Consummation
In Cavern's Shade: 35th Chapter
"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny,
but in ourselves."
William Shakespeare
Author's note: WARNING! This chapter is really emotional and intense so you might not want to read it in public, just saying.
In answer to some questions: Oh prison….good memories…I actually had an aunt who was in prison for a long time so I am, unfortunately, intimately familiar with the prison system. It took Bainwen about 5 years to come to trial. In real life it usually takes at least a year, at least where I live and from my experience with jury duty, and usually longer if the accused is withholding evidence, as Bainwen was because Mablung was having a hard time getting her to talk. It is also kind of my head canon that elven bureaucracy moves slowly since they have unlimited time, and it just generally takes elves longer to do things. In the Silm Thingol never really seems like he is in a rush to settle things, pass judgment etc. But, as we will find out in the next chapter, there were also some other more nefarious reasons that it was taking Bainwen's case so long and why she wouldn't talk. It is also just really difficult to be able to visit someone in prison. It takes a long time and you usually have to go through all sorts of background checks, get approved, etc. so it is really a big hassle.
As for why Galadriel didn't go to her sooner, Galadriel kind of has a history in this story of being a weenie about personal conflict (with Celeborn, Lúthien, and Melian after she returned to Doriath) and avoiding or procrastinating confrontation unless she feels like she has no other choice but to confront it. There have been a few instances where she has really let relationships slip because she didn't want to deal with the conflict. Other people have noticed this and are taking advantage of it. I think she has gotten a bit better about it, especially with Celeborn, but she still struggles with it. Celebrimbor is really going to make her face this in the sequel ;)
Hey guys so I was going to do the Galathil author's note this week but I haven't had time to write it yet and I know you guys are really waiting for this chapter with a lot of anticipation so I will do the character note next week! Enjoy!
Galathil and Inwen had returned from Tol Galen in a far fouler mood than either of them had set out in and the reason was immediately apparent, for Nimloth had not returned with her parents, which greatly puzzled the welcome party waiting outside the gates of Menegroth. Thingol had raised a questioning eyebrow at Galathil but it was the usually kind and gentle Inwen who had replied, with great fury, her dark eyes flashing, saying, "the apple does not fall far from the tree!"
"Brother?" Celeborn, his heart filled with worry, had approached Galathil, taking his arm as the grooms led the horses away. "Has something happened to Nimloth? Why has she not returned with you?"
Galathil heaved a great sigh and, his jaw clenched tight in irritation, gave his brother a dark look and said, "we thought it might be nice for Nimloth to make a friend closer to her own age." He shook his head. "And friends they were for a while, then closer friends, and closer friends, and then one day Nimloth's stomach began to swell…"
Celeborn did not even attempt to make any pretense at sympathy for his brother, but doubled over immediately in raucous laughter. Thingol expelled a deeply held breath from his nose, his lips disappearing into a thin line, his silver brow furrowed in displeasure. "Will all the members of Elmo's line continue to perpetrate this unfortunate tradition?" Thingol growled.
"Dior is of your line and equally as culpable," Melian said unassumingly, in an overly innocent tone, and Thingol turned to his wife with a look of surprise, his mouth hanging open, his eyes questioning, and then the queen burst into laughter and Thingol, at last, finally cracked a grin and shook his head.
"I suppose it is a tradition that I started, after all," Thingol conceded and they all adjourned to the feast that had been prepared for the return of Galathil and Inwen. It was a rather more intimate affair than normal, held in the king's banquet hall rather than the great hall, and most of those present were close kin. Only the two parents of the unexpected bride were still in a foul mood over the surprising marriage but they too gradually began to soften as the night wore on.
"Now that I have thought about it more," Celeborn remarked to Galathil, spearing a roast parsnip with his knife, "I cannot say that I am very surprised. Nimloth has always been strong willed and somewhat prone to impetuous decisions."
Galathil's eyes darkened. "I would not say 'impetuous' so much as I would say 'stupid'," he said and Celeborn stopped eating for a moment, slightly puzzled.
"I don't mean to blame you, brother," he said, worrying he had cause offense.
"No, I do not think you did," Galathil said tersely.
"I was only thinking that as your and Inwen's marriage worked out so well…"
"It is not the same," Galathil interrupted his brother in a low voice, meeting his gaze. Celeborn leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and cocking his head questioningly.
"What do you mean?" He murmured, glancing about to make sure that no one was listening and Galathil sighed, leaning forward as well.
"I do not like Dior," Galathil whispered and Celeborn raised his eyebrows in surprise. "He is not like his parents…" he shook his head. "It is perhaps only because he is so young. He has little experience yet he accounts himself wise, his skill with the sword is very good, but not nearly as good as he thinks it is. He spends his time hunting, and shooting, and giving very little attention to his studies."
"Are not all young elves the same though?" Celeborn asked. "Surely Beren and Lúthien will set him straight with just a little more time. He is only 27 after all."
"And Nimloth is 54," Galathil grumbled. "That is old enough that she ought not to have been so easily enchanted by the simpering words of a scrawny adolescent elf. But I do not know, Celeborn…" he said.
"Know what?" Celeborn asked.
"They are changed," Galathil said, glancing about the table once more to make sure that he was not overheard, "Beren and Lúthien…are grown old almost. It is so very strange," he mused. "There was gray in Beren's beard." Celeborn recalled his own surprise upon glimpsing Húrin when he had come to Menegroth, and seeing grey in the man's hair. He had not understood, at first, that it was a sign of age amongst humans. "That and they seemed as if they were…I don't know quite how to say it," Galathil said, pausing, his eyes filled with confusion.
"They were slower, frailer it seemed…tired almost, but perpetually so," he continued at last. "When we would walk with them in the gardens we often had to stop so that they could rest or sit, though Inwen and I were not weary at all. And when we would ride, Beren could not keep up with his son. I did not understand what it was to grow old, Celeborn, not until I saw them."
"And so," Galathil paused, his fingers poised on the rim of his goblet, a look of grave concern on his face, "I would say that perhaps with more guidance and discipline Dior might become as worthy a man as his father was of old…but I worry that it is already too late. They are too weary, they lack the energy to continue his training as they ought. I think, Celeborn, that all they have been through has aged them even more than humans normally age, made them old before their time. Surely…I do not think it unreasonable…for I have heard even that it can happen to some elves…some of those who were enslaved. It is said that Gwindor, who was betrothed to Galadriel's niece looked as an old man ere he died, though he was of the Eldar."
It was stunning news and Celeborn sat back, still trying to understand all of it. "Dior is not the man I would have chosen for her," Galathil murmured, his eyes darting towards his brother's.
"It seems there is nothing that can be done about it now," Celeborn said. "If they are already married and there is a child to be considered…"
"Children," Galathil murmured and Celeborn blinked, "twins."
"Oh," Celeborn was taken aback. "Grandchildren are a blessing though, are they not?" He said hesitantly and Galathil buried his face in his hands.
"I cannot believe I will be a grandfather," he said with a great sigh, raising his head again and Celeborn laughed.
