4. Many Partings
Ost-in-Edhil
The long, soft grass was ruffled by a light breeze and the scents of summer filled the air. Galadriel walked through the meadow, her hand trailing the tops of the grasses. She was barefoot, her hair unbound, and she was wearing a loose robe in a shade of pink the like of which she had not worn since childhood. The world was bright, humming with new life.
Suddenly, a great-eyed deer appeared before her, nervous, urgent, and she knew it wanted her to follow. She passed through the meadow, up a hill, crossed a tinkling stream on smooth, white stones. As she climbed higher the air changed and the light dimmed. She looked up and saw the once-blue sky was rapidly clouding over. The deer butted her to make her hurry and she did, but the hill was higher than it had seemed and grew steeper with each step.
Then finally she was on the summit looking down, with Eregion spread out before her. She could see the great mass of the Hithaeglir behind, and every detail of the branching roads, the rocky, green ground. Ost-in-Edhil was a vague outline in shining white while further north a silver-green arch marked the entrance to the dwarf realm of Hadhodrond.
What happened next began as a trickle, a tiny dark line crawling over a mountain pass and sliding down towards open land. It was joined by more and more lines until the trickle became a stream and the stream became a flow, pouring down the mountain, coming up from the coast, reaching Eregion, spreading, blotting out the landscape, overwhelming the clear white light of the city. Only the dwarf realm still shone in the sea of darkness, and as she watched the arch closed in on itself and the mountain door was locked.
Galadriel sat bolt upright in bed in the darkened bedroom. She was wide awake and panting, her heart racing as though she had been running. Beside her Celeborn was already stirring.
“Something’s wrong?” He turned on his side and squinted at her through long, silver hair. One look was enough. He sat up immediately, a hand on her arm. “You’re shaking. What was it? A dream, or…?”
“They’re coming,” she breathed, barely conscious of his touch. She pressed the heels of her palms hard against her eyes for a moment, trying to blot out the dream images. “Thousands of them, tens of thousands. Eregion will be overrun…”
“It’s all right, Alatariel, we know where they are.” He voice, close to her ear, was calm and matter-of-fact, always a relief when the Sight frightened and disoriented her. Celeborn had been there for visions of her brothers’ deaths, Ereinion’s birth, even the coming of the Lords of the West, and it took a lot to shake him. “Only three days ago our scouts brought back word of their army milling around below Midway Pass, seeking a passage over the mountain that would accommodate their numbers…”
She interrupted him, speaking barely above a whisper. “For show, that’s just for show while they spread out in little groups, evading our watchers, following goat tracks, old, forgotten paths. And more came by sea… even now I sense them sailing down the Gwaithir.”
She focused on his face, watching his expression change as he took in her words. She had no need for the torches that burned fashionably in the street beyond the house, her eyes were still night-strong, though not as they had once been, back when she crossed the ice under starlight with her long-dead brothers. “Go and warn Celebrimbor while I wake Bri,” she said more decisively, shaking her head to clear it. “And one of us needs to get Erestor up, and send for Lindir, and…”
“Now?” he asked. “It’s the middle of the night, Peaches. Morning is time enough. Come, let’s get back to sleep.”
“Now,” she insisted, impelled by absolute certainty that every hour, every minute counted now. “We have to leave by dawn, we’ll need the rest of the night to prepare. Your force, the men from Doriath you’ll lead off from Ost-in-Edhil? They have to leave at once or it will be too late. They will end up fighting here in the streets and dying…” She could feel it, hear it almost, the clash of arms, rough curses, screams cut short.
She felt Celeborn’s hands firm on her shoulders, the warmth of him close behind her. He knew her too well not to realise that fear drove her urgency. “We’ll take to the hills and try and protect the city from there,” he said, lips almost brushing her ear. “They’re ready to ride at my sign. Two hours is all we need, no more.”
