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Snow Scene	By : narcolinde Category: +Third Age > General Views: 1080 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings and I receive no profit in any form for this story. Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story/composition are erobey's.

Chapter List
- 1-Snow Scene
- 1
Snow Scene takes place within the same scenario as Legolas and the Balrog, and thus the cast of characters is identical. To refresh yourself on who's who, see Balrog9. Legolas' older sister Brithla is featured here, as she didn't get much 'screen time' in Balrog. I'm not exactly sure (I've been working on it a very very long time) but I think this is just prior to the fateful journey of Erestor, Cugu, and Toloth to the Woodland Realm, in the deeps of winter as the title implies. You might notice he is a little more mature by the time the Imladrians show up in spring.
erobey

"Now hold still, pen dithen, or I will not be able to get the laces tied up tight. I do not want you to step on one and stumble."
Legolas did not wish to be still, not at all. He did not understand why he needed an extra pair of boots over the shoes he always wore. His feet felt heavy and almost seemed like they were not even his.

Not that he disliked the boots, not at all, for they were made of thick brown bear's fur and reached all the way up his legs to his knees, making it look like he had big bear claws instead of elfling toes underneath the shaggy hide. The laces criss-crossed all around his calf, holding the boots firmly in place, and Legolas almost laughed aloud thinking of their funny name: brôgbôd (bear foot). It did not even sound like other words he knew. Maybe it was shape-changer speech. Yes, it was Beorning-talk; he was certain of it.

"Brôgbôd brôgbôd brôgbôd," he practised carefully, wishing he could swing his legs as he did, and he could tell Brithla (Pearl) smiled to hear it even though he could not see her face. As soon as she turned him loose he was going to stomp around and bellow like a Beorning bear-man. He wished he had bear paw mittens to match instead of the warm woollen ones resting on the bed.
He sat in Brithla's lap, squirming mightily, pinned between her arms as she worked to knot the laces. He hoped to get loose at least one hand so that he could reach out and touch the soft white fur trimming the brand new cloak his sister had brought him. He knew the fur was soft because he had already caressed it, running his small slender fingers through the plush pelt in wonder, but that was only for a mere instant before Brithla snatched it up and laid it across the bed out of reach, saying he would dirty it with his grubby hands.

Legolas had scowled fiercely at that, imitating his Ada's most serious 'obey now or go to the corner' look, just to let her know his hands were not at all grubby. Sticky, mayhap, just a tiny bit, because he had managed to sneak a biscuit from the pantry when Brithla was busy tidying up, but not grubby.

"Not Grubby!" he suddenly announced with proper princely indignation. "I will touch!"

The elfling made a lunge for the cape, short arms reaching as far as he could stretch them, showing Brithla his teeth for extra emphasis. It did not work. Brithla caught him firmly round the waist and lifted him right up as she stood, laughing, twirling around and away from the bed, bright blithe jollity winging through the room like a flock of finches singing, echoing in the cavern like the notes of the harp she played at minuial on Nana's Day. Legolas was torn between joining her merry mirth, for the spinning dance was fun, or pulling her hair to let her know he was not a little babe and would not be hoisted about as she did her gilded lyre. He managed both.

"Ai! That is not nice, Legolas!" Brithla scolded, plopping him down on the squat square footstool in front of the fireplace. "Why ever did you do such a naughty thing, you wilful child? Did I not promise you a wondrous surprise?"

She stood, hands on hips, glaring down upon her little brother in dismay. Sometimes, she just did not understand hînellyn (boys) at all. If someone had planned to take her out in the first snow of winter under the full moon when she was but cerynair ganad (four years) old, she would have been most grateful. Why, convincing Eirien that no harm could possibly come of it had taken three hours in and of itself. Of course, Legolas had no idea this was the nature of the surprise, nor that she had gone to such lengths to orchestrate the excursion, but nonetheless he should be more grateful and less unruly.

Legolas looked up at her in chagrin, dreadfully sorry now that he had actually done it, forgetting why it had seemed so important in the first place. He did want that surprise, for they were almost always enjoyable and came in so many varieties. In fact, every time he was given one, it was something different and new and never ever seen before until that very moment. "Sorry, Brithla," he said, tears sheeting over his bright blue eyes as his lips down-turned at the corners. He fluttered his lashes to clear away the need to cry. "May I have the surprise still?"

"Elbereth's Eyebrows, pen dithen, you are the most contrary elfling I know! Just look, you made my braid all crooked. I shall have to do it over now." Brithla fussed, sitting beside him and working on the afflicted area of her perfectly arranged hairdo. She did not like the regular old plaits that hung down straight or were pulled back behind the ears. Brithla wore her long hair high up off her neck, a thousand braids all intricately woven together with ribbons and small jewels in an artful display of symmetrical perfection. No other elleth in all the realm could imitate her style and she was quite proud of that.

"I am sorry, Brithla. Want me to fix it?" Legolas offered. He did not know anything about making hair into a huge mound of curly loops, but he was willing to try, though he eyed the intimidating labyrinth of tresses with no small amount of trepidation.

Brithla smiled, the gentle sad smile she used whenever Legolas tried to make amends, and hugged him close for a few seconds. "Nay, it is fine; I will have it back in place in a trice. Be good and sit still now," she cautioned, returning her hands and her concentration to the escaped lock of soft sepia strands.

Legolas watched for a moment, fascinated, wondering how she could do that without being able to see what her hands were about, wanting to ask if she had sight in her fingers, but decided not to because he knew she would only laugh and not answer his question at all. He soon lost interest, sighing dramatically, realising this repair of the hair might take a significant amount of time, and popped his left thumb in his mouth. His eyes dropped to his woolly feet and he grinned around the digit between his lips, swinging his legs to get the feel of the cumbersome boots. The thumb came out "Brôgbôd" and went back in to the accompaniment of a satisfied chuckle.

Beside him Brithla flashed him a warm smile, the one she used when he did something she thought was dear and sweet. "There, I am done. Can you see where it came loose?"

Legolas gravely surveyed the soaring tower of interwoven tresses and shook his head solemnly. He could not tell where the beginning of one part ended and another started, much less notice what piece had just been reattached to the hive-like mass. A sudden image of Brithla, running through the gardens, shouting and flailing her arms about her head as a swarm of hornets tried to get inside her hair, burst upon his mind and he snorted out a laugh.

"What is funny? Does it look lopsided? Is it falling down in the back?" Brithla was up like a shot, making quickly for the small dressing table where a silvered glass stood supported on a mithril stand. She yanked open a drawer and rummaged through the contents until she discovered a small hand-sized version of the mirror and then sat upon the bench, back to the table, trying to look at the rear of her head through the reflecting surfaces.

"It is beautiful, Brithla. I was not laughing about your hair, not at all. I was just thinking about wasps," assured Legolas with a strong undercurrent of impatience in his tone. "May I have the surprise now?" He should have known better than to make any sort of sound when being asked about her hair. Once she decided to fiddle with it, Brithla could spend huge amounts of time rearranging her long chestnut locks.

Brithla eyed him in suspicion but was wise enough not to enquire what the connection was between wasps and Legolas' mirth. She had a fairly good idea that the link had something to do with her hair style, though, and heaved an audible sigh, mentally debating whether to heed her sibling's reaction as an indication of the opinion most would harbour or ignore it as a general characteristic of unenlightened childishness. After all, what could so small a hênellon (boy-child) know of judging feminine beauty? Her eyes brightened at this and she smiled with maternal indulgence.

"Aye, you may have the surprise now. Come, let us put on the new cloak." She rose from the chair and collected the garment as her little brother bounded off the foot stool and clumped over to her.

Excited to try out the fur trimmed cape, Legolas was distracted the instant his feet hit the floor and the unusual sound of the new boots greeted his ears. His face broke into a brilliant smile; this was exactly the kind of noise a bear would make if it were walking around on its back legs inside a cave. He put great effort into stomping as noisily as he possibly could, a difficult task for a small elfling so light on his feet other elves could never hear him passing by, taking really big steps and hunching over as if he was stalking an unsuspecting deer.

"Brraaawwwrrr!" he snarled with fitting menace as he advanced upon his sister. "I am a bear," he said just to make sure she would not mistake him for something else, a wolf perhaps.

Brithla laughed gayly and clapped her hands for Legolas was too adorable for words at such times. "Oh, I see you are indeed a fearsome beast! Here is your furry coat, Medli (honey-eater), and also a warm wool hat to protect your ears." She clasped the rich cloak about his slender frame and settled the knitted cap snugly down to cover the delicate pink points.

Legolas was at once enchanted by the lovely cape, pulling the fulness close around him and then spinning to see it flare out, the white edge of rabbit-fur a stunning contrast to the royal blue dyed wool. He felt warm and safe inside the enveloping fabric and reached to his shoulders for the edges of the hood spilling against his back. With effort he pulled it up, very pleased for he knew it had a long white silk tassel made to match the trim. He brushed his cheek against the fluffy edging, smiling up at Brithla. "This is the very best cloak in all of Greenwood, Brithla," he said joyously.

