A Midwinter’s Feast by Lilith

Celebrían slipped between the doors only a moment before they closed. She had followed the two young apprentices, neither of which had noticed her, so busy were they discussing the critiques they’d received from the Masters.

“He said it was tolerable.”

“She wanted to know why I’d made the nails not of uniform length. They were precisely the same.”

“He agreed with her and said they weren’t.”

“Can you believe ...”

She paid little attention to what they said and, instead, hurried behind them.  She followed them as they passed through the entry and continued through the main level. The forges were at ground level, covered but well vented and partially open to the elements. She heard the sound, sometimes musical, sometimes not, of hammers striking metal and the continued noise and bustle of Ost-in-Edhil’s smithies. The Mírdain were known as makers of jewels but their crafts extended far beyond ornaments and included a variety of useful and functional tools as well as inventions still more strange and fanciful (and far less useful and far more troublesome or so her father had said).

She was a little worried as she passed into the forge. She wasn’t afraid of harm coming to her despite the heat and the noise and the steady movement of working elves surrounding her, but she knew she was no longer permitted to venture here without her mother or her father present. She’d found this new rule peculiar and wondered why her mother had insisted upon it. She had been permitted a free run of the Mírdain when she had been much younger and, she thought from the wise age of ten, more foolish.

“Ay, hand me that ... Quick now.”

“Old man, will you finish that sometime this year or will it take you another ten?”

“Bauglir’s balls, I nearly ...”

“Ay, watch your tongue; there’s a ... there’s the Lady’s child here.”

“Watch your tongue, indeed,” this voice was a cool voice, a woman’s voice, low-pitched like her mother’s. It was a beautiful voice. It was melodious with a thread of song and of laughter in each word spoken, and it was not a voice she’d heard in the forges before. “Try to be more imaginative and less profane. Our Lady’s daughter should not be the only sufficient motivation for the exercise of a little more restraint and a very little more creativity. Where’s the girl?”

“She’s here, Master.” One of the journeymen, one with whom she’d been accustomed to play, when she used to visit, caught her arm. “I didn’t think she was supposed to come here any longer. I thought her mother forbade it; too dangerous or some such nonsense.”

“I see,” the woman who’d spoken earlier walked in their direction, musical laughter still sounding in her voice. She was tall, though not as tall as Celebrían’s own mother, and dark-haired where her mother was golden. But she was very pretty or seemed to be beneath the smudges of soot dusting her cheek. She was dressed in a most unusual manner; she did not wear a dress as did most of the women Celebrían knew. Instead, she wore leggings and a heavy leather apron. Underneath the apron she wore a sleeveless tunic fitted far more closely to her body than any style Celebrian had seen her mother wear. Unusual as her clothing was, it was her eyes that held Celebrian’s attention. They were leaf-green but shot through with gold. They were watchful and reminded Celebrían of the cats she sometimes saw in the streets of the city. “Come here, little one. We’ve not met before. I know your cousin and work with him. Are you looking for him or for someone else?”

“For him. For Celebrimbor,” her own voice sounded high-pitched and thin, shrill in comparison to the woman’s.

“And you are Celebrían? You are very well named. Your hair is a crown any queen would envy.”

She knew that she should respond to this compliment, thank the woman, but she wasn’t sure what she should say.

“Shall I take her to him?” the journeyman asked.

“No, I shall.”

“But ...”

“I do not mind. I am not in the middle of any task that cannot wait.”

The journeyman looked as though he was ready to disagree, but the woman extended her hand to her and said lightly, when Celebrían hesitated, “I am sorry that my hand is dirty, but I promise that it is only a little soot and that it will wash off.” Embarrassed, Celebrían took her hand.

They left the forges and made their way into the adjoining hall. The guildhall was a tall building, featuring a central hall but also including a variety of chambers designed for the use of the masters and the journeymen. Her cousin’s was the largest of these and occupied a corner space with glazed windows upon both sides, most often opened a little to capture the breeze. It was bright and cheerful, though often cluttered with many different books and papers and models of different tools and other inventions, and it was one of Celebrían’s most favorite places to visit. It was there that they went. The door was slightly ajar and she was able to hear her cousin speaking good humoredly with someone she guessed to be a dwarf. While her cousin’s voice was low, the one of the person with whom he was speaking was a deep rumble, not unlike thunder or the sound of a heavy fall of water.

“Come,” she heard her cousin say. “That is a most fair price.”

“With prices as fair as those, you’ll have us out of a home.”

“I’d not do that; your home is far too beautiful for anyone to force you from it.”

“Throw in a trinket or a tool of your or the lady’s crafting and we’ll considered it decided.”

“You may have my work. I cannot speak for Master Mairen.”

“But I can,” the woman standing at her side said, “and I see no harm in such an agreement. Greetings, Master Jewelsmith. It is well to have you in the city again. How long shall you stay?”

“Only a night or two more,” the voice rumbled in response. “The weather is clear for traveling, and a new discovery has been made. I am anxious to see where it leads, and, as much as I would otherwise like to tarry, I fear being caught in a winter storm.”

“Safe travels, then, and enjoy your discovery. Take care not to delve too deep, Master; old and strange things lurk in the roots of the mountains. It’s best to not to disturb their sleep.”

“We are always careful, my lady.”

“I’m no lady, friend, only a lowly craftswoman.”

The dwarf laughed. 


“Tyelperinquar, forgive me for interrupting your meeting, but you have a young and lovely visitor; she comes to you crowned in silver,” the woman opened the door and guided Celebrían into the office.  Celebrían noticed that, though she used the common tongue spoken by most elves in Ost-in-Edhil, she called her cousin by his name in the language he shared with her mother, the language that they spoke together and that her father did not.

Her cousin rose in greeting as did the figure seated before him. That figure was, indeed, a dwarf. The dwarf was a little less than half the height of her cousin and of the woman beside her, but far stockier than either of them, even Celebrimbor. His face was wrinkled and hidden by a very large and ornately braided beard. But his eyes were dark and lovely and shone with warmth and good humor.

“Andvari, may I present my cousin, Celebrian, daughter of the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel? Lady Celebrian, may I present one of the finest jewelsmiths I know?”

The dwarf bowed very low, so low his beard brushed the ground, and he smiled warmly at her as he straightened. She was uncertain how to respond, so she sank low into a curtsy and bowed her own head.

“Very graceful, my little lady,” said the dwarf. “I shall be on my way. I suspect you’ve things to discuss. Masters, I thank you for your assistance.” With a step Celebrían found to be surprising light for so stocky a figure, he walked out of the room and into the hall.

“She came to the forges in search of you,” the woman said quietly. “I think she must have something important she wishes to say.”

“I am always glad to see and hear my cousin,” Celebrimbor replied gently. “Mairen, have you introduced yourself to her?”

“No, I hadn't,” the woman answers. “I thought it best to bring her here.”

“Celebrian,” her cousin said easily, “this is Mairen. She came originally from the west and is here to work with and instruct the Mirdain. Mairen, this is my cousin, Celebrían.’

“Well met, little one,” the woman said softly. “I shall leave you two to speak. I’ll be in my study should you need me.” She stepped out of the room quietly. Celebrian watched but barely heard the door close behind her and heard no sound of her footfalls as she walked down the hall.

“What has brought you here, Celebrían? I’ve missed you but I thought your mother preferred I visited you at your home rather than you visit me here.”

“She does,” Celebrían answered quietly, looking down at the floor. She did not like for her cousin to chide her. He seldom did and, when he did, she knew she had done something she should not have. “It’s just ... I just wanted to see you.”

“I’m glad you do, but I do not want your mother angry at either one of us. She can be fearsome when angry.”

Celebrían noticed that while her cousin’s voice was gentle and while he smiled, his smile did not reach his eyes which were often serious but now also seemed sad.

“She doesn’t need to know,” Celebrían continues, plucking at her dress. “I won’t tell her and you don’t have to tell her.”

“We cannot lie to her. At any rate, she will find out from someone in the street who spotted you on your way here or back home. It’s better I take you home and we tell her.”

He closed the ledger on his desk and then sifted a few papers into a neat stack and set it atop the ledger, covering both with a peculiar stone. It was smooth and heavily polished, the outer edge was dull but the inside contained rings of warm and vibrant color.

“You don’t come to see me anymore,” she said and hated herself for saying it. She sounded like a very little girl, almost a baby. He was busy, much like her mother was busy. He had important things to do; her mother had told her he did.

“I promise to find more time, my friend. I promise.”

“I wanted to invite you to come for the Midwinter feast.”

“Had you?”

“Yes.”

“Your mother did, but I do not think I am able to come this year. I will see you soon, though. We can go walking, we can look for some interesting things to see and find something to draw together.”

“Will it be only you or will you bring your friend?”

“Who? Mairen?”

“She’s pretty.”

“Is she? I suppose. She’s very clever and she knows a very great deal about very many things. But she is also very busy and I think it might be difficult for her to find time to come with us. Besides I haven’t seen you enough myself and am not yet ready to share you, even with Mairen. Will you wait here a moment? I need to tell her I am taking you home in case someone should need me.”

“Why? What will she do?”

“See to things here while I’m walking you home.”

“Is it odd for her to see to things?”

“Is it odd that your mother takes care of things in Ost-in-Edhil?”

“No.”

“Then why should it be strange for Mairen to do the same here?”

“Mother is special.”

“I know. She is exceptional.  So is Mairen in her own way. So too are you. I’ll only be a moment.”

He took his cloak from where it rested across one of the chairs and walked out of the room. Unlike Mairen, he hadn’t fully closed the door behind him and Celebrían heard the sound of his steps as he walked down the hall. She also heard him knock once at a door nearby and the musical voice answering. They spoke quietly for a short while; Celebrían heard the rise and fall of their voices, her cousin’s slightly louder than the woman’s, but was not able to make out the words. But then it seemed that her cousin and his friend had left her study and were walking towards his.

“Why would you not go?” she heard Mairen ask her cousin.

“You know why,” he replied. “Quiet, though, I don’t want Celebrían to know.”

“Celebrían? That’s why you should go.”

“For her? I’ll visit her another day.”

“You say that and you mean it, but you and I both know how engrossed you become in a new project and we both know how many we have. You shouldn’t postpone it; it will hurt her if you forget. She will be very happy if you agree.”

“I will not have my cousin decide who I am allowed to befriend and who I am not.”

Celebrían wasn’t sure what he meant. She had said nothing about her cousin’s friends, even the very loud ones among the Mírdain.

“But she may decide and fairly too who she will allow in her home. I am not angry about it, and, if I am not, you should not be.”

The woman’s voice was quiet, not intended to carry or to be heard. Had her cousin closed the door completely, she’d not have heard it.

“She means it as a slight.”

“Then do not recognize it as such. I will not be the cause of your estrangement from your family.”

“She made that decision. You didn’t.”

“But you do not need to avoid her out of anger or pride; you needn’t do the same thing she does. Go to the Midwinter Feast. See your cousin. See her child. Invite her and them to each and every gathering the Mírëtanor host. If there will be a separation between you, let it be her doing. Do not do it for her. Not for me. I won’t be the cause.”

“Mairen, she means to insult you. Every other person of significance will be there. Everyone but you.”

“Isn’t it my choice whether I am insulted? I choose not to be bothered.”

“But ...”

“I will be fine; you needn't stay to keep me company.   One of the journeymen has invited me to feast with his family, and I think it a good time to learn more about the craftsmen of the Mírëtanor and their people. If the feast ends early, come join me there.  I suspect we will be later, and I am certain they would welcome you.”

She listened while her cousin paced.

“Tyelpe, this isn’t worth the fight. See your family. Be with them. You spend more than enough time working with me as it is. I should think you’d want time away.”

The pacing stopped.

“Go get the girl and take her home. Do you want me to tell her goodbye or is it better that I don’t?”

She didn’t hear his reply.

He opened the door, noting that it was slightly ajar, and then called to her.

“Celebrían, let’s see you home.”

She walked out the door towards them. Her cousin waited for her outside the door. The woman stood beside him, her hand lightly on her cousin’s arm. She was smiling, and, unlike her cousin’s, her smile was reflected in her green-gold eyes.

“Safe journey home, my new friend,” the woman said, her voice still light and still woven with music and laughter. “I am glad we met. How did you come in to the forges today? Did you come through the door in the back? The one in the alley? Or from the front?

“The front, my lady. I did not know there was a back way.”

“It’s Mairen, not my lady,” the woman leaned down to look directly at her and her smile changed, it became smaller, less open, the kind Celebrían saw on her friends’ faces when they shared a secret. “You did not? Tyelpe, why not take her out that way? She might find it interesting. It’s not used much, and it is an easier way to come and go if you don’t want anyone to see.”

Celebrían noticed that her cousin watched the woman closely and seemed about to say something to her, but shook his head and said only, “Very well, Mairen. I’ll take her that way, but you shouldn’t chastise me for creating trouble.”

“I am trying to avoid it; it’s better she knows about it if she intends to visit again,” said Mairen. She looked away from Celebrían to Celebrimbor and said softly, “Listen to me, friend. Listen.”

He nodded once and then took Celebrían’s hand, leading her from the hall. The woman remained standing quietly in the hall before his study.

The journey home was quick but lovely. Her cousin lifted her and carried her on his shoulders and he laughed in response to the stories she told and the people and thing she pointed out to him. They walked quickly through the streets from the busy thoroughfares near in the guilds to the quieter streets closer to where she lived. She passed her cousin’s home, neat and bright, and she noticed that her favorite home, located on the corner of street between her cousin’s home and her own, appeared to be occupied. It had long been vacant since its old owner had left for the Havens, and it had a walled garden in which Celebrían had played when she was much younger. She began to ask her cousin about it but he had turned to greet someone on the street and she forgot about it.

Not long after they turned the corner to the street on which she lived with her mother and father, her cousin tapped her shoulder.

“Ah,” her cousin said, pointing ahead. “We may be in luck. Here’s your father. We might escape without too much trouble.”

She saw her father walking in their direction. He seemed to have spotted them too and was hurrying in their direction.

“Did she come to see you? Was she there?” her father asked.

“Yes, she came to see me,” he cousin said. “Mairen found her in the forges and brought her to me.”

“She found her?”

“A journeyman found me, papa, and then the lady noticed. My cousin says she works with him and is clever,” she told him.

“I believe she is,” her father answered.

“They would have to meet at some point,” her cousin said quietly.

“I know,” her father replied. “I’m glad she found her and brought her to you. Dearest, I am glad you were able to see you cousin and glad he brought you home, but you know you aren’t to leave the house without telling your mother or me. You also know you aren’t to visit your cousin without us. We’ve been a little too careless allowing you among the forges unsupervised.”

“She’s never been ..” her cousin began and then stopped himself at a look from her father.

“What was so important that you felt you should ignore this?” her father continued.

“I wanted to invite him to the feast.”

“You knew he had been and was unable to come.”

“I thought he might change his mind if I asked.”

“Did he?” asked her father, looking at Celebrimbor and not at her.

“I did,” her cousin said quietly. “I would be happy to be my young cousin’s guest at her favorite feast.”

“Dearest,” her father continued, his voice was calm but she knew him well and knew this was the voice he used when he was worried, “did you ask anyone else?”

“No, father, I know I am not supposed to invite someone without asking permission first,” she replied, “You had already asked him. I was only repeating it.”

Her father did not answer but looked at her cousin. Celebrimbor replied quietly, “She invited no one else.“

He seemed unhappy again, and her father seemed a little sad too. Their expressions reminded her of the moments after she had argued with a friend. They might have apologized but some hurt remained, and she had often found it difficult to talk with them again.

Her cousin seemed about to leave, but she tugged at her father’s arm and asked if they might not invite her cousin to come inside. Her father nodded and asked if he would not like to come in and talk. She thought her cousin might say he needed to return, so she said, “Please. The lady said she would take care of things while you were gone. You haven’t been here in a very long time.”

“For a little while, then,” he replied, still looking at her father, but he followed her inside.

In the days following her visit to the Mirdain and before the Midwinter feast, Celebrían found herself immersed in the planning and preparation accompanying such a significant occasion.   In part, her pre-occupation with the planning and preparation for the Midwinter feast resulted from her mother’s displeasure when she learned of Celebrían’s visit to the Mirdain and her consequent restriction to the home and garden, unless otherwise accompanied by her parents, for the full week between that visit and the feast itself.   Her father had attempted to intervene, but it was of little use.  Celebrían found some consolation in the arrival of a strong winter storm three days into her confinement.  She wouldn’t have been able to leave the house much during it anyway.   Looking out of the windows of her chamber and into the street, silent and covered with a thick layer of snow, she wondered whether Andvari, the dwarf, had been able to set out for his home or if he still remained in the city.  She hoped he had not been caught unawares upon the road.

Her cousin’s visit had not been as cheerful as she had hoped.  But it had not been as difficult as it might have been.  Her mother had been out.  Her father had said that she was resolving a dispute between the members of the dyers’ and the weavers’ guilds.  The lecture Celebrían was certain to receive on the subject of her trip to the Mirdain had been consequently postponed until later.  But it was a difficult visit because her father and her cousin, as much as she loved them both and wanted to spend time with them, had difficulty talking to one another.  Her mother had often reminded her that they had little in common, having different temperaments and interests.  

They were both very thoughtful and were more likely to listen when in company than speak.  But her cousin was very curious, a quality she believed she shared with him.  He wanted to know how everything was made and how it worked, whether it was a plant, an animal or something Elves, Men or Dwarves had made.   He delighted in investigating everything.  He frequently took things apart to see how they worked, and, if it were possible, he put them back together.  Her father found this fascination of her cousin’s very peculiar, and he disapproved of it, much as he disapproved of Celebrían  when she asked questions that seemed to make someone uncomfortable.  He told Celebrían that Celebrimbor did not understand how to appreciate the natural world, but that he always wanted to improve upon it and did not pay attention to the consequences of his improvements.   Her father had said improvement in a way that Celebrían thought meant he didn’t really think they improved anything.

She wasn’t sure she agreed with her father.  She liked her cousin and she found him interesting and very helpful.  He repaired her mother’s jewelry when it was broken.  He fixed the things in their home that needed mending whether it was a door, a window, a lamp that no longer lit the room or a doll Celebrían loved.  He had invented tools that made their lives easier from an oven that heated more rapidly to a machine that made it easier for the household to finish its washing.   In the days in which she had been allowed to visit the Mirdain, she had often taken anything she had broken to him whether it was a shoe, a toy or a book.  She always received it back not only mended but often better than it had been before.   She loved her cousin.  He could be difficult.  He had forgotten her begetting day more than once.  He forgot arrangements they had made to spend time together, but, when she needed him and when he was with her, he was always attentive to her and usually more than a little magical. 

That day, he had dutifully helped her make a drink from the oranges growing in her family’s greenhouse, lifting a crystal pitcher from a high shelf and retrieving the sugar acquired from Umbar and hoarded carefully.  The oranges themselves had been a gift from Númenor many years earlier, she had been told, and they must be carefully tended because they would not survive a winter without care.   He had listened to her talk about the plans her mother had made for the Midwinter feast, and he had helped her decide that she wanted an apple tart rather than a plum one.   He had also listened to her father tell about happenings in the Woodland Realm where Oropher ruled.  It seemed very different to Eregion.   Her father had asked about the Mirdain and their projects, but he was never very interested in them and often disapproved of them.   Her cousin was seldom wiling to talk about them without her mother present and he had seemed less willing to discuss the doings of the Mirdain than usual.  

Celebrían had wished her mother were there.  Her mother had always been able to draw her cousin out of his silences and to coax a smile from him.   Celebrían had wanted to ask many more questions about the Mirdain, and she had wanted to ask him questions about Andvari and about Mairen.  But her father never wanted to talk about dwarves, and Mairen seemed to be someone about whom her cousin and her parents disagreed.  She had not understood and still did not understand why.  Mairen had seemed nice enough, and her cousin had seemed to like and to respect her.  It was strange, she had thought, for him to have a friend she had not met.  But her parents had often expressed concerns about her own choice of friends. For example, they did not like the builder’s daughter because she often slipped from her parents’ home to play in the quarter of the city where mortals and dwarves dwelled.  Perhaps they felt the same way about her cousin’s friendship with Mairen. 

Even as she had considered this possibility, her cousin had turned the conversation to her studies and to her friends.  He had been glad to hear she enjoyed studying mathematics and encouraged her to try again at lore.  

“But it happened so long ago,” she had complained.  “Does it really matter now?”

“Our people have long memories,” he’d answered.  “Don’t you want to know about the people of whom they speak and the things that happened to them?”

“But the scrolls are dull.”

“Then ask your father or your mother.  Ask me.  We lived through much of it and might make it a little interesting.”

She had agreed, albeit reluctantly.  Then she had remembered the friends her mother had allowed her to bring to the Midwinter feast, and he had listened quietly while she told him about each one and then about everything she had yet to do to be ready.   He had left not long after.  They had finished their drinks and had eaten the cakes cook had brought them, and then he had said he needed to return.   The apprentices, he’d said, laughing, to her,  are very excited about the season and they will not work as much as they should if he did not return to check on them.

“I thought the lady was going to watch them.”

“She was," he had replied. "She is.”

“And?  Won’t they listen to her?”

“Yes, she frightens them a little.  She is a little like your mother in that.”

“Why?”  She had known her mother intimidated the young men of the city.  She had never been certain why.

“She has high standards and expectations.  She’s much like your mother in that too,” he’d said.  He’d been smiling but the smile faded when he caught the look on her father’s face.  It was an odd look, one Celebrían thought wasn’t angry but was worried.  

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he’d replied, “but, in truth, I am curious about what they’ve accomplished and I would like to see before they leave for the day.   I am glad I saw you, my little love.  I look forward to the feast.”

“Will you dance with us?”

“With you, if you will honor me with a dance or two on a night when all will want to be your partner."

“With my mother?”

“If she’ll have me.”  He had laughed when he had said this, but Celebrían had thought it was a strange laugh, sounding sad rather than happy.

When her mother had arrived an hour or so later, Celebrían had known that she had already heard of her visit to the Mirdain.  Little time was spent discussing the weavers and the dyers.  Less upon the feast to come.  Still less upon her cousin’s visit.  She wondered if her mother had met him on the street and, if so, if they had quarreled.  Her mother’s face was closed and her mouth tight as it only was when she had argued with her cousin.  

Her father had attempted to skirt the topic of her visit to the Mirdain and to share as few details of it as possible.  He had tried to lead the conversation to a discussion of the dispute between the guilds, but her mother was not to be deterred.   She had asked a very great number of questions of Celebrían and of her father until the full story of her expedition to the Mirdain was told, including who it was that had retrieved Celebrían from the smithies and had taken her to Celebrimbor.  She seemed particularly angry about this.

“Why did she bring her to him?” she had asked Celebrían’s father.

Her father had considered carefully and answered that he believed Mairen to have been concerned Celebrían see her cousin as quickly as possible and had, perhaps, wanted to ensure the girl hadn’t been exposed to the more colorful language of the smiths.

“Are you sure she simply did not want to meet her?”

“She may have,” her father had said, “and why would she not be curious?  She works with Celebrimbor.  She may have wondered about his family.  She has not been included in any of our gatherings and many other members of the Mirdain are.”

“What did she say to you?” her mother had asked her.

Celebrían had thought that this was a strange question, but she had answered it.  “Very little.  She asked who I had come to see and told me she was glad to meet me.”

“Is that all?”

“That she said to me?  She said my hair was pretty.   I also heard her tell our cousin he should come to the feast after all, even if he had said he wouldn’t.”

“I’m surprised she did.”  Her mother had turned to look at her father and not at her.

“Why did he say he wouldn’t?  He seemed angry about it.  Why was he angry?”

“Did she tell you he was?”  Her mother's voice had been sharp.

“No, I wasn’t supposed to hear them, but I did.”

“I’m sure she ensured you did.  This is why I didn’t want you to visit there.”

Celebrían had not understand.  She had not known why her mother was so angry that she’d met the woman.  Mairen hadn’t said anything that wasn’t nice about her or her mother.  She had convinced her cousin to do what Celebrían and her mother wanted him to do and come to the feast.

 “Galadriel,” her father had said, “we should continue this conversation later.”  

Later, Celebrían had known, meant when she was not in the room.   

“Go help Elanor in the kitchen,” her mother had said.  “She said she would make the tarts you like so much.  I’m sorry I was angry.  I am worried and I do not like it when you do not follow rules we have made to keep you safe.”

Though she had listened to her mother and went into the kitchen, she had lingered near the door so that she could hear the conversation continue.   

“Galadriel, you cannot expect that they would not meet.”  Her father had sounded very tired and a little sad.

“I would rather they did not.”  Her mother had still sounded angry, but at whom Celebrían did not know.

“While the lady is with the Mirdain, she will live here and, as such, cannot be avoided," her father had sighed.  "I’m not entirely sure we should seek to do so.  It places your cousin in a very difficult position.”

“I do not trust her.”   Her mother had replied. 

“Neither do I," her father had answered in the tone she knew meant he wanted her mother to agree with him or, at least, not to argue with him.  "We are both unsure, but we have no proof upon which to base our suspicions, only the feeling that there is more to her tale than she has told.  Even that is not a crime.” 

“He let her in,"  her mother had continued, her voice louder than it had been earlier.  "He shouldn’t have.  He should have waited for us before he decided.”

“Be that as it is, he had the authority to do so and he did," her father had sounded as if he had raised this point before.  "We cannot grant him that right and then criticize each of his decisions.  That isn’t fair and that won’t ensure harmony among the three of us.   He has his concerns too, but he decided to wait and to watch.  I am not certain I would not have made the same choice.  She offers help we need.”

“Had you the message from Lindon, you would have.  It is only because she has knowledge he wants.  He is like his father and his grandfather in that.”

“Possibly, but there is no reason to believe — at this moment — that she is not who she claims to be.  I think your cousin did not want to turn help away based upon rumor and suspicion.  Much of that knowledge is valuable and would help us here, even I see that.”

“Why not turn her away?”

“If rumor and suspicion were reason to turn everyone away, would you and your brother have been granted shelter in Doriath?" her father's voice had been very gentle, as if he knew her mother had not wanted to hear this.  "He knows what it is to be judged unfairly.  He may err on the side of offering her a chance, but, if she is not what she claims to be, we should be able to uncover it soon.”

“But will he see it then?  Already he listens to her and follows her counsel.”  Her mother had sounded almost as if she were pleading.

“If you continue act as you are, he may not see it.  He is a very proud man, your cousin.  He is not young.  He is near as old as you are.  He is far from untried, and he is not the least wise of those living here.  But you have treated him as if he were an errant child and you have hurt him, and he does not thank you for it.”

“I don’t understand.”  Celebrían had not understood, but she had thought from her mother’s tone that she did and wanted to pretend that she did not.

"You have forbidden your child from visiting him at the Mirdain when she had done so for years because you are angry that Mairen is there.   That has hurt him.   You refuse to include the woman with whom he works so closely to gatherings with our -- his -- family but you invite several other masters of the Mirdain.   That is a slight he cannot pretend he does not see, even if she does," her father had paused, waiting she thought for her mother to answer.  Her mother had remained silent.    

"When you slight her as you have done, you slight him and his judgment," her father had continued speak softly and gently but his voice had become weary again. "He will think he has little choice but to support her in that circumstance.  Moreover, you gain her sympathy by insulting her so.   She need only be kind, forgiving and helpful, and the people will wonder what drives your dislike of the pretty and clever woman who is your cousin’s new friend.”

“Do you wonder?”  her mother had demanded, hurt very plain in her voice.

“No, I know you and I know him, but they might.”

Her mother had sighed then.   “What do I do then?  I do not trust her," she’d asked Celebrían’s father. 

He hadn’t answered.  At least he hadn’t answered the question she had asked.  Instead, Celebrían had heard him walk close to her mother and ask gently, “What is it you fear, love?  We are safe here.  What do you fear?” 

“We have been safe,” her mother had said.  “We have been safe here, and we have been happy.”

“Morgoth is gone.  He has been defeated,” her father had said, still more gently than before.

“But not all of his servants are. I fear a new darkness.  I am afraid of returning to years of shadow and of war.” 

“I know,” her father had answered.

“I was reluctant,” her mother had responded, and Celebrían had been surprised and concerned to hear the sound of tears in her mother’s voice.  “I was afraid even after so many years to have a child.  Always before it seemed fwe were running or were in danger.   After Morgoth was defeated, it seemed still so difficult.  We had to focus upon surviving and upon rebuilding.  But, then, we came here and, after a long struggle, we built this city and this realm.  We have had peace, and I thought we could now have the child we have wanted.  I do not want that threatened.  I do not want our daughter threatened.  I am afraid that he had endangered that peace because he was not able to resist the knowledge she brought.  I’m afraid he has done as his grandfather did and brought darkness among us.”

“That is not fair, love,” her father had replied.  “He is not his father.  He is not his grandfather.  He has spend most of his life atoning for their crimes.  Judge him for his own mistakes and not for theirs.”

“But I am afraid they are the same.”

“Why?”

“He chases his grandfather's legacy.  He wishes to surpass him."

"And?"

"This woman can help him.  But there is something ... She is too strong and too wise for the story she told.  She is too talented to remain here.  Why would she?  Unless the Valar forbade her return?”

Her father had sighed then and had remained silent for a long time.  Celebrían had heard the sound of him rising and then of his footsteps moving away from her mother.  Finally, she heard his voice, “And it seems strange to you that she might have chosen to stay?  Do you long to return so much?  This is my home, my love.  Middle Earth is my home.  I am not yet ready to leave it.” 

Elanor had then noticed her lurking by the door.  She'd lightly boxed her ears for eavesdropping and pulled her away.  Celebrían had secretly been glad as she followed Elanor closer to the stove and been given a piece of pastry to shape.  She had been hurt by this conversation, though she had neither understood it or why it hurt her.  Now, four days after it had occurred, she still did not understand.

The day before Midwinter dawned cold and bright.  The snow had ceased falling during the night, and Celebrían woke to the pale light of the morning sun slipping in through the shutters.   She heard voices laughing and chattering downstairs and knew the household had been busy with the preparations for the feast since before the dawn.  The kitchen was the heart of activity in the household, but this was never more true than in winter.   When the days began to grow shorter and the nights grew longer and colder, the great stove in the kitchen was kept burning throughout the night to ensure the house remained warm.  Four of the servants slept on pallets around the stove in order to tend to it.  Celebrían had once asked one of the serving boys if he was sorry to be the one assigned to this job.  He’d laughed and answered that he liked it because he knew he would always sleep warm.   

She had thought that was strange and asked him if he had not always been warm.  He had said that he had been since he had come to live with the Lord and Lady.  She had been confused and asked him why he had not been before since he, like she, must have lived in a house and houses were warm.  He had laughed again, though the sound was not as nice as his first laugh had been.  Then he said that it was easy for her to stay warm in her pretty stone Golodhrim house, but for one, such as he, the houses were wooden and the walls thin and the wind blew through them in the winter and even an elf might grow cold.   This morning, nestled in her bed and not yet willing to leave the cocoon of warmth formed by her blankets, she thought about what he had said and wondered if he were still glad to wake in a room already warm.

She rolled to one side and nestled a little more snugly in her blankets.  She knew she would have to leave the bed very soon, but she decided she could until she was called.   While she lay still, she thought about the conversation between her parents five days earlier.  She remained very puzzled by it.  She realized that she knew very little about her parents’ lives and her cousins in the dark time before the Great Enemy had been defeated.   Her parents seldom spoke about those days.  She knew it had been a time of war and of trouble, but she had learned more from the tales of the other Elves living in the city than from her parents' stories.   Her mother told stories, but those tales were most often of the years she had spent in Valinor and of her brothers.  Sometimes her mother’s stories made Celebrían wish she had a brother or two or a sister.  But, at other times, she was glad that she did not have to share her mother and her father with another child.  They were busy as it was.   Besides, Finrod, her mother’s favorite, would have always had her in trouble had he been her brother if only because she did not always want to do her chores and he seemed the sort who would always do his and be cheerful about it too.

Her father sometimes told her stories of Doriath where he had lived as a young man and where he had met her mother.   She loved these stories though or perhaps because they were so different to the ones her mother told.  Doriath seemed very strange to her, a woodland realm half in and half out of the world and a place where time flowed differently and magic lived in the trees and the flowers and in the people who lived there.   She had told her father that Doriath seemed very different to her own world and peculiar.  He had been disturbed by this, and so she had hurried to tell him that she liked it and wished to know it better.  He had considered what she had said for several minutes.  Then he had said that Doriath seemed strange because she had known only tall stone towers, stone buildings and high walls and that she had lived too long away from the music of trees and of the living world.  He had spoken to her mother about it, and Celebrían had traveled this past spring with her mother to spend the summer and most of the autumn in Lórinand with their kinsman Amdir.   There, her father had said, she would learn of green and growing things and see the beauty in Yavanna’s craftsmanship as well as Aulë’s.    Celebrían had liked Lórinand well enough, but she had missed her house and her friends and her father and her cousin.   

Her mother had loved Lórinand.   She had been given seedlings of very beautiful trees by the Tall Men from Across the Sea some years before and had been uncertain where she wanted to plant them in Eregion.   There were no places, she had said, for a forest of tall trees within the city walls of Ost-in-Edhil and a very great and a very old forest already lived near to the city as it was and needed no newcomers to add to its grandeur.  Instead, her mother had brought the seedlings with them to Lórinand and had planted them there as a gift to Amdir for welcoming them.   

Celebrían had expected Lórinand to feel the way her father’s stories of Doriath made her think a forest should feel.  But it did not.  It was very pretty and it was full of things that were green and growing.  But it did not feel alive with magic in the way she had expected.  There was a feeling, deep and strong, of life around her in Lórinand, of green things and growing ones singing their song of life to her, of the music of living things different to her, but they were not wholly unfamiliar as she had imagined Doriath to be.  She had felt those presences in Eregion too.  The holly and the pine trees sang their song to her in Eregion as did the delicate golden-leaved trees growing near to the mountains and the strong oaks of the forest nearby.   The songs of Lórinand were different to those sung by the trees in Eregion, but they were still recognizable to her.  

She had decided that the difference — the strangeness — at the heart of Doriath was not the presence of the trees or the sense of being surrounding by those things that were green and growing, but rather that of the Fay Melyanna who lived there among the trees and the magic she had brought with her.   It was Melyanna’s magic, her father had told her, that had been bound into Doriath and had made it secure and safe from the evil in the world.  Melyanna had many gifts and unusual powers, notable among them were the gifts of song and of enchantment, and she had walked in the forests of Beleriand for she loved the deep, dark woods and the fellowship of the trees and of the birds.  There she had walked, singing in the company of nightingales, and she had met Elwë, a lord of elves, passing through those forests with his people for he had been summoned to Valinor.  But, Celebrían’s father had said, an enchantment had fallen upon Elwë when he saw Melyanna and heard her song.  He had forgotten his people and his purpose.  Instead, he remained in those strange and darkening woods with her, gazing into her eyes and holding her hand.  So in love were they that seasons passed, trees grew and years came and went and still Elwë and Melyanna stayed.   Caught the spell of Melyanna’s voice and by love, Elwë never came to Valinor living but stayed there, in the woods, with her.

“How does one stay still for hundreds of years and not notice?” Celebrian had wondered.  

“You haven’t been in love,” her father replied.  “It does very peculiar things to time.  You may think you’ve spent only a moment or two looking at your beloved and then find that an hour or more has passed.”

“An hour,” Celebrían had observed, “is only an hour.  That’s very different from hundreds of years.”  

Her father had only kissed her and laughed.

“What happened to his people?”  Celebrían had then asked her father for this had not been part of the story he had told her.

“Some of them continued on to Valinor,” her father answered.  “Others and I was one stayed and searched for him, though we knew not where he had gone.”

“It seems a very good thing for him that he met her but a very scary thing for you,” she’d said.

“It was a little frightening,” he had replied, “But, in the end, it was a good thing too.”  

He had then told her how Elwë had founded the realm of Doriath with Melyanna and had taken the name of Elu Thingol.   Those people who had remained in Middle Earth and had searched for him had made their home in there with Thingol and with Melyanna, his wife.   They had been safe and protected in Doriath, even from the Great Enemy, because Melyanna’s love had bound her to Thingol and had bound her power to Doriath where they made their home.   Her power had lived within the trees and the grasses, in the flowers and in the water, and even in the caves underground.  With its protection, no enemy might enter Doriath and no evil could pass through its borders.  It had become, her father said, a place apart from the world, shrouded in magic and mystery.  Time flowed differently in Doriath because of Melyanna and her spells.   Those who strayed unwelcome into its borders would find themselves caught in her power and drawn into a peculiar current of time, where they would stay, even as time passed and the world outside changed.  

In Lórinand, Celebrían had found tall trees and magic.  But it was only the magic of root and leaf and of flower and vine, magic she had already known.   She had encountered no loops and no whirls of time.  She had found no magic that drew her from the living and the waking world.  She had been a little surprised, for this was something for which she had hoped, and then, after a little thought, she was not.   There was no Melyanna living in Lórinand.  No Fay walked its path with her beloved and sank her magic into the earth to shape the trees and to bend the very currents of time.  No Fay had offered a gift of protection and sanctuary nor had any left the knowledge with which to make it.  Lórinand, then, was beautiful as it should be and magical.  But its magic was an ordinary one, of the world and subject to the passing of time.   

This morning Celebrían lay within her warm blankets and wished for a magic, such as Melyanna’s, to bind time and to slow it.  She would have liked to remain in her bed longer and not yet have to step into the cold.  She would also like to go back a little in time, to the time before she went to Lórinand with her mother, to the time when her mother had not been afraid, to the time when her mother and her father and her cousin had been happy and at peace within one another, to the time before Mairen had come and all had changed.

But she knew such a thought was impossible.  They were not in Doriath were time might slow and, even, stop.  In Ost-in-Edhil, time flowed on.  In Celebrían’s home, it was, even now, moving forward with the sounds of someone walking up the stairs and to her room.    She heard Elanor call her name softly once and then louder a second time and slipped reluctantly from her bed.  She searched for her warmest robe and opened the door, not yet ready for the day to begin.

But begin it had and very quickly too.   Celebrían had been busy from the morning and through her midday meal and after.  She had helped Elanor make savory meat pies to be served to the groups of caroling elves that would serenade them this Midwinter.   She had helped the serving girls and boys pull the fine linens from their chests for airing before they were laid upon the tables and sideboards for service.  She had then helped her mother make the house ready for the feast.  They had searched for the dishes her mother wished to use, delicate pieces made by the potters’ guild, and fine crystal shaped by the artisans skilled at shaping glass with their breath.   They had helped to lay new rushes upon the floor.  They had pulled several small tables into the great room to make a single long one and then surrounded it with a number of other smaller ones.   They had also set chairs, pulled, it seemed, from every room in the house, around it and to find the four great chairs, two in the center for her parents and two at each end of the table, one for her cousin and the other for the High King’s representative from Lindon.  

The Midwinter feast her parents hosted each year was much different to the formal events held in the Great Hall where most of the city would come.  This did include the few remaining Noldorin and Sindarin nobility in the city remaining in the city along with any representatives from the Greenwood or from Lórinand and then several master craftsmen, not all but rather the ones recognized as pre-eminent in their trade.   Their families were also invited and were seated at several smaller tables surrounding the main.  An invitation to this feast was a sign of the Lord and Lady’s favor and thus of belonging in the city, even Celebrían recognized this.  To be excluded, particularly as a master of your craft, signaled their disapproval.  

Having finished those tasks, they now began to decorate the house itself, placing carefully trimmed boughs of yew and of holly over the doorways and the windows.  The Silvan elves who comprised most of those working in the household believed it warded away evil.  Some of her father’s people, the Sindar, followed the custom as well, but Celebrían had not noticed the same intensity of feeling and of belief when they arranged the boughs.  Her mother had said that they followed the practice because it was tradition and not because they truly believed it would stop evil spirits at the door.   She knew her cousin thought it silly.  Like most of the Noldor, particularly those of the Mirdain, he considered it superstitious nonsense and teased her mother about hanging it.  But he had never asked her mother not to hang the holly or the yew and he never mocked the servants for their beliefs.  He never teased Celebrían for he knew she thought it was pretty and that it made her smile.   He liked things that were pretty too.

