Fledgling

In Cavern's Shade: 7th Chapter

"When he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun."

– William Shakespeare

Author's note: Just a warning that I will definitely be upping the rating of this story to M in the near future. I know I have already been walking the line between PG-13 and M but I think it's still about as violent what you would see on a primetime cop drama on public TV, which is why I have kept it as PG-13. However, I am introducing the Feanorians soon and they cross a lot of lines. If this bothers anyone please let me know.

Also, on an unrelated note, if anyone ever has any questions about anything just let me know and I'll answer in the next author's note. Many thanks to Oleanne, Nuredhel, Annafan, I.H.N, and EverleighBain for your lovely and helpful reviews and criticism!

Already the night was nearly halfway through when Celeborn heard the rapping upon his door and the following murmur of voices as his servant greeted whomever it was who had come to call. His ears perked with interest for things in Menegroth had been dull without Finrod about and with Beleg and Mablung being constantly on the borders nowadays and they were made duller still by his broken arm, which prevented him from doing most productive things that he enjoyed and left him to overindulge in his vices.

And, speaking of vices…as he looked up he saw that his servant had ushered the Lady Artanis into his chambers and he sat up a bit straighter, for he had been slouching upon the chaise on which he was seated and he did not want to appear hunched before her, of all people. He fumbled to put away the ledgers that he had barely been paying attention to, the monotonous recordings of the complaints that had been brought to him that evening in court.

"The Lady Artanis if you please your highness," the servant said and Celeborn nodded, dismissing his man, his heart eager.

However, in his haste to put away the ledgers he only managed to drop them completely and she had the good grace, backed by a sensible upbringing, to feign as though she had not seen. It was somewhat unsettling that she was here now in his quarters, not that he was upset by it, no, not at all, quite the opposite in fact; it was only that it was rather like finding a pearl on the beach, pleasant yet unexpected, and he found himself feeling unprepared, wondering what he should do with such unlooked for bounty.

It was, if anything, almost so good a thing that he could not quite bring himself to believe it. For he had, for a long while now, waited and hoped for some movement from her and now, at last, here she was. He found himself wishing that he had kept his rooms more tidy, for they were among the most splendid in Menegroth and he would have wished for her to see them in that magnificence. Thus it was with some slight disappointment that he looked about to see idle stacks of parchment, books piled here and there, plants growing rampant all over everything, opened bottles of ink dotting the rooms, a knife embedded in the surface of a writing desk, and a half mounted deer's head left abandoned in a corner. And yet, even if his chambers had been at the height of their glory, they still would not have compared to the majesty of her.

A village girl with the air of a queen she seemed, for there was nothing regal about her garments, indeed they were very plain: a simple summery, green, cotton gown over which was still pinned a white apron. Her hair was sloppily tied up in a white kerchief and her face was a bit pink, as if from the heat of a fire, trace amounts of flour powdering her nose. She looked positively lovely, even in disarray, or perhaps even more so because of it, and she was all the more beautiful for the fact that in her hands she bore a silver tray of what appeared to be his favorite cakes, small morsels of golden pastry filled with rich custard and topped with nutmeg. He could not help but smile and she smiled in return as he hurried to pick the ledgers up and push them onto a table.

"Galadriel," he said by way of greeting.

"Your highness," she dipped into a small curtsey, her face alight with mock decorum and a hint of what he perceived to be nervousness. Nevertheless, she still managed to roll her eyes at the use of that name. "I thought it might behoove me to make some sort of further recompense for the discomfort and trouble I have doubtlessly caused you." He doubted not that there was truth to her words and, yet, he suspected some motive other than the one that she had suggested, for his arm had been broken for a while, and she had not sought to make recompense before now. In time, he thought, he would draw it out of her.

"Just Celeborn, please," he said in response to her feigned decorum. "And that was certainly kind of you, though unnecessary I assure you. However, as you have already made them, and as they appear to be my favorite, I certainly cannot refuse." He smiled at her and gestured with his good hand to the table with the ledgers beside the lounge upon which he sat. "If you will share them with me then I shall consider us even and will refrain from having you prosecuted for crippling the future of Doriath."

"Future of Doriath," Artanis snorted and rolled her eyes with a laugh, her polite façade falling away, but she set the tray down on the table nevertheless. "Am I to suppose by that that you mean yourself? How very bleak."

