Elrond finds a lonely niche. Tonight they left with no excuse, fingers interlaced and eyes only for each other. His little girl is maid no longer.

“I know how you feel,” Celeborn says from the doorway. “I thought you not good enough for Celebrían. Yet she was happy, as Arwen is.”

“They need not flaunt it so.”

Celeborn grins. “Will a handshake content you when my daughter greets you in Aman?”

Elrond trembles. His mind’s eye sees her loving face surrounded by summer-gold hair, beckoning him West. Heat washes through him.

“I will make sure Celebrían welcomes her mother first.”