Amrod and Amras rode ahead of everybody, the lot having fallen to them to push a path through the scraping branches and to spy light breaking through the dense curtain of the forest. They both strained ahead eagerly, like the others hoping to be out of the forest and into the meadows soon.
They spoke it short words and gestures or at times not at all, and yet they were always conversing. Fully articulated, their exchange might have been thus,
"How did we get charged with this duty, Amras?"
"I know not. It seemed to happen very quickly."
"At least this area will soon be a road, and we'll not have to travel it like this again."
"When did you hear that?"
"Just a moment ago. Maedhros leaned over to our cousin and said, 'I cannot blame Linedhel for wanting to be rid of this forest.' Fingon ignored him."
"Are they quarelling?"
"They must be - ouch! Iluvatar-forsaken branches. How did we draw this job?"
"You've already asked me that. Besides, I don't think you should be so pleased at the fate of this forest. It is a hunting ground. Why cut it down for just convenience?"
"Especially when it won't bother us. Ouch! After now, that is. And we'll have to get out of here before we can ask father to do it anyway."
"Exactly. Amrod... I wonder what Celegorm thinks."
"What makes you think he knows?"
"Curufin knows."
"Curufin makes it his business to know everything."
"He does at that. I wish Celegorm paid more attention."
"Then he wouldn't be Celegorm."
"True."
"I wish he had taken Huan with him on this trip. He shouldn't just leave a hound like Huan alone."
"You're just saying that because you're jealous."
"Huan's the best hound in all of Aman, and given to Celegorm by a Valar. Aren't you jealous, Amras?"
"I am."
"Anyway, it might've impressed Aredhel."
"I'm beginning to think nothing will impress Aredhel. Except sneaking into her room and trying to kill her."
"I still cannot believe Narwen did that."
"It seemed to make a good impression."
"Well, maybe we should suggest to Celegorm that he should sneak up to Aredhel when she's sleeping and cut off her hair. That should win her over."
"I don't understand that girl. She's very fun, though."
"You're just saying that because she kissed you."
"Wouldn't you, Amrod? That is, if she did?"
"Ouch! Dark-blasted branches. How come you don't seem to be getting scratched at all?"
"We're twins. We should be getting exactly the same amounts of scratches."
"Somehow I don't think that logic applies here."
"...will this forest ever end?"
"We should find the path that Caranthir made. The branches would be permanently bent back."
"He *was* going pretty fast."
"Pretty fast? Amras, he tore out of there with the speed of a racing Maia."
"I wonder what he was going to see."
"Not what, whom."
"You think he has a maiden?"
"Maybe."
"Why wouldn't he tell father? Father's so anxious to see one of us wed."
"Maybe she's a simple town girl."
"That wouldn't do for Maedhros, or maybe Maglor, but for the rest of us? He wouldn't even care if she were Vanyar."
"I don't want to talk about this anymore. I'm sick of romance - I want to hunt."
"I want to get out of this forest."
"I want to you to stop brushing branches into my face."
"I want you to acknowledge the fact that I am taking by far the brunt of this arboreal assault - "
"I want you to stop talking... I said, I want you to stop talking!"
"I was just thinking."
"You know that's the same thing, with us."
"I can't help what I think."
"You can help thrusting branches at me."
"My, testy aren't we?"
"How did we get stuck with this job?"
"For the last time - look! I think I see a light!"
This last was said, loudly and clearly, and for the benefit of all his brothers. The twins shared a smile of relief, and behind them calls of thanks went up. Even Celegorm seemed glad to be out of the forest and nearing home.
From the edge of the forest it was only a short way to the village where Caranthir was staying. He met them on the green, standing absolutely still as they approached.
The village people gathered near, and one brought forth Caranthir's mount. Caranthir took it almost unwillingly. Then he asked, his face flushing as though he were embrassed by it, "Perhaps you could go ahead, and I could catch up with you later?"
Maedhros looked confused. "Why, brother?"
Caranthir threw a glance back at the crowd, but in the small sea of faces Maedhros could recognize no one. When he turned around, Caranthir's expression was resigned. "No, never mind. Let us go."
