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Gil-galad was told before Galadriel herself, the healer whispering it to him as she got dressed from her examination.
With child.
There was only one option for the father, and it filled the elf-king with a level of shame he never thought possible, flooding his body and leaving him breathless. He struggled to regain his composure, but managed to bind the healer into an oath of silence on the matter.
“This does not go further than this room.” He hissed. The healer nodded silently.
“It will be as if a strange dream came to my mind.” He said. Gil-galad nodded his dismissal and the healer left, quietly closing the door behind him.
He contemplated Galadriel, beautiful and serene, she sat with her back to him, facing out as she looked over Eregion.
“You are with child.” He announced.
“I know.” She replied, simply, as if he had just commented on the weather. “I can feel her.”
Gil-galad frowned at that -- there was no sign of her pregnancy. She visited the healer out of excess caution, troubled slightly by nausea the previous day.
“How is that possible?”
She turned to face him at that, her gaze sardonic and almost amused.
“Let us not pretend that this will be a regular child.” She said wryly. Gil-galad hissed as he took in a breath, pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger at the confirmation of his fears. A part of him had hoped that maybe she had taken an elven lover, one he was unaware of. Even another human would be preferable. That was clearly not the case. He wondered briefly if it was his place to ask, if he wanted to even know the answer to the question that he simply had to voice. If the answer was yes, it would mean open war. If it was no…that was not something he was ready to contemplate.
“Did he --”
“No.” She replied immediately, not even letting him voice his suspicion. He searched her gaze -- she looked hard but determined at him, and he knew the Commander well enough to know that there were no lies in her glance. She was not forced.
Somehow, he thought, this might be worse.
“I do not understand why.”
“And I am certain that you do not want to.” She said as a warning.
Fair enough.
He looked carefully at her. She was not showing, not yet at least. Her blue gown still draped elegantly over her stomach, her hair still flawless, still radiant in her beauty. Every inch the golden princess of the Noldor. And yet.
“You have options.” He said. Galadriel smiled gently at him, fondly even, for all their disputes.
“I don’t want them. I want her.” She replied. Gil-galad nodded.
“And if he comes for the child?” He asked. She paused for a moment, smoothing her hand over her flat stomach. Gil-galad could picture her as a mother -- fierce and loving, protective and determined. It settled him somewhat to realise it.
“I will shield her. No one ever needs to know.” She said. He almost believed her.
“I do not know what a child with her parentage could become.” He said, offering her one last chance to change her mind. She walked to him and took his hand in hers. Despite the years, despite her wars, her hand was smooth and soft and graceful as ever.
“Exactly.”
***
Celebrían plucked a blade of grass, trying to hold its tips between her forefinger and thumb, it stayed there delicately -- a perfect level of control. She frowned when, like all the others, it fluttered to the ground, its perfection stuttered by even the slightest movement of the air.
Her hill was beautiful, created out of the memories of those who loved her, the perfection of Valinor present only in her dreams, yet even then her mastery of it was not complete. Still, she could make the sun shine, and the trees still despite the soft breeze, and the water in her dreams always tasted like crystal ice. Perfection.
That very perfection was interrupted by a voice.
“Hello.”
It was a Man, one of the Edain. He was tall, and dressed simply, just like the travellers who passed through her home, looking to trade goods with the famed elves of Lothlórien before realising that they had little to offer the kingdom. How could mortal goods compete, after all?
Still, he smiled gently at her, and crouched down beside her in the grass.
“How are you able to be here?” She asked with all her mother’s pride in her voice at the thought of someone intruding on her most private space.
He smiled wider at that, his teeth showing and his eyes lighting with mischief.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He asked softly. Celebrían nodded. “I don't know.”
She frowned at him.
“I have always been able to walk in dreams, and I suppose tonight I have found yours. Is that okay?” He asked. Celebrían thought for a moment. She had heard tales of men blessed with gifts of the Valar, gifts that they were unable to fully understand or control. It made her sad to think of them, bearing too much gift for their mortal forms. It must be lonely, she thought. She understood that.
