Darkness Rising

Doriath: 12th Chapter

"That was their way, their heathenish hope;

deep in their hearts they remembered hell."

- Seamus Heaney's Beowulf

Author's note: Thank you everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed! You guys keep me going.

I just want to point out that this chapter (and the next few) delve a lot into the characters' motivations, fears, and feelings. I am sincerely not trying to paint anyone as a "bad guy" but attempting to show how complicated their circumstances are and setting the ground for the choices they will make down the road. Although there is at least a grain of truth in what each character says or thinks, and sometimes more than a grain, what each of them presents is only the truth as they see it and their version of events and opinions are definitely subject to doubt and debate.

If you have a brief moment, please don't forget to leave a review or PM me! You guys are vital to helping me stay on track and I truly value all of your input. This is your story as much as it is mine.

"What is it that you sense?" The king did ask his queen. "What woe is it that lays her low? What secret so obscene, that she must hide from kith and kin that which we would glean?" His eyes were keen as lances, his shoulders straight and strong, his brow was creased with worry, his mind concerned with wrong.

"It is death," she said, "and can be no other unless my sight does lead me stray. "For what else could cast that pallid veil, over shining face and make it fell, or steal from summer's blooming rose the glowing blush of sun?"

The surface of the Esgalduin was dark as obsidian, slow flowing in the cold and the snow floated down onto it, white like foam. In its mirror-like surface the bare black branches of trees and the thick green needles of conifers were reflected. Snow lay heavily on their branches and coated the ground like a thick carpet so that the trees almost seemed to be sinking in it. Every now and again a group of white-tailed deer would emerge from amongst the trees, looking at them curiously as they drank from the water's edge and, occasionally they would see a rabbit, bright red cardinals, red-breasted robins, or owls of numerous varieties playing in the gray sky overhead. But the most pervading sensation was the silence that enveloped them, that hung over the countryside like a blanket.

Perhaps it was simply being away from the hustle and bustle of Menegroth that made the forest seem so silent by comparison and perhaps she had become so accustomed to Menegroth that silence now made her uncomfortable. But the creeping, slowly seeping feeling that was beginning to fill her heart was like a river rising in spring as the ice melted, the slow yet ominous threat of drowning flood.

The world was a hollow eggshell, the white and yolk long gone, so empty even that the membrane coating its walls had dried up and fallen away, leaving only the chalky shell behind and her, sitting in the midst of that fragile cradle waiting, worrying, wondering when it would crack and bear her forth to an endless chasm, a void of shuddering and silence.

She knew that something had changed between them, something imperceptible and yet monumental. He hardly spoke to her any longer and, as the weeks grew, he spent more and more time at the borders with the wardens and she spent more and more time in a cold and empty bed. And in the hollow of her heart a bell tolled, whispering, 'he loves you not' and her doubts stretched out around her like a spider's web until her very heart itself felt like that selfsame eggshell and she held it within her carefully, as if each breath would be enough to splinter it.

Their canoe drifted slowly down the Esgalduin with the forest of Region on their left and the forest Neldoreth on their right. "This is a lovely boat." She said, if only to break the silence, dipping her oar into the water. The canoe was of Celeborn's making, simple yet practical and elegant in its design, a boat of white cedar striped in different hues and coated with a glossy varnish.

"It must be the Telerin blood in me," Celeborn replied quietly and fell silent.

His words were sour in her ears and, impulsively, she found herself wanting to reprimand him for bringing up such an unhappy topic, though she knew that the guilt and blame were all in her own mind and that, of course, she could say nothing to him regarding the matter of the Teleri. Their arrival that evening in a bustling fishing village at the edge of the girdle, nestled beneath the boughs of Neldoreth, and situated on the banks of the Esgalduin, was a relief, for it meant that she was no longer alone with Celeborn and with the interminable, unbearable silence.

They entered a marshy inlet where the water was a still, pale, and perfect blue and the icy black boles of slender young maples rose up through the water like pillars, their boughs delicately covered with snow, and frozen reeds knocked against the side of the canoe, rattling like bones as they approached the quay where a line of elves stood waiting.

"Your Royal Highness! Welcome!" The cheerfulness of the voice was a stark contrast to the somberness of her mood. A dark haired elf stepped forward, bowing low to Celeborn before pulling the prince into a friendly embrace that surprised Artanis. The assembly of elves behind him merely bowed. Their clothes were simple but finely made, and the females as well as males wore breeches and tunics in the dusky hues of the forest, suited to life on the frontier but the quality of the cloth was evidence that this was a prosperous village, indeed, a primary supplier of fish to Menegroth itself. Amaron, she had been told, was the name of this village's chieftain and he, she assumed, was the one who had greeted Celeborn as they exited the boat.

