Chapter Text
"What a beautiful evening!"
Lórien took a deep breath of the cold night air. Even for the Valar, Yule was a special time. Was it the excitement radiating from those living on Arda, seeing their happy faces? Or was it the knowledge that, at least for a couple of days, arguments, disagreements and petty squabbles would give way to a general feeling of peace and happiness? Lórien could not tell, but he loved Yule for all these reasons.
And then there was Yavanna's legendary Yule punch, of course.
"Indeed, it is," Vairë answered, not looking up from the tapestry she was working on.
Lórien was just about to close the window when a rather unusual sound reached his ears.
"Now - what was that?" he said, leaning out of the window to hear better. "It sounds like - yelling? Or... can it be laughter?"
Now Vairë looked up, interrupting her art for a moment to listen as well. Indeed - loud laughter could be heard, followed by giggling and cheering.
"Is it coming from the Halls of Waiting?" she asked, and Lórien nodded.
"Ah," she said, returning to her weaving, "then it was Gil-galad." More giggling could be heard, and she added: "With a side order of Amaris."
Lórien shook his head, closed the window and walked over to Vairë, who did not seem at all impressed by the fact that laughter was echoing over the lake.
"The Halls of Waiting are not the place for silliness. The souls are supposed to review their previous lives and consider where they have erred. It is a place of dignity and contemplation."
"My dear, I told you that Amaris would turn the Halls of Waiting into a tavern if you let him have his way."
Lórien shrugged.
"We shall see. I admit that his ways are not mine, but who knows? Sometimes new paths can lead to the desired end as well."
"I shall remind you of your words once Gil-galad has hired the first dancers."
"He would never do such a thing," Lórien protested, then he started when he heard a female shriek. "Or... would he?"
There was a small, rather smug smile on Vairë's lips, and Lórien decided that he did not really want to know the answer to his question after all. He crossed the room to look over her shoulder, admiring the almost-finished tapestry she was working on.
"My, but this is beautiful! What tale does it tell?" he asked, trying to make sense of the various pictures.
"I will tell you if you take a chair and sit by my side, Lórien,” she replied, "for I cannot stand it if somebody looks over my shoulder and breathes in my ear when I am working."
Lórien obeyed, dragging a chair closer and sitting beside her.
"It is a Yule tapestry," she explained, "telling of the remarkable Yule evenings of times past, present and future."
The Master of Dreams scratched his head.
"Your weaving is rather cryptic, my dear. Would you care to tell me these tales? I love Yuletide, and I might find some memories that I cherish."
Vairë thought about it for a moment, then she nodded, turning her work a little so he could see better what she had been weaving. She pointed at the tapestry with her finger.
"See here, Lórien. It starts at the top left corner. In Lothlórien, many thousand years ago, Rúmil was twining holly branches into a garland..."