The preparations for the ceremony were going well.
It looked like the High King had spared no expense for the ceremony. Elves hurried hither and thither, working in tandem, listening to the orders of their supervisors. Except for those serving on the borders as patrols, the military command had been drafted into managing the ceremony. Gilgalad had stressed only a few days ago how important the occasion was for the elves. Although, Elrond could not tell why it had been important for him to declare the position of a Herald open when it had remained empty for more than a thousand years.
The last time anyone had occupied the position of a Herald in the Noldorin army was during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, which the low men know as the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. With the devastation that war had brought upon the elves of Beleriand, the position of the Herald could not be filled. Perhaps some might have existed in the kingdoms of Nargothrond and Gondolin and Doriath, but those kingdoms were destroyed, either by Morgoth's rampaging armies or by civil strife.
It was true that when Morgoth was finally defeated, it was Eonwe who had the worn the mantle of Herald, but he was the Herald of Manwe, not of the elves alone. He led the Host of the West against Morgoth and defeated the Great Enemy by hewing off his legs and chaining him. And after Eonwe had departed the shores of Middle Earth and even though Gilgalad had taken up the crown of the High King of the Noldor, the position of the Herald was not filled.
Why then would Gilgalad choose to open it up now?
The question flummoxed him. And the answer evaded him.
With still a few hours remaining for the ceremony to begin, scheduled to start in the hour of the twilight, he turned around and strolled away from all the humdrum. He found himself walking amidst the tall rowan trees that grew on the western slopes of the Ered Luin. Statues in the likeness of the heroes of the bygone age stood there, made of unbreakable gray stone. Calm they looked, their aura so serene it brought peace to his mind.
For a moment there, he forgot the troubles of this world and the anxiety this ceremony brought him. Deep inside, he felt he wasn't ready for this position as the Herald. He didn't know what it was about him that made Gilgalad choose him of all people as the Noldor. Surely, there were others among the Noldor who were far more capable than him?
And then suddenly he stopped.
In front of him was a young elf who stood in front of the statue of the great Finrod Felagund whose sacrifice saving Beren One-Hand was greatly admired. She didn't move an inch even with the cool breeze wafting through the forests. Dressed in light blue with a little ornate gold over her shoulders, her silver-black hair let freely down, a silver circlet around her forehead, she let out a single tear from her eyes, which she wiped off the next moment.
The young elf was Celebrian, the daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel, and one he had looked to spend time with for a long age. He had always tried to muster strength to tell her how he felt for her, but he had always backed out at the last moment. It didn't help that she had no place she was rooted to. She moved frequently between Lindon and Eregion as did her parents. And from what he could tell, Celebrian found Lindon not as exciting enough. Perhaps that was because of her admiration for Lord Celebrimbor and his guild of smiths. He had learned many years ago how she had always been interested in joining the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, known in the common tongue as The Brotherhood of Jewel-Smiths. He was surprised, however, to also learn that she hadn't yet joined the guild.
Many a time, he wondered if Celebrian had feelings for Celebrimbor, although he doubted her parents would ever approve of that relationship. After all, who would want a direct descendant of the great Feanor as a son-in-law? The blood of the great smith was tainted by the darkness of the oath they had taken and the deeds that the oath had made them do. Celebrimbor was nothing like Feanor and his sons, perhaps, but he still had their blood flowing through his veins. After all those vile deeds the sons of Feanor had performed to recover the Silmarils, the people who had followed Fingolfin and the sons of Finarfin wouldn't take well to the presence of those who had followed Feanor. This was the reason why they lived in a separate realm called Eregion. The only family that was close to them was Celebrian's. For some reason, her parents saw fit to maintain amicable relations with the Feanorians. The Lady Galadriel, in his eyes, must have some good reason to keep the Feanorians in her good books. Not enough to accept Celebrian's love for Celebrimbor perhaps, if she ever felt it for him, but enough to deal with him? Some reports did say that Celebrimbor and Galadriel treated each other as dear friends.
"He was a great leader, a great king," he mentioned to her, stepping forward, holding his hands to his chest in respect.
"Yes, he was," Celebrian said. "I wish I knew my uncle, but all I know of him are stories that have filtered down to me after a long age."
"Maybe you'll know him one day," he said. "Perhaps even meet him."
Celebrian smiled. Oh, how it enthralled him!
