Kith and Kin

Doriath: 24th Chapter

"What I feel for you can't be conveyed in phrasal combinations;

It either screams out loud or stays painfully silent

but I promise — it beats words. It beats worlds. I promise."

-Katherine Mansfield, The Collected Stories

Author's note: Enter Maedhros and Maglor…

I've been writing the end of part two all day and I really like it! I am so excited to get those chapters up in the next few weeks and share them with you guys.

After this chapter, there are only two left in the second part. The third part will probably be a little bit shorter than the first two parts but we'll see how things go when I get more of it written and what you guys want concerning the length of the story.

I think we are all going to, understandably, be frustrated with Celeborn for a little longer but believe me, he has his reasons and it will all be worth it. I promise that you will not be mad at him any longer by the end of part 2! Again, if anyone has any questions please message me. I love answering questions and just talking Tolkein in general.

Leeza: Thank you so much!

Luna: Ah! I can't answer your question now without giving something important away but I think that Chapter 25 will answer it well enough.

"Galadriel!" Thingol's booming laugh rang out as the Noldo was ushered into his office. "You are a delightfully refreshing sight for sore eyes. Do you know that?"

"I am glad to hear it," she said, taking the seat offered her by the king after she had bowed. She glanced up, noticing to her surprise that Thingol was wearing the Elessar. It glimmered there at his throat, a brilliant star of green and silver. The king glanced down at it, having noticed where she was looking.

"Ah," he said with a grin. "I thought it rather appropriate at last, what with Fingon's victory all of our prospects seem to be looking up do they not?" It was working its power upon him, gladdening his heart, soothing his soul; she could see it and it made her smile.

"They do indeed," Galadriel said, smoothing her skirt. Her clothes were nothing spectacular, merely a simple blue cotton gown and a plain silver necklace. She had carefully stored her money away over the course of a century and, if she managed to make this plan succeed then she would most certainly need all of it.

"I expect by now that you have heard that my nephew, the prince's vote was successful?" Thingol asked her with a smile, folding his hands before him on his desk. "When I saw your name on the petition list for today I wondered if that might be what you had come to speak to me about." Galadriel smiled. Trust a Sindarin king to get directly to the point. In Valinor they would have spent hours in pleasantries before getting to business.

"Then you have guessed well your Majesty, for indeed, that is in part why I have come to speak to you." She would do him the same courtesy of straightforwardness. She knew he would appreciate it.

"And the other part?" Thingol inquired, looking inquisitive.

"Doriath ought to have an ambassador to the Noldor," she began. "Indeed, this kingdom ought to have had one for some time now. But, in light of recent events, I believe that such a post is now even more necessary. Things have improved of late but still we must tread carefully for a while yet, particularly where Maedhros and Maglor are concerned. Another disaster such as the one at Himlad would be crippling for this kingdom but we are on the cusp of opportunity. If the treaty negotiations are handled properly then we can most assuredly achieve a result that is beneficial to both Noldor and Sindar. All of Beleriand would profit from such a thing."

"I must admit that I have been considering such an idea for a while now," Thingol said. "But what with the dearth of suitable Noldor, I believed it would be impossible to fill such a position."

"That is the case no longer," Galadriel said. "A suitable candidate sits before you now." Thingol laughed and she knew that he was pleased by her boldness.

"You are indeed an intrepid soul," Thingol said. "It is rather refreshing to hear confidence from you rather than pride. You never cease to amaze me." He put a hand to his chin in contemplation. "And why you?"

Galadriel laughed. "Well," she said, "I could say that it is a simple matter in that I am the only Noldo in your capital city and, indeed, in the entirety of your kingdom. But there are numerous reasons and better ones than that as to why I am ideally qualified. Very few Noldo have spent time in Doriath and, of those who have, including my brothers, I am the only one who has spent a significant enough amount of time here. I have a superior command not only of the culture and customs of my own people, but of your people as well. I can understand and respect the Sindarin point of view, Sindarin history, Sindarin language. What is more, while I may not hold a high standing amongst your people, I am a princess of Aman. The blood of the Noldor, Vanyar, and Teleri flows in my veins. I am the daughter of the High King of the Noldor. This is something that the Noldor respect, bloodlines, position. Even those Noldor who might not wish to deal with me must do so. I cannot be ignored, even by those who have no fondness for me."

"Maedhros and Maglor are reasonable and can be dealt with in a reasonable manner," she said. "But particularly where Maedhros is concerned, proper etiquette and Noldorin customs must be followed. He is the eldest son of Finwe's eldest son. Proper respect and procedure mean a great deal to him. If we are able to impress upon him our goodwill and our desire for mutual understanding then I believe that not only can we achieve our goal, but perhaps we can even profit. Long has Maedhros desired some diplomatic contact with Doriath as a symbol of his legitimacy. He would not throw away this chance. He is not as his younger brothers. He desires to make things right and he alone of the Feanorians can rein in and control Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir."

"You have always been a reliable source of reliable information," Thingol said. "As such, I would know, who would you suggest as members of the treaty party?" But Galadriel fell silent.

"I have already said more than one should when one is yet unassured of position," she made reply but Thingol only laughed.

"You have learned a great deal haven't you, Galadriel?" He sounded very pleased. "Do not worry. The position is yours," he said. "I very much wish for peaceful relations with your people and I am open, as I am sure you wish to suggest, to the future renewal of an alliance with Felagund at Nargothrond." Galadriel slowly let out the breath that she did not know she had been holding and Thingol leaned back in his chair. He appeared so at ease, happier, indeed, than she ever believed she had seen him.

"Maedhros will only bargain with someone he deems to be of equal rank," Galadriel said.

"Luthien," Thingol replied but, slowly, Galadriel shook her head. She hated to do it, for she knew how much Luthien longed for such an opportunity and she had no doubt that her friend would do a splendid job of it but it would not be appropriate, not for a prince of the Noldor.

"Respectfully I must object," she said. "Princesses are not recognized as heirs amongst my people and though Maedhros, unlike his younger brothers, will respect the station of a Sindarin prince as equal, even he would not see fit to treat with a princess. It must be a male who will lead the negotiations." Thingol sighed as if disappointed.