"I am delighted that you like it so," she enthused, bending to adjust the hood so that it would not hinder his sight, holding out the mittens for him to push his hands within them. "I had the felt dipped in the woad twelve times until the colour matched your eyes, pen dithen."

The elfling had no idea what a woad was and cared not, simply happy his sister went to so much trouble to make the cloth so fine. Not even his cousin Eruoniel had anything so perfect. Eruoniel's naneth had not dyed a cloak deep green to match his eyes, no. Brithla was almost just like a naneth except she did not give out any punishments. Often Eruoniel was scolded by Nanathêl Calenui (Aunt Evergreen) right in front of Legolas, even though his cousin was so much older, old enough for archery training and history lessons and such. He could tell Eruoniel did not like that one bit because his face became very red and he would often try to get Legolas in trouble right afterwards.
The wool mittens were also blue and had a fine cuff of white fur, but really he wished they were made to match the brêgbýd instead. He did not say this to Brithla, however, for she was so proud of getting the colour right, and obediently let her hold to his covered hand as they exited into the hallway. She had donned her cloak of nutmeg brown silk lined with wool and trimmed in sable. She pulled on a pair of soft kidskin gloves the same colour. Her boots were made of sleek otter skin, more elegant than Legolas' brêgbýd as befitted Sell Edwen of Noss Gwilwileth. (Second Daughter of The House of the Butterfly) Legolas thought she looked beautiful and smiled up at her.

"Thank you for the cloak and mittens, Brithla," he said as he skipped along, swinging his sister's hand in as wide an arc as one small elfling arm could do. "Did you make these boots for me, too?"

"I am pleased you like it, Tuiw." Brithla beamed down at her baby brother and found the loving warmth in his eyes turned her heart. It was just a simple cloak, but Legolas was as grateful as if she had made the garment from the finest silk instead of humble wool felt and rabbit pelts. She bent down and gathered Legolas into her arms for a quick squeeze. "The brêgbýd are a family tradition," she said. "We have all had a pair just like that when we were small and Ada says he did also. The tradition started long ago before our people came here to Greenwood, when we lived in Neldoreth."

"We lived somewhere else?" Legolas was amazed to learn this. He could remember no other forest than his beloved Greenwood. "Where is Neldoreth and why did we leave? Is it on the other side of the big mountains beyond the great river?"

"Neldoreth is no more," explained Brithla. "All of Beleriand was destroyed, submerged beneath the Sundering Seas at the end of the First Age."

"What is 'submerged'?" asked Legolas, a little worried at the idea of the Sea, which he had seen pictures of in the big books in the library. It always looked very angry, thrashing out at the land, which was either bare and rocky or sandy and marshy; in any case there weren't any trees beside the Sea and that made it a dangerous place to be.

"It means the Sea covered the land over and no one can live there now except the fishes," instructed Brithla. "All the Elves had to leave. You know this story, Legolas; it happened soon after the battle of Glorfindel and the Balrog."

"Oh then it is all right," nodded Legolas. "Things are better now and Glorfindel has returned to Middle-earth. Maybe the Sea will un-submerge and the trees of Neldoreth will grow back again."

Brithla decided not to correct her brother on his evaluation of the times in which they lived, which were darkening every day, it seemed, and it was impossible to explain about the destruction of Beleriand. Besides, the Valar had made the Sea advance and who was to say they could not also cause it to retreat? Legolas was Tawarwaith; perhaps Tawar revealed these things to him.
They moved into the more public portions of the stronghold and met Galion striding down the corridor, his arms laden with lists and manifests and inventories as he went about ensuring the smooth operation of the household. Legolas had to show off his new outfit and do the bear stomp and the loud roar. The butler jumped back a pace and of course Legolas could tell he was just pretending but he liked that about Galion. He was always happy to join whatever game Legolas made up.

"Ai! Ai! Run for safety Brithla, run! I will fetch the King to capture this dread beast!" wailed the steward, wielding his sheaf of parchments like a shield before him. Then he flung his arms madly above his head, sending all the important documents flying in a crunchy shower of tan and white, and with a loud shout went tearing down the hall as if terror-struck.

This had Legolas and Brithla in fits of laughter. The elfling tugged impatiently on his sister's hand, eager to chase the seneschal, but she was not about to go racing through the halls for fear of mussing her elaborate coif. Legolas knew it well and sighed, resigned to the sedate pace of a hopping skip, contenting himself with watching the cape billow and flounce as he went. Brithla smiled brightly, nodding and greeting everyone they passed with regal courtesy and Legolas tried to imitate her manner. Nanathêl Ithilloth (Aunt Moon-flower) was always encouraging him to remember that he was the Tawarwaith and the son of the Wood Elves' King and to 'behave with a dignified aspect' around other elves in the household.

This always confused Legolas whenever he heard it. His elder brother, Sîrgel, made the same remark whenever Legolas was being too loud or moving too fast. How could he ever forget he was Tawarwaith? How could he possibly forget his Ada? This just made no sense and when he had told Sîr so the grown-up ellon had smiled and said he meant for Legolas to remember that their Ada was much more special and important than anyone else's Ada. Well of course Legolas knew that! Really, grown elves sometimes had no idea of anything. Still, Legolas did not want to do something to make them suppose he could forget and so he tried to follow Brithla's example. Of course, the elfling had no notion of what a dignified aspect might be, but the word behave he understood plainly enough.

"Aduial vaer, ernil dithen," a cheery voice interrupted his rambling thoughts as a kindly elleth bent down to smile at him. It was the lady who took care of all the books and scrolls in his Ada's great library. Legolas liked her very much for not only was she always smiling but on his last Begetting Day Anniversary she had given him not one but two picture books to keep for his own. She had deep walnut eyes and long silver hair like burnished mithril and he always longed to touch it to see if it was really made of the precious stuff, but naturally he knew better than to be so rude.

"Aduial vaer, Heryn Celevon," he said and made a very nice bow to show his sister that he knew how to behave properly. "Look at my new cloak and mittens. Brithla had them made for me. And see? I have brôgbôd boots!"

"Oh, those are fine and seem very warm. You must be going out for a walk in the frosty air," said the Lady with enthusiasm. It was not the exaggerated sort of goodwill some grown elves used when addressing him, which Legolas could not abide, but real admiration for his good fortune to have such nice things.

"Yes we are," he bubbled, "Brithla has a surprise for me and when we get outside I am going to walk in bear-form like a Beorning-man does."

"That sounds like great fun! I wish I could join you both but I am needed elsewhere. Enjoy your walk," said the librarian and went along her way.

"Aduial vaer," Brithla called after her. She smiled down at Legolas. "You were polite and gracious, Legolas; I am proud of you," she added, giving his hand a squeeze.

By now the pair had reached the main hall and were nearing the great throne room of the King. Legolas began tugging insistently as he tried to speed his sister up. "Hurry, Brithla, I want to show Ada my brêgbýd," he fussed. To his chagrin Brithla would not oblige, instead stooping to pick him up.

"Nay, we must not disturb Ada just now. He has important visitors from far away. They are speaking of serious things and must not be interrupted." She settled Legolas on her hip and turned toward the main entrance, rubbing the child's back when he sighed in resignation over the refusal. Brithla disliked disappointing him, but she knew better than to turn him loose when emissaries from foreign lands were within the throne room meeting with their Adar.

This case was especially serious, for the visitors had been forced to seek shelter from the Wood Elves when they were caught out in the unexpectedly heavy snows that had been falling for nearly three days. The Forest Road was impassable and only because of the diligence of the King's guard were the strangers alive to tell their tale. Yet, so wary of the Wood Elves were they that these travellers had preferred to endure the bitter weather and the threat of freezing than beg aid of the King. The mood in the throne room was so tense Brithla could feel the animosity even with the doors shut.

Legolas sensed the strained atmosphere also; a shiver ran down his back as he glanced toward the massive doors, an impenetrable barrier for a small elf child unable to reach the heavy brass handles, yet through them leaked the agitation of the parties within.

"Worry not, muindor dithen, Sîr, and his warriors are in there with Ada, too. They will get this all sorted out and most likely there will be a huge celebration tomorrow in honour of the guests," assured Brithla, patting the little one's back and offering a warm smile. Satisfied when her favourite brother produced a somewhat forced and meagre smile in return, she set him down before the main entrance to the outside world. Brithla knelt and adjusted the elfling's cloak and hood anew and then rose, hand out stretched for him to take. "Here we are, Legolas. Are you ready for your surprise?"

"Yes!" Legolas grabbed onto her gloved fingers tightly and bounced upon his toes. "What is it, Brithla; tell me!"

"Nay, that would spoil it. I want to see your eyes when it is revealed to you," Brithla laughed and turned to unbolt the heavy latch. The leather covering her right index finger caught and snagged upon the cumbersome mechanism and she sighed. "Elbereth's Eyebrows! Have I not asked Galion to have this repaired a thousand times?" She had to let go of Legolas to try and free her glove, hoping not to tear the fine leather.

"Mae Aduial, Hîril Brithla," an eager voice called from a short way down the hall. "Do you need some help?"

