A Midwinter’s Feast by Lilith

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Conversations

Celebrian recalls conversations had after her visit to the Mirdain.

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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.