History Lessons, The Second Age, by Nilmandra

Chapter 17: Celebrían

The day dawned bright under sunny skies, without a single cloud to darken the horizon. Elrond turned his face east, to soak in the morning light, but the ease and joy he received from Anor were less than he had expected. Turning his thoughts inward, he searched for any source of discord among his family. Finding none, he let himself drift deep into meditative thought, seeking to know if this discontent he felt was warning or foreknowledge of some event yet to come.

He sensed Galadriel's approach before she joined him. For a long while neither spoke. Then Galadriel broke the silence, using words, for neither seemed willing to bare their thoughts to the other.

“Many a year has passed since Ohtar rode into Imladris with the tokens of the House of Elendil,” she said softly.

Elrond turned slightly to look upon her, nodding slightly in agreement with her statement. Only three had escaped the disaster at the Gladden fields, where Isildur and his three oldest sons had perished. His gaze drifted back to the east, Anor now rising above the tops of the trees, shedding light upon the swift moving waters below him.

“Had the One been found by a person of power, we would feel the effects throughout Middle-earth. It has not been found,” she continued. “The hopes and ideals of Celebrimbor were not iniquitous, nor will the works touched only by his hand bear any evil. In time, one could learn to wield them as intentioned.”

Elrond continued to watch as the bright morning glow spread over the camp, now being dismantled in preparation for travel. The trunk of the dead oak lay to the side of the camp, its smaller branches having been cut and stacked for firewood, a gift to future travelers. A sudden vision flashed in his mind, of Elrohir crushed beneath the tree's weight, of the bodies of all four of those who had been in the tent laid out on biers, their souls having fled to Mandos's Halls.

“In the qualities of the sapphire, in the power of the Air, you are well chosen,” she finished.

She glided past him, the sleeve of her gown brushing against his arm. He felt the touch of her mind, her presence calming and refreshing, yet he knew beneath the surface of tranquility there resided a heart of unquenchable fire. He was witness to her love for her daughter and grandchildren, and the deep, thought at times tumultuous, passion she bore for Celeborn. Seldom in conflict, though usually of equal importance to her, were the duty and responsibility she carried for their people and Middle-earth. Yet she also desired power.

Turning, she faced him. “Someday we may be tested, though I too perceive that in this matter I would face the greater struggle. I do not plan to fail.”

He watched as she returned to camp, Arwen immediately rushing to her, looking for a companion to watch with her as the wagons were packed. His hand slid unconsciously down his side, the slight weight of the velvet bag attached beneath his clothing barely noticeable to his touch.

“Adar, will you come knock some sense. . . er, I mean, speak words of wisdom to Elrohir?” asked Elladan. “He thinks he is riding today.”

Elrond could not help but smile as he saw Elrohir standing before Glorfindel, Celebrían and Erestor, pleading his case. Not yet allowed to walk unattended, his attempts to prove his abilities were comical, as none would walk with him now. Elrond joined the small group, schooling his expression into one of placid neutrality to keep from joining the others in barely contained amusement.

“Good morning, Elrohir,” he greeted his son pleasantly, wrapping one arm about the younger elf's shoulders. “You appear to have rested well last night.”

“I did, Adar, thank you,” replied Elrohir, focusing his most charming smile and all of his attention on his father. Elrond knew when he was being manipulated by one of his children, but he played along nonetheless. “As a matter of fact, Adar, I feel so well this morning I believe I am able to ride. I feel much improved when I am upright.”

“Improved circulation, more blood to your head,” murmured Elrond in apparent agreement. He caught Glorfindel's eyes, the elf quickly catching on to his plan and moving silently to stand behind Elrohir. “Of course, there is more to riding than merely being upright. There are strength and balance to consider.”

As he spoke the words, Elrond tipped Elrohir slightly off balance by bumping into him while bending as if to pick up something from the ground. Elrohir grabbed for his sleeve, but Elrond moved just enough to make the grab mostly useless, leaning into Elrohir rather than balancing his weight. A panicked look crossed Elrohir's face as he began to fall. “Adar!” he cried.

Elrond did not react, but watched as Glorfindel deftly caught Elrohir and set him upright again, one arm wrapped about the young elf's waist to steady him. “I am sorry, Elrohir,” Elrond said, true condolence in his voice. “For today you will ride in the wagon and perhaps with one of us eventually, but not by yourself. Not yet. You expect too much of yourself if you think to not only master that cast in one day, but ride with it as well.”

Tears threatened Elrohir's eyes, but he managed to hold them in check as he nodded in response to his father. He drew in a deep breath, not meeting the eyes of those assembled around him, and turned to walk back to the campfire. Remembering he was not to walk alone, he stopped. Glorfindel squeezed his shoulders in understanding and walked with him back to the tent.

Elrond felt Celebrían's arm slip around his waist and leaned slightly into her. “He was so earnest, Elrond. Such a trial this has been for him!”

Elrond pulled her into his arms, his hands sliding down the length of her back and over the curve of her hip. He kissed her tenderly. “He has borne the trial well, all things considered. I am glad you are here, Celebrían, as he is better with you present.”

He felt her tense at his words and silently cursed himself for reopening that rift between them. While he was still deciding what to say to further explain his words, she relaxed against him, wrapping both arms about his neck and returning the kiss. I know what you meant. There is nowhere else I would rather be than with you and our children.

“Adar, Naneth, there is still one tent that has not yet been dismantled,” said Elladan helpfully as he moved past them.

Celebrían reached out with one hand, swatting him as he walked past. Elladan yelped, for she hit hard, and Elrond laughed. “See to the horses, Elladan! We are nearly ready to go.”

Elladan smiled, joy lighting his face, and Elrond felt his own heart lighten in response. He had not realized how subdued Elladan's personality had become during this trial, but in the last few days he had teased and prodded his twin and now his parents, evidence of a return of his good humor.

“He is your son,” he said to Celebrían.

Celebrían smiled with pride, turning her back to Elrond and leaning against him as she watched Elladan greet Garthon near the horses. “Yes, he is,” she agreed. “They are all mine. But I will share them with you.”

“Your generosity is one of the things I love best about you,” replied Elrond, but his interest was suddenly captured by the delicate ear so near his lips. “Although, this ear is very lovable too.”

Celebrían laughed and pulled away from both the lips that had captured her ear and the hands that had the rest of her. “That ear has a price, meleth-nín,” she teased.

“I will pay any price,” replied Elrond rashly. “Name the forfeit.”

“Negotiate publicly if you must, but save the rest for home,” said Celeborn dryly as he and Glorfindel walked past them. Glorfindel sidestepped Celebrían, giving her wide berth. “No swatting me,” he warned her, his eyes twinkling to match hers.

“He is scared of me,” Celebrían confided to Elrond as she grinned at Glorfindel. She leaned close to Elrond then, one hand slipping into the neck of his tunic as she whispered in his ear. Elrond knew his eyes widened and he could not help the smile that spread across his face. He looked up into the amused expression on Glorfindel's face.

“I think we should leave now,” Elrond managed. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we will be home.”

Glorfindel howled with laughter and Celebrían smiled wickedly as Elrond straightened his tunic and began walking away. Celeborn fell into step with him, guiding him towards the shore of the river where they would be alone, and Elrond knew the elf also had something he wished to say to him.

“In answer to your current thought, yes, my daughter has always had that rather wicked sense of humor,” began Celeborn. “We conceived her rashly and I think it became an inborn quality. She does, however, bring out the best in you.”

Elrond smiled. Yes, he did have to agree with that.

“I would counsel you, were I asked, to not use Vilya at all,” continued Celeborn. “Yet I sense that all of the Three will eventually be in use, and I even foresee that what is born of them will be for good. The cost to you will be great, Elrond. Bearing that kind of power, even when not used to dominate, carries its own price. The location of the rings should not be known by any but the bearers and those who would protect them.”

Elrond lifted his eyebrow in question at Celeborn, wondering if somehow his father-in-law knew what he and Glorfindel had spoken of the day prior.

“But among us, there should be no secrets. If you choose to use it, bear it wisely and seek good counsel as you learn to wield it. And,” finished Celeborn, “do not use it here.”

“I will heed your counsel,” replied Elrond. “I shall count upon your wisdom in the future. The days will not always remain as they are now.”

“No, they will not,” replied Celeborn. “In time, shadow will return.”

They returned to camp, the only evidence of their sojourn there the neatly stacked wood near the downed oak tree. Wagons were packed and the horses ready, waiting only for their riders.

Elrond could see the stubborn set to his son's jaw as Elrohir looked at the place made for him in the wagon. Elladan stood next to him, but there was no teasing between them now. Both twins looked aghast at the thought of Elrohir riding in the bed of a wagon.

“Adar, perhaps Elrohir could ride with me,” suggested Elladan.

Two sets of hopeful eyes met his, and Elrond glanced from them to the wagon and back. The wagons were not meant for riding on, not even by riders, for their horses did not need the guidance of reins. Yet, cook had made a comfortable nest on the wagon floor, with the feather mattress, cushions and pillows, and the bed he had made was high enough that a rider could see over the sides.

“I will ride with you, Elrohir, if you must go that way,” said Arwen resolutely. Elrond could see that even his daughter was not thrilled at the prospect.

He turned his gaze towards Elrohir, his son's face falling as he read the look in Elrond's eyes. Elrond felt pity fill him, and he nearly gave in, but he knew the pain would drive Elrohir to the wagon in a few hours regardless. “No, Elrohir,” he finally answered. “I know that you would be miserable after just a short time of riding, for your leg has not healed enough to withstand that.” He moved near his son and pulled him close, speaking words meant only for Elrohir's ears. “Let go of your pride, Elrohir. There is no shame in this.”

Elrohir drew in a great breath of air and held it for a moment, then exhaled and nodded. He accepted a hand from his father into the wagon and made himself comfortable on the bed. Arwen climbed in after him, crawling into his lap and wrapping her arms around him. Elrond latched the back of the wagon closed and mounted his own horse.

They set out, scouts having left earlier that morning to check the road they would follow, and it was a long party of elves that traveled the road south. The destruction of the storms was evident, with broken tree limbs and downed trees visible along the way. Several times on their morning journey they came across sections of the trail that were damaged, as if a flash flood had swept over the area, taking with it all the vegetation and much of the ground as it passed.

Elrohir and Arwen sat at times at the side of the wagon, elbows or forearms propped on the edge as they surveyed the damage. Elrond could hear only bits of their conversation, but Elrohir appeared to have a rapt audience in Arwen, who hung on his every word. They rested the horses at midday, and Elrohir and Arwen gladly climbed down from their perch. There was no argument when it was time to continue, and when Elrond next rode near the wagon both were lying on their stomachs, reading stories from a book that Erestor had sent over. A smile crossed his face when he realized they were reading out loud together, each taking on different voices of the characters they were playing. At one point he heard Elrohir growl and Arwen squeal, and much laughter followed.

Elrond grinned as Glorfindel and Elladan drew up on either side of him in haste. “They are storytelling,” he said, just loud enough for them to hear.

Celebrían's voice drifted back to them in song, and Glorfindel laughed with glee and spurred his horse forward to join her. His voice soon joined hers, and Elrond shook his head.

“It is the dwarven walking song!” cried Elladan. “We heard Naneth sing it only once when we were children, and when we asked her to sing again she said she forgot the words!”

“Your Naneth learned it from the dwarves when she was just a child, according to Celeborn, and he has not yet forgiven them,” replied Elrond. He smiled at Elladan. “It has been sung in the Hall of Fire, when dwarves have been our guests, but not in recent times.”

Elladan spun around to look at the wagon. “I do not think they have realized Naneth is singing yet,” he said, relieved.

“If you listen closely, only certain verses are being sung loudly,” noted Elrond.

Elladan began to laugh. “Adar, you and Naneth are so different! You are quiet and reserved, and she is vivacious and merry.”

Elrond felt warmth spread through him as he thought about his wife. He met Elladan's gaze and then looked forward to the head of the column where he could see Celebrían's silver hair shining in the sunlight. “You are like starlight and the quiet of evening, and Naneth is the bright glow of morning and birds singing,” said Elladan thoughtfully. “What made you fall in love with her, Adar?”

Elrond rode in silence for a moment as he thought of the first times he saw Celebrían. “I loved your naneth from the moment I saw her. I know that sounds like romantic nonsense, but it is true. I heard her laughter and saw her beauty. . . not just her outward beauty, either. Her eyes were warm and they twinkled, and she was kind to everyone she met.”

“Did you tell her right away?” asked Elladan curiously.

“No,” replied Elrond. “She was a breath of fresh air, like the coming of spring after a cold and dark winter. She came to Imladris with her parents, but when they left for Lindon she went with them.”

“Did she love you in return?”

