High Princes of Tirion
by Nemis
For Alena, who was the first to introduce me to Nerdanel, and for Joan Milligan, who really is the person who gave me the lil Celebrimbor plotbunny. May the both of you continue to entertain us with excellent stories for a long time. :)
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Chapter Twenty-Six Politics and Tree Houses
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As he listened to Fingon’s calm voice expounding on the proposed expansion plans for the City, Ereinion shuffled through his notes. It had been a tiring debate, there had been good arguments from all sides, but it was starting to drag on. Precise locations were now being focussed on by representatives, even though these should be discussion points only later on. It was somewhat exasperating.
It was not so much lunch that was on the High Prince’s mind, as where he was going to be taking it.
When still a messenger for his father, he had not liked visiting the large white house in the Old City, the oldest part of Tirion. The fact that he now had his own hall to impress people with changed nothing. There was simply too much history about the place, he thought.
As Fingon stepped back, voices rose, speaking both in Quenya and Sindarin, and all at the same time, trying to rise above each other. Fingolfin brought up a hand which seemed to quiet some of the voices, but not all.
With a sigh, Ereinion rose, but instead of taking the speaker’s place, he stepped down and casually wandered into the direction of the council seats.
Gildor gave him an amused smile as he shifted to allow the High Prince enough room to be seated at the end of the bench.
More voices quietened, as if they were straining to eavesdrop on the private negotiations that were to take place now.
‘You know that whichever way this vote goes, I shall be involved, yes?’ Ereinion commented, kindly smiling to some council members that were quite directly looking at them from further away, not even attempting to hide it. Gildor nodded, as Finrod leant over and joined in.
‘No one would even think of building eastward, so, indeed, whether or not we shall expand in a southerly direction or a northerly, the western part of the City will be involved.’
Gildor raised an amused eyebrow.
‘So, what is it you wish to propose, my Lord?’ He grinned. ‘We have heard little of you since you emerged after that unexpected vanishing some time ago.’
Ereinion smiled.
‘I am quite ready to vote with you on expansion north, as are my father and, specifically, my grandfather, who, as you well know, holds responsibility over the northern part of Tirion. It seems the more logical decision. However, there is something I wish to include in the proposal. A point which my father has not taken into account in his present plans.’
Finrod nodded, and gave his cousin a perceptive smile.
‘You wish to have no expansion south of the river that flows from Tirion.’
Gildor seemed thoughtful for a moment, as Ereinion nodded.
‘Precisely.’
Then, shortly drumming his fingers on the desk before him, Gildor shook his head, and glanced at Ereinion.
‘This has something to do with Imloth?’
The High Prince adapted an innocent look.
‘But Gildor, mellon-iaur, you know as well as I do Imloth is not politically active...’
‘Ha!’ Gildor replied, sitting back and folding his arms, shaking his head. ‘The day Imloth ceases to be politically active, is the day I retire and take up gardening.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Elrond Peredhil might be enjoying seeing his grandchildren growing up, but each message to an old friend is one that is taken into account, and you know it, Ereinion. And the fact that your Halls are crawling with descendants of the House of Elrond... Well...’
‘You have our vote here,’ Finrod interrupted quietly. ‘I shall make certain your father’s proposal shall be worked out, with a supplement stating no building south of the river will be permitted.’ He smiled. ‘Keeping the road to Imloth a quiet one.’
Bowing his head in thanks, Ereinion grinned.
‘So, can two members of the High Council and a High Prince call an end to a gathering such as the one we find ourselves in?’
‘I should certainly think so,’ Finrod said, rising. He raised a hand and met Fingolfin’s eyes.
‘My Lord, the Lords Gildor and Ereinion and myself ask for the conclusion of this assembly. In the morrow we shall bring forth a proposal which I believe shall be able to receive the blessing of the majority of the Council.’
Fingolfin nodded.
‘May it be so, my Lord Finrod.’
Under an increasing murmur of voices, the council was brought to a close, and Ereinion rose from his position on the edge of the bench.
‘Will you join us, Ereinion?’ Finrod asked, ‘For further discussion?’
At that moment Elrohir appeared at Ereinion’s side, and the High Prince shook his head.
‘I fear I must decline, cousin. I am expected in the Old City this afternoon.’
‘Ah yes, you always visit there this time of week, is that not so?’ Gildor replied, while collecting some papers. ‘Do tell, how does the young smith?’
‘Quite well,’ Ereinion replied. ‘Though he seems preoccupied with other matters at this point. Which is not a bad thing, I suppose.’
‘And what would these other matters be?’ Gildor enquired with a glance at Finrod, who stood listening.
Hesitating for a second, Ereinion shook his head.
