3.  A Heart For Any Fate

 

 

 

The marriage of Finrod and Amarië was clearly an event such as Tirion saw only once in a hundred years.  Celebrían had thought that her own wedding had been a whirlwind of activity and a showpiece for the ages.  But now she realized the limits that the resources of Imladris had placed on Galadriel’s imagination.  Arafinwë and Eärwen, with all the wealth of Tirion behind them, planned a ceremony to dazzle the senses and entertain a city.

 

Ingwë and a contingent of the Vanyar arrived in Tirion a week before the wedding.  Amarië’s parents were among them, as were a number of her childhood friends.  They were thrilled to meet Celebrían, whom Amarië honored as the one who had provided the energy needed to move beyond the comfortable stasis of perpetual betrothal.  Amarië’s friends rapidly accepted Celebrían as one of them, and several agreed to remain in Tirion after the wedding as Amarië’s ladies-in-waiting.

 

“You,” Amarië told Celebrían, “would be first among my ladies, of course, should you wish it.  Or perhaps you desire a retinue of your own?”

 

“Oh, no,” Celebrían laughed.  “I have no desire for such responsibility, or such visibility.  I would be more than content to attend you, aunt.”

 

“She is not yet your aunt,” Amarië’s mother said.  “She is not married yet, and there are many ceremonies and events that we must go through before that.  And the first of those is the ball tonight in honor of King Ingwë.  So, let us waste no more time!  Let us prepare, so that we may attend the ball, and move forward towards the wedding!”

 

 

 

The ball was indeed an affair to remember.  Celebrían went clothed in silk and velvet, with jewels sparkling in her hair and at her throat.  Arafinwë and Eärwen opened the dancing, performing a stately measure that segued into a more intricate and lively sequence of steps.  Arafinwë finished by lifting Eärwen high in the air and twirling her around.  She laughed out loud, and the orchestra struck up another lively tune.

 

Elves flooded out onto the dance floor, choosing partners and forming sets for the first dance.  Celebrían was pleasantly surprised when Finrod took her firmly in hand.  “My Lord,” she murmured.  “I had thought you would seize the opportunity to dance with your betrothed.”

 

Finrod laughed.  “My betrothed is well known here, and likely has a dozen admirers all hoping to dance with her once more this evening.  But you are my niece, and you are no less precious to me.  You should not have to spend the ball lingering at the sidelines.”

 

Celebrían had no time to reply to that.  The musicians played an opening chord, and then they were off, weaving through the figures of the dance.  When it was over, she was flushed and excited, her blood humming at being able to dance once more.  Finrod escorted her off the dance floor, bowed, and then went in search of Amarië.

 

Celebrían did not have to stand alone for long.  Some of the young men she had seen casting admiring glances in her direction approached her to ask for the next dance.  Soon, she found herself having to schedule her partners to ensure that she was able to dance with everyone who asked.  During an interval in the dancing, Celebrían took a large glass of punch and sat down by Eärwen to catch her breath.

 

“I have not enjoyed myself so much in many years,” she said.  “My feet are nearly numb from dancing, yet I want nothing more than to continue.”

 

“That is good,” Eärwen laughed.  “Perhaps you did not notice it, but your public appearance at the betrothal announcement caused something of a stir in Tirion.  Everyone knows Amarië, but you are a novelty, and they are curious about you.”

 

“It is a pity for them that I am claimed already.”

 

Eärwen nodded, her eyes twinkling.  “Perhaps.  But as long as they understand that, and you are enjoying yourself, I see no reason for you not to dance.  I do not think your husband would mind.”

 

“No.”  Celebrían allowed herself to feel a little glow of warmth at the mention of Elrond.  “He would want me to be happy and dance.  It is part of why he sent me here in the first place.”

 

“Then go and dance, child, and be happy.”  Eärwen kissed Celebrían on the forehead and gave her hands an understanding little squeeze before shooing her back out onto the dance floor with the latest besotted gentleman of Tirion.

 

 

 

After the dazzling whirl of parties that preceded the wedding, Celebrían was relieved to find that the ceremony itself was to be a quiet, private affair, limited to the members of both families.  Even King Ingwë himself would have to find other entertainment for that evening.  She understood that the week of festivities had been intended more for the people than for Finrod and Amarië, and she appreciated Arafinwë’s tact in arranging his son’s wedding.  After the people had thoroughly exhausted themselves in celebration, Finrod and Amarië could enjoy the intimacy of a private wedding for family only.

