Originally posted 12/20/07, and now edited to keep the continuity of the UFS.    

Written for the Naked Yule Fic Challenge and for Greywing for her birthday. (Kill as many birds with one stone as you can, I say!)    

Greywing asked for: Glorfindel, Asfaloth and holly. Extra credit for including Erestor and Elrond and explaining why Glorfindel uses tack and how long elven horses live.  Chapter 1 fits this criteria.    

Naked Yule criteria - The fic must include: Aragorn, Legolas and Glorfindel; a naked Elf, a horse, snow, a confession, and a Christmas image such as a star, shepherds, a manger, wisemen, Yule log, little drummer boys, etc.    

WARNING: nudity (non descriptive, non sexual); may be considered slightly AU 

Let It Snow!

By Nieriel Raina

Part One

A Beautiful Day

  or    

Sneezing in Spring

Imladris

Year 2007, 3^rd Age

Spring

It was such a beautiful day — too nice a day to spend inside, working. The birds were chirping, the bees buzzing in the heather. A lovely breeze caressed the new blooms in the garden. It was his favorite kind of day!

Glorfindel poked his head out of the door, glanced left and right, smiled wickedly and slipped out into the hall. With the stealth of a warrior who has eluded Morgoth’s spawn for centuries beyond mortal recall, he evaded any and all who might seek to waylay his steps and mission.

Ahead he could see freedom — the door leading outside away from the drudgery of duty, paperwork, council meetings and him.  

Just another twenty paces and he would make it.

Ten.

Five.

He opened the door, with a sigh of relief and—

“Glorfindel, where are you going? The reports are not turned in, the duty rosters are not filled out and Elrond would like a word with you. Do not even think to escape this house until you have spoken with him.”

Turning with controlled grace, Glorfindel eyed the one who had caught him so close to victory. “Lord Councilor,” he acknowledged with a nod to his dark-haired, stern-looking nemesis standing not a stone’s throw from him.

Too far away to impale with his sword. He cursed inwardly.

“What is that smirk for? Or do I wish to know your thoughts?” Erestor raised a brow.

With a shake of his head, Glorfindel banished any desire to murder Elrond’s chief councilor. After all, it was not Erestor’s fault Elrond needed to see him.

He closed the door and felt his shoulders sag with disappointment, but could not bring himself to draw them back to their proud places. Gloomily, he walked beside Erestor towards their lord’s study, his steps slowing any time they passed a window.

“Oh, by the shadows, Glorfindel! Do not sulk! You knew this would happen!”

With a sheepish shrug, he glanced at his friend. “Yes, I knew, but Erestor, I do not wish to do this! Not today, not with him!”    

He did not miss the slight upwards quirk of Erestor’s lips or the gleam in his companion’s eye. Glorfindel glared back.

“My advice is to get it over with,” Erestor said, as if he were not trying to fight back the laughter which Glorfindel could see shaking his shoulders.

“How do you stand it, Erestor? I will have to endure an hour or two at the most with him, but you…you must spend all day with him!” Feeling his breathing quicken, he stopped for a moment to steel himself, leaning against the closest wall.

A snort caused him to open eyelids he was not aware of closing.

“It is not so bad, really. And it is only at this time of the year. It will pass, and he will return to his solemn and dignified self. In the meantime…” Erestor dug in his left pocket, frowned, and then reached for the right. “Aha!” With a grin, he pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Glorfindel. “Your weapon, Captain.”

“Oh, you can not be serious!” But he took the offensive cloth, holding it away from his body between his forefinger and thumb.

“You look like a maiden when you hold it like that.”

Glorfindel stuffed his only defense into a pocket of his tunic. Reaching up, he pinched the bridge of his nose in hope of relieving the imminent headache beginning to pound behind his temples. He inhaled deeply, then dropped his hand to his side. “All right, let us continue. I believe I am prepared now.”

They refrained from any further speech as they wound their way through the halls of the Last Homely House, coming to a stop outside a large, ornate door. It contained many carved representations from the books of lore the owner of the door was so fond of.  Glorfindel always enjoyed looking at the beauty of the rich wood so expertly detailed with scenes he himself remembered.

But this day, he only cast a longing look at a panel which depicted himself fighting the balrog. Oh, those were the days! Open battle, sword ringing! Not—

He patted the pocket containing the square of folded white linen, and knocked on the door.

From within came a sneeze, followed by a muffled, “Cuhm eh,” and the sound of someone blowing their nose. He grimaced, but pushed open the door anyway.

“Lord Elrond, you wished to see me?”

“Ah, yeth, Glowfinnel. Cuhm eh, cuhm eh. We ned to dithcuth the doo-ey rothter.” Another sneeze, then a sniff, and one more honk of the Peredhel’s nose. “Haf a theat.”

With resigned obedience, Glorfindel crossed the room and sat in the chair facing the desk, behind which his lord sat. He tried to angle himself away from the line of sneezing, but with Elrond, one never knew. He reassured himself one more time of the handkerchief in his pocket after noticing the open windows letting in the fresh spring air.

“Don fwown at me. Leth juth geth thith ovah wid.”

“Sorry, my lord.”

Oh how Glorfindel used to love Spring!

Spring was a time of renewal — a return of all things green and the warmth of the sun. With dismay, Glorfindel noticed the fine layer of yellowish-green dust on Elrond’s desk. Plastering a false smile on his face, inwardly he screamed. Why did the Peredhel insist on keeping his windows open at this time of the year? Why did he not just remove the offensive trees planted all around the Last Homely House?

He knew why, of course. Celebrían had loved the flowering fruit trees and planted them near the house not long before she—

Glorfindel pulled his thoughts from that course. He understood why Elrond left the trees in, even after it became apparent they caused the lord to suffer miserably in the spring. It had not been until Celebrían had sailed that the pollen became such a nuisance.

Not even Elrond understood what caused some people to be so affected by pollen, though mortals were far more susceptible to have allergies. Perhaps Elrond's mortal blood was the reason the lord suffered more than any elf in the valley. Glorfindel did not know.

What he did know was that Celebrían would never have wanted her husband to suffer such agony for her beautiful trees. Had she still been here, she would have requested they be moved to a better location, away from the house. But no matter how many times Glorfindel told Elrond that holly would be just as lovely, with the dark leaves and red berries, and would not cause the allergies Elrond suffered, Elrond had refused to remove the fruit trees.

Ahhhchooo!

"Sowwy.”

With all the dignity he could muster, Glorfindel pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face of the offensive droplets of moisture.

And it had started out such a beautiful day.    

— o —

The door closed behind him with a thump, and Glorfindel sagged against the nearest wall, dropping his head into his hands. Two and a half hours! That was how long it had taken them to communicate with Elrond’s sneezing and honking. He squeezed his eyes closed and bit back the roar of frustration he would like to let loose.

He needed to get out of the house and outdoors. Find a stream to bathe in to remove the lingering saliva and other bodily fluids he would rather not consider from his face.

“Surely it was not that bad?”

The voice caused him to look up with a glower. “You knew it would be, or you would never have given me the handkerchief!” He threw the offensive cloth towards Erestor, but the councilor let it drift to the floor.

They both eyed the linen, until a passing maid stooped and added it to her basket of dirty laundry. She continued on her way, mumbling under her breath about the untidiness of males. Both Erestor and he smiled at the deprecations coming from the slight girl.

“Can I assume you will now seek solace in the outdoors? You look as if you could use a ride.”

