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All characters belong to Tolkien and Peter Jackson.

additional notes.
Have a merry Christmas, a happy New Year and a hopeful ending to 2020.

December 24th 1914

When the Christmas ceasefire with the Germans had been announced, Gimli Durin had not known what to think of the idea. To share his Christmas Eve with strangers, with the Germans he had been warring with only the day before, was downright repulsive (why would he want to share a glass of champagne with the men who had been perfectly willing to murder his friends and family in cold blood?), however contrastingly appealing it would be to have his Christmas time merrymaking instead of crouched in the damp, cold trenches ducking bullets and courting death whenever he decided he wanted to stretch out the now permanent kink ironed into his lower back.

He remembered Christmas back home, where he and his parents would head over to the Oakenshield cousins for Christmas Day, walking down ice coated lanes to the other side of their small rural village, spending the night as well with Uncle Thorin, Aunt Dis and cousins Kili and Fili as they sung carols and exchanged presents. Uncle Thorin's harp solo of Silent Night, Aunt Dis always accompanying with sweetly sung vocals had always been a highlight. Last year, Gimli's mother had gifted him a pristine set of bagpipes to join in- so he could become a true Scotsman, she had laughed- but he didn't know where they were now, whether in storage or sold to make up the loss of their exported business. Last year though, Thorin hadn't been killed at the hands of the Germans and Gimli and his cousins had had a future left to them- he didn't know how the family would ever celebrate Christmas now.

In the end, it was the promise of alcohol that brought him crawling out of the trenches and towards the mingling crowd of soldiers; he could stay with his fellow soldiers, he reasoned, and their was no need to deprive himself of what little joy he could scrounge for himself before the shooting started up again.

Stumbling over the frost frozen ground, lumbering gracelessly over mounds of dirt and churned up mud and steering well away from the scattered corpses of men, Gimli came finally to the throng of soldiers with a heavy trepidation that seemed only slightly ludicrous as the tricking sound of laughter drifted quietly over him, accompanied by the mixed babbling of various languages. It was a far cry from the screams of the weeks previous, the deadly foes united by a common holiday, the quarrelling nations embodying what little hope Gimli had held in humanity after the declaration of the Great War; the sound of voices raised in song, in prayer, a jumble of language blending to create their own patched up symphony was, inexplicably, one of the most wonderful things he had ever heard and he stood, poised ten or so feet away, to allow it to wash over him.

Kili and Fili would have been the life of the party, if they had not been deployed God knows where.

Minutes passed, a blur of time in which Gimli tried to convince his feet move closer to the holiday tableau with limited success, his breath baited as though any small movement would dispel the mirage before him. English soldiers, French soldiers, German soldiers and Scottish soldiers- laughing like old friends, slinging casual arms around each other's shoulders and giving gifts as though they had not been pitted against each other in a fight to the death. Shaking slightly, the sound of gunfire popping with a ghostly rat-tat-tat in his ears, Gimli took an almost unnoticeable step backward, towards the relative safety of the trench that had been his home for the pat few months.

He wished he hadn't come out, he wished he had stayed in, he wished that he was back home and away from here and away from the murders who had killed his uncle and stolen his life and away from the people who had been his friends but could freely fraternise with them as if none of it had ever happened and-

"Frohe Weihnachten, Herr."

Gimli froze almost immediately, feeling every inch the deer caught in headlights as a heavily accented voice addressed him from his over his left shoulder. It was lilting and as beautiful as any bird song he had ever heard, though choked with the ashes or gunpowder and the damp of the trenches as Gimli's was- and undeniably German, from the rolling of sounds to cascade of complicated syllables. An ocean away from the comforting rumble of a Scotsman's brogue.

The voice came again, just as accented but forming familiar words in a steady English instead. "Merry Christmas, Sir," it corrected itself, contritely, "my apologies, I mean to wish you a merry Christmas. In English."

