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She was absolutely afraid of her in-laws.
Bronach dried her hands on the towel next to the basin and sat down in front of the mirror to check her appearance, mostly for something to do rather than out of any real concern.
Behind her, Celebrían fluttered about anxiously. “I am so sorry,” she murmured, as Bronach poked a wayward lock of hair back into place, glad that she’d taken the time to dress herself in a manner befitting the Gondorian court ladies that morning, instead of her preferred Ranger garb which would have necessitated changing. “If I had known…”
“Please,” Bronach murmured, fidgeting with her necklace so it hung better. Gimli had made it for her, during their year at Hogwarts, to match the earrings that the twins had commissioned him to make. “You meant no harm. It was our fault for announcing the betrothal at midwinter.”
“Don’t apologize for that,” the elf said, whirling on Bronach with her hands on her hips. “Never apologize for announcing your betrothal when you were able to have your family with you. We’re just pleased that you allowed us to share in the wedding as well.”
She must not have been able to disguise her surprise, because Celebrían sat down on the bench beside her and took her hands, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“When I sailed, I knew that it was likely that my children would find their partners, betroth themselves, and marry without my being present,” Celebrían’s voice was sad, but warm. “I’ve had plenty of time to prepare myself for the eventuality. My sons told me of your family, of how they were able to stand with you even if all of them did not know the significance, and that fills me with joy. Though I know that you have friends on this shore, they could not fill the place of family.”
For a moment, Bronach found herself unable to speak around the lump in her throat. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“It may not be official until you wed, but I will say it anyway,” Celebrían leaned in and brushed her lips over Bronach’s forehead in a motion that felt like a blessing. “Welcome to the family, daughter.”
“I haven’t told Elladan and Elrohir,” Bronach murmured, desperately wanting to give something to Celebrían, possibly the only thing she could that could equal the love and acceptance her mother-in-law was showing, “but I rode out from Gondor with Arwen, after Aragorn…”
The grip on her hands tightened. Celebrían’s eyes fixed on hers hungrily. Bronach continued, the words pouring out in a rush. “She didn’t want anyone to go with her, not her brothers, not her children, not her attendants, but I went and she didn’t turn me aside. Probably because she knew I wouldn’t go, and she couldn’t order me. We rode to Cerin Amroth, and I stayed with her until…”
A tear slipped down Celebrían’s cheek. “Oh daughter,” she breathed, her grip on Bronach’s hands almost painful. “I am so glad that she had you.”
There was a rap on the door, and Galadriel sailed in, almost glowing in a way Bronach had only seen in the visit to her garden during her first stay in Lothlorien. “The guests are beginning to arrive,” she informed Celebrían, and then paused. “Is all well?”
“Very well,” Celebrían answered her mother, wiping away the tear that had fallen and composing herself. Bronach let her hands fall to her lap, where they fidgeted with the fall of her skirts. “Bronach was just giving me news of Arwen that the twins did not have.”
The Lady smiled softly. “I see,” she murmured, resting her hand on Celebrían’s shoulder. “Elrond asked that you join him to greet the guests; I believe the first riders spotted are bearing the symbols of Dorthonion.”
Celebrían laughed lightly and stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her gown. “Then I had best be there,” she said, moving towards the door. “Bronach, will you be fine with my mother?”
“Of course,” Bronach answered, not wanting to keep Celebrían from something pressing. She, at least, had met Galadriel before, which was more than she could say for her mother-in-law, however kind she had been since their introduction.
Galadriel wetted a corner of the cloth by the basin and carefully wiped away the tear track that Bronach hadn’t realized was on her cheek. “It is good to see you again, and I am glad to find my grandsons’ devotion returned.”
“I had not dared to dream,” Bronach said, glancing away.
“Nonetheless, I am glad,” Galadriel used gentle fingers to turn her face towards the mirror. “You look lovely, but there is one thing I would add. Close your eyes.”
Obediently, Bronach closed her eyes, wary and curious as to what Galadriel would add. There was a rustle of fabric, and then a weight so light she hardly noticed it, placed on her head.
“You may open them,” Galadriel said, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.
Atop her hair, which had been braided back and held in place by bejeweled pins and combs she’d crafted under Thorin’s exacting eye, rested a delicate silvery circlet, set with tiny emeralds. She’d released her glamours the moment they’d sailed out of sight of Hogwarts, and Bronach couldn’t help but notice that the emeralds matched her eyes.
