| PART ONE |
"I don't like it, Merry!"
"Neither do I, Pip," Merry returned absently, his eyes on the milling members of the council, as
they dispersed into small groups around the tree-shaded space. The warm amber light of
unchanging autumn burnished them with gold, though he knew that outside the confines of
Rivendell, winter sank its cold claws into the land. It was hard to place the hours here, hard
to remember that it was still early morning where they were, when...you couldn't see the sun.
"Uh-oh." His shoulders tightened as he watched an elf and a dwarf go face to belly in a narrow
alley between the chattering groups. Prince Legolas twitched his mantle gracefully aside and
sailed on through, the barest hint of a sneer on his handsome face, and dwarf Gimli stomped
past him, scowling behind his beard. Merry's breath huffed in a sigh of relief.
"A lot of good they'll be in a pinch, if they dislike each other so much," he muttered sourly.
Then he turned to Pippin with a frown, and drew him deeper into the shadow of the archway.
"I thought this was a grand adventure to you, Pip!" he whispered. "You aren't getting cold feet
now, are you? No shame to you if you are, of course. I'm sure Lord Elrond - "
"Meriadoc Brandybuck! My feet are never cold. Well, not often, anyway." Pippin regarded his
furry toes complacently. Then he looked up at his cousin and sniffed, "And that's not what I
meant either!"
"Well, what did you mean, then?"
"Didn't you hear them, Merry?" Merry's eyes widened. Pippin was near to wringing his hands
in distress, and that wasn't like the easy-going young hobbit at all.
"Steady now, Pip. What should I have heard?" He caught the clenched hands in his own, and
kneaded them soothingly.
"We're leaving in two days! We'll be traveling on Yule, and there won't be a Yule log, nor
gifting, or feasting - there won't be anything to celebrate the passing of the year! I asked, and
the Elves don't mark it in that way." He paused, and added thoughtfully, "I expect that, 'cause
they live so long, the years just flow into each other, and they all must seem much of a
muchness. A pity, that."
"Oh, Pip," Merry sighed, dropping his cousin's hands in exasperation. "Stop thinking of your
belly for once - " and grunted in surprise as a sharp Took elbow dug into his own comfortably
padded middle.
"It's not about me! You don't see it, do you? Look at him! Those Black Wraiths weren't out for
a highday stroll! He's going into danger - I'm worried about him, Merry, and don't you shush
me, I know you fret about him too!"
Merry didn't need to ask whom Pippin meant. His eyes sought out his elder cousin, and they
narrowed into thoughtful slits.
Frodo had quit his council chair and now stood in the midst of the swirling crowd. One of the
dwarves spoke to him, and he responded with a smile. Merry knew Frodo almost as well as he
knew himself, and that smile was a pale shadow of the glorious grin that he was capable of.
There was a strain about it, a pinched tension; he looked so small and defenseless, and
Merry's heart lurched painfully.
"He won't be alone, Pip. He'll have Gandalf, and us, and Strider and the others. And Sam
too," he added. But his voice lacked conviction, and he trailed off uncertainly.
"Well, we didn't do him much good on Weathertop, did we?" Pippin's voice had a sharp edge
to it, and it tore at Merry's willful blindness and shredded it without mercy. I have been too
long trained to responsibility and duty, he thought ruefully, and I have forgotten to see with
eyes of love. You shame me, Pip. He pulled Pippin close and stroked his back, offering such
comfort as he could. At first the young Took resisted, then he leaned his head on Merry's
shoulder and sighed.
"I may be heedless, cousin, but I'm not a fool. He carries that blasted ring, and I'll bet you my
right to the Thainship that those foul creatures want it for their fouler Master. And it's a long
way to Mordor..." He swallowed hard, and blinked down at the polished flagstones.
"I just - I want him to have some ease before we go, you know?" he muttered wistfully.
"Something to make him smile and think of home. That wouldn't be so bad, would it?"
