What Brings Us Together by Aipilosse

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Days of Miracle and Wonder

Finrod | Ingoldo

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Galadriel had been right about her brother. Long before he was due to arrive, Finrod rode into the courtyard with his youngest daughter Merillë and Curufin Fëanorion, of all people.

She found out from Curufin’s wife, Ornéliel, who interrupted her just as she was working through the conclusion of a key equation.

“I have you to blame for this I suppose.”

Galadriel lost her train of thought and slammed her hand down on the table in frustration. “Damn it Ornéliel; these rooms are for uninterrupted study.”

“I see no reason why I should let you study undisturbed when you are the disruption of my own peace.”

Galadriel glared at Ornéliel. She hadn’t liked her when they were young and both studying under Aulë. Orneliel had been patronizing to the younger Galadriel and prone to jealous displays as Galadriel showed herself quite capable despite her age. She didn’t particularly like her now either. Ornéliel was loud and obnoxious, always with a quip and a need to be the center of attention. She also found she still held a grudge on Celebrimbor’s behalf although he insisted all was right between them now.

“And what have I done now?” Galadriel asked.

“Curufinwë is here.”

“You think I invited Curufinwë? I’m the last person who would invite him here.”

“He came with your brother.”

That made more sense. Not Finrod and Curufin’s friendship, which Galadriel would never understand, but Curufin deciding to travel here with Finrod, who must have set out when he received her letter. 

Galadriel began to put away her papers and books. “If you would like to avoid seeing your ex-husband, you probably shouldn’t live with his mother.”

Ornéliel huffed and left the room. Galadriel headed toward the courtyard.

Finrod, Curufin, and Merillë were still in the courtyard going through the rounds of welcomes. They were all wearing the latest styles out Tirion, voluminous trousers with brocade tunics belted on top. Merillë’s tunic was long and contoured enough to be described as a dress and perfectly matched her purple and teal hair. 

“I’m just running out of places to put people,” Nerdanel was saying, her hand on her hips. “Carnistir is planning on arriving soon, and we’re going to convert more of the rooms to bedrooms closer to the wedding, but right now they're still full of, well, anything but beds.”

“My lady, I will be happy to sleep under the stars.” Finrod bowed to Nerdanel. Merillë gave her father a look that said she did not condone these sleeping arrangements

“And you needn’t worry about me, Amil. I wrote ahead to Írissë and will be staying at Árëmar.” Curufin raised an eyebrow at Finrod.

“Didn’t Artanis mention—” Finrod’s face lit up as he saw her across the yard. “Ah there you are!”

Galadriel sped up her steps and ran into her brother’s arms. It had almost been a yén since she arrived in Valinor, and it still felt miraculous sometimes that her family was here as real people she could hold. 

“Really Ingoldo, you shouldn’t have come.”

“And not help my sister with whatever marvel you are creating? Nonsense!”

“I did not actually invite him,” Galadriel said apologetically to Nerdanel.

“Oh this is all my fault,” Merillë said with a wave of her hand. “I knew it was time to expand my studies to some of the harder sciences, so when Atar mentioned he was considering coming up here to help Atanésa, I insisted we make a trip of it. 

“Well, you all are welcome, you’ll just have to share a room.”

Later, in the space within the workshop Galadriel had claimed for herself, she showed Finrod her progress so far. He examined the lens, and the bits of frame she had forged out of a gold alloy. He hummed to himself as he worked, flipping through her notes and holding pieces up to the light. Finally he turned and said, “You’ve made a good start so far; I can feel the intentions you put into the metal and glass already, despite its unassembled state.”

Galadriel nodded. “Tyelpë was right, power is much closer to the surface of things and much easier to grasp than in Middle-earth. I think the challenge does not lie in the degree to which I must call out the former strength of a being, but rather the ability to precisely find that which is the most wholesome, and not just the strongest.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. It sounds like this could backfire spectacularly.”

“Oh yes, we will need to test extensively before we try it on any Quendi.”

“This seems like something I would not want to fall into the wrong hands, even in Aman.”

“I have thought of that. The lens will work on the same principles of will and unwill that guide osanwë. If someone is not open to the change, they simply cannot change. It’s baked into every detail, every spell.”

“I thought I had sensed something of that,” said Finrod. “So, what’s next?”

