Gil-galad, being a fairly even-tempered soul, had every appearance of a High-King that had forgiven if not forgotten the incidents of the night before when he appeared at breakfast the next morning.

Nevertheless, Glorfindel handed Gil-galad the butter knife with utmost care, and Elrond was most attentive in his efforts at filling his King's cup. Both elves had retired to bed – or more precisely had barricaded themselves in Glorfindel's chambers - by the time they heard the High-King squelching his way back to his own rooms. Despite that, neither had missed a particular rhythm to his step or the sharp controlled click as he swung his door to that meant that he was not a happy monarch.

"We shall be holding council this morning, it is likely we shall continue to the afternoon." Gil-galad looked up at the duo as he conveyed a forkful of scrambled egg to his mouth. "Elrond, I should like you to act as scribe. Glorfindel..."

Bright blue eyes met more solemn grey ones for a moment.

"...I should like it if you were a little less forceful in your opinions. These are important guests and we need their allegiance."

The Balrog-slayer's cheeks reddened a little above the cheekbones, but he did not respond beyond a curt nod.

"We shall commence at the stroke of ten." Gil-galad toyed with the last scraps of his meal, frowning as he thought. It was essential that they gained the confidence of their counterparts amongst Men now, before any choices had to be made.

"Celebrían, why do you not spend an hour or two entertaining the marchwarden." Celeborn suggested, scraping a little black cherry jam over his bread and casting a dubious glance at Elrond. "I trust that will not overtire him."

"Nay," said Elrond with a particularly sour expression, "it will not."

"Would you care for honey, Lord Elrond." Celebrían dangled the honeypot under his nose, smiling sweetly.

To Celeborn's disquiet, his daughter seemed to be playing some sort of private game in which she attempted to pass Elrond every available item at the table. Should his hand brush hers as he accepted the item – and he always accepted the item - then her eyes would light up and her cheeks flush like some beacon for her heart rate. Much as he disapproved of such ventures, the Lord of Lorien could not help but feel amusement at the thought that the glowering half-elven lord might require something of a personality sweetener.

"Then, as the council starts, you may join your mother." Celeborn said firmly. Galadriel, to her great chagrin had been requested to abstain from the council, for Men did not rate the wise among the women highly.

"To ensure my safe-keeping." Galadriel said sarcastically. "Save I interrupt a council by my feminine presence."

The four males exchanged rather weary looks - Elrond and Glorfindel's glances towards Gil-galad in particular being fuelled with a particular significance.

"Erm..." Gil-galad cleared his throat, scheming as to how best to word his request. Much as he hated the idea of participating in the two younger elves' plans, Glorfindel was in sole charge of one of his most treasured items, and what little chance of having it returned to his safekeeping unharmed had to be grasped.

"Although perhaps it would be wisest to allow ladies and maidens in such meetings," Galadriel narrowed her eyes at the High-King, "for otherwise the deprived counsellors might be required to observe their wiser halves in less suitable surroundings."

Gil-galad turned an interesting shade, intermediate between the shades of white, grey and green, but courageously continued. "Perhaps I may be of aid in entertaining our invalid. It was, after all, my Kingdom in which he was attacked."

Celeborn gave him a searching look that was none too friendly. "Aye, but there is little purpose in Celebrían also spending time there. She may engage in her needlework instead."

"Splendid." Gil-galad said heartily, wisely concealing his grin as Celebrían gave her father a piqued look. Not only would Elrond have a chance to speak to his beloved, he felt it would do his herald good to suffer at the hands of the maiden's boundless enthusiasm. Needlework was a fine skill in a standard bearer.

It might even prove useful.

---

The marchwarden, to Gil-galad's relief, was whole - although pale and adorned with the miscellany of bruises, scratches and grazes that one might expect on one that had been attacked by a great golden acorn of widespread acclaim.

"Haldir of Lorien," the High-King of the Noldor entered the humble chambers in which the marchwarden was resting with a cheery smile. Elrond had evidently felt that a window might exacerbate the elf's headache for he had a distinct recollection of this dingy little room being a broom cupboard on his last passing, "my Herald tells me that you are feeling a little better this morning?"

Haldir narrowed his eyes most effectively, and Gil-galad did not entertain any delusions that it was a result of the brightness of the light from the doorway. "I find myself quite recovered, my Lord Gil-galad."

