Innocence

Celeborn looked up to see his granddaughter watching him speculatively.

‘I have learned better than to trust the safety of those whom I would guard to periods of apparent peace,’ he said mildly, placing his pen on the stack of papers before him.  ‘Experience has shown me that when the Enemy appears to be doing nothing, he is, in fact, generally about to spring upon us an extremely nasty surprise.’

‘Has the Necromancer not been driven from Dol Guldur?’ she asked.

‘Because he is not there, my Evenstar, it only means that he is somewhere else.  Mordor, in all probability, but we do not know for sure.  In some ways, although it is a relief not to have him on our borders, I would rather know his whereabouts and be able to watch his every move.’

‘Better to have your enemy under your hand,’ she agreed, ‘than behind your back.’

Her daeradar raised an eyebrow, intrigued to know how she had come by such knowledge.

She smiled. ‘It is purely a matter of degree,’ she told him. ‘Playing games with Glorfindel and my brothers has been very educational.  And the principle is the same.’

‘I had never looked on their exasperating tendency to fool around as part of Glorfindel’s training in strategy,’ he said reflectively.  ‘Perhaps I should stop finding it so irritating.’  He sighed.  ‘People – of whatever kind – prefer to be optimistic,’ he continued.  ‘They would rather say, ‘he has gone,’ and cover their eyes and imagine that all will be as Ilúvatar intended – then spend a few years at play, until . . .’

‘He returns,’ Arwen nodded.  ‘To find our warriors idle and our borders unguarded; our supplies low and our treasury depleted.  And then,’ she snapped her fingers, ‘he would crack Lothlórien like an egg, between the hammer of the orcs from his former stronghold and the anvil of those from the Misty Mountains.’

‘We would not be undefended,’ Celeborn said slowly, ‘but I would not have him come close enough to try to take us.’

‘But that,’ Arwen said, sitting at the table with him, ‘means that he will be trying to take someone else.  Imladris, too, is defended – but an attack of sufficient strength on our allies has brought us forth before.’

Celeborn laced his fingers behind his head and lay back thoughtfully.  ‘This time I am not so sure,’ he mused.  ‘We are more distant from men and smaller in number and, should Sauron attack in the south, we are less likely to be drawn in to men’s struggle.’ He smiled wryly.  ‘And we are likely to have troubles of our own here.  The Necromancer will not forget us.  We were part of his downfall before – and he does not forgive.’

‘So it is a matter of keeping motivation high and skills at their peak in the absence of an obvious enemy,’ Arwen judged, ‘while yet permitting people to enjoy the lessening of their worries and take pleasure in the peace of the Wood.’

‘Any suggestions?’ Celeborn asked with a slow smile.

‘Games, Daeradar,’ Arwen said promptly.  ‘Entertainment that requires the display of a high level of skill – and is rewarded with renown and prizes.’  Her eyes laughed at him.  ‘Elves are creatures of joy,’ she said, ‘but they are competitive and will strive to outdo each other.’  She joined him at the table.  ‘We will get my brothers to come – the marchwardens of Lothlórien will go to remarkable lengths to attempt to beat them.’

‘You think that would serve?’

Arwen waved an airy hand.  ‘Much of the organisation is a matter of logistics,’ she said.  ‘Arrows and swords are not difficult to manage – and they stay where you put them.  People are far more difficult – but, as long as you give them the opportunity to do what they think they want, they can be shepherded gently along the path you would wish them to follow.’  She beamed at him.  ‘And, even better, they will never even realise that they are being managed.’

She drew a reluctant laugh from him.  ‘You are very like Lúthien, my enchantress.  Your adar’s andaernaneth would have been proud of you.’

Arwen moved to give him an affectionate hug.  ‘Lúthien provided much in the way of example for Daernaneth, my lord,’ she teased, ‘and she passed on her skills to Naneth and me.  We have had plenty of practice in dealing with difficult elves.’

Celeborn narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her innocent smile.  ‘We will try your scheme,’ he conceded.  ‘And I will leave its arrangement in your capable hands, my Evenstar, while I am left to deal with the – more practical matters.’  He caught her hand and gave it a quick kiss.  ‘And I am not the only difficult elf around here.’

‘Of course not!’ Arwen said, managing to sound shocked that he should take her words so.  ‘Daernaneth is far worse.’

***

Elrohir watched patiently as Estel tried to co-ordinate both spark and tinder to light their fire.  Elladan had removed himself after no more that a moment or two, with some vaguely given excuse about checking the horses, unable to endure the child’s inept attempts. 

