8. Winter Games

(December)

As she struggled along through the heavy snow, Alfirin pulled her heavy woolen cloak more closely around herself, stretching it protectively over the baby who lay still warmly snuggled in her womb.  In the last month, the swell of her pregnancy had grown considerably, and the cloak was nearly at the limit of what it would cover.  She smiled happily to herself. Four more months. In only four more months, the baby would be in her arms. She would see him, and touch him, and care for him.  In four months, their son would be born. That fact seemed miraculous.  A whole new life would have been brought into the world, and she and Ithilden would have done it.

Carefully, because of the unfamiliar shape and weight of her body, she moved through the deep snow to the top of the hill where the elflings were sledding.  There she stopped and surveyed the scene before her.  Clad in their bright winter cloaks, elflings were screeching happily as they flew down the hill and then chattering to one another as they dragged their sleds up to the top again.  The first snow of the season had begun falling during the previous night, an event that was cause for an annual celebration in the Woodland Realm. The Elves would all gather in Thranduil's hall to feast and make merry tonight, but for elflings, racing downhill on sleds was the real fun of First Snow, and there were a dozen or so on the hill now.  In a few years, she thought, her son would be here too.  She smiled again in the sleepy, deep contentment that seemed to fill most of her waking hours and many of her dreams.

Suddenly, arms reached around her expanded waist from behind and someone's warm lips nuzzled her hood aside and kissed her neck just under her left ear.  "May the first snow gladden your heart, my love," said Ithilden in the traditional greeting of the holiday.  She laughed and placed her hands over his.  "You do not seem very startled," he went on.  "Are you accustomed to being embraced and kissed from behind?"

"I knew it was you," she protested.  "I sensed your approach."

"A likely story," he said and she laughed again.  He rested his chin on the top of her head, and they stood thus for a few moments watching the elflings.  His hands slid over the baby in a gentle caress, and she knew that he was thinking the same thing she had been thinking:  Soon their son would be among the sledders on the hill on the day of First Snow.

She turned in his arms.  "Let us borrow a sled and go the down the hill," she said, seized by a sudden impulse to feel again that exhilarating sense of soaring down a slope on a fast sled.

"Are you mad?" Ithilden demanded, his face a study in genuine horror.  "You are eight months pregnant.  Your mother would have my hide if I allowed you on a sled."

"My mother is not here," she pointed out, suddenly chafing under the increasing restrictions that pregnancy had placed on her movements.

"She would know about it before the sled reached the bottom of the hill," he said fervently.  "Besides, I know that you do not really want to do anything so irresponsible."

Although he was right and she would probably never have actually flung herself facedown on a sled, and indeed, given the size of her belly probably could not have done so, his use of the word "irresponsible" still irritated her.  "What a stick in the mud you are!" she exclaimed and then immediately regretted her words when she saw his face. "I am sorry," she exclaimed.  "I did not mean it." She placed her gloved hand on his cheek.  "I love your sense of responsibility.  It makes you the strongest Elf I know.  But sometimes I wish that you could have less duty and more fun in your life."

He grimaced and then drew her close.  "There are satisfactions in my life," he said softly, "even if I do not look like I am having 'fun.'"  She hugged him back and then they both turned to watch the elflings again.

"What were you like as an elfling, Ithilden?" she asked.   "Did you love First Snow?"

"I did," he said with a small grin.  "I had a sled that Adar had made for me before I was born actually.  Naneth always claimed that he spent the year of her pregnancy stockpiling presents for me."

A voice spoke from behind them. "Your naneth exaggerated," said Thranduil.  They both jumped and turned to look at him.  His footfalls had been muted by the snow, and in their preoccupation with one another, they had not heard him approach.  "I made the sled and some blocks before you were born, but I did not get you a pony until you were at least ten."

They both laughed.  "What was he like as an elfling, Adar?" Alfirin asked, transferring her question to Thranduil.  "Was he daring on his sled?"

Thranduil smiled and then came to stand next to them, watching the elflings on the hill.  "One First Snow, when he was perhaps seventeen or eighteen," he said, "he and a friend piled snow in the middle of the hill so that when sleds went over the bump, they would be launched into the air.  For a while, they were contented with seeing who could make their sled jump the farthest, but when they tired of that, Ithilden suggested that they should try the same move standing up."  He turned to Alfirin.  "Perhaps you will not be surprised to learn that he jumped his sled the farthest, but one of the other elflings fell and broke her wrist.  The other elfling's adar was most upset and let me know – tactfully, of course - what a bad influence my son was."

Ithilden grinned.  "Surely it was Eilian who did that."

Thranduil snorted.  "It was Eilian and his friend Gelmir who left the sledding hill and packed snow hard enough into the sides of the streambed that it was like ice.  Then they swooped back and forth down one side and up the other.  In that case, Eilian was the one who ended up with a broken bone.  His collarbone, I believe.  Gelmir's adar did not need to tell me what kind of influence Eilian was."

