Chapter Text
Celebrían awoke to the sound of waves crashing and gulls crying in the distance, and little Arwen's soft sleeping breaths on her chest, and she wondered when, exactly, she and Elrond had gone to visit Lindon with the children.
She yawned. The sheets wrapped about her where she woke were silken, but the bed was empty of Elrond and her sons. Perhaps they had gone to make her breakfast, after being up late with Arwen, who didn't always sleep well. Círdan always sent food to their little cottage when they came to visit, and toys; he loved spoiling the children and knew well that after so much travel there was never any mental energy left to see about getting ingredients.
But a strange light filtered through her eyelids, and that was odd in itself, for she hardly ever slept with closed eyes, and it was utterly unlike the early-morning sunlight she would expect. Something else, too, was wrong, but she couldn't put a name to it. The song of the gulls was too melodic -- the Lindon-gulls had a fair sound, but it was still squawking, whereas these gulls were almost singing.
She opened her eyes and sat up, and a wave of dizziness hit her. She realized at once what was wrong: the earth beneath her was flat, as it had been before the changing of the world.
She didn't have much time to process this, for Arwen woke then with a sudden wail, and Celebrían soothed her as she went to the window of the unfamiliar room. The room itself was well-appointed, but impersonal; most likely it was a guest room in a fine house. The mother-of-pearl adornments might have been in the palace at Lindon, but she knew every room of that place, and this was not one of them.
Out the window she saw swan-ships, more than she had ever seen in one place except in one of Círdan's regattas, and a silvery light that was far too bright to be the Moon.
“Arwen,” she whispered, “did you take us to Aman?”
Arwen couldn't answer, too busy sobbing and too young besides, but Celebrían was sure. Glorfindel had been saying something about how a good measure of good Imladris-style common sense would have done wonders for the troubles of Treelit Valinor, and then everything had gone bright.
Oh, but it must be terrible for Arwen! A little half-elf in a land without mortality; of course she wasn't well with half of herself denied.
“Darling, do you know if your Ena is here?” she said, and gently pushed the thought of Elrond to Arwen in the parent-bond. Celebrían was used to having magic children, of course, but moving through thousands of years and many miles in an instant was rather beyond her experience (and Elrond's, but they had most of the same magic Arwen did and thus a better chance at bringing them all home). Finding Elrond would mean going home in a matter of days, not weeks or longer as she sought out a trustworthy Maia of sufficient skill.
Arwen hiccuped, the last of her sobs leaving her, and responded with a flood of love at the thought of her Ena, adding to it the thought of her brothers. They must have helped her cause this sudden transportation, and must be with Elrond now. That was a relief -- but where were they?
Elrond might be asleep longer than she, being half-elven. She would wait until they tugged on the marriage-bond before worrying.
She looked out the window again. “Well, the Trees are still lit. It's safe in Alqualondë yet, little one, but I wouldn't want to be caught in such a nice house's guest room when we weren't invited. Besides, we wouldn't want to run into your grandmother, would we?”
Arwen babbled something that might've included her attempt at saying grandmother, so Celebrían took that as a yes.
Luckily, the palace was built into a coastal hill, putting her window on the ground floor on the hill side though the room was likely higher up compared to the main door. She simply opened the window fully, briefly struck by the clean salt-scent of the breeze, then gathered herself and clambered out. Then she glanced back, went back in to fetch a sheet from the bed, and returned outside, now with material for a baby sling. After all, she might need her hands, and Arwen might be a good crawler by now but she hated to spend too long not being held.
Aman, she knew, didn't have much concept of theft in these days, not for impersonal things like guest-bedroom sheets, but she still felt a little guilty for taking it. She would've most likely been given it if she'd asked, but the risk of a chance meeting with her mother, if this was indeed the palace of Olwë, was too great.
Better to infiltrate the court from without, and have some sort of plan in case Galadriel -- Artanis Nerwen, now -- appeared while Celebrían was advocating for returning to Middle-Earth to seek out the kin left on those shores.
No one marked her departure from what she was now sure was the palace, so she went up on the hillside to fashion her sling for Arwen, who was now in a better mood. Celebrían wasn't sure whether she'd acclimated or just been distracted by the birdsong and sweet breeze, but it didn't matter just now, so long as Arwen was content to be carried around while they both got their bearings. It wasn't as if anyone had ever thought to give Celebrían a map of Alqualondë or information on its politics.
Luckily, from the top of the hill she could see most of the city, and it wasn't laid out too confusingly, only twisty where trees or the rise and fall of the ground obliged the streets to curve. It was easy to spot the marketplace, which was where she ought to go first, and the big squares where people would gather, her second stop. She needed more appropriate clothes, for the fashions of Imladris wouldn't do, hair ornaments for her braids (a lucky thing, that she'd asked Elrond to braid it earlier), and to know what year it was.
With this in mind she set off down the hill and onto a broad avenue. Its cobblestones were made of jewels, glittering in the light, and she recalled how Galadriel had always talked of the jeweled beaches -- and how gems were the closest thing Aman had to currency.