Reluctantly, Gimli turned (his mother had, after all, impressed upon him the importance of proper manners and he had been nothing if not a diligent student) to face his new and much unwanted companion, his gaze feeling frigid and strange on his face as he found himself craning his neck up to look at the German, who had seemingly been blessed with the lean and tall build of a maturing sapling. And with ethereal good locks that seemed unfair for a murderer to possess. He was, as far as Gimli could tell beneath the black stains of soot, frighteningly pale, as one who was deathly ill or a spirit returned from beyond the grave- the pale mop of gold hair did nothing to dissuade his opinion, further leaching colour from his visage and the only vivacity of his appearance were the high spots of colour dusted by the cold on his cheek bones and the way yet cheerful blue of his eyes.

"Hullo," Gimli replied moments later, when it became clear the soldier was not going to be leaving anytime soon. Indeed, the soldier was inching quietly closer, a look of curiosity pasted on his face. Then he continued, asking with a slight decline of his head towards the seething crowd of people, "you going to the... meeting thing down yonder?"

The soldier gave a firm shake of his head, smiling lopsidedly and somewhat awkwardly. "Nine, I had not planned upon doing so- not yet anyhow. Perhaps when the crowd dies down and the noise begins to abate. And you?"

"Up here, aren't I?" Gimli retorted gruffly, his gaze once more landing on his fellows in arms as they mingled down below with a shake of his head and an incredulous sigh. The soldier didn't reply, though his eyes followed Gimli's look and the same sort of wonder Gimli had been feeling was heavy in his gaze- he moved to the side a little bit and folded slowly down to sit on a hewn off tree branch with enough room that it was a clear invitation for Gimli to sit down beside him, which Gimli did, giving into the temptation of relaxing his crying out muscles.

"Legolas Greenleaf," the German introduced himself, stretching out long limbs with a contented sigh and a small smile. He held, Gimli noticed suddenly, a bottle of scotch in one hand and a spruce sapling in the other, only ten inches high or so but decked out with fairy lights and clearly meant to be a Christmas tree like the ones he saw festooning the German trenches.

Gimli blinked. "Gimli Durin," he said, proffering an awkward hand to Legolas as the soldier juggled to set his things down where they would not be wet by the crisp snow. "Merry Christmas."

Legolas gave a beaming smile, his face transforming in its joy as he took Gimli's hand and shook it vehemently. He looked as though his one truest wish had been granted, with only a simple introduction and an even simpler seasonal benediction found on cards, and Gimli found himself smiling along, though he had resolved only quarter of an hour ago to have nothing to do with the Germans. Christmas, it seemed, had played its hand, making itself known even when Gimli was going to turn his back on it; their breaths- both of them the breaths of humans, none of them monsters- frosted the air between them, white and intangible as the world seemed to teeter over some invisible edge unfelt until now.

"A pleasure to meet you, Gimli," Legolas murmured, and the word fell from its invisible precipice into uncharted territory beneath its maddening drop.

"A pleasure," Gimli echoed, and something slotted undeniably into place. He laughed.

Legolas sat a moment before speaking, his brows furrowed as he puzzled something out- English, Gimli supposed, because German was clearly his native language, no matter how clear and precise his English was. He wrung his hands awkwardly in his lap, gnawed on his lip, and Gimli tried to tamp down the annoyance of waiting for the German to speak- it was the season of goodwill after all, he had nothing else to do but sit and talk with this Legolas Greenleaf and the man himself seemed from the limited interaction that Gimli had exchanged with him nice enough. So he waited, fiddling with the hems of his sleeves and worrying at the thread as Legolas' face lit up with understanding.

"Want some?" He offered brightly, holding out the bottle of scotch as grinned, bouncing excitedly in his seat- Gimli suspected that the soldier had already had some of the scotch and, if the giddy joy on his face was any indicator, was a total lightweight. Gimli clucked silently with a chuckle, which Legolas ignored as he carried on. "I stole it from my lieutenant- good stuff, very nice. It tastes like scotch."

