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Ost-in-Edhil, year 1200 of the Second Age

Galadriel's cousin Celebrimbor had come for lunch and her company, as was his wont, and he brought with him reports of the Mírdain's latest failures at recreating the Palantíri. It had been an enjoyable discussion, and she looked forward to examining the diagrams and spell equations in greater detail, for she knew that long distance communication and an aid to Sight would be useful.

(Maybe water, she mused. More mutable and forgiving than a crystalline lattice, though it would be far less precise. But as a proof of concept…)

Yet for Galadriel, it was more than mere usefulness that drove her now, for she had not realized how she had missed the study of deep knowledge until Eregion began to blossom into being. In Doriath, it had been sorcery she studied, sorcery and her dear Celeborn, and then she had time only for survival. And after the War of Wrath and the wreck of everything that had ever been in fair Beleriand, she and all who chose Middle Earth had worked to rebuild. A labor fierce and joyous but slow-going: no one had anything but the clothes on their back, the jewels at their neck, and the swords by their side. They went hungry often during the first years, reserving the bulk of such food as there was for the weaker Edain, and it had taken over half a long year and the end of the earthquakes, those dying death throes of a drowned land, before they raised the first stone building in Mithlond.

But that was past. In Eregion, she thrived, and her people thrived. Perhaps she and Celeborn would have another child here, a son to remind Celeborn of Galadhon as Celebrían reminded Galadriel of Earwen, vivacious and joyful, full of life and so interested in everything the world had to offer. They had built a family here among the hollies. The world was at peace, and she was happy.

Galadriel turned her face to the sun. She would make a paradise on these shores, fair as Aman, and sweeter still for the tears shed. She had longed for this all her life; now her dream was at hand.

She and her cousin wandered through the vineyards where the botanists were testing various varietals. Galadriel had hopes – low hopes, but hopes nonetheless – that the wines and brandies vinted would soften Oropher's attitude, or at least his son's.

Some of the vines had canopies overhead, to be closed when the sun began to set. Two of Galadriel's maidens were testing the effect of different lights on the grapes and so hid those vines from the moon and stars, exposing them only to Arien's rays. They experimented too with distillation and wanted vats that could let in certain frequencies of light and block others. Celebrimbor promised prototypes and apprentices to assist, and idly mused on whether copper was really the best metal for the pots – it was an excellent conductor of Song, but he didn't know how it would react with spells set in moonlight. She listened to him ramble, with occasional interjections: let him broach the topic that he was avoiding.

For Celebrimbor had come not just for her company, nor to discuss seeing stones and grapes.

“Cousin,” he said, “I would hear your council on Annatar Aulendil.”

She hesitated. She had only briefly met the man, if that were what he could be called, but… “Gil-Galad barred him from Lindon…”

He laughed at her. “The great and wise Galadriel, Lady of Light, taking council from her young great-nephew?”

“I love and respect our beloved kinsman and King, Master Celebrimbor, as should you.” Galadriel made her voice severe, but let her presence show her amusement.

“You love that he's half a continent away, you mean.”

She laughed back – she did love Rodnor dearly, but it was not untrue; she herself had arranged Eregion’s de-facto independence – then sobered. “We all of us chose this land and Rodnor has no trust of an emissary of Aman. And his advisor Elrond misliked him, and though Elrond is young he is wise, and has the blood of Melian and Idril both. I do not dislike this Annatar – in some ways he’s very likeable – but my heart is uneasy. Perhaps it is just because Elrond wrote of his own distrust. But though I am Lady of Eregion, I am not of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, and it is your fellowship that he passes his time with. I would hear your thoughts.”

Celebrimbor said, “I was born on these shores and never met Morgoth, but I have heard of his deeds in Tirion, of how Feanor did not trust him and refused his counsel. Yet he was still taken by his lies and turned against his own brother, for he and Fingolfin kept their secrets in their hearts. Was it not mistrust that sundered the Noldor? Morgoth fed grievances that may have been healed had our people shared what instead they hid and in doing so bring his lies to light. I would have us welcome with trust all who come to Ost-in-Edhil and build bonds of friendship. I would have us work together, not alone, and in doing so in union become greater than any one great man.

