A Yuletide Tale
for the Edhellond Christmas Challenge

in memory of Carole Goodwin Hutchinson, 1933-2004
My Beloved Mother

Author Note: A sentimental little tale that does not wish to infringe on anyone's copyrights to the LOTR universe and its peoples. There are little homages sprinkled throughout in honour of various friends and authors; I even quote another of my own stories somewhere, though it's fairly obvious where. Collect the whole set! This tale is set in the same arc as "Leaf and Branch"; you'll get a glimpse of Legolas's older siblings who passed away either before he was born or shortly after, and the one who sailed West after Dagorlad. I guess I was just missing my mother when I wrote this... she passed away in May 0f 2004, and so this story is dedicated to her.  No holly berries were injured in the making of this story. Merry Christmas!

Summary: In a year when everything else seems to have gone poorly, Legolas receives a special gift that helps him right his perspective at Yuletide.

Valinor, The Fourth Age

With deadly precision he took aim, drew and shot. The arrow launched perfectly, sailed toward the target with a level of accuracy that was purely poetic, and landed in the very dead centre of the target with what ought to have been a wholly satisfactory thud. Ten more times in rapid succession he repeated the act, each arrow sailing into and neatly splitting the one that had landed before it, until the middle of the target blossomed with a bizarrely-shaped wooden flower of splintered, fractured, destroyed arrows, the last one quivering anxiously in the centre as if expecting to meet the same fate. Instead, the arrows were treated to a low, hushed, almost reverential torrent of Elvish invective, punctuated by the occasional seamlessly inserted bit of Khuzdul pique, building in volume as the Elven archer approached said target to clean up the mess he had made.

His hands, long and strong, made short work of the mess, plucking broken shafts, sundered feathers and dangling string out of the target and dumping them into a bucket set to one side for that very purpose. The bucket was quite full at this point, being the third time he had emptied his quiver in this fashion--all over the course of about half an hour's time. He studiously ignored the small group gathered at the edge of the archery field watching him, and went back to pick up the fourth bundle of arrows--of the ten he had brought along this lovely winter's morning.

"Your second-best dagger to my belt axe he repeats the exact same performance in slightly less time," said Gimli, son of Glóin to Glorfindel of Gondolin, two of those gathered to watch the static carnage.

Glorfindel gave an elegant snort. "I believe where you come from, that is known as a 'sucker's wager'," he retorted good-naturedly, his eyes twinkling even as he narrowed them at the Elf preparing to shoot again. "Hmm. His stance is off. I agree with you that he is becoming steadily more annoyed--but this particular archer only becomes more deadly as his ire rises. No deal, Gimli."

"You know," Elrond Peredhel lectured pleasantly as he poured another cup of wine for the elegant ladies sitting on either side of him and topped up his own, "if you two were to suggest some means of assisting with this problem instead of being silly, there might actually be some point to us being here."

Zzzzi-i-i-i-i-i-i-iiiiipp! Thwack! Another arrow slammed home in the target. To Elrond's left, an ethereally lovely blonde elleth sighed and shook her head.

"I was afraid this would happen," said Luthiél. "Peace of mind for him has always been tied to the near presence of those he loves. This has been a difficult year for him--and his father's inability to sail with him was almost a last straw."

Elrond glanced at his wife Celebrían, who only lightly shook her head and reached into the picnic basket for a little plate of sweet biscuits to pass around. It had been a difficult year for all of them, after all. The arrival of Legolas Thranduilion and Gimli Glóinson had been a joyful thing for the citizens of Valinor--not the least Legolas's beloved mother, Luthiél Farafaeliell, who sat here with them now nibbling her lower lip in consternation over the continuing unhappiness of her youngest son. But it had also clearly heralded that which Elrond and Celebrían had already known in their hearts, but had waited to hear the details of from Legolas: that Elessar had gone to join his Mannish ancestors, and that their daughter, Arwen Undomiel, had faded from grief and gone wherever Elven souls went that had chosen the Gift of Ilúvatar to the Followers, namely mortality and death. Learning that Pippin Took and Merry Brandybuck had also passed away in the meantime--along with many other mortals who had taken part in the defeat of Sauron so many years before--had not made the news any easier to take.

But seeing the pervading sadness that gradually settled over Legolas in the weeks following their arrival had been a hard thing for those who cared for the young archer. There had been a period of wonder, during which he had delighted in many reunions and the excitement of Valinor's glowing newness, followed by the settled reality that there was endless peace here--and that a few of his dearer loved ones were not in residence, probably would not be for many a year. He had done his best to deal with it, and efforts had been made to keep him occupied. The strategy had worked until about a week before…

Zzzzi-i-i-i-i-i-i-iiiiipp! Thwack!

Each of the elder Elves watching--Elrond and Celebrían, Glorfindel, Luthiél--winced as Legolas went through another quiverful of arows with deadly precision. Gimli only pulled on his unlit pipe with a homey, almost comforting sort of sucking sound, as he watched his friend "deal". It was almost Yule in Valinor, and one would have thought it would be a practically perfect holiday in this place of peace, with the Valar themselves in residence.

Zzzzi-i-i-i-i-i-i-iiiiipp! Thwack!

