Thranduil returned to his private quarters where Galion was already waiting for him.

"You stay here as master of the servants," Thranduil told him while he put down the elegant robes that he had been wearing. Galion had lain out his white armour for the ride and battle. It would be a long ride, so the cooks were busy preparing Lembas bread and other nutrient rich foodstuffs for the way.

"All the guards will be riding with us," Thranduil muttered while undoing his belt.

"I will look after the place until you return," Galion said and tried to hide that his voice was shaking. It was futile.

Thranduil put a hand onto his butler's shoulder. "I will return. I do not intend to stay in Aman if we get there. Not just yet, at least."

"Their last call was when the time of the elves was over and the fourth age began," Galion reminded him.

"When the destruction of the ring had failed, we hardly had any choice but to stay and fight."

"The ring is destroyed now."

"Yes, and men, dwarves, and elves paid the price for that it was so late. Men are not ready yet. There are still many dangers in these lands and with the new peril we face, we cannot sail."

"When you defeat Morgoth, you can. You can stay."

Thranduil placed his forehead against Galion's. The butler had to look up to him as Thranduil was much taller. "I will return, Galion," he whispered. "Since the death of my wife and the passing of Celebrimbor and Amroth centuries ago, I have not had any meaningful relationships. You are the only elf that still endures me."

"I serve you like I served your father and like a serve your son."

"You are the most loyal elf in all of Mirkwood. That is why you remain here in charge and if I do intend to stay West, I will make sure that we will be united there," Thranduil promised and kissed Galion again. "Because I do not want to lose such a trustful servant," he added,

Thranduil dressed in his warrior's clothes. Galion loved seeing him in the white armour that he had last time worn when denying the greedy dwarves help during the dragon attack that they had brought upon themselves.

Galion watched the elves ride away. It took him time to realise how silent the realm had become. Every able-bodied elf and she-elf had set out. Only a few cooks, gardeners, and weavers were left behind. Either because they were quite young and lacked training or because injuries from previous battles prevented them from fighting in one again.

If anyone wanted to attack them now, they would have the time of their lives. Galion chuckled sarcastically at that joke and returned inside the halls. He closed the big doors himself. It would be two days until he expected the messenger from the Iron Hills to return – either with the good news that the dwarves would join the fight or the bad news that they had invented new insults for the elves.

Lindir was waiting for Galion in the dining hall. It looked as if all life had left it which was unfortunately true. And so looked he, which was fortunately not true. Lindir had been told to remain behind as representative of the Rivendell elves. Rivendell would soon also be deserted as the elves were all going to war. The dark brown-haired elf wiped a tear away as Galion neared.

"I wish I could have gone with them. I feel useless," he admitted.

"They trust you so much that if they all fail, you are the head of Imladris."

"Which will be irrelevant if Imladris is destroyed."

Galion stepped forward and hugged the fragile elf. "Come now," he finally said. "We have a task to fulfil."

Together, they climbed down into the lowest levels of Thranduil's realm and into the dungeons. The only prisoner still left was Alatar, the blue Istari wizard. Galion opened the heavy prison door and put the torch into the holder at the wall. It was the only light source and the first time in days that Alatar had seen light. He, himself, had entered a state of dreams and hallucination. A simple man would not have survived all this.

Galion took a chair to reach the ceiling and loosened the chains around the wizard's wrists. He sacked down onto the floor with a dumb sound. Lindir stood silently and watched.

Galion returned to Lindir and touched his hands. He bent forward and whispered into his ear, "desperate times require desperate measures." Lindir was surprised that Galion could read him so well and he nodded hesitantly. "Let's get this over with," Galion added and gave him a quick kiss. Then he turned and bent down to the wizard.

Alatar was breathing heavily, his head was whirring, and he could barely see. All he could make out was the silhouette of an elf.

"We have found your companion Pallandor," Galion lied. "He did not surrender, so our king slayed him."

Alatar did not answer. Apparently, he believed their story. "Morgoth will return," he answered with great toil.

"He already has," Galion informed him.

A wide smile appeared on the wizard's face. "Then your days are numbered."

"All of Middle-earth is riding to face him. Morgoth will fail just like you, Pallando – and Saruman."

"Saruman?"

"Oh, you did not know? He also turned against us and he also died," Galion hissed.

Lindir stood beside him and tried to hide his trembling. He had never seen this side of Galion. He had been so tender with him and now he looked so evil and willing to do anything to get information out of this wizard. He was shocked, but at the same time he cursed himself for falling for Galion so easily. He was a wood-elf after all. They were more aggressive and less wise than the Ñoldorin elves, and their traditions and time-passing were less evolved. He sighed. There was still something about Galion that triggered him, something that made his stomach turn whenever his brown eyes looked right through him.

"Morgoth will wipe you all out," Alatar hissed.

