In My End Is My Beginning by Lilith

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A Poisoned World, the Poisoned Trees

Summary: Changes in the season from summer to fall and fall to winter cause Celebrimbor to remember his childhood in Valinor.

Prompt: Very loose use of the song prompt: “The Dreaming Tree” by Dave Matthews Band (Use the title, lyrics, song, or a combination as inspiration for your fanwork: https://genius.com/Dave-matthews-band-the-dreaming-tree-lyrics): 

Remembered Mother's words
There beneath the tree
"No matter what the world
You'll always be my baby"

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As the summer slid towards fall, Mairen had begun to notice changes in Tyelperinquar’s mood. They were busy, busy with the aqueduct and other projects designed to benefit the city, and so she had noticed, but had not thought much of it, for some time. But, when it continued, she began to grow concerned, wondering, at first, if he’d grown suspicious of her but, later, thinking only of the differences in him. He had steadily begun to work longer hours. He’d gone without food more often. He would come with her to eat if she asked him to come, but, if she didn’t, if she herself became occupied in what she did, he’d forget. He came to see her less and then not at all. He neglected his duties on the council, prompting her to offer to attend in his place, a offer that had won her an unexpected laugh. She expected he was imagining his cousin’s face.

“No, I’ll go,” he’d said. “I would prefer ...”

“I know, but ...”

“I have only a little more.”

“You need the break. Let your mind come back to the problem after some time from it.”

He’d attended the meeting. He’d been about to leave as he was, but she’d stopped him. She’d made him sit and then she had carefully undone his braid, combed it and plaited it again into a more elaborate style. She’d handed him the fresh tunic and trousers she’d brought from his home and said nothing when he looked at her, embarrassed and struggling to determine what he ought to say.

“I become preoccupied,” he’d finally said, and he’d pulled her close to him, the clean clothes crumpled between them and his head resting in the space between her neck and shoulder.

“I see,” she’d answered and held him a little longer and closer than she perhaps ought to have.

“It’s the time of year, the change in the seasons and the loss of light,” he began. “I can’t help but be restless. Working helps, as much as anything can. I’m sorry. I know I’ve been difficult.” He’d kissed her lightly on the forehead, then, in apology as much as anything else.

Her own plan, not her larger plan, but her plan to address his restlessness had been formed shortly after. She’d told herself that she needed to ingratiate herself further. She’d said she needed to win more of his trust and gain further confidences. She’d almost believed it, except a cold voice, greatly resembling that of Melkor’s, noted that she seemed more focused upon his distress than any gain she might receive from it. She’d ignored it. For the time, she might both ease his heart and acquire new leverage to use against him. For the time. For now. 

She’d waited a week and then another, and, when his mood hadn’t shifted, when he still did not come to her, and when she had noticed how haggard and worn his face seemed, she began to act. She sent a message to Kemmótar inquiring about the state of the aqueduct and asking if assistance might be needed. She’d wondered when the response came quickly, about a day faster from the site than she’d expected, and said that it progressed well but that it would be a nice time to check the progress and compare notes and that it would be fine time to be away from the city if she and Tyelperinquar wished to come. In fact, he advised it and advised she neither come alone nor send him alone. 

She arranged for the horses and ordered the provisions. She spoke with his household staff and had the things he’d need packed. She’d ventured to the house of the lord and the lady, and knowing the value of choosing her battles carefully, she’d asked Celeborn for permission to visit the aqueduct and to take Tyelperinquar with her. 

“You know what it is,” he’d said. “It is kind of you to try and speaks well of your affection for him, but it may not help. We — Galadriel and I — used to try the same approach, thought it did not help, and it may not be different this time. It is ... it is something that those of us who care for him have learned to be patient with and to wait; it passes in its own time. Do not be angry with him or with yourself because it doesn’t pass as you’d wish. Still you may go if you wish.”

She had debated, afterwards, whether she should worry that he’d known almost immediately what she’d intended. 

