The storm brewed in the west. It lifted the hair on the back of King Thranduil's neck as he lengthened his strides. The wind blew into his face, bitter, and stole the flush from his cheeks. He hissed and pulled his green wool cloak tighter to him. He knew it was impossible to reach his home at Mirkwood palace before the blizzard hit. Already frost crept along the grass on either side of the dirt path.

The snow came with a shriek. It streamed past Thranduil's resisting form and thickened the air. Through the darkening light Thranduil glimpsed a golden glow. Though the wind knotted his cloak and robe around his knees, he hurried toward it before it could disappear in the storm.

The glow proved to issue forth from an inviting window. It fought against the frost slowly taking over the glass.

Thranduil shivered in the growing cold as he felt along the log walls and found the door. He shoved it open and stumbled inside dulled quiet. He leaned back against the door to shut it.

Two figures were instant to rise from a table set near a blazing fireplace in the big room. "Valar be blessed, you are lucky not to have been caught in the storm!"

As Thranduil pushed back his good, his angular face and blond hair came into the light. "I apologize for this rude intrusion and thank you for the welcome."

A distinct chill settled over the room. The man and woman exchanged glances over the heads of their teenage daughter and baby girl. Finally, the woman said, "We are glad to shelter you until the storm ends, my king."

Thranduil hesitated, confused by her attitude. He hung up his cloak to dry on the wall hooks beside the door and came to the table. He left the object of his departure from the palace, a massive stuffed fox, on the bench under the hooks.

Thranduil sat down curiously. Beside the man and his wife and a happy baby, a girl of perhaps fourteen with black hair and small hands sat staring at nothing. She seemed to feel Thranduil's gaze and said, "I am blind, my king."

The silence settled in Thranduil's blue eyes. As he ate the warming food, his eyes strayed to the white windows.

"I see you are eager to be home," the man remarked.

"Yuletide is night after next," Thranduil answered. "I need to be home with my son."

The mention of Legolas, his son, had a marvelous effect. The eyes of the table turned to him and glowered. Later, after accepting a chilly invitation to the small guest bedroom, Thranduil sat on the blue and white bedspread with the stuffed fox in his lap. The animal was soft and warm, made from the fur of a fox that had stumbled into a trap.

Thranduil stroked the fox's back to stop his hands from clenching. He needed to be with Legolas on Yuletide; be there to put the fox into his arms and watch him smile.

Legolas had been in Mirkwood four months now. Still the bruises from his adoptive father, Lord Katar, had not faded. Still he cringed at every touch, thought every kindness was to be repaid in blood. His smiles were rare.

It hurt Thranduil to know the abuse Legolas had suffered was because of him. It was he who had given Legolas into a bad adoption because he could not handle the death of his wife.

Anger bubbled in his chest. Anger at the storm outside. Anger at himself. Anger at the unwelcoming house he found himself in.

Thranduil slept fitfully, forcing himself to dream of the storm ending, but it still raged come morning.

The fireplace blazed joyfully when Thranduil stepped out of the guest bedroom into the warm open house. The woman came from the kitchen behind the fireplace with a plate of pancakes and her husband came carrying the baby.

"I feel," Thranduil said, "That we began poorly last night. You know who I am, but I have not the pleasure of knowing you."

"Breya," said the woman. "My husband, Emperial, and my daughters, Dawn and Merida." Merida gurgled happily.

"What is it you so obviously hold against me?" Thranduil sat down at his corner of the breakfast table as Dawn came to her chair from the sofa against the opposite wall.

Breya muttered and smoothed her hands over her dark hair. Dawn asked calmly, "It is true you beat your son?"

The pancake turned cold in Thranduil's mouth. He choked and snatched his napkin to his lips. His fork clattered onto his plate. "What?!"

"It is what everyone is saying," Dawn said. "We have all heard of Prince Legolas's battered condition."

Thranduil stopped himself from banging his hand on the table. "I am appalled you could believe such an evil of me! I am the one who has fought for the lives we have now; how could you think I would go back on everything I stand for?"

"The evidence is quite conclusive," Breya snapped. "Furthermore, my husband is a witness to it!"

Thranduil leveled a glare at Emperial. "I do not care what you saw. You do not know what you saw! Legolas came to me hurt. It is a daily battle trying to teach him to love and trust when all he has ever known is cruelty!"

Thranduil sat back in his chair. "No wonder you all hate me." Silence reigned at the table.

