Imladris

by Avalon Estel

Imladris.

It was a secluded valley, filled with trees and waterfalls. Like a silver-blue ribbon, the Bruinen River wound through the valley. If one looked to the left as they walked into it, they would see the Last Homely House, a beautifully built structure that housed the Elves of Imladris. There rested many secrets and lives, memories of the past and heroes of legend, music and laughter and love.

Many believed the Elves to be cold and unattached to the world outside of nature, aloof. Yet this was not true. The Elves loved, fought, cried, grieved, hoped, prayed, lost. They were a mighty people, but they were not invincible. If cut, they bled. If hopeless, they faded away to nothing. If happy, they prospered and flourished. They lived.

The Elves in Imladris were not in a situation to know hurt at the current time. Peace reigned, and all rejoiced, for Lord Elrond Peredhel had married Lady Celebrian of Lothlorien, the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn. They loved their new Lady dearly.

And Celebrian loved them.

She was always chatting with them, forgetting to attend to her duties. She gardened, burying her hands in the dark soil and bringing forth new life. She cooked, helping with dinners and feasts. She played with the few Elflings and aided their mothers. She had caused Elrond to fall in love with her. She had befriended Elrond’s solitary advisor Erestor. She played music and sang with Lindir, the harpist. She was Glorfindel’s new chess partner. She was wonderful at everything she tried, and was happy to be accepted. The Imladris Elves were less strict than those of Lorien, so she was able to be herself. Too many times had her mother scolded her for not being proper. She was in bliss.

At the moment, she was massacring Glorfindel’s army in chess.

After she took out his knight, the Elf Lord looked up at her and smiled. “Did you notice that we are the only blonde Elves here?” He moved one of his only pawns up a space to guard his king.

Celebrian laughed. “Yes, I noticed.” She executed a move with her queen and snatched up Glorfindel’s king. “I win!”

Glorfindel chuckled and nodded. He and the Lady packed up the glass chess set. “Same time tomorrow?” he asked, picking up the wooden box they stored it in.

Celebrian curtsied mockingly. “Of course, Glorfindel.”

They laughed again, and then after a sincere bow, the Elf lightly ambled away. Celebrian headed off in the opposite direction, her long, open sleeves trailing the ground. She was off to meet Erestor. They were planning to discuss Elrond’s blood heritage that day. She didn’t want to be late, so she lifted her skirts and ran down the hall, her slippers making no noise on the marble floors. If only Galadriel could see her now! A couple of Elf-maids laughed as they saw their Lady sprinting down the hall, and she waved at them as she passed.

Glorfindel, meanwhile, had headed off to the library to do some research. He was just pulling out some scrolls when someone touched him on the shoulder. The Elf turned quickly, startled, and was equally startled to see Elrond standing behind him. “Can I help you, my lord?” he asked, regaining his composure.

Elrond looked thoughtfully confused. “I need to talk to you.”

“About what?” Glorfindel asked.

“Celebrian.”

Glorfindel wondered what in Arda Elrond could possibly want to tell him about Celebrian. “What about her?”

“Do you like her?” Elrond asked, dropping into one of the reading chairs.

Glorfindel leaned back against one of the bookcases. “Yes, I’m quite taken with the Lady.”

Elrond nodded, looking at his hands where they rested in his lap. Then, he glanced up at Glorfindel. “I want to know what you would do for her.”

“I don’t understand you, Elrond,” Glorfindel said. “What are you talking about? If you mean would I risk my life for her, I most certainly would. I would for any who needed it.”

“No, no!” Elrond said, shaking his head. “I mean that I want to do something special for her. What would you do?”

Glorfindel was relieved. “I don’t know, my lord. I’ve never been in love.”

“Not even in Gondolin?” Elrond asked, sounding nearly desperate.

Glorfindel smiled ruefully. “Not even in Gondolin.”

“But you must know something, Glorfindel! You’re a romantic at heart. Can’t you think of anything?”

“Well, there’s always a bouquet on her bedside table for when she wakes up in the morning, or you could write her a song,” Glorfindel said. He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! You could ask Lindir to write a song for her!”

Elrond sighed. “Too overdone. I want to do something original, something really special.”

“You could plant her a mallorn tree,” Glorfindel suggested.

“But I don’t have any seeds,” Elrond said sadly.

“I could get you some,” the golden-haired Elf told him.

"How could you do that?" Elrond asked, looking bewildered.

"Well," Glorfindel said mysteriously, pulling at the laces of his midnight-black tunic, "I had Haldir bring me some when he escorted Lady Celebrian here. I wanted to plant some here. I always thought they were quite beautiful."

Elrond shook his head. "I will never figure you out, Glorfindel."

"I know," Glorfindel grinned. And with a flourishing bow, he strode from the room.

 Imladris

Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Sorry, I forgot, and don’t want to get in trouble. I don’t own LotR, the Elves, Imladris, or anything else that has to do with it. Nothing’s mine.

A/N: I don’t know if Elves waltz, but Tolkien never said they didn’t, so it’s open! Reviewer responses can be found at the bottom.

Lindir sat in the Hall of Fire by himself, his harp in his lap. The melody ran through his head over and over, yet he could not get it to play right when his fingers ran over the strings. Night was falling, and soon there would be others in the Hall. He wanted to finish it before they came. They had planned a gathering of sorts, just a small party-like gathering where they could dance and have a bit of fun. Lindir desperately plucked out notes, trying to get the song just right. He had hoped to finish in time to play it at the party, but inspiration was not on his side. He couldn’t get it to sound…stirring enough. Sighing, he laid the harp down and leaned back in his chair, resting his head against it.

A whole day wasted. He heaved another sigh. He would just have to play older songs at the party. Ah, well, he thought. What else can I do?

But he was disappointed with himself. He glared down at his beloved harp balefully for a moment. With resolve, he reached down and seized it. He would compose that song in time for the party.

Or die trying.

Everything was ready. The giant fireplace for which the Hall of Fire was named was aglow with a blazing flame and the red-gold light danced all over the walls. Elves were steadily streaming in, and already groups could be seen chatting and laughing. There were even a few merchants of the race of Men. All were welcome in Imladris. Elrond stood in a corner, waiting for his wife to show up. He had not yet planted the mallorn seed. In fact, he hadn’t even gotten it from Glorfindel. He had a plan.

An Elf maiden came up to Elrond and lifted the tray in her hands slightly. “A drink, my lord?” she offered.

“No, thank you. I already had– “

But no one found out what Elrond had already had, because just then, Celebrian strode into the room. She was always beautiful, yet she never failed to take his breath away. Whether she was bouncing an Elfling on her knee, dirty and laughing after gardening, or peacefully poring over a book, she was stunning. But tonight…

Her golden hair poured down her shoulders in a bright cascade, her white hands, devoid of rings, anxiously twisted the thin silk of her emerald-green skirt. She wasn’t wearing a single piece of jewelry, but her own simple beauty made up for it. Her hair was loose and hung far past her waist, bunches of it falling over her shoulders as she turned. She didn’t see him.

“My lord?” the Elf maid asked.

“What?” Elrond asked quietly, not taking his eyes off Celebrian. The Elf maid followed his gaze, then shook her head with a smile and walked away. A few Elven voices burst into song, and Elrond could restrain himself no longer. He walked up to Celebrian, who was busily talking to some Elf women, and tapped her shoulder.

Celebrian turned her head slightly to look at him. When she saw him, she broke into a smile and said, “Yes, hir-nin?”

Elrond was confused. Why in the world was he shy of his own wife? “Would you like to dance, my lady?” he asked, bowing. He was thankful that his dark hair covered his face as he looked to the ground, because he could feel it flaming.

Celebrian laughed and took his hand. They stepped into a gliding waltz, her skirts and his robes brushing along the floor.

