i.

Thranduil carefully folds the last bit of paper over the small box and ties it off with the red ribbon Bard had picked out in the market earlier that day. This specific box is for Tilda - a nice green dress with golden embroidery neatly folded and tucked away inside. Thranduil sits the box on the pile and pulls out the next thing that needs to be wrapped - a pocket telescope that Thranduil had picked out himself - when he hears Bard sigh on the other side of the room.

It has been growing close to the holiday where men exchanged gifts (only two days away now, if Thranduil is remembering correctly) and Bard still has an absurd amount of paperwork to take care of. A fact that often made Thranduil question-

"I'm sorry that you've gotten stuck doing most of the gift wrapping." Bard says, setting another paper to the side before slumping down on his desk, "I just haven't had a lot of time to do much of anything as of late."

Thranduil gives his husband a quick, reassuring smile and stands, moving over to his husband. He takes Bard's hand and leads him out of his desk chair, pulling him in for a long hug.

"I am glad to be able to help," Thranduil says, pressing a kiss into Bard's hair and drawing soft, comforting circles into his back.

"You probably have people to do it for you in the Greenwood, hm?" Bard exhales into Thranduil's chest, eyes closing for just the barest of moments before he untangles himself from his husband and moves to sit back at his desk, a new document in hand before Thranduil has even thought of a reply.

"No, actually." Thranduil says, a small, mischievous smile crossing his face as Bard turns to look at him, brow furrowed, "We do not have the same customs, you know."

Bard turns more fully from his work, the pen in his hand dropping to his desktop as he fully looks at his husband.

"You don't celebrate Yule?"

"We celebrate the winter solstice. And Turuhalmë." Thranduil explains, but Bard just keeps looking at him, seemingly incredulous, so he continues, "Turuhalmë I believe is similar to Yule - merrymaking, snow games, songs, drinking, storytelling around the fire."

"But no gifts?" Bard says.

"No."

"Then how do you know-" Bard begins, but Thranduil cuts him off with a wave.

"I have lived close to the children of men for a long while, my love. I am not as unobservant as some would make me out to be." Thranduil says, very matter-of-factly, "I know that each child gets one gift from the bearded centaur in the sky." Thranduil makes a vague gesture with his hand and ties off the ribbon on Bain's telescope.

Bard looks at him for a long moment before narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to the side.

"Bearded centaur in the sky?" He repeats, and Thranduil nods, placing the next unwrapped gift on the table in front of him. Bard pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and lets out a soft, tired laugh.

"It's not a centaur, both adults and children can receive more than one gift, I just haven't had time to do more shopping. But to get back to the centaur bit -" Bard starts, but is quickly cut off.

"They can receive more than one gift?" Thranduil asks, and Bard can see a plan forming in his eyes, but decides not to question it.

"Yes. It depends on-"

"I must go. I will be back before dinner." Thranduil declares, not even letting Bard finish his sentence before pressing a quick kiss to his forehead and heading off out the door.

When Thranduil returns, hours later, with three guards carrying various bags full of baubles and clothes and toys, Bard only shakes his head and grins at his husband before continuing to work on his paperwork.

ii.

Tauriel is already in the kitchen when Sigrid wakes, sitting at the small table with her legs tucked neatly under her. Steam plumes slowly from the mouth of the kettle on the stove, set aside on one of the back burners, likely because she knew Sigrid would be rising and joining her soon after she'd poured her own cup. And sure enough, as Sigrid steps through the low threshold into the kitchen, there is already a cup and saucer set out for her, her favorite tea blend tin sitting neatly beside it.

Sigrid smiles, a familiar warmth filling her chest as she moves over to the stove. Tauriel says nothing as she takes a long sip of her own tea, but Sigrid can tell she's smiling behind her porcelain mug. Her hair is pulled up into a messy plait and pinned back into a bun, but as often is in the mornings, there are tiny flyaway hairs that have escaped during the night, framing Tauriel's face with tiny wisps of fire-red hair. Sigrid has always found it adorable - one of her favorite pastimes has become tucking those little wayward strands back into Tauriel's braids, only for them to come loose a few moments later. Now that she's allowed to touch Tauriel's hair, that is.