‘You are close,’ Elrohir encouraged his foster-brother.  ‘Would you like me to hold the tinder?  Then you can concentrate on getting the spark.’

‘I want to do it myself,’ Estel insisted.  ‘I am not going to let it beat me.’

‘Take a brief rest, Estel,’ Elrohir suggested, looking at the boy’s flushed cheeks and the glint of tears in his eyes.  ‘Compose yourself as Adar has taught you.  You are trying too hard.’

Behind the boy, Elladan gestured to indicate that he was going to river to catch some fish for their supper.  His twin blinked his understanding, but remained calmly focused on Estel.  ‘I remember when Glorfindel and Adar first took us camping,’ he smiled reminiscently.  ‘We were so proud of ourselves!  Naneth waved us goodbye as if we were going off on a great adventure – much as Lady Gilraen did you.  It is definitely a special moment when you are considered old enough to go off into the forest to hunt.’

Estel’s hands slowed down and he sniffed slightly.  ‘Did you get the fire to light?’ he asked.   

‘I was hopeless,’ Elrohir confessed.  It was not exactly true, he knew, but it would make Estel feel better.  ‘I let Elladan do it.’  He smiled.  ‘It was midnight before we got to have our supper.’  He put a consoling hand on the child’s arm.  ‘You will get there, Estel.  But it is easier if you stay relaxed.’

Comforted by Elrohir’s confidence, Estel tried again.  The spark fell on the tinder and he leaned forward to blow on it gently.  As the dry grass caught, Elrohir closed his eyes and drew a grateful breath. 

‘Small sticks and grass first,’ he reminded the child.  ‘Let it grow slowly and surely.’

Estel nursed the blaze like a mother her infant, encouraging it to grow from a small flicker to a fire worthy of more than a small group of adventurers, until it was large enough to brighten their small clearing.

With a hidden grin, Elrohir told him, ‘I will find some more wood, my brother.  Will you be all right to look after the fire in my absence?’

The child’s chest expanded proudly.  ‘I will keep it going, Elrohir.  When Elladan gets back, we will be able to start cooking.’

‘If we are very lucky, he might have persuaded some fish to jump out of the river and offer themselves up for our meal,’ his brother commented.  He looked at the flames. ‘I do not believe you need to add any more wood for a while, Estel.  Hunters need to keep their fires pretty low – or all the creatures of the wood will know where they are.  Have a look in the packs and see if your nana put in any bread and cheese – and I suspect there might be some milk.’

‘Hunters do not drink milk,’ the child complained. 

‘They do when they can get it,’ Elrohir said firmly.  ‘If they know what is good for them.’

‘We could give it to Elladan,’ Estel suggested hopefully.  ‘He always says there is nothing like milk.’

Elrohir grinned.  ‘Just make sure I am around when you offer it to him,’ he said.  ‘It is something I would not want to miss.’

With the fire burned down to no more than glowing embers and Estel finally sleeping soundly in his blankets, Elladan looked at his brother.  ‘Why now?’ he said.  ‘Adar has refused to let us take Estel this far from Imladris before despite our requests – what makes now different?  And why in this direction?’

Elrohir lay back and looked up at the stars.  ‘Glorfindel was closeted with him,’ he speculated, ‘after word came from the patrols.   I suspect that someone was coming he preferred Estel not to meet.  He is far too curious to keep out of the way when there are visitors.’

‘Adar did not object to him meeting the dwarves that came with Mithrandir,’ Elladan objected, ‘or the perian.  From what sort of visitor would he wish to guard the boy?’

‘Or from what knowledge, my brother.’  Elrohir rolled to his side.  ‘I think that Mithrandir has returned – with information from which Adar would rather shield Estel.  He will grow swiftly enough without shadowing his youth with news of battle and death.  Adar will try to ensure that his childhood, at least, is free of the dark – and he is counting on us to see that he worries no more than any elfling.’

‘You have more patience with him than I have,’ Elladan admitted, turning his eyes to the sleeping child.  ‘I do not know if I could have left him to finish that task on his own.’

‘You will learn to extend your limits tomorrow then, my twin,’ Elrohir murmured, as he drifted along the path of elven dreams, leaving his brother to watch over them, ‘when you will be helping our little mûmak to fish.’

***

Galadriel radiated satisfaction.  ‘Haldir did not expect that,’ she said smugly.

