Belly of the Beast
Doriath: 31st Chapter
"When the legends die,
the dreams end;
there is no more greatness."
- Tecumseh
Author's note: Yay beastly long chapter! Thank you, as always for supporting me and for reading this monstrosity. You guys seriously are the best and I could never do this without your input and critiques.
The new cover art for the story is courtesy of the lovely Tosquinha. You should check out her art!
Luna: Galathil! I love him! He really brings out my emotions. Yeah, Paniel is pretty cool and we are going to discover a lot more about her in the upcoming chapters so I'm glad that you are taking an interest in her :) Thank you!
Character profile: Finrod!
Some of the characters in this story I decided to let develop organically as the story progressed. Celeborn is one of these. Some of them I had planned a character arc for them. Finrod is one of these. And some of them are a mixture of both. Galadriel is one of these.
A big part of the reason I planned Finrod's arc is because I knew that he would be making limited appearances and I knew that he was going to die before the end of the story. So, whereas Galadriel and Celeborn had more time and room to develop organically, Finrod didn't. I knew, however, that I really wanted Finrod and his story to play a central role in this fic because I really like him and because I really wanted to examine his relationship with Galadriel.
When I was reading the Silmarillion I couldn't help but like him, but I felt like the surface portrayal of him was kind of shallow and that Tolkien was expecting us to read a lot into him as a character without explicitly stating it. So I wanted to examine what that might be that he meant us to examine. Looking at the events of Finrod's life, leading his siblings into exile, leaving their parents, not turning back with Finarfin, leaving Amarië behind, the kinslaying, I couldn't help but feel that of all the exiles Finrod probably felt the most guilt over everything that happened. And, in this story there are really two things that drive him: his guilt and his love for his sister.
I was talking earlier about how Galadriel is very introspective and aware of her emotions and feelings. I think Finrod is even more so. He really has a lot of guilt and fear over everything that happened and everything he did and, for a while, he allowed this to drive him in a negative direction, as Thingol is now. He also has the same foresight as Galadriel but when he was still allowing his fear and guilt to control him he was afraid of the visions he was seeing and he couldn't really cope with foreseeing his own death and all the terrible things that would happen to the people he loved. His way of dealing with that was to disparage Galadriel for her visions. Because if he made himself think that her visions were false then he could believe that his own were false too and that maybe none of the bad things would happen.
At this point, with his other brothers living far away in the North and being much closer to each other than to him, Galadriel was really the only thing that he had left and so he became extremely overly protective of her. In a way it is almost a variation on the theme that Thingol is experiencing now. Finrod was really afraid of Galadriel getting into a relationship with Celeborn because he thought that would mean he would lose her, and in a way he did, but that is just how relationships work. Finrod had lost so much already that he saw this as unbearable and was willing to hurt Galadriel to stop this from happening. He saw it as the lesser of the evils, so to speak, and convinced himself it was better for her in the long run.
But, when Galadriel decided to leave Nargothrond and take her fate into her own hands this was really a turning point for Finrod. It made him acknowledge a lot of hard truths about himself. It forced him to confront his guilt and his fears. It forced him to acknowledge that the visions were real and he couldn't run away from them. It forced him to realize that the way he had been treating Galadriel wasn't for her own good and it was just because he was being selfish and fearful. It forced him to take his fate into his own hands too. In a way, Galadriel saved him from who he was becoming and he really respects and loves her for that.
He could have locked her up in Nargothrond and forced her to stay there but instead he chose to let her go. Here again, we see a parallel with Thingol who makes the opposite choice. At this point I think it is really easy to look at Thingol and say "he is being stupid and selfish." But you have to remember that Finrod and Thingol grew up in two separate worlds. Thingol literally grew up steeped in death, and fear, and suspicion, and distrust because that is what you needed to have to survive in Middle Earth. Finrod, however, grew up in Valinor where he had little experience with fear, suspicion, and distrust before the events leading up to the exile.
When Tolkien says that the Calaquendi grew up in Aman and had the benefit of the teaching of the Valar a lot of people interpret this as meaning the Noldor, Teleri, and Vanyar are racially superior to the Umanyar. And from the books it seems like Feanor interpreted this the same way. But I think in the Silmarillion Tolkien teaches us not to trust Feanor's judgment because it is crazy bad. So I think what Tolkien is really saying about the Calaquendi having the benefit of the Valar is what I have said in the above paragraph, not that they are racially superior, but that they were almost innocent of evil in a way and that allowed them to see things and make choices in a way that the Umanyar (Moriquendi) couldn't because of their different life circumstances. And, honestly, sometimes it is that Calaquendi innocence that gets them killed or that leads them to make unwise decisions while the Sindar and green elves, for example, survive precisely because their distrust and suspicion makes them more suited for life in Middle Earth.
Anyway, I think just plain, flat, noble Finrod is a boring character and I wanted him to be dynamic and have a lot of depth. In the end Finrod is confronted with fear and love, and he chooses love even though it means death. I think it is his struggle, his confronting his fear, his courage in the face of everything he has been through and everything he will face that truly makes him heroic. I wanted to do him justice. Because Finrod deserves justice. And, because Finrod is a hero. And…now I want to cry.
Rest in peace Finrod. You were really one of my favorite characters and it was always an honor to write you. I am truly going to miss you.
"He is sending you out again?" Galadriel asked, exasperated, as she helped Celeborn put on his leather hunting armor. Thingol had kept all of the watches on duty both day and night for months at a time searching for Lúthien. It had been a while since Celeborn had been sent to the fences but in the past few months it seemed that he went out again nearly as soon as he returned and meanwhile, Galadriel tossed and turned in a lonely bed, haunted by the words that Melian had spoken.
"Would you stop searching, even after all of these months, if it were our child who was missing in the wilderness?" Celeborn asked her softly and Galadriel turned her eyes to his, filled with sadness, but she looked away again quickly, uncomfortable, the words of Melian's prophecy echoing once more in her mind.
"Never," she whispered, concentrating on fastening the last buckle of his spaulders but her hands stilled as Celeborn pulled her against him, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and she sighed. "Does Thingol suspect anything?" She asked, stepping back and fastening a cloak about Celeborn's shoulders.
"Thingol always suspects something," Celeborn said, "whether or not there is something of which he ought to be suspicious." Indeed, it was so, and in the past few months this trait had become even more pronounced until suspicion alone was nearly all that remained of the king.
"But this time his suspicions are justified," Galadriel said with worry. "If he knew that you were hiding the tracks she left behind…destroying evidence…"
"What else should I do, Galadriel? I am not about to bring Lúthien back to be imprisoned once more," Celeborn said, a hint of agitation in his voice. She knew how hard things had been for him of late, and she hadn't meant to imply that she believed him to be doing the wrong thing in concealing Lúthien's trail but, like his uncle, Celeborn had a habit of reading too much into innocent words when under stress. Galadriel gave him a look to remind him of this and he appeared duly chastised.
"I know," she said, "nor would I wish you to do so. Only…do be careful will you? I would hate to behold his wrath if he were to discover what you have been doing."
"He is already quite furious with me. He thinks that all of the citizens shaving their heads have done so at my behest, seeking to undermine his authority."
"What need have you to undermine his authority?" Galadriel scoffed. "He undermines his own authority easily enough." It was true. It was Thingol who had pitted himself against Celeborn, not the other way around, and it had not worked out as well as he doubtlessly hoped that it would. Then again, Celeborn had never meant to form any sort of organized opposition to the King. It had happened of its own accord. That, perhaps, Galadriel thought to herself, was why the king had been keeping the prince on the borders so frequently of late, and so far from Menegroth.
Celeborn gave her a small smile of encouragement. "As for Lúthien," he said, "she was quite covert. Even I have had an extremely difficult time of tracking her movements and none of the other wardens are as skilled at tracking as I am. They do not suspect me. Indeed, I rather suspect that they might be doing the same as me. There are many among the wardens who have shaved their heads and stand for our cause."
"Where does Lúthien wander?" Galadriel asked.
"Near the western eaves of Doriath," Celeborn told her, "towards the guarded plain." Galadriel nodded.
"I only hope that she will remain unharmed," she said. She did worry for her friend, but then again, any warg that encountered Lúthien was sure to get the worse end of that deal.
"Do not forget that the blood of the maiar runs in her veins," Celeborn said Galadriel sighed, smoothing her hands across his cape. "Besides, she is a woman in love and, what I have learned of women in love is that there is absolutely nothing that can stop them." Galadriel grinned.
"Be safe," she said, meeting his gaze, "you know that Sauron has sent forth many wolves of late, strange creatures with unnatural power."
"You need not fear for my safety," Celeborn told her with a grin, "though I appreciate the effort on your part. I will return to you unharmed, as I always do; I swear it." Galadriel looked down to where their hands were joined, her eyes lingering upon the two bands of silver and pearl.
"I don't know how you can be so light-hearted at a time like this," she told him, shaking her golden head and giving him a suspicious glare. Celeborn pinched her cheek with a grin.
"I am at peace with my fate, whatever that may be," he said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I know where I stand and what I believe. I have Finrod to thank for that."
"I wish I knew…" Galadriel began, her words faltering. She wished she knew whether her brother were alive or dead, but of late no visions had come to her and besides, even if they did come she was not sure whether she could trust them or not. Even Melian had admitted, in the midst of all her fury, that she could not quite discern her own visions.
"It sounds a callous thing to say," Celeborn said softly, understanding her heart, "but try not to dwell on it. It will only drive you mad with worry." Galadriel nodded as her betrothed pulled her into his arms once more. "I must be going," he said into her hair. They stepped apart and he bent to pick up his bow and quiver. "Will you come see us off?"
"I will," Galadriel said, taking a deep breath, holding her head high. But then, just as they were about to exit their chambers she put a hand on his arm, stopping him. "One more thing," she said as he turned back to her, "to remember me by," and, smiling, she pulled him into a deep kiss. They did not part for what seemed like hours, each lingering in the taste of the other, relishing in the parting of lips, but at last, after a few moments they broke apart once more, exiting their chambers and making for the gates of Menegroth.