Meanwhile, back at Mirkwood palace before the storm, a skinny elfling with fading bruises on his face stood by a window and watched the storm gather.

The room behind Legolas was spacious, with a high ceiling and a stone fireplace opposite the doorway. To his right curtains fluttered over the glass doors leading out onto a balcony. A silk green and gold carpet covered the floor in front of a brown leather sofa. At Legolas's back were two rocking chairs painted red.

Legolas looked toward the fire, where three armchairs sat to one side. Thranduil's chair, with an ottoman nearby and a small table at its side, was empty.

The snow hit the window and Legolas jumped back with a cry. He backward the fire and curled into the encompassing depths of Thranduil's chair. He wrapped his arms around his knees.

The clock above the balcony doors ticked aggressively in a full circle before rudely announcing the hour.

An elf passed through the doorway quietly. In a brown robe with wide sleeves and his dark hair braided over one shoulder, he approached Legolas. Legolas shrank back. "Go away."

Harune knelt down beside the chair. "I am not here to hurt you, Legolas. It is late and you have not eaten."

Legolas hid his face in his knees. "I do not want to eat."

Harune gently put his hand on Legolas's arm and felt the elfling flinch. "I know you are worried about Thranduil, but he is fine. There are many homes along the road he took, and he will have taken shelter."

"I want him to come home," Legolas whispered pitifully.

"He will come home, Legolas, I promise."

Legolas raised his head. His cheeks were wet. "What if he does not? In Katarian, no one comes back after a blizzard."

"In Katarian there are only open plains and nowhere to take shelter," Harune answered. "In Mirkwood there are neighbors and even caves. But," he saw Legolas needed further assurance, "If Thranduil does not come home, you will have a home still, Legolas, and I will look after you."

"Why? You—you are not my father."

"I am your father's father," Harune said. "I am your family. Here we look out for our families. You do not have to be my blood for me to love you."

Legolas raised a shaking hand to dry his cheeks. "I do not know if I love you."

Harune stood up and sat down on the wide arm of the chair. He reached out and smoothed gathered tangles from Legolas's blond hair. "Legolas, I understand you need space to learn to love. I know you have to start with Thranduil."

Outside the wind shrieked and hurled itself at the glass.

"Come eat some dinner," Harune coaxed.

Legolas curled tighter in the chair. "No!" He shuddered away from Harune as Harune stood, his stomach knotting at the thought of being hit, but Harune left the room.

"I am sorry," Legolas whispered. He sat until he heard Harune come back.

The elf sat down in front of the fire on the red rug. He put a tray down beside him and patted the floor. Legolas hesitated before he uncurled his stiff legs and slid to the floor.

The tray held a glass of warm milk and a sandwich heaped generously with thin-sliced boar meat.

"I cannot eat all that," Legolas said faintly.

"We can share," Harune answered.

Legolas scooched closer to the tray and reached for the glass of milk. He sipped on it. He asked, "Harune, what is Yuletide here?"

"It is a celebration of winter," Harune answered.

"In Katarian there is always a big party and the lords give their wives jewels," Legolas said. "They would always try to give better jewels than their rivals. Lord Katar—would not hit me on Yuletide . . ."

"Thranduil hosts an annual Yuletide party here too," Harune said. He put a hand on Legolas's knee. "But it is open to all."

"Do the lords give their wives jewels?"

"I expect so," Harune answered. "I used to give my wife sapphires and Thranduil often gave Ailunai emeralds. But Legolas, here what gifts, be them big or small, are given are given out of love, not out of a need to flaunt riches.

"Legolas, here Yuletide is a time to spend with the people we care about and think of them as we prepare for the new year. Many men have taken appreciating our beloveds and turned it into a need to give gifts. Here we give gifts but even nothing says something."

"So I do not have to give Thranduil something?"

"No," Harune said.

"I want to," Legolas said. "I-I need to. I want to call him . . . ada."

"I know Thranduil would be happy and full of joy if you called him ada," Harune answered softly. "For you to call him ada is something he wishes for every night."

Legolas uncertainly met Harune's blue eyes. "But—it sounds wrong when I say it. It does not sound the way Thranduil says it to you. It sounds bad!"

"You cannot say ada wrong, Legolas," Harune said. He touched Legolas's cheek. "What makes the word special is the way you say it. You can never say ada the way Thranduil says it because the love you say it with is different from the love Thranduil has for me."

"It sounds ugly," Legolas mumbled. "How—how do you say ada?"

