[Insert Obligatory Disclaimer Statement Here]
She didn't know how she felt about this quest of hers.She only knew that she loved Elrond, and his happiness was far more important to her than her own comfort.
In short: Celebrían was to wed Elrond Peredhel, and she needed the day to be absolutely perfect. If that meant extending an invitation to a reclusive and horrible kinslayer, so be it.
All her life, she'd been told stories of the Feanorians. They were brutal, barbaric kinslayers who'd murdered her father's niece long before Celebrían was ever born. They were the kind of monsters that children were warned about at night. Before Elrond, she'd been rather set and content in her own negative opinion of them.
As for Elrond, he had a rather unorthodox opinion on them. (Never outright, never explicitly, it was more expressed by what he didn't say rather than what he did.) At the end of the matter, however, what remained was this: Elrond only had one parent left in Middle-Earth, and that parent was a murderous, feral, beach hermit who'd been immortalized in history for being the least evil of seven different kinds of evils.
Tradition dictated Elrond should have a father to stand with him during the ceremony, and if Celebrían really wanted their day to be perfect, a father for Elrond she would get.
(Her original idea was of getting married at sunset with Elrond's back to the West. It still appealed to her far more than this. At least if they did it that way, Earendil Ardamírë could symbolically stand in. Elrond had not been as enthused by the idea as she was, however, and so... this. She wanted the day to be perfect, not just for herself, but for him, too.)
At first, she did not know how she was to find Maglor Fëanorion, only that she must.
Maglor was important to her husband-to-be. That made him important to her, too.
Eventually, after much consideration, she'd approached her mother to get her opinion.
The Lady Galadriel had, in the end and after several lectures, taken Celebrían to the Mirror, grumbling the whole way. The Mirror had shown a location far in the north and a singer on a rocky beach.
And so here Celebrían was, on a frosty beach west of the Ered Luin, following a path to a man she wasn't sure she even wanted to meet.
She was close now, and she'd never forgive herself if she turned back when she'd already come this far.
A few months in, her mission was rewarded by the sound of a voice on the wind.
It was distant and distinctly sad, but with no real words to it. This, however, did not make it devoid of meaning.
She dismounted her horse and began to lead her forward.
As Celebrían advanced, the song wove around her an image of happier days long past, a sense of terrible loss, and a feeling of gaping emptiness. The kinds of emotions that, under prolonged exposure to their heavy weight, lead to her falling to her knees, gasping for breath between heaving sobs.
It was a fight to get herself back onto her feet.
To her left, the ocean crashed against rocks. To her right, the land rose. Ahead, mist grew thick.
She pushed herself on.
Her horse, the loyal beast, followed her lead, though not without a frequent need for reassurances.
As she got closer, the song shifted.
She could see two dark haired, identical little boys racing along the water's edge, splashing and chasing -- and yet for the singing, the scene was eerily silent.
And then she saw him, the singer.
He wore a faded red cloak, tattered at the edges, and his hands were carefully wrapped in white bandages that did not impede movement. His hood was drawn up over his face. He was playing a mandolin.
She stared at him long before daring to speak. A part of her feared that to do so would shatter the image, and that he would fade as just another illusion. She would need to begin her search again.
She took a deep breath and called out in her strongest voice, "Ho, traveller! What sadness ails you so?"
The singer started. The playing stopped. The song faded.
Celebrían could have wept with relief.
He turned to her. Slowly, he reached up and lowered his hood.
Dark, twisting curls tumbled out and around a thin and grave face.
Kánafinwë Makalaurë. Maglor the Mighty Singer.
The man who had raised her fiancé.
Even when he spoke in a breath, his voice carried on the wind. "Artanis." He narrowed his eyes. "No. Not Artanis. Your fëa is all wrong..."
He had the same eyes her mother did: penetrating. Uncanny. It was a good thing she already had experience with those eyes.
(This ellon was her half-second-cousin. She'd forgotten about that. Perhaps a little intentionally.)
"I am Celebrían, daughter of Galadriel, daughter of Earwen."
Maglor's eyes cleared with understanding. "I see. Why are you here, daughter of Galadriel?"
She held her head high. "I come to ask for the hand of the son you raised."
Maglor tilted his head. "Elrond."
"Yes."
Did he know of the fates of Elros and of Numenor? She dared not ask.
"He can make his own choices. He has ever been wise beyond his years. He does not need the blessing of a kinslayer." Maglor turned back to his mandolin and began plucking at the strings, pretending to tune the thing.
It was a clear dismissal. Celebrían dug her heels in and refused to take the hint. "Perhaps not. But it is a tradition, you know, for the father of the groom and the mother of the bride to be present at the ceremony."
Maglor did not look up from his instrument. "And I am sure there are more than enough members of the Houses of Finwë and Elwë still knocking around to fill the position."
"There is only my mother and my father left. And they did not have a direct hand in raising him."
Maglor paused and looked up, back to her. "Gil-Galad?"
"Dead in the War of the Last Alliance."
A pause.
Celebrían began, "Will you not ask after Celebrimbor, my cousin?"
Maglor's eyes narrowed sharply. "No. His fate is already known to me. What of Oropher and Amdir?"
"Also dead."
"Did everyone just up and die as soon as Numenor fell?"
Well, that answered her question about whether or not he knew what became of Elros and his legacy.
