"Ai! Do not open your eyes!"

Gil-galad jerked up his cloth to dab at the Balrog-slayer's face before he be tempted to peek out from under the now rather thick and dark lashes. Rather too thick in fact. He would appreciate some time to attempt removing the worst of the mixture before the blond elf realised that his lashes were not merely shut but fastened.

"Have you not yet finished?" Glorfindel wrinkled his nose and fluttered his eyelids to try and get some feeling for what was going on. While he would have given his life to defend his King, he did not quite like being alone in his presence and so disadvantaged. He was sure that Gil-galad had been the kind of child that had never quite grown out of his fascination with mud-pies, and he seemed to have fallen on this task with rather undignified eagerness. Shuffling in his chair, the blond elf scratched his cheek and spoke peevishly. "It itches."

"Oh hush!" Gil-galad swatted the hand away with a slight slap and touched up the points of Glorfindel's ears. It was but a little soot and treacle, and neither was likely to irritate the Balrog-slayer's notoriously thick skin. "You do not wish to be noticed."

Glorfindel huffed and played his fingers in an arc against the edge of the chair, staining the delicate white upholstery with a perfect likeness of his fingerprints. Deprived of his sight, his other senses seemed strengthened, and the messages they conveyed to him were far from reassuring.

"Do you wish to know why I swore allegiance to you, Ereinion Gil-galad?" Glorfindel tried to make his voice as imperious as possible despite the High King's continued sniggering, which in truth, he found rather unnerving. "For it is a tale that has been seldom told."

"Seldom?" Gil-galad chuckled softly as he hummed the jaunty lines of a Teleri sea shanty. "Last time I heard the legend I was of the impression that it was for the wine."

"Well. . . aye." Glorfindel admitted, fingering the side of his cheek, which seemed to have set solid. "But also other less frivolous reasons."

"The food?" The elegant dark brows quirked upwards, and from his voice Glorfindel could tell that the High King was trying not to smile.

"Nay. . . well only the little biscuits with the fish and spice. . ."

"Quite understandable." Gil-galad nodded seriously. Despite outward appearances, several of the shipwright's recipes were surprisingly edible. "They are quite delectable."

"Precisely." Glorfindel agreed, then continued in a more jovial tone. "And nor was it for your sword or lance, however long or keen they may be."

"Nay?" Feigning surprise, Gil-galad tilted leisurely back in his chair. "Aeglos would be distraught to hear that, my friend. Pray tell me, was it for my helm and shield?"

"Nay. . ." Glorfindel shook his head with a mischievous grin. Whilst the High King's enthusiasm for highly polished bits of armour was a source of amusement to the Balrog-slayer and his half-elven friend, who had whiled away many dreary hours of duty by attempting to position their King's shield so as to reflect the suns' rays directly into some unsuspecting dignitary's eyes, it had not been that that had led to his allegiance. In any case, the pastime had become considerably less amusing since Cirdan had realised what was going on. "It was out of loyalty to your uncle."

"My uncle?" Predictably, Gil-galad's voice rose with interest, and Glorfindel had to swallow a slight pang of guilt. "Did you know him well?"

"Aye," Glorfindel said slowly, suddenly deciding that the joke did not need a punch line after all. "You are much like him."

~*~

"Glorfindel!" Celebrian's voice cut joyfully across the hallway, and the blond elf came to an abrupt halt before swivelling slowly around on one foot to face the elf-maiden with a rather guilty smile.

"Celebrian," Glorfindel tried his hardest, but his voice could not quite reach the happy heights of that of the elf-maiden. "What brings you here at this hour? Are you lost?"

"Oh no!" Celebrian smiled sweetly at him, pleasantly surprised at how convincing her lie sounded. And when she had had so little practice too - lying to her mother was rarely successful, and when one's face lit up like a beacon at the slightest untruth it was rarely worth the effort. "I was merely admiring the view."

"Ah, yes." Glorfindel nodded sagely and pranced over to her side, only the jauntiness of his step betraying his inner feelings. "The views over the gardens are particularly fine from the westerly windows."

"Yes, it is most beautiful!" Celebrian linked arms with the Balrog-slayer and led him over to the window where she leant rather further out than was wise in order to point at the corner of the rose garden - the bushes barely visible behind the smooth arches of the overhanging gables. "The rose garden is wonderful."

"Indeed." A slight smile quirked the corner of the Balrog-slayer's mouth and he glanced thoughtfully at the closed doors that lined the passageway. "There are other chambers that have yet more magnificent views, especially the sitting rooms."

"Oh. . ." Celebrian smiled sweetly as a hand was waved vaguely in the direction of the doors, then returned her gaze to Glorfindel and in particular his unusual garb. She had heard that the elven-lord was of Gondolin, and the cultural differences had always fascinated her. "Are you in traditional dress?"

"Me?" Glorfindel pointed to himself with an exaggerated expression of surprise, brain working frantically to think of a suitable excuse. "Nay, I am but celebrating."

"Celebrating?" Celebrian asked curiously, smiling happily at the thought of some excuse to dance or sing. "Which festival is this, for I fear it is unfamiliar to me?"

