Shadow of Memory and Doubt ~ Chapter II
by Nickel S (purple_shad@hotmail.com)
April 2002
Disclaimer: All characters, languages, and locations are the wonderful creations of JRRTolkien. This is my own, perhaps blasphemous, rendition of his mythology.
Author's Notes: Thanks again to Oboe-Wan (userid=150021) for listening to my concerns.
'Text in single quotes' mid-way through the chapter, indicate spoken Quenya.
Assume all dialogue in the italicized section is in Quenya.
Normal text in the italicized section are individual names or words also in Quenya.
Elu Thingol, King of Doriath, sat at the large table after he had taken his breakfast, his hands folded at his waist. The morning report being delivered by the chief of domestic affairs was interrupted when Melian, gazing beyond the walls of the dining hall, softly intoned, "They have returned." Thingol held up a hand for the elf beside him to pause, then motioned for one of the elves still seated at the table to come forward. After a brief statement from the King, this messenger briskly left the hall.
Celeborn let his fingers slide idly along the curves of the relief carved on the wooden door leading to Galadriel's rooms. Although he did not really mind waiting in the hallway, he wondered whether she would be ready before the food became cold. He glanced back at the two younger elves behind him, bearing silver serving platters. His contemplation was interrupted by the sound of quick footsteps coming towards him.
"Good morning, brother."
Looking up in surprise, Celeborn smiled. "Morning, Galathil."
Galathil raised a silver eyebrow at his younger sibling. "I thought I would find you here. We missed you at the evening meal yesterday and breakfast this morning." He glanced at the food platters before continuing, "But it seems that you have had other plans." He was glad to see that Celeborn had the decency to look a little embarrassed.
"Actually, the Lady Galadriel and I had planned a private dinner together last night," Celeborn confessed, "But she was not able to keep the appointment, so I thought we would break our fast together instead."
Galathil nodded and lowered his voice so that only Celeborn could hear. "Would this have anything to do with you going off into Region fully armed yestereve?"
Celeborn's expression changed immediately into a blank look. Who told you?
His brother shook his head. I was told by one of the watch-guards coming off his shift when I was sent to fetch you to come to dinner.
"And who bid you to fetch me?" Celeborn asked, feeling his throat constrict.
"The King."
"The Queen, you mean."
"I know not what you speak of." Galathil could not read the expression on Celeborn's face. "Regardless, this morning I am to summon Lady Galadriel to an audience with the King."
Celeborn shook his head. He wondered briefly if Galadriel was in fit mental condition to endure another interrogation by both the King and Queen, for it was surely Melian behind the summons. His answer to his own question was yes; she probably was, strong and proud as ever. Nonetheless, that did not mean he was going to let the King and Queen have their way, yet.
"I am afraid that will not be possible yet," he said. "Lady Galadriel has overtaxed herself during her run yesterday. And since she only returned recently, she needs some time to rest… and eat!" Celeborn waved his hand towards the waiting meal.
Galathil eyed him suspiciously. "If I did not know you better, Celeborn, I would say that you are trying to hide something." Celeborn merely blinked, and Galathil smiled. Then he was serious again, speaking with his mind once more, Or perhaps, it is your lady that has something to hide.
Celeborn lowered his head sadly, turning away. I am afraid that is only too true.
"Ah. Well that is none of my business, then." Galathil clasped his hands behind his back and looked away down the hall. Then, looking at his brother from the corner of his eyes he saw that Celeborn beamed gratefully at him.
The door opened with a soft click. Galathil turned to attention while Celeborn jumped back. A blonde elf-maiden pushed the door open wider and bowed to the two of them.
"Lord Celeborn, the lady will see you now," she said, smiling timidly.
"Thank you," he replied and motioned for the servers to enter and leave the trays. When they had left, he turned to Galathil, who still stood silently by.
"Was there something else you wished to say to me, brother?"
Looking pensive for a moment and then shaking his head, Galathil turned to the maiden and offered her his arm. "I suppose we should leave the two of them alone."
The girl smiled amiably and accepted. "Of course, Lord Galathil."
With barely a backward glance, the two strode away through the stone halls.
Galadriel sighed contentedly, almost, as Celeborn expertly brushed her damp hair with a jeweled comb. She sipped the rest of the mead and placed her empty cup beside the used dishes. Closing her eyes, she let herself enjoy the gentle tugs on her hair and the tender scratching of the comb's teeth against her scalp.
"You have been very quiet today," Celeborn mused, and last night, too.
He felt her back stiffen under his hand. She did not reply at first and he wondered whether or not to push any further. She was so unlike her usual self and it was troubling to him.
"It is nothing," Galadriel murmured feebly, not managing to convince herself nor him. She silently hoped he would not pursue the current line of thought.