After they had finished hanging the holly and had arranged the yew, Celebrían and her mother had turned their attention to the tables in the Great Hall and had begun to arrange the lights, delicate lights made by her cousin’s hand and using the old techniques developed by his grandfather, upon the tables.   One lamp, Celebrían noticed, had been broken, its casing cracked and flawed.  It still shone with light but too heavy a touch might shatter it and cut anyone near.   She picked it up by its base to carry it to the sideboard by the window, thinking she would ask him if he might fix it for them later.    As she walked closer to the window, she heard the sound of laughter and of people singing and talking in the street.  She set the lamp down and opened the shutter to see.   

A small group of elves seemed to be walking very slowly up the snow-covered street.  Or were they?  Celebrían looked more closely.  She realized that the elves were not only walked but were using shovels to clear a path through the snow that had accumulated in the street.  They were laughing and some were singing they shoveled the snow away from the houses and into the center of the street.   Their voices sounded familiar to her, and she realized, noticing that the lyrics to the song were ones that would have had her sent to her room for a week if she’d sung them around her parents, that the workers were the apprentices and the journeymen of the Mirdain.  At the center of this group, working among them and laughing with them, were her cousin and Mairen.

“Who is that and what are they doing?”  Her father had also heard the noise.

“They’re clearing the street,” said her mother as she stood her Celebrían, “for tomorrow.  To make it easier, I suppose, for people to journey out of their homes.”

“Mama,” she asked, “may I say hello?   Our cousin is there.”

“I don’t think ...” her mother began.

“Celebrimbor is there,” her father said.  “I think no harm will come to her in the street.  I think it would also be well if we said hello to him and to the new master.   We should learn more about her, especially since she is known to Celebrían, and we cannot do it unless we speak with her and with those who work with her.”  

“Very well,” her mother said.  “Take your heaviest cloak and wear your gloves.”   

She looked at Celebrían’s father.

“I’ll go too,” he replied.  “And you?”

“In a moment.”

Celebrían hurried. She found her cloak and pulled it around her shoulders while her mother looked for her gloves.  Once she had those in hand, she ran out the door and into the street and into her cousin.

“Hello,” he said and picked her up.  “I hoped I might see you.  I noticed we were near your house, and I have missed you.”

“Hello,” she’d answered and rested her head against his shoulder.   His hands, despite the heavy gloves he wore, were wet and cold from working in the snow.  His face, exposed as it was to the wind, was flushed and also cold.  “You’re freezing, cousin.”

“I’m not.  We’ve been working.  It keeps you warm.”

“Unless you mean your nose and my toes,” said Mairen, her voice warm and rich.  “Hello, little friend. I am glad to see you again.”

Celebrian smiled.   She wasn’t entirely sure what she should say to Mairen.  Her parents were unsure of her, but Celebrían found herself drawn to the woman, particularly to the sound of her voice.  Low, rich and honey-sweet, its sound fascinated her and she leaned close to listen. 

Mairen laughed, the sound of it warm and deep in her throat.  She patted Celebrían’s back and pulled the hood of Celebrian’s cloak over her head.  Then she took her shovel and began walking towards the other elves who’d stopped working to watch the scene.  Before she had reached them, she turned and began walking towards Celebrían’s house instead.   Celebrían noticed her father.  He must have followed her from the house and now stood near the street.   Mairen stood near him, leaning on her shovel, and began to speak with him.  Celebrían heard their voices as they talked.  

“This is a very kind gesture.”

“In a sense,” Mairen said, that thread of laughter lingering in her voice.  “But it is also a very interested one.  The weather has been warmer as you’ve no doubt noticed.  I was afraid that the snow would melt during the day only to freeze into ice overnight.  That would make it difficult and a little dangerous for anyone, the Mirdain included, to find their way to the markets and to the guilds tomorrow, not to mention the festivities that evening.”

Celebrian saw her father nod and heard him answer,  “That was thoughtful.”

“I don’t like to see time wasted,” Mairen replied.  “Speaking of which, we have been working on the shovels for the project we’d planned to begin in the spring.  We were able to test those a little today and see how they might be improved.”

Her father tilted his head and smiled.

“I might,” Mairen continued, “make a few changes in the design for snow and then others to work more effectively in harder ground and in rock.   It is difficult to craft a design that suits both purposes, but these worked well enough.”

She looked towards Celebrían’s father and, receiving no response, added, “Truth be told, we also needed to get them out of the forges and into the open air.  Several days of snowfall and young men with only their work to do and no other place to go leads to very quickly frayed tempers and emotions running very hot and high, particularly with a festival to come.  This will sort most of that.”

To Celebrían’s surprise, her father laughed.  “That must have been your idea.   I can’t imagine Celebrimbor noticing.”

“Then you’d be wrong.  It was a joint venture.   Granted, he had little choice but to notice after we’d broken up three arguments over who was going to dance with the master baker’s daughter,” Mairen paused and looked at Celebrían’s father.  “Is she that pretty?”

“Yes, Lisen is,” her father replied.  “The young men and some of the older seem to want to be very friendly with her for the good it does them.  She has only had eyes for one of the city guard, but her father is not yet given permission for them to wed.” 

“Ah, must they wait?”

“If she hopes to receive her dowry, yes.”

“Of course.” The expression on Mairen’s face, which had been so very open, seemed to close slightly.

“Are you trying to clear all of the streets?”

“Not entirely,” she replied, “I started a competition with the stonemasons’ guild and to clear most of the area around the market.  It went so very well that we continued it into the upper city.  Unless they’ve already been here, we have won.  I hope we have or I will have very little silver to spend come spring.”

“Why?”

“I promised to buy the winners wine for the festival if we lost.  The masons are serious competition and they can drink a lot of wine.  We’ve had a nice advance on a dwarven commission but I suspect my share will be downed if these fellows weren’t fast enough.”

Her father laughed again.   “Looking to build some camaraderie with the masons before the spring?  The project is a fine one and it should improve the lives of everyone in the city."

She nodded, "Thank you."

“What’s the sign of victory?”

“Your house,” she said with a slightly crooked smile.

“Then you’ve won, my lady, and your purse is saved.”

With the knowledge that they had won, the apprentices and journeymen of the Mirdain cleared the path to Celebrían’s front door and then the steps leading to it.  Afterwards, they lounged on the steps and entertained Celebrían with tales of their morning and afternoon adventures in the city.   

“It’s a long walk to the walls and back,”  said one of the youngest of the group, a slim boy with chestnut hair.

“Longer still if you’re shoveling,” retorted an older man, but he said it smiling.

“Which you weren’t,” replied the young man.

Celebrían thought that they were silly and that she liked being around them very much.  She also liked being around her cousin.  He sat next to her and bumped her shoulder with his once or twice, but he hadn’t said much.   Celebrían noticed that he seemed to be watching Mairen and her father.    Not very after they’d finished and sat down, Elanor emerged form the door to ask if the Mirdain would like something warm to eat and to drink.  Elanor also shot Celebrían a very pointed look, and Celebrían knew she was expected to return to the house and to help.  But she did not want to leave.  She wanted to stay a little longer with her cousin and she wanted to hear what else might be said.  She noticed the sound of voices approaching the house from a distance and then she saw Mairen rise and whisper something to the young men.  They divided into two groups, one following her and the other following the oldest of the journeymen, and walked to either side of her parents’ house.  Most of them also scooped up some of the snow and began to pack it into balls.  Celebrimbor lifted Celebrian and, carrying her, followed Mairen.  Celebrían thought some mischief was about to occur.  A moment later, she saw a second group of elves, clearly the stonemasons, approaching the rear of the house.  Then she saw a volley of snowballs directed at them from the side of the house opposite to where Celebrían and her cousin, waited.  After a few very loud curses, the stonemasons dropped their shovels and ran to the side from whence the attack at come, pelting the smiths with snow. 

“Now,” Mairen whispered and the group with her began to run after the masons.

She winked at Celebrían.  “We’ll outflank them, assuming everyone does as they are told and no one slips.”

Her plan, however, didn’t seem to last very long.  After only a few minutes, both groups appeared to have splintered and both the smiths and the stonemasons ran after one another in the street and chased on another.  Mairen herself was dodging snowballs thrown with considerable force and accuracy by Kemmótar, the very serious master of the guild, both laughing uproariously.   Celebrían herself was hiding behind her cousin and found herself making and handing snowballs to him as they slowly worked their way towards the other smiths.    She noticed that the snowballs were being thrown with more wildness and less accuracy, and then, to her horror, she heard the rear door of the house open and then the unmistakable slap of snow hitting a cloak, followed by the still more unmistakable sound of her mother’s voice.

“What is happening here?”  she demanded.

“My apologies, my lady,” Mairen said, dusting snow from her cloak and walking forward.  “It’s been a difficult few days indoors. I thought to organize some entertainment for the guilds that might also be useful to the city.  I apologize if we disturbed you on what must a day of great preparation.”

“I see,” her mother said.

“Artanis,” she heard her cousin, “you can’t be angry about ...”

“Much to her own surprise, Celebrian saw her mother bend low, scoop up a handful of snow and lob it at her cousin.  It hit Celebrimbor squarely in the chest but he only brushed it away and smiled cheerfully at her. 

“Thank you, Mairen,” her mother continued.  “I am very glad to find the street clear, even if I hadn’t expected to find a merry war outside my door.”

Mairen smiled and bowed deeply.   She walked over to speak to Kemmótar and then several of the men who’d worked with him.   He nodded.   Mairen then pulled a small pouched from her pocket and handed it to him.

“But I thought she won,” Celebrían said to her cousin. 

“She’s not paying the wager.  She is paying towards their work in a way.  It’s more a gesture of appreciation than any true payment,” her cousin said.  “But he’ll and they will appreciate later when they visit the tavern later.” 

“She seems good at that.  Talking to people and getting them to work for her.” Celebrian asked.

“With her,” her cousin said.  “But, yes, she is very good. Much better than I had expected her to be.”

“Is that ...”

“Is it what?”

“Odd.”

“No, some people are better than others,” he said.  “Your mother is.  Your father too.  I have had to work at it.  Mairen is good at understanding what people want and what they need.  She listens well and hears the things we do not always say.”  

He stopped and smiled at her.  Then he looked towards Mairen who was starting to walk away from them and towards the side of the house.  “Come on, little cousin,” he whispered, “Let’s catch her while she’s not expecting it.”  

They ran as quickly and quietly behind her, but she heard them and, laughing, started to run away.  But she wasn’t running very quickly.   Celebrían laughed as her cousin caught Mairen around her waist and, lifting her up, tossed her into a snowbank, only to have her catch his arm and pull him down with her. 

Celebrían heard them laughing at one another and walked a little closer.  She tried to stay out of their reach, but both caught her hands and pulled her into the bank with them.

“Her mother will be very unhappy with us,” Mairen said.   “We’ll have to bring her in before she gets too cold.  Are you too cold, little one?”

“No,” Celebrían answered.  “She said I could come outside, and that ... that was wonderful.”

“It was,” laughed Mairen.  “It was cold.  It was wet, and now I am cold and wet.  But it was absolutely wonderful.”

“It was,” said her cousin.  “I hadn’t done anything like this in years.” Celebrían noticed he was now speaking her mother’s language when we hadn’t before.     

“Like what?”  Mairen asked, shifting to the old language too.

“A snowball fight.  Or anything that ridiculous and ...”

“Wonderful,” repeated Celebrían.

“When was the last time?”  Mairen asked.   Celebrian turned her head to look at her. Mairen’s eyes seemed brighter and more green in the winter air.  She had turned where she lay in the bank and was looking across Celebrian at her cousin.

“I’m not sure,” her cousin said.  “Himring, I suppose.   Do you know it?”

Mairen shook her head.  “Should I?”

“It’s an island now,” he continued.  “But, before, it was a high plateau.   My uncle Nelyo built a fortress on it to guard the North against Morgoth.  He thought he — we, in truth — needed to be where the attack might come first.“

“Did it?”

“Eventually, but it came in other places too.  He was able to hold it for a time, but then it was lost and he moved farther to the south.”  He turned to face her too.  But he smiled at Celebrían and very lightly touched her nose with a finger.  She giggled and tried to catch his hand.

“We must have been there for Midwinter,” he said, resuming his story.   “Not all of us lived there with him.  We were scattered in order to try to hold more land against the Enemy.  But we visited one another often.  Nelyo we usually visited at Midsummer, but I remembering being there for a few Midwinters as well.  That time, I was there with my father and my uncle, Tyelko.  Macalaure was with Nelyo; he always was.  Carnistir had even come.  He didn’t always, and the twins.  Findekano also came.  That made it particularly special.”

“Because he was the High King?”  Mairen asked.  It had started to snow again, Celebrían noticed.  Mairen had too for she pulled Celebrían close and then wrapped her cloak over them both.   Celebrimbor noticed her do this and smiled briefly. 

“No,” he replied.  “It was special because we loved him.  Everyone did, but our family loved him very much.  Nelyo especially.  More than any other.  Always had.”

“Ah,” Mairen said, smiling softly herself.

“Finno had come to see him.  He was also the one to start it all, trying to make Nelyo laugh.  Nelyo wasn’t one to laugh much, not like Findekano.   He was often serious.  More so after the war began.  But, even before, I remember we would have to work very hard sometimes to make him laugh.  When he did, though, it was wonderful, irresistible.  Inevitably, we’d all start smiling and laughing with him.  Finno was the only one who found it easy to make him laugh; he always had and he always did.  Anyway, Nelyo was discussing something he thought was very important about the garrison and defenses at Himring, and Findekano hit him with a snowball.  Everyone was very still for maybe a minute while Nelyo wiped the snow from his face and then it became a fight for the ages.  None of Findekano’s retinue had any idea what had happened or what they should with the High King rolling around in the snow with my uncle.”

Celebrían noticed that he was smiling and that his eyes were very bright as he spoke.  Her cousin’s eyes were always very bright, brighter than her father’s, her mother’s or her own.   When she was younger, she had thought that she could see the stars in them.   She had decided that was silly when she’d grown a little older. Stars were in the sky and never fell into a person’s eyes.  People only said that sort of thing if they wanted to impress someone and not because it seemed true.   But, now, as she looked at him, she remembered and thought perhaps it was not entirely untrue.   Even as she thought this, something, Celebrían did not know what, changed.  The smile vanished from his face and the light dimmed in his eyes, and he seemed as sad as he had been the last time she’d seen him.  

“You miss them,” Mairen said very gently.   She reached across Celebrían and towards Celebrimbor.  She touched his shoulder lightly and then brushed the snow from where it had collected there and also in his hair.  “It’s alright to miss them.” 

Her cousin nodded but did not reply.    He slipped his arm under Mairen's and touched Celebrían’s hand where it rested atop Mairen’s cloak and took it in his very gently.  But his eyes returned to the woman lying on Celebrían’s other side.  Very softly, he asked her, “When was the last time you did this?”

Mairen didn’t answer immediately.  Her eyes were distant, looking over his shoulder at the falling snow.   Then she smiled  and met his gaze.  “I hadn’t,” she replied with a voice as soft as his.  “I hadn’t before.  This was new for me.”

“I remember very little snow in Valinor, outside of the mountains.”

“There was very little in the land of eternal summer,” Mairen said, and the music of her voice had shifted a very little.  “There was snow and a lot of it in the North during the war.  But we had no time to play even if we had somehow had the desire to do so.  

“And the East?”

“There was snow in the high mountains and in the reaches of the East far to the North.   But there was not snow where I traveled and stayed.   The seasons there were very different to how they are here or, even, in Valinor.  It was very beautiful with many strange and wonderful things to see.”  

“Like what?” asked Celebrían.

Mairen smiled.  “There are very large and beautiful cats with coats that seem touched by the sun,” she said and, turning to look at Celebrían, lightly brushed her cheek with her long, gloved fingers.  She then settled her hand on Celebrían’s shoulder and squeezed it gently.   "There are oliphants, almost as big as a house, and there are birds with plumes finer than than the finest cloak made by Men or Elves.”   

“As big as my house?”

“Not quite, little one.  But a small house, yes,” Mairen turned her gaze back to Celebrimbor and said very quietly, “It was very beautiful with wonders I had never seen, but it was not somewhere I belonged.”  

Celebrían noticed that her voice, still so very musical, had lost the thread of laughter she had grown used to hearing in it.  Instead, it sounded deeply and, to Celebrían’s mind, unaccountably sad.

Her cousin said nothing in response to this but released Celebrían’s hand from his hold.  Then he stretched his hand across her and very gently touched Mairen’s hand where it rested on Celebrían’s shoulder with the tips of his gloved fingers.  His hand lingered only for a moment before he removed it and reclaimed Celebrían’s hand.  The three of them remained quietly, half-buried in the snow.  Celebrían lay very still and watched the snow continue to fall, and, though she did not turn her head to see, she knew her cousin continued to look at Mairen and Mairen at him.  

After what seemed like a very long time but might only have been a moment or two, Mairen said very softly, “We really must bring her inside or her mother will have reason to be very angry with us indeed.”

Celebrimbor laughed, but he slowly raised himself into his arms and then to standing, being careful not to cause more snow to land on Celebrían or on Mairen.   He extended his hand towards Celebrían, and she took it and allowed him to pull her upright.   He reached towards Mairen, but she had already raised herself into a seated position and then neatly hopped to standing, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head and shoulders like a wet dog.   Celebrimbor pulled Celebrían away from flying snow and dusted what remained from her shoulders and her back.  Then he carefully lifted Celebrían into his arms.  

“I’m too big for that.”

“Not for me,” he replied.  “Never for me.”

Mairen laughed and pulled her cloak from her shoulders, wrapping it around Celebrían who tried to push it away.

“Do take it and let him carry you,” she said softly.  “You’ll be warmer.  He’ll be happier, and it’s only a little way.”  She leaned very close and pressed a quick kiss to Celebrían’s cheek.  “Are you too cold, little one?”

“No, but I don’t mind that we’re going inside.”

They walked slowly and carefully towards the rear of the house.  Celebrían noticed the door was already open.   Elanor stood in the doorway, clearly waiting for them.  

“The Lady says Mistress Celebrían is to go upstairs to bathe and to change before dinner.   Masters, the Lord has invited you both invited to come in and to warm yourselves with food and drink.  Some of your people are still here and some of the stonemasons too.  But others have begun to leave.   They are in the kitchen, near the stove.  The kitchen is not as fine as the great room or as you might be used to, but ...”

“It is warm and therefore perfect,” said Mairen.   “Thank you and thank your lord and your lady for us.”

Celebrían complained briefly, but her cousin smiled and said that they would at least stay until she returned.   Mairen smiled as she held a large mug of something with curls and whirls of steam arising from it and settled herself in front of the stove.  She waved as Celebrían was ushered unceremoniously upstairs. 

Chapter End Notes

Names are one of my (many) downfalls.   Kemmótar, with a very rough translator of builder of the earth, was nicked from Now We All Have Elvish Names.   A linguist I am not.  Other names, such as Elanor, borrow from ones we already know.  Still others, such as Lisen (apologies to Mr. Kay) and Andvari, borrow from other works and traditions because, in a number of ways, this 'verse is a thank you of sorts to the transformative works, stories, fiction and myths I've loved.

The project of which Mairen and Celeborn speak is a public works project she and Celebrimbor had planned to improve the city's sanitation and water supply.  Not as exciting, perhaps, as a ring, but she's a very big believer in the significance of local issues in politics and the need to build goodwill by fixing the potholes and other things.

Celebrían tried to hurry with her bath.  But her hands were cold and clumsy on the buttons and ties of her clothing, and she struggled to undo laces swollen thick and frozen by the snow.    The bath was more welcome than she had expected, though the water had been a little too hot at first and had made her feet and her hands turn pink. Her mother came to help her.  She made Celebrían scrub her face and her neck and then took the cloth to rub behind Celebrían’s ears.    

“I didn't like that they kept you out so long,” she said as she pulled a fresh dress from the chest at the foot of Celebrían’s bed.  “I was worried that it would be too cold and too wet.”

“It was cold and wet, but it was so much fun.”

“Finish drying off or you’ll still be cold and wet.”

“Mama,” Celebrían asked, hurrying to dry herself as quickly as possible. “have they gone?”

“No, your cousin said he would wait for you, and so he has.  He needed to warm up and dry a little.” Her mother had found another bath sheet and began to rub Celebrían’s hair with it.  “I think he was as wet as you, perhaps more so.

“And Mairen?” asked Celebrían.

There was a very brief pause, and then her mother said.  “She waits for you too. I left her sitting in front of the fire, warming her feet and looking very much like a silly girl of about your age.”

“What is it about her?” Celebrían asked as her mother took a comb to her hair.  “Why does our cousin like her and you do not?”

The comb had become caught in a snarl of hair, and Celebrían winced as her mother dragged the comb through it.  “I do not know.”

Hair almost dry and tightly braided and wearing a clean and very warm dress, Celebrían followed her mother down the stairs and into the kitchen.  Most of the apprentices and journeymen of the Mírdain and of the stonemasons’ guild had already left, but her cousin remained along with Mairen and Kemmótar.  They had been joined by Atanvardo, another of the Mírdain’s master smiths. He had known her cousin in Nargothrond. The four of them and her father were seated on short benches around a table.  They had mugs of hot cider in front of them and were eating bowls of stew. A loaf of bread with a golden crust sat on a trencher before them with a crock of butter and another of honey. 

The table at which they sat was Celebrían’s favorite and of an unusual design.  It was normally located beneath the window and decorated with the different fruits and vegetables Elanor found at the market.  But it was sometimes used by Celebrían and her parents when they had no guests and when her parents wanted a simple meal without the formality involved in dining in the great room.   It had a rectangular top crafted of warm light brown wood. The three of them easily sat at it with room to spare. But — and this was what Celebrían liked most about it — it might be made larger in order to accommodate more people.  It had two leaves cleverly hidden beneath its top. On occasions, such as these, when there were more than the three of them to seat at the table, these leaves were pulled out to form a table twice the original size. Two pairs of legs, shaped like gates and typically folded against one another in the center, were then pulled out to brace the leaves and to hold the table in place.   Her father sat on the side closest to the stove. Kemmótar and Atanvardo sat to his left while Mairen and her cousin sat directly across from him.    

Celebrían’s father saw her first and, smiling, beckoned to her.  She slid onto the bench beside him. Her mother sat down on the bench next to them and across from Kemmótar and Atanvardo.   No sooner had Celebrían taken her seat then Mairen stood and moved to the stove. She whispered to Elanor who handed her two more bowls of stew and pointed at one of the countertops.  Mairen set the bowls before Celebrian and her mother and then retrieved two more mugs of cider. She then walked to the countertop and began looking around it with a small frown on her face.

“To the left, mistress,” Elanor said.  “In the green crockery.”

“I see it now,” replied Mairen.  “Thank you.”

She returned carrying the crock and a short knife.   She set the crock before Celebrían. It contained a dry cheese.

“It’s very good sliced very thin and stirred into your stew.   Would you like to try it?” she asked.

Celebrían nodded.

Mairen lifted the cheese.  She held it over Celebrían’s bowl and cut very thin slices, finer than those Elanor or her father cut.  Mairen’s hand was very sure and she wielded the knife deftly. These slices, parchment thin and translucent, dropped neatly into the bowl.    

“Now stir it,” she said.  “Tell me if you’d like more.”

The stew was thick and contained large white beans and potatoes and a savory root in it.   The cheese melted into the stew easily. When Celebrían raised it to her mouth and tasted it, she noticed it tasted a little creamy, a little nutty, and salty.    She tilted her head and looked at Mairen.

“Oh, no,” said Mairen, laughing, “You don’t like it and I thought you would.”

“I do,” Celebrian replied.  “It’s different to what I’ve had and I needed to taste it and to decide.”

“An excellent course of action.”

“What have you been doing?” Celebrían asked.

“How did we entertain ourselves while you were away from us?” Mairen asked.  “It was difficult, but we’ve survived. We’ve been telling stories of Midwinters past and times long gone.  Do you like such stories?”

“Very much,” Celebrian said.  

“Shall we tell you some before we go?”

“Please,” Celebrian replied.  “My parents don’t tell many.”

“Yes, we do,” said her mother.  Celebrían noticed the sharp note in her voice.

“You tell stories of very long ago when you lived somewhere very different,” Celebrían said.  “You don’t tell stories of here. You don’t tell stories of our world here.”

Her mother seemed about to respond, but she looked briefly at Celebrían’s father and remained silent.  Instead, she stood and walked to where Elanor stood at the stove.

“Those were difficult times, my love,” said Celebrían’s father.

“And, sometimes,” Mairen said, “we do not want to trouble the ones we love with difficult times, particularly when their memory may still cause us pain.  Sometimes we want to tell them stories of happier times. Sometimes we want to tell of those we loved who are no longer here and who they may not meet for many years.  Other times that is too hard.”

Her mother remained at the stove and did not answer, but, from the set of her shoulders and the way she held her mouth shut, Celebrían knew she had heard Mairen.

“Perhaps,” said Celebrían.

“Sometimes even the happiest times are difficult to remember when those you loved are no longer with you,” said her cousin.  “But you’re so young and you’ve known only peace. You wouldn’t know that. I hope you never do.”

“It is still good to remember those we loved and miss,” said Kemmótar, “particularly at times such as these, times when the days and the seasons change.”

“And there are good stories, despite the darkness of those days,” said Atanvardo. “I dare say we may find one you enjoy.”

“Shall we have a contest?  And see which one she prefers?” asked Mairen.

“Yes, please,” answered Celebrían.  Mairen and her cousin smiled at her excitement while Kemmótar and Atanvardo laughed.

“Very well.  But we must ask permission of the Lady of the City first,” said Mairen and she turned to Celebrían’s mother, sketching an elaborate salute from her seat.   “May we have a contest of stories, my lady? With your daughter as the judge?”   

“Why not?” Celebrían’s mother answered, but Celebrían knew she did not like the idea.

“If everyone has finished, let us retire to the library,” her father said.  “It is a place better suited for the telling of tales.”

They carried their bowls and mugs to the counter.   Mairen laughed and said they should wash them before they left, but Elanor brushed her away.   “Go on, mistress,” she said, “the little one would like a tale and the dishes will keep for a little while.”  

The library was one of Celebrían’s favorite rooms.   It was not the largest room in the house, but it was also far from the smallest.   The ceilings were high and the walls lined with shelves for books and for scrolls.   Both her father and her mother had a table at which they sat and where they might work.  Her mother’s was currently littered with ledgers containing the business of Ost-in-Edhil along with a set of scrolls detailing the healing properties different plants.   Celebrían also noticed another thin book, bound in red with gold lettering, with the title “Of the Enemy and his Servants.” It seemed a strange book to read with the Enemy defeated and his servants dead or scattered.    In contrast to her mother’s workspace, her father’s was very neat and tidy. Two books regarding the trees and native plants of Eastern Beleriand sat upon his desk along with a scroll seeming to show plans for what appeared to be a very tall and long bridge.   Celebrían wondered if it had been built and, if so, where. Another book, entitled Notable Gardens of Gondolin: Creativity in Confined Spaces by someone named Glorfindel, rested under it.

A hearth in which a fire had already been laid was located at the far side of the room.  Over it was a fine mantel, fashioned of marble and shaped as if it were two holly trees, one upon each side, with branches that met and twined in the middle over the hearth.  It had been her cousin’s design but had been crafted by Kemmótar. Surrounding this hearth were several very comfortable chairs and one longer and graceful couch with a tall curved back and rounded arms.  A table sat before on the couch. Two bottles of wine and a tall slim pitcher filled with what smelled like cider had been placed upon the table with mugs and glasses arranged before it. Kemmótar and Atanvardo settled in the two chairs to the right of the fire.  Celebrían’s mother sat in the chair farthest to the left. Her father chose the one nearest the couch. Celebrían’s cousin stood near the tables and watched Mairen as she walked slowly around the room looking at the shelves.   

“It’s a most impressive collection,” she said, smiling.   “So many dating from the First Age. How were you able to salvage them?”

“Not easily,” replied Celebrían’s mother.

“I should think not,” Mairen answered as she pulled one from the shelf and opened it.  “This is a room in which to be happily lost.”

“Mairen, my friend,” Celebrimbor said,  “try not to lose yourself before the stories begin.  Celebrían might be disappointed as would you if you lost the chance to complete because you were distracted by a book on dangerous plants.”

“That is true,” she answered, smiling.  “I would hate to miss the opportunity to complete or to entertain our young friend.  But this is, truly, a wonderful place.” She looked at the scene before the fire and walked to the table at which Celebrían’s mother worked.  She lifted one and then another of the books resting on it and smiled very slightly. Then, moving gracefully, she moved her way to the couch by the fire and settled at the end nearer Celebrían’s father.    Celebrimbor sat at the other end, close to Celebrían’s mother, and motioned for Celebrían to come and sit next to him.

“Who should begin?” Mairen asked.  “We might draw lots or Celebrían might choose.”

“Or someone might offer?” said Atanvardo.   

“That is also true and would work as well,” Mairen replied.

“Then I shall begin,” said Kemmótar, “assuming there are no objections.   It is a dark tale in places, though the beginning and the end are happy ones.  But I think that the long night of bleak Midwinter are a fine time for tales touched by a little darkness.”

He began to tell a tale of the earliest days before the sun and the moon when the only light in the world outside Valinor came from the stars.  The elves had but awakened and lived at Cuiviénen on the shores of the Sea of Helcar. At Cuiviénen, the first three elves and their wives sought for and found others of their kind, all of whom were beginning slowly to wake from their long sleep.   Together they lived, drinking deeply of the water of awakening. They learned to communicate through speech and through song. They began to grow their own food, planting grain and beans and searching for greens and fruits in the forests. They hunted the birds and deer within the forest and gave thanks to their maker for the gifts that allowed them to survive. They developed customs through which they might live peaceably.  But one day, jealous, perhaps, of the contentment in which the elves lived, shadows began to appear within the forests surrounding Cuiviénen. The shadows had no faces that the elves could see, but they had sweet voices. The shadows began to call the elves into the forest, telling them of many strange and wonderful things they might find. Most of the elves would not follow the shadows and remained safe by the water. But some few listened and followed them.  They did not return. Though others looked for them, they were not be found, and the elves grew frightened. They would no longer go into the forest alone, but only in groups of three or four to ward the shadows away.

After a time, perhaps less than a year, the shadows disappeared, and the elves slowly began to think themselves safe.  They began to wander in the forest again, though only in groups and never alone. But then one such group hunting in the forest caught sight of a beautiful white doe in the forest.   In their pursuit of her, they walked much farther into the woods than they had before and became lost. They looked to the stars for guidance but the stars were not to be seen above the thick canopy of forest leaves.   They tried to retrace their steps but were not able to find them. Though they saw no shadows, their old fears began to rise again, and they heard the sound of laughter, wild and fierce, in the dark. It was followed by the keening call of an animal on the hunt and the sound of feet running fast in the stillness of the forest.  As they stood still, unsure of what approached and very afraid, they heard the sound of approaching hooves, hooves that belonged to a beast far larger than the doe they had hunted in the forest. With the sound of the hooves falling, the wild laughter had returned. It grew nearer, and they began running. But they knew that they were pursued and so it happened that they found themselves in a clearing in the forest.  As they stood there in the open space, a tall Rider, clad in black and mounted on a tall black horse, entered the glade from the opposite side. They shrank back towards the tall trees, but, even as they thought they might turn and run, a second Rider emerged emerged. This one was clad in white and seated upon a pale horse. Where the Black Rider had been alone, the White Rider was surrounding by a pack of wolves which arrayed itself around the Rider and leapt around the horse in anticipation.  The amber eyes of the wolves glinted in the light and their noses scented the air while their tongues lolled from their mouths as if they tasted the elves’ fear. The eyes of the White Rider were amber too. They glinted yellow and fierce in the night, and the elves shrank back and were very afraid. The White Rider saw this and laughed, and the sound was high and clear and cruel.   

The elves knew not how they might defend themselves against such Riders, and so they turned and fled.  Fast they ran through the forest, not knowing whether they ran towards or away from their home. They stumbled, fell and grew weary but they dared not stop for they still heard the fall of hooves, the sound of laughter  and the call of the wolves on the hunt. They were very near to despair when they caught sight of the white deer and followed her as she seemed to move away from the sounds of the hunt. The deer ran fleet through the forest, leaping over rocks and fallen branches, and she turned sharply and began moving towards an area were the trees seemed to be thinner and the path more clear.    Then she began to slow and then to stop. The elves looked at her, but she began to back away from them into the woods. Then they looked in the direction of the path on which they had traveled. They saw trees they knew and heard the sound of familiar voices in the distance, and they knew they were almost safe and almost home. But, as they began to walk towards those voices, they realized that one of their number was gone.  

The elves were very afraid of the Riders and their wolves and dreaded the possibility that they might encounter them again in the forest.   Sometimes, when they entered the forest, they heard wild laughter on the wind and the rush of falling hooves in the distance. Other times the yip and cry of the wild wolves sounded in the darkness surrounding the shore, and, from time to time, a party of elves would travel into the forest and find that one of their number failed to return, though no one saw how they were taken.    In such fear did they live that the elves refused to travel alone and dared not journey far from the shore. But they still must hunt and eat, so, one day, around the turning of seasons, their leaders led a party into the forest. As before, one hunter saw a white deer, thought it was no doe but a stag with a crown of antlers very tall and wide. Some grew frightened for they remembered the Riders and their wolves.   They grew still more frightened when they heard the high yip of a hound and the rush of falling hooves. But they dared not run. From a distance, they heard a pack of hounds approach, but, when the hounds grew close, the elves saw that these were no wolves. Before them were hunting hounds with coats that were all white and with strange silver eyes. They yipped and chattered, bowed and leapt among each other, and they were followed by another Rider.  This Rider was tall and his head was crowned with the antlers of a mighty stag. He was seated upon a fine horse, neither black or white, but silver in the starlight, and he wore very little, only leggings made of a very soft and supple hide and light boots that laced. When he saw that they were afraid, he called his hounds to heel and dismounted from his horse. Then he came near and spoke with them. They told him of the shadows and of the Black Rider and of the White, and he told them of his own homeland in which there was light, brighter and finer than the stars, and where there was peace. It was far to the West, but he asked them if they would not come.  They would be safe there and happy and bathed in light. They need not fear on their journey for he and his wild hunt would travel them. The hunt would pursue any Riders who came from the Dark and chase them to the very ends of the earth.

“The ends of the earth are very far,” said Mairen softly, “and the wild hunt fierce pursuers.  I would not have wanted to be one of the Riders out of the Dark.”

“True,” said Atanvardo.   

“What happened to the elves that went missing?” Celebrían asked.

“They were taken by the shadows,” said Kemmótar, “and brought to the Great Enemy.”

“He coveted their beauty and the light he perceived within them,” Mairen said.  “He wished to take it from them, and, when he failed, as he must for light within may not be truly stolen, he decided to alter them and to make them in his own broken image.”

“Light may be stolen,” said Celebrimbor, “for he stole the Silmarils.”

“Stole them, but did he ever possess them truly?  Was he able to touch them without being burnt? Was he able to enjoy their light or did they not dim once placed in his crown? I was told that when the Thangorodrim was broken and Melkor captured, that the Valar looked upon the Silmarils.  They saw that the jewels appeared dim and would not shine until they were removed from his crown. Then they blazed with light for having been freed,” Mairen answered. “It may only be a story, but I think your grandfather would not have wanted his creations blazing in Angband for Melkor’s pleasure.”

Her cousin laughed, and that made Celebrían smile.  He saw and pulled her close against him, and then said to Mairen.  “I am not sure he would be able to contrive such a thing. The stones were filled with light itself and would have shone even in the dark.  But, perhaps, their brilliance was greater once removed from the iron crown for the joy of being in the light again. Still he would have been glad to know that the jewels failed to give Morgoth the pleasure he sought.”  

“I know it is Midwinter, but think we venture too close to that darkness,” said Celebrían’s mother.  “Perhaps the next tale might have more of the light in it.”

“Perhaps you would care to tell it?” Mairen inquired.

“Not this night.”

“A pity,” said Mairen.  “If the Lady is unwilling, then who shall be next?”

“I shall,” said Atanvardo, “though — and my apologies to my lady —this tale may not be as dark but it is not without its strangeness.”

As Celebrían leaned against her cousin, Atanvardo began to tell a very different story.  This story was the tale of an elf warrior, one of the Avari who’d not come to the Blessed Realms with the others.   When the others left, he had feared another assault by the Riders from the Dark and so he had decided not to remain at Cuiviénen.  Instead, he sought a safer home for his people, one the Riders and their shadows would not know. He traveled west with his people and searched wide and far.  Finally, near to the mountains now called the Blue, he found a place to stay. It was a valley nestled into the foothills, near to a river, and located within the shelter of the mountains.  He saw that the land was fertile and noticed an abundance of game to hunt and fish to catch. He hoped that the place, being far from where they had been, might provide some sanctuary from the Riders.  But he worried. He spent many hours and many days contemplating how he might ensure the safety of his people. One day as he was walking in the valley and considering this very problem, he encountered a very beautiful lady.  She was seated by a spring he had not yet noticed and dipped her hand into the water. She saw that he was troubled and asked him what it was that caused him grief. For reasons he did not fully understand but perhaps because she was very beautiful and because he was already very near to falling in love her her, he told her.  She listened, and she smiled a very secret smile. Then she told him that he should return the next day because she would have an answer for him. He did. The lady was there, waiting for him and smiling the same secret smile. She told him that to make his people safe he must gather several thousand stones, all of a certain size, and made of the strong white rock found near the mountains.   He must not return, she continued, until this was complete. Once it was, he should come and she would tell him what he must do next.

The task was long and slow and very difficult.  It required the help of all of his people. They worked as many hours as they dared, into the night and early in the morning and still it was more than a year before it was done.   At that time, he returned to the spring and, once again, he found her there. She sat, running her fingers through the water and smiling the same smile, and she asked him what he would give to make his people safe.   

“Anything,” he replied.

“Anything?” she queried.  “Anything at all?”

“Anything.”

She smiled that secretive smile a little longer and watched him closely.  Then she stood and, walking over to him, kissed him once and lightly on his mouth.    “If you will marry me, I shall keep your people safe from harm.”

The warrior was surprised at his good fortune.  He thought the lady very beautiful and he was already mostly in love with her, and he thought of many things more difficult than marrying a woman so fair and so wise.

“Yes,” he answered.

“There is one condition,” she said.  “You must hear it first.”

“What is it?” the warrior asked.

“I will marry you.  I will love you for I already do.  I will protect you and your people, and I will bear you children unlike any others in this world.  All I ask in return is that you do not follow me when I come to this spring to bathe.”

It seemed such a small request, and he granted it easily with little thought about it.

She took his hand and they walked together to the place where his people waited.   In the sight of all, they pledged themselves to one another and spoke their wedding vows.  There was much celebration among his people who danced and sang and rejoiced into the night.    The warrior and his lady had their own private celebrations to make the marriage true. So it was that both the warrior and people slept a very long while.  How long it was difficult to say with no sun and no moon to mark the passage of the hours and days. But when they awoke, they were very surprised to discover that they now lived in a very fine place.  Walls, seemingly built of the same white stone, had grown around them, a city too, and a fine and strong building, one we would call a castle, sat at its center.   

The warrior was greatly surprised, but his wife said only that this would keep his people safe and any Rider at bay.   

For many years, they lived together in that castle behind the safe walls and strong gates, and no shadow or Rider disturbed their happiness.   But every so often the lady would leave her husband, her castle and her city to walk down the path to the spring where she had once been found.   The warrior wondered why she choose that place to bathe, and he had made fine tub of a very beautiful stone and fine bath mats and sheets. But those were never used.   He continued to wonder, and the questions he had grew until he was no longer able to ignore them. And so one day he followed her to the spring. He moved as quickly and quietly as he dared, and he was not sure what he would see.  He had feared he might find her with another. He had wondered whether she met someone in secret there, but he saw no such thing. Instead, he saw his wife, beautiful as she had always been, slipping the clothes from her body and stepping into the cool and deep water.  He watched her bathe and then splash and play, and then he noticed that she no longer had the long and lovely legs he had known. Instead, they had shifted, changed and been transformed into the large and powerful coils of a serpent’s tail. It shimmered in the starlight, glinting green and gold and blue, its scales reflecting the pale and delicate light of the stars.   Strange he thought it was and magical, and he thought too how very happy she seemed to be at play. Even as he thought this, the splashing ceased and the play and her eyes became fixed upon the place where he hid. He remained still and made no sound, and, eventually, she looked away. He turned then and moving quietly left the spring and returned to the castle. She did not come back, not in a little or in a very long while.   She left no word, and he knew not where to find her. He began to search for her. He wandered to the spring, but she was not there. He went through the forest but she was no place he could find. Eventually, he left the castle and the town and his people, and he searched far and wide. Finally, in another wood, in another land, by another spring, he saw her, sitting and running her fingers through the water.  

