Eternity and the Language of Flowers

The time between Frodo and Bilbo’s birthdays in September and the Yule festive period always passed quickly. There were many tasks to do before festivities began. Gardeners, for one, had their allotments and gardens to tidy and cut back for the winter. Farmers finished final harvesting of late crops or vegetables, and stocked up for the winter months ahead. They made and repaired animal pens and shelters, making sure they also had plenty provisions to last. Healers were on more calls for flu or cold treatments, and the occasional sprain or broken limb from a fall on the wet leaves or early frosty patches.

This year, Sam felt rushed. He and Frodo had both suffered a bout of flu, Sam spending one week caring for and another being cared for. Since he became fit and well again, he had been catching up on a lost fortnight.

Frodo had told him at the beginning of November to slow down: not to rush, that he was well ahead of himself and he would burn out again before the Festivities began.

So now, two days before Yule, Sam sat at home in his room, wrapping gifts for his family, to include his four elder siblings, who would be returning home for three days. Presents for friends and other relatives were long since wrapped and delivered. His mother and gaffer’s presents had arrived that very morning, and were now carefully hidden out of sight. Only a present for Frodo was still to be sent to Bag End.

“SAM! Whatareyoudoing?!” Marigold’s head suddenly appeared around the slightly open door. She giggled when her older brother leapt out of his skin, still clutching a half-wrapped gift.

“Mari! Gracious, lass, don’t be scarin’ your brother like that!” He let out a breath and relaxed again.

“Whose present it that? Is it mine? Dear Sam, oughtn’t you to have that all finished?”

“This is Hal’s present. Yours has been wrapped already, Mari. And out of your sight and reach! And I *have* almost finished. You can’t tell me you forgot that I work up at Bag End! Mr Frodo is a fair employer, and generous, but he has plenty to keep me busy, so you needn’t be thinkin’ I don’t have enough to keep my day filled!” Sam grumbled good-naturedly and watched Marigold as she came into the room proper, and close the door behind her.

“That’s rubbish, Sam! Mr Frodo is your friend, as well as your employer, and if anyone keeps you busy ‘til dusk, it’s yourself! Aye, you have plenty to do, and I have no doubt Mr Frodo can occasionally find extra for you, but by the most part, it’s you that keeps your nose in the garden, or otherwise.” Marigold rolled her eyes and flopped onto Sam’s bed. She twisted a loose lock of hair around her index finger and kept herself propped up on an elbow as she eyed her older brother with a soft smile. “Mrs Burrows’ youngest daughter, Heather, is my closest friend. I don’t see there bein’ a problem with you havin’ Mr Frodo as a companion, Sam.”

Sam shrugged. Mrs Burrows was Mari’s employer, and kept her employed as a seamstress. She gave her a few pennies for each garment that needed repaired before returning to their owners. But the difference was, Mrs Burrows’ family was of working class like Mari and Sam’s. Not of higher class like Mr Frodo, so engaging in social activities with the Burrows’ was acceptable, whereas spending free time with aristocracy was not.

“Sam…do you spend free time with Mr Frodo because he asks you to? Or because you want to?”

Sam started. “What do you mean?” He asked slowly.

“When Mr Frodo asks you to stay for dinner, or go down to the Ivy Bush with him. Do you do it because your master asked you, or because you want to spend time with him, as a friend?”

“Well…I want to. If F-…Mr Frodo asks me to stay for dinner, I’d be glad to. I love being able to spend more time with him. But…”

Marigold sat up and pointed a finger at her brother. “No ‘buts’, Samwise! Mr Baggins dearly loves your company, and it’s obvious he wants to be your friend first, and employer second. But you’re turning into Da’! He’s so stubborn, Sam, and put up all those…” Marigold waved her arms around for emphasis. “…Social barriers, came up with excuses not to go for a drink with Mr Bilbo…you know - you saw it.”

“He doesn’t think it’s proper. We’re employed to work for the higher classes, not to socialise with them, Marigold.”

“Heather is my friend.”

“Heather is of working class, just like us.”

“You’re just as stubborn as Da’!”

“And you are keeping me from finishing this! I still have to go down to the market!” Sam stood up and ruffled his little sister’s hair. In perfect imitation of their father, he added, “go on, off wi’ ye!”

Marigold rolled her eyes and pranced out of the room.

***


Frodo smiled at the elderly owner of the poultry stall and tucked away his purchase in the basket he carried. As he was turning to head in the direction of the hobbit who owned the spices stall, a familiar weight pressed on his shoulder, and he spun around.