"It has been a long time indeed since we had the honor of a royal visit." Amaron said and Celeborn, grinning, clasped the other elf's shoulder, making his apologies, which the chieftain dismissed, before turning inquisitive eyes towards Artanis.

"Artanis Finarfiniel, sister of Finrod Felagund, Lord of Nargothrond, and handmaiden to our queen, her majesty Melian of Doriath," Celeborn said by way of introduction.

"My Lady," Amaron inclined his head with a smile and took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "It is an honor indeed to be in the presence of such rare and exquisite beauty," he said. "And none of you tell my wife what I have said!" He turned to his advisors, who let out a raucous chorus of laughter that made Artanis smile and forget, for a moment, the many worries that had plagued her mind.

"Your highness," the elf turned back to Celeborn, his voice low and discreet, "forgive me but we have only prepared for your arrival and would not be aware that you would be conveying this lady to her brother's realm. Shall we have a place prepared for the lady as well?"

But Celeborn raised his hand in a gesture of denial and said, "she is my consort."

"Ah, my apologies," Amaron said with a grin but Artanis wondered why Celeborn had replied as he had since he had seemed so unwilling to share a bed of late and the chieftain had made an offer that would have been so easy to accept.

"No need," Celeborn replied with a smile as the people ushered them through the village to the chieftain's house. The snow was falling softly now onto thatched rooves, the windows were lit with a warm glow, and the streets of the town were filled with elves milling about. Some of them were simply going about their business, toting firewood, returning home with their catch, others were holding elflings on their shoulders so that they might see their prince. Here and there were young elf maids and elf men, still growing into their gangly bodies, who huddled in groups, laughing and casting admiring glances at the two nobles.

Something about the peace and joy here brought a smile to her face and, wistfully, she imagined what such a life must be like, away from the intrigues of Menegroth or of the Feanorians, a simple life on the frontier, a difficult life but a rewarding one.

The snow crunched beneath their feet and, carefully, they made their way up the ice-slick steps, shedding their boots and heavy capes before passing into the dwelling. It was the first time that Artanis had ever been in a Sindarin farmhouse and, upon entering, she found herself entirely astounded, for the house was simple yet beautiful. The floors were of a dark and glossy wood and constructed so finely that the seams where the boards met were barely visible. Wood and paper lanterns hung here and there, glowing warmly. Some of the rooms were divided with sliding reed or paper screens while others were marked off by hanging tapestries embroidered with the most beautiful scenes.

Amaron led them into a main room where a fire was roaring in a pit in the floor over which a large black pot was hanging suspended from the ceiling. There were low tables set around the hearth and soft cushions upon which they were invited to sit and Artanis looked with awe at the spectacular view of the forest that was visible through the glass paned doors that lined the back of the house. She and Celeborn were seated on either side of Amaron and the room filled with the murmur of conversation as others filtered in, Amaron's family, friends, prominent villagers.

The adults greeted her politely, but the children did not have the grace to know that they should not stare and so they did, watching her with round eyes full of wonder, for they had never seen a Noldo before and the light in her eyes and the glimmering gold of her hair were foreign wonders entirely new to them.

"Forgive them their curiosity my Lady," Amaron's smiling wife said. "They have not yet learned any better." And she bent down to whisper into the ear of the dark-haired toddler who was clinging to her skirts. "I am Silefil." She introduced herself.

"Artanis. And I don't mind at all," Artanis said with a smile, waving to the little boy, who giggled and hid his face in his mother's skirts. His mother lifted him onto her lap and held him while they ate.

"Do you have many children?" Artanis asked her.

"Four," she said, bouncing the child on her lap. "Two are grown, a son and a daughter, both married, and these two little boys are mine as well." She kissed the boy she was holding on top of the head and gestured to the young boy sitting at Amaron's side.

"That is like my family," Artanis said, with a smile, "for I am the only girl of four children and all of my father's siblings have large families as well. But most Sindarin families I have met are quite small, at least in Menegroth it seems that many couples have only one or, at most, two children."

"That is true of most of our people," Silefil said, "though it has become more common to have a large family in the years since our Queen Melian fenced these lands. Before then it was an impossibility. Elflings made easy prey for Melkor's creatures and wild animals, and parents who have lost a child, particularly in that horrible manner, are often reluctant to have another. Or else it was often the case that one or both of the parents were killed before they were able to have any more children, as in the case of the prince and his brother." She said quietly, inclining her head in Celeborn's direction.

"Did you…know them?" Artanis asked, haltingly, noting the sad look in Silefil's eyes.