It was Belinnas (Strong Will) of the house of the Boa, a fine archer and one of Sîrgel's good friends. He was somewhat starry-eyed when it came to the prince's sister and was no good at hiding it. Unfortunately, she had her sights set on a warrior of the Stag clan and made no attempt to hide that. Belinnas, however, never seemed to notice her lack of interest. He was dressed in his warm cloak of pine green over clothing of white and tan and grey. Belinnas was armed with bow and quiver and a long sharp hunting knife; obviously he had just arrived with his patrol and in fact was the one who had discovered the half-dead travellers.

"Hello, Innas. I can get it, but thank you anyway," she said curtly without even the pretence of a smile. She had no intention of encouraging the ellon's hopes when her own lay in another direction.

Belinnas seemed unfazed by her dismissive attitude. "Nay, it will tear if you jerk so hard. Let me try." He did not wait for her to agree but simply stepped up and took her hand carefully in his, glancing down at Legolas with a quick wink and a friendly smile as he worked. He ignored Brithla's exasperated sigh. "Going outside to visit the Ice Palace?" he asked the bundled up elfling.

"Ice Palace? What do you mean?" Legolas' brows went up and he looked from Belinnas to his sister expectantly.

"Oh Innas!" Brithla scolded. "It was to be a surprise and now you have spoiled it!"

"Ai! Gohennach nin, Brithla! I thought you had already told him." The forlorn warrior blushed scarlet and mentally abraded himself; this was no way to gain his true love's favour.

"Ice Palace! Who lives in it? Shape-shifters? Where is it?" Legolas could not contain his excitement.

"Shape-shifters?"
Belinnas eyed the child askance. "Why would they live in a castle of crystal water, Legolas?"

"No Beornings live in Greenwood, Legolas, this you know," said Brithla. "The palace is right here in our own lands and no one dwells in it."

"No one? Why was it built, then?" Legolas was confused.

"You will soon see, muindor vell (brother dear)," sighed Brithla and with an irritated ''tsk'' of her tongue yanked her hand free from the latch, not caring when the leather ripped. She shoved Belinnas aside as she pulled the door open, reaching back for Legolas' hand as she did so. A great gust of cold air swirled in and sent their capes fluttering around their knees and with it came a twinkling shower of dancing light as a few crystals were caught in the draft.

"Oh!" Legolas gasped in delight as he peered between the big Elves blocking his way and stared at the transformation before him. Everything was covered in a thick blanket of snow that reflected the silver light of the full moon, sparkling and twinkling under the cool and silent sky. All colour seemed to have drained from the forest, reducing the landscape to tan, brown, grey, and softly glinting white. The cold was biting and burned his nose right away; he saw his breath turn to clouds of mist as he exhaled and he blew a feathery wisp into the bright night.

He loved snow and was used to playing in it during the days of Rhîw, but lately there had been so much of it falling that Eirien had forbidden him to go outside. Never had he gone into it the freezing stuff at night, and this was a fine surprise. He glanced up at the huge round face of the moon. "Greenwood looks just like Ithil. Brithla, is Ithil made of snow?"

"No, Ithil is not made of snow, pen dithen," explained Brithla, chuckling over this childish logic.

"How do you know?" demanded Legolas, glaring up at his sister, fists perched on his hips. He did not like it when his much older siblings treated him like a babe.
"It could be made of snow."

"Aye, it could," agreed Belinnas, crouching down to meet the elfling's eyes. "Yet the stories of the Time before Time say that Ithil was made from the last flower of Telperion just before the Two Trees expired, just as Anor was formed from the last fruit of Laurelin."

"Iston (I know)," replied Legolas, remembering the story now, "but it looks like snow and maybe Telperion had snow flowers on it."

"Maybe," smiled Belinnas, laying a genial hand on the child's shoulder. "When we go to Aman, we must ask the Powers if this is so." He glanced up to Brithla, hoping his impromptu explanation had made up for his earlier blunder. His heart thumped wildly when she offered a generous smile.

By now Legolas had squeezed between them and was standing on the paved courtyard. Because of the traffic coming into the stronghold, the flagstones once glimmering white with fresh snow were dingy and grey, the print of many heavy feet overlapping one another. Legolas stared at the boot marks in great interest, for of course Elves never left any mark upon the snow. Just then, a motion caught his notice and he looked up to see a hare, coat all glistening white to match the winter landscape, dart across the path and into the trees, deep holes in the drifts marking its passage. Seeing the hare prompted another curious query from the child.
"Why do Elves never change in the winter?" he asked his sister.

"What?" Brithla stared at him quizzically; sometimes Legolas' ideas were difficult to follow. "Elves do not change at any time, Legolas; you have shape-shifters on the brain tonight."

"Nay! Not like the Beornings do, I mean like the hares and the deer. Their fur turns white and tan instead of brown and white. Why don't my eyes turn brown and my hair white?"

"Legolas, the wild things of the woods need to blend in with the environment to survive, so Yavanna made it that their fur can change," explained Belinnas. "Elves can defend themselves from enemies, so we don't need our hair and skin to switch colours with the seasons." He had a little niece just about Legolas' age and was used to the mental machinations of elflings.

"But you are wearing clothes the same colour as the winter," Legolas pointed out, "and in summer you do it, too. All the warriors switch from green and brown to white and grey and tan as soon as the leaves fall."

Belinnas' brows rose in surprise; this was a keen observation and far beyond any he would expect to hear from his niece's lips. "Yes, that is true. The warriors need to slip unseen through the trees when we are on patrol, but other times we like to wear bright and cheerful clothing like everyone else, whether it is summer or winter."

"Would you like to go out and see the Ice Palace?" asked Brithla, weary of the bizarre conversation. As expected, once reminded it was as if Legolas had never imagined anything else.

"Yes, Yes! Take me to the Ice Palace, please! Are we allowed to go inside it? Is it warm inside or cold? How do you keep torches lit indoors without melting it down?" The elfling exploded with questions, tugging hard on Brithla's fingers to prompt her to cross the threshold. No sooner had they done so than a brand new sound assailed the child's ears.

crunch… crunch…crunch…

Legolas halted and looked down at his feet; that strange noise was coming from underneath his boots! A bright smile lit his eyes as he remembered the brêgbýd; he never made any sound when he walked before so it must be the new boots. Delighted, he pulled his hand free from his sister and with a giggling laugh made two huge strides, pushing down against the white substance with all his might. The crunching sound got louder.

"I have bear feet!" he announced with a jubilant grin, sharing his discovery with his sister and the amused warrior. "I made foot-prints, just like a real bear!" He hopped excitedly, pointing at the snow behind him where he imagined faint impressions adorned the pristine surface. "Braaaaawwwwrrrrr!" Legolas bellowed, holding up his hands like clawed paws and stalking with a crouching stomp toward them.

Merry laughter filled the garden as the grown Elves let Legolas chase them through the drift-blown paths. Brithla forgot she was supposed to be discouraging Belinnas' attentions and he forgot he was pursuing her. Both permitted the sight of the elfling playing make-believe and laughing with care-free abandon to fill their hearts with joy. That is, until a third figure entered the scene, pausing to watch for a moment before continuing on away from the sheltered courtyard.

Upon catching sight of this person, Brithla stopped short in her mad dash to reach the cover of a snow-bound bush. Her heart leaped from more than just the increased exercise, for here was the ellon she most desired to gain as a suitor. She ceased her run so quickly that Legolas plowed right into her backside and, because he was so very small, bounced back and fell down hard on his backside.

"Ow! Snow is not soft, Brithla," he moaned, "and it is wet!" Legolas frowned at his blue woollen mittens as they turned dark with the melting crystals clinging to his palm. Just about then he felt the cold dampness seeping through his cloak and breeches and scrambled to his feet.

"Oh Legolas! What are you doing, child? Get up from there," she fussed, turning to help him whilst sending a fleeting glance over her shoulder to learn if the new arrival had noticed her yet. A light laugh informed her that he had indeed and again her pulse surged.

"What a picture you three make," said the Elf as he sauntered closer yet stopped short of joining the group for fear of being mistaken as taking part in their antics. That would never do for his cohorts would tease him unmercifully. Athedrainyn, the bold and fearless messengers of the King's troops, fastest and most daring riders of all the warriors, did not play in the snow. Ivrass (The Heat) was a veteran among the messengers and currently held the record for the fastest run from Greenwood to Lorien. He had no desire to sully such a reputation by frolicking at children's games.

"Mae govannen, Ivrass," said Brithla with a bright smile and a flutter of her long chestnut lashes, Belinnas completely forgotten. "The grounds are so beautiful in winter, are they not?"

The warrior shrugged a bit disdainfully. "I suppose. The snow is a disadvantage for Athedrainyn, however. The drifts are hazardous to the horses and we are far too easy to spot under the reflected light of Ithil."

"Oh, but you are much too swift to ever be caught," sighed Brithla and was pleased with the satisfied expression that suffused the ellon's proud features.

At this, Legolas and
Belinnas shared a look of disgust and simultaneously rolled their eyes heavenward. There was little the young warrior could do, but the Tawarwaith was irrepressible. "Brithla, may we go see the Ice Palace now?"

