"Mother!" Galadriel saw Celebrían hesitate as her mouth fell open. It was a momentary lapse, however; and then her daughter was rushing forward into the visitor's salon to give her a hug. "I did not expect to see you here. What brings you from Tirion?"
Galadriel – for despite everything, her name was the one thing besides her beloved children that Celeborn had given her that she prized most – accepted the warm embrace gladly. She had been halfway back to Tirion, still in shock and grieved at the fiasco that had been her attempt to talk Celeborn out of leaving Eldamar, when she had finally remembered that she had a daughter living close by. Should Celebrían find out that she had been to visit Alqualondë without at least stopping by to say hello…
"I came to try to speak reason to your father before he left, but he would not hear me." She moved into the room that looked out over the protected garden at the heart of the main house and breathed in the delicate hint of jasmine and roses. Elsewhere in Eldamar, the preferred flowers in gardens were niphredil and alfírin. Here in Barvedui, however, the mixed perfume reminded her of Ennor, of Lothlórien, where she had once thought jasmine and roses to be lesser for not having been brought from Aman. But then, both Elrond and Celebrían had been born and spent the greater share of their adult lives in the east, so the difference made a sort of sense. "So I thought that I would at least visit with you for a short while before heading home."
Celebrían motioned her to take a seat. "Mother, they left days ago."
"I know." Galadriel's frustration carried her forward past the offered chair to stand at the window, where her finger touched the warm glass near her cheek. "I have no excuse except that I have not been good company, nor ready to travel yet until…" She swallowed hard. "Is it so wrong of me to wish that your father remain at my side? Did you not also tell Elrond not to go?"
"Hmph! Even I know better than to ask that of Elrond, much less presume to order him about in that manner," Celebrían responded dryly, seating herself in the very chair she'd offered Galadriel. "The Els were determined to go; and I knew that if I ever wanted my husband home at my side again, it would be in my own best interest if I gave him my blessings."
"You should have told him that you would prefer he stay here…"
The expression in her daughter's eyes was one of frustrated indulgence. "As I suppose you did Father?"
"As a matter of fact…"
"As a matter of fact, you probably didn't ask anything; you tried to coerce him into staying. Mother, when will you learn that Father doesn't appreciate you dictating his life for him?"
"I asked him if he wished he had stayed in Ennor." Celebrían was quiet for a long moment, and Galadriel could almost hear the questions swirling in her daughter's mind. "He said 'no', for what it is worth."
"'No, but…' you mean," Celebrían corrected her.
Galadriel blinked as if she'd been slapped. "Celebrían Celeborniel! You will not…"
"No, Mother. I have heard him trying to explain himself to you so many times since he came to Valinor, and every time you turn away so that you do not have to hear. But perhaps you will listen if I tell you that he bore with you while you wore Nenya, and did what you did for the good of all Ennor. But that is not the case now, and you know it."
It was true; she had always known her husband resented her wearing the Ring of Adamant, but had acquiesced to her in the interests of preserving Ennor from the forces of Shadow. Had she taken his subordinating himself to her for granted, to the point that she expected it here, now, when the interests she served were her own alone?
"We have a life here…"
"No. You have a life here, and expect him to fit into it without giving him a chance to find his own destiny – and then no doubt tried to make him feel badly when he finally did see a way to fit in that did not suit your fancy."
"I have done what he sets out to do, and look how well it worked out! Everything I achieved, I then lost!" Galadriel burst out angrily. "One would think him intelligent enough to learn from my mistakes."
"So following your uncles to Ennor was a mistake?"
"I did not mean that." Galadriel shook her head firmly. "You know that."
Celebrían merely looked at her, and her expression was one that had appeared far too often on her husband's face over the last century or so. "Tell me, if you had it all to do over again, would you have left Aman to begin with?"
"Of course I would!" How could she not? Staying behind with her father would have meant she would never have met or married Celeborn, or borne him two beautiful and infuriatingly headstrong children who didn't listen to her anymore than her husband did. As much as their stubbornness irked her, she would not be without any of them.
"Then if what you did was no mistake, why in the world are you so dead set against Father doing something similar?"
Galadriel gave a long-suffering sigh. "Because your father knows, better than any other, what we gained, and then what we lost, because of my 'itch' to be the master of my own fate."
The both of them subsided the moment the serving woman entered the room with the tall pitcher of fruit juice and two goblets. They then waited until both goblets had been filled and handed out and the servant had bowed and withdrawn before both taking deep breaths. "Mother, Father was desperately unhappy; and if you had wanted to see it, you could hardly have missed it. He had no enjoyment of court life – at least, not in your father's court – and despised the way people treated him because he remained behind for so long in Ennor."
"And Elrond, was he equally unhappy?" Galadriel asked sharply.
"Perhaps 'unhappy' is not the proper word to describe his mood," Celebrían hedged and then sipped at her juice. "Elrond learned long ago to keep his private thoughts and feelings to himself, but I could see he has been less than content. While the invitations and pleas for him to journey to this court and the other have not ceased, he has been aware of talk among some with whom he would have to deal if he went to court."
"He is Peredhel," Galadriel announced bluntly. "There has always been talk."
