Artanis struck the fifth beacon as she ran past it. Celebrimbor would like
to know about those, she thought. It was a long race, on a roughly
circular track through uninhabited woodlands, so the rules of the race
demanded that the racers had to strike each of seven beacons, placed evenly
along the track, to prevent anyone from taking shortcuts. The beacons were
metallic pyramids almost as tall as an elf, which somehow recorded or
reported who had struck them. Even her father probably couldn't make one
of these, Artanis thought bitterly. Just one more secret that the Valar
didn't teach the elves. Fëanor, now he might have thought of something
like this...
Stop thinking about him, she told herself. That's why you agreed to go off and study with Olórin instead of hanging about town with Fingon and the others, because the politics are just more horrible every time you turn around! With Melkor vanquished and reformed, we've no trouble left except what we can make for ourselves. I wonder if the Valar are sorry that they brought us all to Valinor with the things everyone is saying. I wish I could just not listen and not care.
Artanis gritted her teeth and ran faster down the trail, trying to clear her mind. The race wasn't turning out as she had expected at all. Her usual Noldorin rivals, her cousins, were out with hangovers, small children, or black eyes, and Finrod was hanging back, running with that Vanyar woman, Amarië. "It's not about winning or losing, it's about running a good race," the shining-eyed elf had told Artanis. That, thought Artanis, is why none of the Vanyar are running here with me now.
Artanis had sprinted to the first beacon, leaving her competitors behind her. After that, she had taken an easier pace. She had always been a good sprinter, but it had taken months of training to be able to run a track this long. It was at this point that she would be worried about her cousins, particularly Celegorm, catching up and overtaking her, and she had looked forward to testing her newly-developed stamina against theirs, especially if it meant surprising them. But not this time, she thought. Perhaps they'd be at the finish line, and would be surprised to see her win. It wouldn't be the same though, she thought. It wouldn't change anything.
As she came to the top of a hill, she could see the sixth beacon below her, and beyond it, a wide, rushing river. As she ran down the hill, she could see the seventh beacon on the far side of the river. The trail headed along the river, to a bridge, then back to the beacon, and once more into the woods, presumably to the finish line. There was no one else in sight. Artanis struck the beacon, then turned to run along the trail. She would sprint again after the seventh beacon, she told herself, and at least run for time.
She had crossed the bridge and was heading toward the seventh beacon when another elf careened down the hill and stopped against the sixth beacon, looking around. Even at this distance, she could see that his hair was bright silver. He seemed too slight to be one of the silver-haired Telerin princes she knew, her grandfather, Olwë or his heir Galadhon, and neither of them ran races, to the best of her knowledge. The other elf leapt into the river and began to swim across. Artanis swore, and began to sprint. The silver-haired elf was carried some ways downstream by the current, but still reached the seventh beacon before she did, and bolted on into the woods. Artanis struck the seventh beacon and bolted after him, but it was too late. He held onto his lead, not looking back, and tore across the finish line seconds ahead of her. Just as he did, two great wolfhounds jumped upon him and started licking him. He grabbed them by their collars and dragged them to one side of the clearing. As he did this, a sturdy younger boy whose braid were more white than silver rushed up to embrace him.
"You're all wet." Her father walked up to her and offered her his cloak to dry off with. "Did you go in the river too, or were you that hard on his heels all of the way to the finish?" Artanis looked up at him, unable to speak. He wrapped the cloak around her shoulders. "I did warn him about you. It's nice to see someone listen to me for once."
"I was wondering if any of them would think to swim!" laughed another voice: Melkor. Artanis looked around. The Valar had arrived. Although they wore elven forms, they were still unmistakable. Olórin said that he'd tried elven forms, but none of them had ever fit.
"I'm just glad he didn't drown. That river is too wide for them, and too fast!" Oromë frowned. "I'm really not sure that those beacons were a very good idea."
Artanis looked down. Olórin stood at her feet, still in fox form. "I suppose that you're going to tell me that it's not about winning or losing, it's about running a good race," she said, her voice shaking.
"No, I wouldn't, because if it weren't about winning or losing, it wouldn't be a race, now would it?" Olórin replied. He cocked his ears to one side. "Go congratulate Celeborn. Find out what this race was about."
Artanis sighed and turned in the direction that Olórin pointed. The silver- haired boy who had won the race was holding the wolfhounds by their collars and talking to the younger boy who had greeted him. Artanis remembered the younger boy as Galathil. He and Celeborn were the sons of Galadhon. "Mother's here. Why d'you think I was late to the starting line?" Celeborn snapped at his brother.
