would lose his best chance to prevent unwanted trouble.

Hrassa’s disappearance from Harlond had caused the Lord and Lady serious unhappiness.  An unhappiness which had been inflicted upon anyone they suspected of being involved in the loss of their favored minion.  Celebrimbor was glad not to have come under their suspicion.  But once again, that was only because Hrassa had – on his own and in his own way – befriended his prince’s friend.  Unfortunately, the bowman might now mention his and Celebrimbor’s conversation just prior to his going missing.  Not that I was ever in any way responsible for any of his actions.  Still, it would hurt Celeborn’s and Galadriel’s feelings very much to find out that he had known of Hrassa’s intentions and had done nothing to stop him.  Not even warned them.  But, how could I repeat what was said in confidence?  That was an excuse perhaps, but a reason too.

If his inaction was found out, things between his fellow rulers and himself could become very... awkward.  Worse, one of his unaware constituents or the servants and colleagues he was obliged to protect was going to run afoul of Hrassa.  It was inevitable.  Much worse, there was his gwatheliel!  The cogndîr might just hand over his knife to the child if she were to ask it of him!  Something very likely given her curiosity.  He needed someone to keep him aware of the Laegel’s movements and discourage such misjudgments.  And that would be Aurthôn, not some lackey.  His promising aide would keep a friendly eye on Hrassa.

 “Shall I set off now?  Or perhaps question the servers as suggested?” asked Aurthôn, still expecting to hunt for the Lord.

They should be able to intercept Celeborn and him on their way to the guest quarters.

“... We are off... to the west vestibule,” Celebrimbor muttered in answer.  “If Telpë intends to put Hrassa up as a guest... it is to there they will come before either goes to the great hall.” 

Not only could Aurthôn keep track of the cogndîr, but Hrassa would appreciate having an experienced guide in Ost-in-Edhil.  Thus earning a return-favor which might come in handy.  He slowly looked Aurthôn over from head to toe.  Hrassa would never suspect this unsullied young ellon of subterfuge.

“And I mean for you to become good friends with the green-elf,” he said, his thoughts coming back into focus.  Aurthôn was alert, looking to him for instructions, a familiar hint of excitement behind his dutiful attention.

With a quick jerk of his head, Celebrimbor indicated that they would be leaving by the crystalline doors which led outside onto the wide, terraced walk encircling the entire building.  He figured they could run around the huge building and be a few minutes faster to intercept the lord and bowman than navigating inside through the throng.  In particular, they would avoid being stopped to make conversation.  Besides, there was the distinct risk of Galadriel hearing – even at this very moment from Celebrian or Laerlínath – that he was present.  If the Lady sent a page after him, it would be unlikely for that person to search outdoors.

Before they got across the foyer to the double doors leading out, a small party of dwarves led by newly ensconced Master Jewel-smith Khrór, dressed in what would be considered dwarfish splendor, clomped into the circular chamber.  Celebrimbor quickly glanced but kept on going, pretending not to hear the noisy parade.  The dwarven-smith did not usually don court clothes and come to social events anymore than himself.  At another time, he probably would be amused by the Khrór’s bluster and flamboyant fashion.  Aurthôn touched his arm.

“They are coming to you, my lord,” he whispered.  The master smith did not stop.  However, Khrór would not let Celebrimbor escape him.

“Master Celebrimbor!” roared the dwarf with intonations of an authority bestowed by some righteous grievance.  “I would speak to you!” 

Celebrimbor winced, nettled not by a past injustice being recalled, for there had been none, but by the extremely unwanted delay and attention.  Pushing aside his irritation, he turned to show a schooled expression of indifference to the dwarf.  Anyone else he would have brushed off, but Khrór was a Master and must be extended more courtesy.  A pity that outstanding skill was the only reason the dwarf had risen to his high position.  It certainly was not his personality.  For a brief moment, Celebrimbor thought about introducing him to Hrassa.

“Master Khrór,” Celebrimbor responded at a more temperate volume, hopeless that Khrôr would get the hint about modulating his own.  Sketching a bow he said, “And how are you this evening?”  Not completely hiding his annoyance did not make Khrôr back down as it would a more perceptive person.  The dwarf remained loud and oblivious, purposely standing as nose-to-nose with Celebrimbor as he could manage being so much shorter.

“Surprised to find you here!  Now, about those rejected ingots!  You know the impurities were not intentional...!” 

“Excuse me, my lords, I humbly beg your pardons,” interrupted Aurthôn, acting every bit like a nervous, hesitant secretary.  “But, I must remind Lord Celebrimbor of his pending meeting with Lord Celeborn.”

Celebrimbor almost laughed aloud at Khrôr’s reaction to the mere mention of Celeborn’s name.  Losing a little of his ruddy color, the dwarf glanced around furtively, afraid the Lord would be arriving at that very moment.

“Ah well, so you are busy and this matter can wait until another time,” said Khrôr, working to keep some dignity in the face of his companions whom he had most likely encouraged to accompany him to the great hall just so he would feel safe showing up.  He stepped back and bowed, saying “Good evening, Master Celebrimbor.”

“Good evening, Master Khrôr.”  Mean humor suddenly getting the better of him, Celebrimbor added, “Of course, you are welcome to stay and discuss the matter with me and Celeborn.  I am sure he would like to know your opinion about the verdict.  Though I seriously doubt he would amend the court order.”

“No, no,” the dwarf responded a little too quickly to hide his uneasiness.  “Kind of you to offer the opportunity, but I do not seek to oppose the fine nor take up your valuable time any longer.  I simply wished for you to better understand the circumstances.  We Mirdain must stick together, after all.”  He offered a jerky, clandestine grin that made his coifed beard waggle and almost winked an eye.

“Of course,” Celebrimbor replied, barely holding on to a polite smile.  “Enjoy the evening, everyone!”  There were courteous expressions in return.  Appearing to have regained his courage-in-numbers, Khrôr proudly led his entourage into the gallery.  The master smith wondered if the dwarf would be rude enough to press for immediate entrance into the great hall or courteously await his turn.  Of course, he will push his way in and that might be fortuitous.  Something to distract Galadriel.

Celebrimbor looked at Aurthôn and smiled his genuine thanks for his aide’s effective intervention.  Aurthôn, just a bit smug at fending off Khrôr and remaining honest while doing it, strode over to the doors.  Opening one side, he swept his hand in a gracious wave, inviting his lord employer to pass through first.  Outside, leaping over the shallow stairs down to the patio, they landed running.  In the back of his mind, Celebrimbor made a note to try and reuse the beautiful doors of this building in the new palace.  Setting a swift pace, he breezed past the courting couples scattered along the wide terrace dimly lit with scattered lamps.  The two of them skimmed through the brooks of light splashing down out of the tall, beveled windows and glazed doors like water from clefts in the cliff face of the palace; the well-swept pavement lending additional quiet to his and Aurthôn’s ruffling passage. 

Adhering to propriety, younger couples they passed had a chaperone.  They mostly sat on the long stone benches set between the raised flowerbeds and always under a lamp.  Others slowly walked, pausing at the widely spaced sparkling, lighted fountains.  On the other hand, the older couples would stroll away from the light.  And he knew a few would walk outward until there was no more patio only cultivated foliage; there to seemingly drop out of sight over the rail-less border as if coming to the edge of the world.  The lush darkness beyond the end of pavement was a part of his artificial mountain Celebrimbor sometimes worried he would not find any reason to explore in like fashion before it was gone.

Rounding the northwest corner, he was feeling invigorated, refreshed by the easy challenge and cool night air.  He anticipated the satisfaction of shaping something to his liking.  What was even more pleasing to his heart and spirit was that he was joining up with friends.  To be sure, both of them – particularly when together – could be a little trying.  But, good friends none the less, whose company he enjoyed.  Despite his fears, Celebrmibor hoped Hrassa would not be greatly changed.  If nothing else, let him have kept his sense of humor!  The cogndîr was able to appreciate the ironies of life and one of the very few people able to joke with Celeborn.

Suddenly, Aurthôn roughly dragged his employer into the shadows behind a long stone planter containing a trimmed hedge row.  Keeping them both low and urging the lord to keep silent, his aide pointed forward, indicating with a cautioning expression that there was danger ahead.  Celebrimbor carefully spied through the thick manicured bushes, attempting to see what it was he had missed that Aurthôn had not.

At the top of the next set of broad stairs, a slim female figure with an elegant carriage, crowned with fashionably ornamented hair, slowly glided down from the translucent doorway.  Sharply silhouetted, she floated over the shallow steps slightly turned away, her features obscured in the dark tunnel of her long shadow.  And apparently careless of the sheerness of her rippling skirt.

Elrovail!  Galadriel’s notorious lady-in-waiting – looking for him to deliver the Lady’s summons to attend her!

Every few steps, the lady paused slightly while scanning the scenery.  Upon reaching the lowest step, her head turned enough for Celebrimbor to be unmistakably sure that it was she.  Her mantling scarf slipped away and she caught it ere it fell to the ground.  Gathering it up, she wrapped it around her arms.  The pale skin of her long, shapely neck and exposed shoulders shone like smooth silk.  Entrancing eyes rose to gaze in his direction.  He almost gasped and quickly ducked down.

“You are an excellent look-out, Vinne,” he barely whispered, Aurthôn’s face and his inches apart.  “This is twice tonight you have saved me consternation.  But, what now?” he asked frustrated.  “We cannot afford to wait here for her to depart.”

“I could draw her off,” Aurthôn reluctantly offered.  Celebrimbor understood that reluctance.  The lady had for a long time entertained herself at his aide’s expense.  However, he just realized, not since Laerlínath’s arrival.  But, one could not be sure if that was the reason for the cessation of Elrovail’s interest.

“No, I do not want to lose you,” he replied.  “Perhaps you can send her off in a wrong direction.”

“What if she goes then watches to make sure I did not purposely mislead?”  Yes, she was that clever.  Was she not looking outdoors?  Had she not intercepted him?!  “Or enlists me in the Lady’s name to go along and aid her?”

“Well... “ he thought.  “Just keep her turned away.  I will sneak by and then you get rid of her somehow and catch up.  I can keep Celeborn and Hrassa occupied for a few minutes.  That is the best we can do.”  He placed a hand on Aurthôn’s forearm to emphasize the importance of their mission.  “I must introduce you to Hrassa tonight – before Telpë thinks to provide another as guide.”

“My lord, why not simply receive the invitation and delay your attendance?” asked Aurthôn, anxiously aware he really should not be making the suggestion.  But, he did avoid the worse mistake of suggesting Celebrimbor simply refuse.

“Because I will not attend at all.”  That should be all his aide need hear.  He was not required to explain his relationship with the Lady to anyone.

Visibly apprehensive, Aurthôn nodded.  He stealthily peered through the hedge, trying to judge the right moment to step out.  Suddenly, he slipped around the end of the hedge and stood tall.  Cloaked in false confidence, he walked up to the sensuously poised lady.  He nonchalantly stepped up a few stairs, outside the plane of her shadow, careful not to let his shadow fall where it might shield her eyes from the light.

Noticing his approach, Elrovail turned to him, the light enhancing her full, curvaceous form.  Watching, Celebrimbor swallowed down his involuntary admiration.  Still, he pondered why the adventurous Aurthôn had ever chosen Laerlínath.  His aide’s lady wife was a noble golden beauty, a shining youthful daughter of Lindon.  Elrovail was a ravishing maven from before the first moonrise, a sable-maned elda from Nan Elmoth.  Laerlínath had the required genteel manners.  Whereas, meekness was never a virtue in Eol’s court.

“Aurthôn!” the lady softly exclaimed, acting utterly delighted to have encountered him rather than anyone else in the world.  Her throaty voice made even her normal speech sound sultry.  “What an unexpected pleasure!” she said with a suggestive purr.

“Aduial vaer, Lady Elvorail,” Aurthôn replied, executing a curt bow.  He wore a tight, cynical smile.  “I would be at your service, but I fear you would make too much of my words.  I remind you that I am a married ellon.”

The lady’s attention was enthusiastically engaged.  She smiled like a cat, her eyes fixed upon him.

“Tsk, you are always so clever with your tongue,” she said admiringly, followed by a subtle feminine laugh.  “But oh, I should not have said that.  For anyone eavesdropping might make too much of my words.”  Her feline smile did not waver.  “I must try not to be as careless in front of your wife.”  Aurthôn was sidling up the stairs, attempting to maneuver her into facing into the light and away from Celeborimbor’s passage.  “Speaking of whom requires your services far more than I ever shall.”

“How came you to such a pleasing opinion?”  Elrovail drifted parallel to his every step instead of completely turning, forcing him to in essence dance with her as he swayed in one direction than the other.

“Alas, not this time, luithollon-nin.”  Her amused expression softened, becoming alluring.  “Although, I usually do come to a satisfying conclusion with very little debate.”  She delicately raised a faddishly tinseled hand to his face.  “As long as it is skillful.”  He leaned away, avoiding her touch.  But, he did not back down from her seductive intimidation.  She lowered her hand, her smile broadening as her eyes narrowed.  “Lady Mirathel... she thinks that you should attend your wife.  Poor thing...,” she said, feigning sympathy. 

Aurthôn stopped dead still; the strained smile he had maintained up to this point vanished.

“Where is she?”  Mirathel, the kind companion of the Lady, would never recommend Aurthôn see to his wife without reason.  Whatever disdain Aurthôn had assembled to face Elrovail’s assaults crumbled, distress woefully taking its place.  Opposite of what Celebrimbor would have predicted Elrovail did not cruelly prolong her answer.

“In the Meadow Room...,” she said with an uncaring air, “...and looking very pale when I left them.”

Without another word or glance, Aurthôn spun around and sprinted up the stairs to go hastily back inside.

With a defeated sigh, Celebrimbor feared he had lost his best chance to put a trusted watcher on Hrassa.  If he had sprung out and ordered him to halt, he was sure Aurthôn would have obeyed.  Except, he was not about to be caught by this panther of an elleth.

For said creature had not loped after her victim.  She stood there simply smiling, savoring the flight of an old prey.  Evidence that, despite having delivered an actual message to Aurthôn, the master smith was her primary quarry.  However, after gazing up at the pale moon and smirking at the lovers about her, she apparently decided that he was not here after all and there was no one else worth toying with, so she would resume her hunt inside.  Elegantly swirling around, she headed back up the stairs, pausing only to tease the fellow who seeing her through the glass gallantly opened the left door for her and to flirt shamelessly with the other eager fellow who had opened the right. 

Celebrimbor shook his head.  Elrovail was not really heartless, just disappointed by the weakness of others.  But sadly, her licentious games only reinforced the long-held misconception that Úmanyar were promiscuous.  Whenever he witnessed the way she played with people, he could not understand why shehad been retained for so long and never sent away for good.

Then again, he was not sure he wanted to know why.

As soon as she was out of sight, he bolted.  In moments, he was leaping up the narrow stairs and had his hand on the handle of the door into the vestibule below the guest quarters.  Checking the interior through the clear, oval portal before he went inside, he was dismayed.  There was no one there.  The chamber was completely empty.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

luithollon-nin – ‘my charming fellow’ or ‘my charmer’  Like with mellon, the defaulted gender is male.

gwatheliel – niece – sister-daughter who is the daughter of a sister who is not a sibling

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

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Chapter Ten – A Masculine Touch

Aurthôn had forgotten how crowded the palace might be when he raced back inside, spurred by Elrovail’s message.  Just inside the crystal doors, a thick wall of noisy people blocked all passage into the main halls.  He swore under his breath; his desire to swiftly rescue his beloved so instantly frustrated.

At most events such as this night’s, after the main gathering in the great hall was closed, any appropriately dressed person would be allowed into the public sectors of the palace.  However, this time the heavy second tide took Aurthôn by surprise.  He would not have thought that he and Celebrimbor had been outside long enough for this amazing number of people to have swept in.  Normally, he would in there swimming among them.  In fact, he and Laerlínath had planned for tonight to be her social debut.  At this very moment, he was supposed to be proudly introducing his wife to every friend and acquaintance he could find.  Ironically, she was in the Meadow Room, the exclusive parlor of the rulers which opened directly onto the dais at the front of the great hall.  The chamber’s entrance was not that far down the long gallery from this very door.  But all these accursed people!  How had Elrovail navigated through this logjam so quickly and remained kempt?  Because she is Elrovail.

But, he had none of her advantages.  So he literally plunged in and began to push his way through, excusing himself many times over before he made it out of the foyer to the hallway.  Here at least there was movement, although it was as busy in both directions as a main thoroughfare on festival days.  Why are the so many people?!  He gauged the flow and daringly jig-jagged his way across into the long gallery with the necessary speediness to avoid getting caught in a strong current.

The gallery was not as packed as the foyer, but there were so many people, happily socializing with much laughter and impromptu dancing to the music rolling through the air, that he soon stopped apologizing when he bumped against anyone.  None of these guests were anxiously making for the main venue like the wave before them.  They were more than content to revel wherever they drifted, ordering food and drink to be paid by largesse when not provided by the lordly hosts.

Aurthôn forged as straight a course as he could.  More than one friendly person beckoned to him by name.  He ignored them, letting the serious expression set upon his face inform them that he had very important business that must be attended to and that he did not intend to be rude.  In truth, he could not stop – Laerlínath needed him.

He had not been overly concerned that Galadriel would actually harm his beloved.  So far as he knew, the Lady had never resorted to clever or artful punishments to salve her pride.  Unlike her lord husband, the remedy to her displeasure was usually not complicated by any goal of instilling some discipline into the transgressor.  Aurthôn had thought Laerlínath would be reprimanded or banished from the family’s presence.  Others had been likewise sentenced for her sort of offenses.  Instead, Elrovail had made him believe that Laerlínath was deeply wounded – more deeply than if she had been shamed or even dealt a physical blow.  His guilt at not preventing her mistakes in the first place trebled in weight.  The thought that he should have somehow excused himself from his employer instead of allowing work to keep him away when he knew she might have need of him crossed his mind for the first time since their marriage.

Theirs had been a rather formal courtship.  Laerlínath had never been allowed to be completely alone with him.  Limits had been set on the activities she was permitted, such as sailing only with her seafaring cousin and no climbing cliffs or trees – ever.  The restrictions were understandable; she was her parents’ only child and their most precious treasure.  A greater aggravation for Aurthôn had been having to give account of his every action to her father.  Bearing such impositions had been the level of dedication required to assure her family that he was serious in his suit.  Nonetheless, the higher status of his many rivals had been the most difficult barrier to over come.  Until Celebrimbor appeared, he had had nothing of real substance to make her parents consider him a worthy husband for their daughter.

Through it all, Laerlínath had remained certain of their future together.  The bleak day when he had been at his lowest and told her to give up on him, to choose another, she had said “Not ever”.  The morning he was saddled to ride for Eregion, she had suddenly appeared there at his stirrup to bid him farewell and demonstrate to everyone her confidence in him.  Decades later when he had bid her come to Forlond and wed before he must go back to Ost-in-Edhil, against her father’s wishes she did come and they were married.  When deemed safe enough, he had sent for her, delighted to inform her parents that their final criteria was met – the Lady Galadriel had not turned around and left after seeing the wretched place.  Without hesitation, Laerlínath had set out, traveling practically on her own.  He berated himself as being the worst kind of fool ever for even thinking she had somehow been using him.  Her eagerness was only natural, a heady reaction to new-found freedom from someone who must have felt stifled in her former life.  To protect her from harm was his duty, which up to now he shamefully realized, he had rarely done as he should.

Aurthôn walked unwavering down the corridor that lead to the dais antechamber, the hall was lined with a boisterous gauntlet of people freely participating in the latest attempt to consort with royalty.  Scores of people always hung about there waiting to catch a glimpse of the elite and to see who would or would not be admitted in.  The prerequisite humiliation of passing inspection to enter was gladly helped along by vulgar taunts and heckling from the spectators.  It seemed wrong to allow this kind of crude behavior in such a high residence, except that the process did detour all but the most brazen from intruding even further into the generous rulers’ lives.  Aurthôn had watched on occasion and he could anticipate that as a clerk he was certainly not on the entree list, thus perfect fodder for jeering.

No matter that he was well-acquainted with the door-warden, an excellent fellow but one who would follow form regardless of Aurthôn having the endorsement of Lady Mirathel and Lady Elrovail besides.  He would have to give the entire embarrassing explanation before he was allowed to remove his wife.  So we shall become one more display put up for the entertainment of gawking uidhoril.  He fervently wished he could spare Laerlínath having to face that upon their escape.  That is if I can accomplish one.  Before this fretful hour, he had never gone inside the room himself, but then he had never thought to try.

By escorting the little princess to her lady mother, Laerlínath would have entered easily. 

Indeed, his wife would have found it all very enjoyable until brought before the Lady.  What had happened at that point he hated to speculate.  Galadriel may have decided to make her a warning to like-minded others.  His aristocratic wife was not that careless in her speech or conduct, but even polite silence was no defense against Galadriel if she suspected something was awry. 

For the Lady could see into weaker minds; he had been witness to it.  Rumor even claimed that she could speak her thoughts directly to Celeborn.  Although, Aurthôn had never seen any clear signs of that power.  Still, Melian had certainly imparted some of her skills to her friend.  And to Celeborn too, for that matter.  But, the Lord did not care as much as Galadriel about what someone might be thinking, rather what they might think to do.

Ahead, he could clearly see the solid, closed doors into the dais antechamber; an armed grey guard on each side.  His Laerlínath was suffering just behind those doors.  With that thought, it occurred to him that Galadriel might yet be present instead of gone into the hall.  What shall I do if she is there?  He had no answer to that now.  First just get in.  Possible, but it would not be quick or pleasant.

For between him and those doors stood Cón Saidhirnon, the door-warden; an impressive Sindarin maethor and former rochon of such demeanor that no one common dared step over his set perimeters, physical or personal.  The captain had this mundane duty because he was a wounded veteran, his right arm taken off during the War of Wrath.  Well, for that and a phenomenal ability to stonewall.  Besides the missing arm, his right leg had healed twisted.  Despite these infirmities, Lord Celeborn continued to keep him on as a warrior when he should have been retired and gave him suitable assignments.  One of the first things Aurthôn had learned about him was that the rochir had a remarkable set of principles which included an unusual one about staying free of favors.  Saidhirnon did not play favorites nor victimize whatever his detractors might assert.  He simply followed protocol.  He always followed protocol because he truly believed that by doing so he had lost only his arm and not his life or the lives of his entire herth.

At the moment, the lame knight was barring the way against a petty lord and his overdressed lady, explaining firmly – with his own brand of superbly annoying politeness – that they would not be permitted within no matter whom they were or who was one of their closest friends.  Aurthôn did not pause as he resolutely strode forward; he would not wait his turn.  From a flicker of his eyes, Aurthôn knew Saidhirnon saw him coming and he steeled his nerves. 

Yet as Aurthôn got closer, the cón gave a little jerk of his head telling him to go on past.  Sliding his one hand behind his back, he subtly signaled for the guards to let Aurthôn in.  Surprised, he worried what this might mean in terms of Laerlínath’s condition.  As he whisked past without breaking stride, he nodded his heartfelt thanks for what he knew was an act of pure kindness.

The barred guests gave Aurthôn a nasty stare for he was not a server and certainly not of their class.  Some in the throng clapped at Aurthôn being given unchallenged precedence; others  goaded the refused applicants by calling them storekeepers.  The lady turned indignant at what she declared was shabby treatment.  Saidhirnon’s calm agreement only further infuriated the foolish lord who became incensed and threatening.  But, not brave enough to go around the captain.  Enthused by the lord’s show of temper, the spectators amplified their provocations.

Aurthôn knew the guards at the doors as well.  On the right-hand side was Cúrond.  The Galadhel gave him a sympathetic look and silently opened the door, something unusual for a gregarious ellon who always offered a friendly word even when on duty.  He certainly would have commented on the disgraceful incitement by the crowd so his silence only made Aurthôn more anxious about Laerlínath.  Pausing for scarcely a breath, Aurthôn quickly straightened his disheveled clothes and smoothed back his hair before stepping through the doorway.  Cúrond quietly closed the door after him.  Both the irate lord with his noisy agitators and the pervasive music were noticeably muted within the empty room.

Relieved that the Lady was absent, Aurthôn ventured further in, oblivious of the elegant décor surrounding him.  Guren, where are you?!  A grumbling serving maid with a tray abruptly came in through from the service door to clear the small tables scattered throughout the room.  She must have reckoned who he was for she gave him the same sympathetic look as Cúrond before jabbing a pointing finger in the direction of a curtained opening to her left.  Going swiftly to what was the sheered entrance to a small alcove, he lightly brushed aside the gauzy hangings with the back of his hand and apprehensively looked inside.

Aurthôn had seen his beloved frightened before, but never so utterly intimidated.  The terrible sight halted his breath.

As Elrovail had said, she was very pale; her face an expressionless, ineffective mask behind which she cowered in crippling trepidation.  She saw him, but as if frozen in place, she could not rise from her seat nor speak.  Her clinched hands rested on her lap, her fingers so tightly wrung up in her handkerchief that they appeared to be turning blue.  He frantically tamped down his shocked reaction and the desire to grab her in a desperate rush.  Panic would only increase her anguish.  Willing himself not to shake, he went to calmly sit down next to her on the small divan and placed a comforting arm gently around her rigid shoulders.

Holding her lightly against him, he covered her cold hands with his warm one.  Outwardly, he stayed steady and reassuring.  Inside, he was seething.  Nothing Laerlínath could have said or done warranted this cruel treatment, especially from one so high.  A cutting remark, a significant slap, banishment from court, any one of these should have been enough punishment for her petty aspirations and scandalous folly!  This was not the lesson he had wished upon his wife when he had been so upset at being slighted.  Forgive me!  Forgive me for not being here to protect you!  He pressed his forehead against her icy temple, remorse replacing his ire.  Whenever the Lady returned, he would beg her forgiveness too.

A trembling began deep within Laerlínath’s body.  He felt subtle tremors rippling outward into her limbs and rejoiced.  Whatever gripped her had been made to let go by his mere presence.  In a short while, her shivering subsided and she turned her face towards his.  Aurthôn slid the hand of his encircling arm along her shoulder to rest his fingers upon her cheek and she gratefully leaned into that touch.  Twisting around, he was able to look directly into her face.  Her color was returning; her eyes glimmered with mortified tears as she returned his concerned gaze.

“May we go home?” she softly asked.

His relief that she had not crumbled into hysteria under this awful spell was overwhelming.  Tears of his own threatened to dissolve his bravado.  To stave them off, he tenderly kissed her lips.  As expected, she blushed prettily and he was able to smile instead of weep.

“Of course,” he gently replied.

It required firmness to untwine her fingers; he vigorously rubbed her hands to revive them.  He helped her to stand, reluctant to remove his support once she was on her feet.  The creased handkerchief, he tucked into its proper place in her sleeve.  Blinking away her unshed tears, she shook him off when he started to lift straggling wisps of her hair back into place.  Though bumbling a bit from stiffness, she straightened up her clothes and hair on her own.  Hands pressed to her stomach and shoulders pulled back, Laerlínath strove to regain the poise that until now Aurthôn had thought ingrained.  Impressed by her fortitude, he patiently waited for her to indicate she was ready to leave.  Sighing deeply, she moistened her lips.  For a few moments, she simply breathed while staring anxiously at the curtained entrance.  Finally, she put out her hand for him to support and he attentively led her out of the alcove. 

As they came up to the doors, she held back, tightening her nervous hold on his arm.  Aurthôn shared her hesitance, loath if only for her sake to again face the rowdy crush outside.  Perhaps Saidhirnon would continue to feel sorry for them and allow Cúrond to escort them out of the palace.  Not very likely, but I will ask.  Laerlínath suddenly spun around with a slight catch of breath to look behind them, grasping for his hand.  He caught up her shaking hands and instinctively placed his other hand on her back at her waist to steady her before looking to see what had startled her.

In the middle of the room stood Lady Mirathel, a vision of noble grace, resplendent in soft summer hues.  The Lady’s companion appeared quite pleased that Aurthôn had come for his wife.  He had had very little dealings with Mirathel.  But if he ever had to choose an elleth to act as a mother to his yet-to-be-born children because they had – Elbereth, watch over us! – lost Laerlínath, Aurthôn would feel confident choosing this matron.

“Laerlínath, remember to come to the salon tomorrow morning within the fourth hour,” she said hurriedly as if that was all she had materialized to say and would immediately vanish.

A lightening jolt of fright passed through his beloved.  In a flash, Aurthôn’s anger returned in full and he instantly sprang to Laerlínath’s defense.

“Has this not been enough?” he demanded, indignant.  “What more must she suffer to satisfy the Lady?!”  This lady’s smile flattened into a tight line.  With a narrowed glance, she silenced him making him red-faced and ashamed for his presumptuous manners.  He had indeed forgotten to whom he was speaking.

A hiril of northern Beleriand, Mirathel had lost everything including most of her family during Morgoth’s first assault, a massive offensive meant to destroy Thingol and take Menegroth.  She had led a barely surviving remnant of her people until they were saved by the returning Noldor; ultimately accepting the lordship of the Exiles as did most of the Sindar in those regions.  For they had had no stone walls or Girdle of Melian to protect them.  Many had decried the Aran as forsaking them when he marched his army south, forcing Círdan and his weaker host to retreat or be decimated.  Eventually, Mirathel had come into the care of Finrod and had become Galadriel’s companion.  As it was with the realm so it was with her household, the Lady might rule but another governed.

“Laerlínath, tell me if it is not your wish to serve Galadriel,” the lady ordered, pointedly ignoring Aurthôn.  Confused, he looked at his wife and she looked back at him just as bewildered.  He voicelessly urged her to answer Mirathel.

“I do not know what that service could be,” Laerlínath hesitantly responded, distressed; her voice almost a whisper.

“She will tell you that herself,” replied Mirathel again kindly smiling.  “But, it is nothing you do not already know how should be done.  Certainly, you can remember what it was like growing up an only child, the daughter of prominent nobility.  I am sure it was just as difficult for your parents to find suitable tutors for you.”

Laerlínath swayed on her feet and Aurthôn went agape – both suddenly understanding the implication of Mirathel’s words.

“She is to be a lady-in-waiting?” he asked, stunned.  Then recovering from the shock, he turned to his wife wearing a wide glad grin of pride.  ’Tis more than what you wanted!  But, Laerlínath was shivering again.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:
All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

rochir/rochon – knight or horse-lord/cavalryman or horse-rider

cón – captain, commanding officer

herth – troop

hir/hiril – lord or sir or master/lady or mistress

uidhoril – hoi polloi ‘unthoughtful people’

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Chapter Eleven – A Necessary Caution  

“No, Cogndîr,” said his prince.  “We are going this way.”  Celeborn motioned a hand towards a well-secured door outside the strongroom from where they had just retrieved Hrassa’s meager but essential possessions.  The green-elf was feeling quite please with the jailer’s clerk for having taken good care of his things, especially his stone knife.  So with his cloak fastened on and thrown back, his treasured knife once again firmly fixed at his waist, he cheerfully slung the rest of his gear over a shoulder; ready to be led out of the gaol by a very different way than he had come in.  A brown-uniformed prison guard unbarred the indicated door, but the Lord’s Galadhrim guard opened it for them to pass through into a dimly lit hallway.

A short distance along, they came to a steep descending staircase that clung to a curved wall.  The grey-elf bodyguard preceded them down to the bottom.  From there they exited into a long tunnel through yet another secured door, which did not have any handle on the other side and locked itself after them.  No lamps of any kind lighted this extensive arched corridor.  But, Hrassa did not consider this a hindrance to any of them.  Every skilled wood-elf knew how to listen to the echoes of footsteps or for breathing and could thus steer clear of most obstacles.  Celeborn however, as a capable and gracious host should, provided some faint illumination.  Hrassa hid a knowing grin at the gesture though.  His prince always did prefer seeing a person’s face when he spoke to them.

The moment they started walking forward, the guard disappeared from sight by hanging back and merging into in the surrounding darkness, becoming unnoticeable even if still with them.  Considering the lack of acknowledgement the fellow had borne so far, Hrassa took this needless obfuscation as normal.  But for whose benefit?  Surely, the best way to prevent an assault was not by making the important personage appear unescorted.  A lone warrior was not a fighting force to tactically hide against being numbered.  Or was it done simply for the comfort of the Golodhrim?  The idea was amusing.  Keeping his dour servant out of sight did not make the Lord any more approachable.  Whatever the reason, Hrassa could pretend the fellow was not there if that was what was wanted.  At some point though, he would try to remake the guard’s first impression of him as an outlaw – although, not very likely tonight.  Not with Celeborn, despite numerous opportunities so far, deliberately avoiding an introduction for whatever the reason.

Unlike the Galadhel’s exact location, the newness of the tunnel’s construction was very evident.  There was none of the dampness or accumulated grime one might expect in a deep passage.  The floor was merely dusty, without any unevenness from wear.  The air was a bit stale, Hrassa thought.  But, it did not reek of mold and there was no noticeable water seepage.  There no intersecting passages either.  The continuous walls were not interrupted with dingy alcoves nor holding cells; the surface so smooth one could drag a hand over it without abrading the skin.

Beckoning with a sweep of his arm, Celeborn invited Hrassa to walk beside him.  He joined his prince and they fell into stride, side-by-side.  Smiling, Celeborn threw a comradely arm across his bowman’s shoulders.  Reaching around, Hrassa brought up his hand to hang an arm off Celeborn’s opposite shoulder.  He sighed in gratitude for a friendship that refused to be shattered in spite of hurtful and unresolved arguments.  Having this boon would help him face whatever disregard – like that from the guard – awaiting him at the hands of the other minions of the Lord and Lady.  After all, he had to admit, he had departed without proper leave and had intentionally evaded being summoned.  Most would see that as an act of desertion, not discretion.

Celeborn leaned towards Hrassa and spoke low, clearly meaning for their conversation to be kept just between them.

“Please do not tell her naneth that Celebrian is an instrument of fate.”

“Why?” he quietly asked, surprised at the topic.  He had expected to be pressed about how long he would be staying with them.  “For certain, she did bring me back to you.”  If not back to the nos.  Celeborn pursed his lips and looked away. 

They both knew that the circumstances of Hrassa’s parting necessarily prevented Celeborn from admitting him back into their House.  It was the conscious choice Hrassa had made at the time.  He had been well aware of the consequences then and that they could never be changed by anyone’s personal feelings later.  Whoever dared to suggest his rejoining the household would lose the respect of the other members – and certainly his.

“Why should the Lady not hear my opinion and judge for herself?” he prompted when Celeborn did not go on speaking. 

“Because,” the Lady’s husband slowly began to explain, “it would make for a great deal of distress that can be easily prevented.”  He hesitated again before saying, “Galadriel does not need any more of her forebodings given any more credence than necessary.  You know how overwrought she can become.”  His prince shook his head, annoyed by a situation he obviously could never remedy to his satisfaction.  “Our daughter does greatly resemble Nimloth and my lady suffers from the notion that the child is haunted by her cousin’s fate or something of that sort.  She frets whenever Celebrian is out of our sight and would keep her safe by locking her away.  As if there were anything more that could be done to safeguard our daughter than we do already.”

Hrassa would not have thought that Galadriel could be so superstitious.  Her worry made him worry for the little princess.  The Lady is no fool.  And she had to know as well as Celeborn that restricting an adventurous elfling such as Celebrian would only lead to worse trouble.  The child already sneaks off.  More disturbing, he had never known Celeborn to not heed his lady’s forewarnings.  Although, unlike Melian’s, most of Galadriel’s council was closer to misgiving rather than prophecy.  But then, he told himself, Celebrian is their very own and that might be affecting their perception of matters.  He suddenly felt a distinct connection between Galadriel’s fear for their daughter and the secret purpose his prince earlier would not disclose.

“You make it sound as though you would dismiss her concern,” he ventured in order to hear more.

“Oh no, most assuredly not,” Celeborn replied with a grin.  “What a fool I would then be.”  His grin fell away.  “No, I ask this of you because I do not mean to let mere possibilities spoil the happiness we otherwise enjoy.  Eregion is a risky prospect and Galadriel has become an uneasy gambler.  Even the smallest shift in the odds can ill distract her now.  I am sure you do not wish to cause her unwarranted consternation by insisting upon something that is only your personal conjecture.  I hope you still agree that I simply handle risk better than she – especially when winning depends on being prepared to play what is thrown your way and to wager wisely all the same.  Preparation... “

“... is prevention.”  Hrassa wearily completed the slogan that should have been engraved upon Celeborn’s battleaxe and, he had often joked, was carved on his prince’s forehead.  The Lord had always expended a great deal of his time and enthusiasm insuring that possibilities did not become problems.

“And so,” smiled Celeborn, acknowledging Hrassa’s exasperation with his prince’s tendency to lecture, “I want you to let go of said notion entirely.  For Galadriel’s peace of mind – and yours.  You were not sent here by the Valar to reveal to our daughter some obscure power bequeathed by her forbearers nor save her from what you see as an unsettling lack of identity.  When you speak with our child again, consider her age.”  His tone of voice subtly changed, revealing that Celeborn endured the same vulnerability of every loving parent.  “We would prefer that her childhood not be scarred by evil thoughts and dark tales.  Even if it is part of her legacy.  She will have enough to face when she is grown.”

“Fanuilos!”  And you talk about Galadriel’s sentimentality.  “As ever, you seek to dispel all our fears.  An impossible task, Caun-anim,” Hrassa insisted with good humor, his heart warmed by this glimpse of Celeborn’s paternal sensibilities.  “Seeing as you yourself are a source of fear for so many.”

“Fewer and fewer these days, it seems” was Celeborn’s flat reply, irritated that Hrassa did not immediately acquiesce to his, more or less, polite instructions.  Then he archly warned, “And watch that your ahem! invocations do not become blasphemous.  My lady’s wardrobe has ever included a mantle of piety which I have borrowed for our daughter’s sake.”