"Do you not know?" Silefil asked, "Celeborn told us that you were his consort. Did he say nothing to you?" In response to the puzzled look in the Noldo's eyes, the dark-haired elven woman sighed and ran her fingers through the soft hair of the child on her lap. In that moment Artanis almost thought that she looked old, in the way that dwarves and animals grew old. Then she reached for the golden chain that hung around her neck and pulled forth from her bodice a golden locket, drawing it over her head and handing it to Artanis.

"May I?" Artanis asked, although it seemed obvious that Silefil would not have handed her the locket if she did not want her to look at it. The Sindarin woman only nodded and Artanis carefully opened the clasp. There in the locket was set a painting so fine that Artanis almost gasped aloud at seeing it, for there could be no mistaking the woman who stared back at her out of the image. Her long hair was silver as a star, her eyes green as leaves, a familiar confidence graced her lips, just barely curled into the hint of a smile, and there was a certain courage and bravery in her gaze that humbled Artanis.

"She had that hair, that magnificent hair, even though she was not born a princess. Candil was my older sister," Silefil said, clasping the locket back about her neck, "my constant companion. She became the chieftainess of our people, a chieftainess of Thingol after our parents were killed and we spent many a long year with our people searching for the King while he was lost. It was then that she met Galadhon, a prince, the son of the King's lost brother, Elmo," she smiled, "and they were close from the start. It was no surprise to me that they married soon, for they were both quite daring and impatient besides." She laughed, and Artanis could tell that her mind was far away in memory.

"The following years were very happy ones, for Thingol was found, and Melian became our queen, and my sister had two lovely children of her own. In those days she lived here with Galadhon and her children." Silefil sighed. "I remember that we were very happy, despite the danger, for those were the days before Menegroth had been built or Melkor had been unchained. But still his creatures roamed here far and wide and they grew bolder, encroaching upon our camps, perhaps anticipating their master's imminent release. My sister was terrified that they would take her children, but she never expected that they would take her husband instead and so bold was her spirit that when they did take him she ran after them, determined that she would either kill them or be killed."

"After she went missing… I feared for the lives of her children, for this settlement was on the frontier and no longer safe for ones so young. Before she left in search of Galadhon she begged me keep them safe in the event that she did not return and I swore to her that I would. So, after several years, I took them to Thingol, for they were princes of the royal house and I knew that they would be safe with him."

"When I told Thingol of the passing of Galadhon and Candil he grew sorrowful, for Olwe had passed over the sea by that time and Elmo and his son, alone of Thingol's family, had stayed here in middle earth with him. Luthien was but a child then and Thingol had no sons and so, lamenting the death of the son of his beloved brother, he took his children as his own and raised them alongside his daughter, and I returned here, to where I was born and where I have always lived. But I dared not marry, though I had met Amaron and loved him, for I feared that my sister's fate would be our own and that, were we to have children, they too would grow to adulthood as orphans or else be killed themselves."

"But the third age of Melkor's chaining dawned and Thingol and Melian, driven by the sadness of Galadhon's death and sensing that Melkor might come to this world again to continue what evil he had started, cast the girdle about our kingdom and founded Menegroth as a refuge and capital city in preparation. It was then that we came to know peace. No longer could Melkor's creatures poach our people from their beds. And in the peace of Thingol we were able to build towns and villages, to make our living in fishing and planting and hunting without fear of meeting our death in the wild. Doriath became civilized. We built roads and bridges and ferried goods and people up and down the river and everyone prospered."

"How surprised I was!" She said with a laugh, the first time that I visited Menegroth and saw such a wonder as I had never imagined. I felt such a country girl. To think, that elves and dwarves could build such a magnificent thing, such a metropolis! I sat at the King's table and he called me his sister and I dined off of crystal and silver such as I had never dreamed of."

"But the most surprising and wonderful thing of all was to see my two nephews. For Galathil had been a babe barely able to walk when last I saw him, yet he had grown into a tall, well-learned elf, Thingol's herald, with all of his father's kindness and gentle manners. And Celeborn!" She laughed. "He was precocious child of but ten years when I took him to Thingol, but he was a man fully grown, with his father's height and broad shoulders. And he was so much like my sister in temperament, with her quick anger, her decisive nature, her sharp intellect, her boldness and daring."

"Thingol invited me to stay," she shook her head, "but this is my home and, besides, knowing that we were safe now, I wanted to return here, to marry Amaron, to have a family of my own…" She smiled. "And I did. It is thanks to Thingol and to Melian that we live so well now, that we no longer fear for the deaths of our children, of our spouses, of our loved ones and friends. It is thanks to them that the people of Doriath live in peace and happiness and prosper." She smiled. "Seeing him," she nodded towards Celeborn, "it is almost as though my sister lives again in her son. She would be proud of him, of this kingdom, of what we have all built." Of what I am putting in grave danger, Artanis thought to herself, feeling her heart grow chill in the midst of warmth and laughter.