"Celeborn then," Thingol said and Galadriel nodded. "So I suppose you will advise Celeborn, and he will speak?" She nodded again. "The two of you do work well together," Thingol said, "but my nephew sometimes…well he can balk at taking another's advice, particularly when it contradicts whatever notion he has in his head."

"Oh I shall have him quite in hand, I am sure," she said and Thingol burst into laughter.

"Others of very high standing ought to be a requisite as well," she told him, "a military figure, Mablung perhaps, and I believe you ought to send Dairon."

"Dairon?" Thingol laughed, "whatever for? He is a minstrel, not a diplomat."

"Maglor is exceedingly fond of music," Galadriel told him, "and I have no doubt that he has heard of Dairon, even studied his music most probably. He would see it as a great honor and, as there will doubtlessly be several days of feasting, per Noldorin tradition, before the negotiations commence, his services would be of great use to us."

"Very well," Thingol said with a grin. "And what of customs? You know better than I…"

"We ought to prepare very fine gifts for Maedhros and Maglor," she said, "and I believe we ought to be careful as to our attire. The clothes should be very formal, the armor of plate, if possible. It should, of course, be Sindarin in nature but I would use rather more jewels than usual, for that would impress them most greatly. Furthermore, I would caution against any Telerin likeness, or anything that might be reminiscent of your Telerin brethren. Invoking the memory of the kinslaying would be a sure way to draw their ire." Thingol nodded.

"And you should write to Maedhros yourself, announcing your intent and asking his permission to treat," Galadriel said. "I can advise you as to the style and will countersign myself." Thingol nodded in approval.

"Very well, Galadriel," he said when they had finished speaking, "you shall be sworn in two weeks hence and then we shall get down to the business of drawing up this treaty."

"My thanks, your Majesty," she said, rising and dipping into a low bow, brimming with joy as she swept from the King's office. Celeborn was at the door and she grinned at him in passing, eliciting a laugh. He had almost certainly surmised what she was up to for he grinned in return, though they said nothing to each other. There would be time enough for that later, time when they could be alone.

The prince stepped into the King's office and seated himself in the same chair that Galadriel had recently vacated, leaning back so that only the back two legs of it were on the ground. He crossed his legs at the ankles, propping them up on the table. If Melian had been there she would no doubt have scolded him but Thingol did not mind.

"She said she has you 'quite in hand,'" Thingol chuckled.

"Oh did she now?" Celeborn exclaimed, his silver brows inching up. The king laughed, his deep voice filling the chamber with mirth, and he hardly seemed able to stop his laughter, even though it impeded his speech.

"That…" he said, pointing a stern finger at his nephew, "is a fine woman. Forget everything I have ever said about her. You shall find none finer and if you do not love her then may the Valar help you, you are a fool! Go! There is no time to waste. Chase after her! Take her diamonds and roses. Woo her. Wed her, bed her this very evening." Celeborn's face went as red as a poppy as he grinned sheepishly and cast his eyes down, waving a hand at Thingol as if to dismiss what the king had said.

"That is the Elessar talking," he protested. "It is only the Elessar talking."

Galadriel walked purposefully through the hallways, greeting those she met politely but she was aware of the curious stares that followed her for it had been a long time indeed since she dressed in the fashion of the Noldor and yet she felt that in this instance it was not only appropriate, but necessary. She took a deep breath, or as deep as she was able, for she found herself just now remembering how very structured and stiff Noldorin clothing was.

The skirt, a cream colored crepe silk trimmed with an ornate and heavy hem of gold lace, was airy enough, but the dress she wore overtop, which was really more of a tunic than anything except that it was long in both the front and the back with the side of the skirt open, was of a thick and suffocating red brocade richly embroidered with complex patterns of gold thread. The cuffs were tight and the golden clasps down the front were tight as well. Indeed, the Sindarin tailor that she had employed to make it had looked at her with something akin to disbelief, as though he did not understand how her people could wear such restricting clothing all day long. Her hair she had pulled back into a red and gold hood with a cream colored veil and at her throat glittered a simple collar of sapphires and amber stones.

"You must think," Celeborn had told her, "about what you want them to see in you." And, she had known the answer to that question right away. She wanted them to see that a Noldo could be loyal to Doriath, that a Noldo could do good for Doriath, that a Noldo could have their best interests at heart, and that it was possible for them to work together with a Noldo to achieve their goals.

The thought caused her to remember Thingol's words. "You would seek to become one of us?" he had asked. "I am a princess of the house of Finwe," she had replied. She would not pretend to be what she was not, instead, she would be as she was. A Noldo in Sindarin clothing was still a Noldo. It was clear to her now that, even if she were to live her for 10,000 years, even if she were to abandon her own culture entirely, to take a Sindarin husband, to raise her children as Sindar, to forget her native tongue even, they would still consider her a Noldo all the days of her life. There was no use in pretending it was not so, but there was much to be gained, she believed, by acknowledging her heritage openly, for there was no one who was more sick and tired of divisions between peoples than Galadriel and if marching into Thingol's council chamber looking as though she had come straight from Valinor was what it took to break down barriers then she was more than willing to do so.

The footman standing at the door bowed to her slightly before he opened it and she swept into the council chamber, doing her best to act as though this were nothing out of the usual. "Ladies, Gentlemen, good evening," she greeted those gathered there politely before taking the seat that was indicated to be hers. Venessiel was already there and Mablung as well, she noted, but not everyone had arrived yet.

She had hardly had that thought before the door opened to admit Saeros. He glanced towards her briefly, a smile twisting itself across his face before he took his seat. "It seems that we have a blossom of Tirion in our midst today," he said to her. He knew well enough why she was here, even if he was unhappy about it and she knew that his comment had been meant to shame her for her heritage.

"Whether I am a blossom I cannot say," she replied with a polite smile, "but Noldorin clothes are so horridly uncomfortable that I do rather feel I am wilting." That drew a laugh from several of them and quieted Saeros. He seemed to have the good sense to realize that he could not now change her appointment and that maligning her would only bury him deeper in his hole and so he showed no further interest in her.

"Mind your fingers, Saeros, it seems the blossom has thorns," Venessiel said with a grin. That drew another round of laughter forward. Galadriel smiled. She had been worried over how the minister of the treasury would treat her but it seemed that she held no grudge after all.

