Oy. Three long months of Calculus, pointless essays, and belly-dancing. You probably don't want to hear more, so I'll sum it up by apologizing and hitting myself over the head in penance. To make up for it, this chapter is a LOT longer than I intended it to be. There will be a small summary at the end, to explain in brief what has occurred, just in case.
Thank you for reading!
Disclaimer: I don't own Tolkien's works, but they seem to own me.
Chapter Six: Warning
Ost-in-Edhil, 1200 of the Second Age
" 'Alas for the weakness of the great! For a mighty King is Gil-galad, and wise in all lore is Master Elrond, and yet they will not aid me in my labours. Can it be that they do not desire to see other lands become as blissful as their own? But wherefore should Middle-earth remain for ever desolate and dark, whereas the Elves could make it as fair as Eressea, nay even as Valinor? And since you have not returned thither as you might, I perceive that you love this Middle-earth, as do I. Is it not then our task to labour together for its enrichment, and for the raising of all Elven-kindreds that wander here untaught to the height of that power and knowledge which those have who are beyond the Sea?' " Lord Annatar in his defense, from Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age in The Silmarillion.
"Yet this is our law. I am not the master of the law, and cannot set it aside. I have done much in letting you set foot over the Celebrant." Haldir, from Lothlorien in The Fellowship of the Ring.
Background Music: "Here Girl" from Xena: Warrior Princess Volume 6, CD 2, Track 29
Crack!
Crack-tlack!
Crack-tlack-tlack-tat!
"Caffra! If you haven't noted this before, I'm not an orc!"
"I hadn't." She grinned, a teasing grin that lit up her face, already flushed with the evening's exertions. Elimani glared at her, his own features rosy from several hours practice.
"This is practice, not a duel to the death. You nearly took my head off." He propped his quarterstaff against the ground, leaning against it. Caffrawen leant her own form against the ivory walls of Ost-in-Edhil, glad for the respite, as it gave her another chance to tease him. Late afternoon sun poured in, filling the ivory walls of the city with blinding brilliance, rather than the glowing luminescence they displayed in shadow.
"I can't quite see why you'd miss it. Your head's not been doing you much good lately."
"More good than your own. You got taken in by my charms last week - yes, you did," he confirmed, amusement lighting his features as she attempted to interrupt. "You wouldn't have entered the shed if I didn't play on your one weakness - that pitiful, pathetic expression I pulled."
The two smiths had taken up the habit of practicing quarterstaff combat in the lesser-crowded alleyways of Ost-in-Edhil. Oft could the rhythm of clacking wooden staffs be heard, interspersed with choice cursing, and a few pained complaints as quarterstaffs impacted with flesh. Already Caffrawen had a darkening bruise on her calf, and Elimani sported two handsome bruises on his stomach and left shoulder.
Now that she was a member of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, she was given to understand that the brotherhood had more leisure time than regular Smiths. They were, of course, expected to use this time to confer with one another and share ideas. Elimani had given out some unbelievable story about using this time to consult with Caffrawen about the most vulnerable spots in armor, and how they might reinforce those areas.
For sake of research, they were keeping a count of their oft-hit bodily areas. To her continual delight, Caffrawen's sketch of an elven figure was much cleaner than Elimani's, shaded in with a hunk of graphite to simulate bruising.
Dropping back into a defensive posture, she grinned as Elimani began a furious assault on her left side. Their feet shifted across slightly greasy cobblestones, sliding with unconscious grace as Elimani attempted to gain ground and back her into a wall, severely lessening her options. He struck at her left shoulder, but Caffrawen, watching his eyes, glimpsed his intent. A moment later, she parried his half-hearted attempt at her shoulder, and moved to defend her vulnerable thigh, at which his eyes had been focused.
Blocking him from a frustrated attack on her right hip deftly, she chuckled in triumph as she slipped one end of her staff past his defenses and around to jab him firmly behind the knees. He staggered a moment, staff momentarily paused, and giving her the opening she needed to swing the other end of her staff around in a tight arc to hammer against his wrist. He cursed an oath that widened her eyes, and backed away in the universal gesture for a quick breather.
"Somehow I doubt that your pitiful expression is going to help you at all today." Her triumphant expression glowed over him as she rested her staff at an angle before her. He glared at her, rumpled grey tunic and long nose making him look like a vexed eagle.
"You'd think so, but no. It's going to help me greatly by the end of today." All at once, the annoyance faded from his eyes, replaced by a softness the likes of which expression she'd not yet seen upon his face.
Suspecting a prank but unnerved by his face, Caffrawen arched an eyebrow. "Who are you conning to get out of duties tomorrow?"
Elimani grinned, the flash of his white teeth against his darkly tanned complexion nearly as blinding as the walls of Ost-in-Edhil illuminated by sunlight. "It's not tomorrow I'm thinking of, it's tonight."
Shifting back to sit in the shade created by a building, he motioned for her to sit beside him. She did, warily, dread creeping in her stomach for some odd reason.
"Tonight?" she queried, busying herself with resting her quarterstaff comfortably across her lap as they leant back against the building. He nodded, tipping his head back as he arched his neck, flexing muscle there that Caffrawen suddenly found herself appreciating.
"Tonight," he confirmed, before switching tack. "What is your opinion of Findineth?"
Now she truly was confused. "Sister of Finervenn? Nice enough, I suppose, but she shares her brother's habits of dress." It was a continual state of wonderment for the entire Smithing population how the peacockish Smith was able to keep such fine clothing free from the char and stain that afflicted the aprons of other Smiths. But, as were so many eccentricities of other Smiths overlooked or accepted, so was this.
"Aye, and they look well on her."
Caffrawen raised an eyebrow. "And what, exactly, does that have to do with your pathetically charming glances?"
He pursed his lips a moment, and then once again donned that pathetically innocent look. With all due seriousness, he crooned, "Would you kiss a face like this?"
"Elimani!"
"What? A little stroll in the starlight, some sweetbread and wine, who's to say she wouldn't grant me a kiss?" He grinned fatuously, not really waiting for her answer.
Caffrawen, on the other hand, was assaulted by a maelstrom of emotion, most of which had a volatile, dangerous feel to it. Peripherally, she was aware that her hands had clenched on the quarterstaff, and that her jaw was tight enough to crack. To Elimani's eyes, she appeared to be deep in contemplation. In reality, she was struggling for focus.
Eventually, it occurred to her that she should not be reacting the way that she was to this news. After all, what was it to her if Elimani and Findineth were courting? She groped for an answer.
Of course! She was afraid of losing his friendship, as his attention would be diverted to the object of his affections. After all, that's the answer, isn't it?
"Hmph. You'd better get washed up, then." With one fluid movement, she was on her feet and striding in the direction of home, not looking back at Elimani.
"Caffra?" The tentative query made the bess in question halt in her tracks, spinning around to look at her friend. Elimani was on his feet as well, his dramatized expression replaced by one of genuine confusion and concern.
"Aye?"
"Aren't you going to wish me good luck?" The knot of anger in her stomach seemed to have worked its way up into her throat, and Caffrawen struggled not to let it affect the words she needed to say.
"Good luck, Elimani." She turned back around, and with a purposeful step, strode homeward, silently seething about her missed opportunity to give him a black eye to go with his lovely black hair that would be on display tonight. Passers-by gave her a wide berth as she stomped home, irritated once again by the fact that Elimani could make her react so.
Had she looked back, she might have noted that Elimani's expression of concern did not fade at her reassuring platitude.
* * *
The moment she arrived home, she busied her mind with small, unimportant matters. The growing pile of laundry that needed washing - severely. Rekindling the fire in the grate with a bit of kindling, and helping it grow. Hauling a few buckets of water from the public well. Heating a pot of water for her quick wash-down. Combing the sweat from her hair and re-braiding it into a tight plait that fell down her back, stopping at her waist. Changing into a light muslin skirt and blouse. Setting down aromatic herbs inside their private outhouse to sweeten the air (Due to Celebrimbor and the Dwarves' ingenious architecture, an underwater stream had been diverted to create a channel in which waste was flushed away and dredged from a nearby reservoir).* Mashing the chickpeas she'd so painstakingly soaked in jars since the harvests had come in from southwestern Eregion. Mixing a garlic clove and olive oil imported from Gondor into the bean paste to give it flavor and body. Setting the mixture to settle in the dark cool room that served as their winter storage*.