“A happy coincidence.” In the mirror, Bronach saw Galadriel motion to her eyes. “But you are part of our family now, and deserve to be bedecked accordingly.”
Cautiously, Bronach reached up to touch it. The metal was cool, but slightly warm to the touch, and she felt the sparks of magic within it.
“It will recognize those of our family,” Galadriel explained, squeezing her shoulder. “If it cools, there is danger. To those who are not of the family who dare lay hands on it, it will burn them.”
Bronach dropped her hand, marveling at the easy acceptance displayed. It was enough to make her wish to saddle Leylar and head for the mountains in the distance.
“Come,” Galadriel ordered, likely sensing her desire to run. “The guests will be greeted by Elrond and Celebrían, as it is their house in which we reside, but you and your betrotheds will stand with Celeborn and I, at least at the start. It is our duty, as Celebrían’s parents, to introduce you to the family when she is hosting.”
As Bronach rose, Galadriel helped her straighten her dress and then looped her arm through Bronach’s, guiding her out of the room Celebrían had shown her to after they’d arrived.
Further down the hall, in the direction of the main doors, there was the sound of horses and lively chatter, but Galadriel’s firm hold steered them both in the opposite direction, the hall letting out in a large garden, accessible from many points of the house, much like the gardens of the Last Homely House in Imladris.
Celeborn was already there, standing between Bronach’s betrotheds, who had similarly neatened up, and were also wearing silver circlets.
“You look lovely,” he told her as Galadriel relinquished her arm. She curtseyed slightly, murmuring her thanks, but he took her hands and squeezed them, a positively affectionate gesture from the usually reserved elflord. Then, he stepped out from between the twins, allowing her to take his place while he took hers next to Galadriel.
“He was right,” Elrohir said in her ear as he gently entwined their fingers. “You do look lovely. The emeralds compliment your eyes.”
“You’ve left me with nothing to say,” Elladan complained, sliding his arm around her waist.
“Angaráto,” Galadriel said, as a tall elf with hair a shade more golden than her own strode in, leading another elf who Bronach suspected was his wife. They steered towards where they were gathered beneath a spreading tree at Galadriel’s call.
Murmuring greetings, the elflord pressed chaste kisses to Galadriel’s cheeks and exchanged frosty nods with Celeborn while his wife greeted Galadriel in a similar fashion. “Angaráto,” Galadriel said, turning slightly towards the twins and Bronach. “You, of course, remember my grandsons, Elladan and Elrohir, but may I make known to you Bronach Ruinil, their betrothed?”
“You are the adan that was allowed to sail?” the elflord asked, studying her. Bronach met his gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated.
“Bronach is from a world beyond our own, in possession of a magic beyond our own,” Elladan said firmly. “She bears life undying, as the eldar. Námo and Irmo are quite fond of her.”
The elflord grunted, but his wife smiled at Bronach. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Bronach Ruinil,” she said, holding her hands out. Bronach reached out as well, unsure of what the gesture was, and the lady clasped hers gently in greeting. “I am Eldalótë, and my husband Angaráto is brother to Galadriel. We would love to have you for dinner some time, to get to know you better.”
“Thank you, amilnésa,” Elladan said politely. “We would be glad to visit with you further.”
The pair drifted off further into the gardens, and Bronach leaned into Elladan’s side. “Will we actually be?” she murmured for the ears of her betrotheds only.
Elrohir chuckled. “Amilhanno Angaráto is somewhat stern, but Eldalótë is kind, and their son Orodreth is more like her. If we time things right, their grandson will also be present.”
“Ereinion,” Celeborn said, surprisingly warm in comparison to the greeting Angaráto had received. “It is good to see you once more.”
“Adarhanar Celeborn,” the elf who had just entered said, steering towards them unerringly. “And atarnésa Galadriel, I am glad to see you both.”
“How many times must we tell you,” Galadriel chided gently. “It is Galadriel and Celeborn.”
“At least once more,” the elf said, inclining his head to them both.
“Is your father behind you?” Galadriel asked, glancing at the door.
“He asked me to give Elrond and Celebrían my regrets.” Turning to Elladan and Elrohir, he smiled warmly at them, seemingly delighted to see them. “We have met before, but only briefly. You are Elrond and Celebrían’s sons, Elladan and Elrohir, yes?”
“Yes, High King,” Elladan said, and Bronach realized that this was Gil-galad, last High King of the eldar, who had fallen upon the slopes of Mount Doom. She started to lower herself into a curtsy, but she was stopped by his hand on her arm.
