The evening was falling fast over Imladris by now, and as lanterns were lit and fires kindled within the House of Elrond, the blue-grey dusk outside seemed ever darker.

The fire was flickering merrily in Celebrian’s chambers by the time she had finished her bath, and standing on the soft rug at the fireside it was quite warm enough to linger over her examination – or perhaps more aptly, exploration - of the borrowed gown.

Its mortal owner was obviously rather more sturdily built than she, and the brightly patterned fabric swamped her slender body. It had taken her quite some time to discover in which hole she should place her head from inside the lurid tent of a bodice, and struggling into the gentle light of her chambers she had been surprised to find that despite its voluminous qualities the dress was rather lacking in the neckline.

Nevertheless, the tailor had been generous enough in other areas, and Celebrían suspected that it would have better fitted a broad shouldered warrior such as her father. The general bagginess was especially noticeable around the chest, and she couldn’t help wondering if mortals made up for their stunted ears by rather excessive growth in other areas.

With a mixture of curiosity and eager anticipation for its effect on the target half-elf, Celebrían improvised a woman’s chest with a pair of delicately embroidered handkerchiefs – being sadly deprived of the pair of hollowed grapefruit halves which would do the task true justice – and proceeded to weave her hair into what she was assured was a suitably alluring style.

Finally, as close to satisfied with her appearance as she could be, Celebrían quietly left her chambers and ran on tiptoes to the Hall where the dancing had already started.

- - -

The three bachelors of Imladris milled around a table of refreshments, talking quietly as the rest of the elves present joined the singing and dancing. Gil-galad, who had evidently forgiven Elrond for the morning’s misdemeanour, was filling his herald in on the discussion he had missed. Disinterested and unwatched Glorfindel wolfed down several platters of small pies, a couple of glasses of wine and the better half of a roast chicken. Training had not finished until late, and he had barely had time to wash and dress before joining the party.

For that matter, it seemed that Lady Celebrían seemed to have suffered the same problem. She was not yet in the Hall although her parents were ready.

Craning his neck to gaze around the Hall, Glorfindel scanned the faces of the maidens present, wondering what heinous plot Celeborn had conjured up this time. He certainly looked well pleased with himself, although that might have something to with having the most beautiful lady in the room held close beneath his arm.

“My Lord Glorfindel,” a female voice purred below him and cool fingers forced their way between his own, “Are you looking for me?”

“Argh!” Leaping back instinctively, Glorfindel made his best attempt to turn his expression of horror into a mere pleasantry. “Ah, I…”

“And I too am amenable to that!” the maiden gave him her most winning smile, and dragged him bodily into the mass of dancers. “I am honoured to be chosen as your partner!”

Standing in the shadows by the fire, Elrond and Gil-galad allowed themselves to smirk before continuing their conversation.

“They were of the race of men.” Elrond’s face darkened with disgust. “They sought to barter for food and blankets.”

“They were traders?” Gil-galad took another sip of wine. “They have come with no tools?”

Elrond coughed awkwardly, flushing from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears. “They need them not.”

“Ah!” dark eyebrows lifted involuntarily and the High-King took a long draught from his goblet.

Still mirroring the colour of his wine, Elrond looked as if he was about to say more, but before he could elaborate, Glorfindel had once again sauntered into their midst.

“Protect me!” Glorfindel sank into a chair with an exaggerated sigh, reaching for his goblet of wine. “I understand that for one so endowed with good humour and so fair of face, much must be expected, but this… this is a matter of war!”

Neither Gil-galad nor Elrond replied to this provocative comment, and glancing up to find both elves turned towards the opposite end of the Hall, the Balrog Slayer spoke peevishly, “I do wish that you would listen…”

There was a strange silence in the hall, notes of disbelief and disapproval ringing from the high arched ceiling and echoing around the great fireplace, and it seemed that all present were intent on whatever had just appeared in the far doorway.

Rising to his feet once more, Glorfindel strode to Gil-galad’s side, frowning a little and instinctively reaching for a sword that was not at his side. But even he was not prepared for what he found standing before him, silhouette shadowed against the warm light of the east hallway.

“Is that…” not trusting his fine eyesight, the Balrog-slayer squinted across the heads of those present. “Nay, it cannot be.”

Gil-galad, being a few inches taller than either of his two friends – a fact that he attributed to his noble Noldorian descent and Glorfindel put down to an excessive fondness for milk in early childhood – could see a little further and shook his head slightly.

“I am afraid that it is true, my friend. That is indeed the Lady Celebrían.”

Despite his best High-Kingly efforts at maintaining a suitably composed expression, Gil-galad’s broad shoulders shook slightly with mirth. On his left hand side, Elrond too seemed to be having difficulty in controlling his emotions. While he had succeeded in taming any errant guffaws of laughter, the sparkle in his grey eyes and broad grin spoke all too clearly of his true feelings.

“I fear that Celebrían may have sought advice from most unsuitable counsel.”

