Betwixt and Between

Disclaimers: Middle-earth, Aman and their inhabitants, and all recognisable circumstances belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his estate. I am making no money from this and intend no infringement of copyright.

Rating: PG.

Summary: A meeting amidst memory, sorrow and war. Galadriel/Celeborn.

Feedback: Yes please.

Thanks to Nemis for betaing this.

For Lady Celebwen; because she asked nicely ;)

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Artanis had left Finrod in the great hall, happily ensconced in conversation with a bevy of dwarves, while Angrod and Aegnor were involved in some archaic disputation. Somehow, she found Menegroth confining, dominated as it was by the fierce, proud will of its lord and the majestic presence of its lady. 'Twas as if some unseen hand were smothering her thoughts. Thus it was that she found herself here, wandering under the soft moonlight, her skirts whispering though the thick grass. She ambled aimlessly, glad to look upon the stars and imagine all of Middle-earth spread out before her, wide and beautiful under the canopy of the night.

We come to it as saviours, the only ones with the might and the determination to wrest its heart from the fell hand of Morgoth Bauglir. And then we shall take of the broad lands for ourselves, lauded by the praises of the Moriquendi, and be great and wise, and have no masters but ourselves.

Although the sorrow of the Kinslaying and the bitter cold of the Helcaraxë bit at her heart, she found herself cheered by this thought and she raised her face to the night sky.

The path led her all unawares to the shores of a small lake, little more than a pond, fringed by thick reeds, silver and black in the moonlight. A loud splash abruptly jerked her from her reverie.


Wrenching her attention from the heavens, she saw an Elf standing on the water's edge, his robes lapped by the gentle ripples. He was tossing pebbles one by one into the inky blackness, his face contorted with anger, his movements fluid and vengeful. Tall he was, and slender, with silver hair flowing down his back, gleaming in Ithil's wan light. Artanis recognised the Elf, barely beyond the brink of adulthood, who had stared at her so piercingly that evening, his grey eyes flinty and unyielding.

Although he had not seemed to notice her and his eyes were fixed upon the water, he called out to her. "I see it in your eyes, you know."

"What do you see?"

But he continued as if he had not heard her, as if her words had been nothing but the faint call of a hunting owl far above. "I looked too deeply therein, imagining that in their blue depths I might catch some glimpse of the light of the Two Trees, yet it was not so. All I saw there was fire … and blood."

Blood in rivers … staining the quayside, floating in a froth upon the waves … burning itself into the souls of all the Noldor … Cold so imperishable that it seemed that it would last beyond the end of Arda, and yet even that could not expunge the blood that lurked behind the closed eyes of sleep…

"I have done nothing." Artanis raised her chin defiantly. "My people are as much the victims of Morgoth as yours."

"Aye, that is true, for all who live are, in some form or another." The Sindarin Elf nodded as if to himself. "Yet I speak not of the Orcs, nor the other foul beasts and devices that beset us. In truth, I know not what troubles my mind, only that there is something of the Enemy in it."

"Then if you would question me, might I at least learn by what name you are known?"

"I am known as Celeborn."

"How apt a name for one so silver!" she laughed, but it was a brittle noise that fell grimly into silence. "But why do you cast such aspersions on me?"

"Do I cast aspersions?" He glowered at her, his eyes flashing in his pale face, his slender form tensed. "I did not believe that I did so."

Blood rushed to Artanis' face, and she was glad of the darkness. "If you would accuse me, do so, for I tire of this game."

"I neither can nor will accuse you…" He held up a hand to forestall her ripost. "For I know not why you are as you are, as hard stone, and as vengeful as all your kin, yet afraid. I know not why you come to these lands proffering bloodied hands in friendship, nor why they are thus besmirched."

"You think me cold, Celeborn?"

"Nay, my lady, I think you as hot as new-forged steel, and as dangerous. I would not wish to cross you."

"Yet you do." Her low voice was tinged with rage, but her throat was strangely tight.

"Perhaps that is my fate," he said simply, "for my life is bound to Doriath and to Thingol my liege, and I can do naught else but serve him … even if that means hurting the pride of a Noldorin maiden."

"My pride? Nay, `tis more than that, `tis my honour you impugn."

"Really?" His words were a calculated insult. "If I am not more of a fool than I think, you have not much of that left to lose."

