Title: Silver Shadows

Author: Forest

Pairings: Orophin/OFC, Galadriel/OMC

Rating: PG13

Genre: Angst / Drama

WARNING: Violence, Character deaths

Beta: Shelly

Cast: Haldir, Orophin, Rúmil, Celeborn, Galadriel, Erestor, Elrond, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, OCs

Disclaimer: I own no-one from The Lord Of The Rings. All the characters and place names displayed belong to JRR Tolkien except Saeden, Galaril and Tarwë who are from my own imagination and therefore are the only ones I lay claim to. I do not intend to, nor am I making any financial gain from the writing of this story.

Feedback: Yes please! We aspiring authors thrive on the stuff.

Timeline: AU (to allow for some leeway as regards the practises and ceremonies etc of the elves.)

Summary: (Loosely based on the story of "Hamlet".) When a tragedy befalls the elves of Lorien, there seems to be little hope for a full recovery. However, through a dramatic chain of events, Rúmil finds himself in an unthinkable situation which forces him to become torn between his oath of wreaking revenge and his deep reluctance to spill elven blood.

Notes to reviewers:

The Lady of Light : Thank you very much for your constructive crit. I've gone back through the previous chapters and edited the grammar as you mentioned. I've also changed the travelling time to make it more believable heh. If only elves could fly – that would be a sight to behold XD. Thanks once again for your great comment!

ellfine Thanks very much, glad you're enjoying it. :)

Mirasaui: Yes….character death is pluralled heh. But that's ALL I'm letting on for now smirk Thanks a bunch.

Outlawblue: Thanks for your comment and as regards Celeborn…hmmm…well I never thought of that…you know, I might use that idea later…hmmm we'll see. :)

Chapter 3

It was just over a week after Celeborn's funeral before Galadriel could be seen out and about, going about her business as usually as possible. With only a short time before Autumn festival period, she returned back to helping with and overseeing the preparations. Many of those who had come to Lorien for the reason of the funeral remained there now as guests for the festival. Some also pitched in with the preparations which turned out to be more helpful than anyone could have initially guessed. The reason behind this being that security at the fences had been doubled due to a couple of sightings of the rumoured wolf packs across the plains.

Upon his balcony gazing out at the glimmering city, Erestor sat completely lost in thought. He recalled what Elrond had said about Galadriel blaming herself for Celeborn's fading and now wondered if that were true. He freely admitted he admired her great courage venturing out and going about her duties with hardly a shaky word or a faltering smile. Indeed, from the outside, it seemed that she was coming to terms with Celeborn's sudden demise quite easily – unusually easily, in fact, and with exceptional grace.

But, he reminded himself, she had not only lost a husband. She had lost her confederate, her lord, her ruling partner, her lover, her friend; no, her best friend. In short, in one day, she had lost the one person who loved and understood her completely. Coupled with the sailing of her only daughter, he suspected that in private the Lady of Lorien was not quite so steadfast in her emotions.

Another thing he had noticed was that several ellyn had been going out of their ways to talk at length with her and her behaving unusually gentlemanly. He did not have a great deal of doubt therefore that in a short while some, if not all, of the ellyn would attempt to woo her – knowing there was a vacancy and an unwritten requirement for a new lord of Lorien.

Erestor chuckled sardonically. Not only did he consider such behaviour extremely tactless and uncaring, but he sincerely believed that even should they attempt to woo her much later in time, they would still be unsuccessful. If he knew anything about the Lady of Lorien, she would be the one to elect a possible new lord – not in the least vice versa.

It transpired that Erestor was actually correct in his counts. In a short time, the ellyn did in fact attempt to woo Galadriel. But as Erestor also suspected, they may as well have attempted to woo her door handle for all the good it did them. What was more interesting however was that when they discovered all their well planned attempts to gain lordship of Lorien had been in utter vain, their sickly sweet attentiveness to Galadriel appeared to be snuffed out in an instant and they quickly returned to their duties. Whilst he thought this more than a little shallow of them, Erestor did not dwell on it, for it at least did some good. It was now possible to see the Lady walking in peace, alone and seemingly much happier for the lack of the shadowing hopeful ellyn.

