"I told you to ensure that he did not disturb my evening." Elrond hissed around the edge of the door, hoping that Celebrían was unable to hear him. "I did not ask you to kill him."

"I did not mean to kill him." Glorfindel's whisper rose slightly in volume. "And I do not think that he is dead yet. He is just rather pale and I thought it wise. . ."

"Can you not find someone else?" Elrond jammed his boot down at the edge of the door to prevent the blond elf's weight from pushing it open. "I am somewhat. . ."

"Can I not come in?" Glorfindel gave the door a hefty shove, sending his half-elven friend sliding back before he managed to regain his footing. "Must I whisper through a crack in the door?"

Elrond scowled at a most undeserving vase of flowers, then slowly allowed his friend to shove the door open. It had taken some little while for him to extract both himself and Celebrían from Gil-galad's company, and a great deal longer to reassure Celebrían that the High King would not hold the unfortunate incident against her. For his part, despite the lengthy explanation, Elrond was not sure that he could manage to be so generous. It was one thing for the pair to practice embroidery together, but quite another to find them together in the King's chambers - one in a dishevelled state of partial undress.

"Mandos, Peredhil!" Glorfindel slipped into the room and shut the door heavily behind him. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were large in his blackened face. "One might think that you did not want my company. . ."

Elrond glowered at him, and Glorfindel's keen eyes caught site of a head of silver-blonde hair over the back of a padded seat.

". . . Ah, you did not want my company." Glorfindel smirked at his friend and raised his eyebrows rather obviously at Celebrían. "I did not disturb anything, I should hope."

Elrond produced a rather magnificent harrumph, and made a sharp motion with his head towards a chair in the corner of the room. Whilst Glorfindel's excessive enthusiasm for delaying the march-warden permanently would cause enough problems; if Celebrían or her parents got wind of anything, the whole affair would quickly descend into the kind of Valar-forsaken mess that not even the famed diplomatic skills of Ereinion Gil-galad could free them.

~*~

"Gil!" Elrond called loudly at the back of the retreating High King. Gil- galad was going at quite a pace - a pace that seemed to have picked up somewhat since their footsteps had been heard in the corridor. "Gil-galad!"

The last shout was loud enough that not even the most ancient and doddery of the Númenorean Kings could have failed to hear. Gil-galad stopped and turned around with an air of great reluctance.

"Elrond." A quick glance confirmed that his herald was accompanied by the famed balrog-slayer - and if he was not mistaken, at a much greater distance, the shadowy figure of a young elf-maiden.

"Gil-galad," Elrond inclined his head respectfully, regardless of the King's raised eyebrows, "I beg your aid."

Gil-galad's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he glanced quickly from Elrond to Glorfindel and back again. "What aid might be this be?"

Elven-lord and balrog-slayer looked at each other for a moment, then both began speaking at once.

"This. . . this. . . imbecile. . ." Elrond spluttered.

"It is quite simple." Glorfindel said smoothly.

"This cretinous fool. . ."

"We have a corpse." Glorfindel said concisely, adding a touch reluctantly at Gil-galad's exclamation, "a yet living corpse."

"This witless. . ." Elrond began, only to be cut off by Glorfindel's uplifted hand.

"An unfortunate incident, but that cannot be helped. We require help moving him to somewhere," the blond elf looked unmistakably smug, "more appropriate."

Gil-galad barely wasted half a second on thought, before coming to his wise and well-reasoned decision.

"No."

"No?" Elrond said loudly, the disbelief in his voice obviously put on for the occasion.

"Why can you not?" Glorfindel demanded, wrinkling his nose in scorn. "What must you do that is more important than assisting a friend in a time of need?"

"I am High King." Gil-galad said regally, turning on his heel and gliding down the corridor at speed. "I must go and be High Kingly."

~*~

"I would not be worried was it not for the blood," Glorfindel added offhandedly - as if talking about one who's wounds had nothing to do with him, "and of course the bruising. He cushioned the fall most beautifully."

Haldir, when they reached him, was still as cold and still as he had been when his assailant had run for aid. The bleeding from the many scratches and the graze that ran down his left cheek had slowed and the wounds had started to scab. A large bump was rising on the side of his forehead where the weight of two elves had made contact with the stonework, and as Glorfindel had promised, he was quite wonderfully pale.

"He will live." Elrond spoke with a tinge of regret that was not quite becoming in a healer. "We shall take him back to his rooms. He must have fallen down the steps."

Both elves looked back some twenty yards to where three low steps led from the orchards to the path through the oak woods.

"Nasty accident," commented Glorfindel blandly, "Must have been hit by an acorn at the critical moment, poor fool. Sent him right off balance."

~*~

"A delightful meal," Gil-galad said contentedly, walking slowly with Celeborn and Galadriel down the hallway to their chambers, "Such a shame that the Lady Celebrían could not join you."

