A thumping sound to the door awoke Falmaramë; sunlight blinded her as she found herself entangled in Gil-Galad's arms, and she groaned. By now, he was stirring, too, and she shushed him as she got up, looking for clothes. He still asked in a sleepy voice:
"Is someone trying to bring down your door?"
"Looks like it, good thing I locked it last night. Hey, have you seen… Oh, here it is." After some fumbling, she shouted: "I'm coming, be quiet, I'm coming!"
Bare feet curling against the cold floor, she hobbled to the door of the small antechamber before her room, undid the lock and cracked the panel open.
Behind the door waited Alcarinquë, pale with anguish, and two of Gil-Galad's guards, Calmarquen and Vilyond, who, it seemed, had been doing most of the banging. They were frantic, a look of absolute panic on their faces, and behind all of them hovered the quiet Insil, a smirk on her face.
"My lady," wailed Alcarinquë. "Please, please, remain calm, but there are terrible news."
"The king is missing," cried Vilyond. "Yesterday he sent all of us packing, ready to depart at dawn for the Havens, and we can't find him anywhere. We fear he may have taken his own life, for he was last seen walking towards the river yesterday evening. Forven and Maeron, as we speak, are searching the white water for any sign of his body."
Falmaramë said nothing. Little by little, they calmed down, taking in her tousled hair, hastily pulled on clothing, and naked feet, and she finished to clarify the situation:
"It's quite all right, you can all be at peace. He's here with me. We, uh, we actually got married last night."
Through the silence that followed, Gil-Galad called from within the chambers.
"Vilyond, is that you? I'm sorry about the packing, but you'll have to undo it. We're staying."
Nobody spoke, so Falmaramë asked if someone could bring them breakfast. Alcarinquë keened: "But it's already noon!"
"Make it a big one, then."
"But you don't understand, I just lost my bet with Insil! She was to sew me the most beautiful dress for your betrothal! And now I have to give her my golden belt! The one with the blue gems!"
"I told you they would elope," said smugly Insil.
"Alcarinquë, please. Breakfast. Big."
She closed the door on them and tiptoed back to the bed, where she kissed Gil-Galad.
"I'll get the tray when it comes," he murmured, "so that you're not the only one to suffer the indignity of getting dressed."
The tray didn't come alone, though, for Elrond was the one who carried it. Falmaramë heard them greet; they came to the bedroom, and Elrond set down the tray, generously laden, before saying: "I heard congratulations are in order." As he stood up, embarrassed, Gil-Galad embraced him, thanking him, but he wasn't the one Elrond was looking at.
"I'm sorry," he blurted. "I apologise. I wasn't thinking straight, but it doesn't justify any of what I told you yesterday. Will you still be my friend?"
Falmaramë looked at him, and thought back to all the years she had known him. He hadn't much changed since the say he had come to her in Khazad Dûm. At the time, she had found him unbelievingly old, as all adults seem to youths, but for long now she had found herself his equal in spirit and, as she gazed on his fair face, she noticed how lonely he seemed. And only then she realised how few close friends he had.
"Come and embrace me too, will you," she said. "Of course I am still your friend, as you are mine; we know each other too well to be anything else."
They sat in the small sunroom, with its long veils diffusing the light, chatting as if the previous day's shouting and angst had never happened. At last, Elrond said: "I would advise you to make a public announcement sooner than later. You, Ereinion, in particular, need to show this golden head of yours and put a stop to the rumours I've tried to quench for the last few hours."
"I will," he sighed. "I'll also write to my mother."
Unexpectedly, Falmaramë asked: "Do you think the messenger could carry another letter to the Havens?"
"Absolutely, who do you… Oh. Your mother's kin, of course."
"They may not have answered the first two missives I sent them when we first settled Imladris, but that was a while ago now, and they do say third time's a charm."
But she was crestfallen, and didn't believe entirely what she was saying.
"Well," said Elrond, "regardless of your personal announcements, you better throw the biggest party this valley has ever seen once Ereinion's mother gets here. And make it the political occasion it needs to be. I trust you to spin your spur-of-a-moment marriage oaths as the greatest love story since Beren and Lúthien's - Durin did school you, and it probably helps that you believe it yourself - but you are bound to know there will be complications for that blunder."
Falmaramë gave him a hard look over her cup of tea and pointed an accusative finger.
"Elrond, you cannot one day shout at me for parting from Nandaro and the next one reproach me for marrying him."
