[Amanaduial the archer]

As the crowd pushed and milled in the courtyard, waiting for Celebrimbor to speak, and around the edges the soldiers stood guard, carefully and calmly placed by Commander Elgedon, the tension was rife among the citizens of Ost-in-Edhil. After years of silence, they had all but forgotten their mute lord, brooding unseen in his palace, but as rumours spilled out and seeped out...well, even an impenetrable city has broachable walls, for no citizen can stand firm in the face of every threat. And now...now they were to hear him speak, to hear for themselves the fear assuaged, the rumours dismissed; although worried, there was an air of optimism and cheerfulness which hung around the awaiting citizens, despite the hastily called meeting, despite the stern, grim-faced soldiers who stood around them, a ring of statues sprung from the stone paving of the courtyard.

In the midst of the crowd, yet at the same time slightly apart, elevating as she was by standing at the top of the few steps that led down into the courtyard, a female figure stood, as stiffly tense as the soldiers around her, waiting for Celebrimbor to make his announcement. Narisiel’s eyes were fixed on the top of the stairs upon which she knew the elven lord would soon appear – appear to make the speech to his people that was going to change everything, not only the city, but personally to each of the elves who waited now in anticipation in the crowded courtyard. Some more than others…Narisiel swallowed fiercely, her eyes quickly flitting over the soldiers around the perimeter of the crowd. Rimborien, Dagonithil, Taurquarien…the faces, impassive and unyielding as stone, were each familiar to her, friends and acquaintances of many years. Terithian, Mordenigor…and Sirithlonnior, her own, as stern faced as the others. What was he thinking, what was happening beneath that stone façade? Had he seen her? No; he made no move towards her, neither physically nor with his eyes, no smile or wink as he usually would exchange. Maybe he had simply not yet noticed her, maybe he assumed that she was still within the palace but…in his gaze, fixedly watching the top of the stairs above, in his gaze…was that a fierceness in his eyes that set him apart from his comrades? And why not… Narisiel swallowed once more, pressing down the butterflies in her stomach and, as the murmurs of the crowd rose further, she followed the gaze of her spouse up to the other man whose cares and mistakes had stolen away the past two centuries of her life…

As the murmurs and scattered applause died down to an expectant silence, Celebrimbor straightened himself and composed his words almost visibly – to Narisiel, at least – before he raised his hands, placed one hand carefully on the rail leading down, like an old man seeking something to keep his balance, and began to speak. Narisiel barely heard his words. For the first time in many years, many centuries, she was seeing the Lord of Ost-in-Edhil as she had first seen him: strong, in control, elevated above his people as he addressed them majestically. Was this the man she had stood and admired many years ago? Yes, most certainly, for still surrounding him was the air of charisma and power that took Narisiel back to her earliest days in Ost-in-Edhil, before the life she now had had been woven and spun into the intricate tapestry that it currently was, when the threads were barely coming together, when she had first seen Celebrimbor speak and his voice had begun to work the threads. But now there were other details included, previously unseen…Was that a greying streak in his light hair? Maybe it was a trick of the light; Celebrimbor was but yet young by elven reckoning. But when such a burden falls upon an elf, as upon a man, maybe mannish weaknesses may be seen in the former as well as the latter. And his eyes…they flitted somewhat more nervously over the crowd, or was that also merely a trick of Narisiel’s eyes, or her mind? His gaze, certainly, did not seem the firm, fixed, steely gaze of a man so in control that she remembered…. And as Narisiel watched Celebrimbor, a friend, a lord, a betrayal, the threads began to unwind themselves, the tapestry began to fall – or maybe the weaving had never been strong enough in the first place. Or maybe such strength as is in a broken trust can tear even the strongest of bindings…

The smith closed her eyes for an instant, wrapping her arms around herself for a moment as if the chill winds of the carrion-birds’ wings already swept across the plains of Eriador, and listened to the voice of the speaker above, so strong and yet betraying such doom now.

“…every one of our lives is threatened, and it is the right of the people to know this. And so I beg of you, all those who can fight: help me ensure that Ost-in-Edhil is not abandoned to her doom. But those of you who cannot or shall not, it is now that you must escape to the west. And it is for all of us to take some hope, knowing our strength, and remembering that we are not without allies.”

Doom. The doom of the Mirdain. Narisiel felt a lump well in her throat and took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes tight before she opened them, glittering with tears that she would not shed, although the lump in her throat and the pain in her heart tried to wring them out. Surrounded by people, the knowledge of the secrets that Celebrimbor still, even now hid from his people stung her, a wedge between herself and the rest of Ost-in-Edhil. Surrounded by people, Narisiel could not have felt more alone on the edge of Mount Doom itself.

Re-finding Sirithlonnior, Narisiel caught her husband’s eyes just for a moment, the flash of light from his helmet as he turned towards the courtyard entrance blinding her for a moment. But his gaze only remained for a second before Sirithlonnior, so deliberately it seemed to Narisiel, turned away from her, heading purposefully for the palace doors, marching up quickly past the two soldiers who stood guard there against the now restless mob, and out of sight. And as she looked up to the stairs to where Celebrimbor had stood, she was greeted also with an emptiness where he should have been.

Where are the explanations, Celebrimbor? Even we who know the truth of those forges do not understand – where are you now to lead us, O Lord of the Doom of the Mirdain? The lament flitted through Narisiel’s mind darkly, desperately. It must be just perfect to be able to disappear, to avoid all when the problems became to pressing.

It must be just perfect.
It must be just the solution.

It must be very lonely.