White Water Flowing by StarSpray

Here grass is still growing,
And leaves are yet swinging,
The white water flowing,
And elves are yet singing
Come! Tra-la-la-lally!
Come back to the valley!
- The Hobbit

- -

When Celebrían had first come to Valinor, she had been ushered off of Eressëa and to the Gardens of Lórien with a haste that she had noticed even then was practiced and smooth—she was not the first to come in urgent need of healing and care. Then she had not left Lórien for a very long time. She did not know how long, for she hadn’t bothered to count the years, or even really notice their passing.

But now she was well enough to have left Lórien, and to find herself at loose ends. Before she had been taken by the orcs she had been mistress of Imladris, and it was strange to be now a guest wherever she went. Not that Celebrían was in any danger of feeling unwelcome—indeed, her various relations seemed to enjoy squabbling over which of them had the honor of bringing her into their household—and for some time she was very happy to have no worries about household squabbles or meal schedules, or whether the roof had sprung a leak. And she was happy to travel between her family’s homes, seeing Valmar and Tirion, and Alqualondë, and Tol Eressëa. She even sailed up the coast to dwell for a time with Elwing in her tower.

“Isn’t it lonely?” Celebrían asked. They sat together in the garden, Elwing’s tree-like tower at their backs and the sea laid out before them, sun-spangled and very blue beneath the summer sky. Elwing’s garden was filled with flowers, every inhale a new blend of scents as the winds shifted around them.

“Sometimes,” Elwing said. She was curled up in her seat, clad in grey that afternoon, with no adornments except a few silver rings on her fingers. “But when I want company I usually just fly off to find it—in Alqualondë, or in Menegroth.” Celebrían had yet to visit Menegroth, where Dior and Nimloth reigned. Elwing had been queen there in name until Dior’s return, but Celebrían had the impression that Elwing had delegated much of her queenly duties in favor of—well, of doing whatever she liked. “So when I am here, I don’t mind the solitude. And I am never in want of news, thanks to the birds.”

The solitude was all well and good for a time, but Celebrían had never lived in isolation. She returned to Alqualondë, and stayed in Tirion, and spent even more time in Avallónë, where Finrod Felagund dwelt among the exiles. It was not an unpleasant life, but she soon felt a restlessness, a dissatisfaction that she could not quite identify.

“Perhaps it is homesickness,” Finrod said, when she confided in him. “You must find a new place here to call your home—though I know it isn’t that easy.”

“No,” Celebrían said. Particularly when the home of her heart lay with Elrond, and there was no telling when he would come to her. Too much depended upon him still in Middle-earth. But maybe she could build a house of her own, where she was mistress again. She said, so, and Finrod brightened immediately, making her laugh. If she had wished it, he would have designed a house for her and probably built half of it with his own hands. But already Celebrían thought that a house—there in Avallónë, near enough to run down to the harbor—was only the start. It wasn’t only Elrond that she missed—she missed the Misty Mountains, and the valley of Imladris itself, with its woods and its streams and the orchards she had first planted while Elrond was away at war. It was far more than only a house—it was the Last Homely House east of the Sea. And as far as Celebrían could tell, there was no house of its kind in Valinor at all.

When she said this aloud, sometime after Finrod had dragged out his drafting papers and started talking of consultation with Turgon, or perhaps Lady Anairë, Finrod chuckled. “I would hope that all of our houses are homely,” he said.

“They are all comfortable and welcoming,” said Celebrían, “but perhaps there is no suitable word for what Imladris was—what it is.”

“Perhaps,” Finrod said, “there is no need for such a place here. There is darkness and danger still in Middle-earth, as there is not here.” Between them hung the knowledge of the shape of that darkness and danger. Finrod had faced it once, head-on.

Celebrían did not answer. That wasn’t fully it, either. Imladris was a bright spot in a darkening world, a place of refuge and safety, but it was also something else. A place of welcome, no matter who you were, a place of acceptance. There were many, Celebrían knew, who dwelt in Valinor feeling out of place. Noldor who had been born in Middle-earth and who had never known Tirion or perhaps even any of the great cities of Beleriand. Sindar or Woodelves who did not feel at home in Dior’s realm or in Alqualondë. There was Eressëa, but not everyone wished to dwell upon an island.

It was a thought for later. First, Celebrían wanted a house of her own, there in Avallónë. Once that was built and she was used again to being her own mistress, she would turn her thoughts, perhaps, toward the foothills of the Pelóri.

In the end, Lady Anairë was summoned to Eressëa, and Celebrían found herself grateful for it, as Anairë was far less prone to getting carried away than Finrod, and did not try to talk Celebrían into more ostentation than was strictly necessary. “She wants comfort, not splendor,” she said to Finrod, smacking him lightly upside the head with a rolled up paper. “If you want yet another twelve-foot fountain, go find room in your own courtyard!”

The result of Anairë’s designs and the labor of far more Elves than was strictly necessary (all of the craftsmen of Eressëa were eager to put their skills at anyone’s disposal, it seemed) was a house far too large for Celebrían alone, a comfortable combination of open and cozy, located just a handful of steps from the water, and within easy walking distance of the main harbor of Avallónë. Finrod’s house was nearby, as well as the home of Idril and Tuor. When Celebrían at last walked into the finished house, she was startled to see how closely many of the furnishings resembled those of Imladris. Indeed, her bedroom was nearly identical to the one she had shared with Elrond, down to the mallorn leaves and niphredil flowers carved into the headboard.

The carver was easily found—Elvir, who had dwelt with his sister in Imladris and who had still lived there when Celebrían had set sail. “When did you come to Eressëa?” she asked him.

“Some ten years ago,” he said. “Elenel and Taurendis have spoken of coming West for many years, and finally decided to do it—and I had little reason to stay or to go, besides my sister, and so here I am. I am very glad to see you well again, my lady,” he added. “And very glad I won the chance to make some of your furnishings. For the bed, it nearly came to blows before someone told the woodworker from Tirion that I made your bed at home in Imladris.”

“Well, I am glad it did not come to that,” said Celebrían, “and that you were the one to make it.”

Elenel and Taurendis were content with their small cottage near the center of Eressëa, but as Celebrían established herself as her own mistress in Avallónë, Elvir returned to her service. In fact nearly all who entered her small household had once lived in Imladris—and there were many more who would have liked to, had there been room or use for them in the house by the water.

It put Celebrían in mind again of building a new Imladris, somewhere in Aman. But she set those thoughts aside. Having just finished one building, she did not need to launch immediately into another. There was no hurry.

And for a long while she was content. Her home in Avallónë was her own, her refuge, and when she wished for other company she had only to take the ferry to the mainland, or to send invitations to her many and varied relations.

It was on one such visit to Tirion, to stay a while with her grandparents, that Celebrían was at last introduced to Lady Nerdanel. She did not come often into Tirion anymore, but on that occasion she had come to deliver a commission, and to visit her sisters-in-law.

“I have not seen much of your artwork,” Celebrían said apologetically, when they were left to make small talk together at one of Lady Anairë’s afternoon gatherings, “but what I have seen I have thought very beautiful.”

Nerdanel smiled at her. “Thank you,” she said. “Do you have a craft?”

“No, not particularly. Nothing I’m as passionate about as any of the Noldorin craftsfolk I have met. My daughter does spinning and needlework.” There had been talk of her learning to weave as well, though that had been just before Celebrían’s last, ill-fated journey to Lórien; after that Celebrían knew very little of the goings on around her, and Arwen had not mentioned it in any of her letters.

“My son, Carnistir, weaves,” said Nerdanel. “It is something he has taken up since his return.” She looked at Celebrían with some wariness as she said this, but when Celebrían did not recoil at the mention of one of her sons, she relaxed. “But he has more passion for living things, these days. My poor garden was sorely neglected before he came back, and now it thrives as it never did before.”

“Do your sons ever come to Tirion, or to Tol Eressëa?” Celebrían asked.

“Very rarely,” said Nerdanel. “Celegorm roams about more than his brothers, as he always did. Somehow, it seems, he and your kinsman Dior Eluchíl have befriended one another. As we speak, in fact, they are hunting in the forests of Oromë together.”

“I have not yet met Dior,” said Celebrían. He seldom came to Tirion or Eressëa, and she had not yet traveled south of the Calacirya. She had, however, met her cousin Nimloth—that had been a merry meeting on Tol Eressëa, for Nimloth dearly loved to laugh and sing.

“He is quiet,” Nerdanel said, “but not somber. I must supposed that he has the look of his mother, though Carnistir tells me that there is much of the Edain in him also.”

Their talk wound away from relations, to art and gossip, and whether Celebrían might like to commission a sculpture of some kind from Nerdanel. To that end, they agreed that Nerdanel would come to Tol Eressëa for a visit. “And—if they would like to come, your sons would be welcome also,” Celebrían said. She had hesitated over the invitation, half-afraid it would be taken the wrong way. But the habit of hospitality extended to everyone, no matter who they were, was too deeply ingrained. And anyway, she was curious to meet them, these three sons of Fëanor that had come back from Mandos. Elrond, she knew, still cared very deeply for Maglor, and before they had married he had gone away every once and a while to look for him, following rumors on the wind. He would not have hesitated at all to invite them.

Nerdanel looked startled by it. “Thank you!” she said. “I will certainly tell them. I think perhaps Tyelkormo, at least, will come.”

They parted, then, called away by different parties. Celebrían was already looking forward to Nerdanel’s visit to Eressëa. Several of her relations remarked upon her long conversation with Nerdanel at the party, but she only smiled and talked of her hopes of commissioning some artwork. She did not tell anyone, not even Finrod, of her invitation to Nerdanel’s sons. She recalled the tales of Nargothrond, and as Finrod had never spoken of his cousins to her, she could not be certain where they stood with one another. Though if any of them did accompany Nerdanel, Celebrían supposed she would find out very quickly.