"I'm merely criticizing your timing. You do know that betrothals exist, right? Or even whatever off-the-books relationships you had before and we have no precise word for, but the Dwarves probably have half a dozen to describe in all its possible nuances? And six-syllable mouthbreakers too, I bet."
"Actually, they only have one for that, and it's quite short," she cooly informed him. "Marlel."
Gil-Galad took her hand and kissed her fingers, before asking: "I like the sound of it. What does it mean?"
She blushed slightly as she answered. "The literal translation is the love of all loves. The meaning is a bit more complex, because it allows for a lot of leeway as to the practicalities. Your marlel can even be oath-bound to someone else, in which case it is absolutely tragic, and they have the most beautiful songs of star-crossed marlel who met in the wrong lifetimes. Really, a marlel is someone you love and trust unconditionally, a once in a lifetime unique relationship, and not every one gets to find theirs."
"You are my marlel, then," he said softly.
They were ready to loose themselves in each other's gaze, smiling stupidly, when Elrond's voice woke them from across the table.
"I cannot believe how you two got me off track again," he wondered aloud. "As I was saying, you have a lot of work to begin before the day is done. Elenatta, the usual suspects are acting up again, claiming you are unreliable even in your personal life and therefore unfit to rule. Nandaro, everyone wonders wether you've fled or killed yourself and some idiots are even mistaking me for your heir apparent, which is absolutely not to my taste. You know Erestor and the others will howl at an alliance with the house of Fëanor when they learn the news; a betrothal would have given them time to get used to the thought. I have done whatever I could to appease all, but as to now these are your problems. So get dressed better than that and get to work. If you're not out of here soon, I will send Alcarinquë back to you and, trust me, she is really worked up about her lost bet."
Soon afterwards, they walked to the great audience room, where hearsay and distilled news had assembled a crowd. They were regally clad, and stopped for an instant before the closed doors to arrange themselves; Gil-Galad put order to Falmaramë's locks, braided with silver to match her mithril headband, and she straightened his collar, giving him an encouraging smile.
"I know your crown is a heirloom, my love," she whispered, "but I really must make you another one. It's clunky."
"You know I'll take every excuse to haunt your workshop," he whispered back, offering up his hand. She took it, holding it high, and the doors were opened. They walked in, Gil-Galad's four guards forming a square around them, and the crowd parted in front of them. Silence spread like ripples on a pond; Falmaramë's mouth was dry, and the way to the dais, now bearing two great chairs, had never felt so long. Once they were up the three small steps, they looked at each other and sat at the same time under the carved figures of the Two Trees of Valinor.
"People of Imladris, friends from Lindon," said Falmaramë, her voice carrying far, "to my own great amazement and lasting delight, I am married to the lord Ereinion Gil-Galad."
The crowd hollered and applauded, one woman yelling: "Betrothals are for the weak!"
"I claim no crown for myself," she further asserted. "I stand by the decision Maedhros made of old, so that the evil luck that follows us does not affect others. We shall therefore keep our Houses separate instead of joining them."
Gil-Galad's face was serious and set under his crown; when he spoke to give his full support to this decision, his voice carried far, and his muted western accent called for attention.
Suddenly, a voice cried out in the assembly, and a man elbowed his way to the front; Ostimir's dark hair and pale complexion soon appeared.
"And where will you dwell, lady?"
"Some of the time here, some of the time in the Havens; but always here when there is a threat to this valley and my people."
A murmur of relief went through the crowd, but Ostimir wasn't finished.
"And what will you do, were the interests of the House of Fëanor to differ from those of the House of Fingolfin?"
"It is to the advantage of all that our interests stay aligned," she said, "and this has been the case for many years. Wake up, Ostimir; the War of the Jewels has long ended. The House of Fingolfin holds no Silmaril for us to massacre them over; if they had, I would have asked for it as a bride-price anyway."
Turning to Gil-Galad, she asked: "My dearest love, if you had a Silmaril of Fëanor in your care, would you give it to me?"
"Of course, beloved," he answered, a twinkle in his eye. "You might find it useful when you read in bed at night; we would make great economies of candles."
A ripple of laughter stirred the room. Someone shouted from the crowd:
"You married a cheeky one, lady!"
"And a good one, too!"
Holding her chin gracefully high, Falmaramë reported her attention to the former smith of the Gwaith.