"Caranthir, if you - "
"No, I said. It was a silly thought. We should push on so we can reach home as soon as possible. Why, we could even be there tonight."
Maedhros smiled wryly. "We had a bit of a time getting through the forest. We'll have to rest."
"Here?" Caranthir couldn't help but ask.
"I thought we could cut the distance between us and home by a third, before we needed it. Then we wouldn't have to stop again, before we're home."
Caranthir accepted this with only a shadow of protest in his eyes.
Later, when they were making camp after another hard ride and the others had gone to do various tasks, Maedhros decided the time had come for he and Fingon to speak again. The silence between them had been painful, and was gathering odd looks from the rest. Perhaps - perhaps they could speak of music, or hunting. Was that too much to ask?
"Hello, Fingon," Maedhros said, his voice level. He stood behind where Fingon was fixing the fire, leaning wood against wood to make it stand. "Can I help you with that?"
Fingon stiffened, then relaxed. "It's an easy enough job for one," he replied. "Unlike certain other things."
Maedhros ignored the barb and asked nicely, "How do you think your sister is getting along?"
"Oh, very well, very well. She's been lucky enough not to get herself involved with any of your father's sons."
"Good," Maedhros said, pretending not to understand the underlying meaning. "You did say you were going to protect her."
"Oh, she's done very well by herself, despite my words. Well, I don't believe any of us kept our promises," When Maedhros still did not take insult, Fingon continued. "After all, you did call me a gift, and look at the way you've treated me."
This was too direct to do anything else besides reply to. "And how have I treated you, then? Not like a gift, I suppose."
"Like an obligation. Like something you've had all your life and grown tired of. Like someone you can put off until tomorow, and the next day, and the next day, regardless of my feelings because you think I don't deserve to know yours."
"It isn't a matter of deserve, Fingon," Maedhros said.
"I don't know what the matter is. I want to convince you, Russandol, I want to show you, but how can I, if you give me nothing to reason with?" His voice was pleading but also edged with anger.
"Why must you bring this up?" Maedhros asked in despair.
"You sought me out," Fingon replied, now fully angry. "You had to know what my topic of choice would be."
Maedhros was surprised to feel tears of frustration come to his eyes. He tried to turn away, to hide them, but Fingon saw them and moved in front of him. Steadying Maedhros, trapping him with one hand, he raised the other to his cheek where the tears threatened to spill. Maedhros pulled away again, but the loss of contact only made him feel worse.
"Maedhros," Fingon said, "I don't want to make you unhappy. You don't have to tell me what is wrong, but please, tell me what I can do to make it right. What do you want?"
'It's so hard like this,' Maedhros thought. "I want to go back to how things used to be."
"No." Fingon shook his head.
"I thought you said you would - " Maedhros began.
"It's not that I won't, it's that I can't. Here, take my hand." Hesitantly, Maedhros took the proffered fingers, and warmth flooded through him. He could feel every line in Fingon's palm, and beneath that every layer of bone and skin. He could feel the blood in Fingon's veins, the quickness of his pulse, and he knew his own heart must be beating in time. Fingon's fingers shifted and instinctively Maedhros moved to meet them, and to wrap his own in the hollows in between. "Don't you - " Fingon began and Maedhros tore away.
"Please, Fingon, you can't - "
"What, I can't touch you?" His voice was too loud in the forest, and his tone was reckless. "I can't shake your hand? Even my married sister-in-law would be allowed that. I can't be near you? I can't gaze upon you, I can't think of you - tell me what it is I cannot do."
Maedhros had put one hand to his ear as though to stop the barage of words. "You can't do this to me! I must have an heir, and you can never give me that."
"Why must you have an heir? I don't understand. Why should even Finwe need an heir? Why can't it just be enough, for you to make me feel the way I feel?"
"Please, Fingon! Please, I don't want to hear this!"
"Tell me if that is what you really want. Say it, and I will never bring this up again."
"I want - for you - for you to - " Maedhros faltered, and Fingon's eyes shone.
"I knew you couldn't do it, it's already so hard but you know this is right, to be together - "
"Fingon!" Maedhros roared, and Fingon stopped speaking, and, it seemed, breathing. Maedhros' desperation gave him courage. "I want you to leave me alone!" he cried at last.
