Disclaimer: I do not, nor do I claim to, own Lord of the Rings or anything
affiliated therewith.
*****
A warm wind blows through the trees of Lothlorien, rustling the leaves, causing a sort of music, increased by the presence of many, many grasshoppers. An Elf-girl, somewhere between child and woman, stands, looking into the wind and the darkness. She is not short, but not as tall as many Elves. Her hair is a light brown, nearly blonde. Her garb is plain, a relatively simple green dress that neither emphasizes nor hides her feminine development. A glass of wine is clutched in her hand, slender fingers trying hard to remember their purpose.
"Morwinyon?" a voice asks. It is Celebrían, an Elven beauty with her long blonde hair and the mature features of an adult. In mortal years she is perhaps nineteen, her younger sister Morwinyon perhaps thirteen, but the girls are closer than most siblings are. "Are you all right?"
Celebrían's voice carries concern, but Morwinyon knows what she will see before she turns to her sister: a face slightly flushed with the excitement of dancing. Morwinyon has not had a single dance tonight, but she has watched her parents and her sister spin, and this is enough for her.
The Elf Celebrían danced with for most of the night is new to Morwinyon's knowledge. He has grey eyes and raven-colored hair, but something very serious hangs about him. He is perhaps twenty in mortal years. Morwinyon trusts him, but she will always be wary, out to protect her sister.
"I am well," Morwinyon says, setting her glass on the ground as she turns to Celebrían. "I enjoy watching you dance, I need not partake myself. Your partner, he is handsome. Does he step on your feet?" She smiles, her still- juvenile features lighting up full of mirth. Celebrían keeps her sister's steady gaze for a few moments, then she breaks down and laughs.
"He does not and you know it!" she chides, easily lifting the younger Elf and twirling her in the air. When Celebrían sets Morwinyon down again, both are giggling. Celebrían kisses her little sister's head.
Morwinyon glances past Celebrían and catches sight of the Elf with the raven-hair. "You should go," Morwinyon whispers to her sister. "I think he is becoming jealous."
"Little imp!" Celebrían teases. Her face grows solemn as she adds; "You do not feel I am abandoning you, Morwinyon, do you?"
"I want you to be happy, Celebrían, whether you are riding with me or. . .twirling with your envious Elf," Morwinyon replies. She does want her sister to be happy, she wants it more than most anything else. She wants it more than she wants a happy life for herself, though why this is she cannot say.
"Thank you, Morwinyon!" Celebrían exclaims, and Morwinyon knows that this Elf is something special to her sister. Celebrían's white dress seems to bob as she runs back the Elf who has been watching the sisters. "My sister," she says to him in explanation. "She likes you, I think."
"This is rare?" he asks, thinking of his own sibling.
"Aye," Celebrían laughs, "very rare indeed!"
"Then I am already ahead of the others," he jokes.
"Others?" Celebrían asks, confused. "What others?"
"Why, the million other suitors," he replies, as if it were obvious.
"Everyone is teasing me tonight!" Celebrían pretends to bemoan.
"I am sorry. Let me make it up to you with a dance. Please?"
His smile alone could make her agree.
'She loves him,' Morwinyon realizes, and is struck with a strong desire to protect her sister. 'If he hurts her, he shall pay dearly,' resolves Morwinyon, fists clenching at her sides.
Morwinyon turns away, suddenly saddened, though she cannot say why. Her heart seems to have lowered for no reason. Pondering, she reaches down and lifts her glass, but when she straightens she is no longer alone. She jumps slightly, still amazed at how silently her mother can appear before her. "Mother! I thought you were. . .that is I. . ." Morwinyon is not sure why she feels guilty, but she glances behind her to see her father standing alone, watching Celebrían dance.
'She must be so happy,' thinks Morwinyon, 'for so many people love her.'
"Come walk with me, Morwinyon," Galadriel requests of her daughter. She is worried that because Celebrían seems to get so much attention, Morwinyon feels abandoned or forgotten. Having one daughter would have been simpler, not having to be as equal when they were young and even as they grow, but Galadriel never regrets Morwinyon; she loves both her daughters and always will.
