Twilight came, and then another day began. When morning broke, and the cries of nightbirds faded, Elrond found Gil-Galad and Falmaramë in deep conversation with the prince from the Greenwood. Thranduil carried himself proudly, with the haughty air of his kin, and yet for now appeared as humble - and therefore uncomfortable - as he could possibly be. While Gil-Galad was his usual composed self, Falmaramë still had a worried air hidden under a cool appearance, and Elrond thought he hadn't seen her truly carefree since they had exchanged their vows.
It turned out there was unrest on the northern borders of the Greenwood; while no real war was brewing, there was enough skirmishes and latent tension to warrant Oropher's full kingly attention.
"So this is why you came here through Lórinand and over Caradhras instead of the High Pass," surmised Gil-Galad.
"Indeed," Thranduil answered. "The northern roads are as good as closed to small parties. Things have moved unusually fast ever since the High Pass was closed to the Second Born of Ham and the Lords of the North."
In her perfect sindarin, Falmaramë asked: "Pray tell, why did you choose to go over Caradhras instead of crossing through Khazad Dûm?"
Thranduil bowed his head before he replied.
"I think you know why, or could guess. We are not on the best of terms with the Dwarves, greedy as they are; my father and I were of Thingol's house, and we remember Doriath, the sacking of Menegroth, and Thingol's death."
"Well then," she said, "Durin's proposal to withhold all commerce with the Sylvan realms until and unless you actually do something to secure the northern shores of the Anduin will not hurt you much."
A short, but heavy, silence fell; when the fair-haired Sindarin prince answered, he spoke with a wary tone.
"I fear this is the first I have heard of this. Why would such an idea ever cross Durin's mind?"
"You shall have to ask him yourself. Yet, I surmised that he is tired of his convoys going missing, and that the cost is not worth the price you are willing to pay."
At that, Gil-Galad interjected: "We would, however, still be willing to trade with you for steel and jewels - even mithril - if you would openly ally yourself with us."
"Any open alliance with the Noldor would cost us the friendship of Amdír in Lórinand," protested Thranduil. "This is not something we can risk. He is my father's brother; the bond between our people is sacred."
Falmaramë scoffed.
"The people you govern are Nandor while you are Sindar. Speak of the bond between your families, and I shall believe you, but you are as foreign to your people as you are to us. Your rule is more fragile than you would believe, unless you put your people and land first before your personal friendships. I would send you smiths to teach you how to make armour stronger than your silk and leather, and we would fight with you against the fell people of the north. Any alliance with us would open a new league with Durin's folk, too; and I do not need to tell you how much you would benefit from it."
"But it needs to be open and proclaimed, and come with real action from your part," reminded Gil-Galad. "Only then would you gain two alliances instead of a trade ban and indifference. The Sylvan realms are of little matter to me; I would prefer your friendship, but I can do without. Wether the reverse is true is up to you."
Long Thranduil remained in thought, until he bowed and excused himself, saying that he would faithfully report this to his father, as soon as the valley was open again.
"The wait shan't be long," said Elrond. "This night, we found no trace of enemy things close by. Give us a few days more, and you shall be free to leave."
Only a little while later, they met again before the council room, with its high windows and painted walls. The lord Glorfindel, recently come from Lindon with the lady Eriel, had joined them; he greeted Gil-Galad and Elrond as old friends, and gave a cheerful nod to Falmaramë. They had found little occasion to talk in the flurry of activity of the previous weeks, yet she had found him extremely learned and courteous. A perpetual joy was upon his brow, and he was always curious after those around him, befriending even the most stubborn with his energetic spirit. Nonetheless, he was sometimes prone to bouts of silence, as if a hard memory suddenly fell on him, and then sought solitude.
Gil-Galad asked: "Shall we?"
"After you," answered Falmaramë, kissing him on the cheek. "This is your Council."
He threw both doors open, and they walked in with decided strides.
The lady Galadriel and the lord Celeborn were already seated at the wide round table; they rose and stood as the newcomers took their places. Gil-Galad sat on a carved seat prepared for him, Glorfindel at his right hand. Falmaramë placed herself a bit further along, and Elrond took the chair by her right, so that there was an equal distance between the three heads of the Houses of the Noldor and their chosen advisors. Presentations were made and greetings exchanged with the greatest formality.
