Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of J. R. R. Tolkien, nor any of the various dramatic incarnations thereof. No profit is being made from this work.

Greetings! Welcome to the story. It's a little out of season, but what of that? It will keep.

This story is an expansion of an event mentioned in an earlier story, "Coming Home." While I would certainly be flattered if you felt inspired to read "Coming Home," it is not necessary to have read it before reading this one. If you have read some of my earlier stories, you will probably recognize some of the names here.

We know relatively little about the culture of the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood. The ceremony that I've given them here is based on a number of sources, which I will explain in more detail later. In the meantime, enjoy the story, and I'll meet you at the end.

"Again, " Innil, the dancing mistress, said. "Step, hop, step, hop, step, step, step, hop, and repeat on the other foot." She tucked her fiddle against her arm and began to play. Thranduil, King of the Elves of Mirkwood, closed his eyes in concentration, counted the beats of the music, and executed the sequence of steps. "Good," Innil said. "Now, faster." Again she played, and again Thranduil danced, until he could dance the figure perfectly four times in a row. The dancing mistress nodded to him.

"You may rest a moment, my Lord," she said. "Inglor, it is your turn." Thranduil leaned against the wall of the dancing chamber and watched intently as the young border guard was put through his paces. Luindil had been right, he decided. He had been in desperate need of something to occupy his mind and his body while he recovered from the sudden loss of his Queen.

He had spent much of the time since that awful summer day in a haze, warding off the pain with too much wine. His staff had made what allowances they could. A circle of maidens and young mothers had taken Legolas in, and his lords and advisors had done their best to continue the rule of Mirkwood when their King was incapacitated. Finally, Luindil, his seneschal, who had served his father Oropher before him, and who loved him as a son, had stepped in to confront Thranduil. Fearful that the King he had first known as an infant would fade, Luindil had begged him to cease his excessive drinking. When that failed to have an effect, he had unleashed his full fury on Thranduil.

The tirade had finally penetrated Thranduil's wine-fogged mind, and he had responded with angry, grief-stricken shouting of his own. His ears still burned at the memory of the fierce scolding and the argument that had followed. In the end, Luindil had won, and Thranduil had allowed himself to be brought back from the dangerous edge of his grief. Luindil had welcomed him back to the land of the living with open arms, and had immediately sought something other than wine to aid the King through his sorrow. Autumn was at its peak, and the preparations for the winter had inspired Luindil to think of the masque.

The highlight of the Silvan Elves' Yule festivities was the ancient Masque of the King Stag. Luindil had witnessed the masque countless times over the centuries and thought that it would be just the thing to help Thranduil heal. He had approached the dancing mistress with the idea, and she had readily consented. This year, King Thranduil himself would dance the lead role in the ceremony. As such, he must learn two separate dances and preside over a third. As Luindil had hoped, the rehearsal and preparation for the masque neatly took up the time that Thranduil would otherwise have spent alone in his chambers with only a decanter of wine for company.

At the moment, the dancing mistress was teaching Thranduil and Inglor a complex dance that represented the hunt. It was a spectacular, athletic dance, which showed off the physical prowess of both hunter and prey. Watching the masque in previous years, Thranduil had always been impressed at the enormous leaps the dancers made. Now that he saw Inglor practicing them nearly every day, his admiration had increased tenfold. He had no doubt that Inglor was one of the best dancers in Mirkwood. He only hoped that he could live up to such a standard as they danced together.

"Very good, Inglor," Innil said. "Now, let us put this figure together. My Lord, you are needed once more." Thranduil stepped out into the center of the dancing chamber and faced Inglor. Innil began to play on her fiddle, and at the appropriate moment, Thranduil and Inglor began to dance. The figure was an intricate sequence of steps, which brought the dancers well within a sword's length of each other, yet prevented them from colliding if executed correctly. Thranduil and Inglor danced it without incident, and the dancing mistress nodded.

"Well done," she said. "From here, we will open the dance out to its climax. Please remain where you are standing now." Thranduil and Inglor waited as Innil pulled a bit of chalk from a pocket in her dress and began to sketch their paths lightly on the floor.

"No!" Legolas said, scowling at the chestnut-flour bannock on the plate in front of him. "It is wrong." The nine other children at the table looked nervous, watching to see if Legolas would throw a fit and kick or bite.

"It is a perfectly good bannock," Gilveril said. She and her mother Glawariel, Thranduil's chief cook, had rounded up all of the small children who lived in the delvings and were attempting to feed them lunch before sending them to their lessons. Most of the children had started to eat their bannocks, but the King's son refused to touch his food. "What is wrong with it?" Gilveril asked. "It is just the same as what everyone else has. They are all eating the good bannocks. Are you not hungry, Legolas?"

The child's face screwed up, and Gilveril feared that he would burst into tears. "It is cut wrong," Legolas said. Gilveril sighed. She had carefully split each bannock and smeared each half with honey. She could not see what she had done wrong with this bannock.

Glawariel, hearing the sound of a small child on the verge of a tantrum, hurried to rescue her daughter. She knelt down beside the child. "What is the matter, Legolas?" she asked. "How is the bannock cut wrong?"

"It goes in four pieces," Legolas sniffled. "Like this." He held his index fingers up, crossed at right angles.

"I see," Glawariel said. "Is that the way your nana cut them for you?" Legolas nodded. All of the other children at the table looked sympathetic. Gilveril rolled her eyes.

"Naneth," she said, "he has been eating bannocks like this ever since he was old enough for lessons. I do not see why I should cut a fresh one for him. Even if the Queen is gone," she added. "It will not make her come back." Legolas looked as if he would cry. Glawariel favored her adolescent daughter with a brief, ferocious glare.

"Silly girl," she said. "No one has told you to cut a fresh bannock. We have no more fresh bannocks for you to cut in any event. I will handle this." She turned back to Legolas, and softened her voice. "Legolas," she said, "do you know that this is a special bannock?"

Legolas eyed Glawariel warily.

"It is," Glawariel assured him. "It is a special lessons-bannock. Do you see the way it opens, just like the books and scrolls you are learning to read? When your lessons are over and you are eating with your family, then you may have your family-bannock."

"No Nana," Legolas protested, almost too softly to be heard. "No family."

"I will ask my husband to make you a special family-bannock this evening," Glawariel said. Galion, her husband, was fond of the child and sometimes allowed him to "help" in the great kitchens. He had indulged Legolas more than usual recently in the face of Thranduil's grief-stricken neglect of his son, and Glawariel was sure that his indulgence would extend to the baking of an extra bannock.

"Promise?" Legolas asked, and Glawariel knew the worst was over.

"I promise I will ask him," she said. "Now, eat your lessons-bannock so you will not be hungry this afternoon." Legolas glanced around the table at the other children, who were watching the drama with rapt interest, and finally picked up his bannock and took a bite. Satisfied, Glawariel stood and moved to reclaim her own bannock from her daughter.

"You are so skilled with them, naneth," Gilveril sighed. "You distracted him so smoothly, it was like water."

"That is because I have had years of practice," Glawariel said. "Not the least of which were with you." Gilveril blushed.

"All the same," she said, "I think it is a shame that the King cannot seem to find it in him to care for Legolas. What is the matter with him that he cannot interest himself in his own son?"

"The King is not yet himself," Glawariel said. "It is a marvel that he is still here at all. Were it not for Legolas and Luindil, I think he would surely have faded. You do not know how deeply he is hurt, child. We must be patient a little more before he and his son begin to heal."

Galion did bake a bannock for Legolas that evening, making sure to cut it in four pieces that were just the right size for small hands to grasp. Luindil sat with the child as he ate it, for Thranduil had requested that a tray be sent to him in the library, where he would be inspecting his accounts all evening. As he watched Legolas gnaw doggedly at his bannock, Luindil felt a flare of anger at his King for leaving this little one alone in his grief. Then he shook himself and suppressed the flare. At least it was accounts and not wine, Luindil told himself. Thranduil was returning to life, but only slowly, and Luindil wondered how long Legolas would have to wait for his father.

"All done," Legolas announced. He climbed down from his chair and came to stand before Luindil. Luindil looked at the plate and frowned. Legolas had eaten only three of the four pieces.

"What about the last piece?" Luindil asked. "You should not waste food." Legolas thought for a moment.

"I will share it with Ada," he offered, looking hopeful. "Maybe Ada wants a special family-bannock, too." Luindil sighed and lifted the child onto his lap.

"I think that is an excellent idea," he said. "I think your Ada needs a family-bannock very much indeed. Would you like to bring it to him?"

Legolas shook his head, cuddling close under Luindil's arm. "No. You should give it to him. Ada does not see me any more." He gave a resigned sigh.

Luindil glanced over Legolas's head at the piece of bannock. "Very well," he said. "I will give it to him. But first, I believe I know of a little one who has had an unhappy day." Legolas nodded.