She nodded and moved to leave the bed, but his grasp tightened and he pulled her back against him. “Not yet. Stay, we need to talk. It might be best if you spoke to Celebrimbor. He and I tend to get distracted by minor issues instead of cutting to the heart of the matter. While you go to him, I’ll rouse Erestor and pack for Celebrían. No need to wake her before time.”
“Wake her anyway,” Galadriel said, resting warm and safe against his chest for a last few minutes. “It may be months before we’re together again. Erestor will see to the rest. Ereinion chose well when he sent him to watch Brim’s yellow-haired pedlar of mysteries. He can fetch Lindir while you contact your men, it will give you more time with your princess before we leave.”
She felt Celeborn kiss the top of her head before resting his cheek against her hair. “She will be safer with you than with me, I know, but – I shall miss you both so much. No matter how great the threat, we never had to separate like this before. It chills my heart.”
She leaned her head back, aimed a kiss for his cheek and found his jaw instead. “Months may pass, but their passage will be like no time at all,” she heard herself promise. “I will worry for you, but – this will pass, Celeborn.”
“You’ve seen this?” he asked quietly, seeking certainty.
“Not exactly, no,” she admitted, moving closer so that she could feel the motion of his breathing against her, something she had loved from their first night together. Often she fell asleep trying to synchronize her breath with his. “My heart knows we will go on together – here, not across the sea. And far more than the Sight, I trust my heart.”
~*~*~*~
They were in Celebrimbor’s study, a place of books and maps, geological samples and the small treasures gathered over a life that had spanned two shores, for he had been very young when he was taken across the sea by his oath-bound father. Curufin’s young wife had stayed with Nerdanel, mourning with her law-mother the loss of a son to a husband’s selfishness. Galadriel remembered her vaguely as a soft young thing, no match for her husband and his brilliant family. There was nothing of her in Celebrimbor, except something about the shape of his eyes and the line of his jaw.
Lamplight shone on the goblets of wine he had poured for them, its red almost a match for the rubies that chased one another about the rims. He wore a deep green night-robe, his hair was loose and his feet bare, reminding her curiously of how she had been dressed in her dream. She sipped her drink, tasting richness, feeling the glow spread through her. That they should discuss impending doom over a fine wine struck her as a very Finwëan concept, well suited to an argument that went round in circles.
“There is no way you can hold Ost-in-Edhil against him, Cousin,” she said for what she thought might be the fourth time. “He lived here, he knows our defences. It needs nothing more than a loyal follower still holding one of his rings to lay bare your every move.”
“Those who followed him know him for who he is now – Sauron, the Great Enemy’s lapdog,” Celebrimbor responded grimly. “No elf in his or her right mind would spy for him. We’ve destroyed the lesser rings as we’ve found them and shored up our defences. His easterlings are still at least two weeks’ march away, the passes are guarded, the land between the river and the mountain is…”
“That’s what you believe but you’re wrong. Brim, please. Just leave. Ride for Lindon. You’ve had your differences but Ereinion has to take you in, you’re family.”
A jaw muscle jerked. “Oh yes, he’d take me in all right. He and the Shipwright could never let pass the chance to tell me how wrong I was about… him. No, Tanis, this is my land and this is where I stay.”
Galadriel wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled, but instead she sighed and said tiredly, “They will come up the river from the sea, they will cross the mountains and their numbers will overwhelm our watchers, The city will stand no chance, none at all.”
“Would you have me run for safety and leave these people to fend for themselves?” he asked her quietly, his eyes on hers. “They or their parents followed my grandfather across the sea, then they followed my father and his brothers — I would prefer not to leave them in the lurch. Just for a change. My family has an unfortunate record that way. And we’re leagues inland, why would they come by sea? Has Celeborn heard something he chose not to share with me?”