“Yet you let her go into the lower streets where she will hear even worse?” charged Hrassa in his own defense.  “You leave her open to more than verbal offense and admonish me for a harmless interjection?”  He barked a cynical guffaw.  From the reverberating echo, he could tell that they were coming to the end of the tunnel and wished they had more distance to go.

“To be serious,” stressed Celeborn with his usual conviction that what he did was wise.  “We send her out so that she and the people are not strangers.  She must understand them in their differences and they must see her to know she deserves their respect.  Now is never too soon to start that sort of public education – despite the danger.”  He slowed their pace slightly in anticipation of stopping.  “You were led out into the woods whilst still a babe too.”

“Wolves are not as treacherous as dwarves,” Hrassa replied without the reservation he would have shown elsewhere.  “And Ost-in-Edhil is crawling with them.”  The idea that the little princess was being raised to be a noble lady of this Noldor city threw him off a little.  Just how long were the Lord and Lady intending to stay in Eregion under the current arrangement?  “So, do you mean to say thesepeople will be her people?  What of the Galadhrim?  And what of Celebrimbor?  Does he not hope to build a dynasty here?”

But, his questions were curtailed and went unanswered as they approached an unremarkable, bolted door, the only exit to be found the whole length of the long passage.

The guard suddenly paced by to get ahead of them.  He opened the door for them to pass through, but only after taking a quick look around the other side of it.  Separating, Hrassa followed Celeborn into a much narrower passage.  This door too appeared inaccessible from the other side and locked itself when shut.  They made several sharp turns and Hrassa figured they were going around interior rooms between their walls.  The newness of the stonework continued to lend both an ease and dissonance to the journey.  Like the tunnel, these passages were pleasingly clean but felt unnaturally sterile.  Hopefully in a few decades, there would be some informative trail-marks left behind, if nothing else.

At a three-way junction, they ascended an open stairway.  Pausing on the top landing, Hrassa judged it to be about the same elevation as the one they had descended earlier.  Most likely, they had traveled from the barad-tir under the main courtyard he had only had a glimpse of before being incarcerated and were now in the palace itself.  After a short straight walk, they stopped at another tight cross-ways.  The smells of elaborate cooking drifted out of the passage angling in from Hrassa’s right.  He listened very closely and what distant sounds he could hear indicated a very busy kitchen.

“I pray I haven’t kept you from anything important,” he offered in the way of an apology and still wondering, ever since he saw Celeborn in his finery, what grand event was in progress.  Celeborn uncharacteristically harrumphed and looked down at his feet, hands drawn behind his back.

“No one ever notices whether I’m there or not,” he said, affecting a sad little shake of his head.  “The Lady is who they come to see.”  He looked up at Hrassa, a wry glint in his eyes.  “I’m generally not wanted at any of these social functions and Quárë... “ he elaborately shrugged “... well, he simply does not care to attend them.”

“Not wanted ‘til there’s crying need for a better lord than any they have,” Hrassa declared, slightly miffed at Celeborn’s self-deprecating remark, sarcastic or not.  “And is there no dancing that you’re not at least called upon for that?”

According to his odd humility, Celeborn replied, “I would thank you for your sympathy, but as I said before, you are biased.”  A smile tugged at his lips.  “To most here I am just that tall fellow standing next to the Lady Galadriel.  As opposed to that broad-shouldered fellow standing on the other side.  And dancing?”  The Lord feigned a sigh.  “Sadly, I let that lapse in Lindon along with all my other ambitions.  Know you not that it is the Lady who directs all our labors here and in Lothlórien?”

“Caun-anim!  Such a wicked blind you’ve constructed! ” Hrassa exclaimed with amused condemnation.  “And for shame using your lady and good friend!  But, my eyes and ears are still sharp.  I know your scent.  I’ll not be caught unawares.”  He forestalled Celeborn’s retort that a little child had been capable of doing just that.  “At least, not by you.”  And they burst out laughing heartedly, shoving each other like elflings, causing the waiting bodyguard to bristle.

Keenly grinning, Celeborn said, “My lady and Celebrimbor do both provide plenty of cover for my... ‘covert designs’.”  Hrassa appreciatively smiled at his prince’s mimicry of Gil-galad’s distinctive pronunciation.

The High King had more than once roundly accused the Lord of Harlindon of plotting – usually after being outflanked in his own Council proceedings from behind the scenes.  That caustic sort of allegation had never come from Nimloth or Thingol.  But then, they had never forced Celeborn to shield his people from their rule.  Unhappily, such was the contempt that many of the High King’s Council members had held for the customs of the Úamayar that they would have taken those traditions away and replaced them with laws meant to force the inhabitants of Harlindon to behave like them – Exiles and Kinslayers.  In Hrassa’s opinion, his prince’s political maneuvers had been those of a steadfast lord and far more courageous than undertaking an exodus in protest.  He did not see Celeborn’s retiring after a hard-won battle being at all the same as Oropher’s tactical retreat.  Although, retreat instead of confrontation had been his own course of action as well.

“Ah but, ‘tis done with their consent if not always with their help or knowledge,” his prince claimed.  “And done out of necessity.  My lady and I are not one step down from the dais,” he continued, beginning to sound rather patronizing.  “Galadriel’s preference and merely to show there is a balance of power between we three.  Too confusing for most so ‘tis for her to soothe their troubled minds.”  He unconsciously executed a dismissive wave of his hand.  “Like Celebrimbor, I would be content with simply being allowed to apply my arts.”

“We all desire the freedom to be ourselves,” said Hrassa, with a sidelong glance.  “Or at least, enough to believe we could be ourselves if we so desired.”

“Yes, yes, doing one’s duty must be a choice,” stated Celeborn, in a manner that implied how obvious that fact should already be to everyone – as it was to him.  “ ‘Tis the difference between loyalty and slavery.”

His prince tightened the hold of his hand where it lay on Hrassa’s arm, gently pressing, much as he had done back in the cell block.  His eyes became intensely sincere although also grave as he gazed at his bowman.  Hrassa knew what Celeborn wanted to ask, but then would not ask.  Perhaps it was too difficult for the Lord to entreat him; to ask him if there were anything he could possibly do to make him stay when Hrassa had never intended to come back in the first place.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

nos – a family, household or clan

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

ennin – year/years – a Valarian year consisting of 144 sun years

barad-tir – watch tower, guard house

Fanuilos – translated as ‘Everwhite’, a poetic name for Elbereth

“that tall fellow standing next to the Lady Galadriel” – with a tip of the hat to Marnie and Implacida

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Chapter Twelve – A Narrow Doorway

Shivering with renewed anxiety, Laerlínath leaned against her husband’s shoulder; her already tight grip on his hand becoming painful.  However, her distress did not lessen Aurthôn’s excitement at his wife being invited to become a lady-in-waiting to Lady Galadriel.  Even if it is only so you might instruct the little princess!  In his eyes, this exceeded the social career that Laerlínath had proclaimed to be her fervent aspiration in this court, and was much more than could have been expected given his clerical position.  Nevertheless, the Lady had thoroughly frightened his beloved.  So for reasons, which Aurthôn felt not good enough, Laerlínath did not welcome the honor.  Worse, Mirathel was looking skeptical and the lady had the authority to withdraw Galadriel’s offer, if she thought the invitation a mistake.  Guren, you will miss your greatest opportunity!

“Whatever can I teach the princess that she should not learn from her lady mother and you?” Laerlínath protested in a desperate rush, barely finding her voice.

Oh no, do not decline!  Not out of fear!  He had been equally daunted by Lord Celebrimbor’s offer, at first, and had almost missed his chance.  He could not let Laerlínath miss hers, especially when it might not come again.

“As you most certainly know,” said Mirathel, her tone changing from friendly to judgmental, “the mistress of any House has many obligations and requires assistance.  More so our Lady.”  To Aurthôn, the lady companion did not appear to understand the nature of Laerlínath’s reticence.  “Come to the salon tomorrow within the fourth hour and listen to her offer.”

If possible, he would spare his wife from having to admit her trepidation or being pushed into panic.  However, he was also determined not let her fear deprived her of a prestigious future.  So, he politely interrupted.

“Forgive me, hiril vilui, but I have misgivings after how I found my lady wife.”  As a husband, he had the right – and responsibility – to question any invitation, social or otherwise, extended to his wife.  If he deemed it inappropriate, he could refuse on her behalf.  Laerlínath looked at him relieved, rescued by his intervention.  Mirathel continued to ignore him, but she seemed to catch on to his intention and that his wife was not merely affronted by Galadriel’s treatment of her.

“Laerlínath,” the lady spoke frankly, “tonight was a test.  It shall never happen again.  You have seen that Celebrian learns well, but is not easy to manage.  She lacks in deportment which is one of the things you shall aid in correcting.  However, the child will not listen to your instruction if she ever perceives you to be weak in mind or heart.  You have withstood this trial admirably.  What is more, I had the impression that you would enjoy a challenge and elevating company.”

Mirathel’s honest words had little effect.  Laerlínath was still wavering from fear alone.  Taking both her hands, Aurthôn brought them to his heart, forcing her to face him, and locked eyes with her.

“You know you want to do it, guren,” he whispered.  Laerlínath shook her head in denial and looked plaintively at him.

“I cannot... face her again!” she choked out in a strangled whisper, searching his face for some understanding of her plight.

“But, you can!  Because you did!” he quietly praised.  “You were being tested, not punished!  And you passed and it will not happen again.  Be proud, herves-nin!”  Be brave!  “You are feeling battered.  But, that feeling will be gone by morning.”  Believe me!  “And you will regret a hasty decision.”

Her brow furrowed.  Indeed, he could see the surface fear sinking down and familiar signs of trust rising as she forced herself to yield to his encouragement.  He was elated by the return of her confidence in his judgment.

“If ever you are mistreated, I will speak to Lord Celebrimbor and Lord Celeborn,” he recklessly promised.  “I will not allow anyone to abuse you.”

“No! No!” she fervently whispered.  “You cannot risk termination over me!”

Mirathel tsked loudly and, shaking her head, smiled; both amused with and exasperated at their romantic little melodrama.

“There is no need to fret so!  We ladies look after each other,” she confidently reassured them both.  “You will be treated with respect by all of us.”  She would keep even Galadriel in line.

This said, Aurthôn suddenly realized that Elrovail had actually been looking for him and not Celebrimbor.  She had come after him for Laerlínath’s sake.  But then, why – along with her usual, unwanted teasing – had she remained outside instead of leading him back?  For her own reasons.  So, there were limits to Mirathel’s guarantee.  Although, not unbearable limits.

“I am relieved to hear that,” he said, facing away from Laerlínath to speak directly to Mirathel, and thereby letting both ladies know that he had decided in the elder’s favor.  Laerlínath disengaged their hands to then throw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder – essentially throwing herself on his mercy.  Automatically wanting to comfort his beloved, he had to willfully stop himself from informing Mirathel that Laerlínath would not be accepting the Lady’s kind invitation.

There was a loud burst of noise from the great hall as the door onto the dais was abruptly opened and shut.  Laerlínath head flew up and Aurthôn’s breath caught; both startled at the sudden intrusion.  A dark-haired brannon whom Aurthôn did not recognize stepped in from behind the shielding drapery and gave Mirathel a meaningful look.  His eyebrows rose upon noticing the couple wrapped in each other’s arms.

“Come to the salon, Laerlínath.  The fourth hour,” Galadriel’s companion said after acknowledging the fellow.  “The Lady will tell you your duties herself.”  She quickly left them, a gorgeous swirl of color, shooing the grinning noble ahead of her with a flapping hand.  “And I recommend you take the private door out,” she said over her shoulder before the festivities raucously blared and were shut out again.

The two of them remained embracing, making no move to disengage.  They looked at each other.  Aurthôn tightened his arms, squeezing Laerlínath closer.  Earlier, she had seemed so disdainful; later so desperate.  And when not upset, there had been others present.  Now, alone and himself desperate to be forgiven, he opened his heart to her.  Enveloped in his proffered love, she sighed and relaxed her body against his.

“I am to be a lady-in-waiting?” she tremulously asked.  He chuckled for she sounded pleased with what she could have easily termed betrayal or tyranny.

“Yes, and you will become the finest among them!”  What his father-in-law had phrased as their “foreseeably unremarkable future” was changing and that alone was incredibly satisfying.  Likely she felt his strange joy, for Laerlínath pulled back, her hands sliding down to his arms, and looked deep into his eyes, apprehensive.  Taking hold of her shoulders, he wickedly grinned.  “You will have a career of your own just as you predicted!  Managh is your familiar.”

She weakly smiled at his joke – with its allusion to her mother – as yet unable to feel any enthusiasm on her own part.  It occurred to him that a celebratory drink might help raise her spirits.  There was certainly plenty here intended to be shared with visitors.

“We must drink a toast!”  She wearily permitted him to lead her to a chair and sit her down.  Leaning back, she heaved a sigh and rested her limply folded hands in her lap.  Going to the long sideboard, Aurthôn found a bottle of rather good wine, the kind they could never afford, and proceeded to open it.

“Naught to worry,” he laughingly replied to Laerlínath’s silent disapproval at his not choosing something already decanted.  “ ‘Tis nothing that will be missed.”  While hunting up some glasses, he finally noticed how truly beautiful the room itself was; and smiled at knowing they both would be seeing it again – probably often.  But, where is the private door as mentioned by Mirathel?  The lady companion must have come in that way.  However, only the front doors, the dais door, and the service door could be accounted for.

“Where is this private door, do you know?” he asked while pouring into the old-fashioned drinking bowls he had found.

“Not in the alcove,” Laerlínath listlessly replied.  “Probably somewhere along that wall.  I think I heard it open while waiting.”  She glanced at the indicated wall.  “But, there does not appear to be any door there.”

Aurthôn handed her up from her chair and she took delicate hold of the handles on each side the mithril bowl he held out to her.  Lifting his own in the same manner, he tapped the rim of his cup against hers – and a charming bell tone rang out.  They both broadly smiled, delighted with the pure, auspicious note.

“So, you now join the ranks of service, my dearest comrade!” he said, slightly raising his cup in salute.  “And have already been bloodied!”  He struck another, firmer chime with their cups.  It lingered in the air, pleasantly resonating.  “Welcome to the fray, Laerlínath, lady-in-waiting to Lady Galadriel.”  The last not quite faded, he struck a third, reverberating note.  “And also wife to Master Aurthôn!”

They laughed with true gaiety and drank; he taking a satisfying swallow where she took a comparatively small sip.  Over the shining rims, their eyes exchanged a knowing gaze pleasingly rife with intimate knowledge.

He poured another draught for himself and tipped a drop more into hers.  However, after barely touching her lips to the wine, she good-naturedly set down her cup and resumed her chair.  Generously dismissed for the moment, and with his bowl casually cradled in one hand, Aurthôn stepped over to the suspect wall.  While appreciatively partaking, he examined the wall from one end to the other.  There was no indication of hinges, a frame, or any tell-tale marks on the carpet or floor.  When his cup was empty, he returned to his wife.

“No more drink, Herven,” she said, rising to take his cup from him.  “Let us please just leave by the regular doors and go home,” she begged, sounding almost back to her usual self.

“If you wish it,” he lightly replied, disappointed about the secret passage, but not with her eagerness to go back to their apartment.  “But, be prepared.  The palace halls have become a regular tavern.”  She set down his cup next to hers.  With a loving smile, she entwined her arm around his, interlacing their fingers.  Just in front of the doors, they simultaneously paused to lean toward each other in a prelude to a kiss.

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Celeborn’s pensive grip on his arm made Hrassa regret yet another complication created by his not staying away.  What would his answer be were he offered anything he wanted, if only he would promise to stay?  What did his prince expect him to say?  Reinstatement as one of the Lord’s heralds was impossible.  How could anyone trust him to keep a promise now?  Maybe, not asking is the best answer.  If he truly believed that Fate would return to send him on his way again, despite what Celeborn or Galadriel might wish, then he should make no commitments, at all.  He should keep to what he had already planned back in the jail when he thought he would be incarcerated for a while – rest up and await a clear sign as to what his next move would be.

“Mellon-nin,” Hrassa finally allowed himself to say, and thereby making known his decision to remain a guest.  “As you have said, ‘tis a new age, one without the Enemy.  As it was once upon a time in Beleriand.  But now, Morgoth Bauglir is permanently chained.  We need not fear his return.  No longer are the peoples of Ennor facing a common, deadly foe and putting aside everything for the sake of survival.”

“True, we are now neighbors struggling with important mutual interests,” Celeborn interrupted, purposely blocking Hrassa’s aim to point out that his prince had no need of his service and had not needed it for a long time.

“Except there are those of us who will never forgive our neighbors.”  He had not meant to reply in that strident way, but he was irritated by the Lord speaking up instead of the friend he had intentionally addressed.

“And you think I have?!”  Celeborn looked as if he had only just realized that this was something Hrassa held against him.  He removed his hand, becoming thin-lipped with anger and both hands fisting at his sides.

“As good as!” Hrassa rejoined, his own temper unexpectedly rising.  How could you never have known this!  Faced with Hrassa’s heartfelt resentment, Celeborn was taken aback – much as he had been upon seeing the friend he thought dead and realizing that friend had deliberately abandoned him.

“No!” Hrassa then said.  I am indeed lowly!  “I’m sorry.”  He shook his head and turned his face away.  “I should not have said that.  But, I have not your will nor am I as wise.  That is why I follow and you lead.  You have ever done only what you thought was best.”

“As have you.”  Celeborn gentle response surprised Hrassa.  He looked up at his prince, who was no longer angry, his hands fallen open.  “If it makes any difference, be assured that I shall never forget.”  His hands came up in a helpless gesture.  “But, I must make peace with those whom have harmed our people.”

“ ‘Tis too costly a peace, not worth the price.”  Why do you deem it so very necessary?

“Galadriel and I think it worthwhile,” he said, without any sign of enthusiasm.  “When we are done, here too there will be a strong government.  As firm as in Lindon and in the Silvan lands.  It will be long and difficult for we hope to make a realm as has never been before – a kingdom for all the kindreds, one that will include the Second People... and have the participation of the Dwarves, not just their cooperation.  When accomplished, my lady and I will go, unconcerned about the future.”

Go? Again? What future concern?  The nebulous danger his prince earlier had not deigned to describe – that which required a new alliance be formed and Celebrian to be transformed – loomed over him.  For all the talk of making peace, why is this city named Ost-in-Edhil?  It was like a challenge to any aspiring conqueror to come and try to take it.  The Noldor master smith was no Gil-galad.  He was not strong enough to hold on to any realm, even one with a garrisoned fortress.  Suddenly, Hrassa needed reassurance.

“Who will keep this peace when you are gone?”

“Why, Celebrían and her sons,” Celeborn replied, bewildered that his prior lengthily explanation had somehow not been understood.  However, the answer that Hrassa heard was one that a cwenda such as he could better understand than the lofty aspirations of an Elda.

Morgoth was gone – his creatures remained.  The orcs in the deep mountains bred like rats.  They would never be completely wiped out.  What if someone or something became powerful enough to again have mastery over them and led an overwhelming army against the elves?  Why else try to include Men and the Naugrim?  Why else build a stronghold besides a city?  His train of thought took a jumbled turn and he recalled Arvernien.

In the previous age, Gil-galad and Celeborn both had come too late to Sirion to save its people from slaughter.  Oropher had earlier been driven away.  Eärendil was always at sea.  Elros and Elrond had been too young.  In this age, Gil-galad had again failed to provide protection to his dependent country and Oropher would not.  If called, Amdir would have to cross the mountains and come too late.  Would Celeborn and Galadriel be long gone as had been Tuor and Idril?  What if Celebrian’s yet-to-be-born sons did not arrive in time either and were unready to take up arms against a fell foe?  What would happen to this princess?

“You’re risking your lives for people who don’t understand or care,” he helplessly warned.  “They’ll not fight for you and not every evil can be destroyed by the likes of you and Galadriel alone.”

“Given time, we will not be alone.” 

“I see.”  Hrassa did indeed, at last, understand.  He became forlorn; staring sorrowfully into Celeborn’s scintillating eyes.  In a campaign of this magnitude, Celeborn and Galadriel should not enlist the aid of someone proven to be as irresolute as he.  He no longer deserved a place with them.

“You are welcome to stay as long as you like,” Celeborn said in an even voice.  “We want you here and you shall have whatever you need.  But if you cannot abide our business, Hrassa... stand by your choice and stay out it.”

They looked at one another, aching with the sad anticipation of another separation impelled by opposing convictions.  Understanding each other better was no compensation.

“Well,” said Celeborn, heaving a resigned sigh.  “This way goes to the guest quarters and this to the great hall.  Which would you prefer?  A bath and better attire or being told you need a bath and better attire?  You will not be let into the great hall as you are.”

“I would wait upon the Lady.  That is, if you think that she will not be offended by my unkempt state of travel.”

His prince nodded, not bothering to hide an admiring smile at Hrassa’s taking sly advantage.  Of course, if Galadriel was told their newly arrived guest was waiting outside the hall because he was not presentable, she would come out to welcome him.  That would be only proper. 

Celeborn proceeded to lead them down the aromatic passage.  As they walked, the weak rumble of a festival and the faint rise and fall of music gradually grew louder.  They became utterly silent now, hushing all sounds of movement and speech, for if they could hear people than people could hear them.  They came to a particular door and the Galadhel squeezed past to open it.  He checked the other side before swinging it open wide enough for them to enter into a small storeroom.

When the door was shut behind them, Hrassa saw that it was meant to be concealed by appearing to be part of the wall.  He smiled at Celeborn, who appreciated his cogndîr’s amusement at such a frivolous attempt to fool the eye.

“That one is much better done,” his prince whispered.  Indeed, Hrassa could not tell there were any abnormalities in or around the place in the opposite wall where Celeborn was pointing.  “Watch.”  He stood facing the wall and touched his hand to a spot just above his head, singing a wispy note.  A door swung out of solid stone.

“A dwarven door?”

“Celebrimbor is learning to make them with Gonnhirrim guidance.  They are not very strong, though; easily opened with little brute force.”

“I am flattered that you trust me to know these secrets.”  Hrassa’s ambiguous dig did not go unremarked.

“A number of people know of these passages.  But, it is in their own best interest not to show them to anyone else,” was Celeborn’s dry reply.  “And I do not mean that as a veiled threat, but as an explanation.  You were never careless with privileged knowledge nor have you ever abused your inclusive standing.”

Hrassa almost blushed, slightly embarrassed for the times when he thought he had.

Once through the hidden door, the three went down another long narrow passage without a sound.  Coming to a short set of stairs, they ascended and continued on, passing the occasional closed entrance until coming to one particular door.  As had become usual, the guard opened the door first and looked around the brightly lit room behind before he would allow the Lord and his guest to come in.

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His eyelids loosely sliding down, Aurthôn enjoyed the balmy feel of Laerlínath exhalation upon his face and keenly anticipated her supple lips.  All of a sudden, a small doorway opened in the previously inspected wall; the thick door swinging out barely missing a close-by table.  They guiltily stepped back from each other as an imposing Galadhrim guard stepped through the narrow door.

Aurthôn recognized him as Ithinduil, someone he rarely saw while off-duty and with whom he only ever exchanged the politest of greetings.  The grey-elf guard examined them and the room in a cautionary – and Aurthôn thought discourteously unnecessary – visual sweep before moving aside to needlessly hold the door for Lord Celeborn and the rough-looking fellow who followed after him.

The lamplight here felt very bright to Hrassa after being in relative darkness.  The noise and music from the next room seemed loud in comparison to the muffled sounds in the passage.  The room itself was as well-appointed a sitting parlor as any that could be found in the palace at Forlond.  A young Noldo and his lady were standing in frozen attention before large double doors, staring at him.  Both were flushed as if caught kissing.  There were no other people present except for them.  So, he guessed, that was probably what they had been up to.

Aurthôn’s mouth fell open.  Celebrían’s Laiquendi warrior!  Surely, they had come straight here for the green-elf was carrying his gear, and those things would have been left in his room had they been to the guest quarters.  Celebrimbor had missed them!  If Aurthôn had stuck with the master smith, he too would have missed meeting them.  His lord employer would certainly be pleased – and grateful – if he could get introduced and become acquainted with the Nando just as planned!

Hrassa smiled at Laerlínath, wondering if she were a cousin to Galadriel.  Aside from being another golden beauty, she looked to be the same ambitious sort of lady.  No doubt, you’re a challenge for your husband, too.  He winked at her, just for the fun of it.

Aurthôn grinned at his poor beloved, who looked as if she would slap the admiring fellow’s face, were he close enough.  He was sorely tempted to laugh aloud.  If he could manage it, the Laegel would soon be having supper at their table.

Who would ever believe their peculiar luck this past hour?  And, all because of the rude little princess!

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

guren – my heart

cwenda – quende Nandorin

hiril vilui – kind lady

brannon, brennil – nobleman/noblewoman

herven/herves – husband/wife

manadh – fate, fortune, doom

Gonnhirrim – ‘Masters of Stone’, a more polite name for the Naugrim (Stunted People)

mellon-nin – my friend

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

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Chapter Thirteen – A Slight Disappointment

Celebrimbor profoundly frowned, his hand clinching the cold door handle.  Through the glazed oval portal in the door, he could see that there was no one in the wide vestibule.  He had raced around the palace terraces to get here – braving capture by Elrovail but losing his poor aide in the encounter! – in order to intercept Celeborn and Hrassa on their way to the guest quarters.  Only to find the lower lobby completely empty.  If they had already gone up, there would be an attendant behind the small desk at the foot of the stairs for someone was always stationed there while there were guests.  More notably, the new-fangled service-bell rope was still knotted up and the lights dimmed – surer signs that no one had been here before him.

Miffed, he petulantly pulled open the door and came inside; muttering under his breath at his bad luck so far.  Waiting who-knows-how-long for the evidently wayward pair to finally show up was an unappealing waste of his time.  So, he headed across the room towards the closed doors to the corridor.  He was going to get out of these confining court clothes and go back to his workshop!  If they really wanted his company, they would know to look there for him.

He chided himself for being so disappointed.  He had become excited at the prospect of a rowdy reunion, but even more, eager about hearing how Hrassa had gotten on during his non-existence.  Sadly, he would have to wait a bit longer to learn whatever it was that had brought the cogndîr back after so long a time.  The pleasure of sitting for a few hours in total disregard of mundane matters, listening to the fascinating adventures of someone more intrepid than himself, was not going to happen as soon as he had anticipated.  He would have had to set aside any measures against the repercussions from Hrassa’s return until later anyway, since introducing Aurthôn right away was no longer possible.  Nevertheless, when he finally did meet up with them, he would offer his aide as a guide.  He could still get lucky about that.  Anyone Celeborn recommended just might hold Hrassa’s intentional absence against him and balk at the assignment.  But, whether or not the green-elf accepted the young Noldo’s companionship, it was going be an interesting chore stopping trouble before it started.  And around Hrassa, trouble could be counted on.

It had not always been that way.  There had been a time when the Laegel was quite content to be the instrument of his lords’ collective will and, whenever disapproving of it, quietly brood.  At least, that was how he had seemed to be before Dior and Nimloth were slain.  Celeborn had essentially saved his bowman from perishing in that tragedy too, just as he had at Denethor’s final battle where he had acquired the cogndîr.  But after the ruin of Doriath, Hrassa had ceased to enjoy the same satisfaction he used to derive from doing his duty.  Celebrimbor shook his head.  If only Elwing had wed Gil-galad as it was hoped she would...  Hrassa might then have had another queen to serve and have kept a more composed demeanor.  But, Elu’s surviving heir chose Eärendil; who though a sea-lord, never became a prince of the Teleri.  Ereinion, being of Sindar nobility on his mother’s side and Finrod’s heir, would have been much more acceptable to the Úmanyar as the spouse of their princess.

But in truth, that grudging popularity had exerted little influence upon Hrassa’s gradually increasing opposition to the King of the Elves of The West.  Perhaps he never would understand his friend’s mind, but Celebrimbor could appreciate his Nandorin heart.  The ellon truly believed his kindred’s princes were far nobler beings than other Eldar could ever be and loved them for it.  He grinned.  Rather like a faithful hound, at that.  Galadriel had often joked about Hrassa’s hound-like nature, even calling him Huan on occasion.  And saying, all in jest of course, that he too should have been permitted to speak aloud only thrice in his lifetime. 

However, besides being perfectly trained-up for his purpose, the green-elf possessed the natural intelligence and free-living fëa of his Nelyar forefathers.  His obedience was by choice and not from some bred-in geis.  Despite the generally accepted illusion of unassailable Lindarin loyalty!  In an odd way, Celebrimbor felt the same respect for his grandfathers.  He would never be as great as they, either.  An Elmoi’s capability to remain independent while allegiant was one he had always envied and tried to emulate in his own fashion.  His nothrim was the line of Fëanor.  And despite most people’s expectations, obedience was his to choose, as well.

The first lord who ever offered him the opportunity to determine his own path in life had been Finrod.  Until then, his every goal had been dictated by his father.  Even working in Gondolin with Master Enerdhil had been at Curufin’s orders.  The great jewel-smith, who also became a great friend, had made Celebrimbor’s further education a pleasure.  But all the same, his time there had been decided without regard to his personal wishes.  The Lord of Nargothrond’s generosity to his younger kinsman in asking him to become his new master smith – and the special understanding he had as one artist for another – had endeared him to Celebrimbor.  Maybe one of the new king’s reasons for inviting him to his realm had been to reacquaint his sister with her old suitor.  But, nothing came of that anymore than his father’s command that he spy upon the Finarfinath.  Celegorm, as well, had thought to use his nephew in his schemes whatever way he pleased.  His uncle and his father had been very wrong to assume his compliance.

Remaining silent when all around him were swearing Fëanor’s Oath had been difficult.  His grandfather’s powerful will and the intense fervor of that moment had almost overwhelmed him.  Only by concentrating on Galadriel’s unmoving lips, had he been able to still his own.  Even so, later on, refusing to obey his father – to his face – had not been nearly as easy.  However, the treacherous things Curufin and Celegorm had done in Nargothrond broke the last bond between Finarfin’s sons and Fëanor’s.  If Celebrimbor had not learned needed lessons from his two Elmoi friends on how to act upon one’s choice without hesitation, he probably would have again bowed under the blazing glare of his father’s tyranny instead of standing tall in the bright grace of Gil-galad’s leadership.  He certainly would not be the Lord of Eregion today.  He doubted that he would even be alive.

In a way, the change in Hrassa was Celeborn’s own fault.  Keeping his bowman a personal servant, instead of practically making him his gwador, probably would have been wiser.  But, Galadriel was no better in that regard.  Yet, have they not done much the same with me?  His grin grew into a broad smile that covered his entire face and lifted his spirits.  He was like family too, not merely one of their society or simply a trusted ally.

Now half-way to the double doors, he abruptly paused and reconsidered his course.  His smile disappeared.  It was the same problem as before.  If he went out into the main palace, someone might see him and convey the Lady’s summons to the great hall.  He stood beneath the muted hanging lamp, once more ruing his promise to always answer her call no matter what.  Really, he had never expected for her to abuse his pledge by making him dance in attendance at her innumerable soirées!  He was not her husband after all!  Even if I were, I doubt I would be as indulgent.  He spun around, aiming for the stairs.  He would go up and try winding his way back to his quarters through the upper level instead.  If that route was blocked, then he would go straight to the workshops.  As costly or bothersome as it may be, if his fancy clothes were ruined, they would just have to be replaced.  The new palace was certainly going to have a lot more secret passages!

However, at the very moment his back was turned, the entry doors swung open.  Instantly, he spun around again, his arms extended wide in smiling welcome, as he excitedly expected his two old friends to enter.

Elrovail!!  He took a step back, agape with surprise.  Then, clenched his jaw in determination, for she was as daunting as ever.  Since the Lothlórien ladies’ arrival last summer, there had been no respite from what he saw as Elrovail’s challenge to every male in the palace that they were hers to do with as she pleased.  Avoiding her had turned out to be the best remedy for himself; her sort of repartee did not suit his taste anymore than it did Aurthôn’s.  However, as it had become very evident this evening, avoiding the ravishing huntress was never that simple.

She stood blocking the doorway with outstretched arms; talon hands gripping the door-handles and eyes falcon sharp, the long scarf mantling her shoulders hanging down behind her like lowered wings.  She practically crested at the sight of him; he almost expected her to screed in triumph at cornering her quarry.  Frozen in mid-motion, they glared at one another – until Celebrimbor relaxed from his startled stance, peevishly exhaling his resentment at being caught.

“Very well.  You win,” he angrily conceded.  “This time.”  Her predatory glance softened into twinkling amusement.  That the serious consternation between them was just a game to her irritated him all the more, but playing along was the best way to handle her when she had the advantage.

The corners of her appealing mouth rose in her usual condescending, feline smile as she blithely lowered her shapely arms.  Slinking up to him, her fingertips landed lightly over his heart; the intricate application of silver filigree covering the back of her hand glimmering.  Drawing a silky caress across his chest, she lifted and fingered the exquisite medallion hanging around his neck.  She pulled down upon it, ever so gently; just enough so that he could feel a roll of pressure across the back of his collar.  He drew a hasty breath.  If she had circled behind him and laid her hands upon his shoulders, her massaging thumbs would have felt much the same.  He should never have let her touch him, not even the very first time she had offered to ease his tense muscles.

At least, she was not also looking directly at him, only at the medallion; its reflected lights fancifully illuminating the perfect features of her porcelain face.  As much as he disliked interacting with her, he took more pleasure than he cared to admit in her alluring beauty.  Well, she had always much admired his beautiful creations.  If she would take the jewelry as ransom and let him go – and go away herself – it would be worth the loss.

“Really, Quárë,“ she purred; her voice as low and vibrate as Galadriel’s, although more sultry.  “Running about like a page is so unbefitting a lord of your stature.  What if someone had caught sight of you crouching behind those bushes like a silly rabbit?  My, this is an exquisite piece.”  She released the medallion and smoothed down his rumpled shirt, then straightened his jacket.  “Too bad you are not any sort of a tailor.”

Since she was the lady intendent for all their domestic comforts, he could not protest her interest in his appearance.  Not if he wanted to have his clothes cleaned and pressed to his liking.  Nor could he complain about the use of his personal name for she too was another unlikely person treated like family by Celeborn and Galadriel.  If he forbade Elrovail the use of his name, he was sure to be punished with scratchingly stiff towels for his bath, rather than pampered with the fluffy ones to which he had grown too accustomed to foolishly jeopardize losing. 

So, he had to resort to his silent means of consolation concerning her and tell himself that the highborn lady, who had once been a friend of Princess Lúthien and companion to Rín Nimloth – in many ways holding more power in Ossiriand than Mirathel had in Lady Galadriel’s household – was now naught but a housekeeper.  Of course, there was more to her story.  However, her yeni spent in Menegroth and Ossiriand were not times he was familiar with, except from conversation and gossip.

The most salacious version of her past had her emerging out of depravity in Nan Elmoth to scandal in Menegroth by seducing a young and callow Celeborn.  After having gained her entré into Thingol and Melian’s court, the despoiled prince was supposedly discarded for one lover after another.  But, not before Elrovail had ensconced herself in little, orphaned Nimloth’s affections.  The opposing version was that Celeborn had brought her back with him without any intention other than to gallantly extricate the lady from Eöl’s unwanted plans for her, but she was disappointingly unable to change all of her dark-elf ways.  Celebrimbor suspected that the truth lay somewhere in between those two tales; seeing as most in the household showed her an honest respect, only sometimes voicing a disparaging remark.

Harlond was where he had first met her, soon after Galadriel and Celeborn had moved there and invited their old friend to visit.  By the time he did, they had absorbed into Nos Galadhad a great many of the displaced Doriathrim and some of the Laegrim that had gathered around Oropher.  In that thoroughly Sindarin city, Elrovail had seemed congenial enough and what a noble elleth should be.  But later, at Gil-galad’s court in Forlond, she had acted very differently.  After a number of incidents, in which he was thankfully only peripherally involved, she left and did not return.  Most likely advised not to come back.  He never did make another visit to Harlond.  So, compared to some of the other ladies around Galadriel, Celebrimbor could gladly say he did not know Elrovail very well, one way or another.  He did not believe her to be entirely heartless, but certainly careless and disdainful of those she considered weak.  And he had to assume that he was numbered among those.  Unlike in Hrassa’s case, he had no explanation why his usually wise friends continued to keep her with them; when with both Elwing and Nimloth gone, there was no longer any obligation to do so.

“Whatever has you in such a reckless – I beg your pardon, my lord – carefree mood?”  She raised her head to look into his eyes; piercing starlight glistening in hers.  Indeed, it was the Light of the Eldest, poured down from the stars and gleaming brightly in their eyes, that had given the eledhwaith their name and had set them apart from their fellow Teleri, the tawarwaith and the nenwaith.  Celebrimbor instantly became aware that she wanted something other than an expensive bribe.

“Why do you even ask?” he said, wary of her blatant thought.  “You already know everything that goes on here, do you not?”  She did not take affront at his jibe.  Instead, her knowing expression changed to a humorous plea of ignorance.

“Now, would I bother you if I knew already?”  Perhaps because it was not colored with her usual innuendo, her question sounded strangely considerate of his dislike of her company.

“Well, if that is all you want... ”  Suspicious that she did not seem to know about Hrassa, he gathered up his will, readying to negotiate his release.  “I might explain.  But, in turn, you will not deliver any – “

“Summons?” she interrupted with an open grin.  “From Galadriel to come to her?”  She laughed with genuine mirth; her glossy black hair flashing blue and silver highlights as she shook her head.  Strands of tiny beads hanging from a pair of dazzling, glass ornaments perched in her hair delicately tinkled and chimed.  “Well, since I have no summons to deliver, you may have that promise!”  Her bemused smile was so disarming, he almost smiled back.  “And much more then a promise if you but had the courage to ask.”  He scowled at her.  Why could she not keep from spoiling even the appearance of a wholesome nature with such disgraceful suggestions?  Disgusted, he gave in to spite. 

