In Cavern's Shade

by Castile181

During the first age, when Beleriand itself stands on the brink of destruction and Doriath falls from the height of glory to begin its long decline, Celeborn, a Sindarin prince as quick to wisdom as he is to anger, meets Artanis, a Noldorin princess plagued by a dark secret, and they soon find themselves plunged into a world of intrigue, lies, and mystery as ties grow turbulent.

23. Chapter 23: Bells at Dawn

Bells at Dawn

Doriath: 23rd Chapter

---

"Find a place inside where there's joy,

and the joy will burn out the pain."

– Joseph Campbell

---

Author's note: Ah! I've been trying to get this chapter up all day but the universe is conspiring against me! Thanks for reading and reviewing. You guys are the best. It is such a relief to hear that the characterizations are coming out well. I will be updating a little less frequently, only about once a week now, since I just started the last semester of the MA!

Luna: Galathil will be back in a big way soon and you will definitely get to meet Nimloth and her mother before the end of the story.

Leeza: Thank you!

---

"Celeborn!" He heard the familiar hiss and looked about for a moment, startled, before he recalled that secrecy was of the essence and managed to school his features into a more contemplative and less startled state. He leaned back against the stone beech, crossing his arms over his chest. It had only been a few days since the party and Celeborn still found himself rather annoyed with Galadriel, though he could not pinpoint any particular thing she had done that made her deserving of his wrath.

"In the middle of the evening. I really do not know what you are thinking," he murmured out the corner of his mouth, agitated with her for having pulled such a stunt, in such a busy place. There were a great many elves about and he must look intolerably awkward and obvious pretending to lean so nonchalantly against this tree as though he had nothing better to do.

"I must speak to you, this evening. I swear it is urgent," she whispered.

"Here to tell me I am going to die again?" He quipped and she was silent for a while before she replied. He knew what he had said was unfair and he did not understand why he was taking his anger and frustration out on her. He hadn't meant what he had said at all but it had been an easy route of attack.

"You cannot seriously blame me for that…"

"No, of course not," he replied, reminding himself that it was not her fault and, in fact, she had done nothing wrong at all. Now he felt terrible about it. "I am sorry," he whispered. "Things have been tense of late since that wretched party. I am not in the best mood."

"I understand," she said and it actually sounded as though she did. He hoped she did at least; maybe she had some answers as to what was the matter with him, he certainly had none.

"This is important, Celeborn. I know you are busy but I must speak to you."

"Very well," he conceded. "But we cannot talk here or now. When do you finish with your work?"

"I still have half a day left," she replied.

"Half a day?" He sounded displeased. "How on earth can someone dance for such an intolerably long time?"

"Celeborn," Galadriel chided him. "Do not make fun. My work is just as real as yours. They are training me. I have lessons and the like."

"Very well," he sighed. "Then meet me in the courtyard, the one where we usually meet, at sunrise," he told her before stepping away, and not a moment too soon for his troop of wardens were making their way through that particular hall then and they stopped to speak with him.

His mood did not improve as the day approached and, by the time that he headed towards the abandoned courtyard, the sun was already quite high in the sky. He was hurrying now, for the place was quite far from the center of Menegroth, in an older and less used part of the palace which was, after all, why they had agreed to meet there, but he cursed the distance now, hoping that he had not kept her waiting very long.

He found himself slowing his footsteps as he approached, secretly wondering if he could catch her unawares, hoping for it almost, if hope was what this feeling could be called. She was there, sitting on the edge of the fountain, wearing that magnificent creation of pale blue silk and gold threaded pearls that Finrod had sent her, her glimmering hair bound up in combs of gold, and pearls, and palest jade. She was trailing her fingers in the fountain, letting the orange and red fish nibble on the tips of them, a small, gentle smile upon her face. He nearly sighed at the sight of her, except that he did not quite want her to know he was there yet. Something about her, about seeing her like this calmed him, nearly made him forget the tension of court life, the continual worries that plagued him, the way he had bungled things so horribly.

Then he shook his head slightly, wondering what had come over him, why he was standing here watching her in such a way. "Galadriel," he said, stepping forward, his tone businesslike.

"Oh, I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten," she said, turning towards him with a smile. He marveled at the goodness of her heart, that smiles came so easily to her in a place where she was despised by many while, though he was well loved in this city, he seemed not to be able to muster even a single grin. It unsettled him and he looked down at his feet, scuffing his boot against the ground as if he couldn't think of anything else to do. He wondered how she could find it in her heart to greet him so cordially after how horrid he had been to her lately.

"My apologies…for keeping you waiting," he murmured before he managed to collect himself once more.

"It was no bother," she replied. "I find I have so little time to myself these days. I rather enjoyed the silence."

"Yes, I have heard that you have become quite popular," he said with a grin, wanting to make up for what he had said earlier, and she nodded proudly, self assuredly. It only made him smile all the more.

"I am always going to parties these days," she informed him, "now that everyone knows I danced for Thingol."

"How perfectly splendid for you," he quipped. And yet as he said it he recalled that look on Saeros's face, the same look he had seen on Celebrimbor's, a thirst for power, a thirst for control. He had looked at Galadriel as though she were a flagon of wine that he would like to drain dry, until there was nothing left. He could feel his shoulders grow tense at the thought. How someone could relish at the thought of chaining a person meant to be free was beyond him.

"Celeborn?" He heard her asking, a slightly confused look upon her face.

"Yes?" His head jerked up as he returned from his thoughts.

"I was only asking if things are so intolerably bad but you did not answer," she said. "You seem to be in a particularly foul mood today."

"My apologies," he said, moving to sit beside her on the fountain. "You are too generous in saying that it is only today for my bad mood has persisted for weeks, months, years. In fact, Galadriel, I must apologize to you for many things. I feel I have been most unfair to you lately. I certainly did not mean to take my frustration out on you but it seems I did. I find my behavior even more particularly abhorrent because of the efforts to which you have gone to support me in this difficult time."

"I must admit that I was not expecting an apology, though I appreciate it," Galadriel said in response. "Still, you needn't be so formal about it."

"And, yes," Celeborn replied to her earlier questions, "things have been quite bad. Everyone is displeased with me. Nellas would not even look at me when her people left, Saeros won't relent, none of his supporters can be turned, and Thingol says I'm too stubborn, thinks I am going about this all wrong." Galadriel laughed.

"He may have a point you know," she said. "But I think your stubbornness stems from your sense of urgency. The true problem, Celeborn, is that you are impatient." From anyone else it might have seemed an insult but when Galadriel said it, it only served to remind him how very well she knew him. He managed to crack a grin.

"You think so?" He asked her somewhat sarcastically.

"Oh, I know so," she smiled at him, her blue eyes dancing. His heart suddenly felt a good deal lighter. She paused and then said, "do not let Saeros's influence affect you. Do not allow him to turn you into himself."

"I'll do my best," Celeborn chuckled. "What was it you wanted to speak about?" He asked her.

"Here I am wanting to make pleasant conversation with a friend and here you are wanting to get straight to business," she told him. "That is exactly the impatience I was speaking of."

"That is the pot calling the kettle black!" He protested, laughing.

"Very well," she said, "I have been waiting all day to tell you after all."

"That is exactly what I mean," Celeborn interrupted her. "You are just as impatient as I am and don't you deny it!" They were both laughing now and she swatted his arm playfully.

"Listen!" She exclaimed. "I was able to look into Saeros's heart after all and I discovered a very great deal!"

"What did you find?" He asked her, but worry settled at the back of his mind.

"Well, nothing pleasant, I can assure you of that," she told him.

"I wouldn't expect anyone to find anything about Saeros to be pleasant," Celeborn replied.

"He likes everything to conform to his order and he is very precise about the way he likes things," she said. "Control is the thing that he values most, that and his reputation. I saw no love for this kingdom or her king in his heart, only love for himself. He is horribly prideful. He is very bitter," she said, "and there are many things about which he has deep-seated insecurities, resentments. He believes he has been treated very unfairly by many and that he deserves retribution for these unfairnesses. But," she said, "what was most remarkable was how deeply his hatred for you ran."

"Really?" Celeborn said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "I had merely thought he disliked me and that that was mostly do to politics. I had always thought that had we been born as ordinary folk we would never have had any problems with each other."

"I assure you that it is not so," Galadriel said. "He hates you, Celeborn, most ardently. His mind was filled with it. Everything you are, your very existence is an affront to everything he is, everything that he believes. He would stop at nothing to thwart you. I beg you to take care," her voice was full of worry now, of urgency. "He wants you gone from this city, from this kingdom. The vision I had, about you…about your death. Perhaps it is somehow linked. That is the worry that has plagued me."