"You see, Ostimir? Nothing to fear on that front. The Oath of Fëanor was the only thing that ever sundered our Houses, and history has now rendered it void. Although its consequences may long pursue us, there is no more reason for strife. We now have common enemies and common goals. You may withdraw now, and stand reassured."
In the evening of that same day, they both held separate councils with their own advisors, where the same things were repeated. It was agreed that the only occasions that would join the counsellors would be the war councils, and of these there had been little need lately as the situation outside the valley settled again in apparent peace.
Letters were written, and invitations sent under and over the Mountains. Weeks passed; one day, Falmaramë went to Alcarinquë with a long wooden box, and said:
"I heard I owe you much, and that you lost a bet on my account. I hope this shall make up for it."
Inside was laid a belt of golden ivy leaves, and each bore veins of mithril; in between were clusters of dark berries, made of sapphires of the deepest blue. When Alcarinquë put it on, she discovered that a length of leaves fell along the front of her dress, tinkling with a thin chime when she moved. Laughing, she said: "You are more than forgiven for the anguish you put me through. I shall wear it to the party. If you ever need my matchmaking services again, next time I would very much like matching bracelets."
Summer heat was over Imladris, crushing the mountains under a heavy sun, when a new group of travelers came from Lindon. They traveled well-armed and splendidly clad, for among them rode Eriel, fair-haired and pale, who was once called the White Queen of Hithlum - that misty northern realm, now long gone below the waves, where Fingon, High King of the Noldor, had briefly reigned. There they had met, among the reeds where swans nestled, when sunlight was still young and bright over the lakes, and there they had married. Theirs had been one of the first unions between the Noldor come from Valinor and the Sindar of Middle-Earth, and it had been a happy one. But after the long peace had come the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the battle of many tears, where Fingon died with the hope of the Noldor, and his White Queen had been left alone in the rising darkness, their young son a meager comfort.
As Eriel alighted from her horse, Gil-Galad came to greet her, and Falmaramë watched them embrace. Her pulse raced when he turned again towards her and, taking her by the hand, said:
"Mother, meet the lady Falmaramë Telpënar, lady of the Noldor, my wife."
She curtsied low in the fashion of Lindon, but Eriel took both her hands and brought her close. Her voice was deep and veiled as she spoke, calling her daughter with a smile, and something sad stirred within Falmaramë.
Later, they sat in the garden, under a shelter of sweet-smelling vines, and Falmaramë listened as mother and son exchanged news of people she didn't know. Watching them, she felt again a pang of jealousy and grief and looked away for a while, at the dancing haze over the river and the lush greenery of a full summer.
Eriel touched her forearm and apologised. "We must be boring you, my dear."
"Not at all, my lady," she answered courteously. "Much has happened since Gil-Galad left the Havens, it is only natural for you to catch up with each other."
"You know, when I first heard the news about your marriage, I will not hide that I was disappointed - not in you, certainly not. But," and she wagged her finger at her son, "no High King has ever gotten married while holding the crown, and I did have high expectations as to the celebrations we would hold."
Gil-Galad stirred uncomfortably and gave a strained, apologetic, smile. He was very obviously relieved when his mother turned her attention back to Falmaramë.
"However, when I learnt who was the bride - who you were - of course it makes sense for you to try and avoid this kind of ceremonies where decorum calls so strongly for both families to be present. Círdan could have filled in for Fingon, since he did see Ereinion grow up after all, but of course you don't have anybody left. Which is why I was dismayed when I learnt your mother's kin would not follow me to Imladris, absolutely dismayed, and I nearly ordered them to come, but I thought you wouldn't have liked for them to be forced. Satisfying as I would have found to send Glorfindel get them, at sword point if needed, it was not my place to meddle."
"At least they are constant in their position," said Falmaramë. "They disowned their daughter for marrying into a house they didn't approve of, and now it has become clear they hold no interest whatsoever in me. Well, I knew it before. I was a fool to hope they would change their minds."
"Do not fret about them. You have a new family now, and I will not have you stand before all with none by your side."
Eriel brought her closer and held her for a moment; when they parted, Falmaramë eye's were brighter than usual.
"And now," cheerfully said her mother-in-law, "is the time for gifts. You may not have had a betrothal ceremony, but Morgoth takes me if I won't spoil you anyway. Now, you had me in a pinch, for what kind of jewelry is appropriate for one who is a famed smith herself? But I believe I found something."
