Disclaimer: All of Arda belong to Professor J. R. R. Tolkien.

With great thanks to Nemis.

The Courtship

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Five

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Galadriel was in the garden, staring out toward the open lake beneath the verdant slopes. She stood with her back to Celebrían, straight and still; the glinting gold of her hair and the hem of her dress took the breeze and flickered, gently.

Now out of the darkness there came an image into Celebrían's mind, of Galadriel standing much like this, her head held proud and troubled, gazing to the north. Celebrían had been a grown maiden then, nevertheless Galadriel had kept the deeper fears and thoughts close to herself. It was when the city of holly had just fallen, and there was no news of Celeborn.

"Suilad, my lady," said Celebrían, coming closer. For whatever reasons, she was all of a sudden feeling tight-chested with shyness, and almost fearful. Other words--the one other word--remained elusive within her.

"Suilad, Celebrían." The other's voice was soft and grave. The two of them stood face to face. How was it, wondered Celebrían, that I did not know it after all these days, did not know all along? Do I, in truth, know anything at all?

"How are you?" asked Galadriel, grey eyes warm.

Oh, I am frightened and I am blind, groping and stumbling in this beautiful, unreal world. I am trying hard to work up my courage, and I am foolishly happy.

"I am well," she replied. She paused, wanted to say something more. "I have been finding things, little things in my mind, only bits and pieces, but I am more hopeful now. And I have been talking with Elrond--just a little while before."

Galadriel saw right through her, surely, yet said nothing. She merely took the younger woman's arm, and Celebrían felt herself beginning to relax at the contact, which was light and affectionate. They walked together across the green grass, already grown smooth and flowing under their feet. Out on the lake, an osprey cried, the sound wild and shrill, and distant wings splashed over the waters.

"So, how do you find him?"

Celebrían blinked out of her own thoughts. "Elrond?" she asked, considering the question, and found that she was not sure how to answer. She was never sure of much of anything these days. "Well, he is...very kind."

What a terribly trite statement, of course. One could as easily have said that one's own mother was "very kind". What did she know of Elrond? One who had been a friend from another, insubstantial world, if it had in fact existed? One who would become a friend?

"There was a moment when I nearly thought I recognized him, that he was someone I knew from perhaps a dream, perhaps more. But not quite. There's a feeling about him, quiet, calming, yet somehow when he is present it is--almost as if there is a string that tugs my heart upwards to my throat. Or maybe it's only myself."

She stopped, seeking the right words, and did not find them. It was not what she had meant to say, in any case. They had now come to a stone bench set beneath a great pear tree with branches that stretched wide, and for a while they sat in silence. The tree was in white fire, this time of the year, and sweet petals snowed down onto their hair and laps.

"As if there is a string," mused Galadriel, turning to her with a keen glance. There was something familiar in that keenness, too. It made Celebrían wonder how many things they had not told her, all those hints of what must have been an entire life beyond her reach. She wondered if she would ever speak of them at all. But of Elrond there were no hints or visions, except for that vague tightening of string on her heart. It was merely a figure of speech, she thought. Merely a feeling.

"I cannot explain it well," she admitted. "But am I right?" It was an impulsive question. She was a little surprised to see the other woman smile.

"Why, I do not believe that you can be wrong about this," said Galadriel. But before Celebrían could catch all the possible implications of this reply, she seemed serious once more. "And has Elrond spoken to you--of the past?"

For the first time, Celebrían detected a tentative note in Galadriel's voice.

"Oh, no more than what you have told me. I am still much in the dark."

She said it lightly and with a grin on her face, but there was a brief silence from Galadriel, who then looked quickly down.

"I know how difficult this must be for you, Celebrían," she began, "but please, trust me that it is for the best..."

There was something in that low, calm voice. Celebrían could not have described it, yet in the space of a few words it overcame her, as if a tangled knot inside her had been swiftly shaken loose, and she forgot her fears. The uncertainty that had surrounded and immobilized her no longer mattered, not a whit. She shook her head.

"Oh Naneth, I am so sorry, I did not mean it that way--"

Galadriel lifted her head sharply, halted in mid-sentence, and Celebrían held her breath, returning the gaze. She tried to smile. Only now did she notice her heart racing.

"Sell-nîn," whispered Galadriel at last. Her eyes widened. With a quick movement she reached toward Celebrían, as if to touch her face, but drew back her hand again just before making contact. "Sell-nîn," she repeated, and then could not speak anymore. In the next instant their arms were around each other, clinging hard.

"Naneth, Naneth, I am here, I am here..."

She kissed her mother's face and brow and hair. Tears scalded her own sight. She felt dazzled, and drenched with a strong, shuddering relief. Oh Naneth, please don't cry, see, I'm here now. Naneth. She kept on saying it, that single beautiful word, again and again. She had been lost for so long.

"My child, my Celebrían." Galadriel's voice, fervent and so wonderfully close. "You are safe, you are safe now..."

They sat there on the bench and talked for hours. Before her mother Celebrían laid out her memories, bringing up one by one those bits and pieces that she had collected in her mind, like a child who had been wandering alone in the forest, holding up with nervous and excited hands leaves and small flowers and colourful pebbles, all before the grown-up's eyes. Her treasures were sudden glimpses and sensations, mysterious lines sung or spoken, snippets of dream imagery. Most of them she still could not place, yet there they were, luminous and--strangely, marvellously--far, far more real than they had seemed only a short while ago.