Neither Celegorm nor Curufin accompanied Nerdanel to Tol Eressëa, in the end, but Caranthir did. He was dark-haired and tall, with soil beneath his fingers and sharp, dark eyes. He wore very plain clothes, for one of the Noldor, and no ornaments, not even a single ring or armband. But in spite of his austere appearance, he was polite and gracious. Celebrían did notice that he regarded her with frank curiosity, which she ignored. They had arrived in time to freshen up for supper, which was to be served on the veranda that overlooked the garden and Eldamar beyond.

Over the meal—light fare, of fish and a clear and refreshing soup that was the current rage in Alqualondë, followed by fruit and sweet wine—Celebrían asked the usual polite questions of a hostess, including how Nerdanel’s other sons fared. “They are well,” Nerdanel said lightly.

“Though they do not dare set foot on Eressëa,” Caranthir added, looking at Celebrían as though he wished to judge her reaction to his words. “For fear of our cousin.”

“Carnistir,” Nerdanel murmured.

“It’s all right,” Celebrían said. “It will take a great deal more than that to offend me; I know the tale. In any case, I love my uncle dearly, but I do not care about his opinions of my house guests. I shall invite whoever I wish, whenever I wish, and he will just have to stay away if he doesn’t like it.”

Nerdanel laughed, a sudden and bright sound. “Spoken just like your mother!” she said.

“Artanis would not approve, either,” Caranthir said. Celebrían was certain that Nerdanel kicked his ankle under the table.

“She prefers Galadriel, these days,” Celebrían said, smiling sweetly at him, “and she has far bigger things to worry about than who sits at my dinner table across the Mountains and the Sea.” And with that she firmly changed the subject to something less fraught, asking Nerdanel about her current work, and soon entering into a lively conversation about the building of her house, and the styles of art and decoration that she favored. This of course brought up Rivendell, and Celebrían discovered that both Caranthir and Nerdanel were very curious about it, and its people.

After dinner, Caranthir wandered off into the garden while Nerdanel and Celebrían got down to business, soon settling on a stone sculpture of—nothing in particular, Celebrían thought, desiring to leave it entirely to Nerdanel. Something strange and eye-catching, as all her abstract works were. “But something small, perhaps to place on a stand by the fireplace,” said Celebrían as they entered the largest parlor. “Though what I would really like is a Hall of Fire, to be lined with tapestries and with other artworks set where the firelight will have the greatest effect…but there is little call for such a room on Eressëa.”

“You could have made your home elsewhere,” Nerdanel said.

“I was still rather newly released from Lórien when I built this house,” said Celebrían. “And I suppose I still am—it is strange sometimes to try to measure time here! But I wanted a house close to the harbor.”

“Do you expect your kin to join you soon?” Nerdanel asked.

“No, not soon. But when they do come, I wish to be ready.”

There was no hurry, either for the visit or for the artwork. Nerdanel had brought her sketching supplies, and Caranthir—in spite of his words to Celebrían that first evening—proved that he did not care what the people of Avallónë thought either, and spent his mornings wandering about the city. Celebrían often went out with him, though their paths soon diverged. She was not used to having trouble engaging with people, but Caranthir seemed a solitary sort of person.

One morning, as she emerged from her favorite bakery with a basket full of pastries, she encountered Finrod—and with him Fingon, golden ribbons shining in his braids. “Why, it is my favorite niece!” Finrod exclaimed. “Good morning, Celebrían.”

“Good morning, Uncle,” Celebrían said, smiling. “And good morning, Fingon.” She had heard from several folk how intimidating it was to encounter great kings of the Noldor wandering the streets of Tol Eressëa, but she had not found any of them to be particularly frightening—Fingolfin might have been the exception, but he did not often come to Avallónë.

“Did you know that Caranthir is on the island?” Finrod asked as they strolled down the street. “I wonder what brings him to Eressëa.”

“Me,” Celebrían said, earning herself two very surprised glances. “Well, I invited Nerdanel, and it would have been very rude not to extend the invitation to her sons.”

“Are Celegorm and Curufin wandering about Avallónë, too?” Fingon asked.

“No, they were unable to come,” said Celebrían. “Perhaps next time. Nerdanel is going to make a sculpture for me. Oh look, here is Caranthir now!” She waved to him, and the streets were not so crowded that he could pretend he hadn’t seen. In any case, he crossed over to them, exchanging slightly stilted greetings with his cousins. Everyone liked to say that the crimes of the First Age were forgiven and set behind them, but of course that was easier said than done. Celebrían had already decided that the best way to handle the tension was to pretend it did not exist. She had smiled and charmed her way through plenty of awkward gatherings that way, and in several cases had ended long-standing feuds, and stopped one or two others before they could really begin.

So, naturally, she invited Fingon and Finrod to lunch with them. Caranthir turned an interesting shade of red, and the other cousins exchanged a startled glance, but Celebrían knew very well that none of her relations liked to say no to her. It came of being the youngest and of having been so badly hurt and so long in healing. She kept up a running, cheerful chatter as they walked back to her house, mostly about the weather and the pastries she’d bought, and also some harmless family gossip—a cat had adopted Tuor, who rather unfortunately dissolved into sneezes and sniffles whenever he was near cats, and Idril thus far was too busy laughing at him to be of much help.

At her house they found Nerdanel in the front garden, engrossed in a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. She straightened as they approached, eyes going wide for a moment, but both Fingon and Finrod greeted her with much more warmth than they had greeted her son. Celebrían slipped her arm through Caranthir’s to keep him from escaping, and led the way inside.

Overall, it was a pleasant afternoon, if a little stilted on a few sides. Finrod and Fingon made their escape as soon as was politely possible, and Caranthir vanished behind the roses in the garden. Nerdanel looked at Celebrían as they sat together by the wide window in the parlor, sipping tea. “Do you think to effect a family reconciliation by brute force?” she asked, sounding curious.

“Heavens, no,” Celebrían said. “If I were going to use brute force I would have found a way to lock them all in a small room together until they worked it all out. It worked quite well when my boys were small.”

“I imagine their quarrels were not quite so…” Nerdanel paused, and then just gestured, not quite having the words to describe what the quarrels among Finwë’s grandchildren were.

“No,” Celebrían agreed, “and they’ve always hated to be at odds with one another anyway—twins, you know. I would come back in an hour to find them hiding in a fortress of blankets and pillows—or gone entirely, having climbed out of the window to go pick apples. But the problem here is not that they are quarreling, exactly. It’s old quarrels never properly reconciled.”

“My sons went to everyone they wronged, the autumn after Curufinwë returned,” Nerdanel said. “There aren’t really any words in any elvish tongue for the apologies they needed to make, but they did try.”

“I did not mean to suggest that they didn’t,” Celebrían said. “Only that the sort of reconciliation that would, say, bring cousins back together as friends—that takes rather more time and conversation than a single apology on one side, and forgiveness on the other—and willingness to put in the effort. And I suspect there are apologies owed on all sides.”

Nerdanel was back to looking amused. “And you are going to facilitate this reconciliation?” she said. “I would not have expected it of Artanis’ daughter.”

“Well, it’s evidently not going to happen on its own.”

Caranthir left Eressëa the next morning, saying a polite but rather hasty goodbye to Celebrían. Clearly, he was afraid of being dragged into more family meals—and he was right about it, since Celebrían had been seriously considering an invitation to supper for Idril and Tuor next. Nerdanel stayed on for some time, finalizing her plans for her small sculpture before departing—a much friendlier parting than her son’s. Celebrían liked Nerdanel quite a lot, and she was rather fond of Caranthir, too. They had had several long discussions of his realm in Thargelion, and Elrond’s of Imladris. They were not quite the same, but Caranthir had lived by the waters of Lake Helevorn, in the shadow of the mountains. He spoke with fondness and not a little poorly-concealed longing. He had also, much to Celebrían’s interest, told her much about the process of scouting the lands and deciding where to build his settlement.

As the weeks and months passed, Celebrían’s thoughts kept turning to the mountains. It was the Sea that dominated Elven songs and stories, but her love was for snow melt streams and quiet pools beneath towering firs and oaks and beeches. Between those thoughts and a package of letters from Imladris, Celebrían found herself feeling both homesick and restless.

So she packed a bag, bid her household tell anyone who came to visit that she’d gone wandering, and took the first ferry of the morning off of Eressëa, her gaze on the looming Pelóri ahead.

It was cool beneath the thick forests of the Pelóri’s foothills. There was little underbrush, but still it was difficult to see far between the thick tree trunks, for they were clustered together in many places, and the canopy overhead was so thick that below was little more than a green-tinged twilight. It was quiet, too. There were birds high up in the canopy, but their song was distant and muted. There were animals too, surely, but Celebrían did not see them. In her first forays into the woods and foothills of the mountains, just north of the Calacirya and west of Alqualondë, she had not gone far. The land knew Olwë’s folk, and knew better the Sindar that wandered through—there were many who were not content to settle in one place in Valinor, preferring the wandering life they had enjoyed in Middle-earth long ago. Their travels took them north past Elwing’s tower into Araman, no longer quite so barren and cold as it had once been, since the Sun’s rising.

Celebrían had met a few small parties; they were all very glad to see her, Celeborn’s daughter, and obviously curious about what brought her alone into the woods. She had told them she was merely exploring, having grown restless—and that, of course, they understood.

On this occasion, Celebrían was not alone. Taurendis and Elenel were with her. She had shared her plans with them, and Taurendis had several ideas about where they might go to find a a suitable place. She also had a habit of wandering ahead—scouting, she called it—while Elenel had a habit of stopping to examine the few plants that grew among the tree roots, or a particularly interesting moss or lichen. Celebrían didn’t mind, for Elenel had much to say about everything, and it was all fascinating.

As she and Elenel discussed the general dislike among elves for mushrooms, having just come upon a large cluster of edible ones that would be perfect for their supper that evening, Taurendis came back—at an unusually quick pace. “There is someone up ahead of us!” she announced. They had been following a game trail, more or less, but there had been no sign of any other elves in the area. “What do you say, my lady. Are we interested in company?”

