Túrelië watched his newly released charge with concern. His eyes darted almost accusingly to Celeborn, holding him in a withering stare until the Lord of Lothlorien finally acknowledged his sullen state.
"I promise you Master Healer, no harm will come to your king. I will watch him. But there are some things we need to discuss and I am afraid much of it can only be heard between we two."
Túrelië's stern stance did not change, though his expression began to soften. A while longer there was silence between the three. But at last he gave one gentle grunt of consent. "I will trust you to watch him then my Lord. But I will come at a moments notice if needed."
"Of course." Thranduil assured him. "I will not hesitate to call."
Somewhat mollified by his kings words Túrelië turned away after giving the two a final glance. Then the Ñoldor strode away to attend to what work he had abandoned during the crisis of the last few weeks.
Celeborn smiled as he watched the Healer gathering his students and colleagues; herding the milling masses back to work with all the exuberance of a flustered parent corralling their errant children.
"He's a bit like a mother hen isn't he?" Celeborn spoke after a moment, his voice light and warm. "Seems a bit of an odd choice in Healers considering how little you love being pestered."
Thranduil nodded, a fond expression gracing his face. "Yes. I suppose it is. But from a healer it is almost needed."
"Only when they have difficult patients." Celeborn teased him. He turned away then, pausing a moment to indicate that Thranduil should follow. The king looked back out over the hall and reasoned that business could wait. Shrugging heavy responsibility from his shoulders for just a moment or two Thranduil followed Celeborn from the great hall and down the spiraling causeways towards the wine-cellar. Soon the bustle of the subterranean city drifted high above them. Yet though they descended into the deep caverns and the air grew warm and humid it was still brightly lit - with none of the oppressive darkness of a forlorn hole in the ground. For all elves have a love of light and made sure that it sprang in abundance about their dwellings.
With a sideways glance Thranduil was the first to break the long silence. "Surely I was not that difficult for you to handle?"
"No." Celeborn agreed, shifting his hands within his robes. He paused for a moment to listen to the growing sound of water; for as they descended they came closer to the great river that ran beneath the cavern city.
"But I have known you longer than most. Still, I am most curious Thranduil. Why the Ñoldor? You have healers here of great repute, there was little need to pull one from Lord Elronds house. Even Lothlorien would have been closer."
Thranduil made a slight sound of disbelief. "Is it really convenience you are curious about, or is it the fact that he is Noldorin?"
"No. And yes. If he were like Lord Elrond I could imagine you welcoming him here; but Túrelië is...well..."
Celeborn paused a moment and stood still, head tilted slightly to the side as he watched closely for any sign of offence from his host. When Thranduil simply raised an eyebrow he continued.
"...well...he is not exactly calm is he? He has many traits that I would think would conflict with your personality. He is a competent Healer - one of the best left here in Middle Earth. Even among those who have sailed he is counted great. Yet, I have known him for a long while. He is arrogant, wilful, prone to sudden anger...and beneath it all very proud. He does not take easily to councils other than his own and is impossible to control by force."
And here Celeborn gave a sad and wistful smile. "You know...in all truth he reminds me of Celebrimbor in a way."
Thranduil nodded, following the path again. "Yes...I know. I think, that is why I chose him. Such a personality has it's own charms. When I see him at work, doing what he loves best it gives me a sense of warm nostalgia. And often we talk on long and dreary nights when there is little left to do; and we do not tire of the conversations; varied as they may be. So...he is a comfort to me. Yet..."
And Thranduil here gave pause and stared into the torchlight before them, his eyes toward the wandering lower path - though it was not his focus.
"Yet...it is also a burden, his presence. For it reminds me of my own failings."
"Thranduil." Celeborn spoke with heavy sternness, his eyes sharp but with understanding, not anger. "Do not do this to yourself."
He stared at his friends back, watching as the elven-king grew still. "You cannot blame yourself."
And at this Thranduil turned slowly, eyes pained and strangely child-like in the light of the flickering lanterns. He seemed to Celeborn exceedingly frail and it was all that the Elf-Lord could do to remain standing where he was.
Thranduil whispered, nearly breathless; "Can't I?"
With a sigh Celeborn stepped to his friend, and taking his arm with his he gently guided the weary king down the rest of the long path.
"In all the long years of our acquaintance, you have never once told me what happened in those days. So I can only say 'do not blame yourself'. It is the only answer I have for you. Perhaps if you confide in me I may be of more help - or at the very least you will not run the risk of falling into your own well of memory again."
