Barely a few days after the masquerade, Gil-Galad and Falmaramë sat in the great hall to dispense justice. They had taken to sitting at this together, each answering the requests laid before them and not meddling with the other's judgments, as they found the hours passed more swiftly that way. The carving of the Two Trees caught the low silver light on the wall behind them; the dark wood of their chairs gleamed, too, and they both looked like figures from a great song of old. Gil-Galad sat pensively, his cheek resting upon his finger. He was clad of silver and blue; his golden crown, a wonder of smithwork set with sapphires and adamant, rested upon his golden hair, and his blue eyes darted through the many faces of the crowd. To his right, Falmaramë rested her elbows upon the armrests, and her gown of deep red glistened as it fell in sharp folds over her knees. She carried her chin high, and her father's circlet shone on her brow. Below the dais stood two of Gil-Galad's guards, Vilyond and Maeron, and their swords were at their hips, the only reminder that peace outside was watchful yet.

Before them, Erestor bowed very low; he was attired in his usual neat and impeccable way, and when he rose he briefly closed his eyes. He was followed by Glorfindel, and a Númenorean was with them. None looked at ease; indeed, the Second Born seemed ready to faint.

"I come before you, my lord," he said, "not for a wrong made to me, but with an accusation of treason; and these, according to our laws, must as you know be made publicly for fear they could be stifled."

"I know our laws," answered Gil-Galad, "carry on."

But he was tense, and so was Falmaramë by his side; an anxious worry press her chest as Erestor spoke again, in a room filled with a deadly silence.

"On the night of the masquerade, Glorfindel and I walked to this very room. It was dark, but we soon noticed that we weren't alone; in the light of our lamp, we saw two people upon this dais, engaged in a lustful embrace. Our presence scared them; the lady cried and fled, but not before we could know her. And we saw the face of the lady Falmaramë, and a dress of red as she usually wears. The lad was less swift, and we caught him. I came hither to tell you the lady Telpënar is disloyal; that she's but the sign and semblance of honor; that she has broken her oaths to you with this man, this Second Born here."

All gasped; Falmaramë gave a great cry and felt as if a knife had pierced her. She turned to Gil-Galad, who had grasped her hand, and looked into his eyes, saying in a rushed voice: "This is slander, Nandaro, I've been true, I swear, I swear on my life."

"I know," he said, and she pressed his hand so hard it hurt. "I know," he repeated, and his earnest gaze was the only thing that kept her tethered. She would have risen, shouted or wept, but for him as he said: "I trust you." Yet she trembled with all her body, and anger flamed inside her. How Gil-Galad kept calm, she never knew, for his voice was steady as a blade when he turned to Erestor.

"Such extraordinary accusation requires extraordinary proof," he said. "I hope, for your sake, that you can provide it."

Reluctantly, distaste spelled on his face, Glorfindel stepped forward and said: "Lord, upon my name, these things are true."

"You," exclaimed Falmaramë. "You who have the very bent of honour, how can you belie me thus? I didn't even wear red that night!"

Erestor lifted his hand and said:

"Let us all be reminded that our laws forbid one accused of falseness to defend themselves, for their word is held in doubt until cleared by the testimony of others."

Gil-Galad's hand crushed her fingers as he answered in her stead: "The lady Falmaramë wore white indeed; I can attest to it, as can the lady Insil."

"Is it so outlandish that she could change," pressed Erestor. "Were you by her side all night?"

"No, I wasn't," admitted Gil-Galad. Not one to concede any advantage to his adversary, he said immediately: "You, Númenorean, what is your name?"

The man, green with fear, croaked: "Balakan is what they call me, your Highness, son of Balkazir."

"Balakan son of Balkazir, is the lady you see here upon this dais the one you met the other night? Be careful in your answer; I want you to swear it on your life. If you lie, it shall be forfeit."

The man sweated profusely as he looked up to Falmaramë for the first time. She saw nothing but fear in his quizzing eyes, and he said: "Upon my troth, your Highness, I, I think so, but I can't be sure as I barely saw her face in the dark, and I didn't hear her voice. Not, like, properly. I never met the lady before anyway."