“I am, if only to satisfy my curiosity,” said Celebrían. She hoisted her pack higher on her shoulders and fell into step just behind Taurendis. Behind them, Elenel grabbed a few more mushrooms, and hurried to catch up. “Did you actually see who it was?” Celebrían asked.

“No, I just heard voices—at least two, but perhaps three. And—sweet Elbereth!” She halted and yanked Celebrían aside just as an enormous creature bounded out of the tree-shadows just ahead of them. For a moment Celebrían thought it was a bear, but the color was wrong, and then she got a better look and realized it was a hound.

“Why, is that Huan?” Elenel exclaimed, having darted behind Taurendis, now peering around her shoulder.

Huan slowed to a trot as he approached them, giving all three women a thorough sniff before giving them each one big lick, up the sides of their faces and into their hair. Elenel squealed, and Celebrían laughed.

“Huan!” someone called from farther up the path. “Where are you, you blasted dog?”

Celebrían knew that Huan tended to split his time these days between Celegorm and her kinsman Dior, when he wasn’t off doing whatever it was he did on his own. She still had yet to meet Dior (somehow things had just not worked out as yet), but she suspected he was not the sort to call Huan a “blasted dog.”

Sure enough, it was a silver-haired figure in hunting garb who appeared, looking nothing at all like the line of Lúthien. Two others followed him, dark-haired—and one a familiar face. Celebrían glanced at her companions, but while they clearly recognized the sons of Fëanor, neither seemed bothered. Good; that would save a bit of awkwardness.

Huan barked—a loud, echoing sound that silenced even the distant birds for a second afterward. None of the three brothers looked surprised to see them, which Celebrían found a little odd, all things considered. “Fancy seeing you here!” she said, stepping forward. “It’s nice to see you again, Caranthir. And these must be your brothers.”

They all bowed. “My brothers Celegorm and Curufin,” Caranthir confirmed. After a slight pause he added, “And you’ve met Huan.”

Celebrían introduced Taurendis and Elenel, and then asked, “What brings you out here into the mountains?”

“We were going to Tol Eressëa to visit you,” Celegorm said, throwing her a charming smile, “and then heard that you’d gone off into the wild for mysterious reasons. We were curious.”

“Celegorm was curious,” said Curufin, who had remained quiet until that moment. “Please excuse our interruption.”

“You are not unwelcome,” said Celebrían. “And our reasons can’t be so mysterious to you; I’ve written about it to Lady Nerdanel.” In fact Nerdanel was the only one, besides those in her own household, or who had actually lived or visited Imladris, who hadn’t tried to talk her out of her plans. There was no need for a place like Imladris this side of the sea, and certainly not in an out-of-the-way place somewhere in the Pelóri foothills, they said. Why could she not just build a larger village near Alqualondë, or just outside of Tirion? Celebrían could list three dozen reasons without thinking, but that way lay arguments, and it was easier to just get on with her plans and ignore all the well-meaning but useless advice.

She didn’t think, though, that she would hear that same sort of thing from these three. “Have you seen any streams that we might follow back toward their source?” she asked.

“Yes,” Celegorm said brightly. “One not far from here. Shall we?” He didn’t wait for an answer, turning instead and striding ahead.

Celebrían found herself falling into step beside Caranthir, as Huan bounded ahead of even Celegorm, and Curufin was roped into a discussion of mushrooms by Taurendis and Elenel. “Well,” she said, “what do you think of building something out here?”

“I think you must really dislike cities,” said Caranthir.

“I would not have said so, before I came west,” said Celebrían. “I grew up in Ost-in-Edhil, you know. That was a bustling city, and I remember it very fondly. And I dwelt at times in Mithlond, and on the shores of Belfalas, and in Lothlórien in Caras Galadhon—as big a city in its own was as Ost-in-Edhil was, though very different from any other city I have known. But they all seem rather small and provincial, now that I have seen Tirion and Alqualondë. Avallónë is a little more like them.”

Caranthir’s grin was a little crooked. “So do you or do you not like cities?” he asked.

“I do! But not to live in, at least not all the time. I could never settle permanently in Tirion.”

“Was Imladris not a city, then?” This was Curufin, having escaped the mushroom discussion to fall into step on Caranthir’s other side.

“No, not at all,” said Celebrían. “It isn’t really even a town or a village. There are outbuildings, but the main building is large enough for everyone who lives there in addition to visitors. The valley itself can hold a great army, as we proved when the muster for the Last Alliance took place. But of course only a small fraction of that number lives there permanently. The Dúnedain have always come and gone freely, though their numbers greatly lessened after the breaking of Arnor, and Dwarves come too, sometimes…though less often since they had to flee Khazad-dûm.”

“I heard much of that place from the dwarves I knew in Beleriand,” said Curufin. “I always wished I could visit. It sounded marvelous. Do you know what happened?”

“No one knows, really, except something awakened there, something terrible. I passed through it twice—and I saw the making of the western doors by Celebrimbor and Narvi.” Celebrían glanced at Curufin, who looked away. “It was a beautiful place—incredible, and I am not sure my words could ever do it justice.” She sighed. “It is called Moria, now. The lamps are all broken and light only ever reaches the halls were great shafts were carved into the mountainside to let in the sunlight, but it will be pale and dim, shining on nothing but dust and decay.”

“Here is the stream!” Celegorm called. He stood on the mossy bank; Huan had splashed in and was drinking deeply. Celebrían knelt to dip her fingers, finding the water less cold than she’d expected, though she knew it must be fed by snow melt high in the mountains. She looked upstream, seeing it winding lazily down the gentle slope, its banks all soft dark moss, its bed all of smooth round stones. A curl of excitement unfurled in her gut, and she found herself grinning. “This is what you wanted?” Celegorm said.

“Exactly what I wanted,” Celebrían said. “Let’s go!” She sprang to her feet and raced up the bank, passing swift and silent over the moss. Huan bounded after her, barking and splashing in the stream, the others scrambling in their wake.

Over the next few days the lands grew steadily steeper; several times they had to find their way up and around small waterfalls, one or two of which had caves that they paused to explore, though there was naught in them but damp stone. Soon, though, they realized they were entering into a deep valley, with mountains rising up sharply on either side. Celegorm and Taurendis went off to find a place from which they could see the whole of the valley, while the rest continue to follow the stream—until they came to a sheer cliff face, down which a slender ribbon of water plunged into a deep pool. It was out of this that their stream flowed.

“I suppose you could build something here,” said Caranthir, looking around as Elenel kicked off her shoes and splashed into the pool, where silver fish darted out of the way, flashing in the sunlight. The woods were not so thick, and sunshine sparkled on the water, though the fall was not large enough to send up a spray suitable for making rainbows.

“Anywhere in this valley would be lovely, I think,” Elenel said, as she leaned down to get a better look at the fish. “Maybe up that stream a ways.” She pointed back the way they had come, where another stream had flowed down from higher up the valley to join theirs.

“Mm,” Celebrían said. They were close to where she wanted to be—she could feel it—but she did not think this pool or that other stream was the place. The only problem was that the perfect spot was one she would know when she saw it, but it was not something she could describe. She looked up the cliff, wondering where the source of the water really was. She’d had it in her mind that that was where she would build her house, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Then Taurendis returned to fetch them. “Come see!” she said. “I think we’ve found the perfect place, my lady!”

They followed her across the valley, reaching the vantage point up the mountainside near dusk. The stars were starting to appear, and the Pelóri cast their long shadows over the land, but across the valley they could still see the glimmer of the waterfall, like a silver ribbon falling down the cliff side. But what it fell from—Celebrían knew instantly that she had found what she was looking for. It was another valley, but situated on the mountain itself, as though a great hand had come by long ago and scooped out a great portion of the earth. In the gloaming it was difficult to see detail, but she could make out patches of trees, and grassy areas—and perhaps that was a small lake farther up? It was hard to say. Above the hanging valley a shooting star passed, a bright flash of silver.

“Oh, it’s perfect,” she breathed.

They made their camp where they were, and in the morning the sunrise brought a beautiful view of the hanging valley. There was a lake there, a clear blue, perhaps fed by snow melt from higher peaks, but also, Celebrían suspected, there were springs. The more she gazed at it, the more convinced she became that it was precisely what she wanted.

“It’s very pretty,” said Elenel, ever practical, “but how are you supposed to get to it?”

“There are cliffs at Imladris,” said Taurendis.

“Yes, but those are going down. And the stone is of a different kind—and there were already ledges and things to be turned into paths. This cliff is entirely sheer. A goat could climb it, but not an elf.”

“I could,” Celegorm said mildly.

“Please don’t,” said Curufin and Caranthir together. Celegorm made a face at them, and Celebrían bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling.

Aloud she said, “Of course, I don’t know how to get up there now, but we’ll figure something out. I shall consult with the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, unless anyone in present company has any ideas.”

“You’ll have to carve some sort of path into the rock,” said Curufin. “Dwarves would make a tunnel out of it, stitch-backing up the cliff side.” He eyed the cliff as though he had a few ideas already about how to go about it. Caranthir nodded in agreement, with the same sort of look in his eye. “You might also ask your Sindarin kin. They delved their new Menegroth into the mountains here. Aulë himself came to help them.”

No progress, of course, would be made then and there. But they returned to the base of the cliff so that Caranthir and Curufin would better examine the stones, and when it was time to depart, Celebrían invited the brothers back to her house on Eressëa. Caranthir and Curufin accepted immediately, the excitement of a new project apparently making them forget all about any potential awkwardness. Celegorm refused, only because he wanted to continue to explore the valley and the surrounding mountains.

“This will cause a bit of a stir in Alqualondë and Avallónë,” Elenel murmured to Celebrían as they began the trek back east.

“I’m sure the gossips will be delighted,” Celebrían agreed. “But I intend to go on as we did in Imladris, and that means everyone is welcome—including in the building.” She had not been there, of course, for the initial founding of Imladris. Her father had been—it had been a time of scrambling, of making whatever shelter they could, and desperately foraging for food. Her project would be very different in that respect. Comfort would be the goal from the very beginning.