Alfirin laughed.  "I remember that," she said.  "I can recall being both fascinated and horrified by their audacity."   At the sound of a particularly loud shriek from an elfling, they all turned to look back down the hill, but the little one was bounding up the slope again, so the noise had apparently been a gleeful one.  "What about Legolas?" Alfirin asked.  "What was he like?"

Thranduil considered.  "Legolas had a friend who was far more creative in thinking up mischief than Eilian ever was, but Nimloth was his caretaker and she usually managed to keep him from engaging in the kind of nonsense his older brothers did."

Alfirin nodded.  She and Ithilden had already arranged to use Nimloth as an occasional caretaker for their son too, but for the most part, she planned to care for her child herself.  She thought a little sadly about Legolas, whose mother had not been there to care for him.  Given his early loss, he was an amazingly secure and happy person, Alfirin thought, and she credited this to the firm discipline with which Thranduil had structured his world and the abundant love with which he and Ithilden and Eilian had filled it.  She hoped that she and Ithilden would be as good parents as she thought their own had been.

"I suppose I had better go and help with the preparations for tonight's feast," Alfirin finally said and turned to go back to the palace.

Ithilden caught her back to him and kissed her forehead.  "Do not tire yourself too much," he admonished.

"Nor you," she responded.  "This is a holiday, remember?  Come home early."

***

Legolas balanced easily on the top rung of the ladder, stretched to his full height and hung another of the polished crystals that constituted the traditional decorations for First Snow.  He reached down, took another crystal from Tonduil's outstretched hand, and then leaned precariously to his right to hang it too.  Then he started down the ladder, jumping the last few feet to the floor.  He stood between Tonduil and Annael, and they all looked around the Great Hall with satisfaction.  They and the other elves working in the Hall were nearly finished transforming it into a glittering setting for the First Snow feast.

"It looks very pretty," said Tonduil approvingly.  "And I can smell the food from the kitchen already."  Legolas and Annael nodded their agreement. They were still at an age to be hungry all the time and the aromas coming from the palace kitchens had been growing stronger for the last hour and more.

"I hate to take you away from this," Legolas finally said, "but will you come and look at Sadron?  I know that he is old for a horse and that there is probably nothing I can do for him now except let him be, but would you look anyway?"  Thranduil had given Sadron to Legolas for his twenty-fifth begetting day, when he was old enough, his father had said, to care for an animal on his own.  Lately, the horse had been showing his age and Legolas had been riding other horses from the king's stables, but he still fussed over Sadron.

"I would be happy to," Tonduil said promptly and the three of them started for the stables.  As they crossed the great reception hall, they met Alfirin and Miriwen, who were evidently on their way to the family's private quarters. They paused to speak to one another.

"Alfirin is going to lie down for a while," Miriwen told them, "under apprentice healer's orders."

Legolas smiled.  "Ithilden will thank you anyway," he said.

"As will our mother," Tonduil added. Alfirin made a face at her brother and brother-in-law from behind Miriwen's back.  They both laughed and, with Annael, went on their way, leaving the two she-elves to continue toward Alfirin and Ithilden's suite.

"You and Legolas seem to be getting along well," Alfirin observed.  "I thought perhaps you and he were seeing less of one another when I saw you at the autumn dancing with Falad and even Eilian."

"Legolas was away on the novice exercises," Miriwen protested, "or I would have been with him.  I think that Falad is the best friend I have, and Eilian is very entertaining!"

"That he is," agreed Alfirin, as they entered the suite's sitting room.  "Now let me see. Where is that basket of dyes?  I used it when I was coloring the wool for the baby blanket." She searched among the supplies stacked next to her loom in one corner.  "Here it is," she said and handed a small packet to the younger elf.  "Tell your naneth that she can keep that.  I have plenty more."

"Thank you," said Miriwen, with a small, satisfied smile.  "It will be put to good use, I promise."

***

From Legolas's point of view, the feast that night was one of the best he had been to in a long time.  The food was wonderful; the wine was good; the music was memorable; and best of all, Thranduil allowed him to spend the entire time with his friends.  He had not even been required to wear formal robes.  His father was apparently still pleased with Legolas's behavior both at home and in the novice training.  "You are growing up," he had said that morning, when he had told his son that his presence would not be required at the high table. "You merit some reward."  Thranduil's praise still sang in Legolas's ears, although the pressure of Miriwen's hip snuggled up close against his on the bench was causing his blood to sing more warmly yet.  Even the presence of Falad across the table from them could not ruin the evening.

