The Swan's Song by Kimberleighe

Chapter One: Swans & Eagles

Summary: In which the tale of Thorondun and Alphiril is begun.

Read Chapter One: Swans & Eagles

Chapter One: Swans & Eagles

 

Year 1222 of the Second Age

 

         “Galadriel has written to you.”  Idhreniel swept into Gil-galad’s office, eyes skimming the page as she maneuvered towards his desk.

Ereinion did not acknowledge her words.  His attention was intent on the figures scribbled in the ledger, a finger trailing beside the columns of numbers he studied.  Idhreniel watched him in quiet amusement.  There was a direct correlation between the amount of time he spent focused on the treasury accounts and the darkness of his expression.  She set a sealed envelope (for Galadriel had included one page for Idhreniel and a separate portion for the King) on the ledger page he intently studied.  Ereinion sighed, scowling at her as he picked Galadriel’s letter up and held it out to her.

                “I believe most of the correspondence you read is addressed to me,” he said.

                “Yet, she is clear that these words are meant for your eyes,” Idhreniel replied calmly, meeting his gaze.

The impatience with which he opened the missive indicated his irritation at the interruption.  Idhreniel took a step away from the desk to let him be alone with his frustrations.

                “Wait.  Perhaps you can make sense of these numbers.”  He gently shoved the open book towards her.

Idhreniel picked up the ledger reluctantly, and drifted back through the open door that joined her office to the King’s.  Ereinion had spent hours trying to find a way to finance both the necessary harbor repairs and the construction of new ships.  They had lost some in the last bad storm, and the ship-wrights of Mithlond had raised their prices, again.  Part of her had hoped he would go to Elrond with this dilemma; she hated unraveling their financial crises. 

                It was hours before the evening shadows fell over her desk.  She lit the nearby lamp, ignoring the dinner bells, in favor of her work.  Lately, one of the cooks had been kind enough to set aside a plate for her in the kitchens.  Besides, she had almost secured enough funds to solve their problem.  It would take some convincing for the other advisors to agree.  Again, she would be collecting a few favors. 

                “Sister, what are you still doing here?” Tirnion crossed the space from the hall to her desk quickly. 

The four silver stars stitched vertically down the left breast of his sapphire blue tunic caught the light.  A sense of pride swelled up in Idhreniel at the reminder of her brother’s recent promotion to the rank of First Captain within the King’s Guard.  Tirnion did not wait for her answer, closing the ledger on her desk and beckoning her to stand.

                “I am working, Tirnion.  I have many things to do.”  She rose anyways, knowing a fight was futile.

                “Has Ereinion forbidden you to eat?  You have been absent to dinner all week.”  Tirnion took her hand, leading her out of the office towards the large feasting hall.  “I must have a word with him.”

                “Oh, do tell me how that conversation ends,” Idhreniel laughed.  “How goes the training of the newest guards?”

Tirnion let out a sigh of long-suffering, shaking his head.

                “Please, sister.  Ask me anything but that!  Half of them do not even have the correct uniforms.”

                It was a short walk to the large dining hall.  Many of the long tables were already filled and conversation hummed among the seats occupied by the soldiers, sailors and their families.  Idhreniel, at first, followed her brother towards where his wife, heavily pregnant with their first child, sat with the rest of the King’s Guard and their wives.  Tirnion stopped his sister from sitting.

                “I believe your seat is elsewhere,” he murmured, indicating something behind her.

Ereinion moved steadily towards them, pausing beside some of the tables to converse with lords and advisors. 

                “We shall see.”  Idhreniel kissed his cheek, pausing beside Ivoreth to kiss hers as well.  “How do you feel?”

                “Tired.”  Ivoreth smiled warmly, a hand drifting to her swollen belly.  “He is kicking and moving all the time, so I have no rest.  I think he shall be his father’s son.”

                “Oh dear, Forlond will be laid to waste between them both.”  Idhreniel sent her brother a fond glance. 

Tirnion sent her a mock glare as he sat beside his wife.  He placed a tender arm around Ivoreth’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple.

                “We shall do no such thing!” he replied, frowning at his sister.

                “I am not sure, Captain.  I seem to recall an incident in Eglarest.”  Ereinion’s hands on her shoulders accompanied his voice, alerting her to his presence.

Idhreniel laughed when her brother’s face flushed.  She glanced over her shoulder to Ereinion, sharing his smile.  She remembered the incident in question well.

                “Gil-galad, we both know I was not to blame.”  Tirnion shook his head, pointing a finger back at his sister and the King.  “I believe I had a partner or two in that crime.”

                “A partner?  Idhreniel, do you know what he is referring to?” Ereinion asked, absently smoothing the material of Idhreniel’s shawl under his hands.

                “I haven’t the faintest,” she answered.

Tirnion’s eyes narrowed at his sister in feigned betrayal.  She returned his gaze evenly until Ereinion squeezed her shoulder.  Lady Galheril stood beside him, one of her pale hands gentle on the King’s arm. 

                “…of course Forlond could only profit from my proposal.”  Idhreniel caught the tail end of Galheril’s words.

                “I appreciate your continued advocacy for your project, Lady Galheril, yet this is a conversation for a different time,” Gil-galad began.  “Counselor…”  Idhreniel easily anticipated his request, mentally visualizing his schedule for the next day.  “Please find a time so Lady Galheril and I can further discuss this.”

His hands left her shoulders as he moved on to greet a different lord.  Idhreniel easily arranged a private luncheon for the Lady and the King, catching the brief flicker of satisfaction in Galheril’s eyes.  The lady murmured her thanks before sweeping away towards a table of Forlond’s high-born children.  Idhreniel watched her go, fighting to retain her placid expression.  It seemed Galheril had aspirations beyond her project, dreams of a crown. 

Her annoyance at ambitious courtiers faded as she slowly gravitated towards Gil-galad.  He wore robes of forest green, a rare change from the sapphire color he favored.  The well-tailored fit revealed his strong shoulders and lean body.  Ereinion had always been handsome, even in his youth.  Given the King’s appearance, Idhreniel could not fault Galheril’s satisfaction with a private meeting.  The King’s hand and heart had yet to be claimed, and on those subjects alone, he refused any counsel. 

He must have seen her approach from the corner of his eye because he shifted to accommodate her into the circle of lords.  It was a short conversation, full of high words and subtle manipulations. 

“I look forward to our meeting.”  His words dismissed the lords, and he glanced down at Idhreniel.  “I do not always have the pleasure of your company at dinner.”  He held out his hand to her.

                “Tirnion believes that you have forbidden me to eat.  I had to convince him you allow me my meals.”  Without hesitation, her hand slipped into his, allowing him to lead her towards the front of the room. 

                “Yes, yes, you must make him think I allow you some freedoms.”  He chuckled to himself, leaning his head towards hers, “Ah, and we received guests this afternoon.  Celeborn and Celebrían are here.”

Only he could forget such a detail and it be completely acceptable. 

                “Is that what Galadriel wrote to you about?” Idhreniel responded.

                “No.  That is a conversation for a different time.”  His serious tone contrasted with the smile on his face.

                They approached the dais at the head of the room.  Celeborn and Elrond were already deep in conversation.  Celebrían stood with a smile, spying the King and his advisor.  Idhreniel felt her own lips spreading to match the young lady’s grin.  She met Celebrían with a gentle kiss to each cheek and murmured greeting. 

                “Lady Celebrían, your beauty continues to amaze me.”  Ereinion bowed to her.

Idhreniel moved beyond the two, completely amused at Celebrían’s pink cheeks as the young lady’s conversation with the King continued.  She placed a hand on Celeborn’s shoulder, silently interrupting his response to Elrond. 

                “My lord, it is good to see you returned to the coast,” she said.

Celeborn rose quickly to embrace her.  When he had been lord of Harlond, she had found him a reliable ally.

                “Lady Idhreniel, it is always a pleasure to see you,” he paused, gaze falling behind her briefly as he lowered his voice.  “I hope to speak with you in private later?”

                “My office is always open,” Idhreniel responded with a smile.

                She squeezed Elrond’s shoulder as she passed him.  He half-stood to kiss her cheek.

                “Gil-galad says he gave you the treasury accounts.”  The Peredhil looked sympathetic.

                “That he did.  He seems to forget that you have a way with numbers, not I.”  Idhreniel moved to take her seat beside Elrond.

Ereinion stood behind it, having pulled it out for her.  Idhreniel murmured her thanks and took her seat.

                “Is that a complaint I heard?” he asked.

She picked up the carafe of wine, already beginning to fill his glass and then her own. 

                “You heard nothing of the sort.  It is fact that Elrond has a way of squeezing funds from where none were before,” Idhreniel answered calmly, watching Ereinion as he dished out portions onto both of their plates.

                “Perhaps Elrond could come to Ost-in-Edhil then,” Celeborn noted dryly.

Ereinion laughed.  Eregion had been emptying the treasury since its founding.

                “You cannot steal my advisors, Celeborn.”  Ereinion’s gaze drifted from Idhreniel to Celeborn, a quiet indication that he had heard the lord’s earlier request.

                “Not steal, Gil-galad.  I simply need to borrow the Peredhil for a few centuries.”  Celeborn returned to his plate with a polite smile.

                “I am being treated like property now,” Elrond muttered to Idhreniel.

She laughed softly, leaning her head towards his.

                “It shows their high regard for you,” she replied. 

A brief smile crossed Elrond’s face, breaking the stern lines.  He lifted his glass to her.  Idhreniel clinked hers against it gently. 

                “What are we toasting to?” Celeborn asked.

                “Wisdom,” Elrond responded dryly.

                After dinner, Ereinion suggested a walk beside the sea.  Surprisingly, Elrond offered his arm to Celebrían.  Idhreniel lingered between Celeborn and Ereinion, watching the pair meander towards the doors.

                “I trust the two of you will watch her for me?” Celeborn asked.  “I need to have a word with a few of the other lords.”

                “I think we can manage,” Ereinion replied, his gaze drifting to the lady beside him.  “But, hurry, Celeborn.  I plan to convince Idhreniel to entertain us tonight.”

                They found a place on the quiet beach where they could hear the soft echoes of the singers amid the crash of the waves.  After relieving her feet of her shoes, Celebrían wandered towards the surf, letting the spray wet the edges of her dress.  Idhreniel slipped off her own shoes to join her, leaving the two men to the sand. 

                “It is cold,” Celebrían remarked, lifting her skirts to watch her toes wriggle in the wet sand.

                “I have heard that if you travel only a few miles down the coast past Harlond, the water is warm,” Idhreniel replied.

                “How interesting,” she murmured, tossing her silver hair back.  “I certainly wish we were a few miles south then.”

Idhreniel looked back to their companions with a smile.

                “But then we might not have such good company.”  She linked arms with the younger.  “Come, our lords await.”

Ereinion and Elrond lounged on the sand, talking quietly as the ladies approached them.

                “No swimming then?” Ereinion asked with a smile.

                “How could anyone bear to swim in that ice?” Celebrían answered, taking a seat across from them. 

                “I cannot say,” Ereinion replied.

Idhreniel remained standing, her eyes tracing the white caps of the waves to the streaks of clouds illuminated by Ithil.  They shrouded the sky, allowing only pieces of the star signs to creep through.  She sighed.  Summer would soon give way to autumn.  The fall winds would chase the color from the land and Lindon would be blanketed in fog.  She hated the grey waves that reflected the dreary sky, and the nights of shadow black.  Winter was an annual prison.

                “There is Remmirath.”  Elrond’s soft voice brought her from her thoughts, and her gaze was drawn to the Peredhil.

He pointed out the cluster to Celebrían.  The silver haired lady leaned towards him in her attempt to follow the trajectory of his arm with her gaze.  Elrond did not seem wholly uncomfortable to her closeness.  In fact, it seemed he welcomed it. 

                “Ada told me that each sign has a story attached to it,” Celebrían murmured.

                “He is right,” Elrond replied.  “But I am no master of those tales.  Idhreniel tells them best.”

                “Would you, Idhreniel, tell me a story of the stars?”  Celebrían asked.

                Idhreniel did not answer right away, instead turning her gaze back skywards.  Each story played itself over in her mind until she came to one.  She smiled to herself.  This was her favorite.

                “I will tell you of Thorondun and Alphiril,” she began slowly, taking a seat beside Ereinion.

                “Soronúmë and Alquinya,” Elrond cut in quietly for Celebrían’s benefit, pointing out the great eagle and swan in the sky.

                “Oh, this is a lovely story, of the great eagle as he saves the helpless swan.”  Celebrían leaned forward excitedly.

                “Ah, the Noldor would have you believe that the great eagle of the West is the hero,” Idhreniel smiled sadly.  “But we here on the Eastern shore have never forgotten the valor of his swan-lady.”  She took a deep breath before continuing.  “I have told you before of the magician-king, Dúfaron.  He is the greatest of Belegûr’s servants, commanding the fell beasts and armies of the Dark Lord.  But, Dúfaron was not always so.  Long, long ago, before Belegûr fell through arrogance to contempt, Dúfaron was a talented musician, a harpist in the West.  All of his mighty magic was contained within the notes he would play, and the gods would gather when he sang.  Belegûr saw the deepest desires of the magician’s heart and sought to pervert it to his will.  It has never been revealed to the Elves what temptation lured Dúfaron, but his loyalty to the Dark Lord has never wavered.”

                Idhreniel’s gaze returned to her companions.  Elrond and Celebrían had lain back in the sand, looking up at the stars.  Celebrían must have been whispering something to him because he raised his hand, pointing out something in the sky, his low voice unintelligible.  Ereinion’s attention was focused solely on her, a brow lifting curiously when she did not immediately continue her tale.  Idhreniel spared him a warm smile before returning to her narrative.

                “For the twelve months that Gwilwileth sat captive and mute in the black castle, Dúfaron was not idle.  He sought to cheer her gloom by bringing to her the most beautiful items he could find.  When all his efforts proved futile, he began travelling the land in search of something else that could cause her to smile. 

High in the mountains, nestled between the tallest peak and a great lake that fed all the rivers of Arda, lived the lovers, Thorondun and Alphiril.  Together they had created a home in the rocks below the great eagles.  Thorondun daily climbed up the sheer rock, taking to the skies on the backs of the majestic birds.  As one in the service of Aran Einor, he would at times return to the West.  It was during one of these absences that Dúfaron happened upon Alphiril.  She sat beside the gentle lake, a lyre upon her lap as she sang.  Her tone was sweet, but mixed with the sorrowful and lonely notes of one longing for their mate.  He remembered her from the earliest moments of his existence.  Together, they had once stood, humming the notes of the Music.  He thought to himself: surely her song could return the smile to Gwilwileth’s face.  As Dúfaron went to approach Alphiril, Thorondun returned from one of his trips.  The magician scowled from the shadows.  He would have to devise a way to be rid of Aran Einor’s messenger.”

“Oh, Idhreniel, what did he do?” Celebrían exclaimed, her brow wrinkled with concern. 

“Dúfaron waited until Thorondun took flight again, and then approached Alphiril.  He murmured his greeting and surprised the gentle lady.   ‘Dúfaron?  Why have you come?’ Alphiril questioned, her concern apparent.  She had heard of his fall, and perhaps she saw the shadows that edged his beautiful appearance.  ‘I need your assistance, Alphiril.  Please, would you help me?’ He delivered his plea with such sincerity that she was moved.  ‘I must wait for my husband, Dúfaron.  He would be worried if he returned and I was not here.’  ‘We must go right away,’ Dúfaron replied, taking her arm.  ‘Otherwise, the lady may be lost.’

Again, he convinced her of his goodness and she agreed to travel with him in great haste.  During their journey, Alphiril began to question her judgment in undertaking this task.  She saw the great wolves and balrogs that bowed in deference to Dúfaron.  When they arrived to his black castle in the farthest reaches of the North, she shivered at the coldness.  The tower jutted from the cruel and barren ground; only one road twisted to the huge door.  Alphiril cried aloud when she saw that Dúfaron had captured Gwilwileth.  ‘Set her free!’ the lady exclaimed.  ‘Sing for her,’ Dúfaron ordered.  ‘You must make her smile.’

                ‘It is your captivity that keeps her so forlorn,’ Alphiril refused to sing one note in benefit of Dúfaron’s plan.  Dúfaron’s rage boiled over at her continued denial and he summoned up a terrible song.  He whispered of the futility of her repudiation, and what payment he would exact for her defiance.  A great light flashed where Alphiril had been.  Gwilwileth let out a silent cry, wrestling with her bonds in an attempt to save her friend.  When the brilliance cleared an ordinary white swan occupied the same space Alphiril had once stood.  ‘You shall remain as a songless bird until you obey me,” Dúfaron thundered.  But he forgot to clip her wings.  With a great leap, Alphiril flew out of the castle-”       

                “Idhreniel,” a call interrupted her story.

Her eyes flew to the familiar guard, her expression shifting to concern.

                “What is it?” she asked.

                “Captain Tirnion asked me to fetch you,” he reported.  “He says: his child is impatient to come into this world.”

Idhreniel quickly stood, barely remembering to brush off her skirts before following the guard towards the buildings.  They would need to finish this tale on their own.

---

Chapter End Notes

Characters/Notes:

Idhreniel: chief advisor to Gil-galad and sister to Tirnion

Tirnion: captain of the King's Guard, brother to Idhreniel and husband to Ivoreth

Ivoreth: wife of Tirnion

Remmirath: (S) “Netted Stars”; corresponds to the constellation of Pleiades (commonly called the Seven Sisters)

Thorondun (S), Soronúmë (Q): "Eagle of the West", corresponds to Aquila in our night sky.

Alphiril (S), Alquinya (Q): "Swan-lady", corresponds to Cygnus

Dúfaron (S): A title for Sauron. I want to say I made this up, but I don't remember...

Belegûr (S): "He who arises in might"; a name for Morgoth

Gwilwileth (S): "Butterfly"; she will soon become the constellation that corresponds to our own Cassiopeia.

Aran Einor (S): a title for Manwë

 

Chapter Two: Desires of the Heart

Summary: There are many requests made, but not one to finish the tale.

Read Chapter Two: Desires of the Heart

Chapter Two: Desires of the Heart

 

                Idhreniel paced the hall, feeling the cool tile under her bare feet.  She had contained her anxiety while her brother had sat beside her.  He had clutched her hand silently, obviously concerned for his wife.  When the healer allowed, he had nearly sprinted into the room.  Now, in the silence of the corridor, she could not help her restless motions.  The lamps threw dancing shadows across a peaceful forest mural.  Vines painted themselves from the shadowy corners and erupted in bright bloom splotches on the walls.    

                “I must commit this sight to memory: my calm advisor undone by an unborn babe,” Ereinion commented as he filled the chair that had been Tirnion’s. 

He set her shoes underneath the chair; she had forgotten them in her haste.  She felt his gaze as she continued her to and fro.  When she glanced at him again, he was peacefully reading through a bundle of papers.  Her steps slowed until she finally sank into the chair beside him.  Setting aside his work, he placed his hand, palm up, on her thigh.  Idhreniel curled her fingers with his readily, thankful for his presence. 

                “I am glad you’re here,” she murmured.

                “Always.”  He offered her a brief smile before he returned to his reading.

                The hours slipped past them in silence.  Every so often, he would break the quiet to pose a question about Galheril’s proposal. 

                “It seems sound,” he grudgingly commented.

                “It is.  She could theoretically double the trade traffic through Harlond from the southern seas,” Idhreniel answered absently.  “And she is ambitious enough to see her project through.”

Ereinion leaned his head back against the wall and regarded her silently for a moment.  Nearly nine ennin of working together had leant a certain type of awareness to their communications.

                “How ambitious?”

Idhreniel only had to arch a brow in response for realization to cross his face.  He frowned, but said nothing further. 

                “You might make an effort though, Gil-galad,” she said carefully.  “Her father might appreciate the kindness.”

                “I made it clear I would not play these courting games.”  His tone held a sense of finality.

Idhreniel returned to her careful watch of the door, partially relieved.  As always, she did not allow herself to dwell on her reasons.

                “Did you ever see the day that Tirnion would be a father?”  Idhreniel’s voice was soft as she rested her head against his shoulder.

Ereinion chuckled, sliding an arm around her shoulders to support her head.  In the empty corridor, he could assume such familiarity without fear of comment.

                “I think we both know the answer to that.”  He peered down at her before resuming his former pose.  “Most anticipated that you would have beaten him both to marriage and children.”

This was a familiar conversation.  Every so often, they’d descend into traditional teasing about their lack of a partner. 

                “Well, he may have bested me in both, but I have not yet ruled out the possibility of either.”  Idhreniel closed her eyes, unwilling to watch the door any longer.

                “Good.”  His words were lost in her hair. 

                All the hours of waiting seemed brief when Tirnion exited the room, a bundle awkward in his arms.  Idhreniel sprang to her feet, quickly approaching her brother.

                “My son,” he uttered proudly.

Idhreniel peered over his shoulder and felt herself instantly entranced.

                “Tirnion, he is perfect.”  She touched her fingers to the babe’s soft cheeks.  “How is Ivoreth?”

                “Tired, but well.”  Tirnion silently shifted the infant towards his sister, sensing her unasked desire.

Idhreniel cradled her nephew tenderly.  Already he had stolen her heart away, clutching it in his too-strong tiny fingers.  A little pink mouth stretched wide in a soundless yawn; Idhreniel felt the tiny body stiffen in a stretch before curling back into her arms.  The smile she had attempted to hide spread her lips in delight at the jerky motions.

                “Nana and Ada would have loved this moment, loved him,” Idhreniel murmured, craning her neck down to brush a soft kiss to the babe’s forehead. 

                “He will know them.”  Tirnion placed a hand on her shoulder, unable to take his eyes off his son.  “When he is old enough, I shall show him Ada’s nets and teach him about the sea.  You will enchant his dreams with the stars.  Then, when we are all together again in the West, he will have always known them.”

                When the healer called Tirnion back into the room, Idhreniel drifted towards Ereinion’s chair.  She carefully sat, gaze intent on the newborn to be sure her motions did not jar him to wakefulness.  Only once did she look at the King.  He took that as his cue to lean closer, a finger gently moving the blanket away from the baby’s chin. 

                “Do you?”  Idhreniel made a motion to hand him the newborn.

                “Not now, he is enjoying your company,” Ereinion replied, shaking his head.  “There will be other times, I’m sure.”  He pressed a kiss to her temple before rising.  “I do not expect to see you in your office for a few days.”

His words caused her to stare at him.  She began shaking her head, knowing all the duties she had not yet finished.

                “Ereinion, there…” his stern expression caused her to simply nod.  “As you wish.”

                “Good.  Enjoy your freedom.”

If Idhreniel had bothered to watch his departure, she would have caught his split second pause and fleeting wistful gaze linger on her. 

---

                The chair rocked in rhythm to the waves.  Idhreniel rested her cheek against Arvellon’s soft, dark head.  The infant’s cheek pressed hot against her collarbone as he slept soundly.  She hummed softly, closing her eyes in an effort to allow her mind to relax.  Ivoreth and Tirnion had retired long ago, both in dire need of sleep.  When her mind refused to unwind, she opened her eyes to search her skies.

                “Look, Arvellon,” she whispered.  “The stars are out.”

She rose to her feet, drifting outside under a brilliant night sky.  It was clear in all four of the compass directions, and Ithil had chosen to hide beneath the earth.  The stars gleamed with a radiance that only appeared once a month.

                “They shine for you,” her gentle voice continued.  “See, the great Hound waits for you, to romp and play.  He chases after Menelvagor now, but I’m sure he would rather your company.  There, there is your star raised for all to see.”

The small glimmer was just barely visible to the naked eye.  Of course, Arvellon was oblivious to the spectacle displaying itself above him.  Idhreniel relished the feel of his soft skin against her cheek.  Tonight, she honestly acknowledged her desire for a child.  Someday.  She smiled to herself.  In this season of peace, there was always time now for the Elves.

                The next week passed in a blur and Idhreniel had almost forgotten about Celeborn’s request.  The dinner meal was nearly upon them when he knocked at her open door.  She hid her surprise well, having been under the impression he had already departed for Eregion.

                “Lord Celeborn.”  She rose with a smile, beckoning for him to enter.  “I had wondered when you would find me.”

The white lie fell easily off her lips.  Early in her career, she had learned the necessary evil of manipulating her words.  Now, it was a second nature.

                “I hope I am not interrupting.”  He closed the door behind him.

Idhreniel shook her head, going to the door that linked her office to the King’s.  Ereinion sat with Tirnion and his other captains for a report on the newest guards.  His gaze met hers and she offered him a sympathetic smile before closing the door. 

                “Do you mind if we talk outside?” Idhreniel asked, motioning towards the balcony.

                “No, yours is the most stunning of views.”  Celeborn moved outside, taking a seat.

Her balcony faced the Gulf and harbor, looking out over the residences and main road that curled through the city from the King’s Halls to the sea.  A few white-sailed ships still lingered on the waters, and she could see the beacons of both Forlond’s and Harlond’s harbors lit to guide those sailors home.  Farther east, Mithlond’s faint lights marked their harbor.  Idhreniel sat beside him, her gaze caught by the harbor, but her attention firmly on her companion.  Celeborn remained quiet for a moment longer, watching the ships.