They emerged from the woods streaked with dirt and sweat, with twigs in their hair, but all feeling very merry. Elvir met them near the docks in Alqualondë, and if he was shocked to find a pair of the sons of Fëanor in their company, he did not show it. “Did you find a place?” he asked as they made their way to the ferry docks. A cool wind picked up, blowing from the north and smelling of rain, and both Caranthir and Curufin took advantage of the excuse to draw up their hoods.

“We did!” Celebrían said. “We’ll tell you all about it when we get home. Have we missed anything interesting?”

“Lady Minyelmë brought you an invitation from Queen Lunamírë,” said Elvir. “And Queen Nimloth has come to visit Eressëa, and I think she may also have an invitation for you to Menegroth.”

“It seems you are in great demand at the royal courts, Lady Celebrían,” remarked Curufin as they stepped up the gangplank onto the ferry.

“For my mother’s sake,” Celebrían replied, “and also for Elrond’s.” She took a seat near the railing; this ferry was not very full. She noticed a few of the sailors take another look at her companions, but they were all quite young and she didn’t think they would know a Fëanorion on sight. At the mention of Elrond, Caranthir and Curufin exchanged a glance, but she couldn’t quite read their expressions.

At home in Avallónë, Celebrían was very happy to soak in a hot bath before supper, washing away the remnants of the forest, before dressing in soft blue linen robes. She left her hair loose and eschewed shoes afterward, and was pleased to see that her guests had also foregone formalities—though they were wearing shoes. Supper was served inside, since it had started to rain while Celebrían was in the bath.

There was a slight awkwardness as they sat down together. Celebrían was in the process of thinking of a harmless remark or question to open up the conversation when Curufin asked, a little tentatively, about Ost-in-Edhil. He did not mention Celebrimbor’s name, and ignored the swift look that his brother gave him. Celebrían knew lingering grief when she saw it. She considered the question, wondering whether it was even possible to talk of Celebrimbor’s city without mentioning his name.

“It was a beautiful city,” she said at last. “Founded mostly by the Noldor—followers of you and your brothers who had survived the First Age. Others came with my parents, alongside a fair number of Sindar. And Men, too, lived there—descendants of Edain who had declined to sail to Númenor, and also Men whose forebears had never passed over the Ered Luin into Beleriand at all. Anyone who wanted to dwell there was welcome, and the road to Khazad-dûm was very short.” She went on to describe the squares with their fountains, and the tree-lined avenues, and the large house in which she had grown up. It had been a very carefully planned city, more slowly built up than the cities and towns of Mithlond, which had been rather hastily constructed after the earth’s upheaval had finally settled. But it had been long finished by the time Celebrían was born. She had grown up underfoot of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, learning by watching and sporadic teachings, whenever someone had time or the inclination. She had loved her cousin Celebrimbor, too—he had always had time to teach her something, and had never minded when she wanted to watch him at work.

At least, until Annatar had come. But Celebrían did not go near that time in her tellings. She did not know what Curufin had heard of his son’s achievements, but she feared that they had been overshadowed by his end. The least she could do was let him know all of the great and beautiful things he had done in his city.

“You spoke of recruiting Celebrimbor’s people to build your house in the mountains,” Caranthir said after a while. “I had wondered why.”

“Many of them were there when Imladris was founded,” said Celebrían. “They’ll know just what I am talking about when I say that I want a similar kind of place.”

“You speak of that time as though you were not there,” Curufin said. “When did you leave Eregion?”

“When my mother did,” said Celebrían. “We passed through Khazad-dûm to Lothlórien—it was Lórinand, then, among other names. That was around the time that Rings were first being spoken of.” A shadow passed over Curufin’s face, and Caranthir looked at him. Celebrían hesitated—long habit making itself known—before she went on, gently. “It is not permitted to speak of it in Middle-earth, but here I do not see there can be any harm. Celebrimbor’s greatest work was the making of the Three Rings for the Elves. Sauron never touched them, and since his fall they have been put to use. Elrond wields Vilya—and its power was a great boon to us during the wars with Angmar—and in Lothlórien my mother bears Nenya. For a time Círdan kept Narya, in Lindon, though I do not know that he ever used it. It is now in the keeping of Mithrandir, one of the Istari.”

“Grey wanderer,” Curufin said. “I wonder which one that is.”

“Must be Olórin,” said Caranthir. “He wore the grey of Nienna.”

“I do not know what he was called before he came to Middle-earth,” said Celebrían. “It is not spoken of. But he became a great friend to us in Imladris.” She smiled. “I think he mostly uses Narya’s power to make his fireworks. I have always thought that Celebrimbor would have liked that.” That drew a small smile from Curufin, and with that Celebrían turned the conversation to other, less fraught subjects. She asked about Curufin’s own recent work, which brightened him immediately He made nothing of real consequence these days, only things like necklaces or diadems, useful only in their beauty. Many of the gems he used these days had been discovered in the deep caverns of the new Menegroth at its delving; Nerdanel had done some of the carvings on the pillars in the throne room, and received a store of gemstones and crystals in return.

“He made the crown that Dior wears,” Caranthir said.

“I have heard that it is very beautiful,” said Celebrían, “though I haven’t seen it yet, myself. But I am glad that Dior accepted the gift.”

“We never expected him to wear it,” said Curufin.

“Nor to become such good friends with Celegorm,” said Caranthir, “though I think Huan had a hand in that.” He peered at Celebrían. “We did not expect it of you, either, the daughter of Galadriel, and Celeborn of Doriath.”

Celebrían gave them her sweetest smile. “I was born long after the end of the First Age,” she said. “Ost-in-Edhil was a city of new beginnings. And Imladris is a place of peace and welcome, no matter who one is or what one might have done.” She paused. “Well, at Elrond’s discretion, but I cannot think of any exceptions.”

“What happens if a quarrel does break out?” Curufin asked, sounding faintly amused.

“My favorite solution is locking the involved parties in a room until they work it all out,” Celebrían said brightly, recalling her conversation with Nerdanel. Caranthir had just taken a sip of wine, and Curufin had to pound him on the back as he choked on it. “Unfortunately, Elrond never let me try, except with our boys. He likes to take a more diplomatic approach, and I suppose when one is dealing with adults that is the better option. But all that is to say—I do not believe in holding grudges, much less for deeds done so long ago, before I was ever born. It would deprive me of rather delightful company and interesting conversation. And,” she added, “it will give the gossips of Avallónë something to gasp about over their tea. I fear things have gotten a bit boring for them of late.”

The next morning, as Celebrían was dressing for the day, she was informed that Idril had arrived to speak with her. “You can send her up here, Anlas,” said Celebrían as she picked up her hairbrush. She had not yet changed out of her nightgown, and the scars from her ordeal in the Misty Mountains were visible. She was still unused to them, even after so long—most likely because there were few mirrors in Lórien. These days Celebrían purposefully sat herself down in front of her mirror before fully dressing. Someday, her hands would not shake as she brushed out her hair.

“Good morning, Celebrían,” Idril said as she swept into the room, clad in a gown of deep green, with pale green lace along her sleeves. “I have heard some very interesting things about your current house guests this morning.”

“I’m very glad to know that Avallónë’s gossips are having a nice morning,” Celebrían replied as she set her brush down. She thought she would wear her hair loose that day. “Are you here to scold me?”

“I can see that it wouldn’t do any good,” said Idril as she seated herself by the window. “Mostly I’m very curious as to why you were seen coming out of the woods with them near Alqualondë. Seems an odd place for a meeting.”

“They were kind enough to offer help with a project I am undertaking,” said Celebrían, as Anlas helped her settle her gown over her head and shoulders. It had a higher neckline than was currently fashionable; if Celebrían was not yet comfortable looking at her own wounds, she certainly did not want to attract others’ gazes. “Would you like to join us for breakfast? There’s time to send for Tuor, too.”

“Tuor is downstairs,” Idril said. “He was curious to meet—is it Curufin and Caranthir?”

“Yes, Celegorm declined to return so soon to civilization. Thank you, Anlas. Please tell the cook we’ll have two more for breakfast this morning.”

“Certainly, my lady.” Anlas smiled at Idril as she passed out of the room.

“Your household seems entirely unbothered,” remarked Idril. “I confess, I do not know my cousins well—I did not see them at all after we made it to Middle-earth, for they kept to the east, and then, well.” She waved a hand. “Gondolin.”

“I assure you, if there were any concerns my household would not hesitate to inform me,” said Celebrían, as she picked up her jewelry box. “And anyway, most of us either have connections to the Fëanorians, or were once counted among them—those that rallied to Celebrimbor after everything.” In fact, Anlas’ parents had once dwelt in Thargelion, though Celebrían seemed to recall a tale of them fleeing into the east instead of south in the chaos of the Dagor Bragollach. They had died in Eregion. “Ah, there they are.” She pulled out the earrings she’d wanted—sapphires, to match the bluebirds embroidered on her sleeves. “Speaking of relations, I heard that Minyelmë and Nimloth are on Eressëa. Are they horrified at my house guests?”

“I doubt it. Nimloth was slower to warm to the sons of Fëanor than her husband, but she’ll likely be pleased to know you’re hosting them. Minyelmë I am less certain of. She only rarely goes to Tirion these days—I am told that before the War of Wrath she avoided the Noldor entirely, but I do not know why. It seems to run deeper than the hurts of the Kinslayings.” She paused before going on. “I cannot, though, say that Elwing will be at all pleased.”

“Of course not,” Celebrían said. “I wouldn’t expect her to. And I will do my very best not to put her into any awkward social situations.” She fastened her earrings, and admired the way they shimmered against her silver hair for a moment. They had been a coming of age gift from Celebrimbor. She’d had other pieces that he’d given her over the years, but most she had left with Arwen; at the time of her departure, she had not been able to fathom a time when she would want to bother with such things again. But now she was glad that she had at least brought the earrings, and a few other things that someone—Arwen, most likely—had packed behind her back.

