Midwinter traditions

Merry Christmas! This is a day late, but technically for me, as I live in England, it is still holiday (for some reason, we get Boxing Day, the day after Christmas, as a holiday as well. I'm definitely not complaining). Although as it is currently six minutes to midnight here, I am cutting it a little fine.

This is a story about, as the title suggests, midwinter celebrated Yule in the Shire every year, and something similar in Rohan, according to the appendices of LOTR. The elves had no sort of midwinter celebrations, but this story is more focused on winter than yule. It covers four different winter tales, and if definitely full of fluff and sappy winter themes! As always, reviews are very welcome. This is rather long for a oneshot, but I wanted to publish it all at once. Anyway, it is a Christmas present for all of you wonderful people out there reading my works!

I hope everyone had a great Christmas!

Disclaimer: unless I receive the rights to Middle Earth as a late Christmas present (which I severely doubt) than I own nothing except the character Belhadron. Him I get to keep!

0-o-0-o-0

The Woodland Realm, midwinter of the year T.A 2758

There was a blazing fire in the room, but still it managed to feel cold. Outside the snow was still falling. It had been falling for months now.

It was the longest winter that Thranduil could remember, which in itself was impressive. According to some of his scouts, and the few birds that dared fly in this weather and that were still friendly to his people, all of Rhovanion was covered in snow. Even as far south as Gondor the fields were frozen and under a blanket of white.

He supposed it should be beautiful, the carpet of snow. It had been falling for long enough that even with the cover of the trees, snow was still covering the ground beneath them, piling into drifts. Strong winds sent the light powder whipping through the air, making it hard for even Elven eyes to see clearly.

It should be beautiful, but it was hard to find beauty in something that was covering up the darkness, reminding him all too clearly of times before the shadow had grown so much in strength. Besides, accompanying the snow was freezing temperatures and biting winds, and food in the forest was scarce by now.

Thranduil sighed as he looked out of the firmly shut window again, to the same white expanse of trees laden with snow, before he pulled the shutters firmly shut. There was no point looking. He would not be able to see anything through the flurries of snow whipped up in the current storm that was brewing over Mirkwood.

Eventually he gave up on pacing inside his study and left, making sure to shut the door behind him to preserve the heat of the fire. Elves weren't normally affected by the cold, only in extreme circumstances, but still the warmth was a pleasant thing.

Thranduil strode down the hallways of his stronghold. It was quiet, being the middle of the night. Even then, most elves able to do so were out in the storm, trying to find even vaguely dry firewood or organising hunting parties. Their store of food was falling low after so many months of snow and ice, and Thranduil had forbidden anyone from journeying to Dale and bartering for supplies. They were elves, and needed it less than the people of Dale and Laketown.

Besides, the forest was dangerous. Despite the deep snow beneath the trees, there were orcs prowling through the area, pushing their advantage. Thranduil had recalled all elves back to the stronghold after a hunting party had been attacked by orcs and had only just gotten away. There: another reason to find the snow irksome, rather than beautiful. It could hide a lot of things; muffling sound so that you didn't know an orc party was nearby until you saw the dark shapes running at you.

Thranduil turned left and headed down another corridor. This one was busier, as he was nearing the great gates of the stronghold. Warriors were milling around, some resting in chambers off to the side, some cleaning weapons or planning new routes to send out hunting parties on.

Thranduil turned into the largest chamber, nearly a hall in itself, where a large fire was burning in the hearth. The centre of the room was taken up by a large wooden table, currently covered in maps and pieces of parchment with scrawled writing. The odd sword or bow was lying on the table as well. Around the rest of the room was an odd collection of chairs and couches.

Originally this room had been planned to be used as a room for Thranduil's captains to organise their warriors: the patrols, or the battle strategies. But over time, given how close it was to most of the warriors' quarters, it had turned into a general gathering room for the warriors. Thranduil knew that the state of his realm could be judged by the atmosphere of this room. When the shadow was being held at bay it was light and merry, filled with talk and laughter, the occasional song making itself heard.

But now it was quiet. A few of the captains were gathered around one end of the table, maps spread out in front of them, and their voices were quiet, low and serious. Any other elves in the room were quiet. Quite a few of them were sitting around the large fire, watching it as if they could, by sheer force of will, use it to burn away the snow and ice surrounding them.

Thranduil held back a wince as the wind howled again. In here, so close to the great doors leading outside, the wind could still be heard battering the stronghold outside.

As Thranduil entered the room, it suddenly fell completely silent. Every elf turned to look, and as the ones sitting in front of the fire scrambled to their feet every elf bowed low. Thranduil nodded back at them. He caught the eye of one of the captains around one end of the table. "Captain, if you would," he said, motioning to the door. The elf, his dark hair swinging around his shoulders, nodded and left the room, following Thranduil.

Thranduil walked out towards the great gate, the dark-haired elf jogging slightly to catch up with him. "My Lord?" said the elf, as Thranduil came to a stop beside a thick window looking out onto the snow covered forest.

"Belhadron, how many warriors are there in the stronghold at this moment?" asked Thranduil, his gaze fixed on the view out of the window.

"Four hundred or so," said Belhadron, watching the same window. "We have eighty out in small hunting parties, mainly to the west. That is where the snow is lightest."

"How many are in the south?" asked Thranduil.

Belhadron sighed. "Apart from Legolas' patrol, there are none that have travelled further south than the elf path. The weather is even worse that way."

Thranduil said nothing, just nodded and held back a sigh. Apart from Legolas' patrol…

He hadn't seen his son in over a month. Before the weather had become really bad, before they realised that this was going to be an unusual winter, Legolas had taken out fifteen other elves deep into the south of Mirkwood, to see how far the darkness was spreading. They were meant to have returned a week ago, but still there was no news of them.

Thranduil just hoped it was the weather holding them up. Even for an elf it was hard to navigate in such a storm, and they had had many over the past month or so. Cold weather wasn't usually a problem for elves, but even an elf could succumb to the cold eventually, if exposed for too long.

Belhadron suppressed a shiver as he looked out of the window. As Legolas' second in command, and his closest friend here in Mirkwood, he should have been with the blond elf. But only days before Legolas was due to leave, they had been hunting a small party of orcs that had dared to come north. During the fight they had strayed onto the frozen Forest River. One of the orcs had decided to try and break the ice, and Belhadron hadn't gotten away quickly enough. Though that was partly to do with him pushing Legolas off the ice instead. Someone had to watch that elf's back.

He had gone down with the orc, which had tried its best to hold him under the water and drown him. By the time Legolas had gotten him out, he had been so cold he had stopped shivering, and had drifted in and out of consciousness as they tried to get him back to the stronghold. That, coupled with a nasty gash the orc had given him, meant he had spent a day in the healing wards, and hadn't been fit for the patrol to the south.

Belhadron glanced over at Thranduil. The King looked impassive, but Belhadron knew that he was actually even more worried than he himself was. He just wasn't able to show it, not in such a public place.

Belhadron sighed. To be fair, he was not the best at working through his worry either. He tended to stay quiet, hiding it under a wry smile and a laugh until one little thing tipped it over the edge and Legolas had to hide the more breakable items in his room.

"The weather might lessen soon," said Belhadron, looking out of the window. "I could take out a small patrol, my Lord, head south. If Legolas and the patrol had to take shelter for whatever reason, I know the places he would be." Anything would be better than staying in the stronghold. He had spent a week waiting for Legolas to return, and he hated being inactive.

Thranduil shook his head. "I cannot risk another patrol, if they are heading that far south," he said. "The weather will only worsen. If you take out a patrol and become trapped, it will just make things worse." He hated saying it, but it was true. As a King, he had to choose the decisions that would cause the least damage to his people, to his warriors. It was impossible to pick an option that meant no damage, for they were at war. They had been at war for far too long.

