Chapter Three: The Welcome of Home

Ost-in-Edhil, around the year 800, Second Age

A/N: This takes place about roughly 2,400 years before the events of the previous chapter. In this chapter is the recounting of the first time Caffrawen met Celebrimbor and Elimani. Keep your eye on the calendar!

Background Music: (Track 9: Return to Ch'in: Xena Warrior Princess, Vol. 6)

She had been apart from her people for far too long.

For an Elf, even fifty years in near-solitude could be too much to bear. Unless one counted the fact that life was often better, living alone in the forests and gently rolling mountains within Lindon. She could easily travel to Mithlond for supplies, or the benefit of brief conversation, when loneliness gnawed at her, worse than a belly full of writhing rats.

If she kept the hood of her cloak over her distinctive red hair, then she generally could pass through the crowds of Elves in Mithlond that would see it as the trademark of her lineage. She needed not to endure their stares and angry glances. She needed not another orphaned Elf, no matter how old, to burst into tears at the sight of her auburn tresses, the reminder of the bane of their lost family members.

All things considered, the balance that she kept by months-long absences was the best possible situation. It had been different when the remnants of the Hunting-Elves yet remained in Middle-Earth. They had known her parents, Amras and Elencala, and her father's twin, Amrod. They could regale her with tales of the adventures of the twins' hunting adventures, the life of her mother, the history of their people. Her people had filled in the holes left by the deaths of her parents and uncle.

They certainly instructed her in the tales of her grandfather, Feanor, and of her five other uncles. They instructed her in the reasons why she was treated by the other Elves in such a harsh fashion. Their tales were cautionary, and sympathetic. They were there for her to laugh with, to joke with, to hunt with. They had no qualms about embracing a descendant of Feanor when she was in need of a hug. They scolded her, taught her, loved her and kept her safe as the orphaned heir of their former leaders.

They were gone now. The longing for the bliss of Valinor was powerful, especially in the wake of the Kinslayings, and the wrath of Morgoth.

They were gone, and she was alone.

Caffrawen had been living between the wild and Mithlond for about fifty years since the Hunting-Elves had crossed. She had been prepared to spend her life this way, living between worlds so as to not to overly upset the Elves that saw in her the heir of a murderous bloodline.

It wasn't until a passing reference to the region of "Eregion" was mentioned that she had even thought of seeking out the seeming last member of her shattered family. It wasn't until the thought of returning to live among her own people held any appeal for her until then.

Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel had founded and were currently leading Ost-in-Edhil, the new and grand Elven-city, built upon the foothills of the Western side of the Misty Mountains. Supposedly (and to the horror of many Elves), there was a great friendship struck up between the Elves of that city and the Dwarves of the nearby Dwarrodelf. The information that it was mostly comprised of Noldor Elves, those more sympathetic to her plight, was extremely fortuitous, as it gave her a new realm to visit, one in which she could cast off her cloak and still be received warmly by her kindred.

The information that her cousin Celebrimbor was now living there as Head Artificer in the great Forges of Eregion wiped all doubt from her mind.

In its wake, it left her with a deep longing to finally meet her cousin, to reunite with the sole remaining member of her family. It filled her with a sharp awareness of how much she desired the company of others, the company of those who did not flinch when she turned to them.

Did he face the same stares? What did he think about their mutual heritage? Did he consider himself bound to the dread Oath*?

Would he welcome her, or would he think her an unpleasant reminder of the past? She knew that he had been born overseas, that he could remember all the way back to the First Kinslaying. He would know firsthand the devastation that her family had wrought against their kindred.

Such questions occupied her mind on the road to Ost-in-Edhil.

It was a singularly beautiful country. In the pale pre-dawn of that morning, the tall grasses were colored a soft green. Morning glories, twining among the roadside grasses, were diffused to pastel shades. A veil of formless mist hovered indecisively over the grasses, debating if it was to settle on the life below it, or rise up to greet the dawning day. In the half-light, everything but the holly-trees seemed to be similarly affected. The holly, in turn, seemed to become deeper and darker than before, the contrast of dark and rough forms against light and yielding forms, heightening the mystique of the land.

