Children of the Stars

In Cavern's Shade: 11th Chapter

"Fear both the heat and the cold of your heart,

and try to have patience, if you can."

-J.R.R. Tolkien, Unfinished Tales

Author's note: Thank you to everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed! And also thank you to everyone who is reading! When I first started posting this story I thought that it was so long that no one would ever read it. But I really had a vision of what I wanted it to be and I very much wanted to write a complex story. I'm so happy that you all are enjoying it.

BeSpotted and Furionknight: I hope I didn't keep you guys in suspense for too long!

Oleanne: I was beginning to miss you! You always ask such intriguing questions. One of the really hard things about writing this story is that I know where I want the characters to end up but I have to constantly remind myself that they're not there yet. I think that something we all grow into in our lives is realizing how we affect people and learning that our actions and words can have a bigger impact than we realize or anticipate. That is something I really wanted for Galadriel in this story. Right now she is sort of stuck in this mindset of 'oh Celeborn doesn't like me keeping secrets' and 'oh Finrod doesn't like my visions' but she never really stops and considers why that is and even though Celeborn sometimes gets very blunt with her about it she doesn't seem to get it because she doesn't really believe or understand yet that, yes, the things she does really do hurt people and, yes, her actions do have permanent and lasting consequences. Part of that is because she doesn't realize, or want to realize, how powerful she truly is because that would mean taking responsibility for things she doesn't want to face. Tolkien describes young Galadriel as very prideful and, to me, pride isn't really thinking you are better than somebody else so much as it is something akin to what I have described. For Celeborn, this is really frustrating because he lives in a world where his choices as a military commander and as a prince, and Thingol's choices as a king, often have life and death consequences. He feels a good deal of guilt over that (as we'll explore in Chapter 16) and it's one of the reasons he is so obsessive over the issue with the dwarves.

"Thingol would be a wiser king if he would but heed Melian's advice a little more often," Celeborn said with a laugh as he walked with Artanis's arm in his. "Even on such small matters. Still, I am almost glad that he did not listen, if only because I had the delight of seeing the look of consternation on his face as that old horse dumped him flat on his rear."

"Well who was to know the horse was lame if it did not limp?" Artanis replied with a laugh.

"Melian knew," the Sinda replied.

"Your poor auntie. For all her foresight her husband still refuses to listen. Fie! That is the way of all of you male folk. My father, as well, would be all the better if he would just lend an ear to my mother but a little more often."

"Never fear, daughter of Earwen, for I swear that I shall forever lend an ear to your advice, even when I find it is not to my liking," Celeborn replied in mock-seriousness, though she knew that he meant what he said.

"Forever?" Artanis asked, raising a golden brow. "Still planning a wedding are you? What makes you so sure that I would agree?" It was a topic he still had not dropped, but one with which she was gradually becoming more comfortable.

"Perhaps it is the thirteen years in which you have passed every day in my bed, and the fact that, when the sun dawns, you will return there this night as well, Galadriel."

"For the sake of the Valar!" She slapped his arm. "I certainly shall not marry you if you keep calling me that."

"Ah, I had hoped it would grow on you," Celeborn said with a mischievous grin. At this point, Artanis had trouble telling whether he used the name because he liked it or precisely because he knew that she did not like it and wished to tease her. "Then if you won't be a lady of light, come with me," he growled, wrapping his arms around her and picking her up, swinging her about in a circle, "and marry me, and let me transform you into a creature of the night!" Artanis laughed, swatting at him until he put her down.

"I don't know that I will ever adjust to your nocturnal ways," she laughed. Even after all of these years in Menegroth I often find myself weary in the evenings while it seems that you find yourself weary in the mornings."

"Are you weary now?" He queried.

"No, not at all." She replied.

"Good; I have plans for you later," he growled in her ear.

"Watch your tongue. There are elflings about, Celeborn." She said with a smile. They stopped by the river, where the aforementioned elflings were folding paper into boats and floating them, laden with candles, down the river. Colorful lanterns floated through the air, buoyed up by the gasses from the burning candles within them. Celeborn stood, watching the lanterns rise. The festival of the stars was one of his favorite nights of the year.

"Unlike light, darkness has no source," He said, lighting one of the candles, "it is merely the absence of light. But light is not the absence of darkness, for it is still there, even if it cannot be perceived." They bent down and he showed her how to make the paper boats, strong agile hands guiding her small nimble ones. He watched as she lit her candle, the flickering of the small flame illuminating her beauty. Together they set the boat in the water and watched it float down the stream.

"What was it like, before the sun and the moon?" She asked as they continued to walk along the bank, watching the boats.

"It was peaceful, quiet." He said. "I used to just lay under the stars and marvel at them, wondering how far away they are and what they are made of. Imagining that I could build a ship and that I would float up into the air, voyage to the stars and that, perhaps, I would discover entirely new worlds there full of marvelous things."

"You were never afraid of the dark?" She asked.