“No, no,” he said hurriedly. “This is a family gathering, and there is no need for such things. We are cousins of a sort, are we not? Please, call me Gil-galad.”
“This is our betrothed, Bronach Ruinil,” Elrohir introduced.
“I have heard many a good tale about you,” Gil-galad said with a smile. “Someday I would like to hear the truth.”
“I’m sure Elrond will invite you to dine,” Celeborn said with a slight smile. “There will be plenty of time for tale-telling then.”
A call from Eldalótë across the garden had the High King giving his goodbyes, and Bronach clung to Elrohir’s hand for a moment.
“Are you well?” he murmured, moving closer to her, shielding her from the door with his body.
“Just…overwhelmed,” she admitted, letting her head rest against his chest for a moment. “I had…forgotten, I suppose, that you are far higher nobility than I could ever reach.”
“We do not stand upon such things in family gatherings such as this,” Elladan reassured her. “And we will allow nobody to treat you as lesser, family or not.”
“Indeed they shall not,” Galadriel’s voice had a touch of frost. “I wouldn’t stand such disrespect to you, let alone the reaction my daughter and her chosen would have. But those who are invited today are not ones to consider such things.”
Galadriel’s brother Aikanáro was next to be introduced to them, far less stiffly than Angaráto thankfully, and then a statuesque elf lady swept in, shedding her slippers on the veranda so that she crossed the grass to them in bare feet.
“Itarillë,” Galadriel greeted. “How lovely to see you again.”
“Artanis,” the lady said, dipping her head in greeting. “Celeborn.”
She turned then to Elladan and Elrohir, a warm smile on her face. “Sons of my son,” she murmured, reaching out to cup their cheeks briefly. “It is good to see you returned.”
“Mother of our father’s father,” Elrohir said, squeezing Bronach’s hand in reassurance. “Please let us introduce our betrothed, Bronach Ruinil.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Bronach murmured, mentally tracing the lineage of her betrotheds, trying to remember who Elrond’s grandmother was. Usually, she was better with lineages, but she was thrown off by the entire situation, and the constant switching between Quenya and Sindarin as the situation demanded.
“And a joy to meet the one whom Elladan and Elrohir love,” the lady said with a smile. “My son and his wife will be here shortly,” she told Galadriel and Celeborn. “My son cannot linger long, but his wife will join you.”
With that, she swept away towards Eldalótë, while Bronach tried not to hyperventilate. She’d placed the lady, Idril Celebrindel, which meant that her son…
“Eärendil, Elwing,” Galadriel said with a warm nod as the newest arrivals steered directly towards them.
“I am glad to have the chance to meet you,” the lord said, smiling at Bronach. “Beloved of my son’s sons.”
Upon his brow, a white gem shone brightly, and Bronach could almost hear the song captured inside it. Spellbound, it took her a moment to remember her words. “I am pleased to meet the Blessed,” she said, dipping her head politely. “You honor me with your attention.”
“Are you well?” Elladan murmured, leaning in to her. “Do you need the dampeners?”
“I am well,” she assured him, taking a breath. “Now that I have caught my feet, I have control.”
“Ah,” Eärendil said, seeming almost sheepish. “I did not realize that it might affect you.”
“It simply caught me off guard,” Bronach assured him. “Its strength is unlike any other, but now that I know the measure of it, it is simple enough to mind my own magics.”
“It is said that you are a master of them,” Elwing said, smiling at her. “My father will likely wish to compare your experiences, as he recalls Doriath in the days of Melian.”
“I would be honored,” Bronach said truthfully. She had heard of the powers of the Maia, how could she not, but Gandalf had been sparing with his displays in her presence. To speak with one who had seen the greatest defensive magical workings on Arda? It would be an honor, and a joy.
Elwing grasped her hands and kissed her cheeks, but the pair did not drift off to the others congregating in the gardens, instead taking up places on Elrohir’s left, opposite from where Galadriel and Celeborn stood on Elladan’s right. She tightened her grip on her own magics, bound tightly within herself since they left the shores of the Black Lake. The silmaril sang an enchanting song to her senses, but she could feel a dissonance in her magics as they adapted, changing from the realm of her birth to the Blessed Realm. Bronach suspected it would pass with time, when the adaptation was complete, but for now she held her magic closely, not willing to risk a large expenditure.
