Celeborn cast an agitated glance at his wife as he paced a new pattern into the rug, and promptly tripped over the corner. He uttered a curse Feanor himself would have startled at and Galadriel raised her eyebrows.
"I thought," she said levelly. "That we were agreed upon this."
"No. No, Galadriel, you decided." Celeborn splayed the fingers of one hand in agitation.
"Ah." The lady said, and that one word spun Celeborn in his tracks to stare at her, his features tight with unease. "So... you believe we should reconsider."
The certainty and lack of inflection in her tone rankled with the long pause before she spoke.
"This isn't fair, Galadriel," Celeborn said abruptly. "We should have brought this up weeks ago."
"The betrothal has been finalised for a year. Celebrían knows her duty in the matter. She had never been led to believe that there was any other motivation behind the match Lord Elrond proposed to her. She is aware that it was at my suggestion that he entered into discussions with us. She has been aware of the pending suit since the negotiations began with Gil-galad prior to the march of the Alliance." Galadriel sounded detached; she could not speak of the late high king, her cousin, without doing so. "Celebrían knows nothing of love, and what one does not know of one rarely misses having."
"How can you say that?" Celeborn cried out, staring at his wife as realisation dawned. The clinical detachment with which she had orchestrated this match made the situation all the more macabre: the exchange of a daughter for an alliance, for the security of two failing lines of ancients was as practical as it was necessary as it was cold-heartedly political. Galadriel could relegate emotion to a realm secondary to duty. As for Elrond, Celeborn was not even certain if he had access to emotion in this new Age of the world, so much of him had died upon the battlefield of the Last Alliance, and along with it Celeborn's own tolerance for what should and must be done. Duty was a remorseless master; he began to doubt its rewards.
Shaking his head to clear it, he continued to pace as he thought out his case to Galadriel. "We have not led Celebrían falsely," he agreed at last, "But a young girl has hopes. She knows of love from ballads and tales; she has proof enough before her daily that marriage is not just property and business and heirs."
Galadriel did not react. "Celeborn, Celebrían undertook this as a duty. A further reminder of that will do no harm. Today, the need for it is greater; she cannot break this match, but she cannot forget the terms upon which it was founded." "Nor can we all," Celeborn murmured. For a moment his mind unkindly recollected the finalisation of the documents that bound his daughter and one of his oldest friends to a dutiful eternity.
Through the lens of memory he watched again as Elrond picked up his pen to sign the concluding draft of the marriage alliance. Celeborn's own hand detailed the exchange:
To be given in dowry for the marital alliance of Celebrían, daughter of Galadriel, lady of Lothlórien, and Celeborn, lord of the same, with Elrond Peredhel, master of Imladris: two hundred and sixteen gemstones: 40 rubies, 76 sapphires, 12 emeralds, 69 diamonds, and 19 peridots as requested; five hundred yards of woven silk; two minstrels; four handmaids; and the eternal alliance between the kingdoms of Lothlórien, east of the Misty Mountains, and Imladris, west of the same (terms and conditions of allegiance concerning regular trade and war interactions listed overleaf) understood to be in exchange for the provision for Celebrían throughout her life and the procreation of at least one heir for the united kingdoms.
Elrond laid down his pen and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The leaden ache of emptiness that sat low in his stomach leached coldness through him again. It chilled the breath from his lungs, slowed the lethargic beat of his heart. Celeborn could feel it in the air: the flagging of a spirit taxed beyond endurance. He shuddered, though Glorfindel had warned him beforehand. The Elda's eyes had been worried when he glanced between his lord and Celeborn before they retreated to the inner chamber of Lorien's lord.
"I know this is hard for you," Glorfindel said with his customary directness, "But I beg of you not to overtax him. We do not know if the peredhil can fade; we do not wish to find out."