In the end, the monotonous labor served to clarify the motivation that spurred her aggravation with Elimani, allowed her to sort it out. Fifty years of isolation had affected her, made her a bit clingy to others at times, even though Caffrawen had lived among other Elves for the better part of four centuries. She was the only bess that Elimani was consistently playful with; she supposed that it was base jealousy on her part for want of his attention.
It was a thought that terrified her. For jealousy had Feanor quarreled bitterly with and become separated from his half-brother Fingolfin, forever separating the two houses in a rivalry. For lack of restraint, he had struck at Fingolfin, the first act of one Elf doing violence to another Elf. It also turned out to be a precursor to the terrible Kinslayings that Feanor and his sons would later commit. The past two generations of the House of Feanor had been disasters, driving Celebrimbor on a breakneck quest to make reparations for his bloodline's misdeeds. As his craftswoman and dependant, as well as a daughter of the House of Feanor, Caffrawen would follow his lead.
Even if following his lead meant that she would have to forgo the satisfaction of seeing Elimani's eye thoroughly blacked.
She sighed at this realization, and turned to sweep the floor and forget the troubling thoughts she had entertained.
Just as Caffrawen was contemplating making her cousin take off his shoes before he entered the house, observing the shaded path of ashes and dirt that led to Celebrimbor's room, a loud rapping announced the arrival of a stranger at their door.
Funny...she hadn't been expecting Giliath anytime soon. They had agreed to swap a meal's worth of Caffrawen's chickpea concoction for Giliath's best-roasted sweet potatoes to test Celebrimbor's ability to discern one taste from another. Celebrimbor always complimented Caffrawen on her cooking, though after four hundred years she began to wonder if his thanks were merely for the opportunity to eat something warm in the comfort of his own home. Now they would see if he actually knew what he was eating. Giliath had similar suspicions about her brother, who was also incidentally a member of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain. Though a red-hot poker of guilt burned the back of her head for keeping the organization a secret from Giliath, she reckoned it to be for the best, for all involved.
Opening the door and letting in the crisp evening air of autumn, she was greeted by Failar the guardsman, who looked very ill at ease, shifting from one foot to another, his long-ranging eyes darting to and fro behind her, looking for something or someone.
"Good evening, Lady Caffrawen. Is the Lord Celebrimbor at home?"
"Good evening, Lord Failar. No, I believe he is in the Smith's Quarter. Perhaps you should check in his workshop?" Caffrawen responded equably to the polite inquiry.
"I've already checked every building in the Smith's Quarter, and he's not there. Everyone said he must have gone home early," Failar continued, his agitation leading him to drop back into the informal, slightly slurred southern drawl that was the telling characteristic of the Elves of Ost-in-Edhil, which Caffrawen had adopted.
The pieces clicked together in her mind. If the Master Artificer could not be located by any key member of the Smithing Quarter, it was because he did not want to be found.
In the week in which she had spent as a fully-fledged member of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, she had been introduced to the 'scrap metal' shed. What was inside was anything but scrap.
The more deadly fruits of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain's labours, machines that dealt out death with a frightening ferocity, the machines of war were kept in a locked storehouse on the fringes of the Smith's Quarter. She had already had to sit duty at the scrap heap, carrying out the pretense of sorting the day's accumulated bits and pieces of metal and then melting them down, but her covert duty was to keep a watch on the building's one entrance. The wooden walls, Celebrimbor had explained, were merely a faux covering for a reinforced plate metal box that contained the most sensitive and valuable of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain's creations. No one, he had reassured her, could get in without making an incredible amount of noise. Which, again, was the reason for situating the building away from where the normal noisy din of the Smith's Quarter would have ordinarily masked such a clamor.
If a member of the brotherhood wished to visit the shed, they waited for an hour of the day in which few would be about, then brought a token piece of scrap metal to the storehouse. After first clasping the bicep of the storehouse's guardian, and having the gesture returned (for such was the greeting between members of the brotherhood), the door would be opened by use of a jointed key, of which there was only one duplicate. The first belonged to Celebrimbor, and it was from him that each brother would obtain permission and use of the key, handing it off to the guard so that the door could be locked afterward. The second existed, but Celebrimbor would not say whom he had entrusted the key to.
Anyone who knew of such a visit would disavow all knowledge of the Smith's whereabouts when questioned.
"All I know is that he isn't here. You could leave the message with me, and I'll see that it gets to him. That one doesn't miss a single meal, now that he can get them home-cooked!" She jested lightly, attempting to ease his mood and get him to stop wondering about Celebrimbor.
To her relief, he started to laugh. "Aye. Right then, I'll leave the message with you. We just figured that someone here ought to know about it, as Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel have gone for a ride with young Lady Celebrian. Since they can't get their messages, Celebrimbor would probably be the next this city'd look to for guidance."
Caffrawen absorbed this statement in its entirety, taking in the truth of Failar's words about Celebrimbor's importance, and the fact that whomever had sent the message knew of the chain of command in Ost-in-Edhil. Then her mind grasped the larger importance of his words.
"Letters were sent to the Lord and Lady as well?"
"Aye, that they were." He pulled a message scroll from the safety of his jerkin, where the parchment was wrapped in waterproofed leather and carried a seal that Caffrawen could not immediately identify, as it was covered by Failar's thumb. "They'll just have to wait unopened till the Lord and Lady return. But I can now send the messenger back, since at least one of his messages will get to its recipient. Poor fellow came all the way from Lindon."
"Lindon?" Her reply came in a breathless inquiry.
"Aye." He handed her the message scroll. "A good evening to you, Caffrawen."
"And to you," she replied mechanically, as he turned smartly and left.
Frowning in thought, she closed the door and examined the message scroll. Impressed into the leather was the seal of the High King Gil-galad.
Gil-galad.
What in the name of the Two Trees did the High King want with Celebrimbor?
It was true that her cousin was important, at least to the city of Ost-in-Edhil. In terms of bloodlines, as spent and as shamed as the Feanorian line was, it had once held the crown of the Noldor, before her Uncle Maedhros had handed the crown to Fingolfin. Celebrimbor was known throughout the lands as the worthiest successor to the skill of Feanor, and once word spread about the Elessar, he would be even more important. In all of her four hundred years spent in Ost-in-Edhil, she had seen many messages come from Lindon, presumably from the High King, but none of them were for the Master Archival.
Perhaps the missive was meant to question Celebrimbor about the Elessar...but how could news of the Elessar gotten to Lindon and back so quickly? What then could be so important that the High King would not simply ask through Lord Celeborn for information?
Caffrawen shifted, fingering the message scroll. After all, it was an urgent message...
Thunder rolled, far away from the mountains. Idly, she thought it strange that there should be a thunderstorm this far into autumn. It did not improve her sense of foreboding.
She could just run it down to the scrap shed and hand it to him there...but why not read it? If there was something terrible afoot, the more people that knew about it, the better, was that not correct?
So with the scruples that seemed never to want to stay permanently in a Feanorian's mind, she untied the leather, broke the seal, and began to read.
'To the Master Archival of Ost-in-Edhil, Celebrimbor, son of Curufin...'
* * *
Background Music: First half of "The Treason of Isengard" from The Fellowship of the Ring, Track 4
By some miracle of restraint Caffrawen managed not to drop the missive to the recently swept floor.
Lightning bolts of fear and alarm raced down her spine. Her senses heightened by her state, Caffrawen could feel the very air of the house pressing in on her, and felt suddenly extremely isolated and vulnerable among all the Elves and within stone walls.
She had to find Celebrimbor. Now.
Tucking the missive inside her skirt pocket, she tore out of the door, racing along the cobbled streets of Ost-in-Edhil. She dodged passing Elves and other obstacles with grace and a single purpose in mind. Some might have called out to her in worry, others in irritation. She didn't notice. Darvi the Dwarf could have been dancing in the street in un-masculine pink, and she wouldn't have given him a moment's thought.
She did realize, however, that she needed a piece of scrap metal. Cursing the most fiendish oath she'd ever heard muttered by another Smith, she sprinted up the stairs and into the Hall that housed her workshop. She grabbed the first metal item in sight, turned, and continued her mad dash.
Some inner sense of caution prompted her to glance about the street, making certain that few were in sight. Caffrawen slowed her steps to a brisk pace, all her attention focused on the guard of the scrap shed, who happened to be Maltast, wrapped in a brown cloak, tending the fire as a chill wind picked up, spurred by the oncoming storm. He waved, seeing her approach.
