A/N: And here I thought this chapter would be shorter. Silly me. Oh, and I apologize for Galadriel and Celeborn appearing somewhat peripherally. If they hadn't, this thing would be about twenty pages!
Standard Disclaimer: Tolkien's characters. I only own the author-invented ones, and I'm not making any profit off them, either.
Chapter Four: Rites and Wrongs (spelling is intentional)
Ost-in-Edhil, Second Age, 1200
"Therefore Celebrimbor took thought, and began a long and delicate labour, and so for Galadriel he made the greatest of his works (save the Three Rings only). It is said that, more subtle and clear was the green gem that he made than that of Enerdhil, but yet its light had less power than that of Enerdhil. For whereas that of Enerdhil was lit by the Sun in its youth, already many years had passed ere Celebrimbor began his work, and nowhere on Middle-Earth was the light as clear as it had been, for though Morgoth had been thrust out into the Void and could not enter again, his far shadow lay upon it. Radiant nonetheless was the Elessar of Celebrimbor..." from "The History of Galadriel and Celeborn" in The Unfinished Tales
Background Music: Xena: Warrior Princess, Volume 1, Track 26. "Going to Kill Me"
"Just dissolve it, you Valar-damned solution of brine and mud! Must the hammer and tongs of Aule* rust and break before you stir yourself to do what you were intended to do?"
"It's rather early in the morning for sacrilege, Caffra. What happens to be the problem?"
Caffrawen gave an irritated glance to the familiar voice of her cousin, a regular visitor in her workshop. Having taken up residence in Celebrimbor's home, Caffrawen had also found employment in the Smith's Quarter, crafting odd trinkets and jewelry to earn her keep. Her true passion, however, lay with the identification and experimentation of the various bits of rock and stone brought up by the Dwarves from nearby Dwarrowdelf. Bits and pieces of colored rock and granular powders were piled into various bits and pieces of chipped crockery, which were labeled by bits and pieces of makeshift wooden markers, all finding residence in her forge-storage.
"Of course it would happen! The very day after I present my findings about this new method of etching runes and devices into metal, the other Smiths would like to test it. All of my etched jewelry would go missing, leaving me no evidence that such a process is possible! And now, when I try to make strong acid out of burned pyrite, it won't work, belying my statements that such a process is normal." Caffrawen's glared at her cousin as if he could prevent her losing face before the other Smiths.
"I heard about the theft, Caffrawen. I'm so sorry - did you remember to lock up?" Thievery among Elves was extremely rare, yet the Smiths of Ost-in-Edhil made provisions to protect themselves from the small statistic.
"Locked up as I do every night," she said glumly, "but I can replace those losses if I could make some acid."
Languidly, Celebrimbor loped over to her glass jar of murky water and peered into it, seeing a large pile of ashen rock, stubbornly separate from the surrounding liquid. Then, his senses came fully awake, and recoiled from the jar.
"Faugh! What a stench!"
Caffrawen waved her hand disdainfully. "It's sulfuric, what did you expect? Your nose will deaden to the smell after some time. But Celebrimbor was shaking his head, grinning.
"That's not sulfur I'm smelling. It's vinegar." He sniffed the jar again, more carefully. "Apple vinegar, if I'm not mistaken."
Caffrawen made a choked sound of disbelief, and then leaned over to smell it herself. Now that she thought about it, the stench was rather more pungent than rotten in aroma. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Where did you draw this from?"
Caffrawen knit her brow in confusion. "From my cooling trough. I don't understand...I filled it up with fresh water before I left for the night." Celebrimbor turned on his heel to inspect her iron trough. For the first time, Caffrawen noted that her cousin had forsaken his usual abominably sooty and stained work tunic. It was replaced by a blue tunic that rivaled the purity of sapphires, and streamlined his entire appearance, as normal clothes on the muscled Smith made him appear stocky.
Her surprise was interrupted by the problem at hand. "Whole basin's full of apple vinegar. I believe you are the recipient of a rather sly prank." He turned to look at her, somewhere between amusement and indignation. "They would have known your nose had been deadened to the smells. Do the apprentices pass by here often?"
"Not often. And I don't think that they would steal jewelry, for the same person who stole my etchings probably did this. It's only a minor setback, for I'll soon be making a worse stink with my solutions." She was irritated, that much was evident by the set of her shoulders and the tight line of her mouth. In a rapid mood change, her lips softened into a smug smile, and she made no bones about examining his finely clothed figure.
"Metals and forge-fires generally don't care how we're dressed. Are you attempting to impress a gwenn?"
He gave her a look that spoke volumes in the silent room. "Do you happen to remember that trencher-sized emerald I've been working on steadily for the past decade?"
"Vaguely."
He shot her a look of shock mixed with anger. It was too much for the teasing cousin. "The El-ess-ar." she said, dragging out the syllables. "Of course I remember it. What d'you take me for? It's all you have spoken of in that decade." Her voice took on a worried edge. "Dedication to our craft is one thing. It's another thing entirely to have your life revolve around a hunk of rock."
"Speak for yourself. When you see it and fully understand, you will know why I have dedicated so much of my life to its creation." He shifted on his feet uncertainly.
Caffrawen chuckled. "Don't tell me that you are dressing up especially for the Elessar's benefit. You may have finally lost your grip on reality."
"Certainly you've not forgotten that the Lady Galadriel arrives back today for the presentation ceremony of the Elessar today?"
"Today? As in today - next week?"
"Today as in a few minutes. Who's unsuitably dressed now?"
Caffrawen's hands flew to her hair, feeling the flyaway curls sticking out from her loosely bundled hair. Her pants and tunic were her work-clothes, and were appropriately slatternly, stains and acid burns pocking the coarse linen in odd places, with the finishing touch of a large hole above her knee that Celebrimbor had deemed 'immodest'. There was no time to go home and change.
"Cousin, do you have anything I could wear?"
"Nothing. You really did forget, didn't you?" He sighed. Caffrawen ignored him.
"A cloak?" His head shook. "A spare pair of trousers?" Another head shake. "A blanket? A curtain?"
"I am afraid you must attend as you are, Caffra. We must make a united front as a family...even if one is dressed properly, and the other is dressed as a farmer in the fields."