“’What a pity, but I have not the wild courage that requires.  However, we both know a certain Laegel who does.”  Why should he not torment her for a change?  Hrassa was one of the few who could squelch her well-honed impropriety.  Although, Celebrimbor did not comprehend how the Nando, being a bit on the vulgar side himself, was able to do it; sometimes without a word, just a glare.

But then, Elrovail and Hrassa had met in Doriath while he was only one among many in Denethor’s entourage.  He had known her for some time before the return of Melkor to Endor.  He had once said to Celebrimbor that whenever possible the two of them would celebrate Mettarë together.  Of course, that could mean anything from sharing a drink to making love as the Begetting of the Stars was the traditional time for weddings and births among the Úmanyar.  Since before the Great Journey, the renewal of life had been celebrated on the date when the turning of the stars began anew.  Now, the sun and the moon complemented their annual festival by heralding the arrival of spring.  The lavish celebrations had been held only a short time ago.  And though he liked the holiday, being Noldor, Celebrimbor preferred the approaching Gates of Summer.

“Well…” her grin slipped into slim smile.  “Is not ‘did’ more correct?  Ah, but you already know, I do not mind if your speech is not entirely proper.”  Her slight sobering did not give him enough satisfaction; her come-on further proof that she did not possess a decent lady’s sensibilities.  “Why speak of our lost friend?”  She slowly tilted her head; turning her chin and guilefully exposing more of the smooth curve of her neck.

“Do you not miss him?” he asked.  As she had shown no sign of an honest affection, his own sensibilities, which would have prevented him from ever showing disregard for a lady’s feelings, did not stop him from continuing to try and punish her somehow.

“Of course,” she replied.  He blinked, astonished.  It was as if an elaborate mask – the fanciful sort worn at rowdy fairs and carnivals where only the eyes could be seen and the thoughts behind them barely read – had suddenly been dropped, revealing a surprisingly normal and worn face beneath.  “And you do too.”  He was taken aback at the genuine sympathy in her voice.

“Though not in the same way as yourself, I am sure... ”  He hesitated, unsure that he should go on in this vein.  It was one thing to fling mud, another to throw darts.  Could they have been more involved than Hrassa had made it sound?

“Not the same?” she innocently pondered, then her cat-like smile pounced.  “Do you mean other feelings of friendship?  Truly, I did not know you two were so close.  Poor dear Quárë, you may confess it all to me.  I quite understand how such yearnings can haunt even the most reformed – ”

“Enough!”  That he had actually begun to feel sorry for her!  Or guilty for being inconsiderate of her feelings!  She was like a black wasp – best to sweep her off quickly with a firm hand and risk the possibility of being stung than be interminably held in motionless captivity by the fear of being stung.  “Hrassa has returned and is with Telpë!”

“I would accuse you of lying,” she said, angry sparks flying from her narrowed eyes.  “But, you are not normally a vicious person and are incapable of keeping any secret.”  She straightened up and they mutually squared off.  “Is he questioning him in the goal or his chambers?” she demanded to know.

“Not at all.  He has been invited to stay as a guest,” Celebrimbor replied, pushing his face into hers with as much temper.  “Celebrían told me before she went to her naneth.  I thought they would come this way, so – ”

“Celebrían?!  The little darling said nothing of a guest delaying her adar, let alone that his name was Hrassa.”  Her winging eyebrows drew together, her charged eyes flashed, and her soft lips compressed into a firm pout.  Thoroughly agitated, she drew a hissing breath between clinched teeth; causing Celebrimbor to hold his own breath.  “Nor of seeing you along the way!”  A rising glow began to emanate from her entire body.  He had never seen her like this before and leaned away, somewhat awed and uncertain; strongly reminded of Aredhel at her very worst. 

Suddenly, Elrovail’s stormy countenance evaporated into a rainbow of laughter. 

“She does not know!”  She appeared utterly transported by an affectionate delight in the Lady being unaware of what was in store for her.  Clad in a child-like, mischievous gladness, she exclaimed, “Galadriel does not know they are coming!”

At that instant, she whirled away from him; her scarf and skirts swirling around her like a maiden’s loosened tresses.  He instinctively reached out and only just caught her fast by the arm.  She turned back to him, rolling her eyes in exasperation at being delayed; clearly knowing why he had halted her, although he did not entirely comprehend having a reason.  

“Hrassa will want to apologize to Galadriel before anything else!” she stated with certainty.  “They have gone to the Meadow Room!”  Jerking away her arm, she sped out into the corridor; a lustrous panther off in enthusiastic pursuit of a sure scent.  Celebrimbor stood there for a moment staring at his empty hand, baffled at how effortlessly she had gotten loose of his powerful grasp – then he followed her with a will.  Into the furnace with escape!  He had to see this for himself!

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

gwador/gwathel – brother/sister who is not a sibling

mettarë – “last day” Quenya the Elven New Year’s Eve, which occurs around the spring equinox (yestarë is New Year’s Day)  Mortals reckon the new year to begin after the long night of the winter solstice.  In their calendars, it is also called mettarë.

Begetting of the Stars – a name for the new year celebrations when there was no sun-cycle to mark the completion of a year.  A year also happens to be the gestation period for an elfing.  I think, some wise quende would have noticed that the same stars were overhead at a child’s conception and subsequent birth.  And if elves would celebrate a person’s begetting, why not choose a time to celebrate the begetting of the stars themselves?

Gates of Summer – the Elven Midsummer festival celebrated in Gondolin

yen/yeni – year/years - a Valarian year consisting of 144 solar years Quenya

fëa – spirit (soul) Quenya

eledhwaith – star-folk - eledh is an early word for elf, edhel is later

nenwaith – lake-folk or water-folk

tawarwaith – forest-folk or wood-folk

Nelyar – Third Kindred who would call themselves the Lindar and whom the Noldor would later call the Teleri and the Sindar (Eluwaith) and Laiquendi (Nandor)

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Chapter Fourteen – A New Acquaintance  

Contrary to reason, the elegant parlor seemed to Aurthôn to halve in size.  The other side of the room where Lord Celeborn stood, with the Laiquende deferentially two steps back behind his left shoulder, suddenly felt within arm’s-reach instead of the relatively safer distance of five paces.

Only a moment ago, Aurthôn had been holding back his inappropriate laughter at Laerlínath’s indignation over the green-elf’s roguish wink.  The urge to laugh had been insistent enough, as it was.  Exchanging glances with the offender – who clearly meant it only as a flirty compliment – had redoubled his struggle.  But, upon seeing the hurt in her eyes at his noticeably twitching mouth, Aurthôn realized his poor wife was still shaky from Galadriel’s test.  So, his amusement instantly changed to apprehension when Celeborn’s furrowed gaze ended its short flight around the otherwise empty room to land squarely upon them.  Introducing Laerlínath in her teetering state to the Lord, in his cross state, was cause for worry.

As dignified ellyn, he and Celeborn bore an obligation to protect an elleth’s tender sensibilities, whether they be assaulted or merely disapproving.  Celeborn took that responsibility seriously.  Aurthôn had witnessed him personally put more than one worthless fellow in his place for offering offense to a lady.  Her kindred or race did not matter either; the elf-lord had defended mortal women – and once even a dwarf-maiden.  Although Celeborn did not appear to consider his guest’s wink anymore of an insult then Aurthôn, Laerlínath certainly did not consider it harmless flattery.  Aurthôn feared that the moment she was introduced she would complain to the lord and force the issue.  Thereby, further irritating Celeborn and thoroughly damaging her husband’s own chances of making friends with the green-elf; a friendship his lord employer had intended for him to accomplish.  Guren, I pray you be silent!  He pulled slightly on her hand to make her look at him so he might plainly express that wish.  She tugged back without turning to him; her frowning lips firmly compressed in refusal to entertain his unsympathetic opinion.

But, Celeborn did not immediately invite him to bring his wife over to be introduced.  Instead, his emerald eyes slid away from them to the sideboard where sat the half-drank bottle of wine and the old-fashioned cups that they had used in their celebratory toast of her unexpected invitation to become a lady-in-waiting.  Laerlínath pointedly leaned her shoulder against his and he sighed.  Yes, you warned me not to open it.

He was not surprised – but thankful – when she made a hasty withdrawal from righteous indignation into maidenly comportment; an attitude she wielded as expertly as she might a folding fan.  He knew it very well from their courtship and, just as with that other deceptively simple contraption, she was able to hide her thoughts very nicely behind a pretty screen of feminine reserve.  While I, as ever, have only my honesty to fall back upon.  He figured though, since it was Celeborn’s judgment they faced, that the truth would be sufficient to receive a pardon.  The Lord was stern, but always generous.  He would not begrudge the wine, if he knew it had been drunk for a good reason.

Walking over to the sideboard, Celeborn picked up the empty wine cup Aurthôn had used.  At his touch, it glimmered as if excited to be of use to him, and Aurthôn nervously doubted his previous assessment of their chances for reprieve.

“Cogndîr...” the Lord said, moving aside to give his guest an unobstructed view.  The green-elf’s eyebrows rose and his ears perked as he looked where directed.

“Are those... ?”  Celeborn carelessly tossed the beautifully crafted cup he held to the Laiquende, who deftly caught it in his free hand.  He examined it – turning it over by flipping it up in the air – as he joined Celeborn at the sideboard; the lord’s Galadhrim bodyguard traveling right along with him.

“The very same,” confirmed his host, taking the cup from his guest and placing it back on the sideboard next to its mate.  Together, they looked up with interest at Aurthôn and Laerlínath.  “I will give you this one,” the elda said to the green-elf.  “The odds were just too great.”  His guest nodded and they simultaneously broke into broad grins at some private joke between them.  Whereupon, Celeborn became more congenial towards Aurthôn then he had ever been, even in the best of moods.  Not exactly what the confused aide expected for having been caught red-handed taking unauthorized advantage of the Lord and Lady’s cellar, let alone what was now obviously personal property.

“So, Aurthôn,“ said Celeborn, his fluid grin flowing into a gleaming smile that swiftly brimmed up and into his sparkling eyes.  “Will you not introduce your lovely lady to me?”

“My lady,” he solicitously murmured to Laerlínath, conveying in his address as much as he could his gratitude for her judicious change of attitude.  He gently supported her raised hand and escorted her the short distance across the room.  The Laiquende respectfully stepped back – without looking and almost onto Ithinduil’s toes.  But, the stolid guard did not flinch or retreat at the prospect of being tread upon, apparently happy to be breathing down the back of the green-elf’s neck.  The Laiquende hitched up the gear dragging on his shoulder and smiled, appearing not entirely oblivious of the guard.  When they stood before Celeborn, Aurthôn affectionately held Laerlínath’s hand between both of his.

“Lord Celeborn, please allow me to introduce Lady Laerlínath Sarnangiel, my wife for several years, who has only just joined me here in Ost-in-Edhil.”  Celeborn politely held out his hand, indicating his wish to take Laerlínath‘s hand, if her husband would permit.  Of course, her husband would allow such an honor and placed her hand upon the Lord’s open palm.

“A pleasure, Lady Laerlínath.”  Celeborn bowed over her relaxed hand, appearing delighted to make her acquaintance.  “I was warned of your beauty, but not well enough to be properly prepared.”  A rather customary first greeting in this court, but the lord somehow made it sound quite sincere.  Aurthôn supposed Celebrimbor had mentioned her to him. “Congratulations upon your recent wedding.  May the stars shine upon your union.”

“An honor, Lord Celeborn.”  She was the epitome of a well-born elleth, exhibiting true poise and graciousness in her return bow; her reply a zephyr of words.  “Thank you, my lord.  You are most kind.”  Celeborn’s approval was obvious.  He even feigned a reluctance to offer her hand back to her husband, who again took loving charge of his lady.  Aurthôn was very proud of her.  You could not have made a better first impression!  Despite her demure countenance, he knew she had to be feeling a bit smug for having met the Lord and Lady under difficult circumstances and given a good account of herself to each of them.

“Please allow me to introduce to you both another newcomer.”  The lord motioned for the Laiquende to come forward.  He was not required by etiquette to bring someone of a lower station, not even a guest, to their notice.  So, Aurthôn had to assume that Celeborn wanted them to be friends too!

He was thrilled!  He would be spared the quandary of wringing an apology for the wink from the green-elf just to please his wife and the awkwardness of trying to befriend a Nando who might outright snub him because he was Noldor.  Looking from one to the other, he could see that Laerlínath and the Laiquende did not appreciate the prospect of each other’s company for precisely those reasons.  Ignoring the tension in the air, Celeborn turned first to his guest, as was proper whatever that person’s rank.

“This is Master Scribe Aurthôn Tolofinion, who is an essential aide to our friend, Lord Celebrimbor; and beside him his exceptional wife, Lady Laerlínath Sarnangiel, who like you is but newly-arrived.”

Laerlínath and he bowed as one.  Referring to Celebrimbor as ‘our friend’ could easily have meant, not simply Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel’s friend, but a mutual friend.  Aurthôn wondered at the implications of this along with their exchange over the wine-cups.  The green-elf could be well-acquainted with the three most important people in Eregion.

“And this,“ Celeborn said to them, while making a languid, offhanded gesture towards his affably slouching guest, “is my old bowman, Hrassa, who goes by no other name because he believes himself to be supremely unique.”  Laerlínath hand twitched in his grasp at the derogatory description.  However, as he was familiar with Celeborn’s sarcastic sense of humor, Aurthôn knew it to be yet another sign of friendship.

With a scoffing grunt, Hrassa briskly bowed in return.  But as he unbended, he squared his shoulders and stood up straight.  Only then did Aurthôn see that, although slightly leaner than himself, the Laiquende was no shorter.  In this way he was more like one of the Galadhrim rather than a Greenwood Silvan.

“As much as it pains me to have to constantly correct my betters...”  Hrassa canted his head and looked with cynical askance at Celeborn, who merely held his bright smile in place and blinked.  “... I have garnered a few other names, which I have even donned upon occasion.  Although I admit, some are rather unsavory.”  He looked back to his new acquaintances now wearing a humble mien and adopting a more respectful tone of voice than he had just used with his host.  “I am most grateful that the lady has chosen not to add yet another, even though she has good cause to do so.”  Placing his right hand over his heart, he offered a second and most courtly bow to Laerlínath in an unexpected apology for his earlier transgression.

She, and Aurthôn too, were astonished by his gesture.  Not just because it was surprisingly elegant, but that it appeared so natural to him.  And more beyond that, Aurthôn realized.  With his daringly equal jibe at Celeborn, Hrassa had deliberately revealed the depth of their friendship.  He could have easily ducked his head at the lord’s taunting and left them to assume he was just another scout in Celeborn’s service being honored for a notable deed with a visit to the palace and presentation to the Lady.  Instead, he had intentionally saved them from foolishly showing no more respect towards him than his common appearance and low rank warranted.  It was clear to Aurthôn that not everyone Hrassa encountered was given the same consideration.  Inevitably, someone would ill-treat his friend and end up on the wrong side of Celeborn.  Possibly the wrong side of Galadriel.  He could now understand why Celebrimbor wanted the Laiquende watched.

After all his earlier claims of greater wisdom made to Laerlínath, Aurthôn had to admit that he was dangerously ignorant about what it meant to be an Úmanyar prince’s bowman.  Ithinduil and the other household guards were not allowed this degree of familiarity.  He could not recall ever hearing the appellation carry the context that was present in Celeborn’s voice when he introduced them.  But then, Aurthôn happily realized, he could use this special relationship to encourage Laerlínath’s support.

“Sir,” he addressed Hrassa with all the regard he would show any brannon.  “Please let me add our welcome to that of Lord Celeborn’s.”  He paused for a moment, waiting for Laerlínath to join in.  She kept silent, which was discouraging.  However, he could not let himself be daunted by her continued dissent.  “And it would be my pleasure to show you the city, I am proud to say, I helped to build.”

“That is very good of you – “ Hrassa started to reply, then hesitated after glancing at Laerlínath.  “But, I would not want to cause you any trouble with... Lord Celebrimbor.” 

Aurthôn was about to reassure him that he could get leave from his duties, when Celeborn intervened.

“Nonsense,” he dismissively declared.  He shot a quick glance at Laerlínath as well before perching a hand on Hrassa’s shoulder.  “Celebrimbor will not begrudge Aurthôn expending his work-hours guiding you around.  Moreover, this good scholar knows the city like the back of his hand.  Whatever vice you might wish to get up to, he knows just where to find it.” 

Laerlínath stirred at this merrily delivered remark, fixing her husband in an accusative stare.  He knew himself to be innocent, but he pinked, nonetheless.  In addition, he was unsure why Celeborn would even know that he had just completed a survey of every commercial activity in the colony, urban and rural.  He did indeed know where any dens of iniquity, from gambling to gluttony, were likely to be located.  But, I would never patronize such demeaning trades!  His disavowing expression successfully defended him, but Laerlínath’s slow inhale and narrowed eyes told him that he best not start patronizing them either.

“And keep you well clear of it,” Celeborn added, a mischievous glint in his eye.

He then turned his cheery gaze upon Laerlínath, tugging her attention away from her husband merely by looking at her.  The moment her eyes rose to his face, he smiled.  Aurthôn’s mouth fell open.  In the decade he had worked in close vicinity to Celeborn, he had on occasion observed the rare smile that many remarked upon as engaging.  But, he had never before seen this particular smile.

It was utterly charming!  A smile that would thaw the most disdainful elleth’s frosty heart and effortlessly defeat any other suitor that sought her favor.  An unwary lady would have no chance of resisting it.   Why, even a wary one!  If Celeborn had ever dared use this smile on Galadriel... well, no wonder!  He startled at the thought.  Could the old nonsense that the Sindar princes’ mates were all beguiled into marriage actually be true?  And the elda seemed so at ease with it!  Was he even aware of its power?  At Laerlínath melting response, Aurthôn suffered a sudden pang of fear.  His wife would soon be everyday among the ellith in this lord’s household!  Only by clinging to Mirathel’s pledge that she would be looking out for Laerlínath’s welfare could he restrain himself from jealously stepping in between them.

“Ha!” Hrassa loosed in a cynical bark.  The green-elf’s laugh jolted Laerlínath free from the glamour that had overcome her.  Celeborn’s beryl eyes looked sidelong at the smirking bowman.

“A pity there is no one to guide your manners as well.”

Instead of blushing with mortification, Laerlínath turned to her husband elated, acting as she had last night, out walking together beneath the stars with a gorgeous moon overhead.  She slipped her arm through his, folding her hands over the top of his wrist when he automatically bent his arm to support hers, and fondly drew closer to him – smiling dreamily into his eyes.  This time, Aurthôn could not stop himself from laughing aloud; her reaction to Celeborn’s smile differing so very much from her reaction to Hrassa’s wink.

Celeborn dropped his hand from the bowman’s shoulder and loosely crossed his arms, still handsomely beaming.  Aurthôn reckoned the lord was pleased with himself for having spoken no direct commands, but having issued orders all the same.  And probably for showing the other two inept ellyn present how to completely disarm, rather than provoke, a lady’s ire.

With Celeborn having set some limits and because of that smile, Aurthôn could see that his wife was now more disposed to undertake her normal role.  I watch and learn.  He pouted a little, playfully entreating her.  I really do need your help.  She gave him a petulant look and almost rolled her eyes.  She had no more say in this arrangement than the last, so why was he asking her to be agreeable?  He swept his other hand over hers and grazed her wedding ring with his.  She breathed a delicate sigh, slipped her hand out from under his, and turned to the green-elf.

“Master Hrassa,” she said in the melodious cadence taught to every accomplished lady.  “Please, consider us...” with a gracefully wave, she indicated herself and her husband “... your friends during your sojourn in Ost-in-Edhil.  At any hour, you have a place at our table and a bed under our roof.”

“You are too generous,” he hesitantly replied, holding his eyes downcast with some humility.  “For you do not know my true circumstances.”  Once again, he stole a look of askance at Celeborn, not heeding the response if there was one.  “I am a former minion of this Household and, indeed for very good reasons, am much out of favor.”

“Nevertheless, a welcomed guest of this court and so to our company,” she affirmed, offering him a helpless but sympathetic smile at their shared duress.  The matter has been decided for them without regard to their wishes; they should just make the best of it.

“I am in your debt,” said Hrassa in a resigned, but also relieved, voice.  “And shall rely upon your guidance and instruction.”

“Excellent,” declared Celeborn, becoming even more pleased for having gotten his way entirely.

But even if neither his wife nor new acquaintance was glad, Aurthôn was content with the outcome.  He had done as Lord Celebrimbor wanted, yet he could blame Lord Celeborn when Laerlínath later protested – she most certainly would not stop now – against the ridiculous level of loyalty demanded from her husband, who had not as yet been made a retainer after being in service long enough to deserve it.  However, he became as pleased as the lord when he sensed their amusement at Celeborn’s nearly child-like delight blithely sweep away any remaining resentment between Laerlínath and Hrassa.  The moment was feeling oddly like the conclusion of important trade negotiations.  The pact finally made, everyone was happy to relax and be themselves again.

Aurthôn, however, knew the diplomatic work ahead of him could prevent such pleasure on his part.  But, in this case, having to hedge around his true feelings might not become necessary.  For he found himself liking this good-natured Nando.  Hrassa was unlike any wood-elf he had ever met and he was looking forward to becoming better acquainted with the bowman, who meant so much to Celeborn that the lord would bother to make some friends for him.

“Perhaps we should share a toast to – ” Celeborn convivially began to suggest, when a voice suddenly called hello from the still open private passage.

Ithinduil swooped like a hawk, quickly and efficiently, to the entrance.  Aurthôn heard Laerlínath’s soft intake of breath at seeing the large bodyguard perform this almost ethereal glide so silently.  From the narrow doorway, a soft cloud of sound – the rustle of an elaborate dress mixed with the chiming of delicate jewelry – floated in.  Elrovail then cautiously stepped out of the passage, knowing to expect a guard to be in wait.  Her glistening darkness might have overflowed the room, if not for Celeborn’s radiant presence.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:  

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

guren – my heart

ellon/ellyn – male elf/elves

elleth/ellith – female elf/elves

brannon/brennil – nobleman/noblewoman

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Chapter Fifteen – A Wayward Spirit

Celebrimbor tried keeping up with Elrovail, but she moved like a summer storm cloud; blustering through the crowded corridors on a relentless, tumbling course. And like a ship on rough seas, he hazardously gybed along after her, taking what advantage he could of her wake. It was when she veered down a cordoned-off hallway that, intent upon the storage room that accessed the main hidden passage, he lost sight of her – turned to by a rolling swell of unruly people raucously tossing a hat around like a flattened ball. Once on the other side of them, several friends whom he would never simply ignore hailed him, laughingly exclaiming that they hardly recognized him in his fancy clothes. Though keeping a forward motion, he was slowed down considerably dealing with their jovial speculations as to why he was there at all – then having to shed himself of other people thus given notice of his presence. His friends’ jibes he dealt with good-naturedly enough, but he found himself wishing he had Aurthôn there to quicken his passage.

By the time he got fully under way again, sped past the guards in the hallway and entered the storeroom, Elrovail had already gone through the dwarven door. As he went through, he took up one of the small lanterns hung just inside for those who could not see all that well in total darkness or simply preferred the convenience of some light. Or the comfort... He sighed. When the Trees were gone, so was a comfort to his fëa that the sun and stars did not replace. Over a shadowed age, he had learned to seek it anew in the glowing fires of a forge. There he could sometimes sense the sacred flame of Eä, feel it emerge uncloaked from the cold metal torn out of the ever-burning heart of Arda. Maybe it was mere fancy, but comforting all the same.

Out of habit, he examined the craftsmanship of the lamp he held. Making these lights was required work for apprentices, who would not learn the secret of the luminosity until made a hirdan. He had always disagreed that this knowledge should be withheld, for it was so basic to civilized life. Particularly when the real skill lay in making it last for more than a few decades. Something that took the kind of long practice that should be started as soon as possible. It should be taught early on, as finishing furniture to make it last for centuries was in the carpenters’ guild. But, there were many policies of the Mírdain he did not particularly like and, as a Master, was expected to uphold. Policies he did not exactly hold to in private. However, what the guild did not know could not hurt him.

Striding along, he was crossing the junction when a strange flicker near the ground in a dark corner caught his eye. He stopped and held the small lantern above his head, scanning the passages and stairs as far as his surrounding globe of light would reach. An elusive whish of sound caused him to quickly turn, trying to locate its exact direction, and he saw the flutter of white again. A smile came to his face. He knew what, or rather who, it was now.

"You best come out, Gwatheliel."

"Did you see me or did you hear me?" wafted a disembodied whisper.

Celebrían slowly peered out at him, leaning from around a corner. She was huddled down close to the floor, head tilted sideways with her arms wrapped around bended knees, a dark blanket or shawl pulled around her. But, her cover had fallen away from her head and her long hair was a pearly banner in the mild light cast by the lamp.

"What makes you think I did not know you were here?" he haughtily whispered back, feigning a disdainful glare. She grinned and stood up, still keeping mostly hidden behind the end of the wall.

"You did not!" she whispered back, full of impertinence.

"No, I did not," he admitted, smiling. "I saw you." He sat down on the steps that led up to the upper floor and waved his free hand at her. "Come over here." She immediately came out to stand before him. The lamp he set behind him on a higher step. At closer sight, her camouflaging cover turned out to be a mourning mantle, which was not the kind of garment someone would just leave lying around. "Whose is this cloak?" Was it courteously borrowed or had she simply figured its owner would not notice its absence from their wardrobe? "And whatever have you done to your face?"

"No one’s!" she petulantly claimed. " ‘Tis from the old-clothes chest." She held out her arms to form droopy batwings. She was wearing a dainty nightgown, a product of impressive needle-work. Her pale hair was loosely tied back with much of it on the loose. "See, the lining is all gone!" Dropping it off her body onto the floor, she giggled and leaned against his knees with her hands – hands that were dirty with some sort of smudge that instantly transferred to the pristine satin covering his knees. There was no dirt on her clothes or hair, but she had obviously smeared her face with what was on her hands to dull its shine.

"So!" He quickly covered her hands with his. She immediately attempted to tug them away, but he held them fast. "You like the idea of messing up my clothes and thinking I do not notice, eh?" She curled at the waist and laughed as though tickled instead of arrested. Mirthful stars danced in the green forest-pools of her eyes. Actually, he did not care what her joke might cost him in cleaning clothes he disliked anyway. "Just what are you doing here instead of in your bed? Your naneth did send you to bed, did she not?"

"Yes." She straightened up and started twisting on the balls of her bare feet, right then left, wagging her nightdress to make it wind and unwind around her legs. "And then, I left," she explained, smiling like the clever child she was.

"Does anyone know that you are not in bed?" She squirmed a little at the question, ceasing her playful motion.

"No." She guiltily looking down, her lower lip pulled in.

"What is the rule?" he asked in a you-know-better-than-that tone of voice.

"Someone must always know where I am." She tentatively looked up at him, her sweetest smile blossoming. "You know!" He was not one of her keepers, but would do what he could to help guard her. And, the most effective aid he could offer was to push her to stay safe.

"I do not count. I am not one of your guardians." He heaved a showy sigh and slowly shook his head in furrowed disapproval. The smile vanished.

"But... " She became even more serious; her intense expression reminiscent of her father’s most thoughtful mien. "Cón Saidhirnon said that if the Lord and Lady were to go away over the Sea, you would then be the only guardian of the people." Celebrimbor could almost hear the ‘Araw help us!’ that Celebrían had left off. "And then, you would be looking after me yourself. So, you are one of my guardians." She was impressed by her own logic and clearly thought he should be too.

"No, laesiel." He could not let her think that, as satisfying as he also found the idea. "I am pleased that you wish it so, but I am only a good friend you are allowed to call Uncle. You would go back to Lórinand and live with Amdir and Miphillim and Amroth. I am kith, but they are kin. They are family."

"But... so are you... " She was honestly bewildered.

"Not in the same way. Amdir is your foster-brother. Unlike Amroth, I am not even a gwador."

"Oh." Her letdown reaction touched him.

"All for the best, laesiel." Especially, if plans ever went so awry that Celeborn and Galadriel were gone before he was powerful enough to rule on his own. How could he possibly care for their daughter? How would he be able to keep his promise to them not to let Eregion fall into the wrong hands again?

"Oh! Of course!" Her face lit up behind the smeared grime like a winter moon behind murky clouds. "You can be my husband! Then, we shall be the Lord and Lady of Eregion!" She bounced on her feet with innocent enthusiasm.

"What?" Me?! Discomfited, he blustered. "Where did you get such a silly notion? You must marry better than someone both disowned and dispossessed." His breeding and precarious fortunes did not recommend him for marriage to anyone, so he believed. Moreover, no one less than a king was worthy of his precious niece! "You are the princess of the Eldar, not some ordinary hiril!"

"You do not wish to wed me?" Her disappointment was heartfelt; the stars in her eyes threatened to melt into tears. He looked into her bejeweled eyes, willing her to understand his rebuff as a sign of love.

"What I most fervently wish is for you to wed well and be happy. And that would not be with me." She remained troubled. "Nor can I raise you well for I am over-indulgent, remember?" That was something Mirathel had said about him, and it had become somewhat of a joke between the two of them. He grinned and she grinned back. "If anything happens to your adar and naneth, you will go back to Lothlórien and live safe with your gwanur."

"That can be changed," she gravely intoned holding her grin – just as Lord Celeborn would say it, making it sound like a threat as much as a warning. He barely stifled his laughter. Aulë’s Anvil! This sort of emulation cannot not be encouraged! Had her parents noticed this outright mimicry yet?

"Celebrían! " he admonished, pretending to be appalled. "Do you repeat everything you hear? Do you think it amusing to mock people?" He changed to a stern demeanor. "It is indiscrete and very impolite. And do not say ‘Ada does it all the time’!" He had purposely imitated her voice with a childish whine and was pleased with the effect it had on her. "Firstly, he does not. Secondly, he is old enough to know what he is doing when he does." Though, perhaps never wise enough to know not to do it at all. Like father, like daughter, it seemed.

"I am old enough – " she began in heated protest, deftly invoking her mother’s proud fervor.

"No, you are not." He pushed his scowling face squarely into hers, silencing her; and was hard-pressed to hold to his tactic instead of sputtering into laughter. "You would obey the rules better if you were of a reasoning age." She leaned away, cowed but trusting him not to release her hands and send her tumbling backward. However, her face swiftly changed from fearful to determined.

"Reasonable people do not need rules," she confidently stated; this time using her mother’s mode of speech as well as her aloof facial expression.

"Nnnnh," he droned deep in his throat, trying to sound fed up with her antics when he was, in fact, very amused. "If you do not wish to garner even more punishments, you will cease this annoying affectation." He sat up straight, which seemingly pulled Celebrian back upright too. "What is your current punishment, by the way?"

"I may not ride for two weeks." She started to swing from side to side, leaning off of one foot and then the other, as if the restriction did not matter much to her. He was not so sure about that. She enjoyed her afternoon riding lesson. She was refusing to be upset about one of her favorite activities being taken away. That Galadriel would even think of something that amounted to more than a slap on the hand and a sharp No! was surprising. The Lady must have been angry about something. The lovely Laerlínath perhaps? The cunning little lass had not anticipated a worse then usual sentence and would not admit to herself she had guessed wrong. Maybe he should reconsider and delay his own entrance until Galadriel was over the shock of seeing Hrassa alive.

"I was on my way to the Meadow Room. However, I think I shall see you back to bed first."

"You will not tell, will you?" She stopped swinging, suddenly fretful. "I did not tell on you!" He raised an eyebrow at her, mostly because she actually thought he might tattle on her.

"If we get you back quietly and you stay put, then I will not have to, will I?"

"As you say," she conceded with an exasperated pout and slumped shoulders. In the next moment, her peevishness completely vanished. "Uncle, do you know Cliff from before?"

"Who? Oh, you mean Hrassa? Well, I should hope so! Almost from when he became your adar’s bowman –"

"Ada’s?! I wanted him for mine! He belongs to me! I was –"

"Hush!" He did not go on until she closed her mouth against speaking further. "Hrassa was once a member of your Household. He left a long time ago and not on the best of terms. But, your adar did not turn him out and never shall. Nothing has changed the fact that he is bowman to his prince." He turned truthfully stern. "Twice tonight we have spoken of this. Whether Hrassa does or does not belong to anyone is of no matter. You are too young for the responsibility."

"Has Ada taken him to see Naneth? Is that why you are going to the Meadow Room? Is that where Lady Elrovail was going?" He knew her hopping over the subject did not mean she had necessarily given up the notion.

"Yes. Although, I am beginning to wonder if Fortune has not conspired to prevent my seeing him tonight." It occurred to Celebrimbor that curiosity might be all that was driving her desire to own the green-elf’. "Shall I tell you little about him?"

"Yes! Please tell!"

"Well, the cogndîr was one of Denethor’s guards before becoming Celeborn’s bowman and a herald for Nimloth after she became Rîn." Celebrian mouth fell open in astonishment. "What? Did you think him that common?" He had to smile at her shaky nod. Her childish awe was delightful! "It is one of his best tricks, if you ask me. For he is indeed a fierce warrior and a skilled scout. Why, I have heard your adar say the best that ever lived." He leaned in and said in a confidential whisper, "Like Beren, he understands the speech of birds and beasts."

"Was he and Ada in the War together? Was he with Denethor at Amon Ereb? Was he with Beren and Dior when they took back the Silmaril? Was he with Nimloth at the Kinslaying? Was he at Sirion with Elwing? Why did he go away? Did he do something wrong? Where did he go? Did he go with Oropher? Is that where he has been for so long? Is that why no one has ever spoken about him?"

"Patience," Celebrimbor laughed. "That is a lot, not a little! There will be plenty of time to tell more! However, it will be later. You must go back to bed."

"Oh, no! Not now! Please! Please! Please tell me more? How did you meet him? Was it in Nargothrond when you met Ada? Why did you leave him out?! If you tell that story, I promise I will stay in bed!"

It struck him that she had to have had motive for plucking Hrassa off the street since she was ignorant about whom he truly was. What had attracted her? Which face had the Nando put on for the child? Apparently, not the warrior, for she had had no idea of that aspect. If it had been a friendly one, why was he arrested?

"Gwatheliel," her uncle quietly asked, halting her stream of questions. "Are you so lonely?"

She blinked at him. That lower lip wanted to retreat, but she would not let it.

"It will not be long, lisillë, and other mothers and their children will be arriving. Now that you and your Naneth have shown them that the palace is safe place to live."

"Naneth explained and I understood," she said with an air of bravery. "If we came to live with Ada, there would not be other children for a while. But, we did not like Ada being always away. I can wait for someone to play with." She was not being completely honest, as she was making do with adults for playmates. Nevertheless, adults always had other things to do besides keeping her amused.

"Well then, why Hrassa?" She looked down, a little reluctant to admit yet another purpose her Uncle would call presumptuous.

"I want him to teach me like Adlandos use to." Adlandos had been teaching her wood-elf skills in Lothlórien, but had chosen not to accompany the ladies to Ost-in-Edhil. Celebrimbor smiled. So much like her adar! One good reason was never good enough. "I did not think Naneth and Ada would let him teach me if I asked." So, she had tried to conscript him? Whatever made her think her parents would not hire him, yet let her keep him?

"You have a bigger problem, I think," he pointed out. "Hrassa is a guest and not obliged to stay. If he is not willing, he does not have to do anything we want him to do." As Celebrimbor watched, a crafty look slowly formed upon Celebrían’s face. She was hatching a plan.

"Would he be willing to teach a friend?" she queried with a speculative glint in her eyes. "What does he like to do?"

"Ah, you would cultivate a favor?" He nodded his approval. "That is a much better idea than making him your thrall." She blushed deeply at that remark, so he felt she might now let go of the idea that she could keep Hrassa as her personal servant.

"What does he like to eat and drink?" Embarrassment did not deter her.

"You really want to know?" Suppressing the snicker that threatened to overcome a sober reply to her eager nod, he told her, "Tea... he likes having tea."

"Tea?" She scoffed with outright scorn at what she plainly thought was an attempt to fool her.

"No, I am telling you," he said with all the sincerity he could muster. "Invite him to tea. Though ‘tis a bit odd for a Laiquende, he is rather courtly." She continued to look suspicious of his advice. "Time to go." Freeing her hands, he abruptly stood and picked up the lamp.

"Horsie?" she begged, dancing up the steps to get above him.

"If you insist," he laughingly agreed. He set the lamp down again and prepared to lift her up upon his back. "Keep your head low and next to mine. We want no bumps or lumps on that pretty little skull of yours." She giggled at his less-than-genteel choice of words.

"If you please, my lord," a quiet voice called from the upper shadows beyond the edge of the lamplight. Nítmilrû’s boots appeared first as he descended from the upper stairs. "I shall take her back."

"Rhaich," grumbled Celebrian. Celebrimbor blushed - she had his inflection down perfectly. He glanced at the bodyguard, feeling guilty about what his bad example had wrought.

"Hên, you must stop acting like a parrot and learn to act like a lady! If you truly do not wish to continue to be treated like an infant, you must behave better."

"Yes, Odhgwador." Chastised, she looked down, instantly demure; her hands primly folded in front of her. She peeked up at him from under her eyelashes. "Will you see Cliff in the Meadow Room?"

"I expect to. And his name is Hrassa, if you would be so respectful as to use it." He picked up the discarded mantle and handed it to her.

"Yes, Odhgwador." She took the garment without raising her head. "Would you please do me the honor of accepting my invitation to afternoon tea in my rooms? And please feel free to include Congdîr Hrassa in your welcomed company."

"Much better," he said and then bowed according to form. "My lady honors me. However, you know my work keeps me from enjoying many social activities. It would be my pleasure to convey your invitation to Cogndîr Hrassa, if that be your wish. With the understanding that he may have other commitments, as well."

"Please do." She returned his courtesy. "I look forward to seeing you both, tomorrow afternoon." In what was a rather dramatic flourish for an elfling, she threw the black mantle around her small shoulder and over-elegantly drew back the flowing edge to her elbows. Turning to her guard, she threw up her arms and joyously cried, "Horsie!"