It suddenly occurred to Gimli that the very perfection of this place was probably beginning to get on Legolas's nerves. He was, after all, largely raised by Wood-Elves--and Gimli had noted, with the fascination of a Lore-Master, how most of the re-housed Wood-Elves living in Valinor tended to be a little more manic, a little more prone to partying and getting together to pull pranks and practice mayhem, than other Elves. He had long suspected this was out of sheer boredom. The Silvan folk were here in great number, owing to the many casualties among them back in Ennor as the Elves of Thranduil's Shadow-haunted realm had sought to free themselves of the burden of Sauron's darkness. They had flocked to Legolas upon his arrival in such intense, determinedly merry numbers that the Valar had decided to give him his own realm, way out in the woods, where the party-and-noise-prone Elves could dance and sing the night away without risking the disruption of everyone else's peace and quiet. This they did nearly every night--a fact that endeared them to Gimli wholesale--and so far, between the nearness of Galadriel the Much-Admired and a forest full of partying Silvans, the Dwarf was seriously liking this Paradise of the Eldar.

Zzzzi-i-i-i-i-i-i-iiiiipp! Thwack!

Legolas, on the other hand, enjoyed a good party as much as the next Elf--particularly when the next Elves were his elder siblings, three of whom he had never met until coming here, or when those next Elves were a number of his wilder childhood companions, slain either by Orcs or spiders over the years and now happily re-housed. But there was a decidedly quiet side to Legolas, an almost scholarly side, and he had taken to spending a lot of time either with Elrond or with various of his own father's Vanyar kin, learning everything he could get his hands on with a voracious appetite. Then Yule had hit--and he had stopped eating much, stopped sleeping, and decidedly stopped attending parties among his people, as he was becoming a wet blanket of amazingly focused proportions.

Zzzzi-i-i-i-i-i-i-iiiiipp! Thwack!

"If we do not stop him soon, every fletcher in Valinor will be busy until the end of the Yen trying to make up for all the work he is destroying," Glorfindel muttered, nevertheless hiding a lurking grin. Gimli took his pipe out from between his teeth and glanced at Luthiél.

"Legolas has not been sleeping well," he commented. The former Queen of the Greenwood nodded.

"I have seen him wandering the gardens late at night," she sighed. "My parents and Oropher and Aziel are at their wits' ends." She smiled mistily and drained her goblet. "He never could sleep during Yule anyway. He was afraid he'd miss the magic."

Zzzzi-i-i-i-i-i-i-iiiiipp! Thwack!

"This year," Celebrían murmured sadly, "he's afraid he'll miss his Ada. And there is simply no way, regret it though we might, that Thranduil will simply show up tonight for Long Night as a surprise."

"Alas, I fear not," Luthiél agreed.

Zzzzi-i-i-i-i-i-i-iiiiipp! Thwack!

"That sound could certainly grate on one's nerves after a while," Elrond observed, and took another biscuit. Glorfindel grinned at him, shaking his head, but mercifully said nothing. He had known Elrond way too long, after all, and his barbs were as likely to miss a target as Legolas's arrows were.

"I think," Gimli said, grunting as he levered himself to his feet, "it is time to bring out the secret weapon."

"Vilya has no effect any longer," Elrond said. "It is just a piece of jewelry now." The others stared at him; he stared right back. "What! What did I say?"

"I do not speak of that secret weapon," Gimli retorted. "In fact, it is no secret at all, and thus does not pertain. I am speaking of The Box."

Zzzzi-i-i-i-i-i-i-iiiiipp! Thwack!

"What box?" Elrond, Celebrían and Luthiél all asked at the same time. Glorfindel chuckled; he had helped Gimli and Legolas unpack their boat, and knew precisely what the Dwarf was on about. He unfolded himself from the greensward and gestured.

"Come, Elvellon," he said, laying a finger aside of his nose and giving a nod. "I know exactly which box you mean--and I agree, it is high time."

Zzzzi-i-i-i-i-i-i-iiiiipp! Thwack!

"I have no idea what you two are up to," Elrond said in a determined tone, "but by Elbereth, I'm coming with you." The ladies agreed, and in short order the picnic basket was packed up. They headed back toward Legolas's residence, though the Prince seemed neither to notice their departure nor care one whit that his unacknowledged audience was going away.

Zzzzi-i-i-i-i-i-i-iiiiipp! Thwack!

A Short Time Later….

They stood around staring at the contents of Gimli's mysterious box, momentarily baffled. It did not appear to be a Dwarvish box at all--in fact it was decidedly Elven in make, large, with a rounded top like a traveler's trunk, nearly four feet in length and two feet wide, and perhaps a yard tall. It was covered all over in carved vines that were painted a glowing green amid a lovely deep stain of a brownish-red. It was locked with a fist-sized padlock that did look, and in fact was, of Dwarvish make--and none of the watching Elves were in any way surprised that Gimli carried the key on his belt. When he threw back the lid and gestured triumphantly, then the confused looks had begun.

"What--ahh, is it?" Celebrían asked at last. Luthiél reached out with one long-fingered, slender hand to caress a couple of the different-sized, oddly shaped velvet bags within; a slight frown touched her beautiful face.

