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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)