But the sudden pain in Fingon's eyes was such that Maedhros added, brokenly, "Don't you know that if I start loving you, I will never stop?" 'Even when I followed my father away from here, and you remained, I would not stop. Even if I never saw you again, I would not stop. How can you do this to me?'
"Maedhros - "
"No, don't. Don't say it. Don't say anything." And Maedhros turned and hurried away. As he burst through the bushes on his way to the horses, he bumped into Aredhel. She could clearly see that he was upset. She looked to where he had come from, and saw her brother, then looked away, preturbed.
Fingon was worried that she might have seen or heard something, but they didn't have a chance to speak alone until they were riding the next day. He came up beside her as they went, he gazing at her with concern as she tilted her head back to watch the sky. Her black hair spilled down the saddle and nearly reached her knees. After a moment she moved from what had to be an uncomfortable position, and looked around, her eyes ever going to the horizon.
"Do you see it?" Aredhel asked suddenly.
"What?" Fingon asked, turning around in his saddle.
"No, up. Around us. You don't even notice it at first, it happens so gradually."
"What does?"
"The light. It's fading, and now even when Laurelin waxes it's not half so bright as at home when Telperion does. I didn't realize it at first, but it's dark."
Fingon aimed a tense smile at his sister. "For Valinor, mayhap. I doubt if you asked Glorfindel that he'd agree with you. Or grandfather."
"Grandfather... How long will it be now, Fingon?" Aredhel asked.
"What, my hardy sister grown weary?" Fingon teased.
"Weary with impatience, perhaps."
"I thought you longed for the ride, and the adventure."
Aredhel glared at him, although she answered him as though the statement was her due. "Aye, but now I long to see our family."
"You'd be suprised how little our family holds your longing as consequence," Fingon replied, his tone a mystery of hurt and frustration.
"I don't understand you."
"Have you thought of why we must make this journey, Aredhel?" Fingon asked, his voice quiet and his eyes probing.
Aredhel was taken aback. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, why must we travel so far from Tirion to see our family? Why does Feanor set up a second home? Why did they come to Formenos, when their seat is rightly in Tirion? Why did - " here Fingon's voice broke slightly, "why did grandfather agree?"
"I don't know," Aredhel replied, "but I wish he hadn't. I've missed him and grandmother awfully."
Fingon seemed disapointed at the acceptance in her voice. He shrugged and spurred his horse, but Aredhel as always would not let the matter rest, and came along beside him.
"I don't know what is wrong, Fingon, I don't know what you want me to say, but I hope you do not take it out on the others. I know you are quarelling with Maedhros. You should not take this frustration out on him."
Fingon wanted to laugh. 'Maedhros is causing it, my dear unsubtle sister. If only you knew.'
***
There was no wind. Galadriel sat on the edge of a bench, in a garden, facing the sea. She liked the wind to blow through her hair, rustling it and making it slightly salty. As it was, her golden hair hung limp against her back.
There was no trick of light on the waves tonight, just the softly rolling sea. She felt a little like she was fufilling her Teleri heritage, but in her heart she knew that wasn't true. She stared at the ocean as it met the bay because in the dark waters, she saw no visions. She only saw him.
He was elusive, though. Sometimes she thought she saw his profile as the waves broke suddenly over a scattering of rocks. Other times she saw him in the reflection of the stars. Either way, visions did not come to her unbidden, of hot, falling blood and gentle, ceaseless sorrow.
She told no one of her visions. Therefore they did not know they shouldn't coax her from the sea. It was Aegnor who came to her this time, sitting down beside her and taking her hand, saying, "Galadriel, may we have your company?"
Images threatened to come before her eyes so Galadriel pulled her hand away and stared desperately at the sea.
Aegnor sat in hurt silence for a moment, then spoke again. "Galadriel, we all worry for you. Even if you don't want to come with me, will you go with someone else?"
"I'd like to stay here."
"Galadriel..."
The concern in his voice was quiet but there, and might even have been considered pain by one listening more carefully. As it was, Galadriel felt guilty enough to look up at him, at his face. What she saw there surprised her.