“Yes, I suppose so. If you tell me your name, that is.” She said, and paused for a moment. She should be polite. “I will offer you mine in return,” she added. The man nodded.
“That is a fair exchange, indeed. I am called Halbrand. And your name?” He asked.
“Celebrían.”
“Celebrían, a lovely name.” He said approvingly.
She smoothed her dress where it had crumpled in her lap.
“You should be careful with your wanderings,” she began. “Dreams can be dangerous.”
Halbrand considered for a moment before agreeing. “That is true, but there can be so much to discover within them.” He nudged her small shoulder with his own. “It can be hard to resist.”
Celebrían smiled, settling into her unusual circumstance.
“Do you want to see a magic trick?” She asked. It had been so long since she had new people to play with, her days spent with tutors and her nights in the quiet serenity of her mother’s chambers.
“Of course.” Halbrand replied. She grinned and held out her small hands.
“I have been practising.” She said, and concentrated on her palm. She had felt it, before, a wind arising out of her will. It had felt like vindication, after years of trial and error. Finally, she was living up to the hopes her mother whispered into her ear as they curled up together, watching Lothlórien bloom in the Spring sunshine.
Yet now, she could not manage it again. Here she was, with company, and she remained decidedly Not Enough despite the power she knew was burgeoning inside her.
Halbrand smiled gently at her, and looked her in the eye. She did not feel as though her failure was a disappointment, rather he looked at her like she had just solved the world’s most complex puzzle. She frowned, and let her hands drop.
“Don’t stop now! You’re so close.” Halbrand said, gently holding her palm up to the sky again. Celebrían sighed.
“I have been trying, but it will not come when I need it.” She told him, feeling even younger than she was. Halbrand frowned at her.
“Of course it will,” he said. He held out his own palm, and a small, weak flame appeared briefly before disappearing. Celebrían gasped in delight.
“You just have to picture how it feels, exactly as you want it, and it will come.” He said earnestly. She nodded with all the fierce determination she could muster into her child’s jaw. He smiled approvingly at her and she tried again, concentrating not on what she wanted it to look like, but rather how she wanted it to feel -- gentle, yet with its potential power obvious, like the breeze she felt when her mother took her to the edge of the mountains.
And there it was, a whirl of wind from her palm, blowing her hair, and that of her companion. He smiled proudly and nudged her with his shoulder again. Celebrían giggled.
“See?” He said. She nodded, and let the magic dissipate.
She took in a deep breath, letting the imagined air of Valinor into her lungs. Suddenly, she felt truly tired.
“I should get some real sleep now.” She told him apologetically. Halbrand nodded at her.
“Good,” he replied. “You need your rest if you want to become a powerful wizard.”
She grinned at him.
“Will you visit again?” She asked hopefully. Halbrand considered for a moment, and she wondered again how he could have found her dream.
“I am not sure,” He said finally. Celebrían did her best not to look disappointed. “But I hope so.”
This settled her, so with a last look at him, she let Valinor fade into nothing, and fell into the surrender of true sleep.
***
In the coming years, Celebrían forgot all about the strange Man who wandered into her dream once upon a time. Still, she never forgot his lesson; of how her will could shape nature, should she picture exactly how she wanted to feel.
It stayed with her into her maturity.
She had laughed with delight when Elrond asked for her hand, gentle and sweet in her mother’s forest. The buds on the trees sprouted in response to her joy as if it were early spring, even as they were just recovering from winter. Elrond had gasped in wonderment, amazed at her abilities, and kissed her softly as her magic thrummed in the air around them.
They made Imladris a place of beauty. It changed with the seasons, but it retained a purity she once thought only possible in dreams, or with the ring that never left her mother’s finger.
Elrond always looked on in delighted curiosity whenever she used her magic, it seemed to have no limit. They experimented -- a decade with a waterfall to the East, but she moved it to the West once she realised that the daylight warmed the plunge pool so nicely in the afternoon.
