Many thanks to Perelleth for her helpful comments!

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“This is a story about the banishment of the Children of Finarfin from Menegroth 

when the truth about the First Kinslaying was finally revealed...  

...not long after Finrod had brought his people to Nargothrond

and not long before Turgon would move his people to Gondolin...

...but not very soon after Galadriel wed Celeborn.”  

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Wrapped in their heavy cloaks, Mirathel sat silent next to Galadriel upon a high seat provided by the weathering trunk of a fallen tree.  The weary Sindar lady looked dispassionately at the Noldor princess, whose hood was pulled up over her bowed head, shielding her face from view.  Her hunched shoulders were motionless, showing no sign that she even drew breath.  Turning away, Mirathel looked down to her other side and watched a couple of beetles scramble away from under the cracked bark of their bench, which meant that there were probably more than a mere palmful of grubs squirming beneath them.  Indifferent herself, she wondered whether Galadriel would jump up, shaken out of her despondent state, if informed of their wriggling presence.  Perhaps to finally speak again, if only to express her disgust, were Mirathel to suggest eating the bugs for breakfast tomorrow.

The sun was sinking behind the enclosing fir trees and the shallow bowl of warm light in which they sat was slowly filling with cold shadow.  The rest of their small company stood apart from them looking lost and anxious, unsure about what should happen next.  For their escort of Doriathrim warriors had gone and left them abandoned well outside the Girdle of Melian to return to Nargothrond on their own.  All but the family members present – Finrod, Angrod, and Galadriel – were now on foot.  The Doriathrim having taken back the borrowed mounts used to quickly bring the no longer simply exiled but now banished to this dismal spot.

Mirathel slowly sighed and stared down at the trampled ground.  It had been a long time since she had felt so powerless, so victimized.  Being forcibly removed from their quarters and ridden out of Menegroth had not fazed her so much.  Rough circumstances had brought rough handling before.  Although being despised and ejected filled her with shame, these trials in themselves were not what had thrown her into this pathetic state of surrender.

Neither was the cause abandonment or betrayal.  Aran Thingol had once before left her and her people to die by taking his entire host east instead of aiding the north in the first battle of this war with Morgoth.  And, Finrod, her new King, had been shielding murderous thieves whom he considered his closer kin.  No, this stultifying disappointment she was suffering arose from neither ruler’s actions.  Unreasonable or not, her own despondency came solely from her dearest friend’s lack of faith in her.  Galadriel had disregarded her trustworthy confidant’s right to know the truth, no matter how awful.  Long ago, the princess had shared the true tale of Fëanor, his Oath, and the Jewels.  She later told as much to Melian.  But, never a word of this atrocity against the Teleri; the terrible thing done to them, the destruction of their ships.  It mattered not that none, of this family anyway, had ever revealed this evil deed to anyone at all.  Even if she hid this from her husband, Galadriel should have trusted her best and most loyal friend.

Looking up, Mirathel saw Taudôl, Captain of the Honor Guard, issuing quiet commands to his guardsmen.  Several other people stood close by in rapt attention, plaintively wishing some orders be given to them also and save them from their directionlessness.  Young Aellon, who aspired to be a valet one day, looked expectantly at her.  But, she turned away, looking at the sky and then once more gazing at the ground.

The feathery breeze carried a growing chill with it.  Lofty clouds held back a thirst-quenching rain that would not fall except as snow.  The shadows beneath the heavy trees had darkened and were creeping closer; gentle gusts swirling through the lower branches sounding like stealthy footfalls.

Mirathel pulled her cloak closer around her and her elbow brushed against the hilt of the honed dagger at her waist.  She flushed with a not unwelcome surge of anger.  Who-she-had-once-been, a resentful refugee despairing at the retreat of Cirdan, shouted harshly to who-she-was-now, the dedicated companion of a royal liar.  Do something!  Anything is better than this condoning passivity!  She most certainly did not approve of her lords’ collusion!  But, what possible protest could she carry out?

Bereft of husband and daughter, unsure where her other children were scattered to, Mirathel had been left alive when the orc horde swept through Imlath Taeglin.  Afterwards, she had stayed only to watch over the few surviving folk for they had begged it of her.  The struggle to bring them to safety had rescued her from a deathly grief.  In gratitude and with intent, she had whole-heartedly joined Finrod’s household, where she at once felt welcomed, loved, and needed; happy and honored to be one among these shining Eldar.  Her chosen lords had become her new family.  Admittedly, the wrongdoing at Alqualondë was not the first time she felt mortified for the haughty Caliquendi, but this was the first time they had disgusted her.  That this House was not guilty of murder, yet not entirely innocent, was maddening.  Even so, whether kith or kindred, the Aran had been able to wring some satisfaction out of them.  Was she so less capable?

Out of sight behind her, several people abruptly raised their voices in heated argument.  At the very moment she would have turned to look, they were tersely ordered to be quiet.  Distracted, she had not caught all that had been said.  But now, an elleth, whose voice she did not recognize, began sobbing; crying out the same garbled name over and over again, giving voice to immeasurable grief.  Her keening was hastily muffled by someone holding her against his body.  From the unintelligible whispers of her comforter, he sounded as if he feared, rather than shared, her mourning.

Survival, Mirathel thought.  That was always the first step towards justice and retribution.  She was one among many who had shamed Thingol for his desertion of the northern Sindar by taking her loyalty away from him.  He had made up for his mistake by opening the gates of Menegroth, and those of his heart as well, to Finrod.  Thus, finally making a real alliance with the Noldor.  So now, she was to be one of many who would teach Finrod – and Galadriel.  Very well then.  She would help them to deal with the consequences of their lie of omission and see that they set things right again.  At least, as much as possible.  But to do that, they had to survive.  Revived by old and new bitterness, she began to take serious stock of their dangerous situation.

