So many dead, such a great force, a great evil... but what could they do except keep fighting. Side by side with Gil-galad, Elrond battled. Blood and dirt everywhere, the air whirling with it. A great storm of power issued by Sauron, his mighty army seemingly indefatigable. With his Ring of Power the Dark Lord slew elves by the hundreds. Elrond saw his friends dying all around him. Sauron turned his might in their direction and the young Lord of Imladris thought he heard the voice of Mandos calling him.

And then Gil-galad was there, in front of him, protecting him. Elrond was aware of Isildur, Prince of Gondor, thrusting himself forward. He had his father's sword -- Elendil had fallen. Death surrounded them. Gil-galad was pierced, wounded. Elrond held him dying in his arms. No, not Gil-galad... take me instead...

And yet Elrond survived. Isildur chopped the Ring from Sauron's finger. Sauron was defeated, defeated. To the left of Elrond, a familiar cry. Thranduil, the young Prince of Mirkwood, now made king just as Isildur was, both of their fathers perishing in the battle. Thranduil, golden-haired and beautiful, covered in dirt and blood just as Elrond was, bowed over Oropher, screaming out in his rage and his sorrow. And then Gil-galad, using his last bit of strength to lift a hand to Elrond's face for the last time.

"Take it to Mount Doom, Elrond. Destroy the Ring, my love."

"I promise."

Elrond might have stayed there on the field, grieving over Gil-galad, but his word was his bond. Thranduil's cries of grief echoed in the air, mirrored what Elrond felt inside but could not let out. He found the young King of Gondor, led him away from his own dead father. He could not take the Ring from Isildur, so he forced the young man up Mount Doom, to the very edge of the volcanic flames.

"Cast it into the fire! Isildur!"

But Isildur had not listened, and it was out there, out there. The One Ring, taken as a souvenir by the King of Gondor, a king whose reign had been short. The Ring had betrayed Isildur, and now it was lost... lost...

Elrond hoped it would be lost forever. He sat up from the dream, breathless, almost surprised to find himself back in his own bedroom, in Imladris. He had to remind himself that over a hundred years had passed since he had failed to guide the foolish man... and yet the reminder did not chase away the guilt.

So many had died in the battle against Sauron. So many good elves. When Elrond closed his eyes he could still hear Thranduil's cries. For a hundred years he had been trying to forget them. Why should he be dreaming of them now?

Oh yes, it was time for the Winter Festival, and Thranduil was coming from Mirkwood to partake. Elrond had not held a Winter Festival since before the defeat of Sauron, and he had decided that this time of peace was a good time to begin the tradition again. The Ring had not been seen in nearly a century, and Elvenkind was beginning to feel safe once more. Some of them had even forgotten about the Ring, Elrond would wager. He had not. He never would.

Thranduil had been to visit five or six times during the past century and each time was a disaster. He argued with Elrond constantly, terrorized the maidens, and put a serious dent in Elrond's wine cellars. What he needed was a wife, to get him under control, Elrond thought. He had in mind Galadriel's daughter Celebrían for this formidable task, so part of his reason for hosting the party was to introduce the two of them. He had invited the Lord and Lady of Lórien and their daughter for the festival as well, and he supposed that both they and Thranduil would bring impossibly large retinues. Elrond did not mind. His home was well-equipped for guests. He had built his small city to be a refuge, after all.

He was proud of Imladris. It was a beautiful and safe haven. His people were master craftsmen and had hewn his palace of marble and glass and precious stones. The furnishings were draped in silks and velvets. Everywhere there was art, and flowers, and beauty. He had a large library and lovely gardens, even though now they were covered in the finest layer of snow. This would be Celebrían's first visit to Rivendell.

Elrond had not seen the girl in a long time, but he knew she was of an age with Thranduil and not much younger than himself. He remembered seeing her back when he had still been with Gil-galad. She had been stunning, moonlight and sunlight brought to life. He might have wanted her himself had he not been so happy with Gil-galad.

Even now he mourned the one who was lost. Elrond sighed, then shook his head as he got up from his bed to prepare for the day. As he fastened the clasps on his red velvet day-robe, a knock sounded at the door. Moments later Erestor barged in, with Glorfindel trailing lazily behind him. Erestor was tall and dark, with rather angular features. Glorfindel was his opposite, a robust blond. Both were exceedingly beautiful, but they were also among the most clever and intelligent of Elrond's acquaintances. The two of them were Elrond's closest advisors and dearest friends but they were both given to taking liberties of which Elrond seemed to be unable to cure them, such as coming into his bedroom very early in the morning to present him with problems that he would have preferred wait until after he had gotten some fruit and perhaps a cup of miruvar.