Glorfindel straightened with a grin, his frustration falling from him with thoughts of getting outside. “Yes. That is exactly what I plan to do.” He passed Erestor, who was pulling a clean handkerchief from a pocket and heading towards Elrond’s door. “How many of those do you have, anyway?”

Erestor just shrugged. “At this time of the year? A dozen at least.” With determined steps, Elrond's Chief Councilor disappeared into the study.

Glorfindel made his way to the nearest doorway leading outside, his long strides eating up the distance to the stable, where he was greeted with a friendly nicker. He rubbed the soft, white nose reaching for him over the stall door.

“Ready for a run, my friend?”

Asfaloth bobbed his head up and down, snorting in Glorfindel's face. “Not you too!” he complained, wiping his face on his sleeve, but this time he grinned. For some reason, horse snot was not as offensive as Elrond’s had been.

Opening the stall door, he let the stallion out of the confines of the stall. He left the horse’s tack on the rack nearby. Saddles and headstalls he only used when traveling long distances, which required having something to tie his pack to other than his own back. The headstall was more for decoration, anyway, and since he had no plans to impress anyone, except perhaps some fish when he bathed, there was no need for it.

Leaping upon Asfaloth’s back once they were outside, Glorfindel gave the command. “Noro lim!” And they were off quick as a flash, the hooves clattering over the ground as the horse's strides took them off into the valley and away from the Last Homely House and her moody, sneezing lord.

For over an hour they rode into the wilds. Glorfindel gave Asfaloth his head, and the horse set his own pace, slowing from his wild dash after a short distance and into a comfortable canter that ate up the miles. He needed little direction, for the horse knew where his master wished to go, and he paced beside a winding stream, following it on its course.

In due time, they arrived in a small meadow surrounded by a thicket of birches. Here, the babbling brook widened into a deep pond where a colony of beavers had dammed the flow of water. With a single word, he brought his mount to a halt. For a few minutes, Glorfindel just sat atop Asfaloth and took in the beauty of the scene before him.

The meadow grasses were green and not yet overly tall. Mixed with them were wildflowers of purple, yellow and red, decorating the field like a random carpet with occasional pockets of heather and broken by a couple of burrows and a few rocks.

A hare grazed amid the grasses, sitting up to look at him a moment, before seeming to deem him harmless and hopping on to a new patch of clover. One of the beavers was swimming towards the dam, a tree limb firmly wedged in its strong teeth. In the thicket across the pond, came the sound of another chewing relentlessly away on another bole.

Glorfindel slid from Asfaloth’s back and quickly divested himself of boots and clothing. He twirled, arms outstretched, and threw back his head, drinking in the sunlight warming his naked skin.

Asfaloth whinnied and wheeled on his back feet, darting across the meadow, bucking and kicking up his heels. Glorfindel’s laughter echoed back to him, filling the glade with merriment. Then he took off running and dove into the still water, causing hardly a ripple as he dipped into its shining surface.

Though spring had visited them once more, and Arien soared overhead, the water retained some of its winter chill, and Glorfindel did not linger in it overlong. The fish would have to wait for a warmer day to be further impressed. He climbed up onto a rock, which made up part of the dam, and allowed the breeze and sun to dry his skin.

Asfaloth trotted along the edge of the pond, stopping to paw at the water playfully from time to time. Glorfindel wondered if his horse could see the small fish darting beneath its surface. When Asfaloth lowered his head and pressed his nose under, moving it quickly about, Glorfindel laughed aloud. Indeed, it appeared the young stallion had discovered the fish. The horse brought his muzzle out of the water, neighing plaintively before casting confused eyes in his master’s direction.

Shaking his head and getting to his feet, Glorfindel made his way back to where he had discarded his clothing. While getting dressed, he tried to ignore his pathetic beast so intent on catching the minnows and fingerling trout.

Asfaloth could not seem to accept that the fish were not toys meant for horses and continued to submerge his nose only to come up snorting and whickering, until the breeze picked up. Whirling so fast, Glorfindel jumped, the horse took off across the meadow, his belly flashing in the sunlight as he twisted and reared.

It was so good to see a young horse play, Glorfindel thought. Asfaloth’s sire, Faerlain, had died over the winter, and Glorfindel, who had raised the old stallion from a newborn foal, missed the old horse terribly. For the Elves whose lives were as long as Arda herself, the brief lives of mortals, even horses, were too fleeting. How many times had he wished his steeds could be like Nahar, the mount of Lord Oromë, who died not? Too many to count, if he stopped to think about it.

Elven-bred horses were little different from horses raised by Men, except as far as their life span went. On average, elven horses lived to the age of fifty or even sixty as Faerlain had proven. Whereas the horses of Men rarely lived to see thirty or forty.

The elves found it easier to train their steeds, having a closer bond to the animals than mere Men, and Glorfindel could understand Asfaloth’s manner of speech as well as the stallion understood him. Few surpassed the elvish steeds in speed or endurance, except perhaps those which belonged to the bands of Men the elves had heard now roamed the plains to the south. It was rumored the newcomers had a line that lived much longer than the average horse. What had the messenger from Lothlórien said they were called? Mearas?

Yes, that was it.

A bump to Glorfindel’s back brought him out of his thoughts and back to the meadow. A head draped over his shoulder and he absently reached up to scratch behind the ears. He hoped he had many years with this delightful creature. And after this spring, Asfaloth’s own foals would join them, and in time, perhaps one of the stallion’s descendants would bear the same name, if he proved to be worthy of it.

With a sigh and a last glance at the peaceful meadow dressed for Spring, Glorfindel mounted and urged Asfaloth to head back home.

The track back took longer as both he and his horse wished to linger, in no rush to return to stall or house. Detouring down a gentle embankment, Glorfindel let Asfaloth pick his way carefully down to an ancient riverbed, now a dry bed of stones. They followed it at a walk for a time, until rounding a bend. Glorfindel gasped, and then grinned.

About a hundred feet ahead of them stood a copse of holly trees, and scattered among them were many saplings.

It only took him a few minutes to shed his outer tunic and wet it in a small gurgling spring he found further into the grove. Using his knife, he quickly filled his tunic with young holly trees, and bundled them up in his tunic with enough soil to keep them happy until he could put them in the care of those who kept the grounds of the Last Homely House.

This was the last year he would put up with a sneezing, grumpy Elrond! He would see to it, even if Elrond would not, and if the elf lord argued, Glorfindel would do the unforgiveable and tell his lord that Celebrían would not wish him to suffer so.

Guilt often accomplished what reason would not.

Asfaloth returned them home in good time, and Glorfindel delivered his package to the head gardener, to much amusement to all who saw what he bore. With a smile, Erechíl agreed to work his namesake holly into the landscape gradually, and to find other plants and trees that would not cause the lord of the house such pains. It would take time — many years even — but eventually, Spring could be a happy time once more, free of handkerchiefs!    

To Be Continued....

Obscure characters/Translations    

Morgoth – The fallen Vala, brother to Manwë, master of Sauron and the Balrogs, maker of the Orcs.

Arien – the sun.

Asfaloth – This is not the Asfaloth of the books, but an ancestor to him.

“Noro lim” – Ride fast

Faerlain – OC, horse, sire of Asfaloth (not book Asfaloth)

Nahar – mount of Oromë

Oromë – Vala, husband of Vana, the great Huntsman who first found the Elves in starlit Cúivenen.

Mearas – strain of horses said to have been given to the Rohirrim by Oromë himself and supposedly are descended from Nahar.

Holly – a tree that is good for gardens of those with allergies.