Belhadron nodded. "Of course, my Lord," he said. "I understand." That didn't mean he liked it, of course. But he could not, would not disobey an order from his King.

"However," said Thranduil. "We have not led hunting parties into the south this past week. If, perhaps, you were to lead one in the next few days, and happened to go a little further south and spent a little more time out than expected, then I would not be averse to that. Understood?"

Belhadron hid a smile and nodded. "Perfectly, my Lord," he said. Though he would not disobey a direct order, though Legolas ordered him rarely, if ever, Belhadron had few issues with bending orders that were too vague, or left him a loophole. Legolas didn't like it much, but occasionally joined in, if he saw the need.

"Good," said Thranduil. Belhadron bowed and turned to leave. He had work that he had to do. They all had work that needed doing. Nobody had gotten much rest recently.

Thranduil watched him go, noticing the tension in Belhadron's shoulders, the way his hand didn't stray far from the sword on his belt. It showed just how tired and worried he was. But this was going to be a long winter. Everyone was tired, especially the warriors. The weather was making everyone uneasy as well. Nobody could remember a harsher winter than this. He sighed, and turned to head back to his chambers.

Belhadron ran his hand through his hair as he went back into the room. One of the other captains looked up, and Belhadron briefly said something about hunting patrols in the south in the next few days, before slumping down in one of the chairs near the fire and reaching for his goblet of wine that he had left their earlier. He unbuckled his sword belt and rested it to one side, within easy reach.

Belhadron glanced up, looking out of the open doors and at the window across the corridor. It was starting to go dark, and he could hardly see the flurries of snow outside from where he was sat. He shivered again, the phantom cold from his fall in the river still making itself known even after all this time. It hadn't been a pleasant experience.

The warmth from the fire was pleasant, though, and Belhadron had been on his feet without a break for days. Slowly his eyes began to unfocus, and almost cautiously, as if expecting to be woken up and head out at any second, he fell asleep.

A shout cut through the fog that was his sleeping mind, and then he felt someone shaking him awake. Belhadron came from sleeping to fully awake in less than a second, his hand shooting out to grab the wrist of whoever was grasping his shoulder. His other hand shot to his belt, not remembering he had put his sword to the side of the chair when he had sat down.

"Easy, captain," came a voice, and then Belhadron came fully awake to see another elf over him. Belhadron grinned sheepishly and let go of the other's wrist.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm a little on edge right now." He sat up in the chair, and suddenly noticed the hurried elves running out of the room, the raised voices coming from outside in the hall. He stood up, his hand instinctively going to his sword and buckling the belt on. "What's happening?" he asked the younger elf.

"A hunting party met Lord Legolas' patrol coming back in from the south," said the elf, clearly agitated. "Some of Lord Legolas' patrol are injured, but we don't know who. They should be with us any minute."

Belhadron nodded and strode across the room, heading for the door. "The hunting patrol sent a runner?" he asked. The other elf nodded. "Where is he?"

"Around the gate," replied the elf. Belhadron left the room and headed quickly down to the great gates. A number of elves were milling around them, but they were still shut.

"Where's the runner?" called out Belhadron. The elves parted and let him through to reach the gates, and Belhadron's gaze fell on one elf who was standing with some of the other captains, his face grave. His cloak was soaked through and covered in snow.

Belhadron strode up. "Where did you leave the patrol?" he asked.

"Less than a furlong away," replied the elf. "But they may be moving slowly. I don't know how badly their injured are."

"Do you know who is injured?" asked Belhadron sharply; worry building in his chest as his gaze flickered to the gates, shut fast.

"I'm afraid not, captain," replied the elf. "I was sent as soon as we met the patrol and knew it to be Lord Legolas', returning from the south. A few elves were being carried between two others, but they had all of their number. Beyond that, I don't know."

Belhadron nodded. "Someone needs to fetch the King," he said. "Have the healers been sent for?" More elves were beginning to group around the gates. So far they were all warriors, not knowing whether or not they would be needed to replace the hunting party, or to help the injured to the healing wards. Other elves, though maybe curious about what was happening, knew to stay out of the way. Often their presence only served to make the warriors more agitated, which nobody wanted.

"We sent a messenger," said one of the other captains. "He will alert both the healers and the King. All we can do now is wait. It is pointless to go out into the storm until they actually come into view."

Belhadron nodded. The worry was churning in his gut now, and he couldn't keep still, so instead he paced up and down in front of the gates. Every second seemed like far too long to wait. He had no idea what could have happened to the patrol, but many years of fighting the darkness had taught him to expect the worst. That way, when the worst inevitably happened, he was not so defeated. And if, by some luck, the worst didn't happen, then it was always a pleasant surprise.

He glanced over at the sentry standing watch by the window, irritated that he could not do so. But there was only one window, a small one, watching the approach to the gate.

"Any sign of them?" asked Belhadron, and the sentry turned around and shook his head.

"Nothing yet, captain," he replied. He turned back to the window, and then started. "I see them!"

His shout made everyone jump slightly, although they all pretended not to have noticed each other do so. Belhadron went to his side, and other elves stood back as he looked quickly out the window.

"Open the gate!" he called out, jumping down and hurrying back to the other captains.

"We have at least four of the patrol injured," he said, as the gates began to be pulled open with a groan. "They are held up between two others. They all look frozen. We need to get them inside." The other captains nodded, and waited impatiently as the gate opened.

A blast of icy air flew in, sending the torches flickering and a few of them guttering out, but nobody noticed. As soon as the gate was open enough for them to pass through a large number of elves headed out into the snow.

They ran across the top of the snow towards the slowly approaching figures. As Belhadron got closer he could see that things were worse than he had first suspected. Despite the cloaks, and the hoods up over every head, he could tell who had been on the patrol. They were either being held up between two other elves, or leaning heavily against another from the hunting party that had found them.

A shout came from one of the other elves as they ran out, nearly lost over the howl of the wind. "Get them inside!" came the call, as if any of the elves needed any encouragement.

Belhadron wanted to find Legolas immediately, check he was unhurt and then berate him for not being back on time, but he knew better. He reached the first elves walking in, one, his chestnut hair falling around his face, being supported by another. Belhadron didn't waste any time exchanging words, just grabbed hold of the chestnut-haired elf's other arm and slung it under his shoulders. Together, the three elves hurried inside.

The healers were there already, and as soon as Belhadron and the other elf passed over the threshold they were there, directing them down the hall to where there were stretchers waiting. They lowered the elf onto the stretcher, and Belhadron hissed in sympathy as he saw the dried blood on the elf's side. But there was no fresh blood, and Belhadron realised that it was cold enough outside for the wound to have frozen over.

As soon as the elf was settled, and two warriors were bearing the stretcher away with a healer beside it, Belhadron turned back to the gathering around the gates. They were still open, the last stragglers coming through the great gates. Belhadron hadn't realised how cold it was out there, cold enough to affect the elves who had been out there for far too long. All of those on the patrol were barely responsive, even those who were not injured.

He pushed forwards through the small crowd gathering around the elves until he reached the gates. The last two elves were staggering in, one supporting the other. As one elf reached out and took away the nearly unconscious elf, the other one straightened. Watching as the elf flung back a nearly frozen hood, Belhadron felt himself sigh with relief.

"Legolas!" he called out, and the blond elf turned to him with a weary smile. Belhadron strode forwards until he was in front of his friend, and only then allowed his relieved smile to turn to a scowl.

"Where in the name of the Valar have you been?" he asked, his voice low and angry. "You were meant to be back a week ago! You should have turned back the moment the weather got even worse."

Legolas just smiled, and laughed slightly. "The moment the weather worsened," he said through slight shivers. "We were fighting a party of orcs. A few escaped us. We tracked them east and killed them, but some were injured in the fight." He grinned. "My apologies for worrying you, mellon-nin."

