"Galadriel was born in the bliss of Valinor, but it was not long, in the reckoning of the Blessed Realm, before that was dimmed; and thereafter, she had no peace within. For in the testing time, amid the strife of the Noldor she was drawn this way and that. She was proud, strong, and self- willed..."

J.R.R. Tolkien "Unfinished Tales"

I didn't really care much about the Galadriel of "The Lord of the Rings" until I read about her as an unruly teenager in "The Silmarillion" and "Unfinished Tales". Then I was able to go back to LotR and notice that it took Tolkien only a handful of pages to make her more of a three- dimensional character than any of the fellowship except Boromir. Among the various books of the canon, she has at least three different histories; I'm just trying to compromise among them for the most dramatic solution. Wish I were better at adding action! As I am nowhere near as competent at grandiose prose as Tolkien, Lovecraft, or any of the masters, I'm afraid I've left my tale somewhat vernacular. Likewise, for readability, I'm using Sindarin names for all of the characters, although at the time of the story, none of them have ever heard Sindarin (furthermore, the sons of Fëanor probably went by their patronyms, not the matronyms given them in the Silmarillion). I'm afraid my story is still pretty incomprehensible without a Finëwan family tree. There are also many outright apocryphal details in here, in fact, just about everything except the genealogy and the scandal over Fëanor's treatment of Fingolfin. None of this changes the fact that all of the characters belong to the Tolkien estate. I promise to give them right back after I've borrowed them. Enjoy!

***

"Hey, kids, rock and roll! Nobody tells you where to go. baby."

- REM "Drive"

"Artanis?!! You're not supposed to be here!"

The tall elf-maiden straightened abruptly and turned to face her older brother. "Finrod..." she began.

"I felt the upcoming contest to be important to her education, so she is exactly where she should be." The mild voice came from the ground just by Finrod's foot. He started. Finrod looked down into the face of what looked like a fox, although it had to be Olórin, the Maia with whom his younger sister had been sent to study. Olórin was infamous for the variety of shapes with which he chose to embody himself. Never the same twice and never what you expected him to be. Never where you expected him to be either. Finrod could have sworn that not even a fox could have crept up on him unnoticed in this open area.

The other elves in the glen glanced at the group briefly, then returned to stretching, chatting, and otherwise preparing for the race. Finrod looked appropriately abashed. "Excuse me, sir. I'm sorry, little sister... It's just... a surprise to see you here. A nice one, of course!"

Artanis gave in and smiled back at him. "You give me the perfect opening to be angry with you, and then cruelly snatch it away! Perhaps Olórin thought I needed to come back and learn some diplomacy from you! Or is it tact?"

"Enough of the flattery!" A still taller elf, with cords of gold woven into his elaborate braids broke off from one of the groups who had abandoned their warm-up exercises for conversation and embraced Finrod. "Do you mean to run with us, Finrod?"

"I do," Finrod declared, "And it is nice to see you as well. Will your brother be joining us, Fingon?"

"Turgon is feeling the burden of parenthood, I think, but has promised to meet us at the finish line with food and drink. Strong drink, I hope..."

Artanis shook her head, still smiling, and went back to stretching. That was much less awkward than it could have been. Olórin scratched himself then got up and trotted off to watch some of the other elves. After two years, Artanis was still not sure what she was supposed to be learning from him, but he was still far more interesting even than the Valar who had taught her useful skills like weaving, growing fruits and grain, smith-work, hunting, and building in stone. Her new mentor answered her questions with more questions, took her to the far corners of Valinor to see things she'd never seen before, and even had the kindness to let her train for this race and come to Valimar to run it when she'd asked.

She straightened again as another young elf jogged into the glen. "Celebrimbor, dear boy," Fingon greeted him. "Have you come to join us in this glorious contest?"

Celebrimbor grinned at Fingon, blushing. "Ah, no, sir. I've just come to wish Artanis luck."

"How is your family?" Fingon went on, his voice deceptively mild.

"Very well, sir. They are in town for the festival."

Had Fëanor come? Artanis was not sure that she wanted to know the answer. Only recently had her mad uncle been banished from their home city of Tirion for threatening his brother, Fingon's father, with a deadly weapon. But that ban did not extend to Valimar, although it was the home of the Valar who had condemned Fëanor to banishment.

Artanis took Celebrimbor's arm and walked him deliberately away from Finrod and Fingon who, much to her relief, made no effort to follow. "Are you alright?"

Celebrimbor's smile returned, but it no more heartfelt than it had been when Fingon began his interrogation. "Formenos is pretty comfortable, now that the construction's finished, and the exile is only for twelve years. And you won't believe how much I'm learning..."

Artanis stared into his eyes. Celebrimbor was a year older than she, and they had been fast friends before they had been old enough to walk, although his father and she were first cousins. "It's alright, Artanis," he pleaded. "Look, they argue constantly, and no-one outside the family can stand them, but they've never hurt me, hardly even have a harsh word to say to me. And Grandfather's teaching me so many things, you wouldn't believe..." Images filled Artanis' mind: of a lonely fortress in the mountains; of Fëanor standing, with a hammer in his hand, staring raptly into the flames of a forge; her cousins, Celebrimbor's uncles, sitting together at dinner, bickering as they always did, with no women in sight, no children except Celebrimbor; of the star-like glow of the Silmarils...

