Evening of 8 April
"Why does Hirvegil insist on bowing to Grandfather? The Galadhrim rarely bow, and neither of you expects it."
"I believe he really enjoys irritating Celeborn."
"But... they are sword-brothers!"
"It dates back to Doriath, where bowing was required in Elu's court. Celeborn thought it demeaning — and a waste of time — but kept his counsel."
"I considered it pretentious." Grandfather arrives. "Suited only to grandiose spectacles, like the stately Noldorin dances Galadriel so favored."
He smiles. "I, of course, decided to teach her the more lively Sindarin forms of merrymaking."
"Which I deemed brazen," she retorts, "until I met the Silvan!"
"Elu's people bowed until granted permission to rise. That offended me.
"But I tolerated it, until the endless campaign in Eriador; respites were too few to squander. I ordered my captains to salute quickly, not bow until dismissed. Hirvegil resisted."
"You once came to blows?" Galadriel prompts.
"Nearly — as Elrond ever reminds me! In a fury, I almost struck Hirvegil for insolence, until he rightly pointed out that I was wasting time."
"You yielded then?"
"Hardly! That night, as the captains left, Hirvegil bowed... but I sought my bedroll and slept, without dismissing him.
"We came to... an understanding then."