Glorfindel looked on and laughed as his lord and lady swept off into a dance, while Erestor looked out of place and bothered beside him. The golden-haired Elf stretched his arms and slid them behind his head, tilting his chair back a little. “What troubles you, Erestor?” he asked serenely.

Erestor looked up at him from the floor at his feet. He was so much different from Glorfindel. Where Glorfindel was frivolous and playful, Erestor was quiet and serious. Where Glorfindel was laid back, he was tense. Even their postures were different. Glorfindel leaned back in his chair, his loose hair falling over his shoulders and back, while Erestor sat straight as a rod, his hair braided neatly and his robes unwrinkled. Erestor looked at his friend, who stared out over the crowd tranquilly, and gave a rare smile. “The usual, Glorfindel,” he said, looking back at the firelit room. “The usual.”

Glorfindel nodded, only half-listening. Then, he sat up, a perky grin on his face. “Hey, Erestor. You know Nathariel, right?” he asked, turning his gaze to him.

The advisor stiffened visibly. “Yes,” he said slowly. “What about her?” Nathariel was an Elven healer, and she and Erestor had a thin friendship.

“Nothing much,” Glorfindel said, shrugging. “It’s just that she’s looking at you.”

“She’s – but – no, she isn’t!” Erestor protested quietly.

“Oh, yes she is,” Glorfindel nodded. “Why don’t you go talk to her? You need a friend.”

Erestor’s nervousness dropped away and he turned to Glorfindel, an eyebrow quirked.

Glorfindel laughed. “I mean other than me.”

Erestor looked back at the crowd, silent. Glorfindel sighed and got to his feet, his arms crossed. “I guess I’ll just have to do it, then,” he said, looking at Erestor from the corner of his eye. The dark-haired Elf jumped to his feet.

“No, I’ll do it!” he exclaimed, and without another word, he strode off into the crowd to find Nathariel. Glorfindel laughed and sat down.

Erestor needs some fun once in a while, he thought. If he stays locked up in his study much longer, he’ll become a wraith!

Soon, it was time for Lindir’s solo. He sat in a seat in front of the fire, ran his hands experimentally over the strings. They gave a soft, discordant melody.

Satisfied, he began to pluck at it. The song was the same one that he had tried so hard to perfect that afternoon. As he played it, he could see Imladris in his mind. That’s where his inspiration had stemmed from, and now he played it out.

But the other Elves didn’t only see Imladris. While Lindir’s fingers gently coaxed the music out of his harp, the notes rang through the air like warm raindrops on a still summer’s evening. They sat in awe, enchanted by the music. It flowed as if it were part of the waterfalls and rivers of the valley, as if it were the voices of the stars. A couple of them shuddered at its beauty. Lindir’s head bowed over the harp, his eyes closed in concentration. He’d played the song so many times that day that his fingers knew it better than his mind.

Many eyes were bright with unshed tears as the song ended. There was an outburst of applause from the Elves. Lindir stood, bowed, and walked from the room.

He set the harp down in the hallway, leaning out a window. The spring breezes caught his tresses and lifted them, making them dance. He was proud of himself, and thankful that nothing had gone wrong. After a few moments of solitude, he was ready to return to the Hall of Fire. He gathered the harp up and strolled back in and was quickly swept up into the conversations and merriment.

“Play us another one, Lindir,” said a young male Elf.

Lindir gladly obliged.

The festivities were over, and all the Elves were sleeping. Except one.

Elrond lay in bed, wide awake. He was tired, but he forced his mind to stay conscious. Finally, long after midnight, he turned to his wife. She lay on her back, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Celebrian?” he asked softly. She didn’t stir. The Elf-Lord smiled and got up from the sheets, pulling a dark robe on. He hurriedly rushed from the room and stopped in front of Glorfindel’s.

“Glorfindel!” he called, trying to be quiet. Unfortunately the Elf was a heavy sleeper. “Glorfindel!” he cried, a little louder. Still no answer. He beat on the door.

“All right, I’m coming.” Glorfindel sounded groggy. He opened the door and leaned against it sleepily. “Yes, Lord Elrond?” he asked, yawning. His usually tidy hair was messy and tousled from sleep, and his robes hung loosely upon him. “What in Arda do you want at this time of night?”

“Can you give me the seed?” Elrond said.

Glorfindel’s eyebrows furrowed in extreme annoyance. “Can’t this wait till morning?” he asked.

“No, it can’t!” Elrond argued, sounding firm. Glorfindel rolled his eyes and headed back into his room. There were some scuffling noises, a thud, and a groan, and Glorfindel appeared back at the door. He handed Elrond the mallorn seed.

“There. Now may I go back to sleep?” he pleaded.

“Yes, yes,” Elrond said distantly. He hurried outside and made his way to Celebrian’s garden. As he walked in, he fell into a lavender bush. He hastily pulled himself out of it and found a spot of unplanted soil in the center. He dug a whole with his hands, dropped the seed in, and covered it up with the earth.

Feeling pleased with himself, he walked regally back into his bedroom and fell into bed. He was asleep almost instantly. Celebrian, however, had been startled awake. She sat up. After a moment, she looked at her dreaming husband. She smiled and kissed his cheek. As she pulled back, she noticed something surprising.

He smelled like lavender.

Chapter Three

“That was quite a night,” Glorfindel remarked, sipping from his teacup.

Celebrian nodded from across the table, tucking a stray strand of gold behind her ear. “It surely was.”

Glorfindel’s eyes danced with laughter. “I was watching you and Lord Elrond. He seemed very taken with your appearance.”

Celebrian looked up at him in surprise. “He was?”

“My Lady, as experienced as you seem with people, you are most out of tune with your husband’s expressions,” he replied. “I, having known him for a long while, could easily tell that he was surprised.”

Celebrian smiled. “I have much to learn, I suppose.” She studied the Elf-Lord a moment. He sat across from her at a table in the sunny library, staring out the window with a calm, contented expression on his face. She finally ventured to ask something that had been bothering her. “Glorfindel, are you the legendary Glorfindel of Gondolin?”

Glorfindel turned to her abruptly, a stunned and pained look in his eyes. “What makes you ask that, Lady?”

Celebrian was startled herself. “I simply wondered. Elves don’t usually share names.”

Glorfindel’s eyes fell to his teacup, and he seemed to be gravely scrutinizing the dark liquid inside. Celebrian was suddenly uncomfortable, something she’d never felt in his company. She realized that perhaps she shouldn’t have asked. She was about to apologize when he looked up at her, his face suddenly much softer, much more vulnerable. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, I am.”

There was a very heavy silence between them.

“I’m sorry, Glorfindel,” Celebrian said after a moment. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No,” Glorfindel told her, shaking his head. “You did nothing wrong. It’s just…sometimes…”

Celebrian looked down at her hands. She wasn’t used to making people do things like this. Usually, she could say the right thing to anyone, but there was something different this time.

“I was born in Gondolin,” Glorfindel continued. “I lived there happily…Then, Morgoth…everything was destroyed…the Balrog…” He shook his head, laughing bitterly. Celebrian jumped at the rough sound. “I’m sure you know the story of me and the Balrog.” He looked up at her questioningly.

“I do,” she replied.

Glorfindel nodded and looked down at the table, one hand tracing delicate patterns on its surface, the other supporting his head. “I lost so much there. Tuor, Idril, Ecthelion…” His eyebrows furrowed. “We were great friends, Ecthelion and I. After I made it to Mandos’ Halls, I was returned to Valinor for a short time, then sent here to guard Elrond. He’s the descendent of Gondolin’s king, you know.”

Suddenly, he clenched his hand, his expression hardened. “I miss it so much sometimes.” He fell silent again, memories engulfing his mind. “I sometimes weep for them, Celebrian. I sometimes weep.”

Celebrian felt torn between leaving him to his thoughts and comforting him. She chose the latter. With a sudden surge of sympathy, she reached across the table and took his hand. He looked up at her hastily. “Glorfindel, it’s in the past…” she said, wishing she knew what to say to him.

