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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)