Belhadron chuckled. "Not just me," he said in a low voice. "Your father hasn't exactly been the picture of calm recently." He tugged on Legolas' arm. "Come. You are freezing cold, and don't think I haven't noticed you trying not to shiver. Reports can wait. You are coming with me."

Legolas rolled his eyes, but allowed Belhadron to tug him away from the knot of warriors and healers and head down the corridor towards his chambers. As he began to walk the trembling of his body became worse, until he could not keep his hands steady enough to hold his cloak around him.

Without a word, and still whilst they were walking, Belhadron reached up and pulled Legolas' hands away from his cloak. Unfastening it and gathering it in his arms, he reached up and pulled off his own cloak. Still silent, he put it around Legolas.

They reached his rooms, Belhadron now with a guiding hand on Legolas' arm, but before Belhadron could reach out and open the doors they opened from the inside.

Thranduil reached out and pulled Legolas inside his rooms. "Are you alright?" he asked, looking his son over. Legolas nodded, but the movement was lost in the growing shivers that were wracking his body. Thranduil glanced over at Belhadron.

"He is alright," said the dark-haired elf. "Just cold. All of the patrol returned, my Lord. Some were injured, and all have been out in the cold for far too long."

Thranduil nodded, and turned back to Legolas. In this moment, he was not a King, not the commanding voice of his people. He was just a worried father watching his son shiver.

"Sit in front of the fire," he said, guiding Legolas over to where a chair had been placed in front of the heart, filled with roaring flames. Belhadron noticed how warm the room was, and guessed that Thranduil, rather than heading to the gates, had come here, knowing that if Legolas was not injured Belhadron would bring him here.

Thranduil took Belhadron's cloak from Legolas' shoulders and handed it back. Together they got Legolas into dry clothes, Belhadron hanging Legolas' hunting tunic, stiff with ice, up in front of the fire. Thranduil pulled all the blankets from Legolas' bed and draped them over Legolas. The blond elf had moved from the chair to sit on the floor right beside the fire, his knees tucked up to his chest. He was shivering so badly Thranduil was worried he was going to bite through his tongue.

"Here, drink this," said Belhadron, crouching down beside Legolas and handing him an earthen cup. Legolas took it, but his hands were shaking too badly for him to hold onto it. Nevertheless he tried to raise it to his lips, which only resulted in him nearly spilling it all.

Belhadron rolled his eyes. "Just let me do it," he said, taking the cup from Legolas' hand. He glanced up at Thranduil, who was standing behind Legolas. Thranduil nodded and gently adjusted the blankets draped across Legolas' shoulders, tucking them in.

Belhadron held the cup to Legolas' lips and the blond elf drank down the warmed wine between shivers. Thranduil then forced another cup of warmed wine on him, and another, until the shivering had lessened enough for Legolas to hold the cup himself.

After a while, and when Legolas didn't look so completely and utterly white with cold, he filled them in on what had happened, the skirmish in the south and the tracking of the remaining orcs, the resultant fight and the injuries incurred. He started shivering again as he spoke of the desperate trek back to the stronghold, the cold becoming too much for even elven bodies, especially as any warmer clothing they had had been given to those who were injured. At that point, Thranduil forced another cup of warm wine on him.

Legolas finished reporting quickly, and tucked the blankets around him more. Thranduil smiled softly. "Make sure you get some rest," he said, his hand falling on the top of Legolas' head, gently pushing the blond hair away from his eyes. He glanced over at Belhadron, and then decided he didn't really care. Thranduil leant down and pressed a kiss to the top of Legolas' head, much like he had done when Legolas was a child.

"I'm glad you're alright," he murmured, before straightening up. "I will have to fill in the councillors on this, and the other captains."

"Will you check on the others of the patrol?" murmured Legolas.

Thranduil nodded. "I will. Make sure he sleeps, captain." Belhadron smiled and nodded, and Thranduil turned and left.

Belhadron sighed. "I swear to the Valar that you live to scare me, mellon-nin," he said. "Don't do that again."

Legolas chuckled, but he sounded weary and when he spoke, his voice was tired. "I will try not to," he murmured. He sighed, and leant back against the chair behind him. "I don't like the cold."

"You're telling me," said Belhadron. He stretched out in front of the fire. "You know, in Dale they actually celebrate midwinter? I mean, what is there to celebrate about? It's the middle of winter. It's cold, wet, usually snowing and this year there are the worst storms anyone can remember. The middle of winter is the worst time of the year. What's the point?"

Legolas shrugged. He looked over at Belhadron with a smile. "I don't know. There doesn't seem like much of a point to it at all, but who am I to say they cannot find joy in a celebration? Maybe getting halfway through the winter could be counted as an achievement. I suppose that it is just their way of finding a little cheer." He laughed. "Even if it does seem pointless to us."

Belhadron looked over at Legolas. "You," he said slowly. "Can be so stubbornly cheerful, it can actually be painful to hear." Legolas laughed at that, and Belhadron picked up one of the cups of warmed wine.

"To us getting halfway through the winter," he said, raising the cup in a toast. Legolas picked up his own cup, and clinked it against Belhadron's.

"To us," echoed Legolas. "May there be no more falls through ice, or disastrous patrols."

Belhadron laughed, and took a sip of his wine. "Happy midwinter, Legolas."

Legolas smiled. "Happy midwinter."

0-o-0-o-0

Rivendell, midwinter of the year T.A 2991

The door was flung open and a flurry of snow gusted inside before it was slammed shut again. Inside the hall the torchlight bathed the ancient tapestries in red, but it went unnoticed by the elf who was striding down the corridor.

He reached one room and opened the door, not bothering to knock as he headed into the study that would probably be better classed as a small library. Books filled up the shelves, which in turn covered every wall from floor to the high ceiling above. There was a large desk, but it was hidden under scrolls of parchment covered in the writing of elves long since gone.

Glorfindel sighed, picking up a few errant scrolls that had fallen on the floor and placing them back on the desk. "Most people are convinced you are tidy," he said to the room at large. "You should be glad that not many people dare to enter this room."

"And yet you still barge in here daily," came a voice, and Elrond appeared from where he had been searching through the shelves of his study for a book. He caught sight of Glorfindel's face, and sighed. "What?"

"They tried to leave again," said Glorfindel, sitting on the side of Elrond's desk. "I managed to stop them for the time being, but it won't be long before I have no power over them. They want to leave, Elrond."

"I know," said Elrond. "But the weather is treacherous right now, with the snow, and the horses will not manage the track out."

"That isn't the reason why you want them to stay," said Glorfindel. "Recently they have been gone more often than not, I know that. And as long as you still want them to stay, I will do my best to make them remain here. But they don't want to, Elrond."

Elrond smiled sadly. "They used to stay around," he said. "When Estel was a child, every time it snowed they woke him up early and would have a fight in the snow." Now Estel was Aragorn, Dunedain of the North and had been gone now for years. Elrond had last seen him ten years ago, when he had stayed in Imladris for a month after journeying in the East and the far South, down past Gondor. He knew that Aragorn was this side of the Hithaeglir, but other than that, he had no idea where.

Elladan and Elrohir had used to stay in Imladris a lot more when Aragorn, then Estel, had lived here, but when he had left to go into the Wilderness they too had left, becoming more and more distant until they were out of Imladris more than they were in the valley. Elrond was not hugely worried about their safety, for they had been doing this for far too long to be reckless, but still he worried when they were gone, and did wish that they would stay for longer than a few weeks at a time.

Elrond sighed, clearing up some of the parchment strewn across his desk. "There is not much I can do," he said. "But at least they cannot leave until the snow clears. That is a small victory, I suppose."

Glorfindel moved off the desk as Elrond cleared it, and sighed slightly as he looked out of the window. The snow was falling more heavily now, drifts piling up outside as the wind blew it into flurries.