“I have missed you,” he said.

“I know,” she replied.

“Will you not return home?”

“I have no home, not where you are.  I asked one thing and one thing only of you, but that you were not able to give.  Your people will remain safe and your town too, but I shall not return with you.”

Celebrían thought this a very strange and very sad story, and she asked what had happened to the man.

“He wandered,” Atanvardo said, “and wanders still for I know.  He did not return, knowing she would not.”

“Was she evil?”

“Why would you think that?” Celebrían’s father asked.

“Wasn’t she a monster?”

“How so?” Mairen queried.  “What did she do that was monstrous?”

“She had a tail.”

“Indeed, a pretty one too,  but was anyone hurt by it?”

“No.”

“Did she not do good things?” Mairen continued.

“She kept the man and his people safe.”

“And are those not good?   Do you not think it is our intentions and our choices that define whether we are good or not and not something arbitrary such as red hair or a tail?”

“She wasn’t evil, love,” said her father.  “Can you not guess what she was?”

“I don’t ...” began Celebrían, but she stopped and she thought.  As she sat and as she thought, she saw Mairen’s eyes upon her. She noticed how her eyes glittered green and gold in the firelight and was reminded of the glint of starlight upon the scales.   Then she realized and said, “She was a Fay, Papa. The woman was a Fay.”

“Yes,” her father said, “and she loved an elf, and he loved her.  But he did not understand her and so she left.”

“He did not trust her,” Mairen said.  “He did not trust that she had made a request for a good reason, and so he betrayed her trust.”

“He was curious,” said Celebrimbor.  “Can you blame him?”

“No,” Mairen replied.  “But should he have acted upon it?  She had trusted him.”

“Did she?” he answered.  “She did not tell him or allow him to explain.  Perhaps he should not have looked but did the years they had spent together not matter to her?”  

“Did those years not matter to him?  He did not need to do the single thing she had asked him not to do.  If he had a question, he might simply have asked.”

“Perhaps they were simply too different in the end?” Atanvardo said.  “Perhaps their natures were too different?”

“In what way?” asked Kemmótar.  “It seems to me that their marriage failed due to their inability to trust one another rather than any difference in who or what they were.  She did not trust him with who she was. He did not trust her to allow her to have her secrets.”

“How is a Fay different to an elf or a Man?”  asked Celebrian.

“Besides the tail?” Celebrimbor asked lightly.

“They have different and powerful abilities,” said Celebrían’s mother, “and they do not die.”

“But elves have magic and we do not die,” Celebrian replied.  “So how is it not the same?”

It is similar, but not the same,” her father said.  “The Fay are different to us.”

“How?” asked Celebrían.   

Neither her mother nor her father answered.  Both appeared to be considering how to answer the question.  But, before either one did, Mairen spoke.

“The Fay are similar to you in many ways and different to you in others.   As your mother said, the Fay are more powerful than the elves and have abilities the elves do not.  Shifting their shape, as the Fay in Atanvardo’s story does, is one such ability.”

“How do they do that?”

“It is part of their nature.   Think of it in this way, you — Celebrían — are made of body and spirit.  Am I not right?”

“Yes.”

“Your spirit is born into a body and your body is very strong since it — and you — may live a very long time.  Now, let’s take your cousin for an example. He is quite a bit older than you are, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“He is an adult, clearly.  Has he grown older during the time you’ve known him?

“Yes.”

“Does he appear so?  Does he look any older to you?”

“No.”

“And he will not in a yeni or in two.  Perhaps in twenty we might see a change.  Perhaps not. Have you known him to be sick?”

“No.”

“He may, sometimes, not feel well, but he is unlikely to die of an illness as a man is.   However, it is possible that he may become injured and that, if the injury is too severe, his body may no longer able to house his spirit.   It is also possible that his spirit may no longer wish to remain in his body should he suffer a very great grief. What would happen in either of those cases?

“His fëa would go to Námo and wait in his halls?”

“Why?”

“To be re-embodied.”

“When?”

“How did I become the example?” Celebrimbor asked.

“You were useful.  Why else?” replied Mairen.  “When would he be re-embodied?”

“When Námo decides it’s time.”

“When Námo decides that you have reflected sufficiently upon your life and have repented sufficiently and healed adequately from any spiritual injuries you may have sustained.”

“Spiritual injuries?” Celebrían asked.

“Grief.  Loss. Trauma.”  Mairen continued briskly.  “May you choose to be re-embodied when you want, if that is not Námo’s wish?”

“No.”

“Can you create a body without his aid?”

“No.”

“There are the differences,” said Mairen.  “The Fay are not born into a body as you are.  They are primarily beings of spirit and may exist in the living world without a form whereas you may not.  But, while the Fay do not require a body, they often find it useful to create one.”

“Why?” Celebrían wondered.

“If a Fay had no body, they might find it difficult to live in the physical world and among the Children of Eru.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If I were a Fay and had no form,” Mairen explained.  “I would not be able to sit with you where you might see me.  If I tried to speak with you, I might frighten you. But, with a form, I may talk with you and laugh with you.  I might be able to eat with you. I might even be able to dance with you and to hug you.”

“And the Fay would want that?”

“Yes,” said Mairen, “the Fay care for and are concerned with the Children of Eru and they wish to walk among them and be near them.”

“So they make a hröa?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“And it can be anything?”

“Not quite.   It can be fantastic as was the form taken by the Fay in Atanvardo’s story, but it seldom is since such a form might frighten the Children.   You would not like it if I appeared with a tail.”

“But you aren’t a Fay.”

Mairen smiled her secret smile.  “Still there are limitations to the types of forms a Fay might take.”

“Like?”

“They are limited by their own natures.  Were I a Fay, I would not be able to appear like your father or your cousin or these two good masters here.  The forms I might take, whether it happened to be one of the Children or of an animal, would be female and not male.   I might also be limited in other respects as well. I might prefer to take the form of a cat than of a deer or of a rabbit because a cat’s nature is closer to mine than a rabbit’s is.  Granted, in this case, I could take the form of a rabbit, as long as it were female, but it wouldn’t be my first choice. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“There are a few other limitations.  If a Fay has spent too much of her power, she might find it difficult to create a new form.”

“How does that happen?”  Celebrían’s mother asked.

“Did Melyanna not tell you?” Mairen asked before continuing, “If your cousin works too hard at the forge, whether physically or mentally, he eventually becomes tired and must rest his body and, probably, his spirit too.   If he becomes injured, then he requires time and rest to heal. If the injury is too great, then his body may perish and his spirit passes to Námo until such time as the Doomsman decides he may be re-embodies, yes?”

“Yes,” said Celebrian.

“Fays may also spend too much of themselves.  If they have worked too powerful a magic, they grow weak and tired.   They require time and rest to recover. If they have sunk too much of their power into their magic, then they may not be able to recover fully and may remain weaker than they were before.    If a Fay grows very weak and the body he has made for himself is destroyed, he may not be able to create a new one for a very long time.  Perhaps he might not be able to re-create one at all and will exist only as thought and feeling, scarce able to be felt or understood by those around him. That, I suppose, is a closest a Fay may come to death.  That would seem very like unto death to me.”

“That is strange,” Celebrían said. 

“Is it?” answered Mairen.   “I have heard tell of at least one elf whose spirit was too weakened for her to be willing to take form again.  But I think there are probably others, perhaps even many in the darker days; Námo cannot force a fëa to be rehoused unwillingly.  But, even if that be strange, there are other ways in which the Fay are not unlike you. The Fay are not immune to pain or to sorrow.  They feel hurt as the Children of Eru do, and they know sorrow. They may taste of love and of hate. They may be moved by anger and by joy.”

“Oh, and so the Fay in Atanvardo’s story might have loved the elf and been sad to leave him.  And Melyanna ...” Celebrían began.

“Loved Thingol and loved their daughter, yes,” Mairen answered.  

“And when Lúthien died?”

“She grieved for her as your mother would grieve for you or you might grieve for a daughter had either of you been in her place,” Mairen paused and looked at the fire for a moment before she continued.  “Indeed, she had much cause for grief for her husband, Thingol, perished even before Beren and Lúthien passed beyond the circles of this world. It is said among the Fay that, as her love for Elu Thingol had been very great, so too was her grief.”

“What happened to her after he died?”

Mairen paused and seemed about to answer, but it was Celebrían’s cousin who replied, “It is said that she returned to Valinor upon her husband’s death and waits for him there. Waits for him to return from Námo’s Halls.”

“But she did not die,” Mairen continued, “not even as an elf might, for she could not, even if she might have wished it.   Sometimes, I think that might be the price the Fay pay. They endure even when they would not wish to endure. But that is enough of such dark thoughts, even near Midwinter.  There should yet be more stories to hear.”

Celebrimbor bent down and  whispered in Celebrían’s ear, “Is it my turn?”

“Yes,” said Celebrían.   

Her cousin began to tell another story.   This one, he said, he had learned only recently from the dwarves and was the tale of a dwarf.  This dwarf did not live under the mountains or in the hills. Instead, he lived in a palace hidden behind a waterfall.    As many dwarfs were, he was a maker of things. He was a smith, a very skilled one able to use magic. He could change his shape and take the form of a beautiful golden fish.   He had also made a magic ring. This ring had the ability to grant its possessor great wealth and the dwarf had used it to acquire very great treasure. The dwarf tried to keep his treasure secret and hid it in seven locked vaults deep within his palace.  He also tried tried to keep his ring a secret. But, slowly, word of this marvelous treasure spread, and the dwarf grew very worried that someone might steal it. 

One day, he saw a stranger, someone he had never seen before, near the water.  Afraid that this person sought his home and his gold, the dwarf decided that he would transform into a fish, as he could, and watch to see what he might discover.  But the form he had fashioned for himself, being gold, glittered in the water, and the stranger saw him. He decided that he must have this beautiful fish because he was certain that magic was somehow  involved. He pretended to have lost something on the ground and looked here and there for it, all the while noticing that the fish followed him and swam very close to the bank. The stranger leaned beyond the bank and over the water, as if to see if he’d dropped something there.  When fish swam close to see what it was he did, the stranger reached out quickly and caught him.   

The dwarf, once caught, revealed himself.  He asked the stranger to free him but the stranger refused.  The dwarf then offered the stranger treasure in return for him freedom, and the stranger agreed.  The dwarf told the stranger where he might find a vault filled with treasure and how he might open it.  But the stranger said that it was not a fair price for the life of a magical dwarf-fish, and he asked if the dwarf did not have more.  The dwarf showed the stranger the second vault, but the stranger made the same answer. Then the dwarf showed him the third and, yet again, received the same answer.  This continued until all seven vaults were revealed and yet the stranger was not satisfied.   

“Have you not,” the stranger asked, “any more treasure to give?”

“I do not,’ said the dwarf.

“Not even,” asked the stranger, “a simple golden ring?”

The dwarf sighed, and he said that he did.  He was loathe to give it to the stranger for it was a treasure as valuable as any that might be found in any or all of the seven vaults together.  He asked the stranger if he would not allow the dwarf to the keep this ring for it was only a trifle that he fancied. But the stranger refused, saying that if it were but a trifle the dwarf would let it go.  So it was that the dwarf must allow him the ring as well. But he was very angry for the loss of his treasure and of his ring, and he had yet one final trick he would play. When the stranger released him and the dwarf took his true form and when the treasure and the ring had changed hands, the dwarf cursed both ring and treasure and swore to the stranger that neither he nor anyone who came into possession of it would know happiness and peace.   

“Did that happen?” Celebrían asked.

“It was how the tale was told,” her cousin replied, “but how much truth there was in it I do not know.”

“A magical fish,” Celebrían said.

“A magic ring,” answered her mother, laughing for the first time.  “How odd. One that did what?”

“Granted its owner wealth and with it, power, I assume,” said Mairen.

“That sounds as if it would be tempting to many,” said Kemmótar.

“There has to be a catch,” said Celebrían’s father.

“I think any gift that provided its owner with wealth, power and whatever they desired would have to have a catch,” said Atanvardo.

“True,” Mairen replied.  “A very big one. One that might catch more than a pretty golden fish.”

Celebrían giggled.

“But ... hear me out ... what if the ring provided what one needed rather than what one merely wanted?” Mairen asked.

“Sounds better than the first,” Atanvardo said, “but how would one determine that, assuming such craft were even possible?”   

“True,” Mairen replied.  “Ah, well. Am I next?”

Celebrían had been looking forward to her tale and had wondered whether it would be one of Middle Earth or of the distant East.   But the story she told was one that she said she had heard in the West a very long time ago. In her low, rich voice, pitched soft before fire, she told the story of a very wise and very clever king who had built a city from land he had rescued from the sea.  The city he built was very fair and prospered, but there were those who envied it and, because they coveted its beauty and wealth, called it unnatural and said no such city ought to have been raised from the waves and that it should surely perish some day. There may have been something of truth to this for the city was, in fact, in danger of being reclaimed by the sea and had to be protected with the most skilled craft.  Each day the sea rose around the city and waves would have swallowed it had the king not raised a fine and high wall surrounding the city to keep the water out. The wall had a single gate, only opened at the lowest tide, to permit entry into and exit from the city. The gate might be opened with a single key and that key remained in the possession of the king. While the key was safe and the gate and thus the wall, the city was safe as well.  

One day, the king, who had no children of his own, found a child swaddled in fine linens and set before the doors of his palace.  The king had a kind heart. He wished to see the child safe from harm, so he brought her into the palace and raised her as his own.   She grew to be a pretty child and then a lovely woman. She was clever and good. She was much admired and very precious to the king. He wanted to keep her safe from harm and so he did not allow her to venture from the city and to see the world beyond its walls.   She loved him and she was grateful to him for sheltering her, and so she honored his wish. However, she was young and the world outside called to her in a voice that grew sweeter with each passing year. But still she stayed and, most of the time, all seemed well.

One day, a man came to the city.   He had been known to the king in his youth and had been well loved by him.   But he had disappeared many years before, and no one knew where he had been and what he had done.  Some whispered that the man had become a great sorcerer. Others said that he had become an enemy to the city and that he sought its fall.   The king believed neither of those stories for he loved his friend and was happy for his return. He listened to the stories of his friend’s travels.  He smiled as his friend told him of the many wondrous things he had seen. He grew interested when his friend spoke of other realms and other kings. He laughed when his friend sang songs from these other places and told stories from those lands.   He was content. He was, perhaps, too content because he did not notice how his foster daughter listened to these tales and he did not see how her eyes shone bright with interest and her face grew flushed with excitement. He did not hear when his friend bade her stay late to hear more stories.  He did not know how much she wished to leave the walled city and see these new lands places. He did not hear his friend flatter her and promise to take her with him when he journeyed next. He did not know that his friend had asked her to meet him very soon in the dark of the night by the light of the moon at the city gates.  He did not hear him when he asked his daughter how to open the gate and where he might find the key. He did not know that she, silly and foolish girl that she was, told him.

The next night the man told more fantastic stories and sang wonderful and sweet songs.  He wove a spell with his voice that caused the household to sleep very heavy that night.   The king stumbled to his bed, and his daughter to hers. But their dreams were uneasy. The king dreamt of water, of rivers and streams, of rain and lightning and of the rushing sea.  His daughter dreamt of water too. But she dreamt that she lay in a drowned city surrounded by fish with eels winding around her legs and crabs scuttling at her feet.  

The king woke in the dead of night to the sound of alarm bells ringing and the noise of water rushing into the city.  He knew the wall had been breached but he did not know how or why. He woke his daughter and pulled her from her room.  He looked for his friend but he could not find him. He worried and waited and searched until they could no longer, Then they ran, splashing through the waves until they found a boat, strongly built and fair, with a prow carved in the shape of a horse.  They boarded it and sailed into the streets, taking as many onboard as they dared. They saw the fishermen and sailors of the city manning their vessels and rescuing others from the water. They watched as still more crafted vessels from the mundane objects of their household, lashing doors, tubs and barrels together.  They also watched as others stood still and frightened and they knew they were no longer able to help.   

The boat continued to sail through the streets towards the city wall.  There, with great effort, for they had to fight against the rush of water inside, they forced their way out.  As they passed the wall and into the open sea, the king turned back to look at his city and swore he would find the person who allowed this to be and throw them into the sea.   As he swore this, he heard a laugh he knew and he saw his friend sitting high upon the wall with the key to the city gate held in his hand. Then he looked at his daughter and saw her pale face, and he knew how his friend had come by the key.   He did not come closer to her because he loved her and he would not do her harm. But he was very angry that she had betrayed his trust and, in so doing, had harmed many. He watched as she turned and walked to the edge of the boat. He watched as she sat down upon it.  He began to walk towards her as she lifted one leg and then another over the side. But he was too late, and she slipped over the side and fell into the sea. He ordered the boat turned around. It was. But they did not see her and, though they looked, they could not find her.    

The king and those that remained on the boat came to a safe harbor.  In time, they rebuilt something of their lives. Each year, the king would set sail for the city that had been his and that now lay beneath the waves and sometimes he would come near enough to see it.  He would look below the water at the strong houses and the tall towers, the market place and the palace in which he had once lived. He would see them surrounded as they had been before by the strong wall except that the gate remained open and fish swam gently out and in through it.  Once he thought he saw the shape of woman swimming underwater. Her dress was tattered and her skin was so pale as to be translucent, but she was still recognizable to him as the one he had once known and loved as a daughter. She flitted between buildings and among the fish, hand touching one, foot brushed by another.  He called to her, but, below water, she could not hear him and swam away.  

“And she lived under the sea?  Shouldn’t she have drowned?” Celebrían asked.  

“She should have,” said Mairen, “but it is a wonder tale and the normal rules of life do not apply in wonder tales.  She lived beneath the sea, swimming in the city she had once known and waiting to know she was forgiven for the sin of having wanted more than she had been given and having placed trust where she should not.”

“Does the city remain below the city?”

“So it is said, until the world changes and is remade.”

“Who was the man?”

“A Deceiver.  A Trickster. One who rejoiced in destruction.   Of which there are many in wonder tales and some even in this world.”

“I feel sorry for her,” Celebrían said.

“Do you?” Mairen replied.  “So do I for she was a silly, dreaming girl and she found herself in a place far darker than she had imagined.  But, in fairness for she is but one and there were many others in the city, perhaps we should spend our sorrow on those hurt by her foolishness.”

At that, Celebrían’s father smiled and said  that while he knew it to be his turn, he would have to concede and ask his daughter to choose her favorite tale from the ones she had heard.  The night was passing very quickly, he said, and there would be much to do before tomorrow.   

“Shall we hear one from you another time?” Mairen asked.

Her father nodded, “It would be my pleasure.  Celebrían, have you a favorite?”

“I cannot say for they were all interesting.”

“And dark,” her mother finished.

“But we are near the darkest night of the year,” said Mairen.  “The perfect time for strange and dark tales told by firelight.”

Celebrían’s mother did not smile in response, and so Mairen laughed, saying, “Your point is well taken.  I shall strive to tell a merrier tale should I be asked to do this again.”

“I would like that,” said Celebrían for she knew her mother would not.

The two men and then Celebrían’s cousin and Mairen stood and began to move in the direction of the door.   Mairen hurried towards the kitchen in order to reclaim her cloak and Celebrimbor’s while the other two men thanked Celebrían and her parents, wished them a good night and then departed.  Celebrían’s cousin continued to speak with her parents while he waited for his friend. As Mairen returned, her steps sounding quick and neat through the hallways, Celebrían remembered.  

“Cousin,” she said, “I need to ask you something.”

“Of course,” he answered.

“One of the lamps is broken, and I …”

“Wanted to know if I may fix it?  May I see it?”

“It’s there,” she said, pointing to the great room.  “I’ll show you.”

They walked into the great room, and she showed them where the lamp was on the sideboard.   Celebrimbor carefully removed the covering and began to examine the lamp. The light coming from it was strange, Celebrían thought.  “Rather than being a single beam, it was split into several different ones.”

“What is it?”

“A lamp.”

“Quite a small one.  Your work.” she said in a tone that indicated she knew it was and was both surprised and impressed.  “What happened?”

“The crystal of the casing has cracked,” her cousin said.

“Is it stable inside?”

“It appears to be.”

“Then it may be repaired?” This time, Celebrían thought, she was asking.

“I think so.”

“May we try?”  

“Yes,  that is what Celebrían wanted.”

“Then it shall be done,” she said, walking closely and looking over his shoulder.  “It’s almost a pity, though. The diffraction — what happens when light is bent around something, Celebrían — is quite lovely.”

“And yet someone is likely to be cut,” said Galadriel.  “I’d prefer not to chance it, despite the beauty you’ve observed.”

“Of course,” said Mairen.  

“Is there something I might carry it in,” her cousin asked.  Celebrían went to the kitchen and found a small basket in which he might place it.  He said he would try to have it fixed by tomorrow, but wasn’t sure if he’d have time.  She smiled and thanked him.  

He set the basket upon the sideboard, took his cloak and then slipped it upon his shoulders.  He moved to assist Mairen but she already had hers on and was smiling brightly at him. He shook his head and lifted the basket.  

“Do you want me to carry it?” she asked.

“No need,” he replied.

He kissed Celebrían good night and her mother and then smiled at her father.   Mairen brushed the top of Celebrían’s head lightly and thanked her parents for including her this evening.  They both nodded and her father smiled in response. Celebrían watched as they left, moving quickly in the cold and the dark.  She noticed that their heads were close to one another and that they were already speaking animatedly about something.

She looked at her parents.   Her father hugged her while her mother bent and kissed her, saying simply, “Bed.”   Celebrían made a face but began to ascend the stairs to her room. She carefully removed her dress and, remaining in her underdress, slipped under the bedcovers. 

“Are you any more or less sure of her?” Celebrían heard her mother ask her father as they ascended the stairs later that evening.

“No, love,” he answered, “I am neither more nor less sure of her than I was before.  I am troubled, but I was before. Now am I also troubled for her. There is a sadness to her I had not seen before.”

“I did not see it.”

“You did not want to look,” he answered, “and I do not blame you.  It is already complicated.”

“I agree.”

“Are you troubled?”

“Yes,” Galadriel answered.  “I do not think she and I would or will be friends in this world.  I do not see how that would be.”

“Not as things are with your cousin, no,” her father replied.

“I do not see what he has to do with it.”

“Do you not?” he replied. “I cannot imagine that she and I would be friends in truth either, but I, for one, wish very heartily that she were all she appeared to be.  I would be glad if she were.”

“Why?”

“Watching her this evening,I see a great deal of brightness in her and much to admire.  I think she has the potential to be the blessing she claims to be. If so, we would benefit and she would as well.  If she is what you fear, we stand to lose a great deal and some will be very hurt. So too, though she might not realize it, would she.”

Chapter End Notes

There are many debts owed and things borrowed in this chapter.   I think the tradition of stories told in the depths of winter is one shared by many peoples and customs, but I come from a storytelling family in which strange and dark tales were always told in the dead of winter, and so the tales told to Celebrían fall in that tradition.   These were borrowed from many sources because this tale is very much a love letter to the stories I have loved before.  Kemmótar’s story of the the awakening of the elves is, of course, based upon the tale in the legendarium, but it also borrows liberally from Welsh legend.  Oromë appears in the guise of Arawn of Annwn with his pack of hounds having perhaps borrowed horns from Cernunnos. If I can manage it and some point I’ll work the famed pigs of Annwn  into one of these stories.   Arawn faces no tricksters in the form of Gwydion but rather in the crafty riders of the Dark.    In that, he might take a little of the guise of Herne the Hunter and the Wild Hunt from the Dark is Rising sequence where he hunts the Dark.  The Black and the White Riders (and apologies to Mithrandir but this White Rider is no good.) in this story recall those from Susan Cooper’s books in which the dark bases much of its seductive power upon its ability to play to extremes.  If one would like to read the White Rider as representing the power of a too-rigid ideology, by all means; if the laughter heard recalls that of Blodwen Rowlands, that would also be fine for her voice too was low and honey-sweet and appealed even to an Old One.   Atanvardo tells the tale of the fairy Melusine, builder of castles, wife to a knight with trust issues, and mother to a child called Horrible (who didn't make this tale, alas), and Celebrimbor talks of Andvari and the infamous ring of Norse legend.   Mairen recalls one version of the lost city of Ys whose sorceress-princess Dahut falls into tempation.

Celebrían dreamt that night.  She dreamt of cool water and skies filled only by stars.  She dreamt of the keening howl of a wolf and the yip of a hound on the hunt.  She dreamt of two Riders, one clad in black, face hidden, and the other in white, eyes glinting green-gold in the darkness.   She dreamt of a woman bathing in a pool, starlight glimmering upon her face and upon her arms and upon the glittering scales of her serpent’s tail, blue, green, and gold in the night.   She dreamt of waves rushing through city streets and rising along the sides of houses. She dreamt of fish swimming past a chair and a bed, gliding under a table, and along a stair. She dreamt of a woman, black-haired and fair, swimming through this drowned city, the tatters of a once-fine dress trailing around her legs.  She dreamt of hidden treasure and a golden ring.

Her parents walked with her through these dreams.   So did Mairen. So too did her cousin. Sometimes he walked with her.  Sometimes with her parents. Sometimes he walked alone. Other times he walked with Mairen, sometimes ahead of her, sometimes behind her and sometimes beside her, their steps perfectly in rhythm.   Sometimes Celebrían walked between them, her hands in theirs, Mairen’s lovely voice, transforming speech into song, ringing sweetly in her ears.    

She walked with her father through a strange wood, its trees taller and denser than any Celebrían had seen, the rich smell of earth and the sweet sound of nightingales surrounding them.    Then the wood changed, transformed, became less wild and more like one of the gardens of her own city. She saw her own mother there, standing before two very beautiful trees, one of which was golden and the other silver, and both filled with light.  A man stood before her. He was tall and lean, and there was something in him that burned. His face and his eyes, though, she saw with surprise, were her cousin’s, exactly. He extended his hand towards her mother, seemed to be asking — no — seemed to be begging for something of hers.   Celebrían felt that her mother was drawn to this man, to the burning inside of him. But she saw that her mother was also afraid of it and of him, and so she was not surprised to see her mother shake her head and turn away.  

The lights of the trees grew and melded and became like three crystals made of the purest light.  Even as that light dazzled and drew Celebrían close, it slowly grew more muted and dim until she was scarce able to see around her, but only vaguely knew herself to be in a strange dark hall.   Mairen stood beside her, black clad and wary, surrounded by shadows, guarded by wolves, her eyes watching, her senses attuned for some threat; Celebrían feared for her. Then the room transformed from that dark place to a warmer one filled with soft light.   Her cousin stood before her, beside a door in a place she had not seen before. It appeared to be underground, for it was crafted of stone and illuminated not by the light of sun or of moon but by that of lamps. He watched two men, one with a face similar to his but that was more closed, more crafty and less kind and the other with a beautiful face and long fair hair, speaking with one another.   There was unease in the way her cousin stood, a caution she did not understand and an anger she could feel building. The chamber transformed into a hall, golden and splendid. There she saw Mairen, sitting in a chair like a burnished throne and all alone, her face strikingly beautiful and strikingly remote. But, even as Celebrían wondered where she was and what she did, the hall was filled with trees and became another, still more different and very magical forest.  Her mother stood before her, gazing into a basin filled with water, searching intently for something, but what Celebrían did not know and could not see. Her father, clad in mail, stood before the halls of the Mírdain, her cousin fierce and grim in silver mail at his side. Then Celebrían was in the halls of the Mírdain among the forges, the heat surrounding her. She saw her cousin and Mairen working. Mairen held a mold with tongs and seemed to be murmuring something slowly in a language that glittered and rattled, as sharp as broken glass and as keen as the blade of a sword, while her cousin poured a silvery, molten substance into it.   Then he sat the crucible holding the silver to the side and lifted a second one, filled with molten gold, and he poured it into another section of the mold. His face was drawn with concentration, and Celebrían had not been able to take her eyes from it. When she did, Mairen was gone and her cousin was alone. He opened the mold to reveal a ring, golden with a band of silver — no, of mithril — at its center. He lifted that ring and held it carefully in his hand, looking at it with joy upon his face. He placed it back into the crucible and the metals began to shimmer and then to melt. As it did, the joy vanished from his face and was replaced by grief.   He poured the molten substance back into the mold, but this time, it revealed three rings, two of gold and one of mithril. He began to slowly refine the rings, polishing them and speaking words in the same language Mairen had used over them. But, when he spoke this language, it glittered but did not cut. He then set stones in them, a white gem for the mithril ring, a red stone and a blue one for the golden rings. He moved carefully and with perfect concentration. When he finished, Celebrían saw him lift the red ring gently, almost reverently, and she saw that his face held both hope and sorrow.   

But, even as he set the ring down, Celebrían saw that they began to melt, their stones disappearing, the rings themselves transforming into a single band of plain gold.  It reminded her of the one in the wonder tale her cousin had told, and it was beautiful, far more beautiful than any she had ever seen. It seemed to call to her in a beautiful voice, honey-sweet and low.   She wanted to listen to it, to reach for it, but her cousin stood between it and her. She looked at him and she saw his face harden as he looked at the ring before him, resolve was marked on it, so too was the deepest and sharpest pain.   But, even as Celebrían watched him, she heard the sound of approaching feet, the clash of metal and the howl of a wolf. She heard the voices of men calling urgently to one another over and over and over again, fury and fear building in the sound.   “It is time,” the voices said. “It is time. They are here. It is time.” The room grew darker. The wolf continued to howl and the sound grew louder and fiercer as if it had scented its prey. Her cousin vanished. The voices of the men grew fainter and then she could hear only one and recognized that it was her father’s.   

“It is time,” he said.  “It is time.”   

She wondered where her cousin was and if she could find him.   She called for him, but he did not answer. She wanted to search for him, but she did not know where he had gone and she was afraid of the wolf and of the many feet she had heard approaching.  

“It is time,” she heard her father’s voice again.  He sounded much closer than he had sounded before. “Love, it is time to wake.  Wake, love. Wake.”

Celebrían sat upright, and she saw her father seated at her bedside.  Her mother and Elanor stood in the doorway, worried expression on their faces. 

“It was a dream, love,” her father said.   “It was only a dream.”

She nodded, pulled her knees in towards her chest.  

“Were you frightened?” he asked.

“At the end,” she replied.   “Only at the very end.”

“You called for your cousin; was he in your dream?”

“He was,” she answered.  “And you. Mother. Even Mairen.”

“What happened?” her father asked, pulling her into his arms.  “Tell me the dream, love. Tell me the dream.”

“It was only the stories they told last night, only the stories at first,” Celebrían paused and drew a slow breath.   “Then I saw you in the forest and mother in another forest later. I saw her talking to a man who looked like our cousin.  He seemed angry.”

“You saw him?” her father asked; as he spoke, she heard a soft gasp in the doorway and knew it was her mother who’d made the sound.  “You saw a man who looked very much like your cousin?”

“Yes, but he was taller and he seemed ... there was something in him that burned,” she said.  “But I had never seen him before.”

“No,” her father answered, brushing her hair away from her face.  Celebrían looked up and saw that her mother no longer stood at the door. “You wouldn’t have.  He’s been gone a very long time. What else did you see?”

“I saw my cousin working.  Sometimes he was working with Mairen,” she drew another slow breath.

“That doesn’t seem odd,” her father said.   “They do work together. Was there something unusual about it?  Something you thought was odd? Something that frightened you?”

Celebrían suddenly felt very foolish.   Of course, she had dreamt her cousin working with Mairen.    He worked with her and she with him. Of course, she saw them making rings.  They were jewel smiths. Her cousin had told her a story about a magic ring. Mairen had been interested in it and had wondered aloud at the making of a ring.  Celebrían must have thought of it, must have remembered it. She must also have dreamt of the other tales, else why would her dreams have been haunted by howling wolves and shadows?   She was embarrassed. She had acted like a silly little baby, rather than a girl old enough to hear a frightening tale and not be driven awake by it. She had bothered her father and clearly her mother because she’d had a night terror.  She was too old to be that silly. She wasn’t a baby any longer.

“No,  not really,” she answered.

“Are you certain?” her father said.  “Are you sure? Perhaps it was only something a little strange?”

Celebrían did not want to tell him of the rings her cousin and Mairen had made.  Celebrían did not want to tell him of the grief and the pain on her cousin’s face.  She did not want to tell him she’d seen Mairen in the dark and had feared for her, surrounded as she had been by evil creatures.   If she did, he would tell her mother, and her mother would think these dreams she’d had — dreams she’d had because of the stories she’d wanted to hear — meant that something was wrong with Mairen.  She would tell her cousin and they would quarrel. Then Celebrían would not see him for a very long time, and it would be her fault because she had been frightened by stories and a dream.  

“No, “ she said, “they were working together.   I couldn’t see what they made. I saw Mairen alone too and my cousin alone.  Then he disappeared and that frightened me.”

Her father looked very closely at her as if he somehow knew that there were things she had not told him.  But he didn’t try to make her tell him more. Instead, he sat with her and held her, gently stroking her hair.

Celebrian must have fallen back asleep because she found herself alone and tucked carefully into her bed.   She heard voices downstairs, her parents and another, less familiar voice. Then she heard the sound of footsteps ascending the stair and a knock at her door.

“Mistress Celebrían, it is past time to wake,” said Elanor.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“It is almost midday,” Elanor replied.  One of the apprentices of the Mírdain has come with the lamp you asked the masters to repair.   They repaired it this morning so you might have it tonight, and a fine job they did of it. It looks as if it were newly made.”

“I should thank him for bringing it.”

“You should have, but I think he’s left by now.  He brought a message too. The lady, Mairen, has asked you to come and visit there to eat and to receive Midwinter gifts for you and the family.   I’ve come to wake you so you may dress and leave.”

“But I can’t go.  I’m not allowed to visit without my mother or my father.   They’ll be too busy since it is Midwinter.”

“You may go,” Elanor said.  “That is what I have come to tell you.  Your father has agreed to take you there, but you must hurry.  He is already dressed to leave and you lie abed.”

Celebrían dressed quickly with Elanor’s help and then she hurried down the stairs, winding a scarf around her neck.   As she neared the first landing of the stairs, she heard her parents talking in the chamber nearest the door. 

“... do not think you should leave her,” her mother said.  “I do not like Celebrían to be alone with her.”

“She will not be alone,” her father replied, a touch of weariness in his voice.  “Your cousin will be there with her. He knows only too well how you feel about the woman.  Do you not trust him, even if you do not trust her?”

“I used to trust him,” her mother answered.  “But I fear that his judgment has been too flawed of late.”

“Do you think he means you or this city harm?”  her father asked.

“No,” her mother said

“Do you not trust him to care for our daughter?  Do you think he will let any harm befall her?”

“Of course not,” her mother said, sounding almost incredulous. 

“Then trust him to care for her now,” her father continued.  “Whatever the woman may be, I do not think her foolish, certainly not foolish enough to harm your own daughter.  She seems to like her in any case. It was no small thing for them to repair the lamp so quickly. The apprentice said it was she who insisted that they do it in order to Celebrían to have it before the feast.  She needn’t have done so.”

“Needn’t she?” her mother answered.  “Can you hear yourself? She’s winning you over in spite of yourself.    Celebrían will adore her for it, and there will be little I can say to keep her from our door.”

“If she is an adversary,” her father replied, “she is a formidable one and worthy of some respect.  If she is not, she is still worthy of respect for her skills at politics as well as those at craft. We have been most certainly outplayed in this round and may be in others to come.”

Celebrían was uncertain what her father meant.  She didn’t think Mairen had been playing at any games, but rather had only been helpful and had done good things for the people of the city.    She stood for a moment, confused and plucking uncomfortably at her dress.

“And so you are willing to gamble with our child in order to let her think you trust her and to try to learn more about her?”

That Celebrían did not understand, and she did not like the way it sounded.

“That isn’t ... if I thought Celebrían were truly in danger,” her father sounded surprised  and hurt.

“Speaking of our daughter, where is she?”  She heard her mother say.

“Either still dressing or already down and listening at the door,” responded her father calmly.   Embarrassed, Celebrían walked quietly back up the stairs and then clattered down them loudly, hoping her parents would not realize that she had indeed been listening.

Her father walked into the hall and smiled at her.  

“Are you ready?” he asked and extended a hand to her.  

“Yes,” she answered and took it.  

The walk to the Mírdain was easier than she had expected.   The street clearing the Mírdain and the stonemasons had finished the day before meant that there was little difficulty walking from her home in the center of the upper city to lower near the day market where the halls of the Mírdain were located.   The city, with the snow cleared and the day a clear one, was busy. Elves, Men and dwarves bustled along with streets, dressed warmly with brightly-colored cloaks and scarves to protect against the chill in the air. They carried packages from the day market and from the guilds whose halls were open for those wishing to purchase gifts and other necessary things for the Midwinter celebrations.  Celebrían watched as a group of Silvan elves, laden heavily with fish, meat, cheese, bread and a small basket carrying what must have been costly spices from the market, hurried past them, merriment in their eyes and in their voices as they spoke of the festivities to occur later in the evening.    

In contrast to some of the holidays Celebrían and her family celebrated, Midwinter was one celebrated by the varied peoples living in Ost-in-Edhil although in ways that sometimes were different from one another.  Her mother’s and her cousin’s people marked the shortest day and the longest night as the moment in which the world turned away from darkness and towards warmth and light. They celebrated with feasts, with song and with dancing and with the exchange of gifts.  Her parents was the largest and the most notable. But many of the Noldorin farmers and craftsman chose to celebrate in their own homes and with their own families so that there were many such feasts held throughout the city and in its surrounding district. At each of these gifts, small gifts would be exchanged, less significant than those offered on a begetting day, but chosen with care and with meaning for the recipient.   Later as the hour approached midnight and after the feasting had ceased and as the guests sang and danced, fireworks would be lit in defiance of the dark and in celebration of the coming light.  

Some of her father’s people, primarily the lords and the ladies of the Sindar as well as those who had intermarried with the Noldor, celebrated in a similar fashion.   Others among the Sindar would gather with the Silvan folk in the lower city where they would gather before bonfires and sing, dance and tell tales to drive the darkness back and allow the light to come forth. Those fires would last through the night, so that those Silvan folk who served in the great houses would be able join the celebrations later.  All would lend their voices to the battle against the old and great dark until the faint light of the sun rising above the mountains to the east let them know the night had ended and the darkness was in retreat.  

After these celebrations, Celebrían’s mother and father did not expect their household servants to wait upon them the following day.  Instead, on the day after Midwinter, they would dine upon the leavings of the feast and tell their own tales and sing their own songs throughout the day and into the night.   Her cousin always came in the morning to break his fast and to sit with her. He was not one to sing, having, he said, nothing of the voice of his uncle or of her mother’s brother, but he would listen and smile.  He would also sit with Celebrían and help her sketch scenes from her favorite tales. She loved those mornings, loved them as much as the feast and the dancing and the fireworks themselves. This morning, walking to the Mírdain, she wondered if he would come this year as he had before or if he would chose to spend the day after Midwinter with his new friend instead.   The thought made her sad at first; she did not want to miss him and she did not want more to change than had already. But then she thought of her family and she thought of her cousin, so often alone unless he was with them. She wondered if he would not like to have someone with whom to celebrate besides them, someone he didn’t have to share, someone mostly for himself.

The halls of the Mírdain stood open and bustled with activity.   Several dwarves had arrived to trade their gold and silver for jewels and trinkets of Elven-make.   Others had set up small booths in front of and inside the Mírdain where they sold unusual toys and crackers and a few jewels of their own making to the Elves and Men of Eregion.   A very small number of Men were seen entering and leaving the halls with carefully-wrapped packages while a larger number of Elves bustled in and out of the building, laden with gifts and alight with mirth and anticipation.  Celebrían noticed that a number of journeymen and apprentices were busy directing those visiting the Mírdain to their commissions while the masters received the gold and silver agreed upon in exchange. She saw her cousin speaking with a group of dwarves who were selling the most remarkable toys.  These were dolls made of wood and of metal. They greatly resembled miniature Elves and Men. So clever were these toys that they were able to move under their own power and walked to and fro across the table placed before the booth. Mairen, Celebrían noticed, stood across the hall with Atanvardo.  She saw Celebrían though and murmured something to her companion. He smiled, and the two began to walk in her direction.  