The rest of the counselors filtered in gradually and at last they all stood as Thingol arrived with Celeborn on his heels. The king took his seat and, without further ado, said, "Well then, let us swear our new ambassador in and then get down to the business of drawing up this treaty," he said it without looking up as he thumbed through a stack of papers, as though it were the most matter of fact and normal thing in the world. Galadriel found that she was exceedingly grateful for that, for it presented no opportunity for anyone to argue, or fight, or cause a scene. "We have received word from Maedhros," Thingol said, "and he has welcomed our invitation to negotiate. I…" he looked up, "trust that you all are planning on attending the festivities this evening?" His glance was met by a room full of nods. "Well then," he said, "Galadriel, if you would please stand and we shall swear you in."

It had been two hundred years since there had last been a feast in Galadriel's honor in Menegroth and at that time she had been known as Artanis. She had drunk too much, she knew, but not enough to be drunk, just tipsier than she had expected. It seemed that they were all more or less in that state. The alcohol gave her some courage that she had otherwise been lacking and she had gradually made her way towards Celeborn, plopping down on the cushions at his side and he looked over at her, laughing. He had been talking to Mablung but Mablung stood, saying he needed to speak to Thingol, and moved away through the crowd.

"Years may have passed, but I haven't forgotten," she said quietly, "the night that the long peace began." She had no idea what was holding Celeborn back, Celeborn who always spoke his mind, Celeborn who never stayed his hand, Celeborn who had long ago pursued her with such blatant disregard for propriety and rules. Yes, they had said that they no longer loved each other, and they hadn't, but that had been a very long time ago, over a century in fact, and her heart had changed, she believed his had too. Or perhaps it had not changed at all, perhaps she simply had not recognized her feelings for him for what they were – love – for she had never felt for anyone what she felt for him now, so how ought she to have recognized it before? Why else would she be having these strange visions of him?

"I do not know what you are speaking of," he murmured, not daring to look at her. She knew why. He could not now meet her eyes without betraying his heart. She knew him, she knew him better than anyone; she would have read the love written there as if he were an open book.

"Lies do not sit well upon you, Celeborn," she replied. "You have always been a man who takes what he desires, have you not?" He loved her too, she was nearly sure of it, but though her heart ached with sadness for it, she could not force his hand, would not force it if he was yet unready, though she could not imagine what it was that must be causing his delay, what was holding him back during a time of peace and prosperity where everyone else was making the most of opportunity. She was surprised to find that there was no anger in her heart, that she did not resent him for having turned her away, only sorrow that their hearts had not risen at the same moment.

"We should not speak of such things, not here, not now," he replied, his voice terse, rigid, staid. And with that she knew that things could go no further, not at this moment. It was a hopeless cause. But at least he had not denied it this time.

"Well then," she said, "I trust you know where to find me if ever the time for speaking is at hand." She had risen, moving amongst the others then, speaking to many and even to Venessiel, who seemed to bear her no resentment. The lady was gracious and kind, as ever, only expressing her sadness that things had not worked out but praising Bainwen's work and imploring Galadriel to come visit her whenever she liked.

Despite the pleasant conversation, there was something about speaking to Celeborn that had put a damper on the whole evening for Galadriel and it was no more than a few hours later that she took leave of the feast in her own honor, winding her way slowly back to her new rooms. They were nothing grand, for she hadn't the money yet for anything like that, only a few small rooms in a very out of the way and inconvenient district of the capital city. She wished that she wasn't so affected by him, the alcohol certainly was not helping, but she felt almost as though he had been unfriendly to her. There was nothing he had ever refused to share with her before. Well, she thought, there is nothing I can do about it I suppose. But she made a note in her mind to reprimand him, to remind him that they had agreed to be honest with one another.

She had arrived at her rooms at last and she closed the door behind her and tiptoed over the clutter that she had yet to sort and unpack, books, and dishes, candlesticks and all manner of other things. She wondered how she had managed to acquire so much in only a hundred years on such a small salary and sighed as she removed her hood and veil, hanging them haphazardly on the branch of one of the stone beeches that adorned her chambers.

Resolving to push Celeborn from her mind for the moment, she smiled and reached out again to touch the stone bark of that tree, so lifelike she could almost believe it to be real, and then she stretched, sighing again as she began to undo the myriad buttons that ran down the front of her gown. Noldorin clothing was so very tiresome and rigid.

"Rather like a butterfly shedding her cocoon," a voice said softly and Galadriel nearly jumped out of her skin, pulling the front of the heavily brocaded gown shut overtop of her thin chemise. It was only then that she noticed Celeborn, lounging about on the floor, a glass of wine in hand and his back against her bed, watching her lazily. She did not know which protest to make first.

"Were you just going to sit there and allow me to undress before you unawares?" She spluttered, her face coloring in embarrassment. "Some friend you are." Her feelings were even more unbalanced by the fact that she had no idea why he was here. Was he taking her up on her offer to speak about things in private? He had seemed so unwilling to discuss it only an hour earlier.

"You've nothing I haven't seen before," Celeborn said as if this were inconsequential. It seemed a rather bold thing to say given how reserved he had been only an hour before, given the uncertain state of things between them. Galadriel glanced down and realized the reason why: there was a nearly empty bottle of wine at his side. Drunken bravado.

"That was a long time ago and under far different circumstances," she retorted.

"I am in plain view," Celeborn said. "I am surprised you did not notice me sooner."

"What you Sindar consider to be plain view is what others would normally consider hidden," she made reply but Celeborn only grinned.

"You Noldor and your strange prudery," Celeborn laughed and Galadriel thought she must have looked very angry indeed for, chuckling, the prince raised a hand in a gesture of peace and said, "peace! Peace, Lady! I meant no harm. If I had I would not have said anything at all and would have allowed you to continue."

"Well!" Galadriel spluttered, still feeling the heat in her face as she hurried to redo the buttons. Celeborn had the good sense to look away, pretending as if he were suddenly interested in the wall until she was proper again. She was still suspicious of him, had no idea what on earth he thought he was doing. He seemed strangely unsettled. "You might have said something sooner." She chastised him. "And why are you here anyway? Do you think that because you are the prince of Doriath you can traipse about wherever you please without leave?"