Looking all her around, Mirathel counted only twenty-eight people, including herself – the family members, some household and servants, the tiny cadre of guards, and a bewildered merchant helpless against his poor wife’s collapse; she was the elleth who had keened.  Mirathel had never met these two people before.  The Noldo and his obviously Falathrim wife must have come into Menegroth on a pass – at the precisely wrong time.  Mirathel herself was the only Sindar follower; the rest had disappeared immediately after the audience in the great hall.  If asked, she would wager all but Edrahil would also leave the family when they got back to Nargothrond – if they ever got back.  Everyone here would likely be entering the Halls of Waiting before ever being sighted from Amon Ethir.

They had been allowed only what they could gather in the fewest moments and carry in their hands.  So, everyone had their cloaks, a few personal effects, and their weapons.  But, there was nothing else that would make crossing the Guarded Plain survivable let alone easy – no replacement weapons or extra arrows, no tools, no utensils, no tents, no extra clothes or blankets, little water and no more food than they had been able to furtively grab.  Most of that had been eaten on the relentless ride here; the escort had not cared to share their rations with their charges anymore than they had cared to share conversation.  Experience told her that the little food left was not going to be enough to fuel the strength needed for a prolonged fight.

The stated reason Finrod and his brother had come to Menegroth was to visit their sister.  The gossips would have it that they were making one last concerted effort to convince Galadriel that she was wrong about refusing to have an Amanyar marriage ceremony.  However, the greater reason was that packs of well-armed orcs were skirting Brethil to come raiding across the Taleth Dirnen, incurring into Nargothrond’s precincts and the borderlands of Doriath.  Finrod and Angrod wanted to confer with Thingol about it.  They were finished dealing with Oropher, who flatly told them he had already engaged his reserves and was doing all else he could.  The brothers had no illusions about making Galadriel do anything they thought she should and she thought she would not.

Just as it had to be for both hidden kingdoms, the sure ways to gain entrance inside were kept secret.  These paths were revealed to only a select few and never outsiders.  Their party would not be able to re-enter the safety of the Fence.  Beyond the normal practice of secrecy, protection for invited visitors traveling to Menegroth was always provided by the Aran.  No more outside warriors were permitted inside Doriath than would make up a reasonable honor guard for his guest.  His guides were never sent out alone either, but with their own guards, even when meeting Cirdan’s envoys.  Overly cautious policies which now must seem, to Thingol, to have served him very well indeed.  For they were now stranded without adequate protection of their own.  It was difficult for Mirathel not to think that a miserable end was his wish, if not his intention; despite his spoken leniency of allowing them to return to his court once his wrath had cooled.

Not far from where she and Galadriel sat, Finrod was calling together Angrod and Taudôl.  Meaning to keep the worst to themselves and prevent panic, they talked in low whispers and tried to keep their concern from being read on their faces.  However, Mirathel could easily discern the drift of their discussion.

None knew exactly where they were.  The obvious thing to do was travel due west.  But, if they did not come across a landmark and reorient, they might march past the watchtower.  They could find themselves up river and in worse danger than staying right here until help was brought back.  Or, they could go south to the Fens and travel a somewhat harder road along the Andram.  That would be almost twice the distance, but they might find enough food and water in the hills where that was much less likely on the plain.  Except, the lengthily route would again increase the chance of discovery by a roving orc band.  Considering the number of ellith amongst them, any encounter with the enemy should be avoided.

Whichever way they went or whether they remained where they were, they had little choice about staying here until daylight tomorrow, as vulnerable to attack as it was.  To go on might not take them to any place more defensible.  Their dazed people needed to recover.  The few horses needed to rest and there was grass here.  If they sent a rider ahead, the rescuers would need to know where to look for them.  Taudôl shook his head; he was reluctant to send anyone out to scout or hunt beyond one day, or even go ahead for aid.  There were too few warriors.  They could not afford to lose even one person who could fight.

Angrod enlightened them about their meager supplies.  If they chose to travel, they would have to forage constantly along the way.  They must find water either way.  With game being so scarce in this region, it might come down to slaughtering one of the horses.  Finrod rested a hand on his dour brother’s shoulder, intending to reassure him.  Had they not crossed the Grinding Ice?  The Plain would never be more difficult than that.  The younger lord grimly pointed out that then there had not been orcs crossing along with them.  Finrod sighed and, after a gentle squeeze, lifted away his hand.  The three began their discussion over, attempting to reach a consensus on what was best to do; Finrod clearly not yet ready to decide.  Mirathel again looked at Galadriel, who had not moved a hair’s-breath.  Normally, the lady would have been right there with the lords when important matters were discussed.  But, not a sound had passed her lips since hearing the summons to appear at once before Thingol and Melian.

Thinking back, Mirathel now realized that Galadriel has gone silent even before the messenger had arrived.  In fact, the very next moment after Celeborn had left their chambers.  He had not appeared to have any suspicions at all when he was earlier sent for.  If he had had any misgivings, he certainly would have voiced them and prepared everyone for the audience.  The sad thought that there was nothing left of his and Galadriel’s hard-won marriage instantly doused out the anger she had been nurturing; her personal history causing an overwhelming sympathy for them both.

Throughout the ordeal in the great hall, they had stared blank-faced at each other, mutely bearing up under the agonizing probability that they would be forever parted by her complicit deception and his intolerant loyalty.  There was naught else they actually could do after Thingol thunderously commanded silence from all but Finrod.  An enraged, but very necessary, command that had to be repeated more than once when the people gathered there stopped shouting for the truth and turned into a mob yelling for blood.  Mostly because, she adjudged, Finrod offered no defense!  His initial evasion then guilty silence had only infuriated the Aran and everyone else not in shock.  He had offered no compassion or remorse, only a troubled indecision to admit the truth.  However, Angrod would not remain silent; his notorious sense of indignation boiling over more furiously than ever.  It had been one of the rare times when that flaw aided him and his family.  Thingol was swayed by his unrestrained testimony and a terrible crisis was averted.  The two realms would not be sundered and made adversaries, which at the onset surely would have been the outcome.  Recalling events and the memory of the people hatefully shouting after them to get out, Mirathel conceded that it might have indeed been for the best that they were quickly taken away.

