"They are a bad influence on her!" Celeborn glowered at a perfectly innocent strawberry before stabbing it through the heart with his fork. "I would prefer it..."

The strawberry was plunged into a bowl of whipped cream with such vigour that a clang was heard as the tines of the fork hit the fine china base.

"...if you and Celebrían, once these councils are over..."

A long trail of sticky honey was drizzled over the unfortunate fruit.

"Departed with Lord Cirdan and did not return until..."

"...both Elrond and Glorfindel are happily married off?" Galadriel interjected calmly, opening her mouth to receive the strawberry. She and her husband were enjoying a pleasant evening alone whilst Celebrían spent a couple of worthy hours entertaining the invalid marchwarden with a mixture of embroidery and ledgers from the First Age – Elrond had been most kind in supplying a selection of suitably calming literature. It was rare for them to have time to themselves, and she had no intention of allowing her husband's bad temper spoil the moment. She yet had plans, come nightfall.

Caught out, Celeborn harrumphed magnificently and proceeded to attack a raspberry.

"Celebrían does not wish to go to the Havens," Galadriel looked shrewdly at her husband, "And I will not be happy there."

"Círdan will be glad to welcome you," Celeborn protested. Even if glad was not exactly the word that would spring to the Shipwright's mind, he would not object. At least not loudly.

"It was not Círdan's hospitality that I doubted. You would not be there."

Their eyes met for a moment then Celeborn blundered onwards.

"I have noticed Celebrían looking a little pale lately. The sea air will bring colour to her cheeks!"

Galadriel raised her eyebrows. Celeborn flushed, the deep colour above his cheekbones contrasting badly with the smooth silver of his hair.

"I worry about the strain that this... these..." the fork flailed in the air as Celeborn struggled to convert his feelings into words, "she is but a child. I do not wish her to grow up too soon."

"Ah," Galadriel wisely concealed her smile, "and she will blossom in the Havens, far from the fumbling attempts at romance of one misguided half-elf..."

Celeborn gave a sharp nod, clearly relieved that his wife had finally decided to wield her daunting intellect and catch onto his train of thought.

"...but yet flattered by the undivided attention of one most eligible bachelor."

Galadriel received a questioning look from her husband, Celeborn obviously ranking Círdan low on the list of likely contenders for his daughter's hand in marriage.

"We are not the only elves who Círdan will welcome into his home," Galadriel reached across the bed covers to pat the larger hand consolingly, "I can think of at least one other that he will be pleased to host, with no excuse at all."

"But... but..." Feeling like someone had pulled away a rug from under his feet, Celeborn floundered.

"I have a feeling that Celebrían," finally tired of waiting for her husband to return to his duties, Galadriel seized control of the fork and began executing fruit at speed, "will not find herself deprived of a suitor for long. She did not spend this afternoon alone."

"With Gil-galad..." Celeborn's eyes narrowed suspiciously and he threw a furious glance in the direction of the High King's opulent chambers. Then, on thinking about the comment, added darkly, "So you knew where he was, whilst Elrond searched."

Galadriel smiled quietly and pressed a finger to her lips.

"Had he been found he would have been yet more difficult to seek out next time," she picked out one long golden curl from her head and wound it lazily around her little finger. "I like to keep our King precisely where I expect him."

---

It had been a long evening in the Hall of Fire, with pleasant company accompanied with ample supplies of wine and song. In Glorfindel's case the supply of wine had been particularly ample, and his mood had only been heightened by the fact that the minstrels had sung of the glory of the High-King at great length whilst neglecting other more ancient elves in their midst.

"...one might think that slaying a Balrog was but a lowly task compared to being High-King. After all, what is wielding a sword compared to nancing around in a crown and gown..."

Ignoring the muttering emanating from the disgruntled figure of the blond elf, Gil-galad strode placidly down the path beside Elrond, talking quietly of the trading agreements with the dwarves of Moria.

The trio had managed to slip away in the shadows of the hall as the last of the songs came to an end, thus avoiding those elves that seemed to assume that late on a social evening was an appropriate time to approach the High-King and his herald with their thoughts, problems, or beautiful young daughters.