"And before I have even married too," he said. That brought a grin to Galathil's face.
"That is true indeed," Galathil said with a laugh, the opportunity to poke a little fun at his brother brightening his face as always. "At this rate you and Galadriel shall never marry. Perhaps it is because you do not know where to put it that you delay."
"I know where to put it," Celeborn growled with a grin. "And you know very well that the date has been set and that we shall be married soon."
"So you say," Galathil said with a wink. "Well I shall believe it when I see it. But tell me, how fares your lady? For we heard of what has passed in Nargothrond and, indeed, I was surprised to see the masons hard at work yet again as we passed through the city on our way to the banquet. I did not know that the dwarves had returned."
"Just the dwarves of Belegost," Celeborn said, "not those of Nogrod, not yet, not ever I hope. I still do not trust them, not after that mess between them and Thingol. But as it was the dwarves of Belegost who helped us build Menegroth we needed their help to expand the city. There were many refugees from Nargothrond and it was not so very long ago that we received refugees after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad as well. We had no space to put them."
"They're delving new caves then?" Galathil asked and Celeborn nodded. "Who would have ever thought that there would be so many Noldor living in Menegroth?" Galathil said with a laugh.
"Nargothrond's fall was a cruel blow to Galadriel of course," Celeborn said. "Still, I do rather believe that she was expecting it. Orodreth was never fit to rule and once Mormegil, well, Túrin as we later learned, had taken control of the city and declared war against Belegur it was all but over for Nargothrond."
"You should have shot him when you had the chance," Galathil grumbled.
"I remind myself of that often enough without you doing it too," Celeborn replied with a grin. He glanced down the table to where he could see that the ladies were speaking and caught Galadriel's eye. It was not that the fall of Nargothrond had been particularly upsetting, or at least not any more than the deaths of her brothers had been, but he worried that it was all of the hardships that she had been through combined that were the cause for her recent unrest.
The visions were getting worse lately and she often awoke trembling, sweating, crying, reaching for him in the night murmuring strange words into his chest as she clung to him for dear life. "What is it?"He had often asked her but she had only shaken her head.
"I do not know," she confided in him. "I can only see bright flashes of light anymore. I am not sure what it signifies."
He could feel that same sense of unease running between them now like a current and Galadriel sighed, giving him one last glance before she turned her attention back to the conversation she was having with Inwen, Venessiel, and Melian.
"He cries constantly!" Venessiel exclaimed, running a hand through her unusually messy hair, and her face, with growing dark marks beneath her eyes and hastily applied makeup, bore ample evidence that she was not, in fact, exaggerating about how much Thranduil cried and how little sleep she was getting. Melian and Inwen nodded sympathetically.
"Lúthien was a very quiet baby, but she was always getting into all sorts of mischief nevertheless," Melian said, resting her chin in her hand.
"Nimloth was very fussy as well," Inwen said, patting Venessiel's hand. "But even she was not as fussy as Thranduil I think."
"Everyone said he would calm down after the first year but, if anything, I think he may be getting worse!" Venessiel exclaimed, seeming as though she was nearly on the verge of tears. "And Oropher is a mess of course. The sound of the baby crying makes him mad with worry and he will sit up all day and night trying to calm him to no avail."
"It is not your fault, my dear," Melian said gently. "This is the way that babies are." But Venessiel just shook her head in frustration and looked down at her growing stomach with despair.
"What in all Arda were we thinking?" She cried. "What if this next child is just as ornery as our Thranduil?"
Galadriel sat listening quietly as the other women did their best to console Venessiel. As for herself, she hardly felt qualified to do so seeing as she never had had a child and never would. It made her feel unreasonably bitter, though she and Celeborn had spoken of it several times and though he had assured her time and again that he did not mind if they never had children. Something about it made the curse of Mandos seem all the more real, all the more present, all the more inescapable. When she had left Aman she had longed for an extraordinary life; now all she wanted was an ordinary one and even that was impossible.
"Did you speak to Lúthien of the wedding?" Galadriel asked, turning to Inwen, and the dark haired woman nodded, though her reticence to answer the question was apparent, and Galadriel felt her heart sink. "She isn't coming," Galadriel said, already knowing the answer.
"No," Inwen said softly, turning to clasp Galadriel's hands in her own. "She's very sorry, Galadriel. She told me to give you her most profuse apologies but she cannot find it in her heart to return. This place holds too many bad memories for her. She…" Inwen fumbled in her pockets, "she asked me to give you this…" She held out a letter, sealed with Lúthien's seal, and Galadriel took it rising, her cup in her other hand.
"Are you alright?" Melian asked worriedly, moving as if to stand, but Galadriel signaled that she ought to sit again.
"I would just like to read it in private, thank you," she said, with a nod and a feigned smile. She knew none of them were fooled, least of all Melian, who still seemed to bear a great deal of guilt for having told Galadriel the prophecy, but at the moment she simply wished to be alone. She made her way out of the palace, out of the city, and at last into the willow grove. It was one place at least where, amongst the calm and gentle trees, the soft mosses, and the delicate beautiful flowers, she could find some measure of peace.
She opened the letter and read it. It did not tell her anything that she did not already know and, presently, she folded it back up again, tucking it in her bodice before taking a drink of her wine. Celeborn was approaching. She could feel him. And she closed her eyes, drinking in his presence as the memory of a hot summer's day flooded her mind with the sun's light and she saw him walking along the banks of the Sirion, a smile upon his face as he watched the fish dancing in the water. She managed a small smile as she opened her eyes, leaving the memory behind as she looked up at him.
"Finduilas…she was such a sweet girl," she said, wrapping her arms around her as the chill autumn breeze tousled her hair. Celeborn sat at her side, watching her silently. "She didn't deserve an end like that, impaled by a spear…pinned to that tree…" her words were bitter but her tears had long since been spent. She turned her golden goblet in her hands, staring down at her face reflected in starlight on the surface of the red wine therein, and sighed. "I kept hoping, kept looking for her…Every time that yet another survivor entered the hall I would look up…expecting to see her face…" she shook her head and Celeborn remained silent.
He deemed it condescending to say that very few got either the life or death they deserved, patronizing to agree with her. Galadriel already knew the unfairness of death but he knew that she needed to speak her heart, if only to free herself of the burden. What she needed now was commiseration, not advice. "I knew it was Túrin who slew Beleg, but I ought to have guessed as well that he was this Mormegil we heard so much of," he murmured, shaking his silver head. "He still believed that Thingol sought to punish him after the incident with Saeros. Of course he would go by an alias." He drank from his own wine.
"It isn't your fault," Galadriel murmured. "It isn't anyone's fault. Nobody anticipated this. Nobody wanted this. Orodreth was the only one who could have stopped it and yet we cannot even fully blame him for being put in a position he never asked for, never wanted, and could not rid himself of."
"Something tells me that the reason you have been so distant lately runs far deeper than Nargothrond," Celeborn said softly. Galadriel reached out for him and he drew her into his arms where the steady beat of his heart drumming in his chest, as solid and real as the earth itself, provided her with great comfort and she sighed. She had not known herself what was the matter, not until tonight.
