Prodigal Children

Doriath: 20th Chapter

"So hope for a great sea-change
On the far side of revenge.
Believe that a further shore
Is reachable from here.
Believe in miracles
And cures and healing wells."

– Seamus Heaney

Author's note: Here, have another chapter. I absolutely love this one. I think it might be my favorite so far and I want to go ahead and share it. Thanks so much for your reviews guys. They really do mean a lot to me and really help me direct the story. I promise I will get back to all of you soon. I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Galadriel's days were spent in silence, with hardly anything but her own thoughts for company, for it seemed that no one wished to speak to her and, even if there were any who were willing, they dared not speak for fear that they might be ostracized for doing so. The only words that she heard of late were commands and the only words she heard concerning herself were decidedly negative and often spoken just loudly enough to ensure that she would hear them.

However, despite the problems that she faced and despite her indignation at having been reduced to such a menial position, Galadriel could never have been called anything less than diligent and, through her hard work she managed to move from scrubbing floors and cleaning fireplaces to a position as a scullery maid and, at last, managed to attain a somewhat better post as a junior laundress. The one, and very significant downside to this was that Paniel was a senior laundress and Galadriel now spent nearly every day in close proximity to her.

The conflicts between the two had not stopped, in fact, Galadriel very much thought that Paniel seemed to continually be trying to outdo herself, to think of some new and even more wretched way to torment her. Once, after Paniel had managed to slip a red shirt into a pile of white ones that Galadriel was laundering, she had turned to the girl who usually washed beside her, a girl with long, straight black hair. "Someone ought to teach her a lesson," Galadriel had said out of frustration, more to vent the thought than out of a hope that the other girl cared to listen.

But the other girl had snorted softly with restrained laughter. "Then do it," she had replied.

Although working alongside Paniel was a serious detriment, working in the laundries did have advantages. Seeing as they were so very close to the bathhouses, Galadriel was now carefully able to observe when they were full and when they were deserted, enabling her to slip into them from time to time when no one was there, which was usually during the day, when the vast majority of the Sindar were asleep. Slipping into the dressing rooms, she quickly removed her blue woolen gown and her apron, depositing them in a basket, noting to her great relief that all of the other baskets were empty this day. The place was deserted then. Silently she thanked the Valar for this small mercy.

Entering the baths themselves, she moved to wash in the fountains, surreptitiously glancing up to make sure that the rooms really were empty. It was pleasant, she thought, to be able to be here without unwelcoming eyes upon her. Having scrubbed and washed, she padded across the mossy floor and slipped into one of the larger pools, feeling the water's warm embrace on her skin, and smiled as she looked up at the elegant ceiling from which the gentle morning light of the sun shone down. The sky was a crisp, perfect blue this day. She closed her eyes and ducked beneath the surface for a moment before coming up to rest her arms on the edge of the pool, brushing her hair back from her face.

The past few years had been extraordinarily difficult for her. Never had she been in the midst of so many people and yet felt so completely alone. She had known that she would be shunned and she had mentally prepared herself for it, but that did not make it any easier to endure and Paniel certainly made it a good deal more difficult. She sighed and pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She was sure she would be tired next evening when her shift started from having stayed up so late into the day, however, it was worth it if she was able to use the baths during the day without suffering any abuse.

From Nargothrond she had been unable to fully comprehend the damage that she had caused but now she was so very aware. And though she was determined to right her wrongs as best as she was able, to be of some service, she still felt a pang of petty anger at Thingol for having done his best to place her somewhere where she could do nothing of any significance. And yet it was not all worthless, for the truth of the matter was that though she was too proud to admit it to anyone, she had come not only to make her home here, but because she was unable to live with herself and the wrong that she had done. She was determined to change herself, for Doriath's sake, for Finrod's sake, for her own sake. It was already proving to be a more painful and arduous process than she had anticipated and her pride warred with her heart.

Uncurling her legs from her chest, she sank into the water up to her neck, feeling the heat relaxing the tension that she constantly carried in her shoulders. It had been no accident that in the 20 years since she had arrived in Menegroth she had not encountered Celeborn even once, for that had been a trial of the heart for which she was unprepared and so she had been careful to avoid him, not that that was particularly hard seeing as he did not associate with laundresses. He, she knew, was probably avoiding her for the same reason. She loved him still, she loved him deeply and yet she knew in her heart, just as he must, that it was better that things were finished between them.

A noise startled her, and she looked up to see the Lady Venessiel slipping into the water opposite her. "Good evening," she said politely, noticing that Galadriel had taken note of her entrance and the Noldo was surprised not only to be greeted so cordially, but also that anyone would deign to bathe with her. It aroused her suspicions and she felt a flash of irrational anger.

"Here to ridicule me?" Galadriel asked. The response had become a reflex. It was an uncharitable thing to say, she knew, but she was not feeling very friendly of late given the way that she was constantly treated, especially when she used the baths, and while she was absent from Menegroth Venessiel had married Oropher who, along with Saeros, had always been one of those who had chiefly opposed the building of Nargothrond and any association of the Sindar with the Noldor.

"I would beg you not assume that my husband's opinions are my own," the dark-haired Sinda retorted, furrowing her brow in irritation. Galadriel remained silent, duly chastised. They sat in silence for a long while and then Venessiel spoke again, her voice echoing in the empty chamber.

"Doesn't wash off does it?" She asked and Galadriel looked up, startled. "What you've done," she said, "it doesn't wash off, at least not in your eyes. You still see the blood on your hands whenever you look at them. But I bet you tried, didn't you, to cleanse yourself of it."

"What would you know of that and what right have you to comment upon it?" Galadriel said, bristling, for she could not imagine that the Sindarin noblewoman could have any intent other than a malicious one, though she had said otherwise. It was no secret that she and Venessiel had never borne each other any fondness, though they did not know each other well.