Her husband shot her an amused look.  ‘He did not,’ he agreed.  ‘I had not realised myself,’ he added, ‘that our granddaughter was quite such a talented archer.’  He grinned.  ‘I believe the marchwarden thought he was humouring a lady.’

The Lady wrinkled her nose.  ‘He should have known better,’ she declared.  ‘As if Arwen would deliberately put herself in a position where she could be made to look foolish.’

‘As if one trained by Glorfindel would not know her skills – and her limitations,’ Celeborn agreed.  ‘She long since realised that she did not have sufficient strength to match her brothers with blades, but that, if she were accurate enough, her precision would overwhelm them at the butts.   And,’ he judged, ‘she has been practising.  Whatever Haldir might think, this display was planned.’

‘Perhaps I should challenge him to a bout with blades,’ Galadriel suggested.

‘No,’ Celeborn replied firmly.  ‘He would be too overawed to make a real attempt to defeat you, yet loss would still humiliate him.  He is too young to shrug it off.’  He gave her a predatory smile.  ‘If you wish to take me on, however. . . .’

‘You would beat me soundly,’ his wife objected.  ‘I have a certain level of mystery to uphold!’

‘If success is not worth the risk of failure, there is no point to it,’ Celeborn pronounced.  ‘I will not kow-tow before you like some lovesick ellon.  If you want to win against me, then you must earn the victory.’

Galadriel smiled. ‘Perhaps in private,’ she purred, ‘away from curious eyes.’  She tilted her head to meet his eyes.  ‘I have defeated you before,’ she reminded him.

He laughed and put his arms round her slender waist, drawing her to him.  ‘You are not above cheating,’ he accused her.

‘Tactics, my lord,’ she said demurely.  ‘Strategy is not cheating.  It is thinking ahead and using your opponent’s weakness to your advantage.’

‘But I do not fall for the same thing twice,’ he warned her.  ‘You will have to work to keep ahead of me.’

‘Perhaps another time, my lord,’ she decided. 

‘Coward,’ he murmured provocatively into her sun-kissed hair.

‘If it is cowardice to choose my battleground,’ she agreed, ‘then I will be a coward.  For you, at least, if for no other.’

He sensed her change of mood and his clasp tightened.

‘It approaches,’ she said huskily.  ‘It comes with the inevitability of winter and nothing we can do will turn it aside.’

‘But we will continue to fight,’ he reminded her staunchly.

She allowed herself a moment to rest her head against his shoulder.  ‘I sometimes wish that we could have been ordinary,’ she said.  ‘Lived tranquil lives dwelling among our family in harmony with a forest at peace.’

A tremor of silent laughter shook him.  ‘And then you thank the Valar for permitting you to escape that fate, my heart,’ he told her.  ‘You would always choose to be among those who make things happen.’

‘If only they would always turn out as I would wish,’ she said dryly, ‘I could deal with power more easily.  But I cannot control events and people as I would choose.’

He held her tightly.  ‘We stand, my love,’ he said. ‘We hold and attempt to push back the tides of time – but we are only two people among a multitude, and others, too, have a part to play.’  He paused and added gently.  ‘What have you seen that has distressed you?’

‘Nightmares and phantoms,’ she sighed.  ‘Possibilities and shadows.  Nothing other than I have seen before.  Nothing useful – nothing tangible – nothing that could help us fight what could come.’

He combed his fingers through her hair.  ‘You deal too much in uncertainties,’ he stated.  ‘You should look more at what is than what might never be.’

Galadriel raised her hand to cup his cheek.  ‘Your part is to deal with the practicalities,’ she said regretfully.  ‘I am condemned to seek in the shadows for insights that might give us the edge.’  She smiled sadly.  ‘Between us, we make a good team, my lord.’

‘And we will overcome,’ he insisted.

‘Perhaps,’ she sighed. ‘Perhaps.’

***

Cúraniel sat among the leaves, swinging gently as she observed the disgruntled marchwarden.  ‘I do not know why you are surprised,’ she said finally.  ‘You know Lady Arwen’s brothers – how could you not have expected them to teach her their tricks?’

‘She looks too innocent,’ he complained.  ‘I did not suspect her for a moment.’

Cúraniel tried to subdue her mirth but was unable to hold back her giggle. ‘Now there, you really should have known better,’ she told him.  ‘You are enough of a flirt to know that you should always be at your most suspicious when an elleth looks innocent.’

