Everyone was quiet at Thranduil's table tonight. They all knew he was not in a good mood. That of course was an understatement; the king of Mirkwood wore an expression that would send the Nazguls fleeing in terror. Things had not gone well at the elections of the new commanders of the joint army. Elrond's twin sons, along with his human foster son, had won the election. The entire new army would be under Rivendell's control; that was worse than not having an alliance at all.