"Are we all in agreement on the composition of this Council," asked Gil-Galad.
"No," replied Galadriel. "Why is the lady Falmaramë accompanied by master Elrond Half-Elven?"
Falmaramë braced herself; this had been expected, and she straightened on her seat before delivering her answer.
"Because he has been my loyal counselor for many years now; because I trust him absolutely, and because he has first-hand experience in the fight against Sauron. Why do you object to him?"
"I worry that he may lack the understanding of the Eldar on some matters."
"I disagree; yet it is your right to refute him. I shall therefore petition for him to be replaced by my captain, lord Halarova of the Black Swan."
"Granted," said Gil-Galad.
Hearing this, Galadriel leaned forward, and she hissed: "I shall not sit at the same table as a kinslayer."
"Yet you would have ruled over him, and many others, had you not been cast out of Eregion," snapped Falmaramë. "Who do you chose? As for myself, I shall be happy with both. You will note that I do not oppose your own choice, although the lord Celeborn is not a Noldo, and I worry he may therefore lack some understanding on several matters."
Anger on his brow, Celeborn glared at the jab and restrained himself as Galadriel rested her hand upon his.
"Master Elrond may stay," she stated in her warm musical tone. "I have no further disagreement."
"I thank you, lady," said Elrond, and his voice sounded painfully agreeable.
As a creamy light fell from the windows, softly illuminating the room, Gil-Galad announced the purpose of the meeting, and they all sat in watchful silence.
"There are two topics today that warrant discussion of all our Houses assembled, yet require enough secrecy that only a select council may discuss them. While the first only concerns Imladris, the lady Galadriel has volunteered to discuss it with us, and I feel it shall be of the utmost interest. As for the second, I have wished to breach it for some time now, yet circumstances have prevented it. They both relate to our enemy; should we find ways to cooperate despite our differences, or perhaps thanks to them, I will then propose for this Council to become a permanent feature."
Leaning towards Falmaramë's ear, Elrond whispered: "Now that's what a High King should be about. Those before him took the title without doing any of the work."
She murmured back: "It probably helps that we are so few, and there is no in-house dispute as to who shall sit here. Fancy doing that while Galadriel's brothers were still alive."
"She would probably have taken the seat anyway, despite being the youngest. While her brothers played at being kings, she schooled herself with Melian."
Falmaramë chuckled: "You may be right. Anyway, I can't see her sit across the sons of Fëanor."
"Did you have the occasion to speak with her daughter Celebrían? The contrast between them is striking."
"Not beyond the common courtesies. Please, I want to listen to Gil-Galad now, he's nearly done."
Indeed, he had just finished to recount the previous day's mishap, and for a while they all discussed it, going over everything again and again.
"Imladris is poorly protected," finally judged Galadriel. "You only use the power of stones, and this allows evil things to pass through, for hills care little for such illusions as we saw yesterday. They are but a mist to them, another thickening of the air, and they cannot perceive these threats."
Frowning, Falmaramë asked:
"How else would we do? This is what I was taught."
"Indeed. On the strength of rock we have always relied, from the mountains of Gondolin to the great walls of Ost-in-Edhil. I needn't remind you that, each time, this power ultimately failed. Stones are dear to the Noldor, to carve and raise into fair cities and lovely homes; deep we have always worked them, and while in their steadfastness we have always found solace, we yet forget they are not the only power in Middle Earth. Living things can be befriended. Trees have deep memories and grieve for us, for what was and what could have been; their shepherds walked under the stars before we awoke in Cuiviénen, and their songs are long. The wind tells them many tales when their leaves shudder in a sudden breeze, and water and rain will wash away many things. They perceive intentions loose through the air; they can confuse and send enemies adrift. A river may rise against those barred from crossing, or hide a path behind a sudden fog, after a long acquaintance has developed. The mountains above Imladris may shield you, but only by the power of water and tree shall you be truly safe. For these wardens are ever watchful, ever wary, full of mistrust, and they know no pity."