"Not at all," he said with a smile, nearly broaching the topic of his fear for the day, but he dismissed it as childish and worried that she would think it ignorant, and so he remained silent

"I used to be frightened of the night when I was a child," she said, "even though we had the light of Telperion. I would imagine that there were monsters hiding beneath my bed and my Adar would have to comfort me. Once my mother even gave me one of her old perfume bottles filled with water and told me it was 'monster spray'. Child that I was, I used it religiously every night. Something Finrod will never let me live down." Celeborn laughed.

"I cannot imagine you afraid of such a thing." He said. "What is it like there, in Valinor?" He asked. "You hardly ever speak of it and yet I have always wondered for, if Thingol hadn't gone and gotten himself lost in the forest then I might very well have been born in Aman myself."

"It is beautiful, I suppose." She said, but did not elaborate. The familiar feeling of guilt began to creep into her conscience. She was deceiving him, deceiving all of them, and she suddenly felt as though she wanted to shrink until she was the size of an ant and crawl away to someplace where she might hide. The silence grew long and Celeborn sensed her discontent, yet he had the good grace and tact not to inquire as to its source and, instead, bent down to show her a large lavender flower, globelike in appearance, that seemed to shine with a pale silver light from within.

"Moon lilies." He said. "They only bloom at this time of year, one of the reasons that summer nights like this are my favorite." He lay down in the grass amongst the lilies and she lay down beside him, watching the myriad lanterns floating in the sky and the twinkling of the stars, far beyond. She could gradually feel her disquiet creep away until it seemed as distant as the stars themselves.

"There," he said, pointing at a bright spray of stars. "The great wave of Balar."

"What?"

"You don't know them?" Celeborn asked.

"Know what?"

"The constellations," he said. "Here give me your hand." And, taking her hand in his he traced the shape of a wave, outlined by stars in the sky. "That is the great wave of Balar. Can you see it now?"

"Yes." She said.

"And riding that wave is Ulmo, Lord of Waters." He traced the shape of the Valar with her fingers and she imagined the bright lines forming in the sky, a painting of stars.

"What is that bright red one?" She asked, moving their hands to point at the star.

"That is the topmost star in the left antler of the white stag." He said, tracing the entire body of the animal, then moving to its right and tracing a new shape. "What do you think that is?" He asked.

"Wait, show me again." She said, and he traced the outline again. "A… a bow. It's a bow."

"Very good. And, what is this one?" He traced a more complicated shape now and Artanis creased her brow in concentration.

"Someone holding the bow…hunting the stag… it must be Orome."

"You are a natural." He said, turning to look at her, still holding her hand.

"Come with me. I have other things to show you." He stood, pulling her up with

him and they walked through the playing elflings towards the main area of the fair, the sound of flutes drifting on the wind. "This is one of the occasions when our brethren, the Avari, and the green elves elves come to Menegroth, so there may be a great many things that will interest you." He said.

Indeed, the wares peddled at the Moon Festival were a wonder entirely new to Artanis. It caused her to recall the way that she had felt as a child when, clinging to her mother's hand, she had been led through a house of wonders which one of her mother's very distant cousins, a rather eccentric fellow, had put on display. Earwen had laughed boldly at the strange creatures assembled there: birds of bright colors, great cats, elegant and dangerous, with spotted coats, an odd creature that looked like a duck but had fur like a dog. There were elves who could juggle swords and breathe fire.

But, most interesting of all had been an exhibit titled "The strange creatures of Ennor." Therein, elves were portraying creatures that they had never seen but only heard of from the Valar. A tall elf wearing the bark of a tree all over his body and a long beard made of hair and leaves, walked about slowly, speaking strange words in a deep and monotonous voice. Artanis had shied away behind Earwen's skirts, fearful that this creature might be real. Also there had been an elf who was squatting as if to show that he was short, his face covered in great mats of false, wiry, red hair. But most frightening of all had been the elf called a Moriquendi. His skin was painted black and he wore only a loincloth, crouching on the ground, he looked about feverishly at the spectators with unseeing eyes and knocked stones together, grunting.

"Naneth," a curious Artanis had tugged at her mother's skirts, "why can he not see?"

"Those who turned away from the march live still in Ennor, where the light of the trees cannot penetrate. There is no light at all there but a perpetual night. Some say that, because they have no need for sight, living in darkness, they have gone blind. It is even said that they have forgotten speech and live like animals, without king nor culture." Earwen replied, her voice deep and musical.

"Is it true nana?" Artanis reached up with chubby hands and her mother lifted her, setting her on her hip.

"Nay, I think not. For, even though Elu Thingol was lost, I cannot imagine that the Illuvatar should forget his children. Can you Artanis?"

"Un uh." The toddler replied, shaking her curly golden head.

"And besides, both of your grandfathers remember the people who were sundered from us and they assure me that they are exactly the same as you and me and Finrod and father." Earwen said, kissing Artanis's tiny button nose, "And besides, even if someone does look very very different than you you must never forget that their heart is the same. Do you know what that means?"

"Everyone's got feelings?" Artanis said as she chewed on her fingers and rocked back and forth on chubby bare feet.

"Good girl! That's exactly right!" Earwen squeezed her daughter's hand and then picked her up, balancing the toddler on her hip. "Don't forget it now. Promise me?"

