Written for the Mistletoe and wine ALEC challenge where it won second place.

Summary:  Not everyone appreciates holiday gatherings and the cause for celebration.

Many thanks to Fiondil for the beta!

Disclaimer: Playing in Tolkien's sandbox but don't making no money from it.

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With a long-suffering sigh, she tightened her grasp on her reluctant husband’s arm, dragging him further into the press of people.

“I hate crowds,” he grumbled irritably.

“Well they love you,” she replied encouragingly.

“I hate the colors of festival,” he complained.

“But blue and silver are the colors of your house,” she gently reminded.

“I hate the clothes I have to wear for this,” he whined.

“They are loose-fitting and comfortable, very much like what you wear every day by choice,” she patiently pointed out.

“I am tired of the Noldor and the Vanyar and their ridiculous need for public celebrations every few months to acknowledge the occurrence of this natural phenomenon or that. Honestly! I understand the science behind the days growing shorter and longer and I can assure you that the Valar have nothing to do with it,” he groused.

“They are your kin, not mine,” she replied sweetly.

“Ahhh, but you are part Maia, so some of the blame lies with you.”

“I am not part Vala though and it is still your people’s decision to choose to have festivals for these occasions, not mine,” she triumphed.

“I hate having elven blood,” he muttered under his breath.

“I am feeling very much like introducing you to the true meaning of mortal blood if you do not cease your complaints,” she promised not unkindly.

He muttered something foul in an obscure tongue, to which she replied with the authoritative voice of an irate mother as she shoved him through the front door of the royal lodgings in Eldamas, “I do not have to understand the language to know that that was not only impolite, but downright rude, Eärendil!”

Glaring at her mutinously, he began unfastening his cloak, only to stab himself with the pin.

Swearing unabashedly, he stuck his bleeding thumb in his mouth.

"Eärendil,” Elwing demanded in exasperation as she helped him out of his cloak. “What troubles you so? Why do you hate festivals so much?”

After a smirking Vanyarin servant took their cloaks away, Eärendil withdrew his thumb and examined it as he insisted, “It is not that I… Well, perhaps I do, but…”

Elwing crossed her arms, glaring at him expectantly.

Sighing heavily, Eärendil explained in deflated tones, “It is just that… bad things always happen on days of festival. My grandfather’s grandfather was murdered on a day of festival. I lost my childhood home and my childhood for that matter when Gondolin fell on a day of festival. Tirion was deserted when I arrived here on a day of festival to bring tidings of the exiles and beg for aid for us all. Why should I view a festival as a good thing?”

“I will tell you why festivals are good, Tuorion” came a low female voice from the next room.

Eärendil frowned as he turned and Elwing led him into the parlor where the three kings sat with their queens and various children of their lines. Upon making the couple making their obeisance, Finrod led them to seats near Elrond and his family while Ingwion pressed glasses of wine into their hands.

Confused, Eärendil took a sip of his wine and looked about for the speaker. It had been a very very long time since anyone had called him Tuorion.

“So,” Elwing prodded, “tell my dear husband why festivals are good.”

Galadriel smiled radiantly at the two peredhil. “Gladly. So, as I said before, festivals are good. When folk gather for festivals they find an easing of their troubles. For a time, they put their cares aside and join with their kith and kin in celebrating or at least acknowledging something greater then themselves. It is a sign that folk feel safe and that they have hope.”

“But why must they have a gathering every three months or even more often than that? Can they not just stay home and have an extra dessert and leave everyone else out of it?” Eärendil replied long-sufferingly, clearly not in the mood to be discussing this subject with anyone.

“Eärendil, do you not remember the first time the refugees at Sirion celebrated a festival?” Galadriel asked.

He pondered a moment and then nodded, uncomfortable that all were looking at him and listening to this discussion.

“Do you remember why they celebrated?”

“Yes. It was the first successful harvest, I think. Everyone was so grateful that there would be enough food and we would not have to eat only fish for another winter,” he said. “But, these folk here in Valinor have not had to live on only fish before and wonder where their next meal would come from. They have always had plenty year in and year out, and few if any have ever wanted for anything. So, why bother?”

