When back in the camp, I head straight for Eönwë’s tent. The guards admit me inside, and as I enter, the air shimmers faintly, distorting the images around. The shimmer disappears, and Manwë’s herald stands before me in his embodied form.

“King Arafinwë.” He acknowledges my presence and my greeting with a nod. “I am glad to see you awake and well. How fare your warriors? And the others? Do you bring any news?”

“Our warriors are resting, those injured – recovering, with the aid of the Valar and our healers. The others are recovering too. In truth, I have come to speak about them, lord. I come with a plea.”

Eönwë motions towards a chair, pulls another one for himself, sits and leans forward. “I am listening.”

“I would plead to the Elder King through you, my lord, that the Eldar who left Valinórë after the Darkening would be forgiven. That they would be allowed to return to the Blessed Realm.”

Eönwë inclines his head. “Did they ask you to speak on their behalf?”

“No, they did not. They would not plead for themselves, nor ask anyone to do it for them. But someone must. Most of them are hurt too deeply to find healing on Hither Shore. In Valinórë, they might.”

“What makes you think so?”

“The words of lord Irmo. He would aid them in Lórien; he said so.”

“I see.” Eönwë regards me with unreadable face. I do not avert my eyes. After a moment of somewhat tense silence, he rises. “Very well, King Arafinwë. I will make your request known to the King of Arda.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

I feel somewhat better after leaving Eönwë’s tent. At least I have done something.

A sentinel stops me only minutes later.

“King Arafinwë, a company of fifty riders approaches from the south, over the mountain pass. They are the Sindar, by their attire. Should we meet them and direct them to your lodging?”

“Thank you, friend. I shall welcome them myself.”

I head for the southern gate of the camp, curious to meet the Sindar. We have had little dealings with the Elves of Endórë during these years. They took no part in the siege. Only small companies of hunters now and then brought news of the world and events to the south, but they never stayed long. The proximity of Moringotto’s evil would weigh on them heavily, and after days, sometimes only hours, they would depart to places where one could still see the sunlight. Sometimes, I envied them. Sometimes, I had to remind myself that they were fighting the same battle, that they had been fighting it for centuries. In truth, longer than any of us. 

The faint clatter of horse hooves in the distance draws closer. The path that leads to the gates where I stand waiting winds among large boulders, so there is no plain view of our visitors. At last, their company appears from behind the nearest cliff. And then the foremost rider halts, jumps off the horse and runs towards me, hood falling back, golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. My sight blurs. This cannot be true… can it?

“Artanis?” I do not know whether I shout or whisper.

“Father! Oh, father, I feared for you so!”

Crying and laughing at the same time, my daughter throws her arms around my neck. Light-headed, still uncertain whether I am not dreaming, I lock her in embrace.

Moments, or maybe hours later Artanis releases me, takes a step back and brushes away tears. All her companions have dismounted and wait a few steps away. One of them stands somewhat closer, a tall silver-haired Elf with a serene face. My daughter takes him by the hand and pulls towards me.

“Father, I want you to meet someone. This is my husband, Celeborn.”

I stare at him. Her husband… Why should I be surprised? I have been absent from my daughter’s life for centuries; I have no right to feel… like I feel now. I cannot even name the feeling. Is it irritation? Disappointment? Greeting Artanis’ spouse… that should not be as difficult as it is.

Celeborn bows, hand over his heart. “King Finarfin, I am honoured to meet you. We apologise for not adhering to the ceremony concerning our betrothal and marriage. It saddened me deeply I was not able to obtain the consent and blessing of my bride’s parents.”

His name suits his looks and bearing, and he has a strong, deep voice. Like his name, it reminds of growing things with deep roots and strength to reach towards the sky. He shifts in his stance slightly yet does not look away. And, admittedly, he has offered a courteous greeting, even if some of what he has said was nonsense.

“As we both know, you could not ask our consent – for apparent reasons. And I sincerely doubt it would have changed anything had we refused. If my daughter had decided she wanted to marry you, I can think of no power in Arda that could have stopped her.”