"War makes some things pointless," she murmured, tears springing to her eyes though they did not fall. "I can hardly imagine a wedding now. Who would come?" She shook her head, taking a ragged breath. "Who…who will stand by my side? My brothers are dead, and now Orodreth and Finduilas as well, I know that Lúthien will not return for our wedding. Who…who on earth would want to come to such a wedding?" She reached up, wiping away tears. "Maybe we should just…I don't know…do it and have done with it," she said. "What use is there? Menegroth once seemed to me as though it lived and breathed just as surely as you and I but now… it seems so dark, and distant, and cold." She heaved a deep sigh and wiped her tears away again.
Celeborn reached out and pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her temple, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against his. "Galadriel," he cradled her face in his hands, turning her eyes up so that all of the stars were reflected in them but she saw not the stars, and only his green eyes looking back at her. "Do you trust me?" He asked her and she nodded, swallowing her tears. "Then know that I know Doriath, and I know Menegroth and I tell you there is life yet within her, Galadriel, enough for the grandest, most spectacular wedding that anyone has ever seen. Morgoth is not here," he said. "He is far away to the North. Do not let his fear enter your heart, do not allow it to rob you of what you should have."
"I have a hard time imagining," he said quietly then, "that any of your brothers would have wanted you to live a life filled with nothing but mourning. Your parents may be far away, Galadriel, and I have never met them myself, but do you not think they would wish you happiness and joy? Don't you think they would want you to have a splendid wedding? Do not live your life according to the wrongs that Morgoth has perpetrated. Instead, live it the way that those you love would have wished you to live," he said. "Let us have the wedding that Finrod, Aegnor, and Angrod would have wanted for you. Let us celebrate their memories," he implored her.
"But…Celeborn," she said, "it is your kingdom, not mine, and your people, not mine…"
"Do you still feel an outsider after all this time?" He asked her, concerned. "You love Doriath and Doriath loves you."
"It isn't that," she assured him. "It is just that…well…" she lapsed into silence. It felt silly, somehow, to complain about a wedding when there were so many people with far worse problems. But Celeborn, as ever, has sensed what was the matter.
"Melian and Thingol have offered to stand by us if you wish it," he said quietly, pulling her closer, pressing a kiss to her brow. "Thingol wants to make amends, if he can, but I was not sure how you would feel about it."
She turned in his arms, facing him, and said, "what do you wish?"
He met her gaze, half afraid that his words would hurt her, and yet he was determined to give her nothing less than the truth. "I wish to forgive," he said. "This kingdom has been filled with hatred, and bitterness, and fighting for the past century and longer. I would not perpetuate this, even if it be to my own detriment. Rather, I wish to show compassion and understanding…as I have learned from your example."
Galadriel smiled, reaching up to touch his hair, letting the silver strands slip through her fingers like water. "You know," she said softly with a grin, "all those years ago when Finrod and I first arrived in Menegroth Melian said you were very wise and then she gave your counsel to Finrod as his present, so that your wisdom might aid him. And do you know what I was thinking then?" She asked coyly.
"I am beginning to have some idea," Celeborn said with a laugh, "but tell me anyhow."
"I was wishing that she had given you to me instead," she whispered.
"And I was wishing the same," he grinned, kissing her gently.
"Poor Finrod," Galadriel said.
"Yes, poor Finrod," Celeborn replied, kissing her. He hungered for her, for all of her, for that fast approaching moment in which he would know her in her entirety and be known in turn. His lips lingered on hers for a moment and then he opened his eyes, feeling her smile against his mouth.
"Are we really getting married, Celeborn?" She asked then, turning her eyes up to look at him and he laughed.
"We are," he said, "we really are."
Melian had recommended the seamstress, an astute looking elf with mousy brown hair and deft fingers that pulled and plucked pins from bolts of satin and silk which she laid out for Galadriel to examine. There were greens as rich as the leaves of trees, reds with all the depth of rubies, whites as perfect as snow, blues like the depths of the Sirion. They were all so beautiful and Galadriel ran her fingers over the finely stitched patterns that decorated them: herons in flight, sprigs of maple leaves, blossoming flowers, ethereal clouds.
"What color would you like, Lady Ambassador?" The seamstress said, holding up bolts of gold, and silver, and white to Galadriel's skin, admiring each in turn. "White suits you," the woman said, but Galadriel shook her head.
"No, not white," she said, pausing and looking over the array of colors, "and not gold either I think…" she bit her lip and then looked up, decided. "Green," she said, "green to match his eyes." The seamstress winked and began unfurling bolts of beautiful greens, some as dark as pines, others the delicate pale green of sea foam. Galadriel marveled at them all but she knew which one she would choose: the one with the glossy, bright, verdant sheen of beech leaves in summer stitched in an elegant pattern, the embroidered leaves veined in pale gold thread. This one, she ran her fingers across the smooth silk, this one reminded her of the great beech trees of Doriath, whose leaves were the same color as Celeborn's eyes.
"A fine choice," the seamstress said. "It will make a lovely wedding gown." And then her assistants were practically swarming around Galadriel, taking her measurements, tugging her this way and that, a host of butterflies as bright and cheery as the sun, as colorful as wildflowers in the summer.
It only took them a matter of a few weeks to sew the gown but to Galadriel it seemed but a moment in which she shut her eyes and opened them again to find herself arrayed in the colors of the forest as the seamstresses conducted the final fitting. And, as she gazed into the mirror, seeing her reflection there, she remembered so well the night that she had first danced before the court of Doriath, the way that she had looked in the mirror and been surprised upon seeing the face staring back at her: a Noldorin girl in Sindarin clothing.
The cut of the dress was foreign: the low neckline, her bared arms, the long, loose, sweeping skirt. The style was very Sindarin as well; the embroidery in pale gold thread had not the baroque extravagance of Noldorin garments, but rather the subtle and unassuming beauty of Sindarin ones: pale gold on green like sunlight slipping through leaves, the dappled glow of morning in the forest. It was beautiful and for a moment her breath caught in her throat as she realized that this was yet another new beginning…and not only the gown… She reached up, her fingers touching the fabric with awe.
This marriage was a new beginning. And, for the first time it struck her exactly why the prospect of a formal wedding had frightened her so. It was also an end. When she would stand before the kingdom and publicly pledge herself to Celeborn there could never be any going back to what she was or what she had been. Just as when they had first kissed, part of her would be closed off forever and left behind, the door would be shut and another opened. With each step she took forward it seemed she shed some other part of herself and entered more fully into a world unknown.
Of course, it was not as though she despised this new role. Indeed, she loved Celeborn dearly and besides, this marriage would bring her closer than she had ever been to a throne of her own, but it was a rather daunting task indeed to consider that she was about to become the wife of a Sindarin prince - her hand hovered over her abdomen – most especially knowing that she would never bear him an heir. The criticism would come, she knew, as the years ticked by and their marriage bore no fruit. And, what if something happened? True, there was less to worry about now that Dior was the crown prince and Celeborn was not…but what if the visions were true? She tried to push the worries from her mind but they kept cropping up.
