Of Fish and Frogs
Doriath: 5th Chapter
"Life is too bitter already, without territories and wars and noble feuds"
– T.H. White, The Once and Future King
Author's note: Thank you for reading! As always, comments and discussion are welcomed and much appreciated! The snare begins to tighten…even as romance begins to blossom… Meanwhile, Finrod discovers that politics in Menegroth are just as convoluted and annoying as those in Aman. And…Oropher is going to be introduced in all his glory in the next few chapters so get excited!
My thanks to anyone who followed or favorited and special thanks to Oleanne and EverleighBain who took the time to write lovely reviews!
The march wardens sparred once a week; a raucous event that often devolved into fistfights and ended with trips to the healers and tankards of beer, which was perhaps why Artanis had taken to watching, for it reminded her of the games that they sometimes held in Valinor, in which she had participated and triumphed many a time. Yet today she was not merely watching. Today she had been pushed into the ring, protesting all the way, to battle a square-jawed Sindarin march warden by none other than Finrod himself, who had been goaded on by Celeborn. She had emerged triumphant, clambering back to safety over the fence, but it was only just barely so, for Celeborn had told her at the start of the fight that the girl was a master with hunting knives. Thus, Artanis had been surprised indeed to find herself suddenly tackled to the ground and put in a headlock while the Sindarin spectators whooped and laughed.
"He said she was skilled with knives but she is a wrestler!" Artanis pointed an accusing finger at the prince, who grinned, getting the general gist of what she was saying even if he did not understand the Quenya. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and laughed before speaking to Finrod, a conversation from which Artanis only managed to glean snippets of meaning.
"He wants to know if you always trust information from your adversaries." Finrod laughed gleefully, and Artanis glowered at the grinning faces of her brother and his friend. Yet, despite their fun at her expense, she did not feel excluded, not the way that she had as a child when Maedhros or Curufin had refused to let her play with them; it felt different somehow, like an invitation almost.
"Well if he likes tricks so much then tell him to fight me himself and I will show him a trick or two." Artanis said to her brother. "What are they saying?" She asked, for the Sindar were chanting now.
"They want to see the Noldorin girl fight again." Her brother said, grinning.
One more look at Celeborn's taunting face swept away any hesitation that she might have had and filled her instead with pure bravado. It was that same look, that same challenge that he had wordlessly issued her after her dance and she felt that same fire burning in her once more. There was no fear in her.
Artanis blew air out of her nose and laughed. "Very well." With a broad grin she leapt back over the barrier, agile body lithe as a deer, the dust of the tournament ground rising in a mist about her booted feet as she spun her golden spear over her head, eliciting the roar from the crowd that she had wished for. "Is this what you wish?" She called to the people, no longer fearing whether Sindarin was proper or not, merely letting the words flow from her, laughing like a madwoman. If possible, they cheered even more loudly, clapping their hands, stomping their feet, laughing, and she was sure that she saw coins changing hands, bets being placed. The wildness of it all, the lack of restraint fueled her.
But, most of all, she noticed that the prince had forgotten whatever it was that Finrod had been speaking to him about and, instead, she now had his undivided attention. He stood against the barrier, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed upon her. Poised, Artanis extended her long spear at her side, its wicked golden blade, long as a man's arm, glinting in the sun, its shaft of polished ivory, as long as she was tall, extending far behind her. There was, thankfully, a slight breeze that lifted and dried her sweat-soaked shirt even as it threatened to loosen tendrils of hair from her braid. Then she raised her empty hand to point at Celeborn, saying; "so you like your tricks Prince of Doriath? Fight me then!" She roared in her unpolished Sindarin. And, despite the brashness of her words, and the fact that she doubted she would emerge the victor, her heart fluttered with wild, mad anticipation.
"As you wish." Celeborn shouted back in equally unrefined Quenya, grinning broadly as he leapt over the barricade. They moved towards the center of the ring and Artanis noticed the relaxed and comfortable way in which he gripped his battle-axe, a seasoned veteran who had seen many battles.
The Doriathrin elves did not use the thick, heavy, bulky sort of axes that she had already seen the dwarves carrying. Rather, only the edge of the blade was made of metal while the center was cut out, creating a very light and aerodynamic shape. On the opposite end was a long sharp knife-like blade and the handle was of mithril, shining and bright, with a grip of wrapped leather. She heard the blade sing as he swung it in a circular motion through the air, causing the Sindar around her to begin cheering wildly. More money changed hands.
They reached the center and he bowed to her, then extended the axe in front of him, his strong forearms steady. Artanis bowed back, touching the tip of her spear against the axe blade, and met his unreadable eyes. But he did not move, his breathing even and regulated, his face impassive, and they stood with blades meeting for a long moment. There was nowhere she could strike that was undefended and so she slowly pressed her spear against the axe, testing it, trying to force an opening. But he moved forward, pressing back, and she was forced to retreat, glancing down at the proximity of the blades and, in that singular instant, he moved and she suddenly found the blade of his axe a mere hair's breadth from her forehead. Looking up, her eyes met his again and she dropped her spear in defeat.
The Sindar cheered and Artanis grabbed her spear up from the dirt, returning to the center of the ring, looking back at Celeborn, daring him, her eyes full of laughter. "Come on then," she goaded him. "Let's have another go." He consented with a smile, returning and pressing his blade against hers once more.
"Sure you are not too distracted, Princess?" He asked her in a low and quiet voice.
"You are not interesting enough to distract me," she shot back, a bold-faced lie if ever there was one. And yet her barb had not distracted him it seemed for he came after her with all the force and cold ferocity of before. She made sure not to look away this time though his dark eyes unsettled her; there was none of the light in them that the Noldor had in their own. They sent a chill down her spine, unsettled her, for she could discern nothing from them, and yet they were very beautiful eyes indeed, the verdant color of summer leaves.
But, as a cheer resounded about them she realized, belatedly, that she was about to lose for, though she had protected her head, already the axe was whistling towards her wrist, stopping just as the metal was about to kiss her flesh. Injury this time rather than death, but she was forced to drop her spear to the dirt once more. Her heart pounded within her chest, more from frustration than exertion. He had beaten her in two bouts and could thereby have ended the match now, but instead Celeborn returned to the center for the final bout and she followed him eagerly, glad that it was not yet over.
"Dance," he whispered with a grin, "as you did before. But this time, I want you to dance with me," and she stilled her beating heart, forced herself to remain calm, as impassive as he was. And they danced, never looking away, eyes boring into each other's. This time she forced him to maintain a proper distance, never letting him come close enough to move his axe past the tip of her spear, she did not look down, perceiving what was in the peripheral instead. For each step he forced from her she forced one from him until they moved in unison, a perfect machine. She vaguely heard, as though from far away, the whistles of the crowd, for the tension was mounting as minutes passed and neither swung.
Then Artanis thought she saw an opening and struck fast, a good strike that left her unexposed so that he was forced to block her rather than striking in return. But he pivoted around her and it was she who was forced to block this time. They circled, weapons locked together, mere centimeters from each other's faces, trying to judge the precise moment when they could leap away unharmed. Artanis saw it and leapt, pushing against him hard, using the momentum to spring backwards until they had reestablished distance and the blades came up again, tip to tip, circling once more. The watchers were going wild now and she thought she could hear Finrod's deep laughter amongst the voices.