They went downstairs to find Tuor already cheerfully in conversation with Curufin and Caranthir over coffee. He rose to kiss Celebrían’s cheek and to take Idril’s hand. “Idril, your cousins want to know about the tunnel out of Gondolin.”

Idril arched a slender eyebrow. “Really?”

“Celebrían has decided to build herself a small realm in the mountains, in a place up a sheer cliff face,” Caranthir said, as Celebrían seated herself. She reached for the teapot instead of the coffee, preferring a milder drink she did not have to fill with sugar and cream to find palatable. “We thought a sort of tunneling path would be the way to get up, instead of trying to cut steps or something.”

“I’m not sure how much I can help with that,” said Idril. “Our tunnel was fairly straightforward. Though I will say that you’ll have a much easier time of it than we did, since I rather doubt you’ll have to work in secret.”

“But how did you go about cutting into the rock?” Curufin asked. “Were there any songs of power used?”

The conversation went from there, Idril and Tuor quickly growing interested not only in the tunnel-path, but in Celebrían’s plans for the hanging valley above. Celebrían listened quietly, sipping her tea and thinking fondly of a coalition between the Gondolindrim and the Fëanorians.

Somehow the talk turned from digging tunnels to Gondolin itself, which of course only Idril and Tuor had ever seen. Curufin was very interested in—well, everything. Celebrían saw Caranthir glance at his brother more than once, with something like relief in his eyes. Even Celebrían could tell that Curufin was growing more animated and less withdrawn, even in the few days since she had met him.

The discussion continued after the meal, and since Celebrían was not needed, she slipped outside for a bit of fresh sea air. The rain had passed, and the sun was shining in a cloudless sky of the clearest blue. She walked down the path to the white sands of her small stretch of beach. As she tilted her head back to bask in the sunshine she saw movement, and turned to see Nimloth and Minyelmë walking up the beach toward her. “Well met, young cousin!” Minyelmë called, waving. “I am glad to see you back from your wanderings.”

“Good morning!” Celebrían said. “Elvir told me you’d both come to call.”

“I come as a messenger for my sister,” said Minyelmë. “She wishes for you to join us in Valmar for Midsummer.”

“And I came with the same invitation,” Nimloth laughed, “but I think instead I will suggest to Dior that we all go to Valmar too.”

“I will be very glad to join you all,” said Celebrían. “I would invite you inside now, though I must warn you that Curufin and Caranthir are here.”

Minyelmë’s eyebrows shot up. “I’d heard you were entertaining Fëanáro’s sons,” she said. “You must forgive me for begging off. I must leave for Valmar, anyway. Lunamírë is in a flurry of planning for all the festivities, and wants certain numbers sooner than later.” With another wave she continued on down the beach, leaving Celebrían alone with Nimloth.

“I’ve never met Caranthir, or Curufin,” Nimloth said. “It’s Celegorm that comes to Menegroth. I rather had the impression that his brothers didn’t really leave Nerdanel’s house.”

“Idril and Tuor are also visiting this morning,” Celebrían said, linking her arm through her cousin’s as they headed back to the house. “I think it is doing Curufin and Caranthir rather a lot of good to be away from home and among company.”

Idril and Tuor greeted Nimloth warmly when they entered the parlor, and Curufin and Caranthir rose to bow deeply. Nimloth waved away their formality, and joined the conversation cheerfully. She and Idril dominated, sharing stories of various mutual friends and relations, and apparently catching the Fëanorians up on all the gossip they were missing while secluded at their mother’s countryside estate. Celebrían settled into her favorite seat beside the window, feeling like she was halfway to remaking Imladris already.

Midsummer was soon approaching, and so Celebrían’s plans were put on hold for the moment—or the season. Neither Nerdanel nor her sons would be attending Valmar for the celebrations, which was a disappointment but not a surprise. A few careful questions told Celebrían that they had not even been invited. “You know,” she remarked to Finrod and Nimloth over lunch, “it would stop being awkward very quickly if just a little effort was made.”

Finrod gave her an inscrutable look. “My father did make an effort, when they first returned,” he said. “They declined all invitations.”

“And of course they could not have changed their minds a bit since then,” Celebrían retorted. “They’re quite nice company, you know, when they are able to relax.”

“I do know. I grew up with them, remember, and they dwelt in my city for a time. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t make trouble at your luncheon with Caranthir, did I?”

“You were very well behaved,” Celebrían said in a purposely over-soothing tone, which earned her a flat look. “Except for the looks you kept giving me out of the corner of your eye, like you expected someone to attack you, and I would sit back and allow it.”

“You do seem to be taking their part,” Finrod said, a little dubiously. “And I am learning that one never quite knows what you will do, and it is foolish to expect anything.”

“Well, you can expect that I will not tolerate rudeness or violence at my table,” Celebrían said. “Particularly the latter. Blood is very hard to get out of the carpets.” Nimloth laughed out loud. “But the problem, as far as I can tell, is that everyone is walking around half expecting them to do something violent. It’s not healthy for anyone. Would Námo had released them if there was any real likelihood of them causing trouble?”

“There is a precedent,” Finrod said dryly.

“Well, yes. But I should hope that the Valar are able to learn from their mistakes.”

“One does hope,” said Nimloth. “I would also think that Námo is far more cautious than his brethren when it comes to such things. It was not his decision alone to release Morgoth, was it?”

“Perhaps not,” said Finrod. “All right, Celebrían, I will make more of an effort to be friendly when you inevitably insist upon inviting us all to supper again—for your sake. I dare not imagine what your mother would say.”

“Oh, she would doubtless be furious,” Celebrían said brightly. “And though I do miss her terribly, the one nice thing about there being the wide sea between us is that I don’t have to care a whit what she thinks of anything I do! Indeed, I have long since grown out of all that.” She and Elrond had discussed more than once what they would do should Maglor, somehow, appear on their doorstep—or more likely, find himself dragged into the valley by their sons, or perhaps by Elrond’s uncles, who had already met him once upon the island of Himling—and had agreed that of course he would be as welcome as anyone else in Imladris, no matter what anyone said. Let the other elven lords and ladies look to their own realms, Celebrían had said. Imladris was theirs—as her house in Eressëa was her own, and as soon her hanging valley would be. Already she was looking forward to the day she could say it was theirs, hers and Elrond’s. But that day lay still far in the future.

Elwing arrived to join them that afternoon for the journey to Valmar. The ferry from Eressëa was crowded, but their party was boarded first and placed at the bow of the boat, in the best seats. Celebrían settled herself beside the railing where she could lean out to catch the spray on her face. It was, as always, a quick voyage. Dolphins followed them halfway from the island to the quays of Alqualondë, leaping high out of the water and chirping and chattering at the sailors, who laughed and responded in kind. Conversation among their party skirted around the Fëanorians, now that Elwing had joined them—Celebrían was all for reconciliation among Finwë’s kin, but she wasn’t so tactless as to try to rope Elwing into it—but both Elwing and Nimloth were very keen to know about Celebrían’s plans for her mountain estate.

“I have flown over those mountains many times,” Elwing remarked, “but I do not recall the valley you describe.”

“It’s rather out of the way,” Celebrían said. “I don’t know if you’d fly over it on your way to the Calacirya from your tower. Perhaps I can show it to you after the Midsummer festivities.”

“I would like that,” Elwing said with a smile, and Nimloth and Finrod immediately demanded invitations of their own—and one for Dior as well. It would be a merry traveling party, and Celebrían was sure that it would grow in size before they left Valmar.

Dior awaited them near the quays in Alqualondë, with a large party from Menegroth. They were all to go on horseback—and Celebrían realized with a kind of horrible start that she had not been atop a horse since her last disastrous journey through the Redhorn Pass. In Valinor she had either gone on foot, walking journeys being both enjoyable and very safe, or in a wagon or carriage. It was silly to get so nervous over a horse, though—it wasn’t the horses that had attracted the orcs to her party in the Misty Mountains. Celebrían took a deliberate breath, and found herself able to summon a real smile when Finrod glanced over his shoulder at her.

Then she saw Dior—from the back at first, and then from the side as he turned to greet Nimloth with a kiss, and the sight was like being slapped. Celebrían had not even realized she’d halted until Elwing touched her arm, making her jump. “What is the matter?” Elwing asked. “You look pale.”

“Nothing,” Celebrían said. “It’s just—” Dior had turned fully by then, and she could see his face fully. “He looks like Elrond.” So much like Elrond. She’d had a similar jolt when first meeting Elwing, who at first glance could have been Arwen’s twin—there were differences when one looked closer, of course: Arwen was taller, and Elwing’s figure smaller and more fragile-seeming. But Celebrían had been prepared for that—had expected a great resemblance. She felt rather foolish for being taken so off guard by Dior, but that was overshadowed by a sudden aching longing for her husband. That feeling usually only came to her late at night, when she was alone in a bed too big for one person—at least at those times she could roll over and cry into her pillow.

Celebrían took another deep breath, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders. This was to be a pleasant journey, with merriment at the end. She wouldn’t ruin it for everyone by blubbering over something no one could change. “I’m all right,” she said to Elwing, who still looked worried. “It was a surprise, that’s all—and silly of me not to expect it, really.”

Elwing was not convinced, but she was the only one who had seen Celebrían’s distress, so she felt sure that no one else noticed anything amiss. And up close, it was easier to see the soft differences between Dior and Elrond, and that made it easier. They were of a height, but Dior had slightly sharper features, and held himself differently—his bearing was more alike to Gil-galad’s, Celebrían thought. That of a king. He wore no crown for traveling, and his hair was loose, held back out of his face by only a few thin braids gathered together at the back of his head with a clip of jade and gold. He greeted Celebrían warmly, and laughed over their tangle of connections—cousin of his wife and married to his grandson—before it was time for all to mount up and begin the ride to Valmar.