Nevertheless, from now on, anyone who would speak Quenya was anathema.  For then that person would be known to be an unrepentant kin-slayer.  Furthermore, any subject of the Aran who spoke that tongue – or even listened to it – would be held a traitor to his king and kindred.

Still, Mirathel wondered, why had Thingol believed what Angrod had to say?  He might have expected an outburst, but not necessarily what the prince would claim.  Claims that prompted Melian to pronounce that, though they had shed no blood themselves, their fate was sealed along with rest of those in exile.  After the Queen said this, Thingol had sat in a lengthily angry silence.  When next he spoke, his sentence was not nearly as harsh as it could have been.  What had been his thoughts in that long silence?  How had he conceived of such a far-reaching, yet non-lethal punishment as removing the most important distinction between calben and morben other than the Light in their very eyes?  Whatever convinced him to deal with this awful offense without taking a detrimental revenge upon the spot?

She knew that when Thingol had wished to make an alliance with Finrod, a trusted few had closely counseled him.  Conveying beforehand, not just the costs and rewards of raising the Noldor prince to a kingship not awarded by his own overlord, but the political circumstances Thingol would have to continually deal with afterwards.  And just as then, Celeborn was paying the greater portion of the price for what he personally deemed vital to the salvation of his people.  It was only because of the Elmoi prince that Finrod remained the Lord of Nargothrond – and had his sister back as well.  Celeborn had not come forward to demand what was rightfully his in either case – no plea for restitution or clemency.  Moreover, when honor would have allowed, he had not taken his wife away from the guards while they were hurriedly gathering their things.  He had not removed her from the stable yard before she was literally put in her saddle.  He had let her be driven out with the rest.

Why should he want you anymore?! Mirathel silently screamed at Galadriel, her anger unexpectedly flaring anew.  She drew her own hood over her head, wrapping her arms around her hollow stomach to lean forward and stare at her knees instead of the ground.  Deceiver!  They were all deceivers and Celeborn was not the only one who had trusted them and been cruelly hurt.  Why?!  Why had Finrod accepted the heinous actions of his cousins as his own?  There had been a time when Mirathel, as did many, believed that the Noldor were sent – whether by the Valar or Manadh – to Beleriand’s rescue.  Who could not worship the plainly visible Light in them?  It was easy to see how, for so long, such sentiment had helped to hide the fact they were no more disciplined in their passions than Avari.  How could they possibly have done such an inexcusable thing to the Teleri?  Why had this family protected the Fëanoreans all this time?

Olwë had given Finarfin his only daughter for their mother.  Fingolfin had trusted them to hold the vital fortress at Tol Sirion.  Cirdan was their steadfast neighbor and friend.  Thingol had welcomed them and no other Noldor, not even the son of his great friend, Finwë.  Before she became Galadriel, Artanis had been befriended by Melian, who was teaching her much more than the Maiar of Aman had ever deigned to reveal.  The princess was wedded to the highest prince of the Sindar, the chieftain of the most influential nothrim within all the Úmanyar.  But after all that, beyond all that, Thingol had gifted Finrod with a kingdom!  There had been so many chances for them to show some gratitude – some allegiance! – simply by telling the truth.  And they had not.  They were bound to the Doom of Mandos because they had chosen to be bound.

Surely, this was the sorrow that had split the children from the father.  Now, it had split them from Thingol, who had come to love them as a second father.  Much worse, it had split Galadriel from Celeborn.

Because he would do no less, the prince had stood beside his King in condemnation.  If Galadriel had thrown herself at their feet, he would have handed her up and kept her with him, he so loved her.  Of course, no one would have respected him or her ever again.  After such abetting, a sudden renunciation would have shown Galadriel, not contrite, but weak.  More significantly, if she had not stood firm with her brothers, Angrod’s explanation would have been seen as another lie.  Galadriel would have only disgraced herself along with her husband by succumbing to the fear of their bond being severed.  Mirathel wondered if her friend knew that it would be the last right thing she would do by her beloved.  Was that how she had found the strength to do it?  Or, had she believed he would save her from banishment with her brothers and was now stunned by his betrayal?  How had she become so complacent about the Noldor’s secret crime?  If she had suddenly perceived its discovery, why had she not gone after Celeborn, tried to stop him or explain, when he answered Thingol’s request to attend?

At the sound of a stifled sob, Mirathel raised her head a little to see Galadriel weeping.  The princess pressed her lips together into a tight line, striving to hold back and not succeeding.  Her emotional strength was finally exhausted, it seemed.  It felt so very strange to see the lady, whose sturdiness Mirathel had always admired, made feeble with regret.  Her dear friend had lost the one for whom she had striven to transform herself with as much determination as had Melian for her beloved.

From its very advent, their great love had begun the metamorphosis of proud Artanis into noble Galadriel.  She and her lord had braved every obstacle – their own objections with each other, the long intervals apart, disapproval by their dearest kin, and the prejudice of both their peoples – to joyfully wed.  And the brightness of their union had unquestionably grown with every passing day.  They were meant to be together, thought Mirathel.  However trite that might sound.  If left to themselves, they could make each other very happy.  Remembering their tumultuous adventures on the way to marriage, Mirathel almost smiled.  Only to feel like crying. 

Whenever Galadriel thought no one would hear, she called him Melindo, not ‘my lord’ or Husband.  In turn, he called her Harma-nya; its deep meaning incomprehensible if one did not know him well.  Treasure to such as he was not heaps of silver or gold nor beautiful jewels. 

Celeborn had gladly informed her that she would be sharing equally in the authority and burdens of lordship.  An Elmoi lord would accept no less from his wife.  She was more than an asset; she was a vital participate.  With as great a commitment to his happiness, Galadriel strove to fill the isolated and lonely expanses in his dedicated life with a loving presence.  One that could span the distance whenever they were apart. 

But now, the distance between them was far greater than that between Tol Galen and Neldoreth.  How incredibly painful for him to learn that a significant part of her trust had been deliberately withheld.  Mirathel genuinely disliked understanding that feeling.  Galadriel’s regret was warranted; Celeborn’s heart had to be broken.

