Silence filled the sewing room like fog spilling over a wall into a private garden. It poured in relentlessly and seeped into every crevice.

Embarrassment seized Celebrían in its hot, tight grip. It drew her eyes to the floor and away from her friend. The conversation between herself and Elrond marched unbidden into her thoughts.

“Have you discussed this with Glorfindel?” asked Elrond, leaning back against the wall.

“No, I have not,” Celebrían said, a puzzled expression on her face. “Should I? And if so, how?”

Elrond rubbed his forehead, as if trying to erase a headache. “I am not certain, Cugu-nin, but I do not want my friend to be made the object of a game.”

“I would never do such a thing!” declared Celebrían.

“I hope not,” said Elrond sternly. “I know you want to help your friend, beloved, but I think it is only fair to tell people about any changes you intend to make to their living arrangements.”

She had kept all knowledge of her plans for Losgael to herself, and allowed her own romantic notions to cloud her judgement in the matter. In short, she had shown the most astonishing arrogance ever to be seen in Rivendell. What could she do?

Glorfindel spoke up. “What have you done, my lady? For I overheard only part of your conversation with Losgael, and both of you seem ill at ease in my presence.”

Celebrían lifted her eyes to look at him, and rose to her feet as custom demanded. “I interfered in matters of love, hoping to bring about a happy consequence,” she replied, shamefaced. “I fear that I have succeeded only in achieving the opposite, my lord.”

“That depends,” said Glorfindel firmly, “upon what constitutes a 'happy consequence' as far as you are concerned, my lady.”

The stiff, formal language and demeanour Glorfindel was using stabbed at Celebrían's heart like a poisoned dart. She knew she deserved harsher words, but somehow it seemed to her that the polite speech of Glorfindel was more painful to receive than than curses and shouting. “Losgael tells me Maerdess slapped your face, my lord,” she said in a near whisper.

“She did indeed, and right in front of everyone else,” replied Glorfindel in even tones. “Can you imagine my humiliation? Is that the 'happy consequence' you envisaged? Well, my lady, your wish has come true, and you may laugh at me if you so desire. Everybody else did.”

The embarrassment Celebrían was suffering began to overwhelm her, and she cast about in her mind for a way to unload it, or to distract Glorfindel's attention. This was not a burden she wished to carry at all, and it weighed heavily upon her. “Did she tell you why she slapped you, my lord?” she asked in solicitous tones.

“Was it not due to your own conniving, then?” asked Glorfindel, his voice clear and calm.

If she could just persuade him to tell her the reason, she could put at least some of the burden where it belonged. It was not her idea to slap him, after all. It must have been some word or deed of his own that had led to the incident. “I will know for certain when you tell me, my lord,” Celebrían argued.

“Very well then, if you insist, these were her words...” he trailed off. He looked away from the ladies and shrugged.

“What did she say, my lord?” asked Celebrían, growing bolder.

Glorfindel's rage appeared to melt like snowflakes hitting wet ground. “It matters not,” he replied, his voice surly, “but I overheard you say you interfered.”

“And you wish to assign the blame for the incident to me, whatever my role in the matter?” asked Celebrían, clawing at the higher ground. “If you do not remember...”

“I remember!” shouted Glorfindel.

“Then why will you not say?” Celebrían shouted back. Glorfindel would not dare to strike her, she was in no danger from him.

Glorfindel looked at his shoes. “I think I deserved it,” he said, like a lost little boy. “She said, ' I am weary of your appalling conceit, my lord, and have no desire for you to make free with my person, as you did just now. It is most improper!'”

Celebrían reached up and put an arm around his shoulder. “I think you are too used to having ladies throw themselves at you in the hope of leading you into a situation you cannot get out of, my friend.”

Glorfindel matched the gesture. “I think you are right, but I wish you would not interfere in matters of love, Celebrían. It is wicked to make light of what is sacred, or to offer brass in place of gold.”

“It was never my intention to trick you, Glorfindel,” said Celebrían, and if I hurt you by any action of mine, I am sorry.”

Glorfindel sat down with her, and kept his arm around her. Celebrían would normally have deemed such an act to be improper, but since Losgael was there as a witness to her conduct, no aspersion could be cast on either of them.

“Celebrían,” said Glorfindel, his voice low and gentle, “what are you doing, and what are your intentions for me? If anyone wishes to make alterations to a person's life, it is only fair to consult them about it.”

Celebrían was uncomfortable in the embrace of one not her husband. She knew why he was doing it, of course. He wanted to assert himself as a member of the innermost circle of the household, and for her to recognise and accept this. Despite her discomfort, she kept her arm where it was. Only Elrond usually kept his hand or arm on her for that length of time. “I am sorry, Glorfindel, for failing to mention anything to you about this, since I thought it was merely a matter of bringing Losgael to your attention, rather than making any alterations.”

