Elrond was very carefully trying to escort Celebrian around his gardens – and refrain from singing the praises of Imladris. That is what friends are for. Unfortunately, most of his friends were occupied. So he kept very quiet.

Angrentur was keeping that party of Naugrim occupied. Glorfindel had bowed out of all such duties by claiming "urgent business." Erestor was busy keeping certain various elves of Imladris from becoming certain various embarrassments to the Lord of Imladris (he wasn't entirely sure if this policy had been a good idea). And Lindir was keeping the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien occupied.

However, he could not prevent a smug smile from quietly turning up the corners of his mouth. Celebrian noticed this, but refrained from pointing it out – she was the guest, and he the host. Besides, his gardens were much more interesting then he was.

Celebrian was running back and forth to look at them better.

"Do you only grow flowers here?" she asked. In Lothlorien, the herbs were kept separate from the flowers – and everyone was careful to ensure that the mustard was kept separated from the beehives.

"Not at all," Elrond replied. "I designed it very logically. It moves from flowers, to herbs, to vegetables, to the medicinal plants."

"What moves? I'm a little confused here."

"The path. We start off with flowers – which is where we are now. The flowers are near the beehives, and they in turn are close to the Hall of Fire. The herbs and vegetables are by the kitchens, and the medicinal plants are by the infirmary. It's very helpful as a navigational system."

"How does it all fit? Imladris seems a lot more straight – this path keeps looping about – are we going in circles?"

"Nearly. It's designed around a rivulet of the Bruinen which I and a few others diverted through the gardens. But the actual design is more like a wheel."

"How did you divert the rivulet? A dam, a channel?"

"A channel. We – my advisors and myself – wanted to disturb the woods and the Bruinen as little as possible."

Celebrian nodded. "Lothlorien as well. It's why we live in flets – so we don't have to cut down our trees to build our homes."

Elrond knew it had been too good to be true. Celebrian had just pulled a "Galadriel" on him. He was fed up 'till here with Galadriel telling him how much better whatever-it-was was so much better done in Lothlorien then in Imladris.

Elrond's tone grew chilly. "Unfortunately, Imladris does not boast the famed Mallorn trees. However, I can assure you that our trees are much more varied, and our fish and game superb."

Celebrian wished she knew what she had said to offend him. "Lord Elrond? What did I just say? I know I'm not the equal of my mother when it comes to diplomacy."

Diplomacy? Elrond was shocked. There were many words he used to describe Galadriel. Diplomatic was not one he used often.

And, very softly spoken, "Or much else." Her voice regained its usual volume."But I can tell I've just said something offensive. And I don't know what, and I'm really sorry, especially because I was enjoying walking through these gardens, and –"

Her frankness compelled a similar confession.

"It's simply that – I conceived of and designed Imladris myself. I love this land, and this land is mine. Ga – certain important people see their homes as superior to it. While I can understand such an attitude – very well – I don't understand it at all. Except that because other realms are their homes, they feel they must defend them. However, these people never seem to stop saying how much better run their realms are then mine. And they never stop!"

"I'm sorry."

"It is all right." But it wasn't. And though they both knew it, neither quite knew how to make it right.

They were very quiet as Elrond guided Celebrian back through the gardens.

A/N: Angrentur's name translates as "master of iron."

I apologize for the lack of comprehensive gardening information. This is because all the plants I really know are wild American ones (trees, dandelions, sorrel...). What I know about American gardens is next to nothing. And what I know about English gardens (aside from their reputation for excellence) can be summed up in two words: squat diddly.

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