"Promise nana," Artanis had laughed.

The memory brought a smile to her lips. But it was not so much the details that had caused Artanis to recall that moment of her youth, indeed she had seen many things that day that she could no longer recall, and even the bright colors of the exotic animals seemed but blurry shadows in her memory. What she recalled most of all was the way that she had felt. For time itself could neither erase nor dim the memory of the excited palpitations of a child's heart, eyes wide with wonder at never before seen things, or the spark that lit an adventurous spirit and a curious mind.

Now, wandering in the festival grounds outside of Menegroth, the same feeling arose in her for, wherever she looked, there was some new creature, new being, new sight, new sound, new smell. Yet, she shuddered at her recollection of the way that these peoples had been portrayed in Valinor. How ignorant they had all been. If only those who had remained behind could live amongst the elves of Middle Earth, they might have come to see them as she saw them now: no less enlightened and just as wonderful. Perhaps, if there had been no sundering, there would have been no kinslaying.

There were indeed, as Celeborn had said, many different peoples. There were dwarves, which she had only caught glimpses of before in Menegroth, For the dwarves of Nogrod and Belegast did much trade with Doriath. But now they wandered about in large groups and she could not help but stare, for never before had she seen so many of them together. Short and squat they were, coming only to just below her waist, with thick, wiry, red hair that nearly covered their entire faces! Their beards were ornately braided and they wore clothes of coarse brown fabrics with finely made armor, upon which they had engraved words in their strange runes. They carried axes, which were heavier and less beautiful than those of the Sindar, but more suited, she thought, to what she could perceive of their culture. It was not true, she saw, that dwarven females had beards but, from all the hair that sprouted from their heads, one might almost imagine it to be so and they too, she noted, wore armor and carried axes.

In awe, and betraying her Noldorin tastes, she had been drawn to their wares. All manner of things did they sell, wrought in the finest metals and inlaid with precious stones. A kind dwarf with a gruff laugh had shown her many necklaces, set with gemstones and beautifully wrought, though of quite a different style than anything she had ever seen.

"If there is anything that you want I shall buy it for you." Celeborn said.

"I do not need anything," she said as they moved past a group of green elves. Their clothing was made of leaves and they seemed not to care that they were mostly naked. Some of them had monkeys that sat upon their shoulders and Artanis had gasped in surprise as her golden circlet was unexpectedly snatched from her head by one of these creatures, causing Celeborn to double over in laughter. Its master had laughed merrily and retrieved the trinket from his animal, returning it to Artanis with a twinkling wink and a kind word.

There were Avari as well, though they were few, one tall dark-haired male had with him a forest cat, an enormous, leanly muscled beast with sleek, short black fur. Its eyes had been of the most startling copper color and when it yawned she had seen that its mouth was full of large sharp teeth. Despite her mild fear of the beast, she lingered there for the scent of spices was heavy in the air and, in a moment of sensory indulgence that was strange to her, she yearned to breathe them all in. The spices were sold in the Avari tents, each in its own urn and there must have been hundreds of urns, brimming to the top with vibrantly colored powders and leaves. Birds they had too, some with tails as long as an elf was tall, though not as tall as Thingol, and in the most brilliant shades. Some were a green so bright it seemed almost blinding and others were of a fuchsia deep and rich, with specks of blue as bright as the sea. Though they were called dark elves, she could see nothing dark about them.

"The green elves I have seen around on occasion," she said to Celeborn, "but I have never before seen the Avari. Why do they not come to Menegroth?"

"That is a long tale, and one for another time," Celeborn whispered.

The Nandor were also there, having come from far away, and she had thought that these people too would be savage and so they looked it to her, but she could see by their handiwork that they were very skilled. Knives they sold, blades of smoky topaz, like deep brown unmarred glass, and sharper. The handles were of many different woods, ornately carved in the likeness of forest creatures. One of the artisans had noticed her eyeing, with amazement, a particular blade, small, with a handle of white ash in the shape of a deer, so lifelike she half expected to feel warmth when she touched the hilt.

"Beautiful is it not?" The young Nandorin maid had commented. "My uncle made this one. See these holes?" She gestured to a series of four holes that ran the length of the knife, just above its edge. "Perhaps you have not seen them before for they are of my peoples' own design. But they are very useful, see?" She took an apple from her pocket and sliced through it as easily as if it had been butter. Then she drew the knife out and Artanis was astonished to see that the apple did not stick to the blade but fell away easily in two equal pieces. "They allow a place for air to move as the blade slices through. That way a vacuum is not created, the knife comes away clean, allowing for more accurate cutting."

"This is a fruit knife?" Artanis had asked, stunned that something so beautiful was used for such a mundane task.

"Indeed, but if that is not what you seek we have many other choices." Smiling, the dark haired girl offered a smaller blade of the same fine quartz with an ebony handle. "This one was made by my hand and it is an excellent design for carving wood or stone alike." We have knives for many purposes and all are handcrafted by my people. Hunting knives we have too, but even butter knives we can craft for you." Driven by awe far more than need, Artanis eyed the fruit knife, turning the blade so that the quartz caught the light of the floating lanterns.