He looked warily up at Artanis as she approached, his eyes startlingly dark against his pale skin and bright hair. Beautiful, she heard him think, and it annoyed her because she wasn't. She had been thought lovely as a child, before she had grown tall and gawky, tall well beyond what was normal for Noldorin women. And after a long race, with her hair falling out of the braids she had so carefully pinned up and damp where he had splattered her with water as she had tried to overtake him...
Celeborn looked away quickly. "Sorry, your father warned me that you take these races very seriously."
"And you don't? You certainly were willing to risk your life for this one." She drew the cloak around herself more closely, relieved to have regained control of her voice. One of the wolfhounds leaned over to sniff her.
"It wasn't as dangerous as it looked. I'm a good swimmer and. I guess I wasn't thinking straight. I was late to the starting line, and I had to get past all of those people. I didn't realize you were still out there until I saw you, and I just sort of. panicked. And I got past you the only way I could think of. I've run this course twice, for practice, and I took the bridge both times." He looked back at her nervously.
"Do you remember me?" asked Galathil. "You came to our house a few years ago."
"I'm surprised that you remember me," Artanis replied. "You were very little." She looked back at Celeborn. "You were away, studying." He nodded.
Artanis felt her hackles rise, as Fëanor came up behind her. "Congratulations," the big Noldo smiled down at Celeborn. "It's nice to see that someone out there can still provide a challenge for our little princess here." Artanis fumed, but did not take her eyes from Celeborn's face.
"Thank you, sir," Celeborn looked up at Fëanor, his face still solemn.
"I understand that you will be in need of a place to stay shortly. May I offer my hospitality? I've just completed a new home, and it's a comfortable place, full of productive activity. A young man like you could learn a lot there."
"You're most kind, sir. But I have commitments that I must honor in the near future and cannot accept your offer."
"I'm sorry to hear it, but perhaps when you're finished with your commitments, you'll let me know..." With a smile and a nod, Fëanor took his leave. Artanis could feel the tension drain from her exhausted muscles.
"He likes you," she told Celeborn, keeping her voice as neutral as he could.
"The patronage of a firebrand like him will not make my life any easier." His dark eyes turned back to her. "My great-uncle, Olwë the king, does not care for scandal, and I have brought enough of it on our house. You haven't heard? My father has disowned me."
Artanis blinked. She hadn't heard; Olwë, king of the Teleri, was very adept at keeping his family troubles quiet and his kingdom peaceful. The Noldo could learn a lot from him, she thought. Their king, Finwë, her paternal grandfather, seemed to do everything he could to make the public rivalry of his sons more embarrassing and more divisive. "What did you do?" she blurted before she could stop herself. Being disowned...
"I'm not sure, but it must have been many things. I don't care for the way he speaks to my mother, and I've said so. I fed his hounds, and now the pesky brutes follow me around and not him. Galathil won't mind him anymore and it's clearly my fault." Celeborn shrugged.
"It's because he just sits about and mopes. Some days, he won't talk to anyone! Celeborn only fed the dogs because he kept forgetting and they'd cry and complain. All his stories of being a great adventurer! He never leaves the house! Why should I listen to him?" Galathil sneered.
Celeborn looked over at the child, his expression unreadable. "Stop that kind of talk or you'll have all kinds of trouble to deal with. I've enough of my own and don't need you in trouble too! Father has to stay home because he's the king's heir now." He turned back to Artanis. "Olwë will provide for me, if only to prevent scandal. I suspect I'll be kept well away from Galathil and Alqualondë, though, bad influence that I am."
Artanis nodded, relieved. An elf without a family would have a hard time making a living on his own, but the Vala wouldn't let anyone starve, and often another family would adopt an elf so abandoned, especially if he was a decent sort of person. But for a prince to be disowned... No common family or even the minor nobility would dare to take him in, for fear of offending his father. And Galadhon was not someone that anyone wanted to offend, from what she could remember of him.
"Your father has been kind enough to let me stay in his house," Celeborn added. "And the money from the race will make me a bit more independent."
"It's for shipwright's tools," Galathil blurted out. Celeborn glared at him, and Artanis held back a grin. It was the first expression she had seen cross his serious face.
"And where will you go in the ship he's going to build?" she asked Galathil.
"Middle Earth!" declared the child, his eyes shining.
"We won't!" said Celeborn firmly. "That's what got Father grounded!"
"It wasn't!" Galathil argued. "That was because of the mutiny!"