It was Celeborn who struck now, fast, and she brought her sword to her side to block the blow aimed there but, as soon as she did, his blade was no longer there. Instead, it was flying towards her face now and she brought her blade up to counter, catching his against it in the nick of time. It was enough to save herself but not enough to win. The knife end of his axe was between her eyes and her spear pressed up against it, preventing it from burying itself there. Her heart pounded; he had not scored a kill stroke nor an injury even, but a threat. He had won. If he had wanted to push down, break her wrists, he could have killed her, but he released his grip and, as they backed away slowly, bowing to each other once more, she found herself lamenting not that she had lost, but that it had lasted such a short time.
Celeborn smiled as they exited the arena, leaping over the barrier, and waved to those who were cheering loudly before turning to her and saying something. She shook her head, indicating that she did not understand, and he repeated himself. When she still could not comprehend he spoke to Finrod.
"He says you fight well." Her brother said. "But not as well as him."
"I cannot discern whether that is supposed to be a compliment or an insult," she replied, unsure of how to respond.
"Coming from Celeborn I would assume that it is both," Finrod replied. Yet, putting her somewhat wounded pride aside, Artanis found that she was not insulted. Indeed, she was a bit intrigued. With Celeborn, each taste left her wanting more.
"In Valinor they always let me win." She said to Celeborn in broken Sindarin. He cocked his head and looked at her quizzically. "They let me win." She said again, being more careful of her pronunciation. He nodded.
"I would not like it if someone let me win." He said, having to repeat himself so that she understood.
"I did not." She said. He nodded in acknowledgement and smiled, extending a hand to her.
She took it as he replied, "that is good, seeing as how I do not intend to ever let you beat me." They shook hands and Artanis felt a soaring sense of accomplishment at the knowledge that he had found her a worthy rival and, moreover, treated her as such. Then there was the fact that Celeborn was exceedingly adept at bringing out the competitive edge in her. Artanis bit her lip, excitement still coursing through her as her eyes flickered back to his.
"Celeborn Galadhonian!" A deep voice shouted, followed by a rich laugh like the roar of a waterfall. The three of them turned to see a wild looking elf strutting about the ring, axe in hand. A raucous whooping arose from the Sindar.
"Ah…this will be the final match then," Finrod whispered to her. It was difficult to hear him over all of the wild cheering and Artanis had to lean her head close to her brother's to be heard.
"Why is that?" She asked.
"That is Mablung," Finrod replied, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world, grinning as Artanis turned her eyes to the elf stalking about the ring. The golden rays of the sun paid him absolute tribute. He was a monolith of thick bulky muscles and corded strength over bronzed skin. He had a strong jaw and dark mahogany hair that was shaved on the sides but there was a strip of longer hair down the center of his head that stood straight up and a long braid that hung in the back, nearly down to his waist. He was barefoot, clad only in fawn colored deerskin leggings, his ears ornamented with many silver earrings. And, upon his back was a large black tattoo. Artanis thought him most fearsome and wonderful.
"He is the chief of the march wardens." Finrod replied. "Remember? You met him at Mereth Aderthad."
"How could I forget one such as him?" She replied with a laugh. Mablung shouted something else and Celeborn leapt onto the fence, perching there like a squirrel, a mischievous look upon his face, replying to Mablung in words that she did not understand. Then the Sindarin prince stripped off his tunic and the soaked cotton shirt beneath, laying them over the fence. He too was heavily muscled and darker of skin than she, but not nearly as dark Mablung. Nor did he have the thick bulky musculature of the chief warden, though he certainly could not be called slight of build, he was more slender but just as solid, and taller than the other elf besides. Artanis leaned forward against the fence to see better, for everyone was pressing against each other now, eager to see the fight.
"But why should it be over?" She asked, disappointed.
"Because there is no one who can beat Mablung," Finrod said.
"Even you and Prince Celeborn?" She asked, incredulous. Finrod laughed.
"I'm glad that you have such a high opinion of me little sister!" Artanis elbowed him. "But yes, there is none who is a match for Mablung, except Beleg sometimes. He is the other chief of the march wardens but tends to favor the bow rather than the axe. However, we should be able to see Celeborn get a few good strikes in before he is finished for he is a strong warrior indeed, stronger than I maybe." He laughed, crying out to taunt his silver-haired friend in words that Artanis did not understand.
Celeborn and Mablung were circling each other now and though she did not understand their words, she could tell by their tone that they were taunting one another.
"What are they saying?" She asked her brother, but Finrod only laughed.
"Words that are not fit for a lady's ears," he replied.
Suddenly Mablung lunged, fierce and powerful as an ox, but Celeborn caught his strike on the edge of his axe blade and calmly knocked the dark-haired elf's axe away. Artanis was please to see that Celeborn, in fact, had not been flattering her. He employed the same style and force as he had used with her with Mablung. She was also fascinated to see the great diversity in the fighting style of the Sindar. Mablung was aggressive, bold, powerful; he reminded Artanis of an eagle, his keen eyes searching for prey that he would swoop down on and instantly decimate upon discovery. Meanwhile, Celeborn reminded her of a viper, equally aggressive though quiet and hidden, relying more upon cunning than brute strength, poised to deliver a lethal dose of venom should the opportunity present itself.
Then Mablung struck, a lightening fast blow, and Celeborn could not quite bring his axe up in time to block it. The march warden stopped the blade of his axe a mere hair's breadth from the prince's silver head, causing Celeborn to drop his own axe, surrendering, and a round of cheers mixed with booing arose from the spectators as, laughing, the two contestants returned to the center of the ring to begin their second match.
"Who do you support?" Artanis asked her brother.
"Well Celeborn is my mentor so I support him of course," Finrod said, clapping. "You?"
"I don't particularly care, though I suppose that some vindictive part of me would like to see Celeborn knocked on his ass," she grinned.
"He would probably deserve that, in all honesty," Finrod laughed. "He can be quite the overconfident handful at times and he has a ferocious temper when provoked."
"Really? And here I was thinking that he seemed so reserved." She replied. Celeborn was striking aggressively and incessantly at Mablung's middle now. So much so that Mablung had no chance to get a strike in himself.
"Quiet, yes. Reserved, no. Celeborn is extraordinarily…blunt…about his opinions and likely to offer them whether they are desired or not."
"Hm…whatever does he hope to achieve with that strategy?" Artanis mused, observing the prince striking incessantly at his opponent. "He is tiring himself out."
"I haven't the faintest clue…" Finrod replied as Celeborn struck again at Mablung's middle and Mablung went to block it, almost lazily, clearly getting annoyed with Celeborn's incessant blows. But, as the dark-haired elf brought his axe in position to block the prince's blow, Celeborn changed the trajectory of the strike. Mablung belatedly realized his error and tried to bring his axe up but there simply was not enough time. The shining blade of Celeborn's axe was pointing steadily at the space between his opponent's eyes. Another round of cheers and boos rose up into the air and the two competitors approached the center of the ring for their final bout. The crowd was going wild.
The two circled each other once more but it was obvious that Celeborn had clearly expended a great amount of energy in order to land a blow on Mablung and he moved more slowly now while his rival showed no signs of tiring. Now it was the dark-haired ox of an elf that rained down blow after blow upon his silver-haired rival. The elves moved closer and closer, axes locked together, and then Mablung slipped his foot behind Celeborn's, pulling his legs out from under him. Simultaneously he knocked the wind out of the prince by thrusting the shaft of his axe into his chest. Celeborn fell with an ignominious thud as his posterior connected with the dusty earth. A great cheer went up from Mablung's supporters and the elf leapt about the ring, swinging his axe in the air. Celeborn was clapping and Mablung stopped to help him up, the two embracing and slapping each other on the back as they exchanged words with a smile before climbing out of the ring. Finrod and Celeborn clasped hands and spoke as the Sinda leapt back over the barrier.
