[Amanaduial the archer]

Almost immediately that Sirithlonnior turned towards the palace, Narisiel started after him; he deserved the truth, he deserved to know that which she was guilty - and innocent - of withholding from him. But almost as soon as she moved, an earnest voice halted her in her tracks. "Narisiel Mirdain?"

She turned, impatiently, and was confronted by a determined looking guard who she did not recognise, although he wore the insignia of Lord Celebrimbor's palace. Her face hardened. "I have nothing to say to the Lord Celebrimbor, you may tell him that-"

"No, I bear a message from the Counsellor Maegisil," the guard interrupted her. "He asked me to come to you with some urgency, requesting that you meet with himself and Celebrimbor, that there are...certain events that he wishes you to be privy to..." It was evident that the guard was speaking with some delicacy - after all, there were still many citizens nearby - but despite this indication that these 'events' were probably therefore of some importance, the ambiguousity of his words just frustrated Narisiel. Standing torn for a moment, she glance across at the place where Sirithlonnior had been, and found no sign of her husband. She made up her mind: she had spent too much time now holding Celebrimbor's hand, maybe, finally, it was time to realign her priorities...

"I have no time for this," she replied firmly. "I...I have no time. I cannot. I am sorry..." Stumbling away, Narisiel felt a pang of guilt, not for Celebrimbor, but for Maegisil - it was, after all, he who had sent for her, not Celebrimbor. What if he was in some sort of trouble now? How could she leave him in the lurch...but she had her own troubles to look after for now... Looking around frantically, she still found no sight of Sirithlonnior and at the entrance to the palace which he had gone through an angry crowd was now swelling, waxing and waning against the experienced, fiercely calm guards who stood against the doors, preventing the dissatisfied elves from entering. Had Sirith gone through into the palace to confront Celebrimbor, or had he merely taken the shorter route to their home? For a moment, Narisiel felt at a loss, but it was a barely a moment, then she turned up the courtyard steps to take an alternative route to their home. No matter how hard times had been for them, two centuries of marriage meant that she still knew her husband better than any other...

Or I hope so anyway...

~*~

"Mother!"

Artamir cried out after his mother's back as she retreated, but his words fell upon deaf ears: already she was too far away. The young soldier, caught up among the crowd, struggled forward, but he was pushing against the surge of the rest of the crowd who were already swelling towards the palace, a wave of dissatisfaction and fear surging forward. Tall as he was, Artamir looked around frantically and saw that his father was also gone; cursing their disappearance, Artamir also felt the fear and sickness in his stomach as he knew that another row was coming, and that this time...this time... He gritted his teeth and pushed once more against the crowd, battling his way through the people, a strange mix of anxiety and anger propelling him: anger that his mother could have withheld information from them, anxiety that he was wrong and also...also for the reasons why. Surely, with the amount of time Narisiel had spent at the palace, she would have known, or at least had some indication that there was a war to come...

...but maybe that stood also for his father? The thought stung Artamir and he finally reached the edge of the crowd, almost staggering as he broke through the barrier of the claustrophobic mass of people. Sirithlonnior was a high ranking soldier now, close to the commanders, although he would not have boasted about it in so many words, being relatively young for such a position...but that being as it was, wouldn't such a high-ranking soldier have heard something about an oncoming war? There had been rumours, of course, Artamir had heard them, of course, of course...but what if his parents had known their sources? How could they have kept something like that from him, their only son, their soldier son, who a war could...?

Artamir blocked the end of the thought out, hardly daring to mention it, even to himself. He was a foot soldier, and a young one as well: the first who would go into battle, this 'doom' that Celebrimbor had promised. Swallowing his tears back, the young elf broke into a run, heedless of the distant calls behind him, running towards his house, his parents, only one thought forming in his mind.

They couldn't have...