"Mind your manners, muindor," she scolded, "I am speaking with someone and it is rude to interrupt."

"It is no matter," said Ivrass, "I must be going and tend to my mount in case there is need to send an important message to Lothlorien."

"Oh, my Ada would never send his Athedrainyn out in the deep snow," disagreed Legolas. "He will use the falcons if there's any real news to share."

"Aye, so he would," Ivrass said darkly, shooting a cutting glare at Belinnas as a snort escaped his smirking lips.

"Ivrass, may I go with you to care for your horse? If I help, may I ride her?" asked Legolas, still trying to brush off the clinging snow from his rear. He could tell from Belinnas' face that he did not like this plan, and that was because Legolas was not permitted in the barracks and training grounds. The elfling offered a disarming smile to both warriors, but this time the sweet expression won him no allies.

"Nay, ernil dithen, Celeg'waew (Swift Wind) is too temperamental for elflings to approach. When you are older perhaps one of your brothers will teach you how to gain the trust of animals. Until then, be content with toy horses carved from wood." Ivrass smiled down pityingly upon the youngster. Everyone new the child was fading, though he certainly appeared lively at the moment. Nonetheless, it would not do for the nascent Tawarwaith to fall and become injured due to Ivrass permitting him to go riding.

"Nair!" (Rats!) hissed Legolas, kicking the snow with his furry boots.

"Never mind," said Belinnas genially. "I'm sure your Adar will teach you to ride. You are almost big enough now."

"Really? But whenever I ask to learn something my brothers can do, Ada always says: 'when you are as tall as a sixth year sapling.' How much higher must I reach?" the child complained.

"Now, Legolas, your brothers are all grown up, that is why they can do some things you cannot. They had to be taught to ride and to hunt when they were young. Soon enough you will be wishing you did not have to spend so much time on so many different kinds of lessons and training," admonished Brithla. She turned back to Ivrass and offered a winsome smile. "Would you like to walk in the garden with us?"

"Thank you, but I have no time for games and play. I am on my way to an important briefing with my captain," the haughty courier declined. Brithla was pretty but too young and silly for him. Besides, he was hoping to win the hand of her older sister.

"Hah!" Belinnas' laugh rang through the crisp evening air. "My muindor-adar (uncle) is in your company; there is no meeting tonight." Belinnas was not displeased to see Brithla's frown as she realised she had just been lied to. He might pretend not to notice who captured her notice, but he was all too aware of the one-sided nature of his attraction. Belinnas hated to see Brithla hurt, but it was time to reveal the truth. He decided to share the rest of his news. "My uncle did mention a drinking party tonight; mayhap that is your destination?"
"I do not know what you mean! My meeting is private, not meant for the whole company," Ivrass glared furiously at the younger warrior. "I would be delighted to join you, Brithla, but I really do have a pressing appointment."

"I quite understand," Brithla's icy tone was colder than the hard packed drifts. "Please, we would not want to keep you from such important business." She watched him make an awkward bow and walk away, her heart stung by his rejection but her eyes opened. How had she ever thought he was a good catch? Dashing and debonaire he truly was, but shallow and self-absorbed also. Anyone who would eschew a game of chase with Greenwood's youngest prince was not only too serious but not very intelligent. There was no better means of inviting Thranduil's wrath than to slight his littlest son.

"He is very foolish," said Belinnas seriously, "to pass up a chance to be with you on such a night as this. The light of the moon makes your eyes shine like stars, Brithla."

"Why thank you, Innas. That is a lovely compliment." Brithla turned those deep brown eyes to study her brother's friend anew. How is it she had not noticed how tall Belinnas had grown and how rich were his long, umber locks? And when had he acquired that sense of depth to his character? It was like seeing him for the first time and Brithla could not believe she had been so blinded by her infatuation with Ivrass. "Come and see; there is a long vine coated with ice on one of the courtyard trees. It looks like a string of diamonds."

"No!" Legolas shouted, furious to have lost the chance to ride a real Athedrainyn horse and not about to relinquish his promised surprise. "You said we would visit the Ice palace, Brithla. The icy branch will still be there and it is nothing remarkable anyway.There are thousands just like it everywhere in Greenwood."

"Oh! Legolas, of course we will see the Ice Palace." Brithla blushed; for a moment she had actually forgotten her little brother was there. "Will you join us, Innas?"

"I will indeed," said the warrior, "for not only is this the very best night for visiting an Ice Palace, I am one of the builders and therefore qualified to be a suitable guide. Hurry, for Ithil nears his peak and the palace will be lit like a crystal before a flame!" He reached one hand out to Brithla and the other down to Legolas and felt as mighty as a king when both were taken readily.

In silence the trio walked, Legolas even forgetting to stomp like a bear in his anticipation of the wondrous palace, Innas and Brithla marvelling at the warmth generated by the connection between them. All the way around the outer courtyard they marched, following the high stone walls until they came to the open arch where the morning refectory opened onto the world.

The doorway was sealed shut with panes of clear ice to block the frigid air and keep out the blowing drifts. These windows of frozen water were created each winter, poured in shallow basins to freeze and then set in
a framework of willow branches, stuck to the surface of the rock with more water. Light came in and the cold stayed out and the panes were easy to replace if they broke. So gifted were the Elves in making these windows that the ice was clear and free of ripples or flaws. All could enjoy the wintry view from the snug warmth of the breakfast room.

There was quite a scene to see through the windows for the Ice Palace was built in the cleared space left by the kitchen gardens. With the growing season past, the bare, level ground offered the perfect location for the fantastic structure. As the three Elves rounded the final curve of the courtyard wall, Legolas stopped abruptly, a loud gasp of delight fleeing his lungs as he gazed in open-mouthed wonder at the vision.

The Ice Palace was truly magnificent, with soaring turrets above high battlements, great columns at either side of mighty gates where a pair of crystal doors stood open in the arch. These were carved in intricate detail and bore upon them an unmistakable and well-known symbol: the Golden Flower of Anor, the emblem of the House to which Glorfindel belonged. The spires of the castle reached nearly half the height of the nearest trees and upon them unfurled banners, frozen as if by the icy wind, replicas of the standard of the noble warrior's House. Windows there were and behind them rooms and connecting them corridors. The Palace contained no less than ten chambers, all of them decorated in ice and furnished with carvings in snow. There were no candles or lamps within it, to protect the creation from melting, but the light of the moon played amid the reflecting planes as if they were prisms of the finest crystal, and the Palace was illuminated thus.

"Oh, it is Gondolin!" exclaimed Legolas, jumping up and down in excitement. "This is Glorfindel's house in Gondolin!" he repeated, gazing in amazement from his sister to his friend. "You built this, Innas?"

"Oh, not by myself," clarified Belinnas. "I had help. All your brothers and sisters took part and even Galion lent a hand. Go inside; it is just the right size for an elfling your age." He shared an exuberant smile with Brithla, who was having trouble holding in her tears. It was not often that Legolas was transported in joy like this.

"May I really go in?" Legolas asked her, eyes huge in both hope and anxiety. "Won't Glorfindel mind that I am playing in his Ice Palace?"

"Nay, Tuiw. He doesn't know anything about it, for you know he lives in Imladris now. But if he did know, he would be happy for you to play here. Go on, we made this just for you," encouraged Brithla. She had hoped all her siblings would be here to witness the event, but besides herself none were able to break away from their duties or engagements, and she was unwilling to wait any longer. Only tonight was Ithil so full and bright and clear. Seeing the Ice Palace in the daytime would not have been the same. She was rewarded for her decision when Legolas let go of Innas' hand and flung his arms around her waist, squeezing her hard.

"Thank you, Brithla," he said. "I have never had a surprise anything like this. No surprise will ever be able to match it." Then he stood back to smile up at her, really grateful he had such considerate brothers and sisters. The Palace was waiting and he was itching to get inside, but before he went he turned and solemnly hugged Innas, too. "It was good of you to help," he said when he stepped back. "I'm not even kin to you and you have given me a great gift."

"Oh, I enjoyed doing it, Legolas," answered Innas proudly. "I was hoping perhaps my niece could come along and see it tomorrow. She is close in age to you."

"Yes, she may visit Glorfindel's Ice Palace," agreed Legolas, nodding his head sagely as though making a formal decree. "As long as she is respectful and does not break anything." With that he turned and ran up the path, halting before the glorious symbol carved above the doors. With a respectful bow, a turn of his head to grin back at Brithla, and a wave for Innas, he disappeared inside.

Now his siblings had gone to much effort to ensure the architecture and the decor matched the pictures in their baby brother's favourite storybook about the famous warrior. So exacting was the detail that a rambling rose depicted to climb up the broad marble columns was moulded into the snowy replicas. On the walls were pictures gleaned from the storage rooms of the stronghold and while these were not of people from Gondolin or Glorfindel's family, they supplied fair substitutes. There were tables and chairs of carven ice, rugs upon the floors, hearths of snow-packed bricks, and even weapons displayed upon the walls. Wherever possible, real articles enhanced the make-believe castle, so that a kitchen counter held a bowl of dried fruit along with plates and cups. Sofas and settees placed before the empty fire grate had cushions of velvet so that Legolas might really sit there, and he did.