"You don't say, laddie," Gimli said, taking the bottle. His fingers were deft as he flicked the cap off, his other hand neatly catching it and the alcohol was cool as it soothed his parched throat- very good stuff, just as Legolas had promised, a better scotch than he had ever had himself. "Your lieutenant?" Gimli asked finally, swallowing a large mouthful before handing the bottle back.

"Aragorn Elessar- he will not mind, not since it is Christmas," Legolas explained. Gimli's smile spread at the sound of the stilted, formal English, somehow endearing him more to the German instead of irritating him- the alcohol he supposed, the exhaustion and Christmas spirit too. "He was the one to propose the truce anyhow, and we are close friends."

Gimli could still remember watching the German lieutenant who had climbed out from their trenches- he had came out, a handsome, memorable man, with two other soldiers beside him, all three of them unarmed. The two soldiers had been twins, each the mirror image of one another, and there had clearly been some brotherly between the trio, even if it were not entirely through blood. Even before speaking, the three had somehow been the personification of Christmas cheer, smiling and joking with themselves as they made their way across No Man's Land; that had been the entire reason Dwalin had decided to rendezvous with them in place of Dain Ironfoot, their lieutenant, who had a more virulent hate of the Germans than the rest of the men in trench and hadn't even bothered to take a second glance at the Germans before vetoing any attempt at parlaying with them.

Maybe that was when Gimli had realised the Germans were men too, with families and friends and lives; maybe that was where the subconscious instinct to stay and talk to Legolas Greenleaf instead of spitting on his feet and leaving was coming from.

The idea of hating Legolas that only very briefly featured, he supposed, when he had first heard the voice beside him, before vanishing when Gimli had seen the man willing to pursue a conversation in a language he was not fluent in and share out the drink he had stolen, willing to laugh with a man who should have been an enemy. His father would have been horrified, Thorin even more so, but Kili and Fili would have leaped into the conversation in the way they were wont to- when Gimli had been younger, he had idolised the brothers and aspired to be just like them. He could now, be like them, and pretend that they sat beside him.

With that thought in mind, Gimli launched into a story of Dain with wildly gesticulating hands and a beaming smile- Dain was as much a conversation filler as anything else, especially when on the subject of lieutenants-, sometimes having to backtrack and explain the meanings of English words that the boy didn't quite understand. Legolas howled with laughter beside him, thin body shaking as he interjected with his own quietly witty comments, leaning in towards his shoulder as the pair passed the bottle back and forth between them. Around them, snow began to gently drift in flurries of perfect white flakes.

25/12/14
To: Mr and Mrs Gloin Durin
13 Erebor Street
Ered Luin
Scotland

Dear Ma and Da,

I hope this letter reaches you in good health, if at all. Letters have had a hard time passing back from the front recently and it consequently might be a while until my next letter after this one; if it doesn't reach you then know that I am only writing this for my own amusement and to alleviate some of the boredom, and perhaps because it is Christmas Day as I write this and I feel somewhat sentimental.

But I have high hopes for this letter, more than I have had for the others, because a most marvellous thing occurred last night and I feel it will help immensely in the coming days: the Germans declared a temporary truce in light of the holiday.

I do not think anyone was particularly expecting three Germans- who I now know go by the names of Aragorn Elessar and Elladan and Elrohir Peredhel- to come climbing unarmed into No Man's Land and take a stroll as though they were walking along a beach somewhere else that wasn't a battlefield, but Dwalin rendezvoused with them and they seemed perfectly amenable, though Dain refused to parley with them. I was in two minds about it, but come nightfall and all our armies (British, German, French!) were mingling and treating one another like friends. This, I feel, has reinforced all and any hope I had left in humanity and the existence of divine powers.