At the very same time the Rivendell scribe was swimming through his own personal stream of consciousness , Galadriel herself was checking the list of orders made for the festival.

'How fares your business, my lady?' questioned Galaril as he entered the room carrying several books in his arms.

'Adequate, in a word, Galaril' answered Galadriel with a slight smile. 'Most items are accounted for, however I must speak with Haldir later as regards the latter few.'

Galaril nodded. 'You are doing fine work, my lady, and I am fully confident it shall be appreciated by all.'

'Your words are kind indeed,' said Galadriel gratefully, turning to him, 'and I thank you for your confidence. I fear though this festival shall not be nearly as extravagant nor as plentiful as years past.'

The messenger shook his head. 'Nay, my lady. Forgive me for my bluntness, but I believe otherwise. Ne'er have any festivals you have had a hand in gone awry.'

Galadriel laughed lightly as she turned back to her work. 'Aye, but we both know that was not solely down to my intervention. So many others assisted and Celeborn is always saying - '

She faltered suddenly and fell silent, her mind reeling with the echo of what she had just let slip. She thanked Eru that she had looked away before that moment so Galaril had been spared seeing her eyes mist over and her mouth become thin.

For a brief moment, Galaril simply stood still and as silent as the Lady, not knowing what, if anything, to say to her that would be of any consolation. Then, as though persuaded by some maddened impulse that betrayed his better judgement for both himself and his lowly status, he laid a hand upon her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.

At his simple touch, Galadriel stiffened and stared even more purposefully forward. Each knew this contact was a direct breach of position and yet the Lady could not help but feel greatly at peace by the feeling of his steady hand upon her. It seemed to hold her tight and preventing her from falling into the deep despair that was ever beckoning.

Finally, she relaxed and, letting out a long breath, sought his hand with her own. It was all Galaril could do but not gasp out in complete surprise and wonder when he found himself not reprimanded for his brazen gestures, but instead find them accepted. He was filled with a quiet awe. Ai! The softness of her white skin against his own; how pure and beautiful it felt, like the perfectly formed petals of the niphredil.

No.

Such thoughts were forbidden utterly and he silently chided himself for his foolishness.

'You flatter me, Galaril' Galadriel spoke slowly. However her lips did not move and Galaril was both shocked and marvelled to find the sound of her voice rang so distinct and gentle inside his head.

'I beg your forgiveness once more, my lady,' he replied, speaking also as silent, 'but I speak only what I believe to be the truth.'

Inwardly, Galadriel smiled as she listened to the other quieter and more secret thoughts of her servant's mind. She had been taught long ago that flattery alone, whilst pleasant, was not a guarantee of an ellon's true self and a decent measure of his honourablity. It was recalling this therefore that had caused her to watch him over the past days. She saw how helpful and attentive he was, but, unlike the others who had pursued her and attempted to heal her widowed heart and thereby win her hand, Galaril was good natured and polite and formal to all around him. His attention to his duties could not be faulted and he always appeared to remember his place, only stepping beyond its boundaries when he felt it was truly needed, as she had just discovered.

Not content with just the outward signs, however, she had once or twice looked into his mind unbidden and what she had seen and heard had pleased her. His thoughts appeared mostly good and fair, save for a few darker murmurs about some ellyn she knew he did not quite see eye to eye with at times. But that was only natural, and apart from that, she felt he was a most admirable elf indeed.

For a moment, she sat quiet and deep in thought. She knew the now requirement of another joint power to rule over Lorien with her. The weeks' work of only the festival had proven she could not possibly run all of Lorien by herself. Yet she had deliberately put that thought to the back of her mind until now, when, as it surfaced, it brought forth several other ideas that had not previously occurred to her.

'Galaril' she said, her voice quieter than normal and the elf addressed fancied he even heard a note of nervousness. 'Would you do me the pleasure of walking with me?'

As she turned to face him now, Galaril swallowed hard, wondering if she was about to dismiss him. Perhaps she had decided she thought ill of his stepping beyond his requirements of his post. Still though, he nodded his assent. 'Aye, if it please you, my lady.'

