Something about Ecthelion's ready acceptance, or perhaps Glorfindel's friendly, relaxed conversation seemed to release something in the Silvans, and the walk to the makeshift camp was full of chatter, often interrupted, laughter and questions, mostly about daily life in Valinor.

'And... forgive me, what do you do all day...?' Merlinith asked, her voice sounding perplexed. 'That is, it is the Undying Lands, there are no humans to blend in amongst, how do you fill your time?'

Glorfindel laughed as Ecthelion gestured towards him with a superior smile.

'I am married to the most handsome, loving, charming, lithe and energetic ellon in all of Eru's wondrous creation; how do you think I fill my time...?'

At Merlinith's side, Araspen giggled, and Fin shook his head.

'Probably better not tell her too much, eh, Thel?'

'It sounds perfect, if you like that sort of thing,' Merlinith said. 'But I meant more... perhaps it is not relevant, we have had to make our way in the round world, work and such...'

'Ah, indeed... we've a small flock of sheep somewhere about.' Ecthelion waved a hand vaguely towards the hills beyond the villa. 'The fleece is good quality, it is popular with the spinners and weavers and the cloth-makers in the town... there is always plenty to fill the time, if one needs something with which to pass the days. And of course, one must get out of the way of the servants for a few hours a day... Fin watches for ships, I sit on the beach and watch Fin... I paint, or I play and compose music...'

'I watch for more ships. Swim a bit,' Fin added. 'And I've got my goats.'

'Yes... and We have fallen into our habits together with little interruption or distraction for... millennia, I suppose.'

'But then, there are no Men around, changing things all the time,' Glorfindel said. 'It's been lovely, really. A very nice change from quests and battles and dragons and suchlike.'

Merlinith sighed.

'Well, our last dragon was something like a thousand years ago but, sadly, Men keep finding things to fight over... you'd think with so few years to live, they'd be more careful what they do with their time...'

'Or perhaps they simply do not have long enough to spend talking things through?' Ecthelion suggested. 'I did not know many of them, not really.'

'I was going to say, you're not missing much,' Merlinith said. 'But then, sometimes they surprise you.'

'It's true,' Araspen said. 'Several humans helped our king to reconnect with us, and bring us away.'

'Certainly, I knew both bad and good amongst them,' Glorfindel said. 'Much the same as elves, really. Only they die sooner, and have not such nice hair.'

They arrived at the camp to thanks from Erestor and Arveldir and greetings from the assembled Silvans.

'You are in good time, Glorfindel,' Erestor said, gesturing him and Thel away towards a smaller version of the king's pavilion. 'And your assistance this morning has brought new heart to our charges; with the king gone, there has been some uncertainty.'

'Oh? Is there anything wrong?' Glorfindel asked. Erestor shook his head.

'Not as such, no. But the visit yesterday from Master Mindomen... it has made some of them anxious. Having heard from their friends about the enclave in Lord Oromë's forests, many are hoping someone will lead them there soon and they can simply abandon the modern trappings and go back to how they used to live...'

'Yet it is fair to say that others remember the forest, even Greenwood the Great, even fair Eryn Lasgalen as she became, with a little less longing and have become...urbanised, perhaps,' Arveldir said, spreading his hands. 'Our good friends Merlinith and Araspen are a case in point; they have worked through the years with fabric and yarn and have brought skills, materials and techniques they believe can be applied here, and so are not quite so eager to return to the simple life in the woods. Our king – our younger King Thranduil I know would not force any to follow him, but I do not think division will be helpful at this time.'

'No, indeed, it is important for all Silvans to be united for their Night of the Names, even if there is some sort of schism after that,' Erestor said. 'Those who would retire to an arboreal life are anxious lest those who have embraced the modern life case trouble for them.'

'And yet everyone has brought something modern with them,' Arveldir continued. 'It is just that what one person sees as likely to fall foul of the harbour elders, another considers it a simple development of an already-established idea. Take Merlinith's sewing machine, for instance. Master Mindomen has a similar thing, invented by Master Baudh, but for knitting. At first the elders hated it, called it an evil, noisy contraption, the work of corrupt forces. Yet Mindomen found a way to explain to them; people have been using needles to knit for years, the machine just holds and moves more needles more quickly than an elf can... and eventually, they realised it was useful and ceased their grumbling.'

'And so we are a little anxious... but come, you are our guests, primarily, and so, join us at the feast. We have no top table, of course, but if there were, we would place you with our king...'