"I'll give you a united front." she growled. "At least let me wash up a bit." She pulled her hair free of its tie, shaking her head and letting the copper mass of strands tumble about her shoulders. Now that she resided in Ost-in-Edhil, she could take pride in her unique hair color, and forget about those she had inherited it from. Pulling open a drawer to retrieve a wiping rag, she caught sight of a flash of green.
"So that's where I hid it!" Caffrawen grinned as she pulled out an emerald cloak. Celebrimbor looked as if he did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
"Apparently, you're more well-organized than I thought." he remarked dryly. "Shall we?"
"Give me a moment, I need to wash my face. Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn arrived last evening?" Involved with her relief at finding the cloak, Caffrawen unthinkingly dipped a wiping rag into the cooling trough, as she had done thousands of times before.
"Aye. Apparently all is well in Lothlorien. Lady Galadriel, with her extraordinary senses, had an impression of forthcoming trouble, and wished to be here, in her city." His voice took on a reverent, almost dreamy quality that captured Caffrawen's attention fully.
"And Celeborn? Did he sense anything?" She wrung out the rag as a prelude to scrubbing her face.
"I do not know...I did not ask. Lady Galadriel, she is...Caffra, that's vin-" He stopped his flow of words as she gave a pained whimper, flinging the rag away from her face and clamping her hands over eyes that were surely burning terribly.
"-egar." he finished lamely. Slipping his arm about her waist, he guided her with long strides into the next Smith's workshop.
Trusting him in her blindness, Caffrawen peripherally felt a strong pair of arms steering her through the doorway. Most of her feeling, though, was centered on the throbbing burn of her eyes. A few more steps, and she heard Celebrimbor shouting at another Smith to make certain that the liquid in his own cooling trough was truly water. Once the perplexed Smith gave an affirmative, Celebrimbor braced her hands against the rim of trough, bent her head over, and poured water into her eyes, effectively washing off the vinegar around her tightly constricted eyelids. Now that she could safely open her eyes, Caffrawen ignored Celebrimbor's attempts to continue pouring water on her exposed eyes, and opted to instead dunk her own face in the trough, shaking her head and blinking furiously underwater. Sighing, Celebrimbor held back her hair.
Maltast*, the interrupted Smith, looked in confusion to the leader of his craft, then to Elimani, who had appeared in the doorway to see Celebrimbor pushing his cousin's face into Maltast's cooling trough. Caffrawen came up sputtering, and Maltast hurriedly proffered a rag.
"I'm not even going to ask." spoke the newly arrived Smith. Caffrawen's first sight once she had regained her vision was Elimani's sardonic expression, and she threw him a glare before scrubbing at her face.
"See what I have to do to make her presentable?" Celebrimbor grinned at Elimani. "Maltast, are you coming?"
The wiry benn nodded in a jerky fashion, his hands moving reluctantly to abandon his hammer, and take up a cloak hanging nearby. Celebrimbor forcefully propelled a fuming Caffrawen out of Maltast's workshop, Elimani trailing behind, and retrieved her own cloak. Flinging it at her in impatience and nervousness, he tapped his foot restlessly while she fastened the buttons down to her knees. Elimani, with a practiced air, raked her cloaked figure with his eyes.
"Made any necklaces recently?"
Caffrawen gave him another withering look. " If you hadn't heard, all mine have been stolen. And I wouldn't wear jewelry crafted for someone else. That's extremely bad taste."
"Pity. You'll have to wear mine, then. And my taste is even worse." He pulled a thin gilt chain from a pocket of his formal tunic, and wrapped it around her waist several times, securing it with an emerald pin, despite her protestations. The end result looked vaguely dress-like, at least enough to pass inspection.
"Well, Celebrimbor, you've bathed her, I've clothed her, and now all we have to do is keep her quiet till the ceremony ends." Elimani roared at his own jest, though Celebrimbor gave a half-hearted smile and clenched his hands in agitation.
"It isn't me you have to fuss over, Elimani. Look at Celebrimbor. We'll have to carry him to the presentation." She took her cousin's arm in her own. Elimani came to stand next to the Master Archival.
"Is it not amazing? He can command us like soldiers, speak to a group of fellow Smiths with all the authority of a schoolmaster, and lead the tavern-songs with Darvi like the most boisterous Dwarf ever to walk this land. Yet the prospect of presenting a public gift to Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn is making him blush like a maiden." Elimani's monologue had a more striking effect on the big Smith, and he seemed to take umbrage from its caustic effect, the color slowly draining from his face as his composure was once again settled. A gruff voice interrupted Caffrawen's attempts to smooth out his rumpled cloak.
"If you Elves are finished primping, perhaps we should get on with the reason for doing so?" Darvi*, chief liaison of the Dwarves to Ost-in-Edhil remarked drolly, as he stood, fists on hips in the doorway, a statuesque model for his race.
The Dwarf's shirt of steel, concealed by a braided leather overtunic, clinked as he restlessly shifted his weight. His coppery beard curled fiercely around the hard planes of his face, from which two clear blue eyes winked out at the world, hiding a shrewd and ruthlessly clever mind. Darvi exuded the stoic and powerful spirit of his race, drawing Caffrawen up sharply. In his regular stained leather apron, he seemed only a shorter version of her Smithing brethren. Oft had he appeared at her doorstep with 'an interesting specimen of mineral which you may find many uses for.'
Celebrimbor instantly brightened at the presence of his Dwarven friend. "We were on our way, but, as you can see, our path is obstructed by a rather large rock."
Darvi snorted. "No larger than those in your head, I'd wager. Shall we go, then?" He inclined his head in a formal fashion towards the doorway, his ceremonial manner instantly replacing his jovial one. Celebrimbor's brief lightheartedness was instantly quashed, his mouth instantly drooping. But he resolutely sped out of Caffrawen's workshop, Elimani at his side, until the irate Darvi halted them.
A stickler for courtesy, he took Caffrawen's arm and led her out before them benn, with what was perhaps a more pious air than necessary.
Now that she had a spare moment to think of it, only one person would have had access to the knowledge she had gathered, the fact that sulfur did not dissolve in vinegar - Elimani, translator and transcriber of notes. Had he also abducted her etchings as a prank? She had nearly stopped in her tracks with every intention of haranguing him until his ears fell off, but a glance to her left put a temporary halt to thoughts of retribution.
