Chapter Six: Under the Golden Boughs
Far to the south, in the Golden Wood, silver lamps were coming alight as well in the green city of Caras Galadhon. Rows and clusters of them glittered around the wide trunks of the mallorn, while countless more appeared high among the branches. One was lit on every step of the stairways leading up and around the huge boles, like cords of white pearls wound on fair limbs. Song trickled forth from above and below, as fires were kindled for the evening meal and the dancing to follow.
Far above on the great high talan Galadriel sat with Arwen, her daughter's youngest, braiding a bright thread into the long dark tresses. "And that was the end of it. We never spoke again, after that day."
"So long ages have passed, and still your words are hard against him, nana," Arwen smiled, lest her words be taken as reproving. Galadriel said nothing. "And he is long in the halls of Mandos, while you have made and kept this wondrous realm... and live beloved by your people and treasured by your chosen mate."
"Fëanor was a beast. Oh, yes, fair to gaze upon, with his fiery eyes and perfect nose and mouth, and gifted beyond all the Eldar... but still a creature driven by his desires and trodding down all who would speak against him... Why are you laughing, you terrible girl?" Galadriel relapsed in spite of herself, and tied off the end of the braid.
Arwen shifted and looked straight on at the Lady of the Wood. "Ever your speech is paused and balanced, nana. But when you spoke now of Fëanor daring to ask of you a tress of your golden hair, you seemed to come on fire and rant with the passion of a mere young girl."
Galadriel leaned forward and touched Arwen's cheek. "I was a mere young girl, at the time, and memory took me there again. For a moment, I was again Artanis of Valmar in Valinor, striving for supremacy in foot-races against my brothers and cousins." She sighed. "So much has passed since that day, and I venture has been forgotten, gone from my mind, mostly. But some things from our tender days, are branded."
"Your years beyond count, nana. Your footsteps across the face of all Arda, even that which was broken and sunk. And the Blessed Realm."
"Not all Arda, my love. Lands far and spreading to the East and the South I have seen only from high peaks," said the White Lady, "and I do not foresee my wandering there, what with the Shadow rising and the race of Men ever more grasping and devouring. Yet I know in my heart I could travel an age, and still not find the equal of this my Lothlórien... From here, only to one place would I go. And perhaps not with all my willing heart."
A sadness seemed to touch the eyes of Arwen. "In my short years," she sighed, "I have seen so very little. Imladris and Lórien, and the road between. Ada fears for me always, and my brothers will ride with me only on safe, happy roads to pretty places. Not many, ever less and less."
"The end of our time approaches at a wild pace," Galadriel reflected, "indeed it is at hand already. The years unending of the Eldar have come to lose meaning in this rushing tide and current. Foul creatures now shape our comings and goings. As yourself, my child, constrained by the fears of your men. Not idle fears, as you know."
"I do," the maiden replied. "I recall each very instant of those dreadful days. The loss of her, the terrible doubt then displaced by the terrible truth. Ada, crushed, unknown to me. My beloved brothers, distraught and raging, tearing off to find her. I thought perhaps I would lose them as well." Arwen seemed, for a moment, very small. The Lady said nothing, watching her only.
"Days passed. All was silent in Imladris, even the birds. Elladan had sworn they would not return without her, and I wondered... Only when we heard their far call from the ridge-top did Ada finally emerge from his chamber. I hardly knew him, so drawn and pale and wretched did he seem to my eyes.
"And then they were before us. Between them the twins supported her tottering steps as they stepped over the threshold of her home. But then, it was her home no longer."
"Why do you say this, my daughter?" Galadriel sought to draw the pain as a healer draws poison.
"She hardly knew us for many days, nana. She would look at us wild, full of fear, pain and... hatred, yet she could not be alone. Even the sisters could not reach her, and Ada had nothing. He was..." Arwen paused, and turned away from that thread of memory. "When the time came of the falling leaves, she at last allowed Lynael to hold her hand, and met her gaze. She began to speak, low, for her friend's ear only, and then over many more days she poured away all the horror stuck to her very bones, it seemed. Over the winter she healed in body, and came together with Ada once more. They walked and walked, all through the valley from rim to rim, but she never again set foot outside Imladris. Until the following summer, the day we saw her off to the Grey Havens. Ada and my brothers and the Lord Glorfindel took her, with an armed host as escort. Me, they would not take. I said goodbye to her on the doorstep. She looked long at me, kissed me, and turned away without a word."
