[Amanaduial the archer]

A defeatist attitude? Do you really think that will help? Silently, Narisiel agreed with Maegisil: Celebrimbor had indeed been 'wallowing in self-pity' since the betrayal more than a century ago. One hundred years seemed to pass quickly in the lives of the elves, who counted their lives not by mere years but by millenia, but the lives of others in Middle Earth waxed and waned in less than even that short time: a man may live and die and take his joys and defeats with him to the grave in a century. Short as the lives of butterflies were the lives of men compared to the elves; yet had they not overcome odds of their own? Had not Minas Tirith, the fortified city of Gondor, held the plots and plans of the Lord of Men within it's walls, the silent stone and the songs of men all that recorded the victories and defeats of those within? But this fortress, this city, these stone walls as white as the bloodstained battlements of the White City. All that will be left of us to will be the songs...the laments...

"If all had as little faith as you, then no, probably not," Narisiel replied quietly. Her words, although softly spoken, made the other three turn to look at her in surprise. The shock, then the hurt registered on Celebrimbor's face and she saw him almost flinch away from the elven woman's words. But Narisiel's own anger and frustration was now welling up like a lump in the throat, and she even as she felt the distance growing between herself and Celebrimbor, her closest friend and her Lord, the hurt of his shying away barely registered. With the lump in her throat she could feel tears welling up.

"An army is made up of sons, brothers, fathers, friends, my Lord Celebrimbor; do you not think these people will fight with all the strength they have against any enemy, for their families if for nothing else? After all, what else is there to fight for, really?" Her final words were bitter, and although she did not voice what was on her mind, all in the room could have finished it for her. Who was going to fight for a Lord who had cloaked his actions in lies for two centuries? Celebrimbor had the grace not to try to reply, and she continued. "My husband and son are both in that army, Celebrimbor," she continued, her voice controlled with some difficulty. "Do you have no faith in those who protect you? The odds...true, they are overwhelming, true we probably will not come out of this alive, but to have such a statement from the one who is supposed to command us, to be the ultimate strength and force? Or did you give that responsibility up when you decided to hide the truth of the rings?"

"You hid it as well, Narisiel."

"It was not my secret to tell, Celebrimbor," she snapped in reply, a snake-fast return. "I could not tell the truth of something when I myself only did not even posess full knowledge. I am not blameless in this, of course not, but what use is a half truth? Such knowledge becomes the foundation of rumours, causing only fear and panic, and what use is that? The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth...only two beings knew that, so maybe that is something you would like to discuss with 'Lord Annatar'."

Celebrimbor sat but a few metres from her, but that distance could have been a chasm a mile across, and still widening as the earthquake still trembled, growing in confidence, shaking them apart. And as she looked across that void at him, Narisiel could not stop the tears from finally welling up in her eyes as she regarded him unblinkingly. In a few short seconds, the friendship of half a century passed between them, painfully scrutinised in such detail, the icy frosting of jadedness creeping into the corners, until finally Narisiel looked away. She was angry - furious - and painfully disappointed in the other elf, but there were some things that she could not let be scarred by this - not yet, at any rate, not in the heat of the moment. The room remained in silence for a moment that could have been an hour until Commander Elgedon finally spoke, rising from his seat.

"Am I to brief the army, my Lord?"

Celebrimbor remained silent and motionless, his eyes still on Narisiel.

"My Lord?"

Finally, the elven lord blinked and stirred, and as he did so his movements seemed creaky, those of an old man. "I...yes. Yes, thank you Commander. Tell them of the odds, tell them what preparations must be made, but..."

"...but you will tell the city yourself." Narisiel finished the sentence, not insolently, but with the determination and certain knowledge that that was what Celebrimbor needed to do - and whatever he had been about to say, he knew it as well. In two minutes he had had the hard fierceness of the truth burn him from the tongues of the two counselors he held closest, but even if their respect wavered, the respect of an entire city rested on stating the truth to them from his own lips.

Celebrimbor nodded slowly. "Yes," he replied softly.

Narisiel nodded curtly, and Elgedon dismissed himself from the room. "We shall spread the word of the announcement. Will one hour be sufficient, my Lord?" It was Maegisil who spoke this time, his word hard and clipped. Barely waiting for an answer, the elven counselor, who Narisiel had never known to be anything but the height of formality, calm and control, gave the shortest of bows, turned and strode out of the room, still bristling. Narisiel watched him go, then slowly turned her head back to face Celebrimbor. She did not speak, merely gave him a slow, stiff bow, as if she herself had gained a thousand years of weight, then wordlessly turned for the door. Finally, as she reached the door of the otherwise empty room, he seemed to spur himself into action, darting forward suddenly and seizing her wrist. "Narisiel, please...you shared that secret in the forge, you witnessed the power of what passed..."

The elvensmith stared into the face of her Lord for a moment, her arm tensed against his fingers, and eventually he loosened it, but still did not quite let go, as if trying to keep his grip onto her trust and friendship with a physical hold. For a second, she seemed unable to speak, or maybe just battling the fronts of what to actually say: her eyes were still shining, and despite all her anger, the pain inside her was caused also by the trust that she had placed in the other, a deep trust and respect and, what is more, a love, that refused to quite leave. But finally she made do with just one enigmatic statement. "The rest of the city is doing their duty now, Celebrimbor."

With that, with all the confused implications that could come from it, with the rumbling of the earthquake that had caused irreperable damage still growing in power, Narisiel left him.