Being a Noldor, she already felt at ease in the landscape, unaccustomed to but strangely at ease in the wide plains. Forests did not bother her, but there was nothing quite like the knowledge that there was plenty of room to run, to breathe, to feel the wind run through her hair.

She stopped to inhale deeply, the sweet scent of the grasslands intermingled with the slightly spicy smell of holly trees. Eregion was aptly named.

Chiding herself for being lost in thought, she did a quick survey of her surroundings. The ground was becoming more rocky, somewhat treacherous to the unwary traveler. She had been hiking in the valleys between the huge foothills of the Misty Mountains, every once in a while, getting a glimpse of the tall blue mountains as they loomed closer.

Feeling a need to get her bearings, Caffrawen began an ascent to the top of the nearest foothill. Ost-in-Edhil had to be nearby, she'd traveled about the correct distance that the last family of farming Elves had instructed her to go to reach the new city.

If she'd overshot it...but she couldn't have...

The wind shifted to blow in from the south-east, and she caught a whiff of wood-smoke. Not just a whiff, she decided, but nearly a fog of the smell. Perhaps it was the city?

Perhaps the next farmer's house had caught fire.

Caffrawen was not one much for omens or premonitions. Yet, as she crested the hill and looked to the southwest, she felt something within her soul shatter, and warmth suffused her like nothing she had felt since her parents' deaths.

The sun had just risen over the horizon, and it gilded the sky with its rays, and brightened the lush grass of the enormous hill before her to a soft jade carpet.

The white city before her, bathed in that same sunlight, framed against the majesty of the Misty Mountains, glowed as something unreal. Like a pearl set upon a bed of emeralds, Ost-in-Edhil was the treasure of treasures to behold in that land.

For an indefinable reason, Caffrawen's heart rose up with the sun at her first sight of Ost-in-Edhil, crushing all indignities and slights, all grief and loss suffered in the past. If she could have slowed the moment, prolonged the beauty, she would have.

No matter what would happen in the future, whenever she attempted to recall Ost-in-Edhil, Caffrawen's mind would instantly remember this moment, sealed within her heart forever.

A thin column of smoke rose from the southerly corner of the city, bending as the wind urged it northwards, the source of the smoke scent from earlier on.

She gave a small start of irrational fear - surely she couldn't have arrived here only to see it burn before her? But no, she chided herself, it was the only the smithy's fires - another good sign. Celebrimbor was there. Was he an early riser? That was a good sign in an Elf - eager to begin the day...or was it that he was obsessed with his work?

Groaning, Caffrawen upbraided herself for making guesses about a man she knew nothing of, save his name, current residence, and occupation. She'd know more about him if she stopped staring like a slack-jawed ninny and knocked on his front door.

That led to another school of thought - where were the guards? She'd developed a skill at moving through the woods, first, to hunt with the Elves of her father's woodland colony, and later to escape detection from other Elves. But that had been in the thick forests of Lindon and the Blue Mountains, with many a leafy branch to muffle her retreat. On this mostly bald landscape, she knew that she should have been challenged by a guard a long time ago. Was Celeborn a complacent ruler? Such lack of anxiety did not bode well in land that still teemed with the Foul Folk, the black Orcs of Sauron.

Pressing forward and breaking her reverie of Ost-in-Edhil, Caffrawen stepped eagerly towards the city, the bounce in her step making her pack jounce against her back uncomfortably. Automatically, Caffrawen reached around for the strips of rope bound to each side of her pack, looping them around her waist and tying a rough knot, so that her smooth gait would not be affected.

The city gates loomed closer, and Caffrawen could not tear her eyes from the graceful city. Belted by stone walls the color of cream, at least the height of eight grown Elves, she counted five large stone towers rearing up from different quarters of the city. Each pearly spike had a domed top, arching downwards to form great windows on all sides, pockmarked on the rest of the length downward with dark windows. Her eyes could make out the forms of Elves within, some in the process of readying themselves for the day, others walking past with the occasional glance towards the sunrise.

Out of habit, Caffrawen immediately reached for the hood of her cloak, drawing the mossy green oilskin over her hair. Her hand did an unconscious sweep to push back any wayward auburn lock that could burn on her breast, like a brand to declare to all the world her heritage.

