White Water Flowing by StarSpray

Chapter Seven

As work continued on the tunnel-path—though it would be a very long time before it would so much as resemble either a tunnel or a path—a sturdier set of ropes and metal hooks was set into the cliff face to make getting up and down in the meantime easier. Celebrían spent much of her time that summer up in the valley, walking its length and breadth, and introducing herself to the land and to the water and to the trees. She recalled Elrond telling her of doing something similar when he had been establishing himself in Imladris—getting to know the land, and letting it get to know him. He had done piecemeal, stealing a few moments here and there while the war raged in Eriador and he juggled the responsibilities of commander and healer and so many other things. Here, Celebrían was at her leisure, in these mountains that had never known war or strife, though they had known for a time darkness and fear. But that was long, long ago, and not even the stones really recalled it. 

Finrod often accompanied her, and they spoke of many things as they wandered across the valley and up and down the slopes of its walls. They spoke of Nargothrond’s founding, and the songs he had sung to the caves and stones there, and the marvels of the natural caves and caverns that had been carefully shaped into suitable halls for his city. They spoke of Eregion, too, and the great buildings and towers of Ost-in-Edhil. “I heard it said that Celebrimbor took much inspiration from Nargothrond, though I do not know if that is true,” Celebrían said. “I know that you had the help of the dwarves—and he was great friends with the dwarves of Khazad-dûm, so perhaps the similarities are mere coincidence.”

“Perhaps,” said Finrod, smiling. “Though I shall choose to believe he took at least a few ideas from Nargothrond, for the sake of my own vanity. And I do envy him—and you!—the opportunity to visit Khazad-dûm, that greatest of dwarf cities. I heard many songs and tales of it from my own Dwarven friends.”

“It was marvelous indeed,” said Celebrían. “Though I did not like to spend too long there. I could feel the weight of the mountains above me—such a weight! Of course, you would say the Misty Mountains are hardly anything compared to the Pelóri, but…”

“My grandfather spoke of them sometimes, though by different names,” said Finrod. “He spoke of many things that I wish I had gotten to see! Alas, my fate did not take me beyond the Ered Luin. And alas for Celebrimbor. He did not deserve his fate.”

“No,” Celebrían agreed. They spoke no more of Celebrimbor’s fate, but Finrod was curious to know all about Eregion and Ost-in-Edhil, and when that was nearly exhausted, he asked about Imladris. 

“You speak of it often, but never in much detail,” he remarked as they jumped lightly over the stream that flowed merrily through the valley. 

Celebrían had been thinking of its source, a glacial lake high above them. She thought that she would like to see it up close—but there would be time for that adventure later. “Don’t I?” she said, startled. “I did not realize. I think of it so often, I suppose…well, I suppose I did not realize that those thoughts do not make it past my lips.”

“You do not speak much of Elrond, either,” Finrod said. He spoke kindly and gently, and Celebrían knew that he would not press further if he saw that his questions pained her. “Of course, we have all heard tales of him—and of Imladris, for that matter. But I do not feel as though I know much about him at all. He is Halfelven, Elwing’s son and Eärendil’s, and it is said that he is kind and wise, and a great loremaster and healer.”

“He is all of those things,” Celebrían said. “And he is noble and fair, and…” It was so hard to describe him! She realized now that she had never tried, or had to try. She was used to everyone that she spoke to already knowing Elrond, or at least knowing enough of him to be getting on with. “He’s Elrond.” Finrod laughed. “Shall I tell you of the first time I saw him?”

“If you wish.” Finrod took her arm as they strolled through the grass, as though they were promenading through the gardens of Tirion. “When was it—sometime in Eregion, I suppose?”

“No! Would you believe it, I was never there when he visited Ost-in-Edhil? I was always out hunting or wandering, or busy in the library or the workshops. It was very frustrating when I was young, because I was so curious. But it was not until after the war that we met. He was already turning Imladris into something more than a war camp. Anyway, he was not there to greet my mother and me when we arrived, because we came sooner than looked for and he had been farther into the valley doing something that I must suppose was important.” Finrod laughed. “I saw him a little later, when I went out into the gardens. They were brand new, then, more bare dirt than leaf and stem. He emerged from beneath a tree, looking—well, you knew Lúthien, did you not? Dark of hair and grey-eyed, with stars shining in them.” Celebrían smiled, recalling that first meeting. “I knew even before he finished his greeting that I would marry him, though he certainly took his time in speaking his own heart!”

Finrod laughed. “I’m surprised to hear you did not speak it for him.”

“He had his reasons. Sauron was still a threat in those days, though he’d been chased out of Eriador. It was not until after the Last Alliance that he felt safe enough that he would not risk widowing me.” It had been bittersweet, their wedding. She had been incandescently happy to marry Elrond at last, but at the same time there were so many missing faces from the gathering, faces that she had never imagined would not be there—Gil-galad not least of all. And then, of course, it had been she who left him… “My mother counseled patience, for she knew Elrond better than I.”

Finrod laughed again. “My sister, patient! Do you know how long she waited to marry Celeborn?”

Celebrían smiled. “Only as long as it took all of her brothers to come to Doriath for the wedding, I know. But my father was just as impatient as she, and alas, Elrond is patience itself!” It had been worth the wait, though. She only wished that things had gone differently later—that she might have been able to stay. There was no use dwelling on it, but she knew that her absence weighed on Elrond as much as—no, more than his did upon her, for he was left in uncertainty, not knowing whether she had truly found the healing she had so desperately needed. They all sent her letters and gifts, but Celebrían could send nothing back. All she could do was—well, what she was doing. Preparing for their coming someday, whenever that might be.

“I have often wished that I could go back across the Sea,” Finrod said, seeming to catch the direction of her thoughts. “If I could have stowed away on the ship that took Glorfindel, I would have! But I did not learn of his errand, or the Istari, until after they were already gone.”

“Well, I am glad that you didn’t,” Celebrían said. “Rather selfishly, I am very glad that you were here when I came.” She was grateful to all of her mother’s family, truly, and to her father’s kin as well—but somehow it was her uncle that seemed to understand the best. Perhaps because he had been held a captive himself, though with a different ending to the tale, or perhaps because he had been closest to her mother. It had been Finrod who had welcomed her at the docks, and he who had accompanied her to Lórien, and remained there nearly as long as Celebrían herself had, always close by but never overbearing. He smiled at her now. “And, truly, you would not really have left Amarië again, would you?”

“What makes you think she would not have gone with me?” he laughed. “But it isn’t worth dwelling upon might have beens, tempting as it is. Let us go back down. Those clouds look like rain.” Celebrían followed his gaze to the south and saw the clouds gathering. The wind picked up as they climbed down the cliff face, and by the time they made it to the shelter of a tent the rain had begun, a swift and light patter that quickly grew heavier, ending all work for that day, and the next. 

When the weather did not show signs of improving, they all packed up their things and made their way back to Alqualondë. From there Celebrían went to Finrod to Tirion, where preparations for the harvest festival were beginning. There were other parties and dinners to attend, and gossip to share and laugh at. Celebrían found that she did not feel restless anymore; she had her house in Avallónë and she was building her home in the mountains, and the promise of the latter was enough to settle her spirits. The sons of Fëanor were not there, but when she mentioned them no one looked at her askance anymore. It was progress, and she was satisfied.