By the end of a rather fun hour, Ecthelion acknowledged himself master of the zip fasteners, or at least, he knew as much about their workings and potential for play as Glorfindel did…

Zips firmly up, clothing tidied, he lay with Fin in his arms and stroked the gold of his hair, feeling the smile in his fëa. A distant swirl of artificial music filtered through the trees and provided a soft accompaniment to his sense of calm joy.

'Better, my goldenrod?' he asked.

Glorfindel laughed and cuddled against him.

'Much better, my Thel. You always know how to make me feel better.'

'Well, I feel better now, too. You have your own magic, Glorfindel, your own way of making me feel special.'

The music drifted, stopped abruptly. At first they thought little of it but then voices, growing raised and heated began shattering the harmony of the afternoon.

'Trouble,' Glorfindel said, getting to his feet and reaching for Ecthelion's hand. 'Come on, love… ah, it's a pity, though! It was becoming such a nice afternoon, I was going to teach you Advanced Zipping Up…'

'Ai, and you are expert because you have been wearing jeans for a full half hour longer than I…? Well, come, let's make sure there is not a kinslaying about to take place; I am sure it would quite ruin the mood of the forthcoming Night of the Names…'

They headed back towards the Silvans' campsite, loping through the trees swiftly so they could arrive soon but emerge from cover and simply appear to have been but strolling. Fin cast a casual-seeming arm around Thel's shoulders, easy and utterly belying the thrumming of his nerves; Thel could feel the tension through the contact, and hoped whatever was going on could be easily resolved…

Coming clear of the trees, they had a good, clear view of the situation; it was enough to make them hasten.

There appeared to be a stand-off between a deputation of town Noldor and a group of about a dozen Silvans who were gathered protectively around the music producing device, the rest holding back, watchful and wary of the scene that unfolded before them; to Ecthelion's delight he saw the Chief Elder of the harbour being berated by an angry elleth with one fist jammed on her hip while she wagged a finger in his face with her other hand. Her voice was clear and carrying and Glorfindel laughed softly.

'Ai, Thel! It's our friend Mistress Merlinith!'

'Indeed. I am most glad, dear goldenrod, that she is our friend… Remind me to always be polite to the lady!'

'…Unelven?' Merlinith was saying. 'Unelven? How would you know, shutting yourself up by choice in a town when there are lovely trees all around?'

'This…this mechanical device… with sounds… it is… witchcraft, Silvan witchcraft!'

'Then how can it be unelven if it is Silvan? Really, you're an elder? Did nobody every teach you how to marshal an argument?'

'The things it is saying… it is wrong… you cannot bring such modern contrivances into Valinor, it is not right, it is against the Valar…'

'Against the Valar, indeed?' Merlinith sniffed, tossed her head, and folded her arms across her chest defiantly. 'How would you know? Do you speak with them? Do they visit you?' She caught sight of Glorfindel and Ecthelion and a worrying light gleamed in her eyes. 'Here are my good friends Fin and Thel! I happen to know that our most respected Lord Námo visits them from time to time. And it is said that the Lord of the Fountains has more than a passing acquaintanceship with the Lord of the Waters…'

'Ai, the dear lady learns swiftly!' Ecthelion murmured. 'Fin, dearest, I think we have just become embroiled…'

'Have a feeling Námo's going to be a bit busy at the moment, though… don't suppose you fancy giving Lord Ulmo a call, Thel…?'

'If I must… but I would need to talk to the fountain or visit the ocean to do so and perhaps help is needed more swiftly than that… besides, town Noldor, it is a little beneath him…'

He lifted his hand to wave easily at Merlinith, noting as he did so that Arveldir and Erestor were close at hand, poised, he thought, to intervene if necessary.

'…That aside,' the elder was saying, 'the clothes… they are most definitely wrong! And that ellon there… You! How dare you come to Valinor dressed so disrespectfully…?'

He pointed with shaking fingers at Canadion, who drew himself up to his full height, made more than usually tall thanks to his three-inch wedge heeled sandals, maintaining a dignified silence. At his side, Thiriston growled softly.