The rooms seemed much quieter when Galadriel returned to them, and far lonelier, for Celeborn's servants were out and Paniel made a habit of holing herself up in her room. Galadriel seated herself on the armrest of a chair, staring into the fire for a moment and pursing her lips as her mind began to turn towards Melian. But those dark thoughts were interrupted by a sharp and almost frantic knocking upon the door and she looked up, curious, suppressing a grin as she heard Paniel's groan of annoyance from down the hall and then her sluggish footsteps going to the door.
"The Lady Venessiel," the handmaiden said, appearing a moment later looking exceedingly cross.
"Very well, show her in," Galadriel said, "and if you would bring some tea and biscuits I would be very appreciative." She took note of Paniel's sour look as the flaxen-haired Sinda trudged once more down the hallway. Galadriel's curiosity had grown, for she had certainly not been expecting such a visit. A moment later Venessiel appeared, ushered in with a curt bow from Paniel.
"Lady Venessiel," Galadriel said, standing to greet the minister of the treasury, "an unexpected honor." The minister looked as regal as ever, in a stylish and opulent gown of rich, burnt-orange jacquard silk with gold thread, a collar of blazing sapphires set in gold at her throat. The rich, dark, mahogany curls of her long hair hung free to her waist. Venessiel cleared her throat and gave Galadriel an awkward nod, her eyes darting about nervously, her hands clasped tightly before her.
"Is Celeborn here?" She asked at last, coughing as though her throat were dry.
"I am afraid you have just missed him," Galadriel said. "He shall be on the borders these next two weeks but if you would like to leave a message for him…"
"No, no," Venessiel said, breathing a sigh of relief. "No. I…I came to see you. I was rather hoping that he would be gone in fact and I am glad to hear that he is." Galadriel wondered at the purpose for her visit but Paniel had arrived with the tea and biscuits and so she gestured for the minister to take a seat as Paniel served them and, once the handmaiden had returned to her room, Venessiel began to speak once more.
"Celeborn…I…" Venessiel raised her blue eyes to Galadriel's and came to a halt before she found the courage to speak again, "I assume he has told you about what I did…about the debts…"
"Ah," Galadriel stammered, realizing now what this was about. "Yes." She saw little use in denying it but she wondered why the lady would bring it up. Venessiel let out a shuddering breath.
"Forgive me for speaking of matters long gone by but I wondered if that was the reason that you did not accept the position I offered you," Venessiel admitted. "You see…Thingol knew that Celeborn had lost a good deal of money but he did not know that it was because of me. Celeborn protected me, told the king he had lost it gambling. Even in his anger he had mercy." She paused again and then continued in a flurry of words, her hands trembling and she set down the teacup she held as though she were afraid she would drop it. Galadriel sat, listening attentively, feeling as though everything were becoming clearer, though she still did not quite understand what Venessiel's purpose was.
"You must think me very stupid, and mad, and cruel besides," Venessiel said, dropping her eyes in shame. "I bordered on desperation when you refused my offer. I thought it meant that you planned to tell the king what I had done and that I would lose my position, that Oropher and I would be cast out, and he could never live like that, as an exile. He is too fond of the luxuries that nobility affords him, of this sort of life and the respect that he receives as a result. He would have hated me."
"I am certain your husband could never hate you," Galadriel said as though this were a ridiculous idea. "Surely he prizes your love above treasures…"
Venessiel shook her dark head with a small and sad smile upon her rouged lips. "I do not mean to speak against my husband," she said quietly. "I love him, and his heart is good, but he is a harsh man and just as my greed and my vanity are my own downfall, his envy and jealousy is his."
Galadriel set her own cup down now, understanding that Venessiel was confiding something very private in her, though to what end she did not yet know. "What are you saying?" Galadriel asked, seeking further clarity, and Venessiel drew in a deep breath.
"Oropher does not know of my debt either," she said. "He would not understand. He envies Celeborn so very much, envies him Thingol's affection, his position…and he grows angry whenever he remembers that I was once Celeborn's lover. He holds a grudge against me for it and I thought that if he knew what I had done then he would come to despise me. So you see, when you turned down the position I thought I would lose everything: my work, my reputation, my husband. And I took your friend into my service thinking to use her against you if the need arose. But it never did and I saw then what my fault was: that I had assumed that everyone had as little integrity as I had, but you proved me wrong. For you could have betrayed me to the king, and maybe you should have, but you did not. I know that I did a horrible thing. I am not proud of it," she finished, meeting Galadriel's eyes and the Noldo was silent for a moment.
"If your worst mistake is stealing money," Galadriel said at last, "then I do not even know what we ought to call what I have done. I killed people, Venessiel."
"I suppose that is true," Venessiel said and, morbid though it was, the thought brought smiles to both of their faces.
"Celeborn has forgiven you the debt," Galadriel told her, "as he has surely told you. Neither of us expects that you repay it. Indeed, it is a preposterous sum to expect one person to come up with."
"Still it weighs upon me," Venessiel said. "I wish that I could repay it and I would, if there were any way, I would."
"Let bygones be bygones," Galadriel said with a comforting smile. "And you needn't fear that we mean to tell Thingol, for we do not. That is in the past and forgotten for us, but perhaps you ought to tell the king." Venessiel nodded.
"I know," she told her. "And I will. Today is the first step forward. Tomorrow I will take another and then another."
"Why did you not tell me earlier?" Galadriel asked her then. "Had you explained all of this to me at the start then my suspicion would not have lain so heavily upon you." And Venessiel cast her eyes down, ashamed.
"As I have said. My pride and my vanity prevented me. I was always working only for myself and thinking only of myself but now we are, all of us, caught up in something greater than any of us and I would do my part, if I am able," she said. "I have served this kingdom my entire life. I have served Doriath with devotion and now the king is throwing away everything that I have worked for, everything that we all have worked for. After Lúthien's imprisonment and escape I found that I could no longer support him, not while he continues like this. And I think that if we want to save our kingdom then we must take a stand, as Celeborn has done, as you have done, as so many others have started to do. What is more, you and Celeborn saved me from Thingol's wrath and Oropher's displeasure with your silence. And so…if this is the only way I can repay that debt then I am glad to do it."
"What are you saying?" Galadriel asked and Venessiel took a deep breath.
"I…Galadriel…I want you to shave my head," she said. Galadriel blinked in surprise.
"Why me?" She asked.
"I…" Venessiel lifted a lock of hair to reveal a bald patch beneath it. "I tried to do it on my own," she said, "but…my vanity overpowered my courage, as always. I was hoping that you might have the strength to do what I could not."
Galadriel nodded solemnly, reaching out to take Venessiel's hand. "Of course I will help you," she said, "if this is what you truly wish."
"It is," Venessiel said, taking a shuddering breath.
"Will Oropher not be upset?" Galadriel asked. "He has supported the king through this ordeal."
"Because he wishes to usurp Celeborn's position," Venessiel said, swallowing hard. "But let us not mind what Oropher thinks. I will deal with him." Galadriel nodded.
"Then wait but a moment," she said before going to retrieve a knife.
"I do not understand how you can be so forgiving of me," Venessiel said, reaching up to wipe away the tears that had started to fall along with her hair.
"That," Galadriel said, "is something that I learned from Lúthien's example."
Ping… ping… ping... Galadriel closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm, not to turn around and unleash the torrent of harsh words she had stored up on Nimloth. She had barely been able to spend a moment with Celeborn since he had returned and now they had been saddled with the burden of Nimloth for the evening. The girl had for the last thirty minutes or so been taking the ornamental glass pebbles from one of Celeborn's potted plants and aiming them at a silver bowl on the opposite side of the room. Celeborn reached over with a grin, rubbing Galadriel's hand.
"I don't think I want children any longer," Galadriel whispered to him in Telerin and Celeborn repressed a snort of laughter, glancing at where Nimloth was lounging on a cushion against the back of the divan looking exceedingly bored, sporting the overly-thick lines of kohl around her eyes that she seemed so fond of and that Inwen was forever trying to wipe away.
"She looks like a raccoon," Celeborn whispered back and now it was Galadriel's turn to suppress laughter as Nimloth sighed in exaggerated boredom and yawned. She had also, it seemed, put some sort of pomade in her silver hair that made it look stiff and crunchy.
"I truly hope that I did not act this way when I was her age and yet I fear that I must have," Galadriel said, a dull ache awakening in her heart as she thought of how much Finrod would have loved to tell stories about her at that age, how he would have laughed at her displeasure.
"This is so boring!" Nimloth whined, turning her eyes towards her uncle and Galadriel.
"Can you not be happy, Nimloth, that your parents are enjoying themselves?" Galadriel asked her, trying her best to sound kind rather than agitated. "It has been a very long while since they were able to have dinner by themselves."
"That is well," Nimloth said with an exaggerated sigh in a tone that sounded like she did not truly mean what she had said. "But I am old enough not to need minding. I don't understand why they had to leave me here with you."
"Do you dislike us so very much now?" Celeborn asked in his most facetious tone, but Nimloth was yet too young to understand that and so instead she took him seriously.
"You're very boring, sitting here and reading your books," Nimloth grumbled, returning her attention to tossing the pebbles into the bowl. Ping, ping, ping, went the bowl.
"When you are older, Nimloth, you will find that you appreciate every hard-won moment of boredom that comes your way," Celeborn said and Nimloth sighed loudly, clearly communicating just what she thought of her uncle's advice.
"What would you rather be doing instead, Nimloth?" Galadriel asked. "Shall I tell you more stories of Aman? You used to like that when you were a child."
"No," Nimloth said. "That's stupid stuff for babies and besides, nobody likes the Noldor anyway. I don't want to listen to that stuff." Galadriel rolled her eyes at Celeborn and he grinned at her over the top of his book before she returned her attention to his niece.
"Well then, is there somewhere you would like to go?" Galadriel asked her. "I might be more enjoyable for all of us perhaps if we have a little outing. Isn't that right, Celeborn?"
"Very right indeed," he said, closing his book and setting it in his lap. "We can go wherever you like, Nimloth."