Celebrían’s mare was a sweet-tempered, light-footed grey who was eager to be moving again. Celebrían allowed Dior to help her mount up, just before a call went up from the front of the group, and they moved out. Teleri of Alqualondë called farewells, and many of the travelers burst into bright and merry song as they made their way up to the Calacirya. The sun was bright and warm, and the company made good time; the horses of Valinor did not tire easily, and so they rode through the evening, past Tirion and turning north beneath the stars toward Valmar. The Valacirca burned bright over the mountain peaks.

In Imladris, Celebrían knew, there would be bonfires by the river, and dancing from dawn to dusk and then to dawn again. The music would be elven and mannish and Dwarvish, depending upon the makeup of guests there at the time. And if Mithrandir was there to visit, there would be fireworks. In Valinor the celebrations were similar, but she missed the dwarves and the Dúnedain.

Valmar was a marvel in itself, a city of bells and of strange buildings that the Valar had made. Some Celebrían never wanted to enter, for just looking at them made her dizzy. Others were made all of emerald or ruby, or were earthen shapes grown like trees out of the ground, with twisting stairs and many open windows through which Ainur flitted like birds or butterflies. Most of the elves, thankfully, lived in more sensible houses. When they arrived in midmorning after several days of travel they found the place already bustling and overflowing with elves and Ainur; the air was filled with music, and dancers had to scurry out of the way, laughing, when the horses came prancing through.

“Welcome, welcome!” Celebrían’s cousin Lunamírë swept outside to embrace everyone in turn when at last they came to Ingwë’s great manse. “Celebrían, I am so glad you could come. Do come inside!”

The rest of the day was lost in a whirl of greetings and meetings and introductions. That evening Ingwë held a great feast, with dancing and music afterward, at which nearly everyone in Valinor who bore a royal title seemed to be in attendance. Celebrían found herself seated at the table between her grandmother Ëarwen and her cousin Finduilas. Across the way was Finrod and Turgon; the meal consisted of many dishes that Celebrían had never heard of, let alone tried before. Some were very strange indeed, but most she enjoyed very much. The wine was sweet and light, and loosened everyone’s tongues to laughter and song.

When it came time for dancing, Celebrían found she knew only one in maybe five of the dances, and she had had too much wine to properly learn the rest. But that was all right—she preferred to sit and watch the whirl of robes and skirts around the room like so many butterflies. After a time, her great-grandmother Indis came to sit by her. Celebrían had only met her once before, not long after she had first emerged from Lórien, still adrift and lonely and a little at a loss of what to do with herself. “You are not dancing?” Indis said as she seated herself. She had been on the dance floor since the start, swinging between various grandchildren for partners.

“I don’t know the steps yet,” said Celebrían. “I’m sure I’ll learn soon—and I don’t mind watching in the meantime.” She offered a smile. “Please don’t be worried about me.”

“It is a little hard not to,” Indis admitted. “But you seem much brighter than when we last met. I am glad that Finrod has not been exaggerating in his letters.” Celebrían laughed. She’d long suspected herself to be the subject of a great deal of the family gossip that filled the letters that flew to and from Eressëa on a near-daily basis, and said so. Indis smiled but didn’t join the laughter. “I wouldn’t call it gossip,” she said. “We have all been worried. You were not as long in Lórien as we expected.”

“Was I not? It felt as though I was there for a very long time. But I did have the advantage of Elrond’s care, before I sailed. He wasn’t enough in the end, but he is the greatest healer remaining in Middle-earth.” She felt herself faltering a little with how desperately she missed him. But she firmed her smile and accepted another glass of wine from a passing footman.

If Indis noticed her moment of distress, she was kind enough not to mention it. “Well, we feared that you had left Estë’s care before it was time—perhaps displaying the stubborn streak that runs in Finwë’s line. I am glad to see that we were mistaken.”

“Celebrían, there you are!” Lunamírë appeared. “Why are you not dancing? Come, the next one is easy—I’ll teach you the steps!” She did not wait for an answer before pulling Celebrían to her feet and out onto the dance floor, where she was passed from cousin to cousin in a dizzying whirl—and she did not manage to learn the proper steps of the dance at all.

Holidays and festivals in Valinor, Celebrían had learned very early, were never restricted to a single day. Midsummer celebrations lasted a week at least, and would have gone on longer except then they could not really be called midsummer , instead of just summer . It was a quick series of parties and dances and musical performances, and games—races and wrestling and mock-fighting out on the hills outside the city. Indis was convinced to take part in the races, and she won every single one. Celebrían knew a few eyes were on her as well, for her mother had once shown off her prowess in these games, but she had not inherited the competitive spirit of Finwë’s line, and was more than happy to sit and watch from the sidelines. Privately, though, she felt Elladan and Elrohir would emerge triumphant from many of the competitions. It was a wistful thought, and not one with a full hope of ever coming to pass. One or both of her sons might choose the path of Men.

Dior found her in thought; he had been judging the archery contest, and was flushed from sunshine and merriment. “Does something trouble you?” he asked, sitting beside her in the grass and wildflowers.

Celebrían blinked herself back to the present place and time. “Only thinking of my sons,” she said. “Elrohir would love the archery contests.” The challenges had been increasing in both difficulty and absurdity as the afternoon went on. Dior smiled, but she thought that he could guess, at least in part, where her thoughts had been leading. Not wishing to dwell upon that, she said, “Your own sons would like them too—they would on the sidelines and laugh at everyone, before Elurín or Eluréd got up and did something even more ridiculous.”

“Did you know them well, my sons?” Dior asked. “I’ve had a very hard time learning anything of them—it was months before someone realized that I did not even know they had survived the sacking of Doriath. I was sure that they had gone on—through Mandos and beyond, I mean.”

“Oh yes,” Celebrían said. “I met them soon after the founding of Imladris. They won’t let anyone write down their tale of survival—I think they’re afraid that if it is officially known, someone will come make them wear a crown and be responsible.” Dior laughed at that, which was much better than the wistful look he’d worn before.

The evenings were for music and dancing. Celebrían attended a performance of Elemmírë of the Vanyar for the first time—her voice was breathtakingly lovely as she sang a paean to the stars and to Varda Elentári. The Valar were there, too, though Celebrían only saw them at a distance. Estë was the only Vala she had spoken to, and she was content to keep it that way, at least for the moment. Let kings and princes greater than she converse with Manwë. She was more than content to chat with her grandparents and laugh with her cousins over the sweet wine that flowed like water all throughout the celebrations.

At last, the parties ended, and those who had flocked to Valmar began to leave for home, trickling away as they had flooded in. Celebrían remained in Ingwë’s house with Dior and Nimloth and Finarfin and Ëassalmë, and a few other relations. Olwë and his wife had not come—but that was not unusual. Alqualondë had its own traditions.

On a rainy morning as they sat by the wide windows of Lunamírë’s favorite parlor, sipping tea, Finarfin said, “What is this we heard of your plans to found a realm of your own in the mountains, Celebrían?”

“Who is calling it a realm?” Celebrían asked, amused. “I don’t want to rule anything. I am going to build a house—a large house, to be sure, with all the attending gardens and outbuildings and so forth. I know everyone must be waiting for me to start showing the same sort of ambition as my mother, but I can assure you I have none.”

“My apologies,” Finarfin said, as Finrod chuckled. “A house, then—somewhere in the mountains, far away from everyone and everything?”

“Not that far away,” said Celebrían. “It took us several days to reach it from Alqualondë, but that was on foot without a proper path, and with a bit of meandering before we found the right stream to follow. Honestly, it’s much easier to reach than Imladris has ever been.”

“Except for the sheer cliff face you mentioned,” Nimloth said.

Celebrían waved a hand. “A small hurdle! Once we devise a path up it, it will be easy.”

“Who is we?” Ëarwen asked.

“At the moment, Idril and Curufin and Caranthir,” said Celebrían, and managed not to laugh when poor Turgon choked on his tea. “But I intend to consult with former Gwaith-i-Mírdain, particularly those who worked with dwarves, or were present at the founding of Imladris. The house itself I intend to model very closely on the one in Imladris.”

“And you’ve enlisted the sons of Fëanáro?” Ingwë asked. If he disapproved, it showed neither in his voice nor on his face.

“Yes,” Celebrían said cheerfully.

“Oh, stop acting so shocked,” Finrod said, as Elenwë handed Turgon a napkin. “You know she’s trying to get a rise out of everyone.”

“I am not,” Celebrían protested, imitating some of her mother’s sternness. “If people want to be shocked at the company I choose to keep, that’s their affair.”

“So it is,” Lunamírë agreed, picking up the teapot to pour Turgon another cup. “I’m glad someone is drawing them out. I have tried, but I was never very close to Fëanáro’s family, unfortunately. Nerdanel will come if I invite her, but she always comes with excuses from her sons.”

Celebrían sipped her tea and listened as the conversation wandered around those not present, and her Noldorin cousins wrestled with their feelings on the matter of the Fëanorians. She had not intended to cause anyone any upset, but she thought this was probably good for them, regardless. They had all been friends once—and of course Celegorm and Curufin and Caranthir, and their brothers, had done terrible things that should not be forgotten. But there was forgetting, and there was putting the past where it belonged—it was a thing to be learned from and not repeated, but not a thing to be constantly dwelled upon.

That was the greatest flaw of the Elves, Elrond had once remarked with a deep sigh: the inability to let go of the past. Celebrían had teased him at the time, since he bore Vilya, and used it, and its purpose had been to preserve things unchanging. “Oh, but I don’t,” Elrond said. “Rivendell is no Lórien.” And she’d had to admit he was right. Her mother’s realm was a beautiful place, but also one where time seemed to pass slowly, if at all. It was often difficult to tell how long she had been there, when she visited. But Rivendell was too open and too often filled with mortal visitors to hold to that. Change was slower, there, but it did happen. Nothing was forgotten in Rivendell, either—there were shelves upon shelves of recorded tales and songs and letters—but Elrond was always thinking of the future.