"They claim to be able to supply mithril," Gil-galad slight grimace was lost in the dark, "more rapidly than I had thought possible. They must have delved deep..."

"...the burden of such a glittering headpiece must be great," Glorfindel continued merrily, either unaware or unconcerned that his audience was not listening, "although it must have some consolation in its very brightness, for such a glaring object atop a simple head can disguise its dullness..."

There was a slight silence on Gil-galad and Elrond's behalf as High-King and Vice Regent looked at each other with matching expressions of bewilderment, then with a shrug and upward flick of the eyebrows Gil-galad returned to his previous topic.

"It is wise to trade for good metal whilst we can," Elrond spoke quietly, body turned slightly towards the High King in an effort to keep the topic from unwelcome ears, "it shall be needed before long, I fear. The dwarves will not..."

There was a query in his voice that both wished had no cause to be there.

"I think not." Gil-galad said thoughtfully, shaking his head slightly. They had not had time to change properly from the evening before heading out, but he had had time to leave outer robes and jewels behind in his chambers. It was a relief to be out of the heavy formal garments and all that they entailed, and he feared that if he was still in possession of his crown he may have clobbered Glorfindel around the head with it by now. Delicate though the bands of mithril and silver may look, it had a hidden strength and should anyone make the dire mistake on sitting on the heirloom there was no need to even ponder which would come off worse.

"Your people have been betrayed before now." Elrond said grimly.

"Aye, but I have not." Gil-galad said in a low voice before reaching up to the branches above him and speaking richly and clearly. "Come, let us stop here."

---

The trio settled onto the boughs of a great oak tree that overhung the plunge pool of the waterfall where Elrond and Glorfindel had sat a few nights before. Both Glorfindel and Gil-galad had swung up into the branches with the greatest of ease, leaving their half-elven friend struggling to join them. The chosen tree was not over-endowed with hand or foot holds.

"Just take hold, Peredhil!" Gil-galad said heartily, keeping one hand resting loosely against the trunk whilst kneeling on a narrow branch and peering down to watch his Vice-Regent's progress. Naturally he had no difficulty in balancing in even this precarious position. "There is a rough patch on the left some five foot above you."

"My thanks," Elrond said through gritted teeth, struggling to avoid sliding down into the brambles and nettles at the base of the tree. At present snaking one leg over his shoulder blades to make contact with the elusive rough patch was not high on his list of priorities.

Knowing Gil-galad the rough patch would be little more than a cracked piece of bark. Supposing that he should at least be thankful that after some two thousand years of Kingship, Gil-galad had outgrown his habit of eating apples hanging upside down with knees hooked around a friendly branch, Elrond huffed and dragged himself a little further up the trunk.

"Perhaps we are in need of rope," Glorfindel mused to himself then turned to the half-elf with a smirk, "Do you wish for rope, Elrond."

"No," snapped Elrond darkly.

"Now do not suffer for thought of sparing me, Peredhil." Glorfindel leapt lightly from the bough, landing softly in a patch of fresh green grass some seven feet away. "For I can run to the stables and back in the time it will take you to gain but a few inches in height."

The Lord of Imladris muttered something foul.

"Leave him, Glorfindel. Rope will not make him any less a half-elf," Gil-galad grinned and stepped aside to allow Glorfindel to move effortlessly to join him, "although it may make him a lesser half-elf."

Still fuming, Elrond grimly struggled upwards, teeth clenched firmly together. When he reached his King...

"Here, Elrond." Realising that the Lord of Imladris was not finding the situation anywhere near as funny as either he or Glorfindel was, Gil-galad took pity on him. Placing a hand under each of the half-elven arms, the High-King hauled Elrond up to the bough on which he stood in a manner that was wholly without dignity. "Is that not better?"

Elrond glowered at him, but was too well-mannered not to growl resentfully, "My thanks."

---

Some three hours later, with the moon high above the valley and the stars bright in the night sky, the little party was still in their precarious resting place. Gil-galad had abandoned any attempt of a serious discussion with Elrond long ago and now all three were lounging along the wide bough, talking and laughing quietly.

