Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter One.

Chapter 4: The Exile

As night settled in over Tol Eressea, Gaerdhal's restlessness did not wane. He was now in his office next door to his sister's shop, rearranging the already meticulous bottles of herbs and tonics for the tenth time. The light clicking of glass on the polished wooden shelves nearly drowned out the soft knock on the door. Gaerdhal froze, unsure at first if he had heard it at all. Then, the sound came again, more insistent this time.

When Gaerdhal opened the door, he found on his doorstep a dejected, exhausted Celebrían. There were leaves in her hair, her clothes were muddied, and she clutched her right arm against her chest. She looked up at him, her eyelids puffy and her blue eyes bloodshot from crying.

Gaerdhal drew her into the room by her other arm, closing the door against the chill night air. "Cel, what happened?"

"I fell," she whispered, her voice scratchy, "I think I hurt my arm."

Gaerdhal urged her to sit in a chair and knelt before her. He did not press her for more information, though he wanted to ask where her husband was and how could he leave her in such a state.

As Gaerdhal gently washed the blood from Celebrían's arm, she began to speak. "I ran. I don't know why. It was childish, and...and foolish, but I didn't know what else to do. When he told me...when he told me my children were still in the East and were not coming I became irrational."

"Why would they not join you here?" Gaerdhal asked.

Celebrían's face twisted in shame, "I never gave him a chance to explain, I just ran off. I ran for a long time, but then I came to a ravine and caught my foot in a tree root and I fell. I rolled all the way to the bottom and I lay there for a while thinking of how many times you had told me I was going to hurt myself out there alone, how if only I had listened to you I wouldn't..."

"Shhh..." Gaerdhal soothed, placing a hand on the back of her head and waiting for her to look at him. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Celebrían shook her head, casting her eyes down to her lap again.

"Your arm is not broken, but I will need to sew the wound shut."

Celebrían nodded, but Gaerdhal watched as a single tear fell from her chin. He knew then that her sutures were going to have to wait. Gaerdhal wrapped his arms around her as she fell into his shoulder, sobbing her heart out. Gaerdhal rubbed her back and silently cursed Elrond for causing Celebrían such undeserved pain.

Finally, Celebrían pulled away with a nervous, choking laugh. "I've cried so much today I think I'm dehydrated."

"Are you thirsty? I'm sorry, I didn't even ask..."

Celebrían waved a dismissive hand, then scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Gaerdhal, I just...I'm just having a strange day."

Gaerdhal smiled fondly at her, "Don't apologize. You can cry all you want."

"No," she said firmly, "I am done with that for the day. It accomplishes nothing more than making others uncomfortable."

"I take it your husband is not good around crying ladies?" Gaerdhal asked.

Celebrían rolled her eyes, "He's terrified of them, it's so silly."

Gaerdhal managed a weak smile, but rose and began gathering supplies to stitch her wound. It was strange to hear her speak of Elrond now, for over the past five hundred years he had learned little about her husband. She spoke endlessly of the twins and Arwen, such that Gaerdhal almost felt he knew them, but she shied away from talk of Elrond.

Gaerdhal turned back to her, dabbing on a bit of balm that would numb her skin. She still winced a little as the first stitch went in, and he paused.

"I'm all right," she assured through gritted teeth and Gaerdhal continued his work. He could feel Celebrían staring at him and finally she said, "Gaerdhal, if you had not become a healer, what do you think you would have been?"

Gaerdhal struggled to hold back a grin as he said, "A singer."

A laugh bubbled from Celebrían's mouth. It felt good to laugh. Gaerdhal was legendary for his atrocious singing voice, enough that it was widely joked that he was either part orc or part dwarf. He took the ribbing well and was the first to admit he couldn't carry a tune with a wheelbarrow.

Gaerdhal, his brow furrowed as he concentrated on her arm, grew more serious and said, "It was never really a question whether or not I would be a healer. My sister was so wild I swear I spent most of my youth either chasing her down or sewing her back together. Did I ever tell you about the time Tellora climbed the mast of Cirdan's flagship and slipped coming down? She broke her leg and spent the rest of the summer indoors. But, I learned to set a broken bone that day. It's a miracle she made it to adulthood."

