It was the time of the harvest, just when fall faded into winter, but the sky was a pale blue, the ground was bare and brown, and the snow had yet to fall. Inside the Last Homely House, a dark haired figure looked out the window of the library.

Lord Elrond was spending this time with his family; the twins had returned from their extended stay in Mirkwood, and little Arwen was overjoyed to have her brothers back again. There would be a feast that night, meant to celebrate in ways only immortals can--not the passing of another year, but the renewal of the seasons.

All Imladris took their leisure on this day, and spent time with their loved ones. All save Erestor. He worked in the library, knowing that he would be welcomed among Lord Elrond's family or with his own friends, but knowing also that there was work to be done and if it was not completed today, he would regret it tomorrow.

Everything about today spoke of sloth and relaxation--he could see several Elves wandering around the waterfalls, hand in hand, and he smiled, before turning back to his paperwork.

A dull pain throbbed gently behind Erestor's eyes, reminding him that he had stayed up much too late the night before, and that not even his late start had made up for it. He ran a hand through his hair, and sighed. Then he hesitated, quill hovering above the waiting parchment, and he slowly put it down.

He stood, his dark hair reflecting brown and gold highlights as he turned away from his desk and into the library shelves. Here the daylight did not reach, and he could not hear the faint shouts of Elflings playing in the valley.

Erestor reached out with one slender hand and chose a book, before settling onto the floor in a rustle of charcoal robes.

He smiled agian, and began to read, leaning against a bookshelf so that he resembled an elfling hiding from his chores in lthe library--some things never change, he thought wryly to himself.

Hours passed, and the light grew dimmer and dimmer, but Erestor scarcely noticed. Only when he saw the torchlight streaming in from the hall and heard voices raised in festivity did he glance up.

Ruefully glancing at the papers still spread over his desk, Erestor put the book down and set out for the Hall of Fire.

He looked around, and there was dancing, and singing, and laughter and story telling, and wine and music. A few spotted him, and called out to him, but he just smiled and apologised with his eyes, and with much laughter he was forgiven.

Leaving the large double doors he climbed through Imladris' twisting hallways and graceful stairways, so familiar to him now, so difficult when first he had come to this place, this beautiful, strange, wonderful House.

Stopping in front of the doors to the family wing, Erestor took a moment to appreciate the silence, and then he went in.

Celebrian sat with a cup of wine in her hand, laughing helplessly at something Melpomaen was saying, and Elrond held her hand firmly in his own in while deeply engrossed in Lindir's quiet singing. The twins appeared to be tormenting poor Saelbeth, and Arwen sat, not quite so docilely, at her father's feet.

Erestor felt a soft smile touch his lips, and then strong arms wrapped around his waist and a teasing voice said in his ear, "Where were you, melme? I missed you," and Glorfindel placed a sweet kiss on his neck.

"Not far, ind nin," said Erestor, giving his lover a tender look as he allowed himself to be led away to sit by the fire.

There, surrounded by his friends, his love, with Arwen resting her head on his lap and a glimpse of golden hair just out of the corner of his eye, Erestor sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Valar. For his family.