He scowled.  ‘I will know better next time,’ he said.  ‘And I will be prepared.  She will not beat me again.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Cúraniel reflected.  ‘I do not know.  She trains harder than you do.  Arwen says that she can beat her brothers because they have become sloppy.’

‘They are of Imladris,’ Haldir sniffed.

‘They were trained by Lord Glorfindel,’ she said, amused.  ‘And Lord Celeborn worked with them when they were younger.  I do not believe you can blame any lack of skill on their place of birth.’  She looked over the marchwarden appreciatively.  ‘It would be interesting to see if you could beat them,’ she said.  ‘Perhaps you and your brothers should challenge them when next they are in Lothlórien.’

‘They will not beat us,’ he said indignantly, turning to stamp away, ‘and Lady Arwen will not defeat me again, be sure of it.’

Cúraniel continued to sit in her tree, enjoying the feel of the sun between the dappled leaves and the gentle rocking motion of the supple branches. 

‘Well?’

The elleth looked down at her friend’s sparkling eyes. ‘Hook, line and sinker, my lady,’ she said tranquilly.  ‘He has taken the task of refining the skills of his marchwardens as a personal quest.  He will badger them into excellence whether they will or no.’  She smiled.  ‘I hope he does not beat your brothers too easily.’

‘Not a chance of it,’ Arwen told her, climbing easily to join her friend.  ‘I will let my brothers know that he intends to show up their incompetence.  That will be enough to make them practise.  Glorfindel will be quite pleased with me, I should think.’

‘When do you plan to hold these contests?’

‘Oh, in a year or so,’ Arwen said easily.  ‘Why?’

‘I believe I will require a new gown,’ Cúraniel said thoughtfully.  ‘Green, perhaps, with straw-coloured embroidery down the bodice.’

‘Oh yes,’ Arwen agreed enthusiastically, and she and her friend put their heads together to indulge in an hour of conversation about style and colour. 

***

Elrond sat at the head of the long table of gleaming cherry-wood, his long fingers steepled in front of him, and frowned.

‘Why?’ he asked.

Mithrandir allowed the deep red wine to swirl round the bowl of his glass and admired its colour.  ‘I am not altogether sure,’ he admitted.  ‘It must be a setback for Sauron.  He has lost three-quarters of his orcs from the northern mountains and been driven to seek safety in Mordor.  The dragon is dead.  The elves of Mirkwood have been forced into alliance – however reluctantly – with the men of Dale and the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain.  We can be grateful – but I am still confused.’

‘It is Curunír whose actions leave me most surprised,’ Glorfindel said idly. ‘All those years of holding back and acting cautiously; talking of being sure and guarding our backs – and he is the one who chose to leap into a course of action that left me advising care.’

‘There were undertones,’ Mithrandir agreed, ‘to the events of this summer that lead me to wonder if I am looking in the right direction.’

‘Thranduil’s elves survived the battle without undue loss?’ Elrond asked.

‘There were losses,’ Mithrandir acknowledged.  ‘Too many immortal lives were spent before the mountain – but there were fewer than there might have been.  The Eagles arrived in the very nick of time and Beorn slew the goblin’s chief.’  He looked sharply at the half-elf.  ‘Thranduil is not Oropher,’ he said.  ‘And, even if he shared his sire’s impulsiveness, he has learned from bitter experience that wars are not won by individual skill.’ He rubbed his nose thoughtfully.  ‘He has tenacity,’ he decided.  ‘He will hold on to his realm like a terrier and bite whatever threatens it, but he will not surrender.’

‘Your burglar did well,’ Glorfindel smiled.  ‘And he is remarkably modest about his skills.  ‘It was just a matter of being in the right place at the right time,’ he said.  I put it to him that evading the watch of a fortress full of Wood Elves – and the wrath of a dragon – suggest an unusual level of skill, but he would have none of it.’

‘Hobbits are remarkable folk,’ Mithrandir acknowledged.  ‘And there is more to them than meets the eye.’  He raised his chin, wagging his beard at Elrond.  ‘But there was no need to send the child away to protect him from Bilbo Baggins, my lord.  Hobbits take at least as much care of their young ones as elves and men.’

‘It may be, Mithrandir,’ Elrond told him straight-faced, ‘that it is from you I intended to shield him.  He will have enough challenges in his life.  I wish him to have these few years of innocence.’