He was genuinely frightened of her melancholy. He obviously thought that if she stayed too long in the same place, she would fall again into a long sleep, and this time never wake up.
"I'm sorry," Galadriel said, and looked back at the sea.
"Let's go for a walk," Aegnor pleaded. "Just a short one."
"Who is 'us'?"
"Myself. Orodreth and Angrod. Amarie." He took a sharp, hopefull breath. "You?"
Galadriel turned to look at him, trying not to see all that was in his eyes. "I suppose they're already waiting?"
"Yes - we all want you to come. And Amarie said it would be good for you - "
Perhaps it was a test of will. She could not stay on the bench forever. There would be no easier time to test herself against the visions.
"I'll come."
They walked slowly towards where their two brothers and Amarie were waiting. "Have you been feeling better?" Aegnor asked, hesitating. "Are you - are you all right now? Oh, never mind. You'd probably feel better if I gave you some peace."
Galadriel looked away uncomfortably. She was quite aware of how badly she was taking advantage of her sickness and his affection. She willed herself to make conversation.
"No, of course not." Steel on steel, sharper than glass and stronger than an iron rod.* "What about you, brother? How have you been?" Steel on flesh, the redness of scraped knees like a fountain, soaking the other elves. "Have you caught any maiden's eye?" Steel in the belly - Galadriel gritted her teeth. "Any lad's?"
Aegnor blushed deeply, throwing his sister a playful scowl. "You don't make it any easier when you jest like that."
"Jest like what?" Orodreth asked as the others joined them. "How are you feeling, Galadriel?"
"Well, thank you," Galadriel said. She flinched away from the image of a dead river that was forming in her mind's eye. Seeking someone she knew would be a comfort, she watched Amarie.
"You look healthier," the girl said. "Although I must admit I have little practice with sickness such as yours - I am used to only the fevers after wounding, and then there are few enough. Still, I have learned to look for certain things, and they are gone now, the paleness, the limp hair, the eyes that shine to brightly. Your hroa is well, Galadriel."
Galadriel nodded and they walked on.
In a clearing, they came upon a group of elves making music together. In the center of the group was Ecthelion, sitting above the others with his silver hair falling around him and hiding his small flute. Standing a little ways off was Legolas, peering down that he might see Ecthelion's eyes and so follow the melody better.
Penlod and Galdor sat side by side playing their strings, Penlod providing harmony while Galdor made trills and flights above. Every so often Penlod would halt in his own music and let Galdor continued unencumbered, and therefore his hands were free, and so he would place one on Galdor's shoulder. It was a gesture of mixed admiration and affection, but his fingers would become tangled in the golden strands and emerald gems braided therein, and he would have to hurry his harmony some when he rejoined.
"Oh, please, let us join them," Galadriel requested, finding the music soothing beyond hope. The melodies her ears tried to follow made supressing the visions an unconcious thing. The others, surprised and gratified to hear her speak, quickly agreed.
Drawn to the music were other groups who had gone out seeking a peaceful walk and found a greater pleasure. Duilin and Eglamoth came with their own instruments, as well as several others Galadriel did not recognize. From over a hill came came a welcome group of four, Turgon and his wife Elenwe and his friends Finrod and Glorfindel. Finrod saw Amarie and flushed slightly, suddenly finding an urgent need to engange Turgon in conversation - Glorfindel's eyes lit up with delight and he went to get his harp.
Galadriel had been sitting alongside the musicians on one of the benches, listening to her brothers rib eachother good-naturedly. She had spotted a nest of flowered vines and was braiding them together in an intricate pattern, her hand moving with the rhythm of the song. She found the order of it kept her mind from wanderng and the images from returning. She was starting to realize it was a matter of control.
Elenwe left her husband's side for some female company, coming to sit next to her cousin by marriage. Elenwe had come to know her husband's full cousins much better than their half cousins - she had not even met some of the sons of Feanor. Nevertheless she and Galadriel were not close, sharing only a mutual friend. Naturally, it was the first thing Elenwe mentioned.
"How think you Aredhel is faring in the north?"