They fell silent, watching the slight figure in russet, dwarfed by the tall folk about him. As they
watched, they saw Sam sidle through the crowd to hover protectively at his master's back. He
laid a hesitant hand on the velvet-clad shoulder, and Frodo turned, his tired face lighting up in
a more genuine smile. A smile echoed in the soft brown eyes of the Gamgee lad.
Pippin hummed thoughtfully, and Merry tensed. He knew the import of that musical trill only
too well.
"What are you planning, Pip?" he whispered apprehensively.
"Hm?" Pippin had his eyes fixed on the Master of Bag End and his trusted servant. "Oh, I'm
off to see the Wizard. I think it's time we had a little chat."
~~~~~
Where have they all got to? Frodo wondered, as he pushed open the heavily carved door. The
room beyond was dappled in golden light, and the big bed was smooth and unrumpled,
evidence of Sam's care. A basin and ewer stood on the low table, but to his disappointment,
the room was empty. He sighed deeply.
"Did you require something, my lord?" The soft voice startled him, and he turned to see an elf
framed in the open doorway.
"Oh no," he stammered. "That is - I was wondering where my - where my companions were," he
added hastily.
The elf smiled, "I believe I saw your body-servant in the kitchens, my lord. Do you wish me to
fetch him for you?"
"No!" Frodo felt heat suffuse his face and climb to the tips of his ears. He knew he was
blushing fit to rival the sunset, and cursed anew the paleness of his skin. "No," he repeated
more calmly, "I can shift for myself very well, thank you." The elf bowed and withdrew.
For a long moment, Frodo could have passed for one of the statues in the gardens of
Rivendell. Then he drew a shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes shut.
Body-servant.
Sweet Eru, he thought helplessly, I wish they wouldn't call him that. He twisted blindly and
stumbled to the bed, throwing himself face down upon the silken coverlet. Body-servant. Oh,
he wished Sam to serve his body, that he surely did. He wanted those capable hands on his
skin; he wanted them familiar with every warm and secret crevice that he owned. He longed
to feel Sam's work-roughened fingers stroking his aching flesh, yearned for the solace of
strong arms wrapped around him. He dreamed of the taste of those firm lips, and in his
dreams, they were strawberries and cream, and all the luscious fruit in the orchards of the
Shire.
His need seemed overwhelming, of late. It was all he could do to remind himself of his duty to
Sam. Samwise Gamgee, who would do anything for him. Would he do this thing, this little
thing, to ease his master? Could Frodo ask it of him and then live with himself after? And if
he asked, and Sam agreed, would he do it without love?
He pressed his body against the soft surface of the big featherbed, and his sensitive skin sang
with the keen pleasure of it, pleasure he didn't deserve. His impulsive promise had put them
all in danger. And not only Sam, but Merry and Pip, too. Try as he might to forget, his quick
mind could not discount the possibility of his beloved friends coming to harm, and the dark
images that populated his thoughts in the dim reaches of the night haunted his waking hours.
He reached into his shirt and drew the Ring out. It gleamed in the amber light, and he closed
his hand tightly around it. It is so hard to be brave, he thought despairingly. And on that long,
lazy autumn afternoon, the Ringbearer cried himself to sleep.
~~~~~
"You eat toads?" The elf regarded him with startled eyes, her winged brows like to fly into her
golden hair.
"No, no -" Sam said hastily, and explained to Aredhel the makings of a ball of rubbery dough
with sausage meat baked into the middle of it.
"Ah," the elf's face cleared. "So it is not a veritable toad."
"No," Sam agreed, although in his mind, he thought disloyally, a toad would perhaps have
tasted better...
"Nor is there, straitly speaking, a hole."
Sam shook his head meekly and returned to his task of brushing the berry tarts with a glaze of
honey and cinnamon. Upon reflection, he realised that it had been a mistake to mention
toad-in-the-hole when she had asked for examples of hobbit food.
"And will you make it for your master, then?" Aredhel asked curiously.