The wizard harrumphed.  ‘I will happily allow you to treasure him, Master Elrond – that lad has many mountains to climb – but he will not thank you for keeping him safe.  Not until he is old enough to understand your reasoning, at least.’  He sighed, ‘And news of the battle will reach his ears soon enough and excite him in the way that such tales delight children.’ His face sobered.  ‘I believe I have tasks that will keep me from Imladris for a while.  Once I have parted from my burglar, I will head south.  I have questions to ask, and I am not sure where I will find the answers.  The northlands should be safer for a while,’ he reflected, ‘but I would not guarantee the peace holding for long.’

‘I have learned not to expect peace to come at the end of a sword, Mithrandir,’ the half-elf remarked dryly, ‘and, if there is one thing of which I am certain, it is that things can always get worse.’

***

‘Things are moving in the world beyond our borders.’  Galadriel stood beside the motionless pool of molten silver while the breeze lifted her hair of pale gold and her draperies stirred.  ‘The pieces are shifting and altering.  The shadow is re-forming, but there are hints of resistance here and there that make it wary.’

Arwen sat on the stone seat, her feet drawn up and her arms round her knees as she watched her daernaneth.  ‘It all seems very vague,’ she remarked.

‘Prophecy tends to be either vague or bewildering,’ Galadriel shrugged.  ‘And, either way, it is usually not until afterwards that you can look at it and say what it means.’  She smiled at her granddaughter.  ‘But it is still worth paying attention to its warnings – if you can.’

‘And it warns you that I should stay away from Imladris?’ Arwen asked plainly.

‘There is a – danger,’ Galadriel told her carefully.

‘One that is no risk to Adar or my brothers, but threatens me?’

‘Your adar believes it to be true,’ the Lady of the Wood said, ‘and I have seen that there could be results from ignoring his wishes that will, perhaps bring an unalterable change to all our lives.’

The sea-grey eyes that looked back at her were suddenly very old, Galadriel realised, and contained a depth of wisdom that she tended to forget that her granddaughter possessed.  Arwen had lived through largely peaceful times in sheltered havens, but she was no elfling and she had spent much of her life at the shoulder of great and powerful elves.  Little though the Lady wished to acknowledge it, her granddaughter was older than she had been when the First Age lurched into the Second – and she was her parents’ child.  

‘Change happens,’ Arwen said sadly.  ‘Even among elves, although they resist it more than most.’

Galadriel came and sat next to her granddaughter, reaching out to brush her hand over Arwen’s hair of ebony silk.  She had promised both Elrond and Celeborn that she would say nothing of their concerns, but she was increasingly certain that she had no need to mention anything.  Arwen, she felt, was possibly more aware of the situation than any of her elders.

‘Your adar – your daeradar – they have your best interests at heart,’ she said gently.  ‘They wish to shield you.’

‘But they cannot,’ Arwen stated.  ‘Any more than they could protect Naneth.  They keep me here, tucked away behind barriers as imperceptible as they are inviolable, away from the world, but they cannot stop the approach of my fate, Daernaneth.  I cannot be sure of what comes – or whether it will be in five years or five hundred, but their care cannot avert it.’

‘Grant them the right to try, pen-neth,’ Galadriel said simply, ‘so that they might console themselves with that.’

Arwen smiled.  ‘But you have little hope of their ultimate success?’ she asked.

Her daernaneth’s hand sought hers.  ‘We are bound up with the fate of these lands, I think,’ she said, ‘and to fight the Dark Lord as best we can is our duty.  Yours, as well as mine.  And if it takes us along paths that others would wish us not to follow, then there is little we can do to stop it.’  She smiled.  ‘And sometimes, we would not do so if we could.  If I could choose now,’ she added, ‘never to have walked the hard road that brought me to Ennor and your daeradar, I would not make that decision.  If I could choose to have turned away and followed the host westwards when Valar offered forgiveness, I would still opt to remain.  Each loss has come hand in hand with something too precious to yield – and I would not be who I am now if I had surrendered.’

‘You have still told me nothing of what you suspect,’ Arwen stated.

‘Nor will I.’

‘So it is as well that I am capable of reading between the lines.’

Galadriel regarded her steadily.  ‘Be happy with us here,’ she said.  ‘Do not fight the care my lord and your adar wish to give.’

‘I would spend these years with Adar,’ Arwen announced softly.  ‘He will be missing me.’ 

‘He believes that what he is doing is for the best,’ Galadriel insisted. ‘Allow him his way.’

 Arwen inclined her head with resignation. ‘For now,' she agreed.