"Keen lance, what in Arda is that supposed to mean..." Glorfindel continued to grumble cheerfully, flicking last year's old acorns at Gil-galad, "as if any King worth their salt would carry a blunt weapon..."

"I am glad you think I am worth my salt, my friend," Gil-galad sounded amused rather than offended, "it is a compliment worthy of a King."

Ignoring the bickering continuing over his head, Elrond lay on his stomach watching the flickering of moonlight on the water below. It had been a long day and he was beginning to feel drowsy.

"And this mighty sword of which we have heard so much," Glorfindel wrinkled his nose in mock scorn, "I did not know that you so much as owned a sword."

"I own a sword." Gil-galad said unconcernedly. "But I do not like to bring it out too often. Neither you nor Elrond could stand the strain."

Glorfindel snorted loudly. "'Tis but a euphemism for thy mighty ego..."

"Nay," the High-King said dryly, dark hair falling casually over his face to hide his grin, "'Tis but a metaphor for my mighty..."

"Gil-galad!" Elrond said in a voice both shocked and disapproving. Both elves turned to him, eyes alight with laughter, but on seeing the cause for the half-elf's displeasure adopted matching expressions of prudishness.

Below them two elves were gallivanting merrily on the shingle at the edge of the plunge pool. Nobody had any trouble as identifying them as Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, despite their attire.

They were not wearing very much.

Fortunately Galadriel's long golden curls shielded her from all but the most penetrating gaze, but the Lord of Lorien had somewhat shorter silver locks. Glorfindel's mouth puckered with distaste.

"We must go," Gil-galad said in a hollow voice. Neither Elrond nor Glorfindel seemed to have picked up on the very peril of their situation, but with Galadriel possessed with the gift of foresight and Círdan soon to arrive, there was only one option. "Come now. Quickly!"

"But surely we can wait here, they will not be long." Glorfindel protested lazily, hiding his smirk behind a curtain of golden hair. "We need not look."

"Nay," Gil-galad said urgently, "This is wrong. We must leave."

And all might have been well, had they managed to exit as quietly as they had come, but Elrond, surely due to his half-elven descent, as Gil-galad had been pointing out, was unable to keep his footing on the rough, bone-dry surface of the branch. Wearing an expression of outright horror, he had stumbled forwards into the High King before Glorfindel could make a rather lazy movement to steady him.

"Ah," Glorfindel said in a voice of golden satisfaction, leaning against the trunk of the tree, taking advantage of the protection of the shadows to watch the events unfold. "It is fortunate that he swims so well."

"Aye," Elrond grabbed hold of his friend's shoulder, pulling him out of sight before one silver-haired elven-lord could glance upwards, "and it is yet more fortunate that we can run equally well..."

He was racing through the woodlands, jumping lightly from branch to branch before the Balrog-slayer had a chance to reply. After a flicker of hesitation, obviously weighing up the joys of seeing the High King flounder in icy water under the even more frosty gazes of the Lord and Lady of Lorien against the risk of imminent discovery, Glorfindel pelted after him.

"He will never..." Glorfindel protested, leaping to the ground at the edge of the forest. The moon was shining brightly over the long grass, making it seem like a vast grey and silver sea, stirring in the wind.

"Glor," Elrond hissed as he too dropped down into the long cool grasses of the meadows, "it is not our King of which I speak."

Glorfindel froze, and turned back towards the woods with a wary expression. Pausing in a manner that reminded Elrond of a cat, waiting with ears pricked, he remained silent for a few moments longer then turned on his heel.

"Celeborn."

Spoken in a harsh voice of warning, normally reserved for matters of more serious danger such as orcs or indeed the famed-Balrog, Elrond could not help but wonder what had been said or done in that bedchamber to inspire such fear in the elf. He wasted several valuable seconds attempting not to snigger, before a rough hand at the back of his tunic dragged him into life. "For the love of Eru, Peredhil, run!"

And the two slipped silently away, slender grey shadows moving fluidly over the rippling expanse of the meadow.

---

"Ereinion Gil-galad," Galadriel smiled serenely, drawing a silky towel smoothly in front of her body and extending a hand to pull him to his feet, showing surprising strength for a lady, "Seeking Mallorn seed?"