Glorfindel suddenly snatched his hand back and stood, his face turned away from her. “Yes. It is.” He bowed his head, still not looking at her, and said, “Excuse me, Lady. I shall see you later.” Before she could say anything else, he was gone.

Celebrian stared at the doorway through which he’d left. She could have kicked herself. She never messed up with others. What had happened?

That afternoon, Celebrian sat in her garden, digging fervently in the soil. It was the only way she could release her anger without hurting something. She hadn’t been able to find Glorfindel after their “conversation”, and now she felt horribly guilty. She pushed the dirt around the roots of a small shrub, patting it down firmly. She moved to another spot, and to her surprise, it looked like it had already been planted on. She didn’t remember ever using that spot, so she dug gently in the area.

After a few trowelfuls of soil, she unearthed a small seed. Under some examination, she saw that it was a mallorn seed. “How in Arda…” she trailed off under her breath, remembering how Elrond had smelled the night before. She had a lavender bush in her garden. Elrond had planted the seed. She carefully replaced it and flattened the ground over it. As she sat back on her heels, something snapped in her soul. She simply lay down and began to cry.

Nathariel was headed down the paths outside the Last Homely House on her daily walk. There was no healing work to be done, and she was very satisfied with the party the night before. She and Erestor had had a nice time, simply talking and watching everyone else dance and sing. Neither had felt like doing those things. She and the quiet advisor were becoming fast friends.

As she walked under the trees, she heard a curious sound. She realized someone was crying, and she picked up her pace, trying to find whoever it was. She was fairly shocked when she came upon the Lady Celebrian lying in her garden, weeping heartbrokenly.

“Lady?” she called, kneeling by the Elf-woman. Celebrian didn’t acknowledge her. “Lady, what’s wrong?”

Celebrian sat up and looked at her. Nathariel figured that she would just tell her she was fine, so she was bewildered when she found herself holding Celebrian, rocking back and forth as Elrond’s wife sobbed into her shoulder.

“My Lady, whatever’s wrong?” asked the soft-spoken healer.

“I did something terrible!” Celebrian cried, her voice muffled in Nathariel’s blouse.

“What?” Nathariel asked, even more confused than before. “What have you done?”

“Have you seen Lord Glorfindel?” Celebrian asked, looking up at Nathariel.

“No, not today,” Nathariel said. “But what happened?”

“It’s not important,” Celebrian said, standing up. “I must go.” She began to leave, but then she turned back to Nathariel. “Thank you,” she said, wiping dirt streaks off her cheeks. “I hope to see you again soon.”

“You’re welcome, my lady,” Nathariel answered, still wanting an explanation. “Good luck, whatever happened.”

Chapter Four

Glorfindel lay sprawled on his bed with his ocean-blue eyes squeezed shut. The sunlight warmed his back, but he felt cold, so cold. His fingers were wrapped in the sheets, his sunlit hair strewn across his back. Gondolin seemed to keep popping up everywhere recently. Each time it felt like someone was stabbing him in the heart. Everyone always tried to help, tried to understand. But in truth, no one ever could.

“Why does it hurt so much?” he asked suddenly. “Why can’t I forget?”

He knew why. No one can relinquish their hold on the past. Even a Balrog-slayer.

Celebrian ran down the hallways, her white-satin skirt gathered in her hands, her feet flying as if winged. She had to find Glorfindel, had to make it up to him. Guilt stayed with her, and she hated feeling guilty. She always had. Her eyes scanned each room as she passed it. She looked ahead and realized that the corridor was changing direction, so she turned and headed around the corner.

And ran right into Elrond.

They tumbled to the ground together. Celebrian collected herself quickly and sprang to her feet without a word, but before she could take another step, Elrond sat up and seized her wrist. “Celebrian, what’s going on?”

“I can’t talk now, Elrond. Have you seen Lord Glorfindel?” she asked, trying to pull from his grasp. He wouldn’t let her, however, and he stood up and grabbed her shoulders.

“Celebrian, tell me what’s wrong,” he said quietly.

Celebrian could see the concern in his eyes. She sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. She couldn’t bear to have him worried about her. “I asked him about Gondolin. He told me about it, and then he left. I have to apologize.”

Elrond pulled her against him and buried his face in her soft hair. “That’s a touchy subject with Glorfindel. He usually goes off to think, and then he’s his cheery self again. You have much to get used to, love.”

Celebrian pulled away. “I’m sorry, Elrond. I’m just not the kind of person who can let things lie. I have to talk to him. It will ease my conscience.”

Elrond tipped his head to the side. “All right, then. He’s probably in his room. He likes to be alone when this happens.”

Celebrian kissed his cheek and headed off down the hallway. Elrond watched her go, smiling. She was so good.

Celebrian stood outside Glorfindel’s room. She heard nothing from inside. With a deep sigh, she knocked on the door.

There was nothing for a moment. Then –

“Come in. It’s open.”

Celebrian exhaled. At least she knew where he was. She turned the silver doorknob and took a few cautious steps in.

Glorfindel stood by his window, one arm lifted and resting on the wall beside it, his fist against his forehead. She couldn’t see his face because his back was turned. She gathered herself and walked up beside him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of yielding. He was staring down at the river, but she knew he didn’t see any of it. She could tell from the clouded expression on his face. Gently, she reached out and touched his arm. “Glorfindel?”

He looked at her. “Lady Celebrian. Do you need something?”

“I need to tell you that I’m sorry,” Celebrian said, looking down at her feet.

Glorfindel stood up straight and turned to her. “For what, Lady?”

“For bringing up Gondolin.”

Glorfindel stared at her, stricken. Then, he gave a quiet laugh. “My Lady, you’ve done no wrong.”

Celebrian looked up at him in surprise. “What does that mean? I sent you grieving!”

“Didn’t Elrond tell you?” he asked, taking her hand. “I always do this. When I talk about it, I usually need to be by myself for a bit. To…gather my feelings. I’m a bit melodramatic, I’m afraid.”

“I was so afraid that I hurt you,” Celebrian said. She was silent a moment. Then, she said, “You are a very peculiar Elf, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel kissed her hand and bowed. “You are most definitely correct, Lady. But you know what?”

“What?” Celebrian asked, smiling. His optimism was very contagious.

He grinned and pushed back a wayward strand of hair. “I like it.”

Chapter Five

Lindir sat in the library, his harp cradled in his lap. He plucked out the melody once more, but then he reached that note. That one note he couldn’t find! He touched different strings, letting out an erratic song, but he could not find that note. He didn’t know why he was having such trouble lately with writing songs. He sighed. Perhaps he needed some inspiration. He began to play it again, and just as he reached that part, an arm clad in dark material shot out from behind him and plucked the right one.

Lindir looked up in surprise. Erestor stood behind him, smiling in a satisfied manner. “I got tired of hearing you play the same thing over and over,” he said in his quiet voice.

Lindir shook his head and narrowed his eyes at the raven-haired advisor. “How did you know which note to use? I didn’t know you were a musician.”

“I’m not. I just guessed,” Erestor said with a shrug.

Lindir turned in his chair and began to play again, when he realized that he didn’t know which note to use next. He glanced behind him to see Erestor retreating into the rows of books. “Erestor!” he called. “Would you mind guessing again?”

Glorfindel stalked past the door of the infirmary, startling Nathariel with the loud clicking of his boots.

She hurried to the door, brushing back loose strands of dark hair. “Is something wrong, Lord Glorfindel?” she called.

Glorfindel froze in place, his shoulders hunching up in annoyance. He spun around, his black cloak flaring around him, and cried, “Why is everyone so interested in what’s wrong with me? Can’t an Elf be grumpy because he didn’t get a good night’s sleep?”

Nathariel cowered in the doorway, clutching a roll of bandages to her chest defensively. “I’m quite sorry, my lord.”

