It was the longest night of the year. Darkness arched in a great bowl over the tiny cluster of houses nestled into the banks of a bend of the Anduin River. A thin film of clouds hid the starlight, but the brilliant moon shone bravely through the mist, echoing its light off the mantle of snow that shrouded the hamlet and fields nearby.

At first glance, the burg seemed to have settled into slumber. All of the cottages were dark and shuttered against the cold. Even the hearth fires had been banked and chimneys spewed only tendrils of smoke into the night air.

A huge bonfire burned brightly in a sheltered corner of a field, lighting the nearby houses in stark relief. The Midwinter Gather had drawn all the people of the community to the warmth of the blaze.

A Gathering was nothing without food. Hunters had scoured the countryside for game and the succulent aroma of meat wafted from the fire, mingling with the spicy sweetness of harvest pies and apple raisin pastries. Potatoes had been tucked into the warm embers near the edge of the fire, and were hissing with steam, occasionally bursting with a bang of white fluffiness when they cooked too quickly.

At first the gathering had been marked by the satisfied murmurs of neighbors come to take a rare time of leisure with one another. To mark the end of the year, each brought a small token of something to be released with the closing of the year. Newlyweds brought old shoes to signify the end of their wanderings. Young maidens brought ribbons to say farewell to youth. Empty purses signified the retirement of a debt. As the tokens were brought, they were loudly declared and placed into the fire to burn.

After the burning of the old, the singing began and the ale began to flow. Laughter and dance entered the mix. The folk of the village played with the same earnest gusto that they brought to their work in the daytime. With joyful abandon, they pushed back the darkness that stretched at its longest this night. All looked forward to the longer days to come.

At some point, the surge of energy, the dancing, the singing and the frolicking wound down. Without a signal given, the people moved great logs into place and sat down on them with subdued anticipation. When all had gathered, there was a hush. Finally, there was the sound of someone whistling, and a tall figure could be seen working his way to the front of the crowd.

The storyteller was a long legged gentleman, and as he stepped his way through the villagers, his arms flailed like that of a large bird coming to rest. He came to stand in front of the gathering, and gazed at the people with deep set blue eyes that were both wise and merry. The older children leaned forward, anticipating the story that was to come. Younger children hid their faces, or snuggled into loving arms to give themselves to sleep.

"I welcome you," he said at last, when the silence had grown so thick it could almost be touched, "I welcome you most earnestly." He paused, pursing his lips and looked skyward for a moment, "I had a tale in mind for you," he said, "a tasty morsel that would have filled your hearts and minds with visions and dreams." he shook his head, "but I would not weigh you down from the start with such a fancy. No, no, I wanted something else."

"And then," he continued, "I thought a grand tale might be the best." He allowed his long arms and thin fingers to reach to the sky, "Yes, a fanciful tale with magic and great flights of imaginings." The storyteller dropped his arms and looked at the crowd and nodded, "Yes, well, perhaps such a journey would be rich for the heart of the evening, but we need, we need to start with something light that tickles the mind and warms the heart." Soberly, the man looked at his feet for a moment, then smiled slowly, almost to himself. "Well, I do have one story to open our evening," he finally said, "It's a small story, a tiny taste, to prepare the way for grander stories later on. This story bears a mark that few of my stories do. It really took place- I swear to you it is a true story. Indeed, it happened to me just this fall." The storyteller leaned forward, as though to pull each member of the audience into his confidence. "I will tell you tonight of the experience I had with a very real elf."

The younger people murmured at this folly. They knew, (or thought they knew) that elves were not real. The older folk smiled patiently at the storyteller. The children leaned forward, slack jawed, their eyes bright with anticipation. Without further ado, the storyteller began weaving his craft.

"Well, it was like this. I usually don't travel alone, but the group of merchants I had been with for a time were eager to ply their trade in one town while I was wanting to go to another. As it was only a single night in a fairly safe part of the countryside, I felt that there was little danger in staying a night on my own in the wilds. I travelled quickly on foot with my knapsack on my back, and song in my heart. I was anxious not to wait too long to make camp. I'd been given a rabbit as a parting gift from the merchants, and I could almost taste a fine bit of coney stew.