“I am fully aware of that, my lord.” Celeborn’s lips curve in a smile, sparks dance in his eyes. “But apology was still needed.”

My daughter laughs, and this sound of pure mirth nearly brings tears to my eyes. Artanis is firmly holding to her husband’s hand, and the way she looks at him… My irritation vanishes.

“You have my blessing. I am confident Artanis has chosen well. I am glad to meet you… my son.” The last words feel only a little awkward. 

“I am grateful, King Finarfin, for your kindness. For accepting me.”

“I am happy for my daughter. And…” I admit after looking at him closely for a few moments, “I like you.”

He laughs. “It is mutual then.”

I laugh as well. A strange, nearly forgotten feeling stirs in my heart, something I have not felt since I boarded the ship in Alqualondë. All will be well now. My daughter is with me again. We shall soon go home. Ëarwen, too, will like Artanis’ husband; I am certain of that.

I greet their companions. They are clad after the fashion of the Sindar but at least half of them is Noldor, by their looks. Their faces and names are unfamiliar, until the last one of them who has been busy with his horse’s tack finally turns towards me.

“Tyelperinquar! You have… grown.”

I fall silent abruptly. I can only imagine what my eldest brother would reply to such a greeting. But Tyelperinquar smiles.

“Some time has passed since we last met, my lord.”

“Indeed, it has.”

My heart clenches. When he smiles, he looks so alike Fëanáro, Fëanáro in one of his kindest moods. And the gravity and confidence with which he holds himself is also something I recall rather from my brother’s bearing, than from the carefree and brash youth I knew in Valinórë.

After our guests have settled and refreshed themselves, I welcome them to my tent. We share a meal and later sit together, talking. They have brought some flasks of wine; a welcome change from the stale water we are so used to.

It turns to be an awkward evening. When the first joy of meeting somewhat subsides, I notice that my daughter is very quiet. Her husband casts a concerned look at her now and then. Tyelperinquar, too, hardly speaks. He avoids my gaze, and an occasional glint in his eyes gives away his irritation at something. I remember my eldest brother thus brooding in silence, until a careless word blew his anger to a blazing fire. Now the same happens with his grandson when someone mentions the Valar.

“The Valar!” He clenches his fist and pounds the armrest of his chair. “They forbade us to join the siege, to fight for this land! For our land! They took away our chance to witness Moringotto’s downfall!”

“I do not think it was their intent.” I lay a placating hand on his shoulder. “I rather believe they wanted to spare you the horrors of this war.”

“Whatever was their intent, it was not fair!” Tyelperinquar folds his arms on his chest and glares at me. “We have fought Moringotto’s creatures for centuries, and it was our right to take part! Yet they made a decision for us. Again! We are but wayward children in their eyes!”

He looks away and sits silent for a moment, then mutters an apology. I turn towards my daughter seeking something I could say to direct the conversation away from any dangerous currents.

“You have dwelt in the East for quite some time, Artanis, have you not?”

“Yes.” The alarmed expression that appeared on her face at Tyelperinquar’s outburst somewhat fades. “First, in Ossiriand. Then, over the Blue Mountains, in the lands of the Nandor.”

“The Nandor?” Ingwil raises his brows. “But the Green Elves are even more wild than the Sindar, are they not? Why would you choose such a place and company?”

I curse inwardly. Ingwil, you fool! Do you ever think before speaking? Oh, centuries of arrogance and disdain are slow to wear off, apparently!

Artanis gives him a cool look. “Forests around the Great River are very fair, and wonderful people dwell there. Celeborn’s brother has lived in that land already for a long time. But after Valinor, all Hither Lands probably seem wild to you, uncle.”

Ingwil blushes and quietly withdraws.

I sigh. What was supposed to be a joyful family reunion, is swiftly turning into a disaster. “Please, forgive my cousin. The last years have been… difficult.” I do my best to resume the conversation after Ingwil’s departure. “I am glad you were safe in more distant lands.”

