What Brings Us Together by Aipilosse

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Wise and Fair

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The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Galadriel arrived at Ondomar, the house of Nerdanel and her guild was quartered. Shining sun and singing birds were the default in Aman though, and Galadriel hoped she would see one of the terrific storms that were possible up in the southern mountains where the Nerdanelië were located. 

After her horse was stabled, she sought out the mistress of the house, stopping a few times to exchange pleasantries with several elves she recognized. Nerdanel was in her workshop apparently, and would be out for an afternoon break shortly, so Galadriel made herself comfortable in the kitchen, waving away offers of food and drink. The kitchen was huge, equipped to serve the dozens of elves who lived here with several ovens and fireplaces and  alcoves filled with stored goods. There were long tables for food preparation and smaller tables off to the side, where the Nerdanelië often ate in shifts, each too absorbed in their own craft to observe regular meal times. Galadriel sat at one of the smaller tables now, watching the bustle of the kitchen. A very small figure entered the kitchen and hurried towards her.

“Lady Galadriel! As I live and breathe! You must join us for some tea,” Samwise Gamgee exclaimed. His hair was white, and his face was lined, but he was very spry for his 183 years. He attributed it to the good earth and better victuals that were to be found in Valinor. He was not wrong.

“Master Samwise,” Galadriel said with a respectful nod. Galadriel was largely visiting Nerdanel for her own purposes, but the fact that her timing coincided with Sam and Frodo’s stay was not an accident. In the grand scheme of things, the time where there were hobbits in Valinor was very short, and their presence should be strongly considered when making travel plans in her opinion. “None for me; I’m only waiting to speak with Lady Nerdanel.”

“Well then you must have some tea,” Samwise insisted. “There’s nothing better than getting business done over tea.” He put the kettle over the fire and set out no less than six cups and saucers. “Well, maybe beer is better, but I’ve found Valinor woefully short of brewers. I’ve had to dabble in it myself to get a good brew.”

“Is that what you’re doing here?” Galadriel asked, resigned to having tea with whomever Sam had invited.

Sam chuckled. “I have some fermenting in the cellar, but no, this is the kind of place where you learn new skills I’ve found. I’ve taken up wood carving myself.”

“I fear I disagree; I plan to take up old skills if Nerdanel will have me.”

They were interrupted by three of the other people Sam was apparently preparing tea for. 

“Lady Galadriel!” Frodo’s face lit up as he saw her in the kitchen. Although even older than Sam, he still looked younger, never needing to age past his prime in the Blessed Realm. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“Indeed, Master Frodo. I’ve found my desire for craft would not abate, so I moved up my plans to arrive well before the wedding.”

“Well, the more the merrier!” Frodo said, getting a loaf of bread and butter to share before sitting down.

“Lady Galadriel, may I introduce you to Mistress Lodrien? She has been my tutor these past few months.” Sam motioned to a green-eyed Sindarin elf with her hair bound back in a scarf who had just entered the kitchen.

Lodrien bowed, sending a puff of wood shavings up as she moved. “We have actually met, my Lady. In Sirion, before the War.” She straightened.

Galadriel frowned. “I’m not sure I remember you.” She sighed. “I’m afraid I was rather busy at the time.” At that moment her focus was stolen by another elf walking towards the table. When Sam had arrived in Valinor, Galadriel had visited him as soon as possible, and that had meant visiting Maglor as well, however much she wished to avoid seeing her cousin. Maglor wasn’t as thin as he had been when he first arrived, but his face was still lined more than typical for the Eldar, his hair was streaked with grey, and his right hand was wrapped in a bandage. 

Lodrien smiled. “Very understandable. I also wasn’t there all that long before I was killed by this one.” She nodded at Maglor. 

“Did I kill you?” Maglor asked.

“Yes, but we’ve been over this before.”

“Did I apologize?”

“Yes, quite beautifully. You composed a song for me.”

“Ah, well that’s good. I am very sorry.”

“And I have still forgiven you,” said Lodrien gravely. 

“I thought your memory was improving?” said Sam.

“I did too,” said Maglor, carefully touching his grey-streaked head as if to find lurking memories by feel.

Galadriel examined her cousin carefully, and found to her satisfaction that the overwhelming anger she used to feel when faced with him had faded to minor annoyance. Studying with the Nerdanelië meant being near many of the guild founder’s sons, and that had kept Galadriel away for many years. But she was finding on the other side of death and long exile there were ways to find acceptance, if not forgiveness. That Sam and Maglor had formed a fast friendship during their journey to Valinor also helped make him more palatable.