Erechíl – shining Holly tree. Elrond's head gardener.    

Translation of Elrond’s allergy induced mumbling.   

“Cuhm eh,” – Come in.

“Ah, yeth, Glowfinnel. Cuhm eh, cuhm eh. We ned to dithcuth the doo-ey rothter.” – Ah, yes, Glorfindel. Come in, come in. We need to discuss the duty roster.

 “Haf a theat.” – Have a seat.

“Don fwown at me. Leth juth geth thith ovah wid.” – Don’t frown at me. Let’s just get this over with.

A/N – Elrond having allergies can be considered AU if you disagree that Elves could suffer from allergies or Elrond could due to his mortal blood. I personally think any Elf can have an allergic reaction as they are of the same species as Men (just a different race, otherwise, they could not reproduce with Men) and have the same internal systems. Their immune system is just stronger, but it can also go haywire, IMO. You are free to disagree.

NiRi

Part Two

As the Snow Falls

or

 Blunders in Bathing

Rohan

White Mountains near Helm’s Deep

Year 11, 4th Age

Winter

Aragorn shifted so that his hands were more firmly pressed into his armpits, and still his fingers felt numb. This was *no* way to spend Yule, but what else could they do?

He tried to peer into the obliterating whiteness to no avail. The snow continued to fall, drifting down at an unbelievable rate, making visibility almost impossible. Even so near to their destination, they could not continue. Even the two elves could not see clearly to determine the track

Bending his head, Aragorn rubbed his nose against his shoulder. “So, that is how the holly came to be around the Last Homely House? I always wondered why the gardeners had chosen them.”

Glorfindel frowned at him, which puzzled Aragorn, but then nodded. “Yes, I confess, it was all my doing. But it worked! Elrond ceased to be so troubled by the pollen. And I did not have to suffer— Aragorn! Stop that! Here…”

The elf-lord dug around in the pack beside him and withdrew a handkerchief. “Erestor left me with enough of these so that I carry at least a couple with me everywhere. Use it instead of your clothing, please! It is most unbecoming for the King of the Reunified Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor to use his clothing to wipe his nose.”

“Oh, go fall down a snow bank.” Aragorn sniffed in as dignified a manner as he could manage whilst he sat freezing his arse off, and ignored Legolas’s chuckles from beside him on the large log where they had taken refuge.

Glorfindel shook the cloth at him, and Aragorn shook his head. It is cold, Glorfindel! I do not wish to remove my fingers from my cloak.” He sniffed again, but it was not enough to stop the dripping from his nose.

The handkerchief landed in his lap. “Use it anyway.”

“Yes, please!” Legolas added with unveiled amusement. “I tire of watching it drip from the tip of your nose.”

Aragorn rolled his eyes, and turned away from the two of them to use the handkerchief. Ah, it felt much nicer than his rough cloak. He tucked it under the mantle with him, and glanced back at Glorfindel. “Well, that was not much of a confession to my mind. It barely fit the rules of the game!”

Glorfindel’s lips twitched, but that was the only sign of any emotion on his face. Then in an amused voice that brooked no argument, he said, “Ah, but I was naked. You did not specify it had to have anything to do with my confession. Now, who is next?”

Aragorn glanced at Legolas just as Legolas looked his way. Aragorn raised a brow as if waiting, but Legolas shook his head. “I went before you the last time we were stuck in some bizarre situation. It is your turn.”

“But…”

“No, I will not confess to a thing until you have given your confession.”

Sighing heavily, Aragorn gave up, and thought about what he could tell them that was not too embarrassing.  “Very well. As I must share something neither of you knows about, there was this time in the wilds during a terrible autumn storm….”

— o —

Northern Eriador

Year 2954, 3^rd Age

Autumn

Aragorn shivered. The downpour had soaked him through, but he kept moving. He needed to find shelter and fast. The weather had turned so quickly, the temperature plummeting with the storm. If it continued to fall, the rain would turn to sleet or even snow, and in his drenched clothing, he would be at risk of freezing to death.

He topped a rise of ground, and to his joy saw a plume of smoke rising from a couple of hills further north. It had to be the dúnedain settlement of Barforod, the one furthest to the north. Sniffling, he trudged on, pulling his sodden cloak more tightly around himself. Traveling in the wilds was nothing new for him — his brothers had seen to that — but since he had come of age, he did so more and more on his own.

As a small child he had known he was not an elf, but a Man of the line of the dúnedain. His mother had not budged on that part of his upbringing, though to her credit, she never once hinted at the identity of his true father. Sometimes, as a child, one Man or another would visit Imladris and bring news to Gilraen, and during those times Aragorn, then known only as Estel, had soaked in the stories of the Rangers of the North.

He even once declared to Elrond that he was leaving to join them after being punished for disobeying his foster father’s command. He could not have been older than six at the time.

A smile tugged at Aragorn’s mouth, even as he slipped down the other side of the rise.

—

Imladris

2937 Third Age

“I am going! I do not want to live here anymore!”

Elrond sighed and looked down at the youngster. He loved this boy as if he were one of his own children, and it pained him greatly to do what must be done.

“Very well, I will miss you, my son.”

He moved to open the wardrobe and pulled out a small pack made for Estel when he went into the ‘wilds’ with his brothers, which consisted of the small patch of trees a hundred yards from the house.

“What shall you take with you? You will need a change or two of clothes…”

Ignoring the look of panic in Gilraen’s eyes, Elrond proceeded to help the boy pack for a journey, but not without a half choked sob from the lady. She would never interfere in front of Estel, allowing him to play the true part of father, but he was sure to get an earful later, especially if this did not go the way it had with Elladan and Elrohir.

Once the sack contained clothing, the boy’s wooden knife and a bundle of food from the kitchen, Elrond led the small boy by the hand to the river, carrying the pack for Estel. Facing the boy towards the ford and kneeling behind his charge, he slipped the straps over Estel’s shoulders and then turned the child back around to face him.

Fighting back tears, for this tore greatly at his heart, Elrond said the words he had said to the twins when they were little older than the determined child standing before him. “I will miss you, my son. Remember, your mother, brothers and I love you very much. You will always be welcome back here to visit or even live, provided you submit to the rules I lay down.”

Elrond placed a kiss on the child’s forehead and stood, giving him a soft push towards the ford. “Off with you now if you are so determined to go. If you stay on the path, you will eventually find a settlement of Men. It should not take more than one, maybe two weeks.”

Then he did one of the hardest things any parent could do, he turned around and walked back towards the Last Homely House. Ahead he could see Gilraen, staring at him with such anger and hurt in her eyes. But they had made an agreement and to her credit, she had held her tongue. That would change if Estel actually tried to leave.

He gulped, but kept on, knowing he had to be as determined as his small son.

Evening was approaching, and the shadows were lengthening. A last glance over his shoulder revealed Estel had crossed the shallow ford and now stood still, staring at the large, dark wood ahead of him. Elrond turned his face away and strode on.

“ADA!”

Elrond turned back in time to see Estel splash back across the stream. In moments, he nearly stumbled as small arms clutched at his legs. Full of love he looked  down at the small child pleading to be allowed to stay and bear his punishment.

  —

Near Barforod

2954 Third Age

Aragorn chuckled as he crossed a narrow footbridge over a raging torrent.  Elrond had known he would never get very far. It was only when he returned to his room to suffer for his disobedience that he learned Elladan and Elrohir had done the same.