"What happened, to his mother and father?" Artanis asked. She knew that Celeborn's parents were dead, indeed, it was common knowledge in Doriath, but he had never spoken on the matter before to her and she had not needed him too, assuming that the memories were too painful for him to recall.

But Silefil said nothing more in that regard and, instead, only asked, "those who return from Mandos's halls to Aman….have you…" Silefil began, haltingly.

"No… I'm sorry," Artanis replied. The dark haired Sinda's head dropped and she nodded.

"Uncle, Auntie," Celeborn said, rising, "my apologies but we have had a long journey today and will have a longer one in the next few days. I hate to turn in early, especially when I am enjoying myself so very much, but I believe I will take my rest now and the Lady Artanis will join me."

"Of course, your highness," Amaron said with a snide grin, rising, but Celeborn elbowed his uncle gently in the ribs and the two of them laughed. Silefil rose as well and embraced her nephew.

"Tell me," she said to Celeborn, casting a friendly glance at Artanis, "will Doriath soon have a Noldorin princess? Will you be the first of our princes to marry?"

"That, auntie," Celeborn said with a raised eyebrow and a grin, "is a private matter." In good spirits, he and Artanis were ushered into a magnificent room, fit for a prince of his station, where a thin mattress laden with pillows, blankets, and furs had been laid out on the glossy wooden floor. There was a low table upon which sat a steaming teapot and two porcelain tea bowls and wooden lanterns with paper screens were sitting in the corners of the room, glowing warmly. The room did not have walls, per say, so much as it was separated from the other rooms on two sides by finely painted sliding screens, some of them patterned with gold foil. The one wooden wall was completely covered by a tapestry of blue as dark as midnight, the crest of Thingol embroidered in the center in silver thread that glimmered in the lamplight. But most magnificent of all was the wall of glass paneled wooden doors that looked out upon the snow-covered forest.

Artanis walked to the doors, the wooden floor smooth and cool against her feet, looking out at the stars twinkling in the sky above, the snow that lay heavy upon the branches of pines, and the ruby red cardinals flitting about in the trees. Snow was falling gently in the light of the moon. It was rare that the Sindar slept at night and she and Celeborn were only doing so because tomorrow they planned to travel outside of the girdle, and so they would go by daylight, for orcs did not usually travel under the sun. She had grown used to waking at night and now she wished that she could stay awake, simply so that she could drink in more of the beauty of the night, so that time would not tread on, but would remain as frozen as the winter forest.

"It is strange," she said with a small laugh, speaking from her heart, "for I have always talked about how I would like to be a great queen and yet, having come here, I think that I would like to live in such a place as this, at peace amongst nature and kind people, away from the bustle of the city." She turned to see that Celeborn had stripped to his breeches, having carefully set aside his weapons and clothes. He came over to stand at her side, crossing his arms over his chest, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as she observed the way in which the glow of the lanterns played over his muscular arms and chest. It had been a long while since he had last touched her.

"Then be the queen of a forest," he said.

"Maybe I shall," she said. He laughed softly at that.

"Why did you not tell me that your family lives here, that you were born here?" She asked him softly and he turned to look at her, the light from the lanterns flickering in his green eyes. She could not quite read them and her heart quivered within the cage of her chest. He let out a long breath.

"I do not know," he said in a guarded tone, shaking his head, and she felt a sharp pain lance through her heart at the knowledge that he had kept something so intimate from her.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I don't remember them," He replied. They fell silent for a while.

"Thingol is my father now, Melian my mother."

Artanis nodded and he turned to her, his eyes uncertain, and the doubt in his face stole the air from her lungs, left them burning as though she had been underwater for far too long.

"This will be our last night alone before we reach Nargothrond," he said in a low voice, and Artanis stared quizzically back, not understanding what he meant to imply.

But there was a desperation rising in Celeborn, a desperation that had been rising since he had send the letter to Cirdan a month ago, a desperation that he had tried to put to rest as he spent the hours when he ought to have been sleeping in pacing the halls, imagining every conceivable reply that he might receive, pondering every possibility, driving himself half mad. He had returned to his quarters on occasion, not only because he did need to sleep, but because he would sometimes sit and watch Artanis sleep, trying to understand why he no longer loved her, trying to make those feelings come back, maybe he still could.

"Finrod will not permit us to share a room," he said.

"That is true," she said, looking unsure. "But…I hardly see how that matters…it seems that you no longer yearn for my touch…" The words hung between them like the blade of an axe.

