Galadriel had not thought she would be nervous while waiting for Celeborn's ship to arrive.
Perhaps nervous is not quite the right word. It is not nerves that are plaguing her. She knows that Celeborn will be on the ship; he told her so, and she trusts him. She does not doubt him for a second.
And yet, as she stands at the dock and watches the tiny ship grow bigger and bigger, there is something sour and almost frightened mixing with the anticipation in her chest.
Celebrían, ever sharp-eyed, notices her mother's preoccupation and slips a hand into hers. "Ada will be here soon."
"As will Elladan and Elrohir," Galadriel agrees, giving her daughter's hand a squeeze. The arrival of her sons will not fix the hole in Celebrían's heart left by Arwen's death, but maybe it will begin to fill it.
"Elrond has been preparing for them all month," Celebrían says fondly. Her husband is standing at the very end of the pier, eyes fixed on the approaching ship. He has been practically vibrating since they got the news that Elladan and Elrohir would be on the next ship. Galadriel has no idea how her daughter has managed it without strangling him, but Celebrían has always had Celeborn's patience. "And all four of his parents have been dragged into it. Maglor is the only one who has met the boys before, so I believe the other three are taking him as some sort of authority, as much as he protests."
It was for Elrond's sake originally that Galadriel made her peace with Maglor and, slowly, the other Fëanorians. Now, she remembers why they were always the most fun cousins to spend time with, especially for the younger set that Galadriel belonged to. They are not quite as fun as they used to be - there is too much tension now, too much lingering guilt and anger - but Galadriel is no longer worried that a family reunion may come to blows, or at least not serious ones, and that is enough for all of them at the moment.
"Ada will love Valinor, you know," Celebrían says to her mother quietly. "He will make a home of it quickly."
And that, perhaps, is where Galadriel's sour note comes from. Celeborn is not from Valinor. Galadriel was born here, with the light of the Two Trees reflected in her eyes, and part of her has always longed to return; Celeborn was born in Doriath, under the leafy boughs of its girdled trees, and he has never shown much interest in Valinor at all. He is sailing for her, Galadriel knows, and the thought of being the thing drawing Celeborn all the way across the sea is a very large one.
"He loves you, Naneth," Celebrían says, "and he loves our family, and he will love Valinor. He will love its trees and its rivers and its people. You know he can make a home anywhere."
"He has always been able to," Galadriel agrees, because her Celeborn is gentle and careful and kind, and he draws people to him like a moth to the flame. "And you are right, he will turn Valinor into a home. But when did you grow so wise, my little one?"
Celebrían laughs, and her silver hair sparkles in the sun as she tosses her head. "I have always taken after my father, and it was you who named him 'the Wise.'"
That was always at least halfway a joke, as Celebrían knows well. Galadriel may have inadvertently popularized the epithet, but she was not the first one to use it. It was used fondly in Doriath, and then reverently in Lindon and Eregion, and Galadriel had watched how her husband hated it, how the near-worship in the eyes of other elves sat awkwardly on his shoulders like an ill-fitting raiment. But she could not stop the epithet after it had begun, and so instead, she had begun to use it in her own way. The elves of Lindon would call Celeborn wise when he offered input on their plans for expansion on the other side of the mountains; Galadriel would say it with equally exaggerated reverence when he burnt their dinner because he had been trying something new and not paying enough attention to it. The elves of Eregion would call Celeborn wise as they pressed him into a place on their council; Galadriel would praise him equally grandly when, not yet fully awake, he almost tripped over a chair on his way out of bed. It was a familiar tease and, at times, a gentle reminder that he was being foolish, and the lightheartedness of it meant that the times it was said in earnest weighed on Celeborn less.
Celebrían knows all of this perfectly well, so Galadriel raises an amused eyebrow at her daughter and asks, "Shall I call you Celebrían the Wise, then? Next time you mix up two figures from First Age history and nearly send Fëanor into a fit?"
Celebrían rolls her eyes. "There are far too many Finwës to keep it all straight, and you know I've never been good with remembering names anyway."
"I can see them!" Elrond calls from the end of the pier. "Elladan and Elrohir are waving, and so is Celeborn!"
Celebrían takes her mother's hand and drags her forward. "Then we must wave back, surely."
The ship grows closer and closer, and as the figures on it become clearer and clearer, Galadriel can see the smile on her husband's face. Celeborn has never been particularly demonstrative in his emotions, at least not openly so, but he is beaming so widely that every elf in Valinor can likely see it.
And when the ship docks, when Elladan and Elrohir leap off and into their mother's waiting arms, Celeborn is close behind, and he lifts Galadriel and spins her before drawing her in for a lingering kiss, and for the first time in Ages, Valinor feels like home.