Blood drained from her face as Falmaramë took in what he said, and what it implied. She freed her hand from Gil-Galad's and got up, walking like a ghost to the man. She studied him from head to foot, deaf to the shocked murmur of the crowd. He seemed remarkably young, a few hairs barely protruding from his chin, and took a step back under her examination; had not Erestor caught his arm, he might have ran. Saying nothing, Falmaramë stared hardly at her two accusers, who stared back, not flinching despite the fiery wrath that lit her expression. While Erestor's face was full of aversion, Glorfindel's carried a reproachful compassion - but both held truth in their gaze.

"I will not stand here, unable to defend myself, while you both slander me with such humiliating lies," she spat. "I do not have to take it. I'm leaving. I trust my husband and my liege to defend me."

She walked a brisk pace through the parted crowd, and was nearly to the door when she heard Gil-Galad get up to come after her. But she hurried, and closed the door behind her, so that when he opened it she was already running halfway down the stairs, tears running hot on her cheeks. Not sure of what to do, he took a step back in the room, forbidding anyone to leave; Vilyond and Maeron, who had followed him, took a stance on either sides of the door. Their two companions had been standing guard outside, and Gil-Galad called them after him as he tried to run after Falmaramë. Her start was too great now; by the time they reached the stables where they had seen her head, she was already gone. A lonely groom she had left wondering why his lady had jumped on the closest horse to gallop away bareback in courtly clothes.

"Forven, Calmarquen," called Gil-Galad, "Take your horses and look for her. When you find her, tell her that I still think she is innocent, and that I will always believe her over the whole world. Tell her I know she is faithful and true. And keep her from doing anything rash."

"What do you have in mind, lord?"

"Do I look like I know what she might do? Burn down Númenor, take an oath of vengeance, start another kinslaying, I don't know, but these are all things I might do myself right now, so if you ever loved either of us go, go swiftly, and keep her safe!"

As he ran back to the house, he shouted for someone to bring Elrond at once. Once he was back upon his great chair in the audience room, he pinched the bridge of his nose and willed himself calm. As soon as an out-of-breath Elrond arrived, he had him sit on a stool on the right of Falmaramë's empty chair, and started the hearing again.

By the stables, the two guards hesitated a few instants.

"East or west," asked Forven.

Calmarquen decided: "West, to the ford. If she's left the valley, we must know at once; if she's gone upriver to the hills, she'll be easier to find."

But no one along the ford road had seen Falmaramë, so they soon turned back. A bit higher than the house, someone had met her. "And she went like the wind, as if Morgoth himself was after her," they said. But they hadn't noted where she went after, so the two were left to wonder at the next crossroads.

"Dammit," swore Forven, "If it were Ereinion I'd know where to look, but I haven't got the full hang of her yet."

They searched for a while the three branching roads, but couldn't find any trace as these were all well-traveled.

"Let's think," said Calmarquen. "If you were in her place, what would you do?"

"Besides tear out the throat of those two traitors? Next place I'd like to be would be a cosy one that wouldn't remind me of the smirk on their faces. Or I'd run myself to exhaustion."

They looked at each other, and Forven said: "The winter lodge. She can do both there."

When the guards got to the lodge some hours later, they were relieved to see a horse there, unsaddled and unbridled, that stood eating the old yellow grass of the field. Falmaramë was sitting against the house, watching him graze without focus. She had removed the circlet from her head and covered herself with a thick blanket, although, despite the growing twilight, the air wasn't very cold. She barely lifted her eyes when she saw Forven and Calmarquen, and greeted them with the slightest sign of her hand when they alighted.

"My lady," said Forven.

"Am I still that," she answered in a hollow voice. "I shouldn't have ran. I shouldn't have left them free to besmirch me. I knew it was a mistake before I was down the stairs, but I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear to listen to them say I meet random men at night in my own throne room in order to break my vows. It was too much. And I left Nandaro alone to face it. I'm a coward. For all I know, he's had to bend to them and I've been stripped of my House and my rank, let alone his love. Yet I am innocent, I'll swear it to anyone willing to hear."

