YULETIDE TALES 2003
"THE TW(ELF) DAYS OF YULE"
This is a series of 12 ficlets, pure fluffy silliness, which will be rated G - PG-13, depending on the day. Gen, het, slash - something for everybody. Beta-read by Eveiya, thanks a lot!
I wish you all a joyful festive season. And if you, between unwrapping presents and digging into the Christmas dinner, should stop a moment to think of those who have less or nothing, you might feel like sharing your happiness, and go here:
DOCTORS WITHOUT BORDERS
5 dollars can make a difference - and a donation in honour of somebody rather than presenting him with another tie or ashtrey he or she doesn't need might be a nice idea this Christmas, too...
Thanks!
Erestor
THE ELEVENTH NIGHT OF YULE
"'t was the eleventh day of Yule, and it would be wise
if Thrandúil prepared for a big surprise.
There were three ways for travellers to tell when they were approaching Mirkwood:
- The drop in temperature
- The lack of fellow travellers
- The road signs telling them to go home
Amaris stopped his horse and studied the 7th sign he had passed so far, which told those who travelled this road in brief words that they were not welcome beyond this point, and sighed.
"Welcome to Mirkwood," he said, "the heart and soul of Middle Earth."
His horse seemed to agree, and shook his head.
"Well, dear friend, at least the manufacturers of signs must have prospered under my brother's reign. What do you think, are there trap doors further down the road?"
If the horse had been able to shrug, he would have done so, and it took many kind words from Amaris to convince the animal to move forwards.
Amaris had ridden for about fifteen minutes, and already he was surrounded by dark, ancient trees, standing so close together that sunlight did not manage to reach the ground, and the birds had ceased their singing.
He was just about to make another remark about sunny Mirkwood to his horse when, seemingly out of nowhere, five Elves dropped out of the trees, landing in front of him, without making a noise or leaving a mark in the snow. Their arrows were not aimed at his person, but there could be no doubt that any wrong move could have fatal consequences; being one of them, he knew better than to underestimate the archers or Mirkwood.
A young Elf stepped forward. He wore a woollen cloak and an old, much-mended jerkin, and he bowed to Amaris in greeting.
"Greetings, stranger. You have entered the kingdom of Mirkwood, so I assume you are not able to read, for you must have come across many signs telling you to stay away. Who are you, what are you doing here, and what are you staring at?"
Amaris cocked an eyebrow.
"I am well able to read, I just prefer to ignore the written evidence of your father's sunny personality, I am here to annoy him and I am staring at the twig which has caught in one of your braids, though the smudge on your nose looks more interesting; one hardly gets to see a scruffy Elf these days. Is there anything else you would like to know, Legolas?"
The jaw of the young warrior dropped at this bold speech, and he quickly reached into his tangled hair - indeed, the twig must have gotten stuck there while he had crawled through some bramble bushes the previous day. How embarrassing.
Legolas quickly removed the offending bit of shrubbery and threw a warning glance at his companions, who had problems stifling their giggles.
"Amaris of Mirkwood, eh?" he snorted, and glared at the fair Elf in front of him, who looked neat, clean and elegant despite his simple garb, hair shining like spun gold cascading down his back.
"I am most pleased to see that you have such an excellent memory, penneth. For this means that you will probably remember the way back to your father's palace and can accompany me there. I have ridden a long time, I am tired, and in need of a bad, food and insults from your father. I am sure that at least the last of these can be provided without difficulty, so how about you lead the way, fair leaf, and I shall follow you?"
Legolas was torn between amusement and outrage. Never, on all his travels, had he met an Elf like this one. The other Elf obviously hadn't seen more than two centuries, and there he was, calling him, Legolas, who was three thousand years old, "little one"?
"Let me see, Amaris," Legolas said, and began to count on his fingers. "I do not know you. But you seem to know me. None of my friends here know you. You are cheeky, annoying and a smart-ear, and you think you can simply ride into Mirkwood out of the blue and see my father, who refuses to welcome even Lords and Kings?"
Amaris looked at his nephew, considered the question for a moment, then he nodded.
"As a matter of fact - yes. Can we go now?"
Legolas slapped his forehead with his hand. He did not know about food or bed, but there was one thing this Elf would certainly get from his ada, and that was insult. Personally, he couldn't wait to see it, so he nodded to his companions, and turned around.
"Very well then, let us go. Make sure you do not fall off your pretty horse, Amaris, or the spiders will have you for luncheon."
"I am touched by your care, Legolas - and by the way, you have a twig in the other braid, too."
With that, he clicked his tongue, and the horse moved forward, so all Legolas and his guards could do was following their unwelcome guest, who had the bleeding gall to begin to sing now.
Legolas, who tried to keep up with the rider, thought of his father, and a big grin spread over his face.
This, he decided, was going to be great fun.
* * *
His Royal Highness, Thrandúil the Exceptional and Impressive, Beloved and Much Admired King, Most Splendid and Feared Ruler of Mirkwood, King by the Valar's Grace, Ruler of 2000 Years, Shining Star of Greenwood The Green, Fairest of all Elven Lords, Light of the Dark Ages, Son of Oropher the magnificent, etc. etc. etc., was sitting in front of the fireplace in his private chambers, in the midst of holly, berries, twigs of spruce and dried apples. The tip of his tongue firmly pressed into the left corner of his mouth, he carefully fixed some berries to his crown.
This was one of the things he loved most about Yuletide - that he got to wear his favourite crown, and one he could adorn himself. Sure, circlets were nice and looked fair, but this one reminded him of his childhood, when he sat with his parents and siblings, and he had the honour of decorating the crown for his ada. He was very young back then, and his fingers none too skilled, but his older brother always helped him, without making him feel inadequate, and those were among the best hours of his youth, which he always remembered fondly.