Glorfindel rubbed his eyes. “Aye, maiden. I should be apologizing. I’m simply very tired. All the work around here…it’s running me off my feet.” He looked up at her as if he’d suddenly had an idea. “You’re a healer, correct?”

“Why, yes, I am,” Nathariel nodded.

“I’d like you to do something for me,” he said, grinning mischievously.

Something told her that whatever it was, it was going to be devious.

With Glorfindel, most things were.

Elrond sat in Celebrian’s garden, willing the mallorn seed to sprout with his mind. He knew that these things took time, but he so wanted to give Celebrian something she didn’t already have. And a mallorn tree would remind her of her home, Lothlorien. The book that lay in his hands was being unjustly ignored, for it was a very interesting book, but Elrond found other things more worthy of his attention than a long, poetic history of Arda.

Celebrian shuffled up behind her husband. She made no noise, not wanting to disturb him, and she had said nothing of the seed. She wanted to wait until he told her and pretend to be surprised. Just because she’d ruined it for herself didn’t mean she would ruin it for him. Finally, after watching him sit silently for a long time, she slipped her arms around his shoulders and bound him in a hug.

“Elrond, what are you doing out here all alone?” she asked, holding him tightly.

“Celebrian,” he whispered with a smile. He took her hands, and together they gazed out over Imladris, content.

That afternoon, Celebrian was lying in the grass outside, her golden tresses and scarlet gown scattered over the emerald earth. She breathed in the scent of spring, of dew and raindrops, plants and growing things. A squirrel scurried past her, shooting up a tree like an arrow shaft.

“Lady Celebrian?”

She sat up abruptly, brushing herself off. Once again, she’d lowered her guard, forgetting to be proper. Her mother would be furious. She looked up at Erestor. “Yes?”

“I was wondering, have you seen Lord Glorfindel?” the advisor asked, a look of worry etched into his face. A worried look was even rarer than a smile with Erestor.

“No, I haven’t,” Celebrian said thoughtfully. She got to her feet. “Why?”

“He has duties to attend to,” Erestor said simply.

Nathariel sat by one of the beds in the infirmary, her body tense, her eyes trained on the still form buried under the covers. Glorfindel had convinced her to pretend she’d found him unconscious in the hallway. She had supposedly taken him to care for him until he awakened. That way, he reasoned, he could get a good rest and recharge for his duties the next day. The problem was that Nathariel never lied, so she was very uncomfortable with the situation.

Glorfindel, on the other hand, was absolutely content, and had fallen asleep immediately. His back rose softly with his breathing, but she could see none of his face. He’d hidden himself in the sheets. A few golden braids poked out from underneath, much to Nathariel’s anxious amusement.

Just then, to her horror, Celebrian and Erestor rushed in, looking ruffled and worried.

“Nathariel,” Celebrian began seriously, “have you seen Glorfindel?”

Nathariel shook nervously. “Yes, I have…In fact, I – I mean – “

“Nathariel!” Erestor said, laying his hands on her shoulders. “What happened?”

“He’s right here,” the healer whispered nervously.

Erestor rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me. The let’s-pretend-I-passed-out-so-I-can-get-out-of-work trick, isn’t it?” he asked.

“How did you know?” Nathariel asked without thinking.

“He’s done it before,” Erestor said offhandedly.

Nathariel glared at the sleeping Vanya.

Celebrian just broke into hysterical laughter and staggered from the room.

Chapter Six

Lindir lay wrapped in his sheets, eyes open and wide awake. He was annoyed with himself. He couldn’t figure out why he was having trouble with his music. It wasn’t normal. He was a musician, and musicians should be able to make music whenever they wanted to, in his opinion. He couldn’t understand it.

He turned over, buried his face in his pillow in an attempt to ignore the open-armed statue on his headboard. Sometimes she looked like she was scolding him, and this was one of those times. He stared out the window despairingly, at the white pinprick stars of the sky’s tapestry and the shining orb of a moon. Everything was silent. The only sound he heard was his own breathing, and even that was muffled. He felt smothered by the night. He sat up abruptly. He had to get some fresh air. He stood to leave the room and caught sight of himself in his mirror. He looked a fright. He ran a graceful hand through his long, straight black hair in an effort to make it look halfway decent. Then, he stepped, barefoot, into the hallway.

He closed the door quietly behind him and looked down the corridor. Someone was already there. She stood in the window, her hands on the thin, intricately decorated pillars, her golden hair and the wide sleeves of her white gown blowing freely in the wind. Lindir stopped in surprise. “Lady Celebrian?” he asked.

She turned to him. “Lindir? What’s wrong?” she asked, sounding concerned.

“I just couldn’t sleep,” he said bashfully. He had expected at least one or two Elves to be wandering the halls, but not the Lady. He was very self-conscious, what with his messy hair and wrinkled tunic. He should have at least pulled it out of his face, or something. He sighed. “Does something trouble you, Lady?”

Celebrian laughed softly. “Not at all. I couldn’t sleep either.”

Lindir smiled and joined her at the window, his embarrassment melting away. The Lady always managed to make everyone feel comfortable.

Celebrian turned her head and looked at him searchingly. “What’s wrong?” she asked after a moment.

“Nothing,” he lied, shifting his gaze.

“Come on. I know something is,” she prodded.

Lindir stared at her a moment. Her expression was resolute and determined. He knew she would force him to tell her, and he wasn’t in the mood for an argument. Besides, maybe she could help him. She was a talented harpist. “I’m having a bit of problems with my harping.”

It was Celebrian’s turn to be surprised. “It always sounds fine to me,” she said.

“That’s not it,” Lindir said, shaking his head. “I just can’t seem to play the songs I want to. To me, my recent songs are…” he broke off, swallowing hard. “Ill-written.”

Celebrian looked at him sympathetically. “Well, we’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?” she said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“You’d help me?” he asked.

Celebrian grinned. “When you came out here, I had a feeling there was a reason for us to be unable to sleep on the same night. And besides, I have nothing else to do.”

Chapter Seven

Erestor sat in the library. It was his usual location, whether he was poring over books or copying old scrolls to preserve them. He was bent over the former this time, his dark hair hiding his face from others as he concentrated on what he was reading. Thus, he almost had a heart attack when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up in shock at the smiling face of Nathariel.

“Valar, Nathariel, you almost killed me!” he cried jokingly as he put a hand over his heart.

“I’m sorry,” she giggled. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

Erestor sighed happily. “Of course.”

They headed out immediately. The weather was steadily getting warmer, edging from placid spring to fiery summer. All the Elves wore looser, thinner clothes to keep themselves comfortable. Nathariel chose her usual path, a bunch of papers under her arm.

"What are those?” Erestor asked curiously, gazing pointedly at them.

“Some drawings I wanted to show you.”

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” Erestor said, surprised.

“They’re not too good, but…” She pulled out one she’d done of Lord Elrond looking contemplative.

“Are you crazy?” the advisor asked in shock, taking it from her to look at it more closely. “It looks just like him!”

“Thank you,” Nathariel muttered, looking at the ground and turning pink.

“Do you have any more?” Erestor asked.

“Yes,” she smiled, holding out the stack. They sat down together on the dusty, sunlit path and Erestor began sifting through the papers. Sometimes Nathariel would seize a drawing from him and refuse to let him see it, because she didn’t think it was good enough, but most of them she let him look at. She was a great artist, able to take a person’s likeness and sketch it perfectly, and had done almost all the Elves. Erestor stopped in astonishment when he pulled one out of himself, gazing at it open-mouthed for quite a while before she asked, “Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect, Nathariel. It’s incredible!”

The healer mumbled another “Thank you” and turned her face away.

Suddenly, someone appeared behind them and slung an arm over each of their shoulders.

“Well, what are you two doing sitting in the dirt?” came Glorfindel’s teasing voice. Then he spotted the drawings and asked, “Whose are those?”