"Even now there is a tiny chamber in your heart that lies cold and empty, my love. You long for your lady mother... Well do I understand this..." Galadriel let her gaze travel to the edge of light. "I, also, saw her no more. That visit, the final one."
Arwen took her hand. "No, nana darling, I do not long for the lady. At times I miss her, then I close myself and seek the Healing Gardens of Lórien in dreams. There I see her, laughing again as I remember far, far back. Before. And then I am glad."
"And you will be with her again. That is the promise of the Eldar, is it not? That one day we may sail over Sea and tread again the sands and forests of the Blessed Realm. Even we, perhaps, who forsook Aman so lightly. So long ago." She pressed her lips together, and seemed to wander.
Arwen still held her grandame's hand between hers stroking the fingers softly. Her skin is so silky, she mused, yet only a few know her formidable strength. She is as a very mountain. And her people regard her thus: they love her greatly, and fear her also, a little.
"Nana, you did one day make peace with the House of Fëanor, is it true?"
"I did." The Lady did not entirely prevent a tiny grin. "The fiend was long vanished from the living lands, and his loathsome sons also. But from the graceless and false Curufin had come a bright light..."
"Celebrimbor!" exclaimed Arwen. "Of course, nana, much has been told to us by Ada about the Lord of Eregion, Master of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. Was he your friend?"
"He was," the lady said softly. "He fled his home after the Battle of Sudden Flame, and my brother Finrod took him in. Also his father and uncle, faithless thieves and traitors, and all the survivors of their households. I still traveled to Nargothrond in that time, once only because their presence repulsed me... but Celebrimbor was of a different sort. We became friends on that occasion, and he even wished to claim kin." She smiled. "Not I. But his hands were truly a wonder, although he labored under the shadow of the fiend. Perhaps for that reason was his insatiable hunger..."
"Tell me more, nana," said Arwen.
"I believe you know this story, my dear," Galadriel rose and crossed the talan. "I feel the desire for a refreshing draught, if you will join me." She returned with a clear bottle half-filled with a golden liquid.
"You know I love your honey-wine, nana. And it will whet your throat for the story."
"Have you in truth not heard it, Arwen?" the Lady asked as she poured out two small bowls. They each took one, breathed a blessing, and swallowed the warming liquor.
"In all truth, nana. I know only that you dwelt for a time in Eregion, but then you were together with granda."
"Yes," Galadriel narrowed her eyes, "I never went again to Nargothrond. We parted in sorrow, Finrod and I, foreseeing that it would be the last time. Upon returning to Menegroth, I found that the Lord Celeborn had taken much thought to my person. He greeted me with uncommon urgency, and asked leave to bring his suit. I wondered at that, but could not deny my pleasure. We were joined in love everlasting, and at once turned our bearings towards the East. There was the desire for a home of our own, but also there was a foreboding."
"You were not misled, nana." Arwen took the bottle and filled again the bowls.
"When the end came, we were far away. We abode for a time in Lindon, but to gaze on the wide sea covering the land we had loved was hurtful. And when Gil-galad came we removed to Eriador, and were happy there for a time."
"And Eregion, nana?"
"It was a fine land, blessed and fruitful," the Lady said. "Hard by was the city of the dwarves, Khazad-dum, and we had with them much commerce and a friendship of sorts. Both our peoples had great benefit from the sharing of knowledge."
Arwen shifted in her seat. "The point, nana. The Lord Celebrimbor."
"There is no point as you imagine, my girl."
"He made for you the Elessar, did he not? Hardly a bauble, or a passing fancy."
"Hardly. We renewed our frienship, he and I, and it went no further for him because, one, he saw my heart engaged, and two, he had always a greater passion than his affection for me." Now it was the Lady who served another round. "He was not only the grandson of Fëanor, but also descended from the Master craftsman Mahtan, father of Nerdanel the wife of Fëanor and once the mentor of the fiend. And he felt that the works of his hands were far beneath theirs."
"Ah." Arwen's face seemed to harden for a moment. "Always found wanting against that which is no more. A harsh fate, nana."
"My daughter, what is it? Not the fate of Celebrimbor, though it be passing sad at the end." Galadriel took Arwen's hand and searched her eyes thoughtfully.
"No, my lady," the girl sighed, "it is not the fall of Eregion, nor the breaking of Beleriand. These are but stories to me." She took up her bowl and gazed at the light reflected on the honey-wine. "My own life, my little life, crowded into the end of an age... And when we take ship and depart from these shores, I will leave behind an entire world that I never knew. Do you believe I will have peace in Aman? Or will the very same restlessness that drove you here, nana, torment me forever among all the joy in the Blessed Realm?"