The lady of the house herself arrived, wearing an apron streaked with stone dust. She took off her apron as she entered and hung it on a hook. Galadriel rose to meet her. 

“Artanis, welcome! I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” Nerdanel clasped Galadriel’s hand in both of her own hands and then motioned to a chair. They sat and allowed Sam to start serving the tea. 

“Yes, I came a bit earlier than I intended to. Maybe we can speak on it after tea?”

Nerdanel’s face took on the frozen expression of dread that Galadriel was all too familiar with. Some people had heard bad news too many times to anticipate anything else.

“Nothing bad!” Galadriel said hastily. “Nothing private either! We can discuss it now if you don’t object to some business over tea.”

Nerdanel laughed to relieve the tension. “I am sorry; we’ve had nothing but good news for so long, but I still get nervous when things are left uncertain. Speak away! There’s no need for a formal audience.”

Galadriel straightened slightly, reminded of ages past when she would petition to learn under a Vala or Maia. “I would like to take up crafting again. Revive some of my metalworking and glassblowing skills that have sat so long disused. I know some of the most skilled artisans of our kind make their home here and I would like to consult with them.”

“Oh.” Nerdanel looked a little surprised at Galadriel’s request. “You would like to join my guild?”

“Yes, if you would have me.”

Nerdanel set down her tea cup and her voice took a more serious tone. “I used to take all who would seek me out, but I have found in recent years the need to be more careful about who is invited here. I would first ask if you could abide by our rules.

“Many people have wronged others here in the past, sometimes very deeply. I do not ask that everyone must be forgiven, for that is only for you to decide, but you must be able to treat everyone with respect.”

Galadriel nodded, relieved in a way that this was explicitly asked of her.

“Likewise, I know much is said of us in Tirion, and that there is often talk about ‘what is to be done’ over me and my family,” Nerdanel continued. “Know this, I have my own allies in the court and have exchanged many letters with our rulers. But that is my business, and not for guild members to concern themselves with. I have found political discussions are rarely brought up for our edification and usually more gossip than anything else, so if you must talk about the latest politics of the day, do not do so on my grounds.

“Those two rules are the gist of what is required of those who wish to join. Is this amenable to you?”

“Yes,” Galadriel said. “ I will abide by your rules and seek to keep the peace with all who dwell here, no matter our history.” She pointedly did not look at Maglor as she said this.

“Excellent, then I can show you around after tea and have the steward find a room for you. Have you given a thought to who your mentor will be? Or maybe you had several in mind already?”

“I was going to speak with Tyelperinquar about that, but I’d like to approach him after I’ve done some initial work,” Galadriel said.

“You are free to do so. A warning though, Tyelperinquar receives many requests for apprenticeships and accepts very few of them. He’ll suggest other smiths and artificers if need be.”

Galadriel, who had already had to temper her pride in order to consider asking for Celebrimbor’s teaching, managed not to scoff at the idea that Celebrimbor would turn her down. She knew he very well might; her proposal might skirt too near past works for his comfort, and her impression was that he was more cautious now than he had been in Middle-earth.

“I will keep that in mind,” she said.

“I am so glad you’ve joined us, Galadriel,” Frodo said. “And if you are going to craft anything like the star-glass you gave to me, I am eager to see what you will create.”

“We shall see what I can do here,” Galadriel said. She was reluctant to speak too much about her project before she knew what was possible. Power ran closer to the surface of things in Valinor, and she felt more capable than she ever had before. It had also been a long time though since she had attempted anything without Nenya. But if there was any place where she could try and fail, it was here.

~

Galadriel started small, making inconsequential trinkets of glass and metal, remembering how it felt to shape things for no greater reason than the joy of it. She even tried her hand at jewel-crafting, although she quickly remembered why she found the long waits and unstable magic that it required tiresome. 

While she experimented and practiced, she spent just as much time reconnecting with her friends and family who had made their way up to Nerdanel and Írissë’s closely knit halls. She also spent long evenings talking with Sam and Frodo, drinking Sam’s excellent beer and watching the stars peep between the trees. In Valinor, the haste she had sometimes felt even in her refuge from time in Lórien was gone. Here, there was time to go riding with Írissë, there was time to dance with old friends from Ost-in-Edhil, and there was time to greet the slow trickle of guests making their way into the woods for the wedding. Here she could forget for a time her husband’s long absence, and how as each year passed it seemed less likely that he could ever bring himself to leave Middle-earth

She didn’t forget her original purpose though. When at last she felt her skills sufficient to at least avoid making a fool of herself, she dove into theory. Nerdanel’s library was extensive and the collection surprisingly thorough for the wooded surroundings. She even had some of Fëanor’s texts carefully transcribed and kept in guarded bookshelves behind the librarian’s desk. Galadriel knew Fëanor had written more than was kept in the library, but she did not feel it prudent to ask Nerdanel where all of his tomes of notes were kept; some things were better left alone.

