Glorfindel crouched by the doorway to the sitting room, his smile brighter even than the gold of his hair. He had been sitting here hidden for quite some time, for he found the spectacle inside far more amusing than anything yet displayed in the Hall of Fire.

The High King sat at the window, Celebrian at his side. Celebrian was stitching steadily and talking and laughing merrily, carefully embroidering swords, spears and stars onto a scrap of blue linen. Gil-galad was evidently yet at a more basic level, and seemed to find the conversation somewhat distracting, as his square of linen was stained with blood from pricked fingers.

"I see what your trouble is," Celebrian bit off an end of thread and spread out the fabric on her knee to admire her handiwork, "Your fingers are just not dainty enough."

"They are not?" The dark eyebrows rose and the High King held out his inadequate hands for observation, spreading out his fingers, and looking at them thoughtfully.

"No." Celebrian took his hand in her own, and rubbed the rough callused areas of his palm gently. "You will never shine at needlework with hands like these. I am sorry."

She looked so sympathetic and distraught at his plight, that Gil-galad felt uncomfortable and Glorfindel had to bite his fist to avoid laughing.

"You cannot do anything about the size of course, but perhaps. . . perhaps if you spent less time with your sword. . ."

Gil-galad coughed loudly and Glorfindel dissolved into merry laughter, gliding in with a superior smile just as the High King turned his ferocious gaze on the doorway.

"My King." Glorfindel swept into a deep bow, still smirking, then turned to Celebrian. "Lady Celebrian, I beg leave to borrow your pupil, for Lord Elrond requires his counsel."

Celebrian gifted him with a beautiful smile, and patted Gil-galad's arm. "He has done very well for his first time. See."

Gil-galad was far too well mannered to engage in a tug-of-war with a lady, but only gave up his handiwork with extreme unwillingness.

"Oh," Glorfindel pranced and over to sit by Celebrian and admire the rather wobbly looking daisies and primroses, not bothering to hide his amusement, "Most delightful. I must congratulate you, Gil-galad."

The High King scowled at the ground, flexing his fingers around an invisible neck.

"Now, do not sulk." Celebrian smiled at him, her voice musical and kind. "You have done very well, considering."

"Aye, a most kingly effort." Glorfindel's eyebrows quirked upwards as he grinned broadly at his own wit.

Celebrian looked at him, pursing her lips appraisingly.

"Please do not tease him so." She frowned at the blond elf. "It is not kind when he has tried so hard."

Gil-galad got to his feet, declaring his intentions to not keep the Lord of Imladris waiting any longer with unnecessary force.

"Tease him?" Glorfindel sprang to his feet and went to stand just over an arm's length from Gil-galad's side. "I would not dare to disobey you, my lady. A fool would I be to stand before the one who has drawn blood from the King!"

Celebrian giggled, and with a last bow, Glorfindel allowed himself to be yanked from the room. Celebrian gathered up her threads and needles, smiling to herself. Imladris was truly the most wonderful place in Arda.

~*~

Smirking, Glorfindel walked alongside his King, speaking innocently of the plans they had made, and the suggestions that had been put forth.

Gil-galad listened, occasionally nodding, and sometimes frowning as he considered the plans.

"The armies of Lindon will indeed march against the might of Mordor," the High King glared at a perfectly innocent bunch of daffodils as he thought, "but I will not lead my people to certain death and defeat. Even with Cirdan's aid I doubt that we can take on Sauron alone."

"You believe that Cirdan will march with us?" Glorfindel queried. He had sat on many councils with the Shipwright, and the ancient elf had been more of a dampener on the more impulsive and reckless suggestions, than a proactive member.

"I do not doubt it." Gil-galad frowned slightly. "If I ask it of him."

Glorfindel did not look convinced. It was his opinion that the Shipwright would happily see all lands but the Havens overwhelmed by shadow before he would even consider standing against the onslaught.

"He is not quick to anger, Glorfindel." Gil-galad said. "But when he is revealed in his might, I would not stand against him."

"Aye." Glorfindel said with doubt. "What then do you suggest if, with all our armies, we cannot bring down the Dark Lord?"

Gil-galad grimaced and shook his head, and the pair lapsed into silence, their aura of gloom marring their enjoyment of the beautiful gardens.

Eventually, unable to take the silence any longer, Glorfindel slapped the High King playfully on the shoulder, "I did admire your petticoat."

Gil-galad scowled at the blond elf, his dark brows drawn closely together, "It was not a petticoat."

"No?" Glorfindel pranced forward a few steps, removing himself from the range of possible retaliation. "In that case, I think daisies would look quite delightful on your banners. . ."

The High King grinned good naturedly, laughing at himself, "Aye, but you would have to explain to my worthy standard bearer why such symbols had appeared among the stars. Ah. . . I was quite trapped, my friend. If you had not rescued me. . ."

Glorfindel laughed, his eyes crinkling up with mirth. "You looked quite at home with needle and thread. . . perhaps with Lady Celebrian's aid, we may make some progress. She can be quite. . . forceful."

"Aye." Gil-galad smiled ruefully and shook his head. "You have no idea."

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Being acquainted with the thirty seven shades of green, I doubt that I shall ever look at the colour quite the same way again." Gil-galad rolled his eyes and smiled. "I am sure that several thousand shades of black could be produced. . . give her a few hours and the Dark Lord would be whimpering in a corner. . ."

Glorfindel grinned and the two walked on in friendly silence before the blond elf snorted loudly, and collapsed in helpless giggles.

Nudging the kneeling elf with his boot, Gil-galad sighed wearily, and enquired as politely as he could manage as to the state of Glorfindel's mind.

He was answered with a splutter of laughter and desperate gasps for breath, and he wondered a little guiltily whether he would be glad or sorry if the misfortunate Balrog Slayer choked to death on his own sniggers. It would be a difficult death to explain to Elrond, certainly.

"Come along." Hooking his arms underneath the blond elf's shoulders, Gil- galad yanked him to his unsteady feet and shoved him forward. "And you can explain to Elrond why it took so long for us to meet him."

Still chuckling, Glorfindel staggered along, clutching his stomach. Every time he looked at his King fresh peals of laughter broke out, and Gil- galad's calm countenance became rather strained.

"What." Gil-galad snapped at last, his amusement in this particular topic long passed. "And it better be breathtakingly funny. . ."

Glorfindel sniggered something that might have been, "Against the Needle of Gil-galad, none could stand!"

Gil-galad bit his lip and clenched his fists, giving the blond elf such an icy stare that the chuckles abruptly stopped, and were replaced with hiccups. They proceeded through the gardens, the only sound breaking the frosty silence being Glorfindel's periodic sniggering, suggestions for the name of such a mighty weapon and the odd hiccup.

Eventually, the High King stopped still and turned to the blond elf, placing a hand on Glorfindel's shoulder and squeezing it painfully tight.

"Be quiet, Glorfindel of Gondolin, for otherwise you may well find the Needle of Gil-galad inserted into various parts of your anatomy." Gil-galad thundered, then chuckled ominously, his eyes lighting up with wickedness. "And trust your King when he says, Balrog Slayer though you be, afterwards you will not be standing."

Something which Glorfindel, suddenly quite pale, obeyed without question.