‘Carpentry. But if you will excuse me, my Lords?’ He turned and strode towards the doors of the entrance, but if he had thought he could make a quick enough exit, he had been mistaken.
‘Carpentry...’ Gildor mused, only to raise his voice so it reached the High Prince’s ears clearly. ‘Was that not one of your favourite pastimes, Gil-galad?’
Elrohir could not keep from smiling as Ereinion grinned upon leaving the Hall.
They walked purposefully, knowing that if they in any way appeared as if they were not on their way somewhere, an observing lord would no doubt seize the opportunity, causing Ereinion to be even more delayed than he already was.
‘So, we have our votes?’ Elrohir asked quietly, as they stepped out onto the streets and halted for a moment.
‘Yes, you can tell your brother we have them.’
‘Very well, I shall. Give my regard to your hosts.’
Saying a quick goodbye, both went on their separate ways.
Ereinion walked through one of the parks in Tirion lost in thought, not paying attention to summer making its way into the City. He had more or less expected Gildor to catch on to the mention of carpentry. He had wanted to be reminded of it, and his last piece of work.
He had never been one for jewels and metals, he simply did not posses the feel for crafting those. But due to his Noldorin heritage, he could pride himself on some aptitude in a certain trade.
The wooden box had been quite nice, he admitted. He had not started it with Celebriníel in mind, but it had grown there, under his fingers. A result of his thoughts focussed on other things it had been, somehow translated into the wood. Once finished, her begetting day had been near, and he had asked several craftsmen to fabricate the matching writing set. It had been a good present, he agreed with himself.
‘And you were a fool to give her the jewel,’ he mumbled.
Passing the gate and entering into the flourishing garden that would lead up to the house that was his destination, he heard a shout and soon found a small child lounging himself at him.
‘I knew you would come!’
Smiling broadly, he caught the boy and lifted him in a confident movement. It always went like this.
‘The council meeting ran late, or I would have been here earlier.’
Celebrimbor nodded.
‘Daernaneth told me. Why do councils always run late?’
Ereinion shrugged, and shifted the child into a more comfortable position on his arm.
‘No one keeps to the agenda.’
The boy wriggled a little in his arms until he managed to indicate his purpose. Grabbing a hold of the small tunic, Ereinion felt Celebrimbor clamber onto his shoulder.
‘Seated?’ he asked, as the movement ceased.
‘Yes,’ the boy beamed, and Ereinion felt him grab a hold of his collar to secure himself further. ‘I want to show you something in the back garden.’
Not hungry enough to refuse the boy, Ereinion did as requested. It was only a moment later that Celebrimbor started shifting, indicating he wanted to be set down again. As soon as his feet caught the ground, he caught Ereinion’s hand and pulled him towards a broad tree.
‘Could we build a tree-house?’
The High Prince stood very silently for a moment, head raised, his eyes focussed on the branches above. It was a good tree for this purpose, it would not take much effort to build in it. And it would be a nice challenge.
Smiling amusedly, he looked aside, where he found the boy eyeing him curiously.
‘Will you help?’
Ereinion nodded.
‘I will.’
Celebrimbor looked at the tree a moment, then his eyes began to glimmer.
‘Can we start right away?’
Walking around the tree, carefully making some silent calculations, Ereinion smiled.
‘We would have to get wood, and we would need plans. And permission, I do not think your Daernaneth will like it if we simply start wreaking havoc in her tree.’
Running around the tree, Celebrimbor watched Ereinion intently.
‘Oh, please? Can we ask her right now?’
With a laugh, Ereinion turned towards the house.
‘In a while, be patient.’
Slightly disappointed, Celebrimbor sighed.
‘I have been waiting to ask you since last week.’
Biting his lips thoughtfully a moment, Ereinion looked down at him.
‘I suppose that if we get permission, we could start clearing branches. Perhaps see what kinds of wood we can obtain.’
Immediately beaming once more, the elfling enthusiastically nodded his consent and extended a hand, which elicited another chuckle from the High Prince, as he accepted it. Celebrimbor grinned.
‘Let us go ask Daernaneth.’
Allowing himself be dragged inside, Ereinion could not help being amused for a moment.
‘I came to have lunch, you will allow me to have lunch, Celebrimbor?’
‘Yeees, later.’
Once inside the house, they did not have to search long before they found Nerdanel.
Emerging from a neighbouring room, she smiled as Celebrimbor ran towards her. Whereas he had flung himself into Ereinion’s arms before, he was much more patient with his grandmother, catching her hand instead.
‘Daernaneth! Ereinion says he will help, but we need permission because we cannot simply start building in your tree.’
