Haldir sat cross-legged on the grass by the housing of the Imladris Guard. Ignoring the curious looks from the numerous dark-haired soldiers that passed his way, returning to change after training, the march-warden continued sharpening his knives, regardless of the more traditional accommodation for such a task inside the building.

He could hear the muttered comments that his counterparts made as they watched him and the other Lorien elves occupying the grassy space beside the path, but he paid them no attention. He had little desire to sit in their darkened rooms, listen to boots clattering on stone floors, and drink strange tasting mead from their engraved metal beakers. And having to keep the banter and 'friendly' contests between the soldiers of the two realms under control. He was not quite sure who commanded the Imladris Guard, but whoever it was seemed to be egging them on.

Far better to sit amongst wild things, enjoying the scent of the grass and the singing of the birds, and drinking fresh spring water from cupped hands. But even the water of this valley tasted different. Inferiorly different, naturally.

The arrival of a pair of boots between him and the clump of daisies that he had been admiring caused him to halt his disparaging thoughts and glance upwards.

"Lord Celeborn!" Haldir's voice was slightly high-pitched with shock, and he shot to his feet with speed, his lithe body stiff as he stood to attention.

"Haldir of Lorien." Celeborn motioned languidly to the march-warden, telling him to be at ease. "I bid you to join us to eat tonight. My daughter will be there. She is most looking forward to your company."

The Lord of Lorien's face was calm and apparently disinterested; the corners of his mouth turned down slightly in his usual arrogant expression. Only a slight flickering of his eyes betrayed his true feelings, and that was a sign recognised only by his wife. He appeared serious enough to convince the march-warden that this was neither test nor jest.

Haldir's eyes widened slightly, but he merely nodded firmly and stood in silence as the Lord of Lorien turned and strode off back towards the house. Once Celeborn had departed from earshot however, the Lorien elves bubbled with muffled laughter, facetious comments and feigned noises of anticipation.

"Aye, and I wonder what else shall be on the menu!" Rose brightly from a group of soldiers sitting too close together to enable the march-warden to pick out the culprit.

"It will be delicious, I am sure!" Another soldier broke in, tossing his newly sharpened daggers in the air and juggling them in a flash of silver blades.

"And most beautifully presented." A young soldier added rather more shyly and seriously, watching the juggled daggers intently, trying to understand how the trick was done.

The other soldiers paused in their comments to Haldir and turned to look at the young soldier - blond brows raised and mouths opening into grins of wicked intent. Then, as the youth blushed scarlet and hastily tried to amend his comment, they broke into laughter and catcalls.

His scarlet face contrasting nicely with his golden hair and silver mail, Haldir sat down again, balling up a dirty rag to throw at the nearest sniggering soldier.

"'Tis nothing. Merely a formality."

But the excuse did not sound convincing, even to him. And that was pleasing.

~*~

The glade was beautiful, even this early in year. Sheltered by the high walls of the gorge and the thick leafy forests at the base of the valley, the clearing was gloriously warm and calm. Colourful flowers were already blooming on the mossy ground, and while the butterflies that the glade was famed for were not yet as plentiful as they would be by midsummer, there was still plenty to hold her attention.

She sat down on a moss-covered branch that was bowed almost to the ground, tapping her toes lightly against the grass to make the limb bounce slightly. She had been thinking long and hard as to the best way to attract the attentions of her desired elf-lord, and finally she thought that she had the answer.

She had known that the Imladris Guard practised down on the lower ranges every morning, but now she had come across even more important information. It had been so simple, merely pretending to be seeking her host, and then the helpful young trainee had come up with exactly what she wanted. Apparently the Lord of Imladris did not always train with the other members of the guard, but he could be found every other day on the northern training fields before breakfast. Tomorrow morning she would have to find time to explore the northern reaches of the woodlands around Imladris. But first she had much to think about.

Celebrian extended her slender fingers gently, barely breathing in her delight as a small blue butterfly came to rest on her fingertips. The butterfly flapped its wings, and paused in stillness, the only movement being a slight lift and fall of its body.

Galadriel would not think much of the plan, for she was of the opinion that if an elf loved an elf-maiden, it was entirely up to the male to chase after his chosen one. Galadriel had never had any shortage of chasers. Her mother had not divulged much of her romance with her father, but Celebrian was not entirely sure that even if she did know her mother's secrets, that they would work for her. Or even if she would want them too. She would rather have someone admire her for her thoughts and conversation, than the inherited glory of her hair.

In any case, her mother had never had to win over the various unfortunate incidents that she battled against. She doubted that a pretty face would make a nightdress any less translucent, or that remembering the correct formal greeting would disguise the fact that she had turned scarlet at precisely the time she most wished to appear cool, calm and collected.

Celebrian sighed deeply, disturbing the butterfly, which fluttered silently from her hand. She never even got to see the Lord of Imladris these days, he was so busy in councils and meetings. At present the prospect of even getting to know him properly, let alone persuading him to return her feelings, seemed a distant dream.

~*~

"So, you think that we will see war?"

Galadriel's question hung tensely in the hot, stuffy air of the study, and the High King did not answer immediately - instead getting slowly to his feet and wandering over to the window. He pushed open the frame with a rather unnecessary jolt, and took several deep breaths of fresh air. Only then, when the frustrated redness of his cheekbones had faded, did he turn back to the other elf.

"I feel that it is inevitable," Gil-galad paused for a moment to look at the Lady of Lorien, "if we do not want to be driven out of this land."

Galadriel frowned slightly, and stared distantly at the nearest bookcase for a few moments. When she spoke her voice was carefully measured, but she had done nothing to disguise the power she held.

"My people will not be driven unwillingly west. Not while I still hold strength to prevent it." Her thumb seemed to brush against with something invisible on the base of her fingers. "And we have not yet tested some of our. . . defences."

Uncomfortably aware of the intent blue gaze focused on his right hand, Gil- galad hastily removed it from the window ledge and buried it in the thick velvet of his gown. Some nameless unease warned him against discussing the whereabouts or potential uses of the remaining Rings of Power. He thought she knew - she suspected of course. But it would not be wise to confirm that.

"Yes." His voice was slow and careful, and he fingered the silver embroidered trim to his robes thoughtfully. He did not want to see any of the elven realms become dependent on the use of these trinkets. It would be all too easy for distrust and whispers to grow around the continued battles and bloodshed once their people thought they understood what power their leaders held.

It would not be wise to forget who had given the gift.