"I do, too."

"Perhaps we should cut our losses, then? Shall we end this little one's unhappy day now and hope that tomorrow will be happy?"

Legolas nodded again. Luindil reached out with one long arm, wrapped the bannock remnant in a napkin, and put it into his belt pouch. Then he carried Legolas down the hall to his sleeping chamber to help the night nurse put him to bed.

An hour later, Luindil knocked on the door to the library. There was a long pause, and then he heard Thranduil's voice. "Come in."

Luindil opened the door and frowned at what he saw. The accounts were spread all over the desk in untidy piles. Thranduil sat listlessly before them, his face blank, and his eyes disoriented. At Luindil's approach, he roused himself and made the effort to focus on his seneschal. Luindil glanced reflexively around the room, and Thranduil cracked a wry half-smile.

"You need not worry," he said. "There is nothing here stronger than tea. I am merely exhausted, not drunk."

"And lonely as well, I would wager."

Thranduil dropped his head into his hands and nodded. "We used to do this together, she and I," he said after a while. "I have always been good at determining the settlement's needs and the best ways to distribute our resources, but she had the better head for figuring."

Luindil picked up one of the account pages and examined it. "This seems to be in order."

The corners of Thranduil's mouth turned up, but the smile did not reach his eyes. "You see?" he said. "I am learning to live without her."

"You are making a start, at any rate." Luindil glanced at the tray that sat on the desk, empty dishes propping up another sheet of figures. "You have eaten, and that is good as well. Think you that you could manage a little more?" At Thranduil's questioning look, Luindil offered him the bit of bannock from his pouch. "Legolas wished to share this with you," he said. "He called it a 'family-bannock,' and he seemed to think that you are in need of it. I would tend to agree with your son," he added pointedly.

Thranduil started a little, and Luindil saw his eyes grow suspiciously liquid as he stared at the piece of bannock. Slowly, Thranduil reached out his hand and took it.

"He is a good child," Thranduil said softly. "I have done nothing to merit such a treasure." He glanced at Luindil as if expecting his seneschal to agree with that statement, but Luindil was silent. Thranduil looked down at his desk. "He is broken now," he went on. "Every time I look at him, I see such hurt in his eyes that it takes my breath away. It frightens me, Luindil. I want to take all my child's pain away, but I cannot. There is too much of it. I do not know where to begin."

"You must begin to trust yourself," Luindil said. "You are his Ada, and that is no mean thing. Legolas does not ask perfection of you, only your steadfast love."

"I do love him."

"I know you do. And Legolas knows it as well. That is why he waits for you."

"But he cannot wait forever," Thranduil sighed. Luindil shrugged.

"That is true," he said. "And that is why, in my heart of hearts, I wish that you will recover your courage soon and take your son back. But I would also say that you, too, are broken, and I know that it is hard to comfort a broken child when one is not whole oneself."

"I wish to heal," Thranduil said, "and so I dance. I do not know if it is healing me to do so, but it begins to dull the pain a little."

"That is a start," Luindil said. He eyed the Elvenking critically. "You are exhausted," he observed.

"Healing is hard work. And so is figuring."

Luindil smiled. "Then go to your rest, King Thranduil. I will tidy the accounts here." Thranduil blinked at him, then stood.

"Thank you, Luindil," he said. "I bid you good night."

"May your rest be pleasant and your dreams gentle."

Thranduil nodded and left the library. Luindil turned to the accounts scattered over the desk and organized them into neat piles before going to seek his own rest.

Despite his exhaustion, Thranduil's sleep was light and troubled. He woke several times during the night, sometimes with the memory of a strange, dark dream fading from his mind. When he woke just past the middle of the night, he thought he heard someone weeping. He lay awake for a few moments, and the weeping persisted. He realized that the sound was not a fragment of dream and padded out into the corridor to investigate.

The sound came from Legolas's chamber. When Thranduil entered, he found the child curled in his bed, fast asleep, crying out in his dreams. Thranduil dropped to his knees beside the low, narrow bed and tentatively reached out his hand to caress Legolas's soft hair. Gently, he rubbed his child's back and sang soothing nonsense. Under his touch, Legolas relaxed, and his cries subsided. Without ever fully waking, he slid from nightmare into a deeper, dreamless sleep.

Thranduil knelt by the bed a while longer, watching Legolas sleep. With a feather-light touch, he brushed away tears from the child's soft cheek and twined a strand of fine hair around his finger. Someone had bathed Legolas before putting him down to sleep, and he smelled of fresh water and new leaves. Asleep, he seemed calm and untroubled, just as any child ought to be when tucked safely into its own bed. Thranduil could well imagine what monsters lurked just beneath that calm surface, far down the path of childish dreams where he could not follow.

At that thought, a shadow passed over his face. He disentangled his hand from Legolas's hair and stood up, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of one little ear as he did so. Silently, he moved out into the corridor and shut the door. He leaned against the wall, then slowly slid to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees and bowing his head. His eyes burned, and something swelled in his throat, nearly stopping his breath, but no tears came.

After a while, he became aware that he was not alone. Raising his head, he saw Luindil sitting on his heels beside him, regarding him with large, solemn eyes. "Legolas had a nightmare," Thranduil said. "I heard him crying. He is calm again now."

"Good," Luindil said. Something in his voice prompted Thranduil to speak again.

"Legolas did not wake up," he said. "I sang to him, and the nightmare faded away, and he slept peacefully. I can do that when he sleeps. Why can I not do so when he is awake?"

"There was a time, not long ago, when you could not have done it at all," Luindil reminded him. "Every day, you recover a little more of yourself."

"It hurts."

"I know."

"That was why my mother faded," Thranduil murmured. "She could not bear the hurt of my father's death. But I cannot fade. I cannot leave Legolas alone. He is too young. He needs me, but I cannot go to him."

"You know that he needs you, and you have a reason to stay," Luindil said. "That is why I trust your ability to heal. Do not despair, Thranduil. Your heart has not turned to stone. I think it has turned to ice, and very slowly, it is thawing."

Thranduil glanced over at the door to Legolas's chamber. "He did not wake."

"But he knows. The little ones know much more than they let on. Deep in his heart, Legolas knows that you have not forgotten him."

Thranduil's mouth, which had been set in a hard, tight line, softened a bit. "He shared his bannock with me."

"Yes. Your son loves you still and wishes to see you returned to life and hope," Luindil said. "Will you return to your bed now? It will be warm beneath your blankets, and perhaps your icy heart will thaw a little more."

"I will. I arose because I heard Legolas crying, and he is asleep now. I will sleep as well. Good night Luindil." Thranduil rose to his feet.

"Good night, King Thranduil." Luindil waited until his King had entered his chamber and shut the door, then walked off towards his own bed, satisfied that both of his boys had received the soothing they needed.

The deep, mellow tones of the hunting horns sounded, and Elves hurried from their homes to gather in the clearing near the middle of the settlement. Near the edge of the clearing, Doronrîn, the settlement's chief herbalist and midwife, looked up from the patch of chamomile she had been showing to the children of the delvings. "The hunters have returned," she observed.

"Can we go and meet them?" Legolas asked excitedly. "I mean, may we go?" The other children took up the plea, and Doronrîn sighed. She sat back on her heels.

"Has the afternoon gone so quickly?" she asked. "I suppose our lesson is over for the day. You may go and meet the hunters, but do not be underfoot." In truth, Doronrîn was eager to meet the hunting party as well. Her husband had led this particular hunt, and she wished to welcome him home. She stood and brushed leaves from her skirt as the children raced off. Legolas paused, then slipped his hand into hers.

"I want to go with you," he said. Hand in hand, they walked to the clearing.

The hunt had been a successful one. The hunters laid their prey out to dress it as Galion and Luindil stood over them, discussing what was to be done with each animal. There were several black squirrels whose meat was bitter but whose fluffy pelts would make warm fur collars for small Elves. The great stag would be roasted for the upcoming Yule feast, and its hide would go to the tanners. Luindil knelt and examined the stag's large antlers.

"The King Stag's headdress needs repairs," he said. "These antlers will make a fine replacement for the old ones."

Galion nodded thoughtfully. "They will need to be dried," he said, "but I believe that they will be ready in time to complete the repairs to the headdress before the masque."

Legolas inched closer, eager to hear as much as he could about the masque. He would be allowed to sit up for it for the first time this year, and the mystery of the preparations fascinated him. Besides, if he listened closely enough, he might hear someone mention his Ada.

Suddenly, a commotion distracted everyone from the stag. A final contingent of hunters staggered into the clearing, bringing a great black bear and supporting a wounded, limping comrade. Doronrîn gave a small cry and hurried away from Legolas, across the clearing to the wounded Elf, whom Legolas recognized as Menellir, the captain of Thranduil's guards and Doronrîn's husband.