"Maltast! I don't have the key, but I need to speak with Celebrimbor urgently!" She spoke the words in a rush, reaching forward to clasp his bicep, and tossing the unknown hunk of metal onto the pile of metal scraps, where it landed with a harsh clang.
Maltast clasped her bicep briefly, and then glanced at the metal scraps. "I had no idea you were so unattached to your cooling tongs, Caffrawen." He picked up her unfortunate tool from the scrap pile.
"Bother the tongs!" she spat. Pulling the missive from her pocket, she waggled the seal of the High King Gil-galad under Maltast's nose.
"Urgent word from the High King - Celebrimbor needs to see this! Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel are off on a ride, and someone needs to be informed about this who can do something!"
"How are you so certain that it's urgent?" The benn was impossible!
"Because I read it! The sooner our Master Artificer knows, the better."
Moving far too slowly for Caffrawen's frame of mind, the Smith reached for the key within his cloak, muttering as he did so. "You've been a member of the Brotherhood for only a week, and yet you barge in as if you had all the authority -"
"-of the High King, and I've got his seal to prove it," she finished for him, watching as he wriggled the jointed key into place.
"Hmph. Well, perhaps you can convince him to take that foreign visitor of his out of there. Should really only be viewed by the members of the Brotherhood, and you've been confirmed, at the very least."
Caffrawen had stopped listening after he had spoken the words 'foreign visitor'. She gaped at Maltast in shock. "Lord Annatar?" she asked in a breathy whisper.
"The one and only," he confirmed.
Caffrawen felt an icy chill run down her veins where the blood should have flown.
She pushed past Maltast as he pried the doors open, and into the small antechamber. A single torch had been lit, flickering uneasily in its wall bracket. Using the quietest steps she had ever had chance or purpose to use, she lifted the overhanging cloth that was used in lieu of a door.
As her eyes adjusted to the filtered light of the chambers, she became aware of two distinct voices, carrying on a low-toned discussion, from which she could distinguish that they were situated at the far right side of the shed. Stepping lightly over a bundle of barbed arrows, bypassing the jars of flammable oil with wicks set inside them, she moved towards the voices. Light already dimmed by the oncoming thunderstorm and thrust through the reinforced vents in sharp slats, cast an eerie blue glow on the metal. The distant rumbling of thunder and the fretful snapping of a single torch did nothing to ease her frantic state of mind.
She drew nearer to the voices, discerning a tall, hooded figure standing next to a shorter figure that was gesturing animatedly at a beast-like contraption of wooden beams and metal. The shorter figure - Celebrimbor - had pulled back the hood of his own cloak to allow his auburn locks to spill out, creating a patch of deep color in the room of muted tones. Caffrawen supposed that her own was the same. She came close enough to pick up their conversation. Normally she would have called out by now, but some inner prompting kept her silent.
"...and so once the tension from this cord is released, the counterweight falls forward at an incredible rate, allowing the other end to fling its contents forth. We've measured the traveling distance so far at about one hundred and fifty yards, with an elevation of about seventy-five feet at normal strike point. Good bit of force behind it, too, enough to rattle the teeth in your head." Celebrimbor was speaking rapidly, as excited as she'd ever seen him
"Or smash the battlements of a fortress? A truly marvelous invention, Friend Celebrimbor. What do you call this wonder, again?" The voice dripped from within the black cloak, sliding into Caffrawen's ears in a most disconcerting manner.
"A catapult, Lord Annatar. Would you care for a demonstration?" She winced as she watched her proud cousin act the eager puppy. Or was he simply being courteous?
"Perhaps later. There seems to be nothing worth destroying here, as of yet!" An oily chuckle issued from within Annatar's cloak, and Celebrimbor was quick to echo it.
Caffrawen had had enough.
"Lord Celebrimbor? Lord Annatar?"
They turned to her as she stepped into a patch of light, and she curtsied in a detached manner.
"Ah, Caffra! Bringing me home in time for supper, no doubt!" Celebrimbor's wide grin of joviality was not lost on her, and for a moment, she allowed it to warm her heart. A slight movement from Annatar brought her back to the manner at hand.
"Unfortunately, no, my lord. The Lady Galadriel has requested your presence to oversee a problem that has come up with the city's waste pipes. As we speak, the air of Ost-in-Edhil is fouled most grievously, particularly in the Lord and Lady's home." It was a lie, but calculated to get the foreign Lord out of the scrap shed, and Celebrimbor back to his role as leader. She watched with a hint of guilt as his features settled into a business-like expression, but was halted momentarily.
"A moment, Friend Celebrimbor. This charming young bess is your wife?" Caffrawen froze as Annatar's gaze became fixed on her. He slowly lowered the hood of his cloak, revealing a hauntingly beautiful face. His face was finely boned with wide eyes, and he had a pale complexion that seemed never to change in the light and heat of the sun, and took on an unattractive waxy look when in such circumstances. Here, in the semi-dark of the scrap shed, it gave him an ethereal semblance of unearthly knowledge. This face was framed by waves of hair so black, it shone blue in some places. His lips were full, sensual, as finely crafted as the rest of his face. His eyes disturbed her, for they were not beady, nor too large, but instead were perfect black pools of nothingness. She wondered if it was so with all servants of the Valar.
"My wife? Of course not, Annatar! This is my cousin, Caffrawen." Celebrimbor presented her to Annatar with an avuncular affection that irritated her to no end.
"Lady...Caffrawen," Annatar spoke in silken tones that made her flesh crawl. "Tell me, my lady, from whose line connected to Celebrimbor do you descend?"
"I descend from one of his father's brothers." She wasn't about to give him more information than she absolutely had to. None of his business, anyway.
"Ah, so you descend from the House of Feanor. A nobly intended line. Tell me, which brother was your father?"
Caffrawen decided that she definitely did not like this turn of questioning. She responded as curtly as she could, "I am the daughter of Amras."
"Amras! Youngest of the brothers. I had heard of his demise at the Havens of Sirion. And you are a Smith here?"
"Forgive me, Lord Annatar, but the problems I mentioned are growing more dire. Perhaps I could answer your questions later." It took every shred of diplomacy and restraint to keep Caffrawen from lashing out at Annatar's unwelcome probing. There was no mistaking that he was handsome, and quite charming in his own way. Yet he repelled her in the same way a skunk repels a wolf.
"Indeed! So, if you'll follow me, Lord Annatar," Celebrimbor stepped in, gesturing for the both of them to follow him out of the scrap shed.
Caffrawen followed sullenly, aware of Annatar's silent presence as he moved behind her. Once they had cleared the scrap shed, Celebrimbor clasped Annatar's hand and bid him good-day. Caffrawen's eyes lingered on the tall Lord as he left. He did not walk, rather, he glided...she was brought back to the present by Celebrimbor's hand on her shoulder.
"How badly is the pipeline damaged? Does Agladir have any idea of what has caused the failure in function?" His red eyebrows were knit in concentration.
"What? Oh, no," Caffrawen murmured, having forgotten her deception. "There is no damage in the pipeline." Beside her, the Master Artificer was halted in his path to Galadriel's abode, confusion written on his face.
"Let us find somewhere out of the open before the storm breaks." In the corner of her eye, she could still see Lord Annatar's shape lingering in the distance. After all, this was a sensitive matter, not to be discussed out in the open. She suited action to words and pulled at the cuff of his sleeve, discreetly guiding him home, her eyes begging him not to ask questions. Fortunately, the streets had been cleared with the prospect of the oncoming storm, and she was able to pull him home in a relatively short amount of time.
"Now what is it, Caffrawen?" Celebrimbor said with a tinge of irritation. He shut the door behind them and pulled off his cloak, draping it on a hook. "I was conducting very important business with Annatar..."
"Lord Annatar, cousin. And I highly doubt your business was more important than this." With these words she pulled Gil-galad's missive from her pocket with a flourish, handing it over to him. "This came for you less than an hour ago. Similar missives were sent to the Lord and Lady, who are out on a ride."
She turned then, letting him read the urgent words as she busied herself pouring some badly needed wine into glasses. Carrying the glasses over to the table, she sipped at one glass and stared into its ruby depths blankly until she heard Celebrimbor. He walked with wooden steps, his brow furrowed, and his eyes sharp and seeking. Caffrawen pushed the other glass of wine towards him, and he nodded gratefully, taking large sips and staring into the small fire in the grate.
