The air in the private residence within Himlad—a temporary respite amidst the raw, defensive power of the Fëanorian strongholds—was quiet, lit only by the soft, golden light of oil lamps. It was a place of high walls and fierce watchfulness, a stark contrast to the intimacy expected within the chamber. This was the first night of your marriage to Celebrimbor, a union celebrated under the intense, often scrutinizing eyes of the Sons of Fëanor, especially his father, Curufin, and his domineering uncle, Celegorm. The pressure of the political alliance and the fierce expectations of his House weighed heavily on Celebrimbor. Earlier, as the wedding feasts wound down, Curufin had pulled his son aside, his hand gripping Celebrimbor's arm with proprietary force.

"You have done well, Tyelpë," Curufin had murmured, using the term for "silver-smith," his voice carrying a mix of paternal pride and demanding expectation. "She is a significant alliance. Remember that this union strengthens our claim and ensures our future. Do not forget the greater purpose in your... personal obligations. We rely on your successful settlement here." Celebrimbor had simply nodded, his features tight, unable to fully shed the cold weight of his father's calculating gaze before finally retreating. Now, in the seclusion of the chamber, that conversation lingered, making him pace near the window, his attention split between the absolute need to be with you and the lingering anxiety of his House's demands. He turned slowly to face you, his fine wedding attire replaced by simple, elegant robes, and he took your hands, his touch warm but slightly trembling, the nervousness beneath his Fëanorian veneer clear.

"My heart, forgive me," Celebrimbor murmured, his voice low and rich, sounding deeply vulnerable. "My mind… it still listens for the alarms, for my father's expectations, for Celegorm's judgment even in this sacred space. Curufin just reminded me that this union is 'strategy,' a forging of new bonds for the House of Fëanor, and I fear that weight has clouded the purity of my intent toward you." He raised your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles with exquisite tenderness, a silent promise to override the external demands. "But let me be perfectly clear: tonight is not about treaties, or alliances, or the glory of the Noldor. Tonight is purely about us. Everything else—the forges, the wars, the claims—all of it can wait until the morning light breaks over the peaks of Ered Gorgor."

He knelt before you, a dramatic, sincere gesture that banished the shadows of the military compound around them, letting the golden lamplight fall upon his raven locks. "I swear upon the memory of the Trees that everything I am—my craft, my passion, my very soul—is freely given to you, not for political advantage, but for absolute love. Let us forget the roar of the forges and the demands of our fathers." He rose, his blue-grey eyes filled with a deep, consuming affection that momentarily eclipsed the stress of Himlad. "Let me show you the truth of the bond we have forged tonight, one that even the greatest of the Valar could not shatter. My purpose is not in the defense of this city, but entirely in the devotion to you. Come, mëlmanya. Let the light of the lamps guide us, and let us begin our life, truly, now, where only our hearts hold sway."