Elrond smiled. “You will need to ask your naneth that question, Elladan. Gil-Galad sent me a letter saying a beautiful elleth had come to his court, but she was uninterested in anyone there. He told me she thought the King's herald surpassed them all in her measure of worthiness.”

“Adar, that is romantic!” exclaimed Elladan.

“Those were Gil-Galad's words, and he wished me married,” replied Elrond dryly. “I may have wished they were true, but I do not know if they were true or merely Ereinion's attempts to match make between us.”

“The High King played matchmaker?” asked Elladan, astonished.

“No,” laughed Elrond. “But he was my uncle and had helped raise me. He wished happiness for me and thought me too serious at times.” He fell silent and suddenly the horizon seemed blurry as he remembered Gil-Galad. “At Dagorlad, we were sitting together one night planning strategy for the battle. He sat back suddenly and looked at me and said, ‘Elrond, when this is over, go home and marry Celebrían. She is a fine maiden and will make a wonderful wife, mistress of Imladris and mother to your children.' Then he bent back over his map and resumed his studying of our battle plan for the next day.”

“He was right,” said Elladan.

“Gil-Galad was seldom wrong,” replied Elrond without hesitation.

Elladan was quiet for the rest of the afternoon, but as soon as they made camp for the night, he pounced on his mother. She was sitting next to her mother, with Arwen on her other side. Elladan swung Arwen up into the air and plopped down with her in his lap.

“Naneth, when did you know you were in love with Adar? What made you fall in love with him?” he asked without preamble.

Elrond watched the smile spread across Celebrían's face, and then she looked up and around, her gaze finally settling on him. He felt her presence through their bond, and then felt heat rising in his face as she began naming for him all the things she loved about him. He felt her laughter in response to his reaction; then suddenly he could hear her voice speaking again.

“I loved your Adar from the first moment I laid eyes on him,” Celebrían answered Elladan. She studied him for a moment. “Why do you ask, Elladan? Are you wondering if you are in love with someone?” She paused for a moment, seemingly thinking. “I saw you speaking to the daughter of . . . .”

“No, Naneth,” interrupted Elladan hastily. “I am not wondering about myself, but about you and Adar.”

“Hmmm…,” teased Celebrían, watching as Elladan blushed under her scrutiny. She laughed aloud then. “I will not ask more about her,” she said, to Elladan's visible relief. “You wished to know what made me fall in love with your adar? I think it will be difficult to name only one thing. He was handsome and wise, and he was unafraid of a challenge, for he was building Imladris into the beautiful home it has become. My parents thought highly of him, but I think it was his eyes that made me fall in love with him. He had the kindest eyes I had ever seen, eyes that met those of each one he spoke to with genuine warmth.”

“Naneth, if you loved Adar at first sight, and he says he loved you at first sight, why did you not tell each other?” asked Elladan, a slight note of exasperation in his voice.

“Elladan, the ever practical!” laughed Celebrían, but she sobered quickly. “Times were dark then, and the future was very uncertain. There was much planning occurring, for the defense of the realms and the alliance with Men. It was not a time to speak of our love, and indeed, I did not know of your father's love for me, nor he of mine, until later.”

Elladan turned his charming grin to his grandparents. “Daeradar, Daernaneth, tell us more about Naneth as a child, and tell us more about the Rings of Power. Naneth was just born when you found out that Sauron had made the One Ring.”

“Celebrimbor did eventually tell us,” began Galadriel, “though, in some ways, he betrayed and deceived us as well . . ..”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Celeborn was sprawled out on his back in the grass of the garden, Celebrían sitting astride him and bouncing up and down on his stomach. Raising his hips and lower back at the same moment she bounced up, he catapulted her forward, catching her in his arms and then throwing her above him and catching her on her descent. Celebrían's delighted screams filled the air.

“Do that again, Ada!” she cried. She looked up at the clear sky and bright sun and raised her arms, as if reaching for them. “Throw me to the sun and Arien will catch me!”

“Arien would see your pretty silver hair and think she had at last caught Ithil, and she would not wish to return you,” replied Celeborn as he lowered her to his chest. He blew a wet kiss on her cheek. “You are mine, princess.”

Celebrían giggled and returned a sloppy kiss. “You are mine, Ada.”

Galadriel watched them play for a few minutes longer, the message in her hand not forgotten, yet she felt a foreboding that once they had learned what the sender of the message wanted to speak to them about, their lives would be irrevocably changed. The idyllic scene before her seemed poised on the edge of a precipice.

She walked silently into the garden, a smile spreading across her face as Celebrían played with Celeborn's hair. Her fingers were not dexterous enough to weave ribbons into the crooked braids she was making, but she managed to tie a short pink ribbon to the end of one.

“Ada is pretty now,” she proclaimed. Her face lit with joy as Galadriel knelt down beside them. “Nana! Play with us?”

Galadriel laughed as Celebrían crawled into her arms and then pulled herself upright, standing on her mother's thighs and resting her hands on mother's shoulders. “Bri braid nana's hair?” she asked.

“I would be delighted,” replied Galadriel. She sat then, so Celebrían could stand next to her and begin her artistry. Celeborn sat upright next to her, taking the message she handed him. He read it through twice, then looked up at her.

“For nearly three years we have not seen nor heard from Celebrimbor. He hides in his compound, and his Mírdain say he works at night, alone in his workshop, and broods during the day. He has sent for many books from the library, scrolls about Melkor and Gorthaur. And he writes, but lets no one read the words he has scribed on to the many scrolls. He has declined to meet with us upon our request, and now he requests an audience with us. How do you read this?” asked Celeborn.

“Nana, you need white ribbons,” decided Celebrían.

Galadriel pulled a white ribbon from the sash at her waist and gave it to Celebrían before answering. “He was not well the day he came here. He wished to tell us something then, but he had been locked up for so long he had not realized we had a child, and her presence shocked him. I think we are going to learn whatever it was he meant to tell us that day.”

“He wishes for us to come to his workshop,” mused Celeborn as he scanned the message again. “That is an opportunity seldom afforded.” He reached out with long fingers to tickle his daughter. “Celebrían, would you like to play with Narusel?”

Between giggles caused by her father's questing fingers, Celebrían answered, “Yes, Ada! Play with Narusel!”

Celeborn and Galadriel gathered up their child, and a short time later appeared at the shopkeeper's door. He had elflings of various sizes with him today, and an older elleth was playing on the shop floor with Narusel. The older child stood and curtseyed as she recognized the lord and lady of the city, but Narusel saw only her friend. “Cebri!” she cried as she leapt to her feet and ran to meet the guests.

Celebrían nearly jumped from Celeborn's arms, and he released her somewhere near the ground. She landed with both feet running and ran into the arms of her friend. They hugged each other as they danced in circles. The shopkeeper smiled indulgently as the elflings danced around the older child.

“My brother's children are visiting,” explained the shopkeeper. “His eldest will enjoy having two to play with today. She delights in little ones.” He turned back to Celeborn, bowing slightly. “She will be well with us.”

“We thank you. Celebrían loves it here,” he replied. “We will send someone for her if it grows late.”

“Nay,” replied the shopkeeper. “She is welcome until you return, whenever that may be.”

Content that Celebrían was in good hands, Celeborn took a moment once they were out of her sight to remove the pink ribbon and crooked braid from his hair, then did the same for Galadriel. Celeborn looked at the ribbons he held in one hand, then at Galadriel. They both laughed.

“Now that we have our own child, I notice such things,” admitted Galadriel. “I see parents with interesting hair patterns and now I know they have little ones at home.”

They walked hand in hand to the compound of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, the gatekeeper opening the iron gate immediately and allowing them passage up the stairs and to the entrance of the compound. Another elf met them inside and led them through the maze of corridors, finally passing through another locked door, hewn of stone, so heavy that it took two nearby guards to push it open. Inside, Celebrimbor waited for them.

Galadriel nearly gasped at the sight of him. He was thin and unkempt, his dark hair limp and lifeless, even tangled in places. His clothing hung loose about him. Dark circles beneath his eyes were lessened by the look of resignation and despair within them. A slight sound escaped her as she reached to take his hand, but he pulled away from her and instead motioned for them both to sit.

Once they were seated, he opened the ornately carved chest that was before them. “Do not touch them,” he warned in a lifeless voice.

Galadriel held her breath as she looked at the exquisite rings before her. She had to consciously remind her fingers not to touch them, for the three begged to be held and caressed. Celebrimbor opened two other chests, one displaying nine rings and one six, with the seventh missing. Their workmanship was different than that of the three: they were beautiful, but they were outshone by the brilliance of the three.

Taking a deep breath, Celebrimbor began his story. He explained the origins of each ring, who had made them and their purpose, and he ended with what happened the day he came to their house. Throughout his long monologue, his voice monotone except for when he described the power of the Three, he held their eyes with his own.

“That is when he revealed himself, and I recognized him as Sauron, Gorthaur, and his plan was revealed to me.” He bowed his head. “I have learned all I can of his power; I have written down every step and thought and process used in the creation of the rings. I have analyzed it from every angle. I have tried every craft I know, every spell, to destroy the lesser rings. They cannot be destroyed. They cannot be used,” he finished.

Galadriel looked to Celeborn for the first time since the lecture had begun. He gripped her hand tightly, so much so that she had to reach her other hand over and loosen his grip. He had grown pale, as pale as she thought she was herself. His eyes flashing with anger, Celeborn was the first to speak.

“You are saying that Annatar is Sauron and that he resided within the city, under our noses, for several centuries, learning all you could teach him and you learning all the craft and magic he could teach you. Magic and craft you do not understand and cannot undo. Rings of power have been forged that cannot be destroyed, yet can both empower and enslave the bearer for eternity. One bearing the ring would not only become a slave, but a tyrant to any they held power over,” he said flatly.

“The Three will bear no evil, nor will they dominate or enslave their bearer,” repeated Celebrimbor tiredly. “But they cannot be used, for in their making some of Annatar's craft was used, and with the One he could lay bare the mind and heart of the one wielding it.”

“Where is Sauron now?” asked Celeborn, nearly spitting the name of the evil Maia in his contempt.

“I have sent out messages and messengers, seeking knowledge of where he is from, where he resides. To the east is all I know at this time,” answered Celebrimbor, rubbing his face with both hands.

“Who knows of these rings?” asked Galadriel in a tight voice.

“We three are the only ones who know the Three are completed. Perhaps five of my jewel-smiths know of the seven and the nine, and Sauron, of course.

Silence fell over the room as all stared in silent contemplation at the rings before them. Finally, Celeborn rose and Galadriel stood with him.

“I will be sending scouts out to determine where Sauron resides and how many serve him. Lock up these rings, well, Celebrimbor. Ensure no others learn of their existence,” growled Celeborn. “When we need to speak with you, you will see us immediately.”

Celebrimbor nodded in acceptance, and Galadriel saw relief in his face as well. She could almost pity him for having carried this burden alone for three years. As she looked deep into his heart and mind, she could feel the overwhelming despair and loss within him, and guilt as well. She could read his thoughts, for in his state he could not hide them. He had at times doubted Annatar's sincerity, the craft itself and the potential for evil, yet in his selfishness he had ignored all to further his own desires.

Turning, she walked with Celeborn from the room, past the locked door and long corridors, until they were finally in the sunlight again. They walked slowly, silent, as the full measure of all Celebrimbor had told them sunk into their minds. They were at the shop of Narusel's father only a few moments later.

“Ada! Nana!” cried Celebrían. She raced out to meet them, flinging herself into Celeborn's waiting arms. She wrapped her arms first around her ada, then reached to do the same to Galadriel. Galadriel saw the tears glistening in Celeborn's eyes as he released her, and she understood the depth and breadth of the many emotions racing through him. Her foresight told her that the implications of what Celebrimbor told them would change the world, rock its very foundations, before an end would be found. And into this time they had brought a child.

“She had dinner with us,” said Narusel's father as he strode toward them with his little daughter in his arms. “They had a grand time playing together and with Narusel's cousins. Celebrían is welcome anytime.”

If the shopkeeper saw any distress in their faces, he did not acknowledge it. They both thanked him and returned home with Celebrían.

* * *

Ten years later

“Naneth, Narusel and I are going to play in the fountain!” called Celebrían as she flew past Galadriel's desk without pause.

“Celebrían!” Galadriel called. She waited until her small daughter had returned to stand before her, and still did not speak until she stopped rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet in anticipation of running. She smiled as she looked the child over. Her hair was bound back with clips, keeping it fairly neat, and she was clean.

“Are these more comfortable to play in?” she asked, tugging lightly on what looked like a skirt, but was really leggings with a fabric overlay. Narusel's mother had conceived the idea after watching their daughters hang upside down with their skirts about their faces and their underthings plainly seen.