She took another mouthful, swirling the wine in the cup as she said, “If he had new information, he would have told you at once. No, this is what I’ve been trying to explain, I saw this in a dream. A true dream. A vast army on the march, larger than anything Ost-in-Edhil can hope to withstand. The city – I think the city isn’t important to him, except as a matter of casual revenge and a show of power. But you deceived him, or so he sees it. You made the Three, and for that he will want you almost as much as he wants them.”
“And he’ll not have them,” Celebrimbor responded coolly, face impassive. “Is that why you’re here? To fetch the rings?”
“I’m taking my daughter and leaving at daybreak, as are Erestor and Lindir,” she replied. “So yes, I need them now. I need time to conceal them and pack a few things for myself – Celeborn’s seeing to Bri.”
“I’d have thought Celeborn at least would stay and fight. I hardly expected the three of you to run for Mithlond along with Erestor and Lindir. What was it you said about undue attention?”
She hovered on the brink of a lie, but this was her cousin, one of the few of her kin left this side of the sea, and she knew she would not see him alive again, not outside of the Undying Lands. “Celeborn and those who followed him from Doriath plus the fighters who’ve been with us since Lake Nenuial are taking to the hills. They’ll attack and harry the enemy from the rear. He thought he could do more for the city that way than by risking their being trapped inside the walls.” Narrow streets, terrified people, flames leaping from building to building… She blinked hard, shutting out the sounds, the smells.
He sucked in a breath and let it out soundlessly. “So,” he said finally. “You’ve convinced him then. And you? Straight for Mithlond and safety is hardly your style, Cousin. I’d have expected you to fight at his side, or at least sharpen his sword and tell him where to strike next.”
She tried and failed to hide the flash of irritation. “Hardly appropriate with a child of thirty-two summers in tow. Had you allowed me to send her to Lindon when I asked, that would have been the plan.”
He grunted and they sat in silence with their wine, thinking their own thoughts. Finally, with a faint murmur asking her pardon, he got up and left the room. Galadriel sat watching the glowing embers of what remained of the evening’s fire and waited. She had not yet lost her touch, though it gave less satisfaction than she might have expected. He had not asked a second time where she was going. Hopefully he assumed Mithlond and had no more questions. She trusted him, but after sufficiently skilled torture, everyone talked eventually. Sauron’s expertise had been a byword in the previous age, enough to have earned him the epessë Gorthaur, the Cruel One.
His hair roughly braided now, Celebrimbor came back carrying a small, ornately decorated box. She rose and he hesitated before placing it in her hands.
“Do they have to be specially wrapped or contained?” she asked. “I need to hide them and what I have in mind won’t allow for much fuss.”
He shook his head. “That box is to honour them, nothing more. Grandfather had his Silmarils, I have these. But they can be carried any way you choose, only don’t try and work with them unless you’re somewhere secure. They were not made for assault and destruction, they were…” He stopped, lips compressed.
Galadriel held the box, aware of his hands still covering hers, and looked into his eyes. “You wanted to make something that would guard and renew, preserve and protect, make beautiful – your answer to your father and to your grandfather. They are your legacy and, my word to you, blood to blood, they will not fall into hands that would misuse them.”
He inclined his head, his eyes on hers. “Blood to blood,” he agreed softly. “You know, I still think we would have made a formidable couple. You are the only person I trust completely. No need to tell me your plans for them, the less I know the better.”
Galadriel felt her eyebrow quirk slightly as the corner of her lip curved. “Two Finwëan in one household? My dear, there would have been blood on the walls within a week. We’ve never agreed on anything.”
“Those would have been the depths, but imagine the heights? We could have conquered the world, Tanis.”
“I think the world has trouble enough,” she said, but she was smiling as she spoke. “It would be Nerdanel and Fëanor all over again. You don’t remember your grandparents together, do you? The pictures used to shake on the walls, it’s said.”
They shared a grin. “You should have thought first before binding with that Sinda,” he said, not for the first time. “Blood understands blood, we would have been one another’s exact fit.”