She drew near to the gate. No word seemed fitting to her mind other than monstrosity. Wrought of iron and reinforced with some unknown material that shone with the light of the stars, it towered at the height of ten grown Elves standing on each other's shoulders, and its width was enough for at least fifteen to walk abreast. The iron and - was it perhaps silver? - twisted and curled among the long support bars of the gates, giving the impression of vines, circling the crest of "silver" worked into the shape of a swimming swan. The symbol for the house of Celeborn, she remembered. Where gate met wall, there were planted two craggy holly-trees, and beside them both were two smaller gates, each made of the same "silver" and high enough to allow a tall Elf passage.

Sensing the presence of other Elves, she realized that two were stationed at rock-slits beside those smaller gates, eyes intently watching her.

Probably, she reflected, with bows in hand behind that marble wall. An arrow could easily pass out those slits - perhaps Celeborn wasn't so lax about security after all.

"State your name and purpose, if you please."

The voice came from the small gate to her left, and she drew near it. The question had been courteously stated, she reflected. That was a change, no more of that "Who goes there?" business she recieved at Mithlond.

"I come to visit my kinsman." she said rustily, not withdrawing the hood from her hair. Inwardly she winced, hearing her voice grate from years out of practice of the skill of conversation.

The bright blue eyes from the slit blinked, reflectively.

"And your name, my lady?"

"Caffrawen." Would they recognize it? How well-known was it that Amras had had a daughter?

"And the name of your kinsman, my lady Caffrawen?"

Apparently not.

"Celebrimbor. I am given to understand that he is now Master Artificer for Ost-in-Edhil."

The eyes blinked again, and from their wideness, she believed their owner to be rather shocked. Inwardly, she groaned. If he were to deny her passage, she'd have to use more dramatic attempts to slip into the city.

To her surprise, the small gate swung open, and a tall brown-haired Elf stepped forward and bowed. As she had no skirt to curtsy with and return the gesture, Caffrawen shifted uncomfortably in her baggy trousers, and remained standing, feeling rather awkward.

The guard seemed not to notice. His eyes instead fixed on her hairline, and, to her further discomfiture, Caffrawen realized that when she had shifted, the hood of her cloak had slid back enough to reveal her copper-hued locks.

A smile lighted the Elf's features, and he looked at her kindly, noting her discomfort.

"My name is Failar. Would I be correct in assuming that you do not know your way around our fair city, my lady?"

His tone was welcoming, nay, merry! Caffrawen could only stare in surprise at this surfeit of courtesy from a strange Elf, then succeeded in biting her tongue as she choked out a "You would be."

The Elf turned his head and called to a place behind the guard's room. "Ohtan! Watch for me while I escort this lady to her family."

Caffrawen mentally kicked herself, then stammered out a demurral. "No, thank you, sir Failar. I assume I have only to walk towards the rising smoke?"

At his nod, she continued. "Then as kindly as your offer is, I think I shall make my own way to my cousin's forges."

"As you wish, my lady." A smile touched his lips, and Caffrawen found herself returning the gesture, surprised at the naturalness of the gesture from a stranger.

He stepped back and allowed her to pass through. "A good day to you, lady Caffrawen."

"To you as well, sir Failar."

* * *

Background Music: (Track 16: Traveling with Eli: Xena Warrior Princess, Vol. 4)

As she walked through the streets of Ost-in-Edhil, Caffrawen found herself automatically comparing Mithlond to Ost-in-Edhil, taking in the nuances, the mood, the relative demeanor of the city's inhabitants.

It should probably have gone without saying that Ost-in-Edhil won on every score.

Traveling down a cobbled street lined with homes and workplaces, she was amazed at the amount of vegetation she saw within a city of stone. Gardens bloomed with early summer flowers, towered over by sturdy firs and maples that were shielding vegetable gardens not yet ready for harvesting. The smell of some fruity roll baked for breakfast was causing her stomach to churn in yearning for nourishment. An elleth nodded with a smile in her direction, taking note of the wandering stranger. A crowd of golden and black-headed children raced by Caffrawen with the careless abandon of the very young. A steady clack-clack noise issued from a weaver's garden, where a lithe, brown-haired benn had set up his loom in the sunshine.