Forven sat beside her while his companion opened up the house and busied himself by building a fire and fixing a meal. A purple evening was falling upon the valley; the crests blurred in the cooling twilight, and crows cawed.

"He believes you," said Forven. "Anyone who really knows you will believe you too. These two can say they saw you all they want, they're either lying or mistaken. The lord Elrond will believe you, and Insil and Alcarinquë, and Halarova, too. Anyone who matters will believe you. And that's the neat thing about being king, he can shut these assholes up, lock them in some dungeon and loose the key."

Falmaramë had a sad laugh: "No, Forven, he can't silence them. Once such an accusation has been made, it must be seen through to the end. Doubt is a poison, and would be more grievous than perhaps a true perjury. If I can't be proven innocent beyond doubt, I suppose I'll have to exile myself to Lindon - although Nandaro tells me it's a fair place, I would rather visit upon my own terms."

Night had now fully set in; the stars hid behind a thick layer of clouds as Calmarquen came back.

"There's soup cooking up, and I've found wine in the cellar. Take advantage of both; I'll run down to the house tonight and reassure Ereinion that you're safe and sound. Forven will stay with you."

Falmaramë thought to order him to stay, that the path was dangerous without a light; but she didn't have the strength to protest and let him go, telling him many things to repeat to Gil-Galad when he saw him again. She and Forven later shared a gloomy dinner, followed by a gloomier evening and a night full of worry.

When the grey light of a drab morning creeped to the lodge, frost had drawn hard shapes on every leaf and twig outside, and fog drifted all around as flocks of sparrows rustled through the leaves. In the early afternoon, the clipclop of hooves sounded again on the path; Calmarquen was back. He dismounted wearily; after greeting Falmaramë and his friend, he said bluntly: "It's bad down there. Good thing you left, else you might have been provoked into punching someone - I know I nearly served someone their teeth, and I only stayed for a few hours. There's some who call you an adulteress and worse, and would see you removed from power. There's some who accuse the house of Fingolfin of treachery, accusing Ereinion of trying to gut the house of Fëanor to better assert his might. The more level-headed think it is a set up, and accuse everyone from the lady Galadriel to Oropher and Sauron himself. Anyway, here's a letter Ereinion wrote for you; it would seem he and the lord Elrond have come up with a plan to smoke out the truth from your accusers."

Falmaramë tore the envelope away in a hurry and read the letter with a furrowed expression. Lengthy interrogatories had yielded nothing more; Erestor and Glorfindel were not lying, and the Second Born had really met a woman that night, but so far no trace of her had been discovered. "We have looked everywhere," he wrote, "but for now have been left empty-handed. Alcarinquë had mustered her usual network without success, and we can only suppose that this woman is hiding out of fear - unless she has left Imladris, which would be a blow indeed. Nothing we say seems to calm the situation; the old dissenters from the former Guild are pouring oil on the fire. We need to regain some sort of control over the whole narrative, so let yourself be swayed by my counsel. You have openly left, and all wonder of your fate; let it be published that you were found, and that the venom of calumny hurt you so that you are dying. Come back secretly, under cover of the night, and stay hidden. This well carried should change slander to remorse, and you shall be lamented, pitied, and perchance the conscience of some will be awakened."

She crushed the letter, half laughing and half crying, and cried: "He is mad, he is quite mad, and what a genius!"

"I'll have a nap, then," said Calmarquen. "If we must be home in the small hours of the night, we need to leave before nightfall and ride through the dark. There'll be no moon tonight, and, although I like this road well enough, I have to say building this lodge a bit closer to the house would have been a fair idea."

Midnight was long passed when they reached the house; night had reached that tipping point halfway between the darkest and the first light of dawn. A damp mist had hidden them most of the way, and the fallen leaves upon the road, made supple and glistening, had silenced their horses' hooves. They left their mounts a bit upriver and walked through the gardens by hidden ways, covered in great capes, silent as ghosts. A small door opened for them and they rushed in, fearful of being seen until they reached Falmaramë and Gil-Galad's apartments. There, on the contrary, were many lights. He rushed to embrace her as soon as she was through the door, and Elrond hugged her, too. Their concern and their worry at the same time reassured and worried her as they both hurried to tell the latest news.