She glanced at Ereinion, who gave her a reassuring nod.
‘Then I suppose I shall have to allow it, laito. Providing you will not cause Ereinion to fall out of a tree.’
Almost unnoticeably, she led the boy into the dining room, where the table was already set.
‘Ereinion would not fall out of a tree,’ Celebrimbor stated matter-of-factly, before chattering on about wood, and explaining why he would have to be allowed to spend the night in the tree house as soon as it was finished.
The High Prince folded his hands behind his back and followed.
The room was not particularly large, and yet Ereinion always had an image of seven sons seated around the table, with Nerdanel at one end, and Fëanor at the other. It was a strange image, devised by his own imagination alone, but he never quite managed to shake it. It was not the same with Formenos. There, it seemed, no memories were allowed to linger, and nothing indicated that it had been there that the Silmarils had been taken from their vaults, and that Finwë was slain before its doors. But here... here it seemed presences lingered around every corner. If Nerdanel had learned to live with them, Celebrimbor did not seem to notice.
The three of them sat down at the table and started the informal lunch that had become a weekly habit. It was only at moments like these that Ereinion saw other members of the household; there were some servants, and Mahtan had even joined them during his first visits.
Evidently the great-grandfather’s supervision was no longer necessary; the three of them had been left to their own devises after the third visit.
‘And how do the High Lords of Tirion these days?’ Nerdanel asked Ereinion, as she took a sip of wine.
He smiled; somehow it was hard to imagine the lady sitting beside him at the head of the table had seen more of history than his own grandfather had. She had seen them act as they were now for many years. Too long to be actually interested in it? he wondered.
‘They seem to find enough matters to keep themselves busy with,’ he replied. ‘Much the same as always, I suspect.’
She smiled.
‘Your grandmother comes here often. Not as often as in the past, but I imagine there is more that occupies her days than before.’
‘Yes, most likely,’ he nodded. Putting down his fork, he looked at Nerdanel. ‘I meant to ask before, but never quite did, for some reason... You have had your grandson here from the very beginning? When he returned?’
Setting her glass down and folding her hands, Nerdanel nodded.
‘It was not my idea to keep his return a secret, I will have you know that.’
Shaking his head, Ereinion smiled.
‘In hindsight, it was not a poor decision.’
Looking at Celebrimbor for a moment, who smiled at her comfortingly, Nerdanel sat back, the food on her plate forgotten.
‘Finarfin told me at once, for that I am very grateful. If there was talk of revealing it to others, they never mentioned it to me. I simply did not speak of it, the announcement was not mine to make, and I had no desire to make it to begin with. I had my grandson, and that was all that mattered to me.’
As her gaze rested on the boy again, and she noticed he had finished his lunch, rising, she looked at Ereinion.
‘Perhaps we could take a walk in the garden.’ She turned to Celebrimbor. ‘You can explain to me what your plans are.’
Once outside, she listened intently to the boy’s stream of words, but after a while he began to wander off as they walked the gardens. Nerdanel let him, and caught Ereinion’s arm.
‘I do not know what he understands, sometimes.’
Ereinion watched Celebrimbor rest a small hand against the trunk of a tree, looking up at the branches.
‘If he did what I did, at that age,’ he said, ‘he will ignore the things he does not understand.’
They were both silent then, watching Celebrimbor, who seemed to occupy himself with chasing a frog through the grass. A triumphant cry sounded, and he rose, only to have the animal escape from his grasp and land safely a little further away. The pursuit was continued.
‘You were not happy, when you first heard he had returned, were you?’ Nerdanel asked suddenly. Not angry, not accusing, she was simply posing him a straightforward question. Ereinion thought it deserved an honest reply.
‘I was not. Somehow I feared he would bring back memories.’
She looked at her grandson, running through the grass.
‘An entirely selfish reason, then?’
With a nod, Ereinion halted, giving her an apologetic look.
‘Yes. But I have a selfish reason to appreciate his return as well.’
‘You have?’ Nerdanel enquired, her eyes suddenly glimmering.
Ereinion smiled.
‘I have hopes they will start calling him the elfling now, and release me from the nickname.’
She laughed, a pleasant laugh.
‘I remember that, I do. I imagine it is a rather inconvenient nickname, in Council Meetings.’ Then she turned more serious. ‘He is an elfling, truly. So small, inexperienced. I fear for what lies in his future.’
The two adults stood watching the elf-child, who scrambled around the garden, oblivious as to what was likely to lie in his future.
‘You know what always struck me?’ she whispered, her eyes still locked on Celebrimbor, but her thoughts somewhere else. ‘The first reports we received from what occurred in Eregion... I shall always remember one line, it seems carved into my mind. “And Celebrimbor withstood Sauron on the steps of the great door of the Mírdain...”’ She finally tore away from her stare and looked at Ereinion.
