The Image in the Mirror by Ysilme

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Eregion

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Dusk fell as the small company halted. Time for a few hours’ rest before they attempted to cross the pass. After having made sure that each of his few remaining warriors had found a half-decent place to rest - not an easy feat on the narrow mountain path - Celeborn sat down himself, loosening the side clasps of his cuirass for comfort. 

Ahead lay mighty Caradhras, and the pass between it and neighbouring Celebdil, the path he hoped would lead them to safety. They seemed to have finally escaped any pursuers, but the pass alone was dangerous enough even without the constant threat of the enemy. At least in the mountains they were facing only orcs, which was to their advantage: up here above the tree line, the cold air helped them hear and smell the enemy soon enough, so they would not be surprised by an attack. 

“Care for a drop?”

A battered metal flask appeared in front of his face as Harnith plopped down beside him. Celeborn took a grateful pull before handing the flask back with a grin. His lieutenant never failed to produce some spirit or other, no matter how dire things were, but nobody had ever found out how she managed that. 

“Thanks. How is everybody?” 

“Soldierin’ on, as we always do.” Harnith chuckled. “Pellam keeps up well but I do not like the look of his wound, I think it is poisoned. And some food would not come amiss, to be honest, but it is as it is.” She sighed.

Celeborn grimaced. “We can go hunting once we have crossed the pass, but at the moment we need to proceed as quickly as we can. As soon as it is light enough to see, we will continue.”

“Righty-o.”

“Who has the first watch?”

“Dúlinnel and Ramben.”

“Good. I am going to rest for a bit, then I take the next one.”

Harnith nodded, took a long draught from her flask, and, with her cloak tugged firmly around herself, leaned back against the rock and closed her eyes. Celeborn followed suit. Neither of them would sleep, just fall into a deep doze, ready to be fully alert at any moment. But now he was also finally able to seek contact with his wife, hopefully to ease the largest of his worries. They had farspoken only once so far, when Galadriel and her company had been about to enter Hadhodrond. Since then, there had been no occasion to attempt ósanwe, nor had there been any news from the other side of the mountains except what was relayed by the Dwarves. He could only hope that Amdír was still holding his forest, and that his wife and daughter had arrived there safely - or found shelter elsewhere to stay safe until this nightmare was over. 

Closing his eyes, he concentrated first on his daughter, then on his wife, trying to get some glimpse, some spark of their whereabouts and their welfare. Then, there it was, all of a sudden, that special kind of warmth behind his breastbone indicating he was linked to her. Galadriel. 

“And how are my sun and my little star on this dark evening?”

A strong emotion was transmitted to him, feeling suspiciously like a sob. 

“Telpo! Finally! I was so afraid.”

What had happened? His heart started to beat faster. 

“Where are you? Is everything all right? How is Bría?”

Again, a strong emotion, but lighter this time, of a reassuring quality.

“We are fine, all of us. We are in Lindórinand, safe and sound, with no imminent danger ahead. But what about you? I could not reach you, and when I did not hear anything, nor got any message, I started to worry. Where are you?”

Celeborn sighed. He had hoped that his enforced silence would not affect her so much, that she would trust her instincts and their bond and know that he was all right. Truth to be told, he had needed to focus on the task at hand, to command his troops and keep in contact with Elrond, coordinating their efforts to get the refugees to safety. 

“I am sorry, I had no leisure to reach out to you before. I am fine. We are up in the mountains, on the flanks of Caradhras. We will attempt to cross the pass in the morrow.”

He could sense that she was calm again. 

“’We’? Who is ‘we’? And what is going on over there?”

“Those of my host who decided to come to Lindórinand with me. The rest has gone with Elrond.”

“So Elrond has gone through with his plan?”

“Yes. The city has fallen, and Elrond has taken the refugees north. We - my host, that is - covered his flight, and I am pleased to tell that he brought them to safety. They discovered a hidden valley at the headwaters of the Bruinen, easy to defend and large enough to winter even such a large number of people.”

Her relief at this news was palpable. 

“I am glad to hear! I was worried what would happen now that the Dwarves have closed Khazad-Dûm. You know about that, do you not?”

“Yes. One of the reasons why most of my warriors decided to stay with Elrond, at least until spring.”

“But you would not?”