Morwinyon obeys her mother, but at the same time does not: although Morwinyon walks beside the elder Elf, she neither takes her mother's hand nor makes any form of physical contact, her hands clenched behind her back. For a while the two walk on in silence, comfortable with the warm winds and the crickets playing. It is the child who first breaks the silence, knowing what will come and dreading it.
"I cannot imagine that you asked me to walk with you, simply because you did not wish to walk alone," Morwinyon begins.
"This is so. Are you happy, Morwin?"
Morwinyon does not like opening herself to her mother, somehow although she trusts Galadriel more than almost anyone else, her secrets and true self feel safer hidden away. Nonetheless Morwinyon replies, "This I am, Mother. What more would I wish? I have a home, parents who love me, and a sister that is also my best friend. Happiness has come easily in my life." A sudden thought strikes her, and she looks at Galadriel, shocked and afraid, "Why do you say this? Is something going to happen? Are you sending me away?"
Galadriel smiles softly. She wants to reach out and touch Morwinyon's shoulder for reassurance, but the girl is growing up, and caressing her could be taken as being condescending. "Of course not, child, you said yourself that your father and I love you. Often your sister seems to take much attention, and I worried that perhaps this bothered you."
"It is kind of you to think so, but I love Celebrían. She is my sister. Is that not what sisters do?"
"Yet something troubles your heart, my daughter," Galadriel returned, knowing well the manners of young girls and their common evasions. She wonders what it is that plagues her youngest; is it envy, or perhaps loneliness? After all, Celebrían is slipping away. Morwinyon is sharp, she must know this.
"It is of little importance," Morwinyon says; there is no use in denying it, for Galadriel already knows that it is there. However, Morwinyon means not to tell her about the dreams. She has, in her mind, prepared many stories, should this moment arise. A secret lover might be hinted at in slight conversational slips. Perhaps Morwinyon will say that she has been sneaking outside of Lothlorien, where she is forbidden. Somehow these things would be easier than the truth, which Morwinyon herself does not understand.
"Aye?" Galadriel raises one eyebrow.
"Aye," Morwinyon mutters, but she looks away. She is lying and she knows it, but she cannot help it. A part of her refuses to tell the truth, refuses to bend to the will of the usual Morwinyon, the good one. She, the good side, can feel Galadriel's unwavering scrutiny, and her guilt breaks her at once. "Oh, Mother, I am sorry!" Morwinyon laments. "I mean no harm, you know this. You do know, do you not?"
Suddenly Morwinyon's opinion of herself is called into question. Does she seem selfish, she wonders, does she seem proud? She has never thought herself too faulted, although like everyone faulted in part. Now she thinks that it would be better if she thought before she ever acted, so as not to hurt anyone, as she is sure she has done many times before.
"Yes indeed, Morwinyon. Challenge not the goodness of your heart! Come, we will be missed and are too long gone. But know that you may always seek me, Morwinyon, with any words you wish to speak."
Mother and daughter walked slowly, side by side, each lost in her own thoughts. Galadriel worried for Morwinyon, whose heart was heavy. Morwinyon hoped that she had not worried her mother, but this was a matter she must tend to on her own.
Their woes were momentarily forgotten when they saw Celebrían again. She was dancing with her father, Celeborn, now, still smiling that carefree smile young girls have, that smile that just shouts of innocence. Galadriel and Morwinyon are just two women now, bonded by their mutual love of another.
*****
Later that night, Morwinyon sits cross-legged on her bed, her light violet nightgown covering her knees, as Celebrían changes out of her dress into her own nightgown. The former watches the latter with fascination as she has many times before, amazed at the way her sister so effortlessly lets her hair fall over her shoulders, so perfected, the way she walks so gracefully to her bed.
A yellow flame flickers in the window, reflecting on the glass panes. The girls are also in their window, smaller versions of themselves. Celebrían and Morwinyon did not always share a room, but Morwinyon had night terrors as a child, and it did little good for her to wake up everyone else bashing into things as she tried to find her sister. Finally Celebrían asked if she and Morwinyon might share a room, and they simply never changed things back.
"You looked very beautiful when you danced," Morwinyon says honestly.
