***
Chapter Three
***
Fingolfin paced the stone paths of his garden, deep in thought. Had he neglected the fruits and flowers and left others to learn the way, he might have found it difficult to trod, but by long work he knew his steps and so devoted his whole mind to his troubles, unconciously avoiding the tender flower peeking out into the walkway or the overleaning branch.
His mind was given to many worries, for his young daughter riding far away and for his niece's death-like sleep. Although in truth he knew not what death was like - even the wisest had little experience in that regard. He'd heard tale of a few of the common elves dying of grief, and of course there was his father's first wife Miriel. In any case, last he had seen her Galadriel lay unmoving amidst heaping blankets and pillows, her skin cool to the touch and her hair limp and its glow dim.
He trusted the Ainur, however, and Este the healer had travelled all the way from Lorellin on her fastest steed to tend the Noldorin princess. She had said, "This is not my province, no good will it do to place a healing sleep upon her. She sleeps already. But as it is, I sense she does not rest. She dreams. If I can persuade my husband to leave his gardens, he will come to you. Yet he may not - for I will tell him my true diagnosis, and that is that she will wake in time."
And then she rode away back to her lake-isle with a speed Fingolfin's travelling kin could only envy. No other Valar had visited Galadriel's bedside, but several Maiar came, to tend her, and give advice. Ilmare, Varda's handmaid, brought words and tokens of hope, and Olorin the wise spoke long with them, telling of how Nienna did not weep in pity for Galadriel, but for those who's hearts were darkened while she slept. Curunir had visited, too, although more to study the strange illness then to heal it. Amarie and no lesser of the Vanyar came and offered her skill in tending and healing. Often Fingolfin had seen her comforting Finrod, who sat hunched by his sister's side.
And his wife, Anaire, had returned from visiting friends elsewhere. They waited, now, for Lorien to come, or Galadriel to wake, and ever oftener Fingolfin found himself giving orders to be left alone in his garden, deep in thought...
Finarfin's words the night of the banquet had stayed with him, haunting him. Did he owe Feanor some guilt? He had made every attempt to love him, to welcome him, to treat him as a full brother. Should he have tried harder?
Memories, faint but unyielding, of family celebrations. Dancing down the halls to the feasting rooms, between Finwe and Indis. And Finarfin, too, old enough to talk but still young enough to be carried in his mother's arms. He was laughing, pulling lightly on his mother's clothes to get her to turn this way and that, and she responded with surprised delight, though she herself had set up the decorations. Fingolfin skipped to keep up with his parent's longer strides, reached in to pinch Finarfin's cheek, and nearly missed Feanor's entrance.
He was full-grown and newly married to Nerdanel, with sons of his own perhaps soon to come, but the childish jealousy and anger were barely contained when he looked at Indis and Finarfin.
Eyes ablaze, he had said, "Often you told me my mother did not choose to celebrate this feast. Why change we our ways now?"
"It is for the baby," Indis said gently, but Feanor acted as though she had never spoken.
"You dishonor her," he told his father, and Finwe flinched.
"I did not know that you would return for this day," he said. "I only thought to give the children some joy, and it is not so important a holiday - "
"It is a Vanyar holiday! Miriel died to give you a son, and now you disregard her pride - your pride - to please the little Vanyar babies?"
"They are just children," Finwe said, "and do not understand why they should not feast."
"Did I understand why I alone of elves did not know the comfort of a mother? If you have no respect for Miriel, at least have respect for me!"
Finwe gave no response. He had none to offer, but neither would he hang his head in guilt or shame. Evenly he gazed at his son.
"All things change," Indis answered quietly, with pity, when she saw her husband would not speak.
Bitterly Feanor turned and stared at her. "But not for the better," he said. Then he spun on his heel and strode away from them, and and after a moment they could hear the sound of a horse speeding away, back to the wilder lands that would eventually would contain Formenos. They would not see him again for a long time.
'Then,' Fingolfin thought, 'while I learned to forget the strife within our household, did it grow within him?"
The idea saddened him in innumerable ways.
"Fingolfin, Fingolfin, let me come in!" came a chant from behind the nearest patch of flowers, and then an enormously pleased giggle. A head of fiery golden hair bobbed up, followed by a much tinier body, and before Fingolfin could blink the small form of his only grand-daughter was attatched to his leg.
"Idril!" he exclaimed, surprised but not unwelcoming. With one determined effort he thrust his worries from his mind. "Not by the freckles on my skinny skin skin." Idril laughed. "How did you find yourself here?"
"Anaire brought me," she said, though her voice was muffled as she spoke into the fabric of his leggings.
"Well, we'll just have to go find her, then, won't we?" he replied, sighing in mock exasperation. He began to walk down the path he believed Idril had come by, and Idril clutched at his leg and shrieked. He stopped, afraid. "Are you okay, Idril?"
She stared up at him. "Of course I am."
Fingolfin started walking again, and soon enough Idril commenced her happy screams. Apparently Anaire was drawn by them, but knew their nature, for she soon joined them with a smile on her face.
"Thank you for ignoring my request," Fingolfin said to her, but he couldn't quite manage sarcasm. He was glad to have been interrupted - and his wife could tell.
"You're welcome," she replied, kissing his cheek.
They walked then a while, Idril skipping up front, Anaire with her hand on his waist. He did not think, only felt, her touch and her reassurance. All of a sudden a great ringing celebration filled the air.
"What is that bell, grandfather?" Idril asked, dancing towards where the sound came.
He and Anaire cocked their heads, listening. A smile broke out over Fingolfin's face. "It tells us that Galadriel has woken up at last. Come! Let us go join her."
***
The young Noldor rode quickly for the same reasons that they had shortened the stop at Tirion, though what exactly those reasons were not even the eldest sons of Feanor knew. Nevertheless on their steeds they passed o'er the land at so swift a pace that two could not carry on conversation for long, and any more would fail before they started. They either sang out loudly and sweetly or remained silent and in thought. Or sometimes they studied eachother through half-closed eyes.
They reached the Trees of Light near the end of the day, when Telperion was quite dim and Laurelin waned. .Still, they shone with a light near unbearable; the elves could not look away. They came upon them eagerly, yet their steps slowed as they neared. At last they stopped before them, in quiet awe.
Maglor stood closest to the trees, body drawn taught and his mouth hanging slightly open. He was searching within himself for a song befitting the glory, but finding none, no melody so perfect, he was silent. And in that silence, to his delight, he thought he could hear the pure, clear song of the trees.
