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Chapter Twenty – A Privy Council

Celeborn stopped at the entrance of the alcove then turned half-way round to look back, an expectant expression upon his face.  At the sight of which, Gwîlagor sped forward to lift aside the gauzy curtain from across the chamber’s doorway.  However, the Lord’s pause was not to prompt someone to cater to his rank, but to have the Lady come join him.  For Galadriel had not followed after when he had sauntered away.  Despite or in spite of – but certainly because of – his terse request for her to come into the alcove, she had chosen to remain where they had been standing together in the center of the parlor.

She granted that plain speech was their usual means of discussion, whether or not Celebrimbor was involved.  Understandably though, and as far as their co-ruler had seen it too, this particular discussion would have more to do with the household than the realm.  In that regard, the master smith really did not have as much of a say.  Moreover, he had demonstrated his comfort at being in that position quite well by leaving and taking Aurthôn and Laerlínath with him.  So, there was little need for greater privacy than they had been given.

Her impression of her husband’s wanting to confer aloud and alone was that it sprang from his sinking mood.  Keeping his gloomier thoughts closer to the chest by stating only what he wanted her to consider was a kind enough intention in itself.  However, the gesture told her plainly that more nudging than she had hitherto applied was needed if his disposition was to improve to a tolerable level before going into the great hall.  Feeling glum would not necessarily affect his dancing; he was too disciplined an artist to allow that.  Even so, he would be a dour host, and she did not want anyone, including herself, to have to cope with that for the rest of the evening.

His eyebrows arched in silent query as to her lack of alacrity.

She mimicked back his askance.

His eyebrows fell, beetling in puzzled irritation.

She imitated that expression as well.

His head tilted downward in a subtle exercise of authority as he raised and held out a hand to her.

She tilted her head slightly to one side, putting on an air of faux naivete, and blinked in innocent incapacity to understand whatever it was he wanted of her.

The sharp glint that flashed in her lord’s eyes and his further silence as much as shouted that her silliness, at the moment anyway, was not appreciated.

Oh! she sent to him, continuing to feign bewilderment.  My lord seeks a private conversation?

But, she found him not listening to her; the joint passage between their thoughts was closed.  Therefore, she pointedly looked around the room – which was obviously empty save for them and their bodyguards – then back to him.

His face unknotted into an expression of weary tolerance, and his extended hand motioned with a rapid flap of fingers for her to come to him – no more foolery.

Because of his insistence, she reconsidered her resistance.

Other than perhaps sparing her his more worrisome misgivings, he apparently wanted to talk unobserved.  It was possible he had already formed a plan to deal with the quandary of Hrassa’s return and meant to persuade her into accepting it wholesale.  His methods of persuasion, at least where she was concerned, usually included unscrupulous flirtation, which warranted personal privacy.  So, do you mean to sway me into falling in line with some brilliant plan of yours instead of deciding together what to do?  But once again, he was not open to conversing silently between them.  She had to consider letting him usher her towards his goal in his own fashion as the only way to expedite revealing exactly what it was that he felt he had to negotiate out of her rather than outright ask of her.

Furthermore, figuring in his advancing a proposal on what was to be done with his bowman in addition to the time it would take to explore her vision and for him to answer her questions about how it was that Hrassa was even brought to her, their little chat could go some length.  Thus, delaying their appearance on the dais even further when they were awaited by a considerable number of guests.  Guests who expected tonight’s festivities to become a memorable event.  For word had spread quickly that, aside from Lindir singing, after so long being deprived of the spectacle, Lord Celeborn would dance.  The great hall had been growing evermore crowded when she had exited, and she did not want a crush to last too long.  Not after what happened the last time.  Moreover, this was a good opportunity to prove she could be just as indulgent as he.  When I wish to be.

Moving with the arched grace of a swan gliding over mirrored waters, she floated across the space between them and laid her hand feather-light over his.  It pleased her that a vacuous, obedient smile from her made him more wary than amused.

Indeed, there were those who would have been shocked to see her so readily comply with such a dictatorial invitation.  The burden of a reputation earned, unregrettably, from openly defying most people’s expectations of femininity.  But to be honest, more often than not, she was inclined to acquiesce when her lord fell to insisting.  Because, his reputation was just as well-deserved.

He was a shrewd, albeit generous and self-sacrificing, prince.  Not one to get mired in fruitless blather or in dithering over consequences where important matters were involved.  While others hemmed and hawed, he got things sorted out.  When others wavered with indecision, he made plans and took action.  Nevertheless, his courage was tempered with wisdom.  Celeborn Galadhonion was a true-blooded scion of Elmo, bent on doing what was best, not for himself, but for his lady and children, kith and kin, people and nation.

