Author's Note: Merry Christmas, everyone! Again, I am sorry for the long wait. This has been a strange, difficult, and crazy year for so many people, and I truly hope things are well for all of you, and that the coming year brings much improvement! I deeply appreciate each and every one of your reviews and comments, (though I may not always get to respond as I'd like to) and I hope this can bring you a little bit of joy in the darkness of the world.

Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year!

Winter Surprises

The large figure grew closer and closer as the snow continued to swirl madly around and down and over the eyes of the twins, obstructing their view of the approaching figure. Letting out a hiss, Elladan reached back with his free hand to push Legolas further behind him. Elrohir notched another arrow, but the figure was too close now for him to fire. Elladan whispered a prayer into the howling wind as he raised his sword, charging at the figure. If there was only one . . . they just might have a chance . . . But if so, where had all the screams come from?

The figure's sword clattered against Elladan's, and he had no more time for contemplation as he tried to push his opponent away. He pulled back suddenly and plunged forward, trying to take his attacker off guard. His eyes grew large when his attack was deflected more easily than pushing away a tendril of hair from his face. Orcs were brutish and bulksome. They did not carry such ease of movement, or such . . . grace?

". . . Elladan . . ." came the strange echoing call through the howling of the wind. Elladan blinked, wavering in his next attack just enough that the figure broke through his blade, raising its free hand as though to strike the elder twin down.

Elrohir stepped in immediately, his bow shoved back on his back and his own sword in hand. As he lunged forward with outstretched blade, the figure cast the younger twin's blade aside with its sword as though it was bread to be sliced through, managing to touch its hand to Elladan's cheek at the same time, as though the attacking Elrohir was merely a pesky bug to be swatted away.

" . . . DARO!" called the echo again, and both twins froze, looking at each other and blinking the heavy snow out of frozen eyelids. They turned back as one to look more closely at the figure. There was something familiar about it, now that they were reconsidering their enemy. In fact, it almost looked like . . .

"ADA!" screamed a young voice into the wind, and a small figure barreled from behind the twins and threw itself up into their enemy's arms.

Elladan's mouth dropped, mirrored by his twin, as they gaped at the sight before them. The figure was not an orc, apparently, for it was now clutching the elfling to its chest like its life depended on it, sword carefully lowered to its side as though ensuring it could not harm the elfling. Thranduil had arrived, it seemed, and Elladan found himself blinking away rapidly rising tears of relief. They were saved; they were saved, and the lives of Elrohir and Legolas no longer rested on his shoulders alone. The elder twin slumped, hastily swiping a hand across treacherous eyes before grabbing Elrohir's arm just as he wavered.

The Woodland King froze in greeting his son, keen eyes swiveling to the place where Elladan's hand gripped his brother's arm tightly. He raised an eyebrow, Legolas still in his arms, and stepped closer to the twins, his wise, blue gaze sweeping over them in turn. "Are you well?" he asked seriously.

Elrohir opened his mouth to say "yes," but Elladan sent him a glare, knowing his brother all too well, and shook his head. "Nay, my Lord," he responded, well aware that his voice was filled with a great weariness that made the elven King tilt his head assessingly. "My brother is seriously injured . . . and Legolas . . . the elfling is very ill. I am sorry, my Lord . . . I tried to get them to safety . . ."

Thranduil frowned, his eyes penetrating deep within Elladan's soul as he held his gaze for a long moment. "And so you have, child," he said finally with a gentle smile. "You are weary, Elladan. And there is much you must tell me, but for now, what say we find shelter from this storm?"

Another figure came rushing around the bend of the treeline just then, sword in hand, slipping to a halt before Thranduil and bowing his head. "My Lord! We thought you had been taken!"

Thranduil turned to look at the figure, a younger elf Captain named Gaerlin. "I merely beckoned to the call of my child, Captain. All is well, as you can see."

"Legolas!" the brown-haired elf warrior cried, reaching out a hand to touch the elfling's cheek with a joyful look. "We are relieved to find you!"

"Hello, Gaerlin," Legolas smiled at the warrior happily. The young Captain was well known to him. He opened his mouth to say something else but choked instead, throwing his hand up to cover his mouth as his thin body was wracked with harsh coughs. Looks of horror crossed Gaerlin's and Thranduil's faces at the same time as Thranduil jerked his head down to look his elfling over. It was then that he noticed the little tree tucked into one side of Legolas' cloak and belt, eyebrows raising slightly before he turned to Elladan with a questioning look. His sword still in hand, he was unable to even pat Legolas on the back to soothe his hacking coughs, though a pained look crossed his face as the coughing continued. Gaerlin instead reached over and rubbed small circles on the elfling's back soothingly until the coughing slowed.

Turning his attention away from the sick elfling, Elladan smiled wryly at the King's inquisitive look. "It is a long story, my Lord. And one that is better told later."

"What about the spiders?" Elrohir asked, looking around them through the swirling snow as though expecting an entire nest to drop down on them at any moment.

"They are all dealt with," Gaerlin responded, turning his head away from Legolas, though his hand remained on the elfling's back. Thranduil nodded in appreciation at his Captain's response. He had apparently left the area before all the spiders had been killed.

