The Longest Journey I Have Known by grey_gazania

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Chapter 1

TA 2510

 

“I am cold,” Celebrían said morosely, holding her hands nearer to the lamp that swayed from the beam above her and rubbing them together in an attempt to warm them.

Ianneth set down her sewing and reached over to adjust the blanket wrapped around her friend’s shoulders. “Shall we go above deck?” she suggested. “You could sit in the sun.”

Celebrían shook her head and huddled deeper under the blanket. “I don’t like the wind,” she confessed. “It cuts me to the core.”

Ianneth took Celebrían’s hands in her own. The woman’s skin was cool and papery under her fingers, thin enough that Ianneth could feel each of Celebrían’s bones. She prayed they would reach the Undying Lands without any unexpected delays. Elrond may have healed Celebrían of the poisoned wound in her body, but the wounds to her spirit still remained.

 

“The captain says we should reach Valinor within the week,” Ianneth reassured her. “The healers there will know what to do, and your family will surely welcome you.” After all, Celebrían was the granddaughter of Valinor’s king of the Golodhrim.

 

As for Ianneth, she had no family waiting for her upon those shores, unless one counted her husband and child, both of whom had been slain and surely remained in the Halls of Mandos. But Celebrían was her dear friend, and she needed Ianneth’s companionship now more than ever. Leaving behind her home in Middle-earth had not been an easy decision, but for Celebrían's sake, it was a sacrifice Ianneth would make.

A message had gone ahead of them, carried on one of the ships that had departed while they were still preparing for their journey, so neither woman was surprised to find an escort waiting for them when they finally arrived on the shores of Valinor in the Bay of Eldamar.

 

The two men and one woman bowed as Celebrían and Ianneth approached. All three had the bright eyes common to those who had seen the light of the Two Trees, but when their leader spoke, he spoke in Sindarin -- much to the relief of Ianneth, who spoke no Quenya.

 

“Princess Celebrían,” he said, “I bid you and your companion welcome. I am Alcarin, and these are my comrades, Fimbion and Rilyendë. We have been sent by King Arafinwë to accompany you to your new home in Tirion.”

Celebrían gave them a wan smile. “Thank you for your assistance,” she said. Though the sky was bright and clear and the salt-tinged breeze was warm, Ianneth could see that Celebrían was not refreshed by the weather. The long weeks at sea clearly had tired her greatly.

Alcarin and Rilyendë set to work loading the women’s luggage into the back of a wagon, and Fimbion led horses forward for them. Ianneth helped Celebrían up before mounting her own steed, and Fimbion passed her the reins, staring openly at her. Next to the Noldorin man’s pale skin, Ianneth’s hands looked as golden as honey.

 

Ianneth raised one dark brow in silent inquiry.

 

“I’m sorry,” Fimbion said, flushing pink. “I don’t mean to stare. It’s just that your people don’t often venture past Tol Eressëa. I’ve never seen one of the true Moriquendi in person before.”

“'True Moriquendi'?” Ianneth asked doubtfully. She knew what the term meant, but it was one that her husband and her father-in-law had always shied away from, knowing how insulting the people of Mithrim found it.

 

“You know,” Fimbion said, blithely oblivious. “One of the Sindar. The Noldor born in Exile or after the Darkening don’t really count.”

“My father is one of the Sindar,” Celebrían said in a mild rebuke.

 

“Yes, but your father is kin to royalty,” Fimbion continued, seemingly unaware that he had thoroughly swallowed his own foot. “I wouldn’t dare call him a Dark Elf.”

A moment of awkward silence fell. “Royalty?” Celebrían finally said, her voice cool. Tired though she was, she would never sit by while one she cared for was insulted. “You are speaking to royalty. My companion is Lady Ianneth, the eldest daughter of Lord Annael of Mithrim, and the wife of King Fingon and mother of King Gil-galad.”

All the color drained from Fimbion’s cheeks, leaving him ashen-faced. He bowed his head. “I am sorry, my lady,” he said. “I meant no offense.”

Ianneth considered the man in silence. The gracious thing to do would be to pardon him, she knew, but she couldn’t help wondering whether he was truly ashamed of his behavior or simply embarrassed that he had unwittingly insulted someone of high social rank.

 

“You are forgiven,” Ianneth finally said. “But I hope you will not speak thus to any of my people in the future. We are no lesser than you.”

 

The awkwardness brought on by Fimbion’s remarks hung over the party like a pall as they traveled, despite Rilyendë’s best efforts at lightening the mood by pointing out the sights and important landmarks that they passed. Ianneth kept her opinions to herself, but truthfully she thought that the architecture of the city and its surroundings was overdone to the point of ostentation. Splendor seemed to be the highest goal, and she found herself missing the open elegance of Imladris and the graceful simplicity of Mithlond.