As they listened, images of great forests rose before their minds, figures of sleepless trees, hard to befriend and suspicious of all that moved; of travelers lured from the path to wander eternally, until they laid themselves down and drowned in a newly risen pool. And they shivered, for this power was dark, born from the long night where secrecy was the only protection against the Enemy that would enslave and defile the lingering elves.
"Such is the might found in the Sylvan realms," said Galadriel. "I know not what artifices Sauron used, but this is how they can be defeated: by the vigilant strength of living things, who must be taught to hate your enemies. This is what the enchantments that protected Doriath were made of."
Nothing stirred through the heavy silence that followed, until Falmaramë put her pride aside and asked:
"Lady, can you teach me this power?"
"No," replied bluntly Galadriel. "It would take you many long years, and you need protection now. You may be a keen observer of nature - I have seen your work, and it shows the eye of one who loves the living world, as well as the hand of a skilled craftswoman - but you do not heed it. You admire, yet you do not listen. The beauty of the world is but an inspiration to you, as you take it and change it into something else once it has fed the fire of your spirit."
It was then Gil-Galad who spoke.
"Then, would you protect Imladris yourself?"
"No," she said again. "I would need to dwell here, and I have thought long about what we discussed during your visit in Lórinand. I am tired of being a guest in another's realm. I am tired of paying for my keep with whatever protection I can dispense. The mellyrn seeds you gave me have sprouted indeed; these trees shall tower, golden and tall, over all of this land caught between river and mountain, but the time is not ripe yet. They have much growing to do, and perhaps so do I, before I can go back to them and walk under their boughs. Amdír shall miss me, and so weigh my worth."
Celeborn looked nonplussed. "But where shall you dwell then?"
Turning to Gil-Galad, Galadriel said: "I heard there was need to keep the southern coast free from the Dark Lord's influence. I will found a realm there, for a little while, and cut his way around the mountains. For there live people who dwelt in Doriath and remember me, and I think I would be well received. You are welcome to join me, husband."
"I can but congratulate you on this decision," said Gil-Galad, "yet what do you propose in order to secure Imladris?"
"My daughter, Celebrían. I taught her the ways."
"The lady Celebrían would be most welcome to dwell here in Imladris," hurriedly said Elrond. "For as long as she would like."
Falmaramë shot him a puzzled look, and added: "She wouldn't be a mere guest. I would welcome her into my own council."
In shock, Celeborn turned to Galadriel and stuttered: "You cannot entertain the thought of sending our daughter to dwell amongst kinslayers!"
"Please be quiet, lord," she said. "We are not in Lórinand. You are only here for my sake, and I am the head of my house. Celebrían is as much mine as she is yours. She has every right to dwell among my Noldorin kin; even more, as she belongs to a great house of my people, while you are but a distant cousin to your king. She shall do as she wishes, and I think she might like to stay in Imladris. She's had enough of Lórinand, that much is obvious."
From the corner of her eye, Falmaramë saw that Elrond, for some reason stunned into oblivion, was gathering courage to say something. Under the cover of the table, she kicked him hard in the shins to shut him up and whispered between her teeth: "They can't stand you, let them forget you live here too."
Yet it was too late, for Celeborn pointed at Elrond, whose eyes were watering with pain, protesting: "So you would agree for her to live with murderers, númenorean rabble, and mongrels, under the law of a disgraced house!"
Falmaramë stood up fast enough to topple her chair, war shining hot on her face, while Elrond sunk deep on his and buried his head into his hands. However, before anyone could speak, Gil-Galad shouted: "Enough!"
They froze, Celeborn's hand still pointing at Elrond, Falmaramë's shoulders thrown forward in challenge, and she sneered. Slowly, she picked up her chair, dusted it and sat down again, her blood racing as she glared at Celeborn, proud and vexed in front of her. But she wasn't the only one to be angry; Galadriel also was staring at him with a less than loving expression, and she said: "The house of Finarfin does not slander their hosts and allies. If you cannot behave yourself, leave. Once again, we are not in Lórinand where you can lord over me. Celebrían shall do as she chooses, and you shall have no say on the matter."