Aredhel, to the side and behind him, felt overwhelmed and nearly bowed before the glowing branches. And yet, in her humility she felt strong, and safe, and beautiful.
Maedhros with surprise felt Fingon's hand slip into his, and thought he should pull away, but it felt right. For could anything be but right beneath the majesty of these trees? He gripped his cousin's hand, his fingers running in unconcious halfcircles over Fingon's warm skin.
None of them knew how long they had stared, but Curufin was the first to stand down, and he noticed that their horses had wandered away. He went off to find them, and the twins and Caranthir were stirred by his leaving and followed him. Celegorm, too, was alerted, but judged they did not need anymore help. He was content to stay here and continue to watch the Laurelin fade.
After a while, he said as an aside, "Laurelin indeed has colored Galadriel's hair."
Aredhel gasped noiselessly and turned her face from him. How could she have forgotten? Even now, when the gold tree bathed her in warmth she had not remembered the embrace of her cousin. She had not recalled her laughing, parting words. In these last few days she had barely thought of her at all. The guilt threatened to consume her, along with a sudden ache of longing.
"Ar-Fieniel?" Celegorm asked, and she breathed deeply and looked towards him. "What troubles you?"
"Nothing," she replied at first, and then seeing that would not do, she forced down her pride and said, "perhaps a bit of jealousy. What maiden would not wish to be compared to a tree of light?"
"But you are," said Celegorm at once, "like Telperion, silver and white."
Aredhel made herself grin. "And now that I have caught me some compliments, I am unhappy no more."
Maglor smiled, and Celegorm, and with a measure of regret the three turned to where the others, having regained the hroses, were making camp. A few minutes later Fingon and Maedhros joined them.
It was a quiet meal, as Maglor did not sing between bites but rather watched the trees, and the twins were off in their own little world. Maedhros and Fingon shared casually intense glances, but neither yet spoke. Aredhel would have wondered at that if she had not been absorbed in deep musings of her own.
When at last she had finished chasing down the emotions that swirled through her, she came to the uncertain conclusion that she would gain nothing by imposing punishment upon herself. She did not understand the way she fluttered between disregard and passion. But Galadriel seemed always to know her, and to love her, no matter how wrongly Aredhel thought she had acted. Galadriel could forgive her for a few days' lapse. She would know her heart.
Reassured by her reasoning, Aredhel turned towards the fire. She stared deep into the flames, but did not see them. Instead she pictured Galadriel's fair face, the curves of her cheeks and lashes and sensuous lips. She was determined to make up for lost time.
Meanwhile, Fingon caught another look from Maedhros. He laughed to himself. 'Like children we are,' he thought, 'with our furtive glances.' Then, when next he felt Maedhros' eyes upon him, he looked up and met them. For a moment they simply watched eachother, unheeding of anyone or anything else, seeking confirmation - then abruptly Maedhros turned away, a look of anger and confusion on his face.
"Maedhros?" Fingon asked, sure that everyone could hear his heavy breathing but keeping his voice low nonetheless "Have I done wrong? Speak to me."
"Why?" Maedhros asked, and would not look at him. "There is nothing to say."
"Maedhros - "
But he rose and left abruptly, leaving Fingon to watch his retreating back with consternation. Aredhel, raising her eyes from the fire, wondered what she had missed.
***
Finrod walked along the road, letting his fingers trail on the stone wall raised high and proud along his right. He ran his thumb through the indentations, over the ridges, his mind very far away. A voice, sweet and familiar, brought him back.
"It is not good for you to worry so."
Finrod looked up at Amarie as she stepped onto the path. "That is what older brothers are for. I cannot help but- I just - I have never seen her unwell. I have never seen any elf in sickness, or any wound beyond the accidental scratches of rough play. Why is she so pale? Why doesn't she answer? There is something wrong with her, else why would a Vala have come to see her?"
"That same Vala told us she would wake, and be stronger then ever," Amarie reminded him, patiently. "And I was there with you when Olorin relayed Nienna's words. She sees more then Este, for she is sister to Mandos, who knows all things. Why would she have sent us false hope if she knew her brother would call Galadriel to his halls?"
"You speak wisely, Amarie," he said, his tongue lingering on her name. "But it is so hard not to think about it."
"Well," she said softly, "let me try to take your mind off of things."
"How?"
She stepped closer to him, so he could no longer see past her to the family dwelling place, where his sister slept. With a slender hand she pushed her yellow-gold hair back from her face, letting him see her eyes wide and intent. "Tell me about Aule's caves."
"But - " Finrod looked uncomfortable at her nearness. "How did you know I have seen them?"
Once she saw that he had accepted the change of topic, she let her solemnity slide. Now her eyes sparkled. "Come now, Finrod prince. It cannot remain a secret when an elf akin to Feanor shows talent in the making of jewels."
At the words 'akin to Feanor' his expression fell, and Amarie caught her breath. Finrod looked about to speak in protest, but then changed his mind. He paused for a moment, then began to talk.
"The caves are so very deep, with darkness unimaginable. If you stood in the lowest level of a windowless house at the very end of the day, and closed your eyes very tight, still more treelight would reach you than in the depths of Aule's caves. But it is not a thing to be frightened of - at least, not when Aule is there. Then the hardness of the walls lends to you its strength, and the faint trickle of cavewater far above sustains you."
As he spoke, he moved nearer to Amarie, until they were almost touching. He looked into her eyes, searchingly, watching the words reflect upon her face. She held herself still.
"Amarie," he whispered. When he said her name, a chorus of triumphant bells rang out around them. He looked up in surprise, uncomprehending.
"Finrod. Aren't those the bells that were stilled, until Galadriel's awakening?"
"It is!" Finrod cried. He gathered Amarie into his arms and spun her around, until he stopped with his face buried in her hair. "Thank Varda, thank Varda," he was whispering. Then he seemed to catch himself. "Oh, Amarie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to grab you like that."
Amarie waved off the apology. "Finrod, I - "
"No, no, I truly am sorry. But - come on, we've got to go see Galadriel," he took her hand and began to run towards the house, and Amarie ran with him.
***
The pace towards Formenos was slower once they turned eastward from the trees of light. Had they chosen to speed there as soon as possible, they could have done so quicker then it had taken to get from Tirion to the Trees, though the distance was more then twice as long, for their horses were renewed by the sight of the source of Light. But the trees had filled them with contentment as well as strength. At least, it had done so to some of the travellers.