Turning her gaze upward, Mirathel saw that Finrod was watching them, suffering for his sister’s sorrow; but also it seemed, satisfied that the marriage was ended.  No, she corrected herself, not marriage but affair.  Finrod had said he would not acknowledge his sister’s wedding until there was an official ceremony with an exchange of rings.  He claimed the stature of the union required it.  But in fact, the Úmanyar custom of announcing a wedding afterwards simply made him, as it did most Amanyar, uncomfortable.  Nonetheless, Galadriel had adamantly refused to go through with the usual rituals, even when Celeborn said that he was willing. 

She declared that they were wed according to the customs of her new people and for her to go through another ceremony would imply the first was not valid.  No, she would never wear a ring.  The Sindar were a enlightened people, not uncivilized savages.  Their vows, whether made in public or private, were moral.  She would not let Finrod – or anyone else – insinuate that an Úmanyar marriage was otherwise.  So, her brothers decidedly ignored the union and pretended the couple remained merely lovers.  A situation they had to tolerate, if also not approve of.  To the Sindar, the courtship had become a good marriage; to the Noldor, the liaison remained an on-going scandal.  Ironically, now both sides could agree that it was a tragedy.

Mirathel shook her head; tears filled her eyes, too.  Uncontrollable events had parted her from her husband and knowing that Celeborn and Galadriel’s present wounds would close did not matter.  The last of her bitterness and anger sputtered away, leaving only pity behind.  She never could stay mad for very long with anyone she loved.  She nudged her shoulder into the shoulder of her distraught friend, who then gratefully leaned against her.  For being such good people, Mirathel felt that they had all come to a very sorry state indeed.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across the patch of rusting grass at their feet.  Both ladies quickly sat up straight to see who approached unannounced.  However, the person stooped to kneel down before them in Nandorin fashion; low and readily braced on the balls of his feet, left knee pushed back and down almost touching the ground, the right knee angled out supporting his right hand, left hand lightly wrapped around the handle of his stone knife.  Galadriel’s breath caught and she blanched.  Where few would have dared, this fellow looked directly into Galadriel’s eyes.

“Hrassa!” Mirathel breathlessly exclaimed, overjoyed to see him.  He had been away for months on some task for Rîn Nimloth.  Yet, here he was now and must have come after them very swiftly!  He turned a caring gaze to her; he would let no more harm come to her.  But, why had he come at all?  Did he mean to take her back?  Surely, he knew she would not go and knew that before he had pursued them to this place.

With a cry of alarm, Aellon came running, fists raised.  Hrassa sprang up, fluidly jumping back to face the elda’s onslaught.

“Get away from them!”  Startled, people turned; staring in disbelief at the sudden appearance of the green-elf in their very midst.

“No! Stop!” Mirathel cried, rising to her feet, when Galadriel did not speak up. 

Hrassa evaded the first swing at his head and pushed Aellon completely around as he followed through on the blow to grab the larger fellow’s arms from behind.

“Halt!” ordered Taudôl as he quickly ran up to pull Aellon away.  “Caldoron!”  Hrassa fell back a few steps, wary with his empty hands held up in plain sight.  Caldoron had turned to look when Aellon had shouted and was already on his way when his captain called.  The princes had instantly moved to stand protectively in front of the two ladies, their hands on their swords.  Galadriel reached up and Mirathel helped her to her feet. 

“Do not move!” warned Caldoron, behind Hrassa’s back; his spear’s glinting sharp point barely inches away from the Laegel’s ribs.  Galadriel slipped through the wall of her kin and to ward off any more attacks by standing with outspread arms in front of Hrassa.

“Stand away, my lady!” said Hrassa in a hissed whisper.

Angrod stepped forward and jerked his sister away to his own side.  Mirathel threw her arms around Galadriel preventing her from intervening again.  She ceased trying and reached up with both hands to tightly grasp her companion’s hand.  Mirathel relaxed and dropped her arms.  Although Galadriel stood still, she continued to hold on to Mirathel’s hand   

The people around them had all stood up; a few holding each other with some fearfully looking for more invaders.

“How did you get here?!” demanded the Captain. 

Hrassa looked away from Taudôl to Angrod as though he had not heard the question.

“Answer me!”  But, Hrassa continued to not understand and looked next at Finrod.  His seeming ignorance confused Mirathel.  Everyone here knew he knew Quenya; he was not the back-woods Nando he let many assume him to be.

“Hrassa, what are you doing?” she impatiently asked, naturally in Sindarin.  He turned to her with a concerned expression upon his face.

“Hiril-nin, Elu Thingol Aran had decreed that the language of the Golodhrim shall no longer be spoken or heard.”  Mirathel gasped.  Excitement or not, they had forgotten – as if it did not matter what Thingol would command.  Their escort had refused all speech with them.  She had been ignoring the edict herself.  When neither should have done so – not if her lords’ just punishment was to be served out.

“How did you get here?” asked Finrod calmly, in Sindarin.  He motioned for the guard to lower his spear.

“It was easy enough to trail you,” Hrassa answered, facing him without showing any emotion whatsoever.  However, Mirathel knew that he was masking strong feelings, violent feelings.

“No! I meant how did you get pass the picket?!” Taudôl asked, exasperated.  After a hard look from his lord, he repeated his question in Sindarin.

“I walked in,” was the reply.  “But, you did not see me.”  Hrassa’s unguarded undertone conveyed the smug opinion that the Captain foolishly thought Moriquendi beneath his notice.  Finrod stepped forward, his hand raised against his captain speaking again.

“Why are you here?” he asked, a sad note in his voice.  “And not your lord prince?”

Hrassa looked at Mirathel, giving her an apologetic quirk of his mouth, before turning to Galadriel, whose face was still drained of color.  She tightened her grip on Mirathel’s hand, desperate for her friend’s emotional support.  Celeborn apparently had decided to dictate the terms of his and Galadriel’s separation by proxy, unwilling to face her himself.  Perhaps, ever again.