"For that to happen, I'd have to leave these shores for the Undying Lands, and even then, who knows if Uncle Finrod has been let out of the Halls of Mandos?"
The thought of her leaving these shores for the Undying Lands brought a shadow over his mind. If she ever decided to leave, he wouldn't see her ever, not unless he too chose the same path. That, he foresaw, would not happen soon. Not until Middle Earth was free from the evil the elves believed Morgoth had wrought on the world. He still believed that Middle Earth needed the elves still. Not until all the hurts they had wrought upon this world in pursuit of an oath would they leave these shores. And he didn't think it was going to be anytime soon.
Celebrian leaving these shores now would sunder her from him.
But he wouldn't be able to stop her if she made the choice.
Who was he to her but Elrond of Lindon?
He wasn't even someone whom she called friend.
A close acquaintance. That was sadly the depth of the relationship they had. He wished he could do more, but he didn't know when to proceed. If there was knowledge he lacked, it was that of the matters of the heart. In that, he was no lore-master.
"I believe that King Finrod would be the first one to be released from the Halls of Mandos, given the good deeds he performed in his life," he said. "And we all know how the Valar have often favored the House of Finarfin. Finrod will definitely have the grace of the Valar."
Celebrian nodded. "I do hope, indeed!" she remarked and took a deep breath. "I... need to go... now... get ready for the ceremony..."
"You already seem ready, Celebrian," he said. "You look beautiful."
He was surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.
Celebrian laughed. "The feminine are kind of perfectionists, aren't they?" she teased. "We always find something lacking and might never end up being satisfied where our appearances are concerned. But, good luck to you, Elrond Peredhel. May you rise to the higher echelons and lead the elves to glory and right-hood! May Eru grace you with his strength and wisdom!"
He didn't know what to say. He remained tight-lipped.
She smiled. "Namarie!"
As gracefully she had stood, as gracefully she walked. For a long time, he kept watching her, never letting her off his sight. She vanished behind a swathe of tree along a path that led up a nearby hill where the elven women quarters were.
"That's quite an elf-woman!" a familiar brusque voice cried. "Maybe she'll make an elf out of you yet!"
Elrond laughed unto himself and turned to see the familiar figure of the shipwright of Mithlond walking up to him.
"Lord Cirdan!" he greeted. "It honors me to have you here."
"If you thought I would miss your rise as the Herald of Gilgalad in Lindon, you were sorely mistaken, Peredhel," Cirdan said, the fingers of his right hand tugging at his gray beard. He was perhaps the only elf in Middle Earth who sported a beard. After all, he was the oldest living elf in Middle Earth, having been born in Cuivienen before the Years of the Trees.
"I didn't think that at all, Lord Cirdan," he said hurriedly. "Truth be told, I was only sure of your coming."
Cirdan grinned. "I would have come if nobody else would come. That's true indeed, but many will come, even from faraway lands. I've heard Thranduil is already here."
Elrond nodded. "Aye, he's sequestered in a chamber with the King. Some news he brings from the East, and from that direction, the news is seldom happy."
The old elf sighed. "Well, still hours for the ceremony to begin, no?" he asked.
"Yes," Elrond said. "a few hours to go, yes... which was why I thought to come here for a while... needed some peace."
"And you found your heart instead," Cirdan teased.
He felt the blush on his cheeks and a moment later cursed himself. It was unbecoming of him. "I think we should head to the place of the ceremony. The others will be thrilled to see you."
Cirdan had a smile on his face. "Lead on then," he said. "Though think not that I don't see the eagerness in you. Your eyes show your need to bathe in Celebrian's beauty again. But my warning you should heed if you wish to indeed court the daughter of the Lady Galadriel. The young elf has the same fire as her mother, perhaps with a lesser pride. Pursue her only if you think you can handle her. Otherwise, leave her be."
Elrond raised his brows, trying to figure out the old elf's words. Nodding, he walked on the track that led him back to the place he had left before. He wanted to find peace, but he had received a strange warning himself.
"But perhaps the fire might quell if she feels for me the same way I do her," he mumbled to himself, climbing on the steps, hearing the loud sound of the bugles and trumpets.
His heart pounded again. This time, not because of his love for Celebrian. This time because of the return of his anxiety. He had never felt so nervous in his entire life.