The heavy oak door of Ithriel's chambers echoed under Mairon's insistent knocks. Silence. His knuckles, white against the polished wood, tightened. A vein throbbed in his temple. He'd tried reason, persuasion, asking even. Now, a low growl resonated in his chest. "Ithriel," he said, his voice dangerously low, "Open this door. We need to talk." Still, nothing. The growl deepened. "I will not ask again. Open the door, or I will break it down."

The door finally creaked open, revealing Ithriel framed in the doorway. Her eyes, blazing emerald fire, were fixed on him with an intensity that matched his own anger. The air crackled with unshed tears and barely contained fury between this two beings, too similar in their stubbornness. Her defiance was a tangible thing, a wall built of sorrow and headstrong resolve. "I will not speak to you," she declared, her voice ringing with a chilling certainty, "until you allow me to be with Salmar. Until you cease treating me like a child to be controlled."

Mairon took a step inside, his own anger a simmering volcano threatening to erupt. He wanted to rage, to demand obedience, to assert his authority as her father and her lord. But something held him back – the ghost of his own rebellious heart, the silent plea in his daughter's defiant gaze. He took a deep breath, striving for composure. "Ithriel," he began, his voice calm yet firm, "this is not about controlling you. It's about protecting you. Salmar… whatever happened between you, it is not proper. Not when you are still so young."

"Proper?" Ithriel's voice dripped with scorn. "You decide what's proper for me? You who have never understood my heart?"

"You are mistaken, daughter. I know you more than you think." His internal struggle intensified. He saw the hurt in her eyes, mirroring the hurt he felt, a profound understanding of her desire for love and independence clashing against his ingrained protective instincts. He knew he needed to find a middle ground, a compromise, before this chasm between them widened irreparably. But he did not know how to. He was used to everyone yielding before him, not otherwise. And the more helpless he felt in being a father, the more anger rose in him. Not so much at her, but at himself.

Just then, Galadriel entered, her presence instantly calming the volatile atmosphere. Her ethereal beauty held a quiet authority, softening the harsh lines of conflict. She moved between them. "Mairon, Ithriel," she said softly, "Let us find a way to understand each other. It cannot go on like this. Daughter, please..."

Ithriel's defiance shifted, but not toward compliance. "Why do you even care, Mother?" she spat. "You've done nothing to help me."

Mairon's face hardened. "Do not speak to her in this way."

But Ithriel's anger had reached a breaking point. "You both know nothing of love! Your whole relationship is an illusion! Everyone knows you married him not of your own free will, but because he made you to!"

A stunned silence fell upon them. Mairon stared at his daughter, disbelief etched upon his face. "Who told you that?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"People talk," she said, her voice brittle with bitterness. "You know nothing of love. You only know control. And you are bending everyone around you to your will, no matter who you hurt in the process…" The accusation hung in the air, thick and heavy.

Mairon felt a surge of blind fury. This was worse than rebellion; it was a direct attack on the very foundation of his life. "Ithriel," he hissed, his voice dangerously low, "You will not leave your chambers until you apologize for those words. And until you understand the depth of your insolence."

Galadriel's eyes flashed with a mixture of hurt and anger. "Enough!" she commanded, her voice ringing with power. The air itself seemed to tremble at her words. "Both of you, cease this at once."

She turned to Ithriel, her gaze softening but still stern. "My daughter, you speak of things you do not understand. Our marriage may have begun under... complicated circumstances, but do not presume to know the depths of our relationship. You came into this world out of love. Nobody can claim otherwise. You demand to be treated as an adult, Ithriel, yet you act worse than a child."

Mairon's jaw clenched, but he remained silent, allowing Galadriel to continue.

"And you," she rounded on him, "Your anger solves nothing. Locking her away will not solve anything."

A tense silence fell over the room. Ithriel's defiance wavered slightly in the face of her mother's rarely-seen wrath. Mairon's hands unclenched slowly, his breath evening out as he struggled to regain his composure.