This winter was nowhere near as cold as some Glorfindel had lived through, like the Long Winter only a few hundred years ago, but still it seemed rather bleak. He supposed winter was always bleak, always cold with short days, but only a few decades ago winter had meant snow fights with Estel and the twins, brisk days and night spent around the fire, everyone wearing far too many layers of clothes so Estel didn't feel left out.

But Estel was long gone now, and would probably not return until the summer, when the roads were more passable. Glorfindel turned away from the window, and began to help Elrond tidy up his study a little.

Elladan scowled as he and his brother strode down the corridors of Imladris. "Since when did Glorfindel take the same view as Adar?" he asked.

Elrohir sighed. "Since we have begun spending far more time out of the valley than in it," he replied as they turned a corner and headed for the stables. Even if Glorfindel was right, even if they could not leave because of the snow now falling heavily, they still had to take their packs out of the stables and check on their horses.

"We did that all those years before Estel came along, and he hardly said anything," said Elladan. "Why now?"

"Ai Valar, Elladan, I don't know," said Elrohir exasperatedly. "I guess they have become used to us being here more. And things are growing darker, brother. I think Adar might be worried."

"The end is coming," murmured Elladan. "Adar wouldn't be so worried if it was not."

"Another twenty years, maybe," said Elrohir. "And though things are a little more peaceful right now, I think we both know there is no way it will last."

"The calm before the storm," said Elladan with a wry grin. "Let us just hope we can withstand the winds when they come. What was the last word that Legolas sent?"

"The darkness is growing once more in Mirkwood," replied Elrohir. "Dol Guldur has been occupied for years now, and the shadow from there is spreading. Aye, the end is coming."

"And Estel will be the one to meet it," murmured Elladan. He smiled. "Do you remember when he was young, and every time it snowed we would drag him out of bed in the mornings and have a fight in the snow?"

"Aye, I remember," said Elrohir. He smiled wistfully, and then the brothers fell into silence as they entered the stables.

It was warm in here, the smell of horses and straw a comforting smell. Elrohir stooped to pick up his pack, and then suddenly stopped. In the stall at the end of the stables stood another horse, snowflakes still on his forelock and mane. He looked over at them and snorted.

Elrohir stepped forwards, tapping Elladan on the arm as he did so, until they could both see into the stall. A man was in there, busy unbuckling the horse's saddle and taking off the various things strapped to it. He was wearing a dark green leather coat that hung down to his knees, and a sword was at his side.

Elladan's eyes widened, and he felt Elrohir grab his arm. "Estel?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

Aragorn turned suddenly, a massive grin on his face. "Elladan!" he cried out. "Elrohir!" Dropping the horse's saddle on the floor he ran out of the stall and pulled the two elves into an embrace.

Elladan and Elrohir both laughed and embraced Aragorn back, smiles coming across both of their faces. "How come you are here?" asked Elrohir, pulling back and looking Aragorn over. "I thought you were in the North."

"I came back," said Aragorn. "I haven't slept in a real bed for over a year. Besides," he said with a small smile. "I've missed being here. I've missed all of you."

"Come," said Elladan with a smile. "Adar does not know you are here, does he? Let us surprise him." Large grins were not on both of the twins' faces, and to Aragorn they were sorely missed smiles. He wearied of the distrust he received out in the wild sometimes, and often now longed for the smiles of his brothers.

He laughed. "Elbereth, it is good to be back."

Elrond was in the midst of trying to find a rather important scroll of parchment when he heard the pounding of feet from outside. He sighed. He expected it was Elladan and Elrohir, telling him that they were leaving soon.

The sound of running feet stopped outside his door, and then there was a knock. Elrond sighed. "Come in," he called out.

He looked up as the door opened and Elrohir put his head around the wooden door. "What is it?" asked Elrond. It was only then that he noticed the smile on Elrohir's face. That left him thoroughly confused. Elladan and Elrohir were meant to be angry at him, wanting to leave and ride out with the Rangers. Not smiling at him like they had found something that he was going to love.

Elrohir pushed open the door. "Look who we found," he said. And then Aragorn appeared in the doorway.

Elrond tried not to let his jaw drop. "Estel?" he asked, almost not believing his son, albeit not by blood, was standing in the doorway to his study.

"Or Aragorn," said Aragorn. "Or Strider, actually. Or…"

"We get the point, brother," said Elladan with a smile, coming up on the other side of Aragorn. "Our point is, look what finally managed to drag itself back home."

Elrond smiled. "How long can you stay, ion?" he asked, coming closer and looking Aragorn over. He looked alright, but weary, and though he was smiling it looked like he hadn't had many chances to do so over the years.

Aragorn shrugged. "A month, maybe more," he replied. "Gandalf wants me to help him with something in the spring, but the wilds are surprisingly peaceful right now, and Halbarad told me to come back and get some rest."

"He's a wise man," said Elrohir with a smile. "Welcome back, little brother. It's been far too long." And it had been far too long. Elladan and Elrohir occasionally saw Aragorn out in the wilds, as they often rode with the Rangers, but most of the time Aragorn wasn't with the Rangers, off with Gandalf or on his own.

Aragorn smiled. It was good to be back.

"Do you remember…" asked Aragorn slowly, leaning on the balcony outside of the Hall of Fire. "When I was a child? If it snowed, you would wake me up really early and drag me outside. We would have a snow fight, and make snow figures."

"Aye, we remember," said Elrohir, the twins leaning on either side of Aragorn. "But that was a long time ago, little brother."

"If I can remember it, then you can," said Aragorn. He chuckled. "You always used to wear a few more layers of clothes, so I wouldn't feel out of place, having to keep warm." He laughed again. "I saw through that one by the time I was eleven."

Elladan chuckled. "We've missed you, Estel," he said, leaning into Aragorn. "Adar has been worried, we think. Things are peaceful now, but it is only the calm before the proverbial storm."

"I know," said Aragorn. "It's not so easy to see in this valley, but outside here there are signs. Some people are starting to move west. They say that they no longer feel safe under the shadow of the Hithaeglir. The lands right at the edge of the mountains are emptying."

"We don't have to dwell on that now," said Elrohir. "We still have time."

Aragorn nodded. "I've spent quite a bit of time around the Shire in the past few years," he said. "Never in it, of course, but ever since Bilbo's adventure Gandalf has asked the Rangers to keep an eye on the borders. Apparently they celebrate this time of year. They call it Yule."

"Why celebrate the middle of winter?" asked Elladan. "There isn't exactly anything particularly good about it."

Aragorn shrugged. "They give each other presents, have meals together. There must be something worth celebrating."

"All that there is in the middle of winter is snow, which the Shire doesn't get, and the cold, which isn't particularly special," said Elrohir. "It isn't even as if winter starts to fade around this time. We still have a month more or so of snow and cold."

"Like I said, there must be something," said Aragorn.

"Or it's a distraction from the fact that the middle of winter, they cannot grow crops or farm, their stores are slowly depleting and the cold brings the risk of illness."

Aragorn looked over at Elladan in surprise. "That was bitter," he said. "You two have been away from here too much."

"Why do you say that?" asked Elrohir, his voice falling blank and flat. He looked out over the gardens of Imladris, slowly turning white under the snow. He supposed the periannath, the hobbits, as Bilbo had called himself, found it peaceful. To be honest, he now found the snow irritating. It just made travel more difficult.

"It's obvious," said Aragorn. "Both of you used to love it when it snowed. Said it reminded you of winter days with your mother. Good memories, not the ones that prompted you to go out hunting. But now I come back to find you itching to leave, after only being here for a few weeks. I know you are tired of it all, believe me I do. I have spent years, now, many years being hunted by the enemy, covering my tracks wherever I went because otherwise I would be found."

Aragorn sighed, leaning on the balcony. "You're tired, and the end is in sight, and you just want it to be over. But that doesn't mean you get to turn bitter. That doesn't mean that you can spend all of your time away from here because it's just easier." He finished there, looking at both of them defiantly.

