Summary: A wager being idly struck between two young elven lords in Doriath, the wheels of romance are set in motion. Here presented is the courtship of Celeborn of Doriath and the Lady Galadriel as it was never meant to be told. Expect intrigue, lies, infatuation and possibly a disguise. Barely canonical and many O/Cs.
Disclaimer: This is a work of derivative fiction based on the collective works of J.R.R. Tolkien. The author gains nothing but pleasure from it's creation and distribution. All recognizable characters, settings and events belong to the original author.
Chapter Four: Revels
It was a the worst kept secret in Menegroth that the King and Queen of Doriath would be honouring the foreign guests with a great feast to mark the end of the season. Celeborn did not have to collect such news through the gossip trails that scurried around the halls of the palace. He had it directly from the mouth of his king. There were advantages to royal breeding although he was the worst person to receive the information. For one, word given to him never traveled beyond that point without permission and purpose.
The wood elves had clearly found their gossip in other sources. Conversations relived about little other than the upcoming festivities. Thranduil had promised him five times that none of those sources was himself.
"How could I have been?" he'd chirped from his position on Celeborn's window sill.
"I'm sure you have your sources," replied Celeborn with an unwavering gaze.
"Yes, you!" cried his friend, laughing.
The gave the young lord significant pause. Of course he'd never asked that the information he shared with his companion be kept in confidence but he'd never thought that the source of the great rumour mill were his own two lips. So, he'd been wrong about that.
But for all those times this was not one of them. He hadn't even told Thranduil of the feast. There was no sense in telling his friend of events in which he would not take part.
He returned early that autumn evening to his chambers. Expecting company yet finding the window sill devoid of its usual occupant he went about preparing for the gala without distraction.
He chose his garments with greater care than other evenings. Impressions were important and his uncle expected a good one from him. The sleeves of his charcoal coat were slashed, revealing a deep russet silk beneath. A copper brooch set with glimmering amber stones he pinned at his throat.
From another box he pulled a silver ring bearing the sigil of his house. As he picked it up his eyes fell on a silver hair clasp: a twist of vines, the leaves of which were covered in emeralds so small they were like grains of sand. Each one cut to perfection and reflecting even the smallest beam of light to spectacular effect.
He understood Thranduil's admiration for the piece although he still considered it a poor prize for their wager.
Combing his hair over his shoulder with his fingers he placed a copper circlet across his forehead. The motif beaten into the metal was plain and elegant, elevating it beyond a simple piece worn by lesser courtiers.
He knew that he looked the part of a prince even though he felt less like one when all the trappings were in place.
In the passageway outside the feast hall his elbow was caught by Lady Bregien. She had chosen a fire-coloured gown, curiously near to the shade of his under-tunic. It was a popular colour for the end of summer, mused Celeborn. When he said as much to her the lady laughed.
"For all your learning my dear friend, you still understand so little."
They were swept apart as they entered the hall. She, towards the flocks of courtiers taking up the periphery as he strode towards the dais to assume his designated place near the King and Queen. If Elu Thingol was the pillar for his realm, then Melian was the light which filled it. When the pair sat together there was no force which could tear them asunder.
As Celeborn approached he saw a group of strange elves seated to the right of the podium. At the head of their number, a broad-shouldered lord sat stiffly as if no wind could topple him. The young Sindar kept his curiosity to the corner of his eye but he could not deny that the stranger was striking and so unlike all the others here assembled.
They were very pale, he thought, as he ascended the steps. To an individual they were like shards of ice and arrayed as they were in shades of blue the overall impression was frosty.
Thingols warm smile greeted him and he bowed dutifully to his liege and lady.
"I have seen your face more often these last weeks," remarked the King once formalities had been observed. "Very unlike you -"
"Yet not unwelcome," chimed Melian, caressing the tops of her husbands' fingers.
"Of course!" agreed Thingol, "a man should never complain of illustrious nephews to fill his table."
"A King is most generous to say so," said Celeborn, humbly but glad of the welcome.
"Generous," cackled the King, tapping the arm of his seat for emphasis. "You see, my dear, how I am flattered."
Melian inclined her head with marked slowness and stroked the column of gems falling from the base of her throat. A gift for the season's change, no doubt and even to Celeborns eye it was exquisite. The jewels glimmered with hints of yellow and burnt umber but when they caught the light the facets shone with pure starlight. An unparalleled effort of craftsmanship.
Turning smartly on his heel the young lord's attention fell on the raven-haired youth poised at her father's shoulder. Luthien gained beauty in leaps and bounds, turning from a knock-kneed filly of a girl to a radiant presence in the royal household.
Her courtly mask fell at the sight of him and she grinned openly.
"Cousin," she chirped, sweeping around her father's chair to take him by the hand. Melian's silver eyebrow rose but Thingol's attention was already turned to the next visitor.
"Whenever I look away it seems you are less of a girl and all the more a lady."
Luthien snorted a little and then gulped to hide her indecency. Still very conscious of her own performance she very formally bowed her head to him although he could see her eyes fixed on him through her eyelashes.
"You do not look my way very often of late, perhaps this is why you're surprised."
Celeborn had the presence of mind to look sheepish. "My attention has been distracted although that is far from excusable."
"Just so," agreed his young cousin with a self-satisfied smirk. "But no matter," she said with a wave of her most courtly hand.
"I will accept nothing but your best effort to atone for your lapse."