Startled, Galadriel dropped the vines. She leaned down to gather them up again, giving herself time to think. Images of Aredhel came to her as unwelcome and persistent as the visions of sadness. "I think she is doing well," Galadriel replied at last, trying to keep her voice even. She thought of the raven hair she loved to run her fingers through, and the braids she liked to make in it, and realized her vine carpet was unraveling in her hands. "I think she is having fun."
Elenwe looked at her oddly. "Of course she is, I only meant whether you thought they'd reached Formenos by now. Why would she be unhappy?"
'Because she is parted from me.' The jealous thought sprang to Galadriel's mind and almost to her lips. "You know the troubles of our house. I would not like to see her caught up in our fathers' problems."
Elenwe seemed to think such an idea laughable. "Why, you know Aredhel. She's quick enough, I would think. Sly. No one could catch *her*."
Elenwe had not been wandering around for the past weeks with forebodings heavy in her heart. Elenwe had never seen the contempt in Feanor's eyes when he looked upon his extented family, or the trust and hope in Aredhel's, her feelings manifest to those who loved her, however devious she tried to be. Elenwe had never tasted Aredhel's kisses, full of passion and impermanence, and had to suffer their end.
Some of this was in Galadriel's face as she replied to Elenwe, but the younger elf assumed that Galadriel was simply acting superior. "Do not be so hasty to judge what you do not know - and that includes the family difficulties. Surely Turgon of all people has explained to you how dangerous Feanor has become?"
Elenwe seemed torn between her husband and her closest friend. "But Aredhel said - that he was misunderstood - "
"Aredhel is a little girl," Galadriel snapped, and then was suprised at herself. Why was she getting so upset with Aredhel when she wasn't even here? More gently, she added, "She has met our uncle Feanor the same number of times as you - that is, none. Not since she was a little girl, barely old enough to remember and certainly not old enough to judge. No, Aredhel can manage the sons but I am not so sure about the father." And then, impolite as it was, she turned away. She didn't want to talk about this. She wanted to immerse herself in the music.
When Galadriel dismissed her so abruptly, Elenwe looked for someone else to sit by. Her eyes fell upon Amarie, who in turn was watching Finrod. Elenwe missed her friend Aredhel, but she felt drawn to this wisp of a girl who could not be any more different. She sat down beside her, pointedly following her gaze. "He will not dance with anyone else," she said, conversationally.
"He will not?" Amarie sounded crushed. "That is - that is too bad."
"Oh, you silly child," Elenwe said, an unusual amount of tenderness in her voice, "I meant he will not dance with anyone else but you."
Amarie colored at once. "I would not - I would not be so sure."
Elenwe marvelled at the girl's meekness. She had seen the Vanya nursing Galadriel, and when she spoke then she was commanding. Not even Galadriel's father could refuse her orders. Why, when first she arrived she had even ordered Finrod out of the room. "Why would you not be sure?" Elenwe said, determining that she would help this contradictory girl. "You have spent many a night walking alone together, surely your words then turn to topics of love?"
"I had hoped - " Amarie began, then blushed and shook her head. "No, he always wants to ask me something, but when the questions come out they are 'How did you learn the arts of healing?' and 'How will Galadriel be?'. All the time we spend together, he says nothing to me of love. We talk of hunting and forging, caves and metals, of song and stories, but never of love."
Elenwe did not find it so surprising that love had turned her usually bold cousin-in-law bashful. After all, it had done much the same to Turgon. "Well, perhaps he says nothing by his mouth, but there is a proclamation of love in his eyes. You should go to him."
"I could not - " Amarie began.
"Ah, but you will," Elenwe said. She took Amarie's hand, intent on delivering it to Finrod. She had plenty of excuse to go to the helplessly shy elf, for he stood with her husband throwing nervous glances their way. As they neared he seemed to grow at once flushed with attraction and pale with nervousness and fear.
"Turgon, my love, will you dance with me?" she said.
"Of course," he replied at once. He saw the mischief in her eyes and immediately grasped her plan. "A new dance or an old?"
"An old one, I think, to contrast with such new love," she raised a hand to Glorfindel, who changed the patterns of his hands on the harp immediately and the song she, before, had asked him to play rang out around the crowd.