"I should like to learn to make gems as you do," Aredhel said to Curufin, pulling along side him as they rode slower then usual. "Of course you cannot show me now, but tell me at least, how does it feel to hold a new-made jewel in your hands?"
"It is a contradictory feeling, my lady. Like the gem itself - for though it is enchanting, it is not fragile as most pretty things are. It is both beautiful and strong - rather like you, my lady," he said softly, and Aredhel struggled not to blush. Smiling, Curufin continued, "And so when you look upon it you feel great pride in the making of it, but also humbled by it. These are the great gems, mind you. Many a simple trinket is made that inspires nothing but the pleasant glow of giving it away."
"And how do you make these gems?"
"Oh, there are many different ways. If you'll pardon me, I can't reveal the secret of the higher gems. My father permits no women - not even my mother Nerdanel, to know. A pity, that. Both you and she would do well at it. But I may explain the basics. First you find pure, flawless shells, they must be absolutely clear. Then you - you bathe them in color. So deep that the color is caught, contained, within the shell."
"How do you get the different colors?"
"Most often from flowers, but there is ever an alternative. You can color green from the leaves of plants, or you can use the deep sea water and tinge it with light. You can use a rose, or thick flames, or blood. Nay," he said, seeing her startled expression. "That has never been done. But it is a possibility. There are a great many possibilities inherent in the making of jewels, so that I never tire of making them, but none when fulfilled would be as great as the Silmarils."
Another day while camp was being made she convinced Celegorm to teach her how to hunt, for he was great among the hunters of Valinor. He had many times ridden with Orome, he who had led the elves from Cuivienen. She knew Celegorm would delight in teaching her, for he had succeeded admirably with Amrod and Amras, who watched them now.
"First," said Celegorm, "one must become accurate. It is useless to have strength or speed if you never hit your mark." He motioned to Amrod, who set up a target. "Now, let me see how you draw your bow."
Aredhel attempted to pull it back, but failed utterly. "I can't. It barely moves."
"Let me see that," Celegorm said, taking the ornate weapon. "This was never meant to be used. It is for decoration."
"Well, what am I to do then?" Aredhel sighed in frustration. "It's not like I can use your great bow."
"Not now. But if you practice pulling it back, and if you lift the heaviest bags often, perhaps you will gain the strength needed for the twins' smaller ones. Although it would be far easier just to wait, and get one once we reach Formenos. Many of the common women have them there."
"The women hunt?" Aredhel asked in surprise, thinking of the maidens she had known who would begrudge her even her horse races were she not a princess, and would become quite indignant if she learned to use a weapon. They would rather she was like Galadriel, wise but sedate.
"It is quite different then in the great cities of Eldamar," Celegorm reminded her. "There is not so large a respect for tradition here. Perhaps it is because there is no established royalty. Father has taken to going there, of late, but in name our home is in Tirion. Still, do not take my word for it, I would not know of such things."
Aredhel nodded, but then she gave a groan of frustration which rather startled Celegorm. Despite her actions and words he still looked upon his cousin as at heart a maiden. That - sound - could have come from one of his brothers. "I'd like to start now," Aredhel explained, "but it seems I cannot."
"My lady," spoke up Amras, "if you like we can refashion my bow. Cut it down to your size, and restring it."
"No, Amras, I couldn't ask that," Aredhel declared. "I may be headstrong, but I am not selfish. And though neither am I a hunter, I know what it means to lose your bow."
"Aye, but I meant to get myself a new one when we reached Formenos," he replied smoothly, "and until then I can use my brother's."
Aredhel hesitated only a moment before her eyes lit up. "Thank you! I am in your debt."
"I know," said Amras coyly, and for once the somber expression of his face was broken by a grin. He slung his bow off his shoulder, and handed it to her, and she leaned over and gave him a cousinly kiss. Then she walked away with Celegorm, as he told her how to refit a bow.
"Well done," Amrod whispered teasingly. "And did you ask if you could use mine?" He recieved an elbow for his complaint. But it was only pretense, for despite the cousins' games, only Curufin and Celegorm were truly vying for Aredhel's attentions. The others were preoccupied with other thoughts and other people, or merely did not feel the call of mating, or like the twins were too young. The twins soon lapsed back into their wordless companionship.
By the next day the work was completed, and once again Celegorm took Aredhel and the twins aside. "Now, let us try again."
"'Tis still quite difficult," Aredhel said through gritted teeth as she attempted to pull it back to his full length. It was easy enough to get it halfway there, but soon after she met with resistance and the string began to cut into her fingers.
"My lady, have you ever tried to do this before?" Celegorm asked.
"Well... no."
"As you practice it will become easier. And even if we could make a lighter bow, it would still befit you to do some exercises. You have not been given great strength as we males have, and you must build it if you want your prey to do anything besides lick the wound where your arrow strikes." He continued to teach her, while the others watched, in between attending to their chores.
"Much does my sister learn on this trip," Fingon said where he sat near Maedhros by the fire. His voice dipped low. "But not as I have come to know..."
"What mean you, cousin?" Maedhros asked, too loudly, deliberately not turning to face him. He leaned back on his hands, his red hair flowing down his back, his face expressionless. Fingon did not answer, did not explain, and Maedhros did not ask him to.
Fingon turned back to watch the shooting lesson, bewildered. The empty half-smile on his friend's face was nothing like the looks he had been giving him before Fingon took his hand by the Trees. He thought then that they might come to a new understanding, but now it seemed Maedhros had grown distant, and as they approached Formenos the stolen glances had become rare.
Perhaps he had incorrectly guessed the hidden meaning of his cousin's banter. Had he ruined it? Did Maedhros not *want* this? Then why had he returned the grip, caressing his hand? If it meant nothing to him, why was he now so cold?
At last he decided to be direct. "Have I offended you?" he asked.
Maedhros caught his breath. Then, flippantly, "No, of course not. Why do you ask?"
"Perhaps," said Fingon, beginning to become annoyed, "because that is the only reason for the way you are acting, unless you have suddenly become a maiden!"
Maedhros did turn to look at him now, mouth agape. "What?"
Fingon blushed. He had not meant his frusration to come so clearly across. "I'm sorry. What I meant was... was... you seem changed. Unapproachable. I miss your conversation... among other things."
Fingon could not be mistaking the look Maedhros shot him, full of desire and regret. "My mind is taken up with thoughts of my father."
"What?" Now it was Fingon's turn to be surprised.