About a year ago, his discreet tongue loosened by a pint or two of Darvi's malt beer, Celebrimbor had confided to her that in the Elessar, he hoped for the name of their House to regain good standing in general Elven society. The Elessar could only bring good, and Celebrimbor had not tied his life, heart, and soul to the stone. Only his hopes and dreams, for himself, and for Caffrawen.
And here I was, ready to stall him from the Elessar's presentation, so that I might rebuke a prankster! Shame, hot and prickly, poured down her spine and rested uncomfortably in her stomach and at the back of her neck.
As one, the little group stepped out into the sunlight and made their way to the home of Galadriel and Celeborn, rulers of Ost-in-Edhil.
It was a matter of habit that they threaded the cobblestone passageway through the domestic section of the city. It was a matter of chance that Arhael, having done with the bowl of water she and her husband used to wash their faces, thought it acceptable to wash the dirt from the cobblestones at her doorstep.
It was a matter of good fortune (on Darvi's part) that he had released Caffrawen's arm to trot ahead with Celebrimbor, while the equally fortunate Elimani brought up the rear.
One moment, Caffrawen's focus was centered on anticipating the presentation of the Elessar. The next, she was drawing in a sharp gasp at the shock of being hit by a torrent of water, soaking her cloak and hair, and filling her with horror. The autumn breezes chose that moment to make an appearance, chilling her as they played along her wet scalp.
"Celebrimbor! Your walking disaster just wet herself! I'd get a less dependent cousin in the future." Caffrawen readily forgave Elimani for this statement, for as he spoke, he was busily unclasping the necklace about her waist and pulling the cloak from her shoulders.
Arhael, horror-stricken at the results of her carelessness, was beside herself in apologies, ineffectively attempting to grab for the cloak to squeeze the water from it, and timidly proffering a hand-towel. Caffrawen did not dare gauge her cousin's mood. The only comfort she had was that it wasn't her fault.
"I'm so dreadfully sorry! I didn't mean to splash you!" The distraught bess was now attempting to help Caffrawen as she wrung water from her auburn tresses. "Is there anything - anything I can do to help?"
Raising her eyes to meet Arhael's, Caffrawen pounced on her opportunity.
"There is. Would you happen to have a spare cloak to loan me?"
"I do! This way!" Arhael grasped her wrist and pulled her into the house.
"Only a moment more, Celebrimbor!" she called out as she rounded the corner, counting herself blessed that she could not see his expression.
After a few moments of indecision, Arhael threw a chestnut-colored cloak, and commenced to fluttering about and attempting to wrap it about her, finally finding something useful to do by wrapping Elimani's chain about Caffrawen's waist. Amazingly, despite performing one of the quickest dressings Caffrawen had ever been witness to, her string of apologies never stopped, until Caffrawen gently took Arhael's hands in her own.
"There is no need for apology. You have given me the chance to go to the Lord and Lady in proper dress, and for that I thank you most sincerely." Her words stilled Arhael's agitated movement, but did not relieve the anxiety of her eyes.
"But your hair is still soaked!"
"It will dry quickly, and is less evident than appearing in just my ratty old tunic. I'll be back as soon as the ceremony is over to return this. Thank you, Arhael."
Reentering the street, she raised her eyes to meet Celebrimbor's. Amazingly, what she found within his blue depths both approval and amusement.
"Just not your day, eh, Caffra?" He grinned, the mischief brought back into his eyes by her mishap, a sight that warmed the pit of her stomach, an area that been rather cold all morning. He took her arm in his own gracefully, at the same time sending a warning look to Elimani to keep the air free from cutting remarks.
"Now let us hurry to the Lady Galadriel, before irony and mischance can find us again."
* * *
Background Music: Xena: Warrior Princess, Volume 6, CD 1, Track 18, "Rhein Maidens"
The home of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel outshone every other abode in Ost-in-Edhil, as was fitting for the leaders of such a city. Fittingly constructed of white marble, the architect had opted for graceful curves instead of rigid, blockish lines. The domed structure was surrounded by gardens, and the Lady Galadriel had coaxed vines and other forms of green, clinging life to wrap themselves about her home, embracing it with their tendrils, adorning it with their blossoms. At the foot of a flight of steps leading to the door, a group of Smiths loitered, waiting for the arrival of their chief. About fifteen in number, they
As Celebrimbor's distinctive red hair came into view, they stood at attention, focused as soldiers. Among their ranks, Caffrawen spotted Erynloth, one of the female jewel-smiths with a gift for creating alloys, and Finervenn, the flashy Smith with a renowned skill for crafting rubies. Both were holding opposite ends of a small wooden litter, upon which a deep blue linen cloth covered a lump, which was, presumably, the Elessar. They looked to Celebrimbor for their cue, and Caffrawen squeezed his arm briefly before disengaging to join her fellow Smiths, Elimani and Darvi behind her.
Having ridden himself of his unease, at least in front of his charges, Celebrimbor strode to the head of the staircase with measured footsteps. He exuded authority, the very flap of his cloak as commanding as the snapping of an legion's standard in the wind. Catching glances at her fellow Smiths in her peripheral vision, Caffrawen saw their eyes follow Celebrimbor's every movement, even Elimani. The respect he held for her cousin, unfortunately, did not extend to her, and he contented himself with accidentally standing on her foot. Her first instinct being to kick, Caffrawen firmly repressed it and promised herself she'd not cause a scene.
Elimani could just as easily be clouted after the ceremony as before it.
"My kindred," Celebrimbor began, arresting her attention, "today we stand on a threshold. For too long have our arts been reviled as troublesome, unnatural forays. All for the mistake of one benn who could not share the wonders of his craft. Today, another creation will be revealed, but it shall not be restricted to the eyes of myself and my kin. I give, with total abdication of ownership, the Elessar, into the possession of Lady Galadriel, accounted wise and fair throughout all lands. The discretion of such a widely trusted leader with such an object may prove to the rest of Elvendom our pure intentions. I rely on each one of you to reflect such intentions and uphold our good names at this ceremony."
The Smiths all inclined their heads to their chief, asserting their compliance. The pale autumn sunshine warmed Celebrimbor's features, giving him a kingly aura, before he turned to the business at hand, casting his handsome face into shadow.
"Idiotic, ponderous Elves. He could just as well have said 'Our reputation is on the line, mind the manners your mother taught you. And just what was all that rigmarole about, anyway?" Darvi was, as always, impatient with the long and somewhat rambling speeches that Celebrimbor was fond of.