"That is not true," Celeborn said. It was only half a lie. He still found her beautiful, still burned with the desire to touch her, only love no longer had anything to do with it. But he had convinced himself now that if he bound himself to her then he would come to love her again, that the bond would make it so. It was a half conceived plan, as are most plans born of madness, sundered hopes, and violent desperation.

"That is not true," he said again and stepped forward, undoing the ties of her jerkin, discarding it, reaching for the clasps of her tunic and opening them one by one. Oh how she wanted to believe him, but his fingers were shaking. But this could not be Celeborn, Celeborn whose fingers never shook, whose heart never doubted, whose mind was never uncertain, but was steady in all things, as a ship in still waters. At the thought, her body stiffened. It only increased his anxiety. The tunic fell to the floor and Artanis gasped, wrapping her arms about herself. She did not know why; Celeborn had seen her naked, had touched her many a time, every part of her, and it had always brought her joy, but it did not bring her joy now.

"You do not desire my touch," he said quietly, stilling his hands. She felt the warmth of his hands withdraw

"Yes," she made herself say, "yes I do." It seemed as though someone else were speaking the words. She did not understand her own mind at the moment. Hadn't she been longing for his touch for a month now? Hadn't she been missing it, craving it? He reached for her again, gingerly, tentatively, fearfully even. It was so strange. Even on their first night together they had not been so unsteady and bashful. Indeed, they had not been able to sate themselves, had stripped every inch of the other bare with lustful abandon, had not stopped until they had explored and committed to memory every minute detail of the other's body. Now they were slow, awkward, unsure.

He reached for her white cotton shirt and pulled it over her head, discarding it. Artanis struggled against the urge to cover herself with her hands and, instead, reached out tentatively to draw his waist within the circle of her arms and he, gingerly, almost as though he were frightened, cupped a firm breast in his hand. He hissed then, shuddering and closing his eyes and she knew by it that he desired her, physically at least. Frantically almost, more because she could not stand for him to do it than that she wanted to be naked, she reached down and unbuttoned her breeches, pushing them off. His hands went to his belt, and she heard the buckle clatter to the floor as he pulled it off, his breeches soon following. His hands were still shaking, she noted.

Almost mechanically they moved to the bed and she lay down, her body stiff, swallowing hard as her head touched the pillows. He moved overtop her and she hissed with discomfort at the weight of him, a weight she had never before minded, her palms pressed up against his chest. He made some sort of effort to kiss her, first on the lips, then on her neck, but it was very strange, fumbling, as though there was no feeling left in him. She felt his hand touch her and flinched because it hurt, for she was not in the least bit aroused, and then, to her great shock, she felt something else, she felt it, pressing there. They had gone far before; they had never ever gone that far.

"Bind with me?" He gasped, looking into her eyes.

"W…with no ceremony, no rings, no vows…" she stammered.

"It is not uncommon," he replied, his voice trembling. They must. They must bind or he would lose her…he would never feel anything for her again, maybe never feel anything for anyone ever again.

But Artanis looked into his eyes and saw them filled with fear, something she had never before seen in him, and she knew then why his touch brought her no joy this night; this was not Celeborn, or else not the Celeborn that she loved.

"Please…" he whispered, a strangled whisper.

"Celeborn…" she said, her lip trembling, tears starting in her eyes because it hurt her so very much to say it. "I don't think it is supposed to feel like this." Those words seemed to take all of the life from him as suddenly as a gust of wind might disperse the autumn leaves and he collapsed, his head against her chest. She could not see his face, but she could feel the wetness of tears against her skin and the shuddering of silent sobs, and suddenly she no longer feared his touch, for he was here now and not that other-seeming person. She clasped his head to her, her hands in his hair, silver the color of a comet's tail. She had never seen him so vulnerable and she held him, comforted him as best as she was able for she loved him, she loved him with all her heart, with all of her fea, with everything that she was. The tears rolled silently down her cheeks and in their hearts they both knew that it was finished.

Sometime between midnight and morning they could find no more tears to shed and Celeborn rose. Wordlessly pulling on his breeches, he slid one of the glass-paneled doors open and dropped down from the veranda, walking out barefoot into a moonbeam of pure white snow. Artanis donned her breeches and her cotton shirt and, clutching her arms tightly about herself, strode out after him, coming to a stop beside him.

They stood in silence for a long while and then she turned to him and, in a hoarse whisper said, "say it, the name that you gave me; call me your Galadriel." He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and gave no answer into the unspeaking silence. In that moment she knew with complete certainty what her heart had feared: he did not love her anymore.

Silently she turned, walking back in her own footsteps to the house. The tea had gone cold.