"My pardon, it is not one that you would know of." Glorfindel shook his head seriously then on an impulse added sadly, "It is of a personal nature."

Celebrian's face softened in sympathy and she rubbed her fingers in small circles on the back of the elf-lord's palm.

"Not so much a celebration as a time of support for my lord." Glorfindel lowered his voice to almost a whisper and softly clasped Celebrian's hand in his. "It is a difficult time for him, with these memories."

"Memories? Oh. . ." Celebrian's face softened with sympathy, and she looked up trustingly at Glorfindel's fair face. "Was it. . . his. . . his. . ."

"Aye," Glorfindel nodded sadly, his face full of kindness and understanding, "The tadpole. Quite tragic, how these things do pass and how they affect the half-elven kind. It was a dearly beloved favour from the High King himself to a close relation of his. The niece of his great- grandmother's cousin, I do believe. It is very sad."

Glorfindel tongue peeked slightly out of the corner of his mouth and his eyes almost crossed as he attempted to navigate the complex ancestry of the Lord of Imladris, then he lowered his voice and touched Celebrian's arm conspiratorially. "Half-elven custom, you know. I do what I can to ease the burden."

Unfortunately though, Celebrian no longer seemed to be swallowing these tales of kindnesses as easily as she once had been. The elf-maiden was frowning a little, the blue eyes rather perplexed as she attempted to follow the Balrog-slayer's reasoning, and then she looked at him in great puzzlement.

"The High King Gil-galad gave my mother a tadpole? Why?"

Celebrian's gullibility seemed to have decreased somewhat since her arrival at Imladris, for her words were tinged with a distinct note of disbelief. Cursing the foul luck of all those that ventured into the dark entwined tunnels of the Noldorian family trees, Glorfindel managed a somewhat shaky smile and hastily added, "He would have been but small. . . this high at the most."

Glorfindel waved his hand vaguely at a level of an ideal height to lop the head from a toddling dwarf-child of particularly stunted growth, and continued speaking at a speed rather too fast to allow his intellect to keep up. "He was not the High King, then of course. More of a Kingling, as it were. Quite endearing, I am told. But. . ."

The Balrog-slayer risked a quick glance at Celebrian to assess whether his companion's eyes were yet suitably glazed over, and finding them as bright and guilelessly interested as before, turned desperately to the window in search of cause for escape.

"Ai!" Glorfindel widened his eyes dramatically, arm long and lithe as he pointed from the window. "The moon is high in the sky! I am afraid that I must leave you, for I have important tasks yet to do."

Following the Balrog-slayers pointing finger, Celebrian peered out of the window until she just saw a thin edge of the ivory just peeking up over the rough silhouette of the Misty Mountains. Brow furrowed a little in confusion, Celebrian turned to question the blond elf, but the hallway was empty and no sign remained of her black-garbed companion save for a door swaying silently and a number of sooty fingerprints on the window ledge.

~*~

"The march-warden will be joining us?" Galadriel enquired disapprovingly, reaching behind her neck to fumble with the catch of her necklace.

"I have invited him." Celeborn said steadily, reaching out and lifting up some of his wife's golden tresses to make the task easier.

Galadriel fastened the necklace and looked into the mirror, gently adjusting the pendant into the most becoming position.

"Celebrian will enjoy some young company." Celeborn said, accompanying the calm words with an almost imperceptible lowering of his brows. "It will do her good to speak with another of similar inclination."

"Yes," Galadriel said smoothly, "And you shall enjoy entertaining him."

Celeborn's thin silvery brows arched up in questioning displeasure.

"I believe that our daughter has departed seeking. . ." Galadriel turned her head to the side, admiring the necklace from all angles and smiled, ". . .rather less mature company."

~*~

Left to her own devices, Celebrian lingered in the hallway a little while, watching the moon rise over the mountains. Then feeling rather cold and lonely, she once again set off in search of pleasurable company. Although it had become dark the moon and stars were bright, and eager to gain a clearer look at the rose garden, Celebrian headed towards the sitting rooms that Glorfindel had so kindly pointed out. Someone was bound to soon join her, and with any luck she had navigated the hallways and passages of Imladris correctly and that somebody would be the one that she sought.

Smiling at the thought, Celebrian carefully opened one of the doors and peeped inside. It was indeed a fine sitting room, furnished with a number of comfortable padded benches and several splendid tapestries and paintings adorned the walls. A large fruit-bowl and a selection of pastries had been set ready on a low table, and her stomach rumbling rather indelicately, Celebrian hurried across to the tempting dishes and sat down. Someone had rather unkindly taken all the apples and apricots but a number of large juicy pears remained and since she was hungry and there was nobody about, there seemed no harm in taking one.

She was so fond of pears.

~*~

Gil-galad rubbed his towel vigorously over his head one last time then slipped the thick fabric around his shoulders, letting the unruly mop of damp hair tumble down over his eyes. As usual he had left himself ample time to prepare for the evening meal, and he had no need to hurry to dress. Admittedly the remaining smudges of soot had taken much scrubbing to remove, and he anticipated being woken in the middle of the night by a distressed Balrog-slayer, but for the moment the valley of Imladris seemed to be a haven of perfect peace.