"Oh, yes. I thought you would realize," his voice took on a patronizing tone. "The eldest son must follow his father's will in all things. He must teach his siblings, bring honor to the household, produce an heir..."
"I see."
"You do?" Fingon could not tell whether Maedhros was relieved or disapointed.
"Yes. I should have known that's what it would be. For you."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing," Fingon replied slowly, deliberately. "I thought you would realize." Maedhros scowled at having his words flung back at him.
"You are not a King yourself, Maedhros. You are but the eldest son of the eldest son of the King. A second-hand prince." Maedhros looked angry at that, and moved to speak, but Fingon placed a finger upon his mouth. Maedhros' lips parted slightly beneath the soft touch, but he kept himself still as his cousin continued. "Your first son will not be needed unless all three of you die. And I vow that will not happen so long as I live."
"You should not make vows, Fingon. They are dangerous."
"And sometimes, they are worth it," he replied. Summoning his courage, he leaned over and pressed his lips to his cousin's. For the briefest of possible moments, no longer then the flickering of a candle or the quick sigh of restless wind, they were together, hroa and fea, body and spirit. Then Maedhros pulled away again.
"Do not seek out my weaknesses, cousin. If you speak truly, then time we have in abundance. Let me be for now."
Then he rose without looking back, as though doing so would shatter his will and halt his steps. Fingon could not watch him for long, and instead placed his head in his hands, feeling lost and the taste of Maedhros still sweet and bitter upon his mouth.
***
Soon after Earwen had left, Galadriel heard the loud ringing of bells. The vibrations from each stroke rebounded in what could be a cacophony of confusion in the hands of an inexperienced bellringer. Instead the rings and their echoes wove around eachother in a pattern as intricate as a flute's.
Before long she heard fast footsteps in the hallway, and to her delight Orodreth, Aegnor and Angrod burst through the door and surrounded her bed. Eagerly Angrod reached to embrace her, while the others impatiently waited. Then Aegnor took her into his arms and for a moment lay his head upon her soft hair before pulling away. Last Orodreth moved to give her a gentle hug, but as they touched she gasped.
//Caves, glittering with the gifts of Aule. But distant, and filled with the harsh cold of long-running water, and in that water flowed blood.//
"What is it, sister?" Orodreth asked with great concern.
Galadriel did not speak for a moment, consumed in an attempt to recall the vision which had shocked her so. But now it was gone, leaving but a memory of fear. She could almost sense where it had gone, to the east upon the wind, to the land she had travelled while dreaming. After a moment, she murmured, "I am merely tired, is all."
Before he could respond, a flurry of elves arrived. First Finrod and Amarie ran breathless through, followed by Elenwe and Turgon. "We were on our way to visit you," Turgon explained. Galadriel was about to respond when the people at the door gave way.
Finarfin stopped at the threshold, for a moment overwhelmed by the many joy-filled faces. Then he brushed past them all to his only daughter, who held out her hands to greet him. He took them, gently, searching her face and body for some signs of permanent weakness, but saw only the vestiges of weariness of a child just woken from sleep. He pulled her to him, and whispered to her, "I am glad to see you back."
After a moment, Earwen took a place on the bed next to her husband. The others curteously left the room to wait, though for a certainty they did not go far. Finrod was the last to leave. Having not yet greeted his sister, he looked to do so eagerly, but Amarie drew him out.
"Galadriel," Finarfin said softly, his sweet voice easing almost into song as it had when she was younger. "Are you truly feeling well?"
"I am, father," Galadriel replied. "Had I not been assured otherwise, I would say I had but slept a night and day away. Only, I - "
"What is it?" Finarfin pressed, sensing her hesitation.
"When my brothers first greeted me, I felt this - this thing come over me."
"Dizziness?" Earwen asked, anxious.
"No. It was - I can not even remember it any more. But it frightened me."
Finarfin drew his daughter to his chest, and he held her there for a while, while Earwen stoked her hair and laid a hand on her husband's shoulder. Despite Galadriel's words she neither shook nor trembled, and needed not the contact as a source of comfort. Yet she saw that her parents derived great happiness from the embrace, and so she remained in it. It was pleasant enough, and offered a moment of silence to recollect herself.
That silence was broken by a sudden outbreak of muted voices. They turned in time to see Fingolfin walk calmly through the door.
"Fingolfin!" Finarfin said with a wide smile as he released his daughter. "I am glad you are here to join in our celebration."
"So am I," Fingolfin replied, "and celebrate we must. After all, dear girl," he adressed his niece, "there are not so many Noldorin princesses that we can afford to have one away slumbering for always. It is an enormous relief to me to see you waking."
"I am pleased that you are, Uncle," Galadriel replied.
"And yet, I did not come for simply celebration. I am afraid I am very curious as to what you remember, Galadriel. What did you dream?"
"I was walking... through forests, deep shadowed forests. The animals were all hidden, but their songs were sweet and like nothing I've ever heard. Dark, and rich. Towering branches, there were, so high it seemed deceptively empty."
"That was all?" Fingolfin asked gently.
"No, there was so much more that I can't remember. And what I tell you - it might seem like nothing when I say it. But each step I took brought me to something new. I spent long hours gathering these strange berries, so small and blue-red they were, and with a sharp taste..."
Fingolfin did not manage to mask his disapointment. He had been intrigued by the words of Este, and of Nienna relayed through Olorin. While from the bright cheeks and calm voice of Galadriel this long sleep was not a curse, it neither seemed a blessing. It was, indeed, a mystery. Ah, but there would be time later for ruminations and discussions. For now, he would leave them in peace.
Finarfin gave Galadriel a more heartfelt smile, but also stood to go. "I will let your mother tend you, Galadriel. No doubt she knows how to better than I. Fingolfin, may I speak with you?"
"Aye, you may."
After giving Galadriel a kiss one last kiss on the forehead, Finarfin exited with his brother.
"You knew more than you told your father," Earwen said quietly.
Watching her mother, Galadriel knew it was useless to lie. But still she wished to keep secret the indescribable lightness in her heart, and the sudden longing. She only answered, "Yes."
"Galadriel, please tell me." Earwen was nearly begging, but Galadriel's eyes had gone distant again.
She was remembering, that there was someone else in her dream, guiding her and following her. An elf who was not seen or named but ever near her, singing to her through the whispering of trees, calling her to the strange place, protecting her and being protected by her.
Like the vision of fear and water she recieved when she touched her brother's arm, with the passage of time the memory grew ever fainter. But this vision she treasured, this memory of love and silver.