Not that Falad did not try.  To Legolas, it seemed that Falad was intent on at least lessening his pleasure in the feast, for he kept bringing up reminiscences from the childhood that he and Miriwen had shared as they lived next door to one another.  "Do you remember the time that we found the fox cubs whose mother had been killed?" he was now asking.

"Oh, yes," Miriwen responded. "Poor things.   We fed them for a month, I think.  I was heartbroken when they finally went off on their own."

A voice on Miriwen's other side now entered the conversation.  "You are very softhearted, my dear," it purred.  Legolas could feel Miriwen tense at the speaker's familiar tone, and everyone turned to look at the Elf who had spoken, including even Annael and Tonduil, who were seated across from Legolas and had been deeply engrossed in a conversation about the half-dozen or so new horses that Thranduil's stable master had just acquired.  The speaker was a warrior whom Legolas did not know, but it suddenly dawned on him that this must be Galelas's brother, Tinár, for Galelas sat next to Falad and his father, Corfildor, sat next to Galelas.  The she-elf sitting on Tinár's other side must be his and Galelas's mother.

Legolas had been surprised to find Falad and Miriwen sitting near Galelas at the start of the evening, but the room was crowded and he had assumed they had had no choice.  He regretted the proximity even more now, for he had heard Eilian say that Tinár was home on leave, and Eilian's tone of voice had not made that sound like a good thing.

"I am sorry," Legolas said coolly. "I do not believe that we have been introduced."

Tinár smiled smugly.  "I am Tinár," he said, as if that should be enough.

"Legolas, you have certainly heard me speak of my son," Corfildor called proudly, from down the table.  "And you have undoubtedly heard Eilian speak of him too, for he assisted your brother until Ithilden felt he was needed elsewhere."

As a matter of fact, Legolas had seldom heard Eilian speak directly of Tinár, for his sometimes impulsive brother could be amazingly discreet when it came to matter of his command.  But Legolas had still gained an impression of Galelas's older brother from the tone of the few things that Eilian had said, from boastful remarks made by Corfildor, and from some resentful comments made by Galelas himself.  Legolas gathered that Tinár was their father's favorite and that Corfildor took no trouble at all to hide that feeling. Whenever Legolas encountered any of Galelas's family, he felt sympathy for his fellow novice, a fact that made him despise Galelas's family even more.

"So you are Legolas," said Tinár.  "I understand from things that Galelas has said that you are interested in becoming an archer.  If you like, I will be happy to teach you a bit while I am home."

Legolas looked across the table at Galelas, who had turned red at his brother's condescending remark.  Galelas glanced at him briefly, and Legolas could have sworn he saw an apology in his expression.

"Legolas is already an outstanding archer," Annael said indignantly.

"I am sure he is doing well among the novices," said Tinár patronizingly.  "Galelas does well too, I hear."  Galelas looked even more deeply pained but still held his tongue.

"Galelas is good enough," said Corfildor, "but he does not have your talent, Tinár."

Tinár smirked and then looked at Miriwen.  "And who might you be, my love?" he asked.

Legolas opened his mouth to say something indignant at this rude overfamiliarity, but Falad beat him to it.  "She is not your love," he said sharply.

"Shall I take it that she is yours then?" Tinár asked with raised eyebrows. "That is too bad for her." He turned to Miriwen.  "I assure you that you have been wasting your time on these elflings, my dear," he said with an obnoxious smile.

Legolas started to rise from the bench, but Miriwen gripped his wrist in a surprisingly strong grasp.

"Leave off, Tinár," mumbled Galelas.  His brother looked at him and laughed, but then was distracted when a servant brought a platter of sweets and set it on the table.  Their father and mother got up to join in a line of dancers who were whirling around the middle of the room.

Legolas was so furious that he was shaking, but his attention was suddenly caught by Miriwen and Falad exchanging what looked like a meaningful gaze. Simultaneously, they nodded, and then Falad turned away to hide what looked like a smile.  Legolas felt a flash of jealousy at the wordless understanding they seemed to share and wondered what it was all about.

"We have been looking at an interesting human disease in the infirmary," Miriwen said, evidently intent on changing the subject.  Legolas was not sure how welcome this particular change was.  He had been with Miriwen and Falad sometimes when the details of the healers' work had been discussed much too graphically for his taste.

"One of the Men bringing goods from Esgaroth was brought in to be treated yesterday," she went on.  "He had some new fever that is apparently very contagious among Men.  Indeed, Belówen told Falad and me that we could not be near Men for two weeks because, even with the brief contact we had with the sick Man, we might be carrying the sickness now.  I gather that it has been sweeping through all the nearby towns of Men, although, of course, Elves cannot catch it."

"Thank the Valar we are not Men," said Tinár, with a shudder. He drained his wine.

