A/N: Wow, another chapter ALREADY? This is some kind of record. Of course, it helped that I already had more than half of it written… Ahem. Shippers, I think this one'll make you happy. This is actually my favorite chapter so far, and I hope you guys like it too. :o)

Chapter Ten: Galadriel

Tears of panic filled her eyes and made it difficult to see as Artanis searched the wreckage of the camp for her beloved friend. The charred remains of the main tent showed no sign that a body had been burned along with it, which gave her both hope and despair; the former that he might still be alive, and the latter that his body had been reduced to ash. She was beginning to fear the worst. What if he died before-

"There!" came Turgon's voice. "Over by that rock!"

Her heart lifted. Could it be…

"It's Celeborn!" Finrod announced. "He's alive, and I think he's awake!"

Artanis dropped to her knees and covered her face in an attempt to hide her tears of relief. She was successful, but the comforting touch on Saeros's hand on her shoulder a few moments later told her that it didn't take tears to show how she felt.

Saeros helped her stand, and they began walking over to where Finrod, Turgon, and Valendil were assembled around a crumpled heap on the ground. Artanis recognized the familiar silver and white glint of Celeborn's robes, gasped, and closed the remaining distance between herself and the others as fast as she could. When she saw him, though, the joy that had filled her upon learning he was alive vanished. There were numerous amounts of cuts and bruises on his face and neck, but that was the least of their concerns. Two large, black arrows protruded from his stomach and left side, staining the area with blood. Finrod was kneeling on Celeborn's other side, talking to Turgon. Both their faces were grave.

Artanis found Celeborn's dirty, bloody hand and gripped it tightly, shocked at how cold it was. "Celeborn?" she said. "Can you hear me?"

He made a sound that sounded like a combination of a moan and a sigh.

"I don't know how much we can do for him," said Turgon. "Not here, anyway."

"If we can get him to Doriath, Queen Melian can help him," said Artanis.

"Artanis," Valendil said gently, "we're seven days' ride from Doriath. He'll be dead long before then."

"How can you say that?" she said loudly, her voice bordering on losing its control. "He's your friend, Valendil! Your captain! How can your hope fade so quickly?"

Valendil had not been expecting such a harsh reaction from her, and he took a step back, looking slightly offended.

"I will run back down and fetch a healer at once," Turgon promised, more out of fear of his cousin's wrath than belief that they could save the prince of Doriath. He did agree with Artanis on one aspect of her suggestion to return him to Thingol's realm: if there was evil magic in the wounds, only Melian could save him.

Finrod, who had been examining Celeborn's injuries, looked up and said, "There appears to be no poisoning, and although there is significant internal damage, he may be able to survive if we get help soon."

"I will give my own blood if I must," Artanis said fervently.

"I do not believe that will be necessary," said Finrod, "although I am sure he appreciates your… dedication."

Celeborn then made a sound that strongly resembled a chuckle.

"Hold still," Artanis instructed. "You cannot afford to lose any more blood."

He was silent and still after that, but she was certain his grip on her hand grew stronger.

"What was the name of the woman who helped Maedhros?" Saeros asked. "She did well."

"Navarië," Turgon replied, "and she is among our most skilled healers. I will bring her if I can, but time is against us. If I cannot find her right away, I will have to bring someone else."

He left them at those words and began running down the mountain.

"Where are Heldafion and Artirno?" Finrod asked, referring to the Noldorin soldiers who had been ordered to stay with Celeborn.

"Here," Valendil called from behind a boulder. He climbed on top of the boulder and into view. "There are three orc carcasses with them, and fewer footprints leading away than toward. I think there were six, maybe seven at the most."

"Two elves are more than a match for seven orcs," Finrod mused. "Unless…"

Celeborn made an incoherent noise.

"What was that?" Artanis asked, leaning in close to him.

He repeated what he said, only slightly less garbled.

It was enough for her. When she sat up again, anger was etched into the ridges and valleys of her strong face. "It seems we are not the only ones who know the advantages of surprise," she said.

"But how?" asked Saeros. "The orcs in the pass were not aware of us."

"Scouts in the mountains," Valendil hypothesized. "They must have noticed the camp."

"But why would they not warn those in the valley?" asked Artanis.

"Orcs are not known for loyalty, even to each other," Saeros said. "But we had scouts of our own, and none of them reported any orc sightings…"

"A curious situation," said Finrod, "and one that will have to be investigated."

"But one that is not important now," Artanis said, who was slowly losing a battle of her own: fighting back tears. "He's so cold…"

"We should get him out of the mud," Saeros suggested.

Artanis nodded. "Finrod, Valendil, can you lift him without causing him great pain?"

"Only if you have an idea," Finrod replied, kneeling down next to Celeborn. Valendil did the same.