“Not so,” King Ingwë answered. “During the Darkening before the rising of the sun and moon, we did have times of fear and doubt and uncertainty and hunger. We celebrate each harvest now because we do remember those times. We celebrate the longest night of the year, for example, because we know that the days will only grow longer for the next several months and we give thanks for the lengthening of the days. We celebrate the longest day of the year because we know that our crops will grow with the blessing of that light.”

Eärendil shifted uncomfortably in his seat at these comments. “But why celebrate the lore of the stars and the sun and the moon? We do not have parties every time it rains or every time the sky clears after a storm.”

“No we do not celebrate these minor events in our lives, unless the rainfall has been too rare or too heavy,” Arafinwë grinned at him. “However, I rejoice to see my people, who are the scientific ones, I might add, celebrate at any festival. Their joy fills the air after so many years of sorrow and hardship many yéni ago. I also know they are mindful of the importance of treasuring family and friends and all who contribute to making our society strong for we remember the times when we all were bereft. Juxtaposing the celebrations alongside astronomicalphenomena makes it easier to set the occasion for celebrating.”

Eärendil gazed steadily at the two kings without comment.

“In Endórë,” Galadriel added, “wenot only celebrated the changing of the seasons and the shift in length of days, but we also celebrated the first time we saw Gil-estel appear in the sky. On that night every year since, the Noldor, the Sindar, and even the Nandor give thanks for the blessing of that star and the hope it brought to them that Morgoth could be overthrown and that help was on the way.”

Staring at her in bemusement, Eärendil scoffed. “You jest. My flying Vingilot is not a reason for others to celebrate. I am not a cause of celebration.”

Galadriel nodded, laughing merrily. “That night you were. Do you have any idea how many children born on that night each year bear “gil” or “estel” in their names?” she asked.

Eärendil’s cheeks colored with embarrassment. Elwing triumphantly jabbed him in the arm with her elbow.

Ingwë smiled. “With Elrond and his family finally present on this side of the ocean and the last of your kin and Elwing’s now reborn, I think that you will find that any excuse to gather will be a welcome occasion. The circumstances of your life have never before allowed you to know what it is to have many generations of your family present together. Perhaps tonight will change your mind, young one.”

Then Ingwë stood, immediately followed by everyone present. Proudly he raised his glass to the large assembly. “Tonight, my fellow rulers and my children, I give thanks for the presence of all of you here. This is the first of what I hope and pray will be many festivals where all of my kin and my fellow rulers and their entire families are all assembled to celebrate, remember, and rejoice in each other’s company.”

They all raised their glasses and drank.

oOoOo

Many hours later, Eärendil and Elwing stood on a balcony overlooking the city and the crowds still milling about the lamp-lit streets.

Elwing leaned over and whispered in his husband’s ear. “My love, I hope that one who has a night of celebration dedicated to him will come to appreciate gatherings such as this.”

Reaching over and taking her hand, he gently kissed it, then drew her into his embrace. Pressing her head to his shoulder, he wistfully replied, “Thank you for forcing me to come here. I have never been with my whole family before this night. Our parents and many grandparents and son and grandchildren, our aunts and uncles and cousins…all who did not choose mortality in our families are here. I…we…we are so isolated by necessity where you and I dwell by the sea. I have forgotten, or perhaps Ingwë is correct, and I truly have never realized how many lives are a part of mine and how many of which I am a part. I pity my adar for he never has and never will know those who came before him. It should not take a festival to make those of us here in Aman find the time to come together.”

“No, my love,” Elwing quietly agreed. “It should not.”

“But if those are to be the only times for us to gather,” he continued, “then I hope there are many festivals to come.”

“I am proud of you, my love,” she said simply.

Giving her a small smile, he nodded his gratitude. In reward, she wrapped her arms around his neck, enticing him back into the house with a seductive kiss and the passionate promise of much more.

Festivals were going to be a fine time indeed.