Her high-pitched shout echoed resoundingly all around them, mimicking the little princess at her most eager. Celebrimbor laughed and covered his ears at the sharp noise. If no one heard us through the walls before, they most certainly have now! Nítmilrû kept a blank face, although his struggle against smiling was obvious. Stooping slightly, he effortlessly lifted Celebrían onto his back. And they call me indulgent. Her parents would say the guard was overstepping his bounds.

"Dû vaer, Odhgwador!" she bade him. "Do not forget to ask Hrassa for me!"

"Oltho vae, Gwatheliel." He blew her a kiss because she enjoyed catching them; a game her father had taught her while she was still a baby. She made a show of having to overreach in order to snatch this one before it fell to the ground.

"You must blow harder next time!" she teased him, sounding entirely too much like Galadriel coaching him on some deficient social skill.

"I shall practice more. Good night to you, too, Nítmilrû. And good luck."

He watched them start upward, before leaping down to the bottom of the staircase. An invitation to a tea party in hand and an inappropriate grin on his face, he once again headed for the parlor.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

hên – child

hirdan – master smith

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

cón – captain, commanding officer

hiril – lady or dame

lisillë / lisullë – sweetie diminutive of sweet, fem./masc. Quenya - Galadriel’s endearment for her daughter

odhgwador/odhgwathel – uncle/auntie parent-brother/parent-sister who is not a parent’s sibling

gwanur – kin

gwathelion/gwatheliel – nephew/niece sister-son/sister-daughter who is a daughter of a sister who is not a sibling

laesiel – baby fem. babygirl

dû vaer – Good night

oltho vae – Sweet dreams – ‘dream well’

rhaich – Curses (plural of rhach - a curse)

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Chapter Sixteen – A Confounding Welcome

Elrovail raised her gorgeous head as she stepped from out the private passage, drawing back her mantled shoulders to stand at her full impressive height.  She bestowed a perfunctory glance upon Ithinduil – to convey her smug indifference to his conscientious vigilance – before her falcon gaze fastened upon Hrassa.  Aurthôn’s instantaneous suspicion turned to anticipation when the dark-elf lady donned a disarmingly sweet smile of goodwill rather her usual cat-grin of condescension.  This aught to be interesting.  Since both Hrassa and Elrovail had served with the same family over long measures of time before and after the necessary exodus from Beleriand, he was sure the cogndîr knew the hiril all too well to be deceived by her.

“Hrassa!”  Acting startled, she feigned breathless shock at a supposedly unexpected meeting.  When obviously, she had come back to the parlor precisely because she had learned the Laiquende was here.  Which means you caught Celebrimbor, after all.  The long, slim fingers of one silver-chased hand coyly splayed over her swathed breast – drawing the eye directly to her heaving bosom.

“Elrovail!” he ecstatically exclaimed in return, leaping with unforeseen gusto into her melodrama.  Pretending to be overcome by the very sight of her, his right hand achingly griped his chest over his heart as his left hand reached out to her in adoring disbelief.  He took an awed-filled step towards her.  Her faux smile transformed into mock horror as she theatrically threw up her hands, desperate to keep him from coming any nearer – thus somehow causing her delicate scarf to sensuously slip from her bare shoulders and slide down to the floor like a snake from a tree.

“No! Stay back!” she pitiably cried.  “Giliath!! You are absolutely filthy!”  A barely stifled laugh was disguised by drawing a hand to her nose as if to fend off an offensive smell.

“Eh? What’s that you say?”  Hrassa raised his bent elbows, clownishly sniffing and looking himself over; even taking a contorted glance over his shoulder to check his backside.  “Oh, what’s a little muck?” he shrugged, facing Elrovail again.  Donning a toothy smile, he opened his arms to her in invitation.  “Come give us hug!”  But, an emotionally bruised expression banished the stupid smile when she rolled her eyes to the ceiling while waving her hand in front of her face apparently about to be overcome by his odiferous state.  “You mean you’re not overjoyed to see me?!”  His clinched fists flew to his temples in overwrought distress.  “Alas!” he lamented.  “You have always loved your pretty clothes more than you have loved me!”  Then in the next moment, he made a show of suddenly spotting her wrap upon the floor and commenced to retrieve it, putting on a florid courtliness meant to impress an admired lady and usually would.

“Fie!” warned Elrovail, taking a funny little hop backward over the coiled mantle when he began to stoop to where it lay at her feet.  “Do not dare to touch it, you grimy dog!  Just look at your master’s ruined raiment!”

“Aí, le um guldureth!” he cried out in insincere panic.  Falling away from her, he cringed; aghast and accusatively pointing a finger at her.  “You and your careless spells!”  Whereupon, he ducked his head and whimpered like a lost puppy with one hand a blur as he scratched behind his ear while his foot rapidly tapped at the same time in rhythm.

“Stop! Please stop!” begged a helplessly laughing Celeborn, who could hardly speak he was so genuinely entertained.  Aurthôn too had readily laughed at their antics, pleasantly astounded by this jovial rather than adversarial game.  Why could you not play so kindly with me, morhiril?  Laerlínath, still ensconced behind her maidenly mask, had hardly twitched.  Although, her wide eyes and closed lips threatened to crinkle at the corners.  The Lord had to wipe a tear from the corner of each eye before regaining his normal composure.  “You are giving these poor young people a terrible impression!”  He turned to Aurthôn and Laerlínath to explain.  “They have known each other from before the rising of the moon, but will indulge in the most... “ he turned to his unabashed minions, smiling affectionately at them, “– ridiculous – behavior to keep that friendship from becoming too staid.”  His twinkling eyes narrowed as he redirected his gaze entirely onto Hrassa, who responded with a look of innocent bewilderment.  “Even after being apart for such a long while.”

“Agh!”  Elrovail firmly planted her palms upon her shapely hips, replacing her affected repulsion with an exaggerated accusative gape.  Laerlínath remained placid, but Aurthôn continued to be openly amazed at this unusual degree of comedy on the maven’s part.

“Caun-anim!” Hrassa reproved, also taking bombastic offence at Celeborn’s practically calling them silly.  “We are only following you and your lady’s own refined example!”  Elrovail closed her mouth in smug agreement, adding a stiff nod for emphasis.  Aurthôn snickered, for Hrassa was not too far from the truth.  Over the year since the Lothlórien ladies’ arrival, attendance to his clerical duties had provided him several glimpses of the Lord and Lady joking together.  It was wise of them that they indulged in it only in private – more or less.

“Well then, you follow it very badly,” stated their prince, acting haughtily miffed.

“Well then, my lord,” announced Elrovail, “I shall endeavor to follow your example more closely.”  Aurthôn got the impression that Celeborn gave her a tacit, almost imperceptible, nod in approval of some other intention on her part.  Her teasing eyes turned maleficent; her now somber face hardened.  She pinned Hrassa under her raptor stare and, in a low condemning drawl, she pronounced him, “Deserter.”

“Elrovail... ” Hrassa sighed with a sad shake his head, stung and disappointed.  Aurthôn agreed.  She was supposed to be his friend – however that friendship manifested itself.  Yet, she had deliberately crushed anyone’s good will towards him.  And notably, with Celeborn’s consent.  In fact, Aurthôn felt a little betrayed himself, for Celebrimbor had apparently not intended to warn him of this complication.  Laerlínath looked to him, rightly concerned that the bowman’s earlier confessed disfavor might not have come from an act of disrespect but an actual crime.  Their close association with the cogndîr would reflect badly upon them and could lead to real trouble.  What was more, Elrovail’s accusation would be not only a test for those of rank who would call Hrassa friend, but for those behind the service door as well.  Certainly, they were keeping an eye and ear out to happenings in the parlor.  The green-elf might have to take refuge in Aurthôn’s home just to get a decent meal and clean sheets.

Visibly hurt at her issuing such an indictment, Hrassa nonetheless braced up and defended himself.

“You wound me unfairly.  Though, I admit, not without cause.  But still – without understanding.”  He looked deep into her eyes seeking sympathy, impressively unafraid of opposing her willful opinion.  “I wandered off.  I did not run away.”  Elrovail’s eyes looked past him to Celeborn, who again gave his affirmation albeit invisibly.  Her stony demeanor softened, but not very much.

“That explanation will carry little weight,” she warned.  “Despite our clever lord’s magnanimity in cosseting you here as a guest rather than keeping you jailed.”  Her familiar feline smile finally reappeared.  “Fortunately for you, I am taking personal charge of your stay.”

“Well then... “  He almost leered at her.  “I am really looking forward to a bath.”

“I asked you to stop,” the Lord reminded him with more threat than plea in his voice.  “This is Eregion, not Tol Galen.”  He took a breath then hesitated, as if to quell what more he might say on the subject, letting the breath escape in a sigh of futility.  “Elrovail, where have you come from, if you were not with Galadriel?”

“Oh, merely prowling about,” she replied with a dismissive but graceful flip of her hand and a quick glance at Aurthôn.  She angled her head to listen behind her, turning back to Celeborn when no sound came from the private passage.  “Qaurë was right behind me, but it appears he too has gotten himself lost.  Which is truly ridiculous considering he built this mole hill.”

“How in Arda did he find out so quickly?” Celeborn asked.  “Did you tell him?  How did you find out?”

“He told me,” she purred, amused with her prince’s apparent discomfort at not correctly anticipating the course of this disruptive news.

Aurthôn cleared his throat to beg Celeborn’s attention – here was chance to regain ground he had lost last week when he was the only one to miss a meeting called by the Lord because he was receiving his wife on her arrival.  When Celeborn indicated that he should say more, he efficiently explained.

“My lady and I were with Lord Celebrimbor earlier and encountered Lady Celebrían on her way to her lady mother.  She told Lord Celebrimbor about the cogndîr.”   He saw no need to elaborate on how it was that Laerlínath and he, and not his employer, had ended up in the room ahead of everyone.

“Humph, if he had deigned to attend tonight, why did he not just escort our daughter to her mother himself?” Celeborn asked no one in particular.  For many reasons, Aurthôn was not about to venture further explanation.  Other than she might consider Laerlínath already one of Galadriel’s ladies, he did not know why Elrovail remained silent too.

Without any response forthcoming, Celeborn started to examine his sleeves and the front of his elegant tunic.  He pulled at his carefully draped mantle, looking closely for stains.  The low-hemmed, pinioned style robes he wore were far more traditional than either Celebrimbor’s or Aurthôn’s sleek attire of a short coat with long-legged hose.  If ever asked, he would have to admit that Celeborn could carry off what amounted to historical costume far better than most noble ellyn.  Something that requires greater confidence than what comes with an ordinary sense of fashion.  Such confidence might be attributed to either his being a prince or a performer.  But, Aurthôn figured it was from having to be both at the same time most of the time.

“Elrovail, am I not presentable?” the Lord asked.  Hrassa had quietly picked up her scarf and was gently shaking it out.

“You need a once over,” she offhandedly replied, apparently unimpressed with her lord’s petty concern.  Hrassa placed her wrap about her shoulders and she arranged it to her liking without offering him any thanks for the favor.

“Well, if you do not mind?”  Celeborn’s irritated tone called her to task – guarding the state of his wardrobe was her duty, was it not?  “And, if I may impose upon you, Lady Laerlínath.”  He spoke to that lady in a much gentler voice.  “Would you please inform the Lady Galadriel that we must await her here since our guest has come straight from the road?”  Laerlínath stiffened as if he had scolded her too – which caused Celeborn to blink at her curious reaction.  In that moment, Aurthôn was unsure what he could do to help her except to speak on her behalf.  Fool that I am for having promised to complain about the Lady to her husband!  However, before he could reluctantly open his mouth, Elroval enthusiastically leapt in between the puzzled lord and petrified young lady.

“Oh please you, my lord, allow me!  Laerlínath would be happy to look after you and her good husband can assist Hrassa.  There is a dresser in the alcove, sirs.  Laerlínath, there is the bell.  I shall stall Galadriel so that you all have some time to prepare!”  She hastened away even as she rattled at them and was through the curtains and out dais door before anyone could gainsay her.

Hrassa looked at Celeborn, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged.  Then, again addressed the pensive Laerlínath.

“I ask for your pardon, lady.  As kith or kin, all in this House do at times presume too much and can unthinkingly fall into inconsiderate behavior.”

Remembering the state in which he had earlier found her, Aurthôn knew his poor wife was quite relieved to deal with the Lord and not the Lady.  She immediately regained her composure, eager to undertake tasks she could more easily accomplish.

“My lord, no apologies are necessary – ‘tis my pleasure to aid you.”  She stepped over to the hanging bell rope, but Celeborn stayed her from ringing with a light touch on the arm and a querulous look.  To which she responded, “I believe Lady Elrovail simply wishes Master Hrassa’s arrival to remain a surprise.”

“Just Cogndîr please, my lady,” requested Hrassa.  Aurthôn had indicated the direction of the alcove to him with a sweep of his arm as an invitation to proceed.  However, they both hesitated when Celeborn asked Laerlínath another question; a suspicious note coloring his otherwise mild words.

“What do you mean by ‘a surprise’?  You came here with our daughter, did you not?  Celebrían was instructed to tell her naneth I was delayed with a guest.  Did not the Lady question her?”

“No, my lord, she did not.”  Celeborn drew back, slightly surprised.  “Lady Celebrían said she was sent to the Lady for punishment, which she was given, and then was immediately sent to bed without another word.  Her lady mother was...” Laerlínath paused, seeking the appropriate word, “... harried, at that moment.  I do not think the Lady knows who has come seeking her greeting.”

Plainly troubled by the idea that Galadriel might be unaware of Hrassa, Celeborn dropped his hand to his side and looked away, frowning.  He took a couple of slow steps towards the dais door before stopping in thought.  A bit disconcerted by this, Laerlínath jangled the bell.  A maid servant immediately entered from the service door, which she had probably been crouched by listening all the while.  Laerlínath asked her to please bring a basin and pitcher of heated water into the alcove with some towels.  A clothes brush and fuller’s cloth should be brought directly to her.  Mead and a tray of goblets were also ordered.  “You may remove those cups, but wash and return them,” she said, indicating the mithril wine bowls used to make her and Aurthôn’s earlier toast.  The maid left and Laerlínath turned to her husband and Hrassa.  Both still stood as they were, watching Celeborn thinking.

“Ithinduil, find Lord Celebrimbor and bring him here,” curtly ordered the Lord.  His bodyguard looked disbelieving of the clear command.  Only after a confirming scowl from his prince did he duck through the private entrance and down the dark corridor.

“Aurthôn,” Laerlínath gently called.  “Would you please take Cogndîr Hrassa into the alcove?”

“Yes, of course,” he responded, coming back to himself.  “Sir?”  Again, he indicated the alcove, this time walking over and pulling aside the gauzy curtain to encourage the green-elf to enter.  Much like Elrovail had done earlier, Hrassa looked for reassurance from Celeborn, who distractedly nodded to his bowman.  It seemed that the Lord was going to permit Elrovail another of her jests and would have Celebrimbor included in it.  Hrassa went unsmiling into the alcove.  Once inside however, his dour attitude lightened.

“Do you speak any Nandorin, Master Aurthôn?” he asked congenially as he slid his bow and quiver from off his shoulder and handed them over.  His long knife he slid into the quiver while Aurthôn held it steady.  His removed his belt with its pocket and stone knife attached and gave that to Aurthôn as well.  His cloak he threw over the back of a chair.

“Yea, after a fashion,” Aurthôn replied in that language as an example.  “Let’s just put this stuff over here for now.”

“Ha! Very understandable despite the accent!”  Hrassa then commenced speaking in Nandorin as well.  “I shall have to watch what I say.”

“Thanks.”  He would take the amused criticism as a compliment.  Pronunciation being the slipperiest difference between any quendi dialect.  Hrassa began unfastening his doeskin tunic.  “Not that closely, I am afraid.”

Getting a better look around the chamber than the first time he was inside, Aurthôn found that the furniture followed the latest trend in gendering neutral objects.  And not just occasional chairs, but utilitarian pieces as well.  He could not understand however why this new style sought to make anything feminine drastically smaller.  The ladies were not child-sized, after all.

A servant, a different maid than had taken Laerlínath orders, brought in the water and towels, arranging them upon the diminutive dresser in the corner.  She opened the top drawer and left it open so as to display the assortment of sundries inside.  Looking through the collection, Aurthôn found a leaf of soap and set it out beside the basin, along with a comb.  I wish I had known earlier to look in here for Laerlínath’s sake.  The ladies were well-prepared to repair a ruffled appearance.  He also found both a small clothes brush and a boot brush.

“May I be of further assistance?”  The resentment in the serving elleth’s voice caused Aurthôn to turn around to look at her.  The household staff were usually a friendly and accommodating lot.  Her disapproving stare was directed solely at Hrassa.  So, Elrovail’s accusation had indeed been heard and rapidly passed along, just as intended.

“No, thank you,” replied the Nando, as he pulled his tunic over his head.  Either he was ignoring the servant’s scorn or was unaware of it.  The maid also neglected to show the proper respect as she left.  Neither called her on it, though; letting her go since she clearly desired to be gone.  “Master Aurthôn, there is a clean shirt in my bedroll.”  Hrassa straightened out his tunic and laid it across the nearby a chair atop his cloak.  They exchanged places and Hrassa proceeded to thoroughly wash his face and neck before going on to his well-muscled arms and chest.  Aurthôn took the rolled blanket and laid it open on an upholstered bench.  He pulled out the shirt and held it up by the shoulder seams.  As he supposedly shook it out, he surreptitiously looked through the gauze curtains to check on his wife.

Laerlínath was brushing the Lord’s clothes with short, brisk strokes – the same way she had brushed off his own clothes just before they had kissed and left their apartment for what was suppose to have been a gay evening together.  However, what made him stop and stare so hard at them was Celeborn again wearing that enchanting smile with which he had earlier charmed Laerlínath.  And this time, his wife was smiling back in the unguarded manner she usually reserved for family.

“How do you find our city, lady?” Celeborn asked her.  She paused in mid-stroke and lifted her bright eyes to his beaming face.

“A very exciting place, my lord.”  She is so very much at ease with him!  Whereas, even after a decade, he was still nervous in the Lord’s presence.  “I had thought my adventures ended when I passed through the gates.”

“So you do not think that now?”  He pulled his beautiful starlight hair aside as she progressed around to his back.

“No,” she laughingly replied.  “Oh my, what a perfectly lovely handprint!”

“Let me know if ever you do.  I would not want you to suffer such dreadful ennui that you would contemplate leaving us.”  An attractive blush bloomed over her cheeks.

Setting aside the brush, she picked up the fuller’s cloth and set to on the palm print.  Swiftly victorious, she skillfully swept the cloth over the rest of Celeborn’s silky tunic, restoring the exquisite material to an eye-blinking finish.  Setting aside the fuller’s cloth, she walked around to the lord’s back again to needlessly help smooth his long hair into place to hang straight.  Aurthôn unconsciously ground his teeth.  His grooming done, Celeborn accommodatingly struck an elegant dancer’s pose so she might fully inspect her work.  She slowly circled him, looking for any flaw in his appearance.  No need for more than one circuit surely!

“Do I pass?” asked a bemused Celeborn after Laerlínath’s third turn around.

“No,” she playfully frowned.  “But, I guess it will have to do.”  The Lord smiled, enjoying her audacious attempt at his brand of humor.

“My deepest thanks for your spirited – if unsuccessful – efforts, Lady Laerlínath!”  The lavish bow he gave her was received with flattered amusement.  Aurthôn drew an aggravated breath through his nose.

“It’s alright,” Hrassa unexpectedly whispered into his ear, causing him a little jolt.  The cogndîr stepped back and took his shirt from Aurthôn’s hands.  “He’s very married.”  The teasing grin he wore grew wider.  “I’m the one you have to watch out for.”  Aurthôn did not care for this remark and did not bother to hide it.  Hrassa stepped back further, displaying a challenging wariness.  Then, he relaxed and laughingly smiled.  “Sorry, friend, only joking!  Franuilos, what’s happened to people’s sense of humor these days?”

“Sorry,” Aurthôn relented with some chagrin.  “My only excuse is my wife and I have not been reunited for very long.  But, in a way, you’re right,” he admitted.  “People here do tend to be too careful of what they say and how they say it.  A problem of always being thought to mean an insult before a jest.”

“Ah, my first lesson in modern etiquette?”  The bowman fluidly donned the moss-green shirt.  It fell over his shoulders and hung down past his hips amazingly free of creases.  Aurthôn had been distracted when he had it in hand, but the material had felt unlike would be expected of so simple a garment; pleasingly thick and soft between his fingers.  The particular cut of it made Aurthôn wonder how old the shirt might be.

“Not really,” he replied, although with a bit more cynicism than Hrassa’s question.  “General caution has merely become common practice as our country is rather prone to violence.”

“Not near as bad as Tharbad, believe me.”

“Aurthôn... “  Laerlínath was at the alcove entrance, her face modestly turned away, speaking through the curtain.  “Do you require the clothes brush or aught else?”

“No.”  He felt too embarrassed by his jealousy to talk at length with her just then.  “Thank you, but there is all we need in the dresser already.”

“Very well.”  She went away and he purposely took up the conversation where left off.

“I doubt you need any instruction.  You’ve obviously attended court before.  I’d venture to say all the great courts?”  Hrassa nodded.  Aurthôn handed him the boot brush and he gave his retrieved belt a perfunctory brushing.

“Never Gondolin, though.”  He handed the brush back and fastened on his belt.  “And I’d liked to have seen that city before it fell.”  He took the offered clothes brush.

“Who wouldn’t?”  Aurthôn hooked a footrest with his foot and scooted it over to Hrassa for his convenience.  “Which was more impressive – Menegroth or Nargothrond?”

“You can’t compare them that way.”  Aurthôn helped lift Hrassa’s shirttails so he could start to brush his leggings from the waist down.  “Both were caves, yes.  But, they were different from each other – one Sindar; the other Noldor.  As this place is very different from Forlond and Harlond.”

“I agree with you completely about that.”  He let go of the shirt, which instantly straightened itself out.  “What is your shirt made from?”  Hrassa continued brushing down to his knees, then setting a foot upon the footstool, worked on down to his shoe.  His leggings and footwear appeared very similar to what the Galadhrim warriors wore.  Finished with one leg, he switched to the other, making quick work of that one too.

“I think it has to be some sort of hithlain.  The Lady made it for me and she said – “

A shrill chirp of sound jumped out of the still open private passage.

“Celebrían?!” the Lord and the Cogndir exclaimed together, both heads simultaneously turning towards the dark doorway.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

le um guldureth – ‘you wicked witch’ - you evil sorceress

giliath – stars (collective form of gil)

morhiril – dark lady

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Chapter Seventeen – A Considerable Welcome

Hrassa flung away the clothes brush and shot out of the alcove like an arrow; the curtains hung across the entrance floating down in a transient sign of his lightening egression.  He overtook Celeborn, whose more deliberate stride had brought him almost to the entrance of the private passage, and leapt past the lord to block the doorway by grasping the low lintel with one hand and the frame with the other.  He leaned his head inside the passage, intently listening.  Laerlínath was once again awed at the elegant speed with which a wood-elf could move, but she was also baffled as to what the cogndîr thought he was doing by interfering with the Lord.

“It’s probably nothing,” said Hrassa, the dutiful tone in his voice as natural as rain in spring.  “Wait here and I’ll find out what’s going on.”

“Oh, no need to put yourself out on my behalf.  If naught to worry over, why don’t you just let Ithinduil take care of whatever the matter for you?”  The vehement sarcasm in the Lord’s reply brought Hrassa around to face him in startled embarrassment at what he only just realized he had done.  Celeborn’s eyes flickered with green flame; his jaw clenched in anger even as he spoke.  “Have I indeed been too magnanimous?”

Aurthôn had followed Hrassa out of the alcove to stand next to Laerlínath.  They exchanged an anxious glance, but where her husband was apprehensive, she was stunned.  Now, I understand your cautiousness around him!  The charming edhil lord, who treated her with such gentle consideration, had without warning instantly transformed into a puissant eldar prince.  He loomed over the green-elf like an impending blizzard; blinding in its swirling intensity and stinging ice.

“Do you think you can simply take your old place back?”  The cogndîr’s face went stoically blank, his arms dropped to his sides, and he stared ahead as a warrior should whenever addressed by his high-lord commander.  “Has that impossibility not yet been made clear to you?”

She could not exactly understand the Lord’s furious words, as he spoke in Nandorin, but she was quite aware what he was saying to his old bowman.  This was the very reason he had let Elrovail take that mean slap at their friend – to keep him from imprudently acting with his former authority.

“You are neither guardian nor member of this House anymore!  And you shall not resume the privileges you have rejected!”

“Aran,” said Hrassa, bowing his head in acknowledgement of Celeborn’s authority to judge him.  “I humbly apologize.  I have erred and it will not happen again.”  He did not raise up his head and held his eyes downcast, awaiting his sentence.

“That is if any promise of yours can be trusted.”  Although he had reined back his anger, Celeborn appeared hardly satisfied by the abject apology.  As though, Hrassa asking for his forgiveness would have been preferable.  “Now, get out of my way.”  The cogndîr moved aside; his stoic mask crumbling under his prince’s scurrilous words.

Having been the recent recipient of another high-elf’s ire, Laerlínath reluctantly found herself feeling sorry for the green-elf.  I too was startled by the child’s cry and made fearful for her sake!  If Celeborn had not moved to investigate, she would have acted just as imprudently and demanded for the Lord to do something.  Nevertheless, next time she had an urgent request to make, she figured begging would be a much wiser approach than insisting.

But before Celeborn took a step forward, a familiar voice called out Hrassa’s name from the depths of the passage.  She was greatly relieved to hear Lord Celebrimbor’s excited hail.  Why of course!  That wayward child has once more delayed him!  Celeborn and Hrassa and her husband, too, notably relaxed knowing now there was no reason for alarm.  A moment later, the master-smith burst forth from the darkness like Arnor coming through the Gates of Morning, and all the unhappy tension in the air dissipated into nothingness like a dawn mist.

“By Aulë! ‘Tis you!”  Celebrimbor offered Hrassa an exuberant smile and a welcoming hand, which a glad Hrassa unhesitatingly took into his.

Ithinduil was right behind the master-smith, but the guard was forced to stay in the passage as the broad-shouldered lord completely blocked the doorway.  Nevertheless, he quickly informed the Lord that all was well and the Lady Celebrían was safely en route to her room under the supervision of her own guard.  Reassured by the report, Celeborn smiled at his friends’ cheerful reunion, his previous pleasantness reinstated.

Laerlínath was also reassured by the news that the little princess was safe.  But, whatever was the child doing in there instead of in her bed?!  The depth of her concern surprised her.  Certainly, she would care about any child living under such lax supervision in such a hazardous place as this, but her growing connection to the Lord and Lady’s daughter felt oddly personal.

“Come now, who is this Íhu person you always speak of?” joked Hrassa.  The two friends grinned fiercely at each other as they tested the strength of their grip, one against the other, eager to see which of them would wince first.

“Why, I mean you, you old morben!”

“Me?  You can see me?  Remarkable!”

“Is it not?” laughed Celebrimbor.  “And how wonderful it is to see you again!”  For a second, the Lord looked suspiciously at his fellow ruler.  Laerlínath did not think Celebrimbor sounded that struck by the bowman’s unanticipated return, either.  Even earlier, when Celebrían had informed him of Hrassa, the master-smith was merely disturbed, not surprised.

“The stars forever shine bright upon our meeting!” returned Hrassa.  He never lost his wide grin, but his eyes suddenly tightened in a painful squint – signaling the end of the contest with Celebrimbor the winner.  Competition over, they loosed their grip, but held their handshake – Celebrimbor placing his other hand atop and Hrassa his free hand over all.

Why the green-elf even thought to challenge Celebrimbor’s strength, Laerlínath admitted she would never understand.  Although he had as muscular an upper body as one would expect of an archer, the bowman was noticeably smaller then the Noldor lord.  Ellyn – morben or calben – all the same.  They simply had to challenge each other, whether or not they would get hurt for nothing and no good reason.

“How have you been?” asked Celebrimbor, radiating with the warmth of genuine feelings.  Hrassa’s appreciation of those feelings was just as genuine.

“Well enough,” he replied.  “I would ask how you have been, but your current fortunes are much discussed abroad.”  A vulpine sparkle spread outward from his eyes to light up his entire face.  “Unless a wife has been tucked away unseen into a corner the same way a daughter has escaped notice.”

“A little treasure, is she not?” chuckled the doting uncle.  “But, no.  No such prize for me, sorry to say.  You?”  The empathetic hope in Celebrimbor’s question tugged Hrassa’s smile a little crooked as he shook his head no.  “Too bad.  For both of us.”  He released Hrassa’s hand and quickly looked around.  “Did not Elrovail get here before me?”

“Yes, and has gone to inform Galadriel,” explained Celeborn.

“Oh, but I do not think she intends that,” warned Celebrimbor, showing a lighthearted misgiving about Elrovail’s true motive.

“Just so,” agreed Celeborn, his smile expanding.  He shrugged his eyebrows at Celebrimbor’s wry expression.  “An honest surprise awaits my lady, for a change.”  He placed a hand on each friend’s shoulder.  “Come! Let us drink a toast for good cheer and fortification ere that momentous event.”

With enthusiastic agreement from both, they went to the sideboard where waited the delivered mead and troop of small crystal goblets.

“Hrassa, what think you of our city?” asked Celebrimbor.  He appeared eager to have the Laiquende talk about his works, which seemed peculiar to Laerlínath.  Of what possible significance is a forest-dweller’s opinion about a stone city?  Without a second thought, she picked up the pitcher to serve their drinks.  “And give me your first impressions,” insisted the master-smith.  “Do not let your recent incarceration sway your opinion.”

“Well, at first, it reminded me of Tol Sirion…”  He paused, waiting for a reaction.  Laerlínath handed a cup to the Lord and looked at Hrassa with a new respect.  For the first time, she realized that, in his various duties throughout an age of turmoil, he had to have traveled over the length and breath of vanished Beleriand.

“Really?  Not Sirion in Arvernien?” responded Celebrimbor, delighted by the observation.  “Go on!  Go on!  Say why!”  He hardly noticed the cup Laerlínath placed in his hand to the degree she worried it would slip out of his fingers.

“Besides being situated on a point between two rivers, there are taller, less thick, walls... “  While listening to Hrassa elaborate about quays and towers and architectural styles, Laerlínath poured another cup, gave that to him, then set down the pitcher.

Although, Aurthôn was disappointed, she did not relent.  Perhaps their social station was adequate, but her husband should understand that these were their elders.  She and he must respect their close camaraderie and not intrude.  Besides, he had already drunk enough wine within one hour’s time.  Any more and he risked becoming inebriated.

“Hear now, you must join us.”  Setting down his cup, Celeborn picked up the pitcher and poured for them himself.  Aurthôn unsuccessfully tried to suppress a smile at finding her not being able to politely refuse on their behalf somehow humorous.  “Since, you joined us some time ago.”  Their host handed a full goblet to her grateful husband.  “And you soon will.”  His bright smile gleamed as he handed Laerlínath hers.  The generosity of spirit behind that smile eased her reticence about being included and also persuaded her to be more forgiving of her husband over-imbibing.  The Lord retrieved his own drink and, following his lead, cups were raised.

“Gwend!” he proclaimed and all heartily echoed, “Gwend!”  They drank – the prince and master-smith and bowman smoothly downing their mead to the last drop.

Laerlínath took a mere sip, then sighed to see Aurthôn drain his cup too, even if a bit slower then the others.  Apparently, drinking to excess had not ever been a topic for discussion in this fledgling court.  Clearly already too long deprived of the presence of true ladies.  But, she wisely accepted that now was not the time to begin a much needed campaign for temperance.  Whereupon, she picked up the pitcher in an offer to refill their cups – although the portion would be half what it was before.  Her husband would get even less.

The service door slowly opened and the two cleansed mithril wine bowls were brought out on a polished silver tray by an ellon, not an elleth.  The chained-key discreetly attached at his waist told Laerlínath that the fellow was a wine butler’s assistant, which meant the cups were too important to be handled by a lower servant.  And we drank from those vessels!  The Lord and the cogndîr had indeed been eyeing her and Aurthôn for their presumption in using the cups, not simply for sneaking a bottle or being caught kissing!  Her husband – who if he did not suspect before had to understand now with the return of the cups in this manner – returned a patently innocent smile to her glare.  Flustered, she accidentally took more than a sip from her cup and had to hold her breath against the strong aftermath of the aromatic mead.  But, it worked well to keep her from nervously laughing aloud at his playful denial.

“You may put those on the small serving table in the alcove, Golfod,“ Celeborn instructed.  He nabbed the half-finished bottle of wine that had been left on the sideboard.  “And put this with them.”

“Preparation is prevention,” said Hrassa to Celebrimbor, who knowingly smiled.

“Aurthôn has kindly offered to be Hrassa’s guide during his stay,” Celeborn informed Celebrimbor, offering a safer topic for conversation than Galadriel.

“You could not have a more excellent companion for touring the city,” agreed Celebrimbor, who gave his clerk an acknowledging nod.  Seeing her husband preen a little under his lord employer’s praise and satisfaction pleased Laerlínath.  Catching his eye, she tipped a silent toast to him, which – as intended – puffed his feathers even more.

“So I have been told,” said Hrassa as he held out his cup for her to pour more drink for him.  This forwardness set her to wondering whether his rate of consumption was normal or, as suggested, expressly in preparation for facing the Lady.  Maybe it would be helpful for me to partake a bit more too...  So for his third round, she sympathetically filled his cup.  “They have graciously opened their home to me as well.”  He gave her a small grateful bow on account of both favors, which caused her to inadvertently smile at him – and then frown when he smiled back.  At least this time, you did not wink.  If he ever did that again, she would most assuredly have to withdraw her invitation into their home.

“I bear another invitation for you,” grinned Celebrimbor, after a quick glance at a no longer smiling Aurthôn.  “Depend upon it, Telpë, our rugged Dan here captured the heart of every young lady in Ost-in-Edhil ere he sauntered into the custody of the patrol.”

“Has he now?  I can think of only one young lady that might be so bold as to issue her personal invitation so quickly – other than she who now graces our company.”  Laerlínath felt her cheeks tingle.  She also noticed that the Lord had barely reduced his second serving despite drinking from his cup.

“Precisely the one,” confirmed Celebrimbor, who had not even bothered with appearing to drink.  “Hrassa, you are expected for tea tomorrow afternoon.”  Perhaps she had been hasty in her estimation of what was the usual custom, and again worried about her husband’s insobriety.

“I... think not.”  The congdîr was obviously unsure who they were talking about.  Once more, Laerlinath had to resort to her drink to hold back an inappropriate laugh.  You expect to be completely aware of everything around you and for a second time find you are not?  She just assumed the said lady had been present wherever Hrassa had gotten arrested and had presumed upon the master-smith.

“Oh, but you should,” advised Celeborn; his tone nothing short of patronizing, confident that he knew what was best for his friend.  “Her teas are a sought-after invitation.  It would increase your social standing and make your visit much more entertaining.”  However, in this matter, his bowman did not look like he trusted his prince’s opinion.

“Were the lady’s salon considered the societal summit, I would not accept.  Attending a tea party is beyond the limits of my tolerance.  And I would have thought yours.”  He turned to address Celebrimbor.  “So, I beg you, Hirdan, to please convey my utmost apologies and deepest regrets to the gracious lady, but I am unable to attend.”

Celeborn eyed Golfod as he passed by on his way back to the service door.  Laerlínath assumed because his task had taken a bit longer than one would expect.  But then, the servant flexed the fingers of his low hand and the Lord let him go without comment.  Yet one more thing I must ask Aurthôn about.  It was not the first time she had noticed this subtle signaling between the Galadhrim.

“Really now, Hrassa, you should not miss the opportunity,” urged Celebrimbor.  “If you are too shy, I will escort you there and make introductions.  I am sure you will enjoy the experience once you settle into it.”

“We are talking about a tea party!”  Hrassa stared at him, seriously doubting his friend’s intelligence.  “If ever there was a more ridiculous waste of time!  What should be but a friendly gathering has been purposely twisted into vain posturing and a cruel game of status.”

The lords laughed, but Laerlínath took strong exception to his rude remarks!  Once more, she distracted herself by taking a swig from her cup.  Voiceless until she coped with that, she had a moment to think about his ugly attitude.  And decide not to defend her gender’s preference for a calmer social ritual than the rowdy fests favored by ellyn.  For unlike any other houseguest, she could expect Hrassa to likewise absent himself from his hostess’ planned receptions.

“Now-now, mellon-nin,” soothed Celebrimbor.  “Her board is well-laden, I guarantee you that.  And the brew on a par with Telpë’s – seeing as he has instructed her in his recipe.”  Celeborn acknowledged this fact, nodding yes, when Hrassa skeptically looked at him for confirmation.

“You required something at least tolerable to drink?” his bowman speculated.

“Yes, as I do attend often enough,” admitted his prince.

“See? No great difference between hearty mugs and delicate teacups, is there?” Celebrimbor went on.  “Although,” his expression turned slightly apologetic, “many of her other guests do tend to be completely lacking in astute conversation.  Rather cotton-brained, for the most part.  Still,” he grinned with goodwill and patted his friend on the shoulder, “nothing you cannot handle for a few hours.”

“Hours?!  Well, it matters not for I am not going.”  Hrassa took a deep gulp from his cup as if to emphasize his decision was final.

“You may be right, after all,” Celeborn began with a thoughtful air, as though the discussion had forced him to reconsider his previously stated opinion.  “That Jestador fellow – the current favorite in her extensive entourage – has a disconcertingly vacant stare.  I often wish to twist his head all way round so he does not look at me.  And that effeminate clown!  What’s-his-name? – Tinuion.  Another regular – wooden-headed, rather than cotton-brained.”  He shook his head in judgmental disdain.  “Entirely incapable of self-direction.  Without someone to pull his strings, he too is but a garish prop.  As Qaurë says, in general, the ladies there are as interesting as a row of painted dolls.”

