It was a terrible shame that the rulers of all the elven sects had barred him from his craft and calling. Celebrimbor thought romantically on what sort of jewelry he would adorn Legolas with. Not a ring, but perhaps a pendant or crown of the finest Mithril, or even an arm band inlaid with the finest emeralds. There were so many ages left in the world and he, one of the very last jewel-smiths able to celebrate them with singing metal. Such a shame, such a shame.

Such thoughts swirled in his mind as the musical tones came and went with hardly a thought from him. Never had it been music which moved his elven soul, but the satisfaction of making with his own two hands. The dwarves understood that, even the other jewel-smiths of Eregion. What good were his crafters hands without a hammer to wield?

Well at the least, he had been able to draw some breath and life from Legolas with them. His fingers entwined with the boy's and Celebrimbor honored the desire to remain seated still and behaved until the song was over. As the crowd gave their approval, he leaned over and whispered to the prince. "Shall we make use of the empty corridors beyond this hall?"