"Was his hatred for me truly so great?" Celeborn asked her, surprised, concern evident on his face. She nodded. "But I thought you said that was in reference to the dwarves," he said.

"I thought so," she said, "but it is not uncommon for several disparate things to appear in the same vision. Or, perhaps, if the dwarves really are in league with Morgoth…perhaps he is involved as well. Perhaps he wishes to do away with you and with Thingol. The…the contract the dwarves were always talking about. Do you think he had anything to do with it?"

"Do you truly think him so traitorous?" Celeborn asked her.

"He is," she said. "I swear it. The things I saw in his mind I have only seen in one other, Feanor's. And I thought…" she fell silent for a moment before continuing. "Celeborn, I…I fear that a second kinslaying will come to pass. I swear to you, I saw the likeness of Feanor in him and it frightened me greatly."

"To think that I now fear assassination in my own palace and by another elf no less," Celeborn said, sounding very despondent.

"Oh, Celeborn, I am sorry," Galadriel told him, "for it seems that I only bring you ill news of late and I hate to add to the burden that you already carry. It is only speculation and worry on my part…perhaps you would do best to ignore it. I do not quite understand how it is all connected after all." And then there were the other visions that she did not understand, the visions of which she did not speak, the ones that had started when she returned to Doriath. She did not understand those either. She sighed. She did truly hate to see him worried and she wanted to reach for him, to embrace him until the tension left him, to smooth away the frown that creased his brow, to make him happy.

"No," he told her, patting her hand, "I would rather know than not." Galadriel nodded. Celeborn turned towards her, those green eyes meeting her own and it pained her to see the worry still there. "But do not think only of me, Galadriel; think of yourself as well and take care, for I saw the way that Saeros looked at you and I must admit that it struck a great fear into me. He would clip your wings if given the chance."

"I know, Celeborn," she said, grasping his hand. "Do not fear for me. I have dealt with many a man like him before."

"But you should not have to deal with men like him," Celeborn said adamantly. "What was it he said to you?"

"It would only upset you," Galadriel said but she sighed, for she knew Celeborn would never accept such an answer and, indeed, his questioning gaze told her that was the case. "He said that many men must have told me before how stunning I am, rightly so, and that he was but another. Then he said something about true art deserving every compliment paid to its maker and how, when he was alone after the party he would thank Illuvatar for the memory of my hair, my skin, my scent." It almost sounded more perverse when she repeated it.

Celeborn was silent for a while, his shoulders trembling in anger, a deep furrow in his brow, his eyes hard. "That is disgusting," he said at last. "It makes me sick. It is unholy. He thinks he can treat you however he wants because you are a servant, because you are a Noldo. How dare he…" Celeborn seemed too angry to speak and Galadriel sighed.

"Celeborn, do not worry yourself over it," Galadriel said. "Men like him…they are nothing. I assure you that I am quite alright. He is nothing compared to Feanor and long did I suffer him." Their conversation lapsed into silence and then Celeborn spoke, turning the topic to other things.

"Did your, erm…friends say anything about our my little mishap?" He asked her.

"They certainly wanted to know everything about it," Galadriel told him, "but I told them nothing. I am sure they must have discussed it on their own but I have heard nothing." Celeborn nodded, swallowing loudly.

"It seems I am nothing but a burden on you, Galadriel," he said. "Here you have gone to all the trouble of looking into Saeros's mind and I could not uphold my end of things. I fear I bungled the whole affair. I am truly sorry for having upset you that night."

"I could never think of you as a burden," she said, squeezing his hand, "and I wish that you would stop saying that! You do not know what a comfort you have been to me here, how much your friendship means to me, what a blessing it is to see a friendly face, even if it is occasionally a grumpy one." They lapsed into silence once more before Galadriel spoke again. She suddenly felt intolerably awkward. "About Nellas…" she started, sounding nervous. And her eyes flickered towards Celeborn's lips, wondering if it was still the case that she had been the last person he had kissed.

"No," Celeborn interrupted her, "nothing happened. She offered but…"

"I don't want you to be unhappy, Celeborn," Galadriel said. "She is a Sinda…I am sure everyone would approve of the match, and she is pretty, she seemed clever, friendly. Perhaps it would…it would do you good to find someone with whom you could be happy, who could help you to assuage these worries that constantly plague you." She did not know why it pained her so much to say something she believed to be true.

I have already found her, Celeborn thought, and here she is urging me to seek out another, but he did not say as much. The thought had dawned on him all of a sudden. Instead he merely touched her hand reassuringly and said, "I know, but I cannot find myself attracted to her and, even if I did, one of my dear friends loves her. I would never betray him."

"Ah, well then, perhaps someone else," Galadriel said, laughing as though it meant nothing to her while her heart quelled within her with sadness.

"Yes, perhaps," he said, trying not to let on how much it hurt him that she could laugh about it as though he meant nothing to her, as though he never had.

---

F.A. 260

The palace seemed to be resounding, echoing, trembling with the great boom of bells ringing in the deep and, as Galadriel was awoken from her sleep she gradually became aware of a great commotion and the sudden fright that something horrible, a fire or some other catastrophe had broken out caused her to start, sitting straight up in her bed. For a moment she thought almost that she was back in Alqualonde, that she could see the flames licking at the quay, smell the smoke in her nostrils, and then she remembered that she was in Menegroth.

She looked around, confused. Some of the other girls were already up, running about, trying to pull their clothes on as fast as they could. Others, like her, were still waking in a dazed stupor, trying to discern what on earth was happening.

Bainwen's effervescent face appeared before her suddenly and she felt her pulling at her hands, trying to get her out of bed. "Get up and get dressed sleepyhead!" Her friend was crying.

"What time is it?" Galadriel asked, confused as she wiped sleep from her eyes.

"Never mind the time," Bainwen said. "There is a messenger here from Fingolfin!"

"From Fingolfin?" Galadriel asked. That had certainly gotten her interest. "But how is that possible?"

"I heard the war is over! Someone said Morgoth has been defeated!" Bainwen cried.

"What!" Galadriel said in shock, rushing to pull her clothes on like all the rest. She hardly dared believe that such a thing was possible and yet her heart was thudding in her chest like a hammer, even as the floor reverberated with the booming of the bells. They spilled out into the corridor and found it so jammed with people that it was nearly impossible to move and, instead, it seemed that the crowd carried them forward of its own accord. She felt Bainwen reach out to grab her hand so that they would not be separated.

"They were heading for the great hall!" She heard someone cry and, indeed, it seemed that the crowd was moving in that direction. At last they arrived and Galadriel breathed a sigh of relief as the crowd thinned out, spilling into the spacious hall. But elves were still pouring in and Galadriel found herself very thankful for her height, for she could easily see over the heads of the shorter elves. A soldier wearing the livery of Fingon was being led forward towards Thingol's throne by the king's honor guard.

"That is not Fingolfin's messenger," she whispered to Bainwen, "he is Fingon's, Fingolfin's oldest son."

"How do you know?" Her friend replied.

"He is wearing Fingon's livery, not Fingolfin's," she told her.

"Oh," Bainwen replied. The messenger was still breathing hard, as if he had ridden his horse as hard as he could, and his armor was still stained with the black blood of orcs. Yet there was a smile on his face that boded good news and, despite the haste with which he had obviously come and the weariness that clearly threatened to overwhelm him, he seemed unable to stop himself from gazing up in wonder at the miracle that was Menegroth.

Galadriel looked up as well, grinning as she noted that many of the shorter elves had taken to climbing the stone beeches and perching there in their branches so that they could see over the heads of everyone else.

"Your majesty," the messenger took a knee, speaking Sindarin with a heavy Quenya accent, his voice echoing throughout the great hall, "it is my pleasure to come to you from the side of Prince Fingon himself. And, it is my further pleasure to bear unto you the message that, only a few days hence, my lord Fingon's forces were successful in defeating the forces of Morgoth." At those words a great murmuring rose up in the hall and it was some time before Thingol was able to get the people to be silent again, despite his repeated attempts to bring them to order. Fingon's messenger looked up, seeming startled to see how many elves occupied the trees above his head.

"Silence! Silence all of you!" Thingol was crying, much in the way that a schoolteacher attempts to silence a crowd of elflings and, at last, the crowd quieted enough for the messenger to speak again.

"A fortnight ago Morgoth sent out his forces, attempting to break the Siege of Angbad, and we were driven off of Ard-galen by the great worm, Glaurung. But my Lord Fingon's forces prevailed. Glaurung has been utterly defeated and Morgoth badly routed. He has withdrawn into Angbad, his strength greatly weakened, and his forces are too weak to attack for many hundred of years. The Noldor send their regards and my Lord Fingon begs you and your people revel and prosper in this great victory, for it is a victory for all elves and for all of Beleriand."