Galadriel had no answer, nor did she feel these were truly questions. She knew her granddaughter fretted, but there was only so far she could go in addressing this matter with Lord Elrond. "You live truly in a cage, my love," she said finally. "Or perhaps in two cages, both wonderful to behold and yet cages all the same. But you have learned to live in this fashion, I believe."
"I must thank you and the ladies of Imladris for that, nana. Lynael taught me to find freedom within myself, to travel into the very center of all being, even to the sparks of the Flame Imperishable." She smiled. "There I find you when I am in Imladris and would feel the touch of your hand, and there I find Ada when I am here in the Golden Wood. Have you never felt me reaching out?"
The Lady shook her head slightly and shrugged. "Perhaps," she said. "Now that you say this... perhaps. Go on, Arwen."
"The lady Milia released me into the unending valleys and mountains and sands of her music, full of streams and wailing winds and even the song of the snowflake. Do you know she has found the call of a snowflake, nana?" Arwen chuckled happily and leaned forward to take Galadriel's hand again. "And you, my nana darling, who love me and teach me and entrust great treasures into my keeping, by you have I come to the fine art of the silk and the needle."
"There is none who can match the work of your needle, my daughter. Long ago was I surpassed by you, alone among all those I have inducted into the art."
The girl's pleasure was entirely restored, it seemed. She began to whistle a birdlike tune, and reached below her to a basket hidden from view. Galadriel watched as she unwrapped a roll of silk and spread it over her lap. "Behold, nana," she said.
"Oh my stars," breathed Galadriel as she leaned over the tapestry. "This is beyond belief, my daughter." She searched each image in the succession, and stopped at the last one. "Lúthien and Beren before the throne of Thingol... this is magnificent... each detail... as if you had verily been there... How can this be?"
"I was raised on this story, nana, was I not? You have said yourself, so many times, that I am her likeness, returned to Middle-Earth for its joy and redress."
"And you have drawn her loveliness-"
"From my own reflection in the stillness of deep waters, oh my lady. My compensation to myself, and perhaps I should beg your forgiveness."
The Lady looked at her strangely. "My forgiveness? Whatever for?"
"What I said before is not entirely truthful, only a passing scrap of wintry cloud. But it is hard, nana, to be ever measured against the highest and most beloved, my own small life in the face of the legend."
"But who would say this, my love? I never... or the Lord Celeborn? For few are alive here today who looked upon her sweet face, so long ago..."
"No, nana, no person has said aught to me. It is I who measure stitch by stitch the days of my life and hers." Arwen gazed at the couple with hands entwined, facing the irate king and father. She brushed her hand lightly over the features of Beren. "Him I drew from the semblance of the Dúnedain. None in particular, only the lines and the coloring." She looked up at the Lady and laughed merrily. "They are all so alike."
Galadriel scrutinized the pale face in the tapestry. "I saw him once, only, when they came to Menegroth to present Dior to his grandparents. Thingol was so pleased, and instantly declared the child his heir. At that time I was abiding in Doriath for the comfort of Melian, who missed her daughter so. Ah, that was a grand feast..."
"There is yet much more to tell in this story. The Quest, the Hunt, the Land of the Dead that Live. Until this moment the story has been of joyous love born in summer, albeit against the dreary backdrop of the Dark One's ravaging of the Elven Realms," Arwen reflected. "There are many other stories crossed with this one, nana. Not the least, your own beloved Finrod in a duel of song and power with the foul Lord of Werewolves... and the Hound of Valinor, the noble Huan..."
"Indeed, my love, there are easily thrice the images more to draw and broider."
Arwen smiled with a hint of slyness. "When I have done, I will return to Imladris. Not before. Nana, I have need of you to verify my images!" the girl laughed, as the Lady seemed to voice her protest.
"You are a deep one, girl," she said at last with the smallest of smiles. "I believe you are ruled by no one."
"I am the tender love of my father, and of my grandame and granda. Never doubt that, nana." Arwen laid her head upon the Lady's breast. "But have a mind to the blood that flows in my veins: yours, not the least. And I am more like to my brothers than many would say, you know this well. Also the Lord Glorfindel," she went on merrily, rising to spin three intricate dance-steps with an invisible partner.
"Ah." The Lady found nothing to say aloud.