"I want to be with my friends," Nimloth said. "I haven't gotten to see Lindir at all today." She sighed again, not a sigh of boredom this time, but of forlorn love and Celeborn raised a silver eyebrow at Galadriel who choked back her laughter. "Nobody plays the harp like Lindir," Nimloth said. "He's going to start his own musical group and they'll play at all the festivals." Celeborn pressed a hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut as his body shook with silent laughter. Galadriel was glad that Nimloth could not see them from the other side of the divan where she was sitting.
"Shall we take you to meet your friends then?" Galadriel asked.
"Valar, no!" Nimloth shrieked. "I don't want to be seen with you! You two with your hair all short! How embarrassing! Now I'm ashamed to be seen around my father as well and it is all your fault!"
"You should be proud that your father took a stand," Celeborn said, growing stern.
"Well of course you would say that," Nimloth complained. "You're the one who disobeyed the king."
"Sometimes the king does not always know best," Celeborn said. "That is why he has advisors, so that he can have alternative perspectives."
"Of course he knows best. That is why he is the king," Nimloth retorted.
"Now look here," Celeborn said, growing even sterner. He attempted to rise but Galadriel gave him a warning look and pulled him back down to his seat. "You are too young to understand such things, Nimloth."
Of course, that only served to antagonize the girl further. "You grown ups think you know everything but you aren't as smart as you think," she said. Celeborn bit his lip to keep himself from saying something he might regret and Galadriel squeezed his hand to soothe him.
"That may be so, Nimloth," she said, bringing the conversation to an end. Silence reigned for a moment in which Celeborn, clearly still agitated, opened his book once more, but then the ping, ping, ping of the pebbles hitting the bowl started again and Celeborn and Galadriel's heads both jerked up with a snap as their eyes grew wide in agitation.
But they had no need to reprimand Nimloth, for a flurry of quick footsteps in the hallway heralded Paniel in her nightdress and dressing gown, a look of pure, unadulterated fury on her face. "Now look here little princess," she spat, coming to a halt before the girl, who was staring up at her wide-eyed in terror now, "you do that one more time and I swear upon Námo and his halls that I shall make you regret it!"
Galadriel and Celeborn craned their necks so that they could see Nimloth, scooting as far back against the divan as she could, attempting to put as much space between Paniel and herself as possible. "You let your servants talk to you this way?" Nimloth exclaimed in a panic as Paniel towered over her in anger.
"I talk however I want to talk," Paniel said.
"Indeed, it is impossible to stop her," Celeborn added.
"Not one more," Paniel said, pointing a warning finger at Nimloth. "And you," she turned her blazing eyes on Celeborn and Galadriel, "ought to learn how to discipline children or else I shall certainly not be taking care of your little brats when you have them at last." With that she turned to go back to her room, but she found Celeborn's page blocking her way.
"Move," she commanded him ferociously and the page, cowering in fear, stepped aside to let her pass.
"Your Highness, Lady Ambassador," he said, "there has been an urgent missive from Nargothrond and His Majesty the King requires the presence of all of his counselors immediately." Paniel had returned out of curiosity, hovering behind the page.
"From Nargothrond?" Galadriel gasped, her heart suddenly seized with a dark foreboding, and she and Celeborn leapt to their feet.
"But what shall we do about Nimloth?" Celeborn said.
"Oh don't worry," Paniel said from behind the page, "I will take good care of her. She'll be docile as a kitten when you return." Nimloth gulped loudly.
A few moments later, Celeborn and Galadriel were following the page at a jog, heading for Thingol's council chamber, wondering what fresh horror was afoot and anticipating the myriad ways that Thingol might react. They had expected anger, outrage, fierce pride, everything except what they saw when at last they were ushered in through the door.
Celeborn was reminded of a rabbit that he had encountered in the woods once upon a time whose leg had been caught in a bear trap. It had been so mangled and bloodied that he knew it could never survive and yet the creature had clung to life in futile desperation as he approached, its tiny chest heaving with short, quick breaths, its eyes darting about in fear, its nose quivering as it smelt his approach. He had not wanted to kill it, but he knew that the animal was in pain and suffering, that death would be a mercy to it and so, though he hated doing it, he had broken its neck: a quick and painless death.
Thingol sat in his chair like a man lost, trembling from head to toe, his face old and haggard looking, his body seeming thin and worn, like butter scraped over too much bread, his eyes dark and sunken. At his side stood Melian, weak and frail, looking equally as shaken. And, as they entered the king looked up at them, his eyes suddenly filled with profound sadness and regret and, as his gaze met Celeborn's he began to weep with abandon, the tears flowing forth from him like a river at flood. "What have I done?" He cried. "What have I done?" The madness had passed.
"Go to him," Galadriel said, perceiving that the king truly repented, as she placed a gentle hand on Celeborn's shoulder but the prince did not move for a moment, standing as if he were made of stone, every muscle in his body tensed but then, at last, he strode forward and Thingol welcomed him into his embrace and they stood for a while in the silence of uneasy forgiveness while the counselors cast down their eyes. And, for the briefest of moments, Melian's gaze met Galadriel's before the queen too looked away.
At last the king and the prince drew apart and Celeborn placed his hand on his uncle's shoulder asking, "what has happened?"
Then Thingol gestured with a shaking hand to the letter that lay upon the table, a letter that bore the seal of Fëanor, and that of Curufin and Celegorm as well. The king moved to speak but his words died on his lips. And Venessiel stood, speaking in his place.
"Messengers from Nargothrond arrived at the borders this morning," she said quietly. "The princess has been captured by Curufin and Celegorm. Celegorm demands her hand in marriage and demands a formal alliance between the sons of Fëanor and Doriath. They have had word that Finrod and Beren have perished at Sauron's hand." The silence of the room was broken only by the quite sobs of Thingol and Galadriel watched as Melian, looking a frail shadow of her powerful self now, placed a trembling hand on her husband's shoulder.
"What blame you place upon yourself," she said to her husband in a choked voice, "must be laid equally upon me." But still the king said nothing, overwhelmed as he was by the depth of his grief, thinking that he had given his daughter over to imprisonment and rape.
"They will not touch a hair on Lúthien's head ere she destroys them," Celeborn said, quivering in anger.
"Aye, she is strong, stronger than they could ever hope to be," Saeros said, rising to his feet, nodding to Celeborn.
"Only tell us what we must do and we shall do it," Venessiel said, slamming her fist down upon the table. "All of Doriath stands behind the princess."
"Tell me," Galadriel said, coming to the King's side, "what news have your spies brought, for I know that you have ears and eyes all over Beleriand. Perhaps this is a ruse on the part of my cousins."
"It is no ruse," Thingol said weakly, raising his silver head at last. "They saw Lúthien enter Nargothrond but they have not seen her leave. What is more, there is no reason to doubt what they have said regarding Beren and Felagund, for recently those elves that Sauron had held captive have been seen in Beleriand, fleeing west, though my spies know not what has passed in Tol-in-Gaurhoth for they dare no approach that place out of fear for their lives."
"It is an act of war," Mablung said, his copper eyes flashing fiercely, "to hold your heir hostage. They seek to bring all of the elven realms under their rule. Command us to fight and the army of Doriath will stand strong."
"I have not the strength to go to war against the six sons of Fëanor," Thingol said, shaking so badly that he could no longer support his own weight. It was the truth and they all knew it, knew their own impotency. The king collapsed into his chair while Melian pressed her head to his shoulder, her tears falling freely. "I have not the strength to rescue her," he said, his voice a strangled whisper.
"Send me," Galadriel said and the room fell silent. Thingol raised his eyes to her once more and Galadriel met them with courage. "Send me to Nargothrond. An army of Doriath would be opposed by all of the Fëanorians, yes, but Maedhros and Maglor will not stand against the daughter of Finarfin. I can depose Celegorm and Curufin. I can restore Orodreth to power in Nargothrond." She could feel her heart burning within her like an ember, her rage with her cousins, her heartbreak over her brothers, her desire to protect Doriath and Nargothrond all rising to rhyme.
There was a pregnant pause before Thingol spoke, "I cannot allow you to march upon Nargothrond with a Doriathrin army," he said. "That too would bring war, daughter of Finarfin though you may be."
"I am not asking for an army," she said. "I will go alone, not as a representative of Doriath, but as that of my brother and my father's house." Murmurs of disbelief rose up amongst the counselors and Thingol seemed perplexed. "I am Felagund's sister," Galadriel said. "I can overthrow them without aid. Only give me a small escort, enough to see me unharmed through the journey, but I need no army to take Nargothrond. I swear that Curufin and Celegorm shall fall at my feet." There was no doubt in her heart that she could do this. And, she knew that Celeborn believed in her, that he knew she could do it as well, he had said as much only a few months earlier.
"What she says is true," Melian said and Thingol sat, lost in thought for a moment.
"It is dangerous," he said at last, but the fear that had possessed him earlier was dissipating now and it seemed almost that hope was growing in his eyes.
"I know," Galadriel said, holding her head high, her eyes burning with determination. "But for Lúthien's sake, for Doriath's sake, for the sake of Finrod's memory, I am determined to do this thing. They plotted my brother's death. Of Finarfin's four children only I now remain. I will avenge Finrod."
"Is there any opposition to this plan?" Thingol asked quietly and not a single one of the counselors raised a hand in protest. "Then we are resolved to go forward?" The king asked and, this time, every hand rose into the air.
"What do you need?" Thingol asked, turning his eyes back towards Galadriel.
"I would have made the banner of my father and also of Finwë, my forefather," Galadriel said, "as well as armor in the likeness of that worn by my brothers."
"Then let it be as you have said," Thingol replied. "The hope and trust of Doriath rests in you."
"I shall endeavor to be worthy of the honor," Galadriel replied. And yet, despite the fire burning in her soul, Melian's glance made her feel as though she had been plunged into the frigid winter waters of the Sirion.
The day before she was meant to travel to Nargothrond, something, she knew not what, had possessed Galadriel's heart and she had arisen, stealing from the bed where Celeborn still slept soundly, her feet making their own way over the mossy paths of the thousand caves, over the singing brooks and between the tall beeches until she found herself in a part of Menegroth in which she had never before wandered.