Sam shook his head. "Oh no! Mr Frodo don't care for it much, you see." He hates it, you
mean. Stodgy and heavy on the belly as an unwanted quickening. "'Tis thought to be lesser
fare, anyroad - and not proper for gentlehobbits like him." The elf regarded his bent head
speculatively.
"You care for your master most dearly, do you not?"
Sam looked up at that, and the flames of the hearthfire glowed in the golden depths of his
eyes.
"Aye," he breathed softly. "Happen I do."
~~~~~
"Wasn't it strange, Merry?" Pippin handed up an evergreen bough and steadied the ladder
that the taller hobbit was perched on.
Merry grunted as he wrestled the branch into place and proceeded to tie it up. "I do wish you
wouldn't talk in riddles, Pip," he groused. "What's curled your foot hair now?"
"Didn't you think it odd? How they sang to the trees to ask their leave before they cut the
branches down? As if the trees could understand them at all!"
"I rather liked it, myself." Merry scampered down and cast his eyes around the hall
approvingly. It certainly looked festive, he thought. "And how can you be sure that the trees
couldn't hear them anyway?"
Pippin snorted. "That's one elvish custom that wouldn't go down well in the Shire, at any rate.
Can you imagine asking old Tom Burdock to make peace with the firewood? We'd be frozen in
our beds long before he got past 'Howdyedo'!"
Merry bethought himself of the Great Smial's laconic woodcutter and laughed. "There is that,"
he conceded, chuckling. He looked out through the colonnade at the deepening dusk, and
whistled. "We finished just in time, Pip. Why don't we go fetch Sam and rouse our cousin
from his well-deserved rest? That was hungry work and I swear - I could eat a pony!"
"You had better not say that in front of Sam," Pippin laughed.
They stood back and considered their handiwork. Glossy swags of pine and fir festooned the
hall, dotted here and there with the bright red berries of the holly. As they watched, an elf
hung the last of the kissing boughs and stepped off the seat of the armed chair below it. He
looked to them and lifted his hand in farewell, and they waved back.
"I hope this works," Pippin whispered.
And Merry nodded silently.
~~~~~
The Yule log crackled merrily in the large fireplace, pouring a flood of golden light over the
intricate tiles of the hall. Shadows shrouded the high rafters, and the heady scent of
evergreen sap hung heavy on the air. The firelight defined the space, giving it a feeling of
intimacy and coziness that it would not otherwise have had. It was easy to imagine being
home in Bag End again, easy to turn time back to a Yule when Bilbo was beside him, with
Merry and Pip visiting, and Sam in the kitchen, dishing up a feast. It was like returning to the
womb, Frodo thought, where by all accounts you were warm, safe and well fed.
He had been surprised when bidden to a Yule feast, for he had known that the elves didn't
mark the days as the hobbits or the men of Dale did. But one look at Pippin's triumphant grin
and Merry's wide smile had told him where much of the blame lay.
"But it isn't Yuletide yet!" he had protested. "Then we'll call it a mid-winter feast," he was told
firmly, and ensconced in a comfortable chair at the high table. And when good Shire food
began rolling out of the kitchens accompanied by Sam's beaming face, he had to hold back
sudden tears.
So he had eaten far more than he had wanted to. It was hard to refuse when Sam's anxious
brown eyes stared at him over the rim of a proffered platter, or when delicious morsels
appeared magically on his plate when he looked away for just a moment. Everything tasted of
home, even though the pastries had an uncommon lightness to them, and you needed two or
three when one used to do.
"Elven cooks are excellent," Bilbo had whispered discreetly. "But I sometimes feel as if I
subsist on light and air. I had forgotten how much I miss hearty Shire fare, and your Sam's dab
hand with a pudding, my boy."
