Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof

*****

But, as though the events of that night of winter's first snowfall never took place, Celebrían vanishes again from Morwinyon's life. When Morwinyon is there to Celebrían, she is little more than an ornament. "My little sister," Celebrían will call her, and perchance remark upon her looks, but no more do they laugh together and joke. Celebrían still shares a room with Morwinyon, but she is gone every night or goes to bed late. Morwinyon begins to feel as though she has no sister at all.

Morwinyon's hatred of Elrond becomes more and more intense. It is on her mind constantly, just how much she hates him. She hates that he has stolen her sister. She hates that her parents love him so. She hates, perhaps more than anything else, that he makes such a point of being kind to her. This is surely just an act to win over her sister even more.

And, as Celebrían and Elrond's wedding approaches, Morwinyon begins to feel that she does not even exist. There are so many things to prepare for, to get done, that in all the fuss Morwinyon is forgotten. She understands, of course, that this is a very important day for her sister. But could someone at least have noticed when she accidentally smashed her wrist in the door, and the skin all around it turned a deep purple? Morwinyon wants Celebrían to be happy, but she also wants some happiness for herself!

It is the day before the wedding when things become too much, and Morwinyon lashes out. She has been left alone in her and Celebrían's room. Her mother and sister were there, but each were called away momentarily. Celebrían's dress is laid out on her bed, a beautiful white thing. In Morwinyon's opinion, which no one has asked for anyway, the dress is far too elaborate. Give her a simple thing, Morwinyon wants to shout. Celebrían does not need frills to be beautiful!

There are a variety of emotions bubbling inside of Morwinyon, and it is impossible to say which drives her to do what she does next. She takes the pot of ink from beside her bed, where she often leaves it when she is writing letters, and spills the red ink all over the skirts of Celebrían's dress. Her actions are born of emotion and she is not fully of sound mind as she destroys the fancy gown, and her crooked grin is one of insane happiness, not true pleasure.

Suddenly her hand slips, and the heavy glass inkpot hits her sore wrist. The pain jolts Morwinyon back to reality. She sees the spoilt dress and knows that it is her fault, and that she must somehow fix this. Instead she panics. Morwinyon drops the inkpot, which shatters and stains the floor, and runs from the room. She cannot say where she is going, only that she must get away from that terrible red stain, that awful, false dress that is really a disguise. She must get away from any evidence of that horrible half-elf, whom she cannot stand. She just needs to be free.

Celebrían returns to her room with her mother. Both women are chattering gaily about the approaching event. When they see the dress, they know at once what has happened. "Oh, Celebrían," Galadriel says sympathetically, but Celebrían is beyond hearing.

"Morwinyon!" she screams as loudly as she can. She paces angrily back and forth, muttering, "I am going to kill her, I swear to you, Mother, I am going to kill her."

"There is no need for such rashness--" Galadriel attempts to calm her daughter, but in vain.

"She always ruins everything! She's such a spoiled little brat!" Celebrían chances to glance out the window and catch sight of her sister running towards their secret path. Her cheeks grow even redder, if that is possible, and she flees the room, hurrying to catch Morwinyon before she reaches the lake.

Morwinyon is running as fast as she can when she feels a hand on her shoulder, and someone spins her around. "What is your problem?" Celebrían asks angrily. "Can no one else be happy? Do you have to have everything?" Morwinyon's throat contracts and she cannot reply. "I hate you, Morwinyon, and I am glad you are not really my sister!" When Celebrían realizes what she has said, she gasps and claps a hand to her mouth. Morwinyon has already disappeared.

Celebrían returns to her mother, and tells her everything that happened. "I never meant to say so," she swears, "but I was so angry. . ."

"Celebrían, there is little I can tell you that would comfort you now," Galadriel replies honestly. "Yes, you were angry and hurt, but your actions were highly inappropriate. You have lost a dress, and in return taken away Morwinyon's family." The daughter turns away, looking out the window as if for an answer. "Celebrían. The dress can be fixed."

Celebrían knows that this should make her happy, but it does not. Despite her anger, a part of her still cares about Morwinyon. A few months ago, she would have known exactly where Morwinyon was and exactly what to say to her, but now all she knows is that somewhere in Lothlorien, a very young Elfling is probably lost. "What are we going to do about Morwin?"

"What do you think we should do?" Galadriel asks.

Morwinyon has chosen her hiding place well. She is nestled on the ground beneath a weeping willow tree. The branches form a cage around her, keeping other people out. Morwinyon rests her head against the trunk of the tree. "Ndengina amin, almaarea Tulkas," she prays, "have mercy, please." Her voice is quite and broken, and when she stops speaking it is to crumple into a little ball, wrap her arms around herself, and cry quietly.

