Through a Mirror Darkly by HannaGoldworthy

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Chapter 3

There's an awkward moment (or three) to fit prompt five of Caprice and Chance.  Aside from that, it's setup for other prompts.  And family bonding.  I love these three.

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One thing that had taken Celebrían by surprise during her first weeks in Valinor was the fact that the palace staff was so much more gossipy than anyone could manage back in Imladris.  No matter how discreet her family or Opolintë had tried to be, wild stories about the prodigal granddaughter of the house of Arafinwë made their rounds in the servants’ quarters within days.  The stories only got wilder when she got into the habit of assisting Amarthan over the first two weeks of Sovallë.  After all, the rumors about the two of them were easily compressed when they could be told together without changing the subject.

 

The talk helped Celebrían more than it annoyed her; she learned through eavesdropping that Amarthan had plans to travel to Tol Eressëa for what she judged to be a short business trip.  Therefore, she was able to take him mildly by surprise, when she and Opolintë met his cart in the courtyard, their own bags packed for light travel.

 

“Did Ëarwen say you could come with me?”

 

Celebrían shrugged, and jumped to sit beside him on the driver’s seat, waving cheekily at a couple of ladies-in-waiting who goggled at her from the parapet.  Opolintë climbed into the back of the cart a tad more sedately, a pleasant smile on her face as she grumbled into her betrothed’s ear.  “No, she ordered me to go with you, and take the young lady with us, before there can be any more altercations.”

 

“Don’t blame her, ‘twas I who made the suggestion to my lady grandmother last night.  It should spare anyone else from being slugged in the stomach on my account.”

 

Amarthan grinned over his shoulder.  “You actually did that?”  When Opolintë nodded, a turbulent expression in her mismatched eyes even as her smile got just a little too wide to be innocent, Amarthan kissed her full on the mouth in front of everyone.  The ladies on the parapet fussed disapprovingly, much to Celebrían’s perplexed enjoyment.

 

“Is kissing outlawed in Sovallë as well?  I thought there were only strictures against the marital act.”

 

With a shake of his head, Amarthan clicked his tongue to start the mules walking, and Opolintë stood sturdily behind them as they passed out of the courtyard.  “Technically,” she said, “there are no legal strictures against anything during Sovallë, because there is no king to enforce any such thing.  But, yes, putting off the marital act is a common sacrifice made during this time, and kissing is a tremendous temptation toward that, so it is frowned upon, especially in public.”  As she directed this last bit pointedly at his back, Amarthan smirked rakishly and made no apologies.

 

Celebrían frowned, confused.  “No king…does that mean there’s no law, either?”

 

“There’s always law, but the king does not enforce it.”

 

“So, technically, the populace has free rein to do whatever they wish?  Riot, perhaps?  Break windows?”

 

“Only if they want to explain why they would do such a thing to the Valar themselves – the Ainur commonly take disguises and walk among the people, especially during this time of year.”

 

The situation was becoming clearer the more Celebrían heard about it.  “So this is a pointed effort by both governments to encourage the Eldar to put their trust in the authority of the Valar.”

 

“And a pointed effort on the part of the Valar to be more worthy of trust,” Amarthan said, as Opolintë tried gingerly to sit amongst the packages in the back of the moving cart.  “Sovallë is a time to acknowledge the mistakes of the past, and try to overcome them.  The Valar will be the first to admit they made mistakes during the Darkening, and this time of year is when they try their best to atone for them.”

 

“By disguising themselves and lying to the people?”

 

“By disguising themselves and living among the people, the better to understand them.  It was Ulmo’s idea, but Manwë took rather well to it.”

 

Perhaps her mother’s Vanyar relatives would have been able to happily accept this, but Celebrían only felt exposed.  “So, they’re here, and they’re judging us if we, say, decide to eat meat, or in the case of you two, get married?”

