While Breguril and Galadriel were holding their mini hen-party, Celeborn hosted a stag with Haldir – his drinking buddy since the ruling couple had came to Lothlorien after the death of its first Lord Amroth some four and a half thousand years ago, and a certain elven prince from the north.

They drank and convivially gossiped – an activity called by men "discussion of weighty topics" – until the clanging of the hammer from the forge where the ellith were meeting begun.

- The fuck is that? ? – a certain blue eyed elven prince asked.

The two older ellyn shrugged.

- Who understands women? Why bother guessing what are they up to which involves pounding hammers in the middle of the night?– Haldir asked rhetorically and sought the answer at the bottom of his drinking horn, while Celeborn, not accidently ranked amongst the Wise of the Eldar, gave the matter deeper thought.

- Galadriel's skills in the Arts do no extend to the forge. Maybe she needs Breguril's assistance with some project or other ... why else did she wish they meet at the forge ... but truly intriguing - why at night?

- When something bothers my wife – Haldir said after pouring himself another hornfull - she gets up in the middle of the night and deep fries thick slabs of bacon. Delicious when still warm and crispy. Sometimes I got some when she fries too much. But never when she was expecting – she can eat even two pounds at one go, the Marchwarden added, visibly proud of the quantities of food his wife, Tygil, could put down. The blond ellon was visibly impressed by any feats involving "more" or "bigger".

- You think Breguril may be pregnant? Celeborn asked warily after somehow connecting "hammer pounding" and "bacon".

- Nah, Haldir dismissed the idea outright. – We'd see by her fea* that she is wed and with child. Unless ... unless her latest crazy idea involves dropping a whelp by some Adan or other ... he glanced at his lord and kept his vocabulary civil, minding that Celeborn's daughter had wed a half-breed. The Elf Lord shook his head that "no".

- I'm certain they are doing something ... womanly and ladylike together... – Haldir cooed soothingly.

At this point a certain prince from an elven realm close to Erebor exploded:

- Ladylike? Womanly? By Elbereth! That elleth is a disgrace! She shouldn't be allowed to come within a league of polite society, let alone other ellith lest she corrupt them! Never before had the thought of hitting an elleth crossed my mind but Breguril makes me desire that. Her comportment during the journey was that of a Whore of the Race of Men! The one thing she spared us during the trek was rutting with one of the edain*, periannath* or – barf – naug*, in front of me! I was on the verge of hurling half the trip here. She kept on baiting the Men, all but offering herself to them ... the blue eyed prince vented his disgust and condemnation.

- Maybe she was flirting? You know, some elleth are flirty ... Breguril had fondled my backside though ... and she ignored The Dunadan* ... Haldir, who had observed the interaction of Breguril with the rest of the Fellowship while escorting them to Caras Galadhon* tried to pour oil over the roaring waters of the Sylvan's ire.

- FLIRTING?! You'd call this flirting? - Legolas tore away from the table – "I have to go and wash my... teehee ... don't be naughty, boys, no peeking ... teehee ..." and gave an impersonation of Breguril involving a falsetto voice, batting of eyelashes, looking from under a lowered head, the covering of mouth with hand, half hooded glances over the shoulder and a hip-swaying gait.

Haldir's face assumed a colour the wise among the Eldar would term "pale moss" – he had found Legolas' performance repellent yet disturbingly arousing at the same time - and choked out:

– DON'T. DO. THAT. AGAIN. EVER.

Legolas' snorted at the Marchwarden's reaction.

Celeborn's mien remained impassive yet gave of a barely audible – even to superior elven hearing – sigh.

- She had a difficult childhood ...

- Huito! The prince of the Mirkwood Realm exclaimed. – that was THREE fucking ages ago. She's simply a fucked in the head product of Noldor aristocratic inbreeding who somebody overlooked to cull at the appropriate moment ...

- SILENCE! – Celeborn roared and slammed his fist on the table, making the exquisitely crafted cups, the likes of which will never be seen on Middle Earth again, jump up and spill their firewater contents on the engraved mallornwood table with ancient enchantings keeping the dust away. Only a High Elf possessed the strength to make such an artefact jump up, thus confirming Celeborn's place among the Eldar.

– She's my kinswoman and I will not permit such insults! She IS crass, stubborn, puts on airs, likes to rile stick-up-their-ass Noldo and Sinda princes, wild, quick to anger, but ever honourable! She's been fighting the Enemy with sword and bow for thrice as long as you have walked Arda, Thranduilion! Breguril has faced dragons and balrogs! She's killed thrice the Servants of the Enemy that you have, you snotty whelp!

While Haldir apealed:

- Peace! Peace! let's drink in quiet for a while.

The Lord of Lothlorien inquired of the certain blue eyed elven Prince:

- I much desire to hear you speak of how have you become so wise in the ways of the Whores of the Race of Men ...

.

'There is nothing, Lady Galadriel,' said Gimli, bowing low and stammering.

'Nothing, unless it might be – unless it is permitted to ask, nay, to name a single strand of your hair, which surpasses the gold of the earth as the stars surpass the gems of the mine. I do not ask for such a gift. But you commanded me to name my desire.'

The Elves stirred and murmured with astonishment, and Celeborn gazed at the Dwarf in wonder, and at his wife and step-daughter with worry at their reactions, but the Lady smiled. 'It is said that the skill of the Dwarves is in their hands rather than in their tongues,' she said; 'yet that is not true of Gimli. For none have ever made to me a request so bold and yet so courteous.'

Here the Lady was doing some fine hair splitting, of course, as a request so bold had indeed been made of her, though with no courteousy involved.

'And how shall I refuse, since I commanded him to speak? But tell me, what would you do with such a gift?'

'Treasure it, Lady,' he answered, 'in memory of your words to me at our first meeting. And if ever I return to the smithies of my home, it shall be set in imperishable crystal to be an heirloom of my house, and a pledge of good will between the Mountain and the Wood until the end of days.'

Galadriel smiled and bade the dwarf wait and moved to her daughter.

- How many times did the Son of Durin pleasure you? – Breguril "heard" Galadriel ask her with her thoughts.

Rising to the solemnity and purity of the occasion Breguril did not speak – not trusting her mouth - but tapped her mother's arm thrice. The Lady of the Galadhrim smiled and glided back to where the Son of Durin stood, unmovable like a rock. She was flattered by Gloinsson's admiration, for his request for a single hair. There was no greater compliment for an elleth than having her hair praised as pretty – and with a grown daughter alongside to boot! And Gimli deserved a reward for making her baby girl happy too. He had earned his token of her hair, unlike Feanor ... she squashed this ugly memory and continued to emanate radiance at her guests.

Then the Lady unbraided one of her long tresses, and cut off three golden hairs, and laid them in Gimli's hand. 'These words shall go with the gift,' she said.

'I do not foretell, for all foretelling is now vain: on the one hand lies darkness, and on the other only hope. But if hope should not fail, then I say to you, Gimli son of Glóin, that your hands shall flow with gold, and yet over you gold shall have no dominion.

.

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AN:

The Dunadan – one of the myriad names for Aragorn

Caras Galadhon – main city of Lothlorien, where they are now

edain - men of the Race of Men

periannath - hobbits

naug - stunty, i.e. dwarf