***
Chapter Three
***
Fingolfin paced the stone paths of his garden, deep in thought. Had he neglected the fruits and flowers and left others to learn the way, he might have found it difficult to trod, but by long work he knew his steps and so devoted his whole mind to his troubles, unconciously avoiding the tender flower peeking out into the walkway or the overleaning branch.
His mind was given to many worries, for his young daughter riding far away and for his niece's death-like sleep. Although in truth he knew not what death was like - even the wisest had little experience in that regard. He'd heard tale of a few of the common elves dying of grief, and of course there was his father's first wife Miriel. In any case, last he had seen her Galadriel lay unmoving amidst heaping blankets and pillows, her skin cool to the touch and her hair limp and its glow dim.
He trusted the Ainur, however, and Este the healer had travelled all the way from Lorellin on her fastest steed to tend the Noldorin princess. She had said, "This is not my province, no good will it do to place a healing sleep upon her. She sleeps already. But as it is, I sense she does not rest. She dreams. If I can persuade my husband to leave his gardens, he will come to you. Yet he may not - for I will tell him my true diagnosis, and that is that she will wake in time."
And then she rode away back to her lake-isle with a speed Fingolfin's travelling kin could only envy. No other Valar had visited Galadriel's bedside, but several Maiar came, to tend her, and give advice. Ilmare, Varda's handmaid, brought words and tokens of hope, and Olorin the wise spoke long with them, telling of how Nienna did not weep in pity for Galadriel, but for those who's hearts were darkened while she slept. Curunir had visited, too, although more to study the strange illness then to heal it. Amarie and no lesser of the Vanyar came and offered her skill in tending and healing. Often Fingolfin had seen her comforting Finrod, who sat hunched by his sister's side.
And his wife, Anaire, had returned from visiting friends elsewhere. They waited, now, for Lorien to come, or Galadriel to wake, and ever oftener Fingolfin found himself giving orders to be left alone in his garden, deep in thought...
Finarfin's words the night of the banquet had stayed with him, haunting him. Did he owe Feanor some guilt? He had made every attempt to love him, to welcome him, to treat him as a full brother. Should he have tried harder?
Memories, faint but unyielding, of family celebrations. Dancing down the halls to the feasting rooms, between Finwe and Indis. And Finarfin, too, old enough to talk but still young enough to be carried in his mother's arms. He was laughing, pulling lightly on his mother's clothes to get her to turn this way and that, and she responded with surprised delight, though she herself had set up the decorations. Fingolfin skipped to keep up with his parent's longer strides, reached in to pinch Finarfin's cheek, and nearly missed Feanor's entrance.
He was full-grown and newly married to Nerdanel, with sons of his own perhaps soon to come, but the childish jealousy and anger were barely contained when he looked at Indis and Finarfin.
Eyes ablaze, he had said, "Often you told me my mother did not choose to celebrate this feast. Why change we our ways now?"
"It is for the baby," Indis said gently, but Feanor acted as though she had never spoken.
"You dishonor her," he told his father, and Finwe flinched.
"I did not know that you would return for this day," he said. "I only thought to give the children some joy, and it is not so important a holiday - "
"It is a Vanyar holiday! Miriel died to give you a son, and now you disregard her pride - your pride - to please the little Vanyar babies?"
"They are just children," Finwe said, "and do not understand why they should not feast."
"Did I understand why I alone of elves did not know the comfort of a mother? If you have no respect for Miriel, at least have respect for me!"
Finwe gave no response. He had none to offer, but neither would he hang his head in guilt or shame. Evenly he gazed at his son.
"All things change," Indis answered quietly, with pity, when she saw her husband would not speak.
Bitterly Feanor turned and stared at her. "But not for the better," he said. Then he spun on his heel and strode away from them, and and after a moment they could hear the sound of a horse speeding away, back to the wilder lands that would eventually would contain Formenos. They would not see him again for a long time.
'Then,' Fingolfin thought, 'while I learned to forget the strife within our household, did it grow within him?"
The idea saddened him in innumerable ways.
"Fingolfin, Fingolfin, let me come in!" came a chant from behind the nearest patch of flowers, and then an enormously pleased giggle. A head of fiery golden hair bobbed up, followed by a much tinier body, and before Fingolfin could blink the small form of his only grand-daughter was attatched to his leg.
"Idril!" he exclaimed, surprised but not unwelcoming. With one determined effort he thrust his worries from his mind. "Not by the freckles on my skinny skin skin." Idril laughed. "How did you find yourself here?"
"Anaire brought me," she said, though her voice was muffled as she spoke into the fabric of his leggings.
"Well, we'll just have to go find her, then, won't we?" he replied, sighing in mock exasperation. He began to walk down the path he believed Idril had come by, and Idril clutched at his leg and shrieked. He stopped, afraid. "Are you okay, Idril?"
She stared up at him. "Of course I am."
Fingolfin started walking again, and soon enough Idril commenced her happy screams. Apparently Anaire was drawn by them, but knew their nature, for she soon joined them with a smile on her face.
"Thank you for ignoring my request," Fingolfin said to her, but he couldn't quite manage sarcasm. He was glad to have been interrupted - and his wife could tell.
"You're welcome," she replied, kissing his cheek.
They walked then a while, Idril skipping up front, Anaire with her hand on his waist. He did not think, only felt, her touch and her reassurance. All of a sudden a great ringing celebration filled the air.
"What is that bell, grandfather?" Idril asked, dancing towards where the sound came.
He and Anaire cocked their heads, listening. A smile broke out over Fingolfin's face. "It tells us that Galadriel has woken up at last. Come! Let us go join her."
***
The young Noldor rode quickly for the same reasons that they had shortened the stop at Tirion, though what exactly those reasons were not even the eldest sons of Feanor knew. Nevertheless on their steeds they passed o'er the land at so swift a pace that two could not carry on conversation for long, and any more would fail before they started. They either sang out loudly and sweetly or remained silent and in thought. Or sometimes they studied eachother through half-closed eyes.
They reached the Trees of Light near the end of the day, when Telperion was quite dim and Laurelin waned. .Still, they shone with a light near unbearable; the elves could not look away. They came upon them eagerly, yet their steps slowed as they neared. At last they stopped before them, in quiet awe.
Maglor stood closest to the trees, body drawn taught and his mouth hanging slightly open. He was searching within himself for a song befitting the glory, but finding none, no melody so perfect, he was silent. And in that silence, to his delight, he thought he could hear the pure, clear song of the trees.