"We've all done it," Venessiel shrugged. "Everyone likes to act all high and mighty and pure but we have all done things we are not proud of. And, what is more, sometimes in the course of our duties we must make choices that inadvertently affect who lives and dies, who prospers and suffers. When I allocated the funds to your brother to found Nargothrond I knew there would be effects, some good and some bad. Even now, the council continually delays while our citizens in the North perish and suffer from the policies of your cousin Maedhros. Still, they like to talk in terms of black and white, but sometimes it is really a matter of choosing what seems to be the lesser of two evils and hoping beyond hope that you chose correctly. What you've done…not that is wasn't bad, because it was, but it isn't so very different from all of that; and if they're accusing you of having kept secrets…well you are most probably more innocent than any one of the King's ministers" And Galadriel, finding kindness where she had expected scorn, did not quite know what to say.

"I…I…" Galadriel stammered. "Why would you be kind to me?" She asked at last, for that was the true question that was on her mind.

Venessiel laughed and there was even something in her laugh that was fascinating; she was a woman you could not take your eyes from and it was not only because she was beautiful. "Did Celeborn lead you to believe that I am cruel?" She asked and Galadriel said nothing, for she would have had to admit that while Celeborn had never said anything very negative regarding his previous lover, he also made it clear that she irked him. It had, perhaps, created a deeper impression upon Galadriel than she had believed.

"There are as many points of view and versions of the truth as there are elves," Venessiel said then. "Perhaps Celeborn is justified in whatever he has said about me, but I have my complaints as well and who can truthfully say which of us is more correct or evaluate such a thing without bias? We are all playing at the same game after all, no matter how much we might try to deny it, and if you are not discerning then you shall certainly lose." Galadriel merely nodded, not quite understanding what the King's counselor meant or why she would tell her, of all people.

"Oh dear, I am sorry," Venessiel said then, leaning forward. "I didn't mean to bring up old wounds. What I'm trying to say is, don't let them get you so very down about it. We've all made mistakes and maybe that's why they took it so badly with you. It can be a difficult thing to see yourself in someone else's downfall."

"It's quite alright," Galadriel assured her.

The King's minister stood, stretched, and wrung out her long dark hair. "Well then," she said, laughing again, "it has been a long evening indeed and I should return to my husband ere noon draws nigh lest he begin to worry. I bid you a good day Galadriel."

"My Lady," Galadriel called confused, rising from the water as Venessiel made to leave. "Why…why have you been so pleasant to me?"

"Does one need a reason for pleasantness?" Venesiel laughed, a twinkle in her eye, and then she said, "for many reasons, and I have already told you what they are." And Galadriel sank back into the water, marveling that someone would have sympathy for her plight and marveling even more that such sympathy had come from one of such high standing. Perhaps all was not lost. Perhaps there was a way out of this drudgery.

"Celeborn, you mad bastard," Beleg whispered as he sat down with the long-awaited beer, still frothing at the top in its icy cold tankards, "will you stop staring at them like that? Saeros won't pick a fight but Oropher will!"

Galathil reached out to take a mug, sipping at the cold foam, as Beleg passed the other to Celeborn. "Blocking my vote for years and years," Celeborn grumbled. "I wish that politics were more like war."

"Why? So you could gut him and be done with it?" Beleg murmured.

"Politics are worse than war," Galathil quipped.

"That is exactly what I mean," Celeborn said and the three of them turned to glance briefly across the tavern at a table where Oropher, Saeros, Thaudir, who was one of the younger minstrels, and several others sat laughing and joking. "It doesn't make any sense," the high prince grumbled. "How can he be so violently against the Noldor and yet be so ardently opposed to stopping Maedhros's expansion into our northern cities."

"Because he doesn't care at all about what's right and what's wrong. You can't argue logic with someone who defies it, Celeborn. He's a ladder-climbing snake and he has been since day one. There is no changing him. He wants to be the most respected councilor, he wants to be the ear of Thingol and the hand too, he wants to be a great vizier and to rise as high as he can rise, and higher if he gets the chance," Beleg whispered. "He sees that you've taken a little tumble and he's trying his hardest to steal your horse ere you can get back in the saddle. Don't concern yourself with people like him. No one is fooled. Everyone knows that your love lies with Doriath. Everyone knows you are doing the right thing and they trust you, not him."

"Not everyone. He holds much sway," Celeborn remarked, however, a swallow of the ice cold beer did a good deal to ease his tension.

"You sound paranoid, like Uncle," said Galathil, earning himself an elbow in the ribs.

"He is powerful. But you are more powerful still." Beleg said. "You are a Prince of Doriath, blood of Thingol's blood. Climb as high as he might he will never be as you. What can he do? You led our people to victory at the Battle of Beleriand and you have done much good for them. They have not forgotten it."

"He's just compensating because he's a Nando," Galathil remarked.

"There's no shame in being a Nando," Celeborn replied.

"No. But he thinks there is," Galathil said. "He has a very jealous temperament."

"And yet he refused to help Amdir, to help the Avari," Celeborn grumbled.

"There are always hierarchies, even amongst minorities," Beleg cautioned. "Saeros would probably have metaphorically stabbed Denethor in the back at some point or another, if the orcs hadn't done it literally. He's the kind that can't stand to be anything less than a king."

"King? He'd rather be a god," Galathil murmured with a raised eyebrow and a grin.

"He has no chance of becoming either," Celeborn said. "Though that shall not quench his ambition. Perhaps that is what irks him so." The conversation lapsed into silence, for they were very conspicuous, speaking in hushed voices as they were, and Saeros and Oropher were beginning to take note.

"What exactly is going on at Himring anyway?" Beleg asked curiously, changing the subject. "I have heard so many things that I cannot be sure what the truth of the matter is. It has been a while since I was back in Menegroth."