From room to room he went, visiting the heroic Elf's study, bedroom, bathing chamber (where he laughingly got into the small tub where a fountain spilled a frozen cascade of iridescent fluid), the dining hall, the war room, and numerous guest rooms. So well did this new diversion please him and so long did the child play at being Glorfindel, that Legolas completely forgot about his sister and did not notice when she and Innas wandered a little away to speak privately of Brithla's change of heart.

So it was that Legolas climbed to the highest tower and stood upon the pinnacle, poised amid the ramparts, braced upon the frozen battlements in regal mien, staring out over the kitchen garden's of his father's fortress and seeing not the familiar landscape of his home but the ancient realm of Gondolin. There was the rim of the high shielding mountains and the guarded tunnel through the heart of the stony peaks, there the wide fields and fertile plains, here the running river that fed the many fountains in the heart of Turgon's secret city. He was not Legolas, youngest child of Thranduil, but Glorfindel, face turned to the east to welcome the first dawn of summer with song and prayer. Yet, though he was not so high as he would be in the branches of his favourite tree, Legolas was high enough to see farther than he could upon the ground, and a movement in the snow-laden bushes caught his eye.

Legolas stared, unbelieving at first, to see this strange figure lumbering through the gardens, grumbling deep in its throat as it thrashed amid the winter scene, tossing clumps of wet snow here and there. It had the shape of a man, yet was not quite right. It had a head of dark woolly hair like a bear that even covered part of its face, yet was not entirely clad in the fur. A glorious smile transformed Legolas' features as he watched the alien form stomping about for this could only be one creature: a shape-shifter! Not a full-grown shape-shifter, the elfling reasoned, for it was not even as tall as Galu, who was but half-grown for Elf-kind, but a young Beorning-ling, perhaps lost and frightened to be so far from home. Of course! The mysterious guests with whom his Ada was deep in council must be Beorning folk, and this one was too young to attend, just like Legolas.

At once Glorfindel, favourite hero though he was, was forgotten in favour of this real, live representative of the curious people of Beorn. Legolas descended to the lowest level, fairly flying down the crystalline spiral staircase, sliding with glee across the long corridor, and clearing the front foyer with a lovely somersault so that he landed already on the run, blue cape billowing and flaxen mane streaming. He made no sound and left no mark to point the way, and this simple fact of elven physiology actually caused the young Tawarwaith no small degree of trouble before the new day dawned.

Now Legolas was a Wood Elf and instinct he could not over-rule made him slow down and creep upon the visitor, so to assess whether or no he was likely to be friendly or hostile. The princeling, fearing the bright blue of the cloak would be seen, cast it off, draping it over a near-by branch so that no harm would come to it. He instructed the tree holding it to take good care of it until he returned from his important council with the shape-shifter. Beneath the cloak he was wearing soft buckskin garb, the sueded leather undyed. White as a winter hare he was not, but the elfling nonetheless blended fittingly into the background, especially since the shape-shifter had not the keen senses of the Elves. Closer and closer Legolas crept, listening to the strange growling and barking noises that issued from the visitor, watching as it took up a stick and whacked at a young tree.

Legolas frowned; the tree was doing no harm to the Beorning-ling and indeed was warning the shape-shifter of a large clump of snow that was about to come loose. The warning was ignored, or missed altogether, and the huge, wet clot of icy slush came crashing down, heralded by a loud snap as the branch holding it broke. The Beorning-ling looked up at the sound just in time to get a face full of frigid crystals as the impact of the weighty stuff toppled him backwards and half-buried him. Legolas could not suppress a light giggle; served him right for hitting the kindly tree.

For a second or two the Beorning-ling lay stunned and then he heard the laughter loosed into the crisp night air at his expense. At once he let out a ferocious and bellowing roar and erupted from the drift, fists clenched as he stared about him, seeking the source of the mockery.

"Come out! I heard you, blasted Elf! I know you commanded that tree to dump snow upon me and I'll have my revenge. Come forth, I say, and face your doom with honour!"

Well, these were certainly fighting words, but fortunately they were uttered in a language Legolas could not understand, nor could the trees surrounding him. Even so, he could tell the strange creature was angry and could easily guess why. Legolas was not about to remain hiding in the shrubbery and boldly stepped forward, grinning as he approached, not bothering to stifle his amusement. A shape-shifter was no match for an Elf and besides, these were his Ada's lands and none would dare to threaten one of the King's children in his own backyard.

"Mae govannen, Beorning-neth o Carrock athra-Anduin. (Well met, young Beorning of Carrock from across Anduin)," said Legolas, making a polite bow. "Galu uin Eringalen bo le (The Blessings of the Greenwood upon Thee)." He stood and waited for the polite response, smiling in a friendly though undoubtedly curious way as he inspected his guest, hoping the being would transform into a bear while he watched.

The Beorning-child maintained his man-form, but even this was intriguing to see. His face was adorned with wispy, wild, wet, snow-matted ginger hair that fell about a hand's length below his chin, had once been neatly braided, but was now all askew. His head was crowned in a thick mane of the rusty, wooly locks, the shoulder length tresses bound and plaited in an intricate pattern and decorated with several jewels, though now more dingy leaves and bark adorned him than comely ornaments. No hat or helm protected his head and because of this the thick coating of snow was melting and thoroughly soaking him to the scalp. His clothing was not of leather and fur but wool and mail, the fabric of his tunic woven in a vivid red and green pattern of stripes and checks while his trousers were of dark brown, very thick and coarse. He had tall boots, heavy and reinforced at the toe and heel with iron. From beneath the collar of his shirt rings of chain mail glinted under Ithil's light, but he had no weapon upon his person.

To Legolas, he was both odd and fascinating.

No doubt, the visitor found the Elf-child equally strange. Unfortunately, he had no grasp of Sindarin and did not understand the courteous words addressed to him, thinking instead the grinning Elf-child was still making him out for a fool. Yet, he could not help recalling his challenge and as he evaluated the diminutive form before him, a loud and raucous laugh escaped him. His mirth grew and grew as he pointed at Legolas, walking all around him and looking him up and down.

"Mahal! You dare attack me with snow and then boldly brag of the deed to my face? Well, you've heart if not sense, child. How small thou art! How can you be out alone without you mother? Why, if I laugh too loud you'll be blown over!" And such like he said with high glee.

Legolas scowled. This was exceedingly rude behaviour. It was obvious the Beorning child was laughing at him, but why he could not comprehend. He assumed the Mantle of his August Title and stood as tall as his body permitted, a fierce frown contracting his brows and the corners of his mouth. His arms folded across his heart and he set his jaw in stubborn defiance.

"You will not make fun of Tawarwaith o Gladgalen. I am Legolas Thranduilion, a prince of these lands and you are but a guest here. Stop at once!"

His high displeasure only egged the visitor on and the taunting continued. At last the elfling could stand no more and his temper flared. Quicker than the eye could see he leaned down and gathered up a tremendous wad of snow with both hands, compacted it, and pitched it right in the Beorning-child's face. Being Elf-kind, he did not miss and the laughter instantly ceased. Legolas gifted the gaping guest with a smug, victorious smile.

Again the Beorning-ling let loose a frantic shout of rage, shaking his head to dislodge the snow from his beard and hair, gathering his own snow-ball as he did. "You will regret that, you yellow-haired tree-rat!" and he fired off the round with such force that when it struck Legolas in the chest the elfling was thrown back into the bushes. "Hah! Better stay down if you know what's good for you, Elf-child," he warned, standing over the sprawled figure. It was clear he knew nothing about Wood Elves.

"Foul demon! You dare attack a prince of Greenwood? Prepare to meet Námo!"

From out of the shrubbery Legolas sprung, leaping upon his assailant's shoulders and locking both legs about his neck, stuffing the ample handfuls of snow he'd brought with him down inside his enemy's shirt. Even as grasping hands reached back for him he leaped away, gathering more snow so fast that a veritable rain of snow chunks and packets pelted the unfortunate visitor.

"Mahal!" shouted the Beorning-ling, raising his arms to shield his face from the onslaught, backing away in hopes of finding cover. His heel caught on a root (or perhaps the tree tripped him) and he went down into the snow. At once he was set upon by the speedy sprite who seemed to be coming at him from every direction at once, hammering him with icy cold fists, stuffing freezing precipitation into his pants, shirt, and hair. Every time he thought he had a grip on the slight figure, the Elf-child wriggled free and attacked him anew. At last, wet and getting colder by the second, he could stand no more.

"Enough! I yield, Elf-demon, I yield!" He raised his arms palms outward to show he would not attack and hoped the crazy Elf would understand him.

Well, whether he was tired, had spent his rage, or figured out his opponent was surrendering, (or more likely all three) Legolas did stop. Breathing a little heavier than normal, he glared down at his conquered enemy, hands on hips and shoulders squared. He was just about to utter a derisive insult wrapped up in his pardon when he saw the Beorning-ling shiver from cold. Legolas' eyes grew wide as he suddenly realised what he had just been doing.