                “Galadriel and I have a request to make of you,” he began slowly.  “We have gone to great lengths to be sure that Celebrían has learned under the best tutors.  Until now, they have been strictly Noldor, and I find myself wanting Celebrían to have a Sindar point of view in her studies.”  Idhreniel waited, unwilling to speak until he had fully verbalized his request.  “I wanted to see if you were interested in taking on a pupil.”

                The loud chimes of the dinner bells rang out, reminding them of the hour.  Celeborn quietly regarded Idhreniel as she contemplated her response.  She sighed softly, beginning to shake her head.

                “My lord, I am honored that you and your wife think so highly of me to even make this request,” she began.

                “Please, Idhreniel,” Celeborn interrupted.  “I assure you that Celebrían would be a model student.”

                “Oh, I have no doubt of her diligence,” Idhreniel reassured.  “However, one does not simply pick up a tool and a pen and begin their charts.  Celebrían must want to follow the stars; she must be the one who asks, not her father.”

It was a star-charter tradition, one Ninnethril had clearly impressed upon her daughter.  The stars held too many secrets.  If an individual wished to decipher those riddles, let them ask.  Then the stars could decide. 

                “Were she to come, would you accept?” Celeborn asked after a brief silence.

                “If she is indeed interested, Celeborn, then advise her to come and speak with me.  Otherwise, my answer is no,” Idhreniel replied with a dry smile.  She would make no promises without speaking first to Celebrían.

                “Then our business is complete.”  After a few more minutes of conversation, he rose and made his exit.

Idhreniel chose to remain seated, dissatisfied with the encounter.  She ran the meeting over in her mind, running down the infinite avenues of possibility until she finally thrust the thoughts out.  Her choice had been made; the present would soon enough flow to the likely future.  A quick glance to Ithil’s position reminded her that dinner was nearly finished.  She sighed, pushing to her feet and simply lingering beside the balcony rail.  The first strains of a song drifted up to her.  Unconsciously, she closed her eyes.

                His voice heralded his presence.  The clear tenor rose and fell according the song, the tone softening as the singer drew closer.  Idhreniel kept her eyes closed, face lifted to catch Ithil’s beams as she smiled.  Had the crown never came to him, he would have still been renowned as a singer.  She felt an arm circle her waist and she slid an arm around his in response.  In this manner he continued the song until the last few notes lingered in the air.  Only then did she dare to open her eyes and leave the twilight woods his song had created.  She found his grey eyes already fixed on her, and offered him nothing more than a smile.

                “Come and enjoy the singers with me,” he requested, and then added, “Please.”

She never refused him.

                They meandered through the gardens until they came across the gathering.  When Forlond had been constructed, Ereinion had set apart an area for the bards and minstrels to gather.  White columns held up the sky, and the fauna of the garden served as walls.  The benches within were filled with an audience, so they stood in the back.  Idhreniel found herself surprised by Ereinion for the first moment in a long time.  In private, the line between friend and beloved was often blurred, but tonight, in this public place, he dared to keep his arm firmly curled around her waist.  She did not complain, allowing herself to follow his lead and lean into the embrace.

                “Galadriel wrote to me about a traveler that has joined them,” he murmured the words into her hair.

                “And what is so unusual about this traveler that attracts Galadriel’s attention?” Idhreniel kept her own tone soft.

                “He is…” he spoke the last word so softly she didn’t catch it.

Idhreniel furrowed her brow, shaking her head slightly to show she did not understand.

                “He is a Maia,” Ereinion repeated.

                “How is that concerning to Galadriel?”  Idhreniel looked up at him.

                “She only tells that she feels troubled by his appearance, and to warn me since he has mentioned an interest in travelling to Lindon.”

                “And what do you think?”

He shrugged, taking his eyes off her for only a moment.

                “I find it interesting that a Maia is here outside of Valinor, but we shall see.  I am not yet convinced to bar Forlond against him.  Now…”  He steered her towards a garden path.  “…I saw that Celeborn met with you privately.  I hope you did not agree to lend more funds to them.”

                “You must mistake me for a different advisor.”  She bumped him playfully with her shoulder.  “Celeborn had a different request for me.”

                “And what was that?” 

                “He asked me to take Celebrían as my next pupil,” Idhreniel answered, eliciting a relieved sigh from the King.

                “Here I thought he was trying to lure you away from Lindon.”

                “Are you worried I might go to Ost-in-Edhil?”  Idhreniel sniffed a flower close to her.

                Ereinion plucked it from the bush, sliding the stem behind her ear.  Idhreniel knew her cheeks betrayed her blush, and caught his satisfied amusement.

                “I am always concerned you will someday realize your place is somewhere other than here with me,” he answered carefully.

Boldly, she stepped closer to him, pressing her palm to his cheek.

                “Forlond holds my heart.  I would be lost anywhere else,” she breathed.

The voices of the singers filled the silence between them.  His fingers traced the curve of her neck to cradle her jaw.  A war was waging in his mind, she could see it in his eyes.  They had always been a window into his thoughts. 

                “Forlond has nothing to give in return.”  The space between them grew unconsciously smaller.

                “I have only ever asked for one thing.”  Her hand slid from his cheek to rest in the center of his chest, over his quick beating heart.

Her words froze them both in their pose.  She kept her expression in check under his intense scrutiny, expecting him to break their locked stare.  Instead, he leaned closer, and she was sure he was about to whisper something to her.  For the first time in over a millennia, he kissed her.  He seemed likely to move away at any moment until she returned the kiss, throwing caution aside for once.  Her focus dwindled to the feel of his lips and the soft silk of his robes crumpling between her fingers.  Too quickly did he retreat; his lips pressed together tensely.  Idhreniel opened her eyes slowly, already feeling his penetrating gaze.

                Footsteps reminded them of their public location.  Ereinion sighed, frustration flashing across his face as he stepped away from their intimate pose.

                “I intend to finish this conversation in private.”  His eyes commanded her to follow.

She silently wondered if she was the uncertain moon trailing his steady sun.  They hurried away from the gardens, and no one bothered to stop them.  It was no uncommon sight to see the King and his chief advisor returning to their offices at a late hour.  Idhreniel slowed her pace as they came closer to their offices.  Her eyes traced the banners and works that told of the Noldor’s great deeds.  One artist had dared to recreate Fingolfin’s dramatic entrance into Beleriand, blue banners waving and gold trumpets shining below a fiery Anor. 

                “My grandfather braved ice and left his wife to follow his brother,” Ereinion spoke.  “Our grief has only increased since then.”

It surprised her to hear his critical words, but she made no comment moving towards the next mural that reflected his father’s heroic last stand.  Fingon shone like a silver flame in his armor, unstained by the blackness around him.  Ereinion had also paused, his face a study in ambiguity as he gazed at his father’s likeness.

                “Do you ever think of him?” she asked.

Instead of answering, Ereinion walked on to his office.  Idhreniel lingered for only a moment more.  Sometimes she forgot how closely Ereinion resembled his father.  By the time she entered his office and closed the door behind her, he was busy staring at his hidden cache of wines.  Idhreniel swept up beside him, reaching to choose a bottle at random.

“No, not that one.”  He waved at her hand with a weary sigh.  “Have I taught you nothing about wine?”

“I believe I wasn’t listening.”  Idhreniel crossed her arms, allowing him to make the final choice.

He ignored her comment, moving away with the bottle to open it.  He tended to expound upon the intricacies of wine tasting, and she had little interest in the subject.

                “Were you anyone else, I might take offense to that,” he finally said, leading the way outside.

They spent so much of their days inside that their nights were always allocated for the outdoors.  The small table with two chairs sitting close to the balcony rail served as their usual seating. 

                “You allow me many liberties,” Idhreniel replied truthfully.

Freedoms she was careful to presume only when they were alone.  Silently, the minutes stretched and passed between them.  Idhreniel contentedly watched the repetition of the waves sliding into the shore, allowing the motion to lull her into relaxation.

                “My father has weighed on my thoughts lately.”  He watched the blush colored wine swirl in his cup.  Idhreniel silently sipped hers, allowing him the chance to continue.  “And my mother.”

                “We all miss Meldilmë,” Idhreniel replied.  His mother had gone across the sea at the beginning of the age. 

                “She left these shores because of her great love for my father.”  Ereinion still did not take his eyes off his glass.  “She longed for him every day they were apart.  She tried to hide it from me, but I remember.  I remember…”

When he did not finish, Idhreniel tilted her head to study him curiously.

                “You seem critical of their relationship.”  Idhreniel was uncertain where this train of conversation would lead.

                “I want to be realistic.”  At that, he finally looked at her.  “I have repeatedly said I will not play the political games and pretend at courting.  I made a choice long ago to not wed on these shores.  I will have no lady bear my mother’s sorrow, and I will leave no child fatherless.”

The words were brutally clear.  Now, Idhreniel found herself gazing into her cup.

                “Yet, we have had peace here with the chaining of Morgoth,” she noted quietly.

                “I fear it is to be short-lived,” Ereinion set aside his glass, reaching over for her hand.  He looked reluctant to utter his next words, paused with his lips just barely open and expression completely apologetic.  “While I may desire many things, I do not wish to give you any false hope.”

                Idhreniel squeezed his hand, respecting his honest words, but struggling with them all the same.  The echo of the waves matched the beat of her heart, drowning out all other sounds.  He had laid the choice before her: to wait or not.  Yet, the many years between them had firmly rooted her mind and heart. 

                “I will not lie and say I am not disappointed at your words,” she began, watching his expression quickly shift from sincerity to detachment.  “But I cannot and will not change my heart.  If you can tell me that your position is the same as mine, I will be content.  I will not ask of you more than you can give.”

He brought her knuckles to his lips gently, expression completely serious.

                “It is,” he declared softly.  “And it will always be.”

Her heart soared with the confession.

                “Then I will find a way to be content,” Idhreniel smiled affectionately to him.

He kissed her fingertips before releasing her hand and standing.  He leaned his back against the rail, studying her instead of the view.  Idhreniel only raised a brow at him, attempting to ignore his scrutiny.

                “Do you like the wine?” he finally asked.

                “Gil-galad, we both know I am not going to respond about the sweet notes or the faint taste of peaches,” Idhreniel responded with a sigh.

                “But you noticed,” he smiled victoriously.  “With that you reveal you have been listening to my lectures.”

She stood, already shaking her head as she approached him.  He could not hide his delighted smile, sipping his wine. 

                “I have done nothing of the sort.”  She tried to hold back her laughter.

She leaned her back against the rail as well, tilting her head back to gaze at Ithil.  To anyone who saw them on the terrace, it seemed they were only star gazing.  The ornate balustrade hid their twined fingers from view.

---

Chapter End Notes

Characters/Notes:

Idhreniel: chief counselor to Gil-galad; sister of Tirnion; daughter of Ninnethril and Olthir.

Ereinion Gil-galad: High-king of the Noldor; son of Findekáno and Meldilmë.

Tirnion: First Captain of Gil-galad’s personal guard; brother of Idhreniel; son of Ninnethril and Olthir.

Galheril: Noldor; Daughter of one of Gil-galad’s counselors.

Ivoreth: wife of Tirnion.

Arvellon: son of Tirnion.

Melevagor (S): “Swordsman of the sky”; corresponds to the constellation Orion; he has one red star that makes up his right shoulder.

Meldilmë: Exile; mother of Gil-galad; wife of Findekáno.

Chapter Three: A Transparent Decision

Huge thanks to Scarlet and Erulisse for their feedback on this part. 

Summary: The tale of Thorondun and Alphiril is finished, and Idhreniel contemplates a change in scenery.

Read Chapter Three: A Transparent Decision

Chapter Three: A Transparent Decision

 

                Idhreniel entered her office the next morning to find it already occupied.  Celebrían studied the items filling the bookcases that lined a full wall.  There were not only leather bound volumes, but artifacts that had survived Eglarest and Balar. 

                “That was given to me by Gil-galad.”  Idhreniel approached Celebrían slowly, catching sight of the gem in the lady’s hands.  “He said I should have some craft of the Noldor within my office.  I believe its creator resides in Ost-in-Edhil.”

Celebrían swiftly replaced it on the shelf with an apologetic expression.

                “It was too beautiful to not touch.”  She offered as an explanation.

Those words reiterated Celeborn’s earlier ones, the fact that his daughter had been taught only by the Noldor of Ost-in-Edhil.  Of course she loved the jewels and metals of the earth.  There were days Idhreniel studied the intricate gems and twisted metals and wished for them to whisper their knowledge to her.  To present, they remained foreign and proud to her.

                “It is lovely,” Idhreniel replied.  “I assume your father spoke with you.”

Celebrían nodded, drawing herself proudly to her full height.  She resembled her mother, golden and sure.

                “I have come to ask you for the opportunity to study your craft,” she said.

The multitude of questions ready at the tip of Idhreniel’s tongue dissipated suddenly.  She was reminded of the moment, long ago, when she had gone to ask her mother for the same chance.  She had used those exact words.  Her mind argued that logically, of course Celebrían would state her request thusly.  However, a small voice from her heart murmured that perhaps it was no coincidence.  Regardless, she needed more time than she currently had to make a decision.

                “I will give you my answer tonight after I finish telling you of Thorondun and Alphiril.”  Idhreniel offered Celebrían a warm smile.  “But now, I have many duties to which I must attend.”

As if to echo her words, Elrond strode into the room, a bundle of papers in his hands.  He paused, looking between the ladies.

                “Ah, I apologize.  I did not realize you had company, Idhreniel.  Shall I come back?”  He kept his gaze firmly on Idhreniel.

Celebrían shook her head first, her cheeks delightfully brushed with a blush.

                “Oh no, Lord Elrond.  I was about to leave.”  She glanced to Idhreniel.  “Until tonight then.”

Elrond watched the lady leave before fixing a questioning look to Idhreniel. 

                “So it is true that you may take on another pupil.”  Elrond set his burden on her desk.

                “Where did you hear that?” Idhreniel replied.

Elrond only shook his head with a small smile, dragging a chair around the desk to sit beside Idhreniel’s.

                “How many times must I remind you that I know everything?” he said seriously.

Idhreniel regarded him humorlessly, stifling her eye roll. 

                “What have you brought me?”

---

                Her terrace was filled with guests that evening.  Círdan and his golden-haired companion had travelled from Mithlond unlooked for, keeping council with Gil-galad behind closed doors until they had ventured onto the balcony.  Now, Celeborn spoke quietly with them, his expression serious.  Celebrían remained silent beside her father, listening intently to the conversation swirling around the four men.  Elrond stood apart from the rest of the seated group, his elbows resting on the top of the railing.  Idhreniel approached him first, linking an arm with his as she leaned against the rail, appreciating the sea breeze that whipped her dark hair to mingle with Elrond’s.  For a while, they were silent, both watching the Gil-Estel appear from the West.

                “Your thoughts are heavy, Peredhil.”

                “Our King has made them so, but I can bear them,” Elrond replied, looking at Idhreniel and then the small group.  “You have an audience to entertain.”

                “You carry yourself with all the grace of Lúthien’s line, Elrond,” Idhreniel murmured, squeezing his arm, taking back his attention.  “But even she knew when to dance and sing her troubles away.” 

                “I am a terrible singer,” Elrond replied with a faint laugh.

                “I find that hard to believe.”  Idhreniel was glad to see his expression lightened by a fraction.  He always carried too many burdens; he saw too much.

                “What are you two whispering about over there?” Ereinion called out.

                Idhreniel turned her head slowly, brushing away the strands of her hair that danced across her face.  She sent the King a mysterious smile.

                “Nothing of concern, Gil-galad,” she responded.

                “Let your advisors have their secrets, Gil-galad,” Círdan cut in, relaxing in his chair. 

Ereinion made no response, simply raising a brow at Idhreniel and Elrond. 

                “I suppose we should join them,” Idhreniel murmured.  “Or he’s going to think we’re scheming.”

                “His begetting day is approaching,” Elrond noted as Idhreniel turned towards the group.

Elrond followed her, taking the empty seat beside Celebrían and leaving the space beside Gil-galad for Idhreniel. 

                “Idhreniel, have you met Glorfindel?” Ereinion asked as she sat beside him.

Her eyes turned to Círdan’s companion and she shook her head.

                “Not until this moment.  It is my pleasure, Glorfindel.”  Idhreniel bowed her head politely.

                “And mine, Counselor.  Gil-galad mentioned that you might grace us with a… song, was it?” Glorfindel looked to Ereinion for assistance.

                “I will spare you my singing,” Idhreniel responded.  “But I promised Celebrían I would finish the tale of Thorondun and Alphiril.  Are you familiar with it?”

                “I do not believe I am,” he began.

                “Perhaps you’ve heard of Soronúmë and Alquinya?” Ereinion added quietly.

                “Ah, yes, the tale of the brave eagle who saves his swan lady.  My mother used to tell it to me as a child,” Glorfindel nodded quickly.

                “You have heard only the Noldorin version then, Friend,” Círdan said.  “My people have their own legends.  We do not exalt the eagles; they leave us to go West.  The swans have never forsaken us.”  He turned towards Idhreniel.  “But you shall remind us of that.”

Quickly, Idhreniel reminded the group of Thorondun, the messenger that flew on the backs of eagles between this shore and the West, and his mate, Alphiril, the swan-lady.  Dúfaron, the evil magician-king, had convinced Alphiril to come with him to his dark castle and when she refused to do his bidding, was turned to a swan.

                “And I believe that is where we paused.”  Idhreniel looked to Celebrían for an answer.

                “Yes, you were saying that Dúfaron had not clipped her wings,” Celebrían answered.

                Idhreniel smiled to herself, having finally arrived at her favorite part of this story.

                “So, with a great leap, Alphiril spread her white wings and sailed out the window, back towards her mountain home.  She did not realize the vast distance between the North and her home, and soon grew weary.  Lower and lower did she fly, until she came to rest on a lake.  Even though her heart pushed to travel on, she understood the folly and rested her new wings, hiding her face in the feathers.  The fell notes of Dúfaron’s song echoed repeatedly within her mind.  She truly worried for her kind husband because Dúfaron had threatened his life as payment for her disobedience.  Alphiril knew she must reach her mate first.

Now, Dúfaron followed her, and when she stopped to rest, he journeyed onward in the shape of an ugly bat.  A terrible purpose filled his mind and fueled his flight.  He arrived to the mountain home and assumed his fair hue to await Thorondun.  It was not long before the messenger arrived, tired from his journey to the West.  He called out for his mate as he climbed down from the eagles’ cliffs. 

‘She is not here,’ Dúfaron answered for Alphiril.  He had taken up the lady’s lyre and strummed it gently.  Thorondun approached, but did not recognize Dúfaron’s face.  He had never met the magician.  ‘Do you know where she has gone, Stranger?’ he asked.  Dúfaron set aside the instrument and stood to venture closer to Thorondun.  ‘To the castle of Dúfaron,’ he answered.  ‘You are sure she went there?’ Thorondun did not initially believe that his wife would have taken such a perilous task.  ‘I saw it with my own eyes,’ Dúfaron answered.  ‘I would not have come to you otherwise.  Let me take you to rescue her.’  Thorondun took the magician’s offer, so glad for the help and worried about his lady that he did not sense the impending danger.  They set out on their journey immediately. 

Alphiril resumed her travels once she was well-rested, stretching sore wings and forcing herself forward.  With her keen eye, she caught sight of her mate and soared towards him.  However, Dúfaron saw her first.  ‘Look!’ he cried, ‘It is Dúfaron!’  His lie caused Thorondun to notch his bow with an arrow and take aim at the white bird.  ‘You are sure?’ Thorondun asked.  His heart was ill at ease, but he had heard the tales of Dúfaron’s magic.  He could not allow the magician-king a chance to strike.  ‘Yes, he has taken the form of a bird to trick us!’ Dúfaron’s words were laced with a spell influencing Thorondun to let the arrow fly.  Alphiril evaded the shaft with a silent cry.  Again and again, Thorondun targeted the swan, believing it was Dúfaron.  Alphiril persevered, dodging the arrows over and over.  She doubled her efforts, flying close enough to Dúfaron to peck him with her beak.  The magician shouted in anger, directing a painful spell at her.  Alphiril cried out when it struck, nearly falling out of the sky.  ‘You must kill it,’ Dúfaron whispered the terrible idea in Thorondun’s ear. ‘That is how you will be reunited with your lady.’  Thorondun hesitated, his heart heavy as he drew his final arrow.  His aim was true and with sadness, he watched the swan plummet to the ground.  Dúfaron laughed aloud then, victorious in his trick. 

Thorondun approached the fallen bird, kneeling beside it.  He felt such sorrow for destroying something so fair.  ‘You fool,’ Dúfaron whispered in his ear.  ‘That is Alphiril.  You have slain your wife and listened to the counsel of darkness for I am Dúfaron.’  Thorondun was filled with such shame and despair that he could not even take up his sword to challenge the magician.”

                Idhreniel paused there for a breath, glancing at her captivated audience. 

                “Is that the end?” Celebrían asked softly, clearly distressed.  “It is so sad, Idhreniel.”

                “It is not the end,” Elrond murmured, glancing swiftly to the lady beside him. 

Idhreniel sat back in her chair, content to allow him to finish the tale.  Elrond’s voice always seemed to take on a magic of his own when rare chance offered the opportunity for his tale-telling. 

                “Dúfaron left the despairing messenger, ordering his wolves to rip the man to shreds.  The magician laughed in victory all the way back to his castle where he shared his triumph with Gwilwileth.  ‘Alphiril shall not sing again!’ he gloated.”  Elrond’s voice seemed to create the tale around them.  Idhreniel closed her eyes and found herself beside Dúfaron’s fair figure as he celebrated his success before a captive Gwilwileth.  “‘Had she but obeyed my request, both her and her mate would yet live in peace.’  Gwilwileth cried for the misfortune of her friends, and, had she a voice, she would have cursed Dúfaron.  Then, a great pounding came at the door of the castle.  Thorondun yelled for Dúfaron to come out, and to face him.  When the magician looked out at the messenger, he saw that his great wolves had been torn to pieces by the sharp claws of Aran Einor’s eagles.  Oh, such a great hatred sprung up in Dúfaron’s heart and he let out a terrible yell.  ‘I know your magic can save her.  Will you not indulge me, Dúfaron?  Allow me this trial!’  Cried Thorondun.  ‘What can you possibly offer me in return?  What if I best you in this challenge?’ Dúfaron replied.  With a heavy heart, Thorondun replied, ‘if I lose to you, then I forfeit my fealty to Aran Einor.  I will serve you.’  He knew Dúfaron could not resist such a prize.

Dúfaron agreed to the terms that if Thorondun bested him, he would restore Alphiril to her normal state, but would collect Thorondun’s eternal service if he won.  They agreed to race the starry skies; Aran Einor’s eagles against Belegûr’s fell winged beasts.  ‘I would request that you revive my wife,’ Thorondun asked, offering up the limp swan to Dúfaron.  The magician healed Alphiril’s wounds, but left her in her swan-form, warning Thorondun that if he sought to deceive or cheat, she would remain thus.  

The two men plotted their course.  They would fly to the bitter edges of the North and then through the abandoned tunnels of the deep earth before returning to Dúfaron’s castle.  ‘Then we are off,’ said Dúfaron as his beast carried him into the skies.  Thorondun leapt astride his eagle to follow.  It was a bitter fight, the winged beasts evenly matched.  Both survived the cold that cut through flesh and bone; and then the sweltering heats of the earth’s caves.  It was when they emerged again for the final stretch that Dúfaron began to lose his lead.  The magician turned his mount towards the stars.  Thorondun was so caught up in the pursuit that he simply followed.”  Here, Elrond’s voice trailed off.

                “Oh, and they dodged the stars.  Thorondun cried out when one burnt his leg.”  Idhreniel’s low voice immediately filled in before the vision Elrond had created failed.  “Dúfaron knocked the blazes out of the sky.  It rained stars and they crashed into Arda, flattening mountains and digging up valleys.  Dúfaron continued to travel higher and higher until he heard the loud cry of the eagle.  The stars had caught the great bird in a fiery net; there was nothing the messenger could do.  He cried out a terrible curse upon the magician-king, for the trickery that had robbed him of both his wife and pride.  It is said the Star-Kindler heard his words and before Dúfaron could claim his servant, Thorondun and his eagle became bright stars.  Dúfaron raged against the Lady that continuously stole his greatest achievements. 

Alphiril did not see the immortalization of her husband among the other signs of the sky.   She saw only Dúfaron returning from a distance, so she quickly escaped.  She returned to the home they had once shared with its great lake.  It is said she spent her days searching the bitter colds of the North and deeps of the earth, thinking Thorondun had been lost to the elements.  She never gave up her quest.  When, at last, her poor heart failed from grief, the Lord of the Waters bore her West.  He placed her swan-form at the feet of the Star-Kindler with a soft plea: ‘grant her a place beside her mate.’  ‘Her mate showed great bravery, my lord,’ said the Star-Kindler.  ‘What great thing has she done?’  ‘She has loved, and deeply,’ the Lord of the Waters replied, his voice as deep as the sea.  And so, the Star-Kindler granted his request.  Now Alphiril continues her chase, following her husband nightly through the skies.”

                “So tragic.”  Celeborn was the first to break the long silence.

                “Yet, so beautiful,” his daughter murmured.  “What a true love they shared.”

                “It is a much different tale than the one I am familiar with,” Glorfindel mused.  “But no less compelling.  You have a unique gift, Counselor.”