Now, he was grown and was travelling to a village of his people. Ever since reaching his majority at twenty years of age and learning of his true heritage, he had begun to become more acquainted with his people as their Chieftain. In his pack was a letter of introduction from Halbarad for the village Elder, who should invite Aragorn to stay with him for a few days.

He looked forward to a warm fire and getting out of his wet clothing. A hot meal in good company would also not be amiss. Mouth watering, he topped the last rise and looked down into a small dell.

Scattered about were meager, simple homes, numbering no more than seven. It surprised him. All the other villages had been larger.

He made haste going down the hill and approached the closest home. All the cabins looked the same to him, with no distinguishing marks to help him determine where the Elderlived. He ran a hand through his drenched hair in an effort to look more presentable, but realized there was not much he could do to change his appearance at this point.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

He could hear movement inside and after a moment, the door creaked open, spilling warmth and the smell of cooking meat and vegetables. The smell made his stomach growl, and the heat called to him.

A matronly woman with graying hair pulled back from her face stood in the doorway, a puzzled look on her face. She blinked, looked him up and down, and before Aragorn could say a word of greeting, shook her head and placed her hands on her abundant hips.

“You are a sorry sight, child. Get yourself in here and out of those wet things before you catch your death!” She stepped back to allow him entrance, but Aragorn just stood there, spluttering.

“B-but, ma’am, I-I am Ar –

“Time for introductions later. Come on, in with you now! ‘Fore you get sick, and I am forced to nurse you back to health.”

Hesitantly, he stepped over the threshold and found himself pushed forward so the woman could close the door behind him. Before he could say anything further, the woman pulled his cloak from his shoulders and hung it from a hook beside the door.

“Just get out of the rest of those clothes, and I will put some hot water in a basin and you can wash. Good thing I had some heating over the fire already. I do not have a tub, but I have a warm quilt you can wrap yourself up in after you have bathed.”

Aragorn just stood there in shock as she moved to the fireplace across the room and began dipping water from a large pot into a basin. A quick glance around the single room revealed humble, if adequate living quarters, but no separate place for privacy to bathe.

“Well, what are you waiting for, child? You must be chilled to the bone! And you are dripping all over my floor.” She glanced in the direction of his feet with disapproval.

Looking down, Aragorn cringed at the puddle collecting around his feet. He peeked up through the wet hair plastered to his face at the woman waiting expectantly for him to remove his clothing.

“Um...your pardon, ma’am, but I hardly think it appropriate…”

“Oh pish posh, child. Raised myself four boys your age. You do not have anything I have not seen before. So, off with your clothing before you make a bigger mess or get sick.”

There did not seem to be much he could say to that, and the thought of getting warm and possibly fed overcame his hesitance.

Still, it was with much embarrassment, he began removing his clothes. Being raised in Imladris as he had, he had never undressed in front of a woman before, except his mother and that not since he was a lad. The elves of Imladris were rather…

Well, he would not call them prudes, but they had rather strong ideas about modesty in mixed company. He had heard the woodelves saw things differently, but Legolas would not confirm nor deny whether such were true.

As his wet tunic slipped down his arms, Aragorn realized he did not know where to put his soaked garments. The woman solved it for him, however, when she pointed to the bucket she had placed under his cloak.

“Just put them there.” To his relief, she turned her back and continued dipping water into the basin.

With haste, he removed the rest of his clothes, hesitating at his small clothes and biting his lip as he debated whether to remove those as well. The thin linen was also damp from the soaking he had endured, but he could hardly remove them, could he?

“Off with those too. I shall hang them all over here by the fire and they will be dry again before you know it. Hurry now!”

With a heated face, Aragorn removed his undergarment and tossed it into the pail with the rest of his clothes. His pack he had set next to the bucket, and he longed for its presence to cover himself. Then a though occurred to him, and while her back was still turned, he took two quick steps so that the room’s only table now lay between the woman and himself, blocking her eyes from his… Well, his parts that he would rather not reveal to a woman at this time in his life. Especially not one old enough to be his mother!

The woman turned back around with the basin and a cloth in her hands and smiled when she saw where he stood. “Never seen such modesty in a young one before. The boys around here do not care so much about who sees what. But then, you are not from around here, are you child?”

Standing naked in this woman’s home was not the way he wished to introduce himself. He swallowed hard and shook his head. “Nay, I have never been this far north before.”

She nodded and sat the bowl and cloth down on the table, adding a small cake of soap. “I figured as much. Go ahead and wash. I will occupy myself in my chair with some embroidery. Just let me get you that quilt to wrap yourself in when you are finished.”

She fetched it from near the fire and laid it on a roughly hewn stool beside the table, and then sat in a rocking chair, the only luxury item in the room. Her eyes on her work, she hummed and sewed while Aragorn washed. He did not linger.

“So, what brings you so far north, young man? I assume you are a messenger for Halbarad, the rascal. He does not get up here very often.”

Aragorn paused with the washcloth half way to his chest. Oh, by Elbereth. Surely he would not need to explain this now? No, he could not, would not identify himself at this point, though the nagging thought that he would have to sooner or later tugged at the back of his mind.

"Halbarad did send me,” he answered, relieved it was true…in a way. “I carry a letter for the Elder. Mayhap you could tell me where he lives?”

It only now dawned on him that he should have insisted on this information before the woman had him strip. Now he would have to go out in the rain and cold once more. At times like this, he really despised his lack of experience in such matters.

“Well, then, you are in the right place. My husband, Hirvegil, was the Elder, but since he passed on nigh three years ago, I have been the one the people look to. They call me Hisaeleth, although it isn’t the name my papa gave me. He named me Cammiriel. She snorted. "I suppose one of these days, my oldest son, Iorthon, will take on the duties, but for now, it falls on me. Not that I mind it so much, I suppose. Just seems man’s work to me.”

Aragorn agreed, though he was so far impressed by Hisaeleth. He finished up, and wrapped the quilt around his shoulders and body. The hot water and now the warm quilt intensified his hunger and weariness. He moved to retrieve the letter from his pack, but the woman spoke up again.

“Not now, child. You need to eat first. Come, bring that stool over by the fire, and I will make you a plate.”

Aragorn made quick work of the venison stew served to him with a slice of fresh bread. It was delicious, and he praised Hisaeleth openly, causing her to flush and beam at him. When he finished eating, he placed the plate in a bucket containing other dishes needing to be washed.

Moving to the door, he retrieved his pack and brought it near the fire, all the while being careful to keep the quilt tight around him. Rummaging inside the sack, he found what he was seeking and pulled out the oiled-skin wrap protecting the document from the weather.

Warm, dry and full, he sleepily handed the letter to Hisaeleth before sitting back in the chair and gazing dreamily into the fire. It took only moments before he was half asleep.

“Sunken lands!” The woman exclaimed a few moments later, causing Aragorn to jump.

Being half asleep, the quilt slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor, leaving him sitting with nothing covering his lap. He frowned, looking at the material on the floor and then glanced up to see Hisaeleth staring at him. He quickly covered himself with one hand, and grabbed for the quilt with the other, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Hisaeleth stood and curtsied to him clumsily. “My lord! I-I…” The poor lady seemed horrified.

Aragorn at this point, however smiled. “Be at peace, good woman. With as well as you have treated me, I have no fear for any of your people.” Yawning, he knew it was true. These people were in good hands.

“Well, just look at you, Lord Aragorn! Falling asleep on that stool. To the bed with you!” And with motherly concern, she shooed him to a bundle of furs and blankets in one corner. And despite his earlier humiliation, Aragorn slept well.

