The Likeness of Twilight Lost
by NickelS
December 2006
Disclaimer: All characters, languages, and locations are the wonderful creations of JRRTolkien. This fic is my own fluffy rendition of his mythology.
"D'ada!"
As he looked down at his youngest grandchild tugging at the hem of his robe, Celeborn could feel Galadriel's amusement. He could see in his mind, the image that his wife saw: the elf-child, still very much a baby, with dark ringlets of hair and a bright face eagerly tilted to the sky in an effort to see the face of her grandfather, he who stood tall and slender as a silver tree. He gazed down at the tiny figure, daughter of his daughter, in awe of her brilliant eyes and smile. He knelt slowly and took her small hands in his, returning her smile.
"Hello, Tinu." He leaned forward and placed a light kiss on her brow.
She blinked happily as he withdrew and then turned and looked up at Galadriel, who had come to stand near them. "D'nana!"
"And good evening to you, Arwen," the lady replied, laughter and love evident in her tone.
Arwen turned back to look at Celeborn. "D'ada?" she said as if about to ask a question with her limited vocabulary.
"Daeradar," he corrected her gently, "Tinu-nin."
"Daer…dar?" Arwen repeated carefully. "Up?" She extracted her hands from his loose hold and stretched both her arms over her head to demonstrate her wish.
"Of course," Celeborn laughed and obligingly lifted the child up carefully as he stood. Arwen instinctively grabbed onto his shoulder, but turned her head and giggled her pleasure from her new vantage point. It did not take long, however, for her to become dissatisfied with her place in the crook of her grandfather's arm so she started wriggling, nearly escaping his grasp as she tried to climb onto his shoulders. "Ho now, careful. Your daeradar is not so much of a tree as that. You may climb no further than this."
At first Arwen pouted, but decided that she would not listen to him and resumed trying to climb onto his shoulders, tugging on his hair for support. Galadriel laughed as she watched her husband trying to keep the child still while avoiding the small hands that grabbed for handholds on his face and in his hair.
A little help, my wife? Celeborn asked, unable to spare the glance or the words necessary to Galadriel.
The lady merely smiled. "I do not think she needs any help, my silver tree."
"Truly," a silvery voice laughed as it approached, "she does not."
Both Celeborn and Galadriel turned to face their daughter, though Celeborn could barely see with his own eyes as the child grappling his head obscured his view. Arwen did briefly pause in her endeavour at the sound of her mother's voice, long enough for her grandfather to turn to his wife and speak around the child's fingers hooked over his lower teeth.
"I stand defeated." Handing Arwen over to Galadriel, he continued, once his mouth was empty, "You hold her. I doubt she will try to climb the crowned tree as she did this silver one."
Arwen looked disappointed at being rejected so easily, but her expression quickly changed as she discovered the radiance of Galadriel's hair, which she set forth to wind into knots immediately. Galadriel stroked the girl's dark hair before giving her husband a knowing look.
Celeborn sighed, pulling his hair back into proper plaits. "You see, I was right."
Celebrian giggled. "Arwen knows what and with whom she can get away with."
The elf-lord responded with the requisite harrumph.
"And," the lady of Imladris continued, "I think she has a certain fondness for you, Adar."
He did not reply, but looked to where Arwen was. By then Galadriel had taken the child over to a nearby fountain and they watched the wind carry blossom petals from the trees and coast them onto the water. Celeborn did not take his eyes off of them, a pensive expression settling across his face. Celebrian also watched her daughter and her mother for a moment, before instinct returned her gaze to consider her father's expression.
"Is something the matter, Adar?" she teased, with only the barest hint of concern in her eyes.
"Nay, istil-nin," he sighed, placing an arm around her shoulder, but his gaze remained transfixed, as he turned the thought that had struck him over in his mind.
She could hear the unusual weight of his thoughts in the way he said the pet name that he used to call her by. The word had always sounded distinctive before, because it was Doriathrin and few now besides her father could speak it, but this time it sounded like an echo from before the moon and the sun. Celebrian leaned into her father to comfort him, encourage him to share his thoughts.
"Arwen..." he began, uncertain if he should or could voice his musings.
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"Cel'born!"
The silver-haired elf looked down in amazement at the small child staring up at him from where she had latched onto his knee. Her large grey eyes shined with laughter and a delighted giggle escaped her now that he had acknowledged her presence. Though not the youngest elf in the room, being well into his third yen, Celeborn had somehow attracted the much sought after attention of Doriath's tiny princess. Wherever she went, people would watch and hover around her with awe, marvelling at everything she did, and now Celeborn felt the sudden attention of more than just the little girl watching him. At first he was at a loss for what to do or even say to the elf-child, and looked around rather sheepishly at the others seated at the table.
Melian smiled warmly at him, "Lúthien would like to play with you."
As if to reaffirm the suggestion, Lúthien repeated, "Cel'born!"
"His name is Celeborn, sweetheart," Melian corrected gently, emphasizing the syllable that Lúthien had trouble remembering.
The young elf-lord could not help but grin from ear to ear. Bending closer to the small round face, framed with black hair, he said: "I am very honoured, your Highness."
Lúthien squealed happily and tugged his trouser leg as he stood up and let her lead him down to the open floor and into her own little dance. They continued thus for nearly an hour, he sometimes taking her up and swinging her around, she sometimes demanding a new song to be sung by him. He obliged laughingly to her every request, as only one could do for a beloved child.
When Celeborn returned to the table briefly for a drink, Lúthien hot on his heels to drag him back to the dance floor, Elu Thingol laughed at his beleaguered kinsman. "You think this is bad, nephew? Imagine, were you not busy with duties of the realm so oft, every hour of every day would be like this, as it is with me." At this, Lúthien bounded away from Celeborn and climbed onto her father's lap. Elu received her with a great smile.
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Celeborn had become very still. Uncertainty was not something Celebrian was used to seeing in her father and seeing him so lost disturbed her a little. Apparently Galadriel had felt it too, for her thoughts came unbidden to soothe them both, although she remained outwardly engaged in conversation with the child in her arms. What is it that troubles you, melleth-nin?
Neither lady was quite prepared for the keening of his fëa when he answered. It shocked them to stillness and silence. Arwen looked curiously at her grandmother, who had stopped speaking in mid-sentence.
Celeborn's shoulders dropped and his face tilted irresistibly towards the stars.
Arwen has the exact likeness of Lúthien!
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He had been the first to notice. In fact, he was the only one who could notice, for who else remaining had been there in ancient Doriath when Lúthien the Fair was but a small child? Who else would notice that even at an early age, Arwen, daughter of Elrond, fair-faced child with grey eyes and dark hair, appeared as a reflection of her most beautiful ancestor? Was it mere coincidence that –even before he noticed the resemblance- the nickname he had given her in his mind, Tinu, little star, sounded like Tinúviel of old?
When Arwen had first learned to walk and speak, Celeborn marvelled at how her likeness reminded him of Lúthien. Though the sight of his granddaughter brought forward a flood of remembrance, not all of them happy, he thanked Eru every time he saw her that a part of Lúthien remained in Arda. As he came to know his youngest grandchild better, he also grew to love her as much as, if not more than, he had loved his cousin.