"You go too far." She clenched her fists at her sides, crumpling the fine silk of her flowing sleeves between her fingers. Although she would never admit it, even to herself, his verbal onslaught struck far too close to the mark.

"Then permit me to go a little further." In an astounding gesture of familiarity, he took one of her hands in his and led her, much against her will, away from the lake. To her surprise, he stopped before a night-flowering bush and plucked a single luminous white blossom.

"It is pretty, is it not?" Celeborn held it up for her inspection.

"I would rather say that it was a thing of remarkable beauty."

"Such it has been, yet…" Methodically, almost cruelly, he tore the petals, one by one, from the stem and let them fall to the ground. "Now it is but shattered, its beauty warped and its fragrance left to die on the ground among the rags of last year's leaves, just as you are, through some malice I see in your eyes. Your golden garland is
tarnished, and I fear that if you can be so stained, those of us of a lower metal shall prove but easy conquests."

Much to her horror, as the torn scraps of white fluttered onto her feet, she found her thoughts torn away from the tranquillity of Doriath and sent spinning across the empty wastes of the ocean, to a far shore beneath a darkened night.

A child, his golden hair drenched with his own blood, flung upon the body of his mother … A bard, his noble face contorted in agony, pinioned to the wall behind him by the spear protruding from his belly… Bodies floating in the water, bobbing up and down like gruesome boats, already bloated from the sea's caress … Five Elves, heaped up in death like the winter's logs, their fair countenances so alike that they must have been brothers … Olwë, terrible in his wrath, bending over the bodies of the slain … her kinsman mourning for what her kinsmen had done in their
vengeance and dread haste…

She tried to hold the memories, back, but it was beyond all her strength to do so. Silent tears began to streak her face, trails of repressed despair marring her fabled beauty. She was deaf and blind to all, caught in that
hideous moment, for although the children of Finarfin were innocent of the Kinslaying, it felt it lying heavy upon her fëa. She barely felt Celeborn's arms encircle her until he brought her golden head to rest against his warm chest.

"Weep, my lady, and have it done."

Sobs wracked her until her grief was spent. Still she would feel the burden of this grief keenly, but it was somehow distanced from her now, as if her tears had carried her away.

"I did not mean to cause you distress, Artanis of the Noldor," he whispered.

"You did not say aught which was unjust, nor which I have not berated myself with in my heart, for indeed many sorrows lie behind my kin and me…" she replied candidly. She knew that it was hardly becoming to stand thus with her head buried in a stranger's shoulder, but she found that at this time she had not the will to care.

"Then will you not tell me what ails you?" He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and she found that rather than flinching away from it she leaned in, seeking the comfort he offered.

Sinking down onto the grass, with Celeborn beside her, Artanis divulged the entire wretched tale of the flight of the Noldor until there was no more to tell, no more of bloodshed to be revealed. At its end, she covered her face with her hands, and murmured, "I suppose now you will see fit to inform your king of our reckless treachery."

"Nay." Celeborn raised her head, one hand under her chin. "I fear that he will know much sooner than any would wish, and great sorrow will come of it. Yet it shall not be by my words that he hears of it, nor by my hand that it is told to him.

"Why?" Artanis asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"I find that my loyalties have changed in such a short space of time." He smiled. "There is much yet which we cannot foresee, yet I swear that I shall keep your secret as long as it is mine to keep."

"Why would you do this for me?"

Celeborn suddenly looked abashed, suddenly seeming little more than a green youth.

"Suffice it to say that I find you as I did at first: a maiden garlanded with radiant brightness. These deeds were not yours, although I shall not deny that many will hold you culpable in them. I love you for your sharing of a great grief and your heart that is set against it."

"You love me?" Artanis exclaimed.

"I … ah … `twas but a slip of the tongue … I meant that I love your sorrow…"

Although it was not yet love, a deep wave of affection overcame her, strengthened by gratitude at his unexpected kindness.

"Fear not that I reproach you with this, Celeborn of Doriath, for who knows what the morrow may bring?" She smiled again, and this time it held no bitterness.

They found that they could not move, transfixed as they were by this moment in which no deeds of blood and anger lay between them. Some dim presentiment of all that lay before them hung heavily in the air, entwining with the heady perfume of the blossoms. And so they sat until Anor first made its presence felt, together, silent and not quite touching, yet content in each other's proximity.

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FINIS