"Would you like it?" Celeborn asked.

"Oh, I…I don't need it." Artanis said, though she had taken an immediate affinity to it she did not want to ask Celeborn for such a trivial thing.

"That isn't what I asked you." Celeborn said with a smile, pressing three silver coins into the Nandorin girl's hand. She smiled and kindly thanked them for her business, putting the elegant blade in a fine leather sheath before handing it to her. Artanis felt the light weight of it in her pocket as she had roamed throughout the other tents.

"You didn't have to do that." Artanis said out of a sense of politeness, but she could not deny that she had wanted it.

"I wanted to. Indulge me." He said with a smile and she thanked him. And indulge they did for, as they walked on they came to vendors selling all manner of foods. There were small river trout, salted and roasted over hot coals, skewers of fruit kept on ice, sweet potatoes glazed with honey and sprinkled with seeds, noodles with vegetables, grilled slices of chicken and steak with fresh squeezed lemon, confections and cookies made of fruit and nuts, and all manner of drinks both hot and cold. Celeborn abandoned any pretensions of restraint and bought them without reserve.

Carrying their newly acquired bounty, they passed by Thingol's tents and Artanis saw the more practical purpose of such festivals as Thingol's chief advisors and the high officials of his realm bartered for goods with the lords of the various clans and races so that Doriath would be provisioned with all that it needed for the autumn and winter months, until spring allowed trade to be resumed. Grains and foodstuffs, tar and pitch, all things were bartered for, traded, and commissioned. Indeed, Thingol was no simple woodland king who had been left behind. Rather, he was the lord of a vast empire, teeming with riches, developed cultures, and vast networks of trade and diplomacy. How very different it was, she thought, than what they had assumed they would find had been so very different from the reality.

"Should you not be with them?" She asked with a grin, elbowing her lover.

"I think that the King can manage without me for one evening," he smiled.

Finally they seated themselves a little ways apart from other young couples and families who were enjoying stargazing and Celeborn began to eat with all the delight of a child. Artanis could not help but laugh.

"Try this one." He brandished a half-eaten grilled trout at her.

"The head is still on it." She said with a hint of trepidation as she took it from his hands.

"Well don't eat the head then. I promise, it's good." Artanis took a bite and, to her surprise, found that it was indeed delicious and soon she had devoured the entire thing, sans head, and licked the salty grease from her fingers. Celeborn tore a round cake in two and handed half of it to her. "You can only get these cakes at the Moon Festival but I loved them as an elfling so I would save all of my pocket money and buy as many as I could." He said.

"And did you eat all of them at the same time too?" She asked. The cake was delicious, soft and filled with custard.

"On occasion." He replied. "And it did not generally end well for me."

"I would imagine not." She replied, laughing. The cake was very sweet and too much of it could easily make one sick.

They sat in pleasant silence for a long while, enjoying the festive atmosphere and the beauty of the night but Artanis could tell that Celeborn was brooding, working something over in his mind the way that a smith worked over a sword, folding the thought back upon itself a thousand times to make it strong, hammering it out to make it smooth, honing the edge so as to make it cut deep. She waited, wondering, for it seemed as though he meant to ask her something.

"Hello there!" The merry voice of Beleg strongbow greeted them and they turned to see the man himself approaching, Luthien on his arm and Dairon, Galathil, and Oropher following behind. "Enjoying yourselves I hope."

"We certainly are!" Luthien cried, her grey eyes twinkling merrily as she let out a less-than ladylike laugh, which brought a broad smile to Artanis's face. She was a vision in silver brocade silk, her dark hair hanging in long ringlets, strung with pearls and diamonds, as if she herself were clothed in stars. She at least, Artanis thought, seemed to be having a fabulous time, due not only to the joy of the festival but, it appeared, to how much alcohol she seemed to have imbibed.

"May we join you?" Beleg asked.

"Of course!" Celeborn replied, with a smile as he brandished his hand in a gesture of welcome, and all of their friends seated themselves on the grassy knoll.

"Are you sure we're not interrupting something private?" Galathil asked. He and Oropher elbowed each other, exchanged glances, and began laughing as though they shared some great secret. They too, Artanis noted, seemed to have imbibed quite a good deal of alcohol. "Galadriel," Galathil said, leering at her, and she reached out and slapped his arm in punishment. Oropher watched, seeming bemused, but he met Artanis's eyes on accident and quickly looked away. She knew that he did not approve of her, that he disliked her and her people, but she was grateful that he kept his opinions private and managed to do so with a great deal of tact.

Dairon on the other hand… They were all chatting away happily with Celeborn now, all for Dairon that was. Dairon, the loremaster and minstrel: silent, brooding, sour Dairon.