Both Elladan and Elrohir smiled at Aragorn. "You've grown," said Elladan. "When did you become so wise?"

"Spending years in the wild teaches wisdom," replied Aragorn. "But I'll tell you why the hobbits celebrate Yule in the Shire. It's because they, in their small homes protected by us, without them ever knowing, still have hope. They don't know an end is coming, and we keep it that way. The only things they have to worry about are what gifts to get people, whether they should serve lamb or beef for Yule. So they celebrate, because they have no reason not to. And though we have never celebrated anything at midwinter, it doesn't mean we can't find something good about it. Just because we are so tired, it doesn't mean we cannot have hope."

There was silence.

Elrohir sighed. Aragorn was right. Both of them were tired, tired of fighting, of living out in the wilderness on the run. But every time they returned to Imladris they felt like they were being useless. The end was coming. They should be doing as much as they could to ensure it was not their end.

Elladan leant on the balcony. "I guess the snow is quite beautiful," he murmured.

"And it's nice to have all three of us in the same place," said Elrohir. "And for that place to be home."

"See," said Aragorn. "You can find something good about the middle of winter. We're home, and I get to see my family again. So tell me that isn't worth celebrating, brothers."

Elladan and Elrohir both said nothing, but they moved closer to Aragorn, and Elrohir placed one hand on Aragorn's shoulder, gently squeezing it. They stayed there late into the night, talking about where they had been over the years, where they were going next, but not once did any of their voices turn bitter.

And in the morning, Elladan and Elrohir dragged Aragorn out of bed and dumped him in the largest drift of snow that they could find.

0-o-0-o-0

Rivendell, December 20th of the year T.A. 3018

"What day is it today, Sam?"

Sam paused to look up at Frodo, sitting on the edge of the couch on the balcony, out where Frodo had first seen Merry and Pippin when he had awoken. Sam was already starting to pack, two days after Elrond announced the seven others who would be accompanying them to Mordor. He had his pack with them and was muttering about rope.

"I don't rightly know," replied Sam. "Time's a little strange here. It's like you can't keep track of the days anymore. It's pleasant, until you try to think about it."

"I know what you mean," replied Frodo. "Maybe one of the Elves would know, or Strider. He must be more used to the way time works here. Didn't he say he dwelt here for a while?"

"He did," said Sam. "I'd like to know the day, though. I was only just thinking that it's going to be Yule in the Shire soon. They'll be having their meals and giving presents, whilst we start walking."

"Don't be so glum, Sam!" exclaimed Frodo. "Why, for all we know Elves celebrate Yule as well. And even if they don't, I hardly imagine we would have been celebrating much if we had stayed in the Shire. We have to make do with the best we've got, Sam."

"I know that," said Sam, starting to pack away the things around him haphazardly. He smiled sheepishly. "And every meal here is like a feast, Master Frodo, so we shan't be missing out."

Frodo smiled. "We won't, Sam," he said. "And we have days until we are leaving. You do not need to be ready now!" He chuckled, but from inside his own head it sounded forced. His hand went to his chest and he ran one finger down the chain around his neck before forcing himself to stop.

He wouldn't tell Sam, but he would give a lot to be back in the Shire celebrating Yule right now. And he doubted the Elves celebrated it. They all seemed rather above it.

"Let's head inside, Sam," said Frodo, standing up and slipping his jacket on. "It should be lunch soon, and I know you look forwards to it."

Sam had the good grace to look sheepish. "It's very good food, Master Frodo. It would be a crime not to give it the respect it deserves." And it was good food. Even the simple things, like bread rolls, tasted far different from at home.

As they walked inside they heard the sound of a light elven voice coming from the stairs leading down towards where they were. At the same time Frodo saw Merry and Pippin approaching from where their room was.

"Cousin!" cried Pippin as he saw them. "And Sam, of course." He and Merry reached the two other hobbits, and Frodo smiled at them.

"Do you two know what day it is?" he asked. "Neither Sam or I can remember."

Pippin frowned. "Day?" he asked. "I can barely remember that it is December. What about you Merry?" He turned to his friend.

"Well, we've been here since late October," said Merry. "And it is somewhat late December now, if I am right. But I don't know what day it is, Frodo. You'll have to work that one out for yourself. Time seems to run strangely here."

"That is what I was saying," said Sam, nodding sagely as if he had known it all along. "I'd bet time for Elves is different to time for the rest of us. After all, they're Elves, aren't they?"

"But does that mean we are close to Yule?" asked Pippin. He paused, frowning. "Wait, do Elves even celebrate Yule?"

"I don't know, Pippin," said Frodo. "Strider might know the answer to both of our questions."

"Know the answer to which questions?" came a low voice from above them. All four of the hobbits jumped, Frodo discreetly turning the hand that slipped to his chest to a hand going to Sam's shoulder.

Strider, or Aragorn, as Frodo remembered, stood on the stairs above them. He was dressed in finer clothes than what the hobbits had seen him in on their journey, an elven tunic and leggings. Still, though, he wore his dark green leather coat over the top, and at his side was his sword.

There came the faintest sound of running feet, and then another figure came into view. Legolas ran down the stairs lightly, coming to a stop next to Aragorn. He was dressed in his usual green and browns, and was wearing no weapons that Frodo could see. But he looked alert, like a cat that could pounce at any moment, and suddenly Frodo doubted his assumption that the Elf was wearing no weapons just because he could not see them.

"What might you know the answer to?" asked Legolas, his accent light and lilting. He smiled cheerfully at the hobbits and Merry, Pippin and Sam, who were still not at all accustomed to Elves, grinned sheepishly back.

Frodo, who had a little more common sense and, thanks to Bilbo, some more grounding in people besides hobbits, bowed slightly to Legolas, with one hand over his heart. "Mae govannen, Legolas," he said, trying very hard not to trip over the Elvish.

Legolas raised one eyebrow, and then smiled in delight. "Mae govannen, Master Baggins," he said, bowing in return. "What might Est- Aragorn know the answer to? I should warn you, he is not as wise as he may seem."

A rarely seen smile came across Aragorn's face, and he muttered something under his breath that made Legolas chuckle.

It was Sam, to Merry and Pippin's surprise, who spoke up first. "Begging your pardon, Strider, and Mister Legolas, but we were wondering if you knew what day it was. Time doesn't seem to run right for us hobbits here in Rivendell, though it's a wonderful place indeed. But we don't seem to know what the day is."

Aragorn frowned. "December the twentieth, by Shire reckoning," he said. "It's nearly Yule, is it not?" The hobbits didn't question how Strider knew about their midwinter traditions. Merry and Pippin especially were quite sure Strider knew most things worth knowing.

Pippin jumped at the chance to ask their other question. "Do Elves celebrate Yule, Strider?" he asked. Suddenly realising that an actual Elf was standing next to Strider, he turned to Legolas with a pink blush to his cheeks. "Do you celebrate Yule, Legolas?"

Legolas frowned, and turned to Aragorn. "What is Yule?" he asked. "I have never heard of that."

"It's like a midwinter celebrations," said Merry, chiming in. "We have meals together and give each other presents. It's all great fun."

Legolas shook his head. "We do not celebrate anything like that in my home," he said.

"You don't celebrate Yule?" asked Pippin, incredulous. "Why not?" He couldn't imagine anyone who didn't want to celebrate Yule in midwinter.

"What is the point?" asked Legolas. "What is there to celebrate about midwinter?"

Pippin shrugged. "Nothing much," he replied, completely forgetting his awe of Elves as he got into the conversation. "Just good food and good drink, friends and family and the like. Nothing particularly special. But then it is all special at the same time."

Legolas smiled. "Those are good reasons, I suppose." He turned to Aragorn. "We should go. Your brothers wanted to talk with us." He bowed to the hobbits, and gently tugged Aragorn's sleeve. The four hobbits watched as they descended the stairs and began to walk the other way.