Frodo had run his eye down his cousin's frame, which seemed to have misplaced at least a
stone or two of weight, and tried to disregard the thrill that pricked across his skin. My Sam,
he repeated to himself silently, and murmured back, "It seems to have done you a world of
good, Bilbo." And he meant it, he did. Despite the rapid old age that had come upon him, the
erstwhile Master of Bag End sported a twinkle in his eye and an aura of contentment that had
not been evident before. Bilbo had obviously found what he had been looking for, and despite
the hole his leaving had made in Frodo's life, his heir approved heartily.
He blinked himself back into the present and looked around the hall, and the momentary
resemblance to his home faded. For certainly, he would never have had such a guest list for
Yule as was present here. Elven finery shimmered in the firelight, and men, dwarves and
hobbits sat in honoured state or sprawled upon the silken cushions that littered the tiled floor.
As he watched, an elf detached himself from a knot of his kindred and strode up to him,
smiling. Frodo braced his hands on the arms of his chair and made to rise, but Lord Glorfindel
forestalled him with a word.
"No, Frodo. After a feast such as that, we need not stand on courtesy," he admonished.
"Lothlorien called me, and I returned just yestereve. I merely came to inquire as to your
recovery. I trust you are well?"
"Thank you for your concern, my lord," Frodo smiled shyly back. "I am quite well now, yes.
Lord Elrond's healing has worked wonders for me."
"Excellent. And I believe that this is a custom in your homeland? If you will allow me..." And
with that, the Elflord tipped the startled hobbit's face up with a finger and kissed him gently on
the lips.
"My - my lord! What - " Bewilderment shone in the large blue eyes and Frodo touched his
fingers to his lips and blushed deeply. Glorfindel laughed and looked up at the shadows
above them. Frodo followed his gaze to the waxy white berries of the kissing bough and his
lips parted in a rosy 'o' of comprehension.
"Merry! Pippin!" He cast about for the culprits and found them, still gaping at the unexpected
honour bestowed upon their beloved cousin. Within moments, he was buried in a tangle of
limbs, any protest he would have made lost under kisses that rendered him flushed and
breathless. They released him at last, but refused to allow him to quit the chair, Pippin
planting himself on his lap until he promised to stay where he was.
Frodo disliked being on display, but to move away now would seem churlish as well. However,
the evident affection that accompanied each sweet salutation and the goblets of miruvor
pressed into his hand in rapid succession soon dulled any lingering uneasiness he felt. Except
one. Where was Sam? He tried to search the company without being too obvious about it
until at last he spied him, standing to one side, in close conversation with a tall elf. It seemed
that he felt his Master's eyes on him, for he looked up to meet them, and smiled shyly. Frodo
tilted his head in silent beckoning, and Sam bade his companion farewell and went quickly to
his Master's side.
"I've not thanked you properly for all the work you did, Sam," Frodo began, cursing the formal
cadence of his voice. Kiss me kiss me kiss me his brain clamored, near drowning his good
sense. He coughed and added, "I know that you did most of it. Your fine hand was evident in
every dish and made it taste of home. It was well thought of, and I am grateful."
"It was nothing, Mr Frodo." Sam's blush rivaled the firelight, and his wide smile was one of
pleasure. "'Twas little enough for all you and yours have done for me."
And what have I done for you, Sam? I have brought you to danger, and perhaps a lonely death
far away from home. Kiss me, Sam, oh, kiss me. Frodo shut his eyes, his face quietly
impassive, and slumped back against his chair.
"Mr Frodo? What's wrong, sir? Is your shoulder paining you?" There was a thread of panic in
Sam's voice, and Frodo opened his eyes with an effort.
"I'm fine, Sam. I just went dizzy for a moment. Too much of the miruvor, I expect."
"You should get yourself to bed right soon, then. We've got a busy day tomorrow, I'll warrant."
"I'll be along soon, yes. And you don't have to wait up for me, Sam, not if you want to seek
your bed as well. I can manage fine on my own."
Sam began to speak, then evidently thought better of it, for he closed his mouth in a thin line
and nodded. Frodo shut his eyes and turned his face away, and when he opened them again,
his gardener was gone.