It was a deserted and wild place, filled with tall beeches upon which silver lanterns flickered gently in the gathering twilight, and Galadriel clutched her dressing gown about her more tightly in the dawning spring evening as she gazed up at the pearlescent moon that was just beginning her trek across Menegroth's enchanted ceiling.
She was not alone, she knew, for it was impossible to be near power like Melian's and not know it, but she could not yet see the queen, or else Melian had not yet deigned to make herself visible. And so Galadriel wandered in that place, observing the jewels that lay scattered across the streambeds and the silvery fish, as bright as those jewels, darting to and fro. She closed her eyes as she walked amongst the trees, touching them with her fingertips, trying to hear their voices as Celeborn had taught her.
And, when she opened her eyes again she saw at last Melian through the trees, walking parallel to her, dressed all in white, her midnight dark hair hanging loose to her white feet. They walked in silence for some time before either of them spoke.
"Did you really see it," Galadriel asked quietly, "that my children will come to ruin, that the son I bear Celeborn will perish within me, that my womb will turn to dust?" She asked, fearing the answer, and the queen turned towards her, watching her through the trees as a deer watches a hunter. They came to a stop.
Melian turned towards her, speaking in a voice like the rumble of thunder, "tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains." The prophecy of Mandos faded into silence and then Melian spoke once more, "your fate I have seen," she said.
"Can change it?" Galadriel asked and the queen remained silent. The Noldorin maid found that her hands were trembling, her throat tight.
"I see in shards of truth and facets of the future," Melian said, her voice deep and low. "I perceive time in wrinkles of what may come to pass, in glimpses and moments and shattered fragments of a whole that I see but dimly, as through a tarnished mirror, even as you see them." She resumed the path she had been tracing through the woods and Galadriel began to walk again too.
Melian's body seemed to grow and shrink almost imperceptibly, pulsating, beating, as if she herself were a heart and Menegroth the body, pouring her magic out into the veins of the city, into the very fiber of the universe. She turned towards Galadriel once more, her eyes unreadable and, indeed, they had almost ceased to be eyes, for what Galadriel saw there instead where eyes should have been was blackness, like windows through which she saw a galaxy of stars.
"Lúthien I never thought to lose, for all of my foresight," Meian said in that same deep voice, as if she had pulled it up from the foundations of the earth, "not until the fateful night that Beren set foot in this palace. I did not see it, or perhaps I did not want to see it. But the board is set now, the pieces in motion, and the fall comes."
Then Galadriel stood still but Melian moved on, resuming her slow pace, and for a moment she seemed to tower taller than any of the trees, reaching up the heavens, massive and formless as a cloud one moment, her image flickering like a candle about to go out in the next, and behind her like rain fell black feathers from her hair.
The escort came to a halt under the western eaves of Doriath, the bright sun of midday shining down upon their glistening armor as the banners of Finarfin and Finwë fluttered proudly in the breeze.
"Our paths will part here," Celeborn said. "For I must return to Menegroth now." He shifted in his saddle, glancing to where Galadriel rode on his right atop a white stallion. She was bedecked in full armor of bronzed steel plate, sturdy and yet elegant, richly engraved with patterns of leaves, and vines, and flowers. A cape of thick burgundy broadcloth was clasped about her neck with a broach of diamonds and gold filigree, and she wore a skirt of the same burgundy cloth that came down to her knees, parting in the front to reveal fawn colored breeches and boots of rich brown leather. Atop her head she wore a golden helm through which he could only see her lips, her nose, her piercing blue eyes watching him.
"Walk with me a moment?" Celeborn asked her quietly and Galadriel nodded, dismounting and pulling of her helmet, fastening it to her saddle. They walked side by side then, one in silver armor and the other in gold, the sun glinting off of it, making it shine, stepping over gently bubbling brooks and between tall mossy trees until they were far enough away from the soldiers that they could speak privately.
But, knowing that their parting drew nigh, Celeborn found himself at a loss for words and so instead he tangled his hands in the short golden hair that now fell as far as Galadriel's jaw, tilting her face up towards the light and towards him, bringing his lips to hers gently and she kissed him back. They lost themselves in one another for a moment and then, because the intimacy made the parting all the more bitter, they at last stepped apart and, hand in hand, began to wind their way through the dappled light of the forest.
"I wish you could come with me," Galadriel said, voicing the desire that lay in both of their hearts.
"I am too powerful a figure," he said. "It would be seen as an incursion by the Sindar. They would say that the prince of Doriath had usurped the throne, that I was ruling for Thingol by proxy, and you and Orodreth would be ignored. This is for the house of Finarfin to do, not the house of Elwë. It must be your doing and your doing alone, even as you have said." Of course he knew that she knew that. Indeed, they had already discussed it more than once, but despite the treachery of politics, their hearths were loathe to be parted. Galadriel nodded.
"Do not worry for me," she said, meeting his gaze. "I am certain I shall prevail against them, especially if these reports of refugees escaping from Sauron to Nargothrond prove as true as we have heard."
"I cannot help but worry for you," Celeborn told her, "and not because I doubt what you have said, but because I love you."
"I know," Galadriel leaned her head against his shoulder and Celeborn seemed to take heart, laughing softly.
"Still," he said, a playful light in his eyes, "I think, warrior princess, that Curufin and Celegorm have more reason to fear for their own safety than I have to fear for yours."
"Am I so fearsome looking?" Galadriel asked him with a grin.
"You are indeed," Celeborn smiled with a wink, "mightiest of the Noldor."
"And yet you laugh," Galadriel grinned, scowling at him teasingly, "as though I were a child playing at war."
"Only because I am your lover," he told her, "and thus I find the sight of you all dressed for war to be rather endearing. I assure you that for others it will be quite intimidating."
"I think most men would find the sight of their lover in armor to be off-putting," Galadriel said with smile.
"You know that I am not most men, Galadriel," Celeborn said, coming to a stop in the shade of a tree, gazing up into its branches.
"It is only for intimidation's sake after all," she said. "I am hardly a warrior."
"You are a passable one," Celeborn said, turning towards her once more. "I know. I've fought you." Galadriel grinned.
"Passable," she whispered with a grin, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Would you prefer if I flatter you and say you are great?" Celeborn asked her cheekily and Galadriel shook her head.
"No," she said, softly. They were only delaying the inevitable. The silence stretched between them as they watched a pair of yellow butterflies dancing in the breeze and then, after a while, Celeborn, never one to restrain his tongue when there was something that needed saying, spoke.
"I shall miss you," he said, a look of longing in his emerald eyes as his gaze met hers and he reached out to run his hands through her golden hair. It was all the encouragement that she needed and she threw herself into his arms.
"And I you," she said, doing her best to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. She would miss him, and greatly, would miss the warmth of his body beside hers in sleep, would miss his playful grin, his mischievous eyes, his odd sense of humor, the balm of his conversation. 'Miss' was not a suitable word; it was a completely inadequate descriptor of the pain she expected to feel at their separation. "I am sorry," she said, "sorry about the wedding…"
"Galadriel," Celeborn tilted her chin up so that she was looking into his eyes, her own filled with unshed tears, "do not dwell on it. I understand. This is what is best, best for you, for me, for our peoples, our families, for Doriath. Besides, if what we have heard of Finrod is true, then you must go into mourning anyway and will not be able to wed for this next decade. The time will come, and sooner than you think. When you return from Nargothrond we shall be wed." Galadriel closed her eyes, swallowed the tears, and nodded.
"We should marry this instant," she said. It was only half a joke and Celeborn laughed.
"It would take us the entire afternoon to take our armor off and put it back on again," he said.
"We need not undress fully," Galadriel said with a smirk and Celeborn laughed again, cupping her face in his hands.
"The first time we have each other I mean for us to take our time to truly enjoy ourselves," he said, "and I also mean to have you completely bare as Illúvatar made us, without a wall of armor between us." Galadriel bit her lip, grinning. But she recognized the humor for the farce that it was, a means to defer the pain of parting. "And it would, I think, only increase the burden of parting." Celeborn said, speaking what she had been thinking. Galadriel took his hand in hers, rubbing it gently.
"I know," she said, shaking her head, and yet she could not help but note that this time he had made no reference to the need for a formal ceremony.
"Then farewell my warrior lady," Celeborn said with a smile.
"Will you not kiss me once more?" She asked him.
"Of course I mean to," he said, drawing her into his embrace.
"I do not know when I shall be able to return," she said. "I must make sure that Orodreth sits firmly on the throne.
"I know," Celeborn said, "and I shall be waiting eagerly for you whenever that time may come."
Galadriel had turned back one last time as she and her guards wheeled their horses about, beginning their gallop across the guarded plain, and she had seen Celeborn standing there under the eaves of the trees like a spark of silver in the noon light, his hand raised in farewell.
"Well this is certainly a surprise," Celeborn mused with a grin, striding into the courtyard as he pulled a pair of leather gloves onto his hands, before he leaned up against a pillar, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was astonished when I got your message, half wondered if it was a joke really," he chuckled. "I don't recall that I have ever seen you with a sword."
But Galathil did not return his brother's lighthearted banter, indeed, he did not even scowl at him, but merely looked embarrassed, his cheeks coloring red. "I haven't held a sword before," he said quietly, resting his hand self-consciously upon the leather and steel hilt of the weapon that was strapped to his side. "I've never had need to." He did not meet Celeborn's eyes.
"You could have come to me yourself," Celeborn said, his voice softening as he uncrossed his arms and stuffed his hands in his pockets, assuming a less intimidating posture. Something was clearly bothering Galathil, something he was ashamed of. "You didn't need to send a message through a servant."
"I thought you might rebuff me," Galathil said, still refusing to meet his brother's eyes, still fiddling idly with the hilt of the sword at his side. "I know you're busy lately. And, well…I know that the soldiers who train with you are far more experienced that me. I thought you might send me to somebody else, somebody less… someone more accustomed to training beginners."
