Chapter Twelve: A Simple Misunderstanding

Melian insisted on examining Celeborn upon the travelers' return to Doriath, and none contested her wishes. One of the Valar she'd served was Estë the Healer, and Melian's knowledge of the healing arts was surpassed by none outside of Valinor – and few within it. After a few minutes, though, her desperation had dimmed. She could see that his injuries were severe, but also that the treatment he'd received for them was excellent and that there was nothing more that needed to be done.

"Your Healer is very gifted," Melian said to Finrod and Galadriel when she emerged from looking at Celeborn.

"Turgon told me she was trained by Envinyanta," Finrod said, knowing Melian would recognize the name.

"Estë's chief Maia," said Melian almost wistfully. "It is no wonder she was able to save him then. She must be very talented to have been chosen by Envinyanta."

Galadriel couldn't help wondering if they would ever stop talking about Navarië. True, she was skilled, not to mention kind and more than a little attractive, but did she merit everything short of having a ballad written about her? Navarië wouldn't have even had the chance so save Celeborn if it had not been for Finrod, Valendil, Saeros, Turgon, and Galadriel, or the two fallen Noldorin guards who had undoubtedly done enough damage to the attacking Orcs that they could not achieve their ultimate goal. Galadriel was grateful, of course, but enough was enough.

King Elu Thingol was pleased to hear that the battle was a success, and he agreed to help Finrod build his fortress. He also had a reaction similar to Finrod's at Galadriel's name change, but unlike Finrod, Thingol kept his thoughts to himself. Like most, he'd noticed that his nephew and the Noldorin woman had been growing closer and more affectionate, and he had mixed feelings about it. As a ruler, Thingol was obligated to view one side of everything as political, and politically, Celeborn and Galadriel were an excellent match. He was a prince of his people, and she was a descendant of kings. Besides, a union between the Noldor and Sindar would be practical with the Noldor amassing so much power. Thingol knew there were drawbacks to this as well. If an alliance of any sort existed, especially in the form of a marriage between Celeborn and Galadriel, Doriath would be obligated to aid in the struggle against Morgoth. It was not Doriath's war. Though the shadow of Morgoth loomed over them as it did the entire world, it was not an immediate threat to their existence. However, they would both be stronger with each others' help, and if they worked together, they would have greater hope of driving Morgoth out of Beleriand forever.

And then there was the personal side. Celeborn was like a son to Thingol, and the king desired his happiness. The greater good of Doriath had to come before the needs of any one person, but Thingol would never do anything that would cause someone misery so that the rest of the country might receive joy; in his mind, there was always another way, and he'd not yet been faced with that choice. It was likely that if Celeborn and Galadriel married, Doriath would not suffer nor benefit any differently than they would otherwise, and if they did, gains and losses would equal out in the end.

So Thingol began to wonder if Celeborn and Galadriel would be happy together. Thingol was deeply in love with his queen, and he wished the same happiness on the son of his heart. Even before being blinded, Celeborn had been quiet, pensive, and slow to anger; a deep, yet quick thinker who always put the needs of his people first. At first glance, it seemed as though these traits would clash with Galadriel's obvious ambition and pride, but as the king thought about it, he realized that if this was going to affect them, it already would have. They could be just what the other needed. Thingol knew Celeborn would made an excellent ruler and that it was unlikely he would ever gain rule of Doriath; Lúthien and the children she would have someday would inherit the throne when it was Thingol's time to step down. Would ruling a realm alongside Galadriel be the right path for Celeborn? What part would his affliction play in deciding what choice to make? And could they love each other enough to last through the hardships of lovers and leaders? There were so many questions, and Thingol was not sure they could be answered.

Celeborn, meanwhile, could not get thoughts of a certain woman out of his head.

Celeborn was in the garden with Daeron, resting under the cool shade of a willow tree. Daeron was tuning his harp and listening to Celeborn's account of the Battle of Tol Sirion, wondering if he could turn it into a ballad. Then Celeborn mentioned a name Daeron did not recognize, and his interest abandoned the harp completely in favor of his companion's tale. "Go on," the minstrel urged. "Preferably about her."

"Oh, Daeron, where do I begin?" Celeborn asked. "She was there at my most critical hour, and though there were times when I doubted my survival, she never did. Her touch is magic, and her voice… as soon as I heard it, I knew I would live."