"What happened?" she asked, gently probing the large gashes in Menellir's leg. Menellir winced, but put on a brave smile for his wife.

"I was the first to happen upon that bear," he said. "I was stalking a pheasant, and it happened that the bear was doing the same. We came upon each other unexpectedly, and the bear struck first. Fortunately, I struck last. But I am afraid that you will have to wait a bit longer for the feathers for your new dress."

"I do not care about that," Doronrîn grumbled, "as long as you are safe. Come, you must see the healer now." She helped him to stand, then hooked his arm around her shoulders. Together, they hobbled off to the healer's house as Doronrîn alternated between scolding Menellir for his wound and praising his presence of mind in the face of unexpected danger.

Legolas watched them go and suddenly felt very small. The blood on Menellir's leg frightened him, and the bear's teeth and claws looked large and threatening. He retreated to the safety of a large tree and crouched down in the hollow between two roots, where he stared at the bear. Luindil and Galion squatted down and boldly examined the bear, stroking the fur and prodding it to see how fat it was. At last, they rose and conferred briefly before Galion turned away to assist with the dressing of the game.

Luindil strode towards the edge of the clearing and stopped when he saw Legolas huddled on the ground. "What are you doing hiding here, little one?" he asked.

Legolas tried hard not to cry, but his hands fluttered nervously as he struggled to put his fear into words. "The bear," he said. "And Menellir was all bloody." Luindil knelt down and wrapped his own warm hands around Legolas's.

"Do not worry about Menellir," he said. "The healer will wash the blood away and perhaps put stitches in the wounds, and Menellir will be fine."

Legolas stopped shaking, though he made no move to leave his safe hiding place. "Really?"

"Yes," Luindil assured him. "If you do not believe me, I will arrange for you to visit him in a few days when he is feeling better, and then you can see for yourself."

Legolas peeked over his shoulder toward the clearing, then quickly turned away and shut his eyes. "The bear is looking at me," he said.

"The bear is dead," Luindil said. "He did not kill Menellir, and instead, he will be turned into good things for us. We will have bear meat this winter, and there will be bear grease to help keep our weapons in good condition. And best of all, we will take the bear's pelt to Lake Town with the other furs and trade it for butter and apples and wheat flour and other good things to eat. Bears are dangerous animals, Legolas, but they are very useful as well."

Legolas risked one more glance at the bear and then stood up. Luindil helped him brush dead leaves out of his hair and took his hand to walk him back to the delvings.

After a short discussion with Legolas about bears and hunting, Luindil left to go consult with Thranduil about a trip to Lake Town to trade furs. There was still a little of the afternoon left, and Legolas was free to play. He went to his chamber, opened his toy box, and took out a little toy bow of willow that Thranduil had made for him last Yule. With it went two arrows, their tips cushioned with pads of soft deerskin stuffed with grass.

Holding an arrow ready, Legolas prowled the torchlit corridors of the delvings, looking for prey to stalk. He peeked into the kitchens, but Galion caught him. "There is no prey here, little hunter," he laughed. "All the animals in the kitchen have already been caught. You should look elsewhere." He gave Legolas a piece of dried apple and escorted him back into the corridor. As Legolas chewed at the apple piece, he suddenly saw the perfect target. Gilveril came out of a door, carrying something long and shiny, and started walking down the corridor. She had not noticed him sitting by the entrance to the kitchen.

Legolas swallowed the last bites of apple, picked up his bow and arrows, and began to stalk Gilveril. He knew how to move very quietly; the previous year, Thranduil had deemed him old enough to learn to stalk squirrels and find their hidden caches of nuts with the other small children of the settlement. Careful not to make any sudden moves, he followed Gilveril quietly, on the balls of his feet, breathing through his mouth so that she would not hear him.

Gilveril turned a corner. Legolas took a deep breath and followed, bow at the ready. Suddenly, just as he turned the corner, there was a clatter, and Gilveril whirled around, grabbed him and started to tickle him. "I have you!" she cried, as Legolas shrieked with laughter. He dropped the bow and arrows, and Gilveril stopped tickling, though she still held him firmly in one arm.

"Just what were you doing?" she asked with a smile.

"I was a hunter," Legolas explained, wiggling one arm free so that he could point to his fallen bow as evidence, "and you were a big black bear, and I was hunting you."

"I see," Gilveril said. "Well, Master Hunter, next time you hunt, make sure that your prey cannot see your shadow creeping along the wall. She might be armed and dangerous." Gilveril picked up the long, shiny thing that she had dropped. Legolas looked at it curiously. It looked like a sword, but the tip was round and blunt instead of coming to a sharp point, and there was no guard on the grip.

"What is that?" Legolas asked. "Is it a sword?"

"This is my dancing sword," Gilveril said. "I am dancing in the masque this year, and I am on my way to practice."

"My Ada is dancing in the masque," Legolas said, reaching out to touch the polished wood of the grip. "Will you see him when you practice?"

Gilveril thought for a moment. "Yes," she said. "He appears at the very end of the sword dance, and he will come to our practice today so that we can rehearse the end of the dance with him."

"What does the masque look like?"

"It is exciting and mysterious," Gilveril said. "I cannot explain it. You will have to wait and see for yourself."

"Is Ada a good dancer?"

Gilveril thought for a moment. "I think he is," she decided. "I have not seen very much of his dancing, though, so I cannot say for certain."

"Luindil says that Ada is ill," Legolas said. "He is breakable like glass right now, so you should be gentle when you dance with him."

Gilveril looked serious and nodded. "I promise I will be very gentle," she said. "I need to go now, Legolas, or I will be late for practice."

Legolas wrapped his arms around Gilveril's legs. "Will you tell Ada that I love him and that I hope he dances perfectly so he will be well again?"

Gilveril looked stricken at the thought of saying something so personal to the King, but she could not deny the King's son clinging to her. "I will tell him that you miss him," she said. "Now I must go, or Mistress Innil will be angry that I am late for practice." She pried Legolas's arms from around her legs, handed him his bow and arrows and set off down the corridor to the dancing chamber.

Luindil kept his promise to Legolas, and a few days after the hunt, they knocked at the door of one of the little wooden houses that made up the settlement. Doronrîn opened it and ushered them inside.

"Hello, Doronrîn," Luindil said. "We have come to call upon your husband. Is he able to receive a visit?" He felt Legolas's hand tighten nervously around his.

Doronrîn looked down at Legolas and flashed a brief smile. "I believe he is," she said. "If you will excuse me for a moment, I will ask him." She nodded courteously and left the room. Luindil knelt down next to Legolas placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You see?" he said. "Doronrîn is not worried about Menellir, so you have nothing to fear today."

"He will not look scary? No blood?"

"No," Luindil chuckled. "If I know Doronrîn, Menellir will be absolutely clean, tidied and bandaged as neatly as you could ever hope to see. She is very thorough when she is caring for someone."

"When we have herb lessons, she always makes us wash our hands," Legolas offered, as Doronrîn assisted Menellir into the room.

"Naturally," she said, helping Menellir to a chair. "It would never do for you to examine delicate herbs with dirty hands." She turned to Luindil. "I will leave you to visit for a little while I begin to prepare our meal. By your leave." She dropped a short curtsey to the King's seneschal and left the room again.

Menellir smiled and held out his arms to Legolas. "Hello, Legolas," he said. "Luindil said that you were worried about me."

"You hunted the bear," Legolas said. "And you came back all bloody."

"Yes," Menellir said. "Hunting in the deep woods can be a dangerous business, and sometimes people get hurt. But everyone around me knew just what to do to help. My comrades took me straight home, and Doronrîn took me to the healer, and the healer gave me stitches and a bandage. Would you like to see?" He moved his robes aside so that Legolas could inspect the bandage tied around his thigh.

Legolas patted the bandage gingerly. "No more blood," he observed. "Will you be well soon?"

"I will be well again," Menellir assured him. He picked Legolas up and let the child straddle his good leg as he turned to Luindil. "In fact, I am glad that you have come. The healer has said that, while I will soon walk normally again, I am not to strain the leg. I was to take part in the masque this year, but I will not be able to do so. Do you know my part, Luindil?"

Luindil nodded. "You were to dance as a stag in the Horn Dance, correct? I do know the part; I danced it myself several years ago. I believe it was the year before Legolas was born."

"Will you dance it again?"

"I was to sit with Legolas during the masque," Luindil said. "He will be seeing it for the first time this year. If you will sit with him instead, I will surely dance your part."

Menellir turned to Legolas. "What do you think?" he asked. "Will you sit and watch the masque with me, since I cannot dance?"

"Yes," Legolas said. "I will sit with you and keep you company so that you are not sad about not dancing."

"Then it is settled," Luindil said. "I will dance, and Menellir will sit with you. But you will have to behave."