"These look as if they are from the Greenwood," she murmured.

Gimli looked smug. "Of course they are, dear lady. In fact most of them are gifts for Legolas. And I believe there are several in the bottom-most tray for the other members of the family as well." The Dwarf glanced about at them all. "Can you not guess? Thranduil knew his Elfling would be pining for him come Yuletide! This is his winter surprise to make the lad smile again!"

Moments later, Gimli was treated to the amusing and never-to-be-forgotten sight of four very adult Elves acting like startled, happy children as they began ransacking the box and planning exactly how to surprise Legolas. Luthiél, however, took charge of the notes she found near that bottom layer--notes in the unforgettable handwriting of her beloved husband and lord, King Thranduil--and went off into the corner to savour his loving words to her, as he had suspected she would either have been freed from Mandos by the time Legolas arrived--or would be eventually, and could read the non-season-specific declarations of undying love no matter when she was finally able to receive the correspondance. What he said therein was her affair, however, and at least two of the notes she tucked in her pocket, keeping all those things and pondering them in her heart.

A little while more, and plans were definitely underway to lay Legolas's unhappiness to rest for the season. Runners were sent to fetch the other children of Thranduil and Luthiél who were in Valinor: Ereinion, the eldest, who might as well have been Thranduil with dark hair, so alike did they look; the twins Rodwenil and Aduialas, sister and brother, reunited after death had sundered Rodwenil's life at Dagorlad; and the ethereally lovely Minuial, who bore a sufficiently close resemblance to a younger Arwen that Elrond and Celebrían had all but adopted her as soon as they met. Another runner went pell-mell to the capitol to locate Oropher and Aziel, the parents of Thranduil, who never missed a family occasion if they at all could help it. Foodstuffs--or the makings of them at any rate--were unpacked; decorations came out, the cook stove was fired up, the servants came running as familiar smells and sounds began to filter out to the rest of the household--while outside and some distance away, Legolas continued depopulating Valinor's arrow supply, unaware of what his family was up to. All it lacked to make everything perfect was the presence of Thranduil and the one missing sibling, Prince Brethilas, to make at least the House of Lasgalen complete in its presence.

"You realize," Rodwenil said into the midst of the chaos, "that tithen emlin is going to come barrel-arsing his way into this any moment and spoil the surprise. You know how he is--by now he's destroyed every arrow he owns, and will be coming back looking for his knives to start making short work of the rose garden!"

Gimli snickered to ponder how red Legolas would have turned to hear his babyhood nickname being spouted aloud and in relative public, but he took her point. Waving blithely to the hoard of happily plotting and working Elves, he announced, "You lot keep on as you are--I'll go waylay the boy and make certain he does not ruin everything!"

Truth to be told, Gimli was glad to head off on such an errand. Celebrían and Luthiél were, after all, partly Silvans themselves--Luthiél literally, as her mother was full-blood Silvan, and Celebrían figuratively, as she had grown up partly among the Galadhrim just as Legolas had been raised with the Silvan and Avari folk of the Greenwood. Their determined, maternal need to now perfect Yule in one afternoon was amazing in its focus, rather like senior captains on the brink of going to war--and Legolas's elder siblings were just like him, to the tenth power. Add in one ironic Gondolindrim and a Noldor Lore-Master of Elrond's capability, and you had a recipe for one large Dwarven headache. Better far to go and bedevil Legolas, who ought to have been done right about then with destroying arrows--and would probably have proceeded to the guilt and recrimination phase of the game.

The Dwarf-lord found his strange Elven friend still hanging about the archery range. Legolas did indeed seem to have passed on to the guilt phase, as he was crouched in front of the target, head down, bow beside him on the grass. The only whole arrow in sight was the last one to land in the target. The kindling bucket had long since overflowed--and apparently so had Legolas. As Gimli approached he was appalled to find his Elf weeping quietly.

"Dear Legolas!" he exclaimed, stricken to the heart. "Whatever is wrong? Why do you weep? You look as if someone left the stopcock open on a fountain! What is the matter?"

Legolas glanced up, a wreck of an Elf if there ever was one, and promptly fell quietly apart. He sat back rather hard on his tailbone, making Gimli wince; he covered his damp, reddened face with his hands and said something that sounded suspiciously like 'you were a surprised weakling', which made Gimli frown.

"I beg your pardon?" he demanded in a rumbling growl. Legolas got out a pocket square, blew his nose decorously, and stared over at the Dwarf with an expression reminiscent of a rising fog at the Grey Havens.

"I said, you were not supposed to see me like this!" the Elven archer replied on an annoyed tone.

Gimli grunted. "Oh."

"What did you think I said?"

"Never mind." Gimli glanced about, realized his options were few, and with a heavy sigh sat himself down on the grass. It was winter, and though winter here did not mean unending, back-breaking cold and snow as it did in Ennor, Gimli was no longer a young Dwarf. Thus he was somewhat annoyed himself as he gazed across at his friend. "Would you please tell me what is amiss? I mean, here you sit in Valinor, lord of your own realm of partying warrior idiot Elves, plenty of good mead and wine and beer by the kegful everywhere you look, venison roasting on the bone nearly every night, beautiful maidens and males dancing for your pleasure, music everywhere--not to mention an inordinately patient and forgiving fletcher on call at almost all hours--and you weep?  Dear Legolas, it is Yule! Tonight is the longest night of the year! You live in the presence of the Valar, under the loving gaze of Iluvatar--you have your mother and lost siblings back--and you weep?"