Although, not always in quite that order.  She felt a flicker of guilt over her past umbrage at that fact.  In their early life together, she had not found it easy to bear being the one whom he vowed he loved most, then would not put first.  In particular, would not put before Nimloth.  Eventually, she came to understand, as her beloved devoutly believed, that loyalty had to come before love.  Honor before glory and duty before dreams.  Fortunately, most of the time, love and loyalty marched happily together, side-by-side, just as they themselves did.  Most of the time…

Gwîlagor respectfully bowed his head as she and her lord made to go into the small chamber.  While steering her to enter before him, Celeborn directed a frosty glare at Ithinduil.  But, other than his jaw slightly tightening, the guard showed no reaction to admonishment for his inattention to easing a high-elf’s passage.  Galadriel sighed, shaking her head.  Gwîlagor would have turned crimson with humiliation at such a look.  Ithinduil took duty seriously enough, but not courtesy.  Something all too typical of Nandorin ellyn in general.  His outward respect for the nobility always stopped short of what it should be.  However, she did not remark upon it until she and Celeborn were inside, and the curtain was dropped behind them.

“The fellow is hopeless,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.  “You might as well give up on him.”

“I did not give up on Hrassa, now did I?”  He was less inclined to pitch his voice to where it could almost not be heard.  He lowered his hand to his side; dropping hers, where usually he would have turned his hand over and took hold of it.  Another indication of his sullen mood.

“No, and just look how he turned out.”  Her accompanying smile was intentionally cynical.

“Why, exactly as I wanted – a hunter, not a lapdog.”  His own thin smile was a bit more sardonic.  “My error was in making him a family pet as well.”

“I would say he did that on his own,” she wryly opined.

“Still, I shall not let that happen with this one.  You may cease worrying about it.”

At first, she was angry at his patronizing insinuation that she did not like his attention to Ithinduil because the relationship even remotely boded to become like how it had been with Hrassa.  Or that her beloved was training another recalcitrant wood-elf into a suitable companion, only to one day be sorely grieved by his loss.  That was not at all what she was remarking upon.  Or am I?  She looked away in order to hold off what might be an undeserved retort.

Whereupon, she saw Hrassa’s belongings carefully arranged upon the upholstered bench, and she immediately went over to them.  Her heart twinged at the sight of familiar things.  Here lay the very same imbued bow that he had carried the day he had left.  The same grey cloak.  The same unadorned long-knife.  Ennin had passed, but seeing these memorable possessions suddenly made it feel as if their friend had failed to return only yesterday.

It occurred to her that the shirt Hrassa wore was also the same shirt she had given him just before he had gone missing.  Well, if a talented cogndîr can preserve a bow for an age, then why not a piece of clothing?  Reaching down, she slid her fingertips lightly along the length of the bow’s upper limb to the tip and touched the string made of dark elven-hair looped around the notch.  Not his, but an elleth’s...  The bowstring’s contributor was a stranger to her.  She would have proceeded onto the bedroll, but Celeborn addressed her curiosity before she could begin to justifiably rifle through what little else Hrassa owned.

“Golfod has looked and found nothing.”

She huffed with disappointment.  No wonder then it is all so neat.  Along with his obsessive need for orderliness, Golfod had an excellent nose for both vintage and evil enchantment.  Attributes which made him an invaluable cupbearer.  If he had not detected anything, then there was not anything tangible here to blame for the bowman’s strangely disloyal behaviour.

“And how did Hrassa feel about the inspection?” she asked.  Being scrutinized, even when there was good cause, was not something a wood-elf of any breed easily tolerated.

“As he did not know Golfod, he was not aware of it.”  Her lord gestured toward the divan in a suggestion that she lead them there.  Looking over, she was surprised by what she saw sitting on the right-hand end table.

Arranged in a precise equilateral triangle upon a round polished-metal tray, placed precisely in the middle of the square table top, was a exactly half-drunk bottle of wine with the pair of loving cups that had been given to them by Thingol and Melian.  The true-silver drinking bowls were almost undetectably thrumming; their usual response to the mutual presence of the bridal couple to whom they were dedicated.  Had they been set right next to each other, they would be chiming.