"As your deputy," said Elrond, "I took it upon myself to recall Halarova from the High Pass. He's loyal to the bone; if push comes to shove, we'll need him."

"We still have no clue as to who's behind all that," added Gil-Galad. "Although we've made a list. Erestor might an uptight fool, but he is widely known to be honest; as for Glorfindel, few boast of a more honorable fame. Someone chose them for this, and played them thoroughly."

Falmaramë sneered, her face crumpled by disdain: "Oh I've thought about it. I know several minds clever enough to pull this off, but I know only one dirty enough to actually do it, and that is Ostimir."

"I remember that conversation we overheard, too," agreed Gil-Galad. "If that's the case, he prepared himself for years."

They talked until dawn; by that time, Falmaramë went to bed, decreeing that, if she should be dying, she would at least get to sleep in. Gil-Galad stayed with her, and Elrond went about Imladris, forlorn and brooding, to give credence to their own deception.

Two days passed in this fashion. On the morning of the third one, as the two recluse were mulling over their next step should no one take the bait, there was a knock on the door of their apartments. A murmur of voice - and Alcarinquë went to seek them, pale and serious.

"You must come and meet this person," she said. "This is her, absolutely."

They left their private chambers; Gil-Galad went to greet the visitor while Falmaramë hid herself behind a tapestry to look and listen.

Shock froze her. A woman, clad as a servant, stood embarrassed in the antechamber; her shining black hair was up in a braided crown, and her eyes would have been a piercing grey if they hadn't been puffed from tears. Her skin was paler than Falmaramë's, and she was perhaps more slender, being of a less vigorous build, but the resemblance was there, strikingly so. She carried a package on her arm and fell in a clumsy curtsey when Gil-Galad entered the room. Alcarinquë slid against the wall behind her, to watch quietly.

"Rise," said the High King of the Noldor, and she rose, keeping her eyes down. "What is your name?"

"Hísiel, daughter of Dúlin, my lord," and her pitch was higher than Falmaramë's.

"Why have you come here today?"

Falmaramë couldn't see his face; his voice was stern, as if it took him great effort to keep courteous and calm. When Hísiel answered, tears filled her eyes as a great distress tore her face.

"Because I am the reason my lady is sick and dying. I know she's innocent, and that she was wrongfully accused. I was too ashamed to say anything before, as I'd be sent away for sure, but I can't take it anymore. I want to tell the truth; perhaps that can heal her, and then you can banish me or punish me, but I can't take it anymore."

The agony in Hísiel's voice broke Falmaramë's heart; she left her hiding place and came forward, saying: "I am fine, Hísiel, daughter of Dúlin. But your words can still save me."

"My lady," shrieked the woman, and she threw herself on her knees.

Carefully, Falmaramë took her by the arm and helped her to a sofa, seating herself by her side. Gil-Galad took an armchair facing them, an inquisitive look in his gaze. By now, Hísiel was sobbing heartily; she still clutched her package. Falmaramë shushed her and held her into her arms until she calmed down. A glass of water, conjured from a pitcher by Alcarinquë, was set into her hands, and Falmaramë asked gently: "Do we need outside witnesses for what you are about to tell me?"

"I think so," hiccuped Hísiel.

Alcarinquë left, ushering in, a few moments later, Elrond and Celebrían.

"The lord Elrond shall bear testimony for me, as I won't be able to do so myself," explained Falmaramë, "and the lady Celebrían, hailing from the house of Finarfin, shall be the outside observer."

They all sat around. Hísiel, at first overwhelmed by the presence of so many highly born and powerful, regained little by little her composure. Her face hardened, as if she were beyond caring about consequences, and at last she said:

"I was the one in the great hall that night. I don't usually come to the house, I live higher in the valley near the second waterfall, but I had come down for the party."

