A/N: If they have viols by the time of The Hobbit, I think it's reasonable to assume they have violas too.

Celebrian was sitting on a bench at the top of the garden reading a long letter from her parents which had arrived earlier that morning. Though few things changed in Lothlórien, her father always found a lot to write about; he made grand tales out of small things. He had always been a good story teller. She found she missed them, not in a painful way but out of fondness, and vowed to take the twins over the mountains to see their grandparents when Elrohir's arm had healed.

Music was wafting up from further down the valley. It had started off, as always, with Thranduil's viola playing a well-known melody on its own, but it had quickly been joined by Lindir's lyre and voice. The Lady of Imladris smiled as the song ended and the players received scattered applause, imagining Lindir's always over-elaborate bows to his audiences, be they one or one hundred strong. Celebrian raised her eyes and watched the players through a gap in the trees. Thranduil was playing again, and Lindir held his lyre ready to join in, though this time the tune was unknown to him. Celebrian frowned; she knew all the lays and Sindar and Silvan melodies though the one she heard now was not amongst them, and Thranduil was no composer.

Though the music reached his office, Elrond paid it no heed. He stood just to the side of his desk, as he had done when the messenger delivered the letter still in his hand. He was frozen. The letter was from Galion. He knew he had to tell Thranduil of its contents but he knew with equal certainty that they would send the king into a rage. And not at Elrond; that was somehow the worst part. But he could delay this for a while, so he stirred himself and made his way to the Healing House.

Elrohir was already awake. He had first woken two days after his accident and now, three days later, he was getting more and more frustrated with his light-headedness and 'imprisonment' in bed. He feigned annoyance when he saw his father enter, though after a raised eyebrow from Elrond, his scowl broke into a smile.

"Can I get out of bed yet?" He demanded.

"I don't know," was Elrond's standard reply, "can you?"

Elrohir sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. After a brief wave of dizziness, he stood up and shuffled around to where his father watched. Elrond's smile broadened.

"That doesn't mean you're discharged."

Elrohir's triumphant expression vanished. "But I can walk! I feel fine!"

"I don't want you over exerting yourself and then collapsing on the stairs." Elrohir was about to protest that he had never done such a thing before Elrond added, "Like last time."

"That was an accident. I tripped over my own feet; that could have happened anyway."

"You do your special awareness an injustice." Elrond replied in a tone that told his son the debate was over, "But I will send word to Elladan and Legolas that you pine for company before I get back to what I came here to do."

Elrohir reluctantly made his way back to bed while Elrond asked one of the minor healers to run the errand for him. His son watched him as he took a large, heavily bound book down from the shelves at one end of the long room and placed it on the small desk there. He opened the book on the required page, flattened the letter he'd been carrying, filled a quill with in and began transferring information. Elrohir closed one eye as though this would help the other see what was being copied.

"Who's that for?" he asked.

"None of your business," was the curt reply.

The page was quickly filled in, blotched and the book replaced on the shelf. Elrond carefully folded the letter again and put in in the inside pocket of his robes.

"I'm afraid I can't stay today," he said, "I have business to attend to."

"Is it to do with that letter?"

Elrond closed one eye, "Possibly." Then he swept out, leaving his son frustrated and intrigued.

He wasn't alone for long, though, for a few minutes later Elladan came into the room with a spring in his step. "I hear you have been endeavouring to spring yourself from your bounds?"

"So would you in my position," Elrohir countered as Elladan settled at the foot of his twin's bed. "The problem is Ada's right-"

"Yes, that is one of his annoying habits."

"I can't walk very far without feeling all lightheaded and tripping myself up."

Elladan grinned and leant closer, "No one leaves Elrond's realm and no one will. You are his guest here for ever more."

"No! Don't say that!" Elrohir cried in mock fear.

"In this forsaken land of death and despair. We must decide what to do with you."

Elrohir's brows furrowed, "What to do with me?"

"Indeed. How to keep you here. I see your arm is already injured; maybe we should hang you by it-"

"Elladan-"

"Off a mountain pinnacle!"

"You've gone too far, gwanunig."

Elladan brought his knees up to his chin and hugged them, "Maybe. But Nana, Ada and Erestor should be impressed that we both remembered any of the stories. I don't know how they managed to take all the life out of them but they did."

"Maybe we should ask Thranduil to reiterate some of them while he's here?"

"Maybe, but I asked him about Maedhros a few days ago and he actually hissed at me. 'I refuse to sully my tongue with the names of that accused House!'"

"Bit strong."

