Iant Iaur. by hennethgalad

Chapter 2

   After the celebration of the delving of Menegroth, the court of Elu Thingol rode north with the marching Dwarves, to bid them farewell. On the third day, as the light, and the forest, began to wane, they reached the borders of Dor Dínen, where another feast was held. Finrod found even his own appetite for festivity sated, and listened quietly to long sagas as the Dwarves shared some of their ancient tales with the Elves. The Children of Aulë were at once familiar and deeply other to the Eldar, and the story of Durin, who woke alone, stirred his spirit, and he knew that the tale and the tune would stay long in his heart.

   Eager for every last little song he could persuade the Dwarves to share with him, Finrod rode with them along the Road to the Arossiach, but there was no need for him to urge them on, for they sang as they marched, as naturally as breathing, delighted to share their stories with their favourite Elf. He learned much then, of the lore of rock and stone, of gems and gold, silver and steel, and hoarded his knowledge to share with the smiths and with those who studied the nature of the stuff of Arda. At last, at the bridge, he halted Baran, and patted the warm brown neck of the horse, and watched as the Dwarves, still singing, faded into the distant plain of Himlad.

  It had been his intention to wander south through the woods of Region, but something drew him back along the Road, some calling, some echo in his spirit, and he set loose the sturdy limbs of Baran, whose vigorous spirit delighted in the open empty road, and who stretched his neck, no longer held to the stately pace of the Dwarves and set the wind rushing through mane and hair.
  The wallop of hooves was the only sound in the wintery air of the cold bright day, but Finrod, bent low over the galloping steed, had no need of birdsong, for his thought overflowed with the rich melodies of the Dwarves, and he grinned as he rode, matching the swift beat of the horse's steps to the liveliest drums of the miners music. It was a wild ride!

  And there, on Iant Iaur, shining brighter than the silver lanterns, Galadriel stood waiting. Finrod gave a cheer, and his sister raised a slow hand in greeting, but made no sound, nor cry of welcome. Fearing ill tidings, he hastened Baran onwards, but Galadriel stood still and silent on the stone bridge. Finrod dismounted and led the steaming horse down to the water, where with huffs and snorts mighty Baran stepped deep into Esgalduin and buried his long face in the water and drank like a Dwarf. Finrod laughed, and patted the shining flank of his friend, then climbed the bank to the close-fitted stones of the bridge, built to endure.
   "Mae govannen, my sister! Why do you watch on Iant Iaur?"
   "Stars shine upon you, my brother! I would speak with you."
   "Here?"
   "Even so. For here you may understand my words more clearly."

   On the parapet of the bridge a silver platter stood, with flagon and goblet, fruit and fair white loaf. Finrod drank deeply, of water and wine, and bit hungrily into the bread. Galadriel sipped some wine and looked up at the fading light in the sky. Ithil was pale yet, against the darkening blue, and no star shone, and all around was silence save for the murmur of Esgalduin and the quiet breath of the horse. 
   When first hunger was over, and Finrod was picking at berries, Galadriel sighed and spoke.
   "My brother, it is at the urging of Melian that I speak thus to you."
   Finrod sighed "I have been foolish, and brought shame on the family. I beg you to pardon me. But..."
   Galadriel held a hand up "No, there has been no folly. It was a celebration, and you alone have done more to draw the Children of Ilúvatar closer together than all the Elves of Menegroth in all these long years have done."
   Finrod sighed and smiled "What then?"