"Galathil you're my brother…" Celeborn began to protest but the younger prince interrupted him.
"And you're one of the best warriors! The best with an axe after Mablung! It is a waste of your time to train me!" Galathil blurted out and now he, defensively, was the one with his arms crossed over his chest.
Celeborn was quiet for a moment and then he said, "I have never thought of you as a waste of time, brother, and I never will." Galathil merely shrugged his shoulders, still embarrassed, looking down at his boots. "Why are you here?" Celeborn asked him and Galathil took a long time to answer.
"These are dangerous times," he said at last, finally glancing up at his brother for a moment before glancing back down at his boots. "I no longer trust Uncle. I never thought I would see the day that he treated our cousin in such a way and yet that day has now come and gone. What dark days we must have entered for Lúthien to find more solace in wandering the forests than in her father's house. And then after what Galadriel's cousins have done to Finrod…what may happen if a Silmaril comes to Menegroth."
He raised his eyes to Celeborn's once more, seeming to find some courage at last, and continued. "When Uncle threatened this kingdom with doom you and Galadriel alone opposed him while I stood by, mute, cowering like the weakling that I am. But I cannot afford to act that way anymore, for your sake, for Inwen's sake, for Nimloth's sake I need to learn to fight. The day may soon be coming where I must do so, where I must protect my family."
"I hope this does not mean that you will set aside your dulcimer," Celeborn said, "for now that Lúthien sings no longer and Dairon has departed, the people are in need of something to lighten their hearts just as surely as they need protection." And he saw in his brother's eyes that he had meant to give up his music but, hearing Celeborn's words and his encouragement, Galathil took heart.
Looking up with renewed confidence he said, "I do not mean to put it aside. But I hope that if the time comes where I must protect rather than sing, I will not be found wanting."
"With my training you will not find yourself in such a position," Celeborn said authoritatively, as he used to instruct Galathil when they were children at play. "But you must swear that you shall practice as often as I tell you, and that you shall listen and pay close attention to what I mean to teach you."
"Of course I will!" Galathil replied in response to his brother's goading and Celeborn grinned, causing Galathil to do the same.
"Is it your sword?" Celeborn asked, gesturing to the weapon that hung at his brother's side.
"It is," Galathil told him, glancing down at the weapon and tapping the hilt with his hand. "I don't believe my aim to be good enough for the bow, nor my arm to be strong enough for an axe, so a sword it is, I thought."
"A good choice for you I think," Celeborn said with a nod. "Will you show it to me?" With a start of surprise Galathil reached down to draw the sword but Celeborn stepped forward, stilling his brother's hand. "Always hold the scabbard when you draw," he said. "Try again." Galathil nodded diligently and took the scabbard in hand, drawing the weapon smoothly. "Very good," Celeborn told him. "Well done." Galathil grinned.
"This is a fine blade," Celeborn said, examining it. "Who was the smith who made it?"
"Thalaron," Galathil replied.
"A good choice," Celeborn told him.
"He came highly recommended," Galathil said and Celeborn nodded.
"His work is very fine. I hope you shall do justice to this weapon," Celeborn said.
"I mean to," Galathil told him.
"Very well then, sheathe your sword," Celeborn told him and Galathil obeyed, albeit with a questioning look on his face.
"Will we not practice?" He asked.
"We will," Celeborn said, "but not with blades. The first and most important aspect of combat lies not in the weapon, but in the feet of the one who wields it. First we must practice footwork."
"Footwork?" Galathil exclaimed, sounding very put out. "Like a dancer?" He nearly scoffed at the idea.
"Fighting is a good deal more like dancing than you might think," Celeborn told him, pleased to see that his brother's spirit seemed to have been revived. "The way that you carry your weight and move your body will very much impact how effective your strike is or how quickly you can escape if you need to do so. What is more, it will determine which parts of your body are protected from the enemy and which are not. So come here." He moved to one end of the courtyard and Galathil came to stand beside him.
"Now put your right foot forward," Celeborn said. "No, not so much," he corrected Galathil's stance. "And keep your weight on your left foot." He moved to stand in front of Galathil. "Do you see," he said, "if your weight is on your leading foot and you miss your strike you will tumble into me and it will be easy for me to kill you. But if your weight is on your back foot then you can still maintain distance between yourself and your opponent if you miss." Galathil nodded.
"It is counterintuitive," Galathil said, "for you would think you would want to be charging forward, but I can see the logic of it." Celeborn nodded, affirming his brother's observation.
"The parts of your body need to move in balance and harmony," he said, "rather like music I suppose." Galathil nodded. "Now," Celeborn continued, coming to stand by his brother's side once more, "we shall practice moving forward. Remember, weight on your back leg and, whatever you do, don't lock your knees."
In had been many long years since last the sister of Finrod Felagund had stood at Nargothrond's gates and she found now that her welcome was considerably less warm than it had been on a time. The guards that stood at the gates were Finrod's men and yet they bristled at Galadriel's approach, their spears at the ready.
"By order of the Lords Curufin and Celegorm none are to pass without permission," the guards cried out.
Galadriel removed her helmet so that they could see her face and know who she was and, having done so, she spoke in a commanding voice, saying; "who are you that you should refuse entrance to one who rides under the banner of Finarfin, King of the Noldor in Tirion, and of Finwë my forefather? Behold, I am Galadriel, the sister of Finrod Felagund to whom you swore your allegiance and I have come now to reclaim that allegiance for the house of Finarfin. Therefore do not stand before me and act as though you have the authority to deny my entrance into my brother's house. Verily, I say unto you, that as the sister of Felagund I declare it treason to raise to me your weapons or to otherwise threaten my person with harm and malice. Get thee gone then, and repent of your treasonous acts and perhaps I shall be moved to mercy."
Having so said, she spurred her horse forward and at first the guards pressed their spears against the animal's breast but, in their own doubt and indecision they faltered and Galadriel passed through, followed by her own guards. "Will we not dismount, my lady?" One of them asked her and Galadriel glanced over at him.
"I do not find that necessary," she said and the guard grinned.
The people of Nargothrond stared at them in shock as they passed and among them she saw some who were emaciated, who bore the marks of torture upon their skin and, more profoundly, in their eyes. Perceiving from what she was in their hearts that they were those who Lúthien had freed from Sauron's cluthes, she beckoned them draw near her and tell their tal. "Tell me," she said, "from whence you came and, in the memory of my brother, Finrod Felagund, son of Finarfin, I command you tell me of all that passed at Tol-in-Gaurhoth."
She could see that some of these broken and shattered elves were Noldor and many of them were Sindar but at the sound of Finrod's name she could see well that all of them bore him the most profound respect and honored him. They told her then the tale of Finrod's duel with Sauron and how at last he had fallen, of Lúthien's arrival and how she had cast Sauron out and laid bare the pits of misery, freeing them from their chains, of how Felagund had been laid to rest there upon a green hill, interred in the warm comfort of the earth. And Galadriel wept openly to hear of his death, even as those who told the tale wept in gratitude to Beren, and Finrod, and Lúthien for their freedom.
"What has passed can not be undone," she said then. "Yet still it may be that some justice may be worked here. Come with me now and let us cast out the sons of Fëanor even as Sauron was cast out and restore to the throne Orodreth, Finrod's appointed and rightful heir. Let us honor his memory in this way and no longer allow those who plotted and schemed for his death and the death of Beren, for the imprisonment and rape of Lúthien to sit upon the throne of a king who was right and good."
Then she turned to the citizens of Nargothrond and raised her voice, saying; "and those of you who have been so faithless, those of you who supported these murderers, who looked the other way while wrong was being done, who turned a blind eye to those who engineered the death of your rightful king, redeem yourselves now! You have heard the truth here from these who have been freed from slavery and bondage, the tale of all that has passed! Come with me and we shall put an end to the wrong that has been done!"
Having so said she turned and, as they continued on the way to the throne room, the crowd that followed them grew and grew until all of Nargothrond marched at Galadriel's behest. At last they stood before the obsidian obelisks that barred the way to the throne room, the smooth stones shining as a black mirror and, the face that Galadriel saw reflected back at her was not her own, but Finrod's. There she reined her horse to a halt before the guards crying, "I command you open these doors in the name of the House of Finarfin!" And the guards, knowing her face and witnessing her fury as well as the great crowd that she had gathered, threw open those doors.
Galadriel took from the standard bearer the banner of Finarfin's house and Spurred her horse forward through that hall, coming to a stop before the throne of Nargothrond, and she raised the banner of her father high into the air, crying, "What is this I see here? Shall my brother's house be thus dishonored? Is this a city of honor or a den of serpents?"
Celegorm had been lounging on Finrod's throne as she had entered, and Curufin sitting at his feet, sucking the pulp from figs and casting the skins to the floor so that they were surrounded in their own filth. But finding that they were suddenly in danger when they had presumed themselves so very safe, they had leapt up, speechless, at Galadriel's entrance. And Orodreth, who had been standing in the shadows, stepped forth into the light.
"A woman presumes to command the sons of Fëanor, eldest son of Finwë and of his rightful queen, Míriel!" Curufin cried in fear and rage, the weakness of his words and the frightened pitch of his voice betraying his own lack of strength. "You presume to command me, you - a woman who breaks bread with the king of the dark elves, who has lain with one of the Moriquendi and thereby profaned the laws of Illúvatar!"
But Celegorm turned a fierce eye upon his brother and then turned to Galadriel, growling, "get thee gone, Nerwen, or else I shall take Lúthien to wife whether she consents or not! The sons of Fëanor are not to be commanded by a daughter of third-born Finarfin who sired children upon a Telerin woman!"
"Your deception has been laid clear to me!" Galadriel cried. "For Lúthien is not here, but has escaped your clutches. You denigrate me for being a daughter, rather than a son of Finarfin, you mock Indis as an illegitimate wife, and you belittle the might of my mother, daughter of Olwë, but let it be known to all here that while sons sat upon thrones they had stolen, partaking of luxuries that were not theirs by right, daughters have cast out the darkness and freed our people from slavery! I say unto you that Lúthien Tinúviel stood on the bridge of Sauron's fortress and declared her power! Then by her hand and her hand alone were the walls and stones of that place cast down and turned to dust, its pits of darkness were laid bare to the light of the moon, and those who had been held in bondage were freed by her power and her hand! Here are those who saw this with their very eyes! Here are those who were freed!" And, so saying, she held out her hand to those witnesses who stood behind her. "So do not speak to me of the mightiness of the sons of Fëanor, for nigh 500 years you have not managed what the daughter of Elwë managed in the span of a moment!"