Celeborn had confided in her that he did not particularly like Dairon, though that was common knowledge. But she could easily have guessed that, for Celeborn was distrustful by nature and did not care for any one else that he deemed to be hiding secret motivations. And, it was no secret that Dairon bore no great love for Celeborn either. She had heard that this was because he disliked Celeborn's aggressive, straightforward manner and he had a certain disdain for those who were disciples of the axe and sword rather than the pen and harp, despite the fact that he was on amiable terms with Beleg and Mablung. However, he was a dear friend of Luthien's and of Celeborn's brother Galathil, himself a herald, and so for that reason Celeborn and Dairon tolerated each other for the sake of their friends.

Artanis had only been around Dairon a few times and thus she did not feel as though she had enough of an experience with him to accurately say whether she liked him or no but she did feel some measure of pity for him, for she recognized the way that he looked at Luthien. She had often been the subject of such glances.

"Artanis, have you heard aught of Finrod lately?" Beleg asked her, his words pulling her out of her thoughts. "For I often wonder how his venture goes in Nargothrond and I should like to go and visit him myself if I can ever find the time."

"Oh Finrod! How I do miss him so!" Luthien chimed in. "Things are always so much more fun when he is around."

"He writes to me often," Artanis told them. "In fact, I have just had a letter from him and by his account things go very well indeed and they are making much progress."

"I am glad to hear it," Beleg said as Luthien, humming to herself, began to plait his hair.

"But my brother does tend to see everything through rose tinted glass," Artanis said with a laugh. "Nargothrond could be falling apart around him and he would still be speaking only of his grand dreams."

"When next I see him I shall be sure to let him know that he has your vote of confidence," Beleg said with a laugh, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm.

"Incidentally," Celeborn said, "Artanis and I will soon be making a visit to Nargothrond."

"Is that so?" Beleg asked. "For business or for pleasure?"

"A bit of both actually."

"Ah," the warden said with an intake of breath, having just realized, of course, that Celeborn would be going to speak to Finrod of the Silmarils and wondering, perhaps, if he ought not have questioned. Celeborn felt Galadriel stiffen in his arms. "You must tell me of your visit when you return," Beleg said, hoping to smooth over any discord he may have inadvertently caused. The news of the Silmarils had spread like wildfire throughout Menegroth and, as could have been easily expected, it had been greeted at best with a good deal of consternation and at worst by outright anger. It had made the past few years rather difficult for Galadriel, and Celeborn knew that she was anticipating spending some time away from Menegroth in the company of her family.

And he admitted freely to himself, if not to others, that he too was looking forward to the journey, for his continued association with Galadriel had made him a prime target for Saeros's political attacks and even for the scorn of Oropher, though at least Oropher had the grace to keep the matter between the two of them. Saeros, on the other hand, had no compunctions with making his opinions of Galadriel publicly known.

"We shall certainly be sure to do so," Celeborn replied and, after passing many a happy hour in conversation with their friends, he and Galadriel at last adjourned to their chambers as the sun began to dawn.

"I am very much looking forward to visiting Finrod," Celeborn said after they had returned to their chambers, handing Artanis a glass of the bitter grain liquor that the Sindarin warriors were fond of. She took a sip and it burned her throat something horribly going down but settling in her stomach the fire of it warmed her and seemed even to give her courage.

"As am I," she said simply.

"Are you tired?" He asked her, for she seemed to be weary.

"It is only…my visions are growing worse lately," she confessed.

"It exhausts you," he said, speaking the fear of his heart, noting the weariness in her eyes and she nodded, leaning her head back to rest upon his knee. "But you have grown have you not? You can control them much better than you could when I met you."

"All thanks to Melian's assistance," she said. "She has assured me that it will get better, that I will grow more accustomed to it, that it will not drain me so thoroughly." The silence stretched between them.

"But it will always drain you," he said, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," she replied, taking another drink of the strong alcohol. Celeborn thought for a long time before he spoke.

"Then what can I do to help you?" He asked.

"You are already helping me simply be being you," she replied. "You ground me, anchor me in the temporal, preventing me from slipping fully into the realm of shadows and madness." And she turned a smile up towards him though in her heart she felt sickened by herself, at the lie that she perpetuated.

"Then you shall always have me at your side," he said before kissing her reverently. If only he knew her, truly knew what she had done, how she had betrayed him, Artanis thought, then he would not make her such an extravagant promise nor would he long for her kisses. She sighed and he could tell that she was eager to change the topic.

"Is Dairon always so…so…is he always…" She asked, not quite sure of the word that she wanted to use.

"Sulking? Yes," He said with a small laugh, finding the word for her, "he is always that way and it tries my nerves most severely, all of his keeping silent and murmuring under his breath. If he has something he would like to say then he ought to address it for what is to be gained from that sort of behavior? Only children act thusly."

"Everyone knows that you and he were not fond of each other," she said. "But do not be overly harsh on him Celeborn, for unrequited love is a trial for even those with the strongest of constitutions."

"Unrequited love?" Celeborn asked, both startled and confused. "Not for you I hope?"

"No!" She laughed. "Can you not see that he loves Luthien?" Celeborn shook his head, sitting back, amazed. "You really didn't know?" She exclaimed incredulously but Celeborn merely shook his head again and chuckled.