Thranduil nodded. "Yes. Though I do not think either of us will enjoy the telling."
At the wine-cellar they relieved the guards of their duties. Sitting down at the heavy wooden table set between towering racks stacked cask upon cask with fine wine they opened one of the better vintages and poured out their first round. With a quiet toast they finished their first in silence with only the bubbling of wild waters as their music. Thranduil waited patiently while Celeborn refilled the clear crystal wine-glass. And when this was done he gave a heavy sigh.
"My memories of that time are filled with so much pain, yet it is because of the great fleeting joy I knew there that the pain is so sharp. In those halls I fell in love. A love more deep and powerful than any I have ever known - my first, and my only."
At this Celeborn shifted and a strange expression formed on his face, brows furrowed with thought. "You fell in love? I...was not aware..."
Suddenly the elf-king looked up, in honest confusion before caught on to Celeborns thought.
"No- I mean, I know that must have sounded strange! Not with Celebrimbor. He was a dear friend and adviser to me as well as a gracious host during my stay but it...there were clear lines in our relationship - just friendship."
"Oh! Well..." Celeborn cleared his throat awkwardly, and at this Thranduil gave a laugh - for it wasn't often one saw the Lord of Lothlorien looking so painfully uncomfortable in a social situation. Seeing his sudden awkwardness he poured his guest another glass of sparkling rose wine.
"I apologize." Thranduil finally said at length, blue-gray eyes shining with mirth. "I did not mean to put you on the wrong trail. No. I was not in love with Celebrimbor - of all things! Isn't that an odd thought?" He teased, one brow raised in a show of mock concern that made Celeborn chuckle. Thranduil turned his own glass in his hands a moment.
"Though, he was as I said a close confidant for the short time I knew him. My love, was another - a beautiful maiden."
"What did she look like?" Celeborn questioned before taking a slow sip.
A wistful smile came onto Thranduils face as he thought back to those long forgotten days.
"Her hair rippled bright under moonlight, as luminous as shining silver, polished and flowing like water. It glittered like fresh snow in the sun, dancing with subtle opalescence. Yet her eyes were as deep as pure gold; as hypnotic as flame."
He took another sip of wine and shook his head in remembrance.
"The only one of her kind, though that turned out to be the source of our pain...and our parting."
Celeborn nodded thoughtfully, for he had heard only part of this tale and then only hushed whispers among the ruins of war.
"She..." Celeborn stopped. There was no gentle or nice way in any of the elven tongues to say what she truly was. Thranduil only shook his head.
"I know you have heard the rumours. I know what they must have told you, what they must think after it all..."
"I don't care." Celeborn spoke suddenly, and Thranduil looked up in surprise. "Tell me your story...then let me decide."
Thranduil finished his glass and poured another.
"Fair enough."
Never before had Thranduil felt so out of place in his life, at least not since that long ago fateful day his father and he had met with the host of Aman to fight what had now become known as the 'War of Wrath'.
Many stories had been told of that great conflict, many songs sung in mourning and praise alike for the valour of elves and loyal men and noble dwarves; for the free peoples who had won their victory from the great enemy at a high price. Now, long centuries later the young knight of Doriath, the elf-warrior in dark armour, rode into the fair city of Ost-in-Edhil on a snow white horse, centered in a great mass of elves bearing the banners of the woodland realm - a realm of which his father was now King, and he; the 'waif', the bodyguard of merchants, the loner in the woods, was now Crown Prince.
He tamped down the bitterness of this irony as best he could. All of his efforts to avoid the courtly life had in the end made it impossible to escape. But there were worse lots left in Arda yet; so he put on a serene and noble face that felt horribly forced. The commoner tried to pass for royalty.
Thranduil now often spent long hours into the night studying every subject he had actively ignored in his youth. And in these endeavours his relationship with Celeborn had shifted from one of rivalry over a shared affection, to an honest camaraderie - even a mentor-ship, as Celeborn knew what it took to rule and was more than happy to instruct the newly minted prince in the duties that would one day be expected of him. But today prince Thranduil was on his own, far from any council. For he and his obligatory retinue under the fading light of day had finally completed their long journey from the Greenwood, crossing the mountains into the western valley and the realm of Eregion; home of the jewel elves - greatest smiths in Middle-Earth. The crown prince had not however; come on some simple holiday.