Then she turned, facing the people, and cried aloud, "take heart people of Nargothrond and repent of your wrongs! Cast out these vermin who schemed and hoped for the death of my brother, your true king, Finrod Felagund! Verily, I tell you that their treacherous plans have achieved their end, for Finrod perished in his battle against Sauron but still his memory lives on in this city and in her citizens! Let us do him honor by our deeds now! And let us restore Orodreth, son of Angrod and rightful appointed heir of Finrod to the throne!" At her words a great cheer rose up and the sons of Fëanor, perceiving clearly their danger and the hopelessness of their cause, fled that place and no more were they seen in Nargothrond's halls or in the lands under her domain. But as Galadriel sat upon her horse in her brother's hall amidst the cheers of the people and watched as Orodreth mounted the throne once more, she saw another step out from the shadows to gaze at her with awe: Celebrimbor.
"Galadriel has taken Nargothrond and cast out the sons of Fëanor, even as she said that she would." Celeborn looked up from the tree that he was tending, wiping his hands on the short, burlap apron that he wore to free them of soil, to find Thingol standing over him. "Orodreth has been returned to power."
It used to be that the sound of his uncle's voice had brought to Celeborn's heart a feeling of joyful kinship, and by the words he had spoken Celeborn should rightfully have been glad at the news. And yet… just now the sound of the king's voice, and he had thought of him as the king rather than his uncle this time, had been unwelcome; he had nearly recoiled at it, as though Thingol were a snake that meant to bite him, and news that he would have welcomed with joy from anyone else fell now on tired ears.
Celeborn clasped his hands before him him, schooling his features into polite compliance, and said, "It would have been a marvel to see, I am sure."
"I would imagine that your Galadriel was magnificent," Thingol said, braving a small and insecure smile. Celeborn tried his best to return it for the sake of propriety but he imagined that his own smile must have looked rather forced.
"I know that she must have been," he said and his uncle knelt in the dirt with him, touching the fresh yet fragile little branches of the sapling.
"A plum tree?" Thingol said curiously. "I seem to remember you calling the cultivation of fruit trees 'childish' once upon a time."
"Did I?" Celeborn asked, reaching up to scratch his short silver hair. The reminder of ages past, of happy times, only seemed to drive the knife of betrayal deeper into his heart, though he was sure that Thingol had meant to placate him. "That was a very childish thing of me to say." Thingol's mouth warped into an uneasy grin. "And what news have you of Lúthien?" Celeborn asked, wondering how long it would be before he could politely end this conversation.
"Lúthien was not there," Thingol said, his feigned sense of being at ease fading to give way to solemnity. "It seems that she had escaped before Galadriel arrived. But the death of Finrod has been confirmed, for there are many in Nargothrond who saw his body for themselves, having fled from Tol-in-Gaurhoth." Celeborn bowed his head in silence for a moment. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep from lashing out at Thingol, to remind him that he too had played a role in Finrod's death.
At last the prince managed to thrust his anger back down and asked, "and Beren? What has passed?"
"Lúthien has cast out Sauron, destroyed his fortress, and laid bare his pits. Beren she rescued from Sauron's clutches and many who had been imprisoned there for centuries she set free. But she and Beren fled to the north and have not been seen since. Thinking they must have gone to Angbad, I sent messengers to Maedhros and Maglor asking them to keep a keen eye out for any sign of her, but I rather fear that she may already be in Morgoth's clutches. What I have already heard does not bode well. My informants in the northern parts of Neldoreth and Brethil have seen strange things, a great wolf heading south, running as if it has gone mad."
"Is it rabid?" Celeborn asked, for that ailment was not particularly rare amongst animals of the forest.
"No. It seems to be possessed by some evil spirit almost," the King said, "though what this could be I cannot rightfully say, and yet I feel it is some harbinger of doom. Already it has crossed the girdle."
"Crossed the girdle?" Celeborn's anger with his uncle was forgotten in the wake of those shocking words and, for a moment he found that he could not quite comprehend them.
"I feel as though the coming of doom is upon me," Thingol said then quietly, his eyes studying the earth. "And I cannot help but wish…" his voice faltered and fell, he sighed, "wish that I had lived my life a little differently. But it is too late now, I suppose, for such thoughts. I had so many…so many thousands of years and yet I had so little time…" his voice trailed off into silence.
"Galadriel has foreseen your death," Celeborn said quietly, suspecting now that the king already knew this.
"As has Melian," Thingol murmured. "Though she did not realize it until recently. But nothing more will she tell me and says only that the doom I have devised for myself must work now to its appointed end. And so…" Celeborn swallowed, his chest going tight, as if his own muscles were constricting his heart and lungs within his chest. There had been many reasons indeed for Thingol to come and speak to him but now he discerned yet another.
"If I am gone, and Lúthien is gone," Thingol murmured, his eyes meeting Celeborn's with some sort of trepidation, "then I do not believe that Melian will stay in Middle-earth." Celeborn could feel his hands trembling and he sank his fingers into the earth, seeking purchase.
"You are the crown prince, Celeborn," Thingol said softly. "If Lúthien is dead," his voice caught on those words and it took the king a moment to recover in which he sat in silence, trying to draw the strength to say the rest.
Celeborn stood, pulling off the gardening apron he wore and throwing it to the ground, stalking away as he raked his hands through his short silver hair, coming to a stop, his chest heaving, his mind pounding. He felt the foreign sensation of tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as he pressed his palms against them hard, trying to breathe more deeply. It seemed like he could not get enough air. Of course he had always known that this was a possibility. That was, after all, what it meant to be a crown prince but he had always believed the chance so remote that it was laughable.
And yet, he could not pretend that he had not thought of it. After Galadriel's visions he had been forced to admit to himself that such a thing was a distinct possibility now. But, hearing Thingol say it was an entirely different experience than having thought it for himself. Hearing Thingol say it made it real, so very real, too real.
"Will you?" Thingol asked, raising the eyes of a haunted man.
"I have no choice," Celeborn said, his throat dry, turning back towards the king he had once loved. Thingol met his eyes and looked at him for a long time then.
Presently the king spoke, saying, "there is a choice. The choice would be to leave, to flee, but the fact that you believe there to be no choice means that, though you may not wish to be a king, you are the king that these people need, the king they deserve…a better king than I have ever been or will ever be in the short time I have left on this earth."
Thingol stood, facing his nephew. "Celeborn," he said, "you are right to be angry with me and I do not hold it against you. But, whatever ill will stands between us still, I would have you know that, though you are the eldest of the princes, I could have chosen Galathil or Oropher as the crown prince but I did not and it was not only because of your age and the color of your hair. You have the heart of the king. The people trust you and they will follow you if you ask it of them. It seems there is no longer a single elf in this city with a full head of hair anymore. They follow me no longer. I have betrayed them and they know it. I had thousands of years, Celeborn, thousands and I doomed myself in the matter of a moment. But I could not see it, not until it was too late. What I have done I cannot undo."
"I…" Celeborn was at a loss as to what to say. "You must know I do not want it."
"There are many things in life that we do not want," Thingol said sadly, "but they happen to us nonetheless." Heaving a ponderous sigh he reached into the pocket of his robe and he paused then, hand in pocket, as if he was suddenly very unsure of what he had been about to do. But then he pulled out his hand at last and opened it to reveal a pair of golden rings studded with diamonds.
"Wedding bands," Celeborn remarked, but he did not reach out to take them. The king nodded. "Why are you giving them to me?"
"Melian and I had them made for you just after you were engaged," Thingol said. "And, of course, we thought to give them to you in happy times, when there was still love between us. But perhaps things shall never be that way again and so…so I would like you to have them, not as some futile effort at making amends for the things I have done, but because after all I have done, all I have asked of you, you deserve them."
Celeborn reached out, pausing for a brief moment, and then took the rings looking at them glimmering in the palm of his hand, but he could not see any beauty in them, though they were surely beautiful, only cold, hard metal and the reflection of dreams that were broken and unfulfilled. He nodded a small bow and put them in the pocket of his breeches. His heart felt nearly as hard as those rings and he wished Galadriel were here to soften it with her compassion and her mercy. She was a far kinder person than he and he suddenly envied her ability to forgive so easily.
"If the time comes," Thingol said, he paused, looking very sad for a moment, "it would be best for you to marry Galadriel immediately, without ceremony or formalities. If she is your queen then perhaps the Fëanorians will not dare molest Doriath and perhaps…she could not maintain the girdle…she is too young, too weak… but she is powerful and she might be able to buy more time against Morgoth until you could evacuate the city, take the people east over the mountains where you might find safety with the Nandorin elves. I have heard of a kingdom far to the east; Lindórinand is its name, ruled by one called Malgalad."
Celeborn nodded. Truth be told he felt rather numb, as if it was all far too much to take in, as if this were all some sort of macabre dream from which he would wake any moment. He raised his eyes to Thingol's once more, making to speak, but they were interrupted by footsteps, running footsteps, and presently Galathil burst into the gardens.
"Come quick!" He cried, foregoing the usual formalities of his office, standing there on trembling legs, completely out of breath. "Lúthien and Beren, they have returned!"
Minutes later they were in the throne room, which had been thrown into veritable pandemonium, and Celeborn could sense a change in Thingol, for where there had been only moments earlier a resignation to fate and a profound sadness, the king now seemed to quiver with some manic and impatient energy. Thus it was not with great joy and affection that he sat waiting for his long-lost daughter, but with all the unease of a rabbit being pursued by hounds. And, in his heart, Celeborn worried, for he could not discern what Thingol meant to do and darker even than the king's gaze bode the absence of the queen.