                The conversations sprung up again, pausing only when Círdan and Glorfindel retired.  Idhreniel found herself drifting off into the starry space until Ereinion’s subtle nudge grounded her. 

                “Idhreniel, you said you would have an answer for me tonight,” Celebrían said softly.  “Have you come to a decision?”

Both the lady and her father fixed their gazes on Idhreniel. 

                “Yes, Celebrían, my answer is yes,” Idhreniel answered with a small smile.

Celebrían’s bright smile lit up the room and she quickly rose and embraced Idhreniel.  All the exuberance of her youth was clear to see.  Celeborn looked decidedly satisfied as he watched her celebration.

                “I am also pleased to hear your answer, but I find there is further business to discuss,” Celeborn rose, offering his hand to Idhreniel.  “Would you accompany me?  This night is too lovely to spend so far from the sea.”

                Idhreniel ignored the curious gazes of Elrond and Ereinion as she took the lord’s hand.  They meandered down a garden path that twisted to the sea.  Only when he was sure they were alone, did Celeborn speak.

                “I did not wish to broach the subject in front of Gil-galad,” Celeborn offered in way of explanation.  Idhreniel waited for him to continue.  “All of Celebrían’s tutors have come with me to Ost-in-Edhil.  Galadriel and I are not yet comfortable with Celebrían residing alone in a different realm.”

Idhreniel crossed her arms over her chest, looking across the sea.  The clear view was broken by a lone fisherman’s boat.  Then her gaze turned to the far off mountains.  Somewhere within her, a voice whispered, ‘what lies beyond them?’  For centuries, she had quelled the restlessness of her spirit, choosing to remain comfortable beside the King.  Now, with his quiet declaration, she found herself wondering what lay outside the borders of Lindon.

                “You are then asking me to leave Forlond,” she said.

                “Yes,” Celeborn sighed.  “But I promise that you would love Ost-in-Edhil.”           

                “Do you?”  Idhreniel raised a questioning brow at him.

Celeborn’s lips glimmered with a faint smile.  An arm fell over her shoulders as he turned her to look at the mountains.

                “Yes, because I can tell you wish to see what lies beyond those mountains.  You want to see trees and forests.”  His voice seemed to create the visions of a great shadowy forest before her.  “While the Noldor of Ost-in-Edhil value the things they can gather from below the earth, there are a few of us who revel in the wonders of the world above the dirt.”

The allure was growing in her mind, assisted by the fantastic images Celeborn was creating.  There were only a few things that kept her from agreeing to leave.

                “Yet, my family has only recently grown and-” Idhreniel began.

                “And you are unsure if Gil-galad will be displeased?”  Celeborn finished for her.

                While he had admitted on past occasions that it was his wife who had been blessed with the great gift of foresight, Celeborn could see deep into the heart.  He did not need to see the future when he could unveil the truths of an individual’s motivation.  Idhreniel hoped her expression remained impartial under the weight of his knowing gaze.

                “I have been one of his advisors since his coronation,” she admitted. 

                “Perhaps it would be beneficial to remove yourself for a time so that another voice could lend wisdom to the King.  I believe Elrond is overdue to accept the task,” Celeborn suggested.  “But, I will not try to sway you further.”  He reached out, taking her hand.  She let her other hand drop to her side as she watched him.  “I believe I have made a compelling case and now, I leave the decision with you.  I will make all the necessary travel arrangements and await your answer.”

With a gentle squeeze her to hand, he respectfully inclined his head and took his leave of her.  Idhreniel watched him leave, her mind debating the choices laid before her.  While she despised the thought of leaving her brother, he was busy with his own family.  Though she was part of his joy, perhaps the time had come to venture out on her own.  The cool mist of the grey fog kissed her cheeks and she moved into the low clouds.  They enveloped her.  Her eyes closed of their own accord and she stood still, listening to the amplified roar of the surf.  Time was completely disregarded as she was motionless on the sand.   Her father had taught her to listen to the sea.  Idhreniel could clearly hear Olthir’s voice in her mind. 

“Daughter, be still.  The Lord of the Waters yet whispers the wisdom of the world into the ebb and flow of the waves,” he had said.  “Few Elves ever pause to listen.  Do not search for the horns- that is a dangerous folly- but hear the waves.”

That night, the waves had sang to her of the fog and their love for the sweet kisses of the mist.  Yet, tonight there was no clarity to be found.  The fog and its waves offered her no wisdom.  She turned back towards the city and her terrace.

As she strode up the steps of the King’s Halls, she found Ereinion descending.  He paused, clearly relieved to see her.

“Celeborn returned hours ago,” he stated.  “I worried you had been lost in the fog.”

Idhreniel smiled slightly, placing a hand on his arm.

                “I am a daughter of a fisherman, Gil-galad.  The fog is not something I fear,” she reminded.

                “I forget sometimes,” he murmured, taking her hand in his and leading her back down the steps into the gardens.  “You have become only my wise advisor, not the daughter of Olthir, the fisherman and Ninnethril, the star-reader.”

She quietly intoned her thanks for the compliment, squeezing his hand firmly.

                “Are you drawing me out into the quiet gardens to find out the topic of Celeborn’s business?”  She directly addressed the matter at hand.

                “Am I that transparent?”

                They took up seats on the empty benches of the musician’s corner.  The singers had long ago deserted the area to rest, and now Gil-galad and Idhreniel were spectators to the silence.  He took both of her hands in his, for once looking uncharacteristically concerned.

                “I have known you a long time, Ereinion.”  Idhreniel felt a fond smile cross her face as she gazed at him.

                “You have been as consistent as Anor’s rising.”  His thumbs brushed over the backs of her hands slowly. 

                “I have always been beside you.”  Her grip tightened around his.  She drew courage from him.  “I wonder if it is a disservice for you to have had one opinion for your entire reign.”

                “I am not following you.”  His expression was slowly shifting from concerned to stern.  “I am asking what private business Celeborn felt he could not discuss in front of me.”

                “Celeborn asked me to go to Ost-in-Edhil with him and Celebrían,” she honestly stated.

                “And it seems you are contemplating accepting his offer.”  Ereinion’s tone was sharp. 

                “Am I so transparent?”  She tried to smile, but it fell flat.

                There was no smile returned.  Instead, the fog crept up around them, filling the benches with a shadowy audience.  The trees were decorated with grey and the flowers lost their brilliance as they dimmed.  Soon, all she could see was him.  They were alone, hidden from the rest of the world. 

                “If I had any claim to your hand, I would beg you to stay,” he whispered.  “But I forfeited that.”

                “No, your claim is delayed,” she corrected.  “I do not leave for lack of promises.  Lord Celeborn spoke of a beautiful realm and I find my heart yearning to see what lies beyond the Ered Luin.”

She watched his face as she spoke.  While his expression revealed his grudging approval, his eyes were warm and fond.

                “There is a light in your eyes that I have not seen since Balar.”  He kissed the backs of her hands.   “As much as I shall miss you, you must go.”

                “You will barely notice my absence.”  She embraced him firmly.

                “I doubt that,” he said softly into her hair.

They remained in the gardens until Ereinion reminded her of their duties the next morning.  Silently, he delivered her to her quarters.  Idhreniel kissed his cheek.

                “I will always return to Forlond,” she promised.

                “Forlond will eagerly anticipate that day,” he responded.

Idhreniel slipped inside her rooms, going directly to her bed and falling across it into an exhausted sleep. 

She dreamt she was Alphiril and flying high above the stars.  She crossed the expanse of Arda, her wings never tiring.  Her heart yearned to return to the simple mountain home and she could just see it on the horizon.  Then her precious stars tangled her, holding her captive, and she could hear Dúfaron laughing somewhere in the distance.  When she awoke at dawn, her ears were still ringing from the sound.

---

Chapter End Notes

Characters/Notes:

Thorondun (S), Soronúmë (Q): “Eagle of the West”, corresponds to Aquila in our night sky.

Alphiril (S), Alquinya (Q): “Swan lady”, corresponds to Cyngus.

Dúfaron (S): A title for Sauron.

Aran Einor (S): A name for Manwë.

Chapter Four: Moments of Memory

Summary: Idhreniel finally shares a tale with her brother of the Sun and Moon; and says her farewells.

Read Chapter Four: Moments of Memory

Chapter Four: Moments of Memory

 

                The night before her departure, Idhreniel found herself alone strolling on the beach.  Ithil brightly illuminated the shore, having chased away what little clouds threatened the horizon.  Her shoes had been left behind her somewhere on the sand since she preferred to walk barefoot.  Each step was accompanied by the squelch of the wet sand sliding to mold around her foot.  The white foamed water tickled her ankles and soaked the hem of her skirts.  She paused again to pick up another seashell, adding it to the collection in the small basket she carried.

                “You resemble Nana more and more.”

Tirnion too had left his shoes and rolled up his leggings.  He did not react when the water crept up over his ankles.  They had been born beside the ocean; the frigid sea ran through their veins. 

                “Nana had all the beauty of the stars in her face.  I am a child of Ithil and Anor,” Idhreniel argued with a smile.

                “What are you doing out here, Sister?”  Tirnion knew the hazards of debating with his sister: namely, the fact that he would lose.

                “I thought I might take a memento of Forlond with me,” Idhreniel responded, showing her brother the shell collection. 

For a while, they gathered the shells, commenting only on the size or beauty of each one.  Tirnion couldn’t resist splashing her and briefly, a water fight broke out between them.  He laughed, holding up his hands peaceably in surrender.  Idhreniel grinned victoriously, throwing her dark hair back over her shoulder and splashing him one last time.

                “I am going to miss you terribly, Sister,” Tirnion said softly, glancing at her.

Idhreniel’s sad smile revealed her own similar feelings.

                “Do you remember when you and Ada would go on those long fishing trips?” Idhreniel asked.

Tirnion chuckled to himself with a nod.  He smoothed the sand from a particularly beautiful blue colored shell.

                “When you would cry and complain to go?”

                “I did not cry!” Idhreniel protested.

His brows arched in disbelief at her objection.

                “You did,” Tirnion nodded.  “I remember your tantrums, Sister.”

                “Do you remember what Nana always said?”  Idhreniel touched his shoulder, stopping him from moving.

Immediately, Tirnion looked to the moon.  Idhreniel’s eyes drifted upwards as well.

                “She said we should count our blessings that we were neither Aurion nor Calathiril, for they meet but once a year,” he whispered, and then added.  “Remind me, Sister.  Remind me of their patience.”

                Idhreniel led him to the dry sand, already feeling it scratch her ankles.  They sat across from each other, as they had when they were children.  She spread the shells out on the silver material of her skirt, fingers brushing over the faint grooves of the shells.  Tirnion began helping her sort them by color and size.

                “Aran Einor and the Star-Kindler grew tired of the dominance of Belegûr and his servants beneath the stars of the One.  They took counsel with Ivon and the other Belain to devise a way to chase the darkness away.  There were many suggestions.  Tauron wished to simply go and wage war with Belegûr.  The Great Smith, Óli, brought up an idea.  ‘What of fire?  We could place a great ball of fire in the sky to illuminate the evils of our former brother.’  Many of the Belain celebrated the idea, but some were ill at ease.  ‘What of my plants?  They will wither under endless fire,’ said Ivon.  ‘And the Edhel will never see my stars,’ reminded the Star-Kindler.  ‘The waters will dry up and Arda will become dust,’ rumbled Ulu, the Lord of the Waters.  ‘But if we allow the starlit darkness to prevail, Belegûr will continue in his evil,’ replied Aran Einor,” Idhreniel paused, looking past her brother to the shadow approaching.  “It seems we have guests, Tirnion.”

                “May I join you?” Ivoreth called, her son sleeping in her arms. 

Tirnion quickly rose, taking Arvellon into his own arms.  Idhreniel watched the tenderness with which Ivoreth gazed at her husband and son.  It eased her heart to know Tirnion would be well cared for when she left. 

                “You need not ever ask, my love,” Tirnion replied with a small smile. 

                “You two seemed caught up in your conversation.  I did not wish to interrupt.”  Ivoreth sat beside Idhreniel.

                “You are no interruption, Ivoreth, but a welcome addition.”  Idhreniel sent her a warm smile.  “I was only fulfilling Tirnion’s wish for a tale.”

                “She bestows our mother’s stories on everyone but me,” Tirnion interjected with a soft laugh.

                “Complaints, complaints!”  She only chuckled at her brother’s grumbles.

                “You must continue then,” Ivoreth replied.  “Please.”

                Tirnion offered his son to Idhreniel and she cradled the babe quickly, relishing the warmth of the child in her arms.

                “Aran Einor was perplexed at what could be done.  He sat high upon his throne, pondering their choices.  It was Lúrin who came to him.  The Dream-master proposed they set two great lights in the skies, one of fire and one that would allow the beauty of the Star-kindler’s work to still shine  The other Belain agreed to the idea and divided themselves into two groups to create these lights.”  Idhreniel’s eyes turned to Ithil.  “Óli worked long to infuse a chariot with all the brilliance of his forge fires, while Elbereth and Ulu fashioned a ship of a thousand stars.  The Star-kindler and the Lord of the Waters were finished first and all the Belain marveled at the work of their hands.  She was named Ithil, but not yet could she voyage into the skies.  She had no captain.

                Quiet sat Ithil in the waters of the sky above the far West until Óli unveiled his great chariot.  Tauron lent some of his fastest horses to pull the vessel.  The steeds were black as night with fearless hearts and bright eyes.  ‘Who would dare tame these beasts?’ asked Aran Einor, watching the chariot race, burning the ground it touched. ‘For we cannot send such a wild gift near the Children.’  One of Tauron’s own, Aurion, was chosen for the task.  He alone was able to restrain the beasts to carry their great burden.  While the Belain were debating over who would manage Ithil, Calathiril, the twin sister of Aurion, came before them with a plea.  ‘O wise ones, please hear my request,” she cried.  ‘I would ask to be given the care of Ithil, to follow my brother eternally.’  ‘And what qualifies you?’ Aran Einor replied, his gaze sharp upon her.  ‘She is one of my servants,” murmured Ulu.  ‘There is no one better to guide our ship through the skies.’”  Here Idhreniel paused, quickly handing Arvellon back to his mother.  The child had awoken angrily. 

                “He is ever hungry,” Ivoreth explained as she rose.  Tirnion stood with her, as if to go with, but she stayed him with a hand.  “I can handle our child, Husband.  Spend this night with your sister.”

Tirnion still looked undecided as his wife walked away.  After gathering up the shells she would keep, Idhreniel stood as well, sliding an arm through his.  She picked up her basket.

                “Will you escort me back, brother?”  She knew he wished to be with his wife and child.

                “If you agree to finish the tale,” he replied.

                “Of course,” she said, swinging her basket.  “So, Calathiril was given command of Ithil and she was allowed to first fly the skies above Arda.”

                “Nana said it was a beautiful sight,” Tirnion interrupted, his gaze caught on the bright orb in the sky.

                “Nana could make anything sound beautiful,” Idhreniel reminded.

Tirnion laughed and nodded.

                “I cannot disagree.”

After a moment of memory, Idhreniel resumed her tale.

                “The servants of Belegûr quaked at the onslaught of light.  The Dark Lord peered up at Ithil and commanded his beasts to attack it.  He would suffer no light to reach the depths of his fortress.  Yet, the Belain had not sent Calathiril on her path without a sword to fend off any foes.  Valiantly, she fought off each and every one of the evil beings that sought to bring down her ship.  Then Belegûr himself ascended to the skies, his great hammer in hand, ready to knock the ship from the sky.  Calathiril was frightened by the ominous shadow, but she gripped her sword bravely.  Belegûr laughed, lifting his hammer to destroy the light. 

At that moment, the chariot of Aurion galloped into the sky.  The Dark Lord screamed in pain at the terrible light and the thunder of Aurion’s team.  He dropped his weapon and was driven back into his caves.  Aurion commanded the chariot of Anor to Ithil’s side.  ‘Your timing is impeccable, as always, Brother,’ said Calathiril.  Aurion laughed in response.  For a time, his chariot accompanied her ship through the skies and there was no darkness in Arda.  Those were the happiest of times for the brother and sister for they were ever together.  Yet, Arda and its Children languished in the continuous day.  So, Lúrien beseeched the Star-Kindler to separate the lights to allow a time for rest. 

                Elbereth ordered them apart.  Aurion was to rise and at his setting in the West, Calathiril would begin her journey.  The siblings were heart-broken to be parted thusly.  ‘Will we never see each other again?’ Aurion asked sadly.  ‘We shall, Brother, but patient must we be.  My ship shall this time catch your chariot,’ Calathiril promised.  So it is, that once a year, Ithil passes Anor’s path and darkens the day.  We should celebrate those brief moments, for Aurion and Calathiril are reunited.”

                They had come to the door of his home.  Tirnion embraced his sister firmly.

                “Though your path takes you far from me, I will celebrate when we are together again,” he whispered in her ear.

Idhreniel buried her face into his shoulder, overcome for a moment with emotion.  He held her steadily.

                “I have never been parted from you,” she said quietly, wiping at her eyes.  “I will miss you terribly.”

                “Just as I will miss you.”  Tirnion kissed her forehead.  “Promise to return to me safe, Sister, and I can face ennin with only your letters.”

                “I will return safe to you,” she vowed, stepping away from him.  “Until our next meeting, Brother.  Please give Ivoreth and Arvellon my love.”

                “Until then, Idhreniel.”  He gave her one last smile before disappearing into his home.

Idhreniel remained still before the closed door for a moment more. Her shadow passed silent over the door as she left.

                The streets of Forlond were not yet deserted and lights shone from the windows of the homes.  Idhreniel began the trek up to the King’s Halls.  Logic told her that she should return to her empty rooms to rest before her journey began in the morning.  However, she could not resist the lure of the singers.  The gardens were lit with their songs and all the benches had been pushed aside for some dancers.  The silver vision in the center of it all caught her eye.  Celebrían twirled and swayed to the music, her laughter fueling the song on.

                “It is hard to ignore her,” came the murmur by her ear.

Idhreniel nodded, side-glancing at her companion.

                “She is lovely,” she agreed. 

Elrond silently nodded, his eyes never wavering from the silver figure.  She had to smile when Celebrían swept up to them, boldly holding a hand out to Elrond.  He barely hesitated before accepting, and allowing her to lead him.  Neither could take their eyes off the other as they danced.  It seemed to take Celebrían no time at all to have the stern son of Eärendil smiling.

                “I cannot decide which is more enamored with the other,” Ereinion murmured in her ear. 

                She felt his hands on her shoulders and reached one hand up to cover his.

                “I think it is more obvious with Celebrían,” Idhreniel responded.  “But Elrond cannot resist her.”

                “It seems no one can.”

They remained content spectators to the joyful songs and dances.  The thick grey fog devouring the gardens chased most away to their homes.  Celebrían laughed with Elrond as the couple approached Idhreniel and Ereinion.

                “I did not know you were such an accomplished dancer, Elrond,” Ereinion commented.

Elrond’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Ereinion’s innocent expression.  The King retained his unreadable expression ignoring Idhreniel’s subtle and rebuking squeeze to his hand.

                “I have many talents other than an affinity with numbers, Gil-galad,” Elrond responded quickly, his face a study in ambiguity. 

                “Of course you do,” Ereinion replied, a smirk edging his lips.

The Peredhil didn’t respond, his lips tightening slightly as he stared at the King. 

                “Gil-galad, if I may be so bold, I had heard you have a hidden talent as well.”  Celebrían’s voice distracted the men from their silent standoff. 

                “I beg your pardon?”  Ereinion focused on her, immediately wary of her train of conversation.

                “I had heard you are an accomplished singer.”  The silver lady left Elrond’s side, linking arms with the King.  “I wonder if you might grace us with a song.  I do not know when I might have such an honor again.”

                “I trust that you will return to Forlond.”  Ereinion began to shake his head.

                “But Gil-galad, the lady is requesting it of you,” Elrond cut in.  “You would not want to refuse a lady.”

Now it was Gil-galad’s turn to narrow his eyes and glare at his relation.  Elrond remained a picture of innocence under the stare.

                “It is true, Ereinion.  Even a King should not refuse a lady’s request,” Idhreniel smiled broadly.

                “Betrayed by my advisors,” Ereinion said with a shake of his head.  “I suppose I must acquiesce, lady Celebrían.”

                “That was my intent.  I saw a harp in one of the rooms near your office.  Do you play as well?” Celebrían and Ereinion moved towards the halls, arm-in-arm.

                Elrond and Idhreniel followed at a slower pace.  They were within range to hear the entire conversation, but neither felt inclined to join in.

                “It will be odd to conduct tomorrow’s business without you at the table,” Elrond said.

Idhreniel glanced over to him.  He absently studied the banners of the lords of Lindon and Eregion.  Recently, his own had been added, placed directly beside Gil-galad’s. 

                “Yet, you will excel at it, as you have with anything to which you set your mind,” she praised.

He spared her a brief smile. 

                “Except Gil-galad will not enjoy my company as he has yours,” he replied.

                “He will learn.”  Idhreniel gazed at the King’s back.  “You have always been destined to act as his right hand.  It is your right, as his blood.”

                “I always thought he might find crown a queen to be such.”  His meaning was not lost.

                “The Noldor have no need for a queen, Peredhil.  It would be wise to remember that.”  Her tone remained calm and gentle.

                “So I shall,” was all he responded.

They wiled away the hours in song and laughter until a grey dawn lit the sea.  Celebrían was the first to retire, then Elrond.  Idhreniel watched Ereinion languidly strum the harp strings from her seat across from him. 

“Am I allowed a request?” Idhreniel asked, moving to sit on the cushion by his feet.

“Never,” he answered, brushing his knuckle against the curve of her cheek.

He hummed softly, the familiar tune one of Meldilmë’s composition.  Their gazes met and he softly sang of spring, of green trees and grass, and of sweet birds trilling in the open meadow.  As he sang, the world came alive, and they were running through a memory.  His fingers left the harp to play across the soft curve of her cheek, thumb brushing her bottom lip.  Her cheeks came alive with warmth under the touch.            

“I cannot go to the harbor.”  He desisted his singing suddenly, as if every note had led to this deafening crescendo.

His touch fell away as the moment blurred back into reality.  Idhreniel hid her disappointment with a nod, having half-expected this decision.

“I assumed as much,” she replied, rising slowly.

He copied her movements, placing a hand at her elbow to keep her close.  His gaze lingered on her face as if he was committing it to memory.

                “Then we part ways here.”  His voice was sad.

Their embrace was firm, but quick.  Idhreniel placed a gentle hand on his cheek, smiling softly.

                “For a while, we part, Ereinion.  I told Tirnion I will visit when I can.”  Her thumb brushed the soft skin tenderly.

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her palm.  His eyes met hers as his lips paused over the racing pulse in her wrist.  They lingered in this pose.

                “I expect you to write.”  He stepped back away from her touch with a polite smile.  “I would like to hear of Ost-in-Edhil.”

                “As you wish, Gil-galad.”  She bowed her head.  “I shall bury your desk in my letters.”

His grin warmed as he chuckled.

                “I shall look forward to it.”

Idhreniel gazed at him only a moment longer before departing for her quarters.  She did not look back; she could not. 

---

Chapter End Notes

Tirnion: brother of Idhreniel, captain of the King’s Guard, husband to Ivoreth

Ivoreth: wife to Tirnion

Belain: (S) Valar (singular: Balan)

Aran Einor: (S) Manwë

Belegûr: (S) Morgoth

Star-kindler: title for Varda (Elbereth [S])

Ivon: (S)Yavanna

Tauron: (S) Oromë

Óli: (S) Aulë

Ulu: (S) Ulmo

Lúrin: (S) Irmo Lórien

In response to MPTT Challenge "Eye of the Beholder".

 

Chapter Five: Cultural Differences

Summary: The route from Mithlond to Ost-in-Edhil is filled with reminders that the Eldar, while one, are not the same.

Huge thanks goes to Pandemonium for her support with this chapter! 

Read Chapter Five: Cultural Differences

Chapter Five

 

                The weeks passed in a blur of travel.  First, they went by sea to Mithlond.  Though it was barely a day’s trip away, Idhreniel had not been to the city in many ennin.  There was still a sense of somberness to its beauty; it had to be the pervasive grey.  The dark steel colored towers hovered over the harbor and the beacon fires cast strange shadows, even in the day.  The soft ash-grey of the sky reflected off the water surging towards the sea.  Mithlond was never free of the fog.  Idhreniel walked beside Celebrían and Celeborn through the city, barely attentive to their conversation.  When Celebrían slipped off, waving to an acquaintance, Celeborn and Idhreniel paused on the road.  Celeborn watched his daughter; he rarely let her from his sight.  Idhreniel’s attention fixed on a group of people beside a small ship.  Some embraced, others simply parted with a word. 

                “They are taking the Straight Road,” Celeborn noticed her distraction.

Idhreniel bowed her head, her response automatic.

                “May they find peace,” she remembered speaking the blessing more than once.

She had murmured the same to Meldilmë before she departed.  The gulls had been crying out their lonely farewells, circling the harbor, white interruptions in a forlorn sky.  She remembered the feel of the mist wet against her cheeks as she had walked with Círdan behind the mother and son.  The city had been quiet, most having departed indoors because of the drizzle.  Meldilmë came to a halt a few steps away from the boarding plank.  Ereinion caught Círdan’s attention and together, the men approached the ship’s captain.  Idhreniel stood quiet beside the regal Meldilmë, both watching the men converse.