All eyes were upon them as Celeborn rose and bowed stiffly, with the utmost formality, to Gil-Galad, and asked leave to go. This was readily granted to him but, as he made for the door, Galadriel grabbed his sleeve to whisper into his ear, and he stopped in his tracks. Reluctantly, he bent his head towards Falmaramë, and then Elrond, and spat in heavily accented quenya, each word poison to his lips: "I pray you'll forgive my rash words, lady, lord. Somehow, I got carried away, and for that I humbly apologise."
Falmaramë would have gladly strangled him here and there, and yet she said: "The king wishes for a cordial agreement between our houses, and it is indeed in all our best interest. Therefore, I shall not hold your uncouth words against the lady Galadriel, and, for this once, I forgive what of old would have been a mortal insult. I trust you shall now hold your peace, at least as long as you are eating my bread and drinking my wine."
They stared at each other for an instant, and then Galadriel ordered him to go, her voice full of vibrant undertones. His footsteps echoed as he made for the door, and the click of the closing panel resounded through the silent room once he was gone.
"He shall soon come to his senses," commented Galadriel. "Once again, and perhaps more truthfully, please receive an apology for this outburst."
Clearing his throat, Gil-Galad removed a small box from his pocket and laid it before him before opening it, revealing two rings inside. One carried a red stone that, when struck by light, flickered like sunset over water; the other one was blue as a summer twilight, full of quiet and peace.
"This is the other topic I wished to discuss today," he said. "Long I have held upon these, ever since Celebrimbor sent them to be hidden in Lindon, far from the reach of his enemy. I requested my lady mother to bring these here, for I believe it may be time for them to be put to use. Lady Galadriel, if you may?"
Without a word, she slid something from her finger, and revealed to all the adamant shine of Nenya, the Ring of Water, brilliant as a star fallen from the sky.
"There are three Rings," pursued Gil-Galad, "and three houses of the Noldor. The logical conclusion is that each gets one to safekeep."
Falmaramë said: "The lady Galadriel should keep Nenya. My father tailored it to her anyway; it can only be hers. It is little secret that, in older days, he greatly admired her, and that his regard persisted ever, despite their quarrels."
They all looked upon her with surprise; with a pang of annoyance, she said: "Did you think I had never beholden the Three before today? I sat upon my father's knee as he made them. By the time the survivors of the guild taught me in Khazad Dûm, I was already a fair smith, and he had been my best teacher. Some things I didn't understand until later, but the knowledge was there. Although I feel that happened in another age altogether, I haven't forgotten."
"Then, who do you think should hold the other two?"
She briefly closed her eyes before giving her reply: "Vilya, the Ring of Air, should go to Elrond. It is a Ring of healing, and I believe Elrond to be the only one among us to have such power."
Gil-Galad sent the ring with the blue stone to Elrond. It made a soft sound as it glided over the polished wood, and Elrond caught it with some surprise. As he looked upon it with wonder, Falmaramë spoke again:
"Narya, the Ring of Fire, ought to be yours, lord."
"No, absolutely not," he protested. "Elrond is my cousin; your house is still unaccounted for."
"Yet he is my counsellor, not yours."
"Narya is your birthright. I would not have you deprived of it."
With a smile, Falmaramë countered: "My house has been called the Dispossessed ever since we left the shores of Valinor. I am certainly not in want of a ring, believe me."
As Gil-Galad yet protested, she asked if they knew, all of them, where the rings found their own power. All, save Galadriel, answered by the negative and, as Falmaramë began her long reply, her keen glance never left her.
"The rings - all rings, from the smaller to the mightier - draw from their wearer's own might, and as you know the Three have each their own particular ways. Nenya, the Ring of Water, was forged to protect, while Vilya's intent is to heal. Narya is made to inspire. While one who has little ability in a ring's dominion may wield it, the possibilities are greater when their spirit naturally leans to it."
She took Elrond's ring and put in on her finger. "Carrying Vilya, you can heal the hurts of the world. It is the most powerful of the Three; although it is but a small thing, it would lighten the marring of Arda. People, too, would benefit from it, lessening the chance for healing to go wrong and leave scars of its own."
She got up and slowly went round the table, putting her hand on all those present, and they felt the weight of past hurts lessen. When she got to Glorfindel, however, she smiled, and said: "There is not much left to heal in you, lord of Gondolin who was reborn by the grace of Manwë." Removing the ring, she gave it back to Elrond and walked towards Galadriel.