"But now it touches his sons - your grandsons – and that angers him considerably. Both of the Els have made an attempt to join the court in Tirion, and both grew bitter and frustrated at what they found there. Elladan announced to us, at the last solstice they spent here, that he and Celebriel had decided not to have children yet. He did not wish to bring children into a world where they might not be accepted."
Galadriel shrugged. "Did I not warn you of the same when you married Elrond?"
"But Elrond was accepted, by edhil and edain alike, in Ennor. There, even as here, he is considered among the wisest of the wise, and even the Belain themselves pause to listen when he offers requested comment. And yet, among some of the more obstinate and prejudiced…" Celebrían's face folded into a scowl. "I was not surprised to discover that Elrond, too, chafed at the quality of life here."
Galadriel turned in surprise. "Chafed?" The idea of her son by marriage being less than content in this beautiful home and his wife restored to her former health and beauty in a land that had never been overwhelmed by Shadow was amazing. "It makes no sense! Besides having you and this wonderful home, he has the ear of all of the Kings – not to mention requests from each of them to spend time in court as a valued counselor…"
"Elrond is more than happy to stay away from court, Mother, and you know it. Even Ereinion Gil-Galad couldn't convince him to spend a season after that first one." Celebrían shuddered at the memory of Elrond's shock at the blatant attitudes of many of the nobles surrounding his old friend, and then shook her head. "And it was not just that some refused to deal with him or behave as if he were beneath notice because of his mixed heritage. Neither Father nor Elrond has enjoyed watching the power struggles or the petty posturing that seem to be the way all of the courts here work. Frankly, I do not blame them for keeping away."
"Court life has always been so." Galadriel sniffed and set her juice aside. "Even in Lothlórien, there was a certain amount of that. Your father knew this, and yet prospered there. In Imladris…"
"Yes, well… In Ennor, Father was Lord of Lothlórien, and Elrond Master of Imladris; and both spent an entire Age bowing to no other and ruling over courts of their own. Here, they are treated like stripling youths again, obliged to kneel at the feet of those who never had to face half of the decisions or hardships they had to face."
"Yes, both of them faced those things and exhausted themselves in the bargain!" Galadriel snapped, "although your father seemed to wear better than Elrond, if he could last in that place for as long as he did." She quickly reined in her temper, remembering that Celebrían, too, had just weathered a huge loss. "Very well, I can understand Elrond helping in making the arrangements for this… this… folly. He always was a far-thinking and far-seeing individual who could anticipate better than anyone I ever met, but to actually go along…"
"I knew he would go the moment he came home to tell me of that first meeting at Elladan's home," Celebrían mused. "Too many of his closest friends and allies from back home were throwing themselves into the effort. Elrond would be lost if Glorfindel or Erestor went off somewhere so very far away, not to mention the idea that Thranduil would set up a new realm without his having a chance to offer any first-hand input…"
"As if Thranduil would ever listen to him anyway," Galadriel sniffed. "That one is a peasant pretending to be royalty, and always has been. Even Oropher…"
"Was a faithful son of Doriath, and was accepted by the Avorrim," Celebrían reminded her. "Just because they didn't particularly welcome you, when you decided to visit to offer your so-called 'help', you offer them now the same disdain you offered the Avorrim themselves back then. In some ways, I do not blame the Avorrim for flocking to Eryn Galen."
Galadriel could feel her temper rising. How dare her daughter take the other side of old and rancorous arguments! "Enough! I did not come to argue with you, my daughter," she said sharply.
"Then why did you come?" Celebrían challenged her.
"Because I thought you would understand," she retorted, and then blinked at the harsh sound of her own voice. "Both of our husbands have left us behind..." she began again, striving for a more reasonable tone.
"Only yours left without blessings," her daughter reminded her in a sharp voice that matched the one she herself had used. "Mine is well assured of his welcome when he returns."
That remark smarted, and only served to rile Galadriel further. "If you agreed with this folly so much, why did you not accompany them then?"
Celebrían sighed. "Because, Mother, my place is here, keeping Barvedui ready to greet its returning Lord when he has done making certain his sons do not get into too much mischief. I also serve as hostess for Celebriel, who stays here until either Elladan returns or she is summoned to Avathar to be with him." She stood and gestured toward the back of the estate. "And out there are cottages which even now are filled with those of Círdan's folk who await their summons. Were I not here, who would see to their well-being?"
"What of Menester? Is he not here any longer?"
"Menester is here, and his service is invaluable to me, but he is not of the family. The work is mine, not something I can foist off on another. You, of all people, should know the weight of duty." Celebrían sighed again. "This is foolishness. We are accomplishing nothing, for you are once more refusing to hear what does not please you."
"You are right," Galadriel said, rising. "We accomplish nothing here. It would probably be for the best if I were to return to Tirion…"
Celebrían rose as well, all the fire vanished from her voice. "But you have just arrived! At least take a meal with us, and enjoy the warmth of our fire, and the joys of our songs. You can leave for Tirion tomorrow."
"No." Galadriel shook her head. "Thank you for the offer, but I can see that we would have to bite our tongues to keep from continuing this debate. You believe me wrong, and I believe you foolish."
"It does not have to be this way, Mother," Celebrían said sadly. "We could just agree to avoid the topic altogether."
