Story is based on J.R.R Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion. Cover image is from Michelangelo's paintings on the Sistine Chapel ceiling.

The path from the river bank up the cliff-side to Nargothrond was long and winding. Not even elvish eyes could find it if they knew not the signs which marked it. But Celeborn and the small company with him did know the signs, and so they began the journey up. Night had already fallen, but the waxing moon was not three days from full, and its silvery light was more than adequate for those who had dwelt long in the darkness before its making. The company moved with the secretive caution of the Sindar, and their grey-brown raiment seemed to blend into the rock of the cliff face. If mortal eyes had chanced to look up - though, of course, no men had yet traveled so far west - they would have seen only a silvery shimmer, like moonlight on a lake. The keen eyes of Finrod's sentries, however, had little difficulty seeing them, but as they were known to them they raised no alarm. And so the company ascended unhindered.

At the top of the path they came to a deep hollow in the rock, within which stood the great gates of Nargothrond. Much has been said of the beauty of those gates, carved out of the surrounding rock in a perfect combination of dwarvish strength and elvish grace. But to Celeborn they seemed imposing and unfriendly, built to keep others out rather than to welcome them in. He found himself feeling very small, and began to despair of his errand, for what hope had he to sway such might?

Seeming to sense Celeborn's anxiety, one of his company went to his side. "There are no flowers," he spoke as he looked about the vast cavern, "nor living things of any kind, not even depictions in the stonework. I would have flowers. It would make the place seem warmer, don't you think?"

"I would ask you not to tell Finrod so, Daeron," Celeborn replied, and though he spoke in jest no smile reached his face. "I fear he already thinks very little of me, I do not need to open our discussion with criticism of his decorating choices."

At that moment the gates were swung open, moving smoothly and silently despite their great size. One of the guards emerged to welcome them, and they were lead into the caves and to the great hall of Finrod.

The vastness of the great hall did not make Celeborn feel any less small than the gates had. Still, he could not deny that it was beautiful. Green and gold tapestries hung on the walls and the high, vaulted ceilings were set with shining gems. In the midst of the ceiling hung a great lamp, made in the image of a crown of golden blossoms.

"Look Daeron," whispered one of the company as he gestured to the lamp, "there are your flowers." A few nervous laughs ran through the company, but at a look from Celeborn they were silent.

At the end of the hall stood many bannermen of Nargothrond, clad in vibrant colors and shining with jewels, and in the midst of them sat Finrod. His raiment was green, and upon his head a silver clasp strained to hold back his thick mane of golden curls. But Celeborn found his eyes most drawn to the necklace that he wore. It was a great jeweled necklace and its ornate filigree hung over his tunic down almost to his waist, though despite its great size it sat lightly and delicately about his neck.

Finrod rose to greet him saying, "Greetings kinsman of Eru Thingol. It is a long road from Doriath. I fear I know what has brought you hither, but I would hear it from you all the same." Though he spoke with a courtesy befitting his reputation, there was no smile on his face and no warmth in his voice.

Celeborn steeled himself and began. "Your sister, Artanis," and through long practice he spoke the strange Quenya syllables of her father-name as skillfully as any Noldo, "has dwelt long in Doriath. In this time, a great love has formed between us, and I would ask her to marry me."

"With or without my permission, or so she has informed me," Finrod added.

Celeborn had feared this. "She is willing to marry me without your agreement, that is true," he said, attempting to salvage the conversation, "However, she must at least have my agreement, and before I give that I would first seek your permission."

Finrod paused and considered the grey-clad company before him, looking very drab amid the bright richness of his halls. "To be honest, I know not what you could hope to offer her," he began, and Celeborn's heart seemed to drop down to his stomach, "but it is clear that my sister thinks much of you, and for her sake I will hear your case before I decide. But this is a matter for private discussion, not public debate, and you have traveled far and have not yet had opportunity to rest. Rooms have been prepared for you, for my wardens brought word of your coming ere you reached the Talath Dirnen. Rest and eat. We will discuss your proposal on the morrow."

"Well, that went well," Daeron said once they had been lead to their rooms. There was no trace of insincerity in his voice, and Celeborn looked at him curiously.

"Did you listen? He intends to say no."

"But he has not said it yet," Daeron pointed out, "and he has even given us rooms. Remember that you once feared that he would throw us out immediately."

"I fear that the delay is only to spare me from a public embarrassment," replied Celeborn, "but your optimism is reassuring all the same."

"And anyway, you are far closer to winning your beloved than I will ever be," Daeron added.

"That is somewhat less reassuring," Celeborn complained. "I am closer to single-handedly storming the gates of Angband and casting down the black enemy within than you are to winning your beloved, for at least I might make it as far as his dungeons."