Galion had not seen such hatred in an Istari before. The days without rest and light and food must have gotten to him. Or his journey to the East had changed him and made him forgot the ways of the Maiar.

"You want to know our plans, but I will rather die," the wizard added in toil.

"Lindir, would you mind holding the torch nearer," Galion asked for light. The dark brown-haired elf did as he was told. The pear shimmered in the golden light.

"Please," Alatar whispered finally. "I just want to return to a shapeless form. I want to regain my powers and I want to leave Arda again. This world stinks of humans and dwarves and I am tired of the elves and their beauty. Morgoth descends near the Weatherhills once Alatar has killed Tilion, the guardian of the moon. Through the Door of Night, he can return."

"What is his plan then? Why return at the Weatherhills?"

After a while, he continued, "Morgoth can only return to Middle-earth for that Aman is too heavily fortified. He will then destroy the land of the halflings to show the other inhabitants what they are in for. Once that fear has ripped through every living soul, he sails to Aman for vengeance on the Valar who exiled him. Armies that obeyed Sauron and armies that obey the darkness will follow him. He has hidden a ship that can carry every orc or goblin, every spider, every disciple of evil over the Great Sea. Once Aman is burning, the rest of Middle-earth will fall in no time." He spat out every word with as much hatred as he was capable to.

"I have told you everything I know," Alatar shouted.

"No, you haven't." It was Lindir who spoke this time. He did a very good job in hiding his contempt regarding everything that was happening down here. It was the loss of Elrond that now drove him. "You know what Morgoth plans and where. How did you communicate with him as he was a prisoner of the void?"

"Was?" Alatar laughed. "You mean he has indeed returned already."

"With the healing powers of the elves, we can make your body last for a very long time. Your spirit will never be free," Galion threatened him.

Alatar gagged and yelled. "There are rifts in the Ekkaia. Things very small can pass from the void into our world and the other way round."

"What things?"

"Crabain."

"They used birds to send messages," Lindir explained.

"Birds cannot fly that high," Galion said.

"I bewitched them. I made them strong. I made them small."

Galion stood up. That was what he had wanted to hear. He looked towards the open doorframe in which a shadow appeared. It was an elven messenger.

"I will over-bring the news," he said and disappeared to ride after the Thranduil's army.

"He was standing there the whole time," Galion explained to Lindir who had looked confused. "I have found everything out that King Thranduil wanted to know," he said to the wizard. "You are no longer of use for us."

Galion then drew his sword and quickly put an end to the mortal shell of Alatar. "King's orders," he explained when he left the dungeons with Lindir who was in a bit of a shock. When they climbed up to the king's halls, Galion put his arm around Lindir.

"I am not proud of what I have done," Galion told him.

"I have been through war and I have done many things as well. But I have never inflicted pain on a sentient being on purpose," Lindir replied. The halls were empty and there was no one who could have seen how Lindir began to cry.

"We've had peace for so long."

"There was never peace," Galion said and wiped the tear from his cheek. "Just no war."

Lindir fell into a hug with Galion. Galion smiled and leaned his head against the Imladris steward's. He held his hands tight against his back. "Soon, there will be peace," he added.

When Elrond opened his eyes, he thought he was still falling in the bottomless pit that Pallando had opened up. But he found that there was no air sweeping past him and that he was lying on cold stone. He touched his chest. There was no hole and no blood. He looked down and realised that he was wearing a light brown gown without any sign of his injury.

It was dark, but his eyes were getting used to the lack of light. Slowly, he gathered that he was in a cave, even though the floor was too even to be natural. The ceiling shimmered blue and bore crystals that he had never seen before. There were stalagnates, stalactites and stalagmites. The hall seemed endless as he could not see the walls in the mist that hovered over the ground in the far.

Elrond turned around. He walked into the direction of where the cave ceiling was getting lower. He came into another area which was still part of the hall. As he came closer to the walls, he realised that they were not shimmering dark blue like the ceiling, but in fact, they were covered with tapestries. Elrond regarded them for a while and followed them along the walls. Something struck him as familiar and he walked a few steps back. He saw a woven representation of a huge battle, many elves and men facing orcs and a dark creature that he knew too well. It was Sauron, unmistakably, wearing the one ring and wielding his mighty sword.

"The War of the Last Alliance," Elrond muttered and touched the texture with his hands.

"I thought you might recognise it," a voice behind him said and he turned around in shock. The shock quickly flew away as he saw a woman with white-grey hair in a mauve dress. "I took time for every one of the soldiers to be represented with high accuracy."

"You wove those?" Elrond asked and pointed at the tapestries.

The woman nodded. "I am Vairë, I keep track of history and weave it."

"Where am I?" Elrond asked.

"Don't you know?" Vairë, a Vala said.

"I died," Elrond replied. She nodded. "This is not me," he deduced and looked down on his body. "I am but my spirit. I am dead, and I have been brought to the Halls of Mandos." He looked around. It was indeed like Glorfindel had described it to him. But now he understood why his best friend had said that he needed to 'experience to understand'.