"More or less," Celeborn replied with a grin, giving her no satisfactory answer. That frustrated her further.

"That is highly inappropriate," she cautioned him. "These are my private quarters." She made sure to put adequate emphasis on the word 'private.' Celeborn had the good sense to feign a modicum of shame but Galadriel found she could not be entirely mad at him. She had, after all, told him to find her. What was more, despite his cautious reserve of earlier this evening, it had been good lately to see him so jovial, happy, so young again, as if all of the troubles of the past two centuries had been washed away. He seemed his old self.

"I just wanted to speak with an old friend," he said, "away from the prying eyes of others." Galadriel was not quite sure what to make of that. She felt he was being intentionally obtuse.

"Are you…are you drinking my wine?" She asked him, eyeing the glass and the empty bottle quizzically. It seemed to be one of hers.

"Oh, ah, well, yes…" Celeborn replied, grinning at her sheepishly. Galadriel laughed.

"Ah the life of a Doriathrin prince, sneaking into ladies' bedchambers, drinking their wine, lounging about on their cushions…" Galadriel teased him, letting her hair down from the pins that had bound it up and shaking out the braids.

"Yours is the first bedchamber I have ever snuck into," Celeborn said, wagging a finger at her and Galadriel raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

"I almost get the impression that you expect me to feel honored by that," she said with a laugh.

"Perhaps," Celeborn said with an intolerably smug grin on his face. Grinning, Galadriel rolled her eyes, taking up her hairbrush and sitting in a chair opposite him. Her mind strayed suddenly to a meadow in spring, full of lush, tall, green grasses and stalks of soft, tiny, pink flowers, a hand not her own, though she felt the same sensations it felt, reaching out to brush over the rustling tops of the cool, soft grasses.

"You are incorrigible; do you know that?" She asked with a grin.

"I have been told so many a time," he replied with a laugh. Galadriel glanced over at him with a smile. She was glad, after all, she found, that he was here. This day had been more stressful than she had thought and his company was a bigger relief than she had anticipated, even if it was drunken company.

He seemed to have changed out of the formal garments he had worn earlier this evening and now he wore a simple tunic and breeches, his feet bare, his silver hair unbound, which made it all the more amusing that he was wearing a rather extraordinary crown, one she did not believe she had ever seen before. It was a band of black hematite, as were the other ones he wore, but this one was far more elaborate and less simple, set with gems in the colors of the forest, rich green emeralds, brilliant honey-colored stones of amber, sapphires as deep and blue as the Sirion. From the sides of it hung elaborately knotted black cords upon which were strung flawless pearls from the Falas, and polished beads of wood, topaz, and animal bone, ornately carved. Celeborn did not make a habit of wearing crowns even in the most formal of situations and she wondered what he was up to.

"Very fine is it not?" He said, grinning and looking extraordinarily pleased with himself.

"It is indeed rather impressive," she replied with a grin of her own, "though I am afraid your clothes do not do it justice." Celeborn laughed. It seemed as though their conversation from earlier this evening had been completely forgotten.

"That's quite alright," he said. "I only wanted you to see it. It's new. Uncle had it made for me. It seems I am to wear it to Himring." And at that Galadriel burst into full-fledged laughter, laughing until her sides hurt and tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes.

"Oh, are you entirely serious?" She gasped, clutching at her now-aching stomach. "Do you mean to tell me that that is why you are here? That you waited here simply so you could show me your new crown?" His sheepish grin confirmed it and sent her into another spasm of laughter. "Celeborn," she said, when she had finally gained control of herself again, "that is something I would rather expect from a handmaiden hoping to show off her new jewelry."

"I assure you I am no handmaiden," Celeborn grinned, finishing off the last of the wine.

"If you would like to apply for the position, I am currently without one," Galadriel teased him. "I've been far too busy to set my household affairs in order just yet."

"You mean you have been living like this for weeks?" Celeborn asked mockingly, looking around at the untidy surroundings, the unmade bed, the unpacked crates lying here and there. Galadriel rolled her eyes as she worked at untangling a particularly aggressive knot in her hair. "What a pity that you have to brush your hair yourself," Celeborn teased her. "Is it too difficult for you, your worshipfulness?" Galadriel gave him a warning glare in jest and brandished the brush at him.

"I am perfectly capable, your highness," she told him, resuming her task. "And besides, I have never allowed anyone but myself to brush my hair anyway. You know that." But Celeborn stood, slowly approaching her and she laughed, eyeing him with mock suspicion. "What are you doing?" She asked with a grin, teasing him.

"Nothing," he replied, laughing, but his hand closed overtop of hers on the brush and he tugged gently at it until she released her grip, relinquishing it to him. She felt his fingertips ghost across the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine as he lifted her golden hair and slowly, gently began to brush it. Galadriel felt her breath, or maybe it was her heart, catch in her throat and she swallowed hard, for it felt as though her fëa itself was about to leap out of her mouth.

Celeborn could feel his hand trembling as he held the soft silk of her golden hair in his hand. It had been mad and foolish for him to come here, he knew it, but he had seemed to find himself at her door with no idea of how he had gotten there. The alcohol had certainly not helped matters. Why he was doing this, brushing her hair, touching her, why she had allowed him to do this he did not know; he had thought she would push him away, tease him, but she had not, and now he felt nearly lost, lost in the sea of her and his mind slipped away to a far off place. On a verdant hill of lush grasses stood two trees, impossibly tall, one of glowing silver, silver as bright as the moon, and the other of the richest gold, gold burning like the sun. For a moment they radiated pure light, dawn and dusk intermingling, a perfect beauty.

"What…what are you…doing?" He heard the stammered question and swallowed. His throat felt intolerably dry.

"Nothing," he whispered in reply, because he could not let go of her, absolutely could not, would sooner have let go of his own life than relinquish her touch. She turned, reaching up, stilling his hand, and stood. He could not puzzle out whatever it was in her eyes and wondered if his own must look equally as convoluted; they must. The brush clattered to the floor as she took his hands in hers.

