Laer o Faen

Harlindon nu Lindon

"Is there no one upon whom your favour falls, Celyn?"

This time his words were full serious, and melancholy. She shook her head, though her belly flipped to accompany the lie, even as her brother further expressed his concern.

"But so long unpledged, nethen – I fear what fate awaits you."

"Ereinion," she made herself chuckle though she could see that her affected mirth did nothing to allay his fears, so let the sound of it die away into the softness of a sigh. "I am only now returned to the world after my exile. Would you have me throw myself into the arms of the first elf I meet that is not too close among our kin?"

As her tongue formed the question, her mind conjured the image as though before her eyes, tall, with hair as silver-blond as starlight, ice-blue eyes that pierced to the very soul of a matter and yet at once held the promise of so much more.

"I would have you happy, little one, not weighed by destiny as yet unknown," he said, and the image before her shattered into many pieces that lodged beneath her skin like welcome splinters.

"The only destiny that weighs me, my King, is to carry the Line of Finarfin, an occult responsibility born of blood. Our mother and father had their reasons, we cannot know what mother saw before she passed from this world, but we must respect it, and be content in wake of her wisdom."

"And what do you see, Celyndailiel?" he asked softly. "What fate is it that yet remains over us– a crystal dagger waiting to fall?"

She shook her head, pushing against a sudden cold that began to close an unyielding fist around her lungs, a breathlessness creeping over her, and a veil, like a shroud to cloud her vision, yet beyond it a ring of fire, burning like some foul gaze in the darkness.

"No," she told him sharply. "Do not ask me that, for you know I cannot say."

"It is not over then?" he said, "That reason by which our mother kept you hidden all these years has yet to come to pass?"

"Gil-Galad, you are High King, and the last of the line of Finarfin," she said in answer, voicing the deception that their mother had wrought, "that is what the world believes, that is the safety mother wished the world to believe, and we will never know what reason moved her to hide herself away when she knew that I was to come after you. It grieves my heart that I never knew her in life. Please do not ask me to reveal what warnings she sends to me from beyond her death."

"Forgive me," he breathed, and drew her into a gentle, but tight embrace. "I know these years have been hard on you, and I have visited you only seldom."

"But I know you are my brother; I love you, and I hold you not to blame for embracing your duty as I have embraced mine." She looked up at him, "We are at least together now, and for this time, let us rejoice in that, albeit we must obscure the reason."

... She took a breath, the memory of her walk with Gil-Galad changing her mind about walking alone, if not calming her restlessness. The air felt expectant – almost pregnant with some event yet to come, and it left her prickling with uncomfortable awareness that all she knew was about to change.

** ** **

Arriving at the head of the small hunting party, Thranduil tossed his rein to the groom, and dropped lightly from the saddle. His cloak brushed lightly over the new fall of leaves in the courtyard, and as if the sound of it hushed the bustle of the busy court, he felt eyes turn his way as he strode toward the doorway that led inside.

"Thranduil," He stopped mid-stride at the sound of his father's voice from behind him. "You are come late. What word from the woodland?"

He stiffened, not at what he father had said, but at the tone. Oropher had been waiting for him. It meant he had some task for him yet – and likely one he would not have chosen willingly, but would obey none the less.