"Why don't you celebrate Yule, Legolas?"

Legolas stopped, and turned towards Frodo, who had asked the question. "I don't fully know, Master Baggins," he replied. "It's not any sort of tradition for any elves. For a wood elf like myself, there is no reason to celebrate the time of year when nature is quietest. But I would also say, Master Baggins, that we do not make a habit in Mirkwood of celebrating friends and family, because it is just a reminder of the ones who aren't there, or the ones who will be lost in years to come."

The four hobbits watched as Legolas smiled softly, and turned to leave with Aragorn. Sam was wondering how Legolas, looking so cheerful one moment, could look so different the next, so much older. Sam would later swear that he could see the blond elf's eyes change as he said those words, become older, sadder.

Pippin was wondering, and voicing, how Legolas could use that as a reason when, in his opinion, if there was a chance of loosing your friends or family, then that was all the more reason to celebrate with them when you had the chance. Merry was busy telling him to be quiet, because Elves had very good hearing.

But Frodo was silent, watching the retreating backs of Aragorn and Legolas as they walked away. And a small smile creased the corners of his mouth as he saw Aragorn close the gap between the two of them, and his hand gently brush Legolas' arm, until the blond elf reached out himself and did the same.

Aragorn rolled his eyes at the soft thud of footsteps outside on his balcony. "I have a door, you know," he said, not taking his eyes from the map in front of him.

Legolas walked over and sat on the edge of the table. "Where is the fun in that?" he asked. "Your balcony presents a little more of a challenge." Aragorn chuckled, but his eyes strayed back to the map and he frowned.

"I am surprised you are not with Mithrandir," said Legolas looking down at the map. "You normally talk these things over with him."

"He's talking to Elrond," muttered Aragorn. "Do you want to say anything about a possible route?"

Legolas held up his hands in mock protest. "I know absolutely nothing of any area of Middle Earth besides Mirkwood and here," he said. "I am not well travelled, Aragorn, and you know that. Just like I know little of battle planning. I fight in trees, in Mirkwood. I would be useless."

Aragorn grimaced, and straightened up from the table, stretching out his back. "It's no use," he said. "I will have to talk to Gandalf later." He looked over at Legolas. "So you are coming, then?"

Legolas' face grew serious. "I gave your father my word. I am coming."

"But maybe not all the way," said Aragorn. As Legolas frowned he held up a hand, stopping the blond elf from speaking. "I mean nothing by it, mellon-nin. I am not asking you to come all the way."

"I am," said Legolas. "Lord Elrond said that because I did not say to him, and neither did the Dwarf Gimli, that we would go all the way. But, and as much as I dislike repeating what a Dwarf said, it would be faithless to leave halfway through the journey. I am coming, Aragorn. And I highly doubt that your father thinks any different."

"I don't want you to feel that you are abandoning your home for this journey," said Aragorn in protest. "You are needed there as well."

"You don't think I know that?" asked Legolas with a mirthless laugh. "I know by going with you, to protect Frodo, I am abandoning my home. But I cannot stand by and watch as you leave, knowing I am not doing all that I can to help. Besides, I made a promise to myself long ago that I would watch out for you, Aragorn. So I must follow you. Otherwise you will probably get yourself killed at least twice."

Aragorn chuckled. "True," he said. "And I am glad you are coming, even if it a selfish desire to know where you are, to know you are not beneath Mirkwood's boughs where I cannot protect you. And you are one of the best archers I know. Either way, I am glad."

Legolas smiled. "As am I," he murmured. He heard the sound of excited voices, and turned to see Merry and Pippin run down the corridor, chattering excitedly. Legolas caught the word 'gifts', and frowned.

"What is so special about Yule to them?" he asked Aragorn, slipping off the edge of the table to stand next to the man.

Aragorn smiled. "Hobbits are amazing creatures," he said. "They will be merry about almost anything. But Yule, I think, is a celebration because they do not know how bleak winter can be. They do not have to worry about anything beyond the Shire. It is just a chance, for them, to remember what they have without a fear of it being missing the next year. And no hobbit will turn up a chance for good food and drink."

Legolas chuckled. "I still don't really see the point of it."

Aragorn shrugged. "That is why I like it," he said. "It doesn't have to have a point. It is tradition, carried out by a people who enjoy being merry for the sake of being merry." He smiled softly. "It reminds me of what it is we are trying to protect."

Legolas smiled, his hand grasping Aragorn's shoulder briefly. "It must be nice," he said. "Being merry for the sake of being merry." His smile faded slightly. "I doubt there will be much to celebrate in the coming months."

"You never know," said Aragorn. "Chance brought us all here at the right time. Maybe chance will bring us through to the other side, whatever that might be. We might make it, mellon-nin. You don't know."

"I suppose we don't, but we both know which way it is more likely to go," said Legolas softly. He smiled as he heard the raised voices of the hobbits again. "I wonder what a midwinter celebration is like in the Shire."

"If we get through this, I might ask the hobbits to throw one for all of us," said Aragorn. He reached behind him and pulled forwards two goblets, filling them with wine. "Here," he said, passing one to Legolas. "To the possibility, and nothing more, of many midwinters to come."

Legolas smiled, and raised his goblet. "To the midwinters that might come," he echoed. "May they be merry."

0-o-0-o-0

Minas Tirith, December 25th of the year T.A 3025, or the third year of the Fourth Age

"It looks like snow, laddie."

Aragorn glanced up at Gimli, who was standing looking out the window. "It doesn't snow in Gondor," he said with a smile. "It's too far south."

"Aye, and that didn't stop the Long Winter from creeping down," said Gimli with a grin. "I've seen plenty of snow clouds over Erebor, and those clouds out there," he said, pointing out the window. "Look like snow clouds."

Aragorn smiled, and Gimli ambled over and sat down in the opposite chair to Aragorn, in front of the roaring fire. They were high up in Minas Tirith, in the living quarters of the citadel. Aragorn and Gimli were sat in what was Aragorn's study, his desk at the other side of the room. But he did not have to sit at it tonight. Tonight, his crown was on the side by his dresser.

"It's been six years," murmured Aragorn, taking a sip of wine and swirling the goblet in his hand. "It seems like yesterday."

"Aye, and yet it seems like an Age ago," said Gimli. "But come, laddie, do not dwell on that. By all accounts you spend a little too much time thinking on that."

Aragorn grinned. "And I suppose by 'all accounts', you mean Legolas?" He laughed at Gimli's sheepish face. "That elf cannot keep a secret."

Gimli snorted and shook his head. "Aragorn, laddie, it's hardly a secret to either him or me. We were there with you." He took a gulp of wine, and grinned. "This is good wine."

"It was a present from Thranduil," said Aragorn, laughing as he saw Gimli's smile diminish. "Come, now, you have met him!" he said. "He is not that bad."

"He is terrifying, and don't you deny it," replied Gimli, his face cracking in a grin. "But aye, he is not that bad. He dotes on Legolas."

Aragorn chuckled. "I know," he said. "You have not seem him when Legolas has been injured. He remains collected until any of his people are out of the room, and then starts acting like any protective father."

"He does really love that dratted elf," said Gimli with a smile. He took another gulp of wine. "And the wine is rather good." He looked out of the window, at the grey clouds gathered over the city. "How is the city?"

"Hard work," said Aragorn with a smile. "How is Argalond? It's been three years by now."

"Argalond is going well," said Gimli with a small smile. "It's slow progress with the caverns. Some days we do nothing more than take a small chunk of rock away with a tap of a hammer. But the Dwarves are getting along well with the people of Rohan." Gimli chuckled. "They are learning how well Dwarves hold their liquor, I think."

