Summary: Celeborn, Galadriel, Celebrían and a winter morning. Rest of the fic beneath the cut. theresnothingcruviswithme I did the thing.
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“It’s snowing this morning meleth nin,” Celeborn heard his wife’s mischievous voice in his ear and, with a frown, and without opening his eyes, turned over and pulled the blankets up over his head, blocking out the early morning sun that had just begun to crest the horizon.
“What time is it?” He grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut even more tightly. He had never been an early riser, something he attributed to the nocturnal hours that the elves of Doriath had always kept.
Galadriel, however, insisted it had nothing to do with breeding and everything to do with habits. Early to bed, early to rise, she had chided with a grin many a night, lying languidly in bed while he, by the light of the moon, with feet propped up on the balcony, murmured, just a minute more, over the top of some book or another. Of course it was never a moment more. But, it was in the darkness and starlight that he felt most alive. We are like two guards, she keeping the morning watch while I keep the night, he thought even as he watched the light of Tilion’s lamp fade with the coming of Arien’s.
“Time for you to wake up my sleepy love,” Galadriel was laughing softly as she burrowed beneath the covers, her nimble fingers poking at his sides, her kisses soft and feather-light on his neck. He slapped at her hands and struggled in his efforts to escape, only managing to twist himself more securely into the blankets while his wife erupted into full laughter.
“Celeborn,” she sang his name, straddling him as, at last, begrudgingly, he allowed her to tug down the blankets he had pulled over his eyes. He opened them with a frown, the bleary sleep dissipating slowly from them. Well, he thought, there are worse things to wake up to. And there were indeed far worse things to wake up to than his stunningly beautiful wife, her golden hair aglow in the first rays of morning, her big blue eyes all a-twinkle, a cheeky smile gracing her pink lips, her white wool nightdress having slipped off of one elegant shoulder where her soft skin was painted in the pinks and golds of dawn.
“Oh I’m surprised you woke up,” Galadriel said sarcastically, leveling him with a mischievous glance and biting her bottom lip in feigned innocence.
“Don’t pretend as though you do not know your own power,” he said with a frown, though she had managed to warm his heart like a sparking coal in a brazier, despite the early morning chill of the room. Galadriel responded by grinning outright and quirking one golden brow upward. Growling he reached up, pulling her into his strong grasp, rolling over so that she lay below him giggling.
“I love you,” he murmured, stroking her hair back from her face, his eyes fixed softly on hers. Even after all these years those three words still left him with a feeling of hanging in mid air, the way he sometimes dreamed he was falling only to jerk awake suddenly, or the way he felt if he missed a foothold while climbing a very tall tree: as if he were just a boy dangling in the unknown who could not breathe again until she replied.
“I love you too,” she whispered and he released the breath he had been holding, kissing her fully as she opened her mouth to him, moaning softly against his lips. But his kingdom was the night, not the day; in the mornings he rarely had the energy for such things and today was no different. So, after a little while, Galadriel turned on her side, her back against his chest, a contented smile on her face as she snuggled securely against him, pulling the bearskin blankets up about them.
It is snowing after all, he thought as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, gazing out beyond her to the wall of tall windows that lined an entire side of their chambers. The curtains had been drawn back, her doing he supposed, and he could see a thick blanket of snow coating the gentle hills of Harlindon while, like falling sugar and floating feathers, great big snowflakes fell lazily through the crisp, clear, blue of morning to land gently upon the bare branches of trees and the shiny, deep, green leaves and bright, cheery, red berries of the myriad of holly bushes that populated the kingdom.
Galadriel laughed softly. “There, isn’t that worth waking up for?” She whispered, freeing one hand from the blankets to point to where a sable rabbit had leapt out from behind a tree, darting off across the snow-covered meadow to hide in a stand of holly from which red cardinals burst upward into the sky, winging their way across the brilliant sunrise of gold, and orange, and pink that was split only be the luminescent rays of sunlight.
“It’s beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Yes,” Galadriel said with a tone of supreme satisfaction, “now tell me I was right.”
“You’re always right,” he whispered into her ear, words for her and her alone. Only she had the power to draw them forth from him.
She shifted in the circle of his arms, turning to press her head against his chest, and he held her happily. Harlindon was growing on him. Of course, it did not have anywhere the hold over him that Doriath had and he doubted any kingdom ever would again. But still, there was something he liked about the rustic kingdom they had built here with its houses of sturdy polished wood, big stone fireplaces filled with merrily crackling flames, floors carpeted in bear, and wolf, and mountain lion pelts, wrought iron chandeliers teeming with soft white candles that hung from the rafters. It all rather reminded him of a hunting lodge. Perhaps that was what he had had in mind when they had built the city.
But neither Doriath, nor Harlindon, nor anything or anywhere else could be called a home when compared to the solace of Galadriel’s arms. That was where his heart came to lay down its burdens, where he could relieve his mind and his thoughts to her, where his fea found its rest and, more than that, its joy in communion with her. The loss of Doriath had been a severe blow, but all the kingdoms in the world could sink beneath the sea so long as he still had her. She was his true home and here, together in this wild and untamed frontier, they had built themselves a new home and a new family.
