White Water Flowing by StarSpray

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Chapter Five

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After the Midsummer festivities were over, and Celebrían had taken the promised walking party to see the hanging valley, she was very glad to return to her own house in Avallónë. She tended to her garden and sketched some ideas for her mountain house, and received a surprising number of packages from Middle-earth. The accompanying letter from Arwen explained that they were mostly pieces of clothing, not only for Celebrían, but various other relations as well. It was all very neatly organized, and packed specially so that there was no need to air them out or even shake out creases. They had been packed with dried roses and lavender, which Celebrían carefully gathered up and put in a small vase beside her bed, so that her room smelled like home. She had lavender and roses in her garden, of course, but it wasn’t the same.

Elwing came to call a few days after the packages from Imladris arrived. “What’s all this?” she asked, seeing the pile of them tucked into the corner of the parlor.

“Gifts from Imladris,” Celebrían said. “There is something for you, and for Eärendil I think. Let me find them.” She sorted through the packages until she found a pair of bundles. “Here they are! From Arwen—oh, and this smaller pouch is from Elrond. You need not open them here, of course.”

“I wish there was a way to send thanks,” said Elwing as she set her packages near the door, except for the small one. “I suppose Ulmo could, but…”

“But it would have to pass through Círdan, at least,” said Celebrían. “If Ulmo is willing, or if one can even find him.”

“Yes, he does tend to keep to his own realm.” Elwing turned the small package over in her fingers as she sat with Celebrían near the window. “Is there any interesting news from Imladris?”

“No, only gossip that’s only interesting if you know the parties involved.” Celebrían picked up the letter she’d left by her seat. “Oh, Elurín’s hair was singed by one of Mithrandir’s fireworks this year. He’s had to cut it, and is very put out.” Elwing laughed. “Hair woes aside, everyone seems to be doing very well.”

“I am glad,” said Elwing. She finally tugged at the string to open the pouch in her hands, and spilled the contents into her palm. There were two dozen freshwater pearls, and a few river stones polished to a shine.

“Elrond has always liked to collect things from water,” Celebrían remarked, as Elwing poured the pearls back into the pouch. “There are no pearls in Imladris, though.”

“There is a letter,” Elwing said, as she pulled the rolled up paper out of the pouch. She opened it and scanned it briefly. “The pearls were collected by Elladan and Elrohir. I think you will find some jewelry in among your gifts.”

“Earrings, and a few rings,” Celebrían agreed. “Don’t tell our kin in Alqualondë, but I must confess that I like river pearls best.”

Elwing smiled, and dropped the letter and the stones back into the pouch. “Elrond has been sending me river stones for many years now,” she said. “Before that, when he lived by the Sea, it was seashells. We used to collect them together, he and I and Elros.”

Celebrían thought of a small wooden box, carved with waves and ships, that had been tucked into a safe corner of Elrond’s study ever since she had known him. She had opened it once, curious, and found it full of seashells.

“There is something else I wanted to speak with you about,” Elwing said. “About your house in the mountains.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve noticed you are careful not to speak of Fëanor’s sons and their involvement in front of me,” Elwing said, “and I appreciate your care, but it isn’t necessary. Especially since you don’t seem to care what anyone else thinks.”

Celebrían had been trying to take care. Elwing was Elrond ’s mother, after all, and of all Celebrían’s relations she had the worst experiences with the Sons of Fëanor. Well, there was Dior and Nimloth—but Dior was remarkably gracious and forgiving, and Nimloth appeared to have followed his lead. “It isn’t really that I care if you approve or not,” she said, “since I’ve long since stopped worrying about that in general. But I was worried about upsetting you. I don’t mind making people uncomfortable if it will lead to something better down the road, but one gets a sense of when that’s helpful and when it isn’t.”

Elwing smiled at her. “I think many in Valinor could do with a little discomfort now and again,” she said. “But really, it doesn’t bother me.”