“Whatever are those doing out?” she asked.  The gossamer timbre of their phantom resonance heightened at her taking notice of them; still difficult to hear, yet impossible to ignore.  Her husband and she were supposedly in agreement that this particular gift was best left put away, to be used for special occasions only.  She cocked an accusing eyebrow at him.  The wine bowls lent credence to her suspicion that he was aiming to persuade a special, and evidently difficult, favor from her.

“I had Golfod put them there after being rinsed.”  One and then the other of the cups flashed in the lamplight; their enticement to be touched and used.

“I did not ask how they got there.”  They had to be rinsed?  “I asked what they were doing out of the cupboard?”  In answer, she got a guiltless snicker.  Only then did she realize what must have occurred.  “Oh no!  Those poor children!”  And, she tried unsuccessfully to keep from laughing out loud.

“Hrassa and I came in on them kissing,” chuckled her husband.  “Just imagine if we had arrived a few minutes later.”  He leaned closer to her, his amused smile turning libertine.  “Just imagine if they get separated from their guide in those dim solitary tunnels... ”

“You terrible ellon!  Must you remind me of indiscretions better forgotten?”  Although she pushed him away, as if she were mortified, she was not.  Mostly because, none else knew – nor will ever know! – about the disorderly conduct caused by these vessels during their courtship in Menegroth.  And after!  She fixed a stern look on her bemused beloved.  “We are not going to drink from them.  We have guests waiting.”  Most likely, he had carefully weighed the odds of that very prospect when deciding to use the cups as a means to give Golfod unsuspected access to Hrassa’s gear.  “Surely,” she asked, turning from unyielding to sweetly tempting, and now leaning to him, “that was not what you were hoping?”

“Not tonight,” he grinned back, leaning in even closer.  “We both know the only thing I am presently hoping for is to woo you into a more pliable frame of mind.”  His eyes became glittering slits as his grin expanded; growing more feline and less quendi, his words more like purring than speech.  “Nonetheless, I do have a convincing line or two prepared, just in case... if you would like to hear one... purely for your own amusement... ”

Your amusement, you mean.  However, his mood taking an up-turn was an excellent excuse to dally a bit.  She straightened up and put on a disinterested countenance.  With a condescending nod, she allowed him the privilege of briefly entertaining her.

Taking full advantage of his fine stature, he adjusted his posture into that of a self-possessed aristocrat.  He pulled a haughty face as he adjusted his mantle, donning what was naught but a caricature of his own social class.  Having theatrically set himself into character, his head he lowered to hers, but in the way a noble suitor would, inclining from the waist with open palms and lifted arms elegantly held out from his sides in admiring supplication.

She rolled her eyes in criticizing forbearance, which did nothing to upset his studied deference.

“Oh, Beauteous Lady,” he lilted, and she had to stop herself from sputtering into laughter.  “Were we to quaff now from these precious heirlooms... ”  One hand waved lyrically towards the cups, and they once again momentarily flared.  “Most assuredly, such... reveled dancing… as we have never known before would be ours throughout not only this lustrous night, but the next, and into forever.”

Adapting her bored expression to one of proper disdain for such affectation, she suffered to hold out the obligatory hand that would facilitate further homage to her person.

“Rîs Faen!“ he exclaimed, pretending overwhelmed humility at the honor bestowed.  He stepped forward and reverently lifted the hand, bowing his head over it.  From that angle, he glanced up slyly, saying, “My heart is at your mercy... “  Then, sensuously kissed her fingers, restraining them from immediately leaving his hand by trapping them under his thumb and letting them slip away only very slowly.  Then stepping back, withdrawing from her presence, he again stood tall, but held a smoldering gaze upon the object of his nearly uncivil passion.

The object remained outwardly cool to this decided taxing of the boundaries of good taste, determined he not see how much she was enjoying his attempt at courting her into a consensual state – or that he was on the verge of success.

“So, have I undone you well enough to get the upper hand?”  A teasing twinkle displaced the shining desire in his eyes.

“No,” she flat lied.

“Pray, give me another chance then,” he urged.

“No.”  But, he knew she was still lying.

“How about this?”  His physical attitude changed completely – going from tall and sleek to slouching and hipshot.  Likewise, he switched to a rustic Silvan accent.  “Truth, Melluain... ”  And affected the self-confident leer that quite a few males of that ilk foolishly thought represented a compliment to a lady’s appeal.  “We two need not such over-wrought contrivances to share a draught of life’s sweet pleasures!” he declared.  “Not whilst we’ve mouths – “  He was suddenly right next to her.  One long arm encircled her waist, forcibly pinning her arm to her side.  “ – and lips!”  He pulled her tight against him, crushing flat her airy raiment.  Her free hand, which rose in insincere protest, he captured; intertwining their fingers in a mutual grip.  His nose flew low above her shoulder, avariciously drawing in her scent, swooping up the side of her neck.  “My first... “, his cheek landed lightly against hers, “... and best... “, the warm gust of his voice caressed her ear, “... and truest... “, the downy touch of his lips brushed over the delicate fold, “... love.”

