"Elrond." Gil-galad called, striding along the corridor. He had been searching for the Lord of Imladris, and to find him standing aimlessly at the doorway to one of his sitting rooms had been quite a surprise. The half- elf was not normally prone to loitering.

Elrond spun round guiltily, his face bearing an expression that spoke of annoyance. Maybe it was a trait of High Kings, or maybe it was the result of growing up under the guidance of the Shipwright, but Gil-galad always seemed to expect his commands be followed instantly and to the letter. And the High King's tone was particularly grating when you had just plucked up the courage to approach your beloved.

"Why do you wait here?" Gil-galad queried, and peered around Elrond's shoulders into the room with blatant curiosity.

"Um. . ." Elrond was cut off by Gil-galad's deep chuckle.

The sun was steaming in through the tall arched windows of the room, which was empty save for one occupant, seated on the window ledge. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, the blonde enhanced by the golden morning light. Her eyes were cast downwards to a square of fabric, and her tongue stuck out slightly from between her lips with concentration. Her fingers were moving carefully and smoothly, guiding the needle and the colourful thread in delicate stitches. Lit from behind she seemed to glow with some otherworldly presence, and the High King could well understand why his standard bearer was apparently paralysed.

"Ah, Celebrian!" Gil-galad slapped Elrond's shoulder affectionately. "Well, do not let me detain you. Go on, talk to her!"

"But, I do not know. . . what shall I say?" Elrond agonised, turning quite pale at the thought.

"By the love of the Valar, Peredhil!" Gil-galad's voice boomed so loudly that the antagonised half-elf was sure that Celebrian would hear, and think less of him for the hearing. "Speak of whatever you like, as long as it interests her!"

"But what? What could I say that would interest her? What if she thinks that I am foolish?"

Gil-galad gave his Vice-Regent a quick look. He was almost sure that he was hyperventilating.

"Eru, what is the worst that could happen?" Gil-galad sighed, the look on his face diminishing any doubt that Elrond may have had about the rhetorical origins of the question. "You could die, but better to perish in walking than talking."

Placing an arm around the half-elf's shoulders Gil-galad strolled into the sitting room, hoping Celebrian would not misinterpret the friendly gesture as wrestling due to the half-elf's obvious unwillingness to participate.

"Greetings, Lady Celebrian!" Gil-galad grinned jovially, and gave Elrond a small shove.

"Good morning." Elrond stuttered, beginning to flush yet again. He was going to say something stupid, he knew it! Something that would make Celebrian totally aware of his mortal heritage, or worse maybe even make her suspect dwarvish blood! She might be a most enlightened elf-maiden, but after centuries of her father's influence, he doubted that her cross- cultural relations extended much further than a polite greeting to those of 'inferior' descent.

"Good morning, my King." Celebrian nearly dropped her embroidery in surprise, and smiled so happily that it lit up her whole face. "Good morning, Elrond."

There was an awkward pause, during which Celebrian waited expectantly, Gil- galad treated Elrond with a significant look, and Elrond began to feel like a beached fish. He had to think of something to say - something sensible and profound. Wise in all lore was Master Elrond. People had said so. So why had his brain betrayed him now?

"What occupies you this morning?" Gil-galad increased the intensity of his significant look, and approached Celebrian with casual interest.

"Oh." With a feeling of disappointment that it was only the King who was paying her attention, Celebrian displayed the exquisite pattern of honeysuckle and cornflowers. "I am making a nightgown."

"Ah." Gil-galad attempted to cut Elrond down with a significant look of Kingly magnificence. Why couldn't the dratted child follow his example? "I see; the leaves are most beautifully designed."

Celebrian blushed a little and beamed with delight.

"I designed them myself." She opened a small basket and drew out several silks of different colours. "You see, if I highlight the sun on the leaf with this green, and then pick out the shadows with this green, but do the edging with that green, the leaves look so much more real."

She beamed at Gil-galad, who nodded understandingly.

"This green of course, was a different matter. . ."

As Celebrian continued, clearly delighted to find another who shared her interest in needlework, Gil-galad cast desperate looks at his friend. Elrond was slithering silently backwards towards the door, and before the King could issue an invitation to join them, the half-elf had slipped through the door with a teasing grin and a jaunty tilt of the head.

"And then I chose to use this stitch here, it's nice and smooth, look. . ."

He could manage this of course; he was the High King after all. He just had to sit here, smiling and nodding. It could not be that long before dinner. It was all perfectly manageable.

Celebrian smiled at him, and handed him a fresh square of linen.

"Here, you try."

~*~

In Elrond's study two heads, one dark and one golden, were bent over a large map. Two voices, as different as the speakers, alternated in familiar rhythm as fingers were traced over the map and old alliances were spoken of.

Their lands were at present in peace, evil having been driven back for the moment. But the one thing that they could almost guarantee was that evil would rise again with yet more power and wrath. For men maybe, it was a great victory. They would have peace for many lifetimes, stretching deep into their tales and memory. But for elves - for elves it was an interlude - a time to rejoice in, but yet to prepare for the inevitable.

Eventually the blond head rose and its owner fidgeted. Sitting still was not a natural occupation for Glorfindel, although he had grown more accustomed to it of late. As Chief of the House of the Golden Flower he had often governed and given orders as he strode around his halls, but now he had chosen to serve the half-elven Lord of Imladris, and half-elven lords were inclined to prefer being seated as they worked.

"Perhaps, with the aid of the armies of Lindon, we could attack." Glorfindel ran the tip of his right index finger firmly across the map.

Elrond looked at him and his eyes held his unseen smile. The blond elf had become bored, and until there had been some release of his energy, there would get no more sensible suggestions. His friend may have enough power to bring down a Balrog, but getting rid of that energy during a normal day of discussions and council meetings could be quite a challenge. He could remember Gil-galad's face when the blond elf's rather over enthusiastic signing of a document had led to a pitcher of water being upset into his lap.

"Perhaps we should ask Gil-galad before commissioning his host?" Elrond suggested lightly with eyebrows raised. Glorfindel looked at him and grinned boyishly.

"Ah. He will not notice." The blond elf stretched out about as much as it was elvishly possible without actually getting out of his chair, and looked at Elrond enquiringly. "He has not yet missed. . ."

Elrond coughed loudly, drowning out whatever Glorfindel may have said, and looked around stealthily before continuing. "He has not spoken of it, and I see no reason for him to need it."

Glorfindel looked smug and raised his eyebrows at the half-elf, "Excellent."

The room fell into silence for another while, as the elf-lords perused the map. Then Elrond pushed his chair back and finally spoke.

"Mmm, Glor. . ." Elrond paused and looked out of the window to hide his mischievous smile. "We must discuss this with the High King. I believe that he is in the southern sitting room. Will you fetch him for me?"

~*~

As Glorfindel took the long route round, through the gardens and across the streams, he did not notice the watcher.

Haldir was seated on one of the higher branches of an oak tree, leaning against the rough bark as he thought of what had been said. Old though it was, the oak made a poor substitute for the mallorn trees of his homeland, but it was only in trees that he would find the peace and silence to think, so he would have to make the best of whatever this graceless valley had to offer.

The Lady Celebrian was lonely here, friendless and alone. The Lord of Imladris, and whatever disorganised medley he had put together to advise him, clearly had not spared a second to think of their guest's comfort. He had known her since childhood, and he would not let her suffer so.

He had long ago decided that the fair Celebrian was beyond him, that their worlds were too far apart. He had never even imagined that her father would even acknowledge his existence beyond that of a mere guard.

But it seemed that the world had changed.