Menellir laughed. "I am certain he will behave," he said. "I am sure the King will expect no less from him."

"That is correct," Luindil said. "Come, Legolas. It is time to go home now. I think Doronrîn will have the meal ready soon, and we must not exhaust Menellir before he can eat it."

Legolas slid down from Menellir's knee. "I am glad you are feeling better," he said.

Menellir smiled at him. "So am I. Thank you for coming, Legolas. I always enjoy visiting with you."

Legolas blushed and hid his face against Luindil's leg. Luindil bowed and thanked Menellir again before he and Legolas left the house. As they walked down the path that led to the delvings, Luindil ruffled his young charge's hair. "Do you feel happier now? You can see that Menellir is safe and that the bear did not hurt him so badly that he could not be healed."

Legolas nodded. "Menellir will get better," he sang, and skipped ahead, chasing after some brightly colored falling leaves. He caught a bright red maple leaf and stopped suddenly. Luindil knelt down next to him and saw that the smile was gone from his face.

"What is it, little one?" he asked.

Legolas turned large, solemn eyes on him. "Nana was all bloody," he said.

Then Luindil knew what had troubled Legolas ever since the hunt. He picked the child up and continued walking towards the delvings, with the Queen's child held protectively in his arms. "Your nana was very bloody," he said. "Sometimes, when people are wounded, the healers cannot save them. But many more times, healers can help people to get well, just like Menellir."

"If Ada is hurt, will the healers save him?"

Luindil sighed. He had no desire to burden Legolas with any more worries than he already had, but neither did he wish to lie to the child and coat the truth of life in the forest with honey. "The first thing is that every Elf in Mirkwood will do everything they can to prevent your Ada from being hurt in the first place," he said. "But, if he is hurt, I promise you that the healers will do everything in their power to save him. Your Ada is not an easy Elf to hurt, Legolas. He does not take kindly to those who would part him from you, for he loves you very much."

"I know," Legolas said, and he twined his arms around Luindil's neck. "I love him, too. I do not want him to be hurt like Nana was."

"Neither do I," Luindil told him, and they continued on the path to the delvings in silence.

Thranduil sat back and regarded his notes with satisfaction. It had taken him the better part of the evening, but he had finally devised a trading list that would satisfy his people's winter needs and a bargaining plan that might allow for some extra treats as well. He stretched his sore neck and took a long swallow of tea. As he was clearing the papers away, there was a knock at the door. Thranduil smiled. It would be Luindil; his seneschal's regular evening visits to check on his well-being gave him comfort even as they wounded his dignity.

"Come in," he said.

Luindil came into the library and seated himself in the chair Thranduil offered. "How goes the figuring tonight, King Thranduil?" he asked.

"You may see for yourself." Thranduil pushed the trading list across the desk. "With the addition of that bear, I believe we have enough furs and goods to trade for all that we need. I will be sure to include extra measures of flour, wine and apples for the hunters who took the bear."

"Indeed." Luindil glanced over the list. "We were most fortunate in that hunt. I notice that you have listed the bear's teeth and claws as items to be traded. Why is that?"

"According to the reports from the last trading expedition, the Men of Lake Town value bear's teeth and claws highly," Thranduil said. I have no idea what use they have for such things, but I wish to purchase something special with them."

"Oh? What had you in mind?"

Thranduil focused his gaze on the fire in the hearth. He was silent for a while as he sought the words to describe his intended purchase and what it would mean to him. It was easier not to look at Luindil, though he could still feel the seneschal's eyes upon him, waiting patiently for him to speak.

"Legolas is outgrowing his shoes," he began. "They have been skillfully patched, but I think that they will not stand up to another repair."

"You noticed that," Luindil said. "I am glad."

Thranduil glared sharply at him. "Please hear me out," he said. "It is difficult enough for me to speak of this, but I will speak in my own time."

"I apologize, my Lord. Please continue."

"I will have new shoes made for Legolas," Thranduil went on, turning back to the hearth. "And they will be embroidered with glass beads. I know he has long desired such shoes, and I think he is old enough to have them. The glass beads from Lake Town are something of a luxury, but I think that the bear's claws will buy them. The new shoes will be his Yule gift." Thranduil glanced up at Luindil and gave a small, hopeful smile. "I will give him this gift myself," he said.

Luindil returned the King's smile with a broader one of his own. "Such a gift will make your son happy," he said, "but it is the love of the giver which will truly warm his heart."

Thranduil nodded. "I know," he said. "Each day, I feel my heart becoming stronger. Soon I will be able to look at Legolas and not drown in my own fear and grief. When Yule comes, I will give him his new shoes with a renewed heart."

"I have faith in you, King Thranduil," Luindil said. "I know that you will achieve your goal, for you have no other choice."

After he had arranged the details of the trading expedition, Thranduil had no desire for sleep. Instead, he went to the Great Hall. He did not light the torches that lined the walls, but he lit the candles in the two candelabra near his throne. There, alone in the empty, dimly lit hall, Thranduil began to dance. With no music and without Inglor, he danced the Hunter's Dance and reveled in the primitive joy of movement. With each leap and spin, he imagined that he was breaking further away from the dark despair that still threatened his heart.

He spun gracefully to the edge of the pool of light, sank to one knee and extended his arms. When the masque was performed, an attendant dressed in black would press a spear into his outstretched hand. He could almost feel its weight in his mind as he closed his hand around empty air. Now came the climax of this dance, the dangerous moment that Thranduil and Inglor rehearsed every day, no matter what else they were to practice. In one smooth, spiraling movement, Thranduil rose from his crouch and hurled his imaginary spear across the room.

For a moment, his body balanced precisely as it should be after such a throw. Then, slowly, carefully, he straightened and became still. Deliberately, he brought his heartbeat and breathing back to their normal rate after the wild exertion of the dance. A sudden movement caught his eye, and he looked closely at the shadows surrounding the throne.

Legolas sat huddled silently just beyond the edge of the light, wearing only his nightclothes, his hair rumpled from sleep. There was no way to know how long he had been watching his father dance. Thranduil's heart seized at the sight of him. All the strength and power that had suffused his muscles while he danced flowed out of him, leaving him drained and trembling in the cold, dark hall. His breath caught in his throat, and when he tried to reach out to Legolas, he found himself rooted to his spot, unable to move. The weight of Legolas's silence hit him as hard as it had on that terrible day when the light had gone out of both of their lives.

Summoning up all of his strength of will, Thranduil managed to break the silence. "Go back to bed, little mouse," he said. "It is freezing, and your bed is warm."

Legolas waited for a moment, then got up and walked off into the darkness. Thranduil found that his legs would no longer support him, and he sank to his knees, his breath coming in painful gasps as he shivered against the chills without and within.

"Good morning, Legolas!"

Legolas blinked sleepily at the chambermaid who had come to wake him. "It does not feel like morning," he said uncertainly. The maid laughed merrily as she lit a candle.

"Indeed it does not," she said. "It is still dark outside. Today is Yule, and that is the shortest day of the year. The sun will not rise until later, and we will not see her for very many hours today."

Legolas jumped out of bed and danced with excitement. "Is it really Yule?" he asked. "Did it snow?"

"No," the maid said, smoothing the covers on the bed. "It did not snow. But something even better happened during the night."

"What happened?"

The maid handed Legolas the pillow from the bed. "You will have to find out for yourself," she said. "After you have washed and eaten, you may go outside to play. So let us finish here quickly as little rabbits."

Spurred on by the promise of something better than snow outside, Legolas fluffed the pillow as quickly as any little rabbit, set it on the bed, struggled out of his nightclothes and scampered for his washbasin. The chambermaid smiled, remembering how excited she had been to greet the dawn on Yule when she was small, and stooped to pick up the forgotten nightclothes lying on the floor.

When Legolas ventured outside, warmly wrapped in a soft cloak lined with squirrel fur, he stared at the trees surrounding the delvings in open-mouthed amazement. All the little twigs and branches were encased in ice. As the first rays of the sun touched it, the ice sparkled just like the caves of Menegroth in the stories that Luindil sometimes told. The ground crunched as he walked on it. Delighted, Legolas put out a finger and touched a smooth, cold branch. When he released it, it sprang back into place, and the whole tree tinkled like glass bells.

Light footsteps crunched behind him, and Legolas turned around to see Glawariel leading three other equally astonished children from the delvings. "It is pretty, is it not?" she said. "There was an ice storm last night, and you must be careful in the woods today."

"Why?" one of the other children asked.

"The ice is pretty to look at," Glawariel said, "but it is also dangerous. Sometimes the warmth of the sun will melt it, and it will fall in great chunks from the trees. And sometimes the branches are not strong enough to withstand the weight of the ice encasing them, and they might break off and fall as well."