“I bear a message and instructions,” the cogndîr said, looking straight at Galadriel; closely studying her face with a hint of worry in his eyes.

“Tell me,” ordered Galadriel in a wispy, but firm voice.  Hrassa hesitated.

“For your ears alone, my lady,” he curtly explained.

“Tell me!”  Her anxiety would not let her wait.  It mattered not if everyone should hear.

“Plans have not changed.”

The words squarely knocked the breath from Galadriel’s body.  She swayed on her feet with almost hysterical relief.  Angrod quickly put his arm around her shoulders to steady her.  Mirathel was shocked at her reaction.  What was so incredulous about Celeborn sending his bowman with this message after he had had time to reconsider? 

The princess smiled and became radiant; as if she had been gifted with a star from the sky.  Mirathel was greatly puzzled until she realized that this turn of events was entirely unforeseen!  Galadriel’s lack of resistance to everything that had happened bespoke defeat before Celeborn had apparently abandoned her.  She had despaired from the start – because she had had a vision!  A vision that Celeborn had now stopped from coming true!

“What are his instructions?” asked Galadriel, carelessly glad.

“I am to watch over you at his request,” Hrassa replied.  “I am at your service by his command.”  He respectfully bowed his head.

Everyone was stunned.  Celeborn had given Galadriel his bowman, so that she might safely rejoin him whenever she wished.  Hrassa was her servant until she felt like letting him go.  Mirathel would never have believed the prince would do such a thing to his faithful friend – for anyone’s sake, for any reason – even for his beloved.  It was an astounding gesture of trust by him – and proof of Hrassa’s trust in both of them.

Moreover, this meant that Celeborn was reconciled with Galadriel’s involvement in the kinslaying and her silence about it.  When word of this spread, Finrod’s Sindar folk would not continue to disappear ere he called upon them.  However, Mirathel did not doubt that like Hrassa, they would not hear their Noldor lords if they did not bend to speaking Sindarin.  And rightly so, she thought.

“Do you have a horse?” Taudôl asked Hrassa, first in Quenya then, after a hasty huff, in Sindarin.

“Behind the trees.”  His answer was subdued as he continued to return his new lady’s bright gaze.

Finrod clasped his sister’s other wrist and squeezed, wrenching her attention away from Hrassa.  When she looked at her brother, he inclined his head towards the Laiquende.  With narrowed eyes and a set mouth, she let him know that she was not obeying him, but helping the people stranded here.

“Cogndîr, you will guide us to Nargothrond,” she commanded Hrassa.  “Get us there alive.  All of us.”  Mirathel smiled, for he certainly knew where they were and best way to go from here.  With his skills as a scout, they could evade anyone, let alone orcs.  Without suffering from hunger and thirst while doing it.

“Buían i Rín, buían Caun-anim.”  He bowed low to Galadriel, in a perfect mockery of the courtly style.  “I obey the Lady.”  His manner may have appeared sarcastic, but there was an admiring sparkle in his eyes when he raised his head.  It seemed that he hardly glanced over his shoulder and a horse slowly came out from between the trees, followed by another horse laboring under a large pack.  They walked directly to Hrassa; his mount issuing a glad whinny at seeing him unharmed.  The green-elf reassuringly stroked the animal’s neck and patted his bare withers.

“Did you think of absolutely everything, Hrassa?” grinned Angrod as he quickly began unloading and inspecting the contents of the pack with the Aellon’s sulking help.

“Not I.”  Galadriel laughed at his modest answer and impulsively embraced him; happy as a child returned home from some dark woods where she had somehow gotten lost.  Mirathel simply had to laugh aloud at Hrassa’s disconcerted response to the sudden affectionate hug.  Not only was he embarrassed for their mutual dignity, but knew that it sprung from more than gratitude.  Mirathel felt very happy herself.  Plans had not changed.  Celeborn would cross the Ered Luin and gather the scattered people there into a new Sindar realm.  She and Galadriel would just be joining him later instead of going with him.  Hrassa would escort everyone safely to Nargothrond first, something no one doubted he could not do.  And, he would enjoy sharing a breakfast of fresh grubs with her.

As the last light of the sun faded and evening drew to a close, the company had finished preparations for the next day and was settling down to wait out the night without the comfort of fires.  Taudôl listened to the last of Hrassa’s advice and asked him to share the last watch.  After Mirathel helped dispense the supplies, she tried to console the Falathrim elleth, whose name was Halfiel.  But, there was little to be done for the grieving Teler whose brother was known to be among the slain.

Galadriel had gone around with Finrod as he spoke with every person, offering much needed encouragement and patiently listening to their concerns.  She and her brother talked together for quite a while afterwards, before she came back to the fallen tree to sit with her companion and new bodyguard.  She perched herself upon her rustic seat and motioned for them to sit beside her on either side.  However before sitting down, Mirathel served up a wafer of plain waybread and a waterskin for each of them.  Galadriel smiled her thanks to her friend, but the look she gave Hrassa was almost possessive.  He handled it no better than he had the earlier embrace, causing Mirathel to again laugh out loud. 

“Get used to it, Hír Nadhemmen,“ she humorously advised.  For tonight at the very least, he was a precious token sent to their lady by her beloved.

“Hrassa...”  The glowing Galadriel gently patted his blushing cheek, now purposely teasing him.  “Mirathel... I must speak with both of you.”  She eagerly bit into her bread and ground the crust with the satisfaction of the hungry.  Despite Galadriel’s casual manners, Mirathel saw that whatever she had to say was important and confidential.  Considering the past behavior of the cogndìr, Finrod most likely had had much to say about how Hrassa best conduct himself from now on; King Finrod would expect Lady Galadriel to clearly convey his wishes to That Laiquende.  “We cannot travel too fast,” she said, not worrying about talking while chewing.