Sigrid nearly knocks over her teacup as the memory of her first asking Tauriel if she could braid her hair pops into her mind unbidden, and she lets out a wistful, embarrassed chuckle as she rights the teacup on the saucer and pours the water over the tea leaves. Steam blooms up toward her, carrying with it the sweet smell of jasmine and rose, and as she sits at the table across from Tauriel, she attempts to will the slight blush from her cheeks. It's silly to be embarrassed about something that had happened so long ago at this point, and she knows Tauriel would just laugh with her if she brought it up now.

There is a long, content silence as Sigrid stirs a teaspoon of honey into her tea.

"Is there anything else that needs to be done before we leave for Dale tonight?" Sigrid asks, heat rising to her cheeks for an entirely different reason as Tauriel looks up at her through her eyelashes, a warm smile crossing her lips.

"I have packed everything - including all of the gifts for your family - set it by the door and closed up the barn," Tauriel says, casually wiping a stray drop of tea from the rim of her mug, "So no. We are ready to leave whenever you decide it is time."

Tauriel sets her teacup down on the table and stretches her arm across the table, palm up and inviting. Sigrid takes it and locks their fingers together, softly rubbing her thumb over Tauriel's knuckles as she finishes off her tea.

"Thank you," Sigrid grins, squeezing Tauriel's fingers in her own.

iii.

"No, no no, get away from those presents!" Bard shouts, shooing a disappointed Tilda and a confused Legolas away from the (now arguably a bit large) stack of gifts, "Those are for tomorrow and you know that, Tilda."

Bard gives her his best disapproving look until she reluctantly drags Legolas off to show him all of the decorations they had put up outside. Bain follows close behind, more than likely in an effort to try to convince at least one of them to have a snowball fight with him.

Sigrid had kicked him out of the kitchen early this morning, even though he'd reassured her multiple times that he knew how to cook dinner. Thranduil had just clapped a hand on his shoulder and led him out into the living room to relax while Sigrid bustled away in the kitchen.

"I had intended to make dinner and wine and everything, you know," Bard says, as he leans into Thranduil's side. His husband shoots him a knowing look and a small grin.

"She is just on edge because it is her first time coming back home after moving away. Let her do as she wishes." Thranduil runs his fingers through Bard's hair, carefully working out tiny tangles before pulling it back into Bard's typical half-bun. By the time he's finished, Bard has relaxed into him, his shoulders no longer tense against Thranduil's side, and the Elvenking smiles to himself.

"I know." Bard sighs, and they sit in comfortable silence for a long while, until Sigrid calls them all in for dinner. Bain comes in first, looking squarely like he'd lost quite a few snowbattles, and Legolas trails in after him, carrying Tilda on his back. She grins wide and victorious when she sees her father, and bounds off of Legolas' back and up to him to give him a play-by-play retelling of the snow battles she had apparently won.

iv.

They all settle down in the living room after dinner. A long-smoldering fire roars in the hearth as Bard settles down next to his husband, carefully handing him a warm mug of mulled wine. Tilda and Bain are settled on the floor in front of the fire, talking Legolas' ear off about everything that's been going on since they last saw him.

Tauriel and Sigrid are both curled into one of the large armchairs to the left of the hearth, mugs of hot cider in their hands, leaning into each other. Bard feels Thranduil's arm wrap around his shoulders and pull him close, and he sighs, content and warm and glad that his family is here and whole and safe.

Bard takes another slow sip of his wine and snuggles further into Thranduil's side, smiling softly when Thranduil presses a kiss into his hair.

"Merry Yule," Bard breathes into his husband's sweater, and he can feel the quiet rumble of Thranduil's chest as he chuckles at him.

"Merry Yule."