A/N: I'm putting potatoes in because Tolkien mentions them in LOTR.

The sun went down on a beautiful autumn day, the wispy clouds tinted with red, promising fine weather to follow. Servants scurried hither and thither lighting the lanterns as the final preparations for the festivities were made.

As the first stars winked in the sky, Elrond and Celebrían came out of the house, flanked by their sons and followed by the most important members of their household. Glorfindel and Erestor walked behind their lord and lady, and after them came other counsellors and their wives, followed by the other noble ladies and those servants who bore the greatest responsibilities. They took their places on the dais, then stood and waited for the bell to ring, then Elrond gave a speech. “My friends; lords, ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to our Harvest Ball. The ladies have made this place look beautiful, and the food looks and smells delicious. Thank you.”

Murmurs of appreciation broke out. Smiles flashed around the tables as the people acknowledged the labour of the ladies.

“I look forward to appointing the king and queen of the feast later on, but now let us sing to the Lady Yavanna, who has been so bountiful to us,” said Elrond.

Voices of Elves and Men broke out in song, filling the garden with a mellifluous sound as the coloured lanterns gently rocked in the evening breeze. Then Elrond and those on the top table sat down.

Losgael sat at a table nearby, ready to attend to her lady. Maerdess sat beside her, flanked by Lothwen and Master Goledhel. Servants came out with platters of food and put them down in the middle of the tables, so people could help themselves. Bottles and jugs of wine and beer were already on the tables, and people were already passing them along.

“This beer is delicious!” Master Goledhel said to Lothwen, holding the jar over her goblet. “Would you like to have some, or would you prefer to have wine?”

“Yes, please,” said Lothwen, and tipped her goblet to accept the proffered beer.

“I was teaching the boys about it yesterday,” said the tutor. “Though they are too young to have any yet, it is good to know where our food and drink comes from.”

“I agree,” said Lothwen politely. “I took them to the oast houses where it is brewed, and showed them the hops and barley it is made from.”

“After my lesson?” asked Master Goledhel, with a smile.

“Indeed,” said Lothwen. “They were most eager to see the process themselves. I took them to the farm where the barley is grown, and they saw some of our people helping the Men who live there to harvest it. The farmer's wife was very kind and offered us refreshments – and the pick of a late litter of kittens born earlier this summer. Afterwards, we saw the sheds where the barrels of beer are stored before being taken out for sale. We saw other crops being harvested, too: turnips, carrots, corn, potatoes and cabbages. I had no idea there were so many Men here!”

“Ah,” recited Master Goledhel, “they escaped the ruin of Ost-in-edhil, or fled from Eregion during the War of the Elves and Sauron. We needed each other, so we permitted them to dwell here. We protect them and give them medicines and other things they need. We also barter textiles of various kinds, and share with them the benefits of the annual trading expeditions in return for food and animal skins.”

Losgael listened intently. It was not surprising that Lothwen knew little of the Men who lived there, since she did not mix with them, and rarely went beyond the gardens around Elrond's house. There were places in the upper parts of the valley where flat strips of land had been turned over to cultivation. Hidden by screens of trees, they were not visible from the entrance of the valley, which was a deep and rather narrow gorge. If Men kept completely to themselves and never had dealings with the Elves, people could dwell in the valley for centuries and never see them, or know they were there.

“If we grew our own foodstuffs, we would not need them,” said Losgael. She was not overfond of mortals, though she dared not say so in front of her mistress, for the blood of Men flowed through Elrond's veins.

“If we grew our own foodstuffs,” sniffed Master Goledhel, “we would have to plant, weed and harvest them ourselves. We would also have to build barns...”

“I understand,” said Lothwen quickly. That was true. Mortal Men were indeed prone to illness and injury, and lived for little longer than the flowers in the fields, but they were also hard-working and adaptable. 'I will think more kindly of them from now on,' she thought. 'We need them, after all.'

Brethilgwen sat at a table further down from Losgael, Maerdess and the others, with the servants who had responsibilities in the house. Scribes and administrators, tailors and artisans of various kinds were at that table, which was full of dishes of hot and cold food. Bottles of wine and jugs of beer were being passed back and forth among the people, and everyone was enjoying themselves. Her plan was simple. The king and queen of the festival were chosen by lot. The names of the candidates were written on small scraps of parchment left over from making the books and scrolls used by the scribes, and put in two boxes. One was for the king, the other for the queen. Elrond would, after the first round of songs, pull out a scrap and read out the name. Brethilgwen had learned to read after convincing one of the scribes that the knowledge was necessary for people who needed to keep records of the textiles being used in Rivendell, and had used that knowledge to carry out her plan. She licked her lips in anticipation of its coming to fruition.

“This beer is delicious, Brethilgwen,” said one of the administrators.

“Indeed it is,” she replied graciously. “And it complements the chicken nicely.” They thought it was the food that made her smile so! Brethilgwen grinned. 'Let them think what they will. I have a dish of my own to serve,' she thought.

Glorfindel ate his food, enjoying every mouthful. An atmosphere of contentment pervaded the place, and the colourful lights and pleasant conversations made him forget that there had ever been anything to worry about. When the meal was finished, he respectfully took leave of his lord and went to take his place on the singers' platform. Picking up his harp, he sang the Lay of Lethian while the people continued to eat and drink around him.

A round of applause at the end of the song signalled the choosing of the king and queen of the feast.

Elrond stood up and made his way to the singers' platform, where the two boxes were. “Thank you, Lord Glorfindel, for singing my favourite song. Now is the moment we have all been waiting for. I will choose first the king of the feast, then the queen,” he announced.

With a flourish, he made a show of rifling through the scraps of parchment, pulled one out and said, “Ah... Glorfindel!”

This was not right. Elrond had written the names out himself. Was this a joke? Perhaps it was a scheme of one of the ladies. Soon he would see who was responsible for this, for her name would surely be in there. Announcing that the choice had been fixed by someone would spoil the festival, and he did not want that. He would deal with it quietly afterwards.

Brethilgwen struggled to keep a straight face. Her moment of triumph was nigh, and she was determined to savour every part of it. Looking at Maerdess, she noticed how the lady trembled. Did she realize who had done this? It mattered not. Proving that someone else was responsible was impossible. She would be humiliated, and trouble Brethilgwen no more.

Elrond reached into the other box, annoyed at being used as a pawn in someone else's game. The lady responsible for this would be taken to task for this, and made to understand that such behaviour was intolerable. He took a deep breath and read out the name. “Losgael.”

TBC...