It was for Finrod's sake that they deemed it appropriate to feign happiness and contentment for now, for Felagund had been anticipating them for many years and, despite what had passed between themselves, they both still loved him dearly as a friend and brother. And so, for his sake, they would smile and laugh and make merry for a while until they must tell him why they had come. The both of them knew that it would only be for a short while, for he must be told that Thingol knew of the Silmarils and Artanis knew at last in her heart of hearts what she had decided: that she would tell Thingol of the kinslaying even though her brothers and cousins forbade it. But there was no grim foreboding in her heart now, for she had already lost that which was most dear to her and, in the face of that, the loss of honor, of pride, or status, of security seemed so monumentally trivial.

"Artanis, Celeborn!" Finrod came charging out of the gates in a fashion somewhat reminiscent of the over exuberant way that Luthien's hounds greeted her after a long absence. He embraced them warmly, first together, and then, finding that his arms would not wrap entirely around them both, separately.

"Artanis my beloved sister!" He cried, wrapping her in a hug that forced the wind from her lungs.

"Your only sister," she pointed out gasping for breath as he released her, but she was hardly in the mood for such humor. For her brother suspected nothing she could see. As ever, worldly and aged as he was, he was possessed of a certain naiveté regarding those he deemed good friends. Many times had it sparked arguments between him and her when that goodwill of his was directed at their cousins. Now that it was directed at her, she felt as though she were the most wretched of creatures who would soon destroy that happiness. But she had decided and there was not a creature alive who could sway her from that choice now that heartbreak drove her.

"Celeborn, my dearest friend!" She saw Celeborn wince at the force with which Finrod has slapped him on the back.

"And…" Finrod said, stepping back so that he might see them better, examining them with an appraising eye, "Yes, you make a very handsome couple indeed!" He grinned. "I take it that things are going well between you?" He turned and walked towards the gates.

"Very well indeed," said Celeborn jovially, "unless Artanis has any complaints."

"No, I have no complaints" she said with a smile. "We are very happy." She finished with a laugh that felt as hollow as Nargothrond's half-finished halls. Her heart beat slowly in her chest like a drum. She had thought no lie could hurt worse than the one she had been keeping already. She was wrong.

"Tell me, did you have a pleasant trip?" Finrod asked. "You cannot imagine how eagerly I have awaited your arrival. What could be better than having my sister and my dearest friend visit me all at once?" But more words poured out of his mouth before they could answer him as they passed within to the entryway. "Is it not lovely?" He asked, his voice heightened with excitement. The hall had the semblance of Menegroth but with something of a Noldorin bent to it. The pillars were tall stone trees, just like in Menegroth, with boughs of gold and leaves of gemstones. Yet the floors were not earth, but tiles of white and obsidian glass, polished so brightly that they might have been mirrors and Galadriel and Celeborn could see their faces vividly reflected back at them.

Nargothrond had not quite the wealth of wildlife that Menegroth had yet still, here and there, rabbits and squirrels darted about. They passed through room after room, watching the elves hard at work. Much of Nargothrond was yet incomplete and there were some rooms that were only mere stone yet. But everywhere golden lamps hung from the ceiling, illuminating the work, and Finrod bid them stop many times to observe the carving of a relief or the painting of a fresco.

"I feel almost as if I were within a museum of art," Artanis said.

"Then my project is succeeding!" Finrod exclaimed. "Oh, and Celeborn, we have prepared all that Thingol asked for, the maps and charts, the ledgers. I shall send them all back with you. I hope that I shall secure your positive recommendation. Now come!" His enthusiasm was contagious and they could not help but smile.

"But perhaps you are cold, for it is winter." He said half to himself and then called for one of the elves that stood nearby. "Gildor, warm capes and hot spiced wine for my guests if you please." The elf nodded and ran off to do his lord's bidding as they moved into the throne room.

It was not a replica of Menegroth but it was similar in style, like a living forest, two great trees canopying Finrod's throne, which was built from a massive piece of driftwood that had been polished, and carved, and made beautiful. Yet the trees here, in straight rows, seemed more orderly than those in Menegroth, which seemed to sprawl all over the place and, as Artanis walked amongst them the realization came over her suddenly.

"Lorien, it is Lorien," she said, turning to Finrod. He smiled in confirmation.

"It is indeed." He affirmed, "the gardens of Aman," he explained to Celeborn as the servant came bustling in bearing steaming goblets of spiced wine, two thick wool capes over his arm. They took the offerings gratefully and Artanis smiled as she sipped the warm sweet wine. "You should have seen her when she used to dance there. The Valar themselves could not have been more splendid," Finrod remarked to Celeborn with a grin.