Galadriel shook her head, still smiling. “I made my choice, Brim, and I’ve never had cause to look back and wonder. Though I tell you this, were we bound, there is no chance I would have let you stay here to face them. We would be running for Mithlond and safety right along with everyone else by now.”
“Do you think it’s safe even there?” he asked. They were close together, their hands still touching.
“You told me this would stay Eregion’s problem and I doubted you, remember? I can only hope Lindon’s borders are strong enough to withstand them when they come.”
For a moment she had a vision of armed warriors, shouted orders, men and elves standing shoulder to shoulder, and then it was gone. She had no way to place it; it could have been next year, a thousand years’ hence, or even some time back in the First Age. She did what she had taught herself to do when this happened, she let it pass. If the time came when she needed to know more, she would.
Celebrimbor was watching her. “What?” he asked. He was less easy with her Sight than Celeborn, but then he was a craftsman and liked to see how a thing worked, liked to be able to examine it, touch it, turn it around.
She shook her head. “Perhaps nothing, perhaps something. Not relevant now. Brim, please reconsider. A city is bricks and wood, property, not worth people’s lives. Tell them to leave, let the easterlings have it. We can rebuild.”
“This was the work of our hands, our hearts,” he replied simply. “We built it with pride, we raised children here, made a place for ourselves. This is the last truly Noldor city – you can hardly count Mithlond, it’s a mixture of everyone and anyone who survived the War. How can I tell them to leave, then get on my horse and flee for my life? They put their trust in me and they deserve a better return than that. I still believe we’ll prove a match for the east . Your visions show you the worst that can happen, Tanis. They are not set in stone.”
Unexpectedly he took the box back from her. The tip of his finger touched a little, hidden catch and it opened. The rings lay within, each wrapped individually in blue silk. He ran his fingers over them lingeringly, a final touch, then removed one before snapping the lid shut. Wordless, he handed the box back to her and unwrapped Nenya. Taking her left hand, he placed the ring on her middle finger, the cold slide of metal firm and somehow final.
“This is yours, it was from the start. I could see it on no other hand, could imagine it melding with no other fëa. I crafted it with you in mind.” He turned her hand, considering the effect, then nodded. “Be careful not to draw on the power or accidentally open any windows for him to peer through. You might want to hang it round your neck rather, just to be safe. Give Ereinion the other two, but keep her with you. If Lindon falls, you will survive, you always do. Wars, land upheavals, kin slayings… you’re amazing. If all else fails, send it to my mother perhaps, or my grandmother. You’ll know what’s best.”
She stared down at the mithril band, the soft, star-glitter of the stone, cold fire burning bright, then up at Celebrimbor. They looked at one another without words, then she placed the hand that bore the ring palm flat on his chest over his heart. “You are the last of your grandfather’s line save for Maglor, and who knows where he is,” she said softly. “Please – I have no business asking you to do anything for my sake, but… for your grandmother’s sake if for no one else’s. Leave while you still can.”
He shook his head, then bent the fraction necessary between them and his lips found hers. She opened to them and they stood in the lamplight in the quiet room and shared their only kiss, something deep and absolute, a blending of two who perhaps, as Celebrimbor had often said in jest, fate really had intended should be one.
“Travel safe wherever the road takes you, Tanis.” His voice was rough, close to her ear.’
The words caught in her throat. “You – you remind me of Finrod. More courage than sense. Till we meet again, Cousin…”
…on the other shore, she finished silently, steeling herself against the tears or undue softness that would embarrass them both. You were too young to have a part in the horror at Alqualondé. They have to let you leave Mandos eventually.
She drew her cloak up over her bright hair, her eyes on his face as though memorizing it. Then she turned and left the room on silent feet, carrying with her the three rings of power that were the final Great Working of the last master craftsman of Fëanor’s line.
