[Amanaduial the archer]

It was due to the sounds of laughter that also caused Narisiel to awake, but like Maegisiel, she had had a restless night, claustrophobically full of thoughts but desolately empty of dreams. Eventually, in the early hours of the morning, she had fallen asleep, sinking into a dream of rubies, glittering with blood, of emeralds shining with the fallen pride of the City of the Holly... Unlike those of her Lord, the smith's 'premonitions' were not so fair.

As her husband lay as blissfully silent and peaceful as she had been distracted - even though, she noted ruefully, she had tousled and pushed around the covers until they mostly lay in a heap at the foot of the couple's bed - Narisiel sat up and swung her feet around to gingerly alight on the floor silently, rising and all-but tiptoeing to the window to look out at the source of the merriment outside. As she did so, the pressure of her bare toes caused the wooden boards of the floor, sunwarmed from the tall windows that looked into their room, to creak softly in sleepy protest at action at such an early hour. Wincing, she turned to see whether the sound had disturbed Sirithlonnior, but her husband lay still, one arm lazily thrown around his head, the other on the cover that remained around his waist, sleeping eyes watching her obliviously; as she watched him, Narisiel couldn't help but smile, his sleeping face warming her as much as the sunlight outside. Two hundred years later, she was almost surprised to find how much she still loved him; no matter how independant she was in the world outside this room, she was surprised but how much she depended on that smile. The action softened her face and the elven smith turned back to the window, lifting and drawing aside the filmy, full-length curtain.

Outside, the winter sun had barely had time to stretch her warmth into the morning, but thoughts of the night had been nearly dispelled; despite the early hour, the streets of such a thriving city are, in truth, rarely, if ever, entirely empty, and so a merry few were already scurrying, like children from this high view of a third storey window, through Ost-in-Edhil. The people of the dawn, those beings of the very early morning who wake with the sun and greet her as she first lazily rubs her fingers against the walls of the waking city when the rest are still fitfully turning in a dream-scattered world of sleep, had already been and gone, leaving little in their wake but those necessities, vital but small, the quiet fairies. The later group were waking and getting up: those going to work, waking slowly and allowing themselves that precious five more minutes; those who worked for the higher society, for the lords and ladies who needed them from the word go, already predecessing their idler counterparts; and the children, already in the streets, already full of energy, already welcoming the sun with all its innocence and warmth. It was the latter on whom Narisiel now looked down from her high chamber: a pair of younger elves, a girl and a boy, not quite adults but already with a resentment at being called children, probably within a decade of her own son's age. The girl had stopped the boy, talking passionately about some topic that Narisiel was not privy to from the height she watched from, but nonetheless something that clearly incensed her. The boy seemed to disagree with her serious position and shook her head, an indulgent smile on his lips - his mistake. Not liking his condescending behaviour, his friend shoved him lightly on the shoulder, her face full of impish anger; her pushed her back lightly, jovially and, with a mock-outraged cry, the girl launched herself at him. As he held her back they ended up laughing, locked in what was almost an embrace - and, cheekily, the boy leant forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. She looked startled then, resuming her thread, began to berate him once more, but with a little more of that fondness in her voice.

Narisiel watched them, unseen, a dumb god, as they walked on, fingers lazily threaded together almost rebelliously, a grown-up image with childish voices. She smiled at them, but was that a tinge of sadness in her expression? They have all the time in the world for that. Why start so soon, why not let them hold onto that innocence for just a little longer...

"They are just children, Narisiel."

Percieving her thoughts perfectly, Sirithlonnior's face cut smoothly into his wife's thoughts and she span around immediately, her hands behind her back like a guilty child to see her previously 'sleeping' husband propped up on one elbow, calmly watching her. She narrowed her eyes. "You weren't asleep," she replied accusingly.

He merely smiled.

Like the child in the street below, the elf smith gave a cry of indignation and, dignity discarded to the wind - who was there to catch it, in the privacy of their marriage chamber? - Narisiel hurled herself at Sirithlonnior in a laughing, incoherent heap, a mirror of the couple below. For a while, for some instances, time was allowed to simply stand still.



But it was a privilege that did not apply to the whole world. As she selected her clothes for the day - her 'battledress' Sirithlonnior mockingly called it - her husband questioned her choice.

Holding up the offending item, a fine dress of dark, wine-red with loose sleeves to the elbow, and a full-sleeved undergarment of a strong yellow, Narisiel held it away from her, turning it critically in the light. "Oh, why? I think the smudges of silver would compliment the red, and don't you agree that soot would go well with the yellow? A bold contrast, that's what we like-"

"You're mocking me."

Narisiel turned her face to her husband, tipping it to one side as she smiled impishly, her dark eyes glittering. "Would I?" Laughing as he raised an eyebrow, she conceded. "I am to go to the palace today. I thought it was appropriate not to scare the ladies in waiting."

Sirithlonnior did not pick up on the humour of the second statement, his face becoming more serious as he sat up from his lounging position. "The palace? You are to see Lord Celebrimbor?"

Narisiel did not return his gaze for a moment, looking down to fiddle with the dress, but that was the only outward sign of her anxiety before she shrugged and looked back at her husband. "Not necessarily, Sirith. I have a commision from one of his courtiers - I need to show him the plans."

"So send Losrian."

"I cannot do it myself?" The question had a little too much snap in it and Sirithlonnior's face momentarily darkened as he fell into silence. Narisiel's anger faded away and she rubbed her eyes with one hand, looking away and then looking back. "I'm sorry, Sirith. It's...it's just..."

"You have been happier since you stopped working so closely with Celebrimbor, Narisiel. Something about you changed when you started that...that work with him." The word 'work' was spoken with a barely audible distaste, but Narisiel picked up on it; she knew was that made her husband uneasy. It was the fact that she had never really told him about those three wonderful creations - and, when they told each other so much, it was a silence that quietly scared him. How much of that fear is founded, Narisiel? Why didn't you tell him? Her face softened and she nodded, still looking at the material in her hands. "I know, Sirith."

She looked back up at her husband's handsome face and gave him another ambiguous shrug and a quick smile. "But I won't be seeing him, will I? Just Maegisil."

"Maegisil?" Her husband recognised the name and the conversation eased into a different vein, easier, less stressful, as the tension slipped away. But although she breathed a sigh of relief, Narisiel could not altogether dispel the tension which Sirithlonnior had raked up - the tension at the thought of meeting with Celebrimbor after so many sleepless nights contemplating the meaning of what they had made in the forges.