'But he is not dressed disrespectfully,' a new voice, the soft and gentle tones of Araspen broke in. 'You have been too long away from fashionable people, sir, if you do not know that the rules decree, do not show cleavage and thigh at the same time for decency, and see? His knees are covered as is his décolleté… it is really most modest garb…'

'But it is female garb! He is not female!'

'Elder Doldaer! I confess to a certain curiosity… how might you know what is female garb and what is not?' Ecthelion asked. 'You have been here for almost as long as Fin has, this time round, and so you really can only be guessing… besides, the modern clothes are rather lovely, do not you think…? No, obviously not…'

'You… you are… those things you are wearing…!'

'Yes, quite, they are delightful, are they not? They have zips which go down and up, it is rather entertaining… and, oh look, I see you are in long formal robes today, do you know, there is not a lot of difference between robes and dresses, when you think about it… or have you never thought about it? Are you finished haranguing our guests, yet? Or was there anything in particular you wished to confiscate for the sake of their fëar, of course?'

'My lord Ecthelion! You are a respected figure in our settlement, not to mention your honoured place in the history of elvenkind, and so I do not like to be at odds with you…'

'Then do not be,' Ecthelion put in. The elder disregarded the interruption and continued unabated.

'…but this really is most unhelpful of you… these… arrivals… do not seem to know how to behave here, what is allowed and what is not, and it is our duty, as elders, to make sure they do not cause offence…'

'These new arrivals are Silvan, not Noldor; they have their own king to lead them and no need of your intervention. That the Elvenking is called away on urgent business is unfortunate, but surely everything of this sort can wait unto he is returned?' Ecthelion suggested. 'Today is a day of important ritual for our new friends, which we should consider, and treat with respect…'

'But all the more reason to ensure they do not offend our great ones! This device which makes such noises! It cannot be right, it must be stopped! It is unelven…'

'In fact, it is not, and I happen to know the elf who helped design the workings behind it, he is just over there…' Merlinith suddenly fell silent, the argument forgotten as she turned to seek Master Hanben and her gaze lit on a stirring at the edge of the trees. Immediately she folded down into as elegant a curtsey as she could, modern clothes permitting.

All at once the elder realised he had lost the attention of the gathered Silvans as he saw the same sight Merlinith had. As one the Silvans bowed, dropped to their knees. Here and there, many amongst the newly-landed Silvans prostrated themselves fully on the ground. For a moment, Glorfindel and Ecthelion were as mystified as was Doldaer, but then looked in the direction of the Silvans' obeisance to see a lordly figure in hide leggings and an open leather waistcoat exposing his strong arms and powerful chest. He was mounted on a white horse and had come to a halt at the edge of the trees.

There was a sense of muted radiance to him, and as he moved, light glittered and gleamed around him, as if he were a vessel filled with light and movement caused it to spill from his form. His long, dark hair swirled and flowed around his shoulders and back as if stirred by a breeze all of its own.

At once Thel bowed, and dropped to one knee as at his side Glorfindel did the same; the townsfolk also hastening to make proper obeisance. None looked up at the sound of approaching hoof beats, but then a strong, brave voice addressed them.

'Welcome to the Undying Lands, my Silvan friends! Rise, now, and resume your activities.'

A certain degree of relaxation filtered through the camp as everyone unfolded and rose to their feet. Those Silvans who were already resident, who had come to welcome the new arrivals, began to speak, to reassure.

'…yes, indeed, it is our Lord Oromë, but we are like children to him, we need not fear…'

'…as long as you don't go hunting on his reserves…'

'Well, quite…'

'It seems I have arrived in the midst of an argument,' Lord Oromë said, coming to a halt near the confrontation. 'Enlighten me as to who amongst you is in dispute with whom?'

Arveldir came forward and bowed.

'My lord, Elder Doldaer visited to express his concern lest our newly-arrived friends accidentally contravened some or other ruling… we are sure it is well intentioned…'

Merlinith sniffed again, and not even a hard glance from Arveldir quelled her.