Artanis smiled in spite of herself. She had heard rumors of Galadhon's last voyage, before they were drowned out by the calumnies among the Noldor, and her mother would never talk about it... Celeborn glared at her too, his cheekbones reddening, but she smiled all the more. She could feel in her bones that this was going to be interesting.
Stop thinking about him, she told herself. That's why you agreed to go off and study with Olórin instead of hanging about town with Fingon and the others, because the politics are just more horrible every time you turn around! With Melkor vanquished and reformed, we've no trouble left except what we can make for ourselves. I wonder if the Valar are sorry that they brought us all to Valinor with the things everyone is saying. I wish I could just not listen and not care.
Artanis gritted her teeth and ran faster down the trail, trying to clear her mind. The race wasn't turning out as she had expected at all. Her usual Noldorin rivals, her cousins, were out with hangovers, small children, or black eyes, and Finrod was hanging back, running with that Vanyar woman, Amarië. "It's not about winning or losing, it's about running a good race," the shining-eyed elf had told Artanis. That, thought Artanis, is why none of the Vanyar are running here with me now.
Artanis had sprinted to the first beacon, leaving her competitors behind her. After that, she had taken an easier pace. She had always been a good sprinter, but it had taken months of training to be able to run a track this long. It was at this point that she would be worried about her cousins, particularly Celegorm, catching up and overtaking her, and she had looked forward to testing her newly-developed stamina against theirs, especially if it meant surprising them. But not this time, she thought. Perhaps they'd be at the finish line, and would be surprised to see her win. It wouldn't be the same though, she thought. It wouldn't change anything.
As she came to the top of a hill, she could see the sixth beacon below her, and beyond it, a wide, rushing river. As she ran down the hill, she could see the seventh beacon on the far side of the river. The trail headed along the river, to a bridge, then back to the beacon, and once more into the woods, presumably to the finish line. There was no one else in sight. Artanis struck the beacon, then turned to run along the trail. She would sprint again after the seventh beacon, she told herself, and at least run for time.
She had crossed the bridge and was heading toward the seventh beacon when another elf careened down the hill and stopped against the sixth beacon, looking around. Even at this distance, she could see that his hair was bright silver. He seemed too slight to be one of the silver-haired Telerin princes she knew, her grandfather, Olwë or his heir Galadhon, and neither of them ran races, to the best of her knowledge. The other elf leapt into the river and began to swim across. Artanis swore, and began to sprint. The silver-haired elf was carried some ways downstream by the current, but still reached the seventh beacon before she did, and bolted on into the woods. Artanis struck the seventh beacon and bolted after him, but it was too late. He held onto his lead, not looking back, and tore across the finish line seconds ahead of her. Just as he did, two great wolfhounds jumped upon him and started licking him. He grabbed them by their collars and dragged them to one side of the clearing. As he did this, a sturdy younger boy whose braid were more white than silver rushed up to embrace him.
"You're all wet." Her father walked up to her and offered her his cloak to dry off with. "Did you go in the river too, or were you that hard on his heels all of the way to the finish?" Artanis looked up at him, unable to speak. He wrapped the cloak around her shoulders. "I did warn him about you. It's nice to see someone listen to me for once."
"I was wondering if any of them would think to swim!" laughed another voice: Melkor. Artanis looked around. The Valar had arrived. Although they wore elven forms, they were still unmistakable. Olórin said that he'd tried elven forms, but none of them had ever fit.
"I'm just glad he didn't drown. That river is too wide for them, and too fast!" Oromë frowned. "I'm really not sure that those beacons were a very good idea."
Artanis looked down. Olórin stood at her feet, still in fox form. "I suppose that you're going to tell me that it's not about winning or losing, it's about running a good race," she said, her voice shaking.
"No, I wouldn't, because if it weren't about winning or losing, it wouldn't be a race, now would it?" Olórin replied. He cocked his ears to one side. "Go congratulate Celeborn. Find out what this race was about."
Artanis sighed and turned in the direction that Olórin pointed. The silver- haired boy who had won the race was holding the wolfhounds by their collars and talking to the younger boy who had greeted him. Artanis remembered the younger boy as Galathil. He and Celeborn were the sons of Galadhon. "Mother's here. Why d'you think I was late to the starting line?" Celeborn snapped at his brother.
He looked warily up at Artanis as she approached, his eyes startlingly dark against his pale skin and bright hair. Beautiful, she heard him think, and it annoyed her because she wasn't. She had been thought lovely as a child, before she had grown tall and gawky, tall well beyond what was normal for Noldorin women. And after a long race, with her hair falling out of the braids she had so carefully pinned up and damp where he had splattered her with water as she had tried to overtake him...