When the road took me to a bit of a clearing in the woods, I made haste to set up camp. A few stones for a fire ring, a few leaves gathered under my bedroll, a level place for my pack and I was set. There was even a nearby stream to fill my pot with water. When all was ready, I set about butchering the rabbit for my private feast. I was so absorbed in my work that I almost missed hearing the pitter pad pitter pad of something or someone coming through the forest.

Suddenly, the noise grabbed my attention. I grasped my knife tightly. "Who goes there?" I cried, leaping to my feet and swinging the knife slowly side to side. Whatever it was slowed a bit – pad, pad, pad. It came ever closer. I could tell now that it wasn't approaching from the road but from the underbrush of the nearby woods. "Show yourself!" I demanded, for I was getting more and more frightened.

The creature slowed its walk, and I could hear it breathing heavily. I knew that if I didn't do something that the creature would likely pounce upon me from its hiding place. But what could I do?

Suddenly, I had an idea. Perhaps the animal was intent on taking my meal. I groaned inside to think of giving up my fresh rabbit stew, but I decided it would be small price to pay if the creature could be distracted long enough for me to get away. Slowly, not daring to turn my back to the noise, I retreated to where I had been preparing the rabbit. I grasped the carcass in my right hand and threw it as hard as I could into the shrubbery. I heard a dull thud. There was a moment of silence, and then, then I'll never forget what happened next.

"That's done it!" said an angry voice, speaking the same Common Tongue that all of us speak, "Why have you thrown your supper at me?"

And right there, into the clearing walked the oddest creature I've ever laid eyes on. He was of slight build, coming only up to my waist in height with curly brown hair and a clean shaven face. At first I thought he was wearing odd boots, but on closer inspection, he was wearing no shoes, he just had the largest, hairiest feet of any creature I've ever seen. I must admit, for the first time in my life, I was absolutely speechless."

"You are an odd one," said the strange creature, gazing into my face, "You throw your food about and then stand gaping like a rooster. Can you speak or are you a half-wit?"

"I can speak," I stammered, "but who are you?"

At that the little man grew wary and sheepish. "I am, well, I am an elf." he declared finally with great bravado.

"An elf?" I exclaimed, forgetting my fears with the absurdity of the situation. "You are nothing like an elf!"

"Have you ever seen an elf?" demanded the creature.

"No," I admitted reluctantly.

"Well, there you have it," he said. "If I am telling you that I am an elf and you've never seen one, then who has the right end of the stick on this one? See?" he said after a moment, "I have pointed ears. I'm here in the woods, and I crept most ways up to you before you heard me." He folded his arms across his chest, "Now what do you say to that?"

"Why were you sneaking up on me?" I asked, my suspicions aroused again.

"Well, to be honest, I haven't had but a small bit to eat today, and I was wondering if you've plans to keep this coney to yourself, or if you'd like to share it. Come to think of it," he said, a grin spreading across his face, "I've a mind to keep this rabbit for myself since you threw it at me in the first place."

"You'd take my supper from me?" This was like no elf I'd ever heard of.

"Just joking young one," said the elf. "Actually, I was watching you butcher the thing and was thinking that I'd be happy to show you a bit of how to do it."

I raised my eyebrows. I've been on my own long enough to fix about any kind of game, but I realized that I didn't want to lose sight of this elf any time soon. Silently I handed the knife over to him. His fingers were short and round, but he held the knife carefully enough. I'd heard that elves were great warriors, and I tried to imagine this little elf aroused for battle. I couldn't quite grasp the image.

"Now, here is how you do it," he said, confidently skinning and slicing the coney. He tossed the pieces into the pot. "Where is the rest of the stuff?"

"Rest of the stuff?" I asked weakly.

I could see the elf growing impatient again. "Yes. You know. The onions, the carrots, the spices and potatoes." The elf peered into my face. "You weren't intending to eat that rabbit plain?" he demanded.

"I, well, I . . . " The look he gave me was a mixture of horror and disgust. "Here. You clean things up a bit and I'll be right back." He handed me the knife and quick as a wink, he disappeared into thin air.

