Lingering in the Hither Lands by bunn

---

A Lord and Lady of the Eldar

Galadriel, Celeborn, kindness and nightingales

---

The Sindar no longer had a king. Not since Doriath had fallen, and Dior, Thingol’s Heir, was slain.

The surviving Sindar looked to many lords: to Celeborn, Oropher, and Amdir, who had led them from Doriath to refuge in the Havens, to Círdan, who had given them a place on Balar in time of need. A few of them, who had been members of the royal household, had come to offer their allegiance to Elrond himself.

Officially, as one of Dior’s grandsons, Elrond was good friends with all of the various Doriathrim lords .

Unofficially, he found Celeborn by far the easiest of them to talk to, and hoped uneasily that this was because Celeborn was courteous and pleasant company, and not in any way because Elrond had fallen out of step with his mother’s people, and Celeborn’s wife was of the Noldor, and a cousin of the sons of Fëanor.

Like most of the Doriathrim, Celeborn and his people had moved down the coast, south of the Gulf of Lune where the shadowy elm-woods came stepping down from the blue heights of the Mountains. Somewhere around here, Lúthien had lived her last few years and borne her child, in the years when this land had been called Ossiriand and not Lindon. The country around her home had been called the Land of Leithian, and sometimes it still was.

Most people said that as if it were in Doriathrin Sindarin, and called it the Land of Release from Bondage, but Elrond had heard the Green-elves use the inflection that made it instead into the Land of Friendship. Whichever it was, the Land of Leithian, far to the south and protected by many rivers and the great bulk of the Ered Luin, had survived the great war, the dragons and the Darkness, surprisingly intact.

Celeborn’s people had made a great hall that had a mighty elm-tree set into one end of it, so that the tree’s mighty branches shaded the roof and its trunk supported the roof-beams. Around the great hall were set smaller houses, made of wood, with roofs of bark-tiles bound in place with finely-woven grey hithlain. This had been the manner of the smaller settlements of Doriath, outside the Dwarf-carven cave-palace of Menegroth, so Celeborn told him as he showed Elrond happily around the place. It already seemed far more complete and settled in its place than the new Noldor-built cities along the shore, but perhaps that was the difference between wood and stone.

Elrond greeted the Lady Galadriel, tall and glad and dressed in the greens and golds of Doriath. He admired the new barns and the busy bee-hives that had been built since his last visit, and then they settled on the grass in a glade behind the hall where the trees opened out westward so that the long rays of the falling sun came creeping under the leaves, and in the far distance, you could see the shining sea.

“If you’ll take my advice, you will take up the kingship,” Celeborn said, once they had eaten and drunk a little cool honey-scented mead.

Elrond was ready for that suggestion. “I am Gil-galad’s herald,” he pointed out. “I have sworn allegiance to the High King of the Noldor.”

“Ask him to release you. He can hardly hold you to it. Then you can take up the kingship of the Sindar, as your brother has the Edain. You’ll need to hold Oropher and Amdir on a short leash, as Thingol did, to keep the Doriathrim together. If you don’t, the Sindar will splinter and then they’ll start wandering away. They’ll fall into petty kingdoms, here and there across Middle-earth, weak and distant. That could be a danger, in the years to come,” Celeborn said, seriously. “If you must think of Gil-galad, there may come a time when he will need the Sindar as allies, and you will achieve more then as his brother-king than as his herald.”

“The Sindar have not asked me to be their king,” Elrond said.

Celeborn made a faint frustrated release of breath. “Elrond, I’ve just suggested that you take up the kingship! I know Círdan has talked to you about it too, and so has Amdir. And Oropher... well, never mind him. You’re Dior’s heir, no question of that. You have both the right and the talent.”

Elrond felt as though the ground had slipped beneath his feet. “I thought you were giving me your own thoughts, not those of the entire people of the Sindar,” he said.

Celeborn looked pained. “I know you were a child among enemies, and spent your youth at war beside the Edain, Elrond,” he said, with such courtesy that Elrond felt foolish. “I’m sorry I wasn’t clear enough in my words; I meant no harm by it. I am one of the last of the lords of Doriath, and you may take me at my word.”

“I said he had no idea what you were talking about, my love!” Galadriel said merrily. She gave Elrond a smile that suggested she had seen more of his private thought than he was entirely comfortable with. “Or could it be that the suggestion is an unwelcome one, and so you would prefer not to hear it?”

“That’s closest to the truth,” Elrond admitted, since she had seen in in his mind already. “I have little desire to be a king. It seems to me that the Sindar I have met are well content with their own lords.”

“And yet, your brother is a king,” Celeborn said. “You’re no less able than he is.”

