Thanks to Nienor Niniel, who suggested the theme for this chapter.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for this work.

A Missing Army

It was unusually quiet in Caras Galadhon, and Celeborn wondered where all the elves had gone. It was most unlike the elite archers of the Galadhrim to miss their morning training session. "Haldir!" he called, "Rúmil! Orophin! Where are you? You're late for drill!" There was no reply, so Celeborn strolled over to the archers' barracks, expecting to find them all still inebriated from the night before, as had happened occasionally in the past when they acquired some of the better Dorwinion vintages. He climbed up to the flet, but the barracks were empty. Soldiers, bows, arrows and kit were all gone. He contemplated the matter as he descended from the tree. Only one person could be responsible for this. "Galadriel!" he bellowed.

"Yes dear?" Galadriel sounded as serene as ever.

"Where is my army?" he demanded, "What have you done with it?"

"Your army, my love?" she laughed lightly, "Surely you mean our army?"

"You know what I mean." Celeborn's tone became sullen.

"That is not the point, Celeborn. Lothlorien is our realm, We rule here and therefore it is our army."

This was too much, even for Celeborn. "Oh, for the Valar's sake, just tell me where you sent them!"

"Don't you use that sort of language with me, young elf. I'll have you know I was associating with the Valar in the Blessed Realm while you were still in short trousers!"

Celeborn groaned. Sometimes he wondered if it had been wise to marry an older woman, or at least one who liked to remind him that she was more than a thousand years older than him. "Sorry Galadriel." He tried to sound contrite, but only succeeded in sounding petulant. "Please tell me where you sent our army," he said, trying desperately to stop any thought that might upset his wife from crossing his mind.

It was no good. "How dare you think such dreadful things Celeborn?" She was off. He'd be lucky if he wasn't sent to his room without any breakfast. "I'm surprised at you! You should show more respect for your betters!"

Celeborn decided that if he was going to get into trouble, he might as well make a proper job of it. He drew himself up to his full height (nearly an inch taller than Galadriel) and said in his most scathing tone of voice, "If you do not tell me what you have done with my army right now, I shall tell every elf in Middle-earth that you gave the dwarf some of your hair, and I'll tell them about you and the hobbits!"

Galadriel turned even paler than usual, "You wouldn't!" she cried.

"I believe I would. Just you watch me!"

"But..."

Celeborn smiled, sensing that he had, at last, after seven thousand years, won an argument with his wife. "Where are my archers?"

"It's a long story..."

"I'm sure it is. You can tell me over breakfast, if you like." He felt he could afford to be magnanimous.

Once they were seated at the breakfast table in their private apartment Galadriel began her tale. "I have been keeping an eye on our neighbours in Rohan," she said, "and their military situation is desperate. They have retreated to Helm's Deep, but most of the Rohirrim are still riding North with Éomer and Saruman's army will reach the stronghold before Gandalf can bring them back."

"I see," said Celeborn, wondering why Galadriel had not simply told him this before. He didn't approve of her mirror, but he was aware that it could be useful.

"I talked to Elrond about it and I persuaded him to send an army to help Théoden, but then I realised that Rivendell is too far away for anyone from there to reach Helm's Deep in time, so I sent our army instead."

"And you neglected to tell me?"

"Not exactly," she sounded almost apologetic, "I hoped they would get home before you noticed they were gone."

The situation was intolerable! His wife thought he would not notice the absence of his entire army, but worse than that the Dark Lord might launch an assault on Lothlórien from his stronghold at Dol Guldur at any moment, and Celeborn had no troops left to defend the Golden Wood. What did the silly Noldo think was going to happen then? Obviously associating with dwarves, humans and hobbits had addled her brain. "What will you do when the Dark Lord attacks Lothlórien? Shower him with mallorn leaves?" he asked, trying to keep the rage out of his voice.

"I didn't think of that," she said, looking rather downcast, but then she brightened again. "Elrond said some of the Dúnedain were going to Rohan to help Aragorn! I'll bring them here instead!"

Two or three dozen Dúnedain against the Nazgûl and an army of Orcs? Celeborn didn't think that any number of humans, Dúnedain or not, would be a substitute for his highly-trained crack troops, but he supposed they were better than no army at all. "Yes dear," he said.