She changed her course and went to the beach instead. Her current adornments she rather liked; trading them would be a last resort.
Upon the beach, a ways away from the water, she took Arwen out of the sling and set her down. “You know better than to eat jewels,” she said sternly, “but over here away from the water they're bigger, so you can't fit them in your mouth. Which ones do you think I should bring into town, little princess?”
Arwen babbled and grabbed at a sapphire bigger than both her hands put together, then a piece of skystone, then a garnet. Celebrían picked these up, then gathered some scattered amethysts and moonstones. Anything she didn’t trade she could have made into toys for Arwen, who would soon be missing her bejeweled mobiles and rattles from home.
Soon she had one of her empty belt-pouches full of gems, and Arwen was tired from crawling on the sand, so Celebrían scooped her up and made for the town.
As far as she knew, Valinor worked in much the same way as Imladris, generally without currency and bartering save for trade with outside or particularly valuable items. According to her mother, a handful of gems plucked from the beaches or a jewel-maker's practice bin was all the “money” she could need for daily life. Aman's riches and bounty had no limit, after all.
The market was a riot of color and song. Beautiful as it was, Celebrían tucked Arwen's head against her chest, both to shield her from sound and to hide her not-quite-elven little face. If anyone gawked at her daughter she'd start a fight, and it wouldn't do her plan any good to get in trouble so quickly. That, and Arwen shouldn't be gawked at in the first place.
But there were plenty of parents carrying their children around, so she didn't look out of place in trying to keep her baby calm as she looked for clothes. She needed a few days’ worth of ordinary garments and one finer ensemble, at least for now, and the same for Arwen.
It took some wandering before she found where the clothes were sold, but when she did, they took her breath away.
Sea-silk! Sea-silk in quantities she’d never seen since Númenor! It seemed as though everything were broidered with it, though upon closer look some was instead a much cheaper gold thread. The gowns she saw were loose and water-like, but there were more practical dresses and trousers for seafaring, too.
Arwen needed clothes first, and linens, so Celebrían made for a stall with children’s clothes. A lucky thing it was market-day, or perhaps all days were, in Alqualondë before the Darkening. “Good morrow,” she said as she came to the stall. “Have you anything that might fit my little daughter here? She’s growing so quickly!” She had only half an instant to regret saying it, as fully elven children notably did not grow quickly, before the shopkeeper answered.
“Oh, they always do!” they said, and took a look at what they could see of Arwen. “I think we may have a good number of things in her size. What colors does she like?”
“Purple most of all, but gray and green and blue as well,” said Celebrían. Arwen also adored the reds and mahoganys that all of Imladris’s former Fëanorian followers liked to dress her in, cooing about how she looked like their princess, but Celebrían wasn’t trying to make that kind of statement. Not yet, anyhow.
Instead, she and Arwen needed to look like ordinary noblewomen from some smaller coastal city. She’d be able to shrug off her current anachronistic clothes this way (people in cities always thought outlying-town folk to have odd fashions), adding in the excuse of a small boating accident that lost her bags should she need to, and of course Arwen was small enough to need new clothes regularly.
“What materials?” said the shopkeeper.
“Oh, soft linen,” said Celebrían, “or cotton; she’s got sensitive skin and can’t stand much else. Silk is all very well, but she needs clothes to play in.”
The shopkeeper searched around the stall and found four matched sets of clothing: a pale purple, a vibrant green, a sky blue, and a sea blue. Celebrían had been planning on only three sets, but Arwen looked so enchanted by the colors that she took all four. The shopkeeper accepted a gem for each, and another for a set of linens and swaddling cloths, and Celebrían went on her way.
Arwen also needed a court dress, and Celebrían chose one of deep indigo embroidered with golden sea-silk. It was a bit much for such a small child, but Celebrían wanted to see her little girl decked out in Aman's finest. It was her due, as the daughter of so many royal houses, and they were far enough in the past that those royal houses mattered rather than simply being the reason that Imladris had such an odd group of inhabitants.
Celebrían's own clothes were in her favored shades of green and pink, with a gray-blue gown for court. She took pleasure in choosing them, but it wasn't nearly as fun as decking Arwen out in the finest fashions and jewelry. Besides, Arwen was getting hungry.
The food stalls, luckily, had fare that Celebrían recognized; she'd been afraid that the food would be entirely different, owing to the different plants and animals. There were many things foreign to her, true, but fried dough was fried dough everywhere, and she managed some unseasoned oatmeal for Arwen, who was able to eat a few solid foods these days. They settled down at a table to eat.
While Arwen nursed, Celebrían turned her attention to the paper and pen she'd picked up on the way to the food. She wanted a plausible invitation to Olwë's court, in case showing up wasn't enough to earn her hospitality, and it seemed (judging by the gossip she heard) that Eärwen and Finarfin were currently out of town.
Galadriel, far in the future, had a few old letters from her mother, preserved by love and magic. As long as Eärwen's handwriting hadn't changed between now and their sending, Celebrían could forge it.