“Mine,” Nathariel said. She was getting a bit self-conscious.

“Is that me?” the golden-haired Elf asked, taking one of the drawings from the pile.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“This is wonderful!” he said in amazement. In it, he was clad in a black cloak, leaning roguishly against a wall, his hair loose and cascading.

“Sure it is,” Erestor grinned. “You think anything’s wonderful if it involves you.”

“That’s not true!” Glorfindel protested, elbowing Erestor. “It’s really good,” he insisted, gazing at her. “You are very talented.”

“Thank you,” Nathariel said for what seemed the hundredth time. She was getting uncomfortable.

“No need for that,” Glorfindel laughed. “They’re very beautiful drawings.” He stood and started to walk away. “You should show them to other people,” he added. With a bow and a grin, he strode off.

“What a nuisance,” Erestor muttered, but he was smiling as he said it.

“Oh, he’s sweet,” Nathariel said firmly.

They went back to the drawings.

Chapter Eight

Autumn had swept its gold and scarlet cloak over Rivendell, dyeing the treetops colors that made them seem aflame with bright splashes of red and orange. The wind was chillier, a sharp edge to it, and now that the haze of summer was gone, the stars of Varda Elentári glittered brightly in the crisp sky as the Elves gathered each night in the Hall of Fire.

The Elves themselves were different now, as well. Lindir’s musical abilities had returned to him, and each night melodies poured from his harp strings. Erestor wasn’t nearly so shy; he talked to everyone. Nathariel was more outgoing, and the other Elves were astonished when they found out her artistic skills (courtesy of Glorfindel). Glorfindel had managed to become even more of a free spirit, and still made myriad attempts to get out of work, which Erestor dashed immediately. Elrond wasn’t so awkward anymore.

The biggest change, however, had to do with Celebrían.

She was with child.

She laid in the gardens, clad in a forest-green cloak, her fingers resting gently on the tiny mallorn. It had sprouted in the early summer. She smiled as she recalled a memory from that time.

Elrond pulled the harp from Celebrían’s hands. “Come, meleth-nin!” he grinned, taking her now-empty hands and dragging her to her feet.

“What is it?” she giggled.

“I’m not saying.”

Celebrían threw Lindir a grin as her husband pulled her from the room. The dark-haired harpist just gave her a mixed look of confusion and amusement.

“Close your eyes,” Elrond smiled, leading her outside. She knew it was the tree, but she didn’t say anything. She closed her eyes.

“Well?” he asked when she opened them.

“Oh, Elrond,” she breathed. The gratitude was genuine. “Thank you.”

He said nothing, pulling her into a hug that said everything.

“Celebrían?”

The Lady of Imladris looked up. Elrond stood beside her. She started to get up, but he stopped her with a gesture. Instead, she laughed and sat up, her knees tucked against her chest. Elrond immediately threw off proper behavior and flopped down beside of her, pulling her against him. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed.

“I love you, Elrond,” she said contentedly.

“I love you, too,” the Elf Lord replied, his cheek against her wavy hair.

The world seemed so small at that moment, as if they were the only beings in it, and they savored the quiet time, ignoring the busy world around them.

Erestor, on the other hand, wasn’t having such a good time.

“Where are those blasted reports?” he exploded, shuffling desperately through the piles of paper on his desk.

“Temper, temper,” Glorfindel scolded, going through the advisor’s cluttered bookshelves. “They’re here somewhere. And you’d better not say ‘blasted’ around Nathariel.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Erestor retorted. “I wouldn’t say that in front of her. And these reports aren’t something to be taken lightly!”

Glorfindel looked at him, an eyebrow cocked sardonically. “Erestor, they’re lists of Imladris’ medical and food supplies. I hardly think that’s something to get so worked up about.”

“They took two months to compile! I put into them too much time and care to forget about them, just because you say so! I’m not going to write them out again! Why don’t you try being an advisor, huh, Sir Goldtress? Always waltzing about, flinging your cloak in all directions, acting like an Elfling! If you had as much work as me, you’d be – what are those?”

“Your reports,” Glorfindel grinned, waving a sheaf of papers around in front of Erestor.

Erestor took the papers from him and cleared his throat, trying to look dignified. “Yes. Thank you, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel laughed and brushed aside a tangled bit of hair. “You’re welcome, mellon-nin.”

A/N: Elvish translations-

Meleth-nin: my love

Mellon-nin: my friend

Chapter Nine

Glorfindel made his way into the less accessible rooms of Imladris, ancient armories that stored the weapons used in the Siege of Mordor, no longer needed in such times of peace. His hip had felt strangely light for weeks after he’d stopped wearing his sword, and he’d put it away. Though he was a powerful warrior and had rarely been wounded in battle (not including his death at the hands of the Balrog), he never enjoyed fighting, so he was glad to finally leave his blade in its sheath.

He found his way to one of the armories – and was surprised to see the door standing ajar. Careful and suspicious, he stepped silently into the room. Another Elf stood by the opposite wall, grasping awkwardly the hilt of a long sword.

It was Lindir.

“Lindir, what are you doing?” Glorfindel asked, merely confused.

The young harpist turned to him in shock and dropped the sword. It clattered loudly against the stone. “Lord Glorfindel!” he gasped.

“Why are you here?” Glorfindel asked quietly. It puzzled him to see the dark-haired Elf in such a place.

“I didn’t touch anything,” Lindir said quickly. Then, he looked down at the sword. “Well, I did touch something, but I didn’t hurt anything.”

“I don’t mean to sound scolding,” Glorfindel replied, taking another step into the room. “I only wish to know why you came here.”

“I was curious. I wished to know the feel the of a sword in my hands.”

Glorfindel closed the door behind him and picked up the sword, hanging it back up on the wall. “Never wish to hold a sword, harpist.”

“I meant no harm – “ Lindir began.

“And you caused none,” Glorfindel replied. “But one such as you, a musician, should never feel need to carry a sword.”

“You carried a sword,” Lindir countered.

“That is because I’m a warrior,” Glorfindel retorted.

“And why are you here, Lord Glorfindel?” the younger Elf asked, sarcasm in his voice.

“I wished for some solitude.”

“But here, of all places?” Lindir asked.

“I come here after I’ve had particularly bad nightmares,” Glorfindel said.

“About what?”

“Battles.”

“But one as brave as you?” Lindir asked incredulously.

Glorfindel smiled wryly. “I’m afraid so.”

Lindir sat down on a pile of shields. “Can you tell me about some?”

“I’d rather not.”

“The valiant Glorfindel Goldtress fears to speak of his warrior days?” Lindir taunted.

“Ha. It was these golden tresses that got me killed the first time.”

“Now that is interesting,” Lindir chuckled. “How did that happen?”

“Well, when that Balrog fell, it clutched my hair and dragged me down with it,” Glorfindel said, grimacing at the memory. He could almost feel the wrench of its burning claws again.

There was silence for a while as Glorfindel brooded and Lindir absorbed his words. Then, Lindir asked, “Why are you reluctant to speak of battles, if you are a warrior?”

“War, no matter how glorious your ballads make it sound, is a terrible thing,” Glorfindel said. “You sing of the heroes and their heroic deeds, but you do not sing of the bloodshed, the death, the destruction.” He pinned Lindir with a hard stare. “I fight, harpist, when it is needed. In times of war, though I think violence is the greatest wrong of all, one must protect their people and guard their homes.”

“I see,” Lindir said.

“No, you do not see. None who have lived in such peace could ever see. I’ve lost friends in battle that were dearer to me than myself. King Gil-galad, for one. Did you know that despite his military renown, he despised war from the bottom of his heart?”

