Not Wholly Fruitless by maeglin

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Counter-Council

Lothlorien, T. A. 2662

 

Yet another meeting of the White Council had concluded.  As hosts, Celeborn and Galadriel stood while the other members filed out.  The trailing two, however, exchanged a nod at the doorway of the Hall of Welcome, and turned back.

 The elder spoke first.  "Now would be a good time to discuss the other matter, would it not?"

 Heads nodded and the four Elves retook their seats at the great table.  Cirdan, recognizing the dangers of haste, spoke slowly and carefully.

 "The uses of a Great Ring, we are all familiar with, though from different viewpoints.  Erestor will speak on this matter, but know that in this case, his council and mine are the same."    

 The counsellor thought of his long-ago youth as a scribe and messenger serving Finwë’s court, and of Finwë himself, before beginning.  

"Do you remember the arguments in the King's court, shortly preceding the great rupture, Lady?" 

"How could I forget them?  They come oft unbidden and unwelcome to my mind - a foreboding of what was to be."

"Yes, and so they come to me as well.  But I also remember how Finwë held us together until the day he died.  It was not an easy thing to give unwelcome council, especially when those to which the council was given were themselves mighty lords, and not always well-disposed towards him.  Yet Finwë always managed to bring it off, and would have succeeded even if he were not our King." 

Celeborn pointed out drily, "I doubt me that being King was too much of a hindrance.  But Elu was the same, until his last years.  Proceed with your council, unwelcome though it may be.  Though I would ask why you speak here before Cirdan."  He then turned to the elder, but Cirdan merely shook his head.  

Erestor continued.  "We speak of the Three, and I knew the mind of their maker better than any other here.  Cirdan could say the things I will say - but he has already told you that our councils are alike."  He looked to each of the three in turn; all far greater than himself, though only one like to his long-dead friend and heart-brother.  

"Say on, then, friend."  Galadriel interjected.

"The Three were made, in part, as tools of healing and preservation, and Celebrimbor reasoned that the greatest wounds to be healed were those dividing the Quendi amongst themselves and from the Atani.  For this reason he gave the Three to you, Lady, to Gil-galad, and to Cirdan.  The mightiest Elf in Ennor, the greatest, and the wisest, in that order." 

Celeborn maintained his composure with some effort.  Never had Celebrimbor admitted this, though he himself had long suspected something of the kind - and the tales of commoners regarding Celebrimbor's reasons were quite outlandish!  But his laughter died rapidly against the hard reflection of how much pain Nenya had caused his wife over the long-years. 

But Galadriel laughed aloud, a quicksilver sound.  "Tyelpo did not put it quite that way when he gave it to me, but I do not dispute your claim.  I have tried to put his gift to good use.  All Elves of good will are welcome in Lothlorien, Elda and Avar alike.  What, then, have you to say, Erestor?"

"That you, Lady, have shown your greatness, even over and above Gil-galad, in extending such welcome.  But it needed no Ring to do so."

Galadriel now turned sharply.  "And you will say next that I was given it for my might, and that I have ill-used."

Erestor nodded. 

Galadriel continued.  "With swift arguments you would say that Celebrimbor intended the Three to be used to heal all Ennor, not concentrated in a few sheltered strongholds. That we should not seek to recreate Valinor here.  That a fair realm of Men springs up upon our south-border, that it is our choice to help them and teach them as my own brothers did long ago in Beleriand, or to let them fare as best they can on their own.  That, clearly, the first course is best." 

Erestor nodded again.  "And you would say that my own Lord has chosen a middle course, and helps Men less than he might.  And would think, but not say, that that is putting things charitably.  And I, I would agree with you fully.  Yet Elrond sees things that I cannot.  But, since we are now putting words one another's lips and thoughts in one another's minds, perhaps we should let others speak?"

Celeborn took up this offer instantly, speaking softly but in a manner that left no room for doubt.   “If you disapprove of Lorien's policies, it is to me that you should speak."

Cirdan, too, broke his silence.  "No one questions that, Celeborn.  Nor do any here seek to usurp your authority - not this time."  The ancient one glared briefly at Erestor, cursing the folly of the Eregion rebellion the latter had helped lead, before continuing.  "And I know your reasons, the whys and wherefores.  Yet you two cannot be Thingol and Melian.  I, the eldest here, say that your policies, Celeborn, do not fit our times."   

"War will come, and who will win?  Not the Elves, if we do not have as many Men as possible on our side.  That many will be on the Enemy's side is inevitable.  Thus our task is to keep our allies, and to win new ones, even if we like them not.  This one truth has never changed, and never will.  Distasteful though it is, it is.  That is why I welcomed the Feanorians even though Ossë had told me of Alqualonde.  A bitter pill it was, yet not so bitter as death or thralldom at the hands of Morgoth’s servants." 

"Thingol would not or could not follow my council at that time, and I do not blame him.  But here and now, you are presented with a fair people upon your South-border.  I have been among them.  Though they are not of the Dunedain, they have proven their worth as thoroughly as any of that people.  The sons of Eorl could be mighty allies to us in the days to come.   We need only reach out to them." 

Celeborn shook his head.  "They fear us greatly.  Several of the Galadhrim, journeying alone or in pairs outside our borders, they have shot dead.  I do not know the source of their fear.  They came from the North, and doubtless some shadow followed them here, either of the Enemy or simply of the past."   