"It's been going on for a while now. Maedhros and Maglor's people have discovered veins of gold in the mountain and are cutting the forest down in order to dig mines there, which wouldn't be a problem ordinarily, except that they are clear-cutting the trees, so when the heavy rains come in the spring the trunks wash down the mountain and there are terrible mudslides as well."

"Well that is very troublesome indeed," Beleg said with a furrowed brow, "and dangerous, I would think. I have not been in that region in a while but I would like to go so that I can see the state of things for myself."

"Some of our people have been killed," Celeborn said with a nod. "And many more have had their homes and businesses destroyed."

"Have they sent no word to Maedhros?" Galathil asked.

"They have sent letters," Celeborn said, "which have been ignored. But they are frightened of the Noldor and dare not venture into the fortress at Himring itself. They have many superstitions regarding them and it seems that news of my and Luthien's disastrous trip to Himlad has become common knowledge."

"Ah," Beleg grunted. "No wonder they are frightened."

"It was foolish indeed, going there," Celeborn murmured. "We could not foresee the repercussions of our actions."

Beleg grunted in response. "I hope it would not be misconstrued as treason if I were to say that isolation of a kingdom is not a very good means of obtaining information about one's enemies and in my experience the best way of defeating one's adversaries is to know every bit about them. The girl…Galadriel… could have been an ally, easily turned."

"Not treason, no," Celeborn said in reply to his friend and the rest of the conversation lay in the silence between them.

"But I have heard that Maedhros and Maglor are far more reasonable than their younger brothers," Galathil said, interrupting what lay unspoken.

"And I have heard that too," Celeborn replied. "But that doesn't make our people on the frontier any less frightened of them. They are not aware of the goings on in Menegroth, or of our politics. They only know that their families and friends are suffering and that Maedhros's people are causing it. That is enough reason for them to be frightened, and enough reason for them to grow angrier with Menegroth with each passing year."

"Seeing as it is an international matter rather than a domestic one, Uncle can't do much about it without the council's approval though can he?" Galathil asked. Celeborn shook his head.

"And neither can I."

"Perhaps that is his aim," Beleg said, jerking his head subtly towards Saeros. "He wants you to back off so that he can step in and solve the problem. Then he'll look like the hero and gain all of the favor."

"He ought to know by now that I don't back off," Celeborn said with a grin and Beleg laughed.

"Sometimes it would be better if you did," Galathil grumbled into his beer foam.

"You know I would go to Himring with you if it would do anything," Beleg said.

"You have my thanks, my friend," Celeborn said, "but I fear there is very little we can do without the majority support of the council. If I only had one or two more members of the council who were loyal to my position then I might be able to swing the vote. Yet in recent years, particularly after the news of the kinslaying, there are many who prefer a policy of total isolation, even if it is at the expense of the lives of our people at the borders of the girdle. As the matter stands, there is little I can do."

"But perhaps that is not entirely true," Beleg replied. "For it may be that we cannot do anything as representatives of the crown, but that does not mean that we have no power as private citizens. I think that perhaps there is something we might be able to do, for I have an old friend in that region that could help. But first, let me write her a letter and discern the truth of the matter."

"If you think that would help then I should be very glad for it," Celeborn said, sounding a bit more hopeful.

"Well then, no use worrying over it now. Let us have another beer and speak of more pleasant matters!" Beleg said, standing to fetch three more beers. And it was then that a great roar of laughter rose up from one of the other tables, laughter that Celeborn recognized as Saeros's. As he had his back to them he could not see them and he did not care to turn and look, but he saw Galathil, sitting across from him where he could easily see them, swallow rather hard.

"Are they talking about me?" Celeborn asked with a steely glare at his brother.

"Well, they're planning on something," Galathil said. "And I wager it is nothing good and I would further wager that, yes, it has something or other to do with you."

"In that case I shall take my leave," Celeborn murmured with a grin, rising from the table and slapping his brother on the shoulder, "lest I do something foolish I shall regret."

"You never did know when to hold your tongue or your fists," Galathil laughed. Celeborn glanced over to where Beleg was standing, flirting with the tavern keeper's daughter, the three freshly poured beers forgotten beside him.

"Make sure you give this to him," Celeborn said, setting a stack of copper coins down on the table. "I won't have him paying for my part of the beer again. I owe him too much as it is." And with that he turned and made his exit.

"He has a hard time letting go doesn't he," Beleg said with a laugh as he returned to the table, the beers in hand.

"He's always been that way," Galathil said and in his voice was both humor and sadness, neither greater than the other.

In the years after she had spoken to Venessiel, Galadriel spent a good deal of time pondering her words and, while she very much appreciated that the Sinda had had the decency to speak to her, she could not quite believe it to be genuine, wondering what other motive the minister of finance might have, even as she wondered how she had come to be so distrusting of others and whether or not that distrust was merited.

Then again, she supposed with a quiet sigh as she carefully folded the laundry, perhaps that was not so surprising given her family. The whole lot of them were untrustworthy. She almost smiled at the thought and her thoughts turned towards Finrod. Sometimes his letters were all that sustained her when things became difficult here.

And then she had had news from Angrod as well. He always kept her abreast of matters with him and Aegnor, and of Orodreth and his new baby girl, Finduilas. Galadriel marveled that she was now a great aunt and the thought brought a true smile to her face. It seems I am destined to become an old maid, she thought. The thought did not bother her now as it might have once upon a time. Instead, she found it rather amusing. Perhaps, she thought, when I have made things right I might be able to have them come for a visit and then I could see her. Angrod swore up and down that his granddaughter was the spitting image of his sister.