"He's rallying his troops. We've been given the reputations of selfish troublemakers and craven inventors, ever since the folly of Feanor with the Silmarils, by some of our kindred. Both he and I are descended from Feanor, who didn't like sharing, and then the...well..."
Darvi huffed impatiently. "All that I know. But what I don't understand is why Celebrimbor's making such a fuss over his giving of the Elessar to the Lady. Hand it over one night after supper, or maybe on her conception-day, that's what I would do."
Caffrawen grinned, never taking her eyes off her cousin as he hissed last-minute instructions to Erynloth and Finervenn. "Celebrimbor has his reasons. Feanor pursued the Silmarils ruthlessly across Arda, sending his sons to do the job when he died. If Celebrimbor creates from his skill of Smithing a useful hunk of pretty rock, and then publicly gives it away..."
"He reverses what Feanor did."
"Hmmmm. Or tries to, anyway. His Smiths would be the most likely folk to champion him if he wanted to reclaim the Elessar, so by giving our public approval, we reassure the other Elves of our feelings toward the Elessar. My cousin has done this for two reasons - for the healing of Middle-Earth, and the redemption of the House of Feanor in the eyes of others." She spoke each word with relish, beginning to realize, herself, the possibilities that Celebrimbor's labour presented.
"I would have said there were three reasons." Elimani was beside them, and for once his demeanor was sober, almost subdued as he glanced at Celebrimbor. The russet-headed Chief Archival was gazing with a fearful intensity at the front door of Celeborn and Galadriel's abode.
"What's the third?" Caffrawen asked, looking in surprise at him. As if to punctuate her statement, the noontime bells rang.
Elimani opened his mouth as if to speak, then changed his mind and pointed at the opening doors.
Two benn in formal dress pushed open the doors and held them, servants to the Lady and Lord of some sort. Turning her head just slightly, Caffrawen saw that a crowd of Elves had gathered behind them, craning necks and standing on tiptoe, attempting to get an unobstructed view of the Elessar and the Lady who was to wield it. A glimmer of white caught Caffrawen's eye, and she turned around to fully behold the Lord and Lady of Ost-in-Edhil.
Celeborn, silver of hair, lean of body, and hawk-like of visage, looked out at the gathered assembly with no hint of a smile on his face, only a calm passivity. Dressed in cloth of white lined with silver, he was impeccably poised and entirely aware of the ramifications of such a ceremony, his hand gently clasped in his lady's hand. Idly, Caffrawen mused that he could have given some sign of joy, if only for appearance's sake. Nor did she entirely like the look he cast at Celebrimbor.
Galadriel, on the other hand, was smiling and warm enough for the both of them. Her hair, renowned for its similarity to the Light of the Two Trees, cascaded in gold and silver waves down her back, making her a slender column of white. When Caffrawen had first beheld her, four hundred years previously, she wondered if the Lady was not indeed a marble statue come to life, so flawless and fair was her figure and skin. Yet marble was cold, and the Lady was warm, smiling radiantly as she beheld the assembled Elves. No conciliatory smile did she offer, but a genuine expression of pleasure at their presence. Sensing this, the Elves responded in kind. Clothed in a web of purest white edged with gold, the Lady Galadriel descended about halfway down the stairs on the arm of her husband. Her luminous eyes turned to Celebrimbor.
Out of the corner of her eye, Caffrawen had watched her cousin's reaction to the appearance of the Lord and Lady. Ever since the doors had opened, he stood straight as a cornstalk, his hands stilled to hang obediently at his sides. Once Galadriel turned her eyes on him, he stood, if possible, even straighter. His shoulder-blades were knit so tightly together, it was painful to look upon. With consciously fluid movements, he ascended a few more steps to stand before the Lord and Lady. He bowed to them both, and placed a kiss on the Lady's outstretched hand.
Turning at an angle, so that he could face the assembly and yet also address the Lord and Lady of Ost-in-Edhil, Celebrimbor looked out over the Smiths. Caffrawen had only a moment to register the look of pride and joy on his face before a nudge from Elimani demanded that she awkwardly follow the examples of the other Smiths, who had arranged themselves in a semicircle at the foot of the stairs, standing at attention as their master began to speak.
"Good people of Ost-in-Edhil, of the bountiful lands of Eregion, you have been called here to witness something very simple. It is a gift-giving, in which I shall present the Lady Galadriel with a tool that may help her bring more joy to Ost-in-Edhil than her radiant presence does." The Lady remained cool and calm, as did her husband, but Caffrawen cringed at the flowery flattery. She'd remember to tease him about that later.
"Yet as is proper for a gift-giving, I give up complete and absolute ownership of this offering to the Lady Galadriel. Never will I again claim rights to it, nor will any of my blood. To this I swear and hold true!"
A brief silence. "And what do you swear by, Lord Celebrimbor?"* Caffrawen's mouth dropped open in shock.
"I swear by my own constancy, by my fortitude, and by my blood. I am fallible, and I dare not swear by anything or anyone that is not." Caffrawen felt like cheering. Undaunted, Celebrimbor continued, "I also expect those who follow me, my Smiths, to also disavow any claim that they think they might have on the Lady Galadriel's gift. Smiths, do you swear by the constancy of your selves and of your word?"
"We swear!" The jubilant reply echoed from the throats of seventeen Smiths, Caffrawen's own included. She saw both Galadriel and Celebrimbor give the same approving smile and nod. Celebrimbor then made a slight motion of his hand, as if to bring something forward. A low, hissing whisper caught her attention.
"That's your signal, Caffra. You're supposed to help bring it up there!" Elimani hissed.
Caffrawen started, feeling a sick sense of dread, like poison, spread through her stomach. She had not known that she was supposed to participate. "Me?"
"Yes, you. Now go!" Already embarrassed, she hurriedly stepped forward to cross over to the small wooden litter, where Finervenn was looking at her expectantly to take his place. Erynloth was already changing places with Agladir, the darkly shy silversmith who had accompanied Celebrimbor to Ost-in-Edhil. As she strode forward in front of Maltast, she felt her foot hit something solid, then, in horror, felt her entire body tip forward in what would be a graceless sprawl on the paving stones. To her increased mortification, she realized that her cloak had flipped up over her waist, revealing to all that, beneath the cloak, there was only a battered, hole-pocked tunic. Her wet hair slapped the paving stones.