"It would be the oliphaunt in the room, my daughter," Galadriel returned with a shake of the head. "Perhaps, when Elrond is returned to you, you might convince him to come to Tirion for a short stay. I would appreciate news of your father, even if he chooses not to send a message himself." She retrieved the goblet and drained the juice, which was chilled to just the right degree. "And please, pass along my regards to your cook. The juice was most refreshing."
She needed no guide to find her way to the front door, where her steward stood waiting for what he had thought would be Barvedui servants sent to assist him in stabling the horses. "We ride for Tirion, Galador," she announced, refusing to let even the slightest indication of her upset show in her voice, or notice the dismay in his gaze. "Navaer, my daughter, until we see each other again."
She barely even heard Celebrían's response before she had wheeled her mare and begun cantering toward the gate. She should have known this would happen. Celebrían was always too much her father's daughter, and had never listened to advice offered in her best interests. And just look at what not listening had garnered her?
Let her sit alone in Barvedui for a few years, knowing that her husband is held at a distance only through his own selfish whims, rather than a need to protect Ennor. She'll come to sing a different paean eventually!
oOoOo
The lights of the inn were bright, and the congenial murmur of voices drew Astaron into the building. Normally, he didn't patronize places like this, but tonight he would be making an exception. Walking as fast as he could up and down the area streets had done little to calm his anger, or work off the excess frustration.
He put a copper coin in the serving wench's hand in payment for the mug of wine and headed toward the back, where he had seen a table without another patron already sitting at it. He really wasn't in the mood for company; not, at least, until he had managed to stop the echo of his wife's shrill voice from bouncing around in his mind.
"I told you that you were making a mistake, thinking to send a grown daughter off as if she were a garment to be cleaned," Calimaiwë had snarled at him, her hand a claw that dug into the flesh of his upper arm viciously. "Líraiwë has never appreciated your choices of suitors for her, not after watching you browbeat Helwalohtë and Thúrianna into accepting their husbands."
"I only sought what was best…" Astaron began, only to have Calimaiwë's tirade roll over him as if he had said nothing.
"What is more, you waited too long. She gained her majority while you were still preening over arranging Thúrianna's dowry with the usurers, thinking her safe at court in Tirion."
"I had no idea that that… that… mongrel was there, eyeing her," Astaron growled, yanking his arm from her grasp. "Had I known that she would take up with one of such low birth…"
"I told you that she was showing interest in him, but you would not hear me," Calimaiwë snapped. "This is all your fault!"
"It is not!" he roared back. "It is their fault, those mongrels, those… pereldar!"
"You looke in a thoroughly horrid mood," came a slow, not-quite-inebriated voice, and Astaron peered up into the face of Canyaneldor, his neighbor to the east. "And as you rarely come here, I must ask myself why." The man sat down without waiting for an invitation.
Astaron closed his eyes in an effort to keep a rein on his temper. "Not now, Canya."
"Have you any idea how far your voice carries when you explode, my friend?"
He counted to five before opening his eyes again. "Your point being?"
Canyaneldor shrugged and took a healthy swallow of whatever was in his mug. "Everyone within two houses of you now knows that your daughter has gone missing, and most likely with the Pereldar on that foolish venture of theirs." He took another swallow and then let his mug hit the table with a thud. "I thought you knew how to control your women. You disappoint me, Astaron."
"It is those thrice-blasted Pereldar, I swear it," Astaron spat, grabbing up his own mug and not quite choking on the poor quality. Still, it sent a bolt of warmth into his empty belly. "Why Finwë allows them at court…"
"They are family to him. What did you expect?" The other man shrugged again, and Astaron had to count to ten again. It was obvious that the man had no appreciation for the efforts on Líraiwë's behalf that had just been tossed into the Sundering Sea.
"That does not mean that they should have all the honor done them," Astaron growled. "And now look what they do: ignore the expressed wishes of the King. I have heard that Finwë himself asked them not to continue their plans, but no!" His voice thinned in mockery. "They are poor, misunderstood, underappreciated, and want no part of the beauty of this place!" His voice lowered to a whisper. "I have heard it said that even the Valar themselves asked them not to proceed. So this Folly goes against the wishes of the Powers themselves!"
Canyaneldor leaned in closer. "I hear that Elrond Perelda himself refuses to be summoned to court – any court. He refuses the honor that our High King offers, and refuses all others as well. One could come to think that he believes himself better than the rest of us. I wager it was he who decided not to listen to the advice and counsel of his betters, and urged his sons to proceed with their plans."
"Arrogant half-breed." Astaron nodded angrily and swallowed more of the bitter wine. "I do not know why we have tolerated his kind as long as we have."
"Do you have any idea how it feels to be Ereinion Gil-Galad's second choice for counselor?" Canyaneldor hissed and threw back what little was left in his mug. "I was made to understand that should Elrond Perelda ever deign to reconsider his refusal, I would have to submit to having all my decisions run through him."
"You complain about mere position," Astaron snarled. "I was almost set to be associated with the royal family by marriage. I had struck an agreement with Lord Minaringwë on a dowry amount, only to return home to find out Líraiwë was spending the evening with that one!"
"Ungrateful children, they are the bane of our existence!" Canyaneldor agreed with a sloppy nod and then turned to beckon the serving wench. "I would have another – and another for my friend here!"
