The morning dawned pale and beautiful in Thranduil’s kingdom as it had for several millennia and Glorfindel stood at his balcony watching the gentle streams of light filter through the trees surrounding the mountain palace. Sweet melodies of the native songbirds intertwined with the songs of the Sylvan elves who had already risen to greet the day. While the palace had much fortification within the mountain itself, the upper levels were woven into the treetops such that one could not tell where stone gave way wholly to branch and leaf.

The night before had passed quietly in pleasant fashion as Thranduil and Anoriel had been ever the gracious hosts he knew them to be. He had dined with them and their family in a sumptuous, private dining chamber in the very highest levels of the palace, overlooking the mountain streams, the stars and the endless sea of ageless trees that had earned the kingdom its name. His friendship with this family took him back all the way to their days in Lindon, when they had all been young, much younger than they were now. They had been the closest of friends, and he had been there all through Thranduil and Anoriel’s blissful courtship, their bonding and the birth of the first two of their six children. Here now, millennia later, he sadly noted that only four now dwelt in the realm of Arda, the other two had made the journey to Mandos’ Halls, in long years past.

He had been startled out of his reverie by a small tug on his formal robe by Thranduil’s youngest son, who cheerfully reminded him of his earlier promise to tell stories of his adventures. Thranduil grinned at him and made no attempt to assist his friend this time. Instead he called for another round of sweet wine and silently saluted Glorfindel with his crystal goblet, eyes sparkling with merriment.

Smiling indulgently at the child, and grateful for this respite from the painful memories, Glorfindel lifted Legolas onto his lap and began to tell him a story of his days in the House of the Golden Flower, where he had captained the ranks of Gondolin with his noble friend, Ecthelion of the Fountain. He wove a vivid tapestry with magical descriptions of the hidden kingdom, blissful days of peace and playful pranks on their lord Turgon, which elicited much mirth from the elder folk in the room who could recall the beloved faces that went with those revered names.

He told of the mighty eagles and their lord Thorondor, the noblest of their kind, who had watched the passes of the Encircling Mountains for ages untold and who had fought with him to the bitter end. Though these things he did not mention to the little one who gazed up at him in rapture, bright blue eyes pleading for more.

He seldom spoke of these days anymore, too long had he held on to the grief that had come to pass afterward. But now he felt a strange peace, despite all he had been through, holding this little child who had compelled him to tell that story, when no one else had managed to draw it from him in an age. Perhaps in this child, he saw a light shining amidst the darkness as the shadows drew ever nearer, and the possibility of War crept stealthily upon them once again.

The rest of the evening passed in delightful gaiety, the queen had even graced them with a beautiful song of the Woods. They had all laughed merrily as Ithildin performed a hilarious ditty he had learnt from a man in Dale during his last patrol, about a farmer and his stubborn horse. He relished the family atmosphere and their efforts to make him feel as one of them. Eventually, one by one, the family retired to their chambers for the night, and he relinquished Legolas to his mother, as the child had fallen asleep in his arms some while ago, though his efforts to stay awake had been valiant enough. His father placed a tender kiss upon the tiny brow, and fondly caressed his wife’s pale cheek. The unspoken love that passed between them lit the room with a warm glow before Anoriel left the room to put the child to bed.

The two of them stood at the window, framed in delicate carvings of vines, interlaced with real ones that bore delicate blossoms, their fragrance filling the chamber.

“Are you not tired, my friend?” asked Thranduil gently.

“Nay, I will not find sleep this night,” replied Glorfindel. “The restlessness of the mind does not acknowledge the weariness of the body I’m afraid.”

“Well, come then. I shall make good on that promise to you of fine wine, and hopefully good company.”

“Ahh, but both you have already fulfilled this night. I do not see how you may better it further,” smiled Glorfindel pleasantly.

Thranduil chuckled. “A surprise I have for you then, my good friend!”

They walked in amiable silence to Thranduil’s study on a lower floor, where Thranduil opened a large cabinet and procured two goblets and a bottle from his private vault.

“Dorwinion 2573! That is a fine vintage indeed and blessedly rare! Surely you don’t mean to open it this night, and not on my account!”

“Of course I do, meldir. The arrival of a dear friend this day is as good a reason as any to indulge my pet vice, and I was rather looking forward to it,” Thranduil replied good-humouredly.

“Oh you are incorrigible, Thranduil! But in this I shall concede.”

Thranduil smiled triumphantly and deftly removed the cork with the air of one much experienced in such matters.

“You protest overmuch. And besides I have never known you to refuse a glass of good wine.”

“You planned this all evening.”

“I admit to no such thing!” scoffed Thranduil loftily. “Though I have been eagerly awaiting this opportunity.”

“That’s guilty enough for me.”

Thranduil grinned and made to inhale the aroma as the scent of the open bottle permeated the air.

“Ahh…smell that, meldir. T’is glorious.”

Glorfindel chuckled. But he had to give it to his friend. Thranduil certainly knew his wines and loved to share his new finds. To that, Glorfindel most certainly had no objections and happily accepted the large goblet offered to him. They settled into luxurious overstuffed armchairs by the welcoming fireplace.