“Well, the deepest crafting is next. You arrived in good time, I meant to start on the final assembly and calling of power tomorrow.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “In fact, you arrived here at a suspiciously good time.”

“Dear sister, you know how our blessings work. I can’t help it if it just all works out.”

“Yes, well, let’s hope that it continues.”

~

The next day, at dawn, Galadriel started assembling her lens. It required the greatest concentration, and she knew she needed a deeper sort of silence than an almost full house could provide.

She traveled several miles further up the mountain to a shrine she had prepared. She hadn’t spoken of this part to anyone; the Calaquendi generally held such things in contempt, associating them with the Moriquendi and superstition, tools created by those who could never hope to speak to the Valar directly. What need was there for symbols of religion in Aman? 

Galadriel had once held the same opinion, but had quickly been disabused of the idea by the many elves she had learned the higher arts from in Middle-earth. Places could be sacred, and there was value in ritual in and of itself. So she had consecrated a shrine to Estë, knowing she would need the precision of heart and mind that only a holy place could provide. 

She had her own apprehensions, not so much that it wouldn’t work, but that it would work too well. She was in Aman; Estë herself was liable to show up, and Galadriel wasn’t sure the Valar would agree that the power of restoration and healing should lie in such a concentrated form in the hands of the Eldar. 

As the light began to creep over the Pelóri, Galadriel entered her trance, beginning with a gentle hum as she moved the pieces she needed into place. The first beam of light hit the surface of the altar, precisely where Galadriel had set her lens. She began to sing, plucking at the precise weft of the world’s threads that she needed for healing, restoration, and wholeness. 

She sang until the sun reached its zenith, and finally stopped, the full heat of the day unsuitable to the subtle spellcraft she needed to employ. Fortunately, her tapestry was set. Now, it was time to assemble. 

She built up the fire in the small forge that was built into a shrine to Aulë she had also provisioned. When it was hot, she began the delicate work of fastening all the pieces of the lens together. The lens itself was of course very important, but all the pieces that held it needed to be perfectly calibrated and strong in order for it to function correctly. 

Several hours later she was finished assembling, well before sundown. She held it up, examining every angle, twisting and turning the lens to its fullest capabilities. She was satisfied — part one was finished.

~

Over the course of the next few weeks, Galadriel returned every day to weave her spells. Unlike with many other types of craft, pulling from the primordial Song and harnessing the power the Valar had left weaving through the world could not be tested part way through. Every day she must leave her lens on the altar, examined but not tried, and travel back to the Nerdanelië.

Towards the end of the making she began to feel sapped, enough that Sam asked her how she was feeling with concern on his face.

“I am well, Master Samwise. It is only that I undertake one of the greatest workings of craft and art I have ever undertaken.”

“Ah, Elf Magic!” Sam said with a grin. “I still would dearly love to learn it.”

Galadriel laughed. “Why Sam, Lodrien is teaching you some Elf Magic of your own right now.”

Sam shook his head. “You’ll find you can’t put me off so easily now milady. You know very well what I mean by Elf Magic by this point.” He sat back down, still looking very pleased. “I do hope you’ll share what you’ve made when you’ve finished. Why we’re in Valinor now; I can’t think of any good reason to play it close to the chest still!”

Galadriel smiled. “No indeed. Once it’s truly finished I intend to share it with many people.” She hesitated for a moment. “But, I think it will not be done for some time. It’s something I want to be very sure about before it’s known.”

Sam nodded with a knowing glint in his eyes. “That’s very wise, if you don’t mind me saying so. I’ve found there’s some things you want to keep in the bag, so to speak, until you’re absolutely sure you want to let them out.”

Galadriel was glad to have Finrod after all; he was adept at lending his strength to her, and kept her from becoming an empty husk before the end of her project. There were many others among the Nerdanlië who could have done the same, but Finrod knew her well, and knew exactly what she needed and when. 

She finished the lens under starlight, as all good things should be finished. As Eärendil set, she sang the last quiet note of her Song of Making. It was finished. She looked down at the lens; all seemed well. She was anxious to try it out, but she knew she was too tired tonight. Besides, as Finrod had pointed out, it was no small feat she was attempting. They would have to think very hard about what their first test subjects should be.

~

“I think a very simple creature for a start. Maybe, a snail?”

“Would we even be able to tell if it worked on a snail?” Galadriel remembered why she had been reluctant to involve Finrod.