'Where he would no doubt try not to look at me when I fell short of his expectations,' Glorfindel said with a laugh. 'He always used to shake his head sadly when I joined the table, do you not remember, Erestor?'

'Perhaps. But in fairness, you were not the only one.'

'Ah, but that is nothing new,' Ecthelion said, laughing as he put his arm around Fin's waist. 'Our former lord King Turgon was frequently in despair at the behaviour of some of his knights; not just Fin, of course...'

'Have you visited New Gondolin yet?' Erestor asked with grave courtesy, leading them to seats which, for all his words, seemed to be places of honour. 'I recall, when Arveldir and I first arrived, you mentioned an intention...'

'We considered it,' Thel said. 'But, well, we wondered if there might be another ship and did not wish to be from home.'

'Besides, there's plenty of time for that,' Glorfindel said. 'Unlike the original, New Gondolin isn't going anywhere.'

'Is that what happens here?' an interested voice from one of the neighbouring seats enquired. 'Forgive me, lords; Oreldaer, once in the Guard of Eryn Lasgalen... but is it so? All the old places are here, but made anew?'

'Not quite,' Ecthelion said, smiling politely at the ellon and aware that many around him were listening in. 'There are places with comparative geography... of course, you will have heard that Lord Oromë welcomes Silvans into his forest... there is a region where the former High King Gil-Galad holds court, and a valley near there where Lord Elrond has established his home... New Gondolin is less isolated than the original, but it is on a hill, so we hear, and is lovelier than the place we knew in Middle Earth, they tell us... there are the old cities at Alqualondë, and Tirion – where my husband was born – and, of course, Valmar. But other settlements there are, where people have simply come together to live and love and mingle. The harbour town is one such, but perhaps not the best example; mostly the elders there are drawn from Noldor, with the Teleri and Silvans who live there simply leaving them to it.'

'As do we,' Glorfindel said with a smile. 'The place is near enough if we want anything, but far enough not to feel crowded.'

'Oh. And do we crowd you, my lord?'

'Not at all; I have always been very fond of Silvans...Oh, sorry, Thel. I meant, you know, in general.'

Ecthelion cleared his throat to hide the laugh that was threatening at Fin's apology.

'In fact, no other thought had crossed my mind... and I will say that those Silvans I met in Mandos were far better company than some of the Noldor there... I think the fact of the matter is, Fin and I are both considerably older than most of those currently resident in the harbour town. Times and opinions change, even in the Undying Lands, and it is occasionally impossible not to be out of step with someone or other.'

Dishes and platters were brought and set on the tables, and Arveldir came to stand at the end of the tables.

'Honoured guests, mellyn-nin, be welcome to our Yule-day Feast. Of old we would gather in the great dining room in the Elvenking's halls, at the dark of the year, to eat together in the middle of the day, warm while all outside was cold. Now we are in the sunlight of a new day, and Yule celebrations will never be the same again. But eat, and drink, and be glad, for we are reunited after long asunder and we can find new ways to honour old celebrations.'

The meal began, the wine went round, and conversation turned away. Thel kept a weather eye on his husband, suddenly wondering if accepting this invitation had really been such a good idea for Glorfindel. There were bound to be memories associated with the day, the festival, the Silvans, and although Fin had sounded in good spirits in the garden at home when he'd referenced his first Yule in the Greenwood, his comment just now gave Thel pause... and of course, he had not thought Fin referencing any Silvan in particular until the moment his sweet, silly sunbeam had hastened to clarify.

'More wine, Thel?' Glorfindel filled up his beaker. 'This isn't bad stuff... better than the town vintner's, anyway.'

'Yes, indeed... Arveldir, this surely is from your own vineyards?'

From across the seating, Arveldir heard his name and replied in full, for Oreldaer was looking as if he approved the wine, too.

'Ah, yes, it is quite interesting... while the forests of Lord Oromë are vast and deep, there are clearings, and margins at the edges of the woodlands which are ideal for growing. In fact, Erestor and I occupy ourselves overseeing the growing of sundry fruits and vines, and our estates are most productive.'

'You, my lord? You... grow things?'

'Indeed,' Arveldir smiled. 'It is less frenetic than advising the Elvenking, but as exciting, in its way. Our wines are now sought from one end of the Undying Lands to the other. That is one of the wonderful things about being here; one can continue one's old patterns of life, or forge new paths.'

'Or you can simply sit and watch for ships,' Ecthelion said with a fond smile at Fin. 'It has made us happy.'