She handed a velvet case to Falmaramë, who opened itcarefully. There, on a bed of dark blue cloth, laid a necklace of many pearls; they shone like moonlight and, when Falmaramë lifted them, they felt heavy and cool to her touch. The three ranks were joined in places by a motif of flowers stemmed with small white gems, and she marveled at the beauty of it, letting the light play over their luster.
"I have never seen their like," she finally said. "They're mesmerizing. Thank you so much; this is a regal present indeed."
After Eriel had fastened the clasp around her neck, Falmaramë turned to her husband - it would take time for her to get accustomed to the word - and said, somewhat distraught:
"I am so sorry I cannot give you anything from my father, but I only have memories from him. How can I ever match this gift?"
He took her hand before he answered:
"Are Aeglos and her sister sword nothing? Our rings that you are now finishing? The crown you are already sketching? You have given me so much, and taken so little back."
Quite unexpectedly, his mother said: "Oh, I get the feeling. Try finding a jewel for the eldest son of the High King of the Noldor when you're a Sinda from a minor house; my father brooded over it for ages, and I wasn't exactly calm myself. Don't dwell on it too much, dear, it will go away soon enough on its own, and in the meantime wear the shiny thing like any self-respecting Noldo would."
Falmaramë laughed: "You are absolutely not what I expected, lady Eriel. The White Queen of Hithlum holds a terrifying reputation, yet I have found you nothing but witty and kind."
A thin smile stretched Eriel's lips, and she simply stated: "Birds of a feather, lady Telpënar, birds of a feather."
While summer advanced, the answers to the invitations sent afar began to come back. Durin the Silversmith himself would come, and his delegation would be headed by Hugstar. From the Sylvan kingdoms, Oropher would send his son Thranduil to represent the Greenwood; as for Amdír, Celeborn the Wise would be his substitute, and of course the lady Galadriel was to be there and represent of the House of Finarfin.
Under the rule of lady Eriel, appointed to her great delight mistress of ceremony, Imladris was soon lost in the turmoil of preparation. Elrond would have spent his time hiding away in his study, but Eriel, who proclaimed her joy at having found again her Peredhel, made him her steward to deal with everyday matters.
Guests then slowly trickled in; room was made for the main ones in the great house, while their suites were hosted in smaller dwellings close by. All were on their best behaviour: the Dwarves were cautiously cordial to the people of Lórinand, who in turn kept a formal politeness. Those from the Greenwood, who were last to arrive, remained silent as ever, and yet more Númenoreans poured in, looking around with wonder in their eyes at the sight of so many fair people of so many kinds.
At last, the day of the party came. As a great blue sky shimmered with sunlight, the many guests assembled in the hall of Fire, where the large doors opening outside let in birdsong. Pillars had been decorated with flowers, so that the heavy perfume of lilies rivaled with musk roses, and the everlasting fire that burned in the room had lit tall candles of wax. At the appointed time, music played, and Gil-Galad and Falmaramë entered the room, clothed of green, rose colour and white - shades held to herald joy and happiness. They were also crowned with summer flowers, and ribbons flowed in their hair as they walked to the middle of the room in a springy step. They were young and in love, and a clear light shone on their face as they briskly laughed.
Then, they stood in a circle of their friends and guests and smiled encouragingly at each other, as the lady Eriel held up a tray where their rings waited. Falmaramë had made them of gold, and each bore a thin line of silver mithril, to remind of the betrothal rings they didn't have; no stone had been set on the engraved bands. Gil-Galad took the smallest one and held Falmaramë's hand in his.
"When I answered your invitation to come to Imladris," he said, "I expected many things. Intrigue, discovery of a land that would be new to me; quite certainly the meeting of friends old and new. What I never foresaw was - you, how wildly free and passionate you would be, and yet wise and thoughtful. In the blink of an eye, I gave you my heart. Thou already hast my faith, lady; take this ring in token of it, and let us be forever merry."
As he brought her fingers to his lips, there was applause; when it had died away, she took the other ring in her free hand and brought it to his. Before she could speak, however, there was a noise of broken glass; in the instants it took for the commotion to settle, Eriel murmured to them both: "Nothing, just a clumsy guest in the back."
"You gave me your heart," declared Falmaramë, "and so that you may be whole, I gave you mine in return. I never dared to dream of meeting your like, and I hold myself forever lucky to have crossed your path, for you are indeed peerless, gentle and brave beyond measure. Thy affection is my greatest treasure, and this ring is of little worth compared to it. Yet I bid you take it, lord, in the hope that we shan't ever be sundered."