He smiled down at her; despite the sickening feeling that had taken up unwelcome residence in the pit of his stomach, and after politely helping her to her feet, he followed her from the talan and down to the gardens.

'Oh, can we not skip dinner just this once, please, Orophin?'

Tarwë looked up at him with pleading eyes. For the last few days, whenever she had sat at a meal with Orophin (and therefore also in the company of his brothers), Haldir had not been exactly subtle about directing a few dark hints and scathing looks her way, and she knew precisely why. She knew Haldir was judging her one her part record, which was, let's face it, not entirely rosy. A string of broken ellyn hearts scattered the path behind her and she therefore avoided Haldir whenever possible. Still, he was always there at mealtimes and frankly, she didn't know how long she would be able to let his biting remarks and sceptical glances pass her by without retaliating.

She had told Orophin her concerns beforehand, and for a while, he regarded her quietly before nodding. 'If you wish,' he answered, 'I do not much care for a meal tonight in any case.'

This was a downright lie, but he didn't betray it and so he soon found himself being steered in the exact opposite direction from the most luscious smelling hall. He could taste the succulent meats upon the air and the sweet aroma of freshly picked vegetables wafted tantalisingly around his nose. The bitter tang of the herbs was the icing on the cake, but it was no good. He could no go back on his word now.

'What I don't understand,' Orophin began as they walked, trying to divert his attention from the aching in his stomach, 'is why you are so bothered about what Haldir thinks.'

Tarwë sighed, half in exasperation, half in apparent sadness. 'Because, Orophin, Haldir is your elder brother, and as such, he has more influence over you than anyone else in this entire city.'

Orophin paused mid-stride and turned so he has facing her. 'And as his brother, I have been around him enough to know when to take his advice or to ignore it. Tarwë, believe me,' he continued, intertwining his fingers with hers, 'if I had any doubts about our relationship – about the way I felt, I would never be so proud as to not voice them to you. Anything Haldir could say against you to me he has already said, and I'm still with you, aren't I?'

Tarwë nodded quietly but a pained frown still hung upon her features. 'Yes …' she agreed slowly, 'but it still doesn't stop me from being terribly uncomfortable with Haldir, and I fear it won't ever end.'

Taking her lightly by the shoulders, Orophin's eyes bore into hers and he kissed her brow gently. 'Do you desire me to speak with him?'

The elleth shook her head. 'Nay, it would not do any good, for I fear he seems steadfast in his hatred for me.'

Orophin stared at her in surprise and pity and her lifted her lowered chin with a single finger so she was facing him once more.

'Liramaer,' he whispered softly, 'Haldir does not hate you. I feel he is only concerned.' For a moment, the young warden stood as though deep in thought and then, slowly, a mysterious smile lit up his furrowed features. 'What he really needs is to see how much we really care about each other – go the extra mile, if you will.'

Tarwë looked a little confused. 'What exactly do you mean, Orophin?'

Swallowing hard and taking her hand into his own trembling palm, Orophin bent low down upon one knee, causing the elleth's eyes to widen to the size of dinner plates.

'Tarwë, daughter of Eledir, I realise this is a little unorthodox,' Orophin said slowly, his grey eyes kindled with a cocktail of nerves and passion, 'but would you do me the very great and humble honour of becoming my wife?'

In that moment, it appeared that several ages passed between them and Tarwë stood stock still as though struck inexplicably dumb. Orophin bit his lip. Had he gone too fast? Would she refuse him? If she did, he knew he would only have his own ash actions to blame, and judging by her blank expression of the present, things really didn't seem to be boding too well.

Then, Tarwë's mouth twitched at the corners and slowly turned upwards into a beaming smile, her eyes suddenly alight with amazement and realisation. 'Of course!' she cried, flinging her arms about his neck in elation. 'Oh, I must be the luckiest elleth to ever live to have found you, Orophin!'