They all exchanged looks: the second waterfall borough was where Ostimir and many former Guild members dwelt. But they said nothing and let Hísiel continue.

"I was to meet my husband in that room, but he never came. And I haven't heard from him since, except on the following morning, and later in a letter to threaten me into shutting up, because I've broken my vows and would be an outcast."

"How were you dressed," asked Celebrían.

Without a word, all eyes upon her, Hísiel opened the package she had carried so far, revealing a dress of dark, shining, red, trimmed with black, and a simple silver headband. The cloth was exceptional, with intricate patterns woven through it, and it ran like water when handled. Celebrían asked again: "Who gave you this? No serving woman can easily come by this."

"My husband gave it to me to wear that night. How he got it, I don't know. But he's a fine lord and is himself always well dressed, so it didn't surprise me."

"We'll get later as to who's this husband of yours; a fine lord indeed, I am sure," said Falmaramë. "What was your plan when you got to the party?"

"Dance a while, and then I was to wait for him on the dais on the strike of one. You see," explained Hísiel, her cheeks a bright red, "We had thought it would be, ah, interesting, to meet in the dark and play as if I were a, a lady sitting on her high chair."

"I'll have the cushions burned," said hotly Falmaramë. "How can anyone, really, anyone, think this would be even remotely comfortable, let alone interesting."

Gil-Galad made a strange strangled noise; after the smallest pause, a repressed smile stretching her lips, she added: "Anyway. What happened?"

"About at the time we had set, a man came; it was dark and I thought it was my husband. We were deep in, in conversation, when these two guests came in. By the light of their lamp I saw I had been mistaken. I took fright and ran away. In the morning, my husband scolded me for that, saying I had broken my vows and making me ashamed; it turns out he never came, and I suspected nothing until the scandal broke. Ever since, he has threatened me and ordered me to keep silent. So I wonder if he may have tricked me, and although I would fain have believed that from him, I worry."

Hísiel needed some time to collect herself; when she was better again, Gil-Galad asked who her husband was.

"We met some summers past in Lindon," she explained. "I hail from a place along the southern coast, and he was here to deal for pearls."

She told the story of a whirlwind romance; how he claimed to be stricken by her beauty and courted her, and how she fell in love with his grand manners and small attentions, she who was only the daughter of a pearl-fisher. He promised she would be a lady in Imladris and she followed him back, after betrothing him against the will of her parents, who disliked him. However, he hid her away, never letting her go to the great house, and she found his promises had been empty. She would have left, then, had he not offered to marry her to prove his good faith, and he insisted it be done secretly so as not to anger her parents back home. Hoping it would be a new beginning, she accepted, some weeks back. Nothing more could she say on the matter, save that his name was Ostimir.

Rising, Gil-Galad asked for Erestor and Glorfindel, and Balakan the Númenorean, to be brought to him. Meanwhile, Falmaramë shepherded Hísiel into her rooms.

Barely an hour later, a protesting Erestor came into the antechamber, both led and pushed by two of Gil-Galad's guards; he fell silent when he saw the waiting Glorfindel, and Balakan, who still looked like death warmed over. They all stood while Gil-Galad sat, and his closed face spoke of an angry mind. Behind him, Elrond and Celebrían's icy demeanor were little more welcoming; the silver lady now bore a striking resemblance to her father.

"Why have you brought us here in private, my lord," still said Erestor. "Everything concerning to this matter ought to be handled publicly, as the laws decree."

With a wave of the hand, Gil-Galad dismissed the argument, gesturing towards Celebrían: "We have a witness. Your protest is moot. I want you all to come with me."

All followed him to a closed door; he opened the panel and let them through. Glorfindel stopped right in his tracks with a cry, a look of pure shock on his beautiful face. Erestor bumped into his shoulder, ready to grumble again, and said: "Oh."

Before them, two ladies were seated. They wore similar dresses of rich red fabric; their curling black hair, freshly brushed, fell on their shoulders in graceful locks, and each gazed gravely at the company, their grey eyes severe and pure. Their faces were similar in many ways, too, and silver bands rested upon their brows.