Thranduil cast a glance behind him at a well guarded, but simple looking wagon. It was the reason for the arduous - even dangerous journey across the towering mountains. For the treasure inside was worth more to him than all the other jewels he possessed. He stared only a moment, then returned his attention to the cobbled walkways of the city.
Great arches of marble leapt high above their heads as they rode beneath them on a path that ever crept upward on a gentle slope. The sound of a city in it's full glory reached their ears - merchants on the streets, children playing in the narrow alleys and grand squares, the chattering of birds fighting over what bread or other rich fare had been carelessly dropped onto the bricked pathways that wound between strong walls of hewn granite that sparkled in the fading light.
It was a far cry from the quiet of the deep woods. Thranduil quickly found that focusing on one thing was nearly impossible, with so many sounds, smells, sights, and sensations vying for his attention. Yet; beneath it all he felt strangely ill at ease - his senses pricked by something he could not explain or even recognize. Amid the power and strength and grace of the city there was something...wrong. The thought began as a mere whisper but as the entourage crept deeper into the cities heart Thranduils apprehension grew. He chided himself for such superstition and forced himself to stop his fidgeting. Yet his unease only intensified - building like a dark thunderhead heralding a storm.
'There is little doubt in my mind now - there is something wrong here. I will be all too happy when I can get to a bed! I want nothing more than a shower and sleep! I will do my business and go back home as soon as I can.'
However; the Prince of the Greenwood knew he now had 'obligations'. So hiding his weariness as best he could Thranduil allowed their guide to lead them to the guests stables. It took a long while to settle the great host; for though they had sent messengers ahead it was a considerable amount of elves and horses to house all at once. Shortly before the sun would set and velvet black would close around them the retinue was bedded down for the night. While his people were tended to Thranduil allowed himself; exhausted as he was, to be led as a guest to the hall of the Lord of Eregion, for the demands of duty obliged him to announce himself - even if his visit was well expected and his purpose already known.
With the fading light of day they were admitted into a hall of marble, tall and grand. The sunset lit the room in warm, fiery hues strong enough to ward off the chill of approaching winter and played across the polished stone with the gentle radiance of abundant torchlight. In his high seat at the halls-end sat Celebrimbor, robed in fine silk and velvet in rich hues of night blue and silver. When Thranduil entered he set aside the parchment he had been absorbed with on a small table close at hand and stood in greeting.
"Welcome, Prince of Eryn Galen. A star shines on the hour of our meeting. I am Celebrimbor, ruler of Eregion and this is my home - Ost-in-Edhil. May your stay here be filled with rest, joy and knowledge."
Thranduil nearly forgot himself in that moment, for the figure standing before him bore such a strong resemblance to a ghost from his past that for several seconds he was speechless. Then with a sudden start he bowed in greeting and a response finally formed on his lips.
"I thank you for your generosity Lord Celebrimbor. I am Prince Thranduil and I bring good tidings and many thanks from Eryn Galen and my father King Oropher. I trust that all I shall have want of may be found in these halls."
Celebrimbor smiled, a soft and slightly quirked motion of his lips. "I'm glad to hear it. With such formalities out of the way I gather that you are likely tired. You are probably well aware already that I have arranged for you and your company to be housed and cared for - it has been a long journey no doubt."
Relief washed over the young prince. "It has been Lord Celebrimbor. Rest is much looked forward to."
The elf before Thranduil smiled, stepping from his dais as the last of the days light faded through the hall and the radiance of torches burned a little brighter in answer. "I thought as much. Yet; if you could stay just a moment longer - I have something I wish to speak to you about. In the letter sent by King Oropher he mentioned that you were here on account of a very special armor; would it be possible to see it?"
"Eh..." Thranduil hesitated. His body was sore from the long ride, his mind already pushed beyond tiredness. The wilds between their realm grew more untamed by the day and the road was long and dangerous. Sleep, food, quiet and time to think was all Thranduil really cared for. But he knew he could little afford to slight his host. For they were housed at no expense to themselves to start with; and in all likelihood he knew that the task he was to request would require the best that the smiths of the city had to offer - it was likely that Celebrimbor himself would be working on this assignment.
So weakly, the prince nodded. "Yes, of course my Lord. It has been transported to chambers you assigned to me. I have not yet been there so I do not know the way."