“We shall make all speed, my lady,” Hrassa assured her, perhaps relieved not to be told outright to act as Finrod might prefer.  “You are anxious to catch up to Caun-anim before Rhîw – as am I.”  He took a swig of water to swish around the food in his mouth and swallowed it down.  “I have already discussed the route with… ”

“No,” the princess interrupted with uncharacteristic nervousness, which she immediately tried to cover over by taking another bite of bread.  “I mean... this journey must not be a hard one.  You must make it... as easy as possible.”

“No one here is impaired.”  He cast a sympathetic glance at Halfiel, who sat rocking slightly and staring into western darkness beyond the camp.  “She will do as asked and not become a hindrance.”  The elleth’s husband put some food in her hand and asked her to please eat something.  Although he did speak Sindarin to her, she ignored him.

“No... I... must take it... easy,” said Galadriel.  She tipped a gulp of water into her mouth.

Surprised, Mirathel swallowed too hastily, which necessitated a quick drink lest she choke on the dry bread.  Galadriel rarely admitted fatigue.  Melian had been asking a lot of her student lately, maybe in anticipation of the cessation of their lessons.  But, as with most of her accomplishments, Galadiriel took pride in her athleticism.  She would not normally request such an indulgence.

“Why?” asked Mirathel, concerned and becoming suspicious of another cause.  “Are you feeling tired?”

“Is there more bread?” Galadriel asked instead of answering the question.

“Glaeru!” Hrassa spat out under his breath.  He had just as quickly guessed the reason.

<< ~ <<  << ~ <<  << ~ <<

“Hrassa!” Elrovail wryly reproved.  “There are young ladies present!  It matters not what you thought of the Lady’s poor judgment.” 

Glamien looked up from her mending and raised her eyebrows at the green-elf.  Hrassa’s story-telling was getting a bit careless.

“Heryn,” said Laerlinath.  “You will forget that word.”

“Is it such a bad one?” Celebrían asked, expertly imitating the studied disinterest Laerlinath affected when dealing with offending subject matter.

“Bad enough that a lady does not allow it for herself nor tolerate it from others,” instructed Laerlinath trying to be stern, but not quite succeeding.  Glamien had to suppress a grin herself.  They all knew that, of course, the child had heard ‘that word’ before and, now that her social tutor had censured it, would recall it at the most inappropriate time possible.  The newest lady-in-waiting was well aware of the game she and the little princess played.  So far, Laerlinath had kept ahead, but Celebrían was figuring out the young lady’s tactics.

Today, there was only Glamien, the two ladies, Hrassa, and Celebrían sitting on the balcony off the family parlor under the shady awning.  The sun-drenched gardens spread out below them like an enormous rug, glaring with the colors of late summer.  Beyond the outer wall a bright reflection shone from off the rising stone-works of Ost-in-Edhil.  They were sewing, the excuse the ladies of the household always used for getting together to chat.

Celebrían was supposed to be hemming handkerchiefs, which would be embellished later with some embroidery and given as return favors to those who gave her gifts.  Glamien was darning and patching, as usual; Celebrían being a very active and growing child.  Elrovail and Laerlinath were re-trimming gowns.  Hrassa had come looking for advice in appliquéing some thin mithril scales onto a cloth belt, which everyone agreed would look very stylish when he finished.

The Nando and the little princess had set aside their work and had descended from their chairs to sit cross-legged on the floor for what was suppose to have been only a few rounds of tolthad, a game Celebrían particularly like to play though she hardly ever won at it.  Her skill with most things usually came from practice more then instruction.  So whenever he played this game with the child, Hrassa would make his moves almost mindlessly, without pausing to explain or comment on hers; which allowed the game to go fast, the way they both preferred it to go.  But now, Glamien suspected Celebrían had asked for this particular game merely as a means to hear a less carefully considered story.  And she had admirably achieved that goal.

“That was not very kingly of Thingol to strand Naneth and my uncles,” Celebrian pronounced with haughty judgment.  “Was he really so angry?”  Elrovail smiled at the child’s sanctimonious tone, but did not stop working.  The little elleth had a vengeful temper all her own.

“He did not strand them,” the lady clarified.  “Their escort did – they were that angry.  And cared not if there would be punishment afterward.  Which there was and quite severe.  Most people still thought well of them, though.”

“Who was it that told him what the Fëanoreans had done?”  Celebrían started her turn.

“Accusations had already been spread about by their detractors,” answered Hrassa.  “They had themselves told unkind stories about their cousins.  And said untrue things about the lords of the Sindar besides.  People were beginning to believe these vicious rumors.  So, Cirdan took it upon himself to dispel these falsehoods before they caused any more strife.  In doing so, he found out the facts of their crimes.  And of Mandos’ Doom.  He was obliged to inform his King.”

“And lo, after the War, the Exiles were given the pardon of the Valar,” Celebrian added from rote.  She finished her moves and sat back.  “And they were forgiven.  Therefore, grievance and curse laid to rest, they set sail into the West; no longer any ban upon them.” **

“Grubs for breakfast... ” Laerlínath shook her head and tsked.  “Really!“

“Bugs are better than nothing,” said Celebrian, again automatically.  Something, Glamien reckoned, the child must have picked up from herself.  Meanwhile, Hrassa was swiftly claiming the last of the pebbles to win the round, having gathered twice as many in his bowl than Celebrían had in hers.  She immediately began counting them out around the board for a new round.

“They certainly are, my lady,” agreed Hrassa.  He shot a narrow glance at Laerlínath for her veering the conversation away from its natural course.  “Maybe, some morning we will take Lady Laerlínath to breakfast in the garden to dine solely from the garden.  Teach her how live tidbits should be savored.”

“Oh, Cliff, we cannot!  No one is permitted to forage in the gardens.  Naneth thinks people would take everything if that were permitted.”

“Your naneth is right, hên,” approved Elrovail.

“But, I shall ask permission,” the little princess pledged, mischievously grinning at her tutor’s discomfiture that the Lady might say yes.

“We should go very very early in the morning before the birds have started in,” teased Hrassa; everyone knew that Laerlínath was not at her best before dawn.