The world bloomed under her touch, yet still she used it to create simple delights: more apples in the orchard, a softer snowfall, shade for a den of foxes. It pleased her to see her people find wonderment and joy in her home, just like they found safety and wisdom in the council of her husband.
It was one autumn when she travelled to her mother’s kingdom that everything changed.
The world had long since become used to the safety that resulted from the Dark Lord’s fall, the only real danger being desperate bandits on the road, who could almost always be calmed with an offer of elven goods and wine. So her retinue was, in hindsight, far too small.
It was herself and two guards who were ambushed along the mountain pass.
The orcs seemed unending, and it had been so long that she had forgotten their true horror. Their distorted faces leered at her and her companions, licking their twisted lips at the prospect of fresh meat.
Her guards fought bravely, but she could not stop them from falling within minutes. As the band of orcs rounded on her, she felt the tight fist of terror take her heart in its grip.
She thought of her children, and Elrond at home, and she longed to be with them, and her mother, waiting expectantly for her daughter’s return.
It was these thoughts that caused her to remember -- Celebrían, daughter of Galadriel, was not to fall to a band of marauding orcs.
Her? Falling to a skirmish? What a mortifying notion.
She felt her power rising in her, and needed no sleepwalking wizard to guide her hand as twenty of the foul creatures were pushed back violently off the mountain, falling into the gully below as they screeched in terror.
The others scuttled back in fear.
All except one.
This orc looked different from the rest; wrinkled in a way that suggested age rather than mere ugliness. It cocked its head at her, and a look of what could only be awe could be seen in the slits it had for eyes.
“It is her.” The orc whispered.
Celebrían frowned, brandishing her blade and her hand in defence.
“She is His hatchling,” It said louder. There was a murmur from the other orcs. Celebrían felt icy tendrils in her chest.
The orcs spoke briefly in their foul tongue, garbled and cruel in their sounds.
But then something happened that Celebrían could never forget.
They bowed.
Dozens of orcs set themselves on their knees before her, avoiding eye contact. The elder orc looked up at her.
“We apologise, my Lady.” It whispered. “You shall not be troubled again.”
But Celebrían, even as she arrived safely in her mother’s kingdom, had never felt more troubled in her life.
***
She does not confront her mother straight away, preferring instead to let the questions settle into her bones.
There was something in her that was dark and fierce, and the foul creatures of the world responded to it with something like reverence.
The truth escaped her grasp, even as she fought to catch it, fading into smoke that clouded her vision.
So she waited, and recovered from her ordeal. Galadriel had fussed over her once she was informed of what happened, insisting she sleep off the terror and the use of magic, but Celebrían had never felt stronger.
One night, she found her mother contemplating her mirror, strange and powerful artefact though it was. She had always assumed her gifts were the result of her mother but now, she wondered.
“Who was my father?” She said finally, causing Galadriel to look up in surprise.
“Why do you ask?” She replied, the hitch in her breath obvious. Celebrían walked towards her, channelling every lesson about projecting power her mother had ever taught her. Galadriel noticed, and her eyes gleamed briefly with pride.
“Because I just watched two attendants get murdered by orcs who not two minutes later laid themselves at my feet.” She whispered fiercely. “That’s why.”
Her mother was always composed, fearless. Her perfection was famous. Which was why her sigh shocked Celebrían to her bones.
“It is a complicated tale.”
“That much I have gathered by myself.” She retorted.
Still, for all her pride and courage, Celebrían could not have expected her mother’s words. Galadriel spoke of a time that for most elves was a vague memory as if it had happened the previous week. She told her of burgeoning feelings truncated by betrayal, of mental battles of will and desire. She explained how there was a time where Sauron himself was her lover -- coming to her in dreams and visions, and later in person, their terrible, passionate, all-consuming dance bringing a continent to its knees.
Celebrían’s mind blanked at the information.
Whatever she had expected, it was never this.
When Galadriel finished her tale, she could not meet her daughter’s eyes. Celebrían did not know what to think, or how to process it.