 

That prompted a hearty laugh from both of her companions.  “Gracious heavens, as if they actually cared,” Amarthan chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye.  “Oh, don’t misunderstand me,” he cut in, at Celebrían’s look of despair.  “They’ll observe the fasts themselves, while they’re here, to fit in.  But such sacrifices are the Ñoldor’s prerogative, not anything the Valar have imposed.”

 

Now she was just lost.  “Why would you put such restrictions on yourselves?”

 

The merriment in his voice and face faded as swiftly as it had appeared.  “Mostly to remind ourselves and teach our children of how our own crops were dependent upon the works of the Valar.  When the Trees fell, much of the plant life withered, and game and farm animals scattered to the four winds, starving themselves if we could manage to find them.  We largely had to depend on fish and produce imported from the shore by the Teleri or, later, caught by those of us Ñoldor who knew how to fish.  There was never enough to go around, especially after what happened in Alqualondë.”

 

Oh.  “You…fished, in Araman?  Using the Teleri’s boats?”

 

Amarthan glanced at her with surprise.  “Of course we did, when we could persuade our cousins to teach us to use them.  We were there for at least one Tree-Year…I’m not sure how that translates into Sun-Years, but…”

 

“Nearly ten years.  You sat in Araman, gathering and fishing, for nearly ten years.”  She’d seen the dates in the old records, and knew cerebrally that the First Kinslaying took part in the latter quarter of 1495 YT and Fëanor’s landing at Losgar was placed in 1497.  But that knowledge, and its many unkind implications, had not set in emotionally for her until now.

 

“Possibly even more than that,” Amarthan conceded, staring grimly at the road.  “Father would not export what little we gained to those who remained behind in Tírion, deeming them traitors.  That was, ultimately, why Uncle chose to stay, after a very long and very loud argument.”

 

“And my mother and uncles?  Why did they choose to stay with you?”

 

“Your uncles stayed to teach us to use the boats because we, too, had women and children to feed, and because they were itching to punish Morgoth for all the sorrow he had deliberately caused.  Your mother remained behind in Alqualondë, because if she had been within arms’ reach of Tyelkormo, she’d have killed him.  She nearly killed him as it was.”

 

“But she…did she not cross the Ice with the rest of Ñolofinwë’s host?”  All the information she had of this event were the records written down second-hand, and they contradicted each other at every turn.  Galadriel never spoke of these things, nor did her father, nor did anyone else who had managed to survive past that time.

 

And, from the look on his face, Amarthan would not fill that gap either.  “She might have.  I wouldn’t know.  I was not there to see that part, and we’re encouraged to focus on our own healing in Mandos.”

 

At this point, Opolintë felt the need to intervene.  “I know it is Sovallë, but let’s leave the dreary talk in Tírion.  It’s a beautiful day out, is it not…?”

 

***

 

Tol Eressëa laid a good two days’ journey from Tírion, and Amarthan decided to camp for the night once they’d made it through the mountain pass.  The cart passed for shelter enough in mild Valinorean late winter, and Celebrían and Opolintë bundled under their blankets for sleep.  Celebrían was both relieved and exasperated to see Amarthan opted to take the first watch, even though there were none who would assail them at night in the Holy Lands; he was caring for her feelings again, even though she would rather he didn’t.

 

In fact, he needn’t have bothered.  She could not sleep, with her eyes open or otherwise.  And Opolintë seemed to drift off almost immediately, so she was left staring at the underside of the cart as her thoughts twisted around in circles.

 

At last, she gave up the fight, and slipped quietly out to sit by the fire.  “I apologize for earlier,” she said, keeping her voice low.  “I know the memories are probably painful.”

 

Amarthan smiled, but did not look up from his knitting – he was quite capable of sitting still, but his hands were always busy.  “Sovallë is a time to ask difficult questions of yourself; I’ll confess that my mind was on that time, whether you asked or not.”