"You wound me lady," he said with a laugh, yet it was not true, for her playful banter, as ever, only served to cause his heart to swell with joy. "If you would like, there is some wine and there are several glasses in that cupboard over there," he said, indicating it to her. "My apologies. I would be a better host but someone has broken my arm." Artanis narrowed her eyes at him, shaking her head as she went to fetch the wine and glasses.

"I would have thought that you would have healed by now," she said. "It has been almost two months has it not?"

Celeborn chuckled. "Indeed. It seems that I am a rather troublesome patient. If I could only obey the healer's orders properly then I would certainly have healed by now."

"Well then, let us lay the blame squarely where it belongs. That is your fault rather than mine," said Artanis.

It appeared that despite the recent intimacy that had grown between them, the barbed humor would continue and she was glad for it, for Celeborn proved an intriguing sparring partner both with weapons and with words. Like an onion, the more layers of him she peeled away the more complex he seemed to grow until she found herself somewhat overwhelmed by his potency. She returned momentarily, setting the glasses upon the table and filling them with strong spirits. He raised an eyebrow.

"Whiskey." He said plainly and she stopped pouring.

"If you prefer wine – "

"No," he shook his head and laughed. "Whiskey will do nicely. It is only that…well, I wonder if it would offend your Noldorin sensibilities to be drinking such strong liquor alone in a male's chambers." Before, perhaps due to his surprise and delight, he had not thought of it but now it dawned on him that this might not be considered an appropriate situation amongst her people, though to the Sindar it was certainly not unusual, and his less than comfortable conversations with Finrod regarding Artanis came to mind.

"My Noldorin sensibilities," she repeated, shaking her head with a grin. "Do I strike you as a woman who cannot handle herself?" she said with a laugh, giving him a look as though he were half mad while she topped off the glasses.

"On the contrary. That was not what concerned me," he replied.

"Then I assure you that I can handle my brother," she told him, putting the cork back in the bottle. How easily she had discerned his mind. She saw Celeborn relax and laugh at her words. "So I have hit the mark," she said and he watched like a man entranced as she raised the glass of golden liquor to her lips and drank fully, as a soldier might, but certainly not a lady. He thought her glorious.

"Is there anything else you desire of me my lord, now that I have brought you refreshment and poured your liquor?" Artanis said in mockery.

"Many more things," he said with a grin, "and I will leave you to conjecture what they are." He was pleased to see that she appeared just a little bit shocked, her pretty lips hanging slack for a moment.

"I have given you those," she said, pointing at the cakes and raising one golden brow. "And I can take them away just as easily. You know I will make good on my word."

"I thought you came of your own accord?" He said. He did so love teasing her. "In that case you are free to leave at any time if my conduct seems unfit to you. However, I shall act as I please within my own chambers."

"I suppose I should not be surprised, seeing as you are well known for your impudence." She seated herself regally after handing him his glass, a sour look upon her face, but he knew it for the farce that it was, for a simple glance at her eyes told him that her mind was working quickly to think of a way to turn his joke back upon him.

"Will you act the prude now Artanis?" He murmured with a grin. "Perhaps I do not have your foresight, but I do not need it to discern your thoughts, or to understand what it is that you want from me." It was bold of him perhaps, and his heart seemed to catch in his throat even as he said it, for he had his suspicions but they were yet unconfirmed and he was pleased to see the faintest blush bloom upon her cheeks. There was nothing that delighted him quite as being the cause of her consternation.

Her eyes narrowed and her lips twisted in a smirk. "Is that so?" Was all she said, for she knew not whether he was bluffing or whether he had truly discerned her thoughts, though her heart was certainly racing as if he had. 'The Sindar are less wise and more dangerous,' Finrod had said. And she could understand what he meant by it when she was with Celeborn for he could turn from a well-mannered prince to a veritable rouge in the matter of an instant and, at times, she almost felt as though he were some great cat about to devour her. Yet she was not afraid, no, in the recesses of her mind she was aware that she sought him out, goaded him into it.

"It must be your imagination," she said with a grin as he popped another of the cakes into his mouth, watching her with intensity. "But tell me how are the cakes?" She took a long drink from her whiskey as he ate another. "I trust they are to your satisfaction?" And she was pleased to see him nearly choke at her overly innocent tone as he surveyed her now with suspicion. She could play at his game.

"Why?" Celeborn asked. "Have you done something to them?" For he had belatedly realized that she had not yet partaken herself.

"Nothing." Artanis grinned, popping one into her mouth and Celeborn breathed a sigh of relief, "although, I rather wish I had, just to perturb you." He laughed.