"All true," Legolas said with a heavy sigh. He subsided into silence, staring at his feet, stretched out at the ends of his long legs. Gimli waited patiently but there seemed to be no reply forthcoming. He scowled.

"Elf."

Legolas looked up dolefully. "Yes, Dwarf?"

"That was a long speech for me."

Legolas looked bemused. "And… you say that to say what?"

"It deserves more of a response," Gimli huffed.

"I responded," Legolas replied, and fetched another heavy sigh. "I even agreed with you."

"As well you ought." Gimli harrumphed and sat back to light his pipe. Legolas wrinkled his nose in distaste, but said nothing. Gimli blew smoke at him; the Elf rolled his eyes and scooched away a foot or so, but did not rise to the bait. "Mahal, but you irk me sometimes!" the Dwarf finally expostulated. "I would like more of a response, Elfling!"

Legolas muttered something. Gimli cleared his throat. "I did not catch that."

"As it should be, since I did not toss it to you."

"You did."

"I did not."

"You had to have done!" Gimli gestured broadly. "There is no other soul for miles; you had to have been speaking to me. Therefore you 'threw it' to me. I did not hear you."

Legolas sniffed somewhat righteously. "I was talking to myself," he grumbled. "It is something I do often when you are around, in hopes of having a decent conversation."

It was a good line, and Gimli almost acknowledged it. They were well-practiced at having intricate, often ridiculous arguments for the sake of the banter, and that retort would have done either of them proud in the best rant they ever shared. But he could tell Legolas's heart was not in it.

"You miss your father."

The baldness of the utterance took Legolas completely by surprise. His damp eyes widened; he stared at Gimli with his mouth somewhat agape for several heartbeats. Then he gave an ironic snort.

"It makes me sound like a whingeing Elfling when you put it like that--but yes," he finally admitted, and dropped his head so that his chin was sadly touching his chest. "I feel like an idiot, Gimli."

"Good job, that," the Dwarf rejoined. "Because you rather look like one." He waited in vain for the Elf to explode; when Legolas only threw him a fondly dirty look, Gimli sighed and resorted to conversational tongs, as it were, to pry replies from the miserable Elf. "Why do you feel like an idiot, Legolas?"

"Because everything you say is true, and I am behaving like an ingrate," Legolas said, sounding half a step sidewise from an Elfling who has missed his nap. "I have my Naneth back, and Minuial, and I have at last met the siblings I never knew, who died before I was born. I have both sets of grandparents, and I live--as you say--in the paradise of the Elves, in the real presence of the Valar. Elven greats I have admired all my life are here with me: Elu Thingol, Ingwe my ancestor, Gil-galad, my grandsire Oropher--so many! The weather is always lovely, the wind never fouls my shots--"

"So I see," Gimli mumbled, arching a bushy eyebrow at the broken arrows everywhere, and the much-punctured target. Legolas growled. Gimli smiled. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt. Pray, go on."

"Well--as I was saying, everything's wonderful here." Legolas fetched a deep sigh that sounded as if he had brought it up the long way from the bowels of Udun. "But like some ridiculous fool, I want for the things I cannot yet have, in the midst of all this plenty. Yes--I want my Ada!"

"That does not make you an idiot," Gimli told him with great practicality. "It makes you normal. Everyone misses their absent loved ones."

Legolas thought about that for a moment. Then his face fell even further and he actually looked horrified. Gimli belatedly realized what the comment might have sounded like, and immediately began to back-track.

"Oh, no you don't. Do not dare. Legolas, I did not think ere I spoke. Truly I am not upset with you. Don't look at me like that!"

"Like what?" Legolas wondered aloud. "Oh, dear Gimli, I beg you to forgive me! Here I am complaining when I know eventually Adar will be here, and Brethilas, and Lord Celeborn and all the others--while you are completely alone amid a people not your own, all because of me! And what is worse, your loved ones won't ever be showing up--how could I have been so inconsiderate! Ai! Gimli!"

"Stop that," Gimli demanded, drawing down his brows so that they resembled little storm clouds on his face. "You cannot help what you are any more than I can, silly Elf. I came here because I wanted to--because for some unfathomable reason, even when you are like this, I cannot live without you in my life." He paused wonderingly to realize this was so, that he was not, in fact, being sarcastic at all. Then he ploughed back into the rant. "I will see all my kin and friends someday, in the place Eru has created for them and me. Until then I am content with these insane creatures of your race, especially those in your realm. Tonight's party ought to be quite something! But for now, we were speaking of you."

This went on for some time--and like cause and effect, it ended up making both of them a little weepy. Thus a number of hours passed (though eventually Gimli did have to get up and walk about, lest his aged joints give up entirely, which of course gave Legolas another round of the guilts). And thus, as such things will go, Legolas's eldest brother Ereinion found the two cleaning up the archery yard and actually managing to laugh over something.