 

Much as Celebrían loved both Finrod and Amarië, and as happy as she was that they had finally decided to marry after so long, she found the marriage ceremony itself nearly unbearable.  She could feel the love radiating between the bride and groom, and could not help but think back to her own wedding day, and the way Elrond had glowed when he looked at her.  Inevitably, she recalled the shattered, abandoned expression on his face when he had made his last farewell to her and turned to leave the ship that had taken her away.  She had been too weak even to reply to him.

 

Finrod and Amarië kissed under the canopy, the families cheered, and Celebrían’s eyes blurred with tears.  Quickly, she fumbled in her reticule for a handkerchief.  A gentle hand on hers stilled their frantic motion, and then another handkerchief was presented to her.  “Thank you,” she murmured, as she dried her eyes.  “The wedding . . . it was so beautiful, I have become overwhelmed . . . “

 

“I do not believe that for an instant.”

 

Startled, Celebrían looked at the woman who had given her the handkerchief.  She was very tall, her upswept dark hair emphasizing her strong jaw.  But her eyes twinkled with compassion and understanding, more than Celebrían had seen in anyone since she had arrived.  After a moment, she recognized the woman.

 

“My Lady Anairë,” she said, with a courteous nod.

 

Anairë’s mouth twisted into a wry smile, and she waved her hand dismissively.  “Such formality from my grand-niece.  This is hardly the time for titles.  Come.”  She took Celebrían’s arm.  “Let us greet the happy couple and then take a little walk out on the balcony.  I suspect that we could both use the fresh air.”

 

They quickly made their way through the crowd that had gathered around the wedding canopy.  Anairë embraced her nephew and her new niece, and Celebrían murmured congratulations.  Finrod and Amarië nodded vaguely in acknowledgement, too dazed to do much more.  Anairë smiled as she steered Celebrían towards an empty balcony.

 

“I suppose that both of us had that same smile on our faces on our wedding days,” she remarked. 

 

Celebrían nodded.  “I remember that Elrond did.  I suppose that I must have, too.”  The memory of Elrond threatened to overwhelm her once again, and she turned away from Anairë to sit down on a small stone bench.  Anairë seemed to understand that Celebrían did not want anyone close to her at the moment, and kept her distance, gazing out over the balcony at the lights of Tirion twinkling below.  Celebrían took several deep breaths, and pressed her fingers over her eyes.  Gradually, the urge to weep receded, and she was able to turn and look at Anairë.

 

Anairë regarded her for a long moment in silence.  “It is no shame to mourn your husband,” she said, “especially at a wedding.  Eru knows I mourn Nolofinwë.  I try to attend as few weddings as possible, but this one . . . “  She laughed a little.  “My nephew has waited thousands of years for this day.  How could I not attend?”

 

Celebrían gulped.  “It was brave of you to attend.  I suppose I should take your courage as an example.  I am fortunate.  My husband is alive and well, though an ocean separates us now.  Yours is dead, but you continue to live.”  She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, preparing to return to the party.

 

Anairë quickly sat down beside her and took her hands.  “You do not understand,” she said.  “Perhaps it is my fault.  I do not spend much time in the company of others these days, and I have lost some of my skill at expressing what I wish to say.”

 

Celebrían opened her mouth, thinking to protest, or to ask what Anairë meant, but she found that she had nothing to say, so she waited quietly.  Anairë pursed her lips for a moment, as if weighing her words with great care.

 

“Understand,” she said at last, “that I do not mean to be cruel when I tell you this.  It is true that Nolofinwë is dead, while Elrond still lives.  But truly, there is no practical difference.  Elrond is across the sea.  You cannot go to him, and he is not yet able to come to you.  He might as well be dead.  I do not say this to hurt you, rather to tell you that it is all right to mourn him.  Your body knows that, even if your heart resists.”

 

Celebrían could not speak.  She twisted Anairë’s handkerchief in her hands, and her shoulders shook as tears began to roll down her face.  Anairë said nothing, but put an arm around Celebrían’s shoulders.  Celebrían buried her face in Anairë’s shoulder and wept silently, her body shuddering and jerking.  Finally, she was still.  She looked down at her hands and gave a rueful smile.