“Greetings, Mistress Celebrían,” Mairen said, light in her eyes and mischief in her voice.  “Happy Midwinter to you.”

“Hello,” Celebrían answered, shyly.   The light in Mairen’s eyes and the music in her voice drew her to the woman, but she found herself remembering the dream she’d had and the wary expression on Mairen’s face as she stood in the dark.  Atanvardo started to extend his hand to her in greeting, but seemed to notice the look on her face and paused, his expression puzzled.

“And to you, my lord,” Mairen continued.  “How was the walk to the daymarket?”

“Far better than it was last year,” her father answered.  “Your work was thorough and most beneficial.”

“Was it?” Mairen inquired, smiling cheerfully.  “We’ve heard the markets have been busier today than was expected.  I’m glad of it.”

“As am I,” her father replied.  “I thank you for your thought and initiative.  We thank you for your thoughtfulness and that of the Mírdain’s masters in other matters as well, do we not, Celebrían?”

“Yes,” Celebrían answered, embarrassed not to have thanked them before.   “I wanted to thank you for mending the lamp.”

Mairen smiled, “Then you are fortunate in your timing for it was your cousin who knew how to repair it and Atanvardo who assisted both him and me.”

“Thank you, Master Atanvardo,” she said, “for your help in repairing the lamp and for the tale you told.”

“You are most welcome,” he answered, “but are you quite well, my little lady?  You seem a bit out of sorts, not at all your usual bright self on Midwinter Day.”

“She had a dream that disturbed her sleep and has yet to break her fast,” her father said.  “I think she’s a bit tired and hungry.”

“Father,” Celebrían said, embarrassed.  “I ...”

“The tales were a bit much?” Atanvardo said.  “It seems her lady mother was perceptive as she usually is.”

“What sort of a dream?” Mairen asked.

“Just a dream,” Celebrían answered.

“You were in it,” her father said, “and Celebrimbor.  Apparently, you were working at something. There were others in it; I was and Galadriel and some who’ve gone before.   I suspect it was more a combination of the excitement of the season and the tales and a busy and clever imagination than any single thing.”



"Ah,” said Mairen, but she continued to look at Celebrían as if she wished to know more of this dream.

“It was nothing,” Celebrían said.  “I was being a silly little girl.”

“I hardly think you were silly,” said Mairen gently.  “I wonder at what upset you. If it happened to be the tales we told, then I am sorry for we did not pay your mother sufficient heed.  I shall tell her so and apologize. I would not have you be frightened, little one, not because those who should have known better wanted to tell a tale or four.”

“I’m not a baby,” Celebrían said.  “Stories shouldn’t frighten me.”

“Should they not?” Mairen asked, kneeling so that she was able to look Celebrían  directly in the eye. “There are those that frighten me. At any rate, it is no matter whether they should or should not for they did.  That is the important point. I am sorry, little one. I would not want you frightened.”

Celebrían was not sure how to answer her.  But she saw that Mairen had extended her hands to her and so she moved close and allowed herself to be embraced. 

“Be not afraid of dreams and of darkness, little one,” Mairen whispered in her ear.  “Be not afraid. They will not harm you, not here and not now.”

Celebrían wanted to believe her, though she was not sure she could.  But the arms that held her were strong and the voice soothing, and so she allowed herself to be held and hoped she might believe.

“I sometimes forget,” Celebrían’s father said gently, “that she is as young as she is.  I think no one was at fault, but that we might choose more carefully next time.”

“True,” Atanvardo answered.  “True. We should be more mindful.”

Mairen gently released Celebrían and looked up at her father.  “Would you mind coming with me?” she asked. “I have a gift for Celebrían and another for you and for your lady.”

“The former is kind,” her father said, “but the latter unnecessary.”

“I think not,” Mairen replied.  “I appreciated your hospitality yesterday for myself and for the men of the Mírdain and of the masons, and I wished to show my appreciation.”

Celeborn nodded.

“Can I speak to my cousin first?” Celebrían asked.

“Of course,” Mairen replied.  “Go and fetch him. He will be glad to see you.  You know where his study is; mine is very near. Your father, Atanvardo,  and I will be there.”

Celebrían hurried across the hall to find her cousin.  She dodged Men carrying packages and talking of the evening’s bonfires and festivities.  She moved between Elves laughing and planning and she listened to the low and comforting rumble of dwarven voices as she moved nearer to where her cousin stood among the dwarves.

He was watching one of the peculiar toys, this one shaped like a dwarf walk across the table.  Save for the size, there was very little to indicate that this was a toy and not a very small dwarf.   

“The movement is surprisingly smooth,” Celebrimbor said as she drew near.  Then, noticing her approach, he greeted her, saying, “Hello, Celebrían, I am very glad you were able to come.” 

The dwarves — there were five of them, two hooded in different shades of blue, one in green, another in yellow and the last in red, smiled as she drew near.  One of them, with a voice a little higher than the others, asked if she wanted to see any of the toys. She smiled shyly and pointed to one, a small and delicate one shaped like an elf-child.


“What does it do?” she asked.

“Many things,” the dwarf answered.  “It may walk and it may sit and turn.  It may even dance a little.”

“May I see?” she asked.

“Of course,” the dwarf replied.   “Tell her what you would like her to do.”

“Would you dance, please?” she asked and watched as the delicate figure rose upon its toes and began to rotate in a slow circle and then pause and extend its leg gracefully behind it.   “That’s fantastic.”

“She knows only a few commands at the moment,” the dwarf replied, “but, soon, we shall be able to teach her more.”  

Celebrían watched as the doll slowly lowered her leg and then neatly sat.   She laughed and clapped her hands for joy.   

“It’s so very clever,” she said.  “Thank you for showing me.”

The dwarf bowed and then carefully placed the doll in a box and handed it to her.

“But I don’t have ...” she began, embarrassed.  “I hadn’t brought my purse and I don’t have enough for something so fine in any case.”

“It is a gift for you,” the dwarf said.  “The lady who works with him,” here the dwarf paused and indicated her cousin, “thought you would like one and she has gifted the one of your choosing to you.   She has asked, though, that I make time to show you the principles on which it works.”

Her cousin laughed and said,  “She would make a lesson of it, wouldn’t she?”

The dwarf smiled in response, “I think she knows no other way.  I am much the same way and I like that aspect of her.”

“What did she trade you for it?” asked her cousin.

“A pick, shovel, axe and chisel made to my specifications,” replied the dwarf.   “I’d asked for the axe and she offered the others in exchange for the lesson.”

“That exchange is in your favor,” her cousin observed.

“Is it?” asked the dwarf.  “For it includes the lesson on the making of the doll.  Still, I have desired work of her making ever since I have seen what she has done for the Elves.  I admire her skill.”

“As you would, Mistress,” her cousin said.  “As you would. I am glad you’ve come this Midwinter.  I am very glad, indeed. Memories of your grandfather remain very dear to me.”

Celebrían was startled for she had not realized the dwarf was a woman.  There was little, she thought, save the slightly higher voice to suggest that the person standing next to her cousin was not a man.

“I know,” the dwarf said, “and I am glad to spend the time I may with you, dear friend.”

“Break your fast with us on the morrow,” her cousin said.  “Mairen and I will host a gathering at her home at the breaking of the dawn.  We would be most happy should you join us.”

Celebrían tried not to allow her disappointment to show and to smile, but he noticed.

“We are having it in the morning, so I may see you in the afternoon,” he said gently, looking at Celebrían.  “I had planned to come and to draw with you. You are invited, of course, as are your parents, but we thought you might be sleeping.”

“Then I shall be there,” the dwarf replied and then smiled at Celebrían.  “I hope to see you there as well. But, if not, you and I shall find time to eat and to talk of the making of things before I return to Khazad-dûm.”

She bowed to Celebrían and to her cousin and then returned to her seat.    Her cousin smiled and asked her where her father and Mairen had gone.   

“She said she had gifts for our family and took him to her study,” she told him.

“Then we should go after them, should we not?” he answered.

She smiled and took his hand.  They walked through the meeting hall and then past two of the city’s guard and into the more private areas of the Mírdain.  Celebrían noticed that, while many of the journeymen and apprentices might be seen in the central hall, several of the masters remained in their rooms, some meeting with valued customers and others chatting with their friends.    She ran her fingers along the elaborate paneling on the wall, feeling the shifts in texture beneath her fingers, and she smiled as she saw her favorite fresco, an image of her cousin, her mother and her father choosing the site for the city, on the wall as they turned the corner.   They continued walking down the hall towards the chamber she knew to belong to her cousin. Well before they had arrived, she heard her father’s voice.

“We decided to come here, near five hundred years ago,” he said.  “Lindon was lovely, and Galadriel enjoyed being near her kin, but I missed more open air and the presence of my own people.    Celebrimbor, I think, desired a place where he might start fresh, away from the old stories and the old memories. That was something my wife and I understood and supported, and so we came here and began to plan and build this place.”

“That seems more than reasonable,” she heard Mairen reply.  “I think, sometimes, that we are all looking for a place we may call home.”

“And is this place ... does it seem that this place might be that for you?”

“Ah,” Mairen answered, “that is the question, isn’t it?  Or one of them.” Celebrían felt a sudden resistance as she continued to move forward and she realized that her cousin had stopped walking and stood, listening, with an intent expression on his face.   Mairen herself had paused in her response to her father. Celebrían heard light footsteps in the chamber and the rustle of paper and the shift of a book or two. Then Mairen continued, “I am not yet certain.  I have not been here long and I do not think these choices should be hasty ones, but I care for this city and the people who live in it. I see what it might become.”

“Do you see what it already is?” asked her father gently.

“Yes,” she heard Mairen reply.  “I think I do.”

“Do you?” her father queried.  “Some advice, my lady, from one who has lived a very long time in this world, if you’ll have it:  sometimes a home is something you make, more from the feelings of those who are dear to you than any particular location; if you are near those you consider family, home might be made in a rough tent in the wilderness.  If you are not, if you have not those connections, the grandest castle might seem hollow and empty.”

“I see,” Mairen said simply.  “Perhaps simpler for those to say with family near them.  I have been long without mine, so very long I forget what it is like to have family near.  I am afraid that I cannot say that the memories I have of them are always pleasant ones.”

“Ah, I am sorry,” her father said.  “I had not intended to prod a wound, old or new.”

“No matter,” she replied.  “I do understand what it is you mean.   I sometimes ...“

“It seems to me, my lady,” her father’s voice was suddenly very gentle, “that families need not only be defined by ties of blood, but that it might be chosen and that sometimes the bonds we create through choice and affection are as strong as those of blood.  It also seems to me that the opportunity to choose is often with us.”

“That is kind of you, my lord,” Mairen replied, her voice very calm and very precise.

“Another thought, for you, lady.  This too is kindly meant, though it might sting a little,” her father continued.  “Sometimes, too, we become more caught in the idea of what might be, some perhaps unattainable perfection, that we fail to appreciate the wonder of what already surrounds us.   But I have not been young in a very long time, and I have become weary of battle and striving. I haven’t the energy I see in you, and I appreciate the ideas you bring forth for this city, but I would ask you, even as you shape and mold it, even as you plan, that you take a moment to appreciate what is already here.

“I intend no disrespect for what you’ve accomplished, my lord,” Mairen’s response was careful.  “None at all. I am sorry if that was the impression I gave. Truly. I am sometimes impatient and, for that, I am sorry.”

“That isn’t exactly what I meant,” her father said, still gently.  “Just ... appreciate what is, appreciate what is before you and what is already well within your reach.”  

She looked at her cousin about to ask a question, but his face seemed tense, though it showed neither frustration with her father nor with Mairen.  She knew he often thought her father caught in the past, unlike to change and unwilling to see the possibility of the future.  

She knew her father had also chided him for being more intent upon improvement and upon change and unwilling to appreciate what was before him.  But she felt, for some reason she did not understand, that there was a different meaning and a greater urgency in the words her father spoke to Mairen than those he had directed at her cousin.  She also felt, again, for reasons she knew not, that he did not speak only of craft but of matters different and more complicated. She waited, for a moment or two, and watched her cousin’s face.   He seemed to be considering something, perhaps what her father and Mairen had said to one another, and he seemed unsure of what it was that he felt about it. But, after another moment, he shook his head, and then he looked at Celebrían and smiled.

“I am glad we are family,” he said to her softly, “by blood and by choice.   You are very dear to me, and I am glad of the light you bring into my life. Do not forget that; no matter how busy I seem, no matter if you and I don’t always see as much of one another as we might like, no matter how often or badly your mother and I quarrel because we will not always agree about everything, no matter what happens.  You are very dear to my heart and are very much loved.”

“I know,” she said, finding this odd, but Midwinter was a day on which people said odd and sentimental things.   “I love you too, even when you’re busy and even when you make my mother mad.”  

He smiled and began to pull her forward.  But Celebrían stayed where she was and pulled at his hand.

“What is it?” he said and turned towards her, squatting so he was closer to her height.  “What troubles you, love?”

She stood still and chewed a little on her lip.  It was a habit she had tried to break, knowing it was something only little girls did, but she wasn’t sure what she needed to say to him.   She took a slow breath and thought of what he’d said to her and then she began, “You said that I am important to you no matter what happens.  What is happening? Something is happening. Many things are changing and I do not know that I like how they are changing.”

“They are,” he said quietly.  “They are changing, but how I feel about you and your family and how important all of you are to my life has not and will not.”  

“She is changing it, isn’t she?” Celebrían asked.  “Mairen.”

“In a sense,” he said, “I suppose her presence has brought change.  But the changes were occurring before she came, simply not as fast.”

“Oh,” Celebrían said.

“She doesn’t want to change things between you and me or between me and your family,” he said.  “She likes you. She likes you very much. I think that surprised her. She’s unused to children.”

“I like her too,” Celebrían said, “and I know you do.  I don’t mind that you do, even if my parents aren’t sure of it.”

He looked away from her and sighed, rocking back on his heels and rubbing his temple.   She stepped a little closer to him and touched his shoulder, and he smiled at her.  Gently and carefully, he took her hand, pulled her very close to him and held her.  Celebrían hugged him back, burying her head against his shoulder.

“I do like her,” he said quietly, holding her close.  “She’s my friend and has become important to me, but that doesn’t make you any less important.  It doesn’t make your mother any less important to me or your father. It never will.”

Celebrían heard the door to the chamber before them open and a light step and then another in the hall.

“Tyelperinquar?” Mairen’s voice is soft and questioning.  “Is everything alright?”

“Is it?” he asked, still holding Celebrían.  She nodded. He held her tightly for a moment or two longer and then released her but remained looking closely at her.

“We’ll be inside,” Mairen said.  “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s alright,” her cousin said.  His face was very serious and not a little sad as he looked at Celebrían.  “I wish ...” he began and then shook his head. “I wish many things, most of which can’t be, but I am glad to spend this afternoon with you and this evening and tomorrow too.”

Celebrían nodded and waited as he rose to his feet and took her hand.  They began to walk forward towards the place where they had heard Mairen’s voice and her father’s.

“Cousin,” she asked quietly, “why does she call you by your name in the old language?  Not many people here do.”

“She was from the place where I was born, and it is the language she knows better.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” he said, “it sounds like home.”

“Should I call you that?”

“Only if you like,” he said.  “Your voice will always sound of home to me no matter the language you speak.”

Celebrían stood and looked into the study of the newest master of the Mirdain.    The room was, by far, the most remarkable of any she had seen. She was used to her cousin’s chambers and loved them.   His study was always somewhat cluttered. Her mother had once said that her cousin had too much curiosity and too many interests.  Because of this, she’d complained, he was never able to finish all of the different tasks he had and was too often late with the ones she felt were more important.   Celebrían knew that this frustrated her mother greatly. But she thought her mother didn’t understand her cousin and why he was fascinated by so many different things.  She believed that her mother often dismissed too many of his ideas as impossible dreams; she remembered the time her mother had argued with him over his plan to create a self-propelled cart and refused to speak to him for two weeks when he wanted to build a flying machine when there were other and, to her mother, more important jobs to finish.   But Celebrían liked it. She knew that she would find new and different curiosities as well as strange and miraculous inventions each time she visited his room. She had been delighted with the pair of wings, an early model of his flying machine, affixed to a frame small enough to fit neatly upon her back. Another time she had been transfixed by what she thought was a gauntlet but that she discovered was a metallic hand able to move its fingers and form a fist on its own.   A third time she had found a casket of fiery jewels and had sat with her cousin for hours while he explained why certain gems might be found in different colors and how that connected with the nature of Arda itself. Still another time she had found a sketch of a woman, drawn lightly and delicately in charcoal, standing poised before a large block of marble, chisel in hand. She had asked him about the sketch and the woman in it. But he hadn’t said much, simply ruffled her hair and said he hoped Celebrían would be able to meet her one day.  He had told her that they were the two of the persons he loved most in Arda and that he believed they would like each other.

If her cousin’s room was cluttered,  Mairen’s chambers within the Mirdain were extremely neat and well-ordered.  Yet, somehow, it was no less fascinating for its orderliness. The room had, at one point, been a meeting room.  It was larger in size than her cousin’s, though it only had windows on one side rather than two, and it still contained the large oval table around which the Mirdain and their patrons had met.   That table now contained a large model of what appeared to be a bridge, though it was unlike any Celebrían had seen before, having two levels, one of which seemed deeper and wider than the other. 

The walls of the room were lined with shelves upon which books and scrolls, separated from one another, were placed.   One or two of the shelves were empty of books. Instead, they held very small, detailed models of buildings and of the rooms within the buildings.  Some of these rooms contained newer and different forges whereas others seemed to be a bit like a very large kitchen. She noticed that a small and finely-crafted model of her cousin’s flying machine set upon one of the shelves and a peculiar machine, resembling a screw with very large threads almost like sails or wings, sat near to it.  A desk was placed near the window where it received the light of the sun. It was very clear. Three books and two scrolls were arranged at the left side of it and a bottle of ink and a very neat box made of a dark wood and filled, Celebrían guessed, with writing instruments.   

Celebrían’s father stood near the window, speaking with Atanvardo.   Kemmótar sat near the oval table and reviewed a set of notes near to it.  Mairen herself stood by the window. The light of the sun illuminated her features and Celebrían realized that she was not merely pretty but very beautiful.  Her skin was fine and smooth. Her features were perfectly even and her eyes more striking than before, the gold found within their vibrant green made more visible by the sun and dazzling.   But, though Celebrían saw her beauty, she also found it to be somewhat unsettling. Mairen’s face seemed almost too perfect. Celebrían thought it seemed more like a doll's mask or perhaps like one of the statues of the Ainur clothed in elven form rather than the face of a flesh-and-blood woman.    Then Mairen turned and, seeing Celebrían, smiled and became the laughing woman who was very real and very much of Celebrían’s world.  

“How did you like it?” she asked.

“Very much,” Celebrían answered.   “May I show my father?”

“Yes, of course, but I have one another gift for you and for him and your mother as well.  Come in, please.”

Celebrían carried the doll to her father who examined it with care.

“Of dwarven make?”  he asked, his voice very calm.

“Yes, I thought it quite remarkable,” answered Mairen.

“Indeed, it is very clever, a most lifelike model,” he continued.  “Does it move or it is stationary?”

“It is,” Mairen said, “what I think one would call an automaton.  It understands and moves in response to a few simple commands.”

Celebrían’s father carefully handed the doll back to her, and Celebrían noticed with shame that his face was very calm and still as it was when he did not like something at all but knew he would offend someone if he said it.   She wondered if she would be allowed to keep the doll.

Mairen appeared to have sensed his discomfort.  “She may keep it here,” she said, “in the Mirdain with her cousin if it is something you are not comfortable having in the house.”

“No,” her father said slowly and with care.  “I remain unused to such things, but I think there’s no need to keep it from the home.  Galadriel will be fascinated by it in any case. Celebrían, will you not show me what it does?”

She did, showing her father how it stood and twirled, balanced and sat.   He smiled a little then. She knew he neither liked it nor trusted it but accepted that she did.

“How is it made in order for it to do such things?”

“With your permission, I’ve asked the artisan to explain the mechanisms to Celebrían.  Would you like to come and to learn more?”

“Perhaps,” answered her father, but Celebrían knew that he would not.  “I think Galadriel might enjoy such a lesson more; would you mind if she came in my stead?”

“Not at all,” Mairen said and bowed her head.  “I would enjoy learning more of what interests your lady wife.   Would you like to see the gifts I thought would suit you and her?”

“Of course,” he replied.  “I have said that it is not necessary but it is certainly kind and appreciated.   But, perhaps, while you are dispensing lessons and distributing gifts, you might show my daughter the purpose of what she almost certainly believes to be a very large bridge.”

Mairen laughed. With a tone more teasing than formal, she said “As it pleases you, my lord.”  She then beckoned Celebrían to come towards the table on which the model of the bridge sat. “What do you think this is?” she asked.

“It looks like a bridge,” Celebrian answered and then, looking towards her father, “a very large bridge.”

He laughed.

“Does it?” asked Mairen.  “Are you sure?”

“I think so.”

“Look more closely,” Kemmótar encouraged.

“What seems different from the bridges upon which you’ve walked?” Mairen inquired.

“It has three rows of arches, two stories and the road is in the middle.”

“It is.”

“Are both stories alike?”  Kemmótar pointed to the bridge.

Celebrían looked at him strangely.  It was perfectly clear what was different.   “There is a road in the middle,” she said, “and I am not sure what the upper story is for.  It seems much more narrow than the lower road and it has no railings which seems odd for something so tall.”

“Good,” said Kemmótar.  “The middle story is the road, but the upper story may be the most important piece of this structure.”

“Why?” Celebrían asked.

“It is an aqueduct,” said Mairen.  “It is a road or, in this case, a bridge for water. It is designed to carry water from the springs high in the mountains to the people of the city.”

“How?”

“What happens when you roll a ball or an apple down a hill?”

“It moves down the hill.”

“What happens when you drop it from a higher place?”  Mairen queried.

“It falls.”

“Correct.   We know that objects and liquids move from higher to lower places and we are using those forces to move water from the mountains to the city by building a road to carry the water from one place to the other.”

“I don’t understand.  How does the water move?”  Celebrían was confused. 

“The same way a ball rolls down a hill.  It moves from the higher to the lower point.  Provided the bridge moves consistently from a higher point to a lower point, the water will continue to flow towards the city.”

“Truly?”  Celebrían asked.

“Truly,” Mairen replied.  “That’s why we need masters like Kemmótar and Atanvardo to make it.”

“But why do we need the bridge for water?”

“The city your mother, your father and your cousin imagined has become more successful than they had dreamed.  It is larger and more prosperous than they had imagined and it needs more water than the countryside can provide in order to remain successful and to grow more.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A city needs clean water to drink.  It needs water for the city to use to cook, to make things and for baths and still more things you will like.  We plan to tap the springs in the mountains and the rivers in different areas too in order to allow for more water in the fields and large and more consistent harvests to ensure the people of the city have enough to eat.”

“This is good?”

“It will provide better support for the city.”

“But I still ask at what price for those living plants and animals in the mountains?” Celebrían’s father interrupted.  “And I would know how large a city you would see here and how it will be sustained?”

“We’re not tapping the full supply, only a portion, and I think, given the nature of Middle Earth, the city’s size will be limited — at least for a time.”

Celebrían noticed that her father seemed dissatisfied and, indeed, he said,  “I wish you would take a longer view and consider the possible impact upon the land and that which inhabits it outside the city.   Think of the Númenoreans? Tharbad nearly died out.”

“Because they were unaware of the need for proper sanitation. Because of how they used the water and not because of how much.”

“And yet the careless use of resources, such as water, remains cautionary.”

“I think we are more long-sighted than they were.   Besides, the failure to ensure the water remained pure and not contaminated by the city’s waste was the cause of the illness, not merely the use of water.”  

“So you say.”

“So the investigation and evidence said.  The records are here. And the benefits to our city resulting from this project are certainly worth some changes to the environment around the city.”

“I am not adverse to advancement, lady, whatever you may think,” her father continued.  “I lived in Menegroth. I wed a woman who studied with your master as well as with Yavanna.   But I think sometimes the desire for change and improvement may result in a shorter view than we need.  I would have you be certain it was done with as little impact and as much an eye to how it may be sustained as possible.”

“Is that what you require?”  Mairen asked, her voice mild.

“It’s what I would wish,” Celeborn answered.

“Very well, then,” Mairen said.  “It shall be done.”

“Have you finished arguing?”  Celebrían asked.

“Yes,” her father said, “I think we have.  Lady?”

“Yes; but it wasn’t an argument.   We have different ideas and strong opinions, and sometimes we will disagree.   That is to be expected and is not necessarily bad, particularly with so much at stake.”

“As long as you win or find a compromise acceptable to you,” her cousin murmured drily.

Mairen looked at him for a little while, and then smiled.  “You know me well, friend. Shall I not find your gifts?” she said, turning back to Celebrían’s father.

“As you will, lady,” her father said.

“Good,” she replied.   She went to one of the shelves near the back and removed a fine box made of an unusual dark wood.   It was inlaid with a peculiar design, a strange pattern made of many intertwined lines and shapes. From a distance it almost resembled an eye.  Mairen opened it and she removed a small pouch. Then she pulled two books, one large and bound in blue leather and the other small and delicate and bound in a rich, dark brown, from the same shelf.

“May I?”

“Yes, the pouch is for your wife, but you may look and tell me if you think she will find it useful.”

Celebrían’s father took the pouch and opened it.  From it, he withdrew a delicate spindle made of mithril and then a set of fine needles, each shaped of varying size and also crafted of mithril.   He looked very closely at them and said quietly, “This is a most thoughtful gift and are the tools she uses most often.”

“I thank you.”

“No, I thank you.”

“You may open the others or wait,” Mairen continued.   “The folio is for you. It contains sketches of the different plant and animal life I have observed in this area, identified and catalogued as best I could. Not all were familiar to me, but may be to you.  The smaller is a gift for you to share with your daughter and … ”

“Is a book of Sindarin tales from the realms beyond Doriath,” her father finished, a certain amount of wonder in his voice.

“He ...” Mairen indicated Celebrimbor, “mentioned some time ago that Celebrían loved stories and I decided at the time a book of tales might be a suitable gift   Having been with her when stories have been told, I think it truly may be something you and she will enjoy together."

“Again, most thoughtful,” he answered.  Celebrían noticed how steadily he looked at her and how intent his gaze was.  “I am grateful to you for my own part and on behalf of my family.”

“It was no matter.”

“Save one of thought and time,” her father answered.   “As I have said, I am appreciative, and now I should take my leave and return home as the King’s representative was expected today.  I wish to be there to welcome him. Celebrían, please enjoy a meal and time with your friends.”

Celebrían nodded.

“Celebrimbor, will you see she is home not long after she eats?” Celeborn asked.  “I would not mind if she stayed longer but she must be ready for the feast and her mother will worry if she’s too late.”

“Of course,” Celebrimbor answered.

Mairen suggested that they eat at the day market.   It was a sunny day, she said, and she would enjoy learning more of the market and the vendors Celebrían and her mother preferred.  They placed the box containing the doll in a basket for Celebrían to carry more easily and set off.  The walk to the day market was short. Though the wind was cold, the sun was very bright and the smells of the food offered for sale were enticing.  The market was also very crowded. Celebrían saw elves as well as Men and dwarves, hustling among the different stalls. She noticed a variety of farmers from the district hawking the apples and various squash that had remained stored in their cellars while those who tended to sheep and cattle had brought milk, cheese and butter.  In addition to this, a number of the women had established small tables where they sold their handicrafts, whether cloth, leather or lace or baked goods, in addition to the more established artists and artisans of Ost-in-Edhil. Celebrían’s mother had sometimes complained that the arrival of these smaller merchants created tension among the guilds who jealously guarded their rights to sell within the city walls, and she had spent many days negotiating an arrangements whereby they were able to come and sell one day a week and then on festival days for a fee.   Celebrían did not understand why it had been a conflict or how her mother’s solution had worked but she enjoyed the days when they were able to come. She knew whose apples she preferred, whose butter and cheese was the best and whose wool had the fineness her mother and Elanor demanded. She enjoyed wandering the market on these days and speaking with each of them. She thought the city felt more alive and alight when they were also here.

Mairen and Celebrimbor also seemed to be enjoying the sights and the sounds of the market.  Their eyes were bright and lively in the winter air and they stood near to one another. He pointed to different vendors and locations in the market while she smiled and listened attentively to what he told her.   

“There are so many people here; it’s wonderful,” Mairen said.  “Where should we go, little one?”

“Master Orchall’s for bread, Mistress Finya’s for cheese and cured meats, Mistress Lothuial for warm cider, and …”

Celebrimbor laughed, “Only those?”

“To begin,” said Celebrían. 

“Where would you like to go first?” Mairen asked Celebrían.

“Master Orchall’s,” Celebrian replied. 

“Lead the way,” Mairen said.   Celebrían smiled and took her hand.  She noticed that Mairen had caught her cousin’s hand with her free one and pulled him after them.   The baker’s stall was one of the busiest in the day market. Today was no exception. Master Orchall stood at the side nearest to them.  He spoke to the different customers, asking them about their families and their plans for Midwinter, while he exchanged coin for pastries and loaves of bread.   His daughter, Lisen, stood at the further side of the stall. She too was occupied helping customers and warming the fritters and sweet and savory pies she and her father sold to customers seeking a quick meal while completing their shopping.   

Celebrían had always been a little afraid of Master Orchall.  He was very tall, taller than her mother or her father, and he seldom smiled.   Her father had said that Master Orchall had lost most of his family during the Wars of the Great Jewels.   

“To the enemy?” Celebrían had asked.

“No, my love,” her father had replied, a deep sadness in his voice and in his eyes.  “His parents fell in the first sack of Doriath and his brother and sister in the second.  Master Orchall left Beleriand after that and traveled far to the East, near to Cuiviénen.”

“Was he happy there?”

“For a time, love,” her father continued.  “He met Lisen’s mother in the East, and he must have been happy for a time.  But something happened and he came to Ost-in-Edhil some two hundred years ago with Lisen but not her mother.  He has not spoken of her mother since he has arrived except to say that she is no longer with them. After Doriath, I do not wish to force his confidence.”

Celebrían had thought this was a very sad story, but, in many ways, it was not an uncommon story in Ost-in-Edhil.   Many of the Elves who lived in the city had lost family members in the wars with the Enemy or to the strife between the different Elven kingdoms.   Celebrían knew her mother had lost her brothers to the wars. Her father had lost friends and family to the Enemy and to those who had coveted the treasures found in Doriath.  Atanvardo had lost his wife. Kemmótar his son. Celebrían’s cousin had lost his family — father, grandfather and uncles — in the wars. Few wished to speak of their losses. Most inhabitants of the city understood this and seldom pried into the pasts of those living in Eregion and so none would have pressed Master Orchall for a tale that would only be filled with sorrow.  

At first, Celebrían, being an inquisitive child and wanting to know more about the people for whom she cared, had thought this silence peculiar.  She had asked her mother why no one spoke of or asked others about their pasts. Her mother had said only that it was impolite to do so and that Celebrían, being the daughter of the lord and lady of the city, was not permitted to be rude.  Celebrían had found this to be a typical and typically insufficient answer from her mother, and she had then asked her cousin of whom it was safe to ask almost anything.

She had realized it was a very difficult question when he had not answered her immediately.   Instead, he had remained silent for a very long time, so long she thought he might have been angry with her.  But, as she was about to apologize, he began to speak slowly and with carefully chosen words.

“The short answer is your mother’s; it is considered impolite to inquire too much of the inhabitants of the city and their pasts,” he began.  “But I think you want to know why it would be considered impolite to ask. We founded the city as a refuge, a place where any might come and all might have a fresh start.”

“I know; you and my mother have said that before.  I don’t understand why you needed a fresh start.”

“It’s hard to explain,” he said.  “You’re so young and the world is so very different now.  The last age was one of endless war. Your mother’s family and mine and others had come from Valinor because the Great Enemy had killed the king, your mother’s grandfather and my great-grandfather, and stolen the Great Jewels that my grandfather had made and that he prized above all.   We wanted the jewels returned and our vengeance for the death of the king, but nothing went as we’d hoped or planned. The Enemy wasn’t easily defeated.  We lost more battles than we won. We fought among each other as well when we ought not to have, when it benefited only the enemy.”   He paused for a moment and ran a hand over his face. “Many died. So many died. Some at the hands of the Enemy. Some at the hands of Men and Dwarves, and others at the hands of their kin.”

“Oh,” Celebrían said.

“After the war, some elves were permitted to return to the West and some Men were granted a new home in Númenor.   Others were not allowed. Still others were not ready to leave Middle Earth and to return home. We wanted to put that past behind us and to permit those who wanted or needed sanctuary a place where they might come and be welcome, if not healed.”

“Did mother not want to return home?”

“Your father was not yet ready to leave.  Middle Earth has always been his home,” her cousin said gently.

“And you?”

“I am not allowed,” he said.

“Why?”

“For the choices my family made during the war.  Because I am yet one of them.”

“Do you want to go?”

“Aside from your mother and my other cousins in Lindon, my only living kin are in Valinor and I miss them,” he replied.  “But I think that Middle Earth is also beautiful and those of us who live here have the opportunity to create something as wonderful in its own way as the lands of the West.  We have, at the least, to try for those who stay.”

Celebrían found herself remembering this conversation as she hurried towards Master Orchall’s stall.   She noticed that her cousin stayed a little behind, though he remained where she might see him and he her easily.  Mairen, too, seemed to notice this because she turned to look at Celebrimbor.

“It’s busy,” he said easily.  “Choose what you’d like. I’ll wait here where I will be out of the way.  Mai, will you go with her in case she needs help?”

Celebrían nodded and hurried to the stall, but Mairen seemed as if she were about to ask a question.  However, with another glance at Celebrimbor, she turned and followed Celebrían to the counter. As sorry as she was for Master Orchall’s losses, Celebrían was glad he had chosen to return to Middle Earth and to live in Ost-in-Edhil.  He was a very gifted baker whose creations varied from everyday loaves of dark brown grain to the lightest and finest white bread fit for feasting days. He also made sweet and savory pies and delicate confections that seemed too pretty to eat.   He was also best known for the fritters he and Lisen cooked to order for their favorite customers. They were light and airy puffs of dough that were drizzled with honey and melted into your mouth upon the first bite.

No sooner had Celebrían arrived at the counter and begun to consider the goods displayed for sale than Lisen hurried over to ask her what it was she wanted.  Celebrían liked Lisen very much. She thought she was very interesting and very clever. Unlike Celebrían’s mother and Celebrían herself, Lisen was dark of hair and of skin.  Her hair, thick, straight and long, was a deep and dark black and very beautiful though it lacked the blue-black sheen common among those of her cousin’s people. Lisen’s skin was the color of copper while her eyes were dark brown, warm and full of laughter.  Her voice had a musical quality to it, not unlike Mairen’s. It was also lovely though more like birdsong than Mairen’s low and honey sweet tones.

Lisen’s father may not have spoken of his wife and the men and women of Ost-in-Edhil may have been too polite to ask questions of him.  But, behind closed doors and on festival days after too much wine, they wondered who she had been. Most assumed she had been one of the Avari of the Far East.  Celebrían’s mother believed that to be true. Her father had not been certain. Once, when he too had drunk too much wine at the Midsummer Festival and had noticed the young men entranced by Lisen’s sweet voice and her beauty, he had murmured to Celebrían’s mother that Lisen’s mother was surely one of the Fay for the enchantments she seemed to place upon the young men of Ost-in-Edhil.

“It’s hardly her fault that they cannot control themselves around her,” Celebrían’s mother had said with some irritation.  “She does not encourage them. In fact, there is nothing to fault in her behavior at all.”

“True,” her father had replied. 

“Still, that is an interesting thought,” her mother continued.  She had drunk far less wine than Celebrían’s father. “Why? Aside from her beauty?”

“Her song,” her father said.  “Had you noticed that she shapes a mood with it so that you feel her joy and her sorrow as if it were your own and not that of a song?”

“She is not as fine a singer as my brother was.”

“Perhaps not as technically proficient,” her father had said.  “But the emotion carries in a way different to his and there is something not quite of our world in it.  Does it not remind you a little of Melyanna and Lúthien?”

“I suppose,” her mother had answered, clearly considering the question more seriously than she had before.   “Do you think she was a wood spirit, such as Melyanna? But perhaps less powerful?”

“Perhaps,” her father had replied.  “Perhaps.”

Early the next morning as he had sat and slowly drunk a tisane and eaten a slice of buttered bread, Celebrían had asked him if he truly believed Lisen to be half-Fay.  He had become uneasy and had asked her not to speak of it to anyone.  

“Why?” Celebrían had asked.  “Everyone wonders who her mother was, even if no one will ask him.”

“It is that I thought — think — her mother was a Fay or part-Fay.”

“And that’s …” 

“Many of the Elves and Men do not trust the Fay,” he’d said.

“But they trusted Melyanna,” she had observed.

“Yes,” he’d said.  “To a degree and in time.  But, child, my people cannot help but remember that their king forgot himself, his duty and his people and lost himself in the wood upon meeting a Fay.  They grew to accept his love for her and were glad for the protection her magic offered them. But they never forgot that she was not as they are. Some never forgave her for keeping him from them and for preventing them from reaching Valinor.”

“Oh,” Celebrían had answered, “I see.  I might not have liked it either if someone kept you from me.”

“Particularly for two hundred years or more,” he answered.  “Moreover, if they were unlikely to trust a Fay fully then, they are less likely to do so now.”

“Why?”

“The Fay were ordered to return to Valinor after the Great War.   It is the fear of many that a Fay who remained in Middle Earth must be one of those who had served the Dark during the Great War.   I do not know if this is true. I do not know for certain who Lisen’s mother was or whether she was of the Fay, but I would not have someone good and kind shunned for her parentage.  I have seen the damage that results.”

Celebrían wondered if her father was right about Lisen’s mother and about how the people of Ost-in-Edhil would treat her if it were true.  She considered asking Mairen, who knew so much of the Fay, about it, but she did not want to break her promise to her father or cause Lisen to be hurt.   She feared that she might be because some of the less kind inhabitants of Ost-in-Edhil sometimes said things that were cruel about Lisen. They said that she was less civilized because her mother was from the East and that Lisen herself was less than respectable because of who her mother had been.  They speculated that it was this lack of respectability that had made so many young men court Lisen. Celebrían thought that they were rude and stupid. Lisen had suitors because she was kind, clever and beautiful. Besides, she knew having good or bad parents did not necessarily make a person good or bad.  She knew several young elves whose parents were respectable but who were themselves very mean. She also knew others whose parents were less than kind but who were themselves very gentle.  

“Would you like your favorite fritters?” Lisen asked, bringing Celebrían out of her thoughts and back to the present.   “We also have some of the bread you like. Elanor has already purchased several different things for the feast, but there are still some few things your mother might like to have as well.”

“The fritters, please,” Celebrían said.   “Enough for three, please.”

“And some of the bread as well and the things you believe the Lady Galadriel would want for tonight,” Mairen added.  She stood behind Celebrían, one hand resting on her shoulder.

“Yes, milady,” Lisen replied.  “Which loaves would you like?”   

“You choose,” Mairen answered.  “I think some that will go well with cheese and some of the cured meats and dried fruit that I see at the cheesemonger’s next to you.”

Lisen nodded.   She chose a loaf of darker, heavily seeded bread and then a second made of a more refined grain.  She wrapped both for Mairen in a bright cloth and handed them to her. As she did, her hand brushed Mairen’s and she jerked hers away as if she’d been stung.

“Are you well?” Mairen asked, concern in her voice and in her narrowed eyes.

“Yes, milady,” said Lisen.  Her voice was a little unsteady, but she raised her eyes to meet Mairen’s.

“Have you a basket we might borrow?” Mairen asked.  “I can return it or send an apprentice back with it later today.  We have only the one and it is too full to carry your wares too.  We came ill-prepared to carry more than a few things.”

Lisen nodded.   She reached below the counter to withdraw a sizable basket woven of slim golden branches.  She then placed the loaves and a several small cakes into the basket and pushed it across the counter towards Mairen.

“The fritters?” Mairen asked.  Celebrían thought that her voice sounded both curious and amused.  Celebrían was curious herself. Lisen had never been this uncomfortable around her, but perhaps she had not met Mairen before.  