Before the cheering assembly, they kissed, for a little longer than the ceremony required; Gil-Galad's waist was firm under her hand, and his mouth tasted of honey. She felt him smile, and grinned in return before they took a step back, to walk to the chairs prepared for them under a white canopy. They were given wine, cool and fruity, to drink from the same cup, and sat holding hands.
"You cannot pick and choose which parts of the usual wedding ceremony you keep and add bits of the betrothal one on top of it," had complained Elrond.
"Of course we can," had answered Falmaramë, and Eriel had given her an approving look.
Seats had been laid out for the guests of importance in a semi-circle; gifts were now to be presented, and only then would the dancing begin. As all found their place, sharp words were heard, barely muffled, somewhere in the crowd, as some guests were in dispute amongst themselves. At a glance from Gil-Galad, Forven left his place and elbowed his way through the crowd to make the peace. Despite the widely opened doors, heat stagnated in the wide room, and the perfume of flowers became overwhelming.
First in the order of precedence came Durin the Silversmith, and he gave a set of the finest jewelry tools, of a new design, to Falmaramë, and to Gil-Galad a harp, triple-sprung in the fashion of Khazad Dûm. He tried a few chords and then risked a small tune, and proclaimed it a most excellent instrument, and Falmaramë's eyes shone with pride as she looked upon him. At her request, he played again, the sharp notes dancing like a flock of birds throughout the hall. Her own fingers itched to try the tools, and she invited Durin to her workshop later to try them out.
Next was the lady Galadriel. It had been long since Falmaramë and her had met on the outskirts of Lórinand, when she had been on her way to Imladris with the Noldor sheltered in Khazad Dûm, yet she hadn't changed. Her heavy golden tresses still crowned her proud face, and her voice had the same deep inflections as before. She presented them with a rare book of Sindarin tunes and a great length of fine grey cloth that rippled like water in twilight. In a surprising familiarity, she invited Falmaramë to embrace in friendship; when she found herself within arm's reach, Galadriel pulled her closer and murmured to her ear:
"There is something wrong. I cannot put my finger on it yet."
"I know, I feel it too," answered Falmaramë in a low voice. "There is a tension in the air."
"Dark intentions surround you; please beware."
They parted with a cheerful nod; on her way back to her seat, Falmaramë stopped by Halarova, looking as if he had spoken first, and whispered him the order to go quietly and get his sword. He nodded without a word and slipped away immediately.
"What's wrong," asked Gil-Galad once she was seated by his side.
"I'm not sure," she answered, "Smile and look carefree, but Galadriel is worried too."
Therefore, he beamed to Celeborn as the silver-haired lord walked up, but his eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of the disturbance. They were not done admiring Celeborn's gifts - a long hunter's bow and a crown of leaves of beaten gold - when Halarova came back and drew himself a seat by Falmaramë's right. His sword rested on his knees, half-hidden by a cloak.
"Subtlety never was your strong point," she commented in an undertone.
He replied with a wolfish smile: "We both know it's not the reason you value me."
Thranduil, son of Oropher, was already walking to them, first carrying his father's apology for not being able to come, and then offering them two matching stones of clear green - beryls of great beauty mined from the depths of the Greenwood. Falmaramë caught the speculating glance Elrond cast him, for this was neither the time or place for excuses, and it hinted at some hidden unrest.
Next should have been lady Sorontis, the ambassadress, but, before she was able to make her way, a great silhouette cleared the crowd and walked in purposeful, yet slow, strides towards the dais. Wether it was an Eldar or a Second Born wasn't clear, for their face was completely hidden under a black cowl, richly embroidered with pearls of jet. They wore a long cape of a heavy fabric, in an unusual cut, also black, and carried a small casket in their gloved hands. However, their voice revealed them as Second Born and male as he bowed low and said:
"Greetings, lady Telpënar, on your wedding day. My master sends you this gift; small as it may be, he yet feels it ought to touch you most. He apologises most humbly for not cleaning it beforehand - but the grime adds more value to it. Sentimental value, shall we say, and he never really had the time either."
Something in his demeanour displeased her; not merely the obvious disguise, but also a casual strut to his walk that spoke of a hidden power that cared little for others. She didn't move to take the casket, and asked: "Who is your master, dark ambassador?"