What if Celeborn was ever put in a position to lead his people? Would they reject him because he had taken a Noldorin wife? Would they refuse to follow him because of her? And…could she do it? Could she be a proper Sindarin wife? She took a deep breath. Of course, she knew what Celeborn would say, she knew he would tell her that it didn't matter to him, so long as he had her; but it mattered to her. She wanted to do things right. She tried to reason with herself, remembering that she had, after all, served the Sindar as an ambassador and the resistance to her had been minimal. Still, the stakes seemed higher now; it wasn't just she who might suffer for her failures, but Celeborn as well. That is what marriage is, she thought, sharing in both the failures and the successes. The oft repeated line was of precious little comfort.
"His Royal Majesty, Elu Thingol, King of Doriath and all Beleriand arrives!" Galathil's cry shocked her out of the thoughts in which she had become ensnared and she looked up in wide-eyed surprise as the seamstresses scurried to the side, dipping into low bows.
"Your Royal majesty!" Galadriel exclaimed, wondering why he was here, as Thingol appeared in a flurry of blue robes, a flashing grin, and silver hair, heralded by Galathil who stood at attention now, hands clasped behind his back, grinning like a cat. Galadriel could tell he had something he wanted to say but that he was refraining for propriety's sake, to allow the King to speak first.
"Galadriel," Thingol said with a polite nod, standing before her. "It seems I have come at an inopportune time." But, in typical fashion, the King seemed as though he was rather unperturbed by this and showed no signs of exiting the room.
"No, no," Galadriel assured him. "It is quite alright."
"My!" Thingol took a step back, appraising her with a glimmer of laughter in his eyes and a broad smile on his handsome face. "I must say you are looking stunning. Celeborn will certainly be at a loss for words!"
"Just wait till he sees you," Galathil interjected with a broad grin, unable to hold his thoughts in any longer, and Thingol gave his nephew a gentle look of disapproval.
"You are not to tell him, either of you," Galadriel instructed them sternly, wondering why they were here. "You may not tell him even the color of the gown. It is to be a surprise."
"I would never dream of ruining such a thing for you," Thingol said with a laugh, his eyes twinkling.
"Has there been some news from one of the Noldorin princes or…" Galadriel began but Thingol shook his silver head and held up a hand.
"Nay," he said, "it is purely on a personal matter that I have come," and he gestured to the manservant that accompanied him, who was carrying a small chest of silver. Galadriel had thought that it almost certainly contained the Silmaril, for Thingol hardly went anywhere without it these days, but the king opened the chest and took from within it something that Galadriel had not seen now in many long years.
"The Elessar," she gasped. It twinkled there in the light, just as beautiful as ever, an array of brilliant greens clasped within purest silver.
"I have heard," Thingol said, his voice fatherly, his eyes kind, and for a moment Galadriel felt her breath catch in her throat as she remembered her own father, wished that he were here, "that it is a wedding custom amongst your people for the groom's family to give a jewel to the bride and for the bride's family to give a jewel to the groom. Now I find myself playing the part of both the bride and the groom's family."
"It…it is," Galadriel said, rather surprised. She hadn't expected this. Thingol reached out, taking the Elessar from the chest, and it hung there, casting its verdant, sunny light about the room as it slowly turned back and forth on its silver chain.
"May I?" Thingol asked quietly and Galadriel nodded, feeling the tears brimming in her eyes. She had not expected to feel so alone prior to the wedding but she was glad, very glad, that they had decided to allow Thingol and Melian to stand with them at the ceremony. The small step towards forgiveness had eased a great burden from her heart and now, as Thingol clasped the Elessar about her neck and stepped back, nodding his head as if to indicate his approval, she felt her heart swell with joy.
"You gave this to me once, Galadriel," the king said then, "as a pledge that your repentance was sincere and in the hope that it would heal past wounds. Now I offer it to you for the same reason. Perhaps you cannot forget all that has passed between us and I do not expect you to, but I hope that I can earn your forgiveness, no matter how long it takes. Weddings are…" he paused, his blue eyes meeting hers, "weddings are an opportunity for all sorts of new beginnings and so I want you to know, Galadriel, that I am very happy that you are marrying Celeborn and there is no other woman who I would feel so very honored to have marry the man who is as a son to me. I hope that this can be a new beginning for us…for all of us."
Galadriel looked down at the Elessar that sat upon her breast and she wasn't sure if it was because of the stone or because of the king's words, but her heart suddenly felt very much lighter and she breathed a sigh of relief, no longer feeling the need to confine her concerns. "To tell you the truth," she said, raising her eyes to Thingol's with a small laugh, "I found that I was growing quite worried over the prospect of the wedding, thinking that I might prove more of a liability to Celeborn than a benefit."
"A liability? Nay," Thingol said, his voice soft. "You are," he paused, his voice sounding as if he was near tears, taking her hands in his own as his eyes met hers, "the daughter of Eärwen, my brother's daughter, and I could not be more proud of you, Galadriel, or of all that you have accomplished here. When I look at you today…and when I will look at you tomorrow in that hall as you pledge yourself to my son and our houses are joined…I will know with all certainty that Olwë would be unbearably proud of you, and if you mother is anything like her father then I know that she would be proud of you too. I know that it must be a disappointment to have Melian and I stand beside you rather than your own mother, and Celeborn's father, but I do not know how I can even begin to tell you what an honor it shall be to do so."
"It is not a disappointment," Galadriel said, choking on her words, the tears beginning to stream down her face. For the first time she believed it and Thingol caught her in his arms, holding her close, as she remembered her grandfather doing when she was young, her face pressed up against his robes and in his silver hair, and she felt his hand patting the back of her head. "It is not a disappointment," she repeated herself. "I am honored that even here, on the far side of the world, I have found family, and friends and a home." She meant it with all her heart and, as she pulled back, she saw that tears were running down Thingol's face as well.
"Galadriel, Doriath is," he said, "now and forever, your home."
On this most auspicious of days, all of Menegroth opened in the soft and gentle light of the dawn like a rose unfurling its petals to the morning glow of summer. Servants in crisply pressed grey uniforms with immaculately white starched aprons moved through the great hall in perfect harmony, almost as though they were dancing, as they decorated the trees with garlands of great white peonies and lit the myriad silver lanterns that hung there. Gardeners rushed here and there, whispering words of encouragement to reluctant flowers, causing the tiny violet buds that grew in the moss along the edges of the creeks and streams to burst into full bloom. The fountains themselves seemed to be singing, spilling streams of clear, fresh water into silver basins, and the sky above was tinged with the pinks, golds, and pale blues of early morning.