"'Tis fitting," Turgon replied as the music swelled, and in his eyes she read, 'It is fitting that my best friend and his love should share our song.'
"You know it, do you not, Finrod?" Elenwe asked, her smile wide but quite sincere. "I would hate to have us dance alone."
"He knows it," Turgon assured her, before Finrod could protest. "I made him mad by singing it on our hunts, and he says I followed the steps in my sleep."
"Will you do us the favor, Finrod? Would you take a sweet maiden," Elenwe looked at Amarie and said smoothly, " - this one will do nicely - and join us in this dance?"
Finrod said, "Amarie?" just as she offered softly, "I will - if you want me - "
"It's decided then, no?" Turgon asked, aware that the others had long since retreated to watch, and Glorfindel had been forced to slow the pace as he waited, amused.
Handing Amarie over to Finrod, Elenwe wrapped her arms around her husband's neck and smiled up at him, treasuring the feel of him against her. And then he began to lead her, and she was spinning and twirling and being lifted up into the air.
Turgon had chosen this as the first dance of their wedding feast with no small irony - the male lead the female through every move. Turgon had joked that his wife had initiated the first kiss, made the first declaration of love, and had proposed marriage - in this, at least, he would take the first step.
So immersed in eachother were Turgon and Elenwe that they could not see what others saw - the way that Finrod and Amarie danced together, their movements so fluid that they looked like a single being. Their hair mingled and their eyes stayed locked together, even when the steps forbid it, so that Amarie's head was twisted or Finrod's movements changed, and still it was beautiful and perfect. And when he spun her he stood tall above her, and gazed down at her face and saw the love that was there.
When the music stopped shy Finrod stooped and kissed her, for all the gathered elves to see.
There was an appreciative silence as it deepened, and Turgon and Elenwe glanced at eachother, amused. When at last Finrod and Amarie broke apart the whole clearing burst into applause. Seeing his friend's blush, Turgon waved to Glorfindel, who started up another's song.
The couples retired to the benches where their family sat. Galadriel looked up at Amarie and gave her a warm smile but whispered in Finrod's ear, "Eru knows it's time you finally learned your way around women."
Finrod shot back, "You certainly weren't much help to me!" But he glowed with happiness, and the exchange had been filled with tenderness.
The group sat back to enjoy the music and the dancing, unaware of the twain who had stopped their wanderings upon a nearby hill to watch the joy-filled gathering below. "Shall we go to them?" Earwen asked her husband.
"Nay, let the young folk revel together for a while. No doubt our eldest will bring his love to us when he is ready," Finarfin replied.
Earwen shook her head, disturbed more by Finarfin's state of mind than by any tidings she knew of that could cause it. "Are you sure you do not want to dance your troubles away?"
Finarfin smiled and drew her close, saying, "You alone would be enough to make me forget the ending of the world."
Though they had long since ceased feeling the passions of the hroa, they each took great comfort in their shared embrace. Earwen pressed her cheek against his chest. "Then we shall stay here, love, and nowhere else. You could no longr convince me to go. It was, after all, such sweet words that lured me away from the sea."
"You? Parted from the sea?" Finarfin chuckled quietly. "You merely brought it with you. And this is how I know it... there is the taste of saltwater in your every kiss."
Earwen kissed him then, chastely, and added, "I still miss it, you know."
"Well," said Finarfin slowly, turning again to watch their children at the gathering, "perhaps when all of our children are married, we could go to stay with your father for awhile?"
Inexplicably, Earwen tensed at that. "Think you that Galadriel will ever marry?"
Finarfin did not ask why she had singled out their daughter, only answered the question as best he knew how. "Yes - why, yes. I have not seen among the men her match, yet I sense that some day she will."
"I am glad, then," Earwen said, although from the way her voice was lost at once beneath the echoes of the festival music, Finarfin could tell she was not. "I am - glad."
"Why, Earwen," Finarfin said, "how comes this turnabout? I thought it was I who needed cheering?"
"Perhaps we both do," Earwen replied. "Perhaps we can learn something from our children."
At the gathering below, their children danced and sang with great cheer. At last Turgon was so exhausted that he had to beg Elenwe to stop. They sat again by Galadriel, who despite the smile she kept with some effort on her face, had not moved from her spot. Relaxing beside her, Turgon was in position to see a familiar young elf join them in the dance.