"How easily you can see into the minds of others. I must admit that I never knew," he confessed, "though I professed to see all that passes within my own realm. Still, it is not good for him to dwell on such a thing if she is unwilling. It would be better if he turned his mind towards other things, and other girls. If she has given him her answer then she has given him her answer, what is he to profit by clinging to false hope?"

"That is all true," she said, "but I do not know what has passed between them and it may be that he has said nothing to her of it at all."

"Then that is very dishonest of him indeed," Celeborn said but Artanis gave him a chiding look.

"Not everyone is so bold as to ply their beloved with such treasures as dwarf fish," Artanis told him and he turned to glower at her.

"That was a very fine fish. I shall never understand why you did not want it," he replied, but he could not quite keep the grin from his face. Artanis leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, feeling the pleasant warmth of the fire upon her face.

"Have I tired you out?" Celeborn asked.

"Quite," she said with a smile, her eyes still closed. A moment later she felt him rise, carrying her to the bed, and she nestled into the warmth of it, of him. That feeling, of comfort, of safety, was so reminiscent of her childhood, when she would pretend to fall asleep in her father's study and he would lift her and carry her all the way to her room to tuck her into bed. Of course, as an adult she had realized that he had most probably known all along that it was nothing more than a farce, but it had delighted her all the same.

She turned and tucked her head beneath Celeborn's, nestling against his chest. "Still," she said, sleepily, "whether or not you care for Dairon personally, you must admit that he is an extraordinary musician."

"That he is indeed," Celeborn said. "But that is nothing to recommend him to me, for I care very little indeed for musicians and, though I enjoy listening to the music that they produce, I myself find music making to be tedious."

"Your own brother is a herald and a musician!" She said, opening her eyes, but Celeborn grinned.

"Well Galathil is alright I suppose."

"And is not music the pride of the Sindar?"

"How generous of you Noldor to grant that we lowly Sindar do surpass you in one art," Celeborn said wryly, tickling her.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she laughed. "And you are a liar. Beleg tells me that you have a fine singing voice."

"Curses be upon him," Celeborn retorted. "That is a different matter entirely. Those are songs of war, battle cries. They are not proper music, not what Dairon would call music." There was just enough of a hint of bitterness in his tone to draw her suspicion.

"Aha!" She whispered, tapping his nose with her finger. "Is that the source of the bickering between you and he?"

"Nonsense," Celeborn replied, but Artanis could see that she had struck near the truth.

"It is!" She exclaimed.

"Absolutely not," Celeborn replied, but he had blushed a rather vigorous shade of crimson.

"Very well then, sing me something, anything."

"I have not the talents of Dairon or of Galathil," he told her. "Nor would I wish to sing war songs to you."

"And what sort of song would you wish to sing to me?" She asked. He was silent for a moment, looking somewhat displeased before he abashedly replied.

"A song of love," he said reluctantly, "but I do not know any."

"Not a single one?" She queried. He was silent. "You do know one then." She said, grinning like a cat, determined now to draw it out of him.

"You would not like it," he told her.

"Why ever not?" She asked, tucking his hair behind his ear.

"You will say the same thing that you say when I call you Galadriel," he said, "that it is too indulgent. You will not like it, that is, if you can even understand it. It is older than I, and so is the language"

"Please?" She asked him and, as ever, he found himself unable to refuse her and began, slowly, haltingly, in a low and haunting tone.

"In the starlight I felt your heart

Quiver like a bowstring's pulse

In the stars' pale light

You looked at me

The lady with the secret heart

In the forest I have seen you

Beautiful and haunting but cold

Like the edge of a knife so sharp so sweet

The lady with the secret heart"

Artanis shivered at the words, her heart growing chill within her chest as if a sudden foreboding had come over her, for it was not the first time that she had heard that song and well did she know the words. They were in the old language, the language of Cuivenen, the language of the first Teleri, a language remembered now only in song and the Teleri of Aman remembered that song still. The images flashed through her mind: her mother singing that song as she sat by her bed at night, her grandmother singing it as she brushed her hair, the servants of her mother's family singing it as the baked, and washed, and cleaned. Standing on the quay with darkness all around encircling, a black pit, a road leading to nowhere, back and again to nowhere, ever to nowhere and darkness, unknowing, unbeing nowhere. Her skin sloughed off and the blood poured down out of her like candle wax, her organs flopping out like fish upon the dock, wasting their last breaths in futile struggle.

"All of your sorrow, grief, and pain

locked away in the forest of the night

your secret heart belongs to the world

of the things that hide in the dark

of the things that ..."

"Stop! For the sake of the Valar stop damn you!" She cried, and he did, confused, taken aback, hurt even. And though he moved to speak, not a word left his mouth.

"I am sorry," she said suddenly, her voice growing as cold as her heart felt. "You are right…I do not like it. I can't even understand it." The silence hung heavy between them and Artanis felt a dull hollowness in the pit of her stomach as she abruptly turned onto her side, facing away from him, for she knew that she had hurt him, and deeply. And yet he does not yet know how badly I have done so, she thought, blinking away the tears that threatened to rise. How ardently she wished that she could blink away her past as well and yet…had she never come here she would never have met him, loved him. And he would have lived a happier life because of your absence, her heart whispered. It was a maze from which she could not escape. She felt his hand, hovering above her hip, as though he worried over whether to pursue the matter any further, to ask if he had offended her. But he did nothing and, presently, turned on his side as well, so that they were back to back.