“When Elros came to the Edain, they were leaderless in the midst of a great war; they needed someone who could speak for all three Houses and be heard by the Wise. So Elros’s heart turned towards theirs and what they needed from him — what they still need from him — is kingship. But we are at peace now, and evil is ended. The Lords of the Sindar know their people and have led them ably up till now. I see that if the Sindar needed a king, then the duty falls to me. But do they need a king?”

Celeborn looked taken aback. “Thingol would say so,” he said.

“I hope you will excuse me, if I say I do not wish to be a second Thingol,” Elrond said, and to his great relief, Celeborn looked thoughtful rather than angry at that. “Doriath stood strong for a very long time... but I am not sure that standing strong alone should be the task at hand now. Doriath stood, just as Gondolin stood, united within, but cut off from the world.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Galadriel said reproachfully. “Thingol did open his borders in the end, to your kinsman Turin and his mother, and his sister, and the Edain of Brethil.”

Elrond nodded. “I honour his memory for that, and for many other reasons. But still, when I think of Beren and of Lúthien, when I remember the hardship suffered by the people of Haleth, denied passage through Doriath, it seems to me that if the Sindar go out to speak with all the peoples of Middle-earth and mingle with them, that is a worthy path for our people to take.”

“You don’t lack for persuasive words,” Galadriel said, and something about the amusement in her eyes said that she knew he had thought of mentioning Celebrimbor, his father and their people, driven from their home and forced to take that same perilous path through the valley of Nan Dungortheb with the orcs upon their heels because the border of Doriath was closed, and had thought better of it. “You could almost be my brother Finrod speaking. And yet he was a king.”

“A Noldor king,” Elrond said.

“True. And one singularly ill-fitted for the task of ruling a secret kingdom, and keeping himself aloof,” Galadriel said, with a smile that was half sad and half affection.

Celeborn shook his silver head. “If you won’t be king of the Sindar of Middle-earth, Elrond, then I can hardly insist on it,” he said. “But if you will not claim kingship, there will be those who want the title for themselves.”

“Will you?” Elrond asked.

Celeborn inhaled sharply and stared at him in obvious shock. Then he shook his head again, very firmly. “My king died in Doriath,” he said. “I would not put myself before the line of Elu Thingol.” He looked at his wife, considering. “Would you, Galadriel?”

“To become a Queen: oh,” she said, a little wistfully, “The name sounds sweet. Or so I would have thought, when I was the daughter of the High King’s youngest son, in the safety and light of Aman, and not the sister of the fallen King of Nargothrond, or the friend of Melian of Doriath. But as Elrond has said, I am Noldor like my brother Finrod. If you will not claim kingship among the Sindar, Celeborn, then how could I name myself a queen?”

“Very well then,” Celeborn said. “We three shall none of us claim Elu Thingol’s crown. And yet, if war should come again...”

“We are at peace,” Elrond said quickly.

“We are,” Galadriel said. “But if I look far ahead, there’s darkness there. But it is very distant, and perhaps in Middle-earth there is always a shadow on the horizon somewhere. It would bring me great joy to believe that we are done with war.”

“If war comes again, then Gil-galad is a very able leader, and my king,” Elrond said firmly. “For that matter, he is more Sindar than I am, by birth, and he has lived most of his life among the Falathrim while I... have not.”

“Nobody could possibly hold that against you,” Celeborn said quickly.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Elrond said and smiled. “I prefer not to think of it as spending my childhood among enemies, Celeborn. Even if you call them kinslayers, that does at least admit the kinship exists, and although you might not think it, we did grow to love them.”

Galadriel said; “It’s hard to believe. Still, I am more glad than I can say that you lived, and were not unhappy for too long. I know that poor Elwing will miss you still, but at least she has that comfort, even if she has had to endure leaving you here facing orcs and dragons. I have sent a letter to her, with my father, to say that you are both safe, well and happy.”

“I sent a message too, and so did Elros,” Elrond told her. “Not the easiest of messages to write... I wish I could remember more about them. But I don’t want to go into the West. That feels like it’s the end of things, and there is so much here to do and see and be.”

Celeborn ran his hand across his usually imperturbable face and grimaced. “We should have come to get you both, Elrond,” he said. “I’m truly sorry that we did not.”

“I’m not,” Elrond said. “There has been more than enough kinslaying, without another battle of Elves, and Morgoth was enough of an enemy. Don’t blame yourself, Celeborn. The fault was all theirs, and they know that well enough, believe me. Their hearts are bitterly weary of their oath, and all it brought with it.”

A pale evening mist was creeping quietly among the darkening trunks of the trees, while high above, the last light of the golden sun touched on spring leaves on the hills behind. Birds were singing, somewhere out of sight among the leaves, and Elrond wondered if they were nightingales.