Idril copied the steps of the dancers with wondrous ease, and her childish clumsiness disapeared in the magic of the music. Foward and backward and left and right her little feet went, arched, delicate and sweet. Then she began to vary the steps the others made, though she was never out of time, and where one elf took a leap, her small strides made a leap and a dip and a turn. Others began to fall back and watch, admiring.
Oblivious to the others Idril raised her eyes to the sky and danced faster, completing whole turns between beats. Few of the musicians could keep up with her, and each fell away until only Glorfindel accompanied her with his harp. He seemed to know Idril's steps before she took them, pausing as she suddenly lept and starting again as she reached the ground, weaving melodies as he plucked his strings to the timing of her intricate footsteps. They were a marvel together, but all eyes were upon Idril.
She did not sense their intense gazes upon her, and that was well, for shy as she was she would have faltered. She turned and swayed and reached her arms above her, bringing them down to her sides in the image of a budding, golden flower. She paused, still, her hair hanging down over her face as though she were weeping or gathering dew.
Then she spun and spun and spun, her face uplifted, as if she were dancing for the stars; Telperion waxed at that moment and she was bathed in silver.
"Cerebrindal!" Turgon cried, overcome with love, and she halted at the unfamiliar name. "Idril Cerebrindal," he said again, and swept her up into his arms. The others sighed to see her dancing stopped, but Turgon could hear her little heart beat fast against his chest, and she took great struggling breaths. "Easy now, dear one," he soothed, "your silver feet must have their rest as well."
The others began to dance again, but those who knew the girl best gathered around her to give her praise. To Turgon's suprise, however, she did not respond fearlessly as he thought this new creature Cerebrindal would, but glanced around in confusion, asking her mother, "Why do they all come to speak to me?" Quiet Idril once more, she buried herself in her mother's chest.
Galadriel had watched this all with gladness, but still she bore a peculiar longing in her heart. Seeing even little Idril partake in this happiness which she did not share, she determined at once to be rid of her melancholy. Standing up so quickly that she herself was suprised, she walked over to Glorfindel and tapped him on the shoulder. He lay down his harp and another took up her flute.
"Yes, my lady?" he asked.
"Will you dance with me, my lord of the Golden Flowers? There is no one here I would partner with in love, but with you I could dance in friendship. And 'tis a pity such a dancer as you are has yet to dance tonight."
The elder elf looked at once regretful and chagrined at that regret, and his answering smile was, if not filled with joy, then at least with simple pleasure. "I would be honored."
Again the floor cleared for the two skilled dancers, who wove with their lithe bodies shapes in fading light, their hands meeting gently or parting with artful reluctance.
All around the circle that watched them, friends and sisters and brothers, saw the beginning of a romance, but few could see the loneliness in Galadriel even as she was danced in Glorfindel's arms. And none could see that Galadriel was but a substitute for another golden haired young lady, a girl quite far from maidenhood who had stirred a lover's passion in Glorfindel's heart.
***
They arrived in Formenos tired but excited. Aredhel peered every which way, taking in all she could see. She noticed first the buildings, which were different than in Tirion, newer and grander, and closed off by jeweled gates. Closer towards the center of the city, towards the ceremonial palace, towers rose that caught and glittered with faded sunlight.
Merchants were here and there about the streets, their trade lively. They growled good naturedly at the crowds that gathered around musicians, who played not for any gift but admiration, and would only take a piece of fruit if hungry. Every so often, though, one would lower his flute from his lips or shout over her harp and say, "A concert tonight, in the meadows! Please come!" and would name a price.
The swell of people as they became noticed was more dignified than in the village towns. People walked instead of ran out of their houses, and instead of crying and shouting merely bowed their heads, then raised them again with proud and curious eyes.
Aredhel recieved most of the stares. Even among a class of people that knew Feanor's sons by sight, Fingon blended in better than she did. Before Aredhel had been happy with the attention, but he sensed she felt more uncomfortable with the scrutiny of the knowledgeable and the wealthy. He rode to her side, and heard a tiny gasp of surprise as people wondered who he might be. 'I wonder if they know who I am, or if they think I'm Turgon,' Fingon thought. 'Could they even think I'm father?'