Celeborn placed the comb on the table and shifted his position on the divan on which they sat. When he did not manage to turn her around to face him, he moved around to the other side and sat down again. Placing his hands on her upper arms so she could not turn away from his searching gaze, he stated earnestly, "Now I know it cannot be nothing."
"Please, Celeborn." Her tone was flat, rejecting him.
His grip tightened ever so slightly. "Is it Queen Melian?"
"No."
"Did you have a row with her?"
"No." There was more annoyance this time.
Why can you not tell me?? Celeborn released her and sat back. It seemed he was more concerned and frustrated than either of them knew. "My apologies," he sighed at length.
Galadriel partly wanted to reprimand him, but another, more insistent, part of her wanted to apologize to him. She wanted to apologize to him, apologize to Melian, apologize to everyone, about everything, though little would it accomplish. Still, she remained mute.
There was an awkward pause.
'Altáriel, meldanya,' he began, switching to Quenya. 'Even if you do not, I think you should tell me.'
She merely blinked at him, unsure at which she was more surprised: his speaking her native language or his daring to continue questioning her, whereas Melian had stopped. She decided his speech was more disarming, a memory -of him nearly begging her to teach it to him when they had first met- surfacing briefly. He spoke it with only the slightest accent now, and she had no doubt it would soon disappear altogether.
'Your heart tells me you want to speak freely,' Celeborn was saying, 'but you are afraid.'
Galadriel's eyes widened in surprise as she considered the idea. Afraid? Her low, melodious voice darkened to a whisper, 'How do you know my heart so well?'
He smiled tenderly and the tone of his voice became equally gentle, 'Because, unless I am horribly mistaken, you gave it to me.' He raised a hand to her cheek and this time she reacted, leaning into his caress. 'But I need your assistance if I am to take proper care of it.'
She briefly wondered how she could refuse to tell him, but recognized that she could not, not anymore. Curse your silver tongue, she thought without really meaning it. She held his hand against her cheek, but could not meet his eyes. 'How can I tell you something that would break your heart to hear it, and mine to tell it?'
'Then let me share your pain to ease it.'
She looked up at Celeborn with such woe in her eyes that he immediately moved closer, encircling his arms around her. How he wished he could take away that which haunted her. At the same time, Galadriel, seeing his selfless sincerity, further mourned for his innocence. Placing her head on his shoulder, she resisted the inevitable need to hurt him with her revelation. She also hesitated for fear of his reaction to the pain she would inflict. She feared this moment like no other fear, no other moment she had ever experienced before.
'I could not.'
Celeborn swallowed, closing his eyes. 'Would you… keep this hideous secret even from me… always?'
Galadriel was thankful she could not see his initial expression. She embraced him tightly before sitting back and placing the heel of her right hand against his temple, fingers sliding in among his silver strands of hair. 'I would not wish for anyone to see what I have seen,' she uttered quietly, starting to lose herself in his eyes. 'Yet, I would have nothing between us.'
Celeborn relaxed, placing the tips of his fingers at the base of her head, splayed along her neck, his thumb brushing her cheek.
I do not fear what is to come.
Neither knew whose thought had drifted as their minds began to overlap. Galadriel exhaled once before they were both enveloped in a shadow of memory and doubt.
"Atar!" Ereinion came running back with his troop of scouts to Fingon's vanguard host as if being chased by an invisible evil.
"What is wrong?" Fingon asked, turning from his present conversation with Galadriel, who had left her father's host to join his in her eagerness to be gone from Aman.
"There is battle at Alqualondë!"
"How can that be?" asked Galadriel, alarmed.
Ereinion shook his head in answer. "It is terrible! They are all being… slain." His voice had dropped as he had said the last word. The concept was as alien to the young elf as it was to his father and those around them.
"The House of Fëanáro needs our aid!" Fingon declared before immediately shouting out orders to his elves.
"There must be some horrible, horrible mistake…"Galadriel said to him, placing a hand on his arm, making him pause momentarily.
He blinked at her. "We shall see."
But Fingon was too eager to come to the rescue of his older cousins and before Galadriel could get another statement in edgewise, the vanguard host was already moving forward.
The bejeweled city of Alqualondë, normally shining blue-silver as the walls reflected the clear sky and ocean waves, glowed copper as the flames raged among the outlying buildings. The shipyards, in the distance, were swarming with Elves: those that were defending the docks and those that were to conquer them, mercilessly. On the battlefield, where once the Telerin elves carved their wood and the children played, there was crimson blood and silver hair. Everywhere.
By the time Fingon's host had arrived, the Kinslaying was already well underway. Galadriel could not believe what she was seeing. Fëanáro … What little tolerance she had had for her half-uncle evaporated like the sea spray nearest to the flames. Rage and grief burned within her. What has he done?? Even the Valar could not forgive us for this… should not.