“Feanor refused to share much of what he learned, and we are poorer for it: a waste, all the deep knowledge learned and now lost! Instead of building on the art we once had we need to learn it anew. Look at our attempts to re-engineer the Palantíri. Feanor kept their making to himself; that skill may well be lost to us forever, as will what we could do with them.

“It's fitting, isn't it?” he added as an aside, “that the Palantíri were made for people to talk with each other over distances, but because Feanor didn't talk to anyone, now we can't.

“My… grandfather committed many other crimes, but hoarding knowledge… that was a crime too, against all the peoples of Middle-Earth. And he wasn't alone: how many Noldor in Aman kept secrets of craft and lore? Those secrets have been lost: it has made us lesser. Annatar claims to offer his knowledge freely, as a gift: it would make us greater.”

She looked at him. “At Cuiviénen the Valar offered Light and protection to our ancestors, and knowledge as well. We thought it was a gift offered freely, but they believed our acceptance gave them the right to command us, to ban us or not at their will, as they banned me. A miscommunication, and an honest one, but the Holy Ones do not give without condition, even if they know it not.”

“The Valar were unjust to you, cousin. But Melian was your friend and teacher, and she is of their kind. If this Annatar will teach us, I would learn from him, and teach him in turn.”

Galadriel answered, “Long ago I sought to learn from Morgoth. We called him Melkor then.” Celebrimbor gaped open-mouthed at her, surprised as she rarely saw him, but she went on. “He came to us as a teacher, pretending to give knowledge. Many listened.”

She laughed bitterly. “Feanor had little wisdom, but he was wise indeed to slam his door in Morgoth's face. Would that we all had done the same.”

Tirion, in the Years of the Trees

It was at Ñolofinwe's estate that she first met him. Artanis had gone to a symposium her uncle was hosting, not because she desired to attend, but because she wanted it to be seen that she socialized with her full-uncle and avoided her half-uncle.

She noticed Melkor at once – it was difficult not to notice him. It was the first time she had seen him, for she was recently arrived in Tirion after leaving Yavanna's study. He was beautiful in the way of his kin, almost too beautiful for the eye to see and the mind comprehend, and like all the Valar, she had the impression that the vastness of his being existed far beyond the body that he wore, that the presence he showed was but a small piece of his attention and self.

He was fascinating, certainly more so that the nervous woman sitting beside her, whose only topic of conversation was the soon-to-come Games of Tulkas. Artanis made polite, cold replies till the woman stopped speaking and gave her attention instead to observing Melkor.

There was a lecture and then debate on how a just ruler ought to plan the expansion of a town or city, and the infrastructure changes that such an expansion entailed. Artanis paid little attention, though at another time she would have followed it closely: such a thing was but theoretical in Aman, which had no need for new cities, but the desire to build one simmered in Artanis’ heart. But Melkor gave the impression of being very interested – he was quiet and focused, and his rare questions were eloquent and insightful.

Artanis found herself staying after the dinner was concluded and the guests moved to talk to each other. She did not want to give the impression that she desired to seek out Melkor and instead looked around for someone else. She spotted Turukáno first, with his usual closed look, but he left before she could move over, so she instead made talk with Findekáno on the upcoming semi-trials for the Games. As they were teasing each other over which one of them would win the disk-throw, she felt that presence behind her.

“Prince Findekáno, a pleasure as always,” said Melkor. “And you must be Princess Artanis.”

“I am,” she answered, speaking over her cousin. Are you going to compliment my hair? That's all anyone else can seem to do.

“Forgive me, prince,” he replied. “In truth I came to seek out your cousin. I read your most recent paper, lady, on the various spectral compositions of star light and how it varies from Treelight.”

Artanis looked at him, curious. “You show interest? Others of your kind have not in this. Ilmare had no thoughts to add and it seems that Varda did not understand my questions. Why would their kinsman Melkor care?”

For a moment, there was something in Melkor's dark eyes that disturbed her, but it passed and she put it out of mind. He frowned, sympathetic.

“You must understand,” he said, “it is difficult for Varda to engage with the world as the Eldar do. The woman you see at festivals is but a fraction of a fraction of her being. My brethren and I actively maintain this Arda, and Elentári more than most – would you have gravity fail, or electromagnetism cease to function?”