From the shadows of the hallway, Silmeriel watched the scene unfold, her heart heavy with the weight of her impending departure. When Mairon announced her prompt departure to live and study to Imladris, she could not believe her ears. Galadriel told her wonders about the Hidden Valley, its beauty, it's Hall of Lore with the widest collection of written knowledge in the whole Middle-earth. She could finally have her dreams come true - see the world behind their realm and learn healing practices, something she had always wanted to do. But the weight of her impending separation with Ithriel pressed heavily upon her heart, amplified by the discord tearing her family apart.

"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the lingering echoes of anger. "Can we not part like this?"

Her words seemed to pierce through the fog of fury and hurt. Ithriel's defiant posture softened as she turned to face her younger sister. Mairon's clenched jaw relaxed, if only slightly, while Galadriel's eyes shimmered with a mix of sorrow and pride.

Silmeriel continued, her voice gaining strength. "I am to leave for Imladris on the morrow. To learn, to grow, to become who I am meant to be. But how can I part with joy when I leave such strife behind?"

Ithriel moved first. Galadriel was right, she acted no better than a child, hurting everyone dear to her in the process. Salmar, mother, sister… Mairon, her powerful and terrible sire. "I am sorry for what I've said, I was not myself. I know it's not true, I know you love each other deeply…"

With Galadriel and Mairon leaving, she crossed the room to embrace her sister fiercely. "Oh, Silmeriel," she murmured, her anger momentarily forgotten. "I am so proud of you. So happy for you. Do not let our quarrels dim your excitement. You shall go see places, fulfill your hearts desires!"

"It pains me to leave you behind at time such as this, my dear Ithriel," Silmeriel said.

"Do not worry for me, little sister. Perhaps, such time will come that I, too, shall visit you. Maybe, at least this Father won't deny me…"

Silmeriel's eyes brightened at Ithriel's words. "Oh, I would love that! Promise me you'll try to come visit. Imladris is said to be so beautiful - I long to share it with you."

Ithriel smiled, a bittersweet ache in her chest. "I promise, little one. And you must write to me of all your adventures. Every detail, no matter how small."

The sisters spent the rest of the evening together, Silmeriel carefully packing her belongings as Ithriel regaled her with stories and advice. She could finally distract herself from the somber thoughts, being cheerful and smiling self again, even if for just one night. As the sky darkened outside, a soft knock came at the door. Galadriel entered, her face somber but loving.

"It's time for rest, my daughters. The journey to Imladris is long, and you must be well-rested, Silmeriel."

The next morning dawned clear and bright. The family gathered in the courtyard, an uneasy truce settling over them for Silmeriel's sake. The company of fifty skilled warriors were tasked with delivering princess safely to the Hidden Valley. They stood ready, waiting for their precious ward to bid her final farewells.

Mairon stood tall and imposing, his face an inscrutable mask. Galadriel's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she embraced her youngest daughter.

"May the light of the Valar guide your path, my dear one," she whispered.

Ithriel hugged her sister fiercely. "Remember your promise," she said. "Write often. And know that I carry you in my heart always."

"Be safe, my daughter," Mairon said as he helped her mount. "Don't do anything foolish. Learn well, and..." he hesitated, then continued in a softer tone, "be happy."

Silmeriel leaned down to kiss his cheek. "I love you, Father. I will make you proud."

With that, she rode out of the gates, carrying the precious light of Anduin with her, leaving her loved ones behind for an adventure of her lifetime.

Salmar's heart grew heavy with trepidation. He was forced out of the realm of Middle-earth, knowing full well that Mairon would know of his familiar presence, should he linger. He had not wanted to leave. Every fiber of his being screamed to stay, to fight for their love. He was not afraid of death, but he was afraid of making things worse between Mairon and his impulsive daughter, should he remain.

He had only himself to blame, of course. Singlehandedly, he had obliterated his friendship and his one chance for love. And how spectacularly he had done so! In all the eons of his existence, he had never strayed, never crossed that invisible line. The moral compass of his heart had always been sharp, definitive, and precise, guiding him with unwavering certainty. Yet, he had managed to lose control so utterly, so foolishly, like a shipwreck dashed against the jagged rocks of his own making. And now he stood amidst the wreckage, with only regret as his companion.

