“Child,” the lord of Lórien spoke with a voice that was as grimly firm as his face. “You need a home. That is all anybody needs to know. And you are correct, you are absurd for even worrying about being ‘adopted out of wedlock’.” He chuckled as he gathered the poor child into his arms. He was the clingiest kitten Lord Celeborn had ever seen, rather justifiably. He had less than an inch of black hair on him, and his eyes were emeralds that were shining with the first polish they’d been given in years.
A wolf with snow-dusted, icy fur and dark brown eyes followed them, wagging his tail slowly, dangerously. He was large for a wolf of Middle-Earth. More akin to a warg than a natural beast. But this beast was trustworthy. He knew Lord Celeborn had been a prince of Doriath and ruled a fiefdom under High King Gil-Galad. He even knew that when Gil-Galad called, everyone, including Oropher and his bratty little boy, came.
“There’s an even more magical Elf than Lady Galadriel and that silly balrog-slayer: Lord Celeborn! The man who convinced her to say ‘Apa coranar mine, vestuvangwe!’ instead of ‘Ai, vestale sina lá ambartongwe’ without any magic at all. He did it by being himself.”
And that they’d wedded in the First Age, yet their daughter hadn’t been born until the Second Age.
“By then, there were other things to do besides make babies,” was how he’d put it. That alone had sent Lord Celeborn into hysterics. It was quite interesting to hear one’s own life story spoken of so bluntly. “They had a kingdom to establish! She had ambition, he had connections! They didn’t want to end up like her grandparents: Miriel and Finwe.”
A silver chain for his neck and a wolf-shaped brooch for his breast. Two wolves’ heads were raised proudly, howling at a silver sliver made whole with a moonstone. It was perfect for him. He needed a physical reminder that he had the best wolves ever on his side: Lord Celeborn and Shadowron Icy Eyes.