It was true that the Sindar did not ordinarily wake during the day, but today was an exception, for it was a very special day, a long awaited day; today was the day that at long last Celeborn, prince of Doriath, would wed Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin, and every waking moment was needed to prepare suitably for the wedding. Even the animals seemed to know that today was of some significance, for bright-eyed deer peeked out from behind trees with anticipation, and rabbits and squirrels bounded here and there in excitement, traversing the thousand caves.
Galathil and Inwen's wedding had been a rushed affair and so Galadriel had not quite know what to expect of a proper Sindarin royal wedding but the night before Celeborn had ominously warned with a knowing grin, "they will come for us early in the morning." They had passed the night in one another's embrace, smiling and whispering sweet nothings, hardly able to sleep for all their excitement.
"This time tomorrow," Celeborn whispered, stroking her hair back from her face in the starlight, kissing her lips softly, "we shall be husband and wife." His words filled her heart with joy and peace and she kissed him, softly, gently, drawing back to look into his eyes, to run her fingers through his silver hair like a ribbon of moonlight.
"Celeborn, you make me so very happy," Galadriel whispered and she truly meant it with all her heart. His arms were her home, his heart her solace, his touch her bliss. She had never imagined that someone so wonderful awaited her on the far side of the world, still it seemed nearly impossible to imagine that this happiness could be anything more than the most pleasant of dreams.
"And in the evening," Celeborn said, "when you take my hand in Thingol's great hall, and we speak Ilúvatar's name, and then later," he lowered his lips, brushing them across hers, "when we join our bodies, I know I shall be the happiest man in all of Arda." The words nearly brought tears to her eyes when she recalled all that they had endured together, how once she had believed them sundered forever, but how it was love that had repaired what had seemed so irrevocably broken.
After that they spoke no words, for there were no words to say what their hearts yearned to express, and instead they spoke of their love in the language of flesh on flesh, of swollen lips tracing their path across smooth skin, of legs intertwined and hands wandering to places only sought in the shadows of the night. They found sleep at last then, sated in love, holding one another close, anticipating the morning and the promises that would rise with the sun.
Galadriel soon learned what Celeborn had meant when he had said that they would come for them in the morning, for hardly had the sun begun its trek across the horizon than the door burst open with the sound of bare feet running down the corridor, and Galadriel awoke as she was pelted with oranges, stale dinner rolls, and heads of cabbage. Shrieking, she pulled the covers up to fend off the attack, only to find Celeborn huddled beneath them with her, laughing so hard that tears were leaking from his eyes.
"What are they doing?" She shrieked.
"It is tradition," he said. "They are protecting the bride."
"From what?" She asked, laughing.
"From the groom," he growled. And then, even as they were still being pelted, Celeborn grabbed her wrists, pinning her beneath him and beneath the blankets where, in the morning light that shone bright against the white sheets encircling them, she could see his eyes, green as leaves, burning through her with that passion of his that always made her heart skip a beat and he kissed her so deeply that she nearly forgot there was anyone else in the room. It was, she knew, a promise of what was to come in but a few short hours and she could feel her heart racing in anticipation.
"Save her, save her!" Galadriel could hear Thingol crying and the king, Galathil, Oropher, and Mablung threw the covers back, pulling Celeborn off of her, and, laughing and joking, they lifted him on their shoulders singing some song Galadriel had never heard before.
Now you will feel no rain,
For each of you will be shelter for the other.
Now you will feel no cold,
For each of you will be warmth to the other.
Now you are two persons,
But there is one life before you.
May the stars surround you,
In the journey that lies ahead,
May happiness be your friend and
Your union good and long upon the earth.
The men sang and Galadriel laughed, her eyes glittering with joy as she watched them hoist Celeborn up above their shoulders and he waved at her and laughed one more time before they carried him away, still singing. And now she felt hands tugging at her and turned to see Melian, Venessiel, Inwen, and Paniel all laughing. They reached out, pulling her from the bed a good deal more gently than the men had removed Celeborn, and, straightening her nightdress and dressing her in her robe, they too sang.
Fair is the white star of twilight,
And the clear sky at day's end,
But fairer still is my beloved,
And our love strong as trees that do not bend.
Fair is the white star of twilight,
And the moon roving to the sky's end;
But fairer still is my beloved,
And our love strong as trees that do not bend.
Then laughing and singing, Melian took Galadriel's hand, and Inwen the other, leading her through the corridors to the baths while Paniel and Venessiel followed behind them singing. Galadriel was certain that she was blushing as red as a summer rose at all the attention, for everyone they met bowed low and offered their congratulations and blessings, but even through her blushing she could not help but notice that all of Menegroth looked as though it had burst into full bloom: the grass and moss beneath their feet had become thick and verdant, the plants and flowers that adorned the corridors, and pavilions, and courtyards were lush with petals, the trees, both real and stone, had come to life with fresh leaves and the cheerful singing of birds.
"It is so glorious!" She exclaimed, unable to hide her excitement, feeling all of the awe that she had felt on her first night in this city.
"It is all for you," Melian said, her eyes twinkling with delight.
When they reached the bathhouses they divested her of her clothes and gently scrubbed her skin clean with soft cloths and some sort of special perfumed soap that smelled of roses. Then they entered the piping hot water, relaxing against the white marble walls of the great pools. Melian ducked beneath the water, swimming from one end of the pool to the other then back again, surfacing in a cloud of long black hair that she swept behind her shoulders as she too leaned back against the edge of the pool. Venessiel twisted her long, wet hair up into a bun atop her head and Inwen wet a small towel in the water, wrung it out, and wrapped it about her shoulders. Paniel sat on the edge of the pool at Galadriel's side, her feet in the water kicking back and forth.
"Are you very excited, Galadriel?" Inwen asked, grinning at her, her blue eyes sparkling with mirth.
"Very much so," Galadriel laughed.
"And what are you more excited for: the ceremony or the consummation?" Venessiel asked with a sly grin. The ladies laughed and Galadriel felt her face flush as she rolled her eyes. She should have known that they meant to torment her.
"I am sure you know the answer to that," she replied and they all laughed again.
"But we want to hear you say it, Galadriel," Venessiel insisted, ever bold.
"After so many long centuries," Galadriel said, pausing, feeling her face flush even redder and hotter, "I am ever so eagerly anticipating…" she tried to think of how to delicately phrase the next part…"having a bit of Sindarin in me at last." She said, only belatedly realizing that it sounded far worse than she had intended. The ladies shrieked with laughter.
"From the size of him I'd reckon it will be far more than 'a bit'," Paniel said, speaking at last with a cat-like grin plastered across her face, "he's nearly as tall as Thingol." That only made the ladies laugh harder until Melian had tears of laughter rolling down her face that she reached up to wipe away.
"Are they teasing him the same way?" Galadriel demanded to know, struggling to hold back laughter of her own, and the still laughing ladies all nodded. "Oh the Noldor would be so offended by such jokes," Galadriel exclaimed.
"Good thing this is a Sindarin kingdom then so we can have a bit of fun," Inwen said with a wink.
"Do you have any questions, Galadriel?" Melian asked.
"About what?" Galadriel asked, at a loss as to what exactly the queen meant.