Glorfindel smiled back and leaned in for a moment to rest his golden head on Thel's shoulder.

'Don't know what we're going to do with ourselves now,' he said. 'Unless some of you fellows fancy going back on a shopping expedition? I can watch for your ship coming back, then. By the way, I'm a 34 long, so Merlinith says, though why she was even looking...'

While everyone laughed, Fin slipped his arm around Thel's waist and looked up into his eyes. Just for a moment, Ecthelion thought the light in his beloved was dimmed, like the sun seen through the early mist, but then he grinned and winked, glittering and glorious once more.

'I hear they brought you extra-long, though, love. Fancy nice ellith like those two knowing that.'

Someone listening choked on their wine, and Thel laughed and shook his head, cuddling Fin close for a moment.

'Now, love, it's length of the garment, that's all. Nothing to get excited about.'

'Well, I wouldn't have said that...'

'More wine?' Arveldir said quickly, calling a servant forward.

Finally, it seemed everyone was done eating and were content to drink and talk. Erestor caught Arveldir's eye, and the erstwhile advisor got to his feet to draw everyone's attention again.

'Traditionally, the daylight hours following the Yule Feast were spent in quiet reflection prior to the solemnity of the evening rituals. But we are celebrating, as well as commemorating, and so I have asked Masters Merenor and Hanben to provide entertainment... if you have been here, in the West, for more than a century or so, this may startle you at first, but be assured, there is no cause for alarm. If you will look towards the Royal Pavilion...'

'Goodness, whatever can it be?' Ecthelion asked, rising to his feet to watch a mahogany-haired Silvan in modern dress fussing over a cabinet with what appeared to be a large horn attached to the top, an ellon with rich chestnut hair getting in his way while trying to help. Erestor gave his small smile.

'Music,' he said.

'Ah. But there is nothing alarming about music, surel...?' He broke off as a swirl of sound blossomed out from the cabinet. 'Sweet Eru, what in the name of all the Valar...?'

It sounded as if there were a dozen musicians hiding somewhere and their melody issuing from the horn surmounting the cabinet in the same way the notes issued from Ecthelion's flute. Except all the music was coming at once in a strange mixture of sounds and voices. There were instruments he did not recognise, others which were familiar...

He grasped Glorfindel's hand and pulled him up, heading off towards the source of the sound, his husband shrugging at Erestor and following anyway.

'Your pardon,' Thel said, addressing the chestnut-haired elf. 'But this... how? And... what language, and...'

'Lord Ecthelion, is it not?' The ellon smiled and bowed. 'I recognised you, forgive me, by your husband... it is the modern Common Speech, which has changed through the years. This song is about a town where an event of historic significance happened some time ago; these humans, that two thousand years seems a long time for them... but...'

'But how?'

'Well...'

'Merenor, when you have finished showing off your knowledge of history to the nice lord, come and help here!' the other ellon said briskly.

'Ah, forgive me,' the chestnut-haired elf – Merenor – said. 'I would not insult you but it will be much speedier if I just say, witchcraft...'

'No, no, that is worse! Attend the winding, I will attempt an explanation; Lord Ecthelion is a noted musician, after all... My lord, I am Hanben, I have helped construct some of these devices, it is simply a matter of knowing how the sound travels and learning how to capture it, as it were...'

Glorfindel squeezed Ecthelion's hand.

'If you don't mind, Thel, I think I'd better talk to Arveldir about tonight.'

'I will be but a moment, my light...'

'No, it's interesting to you, and you can explain it all to me later, that way. Go on, I know you'll be safe with Master Hanben, he's married to Merenor there...' Fin smiled, bright and shiny. 'I won't be long, love, and if I am, well, you can come and get me.'

And with a kiss on the cheek and another squeeze of the hand, Glorfindel winked and left Ecthelion to hear all about sound waves, and wax cylinders, grooves and needles, singles, albums, and the difference between seven and twelve inches...

'Of course, this is a very old-fashioned way of playing the music, but it is also easier to keep the machine working than some of the more recent devices which need electricity and... well, that is a power-source elves have never needed, never tried to capture,' Hanben told him. 'It works by winding, although we have added one or two little improvements so the machine doesn't stop part-way through a piece of music.'

It truly was fascinating, ingenious and not too complex for him to follow. Some of the ideas were startling, it never having occurred to him to capture music in any other way than written notation, but at the end of it he was treated to another piece of music being played, a complicated, multi-layered composition that unfurled like the new day dawning, which rose and crashed like the sea and made his heart ache for the strange, stirring beauty of it.