“I’m glad to know hear it,” said Celebrían. “I do think I am growing rather fond of them. I shall have some rather pointed words for Maedhros, whenever he returns from Mandos—and particularly for Fëanor, if he should ever return as well. But my understanding is that a great deal of self reflection happens in Mandos, and by now there can be no real point in further punishment.”

“I think I would very much like to be there for a meeting between you and Fëanor,” Elwing said.

Elwing stayed for some time, during which Celebrían began sketching out more serious plans for the house. She based them off of her memories of Imladris, keeping in mind the different setting, and the fact that she was building hers with thoughts toward comfort and welcome from the start, rather than the hurried and desperate need for anything to provide shelter out of which Imladris had grown. Elwing had many questions about Imladris, most of which Celebrían could answer easily. “But I wasn’t there in the very beginning, you know,” she said. “That was during the war, just after Eregion fell. I was safe in Lórien, then, worrying about my father who had remained behind in Ost-in-Edhil.”

“Why did he stay behind?” Elwing asked.

“Both he and my mother worried about what Annatar might do when she was gone,” Celebrían. “And no one was ready to push hard enough against him to really find out—so someone had to stay, and my father has always been overlooked and underestimated. I think he likes it that way.”

“Like you,” Elwing said, and Celebrían laughed. “You are very happy to let everyone here underestimate you.”

“It does have its advantages,” Celebrían said. “But of course, everyone is watching me and waiting for me to do something very Galadriel-like, so they don’t notice when I turn around and do Elrond-like things instead. But anyway—my parents loved Ost-in-Edhil, and I think until the very end they hoped to save it. At the time that we left, though, no one knew who Annatar was of course. He was very subtle in his machinations, then, and I think Celebrimbor really did genuinely see him as a great friend. There was nothing he had done that we could point to, and to speak against him just…sounded as though my mother were being disagreeable, or trying to gain more power for herself instead. But Annatar had his eyes upon her, not on my father. It didn’t really help, in the end.” She sighed. “But he was the one to rally all the refugees and get them out of Eregion and to Elrond and his forces.”

“And then they came to the valley of Imladris,” said Elwing. “I have heard the tales.”

“Yes. I did not come there until well after the war, when thought was already being taken to making it a permanent settlement.” Celebrían pulled a blank piece of paper to her and began to sketch, this time drawing on memories of her first visit to the valley. “It looked like this, more or less. We arrived in the middle of the afternoon, so the sun was bright, especially on the water. Of course, the clear spaces that had been meadows were all churned up mud from the armies, but grass was starting to return. And the foundations of the house were in place, and work was beginning to make them permanent—with stone rather than wood.”

“Yes, you can see the original intention,” said Elwing, peering over Celebrían’s shoulder. “Just a large structure to keep out the weather. You will not copy it?”

“Not exactly,” said Celebrían. “Some rooms I will make larger, some smaller. The first of the rooms to be built eventually became the Hall of Fire, and that I do wish to replicate as closely as I can, at least in general shape. It will be slightly larger, I think, though of course the one at home is already quite large. I shall see what kind of terrain I have to work with once I get up to the valley itself.”

“I suppose someone will have to climb up the cliff face before whatever path you are thinking of is built,” said Elwing.

“Probably,” Celebrían agreed, “though waiting wouldn’t hurt anything, I don’t think. It isn’t as though we are in a great hurry. I want it done and settled in before Elrond comes, of course, but there is plenty of time before that.” She spoke lightly, but saying aloud just how long she had to wait for Elrond came with a pang. The letters and gifts were wonderful, but no substitute for her actual family. And she had not missed the fact that very little was said of Elladan and Elrohir, except that they were often gone on errantry—far more often, it seemed, than they ever were before.

“Have you ever been up the great tower in Avallónë?” Elwing asked suddenly.

“No,” Celebrían said. “You mean the one near the harbor?”

“Yes, that rises out of the library,” said Elwing. “There is a palantír there. Nerdanel brought it to Eressëa after the War of Wrath, so that those who missed their homes could look back on them—or to see those who did not choose to sail west.”

“Do you often go to look in it?” Celebrían asked, curious.