“I did not know,” Lindir replied, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“Though many Elves look down on Men, know this, Lindir. Men are many times worthy creatures. I feel that killing them is like kinslaying. Just because they are not of your race does not mean they are evil. Even Finrod befriended men. And war, no matter how just the cause, is a horrible thing. To kill another living creature is like killing oneself, unless they are Orcs, or a creature as foul. Yet it hurts me to kill Orcs, for they were once as we are, and were captured by Morgoth and tortured into the loathsome things they are.” He looked at Lindir pointedly. “Do you understand?”

Lindir nodded.

“Do not always believe your ballads and songs, Lindir,” Glorfindel cautioned. “And may you never wish to hold a sword again.” He smiled at the minstrel. “Your hands are far too fair.”

Lindir returned the smile.

And that night, he only sang of peace.

Chapter Ten

Elrond looked at Glorfindel from the cushiony depths of his armchair. “Glorfindel, I just realized something.”

Glorfindel nodded vaguely, trying to concentrate on the book in his hands. “And that is…?”

“I’m going to be a father.”

Glorfindel looked up at him, astonished. “You just realized that?”

“Well, I’ve known it since the start, but I only just realized it,” Elrond explained.

“I see,” the Balrog-Slayer said, standing up from his perch in Elrond’s windowseat. He brushed at his crimson robes. “And you don't know how to go about it?"

Elrond nodded.

"I can help you there.”

Elrond glanced at him cynically. “How could you do that? You were never a father.”

“I helped raise Eärendil.”

Elrond was shocked. “My father? My grandparents actually trusted you with him?”

Glorfindel smirked. “Not everyone regards me as bungling as you do.”

Elrond began to chuckle.

“Laugh all you want, Peredhil, but many a night I kept the babe in my room so that Idril could get some sleep. Your grandfather slept like a rock, and was even harder to budge when snoring,” Glorfindel retorted indignantly.

This only made Elrond laugh harder. “How old are you?” he asked jokingly.

Glorfindel tried to maintain his defensive demeanor, but had to give in to the mirth. Solemn was one thing he couldn’t pretend to be.

Three days later, Elrond and Glorfindel departed for Greenwood after being invited by King Thranduil for a feast. It was the custom of the two Elven rulers to invite the other each winter for a banquet to maintain good relations. Glorfindel was always mobbed by the King’s children – especially the youngest ones, Prince Legolas and Princess Gil-aelin – so the Elf-Lord would be sufficiently entertained while they were there.

Celebrían had turned down Elrond’s request for her to accompany them, because she simply didn’t feel like traveling. Elrond had been horrified, telling her that it was common courtesy for the new Lady to be at the feast, but she had assured him that Queen Rilorn knew what it was like to be pregnant. Elrond had finally given in, but now Celebrían was feeling the consequences.

She was bored beyond all reason.

It was a dull evening, and all the Elves were staying to themselves, much to her dismay. She decided to take a walk.

As she strolled down the corridor, she was surprised to find Erestor sitting in the hallway, his head bent over a piece of parchment, scribbling crazily on it with a black quill.

“Lord Erestor?” she asked.

“Yes, Lady Celebrían?” he asked, never looking up.

“Well, Elrond and Glorfindel are gone, it’s snowing, and I’m really bored.”

“And?”

“And I was wondering if you’d like to come walking with me.”

“Of course!” Erestor said cheerfully. “Just let me finish this…there!” He placed the parchment and quill aside and got to his feet. “I’ll get my cloak and we’ll head off.”

Celebrían waited impatiently for him at the entrance to the grounds. He came hurrying down the stairs and bowed as he approached her.

“Oh, stop that!” she scolded good-naturedly. “Let’s go.”

The snow fell gently in large flakes and had completely covered the ground. It glittered in the pale moonlight, frosting everything with a gentle blanket of white.

“This is the first snowfall I’ve seen in Imladris,” she said after a while. “In Lothlórien, the snow falls, but leaves don’t. But this…this is beautiful as well.”

“Indeed,” Erestor replied, sounding almost sullen. The white flakes falling in his hair looked like bright stars in the night sky.

“Why do you speak so?” Celebrían asked, smiling.

“I’ve been irritated by most of the Elflings here, including Elrond and Glorfindel.”

Celebrían began to giggle. “I never knew that my husband could be so…childish.”

“Well, your being here has tamed him.”

“If that’s a good thing, then I am grateful,” she replied. “But pray tell, what did he do to you?”

“Let’s just say it involved an icicle and the back of my robes,” Erestor said, grimacing as he remembered the chilly ice dagger falling sharply down his back.

“But everything’s so much calmer here,” she said. “For instance, in Lórien, my mother would never have let me do this.” She demonstrated by spinning around, her cloak dragging in the snow, her arms outstretched and her loose hair flying.

“And why not?” Erestor asked. He enjoyed seeing her so glad.

Celebrían knelt in the snow, touching it with her hands. “Mother was – is – always very proper. I like it here. Everything’s so wonderful.”

“It most certainly is,” Erestor nodded.

Celebrían stood. “You will have to add me to your nuisance list,” she grinned.

“Why?” Erestor asked, though he already knew. He had seen her hands flash behind her back.

“Because of this!” She threw a snowball at him and he dodged. It broke harmlessly against his shoulder. He gathered up a handful of snow and retaliated. A battle broke out, and snowballs flew back and forth as the white flakes fell lightly from the sky.

Half an hour later, they went inside, breathless and laughing.

Neither had won.

Elvish Translations:

Gil-aelin: star lake

Rilorn: literally, brilliance tree

Chapter Eleven

Lindir and Celebrían sat in the Hall of Fire. She sang while he played, and they broke out into giggles every so often, though the song wasn’t funny. After a bit, Celebrían got quiet and sat with her chin in her hands, a frown on her face.

Lindir stopped harping. “My lady, is something wrong?” he asked concernedly.

“I feel slightly ill,” she said with a groan.

“Is it time?” Lindir asked, having no experience with pregnant Elf-women.

“No,” she said quietly.

Lindir stood quickly. “I’ll take you to the infirmary, anyway,” he said, taking her hand and supporting her as she staggered to her feet. They began to make their way into the corridor when the Lady collapsed into a dead faint.

With a jolt of worry, Lindir gathered her up in his arms and ran in with her. “Help!” he cried. “The Lady has fainted!”

Several Elves came to his side and took her from his arms. He followed them, anxious and frightened.

Unfortunately, it was at that time that Elrond and Glorfindel decided to return.

“Next time we go to Greenwood, keep me from allowing Thranduil’s children to borrow Asfaloth,” Glorfindel was saying. “Young Prince Legolas nearly scared me to death, galloping off with the horse.”

Elrond chuckled. “That I will do.”

Glorfindel noticed the group of Elves hurrying down the corridor ahead of them. “What could be going on?” he asked curiously.

“I know not,” Elrond said.

Without a word, they sprinted off down the hallway, catching up quickly. Glorfindel caught Lindir by the shoulder. “What happened?”

Lindir looked shaken and pale. “I know not. The Lady Celebrían and I were simply sitting in the Hall, and she said she felt ill, so I was taking her to the infirmary. As we started off, she passed out.”

“But she can’t be ready,” Glorfindel said. “With Queen Idril, it took much longer. It doesn’t make sense…” He broke off as Elrond slumped against him in a daze.

“That is what worried me,” Lindir said, gazing down the hall as the Elves carried Celebrían into the infirmary. “She said that it wasn’t time.”

Glorfindel set Elrond on his feet and the three made their way down the hall. Celebrían was lying in on of the beds, the Elven healers hovering around her; those who’d brought her stood behind them.

“That will be all,” Glorfindel said, shooing them out. “We appreciate your help, you may go about your business. The Lady will be fine, I assure you.”

With much murmured protest, the Elves filed out of the room. Elrond knelt beside Celebrían’s bed, brushing the golden strands of hair from her face. Lindir stood behind him, one hand on the Lord of Imladris’ shoulder. Nathariel was standing on the other side of the bed, putting leaves of athelas into a bowl of steaming water.