Daeron plucked a few strings on the harp, then adjusted one of them. "There are few things as magical as the presence of a woman."

He should know, Celeborn thought. He's hopelessly in love with the greatest woman of our kind. Somehow Celeborn felt this would be his fate as well.

Daeron strummed the harp, then frowned. There was still a pitch that did not sound quite right.

"Harp trouble?" Celeborn asked.

"Yes," Daeron replied as he tightened the offending string. "I was playing for Lúthien earlier today and a string broke."

"Where is Lúthien?"

"She whisked your Noldorin princess off shortly after the queen finished examining you," the minstrel said. "I do not believe you had come out yet. Undoubtedly she wished to hear the tale from another point of view." He plucked the problem string and smiled. Daeron was a perfectionist, and though the before and after pitches of the harp might have sounded the same to anyone else, to him, they were a world apart. "Perhaps I should do the same; it should help in the composition of this ballad."

Daeron's guess as to Lúthien's intentions was nothing short of correct. The princess had indeed immediately sought out Galadriel and asked about the battle from her perspective. In the quiet of Lúthien's study, the still disgruntled Galadriel gave Lúthien the abridged version – leaving out the details behind her name change – and then tried to change the subject to the happenings in Menegroth. Lúthien, however, was not going to be fooled.

"You haven't told me why your name was Artanis when you left and Galadriel when you returned," Thingol's daughter pressed.

"I thought it would be wise to take a name in the Sindarin tongue, since my brothers and I are to be living among your people," Galadriel answered.

"Then you are staying in Doriath?" Lúthien said, her tone indicating that it was not a question.

"No," said Galadriel. "Once Finrod builds his fortress at Tol Sirion, we will certainly relocate there until a more permanent settlement can be established. Turgon has asked us to come to Nevrast, but I would not like to be there." What would they find in Nevrast? A neverending tribute to Navarië, undoubtedly. It was the last place Galadriel wanted to be.

"But then you would be living among your own people, so why take a Sindarin name?" inquired Lúthien.

Galadriel should have known there would be no fooling Lúthien. "My name was a gift," she quietly confessed. "Celeborn named me while recovering from the attack."

"It is a beautiful name," said Lúthien. "And very fitting." She began to extend her hand, then retracted it and said, "May I?"

Galadriel nodded. "Yes." She could feel a friendship with Lúthien much like the one she'd had with Amarië forming, and the idea of letting Lúthien touch her hair did not bother her. Perhaps Finrod will walk by and think I'm in love with Lúthien, too, she thought bitterly. The nerve of her brother was beginning to bother her; getting her hopes up about Celeborn when he obviously did not love her.

Lúthien touched her fingertips to a section near Galadriel's right shoulder and pulled her hand away almost immediately. "I have never felt anything like it."

Galadriel sighed and tucked her hair behind her ears. "That is exactly what Celeborn said."

A look of concern crossed Lúthien's beautiful face, and she placed her hand on her friend's arm. "Galadriel, is everything all right between you and Celeborn?" she asked. "Every time you or I mention him, you get that look on your face."

"What look?" Galadriel asked, even though she knew exactly what Lúthien was talking about.

"That one," said Lúthien. "Somewhere between angry and sad."

Galadriel stared at the marble floor of the study. "I cannot explain it, Lúthien," she began. "The world can be a strange, confusing, and horrible place, but when I am with Celeborn, it is never that way. I was so afraid before the battle began that we were walking to our deaths, but he assured me that we would be victorious. It has been that way every time I've sought his council. His mere presence calms and comforts me."

She looked up at Lúthien, and felt a sting in her eyes and a lump in her throat. "I didn't want to believe it, Lúthien, but I cannot hide it any longer. I love him. I love him. Ni melmë sen ar ni áva ista man…" She fell into her native Quenya as a flood of tears came and was unable to finish the thought before incoherence took her. Her hands went over her face and her body began shaking as she fought the losing battle to keep her emotions inside.

Lúthien knew Quenya – Melian had taught her – and the other woman's change in language effectively went unnoticed. She wrapped her arms around Galadriel and whispered a few comforting words in the tongue of Valinor. The words had the effect Lúthien was hoping for, and Galadriel stopped shaking and wept freely. "What you should do," Lúthien gently advised, "is tell him."

