AN: Sorry for being late with this. RL got in the way, as it is wont to do.
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Chapter 12: Joy
Year 53 of the Sun, Hithlum
Celeborn was approaching through the hills that guarded the entrance to her house, and as he did, Nerwen feasted on the way afternoon sun shone in his silver hair, and in the feeling of his mind approaching. She reached for him, and through his eyes, she saw her home like never before. She had, after all, overseen its construction and remembered it as a mere wooden shack, whereas he now laid eyes on it for the first time when it was completed, and in its full beauty.
She felt his amazement at the many terraces cut into the mountain, and at the carved columns covered by all sorts of creeping flowers. Not many plants could flourish this far north, but those that could grew here, in flowerbeds arranged in incredible shapes along the road by which he was approaching, and she could feel his eyes linger on them in admiration. But then he noticed her standing on the lowest terrace, leaning on the railing, and his eyes never left her from that moment until he reached her.
"Welcome, my lord, to my home," she said.
"My lady," he replied, "your house is beautiful, and truly you're the crown of all its beauty, part of it as naturally as the flowers that bloom on its terraces. For the first time I fully understand the sacrifice you're making for me, and I feel like a villain. This land is where you belong, just as I belong in the forest. How can I take this from you? And I fear, seeing your home, that you'll not be happy in mine. I can offer you carved halls and tall trees, but not the wide open sky you have here, and not a house of your own like this. I didn't know, or didn't realize, and I'm sorry."
"Don't worry, my lord," she replied, "I knew, and I still made my choice. You do trust me, don't you?"
"Yes, but now I ask myself: why haven't I offered the same to you? I promised to give you everything and more, and yet I couldn't even abandon the forest where I was born."
"It may yet come to that, my lord. But don't despair now – our wedding approaches, and surely that is time to be joyous?" She took his hands. "This is my decision, Lord Celeborn," she said with emphasis. "Don't attempt to pretend you made it for me. Had I thought I had more right to stay in my own home, I wouldn't have given in."
He kissed her hand, his conscience somewhat satisfied, and allowed her to welcome his entourage and show him the house.
There, his disquiet returned. The upper floors were her personal apartment, not very surprisingly, and bellow that were guest rooms and dinning halls and music rooms and parlours and libraries, but in the lowest levels, he was surprised to find many rooms for the sick. "There's much I don't know about you, my lady," he said.
"In the end, they'll be the hardest to leave," she admitted, "though healing was never truly my passion. But my advice can be given over distance, after a fashion – my healing touch can't. I tried to teach those who will stay here as much as I can of my art, but I'm not Lady Estë, and they, as immodest as it sounds, aren't me. It pains me to know that I helped to heal here, while in Doriath, next to Lady Melian, I'll be useless – and also Doriath hardly ever has any injuries, given the Queen's protection."
"What use am I in the halls of Thousand Caves!" Celeborn cried in that moment. "I'm not even part of the king's council. Yet you give advice and heal here, and you have a great house built to your liking. How can you be willing to leave with me?"
"Because I saw Doriath as my home away from home even before I fell in love with you; but you're a stranger here, and I can see that while you admire it, you miss the trees. I don't deny that it pains my heart to leave what I have here – but it'd pain yours more to leave the forest now. And don't undervalue the role you have there, I know well that you do much at court. Have hope, instead, that one day, when the shadow passes, we'll live in a realm where we both can have what is closest to our heart."
"You believe the shadow will pass?" He asked, surprised.
"Not by our own power. True hope lies beyond the coast, but whether the help will come or not, I don't know. Not for a long time, that much is certain. But let's not speak of evil when we have peace now. Come, I'll show you what I have in my painting gallery."
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After he saw her home in its entirety, Galadriel took Celeborn to her private dining room, where the impatient Itarillë was waiting.
"My lord Celeborn," his bride to be said, "allow me to introduce you my first cousin once removed, and dearest friend, Princess Idril Celebrindal of Nevrast, daughter of our prince Turgon and granddaughter of Golfin, the High King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth. Idril, meet my husband to be, Lord Celeborn of Doriath, son of Galadhon and grandson of Elmo, and great-nephew of Elu Thingol, the High King of the Sindar."
They bowed to each other, and then Celeborn smiled. "It's a good thing the descendants of Finwe are all so well-educated, and so obliging in allowing their names to be translated as well," he said. "I'd feared I'd have to attempt to speak in Quenya."