"And the march-warden." Galadriel added softly, gliding placidly alongside her husband. She had watched Gil-galad throughout the meal and suspected that he knew more about the absences than he had said. Whilst it had undoubtedly been kind of him to drop his plans and join them for food, wine, and talk when their dinner guests had failed to materialise, he had seemed just a little too eager to keep them occupied.

Celeborn grunted something indecipherable. Whilst he did not know what had kept the ungrateful march-warden, he did not lack for ideas as to how he should be assigned over the coming months. There were seldom enough volunteers for mucking out the stables or the gathering of honey.

However, not even he could stay disgruntled for long. Imladris was beautiful tonight, and as they walked along the wide hallway they stepped over alternating patches of dark shadow and the silvered half-light that flooded in through the archways that led out to the courtyard.

"The waterfall is quite beautiful." Galadriel paused in an archway and looked east towards the sound of the rushing water. The falls were like a silvered veil in the half-light, and a faint whisper of a rainbow had formed from the spray and the moonlight.

The two males joined her in the archway, watching silently as the night wore on. The only sound was the distant singing from the Hall of Fire mingling with the tune of the river. Even the shadows seemed calm and quiet and at peace. Celeborn had taken Galadriel's hand in his and their fingers were wound together as one. For a moment Gil-galad felt Imladris to be as perfect as he had ever hoped it to be, and then, chancing to glance west he started so suddenly that he was afraid that Celeborn at least would notice.

The Balrog-slayer and the half-elf had shown some sense in keeping to the dark of the shrubbery, but evidently they seemed to have forgotten the light from the hall that sent their shadows in wonderful silhouette against the pale walls of the stables.

While the identity of the two furtive cloaked figures was not immediately obvious, the fact that they were dragging a limp corpse between them was, and Gil-galad dreaded the consequences should either of his companions notice.

"It is a beautiful night." Galadriel said, smiling softly as she looked back at the waterfall. "The moon is high and the stars are bright. Perhaps we may go for a walk under the trees."

"Aye," Celeborn took his wife's arm and the pair turned slowly towards the woods and stables, "Why not?"

"No!" Gil-galad exclaimed, hurriedly side stepping to fill the archway and block any view that might be forthcoming. "You must not!"

Half a second later he paused to consider how his action might appear to his companions, and he glanced across at them to find them observing him with expressions that could be interpreted anywhere from tolerant amusement to utter bemusement. Fumbling for a plausible excuse, he smiled toothily at the Lord of Lorien and added, "I require your council."

"My council?" Celeborn's eyebrows rose in perplexed silver curves. "At this hour?"

"Aye," Gil-galad neatly hopped across the archway, blocking the view before Galadriel could take it upon herself to move to her husband's other side, "for it is most urgent."

"Indeed?" Celeborn enquired.

"Aye." Gil-galad said with a note of desperation. "It is imperative that I have both your opinions on this matter."

"Oh?" Galadriel asked with just the right note of curiosity for humouring a small child. Whilst she dearly wished to spend some quiet time alone with her husband, her interest had been sparked. If nothing else, it was tempting to discover just what had unnerved the High King so that he was jiggling from foot to foot like an elfling that had neglected to visit the bathhouse before heading out.

"It pertains to the cultivation of mallorn trees." Gil-galad continued, slapping a hand rather forcibly on Celeborn's shoulder and turning him aside.

"Mallorn trees?" Celeborn blinked twice and shot his wife a questioning look. "In Lindon?"

"In the sand dunes." Gil-galad affirmed, noting gladly that Glorfindel and Elrond had nearly made it to safety.

"The sand dunes. . ." Galadriel pretended to be pondering the matter, and then with a sly grin at her husband added, "this is at Cirdan's command, of course."

"At the wishes of Lord Cirdan." Gil-galad said hesitantly. He was uncertain as to why Cirdan's name had been brought into the discussion, but he felt it held warning of things to come. The shipwright was the last person to be amused by such behaviour.

Celeborn and Galadriel looked at each other silently for a minute, then Galadriel spoke with a hint of wickedness that left Gil-galad rather uneasy.

"Very well, Ereinion Gil-galad. As you command."

~*~

"He will soon recover." Celeborn said heavily, coming into the small sitting room where his wife and daughter were waiting for him. "He is shaken and a little dazed, but there will be no permanent harm."

His wife seemed satisfied at this pronouncement, but sadly Celebrían showed little concern as to the fate of her would be suitor. While the weight on his shoulders had seemed to have been lifted slightly when his daughter had darted down the stairs - ploughing straight into the High King - calling loudly about a casualty in the garden and having seen Elrond and Glorfindel trying to assist the victim of this unfortunate accident, it had quickly resumed its normal place during the long hours in the infirmary. He did not think that his daughter had once lifted her eyes from the half-elf's face during the procedure. Not that Elrond had had any time spare, being too busy with needles and lotions and bandages, but the thought had been there. And it rankled.