The repressed snicker from Elimani was the first thing she was aware of. The next was Maltast, courteously helping her to her feet. Face burning and eyes downcast, she concentrated on taking hold of the litter's handles, not daring to think what might happen if she dropped the Elessar. Briefly glancing where she had fallen, she saw no evidence of any displaced paving stones. Nor had it been someone's foot that she had tripped over. But all questioning was wiped from her mind as she and Agladir began their ascent. Agladir was looking up as he carried, but Caffrawen could only trust herself to look at the feet of the Lords and Lady. She most certainly did not want to meet her cousin's eyes and face his disappointment.
Peripherally, she was aware of her wet hair leaving a dripping trail behind her as she ascended the stairs.
They reached the appointed spot below Celebrimbor. As he stepped forward, drawing the cloth from over the hallowed stone, she dared look up at him.
She could have been mistaken, of course, but it seemed to Caffrawen that he winked in her direction, and a hint of a smile curled his thin lips.
Her attention refocusing on the Elessar, she watched as Celebrimbor cradled it gently in his great and rough Smith's hands, fingers wishing the emerald a silent good-bye, as he turned and stretched his arms forth to the Lady, beckoning her to take it. With another smile, gentler this time, the Lady Galadriel lightly clasped her hands over Celebrimbor's own in a gesture of thanks, before accepting the Elessar into her possession. Celebrimbor backstepped fluidly, then effortlessly bowed to Galadriel, blue cloak swishing about his ankles.
After a moment of silence, in which Galadriel considered the treasure nestled in her palms. Lifting it with both hands, she held it aloft for the assembled Elves (and Darvi) to behold. The emerald itself was flawless, as pure in hue and clear as a cloudless sky. It put grass and summer leaves to shame with the intensity of its color, and, unless Caffrawen was mistaken, it was glowing slightly in the pale autumn light. The stone was mounted on the back of an exquisitely crafted silver eagle, wings outstretched as if in flight. From Caffrawen's close vantage point, she could see the detail that Celebrimbor had wrought in it, the individual feathers of the eagle's wings, demonstrating to all the purity of the silver.
"Behold the Elessar!" Celeborn's voice rang out over the assembly. Though he attempted a smile, and achieved a genuine one when he saw his wife holding the emerald aloft, she could see, especially in her proximity, the dislike Celeborn held for Celebrimbor.
Celebrimbor, however, was staring at Galadriel holding the Elessar, with no idea that he was being scrutinized. He had the expression of one who had found the fulfillment of their deepest dreams, his face bearing an almost dreamy expression, lips parted as he gazed up at the Lady holding his greatest work, and claiming it as her own.
The whisper of a suspicion started in Caffrawen's mind, but she dismissed it just as quickly. Couldn't be...
Dimly she heard the cheering of the throng of Smiths and Elves, and her mind turned to the excitement at hand. Darvi was ascending the steps with a small bundle in his arms. Unwrapping the burlap-covered object, he held it aloft. A chrysanthemum plant, its roots bound in burlap, was revealed. In the current state of early autumn, it should have been blossoming with all its strength. Instead it withered, leaves limp and spotted, buds flaccid, and color dull.
Galadriel understood at once. Caffrawen briefly saw her fingers tighten on the Elessar. In the next moment, all who came to the presentation were witness to a marvelous demonstration of the Elessar's power. The chrysanthemum instantly perked up, stems and leaves returning to a healthy state of green glossiness. The buds swelled, burst, and the plant bore a multitude of orange blossoms.
A sigh of amazement fell over the assembly. On its heels came the raucous cheers - not only for the Lady and for Celebrimbor, but for the skill of their Smiths. Ost-in-Edhil had been inspired, designed, and constructed by the efforts of the Smiths. They now formed the heart of the city, much as the boat docks were the central feature of Mithlond. Her heart swelled with emotion. We have done it! We have triumphed!
Now if I can just get down these steps without tripping...
* * *
Background Music: Xena: Warrior Princess, Volume 1, Track 26 "Going to Kill Me"
Later that day, after a brief and thankfully uneventful reception in the Lady Galadriel's gardens, Caffrawen returned to the Miner's Quarter. She and Galadriel had spoken briefly, and the Lady had reassured her embarrassment at her fall, and at her state of dress. She was reminded, yet again, why Galadriel inspired so much love among those who knew her.
Entering her workshop, she immediately set to draining the vinegar out from her cooling basin. Elimani had certainly gone to a lot of trouble to ensure her irritation. Her mind briefly ran through scenarios of tossing bits of magnesium into his fire, drilling tiny but damaging holes into his supply of quills, before the presence of the merry benn himself put a hold on such plans.
"New orders for you, Caffra, and I'd hop to it if I were you. Finervenn's pretty anxious to get his hands on that sulfur mixture of yours. Oh, and a few commissions came in from Lothlorien with the Lord and Lady. You'll need to take at least three to spread 'em out evenly." He tossed her a sheaf of parchment. Catching it deftly, she looked up at him.
"You know, Elimani, it occurred to me that you are privy to many secrets of this hall. Many random facts, that if used in the correct context, could prove immensely incapacitating to someone's work." She spoke in dulcet tones, slowly rising from her seat and gliding over towards him.
"Incapacitating?" he asked, feigning innocence. He must know that she referred to the vinegar and the stolen etchings!
"Aye. Driving one to distraction, almost. So I think that I need to tell you that whatever games you have in store for me - they'll be played right back at you."
"I incapacitate you? I drive you to distraction? You want to play games with me?" His voice held a tone that she did not like, and his eyebrows were arching in a disconcerting manner. "Sweet maiden of the forge-fires, whose hair stinks of sulfur, and whose feet stumble on the ground!"
He fell dramatically to his knees, clasping both hands over his heart. "I can only say that I return your affection and love to the deepest depths of my being! I shall carry your hammer! I shall kiss the hem of your leggings, if you but touch those calloused hands to my cheek - or run them through my hair."
Caffrawen found that she could no longer remember why she had sought to tease him, as the blush in her cheeks rose and the suggestive look on his face grew even more devious. "Oh, get out."
"My own non-lady love!" He awkwardly shuffled towards her on his knees.
"Out!" She threatened him with a chunk of pyrite.
