Disclaimer: All things Lord of the Rings belong to Tolkien. I do not own any of the characters, locations, etc.
Snow fell steadily on the bare branches of the trees and added to the already thick layer blanketing all of Mirkwood. Inside the king's palace, servants were bustling about in preparation for the upcoming winter feast. Dried fruits and berries lined the pantry walls while, in the kitchen, cooks baked pan after pan of delicious pastries. In scattered rooms throughout the palace, elves busied themselves preparing gifts for their kin and friends.
Sitting in front of a crackling fire, the prince of Mirkwood was likewise occupied. During other years, he would have been seen helping the servants string lanterns along the hallways, but he had been banned from the exertion this year by the healers. Though he did not think so, the healers insisted that the leg wound acquired on a scouting mission was still too recent for him to put much weight on it. Because he was barred from decorating the palace, the elf took it upon himself to make presents for all the warriors in his scouting party, due to set out a week after the festivities ended.
"Truly, Aragorn, I must say that this is one of your better ideas," Legolas said to his friend, who was reading in a chair across from the elf.
The man, absorbed in his book, only bothered to glance up and nod at Legolas before returning to his reading. Silence reigned again aside from the metallic scraping and clinking originating from Legolas' direction.
A few minutes later, the prince sighed in satisfaction, his handiwork complete. He held it up for inspection.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"Very good, my friend. Your warriors will surely be grateful for this gift," Aragorn replied.
Outside in the corridor, guards exchanged news with the servants who were hurrying about with bundles of decorations, food, and wrapping paper in their arms.
"Did you hear that Prince Legolas is making presents for his warriors?" one maid asked her fellow servant.
"Is that so?" the other maid responded. "What is he making?"
"Well, from the sounds I hear coming from his room," a guard volunteered, "I would venture to guess he is making knives!"
"Knives?!" the maid exclaimed. "Why do you say so?"
"When I came on duty, I heard clinking and scraping of metal on metal. Perhaps he is sharpening them," the guard said.
"I do not think I should like to receive a knife as a present," the maid reflected. "Even if it is from the Prince."
"A knife would come in handy," the guard said. "Although we are supplied with all the weapons we need at the armory. What would you prefer as a gift?"
"It is very cold this winter. My wish would perhaps be a new cloak or one of those scarves so popular among humans this year," she mused but suddenly broke from her thoughts.
"I must hurry and finish delivering these apples. They are to be made into King Thranduil's favorite tarts."
The guard laughed and said, "I hope your wish is fulfilled. I shall see you at supper tonight."
Several mornings later, Christmas morning, all was quiet and peaceful. The snow had stopped and Mirkwood was one glittering white forest. A squirrel ventured out from its hole, intent on finding some acorns. It was only a few paces from the tree before it scampered back to its shelter again, alarmed by a roar from the palace.
"LEGOLAS!"
It sounded very much like the king. A very angry king.
Legolas casually opened the door to his chamber and peered around the corner of the hall for his father. The king was nowhere in sight, so he waited.
"Son!" The yell came from the courtyard. Since Thranduil sounded rather livid, Legolas decided to walk at a faster than normal pace. Fortunately, his leg had healed sufficiently for him to stride quickly through the palace. Soon, he emerged in the frigid air.
"Legolas, what is the meaning of this?" Thranduil bellowed, gesturing at the elves standing in the courtyard who were quite embarrassed to be the center of the king's attention. They were members of Legolas' future scouting party and were supposed to stand guard that morning. In fact, they were heading to their posts when they were intercepted by the king.
"Of what, father?" the prince asked innocently.
"This!" the king hissed, dragging forward an unfortunate elf. "What is this around his neck?"
"It's a scarf, father," Legolas replied calmly. Indeed, the elves in the courtyard, excluding Thranduil and Legolas, were all arrayed in scarves of Mirkwood green and brown.
"A what?" Thranduil was still shouting.
"A scarf," Legolas repeated. "Men use them to keep warm during the winter months. Since we will be exposed to the discomforts of blowing wind and snow, I thought these scarves would prove to be very useful additions to our usual gear."
"Ah, in that case," Thranduil coughed and addressed the other elves, "you may proceed about your business." Relieved, the warriors went off to their outdoor posts, snug in their new gifts.
"Father?" Legolas called. "You are not angry?"
"Angry? No, my son," Thranduil said. "Why would you think that?"
"You were bellowing my name at the top of your lungs five minutes ago," Legolas offered.
"Yes, but it was all a misunderstanding," Thranduil quickly said. "I'm certain the elves are very grateful."
"Father?" Legolas said again.
"Yes?" Thranduil asked, giving a slight sigh of impatience.
"Would you like me to make you one?"
One would have thought Thranduil choked, but that would surely be impossible for a king, and an elven king at that.
"No, that's quite all right," the king said.
"You are certain?"
"Yes, quite certain. Thank you, Legolas. Let us go back inside and enjoy a peaceful breakfast together." The two royal elves returned to the palace. Not long after, the squirrel again left its home to continue its search for acorns. The snow began to drift slowly down again, but this did not bother the guards on duty, for they were well protected from the blowing snow and wind.