"I'm, how, it was a mistake," stuttered Glorfindel.

"Belt it, will you," rudely ordered Gil-Galad. "Once again, Balakan, son of Balkazir, I am asking you if you recognise one of these ladies."

Now looking more puzzled than worried, the Second Born slowly said: "I really couldn't tell. Truth is, I haven't been here long, and elven faces confuse me. Yet I remember I felt a mole on the nape of the lady's neck, on the left side."

The two ladies obligingly lifted their hair; only one had a mole.

"Are you satisfied now," asked Falmaramë, putting a scathing burn in her words. As if it had been a signal, more differences appeared between the two of them; one was a proud lady willing to see blood flow, and the other a timid maiden who now crumbled with exhaustion.

Erestor still watched Hísiel as one who has seen a ghost, and managed to articulate: "We will publicly apologise, of course. How, oh how, profoundly sorry I am."

"Worry not, you shall do that," said Falmaramë, "several times, and at great length."

With a mild intonation, Gil-Galad asked: "Erestor, you who know the law, would you care to remind me what happened to the laws upheld in Gondolin when it fell, and the crown came from Turgon to me?"

"The laws followed the crown," he replied immediately. "For it would be wrong to brand them unjust because of death and, as one king takes up the crown, he also takes up the ancient laws."

"Excellent. And I revoked none of these, because I wished to legitimate my rule before Galadriel's challenge."

Glorfindel had become deathly pale, and the last drop of blood left his face when Falmaramë asked: "Would you care to tell us, captain of the house of the Golden Flower of Gondolin, what used to be the punishment for false accusation under Turgon's rule?"

"It was the punishment of the crime the victim was unjustly accused of," he stuttered.

"And what was Turgon's sentence for oathbreaking?"

"Death."

With a sigh, Gil-Galad shook his head, saying: "What a deeply, deeply, troubled man my uncle was. To think such a fair city had such violent laws. I have never requested such a sentence before, you know?"

With a cruel smirk, Falmaramë said: "Fortunately for you, Turgon never thought to punish stupidity, even terminal cases of the utter mind-boggling kind you have displayed. I daresay such inane idiocy out to be outlawed as it is surely criminal to walk under the sun with so little wit. Now sit. I'll tell Hísiel's tale for her, and we'll hear Balakan in full. Then, lords, it shall be your turn - for until now you have told no one how you happened to walk on this scene, in a room that should have been out of bounds for the night."

Falmaramë soon recalled Hísiel's testimony and, after some prodding, Balakan spoke. His quenya was excellent, barely marked by the strange accent developing in the númenorean court. Now that he appeared less fearful, he was nearly handsome, although still terribly young, and he looked with fascination upon Hísiel's face. Yet at first he spoke with sorrow, saying: "How I regret my actions, lady. For it appears you were unwilling, or would have been had you known who I was, and that makes me a criminal. I dare not ask for your forgiveness, nor the clemency of the king; all I hope is that I shan't be the only one to be punished for this terrible deed. That such a fair lady as you be victim of such a plot I cannot fathom."

"Please, I am neither fair nor a lady," said Hísiel, and a rose veil colored her small features. "You were deceived as well as I was, and I would hear how it came to pass."

"True," added Gil-Galad. "Under our laws, you are quite as much a victim as Hísiel. Fret not; I'll arrange everything with your lords in exchange for your public testimony."

Balakan's tale was a short one, of foolishness and rash youth; it was new to Falmaramë, although she had been told what the others had heard from him after she had left. On the night of the masquerade, he had been drinking, and perhaps felt drunker for the clear elvish voices and bodies around him than for the wine. As he sat on a bench, looking around in never ending wonder, he had overheard a conversation - two elves who were joking how a lady was, right now, willing to entertain strangers in the dark.

"It seemed so outlandish to me," he continued, "This would be considered shameful in Armenelos, and yet I've found the minds and customs here much different from home, much freer. I feel that, here, one can do anything one likes, as long as it hurts no one. So I went to them - the mask made me bold, I suppose - or the wine - and asked about it. At first they laughed at me, saying I had no chance, and they mocked me until one, as in pity, told me how to find the room. After they left, laughing in fell voices, I went in search of this lady. The rest you know. I wouldn't be able to recognise them; they were masked."

