12: Nice Things

YES! I never finish what I start, but here is the last of twelve stories written in thirteen days, to wrap up the whole tunic saga! Thank you SerenLyall for the whole idea! Good wishes to everyone during their wintertime festivities and shenanigans!

Genre: Romance, fluff, and Bombadillian silliness. Rating: K

T.A 2459

Eve of the Winter Solstice

"Are all of the biscuits done?" Celebrían asked.

"Yes, Elladan is pulling the last of them out right now," Elrond replied. "We have the right number of chairs?"

"Yes, and the feastware is being set out too."

"All of the bonfires are being tended?"

"All of the bonfires and luminaries."

"And we are not running to and fro in a panic to get ready for the feast…. Either we're forgetting something or we're getting good at this," Elrond said, smiling at his wife. Celebrían returned with a smirk, and looked him up and down.

"You haven't forgotten to change into your nice clothing, have you?"

"Of course not! The tunic your mother gave me has been washed and is hanging out by the fires to dry." In truth, Elrond had forgotten that he was still wearing a plain woolen shirt and surcoat and he knew Celebrían knew that he'd forgotten, but she simply smiled at him.

"If anything happens to that tunic, husband of mine, you know my father will not be happy. That piece took them ages to put together." Elrond had been surprised it had not taken them longer than it had. The gold and garnet embroidery was like nothing he had ever seen – even on Gil-galad's fine vestments.

"I would sooner fear the wrath of your mother than your father, and that is indeed saying something… but it is in no danger right now. I'm not even wearing it. When are your parents arriving, by the way?" he asked, going to the window of their chambers and gazing down on the preparations below.

"Soon, I think," said Celebrían. "I am surprised they have not come sooner. They were happy to hear that Iarwain Ben-adar would be joining us at the feast this year. I imagine they have much to talk about."

"Iarwain is also later than I would have expected," mused Elrond. "Then again there is quite a bit of snow off towards his forest."

"What is it they call him out there? The men and hobbits?"

"The men and hobbits call him Tom Bombadil," Elrond replied, and the name sent him smiling again, and Celebrían as well. She edged closer to him to twine her arm around his, and rest her head against his shoulder. They watched Imladris below as it prepared for the coming feast: cooks dashing about with ingredients and utensils, going between the kitchens and the root cellars; the young ones setting out the ice luminaries that they had made over the course of weeks; Glorfindel passed by, headed for the stables to ready one of the sleighs. The euphony of harps and flutes played with the wind as the musicians tuned and straightened notes.

"Elrond, go get your tunic now," Celebrían said suddenly. "No doubt it is dry. Take it in so it can warm up before you have to put it on."

"A wise idea. Where will you go?"

"Down to light the luminaries. You know how my parents love to see the luminaries when they arrive."

Elrond took the stone-cut stairs down towards the gardens and headed for the bonfire near which he had hung the decorated tunic. Halfway there a sort of rollicking waterfall of hoots came to his ears from near the pavilions, and he recognized the laugh of Iarwain. So the forest man had arrived without his noticing. Elvish voices replied in laughter and words and Elrond told himself that after he took his tunic inside, he would find Iarwain – not a challenging task – to give him a proper welcome. He came to the bonfire clearing and saw Iarwain's pony, lounging near the rails. No doubt it had not been an easy journey through the snow; Elrond made a mental note to be sure to give Iarwain some fresh vegetables for his pony.

The mental note was immediately forgotten as his eyes settled on the rack next to the fire. Empty. His tunic was gone.

Calmly, he sized up the situation.

Had it caught fire? No, he had taken very special care not to put it so close as to endanger it. The rack was much too far away. Besides, the wooden poles would have caught fire as well.

Today the wind was gentle, and could not have been the mirthful hand behind his tunic's disappearance.

Had someone stolen it? He dropped the thought as soon as he'd picked it up. Such a thing would not happen in Imladris, at least not on purpose. A flustered elf rushing about in pre-feast preparations may have mistaken it for theirs, he supposed.

Puzzled, he considered the ground beneath his feet, as if searching for answers there. The snow had been trampled by many passing feet – even elvish steps would eventually wear down on snow. The white blanket was especially punctuated by U shaped prints that came round the side of the bonfire and…

Elrond narrowed his eyes at the prints. He followed them away from the drying rack and over to where Iarwain's pony stood.

"Fatty Lumpkin," Elrond said, coming around to stand in front of the pony. The creature's ears perked up, and Elrond held out his hands for the pony to nuzzle. The elves tended to call any of Iarwain's ponies by the name Tûgfëa, Wide-Spirit, but they never responded, preferring the names that Iarwain himself had given them. Maeras his ponies were not, but still they had about them a strangely cunning aura.