~~~~~
"Neither do I, Pip," Merry returned absently, his eyes on the milling members of the council, as
they dispersed into small groups around the tree-shaded space. The warm amber light of
unchanging autumn burnished them with gold, though he knew that outside the confines of
Rivendell, winter sank its cold claws into the land. It was hard to place the hours here, hard
to remember that it was still early morning where they were, when...you couldn't see the sun.
"Uh-oh." His shoulders tightened as he watched an elf and a dwarf go face to belly in a narrow
alley between the chattering groups. Prince Legolas twitched his mantle gracefully aside and
sailed on through, the barest hint of a sneer on his handsome face, and dwarf Gimli stomped
past him, scowling behind his beard. Merry's breath huffed in a sigh of relief.
"A lot of good they'll be in a pinch, if they dislike each other so much," he muttered sourly.
Then he turned to Pippin with a frown, and drew him deeper into the shadow of the archway.
"I thought this was a grand adventure to you, Pip!" he whispered. "You aren't getting cold feet
now, are you? No shame to you if you are, of course. I'm sure Lord Elrond - "
"Meriadoc Brandybuck! My feet are never cold. Well, not often, anyway." Pippin regarded his
furry toes complacently. Then he looked up at his cousin and sniffed, "And that's not what I
meant either!"
"Well, what did you mean, then?"
"Didn't you hear them, Merry?" Merry's eyes widened. Pippin was near to wringing his hands
in distress, and that wasn't like the easy-going young hobbit at all.
"Steady now, Pip. What should I have heard?" He caught the clenched hands in his own, and
kneaded them soothingly.
"We're leaving in two days! We'll be traveling on Yule, and there won't be a Yule log, nor
gifting, or feasting - there won't be anything to celebrate the passing of the year! I asked, and
the Elves don't mark it in that way." He paused, and added thoughtfully, "I expect that, 'cause
they live so long, the years just flow into each other, and they all must seem much of a
muchness. A pity, that."
"Oh, Pip," Merry sighed, dropping his cousin's hands in exasperation. "Stop thinking of your
belly for once - " and grunted in surprise as a sharp Took elbow dug into his own comfortably
padded middle.
"It's not about me! You don't see it, do you? Look at him! Those Black Wraiths weren't out for
a highday stroll! He's going into danger - I'm worried about him, Merry, and don't you shush
me, I know you fret about him too!"
Merry didn't need to ask whom Pippin meant. His eyes sought out his elder cousin, and they
narrowed into thoughtful slits.
Frodo had quit his council chair and now stood in the midst of the swirling crowd. One of the
dwarves spoke to him, and he responded with a smile. Merry knew Frodo almost as well as he
knew himself, and that smile was a pale shadow of the glorious grin that he was capable of.
There was a strain about it, a pinched tension; he looked so small and defenseless, and
Merry's heart lurched painfully.
"He won't be alone, Pip. He'll have Gandalf, and us, and Strider and the others. And Sam
too," he added. But his voice lacked conviction, and he trailed off uncertainly.
"Well, we didn't do him much good on Weathertop, did we?" Pippin's voice had a sharp edge
to it, and it tore at Merry's willful blindness and shredded it without mercy. I have been too
long trained to responsibility and duty, he thought ruefully, and I have forgotten to see with
eyes of love. You shame me, Pip. He pulled Pippin close and stroked his back, offering such
comfort as he could. At first the young Took resisted, then he leaned his head on Merry's
shoulder and sighed.
"I may be heedless, cousin, but I'm not a fool. He carries that blasted ring, and I'll bet you my
right to the Thainship that those foul creatures want it for their fouler Master. And it's a long
way to Mordor..." He swallowed hard, and blinked down at the polished flagstones.
"I just - I want him to have some ease before we go, you know?" he muttered wistfully.
"Something to make him smile and think of home. That wouldn't be so bad, would it?"