Astaron peered into the depths of his mug, then shrugged and tossed the rest of it back just in time to hand it to the serving wench, who had deposited another pair on the table. "It is lack of respect, I tell you," he agreed, picking up the fresh mug and saluting his neighbor before taking another mouthful. "Yes. It is lack of respect, and the fact that one simply cannot trust that those people might have some magic – some glamour they inherited from their Maiarin ancestors – that overpowered my poor daughter's mind and forced her to rebel against her lord-father's wishes."
"That is true. Many have remarked upon the way Gil-Galad keeps mentioning Elrond's name in such glowing terms, even though the ingrate refused to join his court. It could well be that even Elrond himself casts such glamours on all he meets. Why else would the Noldor in Endor have sought to name him High King? And what better way to seize power than to continuously refuse the title?" Canyaneldor rubbed his chin. "It seems we may be nursing an orc in Maiarin clothing in our midst."
"Exactly. Elrond may have blood ties to most of the royal houses, but never in great enough volume to justify his position – or his position, if he would but accept it. Blast them! Why did they not just stay on the other side of the sea, where they belonged?" Astaron looked about in chagrin as his voice had grown in volume higher than was probably wise, and then buried his nose in his wine mug.
"So… What do you intend to do about the situation?" Canyaneldor asked quietly.
Astaron shrugged. "What can I do? Líraiwë is gone, my plans for her betrothal to Minaringwë are for naught…"
Canyaneldor's eyes began to gleam. "Not all of them have left, mind you. Elrond left his wife at that hide-away that she built for him up in the hills behind Alqualondë…"
Astaron pulled back in surprise. "What are you saying?"
"I tell you that there are more of us who are disgusted with whom – or what – we are obliged to call neighbors than you might think," Canyaneldor said with far more calmness than he felt. "And there are ways to strike back at the undeserving, even while they are off playing explorers and warriors."
"The Lady Celebrían is the granddaughter of Arafinwë, and of royal blood," Astaron hissed, leaning forward so that his words couldn't be overheard. "You would not be considering…"
"I suggest nothing," Canyaneldor replied with a slow and cold smile. "I merely suggest that anyone who would rather leave Eldamar than learn their proper place in it, and anyone who supports such an outrageous action, deserves no protection."
"You play a very dangerous game, my friend."
Canyaneldor sat back and drained his wine with one long draught. "I play no game," he answered quietly. "One of your children is lost to these people, and most likely to their folly. I too have lost much to the Noldor and their half-blood spawn. We both should have a right to seek redress, should we not?"
oOoOo
"Thou heardest what?"
Eönwe cringed at the bellow that was Manwë's voice. "I tell you, I heard the grumblings of a Vanyarin nobleman – a hanger on the fringe of Finwë's court who would better his standing at court over the skirts of his daughters. He virtually raffles them off to whatever man will take them and in the process better his standing…"
"I have heard even Finwë's belaboring the need to have such posturing amphibians at his court often enough, thou needst not elaborate further," Manwë sighed and shimmered into view in his more comfortable, Elven fana. "Tell me instead who it is he threatened, and in what manner?"
"The lady-wife of Elrond Perelda was mentioned by name in the discussion, my Lord, and this Canyaneldor brushed away the concerns that she is related by blood to the royals."
Manwë moved to tower over his Maia. "And what didst thou hear in terms of a threat?"
"That others of a similar mind should make life as difficult as possible for the Lady, with an aim of driving her and all who would agree with what they have come to call The Folly to flee Eldamar as well." Eönwe didn't back away from his master, but merely tipped his head back. "I have heard of this Canyaneldor before. He holdeth vehemently anti-Noldor attitudes because some kin of his were killed when Fëanáro decided to take the ships at Alqualondë, and is as prejudiced against those of mixed heritage as I have ever seen."
"And in this Astaron, he hath found a willing ear and potential co-conspirator." Manwë sighed and stalked over to the sideboard, where the crystal pitcher of wine and goblets sat, waiting. "A 'Maiarin glamour' indeed! What foolishness!"
"And yet, this foolishness, if preached widely enough and believed by enough fools, could bring unrest – even violence – back to Valinor," Eönwe warned. "This venture hath torn the shield from a festering wound among the Children, where one group mistreats the other for ridiculous reasons."
"And is the reason I have never supported maintaining the Children here," a deep voice resonated through the room. "I told thee, Manwë, that thy plan would continue to show as unwise, did I not?"
"If thou wouldst join the discussion, at least make thyself known," Manwë grumbled. Reluctantly, he poured a third goblet as Ulmo's bulk shimmered into view at his side. "And thou canst refrain from the 'I told thee so's, please."
Ulmo tipped his head and took a close look at Manwë. "I see I need not present them again, for thou art finally realizing that Laurefindil of Ondolinde spoke the truth. Thy Maia presents thee with evidence enough that all is not well with the Children, to the point that those who had good cause to wish to leave are being punished for presuming to distance themselves from abuse."
The barrel-chested fana of the Lord of the waters of Arda swept his hand, filled with delicate goblet, out in a grand gesture. "Look about thee! Hast thou taken the time to pay attention to the Children and their ways of late? Or doest thou not wish to see that many who have been here the longest spend their time in self-centered endeavors? The days in court for any one of the Kings of the tribes are spent in squabbles that began hundreds of yeni ago. I know not about thee, but I would be bored to tears! No wonder those who were either born to the struggle or remained amidst it to the very bitter end find this place stagnant. All is beauty, and control, and virtually lifeless!"