"I imagine she was magnificent," Celeborn said politely and Artanis felt her heart break just a little more at his words. It was beginning to sink in now, that she would not have him. That she would be forced to endure the pain of watching him marry someone else, that he would kiss another's lips, that another woman would bear his children, would smile with him, laugh with him, live with him. Her throat felt unusually tight.

"But, I have one more surprise for you!" Finrod said with the giddiness of a child and as if on cue, from behind a pillar stepped two elves with long blonde hair bearing such a startling resemblance to Galadriel and Finrod that Celeborn knew they must be related. Indeed, one of them looked vaguely familiar.

"Aegnor has not yet arrived but he will be joining us as well," Finrod told them.

"Angrod! Orodreth!" Artanis cried joyfully, stepping forward to embrace her smiling relatives.

"I missed you sister!" Angrod cried, refusing yet to let her loose from his arms. "And Orodreth hardly remembers you. Certainly, I had to remedy that."

"Oh my," she laughed. "I was not expecting a family reunion! Celeborn," she said, turning towards him, "My brother Angrod and his son, my nephew Orodreth."

"The prince of Doriath, Celeborn of the trees," Angrod said with a smile, stepping forward to grasp the Sinda's hand. "We have met before, though only briefly. It is good to see you again."

"Likewise," Celeborn replied. "Though I must admit that I do not remember you well, I am grateful for this chance to become reacquainted as well as to meet your son." He turned towards Finrod. "And, may I offer you my most heartfelt congratulations Finrod. Nargothrond is splendid," said Celeborn sincerely. "Thingol will be most impressed when I show him the drawings."

"I certainly hope so. I am, after all, deeply indebted to him in more ways than one," Finrod said with a smile.

"There is no debt among friends," Celeborn assured him. "But, as much as I would very much like to speak of all that has occurred since your departure from Menegroth Finrod, I fear that, regrettably, there are matters that we must discuss, unpleasant matters." And so Finrod had had his happiness for a brief while but Celeborn did not mean to let him have it forever. The Noldo's brow creased in worry.

"Of course," he said, and the manner in which he said it was more reminiscent of how a vassal would address his liege lord than a friend address his friend. "Artanis…" Celeborn shook his silver head.

"She already knows. But perhaps it would be prudent for Angrod to join us." Finrod nodded. He had gone from ebullient to deathly somber in the matter of a second. "Very well then. Oropher," he nodded at his nephew, "why don't you show your Aunt the gardens."

"I am very sorry to have to do this Finrod," she heard Celeborn saying as Orodreth took her hand and led her away, but she felt no fear now, no worry over retribution, only the dull and hollow aching that had preoccupied her heart for the past few days.

"How very like her," Finrod spat, "to tell him everything else except that which implicates her. She only said nothing of the kinslaying or of the curse of Mandos because, as ever, she would absolve herself from all guilt." They were in the safety of his chambers now and both of the sons of Finarfin were boiling over with anger, though it was not directed at Celeborn, who had just told them that Doriath had learned of the Silmarils from Artanis, but at each other, for what Celeborn had told them had reopened doubts and arguments that had long lain dormant.

"This is your doing!" Angrod shouted, seething, his body trembling in rage. "Did you see the way that he looked when he spoke of her. Did you see his eyes – lifeless, dead? Whatever they may say, I know the truth. I looked into his eyes and there was no love there. She will lose everything, EVERYTHING because of you and your selfishness! I have said it before and I will say it again. We MUST tell them of the kinslaying."

"Me?" Finrod cried. "How is any of this my fault brother? It was not I who drew sword in Alqualonde."

"No, oh no you did not," Angrod laughed, a cruel laugh. "You stood by and watched mother's family be murdered. How does that make you feel Finrod? Does it help you sleep at night to know that you, at least, did not draw your sword?"

"And you drew yours and she drew hers and what of it? You slew your father's kin!"

"They were in the wrong," Angrod said firmly, slamming his fist down upon the table in Finrod's chambers. "Had we not slain them they would have slain many others."

"And is that how you sleep at night? Is that your justification for what you have done?" Finrod retorted.

"She is not your pawn to order about as you choose Finrod. The keeping of this secret has lain as a great burden upon her. Greater indeed than on any of us, for she alone of the Noldor resides in Menegroth and her heart is given in love to a Sindarin prince. "

"No? Well she is certainly Celeborn's pawn," Finrod spat bitterly. "And I do not force her to keep that secret, she keeps it of her own will."