"That is most excellent news!" Gil-galad said jauntily, strolling into the bleak interior of the room and sitting on the hard wooden chair, "Although I am sure that Elrond is not keeping you here without good cause..."

Haldir made a small noise that could have passed as either a snort or alternatively, "Schmah!"

"...after all, there may be small matters of delayed concussion to deal with. We would not want you to suffer unduly."

The Lorien elf looked far from convinced although, in recognition of his King, he made attempts at looking more amenable.

"I feel sure that he does not seek to detain me without reason."

Gil-galad was unable to stop his chuckle until it had already crossed his lips, but he did well in disguising it with several loud and unlikely coughs.

"Indeed not!" Speaking with High-Kingly sincerity, Gil-galad smiled expansively at the invalid. "We are all missing your company, so much so in fact that it has brought me here, to seek you out!"

Haldir gave him a look that was closer to sceptical than rightly honoured.

"So tell me," Gil-galad smiled cheerily at the stricken marchwarden and brought his elbows to rest on his knees, bobbing his feet up and down as he thought, "do you come to Imladris often?"

---

"My Lady Celebrían," Elrond strode with admirable confidence into the sitting room where Celebrían sat, although sadly the tentative note to his voice betrayed his inner feelings, "May I have the pleasure of your company this morning?"

Celebrían gifted him with a beaming smile. Her half-elven lord was already dressed for the councils that would begin within the hour, wearing a shade of deep red that Celebrían felt was most becoming on him. He was carrying a pile of manuscripts, two bottles of ink and numerous quills and he set these down on the bench first, moving the feathers so as to cover certain words on the uppermost piece of parchment.

"Please, join me!" Celebrían moved her sewing basket aside and swept several squares of clean linen onto the floor to make space for the half-elf. "I am just finishing this."

Elrond blinked at the handkerchief that she waved at him, wondering if she had taken it upon herself to trim and adulterate the banner that it was his duty to carry. The linen was of a very familiar blue, but it was embroidered with not only silver stars, but tiny spears, eagles and even the odd miniature shield.

"Is that for the High-King?"

A trace of incredulity remained in his voice despite his best efforts, and biting her lip, Celebrían snatched back her handiwork.

"Yes, it is." Impressed at how calm she sounded in spite of her hurt, Celebrían returned to stitching around the edge in silver and deep blue threads. "He mentioned that he often found himself mislaying his own."

"I did not mean..." Elrond began, horrified at the thought that she might think that he meant to hurt her. Horrified that he had hurt her. Then he added doubtfully, "You are making something for Gil-galad?"

"Yes." Celebrían said curtly.

"But..." Elrond began, feeling a vicious little snake of jealousy rising inside him.

"My lord," a voice sounded forebodingly from the doorway and elf and half-elf looked up to find a tired and muddy guard standing in the shadows, "if I may have a word?"

"My pardon," Elrond rose to his feet and hurried to join the elf with barely a hindward glance.

He spoke quietly and quickly with the guard for a number of minutes, his handsome face first showing disbelief and then worry. At last he turned back to the elf-maiden with an expression of regret.

"I must beg your leave," Elrond said formally although Celebrían could tell from his eyes that his thoughts were already far from here, "I am needed elsewhere."

---

"Ammë?" Celebrían wandered through the gardens, searching for her mother.

"Celebrían?" Galadriel leant out from a hidden bench in a small grotto. "I am here."

Celebrían rushed over to her side, leaping down a flight of steps in a flurry of skirts. She had spent a pleasant morning wandering the gardens, happily getting side-tracked from her search in admiring the pools and glades, but now she wished to find her mother.

After all, they had pressing matters to discuss.

"Ammë!" Celebrían sat down cross-legged on the lush grass in front of her mother. "I must ask a question of you."

Galadriel gave her a long look, noticing the happy flush in her cheeks and the shy smile. She would not need to probe further to guess the subject at hand.

"Grass stains, Celebrían," the Lady of Lorien said wearily.

"Oh." Celebrían leapt to her feet and brushed at the back of her gown, hoping it was still the soft peach it had been this morning.

"Come, sit." Galadriel moved to the left to provide space on the seat for her daughter. "What was it that you wished to ask me?"

"Oh!" Celebrían smiled again, and the flush on her cheeks grew a little darker. "Oh, I was going to say that I think that I have seen one who I admire."