- - -

Suddenly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of what must surely be the entire population of the Valley of Imladris, Celebrían gave the rippling seas of her gown a critical glance. Although the indelicate shades of scarlet and darkest maroon were not entirely to her taste, she had been so sure that her half-elf would appreciate the effort that she had failed to consider the opinions of others around her.

Her mother evidently did not think much of her attempts to embrace half-elven culture, if the wearied sigh was anything to go by. And as for her father – he gave her a cursory glance that quickly transformed into a horrified stare, then fixed the three bachelors at the opposite end of the hall with a particularly malevolent glare.

“Celebrían, iell nîn, what are you thinking!” Galadriel winced as she surveyed the vulgar gown with an expression of disgust. Never had she thought that her daughter would have the desire to dress as the most foul of mortal women. “You shame yourself!”

Suddenly very pink, Celebrían felt her eyes fill with tears and her lips begin to wobble.

Remembering a similarly regretful incident involving a leather jerkin and a suit of armour that had proved to be far harder to remove than to put on, Galadriel hurried to her daughter’s side and softly brushed a stray lock of hair behind a pointed ear, speaking gently and quietly. “This gown does not become you, Celebrían. Run and change before you humiliate yourself further.”

Unfortunately for all concerned, her husband’s response was a little less tactful.

“What have you done to my daughter?” Celeborn thundered, bearing down on the bewildered half-elf from the other side of the room.

Elrond gulped, flapping his robed arms at his side as uselessly as a Balrog’s shadowy wings. Glorfindel had providently taken a step back, leaving him to face the wrath of the Lord of Lorien alone, and the High-King was nowhere to be seen. Swallowing panic, Elrond braced himself for the onslaught and gave the rampaging elf-lord what he hoped approximated a diplomatic smile.

“My lord Celeborn?”

Even more unfortunately the generously proportioned gown had slipped to a rather precarious position on Celebrían’s chest. Certain that any movement to secure the garment would merely cause it to tumble immodestly to the ground, Celebrían could only watch in horror as each new breath caused the coarse fabric to edge ever closer to its terrible fate.

But Gil-galad was not High-King only in name, and it was for his ability at remaining cool and unruffled in the most unpromising of situations that he was most famed. Despite showing no sign of haste in his traversing of the dance floor, he was already at Celebrían’s side as her bodice began to sag alarmingly, and even managed to gift Galadriel with a pacifying smile on his way to gallant rescue.

With elegant ease, the High-King whipped off his cape, slung it artfully around Celebrían’s shoulders, and lifted her easily into his arms - fortunately all before her neckline decided to relocate itself to her ankles.

“I shall escort you to your chambers.” Leaning back against the heavy doors to open them, Gil-galad cast an anxious glance to the far end of the Hall where Galadriel appeared to be doing stalwart work in ensuring that his herald would still be in one piece when he returned. “I fear that your mother has found herself occupied.”

“Oh!” Turning even pinker, and if possible looking ever more miserable than she did already, Celebrían bit her lip. “I am sure that Adar will not blame Elrond without cause.”

Gil-galad chose not to reply, merely shaking some strands of dark hair from his eyes as he navigated a particularly tricky doorway.

“Elrond will be well, will he not?” Evidently sharing some of the High-King’s doubt as to her father’s self-restraint – or more precisely her mother’s ability to restrain him – Celebrían gave Gil-galad a worried glance. She should probably go to defend him, but at the moment even the thought of having to face him made tears sting her eyes.

It had been busy in the Hall of Fire, but for one with eyes only for one particular half-elf it had been easy enough to find the object of her affections, and even in the few seconds before her bodice had begun its descent she had seen his face. He had been laughing.

“Aye, he will manage well.” Gil-galad said reassuringly, adding with a chuckle. “There are enough of my guards present to ensure that he will come to no real harm.”

Celebrían smiled weakly at Gil-galad, and more ferociously at a pair of gawping stable-hands, attempting to give the impression that being carried back to one’s chambers in a state of partial undress by the High-King himself was the normal end to a pleasant evening.

“Thank you.” Celebrían said quietly as Gil-galad placed her down on her bed and straightened up, the silver threads in his velvet gowns sparkling in the flickering light of the fire. “I am sorry for disturbing your evening.”

“Not at all.” Ever gracious, Gil-galad waited for Celebrían to take refuge under a delicately embroidered wrap before continuing, “May I ask why you were wearing that… thing?”

“I was hoping… hoping…” Celebrían’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He is not only half-elven, he is half-mortal too.”

“Ai, Celebrían!” Laughing gently, Gil-galad dug his hands into his pockets and stared heavenwards for a moment. “He would admire you in a sack, can you not see that?”

Blushing profusely, Celebrían found herself unable to meet the High-King’s eyes and busied herself in being a perfect host. “Perhaps I can offer you a drink? Some tea?”

“I am afraid that I must go to rescue my Vice-Regent,” Gil-galad turned with a final grin and strode back towards the Hall, adding over his shoulder. “For valiant though Glorfindel may have been in facing his Balrog, he has not yet met one such as your father.”

- - -

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