“Safe…” Artanis lowers her eyes. “Yes, we were safe while others suffered. We lived in peace while others shed their blood.” When she looks up again, tears glisten in her lashes. “We have failed, father, we have failed miserably! We should have brought aid to Endórë, succour in the battle against Moringotto, but we brought destruction and evil, nothing more.”

I stare after her with a sinking heart as she jumps to her feet and rushes out of the tent with a sob.  What did I say to upset her so?

“Please, wait.” I restrain Celeborn who is about to follow my daughter. “Clearly my knowledge of the events in Valariandë is too scant to understand this. I entreat you to explain. Why is Artanis so sorrowful?”

“Very well.” He draws his hand over his face and sits back on his chair. “I will do my best to explain. When we had to leave Doriath…”

“Had to leave…?” I narrow my eyes. “Why? Elwë is our kinsman. Surely, he would welcome Ëarwen’s children?”

“He did. But… The Noldor, after their arrival, kept secret some things they should have revealed at once. Alqualondë. Losgar. The terror of Helcaraxë. When King Thingol learned the truth, he was furious. He banned Quenya. He forbade the Noldor to enter Doriath. Even though the ban, for the sake of kinship, did not extend to Galadriel and her brothers, it was… rather unpleasant for her to remain there. We were already wed then. I would not have the one I love looked upon with resentment, so we left and dwelt in Nargothrond for a time. But Galadriel, she needs trees and sky above her head, not a roof of stone. Therefore, I thought of my brother Galathil in the lands of the Nandor. We moved there in the first years of the Long Peace. 

“The news travelled slowly over the mountains, and for a long time we thought all was well in Beleriand. But when the leaguer was broken… she felt her brothers die.” Celeborn averts his eyes for a moment, then continues. “After the Battle of Sudden Flame I still convinced Galadriel to remain there. But when Finrod perished… and Orodreth… when Nargothrond fell… I could not console her any longer. I could not persuade her to stay away from the war. And…” His eyes glint. “I did not want to stay away from it myself. We crossed the mountains and led the fighting in Ossiriand.”

I shake my head. “So you fought? But my daughter said…”

“What your daughter said, my lord, merely reflects her frustration of not being in the front lines.” He smiles with pride, and that warms my heart towards him even more. “Galadriel is a warrior. Fierce and brave. And reckless, sometimes.”

“Indeed,” I remark drily. “That I noticed already when she was a child. So this, at least, has not changed. Thank you for explaining all this. I am very glad you are beside her now, to keep her safe.”

Celeborn rises. “I will be beside her as long as she needs me, I promise you that.” At the door he turns back. “Would you, please, go and speak with her after some time, lord? I doubt Galadriel would welcome my presence now, but perhaps she would not avoid her father.”

“I will speak with her.”

Galadriel… He has given her a new name. A fitting one, I must admit.

“You should not believe even one disdainful word your daughter says about herself.” Startled from my thoughts, I nearly drop on the table the goblet I am holding. Tyelperinquar continues. “If Artanis describes herself as weak and selfish, if she calls herself a coward – do not listen. None of that is true. From the very crossing of Helcaraxë...” His voice breaks for a moment. “I was not there, as you may already know. I was among those who are to blame for the suffering and death on that evil road. But I have spoken with many who survived it. Every last one of them would mention her. Her courage. Hope she inspired in others. She was their light in the darkness before the Moon and the Sun, their guiding star. With that passage alone Artanis has earned the respect and love of her people. Do not blame your children for the disasters in Endórë, lord. Blame the House of Fëanáro. We have earned that.”

“I blame neither.” I stare at the few drops of wine left on the bottom of my goblet. “Blaming anyone now will not bring back those who have perished. Nor will it erase the suffering and grief, past and present.”

“No,” he admits softly. “It will not. Still, some would call for justice. For atonement.”

“I would not. To my knowledge, you have atoned.” He is about to say something more, perhaps to object, but I shake my head. “I have seen enough suffering of the Noldor to stand by my words, so - enough of this. Look to the future, not to the past. But I am glad Artanis has found a true friend in you, Tyelperinquar.”

A swift smile lights up his face. “She has.”

  I set the empty cup on the table and go to look for my daughter.