Orophin laughed aloud, so great was his relief and joy. Pulling her close to him, he swung her round in the air as they laughed loud and long together in ecstasy, their voices clear and rich as new water issuing in plentiful streams from its mountain source.

'Orophin! Let me down or I shall surely fall!'

'Ah, you shall never fall Tarwë!' Orophin assured her, lowering her down to the ground. 'Not while I am with you. Myself and I should not allow such a thing.' He paused, one hand toying with her fair hair, a few tresses spilling like moonlight over his slender fingertips. Bending slightly, he pressed a soft and lingering kiss to her lips. Ai! How silken and utterly perfect were those pink rosebuds. Orophin fancied he had never tasted anything so wholly sweet and delicious in his entire life. Surely, surely not even the ripest and most plump of summer fruits could even begin to rival her lips.

As they broke apart, they came a familiar voice calling to them.

'All hail Orophin, the great and mighty elleth slayer!'

Heaving a great sigh, Orophin rolled his eyes and turned to find himself face to face with a very triumphant and cheeky looking Rúmil.

'And yet another of your hilarious jests, brother' he smirked dryly, 'Forgive me for not giving into my fighting mirth, but I fear my sides would split!'

Rúmil grinned. 'Only the best for my ever loving brother!' The elf turned and winked at Tarwë. Contrary to Haldir, Rúmil was more openly friendly with the elleth. Though the pair did have a slight history, it had been extremely short lived; and though Rúmil was fully aware of Tarwë's reputation, he, like Haldir, was willing to giver her the benefit of the doubt for Orophin's sake. However, he, unlike Haldir, was also willing to do that without slipping any personal misgivings or sharpened remarks.

'So, what news, Orophin?' said Rúmil, looking from Orophin's exasperated face to Tarwë, who was struggling to contain her giggles.

Orophin gave Rúmil the most vacant look he could manage. 'I am afraid I do not quite follow your trail of though, Rúmil. What news? Why, there is no news to be found here!'

'Yes, of course. And Haldir has obtained a sense of humour!'

'Alright. I shall give you a clue. Fingers and bells' Orophin said with a smirk.

Rúmil stared. 'And what kind of a clue may that be? Orophin, you blasted orc! It could mean anything!'

Orophin's grin grew wider and more amused. 'Precisely. Oh, isn't this fun, Rúmil?'

Rúmil pouted and paused before replying, 'Well, all I can imagine is that you have somehow come up with a sudden idea for extra festival entertainment stemming from your wild and unruly imagination.'

Tarwë sniggered. 'Not even close.' Then, looking to Orophin, she added, 'shall you enlighten him, or shall I?'

Orophin turned back to Rúmil who was now wearing a hybrid expression of intrigue and sheer impatience. Drawing Tarwë to him, he spoke up, barely able to finally keep the excitement from his voice.

'Well Rúmil, it's like this. Tarwë and I … we're engaged.'

Rúmil's jaw dropped and his eyes widened before breaking out in joyous laughter.

'I knew it!' he cried. 'Oh, brother, that is absolutely wonderful!' Without a moment's hesitation, he embraced them both warmly. 'Who else knows?'

'Ah. Only you' Orphin assured him. 'But don't you go spilling this to Haldir yet. We were planning on telling first for reasons I shall not bore you with. But nay, you ended up being the first.'

This revelation only seemed to further improve Rúmil's mood (if that were possible), for he said, ' Oh, most excellent tidings indeed! Now, if you'll excuse me, I must seek Galaril at once!'

'Why?' Orophin looked more than mildly suspicious.

Rúmil turned and smirked. 'Because he owes me a pouch of gold and a bottle of liquor.'

Orophin sighed. 'Again, I say, why?'

Rúmil shuffled his feet uneasily. 'We kind of made a small bet … only small, mark you, on how long it would take you two to get engaged. His wager was it would be after or during the festival. Mine was it would happen beforehand.'

'You made a BET on our would-be betrothal?' Orophin repeated looking scandalised.

'Er … yes. That sounds about right' said Rúmil, now looking sheepishly at his feet.

Orophin sighed and shook his head in feigned despair. 'I guess I really should not be surprised. After all this is you we are discussing here.'