Elladan wrinkled his nose, "He wasn't too happy when I asked about Thingol either. 'If your own grandfather hasn't told you about your ancestors I don't see why I should.'"

Elrohir frowned, but Elladan suddenly smiled conspiratorially, "I think it's because he doesn't know the old stories any more than we do."

The door creaked again.

"Ah!" Elladan exclaimed, "Mayhap your rescuer comes." He turned to face the newcomer, "Have you an Eagle and a sharp blade with which to free this hapless Elf?"

Legolas looked confused, but he held up the thing he was carrying; his father's cane. Elrohir's eyes lit up and Elladan was equally surprised: "I suppose that's actually more useful."

oOo

Elrond perched beside his wife and listened to Thranduil playing – he had moved out of sight.

"Do you think now would be a good time to disturb him?" He asked.

Celebrian smiled at her husband, "You're the one who knows emotions."

Elrond snorted but made no direct reply. "I have some news which is in fact good but which he'll take as bad."

The shadow of a frown crossed Celebrian's face. "You should tell him as soon as possible. If the news is bad in his view he'll only be angrier if you keep it from him. Anyone would be."

Elrond nodded and kissed her. "You are the voice of truth, as ever," he told her before getting up to go down to the Sinda.

"Good luck," Celebrian wished him quietly.

Elrond approached, nervously. He hoped that so long as the king was holding a precious and perishable instrument his physical outburst wouldn't be too violent. Not that the king's tongue was any easier to deal with. Thranduil had his eyes closed and Elrond's initial coughs were drowned out by the sound of the music, so he had to speak quite loudly to be heard.

"I have some news for you, meldir."

Thranduil stopped playing abruptly and glared ferociously at the Elven lord. When no explanation for the interruption was forthcoming, he raised an accusing eyebrow.

"I have a letter here," Elrond said slowly, "from Galion."

The transformation of the king's facial expression was immediate. Fury gave way to fear, "Something's happened! I knew it would. How many are dead?"

Elrond held up his hands, "No one has died." Yet, he mentally added. "Galion wrote simply to give me information, information which I have great need of." He handed the letter over to Thranduil, who took it and read it with a confused expression. Though when he'd finished reading there was no confusion in his face. He was trembling ever so slightly. It took Elrond a second or two to realise that Thranduil was shaking with rage. He stormed past the Elven lord across the lawns to the stables.

Elrond had no difficulty in guessing his intention, "I shan't let you leave. Not like this." Apart from a jumbled muttering, he got no response: Thranduil kept walking. "Did you hear me, Thranduil?"

"Oh I heard you alright," Thranduil hissed, "But I am afraid, Elrond, that at this moment your commands have little authority over me."

"Thranduil, I demand that you stay where you are."

Elrond's level voice had some effect, for Thranduil stopped dead in his tracks, chest heaving. Then he spun round to face his companion. "How dare he?" He screamed, voice cracking with its pitch, "That information wasn't his to tell!"

"I would have asked it of you before you left, Thranduil."

"Yes but then I would have told you. It would have been my decision. How dare he make my decisions for me?"

"It makes little difference-"

"Oh it does," Thranduil's voice had faded to a deadly whisper, "what is more private than health records? I told him those in complete confidence. No one knows mine without my having told them!"

"I understand, but it would be highly dangerous for you to hide them away. No healer experienced enough to… to deal with the worst knew before Galion wrote to me."

"Míriel knows."

"She's dead, Thranduil," Elrond said quietly, "she can't help you on this earth again."

"I know she's dead," Thranduil spat, "I watched the life drain from her body knowing I could do nothing. Knowing it was my fault."

"I had to know," Elrond pressed.

"And how much help are you hundreds of miles away?"

"You'd be surprised."

"I'd rather die that entrust myself to you."

Elrond blinked and swallowed several times. Thranduil made to stride back towards the lower gardens but Elrond stepped in front of him. He changed course but Elrond blocked him again.

"Get out of my way," Thranduil hissed, walking into Elrond until he could physically walk no further. The first of many tears were running down his face. Tears which he had held in for years.

"I can't leave you to yourself in such a state. You need to come inside with me and calm down. Come one, I'll have a bath run for you and-"

He stopped abruptly and didn't start again. Thranduil had first snapped the bow he was holding in half and then, throwing the bits of bow to the ground and gripping the viola round it's neck, raised it high above his head and smashed it against the wall to his right as hard as it could. The instrument screamed as it perished. The shock of seeing delicately crafted wood splinter into a hundred pieces and the strings curl tightly up on themselves shocked Elrond into silence. He stepped back from the Sinda, who still held the grotesquely distorted neck of the instrument so tightly in his hand his knuckle joints seemed about to burst through his skin. "Get. Out. Of. My. Way." He repeated.

