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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