“To old friends.”

“To renewed hope.”

They each took a delicate sip of their goblets, and settled into contented bliss, leaning back into the soft cushions as the night breeze drifted in through the open windows.

“I must ask. How in all Arda did you procure this delectable little bottle this time, hmm?”

“Ahh…through an unhealthy dose of more good wine.”

“I sense a tale behind that smirk.”

“There is an interesting account which ends with this bottle coming to be in my possession.”

“Do tell.”

“I won it from my good cousin Celeborn.”

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

“That is not so remarkable.”

“Well. Not in itself, but the bet which culminated in it is somewhat more interesting.”

Stealing a glance at his friend, he whispered, “Promise you won’t tell my wife of this.”

“Ha! This must be good!” Glorfindel snorted.

“Swear it!”

“I, Glorfindel of Imladris swear to keep thy ignoble secret, Oropherion!” chuckled Glorfindel.

“T’was at the last archery competition between our realms, so rarely do we get to see each other and well….we both had one drink too many that night and I do not recall whose brilliant idea this was.”

“He had heard of my new stallion and refused to believe he was faster than his own magnificent beast...”

“And?...” Glorfindel grinned, having some inkling of where this was headed.

“Patience!” retorted Thranduil, returning the grin. “On and one we argued. One of us must have suggested a race to settle this once and for all. So in drunken revelry, we plotted our race course in secret as the dancers danced and the minstrels sang the night away.”

“If I won, he would send me a bottle of this fine vintage. If he won, I would have to relinquish a jeweled dagger he had taken a fancy to.”

“In the light of morning, burdened with headaches unknown to Elvenkind, the route seemed the height of folly though pridefully, neither of us would make mention of it to the other. Thus, we stole out of the palace grounds and held our race.”

“You, I can well imagine behaving such. But Celeborn?!”

That earned him a gentle cuff across the head.

“What mean you by that?” exclaimed Thranduil in mock indignation. “We raced often in our youth.”

“Still, t’is hard to imagine.”

Thranduil smiled beatifically. “You have heard nothing yet.”

“It gets better?”

“Elbereth, you’ll not believe it. I still do not quite believe we did it either.”

“We held our foolish race, through the forest and to the edge of the cliffs past the eastern falls. All seemed well; I had not felt such exhilaration since before Legolas was born! Ai, dreary are my days now! Then we came to the jumps over the Enchanted River.”

“You are not serious.”

“Deadly serious. The same jumps that only the most foolhardy younglings attempt every spring, when the water is highest and most turbulent.”

“T’is only further evidence of our inebriation that night,” laughed Thranduil.

“What happened?” Glorfindel was dying of curiosity by now.

“Apparently, we were the first of this year’s hotheaded troop to attempt the jumps, for they had not been cleared much, and the overhanging foliage grew thick in certain spots.”

“Loathe am I to admit it, but Celeborn and I are somewhat more blessed in years than the usual visitors to these parts, and the jumps are clearly meant for smaller beings on smaller mounts.”

A pregnant pause came between the two friends in front of the merry fire.

“Celeborn snagged a vicious branch and fell into the river.”

Glorfindel nearly choked on his wine, doubled over in laughter, unable to regain composure for a goodly few minutes.

He looked up at his companion, indolently slouched in his chair across from him, looking most unkingly at the moment, staring into the fire with a smug grin curving his lips. Thranduil met his gaze, now looking a little sheepish.

“I tried to help him out and fell in during the process.”

This time, Glorfindel could not contain his mirth and exploded in a fit of hilarity, idly wondering if his laughter might wake the other palace inhabitants.

“You should have seen us! Lords of the Elven realms, soaked, muddy and unable to recall what we were doing there.”

“I can well imagine!” smirked Glorfindel. “Actually, on second thought, I cannot. You do realize this is blackmail material.”

“Is it now? Well, I could just let Elrond know who drugged his wine when he was courting Celebrian. Or how about the time you got stuck in the cellar with…”

“Alright! Alright! I concede yet again. What happened though?”

A little shamefaced, Thranduil ducked his head. “We had to wait till the effects of the River wore off and then we had to sneak back into the Palace like misbehaving elflings.”

“And Anoriel doesn’t know?”

“Well, not to my knowledge she doesn’t. If she did you can be sure I’d hear no end of it! Somehow, I don’t doubt Galadriel knows about this though.”

“Ha! So how did you decide that you won the bet?”

“We didn’t. We made a very solemn agreement. We would not inform our esteemed spouses of our exploits, and to seal our accord, I gave him my dagger and he sent me the wine. A favourable outcome I would say, in my opinion.”

“Ha ha! Favourable indeed. And I reap the benefits of your grave accord quite gladly. Though I feel you received the better end of the deal.”

“Not necessarily. He tells me he has an entire crate of these!”

“Elbereth, that is unbelievably good fortune. How came he by such a treasure?”

“I know not,” he shrugged, then a wicked glint came into his eye. “Perhaps he uses his Lady’s mirror for more than we know.”

The two dissolved into a fit of giggles and passed the rest of the night in quiet companionship, whiling away the hours till the first light of dawn.

=)