He allowed himself a sad smile.  "Not knowing, I have restrained our people from any reprisals.  But how are we to make them our allies when they would sooner shoot us than speak to us?  At present, we cannot even break bread together, much less make alliance.  In any case, the role I think you envision us playing, Cirdan, is already being played by the Men of Gondor.  We hope that Gondor will teach them to unlearn their fear.  Until that day comes, we can do little to aid them."

Cirdan nodded.  The Rohirrim had not feared him greatly, because upon seeing his beard, all had thought him one of the Istari.  He had not troubled to correct this error, but now realized he should have.   

So, with contrition he replied.  "That is ill news.  If Gondor teaches them thus, your restraint will be rewarded, but if it does not, nothing will change.  Yet in Gondor, and particularly its coastlands, we can still ask boons of the lords and captains.  I will go there myself, to ask the coastal princes to ask the Steward to send loremasters north to Rohan.  Or better yet, minstrels - they are not a lettered people, and may not mix well with the learned among the Dunedain."  

Cirdan paused, considering.  "It is too long since I have visited the Falas of the South.  Will you go with me, old friend?"

Celeborn's look of pain was rebuke enough.  "The Falas hold dark memories for me, all too near.  Amroth is at least held in esteem there, it is said, but as the son of Amdir, not of Celeborn and Galadriel.  And I have heard that Mithrellas left the first Lord of Dol Amroth, the descendants of whom are the mightiest of the southern princes, alone to wither in old age.  That was shameful.  She was of my people - so, besides the personal sorrow which would surely weigh heavily upon me to the ruin of any such visit, I cannot be sure the Men there would not hold me in scorn.  Though it would not be without some justice, that would be too much for my patience, I am afraid.  And truly, I do not think you need any Elf of this Wood in your company, Cirdan.  I would be  redundant, I deem.  If the Dunedain have forgotten the Shipwright, it is already too late."

Erestor broke his silence.  "I will go with you, if you wish it, Lord.  It is not so long since I have been to Gondor.  Ciryon I knew and admired.  And the Falas of Gondor hold no shadows for me." 

"Would Glorfindel not make a better messenger?" Celeborn interjected.

Erestor shook his head sadly.  "He would, but he will not be given leave to go, and so he will not go.  Also, Elrond holds the Stewards in scorn.  His stated reasons are strange.  Perhaps he sees something that I cannot, but he does not say what it may be."

"He will give you leave to go, but not Glorfindel?"  Celeborn again interrupted.  "Or.."

The dark eyes flashed.  "Elrond has my allegiance, always.  But I am foremost amongst his counsellors precisely because I need not and have never shied from privately or even openly disagreeing with him.  I have shown enough loyalty to retain my position these past thirty ennin.  Have you none such among your own people, Lord?" 

Celeborn half-smiled, ruefully.  "I had several, but they have all either fallen in battle or removed to Mirkwood.  They would rather face Orcs and spiders than my wrath, it seems.  So be it.  But I guess, at the least, you will not go as a messenger of Imladris?  Elrond has not spoken to me of his distrust of the Stewards.  That is unfortunate, for I do not know what he may foresee."   

He turned.  "Do you, beloved?"

Galadriel stared intensely at nothing for nearly a minute.  Finally, "All in Gondor is dark to me, and I dare not concentrate too closely on Minas Tirith."  

Erestor replied, "Indeed I would not be going as a messenger of Imladris, or even tell them whence I came.  I shall go as - " he paused, turning his gaze from Celeborn to Galadriel to say the words - "one well known to the maker of the Palantiri.  That shall be title enough for the Steward, I think."

Cirdan nodded, and the meeting concluded.  The two visitors departed. 

 

oOo 

 

Galadriel sank into her chair, suddenly weary. 

Celeborn placed his hand upon her knee. "Do not mind him, beloved.  You have done the best you could, and we have walked our hard path according to such wisdom as we have.  What more could anyone ask?"  

"The followers of Fëanaro could ask more.   One just did, did you not hear?  War and hatred undying they promised Morgoth and all who served him, and they still hold to that part of the Oath." she replied.  "While bold strokes may yet avail, however small the chance of success, no other course will they consider.  If the Doom of Mandos is never to be lifted, that is wisdom."

Celeborn coughed.  Such bloodymindedness was hardly a virtue.  If anyone had shown worth, it was Cirdan.  "I do not think so, beloved.  But it is they who need pardon, not you, so do not place yourself in their position.  If the Valar will forever hold those who crossed the Grinding Ice as being - as guilty as those who burned the ships - then I say that this Wood is better than Valinor, with or without Celebrimbor's trinket.  Lorien is what it is today because of your labor and sacrifice, and mine, and those of our people, not because of anything the Ring alone can do.  If it were to lose its power tomorrow, not one Elf in this Wood would think less of their Lady."  

Galadriel wished very much that that were true, but loved her husband all the more for not only saying it but believing it.  And for perhaps even being right in some way that even she could not see.

As for Celeborn, he wished that Nenya would indeed lose its power tomorrow.  For, apart from the strain the Ring placed on his beloved, Cirdan's words concerning the Rohirrim were wise.  But how could Men do aught but fear a land free of stain, decay, or even, for the love of Manwë’s bollocks, snow in wintertime?  He feared it himself sometimes, and felt right to do so.  Caras Galadhon they dwelt on, but Galadhon, were he to return as Luthien had, would not recognize his own hill, now held by his own son!  Thus Celeborn knew Cirdan's proposed mission was impossible as asking the Sun not to rise, and a waste of time.  But there was no point in telling the Shipwright that.

Chapter End Notes

The idea of Erestor as a lord of Eregion and supporter of Celebrimbor comes from Marnie's wonderful story “Dancing in the Darkness”.

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