“What ended it?” She asked, her tongue feeling heavy in her mouth.
“You.” Galadriel said. “When I fell pregnant, I turned my energy to concealing you from him. I wove enchantments into every garment you wore, into the very air of Lothlórien. I prayed that would be enough.”
Celebrían then remembered a long forgotten dream. The soft breeze, the grass, the proud smile of a man crouched beside her.
“He discovered me.”
Galadriel nodded.
“I rejoined the war after that. I did not know what he would do once he knew you existed.” She said.
Celebrían could accept that. She had thought it strange, how her childhood had been filled with tales of her mother’s bravery and prowess in battle, yet she remained in the quiet of Lothlórien as others fought for their safety from the Dark Lord. Galadriel eventually went to war, mere months before it ended, as if her simple presence on the battlefield was enough to change the fortunes of the Last Alliance. Now, she knew why. That Dark Lord was her lover, and Celebrían’s father. The thought was a stab to her heart.
“I just don’t understand how you could --” She began.
“And you will never have to.” Galadriel interrupted proudly. “Still, now you know why the kingdoms of Eregion and Lindon fell in the war, yet our home remained blissfully untouched.” She said wryly.
Celebrían gasped as shock, horror and a strange sadness washed over her at the realisation of what Galadriel was saying.
“Our homes will never be touched by evil, Celebrían,” her mother said. “It is ironic that evil itself ensures that.”
***
Elrond, ever the cleverest person in her life, realised immediately that something was deeply amiss upon her return. Still, he knew from her glance to not trouble her with his concern until they were alone.
She lay in the dark, her head in his lap on their bed, and told him everything in a whisper.
Elrond’s hands stilled where they had once been caressing her hair, and she could tell he was barely breathing as she finished her tale. Celebrían sat up, turning to face him as he stared ahead with his mouth parted in shock.
But then she realised that something was missing from his face.
Surprise.
“Of course I never knew,” he said. “I assume that Gil-galad and Galadriel kept the whole affair well hidden.” He paused, then met his wife’s eyes. “But still, I wondered.”
His perspective on the matter was limited. That time had been so chaotic, yet he told her of Galadriel carrying a mysterious smith into Eregion, one minute claiming him as the lost king of the Southlands, the next refusing to even speak his name.
“I knew he had betrayed her in some way, but I don’t think I ever imagined this.” He said, his brow furrowed.
Celebrían closed her eyes as she tried to fight back the tears that threatened to spill. Her life, her memories, her dreams, her abilities -- they were now all tainted by the knowledge of her father, and what he did.
“Elrond,” she began, finally giving voice to her greatest fear. “Our boys, our Arwen. What does this mean for them?” Her husband’s eyes widened as he came to the same realisation. She thought she now understood her mother, to an extent. The circumstances of her conception were out of her hands, but her children ? There was nothing dark in them. Nothing was more important than shielding their innocence from the judgement of those who would not understand.
“I do not know what to do.” She said softly. Elrond pulled her to him, kissing the crown of her head as she cried in his arms.
They whispered long into the night, and agreed that there was only a single path forward. Concealment, at all costs. Her mother had the right of it, regardless of how it pained something deep inside her soul to know that she would have to restrain her potential for the rest of time. But still, it was worth it.
Imladris remained beautiful, it remained perfect, but Celebrían no longer moved the world around her as easily as breathing. When visitors asked why the famed she-elf no longer practised such charming magic, she laughed sonorously, breathlessly admitting that she was no longer young, and had put away the foolish games of her youth. This satisfied most.
Yet it was not long before even this lie began to fall around her ears.
Nauthion was breathless when he came into her reading room, eyes wide with panic. He had been on patrol when he saw it; a pile of meat, neatly stacked just outside the magical borders of her home.
It had been left there by a band of orcs.
Celebrían pursed her lips and tried to push down the panic in her heart, and thanked the guard for his warning, promising to speak of it to her lord husband.