                “I still see a child when I look at him,” Meldilmë murmured.

                “Sometimes he still acts like one,” Idhreniel smiled as she turned her attention to her companion.

                “I still see you in your brother’s clothes, hair tangled with sand and seaweed, and eyes filled with stars,” Meldilmë fondly smoothed the fabric of Idhreniel’s sleeve. 

They both laughed quietly, and Idhreniel could feel the tears biting at her eyes.  Meldilmë embraced the younger lady.

                “Do not cry for me, child,” Meldilmë whispered, her breath warm against Idhreniel’s ear.  “I am going home.”

The light of the West had never been brighter on Meldilmë’s face than when she turned towards the ship.  She wavered a moment beside her son, her hand soft on his arm and words meant only for his ears.  When she stepped aboard, it was Círdan who placed a hand on Ereinion’s shoulder as if to keep him from following.

                “The sea does not call to you?” Celeborn’s voice interrupted her reminiscing.

Meldilmë’s ghost lingered for only a moment before disappearing into the fog.  His gaze was also focused on the ship, watching the Elves board.  Yet, Idhreniel could discern nothing from his expression.

                “My father warned me to bar my heart and close my ears to the sea,” she answered.

Celeborn chuckled to himself, nodding his head slightly.  The wind pulled pieces of his silver hair from its loose braids.

                “Those were wise words.  My mother journeyed only once to the coast, and she never returned to the trees.”  The words seemed to have slipped from his mouth before he could stop them.  He pressed his lips tightly together momentarily, as if physically stilling his tongue.

When the ship pulled free from its berth, the tall stone buildings concealed its course from Idhreniel’s sight.

                “Ulu’s horns have enchanted many,” she replied.  “Did your mother go over the sea?”

Celeborn was silent for a long time.  Idhreniel watched his impassive face for any indication of the thoughts swirling in his head, but he gave nothing away. 

                “She is at peace now,” he responded, motioning for his daughter to rejoin them.

                “Ada, Elenestë says that Sorniswë is impatiently awaiting our arrival at the east gate,” Celebrían informed him with an amused laugh.

                “He cannot wait to be far from the coast,” Celeborn shared his daughter’s smile.  “I think he fears the waters.”

                “Ada, that is not fair!”  Celebrían exclaimed, attempting to send her father a stern look before it dissolved into a smile.

                “Perhaps,” Celeborn rested an arm around his daughter’s shoulders, leading the way through the city.

                Idhreniel easily surmised Sorniswë’s identity as they approached a group idle beside their horses.  He stood tall and fair, the light of the Trees still bright on his face.  His sharp eyes watched their approach, briefly lingering on Idhreniel as if assessing her for possible threats.  Her gaze delayed on the long sword bright on his hip. 

                “Hail, my lord,” he called out.  “I am glad to see you have finally arrived.”

                “It is my fault, Sorniswë,” Celebrían replied, hastening her steps away from her father’s side.  “I had to speak with Elenestë ere I left.”

                “Ah, and is she well?” Sorniswë accepted Celebrían’s embrace firmly, arms protective around the daughter of Galadriel.

                “Yes, she says her study of the marine life in Mithlond is coming along splendidly.  She intends to travel to Ost-in-Edhil with her research in the next decade,” Celebrían answered.

                “I see we have gained a traveler,” the only other lady, an Exile like Sorniswë, directed her attention to Idhreniel.

                “Yes, Idhreniel will join us,” Celeborn placed a hand on Idhreniel’s shoulder. 

                “Your name is familiar,” Sorniswë studied her intently.

                “I am formerly of Gil-galad’s court, but Lord Celeborn has convinced me to travel to his fair city,” Idhreniel replied smoothly.

                “Welcome then,” Sorniswë spared her a brief smile.  “My wife, Astarinyë.”  The golden haired lady inclined her head.  “Mirthor and Eddenor.”  The two men sat proud upon their mounts, barely affording Idhreniel a cursory glance.

                “Now that we are all introduced,” Celeborn easily straddled his horse.  “Are there any further arrangements to be settled?”

                “No, my lord,” Sorniswë responded.  “We are ready to leave.”

Idhreniel took one last and long look at the glittering sea before pulling herself astride the horse.  Then she set her eyes to the far off haze of mountains.

                They travelled north first to where the Lhûn branched off towards the Emyn Uial.  There, the waters slowed so that was gentle enough to cross.  The first few days were torture to Idhreniel.  She had never ridden a horse for such an extensive period of time.  Her body ached with every step the horse took.  She tried to distract herself by enjoying the green fields and patches of bright flowers.  Her heart already longed for loud waves, not grassy whispers.

                “Here,” Astarinyë caught her alone one night when they stopped, giving her a small jar.  “This should help with the tenderness.  Apply it in the evenings when we stop.”

The salve had worked like a charm, relaxing her tight thighs and aching buttocks and back.  Thankfully, it even smelled pleasant, unlike the chunky and foul smelling pastes Idhreniel remembered from Balar. 

                One night, they took shelter from the torrential rain in a grove of trees. 

                “Winter is coming,” Sorniswë grumbled, wringing the water from his soaked cloak.

Eddenor had coaxed some branches and twigs to burn faintly.  His soft words seemed to encourage the flames.  Idhreniel held her hands out over the warmth gratefully.

                “Quellë has only begun,” Astarinyë reminded her husband.  “It is just bad weather.”

Her words did nothing to ease his grim expression.  He moved away to stand at the edge of the trees, arms crossed to survey the dark landscape.

                “Sorniswë and Astarinyë crossed the Helcaraxë with my mother,” Celebrían murmured quietly to Idhreniel.  “He hates winter.”

                “I can understand why,” Idhreniel replied.

Astarinyë approached her husband, sliding an arm around his waist and leaning against him.  It was a while before he relented, placing an arm around his spouse’s shoulders.  For a brief moment, his lips curled in a semblance of a smile.  When Idhreniel blinked, his stern expression had returned.  Mirthor managed to warm some of their provisions for a light dinner.  The endless rain seemed to depress the spirits of the Noldor.

                “My mother always said that we should delight in the rain,” Idhreniel reached out a hand to catch some of the rain.

                “Ah, of course the Sindalië enjoy the downpours,” Mirthor’s tone held a trace of mockery.

                “Oh shush, Mirthor,” Celebrían sighed.  “Tell the tale, Idhreniel.”

                “There is no tale, daughter,” Celeborn said, a small smile softening his face.  “The rain is a promise from Aran Einor and Ulu, a reminder of their harmony.”

                “Aran Einor sends the clouds full of Ulu’s water to soak the earth.  If not for the winds that drove the rainclouds, then the earth would be a desert of dust,” Idhreniel continued.  “If you listen-”

                “Manwë does not direct the weather,” Eddenor interrupted with a laugh.  “No, Ulmo’s waters evaporate and create the clouds that return the water.  The Valar have nothing to do with it.”

                “I believe the Belain work in ways we cannot see,” Idhreniel countered, frowning slightly.

                “Bah!  The Valar have always sought to constrain us.  They entice us to go west with the promise of mercy.  I have little need or want of that gift,” Mirthor waved a hand dismissively at her.

The pattering of rain above them filled the silence.

                “If you listen to the rain, you will hear Ulu’s song,” Celeborn’s gaze had turned to watch the rain.

Celebrían pressed a loving kiss to her father’s cheek.  Idhreniel caught the skepticism on Eddenor and Mirthor’s faces as they whispered among themselves.  Celebrían joined the two men with a smile, their conversation moving swiftly away from the rain and the Valar.

                Celeborn shifted closer to Idhreniel.

                “Amroth and I once were stranded like this,” his attention was momentarily stolen as Sorniswë and Astarinyë sat beside Idhreniel.  “He went and stood out in the rain, waiting for Ulu to speak to him.”

Astarinyë smiled fondly.

                “Amroth is his father’s son,” she said.  “He spends his days among the trees, tending to their needs.  Galadriel told me he has met an onod, a shepherd of the forest.”

                “Hasn’t he taken up quarters in the Circle of the Trees?” Sorniswë asked.

                “Yes,” Celeborn’s answer was sad.

                “A Prince among the Sindar,” Astarinyë patted Celeborn’s shoulder with a smile.  “I am glad he delights in his work.”

                “Amroth has always put his full heart into what he loves,” Celeborn replied.  “I expected nothing less.  Have you ever met my son, Idhreniel?”

                “I have not had the honor yet, my lord,” Idhreniel shook her head.

                “That is right.  Gil-galad rarely allowed you even to Harlond,” Celeborn chuckled.

                “Allowed?” Astarinyë raised a brow.  “What sort of a King is Findékano’s son?”

                “A good one,” Idhreniel assured, taking on a stern tone.  “By my own choice have I remained at his side, Celeborn.”

                “Ah, there is that tone,” Celeborn laughed.  “It tells me when I have overstepped my bounds.”

The subject drifted away from the King and to a more pressing matter: their route.  If the rain did not end by morning, they might have a terrible time crossing the next river.  Celeborn and Sorniswë debated alternate paths.  Idhreniel’s thoughts drifted away from the conversation, for a moment thinking of Ereinion, and then Tirnion.  She drifted to her dreams, lost in a memory of Eglarest.

When the rain ceased, they followed the road south, crossing the Baranduin at the Sarn Ford with little trouble. 

                “We should arrive within the week,” Sorniswë announced one night when they paused.

                “Eru be praised!”  Mirthor groaned.  “Any longer and I will become a part of my horse.”

Idhreniel slowly dismounted, stretching her arms high over her head with a sigh.  The sun already dipped low in the west, a cold wind swept over the sloping hills ruffling the tall grasses.  Mirthor and Eddenor gathered up loose branches, setting a great fire alight to warm them.  Again, lembas was passed around, but Idhreniel found her stomach had lost its appetite for the bread.  She left the fire, finding a place nearby and lay down under an endless sky.  The murmurs of their friendly disagreements drifted to her, but she felt no inclination to rejoin them.  When a body lay in the grass beside her, she glanced over at her companion.  Sorniswë folded his hands on his chest, his gaze also enmeshed with the stars.  When he showed no sign of speaking, she returned her study of the night sky.

“When I was a child, I would sneak out at the mingling of the lights to see the stars faint above me,” he said, breaking the silence first.  “I was amazed, when I came to this shore and saw how truly bright they are.”

                “My mother and grandmother spent most of their lives under the light of the stars,” Idhreniel replied.  “Their constant presence was hope.”

                “They were Avari?”  Sorniswë asked, his tone betraying his disdain.

                “No,” and she knew her tone was harsh.  She would have no one believe she was Avor.  “My family followed Elu from the Nen Echui, and, when he disappeared, waited with Círdan for his return,” Idhreniel answered.  “My mother remained beside the sea, but her parents returned to the trees.”

                “Perhaps I knew them, in Doriath,” Sorniswë replied.  “I followed Lady Artanis from the west and all through Beleriand.”

                “Perhaps,” Idhreniel turned her head to gaze at him.  “They fell with their king.”

                “The loyalty of our kind is unsurpassed,” she could see the brief flash of pain across his profile.  “So, tell me, Idhreniel, why does a lady of the Sindar, once under Elwë’s rule, travel to a city where the children and cousins of Kinslayers thrive?”

                “It has a similar answer to the question: why have I served the son of a Kinslayer?” Idhreniel replied after a brief pause.  “I would hope that I am not judged for the actions of my parents and kin.  Blood lies only on the hands of those who slew their own kind.”

Sorniswë was quiet for a long time before he sat up, looking towards the quiet fire.

                “You have not answered my question: for what purpose has Celeborn recruited you?”

His keen and intense eyes searched her face, as if answers were hidden in the curve of her jaw or shadow of her eyes.  Idhreniel pushed herself to sit up with a wince at the movement.  Astarinyë’s salve did not ease all the aches of her muscles.

                “I will teach Celebrían,” she answered.

                “Teach?  Why would you teach her?” Sorniswë’s scoff sent a wave of irritation through her.  “We have many learned persons in Ost-in-Edhil.  Celebrían’s focus has always been on jewels and metals, unlike her brother who spends his days caring for the trees.  Does Lord Celeborn intend to have you instruct Celebrían in arts the Noldor alone are experts?”

His words washed over her in waves of ice.  She had spent so many ennin beside Gil-galad where none dared question her wisdom and strength.  Tendrils of doubt began to weave through her mind, wondering if she had made a poor decision to leave Forlond, if she was truly worthy of the task.  Sorniswë’s sharp gaze seemed to bore straight through her, as if he could see her uncertainty, and that roused her from her thoughts.  It would never do to entertain such ideas.  Her jaw clenched and chin tilted proudly, returning his stare.

                “I cannot speak to Lord Celeborn’s intentions, Sorniswë,” his name was foreign on her tongue and she uttered it reluctantly.  Thingol’s order still weighed heavily on her tongue, regardless of the time since his passing.  “I only know what is expected of me.  I suggest addressing any concerns or questions with him.”

He inclined his head, rising and leaving her alone without another word.  She fell back into the cushion of the soft grass, heart beating quickly. 

I should be used to such dissension, but no one in Court ever was so open.

The stars blinked elusively above her, constant in their courses.  Tonight, they imparted no wisdom; indeed, they too seemed dismissive.  Idhreniel sighed, hugging her arms around her waist when the wind blew cold.

                “Elbereth, give me strength,” she murmured.

                Once they crossed the simple stone bridge that spanned the Gladuin, anticipation fueled their party onward.  They travelled through the night, intent on reaching their destination. 

                “There she is,” Astarinyë sighed happily.

Idhreniel’s eyes quickly scanned the horizon.  In the early morning light, the city curled grey around the tall mountain like a palpable fog.  Two beacons of flame blazed below a tall white tower at the mountain peak like watchful eyes.  Anor had not yet galloped over the Hithaeglir, so the city remained partially in the dark shadows.  The main gate faced the west proudly, locked in place by white walls.  As they drew closer, she could see the dark metal of the gate provided a contrasting background for a depiction of the Two Trees that shone bright on the closed doors.

                “It took nearly fifty years to craft one gate and place it on its hinges,” Mirthor explained to Idhreniel.  “The gate itself is many hands thick.  There is no force in all of Endóre that could break through them once shut.”

His chin had tilted proudly and his grey eyes were bright with satisfaction as he spoke of the great work.

                “Such a precaution in peace,” she commented quietly.  “The design is lovely.  In Forlond, an artist painted a mural of the Two Trees, a respect to Ivon.” 

                “Lord Tylperinquar designed it to praise Lord Aulë and the aid he sent to encourage our endeavors.  Lord Artano has only increased our knowledge,” Eddenor cut in.  “He even allowed me the honor of affixing one of the branches to the gate.”

His explanation of the process was given matter-of-factly, and by the nods of the rest of their party, must have been relatively simple.  Idhreniel’s gaze caught Celeborn’s and she knew by his kind smile that her complete ignorance was plain.  She found herself made painfully aware of the genius of her companions.

And you are no less in knowledge.  The words were whispered from deep in her heart.

                “The Casári showed us how to build walls as tough as the mountains,” Mirthor caught her attention, clearly eager to impress Idhreniel with the greatness of the City.  “You must join me one day to venture into Casarrondo.  They have carved their city from the stone.  It is a marvel.”

                “Lady Idhreniel will have many chances to see our city and its nearby settlements,” Celeborn said before Idhreniel could nod her consent to Mirthor.

                “Settlement?  Casarrondo is more than-” Mirthor’s face had darkened as he focused on the lord of Eregion.

                “My lord, have you ever ventured into the city of caves?”  Eddenor interrupted his brother.

There was a clear challenge in the question that Idhreniel did not understand.  An unmistakable sense of discomfort fell as Eddenor and his brother stared at Celeborn.  Celebrían and Sorniswë both wore identical frowns, yet remained silent.  On Celeborn’s part, his only initial response was the unfamiliar tightening of his lips and a hard light behind his eyes. 

                “No, I have not gone to the caves of the Naugrim,” Celeborn responded tersely.  “And I doubt they are of any compare to the ones their kinsmen destroyed out of greed.”

Idhreniel caught Eddenor’s mouth open to respond.  Sorniswë indicated silence with a sharp gesture at the brothers.  In uncomfortable silence, they came to stop before the closed gate. 

                “Name your purpose,” came a cry from above them.

                “Open for the lord of Eregion, and his party,” Sorniswë’s authoritative voice responded.

In that moment, she forgot the dissension and strain.   Her breath caught in her throat, heart beating fast with anticipation of what lay beyond the gate.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Characters/Notes:

Ennin: (S) Yéni (Q); 144 calendar years or 1 Valarin year.

Meldilmë: Noldorin Exile; Gil-galad’s mother, and wife of Fingon.

Ulu: (S) Ulmo.

Elenestë: Noldo; friend of Celebrían; researcher of marine life in Mithlond.

Sorniswë: Noldorin Exile; husband of Astarinyë; Commander of Defense and Peace.

Astarinyë: Noldorin Exile; wife of Sorniswë; Chief Physician.

Mirthor: Noldo; journeyman- stone mason; brother to Eddenor.

Eddenor: Noldo; one of the Mírdain and quite talented; brother to Mirthor.

Avari/Avor: plural/singular Quenya words for the Elves that did not join the march from Cuiviénen.

Nen Echui: (S) Cuiviénen.

Elu/Elwë: (S/Q) Thingol.

Golodhrim: (S) Noldor (as a whole).

Ivon: (S) Yavanna.

Tylperinquar: Celebrimbor.

Artano: Annatar/Sauron.

Casári: (Q) plural, Dwarves.

Casarrondo: (Q) Khazad-Dûm.

Naugrim: derogatory term for Dwarves.

Chapter Six

Summary: Idhreniel finally arrives to the City.

Huge thanks to the LC, especially Scarlet, Surgicalsteel and Russandol.  Thank you for your honest feedback!

Credit to Pandemonium for openly sharing her ideas and thoughts on the look/layout of the City.  I cannot thank you enough for the support and encouragement!

B2MEM12 prompts fulfilled:

Canon Couples: Celeborn/Galadriel

Artifacts & Weapons: Fëanorian Lamp

Read Chapter Six

Chapter 6:

 

With a pregnant groan, a crack split the trees vertically, separating the gold and silver branches.  The ground trembled slightly, and anticipation fostered within her heart for what might lie behind such beautiful walls.  She looked to the Lord of Eregion and found his keen gaze already on her.  He motioned for her to ride ahead, past the gates and the shadows.  She urged her horse forward, the hooves clip-clopping on stone streets.  Her breath caught and she stopped there in the middle of the road; she had entered a world of vibrant color.  Tables swathed in bright hues of fabric curled around the edges of the avenue.  The high white walls were topped with planters overflowing with blossoms that twisted down towards the ground.  Banners swayed, bright with their different crests and colors.  The marketplace was slowly filling with vendors whose dress was no less vivid than their place of business.

 

“Welcome to Ost-in-Edhil, Lady,” Sorniswë said quietly, offering a hand to her after he dismounted.

 

Idhreniel took it gladly, watching the flurry of activity as the stable hands took charge of their horses.  While Celeborn spoke quietly with them in a kind but firm tone, Sorniswë stood silent beside her.  Idhreniel could feel his gaze and suspected he was dissecting her delighted response.  She marveled at the height of the thick walls, and then the vastness of the City.  On their approach, Ost-in-Edhil had looked disappointingly small, but now, she was faced with its absolute enormity.  Celebrían approached once the horses and their packs were led away, her arm linked with Astarinyë’s.

 

                “You must tell Idhreniel of the city, Sorniswë,” Celebrían pleaded, her eyes wide.

 

Sorniswë’s expression lightened the longer they stood behind the City’s walls.  He offered his arm to Idhreniel.  She took it gladly, having no wish to linger.  A stern Celeborn had pulled aside Eddenor and Mirthor.  Whatever the Lord of the City said triggered the angry flush growing on the brothers’ cheeks. 

 

                “Yes, please, Commander,” Idhreniel said.  “I’ve heard the City is a replica of Tirion.”

 

                “Ah, Lady Idhreniel, please,” Astarinyë cut in, glancing at her husband with a warm look.  “That is a subject he could debate with you for days.”

 

Sorniswë regarded his wife steadily, his arm slipping away from Idhreniel.  For a moment, Idhreniel was sure Sorniswë might smile.  Instead, he smoothed his wife’s hair behind an ear, and pressed a kiss to her temple.  Astarinyë left Celebrían’s side for her husband’s, holding his hand as if they were young lovers and not partners of unnumbered ages.

 

                “Tirion was home then?” Idhreniel asked.

 

                “Once, Lady Idhreniel,” Sorniswë answered, his expression returning to its solemnity.

 

                “Look at that!” Celebrían’s gleeful exclamation drew Idhreniel’s attention.

 

                Celebrían quickly approached a table and picked up a sheer and shimmering grey fabric.  Idhreniel watched with amusement as the young lady expertly haggled for the item.  Her gaze wandered around the marketplace, focusing on a small Thinnel boy dressed in a worn tunic and leggings.  He paused beside a table, and spoke animatedly to a woman Idhreniel assumed was his mother.  Idhreniel could not help her nostalgic smile when the mother gave the boy a small coin.  He ran off, reappearing moments later with some sweet bread that he happily shared with his mother.  Her mind drifted to a past age when she was a child running along the market stalls.  Her mother had sold fish and often took in simple sewing work, while her father cast his nets out on the sea.  Idhreniel remembered many days spent sharing sweet treats with her mother, brother, and then grudgingly, with Ereinion. 

 

                “Do not let her to convince you to come here.  She is apt to buy something from each stall.”  Celeborn rejoined them, his voice interrupting her reminiscing.  He touched Idhreniel’s arm, pointing to the looming gate behind him.  “We came through the West Gate; there is another to the South, but both close at sunset and open after sunrise.  Only for Galadriel, Sorniswë or me will the gates open after they have been shut.  I would not want you caught outside.  Night in the shadow of the mountains has more dangers than beside the sea.”

 

                “There are wolves and bears,” Sorniswë added.

 

                “Yet, the Sindar of the City dwell mainly outside of the walls, so you would be in good company,” Astarinyë replied.

 

                “It is foolish to be outside the walls.”  Sorniswë frowned at his wife.  “Last winter, the wolves killed two of those Sindar.  They should have heeded my warnings.”

 

                “How did that happen?” Idhreniel asked, surprised.  “I have never heard-”

 

                “Hungry animals will find a way to eat, no matter if we are friend or foe,” Sorniswë interrupted her. 

 

                “My lord!”  A few soldiers required Celeborn and Sorniswë’s attention as they walked, speaking in low and hushed tones.

 

                The road curved through the stands to another gate, this one decorated by a pair of crossed swords.  They passed through into a familiar construction of barracks with soldiers milling about.  The road twisted past training grounds that echoed with the clangs of swords.  Idhreniel soaked it all in, already organizing her letter to Gil-galad in her mind.  Sorniswë and Celeborn strode off with the soldiers towards a building held tall by columns.  Two banners of white, each decorated with a set of grey weighing scales hung on either side of a tall door above stoic guards. 

 

                “That is our court of law.”  Astarinyë motioned to the building Idhreniel gazed at.  “Lady Galadriel does not entertain thieves and criminals in her City.”

 

                “Do you have many criminals?”  When Celeborn and Sorniswë disappeared from view, Idhreniel’s attention turned to the Exile.

 

                “Not as many as we used to,” Astarinyë answered, her expression solemn and grim.  “However, many times there are disagreements that need mediation, so our judges oversee those hearings.”

 

                “Yes, last year, one of my Brothers was accused of stealing the work of another.  Lord Tyelperinquar was enraged,” Eddenor added with a solemn nod.

 

                “What happened to him?”  Idhreniel asked.

 

                “I cannot say.”  His expression betrayed his knowledge. 

 

Idhreniel turned her attention ahead of them, unable to contain her shock when she saw another gate up ahead. 

 

                “Another gate?” she exclaimed with a laugh.  “This is the third we will pass through.”

 

For a moment, the four Noldor seemed scandalized by her mirth. 

 

                “The city is divided into nine rindi, Idhreniel, each with its own gate,” Celebrían began.

 

                “And each rindë is dedicated to one of our founding guilds.  Not alone did the current lord and lady of Eregion establish this great city,” Mirthor finished.  “We have just passed through the Circle of Law comprised of our soldiers, peacekeepers, judicial officers and other personnel.”

 

                “This is the Gate of the Heart, and beyond is the Circle of Peace, home to our healers and all their work,” Celebrían continued.  “Of which Astarinyë is their chief.”

 

                Astarinyë did not bother to contain her pride.  The glow of the West brightened upon her face as she quickly drew closer to Idhreniel, quietly eager to share. 

 

                “Yes, and we have recently taken great leaps in our research, thanks to Eddenor.”  Astarinyë sent the smith a smile; he bowed his head in response.  “He was able to craft an instrument that allows my healers to magnify the miniscule.  I now see particles that my naked eye was blind to before.”

 

                “Arvadhor is clamoring for me to create a similar tool for himself,” Eddenor replied, with a tired sigh.  “As if I do nothing but sit on my thumbs, or so he thinks.  The stars are still in the sky; he can wait.”

 

Idhreniel looked to Celebrían for an explanation.

 

                “Arvadhor is a meneldil,” Celebrían clarified.