He remembered the line, and he understood why it had touched her so, because it had touched him too, at the time. Had it been Elrond to speak those words to him? Or a messenger? Or had it merely been a quote from an obscure passage in a report he had afterwards read? He observed questioning eyes, and forced himself to cease wandering off on paths of unimportant contemplation.
‘I promise you, I will be there, when he needs someone who can explain it to him,’ he finally declared. There was nothing he could further say, or offer.
‘For now, I am very grateful you are here to build this tree house with him.’ She looked as if caught up in memories again, but these seemed more pleasant; her face lit up in a smile. ‘Much like his grandfather he is,’ she finally stated.
Imagining Fëanor chasing frogs seemed a strange thing to Ereinion, but he understood the gist of Nerdanel’s remark.
‘It always seemed to me he had his grandmother’s mood, though,’ he smiled.
After an initial chuckle, Nerdanel sighed quietly. ‘Do you ever think...’ she shook her head. ‘I feel awkward asking this of you, for you probably have as much knowledge of such things as I do.’
He looked at her.
‘Celebrimbor is the first, my Lady Nerdanel. But I do not believe he is the last.’
Releasing his arm, and taking some quick steps forward, Nerdanel moved away from him, and Ereinion stayed as he was.
‘Do you know, I am glad he is building tree houses. If only so it will keep him from jewels a while longer.’
Slowly nearing her, Ereinion narrowed his eyes against the afternoon sun.
‘Perhaps he shall not turn to them at all.’
Nerdanel shook her head ruefully.
‘In this house? I have done all I could to keep him away from my father’s workshop.’ She sighed. ‘No, Ereinion, he will do what he has always done. He will do what my father does, what I do, and what his grandfather always did. There is nothing you nor I nor anyone can do against it.’
Both were silent as Ereinion considered the notion. It seemed unfair that blood alone could decide on destiny. Nerdanel observed his indecision.
‘You do not trust the old lady of Tirion?’ she smiled, like a mother smiles secretly at her children’s waywardness.
Ereinion decided he was unable to make up his mind. Instead he smiled.
‘Your years are more than mine, my Lady, and you have infinitely more experience in all matters than I do. I will trust the judgement of the Wise Lady of Tirion.’
She chuckled and shook her head.
‘So like your mother, you are, truly.’
Taking his arm again, they continued their walk, following Celebrimbor, who had already gone on before them.
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Tired but content, Ereinion dropped into bed, more than ready to give in to sleep, ignoring the book he had intended to peruse earlier. Smiling, he thought back to this afternoon, when he had helped Celebrimbor lay the finishing touch to the tree house. For some time now, they had spent a day a week building it, and now it had finally been completed.
He allowed himself to drift off then, and suddenly smiled, picking up something he had not expected.
A whisper, just a quiet whisper. It could have been simply the wind in the trees, heard through the open window, or rustling through some papers on his desk. But he knew it for what it truly was; a whisper, from the lips of his beloved.
He was very well aware; these things are always more obvious to the receiving party than they are to others, and in this aspect a whisper between lovers was surely no different. But was that not the beautiful detail?
So close, she was, and yet so far away, such a thing of true mystery, this soft murmur, only of importance to him. He could not tell, precisely, what the words were that had been carried to him. Perhaps only their essence mattered. And the essence changed with his needs.
It could simply have started out as ‘I love thee,’ and he thought it had.
From there, it had all the freedom to change into something different, like ‘Come to me,’ or a more uncomplicated ‘Goodnight.’
Or to transform into a caress, pure and simple, a kiss on his face, fingers meeting his lips, an imagined warmth that had started as a murmur from somewhere else.
Thinking of it had made him relax further, more so than was usual, and he had lowered the unconscious protection he had taught himself to keep up at all times. He settled back deeper into the pillows, and simply gave in to the comfortable warmth the sheets provided.
And then it was there, at once, pouncing upon him from the shadows where it had been lurking for years now, not able to penetrate his watchful defence. It launched itself at him, and there was no way he could escape.
It was quiet. Too quiet. And he stood there. Just stood there, even if every vein in his body urged him to move, anywhere, if only it was away from there. He wanted to. For an instant he even thought he could make it, if he ran fast enough, he would escape the dream, and could simply awaken, safe.
But his mind was drawn to the object in his hand.
He turned his gaze from the empty plain before him to discover the feel of something familiar.
As if it were a natural reaction, he fastened his grip around it, the metal cold against the slightly warmer palm of his hand.