Legolas looked up at the trees anxiously. Now that Glawariel had mentioned it, he could see that some of the branches were drooping under the weight of their icy coats. He did not think they were happy to be covered in cold, wet ice.

"The branches will not fall on us, will they?" one of the children asked.

"Not if you stay close to me and do as I tell you," Glawariel said. "I will listen to the trees, and if one is about to break, I will tell you to move away from it. If you obey me when I tell you to move, then you will be perfectly safe." She held out a hand to Legolas. "Will you come with us, Legolas? We are going to gather greenery to decorate our homes for Yule."

Legolas gave his branch one last sympathetic pat and followed Glawariel into the glittering, tinkling forest. Glawariel led them to evergreen trees and holly bushes and showed them how to ask the trees nicely for permission to cut some of the pretty branches. When Legolas wondered if it would hurt the trees to do so, Glawariel assured him that the trees would not mind.

"It is just as if someone were to ask you for a hair from your head," she explained. "It would sting for a moment, but that would pass, and you would make someone you loved happy by doing so." So Legolas made sure to ask each tree politely as he filled his arms with bundles of fir and holly.

The sun had risen, and the ice melted off the trees, falling to the ground all around them as rain. Twice, Glawariel moved her four little charges to avoid a great fall of ice and debris. They sang as they worked, cutting branches and carefully shaking bright droplets of melted ice off of them. After a while, their ears and noses began to sting with cold, and Glawariel declared that they had collected enough greenery. She led them back through the now silent woods to the settlement.

The other children trotted off, bearing their greenery to their family quarters to help decorate them for Yule. Legolas stood in the entryway, unsure what to do. His Nana had always been the one to decorate their private chambers for Yule, but she was gone. Thranduil had said nothing about Yule celebrations, and he had not taken out any of the ornaments that the Queen had used. Legolas thought that perhaps Thranduil did not know where they were kept, and he felt sad that the family Yule ornaments were now lost forever.

Suddenly feeling lost in the great caverns, Legolas wandered into the Great Hall, thinking that something interesting would be happening there. Sure enough, the Great Hall was full of busy Elves. Some were carrying candles and fitting them into the candelabra. Some were weaving great evergreen garlands, and some stood on ladders fastening the garlands to the walls and hanging them from the torch sconces. Luindil directed four of the strongest hunters as they hauled an enormous log towards the hearth. Legolas carefully threaded his way through the bustle and tugged at the hem of Luindil's doublet.

"Hello, little one," Luindil said. "A glad Yule to you."

"Glad Yule," Legolas replied. He offered up the holly and evergreen in his arms. "These are for decorating," he said. "Glawariel helped me cut them. Will you hang them here with the rest of the decorations?"

Luindil bent down and carefully took the armload of greenery. "I think we have plenty of green branches for the Great Hall, little one," he said. "I will take these somewhere else." Legolas looked around and felt foolish. Of course, with all the maids sitting and weaving garlands, there would be no need for his small armful of cuttings.

"May I help you decorate?" he asked. Luindil shook his head.

"It is a generous offer, but you are too little to be of much help here," he said. "We would not want to lose you in amongst all these wreaths. Perhaps I can take you to visit one of your friends to play."

"They are all at home decorating with their families," Legolas said. "Gilveril said that she would go and capture a wren with her friends. Do you think that I could go with them?"

"Next Yule, perhaps, when you have learned to stalk birds. They are harder to surprise than squirrels."

"Then what will I do?"

"You have toys, do you not?" Luindil said. "If you can play quietly and have a nap, then I will have time to finish my work here. If my work is finished, then I will be able to come and see you before I go to prepare myself for the masque."

Legolas clutched the damp cloak around himself and bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling. "I want my Ada," he said in a very small voice.

Luindil's expression softened, and he knelt down beside Legolas and stroked his hair. "I know you want your Ada, little one," he murmured. "But you must be patient and wait for him a little longer. You will see him tonight at the masque." He gave the child's hand a squeeze. "I will put your branches somewhere safe. You should go and take off that cloak. I think there is a fire laid in the entrance hall. Hang the cloak near the fire so it will dry and not smell of wet squirrel."

Some time later, Legolas peeked cautiously around a corner in one of the cellars. He saw no one but the cellar staff opening barrels and carrying their contents away. Quietly, he edged closer for a better look. He had tried to play in his chamber for a while, but he had quickly grown tired of shooting arrows at the leaves painted on the wall. Then he had draped his blanket over two chairs and pretended that he was King Thingol living safely in his enchanted forest. When a chambermaid had arrived to announce that it was time for his nap, Legolas did not feel sleepy at all. He had decided that, instead of being King Thingol, he would be Lúthien Tinúviel and run away into the wide world to look for a Silmaril.

He had not found a Silmaril yet, but he did see that one of the opened barrels contained apples. Deciding that even Lúthien Tinúviel had probably needed provisions on her quest, he crept closer to the apple barrel.

"There you are!" Legolas whirled around to see the chambermaid approaching him rapidly. "Those apples are not for stealing," she said. "They are for the feast tonight. Now, come with me. You must nap if you wish to sit up for the masque tonight." She reached out and took Legolas's arm.

"No!" he yelled. "No nap! I am not tired! Everyone is doing something, and I want to see!" He twisted out of her grip and ran down the corridors. Behind him, he heard the chambermaid swear and begin to run after him. Desperate for a safe place to hide, Legolas ran straight into the kitchens, where an Elf carrying a large tray of freshly baked rolls nearly tripped over him. More angry voices erupted, and Legolas threw himself down in a corner and began to cry.

"Here now, what is this?" a friendly voice said. Legolas looked up and saw Galion the butler, whom he liked very much. He sniffled and mopped at his eyes with his sleeve. Galion laughed and pulled him to his feet.

"You look like a thundercloud," he said. "What is the matter? Have you had too much Yule? Or perhaps too little?" he added, contemplating the scruffy, miserable child before him. Legolas scowled silently at the floor. Galion sighed. "I do not know what has made you so angry, child," he said, "but we cannot let such a rage as yours go to waste. Come. As it happens, there is a task here that you may do for me. I think that, in your present state, you will enjoy it."

Galion sat Legolas down at a worktable and set a large mortar and pestle before him. Then he turned to a basin and lifted out a colander filled with beautiful, iridescent beetle shells, which he poured into the mortar. "I washed these shells this morning, and they are clean and dry now," he said. "Take the pestle and crush them into a powder." He showed Legolas how to use the pestle to grind the shells against the mortar.

"I mash the beetle shells," Legolas said, as he carefully wielded the heavy pestle himself. "What are they for? Will we eat mashed beetle shells at the feast?"

"No," Galion laughed. "They are for the masque. When you have mashed them all, I will mix them with bear grease, and the dancers will paint themselves with it."

Pleased that Galion thought him old enough to do something to help prepare for the masque, Legolas concentrated hard on crushing the beetle shells perfectly. When he had finished, the shells were reduced to a glittering powder, and Legolas was finally so tired that he made no objection when the chambermaid reappeared to carry him off for a nap.

As he had promised, Luindil stopped by Legolas's chamber before he went to prepare for his role in the masque. Menellir had already arrived to help Legolas dress for the feasting and celebration, and Legolas ran excitedly to greet Luindil and show off the little wooden squirrel that Menellir had carved as a Yule gift for him. Luindil admired the squirrel and then took his leave, explaining that the other dancers needed him and the supplies he was bringing from the kitchens. He showed Legolas the pots containing bear grease mixed with soot to darken the faces of some of the dancers and the pot with the glittering beetle-shell paint.

"I helped make that," Legolas announced. "I mashed the beetle shells."

"Really?" Luindil said. "In that case, I will be sure to mention it to the dancer who will be using this paint. He will be glad to know that it was you who helped prepare it for him."

With that, Luindil went on to the dancing chamber, which was filled with dancers and musicians eating a quick meal, making last-minute adjustments to their costumes and tuning their instruments. He gave the pots of dark paint to Gilveril and the other sword dancers and placed the beetle-shell paint before Thranduil.

"Here is your paint, King Thranduil," he said. "Use it carefully, for it is special paint, and will bring you good luck."

Thranduil swallowed the last of a dried berry tart and reached for one of the many small washbasins scattered about the room. "How is it special?" he asked.

"It comes with a great deal of love. Legolas helped to make this paint today."

Thranduil gave a brilliant smile, the brightest one Luindil had seen on him in months. "If that is so, then I will dance perfectly tonight," he said. "And then I will thank Legolas personally when the ceremony is over."

Luindil returned the smile. "You will indeed, Thranduil," he said. "That is just what she would have wanted. Make her proud." Then he turned and went in search of his fringed leather dancing tunic.