"I'm sorry," she said, breaking eye contact. "I didn't mean to just rifle your thoughts like..."

Celebrimbor sighed. "It's alright. It's just the way you are; you're worried about me, but now you know, there's nothing to worry about. I'm perfectly alright, and the eccentricities of my relatives haven't rubbed off on me too much, I hope. I haven't even been practicing with weapons, I'll have you know. I think it's all just paranoia and rubbish and it will just blow over. You'll see!"

Artanis shook her head. "Trouble is coming I just know it. So do all the Wise. The Valar aren't saying anything, but they know it too."

Celebrimbor laughed. "From where? Melkor has given up on his empire in Middle Earth; he's happy enough here, and who else could pose a threat to the power of the Valar? Not my poor, crazy grandfather! It's not as if he's ever even hurt anyone!"

"He could have." Artanis' voice was soft. She had been there the day that Fëanor had forced his brother against the wall of their father's house at sword-point, driven the tip far enough into Fingolfin's chest to draw blood. Fingolfin had burned the pierced, bloodstained tunic and publicly forgiven Fëanor, but the Noldor, already unsettled by rumors, continued to divide further into factions. Accepting exile, Artanis realized, had allowed Fëanor to learn just which elves were committed to him and which preferred Fingolfin.

"But it's you I'm worried about." She went on, "Maglor's wife didn't come to Formenos?"

Celebrimbor's smile had become embarrassed again. He sighed again and gave up the smile altogether. "She would have been the only noblewoman there! Maglor still visits her, you know he can't stay with us all the time; we'd drive him crazy. And Aredhel still has us out to hunt, sometimes. She bears us no grudge!" No mention of Celebrimbor's mother or grandmother, Artanis noted grimly.

"I looked forward to racing your uncles, you know." Artanis sprang the trap, and by the misery in Celebrimbor's eyes, she could see that she had her prey.

"They came up for the festival you know, and met up with Fingon last night. They had rather a lot to drink and are in no shape to run today. Neither is he, really, but he doesn't want to let on!" Celebrimbor looked back at Fingon, still chatting with Finrod and a slim Vanyarin woman that Artanis know Finrod was quite smitten with. She felt vaguely disappointed; Celegorm and Maedhros were probably the only Noldorin athletes who could have given her much of a challenge today. And her own twin brothers were missing too, and they would not willingly have missed an evening of drinking with Fingon.

"So you have accounted for Maedhros, Celegorm, and the twins. I know that Maglor and Curufin do not run races. But Caranthir, despite all appearances to the contrary, never drinks to excess. Where is he?" Artanis finally finished closing her trap.

Celebrimbor looked down then smiled weakly back up at her. "I can never fool you, can I? And it has nothing to do with your talent for reading thoughts! Caranthir... picked a fight with Grandfather, and is banned from leaving the house." At Artanis glare, he added, "Oh, it's not as bad as you think! It's just a black eye, and you should have heard what he said! He's quite mad, sometimes, and he's old enough to know better. If he wanted to leave the house, he could, but his pride would never let him! And he's old enough to know better!"

As old as my own father, thought Artanis, and still living with his father, who occasionally knocks him to the floor with his fists. "It's not that I think Fëanor is a danger to you, but why do you want to stay there with them?" She turned to Celebrimbor, who looked away from her. "I know you don't wish to go live with your mother, but if you want to learn things, why not come and stay with my family?" Celebrimbor looked back at her, unhappily, and she pressed on. "The hammer your grandfather uses and your father's... who do you think made them?"

"I always assumed... they'd made them themselves," Celebrimbor faltered.

Artanis smiled at him and shook her head. "Have a look at the maker's mark. My father made them as gifts. He'll probably make one for you, too, when you come of age. When did Fëanor concern himself with making tools? He's fascinated by gold, silver, and jewels. I'm sure he lowered himself to work with common steel to create that outlandish helmet and the sword he threatened Fingolfin with. But my father makes hammers, tongs, anvils, nails, plowshares..." Celebrimbor stared at her with astonishment. "My brothers too," she added, "And Fingolfin's family, to some extent. Haven't you ever wondered what we do? If you like, I'll put in a word with my father for you. Or you could just talk to him yourself, as you've always gotten on well with him. He'll be here at the end of the race."

"If you would... But he's already got company, and I don't wish to intrude."

Just then, a race official called the contestants to the starting line. When Artanis turned back to Celebrimbor, he was hurrying to join the crowd at the sidelines. She took her place at the line and Olórin trotted up beside her.

"So, learned tutor, just what is this race supposed to teach me?" she asked him when he crouched down beside her.

"How to wait," he looked up at her, his fox face unreadable. "But that's a hard lesson and I'm not sure you'll master it very quickly."

The official whistled, piercingly, and it was time to run.