From the Havens he remembered seabirds, ducks. One of the scant and precious memories of their mother, pointing out the slim white figure of a heron.

In the woods of Beleriand there had, in the early days, been small brown finches and ravens, and sometimes, if you were lucky, you might hear the liquid warble of a blackbird singing, and Maglor might take up the song with harp and voice, in the brighter days before the sulphur-sharp mirk of Thangorodrim had entirely covered the sky, before they had moved north and there were few birds to be seen but carrion crows. But nightingales had only ever been in tales.

Galadriel saw the thought upon the surface of his mind. “They are,” she said to him, with a strange mingling of sadness and joy upon her face. “They are nightingales, Elrond.”

Nightingales had been creatures out of children’s tales, but now they were real again.

He looked at Celeborn and decided to take the risk. “If the sons of Fëanor are ever seen again, would you seek revenge, or could you agree to peace? I would urge you to peace, if you would hear me.”

“You are asking a great deal of me,” Celeborn said, unhappily, and the image of the ruin of the Havens burned clear within the minds of all three of them for a moment, and then two small bright faces, who could almost have been Elrond and his brother but were not. Eluréd and Elurín, the children lost in the woods of midwinter Doriath when Fëanor’s sons had ruined Celeborn’s home and left the people of Doriath leaderless, save for a tiny girl-child, to flee south from the darkening woods to hide at the Havens.

“I know,” Elrond said, considering the faces of the uncles he had never met. “And yet Maedhros did not command them to be slain, Celeborn. He searched for them, and would have treated them kindly, as he did us.”

“You’d have me put aside the ruin of Doriath, the ruin of the Havens, and the death of your uncles, for these traitors who brought ruin to our people?.” Celeborn said, and he did look angry now.

“It cannot be set aside or forgotten,” Elrond said. If he could convince Celeborn, then he could convince himself, too. “But the Enemy is gone. It was the Enemy who used their Oath against you.”

Celeborn took a breath, clearly reining in his temper, and switched to a calmer tone. “How sure can you be of that, Elrond?”

“I... I am sure,” Elrond said, and he was, very nearly. “I am sure that they loved us, and that Maedhros grieved bitterly for Eluréd and Elurín. I thought they had changed their path, and... they would have if they could. I should have gone to Eönwë . If I had talked to him properly, before...”

He was aware that his argument was incoherent, and that Celeborn looked unconvinced.

“You have nothing to blame yourself for! But I do not think that is enough,” Celeborn said, with enormous courtesy and authority, and Elrond could see entirely why he had said it. “Belated remorse is all very well, but...”

“And yet, you asked Elrond to be your king,” Galadriel pointed out, and the glint of memory that had drifted through Elrond’s mind, of Maglor harping to a blackbird in a bramble bush, shone reflected in her thought too.

Celeborn looked at her and then at Elrond, and lifted his silver head proudly. “I did.” he said. “A fair point. It’s not as though I found Thingol’s commands always easy to follow. Even if you will not be our king, Elrond, I will not hold on to hate if you don’t want me to.”

And perhaps, after all, that was enough. Not to hold onto hate, where there was love. Elrond could believe in that.

Celeborn went on. “I’m only speaking for myself and my people, though. Don’t take it to hold for Oropher or Amdir. Particularly not Oropher!”

“Would you advise me to raise the question directly with Oropher?” Elrond asked him, seriously.

Celeborn made a pained face and looked at Galadriel.

“I cannot counsel you. I do not know what he might say,” Galadriel said. “Oropher is proud, and he prefers to stand alone. He has never been a friend of mine, and Celeborn thinks him hot-tempered and ill-spoken. But I do not believe him to be a fool. If you would have my guess, and it is no more than that, Oropher would grumble fiercely at the sons of Fëanor, and if you ask him, he may have threats to make. But I do not think he would go so far as to strike at them. Not unless he were sure that Celeborn’s people and Amdir’s were behind him, and his own position depended on it.” She turned to Celeborn. “Does that lay out all fairly?”

Celeborn nodded. “You are wise as always! It’s a fair reading. I would only add that Amdir is our friend. If I consider it in that light, I think he’ll follow my lead.”

Elrond nodded. “Fairly said, and thank you.”

Celeborn shook his head, his silver eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “I would not wish any child to lose their parents, to live a life so close under the hand of war and never to have heard a nightingale, Elrond,” he said, and Elrond would have smiled at that, if Celeborn had not sounded so distressed. “Still less a child of Doriath! If this is what you and Elros want, I hope that none of our people would take it from you, when you have lost so much already.”