She smiled back. "Don't attempt to convince me, my lord, that the translation would have been an insurmountable problem for you. I'll believe many things about my beloved cousin, but not that she'd choose someone illiterate."
That sat down to dinner, and Nerwen observed: "It's mostly me who's so obliging with translating the names, to be honest. Idril cooperated, but no matter how many times have I told my uncle that I'd like to have his official Sindarin name for his introduction, he was unable to settle on one. So I made the choice for him." She smiled. "As for what Idril sad, I'm not sure how much choice had to do with it, really. The One can be quite insistent, I found."
"I don't know whether to be offended or flattered by this," Celeborn remarked.
"I'd just take it at face value," Itarillë replied. "My cousin would never have decided on her own that she was satisfied with someone, so it's for the best that Eru's flame intervened, really."
"Have you and my brothers teamed up against me?" Nerwen asked conversationally.
"No, they just know you well, my lady," Celeborn replied good-humouredly. "And I understand: I wouldn't have been satisfied with myself either, so I simply have to give thanks to Eru for his insistence."
"Don't encourage her!" Itarillë cried. "Otherwise she will get even worse."
"You grow progressively more impertinent with my approaching departure," the lady of the house noted.
That reminder turned Itarillë immediately serious. "I have to laugh," she said, "otherwise I'd have to cry."
"I feel I owe you an apology," Celeborn turned to her. "You, more than any of the others. I apologize for robbing you of your dearest friend."
Itarillë smiled again. "You can never do that," she said. "It'd take more than simply marriage to break the friendship between us."
Celeborn merely bowed to that.
Itarillë tactfully left them alone as soon as they were done eating, and Galadriel turned to her betrothed with a question in her eyes. "I see why you love her," he replied, "and I can imagine growing to love her too. It's a pity her father is so very attached to her – pity for us, that is – or I'd not hesitate to ask her to come and live with us."
Galadriel pressed his hand in gratefulness.
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The following day, Findekáno appeared in Nerwen's house to meet his cousin's future husband. This time, the greeting was even more formal, taking place in her receiving room. She rose when her friend approached, and he inclined his head to her. She introduced Celeborn, and after another dignified nod, she turned to him and, gesturing with her hand to the visitor, said: "My cousin Fingon, called the Valiant, prince of Dor-Lómin and son of Golfin, the High King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth. And, also," she added and smiled, "the one who has been the closest to my heart through all years of my life."
Celeborn bowed lower, as was due to the heir of a high kingship, and Galadriel led the way to one of her comfortable drawing rooms. "I think my father's finally settled on a Sindarin name," Findekáno said on the way. "Fingolfin."
Nerwen raised her eyebrows. "Fingolfin? That sounds like the sort of thing my other uncle would do..."
Findekáno grimaced, and she gave him an apologetic look.
Once they were all seated, Itarillë noted idly: "We have to settle this between ourselves, Uncle: she called me her dearest friend, and you, the one closest to her heart. So who wins, what do you think?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. I'm still getting over the surprise of not being challenged to a duel by Celeborn after she called me that," Findekáno said with a laugh.
"Even if I was actually desirous of visiting the Halls of Mandos," Celeborn replied, "I'd certainly choose a different time than just prior to my wedding to do the deed."
"Is skill in fight not one of your strengths?"
"Oh no, I'm good enough. But if what we heard in Doriath is true, there aren't many in Middle-Earth who could face you in a duel and live to tell the tale."
Findekáno only smirked to that, and Nerwen said: "To borrow a phrase from Idril, don't encourage him, or he'll be even worse. His head could get so big the crown wouldn't fit it, and then what would we do?"
"I sincerely hope I'll never have to bear it," Findekáno said seriously, and continued in a lighter vein: "If you want to change the topic, you have to answer Idril's question. What does your phrasing indicate?"
"If you must know, I meant that I hold Idril in most esteem, and your are the one who is most like me."
"That," he said, half serious, half joking, "is the biggest compliment you've ever paid me."
She shook her head: "When Finrod threatened me he'd warn Celeborn off, I didn't imagine he'd sink so low as to ask for your help."
"Sink so low? You hurt my royal honour, cousin. Besides, you know he'd never have the heart to go through with it."
"Now I know why they call you valiant," Celeborn noted.
"You mean you didn't know before?" Findekáno asked, mock-offended.