She quivered from head to toe.  Astonished, he leaned back to look her in the face; set off-kilter by her wanton response when he expected playful reproach.  She in turn was jolted by momentary annoyance.  When she fully expected him to steal an opportune kiss, he ventured no further.  He simply looked at her – with devouring eyes and alluringly parted lips that were too much to handle.  She blushed and, to her further chagrin, giggled.

“Yea you say?” he ventured.  Her breath caught as he surprised her and himself with that smile of his, the one that could entice surrender from a dragon, let alone from an ardent lover.  Fortitude gained through familiarity was what saved her from succumbing and enabled her to shake off his unintentional spell.

“Nay!” she forced herself to say.  “And I mean it!”  His honest delight at her capable resistance was as beguiling as his inborn charm.  “Why the very thought of sharing wine mouth to mouth!  Disgusting!”  Her protest was jokingly made, but she did mean to halt him.  Despite wanting to see what else he might try, it would be foolish to take another chance that he might succeed in getting her to toast with the cups.  If anyone is going to get the upper hand, it had best be me – else we shall never leave here.  “See, you have ruined my dress, and after I told you not to!”  She made a token struggle against his hold on her.  “Cad!”

“Prude!”  He let go of her hand and released her, but it was she who strategically retreated, putting more than an arm’s-length between them.  Although rejected, he continued to smile in admiration of her sturdy resolve.  Nevertheless, she was in great danger of losing that resolve.  Out of necessity, she turned to the repair of her apparel to keep from looking at him.  Plucking tentatively at her damaged dress, it appeared doubtful that there was any way to restore her gown’s former frothiness.

“Oh, bother!  A husband can be such a nuisance sometimes!”

“Hear now!  Then, let your husband be of help.”  He took a step towards her; hands lifted, sanding his thumbs over his fingers in anticipation.

“Stop!” she ordered, throwing up a flat palm of command and giving him a sharp look of warning.  “I am not having you pinch any of my parts!”

This time, he was the one to appear innocently bewildered.

However, having come back around to practically where their jaunt had started and having made no progress on the serious matters at hand, she decided it was time for the funning to stop.

“My lord, we have guests waiting upon us.  We have no time for more of your games.”

“Would that be ‘cause we’ve spent so much time a-playin’ at yours?”  The Silvan leer was back.

“I owe you nothing!”  Her face pinked, threatening to return to its previous rosier hue.  As far as she was concerned, he had gotten in more than his fair share of teasing this round.  “Please you, my lord, let us get on to business before you have a mob out there to deal with, not just an audience.”

“As you please, my lady.”  In an instant, he was his sober self.  And as much as she enjoyed the other personas, she preferred her wise lord husband above all and appreciated having him back and in a better mood.  He crossed the gap between them in one long stride and took up her hands in his.  A fluid vitality began to stream through their grasp – her arms filling with warm, comforting reassurance – that began to flow towards her heart.

“Wait,” she begged.  She suddenly felt rushed into revisiting the vision and wanted first to know more about the circumstances around Hrassa’s reappearance.  “Did Hrassa tell you why he chose to come back this day and not before?”

“He did not choose to come back.”  The soothing flow ceased; his discomfiture at the question evident.  “He was brought back.”  Only when she urged him with a querulous look did he continue to explain.  “He was in the market place this morning and saw Celebrían.  Either, she caught him watching her or he let her see him, but she got Glamien to have him arrested.  That is where she went when she slipped away from Faunaur.  To check on her prize.”

“Celebrían was in the gaol?!”  No wonder he was hesitant to say!  That the child could slip away from her guard was not unbelievable.  But, she was hardly safe in the palace, and she had gotten into the prison!  “How did she get that far?” her mother demanded to know.  She was not supposed to be able to go beyond the doors – her Uncle Celebrimbor has made it so!

“She was fine,” her Ada confidently assured her Naneth.  “She was only in the holding area, which is right outside the guardroom.  There is no way for anyone, visitor or sneak, to get further inside where actual brigands are kept.”  A hint of pride had snuck into his allaying words.  “And, she stayed well out of reach.  Keeping back from the bars of a cage is one lesson that has definitely sunk in.”