They fell silent, watching the slight figure in russet, dwarfed by the tall folk about him. As they
watched, they saw Sam sidle through the crowd to hover protectively at his master's back. He
laid a hesitant hand on the velvet-clad shoulder, and Frodo turned, his tired face lighting up in
a more genuine smile. A smile echoed in the soft brown eyes of the Gamgee lad.
Pippin hummed thoughtfully, and Merry tensed. He knew the import of that musical trill only
too well.
"What are you planning, Pip?" he whispered apprehensively.
"Hm?" Pippin had his eyes fixed on the Master of Bag End and his trusted servant. "Oh, I'm
off to see the Wizard. I think it's time we had a little chat."
~~~~~
Where have they all got to? Frodo wondered, as he pushed open the heavily carved door. The
room beyond was dappled in golden light, and the big bed was smooth and unrumpled,
evidence of Sam's care. A basin and ewer stood on the low table, but to his disappointment,
the room was empty. He sighed deeply.
"Did you require something, my lord?" The soft voice startled him, and he turned to see an elf
framed in the open doorway.
"Oh no," he stammered. "That is - I was wondering where my - where my companions were," he
added hastily.
The elf smiled, "I believe I saw your body-servant in the kitchens, my lord. Do you wish me to
fetch him for you?"
"No!" Frodo felt heat suffuse his face and climb to the tips of his ears. He knew he was
blushing fit to rival the sunset, and cursed anew the paleness of his skin. "No," he repeated
more calmly, "I can shift for myself very well, thank you." The elf bowed and withdrew.
For a long moment, Frodo could have passed for one of the statues in the gardens of
Rivendell. Then he drew a shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes shut.
Body-servant.
Sweet Eru, he thought helplessly, I wish they wouldn't call him that. He twisted blindly and
stumbled to the bed, throwing himself face down upon the silken coverlet. Body-servant. Oh,
he wished Sam to serve his body, that he surely did. He wanted those capable hands on his
skin; he wanted them familiar with every warm and secret crevice that he owned. He longed
to feel Sam's work-roughened fingers stroking his aching flesh, yearned for the solace of
strong arms wrapped around him. He dreamed of the taste of those firm lips, and in his
dreams, they were strawberries and cream, and all the luscious fruit in the orchards of the
Shire.
His need seemed overwhelming, of late. It was all he could do to remind himself of his duty to
Sam. Samwise Gamgee, who would do anything for him. Would he do this thing, this little
thing, to ease his master? Could Frodo ask it of him and then live with himself after? And if
he asked, and Sam agreed, would he do it without love?
He pressed his body against the soft surface of the big featherbed, and his sensitive skin sang
with the keen pleasure of it, pleasure he didn't deserve. His impulsive promise had put them
all in danger. And not only Sam, but Merry and Pip, too. Try as he might to forget, his quick
mind could not discount the possibility of his beloved friends coming to harm, and the dark
images that populated his thoughts in the dim reaches of the night haunted his waking hours.
He reached into his shirt and drew the Ring out. It gleamed in the amber light, and he closed
his hand tightly around it. It is so hard to be brave, he thought despairingly. And on that long,
lazy autumn afternoon, the Ringbearer cried himself to sleep.
~~~~~
"You eat toads?" The elf regarded him with startled eyes, her winged brows like to fly into her
golden hair.
"No, no -" Sam said hastily, and explained to Aredhel the makings of a ball of rubbery dough
with sausage meat baked into the middle of it.
"Ah," the elf's face cleared. "So it is not a veritable toad."
"No," Sam agreed, although in his mind, he thought disloyally, a toad would perhaps have
tasted better...
"Nor is there, straitly speaking, a hole."
Sam shook his head meekly and returned to his task of brushing the berry tarts with a glaze of
honey and cinnamon. Upon reflection, he realised that it had been a mistake to mention
toad-in-the-hole when she had asked for examples of hobbit food.
"And will you make it for your master, then?" Aredhel asked curiously.