Aeglos...
Suddenly he became aware of the smell around him, as if it had only now registered in his mind. The stench of death. And yet he was there alone.
Slowly, it was creeping up on him, little by little, in its infinitely slow pace. He knew what was coming, and he could not run. There was nowhere to go, and his legs seemed unwilling to take him.
He moaned in his sleep, but he could not wake, and there was no one there to attempt to rouse him from this nightmare. And yet he was aware this was a dream. But he could not shake it, there was no way...
With a shiver he noticed the wind had picked up, and the sound of sand being blown over the harsh, solid ground reached his ears.
Blood had been spent here, much blood. His own, that of friends, of complete strangers, of Men, of Elves, of Orcs. In blood, they were all equal.
Optimistically, he thought that perhaps the battle had been fought already, or that his dream had brought him to a time when fighting was not taking place here. He hoped fervently, but in the end, it was not so.
In the end, there was battle.
It came suddenly, and it was painful, because all his bones hurt, and he felt himself arch his back against a painful blow he recalled receiving moments before. Blood and dirt splattered against his face, his armour.
Not able to lift his arm, it seemed as if somehow Aeglos was too heavy, or he himself too tired. It made a soft whimper escape his lips. This was what it had come down to. He had become a meagre shadow of himself, waiting for his own inevitable death, a thing that would come as surely as it had so many times before.
Only once had it been in earnest, but from that time, it had always been there, looming just out of sight. It had influenced everything, tainted all, from his earliest memories onward.
There was no need to look up and see the Darkness come. It was there, as unwavering as always. It had never faltered before him, as it had before Isildur. He had never had a chance against Gorthaur and because of that, he was doomed to see the same scene repeat itself, again and again, with no possibility of changing the outcome.
It was written, and so it had to be done.
He gathered all the strength in his trembling limbs and threw himself against the shadowy figure opposite him, as he had done then, knowing he would fail, fail as he had done countless times before.
The pain never dulled. The only difference was he now knew that it would come, and what he could expect.
Waking, tears in his eyes, the smell of Dagorlad still in his nostrils, he sat up, and stumbled out of bed, nauseous and disorientated.
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Not taking the time to sit up first, Celebriníel fell out of bed and grabbed some garments, dressing quickly. As she sped out of the chamber, she considered simply going to the stables to saddle a horse and ride out. It was in line with the rest of her impetuous actions, she realised. Perhaps it was wiser not to do everything impulsively.
Her parents were not going to be happy with her leaving without telling anyone, especially not in the middle of the night, and if she went unaccompanied, it would almost certainly make it worse.
For all she knew, there was nothing wrong with Ereinion, and this had simply been a nightmare of hers, unconnected to him.
Crossing the hallway, she noticed some light shining from underneath a door. Shaking her head, she stepped towards it and gave a soft knock on the wood.
‘Glorfindel?’ she went on to call softly, and when the door opened, she saw his eyes immediately take in she was dressed to ride. And no doubt the flush on her face as well. He looked at her inquisitively.
‘Celebriníel?’
She made certain the hallway was empty before continuing in a hushed tone.
‘I must go to Tirion.’
The Elf-lord raised a surprised eyebrow.
‘And why, precisely, would you wish to go to Tirion? At this late hour?’
‘I cannot tell you,’ she said apologetically. ‘But I ask you to accompany me.’
Glorfindel shook his head, a faint smile on his lips.
‘Even I need a reason to ride out at this hour. Can this not wait till morning?’
Swallowing, she shook her head.
‘If you do not wish to come with me, I shall go alone.’
‘Your father would not appreciate it if I took you,’ he stated bluntly.
Meeting his gaze, Celebriníel threw him a questioning look.
‘Would he appreciate it if you let me go by myself?’
It was a good point, Glorfindel thought. He would have to bring it up when defending his actions to Elrond later. Taking a deep breath, he released it slowly, before looking at her.
‘It is not a good idea.’
‘I caused something, and must set it right.’
‘This is to do with Ereinion? Celebriníel, he can take care of himself very...’
Glorfindel watched her turn and enter the hallway again, going into the direction of the stables.
Indecisively, he stood in the doorway for a moment, then muttered quietly to himself and stepped back into his room. He quickly changed his tunic, assembled some small items, wondering how long Celebriníel was planning for this visit to last.
Finally blowing out the candles, he pulled the door shut and made his way down to the stables, wondering if he had entirely lost his mind, and hoping that if he had, it was merely a temporary thing.
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laito: (Quenya) youth
And Celebrimbor withstood Sauron on the steps of the great door of the Mírdain... : paraphrased from J.R.R. Tolkien, Unfinished Tales
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