"We are going to go drink with the others. If you care to join us the prince says you are welcome to do so."
"Oh, no, but thank you. I must return to Melian now for, as you can see, I have not been practicing Sindarin as much as I should." She replied, nevertheless pleased that they thought she was worth drinking with and secretly wishing she could join them. Yet it was off to the kitchens with her to learn how to make lembas.
"Very well then sister, I shall see you later I expect." Finrod said as he and Celeborn set off with the others. It was with reluctance that she watched them go, a reluctance that was increased when the prince turned around to direct one last grin at her.
These Noldor think that they can come into our lands and take whatever they want, do whatever they want. The Feanorians treat your decrees as a mere afterthought at best, explicitly ignoring you. Will you now raise up another wolf in the lamb's pen? It is only a matter of time until its true nature takes over and it turns on us." It seemed as though steam was about to spill out of Saeros's ears, so wroth was he.
Celeborn looked down the long table towards Finrod, hoping that the passionate Noldo would not take Saeros's bait. Truth be told, he was a bit of an extremist and Celeborn had never taken much of a liking to him, though he kept company with his cousin, Oropher.
"My king, I ask that I not be judged by the actions of my cousins. I assure you, I am my own person and I act as I see fit, not in imitation of my relatives. Indeed, I alone, out of all of the Noldo, sought you out here in Menegroth to make your acquaintance and obtain your favor. Could I not simply choose to do as my cousins have, ignoring your orders and building whatever I like wherever I please? Yet I have not done so. In fact, I have habitually done the opposite. I would certainly hope that my actions are proof of my integrity as well as my concern for the well-being of your subjects. Nargothrond would be a fiefdom of Doriath and I your vassal, nothing more."
At Finrod's words, a great deal of chatter awoke amongst Thingol's advisors as they spoke amongst themselves, debating the merits and demerits of such a plan.
"I must admit," said Thingol, interrupting the chatter, which died away immediately at the sound of his voice, like birds scattering before a wolf. "I myself am very divided on this issue." He looked first towards Finrod and his hopeful supporters, then towards Saeros and his staunch conservatives. He stood slowly, pressing his fingertips against the table, and began to pace slowly about the room. They were all of them forced to turn in their chairs to see him, none of them daring to turn their back on the king. But Thingol was not concerned with their discomfort as he paced about.
"Finrod Finarfinian proposes to establish a fiefdom under my leadership, a Sindarin king with a Noldorin vassal." Thingol said slowly, considering his thoughts out loud. "This could be an opportunity, a manifestation of cooperation between out peoples. Finrod is right to point out that he had given me no reason to distrust him and, on the contrary, that I have every reason to trust him. Politically, such a union could turn the tide towards more positive future relations and initiate an alliance powerful enough to pose a serious threat to Melkor. Yet there is also the chance that such a move could undermine my authority amongst both Noldor and Sindar. The Noldor could see it as an invitation to further encroach upon Sindarin lands. And, Saeros is right to point out that there is a current of discontent amongst my own people regarding this matter. Each point I consider seems to have an advantage with an equally weighted disadvantage and I find that the scale is balanced, that it does not tilt in either direction." Thingol's eyes snapped up to pierce them with his gaze as he returned to his chair and seated himself slowly, taking care to move the long sleeves of his court robes out of the way.
"That is why I have consulted all of you." His voice suddenly had a sharp edge to it, as sharp as the look that glinted in his eyes now. The king's counselors could sense his ire. "Not to hear you squabble." His gaze rested overly long on Saeros and his people. "None of us here needs to hear these endless arguments in favor and against. Even a child could have already surmised them and yet I have just been forced to recant them all for you. How many more days must we sit here in deadlock?"
Those counselors who had the good sense to look down and either show or feign embarrassment did so. Those that did not quickly looked down upon meeting the king's icy stare once more.
"I do not have the patience for this," said Thingol. "Celeborn, note in your ledger that we will not vote on this today. My temper will not suffer me to endure yet another gridlocked vote for…what is it?"
"The tenth night my lord," Celeborn said.
"For the tenth night," Thingol finished. "Please, Celeborn," the king threw his hands up in abandon, "say something to these fools that they can really chew over this evening. I know you must have some opinion, though I cannot fathom why you have been holding it in so long." Celeborn stood.
"I would implore you to look at the earth around you. Many of you are old and learned, older than I. Yet even in my relatively short life I have seen many changes. The seasons grow longer then shorter again, rivers run dry, trees grow taller, forests denser, summers hotter, winters colder. What is a fish to do when his lake is no more? Shall he flop about in the mud and insist that the water will come again? Perhaps it will, but he will not live to see it. His utility is destroyed and, with it, his life. Yet consider the amphibians, who were once fishes themselves but now have lungs and feet as well. They can inhabit a wide variety of habitats, unlike the fish, who can go no further than the boundaries of his pond. If I were to scoop him up and put him in a little bowl he could not escape and would have no further purpose than to suit my pleasure. A frog was the same once, as a tadpole, but as he grows he develops legs capable of propelling himself to great heights. It is a difficult matter: to capture a frog, for he can go wherever he wishes. Will you cling resolutely to your pond until the water runs dry and you are left gasping on the shore? Or, will you grow legs and walk into the forest"
"And which would you do?" Saeros called out, an impish grin upon his smug face.
"If you do not already know then you have clearly not been listening." Celeborn replied curtly before sitting. "You are all adjourned." The chatter erupted again as they all rose and, picking up their belongings, moved slowly towards the door. Thingol and Celeborn remained seated.
"A pretty piece nephew. Reminds me of why you are, after all, my chief counselor. I must confess, I was rather agitated with your silence on this matter, quite unlike you to keep your lip buttoned." Thingol murmured so as not to be overheard.
"It was more than a pretty piece, it was the truth," Celeborn replied in a whisper so that the others would not overhear as they filtered out of the room. "And, though I support Nargothrond and trust Finrod, I must confess that the idea of the Noldor setting up realms in Beleriand and playing at king does not sit well with me. Still, there is no other way forward and we cannot remain with our heads stuck in the sand, as Saeros would have us do. After the battle of Beleriand we have not the military might to prove a legitimate threat to both the Feanorians and Melkor. Yet with the children of Finarfin as our allies we may have some hope of one day reclaiming those lands. You know it and I know it."
"That is why this matter is of utmost importance!" Thingol said, agitation in his voice and near desperation in his movements as he rose, pacing quickly to the door as if to make sure that none of his councilors were milling about outside. Celeborn heard the lock click into place as the king bolted the door before returning to sit in the chair beside him.
"Celeborn," Thingol said, his voice still hushed despite having assured himself that they were indeed alone. "I do not need to tell you how depleted our army is after this war we have just fought. I know not what evil these princes of Aman have brought with them, but if…if they were ever to attack Doriath…" the King's voice faltered and then fell silent. "Nay, nay, unthinkable," he said, shaking his head as though revising his thoughts.
"And yet we have both already thought of it, have we not?" Celeborn replied, tapping his fingertips on the table. The words that Melian had spoken on the night of the arrival of the Noldor may have slept in his mind for a time, but he had not forgotten them.
"What has Melian foreseen uncle?"