Before more plans could be laid, there was a knock on the door.  Called to enter, a rochon, sent to escort Celebrían to her afternoon riding lesson, came in and bowed.  No need to speak, he stood patiently just inside the door while Laerlinath had the child put away the game and her workbasket, making sure to store both in their proper places.

“You will walk the entire distance to the paddock,” the lady told her, making it a serious order.  “Look at me and say yes.”

“Yes.”  Celebrían did look her straight in the eyes, without guile or resentment.

“You may go.”  Glamien had to give the lady credit for her wisdom.  Not only had she steered Celebrian away from unfortunate topics, but she only told the child to behave on the way to the stable.  She did not make any attempt to dictate how the princess should behave during her lesson, leaving that to her instructor.  Thus, refraining from stepping on another’s toes and confusing the child about whether or not the adult she was with was in charge.

After the princess was gone with the horseman, her ever-present guard following them, Elrovail chuckled.

“How do you know that she ever does as you say?” the raven-haired maven questioned her junior, not looking up from her steady stitching.

“I have cultivated the notion among the staff that ‘tis I that keeps her from being careless and rude towards them, and that when they complain of her to me, there will be no retribution wreaked upon them.  Thus, they praise her good and confide her bad behavior to me.”  Laerlínath saw no need to look up from her work either.

“And when she simply does as she pleases?”

“I point out to her how inconsiderate that makes her.  There are rules for other people’s sake, not just hers.  ‘Tis natural for any child to be selfish, but she is the daughter of nobility.  All she needs is to have her sense of duty encouraged.  She will find that the respect of her people can be very satisfying, especially when she earns it.”

“Well, that is definitely a different approach than any your predecessors attempted.  Still, we shall see how long you last.  The one just before you could never even find her to ask her where she had been.”

“When she has some other children to play with, she will not wander so much.”

“I hope you are right about that.  In Lothlórien, she would take her playmates along with her on her little jaunts.”

“May I ask a private question, my lady?  It is within my responsibility to know.”

“Yes.”  She nodded, already sure what the young lady would ask.

“Is Celebrían aware of this unborn sibling?”

“No.  And yes to your next question, there have been others besides.”  She adjusted the dress on her lap as she had progressed far enough along to make that necessary.  “The only one Celebrían actually knows about is Amroth.”

“Amroth?”  The golden-haired lady looked up at Elrovail, confused; her diligent hands halted.  “I thought Amdir the foster-son of the Lord and Lady and Amroth his son.”

“Not Amroth Amdirion, her gwador – her muindor, Amroth Celebornion,” explained Glamien eager to be part of the discussion.  “He was born at Nenuial ere Elu Thingol was slain.  Born before term and dying within a few hours.

“How terribly sad!”  The thought of a newborn dying upset Laerlinath.  Her hands dropped into her lap and she looked sympathetically at the nîni.  “It must have been very difficult for you all.”

“Oh, I wasn’t yet with the family.  None of us three were there, else I doubt we’d be speaking of it.  Amdir was very young and losing his little brother was indeed painful for him.  In remembrance, he named his own son Amroth.”  Glamien did not add that she thought another reason he might have done so was because he wished to somehow make up for leaving Celeborn and Galadriel by replacing their lost son.

“But, the Lord and Lady... surely, they did not approve of his choice of name.”

“They had no say in it,” explained Hrassa, now sitting cross-legged in a wide chair and resuming his own handiwork.  “Malgalad had departed from Nenuial to rediscover Lórinand.  No word came from him until after the War and they had been a long time in Harlindon.  They were overjoyed that he was even alive.  That he was also wed and had a child made them very glad.”

“I would have honored the new prince with a new name,” said Laerlínath; bending over her work again, teary-eyed.

“Telpë understands,” Elrovail said quietly.  “Galadriel feels as you do, I think.  It must hurt her heart a little every time she hears the name.  But, you must never say that to Amdír.  He meant well.”

“Will you take some advice,” offered Hrassa as he carefully threaded a needle.  “Never mention the matter to anyone at all.”

<< ~ <<  << ~ <<  << ~ <<  << ~ <<  << ~ <<  << ~ <<  << ~ <<  << ~ <<

Author’s Notes:  

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

Nadhemmen – Keepsake ‘thing-kept’

** “And when they came into the West the Elves of Beleriand dwelt upon Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle, that looks both west and east; whence they might come even to Valinor.  They were admitted again to the love of Manwë and the pardon of the Valar; and the Teleri forgave their ancient grief, and the curse was laid to rest.” – Of the Voyage of Eärendil – The Silmarillion

If you are really interested in the timeline and suppositions of this story, you may wish to read the End Notes. ;)

Like Erienion (Gil-galad) who was fostered by Cirdan in relative safety by the sea, I have Malgalad (Amdir) fostered by Celeborn and Galadriel in relative safety across the mountains at Nenuial.

Mirathel, Hrassa, Glamien, Elrovail, and Laerlínath are OCs from another fanfic: Celebrian, Sell i Nos Galadhad.  It is not very long after Laerlínath has joined her husband in the new city and been appointed a lady-in-waiting.

Elmoi – the kindred and clan of Elmo – Elmo was the younger brother of Elwe (Thingol) and Olwe and was Celeborn’s grandfather

Rîn – crowned (fem.), a title for the lady chieftain of the Laegrim, Nimloth, Celeborn’s neice

Caun-anim – prince for myself, My Prince – Hrassa’s name for Celeborn

Telpë – a short name for Celeborn used by friends and family only

Cliff – Celebrian’s simple translation of Hrassa’s name and her personal name for him