Celeborn looked away quickly. "Sorry, your father warned me that you take these races very seriously."
"And you don't? You certainly were willing to risk your life for this one." She drew the cloak around herself more closely, relieved to have regained control of her voice. One of the wolfhounds leaned over to sniff her.
"It wasn't as dangerous as it looked. I'm a good swimmer and. I guess I wasn't thinking straight. I was late to the starting line, and I had to get past all of those people. I didn't realize you were still out there until I saw you, and I just sort of. panicked. And I got past you the only way I could think of. I've run this course twice, for practice, and I took the bridge both times." He looked back at her nervously.
"Do you remember me?" asked Galathil. "You came to our house a few years ago."
"I'm surprised that you remember me," Artanis replied. "You were very little." She looked back at Celeborn. "You were away, studying." He nodded.
Artanis felt her hackles rise, as Fëanor came up behind her. "Congratulations," the big Noldo smiled down at Celeborn. "It's nice to see that someone out there can still provide a challenge for our little princess here." Artanis fumed, but did not take her eyes from Celeborn's face.
"Thank you, sir," Celeborn looked up at Fëanor, his face still solemn.
"I understand that you will be in need of a place to stay shortly. May I offer my hospitality? I've just completed a new home, and it's a comfortable place, full of productive activity. A young man like you could learn a lot there."
"You're most kind, sir. But I have commitments that I must honor in the near future and cannot accept your offer."
"I'm sorry to hear it, but perhaps when you're finished with your commitments, you'll let me know..." With a smile and a nod, Fëanor took his leave. Artanis could feel the tension drain from her exhausted muscles.
"He likes you," she told Celeborn, keeping her voice as neutral as he could.
"The patronage of a firebrand like him will not make my life any easier." His dark eyes turned back to her. "My great-uncle, Olwë the king, does not care for scandal, and I have brought enough of it on our house. You haven't heard? My father has disowned me."
Artanis blinked. She hadn't heard; Olwë, king of the Teleri, was very adept at keeping his family troubles quiet and his kingdom peaceful. The Noldo could learn a lot from him, she thought. Their king, Finwë, her paternal grandfather, seemed to do everything he could to make the public rivalry of his sons more embarrassing and more divisive. "What did you do?" she blurted before she could stop herself. Being disowned...
"I'm not sure, but it must have been many things. I don't care for the way he speaks to my mother, and I've said so. I fed his hounds, and now the pesky brutes follow me around and not him. Galathil won't mind him anymore and it's clearly my fault." Celeborn shrugged.
"It's because he just sits about and mopes. Some days, he won't talk to anyone! Celeborn only fed the dogs because he kept forgetting and they'd cry and complain. All his stories of being a great adventurer! He never leaves the house! Why should I listen to him?" Galathil sneered.
Celeborn looked over at the child, his expression unreadable. "Stop that kind of talk or you'll have all kinds of trouble to deal with. I've enough of my own and don't need you in trouble too! Father has to stay home because he's the king's heir now." He turned back to Artanis. "Olwë will provide for me, if only to prevent scandal. I suspect I'll be kept well away from Galathil and Alqualondë, though, bad influence that I am."
Artanis nodded, relieved. An elf without a family would have a hard time making a living on his own, but the Vala wouldn't let anyone starve, and often another family would adopt an elf so abandoned, especially if he was a decent sort of person. But for a prince to be disowned... No common family or even the minor nobility would dare to take him in, for fear of offending his father. And Galadhon was not someone that anyone wanted to offend, from what she could remember of him.
"Your father has been kind enough to let me stay in his house," Celeborn added. "And the money from the race will make me a bit more independent."
"It's for shipwright's tools," Galathil blurted out. Celeborn glared at him, and Artanis held back a grin. It was the first expression she had seen cross his serious face.
"And where will you go in the ship he's going to build?" she asked Galathil.
"Middle Earth!" declared the child, his eyes shining.
"We won't!" said Celeborn firmly. "That's what got Father grounded!"
"It wasn't!" Galathil argued. "That was because of the mutiny!"
Artanis smiled in spite of herself. She had heard rumors of Galadhon's last voyage, before they were drowned out by the calumnies among the Noldor, and her mother would never talk about it... Celeborn glared at her too, his cheekbones reddening, but she smiled all the more. She could feel in her bones that this was going to be interesting.