"What wouldst thou suggest?" came a third bellow from a far corner, and very soon Námo's robes were snapping as the Lord of Mandos put himself nose to nose with the Lord of the Waters. "We all agreed that we should not interfere with the way the Children saw fit to live their lives here, remember? The last time we were forced to act, hundreds of thousands perished for the arrogance of only a few – and Eru Himself was moved to remind us that we are here to watch over, not judge and punish."
"This is not the Mahánaxar," Manwë complained to no one in particular, rubbing the juncture of his nose and forehead in frustration as even the grandness of his private salon began to grow overpowered by those who had decided to just invade his home. "I did not invite any of you…"
"We cannot simply stand by and allow falsehoods and prejudices to tear the Children asunder," Ulmo insisted, pushing against Námo's chest to force him to step back.
"It is not our place to tell the Children anything," Námo insisted back, refusing to budge. "Have we not yet learned that when we decide one way, it turns out that we make the wrong choice? We curse and exile those who followed Fëanáro back to Endor, and yet it is they who give us the means to defeat Melkor and then turn around and, without but a pittance of help from us, defeat Mairon. And in the end, we must rescind the ban, else be made to look like petty grudge-holders."
"Yes, and just look at the way the Halls of Mandos swelled with the fëar of those who perished in that final struggle while we sat back here, safe and complacent, and did nothing!" Ulmo's deep voice made even the glass in the windows rattle, when he raised it to that degree, and Manwë saw Eönwe roll his eyes at the demonstration of power. "Even now, with all but a very few remaining in Endor, the towns and cities of the Children are not yet filled. Ask Eönwe if those who still await the release of their loved ones do not look at Taniquetil, at the Mahánaxar, with a certain loathing because We Did Nothing!"
"I told Laurefindil of Ondolinde that the Valar would neither approve nor prohibit their venture," Manwë thundered before Eönwe could open his mouth to utter a sound, finally cutting through the arguments and drawing attention to himself. "And Eru Himself knoweth that, given ample reason, the Children will resort to violence against each other. If it is this that we wish to prevent, we cannot stand idle, but we also cannot oblige the Children to do our will. They must make the decisions necessary themselves."
"What then," Námo demanded brusquely. "Thou sayest we cannot act, but that we must act nonetheless; which wouldst thou have us do, then?"
"I know: send the Children back to Endor," Ulmo threw out with a grimace. "Eru did not create them to simply exist amidst perfection. They were to be the teachers and mentors of the Second-born. As it stands now, the only ones fit for such a task are either on ships heading elsewhere or gathered in refuges like the Pereldar's Barvedui, waiting to climb onboard ships heading elsewhere as soon as they can."
"We cannot send them back to Endor; the Straight Road is shut!" Oromë shimmered into view, making even Námo back up a step to make room. "Eru hath determined that the Time of the First-born in Endor is concluded."
"Only because there are so few First-born left there," Ulmo grumbled in frustration. Without asking permission, he poured himself a generous portion of the contents of the crystal decanter. He looked about, frowned at the sideboard, waved a hand to summon more goblets, and then held out the decanter to Manwë. "We are going to need this refilled…"
Manwë snatched the decanter from his brother's fingers roughly and then banged it back down on the sideboard. "Enough! We will send word to Ingwë of our concerns, asking that he summon a council of Kings to discuss the matter. We shall let the First-born resolve their own problems, and our action in this matter will simply be to bring those problems to their attention and require them to address the issue in an effective manner." He gazed from face to face. "Once I know when and where this meeting will take place, I will notify you all so you can attend with me and hear the deliberations and solutions."
Each of the Valar looked from face to face, dumbfounded for a moment. "It could work," offered Oromë at last.
"It is better than sitting aside and watching yet another Kinslaying take form," Ulmo said with a nod and then sipped at his drink.
Námo moved to the sideboard, took up the decanter and attempted to pour some of its contents into a goblet, only to discover the vessel was empty. "At least we are not making decisions for the Children," he growled, thrusting the decanter back in Manwë's hands again. "That is where we always seem to make our worst mistakes." He lowered his voice. "Ulmo is right: we are going to need a more plentiful supply of beverage, at this rate."
With a snort of frustration, Manwë snatched the decanter again, turned with a flourish and thrust it into Eönwe's grasp. "Take thyself down the mountain and speak thou to Ingwë. Let him know that I will hear of no excuses, but that this matter will be given due consideration of all the kings of the First-born, and a solution applied. And pass by the gardens on thy way out – I think that is where Varda is keeping herself – and tell her I shall need at least two more just like this. Unfortunately, she is the only one who can mix this beverage just the way I like it." He tipped his head in the direction of his brothers, who had once more gathered in a billowing circle to argue, and lowered his voice. "Thou might as well tell her that it is likely we shall have dinner guests, while you are at it; and then make thyself scarce. She will truly not enjoy the lack of notice."