'Perhaps you did not hear, Lord Arveldir, the part where he said we were Silvan witches? Or that he said Canadion, who saved the king's life more than once, was improperly dressed? Or accused us – us! – of being unelven…?'

'In fact, Mistress Merlinith, I did, but it is in the interests of all not to make accusations…'

'Such as those this elder here was making…?'

'Merlinith, please…'

Oromë interrupted.

'Oh, the town elders! I do not have much to do with towns and such!'

The Huntsman of the Valar dismounted and turned away from the confrontation, leaving his horse to its own devices. He moved amongst the Silvans, stopping beside those who had thought it necessary to prostrate themselves and who had not yet dared to move. His voice was softer now, but still carried, and his words kind.

'Come, there is no need for this, you are welcome here, children of the forests as you are… you, here, I know you, you made toys for the elks and the elk-tamers disapproved it…'

Oromë dropped to sit cross-legged beside the elf addressed, patted his shoulder and encouraged him up.

'There, that is better! And you kept the old songs alive, you taught them to your sons… You are…? I feel I should know…. Ah, I think I know! You are Merenor! Your descendants and your friends who already are here speak often of you.'

'Great lord, I am indeed… I… for many happy years, I served amongst the herds… it is a thing now, "environmental enrichment", it is often done where animals are kept away from their natural habitat, and…I love the old stories, Lord…'

'And would you happen to know anything about this unelven invention?'

'I know a lot about it, great Lord, but my husband knows more…'

'Show it me, then? Oh, introduce us first?'

Ecthelion and Glorfindel looked on as Lord Oromë, Huntsman of the Valar, was treated to a demonstration of the music device, and was suitably impressed by its workings.

'I will not ask "how",' he said. 'But it is obviously not witchcraft, and what could be more elf-like than wanting to capture music? As for what it is saying…'

'The language of the Edain, Lord, has changed, but the sense of the song is…'

Oromë lifted a hand to gently silence Master Hanben, who was attempting the explanation.

'Do not trouble; I have kept up with the changes in the round world east… Hmm… "We three eastern rulers are bringing presents from far away. We have passed over moorland and pasture, high peaks and waterfalls, towards that star… O wondrous star, light star with bright regal beauty… leading us west, always west, bring us to your source…" Very nice, very elf-like.' He tipped his head towards Doldaer. 'What is unelven about singing praise to the stars…? About heading West…?'

His face grew stern and lordly as he allowed a glimpse of his nature to show through, his wild hair stirring as he addressed the harbour folk.

'These Silvans are under my care, Noldor townspeople, and you may pass the word that if you offend them, you offend me. Now, you may go about your business and we will not mention this again. Not unless we must.'

A lift of an eyebrow, a flick of the fingers towards the deputation sprinkling light as he moved. Some of them managed to bow; all of them retreated.

'Ah, that's better,' Lord Oromë said. 'Now… if you are willing, I would like to join your celebrations; I have become used to hearing the observations of the Night of the Names in my forest, and I gather this will be a special occasion… if you have no objections, that is? Arveldir, you are in charge, I expect?'

Arveldir bowed.

'I am guardian and advisor only, Lord. But after a fashion, his majesty the Elvenking left Erestor and I in nominal charge, with Commanders Thiriston and Canadion leading the observances tonight. Lords Glorfindel and Ecthelion have been most welcoming and helpful, and his majesty invited them to share our evening, for they have their own memories to add to ours.'

'You I've seen before,' Oromë said with a glint at Glorfindel. 'Your companion, of course, I know by repute… and it strikes me, that if anyone is like to know where the wine is kept, Glorfindel, it will be you…'

'Indeed, Lord, allow me… Thel, are you coming?'

It was almost a relief to escape from under Lord Námo's presence and go in search of wine.