Valinor was more like Lothlórien than it was like Rivendell. Celebrían could do nothing about that, except to go on as she had been. At least her house in the mountains would be something new. She sipped her tea again, wishing she could talk to Elrond about it. Then she put those thoughts aside, as Finrod called on her to describe again the route through the mountains from Alqualondë to her hanging valley.

After the Midsummer festivities were over, and Celebrían had taken the promised walking party to see the hanging valley, she was very glad to return to her own house in Avallónë. She tended to her garden and sketched some ideas for her mountain house, and received a surprising number of packages from Middle-earth. The accompanying letter from Arwen explained that they were mostly pieces of clothing, not only for Celebrían, but various other relations as well. It was all very neatly organized, and packed specially so that there was no need to air them out or even shake out creases. They had been packed with dried roses and lavender, which Celebrían carefully gathered up and put in a small vase beside her bed, so that her room smelled like home. She had lavender and roses in her garden, of course, but it wasn’t the same.

Elwing came to call a few days after the packages from Imladris arrived. “What’s all this?” she asked, seeing the pile of them tucked into the corner of the parlor.

“Gifts from Imladris,” Celebrían said. “There is something for you, and for Eärendil I think. Let me find them.” She sorted through the packages until she found a pair of bundles. “Here they are! From Arwen—oh, and this smaller pouch is from Elrond. You need not open them here, of course.”

“I wish there was a way to send thanks,” said Elwing as she set her packages near the door, except for the small one. “I suppose Ulmo could, but…”

“But it would have to pass through Círdan, at least,” said Celebrían. “If Ulmo is willing, or if one can even find him.”

“Yes, he does tend to keep to his own realm.” Elwing turned the small package over in her fingers as she sat with Celebrían near the window. “Is there any interesting news from Imladris?”

“No, only gossip that’s only interesting if you know the parties involved.” Celebrían picked up the letter she’d left by her seat. “Oh, Elurín’s hair was singed by one of Mithrandir’s fireworks this year. He’s had to cut it, and is very put out.” Elwing laughed. “Hair woes aside, everyone seems to be doing very well.”

“I am glad,” said Elwing. She finally tugged at the string to open the pouch in her hands, and spilled the contents into her palm. There were two dozen freshwater pearls, and a few river stones polished to a shine.

“Elrond has always liked to collect things from water,” Celebrían remarked, as Elwing poured the pearls back into the pouch. “There are no pearls in Imladris, though.”

“There is a letter,” Elwing said, as she pulled the rolled up paper out of the pouch. She opened it and scanned it briefly. “The pearls were collected by Elladan and Elrohir. I think you will find some jewelry in among your gifts.”

“Earrings, and a few rings,” Celebrían agreed. “Don’t tell our kin in Alqualondë, but I must confess that I like river pearls best.”

Elwing smiled, and dropped the letter and the stones back into the pouch. “Elrond has been sending me river stones for many years now,” she said. “Before that, when he lived by the Sea, it was seashells. We used to collect them together, he and I and Elros.”

Celebrían thought of a small wooden box, carved with waves and ships, that had been tucked into a safe corner of Elrond’s study ever since she had known him. She had opened it once, curious, and found it full of seashells.

“There is something else I wanted to speak with you about,” Elwing said. “About your house in the mountains.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve noticed you are careful not to speak of Fëanor’s sons and their involvement in front of me,” Elwing said, “and I appreciate your care, but it isn’t necessary. Especially since you don’t seem to care what anyone else thinks.”

Celebrían had been trying to take care. Elwing was Elrond ’s mother, after all, and of all Celebrían’s relations she had the worst experiences with the Sons of Fëanor. Well, there was Dior and Nimloth—but Dior was remarkably gracious and forgiving, and Nimloth appeared to have followed his lead. “It isn’t really that I care if you approve or not,” she said, “since I’ve long since stopped worrying about that in general. But I was worried about upsetting you. I don’t mind making people uncomfortable if it will lead to something better down the road, but one gets a sense of when that’s helpful and when it isn’t.”

Elwing smiled at her. “I think many in Valinor could do with a little discomfort now and again,” she said. “But really, it doesn’t bother me.”

“I’m glad to know hear it,” said Celebrían. “I do think I am growing rather fond of them. I shall have some rather pointed words for Maedhros, whenever he returns from Mandos—and particularly for Fëanor, if he should ever return as well. But my understanding is that a great deal of self reflection happens in Mandos, and by now there can be no real point in further punishment.”

“I think I would very much like to be there for a meeting between you and Fëanor,” Elwing said.

Elwing stayed for some time, during which Celebrían began sketching out more serious plans for the house. She based them off of her memories of Imladris, keeping in mind the different setting, and the fact that she was building hers with thoughts toward comfort and welcome from the start, rather than the hurried and desperate need for anything to provide shelter out of which Imladris had grown. Elwing had many questions about Imladris, most of which Celebrían could answer easily. “But I wasn’t there in the very beginning, you know,” she said. “That was during the war, just after Eregion fell. I was safe in Lórien, then, worrying about my father who had remained behind in Ost-in-Edhil.”

“Why did he stay behind?” Elwing asked.

“Both he and my mother worried about what Annatar might do when she was gone,” Celebrían. “And no one was ready to push hard enough against him to really find out—so someone had to stay, and my father has always been overlooked and underestimated. I think he likes it that way.”

“Like you,” Elwing said, and Celebrían laughed. “You are very happy to let everyone here underestimate you.”

“It does have its advantages,” Celebrían said. “But of course, everyone is watching me and waiting for me to do something very Galadriel-like, so they don’t notice when I turn around and do Elrond-like things instead. But anyway—my parents loved Ost-in-Edhil, and I think until the very end they hoped to save it. At the time that we left, though, no one knew who Annatar was of course. He was very subtle in his machinations, then, and I think Celebrimbor really did genuinely see him as a great friend. There was nothing he had done that we could point to, and to speak against him just…sounded as though my mother were being disagreeable, or trying to gain more power for herself instead. But Annatar had his eyes upon her, not on my father. It didn’t really help, in the end.” She sighed. “But he was the one to rally all the refugees and get them out of Eregion and to Elrond and his forces.”

“And then they came to the valley of Imladris,” said Elwing. “I have heard the tales.”

“Yes. I did not come there until well after the war, when thought was already being taken to making it a permanent settlement.” Celebrían pulled a blank piece of paper to her and began to sketch, this time drawing on memories of her first visit to the valley. “It looked like this, more or less. We arrived in the middle of the afternoon, so the sun was bright, especially on the water. Of course, the clear spaces that had been meadows were all churned up mud from the armies, but grass was starting to return. And the foundations of the house were in place, and work was beginning to make them permanent—with stone rather than wood.”

“Yes, you can see the original intention,” said Elwing, peering over Celebrían’s shoulder. “Just a large structure to keep out the weather. You will not copy it?”

“Not exactly,” said Celebrían. “Some rooms I will make larger, some smaller. The first of the rooms to be built eventually became the Hall of Fire, and that I do wish to replicate as closely as I can, at least in general shape. It will be slightly larger, I think, though of course the one at home is already quite large. I shall see what kind of terrain I have to work with once I get up to the valley itself.”

“I suppose someone will have to climb up the cliff face before whatever path you are thinking of is built,” said Elwing.

“Probably,” Celebrían agreed, “though waiting wouldn’t hurt anything, I don’t think. It isn’t as though we are in a great hurry. I want it done and settled in before Elrond comes, of course, but there is plenty of time before that.” She spoke lightly, but saying aloud just how long she had to wait for Elrond came with a pang. The letters and gifts were wonderful, but no substitute for her actual family. And she had not missed the fact that very little was said of Elladan and Elrohir, except that they were often gone on errantry—far more often, it seemed, than they ever were before.

“Have you ever been up the great tower in Avallónë?” Elwing asked suddenly.

“No,” Celebrían said. “You mean the one near the harbor?”

“Yes, that rises out of the library,” said Elwing. “There is a palantír there. Nerdanel brought it to Eressëa after the War of Wrath, so that those who missed their homes could look back on them—or to see those who did not choose to sail west.”

“Do you often go to look in it?” Celebrían asked, curious.

Elwing shook her head. “No. Eärendil sees much, and I’m usually content with his tales. But I have gone once or twice—the first time was when I first learned that my brothers still lived. They were sailing about the islands that are all that remains now of Beleriand.”

“Oh, I remember when they took that trip!” Celebrían laughed. “That was when Gil-galad and Círdan first learned they were alive, too. Poor Círdan. I am told he had to sit for some time after he heard, before he could even comprehend that they were asking for his help in building a boat. But no, I did not know there was a palantír on Eressëa. I confess, I never even saw the ones that Elendil brought to Middle-earth.”

“Those, I think, can speak to one another,” said Elwing. “But not to the one here. But the tower is open to anyone who wishes to go there, and the palantír is there for whoever has a strong enough will to use it.” Her smile turned rueful. “It always gives me a headache—another reason I rarely go there.”

It was very tempting. Celebrían thought she might save a visit to the palantír for a particularly melancholy day. Catching even a glimpse of Elrond and the children, or her parents, would do a great deal to cheer her up.

A few days into Elwing’s visit, a note came for Celebrían from Caranthir, indicating he and Curufin wished to call on her to discuss the path up the cliff. Celebrían shared it with Elwing, who handed it back with a smile. “Don’t put them off on my account! I was planning to stay a while with Tuor and Idril, anyway. They want to host a dinner party when Eärendil next comes down.”

“How lovely!”

The brothers arrived just before Elwing was ready to depart the next afternoon—in fact, they all met in the entrance hall. Caranthir’s ears turned pink, and Curufin seemed to shrink a little. Elwing was neither warm nor cold in her greetings, though she kissed Celebrían before departing, promising to let her know when to expect an invitation to Tuor and Idril’s dinner party.

“We did not mean to interrupt—” Caranthir began as soon as Elwing was gone.

“You didn’t,” Celebrían replied. “And you did not frighten her away, either, so stop looking sheepish. Come out to the garden! It’s too nice a day to sit inside. Have you had lunch yet?”