Aredhel, to the side and behind him, felt overwhelmed and nearly bowed before the glowing branches. And yet, in her humility she felt strong, and safe, and beautiful.
Maedhros with surprise felt Fingon's hand slip into his, and thought he should pull away, but it felt right. For could anything be but right beneath the majesty of these trees? He gripped his cousin's hand, his fingers running in unconcious halfcircles over Fingon's warm skin.
None of them knew how long they had stared, but Curufin was the first to stand down, and he noticed that their horses had wandered away. He went off to find them, and the twins and Caranthir were stirred by his leaving and followed him. Celegorm, too, was alerted, but judged they did not need anymore help. He was content to stay here and continue to watch the Laurelin fade.
After a while, he said as an aside, "Laurelin indeed has colored Galadriel's hair."
Aredhel gasped noiselessly and turned her face from him. How could she have forgotten? Even now, when the gold tree bathed her in warmth she had not remembered the embrace of her cousin. She had not recalled her laughing, parting words. In these last few days she had barely thought of her at all. The guilt threatened to consume her, along with a sudden ache of longing.
"Ar-Fieniel?" Celegorm asked, and she breathed deeply and looked towards him. "What troubles you?"
"Nothing," she replied at first, and then seeing that would not do, she forced down her pride and said, "perhaps a bit of jealousy. What maiden would not wish to be compared to a tree of light?"
"But you are," said Celegorm at once, "like Telperion, silver and white."
Aredhel made herself grin. "And now that I have caught me some compliments, I am unhappy no more."
Maglor smiled, and Celegorm, and with a measure of regret the three turned to where the others, having regained the hroses, were making camp. A few minutes later Fingon and Maedhros joined them.
It was a quiet meal, as Maglor did not sing between bites but rather watched the trees, and the twins were off in their own little world. Maedhros and Fingon shared casually intense glances, but neither yet spoke. Aredhel would have wondered at that if she had not been absorbed in deep musings of her own.
When at last she had finished chasing down the emotions that swirled through her, she came to the uncertain conclusion that she would gain nothing by imposing punishment upon herself. She did not understand the way she fluttered between disregard and passion. But Galadriel seemed always to know her, and to love her, no matter how wrongly Aredhel thought she had acted. Galadriel could forgive her for a few days' lapse. She would know her heart.
Reassured by her reasoning, Aredhel turned towards the fire. She stared deep into the flames, but did not see them. Instead she pictured Galadriel's fair face, the curves of her cheeks and lashes and sensuous lips. She was determined to make up for lost time.
Meanwhile, Fingon caught another look from Maedhros. He laughed to himself. 'Like children we are,' he thought, 'with our furtive glances.' Then, when next he felt Maedhros' eyes upon him, he looked up and met them. For a moment they simply watched eachother, unheeding of anyone or anything else, seeking confirmation - then abruptly Maedhros turned away, a look of anger and confusion on his face.
"Maedhros?" Fingon asked, sure that everyone could hear his heavy breathing but keeping his voice low nonetheless "Have I done wrong? Speak to me."
"Why?" Maedhros asked, and would not look at him. "There is nothing to say."
"Maedhros - "
But he rose and left abruptly, leaving Fingon to watch his retreating back with consternation. Aredhel, raising her eyes from the fire, wondered what she had missed.
***
Finrod walked along the road, letting his fingers trail on the stone wall raised high and proud along his right. He ran his thumb through the indentations, over the ridges, his mind very far away. A voice, sweet and familiar, brought him back.
"It is not good for you to worry so."
Finrod looked up at Amarie as she stepped onto the path. "That is what older brothers are for. I cannot help but- I just - I have never seen her unwell. I have never seen any elf in sickness, or any wound beyond the accidental scratches of rough play. Why is she so pale? Why doesn't she answer? There is something wrong with her, else why would a Vala have come to see her?"
"That same Vala told us she would wake, and be stronger then ever," Amarie reminded him, patiently. "And I was there with you when Olorin relayed Nienna's words. She sees more then Este, for she is sister to Mandos, who knows all things. Why would she have sent us false hope if she knew her brother would call Galadriel to his halls?"
"You speak wisely, Amarie," he said, his tongue lingering on her name. "But it is so hard not to think about it."
"Well," she said softly, "let me try to take your mind off of things."
"How?"
She stepped closer to him, so he could no longer see past her to the family dwelling place, where his sister slept. With a slender hand she pushed her yellow-gold hair back from her face, letting him see her eyes wide and intent. "Tell me about Aule's caves."
"But - " Finrod looked uncomfortable at her nearness. "How did you know I have seen them?"
Once she saw that he had accepted the change of topic, she let her solemnity slide. Now her eyes sparkled. "Come now, Finrod prince. It cannot remain a secret when an elf akin to Feanor shows talent in the making of jewels."
At the words 'akin to Feanor' his expression fell, and Amarie caught her breath. Finrod looked about to speak in protest, but then changed his mind. He paused for a moment, then began to talk.
"The caves are so very deep, with darkness unimaginable. If you stood in the lowest level of a windowless house at the very end of the day, and closed your eyes very tight, still more treelight would reach you than in the depths of Aule's caves. But it is not a thing to be frightened of - at least, not when Aule is there. Then the hardness of the walls lends to you its strength, and the faint trickle of cavewater far above sustains you."
As he spoke, he moved nearer to Amarie, until they were almost touching. He looked into her eyes, searchingly, watching the words reflect upon her face. She held herself still.
"Amarie," he whispered. When he said her name, a chorus of triumphant bells rang out around them. He looked up in surprise, uncomprehending.
"Finrod. Aren't those the bells that were stilled, until Galadriel's awakening?"
"It is!" Finrod cried. He gathered Amarie into his arms and spun her around, until he stopped with his face buried in her hair. "Thank Varda, thank Varda," he was whispering. Then he seemed to catch himself. "Oh, Amarie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to grab you like that."
Amarie waved off the apology. "Finrod, I - "
"No, no, I truly am sorry. But - come on, we've got to go see Galadriel," he took her hand and began to run towards the house, and Amarie ran with him.
***
The pace towards Formenos was slower once they turned eastward from the trees of light. Had they chosen to speed there as soon as possible, they could have done so quicker then it had taken to get from Tirion to the Trees, though the distance was more then twice as long, for their horses were renewed by the sight of the source of Light. But the trees had filled them with contentment as well as strength. At least, it had done so to some of the travellers.