Also coming to Aredhel's aid were Amrod and Amras, who after all this time still caught the attention of crowds. They brought their horses next to Aredhel and opposite Fingon, and began to move in effortless unison. Around them, people began to murmur, "The twins!"
After a moment, Aredhel regained her composure, and they went onwards towards the center of the city. At last they reached the palace gates, more magnificent than any other smaller set, and a hooded form walked out to open them, and let the travelers in. Behind the gates to each side were entrances to the gardens.
The hooded figure pulled the gate shut behind them and slid off his hood, and it was Finwe. The seven sons of Feanor clambered off their horses with great haste, rushing into his arms, but Fingon and Aredhel went slowly, barely familiar with the man.
"Ah, so many grandsons," Finwe sighed, and then he saw Aredhel. His eyes lit up. "And a grand-daughter!" He went to her first and lifted her off her horse, spinning her around and depositing a kiss upon her cheek. Fingon was surprised to see his sister, so brash and so proud among others, melt into his arms. She looked up at him shyly.
"Grandfather..." she said.
Fingon found that his throat was tight and his hands were clenched. He made himself be calm. Finwe kept his hand on her shoulder as he greeted Feanor's sons, eldest to youngest, and only removed it to hug Ambarussa both at once. Then he faced Fingon.
"Hello, grandfather," Fingon said, trying to keep the edge of hurt out of his voice. "It has been a long time, has it not?" 'Long even in the count of the Valar,' Fingon thought, 'and you said you would leave Tirion for but a vacation.'
Finwe's eyes lost their sparkle as though they had been immersed in unexpectedly deep waters, and were now too far down for light to reach. "Too long, Fingon. Spending my days with these seven magnificent grandsons keeps me not from missing my others."
"Perhaps you would visit us then?" Fingon said politely, but that was a veil over insult, and Maedhros gaped at him, while the others struggled to comprehend this sudden turn.
Aredhel was quicker, however. "Fingon, enough!" she hissed, elbowing his arm.
"You do want him to visit us, don't you? No? Will you consent to have him at your eventual marriage? For he has missed your dancing at the festivals and your triumphs at the races. Would you deny him that, Ar Feiniel?" The bitterness in his tone suprised even him, and he realized he had gone much too far. But the frustration of the recent weeks and his long held feeling of betrayal made him continue. He turned to his grandfather. "That is right, some call her Ar Feiniel now, the White Lady of the Noldor. Perhaps you had better use the title rather than her true name - at least until you get to know her better."
"I am sorry that I have angered you," Finwe began with such compassion that it nearly made Aredhel's heart break.
"Do not use me in this!" she interjected, seething at her brother. "Better yet, do not do this at all." She seized his arm with one hand and covered the spot with her other, and beneath her imporing gaze he felt her nails sharp in his skin.
That at last brought him back to reason, and he felt his rage subside. Instead hurt welled inside of him, a familiar feeling, and he turned to face Finwe. "I am sorry for my rudeness. It is inexcusable, such a breach of manner's in the king's home. I am only glad his eldest son was not here to be offended."
"There should be no need to tell you that you are forgiven," Finwe said, "but alas I fear there is. You are forgiven, Fingon, and I hope you will forgive me as well."
Fingon did not reply to that. Maglor asked, somewhat desperately, "Where is father?"
"He's at his forge, of course," Finwe said, obviously relieved at the change of topic, but this provoked a sigh from Fingon.
"You should at least know, grandfather," he said calmly, "that if you care to visit us in Tirion you would of course be greeted properly." And with that he turned and stalked away. He paused at the gate, somewhat uncertainly, then went into the gardens. Maedhros threw an apologetic look at the rest of them and walked quickly after his friend.
"I don't understand what is wrong with him," Aredhel tried to say, but Finwe only smiled sadly.
"It is the echo of a choice I made a long time ago, and soon enough you will feel it as he does," Finwe told her. Then he took her arm in his and began leading her to the house, the six youngest sons of Feanor falling in behind.
***