It was here that I met the young German private Legolas Greenleaf of number 3 Greenwood Street in Berlin and I feel that the young soldier and I have become dearer friends than I ever could have hoped for, enough so that he has invited after his blasted war is over to visit him and his young wife (with whom he is besotted with in a way I have never seen anyone else, especially after a couple of shots of scotch, the lightweight he is) so that we may pursue a greater friendship if the opportunity yet arises. Perhaps I shall take Kili and Fili with me when I go, for I know they would love to travel dearly.

Wishing you a merry Christmas and good luck until I can gather the scant time afforded to me so I can write again,

Your faithful son,
Gimli

December 24th 1920

"Tell me again, cousin," Kili asked, with a woebegone sigh as he leaned backward in the cab, fiddling with his cap, "why we have made our way to Germany- on Christmas Eve no less- to visit some house in the middle of Berlin that no one bar you and this cab driver have ever heard of?"

Fili interrupted swiftly before Gimli could speak. "He told you, Kee," he answered promptly, "to visit his weird German lightweight with whom he once spent half an hour in his cups with six years ago before the poor lad was dragged off by two of his mates for a rousing rendition of some German balad, or something of the sort."

Biting down on a sigh that would echoed Kili's perfectly, Gimli settled back in his seat silently, a quiet denial of Fili's (perfectly true) words. It had been only half an hour in his cups with Legolas at the Christmas Truce and the German had been absolutely hammered, enough so that when Elrohir and Elladan Peredhel had came over he had only stayed long enough to scribble down his address, arrest a promise from Gimli to visit and scampered off somewhere to perform a loudly belted version of what Gimli had been told was an old German song called the Lay of Leithian. But the conversation that been a breath of fresh air, a chance to discuss their family and their aspirations- Gimli had even tried to teach the boy a smidgeon of English, though mostly the rudest phrases he could come up with.

But Fili was right.

The only reason Gimli was coming up now was because the news had reached Britain that Germany wasn't doing so good, financially and with all the post-war repairs. He was hardly sure whether Legolas would want to see him, after the victory that had brought his country to its knees. Six years had passed against half an hour of inane conversation, half an hour that would be dubiously remembered at best; for a moment, Gimli thought of turning the car around and heading back to the docks where they could try and catch a last ship back to Scotland, pretending he had never set foot in Berlin and going back to his low paid job at the factory and the nights of pub crawling with his cousins.

Kili gave an exultant whoop, interrupting Gimli's thoughts as he pressed himself up against the window with a beaming smile and a pointed finger. "We're here! Thank the Lord, we're here!"

The cab driver shook his head in confused exasperation, Fili lunged towards his brother with a screamed battle cry of glee and Gimli groaned as they both somehow fell out the door on their faces, crashing on to the street with a yell and a flailing of limbs.

"You sure you want to be getting out with these two, Herr?" The cabbie asked him in the heavily accented English that seemed all too common in Germany. "We can leave now if you shut the door- perhaps leave without them noticing if we go now. There's a nice café round the corner called Lothlorien if you want- my cousin owns it."

"Nah," Gimli said, handing over a bill of money as he clambered out awkwardly, doffing his cap to the driver, "this is my stop."

He hurried up the front steps of number 3 Mirkwood Street, head down in the grand façade of the old terrace, feet crunching noisily in the snow, the cab making just as much noise as it drew away from the curb behind him. As if they had never tumbled out of a moving cab, Kili and Fili sprung up behind him from nowhere, flanking him when he rose his hand to knock. It echoed hollowly and Gimli to a customary step backward, his fingers tapping nervously on his thighs as he waited. Behind him, Kili and Fili were arguing under their breaths, a familiar lull of conversation that somehow soothed him somewhat, until the door sung open with a loud and harried crash.