"She would not answer the summons," Galathil said softly, standing at his brother's side, having understood his thoughts. But there was no more to say, for in that moment there came now through the hall Lúthien, her hand in Beren's and following behind them a great hound the likes of which none of them had ever before seen. And Celeborn stared in wonder upon his cousin, for she appeared to him to have grown in power since last he had seen her, or otherwise she had cast off whatever cloak it was that had made her seem so much like them, and now she looked almost as Melian did in her moments of power.
Beren too was changed and it seemed that his goodness was not gone, nor his humility, but there was some darkness in his eyes now, as if he were haunted by many things, and it seemed that his mortality sat heavy upon his shoulders and a great sadness filled his heart. Having reached the dais they stopped there, neither saying a word.
Thingol was trembling and this time, Celeborn knew, it was not from rage, but because his entire body was bent upon restraining the tears that threatened to flow. It was Beren who relieved him of the burden of speaking, kneeling before Thingol and saying, "I have returned, Majesty, even as I said that I would," his voice sounded worn and tired and he raised his haggard head to meet Thingol's eyes. "I beg you fulfill your oath, for the sake of what we have endured."
Thingol seemed yet unable to speak but at last he managed to squeeze the words from a throat that was too tight, "and what of your quest and of your vow?" His voice was a whisper of pain, barely audible.
"It is fulfilled," Beren said gently. "Even now a Silmaril is in my hand."
Thingol seemed to grow nervous and then he choked out, "then show it to me!"
Beren put forth his left hand, opening the fingers slowly, but it was empty. Then, from beneath his cloak, he drew his right hand, where only a stump remained. "I am empty-handed," he said. While Celeborn, and Galathil, and the rest of the court stared on in amazement, Thingol dropped his head and his shoulders shook as he wept silently into his hands. At last he raised his head again and bade Beren and Lúthien sit beside him and tell the tale in full.
They told of everything that had passed, of how Lúthien had been captured by Celegorm and Curufin, how Huan had turned against his master and aided Lúthien, how Finrod had been killed by the wolves. The spoke of the mighty deeds they had done: casting Sauron out of his fortress. They told of the treachery of Celegorm and Curufin as they had sought to detain them and abduct Lúthien, how Curufin had aimed his arrow at Lúthien and hit Beren instead, how Huan had once more risen to their aid. Lastly they spoke of all that had passed at Angbad, how Morgoth had stripped them bare of their disguises but Lúthien had lured him to sleep with her song and dance, how they had cut the Silmaril from the dark lord's crown but been betrayed by the treacherous dagger, Angrist, and then they told the tale of how Carcharoth had awaited them at the gates to prevent their escape and bitten off Beren's hand when he brandished the Silmaril.
Then, at last, Thingol looked upon Beren with love and respect and he perceived that the doom of Beren and Lúthien could not be withstood by any power of the world. So thinking, he said, "what foul and traitorous beast shall hold within his greedy belly that which my son and my daughter have suffered for and fought so hard to gain. I shall ready a hunting part and we shall slay this Carcharoth and take back what Beren and Lúthien by their bravery and love endured so many trials to earn, not least of all that unfairness of what I myself imposed upon them. Never again shall this wolf harm any of my people or any that I love. Let us end his reign of terror in Doriath."
"But first," he said, looking down upon Beren and Lúthien now with sympathy, "I will fulfill, Beren, the oath that I made to you. Stand before my throne now, take Lúthien's hand in yours, and you shall be married this very day before my court."
So Beren and Lúthien descended the dais, with Thingol following and the king stood by Lúthien's side but then the princess said, her eyes full of worry. "Who shall stand for Beren?"
"I shall," Celeborn said, stepping forward, "if he shall have me then I shall stand as kin to him according to the oath that Finrod made, for Felagund was my friend and very dear to me so I would do this thing in his honor if Beren permits."
"You are, as ever, too kind," Beren said, bowing his head, and Celeborn stepped forward to place his hand on the man's shoulder. It was strange, he thought, and almost startling to touch a human. They did not feel the same as elves, just as Melian's hand did not feel the same as Thingol's. Beren felt the way that an annual flower did or a tree: temporary, short, fleeting. There was some sense of finality to him.
"Will my mother not come?" Lúthien asked, looking distressed, and Thingol shook his head silently. "And Galadriel?" She asked.
"In Nargothrond," Celeborn replied quietly. Lúthien nodded, glancing towards her cousin, and Celeborn saw then in her eyes that this wedding was only a formality, but that the marriage had already taken place.
"Let us continue then," Lúthien said quietly, though she sounded sorely disappointed.
And Thingol began, saying, "We are gathered here today to welcome the marriage of Beren son of Barahir of the House of Bëor to Lúthien, crown princess of Doriath, Princess of the Sindar, and Princess of all Beleriand, daughter of Elu Thingol, King of Doriath, King of the Sindar, and High King of Beleriand and of his wife and queen Melian of the Maiar."
"Arafain Celeborn of the Houses of Elwë and Elmo," Thingol said solemnly, "do you give Beren son of Barahir to Lúthien of your own free consent and with your blessing and the blessings of the House of Bëor?"
"I do," Celeborn said. "Thingol, King of Doriath, do you give your daughter, Lúthien, to Beren of your own free consent and with the blessings of the House of Elwë?"
"I do," Thingol said and then both he and Celeborn stepped back as Beren and Lúthien stepped forward.
"Lúthien," said Beren, taking her hands in his own, "do you give yourself to me of your own free consent?" He asked and, at last, a smile blossomed on Lúthien's face like the spring and, looking upon her, Beren could do naught but smile himself.
"I do," Lúthien said, "Beren, I marry you. In the name of Eru Ilúvatar I marry you." And then she said, "Beren, do you give yourself to me of your own free consent?"
"I do," Beren said, "Lúthien, I marry you. In the name of Eru Ilúvatar I marry you." But now they seemed at a loss, though they were happy, for this was the part where rings were customarily exchanged but there were no rings, only…Celeborn recalled that he did, in fact, happen to have two marriage bands in his pocket and, almost stunned at how fortuitous a thing that was, he removed them and held them out to Lúthien.
"No!" She said, shaking her raven head, her eyes full of shock. "No, Celeborn I couldn't. Those are doubtlessly meant for you and Galadriel."
"They were a gift to me, Lúthien, and now I wish to give them to you," Celeborn told his cousin and, as if she hardly dared to believe it, Lúthien embraced him tightly for a moment and then reached out, taking the rings from him and she and Beren put them on each other's fingers. Thingol gave Celeborn an almost imperceptible nod, thankful for what he had done.
Then Thingol stepped forward once more and said, "May the blessings of both houses and of Eru Ilúvatar, the One, the Father of all, the Creator of Ea, Lord of all Arda, who set up the firmament without pillars in its stead, and who stretched out the world from one horizon to the next and grace, and prayer-blessing be upon the Valar, powers of the world, and upon the Maiar and their companion train. Prayer and Blessings enduring and grace which unto the day of doom shall remain. Eru Ilúvatar! O Thou of heavens and earth sovereign!" With that the blessing was complete.
It was arranged that the hunting of Carcharoth should begin in two days time and so, when the chill spring sun began to climb into the sky, the hunting party assembled there before the gates of the city. The breath of the horses was hot in the chilly air and the shadows were long in the morning sun. The atmosphere was rather rambunctious, as it always was before a hunt, with hounds baying and hunters laughing, and the smell of sausages and other breakfast items being cooked over a few small fires made Celeborn's mouth water.
But he did not relish the thought of this hunt, for he despised entirely this business of the Silmaril, and yet he knew without a doubt that they must slay Carcharoth and end his reign of terror within the girdle. He had donned his sturdiest hunting clothes and armor and prepared his heavy bow and a quiver full of arrows, his knives were strapped at his waist and black eagle feathers were bound to the small top knot he had managed to tie his gradually lengthening silver hair into. He shifted in his saddle and the golden eagle perched upon his shoulder fluttered her wings, seeking to regain her balance.
He sighed. "Want one?" Mablung had ridden up beside him on a sturdy black stallion and was brandishing a hissing sausage on a stick at him while he scarfed down a second one.
"If you're offering," Celeborn said with a grin, reaching out to take what he was being offered. It was too hot but he didn't mind because it was so delicious.
"I'm your friend. I knew you would want one," Mablung said with a laugh.
"I had just been thinking about eating one," Celeborn said through a mouthful of sausage.
"You know, I've been thinking, Celeborn," Mablung said, raising an eyebrow in a speculative manner. "Now might be the perfect opportunity for you to try my hairstyle. It is quite popular amongst the ladies." He gestured to the thick, long, black ponytail that hung down his back and the wild stand of hair that stood down the center of his head, the sides of which were shaved and painted in runes with hues of black and red.
"I already have a lady," Celeborn said with a laugh.
"Ah yes, of course," Mablung replied. "But what I meant was that perhaps if you would adopt such a stylish fashion, Galadriel might become, shall we say, 'intrigued.'"
"I assure you, Mablung," Celeborn said, "I have no trouble 'intriguing' Galadriel."
"What a pity," Mablung said with a broad and mischievous smile, "I had planned to steal her away from you."
"You couldn't if you tried," Celeborn shot back with a grin. "Besides, Galadriel rather fancies my hair long so I do not think it would do to shave any of it off again."
"Ah," Mablung winked, "she likes those long silver locks of yours does she Celeborn? I never thought I would meet anyone as conceited about their hair as you until I met Galadriel so it seems you are suited for each other. I suppose I shall just have to find someone else!"
"I am sure that you will find many other someone elses," Celeborn replied.
"Are you sure you are alright though?" Mablung asked.
"What?" Celeborn asked, surprised by the unexpected question.
"You seemed rather lost in your own mind before I spoke to you," Beleg said.
"Oh," Celeborn shook his head, "I…I just have a bad feeling about this is all. Nothing in particular…just…something."
"Galadriel is rubbing off on you after all," Mablung said with a laugh. "But look, they are making ready to leave! Let us go."