"They are excellent," Celeborn told her, "as good as Melian's, truly. You have my thanks." They truly were, and made all the better by the fact that Artanis had made them, and made them especially for him.

"I am glad to hear it," she replied. "It is her own recipe and she instructed me in how to make them after I told her I wanted to make things good between us."

Celeborn took a drink as Artanis stood to remove her apron. He watched over the rim of his glass as she untied it from her slender waist and unpinned the top from her bodice, folding it to set it on the seat beside her. Reaching up, she untied her kerchief and her hair tumbled free in waves of gold, lit by the light of the fire that also cast delicate shadows in the hollow of her neck, along the line of her graceful shoulder. She had flour on her nose but he said nothing of it, for it added a certain charm to her appearance.

"Why did you come here?" He asked her.

"You must be more specific when you are asking me those sorts of questions Celeborn," she said, if only to stave off the inevitable. Before he had made her feel deliciously uncomfortable, now she felt actually uncomfortable, but, after all, she had initiated this precisely because she had wanted to explain, as much as she dreaded it. But perhaps things had not changed after all, for he still seemed to enjoy her company, despite what he had seen. But no, she twisted her hands in her dress, she could not fathom how he could possibly bring himself to care, truly care, for one so ruined as her.

"You know what I mean," he said in reply, a bit perturbed, in truth, with her constantly putting him off with such pointless phrases as though he were a child who would not inquire further. And why could she not give him a straight answer? Had they not said that they were friends? Were they not both certain that it was something more than friendship that they felt for one another?

"I do not want you to think me weak," she said, her voice falling and she felt a strange trembling in her chest for the last time they had spoken had been the first time that they had shared conversation of any intimacy and that had been accidental but this time, this time she had sought to establish it again, if only to explain her strange behavior when last they had met, but now she worried that perhaps she had intruded where she ought not to have done so.

"Tell me, and be straight with me this time," he said, impatient now that she had shown some strange reticence, "what are you so frightened of?" He was a prince, a prince of Doriath and he was not accustomed to having matters of importance withheld from his knowledge.

Of you, she thought, that you will consume me as fire consumes wood until nothing but charcoal remains, and of myself, that I wish to be consumed, that if I embrace you as I wish I will be destroyed.

"The woman you saw last, that is not who I am, it is not who I wish to be," she replied, and she doubted not that, like him, her agitation was present in her tone of voice.

"It is who you are," Celeborn replied leaning forward, serious now but still impatient. He had given her no cause to distrust him yet she distrusted him nevertheless. It was the first time that he found himself angry with her, though he knew that anger was but the child of frustration. Why could she not see the woman that he had seen, brilliant and blinding as the rising sun, Galadriel?

"If you saw me as I truly was then you would have no regard for me at all," she said in a rush of tense words, her breast heaving now with anger. He did not understand, how could he? He knew nothing of the darkening of Valinor, of the Kinslaying, or the Helcaraxe, of all she had endured. And, if he knew aught of it then he would turn her out into this pitiless world alone, a world where she could not find him, and there was no cage more narrow than exile; that she knew all too well. This had all been folly, all of it; she saw it clearly now and wished nothing more than to be far, far away from him, far from that lingering gaze of his that so easily surmounted the citadel of her heart, her mind.

"Will you not let me decide that for myself?" He cried. But she rose, though whether the greater part of her motivation for doing so was fear or anger she could not tell and, turning, she began to make for the door. She only knew that she felt numb and that something about him frightened her more than she had ever been frightened, for when she was near him she could not help but feel as though every secret that she sought to keep hidden would tumble from her mouth and, unrestrained, that she would tell him the whole, sordid, unadulterated tale.

"Artanis!" He called, his voice loud, angry, the tone of a man who felt his hopes slipping through his fingers like water. She turned, her hand upon the door but he rushed forward taking her hand in his, holding it tight. The anger was gone from his eyes now and had been replaced with a certain fervent urgency, as of a man seeking to save the last vestiges of that which he held most dear.

"Whatever you are running from," he said, "it will catch you in the end. Wherever you go, your past will follow you. You cannot escape it or pretend that it belongs to some other self, for you cannot divide your fea thusly; there is only you. Perhaps you will not tell me why you left Aman, though I have inquired, but even though that is so, I can still surmise that given time enough you will grow to loath this land just as much as Aman, if not more so. For the problem is not the place, but rather, something that you carry with you, inside of you. How can you control your visions and find this freedom you seek if you run from your demons forever? Will you not turn and face them, even if I stand by your side, could we not prevail?"