~*~*~*~
By the time she got back to the house, Erestor had left to collect Lindir, telling Celeborn he would meet them in the grove close by the city gates. Ost-in-Edhil had originally been conceived as a typically walled and locked Noldor stronghold, but the gates had stood open for centuries and as the city expanded the new walls had served as little more than boundary markers. Recently they had been inspected and strengthened and the gates newly reinforced, manned day and night by wardens, but their job was to question strangers, not to offer hindrance to citizens with interests beyond the city.
The sky was starting to show signs of dawn, grey light casting long shadows between buildings and under the many trees that were the mark of this elven city. Galadriel rode slowly, looking around at silent streets and houses she would never see again. She was so engrossed that she almost missed seeing Erestor, but Celebrían, who was seated behind her on the horse, touched her arm and pointed, speaking barely above a whisper.
“Over there, Nana. Is that Lindir with Erestor?” Galadriel had assumed Celeborn would have explained things to her in more detail, but probably he had been talking about simpler things, the kind of conversation with which memories are best filled.
“He has family in Mithlond and had been planning a trip home, so they’ll travel together. It’s several weeks’ journey, a long time to spend with only a horse for company.”
The two elves waiting under the trees made unlikely-looking couriers. Erestor’s hair was drawn back in an exotic array of tight braids and his well-cut travelling clothes were fashionably trimmed in rose. Lindir wore sensible greys and browns, but a double necklace of silver and crystal reached almost to his waist, and dyed strips of leather hung with tiny feathers and beads were twisted through his tawny hair. Their horses carried unexpectedly few possessions, although Lindir had an extra pack which he was still holding and from which protruded the neck of a fiddle.
With a mental shrug, Galadriel dismounted, held the horse for Celebrían and unfastened one of the bags from the very Noldorin saddle. Discarding social niceties, she immediately got down to basics. “Dressed for town but travelling light, I see? Are you two ready?”
Erestor nodded, the shifting coils of black hair accentuating the movement. “Yes, my Lady. I only brought essentials. No need for party clothes, I can get more in Lindon.”
“Clothes for the road, one good outfit in case we have to impress someone,” Lindir added, unasked. “Plus my instruments and my music. I learned to travel light the hard way when my horse wandered off and I ended up having to carry my pack on my own back.”
While they were still laughing, a horse-drawn cart passed with several people walking alongside it talking quietly. They paid no attention to the group under the trees, but Galadriel’s eyes followed them as they moved on towards the gate. “Early in the day for the road to be this busy,” she murmured. “I’ll wager their destination is the same as yours, too.”
She removed something from the bag at her feet while she was talking and held it out to Lindir. He reached for it, frowning slightly, and then his face softened and he smiled as he folded back the cloth wrappings, his hands sure but careful. It was a lap harp, beautifully wrought, with delicately coloured engravings along the stem and frame.
“It was a gift from Maglor a long time ago,” she explained. “Being a musician, I thought perhaps you’d understand why I am so loathe to leave it in the city. When you reach Mithlond, could you see it gets to my nephew, the King? Just – take great care of it on the road, please. It’s old and probably valuable, and its safety is very important to me.”
Lindir was barely listening to her, his fingers gently stroking wood and strings. Musicians were all the same, she thought, which was as well because she had been relying on it. She nodded to herself, satisfied, taking care to ignore Erestor’s curious stare.
“Ada,” Celebrían broke in, her attention on an indistinct figure on horseback riding towards the gates. At the last moment the horse turned towards the trees and stopped and Celeborn dismounted. He had a quiet word with Celebrían that left her smiling, then came to slip his arm around Galadriel’s waist.
“All set?” he asked. She had been busy in the house when he left, making her final preparations for the journey. They had talked a little but there had been nothing left to arrange.
“Ready, yes. I have everything. Where are your men?” She looked around as though expecting to see his attack force lined up and ready for her inspection.
“Most of them are already up in the hills, waiting. The rest will follow in the next few hours, and everyone will be clear of the city before mid morning. You’ve given Erestor the report?”
