As you're reading, please feel free to review – any critique is welcome! (And no, I don't care if you're brutal… I would be.) Thank you!

--------------

Light chatter drifted around the silver and ivory room. Each person seated in the large hall was dressed in their absolute finest silks and robes, in celebration of an annual event that would take place over the upcoming weeks. The Midsummer Hunt, as it was called, was the grandest of elven celebrations as it represented the prime of life, the middle of the era in which they lived.

The actual Hunt was a festival that took place in Imladris, home of Elrond Peredhil [Half-elven. On the Midsummer holiday, several elves from the three elven kingdoms of LothLórien, Mirkwood, and Imladris would compete in a search for the banner of Gil-Galad, one of the last remaining memories of the Second Age. Lord Elrond, himself, would hide the banner somewhere on the grounds, outside of the palace and each elf would search for a full day to find it.

The elf that brought back the banner was celebrated beyond imagining. He brought honour to his people, his family, and to himself as well as a chance to defend his title against newcomers in the next Hunt. The Hunt was particularly meaningful to the land of LothLórien, for eight solid years someone within the Golden Wood had carried the title of winner of the Hunt. It was a record they revelled in, and had no intentions of sharing with any other kinfolk.

Haldir of LothLórien, the Marchwarden, had taken the competition three years in a row, beginning the long winning streak. For the sake of the Hunt, he declined entry the next year, only to have LothLórien win once more. By competing every other year Haldir insured that LothLórien kept the title of turning out the most winners, as well as give other elves from LothLórien a chance to win. Since his decision to compete bi-annually, he had taken the prize twice more, bringing his own total to five years. Two other elves from LothLórien, including the chief advisor, Fereveldir, had won the in-between years keeping the title within the Golden Wood.

Once more, Haldir was competing, and every elf, even those also entered into the competition, expected him to win. That night's banquet was a celebratory feast to commemorate past victories and future victories before the company set off for Imladris.

At the head of the largest table in the room, Lord Celeborn stood up, calling a quick silence to the room. "Mae govannen!" He called out his people, welcoming them to the festivities. "To keep speeches short… tonight we celebrate the feast of Midsummer!" Loud rounds of applause and cheers filled every corner of the room. "We honour those that have won. The Marchwarden, who first began our good fortune." More cheers, Haldir, who was seated to the left of Lady Galadriel, nodded his head in respect to the toast. "Fereveldir, who graced us with another win last year." A brunette elf seated two chairs down from Celeborn smiled to the applause. "And to the future champion, may he be an elf from LothLórien!" The final statement drew the most approval from the small crowd, who did not relent in their applause until more elves appeared bearing trays of food.

At the High Table, conversations breached a number of topics but most did not leave the subject of the Hunt far behind. All around, people whispered the names of elves who had a chance of winning, and those who would not make it more than a few metres from the starting line.

For the Midsummer Hunt, an elf was given a necklace with a coloured stone set into the middle. Gold for LothLórien, silver for Imladris, and green for Greenwood the Great, now more commonly known as Mirkwood. In the event that no one found the banner of Gil-Galad, which was always a possibility, the elf that had collected the most necklaces would be declared the winner. (Hence, how Fereveldir won.) If an elf lost his necklace, he would be removed from the game, hence the difficulty. There were often large piles of the younger elves not more than a few centimetres from the starting point, all scrambling to rip off someone else's necklace, only to realise theirs were already gone.

It was difficult game, but the most celebrated elven holiday and as such would be a fete to remember. A small company, including the Lord and Lady, would on the next day depart for Imladris, and the home of Elrond Peredhil, to feast with him and his people, as well as the peoples of Mirkwood.