“Why certainly! We simply ask it how it’s feeling before and after. That shouldn’t be too hard, right, Tyelko?”

Celegorm looked up from the arrow he was fletching. Why he was here instead of Árëmar where he usually lived she didn’t know, but it was irritating her. “To be honest, cousin, I have never tried to speak with a snail.”

“Really? I cannot imagine being able to speak to all beasts and never even attempting to speak to a snail.”

Galadriel tensed for a moment, but Celegorm just smiled and went back to his work. “There are quite a lot of animals in the world.” Galadriel relaxed. People were capable of change.

“I was thinking I would start with a plant,” she said.

“Wonderful idea, my dear. I have found starting with plants to be most useful, generally speaking.” 

Galadriel’s face lit up. A familiar figure had rounded the corner of the house and was now smiling up at them on the porch. His hair was still mostly grey, but there was a rogue streak of brown making its way into his beard. His eyebrows had maybe been trimmed once or twice, but they were still striking beneath the brim of his hat. “Olórin! I did not know you were coming.”

“And miss the wedding of the century? Never!”

“The wedding,” said Celegorm, with the air of one had been put to long labor, “Is not until the waning of summer. We are still a week away from midsummer.” 

“Ah, well I have some catching up to do as well.” Gandalf climbed nimbly up the steps to join them on the porch.

“Now what are you doing to the plants?”

Galadriel explained the concept of her lens to him, with only a few interruptions from Finrod. After she finished, Gandalf frowned.

“I quite agree, you should start small to begin with. But you said in order for the transformation to happen, the subject must be willing. That seems to limit your subjects.”

“Many things besides the speaking people have wills,” Celegorm said.

“Very true! But if we are talking about plants, I’m not sure I’ve ever noticed will or unwill in most plants.”

Galadriel frowned. “That is very true. I still would like to start small though. And if there is no result for the first subjects, at least there is no harm done.”

Finrod clapped his hands together. “So, it’s decided we will start with a plant. Perhaps one from the kitchen garden?”

Galadriel paused for a moment, the reality of having her work tested setting in. It was only a moment though before excitement to see results eclipsed the fear of failure. “I’ll retrieve the lens.”

As she carried the lens back through the house she realized she needed a case as well if she was to move it from place to place. The lens was not fragile; she had spelled it with strength and her purpose knit the pieces together more tightly than soldered metal or screws ever would. There were many moving pieces however, and it was awkward to carry.

Back outside she saw Finrod and Gandalf combing through the kitchen garden. Celegorm was still on the porch fletching arrows.

“Be careful with the thing Arty.” Celegorm didn’t look up from his arrow, but a smirk was playing over his lips.

Galadriel suppressed a flare of anger at the overly familiar tone and terrible nickname. She could not help replying. “I always am, Tyelkormo. Of the two of us, I am not the one with a trail of failed plans in my wake.” She heard Celegorm chuckle as she left the porch.

“Galadriel, we have a likely candidate I think!” Finrod eagerly motioned her over to a sad looking pea vine, half the size of the neighboring vines with several brown leaves.

“Seems like it has had a rough time. Very well! Step back and I shall begin.”

Finrod and Gandalf stepped back so that a garden row was between them. Galadriel shut her eyes for a moment to help forget the eyes upon her. When she opened them she noticed the path of the afternoon sun and began to calculate where she should stand. First though, she checked the plant for insects. The lens would only work through her will as well, so there was no chance of zapping an unsuspecting bug, but the fewer interferences the better.

Finally, she stepped into position and lifted the lens, focusing it in the sun beam. She held it out, light streamed through, and an almost imperceptible shimmer beginning to dance in front of the lens. 

Half chanting, half singing, she began to guide the Song towards healing, making, and mending. 

Nothing happened. The pea plant remained small and brown. She lowered the lens with a sigh.

“It seems my first test is a failure.”

“So it appears,” said Gandalf. He peered at the lens. “I felt the power of your words and I see no error in the craft, although this is not my area of expertise. I still am of the opinion that there simply isn’t enough will in a pea plant.”

“You are probably right,” said Finrod. “Is it time to try the snail?”

“No,” said Galadriel. “I think we should try a plant that we know has will.”

“Ah! A tree,” said Gandalf.