"Mind your business," she heard the sharp and familiar voice say behind, accompanied by an elbow in her ribs. Paniel's intrusion upon such rare and pleasant thoughts was particularly unwelcome and Galadriel looked up, glaring at her.

"I am minding my business," she said, pointing to the neatly folded stacks of clothing that she had nearly finished.

"Are you?" Paniel sneered before reaching out and sweeping the piles of clothes to the ground, stomping on them. "Oh dear, looks like you've soiled them. Better wash them again." Galadriel was bristling in anger now, red in the face, standing with her hands clenched at her sides. It was the closest she had ever gotten to striking the other woman and she was not sure why now, out of all the times that Paniel had been so horrid to her, she most wanted to put her in her place. Perhaps it was because she had just had good news and Paniel had spoiled it. Perhaps it was because she was less tolerant of such overtures since Venessiel had showed her some kindness and sympathy. Or, perhaps it was just because her long tried patience was at last wearing dangerously thin.

"Pick it up," Paniel said.

"I won't," Galadriel replied, staring back with eyes equally as cold as her adversary's.

Paniel merely stood there, staring at her, her arms crossed over her chest as though she wanted to see what Galadriel would do about it. And she might very well have had words with her, or even come to blows, if it had not been for one of the other laundresses, a rather young looking elf with long, wildly-curly hair the color of an acorn who slowly bent down and began to gather the spilled laundry with a hesitant look on her face as though she wished to help but very much feared being chastised for it.

She was right to worry for Paniel snapped at her almost immediately. "Leave it, Bainwen." And the brown-haired girl set the laundry back down, dropped her eyes to the ground, and scurried away.

"Losing control of them, Paniel?" Galadriel asked, but the malice had gone from her voice for the girl's brief interruption had given her a chance to stifle her anger, if only a bit.

"Do you think that if you challenge me that I will stop?" Paniel hissed. "Do you think that is all it takes, one person standing up to someone? Do you understand why I am the way that I am?" Paniel asked. "It is very simple and I will explain it to you. I am the way that I am because I enjoy being that way. I do the things that I do to you because I like it. I fight because I am good at fighting. When you mess with people like me, Galadriel, we don't stop, we just come back with a bigger knife. You don't know what this city is like. All you've done is associate with the upper crust. Well, you're in the underbelly of this city now with us common folk and you had better learn to play by our rules or things will end very ill for you."

She looked hard into Galadriel's eyes for a moment silently, clearly cross, her nostrils flared and a particularly nasty look flashed upon her face before she turned and stalked away. Rolling her eyes and groaning, Galadriel bent to pick up the now soiled clothes that had only a few moments ago been perfectly clean, and piled them back into her basket before tucking it on her hip, going to wash them again. The added work had made her late for dinner, which made her cross, and that, in turn, had caused her to be rather late in returning to the servants' quarters. Indeed, by the time that she had bathed she practically had to sprint back so that she would not miss curfew and be locked out.

Yet, she found little relief in having arrived on time, for she had no sooner entered than she discerned that Paniel was up to something malicious. She tried her best to ignore her, for her temper was still running high from earlier and she did not doubt that she would do something she would regret if provoked, but she could not help but cast a glance towards where Paniel was sitting on her bed with a large group of girls gathered around her. Some of them looked as though they were openly delighting in whatever it was she was up to while others looked as though they would rather not be involved at all but had little choice in the matter.

Galadriel sighed, looking away and shaking her head as she moved to her own bed, taking the key from around her neck to open her trunk but, when she bent down to open it, however, she found that the lock had been broken and, horrified, she threw it open, searching through the contents. And, just as she began to discover what it was that was missing, Paniel raised her voice as though she had been waiting for this moment, had been waiting for Galadriel to return, waiting for her to realize what she had taken.

"…I was, of course, very worried that things would go poorly between you and Celeborn upon your return to Menegroth so perhaps it is a blessing that he has not approached you. After all, wounds of the heart take a very long time to heal, if they ever do heal completely, and we ever after bear their scars upon our souls. I have no doubt that, even if he denies it, Celeborn still suffers from the love he bore you, just as you still suffer the loss of his love."

"Stop it," Galadriel hissed, turning towards Paniel, balling her fists at her sides, shaking with rage. "Those are private letters from my brother. They are personal property. You have no right…" But Paniel interrupted her.

"But this is my favorite part," she sneered and continued to read. Galadriel looked with horror at the pile of letters in her lap, all opened. How many had she read? "Well do I know your pain, for my heart still cries out for Amarie and I know not how I can survive the trials that doubtlessly lie before me without her here by my side. I have tried to consult with Angrod on the matter seeing as how Eldalótë remained behind but he will say nothing of the matter.I hope, therefore, that you will not blame me if I say that I look upon the prospect of traveling to Mandos's halls with some sort of anticipation that others might call perverse, for I can think of no other way that I might possibly be able to return to her side. And, though she may not ever wish to speak to me again, and how justified she would be if it were so, I think that death is a fair price to pay to look upon her but one more time."

"Stop it!" Galadriel cried, tears brimming in her eyes.

"You never said anything about it," Paniel said, looking up, and Galadriel was grateful, at least, that she had stopped reading the letters. "You never told us you were Prince Celeborn's lover." Some of the girls laughed. "Pity they aren't written in Quenya, then I could have had you accused of treason."

"It isn't your business," Galadriel replied.

"Did you really ever think a Sinda could love a Noldo?" Paniel sneered. "You are nothing to us. I'm sure he must only have been using you. You were his plaything, his whore. You meant nothing to him and then he cast you aside. My, you are even more pathetic than I thought!" More laughter.

"Shut up," Galadriel ground out from clenched teeth. "You don't know anything about him. You don't know anything about me." She could feel a vein throbbing in her forehead, could feel her heart beating as though it wanted to escape her chest, and she was trembling in rage, trying to restrain herself from rushing at Paniel and hitting her.