"Venturing to Angband alone might seem impressive, but it pales in comparison with irritating Lady Galadriel."
"You stumbled upon the only answer that might save you from that duel."
"He just wants to define it in such a way that it fits him, too," Galadriel commented.
"Careful, dearest, or you will do my and Finrod's job for us."
Celeborn smiled at that. "Don't worry, my lord. Valiant isn't the title I aspire to."
"What is, then? Wise?" Itarillë enquired, turning serious.
"Maybe," he said, though it didn't seem it was what he was thinking of either.
"That one's not worth much," Galadriel muttered. "I heard someone call Turgon that way." Then she shot a guilty glance in Itarillë's direction, who just rolled her eyes.
"I'm surprised they'd do it in your hearing," Findekáno returned.
She shrugged. "I don't make my reservations about your brother as plain to everyone as I do to you. Indeed, I've been trying to hold back with Idril, even. But I don't believe I fooled her for a second."
"No, though I still prefer when you don't speak of it in front of me. It puts me in a difficult position."
Galadriel exchanged a glance with Celeborn – it was much like with him and Elwë. She sighed. "I'm glad I have you," she told Findekáno.
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Findekáno stayed with them the whole day, and in the afternoon, even the king himself came for a short visit. He was received with as much honours as could be given in such informal circumstances, and after presenting Celeborn with all his titles once more, Galadriel turned to him and said simply: "And I want you to meet Fingolfin, the High King of all the Noldor in the Middle-Earth and my uncle, who's been like a father to me in many ways, through my life."
Celeborn bowed deep, and the king approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Lord Celeborn," he said, "I'm glad to finally meet one of King Elu's family, and on such a joyous occasion too. Come, let's be done with formalities and let's talk – I don't have much time to spare, unfortunately."
They returned to the room they had been sitting in before, and Itarillë saw it as an opportunity to reopen the previous topic. "We'd been arguing with Fingon," she said, "about which of us has been awarded a more honourable title – me, who Galadriel called her dearest friend, or him, who she calls the one closest to her heart. Now you're said to be like a father to her, which complicates matters – where does it put you?"
"Since, in my experience, my fatherly role has consisted mostly of giving advice only to be explained why they were wrong, I imagine it would be bellow all of you."
"You are being too hard on me, uncle," Nerwen defended herself.
"Too hard on myself, if something. Even though I'd been simplifying, of course – I discounted all of the times you gave good advice to me."
"You'll make me blush!"
"There's a first time for everything, apparently." He smiled at her. "I'll miss you, beloved. No one here, not even your eldest brother, can put quite as much emphasis on the Middle-Earth in my title."
This time Galadriel did blush. "I mean no slight, I just..."
"I know, and I certainly don't begrudge my brother his title. We all should honour him as much as we can, when we don't know when we'll see him again, if at all."
There was a short silence, then Celeborn asked carefully: "How much seriousness was in your remark about advices? I know from Galadriel that her voice is heard in your councils, but I didn't imagine it'd extend beyond that..."
"I'd say it's the other way round – in the councils, her role isn't as great as it could be, because many of my nobles aren't wise enough to accept her advice. I hope I am and always will be, however, and in private, I've much relied on her words ."
"I really think you are exaggerating, uncle," Nerwen muttered.
Ñolofinwë raised his eyebrows. "Am I? One example that comes to mind is when my late half-brother drew his sword on me in Tirion, and you advised me to make peace with him."
"So did my father..."
"But I'd have not listened to him if it wasn't for you."
"...and knowing what we know now, do you still believe it was a good advice?"
"Oh, yes," her uncle said emphatically. "You didn't advice me to swear the oath to follow him where he led, remember, that was my own impulsiveness speaking."
"Would you have stayed, without the oath?"
He sighed heavily. "No," he admitted. "And there, again, it was your advice that was crucial."
"Please don't tell me you'd have stayed in Aman if I'd said nothing, because if so, I'll never forgive myself."
Ñolofinwë frowned. "Beloved, do you truly believe it was wrong I went?"
"Any one life that is here instead of in Aman because of me, that had to suffer the Ice because of me...I feel remorse about it," Nerwen replied.
"Do you believe it would have been better had I left all of my people to Feanor?"
"Many of them wouldn't have gone without you."
"Yes, but the majority still would have."