"You have used her to your advantage!" Angrod cried angrily, his face coloring even redder, if that was possible, "You knew he loved her! You knew she loved him! By the Valar!" He swore an oath. "Long did I wonder why you felt comfortable leaving her in Menegroth. You have been using them against each other! You knew that she would say nothing of the kinslaying if she feared it would turn Celeborn's heart away from her. And you thought that he would pursue the matter no further if her love hung in the balance. Well you had better fear now brother, for his heart has turned and she no longer has incentive to remain silent. Indeed, I would wager all of the wealth that you brought out of Tirion that, even this very moment, she is contemplating telling him everything."

"But you did not count on that did you? You did not anticipate that his feelings might turn against her. Well, pray tell, what did you think, brother? Celeborn is no fool. Did you not think that he suspected something from the start; that he would forever be content to live with a woman who he knew was keeping a secret from him? And what of her visions? Were you secretly glad for the pain those brought her too? Did you think that if Thingol saw the way that those visions tormented her that he would think her mad, that he would take her word less seriously? I can assure you that is not the case," he shook his finger in his older brother's face, "Thingol has taken her very, very seriously."

"She brings that pain on herself!" Finrod cried. "Falling down and wailing like a child because she has bad dreams!" He scoffed. "And no, I am not pleased by them, for it seems that they tormented her so greatly that she was no longer able to withhold the secret of the Silmarils."

Angrod's nostrils flared. "You make fun of her for them, you tease her for it, you discount them. Yet what she sees is the truth Finrod, and you know it." Angrod circled his older brother angrily. "Do you think I don't know by now? Do you think I haven't figured out why you dismiss what she sees? What is it that you have seen, brother? What is it that frightens you so? What vision could haunt you that is so terrible that the only way you can escape it is to believe that all visions are false?"

A great shiver ran through Finrod and he turned away. "It is not for selfish reasons that I have implored her, implored you, to keep this secret," he said. "Have you forgotten what the Feanorians are capable of?" His voice was softer now, still firm, but not as angry. "They have never liked us. Even now they disparage us as tellers of tales, servants of Thingol. If she tells them…is that what you want?" He hissed in a low voice. "Do you want to bring war upon us? Do you want to see fighting and bloodshed between the sons of Finwe, between the princes of the Noldor and Menegroth? Do you want to see another kinslaying? Would it make our sister happier to see us dead, to see Celeborn killed?"

Angrod clenched his jaw. "We have had this fight many times Finrod. My answer has not changed. Too long have we pampered our cousins and catered to their wishes and desires. If they were man enough to kill then they should certainly be able to face disappointment. Thingol is a king in his own right. How is it your part to decide whether or no he would go to war? And those who would fight will fight. That is their decision, not yours. You let your guilt rule you."

"And you let your soft heart rule you," Finrod retorted.

"I have never been told that it is a fallacy to have a heart," Angrod replied defensively but his seemingly innocuous words awoke a rage in his brother's heart.

"A heart? Love? Love is weak!" Finrod bellowed, his voice ripe with venom. "Is that not a lesson you should have learned by now? Was mother's love strong enough to keep us in Aman? Was our love for her strong enough to prevent us from leaving? What of Nerdanel? Was her love strong enough to retain Feanor? Could Turgon's love save Elenwe from the ice? By the Valar Angrod! He was right there, separated from her by mere inches of frozen water and his love, his great, wonderful, fantastic love did nothing! It was powerless! Was Feanor's love for his sons strong enough to prevent him from condemning them to a life of pain and suffering? Was it strong enough to keep him from murdering outright the youngest of his children? HIS OWN SON! Was Artanis's love for Celeborn strong enough to retain his? Already she has lost him! Love is weak! Love is nothing! Security is the only preserver of peace!" He stood, his chest heaving in anger, in outrage, and Angrod stood, silenced in the wake of his brother's outburst.

"How much happier would Artanis be," Finrod said, his voice losing its edge, becoming kinder, "if she were to remain in Nargothrond. There is no reason now for her to return to Menegroth, now that Celeborn has cast her aside. Why must she continually pursue that which cannot work? She will be happier if her endeavors have goals that are possible. She can stay here and be happy. We can find her a husband of her own kind, one who will love her, who will give her everything that she desires: lands, a kingdom, fine treasures. I swear to you that my only wish is to protect her. She will be happier if she is not clinging to a love that is doomed to fail. Let her find love with another."

"Then perhaps Amarie has found love in the arms of another," Angrod said, his mouth thin. The simple words destroyed Finrod's argument in a single stroke and he sat down heavily in a chair as though the wind had been knocked from him. Angrod turned on his heel, not an ounce of sympathy left in his heart for his brother.

"I will go to our sister now to provide her what comfort I may, and, when they return to Menegroth in the coming weeks I shall go with them and take Aegnor with me if he is willing. I mean to tell Thingol everything, if Artanis will not. It is your choice whether you will go with us or not." And with that he left Finrod alone.