 

                “He is a fool, Celebrían,” Mirthor rolled his eyes.  “Arvadhor stares at the skies and scribbles down theoretical mathematics, nothing concrete.  You should stop keeping company with him.”

 

                “He is mine and Amroth’s friend,” Celebrían frowned, clearly taking offense to Mirthor’s judgment.  “And he is no fool.  He understands­—”

 

                “Nothing, Celebrían.  He understands nothing.  He waits for Varda to speak, and she has nothing to say to us,” Mirthor interrupted.

 

Idhreniel’s heart immediately protested Mirthor’s comment.  His eyes focused on her face, eyes bright with the expectation of contention.  So far, she had completely resisted engaging in debate with him, and she could tell he longed to provoke her, if only for his own amusement.  Celebrían quickly took up the defense of her friend, her fair face clouded with impatience.  Idhreniel focused her attention on Eddenor, curious to know what sort of a device this Arvadhor believed would further his studies.

 

                “How does Arvadhor think this tool would help him?”  Idhreniel cut in, interrupting Mirthor’s sharp tongued depiction of the astronomer.

 

Celebrían smirked at the surprise on Mirthor’s face, sending Idhreniel a bright smile.

 

                “He wants a way to see the stars and moon more clearly,” Eddenor laughed, his mirth shared by his brother.  “I told him to learn to fly.”

 

                “If only we could.”  Idhreniel sent him an enigmatic smile.  “What would convince you to make such a tool?”

 

Eddenor studied her carefully, a shred of confusion in his eyes.  He glanced at his brother briefly, his hands clasping behind his back as his attention returned to Idhreniel.

 

                “I would wonder why a Sinda would be interested in such a tool.”  He had shifted from joviality to business.

 

                “It seems that I have much in common with Arvadhor,” Idhreniel replied.  “If you do find yourself with spare time, Eddenor, please seek me out.  I am most willing to provide compensation for such a valuable tool.”

 

                “We shall see,” Eddenor agreed vaguely. 

 

Idhreniel was swept on through the City, a whirlwind of sights and artifacts pointed out by Celebrían.  Mirthor departed at the fifth circle, having reached his home (“This is the Circle of Stone, home to the builders, engineers and stoneworkers,” Celebrían whispered.  “Mirthor is nearly a Master mason.”).  Eddenor left them in the seventh circle, making his way towards a gated campus bright with jewels. 

 

                “Lord Celebrimbor houses only the best smiths,” Celebrían said softly.

 

                “And does his hospitality extend to the guest from the West?” Idhreniel asked nonchalantly.

 

Celebrían exchanged a quick glance with Astarinyë.

 

                “Yes.” Astarinyë’s answer was terse. 

 

Silently, they came to the peak of the City, a courtyard ringed with planters and a fountain bubbling quietly in the center.  A tall tower loomed high above them. 

 

                “Lady Galadriel designed it in memory of the Mindon Eldaliéva, the tallest tower in Tirion,” Astarinyë explained. 

 

                “And does it do your memory justice?” Idhreniel asked, shading her eyes to gaze up.  The top of the tower disappeared into the low clouds.

 

                “You ask me to compare the work of masters with mere apprentices, Idhreniel.”  Astarinyë’s gaze grew distant and sad.  “Nothing of Endóre will ever aspire to the beauty of the West.”

 

Idhreniel longed to ask her why she stayed on this shore when it was clear the Exile pined for home.  The Ban was lifted; most of the remaining Exiles had already taken the sea-road West.  Instead, she chose her words carefully.

 

                “Commander Sorniswë mentioned that you both have always served the House of Finarfin,” she began before Celebrían’s happy shriek surprised them both.

 

                “Amroth!”  Celebrían cried out happily, spying a figure exiting the vast residence at the base of the tower.

 

The silver haired man swept up his sister warmly, offering both Astarinyë and Idhreniel kind smiles.

 

                “Sister, these walls have been too quiet without your laughter,” he said.

 

                “And I thought you would be glad to be rid of me,” Celebrían feigned sadness.

 

                “Nana even mentioned how quiet it was.  Where’s Ada?”  There was a hint of exasperation in his tone as his attention turned to Astarinyë.  “He did not stay beside the sea again, did he?”

 

                “He is with the Commander,” Astarinyë replied, pressing a fond kiss to Amroth’s cheek.  “I am sure they will both be about shortly.  Where is your mother?”

 

                “In council with Lord Tyelperinquar.  She has been for most of the morning.”  Amroth’s expression darkened for just a moment before clearing as he offered his hand to Idhreniel.  “I do not believe we have met, Lady.”

 

                “Amroth, this is Idhreniel, the tutor Ada was insistent about,” Celebrían interrupted, an expectant gleam in her eyes.

 

Realization flooded Amroth’s eyes, and he kissed the back of Idhreniel’s hand politely.

 

                “Ah, Nana wanted to see you immediately.”  He motioned for her to follow him.  “Astarinyë, some of your healers have been inquiring after you.  I believe they are in need of your guidance.”

 

                “I wish they would have stopped me when we journeyed through that gate,” Astarinyë grumbled with a sigh.  She took Idhreniel’s hand, leaning forward to kiss the Sinda’s cheeks.  “Welcome, Idhreniel.  I am sure I will see you soon.”

 

Idhreniel squeezed the Exile’s hand with a smile, watching her go and wishing she did not have to.  Amroth cleared his throat, attracting Idhreniel’s attention.

 

                “My mother will not appreciate a delay,” he explained with an apologetic smile.  “Though, I’m sure she’s aware of your arrival.”

 

                “Of course, my Lord.”  Idhreniel dusted off her skirts, hoping the Lady of the City would not mind her travel-worn appearance. 

 

                “Just Amroth, Counselor,” he held out an elbow to each lady.  “I have no need for titles.”

 

                “As you wish,” Idhreniel took the offered arm politely. 

 

                Celebrían chattered brightly with her brother as they traversed a maze of hallways and stairs.  The walls were decorated in white and silver, simple and clean.  It seemed the Lady and Lord had little need for grand murals or elaborate wall hangings.  Amroth paused before a pair of closed doors; on either side of the doors hung a banner.  First, Idhreniel recognized the device of the House of Finarfin, eight golden points flaring from a central circle, all on a background of pristine white.  The other banner was black, decorated with a silver moon and stars, the device of Thingol’s house.  She touched her forehead in respect to the deceased King, though pride fostered in her heart at the Grey-King’s banner flying equal in the Golodhren city.  Then she noticed the doors: golden vines crept over the dark wood, bursting with jeweled flowers.  Idhreniel couldn’t help reaching out and touching the design.  Amroth pushed open the door, foregoing a polite knock.  Celebrían entered first, unfastening her cloak and leaving it carelessly on a chair.

 

                “Amil, I’m home!” Celebrían exclaimed, crossing the room as quickly as she could without running.

 

Galadriel rose smoothly from her seat with a faint smile.  She glimmered like a slice of Ithil, towering over the man still seated before their wine glasses.  Celebrían embraced her mother firmly, smiling up at her.  Idhreniel followed Amroth across the room to stand closer to Galadriel.  Idhreniel briefly scanned the face of the seated black-haired man.  He looked less than thrilled at the interruption.

 

                “The City is bereft of joy when you leave it, Child.”  Galadriel smoothed Celebrían’s hair back from her face.

 

Celebrían smiled brightly under her mother’s touch.  The resemblance was obvious.  While Amroth looked every bit a silver Thinnel prince, Celebrían had her mother’s high cheekbones and the same nose every Finwean descendent shared. 

 

                “Your joy is returned then, Amil,” Celebrían stepped back, an arm resting around her mother’s waist.

 

Galadriel returned the gesture, keeping her daughter close as she gazed at Idhreniel.  Idhreniel felt pinned for a moment under the intensity of the stare.

 

                “Counselor Idhreniel, I believe our meeting is far overdue.”  Galadriel’s voice was melodious, rising and falling like water over rocks.

 

Idhreniel bowed her head in respect.

 

                “Indeed, have you ever come to Forlond?” Idhreniel asked. 

 

                “Once, before Meldilmë sailed,” Galadriel answered.  “How is my Cousin?”

 

                “Yes, how fares our cousin, Gil-galad?”  The man rose, his black hair gleaming in the low light.  His tone was proud and vaguely disrespectful.  “He has not yet travelled to see our City.”

 

Celebrimbor approached Idhreniel, stopping two steps from her to observe her sharply.  Idhreniel met his gaze evenly.  She had heard Celebrimbor was rumored to be Fëanor all over again in looks and skill, but their temperaments contrasted dramatically.  In the few minutes that had passed, Idhreniel found herself disagreeing with the last assessment.  Celebrimbor seemed as proud and discourteous as his grandfather.

 

                “Gil-galad is well, and perhaps a request should be addressed to Elrond Peredhel, his newly made herald and chief counselor, if you require an official visit from the King,” Idhreniel said.

 

                “My correspondence seems to go unheeded.”  Now, he revealed the crux of the issue.

 

                “I cannot speak for your cousin, my Lord,” Idhreniel responded.

 

Idhreniel had seen the eight pointed star raised in wax on letters she’d delivered to Gil-galad’s desk.  Yet, she was not responsible for their messages.

 

                “Neither should you be expected to.”  Celeborn strode into the room, Sorniswë close behind.  His sudden appearance was marked with subtle delight on his wife’s face and apparent distaste on Celebrimbor’s.  “In fact, I have a message from Gil-galad.”  Celeborn produced a rolled piece of parchment from his robes.  “He apologizes for the delay in his response.”

 

He paused to hand the missive to Celebrimbor before continuing towards his wife.  Celebrimbor frowned at the paper before breaking the seal to read it.  Idhreniel’s attention followed Celeborn as he silently stopped to stand before his wife.  Galadriel’s serious face suddenly lightened and she laughed as if Celeborn had inaudibly recited some piece of humor.  The Lady pressed a palm to her husband’s cheek lovingly.

 

                “I believe our business is concluded for the day, Tyelpo.  We can continue tomorrow in the council meeting.  Good day.”  Her tone carried a sense of finality, and she linked an arm with her husband, leading him towards a nearby door.  Their children followed without an order.

 

Idhreniel remained where she was, unsure if she was meant to follow or leave.  A hand fell on her shoulder and she turned, finding Sorniswë still there.  He beckoned her to follow him, and they left the home of the Lord and Lady of the City.

 

                “Celeborn asked that I find adequate lodgings for you,” he explained as they walked.  “However, Astarinyë thought you might benefit from a few days among friendly faces.  Our home is open to you as long as you like.”

 

Idhreniel could not hide her surprise, though Astarinyë’s parting words made much more sense now.

 

                “Thank you, Commander.”  Her response was sincere.  “I appreciate your kindness.”

 

                “Thank my wife, Lady,” he replied tersely, though his eyes relayed a shred of humor.  “I am not known for my generosity.”

 

The two traversed the streets quickly, back down to the Circle of Peace.  He paused beside a gated archway in the higher portion of the circle, entering it without bothering to see if she followed.  Idhreniel trailed behind him and gasped aloud.  She had stepped into a bright and blooming garden.  A few butterflies lazily drifted from flower to sky; bees hummed their satisfaction, zipping past her head.  Ivy crept up the archway entrance, mixed with some vine that produced white trumpet shaped flowers.  Roses of all colors lined the pathway. 

 

                “My daughter, Aurendis, has a gift with flowers,” Sorniswë proudly explained.  “She is First Gardner of the City, and responsible for the maintenance of the planters throughout the City.”

 

                “Is she your only child?” Idhreniel stopped to sniff a blush-colored rose, smiling at the delicate scent.

 

                “No, I have a son, Erestor, but he is in the courts of law, acting as one of the supervising prosecutors.” Sorniswë’s pride continued to grow.  “You shall meet them both at dinner.”

 

                “I look forward to it,” Idhreniel replied.

 

                A slender, dark haired man greeted them as soon as they passed the threshold, bowing his head to Sorniswë.  He wore robes of dove-grey, subtly marked with the Commander’s device over his right breast.

 

                “Commander, welcome home.”  He spoke in the tongue of the West, though he was not Golodh.

 

His words were accented with the familiar lilt of the Thinnil.  He took Sorniswë’s cloak easily, holding out a stack of papers to the Commander.

 

                “Ah, Belechir, this is Idhreniel, of Lindon.  She will be a guest with us.  Idhreniel, this is Belechir.  He and his wife, Ríhedil, run the house.  If you require anything, they are at your disposal.”  Sorniswë took the messages offered to him, flipping through them with a scowl.

 

Idhreniel inclined her head to Belechir, murmuring a gentle greeting in Thindren.  The man looked surprised for a moment, before the beginnings of a smile graced his thin lips.  As she unclasped her cloak, Belechir stepped forward to take it, and returned her salutation in a pleasingly low tone.  Then his attention moved to the Commander turning an unopened letter over in his hands.  Sorniswë set aside the other missives on a nearby table which seemed to serve as a resting place for all correspondence.  Idhreniel caught sight of the eight-pointed star, and forced her curious eyes to return to the garden outside.  Her hand rested on the curve of the arched doorway, her ears only half-listening to the men behind her.  A white butterfly fluttered across her line of sight.

 

                “Commander, your son-” Belechir began.

 

                “Yes, I already spoke with him,” Sorniswë sighed.  “That business is now left to Lord Celeborn’s discretion.”

 

                “I see.  Shall I ask Ríhedil to prepare some tea and bring it to your study?” 

 

                “Please.  I have business to attend to.  Lord Celeborn reminded me to submit the revisions to my budget proposal to Istiril by week’s end.  I trust she will rip it to shreds while allocating my funds to Tyelperinquar.”  Strangely enough, Sorniswë seemed to share her distaste for the grandson of Fëanor. 

 

                “I can be of some help, Commander,” Idhreniel turned from her garden gazing.  “I have some experience with budgets.”

 

Sorniswë narrowed his eyes before nodding shortly. 

 

                “Then we will take tea on the roof.”  He led the way through the white washed halls and up a narrow staircase. 

 

They passed through a simple sitting room filled with couches and cushions.  She paused, marveling at the wall of glass that allowed the occupants of the room to stare out over the rindi below.  The main avenue twisted through the Gate of the Heart towards the training grounds and barracks.  Farther down, she could make out the bright colors of the market.

 

                They walked up another flight of stairs to the roof covered by a simple overhang of naturally light wood.  Ivy curled around the wood, providing the shade above a table and few chairs.  Sorniswë took a chair, scooting until he was in the narrow sliver of sun that snuck through.  He crossed his arms over his chest, letting out a soft sigh.  Idhreniel noted his relaxed pose, and simply left him alone, wandering to stand beside one of the overhang support beams.  Her stare moved to the street, and then past the walls to the endless sea of hills and grasses sweeping towards the river.  Some of the hills were a patchwork of fields interrupted only by homes and stables.  There seemed to be many homes and dwellings outside the City that she had not noticed when they approached the City.  With amusement, she took in the sprawling vineyards, and wondered if the wine rivaled that of Lindon’s.   

 

                “Commander, I cannot tell you what a joy it is to have you back home,” a female voice interrupted the quiet.  “At least I know someone will be here to enjoy my cooking.”

 

                “Ríhedil, I would never dare miss one of your meals,” Sorniswë replied.

 

While Belechir was tall and slender like most Edhil, Ríhedil was notably shorter and thicker, but not without her own grace.  She bustled around the table, setting up the tray of tea and preparing the Commander’s cup.

 

                “Here you are,” Ríhedil carefully handed the cup to Sorniswë.  “And some of those buttery biscuits you enjoy.”

 

                “You spoil me.”  Some of the sharpness had disappeared from his face.

 

                “That is why you hired me, Commander,” Ríhedil responded with a soft smile.  Her attention turned to Idhreniel.  “Please, Lady, there is tea and biscuits.  If this is not to your tastes, I can provide something else.”

 

                “It is lovely, thank you,” Idhreniel replied quickly.

 

Idhreniel poured herself some of the steaming tea, and took a seat at the table, enjoying the warmth of the cup in her hands.  Sorniswë and Ríhedil spoke quietly, but she paid them no heed.   Instead, she enjoyed the sweet tea and relaxed, strangely content in the unfamiliar City.  When Belechir appeared, setting a stack of papers on the table, Sorniswë returned his attention to Idhreniel. 

 

“Shall we?”  He looked grim as he addressed her.

 

His plan was straightforward and practical, so it took them little time to adjust a few figures and tweak some wording to ensure the continued stream of money for certain projects.  They finished about the time Belechir rejoined them.

 

                “Lady, your room is ready, and belongings delivered, if you would like to unpack or rest,” he said.

 

His words brought back the longing for a warm bath, and then to rest her head on a feather pillow. 

 

                “Go, go.  I believe I can manage this last bit,” Sorniswë waved her away, and then briefly glanced at her.  “I appreciate the counsel, Idhreniel.”

 

She offered him a tired smile, inclining her head and honestly replying, “I am ever at your disposal, Commander.”

 

                “My Captains have regretted those same words,” Sorniswë warned.

 

Idhreniel just laughed softly, but said nothing else, following Belechir down the stairs.  An indulgently long soak in a hot bath was most definitely in order.  The City and its streets could wait; there would be time enough for exploration.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

Characters/Notes:

Sorniswë: Exile; Commander of the soldiers of Ost-in-Edhil; husband to Astarinyë; father to Aurendis and Erestor.

Astarinyë: Exile; Chief Physician of Ost-in-Edhil; wife of Sorniswë; mother to Aurendis and Erestor.

Celebrían: Artist; daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn; sister to Amroth.

Thinnel/Thinnil: (Sindarin) singular/plural name the Sindar call themselves.

Eddenor: Noldor; Journeyman smith; member of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain; brother to Mirthor.

Mirthor: Noldor; Journeyman stone mason (about to reach Master status); brother to Eddenor.

Tyelperinquar: Celebrimbor, Tyelpo; Master-smith and chief of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain; grandson of Fëanor.

Arvadhor: Noldor; Astronomer.

Meneldil: (Quenya) Astronomer.

Amroth: Caretaker of the trees; son of Galadriel and Celeborn; brother to Celebrían.

Aurendis: Noldor; eldest child/daughter of Sorniswë and Astarinyë; First Gardener of the City.

Erestor: lawyer; youngest child/son of Sorniswë and Astarinyë.

Belechir: Sindar; attendant in Sorniswë’s employ; husband to Ríhedil.

Ríhedil: Sindar; cook/attendant in Sorniswë’s employ; wife to Belechir.

Istiril: Noldor; financial advisor to Galadriel.

Chapter Seven

Summary: Includes introductions to characters familiar and new, a party, and wishes of luck and fortune!

Big thanks to Scarlet, Pandemonium_213 and Elfscribe for their sharp eyes and minds!

Extra thanks to pandemonium for allowing me to utilize some terms from her stories.

Read Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: Fortunate Circumstances

 

                After an indulgently long soak in a hot bath and then an equally luxurious nap on a feather pillow and mattress, Idhreniel emerged from her room as the sun began its final descent into the West.  She wandered down the hall towards the vacillating murmur of voices.  In the sitting room beside its glass wall stood a man and woman, similar enough in features to be siblings, and obviously related to Sorniswë.  They were both taller than Idhreniel with dark hair which bordered on ebony in color.  Upon seeing Idhreniel, the man moved deftly towards her, his black robes barely making a noise.

                “Welcome, Lady Idhreniel.  We’ve been waiting to meet you.”  His resemblance to Sorniswë ended when he smiled.  “I am Erestor, and,” he paused, glancing at the lady.  “My sister, Aurendis.”

                “Yes, your father spoke about both of you.”  Idhreniel allowed him to guide her towards the exquisite Aurendis.  “It is a pleasure to meet both of you.”

It was hard to believe this was a lady that spent her days immersed in dirt.  Her dress was a luscious ivory silk and precisely clung to the curve of her body.  A clear stone glittered at her throat; the fragrance of sweet roses hung around her.  When Aurendis took Idhreniel’s hand, she felt the strength behind the gardener’s grasp. 

                “Did you rest well?” Aurendis asked with a friendly smile.

                “Yes, thank you.  It was lovely to sleep in a bed,” Idhreniel answered honestly.

                “I can only imagine.  Amil tries to convince me to travel to Forlond- the King’s gardens are apparently a thing to behold- but I cannot entertain the thought of sleeping on the ground for weeks,” Aurendis replied breezily.

                “I thought it was the rations of lembas and weeks of riding you detested.”  Erestor earned an irritated sigh from his sister.

                “He always has to be right.  It’s what makes him a passable prosecutor but an exasperating little brother.”  She smiled at him fondly.

                “Ah, passable supervising prosecutor, if you please.  I was recently promoted,” he replied matter-of-factly.  Idhreniel found Erestor’s voice pleasing to the ear; his fluid tone seemed well-practiced.  “Now, we are expected in the Lady’s Halls.  She is celebrating her husband’s timely return from Forlond.  Atar and Amil asked us to accompany you.”

Idhreniel found herself suddenly sandwiched between the two as they led her out of the residence and onto the street.  The siblings carried on their lively banter, reminding her of past conversations with her brother.  This City, though far removed from Eglarest in both distance and time, had returned her to childhood.  Unbidden memories sprang to mind and brought a semi-sad smile to her lips.

                Idhreniel’s gaze drifted from the street and its white walls with splashes of primary colors trimming windows and archways.  Tall lampposts lit the way, spaced so that the halos of light shadowed on the street resembled an endless strand of pearls.  Most of the citizens seemed to have already retired indoors for dinner, so the main avenue was nearly empty.  When she looked up, her steps came to a complete standstill and her lips parted in absolute amazement.  Aurendis and Erestor paused in mid-sentence and looked up startled, having been immersed in their banter.  Here, in the shadow of the mountain, it seemed as if the stars descended to float within reach.  Perhaps this was partly aided by Ithil’s absence, but Idhreniel felt as if the heavens had chosen to finally reveal all her secrets.  Her heart was lit with the mad desire to return to her room and immediately begin charting this new sky.

                “Lady Idhreniel?”  Erestor spoke first, his curious concern apparent in his voice.

That broke Idhreniel from her trance.

                “Is your view always so bright?” she asked, motioning to the sky.

                “Amil says the Lady shines her favor upon our City,” Aurendis began.  “Arvadhor insists it is the position of the City in proximity to the orbit of the stars.”

                “Is that still his argument?” Erestor frowned, shaking his head.  “Istyar Tinuthel shall rip his proposal to shreds.”

Aurendis’ fair face quickly clouded with dispute as she glared at her brother.  Idhreniel cleared her throat before the lady could speak, diverting the siblings’ attention.

                “Who is Istyar Tinuthel?” she asked.

                They began to walk again, though no longer as a linked trio.  Erestor clasped his hands behind his back, clearly waiting for his sister to answer the question. 

                “Istyar Tinuthel is the chief of the Guild of the Sky, and acts as a mentor to mainly the elendili, but also to those who study storm-lore and its practical applications,” Aurendis answered.  “Arvadhor was selected for a decade long apprenticeship with Eleñolmo Sarnhir, one of the most skilled melendil in the City.  He presents his findings next month.”

Idhreniel found herself pleasantly amused by the Golodhren instinct to form small bubbles of high academia.  Aurendis elaborated briefly on the Otornassë Meneliva, a brotherhood of only the brightest scholars within the Guild.  Idhreniel intended to inquire further as to the number of elendili within the city and Arvadhor’s apprenticeship when the sweet sound of bells echoed through the streets.  It began softly and mustered to a momentous crescendo.  The air vibrated with music, and Idhreniel unexplainably felt a surge of power sweep up from her toes.  As long as the bells echoed, so the gentle swell of energy thrummed through her.  It was a novel experience, being connected to the earth and its secrets.  It was easy to feel the might of the sea when Gaerys raged and his wife could not restrain him; the air would palpably crackle with his strength.

                “They are closing the gates,” Erestor explained, seemingly unbothered by the bells.  “It is a final call to any of our people outside the walls.”

                “And what of the Thinnil outside the gates?” Idhreniel asked. 

                “Then it is a reminder that the City is closed to them,” Erestor answered.

Idhreniel wondered if the gates were the only implicit reminder.  As they drew closer to the peak of the City, her gaze followed the slim lines of the tall tower.  She gaped in awe when she saw the silver-blue light pouring from the pinnacle now unencumbered by clouds.

                “You must go to the top and see the jewel,” Aurendis said softly.  “It is amazing, that such a small thing is responsible for that great light.”

                “Is it one of Fëanor’s?”  Idhreniel asked.

                “The last of its kind.”  Erestor’s tone was wistful.  “We must hope its light never fails.  Atar says the secrets of its making were left behind in Aman.”

                They swept up the stairs and through the Lady’s Halls, exiting into a vast courtyard doused golden with a thousand little lights strung among the planters.  For a moment, it felt like a familiar scene out of Forlond.  Courtiers mingled with their wine glasses in pockets of policy and power.  Jewels gleamed bright around necks and waists, and every person seemed resplendent in high finery.  Idhreniel swiftly caught sight of Astarinyë and Sorniswë standing tall and bright among the other courtiers.  Neither had bothered with jewels; the light of the West proved to be a more brilliant adornment.  Astarinyë spied them immediately, briskly beckoning them to join her.  Erestor offered an arm to each lady, gallantly escorting them across the courtyard.  Idhreniel caught a few eyes descending upon her curiously.  She had expected as much, given her unfamiliar appearance.  Already, she had schooled her expression into its familiar placid mask.