"Then I can show you." Celebrimbor smiled, dark eyes sparkling with warmth. Still, for all his smiles and pleasantness Thranduil sensed just the slightest hint of melancholy wrapped around his host like a heavy shroud - as if some great worry plagued his mind at all hours of the day and night. And Thranduil felt pity as Celebrimbor led him along, chattering on about any manner of smith-craft as if he were desperate to drive some sullen thoughts from his own mind.
When at last they reached the room Thranduil took a survey of his accommodations. The room was spacious. Walls of a lightly pink-tinged and mottled granite graced the outermost wall, into which a window was set. It was crafted of great blocks of stone so well formed to one another that at first glance it seemed to have been hewn from one continues mass of solid stone. Yet the walls connecting with it were of baked brick in matching hue and in the warmth of lit copper braziers the room hummed with an inviting glow. In such a soothing environment the dark wood chest was easy to see.
Thranduil undid the latches and presented a small portion of the chestplate to the master-smith who took it with careful hands, eyes widening at the sight of the black metal. He turned it over, moving into brighter light as he examined the curiosity suddenly set before him. Watching with bated breath for an experts opinion, Thranduil watched Celebrimbor with hawks intensity - every ripple of raven-dark hair, or quick glance of his deep eyes was noted.
"This..." Celebrimbor spoke after a long while of thought. "Is a metal unlike any I have yet seen. It is like to steel, yet it reflects no light. Nay, it draws it all into blackness - into void. Still, I can see shadows and highlights in the metal and the intricate work of it's decoration. What is this material it is made of?"
"Galvorn." Thranduil explained. "A metal created by the elven-smith Eöl under strict secrecy. The same metal that was forged into the slayer of dragons - Anglachel and it's mate Anguirel."
"And what are the properties of this metal?" Celebrimbor asked, his voice soft with wonder.
Thranduil recalled the observations of long ago and spoke softly in response.
"It is strong, strong as mithril and can cleave any iron-based weapon made from the earth; for it's origin is the great expanse of the sky. Sky-iron is its key ingredient. The metal as you have noticed reflects no light thrown on it - yet can glow with a soft light of different hues if spirit is imbued into it in it's forging. It is capable of capturing part of the Fëa of it's maker, so that it possesses a will of it's own."
"A will of it's own?" And at this Celebrimbor turned in astonishment. "A metal with a soul? Is such a thing really possible?"
Thranduil nodded and moved to the Lord of Eregions side, his own eyes tracing over the rare metal.
"Yes. For Anglachel had a strong Fëa of it's own. It grew sharp in anger, dull in mourning. It sang with gladness when unsheathed in battle, and it died in grief after slaying the slayer of it's master; my teacher Beleg Cúthalion."
"So you knew Beleg then?" Celebrimbor asked.
"Yes. He was very dear to me and his loss was a deep one. Yet I can hold no ill will toward Túrin for his death; for he was under a dark power that he could not hope to defeat. And Beleg himself had been warned of such a doom and still willingly submitted himself to it. It was his choice to take Anglachel as gift from King Thingol - with all that entailed."
"Hm." Celebrimbor nodded in solemn agreement. "So it is. Thank You for entrusting me with such a rare and valuable artifact then. I had no idea of it's worth when you first requested my assistance. Tonight I will study; and think. Tomorrow we can discuss the matter further; would you be able to come to my workshop shortly after noon - and have a porter bring the armour? Also, now that it occurs to me, do you have a small un-worked piece? The thought of testing my skills on the armour itself is loathe to me - I do not wish to ruin it."
Thranduil nodded and produced a small block from the same chest that held the galvorn suit.
"This is what I took with me from Eöl's home before it sunk beneath the waves. I do have more of the raw Galvorn in a second chest - it is only that I do not believe that with my modest skill that I would be able to repair this damage. I do not have the heart to try."
Celebrimbor accepted it with a soft smile. "I believe I know how you feel - even I am starting to think my skills may be too modest. However; I will do my best - this will help." Turning for the door Celebrimbor smiled. "And now I release you for a long overdue rest."
"Thank You." Thranduil replied with a smile of his own. "It is much appreciated."
And with a soft chuckle Celebrimbor left, making his way down the hall. Thranduil watched him for a moment, the lords silk and velvet robes rustling softly as he made his way down the hall, dark hair swaying softly as he walked with the slightly unfocused gait of one who is paying more attention to the object he holds than his feet.
Thranduil smiled at this vision of royal diligence before closing his door for the night.