“Yes,” Lisen said.  “I’m sorry.” She reached behind the counter for the dough she’d proofed for the fritters and then began to heat oil in the brazier she used to warm goods for customers.   As she worked, Celebrían noticed that two of the city guard had begun to draw near to the stall and that their captain, a tall grey-eyed Noldo, was speaking with her cousin.   Both guards smiled at Celebrían and bowed.

“A good Midwinter to you,” Mairen said.

“And to you, my lady, and Mistress Celebrían,” the younger answered. He had very green eyes and a warm smile.   Celebrían smiled shyly in response. The guard’s smile grew broader and warmer as he walked closer to the stall, and Celebrían realized that he was no longer smiling at her but rather at Lisen.  She, Celebrian noticed, was smiling as warmly and broadly at him. His companion bade Celebrían and to Mairen farewell and then turned and walked towards the stall next to Master Orchall’s.   

“Are you having an enjoyable Midwinter, Mistress Celebrían?”  the tall captain of the guard had arrived and smiled down at her.

“Yes, I am.”

“And you, lady?” he continued, looking at Mairen.

“Indeed, I am.  How is yours, my friend?”  Mairen replied.

“Well enough,” he answered.  Celebrían noticed that he too was looking towards the stall where his guardsman and Lisen stood, speaking to one another.   He seemed uncomfortable, a frown appearing upon his face and a line between his brows. Celebrían wondered whether he was angry that his guardsman was talking while he was on duty.

“Only that?” Mairen asked.  Celebrían noticed that her voice had become soft and gentle again.  

“Only that,” the captain said, but then he met Mairen’s eyes and smiled slightly.  “I am glad, lady, to see you so comfortable here among the Mirdain. I had wondered at first.”

Mairen laughed, the sound ringing like a bell.  “So had I,” she replied. “It was far from an auspicious beginning.”

“No,” the captain said.  “It was not, but it seems well now with him and with the Mirdain.”  He nodded in Celebrimbor’s direction.

“It is,” Mairen responded.  “It is well.”

“Then he is learning from you and glad of it?”

“Yes.  And I am learning from him.  It is an exchange that works both ways and we are both glad of it and better for it.”

”I am glad,” the captain answered.  “I hope it remains so.”

“As do I.”

Celebrían wondered about what had concerned the captain, but, even as she was about to ask, her thoughts were interrupted by Lisen’s voice.

“Mistress Celebrían, your fritters are ready.” 

Mairen smiled and took the basket containing the doll from her.  She then handed Celebrían a few silver coins. Celebrían exchanged the coins for the fritters, warm and wrapped in a brightly colored cloth.  Lisen also handed to her a triangular pouch made of parchment and containing honey to be drizzled upon the fritters prior to eating. Celebrían started to thank her, but she noticed that Lisen’s attention was no longer upon her but rather focused upon the young guardsman.  He, Celebrían thought, seemed as intent upon her. Celebrían noticed that Master Orchall saw this conversation and watched his daughter closely. Mairen also watched the two, though, unlike Master Orchall, her eyes continued to dart back towards the captain of the guard. 

Celebrían followed her gaze and noticed that he watched his guardsman and Lisen with an expression Celebrían did not understand.  It was uncomfortable, she saw, but it was also an expression of someone who wanted or needed something. Celebrían did not understand what it might be.   Mairen, however, seemed to understand more than Celebrían. She moved closer to the captain and squeezed his shoulder gently.

“That obvious?” he said.

“A little,” Mairen replied.  “I am sorry.”

The captain shrugged and began to walk further into the market.  Mairen watched him leave, a thoughtful expression on her face. Celebrían hurried up to her and reached for her hand.   Mairen smiled and took it.

“Where should we go next?” she asked.  Celebrían smiled and said that they should eat the fritters while they were still hot.   

“But ..” Mairen began.

“They’re not nearly as good when they’re cold,” Celebrimbor said, walking up to them.  He nodded at the guardsman and smiled at Lisen. But then he glanced in the direction of Master Orchall.  Celebrían noticed the good humor vanish from his face, and she turned back to the stall and saw Master Orchall watching them.  The expression on his face as he saw her cousin was cold and, though Celebrían could think of no reason for it, filled with hate.  Mairen must have noticed this as well because she stepped between Celebrimbor and the booth. As she did, Master Orchall saw her. His expression changed again and became wary but curious, but he turned away from the counter.

“Let’s go,” Celebrimbor said quietly.  “We can find a place to sit and have the fritters there.  They shouldn’t get too cold, should they?”

“No,” said Celebrían, puzzled by what had happened.

“And you can tell us where you want to go next,” Mairen added.   Celebrían looked at her and noticed that she had drawn near to Celebrimbor and that he had wrapped his fingers around her wrist as if to keep her close.   But he noticed Celebrían’s gaze and released Mairen’s arm, taking hold of Celebrían’s instead. Mairen moved to Celebrían’s other side and said lightly, “Lead on, fair lady.”

Celebrían took them both to the center of the day marker where the fountain Celebrían’s mother had designed was located.  Mairen looked at it with an expression of curiosity and of mild disapproval. She seemed about to comment upon it but held her tongue.  

“My mother designed it,” Celebrían said, sitting on the bench nearer to the fountain’s base.

“I am not surprised,” Mairen replied.  “It is in keeping with her style.”

Celebrían giggled.  “You don’t like it.”

“It isn’t to my taste, but it is made well,” Mairen answered and Celebrían noticed that her cousin was trying not to smile.  “Now, how do we eat these?”

Celebrían untied the cloth holding the fritters and then tore the tip from the cone-shaped packet.  She very carefully squeezed the honey from the packet onto one of the fritters and then handed it to Mairen.   She watched as Mairen took it carefully in her fingers, trying to avoid the honey. Mairen looked at it curiously and then took a very small bite and then another larger one.

“It’s easiest if you eat the whole thing at once.  It’s less messy,” Celebrían told her, popping one of the fritters into her mouth.  The hot dough and the honey seemed to melt in her mouth. She looked at Mairen and, seeing the woman was still trying to eat the fritter in small bites, said, “It’s how it's supposed to be done.  It’s why the fritters are small.”

Mairen laughed at that and then put the rest of it the fritter in her mouth.  She chewed it carefully where Celebrían had not and then swallowed. “They are good,” she said, surprise and amusement clear in her voice.   Celebrían extended another one to her and the packet of honey too. Mairen ate the second with as much care. Celebrían smiled, watching her, and then she ate another one and gave the rest to her cousin.  She watched as Mairen tried to wipe the honey from her fingers.

“You should just lick it off,” Celebrían said.  

Mairen laughed, but she shook her head and continued to wipe the honey away with the cloth.  Celebrimbor watched her with amusement and said mildly, “There’s some on your face.”

“Where?” 

“Here,” he said, taking the cloth from her hand and using it to remove a small line of honey near her mouth.   He did it quickly and a little roughly, but Celebrían noticed that he seemed embarrassed, the tips of his ears had turned a little pink. 

Celebrían finished her last fritter and let Mairen wipe the honey from her fingers. Then Mairen knotted the cloth, put it in the basket with the bread and handed both it and basket containing Celebrían's doll to Celebrimbor.   They stood, and Celebrían took Mairen’s and her cousin’s hands. They visited the cheesemonger and then the butcher for some cured meats. They wandered to the aisle where the merchants from Númenor sold spices.  Celebrían loved this particular aisle because it smelled warm and of adventures, but she was seldom allowed to visit it. The spices were very costly and Elanor worried that she might inadvertently cost her parents a small fortune if she spilled the wrong one.  

Mairen bought a small amount of several spices, some of which Celebrían knew and others of which she had not heard.   As she brought them she told Celebrían a little about the different places from which the spices came. There were roots, some larger than others and one orange-yellow in color.   

“The larger provide a spicier taste but are also good in tisanes in the winter,” Mairen explained. “The smaller are a little milder in taste but they can turn the food a little yellow.”

“Really?”

“Truly.”

Mairen purchased a spice that appeared to be a very thin stick but was also rolled as if it were a scroll, and then she choose some peppercorns, not simply the black ones Elanor bought but others that were a lighter brown and some a bright pink.   When Celebrían stared at them, Mairen laughed and said that each had a slightly different taste.    

One spice, which appeared to be short, brilliantly orange threads to Celebrían, was contained in tiny glass jars.   Mairen looked closely at it but didn’t purchase any, telling Celebrian that it was very costly.

“Why?”

“It’s difficult to harvest, little one.   These are the stigma and stiles of a flower, the little thread-like parts you find in the middle of the bloom.  Imagine picking that and without crushing or bruising it.”   

She asked Mairen what they tasted like and how they were used.   Mairen laughed and said she would show her sometime. As they finished, she noticed that her cousin murmured something to Mairen and handed the basket of goods they’d purchased to her.  She nodded and he walked quickly off towards the part of the market where paper and leather goods were sold.   

“He’ll be back,” Mairen said, following Celebrían’s gaze.  “He thought of something he needed to pick up and thought he could do it quickly while we finished.   While he does that, may I take you to my favorite baker since you were kind enough to introduce me to yours?”

Celebrían nodded.  Mairen took her hand and guided her away from the center of the market where the stalls were primarily held by elves towards the outer edges where Men and dwarves plied their trades and sold their wares.   She guided Celebrían to a small and plain shop near the edge where a baker sold breads and pastries unlike any Celebrían had seen before.  This baker was a Man and was of Númenor.  But his family, he told Celebrían, had settled in Umbar before he had journeyed farther north to Ost-in-Edhil. His father had been a sailor, serving on voyages far from Middle Earth, and his brother was a sailor too.   He had sailed with them some and traveled to the East where he had learned to make the types of bread and other delicacies more common there. He seemed well known to Mairen for they spoke at length of his family and he had already begun to gather several of his goods into a cloth bag for her.  Celebrían watched as he placed flatbreads, some fine and made of a white grain and others varied in color and containing different vegetables. All were very different to anything she’d seen in Ost-in-Edhil. As he spoke, he began to fry several pastries. These were made like small purses and, as they cooked, smelled of spices that were fragrant but unfamiliar to Celebrían.   He gathered a few small crocks and jars of what appeared to be sauces and something like a jam with chopped pieces of fruit in it and placed those into a basket with the bread. He then added the warm pastries and a few cookies that smelled of brown sugar and a light, woodsy spice.  

Mairen handed him several silver coins and then reached into the bag she carried with her and pulled out another one of green silk tied with a piece of holly.   The Man opened it carefully and pulled out a small, flat implement with a piece of horn as a handle and then another which resembled the tool Elanor used to cut pastry.   He looked at them closely, turning each over in his hands and examining them carefully and with reverence.

“For you,” Mairen said.   “I noticed you had fewer tools than the other bakers.”  

“I cannot pay for them,” he said quietly. 

“They are a gift,” she answered.  “A small one in comparison to your friendship and for the way your wares remind me of a place I love.”

He nodded and carefully stowed them away.

She lifted the baskets and took Celebrían’s hand, guiding her back towards the center of the market.   They walked quickly through it, stopping once for a cup of cider to take with them, and arrived at the entrance nearest the Mirdain’s halls.   Celebrían was not surprised to see that her cousin had not yet arrived; he had probably fallen into conversation with one of the other artisans as he often had when she had visited the Day Market with him and would be several minutes more.   Mairen seemed to agree for she guided Celebrían to a bench near the entrance and began to examine their purchases.

“We can have one of the pastries while we wait,” Mairen said.   She uncovered the basket and pulled out one of the small purses and handed it to Celebrían.   “This one has a lamb filling. Do you like that?”

“Yes, but I haven’t had it in a pastry.”

“Try it.  You don’t have to finish it if you don’t like it, but do try it.”

Celebrían carefully took a bite and began to chew it slowly.   The lamb was very tender and the spices were stronger and very different than those she was used to tasting.  She took another bite and considered how she would describe the taste. It was little warmer than she was used to having and a little more rich; some of the flavors were those her mother used in sweet pastries and others smelled and tasted unlike any Celebrían had eaten before.   She slowly tried another bite, still chewing carefully.

“How is the pastry?”  Mairen asked. “They are called samosas.   They’re a little like the savory pies Master Orchall had for sale, but I suspect the flavors are very different to his.”

“It’s good,” Celebrían answered.  “It is different to Master Orchall’s and to those I’ve had before.  The spices are not the same. They’re stronger.”

“And more complicated,” Mairen said.  “It is a combination that is rare in Eregion but isn’t uncommon in the East.   If you liked it, I’ll teach you more about the food there. We’re fortunate enough to be able to make much of it here, thanks to the spices we are able to buy from the Númenorean traders.  Most of the spices I purchased today are used in this kind of food.”

Celebrían reached into the bag and took another one of the pastries out.  This one contained potatoes and small peas. It was spiced a little differently but was similarly warm and fragrant.  The spices danced on her tongue, rich and complex, and unlike any she had tasted before today.

“Do you feel better?” Mairen asked, looking closely at her.   She was spreading a brightly colored sauce upon a large and thin patty.  It seemed to be made of potatoes and of something else Celebrían was unable to identify.   

“Yes, I was hungry.”

“I know,” Mairen said after she’d finished taking a bite of the patty.   “We asked your father to hurry you here and neglected to feed you, and I think that didn’t help how you felt after your dream.”

“Maybe,” Celebrian said.  She pinched a piece of the dough from the pastry and put it into her mouth.  The taste was rich and buttery. She didn’t want to think much of the dream, particularly with Mairen next to her.   She liked Mairen; she liked her voice. She liked the way Mairen made her cousin smile and laugh. She also liked how Mairen spoke to her as if she were not a very little girl and as she might be trusted with things that were secret.  But she felt guilty for liking her. Her parents were worried about Mairen. Her mother did not like her. Her father worried, and Celebrían had been frightened by the dream she’d had. But the morning was bright, her belly was full, and the dream had begun to fade in her memory.  Her father had been kind to Mairen. Her cousin had said her voice speaking his name reminded him of his childhood home.   

“Little one,” Mairen said.   “I wanted to be certain you’d eaten and I wanted to learn more about what you like and who you know in the market.  But I wanted to have some time with you alone because I thought I should speak with you about something. I am afraid, though, that you may not like what I say.”   

“Why?”  Celebrían asked, wondering if it was about her cousin.  “What is it?”

“You hurt your mother yesterday, little one,” Mairen answered.  Her voice was very gentle and very soft. “You didn’t mean it but you did and badly.”

“Mama doesn’t like you.” Celebrían wanted to bit her own tongue.  She hung her head so that she did not need to look at Mairen. She was embarrassed, embarrassed Mairen had chided her and embarrassed that she had spoken about how her mother disliked the other woman.    

“I know, but this isn’t about me,” Mairen replied, her voice calm and unsurprised.  “It is about you and her.”   

Mairen gently brushed Celebrían’s hair away from her face and then slipped from the bench to kneel before Celebrían.   “It was when you said that your parents never told stories. Your mother was hurt by that because she has told you stories of the people she loved greatly and misses.  She wants you to know them because she loved them and thinks that you and they would have loved one another.”

Celebrían clasped her hands in her lap and continued to look down.  She didn’t want to meet Mairen’s gaze.   

“I didn’t think about that,” she told Mairen.   “I just didn’t think the stories were very exciting, not like the ones about Eärendil fighting the dragons or Lúthien defeating Thû.”

Mairen covered Celebrían’s hands with her own.   A very small smile played around her lips, but it wasn’t an unkind smile.

“I know,” Mairen continued.  “It is very difficult for her because it is unlikely that you and they will meet one another for a very long while.  That is painful to her because she loves you and she loves them and she wishes badly you might meet. She misses them.”

“Why will I not meet them?  Because they died?”

“Yes.”

“They can be re-embodied,” Celebrían said.

“Of course.   But that may not have happened and will be in Valinor in any case.”

“And they will not come here?”

“Who can say?  But I think not.”

“And we will not go there?”

“Not for a long time, I fear.”

Celebrían looked at the long fingers covering her own.   Mairen’s hands were very different to Celebrían’s or her mother’s.   They were long-fingered and fine, but they were rough. Celebrían saw the rough patches, the callouses, her mother said they were called, on Mairen’s fingers.  She noticed a place where her skin appeared to have been burned but was healing. She saw a small cut on Mairen’s index finger and a spot of ink on another. She wondered about Mairen’s family, if she had one and where they were, and then she thought about her cousin and his family, the ones of whom he seldom spoke but of whom he had told stories yesterday.

“You said my cousin misses his family too,” Celebrían began.

“Yes, he does very much.”

“He doesn’t talk about them much,” Celebrían said.  “Yesterday was the first time he’d told a story about them.”

“When he told us about the snowball fight they’d had at Himring?” Mairen answered.  

“And when he said something about his grandfather.    I wasn’t sure he liked them. Usually he tries not to talk about them.

“Ah,” Mairen said.  “That is complicated,  but not speaking of someone is not always an indication that one doesn’t care.  In your cousin’s case, it is quite the reverse; he does, but speaking of them will hurt him and, perhaps, others too.”

“Why?”

“That is something it is best he tell you,” Mairen gently squeezed Celebrían’s hands. “He would want to tell you, would want you to hear the story from him and not from another.  I do not know all of it to tell you at any rate.”

“You don’t?”  said Celebrían with surprise.

“No, little one,” Mairen answered. “I am a friend but a new one, and you are his family.  You know more than I and will know still more in time.”

“But he won’t speak of them,” Celebrían began; in comparison to her mother and to her father who often spoke of their kin, her cousin’s silence, though it was something she had accepted and not questioned, had seemed very peculiar to her.  “He’s only said he didn’t agree with things they’ve done and so he had to leave them.”

Mairen tilted her head and looked closely at Celebrían.   “Do you agree with everything your parents do?” she asked.

“No.”

“But you love them.”  

“Yes.”

“And so he loves his,” Mairen said gently, “though it was a very great disagreement and one that required him to leave them.  I think he regrets that he had to leave them and wishes it hadn’t been necessary. That makes it difficult to speak of them. It is hard to be away from those for whom you care.  It can be very lonely without them.”

“He isn’t alone,” Celebrían said.  “He has me and my parents. He has us.”

“So he does and is fortunate in that,” said Mairen smiling.  “He can still miss the others and care for you. One doesn’t take away from the other.”

Celebrían considered this and then remembered what her cousin had said to her.  She looked at the pretty woman kneeling before carefully and then, deciding, said, “He likes you.  Very much. Do you like him?”

Mairen’s eyes widened.  She seemed both surprised and taken aback by the comment.  

“Do you?”  Celebrían asked a second time.  “My father would not want me to ask you that.  He would tell me it’s impolite to ask. But I think it’s important.  He likes you and thinks you are his friend. My mother is not sure.  She does not trust you.  I love him.  He is my cousin and my friend, and I want to know what is true even if it is impolite to ask. Do you like him?  Are you his friend?”

“Your father is right.  It isn’t a question one usually asks of another.   But I am and I do, little one,” Mairen replied, still seeming surprised.  “Very much. I like him very much.”

“That’s good,” Celebrían said, looking at the pretty woman before her.

“Is it?”  A flash of something brittle, something fragile, of something as easily shattered as the lamp Mairen had helped to mend, crossed Mairen’s face.  But it passed very quickly, and so Celebrían was unsure it had been there at all.

“Yes,” Celebrían said simply.  “He likes you. If you like him, it is good.”

Mairen smiled in response and very gently touched Celebrían’s face.  But, for the first time, her smile seemed to be a sad one. It didn’t reach her eyes and, when she spoke, it didn’t touch her voice. 

“You have a good heart, little one, and you are kind,” Mairen said.   “Hold on to that. Life is very long and the world very hard, little one.  Hold fast to kindness and to gentleness as long as you may for too much sorrow can make a stone of your heart.”

Celebrían wasn’t sure what to make of this.  It and Mairen seemed strange and sad when Celebrían thought that she would be glad.   Most people were glad when they spoke of their friends.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, little one,” Mairen replied,  gently squeezing Celebrían’s hand.   “No, you did not. Your cousin is a very good friend to me and kind, and you have been good to me and kind as well.  I think you have also guessed that it has been a long time since I have had friends such as the two of you. I sometimes am unsure that I know how to be a friend or how to be befriended.  I will try, though, Celebrían. For you and for your cousin, I will try.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you or to make you angry.”

“And you did neither,” Mairen replied and rose to her feet as gracefully as a cat. “Speaking of your cousin who is also my friend, shall we go and find him?”

They found her cousin, carrying a small package wrapped in a bright cloth, speaking with a group of elves, including two children not much older than Celebrían.   They were Silvan and carried yew and holly. Both he and they were laughing.

“That sounds wonderful,” he was saying as Celebrían and Mairen approached, “but I have lingered in the market too long already and my family has come to look for me.”

“Greetings, lady,” said the eldest and bowed to Celebrían.  

“And to you,” she said.

He then bowed to Mairen who inclined her head in response.

“We will bid you farewell, my lord.”

“Enjoy the fires tonight and sing away the dark,” he said, still smiling.    

“We shall,” answered one.

“And you, m’lord,” said another.

They began to walk away but had not taken more than ten steps before the two children turned and ran back, a bundle of holly in their hands.

“For you, milord, and the lady.  Against the Dark.”

Celebrían curtsied her thanks and her cousin nodded in reply, and the children ran off. 

“What a peculiar thing,” said Mairen.

“It’s a tradition," Celebrían told her.  "They think holly keeps the darkness at bay.”

“Truly?” asked Mairen, lightly touching a branch with her finger.  “Because it is evergreen and doesn’t lose its leaves in the winter?”

“Perhaps,” Celebrimbor replied.  “What did you get from the baker?”

“Samosas, some naan, parathas and roti.”

“Chutney?”

“As well.”

“And saved some for me?”  

“We were tempted not to, were we not?”  

“We were not,” Celebrían said, and Mairen and her cousin laughed.

“There is a courtyard here,” he said.  “Do you mind if we sit while I eat. Celebrían is not the only one who hadn’t broken their fast.”

“You didn’t take the time because you wanted to finish the lamp before she woke,” Mairen noted.

“True and worth it.”

They sat.  Mairen opened the basket and handed Celebrían one of the pancake-like breads with the caution of “It’s spicy.”  Then she selected a few of the pastries, placed them in a cloth and handed them to her cousin. As he ate, he asked Celebrían questions about the feast.

“Who will be singing?”

“Lindir, I’m sure.” she answered with a face.  “I hope Lisen will as well. She sings songs that are more fun.”

“Lindir’s voice is a fine one,” Mairen observed.  Celebrían noticed that she had taken several of the thinner branches of holly and seemed to be weaving them together.  “Why do you not like his songs?”

“They’re sad, either about people who die or fall in love.  Beren and Lúthien.  Turin.”

“More like fall in love and die in those cases,” Mairen observed.  She selected another thin branch and wove it in with the others. Celebrían noticed that she seemed to be making a small circle with the branches.

Celebrimbor coughed.  He’d been in the middle of taking a bite when she’d spoken.   “That’s one view,” he noted. 

“What songs does Lisen sing?”  Mairen asked.

“She sings about Aredhel.”  Celebrían answered.

“Not a happy tale,” interrupted Mairen, “and one involving a sort of love, though perhaps not a good one.”

"Isn't love always good?" Celebrían asked.

"Not always," Mairen answered.  "It takes its nature from the person who loves -- as we are, so it is.  Of what else does Lisen sing?"

“She also sings about Lúthien.”

“But I thought you didn’t like sad tales of ladies in love?”  Mairen teased. She lifted the small circle and placed it upon Celebrían’s head.   “Here’s a different kind of a crown for you, little one.”

“I like Lúthien well enough.   She didn’t wait to be rescued but took care of herself and Beren too.”

“Ah, that is a good reason to like her,” said Mairen and she began to work with another set of the holly branches, weaving them together quickly and neatly.   Celebrimbor watched the movement of her hands and took a set of three and began to try to weave them together. “What part of the story do you like the best?”

“Either when she defeats Thû or sings the Black Enemy to sleep.    I think defeating Thû might be my favorite because he was very clever.”

Mairen seemed amused by this, saying, “And the Black Enemy wasn’t?   He likely overheard that in the void and is angry.”  Mairen paused for a moment and looked more closely at Celebrimbor. He had stopped weaving the holly and was looking at a small cut on his right index finger.   “Be careful of the leaves. They’re quite sharp. But, if you weave it this way, they’ll be less likely to cut. No, not as you were, but like this.”  She took the branches he had been working and reworked the pattern. He nodded and began working the branches together again.

“He’d be angry?”

“He hated being compared unfavorably to anyone, particularly someone he saw as inferior as he saw Thû.   But, no matter what part you enjoy most, don’t forget the hound. Lúthien wouldn’t have stood a chance against Thû without Huan.”

“I like Huan,” Celebrían said.   

“So did I,” her cousin said.   “Mairen, is the Hound of Valinor a favorite of yours too?”

Mairen didn’t answer immediately.  She looked at the crown she was weaving and considered it.  Then she lifted a fourth branch and began weaving it in with the others.  “Huan?” she asked thoughtfully. “I certainly respected him. He was brave and loyal to his pack.”

“My uncle wouldn’t have appreciated the last comment,” Celebrimbor noted.

“Was your uncle the best pack leader?” she asked, smiling.  Her smile, Celebrían thought, was sharp and showed many teeth.

This time Celebrimbor turned his attention to the woven holly branches and did not answer.   

“Little one,” Mairen asked, “what has your mother told you of Lúthien?”   

“Very little,” Celebrían answered.  “My father has told me more.”

“Really?  I would have thought she would have found her very interesting.”

“Artanis?” Celebrimbor asked.  He had made a crown similar to the one Celebrian wore and, as he spoke, set it neatly upon Mairen’s head.   “She was never one for competition save in the things wherein she might prove herself a master.”

“Competition?” Celebrían asked.  

“What does your father tell you?”  Mairen asked. She looked critically at the crown she’d woven and undid the last several inches before beginning to weave it again.

“That she was clever, kind and brave.   That he misses her still,” Celebrían said, touching the crown Mairen had made for her.   “That her song was like none he’d heard before or since, except perhaps for Lisen’s.”

“The baker’s daughter seems to be a most remarkable person,” Mairen said.  “I hope she and the guard she fancies are able to wed soon.”

“Her father isn’t sure of him,” Celebrimbor replied, “and so hasn’t named a bride price.”

“That custom is still in place?” Mairen asked.  She sounded surprised and a little angry.

“Not really,” Celebrimbor answered.  “Her father hails from Doriath as you might have guessed, and he holds to some of the older customs.  It is expected that he’ll ask for one, but I hope it isn’t too great a price.”

“There are no more great jewels to find,” Mairen said quietly.  “They rest in fire, water and air.”

Her cousin smiled sadly when she said that.  “And her love is a gentle soul and kind. He’s no Beren ready to storm the gates of Angband, even had he Lúthien, Huan and Finrod Felagund to help.”

“But perhaps Beren only became a hero due to circumstance,” Mairen said in reply.  She had finished the crown she’d made and set it lightly upon Celebrimbor’s head. “We may not know this young man’s mettle until it is tested and friends such as Huan and Felagund may appear in need.  At least, for now, the times are not so dark; let us hope they remain so.”

“Let us hope.   Finrod was a good friend to me and to my family, though we did not deserve it,” he said in answer.   Mairen seemed about to speak, but Celebrimbor continued, turning his attention to Celebrian. “Your uncle was a fine singer too, Celebrian.  He would have enjoyed entertaining you at your feast.”  

“Was he?” Celebrian asked.  “Mama said he was. But I know he was her favorite so I wasn’t sure if I should believe her.”

Celebrimbor laughed.  “He was,” he answered.  “Finrod was very good. He very nearly beat Thû in a battle of song or so it is said.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Celebrían said.  Mairen shifted slightly where she sat and began to pack the food back into the basket.  

“I wonder,” her cousin continued, “what that duel of songs must have looked and sounded like, how close he came to victory.   I miss him. There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t miss him and regret my family’s role in his passing.”

Celebrían looked closely at her cousin and noticed Mairen did too, pausing as she tucked the cloth in over the bread and remaining pastries.   Celebrían had not known that he also missed her uncle. She felt as though she ought to have known, but didn’t. She also felt as if there were many stories here, in this moment, that she did not know and so much she did not understand.

“Close,” Mairen said hesitantly, her voice a little rough.  She began to extend her hand towards Celebrimbor. She seemed as if she wanted to touch him, but, at the moment her fingers would have met his skin, she changed her mind, withdrew her hand and closed her fingers into a fist.  Celebrían noticed this and saw that her cousin had noticed it too, a brief flicker of pain showing in his clear eyes.  “I believe he came very close, and I am sure that he was very beautiful in that moment, singing, with his certainty in what he believed to be right.   Beautiful, powerful and striking in his faith. Almost enough to sway Melkor’s lieutenant.” 

“Then why didn’t he?”  Celebrían wondered.

“Because we live in Arda Marred,” Mairen answered.  She did touch Celebrimbor then, gently resting her hand upon his shoulder. “Because Thû is a Fay.    Because Thû would have understood the grief and guilt Finrod might have felt for things not of his doing and used it to win.”  

“Of course,” her cousin said, “the Oath. The Doom.  The Kinslaying."

“Arda Marred, my friend,” Mairen said.  “Arda Marred. And Thû’s own anger.”

“Anger?”

“Imagine how your cousin’s song must have sounded to Thû,” Mairen said gently. “Friendship, loyalty, love, even.   Light in the darkness. Warmth in the shadows, comfort, but always somewhere else and for someone else. Close enough to see, but always out of reach.”

“I hate Thû, for what he did," he said.  Celebrían believed him; she heard the hurt in his voice and the anger.   "We'd lost the homes we had and few wanted to welcome us into their lands, after what my family ... after ... but Finrod did.  He truly did.  He gave us sanctuary and peace, when they were seldom to be had."

“I am sorry for what you lost and for your pain,” she said, removing her hand from his shoulder.  Celebrían thought she was, truly, though she did not know why. “Truly, I am sorry. But is Thû the only one you hate?  It was war, at least for Thû.  It was not Thû who forced Felagund from Nargothrond."

“But Thû ordered his death and cruelly too -- played with my cousin like a cat plays with a mouse before eating it.”

“Perhaps it was not Felagund who was intended to die?  Still, I suppose,” Mairen said, her voice had become distant and cool, “his death and the manner of it is worthy of hate.  I also suppose it is necessary to hate someone for what happened.  Thû is probably easier to hate than the others whose choices led Finrod Felagund to that doom.”  She stood and lifted both baskets.  

“Mairen,” Celebrimbor said very quietly,  “please don’t reach out to me, if you will only pull ... if my family’s deeds will only cause you to turn cold and pull away.  I would rather not experience that again.”

“Is that what you think?” Mairen had turned to look at him.  She spoke as softly as he.

“It has happened before and will, no doubt, again.”

“The Oath doesn’t frighten me,” she said, “nor the Doom.  You are not they. Their guilt is not your own. I have my own burdens to carry, my friend.  I have my own pain and my own sorrow. They can be heavy too.”    

“I’m sorry,” he said.  

“For what?” Mairen replied.  "They are not of your creation but of my own." She adjusted her hold on the baskets and extended her hand to Celebrían.   “But we should go. We’ve had a lovely time exploring, and yet it is time to return home and prepare for the evening’s festivities.”

They began walking home in silence.  Celebrían knew that the mood of that afternoon, so lively and happy at the market, had shifted and become heavy and sad.  She wanted to change it, to make it as it had been earlier, but she did not know how.  But, as they left the market and began to walk towards her house, Mairen began to sing, softly at first and then with more strength as they passed into streets that were deserted.   Celebrian was surprised at her voice; it was finer than any she had heard in Ost-in-Edhil, finer than Lindir’s and even finer than Lisen’s. It rang clear and pure in the winter air and the sound of it alone lifted Celebrían’s heart, but then she recognized the song.   Mairen was singing of Beren and Lúthien.  She sang of Finrod's choice to fulfill his oath and follow Beren upon his quest and of their capture by Thû.  She sang of the duel between Celebrían's uncle and Thû of the Wolves, her voice rising and falling, capturing the tension and the power of the duel.  When she sang the part of Finrod, her voice was clear and bright as sunlight.  When she sang the part of Thû, it dropped low and sweet, a soft but dangerous growl.   Celebrían stopped, simply to hear her voice and the song.  As she did, she looked at her cousin and saw sorrow upon his face but also wonder and surprise.  She realized, seeing him, that he had not heard Mairen sing before. 

“You are good,” he said when she paused.

“So was he,” she replied.   “So all the tales say.  I am sorry for your loss, my friend.”

“Thank you,” he answered.  His voice sounded brittle to Celebrían’s ears and his face had become closed.  “But it isn’t as if you were the one who did it.”

As he spoke, Celebrían saw the same strange and fragile expression cross Mairen’s face.  This time she recognized it as the look of someone who had been or who expected to be hurt.   But Celebrían did not understand what Mairen thought would harm her. It was only her cousin here.

“I am sorry,” Mairen said again.  “I am truly sorry that he was taken from you and that so many other things were lost after his death. I see how that hurt you.”

Her cousin shrugged.  “Orodreth tried. He wasn’t unkind to me and allowed me to stay after, but he was never quite able to look at me and not see my father’s face.  I'm not sure I blame him for that."

“Their deeds are not your own,” Mairen said quietly.  “You needn’t continue to carry that weight.”

“I am not sure how to put it down,” he answered, moving closer to her.   “I have grown accustomed to it.”

“Then let me help you, friend,” she said, “if you will carry it.  I am very strong and it will not be a burden to me.”

He smiled a little then.   “Perhaps,” he said, “you might continue to sing as we wind our way home.  After all, you are more than a passable singer.”

She laughed and lifted her voice again. But she no longer sang of Finrod and his duel.  Instead, she sang of how Lúthien, watched unaware by Beren, awoke the world from winter and brought the spring with the sound of her voice and the touch of her feet. Celebrían turned to look at her cousin, hoping to catch his eye.  But she saw that he was looking at Mairen while she sang.  She was reminded of the tall captain of the guard and how he'd looked at Lisen.  Though her cousin hadn't noticed her gaze, Celebrían felt strange, as if she'd seen something private, something not meant for her to see or to know.  She turned her eyes back towards Mairen and hurried to catch up to her light step.  The three of them walked onward though the city streets, their footfalls a soft accompaniment to her voice.   

After they rounded a corner and stood before the corner house Celebrían loved, Mairen stopped singing and stood still.  “I should leave you here,” she said and handed the larger basket to Celebrimbor and the smaller to Celebrían.  She adjusted the crown of holly that sat upon Celebrían's head.  “I hope you can come tomorrow.”

“You can come the rest of the way, if you want,” said Celebrían.

Mairen smiled gently in response and thanked her, adding, “This is my home, little one, and I too have a feast to attend tonight.   I need time to be ready myself and to do my hosts honor.”  

“You live here?”

“I do.”

“It’s my favorite,” Celebrían said.   “I’ve loved it forever.”

“Well, then I shall have to invite you to visit the home you love.  Come tomorrow if you may. We would like to see you.”

She bent and kissed Celebrían lightly on the cheek, and then she stood and did the same to Celebrimbor.  

“It was a good day,” she said softly to him, “a very good day with you.”

“It was,” he said in reply before softly bidding her farewell and then promising to see her later that evening.  He seemed very close to saying something else to her, but he did not. But, as he hesitated and seemed on the verge of speech, Celebrían noticed that his fingers touched Mairen’s own and lingered there.  They stayed there for a moment, the tips of their fingers lightly touching, but then Celebrían shivered and shuffled her feet. Noticing this, Celebrimbor quickly stepped away from Mairen, turned to Celebrían and, taking her hand in his, set off down the street.  

The rest of the walk home passed both too quickly and too slowly.  Though Celebrían had begun to feel the excitement that came only the approach of the feast, she also wanted to delay the return home.   She wanted to ask her cousin many different questions. She needed to know why Master Orchall disliked him. She wanted to ask why Lisen had been unsettled by the touch of Mairen’s hand.  She wished to learn why the Númenorean baker had few customers and why she herself had not known of him when he baked so very well. She would have liked to ask her cousin why he had left them in the market and what he had done while he was gone.  She wanted to know why it was that he seemed to want to touch Mairen but seemed unsure and almost embarrassed, as if he weren't entirely ready to be seen when he did.

But she knew that these were the kind of questions that she wasn’t supposed to ask.   She wondered why. Did older elves already know the answers? Or did they not and were embarrassed that they didn’t know?  Or were they afraid that they would embarrass or hurt another elf if they asked these questions. Her mother would have told her that the questions were impolite.  But Celebrían thought that the questions were important — too important, in fact, to be considered truly impolite.   

But she did not know how to ask him.  She was afraid that she might embarrass him or offend him if she asked, and she did not want to do that to him.  But she didn’t understand. He had moved away quickly when she’d noticed his hand on Mairen’s arm or his fingers touching hers.  She was reminded of the times when she or another of her friends had been caught doing something they should not. She was not sure why he had acted this way.  Surely, it was not strange to touch or to take the hand of a good friend. Celebrían had touched Mairen and taken her hand.  Mairen touched Celebrían.  Mairen touched him, and she seemed less uncertain than he.  But before Celebrían had determined what and how she might ask him, they had arrived at her front gate.  Her parents stood near it, speaking to an elf she had not met before. He was tall, she saw. He was also dark-haired and slim, and he wore the High King’s colors. 

“ ... they come now,” her father was saying to the newcomer.

“You were longer than expected,” said her mother.

“We had a very good day,” Celebrian told her.

“I don’t doubt it, but ...” her mother began.

“I am sorry, Artanis,” Celebrimbor interrupted.  “We were having a very good day, and I didn’t want to hurry her in the market.

“You didn’t want to hurry Celebrían in the market?” Galadriel asked.  Celebrían heard the slight emphasis placed upon her name and the stronger note of disbelief in her mother’s voice.  

“No,” her cousin replied.  His tone was calm and matter-of-fact.  “I didn’t. The day was too fine, and you’ve often said that I hurry and fail to appreciate the beauty in these small moments.”

“I have difficulty imagining that you fail to appreciate beauty in moments large or small, old friend,” said the newcomer, warmth and kindness in his voice.  “But I can easily imagine that you might hurry through something as simple as a market.”

“That would be a fair and accurate observation,” her cousin conceded.  “It is good to see you again, Elrond.” 

“And you,” answered Elrond.  “I am always glad to see you.  And would you please introduce me to this very observant young lady?”

“This is our daughter, Celebrían,” her mother said before Celebrimbor was able to answer.  “You’ve met her before, but she was then not yet a year old.”

“I see,” he replied and made a formal bow to Celebrían.   “I am happy to make your acquaintance, my lady. I am Elrond, herald to the High King and a kinsman, albeit one of some distance, of yours.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Master Elrond.   I hope your journey was a pleasant one,” Celebrían answered, trying to curtsy and feeling embarrassed that her mother had to mention that he’d met her when she was a baby.   But Elrond did not seem to notice or to mind. Instead, he smiled kindly at her and took the basket out of her hands.

As he did, Celebrían looked a little more closely at him and realized she had not met another quite like him.  He resembled her cousin in some respects. His hair was the same rich blue-black. His eyes were grey and as keen.   But, where her cousin’s eyes were brilliant and seemingly lit with the light of the stars, Elrond’s were illuminated by a softer and more gentle light.  Celebrían thought of the stars, but of the stars reflected in water, pure and beautiful, but more approachable and more gentle. His face, too, seemed different.  It was fair, perhaps more fair than her cousin’s, but it was a face that seemed a little touched by the passage of time, though no lines were visible upon his face and no silver touched his hair.   But Celebrían sensed that the passing of time had left its mark upon him in ways that it had not upon her parents or upon her cousin and that its passage had not made him angry as it seemed to have made Master Orchall but somehow more understanding and more kind.   This was someone to whom one might turn when hurt or to whom one might go for advice. He was a healer, she thought, although unsure how she knew this.

“I’m glad you’ve had a very good day, and I am still more glad you’re back in time to meet our guest and to prepare,” her father said, his voice interrupting Celebrían’s thoughts.  “Perhaps we should head inside where it is warmer?” He paused, noticing her cousin where he hesitated by the gate. “Celebrimbor, please come in for something warm before you return home.”

Celebrían’s mother turned and walked up the steps and through the doorway.   Her father stepped aside to allow Celebrían to pass. Elrond stood to the side of the path and fell into step with Celebrimbor as he followed Celebrían and her parents.  He spoke quietly to her cousin as they made their way into the house.