“She will be fine, Lord Elrond,” Nathariel said quietly, turning to his anxious face. “This is normal when a woman is with child.”

Elrond said nothing, but gave the healer a soft smile of gratitude. Glorfindel came up behind Lindir. “We should leave,” he whispered.

“But what about the Lady?” the harpist asked worriedly.

“She is in good hands,” Glorfindel said, gazing fondly at Nathariel’s back as she bustled about, gathering sheets from other beds. They gathered dust, for most of the time they weren’t in use.

With one last glance at Elrond and his wife, Lindir nodded and walked out with Glorfindel.

After a bit, she soaked a cloth in the athelas­-steeped water and gently sponged Celebrían’s forehead with it. “She will be fine,” she told Elrond, who despite her assurances, remained grim.

“I shouldn’t have left,” Elrond said.

“It is customary,” Nathariel protested. “If you hadn’t, King Thranduil may have taken offense.”

“I know, but my wife is more important to me.”

Nathariel laughed. “You are very devout, my lord.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Elrond asked, tearing his eyes from Celebrían to look at Nathariel.

“You should! I was praising you!” Nathariel said, laughing harder.

Then, Celebrían began to stir. “What is so amusing?” she asked dazedly.

“She’s awakened!” Elrond cried.

“Of course I’ve awakened,” Celebrían said, sounding irritated. “But what are you doing here? And where is Lindir?”

“She’s perfectly all right,” Nathariel said.

“I returned. Lindir left a while ago,” Elrond said as his wife struggled into a sitting position. “Valar, you scared me!” he cried, wrapping her in a tight hug.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said.

That night, Nathariel went down the hall, following the quiet sound of harp music. She opened the door to the library and saw Lindir sitting by the window. There were no candles lit, only the light of the moon and stars streaming their pale light into the room. She knew the song. It was a common lullaby, and she was surprised to hear him playing it. Simply because she remembered it, she began to sing.

The sparkling stars
Shine down on us
Like rain upon the trees
And the shining light
Of Eärendil
Glows bright along the seas.
The wind blows through
The forest, speaking of
A world of light,
And with me you shall
Always be, my child,
Through the night.

Lindir looked up at her in surprise. “I did not realize you were there.”

“I tread quietly,” Nathariel smiled.

“Would you like to sit?” he asked, standing up.

“Nay,” she said, shaking her head. “I only came to thank you for being so concerned about Lady Celebrían.”

“Thank you,” he said, embarrassed. “She is a good friend of mine.”

“I know,” Nathariel replied, leaning against the doorframe. “You two are very familiar with one another. She is very kind, is she not?”

“That she is,” Lindir nodded.

They were quiet for a bit. Finally, Nathariel broke the silence by saying, “I’ve always meant to tell you, but I never ventured to. You are a wonderful musician.”

“Thank you.”

“I think that you may even be better than Daeron was,” she added.

“I doubt that,” Lindir replied, blushing.

“I don’t.” Nathariel looked out at the snowy night for a moment, then said, “I should be going. I’ve interrupted you.”

“No, you didn’t,” Lindir said quickly.

Nathariel smiled again. “You are very kind. I must straighten the infirmary. The Lady caused quite a stir!”

“Goodnight,” Lindir called as she left.

“Goodnight!” she waved.

Notes: For any who haven’t read The Silmarillion, Daeron was a minstrel in the court of King Elu Thingol (Elwë Singollo), the father of Luthien Tinuvíel. He betrayed Beren and Luthien twice, and was known as the greatest minstrel in the history of Arda (Middle-Earth).

Chapter Twelve

Lindir was walking down the hallway when he saw a white-clad figure emerge from the infirmary. After a moment’s inspection, he realized it was Celebrían. With a cry of joy, he ran toward her and halted in front of her, barely stopping to bow. “You’ve awakened!” he cried.

Celebrían laughed. “Yes, I have.”

“I was very worried,” Lindir said, suddenly looking shy.

“I appreciate it. And you were very quick-thinking to take me as fast as you did.”

Lindir returned her smile. “Thank you, Lady. But may I ask, what was wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s common for things like that to happen,” she said.

“I’m glad to hear that you are well,” he replied. He kissed her hand and dashed off.

Watching him go, Celebrían shook her head and laughed.

Succumbing to his frustration, Glorfindel let go of the strands of hair that he’d been trying to braid. He could never get them braided the right way, which is why he usually left them loose, much to Erestor’s annoyance. He stood away from his mirror and dropped into his bed, pulling his pillow over his face. Everyone said he was always so graceful – what did they know? With a sigh, he dropped his arms over the sides of the bed and left them to dangle.

“Glorfindel?” came a confused voice from outside the door. “Why do you have a pillow on your face?”

It was Erestor. Glorfindel groaned. “Because I am annoyed.”

He could hear Erestor sigh and walk into the room. “And why are you annoyed?”

“Because I can’t braid my hair.”

There was silence for a moment, then Erestor said, “Move over.”

Glorfindel pulled the pillow off of his head and tossed it to the floor. He shifted so that he was only lying on half of the bed, and Erestor plopped down beside him.

“Do you need something?” Glorfindel asked after a few seconds.

“Nothing in particular,” Erestor replied. “I’ve completed my duties for the day, so…”

Glorfindel snorted. “You live for your duties, Erestor. I think overwork can become fatal.”

“Ha, ha. Very amusing.”

“I know I am. Thank you.”

Erestor sighed again. “You are a very irritating person.”

Glorfindel grinned. “I am aware of that.”

“This is pointless. Perhaps I can engage someone in an intelligent conversation,” Erestor muttered. He got out of the bed, but before he could leave, Glorfindel caught him by the hair. Erestor rolled his eyes. “What?”

“Could you…do my hair for me?”

Erestor sighed once more (something he did a lot around Glorfindel). “Why, the so-called Lord of the House of the Golden Flower and self-proclaimed Balrog-slayer can’t even fix his own hair?”

“Skip the sarcasm and please do this for me without any ridicule,” Glorfindel pleaded. “I want to look decent for once.”

Erestor looked at him in surprise. “Everyone likes your messiness,” he said.

Glorfindel looked equally surprised. “They do?” he asked.

“They do.”

Glorfindel sat up and took a handful of his golden tresses, gazed at them thoughtfully. Then he sprang up, swept on his black cloak, and asked, “Would you like to take a walk?”

Erestor grimaced. “I have a bit of organizing to do in the library, and besides, it’s still snowing.”

“Ah, don’t be so sour!” Glorfindel laughed. “Lady Celebrían told me all about your snowball fight.”

Erestor went red. “She did?”

Glorfindel grinned wickedly. “She did,” he confirmed with a nod.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Erestor begged. “It’s not my usual manner, but I was having fun, and she does something to people – “

Glorfindel laughed. “I know that all too well.”

Erestor sighed and tugged on his robes. “I suppose a walk would do me some good.”

“Very well, then!” Glorfindel seized his hand and pulled him out of the room and down the hall.

“You didn’t make your bed!” Erestor protested.

Glorfindel looked back at him. “Weren’t you the one who just said that everyone likes my messiness?”

Erestor moaned. Why did he have to encourage him?

Chapter Thirteen

“How do I look?” asked Elrond, turning to his wife.

Celebrían scrutinized him. “You circlet is crooked,” she laughed.

Elrond frantically tried to straighten it.

“Here, let me fix it,” Celebrían giggled, reaching out and setting the twined silver ring aright. “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re so worked up these last three days.”

“Is it not obvious?” Elrond asked. “Today is the New Year’s festival!”

“Indeed it is,” she agreed. “And you have it every year. So why are you so worried now?”

Elrond looked at her earnestly. “Do you want the truth?”

“I may regret it, but yes, I do.”

He sighed. “Because of your parents.”

Celebrían choked on a fit of laughter. “My parents?” she finally managed to ask.

Elrond nodded sheepishly.

‘Why are you worried about my parents?”