A small crowd of Dwarves, obviously headed towards the forges, stopped to chuckle at the antics of the Elflings, who in turn stopped to gape at them. One Dwarf, draped in heavy chain mail and carrying a heavy mallet on one shoulder, started imitating the Elflings, jumping up and down and squealing, which sounded rather absurd, given his baritone voice. He was joined in by the other Dwarves of his company. The Elflings, obviously delighted, started to imitate the dwarves, stooping over and mumbling in deep tones. The absurdity of the situation caught both parties, and the mixed bass and soprano laughter was surprisingly sweet in the morning air.

Caffrawen had seen Dwarves before, but never up close, and certainly never with such ease of spirit towards Elves. The few that lived in mansions on the outskirts of Lindon never approached Mithlond unless they absolutely had to. The same could be said of the Elves of the Grey Havens in their behavior towards the Dwarves.

It was so very, very different from the mournful atmosphere of Mithlond. The steady trickle of Elves leaving Middle Earth had permeated the entire city with an air of sorrow, as the Elves bid their final farewells to a land that they had fought to protect.

Here, in this center of industry and amicability, the Elves were still cheerful, still optimistic about their time in Middle-Earth. Untouched for the most part by sea-longing, they were content to brighten and enliven their corner of the world for as long as they could stay.

Caffrawen noticed with a start that she had not pulled her hood back over her hairline. What disconcerted her even more was the fact that she'd not gotten a glare, caused an outbreak of tears, or had anyone boldly challenge her right to be within the city.

The forges loomed ahead, and upon closer inspection, Caffrawen realized that the forges and their surrounding warehouses took up nearly an eighth of the city. The central work-house was raised upon a platform, ivory stairs reaching up to grasp the luminous building of wonders and keep it from escaping the confines of the city. The Dwarves, several paces ahead of her, turned to tromp down an alleyway between two warehouses, headed towards the largest of the forge-fires.

Caffrawen strode up the stairs, stopping briefly at the top to look over her shoulder at the city spread out before her. Smiths and archivals strode about, carrying armfuls of metal to be worked, tools to be used, wood to stoke up the fires. A rythmic tapping and banging issued from the warehouse - the Song of the Smith, she supposed. This place was, she decided, the very heart of Ost-in-Edhil. Again, she pulled up the hood of her cloak past her hairline, and did another sweep to push back any errant strands.

The central work-house was, unsurprisingly, creamy in color, with a large, overhanging roof supported by thick white columns on all sides. As she stepped past them, the thought suddenly struck her that she had no idea of what her cousin looked like. She chided herself for thinking that it would be a mere matter of striding up to the biggest forge and introducing herself to someone who resembled her parents.

Exploring onwards, she entered the work-house, looking for anyone who might possibly be able to tell her where Celebrimbor was.

Passing through an archway, she encountered a benn sitting at a large oaken desk, sorting through an assortment of sketches and notes on crackling parchment. His head bobbed up as she approached, and a charming smile lit his angular face, framed with long black hair.

"Good morning, my lady. How can Elimani, slayer of sloppy handwriting and victor of many a duel with metal and hammer, be at your service today?"

Caffrawen felt her lips return the smile of their own volition, her anxiety eased by the kind gesture.

"I am looking for a benn by the name of Celebrimbor. I am given to understand that he is Master Archival here. If you know, could you possibly point me in his direction?"

The benn's - Elimani's - smile faded somewhat as he regarded her closely.

"What is your business with the Master, my lady? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

"I do, for it is business with him alone that I wish. If you don't mind my refusal, that is," she returned equably.

Elimani's full grin returned, and he rose from the chair. "I will escort the Master to you. Unless perhaps he does not like the thought of being called like a hound to the whistle."

With that comment, he turned on his heel and strode quickly through a side hallway, but not before giving her a mocking half-bow, softened with a cherubic grin.

As his the sound of his footsteps grew softer, Caffrawen approached the desk, her eyes roving over the sketches. Swords, shields, chain mail patterns - all of these she recognized - but what was that long tube? And the winged thing, what was that? She began to read the side notes and scripts, carefully transcribed by someone, probably Elimani, into legible Sindarin from the indistinguishable scribble on the original notes.