 

The situation was not helped by Celebrían’s obvious exhaustion, and everyone was relieved when they finally reached the palace at the center of Tirion. A man was waiting for them by the entrance, and Ianneth’s heart rose when his face came into view.

 

“Finrod!”

Finrod beamed at her and, once she had dismounted, greeted her with a warm embrace. “Ianneth,” he said. “I knew Celebrían would be bringing a companion, but I didn't realize it would be you. It’s so good to see you!”

 

“I could say the same,” Ianneth said. Finrod had been her favorite of her husband’s many cousins, and his death had been a blow to her and Fingon both, coming not even a mere decade after the Dagor Bragollach and the loss of Angrod, Aegnor, and Fingolfin. “I hadn’t thought to see any familiar faces here, let alone one I had missed so dearly.”

 

He kissed her on both cheeks, and she returned the gesture before releasing him and stepping away, that he might have a chance to greet Celebrían.

“My niece,” he said, helping Celebrían from her horse. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, though I wish it were under happier circumstances.” He was studying her carefully as he spoke, seemingly drinking in every detail of her face. “You have my sister’s chin,” he observed. “I always thought it a fine chin, but Artanis never cared for it.”

For the first time in weeks, Celebrían laughed. It was a small laugh, little more than a chuckle, but it was genuine, and it swept away the residual awkwardness of their trip from the harbor. It was plain that she was as happy to finally meet Finrod as he was to meet her.

 

“Please,” Finrod said, offering Celebrían his arm, “come with me. The others can see to the horses and to your things.” His voice was gentle as he added, “I can see that you are tired. My parents are looking forward to meeting you, but they’ll understand if you wish to rest for a time first. One of Estë’s healers is here to see you as well, when you are ready.”

 

“I’d like to see your father and mother before I rest,” Celebrían said, though she was still pale and wan. “I wish to thank them. And,” she confessed, “I’m looking forward to meeting my grandparents at last.”

Finrod’s smile returned. “They are just as eager to meet you,” he said as he led them through the palace doors.

Compared to the grandeur of the city's architecture, Ianneth found the inside of the building to relatively tasteful. The halls were accented in the deep jewel tones that were typical of the Noldor, but they were otherwise light and airy, not overwhelming the way Tirion’s streets had been.

 

The room Finrod brought them to was decorated in shades of cream and violet, and waiting inside were the King of the Noldor, tall and blond, and his willowy, silver-haired wife.

 

"Atto," Finrod said. "Ammë. Allow me to introduce Celebrían and Ianneth. Celebrían, Ianneth, these are my parents, Arafinwë and Eärwen."

 

Arafinwë and Eärwen greeted both women with embraces, but their attention was clearly on Celebrían. Ianneth wasn't offended; Celebrían was their kin, the child of their daughter from whom they had long been sundered. She moved back to stand beside Finrod, leaving Celebrían to her grandparents' attention.

 

"Gracious," Eärwen was saying in musically-accented Sindarin, "look at you! You look so much like Artanis." She pulled Celebrían into another hug before gesturing for everyone to sit. "I'm so glad you've come to us, Celebrían."

For her part, Celebrían was staring at Arafinwë and Eärwen just as intently as they were staring at her. "Thank you," she said. Then, a little shyly, she asked, "May I call you Haruni?"

 

Eärwen looked delighted. "Of course," she said. "You’re our daughter's daughter. There's no reason to stand on ceremony."

 

Arafinwë reached forward to take Celebrían by the hands, and Ianneth caught the flash of worry that crossed his face. Cool and thin and fragile, Celebrían's hands gave away how ill she truly was.

"A thousand welcomes to you," Arafinwë said. "It's wonderful to meet you at last. You and Ianneth may stay with us as long as you desire; I hope we’ll be able to help you find the healing you seek."

 

"Thank you," Celebrían repeated. "It's been a long journey, and I'm grateful to finally be with my kin."

Arafinwë smiled, though it didn't quite erase all the concern from his eyes. He was plainly troubled by his granddaughter's condition. "Would you like to rest for a time, and join us for dinner these evening?" he asked. "I know travel can be tiring even for those who are in good health."

"I would appreciate that," Celebrían admitted. "I do feel quite drained."

 

A servant was summoned to show Celebrían to her rooms. Ianneth made to follow, but she was stopped by Eärwen's hand on her arm.

 

"Please, stay a while," Eärwen said. "Celebrían is in good hands."

 

Ianneth acquiesced with a polite smile. "Celebrían has been unwell for some time, and I can't help but worry," she said, shifting in her seat to better face both Eärwen and Arafinwë. "Finrod tells me that you have a healer here to examine her. I'd like to speak with him or her if I could. Elrond and I documented the results of every treatment that we tried. The papers are in one of my trunks. I'm sure it would be useful to know what ground has already been covered."