Silence followed. Elrond sighed, and asked: "How old are you, lad?"

"I'll be nineteen come spring, lord," answered Balakan, surprised.

None of the Noldor answered; perhaps they were trying to remember wether they would have been so easily fooled when they were that age. At last, Glorfindel spoke: "It is also our story. We found scandalous for this to be done in a public place and went to investigate. After what we thought to have seen - I would have gone privately to you, lord, yet Erestor deemed better to be public. Understand that this was done out of concern for you. Believing what I believed, I was honour-bound to speak."

"Placing your honour before your wit has, I've been told, always been the fall of you," remarked coolly Gil-Galad.

Erestor regretted: "I should have restrained him. I see now my distrust of the lady Falmaramë was preyed upon; for that, lady, I doubly apologise. I shan't ever make the mistake to underestimate your character again. I fear I can never make it up to you, so terrible was the insult."

"Actually, you can," she said. "And this is the reason this audience is as private as we could make it. I want to find and punish the one behind this scheme. I want to see him run naked through the winter woods until either exhaustion or some beasts slay him. Thanks to Hísiel's courage, we know his identity, and we'll serve him a dish made to his taste."

Elrond continued for her, his teeth bared in a wolfish smile.

"What we need is two men of outstanding honour, two good men whose word is beyond doubt, to get him to confess before witnesses. We want you to seek Ostimir the smith; tell him, not that you know his scheme, but that you know he is rallying the opposition against Falmaramë. Tell him that you, two counselors of Gil-Galad's, are willing to hear his cause, that the recent scandal finished to turn your mind against Falmaramë. Promise him nothing, but listen, and get him to avow he wishes to rule Imladris himself. And find the second man, the one he spoke to; my guess would be either Ahtion or Aldamir. Let them know that, should they confess and bear testimony, they shall be forgiven. We want to get him first for rebellion, for it lies at the root of his scheme, and then accuse him of the rest. We need to uproot all of his support; he needs to be seen as the corrupt leader of a seditious cause that he is."

It therefore came to pass that, a few days later, Ostimir was bound hand and feet and dragged before the dais where sat Gil-Galad and Falmaramë. A great crowd had assembled to witness his trial; in his pride, he refused to enlist the help of a counsel, and was untied to stand before the court. For several days, witnesses were heard; Hísiel's appearance surprised all. Wounded with his treason, she asked wether he had married her only for the sake of his plot. His answer was coarse and rude, saying that he had taken joy at bedding his enemy's likeness, and nearly reducing her to tears again. Falmaramë snarled at him.

"That man deserves a knife between the ribs if any ever did," growled Halarova, who was seated to Elrond's right.

"That would be a mercy he deserves not," answered his lady.

Therefore, Hísiel was released from her vows, it being understood she had sworn them deceived by false pretenses. Gil-Galad gave this judgment, adding: "May Eru have mercy on the soul of one so fallen as to desecrate such an oath, and may the wrath of Manwë and Varda, whose names you have spoken in falsehood, hunt you to the ends of the earth."

Little by little, every lie Ostimir tried to defend himself with was exposed; as he felt the weight of the sentence he risked, he became even more reckless. On the final day, he tried to rouse support, claiming wildly any condemnation would be proof of oppression, and found nothing but a hostile silence coming from the crowd.

At last came the time of the sentence. Falmaramë rose. Celebrimbor's circlet shone upon her brow, and she wore the star of her house on a belt. A naked sword of justice had been laid before her; its hilt was shaped as an eagle, and its blade was black. She took it and rested the point on the ground before her, then she spoke, first asking for the wisdom of Mandos.