“Sam!” Frodo exclaimed, a wide smile lighting up his face.

“Good afternoon, Mr Frodo!” Sam beamed in return. “Fine weather we’re getting today, although it feels like it may close in quite soon, and we may have snow tonight.”

“A Yule softly blanketed in deep snow? How very idyllic that would be,” Frodo murmured, head tilted slightly as he pictured the scene: waking warm and cozy inside and looking out of his bedroom window to see the sleepy Shire dressed in a pure white, while inhaling the crisp cold air. He smiled again softly. “Yes.”

“Indeed, it sounds mighty attractive, Mr Frodo. It seems to snow a fair bit at Yule. But it’s always special. It’s lovely seein’ the gardens and holes all white an’ pretty,” Sam shook his head slightly and focused on the present. “But right now, it’s as good as you can hope for while doin’ your last moment market-run afore the year-end.”

“Yes, I must keep the pantries well stocked, seeing as holidays, and potential bad weather, will keep me away from market for a while.”

“Aye, you’re getting right independent, sir!” Sam jested, but then nodded at his basket, becoming serious and business-like again. “But you could have asked me to take a list and fetch these things, Mr Frodo. You know I come down this way often enough. It wouldn’t be any hassle for me to get a little extra.”

“It’s been a while since I was at market, Sam. You do enough for me as it is, and I thought it would be nice to take a stroll down this way and wish everybody a glad and peaceful holiday. Besides, I only have a very few things to buy, and I shan’t be much longer.”

Sam frowned and tugged gently on Frodo’s coat sleeve. “Aye, but you’re not dressed proper for even that! You should have a scarf on, and a thick cloak over this - you don’t want to take ill at this time of the year!”

Frodo blinked in surprise. “That was very forward for you, Sam!” He immediately shook his head and continued when Sam’s face reddened and he took a small step back. “No, no – I was teasing, Sam. You are right, after all; I should be dressed more warmly for going out. The weather could change at any moment, and I would be done for. And it *is* actually getting colder now…I shall just get some more rosemary and head --Sam?”

Sam had unwound his scarf the moment Frodo mentioned the cooling air, and began to wrap it around his master’s neck instead. “It’ll keep you warm,” he said by way of explanation, and nodded with finality. He frowned and looked slightly apologetic. “It’s not as soft or thick as your own, Mr Frodo, but it should keep the worst away and ward off any chill.”

“It does the job just fine. Thank you, Sam,” Frodo tilted his head again and looked thoughtfully at Sam for a long moment. “I shall see you later…now let me think, it shan’t be until the new year, hmm? Well then, I wish you the very best of the season, Sam, for you and your family. I hope you have a very happy time.”

As Frodo turned away, Sam started after him again with a question he felt he already knew the answer to. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr Frodo, but who are you spending the next two days with?”

Frodo thought of lying, and telling Sam he would head out to Buckland, but realised it wouldn’t make a plausible excuse, especially the day before Yule. He cleared his throat and played with the hem of Sam’s scarf before answering. “I’ll…be on my own, this year, Sam,” he said, then set his mouth in a firm line, in a way that clearly meant ‘it doesn’t bother me’.

“No relatives?” Sam pressed slightly. “Master Took not even passing by with the family?”

Frodo frowned deeply and started walking again. “No, Sam. But it isn’t a big deal - I shall be going out to Buckland in the new year, after all the festivities and noisy relatives are out of the way.”

“Hmm, if you say so, Mr Frodo,” Sam murmured casually, then waved him goodbye and went back to his shopping list.

***

As Frodo slowly wandered back up the Hill to Bag End, he noticed Bell Gamgee gathering in a load of fresh laundry she had put out earlier that morning, and came to a halt by the little wooden gate. “Good afternoon, Bell,” he said with a smile. “Are you well enough to do that?”

“Ah, Mr Frodo! Yes, I’m well again, a thanks for your askin’, sir. Good t’see you, too - it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Bell wandered across the grass to stand beside Frodo. “And how are you keeping these day, dear?”

Frodo smiled warmly - little things like Bell calling him ‘dear’ went a long way to making him feel welcomed by the Gamgees. “I am well, thank you for asking.”

“Managing fine without your Uncle?” Bell asked carefully, as she balanced her laundry basket on her hip.

“Yes. It…it gets lonely sometimes, because Bag End is so big…but I’m usually surrounded by people I know, people who look out for me.”