 

"Ah, so you are one of Elrond's healers," Arafinwë said. "I had--"

 

"Atto," Finrod interrupted. "Ammë. I didn't realize that Ianneth would be coming with Celebrían, or I would have told you earlier, but Ianneth is not only Celebrían's companion. She, too, is kin to us; she's Findekáno's wife."

 

"Then that makes you my niece," Arafinwë said. “My apologies; I didn't realize. I regret that we did not meet earlier.”

 

“Well, your visit to Beleriand was hardly a social one,” Ianneth pointed out, the corners of her lips twitching with wry amusement. “But it’s lovely to meet you at last. Fingon always spoke very fondly of you both.”

“I wish I could say that he was waiting here for you,” Eärwen said, resting a sympathetic hand on Ianneth’s forearm. “But I’m afraid my nephew remains in the Halls of Mandos.”

“I expected that to be so, for Fingon and Gil-galad both,” Ianneth said. “But Celebrían is a very dear friend, and I couldn’t imagine sitting by while she sailed to an unfamiliar land alone.”

 

“I’m glad to know that she’s been in such good hands,” Arafinwë said. “And I hope that we can help you to feel welcome here. I know from the things my son has said that Valinor is very different from Endorë.”

 

“You’re speaking my tongue,” Ianneth said with a grateful smile. “That’s a great help already, because I’m afraid I hardly understand a word of Quenya. I’m sure Finrod’s told you that the language was a rather thorny issue in Beleriand.”

 

It had been difficult enough arranging for Gil-galad to learn Fingon’s mother-tongue. For Ianneth to have studied it as well would have been a grave political misstep.

“He has,” Arafinwë confirmed, as Eärwen nodded beside him. “But I’m sure we could find you a teacher, if you’re interested in learning it now that you’re here.”

 

Ianneth’s smile brightened. “That would be wonderful,” she said. The Golodhrim -- or the Noldor, as she supposed she should call them now -- had had the courtesy to learn her people’s language. Now that Ianneth was in the Noldor’s homeland, she felt that she ought do the same.

 

She stayed with the king and queen for a little while longer, making small talk, until Eärwen said that they were getting close to dinner. Someone came to show Ianneth to her room, which was next to Celebrían’s and which already held her trunks. She changed her dress -- a Noldorin custom that she remembered from Fingolfin’s formal events -- and went to help Celebrían.

 

When they arrived at Arafinwë and Eärwen’s private dining room, Ianneth was surprised to see two additional guests -- an apple-cheeked blonde woman with intelligent eyes who was holding Finrod’s hand, and a black-haired woman in a purple veil who stood with her back towards the door, talking to Eärwen in low-voiced Quenya. When Eärwen spotted Ianneth and Celebrían, she motioned for the other woman to turn around.

 

Ianneth caught sight of the woman’s face and froze, feeling as though she’d been kicked in the chest. Blue eyes, a smattering of freckles, and a very familiar nose… It was like seeing Fingon’s echo. This had to be Anairë, his mother, and Ianneth was left momentarily breathless as she stared.

 

“Selyenya,” Anairë said, staring at Ianneth in turn and holding out her arms.

 

Ianneth hesitated, for she didn’t know what Anairë had said. Then, beside her, Celebrían said quietly, “That’s ‘daughter’. She’s greeting you as her daughter.”

 

Reassured, Ianneth approached Anairë. She had expected the woman to embrace her, but instead Anairë cupped Ianneth’s cheeks in her hands, raking her eyes over her daughter-in-law’s face in silence. Then she smiled and pulled Ianneth into her arms.

 

“I’m afraid Anairë doesn’t speak any Sindarin,” Eärwen said. “But she was eager to meet you regardless.”

 

“We’ll make do,” Ianneth said, still pressed against Anairë’s shoulder. Eärwen translated, and Anairë laughed before letting Ianneth go.

 

Once they had separated, Finrod introduced the second woman. “This is Amarië,” he said, “my wife.”

Amarië, it turned out, did speak Sindarin, and she greeted Ianneth and Celebrían warmly, taking her niece by the arm and helping her to her seat.

 

They supped on chicken with almonds and chilled pear soup, and with help from the bilingual members of the group, they managed to keep up a conversation in which both Ianneth and Anairë could participate. Ianneth found herself glancing often at Anairë, taking in all the familiar details of the woman’s face and manner -- her animated gestures and swift, energetic speech -- and then looking away when she felt her memories of her husband starting to overwhelm her.

 

As the meal drew to an end, Anairë turned to Eärwen and spoke with another vigorous movement of the hands. Eärwen answered, and Anairë beamed.