                “The Commander looks to be in an especially formidable mood,” Idhreniel caught Aurendis’ murmur.

                “When is he not?” Erestor chuckled. 

Astarinyë greeted her children with brief hugs, sparing a smile for Idhreniel.

                “I hope my husband…” the last word was said with a slight emphasis, obviously intending to draw Sorniswë’s attention.  “…did not bother you too much with his budgetary troubles.”

Sorniswë’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at his wife.  Idhreniel swiftly placed a hand on Astarinyë’s elbow with a gracious smile.

                “That was no trouble at all, Lady.  In fact, compared to the numbers I am usually balancing, it was relatively relaxing,” Idhreniel reassured her. 

                “You and I have much different definitions of relaxation then,” Astarinyë noted with a short laugh.

                “This is quite a gathering.”  Idhreniel chose to steer the conversation in a stream that did not involve an irritated Commander.

                “We must introduce you.”  Aurendis’ eyes brightened, and she was already scanning the crowd, as if mapping out the most efficient route.

                “I think Lady Idhreniel will have a difficult time remaining anonymous in this crowd,” Erestor replied dryly. 

                He had barely finished speaking before he was being proved correct.  A man with a plump middle and even fatter fingers approached.  Idhreniel recognized him, racking her brain for a name to accompany his face.  Then she saw the alternating gold and silver rings on his fingers, and remembered.

                “Lord Seregethir.”  She took his hand with a smile, kissing his cheek and noting his pleased expression with satisfaction.

It was the irony of his name that she remembered.  No doubt this soft lord had little to do with reconnaissance, and even less to do with blood.

                “Counselor.”  The title lingered on his tongue.  “I must admit my surprise at seeing you so far from the Sea.  Does business bring you to the mountains?”

As she answered, Idhreniel noted Erestor’s departure.  He moved from group to group, catching arms with a select few.  He spoke meaningfully to even fewer before lingering beside another black robed man.  Aurendis was beckoned to a circle of ladies, and so she linked arms with her mother and joined them.  By that time Lord Seregethir had mingled off with other lords and ladies.  Idhreniel took a glass of wine from a passing serving tray.  She marveled at the deep red color and settled into an optimal position for observation.  Sorniswë remained beside her, apparently also having no wish to mingle.  They silently sipped at their wine, idly watching the men and women.

                “There is Lord Tyelperinquar, late as usual.”  Sorniswë’s voice was low.  Idhreniel recognized the haughty man from Galadriel’s office.  He gleamed in silver and gold, escorting a regal lady garbed in a bright red dress.  “And that is Counselor Istiril.”

                The pair made a formidable couple.  Istiril’s cool gaze swept over the gathering as if they had congregated for her.  She wore her dark hair free, allowing the loose curls to frame her heart-shaped face.  Celebrimbor said something into her ear, and the lady laughed in a resonating tenor tone.  When they parted, Idhreniel caught the lady’s gaze land on Sorniswë, and she immediately made towards him.  The air around Sorniswë grew uncomfortably tense as the lady came closer.

                “Commander, my assistant said you had returned from the Coast.”  Istiril extended her hand to the Exile. 

Sorniswë took it, leaning towards her to kiss the air near her cheek in a polite greeting, though his stiff bearing revealed his distaste.  

                “Yes, and with impeccable timing.  Your assistant informed me that the Council would have met next week with or without my presence.”  Sorniswë’s tone held a brisk reproach.

Istiril did not deign to respond, instead turning her scrutiny to Idhreniel.  The shrewd gaze swept Idhreniel from head-to-toe, an open analysis of her appearance.  Idhreniel maintained a mild smile, though she found herself sharing Sorniswë’s dislike.

                “I do not believe I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance.  I am Istiril, treasurer-in-chief of the City.”  The lady said her title with authority.

                “Idhreniel, formerly of Lindon.”  Idhreniel bowed her head respectfully, catching the brief flash of recognition in Istiril’s eyes at her name.  “I have only just arrived.”

                “From Forlond?” Istiril’s eyes narrowed when Idhreniel nodded.  “I have received many letters from a counselor with the same name.”

Idhreniel couldn’t help her small smile, about to reply when her attention was caught behind Istiril.

                Celeborn and Galadriel had chosen to make their entrance, followed by their children.  Galadriel glistened in white, bright with the memory of the Trees.  It reflected off Celeborn, making it seem as if he too had come from the West.  They were a study in nobility, progressing through the crowd. 

                “Then it seems you both have corresponded before this,” Sorniswë offered before taking a drink of his wine.

Istiril’s lips twisted unbecomingly as she stared evenly at the Commander.  Again, Idhreniel felt the discomfort and palpable dislike shared between the two.

                “I see you have met Idhreniel, Counselor,” Galadriel’s smooth voice cut through the unease.

She stood tall between Sorniswë and Istiril, apparently indifferent to their apprehension.  Celeborn was a step behind her, speaking seriously with his son before joining them.

                “Yes.”  In less than a blink of an eye, Istiril’s expression had switched to polite and glad.  “The Commander was just introducing us.”

                “How kind of him.”  A flicker of humor crossed Galadriel’s face as she gazed at the stern Exile. 

Idhreniel was sure she caught the edge of a smile before he sipped at his wine, looking away towards where Astarinyë chatted.  Apparently Galadriel was not fooled by her Counselor’s demeanor.

                “There you are!”  Celebrían’s exclamation was paired with an arm linking around Idhreniel’s.  “I do beg pardon, but I must steal Idhreniel away.  There are important introductions to be made.”

                “Do be sure to introduce her to Istyar Tinuthel,” Celeborn chuckled at his daughter’s exuberance.

Celebrían simply regarded her father with an expression of mock surprise, one hand resting above the swell of her breasts dramatically. 

                “Istyar Tinuthel?  I hadn’t thought to—”

                “Celebrían,” Galadriel quietly interrupted, the amusing theatrics apparently lost on her.

                “Of course I shall introduce her, Atar,” Celebrían finished, gifting her father with a brilliant smile.

Celeborn’s chuckle followed their departure.  Idhreniel found herself swept away into the crowd of the City’s most influential.  Some, like Seregethir, she had met previously in Forlond during various celebrations and political functions; others had travelled with Galadriel and Celeborn from Nenuial and never ventured to the King’s realm.  When Celebrían accepted an offer to dance, Idhreniel wandered the gardens, taking a brief and solitary respite.  Her gaze returned to the brilliant night.  A few couples passed by her, seemingly intent on finding a quiet space to call their own.  She finally began ignoring the passing footsteps, choosing to hum softly to the music drifting through the flowers.

                “Alcarinquë is bright tonight,” a strong baritone voice murmured.

                The owner of the voice was a man, taller than her, with dark hair that hung straight down to his waist.  An Exile, Idhreniel noted, though she found the glow of the West stronger on him than the others.  He spared her a brief smile.

                “Indeed,” she replied.  “When he shines so bright, it is believed that luck is imminent.”

He made a noise in his throat, raising a brow skeptically.  He picked off two glasses of deep red wine from a passing serving tray and offered her one.  She took it, allowing the rim to clink softly against his in a toast.  Idhreniel sipped at the sweet drink, smiling at the hint of strawberries.  The vintage in Eregion indeed rivaled Lindon’s; Gil-galad would be most disappointed.

                “And how would I receive such luck?” he asked, barely disguising his humor.

                “The Lady’s ears are ever turned to her Children,” Idhreniel answered. 

                “I fear she would not listen to my requests.”  He took a long drink from his glass.

Idhreniel shrugged, meeting his gaze before responding.

                “I did not say she would grant it.”

At that, he laughed, nodding to himself. 

                “Well said, Lady.  Perhaps I will utter my desires tonight.”

                “And why would you do that?”  Celebrían approached, her fair face dimming only slightly when she saw Idhreniel’s companion.

                “For luck, Lady Celebrían, it seems there is some in my future.”  He bowed his head to her.

Celebrían simply laughed and slipped an arm through Idhreniel’s.

                “How fortunate for you!  Forgive me, my Lord, but I must steal away my friend.” Celebrían gently began to guide Idhreniel away.

                “I hope your luck finds you,” Idhreniel said in parting to the man.

His smile only increased his overall fairness.  He lifted his glass to her before a bush blocked him from view, and they were back in the brilliantly lit courtyard.   Celebrían immediately set their path towards a group of men.  Amroth was silver-bright beside Erestor and two other men.  Erestor touched Amroth’s elbow, indicating the ladies’ approach.

                “Perfect, we were just talking about you, Lady Idhreniel.”  Amroth welcomed them, stepping back to include both ladies into the circle. 

                “I’m never sure how to respond to that,” Idhreniel replied demurely, eliciting polite laughter from the group.

                “Amroth says you are to teach Celebrían,” The man’s voice was rough like gravel and soft in a near whisper.  “I was inquiring as to your qualifications.”

                “Perhaps an introduction is first in order,” Celebrían cut in before Idhreniel could reply.  “Idhreniel, Istyar Tinuthel, chief of the Guild of the Sky.”  Tinuthel was the owner of the rasping voice; his dark hair was braided in a style worn by former citizens of Gondolin.  “And Arvadhor, student of Eleñolmo Sarnhir.  You already know Erestor, of course.”

Arvadhor had what her mother would have called star eyes.  They were dark, distant and preoccupied.  When his gaze finally met hers, it was clinically studious, as if she were an item to be classified and then disregarded. 

                “I am interested to hear, from a Sinda’s point of view, about the stars.  It is my experience that your people have intricate myths and superstitions—” the Istyar began.

                “We have our beliefs, Istyar Tinuthel.  The Thinnil long endured under only the light of the stars,” Idhreniel interrupted him, her tone sharper than she intended.

                “I do not think he meant…” Celebrían began after a noticeable pause.

                “Lady, please, I deserved that,” Tinuthel placed a hand on Celebrían’s shoulder to politely cut her off.  “What I meant, Lady Idhreniel, is that I am interested in accounting for the beliefs, as you say, of the Sindar.  Your people are not as fond of written accounts as we are.”

                “I would be happy to share some with you, Istyar.  Perhaps you could share some of the Golodhren beliefs,” Idhreniel replied.

                “That sounds fair.”  The Istyar lifted his cup to her.

                “There you are!” Aurendis seemed to dance into view. 

Interestingly enough, it was Arvadhor who she addressed and then lingered beside.  As if awoken, he blinked and offered her a charming smile. 

                “I have been waiting for you to find me,” he replied in a thin voice that seemed seldom used.

Idhreniel hid her surprise when he placed a gentle kiss on Aurendis’ lips.  Aurendis beamed at him; her earlier defense of the meneldil made much more sense now.

                “I was waylaid by Lord Nelhíl about the structure I would like built to add to the gardens behind Lady Galadriel’s offices,” Aurendis explained.

                “Oh, I am surprised you escaped before dawn,” Amroth smirked.  “Though, perhaps I only receive his longwinded explanations as punishment for denying his continued requests to cut trees in my forest.”

                “No, he mentioned that as well.” Aurendis lowered her voice both in timbre and volume in mimicry of Lord Nelhíl.  “And perhaps you might speak to Lord Amroth.  I’ll need wood for this project and he’s rebuffed my every attempt.  My men must have wood to work.”

A titter of laughter went around the group.  Even the Istyar smirked into his cup at the imitation.

                “Yes, but then the bakers and the smiths want wood to burn; the masons need wood to aid transport of their great stones; and the soldiers have their own needs.  If I agree to every proposition to cut in my forests, I will have no trees left,” Amroth grumbled good-naturedly.

                “See, your great level of responsibility is why Ada retired from the position,” Celebrían laughed.

                “No one will ever be happy with you, Keeper of the Woods.”  Arvadhor sent his friend an apologetic smile.

                “I could not be so lucky,” Amroth replied.

Celeborn silently joined their circle, standing unobtrusively beside his son.  Glasses were raised, and wine drank to greet him. 

                “Speaking of luck,” Celebrían glanced at Idhreniel.  “I happened upon Idhreniel imparting luck to Lord Aulendil.”

Idhreniel felt a brief wave of concern at the varied expressions of the group.  Celeborn’s appearance had dipped into complete ambiguity as his gaze contemplated everyone but her.

                “Luck?  We should be asking that of him,” Tinuthel muttered into his cup.

                “That is his name?  I did not catch it while we briefly spoke,” Idhreniel replied casually, her curiosity piqued.

Rarely did one person cause such a diverse reaction without good cause. 

                “Lord Aulendil is a guest of Lord Celebrimbor’s house,” Erestor explained quietly, subtly using his glass to indicate something behind Idhreniel.

She waited a moment before nonchalantly stepping to Erestor’s side so she could see what he did.  The Western Lord stood between Celebrimbor and Galadriel, observing the cousins as they spoke.  There was a dark temper at the edges of Celebrimbor’s face as he spoke.  Galadriel retained her ever-calm exterior, placing a hand on his shoulder and speaking inaudibly.  Aulendil placed his own hand on Celebrimbor’s other shoulder, gaining the attention of the lord and lady.  He must have interjected some humor by the sudden laughter from the Smith.  A few other lords and ladies gravitated towards the sound.

                “How fortunate for him,” Idhreniel simply said.

As the night dwindled into morning, their group grew consciously smaller until Idhreniel found herself seated beside Celeborn.  The conversation jumped from subject to subject, depending on who dominated the discussion.  When Erestor took up the defense of a tax initiative, his speech suddenly flowed into the tongue of the Noldor.  Idhreniel swiftly lost track of the argument, failing miserably to translate the quick discourse as Celebrían, Arvadhor and Erestor interrupted and spoke over each other. 

“I’ve found that Erestor only becomes a more formidable debater with wine,” Celeborn murmured in her ear.

He slipped into the dialect of Elu’s people, using the words and pronunciations the younger generation had written off as archaic and outdated.  Like all languages, even that of the Thinnil evolved with the passing years.  Idhreniel smiled gladly at him, comforted by the sound. 

                “Then he would be a force in Forlond,” Idhreniel responded ironically.

Celeborn laughed and nodded before he regarded her seriously.

                “If Gil-galad suddenly recruits my most promising prosecutor, I will know who to blame.”

Idhreniel’s voice was lost in the sudden bout of loud laughter from the others.  In this way, with humor and wine, they greeted the dawn.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Characters/Notes:

Idhreniel: once-chief counselor to Gil-galad; sister of Tirnion; daughter of Ninnethril and Olthir.

Sorniswë: Exile; Commander of the soldiers of Ost-in-Edhil; husband to Astarinyë; father to Aurendis and Erestor.

Erestor: Noldor; lawyer; youngest child/son of Sorniswë and Astarinyë.

Aurendis: Noldor; eldest child/daughter of Sorniswë and Astarinyë; First Gardner of the City.

Arvadhor: Noldor; one of the elendili of the City.

Istyar: Quenya, “learned man”.  This title is assumed only by the brightest and most accomplished of the guild.  Most guild leaders can utilize this title, though some guilds have specialized honorifics for their masters.  (The idea for this is taken with permission from Pandemonium_213’s stories, most notably The Apprentice.)

Tinuthel: Noldor; Istyar; Chief for the Guild of the Sky; Current leader for the Otornassë Meneliva.

Meneldil: Quenya, singular term for astronomer or student of astronomical lore.

Elendili: Quenya, “lover or student of the stars”; utilized as a class name for those who have moved beyond a fascination with the stars and study astronomical lore.  Commonly, one may be more familiar with the Edain translation of this word to mean “elf-friend”.  This is a simple example of cultural and linguistic differences between the Eldar and Edain.  Among the Elves of Ost-in-Edhil, the term “elendili” will always refer to astronomers.  (Credit to Pandemonium_213 for the actual form.)

Eleñolmo/Eleñolmor: Quenya masculine singular/plural, “star-wise person”; specific title for certain elendili who have reached the highest level of academia. (Again, credit goes to Pandemonium_213 for steering me far, far away from my pitiful attempts.)

Sarnhir: Noldor; member of the elendili, an Eleñolmo.

Gaerys: (Sindarin) Ossë

Astarinyë: Exile; Chief Physician of Ost-in-Edhil; wife of Sorniswë; mother to Aurendis and Erestor.

Tyelperinquar: Noldor; also called Celebrimbor, Tyelpo; Istyar and chief of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain; grandson of Fëanor.

Istiril: Noldor; Treasurer-in-chief of Ost-in-Edhil.

Seregethir: Noldor; Chief of the Guild of the Earth.

Nenuial: Lake Evendim, north of the Shire.

Alcarinquë: Quenya, “The Glorious”; Said to be the brightest object in the sky before the rising of the moon; corresponds to our Jupiter.

Nelhíl: Noldor; Chief of the Carpenters.

Chapter Eight

Summary: A brief discussion on what might lie beyond the stars, and the paths that take one there.

Thanks to Scarlet, mollyapple and Pandemonium for feedback!

This chapter was in part inspired by the MPTT Anniversary Challenge, specifically the following lines: “Tomorrow we may come this way/ And take the hidden paths that run/ Towards the Moon or to the Sun.” 

Read Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: Hidden Paths

 

                Idhreniel quickly passed through the lower rindi, intending to reach the higher levels of the City.  Her weekly late morning trek was routine now.  The encompassing aroma of warm bread followed her as she stepped off the main avenue onto the thin side streets lined by apartments and residences.  She pushed open a tall silver gate, entering the courtyard of the Otornassë Meneliva.  The sickly sweet scent of jasmine enveloped her as she followed the familiar path towards the two buildings that housed all the knowledge of these men. 

                “Good morning, Lady,” Thindir, the mathematician, fell into step beside her.  “Berellos predicts a clear night tonight.”

                “Does he?” Idhreniel exchanged an amused look with Thindir.  “I seem to recall he said the same last week, and that turned out to be incorrect.”

There had been quite a few wisps of clouds in the higher regions of the sky that had obstructed their view.

                “I hear his is an imprecise science,” Thindir replied with a smirk.

                “That explains it,” Idhreniel laughed.

She had met the mathematician on the first day she had ventured past the silver gates.  He had kindly shown her to the Istyar’s offices.  Since then, their paths always crossed on the mornings she visited.

To the left of their path rose the grey and austere library.  As always, he bid her farewell and went right to the buildings boasting large rooms and offices.  Inside, men scribbled away on boards, forming mathematical theories and crafting new inventions.  Those men worked during the day; they were the lovers of storm-lore and mathematicians.  The elendili were not yet roused.  It was barely noon. 

                Behind the main house rose the wall, a portion of which slimmed into a tall tower.  However, no guard was posted at the top.  This tower belonged to the elendili alone.  At Lord Celeborn’s request, Istyar Tinuthel had granted her access to it for the night lessons once a week.  She traversed the stairs swiftly until she reached the top, sighing at the spectacular view.  She could see in all four compass directions.  There were no clouds on the horizon, so Berellos’ prediction could develop into truth.  A cool breeze swept down from the mountains, blowing her hair haphazardly around.  As she smoothed it into a simple twist, she made a mental note to braid it tightly tonight.  It was then she realized she was not alone.  The Istyar sat precariously on the ledge of the tower, his back resting against one of the stone pillars that held up a roof over a portion of the tower.  A thin stack of papers fluttered with the wind, restrained by his hand as he read.  For a moment, she was not sure if he was aware of her presence.

                “Lady Idhreniel.”  He marked his place before looking to her with a pleasant expression, and beckoned her to join him.

She acquiesced without a thought, perching herself on the ledge and looking over only once at the steep drop.  Splotches of red (flowers, she knew) dripped down the mountain breaking up the green and grey.  The sheer descent never failed to instill her with caution. 

                “I hope I am not interrupting.”  She paired her words with an apologetic expression.  “I did not think anyone else would be here.”

Indeed, she had simply wished to assess the weather.  However, she would not turn down an opportunity to speak with the Istyar.  Their prior conversations had been enlightening.

                “You are, but I do not mind.  In fact, some conversation would be a welcome diversion.”  Tinuthel’s rasping voice sounded tired.  He motioned to the bound papers, offering them to her.  “One of Sarnhir’s students is attempting to lure me into utter boredom.”

Idhreniel chuckled to herself, taking the volume from him and skimming the first few pages.  She was struck by the analytical and passive tone; there was no wonder in this scholar’s discovery. 

                “It does seem that way.”  She passed it back to him.

                “It is a hazard of our study, I think, that all the Eldar feel love for the skies.  Many believe it qualifies them to study the stars,” Tinuthel said.  “Not every person who can name the stars is worthy to discover what is beyond them.”

                “And what do the Gelydh believe lies beyond the stars?” Idhreniel asked quietly.

Tinuthel observed her silently for a few minutes.  They sat above the music of the City, beyond the murmur of voices and the cries of horses and barks of dogs.  There was silence to be found near the clouds.  Today, the wind whistled; perhaps Aran Einor was calling his eagles home. 

                “There is more in our sky than we understand presently,” Tinuthel answered.  “An Eleñolmo I once knew in Ondolindë told me that there are paths in the skies.  The Ainur came from beyond; there must be more.”

                “Paths in the sky,” she mused, intrigued by the idea.  “My people would tell you that every man and woman who dared to fly too high was trapped in the skies.”

He sighed impatiently as he shook his head.

                “I thought your stories were meant to be metaphorical, not literal,” he said with an edge to his tone.

                “I have never seen the legendary Trees.  Are those also metaphorical?” she challenged.

He raised a brow with a dark frown, and for a moment, Idhreniel was sure she had crossed some invisible line.  She did not apologize, knowing well that any retreat would be met with contempt. 

                “If you are expecting me to argue that the proof of the Trees is above…” he motioned to the Sun.  “…then you are in for a long wait.”

                “I understood that the Gelydh believed-” she began, but stopped when he raised his hand.

                “Those are stories for children and Men,” he replied scornfully.  “Tilion and Arien may yet reside on their respective lights, but they do not guide them.  The Sun and Moon endured long before the Eldar awoke.”

                “Then what guides them?  Where is your proof?” Idhreniel could not hide her curiosity.

The Istyar stood, his lips spread in a familiar (and infuriating) half-smile.  Instantly, she knew he would not be answering her question.

                “I suppose you will need to visit Gilvagor to find answers.”  Every one of her questions he had rebuffed by sending her to the library.  As of yet, she had not visited the extensive collection.  She was here to teach Celebrían, not learn the theories of the Gelydh.

The Istyar descended the stair without another word.   Her thoughts churned over and over, part of her already racing down the stairs to the library.  She could see the doors from where she sat, but she did not walk that path.  Instead, Idhreniel turned her gaze West, following the curve of the river to the horizon.  If she closed her eyes, she could envision the sea.  Her thoughts calmed, allowing the inquiries to sink to the bottom of her mind.  Her heart clearly listened to the incessant roar of the waves mingled with the mournful gull cries.  Then the faint music of the singers spilled out to mix with Ulu’s symphony.  With a sigh, she reopened her eyes, allowing her gaze to drift over the present scenery.  Tonight would mark the end of the first month of Celebrían’s lessons.  While the daughter of Celeborn was extremely clever, she lacked focus.  Like an academic butterfly, she had flitted from tutor to tutor never gaining more than a cursory mastery of a subject.  If the pattern held, Idhreniel presumed she would be returned home within the next few years. 

When the wind began to scrape her cheeks, Idhreniel finally left the tower, returning to the bustling streets and finding her way back to the Commander’s home.  As soon as she stepped inside, Belechir appeared at her side and took the cloak from around her shoulders.

“Is everyone out?” she asked.

                “Yes.  The Commander and his wife are expected to be in council all day.  Master Erestor is in court, and Lady Aurendis and her suitor took a packed lunch, destination unknown,” Belechir answered.  “Do you require anything, Lady?  Tea?  Lunch?”

                “Just tea, Belechir.  I intend to finish my lesson planning and draft a few letters,” Idhreniel replied.

                “As you wish.”

She slipped up the stairs to her room, taking a seat behind the desk.  From a drawer, she pulled a half-finished letter to her brother.  She uncapped the inkwell, dipping her pen to continue the words.  Her pen scratched out the minutes as she vividly described the City for her brother, taking special care in detailing the Commander and his stern charge of the soldiers. 

                “To your brother?”  Rihedil placed a teacup beside Idhreniel’s elbow, having entered unawares.

                “Yes, just finished actually,” Idhreniel answered, quickly looking to the lady.

While Belechir clearly maintained boundaries with the Commander and his family, Rihedil had assimilated into their lives.  Idhreniel had been treated no differently once it was clear she would be staying for a bit.

                “You must find out how that darling baby is doing,” Rihedil said, unloading a small plate from her tray to set beside the tea.  “From what you have said, Arvellon is precious.”

They passed the minutes in quiet conversation before Rihedil remembered the chicken in the oven.  She exited the room with an exclamation and flapping hand gestures.  Idhreniel hid her laughter behind her hand.  Slowly, her smile faded as the quiet enveloped her.  Outside, the City moved on in muffled waves of sound.  In Forlond, there were always interruptions, but here, it felt like isolation.  Her attention drifted to her lesson: Nendir and Aglarebiel.  However, her thoughts returned to the Istyar’s words.  Paths in the sky, he had said.  What guided Anor If not Aurion?  From her charts, she knew the stars did move, though they tended to shift with the years.  However, there were a few stars, like Aglarebiel and Elvir, which held a constant course.  Her chair scraped the floor when she rose suddenly, striding down the hall to re-collect her cloak.  Belechir met her at the door, her brows knit with concern.  She didn’t explain herself, simply fastening her cloak tight around her shoulders and collecting a few of the papers she would use for tonight. 