Idril’s father was next to greet them, warm but slightly distant as he greeted her, but on his heels was an even more impressive guest than the High King and the Mariner combined.
“Atar,” Galadriel said, her voice slightly surprised. “I did not know you were coming.”
“How could I miss the return of your grandsons?” Finarfin said, glancing at Elladan and Elrohir. “And who is this?”
“Bronach Ruinil,” Celeborn said with a polite dip of his head to his father in law. “Elladan and Elrohir announced their betrothal when they arrived. Bronach’s kin could not journey to our shores, so they exchanged rings with them, as is only right.”
“I sorrow at your parting from your kin,” Finarfin said, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder. “But I welcome you to our family, Bronach Ruinil.”
Once he had greeted Eärendil and Elwing, he drifted off towards where his sons were standing. They had a moment to rest, and then one of the fairest elf lords Bronach had ever seen was entering, and Elwing brightened.
“Adar,” she said, drawing them over. “Emel. The sons of my son have announced their betrothal. Bronach Ruinil, my adar Dior and my emel Nimloth.”
“I am pleased to meet you,” Bronach said, starting to grow accustomed to names out of legend standing before her eyes.
“Adar, Bronach is quite talented with magic,” Elwing continued. “You should speak of Doriath with her, she would find it fascinating, I’m sure.”
Nimloth smiled wryly, though it was not unkind. “I’m sure that whatever we might have to say, she could hear from the source,” the lady said, glancing at the door.
The tallest elf lord that Bronach had ever seen had just arrived, arm in arm with a lady of surpassing beauty.
“Oh my,” Elwing murmured, as all of the garden’s occupants straightened and turned to watch the newcomers make their way to where Bronach waited with her betrotheds.
“Father of my mother, mother of my mother,” Dior said, dipping his head slightly to the lady. “You know Celeborn and his lady Galadriel, of course, and my daughter Elwing and her lord Eärendil, but I do not believe you have been introduced to the sons of Elwing’s son, Elladan and Elrohir.”
“King Thingol, Queen Melian” Elladan removed his arm so that he could bow, his brother following suit as Bronach sunk into a curtsy. “We are honored by your presence here today.”
“Two of our line, involved in such an affair that set the Valar upon their heads?” Melian said, her voice echoing with birdsong. “I could not resist when the invitation arrived.”
“Bronach is quite proficient in magical workings,” Elwing told the pair. “I was just telling adar that she would love to hear of Doriath.”
“Irmo has spoken much of her gifts,” Melian said, turning her smile on Bronach, a tangible weight even though Bronach’s eyes were still downcast. “He would be quite beside himself if you were not to visit Lórien. When you come, we will talk together of enchantments and defenses.”
“You are most gracious, Queen Melian, King Thingol,” Bronach murmured, amazed that they had known of her before the introduction. “I would be most honored to hear what you would share.”
“Such courtly manners,” Melian said fondly. “You have chosen well for yourselves, kin of my daughter,” she told Elladan and Elrohir.
Thankfully, the pair did not linger much longer, and Bronach rose, hardly believing what had just happened.
Elwing reached over to rest her hand on Bronach’s arm. “They hardly ever leave Lórien, though Elrond always invites them to family gatherings”, she murmured, sounding apologetic. “I am sorry. If I had known, I would have warned you.”
“Not many left,” Galadriel said, glancing around the garden. “Only…”
“Artanis,” a cheerful voice said, and Bronach saw a pair striding towards them, the lord embracing Galadriel warmly. “I see that we are almost late!”
“You are right on time,” Galadriel told him, kissing him on the cheek.
“You are too kind,” the lord exchanged polite nods with Celeborn, before turning to Elwing and Eärendil. “Elwing, Eärendil, a pleasure. And Elladan and Elrohir, welcome back.”
“Amilhanno Ingoldo, may we introduce our betrothed, Bronach Ruinil,” Elladan said with a smile.
“A betrothal?” Ingoldo looked overjoyed. “Oh, Celebrían must be beside herself with joy at the news. Welcome to the family, Bronach.”
Elrond and Celebrían made their way over a moment later, once Ingoldo’s wife Amarië had been introduced. The pair looked somewhat shell-shocked, clearly just as taken aback by the arrival of Elu Thingol and Melian as the rest of them had been.
“Once again, I must apologize,” Celebrían said, wringing her hands. “The entire extended family is…quite much, even without unexpected additions.”