"And who are you to lecture me as though I am a petulant child?" She cried, tearing her hand from his grasp.

"Your friend, or so I thought," he said, his tone terse, his face tense. But Artanis made no reply for she only wished to flee to her own chambers where she might shed tears alone over that most fantastic of things that she had just thrown away, as though it were nothing more than a scrap of paper. But what other choice had she? They had made her swear to secrecy and he… there was no greater threat to that secrecy than whatever it was that she held in her heart for him.

Celeborn stood at the door in silence until long after the echoes of her fleeing footfalls could no longer be heard in the deserted corridor before he shut the door quietly and returned to his chambers, prodding the dying embers of the fire for a moment with the poker, remembering how their glow had lit her face. He tossed the poker down somewhat angrily and it clattered on the floor, shedding ashes upon the carpet where it had landed, but he cared not.

He sat down but sprang up again almost immediately for the argument had made him restless and he wanted to pace or, better yet, to go shoot something but the dawn had nearly arrived and they would all think him mad going out for target practice at this hour alone so he paced instead.

He had seen it before, that fierce flaring of stubborn pride and that strange shame - that time he had touched her hair, foolishly, boldly, like a little boy reaching for a toy. She had rebuked him with hollow words, reminding him of the penalty for his transgression had they been in Valior, yet once more her eyes and her words had not rhymed. For in her eyes had been a longing, as though she had only mentioned Valinor so that he might remind her, as he had, that they were not there and that here, at least, she was free to do as she desired.

But this time his words had been met with retaliation and, finally, with flight, like a deer running from the arrow that pursues it, yet she had never struck him as one to flee in the face of adversity and he wondered what it was that frightened her so, was it him? Had he done something horribly wrong? Perhaps he had intruded where he had not been wanted. Perhaps he had misread her polite and spirited demeanor for love where there was none.

He sat down heavily and the anger deflated from him like a bellows expelling air, a hollow ache seeping into the place where it had been. He had only wanted to show her that the freedom she sought was within her reach, that she was strong enough to surmount this problem and that he thought her courageous, that she need not fear happiness, yet she had recoiled as though he had forced a scalding hot kettle into her hands. But perhaps it had been too much – a seed planted in untilled earth and, as ever it seemed, he found himself regretting the words he had spoken and the intimacy that he had, perhaps, forced upon her.

"Faster!" Luthien sent up a laugh and a war whoop as she charged ahead. The princess sped out of sight but they could all hear the crunch of her horse's hooves over fallen leaves as she circled back around through the woods to join up with them. Emerging from the trees wearing a broad grin, she bent forward to pat her black mare on the neck. "Oh do come with me, one of you. This is the dullest hunt I have ever attended! Artanis, come on!"

"If you tire your horse out before we have even sighted any game then you will have a very dull time indeed," Celeborn shouted back at her. He was in extraordinarily good spirits now that his arm had healed but he kept his distance from Artanis, riding instead beside Thingol while Luthien led the party and Beleg Strongbow rode at the king's other hand. Behind the Doriathrin nobles rode Artanis and an assorted party of courtiers including Oropher and Venessiel, who had been riding side by side all morning, conversing in hushed tones.

There were also several of Thingol's favorite huntsmen, one of whom was in charge of the pack of exuberant hounds that followed them, and a few of Luthien's ladies. The followers were mostly along for fun rather than sport and, of the ladies, only Artanis and Luthien were dressed in hunting gear. Artanis spurred her palomino mare, a gift from Melian, passing by Celeborn's chestnut stallion. As she rode by to join Luthien, the great gray hunting owl that sat on his shoulder turned its orange eyes towards her quizzically even though the prince himself seemed reluctant to meet her glance. Artanis tightened her lips over he teeth as she passed, too embarrassed at their recent argument to even give him a proper greeting.

"Excellent!" Luthien exclaimed as Artanis joined her.

"We are moving so slowly because there are far too many people in our party," the Noldorin lady told her friend in a conspiratorial tone.

"I know! I told father not to invite everyone and his brother but, well, you know how he is: the more the merrier." Luthien groaned. "I only want to go fast. I'd fly if I could."

"Perhaps if you let the prince's great honking owl catch ahold of you then you could fly. It looks as though it could lift a ton." Said Artanis with a wry grin, glancing back at the owl. It seemed that Celeborn had been watching her for their eyes inadvertently met and then the both of them looked away quickly.