After he had left, with many a false whimper and moan, she turned to the sheaf of parchment. Realizing that she could not read it, she sighed at her own incompetence and turned it upside down. To her irritation, the parchment was still illegible, but not through sloppy handwriting. Quenya.
The language she had forsworn and never learned. Of all languages to write in, why had Finervenn picked Quenya to place an order? Now she would need the aid of, of all people, Elimani. The bright spark of Feanorian ire within her only needed the proper amount of irritation and slights before it burst once more into raging flame. Adequate fuel had been provided.
Stalking out of her workshop, Quenya-lettered note wadded in her indignant fist, her mood fouler with each footstep, she sought Elimani's workshop in the Forum House. As the building that stood in pride of place in the Smith's Quarter, it housed only the most prominent and important Smiths.
Ergo, Caffrawen had to cross the length of the Quarter to get there.
Stomping up the stairs, all natural grace forgotten in the fury of slights wrecked upon her that day, Caffrawen entered Elimani's chamber. Looking up from his normal scattering of parchment and paper on his desk, Elimani had the grace to look apprehensive.
"Anything I can do for you, Caffra?" For all his playful demeanor, he could change instantly to a calm, professional manner with a speed that was unnerving.
Inwardly, Caffrawen groaned. Why did she suddenly forget all her sense of purpose when he fixed those intent brown eyes on her? Dismissing it as a symptom of irritation, she held up the parchment between thumb and forefinger. "This. Finervenn's written it in that thrice-cursed archaic language which almost no one uses anyone. Does that peacock of a ruby-crafter think that by annoying the rest of us enough, he'll revive the language all on its own? If he wants to bring it back into everyday use, he'd damn well better not use it with me. And furthermore..." she broke off at the look on Elimani's face.
He regarded her as one would a temperamental geyser, slightly stunned. Caffrawen instantly regretted her behavior for the third or fourth time that day, closing her eyes and sighing slightly.
"I'm sorry, Elimani. Things have gone wrong today for me since the moment I got up, and I'm taking it out on the wrong person. For once, the world is with me, not against me, and I'm dwelling on the silly little difficulties. I'm sorry I yelled, I'm sorry I..."
"Got out of bed this morning?"
"Aye." she said, subdued.
He chuckled, and she looked up at that. "I accept all apologies. Comes with being the messenger - it's simply a fancy name for scapegoat."
She cringed. "I'm sorr..."
He cut her off again. "I already accepted. There's a nice long Quenya-Sindarin wordlist back on that shelf. Big red one." He smiled then, a genuine curl of the lips that reached both his eyes, and the pit of her stomach. Concentrating on the task at hand, she thanked him and stepped purposefully towards the bookshelf. Above her head was the desired wordlist. Using both hands to pry it out, she was perplexed for a fraction of a second, when it seemed to be stuck.
In the next fraction of a second, the wordlist fell heavily into her hands. Unfortunately, it also brought the rest of the shelf with it, on top of her head. Putting her arms over her head to shield herself from the rain of books, she instinctively hunched down in a defensive position. Heavy mining and smithing manuals rained down on her body. Amidst the heartbreaking sound of books colliding with the hard marble floor, she could hear Elimani's stifled cry of inquiry as he rose to her side.
Looking up at him guiltily, she saw only concern. "You're not hurt? They didn't hit anything important?"
She reached up, pinching the bridge of her nose and rubbing her eyes. "No. Just my pride."
"Just not your day, is it?" He chuckled again, and Caffrawen found a release for her frustration as she laughed with him. He encircled her shoulders with one of his arms in a companionable fashion, pulling her from the pile of books about her feet. "Here, I've just the cure. Go home and change..." here he paused, taking a deep sniff of the air, "...bathe, and I'll come for you at about sunset. We can join your cousin and Darvi, they should be making the rounds at all the correct carousing establishments."
"My work?" She gestured to the Quenya parchment from where it had sheltered under the wordlist.
"Can wait." he finished. "Thinking upon it, I realize that there are several things I'd rather be doing than attempting to decipher your cousin's scrawl. Sunset, then?"
Caffrawen grinned at him then, unaware at how it made her face light up, and the difference in countenance she displayed. "Depend upon it."
He turned to leave, then, as if caught by a sudden thought, swiveled back around to catch her eyes. "Caffra?"
"Hm?"
He reached up, as if to cradle her face, but instead, pinched her cheeks. "Stop taking everything so Valar-damned seriously. If not, I'll have to beat it out of you in another quarterstaff match."
"You've not beaten me once during our sparring, Elimani...oh." she broke off.
"Quick learner." He was out of the archway before she could throw a retort at him.
* * *
When she arrived at home, Caffrawen was unsurprised to find that Celebrimbor was absent. He most certainly deserved a break from the tension, after a decade-long period of waiting, worrying, and watching. Bathing, she felt all stress melt away from her muscles, as she worked at clearing the rotten-egg stench of sulfur from her hair.
After drying her hair by the fireside, Caffrawen dressed simply in a green gown that complimented her russet locks. Taking a brief look in the mirror at her physical features, the telltale red hair, she began to contemplate her heritage. Was this step of Celebrimbor's the first step towards the forgiveness of their House? Had he single-handedly gained their acceptance in all of Elvendom? It was certainly an agreeable prospect to her...the polite tap at the door halted her thoughts on the subject.
Elimani, dressed debonairly in red, checked momentarily at her appearance. With a move she had not anticipated, he was drawing the hem of her dress up to her calf, with no apparent regard for propriety.
"Elimani!" she sputtered in indignation, as he dropped the hem and attempted a bland expression.
"I was checking for your ratty old trousers," he said, a twinkle in his eye. "Are you done being serious?"
She glared at him a moment more before holding out her arm imperiously. "Yes. Just remember this when all of your quills no longer hold ink."
"Well-warned, my non-lady, well-warned." He took her arm and led her out, making her laugh over some tale or another of one of his experimentations with Dwarvish beer. He distracted her so artfully that she did not realize that they were nowhere near any of the drinking establishments in Ost-in-Edhil.
"Where are we going?" Caffrawen regarded Elimani with suspicion as they approached an old smithing storehouse on the edges of the Smith's Quarter. The Quarter itself was ominously quiet, but she supposed that other Smiths had felt the urge to drop their hammers and celebrate with their leader.