He had never particularly cared for children, found them rather annoying, never imagined having or wanting them for himself. He had always been a solitary man and children were simply one more thing to tie him down. But, with Galadriel something had changed. When he made love to her he always felt as though it wasn’t enough, as though nothing was enough, as though he could lose himself in her body and she in his a million times over and still he would never be sated. There was perpetually some gnawing feeling at the pit of his heart crying out for more and more, and he felt it in her too when they were joined, the longing for something further, something greater, something to take this immortal love they felt for one another and make it incarnate, to take some intangible feeling that words could not even begin to describe and breathe it into a soul, into flesh, into something physical and present that lived and breathed with a heart that beat a pulse just as surely as she and he did.
The result of such feelings that had overpowered them some few years ago, breaking all their restraints like a bursting dam, the water flowing out to join the ocean in perfect confluence, was named Celebrían and he could hear her footsteps now pattering over the lacquered wood floor of the broad hallway, speaking eagerly to the guards who let her enter, throwing open the two wide wooden doors with their wrought iron hinges. Like a bird, she cleared the span between the door and the bed as if she had wings and, momentarily, the young silver-haired girl nestled herself between her parents with a grin reminiscent of her father’s when he was about to get up to trouble.
He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep again for Celebrían’s benefit, and he heard her giggle followed by Galadriel’s soft laughter. “Why don’t you wake up your lazy adar?” Galadriel murmured.
“He’s very, very lazy,” Celebrían laughed and he could not help the smile that crooked the corners of his mouth upward ever so slightly. “Ada you faker!” Celebrían shrieked amidst a peal of hysterical giggles as she grabbed at his nose with chubby little fingers, pushed his eyebrows up, and began tugging at his long silver hair.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch!” He said in a deep voice, brow furrowed in mock sternness as his eyes snapped open. Celebrían shrieked with laughter, giddy, twisting and turning in delight. But Celeborn sat straight up, wrapping his arms around his daughter, tickling fingers finding purchase in her sides and Celebrían wriggled like a fish, laughing even harder.
“Naneth, help!” She cried, squirming away from her father as Galadriel, still laughing, reached out with open arms for their daughter.
“Come here penneth!” Galadriel said, still laughing, and Celebrían escaped her father’s clutches to take refuge in her mother’s arms where, once safely there, she stuck out her tongue at her father.
“He’s so bad!” Celebrían yelped with a grin.
“He certainly is!” Galadriel said, smirking at her husband over their daughter’s head.
“I’ll show you the meaning of ‘bad’ tonight,” Celeborn murmured, to which Galadriel raised a golden brow.
“What does that mean Naneth?” Celebrían piped up but Galadriel merely kissed the top of her head and ran her fingers through her hair.
“Nothing dear heart,” Galadriel said with a smile. “Would you like to go play in the snow?”
“Oh yes, Naneth, yes!” Celebrían laughed gleefully bouncing in her mother’s lap. “Are you coming to play too Adar?” She asked, turning to Celeborn.
“Of course I am,” he said, reaching out to squeeze his daughter’s tiny hands, his heart lit aglow by the twinkle in her eye. She was more perfect than he could ever have imagined possible and every time he saw her he was amazed by the love that flooded his heart. At first he had imagined it a novelty, something that would become mundane after a while, but, like his love for Galadriel, it only grew more with each passing day. He had been surprised too with how well motherhood had suited his wife. Like him, she had never particularly desired children but Celebrían, it seemed, had changed both their minds and hearts. In her he saw the best of both of them and he had no doubt Galadriel saw it too.
She slipped from the bed, bouncing their daughter on her hip. “Well, if you want to go out you will need your warmest coat and your boots,” Galadriel said to Celebrían with an air of great serious and the little silver-haired girl nodded solemnly. “Do you need me to help you or…”
“No! I can do it myself!” Celebrían piped up, tugging on her mother’s hair, eager to prove how very mature she could be.
“Very well then,” Galadriel said with a grin, rubbing her nose against her daughter’s before setting the child down. Celebrían scampered off to fetch her things and Celeborn stood, stretching and yawning as Galadriel ran a brush through her hair. She dressed quickly, exchanging her nightdress for woolen breeches, fur-lined boots, and a thick shirt over which she pulled a warm cloak. Celeborn, having little energy in the mornings, was slow to dress and seated himself on the bed once more to pull on socks and boots while Galadriel brushed his hair. He closed his eyes, lingering in the bliss of that silent, intimate moment.
“She is so much like you, wanting to run off and do things all by herself,” Galadriel murmured, placing a gentle kiss on his temple and he smiled.
I was going to say she is so much like you for precisely the same reason, he replied in his mind and he heard her laugh echo there as he turned to wrap his arms around his wife. They stayed like that for a moment, holding one another, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, soft smiles as their minds and hearts flowed in communion with one another. And then he heard his wife’s shuddering sigh and knew what thoughts were in her mind, for they were in his as well.