“Does Sam?”

Frodo laughed. “Yes - and very well, too!”

Bell nodded, just as her eye caught the scarf around his neck - Sam’s. She smiled to herself and continued their conversation. “Good, I’m glad t’ hear. And are you ready for Yule?”

“As ready as I can be.”

“Ah, setting off for Buckland soon, are you? Or is it Tuckborough this year?” Bell asked, then tilted her head and fixed her gaze on Frodo in a way that reminded him of Sam.

Again, he hesitated. But why? Sam would no doubt tell his family when he got home. “I’ll be alone at home, this year. I didn’t make any plans…”

“Gracious, Frodo, spendin’ a family holiday alone?” Bell sighed and straightened up to switch the laundry basket from one hip to the other. She lifted her free hand and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Dear lad, you’ll find that dreadfully lonely, what with your Mr Bilbo having just left a few months ago.”

“Well, maybe I would prefer to be alone this year!” Frodo said defensively “Bilbo didn’t have anyone to spend the holiday with before I came to live with him, so why should it be any different for me?”

“I’ll let you know, Mr Baggins, that your Uncle spent a good deal of time *away* from here at this time of year, in the company of others. It was very rare that he took to spendin’ Yule alone.”

Frodo looked sheepishly at Bell, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “…He’s spent many a Yule with me, I guess. Whether at Buckland or Hobbiton, before he adopted me, and after.” The young master of Bag End sighed, his shoulders drooping slightly. “But maybe I do want to be alone this time, Bell. I deliberately didn’t make plans to go away. I made other specific plans to stay at home.” He patted the basket still hanging on his arm and gave her a half-smile. “Got my goose and everything.”

Bell shook her head and laughed lightly. “Must be a mighty small goose if it fits comfortably in that basket, Mr Frodo.”

“Maybe so, but it’s more than enough for one hobbit. And I’d best be off, now. The dear bird shall not cook on its own, or in cold damp air!”

Bell nodded. “Aye. I’ve had both Ham’s stiff knees and Sam’s smart head tellin’ me that there will likely be snow for Yule.” She looked at the grey, heavy clouds. “And I believe they may be right.”

“Well, I shall wish you a very happy Yule now, Bell.”

“Thank you most kindly, Mr Frodo. And I hope yours is an enjoyable time also,” Bell replied, briefly resting her free hand on his arm. “Goodbye for now, dear.”

“Goodbye.”

***

Indeed, Sam and the Gaffer’s knees were right, and the first flakes of snow began to drift quietly to the earth as Frodo reached the door of Bag End. He hurried inside and locked the door, stamping his chilled feet as he did so. He padded through to the parlour and built up the dwindling fire, and then went to set another going in the kitchen and his study.

With the hole warming up nicely again, Frodo divested himself of his coat and scarf. Carefully folding the soft length of wool, Frodo made a mental note to return it to Sam as soon as was possible. Which now looked as though it would not be until well after Yule.

Frodo sighed and shuffled back to the kitchen, where he began hauling things out of cupboards and pantries. Starting to prepare the dinner now meant he would only have a few bits and pieces to deal with the next day. “Come along then, Baggins: get yourself into action!”

***

Sam scurried through the front door of the Gamgee home a few hours into the snowfall. His curly head was covered with melting snowflakes and his cheeks were pink and chilled. As he walked into the kitchen, he shook his head, sending cold water drops flying, and causing Marigold to squeak as one slid down her back.

“Sam! Ooh, that was cold, brother!” The young lass of eighteen summers shuddered and frowned half-heartedly at her older brother.

“Ah, good evening, Sam-love,” Bell’s soft voice reached them from the other side of the kitchen. She wandered over to greet him, her concentration on the family dinner. “How was your day? Did you get all that you needed?”

“Yes, Mam,” Sam replied and handed over a small packet. “I got the last of this from Mrs Longleaf’s market stall! How are you feeling today?”

“Thank you, lad,” Bell took the herbs and set them down beside the others for use in garnishing and flavouring the stew. “I’m feeling quite fine, Sam. I’ve told you already there’s no need to fuss. It was only a cold I suffered from.” She glanced sideways at him. “I had a wee talk with Master Frodo earlier.” She commented.

“Oh yes, I met him at the market this afternoon,” Sam informed her as he picked up a spoon to stir the pot of vegetable soup.