But Celeborn could not find sleep, though it seemed Galadriel had, despite her heart's unease, and he lay awake for many a long hour, reluctant to admit to himself at first that those were tears that wetted his eyes. At last he stood and, whether because he was driven by some morbid desire to do her injury as she had done him, or because in his heartbreak he could see clearly at last, he took pen to paper and began to write. It did not take him long to think of the words. In fact, everything he had been wanting to say, everything that he had, in the recesses of his mind, dared to ponder came pouring out like a veritable deluge and he found that it had all already been there, present in his heart and growing like a cancer.

He had seen it before in others, that moment, a breath between heartbeats in which love ceases to exist, like a candle put out by a gust of wind, an irrevocable extinguishing of sentiment. Even the tiniest thing can spark such a monumental change: the sound of laughter, a single word, an expression that darts across the face as quickly as a deer in the meadow. But in truth even the smallest thing is part of a larger whole and so he knew that this too, this denial, this rejection, was merely part of a much larger rejection that had been happening since ever they met and now, at last he had tasted of the fruit himself, tasted fully and found it exceedingly bitter.

Yes, he had seen it before, but he had never felt it until this evening. And yet, when she had cried to him to stop, something in him had changed, something he could not control, and that feeling, that love he had borne her was so utterly and inescapably gone that he knew beyond any shade of doubt that he could not get it back no matter how hard he searched for it. His heart was pounding, for he felt very much like a boat adrift and, truthfully, his heart had almost forgotten how to feel anything else. He was lost.

So he paced, from the fire from the bed and from the bed to the fire, throughout the maze of his chambers, around and around and around. He moved to sit by her, watching as she slept, reaching out to touch her hair, her fingers, and yet nothing he did ignited even the smallest spark in his heart. He felt absolutely nothing for her. It was something he had never anticipated. How could he ever have imagined that the woman he had awakened beside this evening he would no longer love by noon? How was it possible that a love that had begun with such hope, such promise, such excitement could end so suddenly, so plainly, as though it had been nothing.

He returned to his seat before the fire and read his letter again, and again, and again. So lost was he in thoughts and worry and anxiety that he did not notice the sky gradually turn to dusk or the sounds of the servants awakening.

It seemed that, despite her heart's unease, she at last found sleep, for the next thing she recalled was slowly and groggily coming to. She reached out to find that Celeborn was no longer there and that where he had lain had now grown cold, but hearing the faint rustling of parchment, she blinked and opened eyes still blurry from sleep to stare up at the enchanted ceiling. Stars twinkled there, smiling down upon her, but her heart did not feel so merry.

Artanis sat up, the sheets pooling about her hips, and saw that her lover sat on the floor in the next room at a low table by the fire, wearing only his breeches, his feet bare and his hair unbound, obscuring his face. All of Menegroth would be waking now, but the spot next to her showed signs of not having been slept in at all, and she wondered how long Celeborn had been awake. Slipping from the bed, she reached down to pick up her dressing gown and pulled it on, knotting the sash loosely about her waist, before padding across the grassy forest floor to her lover's side.

"Celeborn, meleth nin," she whispered softly, touching his shoulder. "What are you working on?"

"Nothing," he said, "it is only that matter with the dwarves and Thingol, some business about some contract he says he never signed," but he shuffled the papers and folded them, tucking them away in a leather bound book as if he did not wish her to see. "I'm still investigating it." The silence hung like a heavy frost between them and she saw that sleep had not made either of them forget what had passed between them at noontide.

"And I thought you had given that up," she said.

Celeborn said nothing, merely folded his arms, resting his elbows on his knees, and Artanis moved to kneel behind him, gently placing her hands on his shoulders. She felt him grow tense at her touch and her heart ached, recalling the pain that she had caused him.

"Celeborn, I am sorry," she whispered, pushing his long hair over his shoulder so that she might see his back. Gently, she traced the scars there; they must have been very deep cuts to leave such permanent marks upon an elf, or else they had gone untreated. She lowered her lips to them, kissing each one, as if by doing so she could soothe the wounds she had cut into his heart, but it seemed almost as though his skin itself shrank from her touch. "Forgive me," she pleaded, "I…I do not know why I said what I did, but I am sorry for it." It was a lie, and she felt filthy saying it, but what else could she do? Celeborn was silent for a moment and then he reached back to take her hand, pulling her forward to sit upon his lap and sighing deeply.

"There is a heavy matter, very heavy indeed, that weighs upon my mind and consumes my thoughts." He said.

"Then I would beg of you to impart your concerns to me," she said, wrapping her arms about his broad shoulders, "for you ought not bear a burden alone, most especially when there is another that might help you carry it."

But Celeborn merely shook his head. "No, it is a private matter."