“Not yet. Can you make sure that pack isn’t too heavy for Bri while I talk to Erestor? She said it was all right, but she thinks the horse will carry it, not her, and I can’t manage much more myself.”
She removed a flat leather pouch from the bag at her feet and inclined her head, indicating that Erestor should join her in walking slightly apart from the others. Lindir glanced up, but then went back to securing the little harp away with his fiddle. When they reached the shelter of a spreading tree, she handed him the pouch. “I cannot impress on you how sensitive the contents are,” she said softly. “This is a report of everything in the last few years that has any bearing on the current mess. Some of it, most of it, you know, the rest was common knowledge only within Celebrimbor’s inner circle. If you think it might fall into the wrong hands, open it, memorise as much as you can, and then destroy it.”
Erestor took the pouch wryly. “And then ride for my life, yes.”
“Of course this means I absolutely forbid you to get yourself killed,” she added sternly, making his grave face reach for a smile. “Just get it to him intact. And give him my love, tell him I’ll be safe enough where I’m going.”
Erestor’s brow furrowed. “You’re not coming to Mithlond, Lady?” She was always fascinated by his eyes; long lashed, slightly up-tilted, the clear, pale brown of mountain water. They studied her now, intense.
Galadriel shook her head. “It’s best this way, Ereinion will explain.” She looked for discreet words but there were none, and they were running out of time. “You don’t have to understand this, Erestor, so don’t ask questions, just listen. Whatever it costs, guard that harp with your life – our survival might depend on it. Make sure it is in Ereinion’s hands before he even reads the report. And then… coming dear… and then he’s to take the base apart. There’s a gift secreted away for him. He might want to be careful who knows about it. Tell him Celebrimbor gifted me with the third, and we agreed it’s best they be held apart at this time.”
Her lips brushed his cheek in farewell and then she walked back to the few possessions she was salvaging from her life in Ost-in-Edhil, making ready to say the most difficult goodbye of her life. Erestor was already no longer part of her planning. She knew she could trust him to do as he’d been told to the letter; the rings of air and fire were now out of her hands.
~*~*~*~
“You’re quite sure about this?”
The sky was growing lighter and somewhere a bird had begun calling, the precursor to the dawn chorus. Celebrían was talking to Erestor who she had known for most of her life, giving Celeborn and Galadriel a final few minutes alone.
“There is no other way,” Galadriel answered. “I would far rather go somewhere you could reach easily, like Mithlond, but if Lindon were to fall, what then? As long as one of the rings is still safe, not in his hands, there might still be a chance.”
“You think something might happen to Lindon? You saw this, too?” Celeborn’s tone was casual, but he was watching her face, waiting to hear if this was a guess or something she knew. They could always read one another’s body language; in fact, they did it so well it served as a second language in social situations where open speech might be neither diplomatic nor safe.
She considered. There had been disjointed pictures: fighting, faces, some vast threat to Ereinion, but the armour was wrong, the banners unknown to her. She was almost sure what she had seen would only take place far in the future. For the present, although she was ridden by a sense of deep urgency, she knew little save for images of Elrond riding at the head of an army and inexplicable glimpses of a lush, green valley. There was nothing more.
“I think Lindon will be threatened,” she said uncertainly, “but I have no idea how it will end. That much I cannot see. I think – I think that Ereinion will live to face a greater peril at a later time. But these are guesses, not anything I know.”
He drew her to him and they stood, heads together, arms around one another. There were no more words, there were no promises, for they had no need of either. “Later, when you’re settled, see if there is any way to send me word. I’ll know if you’re well or if things go badly, but a few lines – if you can find someone to carry a letter to Lindon, it will reach me eventually.”
“I can try,” she said, “but it might not be possible in the beginning. Do something for me?”
“Mm?” He held her closer and she felt his strength, sensed underlying sadness and worry.