A woman stood there, a young girl sniffling back tears on her hip, and she looked as though she were going to keel over with stress at any moment. She was taller than Gimli would have expected, easily six foot and made taller by the appearance of added height her trousers gave her, yet willowy slim and almost as inhumanly beautiful as Legolas, though less conventionally so. Blinding red hair was pulled up in a simple, elegant twist on the back of her head, accenting a pale, thin face with sharp angles and with strands falling out in a fiery halo around her head. She stood still in surprise at their appearance, still stern of face though the previous distress faded away quietly, one hand combing absently though her daughter blonde hair.

"Kann ich dir helfen?" She said, her voice forthright and brisk in a complex tumbling of words that were clearly German to Gimli's consternation and confusion as he stared up at her.

"Er, I'm Gimli Durin and these are my cousins Fili and Kili Oakenshield," he replied, desperately hoping she had some grasp of English, at least enough to reply to him as he indicated to his cousins and finished off with an awkward wave.

"My name is Tauriel, Mr Durin," she replied steadily, switching effortlessly to a North-East of England accented English and Gimli felt his eyebrows creep up his forehead momentarily- surprised for she was obviously not a German native. "What are you doing on my property, on Christmas Eve no less?"

"I'm looking for Legolas Greenleaf, I was told he lived here."

Tauriel tilted her head to the side, confused beyond measure until she gave an inhalation of realisation and her eyes slipped close in what seemed like a reluctant embarrassment. "You're his Scottish soldier friend whom he once spent half an hour in his cups with at the Christmas Truce before he got utterly pissed and decided to howl the Lay of Leithian at the top of his lungs," she whispered, as if the thought pained her. Fili gave a high-pitch giggle.

"Er, yeah, I think," he said and Tauriel spun around with a barely concealed groan and a muttered admonishment of "He can't go out without embarrassing himself, can he?", gesturing them in behind her. Dubiously, Gimli followed her in, stamping his boots clean on the mat and watching as she whisked away, the child looking curiously over one shoulder.

"Legolas!" She yelled, leaning over the bannisters. "Jetzt runter!"

There was the sound of clumping steps at the top of the stairs and the gentle snick! of a door closing upstairs. "Tauriel?" A voice called questioningly, growing louder as the speaker rounded the halfway landing on the stairs, sounding slightly worried though just as soft spoken as it had been before, and cleared of the grime that had choked it. Wearing loose pants and a white button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up, barefoot and with a curly mop of blonde hair that fell around his ears- Legolas Greenleaf clattered lightly down the stairs, his eyes drifting immediately to his wife and daughter until Tauriel snapped her head to the side where Gimli was standing and the two soldiers met each other's gaze.

Recognition lit up swiftly in Legolas Greenleaf's eyes, a brilliant hope kindled in his beaming grin that Gimli knew was echoed in his own and, with his arms looping tightly around Tauriel's waist as they drifted into another room, he called out over his shoulder, beckoning Gimli and his cousins onwards and in to where a fire could be heard crackling merrily, "frohe Weihnachten, Herr."

Outside, the snow began to fall.

finis.

translations (courtesy of google translate).
Frohe Weihnachten, Herr - Merry Christmas, Sir
Kann ich dir helfen? - Can I help you?
Jetzt runter - Get down here now

[The Christmas truce was a series of widespread unofficial ceasefires along the Western Front of the First World War around Christmas 1914. The truce occurred only five months into the war. Hostilities had lulled as leadership on both sides reconsidered their strategies following the stalemate of the Race to the Sea and the indecisive result of the First Battle of Ypres. In the week leading up to 25 December, French, German, and British soldiers crossed trenches to exchange seasonal greetings and talk. In some areas, men from both sides ventured into no man's land on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to mingle and exchange food and souvenirs. There were joint burial ceremonies and prisoner swaps, while several meetings ended in carol-singing. Men played games of football with one another, creating one of the most memorable images of the truce. Hostilities continued in some sectors, while in others the sides settled on little more than arrangements to recover bodies.] - From Wikipedia.

Edited 17/03/2021