"And which has more value, those lives we destroyed by pulling them with us, or those we saved by giving them a better leadership?"
Celeborn interrupted the spirited discussion here. "You don't decide this," he said. "And not only which has more value – more importantly, you don't decide the fates of the world. You are responsible for your decisions only, and the reasons for them. Had you stayed to keep some of them with you, it'd have been a good decision, but it doesn't follow that going because you want to protect your people from an insane king is a bad one. And what those others did was their choice, not yours, and the One decides which way the fate will go. Don't take too much upon yourself."
Ñolofinwë gave Celeborn a long look, and then turned to Nerwen and said: "You chose well, my beloved."
She, however, averted her gaze and said: "But I didn't go because I wanted to protect my people."
Here, Celeborn took her hand and kissed it. "I know why you went," he said, "and though it might be less admirable in the eyes of the One, it's one of the reasons I love you."
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The week passed pleasantly, with Itarillë and Findekáno and occasional visits from the king. It was a good thing the Enemy did not have very good spies, otherwise he could have used this opportunity for an attack, since most great captains of the Noldor were now coming to Hithlum to the wedding of their princess.
The relaxed atmosphere was marred somewhat by the arrival of more guests, Turukáno and Irissë among them, a week after Celeborn.
The white lady took the first opportunity to tell Galadriel, once they were alone: "I would have expected you to find a husband among our own kind."
Galadriel raised an eyebrow. "None of the Noldorin lords could satisfy me."
Irissë curled her lip in response. "And this one does?"
"His name is Lord Celeborn, and yes, entirely so, thank you for asking."
Irissë shook her head uncomprehendingly. "You will live in a Sindarin land, and Elwë will be your king!"
Galadriel sighed. The problem with Irissë, she thought, was that while she was insufferable, she was not stupid, and she was not so very unlike herself in some ways. Though both tried to deny it vigorously most of the time, on some levels they understood each other very well. "That is why I arranged it with Celeborn immediately at the beginning that I will be travelling a lot."
Irissë snorted. "Perhaps I should get married too."
It was certainly likely she would be able to convince any husband she might take to give her more freedom with less objections than Turukáno gave her now, with the same degree of adoration.
"I am afraid that if no one caught your attention until now, there is a good chance you will fall for someone who would require you to live under the Sindarin king, too," Nerwen pointed out.
"As long as I can pass most of my time wandering through the country, I do not care one whit." She seemed to contemplate the idea. "Yes, perhaps you are right – one should branch out a little. I might even come to visit you in Doriath one day."
Oh, Valar help me, Galadriel thought, what have I done?
Turukáno was less unpleasant to be around than his beloved sister, and he was not prejudiced against the Sindar. He had but single worry, and upon hearing it, Galadriel was quite touched, because he said: "With your absence, cousin, I fear wisdom will become lacking in my father's councils."
She turned her surprised eyes to him, and he, reading their expression, smiled slightly and commented: "I do not share your view of the world, or your nature, but that does not mean I discount your wisdom. Or do you discount mine?"
Galadriel had probably never been as ashamed of herself before, during her entire long life. "Sometimes," she admitted quietly.
He sighed. "Perhaps I deserve it," he observed.
"I do not believe so," she replied. He might well deserve some criticism, but not as much as she tended to direct at him. "Just – I am too convinced of my own truth, cousin, and I am afraid that in Doriath, I will become even more so."
"You should trust Celeborn a little more," he replied simply, and she wondered if those two had been talking to each other while she was busy elsewhere, and what had been said.
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Among the last guests from Galadriel's side to arrive were Maitimo and Macalaurë, the only two of Fëanáro's people she actually invited. Aware of the potentially disastrous turn the situation could take, she welcomed them outside her house. However, after briefly greeting her, Maitimo demanded to be taken to her betrothed. Truly nervous – something that happened to her very rarely – she obeyed her guest's wishes.
Celeborn knew who was to come, and so when Galadriel entered his room with two noble elves by her side, the face he turned to them was like made of stone.
For a beat, they only looked at each other, then both brothers fell to their knees in front of the surprised – though he masked it well – Sindarin lord.
"You're the first of the people we wronged so greatly we meet who knows about our crime," Maitimo spoke, "even though divided by the sea from them, and so this is our first opportunity to beg forgiveness. Me and my brother both admit to spilling blood of your relations in Alqualondë, and we wish to express our remorse."