"Thank you," Celebrían says. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"
"Aye," Morwinyon smiles, "but I suspect you would rather not listen but speak!" The last word is nearly shouted with heavy implication. "Tell me his name, Celebrían!" Morwinyon requests, Celebrían gives her sister an aloof smile. In a flash Morwinyon is off her bed, tackling Celebrían and tickling her. Celebrían giggles for mercy. "A name, a name, your freedom for a name!" Morwinyon barters.
"Never in a million years!" Celebrían returns, and it is mutually known that they are no longer two sisters. Morwinyon is a pirate; she wears high boots with leggings and a tunic, and has a patch over one eye. She has captured Celebrían, a brave but helpless damsel. "I would sooner die!" Celebrían manages through laughter.
"You cannot refuse to tell me!" declares Morwinyon. "I am the Almighty Pirate, ruler of all pirates!" Celebrían grabs a pillow and smacks her sister with it. "Ack! A wooden board!" shouts Morwinyon. "You fight dirty!" She grabs her own pillows and is about to hit Celebrían in return when a voice from behind them announces,
"All right, pirate and lady, you have had enough excitement for the night. It is time for bed."
"But Ada--" Morwinyon whines, for good measure, as she slips beneath the covers. Celeborn gives her a tolerant smile and pulls the coverlet up to her chin. Morwinyon wriggles, again for good measure, but allows her father to kiss her goodnight. Celeborn repeats this process with Celebrían, then extinguishes the flame of their candle and leaves his daughters to their rest.
Celebrían left her scarf hanging from a rafter. Morwinyon notices it, and it looks to her like a hanging body. She squirms, closes her eyes tight, and prays that when she opens them again the illusion will have been dispelled. It has not. Morwinyon whimpers, clutching the coverlet tightly.
"Shh, Morwinyon, hush. It is all right," Celebrían soothes. Morwinyon's hand slides out from beneath the covers, and finds Celebrían's between their beds. In her sister's warm palm, Morwinyon knows she is safe.
"Cel?" Morwinyon asks.
"Yes?" Celebrían replies, though she is tired.
"Once upon a time there was a pirate. . ."
*****
A warm wind blows through the trees of Lothlorien, rustling the leaves, causing a sort of music, increased by the presence of many, many grasshoppers. An Elf-girl, somewhere between child and woman, stands, looking into the wind and the darkness. She is not short, but not as tall as many Elves. Her hair is a light brown, nearly blonde. Her garb is plain, a relatively simple green dress that neither emphasizes nor hides her feminine development. A glass of wine is clutched in her hand, slender fingers trying hard to remember their purpose.
"Morwinyon?" a voice asks. It is Celebrían, an Elven beauty with her long blonde hair and the mature features of an adult. In mortal years she is perhaps nineteen, her younger sister Morwinyon perhaps thirteen, but the girls are closer than most siblings are. "Are you all right?"
Celebrían's voice carries concern, but Morwinyon knows what she will see before she turns to her sister: a face slightly flushed with the excitement of dancing. Morwinyon has not had a single dance tonight, but she has watched her parents and her sister spin, and this is enough for her.
The Elf Celebrían danced with for most of the night is new to Morwinyon's knowledge. He has grey eyes and raven-colored hair, but something very serious hangs about him. He is perhaps twenty in mortal years. Morwinyon trusts him, but she will always be wary, out to protect her sister.
"I am well," Morwinyon says, setting her glass on the ground as she turns to Celebrían. "I enjoy watching you dance, I need not partake myself. Your partner, he is handsome. Does he step on your feet?" She smiles, her still- juvenile features lighting up full of mirth. Celebrían keeps her sister's steady gaze for a few moments, then she breaks down and laughs.
"He does not and you know it!" she chides, easily lifting the younger Elf and twirling her in the air. When Celebrían sets Morwinyon down again, both are giggling. Celebrían kisses her little sister's head.
Morwinyon glances past Celebrían and catches sight of the Elf with the raven-hair. "You should go," Morwinyon whispers to her sister. "I think he is becoming jealous."
"Little imp!" Celebrían teases. Her face grows solemn as she adds; "You do not feel I am abandoning you, Morwinyon, do you?"