“Well, I’m not really worried about them. I’m worried about what they think of me.”

Celebrían laughed. “They love you,” she said. “If they did not think you were good enough, believe me, they would have stopped at nothing to keep me from marrying you.’

Elrond was skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. They’re my parents.”

Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel rode at the head of their procession, the large escort that would accompany them to Rivendell. The Lady was mounted on a gleaming white stallion, her husband on a midnight-black. Celeborn was restless, much to his wife’s chagrin.

“Will you stop fidgeting?” she finally snapped. “You’re making me edgy!”

“Well, I am edgy!” he snapped back.

Galadriel smiled fondly as she recognized his annoyed tone. “And why, pray tell, are you so edgy?”

“Don’t play with me, Galadriel. You know very well why.”

“I’m sure Elrond is a wonderful husband,” Galadriel assured him.

“But you don’t know that. Celebrían is our – “

“ – our only child. I know. And Elrond was always very courteous and kind around us.”

“Around us. The key word in that sentence is us. And now that she’s going to have the baby so soon, she can’t back out of the marriage,” Celeborn argued.

“You worry too much, darling,” Galadriel said, patting his knee.

Celeborn just sighed.

“Everything all right?” asked Haldir, one of the captains of the Lothórien guard.

“Yes, Haldir,” chorused the Lord and Lady.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Haldir.”

“Positive?”

Galadriel’s eye was twitching. “Go away, Haldir!”

Haldir went away.

When he was out of earshot, Celeborn said, “That Elf is too nosy for his own good.”

“He’s going to get into a lot of trouble some day,” Galadriel added, nodding her head in agreement.

They looked at each other and grinned.

A plan was beginning to form.

Chapter Fourteen

Erestor strolled down the corridor, clad in silver robes, a huge contrast to the dark clothing he usually wore. Nathariel was a way ahead of him, and he hurried up the hall to join her.

“Good morning,” she smiled as he caught up with her.

Erestor returned the greeting, noting with surprise how unusually dressed up she was for New Year’s. She wore robes of golden silk; her dark hair was elaborately braided and twisted, ribbons and beads strewn through it. A long chain of silver hung from her throat and bracelets jangled on her wrists.

“You look lovely,” he finally managed to say.

The healer blushed. “Thank you,” she said, looking at her feet.

Erestor was embarrassed as well. “You’re welcome.”

They walked for a few moments in silence. Then, Glorfindel swept around the corner. On his head was a wreath of yellow lilies, woven into the shape of a crown. Nathariel burst into a giggle fit when she saw him.

He grinned and said, “A generous little Elfling insisted I wear it, as she had fashioned it for me.” He noticed Nathariel then, and was stricken for a moment. However, his clever tongue had not deserted him. “And who is this magnificent elleth, Erestor? It couldn’t be Nathariel, could it?”

Nathariel went scarlet. “Indeed, it is. Do I truly look so different?” she asked.

“You are beautiful, maiden,” Glorfindel smiled. “Fit to be a queen.” With a flourishing bow, he headed off down the corridor.

Erestor remained calm outwardly, but inside he was fuming. He wasn’t angry with Glorfindel – strangely, he was angry with himself.

Why was it that Glorfindel always managed to be witty, fun, helpful, even dashing (to most of the Elf-maids), but he himself was always the quiet, solitary advisor who knew more of books than people? He wanted to be accepted, different, unique.

With a jolt, he realized that nothing was holding him back.

“Is something wrong?” asked Nathariel.

“No,” Erestor said, almost too quickly. “Excuse me. I must speak to someone,” he added, scurrying off.

Nathariel stood in the deserted hallway, alone and in total shock. “Uh…goodbye then, I guess.”

Celebrían stood at the window, waiting for her parents to arrive. They wouldn’t have a large procession with them, because her mother always insisted on small groups. She had always said they were an “unnecessary annoyance”.

“Lady Celebrían?”

Celebrían turned. “Yes, Erestor?” she asked.

“I need to ask you for some…advice.”

Celebrían smiled. “Of course. What do you need?”

“I was wondering how I can – how would I word it? – become more popular,” the advisor said, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“Yes, you do seem to be allergic to attention,” Celebrían laughed.

Erestor looked glummer than before.

“You’re serious,” Celebrían said, feeling bad. “I’m sorry.”

Erestor sighed heavily. “I’m just tired of being a shadow.”

“And you want to do something that will turn everyone’s heads?”

Erestor nodded.

“Does this have anything to do with impressing Nathariel?” Celebrían asked.

Erestor blushed. “No,” he said.

Celebrían laughed. Erestor was a terrible liar. Grinning slyly, a twinkle in her eyes that reminded Erestor of Glorfindel, she said, “I know exactly how to help you.”

“And what would that be?”

“You’ll find out when the time comes,” Celebrían said mysteriously.

Erestor sighed again. He’d been afraid of that.

A/N: The aforementioned yellow lilies would be Easter lilies, which bloom in early spring. However, I don’t think they called them “Easter” lilies in ME, so I just substituted.

Chapter Fifteen

“Ammë!” cried Celebrían, running to meet her mother as she slid off of her stallion’s back. Galadriel, who normally would have scolded her daughter for her unseemly behavior, pulled her into a tight embrace.

“You’re getting along, aren’t you, dear?” she asked, stepping back and smoothing down her daughter’s golden tresses.

“Soon, I’ll be a mother myself!” laughed Celebrían, a hand on her protruding belly.

“Celebrían!” came Celeborn’s happy shout as he reached her. Before she said a thing, he’d lifted her into the air, twirled around, and bound her in a hug as her feet touched the ground again. He kissed her cheek. “My child, how are you?”

“I’m fine, Ada,” she said, hugging him tightly.

“Are you sure?” asked Celeborn anxiously. “Has Elrond been good to you? Has he – “

“Ada, Elrond’s wonderful,” Celebrían said. “Don’t worry!” She beckoned to tiny escort into the Last Homely House, asked the stable-Elves to take care of their horses.

“My, Lady Celebrían!” came Haldir’s voice from beside her. “I remember when you were only an Elfling! Now look at you! How many months do you have left?” he asked.

Before Celebrían could answer, Galadriel pulled her aside. “I want to ask you a favor,” she said, glaring at Haldir.

Celebrían followed her mother’s gaze, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. “What kind of favor?”

“Haldir’s too nosy for his own good,” Galadriel said, looking greatly annoyed. "Your father and I want to teach him a lesson.”

Celebrían was slightly worried. “What kind of lesson?”

Galadriel leaned close to her ear. “Well…”

Haldir meandered into the kitchen silently, making his way toward Morwen, the cook.

“Hello!” he shouted from behind her, trying to startle her.

“Hello, Haldir,” she said calmly, taking a wooden spoon from the drawer in front of her. She remembered him from the Lord and Lady’s wedding.

Oh, he’d gotten on her nerves.

“So what kind of soup is that?” asked the marchwarden.

“Vegetable,” Morwen said shortly. She pushed a strand of brown hair from her face and took a deep breath.

“What will the main course be?” he asked, lifting the lid from one of the simmering pots.

Morwen groaned softly, and against her better judgement, was the first to enact the revenge of the leaders of Lothlorien.

With as much speed as she could gather, she thwacked him over the head with her wooden spoon.

“Ow!” he yelped, dropping the lid so that it crashed to the ground, rolling and spinning before it came to a stop. He rubbed his head. “What was that for?”

“What was what for?” asked the cook, placidly stirring the soup with the spoon. Seeing her so passive, one would wonder how she could wield the cooking utensil with the same deadly precision a seasoned warrior used to wield a sword. She disregarded that fact and began to hum.

“That smack!” exclaimed Haldir.

Morwen didn’t look at him, resisting the grin that was pulling at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

With a huff, Haldir stomped from the room, his silver braids swinging. Morwen shut the door behind him, dissolving into helpless giggles.