Elwing shook her head. “No. Eärendil sees much, and I’m usually content with his tales. But I have gone once or twice—the first time was when I first learned that my brothers still lived. They were sailing about the islands that are all that remains now of Beleriand.”

“Oh, I remember when they took that trip!” Celebrían laughed. “That was when Gil-galad and Círdan first learned they were alive, too. Poor Círdan. I am told he had to sit for some time after he heard, before he could even comprehend that they were asking for his help in building a boat. But no, I did not know there was a palantír on Eressëa. I confess, I never even saw the ones that Elendil brought to Middle-earth.”

“Those, I think, can speak to one another,” said Elwing. “But not to the one here. But the tower is open to anyone who wishes to go there, and the palantír is there for whoever has a strong enough will to use it.” Her smile turned rueful. “It always gives me a headache—another reason I rarely go there.”

It was very tempting. Celebrían thought she might save a visit to the palantír for a particularly melancholy day. Catching even a glimpse of Elrond and the children, or her parents, would do a great deal to cheer her up.

A few days into Elwing’s visit, a note came for Celebrían from Caranthir, indicating he and Curufin wished to call on her to discuss the path up the cliff. Celebrían shared it with Elwing, who handed it back with a smile. “Don’t put them off on my account! I was planning to stay a while with Tuor and Idril, anyway. They want to host a dinner party when Eärendil next comes down.”

“How lovely!”

The brothers arrived just before Elwing was ready to depart the next afternoon—in fact, they all met in the entrance hall. Caranthir’s ears turned pink, and Curufin seemed to shrink a little. Elwing was neither warm nor cold in her greetings, though she kissed Celebrían before departing, promising to let her know when to expect an invitation to Tuor and Idril’s dinner party.

“We did not mean to interrupt—” Caranthir began as soon as Elwing was gone.

“You didn’t,” Celebrían replied. “And you did not frighten her away, either, so stop looking sheepish. Come out to the garden! It’s too nice a day to sit inside. Have you had lunch yet?”

They had not, and it was brought out to where they had spread out Curufin’s diagrams and calculations. “I went back with Celegorm to measure the height of the cliff,” Curufin said, pointing to a scale drawing with the measurements noted. “He also put pins into the cliff side where others can secure ropes, to climb up to the top before the pathway is done.”

“I was just talking of something like that with Elwing,” said Celebrían. “Did he see much of the valley at the top?”

“Not really. I had him busy taking measurements at the cliff side,” said Curufin. “But he said there are many flowers growing there, and he saw a few mountain goats near the stream.”

“I had been thinking of raising goats there,” said Celebrían. “And perhaps a few sheep. Getting any large livestock up would be rather difficult.”

“It is my intention to make the path large enough for horses,” said Curufin.

The path in question was to be cut into the cliff face, of course—a tunnel of stairs that switch-backed up the cliff face, emerging closer to one side of the valley than the center; the turns were placed next to the waterfall, and Curufin had sketched openings to let in light and perhaps the occasional spray of water. Lamps could be set into the inner walls as well. The path itself consisted of shallow steps. “I saw tunnels like these in the mountains near Belegost and Nogrod,” said Curufin as Celebrían examined the papers. “Though Dwarvish steps were not so shallow.”

“No, they usually weren’t,” Celebrían laughed. “But I like this design very much. I have not yet sought out the Gwaith-i-Mírdain in Tirion, but—”

“Curufin has,” Caranthir said with a grin. “We left copies of these designs with them, and they are very eager for the project. They have much more knowledge of Dwarvish techniques than we do.”

Word spread very soon through the former residents of Imladris scattered across Eressëa and Valinor of what Celebrían was planning, and those with either a talent for construction or who had been there at the start were eager to offer their assistance; Celebrían suspected some of them were terribly bored. Celebrían’s house in Avallónë could not hold them all, so she found herself coordinating a meeting at the cliff side itself, where there was plenty of room to set up a camp, and opportunity for the more daring to scale the cliff to take additional measurements.