Then, without bothering to even note the expression of frustration on the face of his Maia at the prospect of telling his mistress of the recent, unexpected arrivals, Manwë turned and headed back into the center of the room to once more attempt to take charge of the conversation that, with Ulmo and Námo both in attendance, would continually threaten to turn into a full debate, no matter what the topic. His wife wouldn't be pleased if they had to replace the window panes again…
oOoOo
Aglaron stuck the key in the door to the office of the Falathrim and pushed it open. The early morning sun was just beginning to peek through the windows, but what had managed to penetrate showed him that the office was as immaculate as his father ever kept it. Not a paper was out of place, the logbooks of the fishing fleet in port were neatly stowed on their shelf. The ashes of a long-cold fire littered the hearth, an odd bit of disorder in the otherwise pristine office.
It had taken him three days to gather all of his belongings from the Alqualondë yard, as well as the rooms he had leased nearby, so that he could move in and officially take over the job of watching over his people again from his home on Tol Eressë now that his father was gone. The walk from the house he would now share with his mother – at least until he finally found himself a wife – had been a brisk one. The chill of knowing he'd have to dig to discover the answers to many of the questions that had haunted him while awaiting his father's departure made the morning just that much colder.
Leave it to his father and the rest of those ignorant land-walkers to leave at the very end of summer, when the busiest season for the fisherfolk and support craftsmen loomed only a few weeks away. While the seasons on Tol Eressëa, like those of Valinor, were gentle and mild, there were still certain processes that happened on a semi-annual basis. The autumn running of the halacarcarni, a delicacy enjoyed by Belain and edhil alike, would begin very shortly. Already the temperatures no longer climbed high. Autumn would be making an early appearance this year, he mused as he let his mind wander for one last, lingering moment.
His job, first and foremost, would be to spend a great deal of time seeing what remained for him to make certain that his people were well-provisioned and geared for the all-out effort to come. The runnings of the halacarcarni were the major source of funding for Avallonë and the Falathrim. Ships would have to be checked for leaks, rigging checked, sails mended, nets mended or made anew; and seeing to that had been impossible from Alqualondë, where he had been kept close under his father's watchful eye. The old shipwright had probably not trusted him; a sentiment he had bitterly returned in kind.
The Belain only knew how much he had also come to resent Taendir's whining about the Aearwing's redeployment from the waters of Avallonë. Were it not that the two of them had been close friends for most of his life, he would have ordered the man serve an ennin aboard the smallest fishing scow he could find in the fleet; but in the end, Aglaron had taken his revenge by naming his cousin, Morbarad, to the post of his chief advisor instead. It had been one of the very few ways in which he had been able to exercise any control over the Falathrim who would remain behind with him while waiting for Círdan to depart.
Rumors had floated through the Falathrim, both those staying and those ultimately leaving Eldamar, of just how his father had divided the treasury. He himself knew the agreements that had been made and the contracts signed between them, specifying the precise division. But today he would face the reality of just what was actually left to work with.
Were it not that the majority of his people approved of the way Círdan had promised to make the division as smooth and free of conflict, Aglaron would have spoken out more strongly against "The Insanity". But no, the Falathrim collectively were more than content to allow their deluded brethren leave to depart from Eldamar, and not to begrudge them their fair share of riches that included more than just kulustar.
"I did not think it would take you long to move your center of operations back from Alqualondë. I wager the Telir were contented to see your ship hoist anchor as well."
"You can get in here and help me figure out just what is left." Aglaron gave an impatient wave that called Morbarad from where he stood blocking the light of the sun through the open doorway. "We have a lot to accomplish, and very little time in which to accomplish it."
"Have you figured out what your father left you?" Morbarad moved into the dimness of the office, his gaze skimming around the room quickly.
Aglaron seated himself behind his father's desk and reached for the first of a short stack of papers that remained prominently placed, obviously to catch his attention. "Oh for…" he started, then tossed the paper back down to glare up at his cousin. "He took three of our best ships, including the Aearwing!"
Morbarad looked at the paper and shrugged. "The Caun might be smaller, but she is of more recent construction and was not nearly scuttled through negligence," he offered in a distracted tone, taking up the entire stack of papers and sorting through them. "Her holds are bigger than most her size as well, and that can compensate for, say, the Aearwing..."
"Taendor…"
"Is an idiot, and you know it." Morbarad pulled the papers down quickly enough that they rustled, and he stared at his cousin. "I have no idea why you promised him the Aearwing back after what he did. He has already proven that he cannot captain a ship properly."
"You sound like my father…" Aglaron growled and grabbed the stack of papers away.
"Your father, for all his faults, was wise at times."
"If you liked him so much, you should have thrown in your lot with him."
Morbarad shook his head hard enough that the beads at the ends of his braids clattered together. "No, thank you. The Belain left those lands alone for a reason. My place is at your side, caring for our people."
"If my father is all that wise, then I offer that you best him in that department," Aglaron muttered distractedly, once more reading from the paper in his hand. "Oh, listen to this! Donations: armor and arms for one hundred thirty warriors, received from Thranduil; fifty canvas pavilions and sixty small canvas tents, received from Elladan; one hundred hithlain ropes and fifty boxes steel nails, received from Gildor; thirty crates dried meat, twenty crates dried apples, ten crates dried figs, received from Celeborn…" He swatted at the paper with the back of his other hand. "Can you truly imagine all of these proud lords of disparate clans actually working together? Or can you imagine them actually bowing to that Tawarren ruffian who did not know when to leave on the last ship and had to make his way across the sea with just his seneschal in little better than a leaky bucket?"