Whatever her opinions on her uncle, there was no denying Fëanor’s brilliancy that she glimpsed in the few passages she could understand in his notes. As she copied down formulas on the nature and movement of light, she marvelled that here were ideas now only half understood that Fëanor had uncovered millenia ago. As she was further bogged down by the increasingly self-referential and arcane notes she began to remember all of her many complaints. What good was genius if it could not be taught or recorded in a way that those after you can decipher?

Fortunately there were other sources to consult — less brilliant but more understandable. She avoided searching out the most obvious source though; first she needed her idea to be fully formed and ready to stand up to intense scrutiny. 

Several weeks in, she began to regret that requirement and wrote to her brother in a moment of weakness, sending a letter along with a messenger who was making the trip to the closest village, several leagues away. The next day she woke up with a clear idea on how to proceed and momentarily considered mentally reaching out to her brother to let him know his help was no longer needed. She quickly discarded that idea though; with any luck Finrod would not come any earlier than he was already planning to arrive. Using ósanwë would only serve to convince him that she was working on something truly interesting and send him here at once.

With her plans drawn up, and looked over by several people whose discretion she trusted, she finally sought out Celebrimbor.

She found him at his desk. The windows were open to allow him and the cat on his desk to take full advantage of the morning sunlight, Celebrimbor by reading and the cat by napping.

“Galadriel,” he said without looking up. “I thought I squared away what I owed you from cards the other night.” In Ost-in-Edhil, they had been some of the few who used each other’s Quenya names, often shifting to the tongue of their youth out of old habit and the occasional privacy that afforded them. Here, amid the rolling Quenya that was the preferred tongue of the Nerdanelië, they defaulted to Sindarin. We both always must differentiate ourselves from those around us , she thought. Even in the most trivial of ways .

“Oh no, that debt has been paid and drunk, I have a matter of craft I would like to consult with you.”

He looked up at that and frowned. “I had heard you wanted to study under me. But I thought you must have changed your mind; you’ve been here several months without seeking me out for anything other than leisure.”

“Yes, well I found my old skills dusty from disuse and didn’t feel I needed your help to remind me of the basics.”

“But now you do need my help?” Celebrimbor asked.

Galadriel paused for a moment. It had been so long since she had asked anyone for help. People came to her for assistance — Elrond, Gandalf, Aragorn, the Galadhrim, her husband. In Middle-Earth, she was always wisest, the last, best example of the greatness of the Noldor in the Third Age. But it was the Fourth Age now, and besides, this was not a true reversal of positions; Celebrimbor had rarely asked her for help or advice in ages past, much to the despair of many parties.

She swallowed her pride and said, “yes, I have a project proposal and I would like your formal patronage while I complete it.”

Celebrimbor had gone back to reading his book. “Sorry, I’m too busy.”

“I beg your pardon?” This could not be born. “With what?”

“Well, you can see all of this work.” he gestured at the book and two or three papers on his desk.”

“You can’t be serious.” Galadriel pulled down the book so she could read it’s title. It was a well known collection of humorous stories by a Telerin author also famous for his raunchy scenes.

“And I also have an illustrious pupil already; so, as you can understand, my schedule is full.”

“Who is this other pupil?” Galadriel asked.

“Frodo Baggins. I am teaching him advanced mathematics.”

Galadriel let out a loud “Ha!” She knew exactly how much mathematics Frodo had been studying and how small a burden that would be on Celebrimbor’s schedule. She tried a different tactic.

“Aren’t you curious as to what I’m planning?”

“No,” said Celebrimbor as he turned the page.

Galadriel set down her plans on the desk, making sure they scattered a bit so Celebrimbor could glimpse several of the sketches and notes she’d made.

“Did I ever tell you what happened to the Elessar?”

“I can’t believe that’s what you ended up naming it. And yes, you gave it to that Man Arwen married, Aragorn.”

“Yes, it was with Aragorn. Now it is likely with his son Eldarion, being used as a beacon of healing and peace.”

At least Celebrimbor was now looking at her, his place in the book preserved with a quill.

