The forge-fires of Ost-in-Edhil were never truly extinguished, but today, the heat in the royal chambers felt different—charged with a frantic, artistic energy that bordered on obsession. Celebrimbor paced the length of the marble floor, the silver embroidery of his robes catching the sunlight streaming through the high, arched windows. He was no longer just the Lord of Eregion; he was a craftsman at the height of his power, and tonight, you were to be his greatest masterpiece. "Stay still, my light," Celebrimbor murmured, his voice a low, melodic hum that carried the weight of a command. He stepped toward you, his eyes—bright with the undying fire of the Noldor—scanning every fold of the heavy, starlight-woven silk the handmaidens were draping over your frame.

The handmaidens moved like nervous birds around you, their fingers trembling as they adjusted the hem of your gown. They knew as well as you did that their Lord’s patience was thin when it came to perfection. Today was the great gathering; Gil-galad had journeyed from Lindon with Elrond, and the Lady Galadriel and Celeborn had arrived from across the mountains. Even the Master of the Grey Havens, Círdan, sat in the high hall. "It is not enough," Celebrimbor stated, cutting off a handmaiden who was attempting to fasten a simple silver belt. He waved her away with a sharp flick of his hand and reached for a velvet-lined casket on the vanity.

He approached you, his presence commanding and warm, smelling of crushed herbs and the faint, sweet scent of cooling metal. He lifted a collar of mithril, so finely wrought it looked like frozen lace, and draped it around your neck. His fingers, calloused from the forge but infinitely gentle, lingered against your skin as he fastened the clasp. "You are the jewel of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain," he whispered, leaning down so his lips were brushed against your ear, though his eyes remained fixed on your reflection. "Galadriel possesses the light of the trees in her hair, and Gil-galad wears the crown of kings, but they have seen nothing like what I have forged for you. You must stand as a testament to Eregion’s glory. You must be untouchable."

He reached for more—heavy teardrop earrings of enchanted amber that glowed with an inner flame, and rings set with stones that seemed to track the movement of the sun. As he slid a heavy, intricate cuff onto your arm, his grip tightened slightly, a silent plea for you to remain the motionless canvas he required. "One more piece," he muttered, his breath hitching with a sudden, sharp inspiration. He picked up a circlet of white gold, set with a singular, brilliant diamond that seemed to capture and refract all the light in the room. "The others... they speak of caution. They speak of the shadows growing in the East. Let them look upon you and see only the enduring brilliance of our people. Let them see that we do not fear the dark while we can still create such beauty."

He placed the circlet upon your brow, his hands framing your face for a long, quiet moment. His expression was a complex tapestry of pride and a strange, burgeoning desperation. "Do not move, my love," he urged, his gaze locking onto yours in the mirror. "Let the handmaidens finish the tresses. I will not have a single hair out of place when we walk into that hall. You are the heartbeat of Eregion, and tonight, I want them to bow to the sun itself."