Artanis looked quite taken aback by that but he found that he did not much care how she felt. She had done the same to him too many times to count. Indeed, he found that he did not care for her much at all at the moment and only wished that she would be soon gone.

"Shall I see if we might have breakfast brought to us?" She asked, seeming to sense that something was amiss, and rose.

"Not in your dressing gown you shouldn't," he said, but there was no humor in his tone.

"Very well," She said, shrugging the robe off, and he watched with disinterest as she dressed and then sat, brushing her golden hair.

He waited for a few moments after he heard her receding footsteps and the click of the door closing before he sighed and, with a heavy heart, opened the leather bound book that lay before him, carefully removing the letter that he had hastily thrust inside.

"Galadriel," he whispered the word to the empty room and the silence swallowed it as he eyed the letter, not quite having the courage to read once more what he had written therein. At long last, his heart having grown stronger, he unfolded it.

To Cirdan,

Lord of the Falas and Master Shipwright

Liege of Elu Thingol, High King of Beleriand,

From His nephew,

Celeborn, Prince of Doriath

High Prince of Beleriand

High Prince of the Sindar

My dear Sir,

I it is my most sincere hope that this letter finds you in the best of spirits in this the season of golden leaves and cool mornings when the mist rises off of the Sirion. Though we have not met face to face in many a long year, it is always with great joy that I receive your letters, dear kinsman.

It is with great regret, however, that I confess that I write to you now not with tidings of joy, but for the purpose of seeking information regarding a matter of great secrecy and, most probably, of even greater malevolence.

As you well know, when the Noldor first came to our lands many years ago, Thingol and yourself shared fears that they came with some darker intention than they purported, or else that they had committed some great evil of which they dared not speak or were under the shadow of some dark fate or curse. And you also know that I shared in these fears, wondering at what matter had caused such great discontent and ill-feeling amongst the princes of the Noldor.

As you know, we in Doriath at first thought that, amongst the Noldor, the children of Finarfin alone were innocent and thus we allowed them entrance into our kingdom and also because they bear the blood of Earwen, their mother, who is the daughter of our King's brother. Yet many years spent in their proximity has revealed to us that they too likely played some part in whatever evil has passed, though we could not perceive at first. Whether this is because the part they played in this wrongdoing was less than that of the sons of Feanor or of Fingolfin, or because they were more adept at concealing these matters from us we do not know.

Of late, this matter weighs heavily upon my mind even as it does the King's and I now have cause to believe that the King's concern over this matter and his agitation with the Noldorin princes for withholding from him what he deems to be valuable information may have caused him to take some actions which are less than prudent. I beg you not think me treasonous for having confessed such thoughts and I assure you that it is only with the good of my King and my kingdom in mind that I write them. And it is also for that purpose that I write to you now, for I would beg you send me word with all haste of any and all information that may come into your possession regarding the deeds of any of the Noldor, but most particularly of the children of Finarfin, Finrod called Felagund, Lord of Nargothrond, and his sister, the Lady Artanis.

Once more I must beg your silence and secrecy regarding this matter for I am sure that you can understand the delicacy of our current situation.

I remain as I ever have been and ever shall be, the humble and obedient servant of our king,

Celeborn Galadhonion

He refolded the letter and tapped it absentmindedly upon the table as he stared into the fire, his thoughts running hither and thither in his mind. He wanted to believe, desperately almost, that Galadriel truly loved him enough that she would keep no secret from him that he ought to know, that she would not willingly jeopardize Doriath or her people. If there was a secret then surely, surely there must be some justifiable reason that she kept it from him… But now he wondered if she ever loved him at all, or if that was just a lie too.

He hissed in pain, looking down at a small cut on his finger marked by a thin red line of blood. In his distraction it seemed that he had been running his fingers back and forth across the seam of the letter. It angered him for some reason and he stood, stepping around the table to the fire, holding the letter out over the flames. Have I sunk so deeply into paranoia that I will be overwhelmed by the same sickness of the mind that pulls at Thingol now? Am I becoming like Saeros and Oropher, distrustful and suspicious of all, content to fence myself and my kingdom off to live in complete and total isolation? He wondered. His hand quivered, pondering the audacity of hope, of trust…of consigning this letter to the flames – but no, he licked his lips nervously and folded it, tucking it into the pocket of his breeches; she was false. He knew it and he had denied it for far too long.

"Celeborn," he heard Artanis's voice from the entryway and turned to see her enter the room, a smile like sunshine upon her face. "I meant to have breakfast sent up but…is something the matter?" A look of concern crossed her face and Celeborn thought that he must not have disguised his thoughts as well as he had hoped. "Celeborn, I…about last night…I truly am sorry…" she began, looking crestfallen, but Celeborn quickly schooled his features into a smile.

"It is nothing," he said. "Consider it forgotten and think no more of it." Did she truly think him so naïve as to believe her false apologies? But, of course she did, for he had been believing them for years now.

"I was going to have breakfast sent up," she said, wrapping her arms about his neck, "but I saw Melian on the way and she invited us to break our fast with her and Thingol instead if that is amenable to you."

"Very well," he said before donning a shirt and, together, the two of them set off for the King's chambers.