"I want you to be happy, Celebrían, whether you are riding with me or. . .twirling with your envious Elf," Morwinyon replies. She does want her sister to be happy, she wants it more than most anything else. She wants it more than she wants a happy life for herself, though why this is she cannot say.
"Thank you, Morwinyon!" Celebrían exclaims, and Morwinyon knows that this Elf is something special to her sister. Celebrían's white dress seems to bob as she runs back the Elf who has been watching the sisters. "My sister," she says to him in explanation. "She likes you, I think."
"This is rare?" he asks, thinking of his own sibling.
"Aye," Celebrían laughs, "very rare indeed!"
"Then I am already ahead of the others," he jokes.
"Others?" Celebrían asks, confused. "What others?"
"Why, the million other suitors," he replies, as if it were obvious.
"Everyone is teasing me tonight!" Celebrían pretends to bemoan.
"I am sorry. Let me make it up to you with a dance. Please?"
His smile alone could make her agree.
'She loves him,' Morwinyon realizes, and is struck with a strong desire to protect her sister. 'If he hurts her, he shall pay dearly,' resolves Morwinyon, fists clenching at her sides.
Morwinyon turns away, suddenly saddened, though she cannot say why. Her heart seems to have lowered for no reason. Pondering, she reaches down and lifts her glass, but when she straightens she is no longer alone. She jumps slightly, still amazed at how silently her mother can appear before her. "Mother! I thought you were. . .that is I. . ." Morwinyon is not sure why she feels guilty, but she glances behind her to see her father standing alone, watching Celebrían dance.
'She must be so happy,' thinks Morwinyon, 'for so many people love her.'
"Come walk with me, Morwinyon," Galadriel requests of her daughter. She is worried that because Celebrían seems to get so much attention, Morwinyon feels abandoned or forgotten. Having one daughter would have been simpler, not having to be as equal when they were young and even as they grow, but Galadriel never regrets Morwinyon; she loves both her daughters and always will.
Morwinyon obeys her mother, but at the same time does not: although Morwinyon walks beside the elder Elf, she neither takes her mother's hand nor makes any form of physical contact, her hands clenched behind her back. For a while the two walk on in silence, comfortable with the warm winds and the crickets playing. It is the child who first breaks the silence, knowing what will come and dreading it.
"I cannot imagine that you asked me to walk with you, simply because you did not wish to walk alone," Morwinyon begins.
"This is so. Are you happy, Morwin?"
Morwinyon does not like opening herself to her mother, somehow although she trusts Galadriel more than almost anyone else, her secrets and true self feel safer hidden away. Nonetheless Morwinyon replies, "This I am, Mother. What more would I wish? I have a home, parents who love me, and a sister that is also my best friend. Happiness has come easily in my life." A sudden thought strikes her, and she looks at Galadriel, shocked and afraid, "Why do you say this? Is something going to happen? Are you sending me away?"
Galadriel smiles softly. She wants to reach out and touch Morwinyon's shoulder for reassurance, but the girl is growing up, and caressing her could be taken as being condescending. "Of course not, child, you said yourself that your father and I love you. Often your sister seems to take much attention, and I worried that perhaps this bothered you."
"It is kind of you to think so, but I love Celebrían. She is my sister. Is that not what sisters do?"
"Yet something troubles your heart, my daughter," Galadriel returned, knowing well the manners of young girls and their common evasions. She wonders what it is that plagues her youngest; is it envy, or perhaps loneliness? After all, Celebrían is slipping away. Morwinyon is sharp, she must know this.
"It is of little importance," Morwinyon says; there is no use in denying it, for Galadriel already knows that it is there. However, Morwinyon means not to tell her about the dreams. She has, in her mind, prepared many stories, should this moment arise. A secret lover might be hinted at in slight conversational slips. Perhaps Morwinyon will say that she has been sneaking outside of Lothlorien, where she is forbidden. Somehow these things would be easier than the truth, which Morwinyon herself does not understand.
"Aye?" Galadriel raises one eyebrow.