'That is called the New World Symphony,' Master Hanben said softly. 'It somehow seems appropriate. Of course, we were told, play Christmas music... that is the modern correlation to Yule, it has its own music both modern and traditional, although the tradition is hardly old, of course... but I thought you would like this instead.'

'I do, indeed, it is... thank you, Master Hanben. I do not suppose you have written notation? I would so much like to try to learn this piece...'

'I think there were several elves with us who took an interest in classical music,' Hanben said. 'Let me ask around.'

Glorfindel had managed to get through the meal thanks largely to the trust he knew Thel had in him, not wanting to show he was struggling, not wanting to reference anything to hurt his husband... and then, or course, he'd come out with his wonderfully sensitive comment about being fond of Silvans...! That Thel had laughed it off with no trace of distress had been reassuring, but even though everything was different – no, maybe because everything was different, he kept going back to that first Yule Feast at the halls of the Elvenking in the Greenwood.

The music-thing was a distraction, and he was almost as interested as Thel, but knew his husband would be happy knowing all the details and that would give him a chance to settle himself down a bit.

Besides, he really did want to speak to Arveldir.

The Silvan was standing with his arm around Erestor, gesturing towards the road to the harbour, and waved when he saw Glorfindel heading towards them.

'Thank you, Glorfindel, for helping today,' he said. 'I hope there will be no cause for concern, and I know most of the equipment our friends wanted to send to safety will not work here in any case, but it is the principle, more than anything... I am tired of the interference of the harbour elves with newly-landed Silvans! Still, by all accounts, there are likely to be few, if any ships in the future... our king tried to bring everyone, or if not, to make a safe harbour for those who were left behind...'

'Really? So there really will be no more ships?'

'I do not think so.'

'But there is no reason why you should not keep watching, since you enjoy it so,' Erestor said with his small smile. 'I find I do many things because I used to, not because I need to. However, I think, Glorfindel, you had another purpose in approaching us?'

'I did... just was wondering what time you needed us this evening?'

'Ah. Well, of course, nightfall here is several hours later than it would have been in the Greenwood... but I had wondered whether you would simply like to spend the intervening hours with us?' Arveldir said, perhaps a little too swiftly. 'There are many here who would be glad to talk over old times with you... although it may be that your husband will need introducing to them...'

'It would save you the walk home and back,' Erestor said, a tension in his voice that Glorfindel remembered of old; his friend from Imladris was worried about something. 'And, besides...'

'Besides, I want to speak to the clever-handed Master Baudh about something; he is with his brother, how convenient... I will wait a while, I think. He seems in the middle of a conversation. Well, I'll just...'

He gestured vaguely, not really knowing if he should leave them to their discussion, or ask if there was anything they needed help with. Erestor provided him with an excuse to leave.

'There is plenty of wine, if you wish to find drinks for yourself and your husband,' he offered. 'The ladies over there have some of the better vintage stowed away.'

Glorfindel tipped his head and made his way towards the table indicated. The Silvan ladies were very happy to serve the famed Balrog Slayer with a couple of bottles of Arveldir's choicest reds. He gave them his best flirty smile and wandered off back towards the music.

Partway there, he paused. Nobody nearby, and he didn't really feel like company until he'd got himself sorted out a bit, so he headed towards the outskirts of the woods where he could sit with his back to a tree and think about Yules long past...

There were too many ghosts, even though it was broad daylight, and most of them had been re-embodied now anyway. Even so, they haunted him.

He uncorked the wine and took a long draught from it before setting his back against a tree and tipping his head back. So long ago, so very long he'd lived, here, and Middle Earth, back to the Halls and Middle Earth again...

It really didn't matter how many thousands of years had passed, his memory swept him back all the way to Triwathon...

He had believed it over, done with, he had moved on, but Triwathon coming back had woken up more than just the ghost of the Silvan's young, uncertain self; it had brought back the ghost of Glorfindel, as well.

The Glorfindel who had fought so many wars in a Middle Earth where his home had long fallen into the sea, who had spent too long serving a peredhel when once he had been Lord of his own house, under a great king... who had lived with scars and burns and weals striping his skin as a reminder of his death until his next death had finally taken him out of it again…

And he knew tonight would be hard in its own way; these Silvans, they wanted to remember their first king. But they wouldn't want Fin's memories of him, not if they knew, not if…

Glorfindel sighed and raised the bottle in silent toast to long-dead Oropher.