“Do you actually mean to make light of this?”  She shook her head, once more amazed by his lack of alarm at their roaming child’s determination to endanger herself.  “Our daughter got out of the palace!”

“This is our home, not itself a prison!  Shall I keep you locked inside, away from all harm as well?  I certainly would be happier knowing you were safely confined.”  He paused for her to argue back, but she could see it was not worth the time it would take to settle the issue now.  The situation was not going to change; there would be a next time to make him do something about it.  “She was fine,” he resumed, slightly apologetic, when her reply was a silent glare.  The receding tide in her arms began to haphazardly pool.  “She was not alone.  Nítmilrû had her in sight the whole time until I caught up.”  He paused again, perhaps settling on exactly what next to say.  “It was there I found, not a wolf that had foolishly stalked our child, but our own lost hound, who apparently had not died but gone feral.”

“My poor love... ”  Her anger left her, her hands tightening on his.  “You must have been quite startled to see him alive.”  She hovered just outside the door into his thoughts, straining to keep from foolishly intruding uninvited.

“Stunned... “ he quietly admitted.  He looked into her eyes, and the door opened a crack.  The vulnerability, which was so endearing, tentatively peeked out from within the confines of his miserable thoughts, seeking sympathy.

She squeezed his hands even tighter and pressed her forehead against his.  For a fleeting moment, before he snatched it back, she felt his heart-wrenching shock.  And guilt...  He was taking blame for somehow treating Hrassa so badly that their friend had run away.  She fervently wished that she could have spared him that unearned hurt – all the hurts he unjustly endured for everyone else’s sake.

“His discontent was not your fault!”

“How could it not be?”  They pulled back and gazed at one another.  “But, thank you for saying so.”  Consoled, he took a deep breath and let it go in a long sigh.

“You should have left him there.”  Her irritation with the bowman was going to be satisfied, one way or another, she decided.  All she need do was get him alone.

“No, I could not just ‘leave him there’.  I discerned no threat in him, so I had to bring him out.  After I sent Celebrían to you, he and I talked.  But, he gave me the same excuse he gave to you.”  He shook his head.  He and she shared the need to understanding their friend’s actions, and neither had found that understanding.  “I gave him a choice – see you now or see you later.  He chose now.  And so, is – for now – our guest.”

“You talked?  Was there any thing he said to you that he would not say to me?”

“I think naught.”  Her beloved frowned.  “As it was, I spoke more than he.”

“About what?  His offence?  Your reaction?”

“About the present and the future.  His reaction to our daughter…”  A slim smile emerged from the frown.  “... was most interesting.  He did not know she was our own until she called me her Ada.”

“Serves him right,” she declared, feeling somewhat smug.  It then struck her that their lack of children might have been a factor in Hrassa’s departure.  “You do not think our disability is why he left, do you?  Because, he lost hope of a future prince he could serve?”

In the years just before Hrassa went missing, they had started to ponder whether or not to sail west.  However, the growing certainty that an evil threatened the eastern lands under the rule of their kinsmen vanquished all thoughts of their retiring to Eldamar.  At the time, they had not mentioned sailing to any other person – which did not mean those closest to them had never guessed.

“No, I do not think so... “  He thought again about it.  “One might suspect it was more about having the choice of whom he would serve being taken away from him.”

“But, you would never do that!”  Yes, he had indeed once done that very thing to the cogndîr.  But, never again!

“Of course not!  That does not mean he did not think so.  Remember how he made a point of not getting lent to Oropher, even as a scout?  His thinking can be as tangled as a hedge of blackberry sometimes.  Why, he had not even realized, at least not in his heart, that the Elmoi had disbanded.”  Her lord heaved another slow sigh.  “I think he considers our hopes for Nos Galadhad rather... grandiose.  Yet, is determined not to admit to any wrongdoing against it.”  That troubled her husband.  “I am beginning to believe he has truly convinced himself that he did not desert his duty or us.”

“My lord, if that is so, he will never seek our forgiveness.  Unless he does, he will have to leave.  We cannot afford that degree of disrespect from anyone.  You, as a high judge and lord commander, even more so than I.”

“I know, I know.”  His petulance was rueful rather than angry.  “But, if he admits to anything more than wandering off, I will have to punish him more harshly then I already have.  And, I would prefer not to.  Since it seems, whether by mercy or meanness, we shall lose him again anyway.”

“That may indeed be the only outcome. “  She felt little doubt that this was the reason why he had never come back in the first place.  Meaning he does still love us.