"You really think that it is Lord Annatar that they refer to?"
"Since they used his name, and I know of no others to go by the audacious name of 'Lord of Gifts', I would assume as much," she replied tartly, a bit irritated at his lack of action and direction. Celebrimbor either did not hear or chose to ignore the sarcasm in her voice, and instead looked back over Gil-galad's graceful script.
"I cannot believe it," he murmured, perusing the text as if expecting to see a retraction of the warning suddenly appear.
"As evidenced by your trust in him," Caffrawen spat, bitter that the trust he had so readily given to Annatar had taken her over four hundred years for her to earn.
He looked up at her sharply. "What do you mean?" Inwardly, Caffrawen flinched at the tone of command, and was reminded of his support in her recent ascension to honors, and of the fact that she was the most junior of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, speaking to the head of her order.
"He's been here for less than a week, doesn't say much about where he came from, doesn't present any evidence that he was sent by the Valar, and you let him into the scrap shed?"
"Caffrawen, haven't you seen the marvels he's helped us create? In only a few days, we have eight new methods for heating metals, three new alloys, and suggestions for two new farming implements!" He paused for breath in his defense of himself and of Annatar. "He's a Smith! He creates great wonders, just as we do!"
Caffrawen stared at him blankly. Could he truly be this blind? "The same could have been said of our Grandfather Feanor. Look how we pay for that, even now! It is true that I dislike Lindon, and if it were on other matters, I might be inclined to disagree with King Gil-galad and his Herald...what's his name?"
"Elrond," her cousin said shortly, anger beginning to course across his features.
"Elrond," she repeated. "Lindon hates us for our family, but its leaders at least know that other lives are at stake. Suppose the knowledge of what is in the scrap shed leaked out of the building that is supposed to contain it? What if it falls into enemy hands?"
Celebrimbor gaped at her. "Surely...you cannot suggest...by the Valar, no!"
"Anything and everything is possible."
"The Lady Galadriel...she would have sensed some ill intent!"
"Who knows? She hasn't been about the city much this week, and the two times Annatar was slated to meet the Lord and Lady, he's come up with an excuse not to."
"He was helping me in the forges!" Uncertainty flickered across Celebrimbor's features, and he looked wildly about the room, seeking reassurance.
"Tell me, cousin, who would pass up a summons from the Lady? Once? Possibly, but highly unlikely, if his mission from the Valar is as important as he implies. But twice?" She held his gaze unblinkingly. Behind her, the grated fire snapped broodingly, causing them both to jump.
He rose from his seat unsteadily, but when he gained his feet, there was all the confidence and direction of a King about him. He glanced out a window, reflectively taking in the howling gusts of rain and wind, the almost forgotten sounds of thunder crashing.
"I will send someone to arrange a meeting between myself, the Lord and Lady, and Lord Annatar. Certainly, any misunderstandings will be cleared up at that time." He nodded sharply to himself, pleased with his solution.
Caffrawen privately wondered if there was any other course of action to be taken, but she wordlessly brought out the dinner that she had prepared, quite forgetting that she was supposed to swap with Giliath. They ate in silence, their thoughts too loud to have ever heard the other's conversation. With the amount of work that Caffrawen had put into the chickpea spread, as she partook of it, it stuck in her throat on numerous occasions, and Caffrawen knew that she had not been stingy with the olive oil.
* * *
Background Music: "Welcome the Avatar" Xena: Warrior Princess, Volume 4, Track 21
The usual cool freshness of the air following a storm usually invigorated the Elves, but with the accompanying chill of autumn, it was simply windy and cold and wet out, and no one wanted to be about out of doors. Elves were of a stronger constitution than Men, but that did not necessarily mean that they went out looking for discomfort. The smell of woodsmoke was heavy in the air, as most families had found their first excuse to light a roaring fire since the last chilled days of early spring.
To Caffrawen and Celebrimbor, all the chill and wetness simply served as tidings of ill fortune to be had.
Not so ill, Caffrawen thought as she hustled along beside her cousin, if it is true and we can stop it here!
They ran gracefully over slippery cobblestones before nearly colliding with Failar, who was running in their direction. Skidding to a halt, he managed an awkward bow, before reciting the message entrusted to him.
"My Lord Celebrimbor, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel request your presence in their halls immediately. They only arrived back in the city as the storm broke. The Lord and Lady apologize for the lateness of the hour, but it is of a matter that cannot wait." Failar paused for breath and might have said more, but Caffrawen interrupted.
"No doubt of what's on their minds." Celebrimbor nodded, and turned back to Failar.
"Failar, if you would be so good as to run to the lodgings where Lord Annatar is residing? Tell him that the Lord Celebrimbor requests his immediate presence in the halls, and that nothing can be deemed of higher importance than this." Caffrawen looked with approval at his kingly bearing, at his sudden authority, at his apparent confidence. Failar bobbed in a quick bow to them both and took off, long legs propelling him deftly over the wet streets and out of their sight.
With a less hurried air, Celebrimbor ceremonially placed a hand in the small of Caffrawen's back, guiding her through the streets. Caffrawen had the vague sense of being pulled through a tunnel of creamy stone that shone dully through the water and the waning light, so disinterested was she in her surroundings. In hardly any time, they were sprinting up the stairway toward the Lord and Lady's door.
The surprise of the doors being swung open as they approached was compounded with the surprise of Lord Celeborn waiting for them in the foyer, still dressed in riding clothes of blue. His face was stony, intelligent eyes watching every movement of his two guests like a wary animal.
As one, Celebrimbor and Caffrawen remembered their manners and each made the appropriate obeisance, Caffrawen sinking in a short curtsy, and Celebrimbor bowing, almost grudgingly.
Whether Celeborn registered any of this, Caffrawen did not know, as his eyes did not linger on her or Celebrimbor. Nor did he deliver his usual load of pleasantries to the Smithing Quarter spoken with a face like soured milk. He cut through the crust and came to the pie filling.
"Lord Celebrimbor, Lady Caffrawen. I trust you have received the same message that has come to my Lady and I?"
"We have," Celebrimbor said, answering for the both of them. "We were on our way here when Failar caught up with us. I have sent him to retrieve Lord Annatar back here for some immediate questioning."
Celeborn nodded his approval, and then turned his head as the Lady Galadriel stepped into the room.
Stepped, Caffrawen decided, is to earthly a word for her. She glides.
Indeed, the most prominent Lady of Ost-in-Edhil had glided into the room, wearing only a simple green riding habit, her normally flawless face creased by furrowed brows that relaxed upon seeing the two Feanorians within her home. For Caffrawen, who had never seen the Lady of Light in any hue other than purest white, and never in any state of disquiet, this was the equivalent of seeing a holly bush decide to rid itself of thorns and bear purple berries. She received a slight nudge from her cousin, and sank like a stone in her curtsy.
Galadriel exchanged her anxious face for a placidly welcoming one. "Lord Celebrimbor, Lady Caffrawen. I am certain that you will agree with me when I say that social niceties are unimportant in the face of this very grave news." Her voice was dulcet, urgency deepening the tone. Caffrawen saw her hand unobtrusively move to touch the arm of her husband. Instantly, Celeborn's face relaxed into a more tranquil expression.
"If Lord Annatar arrives this third time he is bidden, then we will get to the heart of this matter. If he is less than completely sincere in his replies, we will consider upon what course of action would be the wisest for the safety of all. Should he be as benevolent as his name implies, then we must guard our borders with heightened vigilance." She halted her speech, apparently deeply shaken by this possibility. "Not since the days in which Gondolin fell have we considered such a deed being perpetrated within the borders of our own lands. Yet it is easier to chase the dragon from the parapets than it is to pluck the serpent from one's breast."
Silence hung like a shroud over the small gathering. The Lady turned her glittering eyes upon Celebrimbor's own, holding his gaze with the same grip that Caffrawen might apply to her quarterstaff. "Lord Celebrimbor, do you truly believe that Lord Annatar comes with the purest intentions, that he is a messenger of the Valar himself? We trust your counsel implicitly, and any insight you might have could prove very valuable to our questioning."