                “Should we expect you for dinner?” Belechir asked.

She paused at the door and glanced back with a smile that she hoped relayed her apology.

                “No.” 

                This time her ascent through the City was not slow.  She walked with purpose until she reached the gates, and then followed the path to the steps of the library. 

                “This is mad, Idhreniel,” she muttered to herself.

Her hand still pushed open the door, and her feet led her across the threshold.  The dry, musty scent of paper tickled her nose as she left her cloak on a hook near others.  She slowly drifted among the shelves, eyes darting over titles (most in the Western tongue). 

                “Do you require assistance, Lady?”  The soft-spoken man seemed painfully young to her, too young to be a scholar.  He shifted nervously on his feet.

                “I am looking for Gilvagor,” Idhreniel answered in a low tone.  “Is he here?”

The boy disappeared down a nearby row of shelves.  Idhreniel looked after him curiously, but did not follow, instead focusing on the library.  There was an area for star-charts, likely separated by year.  Tables waited nearby for the skies to be unfurled across them.  Shelves rose up to the ceiling like thick tree trunks, volumes providing a colorful moss up the side.  Some books were bound, others were left without coverings offering a naked page to passing eyes. 

                “Lady Idhreniel, the Istyar mentioned that you would visit me soon,” a smooth voice came from behind her.

                She turned quickly to face the black haired man.  His round face was kind and at odds with the cool glint in his eyes.  He wore his hair parted severely in the middle and it had been gathered back into a tie. 

                “Master Gilvagor,” she began.

                “Gilvagor, I have no other title,” he interrupted.

                “Gilvagor, the Istyar mentioned you could help me with research.”  Idhreniel continued her request.

Gilvagor simply nodded, stepping to the side as a few other men swept past, whispering among themselves.

                “On what subject?” he asked.

                “Paths in the sky.”  Her request sounded primitive.

                “Ah.”  Gilvagor’s lips spread suddenly into a smile.  “The Istyar’s theories, I might have guessed.  Most Eleñolmo apprentices attempt to study these their first year.”  Gilvagor beckoned her to follow him.

His warm response surprised her, but she kept in stride with him. 

                “Attempt?” she inquired.

He looked at her with a nod.

                “The Istyar is nothing short of brilliant, Lady Idhreniel.  He posits that there are bodies in the sky that move in circular motions around a central point, but…” he paused, pulling a few heavy books from the shelf.  “Well, I shall let you read his claims and support.”  He showed her to a room off to the side of the library, and then handed her the key.  “You are free to use this area as long as you like.  Materials are not to be taken out of the library.  When you are finished, please return them to me.”

                “Thank you, Gilvagor.”

He inclined his head politely and then strode away.

                The room consisted of a desk, chair, board, chalk, inkwell and a copious amount of paper.  Idhreniel took off her cloak before settling in the chair.  She stared at the book, not yet opening it.  You should not be here, her heart said.  What did it matter if the Gelydh thought the sun and moon moved along concrete paths?  Oh, but it did matter.  There had always been more to the sky, even her mother had known that.  She remembered the last time her mother had recounted Aurion and Calathiril.

                “Nana,” Idhreniel had interrupted her as Belegûr lifted his hammer to strike down the silver ship.

Ninnethril had only blinked, indeed surprised at the interruption. 

                “Yes, daughter?”

                “Is Ithil really a ship?”  It was a childish question.

Ninnethril sat back in her chair, her fingers stilling in the mending of one of Tirnion’s tunics.  The pile beside her had grown larger as of late with initiation into the city guard. 

                “What do you think?” she asked.

Idhreniel remembered pausing and looking up at the full moon.  The sea was streaked silver beneath it. 

                “But if it’s not a ship, then what is it?”  Idhreniel countered. 

                “Whether Ithil is indeed Calathiril’s ship or something else that is for you to tell, Daughter,” Ninnethril answered.

                “Then the stories are not true?” Idhreniel inquired quickly.

At that, Ninnethril frowned, set aside her mending and rose to join Idhreniel.  She stood somewhat shorter than her daughter, her dark hair gathered into a thick bun at the nape of her neck.  Ninnethril gazed evenly at her daughter, pondering her response.

                “I did not say that.  In stories is always a hint of the truth,” Ninnethril said firmly, her eyes tracing the star-signs above.  “One day we may be the stuff of legends and myths, but it does not make us any less real.”

                “Correction, Nana: I will be the stuff of legend,” Tirnion had interrupted, sweeping out onto the porch of their small home.

Ninnethril had observed her son with an amused smile, while Idhreniel simply sighed in frustration. 

                “Your brother unwittingly proves my point, Idhreniel.  Your dissension does not eliminate his belief.  It simply illuminates a different point-of-view.”

The memory of those words sent her fingers to break open the cover. 

                For weeks after, her brain felt as if it were spinning in mathematics, circles and words.  She copied the equations from the book and wrestled with the idea that Anor and Ithil did not both circle their world.  Instead, Anor sat at the center, and Arda revolved around it.  The Belain had passed on this knowledge to the Edhel in the West, so it had to be true.  Idhreniel watched Thindir scribble on a board, half-wondering if he was speaking Dwarf to her. 

                “Do you see?” Thindir put the chalk down, having finished thoroughly explaining each component of the equation.

Idhreniel rubbed her weary eyes, but nodded.  Thindir rose, stretching his arms up over his head with a sigh.

                “Don’t be embarrassed if you do not,” he continued.  “Few other than the apprentices of the Eleñolmor attempt to understand the support behind the theory’s claims.  Most students simply accept it as fact.”

                “They do not question it?” Idhreniel asked.

                “Why?  The Valar gifted this information to us.  Lady Varda…” He touched his forehead and then lips with two fingers and his thumb at the mention of the Star-kindler’s name.  “…instructed many on the secrets of the sky.  However, few of those men came East, and even fewer survived the destruction of Gondolin.”

                “How is it you know so much, Thindir?” His immense knowledge had not escaped her notice. 

His friendly expression faltered and descended into aloofness for a brief moment.  He laughed, louder than usual, but there was little mirth in his tone.  Idhreniel made no comment, choosing to ignore (but not forget) his reaction.

                “I thought you knew, Idhreniel.  I know everything,” he replied with a cocky grin.  “Now, I suggest we both retire.  It will be morning soon.”

They exited the library to find the ground and buildings layered with frost.  Idhreniel drew her cloak tight around her against the chill and watched her breath spiral in white clouds. 

                “Hrivë will soon be here.  You will have few nights for star gazing once the snow sweeps down from the Mountains,” Thindir predicted, pulling his hood up.

Their soft footsteps echoed in the silence.  It always seemed to Idhreniel that time stilled when night met morning.  Night would rage and refuse to relinquish his hold.  Morning simply persevered, even as it grew darker.  Dawn knew the inevitable promise of a new day.  Thindir murmured a simple farewell at the silver gates, turning off towards the nearby apartments and residences.  Idhreniel circled down to the Commander’s home.  Her dreams were filled with numbers.

---

Chapter End Notes

Characters/Notes:

This chapter was in part inspired by the MPTT Anniversary Challenge, specifically the following lines: “Tomorrow we may come this way/ And take the hidden paths that run/ Towards the Moon or to the Sun.”  

Otornassë Meneliva: also referred to as the Brotherhood of the Heavens; a collaboration of the masters and their brightest students to ensure shared knowledge and cooperation among the different disciplines within the Guild of the Sky.

Elendili: Quenya, “lover or student of the stars”; utilized as a class name for those who have moved beyond a fascination with the stars and study astronomical lore. (Credit to Pandemonium_213 for the actual form.)

Tinuthel: Noldor; Istyar; Chief for the Guild of the Sky; Current leader of the Otornassë Meneliva.

Sarnhir: Noldor; member of the elendili, Eleñolmo.

Ondolindë (Q): Gondolin

Gilvagor: Noldor; member of the elendili, keeper of the library.

Belechir: Sindar; attendant in Sorniswë’s employ; husband to Ríhedil.

Ríhedil: Sindar; cook/attendant in Sorniswë’s employ; wife to Belechir.

Nendir (S), Nencolindo (Q): “Water man/ water bearer”, corresponds to Aquarius.

Aglarebiel (S), Alcarinquë(Q): “The Glorious One”; said to be the brightest object in the sky before the rising of the moon; corresponds to our Jupiter.

Elvir (S), Elemmírë (Q): “star-jewel”, corresponds to Mercury.

Chapter Nine: Wonder & Mystery

Summary: Challenges abound and Idhreniel finds herself accepting a new position.

Many thanks to Scarlet and Oshun! 

It is highly recommended that Into Darkness Fell is read prior to this chapter.  That story provides information surrounding the Sindar and their beliefs regarding the rise and fall of stars. 

Read Chapter Nine: Wonder & Mystery

Chapter Nine: Wonder & Mystery

 

                Celebrían’s silver hair gleamed like a crown in the waning moonlight.  The sound of her pen scratching against the parchment distinctly broke the eerie silence of the night.  At a different curve of the tower top, Arvadhor and Eleñolmo Sarnhir murmured, alternating between gazing at the sky and pointing viciously at a paper.  Sarnhir spoke and moved deliberately, frowning at his student when Arvadhor disagreed.  Níveren, Sarnhir’s other apprentice, jogged up the stairs with a chart caught under his arm.

                “Gilvagor is going to murder me when he finds out,” was all Idhreniel caught him say. 

Sarnhir just laughed, and shook his head with a low response that caused the men to smirk.  The Eleñolmo would undoubtedly placate his partner.  Níveren flattened out the chart against the stone.  Immediately, Arvadhor was indicating something with his pointer finger.  Idhreniel craned her neck as nonchalantly as possible, but could not see the details of the chart. 

                “Idhreniel.”  Celebrían’s voice drew her attention away from the men. 

                Celebrían had finished adding Nendir to her chart.  Unlike any of Idhreniel’s past students, she had fleshed out the water-carrier, detailing the curve of his sweet face and vase.  Idhreniel smiled approvingly at the illustration.

                “Thank you, Celebrían.  Well done, as always,” she praised.

                “I did have a question.”  Celebrían did not immediately escape down the stairs.

                “A question?  Ask me, sweet lady,” Níveren interrupted with a confident grin.  “I’m sure my answers would be founded in fact.”

Sarnhir rubbed his nose with a sigh before reaching over to lightly smack the back of his student’s head.  Níveren turned with a frown at his teacher.  Idhreniel clasped her hands behind her back, hiding her smile as she gazed at the men.

                “If Níveren is offering, then perhaps we should see what he has to say, Celebrían,” Idhreniel said.

                “Well, it is regarding the expired stars,” Celebrían began, looking to Idhreniel.  “So, I do not think he is qualified…” 

                “Ask, and we shall see,” Idhreniel murmured. 

Arvadhor continued to study the chart Níveren had brought, but Sarnhir stood beside his student, apparently curious to hear the inquiry.

                “What is your question?  The arc patterns?  Indicators?  Stages?”  Níveren wore a self-assured smile.

                “Indicators?” Idhreniel interrupted with a frown.  “That a star is about to fall?”

The implications, for her, were terrible to consider.  

                “Yes, it is well documented,” Níveren replied.  “A star goes through several stages before it—”

                “Explodes,” Sarnhir cut in.  “They blaze into existence and leave the same way.”  He gazed at Idhreniel.  “Though, there are singularities.  The Gil-Estel inconspicuously entered the sky, but it grew to enormous size during the War of Wrath.  I suspect all of you are far too young to remember that.”

At the Eleñolmo’s quiet tone, even Arvadhor had looked away from his charts, apparently waiting for the teacher to continue.  Níveren nodded quietly, alternating his gaze between the Gil-Estel and Sarnhir. 

                “I was there,” Idhreniel murmured, looking up to the Mariner’s Star.

There was no joy in remembering those weeks.  Eärendil’s ship had circled closer and closer with each passing day.  At one point, it shone brighter and bigger than Anor.  The dragons had been nonexistent specks in the brilliance of its light.  Idhreniel remembered standing among the other women and children, watching the great star burn towards black earth.  For a second, the world went silent and grey.  Then the sky was split apart by its white radiance and the earth trembled and heaved.  It still terrified her to think of the hard ground rising and breaking as easily as waves under her feet.

                “Were you there, Sarnhir?” Arvadhor asked.

The Eleñolmo’s smile was faint.  Briefly, his gaze met Idhreniel’s.  They remembered what the scribes left out.

                “Lady Celebrían, in Níveren’s eagerness to address your inquiry, we never actually heard your question.”  Idhreniel was glad he changed the subject.

The war had been won that day, but when the sun rose, there had been no victory among the ruined earth.  Even the brilliant force of those from across the Sea was half of what it had been. 

                “I have honestly forgotten it,” Celebrían’s apologetic reply drew Idhreniel from her memories.

Celebrían’s sweetly embarrassed smile made the men laugh.

                “Well, if you remember it, I am ever at your disposal,” Níveren bowed gallantly. 

Celebrían praised his kindness before disappearing down the stairs.  Amroth would be waiting to deliver her home.  Níveren returned to Arvadhor’s side, but Sarnhir remained.  Idhreniel began to pick up the few tools to pack away in her bag. 

                “Nencolindo.”  His fingers brushed over Celebrían’s drawing.  “That is quite an artistic rendering.”

Celebrían’s chart was unlike the scholarly one Arvadhor leaned over.  The lady did not just correctly plot each star, but she brought them to life. 

                “You can still see the lines and the stars that make up his shape,” Idhreniel placed a fingertip to each star.  “And there is Aglarebiel with him.  We live in a season of good fortune.”

                “Tell me you do not subscribe to that nonsense!” he tugged his ear twice with a sigh.  “There is no evidence that the stars influence our lives and—”

                “Eleñolmo, I know that,” Idhreniel interrupted.  “I have read some of the Istyar’s theories.”

                “And?”

There was the question.  All of her life she had subscribed to the belief that the stars governed their lives.  Everything was within the sky.  The Gelydh dared to believe that each person determined their own destiny. 

                “It is not a simple answer,” she replied.

For if there was not something wholly other guiding the events within Arda, then it became a philosophical debate that she was not ready to address.

                “Good.  If the answer is easy, then the question was not worth asking.”  He patted her shoulder encouragingly.  “You must never stop searching for truth.”

                “And if the truth does not fit your theories?” Idhreniel asked.

Something flickered behind the Eleñolmo’s eyes and his lips curved in a pleased smile.

                “That is the entire point of our research: to test what we know,” Sarnhir answered.  His eyes were bright with excitement as he continued speaking.  “We are everyday at the edge of what is known and unknown.  Look at the ránelen.  Their paths have not changed, but we still cannot classify what they are.  They do not shift like the stars; they move like the sun and moon, but they are too far to be them.  We make guesses and assumptions.  We know something new each time we are wrong.”

The utter passion in his voice was mesmerizing.

                “Some things must be certain,” Idhreniel mused.  “We cannot always be searching.”

                “The One gave us the gift of this earth,” Sarnhir replied.  “Why shouldn’t we uncover all of her secrets?”

                “The wonder and mystery will be gone.”

                “Oh, Idhreniel,” Sarnhir placed a hand on her shoulder.  “I have been searching the skies since my birth in Ondolindë, and I know only a fraction more than I did then.”

                “Tell me.”  The words left her mouth unconsciously.

Sarnhir took a seat on the tower ledge, motioning to the place across from him.  Idhreniel sat aand listened as he talked until the morning swallowed up the moon. 

Her mind was still spinning when she descended the tower.  Arvadhor was waiting at the bottom for her.  His smile was brief at her quiet greeting.

                “I actually need to speak with you.”  He drew her off to the side.

                “Is everything alright?” Idhreniel gazed at him curiously.

Though she saw Arvadhor frequently, their interactions were rarely more than passing acknowledgments.  He glanced around, uncharacteristically nervous.

                “I need a favor.”  His voice became quieter.  “I’m sure you are aware that I present to the Eleñolmor next week.”

Of that, she was well aware.  It was a rare event for a scholar to be deemed prepared to join the Eleñolmor.  The entire community of elendili was talking about it.

                “Yes, I might have heard it mentioned once,” Idhreniel replied.

Arvadhor’s lips twitched with a smile.

                “Aurendis?”

                “And Berellos, Thindir, most of the meneldil,” Idhreniel finished with a nod.  “They are anticipating your presentation.  I did not know that all the elendili gather to listen.”

                “Yes, but the Eleñolmor will judge whether it is sufficient research to allow me to join them,” Arvadhor replied, his expression shifting into concern.  “I assume you know, but I intend to ask…” he paused, apparently unsure of how to continue.

                “You are going to offer silver rings to Aurendis,” Idhreniel concluded.  “You are right to assume I know.”

Aurendis had already begun planning the betrothal celebration.  Arvadhor looked decidedly relieved that he did not actually have to voice his intentions. 

                “Eddenor offered to make both sets, but I have not been able to get a moment away from my work to meet with him.” Arvadhor fished out a worn piece of parchment from his robe pocket.  “Do you think you could?”

                “Of course.”  She took the paper.  “Just tell me where I need to go.”

                Part of her was regretting accepting this task as she waited in the brightly bejeweled lobby of the Mírdain.  A black-robed man had listened to her request and disappeared down a hallway ten minutes ago.  She wasn’t sure if he intended to return.

                “Counselor Idhreniel, what a surprise.”  The voice came from behind her.

Idhreniel turned slowly, clasping her hands behind her back before addressing the person.

                “I could say the same, Counselor Istiril,” Idhreniel felt her lips twitch into a small smile.

Istiril’s skirts swept the floor as she came to stand directly in front of Idhreniel.  Her dress was red with a belt of white stones that shimmered fluidly within their casing.  Istiril’s lips pursed slightly as she assessed Idhreniel’s plain sapphire blue dress.  Its only adornment was the subtle silver stitching of stars on the sleeve hems.

                “Are you commissioning a piece?” Istiril asked.

                “I am here to see one of the smiths,” Idhreniel answered.

                “Oh?”  Istiril tossed her hair over one shoulder.  “Well, since he is not here yet, I wonder if you might spare a moment for me.”

                “How can I be of service to you?” This dance was familiar; it was easy to slip back into the skin of a counselor.

                “Tyelpo and I have been petitioning Lindon for further funds to increase—”

                “Counselor, I think you mistake my position,” Idhreniel interrupted.

The sudden gleam in Istiril’s eyes was unmistakable.

                “Your position seems clear to me,” she began.  “I’ve heard it mentioned more than once that you have the King’s ear, Lady of Forlond.”

Istiril’s tone belied the implication of the title.  Idhreniel leveled a steely stare at the woman.  Istiril maintained eye contact, unfazed by the glare.  The title and its connotations were nothing new.  When Forlond’s court gossipers grew bored, it had been easy to turn their eyes on the bachelor king and his equally unmarried chief counselor.

                “The King maintains his own judgment, Counselor.  However, I will say that it is clear to me, from past petitions I have seen from Lord Celebrimbor that the funds would not be used to produce any tangible revenue.  That is why you have been denied, and will continue to be,” Idhreniel stated matter-of-factly.

                “Our army and soldiers produce no tangible revenue, as you say, but they are granted increased monies,” Istiril argued.

                “A well-maintained force is crucial to the protection of the realm.  That is a definite benefit,” Idhreniel replied. 

                “We live in an age of peace, Counselor.  How can it be necessary to maintain such a large army and navy,” Istiril countered, tapping a finger against her lips.  “Unless, of course, the King is aware of some threat he has not revealed to his people.”

                “Are you accusing Gil-galad of withholding information?”  Idhreniel fought to keep the irritation out of her voice. 

                “Of course not,” Istiril replied quickly, her expression aptly concerned.  “It is treason to make such allegations.”

Without proof.  Those two words lingered unsaid in the air between them.  A thousand protests swept through her mind, but Idhreniel dismissed them all.  Objection would only cement this idea Istiril had. 

                “Ah, darling…”  Celebrimbor strode out from a side door, barely pausing when he noted Idhreniel. 

 “Lady Idhreniel, I understand you wished to see me.” Eddenor was two steps behind the Istyar.

                “Yes, Eddenor.  Arvadhor mentioned—” she began.

Eddenor abruptly beckoned for her to follow him.  Idhreniel took a step around Istiril, touching the lady’s elbow and leaning close to her ear.

                “I apologize, but we will have to finish this conversation later, Counselor,” Idhreniel murmured.

Istiril minutely turned her head, making eye contact with Idhreniel. 

                “Thank you for your time, Lady of Forlond,” Istiril replied, her lips spreading back in a cold smile.

Istiril’s skirts snapped briskly as she walked away with Celebrimbor.  Idhreniel did not bother to watch her go, focusing on Eddenor impatiently waiting.  He briskly led her down a narrow hall of many doors.

                “I apologize for interrupting your work,” Idhreniel said.

                “For Aurendis, it is no trouble at all,” Eddenor replied, sparing her a brief smile. 

                “Oh?  I thought you had agreed to make the rings for Arvadhor.”  Idhreniel did not hide her confusion.

                “Really the rings are for both of them, but Aurendis can be convincing at times.”  Eddenor pushed open a plain door labeled with his name. 

                It was a spacious office with a table filling most of the room.  Designs were hung on the walls, window and table; she had walked into chaos.  Eddenor shifted a few papers to the side, holding out his hand for the paper he assumed Idhreniel to have.

                “You know Aurendis well?”  Idhreniel gave it to him, and then drifted off to examine the many hanging papers.

Eddenor responded with a grunt, leaning over the designs.  Idhreniel wandered around the office in silence.  She paused in front of a specific design. 

                “Is this the device you created for Astarinyë?” she asked, glancing back at him.

                Eddenor’s head turned quickly towards her.  He straightened, glancing at the paper she referenced.

                “It is.”

                “I understand you declined Arvadhor’s proposal to create something similar for him,” Idhreniel drifted closer to the table, regarding Eddenor closely.

The smith crossed his arms over his chest, and raised a brow.

                “Indeed.  His proposition was lacking.”  Idhreniel translated the statement: the funding was insufficient.

                “How so?”  Idhreniel leaned her hip against the table.

                “If you intend to ask me to create a similar tool for you, I decline,” Eddenor replied directly.

                “I wish you would change your mind,” Idhreniel sighed.

                “Then convince me.  Otherwise, I could not possibly bother,” he challenged.  “Now, please tell Arvadhor I will have these rings finished before his presentation to the Eleñolmor.”

                “Of course, Eddenor,” Idhreniel stopped beside him, placing a hand on his arm.  “And I will return with a more convincing argument.”

He chuckled, his expression revealing his outright amusement at her words.

                “I’ll be waiting then, Lady.”  He patted her hand before pointing out the exit to her. 

Idhreniel returned the smile before leaving his office.  It seemed that a visit to Thindir was well in order.

--

                “I need your help.”

If he was surprised by her request, Thindir hid it well.  He leaned back on his heels, continuing to stare at the jumble of numbers and letters scribbled out on the slate before him.  Idhreniel remained by the door, patiently waiting for his response.

                “Busy.”

Idhreniel sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.  After a few minutes, Thindir’s head turned slightly assessing that she was, in fact, still there. 

                “Idhreniel, I am truly busy,” he said.

                “It will take only a moment,” she replied.

                “I do not have a second.”

                “You are already suitably frustrated by your work, Thindir.  Perhaps it would be helpful to pause for a moment,” Idhreniel suggested.

His chin dropped to rest against his chest, and she heard the deep breath he exhaled.  His hand rubbed the back of his neck, but he turned and motioned for her to shut the door.  Idhreniel smiled to herself; half the battle was won.

                “Truly, we do not need Eddenor.”  Hours had passed in quick conversation.

                “What do you mean?” Idhreniel replied, tearing her gaze from the slate she had been writing on.

Thindir grinned at her triumphantly.

                “This could be made by any of the smiths,” he answered.

                “What could be?”

                It startled Idhreniel to see Aulendil lounging in the doorway.  She hadn’t heard the door open.  Even more surprising was the smile creeping subtly across Thindir’s lips.  The mathematician glanced to the window, most likely to ascertain the hour.

                “I apologize, my Lord.  Idhreniel came to me with an idea, and I lost track of the time,” Thindir said apologetically.

                “No harm done there.  Tyelpo is still locked in conversation with Istiril, no doubt regarding…”  Aulendil’s gaze drifted to Idhreniel.  “May I see your plans?”

                “Please,” Idhreniel answered.

The man moved into the room gracefully, standing beside Thindir to swiftly examine their work.  Aulendil looked to Idhreniel and then Thindir with a small smile.

                “You are correct that these basic diagrams would aid any smith in creating the work,” he began.  “However, this scope would not see far enough to be of any use.”

                “Yes, it would,” Thindir immediately protested.  “The math states—”

                “Your math is theoretical, Thindir,” Aulendil interrupted.  “Applied, these equations are useless.”

Aulendil took the chalk from Thindir’s hand, scratching out part of an equation.  Idhreniel watched with interest as the two men argued in quiet murmurs.  After a few minutes, she realized the reason she could not follow their conversation was that they had ceased to speak in Thindren.  The music in their words did not entirely sound like the Golodhren she usually heard.  She cleared her throat quietly. 

                “Ah, Lady Idhreniel, forgive us,” Aulendil motioned her closer and launched into an explanation.