“Yes, Nana,” responded Celebrían, twirling slightly to make the skirt flare out.

Galadriel smiled at her daughter's grin. She still loved her ribbons and pretty things, but she liked to play and chase with the ellon at the fountain as well. Narusel's mother was a very practical elf, agreeing that their daughters should look respectable but also wishing for them to have adventures in their play. Most of the young elleth were now wearing similar garments as they played, propriety intact and the elleth not deprived.

She sat back in her chair and waited. Celebrían looked at her curiously, then a sudden giggle burst from her. She stood up straight and looked her mother in the eye. “Please, Nana, may I go to the fountain with Narusel? I will be home in time for dinner.”

“Yes, Celebrían, you may. Only to the fountain or Narusel's home, though,” replied Galadriel, as she kissed the child on the forehead.

“I promise, Nana!” cried Celebrían as she raced out the door.

Galadriel returned to her map as the sound of her daughter's footsteps faded away. Scouts left for months and even years at a time, seeking knowledge of Sauron and learning the location of his stronghold. Thus far they had accumulated little hard information. The Men of Númenor were making more settlements along the coast. The Haradrim had thus far ignored their attempts at friendship, although some of the Easterlings had treated with them. The Easterlings were not friends of many of the villages of men, having made several sorties into the west in recent years.

Messengers sent to Amdir and Oropher had returned without news; neither had heard rumor of a new shadow rising. Galadriel and Celeborn had argued over how much to tell these two kings, and finally Galadriel had won and nothing had been said. How could they explain that they only knew their old enemy had reappeared and had a ruling ring of power? They didn't know anything about his size, strength, location or plans. To Gil-Galad though, she had conceded that the truth should be told. Tasked with drafting the message that would be carried to him, she stared at the nearly blank parchment as she again perused the map. Her desire was that she would have answers, or at least facts, to give as well as the tale of Celebrimbor's folly. How did they assess this potential threat? How did they plan?

Precautions had been taken, though, for the city. The children did all play within the city walls, walls now reinforced and guarded. More elves were trained as warriors, and the smiths had made more swords of late than any other craft. Questions had been raised within the city, wondering about whether a threat was growing or rumor of war had come. Celeborn had been hard pressed at times to explain that while they did not have knowledge of an exact threat, they had reason to believe there was one. They could not keep their people on a state of alert without giving them more information, either.

Many times they had returned to the Gwaith-i-Mírdain to speak to Celebrimbor.

“Does Sauron need the seven and the nine?” Celeborn had asked. “Can he create rings of his own, rings made of his own hand that he can give to whom he chooses?”

Celebrimbor had answered indecisively, agreeing it was possible for Sauron to do this. He even proposed it was probable Sauron would do this. More and more, though, his mind drifted and he veered off on tangents that seemed irrelevant to the question asked. At times he thought Sauron would ignore them and go off to the east, to use what he had learned there. At times he recalled Sauron's hatred of Númenor, and thought he would turn his attention there. Seldom did he think that Sauron would return. Mostly he mourned the inability to use the Three, the pride of his career.

Galadriel marked on the map where the latest scouts had been sent, then laid down the quill, the letter again not started. She wished to tell Gil-Galad all; she just wished she knew what ‘all' entailed.

A commotion at the doorway caught her attention, and she rose to see who had come, when the front door was opened and a small mud-covered child entered. Behind her stood one of Celeborn's guards, himself quite wet and a little muddy as well.

“Celebrían?” asked Galadriel in disbelief.

The small figure hung her head and would not meet her mother's eyes. Galadriel looked to the guard, her eyebrow arching in question. He bowed, and then answered. “A disagreement at the fountain, my lady, that overflowed into the garden where the gardeners were spreading new soil.” Galadriel sniffed delicately. “The soil was amended with fertilizers, my lady.”

“Indeed,” she answered calmly. She looked upon the guard, who clearly wished to be anywhere but returning children to their naneths. “Thank you for escorting her home.”

The guard fled.

“Celebrían, go out to the garden. I will speak with you out there.” Galadriel waved her back outside. She returned to her own chamber, exchanging her gown for old trousers and tunic, and enlisted a maid to carry a metal tub outside. She found Celebrían standing forlorn in the middle of the garden, not touching anything, as the maids filled the tub with water.

“Take your clothes off and set them on the grass,” she directed. As Celebrían disrobed, Galadriel was hard pressed not to laugh as patches of white skin appeared amidst the black mud covered areas. Galadriel filled a bucket with water, felt some regret that it was cold, and dumped it over Celebrían's head. A muffled shriek came from the dripping mass, but two buckets later she was fairly clean. “Now in the tub.”

Celebrían climbed in the tub, sighing at the relative warmth, for the maids had warmed some of the water. Galadriel knelt down and began soaping and scrubbing.

“Now I am finally sure you are my Celebrían,” she said as she set the rinse bucket down for the last time. She titled up Celebrían's chin and turned her face slightly. “Why is your face bruised?”

“Someone kicked me,” muttered Celebrían.

Galadriel stood and held out a towel, which she wrapped around Celebrían when she stood. She rubbed her briskly and then sat down with Celebrían in her lap. “Now tell me what happened.”

Celebrían hung her head, but at Galadriel's prodding finally began to speak. “One of the ellyn said that Adar is making everyone into warriors and making Ost-in-Edhil into a fortress for no reason. Another ellon said Adar did it because he was so old he forgot the war was long over.”

“Hmm…” answered Galadriel as she worked a comb through the tangled hair. “How did you respond to that?” She had to bite her lip, then, when her animated daughter began to give her the details.

“He is not old, and he has reason for doing what he does,” I said.

“He is too old and he forgets things. It happens in men all the time but only in REALLY old elves,” said the ellon.

“Take it back!” I said

“No!” said the ellon.

“Stop saying things about my adar or I will make you eat dirt!” I said.

“You are only an elleth! Besides, I am much bigger than you,” said the ellon.

Celebrían was quiet for a moment, so Galadriel prodded her again, “So you did what then?”

“I pushed him in the dirt,” answered Celebrían. “Then his friend pushed me, so Narusel pushed him. We were all already wet.”

“I see,” managed Galadriel, the cost of not laughing nearly making her snort. “How did it end?”

“The guard came and told us to stop fighting, so we did. But then the dumb ellon pulled my hair, so I shoved him into the manure. Then another guard came and one took me and Narusel home and another took the ellyn home.”

Galadriel finished combing the tangles out of the hair of her unrepentant daughter, and then turned the child to face her. “Now what shall we do with you?”

Celebrían twisted the towel between her fingers, her eyes suddenly interested in everything but her mother's face. “I think I should be sent to my room.”

“I think that would be a fine place for you to stay until your adar comes home and he and I discuss this,” answered Galadriel. She felt no guilt at her hope that Celeborn would think of a suitable punishment, although she might be able to do so herself by evening. At the moment, however, she thought the manure pile an adequate place for the small ellon.

She set Celebrían on her feet and wrapped the towel more snugly around her, and then watched the small figure trudge towards the house. Her footsteps became slower and slower, and finally she turned to look at the mother, tears in her eyes. Galadriel walked quickly to her daughter and scooped her up in her arms, and carried her instead to her own chamber. There she settled into the rocking chair where she had nursed her daughter as an infant, and let her cry as she rocked her to sleep. She then put Celebrían in her own bed and resumed her work.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Arwen was staring at her mother aghast, while Elladan and Elrohir were nearly falling over with laughter. Celeborn was grinning and Galadriel just appeared serene. Elrond looked again at his wife and nearly choked on his own laughter at the completely unrepentant look on her face.

“They really did have it coming,” she said primly.

Elladan and Elrohir burst into gales of laughter again.

“Naneth, did you get punished?” asked Arwen, her eyes darting from her mother to her grandparents.

“Narusel and I had to apologize to the ellyn and they had to apologize to us,” answered Celebrían. Her eyes flashed briefly. “They did not say unkind things about my adar again.”

A flash of light in the slowly darkening sky caught their attention.

“Another storm,” said Erestor, already on his feet. He began scanning the camp, determining the safest places for them to take shelter. His gaze settled on Elrohir, who stood up on his good leg, the crutch used with skill to help him jump a few feet. “I can move this time,” he promised.

The stories over, they prepared the camp to withstand another storm.

* * * * *

Gorthaur------------------ the Sindar name for Sauron
Ellon/ellyn--------------- young male elf/elves
Elleth/ellyth---------------young female elf/elves

 

Chapter 18: Scouting

Morning of day 14 somewhere along the Hoarwell River

Rain fell steadily as the elves began another day's travel. During the night, torrential downpours had loosened tent stakes, and one of the tents of the Silvan guard had collapsed on top of them and slid partially down the slippery incline. A wrestling match had begun amidst much laughter as the guards had difficulty extricating themselves from the tangled mess and setting the tent back on level ground. While all had found humor in their predicament, the continuing rain meant that the tent and belongings of those who had been inside had no opportunity to dry.

The wagons were covered with tarps, and the arched boughs that formed the removable skeleton for the wagon that held Elrohir's bed were high enough that he could sit upright under the covering with ease. Erestor had seen him looking at Elrond with pleading eyes, but he had not argued at the curt shake of his father's head. He had crawled dejectedly into the wagon, but his easy smile had returned when Arwen slid in next to him. The elfling was smart enough to realize they would have the better day beneath the dry tarp, rather than sitting atop a horse with water running off their hooded capes like small waterfalls. She immediately pulled out her books and paper and pencils and coaxed her brother into drawing with her.

Erestor's eyes next searched for Elrond and Celebrían. He found them riding in front of the wagon, both shrouded in long hooded capes. Glorfindel and Elladan rode on either side of the horse pulling the wagon. Satisfied that the line was properly ordered, and knowing that Celeborn and Galadriel's guard were seeing to their welfare, he rode to the front of the line just as one of the advance scouts returned.

“Captain,” the elf reported to Athranen as he pushed his hood back slightly, “there is another washout a half league ahead. The incline is steep. Even our horses had difficulty near the area, and we did not cross.”

Erestor listened as the scout described the terrain near the washout. The path was running parallel to the river, and the incline down to the river was steep. Washouts on the path were becoming more common and more treacherous. The young scout pushed his hood back further, revealing soaked hair, and as Erestor looked closer at the elf he noted that mud covered his boots and trousers, and there were dark splotches on his cloak as well. The pattern suggested the elf had slipped and fallen, not something he would care to admit, yet if he could barely make it on foot, how would the wagons fare?

“We will need to travel west to find a way to get both horses and wagons around this,” the scout finished.

Athranen nodded, then let forth with a short chirping whistle. Glorfindel appeared moments later. When Athranen had finished outlining the problem, Glorfindel looked around at the elves who had gathered to hear the news. He was just about to speak when an elf stepped forward.

“We will find a way,” interrupted the Silvan elf.

Elladan and Garthon exchanged smiles. “We will find a better way,” replied Elladan boldly.

The Silvan guards grinned with unabashed glee at this challenge from their Imladris counterparts. They had laughed at themselves over the tent incident the night before and had not minded the Imladris elves laughing with them, but a chance to prove their worth over their friends was clearly welcome.

Celeborn stepped forward. “A competition, then! However, the terrain is dangerous and we have a child with us. The route which is safest and shortest wins.”

Erestor watched the two groups of elves depart, their laughter and teasing finally fading as they raced on ahead. He could still hear some of their words as they split, bets being placed as to who would win the contest. He could not help but smile.

The rain was ending and the sun peeking through the clouds when Erestor turned to Athranen. “I will ride on ahead to have a look at the wash out.” With a nod, he set out.

* * *

“Are we placing bets?” asked Celeborn as he walked back to the wagon where the rest of the party had gathered.

“Yes,” answered Athranen. “I am, of course, betting on the Imladris warriors.”

“Then I shall, of course, bet for the Silvans!” cried the cook as he stepped forward. He smiled at Celebrían and then, lifting her hand, kissed it. “Not that the son of dear Celebrían and the twin of our Elrohir will lose! But, I must be faithful.”

Celebrían laughed at the comical cook. Turning, she looked to her parents. “Naneth, Adar, place your bet.”

Celeborn grinned, his eyes meeting Elrond's and then Glorfindel's. They began laughing as well, eyes twinkling, and finally Glorfindel spoke. “I vote for Erestor.”

There was silence; then Elrond laughed again. “Erestor.”

Celeborn smiled at the remaining members of their guard. “I must bet that Erestor will win as well.”

“Erestor?” asked Elrohir, confused. He looked around at the group and realized that Erestor was indeed gone. “Did he go with Elladan?” When Glorfindel shook his head, Elrohir asked, “Should he be out there alone?”