Elrond stepped to one side and watched as Thranduil strode down the valley, hurling the remnant of the viola into the bushes as he went.

oOo

"I know for a fact that you aren't supposed to be up, young Master Elrohir."

Elrohir beamed at Erestor as he leant on a combination of Elladan and Thranduil's cane. "It was Legolas' idea."

"Really?" Erestor turned his attention to the nervously smiling prince, "My, it's been less than a fortnight and already they've turned you into a small version of them."

Legolas' anxious expression vanished as Erestor smiled. It was then that Elrond walked in, hiding his unease from the younger Elves as best he could. He led Erestor over to one side and murmured,

"Make sure Thranduil's back by sunset, and if not launch a search."

"What's happened?" Erestor asked, shocked.

"I don't know," Elrond lied, "but whatever it was it's put him in a right state. I don't want him trying to leave the valley on foot or, worse, injuring himself like that one," he gave an almost imperceptible nod towards Elrohir, "in the dark. We all know how tricksy the slopes are at night."

Erestor nodded. Elrond smiled for a split second before turning round and carting Elrohir back to the Healing Houses by the scruff of his neck. Elladan and Legolas traipsed after them. But Erestor couldn't quite bring himself to smile at the plan foiled.

As darkness fell, he stood on the porch where, in almost an Age's time, the Council of Elrond would be held, and scanned the valley. Elrond, he knew, was waiting in the kitchens. Thranduil hadn't eaten for many hours and both Elves were hoping hunger would force him back.

Just as Erestor was about to suggest starting the search, he spotted a pale figure making its slow way up the path to the house. It seemed a little distorted though, and Erestor's heart sank into his boots. But as Thranduil came closer, he could see that the strange shape was caused by an extraordinarily large brace of rabbits in his hand. His head was bowed as though he didn't wish to return. As he made the porch, Erestor tried to take the rabbits off him but Thranduil's grip on them was like a vice. There was rabbit blood on the white knife at his belt. He had thrown it to kill each of the rabbits he brought back. The brace was large because it had taken a lot of dead conies before his anger subsided.

Erestor followed the Sinda down to the kitchens where his catch was dumped with a thud on the table. Elrond looked at the rabbits and then up at Thranduil. His eyes were bloodshot but his tears were spent.

Silence followed as the Elves of Imladris waited respectfully for Thranduil to make the first move. Eventually, and without looking up, he spoke. His voice was rough.

"The living are more important than the dead."

Elrond and Erestor made noises of agreement and Thranduil finally let go of the rabbits.

Elrond rose and placed the tips of his fingers against Thranduil's inner elbow, "Come. I think we should all get some rest."

But Thranduil shook his head. "I'm not tired," He said, slowly. There was another pause as Elrond let go of Thranduil's arm, then he asked, "Is there any pastry?"

Elrond blinked, "I… beg your pardon?"

"Is there any pastry?" Thranduil repeated, looking up at him with deadened eyes.

"I'll check," Erestor said, and left for the pantry.

"What do you want pastry for at this hour?" Elrond exclaimed.

"To bake with it," Thranduil replied, simply, "What else?"

"Lemon curd tarts!"

Elladan and Legolas fell on the desserts at breakfast the next morning. Thranduil sat apathetic in his usual chair. Elrond moved to sit next to him.

"Why?" He asked, genuinely curious. Thranduil said nothing at first.

"These are the best I've ever tasted!" Elladan announced, forgetting his age and trying to eat two at once.

"My mother's recipe," Thranduil said quietly so only Elrond could hear, "I don't eat them myself anymore but whenever I make them I think of her."

Elrond smiled, "She was indeed a gifted baker."

"I saw them stab her in the back, but not before she'd sent six of them to hell. Her last wish was for me to save myself. I would never have left her had it not been. She was killed in cold blood."

"Who by?"

No answer. But Thranduil didn't look sad when he spoke of her death, just blank. Elrond hoped that in time Míriel's death would be blankness too, and now Thranduil's sash was no more that seemed one step closer. Elrond's heart was gladdened by this; he was sure the removal of that ribbon was what had allowed Thranduil to finally mourn his wife the night before.

"Ada?" Elrond's private triumph was interrupted when Legolas bounded into view, lemon curd spread over his lips, "When Elrohir's better can we go home? I miss Lianna."

Thranduil smiled quietly and nodded, "Mae, ion-nín; I think that would be best." Legolas grinned at Elrond and Elrond found himself grinning back.

I meth