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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