It made sense, and she knew it already, but… “And thus we stumble in the dark for understanding, though we are bathed in light,” she said. It did not make her bitter, not exactly.

(It did make her bitter.)

Melkor sighed. “In truth, she is too simple for you in some ways. She keeps the stars in motion, but I do not know if she understands their workings, and certainly not your mathematics.

“I do not mean to condescend, lady,” he added. “Your kind has the mightier task, I think; it is why I prefer Tirion to Taniquetil. Varda has a mighty presence and task, and it may be impossible for her to teach you, but Aule and Yavanna and Manwe can, yet take their cue from her. Their wisdom is great, no doubt: they must see something I do not that guides their actions, unfair as it may seem. Still. I do not know why you should be held back. But I have made mistakes and must listen to my kin who did not.

“But tell me, would you, your hypotheses of what the different spectra of shown by individual stars imply about their compositions?”

She told him, and after that had many conversations with Melkor, some at salons and in teahouses, and some in private rooms at restaurants. At first they talked of the workings of the world, and then Melkor began to share ways of changing the world.

But one day he spoke for the first time of the greatness he saw in her mind and will, and told her that he was convinced that she had the potential to surpass all others.

Artanis's lips curled. “Is not Feanáro the greatest of the Ñoldor, as they say?”

“Now he is. But were not Rúmil's letters surpassed by Feanáro's? Your people astonish me, Nerwen, and I don't understand why Feanáro cannot be surpassed by another.”

Some strange greed came upon her then, and she thought: he’s right, and: Melkor understands me. Artanis was not used to being understood.

Artanis loved her grandmother Indis, who raced alongside her in practice and cheered when she ran and wrestled and threw javelins in competition. But she had no desire to sit, tranquil, at the feet of the Valar, not when she could do something. She loved her mother's people, loved Alqualonde as she did not love Tirion; the Falmari were less strange to her than the Vanyar, but much as she resented it at times, it was among the Ñoldor that she truly belonged.

Artanis loved learning, loved competition, loved how the Ñoldor praised individual achievement. (She loved being the best.) She wanted to be celebrated and thrilled inside whenever people spoke admiringly of how great her skills were (how great she was). Her grandmother did not understand that, and neither did her parents. Artanis loved them all, loved them dearly, but chafed when they told her to slow down and find some contentment. At times, she wished she could, but it was not in her: she knew she was destined for greatness, and she believed Melkor when he said that she will be the greatest of all the Ñoldor, that Feanáro will be named second to her.

While in Tirion, Artanis spent much time with her grandmother Indis, for she loved her dearly. It was an indulgence of sorts, taking away as it did from more productive tasks, but for her grandmother she would make it.

Indis did not host Melkor and went out of her way to avoid him, and one day over tea and sweets spoke to her of how she distrusted him.

“I was born in Cuiviénen,” she said, “and I have known the terror of the dark and the grief over kin and friends lost to it. I made the journey to Valinor and along the way fought the foul and twisted creatures who came from the north. It is said that they were the creations of Melkor, tormented into evil. It is perhaps the worst deed ever done in Arda, and I cannot forget it, and I fear that there is still a malice in him.”

Artanis frowned. “The Valar released Melkor to parole, and take his council, and value it highly. If he were a danger, surely they would not let him walk free among us.”

Her grandmother seemed troubled. “Manwe is wise and just. I put my faith in him and Varda, and it gladdens me that you heed their council, as so many now do not. But Nerwen, my dear and clever one, your heart too is wise. Think on what it tells you.”

But Artanis did know her heart, and what it longed for was greatness and wide open fields and forests, a land of her own; Valinor felt cramped and more and more like a cage to her. Melkor spoke to her of her own potential, and in that she trusted him and not her family.

She sought Melkor out more, and more and more they spoke privately. She invited him into the workshop Artanis kept in the house she shared with her brothers and he taught her secrets of lore and craft. But she noticed too that at times he was unfindable. Artanis supposed that he was teaching others – he had come to teach all the Ñoldor – and wondered what he said to them. But to her he began to speak of Hekeldamar and its unclaimed lands. There were Eldar dwelt there, her mother’s kin who had stayed for love of Elwe, but Melkor said there was space enough for all and Artanis’s own population estimates agreed with him.