An unspoken question why he had not also chosen the safety of Elrond’s valley - neither of them needed to spell out that any attempt to reach Rhovanion was full of danger, and even more so now the city had fallen and Sauron’s troops might be everywhere. 

“No. Elrond has no need for me now that they have the valley - they are safe there. I rather wanted to get to you, and see of what use I can be to Amdír.”

“You lovely man! Bría will be so glad to have you back.”

Not only our daughter, my beloved, not only our daughter. He chuckled. 
“As will I, to be with you two again, my sun.”

Then, with noticeable hesitation, Galadriel asked: “Do you have any news of Brím?”

The hesitation was clear in her mental voice. Celeborn took a deep breath. “I am afraid so, yes. He stayed in the city, to defend it to the last. He was killed when the city fell. I am so sorry.”
She did not need to know more, not now; there was enough time for the gruesome details when they could talk face-to-face and he could take her into his arms.

She did not answer, but he had no trouble sensing her emotions. Patiently, he waited until he could feel her getting control over herself again. Better to talk about something else; it was not as if he had any better news for her. 

“Harnith sends greetings to her daughter, and hopes that she behaves. She is fine, too.”

“I am sure Ellissel would send greetings back, had she known we would talk. Anybody else who does want to send greetings?”

Celeborn hesitated. “I am not entirely sure who has family that went over the mountains, but I have Dúlinnel, Ramben and Pellam with me. I would not pass word about them yet, though.”

“Do I want to know?”

He grimaced. She had seen too many battles to need any details, of course. “We have not crossed the mountains yet, and have run into Yrch already twice. Pellam is injured, a cut to the arm which we think is poisoned.”

“Be careful, my star, do not take any unnecessary risks!”

He snorted at that, but nodded. “I promise. We can always go back to Imladris if everything else fails.”

“Imladris?”

“Elrond has named his valley thusly. Very fitting. You should see it - well, you certainly will see it some day. It is an amazing place, and quite surprising nobody discovered it before.”

“That is something to look forward to, then. Now, tell me, how do you fare? Are you very weary?”

He smiled, touched by the gentleness in her voice. 

“Oh, not too bad. Harnith is a treasure, I could not wish for a better lieutenant. I am looking forward to some peace and quiet, though, and hopefully soon. But what about you - who are you today?”

He sensed a smile coming from her, a kind of radiance emanating through their mental link. This question had always been their ritual when they had not been together, or he could not tell from visual clues. Sometimes, he knew when she changed, sometimes even before she knew herself. But more often, he did not, and they had found out over time that they both fared better if he just asked, instead of sometimes guessing and being wrong, which hurt them both. At the beginning of their relationship, the answer to his question had also been a good way to educate him about the myriad of variations of herself she might feel. He had never minded her changes and different senses of self, but had been just curious about something entirely unfamiliar to him. What she was, to him, did not change, no matter how she felt about herself, what name she preferred and which pronouns, and what she did and wore. For her part, she had never minded that his default sense of her was that of ‘Galadriel’ and ‘her’ until he heard differently, for this had been his first impression of her, and always the strongest. 

“I do not know, it is fluid. Galadrien left the city and travelled to Lindórinand, but in the mines, when we passed the forges, I was Nissondo for a while. Now, I am sometimes Artano, and sometimes Galadrien. Bría thinks I am mainly Artano, and says I should keep your clothes.”

“My clothes?”

Artano chuckled. 

“Yes. I had nothing really practical left, so I raided your trunks. I must say, your things are really comfortable! You will get them back as soon as I have acquired some new ones, so there is no reason to worry.”

“I never worry about clothes,” Celeborn stated drily, amused about Artano’s mental laugh, for he was the exact opposite.  “You can keep them for all I care, or we share.”

“All right.” Artano chuckled again.

“I must end now, my radiant one, I have the next watch and need a bit of rest. Give my love to Bría, and my greetings to Amdír and our people.”

“I will. Be safe, beloved, and do not wait as long before you contact me again!”

0=0=0

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Chapter End Notes

Hadhodrond = Khazad-Dûm. Sources suggest that the name Moria only came into use after the Balrog was established there. So I’m going with Hadhodrond, the former name most Elves might have used. Being on good terms with the Dwarves, the Noldor of this story are using the Dwarven name instead, Khazad-Dûm, (at least before they reach Lindórinand).
Yrch = orcs