"But the most pathetic thing of all is your brother," Paniel continued.

"You may talk about me all you wish," Galadriel said, "but you will say nothing of Finrod." Paniel paid her no mind.

"He wants to commit suicide!" Paniel laughed. "Who ever heard of one of the Eldar wishing for death! Then again, it isn't as if there would be anyone to mourn him, a kinslayer, a liar, a traitor…" She doubtlessly had more to say, but Galadriel's fist in her jaw prevented her from saying it. She had practically launched herself across the room before landing a solid punch to Paniel's face. The other girls shrieked, diving out of the way, and Galadriel took some momentary pleasure in realizing how false their loyalty to the pink-faced girl was for they no sooner defended Paniel than they had Galadriel.

Galadriel's mind seemed to have gone completely white and she could feel her heart beating fast as a hammer, pumping blood through her body, pumping the desire to fight, to injure, through her with it. She fisted her hand in Paniel's hair and slammed her head into the bedpost before the other girl was able to get her bearings. She was vaguely conscious of the other girl's screaming and then Paniel was clawing at her face, throwing her to the ground. They wrestled for a moment.

"You bitch!" Paniel was shrieking. "You fucking kinslayer! Going to kill me too are you?"

"Maybe I should!" Galadriel was shouting back, unthinking. Paniel landed a solid punch to her ribs that knocked the air from her and then she tore at Galadriel's hair, ripping it out in chunks. Galadriel managed to turn the tables, pinning Paniel down, and began to strike her across the face but then someone was pulling at her, grabbing her arms even as she attempted to continue hitting the Sinda, tearing her off of the other girl.

"Galadriel! Galadriel!" It was Madam Lhaineth's voice. But Galadriel was taller than all of them and stronger besides by virtue of her Noldorin blood and she would have managed to shake Madam Lhaineth off if the other girls had not at last come to their senses, doing their best to restrain both of them.

"Galadriel!" She could see Madam Lhaineth's face before her now, even though her mind was clouded with rage. "Galadriel! You will stop this this instant! And that goes for you too Paniel!" Madam Lhaineth cried, furious. Galadriel was still breathing in great gasps but at that moment it was as though a dam had broken inside of her and the tears poured forth, streaming angrily down her face as she choked out hoarse cries of despair and Paniel merely sneered at her through her broken lip. Galadriel wanted to smash Paniel's face into the ground until it was red and bleeding and raw, until she stopped speaking, stopped moving, stopped breathing. Gradually the other girls began to loosen their hold.

"What is the meaning of this?" Madam Lhaineth cried, looking from one to the other. "I will have the both of you punished as severely as I am able!" And Galadriel's mind revolted against the notion, for she had been through punishment enough and she would endure no more. Breaking free of the elves who had restrained her, she made for her bed, pulling her spear from beneath it and throwing off the leather guard from the blade. There was a collective gasp and she turned to see, to her satisfaction, that all of them had frozen in fear.

"Leave me alone," she said firmly, still shaking. No one made any moves towards her. "Leave me alone," she repeated, "I am going. Don't follow me." And with that she slipped through the doors and out into the corridor.

Galadriel stormed through the daylit hallways of Menegroth, her spear clutched tightly in her sweating and still trembling hand. And she was lucky indeed that it was so late in the morning or the halls would have been more densely populated and she would doubtlessly have been stopped for carrying an unsheathed weapon in a public place. As it was, luck was with her, and she encountered hardly anyone. Her knuckles were sore from having hit Paniel. She cared not at all that it was past her curfew, nor that Madam Laineth would doubtlessly be furious with her, nor even that she might lose her job and incur some more terrible punishment. She could not stand to be in that room and she could not stand to be anywhere near them, any of them. She sobbed still, reaching up to wipe the tears away, her heart heavy with sadness about the things they had said about Finrod. They don't understand. They don't understand any of it! They don't understand what it is like to live with that guilt every moment of every day!

She had believed that there might be some good she could do here, that there could possibly be a way to heal the rift between her people and the Sindar, that perhaps she could serve Thingol in some useful capacity but in light of the constant problems she was faced with all of those hopes seemed rather infantile and she felt stupid, oh so very stupid for having entertained them in the first place. She had thought that Thingol could be reasoned with, that they might have a mutually beneficial relationship, at least that she could make things between her and Celeborn right. And yet, everyone she had previously known avoided her as though she were practically an orc.

Most of all what bothered her was that she felt as though she were letting everyone down. She had fulfilled none of the oaths she had made and, what was worse, she did not even know where to begin. Yes, she had given Thingol the Elessar, and the coins, and the information about the dwarves and all for naught, it had had no effect whatsoever. It had helped no one. She drew in a deep breath, trying to steady herself, to relieve some of the anger that threatened to overwhelm her, but it did no good.

She was glad they had pulled her off of Paniel. She wasn't sure what she would have done otherwise, how far she would have gone. She still wanted to hit something, or someone, to fight. She had almost wanted to kill. She knew she was capable of it. Venessiel had been right; it didn't wash off.

Someone was following her now, tracking her through the corridors, and they were skilled but she had lived amongst the Sindar long enough to know when she was being followed: a guard perhaps, to accost her for carrying an unsheathed weapon, Madam Lhaineth perhaps, coming to punish her, to demand she return. She did not turn back, did not acknowledge them. Let them pick a fight if that was what they wanted; she was ready. A flash of anger that was not her own suddenly coursed through her mind.

The corridors at last gave way to the secluded courtyard, exactly where she had remembered it being, her feet had seemed to carry her here of their own will. An empty and solitary fountain stood in the center and the pillars around the courtyard had fallen into disrepair, overrun with ivy, one of Menegroth's many forgotten places. The ivy had grown so thick that it nearly obscured the ceiling and only small beams of dim sunlight managed to penetrate the overgrowth. She had met Celeborn here many a time when they were just beginning their courtship and here they had passed many a pleasant hour in conversation and in one another's embrace. It seemed an age ago now, a world ago.