He remained silent, opening instead the latch and slowly raising the cover. Falmaramë felt Gil-Galad strain by her side, but the man merely laid the box upon her knees, that she may see what was kept inside, and took a few steps back.
The casket was lined with a black cloth deeper that night, where a pale, golden, circlet of remarkable craftsmanship was laid. Its flowing shape of uncluttered elegance was unmistakably Noldorin, and yet it bore patterns inspired by the geometric art of the Dwarves. Light shone cold and pure upon it, moving in a streak of living fire. It was terrifyingly familiar, and Falmaramë's heart plunged into ice, for she had seen it a thousand times and now recognised it. Fingers rendered clumsy by sudden memory, she lifted the circlet from the cloth and noticed the black flakes of dried blood that clumped in places, drowning the light. A few strands of hair were stuck inside, where more blood yet had clotted away; long, raven dark hair like hers, but straight instead of curled, for her father's hair had been sleek and smooth.
Slowly, deliberately, she put Celebrimbor's circlet back into the casket and cast her burning glare on Sauron's messenger. She willed herself calm and gripped Gil-Galad's forearm, planting her fingers deep into his flesh, and hissed: "Get thee gone from my halls, knave." And she dared not confront him violently yet, for it had come to her that he must be one of the Nine, and she feared what might happen among so many, so little prepared.
The dark ambassador bowed again and said: "Yet I must deliver another gift before taking my leave. My master knows that it is his fault the High King of the Noldor shall receive no memento from the bride's father today, and his heart bleeds at the thought. He knows how important such exchange of trinkets between families are for your people. Since he is a generous master indeed, a true Lord of Gifts, as was his name of old, he shall not stand for such a king to be deprived on such a joyous day."
The man stepped to the side, and lo, behind him was a coffer of dark wood, high and deep. His gloved hand turned the key inside the lock; it opened without a noise. With a calculated emphatic gesture, he lifted the heavy lid and revealed an armour. It was of blue enamel over silver patterns; the breastplate and the shoulder pieces, carefully displayed, bore the radiant star of Fëanor. Behind was a shield of the same, and it had been cleaved in two.
"It can easily be amended to your size. You shall have use of it, king Gil-Galad," said the messenger.
Falmaramë sprang, her father's circlet falling to the ground with a silver ringing sound as she reached for Halarova's sword. She unsheathed it in a single fluid movement that ended in the messenger's chest; such strength had she put into her thrust that the blade went straight through the man and shone behind his head, and such was the hate in her eyes that many in the assistance gasped.
"Do not threaten him," she growled.
But there was no blood on the shining sword, and the messenger's body seemed to dissolve in a black smoke over the blade. Before his face was fully gone, however, he spoke again - but with another voice, smooth and rich, one that had a slight lilt, a voice that cooed: "I wish you a happy marriage, daughter of Celebrimbor."
She stabbed at the ghostly silhouette again without a word and threw the sword away in a clatter, its metal blackened as if it had gone through a fire. A great shadow seemed to lift from the hall, fleeing away, and the birds were heard again through the open doors. Outside, summer and light still reigned.
"An illusion," she murmured. "A damned illusion."
When she turned back, she bumped into Gil-Galad, who was standing right behind her and took her into his arms.
"It's all right," he said, "we're all right. We're all right."
With a sigh, she left his embrace and knelt on the cold floor, where her father's circlet had rolled. It was still there. It was real, and cold, and she chipped away a flake of old blood with her nail. He wore it always. He must have worn it under his helm on the day Eregion fell.
Falmaramë barely heard Gil-Galad bark orders behind her, to close the valley and search high and low for traces of foul things, to send scouts and gather news. Her dress crumpled around her like the wilted petals of a dying flower as he asked that none try to leave the house, and his words left no imprint on her mind as she carefully handled the circlet, seeing without looking.
Eriel sat beside her and asked if it was what she thought. With a hollow tone, Falmaramë answered: "Yes, it is. How, how could this happen? This valley is protected, or should be. How could he project such a shape of his servant, here?"
"I know not the magic of the enemy," said Eriel. She took her into her arms and held her close; Falmaramë closed her eyes and gripped Eriel's sleeve. Light footsteps walked behind them, and the lady Galadriel spoke in a low voice: "I think I do," she said. "But it should not be discussed here in the open."