“I am managing quite well,” Bronach assured her mother-in-law, not wanting to upset her. “Elladan and Elrohir have been wonderful, as always, and everyone has been very kind.”
Somewhere, a bell rang, and Elrond announced the call to table. Elladan and Elrohir both offered their arms, and together they fell into step behind Elrond and Celebrían.
The food on the table was like many of the meals Bronach had eaten in Imladris, but she was hardly used to being the center of attention. All that the guests wanted to discuss was their year at Hogwarts, the tournament, the tasks…
Thankfully, Elladan and Elrohir shared the load, but Bronach felt as if she were under a spotlight, something that she had never been comfortable with. Everyone was kind, even if a few were rather stiff, but somehow the kindness made it worse. It was a relief when the formal part of the meal ended, and they were released back into the gardens, where some of the house staff had clearly been hard at work, setting up small tables of desserts and drinks, along with seating.
“This way,” Elrohir murmured, putting his hand at the small of her back to guide her into the shadows cast by the trees.
Bronach looked for Elladan, but he’d been caught by one of the sons of Finarfin, she couldn’t tell which from a distance. Elrohir kept her moving though, until they were out of sight and earshot, secluded in a quiet bower next to a created waterfall.
“You looked like you needed the quiet,” Elrohir said, leading her to sit on the padded bench under the trellis heavy with roses. “Elladan’s distracting everyone while we breathe.”
“Remind me to thank him later,” Bronach leaned against the bench arm and let her breathing slow, realizing that she’d grown progressively tenser as the night went on. “This is beautiful.”
“Emel said that it was the first part of the gardens that they created,” Elrohir shifted next to her to look at the waterfall, eyes distant. “During those early days…it reminded her of Imladris.”
“I can see why,” Bronach hadn’t seen a single natural waterfall since they made landfall, though she’d hardly seen much. Elrond and Celebrían’s home was on the edge of one of the upper circles of Tirion, and they had ridden there directly from the docks. She’d learned at dinner that Galadriel had a house in the city as well, but now that Celeborn had arrived they often rode through the Calacirian to the lands further south, which were far more akin to the wilds of Arda. Apparently, many of the Sindar of Arda had settled there, including many of Lothlorien’s former residents. Given her knowledge of Celeborn, Bronach suspected that he would be far more comfortable there, and if she suspected that, Galadriel certainly must know it.
Her breathing had slowed, and she leaned into him. “Can we sit for a moment longer, before we have to return?”
“Just sit?” he teased, shifting as he reached up to cup her cheek. “When we’re assured of our privacy here, and the loveliest maiden I’ve ever seen is before me?”
“I hear she’s betrothed,” Bronach said, feeling her heart flutter for far different reasons, the scent of the roses heavy in the air around them.
“Mmm,” Elrohir hummed consideringly, thumb tracing her cheekbone. “It’s a good thing that I’m betrothed to her, isn’t it?”
He leaned in, giving her enough time to move away if she wanted, and pressed his lips to hers. Bronach went eagerly, and they kissed for a long, breathless moment, his other hand coming up to cradle her head, ever mindful of her carefully arranged hair, as her own reached out to draw him closer.
She’d kissed any number of people before her betrothal, and certainly was no blushing maiden. But there was something more about kissing her betrotheds that ruined any of those past lovers for her. It wasn’t something they’d indulged in much, finding the sensations addicting, their emotions running high enough to threaten to do away with their good sense and self-restraint. Given that they were all agreed on waiting the expected year, none of them had wanted to end up married because they’d gotten carried away.
“So this is what I missed out on,” Celebrían’s voice said fondly, and Bronach startled away from Elrohir, feeling ashamed to be caught snogging like a teenager while her betrothed’s family gathered nearby. “Catching you in odd corners. Was Arwen this bad, or is this just something you do?”
Elrohir looked abashed, a flush high in his cheekbones. “Ada kept a close eye on both of them when they were in Imladris. But Arwen spent most of her time in Lothlorien, after Estel came of age.”
Celebrían laughed lightly and perched on the arm of the bench by Bronach. Gentle fingers teased at her hair where Elrohir’s fingers had been, likely putting it back into place. “Be off to the others before he notices then,” she ordered. “We’ll follow shortly.”
Guilt churned in Bronach’s stomach as Elrohir slunk off towards the rest of the gathering, leaving her alone with Celebrían in the gloaming.