The elves around Galadriel turned to look at her, some of them with smiles of wonder on their faces. Bainwen clutched her hand tightly and she felt the hands of many others reach out, brushing across her clothing, her hands, her hair as though she were some talisman that would grant them strength and fortune.

"This is true?" Thingol asked, as though he hardly dared to believe it. Melian gripped her throne, white-knuckled, Luthien slowly raised a hand to her mouth, and Celeborn…Galadriel smiled as she looked as him, for in his face she could see that he had hope at last, for the first time in a very long time.

"I swear it on my life," the messenger said. "I saw it with my own eyes." He struggled to rise under the weight of his armor, clearly still not having recovered from his exhausting ride south. In his hand he clutched a scroll bound with Fingon's seal.

"Valar save you all!" Thingol bellowed. "Have you no mercy? Someone help this man!" Galathil rushed forward, a few of the guards, and even Celeborn descended from the dais, helping the Noldo to his feet. The prince took the scroll from him and delivered it to the hand of the king. Quickly, Thingol cracked the seal, his eyes darting over the paper.

"Mablung," he said, turning to his warden, "bring this elf whatever he wants. Take him first to the baths and then…"

"You do not have to return to Fingon right away do you?" The king paused, questioning the messenger and the lad looked up, startled, glancing about as if to be sure that the King was really talking to him. "You do have time for a feast don't you?" Thingol asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow and Galathil disguised a laugh behind a cough.

"Y…y…yes, if Your Majesty wishes," The youth stammered.

"I wish." Thingol said. "Mablung," he returned his attention to the warden, "take…what is your name boy?"

"Er…Throndir, Your majesty," the lad said, ducking his head in a bow.

"Yes, Mablung, take Throndir here to the baths and then bring him out to the lawn and we shall have a feast and he shall have as much food and wine and music as he wishes and so shall everyone else. Someone have the decency to summon the dancers and, for Manwe's sake, someone had best bring me Galadriel this instant so I can make sense of this Noldorin business." He gestured at the scroll he had. The people stood still, as if they hardly dared believe that all of this were true, for it seemed very nearly some fantastic dream.

Thingol looked up and then, wonder of wonders, he laughed long and hard. "Well what are you all waiting for? You have waited so long for this day and now you stand about gaping like a bunch of cows." He looked out at the populace of Menegroth, all crammed into the hall or else crammed into the hallways. There were parents holding their elflings on their shoulders so they could see, there were elves holding other fully grown elves on their shoulders so that they could see, there were elves climbing the stone trees, perched on the branches. "I want fireworks out on the lawn. I want the best kegs of wine brought up from the cellars, all of them, I want food, mountains of food, roast quail and chicken, partridges, hams, trout, salmon. I want cheese and fruits and the freshest vegetables. And let's have music and dancing. I want all of this done within the hour, before Throndir comes back from his bath. Is that understood?"

There was a moment where the hall went completely silent and then there was a massive explosion of energy and all around Galadriel people were crying and shouting for joy, embracing, hugging, kissing, laughing. The din was so loud she could not have heard a thing even if someone had shouted directly in her ear. She was jostled about by the other maids, who were all jumping for joy, literally jumping, and people were pulling her into faceless and nameless embraces. A sea of smiling faces flashed before her. She turned to her right and saw Paniel standing there, her arms outstretched, bawling outright, tears pouring down her face, her empty hands trembling, and Galadriel turned to her and pulled her into a tight embrace, clutching the flaxen-haired girl to her and Paniel threw her arms around Galadriel, embracing her, crying all the while, holding her in a vice-like grip. "Don't think this means I don't still hate you!" She managed to stammer out between sobs. Galadriel only laughed.

"Denethor!" She heard Bainwen bellow and the cry rose up amongst the green elves, chanted over and over in remembrance of their king. "Denethor! Denethor! Denethor!"

Over Paniel's shoulder, Galadriel could see the dais, could see Melian and Thingol locked in a tight embrace, Galathil, Luthien, and Oropher leaping about for joy, Celeborn being hoisted onto the shoulders of his wardens, his face lit with pure happiness.

Paniel released her. "I can't believe it! I can't believe it!" She just barely heard her cry.

"The Noldor!" She heard Luthien shout and Galadriel started in surprise as a roar reverberated around her. "The Noldor! The Noldor!" They were cheering now and she felt herself being lifted above their shoulders as they transported her hand by hand slowly forward to the front of Thingol's hall. And some people were crying "Denethor!" And others were shouting "The Noldor!" And she was laughing now, crying now with joy, for she understood the immensity of this moment. This was that chance, that longed for chance for Doriath to return to the height of her glory, to enter a golden age once more.

She cupped her hands to her mouth and bellowed, "DORIATH!" That was when they went absolutely mad, shouting so loudly with joy that it hurt her ears. The cheer resounded around the hall, repeated a thousand upon a thousand times. She could feel the tears slipping down her own face, feel a massive weight that she had not known was there lifting from her shoulders. They deposited her at the front of the room and everyone who was anyone was there, laughing, embracing.

She heard the musicians warming up already, loud raucous tunes, a happy cacophony of notes. She heard the popping of champagne bottles and saw the bubbly golden liquid shooting high in the air like fountains. She was soaked with it, blinking it away. Someone held the bottle to her lips and she drank from it. She was laughing, and laughing, and crying with joy. Now there were cakes being passed around and whole wheels of cheese, and a roast chicken here or there, all devoured instantaneously and no one even bothered to sit.

There was Celeborn, laughing, still wearing his leather armor and his axe. He must have been sent to intercept the messenger. His eyes caught hers and she laughed as someone forced a whole handful of cake into her mouth and she swallowed, pushing the frosting that was smeared on her face into her mouth with her fingers as he approached. She thought he meant to say something congratulatory. She was shocked when, instead, he pulled her into his arms, picked her up, arms tight around her waist, and spun her around and around and around until she thought he had gone mad. They were both laughing and there was cake all over her hands and everyone could see and neither of them cared and then he kissed her and she kissed him, long and hard and she had cake in her mouth and on her hands, which she tangled in his hair, but he seemed not to care and then he set her down and moved off through the crowd once more, cheering and embracing people as if it had never happened, as if he hadn't left her so utterly breathless. Heart still pounding furiously, she looked around, but it seemed that no one had been paying attention, that no one had seen. Something so monumental had been eclipsed by the even more monumental.

"Galadriel! Galadriel!" Thingol was calling, beckoning her towards him and, in somewhat of a daze, she pushed her way through the crowd until she reached him. Melian pulled her into a tight hug, holding her all the while Thingol spoke to her and she was forced to look over his wife's shoulder at him. "Tell me, who are these people? Which houses are they from?" He gestured to some of the more unfamiliar names written on the scroll. She told him. "We must do right by Throndir," Thingol said to her, or rather shouted. The din in the hall was so loud she could hardly hear him. "Would you mind dancing some of your Noldorin dances? And then perhaps you could sit with us all, for I think he might feel more at ease if there were another Noldo to talk to."

"Of course, Your Majesty!" Galadriel called back, wheezing, wondering if Melian meant to choke the life out of her. The queen seemed to realize she had been a bit too forceful and stepped back, tucking Galadriel's hair behind her ear.

"And I want to make a gift to Fingon," Thingol said. "You must advise me as to what would be appropriate. He is your cousin after all."

"Certainly, Your Majesty," Galadriel replied. "But I think I had better go put on my dancing costume," she looked down at her champagne soaked and cake spattered dress.

"Of course," Thingol replied. "We shall be out on the lawn. You know the place, by the great tree."

Galadriel nodded and then she was off, sprinting through the passageways to the servants' quarters. There were many ambitious elves wandering about there, having taken the opportunity to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible and Galadriel laughed at their antics. But her heart had gone mad, thundering in her chest, and she hardly knew what to think. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm. There would be time enough to talk about that later. Perhaps it had all been nothing anyway. Everyone had been embracing everyone.

Hurriedly she dressed in the costume that Finrod had sent her, lovingly running her hands across the delicate silk, the pearls. He would have chosen every one of them himself, she knew it, and her heart was full of joy at the thought. It seemed that the tide had certainly turned now and perhaps she could see her brother again soon, perhaps Thingol would give her leave to invite him to Menegroth. She fastened the bells about her ankles and wrists, threaded the golden and jade ornaments through her hair, darkened her eyes with kohl and rouged her cheeks and then she was off, running back through the corridors, out to the lawn where they were all gathering now.

Throndir, it seemed, had returned from his bath and was seated at Thingol's side, nervous, wearing new clothes and looking altogether out of his element. The rest of the royal family was there and Thingol's counselors as well and Luthien began to clap at her friend's approach, a beaming smile spreading across her face. But Galadriel's eyes drifted to Celeborn's and he glanced away. There had been something there in them, something strange, something foreign.