Sam shook his head. "Oh no! Mr Frodo don't care for it much, you see." He hates it, you
mean. Stodgy and heavy on the belly as an unwanted quickening. "'Tis thought to be lesser
fare, anyroad - and not proper for gentlehobbits like him." The elf regarded his bent head
speculatively.
"You care for your master most dearly, do you not?"
Sam looked up at that, and the flames of the hearthfire glowed in the golden depths of his
eyes.
"Aye," he breathed softly. "Happen I do."
~~~~~
"Wasn't it strange, Merry?" Pippin handed up an evergreen bough and steadied the ladder
that the taller hobbit was perched on.
Merry grunted as he wrestled the branch into place and proceeded to tie it up. "I do wish you
wouldn't talk in riddles, Pip," he groused. "What's curled your foot hair now?"
"Didn't you think it odd? How they sang to the trees to ask their leave before they cut the
branches down? As if the trees could understand them at all!"
"I rather liked it, myself." Merry scampered down and cast his eyes around the hall
approvingly. It certainly looked festive, he thought. "And how can you be sure that the trees
couldn't hear them anyway?"
Pippin snorted. "That's one elvish custom that wouldn't go down well in the Shire, at any rate.
Can you imagine asking old Tom Burdock to make peace with the firewood? We'd be frozen in
our beds long before he got past 'Howdyedo'!"
Merry bethought himself of the Great Smial's laconic woodcutter and laughed. "There is that,"
he conceded, chuckling. He looked out through the colonnade at the deepening dusk, and
whistled. "We finished just in time, Pip. Why don't we go fetch Sam and rouse our cousin
from his well-deserved rest? That was hungry work and I swear - I could eat a pony!"
"You had better not say that in front of Sam," Pippin laughed.
They stood back and considered their handiwork. Glossy swags of pine and fir festooned the
hall, dotted here and there with the bright red berries of the holly. As they watched, an elf
hung the last of the kissing boughs and stepped off the seat of the armed chair below it. He
looked to them and lifted his hand in farewell, and they waved back.
"I hope this works," Pippin whispered.
And Merry nodded silently.
~~~~~
The Yule log crackled merrily in the large fireplace, pouring a flood of golden light over the
intricate tiles of the hall. Shadows shrouded the high rafters, and the heady scent of
evergreen sap hung heavy on the air. The firelight defined the space, giving it a feeling of
intimacy and coziness that it would not otherwise have had. It was easy to imagine being
home in Bag End again, easy to turn time back to a Yule when Bilbo was beside him, with
Merry and Pip visiting, and Sam in the kitchen, dishing up a feast. It was like returning to the
womb, Frodo thought, where by all accounts you were warm, safe and well fed.
He had been surprised when bidden to a Yule feast, for he had known that the elves didn't
mark the days as the hobbits or the men of Dale did. But one look at Pippin's triumphant grin
and Merry's wide smile had told him where much of the blame lay.
"But it isn't Yuletide yet!" he had protested. "Then we'll call it a mid-winter feast," he was told
firmly, and ensconced in a comfortable chair at the high table. And when good Shire food
began rolling out of the kitchens accompanied by Sam's beaming face, he had to hold back
sudden tears.
So he had eaten far more than he had wanted to. It was hard to refuse when Sam's anxious
brown eyes stared at him over the rim of a proffered platter, or when delicious morsels
appeared magically on his plate when he looked away for just a moment. Everything tasted of
home, even though the pastries had an uncommon lightness to them, and you needed two or
three when one used to do.
"Elven cooks are excellent," Bilbo had whispered discreetly. "But I sometimes feel as if I
subsist on light and air. I had forgotten how much I miss hearty Shire fare, and your Sam's dab
hand with a pudding, my boy."