'Glad we've been counted on the side of the Silvans,' Fin said, with a shudder even as he smiled. 'I think of them all, I'd fear Lord Oromë most, in a fight… not that I'm likely to fall foul of him, but…'

'Indeed, he is most impressive, the wildness about him… Ah. Ladies, you may have noticed we have a most esteemed guest at the feast… perhaps you have been saving the really good wine somewhere…? No…?' Ecthelion sighed. 'Fin, dearest, go and see if there is any fine vintage stowed away in the king's pavilion, would you? I will take this back to the Lord.'

When Ecthelion returned, he found Oromë already supplied with wine, and smiling at a cluster of Silvans who were beginning to lose their awe of him a little. The Huntsman was asking seemingly simple questions, but a gleam in his dark eyes suggested to Ecthelion that he was weighing up the answers according to some private lights.

'And so, this wonderful music machine… did you bring more things of its kind with you?'

Several voices chimed together, explaining about little metal boxes no bigger than your hand, but could hold more music than you could listen to in weeks, and sadly they needed special power to work, but luckily, Master Hanben had a way of using the sunlight, perhaps…

At this point, Master Hanben grew a little flustered, waving his hands to interrupt.

'If… if such things are not prohibited,' he said. 'It is modern technology, yes, and on the round world there are many amazing things that would not be proper here, I know. But this… it is just music…'

'I cannot speak for all, you understand,' Oromë said. 'But on my own lands I can order things as I will. And I would say… probably… pending a more thorough investigation, which cannot happen today, this is your day of ritual… I would not care for you to make such devices, I think, but if you can make them work… and keep them working… I see no harm in your music things.'

A murmur of relief ran through the Silvans.

'But what do you think, Lord of the Fountains, you and your husband? For if any residents were to protest against such things, you are amongst the longest-resident, and your opinions ought to be given more note…'

'Lord of the Hunt, I adore the music device, and there is wonderful music held on these round discs! I… the other recording things I have not heard… but I am intrigued by the Elvenking's bicycle, and approve Mistress Merlinith and Araspen's sewing machine… and the new garments, lord, the fastenings… my husband is most taken with the fastenings…'

'Much more practical,' Master Merenor said swiftly, hoping to divert attention away from the bicycle. 'I am sure Merlinith has several extra pairs of jeans, my lord if you…'

Oromë made a swift gesture, as graceful as any the Elvenking might make, but made feral and wild, somehow.

'Let the Elvenking's bicycle wait until the Elvenking himself can discuss it. What I wish to know is have any of you brought any modern weapons? I know there are such things…'

There was an instant clamour the tone almost outraged as all the new arrivals tried to answer at once.

'What, like the guns and things?'

'Bombs? Of course not!'

'We are Silvans, why would we want such horrors? Why bring them here?'

'If anything is against the Valar, it is such weapons, surely the work of dark forces…'

'We would not taint Valinor with horrors like pistols…'

'…rifles…'

'…semi-automatic machine guns…'

'Kalashnikovs or AK-9s…'

'…not that we know anything about those, do we, Araspen…?'

'…except for what we read in the survivalist magazines, Merlinith. By mistake. Besides, even the crossbow is not right, not proper, not… not Silvan!'

Oromë nodded, smiled, held wide his arms.

'And this is why I love you, my Silvans! More than one boat foundered on the outer islands with unelven weaponry aboard, its Noldor stranded, some of its cargo smashed free of packing and found by Lord Ulmo, who saw fit to present the matter to us in convocation… that your vessel did not founder suggests to me there was nothing on board that was against our hopes for you, or threatened our peace.' He smiled, baring white, dangerous teeth. 'So… Glorfindel had been sent in search of wine…?'

Ecthelion bowed.

'My spouse, in fact, is seeking the Elvenking's special reserves... He seems to have been delayed, perhaps trying to ensure he finds the very best… in the interim, my lord, here is a lesser vintage, but presented with respectful wishes from the ladies of the beverage table yonder…' He presented the bottle with an elegant bow. 'And, if my lord will excuse me, I will seek my golden sunbeam and enquire how his search progresses.'