"Throndir, may I introduce to you Galadriel Finarfiniel," Thingol said, standing. "She has been dwelling in Menegroth for some time now, a cousin of your lord."

"My Lady," Throndir said, looking amazed to be in her company, standing and bowing deeply to her, "it is an honor." And Galadriel sat and they spoke then of many things, of the victory in the North and of news of her cousins, the children of Fingolfin, of the latest gossip from Gondolin, of her brothers and of Finrod in Nargothrond.

And then, after they had spent a long while in speaking of these things, Thingol spoke to Galadriel saying; "Tell me then, daughter of Finarfin, what present I ought to make to Fingon in honor of the deeds he has done, for you are his cousin and can doubtlessly judge better than any of us what would be most suitable."

"Knowing Fingon's interests and character and considering that it is his military victory for which you wish to congratulate him," Galadriel replied, "I would deem the gift of a bow to be that which he will prize best. For even in his youth my cousin did have a great passion for archery and he accounts a good bow as an instrument of the highest value."

"Very well, then I will have our best craftspeople make him the finest bow that Doriath can produce," Thingol said, "and I will send it to him at Dor-lomin with my most heartfelt wish that the peace he has established may long endure." And though Thingol's words pleased Galadriel, she could not help but feel a sudden sense of foreboding in her heart and she glanced in the direction of Saeros to see that his eyes had gone dark, as though filled with fury, and she knew that he bore great anger towards Thingol for his decision to send a gift to one who, though not a son of Feanor, had nevertheless participated in the slaying of the Teleri at Alqualonde. She was not startled by this knowledge, for she had already looked into his heart and seen there the hate and well did she know that hatred does not lend itself to forgiveness or to joy.

"Will you dance now, Galadriel?" Melian asked her. "My heart does long to remember now those dances of Aman and perhaps it will bring Throndir great joy to see the dances of his people celebrated here."

"I will indeed, if that is what Your Majesty wishes," Galadriel made reply and then she stood and Throndir took up Galathil's harp himself and Galadriel began to dance to the music of Aman that he played, dancing slowly now in the pale moonlight, a dance as soft and gentle as the breeze, remembering in her mind the beauty of the gardens of Lorien, the gold of the mallorn leaves in the fall and their silver in the spring.

And the people gathered there exclaimed in hushed whispers that her dancing was marvelous and she was pleased to see the joy on their faces and to know that she, in some small part, was contributing to that joy. Her heart seemed filled with happiness this night, filled with the prospect of hope and of goodness and of great things to come. She closed her eyes for a moment, smiling as she spun, the bells on her ankles jingling, and she saw then a vision. A young lad with hair as bright as the moon sat in a still canoe at the mouth of the Sirion where it met the ocean, the paddle across his knees, staring out across the dark ocean beneath a starlit sky and then, across the water, on the other end of that great sea was herself, when she had been but a girl, standing in her white sailboat at the harbor of Alqualonde beneath Laurelin's dying light, the sails furled, the breeze still and she looked out across that great sea, wondering what might be on the other side.

She came to then, nearly stumbling from the force with which she had been struck by the vision, for she had never before seen herself in one of these, and she slowed, coming to a stop, bowing low before Thingol but her eyes were fixed on Celeborn's and she knew now, though perhaps she always had, that he was the one in her visions and she knew beyond any shadow of a doubt as she looked into his awe-stricken eyes, that he had seen it too, just now. But how was that possible? How could Celeborn have seen a vision? How could they have seen the same one, together? And how had she been able to know that he had? It was almost as though she had peered into his mind for a moment. Her heart was racing, her mind confused. She stood, the clapping and cheers of those around her seemed distant, far away.

"Wonderful wasn't it?" Thingol said with a great booming laugh, elbowing his nephew.

But Celeborn could hardly make reply, for he still seemed to be rattled deeply by what he had seen and, when he did reply he spoke more to her than to Thingol, saying, as a man struck dumb; "There was so much light…" All other sound faded away and the only thing she could hear then was the deep-beating, the slow-beating of the glow of her heart in the prism of her chest.

Then a cry rose up, tearing her out of the moment, and the next thing she felt was the splash of cool liquid against her body and she looked up to see that Saeros had stood and, in his hand was an empty goblet, though the remnants of red wine were still dripping from its rim to the grass below. Galadriel looked down at the delicate blue silk, stained now beyond repair, dyed red with wine, dyed red like the blood that had stained the sea at Alqualonde. Celeborn had told her that he loved her and Saeros had seen.

She stumbled, the memories of the kinslaying crowding her mind, the bent and broken bodies on the docks where the blood caused her to slip, crashing to the ground. She pulled herself up, pulled herself up over bodies, bodies that had gone still but not yet cold. Feanor stared down at her, red blood still running down his sword like rain, silver scalps hanging, swaying from his belt, matted, bloodied. He said nothing, he hadn't needed to; the hatred was written on his face. Galadriel forced her eyes closed, forced herself to breathe deeply, to disperse the vision. She must, for all of their sakes, she must. This day was about love, and family, and friends, not hatred, not pride, not vengeance.

Melian had rushed to Throndir's side, making her apologies to the Noldo, while Thingol had moved to chastise Saeros but Galadriel held out her hand and called out, "wait!" For no longer would she stand here and allow the insults of others to injure her, no longer would she retaliate with pride. On this happiest of days she was determined that Saeros would not ruin the joy of others. "It is no matter. I will continue. I beg you not punish him." Having so said she wrung as much of the wine out of her costume as she was able, bid Throndir play one of Yavanna's songs, and as Melian and Thingol gradually returned to their seats, heeding her words, looking at her with amazement, she began to dance. Seeing that he would not have the victory, Saeros gave her one last look full of hatred and cast the goblet down, striding from the lawn and disappearing within the gates of Menegroth.

Thingol took her aside afterward, making his apologies, but she only assured him that she did not mind before returning to the servants' chambers to change. It had hurt her far more than she had let on, she thought, as she stared now at the ruined costume lying on her bed, the perfect and delicate thing that Finrod had given to her. The stain would never come out and she thought of how sad Finrod would be if she were to tell him, how hurt. She had only just a few hours before been thinking of how he would visit her here, how she would dance for him, how happy he would be to see her. The mere thought of it brought tears to her eyes and she wiped them away, running her hands across the delicate silk one last time before, with a shuddering sigh, she folded it up and lay it atop her chest.

She changed into a beech green gown of simple cotton and, because they did not quite seem appropriate for such a simple gown, she removed her hair ornaments, leaving them lying on her bed. Very plain I must look now, she thought. Folding her arms across her chest she made to return to the party, determined that she would not allow Saeros to ruin her happiness, and yet she felt sadness lancing keenly through her as she thought about what sort of lie she ought to tell to Finrod to cover up for the destruction of his gift, what would hurt him the least. And, lost in her thoughts, her eyes on the ground, she was surprised when she passed through the gates of the city and was suddenly accosted by an unseen someone who pulled her off to the side, into the forest.

She drew back her fist, thinking that it was Saeros, but now in the moonlight of the glade in which they stood she could see who it was. "Peace," Celeborn said, placing his hands on her shoulders, "it is only I." She took a deep breath and released it.

"Do not dedicate a single moment of your thoughts to him," Celeborn told her, looking into her eyes, "he does not deserve them." She nodded numbly. "If you…if you haven't the money for a new one I will lend it to you," he told her, "and you can repay me whenever you are able."

"It isn't that," she said, almost smiling at Celeborn's reaction, at how he thought he could fix everything. It was so typical of him, so very sweet, and so entirely unhelpful. "I mean, no, I don't have the money but it is the fact that Finrod gave that to me. He…you know how he is. I am sure that he selected each pearl himself, that he worried over it, that he wanted to see me in it…"

"I see," he said, falling silent.

"Well let us not allow Saeros to ruin an otherwise perfectly wonderful evening," Galadriel said, managing a smile.

"In that case," Celeborn told her, "I know the perfect place to watch the fireworks if you would like."

"I think that would make me feel a good deal better," she told him and Celeborn led her through the woods until they reached a grotto that he knew. It was set in a place that was almost like a cave, except for the fact that there was no ceiling and he could see only the night sky above. They slid down the bank, laughing, and he offered her his hand, helping her stand. At their feet was a still, underground lake and all around them a wealth of periwinkle flowers, thick as a carpet. Ivy grew around the lip of the opening in the roof, cascading down into the grotto like a living waterfall.

"I always did think you looked best in green," he murmured, suddenly feeling unusually embarrassed as he glanced over at her. Ever since he had realized, really realized how he felt about her he felt so very awkward about it.