"I should like to learn to make gems as you do," Aredhel said to Curufin, pulling along side him as they rode slower then usual. "Of course you cannot show me now, but tell me at least, how does it feel to hold a new-made jewel in your hands?"
"It is a contradictory feeling, my lady. Like the gem itself - for though it is enchanting, it is not fragile as most pretty things are. It is both beautiful and strong - rather like you, my lady," he said softly, and Aredhel struggled not to blush. Smiling, Curufin continued, "And so when you look upon it you feel great pride in the making of it, but also humbled by it. These are the great gems, mind you. Many a simple trinket is made that inspires nothing but the pleasant glow of giving it away."
"And how do you make these gems?"
"Oh, there are many different ways. If you'll pardon me, I can't reveal the secret of the higher gems. My father permits no women - not even my mother Nerdanel, to know. A pity, that. Both you and she would do well at it. But I may explain the basics. First you find pure, flawless shells, they must be absolutely clear. Then you - you bathe them in color. So deep that the color is caught, contained, within the shell."
"How do you get the different colors?"
"Most often from flowers, but there is ever an alternative. You can color green from the leaves of plants, or you can use the deep sea water and tinge it with light. You can use a rose, or thick flames, or blood. Nay," he said, seeing her startled expression. "That has never been done. But it is a possibility. There are a great many possibilities inherent in the making of jewels, so that I never tire of making them, but none when fulfilled would be as great as the Silmarils."
Another day while camp was being made she convinced Celegorm to teach her how to hunt, for he was great among the hunters of Valinor. He had many times ridden with Orome, he who had led the elves from Cuivienen. She knew Celegorm would delight in teaching her, for he had succeeded admirably with Amrod and Amras, who watched them now.
"First," said Celegorm, "one must become accurate. It is useless to have strength or speed if you never hit your mark." He motioned to Amrod, who set up a target. "Now, let me see how you draw your bow."
Aredhel attempted to pull it back, but failed utterly. "I can't. It barely moves."
"Let me see that," Celegorm said, taking the ornate weapon. "This was never meant to be used. It is for decoration."
"Well, what am I to do then?" Aredhel sighed in frustration. "It's not like I can use your great bow."
"Not now. But if you practice pulling it back, and if you lift the heaviest bags often, perhaps you will gain the strength needed for the twins' smaller ones. Although it would be far easier just to wait, and get one once we reach Formenos. Many of the common women have them there."
"The women hunt?" Aredhel asked in surprise, thinking of the maidens she had known who would begrudge her even her horse races were she not a princess, and would become quite indignant if she learned to use a weapon. They would rather she was like Galadriel, wise but sedate.
"It is quite different then in the great cities of Eldamar," Celegorm reminded her. "There is not so large a respect for tradition here. Perhaps it is because there is no established royalty. Father has taken to going there, of late, but in name our home is in Tirion. Still, do not take my word for it, I would not know of such things."
Aredhel nodded, but then she gave a groan of frustration which rather startled Celegorm. Despite her actions and words he still looked upon his cousin as at heart a maiden. That - sound - could have come from one of his brothers. "I'd like to start now," Aredhel explained, "but it seems I cannot."
"My lady," spoke up Amras, "if you like we can refashion my bow. Cut it down to your size, and restring it."
"No, Amras, I couldn't ask that," Aredhel declared. "I may be headstrong, but I am not selfish. And though neither am I a hunter, I know what it means to lose your bow."
"Aye, but I meant to get myself a new one when we reached Formenos," he replied smoothly, "and until then I can use my brother's."
Aredhel hesitated only a moment before her eyes lit up. "Thank you! I am in your debt."
"I know," said Amras coyly, and for once the somber expression of his face was broken by a grin. He slung his bow off his shoulder, and handed it to her, and she leaned over and gave him a cousinly kiss. Then she walked away with Celegorm, as he told her how to refit a bow.
"Well done," Amrod whispered teasingly. "And did you ask if you could use mine?" He recieved an elbow for his complaint. But it was only pretense, for despite the cousins' games, only Curufin and Celegorm were truly vying for Aredhel's attentions. The others were preoccupied with other thoughts and other people, or merely did not feel the call of mating, or like the twins were too young. The twins soon lapsed back into their wordless companionship.
By the next day the work was completed, and once again Celegorm took Aredhel and the twins aside. "Now, let us try again."
"'Tis still quite difficult," Aredhel said through gritted teeth as she attempted to pull it back to his full length. It was easy enough to get it halfway there, but soon after she met with resistance and the string began to cut into her fingers.
"My lady, have you ever tried to do this before?" Celegorm asked.
"Well... no."
"As you practice it will become easier. And even if we could make a lighter bow, it would still befit you to do some exercises. You have not been given great strength as we males have, and you must build it if you want your prey to do anything besides lick the wound where your arrow strikes." He continued to teach her, while the others watched, in between attending to their chores.
"Much does my sister learn on this trip," Fingon said where he sat near Maedhros by the fire. His voice dipped low. "But not as I have come to know..."
"What mean you, cousin?" Maedhros asked, too loudly, deliberately not turning to face him. He leaned back on his hands, his red hair flowing down his back, his face expressionless. Fingon did not answer, did not explain, and Maedhros did not ask him to.
Fingon turned back to watch the shooting lesson, bewildered. The empty half-smile on his friend's face was nothing like the looks he had been giving him before Fingon took his hand by the Trees. He thought then that they might come to a new understanding, but now it seemed Maedhros had grown distant, and as they approached Formenos the stolen glances had become rare.
Perhaps he had incorrectly guessed the hidden meaning of his cousin's banter. Had he ruined it? Did Maedhros not *want* this? Then why had he returned the grip, caressing his hand? If it meant nothing to him, why was he now so cold?
At last he decided to be direct. "Have I offended you?" he asked.
Maedhros caught his breath. Then, flippantly, "No, of course not. Why do you ask?"
"Perhaps," said Fingon, beginning to become annoyed, "because that is the only reason for the way you are acting, unless you have suddenly become a maiden!"
Maedhros did turn to look at him now, mouth agape. "What?"
Fingon blushed. He had not meant his frusration to come so clearly across. "I'm sorry. What I meant was... was... you seem changed. Unapproachable. I miss your conversation... among other things."
Fingon could not be mistaking the look Maedhros shot him, full of desire and regret. "My mind is taken up with thoughts of my father."
"What?" Now it was Fingon's turn to be surprised.