"Ada," said Harune. Firmly, "It does not sound ugly, Legolas, and to Thranduil it will sound beautiful."

Legolas looked away. "No. If I say it wrong—" His hand shook his glass of milk.

Harune took the glass and put it aside. He knew the elfling did not like to be touched, but he moved closer to the trembling child and put his arm around Legolas's shoulders. "Legolas, even if you say it wrong, none of us and never Thranduil would ever hurt you. We do not punish here; we only teach and never by hitting."

"I do not want him to stop loving me."

"You could never give Thranduil a reason to stop loving you. Your home is always here."

Legolas swallowed. Harune felt the exhaustion in his small body. "I know you do not want to go to bed, but perhaps you will instead lie down on the sofa?"

Legolas blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Maybe for a little bit." He crawled into the left-hand corner of the sofa and rested his head on the armrest. Harune took a minute to clear away the tray. When he came back Legolas eyes were closed in fitful sleep. Harune covered him with a shawl.

In the morning the snow still whisked at the walls and the windows froze under pretty frost. Harune dressed in his room slowly and swiftly combed his hair. He braided it, aware Legolas would wake to sharp disappointment. He stepped out into the hall and listened at Legolas's door. The elfling still slept. On silent feet, Harune went to ready breakfast.

Back in his dour guest bedroom, Thranduil did not want breakfast. He sat on his bed and glared at the door, willing the storm to end so he could leave this hateful house and go home.

The door opened and Dawn came in, her blind eyes bright. "Forgive me for intruding, my king, but unama asked me to see to your room."

"There is nothing to be done," Thranduil said brusquely.

Dawn hesitated before she sat down on the opposite corner of the bed as Thranduil. She encountered the stuffed fox and moved it into her lap. "Please forgive my parents. They do not always see with their hearts."

"And you do?"

"It is the only way I have ever seen," Dawn answered. "I believe that you do not hit your son. People who are cruel feel cruel. You feel warm and kind."

A smile flickered across Thranduil's face. "Thank you. I wish—more people believed in what they felt."

Dawn ran her hands over the fox. "People who see sometimes put too much into sight. It is natural for them to believe what they see. I hope the storm ends soon so you can go home. Is this fox for your son?"

"Yes," Thranduil answered. "When I was little, I had, and still have, a stuffed moose. I loved having it close to me when no one else was around. I thought Legolas might like to have something hold since he—he often will not let me hold him."

"It is nice to pass things on," Dawn said. She hopped off the bed.

Thranduil followed her into the wide kitchen behind the fireplace. Breya frowned at him from her place chopping vegetables at the center table. Thranduil said nothing; the smells of Yuletide goose and rabbit were in the air, mixed with the scents of wine and spices. He took Dawn's lead and took up a knife.

No one said anything but the tension in the air softened. When the last marinade was done and the final carrot chopped, the blizzard ended. The silence deafened.

"It is noontime, my king," Breya said, not coldly, "You must stay and eat."

Thranduil shook the wrinkles out of his cloak. "I will eat at home. I thank you for your hospitality and extend a personal invitation to attend our annual Yuletide celebration."

Dawn brought him the stuffed fox, hugging it to her chest. "You forgot this."

"No," Thranduil said. "It is for you."

Dawn's eyes opened wide. "But it is for your son!"

"When I started out yesterday morning, it was for Legolas. I see now it was meant for you. Believe in what you feel, Dawn. I thank you for believing in me."

"Thank you," Dawn said softly. She buried her face in the fox.

Thranduil nodded his goodbyes. The snow came up to his knees when he stepped out into a sparkling world. He shifted his balance with his first step and walked on the snow. Even the shrieking elflings he passed running and throwing snowballs at each other left only shallow prints in their wake.

Thranduil almost disregarded the opportunity to admire the sun on the snow. Melt dripped down around him from high tree branches and spattered. A kingdom of tiny grey snowbirds came out to play.

Only once the wood walls of the palace with glistening windows and snow-dusted mossy eaves came into view did Thranduil's thoughts fly to Legolas. The guards at the front doors, in fur-lined tunics, cloaks, and boots, nodded to him as he entered with good-natured grins.

Thranduil hurried toward his chambers. He did not know how Legolas had taken his first night alone and so was almost running by the time he reached his corner of the palace with visions of Legolas hiding under a bed.

Legolas started up with a cry from the brown leather sofa the minute Thranduil stepped into the family room. The tray on his lap crashed to the floor. At the sound of breaking glass, Legolas flinched.