Within a month, the Dúnadan felt like he had lived there all of his life, and his stay was quite pleasant, despite Hisaeleth’s insistence he bathe regularly. And the village of Barforod became one of his favorite places to visit over the years.

To Be Continued....

Thanks for reading!

Part Three

A Break in the Weather

  Or

Agreeing to Anything  

Rohan

White Mountains near Helm’s Deep

Year 11, 4th Age

Winter   

Glorfindel could not help but grin as he listened to Aragorn’s story. While the man spoke, the snow fall lessened, allowing him to see the white blanket the storm had draped over the wood and mountain slopes to the south. He had already heard Aragorn's tale from Hisaeleth the one time he had met the woman, but hearing it from Aragorn’s perspective was almost as hilarious.

Almost.

A glance at Legolas showed the prince struggling to hold back laughter, his grey eyes bright with mirth. Legolas's lips were clamped shut, his arms wrapped around himself, giving the impression of holding off the chill that neither the young elf nor Glorfindel felt to the same intensity as the man huddled in his cloak.

“And so, that is how Iorthon found me, naked of all but a blanket and alone with his mother. He accused me of impropriety and began to drag me outside to… Well, I would rather not repeat what he said he would do to me.”

Glorfindel glanced away as Legolas snorted and said, “I can imagine what I would say if I found a naked man keeping company with my mother!”

Glorfindel bit the inside of his cheek to keep back his own laughter and avoided looking directly at the other two. He could feel the ire radiating off Aragorn. Or maybe it was embarrassment. Either way, at least the man would be warmer.

“I had no choice! One simply did not ignore Hisaeleth’s commands! You never met her, Legolas. She could be very…persuasive.”

“So what happened? How is it you remain...”

Glorfindel cast a sidelong glance at Legolas, pinching himself in addition to biting his cheek so he would not laugh. Legolas had that impish grin on his face and was leaning towards the Man and gesturing with a sweep of his hand towards Aragorn's groin.

“…able to produce children? Or is there something you and Arwen did not mention?  Hm?” 

A large handful of snow landed neatly in Legolas’s face.

Glorfindel could not stop it this time. He snickered, chuckled and then held his sides as laughter from deep inside spilled out and echoed in the stillness of the wood. He even managed to duck the snow lobbed in his direction.

“I-I am not l-laughing at y-you, Estel!” A snort escaped him. “I-I am l-laughing at that!” Glorfindel pointed to where Legolas was glaring and wiping the snow off his face.

“It is not funny,” Legolas quipped, standing and shaking his cloak out.

Aragorn, Glorfindel noticed, now also shook with ill-concealed mirth. 

Glorfindel just kept grinning. “It is hysterical. Now sit down so Aragorn can finish.” He cast a wicked smile at the prince. “You should be thinking of which story you will tell.”

Legolas plopped back down on the old, fallen tree, and swept a hand outwards in a motion for the man, seated across from him on another limb, to continue.

“It is very simple what happened next,” Aragorn explained. “Hisaeleth took Iorthon to task, giving her son a verbal lashing like I had never heard before, and growing up in Imladris, that is saying something! Iorthon never considered that his allegations also implicated his mother of impropriety!” The man laughed. “I thought Elrond and my mother were the best at such lectures, but I can assure you, Hisaeleth would even put your father to shame, Legolas.”

Watching Legolas’s eyebrow raise in surprise, Glorfindel nodded. “Aye, ‘tis true. I had the pleasure of meeting the woman once, and a more memorable and formidable woman I have never met. I remember thinking how interesting it would be to see Hisaeleth sit on Thranduil’s council. Something I would only wish to witness from a fly’s perspective, of course, but interesting all the same!”

Legolas snickered, glancing up into the pine tree towering above them as snow slipped from a high branch over the prince’s head. It seemed to Glorfindel that the tree shifted, and he blinked. Surely the cold had his eyes playing tricks on him, yet the snow did not land on the woodland prince, but rather beside him. Legolas did not even move, as if he knew the tree would intervene.  Glorfindel did not comment. He had seen such before and had learned it was best to just accept the strange ways of wood-elves.

And the selectiveness of trees, he thought, as another load of snow landed on his head.

Legolas laughed, eyes sparkling, as he turned back to Aragorn. "I wish I had met this woman! Then I could have determined if she had enough fire to combat my father in a Battle of Wits.”

“She was a good woman,” Aragorn confirmed. “I have never met another like her. She never had a qualm taking me to task if she thought I was out of line. And if I ever tried to pull the ‘I am the Chieftain of the dúnedain’, she would just remind me she had seen my chieftain, and I would have to give in.”

They all laughed at that, but then the man sobered. “I confess, I always backed down to her if we locked antlers over some issue. It was terrible to return to Barforod after my sojourn into Rhûn and Harad and learn she had died. Only then, did Iorthon take the title of Village Elder.”

Glorfindel felt the mood shift, the sorrow in those words, and he scooted over to put an arm around the man. “Many deaths you have had to endure, Elessar. Many more are to come. Count it to your joy that you will not live to see them all as it is with some.”

He cast a significant glance at Legolas, who shifted and glanced away.

“Aye,” Legolas whispered hoarsely before wiping a hand over his face. “Enough of this sentimentality! This game was to keep us alert, not turn us into weeping maidens.”

Aragorn burst out laughing. “By the stars, Legolas! You sounded just like Gimli! I think you even growled!”

To Glorfindel’s amazement, Legolas smirked. “Indeed, my stunted friend continues to engrave himself upon me. I do hope we will not miss too much of the celebrations. I so looked forward to spending Yule in Aglarond.”

“Well, whining about it will not change our circumstances,” Glorfindel said sardonically. He tossed a broken twig at the elf prince, who caught it deftly. “Go on, it is your turn.”

“Is it?” Legolas glanced innocently back at him. “I agree with Aragorn, your confession was greatly lacking. You should go again.”

“Oh, no. I confessed. You accepted it. Now, your turn. A confession! And a good one, too. Something neither of us has heard, and you must have been naked at some point.” He flashed a wicked smile at Legolas, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I am always naked when I bathe. The end.”

Another handful of snow landed in the prince’s face, and Glorfindel scooped up some threateningly as well. “I do not think so.”

“Come on, Legolas. It cannot be that difficult. I hardly saw you this past year, since we spent most of it in Annúminas and you in Ithilien. There must have been something.”

Glorfindel watched Aragorn lean forward with a suspicious look. “I know that expression! Something did happen! Tell us!”

Legolas's eyes widened and he shook his head.

That was all it took for Glorfindel. He was on the prince before Legolas could respond, wrapping him in a tight hold with one arm.

"You think to wrestle it out of me," Legolas asked, not even making an attempt to struggle against the hold. "Nothing will convince me to share the happenings of this past summer."

"Ah, no wrestling," Glorfindel assured him. Then he used his free hand to begin tickling his captured prey, as Aragorn howled with laughter and cheered him on.

"Who told you I was ticklish?" Legolas gasped as he squirmed, trying to twist away from Glorfindel's hold.

Glorfindel smirked as he held the struggling princeling. "I will never tell," he answered, his fingers catching Legolas at the hip bone.

Legolas squawked and began to fight for all he was worth, but he was no match for the Golden Lord of Gondolin that was, Glorfindel thought. At least, not without assistance.

A soft sound alerted him something was amiss, and then snow dumped on him from above.

Glorfindel yelped and released the elf-prince, who quickly moved out of the way, shaking off the bit of snow that had fallen on him and laughing at Glorfindel, who, much to his chagrin, had been covered.