“I have heard you have had a most productive autumn,” said Elrond.

“Indeed, we have,” her cousin answered, but he said no more.   Celebrían thought it strange that he neither mentioned the projects upon which the Mirdain worked nor discussed the arrival of Mairen when he had been so proud of the projects and of Mairen’s help in designing them earlier that day.   

“I should like to hear more of them,” Elrond continued.  “I had, in fact, hoped that the newest master of the Mirdain might be with you.”

“Had you?” Celebrimbor’s voice had become more formal and careful.

“I had looked forward to seeing her again.  Our conversation in Lindon was too brief for my liking.   She is an interesting woman.”


“She is,” said her cousin.   Celebrían heard in his short answer a reluctance to discuss Mairen further.   This, too, seemed strange to Celebrían since she had seen how much he liked her.

“I should like to hear more,” Elrond said, but, to his query, Celebrimbor made no reply.

Chapter End Notes

This out-of-control chapter continues to borrow greatly from those writers and works I love. 

Sassy Lúthien owes a good deal to Oshun and to Moreth's fiesty heroine.

Celebrimbor's peculiar inventions belong, of course, to Leonardo da Vinci.  I like to imagine the fight over the flying machine occurred primarily because she was afraid that he wanted Celebrían to be the test pilot.

Elements of Pandemonium's Eregion make their appearances here.  The surly apprentice of chapter five owes a bit to Samaril while the aqueduct and plans for indoor plumbing and improved workspaces for the elven smiths is a nod and a debt to her work.  The notion of a peculiar zing when one of the Maiar touches another of that descent is also hers.  

Lisen, of course, is a very great flight of fancy upon Guy Kay's sad heroine and Mairen's recollection of Finrod's song owes much to description of the sound of Owain's horn when Galadan of the Wolves blew it.  

Kay owes quite a bit of Lisen to Tolkien and Tolkien owes a bit to the tale of Culhwch ac Olwen, and so the name of Lisen's father reflects his height and is a nod to the giant who was the father of Olwen.

The Day Market and its descriptions owe a lot to the Newberry Library's depictions of medieval merchants and to Tamora Pierce's Corus.

The Numenorean baker owes much to Portuguese sea narratives and English, and the samosas to a terrific cafe where I live.

Celebrían sat very still for a moment and watched the people around her.    The feast was well underway, and it seemed everyone was enjoying themselves as they always had.   Her mother and her father sat at the center of the table, the light of the lamps dancing about them, catching her mother’s hair and illuminating it and glinting upon the circlet and other jewels her father wore.  Her mother listened patiently to some tale or other Master Orchall told her while her father inclined his head and smiled in response to a comment from Kemmótar. Her mother wore her customary white, a long gown of fine silk.   She also wore a circlet made to resemble a crown of holly, very much like the one Mairen had made for Celebrían, upon her head, and a necklace of interwoven holly leaves at her neck. Celebrían’s father wore robes of a light silver-gray.  He too wore a circlet but his took the form of birds, nightingales, Celebrían knew, facing one another on interconnected branches. At the far end of the table, the High King’s herald, Elrond, sat. He was far more simply dressed than her parents, wearing robes of a deep blue and no circlet upon his dark hair.   He appeared to be enjoying his conversation with Atanvardo who was sketching a plan, with what Celebrían did not know, on the cloth her mother had used to cover the table. 

Celebrían herself sat at the end of the table farthest from the herald.   Her cousin sat beside her as he always had. He had come earlier to help her and her mother with the final preparations, something that she had expected but that had surprised and pleased her mother.   He had placed the last touches on the decoration of the house for the feast, draping delicate strands of silver and golden stars across the tables and in the greenery. These had been polished carefully so that the light of the lamps reflected onto them and they seemed very much like tiny brilliant stars fallen from the sky only to be caught among the greenery and scattered upon the table.     He had then re-arranged the smaller tables to allow better movement to and from the kitchen, he’d said, and repositioned the chairs. He had carried platters when asked and helped her choose the gown she wore, one of a deep, dark blue, the color, he’d said of the spaces between the stars. It was decorated with delicate stars made of mithril along the sleeves, around the neckline and the hem, all of his making, as was the circlet her father and the jewels her mother wore.   She also wore a tiny, delicate circlet crated of mithril and made to resemble a chain of stars. Now, he listened, head bowed towards hers, as she told him how worried her mother and Elanor had been that the food would not be ready when it should be or that it might not taste as it ought. He laughed gently and told her that it was, as it always was, perfect. She was glad to be seated near him, so that she was able to speak of what she wanted and not have to try to invent conversation to please her mother’s guests.   

She was also proud of him.  He looked handsome. She thought he was, but she loved him and it wouldn’t have mattered to her if he hadn’t been at all.  But he seldom dressed finely. He said it wasn’t practical if you worked as he did, and she supposed it was true since he was often smudged with soot and his clothing stained and dirty too.   She was then always a little surprised to see him finely dressed upon a feast day and still more surprised to remember that, once upon a time, many years ago, he had been a lord and a warrior who’d led men into battle and not simply the gentle, quiet man she knew.  This day he wore a fine tunic in a dark red, worn over fine black leggings and high boots. He wore a silver circlet upon his head and cuffs of a simple design, finely polished and shaped smoothly, almost like a wave, upon his wrists. His hair, normally pulled into a tight and simple braid, was braided still but so elaborately that Celebrían was reminded of tales of Fingon and wondered how her cousin had managed to plait it on his own.   

The dinner itself was near its end.   A very few guests were finishing one of the last courses, either an individual dish of rich custard, either flavored with the seeds derived from a trumpet-shaped flower or with the beans from a plant grown far to the west across the seas.   The beans were called cacawa in the lands from which it had been imported or so the spice sellers said. It and the other plant came from the same place and had been brought first to Númenor and then to Middle Earth by one of the more adventurous of the Numenorean princes.  She’d said a few other things about that prince, none of which were particularly nice but all of which were interesting. The second sweet dish was one of Master Orchall’s more remarkable creations. It was a tall tower made of delicate pastry puffs, very like the fritters Celebrían loved but perfectly round and of the same size,  These were carefully arranged and then bound together by threads of spun and burnt sugar. It was a very pretty dish, but not too pretty to eat. Celebrían had enjoyed some of it, one serving had been presented ceremonially to her, after her mother and father had first been served, by Lisen. Lisen had seemed, for a moment, as she’d set the dish before Celebrían as if she wanted to say something to Celebrimbor.   She’d looked intently at him and seemed on the verge of speech, but, when she’d opened her mouth to begin, her father had called her back to his side. Celebrían wondered what it was she’d wanted to say.  

Lisen was now seated across the great room, among the other musicians.  She and Lindir were speaking quietly to one another, almost certainly reviewing the songs and the order in which they planned to sing them.  They normally alternated; one sang a few songs before they’d sing a duet or two and then the other would take their turn before the cycle would begin again.   Lindir had said it allowed them to rest. Some of this songs were designed for the audience to hear, and this, Celebrían thought, was where they would begin. But other songs were intended as accompaniment for the company’s dancing which Lindir and Lisen would also lead. This — the prospect of dancing — was what Celebrían looked forward to the most.   The Midwinter Feast was unique among the feasts held by the lords and ladies of her mother’s and her father’s people in Eregion. While most other feasts were limited to the same lords and ladies and some of the masters of the guilds, this feast, though similarly limited in scope, had one central exception. When it came to the dance, all, including the servants, were permitted — in fact, encouraged — to dance, and so it would not be unusual to see Elanor dancing with Celebrían’s father or her mother dancing with one of the serving boys or Celebrimbor with one of the girls.   This the servants did after the meal was served and the dishes taken away but before they left near to the stroke of midnight and went their way to the bonfires in the lower city to which the lords and ladies did not go.   

Lindir had begun to sing, beginning as was customary with a song of Varda crafting the stars and setting their patterns into the depths of the sky.  Celebrían enjoyed this song, knowing the verse and the melody so well that she anticipated the places where he’d pause to make the song more dramatic.   As he sang, she noticed the approach of the King’s herald. Elrond came and sat in the seat next to her cousin. It had only recently been vacated by one of the other guests who had moved closer to the musicians.   Celebrían smiled at him and her cousin did too, though his smile was smaller and tighter.   

“It is a marvelous feast,” Elrond said to her.  “I am very glad to be here.”

“Thank you,” she said in reply and, feeling nervous at his presence, she reminded herself to look at him and not to pick at her dress.   Her cousin lightly squeezed her hand under the table. “You are enjoying it?” she asked and then felt very foolish for he’d already told her that he was.

“Yes,” he said kindly, “I am.   What is your favorite part?”

She had been happy to answer, telling him about the dancing and about the music.  She told him how much she looked forward to Lisen singing.

“Have you heard her before?”

“No, I’ve not,” Elrond answered.

“She’s a great singer better than Lindir, even.  She’s the best I’ve heard ...” Celebrían said and then paused, remembering this afternoon.  “Almost the best I’ve heard.” 

Celebrían noticed that her cousin shifted slightly in her seat, and she decided that she ought not to mention who it was who sang better than Lisen, but it seemed a little too late.

“Someone sings better than she and that someone is not Lindir?” Elrond asked, his voice was light but his eyes were very serious.

“Lisen is better than almost anyone else,” Celebrían said.  “And I like the songs she sings.”

“Is it, perhaps, the Lady Mairen who surpasses her?” Elrond inquired.

“I ... yes, she’s the best singer I’ve heard.” Celebrían replied.   Her cousin squeezed her hand a second time, and she knew this time he’d done so not in reassurance but in a warning.  She didn’t understand why; they were only speaking of song.

“Is this true?” Elrond asked Celebrimbor.  

“Yes,” her cousin said, “she is.”

“Interesting,” said Elrond.

“I’d only heard her sing today,” Celebrían said.

“I should like to see your friend while I’m here,” Elrond said to her cousin.   “I wish to know more, as the High King does, of the plans you have for Eregion and to learn more of her.”

“I would be happy to discuss our plans,” her cousin replied.  Celebrían noticed that he made no mention of whether Mairen would be present for this discussion.  From the expression on his face, Elrond noticed as well. “Simply let me know when you’d like me to come.”

“Perhaps I might come to the Mirdain,” said Elrond. “I would like to hear her thoughts on these advancements.   It is interesting to me and, indeed, to Gil-Galad that your plans for Eregion became considerably more aggressive once she arrived.”

“We had the desire before she came but we hadn’t the ability,” her cousin said.  You know that.”

“Still I would like to speak with her as well.  I am disappointed she is not here.”

“As am I,” her cousin said.  “As for the other, you may ask, but it is her decision whether she will or no.”

Celebrían was puzzled.  Why wouldn’t Mairen wish to speak to the High King’s man?

Elrond, however, seemed not to be surprised.  “I understand that the possibilities available to you since she has come are very enticing and allow you to accomplish many of the things of which you have dreamed.  But, my kinsman and my friend, you need — we all need — to know more of her before this continues.”

“Celebrían,” her cousin said quietly, “would you mind asking Elanor if she would mind making some of the ginger tisane for me before she joins the dancing?”

That was very odd.  He seldom drank any of the tisanes her mother served, and, when he did, not the ginger, claiming that it was the most complicated to make in a way that was drinkable and so took the longest time.  But he had asked and Celebrían, despite suspecting she was deliberately being sent away, began to walk slowly to the kitchen.

“We’ve no reason to think ...” she heard her cousin say before she left the room.

When she returned with the tisane, Elrond had returned to his place at the far end of the table and her cousin stood, leaning against one of the pillars in the center of the room.  His face, Celebrían saw, was stern, almost unhappy, but he smiled at her as she came and walked back to the table.

He took a sip of the tisane and looked a little surprised.

“It’s not ...” he began.

“As bad as it usually is,” Celebrían finished.  “I put some honey in it and orange rather than lemon.”

“Thank you.”

“Cousin,” she asked, “will you tell me why my mother, my father and the king’s herald want to know more about your friend?”

“Celebrían,” he began, “I don’t …”

“Please,” she said.  “It is what none of us have talked about and everyone has thought about since before the feast.  I don’t understand.”

He looked at his tea, breathing deeply.   “They think,” he said, “that they do not know what she is and that she seems too good for her story to be true.”

“And you do not?”

“I think her story makes more sense to me than it does to them, but then my family ... Celebrían, this isn’t easy ... my family has done things that make me understand why someone might not want to tell you everything about themselves at once.”

“And Mairen hasn’t told you everything.”

“No,” he said, “she hasn’t.”

“Shouldn’t she?”

“Perhaps,” he said.  “I don’t know. We’ve not asked it of the others who’ve come; we didn’t force them to tell tales of what they’d seen or things they’ve done. We’ve only asked that they be open to living and working with those who are different to them and with whose ancestors they may have quarreled.  Besides, who am I, of all people, to ask it of her? Or to blame her if it isn’t what I want to hear?”

“You’re her friend,” Celebrían said, looking at his hands, wrapped around the mug.  They were heavily calloused, with burns and places where the skin had been cut. They weren’t pretty, not fine as her father’s were or Elrond’s, but were rather the hands of someone who’d spent his life working with them.   Still they were his and made so many wonderful things. She touched his fingers. “You care about her. Doesn’t that allow you to ask?”  

“Perhaps,” he said, again, “or perhaps the fact that I do care for her requires that I wait.”

Celebrían did not understand.  She placed her hand on his. As she did, she noticed the music had changed.  Then she looked and saw that the servants and guests were beginning to clear the smaller tables out of the way in order to create space for dancing.   As they did, several men and women began to move towards the center of the room. Her cousin watched her, smiling gently.  

“Should we?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

He bowed to her, as formally as if she were a queen and he her subject.  Then he extended his hand to her in a courtly gesture. Celebrían took it and allowed him to guide her through the room through one song and then a second and a third.   When the third song had ended, he escorted her back to a seat near her father and her mother and knelt at her side.

“I thank you for the dance, my lady,” he said, warmth and gentle laughter in his voice.  “If it does not displease my lady, I shall take my leave and will see you on the morrow.”

“You’re leaving already?” Celebrían asked.

“Yes,” he replied.  “Before I agreed to come here, I had promised Mairen that I would spend Midwinter with her.   She felt that I should not miss the chance to spend Midwinter with you, and so she had decided to attend a feast with many of the journeymen of the Mirdain.  I am glad to have been able to see you, but I feel that I should also honor my original promise to her.   It is late now, already much later than I had expected, and I shall have to hurry in order to arrive there before she will have left. Will you forgive me?”

“For what?”

“For leaving,” he answered gently.

“I wish you didn’t need to go,” she said.

“But I did make a promise,” he replied.


“I know and I understand,” she said and kissed him.  From the corner of her eye, she saw her parents watching.   Her father seemed concerned but not surprised. Her mother, however, seemed surprised and not a little angry.    Celebrimbor rose from where he’d knelt at her side and moved quickly towards the kitchen. After a moment, her mother stood and followed after him.  Celebrían looked to her father who said simply, “She does not want him to go.”

“I know,” Celebrían answered.  “I would like him to stay too. It was only a few dances, but he said he needed to leave.”

Her father leaned down and squeezed Celebrían’s hand.  “I think we had best be prepared to see less of him than we have.  In truth, I was surprised he came.” He paused and brushed her hair behind her ear.  

“Why?” Celebrían asked, plucking at her sleeves though she knew she ought not to do it.  

Her father sighed and said gently, “I think he chose to come only because you asked him.  He was here to see you and to dance with you. Now that he has and with many others certain to wish to dance with you, I am not surprised he chose to go.”

Celebrían shook her head, “He came because she told him he needed to come.”

“She?” asked her father.  “Mairen? You said she had.”

“Yes, she told him.  He came because she asked him to come.  Now he’s leaving because he wants to see her. If we had invited her, he would have stayed.” 

“Perhaps,” her father said.  “Either way, I think you should be prepared to see a little less of him, though I am certain he will always come when you ask.   You are very important to him. That will not change. Other things, I suspect, including how often we see him, may.”

Celebrían did not want to think about this.  She thought it was simpler, easier to invite Mairen, and then she would be certain to see her cousin.

Her father continued to look in the direction her mother had walked and then stood quietly, seeming ready to follow after her.  But, even as he began to move in the direction of the kitchen, Elrond saw him and began to walk in his direction.

“I’ll go find her,” Celebrían said to her father. 

She walked around the edge of the great room, avoiding couples as they danced and spun along the floor, and slipped into the kitchen.  She began to walk through it, but, before she’d traveled very far, she saw Elanor’s worried face and heard her cousin’s weary voice. 

“I do not understand, Artanis,” he said.  “I know you are not fond of her, and I know you have doubts.  But you seem unwilling to entertain the possibility that she is who she says she is.”

“And you,” her mother countered, “are unwilling to consider that she might not be.  That this is a lie.”

“Perhaps it is,” he said in response.  “But should we not have proof before we accuse her of serving the Dark?  What reason do you have to believe that? What proof?”

Her mother made no reply.  Celebrían had now moved far enough into the kitchen that she see them facing one another before the door leading outside.

“You have none,” her cousin said bluntly.  He held his cloak in one hand and gestured towards her mother with the other.   “You have no proof, only a feeling. That is not a sufficient basis to make an accusation, especially of the sort you are making.”

“I do not trust her,” her mother’s voice rose urgently.  “Her story does not fit the person she appears to be.”

“Artanis, you have been to war,” he answered.  “You’ve felt its effects. You know what it does to those who’ve fought in it, year after year, even those who are powerful, wise and strong.  It damages the best of us. She need not be weak or a fool to have suffered and to have been affected. Consider Nelyafinwë or Findekáno. Were they weak?”

“The Oath caught them.”  His mother’s voice had grown cold with anger.

“Nelyo, yes; do you think I am likely to forget that?  He helped to raise me as much as my father did. He looked after me more than you were asked to do.” Celebrían heard a sharp pain in her cousin’s voice, similar to the pain in his voice when he’d spoken of her uncle, of Finrod.  “But, had he not sworn it, do you not think he would have felt the effects of the war regardless? If you cannot — if you will not — show compassion for the mistake of a man grieving his grandfather’s loss and his father’s pain, then look to those you’ve loved in Doriath.  Did the wars not affect Beleg or Mablung?”

“It was the jewels and the Oath that brought evil to Doriath.”

“Artanis, do not be so short-sighted,” he said, forcing his voice to become calm.  “Had evil not already been in the world, there would have been no need for Melyanna’s protections.  Did the jewels bring Thû to your door?”

“Short-sighted?” Her mother remained unmoved.  “You do not want to see what is before you. You don’t want to believe that she is not what she seems.”

“No.  Who would?   Is it truly something you want to believe?” 

“I don’t, but I don’t understand why you don’t trust me in this.”

“Because if she is what she appears to be, she is a great gift to us.  Because we may benefit so much from her. Because I already have. She’s given us so much already.”

“Yes, you’ve said.”  The anger remained apparent in her mother’s voice, but now there was something beneath it, something uglier to Celebrían’s ear.  “You’ve told me — they’ve all told me — how generous she has been with her knowledge and her help. Even here, at the feast, they’ve all spoken of the gifts she’s given: a new pick for Kemmótar and a hammer for Atanvardo. They even speak of the gifts she sent to Celebrían, to my husband and to me.   Truly, they say she is the lady of the gifts. If that is so, perhaps we should now begin to call her Annatariel?” 

“They’ve welcomed her,” he said simply.   “She wanted to show her appreciation.”  

“They’ve become blinded by what she offers,” countered her mother.  “Have you? Or were you already?”

“Artanis, I have learned from her,” said Celebrimbor.  Celebrían heard how he struggled to keep his voice calm and easy, not to raise it or to argue with her mother.  “I am learning from her. I’m learning with her. She and I — we — are learning so very much together. She can help me.”  Celebrían watched as her mother refused to listen. She watched as she turned away. She saw her cousin follow her and heard the plea in his voice as he spoke.  “She can help this city. She can help us make Eregion what we dreamed. I cannot do it alone, Artanis. I haven’t the skill, but she does and can teach me. This can be the city of which we — you and I — have dreamed.  It can be a place that allows us to move beyond the past.’

“She’s using you.”   Her mother’s voice was flat, her face closed.

“Is she?  For what?” Her cousin asked, disbelief clear in his tone.  “I’ve no skill to offer that she doesn’t possess. I’ve no knowledge to give her.”

“Only a willing mind and body to follow where she leads.”

“Artanis, that is unfair,” he said quietly.

“She uses you and the Mírdain to achieve a purpose but one we do not yet know.”

“If anything, we use her,” he said, still quietly, still attempting to remain calm.  “She’s not asked for anything.”

“Yet,” her mother said flatly.  “You had concerns about her. Why were they not sufficient to keep her out?”

At that, her cousin’s calm shattered.   “Look at me, Artanis,” he said, anger and pain clear in his voice.  “Look at me, and ask me again. How many places have I been welcome?  Truly welcome.”

“Lindon,” she said simply.

“True, Gil-Galad was kind,”  he said. “But how many others would have happily sent me away?  How many wished I’d perished as my father or my uncles had done, forgetting that I had sworn no oath and forsworn my allegiance to my own house.   There were always whispers of whose child I was and what my grandfather, my father and my uncles had done. I was of their blood. I was .. I am of the House of Fëanáro, and, by virtue of that alone, I was guilty.”   His voice was steady but Celebrían saw that his hand shook. Her mother refused to meet his eyes. “You know this. It is why you led us away, why you made a home for us here, before the whispers in Lindon became shouts.   Even so, even still, I am not and I cannot be welcome in Lórinand or in the Green Wood, not as you, whose father was blameless and whose husband is a Sinda, are.”

“I am sorry,” her mother said, “but that is no reason ...”

“How is it not?  Why would I not offer someone a chance?  Why would I not treat someone more fairly than I have been treated?  Why would I not require proof and fact rather than casting someone out based only upon rumor and suspicion.  Artanis, if she is not who she says she is, we will learn and will act then.”

“But when?  I fear it will be too late.  I fear you are already blinded by your own desire and your own affection.”

“Desire for what?” Celebrían heard the anger in his voice now.  “Affection for what? For her? Artanis, that is unworthy.”

“By your desire for knowledge,” her mother said.  “I thought you were blinded by your desire to surpass your grandfather.  I thought your ambition to best his achievements and your need to prove yourself blinded you to what she is.   I have also come to fear that you have become blinded by your affection for her. I have grown to fear that you may care for her and that affects your judgment about her.”

Her cousin laughed, but it is a strange laugh with no humor in it but only a very bitter sound.  “Artanis, she is my friend,” he said. “I do care for her.”

“Tyelpe, don’t,” her mother answered.  “Don’t make that mistake. Do not care for her.  Choose anyone else. But do not choose her.”

“Artanis, she is my friend,” her cousin replied.  “but, were she more, that is hardly your concern.”

“Not her, Tyelpe,” her mother said with a new and a strange urgency in her voice.  “Not her. Don’t think she’d stay with you and be happy here. Don’t imagine she’d marry you and bear you eight children so that you might finally best your grandfather at something.  She won’t.   She might make use of you, even bed you if it pleases her, but she'll not do more than that.  She can't."

He looked as if she’d slapped him.   “Artanis,” he said, “you go too far.   Why would you even care who I wed or who I ...  Why would it even matter to you?”

“I …” her mother seemed to sense that she had, perhaps, pushed him too far.  “You’re my family and I care for you. I’m concerned about you.”

“Artanis, I am happy when I work with her,” he said, and Celebrían heard how he forced his voice to become quiet and to return to something resembling calmness. “I’m happy to be around her.   It’s been no more than friendship, but it’s more than I’d thought to have. And what if it were more? Why would that matter to you? She understands me. She sees me. And not simply as the heir to a house dispossessed.”

“She doesn’t mean well.”  

“Is it so hard to imagine someone enjoying my company?  Wanting to be with me?” Celebrimbor asked, the calmness of his voice giving way to bitterness.  “Simply because you refused me? Do you hate me ... did you hate my grandfather so much ... do you see him in me so clearly that you can’t imagine someone would care for me?” 

“No,” her mother sounded shocked.  “I think many would, but she is not one of them.” 

“Have done, Artanis,” he replied.   There was a bitter finality in his voice.  It frightened Celebrían. “You cannot reject me and then presume to tell me whom I may befriend, whom I may love.  You haven’t that right.” He turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.   

Celebrían’s mother stood and walked to the door.  She seemed ready to open it and follow him, but she did not, standing quietly before it with her hand placed above the handle.   Then she turned and saw Celebrían there.

“He has a point,” Celebrían heard her father say.  He stood behind her with the King’s Herald at his side.  “And a good heart. He loved you once, and he has not begrudged you your happiness with me.  He has accepted me and has loved our child as if she were his own. Would you begrudge him friendship or love simply because you do not care for the woman he may choose?”

“I know,” her mother said, and Celebrían saw the tears on her face and heard them in her voice.   “I know, but I do not trust her. I fear for him with her.”

“Unless and until we learn differently, there is little we may do about it.  I had intended to encourage you to invite her into our home in order to learn more of her and to keep his trust.  Now I do not know if that would matter. You may be correct, but he is not yet able to hear it and you may have driven him to her.”

“How so?”

“Do you not think he might confront her with your fears?   Do you not think her more than capable of answering any question he might have?   Unless she is both false and foolish, I suspect he will go to her now and she’ll have this well in hand.  It will be far more difficult to remove her from his company now.”

Celebrían turned and, moving between her father and Elrond, hurried out of the kitchen.  She walked quickly through the great room, not minding the dancers or the expressions on the guests’ faces, and then, finding her heavy cloak still hanging on a hook near the front door, threw it on and ran out the front door.

The night air was cold.  The sky was heavy with clouds and there was the smell of snow upon the soft breeze.  The sound of revelers making their way to the lower city surrounded her. For a moment or two, Celebrían stood, shivering in her thin gown and shoes, in front of her house before she wrapped the cloak more tightly around her and considered what to do.   She was certain that her father was right. Her cousin had already planned to see Mairen, and Celebrían knew that the argument he’d had with her mother made it more rather than less likely that he would seek out his friend. But she didn’t know where he would look for her.   He had said that she was attending a feast with some of the journeymen, and Celebrían knew that many of them lived in or very near to the lower city. She also knew that the quickest route to the lower city passed both Mairen’s home and her cousin’s and so she began to walk down the street in that direction without any clear idea of what she would do if she saw her cousin or Mairen along the way.  She knew that she needed to see him and she knew that she needed to tell him not to mind what her mother said because she was only worried about him. But she did not know what else she should or could do. She wanted to make it as if the argument had never happened, but she did not know how or if that was possible.

After a block or two, she saw him moving before her.  He was not walking quickly, and he seemed to be very deep in thought.  He stopped from time to time and stood very still, but he always began to walk again, moving steadily in the direction of his house.   Celebrían watched as he walked past the house on the corner, the house in which Mairen now lived, and then stopped. There was a light shining in one of the windows on the second floor.  He turned to look at it, both his face and his body appearing, to Celebrían’s eye, as if he were wrestling with a decision. He seemed to have made one because he turned from the house and began to walk towards his home.  But, as soon as Celebrían decided that it would be safe to call to him, he stopped abruptly. She watched as he walked back to the corner house and strode up to the door. He rapped twice upon it, but no one responded, at least not immediately.  His face uncertain and his body tense, he stood, waiting, for a few moments longer before he turned again and walked down the steps. As he reached the last one, the door opened. As it did, Celebrían stepped back and slipped into the space between two of the row houses.  She was able to see her cousin where he stood and the door as it opened completely and a woman stepped out.

It was Mairen.  She stood in the doorway.  She carried a lamp in one hand, the light of it illuminating her face.   Celebrían thought that she must have only very recently returned from the feast she’d attended.   Mairen wore a gown, green as the leaves of a holly tree, and she appeared to have been taking down her hair.   Its raven-dark waves fell loose down her back, but a single braid remained and hung down by her right shoulder.   She looked at the man standing before her and seemed surprised to see him at her door.

“It is late, my friend,” she said quietly.  “I had decided that you were no longer coming.”

“Forgive me for being late,” her cousin replied, “but I find I have questions that I must ask you.”

“These questions will not wait until morning?” Mairen asked.  The lamp moved slightly in the breeze so that its light flickered, illuminating some parts of her face but casting others into shadow.  

“No, my friend,” he answered, “I am sorry, but they will not.”

“I see,” Mairen said in response.  “Do you wish to ...” She stepped away from the door in order to allow him to enter her home.

“No, not at the moment,” he said.  He paused. His eyes were fixed upon hers.  He seemed to be studying her. Celebrían thought that she was as strikingly and strangely beautiful as she had seemed that afternoon.  Her hair was thick and dark and its sheen glimmered in the moonlight. Her skin was fair and fine under the light of the stars and of the moon.  Her features were perfect, as perfect as the face of the doll she’d given Celebrían.   

Despite the perfection of her features, Mairen seemed as uncertain as the man standing before her.   The hand holding the lamp was steady, but Mairen’s other arm was wrapped tightly about her body as if she sought to protect herself against something.   Celebrían thought this was very strange. Only Celebrimbor was here, and he had tried to protect Mairen rather than do her harm. 

“What is it?” she asked, her rich and musical voice filled with concern.  “What troubles you?”

He continued to scrutinize her.  “Why,” he began, “are you here?”

Celebrían heard the concern in his voice.  She saw it mirrored on Mairen’s face.

“In Eregion?” Mairen asked in response, the music of her voice soft, shaded towards sadness.

Celebrían watched as he hesitated.   She knew that he’d wanted to see Mairen tonight, but she also knew that he hadn’t wanted to be here as he was, standing before her and asking difficult questions of her.   She remembered him in the snow, looking at Mairen and saying more of his family than he’d said in the years Celebrían had known him. She thought of how he’d said that her voice, speaking his name, sounded of home to him and thought of how he’d looked when he heard her sing.  She remembered how he’d defended her, quietly but firmly, to the High King’s man and become angry when her mother had suggested that Mairen wouldn’t, that she couldn’t, care for him as he seemed to care for her. But here he was and he had begun to ask questions of her that seemed certain to hurt her and likely to damage their friendship.   He’d done this, Celebrían realized, because her mother had doubts about Mairen and because he loved and trusted her mother. She wondered if her mother knew, if she’d understand.

He drew a slow, deep breath and continued, “In Eregion, yes.  But also in Middle Earth. Why are you here? You have said that you came with the Host of Valinor when they fought Melkor. You have told me that you chose to stay and that you traveled in the East for many years after the war.  But why did you stay once the war had ended when we know of no others of Valinor who did?”

“Why did I stay after the war had ended?”  Mairen asked. Celebrían noticed that her voice had become strained, its music far softer than before.   “Why did I stay once the host of Valinor left? Why did I stay when I was told to return with them? I have told you this, my friend.”

“I would have you tell me again,” her cousin replied.

“You do not believe me,” Mairen said, her voice was now flat and its music almost gone.

“I did not say that.”  

“The Lady did.  She does not believe me,” Mairen countered, the sound of her voice strangely discordant, “and so you doubt me.”

“I did not say that I doubted you, but I would have you tell me again.”

“Will you always doubt me if she does?”  Mairen asked. Celebrían heard the question in her voice and the strain in it, and she saw that Mairen’s expression as fragile and brittle as it had been earlier that day.   “She will never trust me, no matter how true I am proven to be.”

“She will,” Celebrían heard her cousin say and noticed the plea in his voice.  “She is fair.” 

“In other matters, she may be.  But I fear she cannot be in this one,” Mairen answered.  “But, be that as it may, I will do as you wish. I will answer these questions and I will answer them as many times as you bid me until you either accept me or order me to leave.” 

Celebrimbor said nothing in reply.  He simply stood and waited for her response. 

Mairen continued, “You would know why I remained in Middle Earth?  I stayed because I had seen the valor and the struggles of the people of Middle Earth in the Great War.   I grew to care for them, and I became concerned for them. I did not want to leave them to rebuild on their own.”

“Few of those who traveled with the Host of Valinor felt as you did.”

“Perhaps more than you know,” she answered.  “Most, I suspect, would not have wished to anger the Valar, especially with such powerful evidence of the effects of their wrath.   Others, I think, were weary of the fighting and wanted only to return to a home untouched by war.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I no longer felt Valinor to be my home.   I had not for some time.” 

“Why?” 

“I was hurt, Tyelperinquar.  I was confused. I was angry.  The endless war had damaged me, and Valinor, particularly under the conditions the Valar had imposed for those who would return, could not be my home.”

“Conditions?”   As he spoke, Celebrían began to notice the sounds of revelers moving through the streets near to them.   

“Imposed by the decree granting forgiveness to some and not to others.   Those who would return must have repented. Those who would return dare not question.  Those who would return must accept that the Valar cannot be wrong.”

Celebrían was surprised.    Her parents, particularly her mother, sometimes questioned the Valar, but they had not suggested that they were or could be wrong, merely that there were things they had not known or considered.  Even as she pondered this, she heard laughter from a street or two away, the sound of a bottle shattering as it hit the ground and then voices breaking into a loud and bawdy song.

“That was for the Exiles,” Celebrimbor said.  “You were not an Exile.”

Mairen paused, an odd expression on her face.  But then she replied, “And you do not believe it holds true for others too?”

He did not answer.   

“I was not ready to accept those conditions, not after what I had seen.  How could I return home after having watched a world destroyed before my eyes?”

“Many others did.”

“And I did not,” Mairen said simply, her voice no longer discordant but not as musical as it had been.  “Do you ask me — does she ask these questions — because you are both barred from returning? Does she wish the way open to her?  Her husband will not go. He remains tied to Middle Earth. Would you have returned had the way been open to you and had she asked it of you?  Would you have returned with your cousin if she’d asked? Would you still, Tyelperinquar, if she did?”

“Mairen,  I don’t know.  It doesn’t matter,” he said.  “I cannot return. I must still make amends for my family’s crimes.”

“And you say this and wonder why I do not return?”  A note of bitterness had entered her voice.

“Mairen,” he sighed, “You did not know me or know I existed.”

“Do you think you are that unique?  That there are no others judged unfairly as you are?”

He sighed but didn’t respond directly to her, “What was it that prevented your return?”

“I saw the suffering of the people of Middle Earth, and I knew that the Valar had known of their suffering and had allowed it for years.  I was angry that they chose only to come at the very end, in the most desperate hour, and then, having won and having attained their vengeance, chose to offer succor to some and not to others.  I was angry that they had wrought destruction and then left many to rebuild without 

assistance because they were unwilling to forgive them the mistakes they’d made.” 

“What did you intend to do with this anger?”

“I didn’t know what to do,” Mairen said, her voice becoming musical once again, though the music was strident and fierce.  “I knew only that my anger was wild and destructive. I knew it served no good purpose, and I knew I needed to be away and to heal.  I went to the East, away from the drowned land and the destroyed lives. I should have stayed, Tyelperinquar. I might have helped, but I was angry and I was ashamed.

“And?”  As he asked Mairen this, Celebrían heard another group of elves and then another — the servants must have been released from their duties in the great houses — moving through the streets behind them.  Their voices were lifted in song and laughter, making it more difficult to hear what her cousin said to Mairen and she to him.

“You know this.  I have told you.”

“Tell me again,” he said, but, though it wasn’t easy to hear him, Celebrían noticed that his voice had changed.  It was less uncertain. It had become the sound of one who wished to hear a tale rather than one who feared it. 

“I went East, and, in the East, I stayed.   I learned more of the people there, the people the Valar neglected, the people most here despised.  I lived with them and I helped them, and I learned much of great importance there, including knowledge we’d believed lost, curwë we’d not yet discovered.”

“So you’ve said,” her cousin answered.  “And then?”

“I lived there and I learned, but I grew to miss the languages I had known of old.  I missed the sounds of the songs I had loved. I missed the voices of Elves. I was not ready to return to Valinor, but I sought an elven home in Middle Earth.”

“And so you returned.”

“And so I did.”

“What do you seek now?”

“I seek to make a better world for those who stay here whether by choice or decree.”

“For whom would this world be better?” asked Celebrimbor, sounding uneasy again.

“For everyone,” she answered, her voice beginning to grow in strength and the music of it becoming stronger and more clear, though it was still more fierce and strident than Celebrían was used to hearing.  “For Elves. For Men. For Dwarves. For the Noldor. The Sindar. The Silvan. For you. For me.” 

“Ambitious.”

She began to step away from the doorway and to walk a step and then two closer to him.   “It will be a better world for everyone,” she continued, “but we start here. We start in Eregion.  We show them what the world might be. Show them that they need not seek the West. That we might make our own blessed realm here.”

“That is heresy,” he answered, but his voice contained a thread or two of excitement in it.

“Indeed.”

“What would it look like, Mairen?”  he pressed. “This brave new world you imagine?”

“It would be orderly,” she answered, her voice growing more intense and melodious with each word.   “Without chaos and strife. Without war. There would be no famine, none would go hungry. Mortals would live longer and better lives.  We would not fade.” 

“Is it possible?”  He had begun to walk up the steps towards her.  The sound of music and song was now to be heard from the lower city; it rang out, fierce and joyful, against the darkness of the longest night.

“Perhaps.  I do not know,” she said, moving another step or two towards him.  “No one has tried. But should one not strive for it? Is it not a worthy end?”

“How would you achieve it?”  he challenged, drawing still closer to her.

“Draw upon the better qualities of Men and Elves.  Of Dwarves. Show them what life might be. Provide them with an example.  Raise their hopes. Their expectations. Help them.” Looking at Mairen, as she spoke, Celebrían saw a brilliant light beginning to shine in her eyes and upon her face and she heard the song stronger still in her voice.    She was drawn to it and drawn to the woman speaking. She was compelling and so very beautiful.

“Is this something we ought to attempt?” he asked.  “Isn’t decay written into the nature of things in Arda Marred?”

“Must it be?   In Valinor, there is little that fades.  Why not for the Men and Elves of Middle Earth?  For the Dwarves? Why must they, faithful as they have been, suffer for decisions not their own?”

“And how do I fit into this?  Into this new world of which you dream and for which you plan?”  he asked, standing directly before her. “Am I merely useful to you as you said last night?  A tool of which you might make use?”

He was almost as compelling as she.   His eyes were starlit. He was very strong and commanding, and his face was very fair.

“Not useful,” Mairen replied softly.  “Necessary. You are necessary.”

“How so, lady?”

“I cannot do this without you,” she said, light still in her eyes and in her face.  “I have need of you.”

“In what way?” he answered.   

“Your skill.  Your talents. Your craft.  None of this is possible without you.”

“For my abilities and only that?”  His voice was very gentle and with the slightest sound of disappointment in it.

“Isn’t it what you want?” she asked.   

“It is more than I imagined,” he said gently, the light of the lamp she carried playing upon his face.   “I simply imagined a better and more lasting one.”

“But do you not find it worthy?”   Her voice had become more fervent.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Then create it with me,” she said.  She seemed almost to plead with him, to beg him to understand and to agree with her.  There was a snap and a soft boom and Celebrían heard the keening sound of fireworks coming from the markets and the guild houses.  She heard them explode and saw the dazzle of thousands of tiny, multicolored stars in the sky. “I can show you how it might be built. I can teach you what you need to know to create the city and the realm of which you’ve dreamed, the sanctuary you’ve imagined.  Let us build it together. You cannot do it without me. I cannot do it without you. I need you at my side.”

For the curwë?  For the craft?” he asked softly,  raising one hand and touching her face gently.   Another firework had been set and its light, a deep red, was cast around them, staining Mairen’s skin and coloring his hand.  Cheers and voices raised still louder in song sounded from the lower city. “For that and that alone?”

She did not answer him immediately.   Instead, Celebrían noticed that she seemed to hesitate and noticed how intently she looked up his face as if she were not sure of what she should do and searched for some guidance.   Celebrían also saw how her cousin watched her as intently and as if he was uncertain of what she might say. Mairen closed her eyes and the light in her face grew softer. When she opened them, she seemed smaller and less certain, and Celebrían heard uncertainty in the music of her voice.   

“Perhaps at first,” she began.  “Before I knew you.” She paused and seemed to collect herself and her words, then continued.  “I thought it might be beneficial to the both of us. You would receive the knowledge you desired and the curwë you sought, and I would help you to build the city you imagined.    I would learn then whether the project — the world — I had dreamed was possible. But it quickly became more than that.”