Harune bounded up from one of the two red rocking chairs with reassurances. "It is alright, Legolas, it was an accident. You do not need to be afraid."

Legolas's blue eyes flicked warily to his father. Thranduil draped his cloak over the empty rocking chair and knelt down in front of Legolas. "I missed you."

"I missed you to," Legolas whispered. "I thought—you might not come home."

"I will always come home, ion nin, always." When Legolas did not pull back, Thranduil wrapped him in a hug.

The seconds ticked by before Legolas relaxed against him and dropped his head onto Thranduil's shoulder. His hands clenched on Thranduil's robe. Thranduil picked him up and moved to his armchair close to the fire. Harune left the room with the broken glass neatly swept up.

"I did not mean to break it," Legolas murmured.

"I know," Thranduil answered. He held Legolas a little tighter. "I am glad you are here with me."

"It was not awful while you were gone," Legolas said. A tiny smile glowed in his eyes. "Your father is very nice."

Thranduil smiled. "Harune has always been here for me. I am glad you let him be there for you."

"I did not sleep very well last night," Legolas yawned.

"Me neither," Thranduil agreed. "You know you can sleep now, if you need to. There is nothing wrong with taking a nap."

For a moment Legolas did not move and Thranduil held his breath, hoping Legolas would stay with him. But Legolas slid to the floor and settled in his favorite corner of the sofa. Thranduil muffled a sigh and fetched the elfling a shawl.

Harune brought Thranduil a tray. Thranduil sat down to eat, first pulling off his boots. Outside the thawing windows elflings were pestering each other with snowballs and building a village of snow elves. Between eating and finalizing the details of the Yule party, Thranduil stood and watched the elflings play. Someone from the kitchens came out into the cold and roared, "hot chocolate!" The elflings screamed in body and flooded out of sight into the palace.

Thranduil wanted to see Legolas as carefree and happy instead of forever lost in a shadowy corner.

The day crawled to a close. Thranduil tucked Legolas into bed and gave him a kiss on the forehead. In the quiet of his bedchamber, he pulled down his bed and heated a bath. He relaxed in the hot water, resting his neck on the tub rim and closing his eyes.

It was easy to doze until the steam began to curl and fade in the air. Thranduil wrapped himself in a towel and went into his warm bedroom. Candle and firelight made the room mellow.

Yule tomorrow. Plenty of snow. Thranduil slid into his nightclothes, creamy silk. He braided his hair and piled up a welcoming heap of pillows. The door swung open and Legolas came in, rubbing his eyes. Quickly Thranduil stopped himself blowing out the candles.

"Did you have a bad dream, ion nin?"

Legolas shut the door and leaned against it. "N-no. I wondered if I could—sleep with you—if you want me to—if you do not mind . . ."

"I would love it if you slept with me," Thranduil said gently. He redistributed the pillows.

Legolas looked at him desperately. "I do not want you to hold me."

"The bed is big enough for us both to have as much space as we need," Thranduil answered. He waited until Legolas had climbed into his side of the bed before blowing out the candles.

The firelight flickered in the dark room. Thranduil fell asleep quickly to the sound of wood crackling and Legolas breathing. It was past midnight when he awoke next with the vague intention of feeding the fire.

"I did not mean to wake you up," Legolas murmured.

Thranduil sat up and stretched. "You did not wake me, Legolas, I often wake to feed the fire. Did I wake you?"

Legolas sat up and watched Thranduil stoke the fire. As Thranduil came back to bed, he said, "I did not want to wake you up by moving."

"It is a big bed, Legolas, and you can move as much as you like." Thranduil reached back to plump his pillows.

Legolas scooted closer to Thranduil, hugging two pillows. "Will you hold me like you did in the chair?"

"Of course," Thranduil held out his arms. "Come on."

Legolas relaxed against him. Thranduil let the blankets settle softly. He wrapped his arms around Legolas.

"Happy Yuletide, ada," Legolas said.

For a moment Thranduil did not know if he had heard Legolas right. Then the tears welled in his eyes. "Happy Yuletide, ion nin, I love you."

There was his stuffed moose to present Legolas with in the morning, the Yuletide party to possibly attend, good food and wine. Thranduil forgot all that. He closed his eyes to a perfect world. 

Thank you all so much for reading and happy holidays! I hope you enjoyed this, my gift to you. Please share your thoughts! 

Updates to Nin Chronicles: My Prince to continue as normal next week.