They stood then for a while, hand in hand, eyes tight closed against the world and against everything, his brow upon hers, breathing softly, quietly. And then he backed away, gently, slowly, his eyes flitting to hers and she looked at him sweetly, lovingly, as if she wondered if she had done something wrong. She hadn't, but Celeborn did not trust himself, for he knew that if he stayed with her this night they would cross that final boundary, they would bind themselves to one another as husband and wife both in body and in spirit. The same thought was doubtlessly present in her mind.

"Why do you delay when our hearts are full of one another?" She whispered, confusion in her eyes. But he remembered what he had done, that horrible thing he had done, he remembered how he had bound her to him without her consent, a forbidden bond. Nellas had been able to see it. How long before the others did as well? How long before Galadriel saw it herself? He could not bear to think of the tears that she would shed on his behalf, knowing that he had doomed himself for her sake. It was too horrible, he could not do it to her. She would be better never knowing. She would be better off without him. She would be happy. But is that really what frightens you, Celeborn? The thought resounded in his mind and he pushed it away, convinced himself that his reasons were right, that it was her sorrow that he truly feared. He should never have come here. He ought to have stayed away. He had not been able to help himself.

"We…" His voice fell and lapsed into silence. "We are drunk, Galadriel," he said. "I cannot." He fell silent again before saying, "I must go."

"Why?" She asked him and her eyes, so tender only a moment before flashed in anger. She thought he did not want her. She thought he did not love her, that he had used her. But he did want her, and oh how he loved her.

"I must go," he said again, for he feared what his traitorous heart, what his traitorous body might do if he did not.

"If you meant to leave then why did you come?" She asked, him, her voice hard, laced with anger, and she grasped his arm to prevent him from leaving, forcing him to turn and face her.

"Do you understand what you are asking of me?" He asked, anger growing in his heart, more a reaction of fear than anything else. "Can you not understand why I might…why I might be afraid? Doriath, Menegroth…Galadriel this is all I have ever known! The risk…"

"You would speak to me of risk?" Galadriel said, incensed, "I have risked my heart, which has been broken by Feanor, and by the kinslaying, and by the Helcaraxe, and by my father turning his back on me, by my cousins, by Thingol, by you! How many more times can it break before it is shattered completely? I have risked that for you. Need I say more?"

"Then that is all the more reason that you ought to forget me," he told her, "for I would only lay waste to your heart once more."

"The man I love taught me to confront what fears me, not to run from it." Galadriel was firm.

"Perhaps that man no longer exists," he said, meeting her gaze. She stared at him, her lips barely parted as though she could not believe it.

"You do not trust me, even after all this time," she said and he could hear the pain and anger in her voice.

"I…I trust you more than you know," he said, his throat feeling intolerably dry, his heart pounding like a hammer in his chest. "It is myself that I do not trust. I…if you knew what I had done…" He had not the strength to finish that sentence and so he broke free from her grasp and made a hasty exit, a rude exit even. His body felt too hot, something he could not entirely blame on the irresponsible amount of alcohol that he had consumed and he hardly found any relief upon returning to his chambers, for his rooms seemed nearly a prison and his mind, he knew, was one.

They had heard what Beleg and his wardens had to say but there was nothing like seeing firsthand how the Feanorians' logging operations had devastated the land. Even before they approached the destruction was evident. When the massive trees had been washed down from the mountain they had left deep tracks in the earth and the mud that had come down with them lay thick upon the earth, so deep in some places that it was taller than Celeborn himself.

They stopped periodically to examine the damage, finding that the mudslides had destroyed many trees and that all manner of animals had been caught and drowned and crushed in its murky deaths. The Sindar in this region lived in huts made of brush and animal skins, just as they all had in the distant past, and Celeborn knew how vulnerable such dwellings must be to the destruction.

By midday of the third day since they had set out from Menegroth to treat with the sons of Feanor they had come upon the main city in this area, and they could well see that the destruction here was indeed great. The people stepped aside as they approached, many of them shouting in joyful voices and bowing before them and Celeborn and Oropher stopped to speak to them, inquiring about their families and asking about their homes and land, the rest of their party: Galadriel, the guards, Dairon, the other diplomats following behind.

It was then that the chief of the village emerged from the main house, a long structure to hold the village elders, Nellas. She walked towards them with a purposeful stride, a grin playing about the corners of her lips. "Prince Celeborn, how good it is to see you again. I was most please when I received word that your traveling party would be stopping here on your way to Himring. We look forward to the treaty that you will draw up," she said with a slight bow of her head as she approached, pulling a pair of buff deerskin work gloves from her hands, giving no indication of what had happened when last they had met. "And you are?" she turned to Oropher, who stood at Celeborn's side.

"Oropher, my lady, prince of Doriath and cousin of Prince Celeborn," Oropher replied. Nellas laughed.

"I am no lady, your highness, though I appreciate the courtesy," Nellas said. "I am glad to see all of you here and eager to hear what news there is from Thingol, my king. If you would come with me we might sit inside and I shall explain things to you."

"Very well," Celeborn replied, and he gestured to the soldiers to feed and water their horses while he, Oropher, Mablung, Galadriel, and Dairon followed Nellas within the meeting hall from which she had exited. The doorway was low and they had to stoop to enter, pushing aside a deerskin curtain that hung over the entrance. The room was long and there were several fires down the center, crackling away, the smoke rising up to filter through the holes in the deerskin roof. The fragrant scent of rabbit stew permeated the air as it bubbled away in pots hung over the fires. The floor was dirt and Nellas's councilors sat on boar skins against the walls made of mud and brush. Whenever he entered such a house it reminded Celeborn of his childhood and he could not help but smile. A brief memory flashed through his mind; someone handing him a wooden bowl and a crusty piece of brown bread.

"Please, have a seat," Nellas bid them and the others moved closer as they sat. Those Sindar who did not live within the girdle did not govern themselves in the same fashion as those who lived within. Rather, each village or city was governed by a council whose members were chosen by the people themselves and each council was led by a chief, a position that rotated every century or so amongst the councilmembers. Nellas was currently the chief and, as such, swore allegiance and fealty to Thingol.

"Let us become acquainted," she said, "for there are some here whose faces are familiar but whose names I do not know and there are others whom I have never met, though it may be that your names have reached our ears."

"I am Mablung, general of Doriath, Minister of War, and personal guard of Thingol himself."

"And I am Dairon, loremaster and chief minstrel of my Lord Thingol's kingdom."