Aragorn laughed. "That is good," he said. "And I am glad that the relations between you and Rohan are good. Legolas only just came to Ithilien with the other elves of Eryn Lasgalen this year, and still people are rather wary of them." He grinned. "My councillors, I think, are slightly in awe. Some of them still blush whenever Arwen talks to them."

Gimli chuckled. "Where is the Lady Evenstar?" he asked.

Aragorn smiled fondly. "She was telling a tale to Eldarion," he said. "He won't settle down. Says he is too excited." He chuckled at the memories of Eldarion bouncing up and down on his lap, asking when his uncles were going to get here.

"I haven't seem him in months," mused Gimli. "He must have grown."

"Aye, he has," said Aragorn with a smile. Eldarion was three now, and now had discovered the joys of running rings around anyone in the citadel. The only people he couldn't persuade to do anything were Arwen, Eowyn, and surprisingly, Faramir. Aragorn was still having trouble not giving in. To be honest, he was still having trouble adjusting to being a father.

"Speaking of my son," said Aragorn, tipping his head to one side as he smiled. "I think even Arwen has not managed to get him to settle down tonight."

The door burst open, and then a very excited young boy ran in, a large smile across his face as he skidded to a halt and then sprinted for where Aragorn and Gimli were sitting. "Ada!" he called out. "Ada! Uncle Gimli! Look who I found!"

Aragorn swept Eldarion up into his arms. "Who did you find, penneth?" he asked, looking over to the door. His smile grew when the door, which was swinging shut, was pushed open again and two identical elves appeared in the doorway.

Aragorn stood up, letting Eldarion slide from his lap to the floors. He turned to the two figures standing in the doorway. "You took your time."

Elrohir laughed. "It is good to see you too, brother." He and Elladan stepped forwards, embracing Aragorn in greetings.

Aragorn grinned, and then looked down. "Penneth, could you let go of my leg?" he asked Eldarion, who was clinging to it tightly and grinning up at him. "Your uncles are here."

"I know!" said Eldarion. "I found them."

"Aye, you did," said Elladan, crouching down and opening his arms. Eldarion hesitated for a moment, and then let go of Aragorn's leg and launched himself at Elladan. Elladan caught him and swung him up. He handed him back to Aragorn.

"Have a child," he said. "We spent years with you clinging to us. I am not about to become another child's plaything." He turned to Gimli, who had risen from his chair. Both of the brothers bowed.

"Greetings, Master Dwarf," said Elrohir. Gimli bowed back, and the two elves moved over, dragging over chairs from the other side of the room to sit by the fire with Aragorn, Gimli and now Eldarion. The young child was sitting at Aragorn's feet, but decided that he wanted to move and scrambled over to Gimli's chair.

"Uncle Gimli," he said in a pleading voice, holding his arms up. Gimli chuckled and bent down, picking him up placing him in his lap.

"As long as you don't pull the beard," he warned, and the twins chuckled. Elladan reached for the goblets out on the side and the flagon of wine, and poured two glasses for himself and Elrohir.

"We know the perils," said Elrohir with a smile. "We helped raise you, Aragorn, and at Eldarion's age, there wasn't a day where you didn't try to grasp out hair at least once."

Gimli raised one eyebrow. "You knew him as a child?" he asked, nodding at Aragorn. "He must have been a handful."

Aragorn gasped in mock protest. "I feel outnumbered," he protested good-naturedly. "And I definitely wasn't that bad." He remembered his childhood days in Rivendell with a sad fondness, of days spent trying to read his way through the library, a feat deemed eventually impossible, or days of the twins playing with him throughout the gardens and woods of Imladris.

Things had been easier then. Of course they had been- he had been a child, with no idea of who he was or what was happening beyond the sheltered valley in which he lived. But he could not go back to those days, and, as the door opened again and Arwen entered, smiling softly at the sight of Eldarion being bounced on Gimli's knee, Aragorn rather thought he didn't want to.

"Do not overexcite him, Gimli," warned Arwen, coming to perch elegantly on the arm of Aragorn's chair, her dark blue gown flowing down to the floor. "He will not sleep otherwise."

"Do what we used to do with Aragorn," said Elladan with a grin. "Play with him until he is so worn out he falls asleep straight away."

Arwen frowned at her brothers. "I hope you are not encouraging him, Elladan," she said, but her tone was light and a smile soon came across her face. "I will not have Eldarion picking up any of your habits. After finally managing to escape from the both of you, I will not have my son become too much like you two."

"I am wounded," jested Elrohir. "I thought we were fine role models."

"Middling at best," said Aragorn with a laugh. He reached for the flagon of wine and topped up everyone's goblets, snaring one for Arwen as he went. Arwen gently smoothed down Aragorn's unruly hair from where she was sat, a soft smile on her face.

"Legolas is arriving from Ithilien, isn't he?" she asked. "He is meant to be here."

This was indeed meant to be some sort of informal meal between friends, something Aragorn had decided on after remembering that the hobbits celebrated Yule around this time. Aragorn leant into Arwen slightly. "He might have been held up in Ithilien," he said. "They've been having a little trouble with-"

Arwen cut him off with a light cough, and then a pointed look at Eldarion. "No business tonight," she reminded him with a light smack on the arm. Aragorn chuckled, and nodded.

"He should be here soon," he said, glancing out of the window at the growing darkness. "It's only a short ride from Ithilien."

As if on cue, the door suddenly creaked open. A blond head looked around the door. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Leg'las!" cried an excited voice, and then Eldarion launched himself off Gimli's lap and flew towards Legolas. Legolas swung the door open and crouched down, catching Aragorn's son as he jumped at him. The blond elf laughed, swinging Eldarion up high before settling him on his hip.

"You've grown," he said with a smile to the small child, ruffling Eldarion's dark curly locks with one hand.

Eldarion beamed. "I have," he said proudly. "I will be as tall as Uncle Gimli soon!"

Legolas laughed. "Is that so?" he asked. His gaze turned to Aragorn. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Something came up that needed my attention." Some of his elves had found evidence of men camping in areas of Ithilien, and he had needed to organise a few things before he left. And then by the time he left, it had been getting dark. His eyes may work well enough in the dark, but Arod's did not, and he had to ride more slowly than usual.

"Doesn't it always," said Aragorn wryly, standing up and clasping Legolas' free arm in greetings. The rest of them greeted Legolas, as best as they could when a child was clinging to the blond elf's side, and then Legolas, due to the lack of chairs in Aragorn's study, sat at the feet of Gimli's chair, leaning his head against the Dwarf's legs. Eldarion was on his lap, playing with a lock of long blond hair.

"It's good to see you, elf," said Gimli, his voice fond. "How are you doing?" One hand dropped onto Legolas' shoulder briefly.

"I am well," said Legolas softly, a smile coming across his face. He knew Gimli meant more specific things with the question, things that both he and Aragorn tended to skirt around, but he was actually doing fine. He was so busy in Ithilien that it completely took his mind off the sea. "Things are going well in Ithilien. You should come out for a visit soon, mellon-nin. The forests are looking so much better."

"Where are we going?" asked Eldarion suddenly, clambering around on Legolas' lap. Unfortunately, the lock of Legolas' hair remained in his hand and Legolas winced as Eldarion tugged on it, his head tilting to one side as Eldarion, still using Legolas as a climbing frame, pulled on it even more.

"Eldarion!" said Arwen sharply. She slipped into Sindarin. Eldarion was fluent in both languages, as Aragorn and Arwen spoke Sindarin just as much as they spoke Westron. Aragorn had discovered it was also a useful way to talk to Faramir in front of the councillors without them knowing what they were saying, as Faramir had picked up a little of the language from scrolls in the archive.

"Let go of Legolas' hair," she said sternly. "We have told you to stop doing that."

Eldarion's smile drooped, and he let go of Legolas' hair. "Sorry, nana," he said.

"It is not me you should be apologising to," said Arwen, but her voice was lighter and she smiled softly, letting Eldarion know she was not as angry as he might think she was.