"This simple thing?" Galadriel laughed. "Thank you," she said, looking up at the fireworks exploding overhead in great blossoms of green and gold and pink, then down to where they were reflected in the water. "You were right. This is a perfect spot."

"I bring all the ladies here," Celeborn said, grinning. It was a stupid joke to make, he knew, and yet for some reason he could not quite think of anything else to say to her, though he desperately wanted to say something. It was as if his tongue had tied itself in knots. Galadriel laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. He shuffled awkwardly, stuffing his hands in his breeches.

"This must all be a great burden off of your shoulders," she said, turning to smile at him.

"It is," he replied. "I could never have hoped for something so wonderful, never dreamed of it."

"Isn't there some saying about the best things being unlooked for? I think Melian told me once…" she said.

"Yes I think so," he replied. Their conversation suddenly seemed so stilted, halting. He knew why.

"Well I am glad to see you happy," Galadriel said with a smile, turning to look at him with those fantastic eyes of hers. She desperately wanted him to kiss her again. The moment seemed so perfect. She could not understand why he refrained unless it truly had been nothing. Celeborn thought that his heart was about to leap out of his throat and so he swallowed to keep it down. "Come on," Galadriel said, holding out her hand. In that moment he would have done anything she asked of him.

Just then there was a great boom as a firework exploded overhead, reflected perfectly in the still waters of the lake, a myriad of flaming colors. The light of the sparks was mirrored in her eyes. And he followed her as she waded out into the water, pulling her dress up and tucking the hem into her girdle, until they stood in the center of the shallow lake, the water up to their knees, staring up at the brilliant explosions of pink and gold and green. Standing by her side, the sparks seemed to dance, lighting the water about her aflame and it very nearly seemed as though she glowed. Maybe, he thought, she did.

"Celeborn…" she turned to him then and he found himself entranced by the beauty of the moonlight on her face. He wanted nothing so badly as to kiss her again. "Why did you…why did you kiss me?" She asked him. It was the dreaded question he had hoped she would never ask but knew she would.

Because I love you, can you not see it? That was what he wanted to say, but he could not. Then he would have to tell her what he had done. He would have to tell her how he had bound her to him without her consent while she lay weak, vulnerable. He would have to tell her how he had performed that forbidden magic, how he had mingled their blood, how she was so very right to fear his death, for he well knew that from the moment he had bound her to him he had also bound himself to her fate, to her curse, to the doom of the Noldor.

Galadriel was strong but he knew how very deeply she cared for him, he knew how she worried over that horrible vision, even if she did not always admit it; he knew that the knowledge that she was powerless to prevent his doom would crush her, and in her moment of triumph no less, when all of her dreams lay before her, golden opportunities waiting to be plucked. It would be better if she could forget about him, about Doriath, journey east, establish her own kingdom as she wanted, forget about this life lived in this cavern's shade.

From the moment he had decided to do what he had done he knew that it meant giving his life, he knew that he would die, but it was all worth it, for her it was worth it. He had thought that he could never love anything or anyone more than this kingdom. He did not know when his love for her had surpassed it. They were the both of them older than the sun and the moon but the love he bore her…it felt as though it was older than that.

"Oh, just for fun," he said. "I was so happy I could hardly believe it. I probably kissed an irresponsible number of people in my joy, maybe even Oropher too, who knows." He laughed so that he would not weep.

"Oh yes," Galadriel laughed, "of course." It was a lie. She knew it, but she could not fathom why he concealed the truth from her. There was a sinking, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach as if, even on this most joyous of nights, there was no happiness left in the world.

It was late when Galadriel finally returned to the servants' quarters, so late in fact that the night had completely passed, the day too, and the sun was beginning to set. It seemed that Madam Lhaineth had forgotten completely about curfew, or else she was too drunk to care, and Galadriel wondered if she really intended to put them back to work in a few hours. If so, then she did not know how she planned to wake them, for a good many of the other servants were laying spread-eagled across their beds, most still fully clothed, some fast asleep from exhaustion, the rest from an excess of alcohol. One of the girls appeared to have smuggled in a male and whoever he was lay asleep on the floor. Plates of half-eaten sweets and nearly empty goblets littered the room, balanced on every possible perch, and Galadriel moved to slip into her own bed, her heart aching, hollow, but she stopped, staring blankly at what lay there. It was her dancing costume, neatly folded, freshly laundered, and looking as though nary a drop of wine had ever touched it.

"Thank you!" She whispered to Bainwen when they awoke much later that evening. It seemed that Madam Lhaineth intended to give them a day of rest after all. Then again, Silevren said that Madam Lhaineth was still asleep on the floor of her office so maybe it was unintentional.

"Whatever for?" Bainwen asked, confused.

"My dancing costume, you managed to get the stains out," Galadriel said.

"Oh, I wish I could take credit but it wasn't me," Bainwen said. "I did not even know anything had happened to it!"

---

Galadriel stood before the heavy oaken door, her heart flopping about like a fish on land, and tried to calm her nerves, for Thingol's royal guard stood only just there before her and she did not want to appear suspect before them, especially because she had no idea at all why she had been called here and wished not to incriminate herself if something nefarious was afoot, some foul rumor spread by Saeros. It must be something very important for the king himself to have requested to speak to her, though she could not fathom what she might have done wrong that would have merited such a thing. Perhaps it had something to do with the incident with Saeros. Or else, her mind flew to the worst, suppose that something terrible happened to my brothers in the battle and we are only finding out now!

"Galadriel," Galathil had stepped out of the door, "the King will see you now." She bowed to the herald and then stepped forward through the door. What she found was Thingol, sitting behind his desk, looking the picture of calm and geniality, and Venessiel, sitting opposite him, a pleasant though unreadable expression on her face. Startled, Galadriel looked from one to the other noting that they both looked quite at ease, as if they had been speaking as old friends, for the atmosphere in the room was distinctly pleasant, which most likely meant that she was not in trouble. That was some relief. "Your Majesty, Lady Minister," she addressed them, bowing.

"Galadriel, have a seat please," Thingol said with a benign smile, gesturing to a chair to Venessiel's right, and Galadriel obeyed, tucking her skirt beneath her knees as she sat.

"I have been inquiring from time to time as to how you have been progressing under Madam Lhaineth's guidance," the King said. "And I have heard that there have been a few incidents and a few…spirited arguments…"

"I was only doing what I needed in order to be allowed to do my work unimpeded," Galadriel spluttered out in her own defense, but she soon became aware of the fact that she had, in fact, interrupted the King and, having had this realization, murmured her apologies. But Thingol only laughed.

"These young elves," Thingol said to Venessiel with a grin, "are always so very hasty."

"They are indeed," Lady Venessiel said with a smile and Galadriel's eyes flickered to Venessiel's, trying to discern if all of this had something to do with her schemes.

"What I was going to say," Thingol continued, "was that despite these incidents, Madam Lhaineth and the dance master both have assured me that your work is more than satisfactory. Indeed, they said that it was commendable; I think you would agree with me that that is high praise from those ladies."

"I am certainly glad to hear that," Galadriel said, bowing her head respectfully at the praise she had received but in her mind she was imagining what Madam Lhaineth's face must have looked like when she had been informed that the king wished to speak to her.

"Yet they have not only been aware of the quality of your work, but also the hardships that you have faced and the difficulties you have encountered which, I believe, serves only to put your work in an even better light. But they are not the only ones who have noticed both the adversity you have faced and your dedication to your tasks. What I am trying to say, Galadriel, is that Lady Venessiel here hopes to buy out the remaining ten years of your contract and has offered you a place as her handmaiden, if you are willing to accept that position."

"I…" In truth, Galadriel had no idea what to say at all. It was a monumental stroke of fortune. Most servants waited centuries before they were offered a position in a household and only the best could hope for a position as a handmaiden. Fewer still attained a position as high as that of a handmaiden for a royal lady and Venessiel was the wife of a prince of Doriath. When the lady had said that she wanted her help Galadriel had never imagined that this was what she meant. "Are you certain, my Lady, that your husband will not mind it?" It was the only thing she could think to say.

Venessiel laughed, a long and rich sound, and shook her magnificent head. "He would not dare," she said. "I assure you that the matter is already taken care of. The only thing I yet require is your own consent. But, of course, if you think you would be happier in your current position then you are more than welcome to refuse me."

"As long my accepting the position will cause no trouble…"

"No trouble at all," Venessiel said, reaching out to grasp Galadriel's hand. "Indeed, it would be an honor. Think of all the good that you could do for Doriath, Galadriel, for those you care about. Is that a 'yes'?" She smiled at the Noldo and yet Galadriel felt some strange coldness in her heart. She had been nearly certain before that she would accept Venessiel's help whenever she saw fit to offer it but now, now that the time was at hand, the only thing she could think of was Celeborn's warning from all of those years ago.