But Thingol made no reply except to turn their conversation away from that topic, though this action on his part seemed to signify enough. "We need an ally among the Noldorin princes," he said, his voice hard and firm. "Someone who could come to our aid if the need were to arise, or who could be a powerful political ally amongst the Noldor. Finrod is, somewhat obviously, an ideal choice. Fingolfin's people are too closely attached to the Feanorians, whom Melian has deemed as dangerous. Yet there is some rift that has opened between Finrod and his cousins. He came here seeking my permission and my financial support yet he brought many a treasure with him out of Tirion and, in truth needs no money from Doriath's treasuries."
"He needs support as well and he seeks to bind himself with ties stronger than mere promises," Celeborn said, a thought he had thought many times before.
"Yes…" Thingol replied. "He is as a ship unmoored, cut loose from his fellows. Celeborn…" his uncle's voice seemed to grow weak, "the coming of the Noldor weighs upon my shoulders like a millstone and every day I must contend with the Feanorians or with Melkor slowly moving into lands that used to be ours. Each day our kingdom grows smaller. How long until they are at the borders of our fences?"
"Uncle," Celeborn reached out, placing a hand on Thingol's arm, "things are not as dire as you presume. The girdle of Melian will not break and our strength will return. But, yes, I agree with you that the alliance with Finrod is critical, however, might it not be more easily obtained? You need not the council's assent; you need only decree your decision."
"No Celeborn, such a move on my part would raise suspicion, for we have never done things in that manner. I can have no rumors milling about, particularly any that might imply that Doriath has grown weak. If word of such matters were to reach the ears of the Noldo then things might go very poorly indeed for our people, especially those in the North who are already suffering from the encroachment of the sons of Feanor."
"Then the hand is mine to play," Celeborn said, understanding his uncle's meaning, and Thingol nodded.
"Is there any whose mind you might be able to turn?" He asked.
"Venessiel." Celeborn replied without hesitation. "She holds with Saeros's line now because it seems more profitable and secure to her. But she is reasonable and holds no far fetched ideals about this matter…"
"Venessiel has no ideals about any matter." Thingol interjected. "It is all business to her."
"Exactly."
"So you plan to …persuade her?" Thingol asked. Celeborn nodded and the king shook his head. "I wish you luck then. She is…'a tough nut to crack' as the green elves would say."
"I am well aware of that uncle," the prince said with a grin as he rose from his chair, "as you may remember."
"Celeborn," Thingol said, causing the prince to look back before he exited the room. "I worry that you take this too lightly. This is a matter of the utmost importance. I beg you remember that. I depend upon you, truly." The prince cracked a grin.
"I know." He said before turning and disappearing through the door. But peace was not to be his for as soon as he had exited he was set upon by Finrod, near frantic with worry.
"Celeborn, I don't know how to thank you for the service you rendered me today!" The Noldo clasped his friend's hands ardently. "Truly, I thank you from the bottom of my heart!"
"Peace Finrod," Celeborn placed a calming hand upon his anxious friend's shoulder. He could not help but smile at the Noldo's eagerness. "There is still much work that must be done. Walk with me." The two continued down the hallway.
"Truthfully I did not expect there to be so much opposition to such a simple plan." Finrod confessed.
"You came to an old land full of old elves long set in their ways and you brought them hope and optimism and new ideas. They will curse you forever for it." Celeborn said with a sigh and a grin.
"And yet you are more moderate," said Finrod, "I am grateful for it."
"That is why I am the king's chief counselor and Saeros is not, though he openly yearns for the position. There is no wisdom to be found in extremes and power grubbing."
"But surely they will listen to you. You are their prince. You are the right hand of the king." Finrod's voice betrayed his anxious doubt.
"No I am merely a rather large and cumbersome obstacle that lies in their path and I am sure that they are all at this very moment spinning ideas about how best to clamber over me in pursuit of their own personal ends. Let it not be said that the Noldor alone are guilty of the sin of pride."
"Then how…" Finrod began but Celeborn stopped and faced his friend.
"Do not worry. I am very good at what I do Finrod. I know my people. Whatever their selfish desires and personal plots, each one of them loves this land as if it were his own mother. What I did in there was plant a seed. But now I must water it, must tend it carefully as it grows and, if I do that, then I promise you it will yield fruit."
"If my ears don't deceive me I believe you are saying that you are more clever than they are." Finrod grinned, some of the tension releasing.
"Well," Celeborn grinned and shrugged, "I am."
"Ever the braggart!" Finrod shook his head and laughed. "But where does the king's vote lie?"
"With you. But that won't do you any good unless we can turn one of Saeros's people to our side."
"Can you?"
"With a little bit of help. May I call upon you if I need you?"
"Of course. Thank you Celeborn." Finrod said but the Sinda waved away the praise.
"I am a prince of this realm, sworn to protect her. We have endured for many long years against Melkor yet if we are to do so much longer then we must band together."
"Well now… look who it is." Venessiel's voice was a rich purr and it had the tone of a fat lazy cat about to catch a canary. Yet Venessiel resembled anything but that, her lean shapely body stretched out upon a chaise before the fire, its light playing across the perfect supple curves of her breast and hips. She had changed out of her council garments to a more relaxed gown, if one could even call the sheer wine colored sheath a gown. She turned to look at him, her long, mahogany hair cascading over her shoulder. She had a perfect heart-shaped face with elegant brows, wide almond shaped ice blue eyes, and a small dainty mouth. Though her appearance was practically doll-like she exuded a strong sensuality, one could almost smell it emanating from her, and all of it was contrived, which was one of the many reasons that Celeborn disliked her so very much.
"I have been waiting for you." She said and Celeborn knew it was true. There was nothing Venessiel did that was not precisely calculated. If she had been born a queen she would have been formidable. As the Minister of the Treasury she was perhaps even more fearsome. She gestured to a chair opposite her. "Do you like what you see?" She asked, favoring him with her smoldering gaze.
"How could I not? Everyone knows that you are an exquisite beauty." Celeborn replied. She was attractive, he could not deny it, at one time in the past he had rejoiced in it, yet now he found that it was rather like scraping the frosting off of a pastry to find that the inside of it was rotten. Venessiel frowned playfully.
"Everyone knows…hmph. I don't care what everyone knows. I want to know what you think. White or red?"
"Red," he said.
"Of course. You always did prefer red." Her slender arm reached out to grasp a golden pitcher firmly by the handle and she sat up to pour two goblets of wine. He reached out to take his from her but she withheld it, their eyes meeting over the top of the glass, mere inches apart. "Do you like what you see?" She asked him again, her voice thick with impatience, and Celeborn had to remind himself that, though he was a prince, he was the one who was asking the favor and thus it was he who must curry her favor, as much as he disliked the idea.
"I like what I see very much." He said compliantly and she released her grasp on the cup, seeing in his eyes that his answer was true. She settled back against the chaise, toying with her cup.
"It could have been yours. It very nearly was once, if only you had been bold enough to just take it." She bit her lip, piercing him with her gaze.
"I am sure that any man would be lucky to have you Venessiel." He said politically, struggling to keep his head in the right place, annoyed with the inefficiency of getting her to agree to anything.
"I don't care about any man, I care about you." She purred.
"Are you not with Mablung now? Does he not satisfy you?" Celeborn asked, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and meeting her gaze. Very well, if she wanted to play games then he would play along, so long as it got him what he wanted. She never changed. She always had to have power, or the illusion of it and now she was doing that by wasting away the minutes of his life. It would not do to turn her against him now when he needed her support. She laughed.