He told her also that the Quendi were not Ilúvatar's only children and that there had been another theme when the Ainur sang in harmony.

Melkor said: “You have been told of the creation of Ea and told that Ilúvatar sang two themes. But there was a third theme, that Manwe and Varda have kept hidden from the Eldar, and I heard it. Eru sung of his second children, those who will be born after the Elves, but that song had not the grace or beauty of the music that gave rise to the Quendi. His second children will be unwise, Artanis, crude and barbaric. But they will grow numerous, their numbers greater than the stars. With the Eldar removed from the lands of Middle-earth they will rule it in your place.”

Artanis opened her mouth to question him but, before she could speak, Sight came upon her. She saw no vision nor heard no words, but had the impression of a great mass of people, uncountable, and they came into the world and left it, a people like to a tree that grew new leaves when the rains came and dropped them lifeless to the ground during the dry season.

“You see that I speak true,” Melkor said softly.

Artanis stared at him unseeing, caught up in premonitions. Melkor did speak truth, for Artanis’s own heart had seen that truth too, and her grandmother had been right when she told her to trust it.

“It is possible that they are intended to supplant you. Not by Ilúvatar, who gave all of Ambar to his children. But it is not He who rules here but Manwe and Varda. When they took your forebearers to Valinor they acted of their own will, not our mutual creator’s. Perhaps it was just to keep your kind safe, for Cuiviénen was perilous.”

She shook herself back fully to the present, his words having half-passed by her, and said, “Ah, and why was Cuiviénen such a place of danger?”

But the Valar had imprisoned him for his crimes against her people’s ancestors and then they had paroled him and given him leave to walk among the Eldar and teach them. Whatever the Valar hid from her people, Artanis trusted that they would not have let Melkor walk among them were he dangerous.

“I was wrong in that,” Melkor said, “and I am attempting to make restitution for my crimes, but…”

He trailed off and cast his gaze to the side as an Elda might do were they nervous or uncertain; Artanis inwardly rolled her eyes. Like most other Ainur, Melkor’s physical mannerisms were affected and learned. He had indeed asked her once, almost sullenly, if an expression of his connoted the proper meaning.

“Yes?” said Artanis. She was one of the few in Aman who realized that time flowed quickly and could not be regained once passed, and had little patience for those who spent it heedlessly, Vala or not. There was a flicker of something in his presence: she thought he might be annoyed at her, but perhaps she was projecting elven reactions on a god.

“I do not know…” he hesitated again. “I do not understand Manwe’s thoughts in bringing your people here. Yes, the Valar were meant to rule this Arda, but you to know it, and guide it, guide all the lands of Arda, and in Aman you are forbidden to do so. Perhaps he and Varda favor the unborn Secondborn instead, and thus wish the lands of Middle-Earth to be for them instead: if so, it seems to me unfair. But I have learned that Manwe’s wisdom surpasses mine.”

Melkor did not hold back his lore from any who would learn it and told many of Ilúvatar's yet-unawakened children, the siblings of the Quendi, the ones Manwe had not spoken of. In Tirion they became known as the Secondborn, the Aftercomers, and Artanis heard whispers of how the Valar had gathered the Eldar in Aman so that the Secondborn might supplant them, as Melkor had suggested to her.

The Aftercomers were a matter of debate among the Ñoldor, but arguments were not held in public squares but in private salons: many people distrusted how the Valar would react, that the Ñoldor had discovered a secret Manwe had kept hidden. Some said, her half-uncle Feanáro among them, that the Valar had not just wished to give the Secondborn the inheritance of the Eldar but done so because they wished to hold in captivity the Ñoldor, who were stronger and greater than any mortals.

Artanis was at one such debate, where Makalaure’s wife, the rhetorician Lissilóte – and never was a name so poorly chosen – proclaimed that the Valar had stolen the Eldar from Middle-Earth and that the Aftercomers that Melkor spoke of were intended by the Valar to subjugate the elves who remained in Hekeldamar, as the Valar themselves subjugated the Eldar in Aman. But as soon as others voiced their agreement, she switched to arguing the opposite, even wondering if the Secondborn did not actually exist but were some imaginary creation of Melkor’s, intended to sow dissent against the Valar and drive the Eldar back to Hekeldamar, to be bereft of light and destroyed by the orcs that he had tormented into evil.