The three elves laughed at him. Elrond finally drew in a deep breath to control himself and sat on the wagon edge, reaching to tweak Arwen's braid. “Erestor will have found and prepared the way and we will be over it, before either of the other two groups returns.”

“Erestor?” asked Elrohir again.

“Yes, Erestor,” answered Glorfindel, finally containing his own mirth. “Erestor is one of the best scouts in Middle-earth, Elrohir, and there was a time when no one knew these lands better than him.”

“Erestor?” repeated Elrohir in disbelief, voicing what many around him were thinking.

Glorfindel gently swatted him on the head. “Quit repeating yourself, elfling,” he laughed. “When Sauron attacked Eregion in the Second Age, Gil-Galad sent Elrond to aid the elves here. Erestor was the scout that planned the route Elrond would follow; he scouted the way that led us into battle, and when we were overrun, it was Erestor who found the hidden valley where we built Imladris.”

Elrohir's eyes were wide with incredulity. “Erestor?” he cried, stunned.

Glorfindel sighed at Elrond. “You smack him. I am clearly not getting through to him.”

“But Erestor is . . . is . . .,” stuttered Elrohir.

“Erestor is what?” asked Glorfindel, teasing.

“But he runs Imladris; he advises Adar; he doesn't do… that ,” said Elrohir.

Elrond laughed as he patted Elrohir on the back. “Erestor does indeed do that , and very well, I might add.”

A whistle caught their attention, and with wide grins Glorfindel and Athranen started the group moving again. They had gone nearly a quarter mile when Glorfindel suddenly veered them to the left, following a cunningly marked trail that could hardly be seen. The trail turned toward the river for a short way, then resumed south. They came to a spot that showed evidence of a heavy flow of water, but a rock abutment kept the path from being destroyed. Branches had been placed in the mud for traction, and Glorfindel carefully led the horse drawing the wagon through the area. Eventually the trail took a turn to the west again, and they found Erestor waiting for them on the main path.

* * *

Erestor watched until the entire group was back on the main path, and then with a nod at the again chuckling Glorfindel, he headed west to check on the two groups of elves who were still looking for the best way around the washout. He came across the Silvans first, neatly snaring the first elf to run past him. The elf found himself flat on his back, looking up into the dark eyes of the Imladris advisor. Sitting up, he brushed himself off, although he was now very wet from his roll in the damp grass, and growled at Erestor. “How did you do that?” he finally asked.

Erestor smiled as he held out his hand to the elf, then pulled the guard to his feet. “You were not thinking of danger around you, only of reaching the prize.”

The elf scowled. “The only danger on this trip has been the weather.”

Erestor located the Imladris warriors next. To their credit, they had posted a guard as they prepared the trail they would use, cutting aside some brush and leveling out the ground over one uneven spot. He moved in silence to where the guard stood. In a training game, he would clap his hand over the elf's mouth and restrain him bodily. A grin tugged on his lips as he considered the look of surprise that would cover Elladan's face. Giving in to temptation, he whispered, “Hello, Elladan.”

Elladan jerked in surprise, his eyes opening wide, but a moment later he was flat on his back on the ground, the wind knocked out of him, staring up at Erestor. Erestor smiled, giving the young elf a moment to catch his breath, and then pulled him to his feet.

“Everyone is waiting for you,” he said pleasantly.

“Why did you sneak up on me?” asked Elladan, bewildered. He reddened. “ How did you sneak up on me? I did not hear anything and I had looked that direction just a moment earlier!”

Erestor wrapped an arm about Elladan's shoulder, patting his arm consolingly. “Yes, you had. I merely waited until your back was turned.”

Elladan groaned in dismay as Erestor led them back to the path.

* * *

As soon as they stopped to rest the horses and eat, Elladan flopped on the rear gate of the wagon. Elrohir was just sliding himself to the end to climb out, and he looked at his twin in amusement.

“Erestor caught me off guard and then flattened me,” said Elladan sulkily.

Elrohir nodded knowingly at him. “That is what one might expect from one such as Erestor,” he answered sagely.

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Elladan, his eyes narrowing.

“Stealth had to be one of his greatest assets, I would think. He spent so much time alone in the wild. I am sure he could take anyone unaware and slip by any he did not wish to know of his presence,” mused Elrohir.

“What are you talking about?” cried Elladan.

“Really, Elladan, you should have paid more attention in lessons. Surely you remember that Erestor was the greatest scout of the Second Age, planning the route of Adar's army to Eregion and the retreat north to what is now Imladris?” replied Elrohir innocently. “He knows these lands like the back of his hand.”

Elladan stared at him dumbly. “We did not learn that,” he argued. “I would have remembered!”

Elrohir shook his head sadly. “Sometimes you really were daydreaming, Elladan. You missed out on some good tales.”

A look of confusion crossed Elladan's face as he considered their lessons and searched back in his mind for all he knew about Erestor. He recalled Erestor teaching them at times, but certainly no lessons were about him. Suddenly, a thought came to Elladan. He concentrated fully on his brother, touching his mind to his twin's. He immediately felt Elrohir's mirth and then, a moment later, Elrohir recognized his presence and reached back to him.

Elladan found himself torn between the excitement of exploring the bond with his twin and an overwhelming desire to flatten Elrohir. His baser desire won out.

“Ai!” he cried, pushing Elrohir down on to the bed and pinning him there. “Goblin-breath! Orc-bait!”

Elrohir began to laugh, not struggling at all against Elladan's weight pinning him to the mattress. His whole body shook and tears ran down his face. “You call me gullible! I just learned the story from Glorfindel a short while ago, while you were off looking for a way around the washout.” Elrohir hiccupped, which only made him laugh harder. “You should see the look on your face!”

Elrohir's laugh was infectious. Elladan was unable to stop from joining him, and he finally collapsed on the bed next to his twin. Finally calming themselves, they looked up when a shadow fell over them and saw Erestor looking down upon them.

“There is food ready; you may join everyone when you decide to stop behaving like elflings,” He paused, then reached over Elrohir to brush some dirt off the mattress. “Elladan, you are dirty. Get off the bed and go get cleaned up.” As Elladan sat up, snorting as he attempted not to laugh again, Erestor tugged on his cloak. “You look like you rolled in a pile of muddy leaves.”

This was too much for Elladan, for, after all, it was Erestor who had knocked him to the ground on the muddy leaves. He burst into laughter again, then crawled to the end of the wagon. He grabbed Elrohir's crutch and then tugged on his twin's good leg.

“C'mon,” he snorted. “I will help you.”

The two walked away, still giggling like elflings. Elladan looked back over his shoulder once to see Erestor straightening up the bed and smoothing out some of Arwen's papers that they had crushed. The advisor was pristine, no mud or leaves on him, and his eyes met Elladan's for just a moment. Erestor winked and then walked off in the other direction.

* * *

The skies remained clear that afternoon. Cook had pushed the tarp over the wagon forward, exposing over half of the bed to the open air. Elrohir had felt his spirits lift for a moment, glad for the sun and glad to be able to more clearly see and hear what was happening around him. Still, he felt melancholy, all the more so because Celeborn had just come by for Arwen. She had been torn, deciding if she should ride with her daeradar or stay with her brother. Elrohir had finally swallowed hard and told her to go. After all, he could hardly admit he was jealous of his twelve-year-old sister. He rested his chin on his arms, which were folded over the edge of the wagon, and closed his eyes.

“Elrohir.”

Elrohir opened his eyes at the sound of his father's voice and looked into eyes warm and full of compassion. He knew his own eyes reflected his melancholic mood, but he made no effort to hide it from Elrond. His father knew him too well for that.

“We have an hour's journey left today. Do you wish to ride with me?” asked Elrond.

“Yes, Adar!” he exclaimed. He also made no attempt to hide his enthusiasm. Elrond knew him too well for that as well.

Elrond called for the horse pulling the wagon to halt, then slide from his horse and lowered the rear gate of the wagon. Elrohir had already crawled back and he slid to the ground, using the wagon for balance. He eyed the horse enthusiastically, patting him on the neck and whispering to him, then suddenly realized he had no idea how to mount him.

“Does your leg ache today?” asked Elrond

“No, Adar,” lied Elrohir. He met his father's eyes and smiled sheepishly. “It aches a little, but it's the ache that is always there.”

Elrond checked the cast and let Elrohir move around a bit, then whistled. Glorfindel appeared immediately, dismounting and coming to join them.

“I think I will mount first, and then you can lift Elrohir up to me,” explained Elrond. “He cannot put his weight on the cast, and I want the good leg first.”

Glorfindel grinned as he looked Elrohir up and down. He bent down and without a word, picked Elrohir up and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of grain, albeit a fragile sack of grain. Elrohir felt himself passed up to his father and then he was sliding down on to the back of the horse.

Elrohir wriggled a little, feeling decidedly off balance. The weight of the cast caused him to have to use the muscles of the thigh of that leg more to compensate, and suddenly he wondered if this was such a good idea. The cast also did not allow him to ride in proper position and the stallion whinnied softly as the unfamiliar cast pressed into his side. He was just about to admit his misgivings to his father when Elrond slid his leg between the horse and Elrohir's cast, gently supporting the cast and keeping it from rubbing against the stallion's side. Elrohir finally relaxed against his father as Elrond repeated the movement on the other side. The position literally made Elrohir recline against his father, and he laughed.

“Now I really do feel like an elfling. My leg is too weak for me to ride alone,” he admitted ruefully.

Elrond wrapped an arm about his son's waist, holding him comfortably against his chest. “I will not let you fall.”

Elrohir sighed and allowed himself to fully relax and enjoy the ride. He did enjoy being upright and being able to easily see all happening around him, and the smile that covered his face refused to fade.

They reached the site of the night's camp a little over an hour later. Tents had already been erected, in hopes of drying out from the previous night and in anticipation of more rain. Elrohir could smell dinner cooking, and the voice of the cook could be heard, issuing orders and speaking animatedly with those assisting him. Elrohir was so relaxed that when Elrond stopped the horse, he just sat in place, gazing contentedly around him.

“Wake-up, Elrohir,” teased Elrond, gently shaking him.

“Thank you, Adar,” replied Elrohir gratefully. “Riding was wonderful.”

* * *

Glorfindel sat down next to Erestor as dinner was being served. Across from them, the Silvan guards and the Imladris warriors were all eyeing Erestor with suspicion. Glorfindel watched, amused, as Erestor met their gazes unflinchingly until the younger elves finally looked away.

“Keep that up and the elflings will believe you intend to eat them alive,” he finally said in a low voice.

Erestor smiled at him. “The elflings will learn to pay more attention next time.”

“You believe that they could learn to sense your approach? That you can bested?” asked Glorfindel in mock surprise.

“Perhaps,” answered Erestor placidly.

Elladan leapt neatly over the log they were reclined against, landing next to Erestor soundlessly. He said nothing for a few moments, then turned slightly so that he could look Erestor in the eye.

“Erestor, Elrohir and I were just talking about how little we know about you,” he admitted. “Would you tell us more about how you became a scout and what you did in Eregion?”

“When we come to the right time in the story, I will tell you about the war in Eregion as I saw it,” agreed Erestor amiably.

Elladan smiled, but the smile faded as he thought a little more. “But how did you become a scout? Why? Who trained you?”

“The story is not that interesting, Elladan,” said Erestor modestly. “Suffice it to say that a green elf taught me much of what I know of stealth and how to move creatively, quietly and quickly. The wisest of the Noldor taught me strategy. I did what was asked of me.”

Elladan still wasn't satisfied, but when he opened his mouth again to speak, Erestor cut him off. “Ask your daeradar and daernaneth to continue the story where they left off. First, though, go help your brother before he falls and breaks his other leg.”

Elladan turned to see Elrohir trying to hobble into the circle where everyone was seated and moved quickly to assist him. That Elrohir was tired and uncomfortable was obvious to everyone, and Celebrían motioned for Elladan to help him sit down next to her. Celeborn appeared with cushions on which he could prop Elrohir's casted leg. Finally comfortable, Elrohir's color improved and he smiled when his grandfather sat down beside him.

“We will be carrying him to his bed,” bet Glorfindel.

Erestor nodded in agreement as he watched Elrond bring Elrohir a flask of miruvor, and then Galadriel knelt before her grandson, touching her hands to his head and heart, strengthening him. “Amazing how he has everyone waiting on him hand and foot.”

Glorfindel snorted. Including you , he thought. Before he could consider an appropriate witty reply though, Celeborn began speaking, for Elrohir had asked him to continue.

“Many years did go by before we learned anything of Sauron's stronghold or his plans. . ..”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

SA 1635 (Celebrían is about 34 years old, or physically picture a 13 year old).

The knock on the door came in the early evening. The servant who responded returned a moment later, the captain of the guard behind her. He bowed politely.

“Lord Celeborn, I have the report from the scout who returned yesterday,” said the captain of the city guard.

