Thranduil of Mirkwood was well aware of his reputation for loving wine, and tonight he was proving that it was well-earned. Why should he not? Elrond and Glorfindel were already well intoxicated. The thought actually made him chuckle, for Elrond was not usually one to get sloshed. In fact, Thranduil could think of only one other time he had seen Elrond well and truly drunk.

Drinking too much was one way to forget what a fool he had made of himself. He had not, however, forgotten that it was Glorfindel's fault. And maybe a little bit of Maegwen's fault as well, though in truth he felt disinclined to blame her. She was too beautiful, too innocent… and she clearly hated him for embarrassing her. It was written all over her face in the way her eyes flashed when she looked at him.

"Well, now that we have gotten all of the introductions out of the way, perhaps we should have dinner," Celeborn said sarcastically. "I have already eaten three rolls and am like to starve to death if the meal is not served quickly. Not to mention that my Lord Elrond looks about to fall into his cup."

"I am fine," Elrond said, but for once Thranduil was inclined to agree with Celeborn. "Erestor!"

Erestor signaled for the dinner to be served and it was brought in, a glorious banquet, though perhaps the roast pheasant was a bit dry from sitting in the oven past the dinner hour and some of the sauces needed a bit of serving. Thranduil made certain to point this out to Erestor just to watch him squirm.

"If you had done us the courtesy of arriving on time, the food would have been perfectly fine," Erestor snapped, two red spots appearing in his cheeks.

"The food is absolutely lovely, Lord Elrond," said Celebrían.

"Yes, do not listen to that boorish king," Maegwen added.

Normally taunts did not bother Thranduil, but hers felt like an arrow to the heart. Galadriel rebuked her for it, but it made him feel no better.

"The girl is right… I am boorish," Thranduil said, leering at her.

"I am glad you can finally admit it," said Celeborn. "Elrond, did you not say we were having hummingbird stew? This is pheasant."

"Father, you detest the taste of hummingbirds," Celebrían pointed out. "Did you not call them 'vermin' just last week?"

"I thought pheasant was your favorite," Galadriel added. Celeborn fell silent.

Maegwen was staring harshly at Thranduil and he was tempted to get up and go around the table to her. Once their eyes locked, the rest of the company melted away and to Thranduil it was as if only the two of them were present.

"We are a bunch of barbarians in Mirkwood," he said. "I should be well-used to dry meat and clotted sauces. I simply expect better in Elrond's halls."

"I understand you live in a cave," Maegwen replied. "Filled with dungeons and dust, no doubt."

"Yes, the dungeons run dark and deep," Thranduil said.

"You are certainly not encouraging me to give you my daughter for a bride," Celeborn said. He reached over past Galadriel and Glorfindel and poked Thranduil with his fork. Thranduil swatted it away, never taking his eyes from Maegwen.

"I do not think he wants your daughter," Glorfindel said. He snickered slightly and Thranduil knew he was nearly as drunk as Elrond, and as he himself was becoming. He picked up his goblet and drank deeply. As if she felt challenged by that, Maegwen picked up her own goblet and drank just as deeply.

"There is beauty in Mirkwood Palace as well," Thranduil went on. "My father had the walls decorated in carvings by the finest Elven craftsmen, and set with jewels."

"Are there gardens?" Maegwen asked. "My lady Celebrían likes flowers. If you hope to win her heart, you must have gardens in your…cave."

Thranduil felt a moment of confusion. When he had kissed the maid, he thought she liked him. In fact, he had been sure of it in his deepest heart. Why would she encourage him to her lady? It occurred to him that she had not known who he was, either… but that changed nothing. He knew what he wanted and he would not be denied. Yet is Maegwen wanted to play games, he could play them as well. Let her think he would have Celebrían then!

It was a mean, petty thing to do… but Thranduil was angry. And drunk. And embarrassed. Being mean was one way to cover that up.

"My 'cave' is located in a beautiful forest," Thranduil said. "I will provide my lady Celebrían with every sort of flower she might desire."

"A dark forest," Maegwen said. "How can flowers grow there?"

"Flowers can grow anywhere," Haldir said, the first words he had spoken in quite some time. "Even in the snow."

Thranduil glanced over at the young Elfling. Somehow everyone had managed to change places at the table, and Thranduil suspected this had something to do with the machinations of Celeborn and Glorfindel, both of whom were lugubriously good at turning things to their own advantage right beneath others' noses. Celeborn now sat next to Haldir and seemed to be siphoning the most tender morsels of the dinner onto the young elf's plate, and refilling his goblet every time he took a sip.

Galadriel was between Glorfindel and Celeborn. She calmly ate her dinner, watching everything as if she were already well aware of the outcome. Probably she was. Glorfindel now sat next to Erestor and was distracting him by taking food off of his plate and constantly rearranging the items on the table nearest to him. At least Erestor seemed to have forgotten his embarrassment as he was caught up in the small, ridiculous drama. Thranduil watched him smack Glorfindel's hand as he reached for the salt for the fifteenth time.

Thranduil met Haldir's gaze. He was a young creature, lovely and well-formed with lips that looked soft and a long nose. There was a brooding expression in his icy blue eyes. He seemed to possess a certain arrogance for one so young and in no position to do so. Perhaps he thought much of himself because of the favor he had found with Lord Celeborn.

"What do you know of roses in snow, little plaything?" Thranduil asked him. Haldir blushed furiously and scowled.