“How so?”  Celebrían noticed that where Mairen seemed to diminish, Celebrimbor had not.  He remained as compelling and strong as he had before. His eyes were as brilliant and his voice as challenging as it had been before.  Celebrían heard another crack as a firework was lit and exploded; brilliant white light touched her cousin’s face while Mairen’s fell into shadow.  

“You challenged me from the beginning.  You did not accept what I said as truth but would have me prove it and show you why it would work,”  she said and seemed to have regained some of her certainty, her voice had grown strong and rich and her eyes seemed to meet his with more ease.   She stood, though, in a way that suggested that this was not entirely true, that she was less easy than she appeared. She seemed poised to move in response to some threat Celebrían was not able to see.  “You challenged me to demonstrate why my plans were viable and why my course of action should be followed. You made suggestions. You forced me to reconsider. You demanded that I improve.

“You did not care for that,” he observed.  “Not at first.”

“It has been a long time since I have been asked to do more, a longer time still since I have been challenged, and a still longer time since the person who challenged me meant well,” she replied, stretching a hand towards him and brushing her fingers against his cloak.  “You understood the implications of each suggestion and pushed me farther than I had thought you would. I found that I was challenged from the beginning. I found that I looked forward to the debates and the collaboration. I discovered that I was becoming better than I had been, and I knew it was because I worked with you.”

He watched her closely.  “But that is the work, Mairen.  Am I important to you outside of it?”

“But that is where it started,” she said, and she seemed almost to be pleading, almost to demand his understanding.  “I cannot do this without your help. I need the skill and talent you possess; that is true. But it would not matter.  I would not wish to do so. I looked forward to each new project, not only for its own sake, but because it would be done with you.   I realized that I had found a friend in you, someone to whom I may speak, someone with whom I may share my thoughts.”

Celebrían noticed that she had reached for and touched his cloak again, her hand resting where his arm must be.

He slipped his hand from beneath his cloak and caught hers.   “And?”

“It has been a very long time since I have had such a friend  I had not thought ... after the war, even before, I thought I should always be alone, that I might find those with whom I might work but none with whom I might share more than that.   But I found you here, and you were more than I had expected, more than I had hoped to find ...” she paused, struggling to find the words she wanted. “I have said that you are necessary to the work I would do, that we would do together, but I find you are necessary to more than that.  I do not want to continue alone. I would have you with me.”

“Good,” he answered.  “I want to be.” 

She closed her eyes and stood very still.  “Do you?” she asked, her voice very soft.

“Yes,  I do,” he said, moving closer still.  He still held her hand in one of his but, reaching forward with the other, touched her face carefully, his fingers lightly cupping it, brushing gently against the line of her cheek.  “But, Mairen, I have to ask one more question of you.”

“Which is?” she asked.

“If I do this, if I work with you, will you tell me what it is you hide?”

“I have answered your questions.  I have told you why I am here. What else do you want of me?”

“Mairen,” he said gently, “there is something you are concealing, something you hide.  I have not pried. I have not pressed because I know what it is to have something of which you are ashamed, but, Mairen, it is hard to support you if I know nothing of what you fear.”

“Please trust that I have my reasons and that they are good.”

“Mai, please believe that I am worthy of your trust.”

“I am here, am I not?”  Celebrían noticed how brittle the sound of her voice had become, beautiful but near to breaking. 

“You are, and that should be reason to trust me.”

Celebrían noticed how still she stood and how closely she watched him.

“Mai, please,” he extended his hand to her.  A gust of wind had moved through the street. It caught his cloak and caused it to billow around him, and her hair to stream around and behind her.  “Please.”

“I dare not.”  She looked at his hand but did not take it.

“Mairen, how may I support you, how may I answer those who doubt you, if I know nothing.”  He stepped closer to Mairen. Celebrían thought she might step back in her turn, but Mairen did not.   “Trust me, Mairen. I would not hurt you.”  

“It would not be your intention,” she replied.  The light of the lamp she held flickered. She sheltered it with her hand, but the light danced in the wind, so that her face was sometimes shadowed and sometimes illuminated.

“It would not be my intention, but there is something else you have concealed,” Celebrimbor began.   Celebrían noticed that he seemed both uneasy and determined; the expression on his face was similar to the one he wore when he must tell her mother something he knew she would not like. “There is something else, something I feel when I am with you.  There are parts of yourself that you hide. I feel them. I feel them when we work with one another. I feel them when you are near and your thought touches mine. There is more to you than you have shared. I feel it.”

She made no response, but seemed to be considering her answer.  Celebrían watched as her cousin took her face in his hands and asked, ”Am I not your friend?” 

“Yes.” Celebrían felt, even at this distance, that Mairen forced herself to remain still.

“Then trust me with this.   What is it about yourself that you do not want me to know?”   One of his hands remained upon Mairen’s face, turning it to face him.

“You may not like it.”  Her voice was flat in response.

“I am your friend.  You are important to me.  I want to know you. I need to know you.  Mairen, please. Trust me with this.”  

“You do not know what you ask.”

“Don’t be,” he replied, his hand curved around her cheek and fingers slipping into her hair.  “I would protect you.”

“Can you?” she asked, disbelief clear in her voice.  “Would you? It is so easy to say before you know.”  

“Please,” he said.  “Mairen, please, trust me with who you are.”   Watching him, Celebrían was again reminded of the captain of the guard and the way he’d looked at Lisen as if he needed something only she might give him.

“As you will,” Mairen replied, her voice resigned.   Celebrimbor released her and stepped back. She placed the lamp down upon the ground, throwing her face and Celebrimbor’s into more shadow.  Still, Celebrían was able to see her as she slowly extended her hands to him and took his right hand in hers. She drew it close to her. Cradling it in her left hand, she ran in the fingers of her right hand across his and then covered his with hers.  She held it close for a little while, her eyes upon his face, before she released it and moved away. 

Celebrimbor looked at his hand and then at Mairen.   Celebrían thought his expression was very strange. There was wonder in it and surprise, but she saw no fear in his face at all.

“Oh,” he said softly.  “Mairen, that’s .... I ... I didn’t ...”

He moved much closer to her and touched her face again with his fingers.   But, where his touch had demanded her attention and forced her to remain where and as she was before, it was now gentle and tender.  He touched her, Celebrían thought, as if she were something very precious, something to be admired. He brushed his fingers across the line of her cheekbone and the curve of her jaw before tenderly cupping her cheek in his hand.   Mairen remained very still and allowed him to continue to touch her, but Celebrían, seeing her, felt that she remained a little uncertain and afraid. But, even as Celebrían thought this, Mairen seemed to grow more receptive to his touch.   Her stance, so alert, softened. She moved a little closer to him and then raised her hand to cover his with her own, intertwining her fingers with his.  

“I am a fool,” he said.  “I should have known.”

“I did not want you to know,” she replied.  “I was not sure you would accept me. We were not to stay.   But I was not yet ready to go.”

He slipped his hand from under hers and took both of her hands in his.  “You refused to return after the war, knowing it meant you could not go back to the service of Aulë?

“I did.”

“Were you free to return?”  Celebrían heard an urgency in his voice she didn’t understand.   But she didn’t understand what it was he knew, what she’d told him.

“They asked it of me,” she answered, her voice careful and soft, scarce to be heard.

“And that you haven’t?”

“I’ve heard naught about it,” she said more firmly.  “Nothing good. Nothing ill. Nothing. But nothing is unlike to be good in the end.”

“No,” he replied.   “It is not, and so you are here among the Exiles, seeking to build a new and different world from the wilderness.”

“And so I am,” she answered.

“Are there others like you? Of your kind? Others who, like you, are not in service to the Dark?”

“Yes,” she replied.  “The evidence of that may be found in your own city if you have the eyes to see.”

“Oh,” he said.

“But I would advise you to keep that secret.  There are those that guess but do not know. Some of those would judge her almost as harshly as they might judge me with little reason.  She had no control over her birth.”

“I will,” he said.  “You didn’t need to ask.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He looked intently at her.  “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for trusting me with this.  We shall speak more tomorrow of what you plan and determine how we might move forward.”  As he spoke, Celebrían heard, louder than before, the sounds of music and celebration both in the lower city and in the streets around them.  

Mairen nodded.

“Good night, Mairen,” he said gently.  “Sleep well, my friend.”

He released her hands and took a single step away from her, his eyes still fixed upon her face.   After another moment, perhaps two, he began to turn in order to walk down the stairs. But, before he’d taken the first step, Mairen moved forward and asked, in a voice that suggested the question was one she felt compelled, rather than wished, to ask. 

“And I, Tyelperinquar of the House of Fëanáro?  What am I to your plans? To your ambitions? Your goals?”

Snow had begun to fall again.  Heavy, large flakes descended slowly, spiraled lazily from the sky.   It began to blanket the lamps, to fall along the cobblestones. It touched Celebrían’s cloak, dusted her cousin’s hair, covered the lamp next to Mairen’s feet.

He stopped.  She waited. Another burst of laughter and the sound of many feet running might be heard a street or two away.

“Necessary,” he said, his voice strangely rough.  “You are necessary.”

“For the knowledge I possess?  And the curwë? The skills I can teach? For how those serve your goals?  Your desire to surpass what has been done before? For that alone?” Celebrían heard the doubt in Mairen’s voice, and she didn’t understand it.

He turned and looked at her where she stood, snow falling in the small space between them.   “Do you not know? Everyone else seems to know, even Celebrían. It seems I have been transparent to all but you.”

“I do not,” she replied, the doubt all the more apparent.   A delicate trail of snow began to appear on the arms of her gown and along the skirt.  It collected in her hair and at her feet. Amid the ongoing sounds of revelry in the streets around her, Celebrían heard the sound of a step on the street behind her and sensed a presence behind her.

“I cannot do what I imagine alone, not without you or what you teach,” he said, closing the space between them.  “But, had you no more knowledge to offer and no skill left to teach, no matter whether every goal I had was fulfilled or would ever remain out of my reach, I would still have need of you here.  You, my friend, my very dear friend, are essential to me. Never doubt that.”

She nodded and bowed her head.   “Good,” she said. “I would like to be.”   

“I am glad,” he said softly and and took her hands in his.  Then he bent his head and pressed his lips to her hands. Celebrían knew this gesture.  He had kissed her hand this way and her mother’s too. Her mother said that it was a courtly gesture and that it signaled allegiance and admiration, but Celebrían thought she saw a different meaning in the touch of his lips to Mairen’s hands.   It was more tender and the touch of his lips lingered. It spoke of allegiance and of admiration, but also of something more, something deeper and more complicated.   

She watched as he turned Mairen’s hands in his own and brought his lips to her fingers and then her palms.   She watched as Mairen, her face still so very beautiful, closed her eyes and lowered her head. She watched as her cousin, moving very slowly and carefully, lowered Mairen’s hands and, releasing them, stepped away.    He stopped and stood very still only a pace, perhaps two, away from her, and Celebrían saw that Mairen had lifted her eyes and was looking at him. The expression on her face startled Celebrían. It was the same brittle, fragile and vulnerable expression Celebrían had noticed upon her face both that evening and earlier that afternoon.  Seeing it before, Celebrían had believed it to be the look of someone who feared she would be hurt.  But, now, she saw that it was not so, at least not entirely.   Instead, it was the look of someone who wanted something, who yearned for it, but knew that what they desired would always be out of reach.  It was, Celebrían thought, remembering Mairen's description of the Werewolf Thû and how he'd felt hearing Finrod's song, the look of someone who was able to see light in the darkness and to feel warmth in the night but who knew that the warmth and the light were not and had never been meant for them.  But, unlike earlier today, this was not a fleeting expression easily to be dismissed or overlooked.  It was clear and unmistakable, and Celebrían felt her own heart ache, watching Mairen.   

“Mairen?” Celebrimbor asked, and Celebrían heard the concern in his voice and knew that he too had noticed the look upon her face.  “Should I not …”

But he fell silent.  Mairen had begun to take one slow step and then another towards him, her eyes never leaving his face.  Standing before him, she raised her hand to touch his cheek and then the line of his jaw before she took one final step forward and brought her lips to his.  

It was not a hurried kiss.  It was slow, and it was certain and clear in its meaning.   Mairen kissed him the way Celebrían’s parents kissed one another when they did not know she was in the room.  As she kissed him, Celebrían saw her cousin carefully slide one hand into Mairen’s dark hair and then, placing the other at the small of her back, pull her body against his. 

Celebrían felt embarrassed and uncomfortable as if she were, once again, seeing something secret and private, not meant for her eyes or anyone else’s.  But she also felt that she saw something very important, something that, though it seemed only to do with her cousin and Mairen, would matter to them all.  

They remained close, Mairen's body pressed against his, for longer than Celebrían thought would be comfortable before their lips parted and they stood looking at one another.

“Are you,” she said softly, “glad of this?”

“Yes,” he said simply.  “And you?”

She did not answer but gently brought her lips to his again, letting that be her answer.  When they parted for the second time, they stood silently, gazing steadily at one another, the sound of songs and of laughter and the noise of music surrounding them.   Very gently, he released her and moved away. “Sleep well, my lady,” he said. “We have much to discuss and to plan tomorrow.”

“And you,” said Mairen.  “Sleep well.”

He turned and continued walking down the street toward his home.   Mairen stood and watched him go, a strange expression upon her face.  For a moment, a wild and triumphant joy blazed upon it, only to fade slowly and to be replaced with something very much akin to sorrow, something very much like regret.   She stood, perhaps watching until Celebrimbor passed from her sight, and then she turned and entered her home.  

A hand gently touched Celebrían’s shoulder.   “We should return home,” the High King’s herald said to her.  “It is late and growing colder, and your parents will be concerned.  You frightened them when you left.”

“They didn’t come after me.”

“I thought it would be better if I did,” he replied.  “I thought you and they needed a moment to collect yourselves, although I’m not sure, given what we have heard, that you have had that opportunity.”

“I didn’t understand it.  He would not hurt her.”

“No,” Elrond replied, “he would not mean to hurt her.  But he might even if he did not mean to do so, as she might hurt him whether she intended so or not.  That is a risk we take when we care for another person. We become vulnerable and we might be hurt.”

“Oh,” she answered.  “I’m not sure I ...”

“The heart has its reasons,” he replied.  “We are complicated, Celebrían. We are all complicated, particularly when it comes to one another.”

“Was that a good thing?”

“That we heard and saw?” he asked.  “For them? Perhaps it was. Perhaps not. For me and for my king, I do not know. I have many questions and, as of yet, no answers for them.”

They walked slowly to her home, the cobblestones of the street had grown slick with the snow.  Elrond slowed his pace to match hers and carefully guided her through the more treacherous places.  After some time, perhaps less time than it seemed, they had arrived at Celebrían’s home, and she saw her parents waiting for her at the door.   

Chapter End Notes

Mairen's rather extensive plans for building a brave new world in Middle Earth have a certain basis in canon, despite her decidedly non-canonical nature.  

In his letters and other writings (and, yes, citations, I know; they're coming), Tolkien describes Sauron as a revolutionary whose nature and whose great weakness involved an affinity for order and a desire to impose that order upon the world, and, in certain of the letters, he is described as a revolutionary being, whose inability to reliquish control leads ultimately to his corruption and to his downfall.  In this particular universe, Mairen desires above all to craft a world in Middle Earth that is tangibly better in terms of quality of life of its inhabitants.   As with the canonical Sauron, her desire to achieve order led her to serve Melkor about whom she is somewhat ambivalent and decidedly cynical.  He is, ultimately, for her a means to the end she wants to achieve, though, how precisely, that would work is unclear to her; as for Melkor, well, he's aware of the divergence in their plans and, given how much more powerful he is, he's not concerned and finds his lieutenant's persisting idealism both annoying and amusing.  He also very much enjoys watching her slow and continued corruption.   As for Eregion, it does mean that her designs are set upon improvement and there is a certain affinity and overlap with those of Celebrimbor who hopes to achieve a renewed Middle Earth in which the works of the Elves are maintained.  He also envisions a hierarchical society in which Elves occupy the pre-eminent place.    Mairen may, in fact, imagine greater scope for Men in her world than he does in his; he, however, is far more in tune with the idea that the peoples of Middle Earth ought to exercise their own free will.   Needless to say, she doesn't exactly agree.

On a lighter note, the dessert made of pastry puffs is a croquembouche, and, yes, Galadriel does serve chocolate and vanilla pots-de-creme, custard not being an uncommon dish in our own early modern world.   The reference to the troublesome and amoral Numenorean prince is a nod to the unscrupulous Hernan Cortes, reputed to have brought vanilla beans and cacao seeds to Europe.   

The tradition inviting servants to dance at the Midwinter Feast is a reference to Addison's Goblin Emperor and its Winternight Ball, an occasion on which servants and nobility in the Elflands may dance together.  Again, this tale is an effort, albeit a poor one, to acknowledge works I've loved.

Mairen's secret involved what she is, not who she has served.   He remains unaware of that.

Early the next morning, a messenger arrived with a note.   Celebrían answered the door. Her mind had remained occupied with what she had seen and heard the previous evening and so she was slow to acknowledge the presence of the chestnut-haired apprentice of the Mirdain standing before her.   Before she’d managed to finish greeting him, he had shoved a note, written on thick and fine paper, into her hand and hurried down the steps and out into the street. Celebrían watch him for a moment or two before walking back inside her home, all the while staring at the note in her hands.  

It had been addressed to her, her mother, her father and the Lord Elrond in a very strong and strikingly beautiful hand she’d not seen before.   She looked closely at it and marveled at the regularity of the letters as she walked into the library. Her mother sat on the sofa Celebrimbor and Mairen had occupied only a little more than a day before.   Her father stood near the fire. Elrond sat in the chair nearest her mother. The three were speaking quietly and seriously among themselves. Celebrían supposed they spoke of her cousin and of Mairen. Little else had occupied her parents and the King’s Herald this morning.  They had discussed what she and Elrond had seen the previous evening and had talked about it at greater length than Celebrían thought was necessary. She knew — she had known — that her cousin liked Mairen and that Mairen liked him. She didn’t find it surprising. She wasn’t sure why her parents thought it was something about which they needed to talk.  She herself didn’t want to think about it or about her cousin kissing someone. She didn’t want to think about anyone kissing, but especially not someone to whom she was related. Moreover, she thought the questions Celebrimbor had asked of Mairen and the answers Mairen had given him before Elrond had come were far more interesting. She had tried to mention this to her parents.  But neither her mother nor father were listening to her. Both were more concerned with what Elrond thought than with anything she might have seen or heard.   

As she’d thought, they were discussing her cousin and Mairen, but, much to her relief, it seemed they were no longer speaking of the events of the previous night.   Instead, Elrond seemed to be asking them why Mairen remained in Eregion if her parents were as worried about her as they appeared to be.

“If you are so concerned about her,” Elrond said, “why do you not simply revoke her welcome?”

“Tell her to leave?” her mother asked.

“It’s not quite so simple,” said her father.

“Eregion was founded as a sanctuary,” her mother said,  “in part because Celebrimbor reminded us of the need for one.   Do you not remember? We left Lindon because we decided that we could and should establish a refuge for those who were either unable or unwilling to leave Middle Earth for the West.   We knew few whose actions in the wars had been blameless, and we knew of many neither able nor willing to set sail for Valinor. We wanted them to have a place to come and to begin anew, and we feared, after Celebrimbor had struggled for acceptance, that Lindon, despite Gil-Galad’s best intentions, might not be such a place.”

“He wanted it to be,” Elrond insisted.

“True,” Celebrían’s father answered.   He turned from the fire and, walking to the sofa, sat by her mother.  “But, at the time, the events of the war were too fresh, the memories too hard and the resentment too great.  How many in Lindon had friends and family who died at the Havens? How many remembered Doriath? So we decided to try again somewhere new.  Truth be told, I was grateful for the opportunity to be closer to my kin.”

“We asked few questions of those who wished to settle in Eregion,” her mother continued.  “To settle here, one needed only to relinquish any grudge, to refuse to fight battles long decided and to swear not to be a servant of Morgoth.   We felt there was little need to demand more information. We knew most settlers. We also knew that most of the servants of the Enemy had perished in the war, and so we thought we had little to fear from them.”   

“I am not unmindful of the need for such a place and I am grateful you saw fit to found it, but why should this prevent you from sending her away?”

“Because she was admitted under the same policy,” her father said.   “She came while we were away and she was questioned by Celebrimbor. She answered his questions to his satisfaction, and, indeed, I have little to fault in her answers.  They were not terribly dissimilar from others we’ve admitted.”

“And yet?” Elrond inquired.

“And yet we do not trust her fully.  But we have no proof that she is not who and what she claims to be.”

“But you have a feeling,” Elrond persisted.

“But that is not enough,” her mother said.   “Celebrimbor, angry as he was, informed me I cannot make such an accusation or turn someone away simply because I fear that that person might serve the Darkness.  He reminded me I must have proof. Most of our people would agree with him.”

“They would fear,” her father said, “that the expulsion of one person with no evidence to indicate wrongdoing meant that they themselves were no longer safe and that the promise of sanctuary we had made is null and void.”

“But this isn’t an old elven quarrel,” Elrond continued.  “This is a fear that she may have dissembled about her relationship to the Dark.”

“How many of them do you think may have recreated or omitted elements of their own stories?  How many have tales they do not want remembered?” Celebrían’s mother said. “They would fear we would begin to inquire into their lives as well or that we might accept an unsubstantiated accusation as truth.  Simply because they do not act upon those old grudges, well, that doesn’t meant the grudges are still not there.”

“But she’s only arrived.”

“And were we to challenge her residency here, we would already meet with a significant challenge.   Our cousin has more support than he knows, particularly among the Guilds as well as with the Men and the Dwarves.   But she has also been clever,” Celebrían’s father continued. “She has built support for herself among the guilds.”

Her mother picked up the tale,  “As you already know, both the stonemasons and the Mirdain have a very high number of masters who trained or whose forefathers trained among the Aulenossë and, indeed, with Fëanor.   Most abandoned the service of his Sons when the cost of the Oath had become terribly apparent. But many of those did not entirely abandon the House of Fëanor. Instead, they gravitated to Celebrimbor, and they consider themselves loyal to him.  Were we to dismiss her, they would be angry upon his behalf for they know she is dear to him. But they would also be angry on their own behalf. They would viewed this as if Mairen were being judged for her desire to escape a difficult past and believe they might be so judged too.”

“She has also been careful to build support among the other guilds and among the town itself,” her father observed.

“Her first suggestion,” said her mother, “which Celebrimbor implemented almost immediately was an overhaul of the sanitation system.  It seems the lower city was more susceptible to disease than we’d expected. Not really a concern for Elves, but certainly one for Men and Dwarves.”

“She has also,” her father began, “insisted upon fixing the streets, repaving some and deepening the drainage in others, and that too was done.   She has also proposed a number of projects designed to benefit the public, and she made those proposals in open council. The residents know her plans.  They support them.”

“Why shouldn’t they?” her mother continued. “She has improved their quality of life very quickly, and, if we implement even a third of her plans, it will improve beyond their imaginings.  Ost-in-Edhil will truly be a city unlike any other in Middle Earth.”

“Gil-Galad might order it,” Elrond offered.

“On what basis?   He granted us self-rule, and we have paid heavily in taxes to him for it,” her mother said.  “Besides, it will earn him no friends here. It will only undermine my position and Celeborn’s, and for what?  Such a move would merely raise the same fear that sanctuary in Eregion is only present when it is convenient for us.” 

“I see,” said Elrond and then he turned to her.  “Celebrían, you’ve been waiting patiently for some time.  What is it that you need to tell us?”

“What do you have?” her father asked.

Celebrían held the note out and said, “A messenger brought this; it was the boy from the Mirdain.  The one who cleared the streets with them.”

“Let me see it,” her mother said and took it from Celebrían’s hand.  She looked at it, but she didn’t open it. Instead, she turned to her father and said, “It’s from her.”

“Open it,” her father said.

Elrond agreed, “We should see what she wants.”

Her mother opened it.  Celebrían watched as she read it quickly.  When she’d finished, she looked at her husband and then at Elrond.

“Well?” Celebrían’s father asked.  “What does the lady of the Mirdain wish to say?”

“She has invited us, all of us, including Elrond, to visit her at the Mirdain tomorrow,” her mother said, her voice betraying no small amount of anger.  “Apparently, she had heard from a number of different people that the Lord Elrond had concerns about her presence in Eregion and about the projects the Mirdain had begun under her guidance.  She wants to make herself available to him and to us in order that she may respond to those concerns.”

Elrond stared at her in surprise, but Celebrían’s father only smiled.  It wasn’t, Celebrían thought, a nice smile. Instead, it was the smile she’d seen on his face when he was preparing to leave on a difficult hunt or when he played her cousin at an exceptionally close game.

“Apparently,” her mother continued, “ she would have made herself available to us today, but she assumed that we would need rest following their feast.  I don’t know where ...” She threw the note to the side.

“A less than subtle reminder that she had not been invited and thus need not play by the rules you have set,” said Elrond.  “Was there anything else of note?”

“She also indicated that the craftswoman who’d made the doll she gave to Celebrían would be at the Mirdain tomorrow and would be glad to offer a lesson on it to Celebrían then.”

“Interesting,” her father said.  “We may want to accept her offer.  Celebrían, would you go to the kitchen and see what there is for us to eat?  Call me when you think you’ve found enough and I will help you to carry it back.”

“If you want me not to hear, you could tell me to go upstairs,” Celebrían said.

“You’d like that less, and we are hungry,” her father answered.

As she left, Elrond said to her parents, “What shall we do?  Do we accept her invitation? It was unexpected.”

“Was it?” Celebrían’s father asked.  “We can assume, though we do not know for certain, that Celebrimbor confronted her with your questions and Galadriel’s concerns.” 

“Can we?” her mother interrupted.  Celebrían had reached the kitchen door, and, while she entered the kitchen, she remained as near to the door she might in order to hear what they said.   Although her parents seldom paid much attention to these matters, Celebrían knew very well where Elanor kept the food for them to eat the day after Midwinter.  Elanor never trusted them to fend for themselves. She arranged platters of breads and cheeses, dried fruits and other things for them to have and left them within easy reach.   But — and perhaps this proved Elanor’s point — her parents were seldom able to find what she’d arranged, though she’d done this as long as Celebrían was able to remember, and Celebrían had always had to find what had been left for them.

“I think so,” her father said.  “Whatever he may feel for her, he cares for you and for your good opinion.  He would have felt obligated to ask her. Your doubts matter to him.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” her mother answered.

“It is possible to value someone’s opinion and to chose a different path,” Elrond said quietly.  “I think we might also consider why she might be appealing to him. She may represent the opportunity to begin anew and to reclaim much of what he believed lost after the Noldor fled Valinor and fought a long defeat against Morgoth.”

“Morgoth was defeated,” said her mother. “We were not.”

“Because the Valar intervened,” Elrond said, still gently and quietly.  “And much was lost in the wars. Lands we loved. Friends we loved. Family.   Beginning again, though necessary, was both difficult and painful, particularly for one who lost much and who was not allowed to grieve, at least openly, many of those losses.”

“I meant Eregion to be a new beginning for us,” her mother continued.  “For me, for Celeborn, for our people, including my cousin.”

“But has he been able to achieve what he dreamed?”  Elrond asked. “Fully? He is ambitious. Besides, despite the realm you’ve built and the home you’ve made, we continue to lose.  Season after season, we watch our people leave and we see our accomplishments fade into memory. It is his nature to build and to repair; it was his uncle’s nature as well.   I saw Maedhros struggle to see all he touched turn to ruin. Celebrimbor is not his uncle or his father or his grandfather, but, at times, I wonder if he believes he continues to fight a long defeat, though the war has ended and both Morgoth and his grandfather’s jewels have gone beyond reach.” 

Celebrían was not entirely sure she understood what Elrond meant, but she thought of her cousin and how often she asked him to repair a toy that had broken or a trinket that needed mending.    She’d often apologized when she’d had to bring something he’d mended back a second or a third time, but he had never chastised her, though her parents had, and had said only that it was the nature of things in Middle Earth.

“Did toys not break in Valinor?” she’d asked him.    That had caused him to laugh.

“Of course, love,” he said.  “Of course, and particularly in my family.  We were not easy on anyone or anything. I was thinking of other things, however, but, perhaps you are correct, perhaps I remember it to be more perfect than it was.”

Pondering this, Celebrían began to move around the kitchen.   She’d located the platters of food, and then she began to gather plates, knives, a few forks and napkins and placed them near the door.   As she stood near it, she heard her mother’s voice raised and then her father reply.

“I agree, Galadriel, that we must remain vigilant where the lady is concerned, especially now.  But I do not believe the situation is as grave as you feel. However appealing she may be and whatever victory she might have won last night, we can also assume that she doesn’t believe she has fully allayed whatever fears he had.”

“It certainly sounded as if she did,” her mother said.

“Because she kissed him or he her?” her father asked.   “He’s too clever to be distracted for long, and, besides, that was likely to happen at some point.  His quarrel with you and confrontation with her may have hastened it, but he has had feelings for her and she has appeared to have them for him for some time as best I have been able to see.  If it had not happened before, it was out of uncertainty regarding what the other felt and concern for the impact upon their work.”

“She has appeared to have feelings for him.” her mother said coldly.  “She appears to have and to be many things.”

“She may,” her father said.  “What it means for her to have them and how that affects her plans for Ost-in-Edhil, well, we don’t know that.”  When Elrond began to speak, he held his hand up to indicate that he had yet to finish. “I don’t think he would have made his feelings so clear had she not calmed some of his concerns.   He’s not reckless, despite his family’s history. But she, at least, doubts he’s fully convinced or she’d not have invited us.”

“That may be,” said Elrond.   “When I saw them, he seemed to be addressing her concerns more than she was his and those were fears that he was more interested in the abilities she possesses than she herself.”

“It’s a pity you didn’t hear more of what they said before.”

“I do not know the city as well as one who lives here, and it took me some time to find Celebrían.   There were also revelers in the streets, and so I was unable to hear much before I found her.”

“Ah,” her father said.  “Do you suppose Celebrían heard more?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Would she have understood it?”

“I don’t know.  We could ask her.  At any rate, she might remember it, even if she didn’t understand it.”

“I’d rather we not,” her mother said.

“Why?”

“I don’t want her to think it is a good idea to follow Mairen or her cousin around.   She slipped out twice within seven days to follow her cousin and the first time she ran directly into her.  This time, she didn’t, but what if she had?” Her mother paused. “I’m incredibly angry at her. She knew better than to leave in the dead of night in the winter.  She might have been very hurt because she decided to interfere in the matters of adults.”

“I don’t think Mairen means Celebrían harm.  We still don’t know if she means anyone harm,” Celeborn said.

“We don’t know that she doesn’t.”

“Which is why we’re having this discussion,” said Elrond.

“I rather we not ask her,” her mother repeated.  “I do not want her to decide that she needs to learn more about the woman than she already knows — I’m not being foolish; you know her nature.   She would either decide she needed to discover whether we are right to be suspicious or she would think she was helping us. But she would investigate.   Besides, I do not want her thinking about what she saw more than she has. What can Celebrían have seen that we don’t already know? We know Mairen’s story is peculiar.  We think she has motivations in being here of which we are unaware.”

“It is true that I fear that she has not been entirely forthcoming with us and, indeed, even with Celebrimbor,” her father said.   “But, Galadriel, are you more concerned about Mairen discovering Celebrían following her or what Celebrían might see if she follows her?   I do not think she’d harm her, even if she caught her prying.”

“Both.  She’s young, and I ...”

“She’s attended festivals, and she has seen men and women kiss.  She’s innocent, but she is aware that elves sometimes have feelings for one another and express it on occasion by kissing,” her father continued.  “If we weren’t unsure of the woman, I’d be glad. She’s clever, beautiful and interested in the things he is. She might be a good match.”

“He’s been alone a long time,” Elrond observed.  “In Lindon, I thought he’d rather given up an expectation of finding companionship.”

“Even if he has had his share of ... well ...” Her father’s voice drifted off, and Celebrían was unsure of what he meant.  She’d never seen her cousin with someone, certainly not with someone he seemed to like the way he liked Mairen. “But, still, nothing’s lasted and it’s mostly been the sort of thing that happens at festivals, though, well, I thought we knew the reason for that.” 

“This is exactly why I don’t want her following them around,” her mother interrupted, her voice sharper and colder.  “I don’t trust the woman and, even if I did, we don’t know where this flirtation between them will lead.”

“I’d say,” said Elrond mildly, “that it is a bit more than a flirtation, but I understand your concerns, Galadriel; had I a daughter ... “ His voice trailed slightly off for a moment and then he continued,  “Still I’d advise you not to exclude the lady entirely from your family or avoid Celebrimbor simply because he cares for her. That, more than anything, seems to have encouraged your daughter to follow them.   Perhaps you might counter this invitation with one of your own. Accept it, of course. But invite Celebrimbor to come this afternoon as he has in the past and include her in the invitation. See if she will come here, where she knows I am and where she is clearly on your ground and not her own.”

“If — and I haven’t agreed to this,” her mother said, “we make such an invitation, who would deliver it?”

“Celebrían,” said Elrond, “and I will go with her.  That will encourage him to attend and make it even more difficult for her to decline.”

“And to where?”

“Mairen’s,” he said.  “Atanvardo mentioned she intended to host a gathering to honor the dawn.  She will be home. He will be with her. We may ask her to come once her guests have left.  I would also guess that neither she nor your cousin will mind if Celebrían arrives. In fact, I would not be surprised if one or the other hadn’t already mentioned it to her.”

“Will he come?”

“He may be angry with you,” Celeborn said, “but he values your good opinion.   If you ask him and include her, he will come. He wants you to welcome her. He has wanted you to accept her, and, though he may not expect you to do it, he will continue to be open to the possibility.  As for her, she won’t oppose the invitation. She would prefer you appear to be the one excluding her. She dare not refuse a summons from you, not yet.”

“It would be wise not to turn him away,” said Elrond.

“Why?”

“He is close to her.”

“Clearly.”  Her mother’s voice remained cold.

“And he knows more of her than we do, so it is important that you remain close to him, so that he might feel he can express any doubts or concerns he may have or may develop in the future.   Besides,” he said, “they do not know that they were seen. It might be interesting and revealing to see if they are willing to let others know of what has passed between them at this point.”

A short time later, having been told to eat quickly and to dress still more quickly, Celebrían found herself walking down the same street she had the previous evening, accompanied by the High King’s Herald.  Snow had apparently continued to fall during the night because the street and sidewalks to either side of it were covered by a thick blanket of snow. It glistened and threw tiny rainbows of light into the air.   Long, thin icicles hung from the eaves of the houses. They too glittered and sparkled in the midday sun. Some of the residents had already risen. Perhaps having friends and family to visit the day after Midwinter, they had cleared the snow from their doorways, leaving soft and deep banks of it drifting away from the houses into the street.   

As he had been the night before, Elrond was an attentive and kind companion.  He seemed little inclined to discuss the purpose of their walk. Celebrían found this disappointing, but she was afraid to try to convince him to speak of it.  She knew her mother was angry with her. She did not want Elrond to tell her that she’d been asking questions about Mairen. Instead, she allowed Elrond to guide the conversation and answered the many different questions he asked her, most of which involved what she and her family enjoyed doing in Ost-in-Edhil and, in particular, on this day.   She told him that she normally spent the day reading and drawing with her cousin. He seemed interested in this and asked if she enjoyed drawing and if she liked to draw even if her cousin was not present to draw with her.

“Yes,” she answered.  “It’s something I enjoy very much, but he was the one to show me and to help me learn.   He also taught me how to shape things from clay, and I like to do that too. But we haven’t had as much time to sculpt or to draw lately.   We haven’t had much time for anything at all.”

“Because he’s been busy?”

“I guess, but I used to visit him at the Mirdain.  But mother has been angry since his friend — since Mairen — came, and she would not allow me to visit him.”

“He might have come to visit you,” Elrond observed.

“Yes,” she said, “but I think he was angry too.”

“What do you know of her?” Elrond asked, guiding her around a bank of snow. “Of your cousin’s friend?”

“Mairen?” Celebrían inquired.  She was surprised that he dared to ask her; her mother had said she did not want Celebrían to be reminded of Mairen. 

“Yes,” he replied.  “She. What do you think of her?

Celebrían paused, taking his hand and stepping over an icy place along the cobblestones.   She considered, “I have only met her three times.”

“That is two more times than I have met her,” he answered.  “Tell me about those times.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I think she is an interesting woman, and I would like to know more about her.  It seems to me that you’ve spent time with you in ways that we — your mother, your father and I — have not and that she may have been more open with you than with us.  I wonder if you might have an understanding of who she is that we do not.

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Celebrían.  “I met her once in the forge when I went to visit my cousin, and then a second time when she and the Mirdain were cleaning the streets.  She stayed with my cousin and two of the other masters to eat and to tell stories after. Yesterday, I went to the market with her and with my cousin.”

“Did you have fun?” Elrond asked, guiding her around a series of soft banks of snow.  Celebrían noticed that someone had piled some of the snow high and shaped it into the image of an elf bending down to make a snowball.  

“I did,” she said.  “Most of the time, anyway.”

“What was the most fun?”

“In the market?   I showed her my favorite places  and then she took me to visit merchants I didn’t know.”

“Such as?”

“We had pastries made by a Man who had spent time in the East.”

“How were they?”

“Strange.  I hadn’t that anything like it, but they were also very good,” Celebrían explained. “She knew a lot about the East.  She told me stories about it and my cousin too.”

“Did she?”

“Yes, about oliphants and very large cats and birds with feathers finer than anything made by Men or Elves.”

“How did she learn so much?”

“She said she had spent time there.”

“She had?” he said.  “I did not know.”  

“She said she spent many years in the East,” Celebrían told him.  “She said it was very beautiful but that she missed the songs and stories of the elves.”

They walked a little further in silence, passing two elven families in the street.  Elrond seemed deep in thought. After several long moments in which they walked and did not speak, he began to ask questions of her again. 

“When did you not have fun?” he inquired.

“Only once, really,” she said.   “And it wasn’t anyone’s fault. My cousin mentioned my uncle Finrod and his death, and they ... they didn’t quarrel.  Not really. But she didn’t want to talk as much after.”

“Interesting.”

“But then she sang as we walked home — I think she did it to make him feel better because he was sad and angry.  She sang the tale of Finrod meeting and dueling Thû in song and then of Beren seeing Lúthien wake the land into spring.  It was beautiful.”

“Why was her singing beautiful?” Elrond asked.  “You have a good ear. Lisen is an extraordinary singer, far superior to Lindir and, indeed, to any I have heard save one.  Why do you think Mairen is a finer singer than she?”

“I ... her voice is clear as Lisen’s, but I felt what she was singing about.  I feel that when Lisen sings, but this was stronger. It seemed more real as if I stood in the song and was part that of world.  I felt Beren’s joy at seeing Lúthien and Lúthien’s surprise. I felt Finrod’s strength and Thû’s cunning. It came alive.”

“Ah,” he said, “That is a gift.  What else happened? Anything strange or different?”

“Lisen is the baker’s daughter.   She sells his goods in the market.  We bought some things from her earlier.  I wanted Mairen to try the fritters because they’re my favorite.  Lisen was strange around her. I don’t know why, but she touched Mairen and she ... she seemed startled.”

“And Mairen?”

“She didn’t seem different or as if she thought something was wrong, and I remembered that because, last night, she touched my cousin’s hand too and he seemed to think it was strange as well.   I just remembered. Does that mean something?”

“Almost certainly, but what I don’t know,” Elrond said, seeming thoughtful.  “What do you think about her?”

“She is clever.  She is very interesting,” Celebrían said, “and she makes my cousin happy.”

“I noticed,” he replied, lightly.  “How does she make him happy?”

“Besides kissing him?” Celebrían said, making a face.   

“I think that was probably the first time that happened,” Elrond said easily.  “Besides you might not mind so much when you’re older.”


“If you say so,” Celebrían said, though she doubted this.  “She is good at the things he likes to do, but, mostly, I think that she pays a lot of attention to him.”

“Flatters him, you mean?”

“No,” Celebrían replied.  “I mean she listens to him and notices what he likes and what he doesn’t.   She pays attention to what makes him happy and what makes him sad. She asks him questions, even ones about the past, and she listens to what he tells her.”

“Does she?   What else?”

“She said something else,” Celebrían said, “ when they ... after he’d mentioned Finrod ... but I didn’t understand it very well.   He asked her not be kind to him if she would only turn away from him because of what his family had done, and she said that the things his family had done didn’t frighten her.”