That day, rivulets of luminous red blood snaked randomly across the flat rock, down to the shore where the sand turned black and the white foam tried in vain to wash it all away.
The blade flashed twice: up, and then down again, except… Except the downward stroke met resistance, not enough to halt the blade, but enough to requisite more force. As the elf crumpled over from the blow, Galadriel lost hold of the hilt and jumped back from her fallen foe. Around her the sounds of battle raged on, but she was suddenly oblivious to everything else. Falling to her knees, she turned the elf –once her friend- over.
She pulled her weapon out, disregarding the cut she gave herself, and felt the blood and the heat seeping from beneath her palm no matter how hard she pressed. She looked down at her Telerin cousin, dying even as she held him, trying to staunch the fatal wound in his chest. His face was drawn in pain, his sweat matting his bright silver hair. His ragged, irregular breathing echoed in her ears and his limbs twitched as his dying body convulsed once, twice.
"Will no one help me!?" she screamed frantically, but the battle was already moving away and anyone that could have heard her did not bother to react.
"Alatáriel?"
Galadriel looked back down at him and nearly recoiled from the look of pure hatred that she was receiving. She saw the memory of endless summers they had spent in Alqualondë as children together disintegrate under his frigid glare. And even though she caught his arm as he raised a dagger against her with his last bit of strength, she felt sorrow pierce her heart before numbing it.
May you find peace in the Halls of Mandos. And forgive me… if you can.
She watched the light vanish from his eyes through her own blurring vision, the most horrifying sight she had ever seen. Then, quickly disengaging herself from the corpse, she pried the dagger from his dead hand and also took its partner from his waist. These she strapped one to each leg and wiped her sword clean before moving on.
"Why not run away, back with your ata to the Valar, little bright one?" Celegorm the Fair sneered at his youngest cousin.
"Shut up, Turcafinwë," growled Orodreth, normally the mildest of Finarfin's sons, as he stepped in front of Galadriel, as if to shield her from their jeering cousin. Her brother had barely managed to keep his voice steady, and she suspected that it wavered because of his grief rather than anger.
Celegorm ignored Orodreth and looked sharply at Galadriel with an equally sharp smile. "Yea, I saw you crying over your pathetic Telerin prince. That must have been some impressive blade work."
"Be silent, Turco."
Celegorm and Galadriel ceased glaring at each other as Fëanor came up to join the company, looking as if he was still greater than the sum of his seven sons. He cast his bright eyes over the gathering of the House of Finwë where stood Fingolfin and his sons and daughter, and Finarfin with his children. The wayward King of the Noldor turned to his half-brother. "Please excuse him, Arafinwë. Your decision to return is your own." Although he spoke congenial words, Fëanor, like his son, did not bother to hide the contempt in his voice.
Finarfin remained unperturbed, but did not bother to make any sign of acknowledgement.
Fëanor then turned to Galadriel with a subtle smile. "And what have you decided, Altáriel? It seems your brothers have all decided to journey onward."
Galadriel ignored him and the flicker in his eyes that she thought appeared whenever he said her name. Instead she turned to her father. "I will go into exile," she said softly, only briefly meeting his gaze. "Farewell, Father."
Finarfin lifted a hand to smooth her hair back and she looked up at him again. His eyes -containing so much sorrow, understanding, and love all at once- amazed her. "Farewell, daughter," he replied quietly. "May you find happiness beyond the Sea, if any happiness there can now be."
After embracing for a moment that ended all too quickly, Galadriel turned around. She stepped past Fëanor, ignoring his proffered hand, to join her brothers.
[To Be Continued]
Your Elvish Lesson for the Day:
Using elvish is a
device I learned from reading fics by Nemis (userid=179839) and Shinelrond (userid=190036) Yes! Free
advertising for good Tolkien fic writers! (Please let me know if you don't want to be associated with me ^_^')
Altáriel
= Galadriel's name in Quenya (Alatáriel
is the Telerin form)
meldanya = 'my beloved' or perhaps 'beloved of me' (but I could be totally
wrong about this...)
atar = father (ata = in Celegorm's jeer, meant to mean 'daddy')
Turcafinwë = 'strong Finwë' =
Celegorm (Turco = shortened version)
Arafinwë = Finarfin
Fëanáro = Fëanor
(d'uh)
source: http://www.uib.no/People/hnohf/
Notes: Galathil is listed in the appendix(?) of names in Tolkien's Unfinished Tales.
Finwë: *holding baby Fëanor*
Behold
my mad skillz! I shall name him Curufinwë.
Míriel: *gives him most withering glare* Oh really?
Finwë: What?