She did not dwell on such thoughts. Having entered that place she wheeled about, expecting to find that Paniel had followed her, seeking her revenge, come to ridicule her again, but the only sounds that filled that place were the scuff of her leather boots against the stones and the deadly whistle of her spear's blade before she heard the sound of metal on metal, sharp, ringing into the silence, and she looked into the eyes of her pursuer.

Almost like a specter he seemed, dressed in black, his hair tied back tightly, hanging behind him like a long ribbon of silver. And his eyes, they were hard, cold, calculating, judgmental…angry. She knew not how he had found her. Celeborn lowered his axe and, slowly, she lowered her spear.

Celebrimbor had followed her to watch in secret as she danced, and Celeborn… he had followed her to watch in secret how she killed. They were as different as the sun and the moon. There had been those who had warned her when she first began her courtship with him so long ago, some of Melian's handmaidens had whispered that he was a dangerous man, that he had done things, things of which no one spoke, and she had found that hard to believe. For all she had ever seen was the Celeborn who drank hard and laughed harder, who made an art of humor and of arrogance, who seemed to have not a subtle bone in his body, who did not temper his voice, who plainly spoke his mind.

But now she could see what they had meant when she looked into his eyes. Celeborn who could come upon you unawares and you would never have known, not until you felt his breath on the back of your neck, the steel of his blade in your gut, a knife in the night, brutal and unrefined, fey and fell. Celeborn who did not bother to wipe the blood from himself after a battle, who, it was rumored, had killed a bear with his bare hands. Celeborn who laughed in the face of war, Celeborn who had mocked Morgoth himself as he stood on the plains of Amon Ereb, who Finrod had said had painted himself in the blood of his kills. Celeborn the wise they called him. And now she could see his wisdom, a wisdom born of death.

And she wanted it, she welcomed it, she wanted nothing more than to bring her spear to bear against his axe, to fight him with all of her strength. She wanted him to strike her as thought he wished to kill her and she wanted to respond with the same. Her lungs felt tight from anger as they stood in a shaft of dim sunlight, looking at each other with fury clearly writ in their eyes and their breath like frosted smoke in the cool air of the caverns.

"Will we never be finished?" She asked him, her voice hard. He did not answer her question.

"Are you not sickened at the sight of me?" She spat. "Even the Valar find me abhorrent. Are you not frightened of me, a kinslayer, one who has shed elven blood?"

"You do not frighten me," Celeborn said, his voice barely a whisper, "nor do you sicken me."

"Then if you have any mercy in you I beg that you cut me down," she cried, near hysterical now. "It would have been better if I had died. I would be better now if I were dead. What good am I to anyone? I am only a burden!" Celeborn only ignored her question.

"When you take a life," he said, his voice low and angry, "you must always look into the eyes of the creature whose life you are taking." He struck, strong, hard, and she brought her spear to bear against his axe, the force of the blow made her feel as though her bones would shatter, as though he struck in seriousness, with the intent to kill. The blade of her spear vibrated and she held it at the ready as she took a step back, tensed to strike. And yet she was pleased, ready, for she had wished most ardently for a fight and now it was at hand. There was no opponent more suitable and, perhaps he was the opponent she had been fighting all along.

"Whether animal, or orc…or elf…" he struck again and this time she was ready, parrying his blow handily and striking back herself with strength. He blocked her.

"It is the last honor you can give them." He struck and she met his blow, pushing against him, using the energy to leap backwards, her spear at the ready.

"I looked each of them in the eyes," she replied, defending herself, her voice cool, strangely collected. "And I remember each one as clearly as if it had been yesterday."

"And me?" He asked. "When you took my life you looked away." She stood, stunned, silent, her anger forgotten in that moment, but he struck, quick as a viper, powerful as an ox, and she blocked the blow, leaping away once more.

"I loved you for your strength," he said, "but in the end I received only cowardice."

"It was not cowardice!" She cried, her eyes flashing angrily, and this time she struck, bringing her spear high over her head and he took advantage of the opening, swinging for her unguarded waist, but she blocked him with the butt of her weapon, hard, it seemed to barely affect him.

"It was cowardice!" He ground out from between clenched teeth. "You cared so little for my pain and so much for your own. And so you could not bear it, you could not bear to look into my eyes as you dealt me death!"

"And what would you know of it?" She cried. "What do any of you know of it? What do you know of killing save orcs and wild beasts? You who have not slain elf cannot know the stain that it leaves upon the soul, the scars that it leaves upon the heart! Can you tell me that you have never looked away, that it was never too much for you to endure? Are you so strong?" He lunged and she brought her spear up but the wall was at her back now and he pressed her into it as if he meant to crush her, his eyes filled with fury, his face a mere hair's breadth from her own.

"Once," he whispered, "I looked away. When I killed my mother." Galadriel gasped audibly, her eyes going wide with shock. She had never imagined…he pushed off of her and swung but she blocked him, circling round.

"Though an orc she had become, twisted, foul, I could not do her that one honor, though I had given it to countless others of her kind. And those whose eyes I did meet showed me fear and I reveled in it, showing neither pity nor mercy. I enjoyed their pain."

"Celeborn…" she breathed his name but he was already coming at her again and she was forced to block him, though she refused to strike.

"Does that make it just?" He asked. "Am I justified because she was made into an orc? She was an elf once." He struck again. "Were you justified because they were soldiers of Feanor and were attacking the Teleri? They were lives."

"I…" she stammered, but there was no reply she could think of.

"They were lives Galadriel!" His voice rang in the silence, reverberating, echoing back.