“Please, let us return to this later,” her lord suggested.  “I feel more urgency about your vision than something discernibly further down the road.”  The unhappiness of the problem made her agree with him.  With a nod, she conceded; although still disinclined to start reviewing the vision.

They resettled themselves where they stood and renewed their clasp of hands.

“Whenever you are ready... “ he said encouragingly.

She closed her eyes... taking a deep, cleansing breath... then another... Sensing her draw, her husband’s loving power once more poured forth.  His contributed strength would spare her from feeling drained afterwards; a certainty were she to do this task without his aid.  As well, her body and spirit could relax and be at ease in his protective presence.  He could exercise a discipline she sometimes envied.  He could be martial, but that was what made he was so reliable.  He would keep her mind from getting lost as she wandered and hold at bay the madness that could descend upon a seer beleaguered by an overwhelming myriad of probabilities.  Not having to fear for her well-being always opened up her own powers to greater extent.

“Guide me, beloved.”

“You came into the parlor... ”  He spoke soothingly yet with an authority that encouraged memory and dismissed the present.  “... and there was Hrassa.  You smiled, happy to see him.”  A flash of the scene from his viewpoint sent to her helped her to an exact recall.  “But then, you quailed.  A vision coming upon you.”  He waited for her to enter completely into that past moment.

“Yes.”  The vision began again, as real as when it first transpired.  However, now she could consciously slow it down and watch it thoroughly.

“What do you see?”

“A fell creature of darkness, cloaked in darkness… stalking its victim... ” 

“Who is it stalking?”

“I am not sure... “

“Does it speak?”

“No... it hisses like a snake, and its eyes are like a snake’s... “

“Is it as small?”

“I cannot tell... “  Usually, she could see much more during review.  But, not this time; it was too dark.  “... it remains in shadow... claws scrapping... vicious growls... a hunger to kill... “

“Is there one creature or two?”

“The smell of blood... Celebrían!“  Her cry was instinctive, as it was the first time.

“Why do you call out our daughter’s name?”

“I fear it will harm her!”

“Do you know that?”

“No.”  Her instant answer, though not promising complete safety – only that harm was not absolute – contained intoxicating relief...  

“Is it close to her?”  ... which, there being no promise of escape, was then diluted to the point of bringing no comfort at all.

“Yes!  No!  I am not sure!”  As always, it was difficult to be certain about anything that directly involved the people she loved most.  Emotional attachment could interfere to a disconcerting degree.  A bitter fact she had learned in gardens of Lórien.

“Is Hrassa the cause of this danger or the remedy to it?”

She was more grateful than ever for her wise husband.  She would not have thought as quickly to ask herself that question.  Of the two of them, he was better able to think from another perspective, yet keep solidly to his own.  She found that sort of duality too tiring to employ for any length of time.  Perhaps, a good reason why wood-elf tricks did not come easily to her and many raised Noldor.  Tawarwaith had a different sensibility about Nature itself.  Living with it rather then thwarting it...

“Galadriel, focus.”  She was indeed drifting.  Abruptly, the vision slipped away from her and sped to an end; its outcome as inconclusive as before.

“Gone... but there was nothing more there.”  She sighed and opened her eyes.  “What do you think?  Is Hrassa’s arrival a coincidence or not?  Should we be more cautious about letting him near Celebrían?”

“Earlier, I might have said ‘twas only coincidence.  Now, I am not so sure.”  He thought a moment.  “Going on his history and what he has said and done since his arrival, which is all we really have to judge by, I would say that he is likely a remedy to this dilemma.  Although, a dilemma himself.  But, maybe ‘sent’, at that.”

As so often happened, her foresight aided his insight and his insight sparked her foresight.  She suddenly knew what was needed – if not how to accomplish it – to stop this envisioned menace.

“Hrassa must stay!”

“He will... for awhile.”

“No, not just for awhile!”  She pulled her hands out of his and placed them upon his chest in wifely supplication.  “Nos Galadhad must have him back!”

“Impossible!” was her lord’s angry response.

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

rîs faen – radiant queen  rîs – ‘queen’ as like a king (aran), not a ‘crowned lady’ (rîn, rien, rian)

melluain – most dear, my dearest  mel (love) –wain (-est, most) used as a noun, not an adjective, the ending ‘n’ kinda sounds possessive

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

ellyn/ellith – elves male/female

ennin – year/years – a Valarian year consisting of 144 sun years

tawarwaith – forest-folk or wood-folk  The people of the Lindar from whom the Nandor and Silvan have sprung up