Footsteps drew closer. She dropped the parchment that she had perused, and turned towards the archway that Elimani had exited through.

"Really now, Elimani, what's gotten into you? You could have at least asked her name, let alone the business she wants with me. Probably some mother requesting a bauble for her daughter's conception day." The light tenor voice, though softly attuned, was nonetheless audible as it was amplified in the echoing archway.

Without any preamble, a red-haired Elf strode through the archway. Caffrawen's first impression was that of a very driven nature, of very determined spirit and highly focused attention. As his head turned in her direction, she was finally able to see his features in the light.

Celebrimbor, Master Archival of Ost-in-Edhil, had certainly inherited her family's trademark feature. Bright red hair framed a wide face with mobile features, skin that was tanned and reddened from hours spent over the forge fires, and bright blue eyes. He was sturdily built, large biceps the evidence of much swinging of heavy hammers, in fact, one was carelessly gripped in a muscular hand. He was clothed in rough cotton, with a stained brown smock tied about his neck and waist. His eyes flickered towards her, lips curling in a brisk smile that was meant to send her on her way as soon as possible.

"My lady..." he broke off as she wordlessly pulled the hood from her head, revealing the red hair concealed within.

Caffrawen was rewarded with the sight of his eyes widening, his smile melting into an O of astonishment. The hammer slipped from nerveless fingers and clattered to the stone floor harmlessly.

"Elimani." Celebrimbor's voice was but a choked murmur.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Tell the others I will not be returning today."

Elimani was looking with confusion at both Caffrawen's hair and Celebrimbor's behavior, but jerkily nodded and left the room, pausing once more to glance at the pair.

* * *

"Caffrawen."

"How did you know my name?"

"Word gets around. How did you know to find me here?"

"Word gets around, Celebrimbor."

"Forgive me, I know we have not been properly introduced..."

"We have never been introduced. I suppose that allowing this generation of Feanorians to meet and work together was not something that many of our people had in mind."

"Perhaps...I thought you had sailed West, that you had abandoned these shores. I did search for tales or traces of you, but when I heard that the Hunting-Elves had gone West, I assumed that you had gone with them. Otherwise..."

"I know. I should have come earlier, but did not hear of the foundation of Ost-in-Edhil till very recently. Or the fact that you were here."

"Really? Not to be conceited, but I would have assumed that our fair city would have been the gossip of Mithlond for a good long time."

"Red-haired Elves with woodland clothes and knives at their belts aren't generally welcome in Mithlond. Conversation is dry to nonexistent in that place - it seems better here."

"Indeed it is."

There was an uncomfortable pause. Celebrimbor dipped his head down a moment, but when he returned it to its former position, it bore a wide and rather mischevious grin. They broke into a fit of giggles, the tension between the two of them having vanished, evaporating in the sunlight slanting into the hall. Celebrimbor moved forward, his eyes very warm, and encircled her shoulders with a bulky arm.

"Cousin," he said warmly, "Let us go somewhere to catch up on each other's lives."

* * *

Whomever had designed the Smithing section of the city must have known something about the habits of those who worked with hammer and anvil. Caffrawen was almost amused to see the size of the kitchens and trestle tables for dining. She doubted that many smiths, as single-minded as they could be in their pursuits, saw too many meals outside of this chamber.

"You've not eaten yet this morning?" Celebrimbor inquired courteously at her side.

"No. I haven't stopped since..." Caffrawen trailed off in thought, eyebrows knitted in concentration. When had she last stopped for a meal? A low chuckle interrupted her musings.

"You'd make a good smith. I'd appreciate a cup of hot tea myself."

He escorted her to a seat effortlessly, then turned to a benn staffing the hearth. A quiet request produced two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of fruit and warm rolls.

Caffrawen, glancing about at her surroundings, caught Celebrimbor in the corner of her eye, watching her as he waited for the benn to finish pouring. The expression on his face had no distinct category. Wonder, perhaps, with the widening of his eyes revealing just how much a surprise her entrance was. Consternation, maybe, the firm set of his lips betraying an incredulity at her forward behavior. Worry, most definetly, in his reluctance to take his eyes off her, lest she diappear as quickly as she had arrived.