Celebrían was smiling widely now. She loved hearing stories of Gaerdhal's childhood in the Grey Havens, nearly as much as he enjoyed her tales of Lothlorien. She looked down, seeing Gaerdhal was securing the last knot, relieved that it was finished. She sensed motion out of the corner of her eye, and saw the door inch open. A nearly palpable excitement and amazement lit the room as Celebrían cried, "Mother? Mother, is it really you?"

Celebrían scrambled out of the chair and across the room. She nearly fell into Galadriel's arms, giggling and giddy with happiness, "Mother, I never thought you would come. I never thought you could come here."

Galadriel smiled softly, "It would appear the Valar feel my penance was paid. I am an exile no longer."

Celebrían edged back, looking more closely at the tall, noble form of her mother. She was as radiant as ever, and yet...she seemed smaller, a little faded, changed somehow. And then, Celebrían knew.

"The rings...It has happened, hasn't it? The power of the rings has ended."

"Yes," Galadriel replied, a sadness dulling her blue gaze, "Caras Galadhon is diminished, just as I am diminished."

Celebrían's face lit with a spontaneous smile, "Well, I think you still look wonderful. Doesn't this Western air just make you feel like you might take flight? It still amazes me. Mother, you must meet my friend. This is Gaerdhal. He is a genius when it comes to healing, and he uses many herbs found only on this island. Surely you would have much to speak about."

Galadriel smiled warmly at the quiet elf watching over their reunion with utter patience. Gaerdhal bowed before this living legend, but his gaze kept returning to Celebrían. A great burst of energy seemed to have taken her, a sweet joyfulness. He imagined this is how she had once been in her days as the most beloved child in Lothlorien.

"Child," Galadriel said, "You are hurt. What happened?"

The more pensive, hesitant Celebrían returned to them in an instant. "I—I will explain later, Mother. I really need to change my clothes."

Celebrían turned to Gaerdhal, quietly saying, "Thank you. I will bake another pie in payment for—"

"Don't you dare," Gaerdhal ordered, pressing a jar of balm into her hand and saying, "Keep the wound clean and put this on it morning and night. Come back in a week and I will remove the stitches."

Celebrían nodded, wrapping her other hand around his where it still gripped the jar of balm.

She spun quickly away, "Come on, Mother, I can show you my house. It is nothing special, not like our talan in Caras Galadhon, but I like it."

"Good to meet you, Gaerdhal," Galadriel said before turning for the door.

"My Lady," Gaerdhal's tone was cautious, controlled as he bowed his head.

The silent streets were lit by the weak glow of a young moon and the soft orange light pouring out of the windows. Celebrían led her mother to a modest building three doors down from Gaerdhal's office.

"You live quite close to your friend," Galadriel observed.

"Yes," Celebrían said, "When I first came here, I was very ill. I stayed in Gaerdhal's care full-time for a while. Then, he found this house for me, so I would still be close if I became sick again."

Celebrían lit the lantern in the sitting room, and Galadriel turned slowly, trying to take in all the small details of her daughter's new life. There were half-finished canvases everywhere, images of sunsets and wildlife and waterfalls. The furniture was sparse, the walls painted a soft blue. Just at the edge of the circle of weak lantern light, Galadriel saw a large painting hanging on the wall, and was drawn to it. It was prominently displayed, positioned so it was the first thing a guest would see upon entering her home. Galadriel could see it then, the strong lines of the mallorn's trunk, the graceful arches of the great talan, and she was transported for a moment back to Caras Galadhon, back to the peaceful Lothlorien of Celebrían's youth. She glanced back at Celebrían, who stood in the middle of the room with a nervous smile. "Do you like it?" she asked.

"It is perfect." Galadriel scanned it with her eyes, seeing on the terrace of the talan the figure of a male and female elf, and her eyes misted a little as she realized the female elf was Galadriel herself, standing at her husband's side.

"I did the best I could, from memory. I'm sure I got some of the details wrong."

"I don't think you did," Galadriel said in awe, unable to tear her gaze from the painting, "It looks just as I remember it too."