"But we heard screams," Elladan said hesitantly. "We thought someone was dying . . ."

"There are injuries," Thranduil said grimly. "We were beset, and were nearly outnumbered."

"But you got them all, did you not, Ada?" Legolas asked weakly, his eyes shining with a worshipful light as he gazed up at his father. "And now we are all safe!" He turned to Elladan with a smile. "See, Elladan? I told you we would be safe!"

"So you did, little one," Elladan smiled back, his tone gentle and barely heard in the continued moaning of the wind. "And so you did."

#

Thranduil wasted no time in leading the small group back down the forest trail, now littered with the dead bodies of spiders, and to the elves' makeshift encampment. Warm, heavy tents were strewn underneath trees, and the soft, pained cries of injured elves could be heard by the passing party as Thranduil went straight to a large, brown tent near a tall, snow-covered oak, its boughs reaching down and over the tent to provide even more shelter for the Woodland King. The King had sheathed his sword and kept Legolas' face pressed against his strong shoulder as they passed through the blood and gore of the aftermath of the battle, not wishing his son to see such a sight. Legolas did not argue. He was too cold and too weary and too relieved to have been found by his beloved father to put up any argument. And after all they had already endured, the twins had no doubt that the poor elfling was weary of seeing such discouraging sights. Some of the uninjured elves were busy gathering the carcasses of the spiders and carting them away so that the bodies could be burnt out of the area. Others were hurrying back and forth between tents, lending aid to the injured warriors.

As Elladan and Elrohir looked around, they realized with some horror that this must have been the elves' encampment to start with, and they had been beset in their own encampment! Not for the first time, the twins exchanged a glance of horror intermingled with relief. They had been lucky, and they knew it. They could have been beset by the spiders just as easily as Thranduil's party. They could have been attacked by orcs, or wargs, or any manner of fell creatures in the weary course of trying to get the sick elfling to safety. They could have even been attacked in the caves where they sheltered, or the small overhang under the tree. They would not have survived.

Thranduil led the way into his tent, Gaerlin holding the flap aside with a bow of his head as the twins followed after the elder elf and walking swiftly away once they had entered to tend to other duties. The King laid his son down on his own cot, rubbing a thumb against his cheek as Legolas looked up at him with large, blue eyes. Instead of undressing him to treat whatever illness he might have, Thranduil instead covered Legolas with several thick blankets, leaving the little tree ensconced in the elfling's arms as Legolas smiled happily and curled under the pile of warmth.

Leaving his son momentarily, Thranduil took the twins by the arms and led them over to a smaller cot on the other side of the enclosure, pushing them gently down to sit upon it. He pulled up a nearby chair and sat in it, facing them. "Tell me what happened, what is wrong with my elfling, and what has already been used to treat him," he demanded, though his voice was kind and his eyes were filled with a fond worry as he looked over the twins.

Elladan exchanged a look with Elrohir, took a deep breath, and began . . .

#

When the elder twin was finished, with a far swifter version of the story than either Elrohir or Legolas could remember, Thranduil shook his head woefully. "I should have returned for him," he said sadly. "I should have left the battles despite the need and returned for him. I knew how important it was that we spend Yule together."

"It is alright, Ada," Legolas said softly from his warm spot in the covers. "I should have been braver and not desired so strongly to return. This might never have happened, otherwise, and Elrohir would never have gotten hurt. You should have seen, Ada! Elrohir risked his life to save my little tree!"

"He is very brave," Thranduil agreed, smiling warmly at the blushing Elrohir. "And Elladan as well, for he had to bring you both to safety."

"Yes," Legolas agreed hastily, sitting up with his arms still wrapped around the tree. He looked for all the world as though he was holding a stuffed toy in his grasp, and the twins smiled at the endearing look. He started coughing again and nearly dropped the tree, crying out in between coughs and snatching it back up in his grasp. The little tree seemed to move its branches ever so slightly, reaching out to wrap them lightly around the elfling's arms as though hugging him back.

Thranduil, though not able to prevent a slight smile at the sight, rose instantly to his feet and went to Legolas' side, dropping gracefully down beside him and rubbing his back with gentle circles of his hand. "Be at ease, my son," he said soothingly. "We will find medicine for you, and you will not have to suffer this long."

Gaerlin stepped back into the tent then, pulling the flap securely closed behind him to keep out the swirling snow. In his arms he carried a large pack, which he set on the cot beside Thranduil. He hastily pulled a few items out, and Elladan exclaimed in joy at sight of several bags of herbs he recognized. They were just the ones he had needed for Legolas, to help him with his breathing. "Ai! How I wish we had had a ready supply of that!" the elder twin bemoaned, rising from his place beside Elrohir and crouching down beside Gaerlin. The brown-haired Captain was familiar with the twins as well, since the realms had oft visited back and forth. He smiled now at Elladan as the elder twin took up a bag in trembling hands, obviously anxious to begin preparing the medicine—which needed to be boiled.