Falad rose from his seat.  "I am going to get more wine," he said.  "May I get you some while I am up, Tinár?"  Legolas stared at him open-mouthed.  Had he no pride at all that he was willing to actually wait on an Elf who had insulted him?  Miriwen was evidently worried that Legolas would not be so forgiving, for she still had a firm grip on his arm.  Of course, she was also rubbing her thumb along the sensitive skin on the inside of his elbow, so he was somewhat mollified.

Tinár handed Falad his cup, and Falad left and returned with more wine for himself and Galelas's brother.  "Here you are," he said cheerfully, having apparently forgotten all about the earlier disturbance.

Tinár took a deep draught and then leaned toward Miriwen.  Legolas recalled the dagger in his boot but reminded himself that Tinár undoubtedly carried one too and that his father would be most displeased if he started a brawl in the Great Hall.  He would probably have to sit within Thranduil's reach at feasts for the rest of his life.  Miriwen's forehead puckered as she looked at Tinár.  "Are you feeling unwell?" she asked in sudden concern. "Your face is pale."

Tinár looked startled, as well he might given that, in Legolas's opinion, his face was actually rather flushed from the wine.  "I am feeling fine," Tinár protested.

"I must have been mistaken," Miriwen said easily.  "Do you like the wine?"

"Yes," Tinár answered.  "One thing you have to say about the king: He knows good wine when he tastes it."  He took another deep drink of the wine.

"Do you know," said Falad, "I think that Miriwen may be right.  You do not look well, Tinár."  He hesitated.  "Are you perhaps experiencing some mild aching in your muscles?"

Tinár frowned.  "No," he said.  "Really, I am fine."

Legolas looked at Tinár.  He could not see any signs of illness, but if both Miriwen and Falad said that Tinár looked ill, perhaps he was.

Falad lowered his voice and leaned toward Tinár.  "I do not wish to insult you," he said in a deeply concerned voice, "but is it possible that you have human blood?"

"Of course not!"  Tinár's reply was sharp and Galelas, who had been looking as puzzled as Legolas felt, now also looked insulted.

"Good," said Falad with relief in his voice.  "The symptoms you are exhibiting are those of the disease that Miriwen and I were talking about. I would not like to think that we had given it to you."

"You do not need to worry," Tinár all but snarled.  "There is no human blood in our family."

To Legolas's intense annoyance, Miriwen patted his hand. "Good," she said.  "I was beginning to worry too."

Tinár looked placated by her touch.  "You need not worry about me, my dear."  He drained his cup of wine.  "Excuse me," he said.  "I will be right back."  And he left the room.

"What are you doing?" Legolas whispered to Miriwen.  "He is an obnoxious, boastful, lecherous pig.   Why are you being nice to him?"

She smiled at Legolas and put her mouth near his ear to whisper back. Her breath tickled his ear pleasantly. "Do you remember the letter that Galelas sent to Lómilad about Falad?" she asked.  He nodded, perplexed by why she was talking about that now.  "Falad and I are sending a message back," she said, "only we have decided at the last moment to redirect it a bit."

At that moment, Tinár came hurrying up to speak to Falad on the other side of the table.  The look on his face was one of sheer horror. Legolas strained his ears to hear what he was saying.  "Are there other symptoms of the sickness you mentioned?" he was asking.  "Does it perhaps - " he hesitated and lowered his voice still further. "Could it possibly make one's urine turn green?"

Falad's eyes widened.  "It does!" he exclaimed.  Tinár gestured frantically for him to keep his voice down.  Legolas leaned forward slightly.  He was beginning to see what had happened, and he did not want to miss a word of this.  A hush had descended on the table, and he knew that the others were all listening too.

"This cannot be," Tinár insisted, distressed enough that he had forgotten about a possible audience.  "There is no human blood in our family!"

Falad shrugged.  "I do not know what to say," he answered.  "The disease has appeared thus far only in Men."

"What should I do?" Tinár asked.  "Shall I go to the infirmary?"

"I would not," said Falad hastily.  "The disease will go away by itself after a day or two, and you do not want the healers to suspect anything about your tainted blood."

Tinár moaned. Then he turned toward Miriwen and bowed. "You will have to excuse me, love," he said.  "I fear that we will need to continue our conversation another day." And he stumbled from the Great Hall, a very disturbed Elf.

The young Elves still sitting at the table, including Galelas, all looked at one another.  "You did this," said Galelas flatly to Falad and Miriwen.

They nodded and then, suddenly, they all burst out laughing.  Legolas was laughing so hard that he put his head down on the table, and tears were actually rolling down Tonduil's face.

"He is not injured," Miriwen assured Galelas, choking on her mirth.  "The dye is harmless."

"Ah, but he is injured in his most vulnerable spot," Galelas hiccupped.  "His pride will never be the same."

"I hope so," said Legolas firmly and then dissolved into hoots again.