Artanis curled her lips. Lissilóte had no care for whether or not any of her words were true, for she held one belief only: to be contrary at all times.

“No,” said Artanis, setting a touch of Song in her voice to make it ring clear and loud, “I do not believe that the Valar brought our forefathers to Aman to give the Secondborn the whole of Middle-Earth, to keep our people from what Ilúvatar intended for us – or at least, not as their chief reason. Others of our people still live in the land of the stars, Eldar and Avari both, and they could have brought all the Quendi by force to Aman, such is their power. Not that I think Melkor lies, either, not exactly, but that he misunderstands.

“And yet my heart and its sight perceive Melkor’s words to be true, that he is correct about the existence of the Secondborn, Ilúvatar's other children. And why would the other Valar conceal them from us? If they would hide such a great thing, what else do they hold secret?”

In the debate hall Feanáro stood too, and though he had not previously spoken raised his voice in agreement. “The Valar, for all their great knowledge, treat us not just as children but as infants new to speech, to be coddled and kept from danger. But I say that the Ñoldolie are a great people capable of great deeds!”

Artanis bit her tongue rather than agree, but something in his words struck her as familiar.

Feanáro continued. “And whatever be the reason why the Valar took us from our home, they did nonetheless. Whatever their cause, it shall be that the Secondborn will usurp what is ours: how could they not if we are not there? Will they subjugate our lesser kin who yet abide under the stars? I know not what the Valar think – how could I, so little they share with us! – but this is what they have done: they have taken us from the lands that are ours by right, our by inheritance, and we shall be ousted, save if we prevent it, save if we take back our lands!”

Artanis was inclined to dismiss Feanáro’s words. She perceived that he and Melkor were wrong in their talk of how the Secondborn should be feared – ought not the Ñoldor be as the Valar and guide and teach the Aftercomers, living alongside them as elder siblings? And yet… Feanáro was not wrong in all things, she thought, for the lands of the stars were theirs by right, the inheritance of Ilúvatar, and there were great deeds to be done and great things to be built. Perhaps even kingdoms to rule. Artanis was the youngest child of the youngest child of Finwe, and a daughter too, and in Aman there was no place for her. But Middle-Earth was vast and at least a part of it could be hers, a land to govern and make beautiful and blessed.

She went to Alqualonde. There was a man there she had never met, one of the Unbegotten, who kept to himself and the Great Sea. Ciriarpen was his name, and it was said he was favored by Ulmo and that his ship traveled far, perhaps even to the lands the Amanyar had left behind, the lands Artanis had decided to return to. But Ciriarpen was away when she arrived, at sea and not expected to return for the greater part of a long year.

Artanis would not wait that long and would find another way to gain Middle-Earth. She prepared to leave Alqualonde, sooner than was polite.

Her mother Earwen noticed her discontent and came to her as she packed.

“You leave so soon?” she asked. “Nerwen, you have not been here long and you spent more time talking to shipwrights than you did your father and me.”

“I have things to do,” Artanis said crisply, though her mother’s words did call forth a pang of guilt in her heart. “I must be off to Tirion.”

“I wish you would not go,” said her mother softly, some fear in her eyes. “We will miss you, and Tirion is not a happy place now, and… I have heard that you speak with Melkor. He has given Alqualonde little heed, and my father perceived in him a contempt. At least go to Aulemar, if it is study you seek.”

Artanis tossed her head. “Is it not said that the Ñoldor have surpassed our teachers? I have learned all that Aule sees fit to teach me, and Yavanna too. Why shouldn't I listen to what Melkor says? We shall surpass him too in the end, but quicker still if we learn from him. Besides, Feanáro mistrusts him: what better recommendation than that?”

“Sometimes I think you are too like your uncle, daughter,” Earwen sighed, and waved off Artanis's indignation.

You search for something I do not understand, her mother had said when Artanis quit Alqualonde, and somewhere in Artanis’s heart was a small hurt. She does not understand me, then, she thought. My own mother does not seek to understand me.