Humming to himself, the High King wandered from the bathing chamber through into his dressing room and opened the low chest in search of his most shiny circlet. He had gathered many such adornments in his years, but there were still some that he valued more highly than others and some that he missed. It was strange how thoughts of a trinket such as a brooch or a ring could still capture his attention even many years after having passed it on.

Gil-galad dressed quickly in silken shirt and leggings, leaving the donning of the heavy velvet gown to a later hour, and padded barefoot out into his sitting area. It would be a relief to have a few quiet minutes to sit and remember with naught to bother him but the gradual pilfering of the contents of his fruit-bowl. Certain friends of his had taken his casual invitation to help themselves rather too literally.

A loud and extremely juicy slurp interrupted his ponderings, and the elf pivoted abruptly around on one foot to level a grey gaze of Kingly disapproval on the back of an elegant head of blonde curls.

"Oh!" Celebrian turned at Gil-galad's distinguished harrumph, blushing guiltily as she slyly licked some drips of sweet juice from her pear. "My King. . ."

Sweeping back his hair from his face and behind an ear, Gil-galad looked severely at the elf-maiden, the effect rather lessened by having to puff a few errant strands of hair away from his cheek.

". . . why, your shirt is not tucked in!" forgetting her own failings, Celebrian turned a critical eye on the High King, her eyes quite round with surprise, ". . .and your collar is all askew, are you quite well?"

Voice tinged with concern, Celebrian set down her half-eaten pear and got to her feet. She swiftly slipped to the King's side and pressed the flat of three cool fingers against his forehead. "You feel quite hot. Are you feverish? Have you been poisoned?"

Celebrian's voice rose with rather badly hidden excitement at the thought of a seriously ill elven-King and her chosen elf-lord in healer's garb.

"I fear to tell you, no." Gil-galad said, his dry tone touched with a hint of amusement. "Unless the sickness that afflicts me is caused by immersion in water tainted by soap and the scent of almonds. . ."

Celebrian looked at him, a picture of incomprehension, her pale brows drawn closely together as she tried to follow what was being said.

"I have been reclining in the bathtub, Celebrian." Gil-galad told her kindly, taking pity on her bemused expression and stepping back to allow her hand to drop back lightly to her side. "And. . . what brings you to my chambers?"

The High King's tone was but gently questioning, but Celebrian turned sharply towards him, face aghast.

"Y. . . your chamber?" Celebrian said weakly, looking around her surroundings in shock and the colour in her cheeks fading. "Your. . ."

"Fruit bowl?" Gil-galad followed the elf-maiden's glance towards the rather lopsided arrangement of fruit and nodded with a quiet smile. "Aye."

"Oh!" Looking an unhappy cross between taken aback and mortified, Celebrian glanced up at her King. She had never been intimidated by such dignitaries, perhaps because her mother had told her a number of stories regarding the antics and exploits of certain members of the line of Fingolfin that would make listeners' ears curl, but she could not help but feel a little daunted nevertheless. Trespassing in another's private chambers was not easily explained. Especially when the aforementioned other was a partially dressed High King, and a bachelor at that. "I. . . I. . ."

Gil-galad folded his arms across his chest and raised one enquiring eyebrow.

"I knew not!" Celebrian spoke quickly and rather breathlessly, looking back longingly at the door since the floor seemed unwilling to swallow her whole. "I apologise, I was merely seeking. . ."

"Lord Elrond." Gil-galad said seriously, his eyes focused over the elf- maiden's head, and eager to make amends, Celebrian nodded the affirmative. "Nay, I was addressing my host."

His expression of confusion rapidly turning into one of mild amusement, Gil- galad tilted his head towards the rather suspicious looking half-elf standing in the doorway.

"Oh! Elrond!" Celebrian turned, simultaneously turning a charming shade of raspberry and attempting to turn her delighted smile into a look of profound sympathy. To her relief the half-elven lord did not seem to be suffering from his grief unduly, but that was no reason to bypass common courtesy. Bowing her head and glancing up through her lowered lashes, she spoke solemnly. "I am most sorry for your loss."

~*~

Haldir hurried along the path, eager not to be late for the dinner. He had seldom dined in such company before, and never at the specific invitation of Lord Celeborn. His chances certainly were looking up.

He allowed himself a few moments of frivolous daydreams about life in Caras Galadhon in the halls of the Lord and Lady of the Wood. Warm dry beds, endless warm water, sweet smelling soaps, and splendorous gowns. And his beautiful wife of course. . .

Haldir continued on his way, whistling merrily in tune with the nightingales that sat in the lush branches of the trees that surrounded the path. It was a fair night indeed, with a thin crescent of new moon and Eärendil shining brightly in west as he watched over the valley. But unbeknownst to the march-warden there was something beside nightingales perched high in those overhanging branches, and another beside Eärendil was watching over his son's half-elven heart.

As Haldir passed under the dark branches of the tallest oak tree something dropped through the rustling leaves, and he half-spun to see a grotesquely grinning dark shadow pouncing down on him. He stood, paralysed by shock and terror for a few fractions of a second before hitting the ground with a skull-splitting crunch.