Frodo had run his eye down his cousin's frame, which seemed to have misplaced at least a
stone or two of weight, and tried to disregard the thrill that pricked across his skin. My Sam,
he repeated to himself silently, and murmured back, "It seems to have done you a world of
good, Bilbo." And he meant it, he did. Despite the rapid old age that had come upon him, the
erstwhile Master of Bag End sported a twinkle in his eye and an aura of contentment that had
not been evident before. Bilbo had obviously found what he had been looking for, and despite
the hole his leaving had made in Frodo's life, his heir approved heartily.
He blinked himself back into the present and looked around the hall, and the momentary
resemblance to his home faded. For certainly, he would never have had such a guest list for
Yule as was present here. Elven finery shimmered in the firelight, and men, dwarves and
hobbits sat in honoured state or sprawled upon the silken cushions that littered the tiled floor.
As he watched, an elf detached himself from a knot of his kindred and strode up to him,
smiling. Frodo braced his hands on the arms of his chair and made to rise, but Lord Glorfindel
forestalled him with a word.
"No, Frodo. After a feast such as that, we need not stand on courtesy," he admonished.
"Lothlorien called me, and I returned just yestereve. I merely came to inquire as to your
recovery. I trust you are well?"
"Thank you for your concern, my lord," Frodo smiled shyly back. "I am quite well now, yes.
Lord Elrond's healing has worked wonders for me."
"Excellent. And I believe that this is a custom in your homeland? If you will allow me..." And
with that, the Elflord tipped the startled hobbit's face up with a finger and kissed him gently on
the lips.
"My - my lord! What - " Bewilderment shone in the large blue eyes and Frodo touched his
fingers to his lips and blushed deeply. Glorfindel laughed and looked up at the shadows
above them. Frodo followed his gaze to the waxy white berries of the kissing bough and his
lips parted in a rosy 'o' of comprehension.
"Merry! Pippin!" He cast about for the culprits and found them, still gaping at the unexpected
honour bestowed upon their beloved cousin. Within moments, he was buried in a tangle of
limbs, any protest he would have made lost under kisses that rendered him flushed and
breathless. They released him at last, but refused to allow him to quit the chair, Pippin
planting himself on his lap until he promised to stay where he was.
Frodo disliked being on display, but to move away now would seem churlish as well. However,
the evident affection that accompanied each sweet salutation and the goblets of miruvor
pressed into his hand in rapid succession soon dulled any lingering uneasiness he felt. Except
one. Where was Sam? He tried to search the company without being too obvious about it
until at last he spied him, standing to one side, in close conversation with a tall elf. It seemed
that he felt his Master's eyes on him, for he looked up to meet them, and smiled shyly. Frodo
tilted his head in silent beckoning, and Sam bade his companion farewell and went quickly to
his Master's side.
"I've not thanked you properly for all the work you did, Sam," Frodo began, cursing the formal
cadence of his voice. Kiss me kiss me kiss me his brain clamored, near drowning his good
sense. He coughed and added, "I know that you did most of it. Your fine hand was evident in
every dish and made it taste of home. It was well thought of, and I am grateful."
"It was nothing, Mr Frodo." Sam's blush rivaled the firelight, and his wide smile was one of
pleasure. "'Twas little enough for all you and yours have done for me."
And what have I done for you, Sam? I have brought you to danger, and perhaps a lonely death
far away from home. Kiss me, Sam, oh, kiss me. Frodo shut his eyes, his face quietly
impassive, and slumped back against his chair.
"Mr Frodo? What's wrong, sir? Is your shoulder paining you?" There was a thread of panic in
Sam's voice, and Frodo opened his eyes with an effort.
"I'm fine, Sam. I just went dizzy for a moment. Too much of the miruvor, I expect."
"You should get yourself to bed right soon, then. We've got a busy day tomorrow, I'll warrant."
"I'll be along soon, yes. And you don't have to wait up for me, Sam, not if you want to seek
your bed as well. I can manage fine on my own."
Sam began to speak, then evidently thought better of it, for he closed his mouth in a thin line
and nodded. Frodo shut his eyes and turned his face away, and when he opened them again,
his gardener was gone.
~~~~~