Unfortunately, his own son showed no artistic skills at all. He was a warrior and hunter, and the few times he had attempted to engage Legolas' interest in the arts had ended in fits of temper, sulking and pouting, so after a while, he had given up. He loved his young one, regarded him as a diamond in the rough, and was enormously proud of his achievements as a member of the Fellowship of the Nine, saving Middle Earth from certain doom. He had gnashed his teeth when Legolas had dragged a dwarf along two years ago as a guest of honour at the Yule celebrations, but accepted it. He had found Gimli to be wise and amusing, though he would have died rather than admit it, and he had even held his temper when the dwarf had smugly asked for a sightseeing tour through the dungeons his father had told him so much about.
But these were Yuletides past, now he had to get this crown finished, and was rather annoyed when he heard the knock on his door, heralding an interruption.
"Come in if you must," he grumbled, and a breeze of cold air told him that his visitor had entered, so he didn't bother to look up - he would have known these steps among a thousand others.
"Legolas - I did not expect you to return this early. Is anything amiss?"
Thrandúil bit off the end of the thread and spat it into the fire, which produced a hissing sound.
"Eh - I have found something odd in the woods, ada, and now I am not sure what to do with it."
Thrandúil looked up, noticed the smudge on Legolas' nose, the tear in his breeches just above his left knee and the unkempt hair, and he released a deep sigh.
"Please do not tell me that you have found another abandoned Warg pup or baby spider, Legolas. And whatever it is: no, you may not keep it."
Legolas frowned.
"I have never brought a Warg home, ada!" he protested, and Thrandúil nodded, fighting with a stubborn piece of shrubbery.
"That is true, my apologies, son. The Warg brought you home. But I am very busy, as you can see, so pray tell: what is the matter?"
"There is this - Elf, ada," Legolas said, and Thrandúil noticed well how his son stretched the last word, "we found him on the road to the palace, and he insisted on being brought to you. What shall we do?"
Thrandúil rolled his eyes, annoyed.
"Oh for the Forest Spirit's sake, Legolas - do what we always do, scare him, insult him and throw him out of my realm. I do not wish to have strangers around here, trampling my daisies and stealing my time."
Legolas shuffled his feet.
"Well, this is not a normal traveller. He seems to know a lot about us, and he is very annoying. He says his name is Amaris, and..."
"Amaris?" Thrandúil interrupted his son, and the young Elf was a little taken aback by the sharp tone in his father's voice.
"Yes," he replied, "he said he was from Mirkwood, but this cannot be true, I know every Elf around here, and I have never seen him."
Thrandúil's head began to hurt. Just moments ago, he had thought about his brother, who had died so long ago - another one on this damnable Gil-galad's list of victims - and now there was this stranger going by the same name? What was this - National Thrandúil Annoyment Day?
But it was Yule, and the wine which warmed over the low fire in a big kettle spread its wonderful spicy scent all through the chamber, and the strings on the corset which held Thrandúil's heart firmly in place were loosened up a little, so he shrugged his shoulders and nodded.
"Very well then, bring this Elf here, but stay outside, and if I call you, come and remove him, or I will never finish this in time."
Legolas was a little surprised at his father's reaction, but he new better than to question him, so he went outside, and Thrandúil heard him bark some commands. Again, the door opened, and light steps could be heard - a sound that reminded Thrandúil of something, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was, so he looked up.
"It is very good to see you again, little leaf."
One could have mistaken the King of Mirkwood at that moment for a marble statue, for he surely looked as if he had turned to stone. His mouth was slightly agape, his eyes stared at the Elf in front of him, and he didn't move a muscle.
"Close your mouth, Thrandúil, it is most unbecoming to your otherwise most fair face."
Amaris dropped his cloak, sat down elegantly on it, and looked with interest at the crown Thrandúil held in his unmoving fingers.
This, the King of Mirkwood decided, had to be some kind of dream, or the Forest Spirits were playing tricks on him, or he had drunk too much of the mulled 2948 2nd Ager.
This couldn't be Amaris, for Amaris was dead. Amaris was very dead, and Thrandúil remembered well the double pain of losing both his father and his beloved brother - a brother who had, despite his young years, shown great wisdom and wit, had opposed the stern ways of their father in every possible way and who had published a book of frivolous and most delicate content called "Mirkwood Love Secrets", almost causing King Oropher a heart attack.
No - this could not be Amaris, who had been banned from his home when he decided to follow Gil-galad into battle, who had left his family out of some foolhardy hero-worship, who had chosen the High King over his family, leaving his brother behind, alone and crying.
It could not be Amaris.
But it was. It was the same much-beloved face, the mocking voice, the sweet scent of freshly crushed mint-leaves, the long, elegant fingers.
Had he returned? Was this possible?
Thrandúil looked directly into the other Elf's eyes. Amaris returned the look, and Thrandúil saw sorrow, pain, loneliness - but also love, warmth - and fear? Was it fear?
For a moment which seemed to last an eternity, Thrandúil held his breath. Then he reached out two trembling hands, offering Amaris both the half-finished crown and a twig with berries.
"I cannot fix them. Can you help me?"
Amaris took both items, not breaking eye contact with his younger brother.
"Of course I can, little leaf. There is nothing that cannot be fixed."
Thrandúil watched how Amaris' nimble fingers attached the berries to the crown, and he also saw how the tip of his brother's tongue was firmly pressed into a corner of his mouth.
He hesitated for a moment, then he reached out, caressing Amaris' cheek, and his brother looked up, giving him his warmest and most brilliant smile.
"You are right, Amaris - there is nothing that cannot be fixed."
And then they finished the crown together.
* * *
The twelfth day of Yule - it's now very near
and brings all back who we hold so dear."