"I am Galadriel of the Noldor, the King's ambassador to my people," Galadriel said.

"We have seen one another before," Nellas said to her with a smile and it was a gracious gesture, Galadriel thought, that she had not brought up how when last they had met she had been but a servant. After she had spoken the other more minor diplomats introduced themselves.

"I presume that all of you observed some of the damage on your way in," Nellas began and Celeborn nodded.

"Seeing the damage for ourselves offered an entirely new understanding," Celeborn said.

"I would be surprised if anyone did not find it shocking," Nellas said. "The logs were washed down the mountain first and destroyed many dwellings, we shall show you later, but more lives were lost in the mudslides that followed. With the vegetation gone from the side of the mountain…" she shook her head, "everything was destroyed. We are only now rebuilding but our fields are buried in mud, our crops ruined…"

"Do not worry on that account," Celeborn said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands before him. "We will send you plenty of foodstuffs from the capital. Whatever you have need of we shall provide until such time as you can recuperate fully. I only wish that there were some way to reclaim the lives that have been lost." All of them bowed their heads at those words.

"That is something that only time can return to us," Nellas said and all of them sat in silence for a long while, thinking of all of those whom they had lost. Galadriel bowed her head in respect for this Sindarin tradition and in her mind she remembered those who had perished in the ice and in the starving time, she remembered Elenwe trapped beneath the grinding ice and Idril, her cousin, who had nearly perished with her mother.

"But it is already grown late," Nellas said, waking them from the reverie, "and you must be weary from traveling. Normally we would not sleep during the night but it is best that you be able to observe the damage in the light of day tomorrow. We have prepared a place for you."

"That would be most agreeable," Celeborn said as he and Oropher rose. The other council members came forward to whisper their thanks and speak individually with the princes, shaking their hands. At last Nellas led them from the longhouse and across a clearing to another.

"These houses are new," Oropher said, noting that they had not yet been worn by the elements.

"Yes they are," Nellas said, her stride confident. "Our entire city was destroyed. Everything that you see is new. Here." She lifted the flap of another longhouse and ushered them in. Their soldiers were already inside, talking merrily and eating from the large pots of stew that bubbled over the fire.

"I hope that everything is suitable," Nellas said. "If you are in need of anything do not hesitate to ask."

"Our thanks," Celeborn said as she exited and their party moved to the cots that had been prepared for them.

"There is something charming about Nellas. If I weren't married…" Oropher said with a conspiratory look at his cousin.

"But you are and you ought not speak that way," Celeborn said with a grin, raising a suspicious eyebrow at his cousin. Galadriel chuckled, trying to force herself to be in a better mood, to not ruin this expedition because of her frustration with Celeborn in the wake of their argument, and she saw Mablung shaking his head as he divested himself of his armor. "Besides, she would choose me over you any day," Celeborn said. His true colors had come out. Galadriel took a deep breath. It was a little too soon, she thought, for Celeborn to be laughing about matters of the heart.

"OH!" Oropher cried, pretending to be offended. "Is that so?"

"What's not to like?" Celeborn asked with a catlike grin, holding his hands out and turning this way and that. "You might be able to ask you wife."

"Peace, peace!" Oropher cried with a laugh. "Leave me wife out of this! I was only joking. I know full well that I have been more fortunate in marriage than I deserve."

"How unlucky to have three men who have courted the Venessiel beneath one roof," Galadriel quipped, "we'll never hear the end of their bellyaching," and the soldiers burst into raucous laughter at the expense of Celeborn, Mablung, and Oropher, applauding Galadriel's wit.

"Well then give me a kiss, Galadriel, and Mablung too," Oropher teased, "and you'll be in the same boat!" The soldiers laughed harder.

"Why don't you give Mablung a kiss, Oropher, and then you can be in that boat twice over," Galadriel replied, "I heard you already kissed Celeborn at the long peace." The soldiers were roaring with laughter now and Galadriel grinned, as Oropher surrendered to her. She was surprised at how friendly the younger prince had been to her lately, for he had certainly borne her no fondness when first she had come to Menegroth. Perhaps Venessiel had meant what she said, that things between them were settled and good. Galadriel did not know what to think.

She took off her tunic, deciding to sleep in her breeches and shirt. Tomorrow, she knew, she must don the heavy and cumbersome Noldorin garments that she had brought with her for they would make their arrival at Himring in the evening. She glanced towards Celeborn as she sat on her cot, pulling off her boots. He grinned at her and she smiled back. It seemed that the animosity between them had cooled and yet she was still extraordinarily frustrated with him for his bullheadedness.

Celeborn could not sleep even after the others had long ago fallen into slumber and he stood, making his way outside where he paced amongst the trees, gazing up at the stars above. It wasn't nerves. He was a bit nervous, true, but not frightened of going to Himring tomorrow. It was Galadriel, of course, who kept him up.

A century and more ago he had told her that she would always be second to Doriath, that his love for her could never surpass that of his kingdom. It already had. He did not know when it had happened. He did not know when he had started loving her again, when she had started loving him. And now there was this horrible mess. He shook his head. She once did the same thing, keeping secrets from you that she thought would destroy your heart. The voice of his conscience haunted him. He was afraid she would hate him if he told her, hate him if she knew what he had done, binding himself to her without her consent. And yet she lived because of it. That was all he had wanted – for her to live, to have a future.

"The one called Galadriel, she is the one to whom you are bound," the voice came quiet out of the dark and startled him. Nellas stood there in the path before him, hands in her pockets, watching him.

"Yes," he said. "But it is a blood bond, not a marriage bond." Something about confessing that to someone made him feel a little bit better.

"That is old Sindarin magic - forbidden, dangerous, criminal," Nellas said, "some would say foolish and here I thought you were called Celeborn the Wise."

"I did it to save her life," he said.

"By offering yours in return," Nellas said. "You love her."

"Yes." Silence followed it and then Nellas spoke again.

"I am sorry for what I did," Nellas said. "It was stupid, rude, thoughtless."

"Think nothing of it," Celeborn told her, "I took no offense."

There was another pause and then Nellas said, "she loves you."

"Yes," he said again.

"You love her and she loves you in return," Nellas said. "Should you not be happy? The course of such things does not always run so smoothly for others."