There was a pause as Celebrían looked at her mother intently, adding for effect. "A lot."

"Really." Galadriel smiled at the little half-glance Celebrían gave her. "I expected that this would come soon. You grow older, my child."

"I feel happier just to see him, Ammë." Celebrían confessed. Her flush grew deeper still, but she continued resolutely. "He is the best. . . the most magnificent. . . he is very valiant, Ammë."

Galadriel smiled to herself, imagining the temperature that the Lord of Imladris' face would reach if he happened to overhear her daughter's comments.

"But. . ." Celebrían paused and bit her lip. "I am not sure that he feels the same of me."

"But why not?" Galadriel asked, honestly perplexed. Either her daughter was blind, or she had a second, as yet unidentified suitor.

"I. . . I. . ." Celebrían stopped, unsure of how to phrase her problem to her mother. How was one supposed to describe one's suspicions that the object of one's desires appeared more concerned in his efforts to dispose of a marchwarden from one's homeland than seducing one anyway? "How does one impress such an elf, Ammë?"

"Well," Galadriel wisely ignored the change of subject and thought of her early efforts at reeling in a handsome elf-lord of Doriath, "I would talk to him, spend time with him. If you are meant to be joined for eternity you will soon find that you cannot bear to be apart."

"Yes," Celebrían rolled her eyes at how far her mother's thoughts were departed from reality, "But what do I do and say to impress him?"

Galadriel looked sharply at her daughter.

"If he is meant for you, Celebrían, you need do nothing to impress." Galadriel gave herself a little smile to herself and traced a circle around her little finger with the index finger of the other hand. "No daughter of mine should have to chase after a husband. I never had to."

Celebrían sighed, and set to untangling some of the curls that had come loose of their braids. Those tactics may appeal to some elves, but not her half-elf.

Half-elf.

Half-elven. But half-man too.

Celebrían started suddenly. Of course, he was a half-elf, and who knew what strange customs and courtship rituals he was expecting. If she was succeed in her quest then she must surely seek aid elsewhere.

---

"Elrond," Gil-galad strode into the infirmary, his long council robes flowing behind him. The Lord of Imladris was standing at a sink with sleeves rolled up, scrubbing blood from his hands and wrists.

"Gil-galad?" Still deep in thought, Elrond reached for the small tray of bloodstained instruments and began washing them prior to dipping them in boiling water.

"The council." Gil-galad said shortly, chin set and his mouth in a thin tight line.

Elrond turned to him, his eyes widening as he remembered how he should have spent his morning.

"I do not expect any those in my service to neglect to attend to the duties which they have been set."

"My apologies," honestly distraught Elrond walked to his King's side and touched his hand with soapy fingers, "Three women were brought in unexpectedly..."

"I care not for excuses," Gil-galad said coldly. However worthy the half-elf's actions were it did not change the fact that he had allowed Elrond to speak on behalf of the elves of Imladris – elves under his own rule and protection – and they had been without a voice this morning.

"Gil-galad, they needed help!" Elrond spoke with exasperation, setting down his instruments on the tabletop with a clatter. "My duties extend beyond mere councils!"

"You are leader of the people of this valley," the High-King glared at his Herald, every word carefully measured to avoid the depth of his anger becoming truly apparent, "People whose interests you were to represent this morning. Understand me, Elrond, the people of this valley take second place to no one."

"Good morning." Celebrían entered the room with her usual finesse, and smiled at its dumbfounded inhabitants. "May I sit with you?"

After an awkward pause one of the women got to their feet and brought over a chair to join the three at the fireplace. Human visitors in Imladris were rare, but for any such guests to be visited by one so beautiful as Celebrían was unheard of.

"Please sit, Lady." The woman shuffled uncomfortably back to her own seat, wondering to the cause of the visit. The maiden appeared more like a fairy queen than one who belonged amidst folk of humble means, and she could have little cause to sit with three weary and injured wives.

"Celebrían, please." Celebrían graced them with a beautiful smile. For some reason they seemed scared, and she was eager to put them at ease. "I wish to ask advice of you."

---

Several hours later Celebrían was hurrying back to her room, her eyes gleaming and a spring in her step. Against this onslaught any last manly doubts that Elrond may harbour were sure to fall.

---