Celeborn took the parchment and waved his captain to a seat nearby as he began to scan the document. He shifted to the side, allowing room for Galadriel to sit on the arm of the chair and read alongside him. There was silence for a short time as they each reread certain segments, then Celeborn asked, “Is he here?”

The captain nodded and rose, returning a moment later with the scout.

Celeborn looked over the elf, noting that his skin had darkened slightly and he appeared leaner than when he had left years earlier. The elf bowed and then sat as Celeborn waved him to a chair across from them. Celeborn could not help but notice that he seemed slightly uncomfortable on the silk covered chair and remembered how he had felt when he first slept in a real bed after returning from a years-long campaign.

“I trust you have eaten and rested,” began Celeborn. “Your service to this realm is appreciated.”

The elf nodded in acknowledgement.

“The route you followed was long and winding,” continued Galadriel, moving directly into her questions. “You first reported a patrol of orcs near the Ephel Dúath, south of the White Mountains. Did you see evidence of any further north? Any estimate of the size of the population in those areas?”

The scout straightened up immediately, his eyes flicking from Celeborn to Galadriel. “That is the furthest north I saw orcs,” he replied, his eyes following Galadriel as she stood and moved to a desk across the room. She pulled out a large rolled scroll, and then returned to where they were seated, opening the map out on the table between them. He slid gracefully from his chair, kneeling before the low table. Taking the pencil she handed him, he drew as he spoke. “Here is where I saw the patrol. I followed them north around the Ash Mountains, but did not see more of them or their kind. The lands to the east were bare and unkind, so I returned to follow the Anduin south. I saw Men to the south and east, and here along the coast I saw Men in conversation with Orcs. I could not make out any of their discussion except that soon they would be traveling north.”

The sound of paper shifting caught Celeborn's attention, and he looked away from the map to the small table and chair where Celebrían sat. Intent on her embroidery, she did not seem to be listening to their conversation. A small smile tugged on his lips as he considered that she was likely busy planning her next day's play. With enough children near the same age in the city, a tutor was employed to teach the group. After lessons, they often played together, and Celebrían seemed to have taken on the role of leader of the ellyth. Games ranged from dress up and painting to exploring and tree climbing. With the latter activities, the ellyn often joined them, but Celebrían had not forgotten that the leader of the ellyn had once teased her and she did not follow him.

Celeborn turned his attention back to the scout and the map he was enhancing with details learned on his journey. He would normally have sent Celebrían to her room, but her attention was clearly elsewhere.

“The Men to the east are recognizable by several things, not the least of which is their sword,” the scout was saying. “It is curved in a graceful arc, much different than the sword of the orc. With one slashing movement, one can remove the head of one's opponent. They also carry long bows, heavier than those of the Silvan elves and less graceful, but no less deadly or effective, especially at long distances.”

“Orcs and Men do not serve together out of choice, but of duty to the same lord,” mused Celeborn. “Of all you have reported, I believe this fact alone is evidence that Sauron is at work.”

“Though for what purpose he leads them we do not know,” reminded Galadriel. “Sauron is long rumored to have lived among the Men of the east and Orcs have always been his servants. That they are serving the same master is not unexpected. If we had evidence they were moving north or west, then we could suspect that Sauron's motives were to harm those who lived in these lands.”

“Orcs patrol the Ephel Dúath,” repeated the scout. “They do not guard only the mountains, but what they might protect beyond them, I could not see or learn of.”

They spoke to the captain and the scout for another hour before excusing them for the evening.

“We will continue to gather intelligence,” said Celeborn finally. “There is naught else to do but learn of the whereabouts and plans of the enemy, for they may not involve us as you rightly reminded us.”

“His plans involve us,” answered Galadriel softly. “I cannot see when or how, but Sauron will neither forget us nor what he crafted here.”

“Naneth, I have finished this part,” interrupted Celebrían. She proudly held out her work for her mother to see, the gaily-colored threads showing the sun rising over the mountains.

“Your color choices are commendable,” praised Galadriel as she inspected the work. “Your stitches here are a little crooked, though. Turn your work next time so you aren't stitching so near the hoop and it will be easier.”

“Yes, Naneth,” answered Celebrían as she rotated the hoop as her mother suggested, her keen eye already seeing the benefit.

“Go now and prepare for bed,” said Galadriel as she kissed her daughter on the forehead.

Celebrían turned to her father next, and Celeborn felt the rush of warmth that he experienced whenever he saw his child. “Adar, will you come tell me a story?”

Celeborn smiled at her. “I will. What would you like to hear about tonight, my daughter? I will think on it while you find your nightgown and wash up.”

Celebrían thought for a moment, finally turning her head to the side as she looked at her father. “The War of Wrath, Adar, and how you and the king and the Valar defeated Morgoth and orcs and dragons.”

Celeborn's eyes widened in surprise, for he had expected she would again wish to hear the Lay of Lúthien or tales of Doriath. Just entering the bloom of maidenhood, she still played as a child but glimpses of the lady he knew she would become were beginning to show through in the stories she wished to hear. He merely nodded, though, and she kissed him on the cheek before skipping off to her room.

* * *

“Lord Celeborn, Lady Galadriel requests your presence at the city fountain,” announced the guard at the door.

Celeborn looked up from the report and maps he was studying. The more he had pondered the scout's report, the more he had decided that whatever lay east beyond the Ephel Dúath was of importance and should be explored. He shook his head to clear it of the thoughts of the scouting expedition he was pondering sending into those lands and stood, nodding to the guard as he did so. His curiosity was piqued, for it was seldom that Galadriel requested him to immediately join her.

He could see the gathering of elves at the fountain, Galadriel's height and golden tresses making her easy to find in the crowd. Several guards were nearby, but Celeborn could not tell if they were keeping the order or merely observing. The crowd parted as he made his way to Galadriel.

Standing beside his wife was his daughter. A dark smudge was visible on one cheek, her hair was mussed and her dress torn in one place. Yet she held Galadriel's hand tightly, not as a child caught in wrongdoing, but as a child afraid. Celeborn heard an elf speaking as he moved to stand next to Celebrían, sheltering her between her parents.

“Children do not play such games idly, Lady Galadriel,” said the elf boldly. “Why would your daughter play we were under attack by Sauron and his men and orcs if there was not a threat?”

Celeborn felt his heart sink as he thought of the conversation held the night before in their home. Celebrían had been present, but had seemed engrossed in her embroidery. He might otherwise have blamed her play on the story he had told of the War of Wrath, but he would not lie, especially not in front of his child. He turned to the guards.

“Call a meeting for this night in the Great Hall at sundown.” He turned to the elf who had been speaking, at the same time he felt Celebrían wrap both arms about his waist and bury her face into his side. He stroked her hair as he answered. “All of your questions will be answered there.”

The elf nodded stiffly; then, taking a small ellon by the hand he led him away. The child, who dragged a play wooden sword behind him, turned back once to look at Celebrían, waving goodbye to her.

The crowd slowly dispersed, but their tension was obvious. As they moved away, murmuring began and Celeborn could not hear individual words so much as the tone of fear and suspicion. “Let us go home,” said Celeborn.

Celebrían walked between them, holding both of their hands. Celeborn felt something sticky on his fingers, and lifted her hand to look at it. There was a bleeding cut on one finger.

“What did you do to your finger, Celebrían?” he asked as he pulled out a handkerchief to wrap around it. As he looked at her, he realized the smudge on her cheek was not dirt, but the start of a bruise. “And your cheek?”

“I tried to shoot an arrow, Ada,” she answered. “The first time I hit myself in the face and snapped my finger, but I did much better after that.”

No more was said until they reached their house. As Galadriel tended Celebrían's cut and bruise, Celeborn said, “Tell me what happened. Start with why you were playing such a game to begin with.”

Celebrían twisted her skirt with her uninjured hand, looking at the floor, and Celeborn reached to tip her chin up to look at him. She took in a deep breath and started to speak.

“It was not so much a game, Ada, as getting ready. If Naneth believes Sauron will come here, then we all have to know how to fight. You said that on Balar, where the elves all lived before the War of Wrath, even the children could wield a sword and a bow. I do not know how to do either! So I talked to some of the older ellon about playing war and what we would do if Ost-in-Edhil was ever attacked, and we decided to start learning to fight. We took turns being orcs and elves, and the elves would run and climb in the trees while the orcs chased them. Some of the ellyn had bows and said they would teach us to use them so we could fight back and not just run away.

“Then one of the ellon said he would be Sauron. So he stood up on the edge of the fountain and said he was lord of the earth, and he challenged the elves. So we attacked! That is when Lanthir's ada came. He wanted to know why we were pretending to fight Sauron.”

“What did you say?” asked Celeborn.

“I said that you were looking for him,” answered Celebrían, again lowering her eyes. Her voice fell to a whisper. “That you were trying to find out if he meant to harm us.”

“What happened then?” prodded Celeborn gently.

“Lanthir's father grabbed my arm and pulled me to him. He kept asking what I was talking about and how did I know this. I pulled away and my dress tore, but he grabbed my arm again. He kept asking what we knew about Sauron,” replied Celebrían, tears in her eyes. “Then there were elves all around me, asking what I had heard. I was so scared, Ada!”

Celeborn sank down into the chair and pulled his daughter into his lap, holding her as he had when she was a small child. He met Galadriel's eyes over the top of Celebrían's head and sighed. I should have sent her to her room last evening, or at least we should have said she was not to speak of anything she overheard to anyone but us , he thought.

She will not soon forget that lesson. The timing of telling our people may not be what we had hoped for, but we shall tell them now and it will work out for the best , answered Galadriel.

“Celebrían, look at me,” said Celeborn gently. When her eyes met his, he continued. “We did not tell you not to repeat things you had overheard, so I will tell you this now: if you over hear something and you have questions, ask your naneth or myself. We will answer you the best we are able. If people ask you questions, tell them speak to us. Adults know better than to ask information from a child in such a manner, but the name of Sauron invokes terror in those who can remember him, and I fear they forgot that you were only a child.” Celeborn kept his words gentle, but inside he wished to shake those adults who would scare his daughter so. “I will tell you what I will tell our people tonight. You are not to come; I will tell you about the meeting tomorrow.”

Celebrían nodded, and Celeborn told her about Sauron. He finished with how Sauron had come to Eregion in the guise of Annatar and learned jewel-craft with Celebrimbor. He did not speak of the rings.

“Now, your naneth and I need to prepare for this evening. Cook will send your dinner to your room. Go bathe and rest, and spend your evening quietly at home. We will come to kiss you goodnight when we return,” he finished.

“You are not angry with me, Adar?” asked Celebrían.

“No, my daughter,” answered Celeborn. He set her on her feet and kissed her forehead again, and then watched silently as she went to her room.

* * *

There were only several hours left before dawn when the meeting ended and the remaining elves dispersed into the night. Celeborn stepped into the night air, and breathed in deeply, then looked up to see the stars twinkling overhead. He found it comforting to see stars that had looked down upon him in Doriath, but also felt a sense of fragility as he thought of all the destruction witnessed by those stars.

“You spoke well, husband,” said Galadriel softly.

“As did you, wife,” replied Celeborn, taking her hand in his as they walked. “Some left wishing they had not known of this until we were certain Sauron was a threat. Some are angry we did not tell them sooner. The reactions are much as we expected. Future events will determine if what we did here tonight was right, wrong, or indifferent.”

“We should send scouts to see what lies beyond the Ephel Dúath,” said Galadriel.

“I agree,” replied Celeborn.

Inside the door of their home they found two wrapped packages. Celeborn carried them to the table and carefully unwrapped them. He lifted the bow first, feeling its weight and examining the carving. Galadriel unwrapped the sword, then stepped back and took an experimental swing with it.

“This is well balanced as well as beautiful,” she noted.

“I asked the captain to have the weaponsmith find or make me weapons the right size for Celebrían,” replied Celeborn. “My daughter will not feel helpless, though I will hope she never has need to use them.”

Galadriel arched a brow at the possessiveness in his use of the words ‘my daughter' and replied, “ My daughter is not helpless, though she will benefit from learning to wield such weapons.”

* * *

Twenty-five years later….

“Lord Celeborn, the scouts have returned from the east,” said the captain at the door.

Celeborn blinked in surprise and rose to his feet. The two scouts entered, one leaning on the other. Celeborn pulled a chair up and helped to ease the limping elf into it, even as the elf covered his heart and bowed his head before his lord.

“We feared you were lost,” said Celeborn as he clasped the elf's hand. “When your son went in search of you and did not return, we feared for him as well. Yet your wife never doubted that you both lived.”

“She was my strength,” answered the elf, tired but his eyes now shining.

“You must go to her and rest. We will talk when you have had a chance to sleep, eat and bathe,” said Celeborn.