"… then he said 'if that is the best you can do, I'll take your boots!' " Legolas was saying, clearly completing some tale. He and Gimli burst into roars of laughter; Ereinion Thranduilion paused, watching them, relieved to see his baby brother looking a lot less harried and fractured than the last time he had seen him. He cleared his throat.

"Are you children done with your chores?" he asked, purposefully putting on a tone of voice and attitude he knew would heighten his already rather remarkable likeness to his sire. Gimli continued to chortle, but Legolas froze in mid-motion and stared.

"Umm--yes, my lord," he said at last, completing the move to place a last handful of sundered arrow-shafting into a bucket. "Sorry about all this."

"Eh. One expects it from the babe of the household." Ereinion strode forward and grabbed two of the refuse buckets, lifting an amused eyebrow at their contents. "Quite a job you've done, child!"

Legolas bristled, but did not yet feel sufficiently comfortable with this elder sibling to let him have it, as he would have done were this Brethilas. "I could use a new target," he offered suggestively, going as far as he dared just now. The former crown prince of the Greenwood snorted and smiled.

"Very good, pen-tithen. Not up to Brethilas's efforts, but very good. Shall we head back, then? Naneth is expecting all of us for dinner."

Legolas glanced toward the decidedly slanting winter course of Anor, looking a bit bemused. "I--did not realize it had gotten that late!"

"So I figured, which is why I came to get you." Ereinion smirked in a manner calculated to irritate, and thus keep Legolas on his toes, as it were. "Shall we?"

They gathered up the rest of the mess--buckets, quivers, bow and all--and headed back mostly in silence, until at last, after seeing a particular look from Ereinion, Gimli poked Legolas in the side with his elbow. "Oi--Elfling. If we were back in Ennor right now, what would you think might be happening as the day wears on? What would you be doing if you were home?"

"Doubtless finding it extremely irritating that a being who is some hundreds of years younger than I must continually insist on calling me 'Elfling,' " Legolas said with a touch of asperity. Ereinion chuckled, shaking his head; Legolas unaccountably blushed until the tips of his leaf-shaped ears were pink with embarrassment. Gimli laughed outright.

"And what else would you be doing?" he demanded.

"You are not going to let go of this, are you," Legolas asked rather flatly.

Utterly unperturbed, Gimli laughed and shook his woolly head. "In point of fact--no."

Legolas rolled his eyes and stole a glance at his eldest brother. Every tale he had ever been told about this tall, lean, dangerously handsome Elf paled by comparison to the genuine article. Admiring Silvans had spoken to Legolas at length about his older siblings, following their tribal custom of keeping the departed in memory by telling the tales of their lives; Ereinion had figured in many of those tales. Hunter, captain, diplomat; as fiery and fell as their father, the inimitable Thranduil, and yet with a far, far colder temper, such that when the Elven-king was ready to blow, his eldest was cool, collected, and focused to a pinpoint of intellectual or physical danger to any opponent. The fact that he quite literally could have been his father's twin, save that Thranduil's hair was golden and Ereinion's a deep reddish-brown like perfectly aged mahogany, made the king's youngest offspring both grateful and jumpy. The eldest prince was looking at Legolas now, a deep, considering kind of gaze with startlingly blue eyes, not caring that his brother had caught him looking.

"Memory failing, nín hen?" Ereinion asked archly.

Legolas blushed more deeply. "Brethilas was right," he retorted, and there was no doubt in the other's mind at all of precisely what the youngest prince might be speaking. Ereinion roared with laughter.

"Well--if you have forgotten, pen-tithen, I have not!" he exclaimed. "As it is nearing sunset, we'd have finished all the baking by now--and the cooks would have deer, boar, turkeys, squirrel and other delicious things roasted to perfection, set out on platters with rosemary and basil and other wonderful things, wreaths of bay about their succulent necks. The hall would be hung with evergreen and holly; allheal and catmint would be tucked in between, and there would be red bows and tinsels of gold and mithril hanging everywhere."

Legolas closed his eyes as if in some kind of peculiarly happy pain. Apparently the traditions he remembered best had been around for a long time before he was, and he could see them all as clearly as if he stood there now. Elven memory could also be a good thing, after all.

"Ada would have made his blueberry sauce for the boar," he murmured, smiling faintly. "And those twice-baked biscuits he loves so--the ones with bogberries and those rich green nuts from Mithlond--ai! If I had had half a brain I'd have asked him for the recipe. Or would have watched more closely when he made them."

"Someone is bound to remember," Ereinion said enigmatically, and looked away to hide a smile. "We can always ask--nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know!"

"Smart-arse," Gimli muttered sidelong under his breath. Ereinion snorted and grinned without a lick of shame.

They were now within sight of the house. Legolas looked about with some trepidation, aware that he had been neglecting a great many things over the last few days. He suddenly realized it truly was nearly sunset on Long Night, and nothing had been ordered or prepared.

"I must get to work," he said with urgency, reaching into his tunic for the little book in which he made notes to keep things orderly--a habit he had picked up from Master Erestor, Lord Elrond's chief of staff. Gimli almost chuckled, but managed to keep his peace. Ereinion took Legolas by the arm and halted him in his tracks, holding him still when Legolas attempted to break away, protesting there was much to be done.