Celebrimbor pulled in a large intake of air, composing his mind and heart, which, given the riveting stare of Galadriel must not have been a light task. "He has presented me with no proof that he is of the Valar, save his simply astounding knowledge of Smithing, and of the creation of unheard-of machines and tools. He has told me that the gift he brings to Ost-in-Edhil is the gift of knowledge, knowledge that can be used to preserve and protect these realms we claim as our own. Annatar called such a gift a dual-gift, in that we had the option of exercising the gift of free will upon his gift of knowledge, to achieve whatever aim we sought. Such was his faith in our aims that I could not help but trust him, until tidings came from Lindon. Now that these questions have been raised by the esteemed High King Gil-galad, and by his Herald, Lord Elrond, I begin to wonder if that conclusion was correct. He can be slightly arrogant, perhaps, in the face of our more primitive tools, and he has a tendency to ask too much about that which should be left alone..." Celebrimbor trailed off, brow furrowed.
Celeborn seemed to take umbrage from this. "Well, now it shall be we who ask the questions! My Lady, shall we continue this from within the formal hall?" Galadriel nodded, thoughtfully.
"Our guest must come away with the impression of power, and that we are the ones wielding it." She turned her electrifying gaze then to Caffrawen. "My Lady Caffrawen, surely you would be more comfortable in the library? I will send for some tea to be brought to you, and you are free to look through any of the tomes there."
Caffrawen inclined her head, half in respect, half to break the scalding contact of Galadriel's eyes. "I would indeed, my Lady." A suggestion from the Lady was in truth a subtle order.
"We will send for you to be brought back to your cousin when our Council has ended. Shall we, then?" Celeborn took the arm of his lady and escorted her into the formal hall, Celebrimbor trailing in their wake.
Although she knew that she was not of enough status or consequence to be allowed to listen in on the council, Caffrawen stood there, resent coursing through her in waves. Compounded with her earlier anxiety, the rush of unwanted emotion was building within her like an ocean wave, racing towards the point at which the strength of it could be dashed to bits and the emotion purged from her too-emotive body.
"It seems we are in similar straits, aren't we?" Caffrawen looked up, hearing the wry remark come from a dark chamber to the side of the foyer. A maid slipped out of the shadows, tilting her head with a confident air.
Celebrian might not have been as beautiful or as graceful as her mother, but she certainly made up for it by replacing her mother's cool detachment and polished manners with an approachable manner and an easy, beautiful grin. You could not touch Galadriel in all her golden purity. You could hug Celebrian in her silvery radiance and demonstrative nature.
"What?" Caffrawen had not noticed that she had been twisting her skirt with her hands in frustration.
"Being shut out. Knowing that you're going to have to deal with such matters one of these days, and being unable to do so, either because you're too young, or you're not deemed as having worthy council or enough consequence," she said lightly.
Caffrawen offered her a confused look in response.
"Forgive me. I'm Celebrian. And I believe your name is Caffrawen."
"Yes…" Caffrawen suddenly came to the full realization of the person that was speaking to her. She hastily composed a curtsy that failed as certainly as did her attempt at composure.
"Oh, don't bother with that," Celebrian said, extending a hand to still her genuflection. "Mother and Father insist on formality. You've no idea how tiring it is to be presented as their confidant and trusted daughter in public, when they won't discuss the price of potatoes without a great deal of thought about 'how much this will expose her to the rawness of this world.' Goodness, I've known about enemy movements since I was knee-high to a Dwarf. Apparently my esteemed parents didn't think me capable of understanding the term opposition."
If one had to pick among Celebrian's many charms, from the dazzling smile to the bubbly nature of her conversation, the chief one that drew so many close to her was her confidential nature. As the occasion suited, she could be as serious as the grave, or as light-hearted as a tavern song, but no matter whom she spoke to, Celebrian had the ability to make them feel as if they were the only two in the room. Often, people would open up to her, seek her as a comforting friend, or the right person to repeat a choice bit of gossip to, for it was true that she was sincere in all her speech, and it was the dearest wish of her heart to spread happiness to all. Celebrian boosted one's trust in her by never letting a confidence slip past her lips. In many ways, she was the silent eyes and ears of Ost-in-Edhil.
Accordingly, Caffrawen felt that she had met a kindred spirit.
"I know how that feels. Celebrimbor means well, but sometimes I think he forgets I'm his cousin and not his twenty-year old niece," she replied, half in vexation, the other half in tolerant amusement.*
"And it's not as if we're unworthy of trust - I knew about Sauron's newly built stronghold in Mordor ages before anyone else did - and they knew I knew! Was in the same room with them when the messenger ran in! Not a word did I mention of it, and they didn't even tell me not to!" She paused. "That may well have been because they were preoccupied with the matter at hand, but still..."
Caffrawen nodded fervently in agreement. "I knew about the Elessar ten years before it was even mentioned to the Lord and Lady in hopes of a public presentation! Didn't say a word, even when people began to ask why Celebrimbor turned an interesting shade of green for some time."
Celebrian giggled, a cheerful sound. "I had wondered about that! Now, then, Caffrawen, would you say that we have justified our grievances to each other enough to reap some benefit of our positions?"
The Smith was instantly on her guard. "I suppose that we have..."
Celebrian pushed her silver locks behind her head, anticipation gleaming in her eyes. "Well then, my fine Smithing friend, I've a proposition. You tell me why Mother and Father and your cousin are closeted and waiting for this Annatar fellow's arrival, and I will show you how I spy on their conferences."
Caffrawen backtracked mentally, considering her circumstances. Here she was, about to reveal matters of high state to someone whom she did not know beyond a short conversation, a person who was not even intimately involved with or informed about Smithing and security matters (officially, at least.) Not to mention that agreeing would enable her to spy on the private conversations of the Lord and Lady of Ost-in-Edhil!
With Celebrimbor, when in disfavor, she could always weasel her way back into his good graces without a great deal of effort. Filial love knew annoyance, but no ends. Lord Celeborn, while commanding of respect and iron of will, and certainly with the power to shame her publicly, or even imprison her for a time, had possible punishments with feasible consequences. With Galadriel, only an idiot would not sense and pay sharp attention to the aura of power and command that followed her as surely as her shadow, unearthly and composedly cool. Celebrimbor might make one feel ashamed, and Celeborn had the power to place her into confinement, but Galadriel's punishment…did not bear imagining.
She was, however, a Smith, and the chief weakness of nearly all Smiths was the pursuit of knowledge. Glancing up, Caffrawen saw Celebrian extend her hand, an expectant look upon her face.
Without further considering the consequences, she extended her own hand, briefly clasping Celebrian's own. "Deal."
"Excellent. This way, if you please. If you could tell me the circumstances as we go? We can't make much noise once we reach the spot." Celebrian turned to guide her accomplice through a side chamber. Caffrawen matched her pace to Celebrian's own.
"Lord Annatar - we really don't know who he is, save that he says he's a servant of the Valar, and he knows more about Smithing than my cousin. He claims to want to help us with creating weaponry and new trinkets that can help our cause in protecting Middle-Earth from Sauron." Caffrawen paused for breath as Celebrian held up a hand to silence her. They listened, poised on the threshold of a doorframe, then darted across to a darkened room and continued walking.
"He's been twice invited to meet your parents since arriving here a week ago, and he's managed to miss both appointments."
"Mother won't be taking kindly to that."
"I'd expect not. In any case, my cousin and your parents received letters of warning from the High King Gil-galad and his Herald, Elrond-"
"Elrond, did you say?" A queer look passed over Celebrian's face. Caffrawen later realized it to be a rare loss of composure for the young Lady.
"Aye, Elrond. The letters warned that they had not allowed Lord Annatar within their borders. They weren't certain where his loyalties lay, and exhorted us to follow their example. Better safe than sorry, I guess." Celebrian nodded, then put a finger to her lips as she led Caffrawen down a flight of stairs and into another small chamber, sparsely decorated, used as Celebrian's study, to judge from the stacks of books and what could only be Celebrian's riding habit draped over a nearby chair. With only one window, the room was coolly dim, as no fires had been laid nor tapers been lit.
Taking care that their steps were even more soundless than usual, the bess crept over towards a nondescript crimson tapestry that covered a portion of the wall. Celebrian flipped it back, revealing a small crawl-space that extended back some four feet or so, before stopping at a wall that was pockmarked with small holes that extended into darkness. Each hole was no bigger than a shirt-button, but as Celebrian demonstrated, pressing her pointed ear against one of the holes, it was possible to listen into the formal hall. Caffrawen, moving tentatively, pressed an ear to another hole
"And one of the farming implements, so simple that it shames me, is this cylinder riddled with spikes, pulled by a team of horses!"