“So, why ever should I wish to suffer such company?!” demanded Hrassa.  He drained his cup of what was left, and turned back to Celebrimbor.  “You may or may not inform the lady, but I will not be going.”

“Yes, you will,” snickered the master-smith as he poured his untouched mead into Hrassa’s empty cup – which flabbergasted Laerlínath.  She could not believe what Celebrimbor had just done!  Nor was the cogndîr affronted at being given the lord’s leftovers!  For he gave a little raise of his cup to the lord and drank from it!

“How so?” Hrassa asked with a slightly snide waffling of his upper lip.

“Because now,” Celebimbor gave Celeborn a devilish grin of appreciation, “you are too curious not to.”

Just as Hrassa opened his mouth to reproach them for their disparaging assault on his willpower, the latch of the door into the great hall and dais audibly snapped, threatening to open.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

aran – king (also translates as ‘Lord’ for it means the ruler of a realm, not just royalty)

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

morben – moriquendi Quenya

calben – caliquendi Quenya

Dan – one of the Danwaith or Dan, the original name for those that stayed with Lenwë on the banks of the Anduin

hirdan – master smith (wright, maker, whatever profession)

gwend – friendship (from gwedh – to bind)

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Chapter Eighteen – A Lady Disappointed

At the heralding clack of the door handle, friendly banter immediately ceased, and all heads turned with anticipation to the dais entrance.  The cloaking curtains billowed slightly from the intrusion of unmuffled music swirling out of the bubbling rumble of hundreds of voices in gay conversation and as many well-shod feet in lively synchronous step.  Lord Celeborn set down his cup and Laerlínath impulsively drank the few drops left in hers.  She watched the lord cross the room, in what she now assumed must be his usual measured stride, to be readily at hand to receive the Lady.

His unhurried air of confidence heartened Laerlínath, and she endeavored to rally the ragtag remains of her previously routed nerve.  I will not be overwhelmed so easily again!  She must not allow herself to be shocked senseless a second time.  But to be fair, she had not expected to have her worst fear – the awful secret no other, not her husband or even her mother, knew about – hurled at her like a spear.

Aurthôn edged closer to her side.  Guren said his lips and eyes, as he took her hand and discreetly concealed their tight clasp behind her skirt.  Herven she responded, and continued to look at him after his eyes returned to the door.  She prayed that reality would never come to be what had been so mercilessly plunged into her thoughts by Galadriel.  Her beloved turned his eyes back to her, noticing her stare.  She smiled to hide her qualms.  Reassured, he flashed a smile for her and looked away again.  It would be cruel to tell you, melannen.  In order to pursue his career, her poor husband needed to believe she was fine without him around to watch over her – when that was not the truth.

Admittedly, there was another reason she would never willingly confide this secret to another.  It would be humiliating for anyone to know how utterly dependent upon his love she truly was.  A case more pathetic than romantic…  If she ever lost her beloved to death, it would destroy her will to live.  Whether or not she could await his return in Eldamar.  Galadriel had found that out and had used it to devastating effect.  Merely contemplating on her husband dying, just as I am foolishly doing at this very moment, sapped her courage.

Following Aurthôn’s line of sight, she found he was not watching the door but the composed figure of Celeborn.  As she gazed at the Eldar prince, her mounting dread... disappeared.  He will shield us from harm.  This sudden trust puzzled her even as she was thankful for the feeling.  Where in the world did that come from?  To be sure, a good many peculiar ideas had popped into her mind these past few days – such as becoming a lady of influence in this new court.  Had this unbidden faith in a powerful guardian sprung up merely from her embarrassing need to have her husband safe at her side?  Or a need inadvertently left behind by the Lady?  That intuitive leap was more startling than the preceding one.  How could Galadriel, as powerful as she was, fear the loss of anyone or anything?  Nevertheless, Laerlínath found herself gratefully believing she could rely upon the Lord to protect her and her beloved – and keep them both safe from much more than the Lady’s ire.

The curtains hiding the dais door suddenly swept aside, swaying in place from the force of the draw.  The taut draw-cord was held by the same brannon who had earlier urged Lady Mirathel’s return to the great hall.  And it was MIrathel, not Galadriel, who took a deliberate step backward through the doorway; her long skirt swathed around to one side to avoid tripping.

Another stylishly dressed lady was as much as forcing the hiril into this indecorous retreat.  The elleth would not cease her aggressive chattering for even one second, and thereby, permit the Lady’s companion to politely disengage from the one-sided conversation.  So, once she had traversed the threshold, Mirathel rudely spun about-face and pointedly saw to maneuvering her train out of the way of her feet – leaving the other lady stopped at the uncrossable border of the private domain, flabbergasted into a belated silence at the blatant cut.  The grinning brannon added his own small flourish by releasing the draw-cord instead of easing it back.  As the curtains fell down heavily – right in her face – the lady exclaimed her shock at such treatment.  Then once more, the noisy festivities were effectively sealed off behind the closed door.

In all, a very quick scene.  Laerlínath exhaled, only then made aware that she had been holding her breath.  She glanced at Aurthôn, who was watching her, apparently amused by her relief at the new arrival not being Galadriel.  Chagrined, she petulantly tugged her hand out of his.

“The Lady asks for your indulgence, my lord and good sir,” Mirathel began to say.  Her eyes remained directed downward as she spoke, still rearranging her skirt ere lifting her gaze up to Celeborn, where he stood directly before her.  She smiled at his peeved expression, playing innocence at being the cause of his displeasure – he had expected his lady wife to come at his not-that-subtle summons, not her lady seneschal.  “She is delayed with the guest of honor and will arrive shortly.”  The Lord appeared to enjoy even less being put off for that particular person’s sake.  Archly hiding her entertainment at helping his mood change from irritated to sour, the hiril made to sashay around him.  “May I offer some food and refreshment until – “  Celeborn stepped sideways, intentionally blocking her path and view into the room.

Abruptly halted, the lady leaned back and looked askance at his discourteous obstruction.  He hesitated, not immediately offering an excuse for his rudeness.  Evidently though, he had nothing she thought worth hearing anyway.  Her head came up, and she brought to bear her well-honed matronly scrutiny.  With a resigned sigh and a surrendering wave of his arm, he swung aside.  After eyeing him for his behavior, Mirathel finally looked at the people across the room – and froze.

She did not pale or gasp.  No movement at all did she make.  Not even the smallest flicker of the eyes.  The vibrant elleth had been changed into a merely life-like figure, a painted sculpture without breath or heartbeat.

The spell lasted for a few moments before her chest filled with a swift rush of air.  A parade of emotions marched over her face as she slowly deflated.  Her hands clenched the skirt of her fine gown until the knuckles turned bone-white.  Sympathetic to the elder lady’s shackling distress, Laerlínath set down her cup, meaning to dash to the hiril’s aid.  But, her husband grabbed her wrist and held her back.

“Mirathel... “ Celeborn softly called.  Concerned, he moved to her side and tried to place an arm about her shoulders.  Whereupon, she jerked away, out of his reach.  Like a bewildered child unable to choose a direction in which to flee, she swayed with awkward indecisiveness; casting her eyes everywhere but to where Hrassa stood.  Celeborn held out an open, steady hand to her.  “I am sorry, Mirathel.  I beg your pardon for not giving you better warning.”  Her wavering ceased as she glared at the extended hand.  Her scornful eyes then rose to his, demanding an answer.

“Mandos?” she whispered.  An eerie chill ran down Laerlínath’s spine, almost causing her to shiver.  Aurthôn lowered his grip on her wrist to reclaim her hand and stared agape at the cogndîr.

“No!” said Celeborn, sending his unheeded hand to his side in an adamant gesture.  “He is not back from the dead!”  He paused and forced his reverberating tone back down to a less intimidating pitch.  “Only the wild.”

“Did you know?!”  Mirathel squared her shoulders in defiant outrage, holding back none of her anger at the possibility she had been purposely deceived.  “Did you know – all this time! – that he was alive?  Does Galadriel know?!”

“No!”  Although acutely resentful of her suspicion, Celeborn held his own temper better than she was holding hers.  “He went without our leave and without notice!”  Lips tautly pressed in a thin line, he drew a disconsolate breath.  “I was as surprised as you.”  Intentionally or not, how hurt he himself was by the trust that had been broken had slipped into his voice – instantly disarming Mirathel’s fury.  Her head and shoulders sagged as her righteous indignation wilted.

“He just... “  She shook her head in disbelief.  “ ...left?!”  A mewling cry barely reached her throat before being stifled, denying a pain that plainly rose from older injuries made worse by new.  She turned away, hiding her face.  In the next moment, she moved away, seeking to escape back into the great hall.  “Please excuse me... ”  Her voice was listless, alarmingly missing its earlier verve.

“No, you must stay.”  Celeborn reached as she passed him and took hold of her elbow.  His voice droned with same disappointed dullness.  “Elrovail is capable of handling proceedings long enough so my lady may come and greet our guest.”  Mirathel did not try to pull away, but would not look at him either, keeping her back turned.  He turned to face in the same direction as she, and again lightly encircled her shoulders with his arm.  She did not acknowledge his touch, remaining stock-still.  Taking her unresisting hand in his, he brought his lips closer to her ear.  “Please forgive me, melleth-nin,” he said with heartfelt contrition.  “I did not mean for you to find out this way.  I thought we would get it all sorted out beforehand, and then tell you with more consideration.  I apologize for my clumsiness –”

“May I retire to the alcove?” she abruptly asked.  He took a deep breath and freed her, his arms falling useless to his sides.  She straightened up and smoothed her appearance before turning around.

Her face was composed, showing no sign of tears or malice, seemingly unaffected by what had just transpired.  She went into the alcove at a dignified pace, without the slightest glance in Hrassa’s direction.  The congdîr’s breath hitched, and he started forward.  But, Celebrimbor held him back by throwing an arm across his chest.  Wearing a stern frown, Celeborn gave his bowman a sharp jerk of his head, also telling him to make no attempt to speak to the hiril.  Then, the Lord turned a supplicating expression onto the wordless clerk and his wife.

“Laerlínath?” he entreated, and Aurthôn released her hand.  She moved swiftly, glad to be called upon.  Quickly pouring a cup of mead, she carried it to the small chamber.  Behind her, she heard the master-smith quietly, but firmly, advising Hrassa.

“Give her some time!” stressed the master-smith.  “She will speak to you eventually!  Just let her disappointment settle a bit.  Your coming back like this is not an easy thing to accept.”

It was easy enough for you, my lord.  Laerlínath glanced back at them as she went through the gauze curtains at the entrance.  The cogndîr seemed quite upset about the poor lady’s refusal to acknowledge his presence.  But, do you even now feel guilty for going off as you did?  Inside the alcove, Laerlínath found the unhappy matron, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, staring down at Hrassa’s gear where it was laid out on the upholstered bench.  His few possessions had been repacked and his cloak neatly folded.  Laerlínath was sure that the cup-bearer had also searched for anything suspicious when he did that chore, and it occurred to her that it might comfort Mirathel to know.

“Someone named Golfod sorted through it earlier,” she softly told her.  The lady’s eyebrows lifted in silent query.  “He said nothing to Lord Celeborn about there being anything odd when he went out.”  The hiril’s face fell, disappointed again, as if she would have liked there to be an ensorcelled object holding evil sway over the bowman.  Obviously, she wanted to hear a reason a dear friend had departed without a single word, other than he had no affection for the people he was leaving behind.  “Will you not sit, my lady?”  Mirathel slowly took a seat on the divan, where Laerlínath sat down beside her.  When offered the mead, she shook her head.  “Shall I fetch you some water then?”

“No, no, do not bother... “ the hiril sighed.  “Will you please cease your fussing, brennil-nethin,” were her next annoyed words.  “I am not going to faint.”  Laerlínath was relieved to hear some normality return to her voice.  The lady elder heaved deep sigh and raised her chin.  Her hands she drew together and rested upturned, fingers half-curled, in her lap.  “I never have before, and I do not intend to now.”  Her swelling tears then spilled over, becoming streaming rivulets down her cheeks and falling from her proud jaw to pool in her open palms.  “Really, ‘tis not as if I have never before been confronted with someone suddenly come back to life.”

Laerlínath barely suppressed her renewed shiver at that very thought of such a thing happening, and was glad she was not living in the age before, when supernatural events of that sort would occur.  That wrathful Valar and potent Maiar no longer frequented Ennor was quite alright with her, and she much preferred that things stayed that way.

“How could he have done anything like this?!”  The hiril tugged an unfashionable generous handkerchief from out her sleeve to soak up her tears.  “But then, we all make a few bad mistakes in our lifetimes, do we not?”  She dabbed at her face and her reddening nose.  “Especially when it concerns matters too important to make any mistakes at all.”  Her tears eased, but very little.

Mirathel’s attempt to talk herself into forgiveness squeezed Laerlínath’s heart.  From all she had seen, Hrassa had been greatly loved by this family.  Despite hurt feelings, they wanted him back.  However, it was no insignificant thing that someone they had likely memorialized as a hero had apparently abandoned his duty.  Worse, he did not think that he need ask forgiveness for the deed, when they clearly felt he did.

“Better he had died!”  The suddenly revealed depth of Mirathel’s bitterness rendered Laerlínath aghast.  But, the hiril merely shook her head and scoffed, “Either drink that yourself or set it down, child, before you spill it over your dress.”  Laerlínath carefully set the cup on the side table, using the tiny interlude to think.

Only to be surprised by the extent of her own bitterness at Hrassa’s conduct, although his offense towards her personally was tiny in comparison.  But, he did apologize when I allowed it.  Mirathel’s embittered principles had driven her to condemn her friend outright, thus depriving him of any chance to make proper amends to her.  Oh, I cannot believe I am going to defend that Laiquende!  But, Laerlínath knew it would be a goodly deed on her part to dispel the matron’s baseless fear that Hrassa did not care in the least about those who cared so much about him.

“My lady, ‘twas not his intention to return.  I sure of it.  He never meant to hurt anyone in this way – certainly not you.”  She laid a supportive hand upon Mirathel’s forearm.  “He came into the city – which one must say was indeed foolish of him – and the patrol arrested him.  Lord Celeborn only incidentally found out and brought him here, directly out of prison.”  She dipped her head and looked directly into Mirathel’s eyes.  “I gather that the Lord never released Hrassa from duty, yet he made the cogndîr his guest.  Not only because of their old friendship, I think, but so that he may – as you also desire – discover the truth behind his bowman’s seeming lapse of loyalty.”  Mirathel blinked at her, and Laerlínath warily awaited a verbal reprimand for her uninvited personable speech.

“I was so upset I could not think on Lord Celeborn’s actions,” Mirathel candidly admitted.  “But then, whoever can truly fathom his designs,” she claimed, excusing herself as far as he was concerned.  Her tears eased away, eventually to evaporate; her brow furrowed in thought.  “Elrovail said absolutely nothing.  No hint at all as to what was going on.”

“Lady Elrovail is fixed upon surprising the Lady Galadriel.  She left it to Lord Celeborn to be of adequate support for you.  And, do not think she has escaped unscathed!  For all her jocular greetings when she came into the parlor expecting to see him, she could not welcome the cogndîr whole-heartedly either, naming him a deserter to his face.”

“And what did he say to that?” Mirathel asked, keen for the answer.

“He said he had not run away, but wandered off.”

“Wandered off?!”  The hiril’s earlier anger flared.  “How dare he use that excuse!  He is no simple wood-elf!  He was born in Nos Elmo!”  She clamped her damp handkerchief over her mouth, prohibiting a longer tirade from pouring forth.  After calming down, she let the covering hand fall onto her lap.  “Granted, not raised there.”

“Then, I am confused, my lady.  Since he is Laiquendi, why do you all make what he has done to be so unacceptable?  Do that folk not go off into the forest on a whim?”  Indeed, it had been nagging at Laerlínath.  “My adar expected there would always be a few of our green-elf tenants nowhere to be found.  He said they would come back when they felt their spirits refreshed, and they always did.  We certainly never took it personally.”

Mirathel almost rolled her eyes.  Laerlínath did not exactly want a lecture, but she figured that talking out other things might bring resolution for Mirathel.  In addition, she might learn something informative from a genuine insider.  So, she indicated interest in an explanation, and the hiril obliged.

“Would you say the Sindar of Forlindon are completely alike to the Sindar of Harlindon?”

“No, my lady.  The Sindar in Forlindon tend to be from the north and the Noldor kingdoms of Beleriand.  Whereas, the Sindar in Harlindon came from Doriath or are Nandor.  There are as many differences as similarities between them.”

“In like, the Nandor that made up Denethor’s House and host were of a different sort then those that populated the Taur-im-Duinath and hinterlands of Ossiriand.”

“Different how?”  She found herself curious as to where Hrassa fit into this setting.  “Was it the presence of those who eschewed the killing of beast or bird?”  Ascetic wood-elves were known to have resided in Tol Galen.  However, that place made her think of Beren and Lúthien, causing her to again chill at the thought of the dead rejoining the living.

“There are not so many of that philosophy as some people like to fancy.  And very few have ever lived amongst hunting folk, even in Tol Galen.  In Ossiriand, they mostly kept to their own ranges on the slopes of the Ered Luin.  I beg your pardon, Ered Lindon.”  Mirathel looked at her with a skeptical eye.  “I suspect you were taught that the Laiquendi had no King after Denethor.”  Laerlínath nodded yes.  “Well in truth, the Laegrim never really had a King to begin with.  Denethor was their leader and hereditary chieftain.  On occasion, called ‘aran’ by his followers, but his title was Târ.  ‘Aran’ had by practice become the title of Elu Thingol.  So, some chroniclers took ‘Aran’ to literally mean ‘King’ – when it does not.  Closer to ‘liege lord’ or ‘a king’.  If that makes any sense to you.”

“Yes,” she nodded, “I know of this historical difference.  But understandably, in this day and age, it usually means King.”

“Well then, I will assume you also know that the Nandor are those who remained by the Anduin during the Great Journey and much later came to Beleriand.  When reunited with the Sindar, old bonds were renewed.  Denethor and his folk adopted many of the practices of Thingol’s royal court.  But, most Nandor lived exactly as they always had.”

One of these Nandor traditions, Laerlínath had been schooled, was what had led to the King of the Green-elves and all his near kin being slain at Amon Ereb – including the ellith of his House.  As a nomadic people, the Laiquendi moved en masse – family, stock, and goods together – across the landscape.  Denethor’s entire host, not just the warriors, had been overrun and nearly all slaughtered.  The ruling bloodline was thus ended.  For, unlike the Noldor, the Sindar gave as much countenance to daughters as to sons.  Nonethelesss, no latter descendant of Denethor by son or daughter ever came forward to assume his authority.  Although astonishingly, one would eventually return to Lórinand to take his great-great-grandfather’s place.

Instead, it was the descendant of Denethor’s next sibling who became the new leader of the Laegrim – Nimloth, the only child of Galathil Galadhonion.  Denethor’s younger sister, Oioloth, was Prince Elmo’s wife and both had sailed.  Galathil was the by-then deceased eldest son of Galadhon, Elmo and Oioloth’s eldest son, who had also departed to Eldamar.  A mere lass became the heir of two great princes, and was literally made Rîn by her uncle, Celeborn, in whose care she had been placed by her parents before their fatal voyage and shipwreck.  Ironically, Nimloth left Menegroth, where the survivors of Denethor’s host had come for refuge, to live in Ossiriand and rule people that had hardly acknowledged her predecessor.

“And so, Denethor was succeeded by Nimloth,” prompted Laerlínath.

“Yes, of whom those same chroniclers say little save she was Dior Eluchíl’s wife.  When, it was she who welcomed her gwathel and her husband to reside in Tol Galen and made them the Laegrim’s guardians when she left with her husband and children.  Those events did not happen of their own accord.”

“And,” Laerlínath continued, purposely steering away from talking about the residents of Dor Firn-i-Guinar.  “Lord Celeborn was her steward and councilor until she was of a mind to rule on her own.  Not until then, did the Lord and Lady wed and cross the mountains into Eriador.  With Thingol’s death, her eldest son became heir to Doriath, and her younger son was promised to be returned to the Laiquendi when he was grown.”  Laerlínath knew this because, when she was herself a lass, her father would tell her stories about the Eldar princesses to inspire her.  She had asked to hear more about Nimloth than any other, because the Rîn was her only model for pretending to be a child queen rather than just another little princess.

“Ah but,” said Mirathel, ruefully shaking her head, “in the end, the people as well as the land were changed by the War.  Sadly, the Laegrim did not want Nimloth’s younger grandson as their prince.”

“Is that why the cognîr calls Lord Celeborn Caun-anim ?” Laerlínath ventured to ask.  “Because the folk of Harlindon preferred Elmo’s next grandson to his three-times great-grandson, even though Elrond is also Thingol’s great-grandson?”

“Hardly.  That name is a whole other and older story.”  The lady tilted her head, pursing her lips.  “The fact is, a great many preferred Lord Oropher.  Else, so large a host would not have gone east with him, now would they?”  She gave Laerlínath an indulgent expression, as if saying a young Noldo could never be expected to really understand Sindar history or their way of thinking.  “But, Oropher could not garner the support of the northern Sindar as could Celeborn and Galadriel.”  Mirathel looked sidelong at her.  “Which was a strange turn of fortune in itself.”

“How so, my lady?”  The hiril obviously wanted to tell her.

“Well, to put it simply for you, it was from Elmo that sprang the princes of Doriath and noblest lords of Beleriand.  And by that, I mean not only among the Umanyar lords of Beleriand – the Sindar, Nandor, and Teleri – but the children of his offspring that wed Noldor nobility.  Elmo’s Children called themselves the Elmoi, a name you might never have heard before.  Lord Celeborn was made chieftain of their nothrim by his grandfather ere the Prince departed, and though the highest prince of Doriath, he never took Elmo’s title for he believed that belonged to his brother.  To this day, Sindarin nobility acknowledge a closer tie to Celeborn than they have ever had or will ever feel towards Elrond.”  She spoke with suppressed pride.  “The Elmoi have disbursed and faded, but my lord and lady’s House maintains its prominence.”  That Mirathel would say such a thing while living in a realm that owed its fealty to Lindon’s King felt like a bit of an affront to Laerlínath.

“My husband considers the Galadhrim to be grey-elves, not just led by them,” she commented.  “Are they that different from those in Lindon?”  The hiril needed reminding that the Lord and Lady still had a suzerain who lorded over them.  Amdir now instead of Gil-galad, but their installment in Ost-in-Edhil was no different than when they were in Harlond.

“Oh yes,” was Mirathel’s perk response, not seeming to take the hint.  “Though, many of us consider ourselves formerly of Eriador, not Beleriand or Lindon.  We were a quite diverse folk there by our lovely lake, and we happily shared our differences.  In my opinion, a people all our own.  We did not inhabit stone cities or caverns.  We had better use for the caves scattered throughout our hills.”  A twinkle came to her now dry eyes.  “In fact, some took to dwelling year-round far above the ground.  The Lord and Lady’s lodgings and seat were high in a tree.  Like in the Hirilorn.  You have heard of that dwelling, have you not?”

“They lived in a tree?” Laerlínath almost exclaimed.  She thought the hiril might be mocking her by touting such a ridiculous idea.  She could not imagine anything more unaccommodating than a flet, or even a deer blind, when it snowed.  “Surely, no sensible forest-dweller forsakes a cozy hut in wintertime.”

“We build homes, Laerlínath, not shelters.  In Lothloríen, we Galadhrim live almost exclusively in the trees.  Hence, the name?”  She smiled.  “Harlindon was a well enough land to dwell in, but coming to Lórinand – where the Silvan better understood our predilections – was a welcome transition.”  Mirathel pressed a light touch on Laerlínath’s shoulder.  “Do not worry yourself about it.  ‘Tis very unlikely you shall ever be required to reside in a tree-house.”

“Even so... “  Then, she too smiled, realizing Mirathel was playing with her Noldorin notions – she had been all along.  “But, tell me then please, if the southern Sindar were not inclined to Elrond, how is that Gil-galad became their King?”

“Good question,” nodded the hiril in approval.  “For the answer involves circumstances rather than blood, since both are princes born of kings and heroes.  Gil-galad was raised in a Sindar household and Elrond in a Noldor.  They were returned to their birth-folk having been ingrained with their foster-folk’s attitudes.  Favorable for Gil-galad, not so for Elrond.  When the last council of the allied lords of Beleriand sought to name a king for Lindon, Ereinion had been their war-leader for sometime already.  All but the Fëanoreans had essentially accepted his leadership.  And, there was no possibility of the Kinslayers who chose to remain in Ennor of following any but a Noldor prince.  Gil-galad would keep a peaceful balance between everyone.  Besides Elrond being even younger, he was seen as Noldorin by most Sindar but Sindarin by most Noldor.  His own fault, if you ask me.  Elros had steered a wiser course – for all of being as young – and exploited his encompassing heritage.  He might have become King of the Elves, had he not chosen to be King of the Edain.”

“History is indeed ironic.  But, what was this other twist of fate you started to explain before we went astray?”

“Oh yes, the northern Sindar of Beleriand,” recalled the hiril, a thoughtful mien coming over her face.  “... my birth-folk.  If Morgoth had returned to Ennor only a little later than when he did, Oropher might have been the prince of Mithrim, and with Cirdan would have perhaps been successful in defending the north lands.  Or he might have been installed in Nagothrond instead of Finrod.”  She looked at Laerlínath, watching for the effect of her next words.  “He would be my lord – and Thranduil would likely be your King instead of Erienion.”  Laerlínath’s second incredulous reaction in as many minutes received only a raised eyebrow from Mirathel.  With a feminine wave of her hand, the hiril dismissed any further pursuit of the subject.  “However, such speculation has little to do with our immediate dilemma.  Which is this: Hrassa’s duty does not end whenever he wishes it to end, despite any custom of wandering off.”  She turned unyielding.  “He must abide by the rules of his House.  Back then and now, that means giving service without being called upon and not trying to escape it – on a whim!”  Mirathel’s pronouncement would beard no objection, so there was nothing for Laerlínath to say.  They fell into a silent pause.

And as they were now quiet, the low voices of the ellyn could be heard from the other room.  Their low rumbling rose slightly in volume, only to be quickly pulled down into unintelligible murmurs.  Laerlínath could not discern her husband’s voice in the jumble.  She looked at Mirathel, who appeared forlorn over the inconclusiveness of their own discourse, for she still had no excuse or cause explaining Hrassa’s inconsiderate actions.

“My lady, perhaps if you were to simply ask him, he would give a clear explanation,” Laerlínath suggested.  “It would be no weakness on your part to deign to speak to him for that reason.”

“That concession appears not to have gotten an explanation for anyone else.”

“Lord Celeborn and Lord Celebrimbor will not press for they wish to keep his friendship.  Lady Elrovail too has found it more to her purpose not to shun him.  Mostly, I think, because she has set others to do that task for her.  And, the Lord has made it abundantly clear that his bowman is only a guest and no longer one of his trusted minions.”

“Well, of course.  He would have to.  My lord might shelter him and my lady might agree, but they would not dare to take him into Nos Galadhad.  Why, half our household – at the very least – would seek to resign.”  She looked down at her hands, which had twisted her handkerchief into knots.  “Hrassa has done wrong by all of us, not just himself.”

“Then, I have done wrong too,” said Laerlínath.  She had earlier become nervous about showing hospitality to the cogndîr and hoped now for some sage advice.  “For I have opened my home to him.”

“Were you aware of his... being absence without leave?”

“No, not specifically.  Lord Celeborn and Aurthôn pushed me to give him our hospitality.  But, I have no more of an honest excuse then he, for he did warn us he was out of favor.”

“You are generous person, Laerlínath.”  Mirathel patted her hand.  “It reflects well upon you that you have not retracted your kindness.  I have grave doubts that Hrassa will be able to stay here under any conditions and am glad that he has someplace to go, out of harm’s way, while in the city.”

“Your friendship is a dear one for you to feel that way.  When did you first meet?” she impulsively asked.

“When I traveled with the Lady Galadriel and Lord Finrod on their first sojourn into Doriath.  Hrassa was posing as a messenger for the Rîn.”  The hiril’s nostalgic smile encouraged Laerlínath to think that she might get over her anger by recalling their shared past.  “In actuality, he was sent to spy.”  Only to worry she was dredging up greater trouble.  “And to that end, he decided to cultivate me for information.  He still does not know that I knew what he was about then.”  The hiril pondered what she had just said.  “At least, from when last we spoke, I do not think so.”

“Was that visit when Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn met, too?”  Laerlínath meant to distract, but she also had not anticipated getting the hiril talking about decidedly personal events.  Now, she wondered what helpful things she might hear about Galadriel’s past.

The older people around her had always avoided discussing any particulars of the Lord and Lady’s courtship and marriage, keeping to criticism of their politics.  She had always felt an unspoken disapproval concerning their engagement – although nothing like the scandals concerning the Lady’s cousin, Idril Celebrindal’s aunt.  That tale had been fully disclosed to her as a moral lesson when she had come of age.  Thereafter, she found it to be a regular source of sordid entertainment among adults – but never Celeborn and Galadriel‘s history.

“Oh my, child, the Lord and Lady did not meet in Doriath!”  Mirathel grinned at her puzzled expression.  “Rather, they collided and were welded together by the sheer force of the impact.”  Laerlínath blushed.  In her parents’ society, a courtship was never allowed to exercise the passion implied by this colorful testimonial.  Mirathel laughed; a sweet, heartbreaking sound that echoed with yearning for a long-lost place and time.  “Poor Lady Laerlínath, am I too indelicate for you?”

“A little, I admit...”  She bit back an eager smile, feeling both titillated and bashful.  She wanted to hear more of what two respectable high-elves might have done to have such an outrageous description of their conduct bestowed upon them.

But, the sounds of the celebration in great hall suddenly intruded into the parlor once more.

“We will talk again,” predicted Mirathel, rising from the divan.  Laerlínath also rose and walked one step behind her elder to the entrance of the alcove.  “Say nothing in his defense, young lady.  I certainly will not, and you would be wise to follow my example.”  She straightened her appearance, and Laerlínath followed suit.

At a nod from the hiril, Laerlínath stepped forward and lifted aside the sheer curtain for Mirathel to pass through first.  The younger elleth decided that she would indeed follow the matron’s advice.  For if anyone could get the truth out of Hrassa, that would be the Lady Galadriel.  No sense in getting in her way.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

“Nonethelesss, no latter descendant of Denethor by son or daughter ever came forward to assume his authority.  Although astonishingly, one would eventually return to Lórinand to take his great-great-grandfather’s place.” - Tolkien indicates that Amdir (Malgalad) is a Sindar prince from Beleriand.  I have him as a descendent of Elmo and of Denethor by his eldest son.  He leaves Nenuiel to find Lorinand before the Third Kinslaying.

Personally, I see the Silvan of the Golden Wood as being more Nandorin than the Silvan of the Greenwood, although both groups were influenced by the Avari that drifted into the territory over time.  The Galadrim themselves are settled people and not nomadic.  I think it was from this area (Lorien and Amon Lanc, which is but a small portion of the original Lindorinand) that Denethor left his father’s permanent encampment and embarked on his western migration traveling through the Gap of Rohan – because they did not ever care to cross the high mountains.

There is hardly anything written about Nimloth in Ossiriand or what she did there other than be wife to Dior and bear their children.  Way back at the beginning of this story, I gave her a big role to play much earlier in her life than when she becomes the queen of Doriath.

The “War” referred to here is the War of Wrath.  The War of the Elves and Sauron is almost a millennium away.

Oioloth – is an OC wife for Elmo

Târ/Rîn – a title for the lord/lady chieftain of the Laegrim

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

gwador/gwathel – brother/sister who is not a sibling

brannon/brennil – nobleman/noblewoman

brennil-nethin – young lady

guren – my heart

melannen – beloved

herven/herves – husband/wife

melleth-nin – my friend - the feminine form of mellon  Not to be confused with ‘meleth’ (love), but I see melleth-nin more like saying “dear lady” to a woman than just “my friend” or “my dear lady”

Dor Firn-i-Guinar – Land of the Dead that Live – Tol Galen, the Green Isle, situated in the Adurant River in Ossiriand, which was downstream from Lanthir Lamath, the waterfall that inspired Elwing’s name.

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Chapter Nineteen – A Lady Adamant

Celeborn was waiting for her when Galadriel came through the dais door into the parlor.

Her bodyguard, Gwîlagor, had gone through first without drawing the curtains, and afterwards held back the heavy drapes with his arm for her to come in, bowing slightly as she passed.  He had done this, not because he anticipated danger inside the room or that it was protocol, but because he simply liked lending his fine form to the Lady’s entrances.  She did not mind.  The various reactions the handsome guard garnered whenever he became noticeable, especially by ellith, provided her with endless entertainment.  Whereas, Ithinduil – who might possess more skills and for some reason was not lurking behind Celeborn – lacked any sense of flair.  Acceptable in a garrison officer perhaps, but not in a palace guardsman.  Celeborn thought he could remedy this deficiency, and he was certainly trying.  Better him than her was how she felt about it, though.  Until Gwîlagor showed any incapacity in protecting her, she would keep him on her roster of personal guards and Ithinduil off.

When inside the room, the door closing behind her, she paused to allow Gwîlagor to drop the dark curtain behind her, both of them knowing the contrasting background would very nicely setoff the fashion-setting ensemble she wore.

Her gorgeously gowned figure was enveloped in a lightly clinging aura that outlined her entire form.  The cloudy mantle drifted around her with every movement, a translucent mist of colour.  That it is was Celeborn’s favorite colour was entirely intentional.  The guests had been awed by the ethereal effect, especially when she walked.  This amazing attire was something conjured up by her genius of a dressmaker using a new fabric, a supremely fine netting, which the three rulers of Eregion could reasonably expect to become yet another lucrative trade product from the innovative looms of the Nathdain.  They had no intention of Ost-in-Edhil becoming deserted when the flood of mithril dried up.

Exercising every nuance of feminine grace at her disposal, she glided to her lord husband; confident of her exquisite appearance.

However, even though this was the first time he had seen her in the completed dress, there were no forthcoming compliments – not even a sarcastic one.  She had expected his feathers to be ruffled a little after sending Mirathel to him instead of coming herself.  But, he was not showing any emotion whatsoever.  His cool indifference gave her pause.  She had assumed this unannounced guest was just a delaying tactic, his way of complaining about having to dance before an audience tonight.

She automatically placed her hand in his extended hand, not taking her eyes off of his dispassionate face.

His thoughts did not instantly open to hers as they normally would, and she became worried.  His mind was apparently occupied with something more serious than the on-going festivities.  Had she misjudged the need for her presence?  Elrovail had not indicated any urgency.  He had not sent Mirathel back to her.

Who is so important, my lord, that you had to escort him here and solicit my greeting?

Hrassa… He had not mentioned his bowman in a very long time.  That would explain his restrained reception.  Did this guest bring word of their lost friend?  She grew excited at the prospect.  Would they finally find out what had happened to him and how he had died?  With a sliding of his eyes, Celeborn indicated for her to look past him to across the room. ... is alive.

Her breath caught the surprise so great.  There he stood!  Alive and whole and well!  Gladness filled her heart, and she burst into an enormous smile that shone with delight at the sight of him.

Hrassa!

He placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head to her.  As ever, her servant...

Then, it struck her what it meant if he were again alive, and her happy smile fled in alarm.  She sought her beloved’s shielding strength, tightening her light clasp on his hand.  And shockingly, received nothing!  In that unguarded moment, a dread long caged abruptly leapt forth and fell heavily upon her.  Hrassa was back to aid them in their need, but all she was feeling was abject fear for her child’s life!  Her body stiffened with foreboding.  She wanted to cry out!

The room went pitch-black.  Suspended in the deathly darkness, glaring at her, was a pair of red reptilian eyes – eager for a kill.

Celebrían!

As suddenly as it had come, the vision left.  She drew a shaky breath.  As she exhaled, she strove to shed the dismay cast up by the vision’s wake.  And still nothing from her husband!  She looked to him, bewildered at his abnormal lack of empathy.  His jade eyes were fixed upon her, coldly reading her for signs of a prescient moment.

You meant for that to happen!  Anger replaced apprehension, and she pulled her hand out from his.

What did you see?  What about Celebrían?

In your own vernacular, my lord – Bado na Angband!

She blustered away from him; a swirling storm-cloud of a kind never to be witnessed in nature.  Undaunted, needing only one long stride to catch up, he fell into step right beside her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gwîlagor moving along with them.  When she stopped in the center of the room, the guard positioned himself where he could be seen to protect his queen from this stranger whose presence had clearly spoiled her high spirits.  She schooled her face to appear calm and eased her tense posture.  If she did not visibly regain her confidence, the former marchwarden just might offer the cogndîr a threat he would not ignore.  She liked Gwîlagor too much to have that happen to him.

Mirathel turned to Laerlínath and, with a look, sent the young lady over to her husband.  Aurthôn, Galadriel noticed with envy, received his wife with evident affection and more care for her state of mind than her own husband was showing her.  She looked to Mirathel, expecting some sympathy for having to suffer Celeborn’s callousness.  However, her friend apparently did not think Galadriel needed her support.  The matron’s judgmental mien was directed, not at Celeborn, but at Hrassa.  Who strangely had not yet raised his head.  Perplexed, Galadriel looked from him to Celebrimbor.  Whereupon, the master smith made a deliberate show of solidarity with the green-elf by straightening up and staying next to him.  Which only compounded her confusion.  Disconcerted by everyone acting odd all at one time, she hesitated in giving her greeting.

After waiting a few moments and her not deciding what she would do, Celeborn pressed a hand lightly upon the small of her back.  A sensation of reassurance began to seep into her, his gentle touch the source.

Melluain, you might wish to –

Do not call me that!  Not after what you just did!  Did he think her so distracted that she would forgive him his intentional neglect without an apology first?