The air and words in Tirion were more divisive than they had been when she had departed. Feanáro and Ñolofinwe had taken to shouting at each other in public, and their followers went around with shields emblazed with heraldry. Artanis allied herself with neither camp, for both were wrong: Feanáro in his reckless disregard of others and Ñolofinwe in his caution, and both were driven more by resentment of each other than a noble ambition like to her own. Artanis raised her voice in speeches too but spoke not against the Valar, for she would not agree with Feanáro; she spoke instead of great works and kingdoms and all that the Eldar of Aman could give to Hekeldamar, and there were those that harkened to her words too.

Melkor was still in Tirion too, but this time Artanis did not seek him out. She had thought on what her mother and grandmother had said and decided that for now she would observe him only.

But one day he came to her and said, “Artanis, I must speak to you alone.”

She walked with him through the town to her house and into the smithy, and turned to him.

“You will leave Aman soon,” he said.

Artanis did not reply, but drew herself up. He was correct, but she had told him no such thing.

“I see the vision in your heart, Nerwen,” he added, answering her unspoken accusation. “And I will be sorry to see you depart, but I see also that you are too great for Valinor and that it is in the wilds of Endor that you belong, where the water runs sweet under stars. The Secondborn, the younger children of Eru, shall awaken in time, and you and yours, in your greatness and learning, shall teach them.

“But I have grown fond of you – and such a thing I never thought possible! I have told you before, your kind amaze me. I would not have you leave unaided. Let me tell you of the lands across the Dread Sea, and let me give you a way to defend yourself against the dangers there: I will show you the makings of weapons.”

He paused, and then said cautiously, “And yet the strife of your kin… I myself shall teach only you, and that only because you shall depart these lands. It is dangerous knowledge, weapons. It may be wiser that you keep this as a secret, and tell only those you trust.”

It was good advice, Artanis thought, and she thought of Feanáro, and nodded.

Melkor walked over to where the ingots of steel were stored, and she watched, and listened, and learned, and later she forged a sword of her own, and one each for her brothers.

Yet something in her heart was wary.

Feanáro had a sword. How does he have one?

She heard the argument between Feanáro and Ñolofinwe, but she paid little attention, even when Feanáro held the weapon to his half-brother's throat, too caught up in her own thoughts.

Melkor taught the making of swords to me, and I taught only my brothers, and swore them to secrecy. Did one of them betray me?

But all the suspicions she had had of Melkor, the suspicions she had ignored, made herself unthink, returned to her.

Or was it Melkor. Was it him that taught Feanáro, him that betrayed me?

She knew then, in heart and mind, that it was.

And then was the trial at the Máhanaxar, then the Darkening, Tirion alight in flaming torches and fiery speeches, blood on her sword at Alqualonde, ice under her feet, green and red lights dancing in the black starry sky.

Moringotto fooled me, she thought, and, I let him fool me. The thought sat more bitter in her lungs than the biting winds of the Helkaraxe and only the thought of her future kingdom warmed her.

Ost-in-Edhil, year 1200 of the Second Age

Galadriel shook herself free of old memories. “I trusted Morgoth against the wisdom of my heart. Feanor disliked him, and I thought it a mark in his favor, for Feanor disliked many people I respected. But in truth, I wanted what I thought Morgoth could give me. He spoke to me and told me how great I was, how much greater I would become with his knowledge. It was but a game to him – he claimed he came to Tirion to aid us, but instead sought to sow dissent. He succeeded. And what he spoke! His words were dark, and brought forth fear and hatred, not just for each other but for people we knew not and had no cause to judge.

“I was taken in by his lies. Fingolfin too, and Feanor, for all that he professed not to listen. We all were. He deceived us; we chose to be deceived by him.

“You… Well, I suppose Eonwe was the only Ainu you ever heard speak till now, and he no Vala, however mighty he be. Celebrimbor, the Powers aren't like us. They don't think like us – they're straighter: intensely powerful, yet myopic in some ways. They love us, save the Enemy and his, and they can see our hearts if we let them, yet I think they understand us not.”