As he sailed on, the silver stream in the salty dark waters, Salmar's thoughts turned to the Undying Lands. Would he find solace there? Or would the golden light of Valinor only serve to remind him of what he had left behind? He closed his eyes, remembering the fire in Ithriel's gaze, the warmth of her touch. No, he thought, there would be no peace for him, not without her.

The wrath of the powerful Maia of Middle-earth did not pass unnoticed, of course, and it was not long before he was summoned to stand before his master. Salmar's heart pounded as he approached Ulmo's vast underwater hall. The coral pillars and shimmering walls seemed to close in around him, amplifying his sense of dread. He had disobeyed, pursued his own desires without his Master's permission. He had himself thrown out from Mairon's domain, where he was sent by the Valar to aid and observe. Now he would face the consequences for all his epic failures.

Ulmo's presence filled the chamber before Salmar even laid eyes on him. The Vala's voice resonated through the water, impossibly deep yet crystal clear.

"Come forward, Salmar. You have much to explain," Ulmo's voice boomed, shaking the very foundations of his aquatic domain.

Salmar swallowed hard, bowing his head in deference, as he approached the throne. "My lord," he began confessing his sins, unable to wait for his Master's accusations. " I... I have failed you. Failed my friend. I allowed my feelings for Ithriel to cloud my judgment. I pursued her without your permission and against Mairon's wishes, knowing full well of the potential consequences. I acted rashly. My heart led me astray. And I am here to accept whatever punishment you deem right to impose on me, lord Ulmo."

"Your heart?" Ulmo's brow furrowed. "Or your loins? Of all the women out there pursuing you, you had to pick the one that is forbidden?"

Heat rose to Salmar's cheeks despite the coldness of the ocean. He did not dare to lift his eyes in embarrassment. "It was not mere lust, my lord. I love her. Truly and deeply, I do."

He braced himself for Ulmo's wrath, ready to be turned into dust. But the Vala's next words caught him off guard.

Ulmo leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "Look at me, boy," he demanded, making Salmar meet his gaze. "You speak of love. And yet you acted like a fool, and then abandoned her so quickly? If your love runs as deep as you claim, why did you not fight harder?"

Salmar's eyes widened in surprise. This was not the reprimand he had expected. "My lord..?"

Ulmo's form coalesced before him, eyes glinting like sunlight on waves. "Ithriel's temper and her powers are known to me. Darkness is calling to her through her blood. Such power as hers is better under our guidance than Mairon's. He cannot teach her something he doesn't know - restraint and obedience. Did that not occur to you when you rushed her into your bed with her father next door?"

"I... I didn't think..." Salmar stammered.

"Clearly not. It was not your brain that you have used, my boy," Ulmo said, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone. "You have my approval to pursue your heart's desire, if this is still your wish. Should you wed her, you have my blessing. But hear me well," Ulmo's voice grew stern, "you must tread carefully. Mairon's wrath is not to be taken lightly. His darkness still lingers, waiting for a spark to ignite it once more. You must be patient, reasonable in your pursuit. You must not be hasty to make your presence known. Give him time to calm before you return. Win her heart, yes, but do not provoke Mairon needlessly."

Salmar's heart soared with hope, even as he nodded solemnly at his master's warning. "I understand, my lord Ulmo. I will not show disrespect to you, nor Mairon ever again. I will not fail you - or her - this time."

Ulmo's expression softened slightly. "See that you don't. Now go, boy. The tides of fate wait for no one, not even us."

As Salmar turned to leave, his mind already racing with plans to return to the Land, Ulmo's voice called out once more:

"And Salmar? Remember this - love is patient, love is kind. It does not demand its own way. If you truly love her, you must be prepared to wait, to endure, to put her needs above your own desires."

Salmar nodded solemnly, letting the weight of Ulmo's words sink in. As he drifted away from the grand hall, hope and determination surged through him. He would return to Anduin, but not immediately. He would bide his time, observe from afar, plan carefully, and approach Mairon with respect and humility, begging him to reconsider, once the time is right. If by that time his Moon, his Ithriel would still want him, of course. For now, he turned his attention to the vast expanse of the sea, letting its rhythms soothe his restless spirit.