"About how to do it!" Venessiel hissed.
"Do what? Oh!" Galadriel exclaimed, flushing again. "Well, we've already done many things…" she hastily stammered much to the ladies' amusement.
"But it is different and it will feel different when he is inside of you," Melian said with a grin.
"And it will feel splendid," Venessiel chimed in.
"But it might hurt," Inwen said, voicing the one fear that Galadriel kept hidden.
"Some people have told me that it hurts terribly," she admitted, "but I can't imagine that Celeborn would ever injure me."
"I am sure he will do his best to be gentle," Melian assured her, "but it is often the case that the two of you will become overexcited and overenthusiastic so you may not realize it has hurt until the following day when you are sore."
"With how long they've been waiting I wouldn't be surprised if she couldn't walk for a week afterwards," Venessiel laughed.
"Did it hurt for you?" Galadriel asked and Melian shook her head.
"No, not at all," she replied.
"Well you're a Maia. That's hardly fair," Inwen said. "It hurt for me, not a great deal, but we were, as you said, overly hasty and overly eager. Be sure he prepares you well first."
"It didn't hurt for me either," Venessiel said with a smile. "Just be sure that you relax and everything will go…smoothly." The ladies laughed again and then they were pulling Galadriel up out of the water, drying her body and hair with soft towels.
They returned to Galadriel and Celeborn's chambers then where they brushed her hair out until it shone like spun gold and applied some oil that made it even softer. Her skin they rubbed with a sweet-smelling cream.
"Jasmine," Melian murmured, "brought by traders from the far east." And then they painted her hands and feet in designs of flowers and leaves with the same gold paint that the dancers used. They rimmed her eyes in black kohl, dusting her cheeks with soft pink powder, and rouged her lips. Then they bade her stand again and removed her nightdress, dressing her instead in the thin, white, gossamer silk chemise that she was to wear beneath her wedding gown.
The gown itself came next, that magnificent creation of soft, beech-green silk embroidered with the subtle design of leaves veined in pale gold thread, with a long, full, flowing skirt that trailed far behind her. Her hair they left unbound, but they clasped many bangles of palest gold and strings of bells and pearls about her wrists and ankles so that every time she moved she jingled. Melian lifted a collar of bright emeralds and golden pearls from the Falas, clasping it about Galadriel's neck, and set cuffs of gold filigree upon the tips of Galadriel's ears. Then upon her head they set a crown of lush peonies as white as snow.
"You look so perfect," Inwen said wistfully, smiling and clasping Galadriel's hands. "And in but a few hours we shall be sisters by marriage."
"I have never had a sister," Galadriel said with a smile, embracing Inwen before she resumed her seat, nearly quivering with excitement as the other ladies hurried to ready themselves.
Then, when at last they had finished, Paniel and Inwen took Galadriel's train and, led by Melian, with her heart pounding, Galadriel stepped out into the halls to find them lined with the citizens of Doriath, who all sank into deep bows upon seeing her.
"Today the sundering shall be remedied and in your joining so shall the lines of the Vanyar, the Noldor, the Teleri, and the Sindar be joined," Melian whispered in Galadriel's ear. "Today you become a princess of Doriath."
"You are driving yourself mad," Thingol chuckled, watching his nephew fidgeting with the hem of his tunic.
"I can hardly believe it to be true," Celeborn said with a grin, shaking his head in disbelief. "It seems almost like a dream."
Thingol smiled, crossing his arms over his chest. "By the end of today you shall be a married man," he said. "I never thought I would see the day when at last you were tamed, and by one whose own mother named her Nerwen no less." The king laughed. "I still remember how you scoffed at the idea of a Noldorin bride when first I mentioned the possibility of such a thing."
"Oh but from the moment he saw Galadriel he was smitten with her," Galathil said with a broad grin. "I still remember how love-struck he was acting after he saw her for the first time asking me if I thought a girl like her could ever be interested in him, begging me to ask Auntie if Galadriel had mentioned him to her."
"And then after she danced before the court for the first time he was so unbearably irritating," Oropher laughed. "He kept going on and on, swearing oaths that he would fight any other man who dared ask her for her hand."
"At least you two never had to patrol the borders with him during that time," Mablung grumbled. "I thought I would go mad if I heard him mention her name but one more time. I earnestly considered putting an arrow through him just to stop him from talking."
"I suppose I shall have to eat my words about Noldorin brides," Celeborn said with a grin. There was nothing that could take the happiness from him on this of all days. He stepped before the mirror once more, hardly able to believe that it was himself he saw reflected there, for where the young man in worn hunting breeches and a simple cambric shirt usually stood was now one who could have been a king.
His breeches were of deep gray broadcloth, his silver-toed boots of black leather that had been buffed so well it shone nearly like a mirror in candlelight. The silver silk of his new tunic, embroidered with white cranes in flight, had cost a king's ransom, and the clasps at the shoulders were of fine silver filigree studded with diamonds. The cape that he wore over all of this, which hung long to trail upon the ground behind him, was of a rich, deep, evergreen silk, embroidered in darker green thread in images of the forest: trees and rivers, birds and beasts, and lined with green velvet. The collar of it, which was pinned to his shoulders, was made from the fur of a great, gray wolf. This had been Thingol's that he had given to his nephew as a wedding gift. His silver hair he had left unbound and he reached up to straighten the ornate black crown that sat upon his head.
"There is not a single detail out of place," Thingol said with a laugh.
"This waiting is driving me mad," Celeborn mumbled.
"After 400 years I would think that you would be accustomed to waiting," Mablung laughed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the wall.
"Is it not more difficult to wait when the object of desire is so close at hand?" Celeborn asked and Oropher raised a golden brow.
"Indeed," he said with a laugh. "Are you sure you know what you are doing? Do you know where to put it?" Celeborn glared at his cousin.
"Of course I know what to do," he said to his cousin. "And I know where to put it." Thingol, Galathil, and Oropher laughed long and hard at that and then the king came to stand beside Celeborn, looking at their reflections in the mirror.
"You could have been my son in flesh and blood," for all the resemblance we bear each other," Thingol said softly and Celeborn grinned. It was true. "In my heart, Celeborn," Thingol said, "you are my son, and that is why I have prepared a special gift for you, a wedding gift, just as I have given Galadriel the Elessar."
"Uncle," Celeborn exclaimed, "that is quite unnecessary! I assure you that the expense of the wedding is enough of a gift!" Indeed, Thingol's generosity had been above and beyond what he had expected. He knew the king was trying to make up for his past wrongs.
"Father," Thingol said and Celeborn nodded.
"Father," he replied.
"Well then, come with me!" Thingol said with a wave of his hand and a laugh. "I can't wait another moment! You'll be astounded, I'm sure."
"And what should we do?" Galathil asked, grinning.
"The three of you had best get off to the hall," Thingol said, turning back, "and make sure that everything is ready. We will be along shortly."
"We had better not be late though," Celeborn said to Thingol as they stepped into the hallway and the king shook his head.
"We won't be, I assure you," Thingol with a wink.