"May I?"
The lady looked deep into her heart, and gave her the bright ring of diamond. Falmaramë continued her stroll.
"Nenya, now, is a protector. It helps keep a land, and its inhabitants, free from harm; I do believe that, conjoined with the hidden power the lady Galadriel told us of, it would be enough to recreate the Girdle of Melian that protected Doriath for so long. It would also stop the decaying of the world, for a time, in a place, so that we do not become tired of it. With the help of Nenya, we may be able to dwell long in Middle Earth, long perhaps after our time has passed and the time of the Second Born has come, holding a realm of faery and wonder that would be the image of Valinor."
As Falmaramë walked, they perceived a light around her, and colours became stronger, purer, for a while. But she removed the ring and gave it back to Galadriel, and the light passed. She now came again to Gil-Galad and took the Ring of Fire, pondering for an instant before putting it on.
"Narya, however, is different," she said. "Narya influences neither the body not the physical world. Narya plays with spirits. It comes from a dark place within my father's mind, and of the Three is the only one that can be used either for good or evil. One might argue that too much protection leads to isolation and mistrust, and that too much healing could become an unhealthy obsession to preserve without living, but inspiration is another matter altogether."
She walked to the painted wall, and looked upon the last of the works of art laid in bright colour over the stone. It depicted Maedhros and Maglor stealing the Silmarils from the Valar's camp, and suffering so from their touch that they chose to cast themselves in a fiery chasm and into the sea. Her fingers brushed against the image of the jewels, and she took a few paces to the picture to it.
"My father knew that a long war was ahead, and that battles are not won only with steel, sharp and bright, but with spirits aflame with courage. Belief in a cause, faith in one's righteousness, and unending trust - all these united the sons of Fëanor throughout their wars against Morgoth."
She walked at a leisurely pace, taking time to look upon each painting, following them in reverse order, passing thus the Third Kinslaying of the Havens of Sirion, and the Massacre of Doriath where Dior's young sons had been left to die in the forest.
"Faith can be twisted and trust abused; a cause, just in the beginning, may yield to grievous things. Treason of kin unto kin, and fear of treason, has always been our worst enemy. From the failure of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad to Thingol's fall, these twin evils have long crippled us. How, did my father think, could they be avoided? How could someone inspire enough those around him to make their loyalty unwavering?"
Now, those who listened felt their hearts swell with anguish at the thought, and were glad she continued to speak, her fingers trailing along the wall.
"Perhaps a ring, he thought, a ring to inspire, so that people understand why some things are important and worth dying for. This wasn't about dominion and slavery, but about resisting oppression together, about giving people the power to overcome the petty fears that could turn them away from the path of truth. What a grace that would be to bestow upon them, and free them from weakness! They would be freed from evil, freed from temptation itself, finding themselves strong enough to resist anything!"
She had gotten to the first paintings and stopped before the one that showed Fëanor and his sons taking their terrible oath. Their faces were not shown, hidden behind dark outlines while torches lit the night around them, and their swords shone as they brandished them. When she turned again to the room, a fire smoldered behind her deep grey eyes.
"For isn't freedom what we have always sought? We bought it with steel and blood, aye, and many a sleepless night, but we got it! We carved realms for ourselves here in Middle Earth; we ran free below the sun and sang below the moon, and our songs shall forever be remembered. We may weep for the slain, and regret forever their absence, but we are the Firstborn of Ilúvatar! We protect this land, forsaken by the Valar, and our might shall always keep evil in check. By our swords and our strength we shall free it from those who would bend Arda to their depraved purpose; by our wills and our songs we shall heal it and restore the beauty of Arda!"
And she lifted her hand, so that the red stone caught the light, and pointed to the ghostly image of Fëanor.