The Silvan Elves' Yule ceremony began just after sundown. As the sun slipped completely below the horizon, the entire population of the settlement crowded into the Great Hall. Galion rang a large bell, gave a short speech of thanks to the Valar for the winter provisions, and the feast began. The Elves had venison, pheasant, rabbit and fish to eat, and many bowls of fruit, nuts and different cooked vegetables lined the tables as well. In addition to bread made of everyday acorn and chestnut flour, there were loaves of light wheat bread and little pots of butter and jugs of milk imported from Lake Town to supplement the wine, water and cider that filled the Elves' goblets. Legolas eagerly drank a cup of the rich, creamy milk and licked the last drops from his upper lip. There was enough food for everyone to eat as much as they wanted, and Menellir gave Legolas a second piece of venison and an extra spoonful of mashed chestnuts even before Legolas could ask for them.

When the Elves had eaten their fill, they pushed the tables to the edges of the Great Hall, clearing the space in the center for the masque. They pulled the benches and chairs from the feast into a rough circle around the cleared space. Then they snuffed most of the torches lining the hall and moved the candelabra so that the Hall was dark, and only the center was dimly lit. The preparations over, they moved to find seats to witness the masque. Menellir sat down beside Doronrîn, settled Legolas on his lap, and the masque began.

Somewhere in the darkness, a single flute could be heard. It played a short, simple tune that rolled up and down and seemed to circle around itself. Quietly, a line of six figures danced into the circle of candlelight, moving at a measured, deliberate pace. The dancers all wore pale, fringed buckskin tunics and leggings. Dark leather hoods covered their heads, and each dancer carried a pair of antlers over his head.

"They are the deer, who lived in the forest before the Elves, and whose lives sustain our own," Menellir murmured to Legolas. He indicated one of the dancers. "Do you see? That one is Luindil." Legolas looked, and saw that one of the faces beneath the antlers was indeed Luindil's.

Solemnly, with regal dignity, the Horn Dancers stepped through their sinuous pattern. They wove around each other, crossing and re-crossing their paths, circling around each other. Every so often, they would find themselves in two lines, and then the lines would advance and greet each other, inclining their heads so that the antlers clicked gently together. The only sounds in the Great Hall were the flute and the click of antlers.

Legolas felt that he could have watched the Horn Dance forever, mesmerized by the repetition of the simple tune and the slow, intricate pattern of the dance. After a while, it seemed to him that there was nothing else in the world beyond the quiet circles of the forest deer. And then, just as quietly, without changing their calm, measured pace, the Horn Dancers finished their final circle and filed back into the darkness. The flute continued to play as the last dancer vanished into the shadows.

A fiddle burst into a bright, leaping melody, and a drum pounded out an infectious rhythm as a dancer costumed as the great King of the Stags sprang into the circle of light. His over-tunic was a rich dark brown, and a white linen shirt flashed beneath it. On his head was a great headdress of deer hide stretched over a light wooden frame from which two enormous antlers protruded. The antlers were cleverly built into the headdress so that they stayed in place, leaving the dancer's arms free. He whirled and leaped high into the air, and all the Elves applauded his skill.

"I knew Inglor could dance, but I had no idea that his talent was so great," Menellir whispered to Doronrîn. On his lap, Legolas gazed at the King Stag in awe and thought that nothing could be so magnificent. But then a horn blared out a fanfare, and a second dancer entered the circle.

His tunic shone white in the candlelight, and a short scarlet cape was around his shoulders. His belt was of gold, and his golden headdress gleamed. His hands were covered by hunter's gauntlets, but his face glittered, iridescent as beetle shells. He spun gracefully across the circle, coming to rest with his arms outstretched in a gesture of welcome.

"That is Tauron, the Hunter King," Menellir told Legolas. "And he is your Ada." Legolas stared, fascinated. This strange, glittering being did not look at all like his Ada at first glance. But, now that Menellir had told him, he thought that the face beneath the golden crown did look like his Ada. Somehow, Thranduil had transformed himself into this strange, glittering being, radiating strength and joy. Surely, his Ada was healed, and nothing could hurt him now. Legolas cheered and clapped his hands.

The two Kings faced each other across the circle and bowed. As the music of the fiddle and the horn swirled above the insistent rhythm of the drum, the Hunter King pursued the Stag King, gliding and twisting as if through the deepest parts of the forest. Sometimes the Hunter crouched low, stalking the Stag with the utmost control and silence. Other times, the Stag would leap high into the air, rejoicing in the thrill of escaping the Hunter.

Elves dressed entirely in black knelt at the edges of the light and thrust branches between the Hunter and his prey. The Stag jumped gracefully over the branches and looked back at the Hunter, extending his hand in challenge. The Hunter followed, in a flurry of gold and white. The branches were raised a little higher, and the Stag jumped them again. Again, the Hunter followed. The watching Elves held their breath as the two dancers challenged each other to ever higher and more athletic jumps. Finally, with the branches as high as his shoulders, the Stag made a magnificent leap, so high that he seemed to float on the air for a moment before returning to earth. He turned and looked at the Hunter expectantly.

The Hunter danced gracefully to the edge of the circle and ran towards the barrier of branches. At the last moment, he turned a handspring and dived over the branches, twisting in mid-air to land on his feet a body's length away from the Stag. The watching Elves cheered. As the Elves in black lifted the branches away, the Hunter and the Stag whirled to face each other in the center of the circle. With surprising delicacy, they danced closely together, almost touching, before suddenly spinning away from each other in a great double spiral to the edges of the circle. The Hunter knelt and stretched out his hand. A spear was placed into it, its steel head shining bright and sharp.

Legolas sat frozen on Menellir's lap. He wondered if the Hunter King would actually kill the beautiful Stag who had danced with him. In one fluid motion, the Hunter rose, spun around and hurled the spear with all his might across the circle. Quicker than sight, the Stag reached up and caught it as it flew. To the sound of cheers and applause, he danced to the Hunter and knelt down, laying the spear at his feet in a gesture of graceful surrender. The horns blew a fanfare, the drums beat a tattoo, and Legolas found himself cheering for the Hunter King, his strong, powerful Ada who had defeated the Stag.

The Stag withdrew into the darkness. Abruptly, the music stopped, and the Hunter stood still and straight. A pipe and tabor sounded, a simple whistling melody punctuated by the quiet taps of the drum. Menellir cuddled Legolas close. "First comes Winter, then comes Spring," he whispered. Six small, slender adolescent dancers appeared in a line. They were dressed entirely in dark brown. Their faces were blacked with soot and grease and shadowed in dark hoods. Each carried a blunt-tipped sword. Legolas looked at the swords and thought that one of the dancers must be Gilveril.

The Sword Dancers circled around each other, their swords raised. Six times they tapped the swords together, then they each grasped the tip of their neighbor's sword. Linked into a circle, they danced in ever-changing loops, weaving over and around and through each other. They held up their swords and danced under them, or lowered them to step delicately over, all in time to the gentle tapping of the tabor. Legolas bounced a little in time with the music.

"I could do that," he told Menellir.

"Perhaps you will, when you are old enough," Menellir said.

The Sword Dancers briefly broke their circle and marched through several patterns of complicated double loops. Then they re-formed the loop, circling and twisting under their swords until they were huddled together in a small rotating knot. Mysterious clanking sounds came from the knot, and Legolas strained to see what they were doing. After a few seconds, Gilveril straightened and raised above her head a six-pointed star that the dancers had made by weaving the swords together. Amazed by this clever trick, Legolas applauded along with the rest of the Elves.

Now the pipe played faster and louder, and the Sword Dancers circled around, clapping their hands along with the insistent rhythm of the tabor. Legolas leaned closer, almost forgetting to breathe. Thranduil, the Hunter King, stepped willingly into the center of the circle, and Gilveril lowered the linked swords over his head. He stood arrow-straight, the star of swords about his neck, as the Sword Dancers circled closer and closer about him, clapping along to the driving pace of the pipe and tabor. Just when it seemed that they would have to break into a run, the tabor made a last hard tap, and the dancers froze, each grasping the hilt of a sword in the star around the Hunter King's neck. With a resounding shing of metal against metal, they pulled the star apart. The Hunter King fell to the ground and was still.

And in the silence that followed, Legolas began to scream in absolute terror. He wailed for his Ada and his Nana as if his heart would break. Menellir held him close and murmured soothing words as he carried Legolas out of the Great Hall. The Sword Dancers scattered into the darkness.

After Menellir took Legolas away, the crowd murmured its concern for a few minutes. Legolas was certainly not the first child to have been frightened by the sudden violence of the masque, but everyone present knew of the loss he had suffered that summer, and every heart reached out to him with wishes of comfort. The interruption did not last long, however. There was one last dance left before the masque was complete.

A flute played a high, keening note, and a sorrowful maiden dressed in a gray gown trimmed with silver glided across the circle. She knelt by the fallen form of the Hunter King and bowed her head. Gently, she straightened his body and composed his hands upon his breast. When she had finished, she stood, spread her skirts wide, and danced with long, graceful steps around his body. Silver streamers fluttered from her sleeves and sparkled in her hair.