"Ai, what a mood you are in tonight, to think such dark thoughts."

"Forgive me," Celeborn sighed. "It was cruel of me to speak so harshly, especially to one who is trying to bring me comfort."

"There is nothing to forgive," Daeron replied with a wave of his hand. "I know it pains you to see me waste my affections on so hopeless a cause. But hopeless or not, I could no more stop myself from loving Lúthien as I could make the rivers run backwards up into the mountains."

"I know," Celeborn said gently. "Still, I wish it were otherwise."

"As do I," agreed Daeron with a smile, "the road home is upriver." This earned a quiet laugh from Celeborn. Then Daeron spoke again, saying, "Finrod said that Galadriel had already spoken to him of your intention to marry. When was this? This is the first I have heard of such a meeting."

"Early this spring," Celeborn began, "Finrod paid a visit to one of his watchtowers near the border of our forest. Galadriel went to visit him, for - though my story may convince you otherwise - they are very fond of one another, and it had been long since she had seen him. She returned several weeks earlier than planned in one of the blackest moods I have yet seen her in."

"That must have been a black mood indeed, for she sets a high bar in such things."

"She does," Celeborn agreed with a faint smile. "It seems she spoke of me to her brother. Seeing that she had grown quite fond of me, he told her that he should like to meet me, saying that if he did not approve of the match it would be easier to cut it off sooner than later. She told him that he is not her father, and so it is of no matter if he approves of it."

"Their father dwells in the west, does he not?" asked Daeron. "She must think much of our little river boats if she expects you to ask him."

"I do not believe she wished for me to ask anyone. As I understand it, the discussion grew more and more heated, until there was not anyone in that watchtower who could not hear it. It ended with her telling Finrod that we would be getting married, and that he could either accept it or lose a sister."

Daeron winced. "Well, I see now why you were so nervous on the road here."

"Yes," Celeborn sighed. "I fear the situation may be beyond salvage, but I must try all the same."

"Do not despair yet; there is still hope," Daeron urged. "Your radiant lady has a will like no other, but you seem to hold some sway with her. Perhaps the same will hold true with her brother."

"Perhaps, but I do not dare to hope," said Celeborn wearily.

"Then dare to rest, at least," countered Daeron. "It has been a long road, and rest will do you more good than worry."

"I fear I shall find no rest tonight," Celeborn said.

"Then I shall stay up with you, for all fears seem greater to one alone. But I would urge you to try to rest at least," Daeron decided. Then he took up his harp, for he seldom went anywhere without it, and began to sing. The song he sang was of the first rising of the moon and sun, though he skipped straight to the rising of the sun, knowing that it was Celeborn's favorite part.

But scarcely did the moon descend
and all did feel its loss,
the eastern sky did glow with red
its clouds with gold embossed.

And on that ever night-bound land
a second light did burst:
an awesome, fiery, burning brand -
a blessing or a curse?

For we on hill could not discern
if it was good or ill,
that new lamp which so fierce did burn
its heat we here could feel.

But, oh, how wide the world did seem
that morning gay and grim
to eyes which never yet had seen
beyond the torchlight's rim.

As Daeron continued, singing of the wonder and the terror of that day - that first day - Celeborn began to find some measure of peace. His mind drifted to his own memory of that first sunrise, of the warmth, and the light, and the joy of that day. And the colors, more than he could have ever imagined. Even the black emptiness of the sky had a color when the sun shone! Then his thoughts began to wander to the second time such a wonder had come into his life, with golden curls descending about a face no less warm and beautiful than that first sunrise. And with such thoughts, he fell into a fitful rest.

It was mid-morning the next day when Finrod sent for Celeborn. He was led to a small quiet room at the back of a great library. A green tapestry was on the wall in which shining silver and gold threads depicted the twin serpents and golden flowers that were the emblem of house Finarfin. About the room were desks strewn with pens, ink, and pages of unfinished books, in the midst of which in a high-backed chair carved of a deep brown wood sat Finrod, who rose in greeting as Celeborn entered.

"Good morning," said Finrod, "I hope you have slept well, for the people of Doriath have ever been friends to me, and whatever my thoughts on your errand, I would not have you feel unwelcome in my halls."

"We have been made to feel most welcome, thank you. If I slept badly, it was not due to a lack of hospitality, but because my thoughts wandered ever to this meeting."

"Then sit and let us begin, then you need anticipate no longer." He sat and motioned to a chair beside him, in which Celeborn sat. "Let us start with the obvious then. Why do you wish to marry my sister?"

Celeborn relaxed slightly. Time and again he had rehearsed this question with Daeron on the road here. "There is a strength and grace in her spirit which is unbowed by darkness and hardship. Hope and peace follow her, like a light in a dark place. And of course there is her beauty, which many more talented with word and verse than I have attempted to describe, though none have done it justice."