 

“I’ve told Anairë that you plan to study Quenya,” Eärwen said to Ianneth. “She says she looks forward to being able to speak to you directly.”

 

“Please,” Ianneth said with an answering smile, “tell her that I feel the same way.”

 

She wasn’t at all certain that that was true, but saying so would have been rude beyond belief. Besides, it wasn’t as though Anairë had any control over her resemblance to her dead son. She seemed like a kind and welcoming woman.

 

If only looking at her didn’t hurt so much.

After dinner, Ianneth walked with Celebrían back to Celebrían’s room, taking a seat next to the bed while Celebrían changed into her nightgown. “Would you like me to read to you?” Ianneth asked as Celebrían climbed under the covers.

Celebrían shook her head. “I’d rather talk awhile,” she said, settling back against the pillows. “It’s been quite a day.”

“It has,” Ianneth agreed.

“It’s strange,” Celebrían said. “I grew up learning about Valinor -- the language and the music and the art and the food, the differences between the Noldor and the Falmari, all of my mother’s stories, you know -- but the people here still seem foreign to me.”

“Cultures are never stagnant,” Ianneth said, “By the time you were born, the peoples of Ennor had mingled so much that I think it altered us all. And who can say how the people of Valinor may have changed between your mother’s childhood and the present?”

 

Celebrían hummed in agreement. “I forget how much older than me you are sometimes,” she said. “How do they seem to you? Are they like Fingolfin’s people, or do you find them strange, too?”

“Not as strange as they evidently find me,” Ianneth said, thinking back to Fimbion’s remarks. “True Moriquendi indeed. I won’t claim that I never found any of my husband’s people arrogant, but for the most part they respected us. I don’t think I ever heard Fingon or his father call anyone a Dark Elf.”

 

“That was rude of Fimbion,” Celebrían said. “I hope his attitude doesn’t turn out to be typical. You should be welcome here. You may not share blood with my family, but you’re kin to us all the same.”

“Your family has been lovely. Although,” Ianneth confessed, “I do wish I’d been told in advance that Anairë would be coming. Not that I didn’t find her to be kind, but seeing her with no warning… It was rather a shock.” Tracing her finger over one of the embroidered vines on her skirt, she said, “She’s very much like Fingon. Not just her face, but her mannerisms, too.”

Celebrían reached over and squeezed Ianneth’s hand. She was the only person Ianneth had been fully honest with about Fingon, about her still-conflicted feelings for him and the great fracture that Fingon’s love for Maedhros had created in their marriage. While Ianneth had long ago accepted her husband’s death, she had yet to fully come to terms with his betrayal.

 

“I’m not sure that I really am looking forward to being able to converse with her without an interpreter,” Ianneth admitted, lowering her voice. “There was a time when I would have been, but what do I say to her now? That I knew her son for a mere thirty years, and that while I love him for giving me Gil-galad, I’m also angry at him for breaking my heart? No mother wants to hear that about her child, and frankly I don’t think that wretched affair is any of Anairë’s business. Elrond knows what happened because Gil-galad confided in him. You know because you’re my dear friend and I trust you. But Anairë is a stranger to me.”

 

“Tell her about Gil-galad instead,” Celebrían said, not letting go of Ianneth’s hand. “Tell her about her grandchild. You have thousands of years of stories that have nothing to do with Fingon. And who knows -- maybe you’ll find that you have common interests, too, beyond the bonds of family.”

 

“Perhaps,” Ianneth said. But from the stories Fingon had told about his mother, that didn’t seem likely. Anairë had been a dancer in her youth, Ianneth recalled, but had begun designing clothing following the births of her children. She’s an artist with a needle, Fingon had said once. Not in embellishments, but in drapes and lines. She can make garments to flatter anyone -- short or tall, thin or heavy. I’ve yet to meet anyone whose skill compares to hers.

Whether that was true or simply a son’s loving blindness, Ianneth didn’t know. Either way, fashion design wasn’t a topic that had ever interested her. While she admired the arts as much as any of the Quendi, she had always been drawn more to the earth, to fruits and flowers and herbs, and to the practical work of healing.

Beleriand had been at war, after all.

Celebrían briefly squeezed Ianneth’s fingers and then released her hand. “Don’t fret so,” she said gently. “You’ll find a place here. And there’s no one I’d rather have at my side, save Elrond himself.”

 

“I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d left you to travel here alone,” Ianneth said.

 

“I know,” Celebrían said.

 

At the look of affection on her friend’s face, the worried furrow between Ianneth’s brows melted away. She and Celebrían may have been in a strange land, but they weren’t alone. As long as they had each other’s company, they would be fine.

 

 

Chapter End Notes

Haruni (Q.) - grandmother
Selyenya (Q.) - my daughter

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