"Another has already promised that, and more, and all followed him them. Had not the weakness of their hearts turned them, none would have gone back and crawled to implore the Valar's forgiveness. We Noldor do not beg! We shall always stand free and unopposed, and our foes shall be slain! Forget the Silmarils, forget the killing of Finwë, forget Morgoth himself and Sauron his thrall! False excuses all! For freedom comes from power, power to decide for oneself, and who would find the strength to oppose the one who wields such a ring? We would make Middle Earth a place safe and free, I would make Middle Earth a place safe and free, and who would turn against me, when by a flicker of my hand, or by a flame of a thought I would make them faithful again? Inspire you I would, indeed! And all would rise against the evil in the East! Our deeds would be sung until the end of the world, and who wouldn't risk their life at my will if I asked, if I inspired them to outdo themselves for the sake of my cause! Never again shall they bow to Valar or Dark Lord!"
With a fey laugh, she continued: "And what a death we would all have upon the slopes of the mountains of Mordor, betrayed by the pull of the One Ring on Narya!"
She removed the ring from her hand with a jerk and caught her breath. Only then, as she collected herself, did they who listened notice how roused they had become, and that their ardour did not come from their own hearts.
"I barely pulled from the power of the ring," she said softly. "I do not trust myself with it, and neither should you. Narya can be too easily corrupted or, rather, reveal the weakness of its wearer."
She walked back to Gil-Galad, who was still seated, and wound her fingers through his hair. He was looking at her with bewildered eyes; taking a step back, she carefully put the ring on the table before him.
"There is only one person in this room I trust to wield the power of Narya, and that is you, my marlel."
Gil-Galad lowered his gaze, and quietly slipped the ring on his finger. A thin smile stretched his lips as he took her hand and clasped it briefly. Slightly embarrassed, she regained her seat and plastered a nervous smile upon her face.
"There is a darkness in you," said Galadriel, and she looked as if she had seen one risen from the dead.
"Yes, I think everyone noticed," answered Falmaramë.
Behind her, a ray of sunlight fell on the painted face of Fëanor.
A few days later, Falmaramë welcomed the lady Celebrían for a private tea. She received her in her new rooms, where wide windows opened on a long balcony full of sunlight. They sat inside where is was cool, but the murmur of summer bugs and a fragrance of greenery still reached them.
Galadriel's daughter was of slender build, thin and willowy as a reed, and shorter than Falmaramë. Her head was crowned with long hair of very pale gold, and she had piercing eyes of light grey; as she wore loose robes of white trimmed with green, she appeared as a will o' the wisp of a merry mind.
They had barely sat when Celebrían immediately thanked Falmaramë for letting her stay in Imladris.
"I have been unhappy for some time now in Lórinand," she explained, "and I fondly remember my childhood in Ost-in-Edhil. I am so delighted to live again among the Noldor, and speak Quenya with someone else than my mother."
"You are most welcome; really, I should be the one thanking you for the security you will bring to this valley."
With a silver laugh, Celebrían assured her it was nothing. "It is high time, too, that I make myself useful in some way, as my father likes to remind me, since I won't get married as he would have wished. The poor man wanted me to love Amdír's son, who is himself besotted with a maiden from the woods, to his own father's despair. I had no peace from him until I swore I would marry no Elda, be he son of a king or a pauper living off the land."
"The more I know your father," said Falmaramë, "and the happier I am than the tallest mountains in Middle Earth usually keep him away from me."
"Your own father never was like that, I'm sure. I knew him in Eregion, and he spoiled me rotten, ever playing the facetious uncle."
Falmaramë chuckled, and then cried out in jealousy when she learned Celebrimbor had taught young Celebrían swear words in khuzdûl. "I had to learn them on my own by bullying Narvi until he relented," she lamented. "I hid his favourite chisel for a week! But did he teach you any of the good ones?"
"I think I still remember some. Ozirum… something, leku?"
Falmaramë sniggered, "Ozirum menu seleku, your father couldn't forge a spoon. One of my favourite. Will you have tea?"
Once the water was poured unto the fragrant leaves, they felt high spirits and devised of many things. Celebrían's dry wit greatly animated the conversation, and Falmaramë developed an immense liking for her guest. They compared childhood memories of Eregion, and to the both of them such bittersweet nostalgia was a new feeling. Conversation lulled; they sat without speaking for a while, until suddenly Celebrían blurted:
"I want you to know I am absolutely not my mother. I just want a quiet place to live, with a room of my own, perhaps a few friends. I still remember my anger when I asked why we couldn't ever go back to Ost-in-Edhil and I learned the meaning of the word banishment. And I was so ashamed, too. I asked wether I could go on my own - they could have accompanied me until the eastern door of Khazad Dûm and surely someone could have brought me along as they passed under the mountain and then to Ost-in-Edhil - and this is the only day I ever saw my mother so cross at me. And I couldn't understand, because my father still dwelled there."