Caffrawen jumped back in shock at the sound of Celebrimbor's voice. Celebrian's amused glance took in the Smith's shocked look. She began to write on a scrap of parchment pulled from her desk. Caffrawen looked down at the hasty scrawl.
You Smiths aren't the only ones to make ingenious devices.
They grinned at each other momentarily, then immediately went back to pressing their ears against the wall as Celebrimbor picked his dialogue back up. "...and these miniscule holes made in the earth aerate the soil, making for healthier crops. Not only that, but pass over the ground several times with this device, and we may well have another way of planting our crops!"
Caffrawen rolled her eyes, aware of Celebrian's scrutiny, and not caring in the slightest. The placement of the crawlspace was such that it was far enough from the Lord and Lady's dais in the formal hall, ensuring that small noises went unnoticed. The acoustics had been taken into account, making it so that the silent spy-chamber caught every whisper in the hall.
The small talk between Celebrimbor and the Lord and Lady continued for a time, and the two spies quietly shifted, attempting to find more comfortable positions, attempting not to wriggle with impatience like elflings.
* * *
Background Music: "Hello Beautiful" from Xena: Warrior Princess, Volume Four, Track 10
The quiet sound of heavy doors turning on well-oiled hinges focused their attention once again to their posts. Measured steps became louder and louder as they drew near to where Caffrawen guessed that Celeborn and Galadriel would be seated in state. The footsteps stopped, and there was a brief pause in which Caffrawen supposed Annatar was bowing.
"My Lords Celeborn and Celebrimbor, my Lady Galadriel. I am Lord Annatar, and I deeply regret not meeting the two of you when bidden." The oily voice of Lord Annatar seeped through the spy-holes and into the ears of the two listening bess. Out of the corner of her eye, Caffrawen saw Celebrian recoil from her spy-hole a fraction of an inch.
"Such delinquencies are not of importance at this time, Lord Annatar. Nor are further pleasantries." Lord Celeborn's voice rang in the formal hall, amplified by the echoing acoustics that Caffrawen and Celebrian were taking advantage of. "You can best make amends for such by stating your origin and intentions while residing in Ost-in-Edhil."
"My Lord and Lady, surely the good Lord Celebrimbor has conveyed my greetings and intentions to you? I would have thought them of utmost importance." The tone was emotionless, but to Caffrawen's ears, it was almost mocking. She heard feet shifting on the floor, as if suddenly uncomfortable, and guessed that they belonged to Celebrimbor. A motion caught her eye, and she saw that Celebrian was slowly shaking her head. The message was clear: You do not address Mother or Father so.
"Since Lord Celebrimbor has been under your tutelage since your arrival, one would expect him to have the same opportunity for discussion with us as you would, Lord Annatar. Yet he has, even though it was not his especial duty to do so. The procedure for all Elven cities decrees that visitors must declare themselves to the leaders of the city should they wish to conduct business therein. Therefore, for the benefit of myself and my Lord, I would ask you once more to state your origins and intentions for fair Ost-in-Edhil."
Caffrawen had not known that the Lady Galadriel could wield sarcasm when needed.
"Of course." Annatar sounded a bit chastened. "No insult was intended, my Lady. I have come from Valinor, the Blessed Shores, created and sent by the Valar as an emissary unto the Firstborn, to help guide you and your people to victory against Morgoth's successor, Sauron."
Caffrawen winced, as those with Noldor heritage could not even speak the name of Morgoth, so deeply did they hate him. To hear it so easily rolling off Annatar's oily tongue gave her pause. Celebrian looked at her, momentarily concerned, then pressed her ear to the spy-hole as the voices resumed.
"And what proof can you produce that you carry the favor and do the will of the Valar?" Celeborn resumed the questioning.
"Only the proof of my good word. I chanced to meet Enerdhil, while training under Aule and learning his craft. He mentioned that Master Celebrimbor was the finest Elven-Smith since his grandfather, and if the eventual plan of the Valar would work, that Master Celebrimbor must be heavily involved."
There was a significant pause. Instead of leaping ahead to the specifics of such a Valar-guided plan, Celeborn stuck to his knives.
"And so the Valar, knowing our customs and suspicions of foreigners bearing gifts, send in an emissary with no credits or references to his name, and expect us to immediately welcome and support him? I mean no offense, Lord Annatar," Celeborn continued, his voice filled with sincerity, "But the Valar are not giving us secure footing in this new plan, whatever it should happen to be."
"Precisely, Lord Celeborn."
"I beg your pardon?" The note in Celeborn's voice signaled consternation, and beside Caffrawen, Celebrian fidgeted, crushing a fold of her skirt within a suddenly tightly squeezed palm, rubbing it together to create a dry, quick sound that Caffrawen had to shush her from doing. The Smith decided that the Lady Celebrian must have heard that note in her father's voice rarely to produce such a reaction.
"The Valar have given me no credentials, for all I bring to fair Ost-in-Edhil is the knowledge within my head. Aule has instructed me well in this matter, and I am prepared to guide the Smiths in their creation of works truly awesome. The choice that you have in this matter is whether to take advantage of this knowledge or not. I pose no threat to your city, and if you should desire it, I shall leave immediately. But the Valar believe this to be another gift, the gift of free will and its exertion over these matters. It would be simplest to trust the word of a messenger bearing credentials, and less so to trust one on blind faith."
"Nay. Simplest of all would be to take one at one's word and trust them entirely. The High King Gil-galad and his Herald, Master Elrond, have bidden us to heed their reservations about letting those such as yourself have free reign in our realms." Galadriel was unmoved, and this impressed Caffrawen.
"Alas for the weakness of the great! For a mighty king is Gil-galad, and wise in all lore is Master Elrond, and yet they will not aid me in my labours. Can it be that they do not desire to see other lands become as blissful as their own? But wherefore should Middle-earth remain for ever desolate and dark, whereas the Elves could make it as fair as Eressea, nay even as Valinor? And since you have not returned thither, as you might, I perceive that you love this Middle-earth, as do I. Is it not then our task to labour together for its enrichment, and for the raising of all the Elven-kindreds that wander here untaught to the height of that power and knowledge which those have who are beyond the Sea?" Annatar's voice rang with passion, echoing in all listening ears, striking a chord within each of them that spoke of pride, of frustration, of a stubborn love of all that was perfect and imperfect of their home in Middle-earth.
It also reminded them of the always-present call of the Sea, the whisper of bliss within the reach of an outstretched hand.
Caffrawen rocked back on her heels, momentarily stunned.
Galadriel was the first to digest this speech, answering with more composure than an eagle standing guard on a cliff. "If the High King and Master Elrond should refuse such knowledge, exactly what in the situation of Ost-in-Edhil should make us more receptive to such overtures? Your gift of knowledge is a tempting one, to be certain. But in this day and age, every gift horse must be thoroughly examined before it can be trusted to bear a mount."
"I understand your concerns, my Lady. You and your Lord, and Master Celebrimbor are entrusted with the safety and security of your people in Eregion, and a mighty task it is. Ost-in-Edhil is closer to Mordor, more exposed to attack than Lindon, which is more populous. This fact has made Lindon more complacent about some matters, and highly suspicious of others. They were satisfied well enough with their armies not to take advantage of the will of the Valar, but paranoid of a single being who only offered to instruct them in a task, which they could refuse after having heard the specifics of. No doubt the High King and Master Elrond distrusted me enough to the point of not wanting to be tempted by my offer." Annatar's voice seemed to still reverberate in the room, tantalizing the listeners with the specifics of his plan.
At long last, Celeborn took the bait. "If you would be so kind as to relate the specifics of the Valar's aforementioned plans, I will trust in our Master Artificer's ability to discover any danger inherent in its execution."
Caffrawen could only imagine what her cousin looked like at that moment.
"Of course, my Lord," Annatar agreed before pausing to place emphasis on his next statement. "If a Smith-invented tool should be the instrument through which peace would be restored throughout the lands of Middle-earth, such an instrument would need to fulfill several deficiencies that prevent such bliss from becoming possible."