“What do they want?” Elrond asked her that night. Celebrían shook her head.
“How could I know?”
Elrond was silent.
“It cannot be allowed to continue.” He said finally. Celebrían agreed.
They set out the next day, all smiles and waves to their people, promising to be back by the next morning with gossip from their romantic ride through their forests. No one saw the series of daggers that adorned them underneath their fine clothes, their tense shoulders as they contemplated what truly awaited in the dark.
They found the band of orcs easily enough, a couple of dozen skulking the caves to the East of Imladris. They were ugly, foul and twisted. They snarled at Elrond’s presence, but upon seeing Celebrían, a reverent silence fell upon them as they bowed before her once again.
She now understood why, and it was a twist of a knife in her gut.
Elrond looked to her for guidance, so she stepped forward, asked in a voice as clear and powerful as her mother’s for a leader to parlay with her. From the back of the group, an orc came towards her, tottering on poorly balanced limbs with its head bowed in supplication towards her.
“Olfaug, my Lady.” It said. The voice sounded male.
“How did you know who I was?” She asked simply. Olfaug still refused to meet her eye.
“We are of Mordor. It was well-known that His Grace had sired a hatchling.” He growled out. Elrond put his hand on Celebrían’s shoulder, silently encouraging her to continue.
“Well known to who?” She asked.
“To all who served him,” The orc replied. “It was known that he had a she-elf of a hatchling, that she was beautiful, clever, and powerful. We knew she was lonely.”
Celebrían felt her heart stop beating, understanding that this knowledge could only have come from one source.
“We did not know your name, or where you were. On behalf of my brethren, I beg your forgiveness.” Olfaug continued. Celebrían frowned.
“Forgiveness?”
“You are owed many tributes, my Lady. We would have never let the disrespect go on so long had we known.” He said quietly.
A chill fell on her.
Tributes.
That thought echoed in her mind the entire way home, and into the next day. She pulled Elrond aside before dinner that evening.
“Tributes.” She said simply. Her husband raised an amused eyebrow at her.
“It seems you have been crowned, my love.”
She punched his arm lightly. He laughed.
“This need not be terrible,” He said. “Think of what you could do for peace.”
So she did.
Celebrían took her time -- months, even, to process what her life had become. In that time, tributes continued to be left outside the boundary of Imladris. There was treasure, weapons, armour…and a lot of meat.
“They are like the feral cat Elladan grew fond of decades ago,” Elrond said one night, his voice ringing with amusement. “They most likely assume you do not know how to hunt.”
She glared at him. Elrond let his smile drop in deference to her irate stare.
“I think, regardless of anything else,” Elrond began carefully, “it is clear that these creatures require a degree of guidance.”
Celebrían considered.
“Guidance?”
Her husband took her hands in his, and looked at her with all the love and pride she knew he felt for her.
“Leadership.” He said.
So she returned to the cave where she found the orcs, and this time she was alone.
“You must stop leaving tributes.” She said firmly, pretending to be braver than she felt. The orcs murmured from where they were bowed before her, confused.
Finally, Olfaug spoke.
“Do they not please you, my lady?”
It occurred to Celebrían that she could almost see a furrow of confusion, even disappointment, in the area that resembled his brow.
“I just do not require them.” She replied. Another orc stepped forward.
“What would you like instead?” It said curiously. Its voice was higher, so she decided it was a female.
Celebrían took a deep breath.
“Make the Misty Mountains safe for travellers. Keep the paths clear, let all people -- elves, humans, dwarves,” she hesitated for a moment “and orcs, pass through unmolested, so long as they do not trouble other groups.”
The orcs stared at her curiously.
“I would have you guard these mountains and keep them safe in perpetuity. Let that be your tribute to me.” She finished.
There was grumbling, a confused smatter of voices among the band that grew louder. It was clear that there was dissent.
Olfaug snapped his jaws at his companions, and all were silent. The female orc stepped forward again.
“Is this your request?” She asked. Celebrían shook her head.
“It is my command.”