"He satisfies me well enough," she drank from her wine. "But never the way that you did, never as well as you did. He hasn't the mind that you do."
"Few do." Celeborn chuckled, sipping from his cup.
"I do." She said.
"I know," He replied. That much was undeniable. Despite all of the horrendous problems that their courtship had had, he had never met another woman who had challenged his mind in the way that Venessiel had, that was…until he had met Artanis. Yet she had none of Venessiel's insidious qualities. No, Artanis was quite different, all joy and radiance. The thought of her was the one ray of sunshine in this otherwise intolerably awkward conversation.
"But that was a long time ago." She brushed it away, having gained some silent victory in her mind and then, having perhaps caught the train of his thoughts by his eyes, "I saw the way that you looked at that Noldo girl, the golden haired one. Already there are rumors flying about."
"I hardly know her." He said, truthfully. It would remain truth so long as he said nothing else concerning the subject.
"But you want to know her. I know you." She pierced him with her gaze. "She is but a child."
"She is only some 40 odd years younger than I," he said. "That is a negligible discrepancy in ages. Moreover, you did not seem to mind my age as I recall." Venessiel was far older, one of the first elves to awaken at Cuivenen, and had wandered the forests with the first Sindar, searching for Thingol when he was lost. It was a fact she often lorded over others.
"So you are interested in her." Venessiel smiled her catlike smile. "There now, why can we not be honest with each other?" She was satisfied now, having attained the information that she wanted. Celeborn felt some sort of petty anger rise in him as it always had of old. It seemed to be something that only she could bring out, and she was extraordinarily adept at it.
"Then let me be straightforward with you. I do not know why you are supporting Saeros when Finrod's cause is clearly more advantageous for you." He said.
"Is it? That is quite the sum of money that he desires. What if he cannot make good on his debt, if his Nargothrond is overrun by orcs and we lose our investment entirely. What credentials has he to prove that he is capable of this? Being a prince of Aman is no proof that he can manage anything properly. He is your friend Celeborn, not mine; I do not know him as well as you do. I need to know that Menegroth will get a sufficient return upon our investment. Thingol trusts me to make sound financial decisions. I must uphold that duty." She said, tapping her index finger forcefully on the table as she spoke. Her personal qualities may have irked him and he had no doubt that this was exacerbated by their rather intimate history, but he was well aware that Venessiel had a keen mind for business and, so long as the conversation was regulated to that, he did not mind speaking with her at all.
"If I could offer you proof that Finrod knows what he is doing, what then?" Celeborn asked, refilling the wine glasses, more engaged in the conversation now that it was at last going in the direction he desired.
"Then I would be quite amenable to the idea. I know how much Doriath would profit were he to succeed. We could nearly double our economy and our growth. All financial decisions are gambles, no doubt, but I must make well-educated gambles and thus far it has not been proved to me that the risk for this endeavor is low. Do that and you will have me on your side." Celeborn grinned at her words, pleased at last that he had heard what he wished.
"I have always admired your shrewdness," he said. "Very well. Allow me to arrange a private meeting for you and Finrod. I am sure that he can put all of your worries to rest."
"That would be agreeable," she said, smiling. There was the flash in her eyes that he had always seen whenever she stood to make a profit or win some game. "But I should like you to be there as well."
"Your wish is my command, my lady." He stood, straightening his tunic, and she stood as well, surprisingly close to him, her somewhat sadistic icy blue eyes looking up into his own as she played with a strand of his hair, tugging on it, pulling his face down closer to her own.
"You see," she said, her breath hot against his skin, "sometimes when you do things my way you get what you want." She moved to brush her lips against his own, but he raised a finger, placing it between their mouths, stopping her. She grinned and laughed. "That confident smugness you have after you win something…I did always like that about you." She ran her hand down his back as he turned towards the door.
"Until later," he said.
"Until later," she replied. The sun was already rising.
Yet it seemed that Celeborn hardly had a few days rest before trouble was upon him again and he must perform yet another onerous duty. He coughed as he descended the stairs into the smithies, his throat already burning from the heat, smoke, and soot and he hadn't even actually entered them yet. It was the one part of Menegroth that he absolutely detested and his mission was not made any easier by the news that he had come to bear and the displeasure he was sure to incur by delivering it. "Thalaron," he greeted the dark-haired elven smith whom he on the stairs, a young elf but a skilled one.
"Your royal highness," the elf replied as he moved past, pressing a hand to his chest and bowing respectfully.
The dwarves, however, laughed, greeting him jovially as they passed him in the stairwell. Some of them teased him with good-natured humor. "Pointy-eared elven princeling can't handle the heat!" Celeborn grinned and waved them away.
"Frerin, I hope that I find you well," Celeborn greeted the master armorer as he descended at last into the belly of the smithy. "Nar, Telchar," he greeted two of the other accomplished dwarven smiths, stopping to admire their work. "What is this?" He asked Telchar, who was working on a very long sword. "This is something very fine indeed."
"Thank you laddie!" The dwarf laughed and grinned with pride. There was nothing that made a dwarf happier than an honest compliment to his craftsmanship. "I call this blade Narsil and I mean to make her fit for a king."
"Indeed, I can see that she shall be," Celeborn said, and the dwarf nodded his thanks.
"You have business with me Prince Celeborn?" Frerin called, drawing the prince's attention and the Sinda turned, bidding farewell to the others and heading towards the armorer once more.
"I do indeed Frerin," Celeborn said, "Though I fear I do not bring the news that you hope for." The dwarf looked up sharply, anger fomenting in his eyes.
"You cannot be serious…" The dwarf said, a genuinely stunned and perplexed look transforming his face. "He brought us here under the pretext that we would craft goods at his behest, that we would be paid!" The dwarf's confusion had quickly turned to anger and the other dwarves had taken note, beginning gathering around. Perhaps it was the fact that they now surrounded him, or perhaps it was confronting the issue itself that made Celeborn uneasy, but his instincts were on full alert now, as if he were preparing for battle, his feet poised, his hands twitching for his knife.
"I am very sorry," he sought to explain. "I did my best to convince him but he maintains that we have no need for metal armor. He believes that he promised you nothing of the sort, that the offer was merely to provide you with the opportunity to use our forges and be protected by our tariff laws so that you could sell your goods at more advantageous prices. Of course, you are free to sell your goods privately, but I regret to inform you that you will receive no contract with the royal house," Celeborn said.
"The agreement was that Thingol himself would employ our services and that we would be paid well for the goods that we provided him!" Frerin shouted, throwing his hammer down on the floor.
"Aye! That was the deal!" Telchar shouted. The anger of the dwarves had burgeoned, filling the room and Celeborn began to feel even more nervous than he usually did in the smithies. Something about the anger of the dwarves was particularly unnerving and he placed his hand on his hip, moving his fingers back every so slightly to assure himself that his curved knife was there at his back beneath his robes.
"And yet you seem to be able to produce no evidence of the contract while the king maintains that there never was such an agreement. I trust you can see my predicament," he said, his voice having grown steely and his anger getting the better of him. It was a hard business indeed to attempt to resolve a matter in which both sides seemed to be against him and where he received no help but all of the blame. "I have done what I am able, with precious little assistance from you."
"You call yourself a prince?" The dwarf spat. "You are nothing but a messenger boy, running hither and thither doing your King's bidding, letting him boss you about, making no decisions for yourself!"