In the meantime, summer was getting on, lazily rolling toward autumn. When winter came they would of course have to put everything on hold—no one wanted to navigate the Pelóri in wintertime without a clear and set path to follow. Winter would be spent collecting supplies and making further plans for the actual construction of the tunnel-path. Celebrían found herself making plans to spend most of the winter in Tirion, and even looking forward to it. She would stay with her grandparents, who had moved out of the main palace back into their own residence after Finarfin had ceded the crown to Fingolfin upon his return from Mandos.

 

Before she departed for the cliff side, of course, there was Idril and Tuor’s dinner party to attend. Celebrían certainly did not want to miss that, as Eärendil would be there. She had met him only once before, as he was so seldom on the ground. She arrived to find him and Elwing with Idril and Tuor in the parlor. He seemed to glisten slightly, as though perpetually bathed in starlight. He was also much shorter than Celebrían had originally expected, but after the initial surprise it was easy to forget, as he had such a large presence. He jumped up to greet Celebrían warmly, though there was very little time to do more than exchange greetings before other guests began to arrive. It was a merry party. Finrod was there, and Fingon, and various other relations. Turgon came with Elenwë, to Eärendil’s great delight. Annael was there also, and other friends old and new. Celebrían felt herself an outsider to this gathering, being much younger than nearly everyone else, and also so newly come to Valinor. It was only to be expected, but she looked forward to the time when she would not feel thus.

Most delightful was that Elemmírë was also a guest, and after dinner there was singing and storytelling, and she brought them all to tears with her songs of the Trees and the Light that shone upon Valinor at its noontide. Celebrían, acquainted with Daeron, found herself wishing that he were there so they could all be treated to a duet. Now that would be something! But Daeron had, when last Celebrían had heard of him, been residing quite happily in Lothlórien, and if anything she thought him more likely to travel back east rather than come west.

The moon had risen and vanished behind the Pelóri by the time the party ended and the guests all wandered either to their beds or back to their homes. Eärendil and Elwing, and Tuor and Idril, remained up, and Celebrían lingered with them. Everyone was always eager for whatever news Eärendil could tell them of Middle-earth and the wider world, and at dinner he had shared many tales of the things he had seen. But now that they were alone, a small family group, he spoke of Imladris and Mithlond, and Lórien and even a little of the Greenwood, when Celebrían asked. All was well, all was peaceful. He could give little detail beyond that, of course. Even with his enchanted spyglass there was only so much one could see from above. But it was still nice to know that the letters weren't only giving a rosy view of things to spare Celebrían’s feelings.

Eärendil did talk of Elladan and Elrohir riding out often, hunting orcs in the mountains and wilder reaches of Eriador. They were often in the company of the Dúnedain—but just as often not. That had only been vaguely alluded to in the letters—and the ones from Elladan and Elrohir had not mentioned their errantry at all. Celebrían wished, not for the first or last time, that there was a way to write back.

When she left it was very late. The stars glittered on the Bay of Eldamar; somewhere, someone was singing a song to the stars and the sea. Celebrían felt restless, and did not want to go immediately home. She walked along the shore for a while, and found herself drawing near the harbor—and the tower that rose up above the quays, facing west. That was where the palantír was. Celebrían paused for a moment, gazing up at it, considering. She knew very little about palantíri. But it couldn’t be that difficult, if it was open for anyone to use who wished. She made her way over and up the stairs of the tower, winding round and round, going past wide windows and balconies with views of the harbor and the city, and the Sea beyond. Lamps lit of their own accord as she passed, illuminating the stairs and the bright-colored mosaics on the walls.

The highest room had windows all around, and in the center stood the palantír. It was enormous, and lit with lamps that brightened with each step Celebrían took into the room. Bright-colored tiles lined the walls and floors, though the designs were abstract here, rather than depicting people or scenes as in lower floors. The palantír itself was quite large, coming to Celebrían’s chest as it rested upon a low table of carven stone. It was covered with a large cloth of silk that was light enough to practically fly away with a simple tug. Celebrían rolled it up neatly and set it on the floor beneath the table, so she would not trip, and took a step back to regard the stone. It was very dark, but as she focused her gaze upon it she fancied that she saw flickers of light, like many colored stars twinkling in its depths—which were deeper than the size of the stone.