"Morwinyon?" At the sound of her name she starts, looking around uncertainly. She has nowhere to run to, so she remains where she is and prays that she might disappear. Celeborn, who has found her, parts the branches of the tree to enter the natural dome, and approaches Morwinyon cautiously. He kneels beside her and asks, "Are you all right?"

"What does it matter?" Morwinyon replies, angry and hurt. Celeborn does not know what it was that Celebrían said, and does not understand Morwinyon's anger.

"It matters to me," he tells her.

"Why?"

"Because I am your father."

Morwinyon looks up at him, her eyes dripping with tears. "Celebrían nyar- nin, sina ta u-nin nosse," she says. Celeborn understands now. He sits beside Morwinyon.

"By blood," he says, "it is not." Morwinyon cringes at this and shies away. "But we love you just the same. Even Celebrían does. You know this, in your heart." When Morwinyon finally stops crying, it is dark out. She is lying in the dirt, curled up into a little ball with tracks on her face left from so many tears. "Are you ready to go home now, Morwinyon? I believe we have a wedding to save."

Celebrían has gone from anger to worry for her sister. "Oh, this is all wrong. I cannot be married without my sister here, it is not right and it is my fault. We always planned this together, late at night, we planned every little detail, and we always had each other."

"Did you plan me?" Elrond asks, hoping to distract Celebrían from her reveries.

"We planned our husbands," Celebrían replies with a slight smile. But this reminds her only more of those nights, and she is saddened again. Long after the moon has risen, Celebrían falls asleep in Elrond's arms.

Morwinyon finds no sleep that night. She sits on her bed with her sewing basket beside her, takes a deep breath, and pulls out her scissors. Yards of fabric fall away from Celebrían's dress, floating noiselessly to the floor and staying there. Much of it is stained with red. Morwinyon worries that the red ink may have soaked all the way through, but she is relieved to find that it has not. This will be a night of hard work for her, one she will not soon forget.

*****

The sun rises on the day of Celebrían and Elrond's wedding. The two lovers in question are still lying in each other's arms asleep, but the crow of a rooster wakes them at once. There is still much to do. Celebrían takes her leave and hurries to her room, hoping she might find something to wear. To her surprise, she does.

Morwinyon has fallen asleep, also. Celebrían's wedding gown is still beside her. At the sound of the door opening she awakes, and seeing who it is says, "Because I ruined your last one. . ." and holds up the dress.

Celebrían gasps. It's perfect. The stitches are not Morwinyon's usual crook, clumsy, far-apart stitches that Galadriel always has to fix, but perfect, identical little stitches. Where the extra skirts were attached-- they are still lying on the floor--Morwinyon has sewn a wide ribbon. The neck, which had before climbed up to Celebrían's chin, now sweeps low, allowing room for the bride to breathe. It is a simple dress, but made with such love that, to Celebrían, there will never be anything more perfect.

"I really want you to be happy," Morwinyon says.

"Oh, Mor. . .it--it's perfect! I don't know what to say, I--thank you!" Celebrían gushes, tears coming to her eyes.

"Aw, no need to get emotional," Morwinyon says, putting down the dress as Celebrían hugs her. "Now, come on, quick. I want to see you in the dress before anyone else does."

"All right," Celebrían says. Morwinyon helps her sister into the new beautiful dress. They stand together before the mirror. Celebrían is beautiful, the most beautiful bride (in Morwinyon's opinion) ever to live.

"I may not be your sister by blood," Morwinyon says, "but I still love you."

When Celebrían and Elrond take their vows, Celebrían has a cut on her palm that no one notices. Morwinyon has an identical incision. Now they are sisters by blood, they know this for sure, and nothing can take it away.

*****

Celebrían and Elrond leave that day, journeying to Imladris, where they will live. Morwinyon and her sister embrace warmly. She still hates Elrond, but she is civil and shakes his hand. Elrond wonders if Morwinyon knows that he has seen her at her weakest, and if that is why she hates him. She spits on his boot when he is not looking, in return for that patronizing smile he gave her. Celebrían grins, but gives her sister a reproving look.

When the newlyweds are out of sight, those who came out to say farewell go back inside. One remains until the forest has darkened, the trees are naught but shadows, and the air chills the skin, causing the hairs on her arms to prick up. "Come on, Morwinyon," Galadriel says, helping her daughter to her feet. "Come on inside and go to bed."

She does, but the room is so empty and cold without Celebrían. Morwinyon is afraid of the scarf hanging from the rafters, of the shadow across the floor, and of the cry of a nightbird. Mustering all her courage, she scrambles out of her bed and into Celebrían's. She buries her face in the pillow, hoping that if she cannot see the frightening things they will all go away. "Celebrían," Morwinyon whispers, as tears slide onto the pillow.

*****

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Celebrían nyar-nin, sina ta u-nin nosse = Celebrían told me this is not my family (very, very rough translation)

Ndengina amin, almaarea Tulkas = Kill me, blessed Tulkas