Perhaps Erestor had figured this out, because he was carrying the desired breakfast on a small silver tray, though he had to turn and snatch the goblet of miruvar from Glorfindel. Erestor offered it to Elrond, looking irritated. Elrond noticed that it was half empty, but he drank it anyway.

"Good morning, my lord," Erestor said without preamble. "I have the menu for the feast planned, but I need to know how many barrels of wine you think we are going to need, and how long the guests will be staying."

"He means Thranduil," Glorfindel said cheerfully, reaching for a grape from Elrond's plate. "Erestor cares for the King of Mirkwood very little."

Erestor's pointed ears turned red. "My personal opinions are of no import. Thranduil is still a guest, and will be treated as such."

"You need not tell me," said Glorfindel. "I like him."

"That is because he does not manage to soak you with wine on every single one of his visits," Erestor snapped.

Elrond drained the rest of the miruvar and moved his plate of fruit out of Glorfindel's reach, shaking his head. He knew Erestor would treat Thranduil with all due propriety, and well, it was a good thing that Glorfindel liked him. Glorfindel did not, however, care much for Lord Celeborn, which was bound to create a problem sooner or later, but asking him to behave would only be lighting the fuse.

"The guests will stay as long as they like," Elrond said, "And we will probably need all of the wine we put away this harvest season. Erestor, you can arrange for more to be imported, can you not?"

"Of course, Lord Elrond. As for the menu for the welcoming feast--"

"I leave that to your discretion, Erestor."

Erestor beamed. He loved having such things left to his discretion. Elrond hated planning banquets, so this suited him well enough. "Excellent. I shall not fail you."

"I know."

"And when should we expect the banquet to take place? A week? Two?"

"Tonight."

Erestor made a strangled noise and Glorfindel laughed.

"Tonight, Lord Elrond?"

"Yes. I imagine both parties will arrive this afternoon sometime, and--"

"Tonight! Why did you not tell me sooner?" Erestor demanded. Elrond raised an eyebrow at him and he silenced himself, but the advisor looked mortified. "I must go. There are rooms to prepare, and the cooks will have to get started immediately, and we will need flowers, and...come, Lord Glorfindel, unfortunately I am going to need your assistance."

"I will meet you in the kitchen," Glorfindel said dismissively. "Allow me ten minutes. I have business with Elrond, too, you know."

"Ten minutes, and not a moment longer!" Erestor said, storming out of the room, muttering to himself.

The moment the door closed behind Erestor, Glorfindel pounced. Elrond found himself pinned to the bed, the muscular War Councilor on top of him. Glorfindel tried to kiss him, but Elrond quickly shoved a hand between their lips, spreading it over Glorfindel's face and pushing him back.

"How often must I ask you not to do this, Glorfindel?" Elrond said with exasperation. Glorfindel made a muffled sound, and reluctantly Elrond took his hand away from the other elf's face. "What?"

"I said, I know you had the nightmare again."

"Yes," Elrond sighed.

"You would not have such dreams if you slept with me."

"Will you let me up?"

"Do you find me unattractive?" Glorfindel sighed.

"Of course not."

"I did not think so. Why then do you push me away?"

"I would love to push you away, but I cannot lift you. Please, Glorfindel, let me up. We have had this conversation too often."

Reluctantly Glorfindel let go of Elrond, rolling onto his back on Elrond's bed. Elrond quickly sat up, but Glorfindel remained in the prone position. He was too tempting by half, Elrond thought. Once upon a time he would not have hesitated to take such a handsome elf up on such an attractive offer, but everything had changed since the last Alliance. Everything had changed since Gil-galad had fallen into shadow.

"You are waiting for him to return from the Halls of Mandos," Glorfindel said.

"Perhaps."

"You should see to those of us who are here, Elrond. You should not waste these years of peace in sleeping alone."

"Glorfindel, you have no trouble finding lovers. Why do you always seek my bed?"

Glorfindel opened his mouth to reply, but then his azure eyes went wide as the sound of a horse neighing came from outside the window. He jumped from the bed and looked out.

"I knew it. Thranduil is here!" he cried with excitement.

Seeing how easily distracted Glorfindel was only reaffirmed to Elrond that taking him to his bed was a bad idea.

"How many elves has he brought with him? We ought to send word to the kitchen," Elrond said.

"He rides alone!"

Alone? That was odd indeed, Elrond thought. He got up from the bed, smoothed his robes, and prepared himself to go out to greet the young King of Mirkwood.