"I am no one's plaything."

"Are you not?"

"No, he is not," said Lady Celebrían. "And if you hope to win my affections, you should truly learn to watch your tongue where my friends are concerned. Haldir and Maegwen are my closest companions, and I would have you treat them with respect."

"And in turn, they should show Thranduil the same respect," said Galadriel lightly.

"Am I wrong to question the suitability of his cave and dark forest for my lady?" Maegwen asked.

"How is the Orc problem you have been having, Thranduil?" Celeborn asked. "Has that cleared up any?"

"Or the spiders?" Erestor added.

"I have not lost any of my people to those threats, if that is what you mean," Thranduil said irritably. "Whatever queen I take will be more than safe in my protection."

"All the same, I should like to see some progress made before you wed my daughter. In your father's day it was called Greenwood the Great," Celeborn said. "Now it is Mirkwood!"

"It is no more my fault than any elf here that the darkness still spreads," Thranduil growled. "Mirkwood is close to Isengard, home of the wizard Saruman."

"Saruman is friend to Gandalf," said Celeborn in a bored tone. "Can he truly be the cause of your problems?"

"He is a false friend," Galadriel said sadly. "You should warn him, Elrond."

"Did we not win the battle with Sauron?" Maegwen asked. "How can darkness still be spreading?"

"Sauron is gone, but not vanquished," Elrond said, suddenly sounding sober.

"And yet these are times of peace," said Glorfindel. "We should enjoy them! As War Councilor of Imladris I am nearly bored to tears. There are no battles to plan, no strategies to design. If you need help clearing Orcs out of Mirkwood, Thranduil, I should be glad to assist you."

"Thank you," said Thranduil. "It is good to know that I have a friend among you. Does Lord Glorfindel's offer assure you of the safety of your lady, Maegwen of Lórien?"

Maegwen stared at him for a moment, her gaze undecipherable. Thranduil saw Celebrían put her hand on the other maid's and for the first time Thranduil understood the intensity of the bond between them.

"If you can fill my lady's heart's desire, then you will of course have my blessing," Maegwen said softly.

"And what does your heart desire?" Thranduil asked her, licking his lips.

"My heart desires music," Celeborn said before Maegwen could reply. "Celebrían and her pupil Haldir have brought their harps. A song, my lovely daughter!"

"I would have liked to perform the lovely ballad which King Thranduil was singing when he came in," Celebrían said demurely. "It is the finest tribute to you and Mother which has ever been written, and one of Maegwen's best works."

"You wrote that?" Thranduil asked the young female. Maegwen smiled at him, lowering her eyelids slightly, and nodded. Thranduil was quite impressed. "So you have talent as well as devotion to your lady and a sharp tongue."

"You compliments are double-edged swords," Maegwen said.

"You know other songs, Celebrían," said Celeborn.

"Mayhap Haldir has only mastered the one," Maegwen suggested. Haldir scowled and Thranduil held back a chuckle. At least he knew he was not the only one to be lashed by this maid's tongue!

"Do you think me so poor a teacher?" Celebrían asked, teasing her friend. Now it was Maegwen's turn to blush. "No, I should be happy to play for you, and I am certain Haldir feels the same. Will you sing with us, Maegwen?"

"If you wish," Maegwen said, sighing.

He did not want to be moved by her voice, or the simple ballad about Rivendell and its splendor which he suspected she had written as well, and yet he was. Thranduil could not recall the last time there had been music in Mirkwood Palace. Not since the days of his father, he suspected. Of late, the elves of Mirkwood carried with them their bows and swords and not their harps and lutes. Suddenly Thranduil missed his father sharply.

He got up and slipped out of the banquet hall in the middle of the song. Only Glorfindel caught his sleeve and motioned that he should stay, but Thranduil shook his head. He strode out of the large chamber and headed for the terrace, for the gardens. He needed air. He needed to think. He did not need Elrond following him, and yet there was no way to stop him, either. The Lord of Imladris caught up with Thranduil half-way down the stairs to the snow-covered topiaries.

"I expect you to be rude to me, but not to my other guests," Elrond said sharply.

Thranduil turned around. He leaned against the railing. He did not want to show Elrond any weakness. "You are drunk," he said.

"So are you."

"Is that not to be expected of the Elvenking?" Thranduil sneered.

"Not if he wishes to win a wife. Lady Celebrían is charming and well-mannered and deserves better than a boorish sot."

Boorish again. Maegwen's word. "Then perhaps you should wed her yourself," Thranduil said heavily. "Elrond—forgive me. I want the other girl."

"Do not be ridiculous, Thranduil."

"Am I ridiculous now? It was her song that moved me so deeply that I felt compelled to leave. How long has it been since I have heard music performed so tenderly? My father…" He broke down. Would the wounds of so many years ago never heal? Thranduil turned away from Elrond to hide his face.

"Thranduil, we all suffered losses," Elrond said softly. He laid a hand on Thranduil's shoulder and Thranduil took comfort in it despite himself.

"You should go back inside to your guests."

"You should come with me."

"I would rather not."

"Thranduil, listen to me," said Elrond. He sounded much more sober now. "Get to know Celebrían before you make your mind up. No one will remember your error come morning."

"Why can I not simply have the girl I already like?" Thranduil replied grumpily. "Make my excuses to your guests if you would. I need some silence."

He turned away from Elrond and walked off down the stairs into the garden.