Ai! If his Ada learned he'd been brawling with a guest of the realm, he'd be confined to the nursery for a ten-day. If Eirien found out, he'd not breathe open air until the spring thaw. On top of that, Legolas was truly ashamed to have given way to his temper in such a vulgar manner. He was Tawarwaith, a leader among his people. What would happen if out-landers came to view the Wood Elves unfavourably because of this unseemly behaviour? He did not want any of those things to happen, not at all.

"Let us have a truce," he said and held out his hand to help the Beorning-ling to his feet. "It is wrong for us to fight when there is accord between our peoples. Please accept my apologies."

The soaked and shivering Beorning-ling grasped the slender fingers and gasped when he was hoisted to his feet. Never would he have imagined such a frail and fragile looking thing could harbour such strength! What was said of Wood Elves among his people was false: here was as brave and fearless a fighter as any among his elders would be, and only a small child for all that. He was beaten fairly and well, but there was no shame in that as long as he met his defeat with dignity. Besides, now he understood his opponent better and the next time it would not be so difficult to manage a satisfactory defence.

"I thank you, Elf-child, and hope you will forgive my taunting words. I thought you made the tree drop the snow on me," he said.

Legolas cocked his head sideways and frowned, unable to make out anything the creature was saying in his rough, barking speech. The language barrier was a serious deficit; no wonder his Ada was having so much trouble working things out in council. Still, he knew his responsibility as host was to make certain his guest was comfortable, which he was not. The Beorning-ling's clothes were soaked through and he was obviously feeling the effects of the wintry air. What he needed was a hot bath and dry garments and then a hearty meal. Legolas smiled, for he could provide all those things without any need to alert anyone to what he had done.

"Come, I will take you to change into something dry and warm and then provide food." Realising his words were not intelligible, the princeling motioned with his hands and set out for a little used side entrance to the cellars. To his relief, the Beorning-ling comprehended and tagged along behind him.

And Legolas, because he did not want their path detected, cleverly took a branch and erased the heavy tracks of his guest as they went.

So it was that Legolas led the shape-shifter, by way of secret passages delved long ago when Thranduil first carved out his underground stronghold, not to his nursery but to his Naneth's apartment, verily a hallowed place where only he and his Ada were allowed to visit. In no time he had filled the tub in the private bathing chamber with hot water, a little pump and spigot permitting it to be siphoned off from the main heated pools below. So as not to be rude or make the guest feel uncomfortable in his nakedness, and because he was curious and wanted to see how a Beorning-ling is made, the elfling promptly stripped off his clothes and got in the bath, too. In silence they soaked and studied one another, noting what was the same and what was not.

"You are terribly hairy," Legolas said at last, "but what I can see of your face is honest and good, for your eyes show me a worthy soul. What are you called among your people?" Of course none of that got through and he sighed in exasperation. Finally, he touched his hair and then touched his chin and chest and belly, pointing then to his guest, an exaggerated shrug and expression of wide-eyed surprise completing the pantomime.

The Beorning-ling chuckled and nodded; this he understood. In turn he pointed to his beard and woolly mane, shaking his head as if in great sorrow or pity as he pointed back at the Elf-child in turn.

Legolas smirked and shook his head, disagreeing with this judgement over his lack of hair. Still he knew not what to call his enemy-turned-friend, for one does not share a bath without an unspoken agreement of camaraderie, but before he could attempt another round of questions, the Beorning-ling made the effort. Gravely he thumped himself on the chest and then spoke a single word:

"Gimli."

Now our child of the woods was very young and had never met a Dwarf, be it young or old, nor one of Beorn's people. Pictures in books depicted the Dwarves as always fighting, armoured with heavy mail and burdened with great axes, iron helms upon their heads and shields upon their backs. There was little to see of them beyond the shortened height, the flowing beards, their fierce and wild eyes, and the double-headed axes. There were no pictures of the shape-shifters, other than Beorn himself. Also, none of the sylvan folk understood Dwarf-speech and Dwarf-names were inscribed in these books, when known, using Sindarin phonology. Thus, hearing the name raised no doubts within Legolas' mind either and he persisted in the belief that his guest belonged to Beorn's kind, never even suspecting that he was sharing a bath with a Dwarf child.

(To give proper due to his upbringing thus far, had he realised this Gimli was a Dwarf, he would still have provided the bath, the food, and the dry clothes, but probably not shared the experience quite so fully.)

Legolas beamed brightly and repeated the unusual name: "Gimli, suilad an Noss Tawar." He dipped his head politely to underscore his meaning but Gimli shook his head.

"Sounds like birds or mice chattering, but I guess you're trying to welcome me to your lands. Well said, Elf-child o Gladgalen. Now if I can get you to bring me food and drink, we'll be right good friends before the night has passed." After which he leaned forward and poked his host's hairless breastbone and raised his brows in question.

"Legolas," the youngest prince of Greenwood answered. "Are you not able to change into a bear until you grow up? I wish you would become a bear cub, well, after you are all dried off, that is."

Gimli frowned and shook his head. This wood sprite certainly liked to talk! No doubt he was praising leaves or the water or some such nonsense, and all the while the bath was turning chill and he was getting hungry! An idea bloomed and he acted at once, pantomiming feeding food into his mouth and chewing, enhancing the play with satisfied humming and a lick of his lips.

Legolas laughed in delight and clapped, understanding perfectly. Quickly he got out of the tub and fetched towels for himself and the guest, leading the now bundled up figure back to the hearth. In seconds he had a fire glowing, for Legolas knew already the magic to bring forth the remnant essence of the fallen trees. He had no idea how much his simple feat impressed Gimli, who sat near the crackling blaze to dry his hair. Using elaborate motions to indicate that he was going and that Gimli should stay, Legolas disappeared back into the secret tunnels, heading for the storage rooms.

In them he scrounged for clothes that would fit his new friend and here he was stymied, though he found something for himself, for the Beorning child was much broader in girth than Elf children. There was nothing that would fit, yet he could not allow his guest to sit naked by the hearth. With a heavy sigh he took up a leather tunic that had once belonged to Fêrlass, so that its length would at least provide a degree of modesty, though it would certainly be snug about the chest. Quickly donning the tunic and leggings he'd chosen for himself, he carried back the make-shift togs, stopping at his own room to grab a comb, and presented his cache to his new friend.

Gimli took up the tunic and eyed it with high disfavour. A dress? The wood sprite expected him to put on a leather dress? So, the tree-rat thought to make him a fool after all, parading him through the stronghold in female's garb for all to see. Even his own people would roar with laughter to see Gimli in an elven dress. His eyes flashed and he turned a glowering brow upon the elfling, flinging down the garment with a ferocious growl.

"What is this? You pretend a truce and now you would dishonour me thus? I will pound you into dust!" He raised his fists in preparation but suddenly found his arms tugged roughly behind his back, the sly elfling having somehow managed to get behind him though he'd not seen the motion, so fast was the Elf.

Fortunately, Legolas realised what Gimli was so angry about and did not give way to anger himself. He was Tawarwaith and had to correct this error somehow. He racked his brain for the means to do it, all the while hanging on to the struggling Beorning-ling. At last the solution came to him: Gimli only needed to wear the elven clothing until his own dried out.

"Gimli!" Legolas yelled in his friend's ear in order to be heard above the grumbling, growling complaints. "Lasto! Le leithion a cenich man thelon. (Listen, I will let you go and you will see what I intend.)"

Gimli stilled and glanced behind him, meeting the serious blue eyes and reading no mockery or cruelty therein. He sighed and gave a nod and was released. He watched as Legolas went back to the bathroom and gathered the wet clothing, bringing it to the hearth and draping it upon the cast iron screen set before the grate. Then he held out the tunic again, smiling apologetically and offering a shrug. The meaning could not be clearer: there was nothing else to wear. Again Gimli gave a dramatic sigh and took the offered top. With effort he struggled into it and managed to pull it over his head. With all the laces open he could just get it around his chest and found that it was warm. He gave a curt nod though his face was set in a grimace of disgust. If anyone ever found out he would never be able to live it down.

Legolas nodded back, his smile still apologetic. The sleeves of the tunic were too long and he rolled them up for Gimli. Then he took the comb and indicated to his friend that he would straighten out the tangles in his beard, but to this the Beorning child emphatically shook his head, holding out his hand for the comb. Legolas shrugged and gave it over, pretending not to care when he was thoroughly disappointed because more than anything he wanted to feel what the facial hair was like. Well, next to seeing the Beorning-ling transform, that is. He crossed his arms atop his knees and propped his chin atop those and watched intently as Gimli took great pains to groom his beard, though the hair was not very long or thick owing to his young age.

Finally Gimli finished and smiled in thanks. It was courteous to bring the comb and the Elf child couldn't help it that his people were so strange, slight and tall and prone to wearing the garb of females: robes and gowns and short dresses even when they donned pants. Thus the pictures in his few books about Elves depicted the fair folk and Gimli had always found it funny, though now that he had to dress accordingly it was not so. Gimli eyed his host critically, not deeming the skin-tight leggings, within which Legolas had clothed his lower half, as pants and was grateful he was not expected to try and get into those. Yet he was hungry and the wood sprite had not managed to secure any provisions for him. Before he could repeat his eating pantomime, his stomach gave forth a loud, unruly grumble.