Rúmil actually looked pleased and quite flattered. 'You don't completely mind then?'

'I guess not. Just you mind Galaril doesn't go blabbing about this to anyone as of yet. You say my imagination is unruly? That is nothing to Galaril's mouth! No, as I said, Rúmil, I want to let Haldir be the next to know. And if I find out he has blabbed, woe betide you both!'

Rúmil nodded with a grin. 'Don't fret, brother. Of all the elves I know, Galaril can keep a secret when he knows he must – and I for one should know!'

'Oh?' Orophin said, suddenly looked quite interested, 'care to embroider on that?'

'No, not really,' replied Rúmil, aptly deadbatting the question. Then with a final grin and a bow to the pair of them, he departed in haste, calling behind him: 'Be sure to let me know exactly what Haldir's face looks like when you tell him!'

Orophin chuckled. 'Ignore him. He's a moron. I am certain Haldir will be pleased at the news.'

Tarwë nodded, suddenly seeming solemn. 'I guess you'll be wanting to go to the dining hall now then? To find Haldir.'

'It would be a good idea I think, yes' Orophin smiled.

However, contrary to their initial belief, Haldir was nowhere to be seen in the dining hall. Whilst this admittedly was slightly odd, Orophin decided he was not too bothered after all. For once he'd inhaled the warm scent of the evening meal, he found he did not care at all to be dragged away in search of his elder brother. Besides, Haldir would surely show up soon enough and until that time, Orophin would appease his growling stomach.

Fifteen minutes into the meal (and just at the point when Orophin was contemplating what dessert to consume), Rúmil entered the hall looking quite bemused. He seated himself opposite the pair without a word and sat there as though lost in a deep realm of personal musings and thoughts.

'Are you going to tell us, or should we hire a detective?' Orophin raised a brow in vague amusement.

Rúmil looked at him with a curious expression, as though he'd only just realised Orophin was there.

'Oh. Forgive me,' he began with a short sigh, 'I just cannot find Galaril anywhere. He's not in his chambers, nor anywhere else around and apparently no one has seen him since first light.'

'I'm not surprised.'

At the second voice's interruption, Rúmil nearly fell off his chair in shock and the elleth to whom the voice belonged, paused near them and grinned. After a moment, Orophin realised where he had seen her before – she was one of the Lady's handmaidens.

'What is your meaning, my lady?' Rúmil questioned her once he regained a steady breathing pattern.

She nodded shortly with a quick smile of secrecy that only succeeded in infuriating Rúmil. 'You'll find out soon enough.'

With that, she swept off to the front of the hall, Rúmil glaring at her as she went, thoroughly perplexed.

'Women!' he grumbled loudly, causing a mock expression of offence to grace Tarwë's face.

The elleth in question stood at the front of the hall, quietly conversing with an ellon nearby; before knocking a spoon sharply against a goblet and calling for attention. However, it took a few moments for this request to register with those assembled in the hall as this was certainly an irregular occurrence. Soon though, the room fell silent and all eyes were solely fixed about the solitary elleth.

'The Lady Galadriel sends me hither with wondrous tidings,' she began, her voice resounding clear around the solid walls, 'and it is therefore my great and most humble honour to announce that she and the ellon, Galaril, are to be wed!'

The bread roll Rúmil had been holding half way to his mouth fell to the table with a dull thud. His mouth gaped and his eyes looked like they may fall from his skull.

'What?' he hissed aghast and to no one in particular.

'The wedding shall be a small affair, but nonetheless you are all invited. It shall be in two days time in the Crystal Hall.'

Finally, the elleth stepped down and exited the hall quickly, and no sooner had she done so that at once a thunderous roar of excited talk broke out.

As had been promised, the wedding of Galaril and Galadriel was a small affair in itself, but still most of Lorien turned out, the only few exceptions being those who were stationed at the fences. The wedding achieved several things besides the actual marriage. For one thing, Orophin and Tarwë finally got around to telling Haldir their good news – though this was naturally after Haldir had gotten pretty tipsy.