"Oh, yes. I thought you would realize," his voice took on a patronizing tone. "The eldest son must follow his father's will in all things. He must teach his siblings, bring honor to the household, produce an heir..."
"I see."
"You do?" Fingon could not tell whether Maedhros was relieved or disapointed.
"Yes. I should have known that's what it would be. For you."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing," Fingon replied slowly, deliberately. "I thought you would realize." Maedhros scowled at having his words flung back at him.
"You are not a King yourself, Maedhros. You are but the eldest son of the eldest son of the King. A second-hand prince." Maedhros looked angry at that, and moved to speak, but Fingon placed a finger upon his mouth. Maedhros' lips parted slightly beneath the soft touch, but he kept himself still as his cousin continued. "Your first son will not be needed unless all three of you die. And I vow that will not happen so long as I live."
"You should not make vows, Fingon. They are dangerous."
"And sometimes, they are worth it," he replied. Summoning his courage, he leaned over and pressed his lips to his cousin's. For the briefest of possible moments, no longer then the flickering of a candle or the quick sigh of restless wind, they were together, hroa and fea, body and spirit. Then Maedhros pulled away again.
"Do not seek out my weaknesses, cousin. If you speak truly, then time we have in abundance. Let me be for now."
Then he rose without looking back, as though doing so would shatter his will and halt his steps. Fingon could not watch him for long, and instead placed his head in his hands, feeling lost and the taste of Maedhros still sweet and bitter upon his mouth.
***
Soon after Earwen had left, Galadriel heard the loud ringing of bells. The vibrations from each stroke rebounded in what could be a cacophony of confusion in the hands of an inexperienced bellringer. Instead the rings and their echoes wove around eachother in a pattern as intricate as a flute's.
Before long she heard fast footsteps in the hallway, and to her delight Orodreth, Aegnor and Angrod burst through the door and surrounded her bed. Eagerly Angrod reached to embrace her, while the others impatiently waited. Then Aegnor took her into his arms and for a moment lay his head upon her soft hair before pulling away. Last Orodreth moved to give her a gentle hug, but as they touched she gasped.
//Caves, glittering with the gifts of Aule. But distant, and filled with the harsh cold of long-running water, and in that water flowed blood.//
"What is it, sister?" Orodreth asked with great concern.
Galadriel did not speak for a moment, consumed in an attempt to recall the vision which had shocked her so. But now it was gone, leaving but a memory of fear. She could almost sense where it had gone, to the east upon the wind, to the land she had travelled while dreaming. After a moment, she murmured, "I am merely tired, is all."
Before he could respond, a flurry of elves arrived. First Finrod and Amarie ran breathless through, followed by Elenwe and Turgon. "We were on our way to visit you," Turgon explained. Galadriel was about to respond when the people at the door gave way.
Finarfin stopped at the threshold, for a moment overwhelmed by the many joy-filled faces. Then he brushed past them all to his only daughter, who held out her hands to greet him. He took them, gently, searching her face and body for some signs of permanent weakness, but saw only the vestiges of weariness of a child just woken from sleep. He pulled her to him, and whispered to her, "I am glad to see you back."
After a moment, Earwen took a place on the bed next to her husband. The others curteously left the room to wait, though for a certainty they did not go far. Finrod was the last to leave. Having not yet greeted his sister, he looked to do so eagerly, but Amarie drew him out.
"Galadriel," Finarfin said softly, his sweet voice easing almost into song as it had when she was younger. "Are you truly feeling well?"
"I am, father," Galadriel replied. "Had I not been assured otherwise, I would say I had but slept a night and day away. Only, I - "
"What is it?" Finarfin pressed, sensing her hesitation.
"When my brothers first greeted me, I felt this - this thing come over me."
"Dizziness?" Earwen asked, anxious.
"No. It was - I can not even remember it any more. But it frightened me."
Finarfin drew his daughter to his chest, and he held her there for a while, while Earwen stoked her hair and laid a hand on her husband's shoulder. Despite Galadriel's words she neither shook nor trembled, and needed not the contact as a source of comfort. Yet she saw that her parents derived great happiness from the embrace, and so she remained in it. It was pleasant enough, and offered a moment of silence to recollect herself.
That silence was broken by a sudden outbreak of muted voices. They turned in time to see Fingolfin walk calmly through the door.
"Fingolfin!" Finarfin said with a wide smile as he released his daughter. "I am glad you are here to join in our celebration."
"So am I," Fingolfin replied, "and celebrate we must. After all, dear girl," he adressed his niece, "there are not so many Noldorin princesses that we can afford to have one away slumbering for always. It is an enormous relief to me to see you waking."
"I am pleased that you are, Uncle," Galadriel replied.
"And yet, I did not come for simply celebration. I am afraid I am very curious as to what you remember, Galadriel. What did you dream?"
"I was walking... through forests, deep shadowed forests. The animals were all hidden, but their songs were sweet and like nothing I've ever heard. Dark, and rich. Towering branches, there were, so high it seemed deceptively empty."
"That was all?" Fingolfin asked gently.
"No, there was so much more that I can't remember. And what I tell you - it might seem like nothing when I say it. But each step I took brought me to something new. I spent long hours gathering these strange berries, so small and blue-red they were, and with a sharp taste..."
Fingolfin did not manage to mask his disapointment. He had been intrigued by the words of Este, and of Nienna relayed through Olorin. While from the bright cheeks and calm voice of Galadriel this long sleep was not a curse, it neither seemed a blessing. It was, indeed, a mystery. Ah, but there would be time later for ruminations and discussions. For now, he would leave them in peace.
Finarfin gave Galadriel a more heartfelt smile, but also stood to go. "I will let your mother tend you, Galadriel. No doubt she knows how to better than I. Fingolfin, may I speak with you?"
"Aye, you may."
After giving Galadriel a kiss one last kiss on the forehead, Finarfin exited with his brother.
"You knew more than you told your father," Earwen said quietly.
Watching her mother, Galadriel knew it was useless to lie. But still she wished to keep secret the indescribable lightness in her heart, and the sudden longing. She only answered, "Yes."
"Galadriel, please tell me." Earwen was nearly begging, but Galadriel's eyes had gone distant again.
She was remembering, that there was someone else in her dream, guiding her and following her. An elf who was not seen or named but ever near her, singing to her through the whispering of trees, calling her to the strange place, protecting her and being protected by her.
Like the vision of fear and water she recieved when she touched her brother's arm, with the passage of time the memory grew ever fainter. But this vision she treasured, this memory of love and silver.
***