"The first deficiency would be Middle-earth's intrinsic nature - that of degradation and rebuilding. Every season, something is destroyed as a result of some natural calamity that cannot be prevented. Suppose we did have that power, the power to control the weather, the very elements of the Earth. Such a thing would be immensely useful in defending the realms from orc incursions, beyond protecting ourselves from the more extreme elements. Seasons would pass, but we would have a taste of Valinor on Middle-earth shores."
"The second deficiency would be the lack of unity between all Free Peoples of Middle-earth. We suffer from spontaneous alliances that only awaken when one is in trouble - some refuse entirely to associate with other groups." The company knew he referred to the animosity between the Dwarves and the Elves of Lindon. "Such an innovation would have to create some unity and harmony between all Allies, create a link of strength by which all could be bound. A series of balances would have to be made, naturally, with mortal Men receiving the largest number of these innovations, and the fewest number to the Elves, who have the advantage in other respects. The Dwarves would have a middling amount to counterbalance the other two."
"The third deficiency is that each of the Free Peoples lacks something that would be immensely useful in curing the problems within their own peoples. The world of Men suffers greatly from a lack of unity, a lack of common purpose. With such an innovation, the race of Men could be centralized, allowing them to focus on dealing with the enemy. Dwarves suffer from a lack of time, for the majority of their own is spent looking for materials with which to make their great weaponry. If they knew where best to obtain such materials, more of their time could be spent forging and fighting. And then, of course, the race of Elves..."
He paused meaningfully. As if we needed more dramatic emphasis on this moment, Caffrawen thought irritably.
"The Elves suffer from a lack of heart. I do not mean that they are less courageous and stouthearted than they could be, but that there is a weariness of spirit that results from all things around them decaying and growing weary with age. If one could rekindle those spirits and breathe new life into them, the rejuvenation would be the impetus needed for the Firstborn to increase their power and to wage an offensive against the Enemy before he can strike again."
Caffrawen felt her throat grow dry and her head swell with such pronouncements.
"Power?" queried the Lady Galadriel.
"The power to bend others to one's will - not forcefully of course - but the power to make many see the truth and be...moved...by it, all at one time."
"Exactly what instruments are we intended to use to achieve such ends?" said Celebrimbor, speaking up for the first time.
There was another emphatical pause, which Annatar seemed to be fond of.
"Rings of power, Master Celebrimbor." Caffrawen could have sworn a sly smile was stretched across Annatar's waxy face as he practically purred the response.
"Power for whom?" Celebrimbor questioned in a firm voice, seemingly feeling that this was his area of expertise to question Annatar about.
"Power for those who bear them, of course. Leaders among the Free Peoples who would best use the rings to aid their kingdoms, leaders chosen by council and debate. No one will be bound to another's will by these rings, for this is not a power of domination. It is merely a power of unity and amity. You expect your Smiths to follow your orders, do you not, Master Celebrimbor?"
"I...yes, I do." For the first time, Celebrimbor sounded uncertain of himself.
"Think of this then as the ultimate communication device. With it, you can command and control the happenings of your realm to a much greater degree." Celebrian glanced at Caffrawen, and the Smith could see that the daughter of Galadriel was much shaken by such pronouncements.
"Could these rings be destroyed upon need?" Celeborn had resumed his questioning, regaining control of the situation.
"Upon great need. But the effort to create is such that only after great deliberation would I advocate destroying them. Indeed, only if the Enemy were on the verge of possessing them would I endorse their destruction."
The steady, soft scratching of Celebrian's charcoal stick against the parchment startled Caffrawen, who glanced down to read what the other bess was writing.
Do you believe him?
"Annatar?" Caffrawen mouthed.
Celebrian nodded. Caffrawen paused a moment, frowning in thought, then shrugged. She did not entirely know what to make of the situation. She did not trust him, of that she was certain, but she could not entirely discount the value of the knowledge that he was offering.
"In any case, it will take several hundred years before the skills needed to forge the rings will be developed. If you should choose to harbor me in your city, I believe that by that time, I will have shown myself worthy of your trust. I am your graces' humble servant." His defense finished, Annatar was silent.
Galadriel spoke into the silence. "Thank you, Lord Annatar. I myself know much less of Smithing matters than Master Celebrimbor, and the same can be said of my Lord. Thus, I am inclined to place my trust in the hands of Master Celebrimbor as to your tenure here in Ost-in-Edhil. The moment he suspects something ill in your designs, you will never set foot in our city again. But if you hold true to your words, then all of Ost-in-Edhil will rise to defend you, to the smallest Elfling. What say you to these terms, Master Celebrimbor?"
"I find them most agreeable and generous. Nothing will escape my eyes, once my Lady's command is to keep watchful." Caffrawen grimaced, not knowing if she should be proud or terribly fearful.
"My Lord and Lady are most generous. Rest assured, you will have no more complaint of my behavior than a commander has of his soldiers." Rustling cloth signified his bow, and the council had ended.
Caffrawen shot to her feet as quietly as she could, meeting Celebrian's startled gaze. "I need to get to the library!" Understanding the sudden haste, Celebrian rose gracefully and pulled the red cover back over the hidden chamber. With a soft touch on Caffrawen's sleeve, she guided her through dimly lighted corridors and up a flight of stairs before turning a corner and leading her into a richly decorated library. No time did Caffrawen have to appreciate her surroundings before the sound of evenly paced footsteps approaching the library met their ears.
With all the grace and innocence of a cat, Celebrian snatched a tome from the shelves and opened it, flipping to a random page. Beckoning to her companion, they both made a great show of leaning over the table and indicating various sections of the text as a maid softly rapped on the door.
"Enter." Celebrian beckoned, and for all the world, it looked as if the daughter of the line of Feanor and the daughter of Celebrian had been deeply engrossed in Farming Methods of Southern Gondor.
"My Lady Caffrawen, the council has been finished, and the Lord Celebrimbor bids you return with him home," the wraith-like maid intoned calmly, seeing nothing amiss.
"Thank you. Would you mind guiding me to my cousin after I bid the Lady Celebrian farewell? I am afraid I do not know my way very well," Caffrawen replied, her lungs bursting with effort to catch her breath after the news she had heard and the mad dash she had just run. The maid bobbed her head in assent, and Caffrawen turned to Celebrian.
Sinking into a curtsey, Caffrawen rose and looked the silver-haired spy straight in the eye. "Thank you most dearly for introducing me to the wonders kept within your home. I have learned much from this experience, Lady Celebrian."
Celebrian caught the sly glint in Caffrawen's grey eyes, and responded in kind. "You are most welcome, Lady Caffrawen. I think we have both learned much to mull over in the coming weeks." Caffrawen bowed her head and turned to follow the waiting maid.
* * *
Having observed Celebrimbor's previously invigorated mood from Celebrian's spying chamber, Caffrawen was a bit disconcerted at the look he turned on her as she followed the maid into the foyer of the Lord and Lady's home.
Was he angry with her? His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed, before settling into a more placid arrangement as he swiveled his head back to face the Lord and Lady. Annatar had apparently already left, and neither Galadriel nor Celeborn's expressions gave any hint as to what had taken place.
The farewells and requisite courtesies were brief and almost curt, but then, each party had much weighing on their minds. Together, they stepped out, discovering that the rain had tapered off entirely and the skies had cleared, creating a very wet outdoors with a fresh chill breeze. Almost no lighting illuminated their path back home. The lack of cheerful environment would have left no trace on Caffrawen's mood, if Celebrimbor had spoken one word to her on the walk home.
At first, she turned her head towards him, expecting him to fill her in on the Council, or, at the very least, whether Annatar would be staying within Ost-in-Edhil, since he assumed that she had been in the library all that time. He would not meet her gaze, did nothing save place a hand on the small of her back to propel her forward. They walked in tense silence, their awareness honed down to the sound of their heartbeats. Caffrawen felt the odd, burning sensation of guilt, but could not pinpoint where she had offended her cousin. Her body, usually so pliant and relaxed at the friendly touch of his hand, was taut, like a rabbit preparing to bolt, and she became aware that the same could be said of him.
They arrived at their home, and Caffrawen turned to bolt the door. When she turned back around, she found Celebrimbor's eyes blazing into her as unchecked anger flickered across his features, and a part of her quailed in timidity. Unbidden, she took a step back at the heat of his gaze.