Morbarad leaned over Aglaron and read the rest of the list of donors and the supplies that had been loaded onto the two ships that had constituted Círdan's donation to the cause. He shook his head and gave a low whistle. "Well, one cannot say that they did not go prepared."
"Yes, but look at this." Aglaron pulled the next sheet up for his cousin to read. "The Aearwing, the Gaeruil and the Olgalad – all gone. We need those ships to be out on the water, filling their bellies with halacarcarni!!"
"They are but three ships, Aglaron," Morbarad soothed. "He may have taken the three largest, but left us with a wealth of smaller ships. We can build…"
Aglaron's head was shaking as he read from yet another sheet. "We can build one only with the kulustar left in the treasury," he spat and threw himself back in the chair. "We shall have to wait at least three more years to build up a reserve to be able to afford to build more. And while only thirty-five of our men threw in their lot with him and sailed, twenty more have taken their families and removed themselves to Barvedui to await the next summons out."
"They do not fish," Morbarad stared at him, "nor mend nets?"
"They hide behind the skirts of the wife of Elrond," was the hissed reply. "One might wonder if they think she can keep them safe as the mood of Eldamar turns against her husband and his cohorts."
oOoOo
The morning was beautiful, and Celebrían was ready to spend some of it in town. Lindir had agreed to accompany her down the mountain, and she waited for him while he made arrangements with the livery stable closest to the central market square of Alqualondë. He would carry anything that she bought for personal use, and simply order deliveries to the estate otherwise; it was the task he had enjoyed with her ever since he'd renewed their friendship after arriving with Elrond.
"What do we need this day, my lady?" he asked with a bright and anticipatory smile on his face.
Celebrían pulled a small piece of paper from the small pouch at her belt. "I actually remembered to make a list this time," she crowed.
"I am not surprised, after forgetting those orange fruits that your husband likes so much the last time." The harpist and Peredhel family bard wasn't about to let her live that mistake down.
"At least I made certain he is traveling with a decent supply of them," she retorted with arched brows. "He is so certain that they have medicinal value, he hates to go anywhere without the..." Her banter was cut short when three blond men thrust themselves in front of her, making both Celebrían and Lindir nearly stumble to keep from stepping on them. "Excuse me," Celebrían said with a soft smile, starting to move around them.
The men simply moved to prevent her. "Where is the daughter of Astaron?" the taller one demanded.
Celebrían blinked. "Who?"
"The daughter of one of the lords of the Midhrim has vanished, and it is well known that one of the last people to see her was your son," the man explained haughtily. "Astaron himself begins to wonder if your son might not have kidnapped Líraiwë in order to take her along on this Folly of his."
"My son," Celebrían began, her eyes narrowing dangerously, "would never kidnap anyone; not only because such an action is utterly dishonorable, but because I was kidnapped and tortured, and he still bears guilt from not being able to rescue me quickly enough!"
The three men laughed unpleasantly. "It is odd to hear the word 'honorable' in reference to a Peredhel," the one on the right sneered. "They cannot even be bothered to follow the will of the Belain and renounce their desire to explore forbidden lands."
"The Belain did not for…" Celebrían began to sputter.
Lindir was growing alarmed. It was not normal for anyone to be so accosted on a simple marketing trip. "For your information, the Belain did not forbid the sons of Elrond Peredhel to explore those lands. Even Olórin accompanies the venture," he announced quietly and yet forcefully, stepping forward in defense of the Lady of Barvedui. "I seriously doubt that Olórin would accompany any venturing in direct violation of the will of the Belain."
"And we should take the word of a minstrel?" the third laughed harshly.
"He speaks the truth! If you do not believe him, or have other complaints, take them to the King." Celebrían grasped Lindir's arm tightly, and he could sense the slight tremble in her grasp. "I am not my husband, nor my sons. Good day to you."
"Gentlemen," Lindir said smoothly, bowing to the trio and then steering his lady in an oblique direction away from them. "That was out of the ordinary."
Celebrían was thoughtful. "I have heard whispers against what Elrond and the Els were doing, but never anything so…"
"Ridiculous?" Lindir supplied the word that came most readily to mind. "After all this time, upholding the wishes of the Belain in Ennor, I seriously doubt anyone with even half their wits intact would believe such…"
"You are the Lady Celebrían, yes?" This time, the one who spoke was dark-haired and had the accent of Círdan's folk.
Lindir felt Celebrían sigh, and his own spirits drooped. This was not going to be a nice, leisurely, relaxing marketing trip after all, he could tell.
"I am Celebrían," she replied. "Who are you?"
"I am Cúlon, cousin to Aglaron, Lord of the Falathrim."
Celebrían gave a short bow. "Mae govannen, Cúlon."
Cúlon didn't let a moment lapse. "I have been asked by my lord to request a meeting with the Felessil whom, I understand, dwell within your estate."
Again Lindir could feel Celebrían's spine stiffen. "I am sorry, Cúlon. I was told that those who shelter at Barvedui are numbered among those who chose to follow Círdan, and Lord Círdan himself told me that I was to tell any who inquired that they are to be considered as if they had already traveled with the first expedition."