In a voice cold like the depth of the Ice, Celeborn asked: "And if I demanded your death?"
The brothers exchanged a look. "I'm afraid I couldn't submit myself to such punishment," Maitimo replied, "because I have some responsibility towards my own people. And I'd certainly not allow my younger brother to be treated thus."
"What kind of penance is this, then when you consider yourself above punishment?"
Maitimo looked him in the eye again, and Celeborn could suddenly see all of the pain the red-headed Noldo suffered in his life. "Don't consider us unpunished," he said. "Our doom weights heavily on us, more heavily than on our other relations. Our realms aren't happy ones."
"And it's not that we're unwilling to show any sign of our regret," Macalaurë added. "My brother has binding responsibilities, but I offer myself at your service. I'm willing to accompany you where you say and do what tasks you tell me to, as a mark of my penance."
Maitimo gave his brother an astonished look. Clearly, they had not agreed on this part in advance.
Celeborn heaved a great sight. "Then I'll not wish you ill, and I won't make use of your services – as long as you fight the enemy, that's the best thing you can do, anyway. But I'll not grant you forgiveness either. It isn't in my power, and murder isn't something to be forgiven easily. Rise now, though, and enjoy yourself in the celebrations. I can't give you forgiveness, but I can withhold my anger."
The brothers rose and left the room. Galadriel stopped only long enough to exchange a long look with her husband to be, and then she followed her guests outside to a terrace. "Thank you," she said when she approached them.
"It was not enough," Macalaurë replied.
"No, but it was something, and it was more than your father would have done."
"Is your betrothed grateful, too?" Maitimo asked bitterly.
"Appreciative, I would say. You did not believe it would be as easy as him simply embracing you as brothers, did you?"
Maitimo sighed. "Believe? No. Hope? Yes. Absolution is something I have desire for so long now...and the knowledge that I shall never have it is eating me alive."
"It is what Findekáno gave you, when he cut you away from that rock."
"You cannot receive absolution from one who took part in the crime, Artanis. You know that. Findekáno forgave me because he bears similar burdens. Those who do not never will."
Galadriel had no answer for that.
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The day before the wedding, Celeborn and his entourage left to meet with the rest of his wedding guests. It had been a significant break with the Sindarin tradition to have him there the last fortnight, but even though Galadriel liked the symbolism of the incoming party truly arriving on the day of the wedding, and that was why they decided to take this part from the Sindarin customs, she did not let it overshadow the more important wish to give her family enough time to meet him.
Now, however, he went to spend the night with his own kin, and she readied herself surrounded by hers. And the following day, when the sun reached the peak of its daily journey, she stepped onto the highest terrace of her house.
She could see Celeborn in the distance, the imposing silver figure, followed by his complete entourage. He approached as she descended the stairs of her house, her own people coming out after her.
He was a vision, all glittering in the midday sun, a contrast to her red and gold. Her heart was filled to bursting with joy and pride in this moment, and once again, she reached out for his mind. There, she discovered admiration, and she saw herself through his eyes, an undisputed queen that, had she wanted, could have ruled the whole world, made it hers by a twist of her will. She saw that he felt like an unworthy outcast who set his eyes on the highest prize of all, and so she pressed her own vision of him in return, the calm force that was coming towards her like the tide of the ocean, slow but unstoppable.
His self-doubt chased away, she basked in his love as she descended the terraces of her house, the silk of her dress whispering about her. There was a love poem in Quenya embroidered on the dress with a gold thread, but now the time came for speaking of it aloud. She reached her betrothed, took his hands and spoke, her voice firm and clear: "Celeborn, son of Galadhon, I take you as my husband, from this day till the end of the world. I swear before Manwë and his winds, Varda and her stars, Ulmo and his seas, Yavanna and her trees, Aule and his mountains, Nienna and her grief and Námo and his wisdom, I swear before Eru Illúvatar himself, that I will never abandon you in my heart or in my deeds, and I promise you love, respect and loyalty, now and for ever."
As Celeborn repeated his own oath, he could see the memories of Valinor in the eyes of his beloved. When he was reciting names he knew only from stories, she was remembering each and every one of them, and her face filled with such light that only those who came from Aman have.
After they finished, King Ñolofinwë stepped out of the rows of her kin behind her and called: "All hail Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, and may their ages together be hallowed!"
And the hosts called back: "Eru Illúvatar, bless them!"