 

He looked so normal there, illuminated by the firelight.  He could have been Elrohir, this time – her eldest preferred the crochet hook, but was famed for surprising people with desperately-needed mittens and hats without needing to be asked.  Amarthan’s project seemed to be larger than that, however, and it would suffice for a nice, gentle topic of conversation.  “What are you making?”

 

Amarthan looked up guiltily, his glance flickering uncertainly to sleeping Opolintë and back.  “A cradle blanket,” he murmured even more softly than before, a blush filling his cheeks.

 

She grinned conspiratorially.  “Making plans before the wedding, are you?”

 

He rolled his eyes.  “A man can make a blanket without any distinct plans.”

 

“You already have a cradle made, don’t you?”

 

“You are exactly like your mother.”

 

She pumped a fist in the air triumphantly.

 

“I’m serious, Celebrían, don’t say anything.  These are meant to be gifts for her, in the proper time, so she doesn’t feel like she’s being rushed.”

 

“I’ll have to say something, in case she discovers it anyway.  In fact, you should really have a cover story yourself – ladies’ maids and wives both have a tendency of finding out everything.”

 

“And what would you suggest?” Amarthan chanced a look back under the cart; Opolintë had rolled onto her back, and snored softly, dead to the world.  “I’m a terrible liar, and she knows it well.”

 

Celebrían shrugged.  “You can tell her the things are for me, then.  I’ve been meaning to commission a few baby things, but I haven’t yet been able to find someone who won’t blab my affairs all over the castle.”

 

She studied Amarthan’s reaction carefully.  There was no surprise in his face, not that she’d been anticipating that; Opolintë had no doubt already guessed the truth, and Celebrían herself had heard some pretty vicious palace rumors making their rounds in the general staff.  Amarthan looked torn as to what to say to her – likely, he’d heard what Opolintë knew, and made his own guesses from there.

 

“You’re right.  You’re a horrific liar,” she said, keeping her tone light.  “But I’m due to be showing in a month or two, so I might as well clear the air now, on my terms, rather than keep up some idiotic charade.”

 

Spending as much time with him as she could spare for the past two weeks had made it easier to look in his eerie eyes; she supposed there was something to be said for exposure therapy, though she doubted she could have accomplished that if she’d been anywhere else.  Still, she’d never been one to easily accept pity, so she stirred the flame a little to excuse herself from breaking with his gaze.

 

After he found the wherewithal to speak, he had but one word.  “When?”

 

“Midwinter.”

 

“Very well.”  She heard his hands begin at their knitting again, and knew it was her permission to look up; he’d largely had her mannerisms figured by the end of their first visit, and had learned to give her subtle cues.  “To be completely truthful, saying that I’d made the cradle for Opolintë was my cover story for making it for you.  I didn’t know how you’d react to my knowing.”

 

She blinked, and his lips quirked up in a half-smile that reminded her almost painfully of Elrond.  By sheer muscle memory, she reacted as she would have to Elrond’s tricks, shoving Amarthan’s shoulder with one fist.  “You sneak-thief!  You set me up from the start!”

 

He bore the fond mistreatment amiably, laughing aloud.  “It’s like you said; better to do this on your own terms than have the secret come out on its own.”

 

“You could have asked me!  I don’t bite!”

 

“The admirable scar on Findaráto's hand suggests otherwise,” he pronounced, and held up his hands to defend himself against a rain of light blows directed at his shoulders.  “All right, I concede!  You’re gentle as a newborn lamb!”

 

“And you’d better remember it,” she growled in mock threat, seating herself again victoriously.  A moment later, she had caught his merriment, and was laughing herself.  For a few moments, they were able to stay that way, each simply letting the other be happy.  Then, they wound down, Celebrían peacefully staring into the fire, letting the rhythmic click of Amarthan’s knitting needles sooth her.

 

After a few moments, he took a deep breath.  “Is it all right if I ask an awkward question?”