"I did not promise you a 'yes,' dwarf, I promised you a decision. I have told you what I know and I have told you the king's decision. You are in his domain and thus have no right to dispute it," Celeborn said firmly. "If it please you then I will personally order armor from you, for myself and my own soldiers. It is quality stuff and I should be honored to wear it into battle." At those words some of the tension seemed to dissipate and many of the dwarves stepped back. But Frerin stepped forward and spat upon Celeborn's boots. The prince looked down at the spittle as it slipped from the leather to the floor and then back up at the dwarves, willing himself to remain calm. This he could not tell Thingol of, it would make the king act rashly.
"If this is the way that the king treats us then none of you Sindar deserve to wear our armor, and you never will." The dwarf ground out from between clenched teeth. "I think we would feel a good deal better at the moment if there were not an elf in our midst."
"As you wish," Celeborn said with a bow, but he was only too happy to go, his heart hammering in his chest. But it was not until he was safely out of the smithy and up the seemingly interminable staircase that he released his sweaty grip from the knife at his back.
Feasts in Doriath tended to be rather rambunctious affairs but the most rambunctious of all those in Thingol's great hall who had come to join in the eating, dancing, and music, were the young princes and their friends. They had gathered in a group around several low tables, lounging about on cushions and laughing, already well into their drinks. As, after several months in Doriath, Finrod was now counted among their number, he had joined them and thus Artanis had come to sit by them as well.
Some of the newness of Doriath had begun to wear off. Despite the time she spent with Melian, and occasionally Lúthien, she now felt as though she passed so many of her hours alone. That, she had to admit to herself, was at least partly her own fault. For all her bravado about learning Sindarin, Artanis had come to find that she struggled with the language. Her pride stung each time she made a mistake, which happened very frequently, and the well-meaning efforts of the Sindar to correct her mistakes only irritated her and caused her temper to flare. Not wishing to offend, she had taken to closeting herself in her chambers more often than usual.
Finrod, on the other hand, seemed somehow to have instantaneously developed the ability to move through Sindarin society as adeptly as a fish in water and though he still retained traces of his accent, his Sindarin was nearly beyond reproach. Meanwhile, Artanis stewed in ruined pride as she so frequently sat by in self-imposed silence, watching her brother succeed where she had hoped to, while she fell so far behind.
"What are they saying?" Artanis whispered to Finrod and her brother laughed. It nagged at her pride that she still had to ask him for translations after so many months in Doriath. By now she could manage simple conversations in Doriathrin and the usual sort of Sindarin both, but the Sindar were rambunctious with their wordplay when any sort of joke emerged, altering the intonation or replacing syllables to give the word a different meaning, crafting puns and little rhymes as if it came as naturally to them as breathing.
"Not really the sort of conversation suited for a lady," Finrod said with a nervous laugh and Artanis rolled her eyes.
"As if I care about that," she murmured with a laugh. Finrod still looked apprehensive but he told her anyway. A childhood together had taught him that his sister would find some way to learn what she wanted even if he refused her.
"The… er…fellow in the red tunic has just been married recently," he murmured in Quenya. "They're…ah…casting doubt upon whether his wife was truly…satisfied with his…performance on the night of the wedding. It seems he left his wedding bed and returned to the wedding feast far more quickly than is customary or usual."
"Oh!" Artanis exclaimed in surprise. To make such jokes in public, in the presence of royalty…for the aforementioned royalty to be in fact participating in such talk would have been unheard of in the palaces of Tirion. It was conversation far more suited to the sparring ring. Her exclamation had drawn the merry glances of all of the young men and a chorus of laughter. They didn't have to understand Quenya to get the gist of what her brother had said to her or the reason for her surprise. She felt her face flush for a moment, the oncoming embarrassment, the ferocity of injured pride already rankling in her chest, Finrod's protective hand on her arm.
"Such topics are not common conversation over dinner in Valinor, I presume." The voice was deep and smooth with that low, lilting tonal quality that seemed unique to the courtly Doriathrin spoken by the Sindarin nobility. But she didn't need to dissect the cadence of it to know whose it was before she looked up. She knew Celeborn's voice at once and, as ever, it caused her heart to beat so fast that she could almost hear its frantic pounding in her ears, and those felt as if they were burning.
Something about it struck at her pride, that Celeborn could with a simple sentence, a mere word even, make her blush clear to the tips of her ears. Maybe it was because she imagined he was used to getting similar reactions from very many girls and she didn't want to be just one more daft and doe-eyed hanger-on who would follow him about like an insipid puppy. He certainly had enough of those kinds of girls; she'd seen them. The thought irritated her for a moment. If he thought that she was just another…another girl like that, well then she would certainly give him a piece of her mind, even if she couldn't manage the Sindarin for it.
He lounged languidly back with perfect ease against the cushions he was sitting on like some great cat, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips to display a row of perfect white teeth. When did I start thinking about his lips? She wondered. His eyes, green as summer leaves, twinkled merrily and a lock of his long, straight, silver hair fell to pool like water against the dusky skin of the hollow of his throat revealed by the open collar of his tunic. His chest was broad, his shoulders too, waist trim, legs long and stretched out lazily: a warrior's body, not lithe and slender like a courtier's, but with a different sort of grace. Valar save me! She thought, surprised at herself, her mind snapping back to what he had said.
Such topics are not common conversation over dinner in Valinor. The intonation had been somewhat off. It took her a moment to realize that it was all just innuendo disguised, the dinner he had referenced a mere metaphor for… She tried to keep her eyes from widening in shock at the sudden realization. It was a brazen thing to imply and she felt for an instant a reflexive anger, however, that anger was quickly displaced by the second realization that he had not intended it as a slight, but as an invitation. He was giving her a way to join in, a chance to belong with them, here, in Doriath. That meant that over the course of the conversation at his friend's expense, he had happened to notice that she could not grasp the puns, but now he had made one for her benefit, to draw her into the conversation. A pun… The thought delighted her and her anger dissipated as quickly as a summer storm. It was childish and yet…where was the harm in a little fun? For once, any worry of what anyone else would think, any pride of her own completely disappeared.
Her mind worked as furiously as a sparrow's wings and alighted upon a response. "Just a matter of different customs," she said a bit coyly, raising her eyes to meet the prince's and she saw in them a hint of doubt as if he wondered whether she had missed the joke. She planned to dispel that doubt with her next sentence, choosing her words carefully, being very precise about her pronunciation.
"It seems," she said, with a glance and a tilt of her head in the direction of the poor bridegroom, who was laughing merrily despite the jokes at his expense, "that you here in Doriath have a habit of leaving the table unsatisfied. We do not do so in Valinor." The whooping chorus of laughter and clapping informed her that she had gotten the pronunciation just right, that her metaphor had hit its mark as well. Celeborn was laughing too and she saw something more than merriment in his eyes now, a fierce curiosity burning like a flame. She had intrigued him once more and the thought made her far happier than she had thought it would.
"And are you planning on following the Sindarin custom or the Noldorin one then?" Celeborn retorted, his lips now curled in a broad grin, silent laughter still shaking his broad chest even as he spoke, eyes twinkling as he leaned forward towards her. Time for a master stroke. She could feel the excitement bubbling in her chest as she planned the words just right.