Eldarion twisted in Legolas' lap and looked up at the blond elf. "Sorry, Leg'las."

Legolas smiled. "It is forgotten," he said. He bounced Eldarion on his lap a little. He had first met Aragorn and Arwen's child when Eldarion was only a few months old, visiting from home. From nearly the moment since Eldarion could talk, he, along with the rest of the Fellowship still left in Middle Earth and the twins, had become his uncles, even if the twins were the only uncles by blood.

"Here," said Elladan. "I'll trade you. Have a glass of wine, and I'll take my nephew." Legolas chuckled and handed Eldarion over, taking the goblet in return. It was fully dark outside now, the stars obscured by the clouds that may or may not be snow clouds. The fire was flickering pleasantly in the study, the red light filling the room.

Legolas took a sip, and then frowned at the goblet. "My wine?" he asked, swirling it in the goblet.

"Your father's," said Elrohir, holding his wine glass carefully out of Eldarion's curious reach. "So you have no claim to it, mellon-nin."

Gimli chuckled, and Legolas tipped his head back to smile at the Dwarf.

Suddenly there came a gasp from Eldarion, who was doing his best to clamber up Elladan and over the back of the chair. "Look!" he cried, pointing at the window with massive grin across his face. "Look Ada! Look Nana! Look!"

Everyone's gaze turned to the window, where against the dark night sky could be seen snowflakes, drifting down past the window. They glinted in the firelight.

"Snow!" cried Eldarion. He changed direction, sliding down Elladan and jumping off the chair. "Come on!" he grabbed Aragorn's hand and started tugging at it, trying to pull Aragorn towards the door.

Aragorn laughed, and then swept Eldarion into his arms. "Let us go and look, penneth," he said, and Eldarion bounced in his arms in excitement. The others stood, Gimli pulling Legolas up from where the elf was sat on the floor.

"It really is good to see you again, laddie," he said gruffly as they headed outside, an excited Eldarion leading the way.

"Likewise," said Legolas with a smile. "Though the city does bring back some memories, mellon-nin." He had spent a fair amount of time in Minas Tirith, first visiting from Eryn Lasgalen, formerly Mirkwood, and then visiting from Ithilien. But still, every time he rode through those gates, rode across the Pelennor towards the white tower, he could see the multitude of dead lying across the fields. He could see the orcs cutting down anyone in their path, men, women and children alike. He could see again, just as he had seen it on that day, all the horrors of war that he knew far too well.

Gimli grunted in agreement. "I know it does, laddie. But you'd do best trying to forget it. It doesn't do to dwell in the past, you know that."

"I do," said Legolas softly. "But it is a hard thing to forget, Gimli."

Gimli's face softened. "You're telling me," he murmured. They walked in silent companionship behind the twins, with Aragorn in front. Eldarion was still towing him towards the doors leading out to the citadel, and Arwen was close behind, a broad smile across her face.

Eldarion finally reached the doors and stood up on his toes, reaching in vain for the handle. He turned around to Arwen. "Nana, open it!" he called out. Arwen merely raised one eyebrow, and Eldarion pouted. "Saes."

"Of course, penneth," said Arwen sweetly, turning the handle and pushing open the door. Eldarion squealed with excitement and ran outside, letting go of Aragorn's hand. The man, four elves and one dwarf followed him.

Outside the snow was beginning to fall more quickly, large white flakes drifting down out of the sky. Gimli chuckled. "I told you they were snow clouds, laddie," he said, coming to stand by Aragorn's side.

Aragorn smiled, but said nothing. He watched as Eldarion ran forwards, trying to catch a flake on his tongue. Arwen followed him, and then Elladan and Elrohir went out into the courtyard as well, Elrohir sweeping Eldarion up and tossing him up into the sky, only to catch him again and spin him around. After Arwen's admonishment, he didn't do that again.

Legolas laughed at the sight. "We are blessed," he said in a soft voice. "For this to now be our lives. The Valar know we have earned it."

"Aye, we all have," said Gimli. "With the price paid, we have earned it. And yet it was not us who paid the price, not really." It still, to all of them, seemed a little selfish that they were standing here when so many others were now buried because of the War, because of what they had started upon leaving Rivendell. It would have happened regardless of what they had done, and if they had not all happened to be in Imladris at the same time, then there would have been an even greater price to pay for failure, but still, the guilt was heavy and hard to shake off.

Aragorn sighed slightly, looking out across the courtyard. "It was six years ago today that we left Rivendell," he said quietly. "Six years ago today when that foolish journey started." He looked over at Legolas and Gimli. "I remember thinking that day that the journey was almost definitely set to fail. We had such a small chance."

"And if it weren't for a huge amount of luck and two brave hobbits, then we would have had no chance," mused Legolas. Aye, the guilt was hard to shake indeed.

"At this time in the Shire they will be celebrating Yule," said Aragorn. "They will have lights lit in every home from the edge of the West Farthing to Buckland." He smiled sadly at the memories. He had never been in the Shire, of course, for any period of time. As a Ranger he had occasionally passed through it, or stayed around the edge. They had protected it, after all. But the hobbits had never known he was there.

But he did remember one midwinter night, when he was staying in the woods just outside the Shire. It had been the first day of Yule in the Shire, and every light had been on in all the villages he could see. Even from where he was, Aragorn could hear the sounds of merrymaking drifting up from the nearest village of the Shire.

"Pippin mentioned it a few times," said Gimli. "Walking through Hollin. Something similar happens in Rohan. It's a midwinters celebration."

"Aye," said Aragorn. "They have feasts, give each other presents, that sort of thing. It's a tradition in the Shire. I don't know where it came from, but they do love it there."

Legolas smiled. "Pippin, I think it was, asked about it a few days before we left Rivendell. Seemed shocked that elves have no such celebrations." He smiled at the memories. "But then Pippin would be shocked at something like that."

"They do not celebrate a thing like that in Gondor?" asked Gimli.

"A little, but not as large as in the Shire," said Aragorn. "We should make more of a celebrations out of it. Celebrate Yule here." His smile softened. "I think Frodo would like that. I know Sam, Merry and Pippin would."

Gimli nodded. "They would," he said. Out on the courtyard, Eldarion squealed with delight as he pulled some of the settling snow together into a rough ball and threw it at Elrohir. Gimli chuckled in delight at the sight.

"Uncle Gimli!" called Eldarion, running up and grabbing hold of Gimli's hand. "Come join us!"

Gimli laughed, and low chuckle in his throat. "If I must," he said. He let Eldarion pull him down the steps and onto the courtyard.

Aragorn and Legolas both laughed as Eldarion ran around the courtyard with glee. "A midwinters celebration might be a nice thing," said Legolas softly.

Aragorn looked over at him, catching the melancholy in his voice. "You realise that the war is over," he said softly.

Legolas looked back at him. "Honestly, no, I still don't," he murmured. "I still wake up wondering when next I am due on patrol. I still can't look at a crowd without wondering who will still be alive in the coming months."

"It's going to take a lot longer than six years for the scars to fade," said Aragorn. "Believe me, I know." He still woke up in the night screaming Halbarad's name, or Boromir's, or anyone else who died or who was even there. He'd woken up shouting Legolas' name a few times, dreaming of the elf being killed. The same for any others of the Fellowship, or anyone else he cared about who had been caught up in that war.

"But I get it," said Legolas. "I get what Pippin was talking about, when he was explaining why they celebrate Yule." There was something special about remembering something not very special at all. After all every person, if they were lucky, had family. And, thought Legolas as he glanced over at Aragorn, as he watched the others in the courtyard, family never has to end with blood.

Legolas smiled, looking out over the courtyard that was slowly disappearing under snow. "It is a good tradition," he said with a sigh.

"Aye," murmured Aragorn. "It is." Together they watched as the snowflakes fell, covering this midwinter in white.

The End.