Galadriel, you need to –

No, I do not!  Do not tell me what to do!

I just –

Just have a care for my dress, if not for me!

He unexpectedly lifted his hand away, not arguing with her any further.  However, although he did remove his hand, it was only far enough that she could not feel it anymore.  The withdrawal of the comfort momentarily conveyed made her regret her hasty words.  In truth, she was sorely upset and wanted his consolation.  For she knew – they both knew – that the arrival of one who was returned from the dead was an emanate sign.

A sign that felt like it had come too soon.  Much too soon!  They were not yet ready for war!  She was not ready!  She needed to think more clearly.  So, she took a slow, cleansing breath.  It helped, but her spirit remained unsettled.

Hrassa’s head was still bowed, waiting upon her to speak first.  Again odd...   The others were waiting too.  For what?  Perhaps for an answer to the question of how That Laiquendi, as her brother out of irritation would refer to him, might return reborn when Mandos would never have been his choice?  She could sense that the wood-elf, as accomplished as he had been, was no more powerful now than before he had gone away.  How could that be when supposedly re-embodied at the behest of the Valar?  Nor did it make sense in light of things to come... and things that may yet be…. Was this Hrassa really Hrassa?

He was.  This was undeniably the same edhel that had been their champion, companion, and friend through an age of war and crisis, peace and politics.  Their own faithful Huan, as she had jokingly but lovingly dubbed him.  The stalwart bowman of his lord prince and a faithful guardian of Nos Galadhad. 

Nevertheless... not destined for great renown.

He is not the one awaited.

Not very likely, my lady, since he has not died... yet.

Even as Celeborn said this, she knew – absolutely knew – that there would be many ennin yet to prepare for the rise of a new shadow.  The reborn hero would come when he was needed, but not for a long, long time to come.  The revelation was a genuine relief.  So now, appreciating his catalytic inaction rather than aggrieved by it, Galadriel leaned back heavily upon her husband’s steadfast arm – only to become troubled by another realization.

But, that means...

Hrassa was not so stalwart after all.  Her first inclination had been to call him into her embrace.  That was bullied aside by a resentment she thought she had long ago gotten rid of.

Their grief over Hrassa’s disappearance had been deep.  So deep for her beloved that it haunted him for nearly a decade.  During those years, there were moments it would suddenly manifest, bringing melancholy when there should be gladness.  Blaming Hrassa for this was unfair – or so she had thought.  Eventually, the grief faded away and her resentment discarded.  Hrassa may not have been reborn, but at this moment, her resentment was, made more adamant for the grief being revealed as fraudulent.

“Hrassa!  Look at me,” she commanded.  He raised his head, looking quite composed.  His placid expression and paced breathing did not fool her.  She imperiously pointed to the floor in front of her.

He came forward to the indicated spot and knelt before her in Nandorin fashion; one bent leg forward and one pushed back, elegantly balanced over the balls of the feet, the downward knee not touching the ground.  In the past, he would have gazed expectantly up at her.  Now, he kept his head and eyes lowered.  If he were indeed canine and not quendi, his tail would surely be tucked between his legs.

“Look at me,” she repeated with more authority.

He carefully raised his eyes.  He was bracing for her ire.  Which implied he had not a good reason for his absence!

“Where have you been?”  Whether her temper would be held in check or not depended solely upon his answer.

“I wandered off and lost my – ”

“How dare you!”  She slapped him hard.  The force of it threw his head sideways and almost sent his hand to the floor to keep himself steady.  “How dare you use that excuse!”  He had not even tried to evade the blow!  For he knew he deserved it!  Her anger redoubled at this confirmation of guilt, and she raised her hand again.  This time however, Celeborn snatched her wrist in mid-swing.

That is enough.  We will get no plea for forgiveness by beating him.  Her hand stung horribly.  Hrassa’s face must have felt afire.  His stoic effort not to show his pain, in body and heart, was skirting failure.  Let him apologize for our unnecessary bereavement and be done with it.  Please.

What of the punishment he deserves for his desertion?  Shall you not see that done?

As you have heard, he denies it.  His word was good before today.  So without more testimony, I must consider the accusation unsubstantiated.  Time in jail for negligence in sending us word I deem already served.  And, penance for his causing us grief has just been paid.

My lord!  He did not wander off!  He –  

– is now merely another guest.

How much it hurt him to say that about someone who had been as close a brother was plain to her, whether or not it could be seen by anyone else.  Pity for her beloved supplanted wrath for his faithless friend.  She relaxed her arm, and he released his hold.  She slid her hand down his arm, as it lowered to his side, to take hold of his hand.  His cool grasp drew out the heat from her palm and fingers.

Merely another guest...

Yes.

She looked to Celebrimbor, wanting to know his wishes in this matter.  But, his thoughts were as closed as his expression.  They were leaving it up to her.  As they should.  However his old friends wanted to treat Hrassa personally, it was her right as the mistress of their house to decide if he may stay under her roof.  But where would he go if she sent him away?  Back to naught but a memory?  Would they be losing him all over again?

Merely... our guest?

... only if you allow it.

Maybe.

“What have you to say for yourself?” she asked Hrassa.  The imprint of her hand glowed scarlet upon his face.  In less than an hour, it would be a massive bruise.  If not treated soon, he would not look normal for weeks.

“Merciful Lady, I am very sorry.”  As few ever could, he gazed into her angry eyes without flinching.  “I do sincerely apologize for my inconsiderate behaviour.  I never meant to bring misery to anyone.”

That was the truth, straight from his heart.  Her own heart softened towards him.

“Then, why have you done this?”  Did he really believe they cared so little for him?  Why he had not let them know he was alright?  Or at least told them that they should not look for him?  Why come back after all this time?  Where had he gone?  Why had he gone?

He seemed remorseful, appearing as if he truly had not thought anyone would feel a great loss at his going.  Still, he did not answer her.

For he would not answer.  Not tonight anyway.  But, when she got him in private...

The door into the great hall came open with a burst of noise.  She heard someone – the brannon given the privilege of tending the entrance tonight – hurriedly slip through the curtains without shutting the door behind him.  Annoyed at the interruption, she looked over to Mirathel, handing off taking care of the problem to her.  Turning around to deal with frivolous entertainments herself when engaged in an important Household matter, with her lord husband standing beside her, was not going to happen.

“Yes, Naruil?” asked Mirathel in the dulcet tones of a noble-born lady.  “Is there something you need?”   None of the tension in the room could be heard in her gently spoken question.

“I beg pardon for the intrusion, Lady Mirathel.”  He could see that something untoward was happening here as well as in the great hall, and so spoke in a doubly anxious rush.  “But, Lady Elrovail is about to sing.”

Galadriel’s head and shoulders drew up, her temper flaring once more.  Celeborn heaved an exasperated sigh.

Not being governed by a minstrel’s professional concerns, the dark-elf maven was never as careful as she needed to be about how her singing affected her listeners.  Some poor susceptible person would likely end up acting out the lyrics to her song, be it a lay of love or a battle hymn.

My lord, I forbade her!  But, with the example you have set here, why should she think there will be any consequences for disregarding me?

No need to be upset.  ‘Tis naught but an empty threat to let us know she is annoyed.  She wanted to see you deal with Hrassa.  Except, you sent Mirathel ahead, and I had her stay.  An impish smile that he would not let come out into the open tugged at the corner of his mouth.  ‘Tis just that you are so rarely surprised these days that Elrovail and I thought –

Oh, I know your thoughts!  She held off a wry smile.  Elrovail is merely a conspirator, not a mastermind.  She would do as bid.  But, Mirathel would not let you toy with me, so you held her here rather than have your surprise ruined.  Really, my lord...  She smoothed her fingertips tenderly across his.  ... ‘twas good of you to give her time to cope.

Such an accusing tone of voice to use with your loving husband!  At her caress, his hand warmed.  He went from acting affronted to sounding tentative.  You did not enjoy the surprise, Melluain?  You looked like you did.  For a moment there anyway...

I told you, do not call me that!  Oh but, you are incorrigible.  Such childishness!  I am not your plaything.

Of course not!  He flicked a sparkling sidelong glance at her.  You are my playmate.

Her lips parted in a resigned ‘tsk’.  Here I thought I was your lady wife, deserving of your respect and consideration.

Oh, that too.

“Mirathel, would you please tell Elrovail that I wish to see her immediately, and would you please see that the guests continue to enjoy themselves until we are finished here?”

“Of course, my lady.”  She left with the relieved Naruil.

A contributing cause to her husband’s ridiculous turn could be the cups and pitcher she had spied sitting upon the sideboard.  There had been a reunion toast... to friendship.  If Hrassa had not violated their trust, surely they would right now, herself included, be happily toasting to his reunion with their family.  She thought to look over at Laerlínath and Aurthôn, suddenly curious how they were taking everything in, while as yet on the outside.  Had they been driven away by all this?  She hoped not.

The moment their eyes met, the couple froze; chary as squirrels at the sight of a cat.  Whatever did they think she was going do to them?  Nevertheless, she had not meant to frighten either of them to such a degree.  Although, it was perhaps for the best that Laerlínath saw the worst of her temper now instead of later.  Faced with the results of her own lack of consideration in her handling of Laerlínath, Galadriel could not help but feel some sympathy towards Hrassa.  Nonetheless, how could he not anticipate the tremendous hurt he would cause in people he knew so well?  She looked down at him.  Rather predictably, he had turned blank-faced.  At least, as blank as the swelling welt on his face permitted.  Maybe his error had been inadvertent.

All the same, there it was.  An invaluable trust lay broken to pieces like a precious stone knife carelessly shattered.  Something sacred – that had seemed so solid – had been reduced to irreparable shards...  How could her husband, despite his cunning with the law, even think he could fix this and restore Hrassa to respectability?  Why did she want him to try?

The dais door opened again and was quickly closed.  Elrovail grandly swept across the room, her dress whispering and her hair ornaments chiming, to stand on the other side of Galadriel. 

“Oh, bother,” the hiril complained upon seeing Hrassa’s face.  “I missed it.”  However, the sly smile she wore would make anyone think her quite satisfied with what had obviously happened in her absence.

My lady, she wishes to look after him herself.  Please, let her.

Are you sure that is what you want?  Placing Hrassa in Elrovail’s hands would certainly spare her from having to deal with offended household staff.  But, Elrovail obviously agreed with Mirathel...

Yes.

“Lady Elrovail.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

“Would you please see to our guest?  He has had a very long journey to our gates and a disconcerting arrival.  I think he needs some privacy in order to fully recuperate.”

“It would be my pleasure.”  Her answer sounded somehow more predatory then accommodating.  “I shall personally see to his each and every need.”

Hrassa did not move and showed no reaction to her subtle provocation.  Galadriel had not dismissed him.  In a way, it saddened her.  In past times, neither of these two would have bothered with formalities nor hesitated to start a lively skirmish of words.

“Please go with this lady, Cogndîr.  And please, enjoy the hospitality of our home while you are here in Ost-in-Edhil... for as long as you are here.”

“You are generous and most kind, Gracious Lady.”  He stood and stepped back to make a courtly bow to her.  He then turned and neatly bowed to Celeborn.  “At your service, Lord Celeborn.”  He stepped back again and turned to Celebrimbor, bowing to him as well.  “Lord Celebrimbor.”

“Do not forget.  Tea tomorrow afternoon,” the master smith quietly reminded him.  “I will have someone come fetch you.”

“Oh my,” declared Elrovail.  “If you are to make your social debut, we had best improve upon your injury immediately.”  Her smile curled catlike at the corners of her lovely mouth.  “Really, there is no need to feel embarrassed about it.  The rug in this room is treacherous and too easy by far to trip over.  Even for an adept wood-elf such as yourself.”

You invited them for tea tomorrow afternoon?!

No, I did not!  I would not do that after what it took to arrange the time!  Tomorrow afternoon is entirely ours alone, Melluain.  Celebrían has invited him to join her usual party.

Must I tell you again?  You may not call me that!  Not until you apologize for being so calculating at the door.  However has Celebrían found out about him so soon?

Interesting story that… and I do apologize... Melluain...

“Come along, Cogndîr,” Elrovail cheerfully ordered.  “Your belongings will be brought to your room.”  She led him to the private door, and pointedly waited for Ithinduil to open it for her.  The Lord’s personal guard was not speedy about it, even after Gwîlagor had been halted from doing the task.

“After you, Lady Elrovail.”  Hrassa politely waved an arm, insisting for her to precede him.

“Why, thank you, Sir!”  She inclined her head to his as she slide by.  “And between us, Hrassa, it is still Ramar.”  She took a pinch of his sleeve and tugged him in after her.  “Now, now.  You need not worry.  I know how wandering about in the dark wildwoods affects one’s thinking and memory.  Rest assured, I shall keep reminding you how a good friend should behave.”

They left; Elrovail’s barbed chatter trailing off.

My lord, you should have put him in a prison cell.  It would have been far kinder.  She is not the only one who will harass him.

What makes you think I mean to be kind?  However, I shall ask that of you.  Please, allow the others to go, too.  Since we must talk at length.

Most certainly, we will talk.  But, however late we do go into the hall, you will still dance as promised.  And make pleasant conversation with Master Lindir.  He is the guest of honor and it –

Never.  I will dance.  Nothing more.

Then, our friends herein shall wait upon our conversation to end and shall go in with us when we are ready.  Socializing will be good for Qaurë and beneficial to my new lady-in-waiting –

Galadriel, everyone has danced to your tune enough for tonight.  Be charitable – 

Danced to my tune?!  Fie, my lord!  You are who has conducted this entire performance!  And do not tell me you did not twirl the pretty Laerlínath around a few times while waiting for me!

So?  She is a well-trained young lady and conducts herself with grace under stress.  But, her reaction to the very thought of encountering you again so soon after your little test would tell anyone that you left her wound up tighter than a brand-new clock spring.  The poor child needed considerable unwinding.  Such an extreme trial was unkind for you to –

Speaking of clocks, I want that monstrosity taken out of our sitting room.  For that matter, out of our apartment.  Tic Toc! Tic Toc!  It is the most –

I like the rhythmic sound and it has proven useful.  Stop changing the subject.  Let them leave.  We must discuss this turn of fortune and decide if your vision –

Celebrimbor impatiently cleared his throat.  Galadriel and Celeborn both looked at him, appearing merely curious as to why he would wish to disturb the relative tranquility that had descended upon the room.  His raised eyebrows said he knew what the silence was actually about.

“Shall we go,” he gestured to include Laerlínath and Aurthôn, “or shall we stay?”

Celeborn’s answer to Celebrimbor’s question was none.  Galadriel sighed.  She had his answer.  He was not going to accede to any additional favors just to free them.  She might as well be kind and regain some goodwill.

“Choose the portal of your liking,” and she too gestured to include the clerk and his wife for clarity.  “Enjoy the remaining starlit hours,” she said, bestowing upon them one of her most benevolent smiles.  “For they go without permission and dawn arrives unbidden.”  The three looked at each other, a bit befuddled at her flourished answer.

And you call me incorrigible...

“Aurthôn, I think it would be edifying for you to come with me,” said his employer.  “Out the private door.”

The young couple whispered together, trying not to give away that there was a strong difference of opinion between them.  Each saw a different advantage to going through the secret passages or onto the dais.  Galadriel found their arguing, while nervously trying not to appear to be arguing, somewhat endearing.  She turned her set smile upon Celeborn, who offered a fleeting – but kindhearted – smile in return.

Were we ever that young and naïve, my lord?

Young, yes.  But, never as naïve... if we had been, we might well have wed much too young to succeed at staying wed.

If they are to succeed in society, they need to be more circumspect than this in public.  Do you think they might someday get the hang of it?

He drew her hand up to his chest, resting it over his heart.

Possibly.  Maybe, after a few more times of being caught kissing, they will find the proper motivation.  Or they could just stop worrying about appearances all together...

Nostalgic memories brought a warm sensation to her lips, but she held back the accompanying blush without much effort.  There had been a time when that feat was beyond her ability. 

“Lord Celebrimbor,” stated Aurthôn, when consensus was reached, “we would be honored if you would permit us to accompany you.”  Laerlínath acted as if she was in complete agreement, but Galadriel knew she had conceded because she had gotten the favors she had bargained for.

“Good,” the master smith grinned.  He turned to his co-rulers.  “Enjoy the rest of your evening too.”  With a beckoning gesture, he hurried through the still open private door; the young couple hustling after him.  They did remember to stop and bow as they went by the Lord and Lady, although in a rushed and inelegant manner.  The lamp Celebrimbor had used earlier was taken up again, and he immediately began explaining the dimensions and extent of the passages.  After Aurthôn and Laerlínath were inside, Ithinduil closed the narrow door behind them.

That elleth has real ambitions.

Is that not one of the reasons you have recruited her?

So, you do approve of her?  In their earlier discussion over engaging Laerlínath, he had withheld his personal approval upon condition of meeting the brennil in person.

Oh, yes.  However... It could become awkward, if we have to soon leave.  Aurthôn’s lord has finally awakened to his potential and will be keeping him closer now, I think.  It would be wrong to split them up between us so early in their marriage.

With everyone sent off, her husband was turning sullen – something Galadrile knew was bound to happen whenever he felt there was little for him to do except wait upon others to act.  Even so, for whatever reason his keenness might flag, she never minded cajoling him into a better mood, since it would also make his company more pleasant.

How did you know I was bluffing about Lindir?  Actually, she would never make him be friends with someone, whom for some strange reason, he disliked so much.

H’mm, I probably should just smile knowingly and let you think me wise.  But, no...  I was being stubborn.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.  An appreciative smile flashed across his face, before he released her.

Your honesty is one of your most attractive qualities, melindo.  He left her side and started walking towards the entrance of the alcove – just assuming she would be coming along.  But, she did not go with him.  Instead, she stood where she was and watched him move away.  Along with your very attractive –

“You can compliment the rest of my virtues tomorrow afternoon.  Come into the alcove.”  He spoke over his shoulder, not stopping nor looking back.

“Lead on, my lord, as that makes you happy.  We shall see if I follow.”

“You always have.  But, there is a first time for everything, I suppose.  Hrassa’s thoughtless sojourn being a case in point... “

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

Nathdain – Gwaith-i-Nathdain, the Weavers’ Guild, the People of the Weavers

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

melluain – most dear, my dearest  mel (love) –wain (-est, most) used as a noun, not an adjective, the ending ‘n’ kinda sounds possessive

melindo – lover (m) Quenya  Galadriel’s personal endearment for her husband and a personal concession from Celeborn, who is probably fine with it as long as no one else ever hears her say it

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

ellyn/ellith – elves male/female

brannon/brennil – nobleman/noblewoman

hir/hiril – lord or sir/lady or dame

ennin – year/years – a Valarian year consisting of 144 sun years

Bado na Angband! – Go to Angband! or as it was sometimes called: Hells of Iron. imho, Mandos is not all that bad a place in comparison and more like Limbo or Purgatory.

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Chapter Twenty – A Privy Council

Celeborn stopped at the entrance of the alcove then turned half-way round to look back, an expectant expression upon his face.  At the sight of which, Gwîlagor sped forward to lift aside the gauzy curtain from across the chamber’s doorway.  However, the Lord’s pause was not to prompt someone to cater to his rank, but to have the Lady come join him.  For Galadriel had not followed after when he had sauntered away.  Despite or in spite of – but certainly because of – his terse request for her to come into the alcove, she had chosen to remain where they had been standing together in the center of the parlor.

She granted that plain speech was their usual means of discussion, whether or not Celebrimbor was involved.  Understandably though, and as far as their co-ruler had seen it too, this particular discussion would have more to do with the household than the realm.  In that regard, the master smith really did not have as much of a say.  Moreover, he had demonstrated his comfort at being in that position quite well by leaving and taking Aurthôn and Laerlínath with him.  So, there was little need for greater privacy than they had been given.

Her impression of her husband’s wanting to confer aloud and alone was that it sprang from his sinking mood.  Keeping his gloomier thoughts closer to the chest by stating only what he wanted her to consider was a kind enough intention in itself.  However, the gesture told her plainly that more nudging than she had hitherto applied was needed if his disposition was to improve to a tolerable level before going into the great hall.  Feeling glum would not necessarily affect his dancing; he was too disciplined an artist to allow that.  Even so, he would be a dour host, and she did not want anyone, including herself, to have to cope with that for the rest of the evening.

His eyebrows arched in silent query as to her lack of alacrity.

She mimicked back his askance.

His eyebrows fell, beetling in puzzled irritation.

She imitated that expression as well.

His head tilted downward in a subtle exercise of authority as he raised and held out a hand to her.

She tilted her head slightly to one side, putting on an air of faux naivete, and blinked in innocent incapacity to understand whatever it was he wanted of her.

The sharp glint that flashed in her lord’s eyes and his further silence as much as shouted that her silliness, at the moment anyway, was not appreciated.

Oh! she sent to him, continuing to feign bewilderment.  My lord seeks a private conversation?

But, she found him not listening to her; the joint passage between their thoughts was closed.  Therefore, she pointedly looked around the room – which was obviously empty save for them and their bodyguards – then back to him.

His face unknotted into an expression of weary tolerance, and his extended hand motioned with a rapid flap of fingers for her to come to him – no more foolery.

Because of his insistence, she reconsidered her resistance.

Other than perhaps sparing her his more worrisome misgivings, he apparently wanted to talk unobserved.  It was possible he had already formed a plan to deal with the quandary of Hrassa’s return and meant to persuade her into accepting it wholesale.  His methods of persuasion, at least where she was concerned, usually included unscrupulous flirtation, which warranted personal privacy.  So, do you mean to sway me into falling in line with some brilliant plan of yours instead of deciding together what to do?  But once again, he was not open to conversing silently between them.  She had to consider letting him usher her towards his goal in his own fashion as the only way to expedite revealing exactly what it was that he felt he had to negotiate out of her rather than outright ask of her.

Furthermore, figuring in his advancing a proposal on what was to be done with his bowman in addition to the time it would take to explore her vision and for him to answer her questions about how it was that Hrassa was even brought to her, their little chat could go some length.  Thus, delaying their appearance on the dais even further when they were awaited by a considerable number of guests.  Guests who expected tonight’s festivities to become a memorable event.  For word had spread quickly that, aside from Lindir singing, after so long being deprived of the spectacle, Lord Celeborn would dance.  The great hall had been growing evermore crowded when she had exited, and she did not want a crush to last too long.  Not after what happened the last time.  Moreover, this was a good opportunity to prove she could be just as indulgent as he.  When I wish to be.

Moving with the arched grace of a swan gliding over mirrored waters, she floated across the space between them and laid her hand feather-light over his.  It pleased her that a vacuous, obedient smile from her made him more wary than amused.

Indeed, there were those who would have been shocked to see her so readily comply with such a dictatorial invitation.  The burden of a reputation earned, unregrettably, from openly defying most people’s expectations of femininity.  But to be honest, more often than not, she was inclined to acquiesce when her lord fell to insisting.  Because, his reputation was just as well-deserved.

He was a shrewd, albeit generous and self-sacrificing, prince.  Not one to get mired in fruitless blather or in dithering over consequences where important matters were involved.  While others hemmed and hawed, he got things sorted out.  When others wavered with indecision, he made plans and took action.  Nevertheless, his courage was tempered with wisdom.  Celeborn Galadhonion was a true-blooded scion of Elmo, bent on doing what was best, not for himself, but for his lady and children, kith and kin, people and nation.

Although, not always in quite that order.  She felt a flicker of guilt over her past umbrage at that fact.  In their early life together, she had not found it easy to bear being the one whom he vowed he loved most, then would not put first.  In particular, would not put before Nimloth.  Eventually, she came to understand, as her beloved devoutly believed, that loyalty had to come before love.  Honor before glory and duty before dreams.  Fortunately, most of the time, love and loyalty marched happily together, side-by-side, just as they themselves did.  Most of the time…

Gwîlagor respectfully bowed his head as she and her lord made to go into the small chamber.  While steering her to enter before him, Celeborn directed a frosty glare at Ithinduil.  But, other than his jaw slightly tightening, the guard showed no reaction to admonishment for his inattention to easing a high-elf’s passage.  Galadriel sighed, shaking her head.  Gwîlagor would have turned crimson with humiliation at such a look.  Ithinduil took duty seriously enough, but not courtesy.  Something all too typical of Nandorin ellyn in general.  His outward respect for the nobility always stopped short of what it should be.  However, she did not remark upon it until she and Celeborn were inside, and the curtain was dropped behind them.

“The fellow is hopeless,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.  “You might as well give up on him.”

“I did not give up on Hrassa, now did I?”  He was less inclined to pitch his voice to where it could almost not be heard.  He lowered his hand to his side; dropping hers, where usually he would have turned his hand over and took hold of it.  Another indication of his sullen mood.

“No, and just look how he turned out.”  Her accompanying smile was intentionally cynical.

“Why, exactly as I wanted – a hunter, not a lapdog.”  His own thin smile was a bit more sardonic.  “My error was in making him a family pet as well.”

“I would say he did that on his own,” she wryly opined.

“Still, I shall not let that happen with this one.  You may cease worrying about it.”

At first, she was angry at his patronizing insinuation that she did not like his attention to Ithinduil because the relationship even remotely boded to become like how it had been with Hrassa.  Or that her beloved was training another recalcitrant wood-elf into a suitable companion, only to one day be sorely grieved by his loss.  That was not at all what she was remarking upon.  Or am I?  She looked away in order to hold off what might be an undeserved retort.

Whereupon, she saw Hrassa’s belongings carefully arranged upon the upholstered bench, and she immediately went over to them.  Her heart twinged at the sight of familiar things.  Here lay the very same imbued bow that he had carried the day he had left.  The same grey cloak.  The same unadorned long-knife.  Ennin had passed, but seeing these memorable possessions suddenly made it feel as if their friend had failed to return only yesterday.

It occurred to her that the shirt Hrassa wore was also the same shirt she had given him just before he had gone missing.  Well, if a talented cogndîr can preserve a bow for an age, then why not a piece of clothing?  Reaching down, she slid her fingertips lightly along the length of the bow’s upper limb to the tip and touched the string made of dark elven-hair looped around the notch.  Not his, but an elleth’s...  The bowstring’s contributor was a stranger to her.  She would have proceeded onto the bedroll, but Celeborn addressed her curiosity before she could begin to justifiably rifle through what little else Hrassa owned.

“Golfod has looked and found nothing.”

She huffed with disappointment.  No wonder then it is all so neat.  Along with his obsessive need for orderliness, Golfod had an excellent nose for both vintage and evil enchantment.  Attributes which made him an invaluable cupbearer.  If he had not detected anything, then there was not anything tangible here to blame for the bowman’s strangely disloyal behaviour.

“And how did Hrassa feel about the inspection?” she asked.  Being scrutinized, even when there was good cause, was not something a wood-elf of any breed easily tolerated.

“As he did not know Golfod, he was not aware of it.”  Her lord gestured toward the divan in a suggestion that she lead them there.  Looking over, she was surprised by what she saw sitting on the right-hand end table.

Arranged in a precise equilateral triangle upon a round polished-metal tray, placed precisely in the middle of the square table top, was a exactly half-drunk bottle of wine with the pair of loving cups that had been given to them by Thingol and Melian.  The true-silver drinking bowls were almost undetectably thrumming; their usual response to the mutual presence of the bridal couple to whom they were dedicated.  Had they been set right next to each other, they would be chiming.

“Whatever are those doing out?” she asked.  The gossamer timbre of their phantom resonance heightened at her taking notice of them; still difficult to hear, yet impossible to ignore.  Her husband and she were supposedly in agreement that this particular gift was best left put away, to be used for special occasions only.  She cocked an accusing eyebrow at him.  The wine bowls lent credence to her suspicion that he was aiming to persuade a special, and evidently difficult, favor from her.

“I had Golfod put them there after being rinsed.”  One and then the other of the cups flashed in the lamplight; their enticement to be touched and used.

“I did not ask how they got there.”  They had to be rinsed?  “I asked what they were doing out of the cupboard?”  In answer, she got a guiltless snicker.  Only then did she realize what must have occurred.  “Oh no!  Those poor children!”  And, she tried unsuccessfully to keep from laughing out loud.

“Hrassa and I came in on them kissing,” chuckled her husband.  “Just imagine if we had arrived a few minutes later.”  He leaned closer to her, his amused smile turning libertine.  “Just imagine if they get separated from their guide in those dim solitary tunnels... ”

“You terrible ellon!  Must you remind me of indiscretions better forgotten?”  Although she pushed him away, as if she were mortified, she was not.  Mostly because, none else knew – nor will ever know! – about the disorderly conduct caused by these vessels during their courtship in Menegroth.  And after!  She fixed a stern look on her bemused beloved.  “We are not going to drink from them.  We have guests waiting.”  Most likely, he had carefully weighed the odds of that very prospect when deciding to use the cups as a means to give Golfod unsuspected access to Hrassa’s gear.  “Surely,” she asked, turning from unyielding to sweetly tempting, and now leaning to him, “that was not what you were hoping?”

“Not tonight,” he grinned back, leaning in even closer.  “We both know the only thing I am presently hoping for is to woo you into a more pliable frame of mind.”  His eyes became glittering slits as his grin expanded; growing more feline and less quendi, his words more like purring than speech.  “Nonetheless, I do have a convincing line or two prepared, just in case... if you would like to hear one... purely for your own amusement... ”

Your amusement, you mean.  However, his mood taking an up-turn was an excellent excuse to dally a bit.  She straightened up and put on a disinterested countenance.  With a condescending nod, she allowed him the privilege of briefly entertaining her.

Taking full advantage of his fine stature, he adjusted his posture into that of a self-possessed aristocrat.  He pulled a haughty face as he adjusted his mantle, donning what was naught but a caricature of his own social class.  Having theatrically set himself into character, his head he lowered to hers, but in the way a noble suitor would, inclining from the waist with open palms and lifted arms elegantly held out from his sides in admiring supplication.

She rolled her eyes in criticizing forbearance, which did nothing to upset his studied deference.

“Oh, Beauteous Lady,” he lilted, and she had to stop herself from sputtering into laughter.  “Were we to quaff now from these precious heirlooms... ”  One hand waved lyrically towards the cups, and they once again momentarily flared.  “Most assuredly, such... reveled dancing… as we have never known before would be ours throughout not only this lustrous night, but the next, and into forever.”

Adapting her bored expression to one of proper disdain for such affectation, she suffered to hold out the obligatory hand that would facilitate further homage to her person.

“Rîs Faen!“ he exclaimed, pretending overwhelmed humility at the honor bestowed.  He stepped forward and reverently lifted the hand, bowing his head over it.  From that angle, he glanced up slyly, saying, “My heart is at your mercy... “  Then, sensuously kissed her fingers, restraining them from immediately leaving his hand by trapping them under his thumb and letting them slip away only very slowly.  Then stepping back, withdrawing from her presence, he again stood tall, but held a smoldering gaze upon the object of his nearly uncivil passion.

The object remained outwardly cool to this decided taxing of the boundaries of good taste, determined he not see how much she was enjoying his attempt at courting her into a consensual state – or that he was on the verge of success.

“So, have I undone you well enough to get the upper hand?”  A teasing twinkle displaced the shining desire in his eyes.

“No,” she flat lied.

“Pray, give me another chance then,” he urged.

“No.”  But, he knew she was still lying.

“How about this?”  His physical attitude changed completely – going from tall and sleek to slouching and hipshot.  Likewise, he switched to a rustic Silvan accent.  “Truth, Melluain... ”  And affected the self-confident leer that quite a few males of that ilk foolishly thought represented a compliment to a lady’s appeal.  “We two need not such over-wrought contrivances to share a draught of life’s sweet pleasures!” he declared.  “Not whilst we’ve mouths – “  He was suddenly right next to her.  One long arm encircled her waist, forcibly pinning her arm to her side.  “ – and lips!”  He pulled her tight against him, crushing flat her airy raiment.  Her free hand, which rose in insincere protest, he captured; intertwining their fingers in a mutual grip.  His nose flew low above her shoulder, avariciously drawing in her scent, swooping up the side of her neck.  “My first... “, his cheek landed lightly against hers, “... and best... “, the warm gust of his voice caressed her ear, “... and truest... “, the downy touch of his lips brushed over the delicate fold, “... love.”

She quivered from head to toe.  Astonished, he leaned back to look her in the face; set off-kilter by her wanton response when he expected playful reproach.  She in turn was jolted by momentary annoyance.  When she fully expected him to steal an opportune kiss, he ventured no further.  He simply looked at her – with devouring eyes and alluringly parted lips that were too much to handle.  She blushed and, to her further chagrin, giggled.

“Yea you say?” he ventured.  Her breath caught as he surprised her and himself with that smile of his, the one that could entice surrender from a dragon, let alone from an ardent lover.  Fortitude gained through familiarity was what saved her from succumbing and enabled her to shake off his unintentional spell.

“Nay!” she forced herself to say.  “And I mean it!”  His honest delight at her capable resistance was as beguiling as his inborn charm.  “Why the very thought of sharing wine mouth to mouth!  Disgusting!”  Her protest was jokingly made, but she did mean to halt him.  Despite wanting to see what else he might try, it would be foolish to take another chance that he might succeed in getting her to toast with the cups.  If anyone is going to get the upper hand, it had best be me – else we shall never leave here.  “See, you have ruined my dress, and after I told you not to!”  She made a token struggle against his hold on her.  “Cad!”

“Prude!”  He let go of her hand and released her, but it was she who strategically retreated, putting more than an arm’s-length between them.  Although rejected, he continued to smile in admiration of her sturdy resolve.  Nevertheless, she was in great danger of losing that resolve.  Out of necessity, she turned to the repair of her apparel to keep from looking at him.  Plucking tentatively at her damaged dress, it appeared doubtful that there was any way to restore her gown’s former frothiness.

“Oh, bother!  A husband can be such a nuisance sometimes!”

“Hear now!  Then, let your husband be of help.”  He took a step towards her; hands lifted, sanding his thumbs over his fingers in anticipation.

“Stop!” she ordered, throwing up a flat palm of command and giving him a sharp look of warning.  “I am not having you pinch any of my parts!”

This time, he was the one to appear innocently bewildered.

However, having come back around to practically where their jaunt had started and having made no progress on the serious matters at hand, she decided it was time for the funning to stop.

“My lord, we have guests waiting upon us.  We have no time for more of your games.”

“Would that be ‘cause we’ve spent so much time a-playin’ at yours?”  The Silvan leer was back.

“I owe you nothing!”  Her face pinked, threatening to return to its previous rosier hue.  As far as she was concerned, he had gotten in more than his fair share of teasing this round.  “Please you, my lord, let us get on to business before you have a mob out there to deal with, not just an audience.”

“As you please, my lady.”  In an instant, he was his sober self.  And as much as she enjoyed the other personas, she preferred her wise lord husband above all and appreciated having him back and in a better mood.  He crossed the gap between them in one long stride and took up her hands in his.  A fluid vitality began to stream through their grasp – her arms filling with warm, comforting reassurance – that began to flow towards her heart.

“Wait,” she begged.  She suddenly felt rushed into revisiting the vision and wanted first to know more about the circumstances around Hrassa’s reappearance.  “Did Hrassa tell you why he chose to come back this day and not before?”

“He did not choose to come back.”  The soothing flow ceased; his discomfiture at the question evident.  “He was brought back.”  Only when she urged him with a querulous look did he continue to explain.  “He was in the market place this morning and saw Celebrían.  Either, she caught him watching her or he let her see him, but she got Glamien to have him arrested.  That is where she went when she slipped away from Faunaur.  To check on her prize.”

“Celebrían was in the gaol?!”  No wonder he was hesitant to say!  That the child could slip away from her guard was not unbelievable.  But, she was hardly safe in the palace, and she had gotten into the prison!  “How did she get that far?” her mother demanded to know.  She was not supposed to be able to go beyond the doors – her Uncle Celebrimbor has made it so!

“She was fine,” her Ada confidently assured her Naneth.  “She was only in the holding area, which is right outside the guardroom.  There is no way for anyone, visitor or sneak, to get further inside where actual brigands are kept.”  A hint of pride had snuck into his allaying words.  “And, she stayed well out of reach.  Keeping back from the bars of a cage is one lesson that has definitely sunk in.”

“Do you actually mean to make light of this?”  She shook her head, once more amazed by his lack of alarm at their roaming child’s determination to endanger herself.  “Our daughter got out of the palace!”

“This is our home, not itself a prison!  Shall I keep you locked inside, away from all harm as well?  I certainly would be happier knowing you were safely confined.”  He paused for her to argue back, but she could see it was not worth the time it would take to settle the issue now.  The situation was not going to change; there would be a next time to make him do something about it.  “She was fine,” he resumed, slightly apologetic, when her reply was a silent glare.  The receding tide in her arms began to haphazardly pool.  “She was not alone.  Nítmilrû had her in sight the whole time until I caught up.”  He paused again, perhaps settling on exactly what next to say.  “It was there I found, not a wolf that had foolishly stalked our child, but our own lost hound, who apparently had not died but gone feral.”

“My poor love... ”  Her anger left her, her hands tightening on his.  “You must have been quite startled to see him alive.”  She hovered just outside the door into his thoughts, straining to keep from foolishly intruding uninvited.

“Stunned... “ he quietly admitted.  He looked into her eyes, and the door opened a crack.  The vulnerability, which was so endearing, tentatively peeked out from within the confines of his miserable thoughts, seeking sympathy.

She squeezed his hands even tighter and pressed her forehead against his.  For a fleeting moment, before he snatched it back, she felt his heart-wrenching shock.  And guilt...  He was taking blame for somehow treating Hrassa so badly that their friend had run away.  She fervently wished that she could have spared him that unearned hurt – all the hurts he unjustly endured for everyone else’s sake.

“His discontent was not your fault!”

“How could it not be?”  They pulled back and gazed at one another.  “But, thank you for saying so.”  Consoled, he took a deep breath and let it go in a long sigh.