Glorfindel attempted to brush the snow away as well, but every time he got some of it off, the branches would shift and dump more on him. Legolas, he noticed, no longer had a single flake fall on his head.

Glancing up and blinking at the shower of snow being shaken down on him, Glorfindel glared. The branches of the tree were waving back and forth.  Not another tree moved. “Call it off,” he spat through gritted teeth, moving away from the offensive pine.

 “All right. Does that mean I get out of confessing?”

“NO!” Both he and Aragorn declared, both glaring at Legolas.

Legolas whispered to the tree, and the swishing of branches stopped. With slumped shoulders and muttering imprecations under his breath, Legolas plopped back down on the log.

Glorfindel also reseated himself, but only after making sure he was sitting under a different tree. Not that it mattered, but so far, only one tree had responded to the woodland prince. He heard Legolas mutter something, but it was so garbled he could not make out the words.

Aragorn smirked. “What was that? I did not hear you.”

The Lord of Asgarnen dropped his head into his hands, shaking it before glancing up with a sheepish smile. He straightened and took a deep breath. “I, er… Well, it all started when Tathar suggested a bet...”

— o — 

Asgarnen, Ithilien

Year 11, 4^th Age

Summer

Tathar grinned that feral grin of his, and gazed upon him with a knowing expression. “You like her.”

Legolas felt his face heat at the implication. “I do not!”

The grin of his friend turned to a smirk. “Sure, you do, or you would not be turning such an interesting shade of red. You. Like. Her. Admit it! I do not blame you, Legolas. She is very pretty, charming, soft spoken...” and here the smirk turned wicked. “She would make a wonderful Lady of Asgarnen and Princess of Eryn Lasgalen!”

All the blood, which moments before had rushed to his face, now drained from his head, leaving him feeling woozy and unsteady on his feet.

“Legolas?”

Tathar jumped up from the chair behind his desk and ran around it. Legolas felt his captain ease him into one of the chairs and push his head down towards his knees. “Breathe!” the captain commanded.

Legolas, his head clearing, brushed off his friend’s hands. “I am fine! Stop that! I am not about to faint or any such nonsense!”

“You turned white, Legolas. I mean, I have never seen you that pale! Shadows, Legolas! Do not ever do that again!”

Glaring up at Tathar, Legolas shook his head and snapped, “Then do not ever – EVER! – mention such a thing to me again!” He pushed back against the chair, crossed his arms indignantly and watched Tathar rub a hand over his face.

“I had no idea you would get so upset, my lord. Forgive me.”

Legolas had the urge to pound his head against the wooden desktop nearby. He had only recently convinced Tathar to stop calling him ‘my lord’ in private. Inhaling a deep breath, he spoke through gritted teeth. “When it is just you and I, Tathar, I am Legolas...just Legolas. Do I need to spell it for you?”

Tathar swallowed and shook his head ruefully. “No, I get it.”

His second-in-command returned to his place on the other side of the desk, sank into the chair and stared at him.

“What?” Legolas asked.

“Nothing.”

“It is not nothing. I know that look!”

“It is nothing.”

Beginning to feel guilty, Legolas sighed and closed his eyes. “All right, I admit it. I like her.”

“I KNEW IT!”

Legolas jumped at the shout, his eyes opening wide. Tathar never shouted. Ever. Few were more calm and collected and diplomatic and dogmatic....

Oh, sweet Elbereth. He is like a copy of Erestor!   

“What is that look for,” Tathar asked, eyes narrowing at him.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. I know that look.” And of course, Tathar did. They had been friends since they were children. They knew each other’s expressions as well as if siblings.

“Oh stuff it, will you? I admitted I liked her, what more do you want?”

The wicked smirk was back.

Legolas cursed inwardly in Sindarin, Silvan and even Khudzul. “No, Tathar. Whatever it is the answer is NO.”

Tathar leaned forward, rested his elbows on the desktop and tapped his fingertips together. Looking over them, he said, “You asked what I wanted.” He meshed his fingers together and rested his chin on top. “I only want you to ask the lady to accompany you to the Summer Solstice Festival.”

“I would rather parade naked before the ladies’ picnic.”

“I can arrange that.” Tathar smiled, ignoring Legolas’s glare, and Legolas wondered if he should not just leave before anything more could be said. “You admitted you like her. Why not ask her?”

“Liking her does not mean I wish my interest to be known to the whole wood, Tathar." Legolas declared.

“I suppose you do not have the courage to ask her.”

His friend was daring him to do it, plain and simple. “Courage has nothing to do with it. I just do not wish to do so at this time.”

“You think she will say no?”

And that was going to far. “I know she would say yes."

“Oh, good, then you will have nothing to lose then, will you?”

Legolas gulped. He hated the sound of that. “Lose what?” Oh, he hated that feral grin! Hated it, hated it!

“Nothing much. I wouldd even allow you to keep your dignity...”

Legolas closed his eyes. Damn it all to Mordor, he was going to accept just to wipe that smirk off his friend’s face. “Fine, I will do it, and I do not care what the stakes are! She will accept.”

Evil, nasty, wicked smile.

Legolas wondered if Tathar was somehow related to Gollum. Maybe the captain could share the same fate. He just needed to drag him to Orodruin...”

“If she says yes, you take her to the festival and dance with none other. BUT," he held up a finger, "if she declines your invitation....”

To Be Continued...

Author's note: Yes, there are some veiled references to some beloved movies in this chapter. ;)

Annúminas – King’s seat in Arnor.

Asgarnen – Legolas's settlement in Ithilien. It means Rushing Water, and refers to the brisk stream lying on one side of the elven settlement in Ithilien.

Thanks for reading!

Part Four

A Tree for Yule

or

Discovered by Dwarves

Rohan

White Mountains near Helm’s Deep

Year 11, 4th Age

Winter

He could not look at them as he told them the next part. “And so, I paraded naked before the ladies during their summer picnic.”

“Excuse me?” Glorfindel questioned, echoed by Aragorn moments later.

Legolas looked up to see both his friends staring at him with stunned expressions. It would be humorous if he were not the butt of the joke.

Glorfindel let out an unintelligible, “Ergh...” blinking and looking rather confused.

Aragorn just gaped at him for a moment, opening and closing his mouth like a fish before blurting out, “You mean she said no? She turned you down?”

Legolas winced, tilted his head and inclined it once. “Aye.”

His friends turned and looked at one another in disbelief.

Aragorn was shaking his head. “I do not see how that is possible! Legolas... Well, there are few so sought after by the ladies.”

It figured they would talk about him like he was not sitting right here, but, he had to admit, it had stunned him, as well. Legolas had never been turned down to an invitation to a festival. He turned his attention back to his friends’ conversation, choosing to find amusement in it, rather than ire.

Aragorn was saying, “I would say he is the most sought after bachelor among your kind, after you, of course, Glorfindel.”

Legolas smiled when Glorfindel snorted and grinned. "I would have said the same thing, only not after myself, but after your brothers. Since your father sailed and they became the Lords of Imladris, the
females have chased them ruthlessly. Years ago, they would have enjoyed the attention, reveled in it, in fact! But now, there are times I think they will simply run screaming."

Glorfindel leaned in conspiratorially towards Aragorn. "I have found Elladan cornered in the library with two or three ladies asking him question after question with huge adoring eyes. And poor Elrohir," his brows raised as he smirked, "I had to save from the gardens once by a young dúnedain maid who followed him around sighing deeply. I do not think she had even reached her majority yet. He looked ready to scale the wall to escape when I arrived and distracted her."

