Dance At Your Wedding by Tarion Anarore

Part 2

There is a box Galadriel has safely kept for years on end but never opened: cherry, oiled to richness once, though its sheen has dulled since it was given to her. Now, after so long, she retrieves it, setting it in front of her with tender care. Outside there is the merry sound of birds singing to the sun; the breeze through the window lifts her hair. Reverent fingers ghost over the smooth, unadorned wood and she exhales slowly, nervous though her hands are steady. 

Inside, laying on a piece of velvet, is a green jewel strung on a fine chain. It is beautiful work, green as the leaves in sunlight, cut in like shape and set in a silver setting. On its hanger is inlaid a golden flower. 

Beneath it there is a square bit of fine calf vellum folded carefully around a like flower, worked in gold and affixed to a curving, cut band of silver. The sawn edge is rough against her fingertips.

When she picks up the necklace her hands are trembling. It shines in the light as she traces over the facets, each wrought with thoughtful mastery. Old sorrow surfaces then is lulled again into calm as she regards the gem in her hand. She cannot imagine a more fitting commission.

To my sister on her wedding day:

From the moment I saw the look in your eyes as you gazed on him, I knew that this day would come. To know that you have found joy in him has also given me a measure of joy, and I am content. He is a good man. I regret only that I cannot be there to give this myself.

There is nothing now that I can give you that honors this day of celebration as it should, but perhaps this is a token by which you might remember us both. 

Your loving brother, 

Artaresto

There is a quiet knock on the open door announcing her soon to be husband. Galadriel smiles and turns to greet him, a gentle, contented happiness filling her. 

Thank you. 

Celeborn’s eyes come to rest on the long held box. “You opened it at last,” he says wonderingly. “Why now?”

Galadriel takes his hand and places the gem in his palm. 

“It never really was for me.”

Chapter End Notes

“Among the Noldor also it was a custom that the bride's mother should give to the bridegroom a jewel upon a chain or collar” (Laws and Customs of the Eldar)

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It feels strange to be posting anything after a literal decade, but here we are. I hope you've enjoyed this little indulgence of mine as much as I enjoyed getting it out of my head. Thanks to Snacky for being my sounding board and harassing me into posting.