Winters were hard for them both and it had nothing to do with the cold. The Helcaraxë…I dreamed it again, he heard her voice. I cannot forget the way that Elenwë’s face looked beneath the ice…even after all these years. Countless were the nights when she had awoken sweating, trembling body twisted in the sheets, kicking off the covers as she gasped for air and wept silently in the night. Equally numerous were the nights when he awoke, staggering to the window, fumbling with the latch and throwing it open, knuckles white as he grasped the sill, his lungs too tight, unable to get enough air to breathe. Fëanor’s sons had come in the winter. The snow was red like wine, he thought and felt her draw him closer in response, cradling his head in her hands.
They both sighed, lost in deep memory, but their melancholy was interrupted by the frantic pattering of feet and then the sudden shriek of, “ew!” Putting dark thoughts aside and laughing, they both turned to see Celebrían, holding her boots in one hand, her coat in the other, and sticking her tongue out, looking very cross at them.
“Is something the matter, penneth?” Celeborn asked, striding forward to lift his daughter into his arms and spinning her about. He noticed that she had put her dress on backwards and glanced towards Galadriel, wondering if he should right it, but his wife merely smiled and shook her head.
“You and Naneth were all…all…touching each other!” Celebrian said as her father sat, pulling her onto his lap and sliding her boots on over her warm woolen stockings.
“Naneth and Adar do occasionally touch one another,” he said with a chuckle, glancing towards Galadriel as Celebrían shook her silver head. His wife gave him a stern warning look.
“It’s icky,” his daughter said, staring up at him with wide blue eyes that so resembled her mother’s save for the fact that, like his own, they did not bear the light of Aman.
“Perhaps one day you might find you are of a different opinion,” he told her, which caused Celebrían to make a face indicating she most certainly did not believe this to be the case. He laced her boots and then set her down, whereupon Galadriel managed, with a bit of a struggle and a good deal of wiggling on both their parts, to get Celebrían into her coat. Then, at last, they made their way through the corridor, Celebrían skipping and tugging on her parents’ hands, impatient to be outside.
“Hurry, hurry!” She commanded, stalking ahead of them with an air of authority.
“She gets that impatience from you,” Galadriel hissed with a smug grin, her blue eyes dancing in mirth, and Celeborn leveled her with a mock glare.
“I was about to remark on how she gets that arrogance from you,” he said mischievously.
“Oh you had better watch yourself!” Galadriel retorted, eyes going wide with feigned offense, though the mirth in their depths betrayed her true sentiments. They had reached the doors and Celebrían bolted out, fast as an arrow loosed from a bow, whooping like a hoodlum as she bounded and forged her way through the deep snow.
But Celeborn stopped suddenly, his heart thundering at the memory, his ears ringing with the long silent cries of the dead, his hands trembling, and he felt Galadriel’s fingers tight about his - too tight - and knew that even now the haunting sounds of cracking ice and the indelible memories of those she had lost to the murky depths of the far north rang like hollow bells in her mind.
“Naneth? Adar?” Celebrían asked, cocking her head quizzically, turning back towards them.
“It’s alright darling,” Galadriel said, but her voice was still trembling. “It…it’s just the ice.”
“And Ada?” Celebrían asked, eyes bright with concern. But, Celeborn found himself unable to speak and only swallowed dryly.
“It’s the snow, sweetheart, it reminds him of red,” Galadriel said, her voice still breathy, desperate. “We’ll be fine, just run along now. Enjoy yourself.” She managed a smile for Celebrían’s benefit but the child merely gave her mother an oddly analytical look before slowly walking off, carefully observing her surroundings.
“Are you alright?” Celeborn whispered, turning to his wife, pulling her cloak about her more tightly, rubbing her hands. She nodded, raising her eyes to meet his and, despite the pain there, he saw the steel that lay underneath.
“Yes,” she said softly, “yes, it will pass. And you?” She squeezed his hand.
“It will pass,” he said, letting out the breath he had been holding. They stood there in silence for a few more moments until that peace was interrupted by a sharp tugging on both of their cloaks and the sound of someone very small clearing her throat. They both looked down to see Celebrían staring up at them, two clumsily woven wreaths of holly, their bright red berries encapsulated in ice so that they glimmered and sparkled in the early morning light, clutched tightly in chubby little hands.
They both stared at her in amazement, awed by how she had perceived their hearts with such clarity. Then, wordlessly, Celeborn reached down to lift their daughter, perching her on his hip and, with a benevolent smile, as if she were some goddess bestowing gifts upon adoring subjects - and perhaps she was just that - she placed a wreath first upon Galadriel’s golden head and then the other upon Celeborn’s silver one. “It’s not all bad,” she said with the tone of wisdom beyond her years, “the winter, and the red, and the ice: it’s not all bad.”
Mappa di Harlindon. Lond Arador ed Henneth Telumethar (la finestra dello spadaccino del Cielo, o Orione) la torre dove Menelruth, Celendandor, Heru, Anarya, Dwalin, Albar e Dhargo sono sotto assedio