“Ah, I think I can see why he might be happy,” he said, “if she isn’t afraid of his family or his past.   Thank you. That makes a great deal of sense.”

Celebrían walked a little further and turned the corner, passing by a group of chattering Elves.  She looked at Elrond and said thoughtfully, “I don’t know much about his family. He has never really talked about them much.  But he’s spoken more about his family with her here than he has before. He’s told stories. He hadn’t told stories before.”

“Has he?”

“Yes, he told one about his uncle, Nelyafinwë, and the High King Findekáno having a snowball fight.”                               

“I haven’t heard that one,” said Elrond.  “I will have to ask him. I like the idea of his uncle being able to play in the snow, particularly with Findekáno.”

“Did you know his uncle?  You spoke about him earlier.”

“Yes, Celebrían,” he answered.  “I did.”

“He said he misses him.”

“I’m sure he does,” Elrond replied, his voice growing softer and more thoughtful.  “I miss him too.”

“Did you know him well?”

“Yes,” Elrond said, “I suppose you might say that I did.  He helped to care for me many years ago. I loved him, and I think he loved me, as much as he was able to love at that time.”

They passed the remainder of the walk to Mairen’s home in silence.  Once they’d arrived, Celebrían looked at Elrond anxiously.   

“Just go knock on the door,” he said.  “I’ll be here. It will be fine. Your cousin wants to see you and will be glad you’ve come.”

She walked to the door and rapped on it once, but no one answered.

“Try again,” Elrond said.  “Perhaps a little louder.”

She knocked a second time and then heard the sound of moving feet and voices.

“It was a knock,” she heard Mairen’s voice, warm, content and laughing.  “Answer it.”

“Must I?” Celebrimbor asked.  “We’ve had guests since well before the dawn.  It took more than an hour to persuade the last stragglers to leave;  three have already come back to retrieve something they left. I don’t see anything else lying around.  Who can it be now?” 

“A surprise,” she said, laughing.  “I’ve no idea. I wasn’t expecting anyone after this morning.  It might be your family.”

“That would surprise me.”

“Would it?”

The door opened, and her cousin stood before her.   He was simply dressed in his usual blue and dark grey, and he smiled when he saw her, though the smile faded slightly when he saw Elrond standing behind her.

“You were right, Mairen,” he said.  Celebrían noticed that his voice was neither pleased nor displeased.  “It is my family: Celebrían and the Lord Elrond with her.”

“Invite them in,” said Mairen, warmth and laughter still present in her voice.

“Please,” he said.  “Come in. It’s ...”

“Wonderful to see you,” said Mairen, as she moved to stand behind him.   “Celebrían, I’m very glad you’ve come.” She too was dressed plainly. She wore a simple dress, grey in color, though a lighter shade than the one Celebrimbor wore, and her hair was not braided or bound but hung loose around her face.    She was barefoot, Celebrían saw, and carried a platter of food, much of which had already been eaten, in her hands. She bent down to kiss Celebrían’s cheek and then, standing upright, smiled at Elrond. “My lord Elrond, it is a surprise to say the least, but I am glad you are here.  Come in.”

Celebrían walked carefully through the door and into the home.  Elrond followed behind her. He took her cloak and handed it to her cousin along with his own.

“Forgive me,” Mairen said. “Our guests left not very long ago, and so I’m clearing up and will be moving around.  But please come in and be comfortable.” She braced the platter along one arm and gestured that they were to continue through the entryway.   “Would you like something to eat or to drink? Almost everything is in the kitchen. We may go there. You can warm yourselves after your walk and have some refreshments.”

“I ...” Celebrían began and finished awkwardly. “That sounds nice.”

“Doesn’t it? ” Mairen asked.  “Come, I have some cider or spiced tea for you; which would you like?” 

“I don’t know,” Celebrían said.   “Which is better?”

“Why not have both?” Mairen asked.  She led them into an airy room with a high ceiling.   A variety of chairs and tables were arranged in clusters, and Celebrían saw that she had, indeed, been entertaining guests.  Some smaller plates and glassware sat on the tables. The room was very different in appearance from Celebrían remembered it before Mairen had come.   The elf who’d lived there before had preferred dark and elaborately-carved furniture and paneled walls of dark wood. It had been beautiful but the rooms had seemed smaller and very dim.    

Mairen did not share his taste.  The paneling had been removed, leaving plaster walls of a much lighter color.    Three of the walls were decorated with tapestries to which Celebrían’s eyes were drawn.  The one nearest her depicted an event she had often heard about in song, Orodreth's valiant defense of Tol Sirion against the forces of Thû.   It was remarkable in design and in execution, the colors shaded very carefully, so that not only was Celebrían able to see and to identify some of the individual elven warriors but the wolves and the orcs led by Thû were also distinct from one another.   Some orcs appeared taller and others broader while several trolls, their grey-green mottled skin capturing Celebrían’s eye, dragged powerful catapults and other strange machines into place. Even the wolves were finely woven. Celebrían saw a line of grey and black wolves outflank several elven soldiers.  A grey wolf was cut down by two elves while a gigantic black wolf with green-gold eyes stalked Orodreth. Curiously, though, no matter how carefully she searched the tapestry, she was unable to locate a figure she thought might be Thû.  

“What is it?” Mairen asked.   Celebrían was startled. She hadn’t heard Mairen come close to her.    

“Nothing,” Celebrían said.  “It’s beautiful.”

“But?” 

“I don’t see Thû.”

“Perhaps Thû is not there or perhaps Thû is hiding in plain sight,” Mairen responded lightly.  “But let your eyes rest from the search and look at those on the other side of the room. I think you might find them as interesting as, if not more than, this one.”

Celebrían walked to the farther side of the room.  As she did, she noticed Elrond gazing around the room curiously and walking in the direction of one of the doors.   She also saw her cousin begin to collect the plates and some of the glasses on the table. There were four paneled tapestries located on these two walls, three on the longer and one on the shorter.  These contained scenes about which Celebrían knew, including one she’d heard only two nights before, but two of which she’d seldom seen depicted. The furthest tapestry was primarily of the deepest and darkest black, the edges of it seemed to be a very fine border in varying colors and of a series of interconnected, abstracted shapes.   Or so it appeared until she stood before it. Once there she realized that the shapes were figures, the likes of which she’d not seen before, and most of which resembled something quite like the strange Fay of Atanvardo’s tale. There were winged figures, ones with the heads of birds and the hind quarters of animals, some bearing the shape of a fish or the coiled tail of a dragon, some whose faces were human-like but contained eyes, some as yellow as a cat’s, others a vibrant green and still others a beady and shiny black, unlike any Celebrían had seen on elf, man or dwarf.   At the center and the top of the frame was a figure crafted of mithril threads and thus seemingly made of brilliant light. It held in its hands a small but equally brilliant flame. At the bottom rested a shadowed figure of the deepest and darkest black. From the brilliant figure at the top and the smaller figures surrounding the edges, Celebrían saw fine and thin threads of colors moving towards the center of the tapestry. These were initially very fine and very close to black in color, but they grew thicker and brighter as they moved closer away from the edges of the tapestry and towards its center.   At that center, there was located a disk, made of many colors, but primarily blues, greens and browns. She realized that disk was Arda. 

“Oh,” she said.  “That’s ...”

“Weird?” Mairen supplied.

“The shapes of the Ainur ... I know you said that they didn’t have to be like us.  But ...”

“To see it is strange,” Mairen observed.   “But they often choose to appear as you are, though they may be otherwise as they wish and as their needs and the elements they prefer determine.   Do you see Uinen with her fins and strong tail? Perfect for one who slides through the currents of the ocean? Or Eonwë with his wings to fly above the clouds?”

“I do,” said Celebrían.  “Which is the shape at the bottom?  Is that ...”

“Melkor?  Wreathed in shadow?” Mairen responded.  “He whose rebellion signaled the arrival of choice and free will into Arda with all their great and terrible consequence for it and the Children.”

“Melkor?” Elrond said from the other side of room where he stood looking at the carved panel of a door.  “Is choice not the gift of Ilúvatar?”

“Had it significance until someone chose to embrace a path differing from the Harmony?” Mairen said lightly in response.  “However ill-advised that choice may have been? However terrible the consequences?”

“A point,” said Elrond. “A rather different one, but one nonetheless.’

“I did not say he chose well,” Mairen said.  “Merely that he chose and differently. Choices have meaning and consequence for good and for ill.”

“So they do,” Elrond said.   “So they do.”   

Celebrían turned to look at the other three tapestries.   The first of those showed the awakening of the elves at Cuiviénen.   Their bodies bare and their eyes wide with wonder they slowly arose and stared at the stars.   She noticed how delicate the weaving was, seemingly showing individual strands of hair, whether silver, gold and deepest brown, and how detailed the imagery, the lake glimmered blue and silver in the night and the patters of the stars in the sky were reflected precisely in the lake.  The forest, too, that surrounded the lake was dark and foreboding, and Celebrían thought she was able to spy a shadow among the trees.   

Next to this tapestry was another, bright in color where the others were dark.  It depicted Men, rising from slumber even as the sun rose into the the woven sky.   The men, some only beginning to stir, others seated and still others rising and walking, began to move in the direction of the rising sun.   Curiously, Celebrían noticed that many of these men were not pale as those living near Ost-in-Edhil were but rather dark of skin as well as of hair.   

The last tapestry showed a story she had heard only rarely and for the first time in the last year.   In it, the Great Smith was shown shaping the children of his mind and heart from the clay of the earth, then readying his hammer to strike them down as they cowered in fear before him and the bright figure Celebrían knew to represent the One.  This tapestry was made of warm browns and deep reds and seemed, as the scene shown in it, to be very much of the earth.

“He was impatient,” Mairen said softly.  “He could not wait for Eru’s own creation.   He craved more living beings to teach and shape in his image.  Even his Maiar were not enough.”

“The Smith?”

“Yes,” Mairen said simply. “He was always impatient but did not see it or understand it in others.”

Celebrían thought that her voice sounded hurt and sad, and she watched as Mairen, still carrying the platter in one hand, gently touched the figure of the Smith on the tapestry with the other.

“Mairen?” Celebrían asked.  She looked and saw that her cousin watched Mairen closely and had begun to walk towards them.  Elrond continued to inspect the same door. 

“Hmmm?” she answered.  “Ah, I was lost in thought for a moment.   Master Elrond, that is the door to the library and study.  Would you like to see it?”

Elrond seemed startled but nodded.  

“Tyelperinquar,” Mairen said, “would you ...”

Her cousin smiled and seemed ready to take the platter from her hands.   

“No,” she said.  “Can you show them while I take this to the kitchen?  When they’ve looked to their satisfaction, bring them there.   That will give me time to warm the food again and to make tea.”

He nodded.

“I’ll take those too,” she said, and he placed the plates atop the platter she carried and handed the glasses to her.   Celebrían noticed that his hand lightly brushed hers as he did and that, as his fingers lingered upon hers, Mairen seemed a little startled, her eyes grew wider and a light flush appeared on her cheeks.   

“Don’t ...” he began.

“I need to clean ....”

“I was going to say drop them,” he replied easily.

“Have you ever known me to?” Mairen answered and turned.  She began walking towards the corridor opposite the entryway.    The kitchen, Celebrían guessed, was there.

“Come, Celebrían,” her cousin said gently.  “Let us show Elrond the room about which he has been so curious.”

Celebrían followed him and Elrond into the library.   It was a fascinating room. In many ways it reminded her of the library in her own home, but, in other ways, it was extraordinarily and, thus, intriguingly different.   The walls of this room, much like the walls in the library at Celebrían’s home, were lined with shelves and those shelves were filled with books and with scrolls. Likewise, the center of the room held a table similar to the one her parents used for their work.   Similarly, a chair was positioned on each side of the table, indicating that the workspace was a shared one. But, where the space her parents shared was clearly divided and their interests distinct, this was a space at which two people collaborated, at which projects were conceived together, developed together and completed together.   There was a sense, too, Celebrían thought almost of magic in this place or, perhaps not magic, but a feeling that here, in this room and in the house, plans were being made, things decided, of great significance to her, to her cousin, to Mairen, to her parents, to them all.  It was a feeling much like the one she'd had when she'd seen her cousin and Mairen the night before.  But it was stronger and deeper here.  It was rich, as rich as the sound of Mairen's voice raised in song, and strange, as if the plans, projects and ideas envisioned in this place were beyond Celebrían's imagining.   She found herself thinking of and remembering her father's tales of Doriath and of the kingdom of Thingol and Melyanna, where the world was different, time moved strangely and anything seemed possible, and then she shook her head.  Her cousin was no elf lord to be lost in the forest, forgetting his duties and his people because he was beguiled by a Fay,  and Mairen was no Fay come to lend her knowledge and power.   Clever she was and beautiful and wise, and she was dear to her cousin and helped him in his work.  But she appeared to be an ordinary elf woman, albeit wiser and prettier than most.  Celebrían had touched her and hugged her.  Celebrían had laughed and played with Mairen; she'd been comforted by her.  Mairen was not different, not as Melyanna had been.  This not one of her father's tales of old where creatures of wonder and legend lived and breathed and where magic was felt in the sights and sounds of everyday life.   But, still, the thought lingered.  Still it remained.  Considering this, Celebrían began to look more closely at the papers and books arrayed upon the table.  

Celebrían noted the presence of a map, located at the center of the table. It seemed to show a mountain range — the Misty Mountains, she guessed, but it was designed to show the shape and the features of each individual mountain and their surroundings. Celebrían saw how three mountains stood higher than the others and observed the slow chain of foothills marking the descent in height and elevation from those great peaks.   Next to it was set another drawing; this appeared to be a mountain carved in two and revealed, not unlike the different layers of a cake, the different layers of rock and stone and earth that comprised the mountain.   

Next to it were papers containing notes, some in Mairen’s strong hand and others in her cousin’s finer and more elegant script, along with what appeared to be mathematical problems written, again, in both hands with many notes alongside each problem.   She noticed the strangely-shaped ruler next to it, really three rulers whose measurements she didn’t understand in one, next to it.   Across the table from it, she noticed another set of notes, covered almost completely by three books, the first two were smaller books, bound in deep black with no title or emblem upon them, and the third, placed beneath the two, was larger, bound in blue and seemed written in a script she did not know.  Moving closer, she lifted the books and set them to the side, so that she might examine the notes.  She understood almost nothing of them.  There were few, as if the problems had only been started or set up, as her mother would say.   Still, she noticed that one set of mathematical formulas was organized under a heading that read simply "On Time" and another set organized under "On Matter, Change and Expected Decay."   The notes themselves were written in both hands and overlapped with one line of symbols and notations written in one hand and then next other picking it up in the middle of the line or on the next.  Annotations appeared beside each set of notes, and those two were in both Mairen's hand and her cousin's.  It appeared, Celebrían thought, very much as if the two of them were talking but in writing and on the page.

As she considered these papers and notes, Celebrían glanced at her cousin.  He and Elrond were focused upon the plans surrounding the map of the mountains, and neither were paying much heed to her and to the papers she considered, and so she carefully replaced the books as they'd been before and made certain the notes below were covered.   She looked at her cousin again.  He had not noticed her; he and Elrond remained busy looking at the map, her cousin pointing out different features.   As she watched him speak with Elrond, his voice low and excited, she remembered how little she’d seen of her cousin that fall.  She remembered how she’d blamed her mother and her decision to forbid Celebrían to visit the Mirdain when days and then weeks had passed and she hadn’t seen him.    At the time, she had imagined him working alone at the Mirdain or sitting alone in his home. But, now, she realized that she had been wrong.   Her cousin hadn’t been alone. Instead, he’d spent the time he’d had once spent with her with Mairen, mostly working, yes, but seemingly enjoying it greatly. Then, perhaps because she understood this, she began to see other signs of the time he’d spent with Mairen and other indications of how much he enjoyed being with her.

She noticed a book of the sort he often used to write his ideas and notes in next to one of the maps.  It was made of deep red leather and stamped at the center with the eight-rayed star he sometimes wore.   She saw another book, containing poetry and songs his uncle, the one whose voice had been golden, had composed, situated on a table by the door.   She noticed the small sculpture of a dancing girl, whose face was not unlike her own, placed upon a pedestal between the bookcases. She saw a set of pencils and of charcoal she knew to be his for she had often borrowed it in the center of the table.  Beneath it, she saw a series of sketches. One sketch depicted a man. His face greatly resembled her cousin’s, so much so that Celebrían believed it to be him, but then she noticed that this man’s nose was not quite as long as her cousin’s and his mouth was thinner and more pinched as if he struggled to let those things precious to him go.   She lifted it and then moved it to the side. Below it was one of her father, kneeling in tall grasses in narrow space between two rivers. Below that still were several of her mother. She appeared young in some and less young in others. She stood tall amid a wide grassy plain, hand in hand with her father. She sat smiling before a young man, who resembled her and played a harp.  She lay, dressed in leggings, a jerkin and a tattered cloak, her hands bandaged and her feet barely covered by worn boots, upon a tall wide rock and looked up at the stars. Finally, at the very bottom, were several drawings of Mairen. Some were of her hands, lifting a book, holding a hammer, or simply folded. Others were of her face, laughing, serious, and once cool and remote. Still others showed her at work, bent over a book or working at the forge, strong and powerful in a way that seemed elemental and that Celebrían had not imagined someone to be.   One other, the last, showed her seated, on a bench, a book held in her hand, her fingers marking the place; she was looking at someone or something with an expression so soft and so full of yearning it made Celebrían’s heart ache for her.

Looking at this drawing, at all of them, Celebrían saw that he drew Mairen with great care and delicacy.   She saw it in the lines of her face and in the way her mood, happy, sad, or serious, was tangible to Celebrían.   She noticed that it exceeded the care she saw in the drawings of herself and of her own family, and she felt her heart twist and ache.    Seeing these, seeing in them the way he saw his friend, she realized that while he had been away from her and from her family and while she had missed him, he had been here with Mairen, learning her and beginning to care for her.   She didn’t entirely understand her own feelings. She wasn’t angry at her cousin, and she wasn’t unhappy he’d come to care for Mairen. She was glad of it and glad Mairen cared for him too.   But she had missed him very much, and it stung, somehow, that he had not, seemingly, missed her as she had him. She wondered if her father was right and if she would not see her cousin much in the days and the weeks and the months to follow, if he would forget her as he grew closer to and worked more with Mairen.  The thought hurt and she tried, not entirely successfully, to keep the hurt from showing. 

“ ... part of the research we’d done for the aqueduct,” she heard her cousin to Elrond as she stared at the sketches on the table.   “The city is growing and we were concerned we’d not have enough water to support its inhabitants and industries as well as we might. We hoped too that it might allow for the building of some small luxuries in addition to the necessities.”

“Indeed, a most ambitious and interesting project,” Elrond said.  His voice was interested, but, when she looked up at him, she noticed that his eyes were on her face.    She looked down.

“I know, but I think it’s necessary to ensure ...”

“Celebrían,” said Elrond gently, “are you well?  Are we boring you?”

She shrugged.   “It’s an interesting project.  I don’t mind it. She told me about it yesterday.”

“But you mind something,” he observed.   “Should we move to the kitchen? I think she may be ready for us.”

Celebrían shrugged again, but then she saw her cousin’s face.   She saw that he, like Elrond, watched her closely and that he was as concerned about her as Elrond was.   She was embarrassed that Elrond had noticed and that, now, her cousin saw. She shouldn’t mind that he had a different friend.   She shouldn’t. She had her parents. He did not. He would still spend time with her, simply not as much.   He would not forget her, no matter how he cared for someone else or how fascinacted he was with their projects and plans.   She forced a smile to her lips.

“That would be nice,” she said.   Neither of them seemed entirely convinced.  Elrond squeezed her shoulder as he passed, but her cousin remained in the room, looking at her and then at the sketches.

“Nothing I feel for you and for your family has changed,” he said softly once Elrond had left the room.   “You remain three of the most important people in this world to me. That hasn’t changed. It won’t. It won’t change, no matter how important someone else becomes.  There’s room for all of you in my life and in my ...”

“I know,” she said, interrupting.  “I hadn’t realized, though, exactly what it — what she — meant.  I thought I knew but I see now. I thought you’d missed me when I couldn’t come.”  She touched the sketches.

He looked away from Celebrían and she saw his jaw tighten.   “I did,” he said. “I missed you very much. I’m sorry, Celebrían.  I am sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t make time to see you when you weren’t allowed to come and see me at the Mirdain.  I’m sorry I was angry at something that was silly and wasted time when I might have swallowed my pride and visited you,” he said, running his hand over his face.  “But, more than anything, I am sorry that things have changed among us — among me, you and your parents — that this change is not what I’d hoped to see. I am sorry that change seems inevitable in Middle Earth and that the change inevitably brings loss with it.”

“But that’s just something we have to get used to, isn’t it?” Celebrían said.   

“I suppose,” he said.  “She likes you too. I’ve said that, I know, but it’s true.  She does. She wants you to be with us whenever you can.”

“Then perhaps it isn’t a loss?” Celebrían asked.

“Perhaps not,” he said.  “I do not want it to be.”  Then he took her hand and led her from the room.

Elrond waited for them in the outer chamber.  He stood, looking closely at the tapestry showing the creation of Arda, but he turned and smiled when he saw them approach.

“Whatever she’s making,” he said, “it smells wonderful.”

“I’m sure it is,” Celebrían said, her voice quavering only a little.  “Which way is the kitchen?”

“This way,” said her cousin, leading her forward. 

They passed through a long corridor and then through another large and open room, the ceiling of which was partly made of glass and allowed the light of the sun to enter.  At last, they arrived in the kitchen. It was a much larger and brighter room than Celebrían had expected. She had not been in the kitchen of this home before. Most gatherings had been held in the more public room at the front of the home and seldom did anyone other than the servants visit the kitchen.  But, though it was new to her, she liked this room very much. It was bright with large and high windows that permitted the sun’s rays to enter. The space itself was open, with one counter made of a slab of stone and then another crafted of food to be used to clean and to cut different foods. A very large stove and oven set along the walls.  It was simply in design, but substantial, and it warmed the room with the fire within. The center of the room was occupied by an island, the top of which was covered by the same stone used to make the counter. On it was set a variety of foods, carefully and artfully arranged upon different platters. Stools of different heights were arranged around it.

“Come and sit,” Mairen said.  “Eat, and then tell us what brought you here.”

“We received your invitation,” said Elrond as he looked over the variety of foods set before them.   The small, fried pastries Celebrían had learned were called samosas were arranged on one platter while long thin pancakes filled with a variety of different foods, from beans and grains to different meant along another.  A third was designed to hold a space for several small tureens in which sat different soups. Another platter held cooked and carefully spiced vegetables. The room itself smelled of spice and, if possible of warmth and welcome.  It was soothing, and she settled quickly upon the tallest of the stools.   

“Did you?” Mairen asked.  “I wasn’t sure. Our apprentice had enjoyed last night greatly.  I wondered if it would arrive before tomorrow. That said, I am glad.  Still, I’d expected a note, not that I’m unhappy to receive a visit.” She gently brushed Celebrían’s shoulder as she set a plate before her.   Then she returned to the counter when she selected several pieces of a flat bread and walked to the stove where she began to warm them.   

“We were grateful for the invitation and accept it gladly,” said Elrond, taking a seat on the stool nearest to Celebrían.  “But we also wanted to be certain that Celebrimbor knew he was invited and, indeed, expected this afternoon and to be certain you understood the invitation included you as well.”

“Was there reason to think he was no longer?” Mairen asked, still busy at the stove.   Her voice was very soft but Celebrían was reminded of a cat stalking its prey. She knew Elrond would need to be very careful with his answer.

“No, but perhaps there was reason to think you might not be aware you were also included?”

“Perhaps,” she said.  She lifted one of the breads and set it to the side.  She smiled as she did so. It was a thin smile; her teeth were very white.    “When are we expected?”

“I don’t think there was a specific time,” he said.  “Was there one Celebrían?”

She shook her head.

“Then,” he continued, “whenever you wish.”

“Very well,” said Mairen, “but we — well, I, at least, — should clean before we go, but we may be ready shortly after that.   Would you like that?” she asked, turning to Celebrimbor.

He shrugged, “If you would.”  He had pulled a crock from a chest and brought it to her.   She smiled and set it to the side. She started to look for something, but Celebrían watched as her cousin reached to a rack located to the side of the stove and pulled a small saucepan from it.  He handed it to her.

“I think so,” she replied, setting the pan on the stove and then scooping a generous amount of the substance — it resembled butter but seemed a little different to Celebrían — into it.    “Now, Celebrían, please help and eat a few of these things and then help me decide what we should pack to bring with us, so we do not return to your home without appropriate gifts. As she does, my lord, perhaps you might ask me some of the questions that have disturbed you?”

Elrond seemed very surprised.   Celebrían bit into a pastry and tasted rich meat and a savory sauce.  She chewed contentedly.

“Perhaps,” Mairen continued, “this involves the very understandable fear that I was less than forthcoming with you when I was in Lindon?”

Celebrían took a second bite and chewed, noticing as she did that her cousin seemed very alert as she spoke.

“That would be one concern,” said Elrond, “yes.  I’m also curious about the fact that you seem very familiar with the East but neglected to mention that you spent time there.”

“And, given the association of the East with Melkor, this concerns you,” she said simply.

“Yes,” he replied.

“I thought it might, and that was one reason I concealed it,” she said.  She lifted the saucepan from the stove and drizzled the melted — it did seem to be butter onto the bread and then into a small ramekin next to it.   She handed the platter to Celebrimbor, her other hand resting gently at his back as she did. “I suppose I am very much like a child who has been caught in one wrongdoing.  In order to try to conceal it, I compounded it with several others. I am not sure what to say.”

“Perhaps the truth,” Elrond answered.

“I came to Middle Earth with the Host of Valinor, but, though the war was won and Melkor defeated, I no longer felt able to return to my home.”

“Why?”

“A half-elf of the line of Melyanna born in Beleriand and raised by Nelyafinwë and Kanafinwë asks me this?”

“I hadn’t a home to return to.”

“If you had, Master Elrond, would you have gone?  Had the Havens remained? Or your mother? After the Sons of Fëanor had raised you?  And loved you?  For they did come to love you, did they not?  And you them? Albeit both, perhaps, against your and their wills?"

A flash of pain crossed Elrond’s face.  Celebrían saw it mirrored briefly on her cousin’s face and saw it in the way he hesitated, for a moment only, before he set the platter of bread on the table.  She felt that peculiar feeling she’d had the previous day.  She began to think she’d wandered into a story, a wonder tale, even, but that she hadn’t been told what had happened before.  Instead, she was left to find her way through this strange and perilous world with little knowledge of the terrain or of the danger that awaited. 

“Forgive me,” Mairen said.  “I did not intend to touch, much less to scratch, a tender place.”

“I don’t ...” Elrond began.

“Perhaps you could return,” said Mairen, “but I was no longer the same woman who’d left Valinor.  I was different, I felt as if I’d been tainted by the war, damaged and sullied, no longer fit for the Blessed Realm.”

“You might have sought healing there,” Elrond said.

“From what?” Mairen replied.  “My body was uninjured. My mind was rational.”

“But your fëa was damaged.”

“Indeed,” she said, “and so I felt I would not be wanted.  How does one treat a soul no longer whole? Who would want someone so damaged?”

“That wasn’t true.”

“Perhaps,” she answered, “but neither you nor I know for certain.  At any rate, I feared I would not be welcome and would be cast out.   I’d spent much time during the war near the servants of darkness and their whispers were familiar to me.  I’d heard them so often that I began to think they were true; they convinced me there was no home for me on this side of night, no place in the realm of light.”

“And do you still feel that way?”

“I do not know.  I should have returned with the Host of Valinor and I refused.  I lost the opportunity and I do not know if the way remains open to me.   But. I hold with my choice, Lord Elrond. I think that there is more good I might do in Middle Earth than in Valinor had I returned.  I think that there is great beauty here and still more we might awaken. I think the children, whether elves, men or dwarves, deserve more than the ruins with which they were left.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, my lord, I think that we have work to do and that it is good work.” 

Elrond nodded and accepted another of the pastries.

They ate the remainder of their meal if not in silence then in far less serious conversation.  Mairen and Celebrimbor had taken two of the stools nearer the stove and next to another.   Mairen asked Celebrían how she had enjoyed the feast and how her morning had been. Celebrían carefully asked her how the feast she attended had been.   Mairen had laughed and began to tell stories of the meal she’d had. It had been a very different affair to Celebrían’s feast, and Celebrían wondered if it had been better.  She felt, whether it had been or not, that Mairen would have made it seem the most entertaining event anyone might have witnessed. There had been music, livelier than Lindir and Lisen’s.  There had been Men and Dwarves as well as Elves, and they had brought their own traditions of the night. Finally, there had been fireworks and song that drove away the dark.

“Was it a long night?” asked Elrond quietly.

“For most of those who attended,” Mairen said, “I believed it was.   I left early, before the festivities were complete, however.”

“I am sorry.”

“Why?”

“That your enjoyment ended earlier.”

“I am not.  Tyelperinquar visited me after the feast you’d held and I enjoyed his visit very much.”  Her voice was mild, as if she spoke of nothing more significant than the snow, but Celebrían noticed that her cousin watched her face closely and that Elrond attended carefully to each word she said.  She placed one hand on the table, near to the place where Celebrimbor's right hand rested, though she did not touch his.

“And you?” Elrond said, lightly to her cousin.

“It is always good to see my friend,” her cousin said quietly.  He laid his hand gently over Mairen’s, slipping his fingers between her own. Celebrían looked at his hand, fingers wound in Mairen's, and she noticed that, for all the cuts and callouses upon it, the cut he'd received from the holly seemed no longer to be there.   But then, perhaps, she was mistaken; perhaps it had been his other hand.

“I see,” Elrond replied, his eyes on their intertwined fingers.  “May we help Mairen clear so that you and she may have more time with the rest of your family?”

Mairen set them to work, scraping the half-eaten food into a canister she intended to set aside later, and then wrapping the remainder of the pastries and the pancakes in napkins and then placing them in baskets.   She also found several small and delicate cakes, fragrant with a spice Celebrían did not know, and wrapped those as well. As they’d finished, she looked at Celebrían and said, “I think I have one more thing your mother would like.   I need to put some shoes on and then we may head to the courtyard.”

She guided Celebrían from the kitchen and left her near one of the outer doors, saying “I’ll only be a moment.”

As she stood, looking through the door and into a snowy landscape, Celebrían heard Elrond and her cousin speaking.

“You care for her,” Elrond said.  “That was clear to me yesterday when you spoke of her and was all the more apparent once that I saw you with her, even before you decided to make it very plain.”

Celebrían heard a rustle that might have been her cousin moving or might have been Elrond.  She was unsure, but, after the briefest of pauses, Elrond continued, “I did not say it was wrong, Celebrimbor.   She is a brilliant and remarkable woman. But I think that the way you see her and that you understand her tale has been shaped by the experiences of your own life.  I do not fault the choices you’ve made or the one you make now, but I worry that your affection and your own experiences have made it difficult to evaluate her objectively.”

“Can you fault what she has said?”  Celebrían heard the strain in her cousin’s voice.

“No, but I would have you be wary.”  Elrond’s voice remained very gentle and mild.  

“I promise you, Elrond,” Celebrimbor said, a resolve Celebrían had not heard before in his voice.  “If the day comes when I find that she is a threat to Eregion, to my people here, I will cast her from it and oppose her with all of my strength, even if it should tear my heart and soul in two.”

“May that day not come,” said Elrond.  “You are happy, and I am glad to see you content.”

Celebrían leaned her head against the door and looked out through the thin pane of glass at its center.   After a little while, probably no more than a handful of breaths, she felt a light hand on her shoulder and nearly jumped.

"I'm sorry," said Mairen, her voice softly musical.  "I didn't intend to startle you."

"I didn't hear you," Celebrían said.

“I noticed," Mairen said, "and I'm sorry you were frightened." She held Celebrían's cloak in her hand and extended it to her.  "Are you ready? I brought your cloak.”

“Where are we going?”

“Some place strange and wonderful,” Mairen said.  “The man who lived here before had a glass house. Haven't you one like it?   I haven’t kept it as well as I might.  I haven’t your mother’s or your father’s skill with growing things, and, though your cousin has tried to help me, he hasn't that gift himself. But there are some things in it that are unusual and that I think they may enjoy.”   

She opened the door and guided Celebrían into the courtyard.   The snow was heavy and went nearly to the top of Celebrían’s boots and soaked the hem of her cloak.  Mairen seemed not to mind it and simply held her hand out to Celebrían. They walked to the farthest corner of the courtyard where a glass house stood.   Celebrían supposed that glass house was not an entirely accurate term. The walls of the house were stone, designed to retain heat, but the roof of it was made entirely of glass.    

Mairen pulled a key from a chain around her neck and carefully unlocked the door.  She gestured for Celebrían to enter and then followed her insight. It was warm in the glass house, very much so.   The tiles of the floor were warm, and Celebrían realized that the house was designed differently to her own.  Rather than containing braziers to warm the plants in winter, this home had been designed for heat to be carried from below, so that the floor felt warm beneath her boots and the heat rose from it into the building.  As a result, the glass house seemed as warm as a summer day in the midst of winter with no places where the cold had seeped though the walls.   Celebrían noticed that it was filled with plants, some bushes, some trees and some flowers, but where her mother's glass house was orderly, Mairen's had not been as well-tended and had become wild, almost like a small forest within its walls.  She also noticed that there were many types of plants and of fruit she had not seen before, including several plants bearing brightly-colored and exotic flowers and a variety of bushes and small trees carrying fruit with which she was not familiar. She touched an small fruit, greatly resembling a tiny orange.   

“Go ahead,” Mairen said.  “Pick it. It’s ripe. There are several others.  Have you had it before?”

"No," said Celebrían, "what is it?"

"It is called a golden orange.  It is similar to an orange, but is a little more sweet and a little more sour.  Unlike an orange, you can eat it whole."   She took one and, placing it in her mouth, ate it, skin, seeds and all.

"The skin isn't ..."

"Bitter?" Mairen supplied.  "No, it's sweet.   It's from the very far East, near to Cuiviénen.  Your cousin thought these might be new to you.  He said your mother only grew oranges and some lemons in your green house."

"He's right.  Those were a gift to her from Númenor, long before I was born."

"I suppose their continued trade here and with the East made other such delicacies more widely available," Mairen said thoughtfully.  "I am glad of it."

Celebrían carefully selected four of the tiny fruit, but Mairen laughed and handed her several more, saying that only four was not enough.   Then they both wandered over to a peculiar tree with very smooth lemons.

“Have those as well,” Mairen called.  “I can’t possibly eat them all, though I’ve tried.  It is such a remarkable building.  This green house was one reason why I decided to live here.   I walked into it and it was as wild as it is now, perhaps more so.  It reminded me of the East, of where I'd lived for so long, so I might be here among the Elves whom I had missed but still might have remembrances of it too.

“What are these?” Celebrían asked and pointed to a peculiar tree on which a green fruit hung, it was not smooth but rather oddly shaped and rather bumpy.

“Those are very good,” Mairen said.  “It’s a type of lime but with a flavor unlike any I’ve had before.  It comes from the East. You can also use the leaves when you cook. Take some of both.”

Celebrían did.  As she did, she noticed Mairen watching her closely, her green-gold eyes steady.

“Thank you,” Celebrían said.  “This is very kind.”

“Not really,” Mairen said.  “I’ve more than I can eat and would need to give them away.”

“Still,” Celebrían said.  “You needn’t have given them to us.”

“I suppose not,” said Mairen.  “I suppose I thought you’d like them and I thought you might also like this place, wild as it is. I also wanted to know if you were alright; you have seemed not yourself this morning.”

“I’m fine,” Celebrían said, looking at one of the flowers.

“Your cousin said that he and your mother quarreled and that you heard.   He was worried about what you heard and what you may have thought.”

“He didn’t say that to me.”

“He wasn’t sure how,” Mairen said gently.  “He didn't want to make you feel as if you had to decide which of them was right and which was wrong.  I thought I should because he said that I was the reason for it.  I also thought that I might ought to ask you in case you had questions you wanted to ask me.  It seems everyone does.”

“I don’t mind that he ... that you ...”

“That’s good,” Mairen said, “because we ... well, we’re glad you don’t mind ... but I feel ... I feel that you have worries.”

“I don’t really,” Celebrían said.

“But someone else does?” Mairen guessed. 

“My mother,” Celebrían replied.   

“What worries your mother?” Mairen asked, her face and eyes slightly obscured by the greenery.  “What does she think?”

“My mother believes that you are not what you claim to be,” Celebrían said.  “She is afraid you are of the Dark.”

Mairen seemed unsurprised.  “And you?” she asked. “Do you think this?”

“No,” Celebrían replied, looking at the fruit before her.  It was red and a little leathery in appearance.. “Not really.  But …”

“You want to ask?  To be sure?” Mairen responded, her tone strangely gentle.  She reached forward and picked the fruit, handing it to Celebrían.

“Yes,” said Celebrían, holding the fruit in her hand.  She looked at it and then placed it in her basket.

“Then ask me,” Mairen said.  “Ask me if you want to know.”

“Are you?” Celebrían asked, her voice faltering a little.  “Of the Dark?’

“What do you think?” Mairen inquired.  Her voice remained very gentle, even kind. 

“I don’t know,” said Celebrían.

“If I were of the Dark,” Mairen asked softly, her green eyes glittering and strange,  “I might be someone, someone of whom you’ve heard. Who do you think I might be?” 

Celebrían shook her head.  “I don’t know.”  

“Perhaps I am Thuringwethil?” Mairen asked.  Her voice was almost playful. “The vampire? Made of smoke and shadow.  Hiding in the darkness. Hunting? Am I she?”

“I don’t know,” said Celebrían, eyes fixed upon Mairen’s.

“Or perhaps I am Thû?  Perhaps I am of the shadow and the darkness?  Perhaps I am the one to have run with the wolves in the blackest night.  Perhaps I built Angband. Perhaps I raised Draugluin and fed Glaurung from my hand.  Perhaps I was the one to take Tol Sirion and to defeat Finrod. Perhaps that is who I am.  Perhaps I am Thû. Perhaps I am here, having outlasted my master. Perhaps I shall take this world and shape it as I wish.   Perhaps I will bend it and change it. Perhaps I will make it more beautiful than you can imagine.”

Shadow crossed her face.  She was more beautiful and terrible than Celebrían had imagined someone to be.   She seemed somehow not human, but alien and fiery. Her smile grew thin and cruel, the smile of a predator about to strike, the cold grin of a wolf on the hunt.

She bent to look at Celebrían, smiling that wolvish smile and held her gaze for a moment or ten.  Then, just as suddenly, her smile turned warm and gentle. She laughed, and the shadow vanished. The moment before seemed only a dream.

“Is that what you think I am?” Mairen asked. “And are you afraid?  Be not afraid of the Dark, little one. I will not let it hurt you, not while I am here.”

She touched Celebrían’s face, took her hand and twirled her around.

“Do you find me evil, little one?” Mairen asked and ruffled Celebrían’s hair

Celebrían thought for a moment,  “No, I don’t.”

“Good,” Mairen answered.  “Now are we ready to go?”

Chapter End Notes

Far too much reading on the construction of Renaissance and Roman townhomes was completed; Mairen's is a peculiar hybrid of the two.   

Green houses or the idea of growing plants in a controlled environment existed in varying forms since the Roman era.   I think Mairen would be fascinated by the idea but not the most capable of gardeners.  Cooking would be a different matter for her as it is science applied differently.

The idea of the tapestries grew from a terrific discussion on floor coverings on Discord, but is also connected to the idea of weaving and tapestries being important to the Noldor -- the telling of tales seems critical to them and telling them in the form of crafts, whether tapestries, frescos or a mosaic, seemed an interesting way of writing and remembering them.  Mairen, being Mairen, is quite intrigued by the possibility of reading the stories against the grain.

As for the idea of Eregion as a sanctuary, that arrived both from the general complexity of what does one do with those left in Middle Earth whether by choice or by decree and how does one create a place in which they all might co-exist.   The presence of the last of the House of Fëanor and the possible reactions to such a person after the War of Wrath, despite his own decisions, sparked more thought.   I also wondered how does one simply because one must account for why Sauron isn't booted out of Eregion earlier if Galadriel weren't too keen on his presence.  There are many different possible explanations for that.  This was mine.