 

“I have shredded your lovely handkerchief,” she said.  “I apologize.”

 

Anairë smiled back.  “It is not important.  I have others.  How do you feel?”

 

“I do not know.  Better, I suppose.  I think that I can rejoin the party now.”

 

“Then let us do so.”  The two ladies rose, and Anairë helped Celebrían straighten her gown and pat her hair back into place.

 

“This will not be the end of it, I guess?” Celebrían asked.

 

“Hardly.”

 

Celebrían sighed.  “Oh, well.  I suppose this is what Irmo meant when he said I would have to find my own healing.  It looks to be far more difficult than I expected.”

 

“It will be,” Anairë admitted.  “But you could not be in a better place to heal.  I have known Eärwen since before either of us was married, and she has a heart as large as all Valinor.  She will not hesitate to see you through this.  And she has some experience, as well.  She nursed Findaráto through his healing, and see what has come of that.”

 

Celebrían smiled.  “Yes.  A wedding, which we must attend, before Grandmother comes looking for us.”

 

Anairë laughed, and escorted her back into the light and noise of the party.

 

 

 

Finrod and Amarië appeared at luncheon the next day, to a general chorus of suggestive teasing.  Both of them turned bright pink, but endured the jests with good grace.  After the family had eaten, Amarië took Celebrían and Anairë into a small alcove for a private moment.

 

“I wish to thank you both for attending our wedding,” she said.  “It was only after Findaráto and I had joined our fëar in marriage that I began to realize the true depth of that bond.  In truth, I do not think I have discovered its extent, but I have experienced enough to have an idea of what you have lost.  It cannot have been easy for you to be there, but it meant much to me that you were.”

 

Celebrían reached out and embraced her friend.  “Oh, Amarië, it was your wedding!  How could I not have attended?  Your beauty and your joy were more than enough to make up for my own sorrow.”

 

Anairë tilted her head, and her eyes glittered.  “Silly girl,” she said.  “Listen to your niece’s wisdom.  We love you and Findaráto both, and we wished to witness your time of joy.  That is what family does, and you are a part of this family now.”

 

“All the same,” Amarië replied, “you bore your hardships gracefully, and I appreciate that.”

 

 

 

Anairë left after a few days, along with the remaining throng of guests.  Amarië’s mother bade farewell to her daughter with mingled tears and laughter, which Amarië returned.  Then the royal family was finally alone in the palace for the first time in half a month.

 

Celebrían spent the next few months in peaceful relative obscurity as the chief of Amarië’s ladies-in-waiting.  As she was the only one among Amarië’s retinue who had been married, she was the one in whom Amarië confided most often about the changes in her life.  They discussed the peculiar habits of husbands and how to decide when to have children.  Amarië longed for a child to hold in her arms, but Finrod was still not certain.

 

“Give him time,” Celebrían told Amarië.  “Your marriage was a step along the road to wholeness, not wholeness itself.  After Finrod has had a chance to become accustomed to being your husband, he will begin to think about children.”

 

“You make it sound so reassuring,” Amarië sighed.  “I suppose that was how it was for you and Elrond?”

 

Celebrían nodded.  “It was.  And we had three beautiful children, in the end.”  Three children that she had abandoned, just as she had abandoned her beloved, trusting husband.  Celebrían bowed her head over her embroidery and did not say any more.

 

 

 

Celebrían made good use of the loom that Eärwen had obtained for her.  She taught several of Amarië’s other ladies-in-waiting to weave, and spent many hours weaving alone, simply for the pleasure of feeling the rhythm of the shuttle.  Of course, something had to be done with the bolts of cloth she produced.  Some of them she turned into clothing for herself and her new friends and family.  The rest she decided to sell in the marketplace.

 

Arafinwë did not forbid her from selling her cloth, but did express some concern over sending his granddaughter, who was already something of a sensation in Tirion for her beauty and her reclusive nature, into the marketplace alone and unguarded.  Celebrían listened to his reservations, and conceded that she, too, was nervous about going out into such a large, crowded public space.  She engaged one of the young pages to take the cloth to market for her, promising him a share of the profits.