“I hope tonight has not been too overwhelming,” Celebrían murmured, fingers moving on to smooth out the chain of her necklace where it had been disturbed. “If I had known…well, a full familial supper would not have been your first introduction. And to have King Thingol and Queen Melian attend…nobody would have predicted that.”
“I am honored that they thought so highly of my quest that they sought out Elladan and Elrohir,” Bronach fidgeted with her hands in her lap. “And I am sorry that we slipped away. Elrohir thought I needed a moment to myself, and we…just got carried away.”
Her mother-in-law laughed lightly, shifting so that she could take Elrohir’s vacated spot on the bench and reached for Bronach’s hand. “It may have been quite some time ago, but I do recall my own year of betrothal,” Celebrían’s eyes sparkled in the dim light. “Why do you think my husband was so mindful of our children?”
The thought startled Bronach, not expecting commiseration from this particular quarter. “We do intend to wait until the year of betrothal is concluded,” she told Celebrían sincerely.
“And I have every faith that you will,” Celebrían patted her hand softly. “That doesn’t mean you won’t find time for some kissing in the gardens during that year. I’ll manage my husband, don’t you fret. And if he gets too overbearing, Adar and Ammë have always been more lenient of such behaviors.”
Which explained so much more about Arwen’s choice of Lothlorien, even though it wasn’t a frequent Ranger stopover, as her residence, Bronach realized. Releasing her hand, Celebrían studied the roses that blanketed the trellis they were sitting under.
“These, I think,” she said, reaching out to snap several blossoms. With deft hands, she tucked them into Bronach’s hair and sat back to study the results. “Perfectly lovely. We’ve delayed enough, and the roses will serve as a wonderful alibi. We’d best return to the others lest someone else come searching.”
Out in the main section of the garden, Elrond had cornered his sons, seeming to be in the middle of politely interrogating Elrohir, likely about his disappearance. Celebrían swept in, presenting Bronach’s new ornaments for their approval, and in the ensuing shift of conversations, bundled Elrohir off towards Dior and Nimloth, who were talking with Elwing, and sent Elladan and Bronach towards Galadriel, who was speaking with Ingoldo.
“How lovely,” Galadriel said as they approached, reaching up to touch the blossoms in her hair. “Celebrían has quite a gift with roses, and an even greater gift with using them as ornamentation.”
“We were just speaking of your account of the runework needed to send the Dark One’s soul to Námo,” Ingoldo said with a smile. “You mentioned a ritual, the day before?”
“Ah, yes,” Bronach was surprised that he’d be interested in the technicalities. “It was a few days before, on Loëndë. I’ve found that rituals on the High Days are stronger, and Loëndë in particular lends itself to gathering power.”
“Could you elaborate on the ritual?” he asked, true curiosity in his voice, if she was reading him correctly. “I’ve only done a few, mostly with Durin’s folk, to anchor the protections on my halls.”
“It didn’t start as a ritual,” Bronach confessed, feeling sheepish. “I was adopted by the hill people of Angmar, in the north of Eriador, and the children liked to hear my tales of the phoenix, the firebird, that was the companion of the headmaster while I was in school. Fawkes, the phoenix, saved me while I fought a basilisk.” Realizing that Arda had never been cursed by such creatures, she explained about the size, the venom, and the deadly gaze. “They came up with a song about Fawkes, and about me in a way, that I’ve repurposed for ritual use.”
“Ah,” Ingoldo’s eyes lit up and his smile broadened. “Now that I understand. Queen Melian, you are quite familiar with the working of enchantments with music, are you not?”
The Maia appeared out of the dusk, a slight smile on her face. “Quite familiar indeed,” she said. “I would be honored if you would allow me to witness such a thing sometime.”
“It is most potent on Loëndë,” she said regretfully. “But Mettarë, or perhaps even the lunar calendar might suffice for a demonstration.”
“There is a full moon tonight,” Ingoldo glanced up, and Bronach followed suit, reaching out carefully with her magic and feeling the truth of its waxing. “If you are not too tired from your efforts,” he hurried to add, sounding apologetic.
Bronach glanced around the garden, half considering it. Her magic was itching slightly as it assimilated between Hogwarts and Aman, and a light ritual under controlled circumstances might help it settle. Galadriel’s other brothers had departed, as had Idril and Turgon, but Gil-galad was talking quietly with Celebrían and Elrond. King Thingol had joined where Dior and Nimloth were still talking with Elrohir, and while there were no household staff in evidence she suspected they lingered nearby in case of need.