“We have come to you first,” replied the injured elf. “My son has saved me from the hands of our enemies, but my desire to bring the report to you of what I have learned led our footsteps here. Sauron has built a mighty stronghold and is now growing an army. Orcs and men, wargs and other evil things.”

“His plans?” asked Celeborn, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Dominion of Middle-earth,” answered the elf. “Domination of all peoples. The most outspoken hatred I heard was for the men of Númenor. He hates them and he fears them.”

The older elf reached to caress his son's face. “We should have sailed west when Beleriand sank, that you might have been born where there is peace.”

The son kissed his father's hand, tears streaming down his cheeks. “We have you back, Adar. That is what matters.”

Celeborn watched the father and son together, remembering the hope they had had in Lindon, the hope that led them to Eregion. Peace they had had for many centuries, but he recalled the words of Eönwë, herald to Manwë, King of the Valar. He had reminded them the curse remained and that Middle-earth would be only a temporary home to the Firstborn. He had reminded them that the west awaited them, whenever they were ready to come. Instead of finding that thought comforting now, he found it angered him. Sauron should have been captured and taken with Morgoth those many years ago, but the Valar had not found him when they broke Thangorodrim. Sauron had been left behind, and he apparently had decided that with his own lord gone, he would set himself up in Morgoth's place. Celeborn's jaw tensed as he thought of the battle they would wage against any who thought to drive the elves from their rightful homes, from this the land of their birth.

The older elf tried to rise and stumbled, and Celeborn felt all anger fall away as he helped the elf to his feet. He was so thin now, and Celeborn could only imagine what the son had saved his father from. He watched as the son put his arm about his father's shoulders, and helped him back out to the street. Many on the street had heard of his return, and a crowd was waiting outside the door. They honored him in silence as he walked slowly down the streets to his home, crossing the threshold under his own strength. All heard his wife's cry of joy, and many wept as they thought of her long years of waiting and believing that he would return to her.

Celeborn stood at the steps to the Hall and watched until the elf was in the arms of his wife. As he turned to walk back to his office, he looked east. He suddenly noticed that it appeared as if a shadow had grown on the horizon, a dark cloud to herald the return of dark times. He decided to go home instead.

Celebrían sat on the porch swing, an adult now and more beautiful in his eyes than he could have imagined. A male elf, older than her but not that far past his majority, sat beside her. He heard the injured scout's words again, and when he looked upon his daughter he felt a deep understanding for the elf's sentiment. He had hoped she too would never know anything except peace. As he climbed the steps to the house, he saw Galadriel seated at the opposite end of the porch and found himself glad that she always served as chaperone. He already knew that this young elf would never suit his daughter and feared if forced to spend long in his company, he would tell him so.

“Suilad, Adar,” said Celebrían, rising to kiss his cheek.

“Suilad, Lord Celeborn,” said the suitor. Celeborn never could remember his name.

He greeted them, but his mind was elsewhere. The scouts have returned from the east , he told Galadriel. The news is as you suspected . Galadriel rose to follow him into the house, and soon after they heard Celebrían gently dismiss her suitor. Well attuned to her parents' moods, she knew that her father bore news and wished to hear it.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Daeradar, what happened when you told your people about Sauron's army?” asked Elladan.

Celeborn's sigh was barely audible. “Many feared the worst and some, especially those with young children, decided to sail west. Those who had withstood Morgoth were resolute in their wish to stay. Those born in Middle-earth after the sinking of Beleriand could not imagine that Sauron could wage war against the elves, for they had never known war. They stayed. We began training all in the use of weapons and building our supplies that we might outlast any siege of the city. Yet, we did not know if he would ever attack.

Arwen was watching her mother curiously and finally climbed from her grandmother's arms to stand before her. “Naneth, why were you being courted by an elf who was not Ada and when can I have a bow and a sword?”

Laughter in the camp smothered quickly when Arwen turned her stern look upon the offenders. Elrohir still lay with his head in his mother's lap, and when he continued to laugh, Celebrían scolded, “Shush!” as she covered his mouth with her hand.

“I did not know your Ada then and when you are older,” she replied.

Arwen looked thoughtful for a moment, then knelt down before Elrohir. She pushed Celebrían's hand away from his mouth. “How old were you when you got your first bow and sword?” she asked sweetly.

Before Elrohir could answer, Celebrían clapped her hand back over his mouth.

Arwen looked at her mother. “It is as I thought. They were my age or younger,” she concluded.

When Elrohir nodded in response, Arwen pecked him on the cheek and then climbed over elves to reach her father. Elrond pulled her into his lap, waiting, but she merely kissed his cheek and then made herself comfortable. Taking one of his hands in hers, she rubbed his fingernails and traced the lines of his palm.

Elrond looked on her fondly and said, “We will have a sword and bow made for you and start lessons when we return home.”

Arwen tipped her head back and smiled at him, and Elrond leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

Elladan snorted. “She just charmed him without even having to ask!”

“Your charms at that age were just as effective, though different,” answered Glorfindel as he threw a pinecone at Elladan's head. “Your daeradar could not wait to start you with your first bow after hearing how you wished to learn from the best archer in middle-earth.”

There was much laughter as wine was poured and passed around and Celebrían's childhood was laid bare for all who wished to know of her antics and suitors. Erestor noticed when Elrohir drifted off into sleep. He moved silently around the ring of the campfire and lifted him from his spot on the ground, nodding as Celebrían thanked him. Elrohir's bed remained in the wagon, and Erestor laid him carefully on it, propping up his broken leg and covering him with a blanket. Rather than leave him alone away from the rest of the camp, Erestor made himself comfortable against a sack of grain. A few moments later, Glorfindel approached, two cups of wine in hand. He handed one to Erestor as he sat down next to him.

“You do not win the bet for carrying him to his bed yourself,” said Glorfindel.

“I already did,” answered Erestor as he lifted his wine glass. “I got you to wait on me.”

They watched as the stars appeared in the clear sky and Eärendil began his night's journey.

 

Chapter 19: War in Eregion

*********

Elrond became gradually aware of a muffled giggling and opened one eye a slit to see who had invaded his dreams and pulled him back to reality. A second voice joined in the mirth, and he could not help the smile that tugged at his lips as he recognized the voices of the two most important females in his life. Pretending he was still asleep, he rolled slightly, allowing his view to improve without having to open his eyes and prove his wakefulness. Celebrían still lay next to him, but she had acquired a small leech that sat astride her, giggling as she played with her mother's hair.

“Did you ever fight any ellyn with your sword?” giggled Arwen softly.

“The ellyn were scared of me and my sword,” bragged Celebrían. She tugged Arwen down closer to her. “Though they might have been more scared of my ada. They thought he was a big fire-breathing dragon who delighted in incinerating innocent young ellyn.”

Arwen giggled and looked down at her own ada, then reached out and ran the tip of her finger down his cheek. Elrond fought hard not to smile at the tickling touch.

“Was Ada scared of Daeradar?” she asked.

“I am positive he was,” answered Celebrían. Even as Elrond heard her words, he felt the touch of her mind against his. I was not , he protested. Your parents liked me.

“He chased me, but I finally let him catch me,” she told Arwen. You chased me ! argued Elrond. Dressing up like a princess and watching my every move; I was like the innocent lamb being chased down by a wolf.

“Your ada was like a lovesick calf, barely able to function in my presence. I had to marry him, just so Imladris would again have a lord,” finished Celebrían. Humph , he grunted. Well, in that there might be some truth .

A roll of thunder echoed around them, and Elrond realized why Arwen was awake and in their bed. She clutched tightly at her mother, her memory of the storms from the last several nights giving her pre-storm jitters.

“I wish Ada could stop the storms,” murmured Arwen.

Celebrían laughed softly. “No, not even adas can stop the storms. But adas can make you feel safe. I think if we scoot a little closer to your ada, he will cuddle us both close in his strong arms and you will feel snug and secure.”

Elrond felt Celebrían move herself and Arwen closer to him on the wide cot they shared, and he sighed in his pretend sleep and wrapped an arm about them both. He sent a soothing touch to his daughter's mind, and then touched his spirit to Celebrían's . Go to sleep, my silver queen. I love you. He felt peace envelop her and within moments both Celebrían and Arwen were sound asleep against him. Content, he drifted back on to the path of dreams where they awaited him.

* * *

Glorfindel and Erestor sat on their horses, both silent as they looked upon the muddy mess before them. The scouts stood to the side, their boots mud-stained and their cloaks wet.

“I am thankful that we did not have storms like this in the first days after the bridge collapsed,” said Glorfindel finally. “We can manage this now; I would despair to think of this weather when Elrohir and Arwen were still so badly injured.”

Erestor flashed a smile at his companion. “We have seen worse.”

“Aye,” agreed Glorfindel. “There are times when I envy the forgetfulness of aged mortals.”

Erestor laughed. “I suppose that is true, at times, but I prefer the wisdom of time and ages. We are less likely to repeat our errors.”

“I would not know,” mused Glorfindel. “I have not made any.”

Erestor snorted. “Apparently the forgetfulness of mortals has overtaken you, then.”

Glorfindel grinned, then returned his attention to the mudslide before them. “Age and time are not on our side this morning, mellon-nín, as we have waited now for several minutes and this mudslide has not cleared itself.”

“There really is not any good way around this one,” replied Erestor grimly. He looked east, the mud easily stretching all the way to the river's edge. To the west were marshy bogs, peppered by what he less than fondly recalled were sucking mud holes. He studied the spot in front of them again. “This may be as good as we will find.”

Glorfindel slid off his horse and removed his cloak and over tunic. He folded them neatly and placed them in the small pack hanging from the side of his horse. “Let us get started then,” he said cheerfully as the first of the elves appeared with armfuls of damp cut grass.

Erestor watched as Glorfindel threw himself into the work with the younger guards and warriors, wading into the mud and spreading the stalks of grass into and over the top of the mud, and he could easily see why the warriors of Imladris would follow Glorfindel to death, if need be. Removing his own cloak and over tunic, Erestor moved slowly into the thick mess, thankful for the boots that encased all of his lower legs. Instead of helping, however, he began mentally mapping the way through the mud that the horses and wagons would follow.

* * *

Elrond eyed the muddy, marshy path before him doubtfully. The hoof prints of horses and an occasional boot mark were visible in the black mud, with strands of gold and green grasses protruding from the mashed mess. His eyes quickly scanned the elves, noting that while all had mud caked boots, most were fairly clean.

“We will lead the horses through and bring the wagons last,” said Erestor to the waiting group of mounted elves. “Allow your horse to be led; we have determined the best path and will lead you through it.”

Elrond looked at the wagon bearing two of his children and then again at the mud slicked road before him. While the guards had led their horses through, they had not yet tried to take a wagon through the muck.

“Erestor,” he called, stopping the activity around him. “Perhaps Arwen and Elrohir should ride through this pass.”

Erestor's face grew thoughtful, although Elrond was sure this was not the first he had thought of the matter. He finally shrugged.

“I will bring Elrohir to you,” he said.

“Arwen can ride with me,” called Celebrían.

Erestor swung Arwen up atop his shoulders, avoiding getting any mud on her clothing, and delivered her to Celebrían's arms. He returned for Elrohir, who looked all the more happy for getting out of the wagon. Elrond watched as Erestor easily lifted Elrohir from the wagon and then up to the horse. As with the day before, Elrond eased his own legs between Elrohir's legs and the horse, supporting him comfortably.

“Your strength is now occupied with your son and is not available should your horse become skittish or have difficulty in the mud,” warned Erestor calmly.

Elrohir turned his head to look at his father, his mouth opening to speak, but Elrond interrupted him, sliding an arm around his son's waist as he spoke. “I have more faith in Alagos than I do in that wagon.” The stallion nickered in response, shaking his head and stomping a foot, and Elrond patted his neck affectionately.

Erestor returned to the head of the small column that had formed, taking Celebrían's horse by the lead that had been slipped around its neck, and began walking lightly atop the mud. The horse was less happy as her hooves sank into the mire, the mud sucking her down as the mare lifted each leg in turn to step forward. Erestor stayed by her side, whispering in the mare's ear.

Glorfindel had slipped a lead over Alagos's head, and once Erestor was a short distance ahead, he led the stallion into the crossing. As the horse's front leg sank into the mud, Elrond tightened his grip on Elrohir, his leg pressing tight against the stallion's side as he strove to balance Elrohir's unwieldy cast. Alagos whinnied in confusion, the movement of Elrond's thigh against his side telling him to veer to the side, but Glorfindel's strong hand on the seldom used lead rope instructing him otherwise.