Falmaramë rose and looked around, gripping the circlet so hard that her knuckles were white. People were afraid - as they should be. Gil-Galad stood in the middle of all, delivering orders and reassurance, and keeping everyone focused lest they panic. The coffer with Celebrimbor's armour was still there, too, quite real and solid. The blue enamel felt smooth to her touch, and, as she admired its transparency and resistance, she suddenly knew that she wouldn't work with glass enamel over steel for a long while.
While the crowd began to trickle from the hall, a man detached from it and swiftly walked to her. It took her a few moments to recognize Mahtar, the mercenary who held Minas Rhain, as his rough build was unrecognizable under his best clothes. His broad face was distressed, and he sweated as he went down on a knee, his right fist over his heart.
"I have failed you, my lady of Imladris," he said in the Common Speech. "This is all my fault. I remember these coffers, this dark wood is unmistakable. I let them through."
"Rise and explain yourself," she ordered.
The man scrambled up, yet dared not look upon her.
"Look me in the eyes as you speak, that I may know wether you tell the truth."
He forced himself to fix his brown eyes upon her own grey and spoke. The coffers had come some days before, among a shipment of goods from the southern trading outposts of Númenor along the coast. Unlike the others, however, they bore no mark and were not listed on the manifest, so that the man on duty had asked what should be done with them. "They were, however, clearly addressed to Imladris and labeled as wedding gifts, so I let them through," he further developed. "Because they were so labeled, I didn't open them either to avoid damaging the seal and dealing with an angry guest later. I should have done so, though, as it is routinely done with all suspected contraband."
"And what would you have seen, Mahtar?" said Falmaramë. "An old circlet, a broken shield and an armour out of fashion? It would have meant nothing to you."
"Perhaps not, but I would have seen your star, and I would probably have sent word, or delivered them myself in advance, instead of putting them with the rest. I know dried blood when I see it, and it is never a wedding gift," stubbornly persisted the man.
"Do you even know who they belonged to? Do not be too hard upon yourself. He would have found another way to ship them here."
When Mahtar was gone, Falmaramë at last walked to Gil-Galad and slipped her hand into his. They watched silently the room emptying, and he finally said: "What a party, huh?"
"We need to hold a council with Galadriel."
"Tomorrow. Sleep on it. I'd also like to have Elrond's report first."
"Let's walk through the gardens, shall we? I need some air."
They ambled from alley to alley, until at last Gil-Galad blurted: "I was so scared when you took that leap, and holding the only weapon in sight."
"I didn't even think about it," confessed Falmaramë. "All I knew was that there was no way I would allow us to be threatened in our own halls."
"Of course," he replied, with a soft laugh.
They sat on the edge of a fountain that sang in the sun; after leaving the basin, the crystal water ran through the grass until it was lost to view and, presumably, rejoined the Bruinen grumbling below. Falmaramë then realised that she was still holding her father's circlet, and laid it upon her lap.
"It is so beautiful," said Gil-Galad. "He really was an amazing smith."
"Yes, he was," she croaked, a lump in her throat.
"Do you want to wash it clean? Or do you want me to do it for you, if it is too hard?"
"I'll do it," she said, loosing herself in his gaze. "But please, please, promise me you'll try to stay safe, and do not tempt fate."
His hands caressed her cheeks; he was serious and grave, and she was filled to burst with emotion.
"I swear I will not take unnecessary risks," he finally said, "but, please, don't be too reckless either, not when I stand powerless to help you."
Falmaramë plunged her hands in the water, cold and pure as all the springs born in the valley, and carefully rinsed the golden circlet. Its colour was deeper now in the open sun, truer to her memory. Blood melted away in thin red threads, in all the world like smoke from quenched embers; she never noticed when the loose hair washed away through the silver fire of sunlight, ever moving over the swift water. Yet again she rubbed the metal with her fingers, and again, until the familiar shape felt clean and, when she removed it from the water, only water drops remained.
"I hope Mandos has been kind to him," she whispered. "I hope he won't keep him too long. I hope he found my brother again, and our mother, I hope, oh, how I hope, I hope they're not alone."
Gil-Galad cradled her as she broke down into his arms, shushing her softly. He told her she wasn't alone, and that she would never be as long as he breathed, as well as many over things; small words of tenderness, meaningless and yet that held more sense that many a learned discourse, and then a silence richer in understanding than any language. Little by little, she calmed down; her trembling subsided, and as she buried her head on his shoulder the sun warmed her again.