"Two things, Caffra," he growled, in the tone of voice he used for Smiths presenting shoddy work. "The first - you should know that Annatar is staying in Ost-in-Edhil under my watch, and under my jurisdiction. I believe he will help to usher in new victories, and improve our general state. He is under my orders not to breathe a word about the scrap shed or the Gwaith-i-Mirdain. You will benefit much from his influence."
"And the second?"
"Never read my missives again," he growled at her before turning smartly on his heel and marching towards his rooms with a measured step, and shutting the door with deliberate silence.
Caffrawen stood at the door in shock, slowly letting her hands fall to her sides. Taking a steadying breath, she glanced in on the fire in the kitchen grate to ensure that it would burn itself out, before retreating to her own room and mechanically changing into a nightshift. Her mind whirled with too many conflicting emotions, too much information, and too much drama.
Celebrimbor would be stiff and formal the next morning, but he would forget his anger and be the same smiling cousin she knew within the week. Why, then, did she hurt so acutely at all that had transpired?
Blowing out the taper at her bedside, she slid into the blissfully cool sheets and prepared for sleep, her mind calming and collecting itself enough to send her on the paths of Elvish dreams.
Her reverie was interrupted by the tap of a finger hitting her windowsill at the foot of her bed. She sat bolt upright, but relaxed at the sight of Elimani poised at the opening.
"Weren't asleep, were you?" He gave her a half-smile, his eyes still shrouded in shadow, his shoulders drooped. Caffrawen grunted in sleepy irritation.
"Doesn't matter now. What's gotten into you? Shouldn't you be romancing the fair sister of Finervenn?" His fair features fell at her words, and Caffrawen cursed herself again for lack of tact, in spite of his rude awakening.
"Nay...I...can we talk?"
"Only if you climb in. I'm comfortable right where I am." He chuckled, the mirthful sound seeming a bit forced. Sliding in through the window that would only hold glass in chill weather, he came in headfirst, in a sort of awkward dive. Wriggling his hips to give himself some momentum, he ignored Caffrawen's giggle and performed a forward roll, landing on her bed and coming to rest upon her legs. Giving her knee a playful squeeze and moving off her legs, Elimani managed to distract Caffrawen from getting a good look at his face.
Caffrawen, however, was an apt enough judge of his moods to realize something was amiss. Sitting up fully, she scooted over toward him and touched his shoulder, making him turn towards her. She met his eyes and saw in them a mirror of her own previous pain and turmoil.
"What happened?" she queried softly.
He gathered himself and his thoughts, unconsciously leaning back towards Caffrawen. She saw Elimani's eyes close in sorrow, and the features of his face tighten and release as he tipped his head back, seeking comfort. Absently she brushed her hand over his hair in a soothing caress.
"It was actually going rather well...Findineth and I seemed to have this...this something...I started wondering if...if she might be the one."
"She still could be."
"No. You see, we were walking to a tavern when the storm struck. Pulled her inside, thought it was the gentlemanly gesture to make. Who should she spy in there, but an old friend recently back from Lindon? A benn." He sighed.
"She deserted you?"
"Not exactly. She...they...they bonded."
"Oh."
With that one statement, Elimani had quashed all hopeful and hollow statements she could have given him. Among Elves, there was an eternal search for one's other half. Illuvatar had created the Elves in such a way that each had a corresponding fea-mate. Bonding was the joining of these two fea in a bond that transcended verbal communication, allowing emotion, perception, and thought to be experienced by each Elf in regard to their mate. Concurred only by the death of one mate, it was usually renewed in the Halls of Mandos, as the grieving widowed spouse faded away and followed their mate into death. It was a search that permeated the mind of every unattached Elf, an undercurrent of excitement in wondering who it might be that would share the other half of their soul. Elves could know each other for years, or only a few days before a bond would be formed, for such a thing was usually triggered by high emotion. If Findineth had spotted her 'old friend' from across the room after many years, chances were that her high emotion upon seeing him had awakened this new connection, joining Findineth and her bond-mate eternally in love, and leaving Elimani in the dust.
Sympathy for Elimani washed over her like a wave. If she was truly honest, Caffrawen might have admitted to herself that there was a bit of relief mixed in there as well. She turned her thoughts from that, however, and focused on comforting the lonely benn before her.
"Come now Elimani, if she bonded with another, then she wasn't meant for you. You'll find your mate eventually. We all will. It's a matter of not losing hope, of keeping your heart unwearied and your spirit optimistic." Unbidden, Annatar's promise of what the rings of power could do for the Elves came to her mind, and she pushed it away quickly, not wanting to dwell on it.
"I know that you're right. My heart is weary of loneliness."
"But you're not alone. I'm here, Celebrimbor is in the next room, despite his grouchy mood, and the Gwaith-i-Mirdain are your brothers forever. We desert you not."
"I know. And I know that she will happen along someday, and my life will know completeness, as will all of ours when we find our mates." He paused then. "Why is Celebrimbor grouchy?"
"You really want to know?" He nodded, his mood having shifted as suddenly as the cloud cover on a mountain.
"Get comfortable, Elimani. This is going to take a while." And Caffrawen related the tale of all that had happened that night, emphasizing the need for silence as to how she knew so many details about the Council. They talked long into the night, Caffrawen and Elimani leaning against each other, retaining contact with one of the few certain things in their lives.
* * *
Did you make it through? If you didn't, I don't blame you. Here's the summary as promised.
Chapter Summary: Caffrawen and Elimani are sparring, and Elimani mentions he is courting another bess. Jealous, Caffrawen leaves for home, and finds a messenger with urgent word from the High-King Gil-galad, warning Celebrimbor of Annatar, saying that he was an untrustworthy presence. Frightened, Caffrawen is further disconcerted to realize that Celebrimbor has already revealed to Annatar the deepest secrets of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain. Upbraiding him for his lack of discretion, she gives him the missive and encourages him to bring Annatar to a council with Celeborn and Galadriel. Kept from witnessing the Council legitimately, Caffrawen is allowed to spy on the proceedings with help from Galadriel and Celeborn's daughter, Celebrian. During the Council, Annatar reveals that he intends to help create Rings of Power to unite all Free Peoples against Sauron. Though still distrusting him, Galadriel places Annatar under Celebrimbor's jurisdiction, and allows the work to proceed. Angry with Caffrawen for questioning him, Celebrimbor leads her home. Elimani, fresh from rejection in his courting of the other bess, seeks out Caffrawen for support, and ends up getting an earful about the day's events.
Canon Deviations - It is not recorded in Tolkien how far the Elves had come with technological advancement, particularly whether they had catapults or not. I could be mistaken, there could be a reference to the use of catapults somewhere in the Silmarillion, but at this point I'm really not inclined to search. If you find I am wrong in my written assumption, please e-mail me, and I'll try to fix it.
- Hmmmm. Would Celebrian have been that devious? Granted, I am taking a few liberties with Celeborn and Galadriel's parenting abilities. Since it was the dearest wish of Galadriel's heart to maintain the freshness and youth of the world around her, I assumed that she might have tried to keep her daughter innocent and unwearied in spirit by the doings of the world. Since any bess that would later marry Lord Elrond would have to have some feisty quality to her nature, I have tried to bring that out in Celebrian's nature with the spy chamber.
- How did Lord Annatar talk his way into Ost-in-Edhil? Except for the quote at the top of the chapter, used in the Council, and the fact that Galadriel never trusted him, we have no recording of the actual council.
- Bonding. I admit that this concept is partly derived from Tolkien's concept of Elf-marriage, and compounded with ideas from Anne McCaffrey's Dragons of Pern series. Do the Elves eternally search for the other half of their soul and share a connection as deep as described? Who knows? I would like to think it happened this way, though.
Canon Explanations
* It is unknown whether Ost-in-Edhil had such an advanced sewage system, but since the early Harrappan peoples of India had advanced sewage systems with a lower technology level than Ost-in-Edhil enjoys, I assumed that the Elves would, too.
* Any Middle Eastern food enthusiasts might recognize what Caffra is fixing is a rough form of hummus. Were chickpeas in Middle-earth? I don't know, but since so many other familiar foods are, we might assume this is, too.
* Elves achieve maturity at fifty years of age. A twenty-year old such as is described here would be roughly the equivalent of a seven-year-old human.
Disclaimer: No one was hurt spying on the Lady Galadriel in this piece of fiction, but any who wish to attempt such a feat should bear in mind the fate of the man who peeped at Lady Godiva.