“I would not want to presume that Elrond and Celebrían would appreciate the alteration to their evening,” she murmured, and Elladan glanced at her in concern.
“Is this something you need to do,” he murmured, dropping into Western presumably to attain a level of privacy, as Galadriel and Celeborn deftly distracted Ingoldo for a moment, “or something you feel is expected of you?”
“It might help my magic settle,” she admitted softly. “I am well, but there is an adjustment, as there was when we reached the castle.”
“Not as big as the one you did recently?” he clarified, glancing about. “You’ll need fire, either way.”
“A torch would be enough,” she tried to say, but he shook his head.
“You’ll be more comfortable with a brazier,” Elladan said, and she couldn’t argue that he was wrong. “I’m sure there is one at hand. I’ll speak with Adar and Emel, and we’ll see what can be arranged.”
He headed off towards his parents, leaving her with Ingoldo, Galadriel, and Celeborn, all focused on her.
“Elladan is asking permission from Elrond and Celebrían,” she murmured, feeling her cheeks flush. “There is…an adjustment period, between the magic of my birth and the power of Aman, and a brief ritual, to exchange the magics, might help it pass faster.”
“Is there anything we can assist with?” Galadriel asked, resting a hand on her shoulder.
“It will pass on its own shortly,” she assured the Lady of Lorien. “The ritual should change it from a day or two to a few hours. There is no ill effect on my health and wellbeing during the period, just a sensation that I can only describe as…itching.”
That sparked a laugh, as she had hoped it would, and then Elladan was returning, Elrohir at his side.
“They’re bringing a brazier out,” he told her, as Elrohir wrapped an arm around her waist comfortingly. “Do you need to do anything else to prepare?”
She considered her clothing. It was court fare, allowing for movement enough to dance, but not as loose as the shift she used for ritual work. But it would suffice, Bronach determined, if someone would help her undo her laces.
It also was one of her magicless ensembles, since she’d expected the transition to occur, leaving her with only the magic she had imbued in the pins and combs used to keep her hair in order. Excess magic in her garments would only confuse the working, but at least the pins and combs were easy to shed, compared to garments where the very fabric had been woven to be enchanted.
“Jewelry off,” she said, and Elrohir immediately helped her unclasp her necklace and held his hand out for her earrings. “My hair ornaments too.”
Between them, the twins rescued her new circlet and the pins and combs, her braids tumbling down her back. Politely, she sent the pair off to show the others how to arrange themselves out of her way around the brazier, glancing at Galadriel in a silent plea for the lady to linger.
Thankfully, Galadriel seemed to remain able to skim surface thoughts and stayed behind.
“I need help loosening my laces slightly,” Bronach admitted, shifting her hair out of the way. Nimble fingers immediately plucked at the cords, and Bronach took several deep breaths to test her ability to move.
“Will you need your slippers off as well?” Galadriel asked as she tied off the laces once more.
“Oh, yes,” Bronach stooped to remove them, noticing the brazier being lit in the center of the open space. Elladan and Elrohir had arranged the observers in the shadows of the trees, allowing for the illusion of privacy, but Bronach still had to take a deep breath.
It was different from doing the ritual in front of the Hogwarts students, but she could do it. They lacked the instruments that the others had played, but Elladan and Elrohir had somehow come up with a pair of flutes, which she appreciated. Projecting the music herself was possible, but it would lessen the depth she could sink into the ritual.
She saw them put the flutes to their lips and heard the first notes of the introduction fill the air as she took a deep breath, centering herself. On cue, hearing the memory of drum beats, she moved, letting her feet take her as she sunk into the meditative headspace the ritual required from her.
As she stepped through the ritual, feeling the power she was drawing in exchanging and mingling with the power she’d been born with, Bronach could feel things starting to equalize. It was hardly the rush she’d felt as she danced the ritual before the Third Task, but it eased something inside her as she reached for the flames, calling them up her arms, so that as she moved, they trailed behind her like the wings of the firebird in the song.
Bronach carefully fed them, making space for the power of Valinor, but like true flames, they reared up, attempting to slip from her control. Instinctively, she reached to rein them in, but as she did so, three voices joined the song, wrapping her in protective power, fencing in the flames before they could slip from her grasp. She appreciated the extra assistance, feeling the voices continue, lending balance and a fine weave of defensive magic settling around her, assurance that if she faltered, they would catch her.
When the song ended, she was kneeling, flames wreathed around her for a moment before she exhaled and let them dissipate.