Even Thindir’s brilliant mind seemed dull beside Aulendil.

                “The two of you have quite a bit of work to finalize these plans,” Aulendil finished.

                “It would seem so,” Idhreniel replied.  “Thank you for your counsel.”

                “I am ever at your service,” Aulendil said.  “When you have completed these plans, bring them to me.  I can instruct one of my apprentices to create it.”

                “Thank you, my lord.  You are too kind.”  Idhreniel’s reply was heartfelt. 

That caused Aulendil to pause.  His gaze drilled into her for a brief moment before it lightened.  He bowed his head with a small smile.

                “Now, Thindir, I believe we are late,” he reminded.

They exited into the bright sunlight together, Aulendil a few paces ahead.

                “I did not know you were on such close terms with Istyar Aulendil,” Idhreniel murmured.

                “There are many things you don’t know about me,” Thindir replied with a faint smile.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, squeezing her shoulder in a silent farewell before walking away to join Aulendil.  Idhreniel watched them go, mulling over his words.  Her feet unconsciously followed the streets down to the Commander’s home.  Aurendis met Idhreniel at the gate with a knowing smile.

                “You look exhausted.”  She kissed Idhreniel’s cheek in greeting.  “Did Celebrían keep you this entire time?”

                “I have business of my own, Aurendis,” Idhreniel replied with a laugh.

                “I suspect it will have to wait.”  Aurendis lowered her voice.  “Atar is waiting for you.  He is in a particularly pleasant mood.”

                “Does his mood have anything to do with a certain financial advisor?” Idhreniel asked, offering Erestor a brief smile as he joined them.

                “At one time, I thought only Erestor could get Atar so enraged,” Aurendis answered, glancing at her brother.

                “I’m rather disappointed I can no longer claim that singularity.”  Erestor sighed.  “However, I would urge you to hurry inside, Idhreniel.  From experience, I can assert that his mood will only worsen with time.”

                “Thank you for the advice.”  Idhreniel pressed a quick farewell kiss to each of the siblings’ cheeks before moving through the garden and into the home.

                Idhreniel walked through the silent hallways to Sorniswë’s office.  She entered without knocking, assuming he had heard her steps.  He stared at her from behind his desk.

                “Aurendis said you were waiting for me.” Idhreniel clasped her hands behind her, politely waiting for an invitation to sit.

Sorniswë sat still for a few more moments before gesturing for her to sit with a brisk sweep of his hand. 

                “I am in need of a counselor, Lady Idhreniel.”  Straight to the point then.

Idhreniel briefly looked at her hands before returning her gaze to him. 

                “Are you asking me to find you one or to be the one?” she returned.

The idea of having some sort of duty to fill the quiet daytime hours was not a disagreeable one.

                “Lord Celeborn highly recommends you from his dealings in Harlond,” Sorniswë replied, looking uncomfortable as he continued.  “I would like someone of your experience to…” he unwillingly stated the final words “…aid me.”

She did not contemplate the offer long.

                “During the winter months, I can be fully in your councils and at your service, but—”

                “Yes, yes, Celebrían’s tutoring,” Sorniswë interrupted as he stood.  “Shall we then?  I’d like to introduce you to my other staff before we are needed in Galadriel’s office.”

Part of her protested being delayed the relief of sleep.  Yet, she readily followed Sorniswë out of the house and down the street.  They marched side-by-side in silence.  At the door of his offices, he placed a hand on her elbow, halting her steps.  She met his gaze curiously, arching a brow questioningly.

“Astarinyë would tell me that I should thank you.”  His jaw was tight as he said the words.

“But Commander, you are not known for your kindness, or manners,” Idhreniel reminded with a small smile.

A smile twitched the edges of Sorniswë’s lips.  He squeezed her elbow and ushered her into his realm.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

--

Characters/Notes:

Celebrían: Artist; daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn; sister to Amroth.

Arvadhor: Noldor; one of the elendili of the City.

Sarnhir: Noldor; member of the elendili, Eleñolmo.

Níveren: Noldor; member of the elendili.

Gilvagor: Noldor; member of the elendili, keeper of the library.

Nendir (S), Nencolindo (Q): “Water man/ water bearer”, corresponds to Aquarius.

Aglarebiel (S), Alcarinquë(Q): “The Glorious One”; said to be the brightest object in the sky before the rising of the moon; corresponds to our Jupiter.

Eleñolmo/Eleñolmor: Quenya masculine singular/plural, “star-wise person”; specific title for certain elendili who have reached the highest level of academia. (Credit goes to Pandemonium_213.)

Ránelen (Q): “Wandering Star”; general name for planets or other bodies that orbit in the sky.

Aurendis: Noldor; eldest child/daughter of Sorniswë and Astarinyë; First Gardner of the City.

Thindir: Noldor; member of the Otornassë Meneliva, mathematician.

Eddenor: Noldor; Journeyman smith; member of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain; brother to Mirthor.

Istiril: Noldor; Treasurer-in-chief of Ost-in-Edhil.

Tyelperinquar: Celebrimbor, Tyelpo; Istyar and chief of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain; grandson of Fëanor.

Aulendil: Annatar; Maiar; Istyar and current guest of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain.

 

Chapter 10

It has been quite awhile since I updated, but here is the next installment.  As always, notes/characters are at the bottom.

Read Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Dreams & Lectures

 

                Idhreniel walked beside Sorniswë through the Lady’s halls.  His left hand rested on the sword belted at his waist.  He looked ready for battle, missing only his breastplate and helmet.  Even his expression was grim and fierce. 

                “Ready?” he murmured, pausing before the office doors.

                “I have some experience in council meetings, Commander,” she replied with a brisk nod.

Sorniswë pushed open the doors, motioning for her to enter first.  Idhreniel squared her shoulders and walked into the large council room.  The leaders of each guild were circled in quiet conversation, no doubt locked in compromises and concessions.  She let her gaze drift over each, pausing briefly to allow the Commander to lead their approach.  Tinuthel greeted her warmly with an embrace.  Behind him, Rúthol, one of his counselors, offered her a brief smile.

                “And what brings you to this tedious meeting?” Tinuthel rasped.

The Commander had already moved on, standing beside Galadriel. 

                “The Commander requested it,” Idhreniel answered simply. 

Tinuthel raised a brow, but only nodded.  He slipped past her when his name was called.  Rúthol placed a hand on her arm when she began to move away. 

                “Are you aware that many years ago, Counselor Istiril made mention of an idea to maximize the monies from Lindon?”  Rúthol said quietly.  Idhreniel turned her head nonchalantly to locate the lady as the counselor continued speaking.  “Her idea was to combine several of the guilds.”

                “How interesting,” Idhreniel mused.  “Yet, that was many years ago.”

Rúthol clasped his hands behind his back, looking down at the floor between them.

                “I know you lack familiarity with our City, but I thought you were an experienced counselor,” he returned, his gaze flitting to her briefly.

Idhreniel’s lips tightened into a thin smile.  She shifted closer to the counselor.

                “Propositions are created and abandoned all the time,” she said.

                “And yet, she’s invited both Lords Nelhil and Seregethir to dinner recently,” Rúthol replied.  “And Lord Celebrimbor is courting Nardil and Tinuthel’s favor.”

Idhreniel noticed Istiril’s familiar hand on Seregethir’s arm with a frown.  How could she have missed this? 

                “And why are you telling me this?” she asked before realization struck.  “What is it the Istyar wants?”

Rúthol just patted her shoulder, turning his gaze towards his lord.

                “I am not privy to all of my Lord’s thoughts,” he answered. 

Idhreniel’s gaze drifted to Tinuthel.  The Istyar merely inclined his head, apparently aware of what his counselor was discussing.

                “I see,” Idhreniel murmured.

It seemed she was in the position of having to again fill favors, though she had been indebted to far more exasperating men.  At the Commander’s brisk gesture, she parted company with the counselor and joined Sorniswë. 

                “And what did Tinuthel’s counselor want?” Sorniwë muttered.

Idhreniel settled in the chair beside him, offering a small smile to Astarinyë as she settled in on her husband’s other side.

                “He gave us a friendly warning,” she answered.

Sorniswë’s expression grew even grimmer.

                “And what does the Istyar want?” he asked quickly.

By the tilt of his head, Idhreniel knew he was gazing at the Istyar. 

                “That remains to be seen.”

Sorniswë continued to stare at Tinuthel for a few moments more before glancing at Idhreniel.

                “You’ll inform me of his demands,” he stated.

Idhreniel hid her smile quickly at Sorniswë’s tone.  His political dealings always seemed to resemble parley negotiations.

                “Of course, Commander.”

The Commander opened his mouth to speak, but Galadriel’s authoritative tone brought the meeting to order. 

                It was a relatively standard meeting that ended well before the dinner hour.  The Commander disappeared into a private office with Galadriel.  Idhreniel collected her thick cloak at the door.  A hand touched her shoulder; Celeborn stood quietly.

                “A word?”

Idhreniel fastened her cloak around her shoulders, seeing his warm dress.  She fell into step beside him.  They wandered out into the gardens, the foliage snow tipped and bare. 

                “First, this came for you through our letters.”  He slid an envelope into her hand.

Only her name was scrawled across the front, but they both knew who the sender was.  She hid it away in the pocket of her dress.

                “Thank you,” she replied.

                “You might mention that your post can be directed to the Commander’s home.”  The suggestion was paired with a kind and knowing smile.

                “Yes, I should,” she agreed.

                “And how have Celebrían’s studies progressed so far?” he asked, his words fogging between them.

                “We have paused with the onset of winter, but she was showing a remarkable aptitude for her charts,” Idhreniel answered.  “Though, her focus has much to be desired of.”

                “Ah,” Celeborn smiled.  “So you have noticed.”

                “She is young,” Idhreniel replied.

They walked a few steps in silence.

                “I worry for her,” Celeborn said quietly.  His boot toed the hard ground.  “Amroth knew his love for trees before he could speak.  Yet she flits from subject to subject.  However, I did not bring you here to discuss my daughter.”

                “Good, I have no experience raising children,” Idhreniel returned. “How may I be of service?”

                They faced each other now in the middle of the garden.  They could see all around, no chance of eavesdroppers.  They were a pair of silver shadows against the white ground.

                “I have no right to ask this of you,” Celeborn began.  His gaze remained intent on her face.  “My dreams have been troubled of late.  This City-” he motioned to it, to the tower “-she is torn.”

                “Yes, sides are being drawn,” Idhreniel agreed.  “But what would you have me do?  I have no power here.”

                “Precisely,” Celeborn replied.  “They overlook you in their pride.  Have you not noticed?”

Truthfully, she had assumed it was her sex, not ethnicity that they looked down upon. 

                “Again, my lord, what would you have me do?” she repeated.

He stepped closer, placing a hand on her arm.

                “Keep your eyes open.  You are better situated to see the divides,” he answered.  “With all her foresight, my wife is blind when it concerns her City.”

                “What do you fear?” Idhreniel asked.

Celeborn gazed at her grimly. 

                “My dreams.”

---

                The morning was quiet and shrouded in clouds.  Idhreniel pulled her thick cloak tight around her as she sat on the rooftop of the Commander’s home.  There was no wind, but the cold still cut to the bone.  Yet, here on the roof was the only place of solitude she seemed to be afforded.  If she went to her room, Sorniswë was sure to order her attention.  If she went to the library, she would be lost in the tomes for hours.  No, there was a letter to return.  She turned the paper over in her hands before finally ripping it open.  A small smile played along the edges of her lips as her eyes flew over the familiar script. 

                “Letter from home?”  Ríhedil set a steaming cup on the small table beside Idhreniel.

Idhreniel only nodded, fighting the urge to hide the words away from Ríhedil’s eyes.  The other woman sat on one of the chairs, nestling a matching steaming mug in her own hands.  Once it was clear she did not intend to further the conversation, Idhreniel resumed her reading.  Forlond waits impatiently for your return, was how he ended the letter forgoing any signature. 

                “Your lover?” Her tone was nonchalant, but Ríhedil’s gaze was sharp on Idhreniel’s face. 

                “Why do you say that?”  Idhreniel responded.

She focused on re-folding the letter, creasing the edges along the same ones its sender had made.  It gave her a moment to ensure her expression was carefully composed when she looked to the other woman.

                “I have seen that look many times on a young lady’s face,” Ríhedil replied, sipping at her drink.

Idhreniel put aside the letter reluctantly.  She picked up her cup, no longer steaming, but still warm, and offered a simple, small smile.

                “I am no young lady,” Idhreniel countered.

Ríhedil laughed quietly to herself, nodding in agreement.

                “Well, it makes no difference and certainly is none of my business.  I am glad to see a smile on your face.  The Commander’s gloom can be contagious,” Ríhedil said, looking to the sun fighting its way through the clouds.

                “Indeed it can.”  Idhreniel shared a knowing smile with the lady.

They collected their cups and descended into the home.  Idhreniel sat at her desk, pulling a single sheet of parchment free to set in front of her.  She uncapped the ink, tapping her pen against the edge as she gathered her thoughts.  What to say…

I was glad to receive your letter.  I cannot seem to recall the last time you personally penned correspondence. 

She paused only a moment before beginning her description of the City, painting it in words so when he read it, he could imagine himself beside her.  She told him of the great gates that honored the Trees and proclaimed the greatness of his people.  Then of the Marketplace and all the memories of their youth spent running through similar stalls.  She had always loved running with him.  No one bothered to stop them. 

                “Counselor.”  The interruption came in the form of Belechir.  He remained stiff in her doorway.  “You have a visitor.”

                “I shall be out there momentarily,” Idhreniel replied.

She placed the pen aside, leaving the letter to dry on her desk as she changed her dress.  She had found it necessary to procure different attire to match the icy winter.  Idhreniel exited out into the sitting room and found Thindir waiting for her.

                “The lecture!” she exclaimed, a hand flying to her forehead. 

Arvadhor was scheduled to present his research findings.  Istyar Tinuthel had allowed her a seat to listen. 

                “You forgot?  Aurendis would rip you apart for such an oversight,” Thindir said as she fastened her cloak.

                They made haste through the chilly streets without another word.  Workers scraped their shovels against the stone road as they cleared it.  Piles of snow edged the walkway and crunched under their boots.  They entered the Halls of Learning along with a few other elendili.  The warmth felt like a hot splash to the face after their freezing trek.

                “Idhreniel, you are a surprise,” Berellos stated, stamping the snow off his feet before hanging his cloak to dry.

Idhreniel offered the meteorologist a brief smile.  She had expected at least one person to remark at her presence.  The expectation did nothing to settle her stomach. 

                “Am I?” she asked, feigning an appropriate amount of surprise.

                “Indeed, the Istyar is slow to allow any outside of our brotherhood to view our research,” Berellos responded.

Thindir cleared his throat sending a pointed frown at Berellos.  The man moved away, waving at another and overeager to begin a new conversation.

                “I do not need protecting, Thindir,” Idhreniel said quietly, matching his slow pace down the hall.

The mathematician glanced down at her.

                “I did not protect you, but myself.  I had no wish to listen to his idiocy,” Thindir replied briskly.  “Have you ever been stuck in conversation with him?  He always talks about the weather.”

                “It is his area of expertise,” Idhreniel pointed out.

Thindir just snorted.  Idhreniel couldn’t help her laugh.

                Her laughter ushered them into the main theatre.  Idhreniel paused, her eyes drawn from the plush benches stacked high in a semi-circle to the ceiling painted with a perfect rendering of the summer night sky.  Already over half of the hall was filled, men anxiously murmuring amongst themselves.  They were all young students of the stars.  They had completed the introductory courses necessary for entrance into the Brotherhood, but they had not yet ventured any futher.  Arvadhor stood at the front, nervously shifting as Sarnhir spoke with him.  Thindir took Idhreniel’s elbow, guiding her to a seat close to the front. 

                “The Eleñolmor will sit there,” Thindir pointed to five chairs in the front with a long table set before them.  “They will hear his findings and give their judgment later.  Sarnhir knows the subject, but even he has not read the final paper.”

                “I heard it was a ten year apprenticeship?” Idhreniel allowed the nervous excitement of the room to seep under her skin. 

                “Yes, most of us take 2 or 3 cycles of an apprenticeship to fully understand our subject. “ Thindir’s fingers drummed against his leg.  “Very few dare to present after only one, but Arvadhor is incredibly intelligent.”

                “And you?” Idhreniel glanced at him. “How long have you been working?”

                “Ages,” Thindir laughed wryly at his cryptic response.  “Soon, I suspect I will request an audience like this.  Perhaps after we have finished our scope.  Did I tell you?  Lord Aulendil has promised that he will personally see to its making.”

                “Will he?” Idhreniel knew her surprise was plain.  “He must mean his apprentices.”

Thindir shrugged, but looked unconvinced.  Idhreniel could not help but wonder if there was an unseen price to his aid.  No aid from a lord had ever come to her for free.

                “Counselor,” Tinuthel’s rasp drew her attention.  “I am glad you accepted my invitation.”

                “I was honored to be included, Istyar,” Idhreniel replied truthfully.  “Thindir was just explaining the basics of this occasion to me.”

                “Good, I hope you enjoy the lecture.”  The Istyar moved on to his seat, pausing only to speak to a few other students.

                Sarnhir raised his hands from his place at the center of the room.  A hush fell over the men, and all straightened in anticipation in their seats.  Idhreniel even leaned forward, capturing every moment to set to memory.

                “Good morning, brothers of the Otornassë Meneliva.  We are gathered here because one of our number seeks to share his research with us for validation.  A copy of his findings will presently be available in the library.  A few reminders before we begin.  First, all inquiries must wait until the speaker is finished.  Second, since the speaker is also seeking to attain master status, the Eleñolmor will conduct a private investigation of the research directly after this lecture.  Now, Arvadhor.”  Sarnhir turned to allow his pupil a place beside him.  The Eleñolmo placed a hand on Arvadhor’s shoulder.  “The floor is yours.”

                Arvadhor watched Sarnhir take his seat in the front beside Tinuthel.  Then he turned his eyes to the silent crowd.  The anticipation was palpable in the room.  Idhreniel even found herself sitting forward in order to catch every syllable.  It was a straightforward statement: The proximity of the celestial bodies was determined by the placement of the viewer.  Many had stated thus before, but he was determined to prove it using mathematical equations.  In this way, he could accurately predict the movement of the sun, moon, stars, and planets.  His words were punctuated with the scratch of chalk against a board.  The math swam in front of her eyes, but Idhreniel prided herself on following the bare basics of his physics.  It was exhilarating; her mind raced at the ideas of orbits and axial tilts.  Yet, another part of her mind cautioned her to pause.  With every word, he tore apart the magic of her stars.  Or did he?  She needed to critically assess, but now was not the time.  She wanted to hear his argument in full.  Thindir’s movement beside her caught her eye.  He rubbed his hand over his frown, and then left it there as if physically stifling his disagreement.  Idhreniel was used to the gesture and suddenly pitied Arvadhor.  His math had to be erroneous.  Thindir would rip it apart in the end.

                When the chance for questions came, Idhreniel waited, but Thindir made no effort to speak against Arvadhor. Instead, she listened to the younger elendili tout their inexperience as they sought to disprove his theories.  Arvadhor answered them impatiently.  Finally, Tinuthel rose.

                “Thank you for your attendance.  We will speak with our student alone now,” he rasped.  “Also, after these questions, I must urge the young scholars to immediately return to the library to refresh their knowledge of Hísanúldon.  There will be a test for those in my classes.”

A murmur ran through the young scholars.  Idhreniel couldn’t help her smile at their sudden fretting. 

                “He’ll remain for the Eleñolmor to pose questions and scrutinize his work,” Thindir said softly, rising to his feet.

Idhreniel lifted her hand in a small wave to Arvadhor.  He acknowledged it with a small nod.  She fervently wished for his petition to pass through the Eleñolmor with ease.  His research had seemed well-founded to her. 

                “Well, speak to me,” Thindir clasped his hands in front of him, looking at her expectantly.  “Your first lecture among the elendili.  Did you follow his reasoning?”

                “I do cherish how you treat me like an imbecile at times,” Idhreniel laughed.  “I did manage to follow his logic.”

Thindir looked partially slighted before it dissolved into a sheepish chuckle.  Idhreniel looped her arm through his easily as they walked slowly through the courtyard of the Otornassë Meneliva. 

                “I was surprised by the amount of scholars,” Idhreniel continued.  “I did not know you numbered so many, and no ladies.”

                “Yes, the Eleñolmor and their apprentices dedicate time to teaching some introductory courses to the young elves who have not yet chosen their course of study.  The ones invited must have shown some sort of inclination towards the stars,” Thindir replied.

                “And are only males recruited?” Idhreniel asked.

                “I do not know,” Thindir answered.  “But I do know the study of stars is a lonely one.”

                “How tragic,” Idhreniel murmured.  “You study the stars and their science in secluded corners.”

                “The science, what did you think of Arvadhor’s argument?” Thindir led them to a bench close to the halls of learning. 

They would be sure to see Arvadhor leave.  Idhreniel settled down on the bench, drawing her hands into the warm pockets of her dress.  She took a few moments to carefully contemplate her questions.

                “It seemed valid and common sense,” she answered.  “However, I think it was the math that was the genius of his research, am I correct?”

                “Indeed,” Thindir nodded.  “He has put our knowledge into the language of numbers.  A great accomplishment!”

It took only a basic question for Thindir to continue his explanation, elucidating the areas she had not understood completely.

                “You are much farther into our theories than I thought.” There was a hint of approval in his tone. 

                “You are surprised.”

                “Yes, the Sindar are not known for their acceptance of our ways,” Thindir replied.  “They remain outside the gates.  Their children do not even learn at the same schools.”

                “Distrust outlives us all.  It is hard for us to practice acceptance when you assume we must assimilate to your ways,” Idhreniel returned. 

That seemed to catch Thindir off guard.  She could see the thoughts spinning in his mind. 

                “Tell me, quickly, has anything happened?” Aurendis’ sudden arrival jerked them from their discussion.  She settled close to Idhreniel, their shoulders touching as she continued speaking.  “I cannot believe today of all days, I am late.”

                “Nothing has happened, which is a good sign,” Thindir answered reassuringly.

                “Good?” Aurendis’ hands clenched together in her lap.  “How can nothing be good?”

Idhreniel took one of the lady’s hands in hers with a calm smile.  Thindir made no effort to respond, instead looking towards the gates.

                “Are all the preparations finished?” Idhreniel asked.

Aurendis had planned a celebration in Arvadhor’s honor.  She had chartered his favorite restaurant for the evening and invited their closest friends. 

                “Yes,” Aurendis began. 

She rose without another word, obviously spying the thin form of her love.  Idhreniel stood, watching her rush to his side.  Aurendis reached out a hand to touch Arvadhor’s shoulder with her question.  Idhreniel held her breath, waiting for his response.  A broad smile crossed Arvadhor’s face in his answer.  Aurendis’ laughter flew along the courtyard. 

                “Let the celebration begin,” Thindir remarked.

Idhreniel could not agree with him more.

---

Chapter End Notes

Characters/Notes:

Sorniswë: Exile; Commander of the soldiers of Ost-in-Edhil; husband to Astarinyë; father to Aurendis and Erestor.

Tinuthel: Noldor; Istyar; Chief for the Guild of the Sky; Current leader of the Otornassë Meneliva.

Rúthol: Noldor; counselor to Tinuthel.

Istiril: Noldor; Treasurer-in-chief of Ost-in-Edhil.

Nelhíl: Noldor; Chief of the Carpenters.

Seregethir: Chief of the Guild of the Earth

Nardil: Noldor; Chief of the Guild of Stone

Astarinyë: Exile; Chief Physician of Ost-in-Edhil; wife of Sorniswë; mother to Aurendis and Erestor

Ríhedil: Sindar; cook/attendant in Sorniswë’s employ; wife to Belechir.

Belechir: Sindar; attendant in Sorniswë’s employ; husband to Ríhedil.

Thindir: Noldor; member of the Otornassë Meneliva, mathematician.

Arvadhor: Noldor; one of the elendili of the City.

Aurendis: Noldor; eldest child/daughter of Sorniswë and Astarinyë; First Gardner of the City.

Berellos: Noldor; meteorologist

Sarnhir: Noldor; member of the elendili, Eleñolmo. Husband of Gilvagor

Aulendil: Annatar; Maiar; Istyar and current guest of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain.

Istyar: Quenya, “learned man”.  This title is assumed only by the brightest and most accomplished of the guild.  Most guild leaders can utilize this title, though some guilds have specialized honorifics for their masters.  (The idea for this is taken with permission from Pandemonium_213’s stories, most notably The Apprentice.)

Elendili: Quenya, “lover or student of the stars”; utilized as a class name for those who have moved beyond a fascination with the stars and study astronomical lore. (Credit to Pandemonium_213 for the actual form.)

Eleñolmo/Eleñolmor: Quenya masculine singular/plural, “star-wise person”; specific title for certain elendili who have reached the highest level of academia. (Again, credit goes to Pandemonium_213 for steering me far, far away from my pitiful attempts.)

Otornassë Meneliva: also referred to as the Brotherhood of the Heavens; a collaboration of the masters and their brightest students to ensure shared knowledge and cooperation among the different disciplines within the Guild of the Sky.

Hísanúldon: Noldor; Eleñolmo of Gondolin; presumed deceased