"She is certainly a maiden of beauty and grace," replied Finrod dismissively, "but she is also rash, willful, proud, and ambitious. Mightier than you have tried to tame here, myself included, and all have failed. What makes you think that you would fare any better?"

"But I have no wish to tame her, anymore than I would wish to tame the Falls of Esgalduin to the north of my home. For any attempt to impose my own will on such might would necessarily diminish it, and I have no wish to do that."

"So you would simply do as she wishes in all things, and thereby avoid any conflict?" asked Finrod

"I did not say that. I said that I had no desire to force my own will on her. But she listens to my reasoning when we disagree on matters, and I to hers. It has been my experience that such discussions often lead to better decisions than either of us could make alone," explained Celeborn

Finrod seemed to consider this. "When Artanis informed me of her intentions, she said that, since our father is yet living, I have no authority over her in this matter. But now here you are, asking my permission. Might this be one such disagreement? How did you convince her to accept my authority and allow you to come to me?"

"I told her that we had nothing to lose and much to gain in asking, and that her own pride was not worth losing a brother whom I know she loves," Celeborn told him.

"Nothing to lose? I could say no," Finrod reminded him. "If I did so, would you still marry her?"

A shock of fear ran through Celeborn at the question and in his head he cursed his careless choice of words. He hesitated, trying to decide if it would be better to give the right answer, or the true one.

"It would depend upon your reasoning," he began slowly. "If you were to convince me that it would be better for Galad - for Artanis - for us not to be married, then I would not, for I want only what is best for her. But if you deny me simply because you do not want me to marry her, then, well, I would have to make a choice. For if you do not want me to marry her, and she does want me to marry her, then I must disappoint one of you. And, much as I respect you, I would place her wishes above yours in such a matter."

An amused smile flitted across Finrod's face. "Well, though it lacks propriety, I can find no fault in your reasoning," he mused. Then he paused for a moment and seemed to consider something. "Look at me," he told Celeborn, "Let me see you."

Celeborn met his eyes. Finrod's eyes were green as thistles, and no less sharp. They seemed to not so much look at Celeborn, but through him, as though his very mind and spirit were laid bare before them. He felt panic rising in his chest. Ever had he relied on stealth and secrecy for safety, it was terrible to feel so exposed, so visible. He found himself fighting the urge to turn away from such an intrusion, to find a place to hide where he could not be seen at all. But Celeborn did not look away, though his neck began to sting with sweat and his hands trembled. At last Finrod dropped his gaze.

"Ever has my sister been a good judge of character, and I see now that you are no exception," Finrod said, smiling. "I will admit, I was confused when she first told me of her affection for you. I could not see why she, who has always desired greatness, would wish to attach herself to you, a minor lord of a simple people. But I see now she does not seek a husband to match her in power, but to compliment her in spirit. For where she is reckless, you are prudent; where you are meek, she is proud. I think you will bring out the best in each other, and what more could one wish for in such a union? I can think of no better husband for her."

"Truly?" asked Celeborn.

"Truly," replied Finrod with a smile, "I fear that someday you two may suffer the same fate as my own beloved and myself, and for a long age be separated by the vastness of the world. But I have no wish to hasten that day by separating you now, even if I could. You have both my permission and my blessing, meaningless though they are."

"Nay, not meaningless," replied Celeborn joyously, "for it is clear that you have much love for your sister, and I have no desire to cause strife between you."

"And there shall be none, for I would be proud to call you brother." Finrod smiled. "I can see that my sister spoke truly when she said that you are wise."

"I am flattered that she thinks so, though I confess I know not why she does. I find that I seek her counsel in matters far more than she seeks mine."

"Perhaps that is why," Finrod laughed, "for what, in her mind, could be a greater sign of wisdom than to value her counsel?" Seeing Celeborn's look of dismay, he quickly added, "Nay, fear not. What I said in jest I mean in earnest. For though she is proud and willful, none could call her foolish, and to recognize and seek out wise counsel is itself wisdom. I would even say it is a greater form of it, for those that give counsel have only their own perspective, while those that receive it have those of all their counselors, as well as their own."

"To speak so kindly, after you have already given me more than I ever could have hoped for. Truly, you are a gracious host," Celeborn said, beaming.

"And I would continue to be so, if you would tarry here a bit longer. For such an event calls for celebration. Come, brother! Let us drink to the union of our houses, and to the wedding of Celeborn and Artanis!" declared Finrod. "Nay," he corrected himself, "the wedding of Celeborn and Galadriel. Long may you dwell in happiness together."

Please review!