"Begging your pardon but might I have a few days to think it over?" Galadriel asked, still reeling from the surprise of it all. "Thank you very much my lady," she said to Venessiel. "It is not that I am ungrateful. On the contrary, I feel extraordinarily blessed to have received your favor. It is only that there are a good many things I must consider first and I should like some time to bid farewell to my friends if I am to leave them and enter into your service."

"Of course," Venessiel said with a smile but there was something hidden in the shadows of her mind that struck Galadriel as ill and she felt a sudden sense of foreboding sweep over her. She swallowed, doing her best to control the vision, to not allow the flashes of that shadowy silver figure stained in blood to overcome her. "Very well then," Venessiel said, standing. "I hope that I shall have your answer before long, Galadriel, and it is my sincerest hope that you will answer in the affirmative. I think we could be the best of friends."

"Thank you," Galadriel said. But it was not until she had bid them both a good day and left the room that the realization of what this all meant began to sink in. It was a step, a very large step towards regaining some of the position that she had once had here. Her mind began to run wild as she hurried, faster and faster through the corridors, her heart pounding. A handmaiden! No, the handmaiden of a princess! She did her best to still her heart for, despite her excitement, there was something about the matter that felt so terribly wrong, some foreboding that tugged at her heartstrings and crouched in the corners of her mind. And, despite the fact that Venessiel had purported to offer her everything she wanted, there was a voice that whispered to her. That is not what you want: to rise on the wings of another. What you want is to earn things yourself, to make your own way, to not be indebted to anyone.

"What is it?" Bainwen asked her when she returned to the servants' quarters. "You are looking ever so out of sorts. I can hardly decide whether you seem happy or sad." Wringing her hands nervously, Galadriel paced between her bed and the one upon which her friend sat, cross-legged. Finally she stopped and sat upon the edge of the green elf's bed. "Oh it's something serious isn't it!" Bainwen's eyes went as wide as a deer's.

Galadriel nodded. "Bainwen you must keep this an absolute secret," she whispered, glancing around the room to be sure that they were not overheard. Bainwen nodded.

"I swear it!" She whispered with a sort of holy reverence.

"I have just been called to the King's counsel chamber," Galadriel whispered, "where Lady Venessiel offered me the position of being her handmaiden."

Bainwen's jaw hung slack for a moment and then in the next she was full of bubbling energy. "Naneth!" She exclaimed. "That is extraordinary! Such a position…most girls only dream of such a thing! Not only would you be a handmaiden, but the handmaiden of a princess of Doriath! You could have everything you ever wished for: money, fine clothes, royal favor. Think of what you could do. Perhaps your dreams are coming true at last! It would not be so very difficult for a handmaiden to get a title of her own, to set up her own household here in Menegroth. You could fix things, set things right for your people, yourself, your brothers." The green elf reached out, grasping her friend's hands tightly, but her smile began to fall as she realized that all of these wonderful prospects had failed to move Galadriel.

"You…you don't want it?" She asked, seeming confused. "But why? Naneth…there is something strange about you. Will you not tell me what is the matter?" She implored her friend and Galadriel met her worried gaze.

"Bainwen, I have a very bad feeling about it…something I cannot quite explain," she murmured. "I do not know how to express it, only that I had a profound sense of foreboding and then glimpses of a vision began to come upon me, Menegroth in ruins, Celeborn dead."

Bainwen looked surprised for a moment and then seemed uncharacteristically contemplative. "It seems such a waste to throw that chance away," she said. "After all, so few have such opportunities. But if it does not sit well with you then you must do what you see best." Galadriel was silent, for she knew full well what it was that her cheerful friend was thinking, even if she was too polite to say it; that Bainwen was slightly envious, that she would have done anything for that opportunity to be extended to her, and that she thought Galadriel slightly ungrateful for throwing such a chance away. She seemed to recover and then said, "well, if there is anything you need me to do…"

"If you don't mind," Galadriel began hesitantly, a bit worried that she might have momentarily turned her friend against her, "there is something."

"Your highness…" Celeborn looked up from the ledger he had been examining to see that his footman had appeared in the doorway looking a good deal more nervous than usual.

"What is it?" The prince asked and the footman cleared his throat.

"A message my Lord, delivered by a maid," the footman held out the small white envelope. "A rather strange turn of events I thought." Celeborn wished the footman would give him the message without his commentary.

"Indeed," Celeborn stood and took the envelope. "You may be dismissed if you like," he said to his servant. "It is rather late after all."

"My Lord," the footman bowed and made his exit as Celeborn opened the small envelope to withdraw a hastily scribbled note. He knew it was from Galadriel before he had even laid eyes on the familiar handwriting.

Celeborn,

Meet me. It is important.

That was all it said and, having read it, he cast it into the fire before pulling a tunic on over his shirt and, making sure that he looked presentable rather than suspicious, quietly made his way out into the corridors. The walk to the courtyard seemed to take forever and he was tempted to hurry but was forced to remind himself how exceedingly curious it would make people if he was seen jogging through the halls. It must be something important or else she would not have taken the horribly risky action of sending him a note through one of her friends. His footman must have guessed whom it was from. Celeborn could only hope that he would hold his tongue. He mentally made a note to increase the man's salary in return for his silence.

"Galadriel," he breathed her name upon stumbling into the courtyard. It seemed that it was growing more dilapidated with each passing year and he nearly tripped over a pile of loose stones, pushing the wildly overgrown ivy that hung from the tops of the pillars out of the way as he made his way towards her. She turned towards him at the sound of his name, her lovely face creased with worry, her arms crossed tightly. She was not wearing a uniform, but a simple gown of deep blue.

"Celeborn," she sounded surprised. "I was not sure if you would come."

"What is it?" He asked her. "I was worried about you." Gently he took her shoulders and seated them both on the cracked ledge of the fountain there.

"I hope you did not worry too much," she said. "I merely needed your advice, and urgently. Celeborn, Thingol summoned me today and, when I arrived, I found that Venessiel was there as well. She…she offered a position as her handmaiden."

"Ah," Celeborn said. Galadriel's eyes were searching his. "You are worried about refusing her then."

"I…yes…" Galadriel seemed surprised.

"I know you, Galadriel," he said. "I know you would never accept it." He smiled and it seemed to relieve some of her tension. She let out a long breath and then sighed.

"I had been wondering if I was insane to even consider refusing her. How did you know I wanted to?" She asked.

"Because you do not trust her, despite the fact that you have denied it, despite whatever she has offered you, whatever promises she has made," Celeborn replied. "And also because I can no longer see you as content to be a mere handmaiden." He grinned.

"Must you cite my pride as a reason for everything?" Galadriel complained but Celeborn noted that he had made her smile. "It has nothing to do with that. I…something about her unsettles me. Recently I find that, whenever she is around the visions return, the horrible ones, the ones of you. It is the same feeling I felt when I looked into Saeros's heart."

"Well then you certainly must refuse her," Celeborn said. "Have you done it yet?" Celeborn asked.

"Not yet," Galadriel told him. "I only wonder if it would be foolish to trust in my visions in this instance. Perhaps I shall never receive such another opportunity. Perhaps if I were to accept her offer then doors would open for me and I would be able to improve things for our peoples."

"Now that sounds as if it is someone else talking," Celeborn said. "You do not truly believe that and you would never be able to convince me that you do. When has Galadriel ever been content with riding the coattails of another?" And now he had made her laugh and indeed, it looked as though her worries were nearly assuaged.

"I am worried," Galadriel said, "that she may retaliate if I refuse her. Of course, you know her better than I."

"You are right to be worried," Celeborn said. "For I worry that she has offered you this position not out of the kindness of her heart, but because she believes that you can be manipulated and seeks to use you for some purpose of her own, just as your family used you to conceal their secret."

"Those days are finished," Galadriel said, anger flashing momentarily in her eyes, "and no longer will I allow others to twist my loyalties to their own ends."

"Though she has been my ally in recent years, I very much fear that there is something she is hiding from me," Celeborn said. "Perhaps she wants to use you against me."

Galadriel scoffed. "As if I could ever be turned against you again!" Celeborn grinned. "But I did, in fact, get that same sense from the visions," she confided in him.

"Do not worry," Celeborn said. "I do not think she will be overly upset with you for I plan to keep her busy enough that she will have no time for it. I mean to force a vote on the Himring issue soon. Saeros has lost a good deal of his support in the wake of Fingon's victory. There are many now who do not deem his proposals wise and I think the vote has an overwhelming chance of passing if the matter is taken up now, while everyone's emotions are still at their zenith, while goodwill for the Noldor abounds. Besides, Saeros's little stunt at the feast was viewed quite unfavorably, not necessarily because people objected to his disapproval of you, but because his actions were viewed as childish and disgraceful. To attack a servant in such a manner was most shocking and he has been lampooned for it in several papers. He has very few friends at the moment."