Celeborn bowed from the waist with a hand to his breast. When his face was closer to hers he whispered, "least said, soonest mended?"
"Always, but you owe me." She pouted, a childish affectation she had learned to exploit. "Father was very cross with you for neglecting my lessons."
"Neglect -" Celeborn never had the chance to engage further for the shadow of the King fell over them both.
"Some necessary matters of state before we make merry, my dears."
Luthien acquiesced to her lord father with a gentle smile but as he breezed between them Celeborn caught her bright eyes rolling towards the vaulted ceiling. The willful girl was not so easily tamed. In his private thoughts the young lord hoped that she would never be.
"You haven't needed my lessons for twelve seasons at least," he hissed, making the mistake of arguing with the daughter of a Maiar queen and her enchanted king.
Luthien clucked her tongue and shook her head cheerfully. "Not now, father has guests."
Not even after hours with Thranduil did Celeborn lose his cool this easily. Falling into step the group was led to the seated guests, who rose as one though not without a smattering of uneasy glances.
He was first introduced to Finrod, son of Finarfin, the stiff-backed leader of their party. He had narrow eyes set between prominent cheek-bones but for the fierceness of his countenance he was not unkind. He stepped to the side for the next introduction and Celeborn's heart gave two sharp jolts against his chest.
How he had not seen her when he entered would be a mystery to haunt the rest of his days.
"My sister," said the Lord Finrod as the lady in question stepped forward.
The thudding of his own pulse filled Celeborn's ears as he looked for the first time into a pair of arctic blue eyes. In that moment he forgot how to operate his tongue and would have looked absurd had Luthien not drifted forward and made welcoming conversation.
Saved from embarrassment by an elfling he stood mute as attention moved to the next guest and he was able to regain enough control to look like less of a dolt. But as the duty was done and both parties returned to their appointed seats he cast a backwards glance to the lady lowering herself into the chair next to Lord Finrod.
As she bent slightly, waves of liquid gold fell over her shoulders. Unlike her entourage she was dressed completely in white save for a sash of inky blue resting on her hips. He also remembered that he hadn't had to look down to meet her eyes. She was significantly taller than any elven maiden he'd yet encountered. But if he could think of nothing else it was the economy and grace of her movements. Every gesture was deliberate without seeming rehearsed but the calculation was clearly not a display meant for courtly eyes.
She was beyond measure, genuine. And in the rush of emotions he had completely failed to hear her name.
He was grateful when Luthien, tugging surreptitiously on his sleeve, brought him back to earth.
"You are sad, cousin." She observed, an earthy seriousness on her face.
"I am not," Celeborn reassured her, taking her hand and guiding her step onto the dais. She giggled, swinging her skirts from side to side.
"A liar as well? I do not like this turn in your character."
"Liar?" He exclaimed, dropping her hand.
Before he could defend himself she continued. "Oh really, don't be so dramatic. I cannot stand theatricality."
Celeborn had the decency not to snort. The king's daughter was not fooled and squeezed his fingers before dancing just out of reach.
"Please don't spoil the fun, it's so rare that Father puts on such a spectacle."
Celeborn could only agree.
Never taking her eyes from his, Luthien circled the high table and lowered herself into her seat. The effect of her unbroken gaze was disconcerting. She must have learned it from her mother.
"You will dance with me later, won't you? She pulled a glass of wine towards her and sniffed it appraisingly. "I prefer dancing to drinking -"
"And you wish to make the most out of your partners?"
Her grin split her face from ear to shining, cherry cheek, "how well you know me!"
Bowing Celeborn found his own seat, not far from the end of the high table.
During the meal, Celeborn was able to observe once more the lady of the Nordor house. He was transfixed by her manner which made the simplest movement one of grandeur and importance. All light in the feasting hall had been extinguished save that which radiated from her.
Several times he caught a forkful of food hovering before his lips with no recollection of how long ago he'd placed it there. Around him, conversation jumped like sparks. The musicians shifted their tune, picking up the tempo and causing the revelers to rise from their seats. Alliances were made and lost in glances, couples positioned themselves from across the room.
He wondered whether the guests would dance but as the numbers at table dwindled, they remained seated. If his thoughts could convince her to rise he would turn his mind to nothing else. But she was a fixture and finally he was compelled to leave his place and seek refuge along the edge of the hall, gripping his goblet of wine as if it were a branch on a storm-swept ocean.
What did it matter if he was sad? Was sadness not an appropriate response to the overwhelming hopelessness of having the contents of one's heart emptied out onto the floor. Could he not be sad that all the moments of his life before this one had not contained the radiant creature now seated across the room.
In his head he already prepared twelve distinct scenarios through which they might meet and exchange words but he would be able to enact none of them because at that moment the musicians took up the celebratory chords and the King escorted his queen to the center of the hall in order to commence the festivities with their first dance.
Through the hazy screen of his thoughts he became aware of a twinkling at the upper corner of his vision but when he looked towards it he could find no source. Then suddenly he became aware of a pair of eyes, intent and piercing him from across a great distance. She was watching him and immediately his heart sprung to the front of his chest.
Blood roared past his ears, it became impossible to focus and in fact, if he lost his grounding the walls and floor spun away from him in expanding circles. Stumbling backwards his hand, fumbling, discovered the metal curve of a door handle and given no other option he pushed and was then sprawled across the floor of a corridor, the light of the hall receding away from him.
End of Chapter Four