“You should have left him there.”  Her irritation with the bowman was going to be satisfied, one way or another, she decided.  All she need do was get him alone.

“No, I could not just ‘leave him there’.  I discerned no threat in him, so I had to bring him out.  After I sent Celebrían to you, he and I talked.  But, he gave me the same excuse he gave to you.”  He shook his head.  He and she shared the need to understanding their friend’s actions, and neither had found that understanding.  “I gave him a choice – see you now or see you later.  He chose now.  And so, is – for now – our guest.”

“You talked?  Was there any thing he said to you that he would not say to me?”

“I think naught.”  Her beloved frowned.  “As it was, I spoke more than he.”

“About what?  His offence?  Your reaction?”

“About the present and the future.  His reaction to our daughter…”  A slim smile emerged from the frown.  “... was most interesting.  He did not know she was our own until she called me her Ada.”

“Serves him right,” she declared, feeling somewhat smug.  It then struck her that their lack of children might have been a factor in Hrassa’s departure.  “You do not think our disability is why he left, do you?  Because, he lost hope of a future prince he could serve?”

In the years just before Hrassa went missing, they had started to ponder whether or not to sail west.  However, the growing certainty that an evil threatened the eastern lands under the rule of their kinsmen vanquished all thoughts of their retiring to Eldamar.  At the time, they had not mentioned sailing to any other person – which did not mean those closest to them had never guessed.

“No, I do not think so... “  He thought again about it.  “One might suspect it was more about having the choice of whom he would serve being taken away from him.”

“But, you would never do that!”  Yes, he had indeed once done that very thing to the cogndîr.  But, never again!

“Of course not!  That does not mean he did not think so.  Remember how he made a point of not getting lent to Oropher, even as a scout?  His thinking can be as tangled as a hedge of blackberry sometimes.  Why, he had not even realized, at least not in his heart, that the Elmoi had disbanded.”  Her lord heaved another slow sigh.  “I think he considers our hopes for Nos Galadhad rather... grandiose.  Yet, is determined not to admit to any wrongdoing against it.”  That troubled her husband.  “I am beginning to believe he has truly convinced himself that he did not desert his duty or us.”

“My lord, if that is so, he will never seek our forgiveness.  Unless he does, he will have to leave.  We cannot afford that degree of disrespect from anyone.  You, as a high judge and lord commander, even more so than I.”

“I know, I know.”  His petulance was rueful rather than angry.  “But, if he admits to anything more than wandering off, I will have to punish him more harshly then I already have.  And, I would prefer not to.  Since it seems, whether by mercy or meanness, we shall lose him again anyway.”

“That may indeed be the only outcome. “  She felt little doubt that this was the reason why he had never come back in the first place.  Meaning he does still love us.

“Please, let us return to this later,” her lord suggested.  “I feel more urgency about your vision than something discernibly further down the road.”  The unhappiness of the problem made her agree with him.  With a nod, she conceded; although still disinclined to start reviewing the vision.

They resettled themselves where they stood and renewed their clasp of hands.

“Whenever you are ready... “ he said encouragingly.

She closed her eyes... taking a deep, cleansing breath... then another... Sensing her draw, her husband’s loving power once more poured forth.  His contributed strength would spare her from feeling drained afterwards; a certainty were she to do this task without his aid.  As well, her body and spirit could relax and be at ease in his protective presence.  He could exercise a discipline she sometimes envied.  He could be martial, but that was what made he was so reliable.  He would keep her mind from getting lost as she wandered and hold at bay the madness that could descend upon a seer beleaguered by an overwhelming myriad of probabilities.  Not having to fear for her well-being always opened up her own powers to greater extent.

“Guide me, beloved.”

“You came into the parlor... ”  He spoke soothingly yet with an authority that encouraged memory and dismissed the present.  “... and there was Hrassa.  You smiled, happy to see him.”  A flash of the scene from his viewpoint sent to her helped her to an exact recall.  “But then, you quailed.  A vision coming upon you.”  He waited for her to enter completely into that past moment.

“Yes.”  The vision began again, as real as when it first transpired.  However, now she could consciously slow it down and watch it thoroughly.

“What do you see?”

“A fell creature of darkness, cloaked in darkness… stalking its victim... ” 

“Who is it stalking?”

“I am not sure... “

“Does it speak?”

“No... it hisses like a snake, and its eyes are like a snake’s... “

“Is it as small?”

“I cannot tell... “  Usually, she could see much more during review.  But, not this time; it was too dark.  “... it remains in shadow... claws scrapping... vicious growls... a hunger to kill... “

“Is there one creature or two?”

“The smell of blood... Celebrían!“  Her cry was instinctive, as it was the first time.

“Why do you call out our daughter’s name?”

“I fear it will harm her!”

“Do you know that?”

“No.”  Her instant answer, though not promising complete safety – only that harm was not absolute – contained intoxicating relief...  

“Is it close to her?”  ... which, there being no promise of escape, was then diluted to the point of bringing no comfort at all.

“Yes!  No!  I am not sure!”  As always, it was difficult to be certain about anything that directly involved the people she loved most.  Emotional attachment could interfere to a disconcerting degree.  A bitter fact she had learned in gardens of Lórien.

“Is Hrassa the cause of this danger or the remedy to it?”

She was more grateful than ever for her wise husband.  She would not have thought as quickly to ask herself that question.  Of the two of them, he was better able to think from another perspective, yet keep solidly to his own.  She found that sort of duality too tiring to employ for any length of time.  Perhaps, a good reason why wood-elf tricks did not come easily to her and many raised Noldor.  Tawarwaith had a different sensibility about Nature itself.  Living with it rather then thwarting it...

“Galadriel, focus.”  She was indeed drifting.  Abruptly, the vision slipped away from her and sped to an end; its outcome as inconclusive as before.

“Gone... but there was nothing more there.”  She sighed and opened her eyes.  “What do you think?  Is Hrassa’s arrival a coincidence or not?  Should we be more cautious about letting him near Celebrían?”

“Earlier, I might have said ‘twas only coincidence.  Now, I am not so sure.”  He thought a moment.  “Going on his history and what he has said and done since his arrival, which is all we really have to judge by, I would say that he is likely a remedy to this dilemma.  Although, a dilemma himself.  But, maybe ‘sent’, at that.”

As so often happened, her foresight aided his insight and his insight sparked her foresight.  She suddenly knew what was needed – if not how to accomplish it – to stop this envisioned menace.

“Hrassa must stay!”

“He will... for awhile.”

“No, not just for awhile!”  She pulled her hands out of his and placed them upon his chest in wifely supplication.  “Nos Galadhad must have him back!”

“Impossible!” was her lord’s angry response.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

rîs faen – radiant queen  rîs – ‘queen’ as like a king (aran), not a ‘crowned lady’ (rîn, rien, rian)

melluain – most dear, my dearest  mel (love) –wain (-est, most) used as a noun, not an adjective, the ending ‘n’ kinda sounds possessive

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

ellyn/ellith – elves male/female

ennin – year/years – a Valarian year consisting of 144 sun years

tawarwaith – forest-folk or wood-folk  The people of the Lindar from whom the Nandor and Silvan have sprung up 

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Chapter Twenty-One – A Dual Objective

She did not like his answer, but Galadriel understood why Celeborn could not say otherwise. 

Hrassa had gone too far.  He had blatantly denied his worst transgression and would not ask forgiveness.  The members of their household were not going to welcome him back as kindly as had his prince and the master smith.  His misdeeds impugned their honor, and whereas most of their nost would in varied degrees shun him, certain others might try to punish him.  But however they would individually react in regards to Hrassa’s return, not any would quietly stand by and see him reinstalled as one of them.

At the moment though, a possible revolt worried her less than the indicative undertone in her beloved’s voice.  It told her that, in his own eyes, he felt he had himself gone too far and shown an offender more consideration than he should have.  Whether he and his bowman had once been close or still were would be given no more account.  As the head of Nos Galadhad, he was obliged – and he would probably say even more so than any minion – to uphold the integrity of their household and clan.  He was not going to exacerbate being overly merciful to one individual by imposing an indignity upon many more.

But, as the female head of their House, whether wife to its lord or not, it was she who carried the major portion of the obligation to maintain harmony within.  In her role, it was also her obligation to care for those who suffered hardship for the sake of orderliness.  Fortunately, with her responsibilities, there came a great privilege.  Within the province of the household, she could directly oppose any ruling Celeborn might make and do so with relative impunity.

A lady held certain advantages a lord did not.  The most manifest being that she was indeed female.  Every elleth held the prerogative to be at times patently illogical and emotional and demanding, especially when children were involved.  Feminine sensibilities were regarded as delicate and required sheltering.  When these inherent attributes were augmented by position, a lady became a force to be reckoned with.  Celeborn had exercised his presumptive powers.  It was her turn now, and she was prepared to exercise her given powers to the fullest.

For there was a genuine threat to their daughter’s life, which Hrassa’s presence might thwart.  As it was, she had never considered the safeguards taken to date adequate.  Now, she would have the protection she wanted for Celebrían – while being politic.  Her refusal to accept his answer would provide her husband with the excuse he needed to act in opposition of the righteous expectations of their followers.  This time she would be the one to take on the blame, and that alone should suffice to get him to yield.  So without compunction, she opened the floodgates to her dammed anxiety over their child’s safety.

“Impossible you may say, my lord, but I care not!  I want him back!”  She leaned heavily against his chest, curling her fingertips slowly down towards her palms in subtle encouragement to accede.  “I want him back and again one of our family.  I want him here to watch over Celebrían, just as he watched over Nimloth and me and you.”

“I wish for the same.  Nevertheless, it is an impossible wish, and you know very well the reasons why.”  He made no move to embrace her, thus giving no outward sign that he welcomed the convenient excuse she was offering.  Undaunted by what seemed token resistance, she pressed.

“Oh indeed, I know!  More than any mother should!”  Having decided to add the weight of her reliable prescience to her appeal, she removed her entreating hands from his chest to stand tall and adamant.  “This must be done, my lord.”

“I realize the importance.”  She was giving him what he needed to give in.  Yet, he was still sounding cool and unbending; being annoyingly uncooperative, when she had thought to settle the matter without much fuss.

“Then, say you will make it so!”  Or will I have to see to it myself?  His expression turned flinty, a clear indication she was taking the wrong tact.  So she relented, and once again put her hands upon his chest and leaned against him in feminine petition.  “Please find your way to taking him back, my lord!  For our child’s sake!  Vanquish the darkening cloud of danger that looms ahead of us all!  Permit not fell shadows to tread the halls of our home!”

“Now, you are just getting carried away.  And ‘tis useless.”  He lifted off her hands and walked away; leaving her standing there, truly puzzled as to why he was not playing along with her melodramatics.  Only to see that he was.  In the worst way he could have chosen.

Going the console table beside the dresser, he poured from the carafe of water that always sat there into the cup that acted as its cap.  He brought the water to her.  But before handing it over, he stopped at the serving table and added one part wine.

“I do not need that,” she stated with mounting anger.  “I am determined, not hysterical.”

“Of course not.”  He took hold of her wrist and pushed the cup into her hand.  “Merely halting your momentum before you overrun your destination.”

“How considerate of you!  Very well.  I shall instead be calm and precise.”  She breathed in and exhaled; effortlessly transforming consternation into a deceptively serene countenance.  “I want Hrassa to live with us again and watch over our daughter.  It would please you to please me.  So, as he is your bowman, you will restore him to his old position and assign him his duty.”

“I will not.”  He clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at the floor.  Sighing, he said, “Forgive me.  I know you mean to make it easy for me to do so.”  His apology foreshadowed a lecture, and she felt the ungracious urge to roll her eyes.  “But, what is easy is not always – ”

“Please, just tell me why you are being so obstinate,” she insisted.  “One would think you afraid to indulge your wife, when it is the right of an aran to pamper his queen.  It does not mean you are weak-willed.”  His head came up at that remark bearing a mulish, almost resentful, frown.  A reaction that was perhaps unpleasant to bear, but spurring him a little would make him get to the point faster.

“Well – my queen – then trust me – your king – when I say it is impossible to accept Hrassa back into Nos Galadhad.  Not under the present circumstances.  And we can do no more than we already have, else suffer the unwanted consequences of disobedience, disloyalty, and defection.  The reputation we have built for ourselves, and particularly for the Galadhrim, would be ruined.  Not only our rule, but our leadership would end.  Who would trust your wisdom, if you are not steadfast but entirely selfish?  Who would trust my counsel or come to me for arbitration, if I cannot be merciful and fair?”  He shook his head slightly.  “No, we cannot compromise justice for our friend’s sake – nor for our child’s – any further than we already have.  Enough damage has been done.”  He heaved a resolute sigh.  “We will simply have to be more vigilant while Hrassa fixes his situation for himself.”

She drew breath to say that his bowman was not now, and might never be, ready to do that!  He should simply command Hrassa to admit his desertion.  Force him to act rightly!  Make him ask forgiveness and serve out a punishment.  And his punishment could very well be as Celebrían’s indentured watcher!

But, he cut her off with a sharp look – anticipating her suggestion and not wanting to hear it.  He was not going to coerce a confession from anyone.

Thoroughly provoked, she took a deliberate sip of the watery wine.  He understood the gesture.  She was indeed being driven to the verge of madness – by his stubbornness!  If you were truly wise, you would just give me what I want!

“You say find a way, and I think I have,” he claimed; himself frustrated at her obstinacy.

This ‘way’... this was the reason for which he had brought her into the alcove in the first place!  Just as she had assumed, he had formed a plan ere he had sent for her to come to the parlor.

“However, my lady, ‘tis not a task for me, but for you, to carry out.  Hrassa will rejoin us.  Save, it will take more time and will entail more risk than you will find comfortable.”  He watched for what her response would be, keeping an eye on the cup of wine in her hand.

For a moment, she actually did consider throwing it at him.  Then put down the cup upon the side table, and once again placed her palms upon his chest.  An allaying smile tightly pinned in place, she gazed deep into his glinting eyes.

He was reasonably confident that his plan would eventually get them what they both wanted, and without disrupting all else they were working towards.  At the very least, Hrassa would be around in case he was needed.  That being so, she was willing to listen.

“Tell me then,” she softly whispered.  The corners of his mouth curled, and he gingerly embraced her.

“Hrassa will stay because our daughter intrigues him.”  His hesitant smile expanded.  “We simply let the two of them get acquainted.  Gradually and under our careful supervision.”  His embrace tightened, and he set his forehead lightly against hers.  “Your part, beyond helping to keep him on his best behaviour, is very important.”

She felt his concern.  He had all along been worried she would decline to do what he would ask of her.  However, the undertaking was vital to success, and so his attempt to coax her into it.

“Galadriel, you must not try to find out the truth about his leaving.”  This was nothing close to what she expected him to say!  Suddenly doubtful, she pushed away to look into his face.  “Let it be bygone.”  Was he joking?  Seeing her reaction, he fell to begging.  “Please, do not ask him for an explanation.”

“However will that help?”  She was completely bewildered.  “How can we mitigate the trouble he will cause, or keep from repeating the same mistake as before, if we do not learn the true reason?”

“Corner him now, and he will go as soon as he can – Celebrían or no.  Give him some leeway, and he will linger, trying to figure out what to do next.”

“Linger?”  She shook her head.  “How so?  Celebrían, as engaging as she is, will not hold his attention for long.  Both will become bored with each other.  He will leave, although perhaps not as soon as possible, but still soon enough.  And we still may not know the truth.”

“No, that is not what will happen,” he strongly contradicted.  “You have not seen them together.  I tell you, a bond is already forming.”

“Celebrían finds him intriguing too?”  Their daughter had admired and liked Adlandos, her wood-elf tutor in Lothloríen, but the child had seen him infrequently, not everyday.

“Need you ask?  We are speaking of Hrassa, after all.”  His emerald eyes filled with a knowing light.  “The longer he is around her, the more he will remember how it was to serve Nimloth.  The longer he is here, the more he will ponder Celebrían’s future.  He will want to be one of her nothrim – and eventually her nost, if no longer ours – and he will seek a means to that end.”

“You think that if I ask too soon, he will not stay long enough to realize this desire?  That he will never consider redeeming himself?  Or that his best chance of that rests in residing here with us, despite being shunned and resented?”

“Yes, just as you say.”  His pleased smile lasted for only a moment before he became grave again.  “And I think that it would also be best never to ask for any explanation at all.  We need to make a pointed gesture to show everyone that we trust him, just as we always have.  Melluain, he must be able to count on never being questioned about his mistake.”

“Maybe.”  This was undeniably a great favor to ask.  She was reluctant to agree.

Even so, this confusing strategy would undoubtedly cause people to hesitate before accosting Hrassa for his actions.  In addition she realized, with him moving among the them again, it could be expected that any who were present when he left would recall events surrounding his disappearance.  Perhaps even remember something they had not thought significant at the time.  She might yet discover the truth and without ever confronting the bowman herself.

“As well, please do not allow anyone to tell you anything in order to unburden their conscience for having kept silent in the past.”

“Unburden their conscience?”  He had someone in particular in mind.  “And who might that person be?”

“Qaurë, who else... ”  Her disappointment matched his.  Another old friend had acted deceitfully.  Even if his silence might one day prove understandable.

“You think he knows something?”  At the time, they had not questioned him in depth.  But then, Celebrimbor was someone she always sensed knew a great deal more than he let on.  So in the absence of evidence, she had had no grounds to suspect him.  “Did you think so then?”

“No, but I am sure of it now, and you must not interrogate him either – “

“Interrogate?!”  I do not interrogate people!  That is what you do!

“As I said, you need to let this go.  Not just for now, but forever.”

Since he was clearly following this idea about not pressing Hrassa and Celebrimbor, she was not as annoyed as she might have been at his asking her to do the same.  However, some additional compensation for her sacrifice was warranted.

“And your part?”

“If or, as you seem to think, when Hrassa becomes weary of our daughter’s company, I shall offer him gainful employment.  Something where he will be able to get out of the city into the wilderness for a while, but be motivated to return with regularity.  Oh, do not give me that look!”  He grinned, unflustered by her skepticism.  “It will work, I assure you.  I can make it into a challenge.  He will enjoy proving his prowess.  And if he completes his commission, I will have already thought of something else to keep him around.”

Hiring Hrassa would be official acknowledgment, not just personal, that he was not a criminal.  His coming back would validate his current claim and somewhat amend the general opinion that he had deserted.  Bringing him a solid step closer to re-entering the Nost and becoming Celebrían’s bodyguard. 

The pity was that, just as her clever husband warned, it was going to take time to shepherd Hrassa back into place.  Besides the risk to Celebrían during that duration, there was considerable risk that the cogndîr would simply pick-up and leave again.  What if the cause, for which he had left them before, was not gone?  Nonetheless, the end rewards and avoiding the problems of not doing it this way were worth it.  She would do as her husband wanted.  But, he did not need to know that right this moment.

“Whatever would this ‘gainful employment’ be?” she archly asked.  From his wagging grin, she reckoned it had to do with her lord’s long-running pet project.

“As a scout, of course,” was his innocuous reply.

”Ah! You mean…”  She glanced about with mock circumspection.  Then speculated with silent lips, “The Secret Pass?”

It was no secret.  The herth openly joked about it.  But, only amongst themselves, because they knew that speaking of it out of turn would bruise diplomacy with King Durin.  The restricted passage through Moria was, every captain agreed, inadequate for moving troops.  Nonetheless, suggesting a road over Caradhras as a solution was folly, and particularly laughable coming from their usually wise prince.

“Yes, The Secret Pass,” he confirmed in like humour and not voicing his answer either.  What could be better?

He will see through your flimsy ploy, she teased.  

What ploy? he asked with an air of ingenuousness.  All others I have sent to find a route over the mountains have failed.  Hrassa will enjoy beating them out and earning acclaim for it.

As you yourself said, impossible.  But, his blind faith in Hrassa’s skills and his pleasure at the mere thought of getting more than one objective met in a single, supposedly impossible, task was rather endearing.

As I also said, maybe ‘sent’ at that.  Certainly, he is the one that I would send to do the impossible.  So, why not Manadh as well?

They looked at each other – and simultaneously burst into laughter.  If Celeborn could convince Hrassa that finding a passage over Redhorn was fated for him to do, he would carry on in defiance of reason and probability.  The bowman was going to be around for a very, very long time.

One of their guards came to stand outside the alcove’s entrance, his figure casting a rippled silhouette through the curtains.  Galadriel was facing in that direction, and upon seeing him, flicked her eyes to inform her beloved that someone sought to encroach upon their near privacy.

“What is it, Ithinduil?” Celeborn asked in an audible voice.  He did not bother turning to address his bodyguard.  He was enjoying his beloved’s merry face too much to look away.

“My lord, someone has come for the cogndîr’s gear.”

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

manadh – fate, fortune, doom

nos – a family or household

nost – the household itself within the nos

nostel – a member of a household or clan

nothrim – members of a household or a clan

herth – the household troops

aran – king (also translates as ‘Lord’ for it means the ruler of a realm, not just royalty)

melluain – most dear, my dearest  mel (love) –wain (-est, most) used as a noun, not an adjective, the ending ‘n’ kinda sounds possessive

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

ellyn/ellith – elves male/female

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Chapter Twenty-Two – A Little Darling

Galadriel pouted with affectionate sympathy at her beloved’s pulled smile.  Just when they had struck a harmonious chord, they were interrupted.

Hrassa, as their guest, unexpected or not, would of course be provided with whatever he might need for a comfortable stay.  But despite that care, he had a right to his things.  So, servants sent to fetch his gear must be allowed to intrude into the alcove, at the very least, for a few minutes.  Truth though, if she had handled their discussion with a bit more wisdom, she and Celeborn would not still be here, but where they should already be, in the great hall seeing to the entertainment of their invited guests.

With a demonstratively wistful sigh, Celeborn dropped his embrace.  Half a minute more and I would have gotten you to kiss me, Melluain.  He stepped back, lightly trailing the fingers of one hand along her arm to take her hand in his and keep a tender clasp suspended low between them.

Tomorrow afternoon, Melindo, she reminded him.  Then, for certain.

As respectful of his lady’s marital rank as he was of his captains’ martial, he deferred to her jurisdictional authority with an acknowledging tip of his head.

“They may come in,” she told Ithinduil.  But, Gwîlagor was who lifted the gauzy curtain aside.

A lone person entered – a surprisingly small lad wearing page’s livery, whom she had never seen before.  He had to be one of youngest, if not the youngest, of the recently inducted lot not yet welcomed by the Lady.  A delighted smile took over her face.

He was a little darling!  Poised on the threshold of a growth spurt, if his fanned ears were any indication.  Squarely in the cute state that came just before a child sprouted up and then became so endearingly gangly; something repeated several time during their long growing up.  Gazing at this little youngster, she had to admit she liked these very early stages of childhood most of all, when offspring were delicate miniatures of the adults they would become.  This lad was going to be a heartbreaker.  From his stature and movement, he was not a military page, but from another occupation, likely clerical or culinary.

Surprised by her captivated expression, her husband turned his head to see who it was she found so enchanting.

Coming to stand just inside the room, the young page’s enormous eyes blinked in amazement.  The lips of his diminutive mouth compressed together in a struggle not to split open in gaping wonder at the august High-elves whose presence he had not anticipated.  In spite of being awed, he managed to correctly bow and go to his task.  But being so jittery, the poor little ellon fumbled at picking up Hrassa’s heavy bow; the length of which was almost three times his height.  It awkwardly clattered against the hard frame of the bench, and he froze in dread of what he had done.

Celeborn’s head turned back around to face her.  He meant to rescue the bow and page both.

“Will you excuse me for a moment, my lady?”  Receiving her approving nod, he slowly turned and started walking unhurriedly over to the lad, so as not to overwhelm him.

Go gently, my great hart, she teased him.  Do not frighten my little leveret.  He quirked a smile, and sent to her the image of a towering stag lowering a friendly nose to barely brush against anxiously wriggling whiskers.  She had to hold back her laughter lest she spook the child herself.

Gently easing the bow from the flushed youngster’s hands, Celeborn replaced it upon the bench.

“What is your name, nethben?”  He spoke in the caring, paternal tone that he would use with his own children and that affable teachers always used.

“Rhiss, my lord” was the squeaky reply.  Despite the stressed answer, her husband was reading the child right.  He radiated with the promise of patient enlightenment, and the lad was responding well to being cued into the familiar situation of wise master and learning student.

He got control of his nerves and past having had his clumsiness noticed; his eagerness overcoming his fear.  He was quite excited about getting inside the Meadow Room, the vaunted private parlor of the rulers.  But, a personal lesson from the Lord himself was beyond his wildest dreams.  He was thrilled to discover that Lord Celeborn was a kind instructor, and not always the daunting commander seen on the field.

“Well, Rhiss,” her lord husband began; on this occasion his propensity to lecture quite helpful.  “A hunter’s gear is not carried quite like a swordsman’s or a secretary’s.  First, anything that hangs across the body and the quiver very first.  Arrows are less likely to be spilled or broken under a pack then strapped over one.”   Celeborn bent down to help.  “Here, let us shorten it.”  The bottom of the cinched up quiver was barely off the floor.  The adjusted bedroll was slung over the opposite shoulder; it too hanging very low.

“You see how the cloak has been folded long-ways?  Wrap it loosely around your forearm.  You will tuck whatever sundry things inside, using it as you would a wide sleeve.  Both hands should be left free.”  He splayed his hands and comically waggled all his fingers, getting Rhiss to do the same.  “Good!”  They both smiled at having a bit of fun.  “Now, keep the elbow of the hindered arm against your side with the forearm level and load it up.”  The lad was so earnest about what he was doing that Galadriel was perhaps enjoying the lesson even more than he.

“The bow you take up last.  Use the hand of your free arm and put it into the hand of the hindered arm.  Elbow tucked in, arm aimed forward.  That is good.  Grasp it where it is off the ground and you still can keep your forearm level.  You do not want those sundry things falling out,” he winked.  Rhiss fleetingly smirked.  She was sure there was some crude male joke involved there, however she was just as glad that she did not know what it was about.

“Which leaves one hand and arm completely unhindered.  Do you see how it helps doing it this way?”

The lad’s face lit up.  “I can open doors all by myself!”  The utter simplicity of his epiphany brought a quiet laugh to Galadriel’s lips before she could stifle it.

It was a common sight in the palace corridors to see someone struggling with arms full, entirely dependent upon a page to get him to where he was going.  Although, she had to wonder whether little Rhiss could actually reach every door handle he encountered.  He probably had to jump up on occasion; the thought of which brought forth another soft laugh.  Nonetheless, a page never had a helper when he was overly burdened.

“Exactly,” praised her smiling lord.  He stood upright, effortlessly avoiding the top end of the bow as it unintentionally swerved to take a swipe at his chin.  “For a wood-elf, a free hand means being able to grab a branch to keep from falling.”  Rhiss distractedly nodded his appreciation of that while adjusting the load crisscrossing his shoulders.

My lord, the poor child is quite burdened under all that.  And, the bow looks beyond his strength to hold steady.  Perhaps we should send for another.

That would embarrass and hurt him more than having to lug Hrassa’s things about.  No, he is fine.  This task would have been for him to do regardless.

That was true, she conceded.  They would not be here to call for another, if they had gotten done with business sooner.  Although, doing nothing for that reason sounded surprisingly fatalistic and a bit out of character for her lord.  Especially after his giving this essential lesson.

“Now, Rhiss, I want you to think of the bow as a pole lamp, the tall kind you carry in procession.” 

Processions, both state and festival, were an activity in which every palace page served regular turns.  It was more than likely that Rhiss, even as small at he was, had already been trained to bear the tall lamps included in most, if not already taken several turns.

“In much the same way, you can balance the bow’s weight by centering it.”  He placed his hands over the lad’s, guiding him, slightly adjusting the vertical set of the weapon.  “There... Do you feel it?  You can rest it atop your foot, if need be.”  He then had Rhiss walk around the bench for practice, and Galadriel was relieved to see that the little ellon did not appear overtaxed.  “See?  Just like a lamp.  What do you do when you come to a doorway?”

“Lift and tilt from the wrist!”  The page demonstrated, showing he had control.  Looking up on high at the Lord, his eyes filled with gratitude and worship.  Celeborn obliged the lad by benevolently looking down at him plainly pleased with his student’s accomplishment.

“Tell me, Rhiss,” his newest hero asked, “how is this task yours when the senior pages vie for the opportunity to come into our parlor?”  The lad squirmed a bit, answering only when Celeborn prompted him by lowering his chin in an encouraging manner.

“No one else wanted to.”  The words rushed out of Rhiss’ mouth and he blushed, knowing what his answer implied about Hrassa, who was not only this lord’s guest but his bowman.

“No?”  Celeborn’s eyebrows floated up, as if this news surprised him.  “A clearer explanation, if you would.”

“No one wanted to fetch the cogndîr’s things,” the page said quickly.  His eyes fell and fixed on the Lord’s feet.  Galadriel was also uncertain where Celeborn was going with this line of query.

“Obviously, but why?  You can tell me, Rhiss.”  The lad’s reticence lessened.  Her lord could be disarming, when he wished to be.  ” I will not be angry with you.”  That was a promise, and everyone knew the Lord’s promises could be counted on.

“Because... he... “

“... must have deserted?”

Rhiss ducked his head and nodded; slightly shocked that the Lord had not avoided that awful accusation.

“Well I must say, I am relieved to hear that.”  Rhiss’ head came up and he blinked, as equally bewildered at this response as Galadriel.  Celeborn again smiled for him.  “I was worried that people would think him returned from dead.”  He stooped to bring his head down to Rhiss’ level and looked into the lad’s wide eyes.  A light touch laid upon his shoulder visibly steadied the youngster.  “But, you are not frightened by the cogndîr, are you?”

“No... “  Then, he remembered to add, “My lord!”

“Good lad!”  He patted Rhiss’ shoulder and stood up.

Galadriel was almost agape.  She could not believe what he had just done!

My lord, you abuse the poor child’s innocence misleading him like that!

Believe me, I value his innocence – and our daughter’s.  Besides, the lad will need something to fortify himself against the taunts of his peers, if he is to serve Hrassa.

If you want someone to be of aid to your bowman, have Elrovail find him!

She has.  She found Rhiss.  He turned to face her.  Are you saying the lad is not willing?

No, but –  Indeed, the lad was quite keen to be of help to such a mysterious figure as Lord Celeborn’s bowman.  Nonetheless, he was so young and trusting.  He will think Hrassa re-embodied when he deserves to know the truth about whom he serves.

And Hrassa will see to that.

Ivann’s blessings!  Hrassa was going to get some practice at being honest with a child or else be proven unworthy of their trust and never be allowed to speak to Celebrían again!  If you ever use our daughter like this – !

Dare I even try?  You would see right through my machinations.

Oh, you are a terrible ellon!

A terrible ellon who is ever at your service, my lady.  His head tilted slightly, eyeing her.  Is it your wish that I set the lad straight?  But, he only asked because he had little doubt what her answer would be.

“My lord, we really should be going into the great hall.”  Although she spoke with clenched teeth, she refrained from a more obvious show of temper, for she did not wish to upset Rhiss over something that was by no means his fault.

“As you please, my lady,” was her husband’s pleasant reply.  Hands drawn behind his back, he sketched a bow towards her, again deferring to her domestic authority.  She adjusted her voice to a pleasanter, more Lady-like tone.

“Rhiss, please deliver Cogndîr Hrassa’s things directly to his room.  And please convey to him personally our wish that he attend breakfast in our apartment, tomorrow at the second hour.  Thank you for your help.  You may go.”

“Yes, my lady.”  He bowed carefully, remembering to keep the long bow he held perpendicular to the floor and not to allow his bent arm to lean forward with him.

Turning to Celeborn, he bowed again.  The two of them again exchanged a look of mutual understanding that passed only between ellyn: a focused cast of eyes, a set mouth and firm chin.  Thus, the Lord silently conveyed his confidence in Rhiss and Rhiss’ his determination to prove himself worthy.

He backed away, carefully turned and left; exiting through the curtains, on his own, without getting entangled or scrapping the tall longbow on the doorframe.  By her lord intervening, the prized bow would not suffer inadvertent damage on its way back to its owner, and the little page also stood a better chance against being damaged by serving the same master.

“We are hosting breakfast tomorrow?” her husband queried in a flat voice.  “Will we be done with our other guests by that hour?”  He was never inclined to invite anyone outside of a close friend into their living quarters.

“Doubtful,” she drawled, with a blasé wave of a hand.  Letting him dwell on the prospect of Lindir at their morning table for a bit was just penance for involving sweet little Rhiss in his designs to rehabilitate the cogndîr.  Admittedly though, the opportunity to test Hrassa’s intentions had been too perfect, just too tempting, for Celeborn to pass on.

“Would saying I am sorry dismiss this notion of yours to punish me, my lady?”

“No.”  She was particularly anger at his making her equally guilty.

He shrugged then, decidedly taunting her with the acceptance of her displeasure as merely a weary matter of course.  She glared at him, and he stared back; his mien irritatingly self-assured.  If she did invite anyone else to breakfast, him inflicting his discontent upon all those seated would be her just punishment.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

melluain – most dear, my dearest  mel (love) –wain (-est, most) used as a noun, not an adjective, the ending ‘n’ kinda sounds possessive

nethben – young one

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

ellyn/ellith – elves male/female

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Chapter Twenty-Three – A Singular Delivery

Rhiss paused before the service door that led out of the rulers’ private parlor.  He rested the tip of the tall bow he carried atop the toe of his shoe and took a deep breath in anticipation of what he reasonably figured lay in store for him beyond in the busy back halls of the palace.  The news about Cogndîr Hrassa’s return had spread swiftly, and Rhiss was the only one of the pages on call this night who had not made himself scarce at the approaching sound of Lady Elrovail’s voice.  For no one else wished to be tapped to aid this particular guest.

On the way to the Meadow Room, he had heard a great many opinions, and most of those opinions were angry.  So, his compatriots’ precautionary disappearance had turned out not to be all that unwise.  A mean disregard was rapidly compounding against Celeborn's bowman.  Rhiss could now anticipate there would be those who would not think twice about taking out their ire on a lowly page just for carrying the belongings of someone considered a deserter.  However, his personal safety did not concern him as much as preventing any more hard knocks to the aged bow he so carefully held.

This marvel of craftsmanship and its owner were legend come to life.  Here was literally proof-in-hand of the fireside tales told to him from birth, the lore that was central to Silvan upbringing.  Here was positive evidence of the powerful secrets attributed to the great hunters of the Nandor, his people’s predecessors.  Secrets of which many had been lost by their heirs.

He slid his grip over the swooping curve of the bow, in awe of the soothing sensation of the ancient wood against his palm and fingers.  It was warm to the touch, even where his hand had not yet caressed it.  Ennin old... remarkably unmarred... and it seemed... awake... as if taught the trick of dreaming with open eyes.  He breathed a sigh of wonder.  Cold would never freeze it.  Rain would never warp it.  Sunlight would never scorch it.  Only the demise of its master could break it.

Nevertheless, it was not invulnerable to harm, and he had ineptly dropped it once already.  Which is once too many times! he scolded himself.  Were it to suffer the slightest scratch while in his care, well then he – as his father’s son – would be mortified!  Moreover, this errand would be his last on behalf of the cogndîr.  Not something he wished for, though others might.  Aside from which, the Lord Celeborn was counting on him to deliver it and all Hrassa’s belongings intact.

So, no slacking now!  He drew a bracing breath, holding it taut as if taking slow aim.  He must be more than light on his feet, as his Grandfather had been wont to say.  Being small but quick must be put to advantage.  He must evade being trampled or pushed around, even if fleeing an altercation would appear cowardly.  Because, that was the canny thing to do.

Releasing the pent breath in a huff of determination, he pushed through the door; careful not to let it flap too wide and possibly hit his backside on its return swing.  As had happened on his arrival – lesson learned.  No sooner was he in the narrow serving station, which opened onto the back corridor at the other end, then he was confronted by a scowling Golfod, effectively blocking any further passage forward.

Admittedly, he gulped as he looked up at the imposing ellon.  But at least, he stood his ground without shaking.  His courage earned him nothing save a single eyebrow raised in annoyance.

“Come on, lad,” grumbled Golfod.  “Let us get you to where you are going... ”  And forthwith, the wine-steward's lieutenant turned round and exited into the hallway, just assuming Rhiss would be right behind.

Which at first he was not.  The uncompromising cupbearer did not mean to harass, but to help?  It took a few seconds to recover from the surprise before he quickly sprang after.

They joined the swift-moving current of servants, each of whom was bent on accomplishing their own task, at first without any nuisance.  But then, a lanky server, a tray laden with drinks and food expertly balanced high over his head, came striding swiftly from the opposite direction.  Whether intentionally or unintentionally, as the ellon avoided bumping into others, he was veering towards Rhiss.  Golfod however saw the potential threat and effectively blocked the fellow’s errant tack.  If there were to be an accident, it would be Golfod who got soaked.  The server swung away.  The bland expression upon the ellon’s face remained unchanged during this swervy maneuver, but Golfod’s expression did not.  His habitual scowl of disapproval turned disgusted.

From then on, the cupbearer actively warded off everyone whom he thought came too close to his defenseless charge.  Sometimes, he protected with raised arms, as if bearing an invisible shield and sword.  Once in particular, when a handmaid held Rhiss in a singularly hateful stare while passing.  Then at other times, his arms encircled, like the sheltering wings of a mother hen.  Yet, not one harsh word was said by Golfod to any he warded off – nor by any to him.

Thus, Rhiss arrived entirely unscathed, although a bit flabbergasted, in the foyer below the guest quarters.

With the grand event going on, one would expect for the room to be empty.  However, two ellyn, both also servants, loitered near the butler's station.  He paid little heed to them though for his attention was on his guardian – who lead him to the middle of the chamber and abruptly announced that here was where he was going to leave Rhiss to go the rest of the way on his own.