"Valar, I hate that thing." Luthien growled under her breath. "He uses it to keep all of the small game to himself before I can even get a shot off. It isn't fair." She scowled and just then the hounds began baying. Suddenly alert, Luthien took her bow to hand, her keen eyes scanning the brush ahead as the hounds charged by. Artanis gripped her spear, hearing those behind her ready themselves as well.

"A fox!" Luthien exclaimed, before charging ahead, drawing an arrow from her quiver and loosing it. Artanis followed, hearing her ever hasty friend curse as her shot missed. Yet, as Luthien leant down from her charging horse to snatch the arrow up from where it was embedded in the ground, the great gray owl soared over her head, diving violently into a mass of ferns. There was a brief scuffle and a yelp before the owl rose triumphant, a dead fox clasped tightly in its talons and, taking wing, returned to its master's shoulder.

Artanis reined her horse in and turned about to see Thingol, Celeborn, and Beleg laughing together. Ah well, the prince may have had first blood but she would have her blood yet. None of them had seen her hunt before and she hoped to surprise them with her skill. Luthien returned to her side looking as though steam would momentarily billow from her ears, her grey eyes flashing angrily.

"You're a thief Celeborn!" She called.

"You had your chance and you missed cousin!" He taunted her. Just then the hounds started baying again and charged off into an open meadow. There was a momentary flurry as everyone began to spur their horses and then their party burst forth into that same meadow, their horses breaking forth into a gallop. Artanis leaned low across her mare's neck, enjoying the feel of the wind in her face. Her spear almost seemed to tremble with excitement in her hand. Celeborn's owl flew high overhead as the hounds charged across the field and then the prey came into sight.

"A boar, a boar!" She heard Thingol shout as his bay mare drew abreast of her palomino. The horses strained at the reins, wanting to go faster, the first time they had been allowed to run today. The boar charged through a thicket, still far ahead, turning towards the west and Artanis turned to cut across the arc of its path, hoping to close the gap but Beleg and Celeborn had anticipated the boar's movement as well and she found herself running with them now. Both of them had their hunting bows at the ready and, as they began to slowly close the distance to the boar, they released their arrows. She heard them whistle through the air and, while Beleg's struck, Celeborn's embedded itself in the ground. She saw Beleg turn back and taunt the prince, though his words were lost in the racket of the baying of the hounds. Celeborn made some reply and laughed before leaning down from the saddle as they came upon his arrow, his head nearly touching the ground at a full gallop as he grabbed it.

Artanis urged her mare forwards. The leggy horse was a fast mount and she was able to outpace the stockier horses that Celeborn and Beleg rode. Just as Celeborn had predicted, Luthien had tired her horse out before the hunt and Artanis could hear her following at a distance, fuming no doubt. Thingol was approaching once more, his magnificent bay charger eating up the ground, and Artanis's mare reveled in the competition, increasing her pace. They were steadily closing the gap and her heart was pounding in anticipation; she could see the boar quite clearly now.

A stone fence rose up in front of them and their horses leapt over it but Artanis hardly noticed it for her eyes were focused on the boar, anticipating his path, considering the ways in which she could reduce that distance. One of Celeborn's white tipped arrows flew over her head, striking this time in the boar's shoulder. Thingol and Artanis's horses were gaining ground now and she was only just realizing how large a boar truly was, how long and sharp its tusks were, a far different beast than the deer she had hunted with her cousins in Aman. But she did not feel fear, rather, she anticipated being the one to fell the beast, to triumph. She lifted her brass-handled spear over her shoulder, relaxing her grip on it: tense throws make for poor blows; her father's words echoed in her mind. The blade of her spear was long and sharp, as long as her forearm, and she would strike true with it. She was determined. She spurred her mare, willing her to overtake Thingol's charger, for the king was readying his bow and it had a longer range than her spear.

Somehow her mare found an extra burst of energy and surged forward. It was still a little too far but perhaps she could do it, perhaps. Yet, if she did not take this chance then Thingol would certainly fell the beast before she. Even now he was sighting his arrow; this was her last opportunity. Breathing out slowly, Artanis willed herself to be calm as she drew back her arm, rising tall in the saddle, her muscles supple and relaxed, and in one swift motion she let the great spear fly forth from her hand, her arm extending all the way forward after she had released, following the trajectory of the missile just as her father had taught her. The spear flew like a meteor, straight and true to strike home between the boar's shoulder blades, dropping it like a rock. The boar gave one last shriek and shiver, then it moved no more. Artanis reined her mare to a stop, patting her sweaty shoulder and offering words of thanks, and the horse pranced about, nearly as pleased with herself as her mistress was. Thingol drew up alongside her, breathing as hard as she.