"You mean to tell me," Cúlon drew himself up so that he could look down his nose at her from his slight height advantage, "that you are refusing me access to my own people?"
"Not at all," Celebrían said in an increasingly impatient tone. "What I am telling you is that those who are staying with me are not your people, nor Aglaron's, but rather Círdan's; and that Círdan himself has asked me to tell any who ask after them that they are to be considered as if not there."
The stormy look in Cúlon's gaze made Lindir once more consider inserting himself in front of his lady. But then, "Perhaps it would be best if I took your non-cooperation to the King."
The smile that suddenly lit Celebrían's face surprised the Falassel as well as Lindir. "I suggest you do exactly that," she purred in a tone that only those who knew her well would understand was about five seconds from a Galadriel-sized explosion of temper. "I am merely following the instructions of those people's lord. And now, if you will excuse me, I need to feed those people, and so must get on with my day. Cuio mae."
She gave Cúlon such a sharp look that the man finally backed away and allowed her to move forward again.
Lindir sidled close. "My lady, might I suggest that you, too, write a message to your great-grandfather? It seems as if all of the animosity against what your sons and so many others are doing is now being directed at you." He looked around them and saw that many who populated the market square were now casting sideways glances in their direction. "I also predict that prices may not be in our favor this day."
Celebrían sighed. "I fear you are correct, my friend. Elrond warned me to expect the unexpected from those who disapproved. I had no idea that the unexpected would happen so soon!"
"How long is that list of yours?" He reached out for the small piece of paper that she still had clenched in her hand. "Here, now, ease up or it will be illegible," he soothed, stroking her thumb to draw her attention to the way she had nearly crushed the list.
Abashed, she released her hold on the mashed paper. "I think I may send Elhadril to do the marketing next time," she murmured sadly. "I doubt me that she would have to endure the same kind of questions as these."
"Your list is short enough," Lindir commented gently, smoothing the paper out so that he could see what his lady had listed. "Let us not waste time looking at all the stalls; let us merely get what we came to purchase and go home."
Not surprisingly, Celebrían was easily convinced, and so the shopping went quickly enough – except for the bartering, which took longer than usual and ended far less in Barvedui's favor than the merchants'. At the end each transaction, Lindir arranged for deliveries to be made on the morrow and gently led his lady onward to the next stop.
They were riding home before the sun had reached its zenith overhead.
"I had no idea that there was so much enmity about people leaving Eldamar to explore the outer lands of Aman." Celebrían shook her head in disbelief. "And did you hear that one woman whispering about heresy?"
"If the rumors that the Belain forbade the voyage are being believed – and everyone knows that if one tells a lie often enough and in loud enough voice, fools will believe it – then I fear for the safety of Barvedui, lady." Lindir shuddered. "In fact, rather than a letter, it might be better if you sent a messenger directly to Tirion, explaining the troubles we're having and…"
The two riders rounded the last corner before the gates of Barvedui and stopped, horrified. Scrawled in deep gouges in the fine carving of the wooden gate were the words "Traitor" and "Villains".
Lindir moved his mount very close to Celebrían's. "We should get you inside immediately, lady," he said urgently. "Hoy the gate! Open for the Lady Celebrían!"
The head of the gatekeeper's youngest son, Gaeron, popped up over the top of the vine-covered wall and then vanished again before the gates were opened. The two riders moved through the gates and into a mess of offal and rotten vegetables scattered all over the courtyard.
"Oh, Lady Celebrían! We were beginning to fear for your safety!" Thelion, the gatekeeper, almost shouted. "They came not long after you left, howling about how our Lord had deliberately turned his back on the will of the Belain. When we would not let them in to speak to Menester or Celebriel in your absence, they did this." His hand gestured at the surrounding garbage. "Lady, what are we to do?"
It was all Lindir could do not to flinch from the determination in Celebrían's gaze. "I want a rider prepared, and our fastest steed readied," she announced and strode toward the front door of the Hall. "Thelion, see to cleaning up this mess." She turned at the very entrance. "We will not stand idly by while vagrants and ruffians make sport of us. Call out all the guard left; I would speak to them shortly."
"Do you think your grandfather will intervene on your behalf?" Lindir inquired softly as the two of them strode into the Hall.
"I hope so," was the wistful answer. "I sincerely hope so."
Elvish Vocabulary:
Aearwing - Sea Spray - a fishing vessel
Belain - the Powers (Q. Valar)
Caun - Valour (a fishing vessel)
Cuio mae - Live well (a traditional Sindarin farewell)
Gaeruil - Seaweed - a fishing vessel
edain - mortal men (sing. adan)
edhil - Elves (sing. edhel)
Falassel - S. one of the sea-people, ruled by Círdan
fëar - Q. soul
Felessil - S. the sea-people ruled by Círdan (Q. Falathrim)
halacarcarni - Q. (lit) tooth-fish (I made this one up to describe a form of food fish from Valinor)
hithlain - (lit) mist-thread - the extra-strong rope from Lothlórien
kulustar - Q. gold coins
Mae govannen - Well met (a traditional Sindarin greeting)
Midhren - Vanyar
Navaer - farewell (Q. namarië)
Olgalad - Reflection of Dreams - a fishing vessel