"Father isn't here, is he?"

Galadriel bowed her head, the abrupt question like a kick to her chest. "No," she whispered, "He will remain in that land dearest to him, as I knew he would. There could be no other way, and yet...and yet I had no idea how hard it would be to leave him there."

Celebrían frowned, quietly replying, "I remember the day Elrond put me on the ship. I remember lying on that cot below deck and feeling like I might die from the pain of it. Suddenly, my injuries were the least of my worries. My heart hurt worst of all. He vowed to me that day that we would be together again. But, I didn't really believe him."

"He said you ran from him today, he said you would not speak to him."

Celebrían sat on the edge of a chair, pursing her lips and refusing to meet her mother's eyes. "He's right," was all she could choke out.

Galadriel left the painting with clear reluctance, moving to stand over her daughter, "Why? You still love him, I know you do. Why did you turn him away?"

Celebrían stood, pacing the floor restlessly, "I don't know," she said, throwing up her hands. "It was too much for me to handle, and then when he said the children are not here, I lost all control. You don't understand mother, I've made a life for myself here, a nice, quiet, comfortable life built on the assumption that none of you would leave Middle Earth and I needed to start over. Now, Elrond sweeps into town and everything is different. Everything is different. I'm not like you and Father, I can't handle change and danger and upheaval. I'm not strong like you."

Galadriel stepped in front of Celebrían, halting her jerky pacing by grabbing her arms. "You are strong, if you were not, you would have died on the mountainside that day,"

"I don't want to talk about that," Celebrían said coldly, extracting her arms.

Galadriel watched her daughter for a moment, and Celebrían saw in her mother's eyes a vulnerability that had never been there before. The legendary warrior queen her mother had always been melted before her, and on an uncertain whisper, she said, "You blame me too, don't you?"

"Mother, what are you talking about?"

"It is my fault, because I always wanted you to come back to Lorien to visit me. If I had left you alone, you never would have been hurt." Galadriel said on a great rush of breath, her eyes shining with restrained tears.

"Mother," Celebrían said, shaking her head in utter disbelief, "Don't tell me you have thought that for all this time? It was not your fault. It was the orcs' fault. That is the truth, now let us leave it and never speak of it again."

Galadriel nodded, and sank down into a chair in relief. Five hundred years she had been living with that guilt, being absolved of it now was like being unshackled from heavy chains.

"When did you start painting?" Galadriel asked, glad to move to a new topic.

"While I was recovering. I was becoming restless, but Gaerdhal was reluctant to let me outside, so he brought me a canvas and paints so I could keep busy without leaving the building. He's clever like that, he tricked me into staying in bed for another two weeks that way."

Galadriel smiled. "You have many works here. You must really enjoy it."

"Oh, some of these are for buyers. I do portraits and custom work, I also paint houses and furniture...whatever people need."

"So—so, this is your job?" Galadriel said with a frown. She was having difficulty imagining her daughter going from the child of Celeborn and Galadriel and the wife of Lord Elrond of Imladris to a...a commoner. She looked at her daughter again and saw that she seemed comfortable with this arrangement, there was not a hint of shame on her face.

"Yes, Mother, I had to find some way to support myself. I'm not good at much else," she admitted sheepishly, "So painting worked out very well. I'm told that I am talented, but I think anyone could do it if they put in the time."

Galadriel glanced back at the painting of Caras Galadhon, haunting in its accuracy and subtlety. "No," she murmured, "Not just anyone could do that."

She looked back at her daughter, her maternal instincts taking over as she assessed the younger elf. "You must rest, child. You have had a long day. I think you should take Elrond for a walk tomorrow, show him around this city, show him your beautiful paintings—"

"Mother," Celebrían groaned in frustration.

Galadriel held up her hand, saying in her own defense, "I don't mean to meddle, I just think you should at least see him, in the morning, when you are rested and calm."

Celebrían bit her lip, drawing in a deep breath. "All right, Mother. I will try."

Thanks to my ever-marvelous reviewers TigerLily, Ash49, The Water Sprite, Erindi, Elegant Couture, Lady Cantera, alena, Kirsty-Q, and Ellie. You guys rock!