"The Lord Glorfindel is my first choice for dancing in the Hall of Fire," Arwen offered in explanation. "He taught me from my first steps, and he knows my every move."
"Well, he has been dancing for as long as I have been breathing," Galadriel said, "for shame he were not a master."
"Oh, silly nana! It is not like that!" Arwen sat gasping with laughter, and took the Lady's hands again. "The Lord Glorfindel is to me like the dearest of uncles, nay, more, the most trusted of guardians and the most faithful teacher. Who could think otherwise?"
The Lady smiled. "Not of him, my lovely. There is one cloven to his heart, awaiting his return to the Blessed Land."
"He has spoken to me of her, the beauteous Eloranë. Yet I would confide to you that he has had a great fancy for some mortal Dúnedain women." Arwen laughed again as the Lady's eyes grew wide. "Not many, I grant you, but I have seen his eye stray upon a time." A thought came, and gave her pause. "They are so like to us, for a brief time, then their freshness passes and they become aged so quickly."
"Alike to you, those of the line of Elendil are, because they have married only among their kin since the day of Elros. Your true and mortal uncle, as one fair apple to another with the Lord Elrond they were..." Galadriel sighed. "As alike as the twins your brothers. There was none who could tell them apart, it is said. I certainly could not, although I saw them together only briefly."
"I believe they were the very same on the outside," Arwen wondered, "but most unlike in their hearts and minds. For they loved one another deeply, Ada says, yet the two brothers chose dooms that sundered them for all time." She sighed and turned her gaze to the North. "Elrohir and Elladan are twins through and through. They think so much alike, that they know between them without words. I believe that when they marry, they will choose sisters, even if not twins," she said with growing mirth.
"There sparkles on the shoulder of my songstress Ailawan a tiny jewelled harp, ever since the day of your arrival," ventured the Lady.
"Indeed, nana, I pinned it there myself at the begging request of my brother Elrohir," said Arwen. She paused in thought, and mused, "Rather as a sign, I believe. I foresee he will not engage in outright courtship while the lot of our time lies still in the balance. Perhaps they will wed in Aman. Perhaps all us three, shall."
"None can tell what time and place love will blossom forth, my child," the Lady said. "Among our kind, a full age may pass with never a thought of this sweet passion."
"That is true, nana! There is barely any notion of courtship here in Calas Galadhon, or indeed in Imladris. Only among the Dúnedain have I seen such time and force devoted to love. I have seen it at feast-times but also in their daily doings. And they wed so young."
"They must, my love," said the Lady, "for their time is brief and they are pledged to ensure their line with sufficient offspring."
Arwen gazed at her grandame. "They venerate their forefathers and foremothers, as they treasure their sons and daughters. It is as if they live again and forever, through them. As if they were all one."
"They are indeed one, Arwen," said the Lady. "They are the Dúnedain people, living once and again the same life, yet learning and emending the errors of their past. So they have come to be single and alone among the Speaking Peoples of the world: they are a small and shadowy region between the Quendi and the Atani. Though mortal, they belong to both kindreds."
"You care for them, nana," said the girl in amazement.
"I care for all the Children of Ilúvatar who struggle even in hopelessness against the Enemy," Galadriel responded quietly.
A call sounded from below. Galadriel quickly poured the last of the honey-wine into the bowls, and the two elf-ladies downed them at a gulp. They placed the vessels carefully on a small table, with a slightly unseeming giggle, then rose to descend the twining stairway in great dignity.
The green lawn was spread with a wide variety of foods light and delicious. Some were fruits of the land, others concocted by masters and mistresses of the fine art. Also there were brews and juices of many kinds, though none to rival the honey-wine of the Lady's own culture.
The two joined the Lord Celeborn and shared with him the contents of many platters, interspersed with bits of song and story. As the night became fresh, the lights burned low and the company slowly disbanded and vanished among the great trees. Lord and Lady retraced the steps to their talan, entreating their granddaughter to follow.
"I thank you, dearest ones, but I have a yearning tonight for my own talan. On the morrow I will come to you, nana, for your aid in devising the image to follow in my silk-story," the girl said, and blowing them kisses turned to seek her own tree-stairs.
"Silk-story?" asked Celeborn. "What is this?"
"A wonder, my lord, even among the fine needlework of the best of my apprentices, nay, even among the finest of my own." Galadriel smiled proudly, in spite of herself.
Her partner shook his silver head in disbelief. "I would bow only to the proof of my own eyes, ere I gave sustenance to such words."
"Is not my judgement sufficient?"