Imrath Taeglin – the Taeglin river-valley the lands of the upper Taeglin (Teiglin) before it reaches the Forest of Brethil

nothrim – Household or clan members (collective form of nos)

gwador/gwathel – brother/sister who is not a sibling

muindor/muinthel – brother/sister who is a sibling

ellon/elleth – male/female elf

ellyn/ellith – male/female elves

buían – ‘I serve’ or ‘I give my allegiance to’

hír/hiril – lord or sir/lady or dame

rhîw – winter

aran – king

heryn – princess

hên – child

naneth – mother

nîni - nanny a Sindarin form of nyéne ‘she-goat’ Quenya  (the english word ‘nanny’ comes from ‘nanny goat’)

melindo – lover (masc.) Quenya

harma-nya – my treasure Quenya

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

rochir/rochon – knight or horse-lord/cavalryman or horse-rider

tolthad – transport mancala – an ancient game using caches and counters

manadh – fate, fortune, doom

Glaeru! – a minimization of the Music of Iluvatar, Eru’s Lay! – kinda like saying ‘od’s bodkin! ;)

 = End Notes =

Around 50 First Age, Finrod and Turgon were each inspired by Ulmo to search for a safe haven for their people.  Finrod is very impressed by what he sees in Menegroth and confides his dreams to achieve the same to Thingol.  Thingol gives him the vast Nagrod caves.  “... and when he departed, he gave him guides to lead him to that place of which few yet knew.” – Of the Return of the Noldor – The Silmarillion. 

Finrod occupies the caves and becomes King of Nargothrond.  However, Galadriel chooses to reside in Menegroth, to learn from Melian, but mostly because of Celeborn and “the great love between them”.

Around 70 FA, Cirdan “... sent messengers to Thingol to tell him all that he had learned.  It chanced that at that time the sons of Finarfin were again the guests of Thingol, for they wished to see their sister Galadriel.” – Of the Noldor in Beleriand – The Silmarillion

Thingol was not pleased with the news or his Noldor guests.  “... ’Go now!’ he said.  ‘For my heart is hot within me.’... ” – Of the Noldor in Beleriand – The Silmarillion  This occurs before the Third Battle, Dagor Agloreb, the Glorious Battle and the peace that follows that victory.

The revelation of the Kinslaying would have caused some special consternation for Celeborn and Galadriel.  I choose to think she was ejected along with her brothers although that is not specifically stated anywhere.

In the matter of Celeborn and Galadriel’s courtship, I do not think it was straight-LACE-ed.  

“Laws and Customs of the Eldar”, besides being written from an idealistic viewpoint, is more about custom and not necessarily practice.  Anymore than recognized laws and customs are followed to the letter by everyone in our own societies.  Quite a bit of this document is an explanation as to how Finwe got around the marriage rule.  It also acknowledges that there are differences between Noldor and Sindar customs.  It is my personal opinion that the Úmanyar are less prudish and less pious than the Amanyar.  Something reflected in the conduct of Lúthien and Findulas.  Melian’s transformation into an elf may not have been sanctioned either.  There are not only transgressions of a sexual nature, like Maglin’s, but contradictions, to LACE in Tolkien’s writings.  Such as Celebrían’s survival and Aredhel’s marriage; both of which were toned down for popular consumption.  LACE says that elves tend to marry and tend to marry young.  But, that is not true for a more than just a few characters, whether or not they suffered “rare ill chances” or “strange fates”.

In one of his later essays about Galadriel where Tolkien was writing about her different names: “... the name she chose to be her Sindarin name was Galadriel, “for it was the most beautiful of her names, and had been given to her by her lover, Teleporno of the Teleri [Celeborn changed to an Amanyar prince] whom she wedded later in Beleriand.”... “ – The History of Galadriel and Celeborn – Unfinished Tales.  Theirs was never a by-the-book relationship.

They were married sometime before Thingol’s death.  “... Dior Eluchil had to wife Nimloth, the kinswoman of Celeborn, a prince of Doriath, who was wedded to the Lady Galadriel.” – Of the Ruin of Doriath – The Silmarillion

Celeborn went east instead of staying in Beleriand and Galadriel followed after him.  “He has dwelt in the West since the days of dawn... ere the fall of Nargothrond or Gondolin I passed over the mountains, and together through ages of the world we have fought the long defeat.” – The Mirror of Galadriel – The Fellowship of the Ring.  Although, this particular statement is left over from when Celeborn was the lord of the Nandor, not yet changed to a prince of the Sindar.

In another variation on their history, this same idea was given more detail.  “... she did not go West at the Downfall of Melkor, but crossed Ered Lindon with Celeborn and came into Eriador... came to be regarded as the Lord and Lady of the Eldar in Eriador... During their sojourn near Nenuial was born... their son Amroth.” – Concerning Galadriel and Celeborn – The History of Galadriel and Celeborn – Unfinished Tales

However, “... if Amroth were indeed thought of as the son of Galadriel and Celeborn when Lord of the Rings was written, so important a connection could hardly have escaped mention.  But whether he was or not, this view of his parentage was later rejected.” (CT)

“Amroth was King of Lórien, after his father Amdír was slain in the Battle of Dagorlad.” – Amroth and Nimrodel – The History of Galadriel and Celeborn – Unfinished Tales

So, I like to think that Celeborn crossed the mountains during the First Age and Galadriel joined him later.  This happens at some point prior to the fall of Nargothrond, which occurs before the death of Thingol and long after they met in Doriath.  I do not think Celeborn made plans to leave Beleriand before Nargothrond was handed over to Finrod.  Nor do I think he left over disappointment in matters of love.

Galadriel herself does come back at least twice: she talks with Finrod at Nargothrond around 100 FA when she attends the feast held to celebrate its completion and she talks with Melian at Menegroth around 350 FA when Thingol forbids the immigrating Men to enter Doriath itself.  Notably, Finrod discusses allowing the Edain to occupy lands in West Beleriand with Thingol.

Because Celeborn and Galadriel are not mentioned as being present during many events in Doriath, I think one can say that they left there relatively soon after the first Kinslaying was revealed and made several visits back during the 500 plus years they lived at Nenuial, establishing a realm of their own.  The Lord and Lady of Eriador would have returned for the War of Wrath, around 530 FA.  After the War, they went back to Nenuial together, but soon removed to Lindon and became the Lord and Lady of Harlindon.  Around 650 SA after the first voyages of Vëantur and Aldarion from Númenor, they emigrated to Lórinand.  By 750 SA, they were at Ost-in-Edhil in Eregion.