He moved towards her. She raised her spear but she did not mean it and he knew it and he knocked it aside, sending it skittering across the courtyard. His hands were rough as he pushed her back into the stone wall. "And the lies you told…you made them righteous in your mind." His breathing was heavy in the silence. "That is Morgoth's greatest power," he whispered, "and his greatest evil: not dragons, or Silmarils, or armies of orcs, but the twisting of things so that that which has no righteousness appears right and that which is without justice seems to our eyes just."

His axe, silver and deadly, glimmered in his right hand and he held it now before her face. "Think of what you are saying," he whispered. "Look," he commanded and, tentatively, she looked into the blade of the axe to see her own face reflected back at her. "Look and tell me that your life is not worth living. Look and tell me that you have no value in this world. Look into your own eyes and, if you can find no value, no worth there, then do not beg me to cut you down; do it yourself." He unsheathed his curved knife from his back and pressed it into her hand.

Galadriel stared into her reflection then and, instead of seeing there all of the wrong that she had wrought, instead of seeing the eyes of the mad cousins, instead of seeing Feanor's burning gaze of hate, she now saw instead Finrod's eyes, Aegnor's, Angrod's, Orodreth's, Celeborn's, Thingol's, Melian's, Luthien's, Earwen's, Finarfin's. And she found that she could not say what she had said earlier, what he had now commanded to say, could not drive the trembling knife into her own heart, only that she suddenly found herself very grateful for her life, even if it was a cursed one.

Celeborn dropped his axe to the ground as she surrendered the knife to him and he sheathed it. "It is easy to become distracted with petty grievances and quarrels," he said, his hands going to her shoulders, "and forget that our real enemy is Morgoth and that he is here, really truly here, and not only in Angbad but in our hearts as well. There are many things I do not know, Galadriel, and many things that confuse me, but one thing of which I am certain is that, somewhere beneath all of your pride, you have a kind heart and this world desperately needs kind hearts." He stepped back and she no longer felt afraid of him, was no longer afraid to look into his eyes and she did, steadily, strongly. "Do not forget it," he said. "You have been given a chance for redemption, just as Thingol gave to me, let us not squander that chance." The only sound that followed was their heavy breathing in the silence.

Somehow, hearing what he had said, knowing what he had done, she found that she no longer feared or hated him at all, that she no longer feared or hated herself. For the first time since she had known him, she was able to look into his eyes and feel as though she were hiding nothing, as though she were no longer disguising herself and perhaps it was because she now felt, for the first time, that she truly knew him, understood him. She had thought he passed judgment upon her while holding himself beyond reproach, but he had passed that same judgment upon himself as well. Though she was clothed now, it was as if she stood naked before him, as though he could see all of her for the first time and she could see all of him. For the first time she was unashamed and, for the first time, she truly felt free.

"I'm sorry," she said, simply.

"I'm sorry," he replied. They stood in the silence for a few minutes, merely watching one another.

"Shall we?" She asked him.

"Yes," he said, after a pause, "I think so." And he turned, walking over to retrieve her spear and she picked up his axe. They exchanged weapons and then they were at it again. Steel rang against steel and the deserted courtyard was filled with the scuffing of leather boots upon the cobblestones, hard breathing in the still, quiet air. They fought, for how long she did not know. They fought until the both of them were drenched in sweat, until their hair grew knotted and tangled, until they could hardly hold their weapons in trembling and weary hands. They fought until they collapsed, completely spent, onto the ground.

Celeborn rolled onto his back, rubbing his hands across his face and she crawled over to lay down at his side. "Oh," Galadriel said, "I have the feeling I will have so many things to be very sorry for come evening." Celeborn smiled, then grinned, and at last he burst out into full-fledged laughter.

"You look like an…like an old dwarf crawling about on your hands and knees," he managed to gasp out. It really was not that funny, but Galadriel laughed until tears came to her eyes.

"Shut up!" She groaned. "I feel like an old dwarf after that." They lay there, recuperating, and, when at last Galadriel had gotten her breath back, she turned her head to him asking, "was that the last of your anger?"

"Yes," he said, "I think so. And you?"

"Yes," she replied.

He was silent for a while before he continued his thoughts. "There's no use in it, us being angry at each other I mean. We both have to live here now, we'll probably end up in the same circles at some point or another; it is a waste of time to be angry. The both of us have bigger foes to fight after all."

"Yes," she said. "I think you're right." And, raising her hand, she began to trace the flight of the birds across the cavern's sky. "Celeborn?" She asked, letting her hand fall back to her chest.

"Hmm?" He turned to look at her.

"You really don't love me anymore, do you?" She asked. The question was more rhetorical than anything. His eyes had already told her the answer. He turned to look at her.

"I care for you very deeply," he said, "more than anyone else even except maybe Thingol. Indeed, I hardly think I would have been as angry at you as I was if I had not cared so much for you, but no, I do not think it is love. It does not feel like what we had before." They were silent for a moment and then he asked her, "and do you still love me?"

"If you had asked me that an hour ago," she said, "I almost certainly would have said 'yes' but now I am unsure. It is rather like what you have said, a different kind of caring almost, just as deep, just as true, but it is a different sort of thing." And the silence between them was comfortable now, pleasant almost.

"You know, I'm very sorry it didn't work out between us," Celeborn said with a sigh. "I…I really did think that there was something there…"

"I know," she said. "We both did. But that's just the way things are sometimes."

"Yes," he said. "I suppose so." After a pause he continued. "Perhaps it is better this way after all. Our paths at the moment are so very different. I'd offer to be friends," he said, "except that I really can't be seen around you and I don't mean that to hurt you. But my people still bear so much hatred towards you, towards the Noldor that they would never forgive me for it and, worse than that, there are many elves, powerful elves in this city who would treat you far worse if I showed you any sign of friendship. I think you have a promise here, a future perhaps, and I would never wish to ruin that for you. I will be civil towards you; I can promise nothing more, but always know that I care for you very much, even if I cannot properly show it."