He lifted embarrassed eyes to meet Legolas' shocked ones, round and huge. The elfling's surprise rapidly dissolved in favour of mirth. Oh, this was just perfect, now Legolas was struggling not to laugh again. Mahal! Gimli was weary of being a source of amusement for this woodland waif! And all this he must endure because he was but fifteen, not yet of age to stand with his father in council. Left to play nurse-maid to some insolent, undersized, babe of an Elf! He was about to bellow out this deriding volley of insults when Legolas jumped to his feet and bowed low, hand over his heart.

"Gohennach nín," he said solemnly, "I forgot that you need food. I will get it for you at once." With that he sped away and again slithered through the little used escape tunnels down to the lower reaches of the fortress, coming out at ground level where the kitchens were. How to get to hot food without alerting the cook was a serious dilemma.

Cautiously he peered through a crack in the cupboard wherein this particular hidden passage had its terminus. He was in the pantry and could see the glow of the enormous cook fires of the stronghold which could roast three deer at once and still have room for a huge kettle of rich and hearty stew to hang bubbling above the blaze, sending its inviting aromas throughout the labyrinthine caverns. He inhaled the delightful scent and smiled; a bowl of that and a cup of sweet meade would set Gimli's temper to rights and prove that the hospitality of Thranduil's House was second to none. Legolas listened for proof of the cook and her helpers and was surprised to find nothing reached his sensitive ears. He opened the cabinet a crack wider and surveyed the land. There was absolutely no one at all in the kitchen or the pantry.

Legolas could not believe his good fortune and wasted no time wondering how it had come to be. Quick as a flash he darted out, gathered what he needed, secured a basket to hold everything, and hastened back into the hidden passage. Humming happily, he proudly returned to his Nana's rooms and laid out the feast. Here was truly a historic moment, though there was none to witness the event: a prince of the Woodland Realm serving a meal to a Dwarf, the son of a mighty Lord from the lands of Erebor. Though many years intervened, fate ordained that this would not be the last time such a scene played out.

Now, while the Bathtub Summit between Gimli, child of Durin's race, and Legolas, child of the Star People, was commencing, Brithla found that her conversation with Innas had reached a point beyond which she could not journey. She thus recalled her little brother and used him as a suitable excuse to cool her and her new beau's ardor, setting out for the Ice Palace to collect the child. When at first he was not there, both were surprised but not alarmed. The gardens were walled and protected and no threat had ever reached beyond the Enchanted River to the fair city amid the trees, much less the stronghold. Together they set forth to search the grounds, feeling certain the nascent Tawarwaith would remain amid the moonlit snow-scape rather than go inside. In time their path led round to the spot where the blue cloak hung and now Brithla cried out in alarm, running forward to gather it up.

"Something is wrong!" she wailed. "He would not leave it outside; he just loves his new cloak."

"Nay, be not so quick to despair," encouraged Belinnas, though in his heart he believed as did she. "Let us simply ask this good tree where your brother has gone and why he left the cloak behind."

As one might imagine, the tree's report of the elfling's intentions to 'sneak up on the Beorning-ling so to see him transform into a bear' was not well received.

"What can this mean?" Brithla fumed. "There are no Beorning-folk here in our woods. Would he dare to try and leave Greenwood for the vast plains of Anduin?" She clutched the cloak in one hand and Innas' arm in the other.

"Nay, I am sure he would not," reassured the warrior. "You know how imaginative Legolas is; this is some kind of make-believe game. Come on, let us keep searching."

So they did, wandering not to the gardens near the stronghold but out among the trees, thinking Legolas was stalking an imaginary shape-shifter beneath the snow-burdened boughs.

While that was happening, another disheartening discovery was taking place. Deep in the stronghold, Thranduil concluded his negotiations with the Dwarven Lords, finally satisfied with the answers given by the Naugrim as to why they had ventured forth from their lands so late in the season. It was a simple matter of a great celebration in honour of the birth of a child among kinfolk, but the Dwarves had stubbornly refused to divulge this, leading to many suspicious murmurs among the King's councillors. At last, eager to be given the chance to rest and recoup his energy, one of the younger Lords, one Gloín son of Groín, revealed the truth. At once the Elves smiled and welcomed them, pleased to extend whatever aid they might to their neighbours to the north.

Then Gloín said he would like to be reunited with his son, left to his own entertainment until the diplomacy was completed. Sîrgel, Thranduil's heir, led the dwarven lord to the kitchen where he had asked his friend Innas' to take the Dwarf-child. When they arrived, the cook revealed she had seen nothing of any Dwarves, old or young, but that her floor had been marked with muddy slush and the footprints led outside into the grounds. Sîrgel and Gloín proceeded thither and came upon the much trampled ground. Clearly, some scuffle or fight had broken out and the Dwarf-child was no where to be seen.

"What has become of my son?" roared Gloín. "Where have you Elves taken him? He is but a boy and this his first journey away from home. What kind of people would set upon a child?"

"Nay! I assure you, no Elf has harmed your son," Sîrgel insisted, distressed both over the Dwarf-lord's accusations and the child's absence. Who, indeed, would set upon a youngling of any race, unless it would be a beast of some kind? The image of spiders seeped into his thoughts, yet the signs of struggle were unlike those created when the arachnids attacked their prey. "Let us search the grounds and I will commission my brothers to search the stronghold. We will find your son."

So it came to pass, yet none would enter Curoniel's rooms, for they were hallowed by Thranduil and Legolas, nor could anyone imagine the Dwarf child would find his way there. Yet for all the searching, no other signs were discovered until Brithla and Innas came upon Gloín and Sîrgel.

"Have you seen Legolas?" asked Brithla, fear and dread colouring her melodic voice. "I took him to see the Ice Palace and he has vanished! He left his new cloak behind and the trees say he went hunting for a shape-shifter."

"What?" Sîrgel exclaimed in alarm. "When did you see him last?"

"It has been hours!" wailed Brithla. "Something terrible has happened to him!"

"Valar, he is not the only one gone missing," revealed Greenwood's heir and quickly told what he and Gloín had found.

"We must inform your Adar," said Belinnas and to this all agreed, especially the Dwarf-lord, who could clearly understand that some real tragedy was in the making with two young ones lost amid the winter scene.

King Thranduil was justifiably outraged to learn that not only had a child of a guest been abducted but his own dear Tuiw was a hostage as well. Of other possible reasons for the children's disappearance, more lethal and terrible, he would not permit himself to speak, though imagination supplied the horror in gory detail. His Golden Child could not become fodder for the spiders nor a meal in the den of dire wolves.

He called for his guards and had the search intensified and expanded to include the whole of the Elven city, both above and below the boughs. He organised an extensive survey of the stronghold, including the vile dungeons and the cellars and the docks. He exhorted the Dwarves to join the hunt and of course they were eager to do so, pairing up with sylvan archers, trekking through the snow. So it was that voices rough and voices fair called loudly the children by name, one in harsh Dwarven and one the ancient Nandorin tongue. Thranduil even had Galion open every empty barrel to ensure the children had not been playing at hide and seek and become stuck. For the woodland King was convinced the two younglings were together in their distress, and this gave him, and Gloín also, some small comfort.

"We will find them; there are no places within the stronghold that I do not know. Come," he said to Gloín, "we will go together and follow the steps of the searchers, lest they overlook some small crevice or cave."

"I will gladly do so," answered Gloín. "My son Gimli is clever for his age and will not willingly be held captive, if such is the children's fate. Should they be wandering in the caves and caverns, no better guide could your son have than a Dwarfling of the Lonely Mountain. Fear not, he will find the way out though it be dark and the path twisted upon itself like the gut of a pig."

Thranduil smiled weakly, realising this was meant to be reassuring but finding the image it gave him unpleasant. Legolas was not afraid of darkness and knew the fortress well, yet even so there were places it was dangerous for an elfling to wander unattended and without proper light. Some of the lowest passages had great gaping pits that terminated in the underground sea from which the stronghold drew water. Falling in was easy, getting back out was not and without light to enable Legolas to see which way to swim, he might set off in the wrong direction and head over the expanse where it was widest. His littlest elfling was not as strong as his siblings had been at the same age, due to his bout of grief when Curoniel had perished. Thranduil wasn't certain his Tuiw could swim so great a distance. A sharp spike of fear pierced his heart; he could not bear to lose Legolas.

"Can your son swim?" he asked grimly and saw that Gloín understood at once, for his eyes filled with dread.

"He can, though he has not been put to the test. Is there a way to reach this subterranean sea?"

"Aye, follow me and pray we are not too late," intoned Thranduil striding forward so quickly that the Dwarf Lord had to run to keep up.

They reached the great lake and set out upon it in a boats, joined by several of Thranduil's other children, his wives, and the Dwarves' kinfolk, too. Carrying lanterns they plied the deep, still pool from end to end, all twelve leagues of it, but no sign of the missing children did they discover. Then Brithla burst into tears, for she knew where the water came forth from the bowels of the earth: the small range of mountains in the central part of Greenwood. Had the children been disgorged there and somehow survived, they would surely have been killed, for the region was replete with orcs and spiders.

