Discretion

The delicate spring sunshine bathed Galadriel’s hair and brightened it to living gold.  She tilted her head slightly and rested her hands in her lap, relishing the enthusiasm of the forest round her for this beautiful day.

Her daughter looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

‘You have taken that from Elrond,’ her naneth remarked.  ‘Try to break yourself of it, Celebrían.  It is less attractive in you.’

‘It is a very effective way of demanding information with minimal effort,’ the silver-haired elleth objected as she abandoned her own sewing and raised her face to the growing warmth of the sun.  ‘And when you tilt your head like that, you are considering the wisdom of speaking of something – and probably deciding to keep your observations to yourself.’

The voice of one of her sons rang out in a laughing protest as the two young elves continued their scrimmage out of sight down by a pool now icy with melted snow from the distant hills.   A splash rang out and the complaint cut off abruptly.

Celebrían sighed.  ‘It is not yet warm enough to swim,’ she said.

‘They are elves,’ Galadriel shrugged.  ‘Mostly, at any rate.  It will do them no harm.  Which of them has ended up in the water, do you think?’

‘Both,’ her daughter said confidently.  ‘Even if not yet.’

Her naneth smiled.  ‘What they do, they do together,’ she agreed.  ‘It is hard to believe that they are now adult.’   A guttural growl of grievance reached them.  ‘Although I am not yet certain that they are,’ Galadriel commented.  ‘In anything but years, anyway.  Where did they learn language like that?  Not at their naneth’s knee, I hope!’

‘Of course not!’ Celebrían grinned mischievously.  ‘Note that I am virtuously not reminding you of various expressions I learnt from my naneth.’

‘I was provoked,’ Galadriel said calmly.  ‘And they were desperate times.’  She ran a loving hand over the blades of fresh green that carpeted the peaceful glade where they sat to enjoy this time together.

Mocking laughter became loud objections as they heard a wave of water strike the rocks from which the second brother was clearly observing the first.  A loud splash followed, and the battle continued in the pool.

‘I hope they have enough sense to get themselves dry before they freeze,’ Celebrían sighed.  ‘Although they must have endured worse on patrol.’  She paused for a while.  ‘It is hard, at times, to see my joyful elflings taking up their duties as their adar’s sons.  I would like to have kept them innocent of the world’s troubles for longer.’

‘It cannot be done.’   Her naneth’s voice was tinged with sadness.  ‘Time passes whether you will or no – even among elves.’

The battle grew noisier, culminating in an explosion of vicious sounding insults, before the brothers heaved themselves from the water and squelched away.

‘I have not asked where they met dwarves, though.’  Celebrían spoke gleefully.  ‘And they are very careful not to repeat their words where they think I might hear them.’

‘Are you intending to speak to them?’ Galadriel asked.

Her daughter’s eyes widened innocently.

‘You are intending to let them continue to expose themselves to the derision of a race of whom your adar is less than fond?’

‘How often are they likely to encounter dwarves?’ Celebrían asked reasonably. ‘Or feel the need to abuse them if they do?  And how many elves speak Khuzdul?’

‘True,’ her naneth acknowledged.  ‘But nevertheless . . .’

‘They clearly think that they are using the most vulgar of insults,’ Celebrían pointed out, ‘for they employ them only when they are alone and believe themselves to be out of the hearing of any others.  To tell them the meaning of the phrases would be to make them feel that we spy on them.’

Galadriel’s clear star-filled gazed rested mildly on her daughter.  ‘You are rationalising your decision, my child.’

‘And it is truly, truly entertaining,’ Celebrían conceded.

‘I wonder if they will think so when they realise what their beloved naneth has been permitting them to say over who knows how many years,’ the Lady said.  ‘It is possible that they will feel rather more betrayed by that than by learning now that they have been duped by some of Aulë’s children.’

‘How should they know?’ her daughter asked.  ‘They would not dream of using such language if they thought I could hear them – their adar and Glorfindel have taught them much better than that.  Only you and I know – and only you and I understand.  And we,’ she smiled, ‘are both capable of keeping our own counsel.’

Galadriel inspected her daughter carefully.  ‘You are too like your adar,’ she observed.  ‘You have a wicked streak, Celebrían Celeborniel.  I will keep your secret.  But remember that a secret like this will only refrain from being hurtful if it is kept.  Your amusement must be for yourself alone.’

‘Not alone,’ Celebrían said with satisfaction.  ‘We will share it.  Just the two of us.’  They sat quietly as the disturbance caused by the twins settled down.  ‘But I hope I am there,’ she concluded wistfully, ‘to see their reactions if ever they discover just what they are saying.’