“It will get more use in Gondor; there is much that needs healing, and many things have been withered before their time,” Galadriel continued. 

“That was indeed wise. What good are hoarded gems in Valinor? It is only a shame that so much else of our craft faded so we cannot give like we used to in the Years of the Trees.”

“Yes, well, I do wonder if something like the Elessar might have a place here.”

Celebrimbor narrowed his eyes. “There is all the healing here that could be wished for.”

“Some wounds remain.”

Celebrimbor’s gaze went far off. “You’re thinking of Celebrían.”

Galadriel grimaced. “And others.”

“Not Maglor?”

Galadriel resisted the urge to sweep her plans off the table and retreat from Celebrimbor’s room. “It has occurred to me that a certain amount of healing needs to happen before someone can truly begin to make amends for wrongs done.”

Celebrimbor sat back in her chair. “Yes. I would imagine an apology would be more meaningful if the apologizer were fully aware of space and time, such as they are.”

“Exactly.”

“But the Elessar could not heal Celebrían’s scars, nor Maglor’s mind. There are limits. Maybe Nenya could, if that was all that was asked of it. But then I am still not certain of that.”

Galadriel glanced down at her right hand where she still wore Nenya, now no more than a pretty accessory.

“No, I could not, or I would have.”

“Surely Estë—”

“Maybe some of us tire of petitioning the Valar.”

Now Celebrimbor looked really amused. “I thought you repented of all rebellion.”

“This is no rebellion! Besides, I repented of all past rebellion.”

“What exactly are you planning?”

Galadriel felt a moment of triumph. If she had captured Celebrimbor’s curiosity, she had almost ensured his help. “With the Elessar, if you gazed through it, you saw things that were withered or burned healed again or as they were in the grace of their youth. And when it was used, much hurt could be healed, but the worst of time’s ravages could not be undone. But what if what was seen through the gem could be made real?”

Celebrimbor stared at her in astonishment. “You cannot possibly be asking me to help make such a thing.”

“Who else?”

“Someone with fewer eyes on them; someone not known for creating things that wrought the doom of two ages.” Celebrimbor shook his head. “No, I cannot be seen helping with this project. It is overly ambitious, and would be seen as threatening the order of things.”

Galadriel fixed him with a look that would have set High King Ingwë to apologizing.

Celebrimbor just smiled at her. “Do you think that glaring at me is going to make me give in to you?”

For a moment Galadriel couldn’t breath; she was back in the darkest days of the Second Age, fully aware of exactly how stubborn her cousin was and what exactly he was willing to endure rather than give in.

“That’s not funny,” she said, even as a hysterical giggle rose in her throat. 

Celebrimbor was outright laughing at her now. “I’m sorry, but you rather walked into that one.”

Galadriel covered her mouth, trying to stifle the laughter that threatened to overwhelm her.

“Well, it was worth the attempt.” She tried to pull her papers towards her but was stopped. Celebrimbor had the stack pinned under one finger.

“I’m definitely not tutoring in any official capacity. I don’t think you should even credit me for consultation.” Galadriel lifted her hands off the table and let Celebrimbor pull the top page towards him.

“And I am quite busy. Do you know they put me in charge of the invitations and seating arrangements?”

“Really? I would think Nerdanel or Írissë were much better suited for that.”

“Oh, they definitely are. But they have their hands full with all the other preparations that are needed and all the guests that will start arriving soon. Meanwhile, apparently I’m the next best choice for keeping the peace between the two branches of our family.”

Galadriel shook her head in amazement. “I don’t know why Maedhros is insisting on an official ceremony. We’ve known they were married for millenia.”

“Fingon is just as excited, even if he has fewer charts and portfolios to show for it.”

“They are both entirely too old for this nonsense. When Celeborn and I were married in Doriath, it was a small affair, partly because even at that point we both were too established for any extravagant ceremony.”

“I’m sure everyone would agree that a Sindarin marriage ceremony would be more appropriate for Maedhros.”

 Galadriel did not need Celebrimbor for his sarcasm. “And now I am truly leaving. I’ll be back in a few days.”

“Come back tomorrow,” Celebrimbor said without looking up from her designs.

Galadriel smiled as she left the room, wisdom and beauty in her ageless face, and not a little smugness.

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Chapter End Notes

ósanwë - Quenya, interchange of thought.
Elessar - Elf-stone or star-stone. The green stone given to Aragorn in Lothlórien. I'm going with the canon that it was originally crafted by Celebrimbor, and brought back to Middle-earth by Gandalf.