Elrond looked ahead to see if Celebrían was having any difficulty, but she held Arwen easily in front of her, allowing Erestor to guide the mare. Alagos responded to the encouraging words Glorfindel kept murmuring to him while Elrond focused on steadying Elrohir before him, and slowly they made their way forward.

They were nearing the end of the crossing when Celebrían's mare suddenly began to struggle. She bucked slightly as she tried to pull a foreleg free of the mud, and Elrond could see that Erestor had sunk deeper into the mud as well. Erestor calmed the mare, convincing her to stay still, and Elladan suddenly appeared next to them.

“Take Arwen,” directed Erestor.

Elladan reached for Arwen, placing her atop his shoulders, and her hands wound tightly into his hair. Elrond could tell she was hesitant, but she trusted her brother implicitly. Elladan walked the remainder of the way across the grass and mud mixture, only lightly sinking into the mud. He turned, seemingly thinking to return for his mother, and found her moving lightly across the mud behind him.

“Naneth, you did not need to walk in the mud,” protested Elladan, but a sly smile spread across his face. “Although we have learned you did not mind a good mudfight as an elfling, so perhaps you enjoyed it.”

Celebrían did not have time to respond, for Elladan saw that Erestor was still working with the mare, and he hurried back to assist him.

“Her foot is tangled in something,” said Erestor.

Elladan did not hesitate, but bent over, slipping his hand down the horse's leg and into the mud. He dug for a few moments as Erestor held the horse steady, then dropped to his knees and shoved the other hand deep into the muck. “Her foot is stuck between two roots,” he reported. The muscles of his upper body rippled and strained as he pulled the roots apart, and suddenly the mare reared up, her leg free. The abrupt motion caused Elladan to tip over backward, and he sprawled out in the mud.

Erestor steadied the horse, pulling her forward so she avoided stepping in the same place. She bucked again, struggling against the lead, and it appeared to Elrond as if Erestor was about to tumble into the mud as well. The elf managed to keep his feet, however, and with an apologetic look at Elladan, Erestor continued on with the mare.

Glorfindel had watched the scene unfold silently, holding Alagos in place, but now turned to Elrond. Elrond did not need to hear the words to agree with Glorfindel's plan. It was obvious they would do better on their own feet.

“I think we will walk,” Elrond informed Elrohir. “Can you hold steady while I dismount?” Elrohir nodded, and Elrond slipped from Alagos, landing as lightly as he could. He then reached for Elrohir, one hand slipping under the knee of Elrohir's casted leg, and the other around his son's waist. Elrohir allowed himself to be pulled from the horse, but as he leaned into his father, his cast banged against Alagos near his ear and the horse reared away from the blow.

Elrohir fell on top of his father, who fell into the mud. Elrond gave no thought to his own landing; his entire focus was on Elrohir's broken leg. He kept his hands as originally placed, one arm pulling Elrohir to him, cushioning him as much as possible, and the other hand grasping his son's knee and holding the cast up out of the mud.

Still, the impact jarred. Elrond felt his breath knocked from him and heard Elrohir's grunt of pain. Time seemed to stand still as Elrond waited for his lungs to expand and allow air back into them. Fleeting thoughts crossed his mind: how cold the thick, dark mud was on his neck as it seeped through his hair, how he might better regain his breath if he did not have his son's weight pinning him down, and the thought he was trying not to think – could his son recover from yet another injury to his leg? Even in the short span of time they lay unmoving on the ground, he could not sense any real distress in Elrohir.

Silver hair brushed his cheek, and he looked up into the amused eyes of his father-in-law. “Let go of Elrohir,” instructed Celeborn.

Elrond felt someone peeling his fingers from Elrohir's knee and as Celeborn's words took meaning in his mind, he loosened his grip. His lungs burned as he finally managed to inhale once Elrohir was lifted from him. Breathing in deeply, Elrond finally felt his lungs fully expand and the pain in his chest eased. His vision, which he had not realized was blurred, cleared, and he rolled to his side to see where Elrohir had been taken.

Celeborn strode swiftly yet lightly to the other side of the mudslide, and Elrond could not help but note that the mud apparently did not dare to stick to him.

“Are you able to stand yet?” came the amused voice of Galadriel.

Elrond turned to see Galadriel, dressed in riding trousers and tunic, with one slim white hand held out to him. He looked at his own mud covered hand and then again at her, and heard her laugh as she took him by the hand and easily pulled him to his feet.

“Thank you,” he croaked, and rolled his eyes when she laughed.

“That was quite a tumble, and, admittedly, a fairly good save of the cast,” said Galadriel merrily. “Glorfindel did not fair so well in his fall, nor Alagos.”

Elrond turned to see his mud covered stallion glaring at an equally mud covered and glaring Glorfindel. Hands on his hips, the golden warrior was nose to nose with the stallion, who stomped and snorted at him.

“If you had just held still as I asked, none of this would have happened,” growled Glorfindel. The stallion shook his head, sending mud splattering across Glorfindel's face. “I should let you find your own way out of this bog, you incomprehensible, stubborn, ornery colt!”

The stallion whinnied in a slightly more subdued tone and bowed its head, and Glorfindel acquiesced immediately. He scratched Alagos behind his ears, whispering to him comfortingly. Taking the lead, he led the horse through the bog and out on the other side.

Elrond turned back to Galadriel, who was barely containing her mirth. “Tell me at least that Elrohir is uninjured,” he said dryly.

“Elrohir is uninjured,” replied Galadriel congenially. “His leg was jolted and might be sore, but it is unlikely to have been damaged. His greatest distress was you holding him so tightly that he could not breathe.” She laughed again, then barely touching his arm, motioned him forward.

Mud did not dare stick to Galadriel, either, noted Elrond, as he sank into the mud up to mid calf. She moved lightly along on top of the mud and grass as he strained along next to her, and he wondered briefly if anyone had ever pushed her in the mud.

“No,” she answered his thought. “Not even my brothers dared attempt that when we were children.”

Guarding his thoughts more closely, Elrond silently cursed the mud.

They were the last across the mud slide, except for the rear guards some distance behind them. Even Cook had managed to guide the wagon through the mire, though admittedly several elves pushed it from behind. Elrond sighed with relief as he stood again on firm ground and immediately looked for Elrohir. He found Celeborn examining him a short distance away and knelt down next to them. Reaching to touch his son, he suddenly realized his hands were covered in mud and stopped, and then he realized Elrohir was laughing.

“You are a mud monster, Adar!” he teased. Looking over Elrond's shoulder, he grinned. “Clearly Elladan is your son! El, do you remember when Glorfindel first taught us to follow orders and you fell in the mud?”

Elrond turned slightly to see his mud-blackened son standing slightly behind him, arms folded across his chest. As he looked over Elladan, he realized he must look equally filthy. Elrohir was muddy, particularly his back and hair, but much less so than either of them. Celeborn's tunic and trousers were dirty from where he had carried Elrohir against him, but his face and hair were clean.

“I am remembering how uncomfortable dried mud all over the body felt quite well,” replied Elladan sardonically.

“Are you injured, Elrohir?” asked Elrond, turning his attention back to his original concern.

“No, Adar,” replied Elrohir.

Elrond studied his son for a moment and knew when Elrohir looked away that he was not telling the entire truth. A smile tugged at his lips as he suddenly saw an elfling before him again, one who was as honest in his misdeeds as he was in his good deeds. He allowed his gaze to linger long on Elrohir, until his son was literally squirming before him.

“It is not broken,” amended Elrohir, a light blush on his face, “however, I will admit to some minor discomfort.”

Elrond raised one brow quizzically. “What kind of minor discomfort, Elrohir?”

As he waited for his son to answer, he realized that everyone was gathering around, standing, whereas Elrohir was lying propped on one elbow. Remembering how conscious of his injured status Elrohir was, Elrond decided to move them all away. “We need water and clean clothes for all who are muddy,” he directed. “We might as well find a suitable place to camp.” Erestor suddenly appeared, barking orders, and the small crowd dispersed.

He knelt down next to Elrohir, wiping his hands on a cloth handed to him by Celeborn.

“Here,” said Elrohir quietly, pointing to where the break had occurred. “It was throbbing wretchedly, but now it is just an ache.”

Elrond frowned slightly, resting his hand on Elrohir's leg above the cast. He could neither see nor feel the area affected, thus did not know how bad the potential injury might be.

“It is a good thing you insisted on the cast, Elrond,” said Celeborn, voicing Elrond's thoughts.

“Indeed,” replied Elrond quietly. He studied Elrohir for a moment, then said, “If the throbbing does not abate within a few hours, we will need to remove the cast.”

Elrohir's eyes widened with dismay and he blinked hard a few times, looking away from his father and grandfather as he struggled with this news.

“There is a creek ahead,” called Erestor as he came into view. “Well, a small river right now. But we can clean up before moving on. Put Elrohir on the tarp on his bed in the wagon,” he directed. He stopped near Elrond as he barked orders to all nearby, and though he spoke of Elrohir as he did all the other baggage that needed attending, the tone was belied by the gentle hand that stroked Elrohir's hair. “Just a few minutes to the campsite and then we'll make you comfortable,” he said quietly.

“I have him,” said Celeborn, brushing Elrond aside as he knelt to lift his son. “You might get him dirty.”

Elrond stood, feeling decidedly ungraceful as the mud-stiffened fabric of his trousers did not move with him. He joined Elladan, Glorfindel and all the other filthy elves as they walked, avoiding irritating the horses further, to the campsite.

* * *

Small fires burned all along the outer perimeter of the camp, a camp much smaller than they normally made. The clearing was small, but insect control made the possibility of anything larger impossible. The smoke of the fires deterred them some, and netting was strung above cots and bedrolls to prevent the elves from being excessively bitten.

“Rub this on your skin! It is my special treatment, guaranteed to keep the mosquitoes away,” cried Cook as he moved among them with small flasks of some sort of liquid. He himself seemed unbothered by the insects, Elrond noted, and he sniffed the bottle curiously, seeing which extracts and herbs he could recognize. “Try it, Master Elrond! If you find it to your satisfaction, I will share my recipe with you,” he promised with a grin. “Cooks are good alchemists too!”

He was gone before Elrond could answer, his attention having flitted to other matters.

“Ah, Lady Celebrían. I believe I may be of assistance. Rinse his hair one more time, while I obtain a special remedy that will remove the tangles the mud has caused,” said Cook consolingly. “Our Elrohir suffers enough without this!”

Elrohir was subdued. He has spoken little throughout the afternoon, and was stoically letting his mother work the snarls from his hair. He had been the only one unable to wash in the creek, and cleaning the substantial mud from his hair had been tedious. His trousers were mudstained, and so he was again bereft of clothing while they were washed and dried. Elrond suspected that the pain in his leg had not abated, and worse, some insect had bitten him inside the cast and it appeared to itch terribly. Arwen had found him a small twig that fit inside the cast, but Elrond had taken it away after he rubbed his skin raw. The raw flesh, of course, attracted more biting insects, and could not be protected by Cook's solution, which couldn't be poured in the edge of the cast. Elrond finally rubbed salve under the edge of the cast and then wound a bandage around it to keep the insects out.

Elladan, Glorfindel and the guards returned after finishing bathing and brushing the horses. Cook had by this time managed to make a good dinner for them, the smell of roast venison filling the camp. Elrond watched as Arwen carefully carried a plate to Elrohir. A good idea, meleth-nín, for I do not think he would eat except to please Arwen , he thought to Celebrían.

Celebrían and Galadriel had washed clothing and bedding with Cook's help, and performed much of the hard work of setting up the camp while the guards had seen to the horses. Arwen had carried many a pail of water, which was used to bathe Elrohir, and Elrond thought she would drop from exhaustion before complaining or stopping. Her devotion still knew no bounds.

She served Elrohir and sat steadfastly by his side, saying little, but under her watchful gaze he ate. By the time he finished, her eyelids were half closed and she leaned against him.

“Naneth, has Arwen eaten?” asked Elrohir.

“Yes, she has,” replied Celebrían. She gently picked the sleeping child up, but Arwen did not wake. “Let your adar give you something for the discomfort, Elrohir,” she bid him. “You need to sleep deeply and well before we continue tomorrow.”

Elrohir turned his face away, and Celebrían stroked his hair and kissed him on the forehead before taking Arwen to bed. The warriors were eating when Erestor moved silently to sit next to Elrohir. He said nothing for some time, and Elrond watched as curiosity and opportunity pulled his son from his discontent.

“Did you travel this way when you came to Eregion?” asked Elrohir.

“I did,” replied Erestor. “I was seeking some way across the river, much as we are now. The spring of that year resembled this one as well, and mud and insects were as much a problem then as now.”

“When did word come to Lindon? What did you know as you headed east?”

“We sent word to Lindon asking for Gil-Galad's aid when we knew that Sauron was planning to attack us,” answered Celeborn as he folded himself gracefully into a sitting position on the other side of Elrohir.