He had tried, tried to conceal how much his own hand shook as he copied from Galadriel's elegant scrawl the previous draft of the contract and its revisions; the drafts had been mercifully few, the harshest of the formalities dispensed with as soon as they were able. He snapped the nib of his pen twice; if Elrond noticed, he gave no sign. Celeborn himself could not ignore the other lord's behaviour.
"Elrond?" Celeborn spoke, hearing the clipped coolness of his own voice; now he winced at the sound.
Elrond lifted his head wearily.
"Elrond, are you well?"
Though the words spoke of concern, Celeborn was angry; listening again he knew, as he had known then, that he failed to disguise it. Elrond wanted this to happen no more than he did. Somehow that made it the more painful. The shackles of duty clamped painfully closed. None have found a key. Celeborn observed his own expression sadly, noticing the lines of disbelief. But, he conceded, he was at least silent for a few moments, giving Elrond time to compose himself. It did not matter whether they liked this or not. It had to be done. For the greater good.
"Yes," Elrond replied. "I am fine."
It was not true. It was not true then, when the discussions of an alliance to Gil-galad began. It had been the king who had to marry; Elrond, as his chosen heir, was safe in secondary capacity. Or so all but the primary negociators had believed, while they rested safe in the fragile belief that the need would never arise. Elrond had refused the crown of high king, but the duties left to him remained.
The air felt sick and cold; Elrond leaned his head into his hands once more.
"Elrond," Celeborn's voice was sharp. "We were discussing the dowry?"
Elrond nodded automatically. He did not seem able to think. Celeborn's heavy sigh weighed upon the silence. The oppression of that moment, he realised, had not lifted from his heart.
He became conscious of Galadriel's eyes upon him, neutral, waiting.
"We are *not* doing this," the lord of Lothlórien spoke with unusual violence. "I have watched her, Galadriel. Perhaps before you she retains her composure, that which you consider befits your daughter and her task. But she and Elrond are friends: she hopes, she dreams of more; I will not shatter that, not on the day she must foreswear command of her eternity. If you were so determind that she should know, you should have brought it up weeks ago."
"I know." Galadriel sighed at her own admission. "I should and she should have been counselled from these foolish dreams. I knew not of them."
Celeborn shook his head. "Sometimes, my lady," he said wearily, "I wonder if you ever remember being in love yourself."
"I still am," Galadriel said, exchanging her soft smile for his reluctant one. "Perhaps I do forget the fortune that permitted me to wed love and aspirations with one band."
Celeborn nodded, his eyes resting on her for an affectionate beat before he sighed again.
"Still, the greater reason that our daughter be reminded," Galadriel continued, "That the two are not reconciled for all, and that duty itself is a reward."
Celeborn was silent; his own conviction in that still ravaged by the all too present recollections of a long, hard, unwon war. The end had been postponed with the cutting of the ring from the hand of Sauron; this day a ring would, barring sacrilege, end the choices of two whose names and natures were unsullied. It didn't seem fair. "Tell that to Elrond," he said at last.
Galadriel stepped toward him. "Elrond knows this," she said firmly. "It is not he, Celeborn, who needs the reminder. I stand by what I said before. Elrond can provide Celebrían with great rewards, high station, a life not unlike her present condition; he is a friend and a good man. He can offer her much in that respect. You cannot ask him to give what he has lost. It is but fortune that he remains with us at all."
"Fortune, lady, good or ill?" Celeborn quietly demanded.
"That is not yet for us to decide," Galadriel cautioned.
Celeborn sighed. "Galadriel, I beg of you, hold your peace. Let us not betray Elrond's secret. Celebrían knows at least that his heart belonged to another; it is nothing short of cruelty to reveal who. Let our daughter take comfort in what hopes she has. It may not come to ill. Perchance Elrond may find some comfort in her, what little is to be had."
Galadriel was silent for a long moment. Finally she nodded. "I bow to your judgement, Celeborn the Wise," she said. "Come then, let us to wed."