He and Mablung followed behind the rest of the party, made up of Thingol, Beleg, Beren, Huan, and many other hunters and hounds beside. And, before they entered the forest they turned back one last time to see Lúthien standing there before the gates, her hand raised in farewell.
But Celeborn could hardly keep his focus on the hunt itself and, instead, his mind wandered to the hurried letter he had scribbled to Galadriel the past evening, telling her of all of the events that had taken place in the past two days. After purging himself of the thoughts and putting them to paper, he had wondered whether or not he ought to send it. After all, she must be busy in Nargothrond and he worried that news of the Silmaril might distract her and cause her a good deal of concern. Worse, he had wondered if it might bring on the terrible visions again and at a time when she was alone, without his aid. Nevertheless, he had at last sent it with a hawk early this morning, having reasoned that Galadriel's right to the truth was more important than his desire to shield her from harm. After all, she was a grown woman and, as he knew very well, perfectly capable of dealing with the worst sort of news on her own.
By mid morning there was still no sign of the great wolf and Mablung rode forward to speak to Beleg while Beren fell back to ride at Celeborn's side. And Celeborn found himself exceedingly glad for Beren's conversation, for it kept his mind away from his worries over Galadriel.
"I must thank you," Beren said to the prince, "for all you have done. And I wish that your lady were here so that I might speak to her as well. I do not mean only the rings, though they were a generous gift and I am exceedingly grateful for them, but I mean how you stood against the king's rash decision, as Lúthien told me you had, and how you and Galadriel both did your utmost to persuade him to recall Felagund and I and to repent of his decision."
"I only wish that there was more that I could have done," Celeborn said to him. "For the king could have prevented Finrod's death and indeed, there were many things that could have been prevented if only he could have been persuaded to change his mind."
"I have tried in my heart to forgive him, many times," Beren said, "and I think I have nearly managed it for Lúthien's sake but still the thought that so much unnecessary suffering was caused, that Finrod's death might have been prevented, that dark days have come to Doriath gnaws at my heart like a dog at a bone."
"You are not alone in your thoughts," Celeborn confided in the man. "The same misgivings trouble my heart."
"Ah!" Beren said and a slow smile worked its way across his face, "to have such power of forgiveness as Lúthien has is beyond us it seems."
"I was only thinking that same thing about Galadriel the other day," Celeborn said with a smile.
"Were you now?" Beren turned towards the Sinda with a grin. "I did like your Galadriel from the start. She is a wonderful person!"
"She might be surprised to hear you say so!" Celeborn said with a laugh. "For the sins of her past still weigh upon her mind, though in recent years she is more forgiving of herself and that, perhaps, is where her compassion for others stems from. I often find myself thinking what a very hard man I can be at times, and so unwilling and slow to forgive a wrong or a grudge, but Galadriel," he shook his head with a smile, "forgiveness seems to come naturally to her nowadays. A product, perhaps of the effort she puts into understanding the minds of others. She judges them with compassion and I am left wondering what on earth I have done to deserve such a woman."
"A question I often ask myself," Beren said with a smile. "When I am around Lúthien I feel renewed, as though, well, as though all the troubles of my past have been lifted away and I am washed clean, a new man. " Celeborn knew what he meant, for just as Galadriel had confided in him so recently that it was for his hope that she first loved him, so he had thought the same thing upon first seeing her. Out of the darkness and drudgery of the endless grinding away at Morgoth and his fell beasts there had emerged from the forest a creature so strange, and new, and unlike anyone else he had ever seen, still filled with the light and hope of the two trees and of Valinor despite all of her trials.
"I do not believe that I have ever had the chance to tell you," he said to Beren, "but I am very happy that my cousin has found you and you her. For, seeing the love that the two of you share, I cannot help but be reminded of the love that I share with Galadriel, and in spite of all of the troubles that we have faced, I do truly believe that it has been worth all of it and I would wish everyone to have such happiness."
"Once again, Celeborn of Doriath," Beren said, "you do me far too much honor with your kind words."
"Considering the love you bear my cousin, I do not do you enough honor," Celeborn said and Beren smiled.
"Then," the man said, "I fully expect that you invite me to your wedding. Do that and I shall consider us even."
"You may rest assured that I shall," Celeborn replied with a laugh. But just then, the hounds began baying and Huan went running off with a mighty leap, like an arrow shot from a bow, the horses and riders following behind him at a brisk pace and they knew by Huan's speed and fierceness that this was indeed the scent of Carcharoth that he had caught.
Celeborn hung back, riding at the rear, for the right of the kill belonged to Thingol who had requested the Silmaril and to Beren who had claimed it from Morgoth, but he kept himself aware, particularly of the dark feelings that seemed to be growing stronger and stronger with each fall of his horse's hooves, for a hunt was a dangerous game even when pursuing the most docile of deer and this one was made all the more dangerous by the villainy and might of the creature they tracked now.
Still he could not see the great wolf, but they were heading to the north, following the course of the river now after having gone east all morning and Celeborn grew ill at ease, for he knew these woods well and knew that they were among the densest and darkest in all of Doriath, concealing many places where Carcharoth might easily hide and ambush the hunting party.
His horse was eager to run and he gave him a bit more rein, listening to the rushing of the river and he could tell by the sound of it that they were drawing near that place where the Esgalduin fell over steep falls to the treacherous rocks below. And then, all in an instant, they burst forth into a small valley and Huan stopped, sniffing at the ground while the horses milled about, their riders looking confused.
"He has lost the scent," Beleg, who sat at Celeborn's side now, murmured, glancing over at the prince and Celeborn nodded.
"Something bodes ill," Celeborn voiced his concern and Beleg nodded, his quick eyes keen and nervous.
"I have had a bad feeling about this all morning," Beleg confided in his friend and they exchanged another glance of understanding. Celeborn looked up but the canopy of the forest here was so thick that it shut out all light and, though it was now nearly noon, the valley itself seemed to have been plunged into nightfall. Celeborn stilled himself, listening to the voices of the trees on the wind, trees that grew up on crooked and warped trunks, like great gnarled fingers sprouting out of the earth, draped in thick and suffocating blankets of moss; they seemed oddly malevolent, as though the forest itself wished them ill.
"I could have sworn that I saw him drinking from the falls!" They heard Thingol cry in frustration.
"I have a very bad feeling about this," Celeborn said, his heart quaking within his chest. "The forest feels almost evil in this place." He and Beleg again exchanged nervous glances. Beren had moved to the king's side, speaking to him in hushed tones as Huan, nose flush to the ground, approached a thicket, sniffing about it curiously.
Suddenly the hound of Valinor began baying loudly, charging into the thicket with ferocity, snapping and howling all the way and then, like some great shadow, a monstrous wolf as big as a bear, with claws and teeth that glinted even in the dark and eyes that burned fierce with malice leapt forth, high over Huan's head, falling like a meteor towards Thingol.
"UNCLE!" Celeborn shouted, his heart torn with fear, slamming his spurs into his horse's side, but he was too far away; it was useless. And yet, as the great wolf, heavy as a mountain, bore down upon the king, Beren leapt before Thingol, his spear outstretched in firm and untrembling hands, but, landing like an earthquake, Carcharoth swept the spear aside and opened his gaping maw lined with razor-sharp teeth, his entire mouth closing about Beren's chest and the man cried out in great pain as the wolf shook him to and fro. But Huan had heard Beren's cry and burst out of the thicket, crashing into the wolf so that Beren was thrown free and the two beasts fell together, fighting fiercely in a fury of fangs.
Huan had Carcharoth by the neck and threw him bodily into the rocks at the top of the falls but the wolf was stronger than any other and he rose again, howling, and in his howl it seemed that all of Morgoth's hatred and wickedness had been made manifest. Then Carcharoth tore at Huan's flesh with his terrible teeth until blood poured forth from the hound's wounds like a river. Yet Huan fought with the strength of Oromë and the wrath of the Valar, his teeth at last finding purchase once more in Carcharoth's neck and the hound tore at the wolf with such savagery that at last the beast fell down, trembling, and then lay still in death before Huan collapsed atop him, whining and whimpering pitifully.
And by the side of the fallen beasts knelt Thingol, having given no heed to the great battle, for his mind and heart were bent entirely upon Beren, who lay gravely wounded, and Celeborn could see the king's lips moving silently in prayers of healing and pleas of mercy. Then Huan made an attempt to rise but, too badly wounded to do so, at last crawled the short distance from where he had fallen to where Beren lay, making a valiant effort to wag his tail. Having reached Beren at last, the man lay his hand upon the dog's head and the hound began to lick his face as if he were a pup, as if that could heal him but the strength gradually began to ebb from Huan's body even as his blood poured out upon the ground. Then he lay his head down at Beren's side, whining pitifully once more and before the last, Celeborn could have sworn that he heard the dog whisper 'farewell' before his eyes closed and his tail stopped wagging, falling still to never move again.
Beleg, Mablung, and Celeborn had hastened to Thingol's side and, with the efficiency of anger, Mablung took his knife from its sheath and plunged it into Carcharoth's stinking belly, ripping it wide open. The wolf's innards burst out, black and charred as if they had been scorched with fire, and there, in the torn open belly of the wolf shone a blazing light, a light so bright that Celeborn had to turn his eyes aside for a moment, shielding them, and he knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that this was indeed a Silmaril and perceived the might of the jewel in all its glory.
When at last he found that he could look again, he turned his eyes upon the stone with wonder, watching as Mablung reached for it and, at the touch of his hand, Beren's severed hand that still clasped the jewel turned to dust and was borne away by the wind. Mablung then took up the jewel, but it seemed to have some great weight, for the warden cried out in alarm as his hand fell to the earth as if he bore in it the entire world. But he rose again, taking the jewel, his face lit with fear of the thing, and its brilliant light lit that dark valley, banishing the shadows as if the sun itself had come down to wander amongst them there, and placed it in Beren's hand whereupon Beren held it aloft, handing it to Thingol and, his breathing grown shallow, Beren struggled to speak, saying, "now is the Quest achieved and my doom full-wrought." Then he collapsed back into the earth's embrace, his eyes falling shut, and he moved no longer.