A Midwinter’s Feast by Lilith

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The Halls of the Mirdain

Celebrian has some very unusual dreams and then pays a visit to the Mirdain.

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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.”