   The face of Galadriel was ever still, with the faintest motion of her pale lips she could convey a heartwarming smile or a chilling sneer. Finrod watched carefully, but could discern nothing of her mood. But still, there was no sign of pain or grief, his spirit eased and his breathing slowed, and the food and the wine comforted him. But at last, in a gentle voice she spoke.
   "You are charming, dear brother, and all are moved by your charm, some to strive for excellence, but many to merely imitate you, that some echo of your charm will move others to admire them, or care for them. That waistcoat you wore has become the fashion already, and that ridiculously named wampum that you wear, those beads that braid your hood, those too are widely worn, by people who have never seen a Wood Elf, or if they did would view them with disdain. You, who charmed the Wood Elves with your song have, with your charm, contrived to spread not wisdom and understanding, but merely fashion."
   Finrod laughed "My dear sister! I cannot be held accountable for the shallow and the thoughtless! Besides, if anyone else does strive for wisdom from hearing me sing, then there will be fewer fools in Elvendom!"
   
   Galadriel pressed her lips together. "You do not listen! Melian fears that your charm will win you too many friends. That you will give your all to those who may be unworthy, or, merely that you will give so much that you will hasten your own fading."
   Finrod started, then began to laugh "Too many friends! How can that be possible? Too many friends..."
   "Heed the words of the Maia, my brother, heed her wisdom! For your friends will turn to you when they have need, and you will not spare yourself to aid them, come what may. And I... I fear what may come."
   They were both silent, as Ithil began to gleam, and the sky deepened in shades of rich blue while far above the stars of Varda appeared, unheralded, until at last from the edge of the forest of Doriath the settling birds began to sing.

   But Finrod was galled at the rebuke and his spirit, still echoing with the songs of the stone-hard Dwarves, grew proud and haughty, for he was indeed the brother of Galadriel.
   "If we are to speak of an excess of charm, then, what of you? What of your charm, oh favourite of our late grandfather, and of his fiery son?"
   The face of Galadriel did not change, save that her eyes, to the least degree, widened, and her pale skin grew paler.
   "What of it? Both are slain."
   "Indeed. But it was in you to save at least Fëanor."

   At this Galadriel frowned, and Finrod felt for the first time how it might be to face her in battle, and what a formidable foe she would be. He thought back to the moment that had so profoundly affected the Eldar, when Fëanor had drawn sword against his own brother. He felt the air between himself and his sister to be alive, both harder than adamant and violent as a river in spate. He almost stepped back, but clenched his teeth and returned her stare, finding his hand grip the goblet as though it were a weapon.
   Her voice was low and dangerous, he felt his own point made, and almost smiled.
   "What are you saying? How could I have saved Fëanor? We were scarcely past the Ice when he was slain."
   "Not then, before, in Valinor, when father and uncle Fingolfin tried to calm him down and urged him to stay in Valinor. But not you. Fëanor turned to you, as did many others, and I waited for you to speak, to support our father, and to dissuade Fëanor, to turn his fey spirit from its reckless course. But no, your eyes were narrow with an eager light, not fey as those of our maddened uncle, but cold and calculating. Ever you have stood against authority, in your pride, deeming your wisdom greater than all others, or heeding only your own will. Ever you argued, chafing at the least hint of correction, choosing your own course, wilful and stubborn."
   Galadriel looked furiously at him, then turned away and gripped the stone of Iant Iaur. The light of Ithil gleamed in her hair, and Finrod felt his heart pounding, but he waited in still silence. At last, to his astonishment, Galadriel laughed.
   "I think that you are still besotted with wine, and the songs of the Dwarves. How could I have turned the will of Fëanor, who would heed neither his brothers, nor his king, nor even the very Valar who Doomed us all? Yet you think that I, the youngest of the House of Finwë, could have swayed the mood of the new Lord of our House?"
   "Yes" said Finrod.

   At that Galadriel looked searchingly, almost curiously at him, as at a stranger, or it may be that the stranger was herself, coming to wisdom with faltering step.
   "You are in earnest? You do not jest with me?"
   Finrod shook his head, and drew a deep breath, finding he had braced himself for violence, but that the moment had passed. He let his sinews loosen, and took a drought of the rich wine. Galadriel stared down into the waters of Esgalduin, where the horse shook himself with a rippling, flapping sound, then climbed the bank to seek out his friend Finrod.