 

He’d learned to do this as well – he seemed to be as astute in listening as she was, and no doubt he’d inquired with Finrod and Opolintë on a few things.  Celebrían’s fits could generally be avoided if she had warning, and Amarthan usually gave her ample opportunity to back away or change the topic if she wished.  Sparing her feelings, again; she had a feeling he and Elrond would have become fast friends, exasperatingly nice as they both were.

 

“About the baby?”

 

“No, about your husband.  The…altercation of today involved him as well as you.”

 

“Oh, that’s right.  I never did get the full story out of Opolintë.  She’s perfect for you, by the way, marry her faster.”

 

“I’m trying!”  He smiled, but put down his work, falling serious once more.  “You did not come here at Elrond’s bidding, did you?”

 

Now there was a question fraught with meaning, and he knew it; Celebrían could see his hands trembling.  She bit her tongue, and gently laid her hand on his.

 

“No.  He went to every length to keep me.  I went to every length to be able to stay; he’s lost so many friends and family already, and I never wanted to be among that number.  But I couldn’t heal, and he couldn’t heal me and do the work he needed to do, so I elected to come here.”  Elrond had accompanied her on the journey to the Havens, of course; every motion he’d made during that time was a silent plea for her to change her mind, though he’d never given his shameless begging a voice.  The look in his eyes as he’d stubbornly watched her sail away, until not even she could see him anymore, haunted her dreams more than her torture ever would.

 

Amarthan’s hand moved to hover in front of her face, silently asking permission to touch her.  She made no indication denying that permission, so he softly brushed her cheek, drying a tear she’d not noticed as it fell.  Then, slowly, he drew close to her, and laid a hand over her shoulders.  “I’m glad,” he said softly.  “I was banking on an assumption that he would be very like his brother, and Elros was willing to fight Eru Himself for the sake of those he loved.”

 

Suddenly, a lot of things were beginning to make sense.  “He didn’t actually fight Him, did he?”

 

“He very respectfully but very firmly presented his own point of view.  Repeatedly.  I think he might have even begun putting it to song at one point, but that was when Eru began to laugh.  He was an unexpected advocate, but certainly not an unwelcome one.  Though Father did once interrupt in order to ask who the hell he was.”

 

“Please say he did not ask it in those exact words, in front of the Almighty Himself.”

 

“Would he be Fëanáro if he did not?”

 

“That idiot.”

 

“Incidentally, Elros said much the same thing to him to shut him up.”

 

Oh, but he was good at this, because she found himself snickering helplessly into his shoulder, not even thinking about how she had leaned into his embrace.  “So,” she said, recovering.  “The rumor was that Elrond rejected me.  That explains why Opolintë punched that groom so hard.”

 

“I did that for your good name, milady.”  Even Amarthan jumped, and he’d been a skilled hunter in his past life, so Celebrían felt slightly better about having been snuck upon.  Opolintë’s feral smirk, however, sent a few chills down her back.  “Now that I hear how thoroughly he was…incorrect, I might just have to find him again and give him a proper walloping, for the sake of those not present.  But I’ll only do that if you go to bed immediately.”

 

Celebrían suddenly felt five years old again.  “How long were you listening?”

 

“Long enough to know I don’t have to feign ignorance when we’re alone anymore.  Sleep. It’s good for you.”

 

Scratch that, she felt like a toddler.  “I’ll try,” she pouted, and tried to maintain as much dignity as she could while crawling back under the cart.

 

As she was finally drifting off, she distantly saw Opolintë lean to whisper in Amarthan’s ear.  “You are going to make our own cradle, just in case?”

 

The click of his needles stuttered a little, and Celebrían flitted off into her dreams with a smile.

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Chapter End Notes

Just think - you know the Rivendell elves who twitted Thorin and Company's beards and sang annoying songs to welcome them into what is technically a secret fortress surrounded by unfriendlies?  That's elves holding their gossip back, for fear of being discovered.  Valar help anyone who gets on the bad side of a young Valinorean elf who has no sense of self-preservation because they've never needed one...