The wedding also created a more solid feeling of reassurance amongst those in Lorien and things certainly now seemed to be going well. To see the Lady so happy once more was indeed glorious to behold. And as most were on relatively good terms with and respected Galaril, there were very little ill feelings. Though they still grieved greatly for the loss of Celeborn, it was generally agreed that it was good to see most things returning to some state of normality and, upon witnessing the joy of their Lady, they found they didn't much care what route was taken to achieve it.

However, despite the positive turn of events, there was one ellon who felt not at all at ease with the new arrangements. Rúmil had been taking to spending excessive periods of time by himself, sometimes hours at one time - and it had certainly not gone unnoticed. One afternoon, a few days after the wedding, Rúmil made his solitary way into the woods and Haldir, who had been waiting for this to happen since noon, followed.

For a time, he kept out of sight, slinking like a noiseless shadow underneath the boughs and lagging a little behind to thoroughly judge where his brother was headed. When the young elf merely paused and sank down upon a stump, Haldir's brow furrowed further. This was certainly not normal Rúmil behaviour in the least.

'Brother?' Haldir spoke up finally, stepping out from behind the tree where he had hid.

Rúmil's head snapped up in shock. 'Haldir! What brings you all the way out here?'

'I could ask of you the very same question,' Haldir answered, 'indeed that is why I am here, since you ask.'

Rúmil returned his gaze to his knees. 'It doesn't matter,' he said quietly, 'what is done is done and despite … well, there's nothing I … anyone can do to change that.'

Haldir seated himself beside his brother gazing intently at him, though his face was half hidden by a fallen curtain of silver hair. 'Must you always be so mysterious, Rúmil?' he said. 'Can you not just tell me? What is wrong, brother? And,' he added as Rúmil opened his mouth to say "nothing", 'do not saying that nothing is troubling you, for we both know that is not true in the least.'

Rúmil sighed. 'Alright, though bear in mind I do not disclose my feelings gladly. I only consent because I know you of all elves would be able to force it out of me anyhow.' He spoke these words not spitefully, but as though stating a fact, which was indeed true. Haldir would not have let the matter lie, and indeed it was best for Rúmil to simply confess.

At an encouraging nod from Haldir, Rúmil continued. 'I admit, I am not wholly comfortable with the idea of Galaril being wedded to Galadriel. You understand, Haldir, he and I have been close friends since we were elflings, and yet when he took up the post of messenger, I found I saw less and less of him - selfish though that may sound, it saddened me more than I can say in words. But despite everything, our friendship survived that and is finally as strong as it ever was. However, Haldir, I am worried. Worried and distressed beyond anything I have ever felt for many centuries.'

The younger elf turned to his brother and looked him directly in the eyes, begging, pleading with his elder brother to tell him that he needn't worry, that everything would be alright. Instead Haldir was silent for a while. He saw reflected in those clear grey eyes an absolute hopelessness and it troubled him immensely.

Eventually, Rúmil wrenched his gaze away and stared fixatedly at the ground.

'Ultimately, I fear that his being crowned Lord of Lorien will be too big and too quick a step for our friendship to survive. I just cannot see beyond this, Haldir. The horizon grows dim and distant to me and no matter how I try, how much I wish for it, I cannot perceive things ever now being as they were. Besides,' he said finally, his voice becoming so quiet it was a delicate whisper on the wind, 'there is such a vast difference in our status now – would he even want to know me?'

Haldir regarded his brother with a fusion of deep pity and concern. He hated to see Rúmil in so much pain and yet, what was there to do? Until now, he had not thought of this. The thought that the abrupt changes would affect Galaril and Rúmil's seemingly steadfast and loyal companionship had not even entered his mind. He chided himself silently for not thinking of this before. But sadly it began to dawn upon the Marchwarden. It was true indeed. There was quite a possibility that they would drift apart and eventually become mere acquaintances, affiliated with business and formality only.