Galadriel lifted her wet face and looked at Lúthien. Her tears emphasized the blue of her eyes, and they looked more brilliant than Lúthien had ever seen. "I cannot tell him, Lúthien," she said, reverting back to the common language. "He cannot possibly feel as I do, and it would destroy our friendship. I refuse to risk that for an impossible chance."

These Noldor are so stubborn, Lúthien thought. She knew her father and Celeborn could have equally strong wills when called upon, and that she could seldom be deterred if she set her mind to something, but at least the Sindar could be reasonable. "You don't know that," she said. "I honestly believe that he could, Galadriel, and that he does, but he is so afraid of losing you that he would never admit it unless you did first."

"Then there is another thing Celeborn and I have in common," said Galadriel.

"Galadriel, please," Lúthien pressed. "You must take a chance in order to get one."

"But I have so much to lose."

"More than you have to gain?"

Daeron was having a similar conversation with Celeborn in the garden.

"You must tell her how you feel," Daeron said, having gotten Celeborn to admit that he harbored rather strong feelings for the woman he mentioned earlier. "Otherwise you will never have the chance you long for."

I do not feel you are the right one to tell me nothing ventured, nothing gained, Celeborn thought. "Daeron, be reasonable," he said instead, knowing it would be next to impossible to get the hopelessly romantic minstrel to drop the topic no matter what. "I am in no position to expect a woman to love me – any woman, let alone a woman like her."

"Celeborn, you are a prince of Doriath. The only woman you could never hope to love you is Lúthien, and only because you are too closely related."

"My blood and title is meaningless," said Celeborn. He sighed and rested his forehead on his hand. "She deserves a man who can see her."

Daeron did not know what to say to that.

"He is in the garden with Daeron," Lúthien said, pulling Galadriel to her feet. "Let us go there. I will speak to Celeborn on your behalf and discover the truth once and for all."

"No-" Galadriel began.

Lúthien was already dragging her out of the room. "You may thank me later."

Daeron's ears perked up at the sound of footsteps on the soft grass. "Someone's coming," he said. He looked through the low-hanging boughs of the willow trees and cherry blossoms and smiled when he saw a dark head that could not possibly belong to anyone else. "Lúthien…"

"Go to her," said Celeborn miserably. "I do not want anyone to see me like this."

Daeron set his harp down on the grass and wove his way through the branches, intercepting Lúthien and her Noldorin companion about twenty feet later. "Lúthien, Artanis, so good to see you," the minstrel said.

Lúthien was so set in her task that she did not take the time to correct Daeron on Galadriel's change of name. "Daeron, is Celeborn all right?" she asked, catching a glimpse of her cousin though the trees.

Daeron sighed and shook his head. "I am afraid not, my lady," he said. "He is in love with the woman who saved his life and refuses to tell her so."

Lúthien managed to hide her gasp, but Galadriel could not. Lúthien forced herself to look at Galadriel, who had a look of horror on her proud face. "I've heard enough," Galadriel said, then turned and fled the garden. Lúthien made no attempt to stop her or follow.

Lúthien spent a moment in woeful contemplation, then whirled around and seized Daeron's arm. "Daeron," she said, "did Celeborn say who he loved? Did he give you a name?"

"Yes," Daeron answered. "A Noldorin woman called Galadriel."

"Oh no," Lúthien moaned, letting go of Daeron and sinking to her knees. "I have been such a fool, Daeron."

"I don't understand," Daeron said, kneeling down next to her.

Lúthien only had to tell him half the story before he understood, and when it hit him, he felt even worse. "We must tell them, Lúthien!" he said. "We know the truth, and their own stubbornness is the only thing standing in the way!"

"No, Daeron," Lúthien replied. "We have interfered enough. The truth must be theirs and theirs alone to unveil." She sighed, glanced over her shoulder at the path Galadriel took to escape the garden, and then looked to her blind cousin sitting alone with Daeron's harp. "We owe it to them."

I wanted to have this chapter finished yesterday, which was the story's 1-year birthday, and probably could have if a sudden obsession to beat this one level in Tomb Raider II hadn't crept up on me, but… yeah. I also intended it to have a happy ending, but what do you know, that didn't happen either. Next time, I promise. :o) (I beat the level by the way - go me!)

Quenya translation: I love him and I don't know what...

Candy canes for my reviewers: Celadriel, morelen, Nathalia Potter, Marnie, Tuxedo Elf, Arinya, and Ellfine. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and all that jazz!