"I am glad to hear it," Galadriel said but Celeborn laughed.

"It does not seem to me," he said, "that this matter was so urgent after all. Indeed, it seemed you had made your mind up already before I arrived."

"I was worried, Celeborn, and you know her better than I," Galadriel chided him. She had also found recently that she wanted to share everything with him. "I was not sure whether she would be angry with me or not. Besides, I though myself mad to refuse her. I only wanted to hear someone say that I wasn't after all."

"Well, I am glad that you see fit to confide in me," Celeborn said with a grin.

"Always," Galadriel laughed, rising.

"Galadriel," he said, standing, taking her hands in his, "do what you believe to be right." They stood for a few moments in silence and Galadriel could feel her heart beating faster than normal. She looked up briefly into his green eyes and found that she…that she wanted to touch him, that she wanted to ask if he had truly meant what he had said that night beneath the stars about seeing all that light, the night the long peace began, if she had been wrong to think that he had meant that he loved her. He was so beautiful in the pale light between night and dawn, all silver hair and green eyes and she wanted to know the touch of his hand, to feel the press of his body against hers as she had of old. "Well I must be getting back…" she stammered.

"Before your curfew, I know," Celeborn replied with a grin and, with hardly a goodbye, Galadriel scampered away.

---

"I must admit that I am most sincerely disappointed in you, Galadriel," Venessiel said quietly. "I thought that your heart truly lay with Doriath, that you wanted to help our people here."

"I…I do," Galadriel stammered. This was a good deal more difficult than she had thought it would be for now, sitting before Venessiel, seeing how truly sad she looked, she found that she could not help but think that she might have misjudged her, that she was wrong, that she was injuring someone who had only meant to show her kindness. Then there was the deeper fear, the insecurity she felt: that perhaps this was the only chance for greatness she would be offered and she was about to throw it away.

"Think of what I am offering you, Galadriel!" Venessiel exclaimed, her kind and lovely eyes worried. "I beg you reconsider. You need not be a servant any longer. You will be a lady, a lady with the titles you deserve, the fortune you desire, the lands you dream of." It was hard to trust her visions when faced with such words. For the visions seemed so ephemeral, so unreal, but what Venessiel was offering was so very real, so very solid, so very secure and tangible. She knew that it was true, that if she were to take this position she would have riches, and lands, and position. What use was it to trust in a vision that could only show her fleeting possibilities, uncertain outcomes, a jumbled mixture of imaginary bits and pieces.

"What is more, think of the dream that we share!" Venessiel continued. Celebrimbor had once used the same words. "This is our chance to help Doriath, to help our people, Sindar, Noldor, Green Elf, Avari. From a position as a handmaiden, as my handmaiden, you could attain whatever office in this kingdom that your heart desires. You could stand, not beside a man, but as your own woman, strong, independent, powerful. You could become a member of Thingol's council even, as I did so long ago, and you could turn the vote in our favor…in Celeborn's favor." And yet, despite the honey of those words…Galadriel could not shake that vision. For…what if that vision was true? Celeborn's words echoed in her mind: trust yourself. And she heard Finrod's voice as well, imploring her to do the same.

Even if there was the slimmest chance it might be so, it was too great of a chance to take: Celeborn's life might hinge upon it and that…Galadriel would not gamble with that, no matter the odds. In light of that it suddenly became easy to disregard what Venessiel was saying, despite the fact that it was true.

The most deceitful lies are full of truth, Melian's words rang in Galadriel's head and she glanced up again at Venessiel. "I am sorry but I cannot accept," she repeated.

Venessiel looked very sorrowful and said. "Galadriel, do you not trust me? Who is there who knows more keenly than I what it is to be in your position? I rose just as you did and now I am offering you the same chance that was offered to me because I see your promise, I believe in your future, I believe in forgiveness, in making one's self a new. Indeed, that is why I became a minister myself, so that I could extend to others the same opportunity that was extended to me. Do not squander this chance!" In a seeming bid of desperation she unfastened the ruby earrings that she wore, as large as chicken's eggs, flawless gemstones surrounded by flawless diamonds bedded in gold. Galadriel knew they must be worth more than she could make as a dancer in a thousand years.

"I would wager you cannot refuse these," she said, watching Galadriel. "Take them, they are yours, a promise of more to come. Name your price, whatever you like, I will match it." Galadriel stumbled to her feet, for a horrific feeling of nausea seemed to sweep over her then and in the red of those rubies she saw blood smeared on Menegroth's walls.

"Lady Minister, my most sincere apologies," she stammered, her eyes downcast, making a deep bow. "But I cannot accept." And having so said, she fled that place.

Celeborn found his suspicions magnified from the moment that Venessiel entered the council chamber, however, she said nothing and merely took her seat in the silent room alongside the other counselors. Celeborn pretended to peruse his ledgers but his eyes continued to flicker towards the minister of finance, watching her surreptitiously. Her hands were trembling, he noted. His eyes strayed upwards to her temple, to the sweat beading there, and he wondered that Galadriel's refusal, for she must assuredly have refused or Venessiel would not have looked upset, could have elicited such a strong reaction of fear and uncertainty from a woman so accustomed to confidence and self-assuredness.

The chamber remained silent and momentarily he turned his thoughts away from Venessiel, for Thingol had entered, sweeping to the front of the room to take his seat beside Celeborn at the head of the table. The prince marked the king in attendance.

"Saeros?" Thingol asked. Celeborn swallowed.

"It appears that he does not intend to convene with us today," Celeborn replied.

"I see no point in that," Thingol said. "We have a quorum after all." Indeed, it was as he had said. Every counselor was present save Saeros.

It has nothing to do with the vote, Celeborn though. He knows he will lose and he sees it as my victory. He refuses to suffer it. Nevertheless, they waited the span of half an hour for him, after which the King spoke again.

"Very well," Thingol said. "Then I will call the vote. We are voting today on whether or not to treat with Maedhros and Maglor regarding the matter at Himring. This is not to decide the particulars of any treaty or how negotiations shall be conducted, but only whether they will be conducted or not. Those in favor of conducting such negotiations, please raise your hands."

Celeborn looked up to see that not only his hand and those of his supporters were raised, but that all eleven hands were. "Very well," Thingol said. "Mark that as 11 'in favor' and one abstention." And Celeborn did. He felt that he should be happy, that what he had worked so hard for over the century had come to pass at last. He knew that it was not solely the work of Fingon's victory, but that that victory had been closely coupled with the visit from the Northern chieftains, that this victory was not mere luck, but the result of hard work, his work, Thingol's work, Venessiel's work, Mablung's work, Beleg's work, Galadriel's work. He knew that this victory ought to make him feel happy, for all of the other counselors clearly did, standing and shaking hands, congratulating one another, already beginning to discuss the terms of the treaty and yet…somehow it felt so very hollow.

But Celeborn's mind was not the only one in the city that was troubled, for Galadriel's too was plagued by doubts all that night and all the next so that, when she returned to the servants' quarters she did not at first realize that something seemed amiss. Instead, she threw herself down onto her bed, rubbing her hands over her face and staring up sleeplessly at the ceiling above. Today she was nothing but a palace dancer again. She could have been a handmaiden. She had nearly tasted of that fantastic life again, that life of diplomats and princes and kings. Only a few weeks prior she had been advising Thingol as to what present would be best for Fingon, how best to interact with Noldorin emissaries, how to conduct negotiations.

It was quiet, for most of the girls were already asleep and those who were not were speaking in hushed tones. And, in that quiet, Galadriel's thoughts ran to where they had all evening yesterday and all evening today: she wondered if she had made the right choice, if she had been foolish to throw that opportunity away, if Venessiel really had meant well, if she had misjudged her and hurt her. The thought consumed her so much that she had had no time at all to ponder Celeborn's strange behavior. Tears came to her eyes and she blinked them away. It had been so very, very difficult to have everything she wanted tossed into her lap and then have to refuse it. But she reminded herself why she had done it: for Celeborn. It was all worth it for him. She would have thrown away every dream she had, every happiness, if it meant sparing his life. And now she knew why. There was no use lying to herself about it anymore. She loved him. It didn't matter if he loved her not at all. With everything she was, she loved him. And she wanted him to prosper, and be free, and be happy, and to live – to live.

She sighed. Bainwen had been nearly silent yesterday evening when she had returned from her duties but Galadriel found that now she needed some friendly reassurance and so she turned on her side to face Bainwen's bed, hoping that her friend was not still miffed with her. "Bainwen," she hissed, but the hair of the girl in the next bed was black and the face that turned towards her was not Bainwen's at all, but Inwen's.