"She does not know yet…about the bond," he said.

"Then you should be telling her," Nellas said, "not me."

"I know," he replied, but Nellas had already disappeared into the trees, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

The fortress at Himring was formidable indeed, with walls that seemed to tower as high as cliffs and, indeed, the fortress itself appeared almost as a mountain so tall that one might have expected to see snow upon its peaks. It was with no small amount of trepidation that Celeborn approached that place for his encounter with Curufin and Celegorm was still fresh in his mind though many years had passed.

There were soldiers who lined the way and they allowed them to pass in peace, for they had awaited their coming, having been notified of their imminent arrival, and these soldiers awakened in Celeborn's mind a certain uneasiness born of his long service in Thingol's military. For these soldiers wore armor the like of which he had never seen before, finer than that of Curufin's men even, glimmering plates of metal and chain mail that covered their entire bodies, helms through which he could see nothing but their eyes, great shields and vicious swords. It was quite different from the armor that his own men wore, stiffened leather and bone, where metal served only as an embellishment or reinforcement, not as the primary component.

This was not to say that Thingol's army never donned metal armor, for they had used chainmail in times of war, and indeed some of his soldiers wore it even now as Galadriel had instructed, but it had never been so complete, so finely wrought, and it caused Celeborn to think that a people so well accustomed to the crafting of such armor must also be much accustomed to the crafting of war. For these two went hand in hand, one following the other as night follows day.

When he thought of this in conjunction with what he knew of the kinslaying his heart grew troubled, as though a shadow had fallen upon it, for he thought that were the Sindar to be assailed by soldiers armored thusly, their skill would count for very little against such superior instruments and they would fall, even as Denethor's people with their weak bows and nothing but their clothing to protect them had been routed so grievously at the Battle of Beleriand. He found himself wishing once more that Thingol had not turned Frerin and the Naugrim away for they might have benefitted indeed to have armor like this.

A great bell in a tall tower chimed the hour as they approached, for already high noon had drawn near when Celeborn, Prince of Doriath, came to the gates of Himring. It was then that a soldier in magnificent armor, enamel as black as a raven's wing but all engraved with gold filigree, stepped forth from the gates as they swung slowly open and approached. A scarlet cape he wore and no helm. His face was fair, with dark eyes that seemed gentle and peaceful despite the fierce glory of his armor, and his hair was the dark color of polished walnut.

"You are the one called Celeborn, the High-Prince of Beleriand are you not?" The soldier asked and his voice was as kind as his eyes, no malice was there in it. And Celeborn was relieved, for this man had spoken to him in Sindarin, and no mere woodland Sindarin, but the noble Sindarin of Thingol's court, and he knew that he need not make an issue over language here, as he had been forced to with Curufin. Perhaps then these two truly were as Galadriel had said and if that were so then it would make his task immeasurably easier, for Oropher would be far more cooperative were he to be treated in such a courtly manner.

"That is so," Celeborn gave reply, bowing his silver head, and he turned, a hand extended towards Oropher saying; "and this is my cousin, Oropher, a prince of Doriath. Galadriel, our ambassador, is your kinswoman, and this is my guard and chief general, Mablung, and Dairon, of the court of Thingol. We are come with our retinue to seek council with the Lord Maedhros and his brother Maglor and also to make their acquaintance, for we have not yet had the honor of meeting them, though neighbors they may be."

"This is well," the Noldo said with a gentle smile, "for I myself am Maglor and it is with great pleasure that I bid you welcome here to Himring." Then the two clasped hands in greeting and presently they passed within the gates, climbing the hill to the castle itself and as they went, Celeborn and Maglor spoke while the Sindarin retinue followed behind.

"I must admit," said Celeborn, "that I was surprised to hear your Sindarin, for it is entirely free from error and, not only that, but your language is that of the finest and most noble sort of the court of Menegroth and I marvel that you should know it having never been there yourself." He spoke carefully, in a courtly manner, taking the time to say the words, as Galadriel had instructed him was proper.

"Surely you are too kind," Maglor said, "for Sindarin I learned from those of your people that I encountered in the woods and of Doriathrin I know only what I have been able to study in books or songs and I have been able to procure far fewer of those than I should like."

"So it is a study that you have pursued it would seem," Celeborn remarked.

"Indeed that is so," said Maglor.

"If I might be permitted to hazard a guess, would it be possible that your interest in the language stems from your love of music?" Celeborn inquired.

"Aye," Maglor replied, his face visibly brightening at the mention of his longtime passion. "For there are none among my own people who compare in skill to your Dairon and I regret that I have been unable to hear his music with my own ears, yet I have spent many hours in the study of his songs and I found both the words and the melodies to be surpassingly fair. Thus have I endeavored to master the language so that I too might aspire to create such wonderful music. Yet, though Dairon may be the greatest musician in all of Beleriand, Doriath has others of renown does she not? I have heard that your brother, Galathil, is also quite musically gifted."

"That is indeed true," Celeborn said. So the Feanorians had done their research as well, he mused. "Though Galathil's mind turns more towards instruments while Dairon's turns to song. A Linda I may be, but it seems that my brother got the greater part of the musical talent."

"And yet you can sing, or so I have heard," Maglor said.

"On occasion," Celeborn replied.

"It would be an honor to accompany you," the Noldo said with an almost childish delight. For I have long admired the musical talent of the Lindar but never have I had the joy of accompanying one of you in song."

"If that would be agreeable to you then I should certainly hope that we have the opportunity," Celeborn said, a bit surprised by how open-minded he found the son of Feanor to be. "And, indeed, this evening, if time and company permits, you shall be able to hear the songs of Dairon yourself, for this Dairon with me here now is one and the same as the singer of which you know."

"Is that so?" Maglor asked, looking astounded, and he bowed his head in great reverence. "Then I assure you that I await our feasting with eager anticipation."

"But I beg you not raise your hopes too high regarding me," Celeborn said with a laugh, "for I believe that, in all probability, your skill surpasses mine and I shall inevitably disappoint you." Galadriel had instructed him to be deferential, to belittle himself and show none of his Sindarin arrogance.

Maglor laughed and then said; "I have heard that you are a soldier rather than a musician."