Erestor nodded to Celeborn to continue. “Tell of Eregion at that time.”

“Some say now that we waited too long to ask for aid, but though we knew Sauron was gathering his forces, we did not know where he would attack. . .,” began Celeborn.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

SA 1693

“Adar, another scout has returned,” reported Celebrían, having knocked on the door before entering and speaking. She held open the door to show the elf in; having served in her parents' office these many years, she knew Celeborn would want to hear the report immediately.

“Thank you, Celebrían,” he replied, dismissing her. He saw the disappointed look in her eyes at being excused, for he knew she wished to hear the news too. The scouts, however, were seasoned veterans who would report more bluntly and concisely without a maiden in their presence.

“My lord,” began the scout, speaking before Celeborn could even greet him, “his army grows in might and power. He has gathered uncounted Orcs and Men from the south and east to his stronghold in Mordor. He rules them with an iron fist. Now I have seen advance scouts entering the southern part of Eregion. My lord, I do not know his plans, but in all of these years I have been watching their movements, this is the furthest north they have come. I was able to come close enough to his scouts to know they were planning strategies of battle.”

Celeborn had motioned the scout to sit and pressed a glass of water into his hands. The elf finally paused and sipped the liquid.

“If what I have heard is true, a messenger of Sauron travels to Ost-in-Edhil,” the scout finished.

Celeborn looked the elf over carefully, noting the travel stains on his cloak and boots, a tear in his tunic, and eyes that bespoke weariness. Long this elf had served them, spending many years apart from his family, as he lived in stealth to learn of Sauron's ways and plans.

“Go to your home and see your family. Eat and bathe and rest. Tomorrow we will hear your full report. I will notify the city guard to watch for a messenger and send out riders to meet him, when our sentries spot him,” he commanded gently.

A look of dissent appeared on the elf's face, but Celeborn interrupted him before he could speak. “I wish to have all my advisors hear your words, for they are of critical import to the region. You will be best prepared to handle their questions when you have rested.”

The elf nodded his acquiescence, and Celeborn could see that despite the protestations he wished to make, the scout was relieved. Celeborn walked with the scout out of the city hall, then made his way to a secluded area of the park where he could sit in the quiet of the trees and listen to what wisdom they might share.

* * *

“Sauron is demanding that all the rings of power be turned over to him,” said Celebrimbor, waving the message in his hand. “He claims that they are rightfully his, as without him, we could not have forged them. I will not give over to him the culmination of my life's work.”

Celebrimbor paced the length of the room as he spoke; now he stopped, his eyes fixed on Galadriel. “In his message, he says he will come and claim them if we do not send them willingly to him.”

“The rings must be hidden,” replied Galadriel. “The lesser rings could be thrown into the sea, or buried deep in the Misty Mountains. In Moria, in the deepest abyss, somewhere he will never find them.”

“The risk of them being found is slight, but how grievous to the one who stumbles upon a ring unawares and places it upon their finger,” interjected Celeborn. “We find ourselves in a quandary, for we cannot unmake them, nor can we guarantee they will not be found if hidden.”

“What course must we follow, then?” asked Galadriel impatiently. She turned to Celebrimbor. “The Three at least must be hidden among the elves.”

Celebrimbor nodded in agreement. “They, at least, were not made by his hand. They are powerful and he desires them, though I do not think he could turn the bearer to an evil end.”

“Where will we send them? To Gil-Galad is the only logical answer,” said Galadriel, answering her own question. “Lindon is furthest from Mordor and escape by sea is possible.”

“Lady Galadriel, you will keep Nenya,” said Celebrimbor suddenly.

Celeborn stiffened and felt a sudden dread sweep over him. “No, they should all be sent to Lindon,” he replied. His eyes met those of his wife, and he saw her desire for the ring clearly.

“Nenya is powerful, Galadriel. In your hands, the decays of time would be slowed and you could strengthen and refresh those around you. A day will come when you may find it safe to wield,” argued Celebrimbor softly, pointedly ignoring Celeborn. “I thought immediately of you when I saw the adamant. It is meant for you.”

Galadriel looked again at Celeborn and he saw that her decision was made. Anger welled up within him. “Then you will take it to Lindon yourself, and stay there with it, for I will not have you here if Sauron comes!”

Galadriel did not even flinch at his tone, but met his gaze steadily. “I will consider it, if Sauron comes,” she answered calmly.

Celeborn slammed his hand down on the table, then closed his eyes and drew in a deep, steadying breath. Once calmed, he turned back to them. “What of the Seven and the Nine?”

Celebrimbor shrugged. “It is the Three he wants. The lesser rings are just that: less. They are not capable of great works or deeds.”

“Then we will send Narya and Vilya to Gil-galad,” concluded Galadriel.

* * *

A few months later….

Celeborn looked at the map showing the vast encampment still many leagues south of Eregion, and despair filled his heart. Years of preparation meant naught against an army so large. Sauron's army numbered more than all the citizens of the city combined. Ost-in-Edhil would fall under the onslaught; of this he had no doubt. He looked up into the eyes of the scout, whose pale face reflected the hopelessness of the situation. Pushing aside his own fears, he began issuing orders.

“You will ride to Lindon to ask for aid from the king,” he informed the elf. As he spoke, he quickly penned a letter stating that attack was imminent and that Gil-galad should expect refugees. “Many have chosen to sail in these dark years of waiting; many more will do so now.”

He turned to his captains. “Prepare our army for battle. As they draw near, we will ride out against them; we must hold them back to allow those of our people who wish to leave to escape to Lindon. Messengers will be sent to King Dáin in Moria and King Amdir in Lorinand, warning them and asking them for their aid.”

As aides, advisors and captains jumped to do his bidding, Celeborn went in search of Galadriel. He laid out the scout's map before her, remaining silent as she made her own assessment.

“We cannot withstand this force alone,” she concluded quickly.

“I have sent word to Gil-galad, asking for aid and telling him to expect more refugees,” he answered, then chose his words carefully. “You should take Celebrían and go to Lindon.”

She bristled, as expected. “I am of more use here.”

“And Celebrían? Are you willing to see her die when Sauron breaks down the walls and destroys all in his path?” interrupted Celeborn. When she did not answer, fury rose within him and he said harshly, “For Nenya, then, if not for our daughter? Would you risk it to Sauron's control?”

Galadriel pushed back her chair and rose to her feet in a graceful flurry, standing nose to nose with him. “Do not try to command me, husband! There is much to consider and I will not make a rash decision,” she hissed. “Do not forget Celebrían is an adult and capable of making her own choices.”

Celeborn took a step back, shocked. “Celebrían has never known war! How can she discern the right step? She can wield bow and sword, but in defense, not offense! Do you not think that Sauron would be most pleased to capture our child, our daughter, to torment before us? Use her as a weapon against us?”

He saw the glimmer of fear in Galadriel's eyes at his words, and knew his point had sunk deep into her mother's heart. He softened. “I must prepare messages to the dwarves and the elves of Lorinand. We must both warn them and ask for their aid.”

He quietly left the room, allowing Galadriel time to consider his words and come to some conclusion. His was already made, however. He would send her away tied over her horse if she would not go willingly. Celebrían, he knew, would do his bidding.

* * *

Galadriel found Celebrían sitting alone near the fountain. The streets were nearly deserted, unusual at any hour but especially at this time of the day. Normally full of children playing and minstrels singing, now it seemed that even the birds had fallen silent. Her daughter did not look up as Galadriel sat down next to her.

“Narusel has left,” said Celebrían quietly. “Her adar had been considering sailing for some time, but with today's word, he decided to go immediately.”

“Any adar would fear for his children, knowing an army marches upon the city. Narusel's younger sister is but a small child. He does well to take his family west,” consoled Galadriel. “Were you able to say fare well to Narusel?”

Celebrían nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks, and Galadriel wrapped an arm about her and pulled her close. “We must go too, my daughter. Messages must be sent to the dwarves and to Lorinand. We shall be the ones to take them.”

Celebrían looked up. “Will Adar come too?”

Galadriel shook her head. “No, he must stay to lead our warriors.” She saw the protestation in Celebrían's eyes and raised a finger to lips about to protest. “Your adar has long been lord of this city, and his duty is to defend it. I would stay, but I will not send you off alone and you cannot stay. There are worthy tasks for us to accomplish as well.”

“Naneth, I can stay and help defend the city too,” cried Celebrían. “I can defend myself, and I can help in other ways. The warriors will need support.”

Galadriel smiled as she considered her own thoughts along these lines. Celeborn's words, however, haunted her mind. “No, Celebrían. Sauron has reason to hate your adar and me. You would be a desirable prize to him.”

Celebrían's eyes grew large as her imagination allowed her to consider what Sauron would do to her, but Galadriel knew her daughter's innocent mind could not even conceive the torment she would suffer.

“Prepare only a small pack with a clothing change and necessary items. We will leave at sunrise.”

As Celebrían stood, Galadriel noticed the lock of black hair wrapped around her hand. Her best friend since birth, now a memory, unless they would meet again one day in Valinor. She was sure Narusel traveled with a long silver tress as well.

* * *

She found Celeborn at the armory, now the headquarters of the army. He was in conference with his captains when he saw her enter and left them immediately to join her.

“I have spoken to Celebrían. We will leave at dawn tomorrow, and deliver your messages to the dwarves and to Amdir in Lorinand,” she announced. She saw the relief in his eyes, and knew he would now be able to focus all of his attention on their defense. “I know not where we will end up, if we will stay in Lorinand or go to Lindon.”

“I will come home this evening,” he promised, as he was drawn back into the plans for the defense of the city.

Galadriel and Celebrían were packed and ready, and Galadriel had written the messages to Dáin and Amdir herself when Celeborn finally came home. Lines of worry and care were carved about his eyes, but he relaxed visibly upon seeing her. He held out his hand to her, and when she took it, he pulled her roughly into his arms. His mouth crushed hers in a kiss that was demanding and passionate, his hands threading through her hair, tugging the golden strands as he moved her towards their bed. She responded in kind, arduous and passionate, demanding and forceful, and they removed each other's clothes without care for preservation of the items. Their lovemaking was fierce as they wrestled for dominance and possession. Each was marked by the other, their bodies mapped and explored as lovers who wished to remember and be remembered, until they both lay exhausted.

They rose as dawn broke, bathing and dressing, and then Galadriel picked up her pack as she looked one last time around the room. It was but one of many homes they had shared, less than some places they had lived, but it was the bed in which Celebrían had been conceived and where she had been born. It was in this house they had served their people as lord and lady. She did not know if the house would still stand when all was over, nor did she care. She knew in her heart she would not return.

Celebrían was already awake and waiting for them, the amused glint in her eyes suggesting that her parent's fare well tryst had been heard. “I trust you are not well rested?” she quipped lightly.

Galadriel laughed, and Celeborn replied, “May you one day be so fortunate, daughter, to find a mate with whom you would wish to spend a night of passion.”

He wrapped his arms about his only child, then, and pulled her close against him. His hands traced over her, memorizing her, for he had told Galadriel if he were to spend many an age in Mandos's Halls, he wanted perfect recall of those who waited for him.

“Come to us soon, Adar,” whispered Celebrían. “Be well.”

Celeborn watched silently on the dwarf road as his wife and daughter walked east to Moria. No guards accompanied them, for Galadriel would not allow any to be taken away from more important tasks. The dwarves would see them safely through Moria, and they would move with care from the eastern door to Lorinand. He had been separated from Galadriel on multiple occasions, and in war, and they knew what it was like to part not knowing if they would see each other again in Middle-earth. Never had he been parted from his daughter, however, and even while he was grateful she was being sent to relative safety, he felt as if his heart had been torn asunder.

When they were lost to the morning shadows of the mountains, he turned back to the city. In many dwellings and on the main road heading west, to Lindon, similar scenes were being played out as husbands and fathers watched their wives and children depart, not knowing if they would see each other again on this side of the sea.

Some stayed. Celeborn pushed his fear for them aside, knowing he could not leave any warriors to protect them. Celebrimbor and his Gwaith-i-Mírdain and their families had refused to leave, as well as many others who had withstood trial and battle before. Some had lived in Sirion and Balar; a few were survivors of Nargothrond and Gondolin.

“My lord, we will be prepared to march south day after tomorrow,” reported the captain who had appeared at his elbow.

Celeborn looked south, knowing that battle and death awaited them. “So be it.”

* * * * *

The next chapter will continue in the Second Age. I will save all author's notes to the end of the section on the War in Eregion, for there are many conflicting passages that make one ‘canon' impossible to hear.

Thank you to all who are reading and reviewing. Your comments mean so much and are very encouraging.

Chapters 20 - 22

 

Chapters 14 - 16