"I understand," she said, and she really did mean it. "Perhaps one day things will be better between our peoples and then…who knows, maybe we can be friends after all."

"Yes, maybe," he said. "Who knows…" They were silent for a while, lying there, just breathing.

"Your mother," she said, turning on her side again and he tilted his head to look at her. "What happened?"

"It isn't even that I feel sorry for her really," Celeborn said. "Indeed, I hardly knew her at all. I barely remembered her. It was that Morgoth made me do something abhorrent, forced my hand," he sighed. "I could never think of myself the same way after that. I remember how I set out for the battle, so full of pride, so self-assured, so hopeful, and in the matter of a moment all of that had been crushed. My beliefs, my self, my entire world was destroyed in the matter of an instant."

"I think I know how you feel," she replied. "That is what it was like that day in Alqualonde."

"I think you must," he confessed and then sighed. "It was a mess, the Battle of Beleriand." And then he told her the entire tale, of how they had first discovered what the orcs were, how Belegur had made them, of how he wondered if there was any chance of redemption for them, if they went to Mandos's halls or not, if they too could be reborn. And he told her of Amdir, of what had happened to the Green Elves and the Avari, of the seeds of discord that had been sown amongst the elves of Beleriand, of how so many of his people used the Noldor as scapegoats for problems that had existed long before they had arrived in Middle Earth. He confided in her his concerns that he had damaged his relationship with Thingol, with Galathil, with his friends, and his worries over the ever-increasing political instability in Doriath. She listened to all of it, turning on her side so that she could look at him properly and, when at last he had run out of words to say, he turned to her, asking; "the kinslaying, what happened? And I don't mean the particulars; I want to know what you felt, how you saw it. Was it really like what happened to me?"

Then it was her turn to tell him all that had happened and she spoke of her fear, her pain, the complete incomprehension she had felt at seeing elves do what she had never imagined they could. She told him of how she had found her cousins, children of her mother's brothers, slain and mutilated on the bloody quay, how afraid she had been to kill, how horrified she had been when she had done so. And then she spoke of how her father had turned back, how she had cried about it, the tears freezing on her cheeks in the bitter cold of the Helcaraxe, how they had been abandoned by their cousins, the sons of Feanor, to their deaths in that icy wasteland. She had watched so many die, even as she felt increasingly alone, her father having turned back, her relationships with her brothers strained, threatening to break with each passing day. And the secret to which they had bound her, to which she had bound herself, had further robbed her of any hope of intimacy or true friendship. At last she spoke of the horrible guilt that plagued her over what she had done, to Thingol, to him, to her brothers, to her cousins, to her parents.

"I wonder," Celeborn said, "that you can still find pity in your heart for the sons of Feanor."

"Do you think me weak for it?" She asked.

"I used to," he told her. "After I met Curufin I expected to hate him, wanted to, and yet…there was something about him that was so sad that I wanted to feel pity for him but I could not find it within myself to do so. No, I do not think you are weak. I think it shows that your heart is of inestimable strength."

She reached over and patted his hand and, at the touch, a strange sensation shot through her. She felt as though she were lost in a memory for a moment. She was sitting in the topmost branches of a very tall tree and this tree was most certainly living, not in the way that trees ordinarily lived, but in the way that an elf lived, moving, breathing, speaking. The tree upon which she was mounted was striding with great long steps across the earth, speaking softly in some language that she did not understand, but the sound of it was gentle, kind, comforting. She smiled, feeling the wind in her hair.

"What is it?" Celeborn asked softly, and the sound of his voice brought her back to the present. "Have you had a seeing?"

"No," she said, "not a vision, or at least I don't think so. It's just…it feels as though I am reliving memories, except they are not my own."

"Oh?" He asked seeming curious.

"It has only been happening since I returned to Menegroth. But don't worry over it, I am certain it is nothing bad. They are always pleasant memories." She stood, wiping dirt from her skirt and Celeborn stood as well.

"Well," he said, "I suppose we ought to…it would not look good if we were discovered."

"Yes," she said, "I ought to get back before Madam Lhaineth decides to destroy me entirely." They grinned at one another, awkwardly almost, as if neither of them really wished to part. "It is strange," Galadriel said with a small laugh, "but I…somehow I almost feel as if I never really knew you until now."

"I was just going to say the same thing, actually," he replied and he looked away, a small smile on his face before they turned, going their separate ways. It was with some measure of fear that Galadriel approached the servants' quarters but she steeled herself, making ready for whatever was about to happen. And yet, when she arrived she found only Madam Lhaineth seated before the doors, asleep in a chair, her eyes gazing off into the distance and her usual newspaper folded in her lap.

Galadriel cleared her throat softly, her heart fluttering with nervousness. "Um…Madam Lhaineth?" The Sinda started awake, sitting up suddenly and then relaxing when she realized that it was Galadriel. Her face was expressionless. "I…I'm very sorry," Galadriel said.

"You had better be!" Madam Lhaineth replied.

"I...I am. Most heartily so," Galadriel assured her and Madam Lhaineth sighed. "Whatever punishment you wish to inflict I shall certainly accept it," Galadriel told her.

Madam Lhaineth looked at her for a good, long moment and then said, "go to bed. They will not bother you anymore." Galadriel bowed dutifully and passed within, placing her spear beneath her bed once more and slipping beneath the covers where she fell asleep and slept more peacefully than she had in a very long while. And she had thought for certain that Madam Lhaineth would punish her the day after, or certainly the day after that but the punishment never came and, eventually, she realized that it never would.