The Sorceress’ Apprentice by oshun

Salad Days in Doriath

Sometimes Lúthien transmitted an aura of being not quite human, reminiscent of one of the Ainur in Eldarin form. At other times, she reminded Galadriel of a beautiful and privileged, spoiled only daughter of a wealthy noble of Tirion. But she could be humorous and surprisingly kind at times. Beleg had once voiced within Galadriel’s hearing that Lúthien was easier to love than to like. That particular afternoon she was not happy to see Thingol’s daughter.

Galadriel had left the halls of Menegroth to wander alone within a small copse of trees on the near side of the creek which burbled along at the edge of the forest. She had no more settled herself upon a rustic bench—a welcome, if somewhat incongruous design detail within a style of landscaping that strove to imitate nature in all its verdant authenticity—than she heard Lúthien singing.

“Greetings, Lady Artanis. A posy for your thoughts,” she said, offering her a trio of crimson roses, perfect, and without a single thorn. Her eldest cousin Nelyo had tried to breed such roses once. Instead, he had produced a hardy and beautiful strain that had none of the large thorns easily removed but the stems of which were covered with tiny ones that made them even more difficult to handle.

“You picked those for me?”

“Truthfully, no!” Lúthien laughed. “Daeron gave them to me. But I could tell I needed an offering if I had any hope of getting you to talk me.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“You are. Why the face like a thundercloud?”

“I was trying to figure something out. There is so much to learn here. It’s overwhelming sometimes to think of this enormous land and all of its peoples that have been effectively isolated, unknown to most of us. My brother Findaráto is very interested in learning more about them and will no doubt travel once he has finished work on his caves. He wants to study the origins and cultures of those who stopped early on the journey west. But I was thinking of looking inward more than outward at the moment—theoretically, I meant. I don’t intend to ignore the troubles and threats we face but . . . ”

Lúthien’s lip curled up into a disgusted grimace, more of a childish moue actually. “The word theoretically makes me want to put my fingers in my ears and start singing! You should talk to my mother.”

“I was wondering about that. Do you think it would be presumptuous of me to even ask? I’m wondering if she would be willing to take me on as an apprentice.”

“Depends on what you want to learn. She can be quite particular about what she is willing to admit to knowing, much less sharing it. Although, she would like to tutor me. I am afraid I have been a great disappointment to her. Maybe you can turn her attention away from me.” She eyed Galadriel with a look both shrewd and hopeful.

Galadriel couldn’t help but snort at the idea that Lúthien was offering to help her in order to play truant. Once again she thought of her middle brothers’ often comical attempts to avoid school work. She and Findaráto were more alike.

“Sounds like a plan that would please us both.”

“Let’s go find her now!” Lúthien said, delighted.

o0o0o0o

“Ah, my beautiful daughter!” Melian sighed after Lúthien had left them alone. “She has the attention span of a mayfly. All of her nonsense about perfecting her dancing and singing . . . while she has such power, enough raw, untrained power that she could learn anything she wanted. Imagine the good she might do with guidance. But she has no interest in anything I have tried to offer her.”

The Maia’s complaints sounded all too similar to those of Galadriel’s own parents. Eldarin parents, well, most of them at least—Fëanáro perhaps being the exception—that one could only proffer their offspring training and education. In the end, however, one’s children accepted what pleased them and rejected the rest.

“I would gratefully receive anything you were willing to teach me, your highness. I had heard that you were famous in Lórien for your mastery of the art of enchantments wrought through singing, that you had no equal . . . ”

“Pftt! That was more than an Age ago and, frankly, I am not certain there is much practical use for it here.” She shrugged and raised an eyebrow. “What do you wish to learn that you think I might be able to offer you?”

“Well, to be perfectly honest I wasn’t certain of what you might consider, but I did have an idea. Only a concept. . . Not very well developed. Haven’t completely visualized what exactly I want . . . I have also heard that you have great skill in seeing the past and future events. My first idea was to make a mirror, not of glass, but using water—which, of course, is more bendy, fluid, conductive, if you know what I mean—contained in a basin. Mayhap something similar in shape to a bird bath? And one might enchant it so that when one looked into its water one would see things . . .”

“See things?” Melian’s voice rose precipitously, her winged brows drawing together in mild annoyance. “What kinds of things?”

Galadriel had never been one to lack nerve, so she took a deep breath and soldiered on. “Oh, maybe things that were, things that are, and things that yet may be . . .”

“Hmm, interesting. I have been known to have vague presentiments of the future or inklings of previously unknown past events, but I use no devices to aid me. And I don’t know how to reach out and grasp such knowledge simply by willing it. It comes to me unexpectedly, if and when it does, which is rarely.” Galadriel wasn’t entirely sure she believed that, but she held her tongue and waited.

“Really, my dear young student of Aulë,” Melian finally continued after a long portentous silence, “would not constructing such an instrument of conveyance be something that your Noldorin master craftsmen might be better at conceptualizing and building than I would be? With all of their methods and theories gleaned from their examination of the natural sciences and their experimentation with deep arts?”

Galadriel had to exert every reserve of self-restraint she possessed to keep from snapping at Melian. “My lady, I see with my own eyes what you have done here. You are able to throw up mists that confound and repel trespassers. Are you telling me you spell the thorns off roses, bring an early spring, delay the first frost, send storm clouds scurrying away, or call them back if the summer turns too dry without knowing how you do it?”

Melian gave her an enigmatic smile, with a hint of shrewdness beneath it. “Ah, well. . . The young are prone to be impulsive. I sincerely would not know where to start. If you want me to teach you something, perhaps it would be better to look to my strengths. Might you have any interest at all in arboriculture or horticulture?”

Notes:

Knowing what I want to steal is part of writing fanfiction for me. This story steals from a couple of my favorite writers. I took Maedhros breeding roses from By the Light of Roses by Dawn Felagund. Galadriel finally finds a premier Noldorin craftswoman to help her with the birdbath mirror/scrying device in The Writhen Pool by pandemonium_213. Thank you both for inspiration. I know this silly ficlet is not worthy of your talents but, hey, what are friends for if not to steal from?

Finally, I am submitting this as-is to meet a deadline. I could have made it longer. Although the guts and ending will not change, I might someday revisit and flesh it out a little. Thank you in advance for your indulgence.