"Artanis Finarfiniel!" He cried with a broad smile. "Very well done indeed!" He reached out, offering her his hand and she grasped it, smiling back. "You do the house of Finwe proud! There is no doubt!"

"I should certainly hope so," Artanis replied, smiling back at the king, "for it was under my father and grandfather's tutelage that I learned to hunt. Yet it is my first time to fell a boar – indeed, my first time hunting one." Thingol laughed.

"Then I am all the more impressed, though not very surprised I must say, given your gumption."

She dismounted as the other riders arrived and pulled her spear from the boar before wiping the blade on the grass.

"Superb, Lady Artanis." Said Beleg. "I congratulate you!"

"My thanks Sir. From you there could be no more flattering compliment. But, certainly I could never have done it without your aid, and that of the prince." She bowed to Celeborn. He said nothing but she noted the look of admiration in his eyes and hope fluttered in her chest that perhaps not all was lost.

They hunted the rest of the morning but, aside from a few rabbits, they had not caught anything else of much significance by the time that they returned to Menegroth as dusk was dawning. There they picnicked upon the rabbits and the fox while they began to roast the pig over an open fire and the ladies spent the early hours of the evening relaxing on the lawn before the gates of the city while the men tended to the horses and fussed over the proper roasting of the pig like mother hens. By the time that the sky was pitch black, the boar was roasted through, the crispy skin crackling and popping, a savory, mouthwatering aroma permeating the air as the fat dripped on the fire. They gathered to sit on logs around the fire as more people joined them from Menegroth, including Melian, who seated herself beside her husband. Luthien, already a little bit tipsy, passed around cups and cold pitchers of ale before seating herself beside Artanis.

"Drink up before it gets warm!" She cried and a great cheer and the clinking of glasses was heard. Some of the hunters approached the roasting pig and began to cut off meat, passing it around the circle on trenchers, and Artanis and Luthien feasted happily upon the hot and tasty boar meat until they could eat no more and their fingers were burnt and greasy. Artanis could not resist licking them; she had never tasted anything more delicious.

Just then, Dairon, who had joined them from Menegroth, Galathil, and Beleg arose, beginning to sing a loud and pun filled song about Artanis's slaying of the boar. The lady herself rose and curtsied deeply in mockery of their ridiculous tune, enjoying the hubbub of conversation and the pleasant, festive atmosphere.

"Drink! Drink!" Luthien urged as Artanis downed her fourth glass of ale. "To your victory most noble!" The princess refilled their glasses and they drained them once more before she rose and excused herself saying, "I must go speak to mother!" What was comical in this statement Artanis could not discern but Luthien seemed to find something humorous about what she had said, for she headed off on feet that were now less than steady, laughing all the way. Artanis felt a bit lightheaded and reckless herself and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the fire upon her face and the hot, lazy summer air against her skin.

"May I?" She heard the deep cool voice from behind her, that voice that haunted her dreams, and felt her pulse quicken. She knew immediately who it was before she opened her eyes and she tensed a bit, wondering what it was that he had come to say.

"Of course," She said, gesturing more wildly than she had intended to the empty seat next to her due to a combination of nerves and alcohol.

"I was not sure whether you would ever welcome my presence again," he said softly so that the others would not hear, and Artanis felt a pang of guilt and sadness shoot through her hot as lightening. For she had regretted their argument almost as soon as it had finished and yet her pride had been too great to return to him and ask forgiveness.

But, as she had lain in her bed that day, tossing and turning while sleep evaded her, it had come to her mind that perhaps he had not been accusing her of anything after all and that he had only meant to help her in his own way. But, more than that, she had worried that she may have carelessly discarded any opportunity she may have had with him and it was not until that worry was present in her mind that she realized that she did desire him after all. In light of that understanding, every other challenge seemed surmountable. For who were Finrod and Maedhros to tell her what she could and couldn't do or, even, what secrets she could choose to keep or divulge? And perhaps Celeborn was right, perhaps she had not given him due credit, it was his choice, not hers, whether or not he wished to court her, just as it was her choice, and not her family's, whether or not she would court him.

"My Lord," she said, feeling quite brave all of a sudden as she turned to meet his gaze, "I am sorry for the harsh words that passed between us the last time that we spoke. I grew frightened and in my fright I was less than courteous to you, I -"

"Nay!" He interrupted her, as though the words had lain in wait in his mind and now that the time had come to divulge them they spilled forth. "It is I who should apologize, for you came to me with a heavy heart and I only increased that burden. I sought to solve all of your problems for you and it did not occur to me until later that perhaps you were only seeking a compassionate ear."

