On the day Doriath fell, one who might have been otherwise lost was turned from his path. Celeborn's POV.

A/N: Any character you don't recognise is my OC.

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The world is falling down around us. Here I stand, Prince of Doriath, guarding my grandniece as she sleeps in Galadriel's arms. Well do I know what lies wrapped in her blankets, obscured from the world. What my niece and her husband have died for. Well do I know that the Sons of Feanor are not finished searching. Indeed, it is not long before a young Noldo bursts into the royal nursery, eyes blazing.

"Where is it, Sinda?" he demands of me. My hand goes to my sword, but Galadriel blinks in surprise.

"Alcarin?" His head jerks up and he stares at my wife, hands trembling.

"Artanis...no....where is it? Where is it, Atar told me I have to find it..."

"Morifinwe," Galadriel said dismissively, "Caranthir does not know what he is doing. Sending his own son to be a killer?"

"Artanis...please don't make me kill you," the young Noldo begs, and Galadriel snorts at that. "Elfling, I could slit your throat before you had a chance to move. But I will not, because I am not going to play Morifinwe's game. Get you gone while you still have a chance."

"Atar will kill me."

"Then he's not much of an atar, is he?" is Galadriel's response. "Will you be loyal to the madness, or do the right thing?"

Alcarin dipped his head, staring at the floor.

"I'm sorry."

"Go then. You saw nothing. You heard nothing." Galadriel shooed him away as though he were a naughty elfling.

"I hope she makes it," Alcarin replied quietly, "and I will not lift my sword on another Sinda."

"Then I hope you survive as well, Alcarin. Be blessed." With my wife's blessing on him, Alcarin was gone.

 The world was still crashing down. But one calamity was averted. Yes, be blessed, son of Morifinwe, for staying your hand. Not all of the House of Feanor would be kinslayers.