There was a forest. Malinorni. I remember because you were clothed in white, Naneth, as you are now, and the dress was vivid against the gold above and down on the ground, like flashing snow--

There was the wind and the tide. That was how I knew, Naneth, because you were there too. I recall just that one time, that one day--I was twenty, I think--but the voice and the movement of the waves seem so familiar to me. Did we not also sometime dwell by the sea?

There was Ada, lifting her onto horseback with effortless arms. She had his eyes, his silver hair. Nearly all the memories she had of him were from her childhood. And then that image of her mother, watchful and worried.

"He is not here," she said. "The last thing I recall of Father was that of a parting, and a city behind us, green and fragrant with holly. There were many fair houses in the city; their windows shone brilliantly with colour in the sunset..."

For the first time she faltered. "Eregion." The sound of the name was still strange to her. "It was Eregion. I knew, though you did not speak of it to me, that you and Father had been talking all through that night--the night before we left the city." She looked up. "It was laid to waste, was it not?"

"I miss him, too, dear child," came the quiet reply, after a pause that was both brief and endless. Celebrían waited. She tried to see her mother's eyes, to decipher that faint tinge of sadness in them. But then those eyes were sparkling again.

"You will soon remember much more of him, I think."

Celebrían closed her eyes. She thought of her father's voice, his hand steadying her. Relax now, lay your hand against the horse's neck, lightly, lightly, find your balance. There, good, very good. Don't be afraid, I won't let you fall. Even in her very earliest memories, she had never feared anything while he was there. Gradually, a grin spread across her face.

"I am looking forward to that," she said, feeling a bit ridiculous. Then almost abruptly, "I wish he was here."

"He will be here, one day. How happy he will be to see you, to find you again..."

There was so much more than the simple words. To find me again, her mind repeated.

"Just one more question, Naneth."

"Yes?" asked Galadriel. She was already recovering, cautious and protective once more. Without speaking, Celebrían laid her own hand over Galadriel's, lacing their fingers. The two hands, both long and slender, looked as if they were of the same pair. How did I die, Naneth? The question rang inside her head, loud and perfectly clear, and she realized that she had not the heart.

"Oh, maybe I will ask you later instead," she murmured.

There was still that same keenness, the same light in her mother's glance, but there was also that same tinge of sorrow--more than a tinge, she could see now. As Galadriel leaned over and embraced her tenderly, Celebrían sensed that her mother had already known the question.

"Ask me when you are ready," whispered Galadriel, "and I will answer."

That night, Celebrían awoke from an unremembered dream shaking and struggling for breath. The heart in her chest was pounding furiously, as if about to escape. For a while, she knew not where or who she was, and the shadows pressed down hard onto her like the sides of an icy cave. Sitting up on the bed with a cry, she brought both hands up to her exposed throat, then over her face. Slowly, she stilled herself. The utter blackness retreated, and one by one the shapes of the room reappeared in the flickering starlight.

"You are safe now. You are safe now," she said out aloud into the air. Only after the words were gone did she realize that they were Galadriel's, from earlier in the day. Although all the windows were open, the ceiling and walls of the chamber troubled her with their weight and solidity. Pulling a robe over her shoulders, she stepped out onto the balcony.

Overhead, clouds were starting to layer in the sky, and the light of the moon and the stars came down in fading patches. Somewhere in the foliage was a nightingale, the same bird who had been trilling nearly every nightfall under her windows, its voice an exuberant cascade of notes. Celebrían took several deep breaths. Beyond the trees, the lake lay pale and peaceful, and there was a premonition of rain in her nostrils.

Footsteps, almost soundless, coming up the path from the shore. She saw Elrond emerge from the woods, his head dark as the clouds. While crossing the little glade beneath the balcony, he raised his eyes, and stopped abruptly in the middle of a step.

"Good evening, my lord." She resisted the urge to tug at her robe, and gave a small wave instead.

"Good morning," said Elrond, not quite immediately, still staring up at her. "Can't sleep?" It sounded like simple enough banter, but before she had a chance to reply, he asked, this time with audible concern in his voice, "Are you well?"

"Oh yes, yes. I am quite well. Thank you." The answer came out rather faster than she had intended. "And yourself, my lord?"

"Ah, I was just taking a stroll along the lake," said Elrond as if it was not an hour and half before dawn.

The moon was briefly uncovered, and Celebrían gazed down at him; the slender figurative string between them grew taut once more. Although nothing visible had changed, she could now see the silent and palpable weariness that was draped over him like a cloak. He wore it well, as if with long familiarity. Suddenly, her heart welled with compassion for him, yet for some reason the feeling discomfited her.

"You should get some rest, maybe." It was the best she could think of at the moment.

Elrond opened his mouth as if to respond, then closed it again without speaking. For an instant she thought he was about to laugh. Finally, he nodded, an odd, wondering expression on his face.

"You are right, my lady," he said in a low voice.

She watched him as he disappeared into the house. The sky was starless now, and a wet breeze from the lake brushed against her clothes. Lifting her face toward the heavens, she let the first waterdrops cool her cheeks. On all the walls, the rain began to patter gently against the creepers. She would not be returning to sleep this night.