Giving no signal that she had caught him watching her, she dipped her head down, then slowly turned her head in his direction, waiting to see what he would do. By the time her curious regard had reached him, he had already turned back to the benn, who handed him the small tray of breakfast foods.

Setting it down in front of her, and pressing the clay mug into her hands, she saw that his face had settled into lines, the temporary merriness of his eyes gone.

"A proposal, Caffrawen. I will tell you of my life up to the present, and then you tell me of yours. There is much that lies unspoken between us - feel it, and you must as well. We obviously have many unanswered questions about each other - and I would not want any awkwardness between us." He spoke slowly, clearly thinking about each phrase before it left his mouth.

Caffrawen, engaged in tearing off a hunk of roll, allowed another smile to curl her lips.

"Am I a joke then, cousin?"

She grinned slightly. "Nay, cousin. I was merely thinking that you were in all things a smith - blunt and to the point. I am most eager to hear of your life, but I would appreciate if you spoke first. My hunger rages."

He relaxed, the set of his broad shoulders easing. "Aye. That I am. And I would hardly be a gentleman if I witheld your breakfast while making you give me the story of your life up till today."

Caffrawen had already filled her mouth with the roll. "Sho tawk."

"Pardon?"

She swallowed hastily. "Please, begin then."

He leaned back, his eyes already far away, looking at some distant wonder.

"You know that I was born on the Blessed Shores? Good. Hmmm. I remember growing up in that land of bliss, playing with the other Elflings in the cool grass of Formenos, watching my father and my uncles in the forges." He grinned then, the show of his white teeth against the tanned, grimy complexion of his face almost startling.

"They used to employ me to fetch them things - ' Oh, little 'Brimbor, please bring me that rasp.' Your father took an especial delight in asking me for the heaviest hammers, the things on the tallest shelves. After a while, I started telling him to get it himself."

Caffrawen felt the roll she had been chewing suddenly become very heavy as she attempted to swallow. A quick swig of the mug of tea loosened it, but not the curious joy and sorrow upon discovering something about her father's nature that she had not known. Apparently realizing that he had trodden on a tender subject, Celebrimbor changed tactics quickly.

"In any case, I can remember the light of the Two Trees - though I saw them only at the end of their lifespan." His voice held that curious wonder that all Elves possessed when speaking of the Two Trees.

"I remember Grandfather working so feverishly on what I assumed were jewels that he was giving to Grandmother. Now I know what they were. Grandfather only let me inside for a quick peek - how he scowled!- but I did see them."

"How did they look?"

"There is no real word for it, my dear cousin. I am a jewel-smith, and I know good workmanship when I see it. I know incredible workmanship when I see it. But when I saw the Silmarils...I knew that they were unequaled, and beyond my skill." His lips pursed, as if he did not like admitting that truth to himself. "All my life, I have striven to create something that will be worthy of our line, something to redeem our heritage through its wonder. Alas, I fear that such knowledge as Grandfather used is forever lost - if ever he let a word of it past his lips."

"When the Two Trees withered, when Great-Grandfather died, I didn't think it could get much worse. But it did. The First Kin-Slaying...I did not understand why Grandfather, Father, and all my Uncles found it necessary to spill the blood of others...did not understand the screams, the terror. But I did know something had gone hideously wrong - to kill another Elf, one of your own kindred, is wrong....even a child understands that." His voice became hard. "All the world was confusion, red and black, pain and terror. It was all right on the seas for a while, but then the storms kicked up.." He broke off, his eyes leagues and years away, staring at their family's folly.

"The time came for me to swear the Oath. I wouldn't." The big smith closed his eyes. "Father was so angry. He shouted, I shouted right back. He threatened, but his threats held little weight. I renounced my family's deeds before Father and Uncle Celegorm...Celegorm was nearly pop-eyed with rage, but I think Uncle Maedhros understood. He sought me out later, after hearing of my choice, told me that he envied my decision."

Caffrawen was a little unsettled by this sudden outpouring of grief and emotion, but then remembered Celebrimbor's circumstances. He must not have had anyone to confide in for a long time. That plus the fact that this was the first emotionally driven conversation she'd had in years - she realized that she was looking impatiently for the time when she could tell him of her sorrow. Oblivious to her revelation, Celebrimbor continued.