They had not, and it was brought out to where they had spread out Curufin’s diagrams and calculations. “I went back with Celegorm to measure the height of the cliff,” Curufin said, pointing to a scale drawing with the measurements noted. “He also put pins into the cliff side where others can secure ropes, to climb up to the top before the pathway is done.”

“I was just talking of something like that with Elwing,” said Celebrían. “Did he see much of the valley at the top?”

“Not really. I had him busy taking measurements at the cliff side,” said Curufin. “But he said there are many flowers growing there, and he saw a few mountain goats near the stream.”

“I had been thinking of raising goats there,” said Celebrían. “And perhaps a few sheep. Getting any large livestock up would be rather difficult.”

“It is my intention to make the path large enough for horses,” said Curufin.

The path in question was to be cut into the cliff face, of course—a tunnel of stairs that switch-backed up the cliff face, emerging closer to one side of the valley than the center; the turns were placed next to the waterfall, and Curufin had sketched openings to let in light and perhaps the occasional spray of water. Lamps could be set into the inner walls as well. The path itself consisted of shallow steps. “I saw tunnels like these in the mountains near Belegost and Nogrod,” said Curufin as Celebrían examined the papers. “Though Dwarvish steps were not so shallow.”

“No, they usually weren’t,” Celebrían laughed. “But I like this design very much. I have not yet sought out the Gwaith-i-Mírdain in Tirion, but—”

“Curufin has,” Caranthir said with a grin. “We left copies of these designs with them, and they are very eager for the project. They have much more knowledge of Dwarvish techniques than we do.”

Word spread very soon through the former residents of Imladris scattered across Eressëa and Valinor of what Celebrían was planning, and those with either a talent for construction or who had been there at the start were eager to offer their assistance; Celebrían suspected some of them were terribly bored. Celebrían’s house in Avallónë could not hold them all, so she found herself coordinating a meeting at the cliff side itself, where there was plenty of room to set up a camp, and opportunity for the more daring to scale the cliff to take additional measurements.

In the meantime, summer was getting on, lazily rolling toward autumn. When winter came they would of course have to put everything on hold—no one wanted to navigate the Pelóri in wintertime without a clear and set path to follow. Winter would be spent collecting supplies and making further plans for the actual construction of the tunnel-path. Celebrían found herself making plans to spend most of the winter in Tirion, and even looking forward to it. She would stay with her grandparents, who had moved out of the main palace back into their own residence after Finarfin had ceded the crown to Fingolfin upon his return from Mandos.

Before she departed for the cliff side, of course, there was Idril and Tuor’s dinner party to attend. Celebrían certainly did not want to miss that, as Eärendil would be there. She had met him only once before, as he was so seldom on the ground. She arrived to find him and Elwing with Idril and Tuor in the parlor. He seemed to glisten slightly, as though perpetually bathed in starlight. He was also much shorter than Celebrían had originally expected, but after the initial surprise it was easy to forget, as he had such a large presence. He jumped up to greet Celebrían warmly, though there was very little time to do more than exchange greetings before other guests began to arrive. It was a merry party. Finrod was there, and Fingon, and various other relations. Turgon came with Elenwë, to Eärendil’s great delight. Annael was there also, and other friends old and new. Celebrían felt herself an outsider to this gathering, being much younger than nearly everyone else, and also so newly come to Valinor. It was only to be expected, but she looked forward to the time when she would not feel thus.

Most delightful was that Elemmírë was also a guest, and after dinner there was singing and storytelling, and she brought them all to tears with her songs of the Trees and the Light that shone upon Valinor at its noontide. Celebrían, acquainted with Daeron, found herself wishing that he were there so they could all be treated to a duet. Now that would be something! But Daeron had, when last Celebrían had heard of him, been residing quite happily in Lothlórien, and if anything she thought him more likely to travel back east rather than come west.

The moon had risen and vanished behind the Pelóri by the time the party ended and the guests all wandered either to their beds or back to their homes. Eärendil and Elwing, and Tuor and Idril, remained up, and Celebrían lingered with them. Everyone was always eager for whatever news Eärendil could tell them of Middle-earth and the wider world, and at dinner he had shared many tales of the things he had seen. But now that they were alone, a small family group, he spoke of Imladris and Mithlond, and Lórien and even a little of the Greenwood, when Celebrían asked. All was well, all was peaceful. He could give little detail beyond that, of course. Even with his enchanted spyglass there was only so much one could see from above. But it was still nice to know that the letters weren't only giving a rosy view of things to spare Celebrían’s feelings.

Eärendil did talk of Elladan and Elrohir riding out often, hunting orcs in the mountains and wilder reaches of Eriador. They were often in the company of the Dúnedain—but just as often not. That had only been vaguely alluded to in the letters—and the ones from Elladan and Elrohir had not mentioned their errantry at all. Celebrían wished, not for the first or last time, that there was a way to write back.

When she left it was very late. The stars glittered on the Bay of Eldamar; somewhere, someone was singing a song to the stars and the sea. Celebrían felt restless, and did not want to go immediately home. She walked along the shore for a while, and found herself drawing near the harbor—and the tower that rose up above the quays, facing west. That was where the palantír was. Celebrían paused for a moment, gazing up at it, considering. She knew very little about palantíri. But it couldn’t be that difficult, if it was open for anyone to use who wished. She made her way over and up the stairs of the tower, winding round and round, going past wide windows and balconies with views of the harbor and the city, and the Sea beyond. Lamps lit of their own accord as she passed, illuminating the stairs and the bright-colored mosaics on the walls.

The highest room had windows all around, and in the center stood the palantír. It was enormous, and lit with lamps that brightened with each step Celebrían took into the room. Bright-colored tiles lined the walls and floors, though the designs were abstract here, rather than depicting people or scenes as in lower floors. The palantír itself was quite large, coming to Celebrían’s chest as it rested upon a low table of carven stone. It was covered with a large cloth of silk that was light enough to practically fly away with a simple tug. Celebrían rolled it up neatly and set it on the floor beneath the table, so she would not trip, and took a step back to regard the stone. It was very dark, but as she focused her gaze upon it she fancied that she saw flickers of light, like many colored stars twinkling in its depths—which were deeper than the size of the stone.

How marvelous, she thought, stepping up to brush her fingertips over the smooth cool surface, how marvelous that such a great working of Fëanor himself was here for anyone to use who wished. Celebrían was not quite sure what she thought of Fëanor himself, having of course never met him, and having heard many varying tales of him. Mostly, of late, she felt sorry for him. Until that moment she had never really thought of him as a craftsman, though that was of course the source of his greatest fame. But even if this stone were nothing more than what it appeared to be at first glance, she would have called it marvelous. Colors danced beneath her fingertips as she moved them over the surface.

Nervousness coiled in her stomach, as Celebrían wondered whether she would be able to use the stone at all—or if it would be like her mother’s mirror, that might show a person anything at all from the past, present, or possible future. She had never liked that, nor understood the use of it, though evidently her mother had some.

Well, stone was sturdier than water. Celebrían pressed both of her palms against the palantír, feeling it warm beneath her skin, and turned her will and her thoughts to home, to the apple orchard and the rose garden, and the river fed by all the valley’s snow melt streams that tumbled down the mountainsides in a constant song of flowing water no matter the season, and most of all of Elrond, and Arwen, and Elladan and Elrohir, more beloved to her than any jewels or stars or flowers or mountain valleys in the wide world on either side of the Sea.

It seemed both to take no time at all and a very long time for the flickering colors and star bursts inside the palantír to begin to come together and coalesce into an image, remote yet clear. It was Imladris, as seen from the top of the path leading down into the valley. It was sunny, a clear summer day, and as Celebrían watched, hardly daring to breathe, the image moved forward, passing over the house and the gardens and up into the apple orchard. She had planted the first apple trees there, long ago during the War of the Last Alliance, while Elrond was away, and she was glad to see that the trees were still thriving and well-tended. Singing the first blossoms open in the spring had been one of her favorite pastimes.

Now, of course, it was summer, and though the boughs were laden with fruit it was not yet time for the harvest. Underneath one of the trees, in the shade, Celebrían saw Elrond, sitting on the grass with a scattering of paper and parchment around him. He read slowly, leisurely, pausing often to watch a butterfly pass by, or to listen to one of the birds singing in the trees. Celebrían could not hear the birds herself, but she knew Elrond’s letter-reading habits as well as her own, although she had never known him to take them up to the orchard.

He looked well. His hair was loose, falling like shadows over his shoulders. When Celebrían had left Imladris Elrond had looked pale and worn, with dark circles under his eyes and a gauntness to his cheeks; all of that was gone, and he looked sun kissed and content, if a little melancholy.

She could have watched Elrond for hours, but after a time she turned her thoughts to Arwen, and the palantír obliged, the image shivering way from the orchard to Celebrían’s old workroom. Much of it was as she had left it, though the projects scattered about it were new. Arwen sat on the floor in a patch of sunshine, her hair coiled up and knotted at the nape of her neck. All around her were baskets filled with threads of varying hues and thickness. A pile of different skeins sat on the floor in front of her—a new project in the making. Arwen’s brow was furrowed in thought as she sorted through a basket of blues. As Celebrían watched, the door opened and Elladan and Elrohir entered, clad in matching robes and looking relaxed. Arwen looked up and smiled at them, brightening like the sun emerging from the clouds, and abruptly Celebrían found herself gazing at the blank stone as she tried to blink away tears.

She stepped back from the palantír, wiping her palms on her skirts. Perhaps that had been a mistake—or perhaps not. It was a relief beyond measure to see her children smiling, and Elrond looking well, though she wished she were with them. She always wished that, but the ache was not usually so acute. Celebrían took a breath, and picked up the cloth to cover the palantír again, murmuring her thanks to the stone as the silk fell over it in soft drapes.

Then she went home, deliberately turning her thoughts away from the east and to the west, to the mountains. The best cure for such melancholy was occupation, she had often found, and fortunately her days were going to be very occupied indeed.