"I am well able to prepare this, my Lord," Gaerlin said gently, placing a hand upon Elladan's wrist. "You are nearly frozen through and weary. Perhaps you should rest with your brother."

Elladan waved a hand carelessly into the air. "Twill go much faster with two sets of hands, Gaerlin. I will rest easier when I know the little one can breathe again!"

Gaerlin sighed, casting a tentative glance up at his King—who was watching the elder twin with piercing gaze.

Thranduil's mouth tilted up in an exasperated smile as he scooted in to lean against the cot's headrail and settled Legolas upon his lap, holding him against his chest. "The stubbornness of the Peredhil twins is quite renowned, Gaerlin. I suggest you do not waste your breath, but instead focus on hurrying." His dark gaze turned back to Elladan. "I will be helping with Elrohir after this little one gets settled, however," he warned, then smiled. "And I will be taking a look at you as well! I doubt that you have escaped this completely unscathed, after all!"

Elladan frowned deeply, and Thranduil's smile turned into a bright laugh that filled the small enclosure with sudden light and cheer. Elladan smiled sheepishly then, unable to prevent sending the nodding-off Elrohir a look of relief as he stood with the bag of herbs and went over to a small stand to prepare the solution.

It was not long before Gaerlin and Elladan had several concoctions whipped up—one of which was a boiling vapour, that was settled in a pot over the small fire in the tent, that filled the air in the tent with a fresh, minty smell. Legolas began coughing even more when he breathed in the vapour, but he eventually coughed up a bit of phlegm from his lungs and seemed to breathe easier after that—to the relief of all the elves in the small enclosure. Gaerlin gave the elfling a sweet-tasting, steaming drink, bidding him to take small sips, and the exhausted young elf soon was nodding his own head over the cup. Thranduil gently took the cup from his son's shaking hands and handed it back to Gaerlin with a thankful look.

Elladan then took a smelly paste from a small jar, very, very gently unfastened the top part of Legolas' tunic, and smeared it over the thin chest, swiftly fastening the tunic back and pulling up the heavy blankets to the sleepy elfling's chin—all while Legolas was laying on Thranduil.

"Thank you, Ell'dan . . . Thank you, Gaerlin . . ." Legolas whispered, his eyes drifting closed all the way as he finally succumbed to sleep. Elladan bit down on his lower lip as he swiftly turned away to place the jar of paste back on the nearby table. It would be necessary to give it to the elfling throughout the night, along with the tea and vapour and more medicines for infection and fever. It promised to be a very long night, and Elladan was exhausted. But the elfling was even more exhausted and ill, and so very, very young. Yet he still managed to thank those that should have managed to ensure he stay safe in the first place—at least in his case, he amended, casting a guilty look at the poor, unaware Gaerlin. The young Captain could hardly prevent what he was not there to know about.

#

It was indeed a long, very long night, and Elladan was quite certain he had never had such a long night in his entire life—which was quite long indeed. Legolas, finally relaxing his guard now that his Ada was there, succumbed to a true bought of sickness that had all the elves nearly tearing out their hair in fear and worry. And Elrohir, having exhausted himself far beyond what an injured ellon should ever do, grew severely fevered and thrashed and turned and cried out for Legolas throughout the night, obviously fearing for the young elfling.

It finally took the combined efforts of Elladan, Gaerlin—who was quite handy at medicine and had spent some time studying to be a healer before choosing the path of a warrior—and the great Elven King himself to rid Elrohir of the pesky fever. And no sooner had Elrohir become lucid again when Legolas began to cough and could not stop. It then took their combined efforts to calm the elfling enough that he could draw in short breaths without coughing. Thranduil, looking ever so slightly harried and terrorized, finally used his great powers to put the elfling into a healing sleep, soothing medicinal vapours filling up the air and easing Legolas' breathing while he slept.

Elladan, exhausted, bone-cold—which was not normal for an elf—and sore from his long excursion in the raging blizzard, finally collapsed near Elrohir's cot, curling his arms over the edge and trembling so much he could not seem to muster the energy to move.

Thranduil, somehow digging up reserves of strength from some great and secret store, very gently gripped him by the arms and guided him up onto the cot beside his brother. He just as gently covered him with more warm, thick blankets that a worried-looking Gaerlin handed him, and helped him sit up long enough to drink an entire cup of warm healing tea. The woodland King had been true to his word earlier and tended to Elladan as well, who ended up being severely bruised on one leg and over his midsection from a nasty fall in the snow, and the tea he gave him now would aid him in healing faster.

And when Elladan sheepishly lay back against the pillow beside his brother, looking even more sheepishly at the King, Thranduil leaned forward and very, very gently placed a kiss on Elladan's brow. "Thank you, young one," he said softly. "You have fought well. Now it is time to rest. Be at peace. We will take care of your loved ones—for they are equally loved by us."

Elladan's eyes widened in surprise, and he opened his mouth to speak, but a great wave of weariness passed over him and the room began to darken. He heard soft whispers, then the mighty King's musical voice starting to sing—a soft, low melody Elladan recognized from his own elflinghood. He vaguely heard Legolas' child voice crying out in distress, and Gaerlin gently hushing him—then, all was dark.