Having secured permission, she’d waited, until he’d reached a stage in his current project in which he would need to wait, when he couldn’t argue that she wanted to leave at a critical time, and then she’d said that their presence at the site of the aqueduct had been requested. There were questions, she’d said, Kemmótar had that he needed them to answer.

“I doubt that,” he’d answered, “and this isn’t a good time for me to leave. I’m in the middle ...”

“You aren’t. That needs time to settle, and you need time away.”

“I need to continue to work.”

“No, you’re becoming inefficient. You need to rest.”

“Inefficiency?” he’d sounded annoyed. “Of course, that would offend you. Forgive me and leave me be if that disturbs you, Mairen.”

“Please,” she’d said. “Please, come with me.”

“It isn’t likely to matter.”

“Please. You need to rest.”

“And your suggestion from me to rest is to embark upon a trip into the foothills?”

“It seems as wise as anything you’ve done lately,” she’d answered. She’d watched the anger flare in his face and then the shame follow. 

“I’m sorry,” he’d said.

“Come with me,” she said, taking his hands in hers. “Please.”

Eventually, after another two days of arguments that weren’t really arguments, he had. He’d smiled, a little bitterly and a little ruefully, when he’d realized she had the venture planned.

They left early the next morning. Celeborn had met them at the gate, his face calm and his wife absent. “Safe journey,” he’d said, simply. “I look forward to the report upon your return.”

The journey was three days to the site and then another three to four in return. She’d planned for a more leisurely journey back. He’d spoken a little the first day, told stories of his, Galadriel and Celeborn’s journey to Ost-in-Edhil and the establishment of the city. She’d laughed a little at the image of Galadriel, in her mind’s eye, white-clad as always, living in a tent for more than a year while temporary and then more permanent structures were built, but then she’d conceded that the woman was tougher than she liked to admit. He’d asked questions of her as well, about the East, about her own youth, about her family, if she had one, if her kind had families. She’d found those more difficult than she had expected. Not the answers, for those she had planned carefully and had strayed a little as possible from the truth of her life, but the simple fact that she found herself enjoying the conversation and wanting, wanting very badly, to tell him more. The journey had become a little more challenging and she hadn’t minded that it limited their conversation some or she had minded but she knew that it was probably wise. They’d stopped an hour or two before sundown and made camp.

She’d brought out the provisions she’d gathered for the trip and watched as he’d smiled and tried not to laugh.

“Some of this is not precisely practical,” he’d said, lifting the bread and hard cheese from bag and then pulling the dried oranges and apricots she’d carefully stowed along with it.

“One can’t live on lembas alone and one shouldn’t. There’s a stream. Should I catch some fish?”

“Not tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps, if it’s nearby,” he replied. “You were right. I am tired.”

They’d eaten, making a meal of bread, cheese, dried fruit and dried meat, and she’d sung to him. He hadn’t asked, but she knew he enjoyed it, so she’d sung, carefully choosing songs of the Silvan people or some she’d learned from the Men of Numenor or of the Eastern lands. She’d sung no songs of Doriath and none of the Teleri. She’d sung no great epics and no ballads from Valinor. As the night passed, she’d begun to weave a magic into her song, one of ease and of rest and of peace, the melody unfamiliar and the notes strange to her, but she had found them and their sound was true. 

As she sang, he’d lain down, with his head in her lap and her hands caught in one of his, and listened to her. Before more than an hour or two of darkness passed, she had looked down at him and found him asleep. She had remained awake and continued to sing though the night so that he would hear her song should he wake. She hadn’t sung that long or in that way since before the stars were made and the lamps had illuminated Arda. 

The journey had been still more difficult the next morning. They’d dismounted and led the horses on foot. He hadn’t spoken much and she had been tired herself, so the journey had been passed mostly in silence. Again, a few hours before sunset, they’d made their camp. While he unpacked the few things they’d brought, she began to explore and noticed the same small stream. Its water was clear and cool, and it contained a number of fish.