How marvelous, she thought, stepping up to brush her fingertips over the smooth cool surface, how marvelous that such a great working of Fëanor himself was here for anyone to use who wished. Celebrían was not quite sure what she thought of Fëanor himself, having of course never met him, and having heard many varying tales of him. Mostly, of late, she felt sorry for him. Until that moment she had never really thought of him as a craftsman, though that was of course the source of his greatest fame. But even if this stone were nothing more than what it appeared to be at first glance, she would have called it marvelous. Colors danced beneath her fingertips as she moved them over the surface.

Nervousness coiled in her stomach, as Celebrían wondered whether she would be able to use the stone at all—or if it would be like her mother’s mirror, that might show a person anything at all from the past, present, or possible future. She had never liked that, nor understood the use of it, though evidently her mother had some.

Well, stone was sturdier than water. Celebrían pressed both of her palms against the palantír, feeling it warm beneath her skin, and turned her will and her thoughts to home, to the apple orchard and the rose garden, and the river fed by all the valley’s snow melt streams that tumbled down the mountainsides in a constant song of flowing water no matter the season, and most of all of Elrond, and Arwen, and Elladan and Elrohir, more beloved to her than any jewels or stars or flowers or mountain valleys in the wide world on either side of the Sea.

It seemed both to take no time at all and a very long time for the flickering colors and star bursts inside the palantír to begin to come together and coalesce into an image, remote yet clear. It was Imladris, as seen from the top of the path leading down into the valley. It was sunny, a clear summer day, and as Celebrían watched, hardly daring to breathe, the image moved forward, passing over the house and the gardens and up into the apple orchard. She had planted the first apple trees there, long ago during the War of the Last Alliance, while Elrond was away, and she was glad to see that the trees were still thriving and well-tended. Singing the first blossoms open in the spring had been one of her favorite pastimes.

Now, of course, it was summer, and though the boughs were laden with fruit it was not yet time for the harvest. Underneath one of the trees, in the shade, Celebrían saw Elrond, sitting on the grass with a scattering of paper and parchment around him. He read slowly, leisurely, pausing often to watch a butterfly pass by, or to listen to one of the birds singing in the trees. Celebrían could not hear the birds herself, but she knew Elrond’s letter-reading habits as well as her own, although she had never known him to take them up to the orchard.

He looked well. His hair was loose, falling like shadows over his shoulders. When Celebrían had left Imladris Elrond had looked pale and worn, with dark circles under his eyes and a gauntness to his cheeks; all of that was gone, and he looked sun kissed and content, if a little melancholy.

She could have watched Elrond for hours, but after a time she turned her thoughts to Arwen, and the palantír obliged, the image shivering way from the orchard to Celebrían’s old workroom. Much of it was as she had left it, though the projects scattered about it were new. Arwen sat on the floor in a patch of sunshine, her hair coiled up and knotted at the nape of her neck. All around her were baskets filled with threads of varying hues and thickness. A pile of different skeins sat on the floor in front of her—a new project in the making. Arwen’s brow was furrowed in thought as she sorted through a basket of blues. As Celebrían watched, the door opened and Elladan and Elrohir entered, clad in matching robes and looking relaxed. Arwen looked up and smiled at them, brightening like the sun emerging from the clouds, and abruptly Celebrían found herself gazing at the blank stone as she tried to blink away tears.

She stepped back from the palantír, wiping her palms on her skirts. Perhaps that had been a mistake—or perhaps not. It was a relief beyond measure to see her children smiling, and Elrond looking well, though she wished she were with them. She always wished that, but the ache was not usually so acute. Celebrían took a breath, and picked up the cloth to cover the palantír again, murmuring her thanks to the stone as the silk fell over it in soft drapes.

Then she went home, deliberately turning her thoughts away from the east and to the west, to the mountains. The best cure for such melancholy was occupation, she had often found, and fortunately her days were going to be very occupied indeed.