"I do." She unfastened the green traveling cloak around her shoulders and tossed one end to Saeros. "Lift him."

Celeborn moaned softly as Finrod and Valendil lifted him, but they did not have to hold him long. Artanis and Saeros quickly spread out her cloak below him, and he was set down. "We should support his head," said Valendil.

Artanis situated herself so that she was kneeling directly above Celeborn's head, and she let it rest in her lap. "Is that all right?" she asked.

His eyelids fluttered, and he made a sound that sounded more like "yes" than "no."

"Hold on," she whispered. Her falling tears left trails in the dirt and blood on his face. "Just hold on."

Turgon returned with Navarië shortly after moonrise, and not long afterwards, more elves arrived, among them Fingolfin, Orodreth, Elecon, and Celebrimbor, and with them they brought supplies to build a new tent and provide Navarië with any supplies she might need. A tent was constructed within an hour, and Navarië disappeared into it with Celeborn. None were permitted to disturb her while she worked for fear that it would break her concentration. Navarië later said that she was amazed Celeborn had survived that long, that anyone else would have given into the injuries shortly after they had been inflicted, and that he must have something extraordinary to live for.

It was dawn by the time Navarië emerged from the tent. "How is he?" Artanis demanded to know. "Is he alive? Will he be all right?"

Navarië smiled, pleased by her enthusiasm. "He is doing well," she reported. "He is asleep now, I believe, but he told me he wishes to see you when he can."

"I'm sure he does," Celebrimbor said, more loudly than he intended.

Artanis glared at him. "You know what she meant."

"But does she?" Finrod asked quietly.

She glared at her brother next, as if to say What, you too?

"What do you mean?" the confused Navarië asked.

"It is not a matter of concern," Artanis said quickly. "Please, let me see him."

Navarië nodded and stepped to the side, allowing Artanis to go in. A table had been covered with a blanket, and Celeborn placed on top of it, with another blanket covering the lower half of his body. Bandages covered part of his exposed upper body. His eyes were closed, and his face was peaceful, as if he were asleep and having a pleasant dream. A chair was next to the table, and Artanis sat down on it. She could feel tears of relief forming in her eyes. If he died, she didn't know what she would do.

"Celeborn?" she said softly, hoping not to wake him if he really was sleeping.

He stirred and opened his cloudy eyes. "Artanis…"

She smiled and placed her hand on his arm. "Did I wake you?" she asked.

"Yes; from one dream into another infinitely more wonderful," he replied. He tried to sit up, then winced and placed his hand over the bandages on his chest.

"Hold still," she told him, putting her other hand on his chest and gently, but firmly pushing him back down. "You need to rest."

"I have been resting all night, Artanis," he said.

"Well, rest some more."

He smiled and gave no verbal reply.

She noticed that some of his hair had fallen across his face. As she reached up to brush it aside, it occurred to her that Navarië had been standing over him like this all night, and she was unable to suppress a pang of jealousy. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"As fine as anyone would be in my circumstance, I suppose," he answered. "Ambushed by orcs, shot through with arrows, nearly killed… strange, how some things simply refuse to change."

His ability to find the humor in the situation made her smile. "I am glad you're alive."

"So am I," he said. "When the orcs attacked us, I thought I'd never s- that I'd never be near you again."

He couldn't believe he had nearly made a reference to sight. Of course he'd never see her again. How could he see her again when he had never seen her to begin with?

Artanis noticed his slip and wish he hadn't corrected himself; she knew what he meant, and it was such a common saying that it wasn't consciously associated with vision anymore. Blindness, however, wasn't common. Being around Celeborn was difficult sometimes, but always worthwhile.

"Your injury is on the other side, is it not?" she asked, leaning over him to get a better look at the wounds on his left side.

"Yes," he said. He paused for a moment, then added, "Is it bad?"

A few strands of her hair had worked their way out of the braid she had it pulled back in, but she ignored them. "Yes," she admitted, "but the work Navarië has done on you is remarkable." However ambivalent her feelings toward Navarië were at the moment, Artanis could not deny that the woman was talented when it came to the art of healing.

"What is that?" Celeborn asked as he felt the tickle of something brushing lightly against his skin.

"Oh," Artanis said, tucking the renegade strands behind her ear. She was surprised at how sensitive his sense of touch was; if it had been her, she probably wouldn't have felt the hair. Perhaps he concentrated more on his other senses to make up for the one he'd lost. "That was my hair."

"Your hair…" he said softly. "Is it really as beautiful as they say?"

She wasn't entirely sure how to answer that question without sounding conceited. After spending a few moments in thought, she came up with, "I have been told that it is."

He smiled. "Lúthien has described it to me, but she admits that it is beyond words; golden as the sun, but touched with moonlight as well."