Well, it wasn't quite thin air, but he did dive into the underbrush mighty quickly, and I had no clue where he had gone. Dismayed, I sat beside the fire. I had seen an elf, a real elf and I had been too dumfounded to even ask his name.

My despair didn't last long, for after only a few minutes there was a shuffling in the bushes and the elf returned.

"You're lucky it's near the end of the summer," he said, brushing himself off, "The wild onions are plentiful this year and I found some tubers that will add a lot of flavor to the meal." His face lit with a wide smile, "I even found a few mushrooms." He reached for the knife and before I had a chance to protest, he had sliced those vegetables into bite sized chunks and put them all into the simmering pot.

The elf breathed in the steam, a frown creasing his brow. "No good, no good at all." He looked at me sternly. "I don't suppose you mortals travel with any decent spices?" I shook my head. "Well, there's nothing to be done for it." He dove back into the undergrowth and soon reappeared again this time bearing several bits of greenery that I recognized as basil and thyme. He placed these in the pot as well.

I didn't want to anger the elf, but his behavior mystified me. I had always heard that elves were tall and elegant and great singers and warriors. This little creature didn't fit the bill at all, but I certainly didn't want to annoy him or frighten him away.

"Can you sing?" I finally ask, trying hard to make my voice sound pleasant.

"Sing? Well, of course I can sing," said the elf. "Do you want me to sing?" he asked nervously after a moment.

I nodded.

"Well, I don't mind singing while I cook," said the elf. And with that he began to sing. I don't know what was more surprising, his voice or the words. His voice was fine enough, but the music sounded like the merry songs that come at the end of an evening sharing ale.

Now, I looked at that creature again. I am sorry to say that I was not sure what to make of him at all. He was focused on sampling the soup before him. As he leaned over the pot, his hair fell forward and I could see the pointedness of his ears poking through the strands of hair. Perhaps he was an elf.

"Excuse me." I asked, my curiosity finally getting the best of me, "but I always thought elves were tall and graceful and…"

"That's a lot you know!" he snapped. He stood and pulled himself up to his tallest height. "I am a . . . I am a kitchen elf. I don't make a habit of walking around with a bow and arrow, and I don't make a habit of asking foolish questions of people who make my supper!"

"I'm sorry," I stammered, "Perhaps you can tell me a bit more about kitchen elves."

"Well, sure I can," he replied, allowing for a generous slice of silence before he continued, "We kitchen elves aren't like the other elves at all. For one thing we cook better than any creature living. And we love to sing. And we are very very smart, or at least very clever which is almost the same thing. And we find that there is nothing better than to have a fine meal in fine company with a fine smoke to follow."

"You, smoke?" I asked uncertainly.

The elf looked at me sharply. "Definitely," he said finally, "only we don't smoke just any weed. Myself I prefer Longbottom Leaf, but I'm always on the lookout for something finer. In fact," he said, stirring the soup slowly, "I came to this bit of woods specifically to find a new pipeweed that I had heard about from, from someone. Do you smoke?" he asked.

"Well, not often. I have a pipe, but it takes a bit of coin to fill it. I don't often have coin to spare."

"Huh," said the figure before me, "We elves harvest our own. It's easy this time of year, many of the plants have dried naturally so we can just fill our pipes as we go."

I was quite intrigued by this idea. "Could you show me how to look for good weeds to smoke?" I asked, "Seeing as how I provided dinner and all."

"You provided the meat," said the elf, "Keep in mind that it was I who made it into a dinner." and with that he proclaimed the stew as done.

Thankfully I carried a mug as well as a bowl so we were both able to enjoy the elf's cooking at the same time. Was it good? I must say it was more than good. It was amazing, delectable, delightful, extraordinary. The spices had brought out the full flavor of the meat and the vegetables added an amazing texture. By far it was the best stew I had ever tasted. Even if I doubted the identity of my guest I could not deny his culinary expertise. Perhaps he really was a kitchen elf. We ate the stew in silence until not a single bite was left in the pot, then I leaned back and sighed. "That was incredible," I said, "Wherever did you learn to cook like that?"

"Mmm, it was good," affirmed the elf, "I suppose it comes from being immortal. We've got a long time to learn how to do things right."