There was a long moment of silence, and then a burst of applause. Elladan and Elrohir were first to reach her as she rose to her feet, both hovering slightly in concern.
“I didn’t realize how much it would help,” she murmured to them. The slight headache she’d been ignoring all day was gone, and she could feel Kreacher stirring. Celebrían had ordered the House Elf shown to the room she would occupy while she was there, so he could rest, since the journey had hit him harder. Now that she’d eased some of the strain, he was starting to awaken, but she pressed reassurance at him, urging him back to sleep.
Which honestly sounded like a good idea. Now that she had settled the magical itch under her skin, the weariness of a long day was starting to present itself.
“We felt the surge,” Elladan murmured, steadying her with a hand on her elbow. “The flames, they threatened to escape.”
“Someone, or rather someones, leant their assistance,” Bronach told him, leaning into his grasp. “I need to thank them, and then it is best that I sleep, and let the equalization continue.”
“Of course,” Elrohir said, looking beyond her. Bronach turned, and saw Galadriel, Melian, and Ingoldo standing a polite distance away, Celebrían and Elrond just behind them.
“Thank you,” Bronach said, lowering herself into a curtsey. “My control was strained further than I had anticipated.” It was not stretched so far that she would have lost it entirely, but in the magic she had felt a strong sense of protection and care, a desire to help borne from love, not from fear.
“It was our pleasure,” Melian spoke first, a slight smile on her face. “And it was quite interesting, seeing you work. You will come to me, and we will speak of magic and song.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Bronach said truthfully. “There is much left for me to learn.”
Melian nodded, and glided away towards her husband, leaving Ingoldo and Galadriel. The latter studied her for a moment, and then nodded decisively. “I will call upon you in a few days, once you have rested and recovered,” he said, and Bronach felt her gut churn with anxiety. “There is something I wish to ask,” he said with a reassuring smile, “but it can wait until you have settled in.”
He stepped closer, mindful of Elladan and Elrohir’s protective hovering, and pressed a kiss to her brow before bidding them all goodnight. Bronach watched him go, bewildered, but her attention was taken by Galadriel.
“A rest,” she murmured, neatly displacing Elrohir and Bronach’s side. “Sons of my daughter, I will not harm your betrothed, but she is in need of rest. Say your goodnights, and let me settle her in her rooms.”
Sheepishly, Elladan and Elrohir both bid her goodnight, limiting themselves to chaste kisses on her cheek under the watchful eye of their father and the amused eyes of those left in the garden, and then Galadriel was leading Bronach back into the house.
“A tad overcautious perhaps,” the lady said as they made their way up the stairs to the rooms Bronach had briefly been shown before dinner, “but for the best. You were correct, the ritual did help speed the balancing of your core. Now all that is needed is rest.”
“Thank you for your assistance,” Bronach said as Galadriel steered her through her sitting area and towards the screen that shielded her wardrobe from the rest of the room, “truly. But I am capable of readying myself for bed.”
“Of course you are,” Galadriel hummed, plucking at Bronach’s laces until they loosened enough to slip her gown off. “But I miss doing so for my daughter, and the daughter of my daughter, and if my brother has his way…well, my chance to do so may diminish soon. And if Celebrían were not busy with her guests, she would be quite cross with me for absconding with you.”
Bronach huffed out a laugh and slipped out of her gown, which Galadriel whisked away to hang as Bronach unbuttoned her undergown. Left in her shift, she sat down on the stool to unlace her boots and remove her stockings.
“Nobody will wake you in the morning, so sleep as long as you wish,” Galadriel told her firmly as the lady glided around the room, making sure the curtains were shut. Bronach checked on Kreacher, still sleeping in the cot Celebrían had arranged for him at short notice, and found him in a deeper sleep than she’d left him in. Ceding to Galadriel’s raised eyebrow, she slipped into her bed and drew up the covers around her.
“If you have need of anything, you may pull this cord,” Galadriel indicated a cord by the bedside that Bronach had nearly overlooked. “Someone will come to attend you. Celeborn and I will return tomorrow, but Celebrían and Elrond will look after you well in the meantime.”
“They have been more than kind,” Bronach murmured, the soft bed an enchantment of its own that pulled her into sleep. “As have you.”
“Nonsense, daughter of my daughter,” she heard Galadriel say vaguely, as a hand smoothed over her hair. “It is the least we could do for someone who the sons of my daughter love dearly.”