Chapter Four

            When Galadriel woke the next morning, Celeborn was nowhere to be seen.  She lifted her head off the pillow it was resting on and looked around.  The hut was small, and consisted of only one room, so it wasn't like there were many places he could hide.  Just then, the door opened, and in walked the very object of her wonderings.  He was carrying a handful of a small green shrub, and she assumed that was what he had been doing.  Just the same, though, she decided to make an inquiry.  If nothing else, it would get him talking, and maybe then she could find out more about him.  "What is that?" she asked.

            "Tersen," he answered.  "It has excellent healing properties, and when made into a tea, can help with internal bleeding."  Before he went out, he had placed a pot with water over the fire, and after he set the tersen down, went over to the fire to check it.  The water was warm, but not quite hot enough for making the tea yet.  "The catch is it has to be collected fresh every day, and sometimes, it cannot be found easily."

            "How do you know so much about healing?"

            "My foundation in the healing arts came from instruction by a master, and the rest I have acquired through personal experience," he answered, trying to be as vague as possible.

            "Who instructed you?"

            He didn't answer.

            Galadriel placed her right hand on the bedframe and started to push herself up, but Celeborn saw her motion and spoke against it.  "That's a bad idea," he said.

            "Why?" she asked, and continued to lift her torso.  Suddenly, her face twisted into a painful grimace, and she had to hold her breath to keep from crying out.

            Celeborn sighed and nodded.  "That's why.  Don't move."

            "Why?" she asked again through clenched teeth, not daring to breathe.

            Celeborn walked over to the bed and knelt down beside it.  "Give me your left hand," he instructed.

            Galadriel shot him a suspicious look and did not move.

            She was starting to annoy him.  "Do you want me to help you or not?" Celeborn asked, nearing the end of his patience.  "Give me your left hand."

            Slowly, so as to be as painless as possible, Galadriel lifted her left arm and reached across her body.  Celeborn took her hand and, sandwiching the joint just below her middle knuckle between his thumb and forefinger, applied gentle, but firm pressure.  With his free hand, he placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her back down to a laying position.  Once she was all the way down, he let go.

            "How did you do that?" Galadriel asked.  "There was no pain at all."

            "It's a pressure point," he explained.  "In Noldor, it numbs pain receptors in the brain for a period of about ten seconds when constant pressure is applied."

            Her azure eyes narrowed suspiciously at him.  "How did you know I am Noldor?"

            "I first suspected it when I saw that your clothing had the markings of Nargothrond," he began.  "I knew you had some Noldor blood in you when I treated your arrow wounds.  Every race's blood flows a little differently.  There was hardly any when I took the arrows out.  Some of that came as a result of the medicine I applied, but not enough for me to think you were another race.  My suspicions were eventually confirmed when you told me your name."

            This news seemed to startle her.  "You know who I am?" she stammered.

            "Everyone knows who you are, Princess Galadriel," he replied.  "It's common knowledge.  You are as famous as Luthien."  He almost added, "and just as beautiful," but stopped himself just in time.  The Lady was indeed beautiful, but he didn't want to let on that he thought so.  That would further dampen the objectivity of their relationship, probably for the worse.

            Galadriel's ears perked up at the mention of Luthien.  She noticed that he spoke her name with an undertone of fondness, and she wondered if there was any connection.  "Did you know Luthien?"

            Celeborn's heart nearly skipped a beat.  Why, oh why, did he have to mention Luthien?  If Galadriel knew how close he had been to Luthien, she would surely figure out why he fled Doriath.  "No," he said, his voice firm and closing.  "I saw her once, about twelve years ago, but only from a distance."

            "You're lying."

            He was, but he didn't say so.  Instead, he stood up and walked over to the fire.  He checked the water.  It was almost ready to make the tea.  It would be hot enough by the time he finished chopping up the tersen.  He placed the herb on his chopping board, then reached for his knife.

            Galadriel was getting angry.  He was hiding something, and she wanted to know what.  She suspected it had something to do with Luthien.  She didn't believe him at all when he said he didn't know her.  "Don't turn away from me," she said.  "What are you hiding?"

            "I am hiding nothing," he lied, trying to focus enough attention on his work to avoid hearing her.

            It didn't work.  He heard her next statement clear as day.  "You are lying to me, Teleporno, if that is indeed your real name," she said.

            Celeborn had no patience left.  He stood up and faced her, his eyes like flaming daggers and his voice equally harsh.  "What do you want from me?" he nearly yelled.  "I've told you everything you need to know.  That should be enough for you!"

            "Who are you?" she demanded.  "What are you doing out here?"

            "What's it to you?"

            "I want to know who you are."

            He shook his head.  "Not good enough."  He walked over to the fire, took the pot away from the flame, and carried it over to the table.  He placed the chopped-up tersen into a sieve, then let the herb seep into the water.  "I helped you in your time of need.  The best way you can thank me is to leave when you are healthy and forget you ever saw me."

            Now she was getting somewhere.  For some reason, he didn't seem to want to let the outside world know he was alive.  Galadriel meant to do the opposite of what he requested, and ask about him when she finally got to Menegroth.  "How could I forget you that easily?" she asked.  "I owe you my life."

            "You owe me nothing.  We've had this conversation."

            "Why can't you just tell me who you are?"

            "You wouldn't understand."  He poured some of the tea into a cup and carried it over to her.  His level of rage hadn't dropped any, and he didn't know how much longer he could keep it inside him, as he was doing now.  "Drink this," he instructed, holding the cup up to her lips.

            Celeborn tilted the cup, and she drank the hot liquid.  It was almost too hot, but she didn't point that out.  When the cup was drained, he headed for the door.

            "Where are you going?" she inquired.

            "What are you, my wife?" he asked angrily.  "It is no business of yours to know where I am going."

            Galadriel sensed that she was the reason he was leaving and that he couldn't stand to be in her presence anymore.  She knew her comments about Luthien earlier struck a nerve, and she decided to bring the topic up again in case he might subconsciously drop any more hints about who he was.  "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

            "About what?" he said in an irritated tone of voice.

            "About Luthien," she replied.  "Surely you must know she died three years ago."

            That did it.  He could no longer stand this treatment.  Never in his life had someone's comments hurt him so deeply.  Her patronizing remark about his knowledge of Luthien's death made him feel like his heart had been torn out.  "Yes, Luthien is dead!" he yelled.  "She's dead and it's my fault!  You can die, too, for all I care!"

            Without another word, he stormed out of the hut, leaving a befuddled Galadriel behind.