Long did Celegorm son of Fëanor dwell in the north, and tidings reached him of Aredhel the White Lady, who wandered in the dim forest of Nan Elmoth where Eöl the Dark Elf had ensnared her. Celegorm’s heart was troubled, yet he could not move against Eöl openly; for his scouts, returning from the shadowed glades, reported that Aredhel was not kept in chains, but walked where she willed beneath the tall and silent trees. Still Celegorm mistrusted the matter, and he kept watch from afar.

At last Aredhel and Maeglin her son fled from Nan Elmoth, weary of its darkness and the harshness of Eöl. They came to Celegorm in need, and he took them in with gladness. But Eöl pursued in wrath, demanding the return of his wife and child. Then Celegorm stood forth, and words turned swiftly to blows. Fierce was their combat beneath the starlit sky, and long they strove, but in the end Celegorm’s sword prevailed, and Eöl fell in ruin. Thus was Aredhel freed, though sorrow yet dwelt in her heart.

In the days that followed, solace grew between Celegorm and Aredhel, and in time they were wed. Yet Maeglin, though he spoke no word against their union, looked upon them with eyes both watchful and dark; for though he cherished his mother’s joy, a seed of bitterness was planted in him. When a daughter was born to Celegorm and Aredhel, Maeglin held her often, whispering soft words and for a while his stern countenance was eased. Yet in the secret places of his heart he resented her: for she was beloved of her parents, and her laughter filled the house with light that seemed to Maeglin not wholly his own.

Still, he was loath to part from her, and a strange mingling of love and envy grew in him, so that he guarded her fiercely, even as he brooded upon what place was his.

As the years went by, the child waxed in strength and beauty. She learned from her parents the ways of the hunt. Oft would she ride beside Celegorm, swift and eager, her bow ever ready.

One autumn morn, as the leaves fell golden, Celegorm watched her high upon the bough of an oak. She drew her bow, her breath quiet and steady, and loosed the shaft. But the arrow fell wide, striking the earth, and the proud stag fled from sight. Celegorm laughed, and his voice rang loud and merry.

“Ha! Is this the skill that thou hast inherited?” he cried in jest. “Mayhap it comes from the slender thread of Vanyar blood that runs in thee from thy great-grandmother! Yet take heart, for thy spirit is true, though thy hand falter.”