"It looks like a storehouse to me, Caffra." he deadpanned. "And I need to check and see if that supply of bauxite came in today. Haven't had a chance, what with all the excitement." His voice was just a bit too casual, and from this she took her warning.
"And just what were you doing all day that was so much more important than seeing to an import? If I walk in that door, I'm going to be hit by eggs, aren't I? Or you'll shove me inside and lock the door, leaving me to try and find a way out? Is that it, Elimani?" Her tirade was cut off at the expression on his face. He reminded her of an Elfling whose feelings had been hurt, eyes widening and looking down, mouth drooping in a small pout. She instantly regretted her words.
"Caffrawen, I brought you out here because I enjoy your company, your quick mind, and the fact that you respond to my teasing. I'm not trying to trick you...I thought I made that clear this afternoon." His low mournful voice made her insides wrench in guilt. She responded in the only way she knew how to reassure anyone, pulling him into an embrace, feeling his arms hesitate, then enfolding her in his arms in his turn, before she released him.
"Come on. I'll go first, if it'll ease your mind." He made as if to step forward, but Caffrawen restrained him with a hand on his arm.
"No. I trust you Elimani. This day...it's as if Ost-in-Edhil herself were out to wear me down through a thousand different annoyances." She unbolted the double doors, then gasped as she saw the warehouse's insides. Taking no chances, Elimani shoved her in, and bolted the door behind him.
* * *
Background Music: Xena: Warrior Princess, Volume 6, CD 1, Track 16, "On a Cow"
Its interiors blazing with light, Caffrawen saw that the warehouse had been converted into a celebration hall. About a dozen wooden tables lined a pathway from the door at which Caffrawen stood, to a raised dais. At these tables were seated Smiths of the highest degrees, their chattering pausing when she appeared in the doorway, then rising with greater fervor.
Standing at the dais, however, was Celebrimbor, resplendent in blue, and grinning wide enough to split his features. Beside him stood Agladir and Darvi, holding her missing acid-etched jewelry before them on a long table. Dimly, she realized that Elimani was closing the doors behind them with a clang.
Wildly, Caffrawen looked around at the individual Smiths, attempting to gage the mood of the crowd. Was she on trial, in trouble? But no, Celebrimbor wouldn't be smiling in that case. From the bright eyes, half smiles, and shifting legs of the assembled Smiths, she judged it to be happy anticipation that held this crowd.
Opening her mouth to question Elimani, she was cut off abruptly by a surprising boom from the benn behind her. "The doors are shut and sealed, my Lord Celebrimbor!"
Celebrimbor acknowledged this with a nod, then motioned for silence from the crowd. Slowly and deliberately, he placed his hands on the tabletop, staring down at her from across the room. Completely confounded, Caffrawen stared right back with bewilderment written across her face.
"You are Caffrawen, of the House of Feanor, a Smith of Ost-in-Edhil for the past four hundred years. Is this correct?" Celebrimbor spoke in a strident voice, entirely composed as Caffrawen groped for a reply, attempting to stir her wits into overdrive.
"I am." What else could she say?
"You are the Smith to develop a technique of 'acid etchings', are you not?"
"Yes?" What was this all about?
"Brotherhood! You have seen and witnessed the workings of Caffrawen of the House of Feanor. Is she worthy to walk up and be counted among our number?" Celebrimbor's bellows never failed to make her flinch - he so rarely raised his voice above a casual volume.
"Aye!" The assent rang out in the hall, echoed in the throat of every Elf and Dwarf present. Caffrawen had the uneasy feeling that she was being awarded some honor without even knowing what that honor was. Her eyes ranged over the audience before they came to rest again on her cousin's face. He held her gaze, as palpable as a steadying hand. Then he straightened, standing tall once more, and brought his fist down on the table with a sharp thud.
"Walk!" he boomed. Catching the tempo, the rest of the Smiths started banging their fists and repeating the cry. "Walk...Walk...Walk!"
Caffrawen, her mouth dry and slightly agape, felt Elimani press the small of her back with his palm in both an encouraging and compelling touch. Dimly, as she began to walk up the aisle of Smiths' tables, she heard him echoing the cry, albeit in a different style. "Run...Trip...Fall!"
Walking down the aisle, she began to pick out faces...Maltast...Erynloth...Thinath...Finervenn, damn the peacock. Celebrimbor had moved to stand before the table, and extended a hand to help her up. Behind her the cries and the fist-banging had reached a fever-pitch. Taking his hand, she found she could not formulate a sentence to ask a question.
"Why?" she ventured quietly. But apparently, the ritual was not quite finished, and Celebrimbor took her hand, raising it aloft.
"I give you Caffrawen, daughter of the House of Feanor, and now an honored member of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain!"
The Smiths cheered once more, then looked at Celebrimbor expectantly. His lips twisted in a half-smile as he glanced over them. "Come now," he said, voice ringing with authority, " I am not your mothers. You do not need my consent to start eating." A more hearty cheer was lifted, followed by the scrape of chairs against stone flooring, as the Smiths - the Gwaith-i-Mirdain? - hurried over to a potluck gathering of food on one table.
Darvi leaned across the table. "I'll fetch the two of you a meal. You've a lot of explaining to do, my friend."
Celebrimbor smiled over at him. "Would you mind picking up a second helping of Thinath's sweet potatoes? I've a weakness for them."
The Dwarf chuckled throatily. "So that's why you've scheduled so many meetings lately." He turned to join the line.
Celebrimbor turned and opened his mouth to speak, but Caffrawen cut him off. "No pleasantries. Explain. Now."
"Very well." He guided them to seats on the dais.
"Some time before you arrived here, it became evident to myself and to others that Ost-in-Edhil was going to be primarily a Smithing city. We remembered all too well what happened to Gondolin*, and we know all too well the dangers of living in Middle-Earth." He paused, idly running his fingers across the tabletop.
"The art of the Smith is such that we can create works of beauty, works of industry, or works of war. What would be the cost if the knowledge we had entrusted to the benefit of the defense of the Children of Illuvatar was betrayed? Used right back against us? Among the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, the people of the Jewel-Smiths, there is security. We control the information, we alone know of and make decisions based on the research and crafts we develop. No outside interference, no possible informants. By forming the brotherhood, we make it less likely for any craftsman to betray us."
Caffrawen absorbed this. "I assume you are the leader. What kind of power do Galadriel and Celeborn wield in such decisions?"