'Rúmil,' Haldir began softly, trying desperately to keep his voice strong and at the same time wondering how best to word his opinion, 'I shall not lie to you, my brother. There is a chance that you and Galaril may drift - '

'But I - '

'Hush for a moment and let me speak! There is a chance your friendship with Galaril may weaken under the strain of his new position. But Rúmil, if you both work hard enough, if you both want enough to keep this friendship alive, I see no reason for it to diminish. Relationships are … like planting harvest, I guess you could say, or learning a new language. Everyone has the potential and the skills needed to take it in hand and produce something fantastic from something that at first seemed so frail and small. However, not everyone puts their potential into practise and as a result; the harvest may not flourish, or the language not be understood as well as if someone puts all the willpower within them behind it.'

'So … what you're saying is that you believe if we both work hard enough at it, then our friendship will not die?' Rúmil stared at his brother as though receiving a stunning revelation.

Haldir nodded. 'Aye, I do.' He paused for a moment and kissed Rúmil's brow before smiling. 'So, what are you still doing here? Get thee back to Lorien and show them all what you're made of!'

Rúmil grinned in complete gratefulness and stood. 'Thank you brother, thank you so much. I shall see you at dinner?'

Once more, Haldir nodded, grinning back. 'That you shall, dear brother.'

And as he watched Rúmil departing at a great speed in the direction of the city, Haldir could not help but feel terribly pleased with himself.

That evening after dinner, Rúmil and Saeden left the hall for a short walk about the gardens. The evening was pleasantly cool and light and a delicate fragrance in the likeness of dewberries and ripe watermelon skipped along happily in the breeze beside them. The pair laughed and spoke of many things, old and new, however the chief topics of conversation were Orophin and Tarwë's engagement and the upcoming festival. There was also the most intriguing news that despite their marriage (albeit hasty in many respects), the Lady Galadriel remained sleeping alone and refused point blank to share her bed with Galaril.

According to the very same handmaiden who had announced the marriage, the elf had not been best pleased with this turn of events and the handmaiden believed that an almighty row may have kicked off between Lord and Lady had she herself not interrupted at that moment. Many chose to believe this showed that she still saw Celeborn as the only one who would ever hold rights to sharing her bed and nothing and nobody would ever move her from that conviction. Indeed, as more and more nights passed with the two in separate sleeping quarters, this was proving to be an ever more likely explanation.

'Saeden! Rúmil!'

The pair turned abruptly to see Tarwë running full pelt toward them and for a fleeting instant, an expression of utter fear flitted across Saeden's pale features.

'Good eve, my lady,' Saeden said, quite coldly causing Rúmil to look at him in surprise and question. Saeden ignore the look however and continued to glare icily at the elleth facing them.

'What may we do for you, Tarwë?' Rúmil asked, determined to inject a substantial amount of warmth into his voice in an attempt to counteract Saeden's odd tone.

'Well, I had wondered if I may steal Saeden away for a word, if that's possible.' Tarwë replied, apparently thoroughly oblivious to Saeden's furious glances.

'Why, of course you may!' replied Rúmil, and then lowering his voice, he added quickly, 'though just be careful what you say. He seems a little prickly this evening.' He punctuated his words with a pointed look at the ellon in question as if to say "I'll interrogate you about this later!"

Tarwë chuckled. 'Thank you very much indeed for the warning – I shall be sure to be cautious.'

Rúmil watched them go for a moment before making a move to head back to his own chambers. As he turned the corner to the stairs leading up to that area however, he found he could not ascend for a cloaked and hooded figure was seated upon the steps – a couple from the bottom. Whoever they were, they looked up as Rúmil approached and descended slowly.

Rúmil stared as the figure began to walk off beneath an arch in the direction of the northern gardens. Then, quite suddenly, they halted and turned back to Rúmil who stood frozen to the spot in bewilderment and slight annoyance. The hooded figure beckoned quickly to Rúmil and then walked forward a little more, turning again when they realised the elf still was not following. They beckoned again, this time quicker, more urgent, and Rúmil walked forward upon the request, feeling drawn to the stranger, and though his conscience counselled him otherwise, his instincts commanded him to follow.