"Sort of. Yes." Maglor said nothing to this, so she hedged onward, "Will you come?"
He again did not answer, but this time she waited.
The ocean crashed a steady hymn. Gulls called overhead. Maglor looked down at his bandaged hands.
"I am not his father."
"I did not say you were."
"My being there would only cause anger and confusion and pain."
Celebrían scoffed. "Elrond is far too kind for what you suppose of him."
His eyes flashed to hers. "I do not refer to Elrond, Celeborniel."
Celebrían flushed.
"Distressing the guests would distress Elrond. I think I can still suppose to know him well enough to be conscious of that." He sighed. "This probably isn't what you want to hear --"
"Everything that comes out of your mouth isn't what I want to hear."
Maglor stared at her.
Celebrían felt like hiding her face but forced herself to hold her gaze steady. Had she really just said that? To an infamous mass murderer?
"You've quite the lip on you. From your mother, no doubt. Only she holds her tongue better." He grinned sharply. "I like that you actually say what you mean."
So he wasn't going to...
Okay. Okay. This was not so bad.
He continued his earlier thought, "You probably don't want to hear this, but a wedding is only a wedding."
"... Excuse me?"
"What is a wedding but a drop in the ocean? You're getting married. You've chosen to bind yourself to each other until the end of Arda. A wedding is the ceremony of a day, but it is the choice of a lifetime."
"We're only going to be getting married once. I want it to be special."
"It will be, but not by my presence or the lack thereof." He added a final strum on his mandolin. "I have enough fish to share. Would you like any? I shall build fire."
Celebrían considered. He didn't seem inclined to do her any harm... and she wasn't quite done trying to convince him yet.
"Very well. I have some waybread. It should enhance the meal."
Maglor got up and set about collecting driftwood while Celebrían set up camp. It was approaching evening, and she'd found her goal. There was no point in remaining travel-ready. She would either convince him to come with her or she wouldn't. Now that she'd found him, she'd be returning home on the morrow either way.
The fire was set without much trouble, Maglor simply humming a few quick notes under his breath before sparks caught. Fish were cooking merrily only a few moments after that.
"Weren't you married?" Celebrían asked.
He looked over at her, face blank. Eyes, so like her mother's, glimmered with ancient light. "Yes."
"And so you had a wedding."
"Of course."
When he said nothing more, she gestured impatiently for him to go on. "Well? How would you have felt if you had no one to represent you at your wedding? If none of your family had been there?"
"Relieved."
She stared at him dubiously.
He met her gaze steadily. "You never met my family."
The fire crackled. The smell of cooking fish was on the air.
Celebrían sighed roughly and looked into the flames. "You're impossible. Does he really mean so little to you?"
A beat passed. "Here. Take this to him."
Celebrían looked up and was greeted with the sight of Maglor holding out his cloak pin to her her.
It was a golden eight-pointed star, with little sapphires and diamonds embedded in it.
She reached out and took it lightly. She'd spent enough of her childhood in Ost-in-Edhil to recognize exquisite craftsmanship when she saw it.
"Neither you nor he need my blessing, but you have it nonetheless."
She nodded mutely and took off her scarf to wrap the pin and tuck it away.
Dinner was quiet, but peaceful. She made no further demands of him. He made no attacks on her. After the meal was done, Maglor took out his mandolin and played a cheerful song that filled her eyes with a vision of a peaceful valley and a loving family. It didn't take long before she was singing with him.
The moon rose overhead, plump and full. Ashes of their fire rose to meet him, and Celebrían began to drift into Reverie.
Maglor was still humming. The last she saw of him before finally succumbing to rest was of him pulling out sheets of beige paper from a cloth bag that had been at his side the entire evening.
In the morning, Maglor offered her a necklace of sea-glass, seashell, and the gold-plated strings from his mandolin.
She took it carefully.
"It is a Noldorin tradition," he explained, "that the father of the groom presents the bride with a necklace. It would usually be given on the wedding day itself, but... now is best."
She turned it over carefully in her hands. It wasn't as well-made as the pin from last night, but he must have made this in only the time she'd been asleep, with only the items on hand, and for that its quality was increased in her eyes.
She glanced anxiously to his mandolin. It was as stringless as she'd suspected. "The strings --"
He waved a hand dismissively. "I know where to find new ones."
She hesitated, but then nodded, turning to look back at the necklace.
"I have something else for Elrond."
She looked over at him.
He was holding out a wooden pipe with sheets of paper, covered in musical notations, rolled around it and tied with twine.
She took this as well, carefully. The gift of last night had been valuable. The cloak pin was a sign of family and of approval. But this gift was one of care and love. This gift was personal.
"Thank you." She said quietly.
He nodded.
"The invitation to the wedding stands, you know. If you change your mind."
He nodded again. "Thank you."
They parted ways before the sun reached her zenith.
After the ceremony, when she is at last Elrond Peredhel's wife, she gives him the gifts of Maglor Fëanorion.
He cries.
Celebrían expresses her inner bridezilla by stalking her (foster) father-in-law. Also watch me acknowledge absolutely everyone else but Elrond as Celebrían's cousins.
Was I thinking about the Decoy Bride while writing this? Yeah. I was. A little bit.
Someone else probably could have written this better but no one came back from the future to stop me, so...Ahem. Editing done by me. I almost definitely missed a thing or two... please forgive me. Also, thank you for reading!