The captain of Rivendell took his hand away, moved a respectable distance apart from his liege lord's wife, and gazed at Losgael. “Well, she is decent, and a suitable match, but I doubt that either of us are ready to court yet,” he said lightly. “I ask you not to interfere any more in my life, or to put ideas into people's heads. I believe that many of the problems we Elves encounter, particularly those of high birth, are due to courtly or romantic notions that have little to do with real feelings. I wish to be free to pursue whom I will – and free from pursuit – and let nature take its course instead of being forced into a dance with awkward steps.”

“I am sorry that I interfered at all,” agreed Celebrían, and bowed her head.

“And I forgive you,” said Glorfindel. “I know you meant no harm, and if it were someone else who was the subject of the inevitable gossip, no doubt I would be laughing as much as anyone else. If you will both excuse me, I shall take my leave.”

Slowly, Glorfindel got up, bowed to each of the ladies, and left the room.

The Yule Ball feast was a quieter affair than expected. Every eye was fixed on the blond lord of the House of the Golden Flower for the most part, though they would sometimes dart to the lady Maerdess, who sat lower down the table than usual. She glared in stony silence at her food and picked at it from time to time.

When the dancing began, she left the room as discreetly as she could. Losgael sought her out. On the balcony, Maerdess leaned over the balcony as tears dripped slowly down her face.

Losgael walked quickly over and put a comforting arm around her. “Maerdess, my friend, I feel for you.”

“I thought you had come to avenge the insult to Lord Glorfindel, as some of the others said they ought to,” she replied.

“What did you say to them?” asked Losgael, interested.

She had seen Maerdess lash out in anger before, when Brethilgwen taunted her months before. So much had changed in Rivendell, and Losgael could not bear the thought of Maerdess sinking back into the place Heneblhûndî had come from. Losgael's epessë had given her friend an opportunity to escape the reputation she had built for herself as Heneblhûndî. Where could she go now, as Maerdess? Surely she could not keep on changing her name every time she got into a scrape! No, she would have to face it and deal with it. Helping Maerdess to see this was the hard part, but she loved her enough to try. To be a friend, she had learned, could be as exasperating as it was rewarding, but ultimately it was worth the effort.

“I told them to make ready to do so, and they all found other things to do!” said a defiant Maerdess. She turned to Losgael and asked, “And what do you make of this, Losgael? Are you not appalled my my outrageous behaviour?”

“Lord Glorfindel should have remembered the proper way to comport himself,” Losgael declared. “My first loyalty shall always be to my friends. I have better things to do than chase a dream around Rivendell, make a fool of myself in front of the others and become the subject of gossip.”

“You speak as if he were lying in wait around the corner, ready to leap out and announce he has heard everything you just said,” Maerdess told her.

“He might be,” said Losgael, and looked her friend in the eye. “He came up to the sewing room to discuss the matter with my lady Celebrían, and there was an argument.”

Maerdess moved closer, leaning in to keep the conversation private. “What was it about?”

“He is weary of the intrigues we ladies get ourselves into, particularly where he is concerned,” Losgael replied, leaning closer to her friend, “and wishes to be left to work things out for himself. Sometimes those of noble birth appear to think that plain speech and actions are too base for them to indulge in, and we must needs mask our thoughts and feelings, leaving each other to decipher them by what means we may. I heard him say he had mistaken your coldness towards him for maidenly reserve. That is what he meant by what he said, I deem.”

“Too long have I paid attention to the foolish ramblings of the bards and minstrels when I should have employed common sense as my guide in these matters,” said Maerdess, with some heat in her voice, “but where is the pleasure in that? The thrill of the chase is what drives us to these foolish deeds. What is the point of having feminine wiles if we cannot use them?”

Losgael laughed. “Ai, Maerdess, what a pair we are! But both of us have grown in the last few months. We have learned and understood more than we have ever done in the yéni we have lived. For this we must thank our good lady Celebrían, whose thoughts are ever for our welfare.”

“Indeed we should, else I would not have found such a good, kind friend, Losgael,” agreed Maerdess. “But what of the lord Glorfindel? I fear that I have lost all the standing in Rivendell I have gained, and that is grievous to me.”

“I believe he has something to say to you, Maerdess, for as we discussed the matter of your having slapped him, my lady brought to his attention the matter of his handling of your person, and the fact that he deserved to be slapped,” said Losgael. She took her friend's hand in hers.

“Do you think he would apologise if I went to him to discuss the matter, Losgael?” asked Maerdess, uncertainty in her voice. “Or would he dismiss me with scorn in front of everyone?”

“I believe he is too lordly to mistreat you so,” said Losgael firmly, “and that his nobility would prevent him from being anything but courteous towards you, even if you were haughty in the way you spoke to him. In his argument with my lady, he was courteous at all times, though he did raise his voice at one point.”

“At what point was that?” asked Maerdess, curiosity writ large on her face.

“When he thought she was mocking him,” Losgael replied.

“I never mocked him,” Maerdess told her, “though I scorned him in front of the others. I should apologise for that.”