“Each night when Eärendil’s light first appears, try and reach me, mind to mind. Times past, it could be done. We’ve been together so long, perhaps we can find the way back to that skill?”
He laughed softly. “Dear heart, if anything were to happen to you, I would know at once. But yes, we can try that. If it does nothing else, it will give us a time each day to be together in our hearts.”
Their foreheads were touching now. She smiled, knowing he would see it in her eyes just as she saw its answer in his. “I like the sound of that, together in our hearts. And Bri can do it as well, share the time with us.”
“She’ll like that.” He paused, then spoke again, his voice as steady as his eyes. “I have no need to ask that you take care of her, I know, but… she is still so very young.”
“With my life,” she replied to the unvoiced question and meant it.
They turned as one to look where Celebrían stood talking with Erestor and, more shyly, with Lindir. She was almost level with Erestor’s shoulder, and while she still had some growth left, she would never have her parents’ height. She was a friendly girl, a little shy but with an open, trusting nature that Galadriel secretly found puzzling. Both she and Celeborn were practical souls whose trust had to be earned. Like Celebrimbor though for different reasons, Bri put her in mind of her brother, Finrod.
She picked up the woven travelling bag and slung it over her shoulder. She had a dagger strapped to the inside of her left boot and carried a second at her waist. Hopefully she would have no need of either. She had considered a sword but they were cumbersome and hard to conceal. “Where are you all meeting up?”
“There’s a trail leading to farmlands branching off just before the crossroads. There are some very thick windbreaks, more than enough trees to shield us from anyone passing on the road. From there we can move into the hills, set up camp and send out scouts. And wait.”
Till they come for Celebrimbor’s city was implied although left unsaid.
She nodded. “I saw that Ereinion will send Elrond with an army. I have no idea what he knows about leading a fighting force or conducting a war, but try and meet up with him as soon as you can, he’ll need guidance. There’ll be generals with him, of course, but…”
“Gil-galad won’t leave Mithlond?” There had been no time to discus this earlier, or perhaps there was but they had found other matters closer to their hearts instead.
“Oh, he would want to,” she said, surprising herself by being able to laugh about it, “but they won’t let him. He’s not just a good king, he’s the only one they have. I’ve often wondered how things would have been had someone stopped my uncle Fingolfin from his ridiculous gesture against the Enemy – no elf could expect to face one of the Mighty in physical combat and live.”
He manoeuvred a lock of her hair out from where it had caught under the bag’s strap. “Well, you’ve said yourself, when they’re clothed in form similar to our own, they share our frailty. He might have thought it gave him a chance.” It was an old discussion. She knew he remembered Fingolfin’s death. They had been many leagues away from that unequal battle, but she had seen it, watching a scene invisible to everyone around her with wide eyed horror. Her face had been bone white, he told her after.
She gave him a quick smile and shrugged. “I think Morgoth would have played about as fair as his surrogate has with Celebrimbor,” she said. “My uncle was unimaginably brave, but he was a fool. So is Brim. I asked him to go with Erestor to Lindon, but no, he can’t desert his people. I can just hear what Fëanor would say.”
He kissed her cheek and she savoured their fragile closeness. “He does what he has to. He left things too late perhaps this is his way of expunging his guilt? Come, I think she’s ready now.”
“You want a few minutes with her before…?”
He shook his head. “No. We said it all earlier. Just – don’t trust her to anyone else, and remember, she can’t walk as fast as you do.” It was a private joke between the three of them, but although she tried, her smile was a little uneven now the time had come.
Celeborn gave her his hand to step upon as she mounted and then helped Bri up behind her, taking her pack for the time being. The hood of her cloak fell back to reveal her silver-gilt hair, and Galadriel reached back to pull it firmly up. “Keep it covered,” she reminded her daughter quietly. “We’re both too fair to pass unnoticed without these hoods. The longer it takes for – people – to realise we’re gone, the better.”
~*~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~*~