 

The cloth sold briskly.  Celebrían suspected that the demand was as much for the identity of the weaver as for the quality of the cloth itself, but she did not mind.  After she had paid the page’s commission and set aside enough money to purchase more skeins of silk and linen thread and some interesting dyes she had wanted to test, she found that there was still a decent sum left over.  Celebrían considered what to do with these earnings, but could think of nothing.  Arafinwë and Eärwen were horrified at the thought of their granddaughter paying for her room and board.  Celebrían had plenty of clothes, and with her weaving and the time she spent with Amarië and the other ladies, she had neither the need nor the desire to go into Tirion and spend money on entertainment.  She stored her money in a box under her bed.  It would keep until she had need of it.

 

In the meantime, she enjoyed the peaceful environment that Eärwen had created at the palace.  There were relatively few official functions at which she had to appear, and at those she was able to hang back and allow the King and Queen and their son to take precedence.  She had presided over enough functions as the Lady of Imladris that she could make herself entirely presentable as a Princess of Tirion when the occasion demanded it, but she was never able to accustom herself to the expanded public eye of the city.

 

One thing that brought her great solace was the correspondence she maintained with Anairë.  Celebrían appreciated Anairë’s insights into the inner workings of the palace society and advice on dealing with the various courtiers who would make demands on her time.  In return, Celebrían sent Anairë the latest news and gossip that she heard.  Anairë also seemed grateful to be able to pour out her thoughts and feelings about Fingolfin and her lost children to another woman who could understand and empathize with her loss.

 

 

 

After a year living as a princess in Tirion, Celebrían began to come to certain conclusions, not just about her life, but about her family as well.  Finrod told her many stories of his childhood in a manor not far from the palace, playing with his brothers and sister and his many rambunctious cousins.  Anairë and Amarië told her the history of Arafinwë’s reign over the remnant of the Noldor.  They described his first tentative speeches to the depleted populace, his transformation into the shrewd war leader who had commanded an army in the War of Wrath, and finally, the full blossoming of his wisdom and compassion, and his radiant joy at the re-embodiment of his firstborn son.

 

Celebrían could see that joy still shining in the eyes of both Arafinwë and Eärwen whenever they looked at Finrod, even many years after he had been returned to them.  She wrote about it to Anairë.

 

My dear Anairë,

 

I hope that this letter finds you well.  As always, I am grateful for your correspondence and your advice.  It has proved most helpful, as I am learning to see the people around me with new eyes.  As a child, I had heard many tales from my mother of the bliss of Valinor, and I suppose that I expected to find that bliss when I left the garden of Lórien.

 

Instead, I see in my grandmother and grandfather two people who do not live in eternal bliss, but bear their burdens with strength and grace far beyond what I could ever imagine.  I grieve for Elrond, and my children, and my parents, but I know that they are still alive in Middle-earth, and I will see them again someday.  How much more have Arafinwë and Eärwen lost!  My grandfather has seen the death of his father.  His two older brothers, his niece and nephews, most of his own children, all fled to Middle-earth and died there.  That he and my grandmother still manage to wake up each morning, let alone smile and rule with insight and understanding is nothing short of astonishing.

 

And yet, for all their fortitude, I begin to see how their losses have worn them down.  It is most evident when they spend time with my uncle, the only one of their children to return to them.  Whenever they look upon Finrod, they glow with the joy of it.  One does not notice the fine care-lines upon their faces until the lines vanish in my uncle’s presence.  I believe that their only wish in life is to see the rest of their children returned.  I love them dearly, and I do not doubt their deep love for me.  However, they will never feel that their family is complete until they see their own children.  Though I am a welcome presence in their lives, I am not my mother, and none of us would ever wish me to take her place.

 

I am reluctantly coming to the conclusion that I must leave Tirion.  My love for my aunt and uncle, and for my grandparents, is as strong as ever.  Their love and acceptance has done much toward making me whole again, and I will be forever grateful to them.  But I have never been happy living a life of idleness under the watchful eyes of the people of Tirion.  I feel that there is something else that I must find before I will truly be at peace.  I do not think that I will remain in Tirion much longer.  If I depart before you have occasion to come to the city, know that I love you, and that I will always treasure the time I spent in your company.  I may return, when I have found what I seek.

 

Until then, I remain,

 

Your loving great-niece,

Celebrían

 

She sealed the letter and gave her page a small sack of coins to deliver it to Anairë.  Then she took a deep breath and began to consider how best to tell Arafinwë and Eärwen that it was time for her to depart from the peaceful haven they had given her.