Galadriel could feel the blush rising in her cheeks and her heartbeat growing faster and faster as they drew nearer and nearer to the hall. She could hear the Sindar singing and well it was said that they had the most beautiful voices of all of the Eldar. The wedding would be simply splendid; she was sure of it now and her worries fell away. She imagined Celeborn's face when he would see her for the first time, they joy they would have in consummating their bond at last and her anticipation seemed nigh unbearable.
"What are you thinking?" Inwen whispered excitedly and Galadriel took and released a deep breath, unable to keep the beaming smile from her face.
"That it all seems rather like a dream," she said, "as though I cannot believe it is really happening, at last, after everything."
"But it is," Inwen said, patting her hand and Galadriel nodded.
They had come to the entry of the great hall at last, which was practically teeming with elves in their best clothes, and Galadriel took and released a long, deep breath.
"Are they there?" She asked, looking towards the far end of the hall by the dais.
"No," Melian said, sounding a bit confused, craning her neck to see over the great crowd assembled there. "How strange…"
"I thought they were already supposed to be here?" Galadriel said, growing a bit anxious again.
"They were," Venessiel said. "Don't worry, I'm sure everything is perfectly alright. They must just be running a bit behind." The ladies all nodded their agreement to assuage her worry but somehow, and for some reason she could not quite explain, Galadriel felt as though some dark shadow were coming upon them.
They waited perhaps twenty minutes, twenty minutes in which Galadriel paced and worried incessantly. To her it felt like hours. "Where could they be?" Inwen asked to nobody in particular.
"Well I can assure you that the king is not usually prompt," Venessiel replied, clearly trying to make the best of things, but doubt had crept into her voice as well.
"They must be delayed," Melian said, shaking her head. "Thingol said he had something special he wanted Celeborn to wear for the ceremony, something the dwarves were helping him with."
"What dwarves?" Galadriel gasped, turning to Melian.
"The smithies?" Celeborn asked as he and Thingol drew near. The wedding was about to begin and so everyone was up in the great hall and the corridors down here were deserted, the lights in the silver lanterns burning low. Thingol merely nodded with a mysterious grin.
"I already have rings," Celeborn said, taking the two golden bands from his pocket, assuming that Thingol meant to replace the previous ones seeing as how Celeborn had given them to Lúthien. "But of course, if you have had some made we shall be honored to use them instead." He did not want to be rude but he was worried that he was about to be late for his own wedding and he did not want to worry Galadriel.
"I've something very special for you to wear today," Thingol said with a wink. "Wait here, I'll just be a moment."
Despite his mild nervousness, Celeborn nodded with a smile and leaned back against the wall outside the gates to the smithy, shrugging his shoulders under the heavy weight of the cape. He reached down, catching the folds of it in his fingers, admiring the intricate and elegantly done designs. Normally he did not pay much attention to clothing, but this truly was a thing of beauty.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting and looked down at his own reflection in the silver toes of his boots. He didn't want to be rude but he really wished that Thingol would hurry. He was impatient for the ceremony to start, worried that they might already be late, and he began to pace back and forth before he finally urged himself to remain calm, leaning back against the wall again. He felt so very nervous and yet he was so unbelievably happy. The thought of Galadriel's smile, of the light in her eyes, filled his heart with joy. He laughed to himself, wondering what she would look like. She had been so secretive about her gown, insisting that he could not see it until the ceremony.
But, he had to admit that what he was most excited about was taking the gown off of her, joining with her fully at long last. He bit his lip, grinning, wondering what it would feel like, longing to sense her thoughts and feelings merging with his. He took a deep breath, holding it, expelling it…and that was when he heard a great commotion arise from within the smithies. It sounded like shouting and he wondered if Thingol had perhaps gotten into some sort of argument. But he could not imagine with whom. There was no one here, or so he had thought.
He listened more closely, turning towards the gates, his brow furrowed. It sounded like Khuzdul… but that couldn't be. The dwarves of Nogrod were the only dwarves who had ever worked the forges and they had not been in Doriath for centuries. Fingers pressed tightly against the stone wall, he stood, hesitating, wondering if he ought to venture in, see what Thingol had gotten into. Then, all of a sudden, the arguing stopped and everything went quiet.
A white-hot searing pain lanced through her body as her mind went completely blank for a moment and then it was as if the world had vanished completely and she was tumbling down, down, down into blackness that became ink scrawled across parchment that bled into the seal of the king.
But the parchment tore under the weight and she fell through, landing with a sickening thud upon the floor of the great hall and then she felt someone fastening some necklace about her throat, clasping it so tightly that she could not breath at all and now they were twisting, twisting, twisting their hand, pulling the necklace tighter and tighter, choking her with it, closing off her windpipe and she struggled to scream but all that came out was a hoarse choking noise as her vision began to darken. The walls of Menegroth pulsed around her, beating like some macabre heart: thump, thump, thump. The heart beat deep inside her brain.
Then the images flashed in rapid succession one right after the other: Túrin hurling his goblet at Saeros, Saeros's broken corpse, Húrin throwing the Nauglamir at Thingol's feet. "Receive though thy fee," he cried, "for thy fair keeping of my children and my wife!" The man's words echoed in her ears and she looked down in horror to find that it was the Nauglamir about her neck and in it was set the Silmaril. Then, in that instant in which she gazed upon the cursed jewel set in that cursed necklace, the world suddenly went dark.
She was shivering, shivering as though she stood naked in the midst of the Helcaraxë and, as her vision slowly began to clear, she found that she was. She rose, her skin purple and cold, and with brittle feet began to tread across the ice, moving towards something, she knew not what; she only knew that she must reach it. The bitter winds tore her skin away like paper and she stumbled and fell, the force of her body connecting with the ice causing unbearable pain to shoot through her, as if all of her bones had shattered at once.
But she heard him calling for her: Celeborn. "Galadriel!" His voice sounded weak, faded, and she knew, somehow, that there was not much life left within him.
"Celeborn!" She cried. "I'm coming! Don't surrender your life!" She had not the strength to stand any longer but, with her fingernails, she began to pull her shattered body across the ice, inch by inch. Her nails tore at the strain, her blood running out onto the snow and the ice like gruesome veins of red pulsing through white snow.
"Galadriel…" she heard him again, closer now, but his voice was growing fainter, and she began to sob.
"Don't die!" She pleaded and to whom: to him, to this frozen wasteland, to the unfeeling Valar with their hearts of stone. "Don't take him!" She was screaming like a woman gone mad. "Don't take him! Not him! He is innocent!" The only thing he had ever done wrong was love her.
"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." She heard Mandos's deep voice surround her, booming so loud that even the ice beneath her shook with the force of an earthquake. Her tears froze upon her face and there now before her, beneath the ice, was Celeborn.
He was still alive she could see, the bubbles escaping his lips as he shouted to her, cries that were muffled by the water and the ice so that she could not hear him, and instead her ears were filled with the guttural sound of the Dwarven language; Khuzdul rang in her ears.