"Did you have a good journey?" he asked Lumpkin. "Was the snow very deep?"

Lumpkin snorted and tossed his head, showing his unconcern for the weather.

"I do not suppose you mind the snow and cold so much," Elrond said, and stroked the pony between the eyes, "what with your considerable winter coat." Indeed, the creature's grey-brown fur had gotten shaggy in the winter.

"I must ask you a question, my friend. My solstice tunic, given to me by my in-laws, had been hanging just around there, on the rack, and now it is absent. You have been standing near it." Elrond looked the pony in the eyes, and Lumpkin looked back under long lashes. "Would you happen to know where it has gone off to?"

Elrond could have sworn that the pony squinted his eyes in mirth. Lumpkin gave a little whinny, raised his mouth towards Elrond, and champed his teeth in a very merry fashion. Elrond turned his head slightly to look at the pony's mouth.

"It appears," Elrond said, as Lumpkin once again hung his head down in a most innocent bearing, "that you have been flossing with gold thread."

Lumpkin nickered and tossed his mane before fixing Elrond with brown marble eyes.

"Do you know, you have devoured one of my nicest possessions, yet I cannot be angry… Whatever drove you to this? It is not as if Iarwain does not feed you," Elrond said, nodding to Lumpkin's considerable girth. "I do hope you at least enjoyed it, though I cannot imagine the taste of linen and thread to be pleasant. I will have someone bring you apples and carrots, hmm? No more eating other people's garments, alright?"

Lumpkin showed his enthusiasm by bumping Elrond affectionately in the chest and pawing the ground.

Elrond stopped in the kitchens on the way up to his rooms, and asked someone to bring a gift to Iarwain's pony. He then turned his mind to the mission of finding something acceptable to wear. As Celeborn and Galadriel were no doubt expecting to see him wearing the tunic they'd given him, he supposed nothing would be 'acceptable', but they had always been ones to appreciate fate's sense of humor, so perhaps they would not mind. He first searched his wardrobe, and, finding its contents unsatisfactory, unlocked his hope chest. He found a tunic buried near the bottom, rather plain and green, but in the season and miraculously unwrinkled.

Celebrían found him in his quarters as he put the last set of clasps together on his overtunic, and exclaimed in surprise.

"My husband, where is your tunic?"

"You would not believe it," Elrond said, "but it would seem that Iarwain's pony has eaten it." Celebrían turned her head to regard him before replying.

"How could you know that?"

"I asked him. Trust me, he ate it."

Celebrían let out a giggle of disbelief, and then fell into a fit of laughing. He smiled, and thought that if all it took to make her laugh like this was to feed his tunics to various animals, he would gladly give up all of them.

"I have not a clue as to what I will tell your parents," Elrond continued. "I cannot believe my ill luck. It is as if The One really intends for me to be running about half-naked."

"I could endorse that," Celebrían said through a grin.

"I suppose I should be grateful that it is tunics and not trousers that I keep loosing."

Celebrían came up to him and draped her arms about his shoulders, and he put his hands about her hips, and bent to rest his forehead against hers. He sighed, and despite the laughter of his wife and the good humor of the moment, could not quell a bitterness in his spirit. He closed his eyes.

"I just can't," he said.

"Can't what?"

"I simply can't have nice things. They never last."

"You have a nice reputation," Celebrían said, "in a nice place called Imladris surrounded by nice elves and occasionally nice people like Iarwain Ben-adar… and his pony. And you have a lot of nice robes, dear. Why don't you just start wearing more robes? Everyone else does. You look good in them."

Elrond smirked.

"You have your twin sons."

"I said nice things…"

"You have a lovely daughter," Celebrían said, releasing one of his shoulders and sweeping her fingers across his cheek. "She has your hair, which is also very nice," she said, and brushed one of his braids behind his ear, which she knew always made his spine soften.

"I have you," he murmured.

"And you always will."

"I love you."

"I know," she whispered.

"Goodness," said a voice in the doorway. "I see I am interrupting." Both Elrond and Celebrían shared one more smile and turned in tandem to face Celeborn and Galadriel. The two elves of Lórien certainly knew how to pass by without being noticed, even by one as in-tune with his realm as Elrond. "Your guests are being seated," continued Celeborn, "and they call for a song from their lord before the revelries start. Iarwain in particular would like a song about the ships of the Grey Havens."

Elrond and Celebrían gave the Lórien elves hugs and a warm welcome before the four of them headed for the stairs that led down to the Hall of Fire. They did not comment on his garb, but Elrond could see in Galadriel's eyes that they had something of an idea of what had happened.

A/N: That was a fun writing adventure! Thank you for joining me.