Appreciative of the cupbearer’s kind aid, and greatly encouraged by having made it through the worst part of his necessary route without mishap, he very much wished to thank Golfod.  But, effusiveness was deemed inappropriate in servants.  Unlike with Celeborn Aran, no leave from that tenet did he feel from Golfod Sôggyll.  So, he expressed his enormous gratitude in as reserved a manner as he knew how, only in conclusion daring to be candid.

“For I was, sir, greatly worried for the safety of the bow.”  Not my own safety, do you see?  Because truth was, he dreaded being judged a frightened child when he was not.

“You should not have been given this task in the first place,” was Golfod's stiff opinion. 

Which snipped Rhiss’ budding new respect for the formidable ellon.  Apparently, the cupbearer’s protection was not an act of kindness but of protest.  He disapproved of a fellow servant being burdened unfairly for one of so young and inexperience.  Still, whatever the motive, Rhiss was grateful – if simply for another good lesson: look more closely at any offer of help.

“Your cohorts will not praise you for having accomplished your task either.”

“As you say, sir.  But, I will not be carrying the bow then.”  Meaning that then he would have leeway to defend himself.  And I shall.  It would not be the first time he fought with one of them that enjoyed bullying newly-enrolled lads.

“Hmph,” was all the response he got before Golfod strode away.

The curt reply had contained no admonishment, which was not that strange.  As did most Sindarin-Galadhrim, the cupbearer obviously disapproved more of disorder than of violence.  Fighting was an acceptable means to a peaceful end.  Reaffirming Rhiss’ early-on conclusion that his Grandfather would not get along very well with most High-elves.  It was just as well that few, if any, of his kin would ever come to Ost-in-Edhil.

All the while, the other two ellyn had been covertly watching, while still holding their own conversation.  Just as Rhiss set foot for the stairs, there was an authoritative snap of the fingers.  Trained as he was to check at the sound of any signal meant to get one’s attention, he automatically halted and looked over.

They were unknown to him.  He had never been introduced to either nor knew them from their having been pointed out before now.  One moved to stand behind the butler’s desk, and he waved for Rhiss to come over.  A quick glance showed the bell-rope behind the station significantly unknotted.  He could not remember if it had been so upon arrival, but that was of no matter now, when by all appearances the fellow was the assigned butler.  He had to answer the summons.  Any servant within any butler’s domain had to obey him, even if of equal rank.  However, it was the other fellow, who had remained in front of the desk, that spoke when Rhiss came and stood before them.

“These are Cogndîr Hrassa’s things?  Well, you may leave them here and go have fun.”

“Beg pardon, sir.  I am to deliver his things directly to his room.”  It was not that unusual for more senior servants to take over a task, if it suited them.  But, Rhiss wanted to be the one called upon by the bowman in the future and had no wish to relinquish that possibility to another.  Especially this fellow.  He did not like this ellon at all.  The fellow’s cordiality felt false.

“No need, lad.  I shall see to it.”

The rebellious ill manners he constantly warred against jealously hissed.  It was presumptuous that this one should give orders with the butler standing right there.  If he himself had spoken out of turn like that, his captain would have rightly slapped him for it.  Well, so maybe I can’t talk back, but neither must I give in.

“Did you hear me, son?  Just leave it here.”

“Beg pardon, sir.”  I am not your son!  “The Lady ordered me.”  He was beginning to feel as ill-used as Golfod had thought him.  Certainly, he sat low in the rank and order, and he was new at his job.  But, deserved a little consideration, if not respect.  And, he was not stupid!  This fellow planned to make the bowman’s things go missing!

“Lady Elrovail – “

“Beg pardon, sir, the Lady Galadriel.”

“The Lady Galadriel?  She spoke to you?”  The ellon did not recover from his disconcert quickly enough to keep it from being seen.

“Yes, sir.  The look on your face!  “I am to deliver Cogndîr Hrassa’s gear to his room and give him her personal message.”  He hoped for a chance to cause that look again.

“Ah... well... good lad.  Still, I shall help you.”  Having failed at one way to cause mischief, the fellow was fishing for another.  “Give to me the bow and quiver to carry for you.  The cogndîr will not appreciate your rough handling of them.”

“Beg pardon, sir.”  This bow will not leave my hand!!  “The Lord Celeborn did say that I was handling it correctly.”

Both ellyn abruptly jerked to attention as if the lord-general of Eregion’s armed-forces had actually entered the room.  Rhiss could barely keep a proper expression upon his face, such was his delight at their alarm.

“Lord Celeborn?  He spoke to you?”

“Yes, sir.  He instructed me himself.”  Ha! Criticize me; you criticize him!  As if you’d dare!

The butler burst out laughing.  Up to this point, the ellon had stayed silent, but observing the exchange with keen interest.

“Leave off, Angwedhon,” he with apparent bemusement.  “Clearly, the Lord and Lady do not hold Hrassa’s absence against him, even if you do.”  Giving a congratulatory smile to Rhiss as the victor, he told him, “Lady Elrovail has decided to put him in the smaller guest room in the family wing.  Can you find your way to there?”

“Yes, sir.”  Luckily only a few days ago, he had been given a tour of the family living quarters as part of his training.  At the time, he had resigned himself to never seeing inside the place again.  That he might return was even more thrilling than had been the prospect of going into the rulers’ exclusive parlor!

“Perhaps I should take you – ”.

“No need, sir, I know the way.”  He did not want this ellon to come with him either.  The fellow had said nothing to Golfod when present and not made any effort to convey the change in Hrassa’s location until the cupbearer was gone.

“How shall I call you, lad?” the second potential conspirator queried, still acting quite friendly.  

“Rhiss... ”  Outwardly, he smiled; also quite friendly, careful not show any mistrust.  But inside, he was sickened at having to act as dishonestly as they.

“Then proceed, young Rhiss, and afterwards please report back here to me.  Whether or not you are sent on another errand.”

“Yes, sir.”  Oh no, I won’t!  But if he did not report back, he would certainly be reprimanded.  Therefore, he decided that he would instead report to the page-captain-on-duty and say what had happened to cause him to disobey.  That would mitigate some of his punishment.  He hoped so anyway.  He wished that Golfod had stayed with him.  The cupbearer could have handed out the treatment these two deserved with impunity.

“Well, get on with it, lad,” prompted the butler with a shooing motion.

He left them, his jaw clenched tight.  Angwedhon gave him a sharp parting glance ere picking up the pair's conversation about the quality of the city’s summer water supply where previously left off.

He carefully ascended the sweeping staircase to the top where, now out of sight, he stopped and silently heaved a deep sigh.  His short errand was becoming quite a journey.  Although still fixed, his desire to serve the cogndîr was not as profound as it had been when he willingly took on this task.

He had never before had to deal with this sort of intrigue and malice, especially from regular people.  It was exciting, to be sure.  But, to have to face this kind of duplicity everyday?  Was this what it would be like working for the cogndîr?  Can I stand up to it?  Do I want to?  He tried to think on it the way his Grandfather might have.  Which was rather futile considering he did not possess his Grandfather's wisdom.  I miss you more than ever, Daerada!  Most amongst all his family, remaining and departed.

But now was not the time to indulge in melancholy.  He consciously shook off the sudden pang of homesickness, squaring his shoulders as best he could under their burden.  His duty was not yet done.  Nose back on the scent, you!

On that adamant order to himself, he set off for the family wing.  It took no time at all to travel the deserted upper passage to finally arrive at the destination of his delivery.

At this hour, the chairs and benches in the long hallway were of course empty, and the double doors situated at the far end were shut.  Before the crested doors stood a lone sentry.  The grey-liveried guard wore no armour.  He barred entry lightly equipped with a polished but simple spear; held at regulation angle out from his side, his other hand neatly tucked behind his back.  A belt-knife was his only other weapon.  At least, the only other weapon to be seen.  Rhiss knew better than to think that the nattily-dressed sentry was mere ostentation.  No more than were the Lord and Lady’s more circumspect bodyguards.

This ellon too was one of the chosen elite of the herth: those directly responsible for the safety of Eregion’s rulers, along with the princess and other close members of their household.  Each and every one was a deft and deadly fighter.  The solitary door-warden’s confident bearing only confirmed that fact.  Becoming a member of that cadre would have been an admirable aspiration for any common-born elfling.  Except, Rhiss knew himself to be no warrior.  And as it was, another prerequisite was to be of certifiable Eldarin descent.  No one saw that as a particularly unjust requirement though, since all matters within a realm must bend to royal preference.

He stopped before the sentry, a respectable three paces away, looking up expectedly at him.

“Your business,” was the genteel challenge – more genteel then he expected.

“To deliver Cogndîr Hrassa’s luggage and a message to him from the Lady Galadriel.”  His answer came out in a bit of a rush, embarrassingly allowing his nervousness to show.  Thinking of the number of troublemakers he had already encountered, he suddenly worried the warrior might feel him suspect.  He certainly would have.

“Very good,” was the polite reply.  The spear retracted and was switched to the other hand.  With a friendly wave, the guard invited Rhiss to proceed.

He blinked.  As easy as that?  This was the Lord and Lady’s private home, after all.

By means of a frank look, the guard let him know that he knew the truth had been spoken.  Else, he would not let him leave, let alone let him by.

Which, Rhiss realized, was precisely why Angwedhon had been hanging about in the foyer and not anywhere upstairs where he might have been seen and questioned.  A valuable lesson refreshed: ordinary protocols were always more than they at first seemed.

As Rhiss came up even with him, the guard casually leaned down; using his hands to hang off his spear in a stooped fashion, as might a gossipy wanderer from the Greenwood.

“He’s in the third guest chamber,” said the ellon in the woodland tongue and without any hint of an accent.  “But, herself ‘s treating his hurt.  Ere you go in, make some clatter.  So as to let ‘em know aforehand.”  He winked, without even the shadow of a smile crossing his face.  “Lest you intrude.”

Rhiss numbly nodded in acknowledgement of these instructions.  He was a little taken aback, but not because of the cloaked warning.  Although an innocent, he was not ignorant about what pleasures adults indulged in.  And he had heard plenty about the indulgences of the notorious noble lady.  No, he was taken aback by the ordinary speech.  That the sentry had spotted him for a Silvan was not that startling.  Anyone might see that about him.  However, there had been no clue that the chosen warrior shared the same heritage as he.

The cwenda did quirk a quick smile then, before stepping forward to silently pull open the door for him to enter in.  Just as quietly, it was closed after him.  Here on the inside, there was no one to be seen in the dim night-hours illumination and no sound save the burbling spill of water in the unseen fountain.

Once again, he had to pause, take a deep breath, and get his bearings.

Would anyone have ever thought to see a Silvan as a palace guard?  Not me.  A wide grin involuntarily bloomed upon his face.  Dûrcef!  His equally commoner friend’s wish to be in the household guard had an actual chance of coming true!  If a former so-called savage, then why not a former gutter-rat!  The thought that he could bring this news to the struggling cadet, the first real friend he had made in this foreign place, was very pleasing.

With that happy thought lifting his spirits, he took a few paces forward into the pale light cast down from above into the sunken atrium.  He stopped and stood before the balustrade gates at the top of the descending stair to gaze around, appreciating all the more where he was – in yet another place where few were allowed and many would envy his presence.

From this spot, he could see down the stairs before him directly into the atrium with its round fountain and jumble of potted plants.  The lush space was squared by windowless walls and crowned with stylish railing.  Overhead, starlight shone down through a high-domed skylight of crystal and silver.  During the day, the sunlight poured in, brightly lighting both levels.  He could see on through the filigree first floor gates of the atrium, opposite and across from the foot of the stair, into the entrance hall that let out onto the garden.  Directly across from him on the second floor, he could see through open doors into the family sitting-room and onto the balcony, which overlooked the same garden.  Beyond the palace’s high walls were the lights of the city.  It was a beautiful view.

To his right, another set of double-doors opened into the princess’ nursery.  Wait, one is suppose to call that a parlor too.  And, he amusedly reminded himself, she does not like for anyone to call it a schoolroom either.  Celebrían’s parlor directly connected to her bed chamber, which lay behind that room.  The dim hallways on each side of the parlor, marking the width of the room, led to her parents’ apartments and her nanny’s chamber.  On his left, on the opposite side of the atrium opening, matching double-doors were closed, and likely locked, for that was a private library.  The hallways on either side of that room led to guest chambers and other family quarters.  The guest rooms were off the first corridor, immediately to his left.  The farther corridor led to several well-appointed apartments, one of which was the Lord Celebrimbor’s.

There was a large bath at the end of the wing for those who did not have the luxury of a private bath.  The lesser guest rooms, including the one which Hrassa had been given, did not.

Going left, down the hall to the bowman’s assigned door, Rhiss knocked firmly and received no answer.  He listened closely... but, there was no sound.  He knocked again, louder... and nothing.  So, he entered; actually relieved to find the room empty, especially the narrow bed.  From a corner of the room, a tiny lamp suspended by a shiny chain cast a soft blue light.  Which was more than enough for a born forest-dweller to see by.

Carefully unburdening himself of gear, Rhiss first laid out everything upon the bed.  Since he was not exactly sure what he should do with it, he decided to arrange the pieces on the flat-topped chest at the foot of the bed the same way he had found them on the upholstered bench in the alcove.  While he worked, he wondered if he would make a good valet.  Valets were privy to great goings-on as much as personal secretaries or a bowman.

Only after finishing his task did he permit himself a good look around.  One chair and an undersized table sat directly under the lamp.  There was a cramped washstand; an overhead shelf with clothes-pegs beneath.  The windowless room was really nothing more than a bed chamber with a flue-style skylight, which seemed to provide no starlight.  Quarters in the guest wing were more like undersized suites.  These sparse accommodations were rather confining in comparison.  And Lady Elrovail has put a wood-elf in here?  But, her decisions were not for a page to question.

A belt and knife lay atop the table with a pair of boots tucked beneath.  The boots were surprising.  He would have thought different, simpler shoes for a master-hunter.  However, once he realized the knife was stone, it captured all his attention.  He leaned close over it to study it as best he could without breathing on it.  The barest hint of the knapped blade was showing above the edge of its scabbard, and he figured it to be even older than the bow.  For a moment, he was lost in the detailed simplicity of the carved bone handle, before coming back to what he was suppose to be doing.

Forcing himself to turn away from the table, he noticed that a provided towel was still on the bar of the washstand, as was the bath robe on its peg.  It looked likely for both cogndîr and hiril to be in the dark-elf lady’s rooms.  He pondered what to do about the message.  The Lady had said to deliver it in person.  Should he wait?  The guard has said the bowman was injured.  If a bad injury, the two would have stayed here, where Hrassa could be left in a healing sleep.  If he was really injured at all.  Having gone off, the bowman might decide to linger with Elrovail for the rest of the night.  It looked best not to wait, but to go to the lady’s apartment immediately.  Before a delivery did become an intrusion.

However, having once given in to its fascination, Rhiss turned again to the table to gaze at the stone knife.  What little could be seen hinted at so much more hidden within.  He raised a hand and brought a pointing finger close; almost touching.  There was a not unexpected vibrancy emanating from the weapon.  For it was a weapon and a lethal one, never to be mistaken for a merely utilitarian blade pressed into other service.  Maybe the cogndîr would take it out and show it to him sometime.

“What are you doing in here?!”

The shrill accusation took him completely by surprise.  Back to the door, he had not heard anyone come in, and he practically jumped out of his skin in fright.  He spun around, uttering a single inarticulate gasp of apology for his presumption.

To see not a miffed Lady Erovail, but a child!!  Younger than he and exhibiting the self-righteous petulance only her gender could affect.  He almost started to scold her as he would his baby sister for the mean prank of scaring him silly, but then he looked into her eyes – and the glow of their leaf-green fire hushed any words.  He stepped back and bumped into the table.

The little elleth planted her fisted hands upon her hips.  Her pale hair was loose and drifted wild over her shoulders, having been lifted by the rush to confront him then left to alight where it may.  In an even more piercing tone, she demanded an answer.  “I asked you a question!” 

His mouth fell open before he could stop it.  Emerald eyes?  Silver hair?  Heryn Celebrían!!  Dressed in nothing but a very fancy nightgown.

“A better question,” intoned an annoyed voice from above, “is what are you doing in here?”

Both children’s eyes leaped upward.  A well-dressed adult elleth had suddenly materialized behind the princess, looming high over her, also with fists firmly planted on hips.  Rhiss automatically snapped to attention with eyes fixed forward.  Although, he did not achieve the requisite blank expression.  Celebrían’s head tilted all the way back onto her shoulders; her eyes open wide, their spark noticeably quenched.  Her pinched frown went slack as her lips parting in trepidation.

“Oh,” she said a bit fretfully and squirming slightly under a baleful glare of disapproval.  “You’re back.”

“Yes,” said the elleth, her eyes narrowing.  “I am.”

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

cwenda – elf (quende) Nandorin

aran – king, lord of a realm

heryn – lady or princess

hiril – lady or mistress

sôggyll – cupbearer to drink (sogo) carrier (cyll)

ennin – year/years – a Valarian year consisting of 144 sun years

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

ellyn/ellith – elves male/female

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Chapter Twenty-Four – A Needed Kindness

The looming lady held the petite princess in a stern stare.  The princess’ head knocked back over her shoulders with her mouth pulled slightly open.  The unknown lady’s head bent all the way forward, her flinty eyes aimed straight down. 

Rhiss covertly glanced over; curious if the princess could stifle this formidable adult’s impending admonishment as well as she had his. 

Celebrían’s cocked arms collapsed, her balled hands falling from her hips down to her sides, lapsing open.  The lady’s arms remained hitched up, fists firmly planted. 

He found this somewhat disappointing.  But then abruptly, the princess burst into a sunny smile – outwardly guileless and changing completely from apprehensive at the lady’s unmitigated stare to delighted with being the focus of her attention.  Spinning about-face, she hugged the elleth’s knees, then arched back to direct her happy expression up at the lady’s weakening frown.

“I’m so glad you’re home!” she cried with amazing sincerity – as if she had not just been caught wandering in someone’s private room without permission.  “We are having guests for tea tomorrow, and I must tell you all about Cliff!”

Informing Rhiss that the lady was a familiar of the Household and familiar with the little princess’ powers.  Then he realized that they both were speaking in Nandorin.  Well, they are Galadhrim, after all.  He felt thick-witted for having to remind himself that not all of Celebrían’s folk were High-elves.

Her amalgamated tribe had a long history with the Nandor in Beleriand then Lindon, and now they lived among true Lindi.  Lenwe’s eldest daughter was her own father’s grandmother.  She was cousin to the last Rîn of the Laegrim, and her parents had fostered Amdir.  A true-hearted scion of Denweg if ever there was, despite a Sindarin upbringing!  So, these two had reason to know his mother tongue.  It just never occurred to him before now that that they would use it casually.

He ventured to look up at the lady for her reaction to Celebrían’s ploy and found the elleth looking not unexpectedly unyielding.  Which set him to wondering exactly who she was and where it was she had returned from.

For she was well-dressed, though not in fancy clothes.  Rather in something more appropriate for a formal dinner than a festival.  She wore very little jewelry, and none of it the jackdaw trinkets most Eldarin ladies tended to favor.  The thick braid wound around her head was interwoven, not with beads or jewels, but with lengths of delicately knotted floss that matched her attire.  Her face glowed with fading starlight; in the same tell-tale way a glistening is left from melted snowflakes after coming inside a warm winter hut.  A light-weight mantel held by a traditional penannular brooch thrown back from her broad shoulders.  The elegant enameled pin looked to be a costly heirloom from another land and age.

He concluded that the lady had been away outside the palace, instead of dallying about the terraces with the partying crowd, and come directly into the family quarters.  Her personal fashion declared her likely sprung from a Nandorin nation.  And on second thought, Celebrían’s greeting conferred membership in the Lord and Lady’s family, not merely attachment.  But if only an auntie, he was sure the princess would not have reacted to her disapproval in the apprehensive way that she had.  So, who else’s ire would the heryn fear as much as she might her parents?  Only their surrogate, of course.  The hitherto unseen – by himself anyway – nanny.

“Why aren’t you in bed, lass?” she asked in the same deceptively calm voice his mother would have employed if she had caught him or one of his siblings flaunting her rules.  It was hard not to grin, but even more difficult not to snicker as he would at home were it his little sister being asked that question in that tone.

Celebrían bright smile turned into a disappointed pout.  It was hard to tell whether this response was because she did not get a hug in return for hers or that charm was not going to get her out of trouble.  Nevertheless in the next moment, her dissatisfaction disappeared and was replaced with bravado.  She released her nanny’s knees and stood up straight, her return gaze unflinching.

“I heard a noise and came to look,” she explained.  That was a much bolder excuse than his little sister would have dared.  Her nanny’s eyebrows rose in cynical doubt.  Even so, Celebrían’s truthful bluff was called by a tentative, incorporeal voice coming from beyond the open door into the hallway.

“Please you, kind mistress, I look and tell is a bringing for the new one come and tell in bed stay.”  Besides struggling with the woodland-tongue, the feminine voice spoke with the heavy accent typical of Westron speakers.  “But no stay... ”  Her plaintive words were not a report, but given in guilty confession for letting the princess get into mischief – when it was clear, to Rhiss at least, that there was no guilt to bear for being helpless to curb such a head-strong child.

Intrigued and unable to resist, he craned to see around the lady.  A small woman with untidy dark hair was hesitantly peeking into the chamber from behind the edge of the doorframe.  Their eyes met for an instant – before the woman nervously cast her eyes downward and bowed her head, fretful of showing even a suggestion of confrontation.  On only two occasions had he gone with his father and uncle when they met with Woodmen to trade.  Since coming to Eregion, he had encountered many more of the Aftercomers.  Here Men were as common as Dwarves.  A wide variety came to the city from all corners of Arda, and some traveled with their families.  Still, he had never seen such an intimidated female of humankind.  Her face bore a haunted look.  She would grovel ere there was any cause to beg for mercy.

Celebrían too leaned over to peer around her nanny.  “Hush, Sheenie!”  The sharp words caused the mortal servant to quickly duck back, again out of sight.  A soft whimper accentuated her cringing retreat.

Rhiss felt sorry for the poor woman.  Obviously, she had been abused in her former place and been taken in out of charity.  She might have recovered enough since then to watch over a sleeping child.  But certainly not a wakeful brat!  He was not the only ones who thought the little princess unnecessarily mean.

“You hush!” ordered Celebrían’s nanny, appalled.  Her arms came down, but her hands remained curled. 

The princess jerked back to stand up straight.  The face turned upward was once again anxious, the lower lip drawn in.

Twisting around to the open door, the elleth affected a comforting mien and gently said in Westron, “All is well, Thilig.  You done good.  Heryn done bad.”  Coming back around, her irate glare fell heavily upon Celebrían, and she said with severity in Nandorin, “Tauron’s Might, what’s got into you lately?”  The angry breath she then inhaled, she purposely held for a moment to cool her temper.  As she released it in a dissipating sigh, her head shook in bewildered disgust.  In a barely heard whisper, spoken almost to herself, she asked, “Where’s the sweet babe I helped raise in Lothlórien?”

The princess bowed her head.  Her hands contritely folded together in front of her.

“What?  Nothing to say for yourself?” asked her nanny in sarcastic rebuke to her silent discomfiture.

“I didn’t mean to be bad, Nîni,” Celebrían explained in a weak voice.  “I just wanted to be sure Cliff had gotten my invitation to tea.  But, he wasn’t here... ”

“You could’ve waited ‘til morn, and you’re of an age to know you should’ve.”

“I‘m sorry, Nîni.”

“I can only imagine.”  She crossed her arms under her bosom; hands cupped around her bent elbows, the fingers of one hand drumming menacingly.  “And ‘tis Thilig’s feelings you’ve hurt, not mine.”

“I’m sorry, Sheenie.”  She spoke up so the woman would hear her.

“And…?” her nanny prompted.

“I’m sorry, Nítmilrû,” she almost shouted.  Rhiss guessed that was another of her watchers who preferred not to make an appearance.  A bodyguard?  Very likely both servants were undeservedly troubled by her antics on more than this one occasion, hence their prudent distance.

“And…?” pressed her nanny.  Celebrían sighed, then turned to face himself.  She raised her eyes and looked straight at him, where she had not even raised her head for her other apologies.  Her earlier bravado was back.

“I’m sorry, whoever-you-are.”  Although noticeably shorter than he, just by her countenance, she made him feel that she was the taller.

“Tsk! Aren’t we high and mighty!”  Her nanny switched to Sindarin, saying, “Try again.”  A clear hint for the princess to change languages.

It struck him then that perhaps, as distracted as they were, neither elleth had seen him for a Silvan.  As interesting as it was to suddenly be Eldarin, he had no intention of remaining so.  However, he now wondered whether it was their custom to speak in Nandorin or that they had chosen to speak it for privacy.  That thought made him hesitate correcting their misperception, figuring that neither might like his knowing what all had actually been said about the Heryn’s bad behaviour.

“I am sorry,” Celebrían said in Sindarin, although her words were attended by hardly measurable humility.  “I should not have disturbed your work.  Please excuse my inconsiderate intrusion.”

“Much better,” approved her nanny.

He gave a slight bow in acknowledgement of the apology.  The princess took that as a sign that she no longer had to act as if she had committed any transgression at all, and she became disarmingly affable.

“What is your name?” she asked, smiling sweetly.

“Rhiss, my lady.”  He was finding her swift transitions from one mood to another disorienting.  Something he suspected as intentional on her part, although perhaps only instinctual and without forethought.

“I am Celebrían, the daughter of this House.  This is my nîni, Glamien.”  There was reasonable pride in her self-introduction, but possessiveness was even more present in her referential gesture, a stylish backward wave of the hand he reckoned mocked another’s aristocratic style.  He was supposed to be impressed.  It was not every family that had a parental assistant to take constant care of the children instead of superfluous kin just keeping an eye on them.

He bowed to Nîni Glamien and was surprised to receive a sociable nod in return, one devoid of the usual aloofness of high-ranking servants and minor nobility.

“But why do you linger here, Rhiss?” the princess prettily asked.  A blush threatened to bloom upon his cheeks.  Bashfulness caused not only by her personable query but because he had been nosing around in a guest’s room just as she had wrongly meant to do.  However, he could put on a bold face too.

“I bear a message from the Lady Galadriel to Cogndîr Hrassa and await his return,” he smoothly replied.

“Ooh, what is it?” Celebrían demanded, eager to know.

“None of your business, hên,” reprimanded Glamien.  “And that was it: the last straw.  Get to bed.”

The princess fluttered away without a further word or a backward glance.  Nothing in her demeanor indicated she cared about having been chastised.  Neither did it appear she felt remorse.  Naught but a soft rush of air, she raced lightly down the hall – merrily calling for Sheenie to come with her, the way any playful child would urge a pet to hurry along beside.

Her otherwise silent exit astonished Rhiss.  So that’s how she snuck up on me!  The Heryn could tread as lightly at any wood-elf!

Glamien too watched her go.  Again, she shook her head; this time appearing worried rather than bewildered.  Coming back to Rhiss, she looked him over with a scrutinizing eye.

“There’s ne’er no telling...”  She had gone back to using Nandorin, now speaking it as only a Silvan forest-dweller would.  “... how being far away in a strange place’ll affect a young’un.  How’re you doing, lad?  Miss your old home much?”

“Aplenty, Nîni,” he automatically replied in like.  The revelation of yet another Silvan invested in Nos Galadhad felt comforting this time rather than dumbfounding.  He was appreciative of the genuine sympathy being offered him.  “I sorely miss it.  Yet all the same, I’m glad t’be here.”

“You seek a different path than through the Wood?”

“Yea, for awhile.  ‘Til my family can afford me again.  Mayhap by then, I‘ll know if I’d rather live amongst stones or amidst trees.”

“Why, both might be a fit place for you.  For the stars shine o’er it all.  ‘Tis a reward of service to see far away places and meet all manner of folk.  Myself I’ve also lived beside great waters as well as great plains.”

“You’ve lived by the Sea?”  The shores of the Belegaer were as far and legendary place as he never thought to see.

“The Sea of Rhún.  Which ‘tis naught but a puddle to the breadth of the Great Sea, so they tell me.  Truth, I’m looking forward to when the Household goes a’visiting Edhellond.  This though be the first time I’ve crossed the Mountains, as I’m sure ‘tis for you.”

His head bobbed in enthusiastic affirmation, and he drew an excited breath at the thought of a visit to the fabled harbour.  If I impress him, the Cogndîr might choose to take me along!

“D’you know what’s just below here?” she asked, clearly an intention in mind.

“A dining room?” he scarcely recollected.  The lower level had not been as interesting a part of his training tour as had been the upper.

“With a catering station just down the corridor.”    

His always-hungry stomach perked up, anticipating a task that might present the opportunity to grab a snack.

“Most days, I’m in there to help make up a noon meal.  When’ere you pine, don’t you hold off from coming in t’see me then.  I’ve a good remedy for homesickness.”  She smiled knowingly.  “Yrmas, just like my Nana made.”

“Oh, Nîni Glamien!”  Runnybread!  A woodland family’s everyday lembas!  His mouth watered at the thought of a stack of hot and fluffy golden rounds – sopping with syrup!  Real pancakes, made the right way, to be eaten right away, and not the soggy parchment served in the dining hall they so pretentiously called pancakes.  “Many thanks!  Be sure I’ll be by!”

“Soon then, eh?”  She smiled and chucked him under the chin.  Then, her smile turned rueful.  “So, the Blight struck your groves?”

“Yea, with great ruin.  But, they’re on the mend.”  He tried to stay cheerful, despite recalling the horror of the forest dying all around.  There had been no escape to other parts.  The pestilence moved with the people, and travel had to stop lest the entire Wood be infected and fail.  Things could have turned out so much worse than they had.  Any one of his family might have died of starvation.  Several of his friends’ families had suffered that misfortune.  For at the last, parents and elders gave their meager rations to the children.  “The Blessing Cure came late to us, but thankfully not too late.”

Far wiser than he did say the disease that had killed great swaths of trees in Rhovanion was not natural, and that was why only the Besain could halt its spread.  Else, the foresters could have thwarted it, just as they had many other maladies.  As it was, the three great elven-queens had worked together for an antidote.  When found, they had traveled tirelessly throughout their realms, and beyond borders, dispensing the remedy wherever it was needed.

“And your folk still sent you away?”  Glamien’s question, sounding as it did like an accusation against his parents’ care, jarred his pride.

“Beg pardon, Nîni, no one sent me away.  My parents allowed me my want.”

Milphillim, his people’s wonderful Lady, had happen to stop to rest in his village.  At the end of her short stay, she had asked on behalf of her lord husband’s kin if any of those who must needs find another home whilst the forest recovered would volunteer for service in Eregion.  Her request awoke a desire in Rhiss’ heart for foreign adventure.  Against all common sense and fear, he had stepped forward: the solitary responder to her request.  She had deemed him much too young and dismissed him back into the custody of his parents.  But, he had begged until ordered to be silence.  His Grandfather was the one who finally persuaded Milphillim to let him come to Ost-in-Edhil.  Any of the refugee settlements was just as distant and just as dangerous for a young fool, Grandfather had argued.  But Rhiss was a smart young fool in need of strong lessons, and who – in more ways than one – deserved the challenge he craved.  And a challenge was exactly what this job was turning out to be.

“Can’t say I wholly approve of that either.”  Glamien obviously did not approve one bit.  Not many adults did.  The Lord Amdir certainly had not.

Amdir had not traveled at his lady’s side whilst she was on her mission, and Rhiss sometimes wondered what might have happened differently, if the Lord and not the Lady had been there that fateful day.  Would the Lord have been swayed?  Would Amdir have stirred him as deeply?  Milphillim had changed him in a way he could feel but could not understand.  Perhaps he was as yet too young to choose wisely for himself...

“So, what can you tell me ‘bout this Hrassa fellow?  I’ve ne’er met him, only seen him in the market.”

“I’ve not met him myself.  He’s the Lord Celeborn’s bowman from long ago, and he went away – afore the Galadhrim settled the Naith – not coming back as he should’ve.”  He refrained from mentioning the part about how the cogndîr had perhaps died and then come back to life.  Ellith disliked hearing eerie things of that sort.

“So Lumdis did say.  More that the fellow had deserted the Lord and Lady.  Appears though they think not.  Seeing as he’s not still arrested.”  She cast her eyes about the room.  “Lady Elrovail looks to have decided he’ll not be enjoying his freedom.”

Rhiss nodded sagely, so at ease with Glamien that it did not feel presumptuous of him to commend her assessment.

“Are the hiril’s rooms where you think you might find him then?” she suggested.

“Yea, Nîni.  I was just thinking so, for the door-warden said she tends to a hurt.”

“Been hearing all ‘bout that, too.  Not you?  Well, the Lady slapped him hard for his disrespect.  Deservedly so.  He’s plain lucky, if you ask me.  Considering what the Lord would’ve done if he’d deemed him guilty of worse.”

Rhiss nodded, again she had the right of it.  As much as he liked Celeborn, any Aran’s bad side was not where one should ever long linger – particularly after doing wrong.

“D’you know the way to the hiril’s door?”

He confidently nodded, and Glamien chuckled.

“Of course you do.  Lad or no, you’re an ellon.  Off you go then afore she gets past the healing and onto the comforting.”  She moved out of his way and waved him on.  “And don’t be a’scared of her.  She enjoys making one blush, which is as far as she’ll go with one as young as you.”

He gave her a quick smile meant to assure her of his confidence in his own safety, before settling back into the proper demeanor for a page.

Turning left out of the chamber door, he strode purposefully down the hallway, heartened by her charity.  Celebrían’s nanny was indeed, as Thilig had said, a kind mistress.

Behind him, he heard the door firmly closed and Glamien walking away in the opposite direction.  Although, not nearly as quietly as the little princess.  But, I can be.

It certainly would be good for himself, as much as for the Heryn, to practice whenever possible.  He had promised his father to keep up his few skills and was not making a good enough effort at it.  It also riled him a bit that Celebrían had come up on him unawares.  Very unbecoming it was too.  He moved into the shadows that lapped at the edge of the spaced pools of dim lamplight and went ‘quiet’, endeavoring to become unnoticeable.  Something not so easy to do on this cursed carpet.  The thick wool carpeting was one luxury which, most of the time, was nothing but annoying for a forest-dweller.  Especially that surprising first time.  His fellow pages had laughed at his frightened reaction until they wept.  Annoyance aside, if he accidentally touched anything, he would instantly give himself away.  Therefore, he deliberately tapped a metal urn in passing.  And as expected, a crackling spark shocked his fingers and left him flapping them from the sting.  But, stepping lightly from now on would help prevent building up another charge.

He stretched out his senses, seeking to find his limits.  The corridor ahead felt empty.  As did the rooms ranged along it.  There were no sounds of other living things.  Not mouse or cricket.  Everyone was probably gone, servants included.  He would have been downstairs too, if he had had any seniority to get out of duty this night.  Nevertheless, as usual, hardship was turning out fortuitous in some way.  He suppressed a smile that would let show a revealing glimmer in the dark.

The lead-page of his group, a commoner like himself, had boasted of how he and other senior lads were going to sneak into the great hall to dance with the noble-born maidens.  There was even a bet on about who would steal a kiss from a certain lord’s comely daughter.  Fact was the senior pages were much older than Rhiss and overly preoccupied with their adolescent aims.  When his time came to start pursuing the lasses, he would, he assured himself, never act as stupidly as they.  As if getting a kiss were a daring thing to do.  In his experience, all one ever really had to do was ask and usually received.

Just wait until they hear he has been in the Meadow Room and the family quarters both because they were at play and left the work to him.  And that he has made acquaintance with the princess.  And been personally instructed by the Lord Celeborn!  When they gaped with envy, then with an innocent air he would mention having visited Lady Elrovail’s private chamber.  For he did not doubt that to deliver his message in person as required, the bowman would not be coming to the door to hear it.

By taking the first cross-hall instead of the second, he emerged into the other long hallway well before the Lord Celebrimbor’s apartment.  As he passed that door, there was a whiff of an odd scent in air – odd because it was out-of-place.  However since neither smoke nor fire, his self-congratulatory thoughts were not disrupted.  With no need to sound an alarm, he simply stayed on task, not breaking his noiseless progress.  His mind was turned intently towards tomorrow.  What might yet happen in the hiril’s rooms did not worry him.  Tomorrow he would top all brags and boasts, bring the best of news to Dûrcef , and later kind Glamien would stuff him with buttered yrmas.  Yrmas! Yrmas! Yum!  He hoped for his first taste of the touted mallorn syrup of Lothlórien.

But just a short distance further down the hall from the lord’s door, he abruptly halted and returned immediately to the present when behind him there sounded a muffled but heavy thump from inside the master smith’s quarters.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:  

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

heryn – lady or princess

hiril – lady or dame

hên – child

nîni - nanny a Sindarin form of nyéne ‘she-goat’ in Quenya  (the English word ‘nanny’ was derived from ‘nanny goat’)

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

ellyn/ellith – elves male/female

yrmas – runnybread (yr- to run, bass bread) A batter-based leavened pancake, which would be mixed just before cooking, tender and airy and easily soak up syrup and melted butter.  It would have a shorter shelf-life (and plate-life around someone like Rhiss or me) than the more wafer-like lembas.

Lenwe (Denweg) – leader of the people who left the Great Journey and stayed on the eastern side of the White Mountains.  Denweg is his Nandorin name, much like Elu is Elwe’s Sindarin name.  His people called themselves the Lindi (the Teleri were originally called the Lindar).  Denethor, the king of the Laegrim (Laiquendi), was Lenwe’s son, and in my tales, a great-grandfather of Amdir (Malgalad), the Lord of Lórinand, who will become his realm’s first official King.

Westron – the language that became the Common Speech of the Third Age

Besain – the Lady Breadgivers - the chief elven-women who are charged with the keeping and gifting of lembas

Miphillim – is an OC wife for Amdir, she was introduced in another fanfic Farrod a Rodwen in.

Dûrcef – is the first friend Rhiss made in Ost-in-Edhil and mentioned last chapter