"One of the good things about having elders, Greenleaf, is that sometimes when they are a step ahead of you--it is for nice reasons," he said, gazing down at the slightly shorter prince before him. There was great affection in his gaze; in the short time they had actually knows one another face to face, he had come to have a deep and abiding love for this bright young spark. He had sensed it when the little one was born all those centuries ago, but the living, breathing reality was a treasure and a delight. "Every tradition you learned as a babe was passed down through the house and lineage of Thranduil; several of us here know precisely what is needed--and the means were provided. Come. Naneth and the others are inside waiting."

Legolas blinked, looking utterly and endearingly mystified. Gimli poked him in the side.

"I'm hungry, Elfling," he snapped good-naturedly. "And my old bones want a roaring fire, with a good big pint of beer. Let's obey the nice, big prince before I ask him to chop you off at the knees and leave you here."

"As if I would," Ereinion retorted, his eyes twinkling. He pulled at Legolas's arm. "Come. Now, laddie."

Legolas shook off his confusion, growled at the appellation, and strode off into the house with brother and Dwarf-friend in tow. In the main hallway (a broad expanse of stone and carven wood that had been made, like the halls back home, to look as if all were still alive--with much of the outdoors having come inside anyway in all the best means) there was a scene right out of his childhood, and he stopped dead, staring, his eyes filling with tears.

The place was hung with evergreen, holly, allheal; ribbons and tinsels bedecked the walls and windows. Garlands spiralled down the staircases. Candles gleamed everywhere. A quartet of musicians in matching outfits of green velvet played in one corner; at the foot of the stairs were the rest of Legolas's family, plus Elrond, Celebrían and Glorfindel. As the majority of them began to sing a traditional Silvan winter song, Luthiél stepped forward, gowned richly and looking like a vision from his best dreams, and kissed Legolas on both cheeks.

"Blessed Yule, my little Greenleaf," she whispered, hugging the bemused and damp-eyed archer. "Welcome home--come, we have a celebration to get underway!"

She led them into the main Hall; there were more Elves within, Silvans, Vanyar, Noldor, neighbors, friends, kin of all sorts. And on a table in the middle there was a small pile of items--all of the tags written out in a beautiful, soldierly calligraphy Legolas knew well. He turned in wonder to look at his naneth.

"Adar?" he asked in a hushed tone.

Luthiél nodded, smiling. "He knew he could not be here when Yule arrived, my son--and may not be here for many a year yet," she told him. "So when you and Gimli departed, Thranduil entrusted to your friend a special gift. The box you thought contained some of Gimli's possessions, in fact held your Adar's Yule gifts for us all--and the recipes, some of the special ingredients, and makings for the things he knew you would miss most. They've just been waiting for the right time."

"And Gimli felt this afternoon was the right time," Glorfindel put in cheekily from one side, where he and Gimli were now making the punch to Thranduil's exacting and potent recipe. "Considering that you have destroyed every arrow in Valinor in one afternoon, well, it seemed you might need a party to recover."

Legolas had the grace to blush….

Over the next little while, the pain in his heart receded as Legolas was hauled bodily into the kitchen by Rodwenil and Aduialas, who put an apron on him and proceeded to order him about on his own premises. A great deal of flour, sugar, eggs, fruit and so forth ended up on Elves instead of in bowls and pans, but by the end of the carnage, all the beloved family goodies--even Thranduil's twice-baked bogberry biscuits--were sent forth from the kitchen to await the end of the feast. Legolas wept and laughed, sang and shouted, protesting like an Elfling when he was hauled away just before dinner to get cleaned up--forcibly if need be--then he joined those he loved best, of those in Valinor to date, for a Yule that lacked only one or two things. Things he now knew he had the time, if he had but the patience, to receive when the hour was right….

Thranduil's parents, Oropher and Aziel, had both been released from the Halls of Waiting some years back, and they were present tonight to see most of their descendants reunited. They came, arm in arm, to greet Legolas when he came into the feast hall; Aziel was carrying a large velvet bag tied at the top with a bow. This she held out to her youngest grandchild.

"Your father thinks of everything," she whispered, her eyes glittering with tears--eyes of the same bright Minil-blue as Legolas's own, and it was clear to most in the hall after which of his forebears Legolas took in terms of appearances, as they stood there. "He knew it would not be Yule for any of you without at least something of home."

"He has already given so much!" Legolas protested, kissing his Daernaneth as she handed over the item. "What more could there be?"

"Open it and see!" Oropher suggested dryly, to a round of laughter and catcalls from his rowdier grandchildren.

Legolas blushed and worked at the bow until it gave; he peered into the bag and gasped. "But--but--oh!"

"Articulate Elfling, isn't he?" Aduialas murmured, earning a poke in the ribs from his sister. They watched, leaning happily against one another, as Legolas drew carefully forth from the bag an item they all knew well.