“Do they love us?” asked Celebrimbor, and his voice was bitter. “I remember the breaking of Beleriand, and how a great wave of Ulmo drowned my mother’s father in Nan-tathren together with the willows that sang in joy and died in terror. There were Houseless dead in Beleriand, who forsook the Halls of Mandos for love of their forests, or who were tormented into half-life at the hands of Gorthaur – were they saved? Do they now lie under the waves in the arms of Uinen, bereft even of starlight? Where was the love of our kin then; where was the love of the stones that we built and awoke, the love of the trees that we spoke with, themselves no less creations of Ilúvatar?”

“Beleriand was corrupted by Morgoth,” she said. “The destruction of the land was a greater attack on him than any army could manage, but in essence not different than fighting orcs or dragons. He seeped his very being into rock and river, and the devastation was tragic but needful.

“But Tyelpe, this is what I mean you to hear: I have met Manwe and Varda and Morgoth all, and Morgoth was the only one of his kin who looked at me and promised to give me everything I ever dreamed of: power, knowledge, acclaim. And now this Annatar comes and tells you the same.”

Celebrimbor looked disturbed by what she had revealed, but spoke lightly, “Well, we know Annatar's not Morgoth at least!”

He's not listening, she thought but said, “You like him, don't you?”

He twisted one of his bracelets nervously. “I… not always – he's not nice, but in the short weeks he's been here he's given us so much, for all that I'm certain he's testing us now. And he understands the leaps of my thoughts: I don't need to think on how to explain them.

“I don't trust him either, you know, not completely. He says he loves this Middle-Earth, as do you and I, and in that I believe him to speak truth, but he also claims he's on a mission from the Valar, and, well, they made abundantly clear that they abandoned this land and all who live upon it, their only tasks here the recapture of Morgoth and the ruin and murder of Beleriand, and those are done. They are content to sit behind the Pelóri – why would they send this Annatar here? He must have quarreled with Aule, or something of the like, but you quarreled with Aule too, and you had cause.”

Galadriel raised an eyebrow at him, amused to see him flush. In truth, it was his anger on her behalf when the Valar had barred her from returning that had endeared him to her originally. Kin they were, but it was in the camp of Eonwe that they had met for the first time. Long years and the end of a world had softened her to the point where seeing his grandfather's face in his had brought relief, not hatred. (She wondered now, if she ever saw Feanor again, would she think he had Celebrimbor's face and be glad of the sight?) She and her cousin had spoken of their dreams and hopes, and he had been indignant upon hearing that she was banned from Aman – as if she would return, a beggar to the Powers, not when her husband would not sail, not when she had her kingdom still to build!

(She had to keep from smiling when she remembered Celebrían's own indignation, so like her cousin's, and how she had laughed to her daughter, then still a child, and had told her that she did not wish to go back, not when all she wanted was here: Celeborn and Celebrían and the world. Aman had been her home, but how could she wish for it now? On Nenuial's shores Celebrían learned to dance a garden into flower; in Ost-in-Edhil Celebrían learned to blow glass into the shape of those blossoms.)

Still. “When we Exiles returned to these lands, we said to the people of Beleriand that we had come to help. We hid our sins, and kept the Kinslaying a secret. I – I who fought your father at Alqualonde – I said nothing; I looked into my friend Melian's eyes and told her I would not speak. No lie came from my mouth, and yet every word of mine, spoken and unspoken, was a lie. And now this Annatar tells you he comes to help… well, we said the same, and Alqualonde did not cross our lips. Celebrimbor, did Annatar commit his own Alqualonde and earn his own exile from Aman?”

He frowned, and paused for a while before speaking. “It may be so with this Annatar, but if he did ill in the past or forsook his bonds to Aule, well, some here fought at Alqualonde and some at the other kinslayings. Some have broken vows. I myself betrayed filial duty and you rebelled against authority. We did not turn away those that came here in good will whatever their previous ill deeds, as the Powers did you and all those who spoke in favor of leaving Valinor. If Annatar committed crimes, it does not mean he cannot now aid the world. Even hands that spilled blood can make great things.

“I have Feanor's talent; I refuse to make his mistakes; I refuse to commit his crimes. I will share my works with others, not hide them away: it is the right thing to do, to help the world and its people. I believe I can. Galadriel, my friend, I shall.”

