A Midwinter’s Feast by Lilith

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The Day Market

Celebrimbor, Mairen and Celebrían visit the day market.  Messy food is had; Mairen's not sure about the virtues of fritters, and the past casts shadows upon an otherwise beautiful day.

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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.