Legolas joined in Aragorn's laughter. He had not seen this side of the twin sons of Elrond, who were usually so stoic and calm and took life as it came with grace and dignity and not a little humor. Panic
was not the norm for them at all.

Glorfindel continued, "Both the twins admit the ladies are charming, but I think now that they realize more than ever that they are sought as actual mates..." Glorfindel shook his head, chuckling. "Having
feminine attention is one thing, marriage quite the other."

Legolas rolled his eyes and did not bother to listen to Aragorn's reply. He knew exactly how the twins felt. It was why he had not pursued the lady who spiked his interest. He had thought she would respond as so many others in his life. How wrong he had been!

“Legolas?”

The question brought his attention back to the other two, and he looked at them, blinking. “What?”

Glorfindel smirked. “I believe you are not done with your confession. Go on, tell us what happened.”

Aragorn huddled deeper into his cloak, but his curious eyes peered out at him from under the hood. “Yes, did she tell you why she would not attend the festival with you?”

And this was the part that stung. He nodded, hating having to admit this. Perhaps he could skirt the issue? “Yes, she did. And so, I lost the bet, and Tathar...”

“Oh no! You are not getting out of telling us this!” The king stated, laughing at him. “Why did she turn you down?”

“Look! Tthe snow has stopped falling! And it will be getting dark soon. Should we not move on?”

“NO!” Two voices boomed in answer, the sound echoing in the still wood.

Legolas closed his eyes. Might as well get this over with. He opened his mouth and tried to speak but it took him several attempts.

“I-I...er...S-she...uh...” he gulped. “She is be-betrothed to Gurveleg. They had not yet made the announcement.” He shook his head and looked away, a light chuckle escaping him despite his embarrassment. “No one even knew they were courting. At least, I did not know, nor Tathar. They are both quiet of spirit and do not desire great attention. I think they will be very happy together.”

He realized it as he spoke and his embarrassment faded. Legolas gazed back at them with a soft smile, feeling lighter of heart for having confessed this. “I liked her,” he explained, “but I was not in love with her. It will give me great joy to preside over their vows next summer,” he told them both with great sincerity.

Aragorn and Glorfindel exchanged a look.

“You are truly all right with this, Legolas?” Aragorn asked, reaching out to place a hand on his arm.

Legolas noticed the man’s hand was shaking as he nodded. Peering more closely at his friend, he finally took in his friend's blue tinge. “Aragorn, you are shivering.”

“Well, it is cold,” Glorfindel said, frowning, as if he also just realized how cold, and moved closer to the Man, sitting right up against him. Legolas mirrored his move so the wind, which had picked back up and gusted over them, would not chill his friend further.

“Thank you,” Aragorn grinned at them, then sneezed. He pulled the handkerchief Glorfindel had given him earlier out from under his cloak and blew.

The sound caused both he and Glorfindel to cringe. “Oh, that is disgusting!” Legolas nudged Aragorn with his elbow. “So crude!”

“I cannot help the fact my nose runs when it gets this cold. And who is crude? I was not the one to parade naked in front of the ladies! How did you get away with that? I have heard nothing about one of my lords being so brazen.”

Legolas felt his face heat, but shrugged. "You forget it was almost solstice when we made the bet, and Tathar had said he would allow me my dignity. So I donned the mask of Mallos and walked with a basket of flowers. "

"They still practice that tradition?" Aragorn asked with wide eyes. "In Ithilien?"

Legolas blinked, and gave Aragorn a dry look. "We are woodelves. Of course we do."

"I admit to not being familiar with this tradition," Glorfindel added, an eyebrow raised in question. "Mask of Mallos?"

Legolas winced. "Perhaps it is silly, but it is long been held by my people that a maiden who is given a flower by Mallos will find their true love."

"And who is Mallos?"

"No one knows," Legolas admitted. "There are several versions of the story, but the simple explanation is he is one of the Balain who walks naked among the trees at Solstice."

Glorfindel's face went void of expression. "The Belain have been known to walk naked in Ennor, Legolas, but to them, that simply means unseen, without physical form."

"I really do not know where the tradition comes from or how it started, Glorfindel," Legolas told him with a hint of exasperation. "That is not the point."

"What is the point?" Glorfindel asked.

"At Solstice, one of the men of the settlement is chosen to play the part of Mallos. His identity is always kept secret from the women, and he wears a mask to cover his face."

"And he walks naked among the ladies?" Glorfindel's eyes were wide. "This tradition would not go over well in Imladris or Lothlórien!"

"You know our people are less concerned with nudity than yours," Legolas reminded him. "However, I have never been chosen to play the part of Mallos before, nor wished to do so. I am…not as comfortable with such displays myself."

Aragorn snorted. "That must be your Sindarin side."

"Actually, I had no issue running naked through the woods as a youth. But… Well, that story will have to wait for another game." He smirked.

"No fair!" Aragorn cried, then sneezed into his handkerchief.

"Anyway," Legolas continued. "Mallos walks naked among the trees at midsummer, carrying a covered basket of golden blooms and a single white rose. Any lady who encounters him is allowed to reach into the basket and choose a flower. If she receives the rose, it is said she will find her true love before summer's end."

"And she is crowned as Meril, correct?" Aragorn asked.

Legolas nodded. "Yes, and she holds a place of honor during the festival."

"Ah," Glorfindel nodded. "So Tathar had you play the part of Mallos, and in doing so, you paraded before the ladies' picnic.

Legolas sighed. "I did. And I thought it would be an easy task, if a bit embarrassing. I did not expect—” He cut off his words, realizing he did not really have to confess what had happened.

"Expect what?" Glorfindel and Aragorn asked.

"You cannot just stop there!" Aragorn told him.

Closing his eyes, Legolas shook his head. "I have not watched Mallos play the part before, not really. I did not expect the…comments."

"Comments?" Glorfindel asked, his lips starting to twitch.

Legolas felt his face grow warm, but then decided to just shock his friends. He grinned and pitched his voice high, mimicking the ladies. “Oooo, look at his flanks! Forget his flanks, look at that! Who did the picking this year? He needs to be Mallos every year! I rather like his chest. ”

Aragorn began to cough and splutter, while Glorfindel howled with laughter.

Legolas just kept grinning. “Then they started trying to figure out who I was. I did not realize women could be so frightening. I fear I left the basket with them and took to the treetops." He gave each of his friends pointed looks. "I will not be Mallos again."

Through his laughter, Glorfindel asked, "And did you crown a Meril this year?"

"Oh yes. In my haste to depart, I left the basket behind. The ladies got their flowers and Tiriel was chosen as Meril."

He rubbed his hands together. It really was cold, and getting colder. “We should move on before the sun sets.”

“Wait,” Glorfindel said, standing to his feet. He looked to the northwest, then grinned. “Do you hear that?”

Legolas also stood, turning an ear towards their trail before they had stopped to take refuge in the stand of trees. Then he heard it — a comforting sound that caused him to smile.

Aragorn also stood. “What? What do you hear?”

Turning his grin on the man, he laughed. “Dwarves singing, and harness bells. They come to collect a Yule log.”

The look both Aragorn and Glorfindel gave him caused him to laugh. “Yes, singing! Dwarves can sing very well, such rich, deep voices, like the mountains. And if you thought about it Estel, you would recall Gimli sang for us in Moria! It was one of the first things about him to truly move me, when I began to realize he was of a race as steeped in culture and love of home and kin as my own. We were not so different."