"No, no! Think nothing of it!" She exclaimed. "Consider it all forgiven and forgotten! But, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

"Of course!" He said. "it is already done."

There was a certain tension now between them for it seemed as though the final obstacle had been surmounted and the path cleared but now they were each afraid to tread it. "Might I offer you more ale?" Celeborn asked, breaking the long silence almost frantically, and Artanis nodded more vigorously than was usual.

"Yes, yes," she said, holding out her cup and she knew not whether it was because her hand was shaking or his was, but only half of the ale that he poured managed to make its way into her glass and the rest spilled on the ground. It did, however, seem to alleviate the tension between them and they laughed.

"I am not drunk! I swear it!" Celeborn exclaimed, as he filled his own cup and the two of them quaffed deeply.

"How very dull!" She exclaimed, laughing, and it seemed that at her joke the better part of his boldness returned.

"You said you spoke out of fear," he said, quirking a silver brow at her. "Tell me Lady, what was it that had you frightened? For I find it difficult to imagine that you could be frightened of anything."

"You, your Royal Highness," she said, laughing. Perhaps I am a bit drunk, she thought to herself with a smile.

"Aha," Celeborn grinned with a quirk of his eyebrow, "I must admit, I have found that many a young lady is intimidated by a handsome lad. But fear not, Galadriel, I am not so very dangerous."

"You arrogant fool!" She laughed, prodding his side with her elbow. "It isn't that at all! It is that frightful look you give me on occassion! Sometimes I am not sure if, if you mean to kill me or …" She paused. I am too drunk and now I have dug myself a pit to fall into, she thought. But no, not a pit, an opportunity, if she were brave enough to say it. She took a deep breath "to kill me or to make love to me," her words nearly caught in her throat as his eyes slid over to meet hers, intrigued, and she swallowed hard. Well it was out now and she could not take it back. The light-hearted humor had evaporated from them, leaving behind on his face that same raw look and grin of which she had just spoken.

"I assure you," he said quietly, his voice husky, "It is not the former." They sat in baited silence, their gazes locked. It seemed that the world around them had gone completely still or else disappeared entirely and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest and took another drink of her ale, finishing the glass, for she needed that courage for what she wanted to say next.

"And the latter?" She asked boldly, for when she looked into his eyes, which even now bore a glint that struck her with some strange and thrilling sensation, and saw the hint of a grin that played about his lips, thicker than those of a Noldo, she felt as if he was demanding, requiring something of her, as if he wished her to rise to challenge him as if in battle, warrior to warrior. And suddenly it struck her all at once, not that she had romantic feelings for Celeborn, for she been aware of this for a while now, but instead by the reason that courtship had heretofore seemed irksome to her: it had made her feel intolerably weak. Yet, when Celeborn looked at her now she could feel the power growing within her like the swell of a river about to flood.

The silver-haired prince shifted in his seat, thinking, and presently he asked her, "would you speak of that?"

And perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was that strange courage that he seemed to ever draw forth from her, but she nodded confidently and said, "yes, I would."

"Then shall we quit this place?" he asked her.

Artanis felt her pulse quicken, for she knew not the marriage customs of the Sindar and she wondered if by that he meant to ask her if she would lie with him and so she said, "and where will we go?" But even if he told her that he wished to take her to his bed she wondered that she might agree. Indeed, she almost hoped for it. Long had they been carefully toeing the tightrope between friends and lovers. Yet her heart did not quake or tremble, but beat within her chest like a mighty drum and she felt its power even down to her fingertips, her entire body echoing with its rhythm, and wondered that she had grown so bold and fearless in the face of love.

And Celeborn laughed softly, the grin on his face indicating that he found himself pleased by her and this in turn pleased Artanis for he had not been put off by her boldness as many of the princes of the Noldor had, but welcomed it. "Only to the willows there," he said, pointing at a stand of trees not so very far away, but far enough as to be private. "For if we would speak of that then I wish to be alone with you, if you will allow it. Yet that is close enough that these here will not wonder if we have been lost."

"Then fill my cup," she said, "and I shall go with you." He did as she bid him, spilling not a drop, for this time he had the security of knowing his intentions. Then he rose, offering her his arm and side by side they walked the distance to the willow grove. The grass there was lush and verdant, the long, slender branches of the willow, shining as if they had been rubbed with silver, trailed in the gentle streams that ran there as the wind rustled gently in the leaves through which moonlight softly filtered. It was a beautiful place and peaceful, though touched by a primordial quality that made it both strange and majestic.