Thranduil, too, struggled to restrain his sorrow but refused to give in. He would not believe his elfling was gone until he beheld the child's body.

"We must mount an excursion to the Mountains of Mirkwood," he said to Gloín. "Bring your doughtiest fighters and your sharpest axe, for the place we seek is filled with foul things of the Shadow's making. Elbereth protect our younglings if they have ended up there."

"We have heard of this infestation," said Gloín darkly. "Let us go and drive it out. My hands ache to wreak havoc upon the aggressors who have taken from me my only son. My axe is ready to hew the neck of every Orc in this accursed forest!"

Even Thranduil excused his inflamed speech, for what father could hold his tongue under such duress? Together the Elves and Dwarves made ready to go to war under the bright gleam of Ithil's sheen, and just ere they were departing through the Great Gates who should appear, racing with breakneck speed, bawling and sniffling and terror-struck, but Legolas, littlest prince of Greenwood.

"Ada! Ada! You must help him! Oh! We must hurry! I did not mean to hurt him, really truly I did not!" The child was frantic, tugging at his father's tunic in urgent distress.

"Ai! Legolas, ionen, what can you mean? Where is Gimli, child?" asked Thranduil, scooping the elfling up in his arms and hugging him, so relieved to find him whole and healthy.

Legolas was inconsolable and wept even more loudly. "I gave him stew and sweet meade and fresh bread with butter. I did not know it would make him ill, truly!" he wailed in misery.

"What is the child saying?" asked Gloín tersely, for the Tawarwaith had reverted to Nandorin, the tongue his Nana had taught him first, and this was a language no Dwarf had ever comprehended.

"Something is wrong with Gimli," said Thranduil, "though I cannot understand how. Legolas gave your son food and it has made him sick."

"You say so?" demanded Gloín, indignant. "No Dwarf would be made sick from Elvish food, unless it be poisoned." Now these were unfortunate words and hearing them angered both the Elves and the Dwarves, already armed and assembled for battle. The Lord of Erebor, seeing he had incited his people to wrath, regretted his tongue's hasty comments at once.

"You accuse my son of treachery?" thundered Thranduil, clutching his child close and looming in menace over the ungrateful out-lander. "It is not in his heart to do so vile a deed, not even to an Orc."

"I did not mean to!" shrieked Legolas, terrified that now he had caused not only his friends' death but imperilled all of Greenwood's warriors and the foreign guests as well. "I ate the food and it was not tainted, I swear it!"

"Before we lose the accord so recently achieved, let us go and see if some aid may be given to Gimli," counselled Ithilloth, Thranduil's eldest and wisest Queen.

"Aye, take me to my son," demanded Gloín. "I will suspend your doom until I behold his status. If he is beyond aid, then woe be unto thee and thine!"

Great was the multitude that followed the King, for he kept his son within his arms and led the way upon Legolas' words. In no time they arrived at the hallowed rooms, where none had dared to search and Thranduil, his mind clouded with visions of dread fate befalling the children, had not thought to look. Now so many could not fit inside and so only the King and Gloín and Ithilloth went in, with Legolas, too of course.

There before the hearth they found Gimli, stretched out before the fire upon a soft fur rug of panther pelts, rich and black and warm. He lay upon his side, dressed again in his own clothing, a plate and mug nearby. Still and motionless he lay, eyes shut and lips parted, and his chest did not rise and fall in breath, for the sleep of a growing Dwarf child is deep and silent like the hibernation of bears. The Elves stared at him in sorrow. Legolas dissolved into tears anew and buried his face against his father's neck.

"He is my friend; I would not hurt him, Ada," he hiccupped the disjointed words as his father soothingly rubbed his back.

"Ai! I am deeply sorry Lord Gloín," said Thranduil quietly. "I know not what has stricken your son, but here is the proof before me. Whatsoever doom you demand, so shall it become my decree. Only one thing I beg: do not let your just wrath fall upon my son, for he is not of age to do wrong. Whoever has done this thing has used him cruelly to enact this vile murder."

But Gloín looked upon the King with confusion."What are you talking about? There is nothing wrong with him, except perhaps a belly too full with meade too strong." The Dwarf Lord then did a thing that shocked the Elves, for he put out his toe and roughly nudged his son in the side. "Here then, Gimli, wake up you slug!" he shouted.

Well, of course Gimli did just that, grunting in displeasure to be so rudely treated just when he was enjoying a fine dream of hunting Orcs with Legolas, each competing to see who could kill the most. He was winning, naturally, and was displeased to end the dream before being able to boast of his success to the smug little wood sprite.

"Da, I was sleeping," he complained and got to his feet. He blinked in wonder to find the Elven King there holding Legolas tight. "What is amiss?"

"Aulë's Arse! You've made the wee elfling think you'd died," bellowed Gloín. "Why would you go and do such a thing? A joke is a joke, but it's a poor jest that nearly sets two folk at war with one another."

Gimli gazed upon the tear-streaked face of his new friend and frowned. "Legolas?" he called and held out a hand. "I am fine; why did you think I was dead?"

Now Legolas wriggled from his father's hold and took the offered hand, satisfying himself that it was really true and Gimli was not at the doors of the Halls of Waiting.

"Ai, Gimli! I thought you were fading before my very eyes," he said solemnly. "You kept opening your mouth and sucking in huge lungfuls of air, then your eyes drooped lower, you couldn't hold up your head, and finally you laid down and shut your eyes."

Gloín had to translate for his son and then the expression of sheepishness that washed through Gimli's eyes made him smile. His son had not meant to deceive the Elf-child after all.

"Of course, for I was weary after the long day's trek through the frozen woods and such a fine dinner. What else would I do but sleep?" Gimli shrugged, somewhat embarrassed to have caused all this fuss just because he was tired. Was it wrong to sleep anywhere except a bed in Greenwood?

"That is not how people sleep," informed Legolas, once his Ada translated, and his tone expressed his incredulity.

"It is so how people sleep," insisted Gimli, who did not need anyone to translate in order to comprehend the elfling's obstinate attitude.

"It is the way of Dwarves, Legolas, to sleep thus," interposed Gloín, for now he understood. "You did not hurt Gimli and indeed, it seems your hospitality is exemplary. Thank you for looking after my son while your father and I were in council." Then the noble Dwarf bowed to the small Elven prince.

Legolas looked to his father for confirmation of this intriguing news and Thranduil could only shrug in equal amazement as he explained.

"If Lord Gloín says that this is so, we must believe him and count ourselves wiser in the ways of our neighbours," he said.

"Nay, I understand that he was sleeping, but I did not know Gimli was a Dwarf," said Legolas, who had been too upset to make sense of Gloín's presence at his father's side earlier. He turned to Gimli sadly. "You mean that you are not, then, a shape-shifter, and you cannot transform into a bear?"

Now hearing this, Gloín threw back his head and howled with laughter, slapping his son upon the back in high mirth, saying: "The wee prince thought you were one of Beorning's folk, Gimli. He wants you to turn into a bear and growl!"

"Shape-shifter?" Gimli did not find this amusing in the least and scowled at Legolas, for he was proud to be counted among Durin's people and high in stature among his kin. Sullenly he turned his back to the elfling and crossed his arms over his chest. "Who would mistake a Dwarf for a shape-shifter, except a crazy Elf?"

"Gohennach nín," said Legolas contritely, for he could see he had hurt Gimli's pride. "I have a fine Ice Palace in need of a mighty Lord to dwell within it. A Dwarf Lord would be best indeed."

Gloín was moved by those words and shared with Thranduil a beaming smile. It is safe to say he made the child's apology even more elaborate in translation, and Gimli was more than gratified.

"Rejoice!" called Thranduil, taking up his son again and perching him upon his right shoulder. "For your friend is well and unharmed and alive to enjoy the feast we will throw to celebrate it!"

With that they all left the apartment and all were appeased, seeing the Dwarf child healthy and whole, and King Thranduil did indeed decree that a feast should be held. The Elves and the Dwarves made merry for six days until the snows ended and the way was cleared. During that time, Legolas and Gimli played in the Ice Palace, hunting imaginary Balrogs and slaying innumerable Orcs, and when the Naugrim returned at last to their journey, they went away as allies of the Greenwood, and so they remained until the conflict over the treasure horde of the dragon, Smaug.

Methed

NOTE: This story is dedicated with much friendship to Dís Thrain's Daughter, who's love of the Dwarves is well known and who has given me much feed-back on Feud and other stories over the years that has helped me seek ways to include them. Dís, this small tribute is long overdue. Hope everyone else enjoys this first meeting between Legolas and Gimli, too :) Of course it is all AU in the extreme, but I had fun writing it and have been meaning to finish it for the longest time. In this tale, Gimli is rather at the peak of adolescence while Legolas, as we all know, is just four years old. I am sure the Dwarves would have taught Gimli Sindarin by this age, but in this story it suited me to assume otherwise, or perhaps we may imagine he was rebellious and refused to study the Elvish tongue.

Thanks to everyone for reading!
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