"Ever it would be, my darling, save in matters concerning our noble maiden. In that area you are as a mother bird who allows her babes to feed from her own beak."
"Or like the deadly scorpion mother, who carries her brood upon her back so they can devour her and thus grow," she laughed.
"A scorpion? Come, my lady, you are surely not consorting in spirit with creatures of the dark," Celeborn said in only half a jest.
The Lady's laughter sounded out all the stronger. "Oh great Kementari, tell my sweet lord that some of your children are perilous, yet not evil..."
The debate continued into the high branches, until even the silver laughter was heard no more. Arwen climbed to her own bower among the mallorn branches, reviewing in her mind passing moments of her conversation with Galadriel. Always so much more to tell, she said to herself. One thought opens into another, and much is left unsaid.
The House of Fëanor, she wondered. She reached a large covered basket and took from it a fine wooden box barely larger than her hand. She removed the lid and gazed at the Elessar resting quietly on its dark silken bed, and recalled the brilliance of it catching the sunlight. Whatever nana says, she declared to herself, this is a work of love. Celebrimbor relived the passion aroused by her in Fëanor, albeit with some better fortune, but came to naught for somewhat the same reason. The Noldor, ever driven by their thirst for knowledge and skill.
Nana is Noldor also, but even more so Teleri. And the strain of Vanyar, thus her gold-and-silver mane of glory. She took up the jewel set in a great silver eagle and gazed through it at the light still burning on her little table. What secrets of your maker are you still holding in faith, radiant one? Perhaps... had he resigned himself to bringing to life wonders such as this, and not gone in search of... the Rings of Power...
Arwen shook her head to free herself of those thoughts. There are truly some matters best left to lie and be forgotten, she said to herself. I will not enquire further on these memories of hers, until another day when she might wish to tell me.
The girl settled herself onto a thin cushion, and allowed her thoughts to slowly empty into silence. She sat thus for the remaining hours of the night, and arose refreshed when the first light of Arien crept in through the leafy branches. None were stirring yet in the clearing below, when Arwen descended and slipped without a sound away into the trees.
She came at last to the small clearing where dwelt her dear horse-friend Asfaloth, at times happy among the horses of the Galadhrim but often seeking his own quiet space far from nickering and jostling for a spot at the drinking-trough. He greeted her with pleasure, knowing there was a good run in store for them.
"My lad, my good lad," she said, throwing an arm over his neck as he nuzzled her ear, "you are ready as ever, are you not?" She straightened his forelock and combed it out to cover his entire forehead and eyes. "I see you, silly! Can you see me?" she teased as he tossed his head and muttered in his chest. Only Arwen could take such liberties with the feisty stallion, and then only in private.
"Come, dear Asfaloth. Let us away and fly... no, not yet home, my friend, I am sorry." She led the way to a small mound, by which he stood motionless as she prepared to leap up onto his broad back. "On that day I will trouble you with saddle and bridle, but while we abide here in the Golden Wood it seems senseless to burden ourselves. I know you love not the leather and silver, but suffer them at need; the Lord Glorfindel has told me so."
At the beloved name, Asfaloth shook his head and half-reared with a small whinny, but the girl's seat was not compromised at all. On this half-divine horse she had learned countless years ago the intricate dealings between mount and rider, and she trusted him as she did her own close kin.
"Choose your path, fleet one, all are good for me. Only make it arrive at Cerin Amroth at the end, for I would lie upon the undying niphredil and follow the race of Arien across the heavens on this day..." she bent and whispered to him, "on this day that her race is the longest, you understand me, my friend."
Asfaloth nickered in reply, and gathered himself for the run they both desired. Not an arrow is swifter than his burst into speed, yet never would his rider be unhorsed. The miles turned to nothing as they flew through the forest, thick and thin. By the time the sun-vessel was rising from the tree-tops, they arrived at the hill in a sedate trot.
Arwen dropped easily to the ground and stepped out of her soft shoes. "Will you nibble this holy mound whilst I am gazing at the blue depths of Ilmen?" Asfaloth snorted a laugh and moved off as she began to climb the hill. She reached the first ring of trees and passed through, stopping finally at a precise spot on the southern face. She lay on her back in the tall, sweet-smelling grass and let her sight embrace the high blue dome.
Below, the white stallion roamed at will, not seeming to take notice of her. Only his Master would have been able to tell that the great dark eye had her always within its circle, and that his thoughts, or un-thoughts, sailed the heavens next to hers.