A bright fiddle tune heralded the entrance of another maiden, this one dressed in green and gold. She, too, made reverence to the fallen King. Then she took the hand of the maiden in gray, and they danced around each other, curving away and coming together again. Sometimes they danced close together, and the golden streamers of the one mingled with the silver streamers of the other. Together, the two maidens danced around the Hunter King in wide, interlocking circles.

Thranduil lay on the ground, paying minimal attention to the familiar music and the swirling skirts and stamping feet of the maidens' dance. Legolas's terrified screams still echoed in his mind, and a sharp ache had lodged itself in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to run from the room, take Legolas in his arms and soothe his fears, but he must lie still and see the masque through to its end. He wanted to laugh, even as he felt tears pricking his eyes. For months, he had not been able to approach his broken child, and now that his only wish was to do so, he found himself constrained by the requirements of the ritual.

Fortunately, this was the final phase of the masque. It was not especially long, and he would leave at the earliest opportunity to do so. He wished that Legolas could hear his thoughts. Wait, little mouse, he said silently. Wait just a little longer. Your Ada is coming for you.

In one of the small pantries off the Great Hall, Legolas sat on Menellir's lap and cried inconsolably. Menellir rocked him and hummed tunelessly, clasping the shuddering little body against his chest. Silently, he cursed himself for several different kinds of a fool. He had assumed that someone had explained to Legolas what he would see during the masque, but it appeared that he was mistaken. Of course, he told himself, it was something the Queen would have done had she still been present. As far as he knew, Thranduil had not had the wherewithal even to speak to Legolas for some time, and the other members of the King's household had been occupied with the hard work of autumn. It seemed that no one had had the time to prepare the child.

The heavy leather curtain over the doorway flapped, and Menellir looked up. Luindil slipped into the pantry, still dressed in his dancing tunic, his antlers in his hand. Gently, he laid the antlers down and hurried to Menellir's side and sat down on the bench next to him.

"Shall I take him?" he asked.

"No," Menellir said. "He is clinging fast to my shirt. I will let him weep a little longer. When he is weary from his tears, then we will have an easier time of reasoning with him. But you are still needed for the masque."

Luindil shrugged. "They will have to make do with five Stag Dancers instead of six. This is more important."

Menellir nodded. "Indeed." Legolas choked a little, and Menellir rubbed his back. Luindil dropped his head into his hands.

"I am a fool," he said. "I had intended to tell him the story of the Hunter before the feast, but I never could find the proper moment."

"You were preparing to dance unexpectedly. You had little opportunity." Menellir laughed bitterly. "If you are a fool, Luindil, then you are in good company, for I am as great a fool. I assumed that others had prepared him, and I did not even think to ask if this was so."

"Then we are fools together, and it is in our hands to see how we can repair the damage done."

Doronrîn stepped quietly into the pantry bearing a soft woolen blanket. Menellir took it from her with a nod of thanks and wrapped it around Legolas. He noticed that the child had become quiet, emitting an occasional hiccup. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped Legolas's face. "I am sorry that you were upset, Legolas," he said. "Doronrîn and Luindil are here, and you are safe with us now. Will you tell us what frightened you?"

"Ada died," Legolas said in a tiny, wavering voice. His eyes filled with tears again. Doronrîn stroked his hair, and Luindil detached Legolas's hands from Menellir's shirt and held them firmly.

"You are mistaken, Legolas," he said. "I promise you that your Ada did not die. It will not be long before he comes to see you."

Legolas was not convinced. "He had swords on his neck," he said. "Swords make people die. Swords made Nana --" his voice trailed off into a wail. Menellir held Legolas tighter, and Luindil squeezed his hands.

"Legolas," he said soothingly, "I understand why you were frightened. But I will tell you something you do not know. The swords on your Nana's neck were real, but the swords on your Ada's neck were not. He is not dead, Legolas. He will come for you."

"Why did he have swords on his neck?"

Luindil wondered how best to explain the meaning of the masque to such a small child. In truth, he had been so preoccupied lately that he had not given the issue much thought. Fortunately Menellir, who had two grown children of his own, stepped in to rescue him.

"It is part of a ceremony," he said. "The masque is exciting and colorful and even a little frightening sometimes, but it is very important. It is our way of responding to the world around us."

"Do you remember the games that you played this summer?" Luindil asked. "All the games where your toys did battle and some of them died? You could not put into words what you were feeling, but you could say it when you played. There are some feelings that are so strong that we cannot speak them aloud. Instead, we speak with our bodies. We make music, and we dance."

"Long ago, when the Sun was first made," Menellir said, "the Wood-Elves noticed that she did not always take the same path every day. She rose later and set earlier. The days grew colder, and the nights grew longer. The rivers froze, and snow fell, and all the plants that fed us died, and the animals grew thin and hungry. This made the Elves worried. They feared that if things continued along this path, the Sun would never rise again."

"But the Sun always rises," Legolas said.

"We know that now," Menellir agreed. "But the Elves who lived when the Sun was first made did not know that. All they knew was that the days became short and cold and that the forest began to die a little. They feared for the forest, but their fear was too deep to put into words. So they danced their fear, and their hope that the Sun would return, bringing light and warmth to restore life to the woods."

"Each year, the forest dies a little death," Doronrîn said. "And on the night when the darkness is longest, we look forward to the coming of spring."

Six times the two maidens circled the Hunter King. They met with a final spin and stood at his head. A shower of tiny bells sounded from the darkness as they bowed, opening their hands to the King.

The mellow sound of a horn swelled, and the Hunter King rose gracefully to his feet. He leaped high in the air, spinning completely around before landing. As fiddles, harps, flutes and drums struck up a merry tune, he extended one hand to the maiden in silver and gray and one hand to the maiden in green and gold. They escorted him in a lively dance around the edges of the circle.

When they had completed one full circuit, the Stag King appeared at the head of a line of the five lesser stags who had opened the masque. If anyone noticed that the sixth was missing, not a word was said. The Sword Dancers followed the stags, and all of the dancers took hands in a long line. The Elves rose to their feet and began to sing a joyous song of welcome for the returning Sun.

Still singing, the dancers in their line began to pace out a simple step, circling and weaving around the floor. One by one, they took hands with the watching Elves and brought them into the dance as well, until nearly the entire community was linked hand in hand, all singing and dancing together. Pages quietly lit the torches along the walls, and light seemed to flood the Great Hall, which had been in darkness for so long.

In the very center of the mass of celebrants, Thranduil's heart ached so fiercely that he could no longer resist its call. Quickly, he joined the hands of the two maidens with whom he had been dancing and began to work his way through the crowd, cutting briefly into one layer and dancing a few steps before working his way outward once more. In this way, he soon found himself at the edge of the Great Hall, where the musicians played in their alcove.

The harpist pointed him toward a particular door. Thranduil nodded his thanks and hurried away. He saw candlelight spilling from beneath the leather curtain of one of the pantries and heard soft voices murmuring. His heart pounding in his throat, Thranduil tapped gently at the curtain.

The voices paused, and Thranduil heard footsteps. Then the curtain was moved aside, and Luindil smiled at him.

"Is Legolas there?" Thranduil asked. "I must see him."

"Of course," Luindil said. "He is here with us." He started to turn, but Thranduil caught at his sleeve.

"What do I say to him? It has been so long; I do not wish to ruin this from the beginning."

"Do not worry about that, Thranduil," Luindil said. "What you say is not important. The words will come. It is more important that you say something at all." He turned to announce Thranduil's entrance. Thranduil took a deep breath and pushed the curtain aside.

"The King has come," Luindil announced. Menellir hugged Legolas, and Doronrîn patted his hair.

"That is wonderful," she said. "It is just as we have told you, Legolas. Just as the Sun will rise again, the King has returned. Your Ada is here for you."

Sheltered in Menellir's arms, Legolas looked up, his face a strange mixture of grief and hope and wariness. The curtain moved, and Thranduil entered the pantry. His white tunic and scarlet cloak glowed in the candlelight, and his golden headdress gleamed. His face glittered with beetle-shell paint, and his eyes shone. Legolas took one look at him and shrieked, burying his face in Menellir's shirt.

"That is not my Ada!" he wailed. "That is a monster!"

Thranduil stood rooted to the ground, horrified, as his son turned away from him in fear. Black spots danced before his eyes, and there was a sick lump in his stomach. Through the tightness in his throat, he choked out the first thing that came to his mind.

"Legolas, little mouse," he called. "Do not cry. I am here for you. Come here and let me hold you." His nose stung, and he felt tears begin to leak from his eyes. Desperately, he felt around with a hand, and Luindil pressed a small towel into it. He scrubbed it across his face, heedless of the grease and glitter that it picked up.