"Are you not afraid to walk alone in the forest at night with a dark elf by your side?" He asked her, eyes playful, as they made their way through the ferns and beneath the canopy of willow branches.

"Should I have cause to be Celeborn?" She teased him in return, unafraid to call him by his name now that there were no others around to bear witness. "Perhaps it is you who ought to fear me. After all, am I not a Noldo, one of the 'sorcerous elves' as your people say?"

"There are those among your people who would say that you have followed me now only because I have bewitched you with my dark enchantments," he said and she felt as though his eyes might burn clear through her.

"And have you?" She asked, a grin playing about her lips.

"I do not well understand what your people mean when they use the words 'bewitch' or 'enchant' but if by it they intend to say that I can show you things to inspire the heart then yes, that I can do. Is that what you desire?" And Artanis could feel her heart pounding in anticipation.

"Yes," she said, the word dropping from her lips, seemingly without thought, or else born of a question so long contemplated that the answer was already known to her. And, nearly as soon as the word had traversed the path of her lips did the world seem to swell around her, the stars drawing so close that it looked as though she might be able to pluck them from the sky and in the air the whispers of a thousand birds and beasts and rivers and trees, beneath her feet the earth moved as though it too had a heart, primeval, pulsating, pumping life throughout all of Arda. And this pulsing energy forced trees up through the ground, and splintered rocks as though they were fragile as glass, and compelled water to flow forth into rivers and streams as though a wellspring of life lay at the very center of the earth and was forcing its way out in an inexorable deluge.

Artanis found her heart racing, her breath coming in deep gasps as her lips parted, gingerly, tentatively, ever so slightly in silent ecstasy, eyes shining with a luster as though shot through with stars, body trembling in fragile bliss until at last the power ebbed like the tide at dawn, leaving her floating in its wake. She seemed to come to then, though whether she dreamed to wake or woke to a dream she could not tell for she felt as though in that very moment he had shown her all of Arda itself at its birth, and all of this he had done without her skin having known the touch of his hand.

He grinned, watching her with those eyes of his, eyes filled with a darkness that, as ever, intrigued her, that drew her to him like a moth to a flame, enticing her even as unto her own sweet destruction. A strange sort of enchantment it had been, wild and unrestrained: as he was. And now that she had but tasted of it once, she wanted nothing more than to taste of it again and again until she had supped full, for she found herself consumed by an insatiable hunger and she knew not which would devour her first: his desire or her own. He drew close to her then, so close that she thought he might kiss her, and, trembling in anticipation, feeling as if she were compelled to ask the question, as if she could no longer resist, said: "What is it that you desire of me, Celeborn?"

He reached out and, without asking, took the glass she held, drinking of the heady wine therein before pressing the cup to her lips where the rim of it was still warm from his mouth, and as she drank he gave reply, saying only: "Everything, Galadriel." The words hung in the silence between them.

Then did she reach out, finishing an action begun long ago but left incomplete, and threaded between her fingers a lock of his hair, pure silver, brilliant as moonlight, and it glimmered in her hand as though she had caught a handful of stars betwixt her fingers. She felt her breath catch in her throat, for well was it said amongst the eldar that to touch the hair of another was among the most intimate of acts. Her eyes flickered up to meet his and she saw that he stood, breathless in awe of her, his eyes filled with great desire and affection, just as she had wished for since that night that she had danced before the court, and she did not doubt that her eyes were filled with much of the same, for she was in awe of him as well, her beautiful and wise Sindarin lover.

And, what was more, though she searched her heart, she found that there was no fear there at all any longer. For with Celeborn 'everything' did not mean a cage, or a prison, chains and clipped wings, and to be closeted away or exiled to loneliness as Nerdanel had been, as her own mother. No, when Celeborn said 'everything' he meant freedom, a life without fear, a life lived without shame, filled with love and happiness and great joy, for he himself had told her that actions speak more truth than words, and it was his actions that spoke the truth of him to her heart. No longer was she afraid to say what she felt, what he could undoubtedly read in her eyes.

"If it is 'everything' that you wish, Celeborn, then take it," she whispered, "for it is yours." Then did the cup tumble from her hands as into his he drew her, flesh upon flesh, heat upon heat, sweat upon sweat, the taste of bitter wine mingling as he kissed her as though he wished to make her forget the taste of air and in that kiss thereby seal them one to the other.