The customary feast took place before the speaking of the vows that would complete the ceremony. The conventions of marriage were not rigid, though it would have been considered inappropriate in times of peace to forgo the rites entirely. Yet the marriage strayed a little from convention in many respects, both Elrond and Celebrían being a great many years beyond the usual age of matrimony, which frequently coincided with the coming into adulthood. Her old nurse, Linariel, who had been among the party accompaning Celebrian to Imladris, walked the front gardens of Imladris with her early in the morn of her wedding day. As they watched the morning birds flitting among the gardens bedecked with finery, she squeezed Celebrian's hand and whispered that fortune had favoured her hand and heart in equal measure. In the grounds tall bowers, planted a year earlier in preparation, had come into bud as anticipated, casting soft white petals upon the ground, while flowers as perfect and white as the full moon nestled proudly amidst the greenery. The elves of Lorien and Imladris congregated around the moment when Lorien's daughter and the master of Imladris would join hands and kingdoms with the pledge of eternity. Such friendly relations as the kingdoms already boasted scarcely needed such an emblem, so far as Celebrían could see, but there had been precious little to celebrate in too many shadowed centuries. Those who had not stood upon the battlefield rejoiced in the lifting of the curse; those who had were more than willing to cast aside their lingering cloaks of wariness to embrace relief from memories and future fears.
Yet she was reminded, as Elrond stood to address the assembled elves, of why exactly the marriage was to take place. The suit that had been proposed with the high king during the later part of the Second Age had been one she had never really expected to have to fulfil. The king had averted numerous matches organised for him during the course of his reign, some perilously close to completion – one of which had secured for him the disfavour of King Oropher, cousin of the lady in question. It had become a useful convention among the ladies whose position required they married by free will to secure alliances to express an interest in the high king, which would instantaneously put paid to all other potential suits, and would surely never be culminated; and if it was, being made Queen was rarely seen as a disadvantage. Yet this match had been ordained on no uncertain terms, which Elrond now announced to the people of the kingdoms.
"My lords and ladies, elves of Lothlórien and Imladris, welcome to you all." Elrond's voice carried easily, and Celebrían found herself listening to the timbre and tone rather than the words she had so often heard detailed, rather more concisely summarised, much to her relief. "We come together this day to join the realms of Lothlórien and Imladris, the ancient line of Finwe and the Noldor and my own, that of Luthien, who first chose a mortal life and brought unity to the lines of the First and Second Born..."
Celebrían caught her mother's eye for a moment, as Elrond spoke of the return to unity the marriage would bring, not just for Imladris and Lorien, but for the elven kingdoms as a whole. And one day, she quietly noted, reunion with the Faithful among the men of Numenor. A child of hers, of Elrond's, would take upon her, a child of First Born, the choice of Luthien. If anything else her mother had foreseen when the mirror had revealed this path, she had told Celebrían no more of it, save of what Elrond now spoke. Yet this tiny jewel was information she alone must hold; to Elrond, she was forbidden to speak of it.
Celebrían clasped her father's hand tightly as she stood between her parents, awaiting her suitor. She was acutely conscious of the numbers of elves, who gathered in bocquets or flitted like butterflies between the groups. All eyes were turned her way, all voices lowered, yet still able to mute the reassuring whisper of the breeze or the rippling song of the Bruinen. Their presence swelled as Elrond, accompanied by Erestor and Glorfindel, stepped out of the house to stand beside her. Celebrían swallowed hard, feeling her father's grip on her hand tighten. She glanced sideways at him, and his eyes met hers. His smile, warm and reassuring, was completely at odds with the reluctance she could see in his eyes. Celebrían sighed to herself. She loved her father dearly, but the last thing she wanted to see was a reminder of his unhappiness with this match. His fondness for Elrond, his belief in the necessity of this marriage were quite outweighed by his desire not to see his only daughter married for politics. Comfort beyond her reach, Celebrían looked at her mother; Galadriel stood erect and composed: her conviction shone from her like one of Elbereth's stars. She would not permit doubt. Following her example, Celebrían lifted her head and turned to meet Elrond.