“The stream is still nearby,” she’d said when she returned. “I thought I might bathe and see if I might catch a fish or two.”

“I’ll stay with the horses and then go after you.”

She’d bathed quickly, finding some soap root to run through her hair, and, not long after, using the net she’d brought, she’d caught a pair of decently-sized trout, their scales glittering gold and silver and blue in the light. By the time she’d returned, having first cleaned the fish and then washed her hands, he had kindled a small fire and crafted a small rack on which the fish might rest while they roasted over the fire. He smiled when he saw her return and helped her place the first where they might begin to cook.

“I won’t be long,” he’d said, kissing her cheek quickly. She’d caught his arm and then his hand. He smiled, both gently and apologetically at her, and then he’d left. They ate not long after he returned, again speaking quietly of the business of the guild. After he’d sat behind her and began neatly braiding her still damp hair, and he asked her how she’d known she was called to the work of Aulë. 

“I always had,” she replied. “There was never any question, at least not in the beginning about it.”

“And later?” He’d finished the braid and carefully tied the end of it with a leather tie. 

“I question everything,” she said and smiled. He laughed.

“In my family,” he began, turning so that she might begin to plait his hair, “one might think that there was little question but that we would be instructed in my grandfather’s path, but that was not so.”

“Truly?”

“We had the opportunity to study it if we wished, and some did. My father, Carnistir, and the twins all were students of my grandfather’s. Macalaure’s gift was apparent early. If you were to believe my grandmother, even his newborn wails were pleasing to the ear; whether or not that is true, my grandfather believed in nurturing talent where it lay. Part of his willingness to allow a different path may have been because Nelyo had little interest in his craft. Instead, he preferred to follow his grandfather around and pretend to review papers and to sit in counsel, even if the counsel was only the family at breakfast.”

“He had much time with his grandfather?”

“Finwë insisted upon it. He invited my grandfather to visit often, once he married my grandmother and established his own household, but my grandfather did not want to come. He resented his father’s second marriage and avoided Indis, as if refusing to see her might allow his mother to return, but Finwë refused to be avoided. He traveled to see my grandfather, brought the court, but not his wife and her children, to the estate and stayed. I can only imagine how much resentment that brought on the part of my great-uncles.”

“Perhaps less than you believe.”

“Perhaps.” But it was clear from his face that he did not truly concede. 

“And it was on these visits that your uncle grew to love the business of government?”

He smiled, “Apparently, though with Nelyo, it may have simply been a need to be useful and to keep the peace between grandfather and his father. If grandfather was distant, then, at least, great-grandfather had Nelyo and, for Nelyo, at least great-grandfather’s attention was more consistent. Grandfather was often engrossed in his work ...”

“Hard to imagine.”

“Are you suggesting something, Mai?”

“Suggesting, no. Stating, albeit obliquely, yes,” she answered but he laughed. She tied his hair and slipped her arms around his waist, pulling him close against her and resting her head upon his shoulder. He covered her hands with his and leaned his head against her own. “Your grandfather was focused on his projects and ...”

“And he’d forget everyone and everything, even grandmother, until he’d finished or lost interest. But, during those times when he’d lost interest, his attention, the attention that kept him focused upon a project for days upon end, was now focused on us. That might be a bit overwhelming. With great-grandfather, as much as I remember, it was less intense, by far, and divided between his children and their children, but he was more attentive, at least more often.”

“That makes sense,” she said and leaned against him. 

“They weren’t always easy days, certainly not between my grandfather and his father or between him and his half-brothers, but they were, more often than not, good. I had, thought — and he — my grandfather — had said — and my grandmother too — that they would always be so, that we would always be their children and always with them and together.”

“And then it changed,” she said and wound her fingers in his.

“And then Melkor came,” he said, gripping her fingers tight, “and deceived us. He poisoned our world, long before he and the spider poisoned the trees.”