She shrugged, "were I to dine with you, Your Highness, it seems I would have no choice but to follow the Sindarin tradition." She was certain it would not have been quite so funny if they weren't all drunk, but she was pleased nonetheless. The men erupted in laughter so loud that it filled the hall, some of them falling flat on their backs, lying amidst the cushions, shaking with mirth, tears leaking from their eyes. And, despite the fact that the joke had been at Celeborn's expense, he was laughing harder than all of them, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, laughing until it seemed that his stomach hurt. She felt a wild sort of joy not only at the fact that she had so successfully played their little game, but that she had made him laugh. It wasn't until then that she became conscious of how tight Finrod's grip on her arm was, but she gently brushed off his hand. There had been no harm in it. What reason did he have to be upset?
The feast continued on to the early hours of the morning and, finding she had a desire to stretch her legs, Artanis stood, wandering aimlessly through the living forest of Thingol's hall and the revelers spread here and there, smiling at the music, and singing, and festivities. There were servants milling about carrying trays of wine and she reached out to take a glass when suddenly she felt the warmth of a hand on the small of her back, and saw a large hand reach out to deftly scoop two glasses from the tray, depositing one in her hands and keeping the other.
She felt her breath catch in her throat as the hand on her back steered her to walk beside its owner. She knew who he was before he spoke; no one else handled himself with such natural assuredness. "Walk with me." It was part question and part presumption that she would. Wordlessly she acceded, feeling a lingering sense of disappointment as his hand left her back, the warmth dissipating from her skin. She took a sip of the wine thinking that her chest felt unusually tight and of course she knew why. The feelings she was having for Celeborn were not natural – she paused in her thoughts, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. Those were words Fëanor would have used. Of course what she felt for Celeborn was natural. Why shouldn't it be natural?
Because he has never seen the light. The thought lingered in her mind and she tried to push it away. There's nothing wrong with it, nothing wrong with him, she told herself. If the opinions of Valinor were correct then by all means she ought to have been disgusted by his touch of a moment earlier, and yet she hadn't been, which must mean that there was nothing wrong with it, nothing wrong with him. But perhaps there is something wrong with me, the thought rose unbidden. Perhaps I ought not relish his touch.
"I hope I haven't offended your brother," Celeborn said quietly, pulling her from her thoughts, and she turned to look at him, his gaze catching hers as she felt her heart begin its frantic pounding.
"Oh no," she said, shaking her head as if it were all nothing. "Finrod is the oldest, you know, sense of duty and all, feels he has to uphold the house of Finarfin. And then I'm the youngest, and his only sister besides so he feels as if he must protect me I suppose." She still felt flustered and so she groped for words like a blind man, unable to grasp hold of the ones she felt would best describe her predicament, with the result being that she felt the explanation she had given was wholly inaccurate.
"Protect you?" Celeborn said, testing the words on his tongue as if they sounded strange to him and he could not quite understand them. "Whatever for?" And Artanis contemplated how she would explain such a thing to a foreign prince, well…not really foreign. They were in his kingdom, his palace after all. She was the foreign one. In fact, now that she thought about explaining it, it did seem rather odd after all.
"Well, because I'm his sister," she supplied. A poor explanation but she could not think of a better one.
"I have a brother," Celeborn said after some thought, "and I feel a need to protect him, but that's only because he's so daft that he doesn't know the blade of a sword from the hilt." He laughed. It was clearly polite self-deprecation and she knew he didn't really think his brother daft. "But you strike me as a sensible person, the sort who doesn't need protecting." He paused for a moment as if he wondered whether he should continue or not. "At least that is what I thought when I first saw you," he said. "There was danger all about you and yet you weren't scared at all and so I thought that perhaps everything else ought to be frightened of you." He laughed.
"Oh," Artanis said with quiet satisfaction, her heart beginning its strange pitter-pat again, pleased beyond measure to know that he had thought about her, that in private his mind had turned to her on occasion. "Well it is because I am a woman, you know." She briefly pondered telling him her mother name, Nerwen, man maiden, but decided against it, finding herself wanting Celeborn to think her anything but mannish. "And men ought to protect women, safeguard their virtue, defend their honor…that sort of thing," she explained, having taken Celeborn's silence for a lack of understanding.
It seemed she was right - that he hadn't understood - because a frown creased his forehead for a moment and he ran his tongue over his teeth. "Are…are the women of your kingdom not capable of defending themselves or of deciding for themselves what is virtuous and honorable, as men are?" He asked seeming confused. "Forgive me," he said then in a rush of words, "I don't mean to sound ignorant or rude. It is only that we have no such custom here."
"It's quite alright," Artanis said. "I've never thought about it before but now that you mention it, it does seem a strange thing doesn't it?" She laughed softly.
"It does indeed," Celeborn said with a smile. "I find I cannot really understand it, but I assure you that is not a sign of any deficiency in your explanation." His smile was nice, Artanis thought, feeling a warm glow in her heart, not the cocky, playful grin of earlier, but a different side of him, kind, intelligent, considerate. He was far more fascinating than any of the jewels that had been in Fëanor's collection, for their beauty had been bound by their structure but each time she spoke to Celeborn she seemed to discover some new facet of his personality. "I intend you no harm," he said, his eyes meeting hers again, a pleasant smile on his face.
"What?" Artanis stammered, feeling her face flush. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she had lost track of the conversation.
"You said your brother felt he needed to protect you," Celeborn replied. "He need not protect you from me, nor need you guard yourself from me. I mean you no harm."
"Oh yes, yes, I know," she stumbled her way through the words, suddenly seeming to have forgotten even the most basic Sindarin. Celeborn either did not notice or was too polite to let it show that he had. For all the rumors she had heard about his temper, there was a certain kindness to him, rough around the edges perhaps, but his intentions were not ill.
"How are you finding Menegroth?" He asked her and, despite how nervous she felt, there was something about him that made her feel comfortable, as if she could tell him the truth and not worry over judgment.
"It is wonderous as ever," she said with a laugh, recalling how foolish he must think her for getting lost that first night, "and yet I must admit that I grow frustrated at times. Things are so different."
"Ah yes," Celeborn said with a small laugh and a grin. There was something about his smiles that was so genuine, she noted with delight. "Well I imagine I would feel much the same were I in Aman. It really was rather brave of you to come all this way to a place that must feel so foreign to you." He paused, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Actually, I was wondering if you might be interested…" he paused again, seeming to be pondering something, on the verge of asking her some question, and her mind ran hither and thither wondering what it might be, if perhaps he would ask her to accompany him to some ball, or to a hunt, but then she felt a gentle hand on her arm and heard the sound of Finrod's quiet voice greeting Celeborn.
The Sindarin prince bowed in reply and made the appropriate response and then Finrod turned to her, saying, "it is late, Artanis, and we should be going." Then he was steering her from the hall and she was going with him. She didn't have the heart to look back at Celeborn because she knew he was most likely watching them leave and if her eyes met his she would spend the rest of the day regretting the conversation they had not been able to continue.
"Finrod," she said at last once they had returned to their rooms, a bit irritated with her brother now, "what need was there for that? I was enjoying my conversation and could have returned in my own time without you."
"Believe me, Artanis," Finrod said, glancing up from the ledgers he was perusing, the ledgers he used to plan Nargothrond. It seemed that was all that was on his mind nowadays. "I'm a man and I know what men think about when they look at women. I've seen the way he looks at you. He's got a fair bit more on his mind than conversation."
"He was very courteous to me," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, more than a bit irritated now.