"Celeborn!" She screamed, pounding at the ice, clawing at it until her fingers were worn down to the bone and even the bone chipped away. His green eyes were frantic as he struggled against the frozen coffin that imprisoned him. She tried to free him with all of her might but then he began to still, his face purpling as Elenwë's had. Gradually his lips stopped moving, the bubbles of air stopped rising, and then his green eyes went dull…dead…
"NO!" Galadriel shouted, sitting up, finding that she was lying, quivering on the floor, that the hall had burst into pandemonium at her collapse, and that Venessiel, Inwen, and Paniel were shaking her.
"What is the matter?" Venessiel was crying, near frantic, grasping Galadriel's shoulders.
"It is one of her visions," Paniel was trying to explain.
"Where is Melian?" Galadriel gasped but Inwen only shook her dark head.
"I don't know," she said. "It…it was all very strange. You fell down and everyone got so worried. Then Melian just got this strange look upon her face and, saying nothing, left the hall. I don't know where she went."
There was no time. The bolt of white light shot through Galadriel's mind again and she heard Bainwen's voice crying: look for the lie in that which you hold dear.
"Where is Celeborn," she whispered, fearful, "where is he? Where?" Inwen only shook her head, confused. "Inwen," Galadriel said, trembling, her eyes fierce and flashing, "I want you to call every guard in this city, every single one of them. Find him. Do it NOW!" She bellowed and Inwen stumbled back, nodding furiously, as Galadriel rose, turning and launching herself down the hallway, running as fast as she could, casting off her golden slippers and lifting the heavy skirts of her gown. She heard Paniel following behind her but did not take the time to speak.
Look for the lie in that which you hold dear. She had thought it was a more abstract warning, a lie that someone was keeping from her. Now she saw that it was, in fact, far more concrete than she had imagined. Inwen had done her duty and the horns of Doriath were resounding through the hallway, the great drums beating in the deep, summoning the guards. They were running now towards the great hall, where Inwen had called the muster and Galadriel was running the opposite way, pushing past them.
Look for the lie in that which you hold dear. She had no time to be frightened now, only to act and she threw open the door to her chambers, running down the corridor and into the main room, throwing open her chest, the old chest from when she had been a servant, the chest where she knew that her dancing costume was, the one that Bainwen had known that she treasured, the one that Finrod had given to her. She fumbled with the clasp and it sprung open beneath her trembling fingers. She threw back the lid, reaching in, pulling out the carefully folded blue chiffon, and there, neatly tucked into the folds, were two documents.
She sat down hard on the ground, feeling as if the air had been knocked from her as, with trembling fingers, she unfolded the papers. "They had a decree, signed and sealed by the king, that she was to be sent to the Isle of Balar." The guard had said. "It is nothing, only that matter with the dwarves and Thingol, some business about some contract he says he never signed," Celeborn had told her the night he had first sang to her and she had wounded him so cruelly. "Thingol was far more generous than I had anticipated," Finrod had said as he set out to found Nargothrond.
Paniel sank down beside her. "A forgery…" she said, her eyes wide as she stared at the documents. It must have been. Galadriel stared at the papers in her hands: one an order for the withdrawal of ten million silver from the treasury to be given in gifts to Nargothrond, the other a contract with the dwarves of Nogrod for 10 million silver worth of armor, both signed and sealed by the king.
"He promised the money to the dwarves and then gave it to Finrod instead," Galadriel gasped, her breath coming in short, painful gasps, her fingers trembling. "They're here, the dwarves of Nogrod are here…I can feel it. I keep hearing Khuzdul in my mind." Galadriel suddenly felt as though she was about to be sick.
Paniel shook her head, taking the papers from Galadriel. "No," she said. "They are both forgeries. Thingol knew nothing of this. Someone tried to cover one lie with another. I have been a spy for Thingol since before the rising of the sun," Paniel muttered. "I know his signature better than anyone. Think, Galadriel!" She took her hands, holding them tightly. "THINK! Where is Celeborn?"
Galadriel nodded, preparing to do as Paniel bade her and closed her eyes, concentrating. It was so very difficult when her mind was filled with impossible worries, when she felt as though her whole world were crumbling about her, when she was nearly certain that the man she loved was already dead.
"Can you feel him through the bond? CAN YOU?" Paniel shouted at her, pinching her fingers. The pain helped her concentrate and, drawing on everything Melian had ever taught her, she tried to enter into the vision once more, reaching out for him through that tenuous thread that held their hearts together. She could feel it fraying…just a little longer.
He was somewhere he didn't like, somewhere dark, deep, musty with ash and soot. She almost felt as though she were inside him now and, in the periphery she could see silver hair spread out, stained with blood, and Thingol's face, his eyes cold and lifeless. She looked up at the ceiling through Celeborn's eyes and, at the top of a long staircase she saw the gates: the gates of the smithy.
"They're in the smithy," she gasped, coming to with a start. "They're in the smithy!"
"Thingol?" Celeborn called hesitantly, worried, reaching for the knife at his back only to have his hand close around air. He had forgotten that he had taken it off for the ceremony. After all, what use was a blade at a wedding? "Thingol?" He called. "Is something the matter?" He did not like the smithies at all but still, if there was something amiss he had better see to it. He passed through the gates and jogged down the stairs. The voices had gone silent now and he frowned, wondering what was amiss, where everyone was.
But all was silent, not that he could see very well in the dark down here, with all this ash and soot hanging in the air from the fires. He lifted a hand, covering his mouth, coughing. His footfalls echoed noisily in the silent hall. He looked to his right and his left curiously. He had expected it to be deserted, but still, he would have thought they might have left the fires in the forges burning. It was unusual that they were out.
"Thingol?" He called, passing into the next room.
"Thin…" he came to a dead halt.
There…in the center of the floor was Thingol. He lay on his back, his arms outstretched, his head tilted back, facing the door so that Celeborn could see his cold eyes staring lifelessly at him. His body was awash in his own blood and slowly like the tide it was seeping forth from him still, staining his silver hair red, a macabre sight. His hand was outstretched as if he had been reaching for something. It was the consummation of Galadriel's vision…except for…
Celeborn stood, transfixed, feeling as if he had forgotten how to breathe, how to think…and that was when he felt the blade of an axe bite into his back, severing his spine, and he doubled over, collapsing on top of another axe that clove into his stomach with a sickening squelch. The blade was torn free and he fell to the ground atop his own blood and organs, unable to move, the taste of blood in his mouth. He had not even the strength to choke on it.
His world began to dim, growing faint, and he forgot how to think, how to remember anything at all…save the girl he had first seen so many centuries ago, standing in a clearing, burning like the sunrise, slender as a willow yet stronger than diamonds, with a smile like spring and eyes that shone with some ethereal light…Galadriel…
Somehow he was crying and he tasted the salt of his own tears as he opened his mouth, managing a single word, one last gasp… "Galadriel…"
His world went dark.
Footnote: I AM FIRE! I AM DEATH! WHAT NOW? WHO LIVES AND WHO DIES?