"Now about this tobacco?" I asked.

Before I could finish my sentence, I heard the sound of horses on the road. The elf took fright and looked as though he were ready to run. He had gotten to his feet and taken two steps when the riders came into view. Quick as a wink I rolled to my feet and grabbed his arms. "Not so fast my friend," I said. I liked the idea of at least someone bearing witness to my sighting and I wasn't going to let him go very quickly.

"Let me go!" yelled the creature in a most undignified manner.

The two riders drew nearer. The first was clearly a ranger, dressed for the road, with dark stringy hair. He wore an old leather coat that was faded and patched in several places. The second was taller, very blond with fine boned features. He was dressed in simple leggings and tunic of browns and greens, a large bow was set against his back and the ivory handles of two knives peeked from behind his shoulders. His demeanor was not unkind, but very austere. He was rather foreboding and so well armed that I had no desire to offend him. I thought it best to let him be.

The ranger seemed friendly enough. He dismounted with professional ease and approached me as I struggled with the elf. He made no attempt to intervene. He just raised his eyebrows and asked, "What is this?"

"An elf!" I cried, "I want you to note that I have caught a live elf!"

The ranger approached slowly and made to walk around the two of us as we struggled on the ground, "You call that an elf?" he said in open disbelief.

"I know it seems unlikely, but he is a kitchen elf. Ask him yourself." It was hard to speak calmly with the elf trying so hard to get away. Finally the creature turned and faced the newcomer. His eyes grew wide and he stopped struggling.

"Strider, what are you doing here?" sputtered the little man.

The rider stopped and smiled. "Well master elf, I was just going to ask you the same thing. Was there not a ranger that gave you all warning not to leave the Shire this sevenday?"

"Well, there was," grumbled the elf, "but I had only a few more days to gather a new pipeweed that was discovered this summer. If I waited till next sevenday it might have vanished for the season." He paused and then almost under his breath he muttered, "I knew as a kitchen elf, word would not get out that I had disobeyed." He looked at the man imploringly.

"Well, you best have found some fine stuff. Those warnings are often given for your safety."

The elf looked down, and then grinned charmingly at the man, "I am sorry, very sorry Strider, but I am glad to have run into you here. A happy accident, if you know what I mean. Surely that will redeem my transgression?"

"We'll see about that," said the man, clearly trying to keep his mirth under control, "It is no accident that you found us on this road. We've fashioned a short break from matters of state to visit Imladris, and we thought to stop in the Shire on the way there. That was why we asked you not to leave."

The elf pulled his arm from my grip. His eyes grew wide. "Oh, Strider, I would've missed seeing you? You and Legolas were coming to the Shire? Why, I suppose there would be a great welcome to see you there. A great welcome indeed, with music and dancing and, well I imagine a fine feast as well." The elf stepped closer to the ranger, a look of contrite sorrow on his brow. "Forgive me Strider, if you can. You are right, I should have listened to the warning we were given."

"All is forgiven," smiled the man "You can ride with me. We'll be on our way." and with that the ranger remounted and hauled the elf up behind him.

When I saw that they were making to leave I grew desperate, "But we've only just met!" I cried, "This kitchen elf made the best stew I've ever tasted and I would give anything to have more. Is there nothing I can do to entice you to stay for a bit and talk?"

"No," said the rider, turning his horse to the road, "But I will tell you a secret." He paused for a moment as if to consider something. Finally he said, "Kitchen elves love to visit your kitchen. Just put a bowl of warm milk on the stoop at night and see if an elf doesn't pay you a visit." With that he urged his horse forward and the three of them rode away.

I thought I heard the blond man grumble then laugh musically as they vanished down the road, but perhaps I was mistaken.

The storyteller paused and looked carefully at the youngest children who were still awake. "Now," he continued in a slow clear voice, "You have heard my story full out. I think that it was a kitchen elf that I met on the road, but perhaps not. At any rate, he's the closest to a real elf I am ever likely to see. I don't have a kitchen, or a bowl of milk or a stoop, but if I ever did I'd be tempted to try to call him forth again, if only for another bite of that wonderful rabbit stew."