“If you say so.” Finrod raised his eyebrows skeptically. “But I think a snail is a good deal safer.”

“Don’t tell me King Finrod Felagund is afraid of a tree!” Galadriel raised her eyebrows at her brother.

Finrod lifted his hands in protest. “I am merely trying to be the older, wiser sibling here.”

Gandalf broke out into full throated laughter. “Well, I will leave you to your experiments. I have already been here too long without greeting the lady of the house. I’ve found in Valinor that there are fewer people who excuse my appalling lack of courtesy. But please let me know how it goes, and perhaps take me with in the future.”

Galadriel smiled fondly at Gandalf as he went into the house. He could really get away with a lot more than he did, as the only being wearing the shape of an elderly Man in Valinor and a celebrated hero in his own right, and he was never quite as discourteous as he claimed to be.

She and Finrod decided to leave the lens back in her room before searching the woods for a likely tree. They set off north, away from the road and away from Árëmar, Írissë’s hall that lay directly south of Nerdanel’s guild quarters.

They searched until the sun went down, trying to find the perfect tree for the experiment. There were many ancient trees, well past their prime, but trees, unlike pea plants, could be spoken to. Most trees were content with where their aging had left them; they murmured of the cycles of the earth and the future selves within their hearts. There were a few with strange hearts who were unwilling to speak with Galadriel and Finrod. They agreed that these would not be good subjects for the lens. The Nerdanelië were good stewards of the forests, only taking what was needed and never felling too much from any one area. They were still a very Noldorin group though, and held their own goals above the intense symbiosis Galadriel had grown used to among the Galadhrim, and as such were not as assured of a friendly reaction from the surrounding trees as she was accustomed to. 

They finally found an old pine, damaged by a lightning strike several years ago. Several branches were still green and strong, but almost half were brown and withered, and a deep scar went through the center. The tree held no bitterness in its heart, but it spoke of pain and regret, that it’s time in the woods would be cut short compared to its family that surrounded them. 

“I will return tomorrow, friend,” Galadriel told the pine. “I cannot promise healing, but I will try.”

The tree rustled an assent, raining brown needles on Finrod and Galadriel

~

The next morning, Galadriel and Finrod had a quiet breakfast in her room before they left. The Nerdanlië were good for many things, but they were a curious lot and showing up to the kitchens and dining areas with the lens and dressed for a day in the woods would invite many questions. Galadriel did not feel like answering anything until they returned home, preferably after a success. They also didn’t want to get to the tree too early — the sun wouldn’t be in the right place for optimal work.

They left her room once most people in the household began to go about their day and only saw a few others in the hall. She was asked a few times where she was going, but never with much real intent, and all could be put off with a mysterious smile.

They set off in silence, following yesterday’s path. It was another beautiful day with puffy clouds scooting along the sky, birds singing, small animals chattering, and the woods alive with the fragrance of early summer.

As they approached the tree, Finrod began to sing an old welcoming song. The tree sang back in its own way, just a few deep notes that reverberated in their minds. 

Galadriel laid a hand on the bark. “Pine, do you still wish for me to attempt to heal your old storm wound?”

The deep but shaky voice responded, “Yesss, yesss. I long for more years in the sun and moon, with green needles and quick sap, and no wound draining me of life.”

“Very well,” she said. “I will try my best.” She began to circle the tree, taking note of the sun and the old lightning wound. She heard her brother begin to hum. She didn’t recognize the song, but the melody reminded her of songs she had sung in Doriath.

She settled on a spot and began to adjust the lens, taking into account the morning hour and the angle she would need for the light to hit the deepest part of the lightning strike she could see. She held up the lens so the light streamed through and sang.

Part way through, the tree joined in, its voice less shaky. Then, to her absolute joy, the bark began to knit and the tree seemed to untwist. Brown needles began to fall all around her as green needles pushed out from the previously dead branches. The smell of pine was very strong.

She finished the singing, watching in delight as the now healthy pine tree swayed back and forth, beginning a hymn to the earth it was rooted in. 

Finrod walked up behind her. “You have created a thing of wonder, sister.”

Galadriel breathed deeply of the pine scented air. “This is better than I dared to dream.”

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Chapter End Notes

Atanésa - Q. Aunt, literally father-sister (invented by me, but probably similar to what others have done)
osanwë - Q. Communication of thought