"So I remained in Nargothrond, and I started to learn the skills of the smith. Eventually I traveled to Gondolin to live. From what I learned, and what I could remember from Valinor, I began to create. I wrought for who knows how many years...then Gondolin fell, and I fled with the rest." He looked almost ashamed. "But I did fight - I didn't hide."

"Glorfindel didn't hide either, and it is with great relief that many remember that he did flee with the rest of the refugees*." Caffrawen spoke in crisp tones. "Pray continue."

"I took to wandering with the entourage of the Lady Galadriel. She took me in, cared not about my heritage, knew the deeds that I had done. She is the grace of the Valar come to Earth." His eyes took on the same wonder they had held when describing the Two Trees.

"And Lord Celeborn?"

"Er...yes, and Lord Celeborn, he is a fine benn, a great leader of Elves." Under his deep tan, Celebrimbor seemed to blanch a bit, and Caffrawen wondered at this loss of composure. "In any case, the Lady Galadriel...and Lord Celeborn...asked me to help them design a city that would become the heart of Elvendom on Middle-Earth, a sanctuary in particular for the Noldor. A place where we could work on our projects in peace, collaborate with the good-hearted Dwarves, live life as we originally wished to."

"And Ost-in-Edhil was born."

"Aye. A newborn she is, but very much beloved." He took a long draught of the tea from his mug. "Are you ready, now, to tell me of your life, Caffrawen?"

"Aye. Not much to tell, as I am young, and have seen not half the wonders you have. I was born some forty years before the last Kinslaying. Once my parents were gone, I was raised by the Hunting-Elves in the colony that my father and Uncle Amrod founded. They taught me to hunt, to live in the wild, to sing at the bonfires. About fifty years ago, they all left for Valinor. Since then, I've lived in the Wilds surrounding Lindon and in the Blue Mountains, stopping every once in a while to visit Mithlond. About three weeks ago, I heard of Ost-in-Edhil, the haven of the Noldor, and the home of a genius smith. Now I am here."

Celebrimbor nodded, his eyes taking in much more than her brief, impersonal speech provided. "And you lived alone for those fifty years?"

"More or less. It is much easier to sleep in a tree and hunt for my daily meal than it is to walk to the market with my head uncovered, causing elleth to cry and benn to hurl insults."

He looked at her, blue eyes piercing through her until she had to look away. "And now you are here." He extended his hand, palm up, across the trestle table. She hestitated a moment, then placed her own hand in his, lightly squeezing it. He squeezed back, and Caffrawen drew strength from that light touch.

He stood up, abruptly. "If you've eaten your fill, I would like to show you about Ost-in-Edhil." He smiled, indicating the doorway.

* * *

That night, in Celebrimbor's home, as Caffrawen combed out her hair, damp from the luxurious heated bath, she felt content. It was a good place, the right place for her to create a home. Never had she felt so...relaxed. The remainder of the day had been spent touring the city, and roaming through the Smith's quarter. The paternal pride in Celebrimbor towards his city was almost palpable, revealing itself in the swell of his chest with a glance at the skyline, or the gentle touch of his fingers to the white marble of the city walls. He loved this place, was loved by it...

All her life, Caffrawen had known intuitvely that the blame of the Kinslayings was not hers to bear. Yet it had been thrust upon her, unwilling, by the eyes of her own kin. Now that she had met someone in the same straits, who did not feel guilty for the Kinslayings...she felt oddly justified, and at peace with the world. After all, two could share misery better than one, and Ost-in-Edhil was far from miserable.

A knock at the door surprised her. Affirming admission, she saw Celebrimbor open the door, holding two mugs of heated milk in his hands.

"A good way to fall asleep at night." He figeted, obviously wanting to say something else.

"Spit it out, dear Celebrimbor. Your smith's nature betrays you." Caffrawen gave him a smile. He pressed the mug into her hand and motioned for her to sit.

"I...I wanted to tell you about the Third Kinslaying. I was there."

"I thought you had not sworn the Oath."

"I didn't, I didn't. But neither could I find it within myself to take up arms against my uncles. I...Caffrawen, I was with your father when he died."