"Yes," Artanis said. "It is because of my lineage. My mother is Eärwen of the Teleri, and my father's mother is Indis of the Vanyar."

"And yet you and your brothers are counted among the Noldor, though by blood you are more closely related to my people."

"We are the children of the house of Finwë, High King of the Noldor," Artanis said. She noticed the indignant tone of her voice too late and cringed. Hopefully Celeborn wouldn't notice.

If he did notice, he didn't take offense. "You have the blood of the Three Kindreds," he said. "The melodic voice of the Teleri… the strength and spirit of the Noldor… the grace and beauty of the Vanyar…"

She chuckled. "I am no more beautiful than any other of the Eldar." That wasn't true; she was considered the fairest of the house of Finwë, but how would he know? Too long had her beauty attracted unwanted attention. The fact that he could not judge for himself on it was one of the many things that drew her to Celeborn. "And you have seen Lúthien," she continued. "She is far more beautiful than I."

"Of the sun and the moon, which would you say is the more beautiful?"

That was a difficult question. She held them both in equal reverence. After a few moments in thought, she gave him an answer. "The sun." Both its fire and its pilot were closer to her heart than Tilion and the soft silver light of the moon.

"But do you not still look upon the moon and think it beautiful, too?"

Artanis laughed. "Your riddles have me at a loss for words, Celeborn."

"I have stumped the Lady Artanis. This news must be announced to the world."

She laughed again, and he smiled. He had long been able to perceive the sorrows that rested on her heart, and it brought him joy to feel them lifted, if only for a short time. He wished it were possible for him to always be with her and do his part in easing her pain, if only as her friend. A shadow descended upon his own heart then as he realized that this would likely be his fate, doomed to love her from a distance as Daeron loved Lúthien. Someday, he knew, Lúthien would find love, and it would not be in Daeron. What hope did he have for Artanis?

"Celeborn?" she said, taking notice of his sudden mood swing. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," he said dismissively.

"Perhaps I should leave," Artanis said. "You need your rest."

"No!" he exclaimed, finding her arm with the hand nearest to her. "Please… if you can, please stay."

She smiled and took his hand in hers. "I will stay as long as you wish me to."

"Oh?" said Celeborn. "Then perhaps you should let the others know that you are now my prisoner and I have no intent of releasing you. Ever."

The sound of her laughter filled his ears once again, and he smiled. Even her laugh was beautiful. If he could look upon her with his own eyes just once, for an instant, he would be content to be blind for the rest of his life.

He could still feel traces of her hair on his skin. It was soft and light, even warm in its own way, like it wasn't hair at all, but sunlight incarnated. He could only imagine its beauty, but Celeborn had a very good imagination.

"What is it now?" Artanis asked.

How does she DO that, he wondered. "Your hair again," he said. "It's very… interesting."

She chuckled. "I do not believe anyone has ever called my hair 'interesting,' Celeborn."

"Well, those of us who cannot judge for ourselves must think of ways to make up for it."

Artanis reached with one hand and awkwardly unbraided her hair. It fell down around her shoulders like a waterfall of sunlight, and she smiled. She didn't like wearing her hair up. With the hand that held his, she gently lifted his arm and guided his fingers over the golden spirals. "Judge."

He gasped as his hand became immersed in the strands. "I… I have never felt anything like it," he said. "You are truly a woman crowned in radiance, Artanis."

"A woman crowned in radiance," she repeated, and chuckled. "I like that."

"You do?" Celeborn said. "Then I name you Galadriel, for you shall always be such to me."

"Galadriel." She liked the name. She liked the way it sounded, the way his Sindarin accent drew out the second syllable, and above all, the one who gave it to her. "Yes. Galadriel."

"You like it?"

"I do," she said. "Henceforth I shall be known as Galadriel. No longer shall I answer to any other name, for this is most beautiful of my names, and it was given to me by you, Celeborn of Doriath. And that is the greatest honor of all."

Finrod, wondering what was keeping his sister, decided it would probably be a good idea to go into the tent and find out for himself. He pushed back the flap over entrance, not making a sound so as not to disturb Celeborn if he were sleeping, and leaned his head inside. His sister was seated next to Celeborn, who was lying on the table, and both were motionless. Finrod did not think anything of it until he noticed something highly unusual.

Celeborn was touching her hair.

Finrod stumbled backwards, and the flap fell back into place. His sister was known for being finicky, even neurotic about who could and couldn't touch her hair, and the honor was rarely extended outside their immediate family. If Celeborn was touching her hair, it could only mean one thing.

And Finrod wasn't sure he liked it.

Swords for my reviewers: Bluebunny, Miria, and Morelen! Hope you're all enjoying!