Celebrimbor flinched slightly, and she saw guilt creep into his features and make a nest in his eyes. "No one knows of us, except for the people in this room. These decisions are made by Smiths, for Smiths. We rule ourselves."
We rule ourselves. Is that not what Feanor and his sons were trying to prove? But she pushed the thought aside and nodded. "Why was I let in?"
"You proved yourself with the acid-work. It demonstrates that you are willing to think beyond set procedures, and consider new possibilities. A must for a member of the Brotherhood."
"I am female."
"Obviously. You are a brother to me in the same sense that Darvi is a brother to me. Not in the literal sense." He paused, and his face lightened. "Fittingly, your new brothers put you through a host of small trials today to prove your suitability."
Caffrawen began to sputter with rage. "You mean to tell me..."
"That we tested you, yes. You can deal with setbacks, as proven by the loss of your acid-etched jewelry. You can be persistent, as I witnessed when you kept attempting to make strong acid by combining vinegar with sulfur. You can substitute needed items, as I witnessed when you used the cloak and chain instead of going home to change. You can deal with public embarrassment, as seen by all when you tripped. You can be called to perform public tasks on a moment's notice, when I asked you to carry the Elessar up the steps. You demand information, when you stormed into Elimani's office with the Quenya letter. You did not panic when a date snuck up on you..."
"You lied!"
"Only a little. And before you blame the vinegar in your eyes on me, that was your own fault."
She glared at him. "And the water?"
"Pure mischance."
"Wait...you meant to make me trip? How did you accomplish that?"
"Maltast?" Celebrimbor addressed the Smith before him. "Show her your leg."
With a grin, Maltast pulled up his legging a bit to reveal a jointed piece of wood, which he controlled through a hole in his pocket. The wooden stick had slid forward at the correct time to trip her, then was just as easily hidden within his cloak. Caffrawen sighed in defeat.
"The books on my head?"
"Probably Elimani going a bit overboard. But he apologized quite charmingly, didn't he?"
Caffrawen turned away from her cousin's speculative gaze. "So I am now a member of this secret society, am I not?"
"You walked the tables. Would you rather be somewhere else?"
Caffrawen took a moment to peruse the bright, inquisitive eyes of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, the spark of intelligence that shone in them all. The camaraderie as they argued, Dwarf and Elf, wood crafter and blacksmith. The sense of purpose and hope within them all. She sighed happily.
"I don't suppose I have a choice, do I?"
* * *
Later that evening, Celebrimbor and Caffrawen walked merrily down the cobblestoned lane, seeking their home. It was quite late, the darkest part of the night, in fact, but the chill autumn breezes seemed only brisk and invigorating, the unnatural stillness that fell seemed unimportant as the basked in the glow of their individual triumphs.
Had they been more aware, they might have had some inkling of forthcoming danger.
"Lord Celebrimbor and Lady Caffrawen?"
They turned as one, seeing two forms, the uncloaked one being Failar the guard, who looked rather pale, even in the moonlight. The cloaked one stood tall, almost menacingly, a few steps behind the guard.
"Yes?" Celebrimbor answered for the both of them.
"This visitor had asked to be brought straight to you after he had found lodgings. No weapons on him, but I don't recognize the name." He lowered his voice to just below a whisper. "I'm no idiot. There are three guards covering him from the rooftops, until you give the say-so, Lord Celebrimbor."
"Thank you, Failar." Celebrimbor murmured, his eyes on the shadowed figure. "Who are you, sir?" he said, addressing the stranger.
The dark, indistinguishable head turned slightly to face Celebrimbor. Caffrawen felt a slight twinge of fear, possibly even loathing at that innocent gesture, but she quenched it quickly.
An voice, pleasant, but low and oily, issued from the figure. "I am here on a mission to help all of Arda. I have been sent by the Valar to assist you, Lord Celebrimbor. Assist you both in your mission to guard the Children of Illuvatar, and to redeem the House of your family."
Celebrimbor gaped at him a moment. "And what proof do you offer to support such a claim, sir?"
"Knowledge," the figure purred, "Knowledge gleaned from Aule to help your reach the height of your skills."
"Your name, sir?"
The figure paused. If Caffrawen didn't know better, she'd have thought that he smiled.
"I am Lord Annatar. Lord of Gifts, and a friend of Enerdhil's. He sends you his greetings and his wishes for your success." Celebrimbor looked for a long moment at the figure, then opened his arms wide in a gesture of hospitality.
"Welcome to Ost-in-Edhil, Lord Annatar."
Unbidden, a shudder went down Caffrawen's spine.
* * *
*Aule was one of the Valar, a Smithing deity who is also responsible for creating the race of Dwarves. Yes, Caffrawen has a bit of a cursing problem.
*Feanor and his sons swore Everlasting Darkness upon themselves if they failed in their task to reclaim the Silmarils. The profundity of such an Oath led to death and destruction for many Elves. Celeborn has a valid point in asking Celebrimbor just what he is swearing by.
*Gondolin's location and weakness was betrayed by the disaffected Elf Maeglin. Security about such things would probably have been stepped up a notch afterwards.
Canon Deviations
*The typical lifespan of a healthy Dwarf who dies in his old age is about 250 years. Since Narvi, elf-friend to Celebrimbor, is needed for important events down the road, logic states that he would not have been born at this stage in time. Darvi is his author-created grandfather, as Dwarves, contrary to belief, do not spring from rocks.
*The presentation of the Elessar was left rather open-ended in the Silmarillion, only that Celebrimbor made it specifically for, and gave it only to Galadriel. Make what you will of that...
*Very little is known of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, only that they existed, were secret from Galadriel and Celeborn, and what their greatest works were. Their purpose and rituals are all author-invented.
*As pointed out kindly by justo, whom I wish would have left an e-mail address to correspond with, it might not be that all of the sons of Feanor were red-haired. I was using the hair color for symbolism, and I haven't yet found any reference to their specific hair colors. If anyone would like to set me straight, please do not hesitate to do so!
* The spirit of the tradition of 'walking the tables' is borrowed in part from Anne McCaffrey's Dragons of Pern series. No offense is intended to the great lady.
No eyes were burned out, no jewelry was stolen, no public embarrassments were made, no water was dumped, and no pranks were played during the writing of this chapter. All in all, it was a pretty good day.