"He's my friend," Finrod said sounding exasperated, not bothering to look up from his ledger now, "and I know how he is. He's had his romantic liaisons…"
"What does that matter?" Artanis interrupted. "I have yet to meet a prince who hasn't. Seems as if it comes with the crown. It does not mean he is not honorable." But the thought did make her cross. She didn't want to ponder the idea that after they had left the banquet Celeborn may have simply moved on to another girl, and that this other nameless, faceless, hypothetical girl might be laughing at his jokes or listening to the way that his Doriathrin accent rose and fell in that near-enchanting cadence as he spoke, or that his hand, which had only recently been on the small of her back, might now be on someone else's.
What she said had caused Finrod to bite his lip and take a deep breath. He couldn't claim he hadn't done the same. He knew she had observed his, and Angrod, and Aegnor, and all of her Feanorion cousins' numerous and assorted romantic liaisons. It would have been a good idea if she had stopped there while he was effectively in checkmate, but Artanis had never been particularly adept at judging when the appropriate time to stop speaking.
"He does not mean me ill, Finrod. He told me so himself this evening. And whatever he might be, I do believe he is a man of his word," she said, her voice firm. As much as she loved her brother, and as much as she knew he was trying to act in her best interest, his constant mothering was beginning to try her nerves. "And besides, have you ever thought that perhaps when I look at him I have a far bit more on my mind than conversation? And why shouldn't I? I am already far past the age when our people normally marry. Why should it be wrong for me to…to have such desires?" A few months ago she would never have dared to voice such a thought and even now she felt the blush of shame rising on her cheeks at her confession, but she was determined not to back down, not now, not when she had been so close.
Finrod turned quickly, his ledger suddenly forgotten, and looked at his sister as though she had completely lost her mind. "You hardly know him," he said.
"I'd like to know him," she retorted just as quickly. "You yourself were teasing me about Sindarin suitors on our journey…"
"For Varda's sake!" Finrod exclaimed, his eyes gone wide. "I never thought you would take it seriously Artanis! The whole idea is…is impractical!" But Artanis had seen the shadow of something else in his eyes.
"By Yavanna's grace," she said, "I know we all thought in the beginning that the Sindar would be savages…but don't tell me you haven't changed your mind after these months here, after meeting them, after..." she fumbled for words. Surely, surely he couldn't, not Finrod who had marveled over the genius of Sindarin architecture to Thingol, who had expounded at length upon the miracle that was Sindarin plumbing, who had studied Sindarin music with rapt attention. "Finrod, how can you call Celeborn your friend, how can you accept Thingol's money if you think these people are lesser… Our whole family is built upon such mixed marriages! Mother is a Teler and father a Noldo, grandmother a Vanya and Grandfather a Noldo…"
"Of course I don't think them lesser!" Finrod retorted, but Artanis sensed that she had struck a little too near the truth for his comfort. In the next instant his anger left him and his shoulders slumped, a defeated look evident in every feature of his face. "Artanis…" he raised a hand and then let it fall in a gesture unfinished. "I just…I want you to think of what you are…what you might be getting yourself into. I don't want to see you unhappy, but where could this flirtation between you and Celeborn go? Think of the danger you could be putting us in! He's the crown prince of Doriath and whatever his feelings for you might be, he will forever put his kingdom first. The quarrels between his people and ours…they'll only divide the two of you. And suppose he should learn of," Finrod paused, unable to say the word, "of what we did. What then? Could you bear to see his affection for you turn to hatred? He can be a cold man Artanis, colder than you know. He would hunt you down himself to avenge what we did. No world would be wide enough for you to escape his wrath."
"This is your fault!" Artanis seethed, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "I never wanted to keep this secret. You forced it on me!"
"What does it matter?" Finrod cried. "Why can you not see that I only have your best interest at heart? I don't want to see you hurt, Artanis! You've already had to endure so much and I see the way it pains you. I don't want to see your heart shattered the way that mine was when Amarië turned away from me!" His last words, nearly shouted, had torn a strangled sob loose from his throat, and he dropped his head to his hands while Artanis fell quiet, shocked into silence. Finrod had never spoken before of what had happened with his ruptured engagement.
"Finrod, I…" she tried quietly, hoping to reassure him that she had not meant to cause him such distress, but her brother held out a trembling hand, bidding her remain silent for a moment longer. At last he raised his head from his hands, taking a deep breath, but Artanis could see that his eyes were rimmed in red and the beginnings of tears.
"Artanis…" he began softly, "we'll be leaving for Nargothrond in a few short months and what then? It is impossible to keep a courtship going over such a long distance, with you in Nargothrond and he in Doriath, hundreds of miles dividing you. I just don't want to see your hopes dashed or your heart broken."
"Maybe…" Artanis uncrossed and then re-crossed her arms, shifting nervously. The thought had only just now occurred to her but, now that she had thought it consciously, she discovered she had actually been pondering the notion for a very long time, ever since their arrival in Doriath. "Maybe…" she began again, taking a deep breath, "maybe I don't want to go to Nargothrond. Maybe I want to stay here in Doriath."
The hardest part of saying it was watching the way it crushed her brother while he was already laid so low, the happiness that fled from his blue eyes and the hope that seemed to dissipate from him like mist at dawn. And yet she would not willingly do Finrod the injustice of lying to him.
"But," Finrod said, his mind rebelling at the thought, "but Artanis we were in this together, you and I, this shared dream…to build a kingdom of our own." He seemed to want to say more but he couldn't think of the words.
"Your kingdom," she said quietly, conscious of the hurt it would bring him, "not mine."
"More yours than Doriath will ever be, even if Celeborn were to take you to wife," Finrod said, swallowing hard. "What of your dreams?"
"I know," Artanis replied, "but I'm beginning to think that maybe I didn't really know what I wanted back then." Back then when their mother had stood in the door of their house, hurling tears and curses at her children marching to rebellion against the Valar. Back then when Amarië, Finrod's betrothed, had begged him weeping not to leave her. Back then when they had been caught unwittingly and unwillingly in the quagmire of death at Alqualonde as her mother's family was slain around her. Back then when their father had turned back, waiting, hoping they too would return to Valinor…when they had finally lost sight of him sitting on his horse, still waiting. Had he ridden back alone through the streets of a now empty city, walked through the halls of a house now devoid of children, broken the news of her family's murder at his brother's hands to his Telerin wife? She knew Finrod's feelings better than he thought she did. She knew loneliness, exile, abandonment, and yet here…in Doriath it seemed that at last she had the opportunity to banish the ghosts of her past.
She knew well enough when Finrod wanted to be alone and she could see that now was such a time so, squeezing his hands once more and pressing a gentle kiss to his brow, she retreated into her own rooms. She was almost certain that her brother had wept after their conversation and the thought plagued her as she lay in bed, trying fruitlessly to fall asleep. Certainly she had not wanted to hurt her brother so horribly and yet the longer she stayed in Doriath the more certain she was that her future lay here, in this kingdom, with the Sindar.
It was not all because of Celeborn. But she had to admit to herself that a great part of it, an irresponsible part, irresponsible because she knew him so little, was because of him. Something about him made her feel different than she had ever felt before, perhaps because he treated her differently than anyone else ever had. Even tonight…she rolled onto her back so that she could gaze up at the stars that reminded her so much of him…he had not scolded her for her pride nor attempted to stifle it as so many had in such a patronizing fashion. Instead, he had redirected it, helped her turn it into something else, into humor, into conversation, and she hadn't minded so much that her Sindarin was poor, not when she was talking to him. It had simply come so naturally, all of it. She could feel a smile spreading across her face though there was no one to see it, and when she closed her eyes he was all that she could see.