"It was not by his own choice, I understand," said Falmaramë. "I barely ever met him then; he was tolerated, but little more. I don't think he would have let you go out much anyway."
Celebrían put down her cup and took Falmaramë's hand to say:
"If I am to dwell in Imladris, I need you to know I won't ever try to challenge you. This I swear on my true name; I will repeat it publicly if you wish."
"There won't be a need for that; I believe you. None of us wish to repeat the mistakes of old. You can stay here for as long as you want, and you are absolutely free."
"Also, I know you made the offer that I sit on your council. I would like to decline."
At that moment, there was a knock and Gil-Galad came in, followed by Elrond. There was a flutter of greetings when the ladies rose and, beholding Elrond, Celebrían declared:
"Why, here is the lord Peredhel! I glimpsed you during the festivities, but you never saw me, so that I wondered if you had become blind. But that is impossible, for your only infirmity was ever in being dumb."
In a panic, Falmaramë looked at the wincing Gil-Galad, who looked as stunned as her. Before any of them found their wits, however, Elrond answered with a bow:
"Your tongue is sharp as ever, lady; yet you shall know that indeed I never noticed you and still have all my sight. For how one would be able to pick out a pebble from a shore full of shinier pearls?"
"And you shall know that I am not a stone; although I would wish my heart be made of it."
"Isn't it already the case? I heard they carved the doors of Khazad Dûm from the same material."
A curious expression passed on Celebrían's face. In jest, she countered with mock sympathy:
"You are pale, I maintain that you must be sick. You wouldn't be in love, by any chance?"
"With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, lady, I may pale, not with love. Yet it is true that I never can see you but I am heart-burned an hour after. Your quips are too spicy a dish for my stomach."
"You cannot vex me: if you are a jester, you are a very dull fool, and you are not even that, as even a fool would have taken my hand and led me to my seat already."
"Why, are you lame and unable to walk by yourself?"
"No more than you, who put your foot in your own mouth often enough to warrant the use of a crutch," she said, holding out her hand to him.
He took it and saw her to the best chair - Falmaramë bit her tongue because it was her own. He then made a fuss of bringing her cup and refilling it before sitting as far away as he could.
"There," he said, "Courtesy is saved, and you would need an archer's skill to wound me from where you sit. I shall have to ask forgiveness to our hostess for our banter; I fear she may not be used to your bloodthirsty wit."
Falmaramë laughed and said that they obviously knew each other better than she thought. Before she replied, Celebrían took a sip from her cup. When she spoke, her voice was light and airy.
"Worry not, lady. I keep my arrows in stock for the lord Elrond only; somehow, they always find their mark in him, and I couldn't dream of a worthier target."
Elrond gave a curt laugh.
"You flatter yourself, but enough's enough for today, I fear. Ereinion promised to play for us, and I don't want our barbed raillery to prevent the display of his art."
"Peace," cried Gil-Galad. "Let me sit down first!"
Only moments later, though, he rose again to fetch his harp and began tuning it as the conversation drifted to practical matters, and Celebrían accepted Falmaramë's old rooms for her own use. They barely noticed when he began playing, until the random notes took the shape of a poem, haunting and delicate that, by his art as a minstrel, brought forth bright images before them.
On the calm, dark, sea where a sleeping star dwells
Straight flies a sail as a lily-white cloak
Because winds falling from the Hithlum hills
Of a bitter freedom slowly spoke
Because a breath, twisting your flowing mane
To your dreaming mind carried a stranger sound
Because your heart heeded Nature's complaint
In the tree's lament and night sighs westbound
Because the moan of the mad ocean
Broke your breast too compassionate and free
Because in the spring of emotion
A maiden silently sat by your knee!
Heavens, love, freedom, what a dream to reach
You clung to her like snow to the fire
Great visions strangled your forgotten speech
And the Uttermost West startled your eye.