"Galadriel?" Inwen asked quizzically, seeming a bit puzzled as to why the Noldo would have woken her, and rubbed at her eyes.

"Inwen?" Galadriel was confused. "Where is Bainwen? Has she…has she traded beds with you?" The thought occurred to her that maybe her friend really was envious, maybe she really was upset with her, maybe she truly did see Galadriel as privileged and ungrateful.

"Oh no," the nurse said sleepily, "don't you know? Didn't she say anything to you?" Galadriel shook her head, perplexed.

"Lady Venessiel offered her a position as her handmaiden earlier this evening and she accepted. They must have moved all of her things out while you were away dancing at that party this evening. I'm afraid you're stuck with me now." And Inwen turned back over, resuming her sleep, but Galadriel lay awake, her mind tormented by horrible visions, her heart quaking with fear for her friend.

She could not sleep. It was useless. And, at last, she arose from her bed, tugging off her nightdress and slipping into a gown, creeping out into the corridor so as not to wake Madam Lhaineth. The halls were deserted and, once she was far enough away from the servants' quarters as to be sure that Madam Lhaineth would not, in fact, come storming after her like a dragon, she began to walk quickly and purposefully towards her destination. For Galadriel had had an idea for a while now, an idea small as a seed that was beginning to sprout and now she was beginning to wonder if, just maybe, it was actually possible, if it was not as far-fetched as she had wondered.

The library was unlocked, as she had thought it would be, for the scholars of Doriath were odd birds and often stayed up late into the day, but she would have been ready to pick that lock if need be. They hardly paid her any attention as she slipped in, so consumed were they by their studies. Galadriel began to pace slowly about the massive room. It was fantastic, though she hardly ever came here. The bookshelves did not line the walls and sit in stark rows as they had in Valinor, instead, they were built into the trunks of the stone trees that towered up to the roof, curving around and around, corkscrewing up into the canopy of leaves until she could hardly see them anymore, each one stuffed with books and scrolls.

Galadriel wandered amongst them, stepping across the soft moss and grasses that blanketed the floor, crossing the sunny knolls upon which elves lay, reading, stepping over the brooks that ran here and there, filled with shimmering fish. And as she went she brushed her fingers across the spines of the books, perusing their titles. She nearly groaned in frustration, for the Sindarin way of alphabetizing books made absolutely no sense to her, especially those written in old Doriathrin, but she did not want them to consider her a disruption or ask her to leave and so she remained silent.

Childrens' books: she scowled, setting the brightly colored tomes of fairytales emblazoned with gaudy drawings of unicorns and other such fantastical beasts back on the curving, tree-trunk, shelves. She was looking for court records, for the ledgers that she knew Celeborn had diligently kept of the legal proceedings of this capital for a thousand years, for whatever book contained the legal code of Doriath. She growled in frustration and quickly plastered a hand over her mouth as a very severe looking elf gave her a disapproving look as if to say, don't you know you're in a library? She could hardly imagine Celeborn in here, she thought with a smile, he would be far too loud, cursing up a storm, laughing, antagonizing anyone who had the audacity to tell him he ought to be quiet.

She closed her eyes in frustration as she failed yet again: animal husbandry. That was hardly what she was looking for. Perhaps they were up in the treetops. She looked up, up, up, high into the canopy of emerald leaves veined with gold that adorned the stone, but oh-so-real looking trees that held up the enchanted ceiling, across which the sun was slowly floating, where tiny sparrows flitted about. Then she began to ascend the trees one by one, climbing the spindly silver staircases, examining each and every book until she reached the very tiptop before descending again. It was tedious work and before long noon had passed. Most of the Sindar had retired and the room was nearly empty.

She leaned back against a tree, crossing her arms over her chest. Perhaps she should simply ask someone, but then again, that might raise suspicions and it was entirely possible that there was no answer at all to her questions. Then she would look like a fool. She began to chew her lip and she could almost hear her mother scolding her for it, stop that Nerwen! You'll be sorry later if you keep that up! She grinned and looked up into the top of the tree she was leaning against.

That was when something caught her eye, a glint of silver, and she squinted. But, in the next moment she was sure of it, silver hair hanging off the edge of the talan high above. It could be Thingol, she thought, as she began to climb the winding staircase up into the tree, but probably not, hopefully not. Still, if it were Celeborn instead he would certainly tease her mercilessly for this, she was sure of it. But frustration had long since driven her past the point where she cared about pride.

Her arrival at the top of the staircase was met by a strange sight, though she could not be entirely surprised, for it was, after all, a very Celeborn thing to be doing. "Hello Nerwen," he said without looking up from whatever he was reading. He was lying prone on the floor of the talan, his long hair draped over the edge. There was a half empty pitcher of beer at his side that he appeared to have been drinking from, though it seemed as though it had been many hours since it was last cold, an almost certainly dead duck at his side, and his leather hunting armor and bow were hanging from one of the many branches that encircled them. He was dressed rustically in a simple white linen shirt with a moss green suede jerkin, brown breeches, and a hunting belt. He was barefoot, having removed his boots, and she could see the hilts of his knives sticking out of the tops of them. He must have been hunting. She caught a whiff of sweat, glanced covertly at the open collar of his shirt. He seemed unconcerned by her arrival and reached into his breeches, scratching.

"Ugh." Galadriel made a face but a grin slipped out anyway. "What in Yavanna's name is the matter with you?" He grinned too. "And don't call me, 'Nerwen,'" she added as an afterthought.

"Yes your worshipfulness, of course your honor," he replied. "Are there any other commands you would like to give to me in my own palace?" He had been very cheeky since the long peace began.

"Celeborn," she began, "I need your help."

"Oh and is that how you think you'll get it," he asked, putting his book down at last, "by coming up here and insulting me?"

"I'm sorry," she said, seating herself beside him, cross-legged.

"I was joking," he said with a grin, sitting up. "Beer?" He offered her the pitcher. She rolled her eyes but she could hardly keep from laughing. It was good to see him in such good spirits again after all this mess at Himring with her cousins.

"I suppose," she said, taking the pitcher and drinking straight from it. It was warm. She swallowed with a grimace. "What are you doing awake at this hour anyway?" She asked him.

"I couldn't sleep," he said.

"Funny," she remarked, "me either. I suppose you might know already but I turned down Venessiel's offer."

"I suspected that," he replied. "She seemed a horrible mess the other day at the council meeting."

"Oh how did that go?" Galadriel asked him.

"Well," he said. "The measure passed. But somehow…I don't know. I can't put my finger on it but something about it bothered me. Saeros abstained; he didn't even bother to show, but other than that it was unanimous. I suppose," he paused. "It should have been your victory too. You worked for it. You sacrificed for it. Fingon fought for it. I know that everything my people did to pass this vote helped, but the fact of the matter is that if it hadn't been for Fingon's victory it never would have happened. And, what is more, you stood by me through it all, listened to all of my concerns, my complaints, encouraged me even, and you got none of the credit whatsoever, though it is your victory as well."

Galadriel laughed, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "I didn't do it for the credit," she said, "I did it for Doriath, for you, for Melian, for Thingol, for Luthien, for my friends, and even for everyone who hates me."

"I know," Celeborn said, "but it bothers me all the same. And then there was something about Saeros abstaining, about how he couldn't even be bothered to show up for the vote, to accept that he had failed, to understand that the will of the people stood against him…that they want peace, and reconciliation, and a new future, a future where this bitterness between our peoples is ended – not war and violence."

"Well someone who is probably far wiser than I give her credit for once told me that you can't fix everyone, Celeborn. Some people are just broken and they like being that way. Instead, think about the future that lies ahead, concentrate on this treaty that the council will draw up, think about the good that will come to Doriath in this time of peace." He nodded.

"You've changed, Galadriel," he said, his eyes meeting hers. "Do you know that?" She blushed and shook her head.

"Only a little," she said. "I still have a long way to go, I think, before I am rid of my Noldorin pride." She smiled wryly.

"That," he said, "is how I know you have changed." The silence stretched between them, full of unsaid things and Galadriel found herself wondering once more why he said nothing to her of what she almost certainly believed to be in his heart.

"Will you help me?" She asked him. He looked up from where he had been contemplating his dead duck.

"Of course I'll help you," he said and she told him what she needed. He had known exactly where everything was but the main problem she had now was that she could not read the older materials, for they were written in old Doriathrin and Celeborn had to translate them to her aloud in modern Doriathrin, asking her which parts she needed to know. It was, therefore, no surprise when they finished as evening was drawing nigh and Celeborn raised his head, looking at her with a mischievous smile saying, "I do believe that I have discerned what you are up to, Galadriel, and you and Thingol seem to be on the same page."