He smiled as the sound grew louder. "Listen!”

And as if in cooperation, the wind died and the deep baritone and bass voices filled the air as they came closer, mixed with the jingle of bells.

"Hi-ho, onward go, through the wind and wintry snow." (1)

Laughing again, Legolas called out. “Gimli? Gimli, where are you?”

The singing stopped abruptly, and silence filled the mountain wood.

“Gimli! Dín!”

The answer came from a distance, but they could all hear it. “Legolas? Where are you?"

“Over here! The southern slope! We have a great log for your celebrations!”

Legolas grinned when the singing resumed and the bells jangled in their direction. He turned to his friends. “We will be greatly honored for finding such a bole to offer them. The festivities will be grand.”

The expressions on Aragorn and Glorfindel’s faces as they looked down at the fallen tree where they had taken refuge caused him to laugh more. Spirits soaring, he could stay still no longer. Casting aside his cloak, he darted to the nearest tree, and scaled it to the top with ease, looking for his friend and the party of Dwarves come to find the perfect log for Giuli. (2)  

Spotting his friend at the head of the dwarven party, Legolas smiled and called back down to his companions. “And wait until you see them dance!”  

— o —

Gimli eyed the half-frozen threesome grinning at him and pointing at a huge fallen tree. A glance around revealed three horses standing nearby, two in a thicket nose to tail, while one snorted and stood to the side. The white coat of Asfaloth blended in with the snow around him. If the horse had not snorted, or been saddled, Gimli doubted he would have seen him.

Looking back at three travelers, he smiled and stomped up to greet them with a deep bow, sweeping the white hood from his head outwards and feeling relieved to find them here. “I welcome you, our guests! We are at your service! What a find you have made! This tree will burn for many days, prolonging our festivities! My people will hold you in highest honor!”

He straightened as he spoke in time to notice Legolas elbowing Aragorn and smiling knowingly at Lord Glorfindel. “And no doubt, Legolas, you convinced your friends to take shelter here for this very reason.”

Legolas’s answering grin and shining eyes were his answer. Aragorn and Glorfindel were looking a bit confused, but all that would change soon enough. First things first!

“We had begun to wonder if you had taken refuge in Edoras. This storm has been rather nasty. We almost forwent gathering a log for the feast!”

Legolas stepped forward then and grasped his arm. With his back to his friends, the elf’s eyes glittered with secret knowledge that Gimli did not miss. Legolas knew Gimli had feared them lost in the storm. “We came from the south over the mountains. Aragorn had need to visit Calembel. Glorfindel traveled with him, and I met them on the road back. We decided it would be faster and easier to travel directly just the three of us. It took some convincing to get his guard to release him, but...”

Aragorn stepped forward and pushed the elf out of the way. “And no easy task getting your guard to release you.”

The man turned to Gimli with a warm smile from under the hood of his cloak. “Gimli,” he said, completely ignoring the disgruntled elf-prince. “It is an honor to spend Giuli with you and your people. I hope you do not mind if we brought along an additional mouth to feed, but I promise he will not eat much.”

“But he will drink you out of house and home,” Legolas muttered under his breath, causing Gimli’s companions, who had gathered near to assess the tree, to guffaw and slap one another on the back.

Gimli chuckled and nodded in Glorfindel’s direction. “Lord Glorfindel, it is an honor. We have not met in many a year. You are most welcome to celebrate with us. Your steed will also be treated with high honor.” He glanced at the white stallion, which bobbed his head and whickered.

“I swear elven beasts understand everything,” he muttered. “Worse than Celedae.” He glared at Legolas's dappled-grey stallion standing nose to tail with Aragorn’s grulla mare, Aduial. At least Moroch would be happy. His pony loved company.

Gimli felt surprise when the elf-lord stepped forward and grasped his arm. The light within him shone brightly, and Gimli was tempted to take a step back. “Just Glorfindel will do. It is an honor to be here. I am afraid the King’s Guard would only allow him to come provided I accompany him and this insolent princeling.” Glorfindel gave him a wicked grin. “But Legolas is correct. I will drink you under the table, Master Dwarf.”

Gimli chuckled, hiding his surprise, and returned the smile given. It would definitely prove to be an interesting Giuli. “We shall see, lad. We shall see.”

Noticing Legolas had already drawn the small axe he had gifted the elf the first time Legolas celelbrated Giuli in Aglarond, he drew one from the back of his belt and handed it to Glorfindel. “Make yourself useful then!”

The sound of axes at work filled the air as the party of Dwarves, two Elves and one Man quickly cleared the tree trunk of small branches. Dín and Blákári were tackling the larger limbs with a saw and soon it was ready to haul. With swift fingers, the Dwarves hitched the large trunk to the team of six large, stout ponies and began snaking their way through the forest, down the slope back towards Helm’s Deep.

Behind them, Legolas, Aragorn and Glorfindel led their own horses.  

— o —   

The large trunk was put in the huge hearth of the main hall. It had to be cut down just a bit, but they made it work. Garlands of evergreen boughs decorated the walls and tables along with pinecones and bowls of nuts. To one side of the room, large barrels of ale were waiting to be opened, and even now, platters of sliced cheeses, sugared fruits and cold, sliced meats were being set to one side. The main part of the meal – three large stags – would be roasted over the Giuli log.

Gimli’s guests had been sent to bathe in the steaming pools deep in the caverns. All three had looked blue to Gimli’s eyes, even the elves, no matter what Legolas said about elves not feeling the cold. Gimli knew better! They might not feel it as quickly or as deeply as those of Mortal race, but they felt it. He grunted to himself and glanced around the room one final time, making sure all was in readiness. His friends would be warm in no time, however, and joining him for the opening celebrations.

Not long, Gimli thought as he walked at the back of his group. Not long at all, and the Giuli log would be lit in honor of Mahal. The large trunk of a tree would burn long, and the feasting would go on for many days, perhaps as many as twelve. He loved Giuli. It was a sacred, yet delightful time of feasting, gift giving, and song and dance.

A hand rested on his shoulder, but he had no need to look up to know it was Legolas. He patted the squeezing fingers with a calloused hand and smiled. It would be a good celebration of the solstice. His family had come.

The End

Author's Notes: The tradition of Mallos and Meril is very loosely based on some Summer Solstice traditions. And it is merely my own interpretation that woodelves are more comfortable with nudity than the Noldor. This does not mean I think they would be promiscuous (though neither do I think they would be asexual). I hold to Tolkien's canon that elves were chaste until they married.

(1)   "Hi-ho, onward go, through the wind and wintry snow." -  A Dwarven song I made up because, well, I just could NOT resist! *g*

(2)   Giuli – Old Norse, original Viking name for Yule.

Celedae – Sindarin ‘Silver Shadow’, Legolas's dappled-grey stallion first introduced in Never Again.

Moroch – Sindarin ‘dark horse’, Gimli’s brown pony.

Aduial – Sindarin ‘the evening, the time of star opening’, Aragorn’s mare. Don’t know why he has a mare now, but he does, and Celedae is quite fond of her. Named because she looks like the stars are shining on her back lightening an otherwise black horse.

Mahal – the dwarven name for the Vala, Aulë, who made the Dwarves.

grulla – I chose to just use the Spanish term for the horse's coat color. Aragorn’s mare is a slate grey with black head, legs and primitive markings.

Gimli wears a white hood, just like his father did in the Hobbit. I thought it fitting.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story enough to leave a review. :)