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