It was the fabled, ancient statue of Elbereth that had once graced Aziel's father's hall, Ingwion, heir to the Vanyar High Kingship--a statue some several millennia old, and now once again returned to the shores where it had been carved, once upon a long time past by a craftsElf who still plied his trade in the Blessed Realm. It was of oak, with gorgeous woodgrain designs natural to the piece of timber chosen, and had been extremely cunningly carved to take advantage of the grain. Elbereth, the Lady of Light, was exquisitely depicted nearly two feet tall, with her arms stretched forth before her, lovely slender hands reaching as if to welcome a loved one, while the carved dress flowed about her slender form as if it were alive, rather than a wooden impression of lifeless cloth. The intricate damasked pattern of the fabric was carefully picked out, and every nuance of the trim could be clearly discerned if one looked closely enough, and yet the whole statue was satiny to the touch, smooth and vibrant under one’s fingers. Legolas had been half in love with her as a child, and holding her now was like receiving an embrace from his beloved father.

"Oh Ada," he breathed, closing his eyes as the tears spilled down. "Do not tarry long, I beg of you… but thank you SO much for this richest, dearest of gifts!"

Somehow they all knew he meant all of it: the box, the contents, the statue and all, not to mention the compassion to realize they would all need something of him in this place and time, if he could not yet bring himself to leave Ennor, any more than Celeborn could do, until the last of the Silvan folk and the Galadhrim forsook Middle-earth forever. The assembly watched as Legolas strode to the larger of the two fireplaces and anchored the ancient, beloved heirloom in a similar place to where it would have been back in the Greenwood: right in the middle of the mantel, surrounded by greenery.

"Now it really is Yule," Rodwenil whispered, dabbing at her damp eyes. Her little sister Minuial, sandwiched between the twins, hugged her and laughed through her own tears.

Legolas turned slowly from his task to look about the hall, touching gazes with each beloved face. He came at last to Gimli, who stood rocking on the balls of his feet with a pleased smile, his eyes glittering black in the candle-bright hall. Legolas laughed in delight, a quiet, burbling sound that made its way up from a fëa that was more at peace in this present instance than it had been in all the months before.

"A blessed Yule to you all, my dear ones," he said, spreading his arms out to either side as if to embrace them all. "I should have been a very great fool indeed to have mourned through this season, when there is such an abundance of joy all around me. Now let us get this celebration started!"

"Now that's more like it!" Gimli roared, seizing a mug of mead from a passing servitor's tray.

The music began afresh; singing songs older than the eldest of them in the hall, the servants brought forth platters of marvelous things to eat, including the Yule Boar with its wreaths of bay and rosemary--and Thranduil's fabled wild blueberry sauce. The presents--and they were many--were brought out of the box, and added to the pile whose creation had been somewhat more recent and closer to home; Thranduil had neglected not one of his kinfolk, and had even included something for Gimli, Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, Mithrandir, and Galadriel--though the last three of that list were at another celebration on the other side of the city and would receive them later. As they moved to the table, Luthiél hooked her arm through her son's, and slipped a note into his hand.

"Your Adar wanted you to have this, tithen emlin," she said quietly, smiling as he blushed. "I would recommend you save it for later, to savour in peace and privacy. Happy Yule, my little leaf!"

Legolas helped her into her chair and sat beside her, only then glancing at the note. It was sealed on the back with a slender, pale green wafer bearing his father's royal sigil; on the front the words nín Legolas had been penned in Thranduil's beautiful Tengwar. He touched his lips to the wafer and tucked the note away, to do just as his mother had suggested--then he threw himself wholeheartedly into the celebration his father had gone to such lengths to think through and put together, to bring it all into being.

The party went on all through the Long Night, with quieter moments and rowdy ones by turns, as such things will. Long after dawn came, bringing the new day and the return of Anor, Legolas slipped out of the house, away from his still-celebrating loved ones, and climbed the huge, spreading oak tree where he went to do his best thinking. The tree was slumbering in the winter chill, but Legolas knew its branches well enough to not need its assistance. He climbed up high, reveling in the chill of the new day; when he reached the place from which he could look out on the majority of the lands the Valar had given him for his own, Legolas took out the letter his father had penned for him, and read it at last.

Beloved son,

If you are reading this, then it is Yule at last and Gimli has opened my final gift to you until we meet again. Knowing you as I do, I suspect you have been sad throughout most of the time you have been there--Elessar's passing and the Doom of Undomiel have hit you hard, I know, and leaving the land of your birth and nurture will be as much a burden as it is a blessing, for you could not have long survived the sea-longing had you tried to continue defying its call. I miss you dearly, but I do not miss what the Longing was doing to you. I expect when I arrive in Valinor at last, my tithen emlin will once again be a happy, bright light flickering bravely against all dark.

You will have your Naneth back, and probably have met your odd collection of siblings; my greetings to them are in Gimli's box as well, make certain all receive what is marked as theirs. If you all wish to share my words to you, so be it; I have said nothing I would not have said to any of you straight to your beloved faces, in front of the Valar and everyone. But know this, my beloved child, last of my line:

You came into our lives when it seemed all hope was lost. Such destruction and so many deaths had come to us, and Shadow loomed in every corner--but the Valar knew it was time for one green leaf to unfurl in my wood, and return the faith that is in us all. Some thought us mad to bring another child into such a world--but we knew better, your Naneth and me. We could not have known then what your existence would mean: how you would accompany the Ringbearer, and stand side by side with the King of Men as he returned to make new the promise shattered by his forebears. He did well, Frodo did well--and you did well. Never doubt that. Had any of you failed to play your part, Shadow might well have won for all time.