His eyes had flicked over her parents too, but now were turned toward his valley; for a fleeting instant something like resentment crossed his face. He looked toward her and she raised her chin. She searched his face for the kind-eyed, soft-spoken, thoughtful friend she had begun to see him as before the coming of the war, fearing she would find only the empty, instrospective loneliness she had witnessed in him when he had thought that they had parted company on the few occasions he had come to speak with her during their betrothal. Then he smiled.
"Hello, Celebrían," he said.
The words transcended the buoyant air of anticipation that had threatened to engulf her, lifted her above it to ground her firmly somewhere beyond the expectations and she too smiled in relief.
"Hello, Elrond."
The smile on his lips reached his eyes and he too seemed to relax. He raised one hand and lightly touched the moonstones woven into the lace at the neck of her gown. The pale stones picked up the soft, lichen colour of the fabric.
"You look as does a gilded lily," he said quietly, his fingers brushing over the few draping tendrils of her golden hair.
Celebrian stiffened slightly and frowned. Elrond caught the tiny motion and raised an eyebrow.
"You speak in the tones of compliment, yet your words are not so. What mean you by that?" Celebrian asked uncertainly. "I am indeed a lady."
"Forgive me," Elrond spoke gently, sounding confused. "I know but two meanings of the gilded lily – a rare flower and a good name for the maiden daughter of royalty, both of which you are."
Celebrian shook her head. "Among men, perhaps its meaning is that only; among ladies 'tis the name for an unchaste daughter of the same."
Elrond frowned. "Ah. Then truly I ask your forgiveness. Please take the words only as they were intended, my lady."
She smiled. "I shall. Though I caution you next time to recall the third translation."
"I will indeed." Elrond looped back a long strand of his hair and smiled back at her. He drew a long slow breath. "Well, my lady, are you ready to commence?"
She echoed his deep breath and nodded. His eyes ticked past her and he inclined his head to Celeborn. She felt, rather than saw, her father nod. He stepped back then, allowing Galadriel room to stand forward. Elrond stepped to meet her, and received around his neck a slender silver chain of tiny mallorn leaves interlinked by their stems upon which hung a moonstone set in a silver pendant whose edging resembled the crags of Imladris. Elrond touched one hand to his chest and bowed his head to Galadriel as he murmured his thanks. Galadriel's look prompted her to stand forward, and Celebrían did so. Glorfindel, the closest to a father-figure who could be called upon for Elrond to complete the symbolic rites, gifted to her a brooch in the shape of a pheonix, silver, but with carnelian and amber and ruby stones colouring the long sweeps of his feathers; a single emerald was his jewelled eye. Then Elrond held out his hand to her.
Celebrían later could recall little of the actual vows, repeating the words her mother murmured to her, for she and Elrond were to speak their own vows given both age, station and the nature of their joining. She watched Elrond's lips move as he too spoke the necessary piece, and together they named Eru as their solemniser. A shiver passed down her spine as she spoke his name, fanning both happiness and sorrow throughout her. She had little time to wonder at the touch, for the crowd held its collective breath around her, and she lifted her head to complete the final part of the public solemnities.
Nervousness caught her by surprise and she almost gasped as Elrond's lips met hers; shocked to find the tremble passed right through her. She almost raised a hand to – clutch at him, or perhaps push him away, but before she could a delighted chorus rose around them. Applause rained down around them and they broke apart. Elrond's eyes had widened slightly and swung toward the assembled elves as if in amazement. Wanting to hide her face in his robes, certain that her blush would not compliment her gown, Celebrían caught his eye and his eyebrows quirked up.
"My, my," he murmured softly, "Can it possibly be that we have pleased everyone?"
Celebrían giggled, and returned the reassuring squeeze of his hand. "So it would seem," she noted.
Then suddenly she was running, as they were pushed from the steps to race, hand in hand, through the bower, and spin into the first steps as the minstrels struck up into song that would whirl the following hours into a single dizzying dance.
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