Galadriel opened her mouth to speak in reply, but closed it as foresight came upon her. She took Celebrimbor's hands in hers, and the jeweled rings on their joined fingers shone in the afternoon sun. “I see this, and I tell you: you shall indeed make great things that bring beauty and healing to the world, that hold it in a state of fairness and peace. Celebrimbor, I will use your works and be glad of them.”

They were both silent for a long moment.

Then: “I have not spoken to Celeborn yet of this: what does he think?”

Galadriel snorted. “He does mistrust that this Annatar would come to us. And yet he also remembers Melian and her patronage of Doriath, how beautiful she made Menegroth.”

“Menegroth was a place of culture and art and learning for many long years. It will forever shame me that my family destroyed it,” Celebrimbor said. “But you know, Ost-in-Edhil is not held just to the standard of Tirion in the Noontime but also to Menegroth under the stars, and I now hear whispers too of Melian, that perhaps this Annatar shall be to Eregion as she to Doriath… It brings me hope. There are Iathrim who chose Eregion rather than dwell in Lindon or Edhellond, or follow Oropher and Amdír to the woods of their Silvan kin, and not just for love of Celeborn.

“How great their hope in a better world!, to make peace and labor together with those here who slew their friends and kin, to not mourn the past but to instead celebrate the great works and art of the Eldar of the Trees and the Eldar of the lovely grey shadows both, to build upon all that came before…”

He looked at her. “There will be the Star of Feanor, on the doors of Khazad-Dûm, only partly at the request of Durin – we're drafting the plans now; tell Celeborn when I'm not present please, and tell him also that Durin’s forge is both higher and larger! – and the words of welcome will be written with words that shine in Elbereth’s holy light, and in Tilion’s: Rodhiniel is working on blending rothmíren ink with mithril, to fill the carvings.”

She rolled her eyes: Celebrimbor had an annoying habit of asking Celeborn to tell Galadriel things he knew she would dislike, or asking Galadriel to do the same in reverse. But…

Rothmírin, green and blue lights in the dark… She remembered how strange Menegroth had seemed to her at first, weird and alien, lit by fireflies that made bizarre noises and glowing plants that gave off scents she had never smelled before, and faint white lights set as stairs in the vaulted ceilings. The occasional glow of a fire had been so reassuring at first, she a child of Tree-lit Aman, but she came to love the beauty she found there, and its loss still hurt her heart. Oh, how it would irk her husband, and rightly so, to see the art of Melian decorate such a Star, but she hoped he would also be soothed, as was she, that not all Doriath's knowledge had been lost, and that the well-loved beauty would come into being once more.

She looked at him. Celebrimbor had his grandfather's likeness, yet it was not Feanor she looked at but the grandson who had become her dear friend, for he had an openness to his countenance, a willingness to trust and listen; she had never seen that in Feanor. Perhaps he had looked so in his younger years before her birth, before the strife that took their family had been kindled. Kindled in no small part by Morgoth, she thought. The spark was there, but he gave it much fuel, and we piled on the flame more fuel still.

Galadriel thought, and said slowly, “When Melkor first came to us, we already knew how to work steel. He didn't teach us metalwork; he taught us to fashion that metal into weapons. He taught us to make swords. He told us lies and bid us hate the other; he sought to spark fear and jealousy of those who were not us. Take notice of what this Annatar teaches you, Tyelpe, and notice of what he says.”

She sighed, realizing then she had already made her decision. It was not just Tirion and Melkor that she remembered, but Menegroth and Melian too.

Celebrimbor was her friend as well as her kinsman, and he understood her. They had both shunned Aman for this beloved land, and they shared a vision of a brighter world on these shores. They had built this city together, not as fair as Tirion or Alqualonde (not yet as fair), but it was theirs (hers) and Galadriel loved it more dearly. She had disliked Feanor his forefather, and had not been wrong to, but that dislike had led her into error. She would place her hope in trust, a cautious trust, but trust none the less.

“The world has changed, and I am neither Feanor nor Thingol, nor the girl I once was. I think we’ve had more than enough of hiding secrets and slamming doors, and enough of fearing those who are not yet our friends.” Galadriel looked at her cousin. “I shall watch and be wary, but let us welcome this Annatar.”

I was wrong again, she thinks later.