The figure led him eventually to a dense clump of trees in the far corner of one of the gardens. Very few people came here even during the light of day and at night; the area was always deserted. The trees grew tall here, their emerald leaves now dancing silhouettes in the dappled moonlight. All around were the fleeting sounds of the night. Owls hooted, crickets chirruped and yet Rúmil heard not one. It seemed to him that as soon as they had reached the garden, an invisible blanket had fallen around the garden, shrouding them from the world and blocking out all sound. It was quiet. Too quiet. The air also seemed oddly fragile, as if he Rúmil could knock lightly upon it and shatter it as thin glass.

For a few moments they simply stood, watching each other, neither speaking a word. Then, the figure reached up with hands slender and pale and lowered its hood.

Rúmil gasped aloud and stumbled backward, his hand flying immediately to his mouth to prevent himself from screaming.

For there, standing right before him was Lord Celeborn.

He seemed solid – as alive as he had been only a few weeks before. Infact, the only thing that was different was that he looked a little paler than usual, but apart from that he seemed the same Celeborn, the same Lord that he had ever been.

'How can this be?' Rúmil whispered finally after daring to remove his hand from his mouth, waves of shock and disbelief still rolling relentlessly over him.

Celeborn smiled. 'Because it can. No other reason is needed.'

'Are you -', Rúmil swallowed hard, 'alive?'

Again, the elf lord smiled gently as though trying to lessen Rúmil's fear. 'I am,' he answered, 'although I am without body, I am still living.'

Rúmil stared utterly aghast. 'You're … a ghost?'

'If you wish to use that crude term, young Rúmil, then yes. I personally though am more partial to the term "spirit".'

If he hadn't been so terrified of what he was seeing, Rúmil might have ventured to laugh. Indeed it was the same Celeborn – dry wit and all. Even his grey eyes appeared to gleam once again with knowledge, wisdom and kindness. Rúmil wanted to ask if Celeborn had been waiting on those stairs specifically for him, but he thought it sounded too forward. Instead he contented himself with:

'Why are you here … tonight?'

With a slight sigh, Celeborn sank down upon a nearby boulder and folded his hands comfortably in his lap. 'You know Rúmil, I have always looked upon you and your brothers as sons of a kind, which is why I can speak to you. I am here, though, because I need to tell you something. But before I do,' he said, gazing intently at Rúmil, 'you must swear not to speak a word of what you will hear to another living soul until it has been completed.'

'Completed? My lord, what do you speak of?'

'Swear it! I cannot tell you unless I have your word.'

Rúmil nodded quickly. 'Aye. I swear, my lord.'

After this, Celeborn appeared to relax a little, but is gaze never left Rúmil's face. 'My death, Rúmil, was no natural result of fading nor mere ailment.'

'How then - ?' Rúmil faltered suddenly, and what little colour remained in his face left it. 'You surely don't mean – NO!'

'I was murdered, Rúmil,' Celeborn replied gravely, 'Ripped from my body most cruelly and with a great malice. Murder most foul! He who now sits in my position and wears my rightful crown – stole to my chambers and slipped the juice of the night into my goblet turning it's blessed fruit into a damned brew of Mordor!'

Rúmil had been biting his lip so hard that it now began to bleed profusely, trickling down his chin, a livid crimson against his pallid skin.

'Galaril? You cannot mean … not him!' Rúmil whispered hoarsely, not believing, not wanting to believe.

'Yes,' replied Celeborn simply, 'and now I come to you. Rúmil, I must be avenged. No longer must my chambers be polluted with his foul and diabolical presence. No more must he hold his claim over Galadriel, who in her turn has been blinded and deceived by his serpent cunning – as I was. Rúmil, I ask you now. Remember all I have said. I must be avenged!'

Before Rúmil could answer or indeed say anything, there was a blinding glare of silver light and when his eyes saw again, Celeborn had gone.

How he managed to find his way back to his own chambers without blacking out or throwing up or generally causing any alarm, Rúmil never knew. Staggering up to his door, the elf literally fell upon the handle and as soon as he was inside, he locked it quickly. Then, without bothering to get undressed, he collapsed upon his bed and burst into tears.