In a flash, Doronrîn realized what the problem was. She turned to Legolas and gently but firmly pried him away from Menellir's shirt. "Look, Legolas," she said. "That is no monster. You see strange clothes and gold and glittering paint, but underneath the paint is your Ada, and he very much wants to see you."

Slowly, Legolas turned around. He had seen the Hunter King die, which was frightening enough, but on his return, the King had seemed even bigger than before, dangerously large in the small pantry outside of his ring of light. He could not see how such an overwhelming creature could possibly be his Ada, but he could not resist Doronrîn's firm hands as they turned him to look.

The strange figure seemed smaller, somehow. The iridescent glitter was blurred and smeared so that plain flesh showed through. The face underneath was familiar, and he knew the voice. It called to him again.

"Legolas, I love you, little mouse. Please come to me."

"Ada?"

Thranduil nodded. Doronrîn assisted Menellir to his feet, and Menellir carried Legolas to his father. "There is nothing to fear," he said. "It was only paint. Your Ada really is here for you."

Luindil removed the golden headdress, allowing Thranduil's hair to fall free. "Do you remember the beetle shells you mashed, Legolas?" he asked. "You helped to make this paint."

Thranduil wiped the towel across his face again, cleaning another patch. Then he handed the towel to Legolas. "You try it, little mouse. Wipe, and my paint will come off."

Tentatively, Legolas swabbed at Thranduil's face. More glittering paint transferred to the towel, and suddenly he saw that it was indeed his beloved Ada standing before him. He saw that Thranduil was trembling, and he realized that his Ada needed him. He dropped the towel and squirmed, and Menellir hastily released him into Thranduil's embrace.

"Ada!" Legolas said. "You came back!"

"I did. I am sorry that I was ever gone from you in the first place. Forgive my weakness, Legolas. You waited so patiently, for so long, but I have come for you."

"I love you, Ada." Legolas snuggled into the hollow of his father's shoulder. Thranduil's strong arms closed around his son, and he rested his cheek against the child's hair, breathing in the scent of new leaves.

"And I love you, little mouse," he said, before his throat closed and he let the tears come. After a few minutes, he looked up, his smeared face damp, but his eyes bright and clear. He smiled at Menellir and Doronrîn, and then at Luindil. "Thank you," he told them. "Thank you for loving him and caring for him when I could not. And thank you for your care of me, as well. I will not forget this kindness."

"You have fought a mighty battle, King Thranduil," Luindil said. "We gave you what aid we could, but the battle and the victory are yours. The light in your eyes is the best reward we could have."

Legolas peeked at Menellir from under Thranduil's chin. "Thank you for sitting with me," he said. "I am sorry that you missed the end of the masque."

"No," Menellir said. "I have seen the end of the masque. I did not see it danced, but I saw the end of the masque."

"The reveling will continue until dawn," Thranduil said, "but I think I must excuse myself. I wish to celebrate privately this year, with only one special guest." He kissed the top of Legolas's head. "Luindil, will you preside in my absence?"

The seneschal nodded. "Of course. There is not an Elf in Mirkwood who would begrudge you this time."

"Then I bid you good night, and a glad Yule." Thranduil carried Legolas out of the pantry and through the corridors.

"Where are we going?" Legolas asked.

"We are going to my chambers," Thranduil told him. "I have not forgotten that it is Yule, after all. There is a gift waiting for you there."

"I have no gift for you, Ada. I am sorry. I was too sad about Nana to think about Yule, and then everyone was too busy to help me make one."

Thranduil tickled Legolas's ear. "Nonsense. You have given me the most wonderful Yule gift I have ever received."

"How?"

Thranduil opened the door to his bedchamber, and Legolas gasped. Dozens of candles glowed inside their clear glass globes. The light shone on dark green holly and made its red berries gleam. Evergreen branches added a fresh, woodsy scent to the air. Little prisms and icicles of glass cast rainbow reflections.

"You decorated!" Legolas cried, delighted. "You found the Yule ornaments! I thought Nana hid them and that you could not find them, and that they were lost forever."

"No. I know exactly where your Nana kept her treasures," Thranduil said. "But I could not bring myself to look at them until today. Luindil brought me the holly and the evergreen. He said you had gathered them yourself, but there was no room for them in the Great Hall."

Legolas nodded. "He said he would put them in a safe place."

"And this is a very safe place," Thranduil said.

"Was that my Yule gift to you? The holly branches?"

Still clutching Legolas, Thranduil sat down on the bed. "No, little mouse. The holly branches were a pleasant surprise, but your Yule gift was something far more valuable. This summer, after what happened to your Nana, I felt as though the Sun had gone out, and it would never shine again. Inside my heart, it was very dark, and I think that I lost my way in the darkness."

Legolas shivered. He had once gotten lost exploring the deepest tunnels of the delvings when he had accidentally dropped his lamp down a drain, and he knew that being lost in the dark was a terrifying thing.

"Luindil was very kind," Thranduil went on. "He promised me that I would find my path out of the darkness and that you would be waiting for me when I found it. And it turns out that he was right. You were very brave and very kind to wait for me for so long, Legolas. You have helped me find my way out of the darkness, and having you here in my arms is the most wonderful Yule gift I could ever imagine."

"Are you really well again, Ada?"

Thranduil sighed. "I do not know for certain. I still miss your Nana, and I am sure that you do, too. I think there will still be dark days ahead for both of us. But I do not think they will ever be so terrible as the months just past. I do not know if I am really well, but I can assure you that I am better."

"I love you, Ada."

"And I love you, little mouse, always. There is no darkness that can take that away." Thranduil nestled Legolas firmly in the crook of one arm and reached under his pillow with the other hand. "And now, I think it is high time that my light in dark places had his Yule gift." He pulled a small bundle wrapped in a bright kerchief from beneath the pillow and gave it to Legolas.

Eagerly, Legolas pried the knot in the kerchief open. The bright cloth fell back, revealing a little pair of fringed buckskin shoes lined with soft rabbit fur. Brightly colored glass beads were firmly sewn in pretty patterns across the tops. Legolas squealed with delight. "New shoes! Oh, thank you, Ada! Look, they have beads, they are so pretty."

Thranduil laughed. "You have run your old shoes into rags, so it was high time that you had new ones. And what is better than colored beads for someone who brings such brilliant color into my life?" Legolas threw his arms around Thranduil. Thranduil held his son close. He could feel the little heart beating against his own, and he gave silent thanks for the love of his child. After a moment, he broke the embrace and set Legolas on the floor.

"The celebration will last all night," he said, "but I think that today has been too exhausting for both of us. I must wash the rest of this paint from my face, and you must go to bed. In the morning, the Sun will rise, and a new day will begin."

"Will you sit with me while I go to sleep?" Legolas asked.

"No," Thranduil said. "I would have you stay with me tonight. It is the longest night of the year, and I find that I want a bright little light with me through the long dark." Legolas smiled. Thranduil took his hand, and they went to Legolas's chamber to retrieve his nightclothes before returning. Thranduil went to the washbasin and washed the remains of the beetle-shell paint from his face and the dried tears from Legolas's.

Legolas fell asleep quickly in the warmth and security of his Ada's arms. Thranduil remained awake a while longer, listening to the dim sounds of the celebration still going on. Eventually, the limp weight and peaceful breathing of his child lulled him into the world of dreams as well. And for the first time in months, Thranduil's dreams were gentle and filled with light.

END

Many thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story. Thranduil was certainly a very lucky Elf in the end, and he will not forget that. He tries hard to be a good Ada, but the learning curve can often be steep.

This story grew out of a number of separate ideas and thoughts. I had written a few stories involving Yuletide celebrations in Gondor, and in the course of writing them, I grew interested in old British Yule traditions. I had studied pre-Christian pagan ritual before, and it always impressed me just how dark and violent the roots of certain common Christmas customs can be. The winter solstice is a scary event, and I wanted to write a story that showed its terror as well as its beauty. The form of the masque is based on an English mummer's play, though the mummer's plays tend to have farcical elements that the masque does not.

Many people were concerned about the fact that none of the adults explained the masque to Legolas beforehand. Unfortunately, this sometimes happens between adults and kids. I've seen it happen a couple of times, both with religious and secular drama. Sometimes, there's no time, sometimes the adult can't seem to find the proper moment, or sometimes the adult just doesn't think to do it. I think that, a lot of the time, adults think of a story as a whole; they know the beginning, middle and end, and they feel that if the child can just sit through the scary parts, they'll learn the end and everything will be all right. A lot of small children are just terrified by Disney's Snow White because they don't know that it has a happy ending, and their adults don't think to tell them beforehand. Adults mean well, but they don't always think the way kids do, and sometimes they just drop the ball.

Again, many thanks for reading. I'll see you later.