"Ostimir, you have tried to grievously wound me. I am your rightful lady, by birth and by the custom of many years, yet you would have dragged me through the mud to satisfy your hunger for power. I have long shown you mercy and understanding, remembering how you were my teacher once, in the dark years of Khazad Dûm. Yet you slandered me, trying to brand me as a faithless oathbreaker, despicable in all ways. Even now, as your lies have been proven false, you cry against an imaginary tyranny that would justify your doings. I have never failed in my obligations as a ruling lady of the Noldor. I strive to be just. I listen to the pleas of the wronged but, today, as I am wronged myself, to whom shall I turn? For this I say: I am unable to render a fair judgment to you. One cannot be both victim and judge. A strict application of the law would be to banish you from our land and those of our allies, and send you naked into the wild, yet I fear I may fail to see some circumstances that would call for a more lenient verdict. I recognise and state your guilt. The sentence, however, I leave to another, for I would not have it be said that you were unfairly treated and a victim of prejudice, despite all your wrongdoings."

Turning to Gil-Galad, she said: "I therefore petition the High King for his justice. I only wish to recall that the house of Fëanor neither allows nor condones the slaying of criminals, as we hold that Mandos finds all in their own time."

Gil-Galad stood; she presented the blade to him, raising it on both her palms. When he took it, she sat on her carved chair, and looked as he spoke.

"Of all the Noldor, I am the liege. I am the one all appeal to, when they are unsatisfied with the justice dispensed in their own House. I uphold the laws inherited from those who ruled before me and that, ultimately, came from the customs of Valinor. Yet today, my only judgment shall be the same as your lady's - that I cannot be impartial. You have attacked in the most degrading way the one I cherish most. Here is, therefore, my sentence: I shall appeal to a greater judge than I. You shall be brought to the shores of the Great Sea and bound to a boat whose rudder will be fixed west, to reach the Blessed Lands and the seat of Mandos, Doomsman of the Valar."

"But all Noldor are banned from crossing," cried Ostimir. "You're sending me to my death!"

"Not all Noldor; some have sailed to the Uttermost West since the War of Wrath ended. Few kinslayers such as you, it is true."

"Let me be sentenced by anyone, be it Círdan or Galadriel! I cannot face the Valar! I ran from them once!"

Hearing this, Halarova spat: "So did I, and yet I fear their judgement not. Mandos will hold you long in his halls, should your boat sink on the way."

"What makes you even think they would be willing to render your justice," shouted Ostimir.

"Nothing," answered mildly Gil-Galad. "Or call it faith, perhaps."

"You fool! I curse you, I curse you two both to…"

But Ostimir never finished his sentence. Calmarquen's fist broke his mouth, silencing him, and the former smith fell down spitting blood. "No cursing the king and the lady," he said, almost as an afterthought, before dragging him away.

Some days later, Halarova strolled aimlessly to the gardens, where he met Calmarquen. The sun was hidden. A thin mist changed the mountains in mere shadows of themselves, dream-like massive shapes foreboding in the distance, while up close, the nearest slopes hovered as oppressive unknowns. The two men sat in the grey cold for a while, until Calmarquen asked: "How did it go?"

"Well enough. They were angry, of course, and I'll have to punish the poor sod who fell asleep. Fancy that, drinking wine while guarding the cell of Ostimir. I wonder who sent it to him."

Calmarquen gave a sharp laugh.

"What were the odds of him taking his nap within reach of the man, who could then grab his keys from his belt, open the door and run away?"

"Terribly low," confessed Halarova. "Almost as low as someone rolling his sleeping body close enough to the bars. I offered to hunt him down myself, but they knew I would slay him, so they refused."

The guard took some cake from a folded cloth; they shared it in silence, savoring the sweet taste of raisins and honey.

"You sure it'll snow tomorrow?"

"Oh, absolutely."

The first snow of the year fell heavy, even down the valley. Fat snowflakes clung to every surface, and at night the moon shone over a cruel frost. Ostimir's body wasn't found until spring. It had fallen in a crevice near the road to the High Pass, and his face was frozen in an expression of horror. Yet it seemed the fall only hadn't slain him, for his body carried the mark of great talons - as if an Eagle had carried him loftly before hurling him down, and long indeed did Mandos keep him into his walls.