“I think it would be a wonderful thing if you were reconciled – as friends – tonight, and let no rancour remain between you,” said Losgael passionately.

Maerdess squeezed her hand. “Will you come with me?” she asked.

“I will,” said Losgael, and the two ladies walked into the hall, hand in hand.

In the hall, the dance was in full swing, and Glorfindel was importuned by a gaggle of ladies, each desiring to dance with him. He remained resolutely in his seat, refused to move, and found what excuses he could to remain where he was. His new tactic was to sit in surly silence in the room, refusing dances to ladies who were clearly rushing to fill the breach left by Maerdess. Well, he had suffered enough for one night, and wished for no more.

From time to time, Elrond and his advisors would come to talk to him, to leaven his mood, but he was having none of it. The next dance, he decided, would be with someone he chose because he liked her and wanted to dance with her. One of the serving maids had caught his eye, and he was toying with the idea of asking her to dance with him when Maerdess walked over to him, hand in hand with Losgael. Had they made some kind of pact? The look on Losgael's face was one of determination to bring Maerdess to him. So that was what it was: instead of presenting her head on a plate, Losgael was bringing an apology. Which, to many people he knew, amounted to the same thing. However, he realised he owed an apology to Maerdess. This was going to be awkward.

Some people, when they noticed who had entered the room and the direction in which they were walking, broke off from the dance and surreptitiously observed the proceedings. It would not do to be seen to be invading someone's privacy, particularly that of a lord, after all. Curiosity drew them, though, and they gathered around as discreetly as they could.

As Maerdess drew near, she dropped her gaze and moved more slowly, as if she did not deserve to be in the same room as Glorfindel.

Glorfindel rose, bowed to her, and approached her with appropriate decorum.

The music stopped, though whether the tune had come to an end or the musicians, who were seated nearby, wished to bear witness to the humility of the two Elves who had garnered their attention was unclear.

With a deep breath, Maerdess addressed Glorfindel. “I am sorry, my lord, for scorning you in front of everyone. It was disrespectful of everyone here. Forgive me.”

“I am sorry, my lady, for my disrespectful manner towards you, and ask for your forgiveness in turn,” Glorfindel replied.

“It is yours, my lord,” said Maerdess, with a broad smile.

“And I forgive you, for I most assuredly deserved to receive your open-handed gift!” joked Glorfindel. “Would you do me the great honour of dancing with me, as a friend?”

“Thank you, my lord, I will,” Maerdess replied, and held out her hands to him.

The band struck up a reel, and the two of them whirled around, hopping and stepping gracefully in a beautiful display of Elven propriety. As they danced, Glorfindel reflected on the events that had brought them together and had torn them apart. Then there was the matter of Losgael. Celebrían seemed utterly determined to bring them together by whatever means she could devise.

The assignment of the supervision of the building of the guest wing to Losgael had been her idea, after all. Could there be something in it? When he thought he was in love with Maerdess, it had been partly due to the romantic notions he had learned as part of his courtly training. Only Losgael had ever been truly open with him, and let him know how she felt without subterfuge or intrigue of any kind. This was what he had always craved, but now that it was within his grasp, he found himself making excuses to leave it behind. He had deserved that slap for more than one reason. It was time to stop running from love and take what was his.

Losgael watched her friend dancing with Glorfindel, and though she knew they were dancing as friends, she could not help but feel jealousy drag its sharp nails down her heart. She could not imagine slapping him as Maerdess had done, but she felt like doing so, nonetheless. Perhaps he would dance with her afterwards if she could force a smile onto her face.

From the back of the room, Celebrían watched the dancers move and smiled. Though she had promised not to interfere, her plans had set events in motion that could not be stopped now. When the dance was over, Maerdess bowed to Glorfindel and made her way to the back of the room.

“Maerdess, you danced so beautifully, I could scarce believe you and Glorfindel had quarrelled earlier,” said Celebrían.

“We did, and are no longer lovers,” Maerdess replied.

“What caused you to slap him, may I ask?”

Maerdess looked her lady in the eye. “When I first started walking with him, I asked him about himself, as is polite,” she said, a bitter tang in her voice, “but as I spent more time with him, I came to realise that my own conversation was too limited for him, since I am a lady and not a warrior. My greatest deeds are with my needle and thread, not with sword and spear, and he found it tedious to listen to aught I had to say. I grew weary of it after a while, but did not wish to insult him by telling him this. I knew I should have counted myself lucky to have so illustrious a person consider me as a wife, but I knew he also believed this, and I resented it. When he kissed me, it was as if an extra weight had been put on the scales, and it tipped. That was why I slapped him, my lady.”

“I have a cunning plan,” said Celebrían, but Maerdess cut her short.

“I believe you do, my lady, but I think it would be for the best if you stopped interfering.”

“You have not heard it yet,” protested Celebrían.

“Tell me,” said Maerdess.

“Come,” Celebrían told her, and I will whisper it to you, lest others hear.”

TBC...