A/N: This vignette was written in response to the ‘Stories of Arda’ Holiday Challenge.

Gifts of Wood.

As fond as he was of visiting Elrond and Imladris, when it came time to celebrate Yule, Mithrandir invariably chose to do so in Mirkwood. The snow had been falling heavily for some days, and he loved the way winter dressed the trees, blanketing them in a soft cloak of white, giving a beauty even to those places where the dark creatures dwelt. The chill, damp air hung in a veil of mist that penetrated into every hidden part of the forest and lingered long into the day, and there was a sense of peace and tranquillity in the deceptive silence in the air as the ever present, yet unseen guards kept their watch.

In stark contrast to the cool white outside, Thranduil’s Hall was filled with the warm, reddish glow of the large fire, and the many candles and lamps that took the place of the starlight now hidden behind thick, grey clouds. Garlands of vines with leaves of all shades of green with bursts of red berries and white flowers along their length, grown indoors especially for Yule, wound their way around the walls and columns, adding colour to the Hall. The festivities were well underway when Mithrandir finally arrived and made his way slowly across the room, stopping to exchange greetings with the many friends he had in Mirkwood.

“Welcome, Mithrandir I see you managed to find your own way through my gates again this year,” laughed Thranduil as he embraced the Istar of whom he was very fond.

“Not without considerable effort, you chose extremely obscure words to seal them with this time. I was out in the cold far longer than I wanted to be, and was almost ready to concede defeat,” said Mithrandir with a sorry shake of his head.

“I doubt that, mellon nin, and you I think it strange that you accuse me of being obscure when it is you who are known to be so. Come, I am certain we can find something deliciously warm to thaw your old bones,” offered Thranduil who wondered if he would ever win this particular contest that neither of them actually remembered exactly when it had started. All they knew was that one year, after they had partaken of a delicious feast and several goblets of wine, Mithrandir had claimed that there was no magic gate or door that he could not find the words to open. Naturally Thranduil had been slightly affronted by such an arrogant assertion and had promptly challenged the Istar to open the gates to his Hall. Mithrandir had done so, and declared it an easy spell to break, causing Thranduil to vow that next Yule, it would not be so, daring his friend to try again. Each year the result had been the same, and although he would never admit it openly, Thranduil realised he was defeated, yet the tradition remained.

Thranduil led Mithrandir to a large and very comfortable armchair by the fire and poured them both a mug of mulled wine. The Wizard took a few sips, letting the liquid warm his blood from the inside, and then looked about admiring the decorations.

“You have outdone yourself this year, Thranduil. I especially like those little wooden ornaments that you have hanging from the garlands,” he said as he took the one Thranduil offered and examined it more closely, admiring the wood carver’s skill and the fine detail of the little horse that was barely the height of his hand. “Why, I do believe this is your son’s horse,” he said suddenly.

“Ai, and here is a little carved Legolas to ride him,” said Thranduil as he took another ornament from the mantle and handed it to his friend. It was indeed a good likeness of Legolas, as was apparent when he held it close to the King’s son who had come to greet their guest.

“Who carved these?” asked Mithrandir.

“I think Legolas can answer that best,” replied Thranduil, indicating for his son to tell the tale.

“One night whilst I was on watch, and all was quiet, I saw a piece of wood shaped somewhat like a horse. I picked it up and began carving it in my own horse’s likeness. It took several days, for I was mindful I was supposed to be guarding my patrol. When I finished it, the others admired it so much that they sought to do likewise. Soon every warrior had his own carved memento, be it a model of his horse, or wife or child, to carry close to his heart when far from home,” explained Legolas.

“I see you made a carving of Thranduil as well,” said Mithrandir as he lifted the small wooden throne on which the likeness of the King sat carefully from the mantle. “Surely you do not carry this with you? It seems too large to fit in a pocket and would likely be damaged during battle.”

“Ai, so we soon discovered, that is why they are now merely decorations. Most of us now have much smaller models,” said Legolas as he reached into an inner pocket and withdrew a tiny, but no less detailed miniature of the one Mithrandir held in his hand.

“Ah, a much more sensible size,” agreed Mithrandir. “Tell me, what do you intend to do with the larger ornaments once Yule is over?”

“Put them in storage, I expect,” said Legolas.

“Why do you ask?” enquired Thranduil who knew the Istar well enough to realise he had something else in mind.

“It occurs to me that these would make fine toys for the children of the Men who often provide me with shelter in my travels. They are mostly poor folk, and there is not much joy in their life in these dark days. Perhaps you would consider giving me some to pass on to the children,” he suggested.

“You may certainly have mine. It would please me to know that the young played with them as toys instead of locking the carvings away as unused ornaments,” agreed Legolas.

“I am sure the others will think likewise, but you really should do them the courtesy of asking them yourself,” added Thranduil.

“Of course,” replied Mithrandir, and promptly called for the attention of the merrymakers in the Hall. He quickly explained his request and was not surprised at the generosity of the Wood Elves, all of who gladly gave him their carvings.

“I see I now have another problem,” he said as the final tally of ’toys’ was well into the hundreds.

“Ai, how are you going to deliver all of these? There are far too many to for you alone to carry on your travels,” said Thranduil as he contemplated possible solutions to the challenging problem. “Ah, I think I can offer you an answer,” he said finally.

“After the festivities, many of the patrols will be going out to relieve those guarding our borders. I will not have my people seen, nor enter the places of Men, where the danger to them is too great, but perhaps each group could leave a small bundle near the villages as they pass in the night, ” said Thranduil voicing his distrust of  the Second born.

“An excellent solution, and have no fear, I will leave a message of thanks with each bundle of toys, so the Men will believe it was I who left the gifts,” said Mithrandir, smiling happily as he imagined the looks of wonder and joy that would light many small faces in a few day’s time. It was a heart-warming picture, and one he was determined to repeat every year hence, for over the span of a mortal year, more children would be born into the world.

As he sipped his wine, Mithrandir wondered if he could convince Thranduil’s people to make more carvings in time for his next Yule visit.