"Are you ready to face Námo who will judge you, Elrond Peredhil?"

He nodded even though he was anything but ready. This was not how he had imagined the afterlife to be. She guided the way around columns and down and up staircases until they came before a stone-throne on which a hooded figure sat. The man stood up and was several inches higher than Elrond when he descended from his elevated throne. Námo removed his hood and his age-less face stared at Elrond for a long time. Vairë silently left and returned to her weaving loom to weave the departure of the elves from Mirkwood.

"Elrond Eärendilion Peredhil, brother to Elros, wife to Celebrían. Welcome to the Halls of Mandos," Námo said and opened his arms wide to show off the vastness of his realm. "I have met your brother Elros many centuries ago, but time does not matter here." He lay his hand on Elrond's cheek as if to feel something. He closed his eyes and concentrated. "You from now on reside in the Halls of Awaiting, you must cleanse yourself from earthly burden and bath in the lake of self-reflection before your further fate can be decided."

"Further abidance?" Elrond did not understand. This was the end. He was dead.

"Your journey in Middle-earth is not over. Your story has pages left that cannot remain unwritten. But I will need time," Mandos said and put his hood back on. "I will need time," he repeated and climbed back onto his throne.

Elrond left the way he had come, confused by the riddles in which the Valar had spoken. He found the hall again where he had awoken. There was a cliff and in front of him was a sea of stalagmites and fog covering the ground.

"It is a beautiful view, isn't it?" he heard a voice behind him. "Just like the sea that we were supposed to sail." Elrond recognised the voice that he had not heard in centuries. His body started the shake and he felt plunged into a dream. Tears filled his eyes and he lost his sense for reality. When he turned around, his former lover Gil-Galad looked exactly like he did in his memory: tall, handsome, his eyes stern and focused. He was wearing the armour of the last war, but it was clean, and he was also without a scratch.

"I have followed your story," Gil-Galad explained and pointed to the tapestry in the far. "I am very proud of you and I am very glad that you have found someone. Legolas Thranduilion seems to be a worthy recipient of your love."

"Shut up," Elrond muttered. A tear was running down his cheek and he began to laugh. "Shut up," he added and stumbled forward and into the Ñoldorin's arms. Gil-Galad smiled contently and wrapped his hands around the half-elf.

"I have missed you, Elrond. But I have always hoped to never see you here," he said and nestled his head against his lover's.

Elrond could not help but cry tears of joy. He was incapable of expressing in words how much he had missed his first big love. All the feelings and memories came back to him at once. All the nights and mornings that they had spent together. His knees felt wobbly and he sank down.

Gil-Galad's smile grew bigger as he went down with Elrond. "I am glad to see that you have not simply forgotten and replaced me."

"Never," Elrond wept. He had always borne such great sorrow, and his life was formed by grief and loss, and he had had his moments of weakness that he had allowed himself, but he had always needed to show strength as a leader to his people and as a father to his children. But right now, no one was here to witness the great Elven Lord to burrow his head into Gil-Galad's shoulder and to cry him a river that would make Baranduin look small. He began to remove the elf's armour layer by layer until he was standing there with only a lose gown and riding trousers. Elrond hugged him again and dug his fingernails deep into the woven fabric. He needed to feel Gil-Galad's body and pressed him towards himself. Gil-Galad enjoyed the closeness he had not felt with his lover in centuries and tightened his grip on his back.

"I missed you," Elrond said. "Even with Celebrían and Legolas, I still valued our time together. I never forgot you. I never forgot what we had." His voice became drowned in sobbing.

Gil-Galad lifted his head and looked into the half-elf's old, wise, brown, watery eyes. He used his thumb to wipe the tears from his cheeks. Elrond laughed briefly, overfilled with joy.

"I missed you, too," Gil-Galad said and kissed him gently. Elrond's mouth was dry and Gil-Galad's lips were so very soft. "But I saw you, every day. And I love seeing you." Gil-Galad nodded to the tapestry again. He glided his hand through Elrond's open hair. They stared into each other's eyes without saying anything. The lovers kept silence for a long time until Elrond finally hung his head. Gil-Galad kissed the front of his head.

"I wish you could remain here with me and we spent eternity together," Gil-Galad said.

"Maybe we can."

"You have commitments. You have Legolas. You will return to him." He places a finger onto Elrond's mouth before the half-elf could answer. "Go take a bath. You will have to get ready for your return to the world of the living. You are too good for these halls."

This time it were tears of sadness that rolled over Elrond's cheeks. But he understood. He nodded and gave Gil-Galad a final kiss. When their lips parted, he felt like he had finally managed to make the good-bye to him that he wanted to. He gathered his clothes and walked to the Sea of Enlightment. The water felt neither warm nor cold, and he doze off with his head leaning against the rocks.