"Elrond said that he tripped down the steps." Celebrían said, thinking wistfully of her half-elf as he had knelt to take the march-warden's pulse. "Perhaps something distracted him. . . a feather perhaps, or a leaf. . ."

"Tripped down some steps!" Celeborn grunted loudly and stalked to the window-seat. "That was quite some acorn that attacked him."

"But Adar," Celebrían persisted, "Lord Elrond said. . ."

"Elrond Peredhil, Ereinion Gil-galad, and Glorfindel of Gondolin." Celeborn gave a derisive snort. "I suspect that there is scarce a thread of sanity amongst the three of them."

~*~

"If this does not discourage him," Gil-galad took a long drink and finally set down his glass with a deep sigh, "I do not know what will. And I tell you now, Glorfindel of Gondolin, I shall not blunt Aeglos on that march- warden's thick skull."

Glorfindel's mouth shut rather quickly. He did not know how the High King had discovered what he had been thinking, but it seemed neither the time nor the place to enquire.

"There shall be no more attacks." Elrond said severely. "No more injuries."

Glorfindel had the grace to look slightly guilty.

"From now on we shall be more careful." Elrond continued. "We shall delay him by friendship rather than warfare, and soon he shall find companions more suitable that Celebrían with which to spend his time."

"Friendship?" Glorfindel asked, his face falling considerably.

"Friendship?" Gil-galad's asked with doubt. "You wish to be friends with the elf?"

"Aye," Elrond said firmly, "By friendship."

"And after this counsellor of yours," Gil-galad gave a quick scornful glance at the now rather smudged and smeared Balrog-slayer, "now that he has ambushed and brought the march-warden down, how do you suppose he will initiate peaceful relations, let alone a friendship?"

Elrond and Glorfindel looked at each other and shrugged.

"That will not arise." Elrond said mildly.

"It is not my turn." Glorfindel blinked at Gil-galad and tried not to grin. "It is yours."

"My turn? It is already my turn?" Gil-galad sighed with resignation and looked tiredly at the grinning pair. "What must I do?"

"You must find a way to occupy his time." Glorfindel smirked. "I am sure that he will be most enamoured with your attentions."

"Glorfindel," deciding that he would rather know the worst that remain in the dark any longer, Gil-galad leant back in his seat and drained his glass of wine. "Exactly what is it that you intend me to do?"

"It is time." Glorfindel said solemnly. "Desperate measures must be taken."

Only a slight twinkle to Elrond's grey eyes betrayed his amusement as Glorfindel leant forward and whispered softly in a pointed ear of High Kingly importance.

While both elves knew that Gil-galad was fluent in the languages of Quenya, Sindarian, Westron and the Dwarven-tongue, the expletive that left his mouth appeared to belong to none of them.

Despite that neither Elrond nor Glorfindel had any problem interpreting its meaning.

"No?" Glorfindel feigned surprise.

"That is your final choice?" Elrond said with mock solemnity. "You will break your vow after Glorfindel has completed his task so. . . enthusiastically?"

"Elrond," Gil-galad said desperately, "Surely you understand that I could not do such a thing. This is not a simple matter of attacking a guest, this is. . ."

"But you have broken your word." Glorfindel said grimly, interrupting the King with no hint of apology. It was shadowy in the corner in which they sat, and the Balrog-slayer's blackened face suddenly appeared quite ominous. "Few love the oath breakers."

"But you must understand. . ." Gil-galad began, then decided that it was a lost cause and trailed off. "I am sorry, Elrond, but nothing could ever persuade me to follow such a path."

Glorfindel and Elrond looked questioningly at each other, and Elrond gave his friend a small nod. Smirking, the Balrog-slayer turned back to the High King.

"Have you not found something missing of late?" Glorfindel looked meaningfully towards Gil-galad's bedchambers. "Has a dark shadow of fear not crossed you as you slept?"

Gil-galad looked uncomprehendingly at the elf, eyebrows quirked in puzzlement.

"Eru!" Glorfindel rolled his eyes and spoke very slowly and loudly. "We have something of yours. Should you not fulfil your promise, it may find its way into situations unfamiliar. . ."

"Yet amusing." Elrond said thoughtfully. "Most amusing."

Gil-galad glanced through the doorway, noticing for the first time the empty space on the lowest shelf of his bedside cabinet and groaned. He silently swallowed a few times, then poured another large glass of wine and proceeded to down it with remarkable speed.

Elrond and Glorfindel looked at each other, their smirks slowly growing until they spread from ear to ear.