Caffrawen felt that it was becoming more difficult to breathe. A heavy strap seemed to be restricting the movement of her chest, and her ears and eyes burned terribly.

Mother, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Is it Father? Mother? Mother!! Help! Someone help me!!

The automatic replay of the day her mother had died, signaling the almost simultaneous death of her Father, had been one of the worst of her life, and she was helpless to prevent it possessing her. Gritting her teeth, Caffrawen was aware of Celebrimbor's concerned eyes upon her.

"Please go on."

"He said...he told me of your existence, of the colony. He said that I was to carry his love to you, the request that you become his heir. I tried, Caffrawen, I tried so hard to find you and the colony. But you and the Hunting-Elves hid yourselves well, and our uncles that knew where you were had either fled or died. I'm so sorry for not helping to protect him."

Caffrawen stilled his apologies with a light pressure of her fingertips on his wrist. "I knew, Celebrimbor, I knew. And I sincerely doubt that there is anyone who wishes to be ruled by a Feanorian, or be bound to one."

"As for defending my father, I am glad that you did not." He looked up, amazed at her words. "Father was bound to the Oath. Death would have claimed him elsewhere, if not there. And you would have been killed, or had the blood of others on your hands. And I would be alone. It is selfish, I know, but of all things, Celebrimbor, I am glad that you remain."

Celebrimbor stared at her, taking in the depth of this statement. At once, his shoulders relaxed, and his features nearly formed a smile.

"This is a guest room, you know. Since I've never entertained any travelers, it has not really earned its name, and the question of what I should call it remains to be seen." He took a deep breath. "Are you a guest, Caffrawen, or are you staying on?"

Caffrawen broke into a merry grin. "As long as you can stand me, dear cousin."

He stood up, the grin slowly spreading across his wide face, not unlike the sun rising behind Ost-in-Edhil that morning.

She stood up, and impulsively, embraced him fiercely. There was a bit of surprise in the set of his body, but he hugged her back just as fiercely. There was a world of comfort and understanding in their embrace, and the knowledge that neither had had anyone to share this type of familiar contact with for a long time. Neither was aware of how long they had stood in that world, but eventually, they moved apart.

"Good night, dear cousin."

"Good night, dear Celebrimbor."

As he closed the door, Caffrawen closed her eyes and tipped back her head, letting the feelings of love and contentment wash over her, before she climbed into a real bed for the first time in over fifty years. The billowy comfort of the feather tick underneath her soothed her body, in a way similar to the soothing of her mind.

She had been wrong, she realized. She would not create a home in Ost-in-Edhil.

She was already there.

* * *

Anyone still there? I'm sorry this was so long, but it really is a necessary chapter for this character-driven story. If you read it all, you have my love and my admiration for your courage. Oh, and just to clarify things, this ain't a "kissing-cousins" story. Caffrawen and Celebrimbor have merely been without filial love and on their own for a long, long time. That, and Tolkein absolutely forbid the marriage of close kin So worry not!

* The Oath of Feanor, or the Oath of the Silmarils, was what drove Feanor to begin the first of the Kinslayings. Feanor and his seven sons (Caffrawen's grandfather, her father, and her six uncles) swore by Illuvatar (God) that they would slay anyone and anything that kept them from reclaiming the stolen Silmarils, and called everlasting Darkness upon themselves if they did not keep to their Oath. Easy to see why Celebrimbor didn't want to swear the Oath, isn't it?

* The fleeing refugees of Gondolin were beset by a Balrog, and would have been slain, were it not for the bravery of Glorfindel, who will make an appearance in the Fellowship of the Ring. (Arwen saved Frodo from the Nazgul? Oh, please.)

Canon deviations -

- The description of Ost-in-Edhil is completely my creation, as no physical description was ever given.

- Amras was never recorded to have a wife or a child.

-It is not recorded if Celebrimbor was present at the Third Kinslaying, though he probably was, just didn't participate. His birthdate, and whether he ever saw Valinor, is conjecture, as no birthdate was given.

- No guard by the name of Failar has been recorded.

No impetuous Elflings were harmed in the writing of this chapter, but the author would like to point out the dangers of teasing a bad-tempered Dwarf. Kids, don't try this at home.