"That is true," Celeborn told him, "and as such I must say how interested I am in your armor and that of your soldiers, for we have not the like of it in Doriath."

"Very well," said Maglor, "then I should be very happy indeed to teach you more of it, though perhaps Maedhros would be the better person to consult, for he is the warrior of the two of us and I the musician, just as with you and your brother."

And now they had reached the castle itself, passing within and it was not the same sort of palace as Menegroth, which was built for beauty, for this had clearly been constructed for protection from siege, and yet it was not unwelcoming, though it was different. The walls and floors were of stone yet the former were covered with rich and colorful tapestries and the latter by thick rugs with arabesque designs, ornate in a tasteful fashion. There were great chandeliers of crystal like great raindrops and cut glass wrapped in gold fixtures that hung from the ceiling and upon the walls were golden lanterns with small glass doors that might be open and shut to tend to the candles within. They were quite unlike the paper lanterns or even the mithril ones of Menegroth. It was filled with none of the sickness that had seemed to permeate the air of Himlad like a plague.

And there they were shown to their quarters and treated with great dignity and respect, all that was due to a royal delegation, and bid to relax and rest themselves from their journey until such time as they were summoned to the feast that was being prepared for them.

"He is not what I had expected," said Oropher, for he had followed Celeborn, wishing to speak to his cousin alone.

"No, indeed he is not," Celeborn replied. "I half feared that we should have a repeat of what Luthien and I suffered at Himlad, despite the fact that Galadriel had said otherwise."

"Fortunate for us that such a thing has not come to pass cousin. The courtesy that Maglor showed us was far more than I expected from any of the Noldor and I find myself glad that we have prepared according to the Finarfiniel's advice, for perhaps it is not a hopeless prospect after all to believe that a suitable treaty might be reached with these two."

"Indeed," Celeborn replied, "though we have yet to meet Maedhros I am hopeful. But what a surprise to hear you speak well of Galadriel." He laughed at his cousin's dour expression.

"You know I like her not, though my wife bears her fondness," Oropher replied. "But perhaps she will be more useful to us than I thought." The two were preparing themselves for the banquet according to her directions. The clothing seemed so formal to Celeborn, for these sort of things they only wore to the most important of events and much of it was new, made especially for this occasion.

The pants were very wide and pleated so that they appeared almost like a skirt that tied about his waist, made of a stiff deep gray silk that shone in the lantern light. There was an undertunic of pale gray linen and overtop of this he wore a silk tunic in the formal style made of dark green silk and emblazoned with the silver crest of Thingol. His robe was of an even darker green velvet and this had no sleeves but hung long in back and in the front, the front being open like a jacket, and it was pinned to his shoulders with two elegant broaches of mithril shaped like oak leaves. Likewise, the sigil of the Prince of Doriath was pinned to his chest and he placed his crown upon his head, its weight unfamiliar to him. Oropher was dressed in the same manner, save more simply as was appropriate to his rank, and wore only a simple silver circlet upon his brow. Having arrayed themselves thusly, they were prepared when the servants came to summon them to the banquet and with them they took the gifts that had been carefully prepared for Maglor and Maedhros.

It was a feast fit for a king, with all manner of dishes and fine wines and even the flatware itself was of gold while the plates were glimmering crystal. Then did Celeborn and Oropher sit at Galadriel's side and for the first time they beheld Maedhros. He too, like his brother, was tall, but neither of them were as tall as Celeborn, and Maedhros's hair was dark red, the color of the autumn leaves, and fell in waves past his shoulders. His eyes were blue and had a quickness to them and there was an intensity to them that was not present in Maglor's, though neither of them seemed to bear the same madness as Curufin and Celegorm. One could tell by looking at the face of Maedhros that he was very astute indeed.

"So," he said, "at last Thingol has sent me an emissary of his own people and I am glad of this, for I would rather have direct dealings with your people than through the mediation of the sons of Finarfin." He spoke with a certain confidence that seemed to radiate from his whole body and by his words Celeborn knew him to be frank in opinion and less polite, perhaps than his younger brother. And so, he thought, it is as Maglor said, that he is as to me as Maglor is to Galathil. It would be prudent then, he reasoned, to take greater care with Maedhros, for one would not be able to speak to him with the same ease and unguarded words as with Maglor.

"In my estimation far too long a time has passed," said Celeborn, "so that our absence seems to have matured almost to rudeness." And Maedhros gave him an appraising look that, couple with a satisfied smile, seemed to indicate that Celeborn had judged correctly that he would respect directness in return.

"I must say that you are not what I expected, Prince of Doriath."

"And neither are you what I expected," Celeborn replied. Their eyes met in a silent detente until at last Maedhros laughed and Celeborn grinned. "Yet perhaps I might be able to make some sort of amends," the prince said, "for we have brought you gifts from Thingol himself that I hope will be most pleasing to you."

"A very welcome gesture," Maedhros said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table and, with a signal, one of the servants stepped forward, handing Celeborn a long box. The Sinda was careful not to look at his handless wrist. From the box the prince took a belt and scabbard of black leather, stitched with gold thread and inlaid with precious metals and encrusted with jewels of all colors. Truly, it was a sight to behold, the finest work of the smiths of Menegroth.

"A gift for you, Maedhros, in appreciation for your continued fight against Morgoth. May this scabbard provide a suitable home for your valiant sword and may it further assist you in battle." And Maedhros took the present, clearly pleased, and admired it greatly, thanking Celeborn many times. The smiths had carefully weighted the scabbard so that it was heavier at the bottom than the top, making it easier to draw a sword from it single handed.

"And for you, Maglor," Celeborn said, gesturing to another servant to step forward, "a gift that I hope you will find most enjoyable." And he took from the box a harp of fawn colored beach wood with fittings of soft gold, its strings of silver. The body of the harp was elegant and light and most pleasing in appearance, for it had been finely carved with patterns of vines and flowers, a most beautiful instrument.

Maglor too was overwhelmed by the generosity of the gift and he could not be contented until after he had played a song upon it, after which he praised the superior sound that its strings produced. Having dispensed with formalities, and having nurtured a most genial atmosphere besides, they at last settled into their dinner, and after that they passed many pleasant hours in conversation and in music ere they adjourned to bed.