"Aye," Morwinyon mutters, but she looks away. She is lying and she knows it, but she cannot help it. A part of her refuses to tell the truth, refuses to bend to the will of the usual Morwinyon, the good one. She, the good side, can feel Galadriel's unwavering scrutiny, and her guilt breaks her at once. "Oh, Mother, I am sorry!" Morwinyon laments. "I mean no harm, you know this. You do know, do you not?"
Suddenly Morwinyon's opinion of herself is called into question. Does she seem selfish, she wonders, does she seem proud? She has never thought herself too faulted, although like everyone faulted in part. Now she thinks that it would be better if she thought before she ever acted, so as not to hurt anyone, as she is sure she has done many times before.
"Yes indeed, Morwinyon. Challenge not the goodness of your heart! Come, we will be missed and are too long gone. But know that you may always seek me, Morwinyon, with any words you wish to speak."
Mother and daughter walked slowly, side by side, each lost in her own thoughts. Galadriel worried for Morwinyon, whose heart was heavy. Morwinyon hoped that she had not worried her mother, but this was a matter she must tend to on her own.
Their woes were momentarily forgotten when they saw Celebrían again. She was dancing with her father, Celeborn, now, still smiling that carefree smile young girls have, that smile that just shouts of innocence. Galadriel and Morwinyon are just two women now, bonded by their mutual love of another.
*****
Later that night, Morwinyon sits cross-legged on her bed, her light violet nightgown covering her knees, as Celebrían changes out of her dress into her own nightgown. The former watches the latter with fascination as she has many times before, amazed at the way her sister so effortlessly lets her hair fall over her shoulders, so perfected, the way she walks so gracefully to her bed.
A yellow flame flickers in the window, reflecting on the glass panes. The girls are also in their window, smaller versions of themselves. Celebrían and Morwinyon did not always share a room, but Morwinyon had night terrors as a child, and it did little good for her to wake up everyone else bashing into things as she tried to find her sister. Finally Celebrían asked if she and Morwinyon might share a room, and they simply never changed things back.
"You looked very beautiful when you danced," Morwinyon says honestly.
"Thank you," Celebrían says. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"
"Aye," Morwinyon smiles, "but I suspect you would rather not listen but speak!" The last word is nearly shouted with heavy implication. "Tell me his name, Celebrían!" Morwinyon requests, Celebrían gives her sister an aloof smile. In a flash Morwinyon is off her bed, tackling Celebrían and tickling her. Celebrían giggles for mercy. "A name, a name, your freedom for a name!" Morwinyon barters.
"Never in a million years!" Celebrían returns, and it is mutually known that they are no longer two sisters. Morwinyon is a pirate; she wears high boots with leggings and a tunic, and has a patch over one eye. She has captured Celebrían, a brave but helpless damsel. "I would sooner die!" Celebrían manages through laughter.
"You cannot refuse to tell me!" declares Morwinyon. "I am the Almighty Pirate, ruler of all pirates!" Celebrían grabs a pillow and smacks her sister with it. "Ack! A wooden board!" shouts Morwinyon. "You fight dirty!" She grabs her own pillows and is about to hit Celebrían in return when a voice from behind them announces,
"All right, pirate and lady, you have had enough excitement for the night. It is time for bed."
"But Ada--" Morwinyon whines, for good measure, as she slips beneath the covers. Celeborn gives her a tolerant smile and pulls the coverlet up to her chin. Morwinyon wriggles, again for good measure, but allows her father to kiss her goodnight. Celeborn repeats this process with Celebrían, then extinguishes the flame of their candle and leaves his daughters to their rest.
Celebrían left her scarf hanging from a rafter. Morwinyon notices it, and it looks to her like a hanging body. She squirms, closes her eyes tight, and prays that when she opens them again the illusion will have been dispelled. It has not. Morwinyon whimpers, clutching the coverlet tightly.
"Shh, Morwinyon, hush. It is all right," Celebrían soothes. Morwinyon's hand slides out from beneath the covers, and finds Celebrían's between their beds. In her sister's warm palm, Morwinyon knows she is safe.
"Cel?" Morwinyon asks.
"Yes?" Celebrían replies, though she is tired.
"Once upon a time there was a pirate. . ."