I cannot say when I will leave Ennor at last; Brethilas and I will potter on for years yet, I do not doubt, and I would not look for Celeborn any time soon either. Whether Aikalerion, Saeros, Tuilinal and the others will ever leave, I cannot say--and they will not discuss it. But Valinor may yet see them and their kin--what a sight that will be to behold! I will be there someday, my son--I cannot command you not to miss me, for I know you will, as I miss you already--and as I write these words, you have not even left yet. Such are the vicissitudes of a fond old Ada….

So have a blessed Yule, my tithen emlin, and think of me as fondly as you like--but do not grieve, and do not squander your years with waiting. Enjoy the society of your friends and Elders, including that madcap quartet of siblings. Deflate Ereinion every chance you can get--his bark is worse than his bite once you get to know him. Aduialas plays a cruel and lovely game of chess, and knows far too many rude old songs--get him drunk, he will lose one and spout the other. It is most amusing. Rodwenil--let us just say that under her crusty exterior, much like her Daeradar Oropher she hides a loving and passionately protective heart. When sparring with her, attack to the right--she over-compensates to cover her left, and thus does not pay attention as she ought. It will do her good to be knocked on her shapely rear by a baby brother. Do not scowl at me, child… Minuial, I know you remember from the too-brief time she was your chief keeper in the nursery. She is as clear and honest as a deep pool in the forest; there is no guile or fabrication in her, just a pure, loving heart--much like yourself. Bask in the love she doubtless still bears for you.

And so, my beloved child, I will close and let you wipe your tears. There is a reason why one of your gifts was a handkerchief--you have never had one on you when you needed one, not all the times I have seen you shed tears. That is a large number. When we finally do see one another again, I expect to hear many a tale of all your doings and adventures. Remember always that I love you, and have never failed to be deeply proud of you.

Oh--your mother always fails to guard her right. When sparring with her and Rodwenil at the same time, that is an important thing to keep in mind. And when you stand victorious over both of them, tell them I told you so.

Believe me always your loving father,

Thranduil

Laughing through his tears, Legolas took out the handkerchief that had indeed been one of his father's Yule gifts to him; as directed, he dabbed his streaming eyes and delicately blew his nose. He remained a while aloft in the oak, enjoying the bite of the cold breeze, reading and re-reading the loving words from his father's pen. Long into the morning hours he sang to his father, believing in his heart of hearts that though many miles and the sundering sea separated them Thranduil could hear him. Anon he heard Gimli's voice calling for him from the garden below, and so he clambered down, dropping to the ground almost on top of the Dwarf.

"Good morrow, dear Gimli--have you arisen at last?"

"At last?" the Dwarf repeated, sputtering. "You young idiot! I have been up for hours, I tell you--hours! You missed breakfast and everything. Your sisters think you hung over and incapable of raising your head!"

"Liar," Legolas accused with a grin. "They were up before me, 't is true, but I did not miss breakfast--I shared it with them in the kitchen, and they knew precisely where I was going."

"Ah. Well then." Gimli grinned right back at him. "You look in a much better mood today, lad. I take it Thranduil's surprise worked?"

"As he knew it would, yes," Legolas assured him. "I suppose I ought not to be surprised. There is no corner around which I have gone, in all my life, that he was not there ahead of me and laying in wait. Why ought it to be any different now?"

"And you would not have it any other way."

"No, indeed I would not." Legolas took a deep breath of the bracing air, smiling with quiet joy. "My Adar knows me well, Gimli. And I am content to have it so. I will not pretend there will be no occasion in future when I miss him afresh--but I know now that we will meet again. And for all I know, you and I will someday see all of them again: Boromir, Aragorn, the Hobbits, Eomer, Faramir, Arwen and Eowyn--and all the rest. The Valar move in mysterious ways, and the world is ever-changing!"

"Aye," Gimli murmured, hooking his thumbs in his belt and gazing about with his own contentment. "That it is--and I look forward to the journey! What was that song Bilbo used to sing? The road goes ever on and on…."

"Aye," Legolas agreed, nodding. The two friends stood in companionable silence for a while, glad to be together and alive. Then Gimli gave a kind of pleased harrumph.

"Not a bad Yule. In fact--rather a good one, I would say--if I do say so myself!"

Legolas smiled fondly at him, thinking there were odder things in the world than Thranduil and Gimli conspiring so in tandem--but that he could not, at the moment, come up with a single example. Then he too nodded.

"Yes, nín mellon," he whispered, placing a friendly hand on the Dwarf's solid shoulder. "Thank you for your part in it as well--you old conspirator, you! It was a grand Yule after all."

The End

Note: The twice-baked bog-berry biscuits with those rich green nuts from Mithlond are my own recipe for cranberry-pistachio biscotti.  If you want the recipe, drop me a note.  Or even better, drop me a review.... *shameless grin*