The Swan's Song by Kimberleighe

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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

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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.

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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.