[Amanaduial the archer]

Narisiel noticed with surprise the way Celebrimbor silenced Maegisil, but it was not only that that caused her own indignation and almost disappointment in Celebrimbor. To see him so hunched in his chair now, to see him shoot down an old friend, to treat her like an afterthought merely 'dragged in' by some whim of Maegisil...what Lord acted in so petty and almost melodramatic a manner when on his borders lay...well, what?

Catching the Commander, Elgedon's, eye, she saw in his eyes the same sort of emotion - but along with it was such a look of defeat that the fear began to swell inside Narisiel's darkest worries. Turning to Celebrimbor, she raised her chin defiantly and spoke firmly, as if to an unruly child. "My Lord Celebrimbor, please, speak plainly to me: what has happened, exactly?"

"Maegisil did not tell you?" Celebrimbor looked up, surprised, but did not direct his at the male counsellor as well, and Narisiel once more wondered about the distance and formality that seemed to be growing between them. Was she doomed to such cold treatment as well, after the closeness that had grown up between them. But Celebrimbor gave her a soft, sad smile, the fondness in his eyes soothing her worry, before she caught herself in realising how petty it was. But he did not answer her question immediately, instead turning sharply away and staring intently out of the window. Bewildered, Narisiel turned instead to Elgedon. The Commander glanced at Celebrimbor as if for permission, but when the elf-lord made no move, he cleared his throat uneasily and stood stiffly. "We...we have sighted the dark army."

Something about the coining of such an ominour phrase made Narisiel question. "'Dark' army? Do you mean to say-"

"There are not only orcs," Elgedon finished shortly. He glanced at the scout in the side of the room, standing mutely with his eyes on his hands. Not only orcs... Although Elgedon seemed unsure of whether to continue or not, the sense of panic was speeding through Narisiel's mind as the sands of time seemed to be slipping from beneath her feet and the very foundations of her city. It was not the done thing, but as etiquette seemed to be of little matter now, she addressed the scout directly. "How many? What did you see?" she asked, not quite managing to keep her voice steadily.

The young scout looked up, startled, and glanced at Elgedon as if for permission to speak, a strange symmetry drawing itself between Elgedon's silent request to speak from the mute Celebrimbor. It seemed that no matter what their level, every individual was feeling the uncertainty of their world as it slipped towards the maw of war. When the scout spoke, his grey eyes were shining with the memory of what he had seen, widening as if he once more saw some fearsome sight even in the quiet, still rooms of the palace. "There...there were not only orcs, my Lady," he replied, his voice almost a croak. He glanced once more at Elgedon, then continued, blurting the words out. "Orcs...Uruk-hai, even some kind of goblin; and men, men by the thousands - Easterlings, Southrons, we could not get close enough to see clearly, but what we saw..."

"How many?"

The scout swallowed, licking dry lips as his eyes faltered away from the smith's, before he looked back and replied. And this time all the military training of the worlds best commanders could not hide the shake that was in his voice. "Tens of thousands, my Lady. At least twenty thousand - and that was merely what we could see straight away."

Narisiel closed her eyes and felt herself sway slightly, as if a gentle breeze shook her. This couldn't be happening, and yet had they not ll foreseen it, the entire city, building and building for over a century, had they not prepared for it? The armouries were stocked, military training ever fiercer, yet more elven men turning to the army, women preparing their families and their houses; and yet, after all of their hard work, the climax of the preparation of the busy bees was to have their hive totally smashed.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and turned slowly to Celebrimbor, still seated gloomily, gazing intently out of the window as if willing the enemy away with his very eyes; but as she looked more closely, the smith was sure that she could see tears in his eyes. Shocked, she looked away, ridiculously embarassed, and looked back to Maegisil. The other elf's expression was rigid, but his eyes gave it away: unashamedly despairing. Yet within the fear, she noted, there was no shock. And neither was there in her eyes, she supposed, however terrible the news was. She had known. They all had known.

Following Celebrimbor's eyes, Narisiel breathed deeply, forcing her calm exterior to remain firm and still, oil over turbulent waters. But strong though she was, she could feel the panic and upset inside her that was purely female, a fear not so much for herself as for her way of life - and for her family, soldiers both...

"When will you tell the city?"

The question was a statement as much as a query, and Narisiel knew it: the time for waiting and whispering had passed. The busy little bees were to know as soon as possible, before that unruly child was to stomp on their hive - although little good it may do them now...