“Yes…he told me he would be alone tomorrow, and the day after as well,” Bell quickly chopped up the carrots and onions and added them to the stew. “It’s not right. Him spendin’ the holidays alone. He needs t’be in the company of others…his Uncle only left in September…”

Sam listened to his mother’s fretting quietly, nodding in agreement every now and then.

“Aye, he said he *wanted* to be alone…it’s no’ right…” Bell sighed and went to set the table.

“What’s this, love?” Hamfast enquired as he hobbled into the kitchen, pipe in one hand, an empty mug in the other.

“Mr Frodo, Da’. He’s staying at Bag End alone this Yule holiday,” Sam explained, then dipped the spoon into the pot to taste the soup. Satisfied, he began to serve it.

“No Uncle to organise him, eh?” Said the Gaffer as he emptied out his pipe into the fire.

Sam frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but Bell placed a hand on his arm, then spoke for him. “He thought it would be nice to spend the time alone this year. But I think he’s regretting that decision now.”

“Hmph. Nobody t’blame ‘cept himself, then,” muttered Ham as he sat down at the table and Sam placed a bowl of steaming soup at his place.

Marigold wandered off to call in her brothers and sisters, who were home for the holiday for a change. As she returned with them in tow, she shook her pretty head and put her penny’s worth into the conversation. “Should we pay him a visit tomorrow?”

Sam’s eyes lit up and he looked straight at his father.

The Gaffer spluttered and dropped his spoon into the soup bowl. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, and looked quite like a fish. In anyone else, Sam would have found the expression amusing, but this was Hamfast Gamgee. It made him nervous. “I-I-” Ham started. From all around the dinner table, seven pairs of eyes were on him, waiting for his answer. Hal’s expression was the only one in the room that remained neutral. The others - including his wife! - looked at him expectantly, and hopefully. “I…”

“Don’t try to say t’ain’t proper, Ham Gamgee!” Bell said as she picked up her spoon. “As far as I can see, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with showing your master you’re thinkin’ of him and are concerned about him. He’s a hobbit like the rest of us, and there’s none who deserve t’spend such a time alone.”

Daisy and Hal glanced at each other across the table and shrugged, seeing the sense in their mother’s statement.

“Well, we canna very well just turn up on his bloody doorstep without so much as a note sent in his direction aforehand!”

“Well, it’s a damn sight too late t’be sending out invitations and messages - we either do, or we don’t. A couple of hours, even, just to let him know we’ve thought of him. I’m quite sure there is a gift or two lurkin’ around this hole for a certain Master Baggins at any rate.”

Sam and Marigold kept a hopeful silence.

“Hm. Well.” Hamfast picked up his spoon and dipped it into the bowl again. “Best make sure we take all the provisions in one trip tomorrow mornin’ then.”

It was Sam’s turn to drop his spoon and waggle his mouth like a fish. Marigold giggled.

“Sam, eat your dinner,” his father requested nonchalantly.

“Wha-what do you mean? Morning?”

The old Gaffer lowered the spoon, again, and scowled. “Ain’t no sense in only going along for a couple o’ hours, Sam. Go in the morning, dinner’s delayed when ye get back. Go in the afternoon, there’s no time before, or after, to eat a decent meal. Now, if you visit someone for a day, you can cook and eat wherever and whenever suits both parties. Suits the master of the house, I should say.”

Sam blinked dumbly for a few moments. Spending a quiet, family Yule with Mr Frodo? His father consented? He shook his head and tucked into his dinner.



Bell sat in her rocking chair by the fire, knitting quickly and quietly. In just an hour she had whipped up a long, twin-coloured scarf, intended as a modest, but heart-felt gift for the young Master of Bag End. She had chosen the softest wool she could lay her hands on at short notice. It may not have been expensive, but it had been both spun and dyed by the hands of Bell and Daisy, deliberate and slow, and worth their efforts. Bell hummed a light song as she worked. Sam murmured the words as he sewed a small wooden button onto his finest weskit, with the intention of wearing it to Bag End the following day.

“Sam love, go an’ see what your father’s up to,” Bell asked a few minutes later. “Make sure he hasn’t escaped out of the bedroom window. Wouldn’t want him to be turnin’ up forty miles away in Michel Delving jus’ as he didn’t want t’spent Yule at Bag End, even after a’ he’s said!”

Sam chuckled and wandered down the tunnel towards his parents’ bedchamber. Upon arriving at the door, he knocked lightly and called, “Da? Mam wants to know if you haven’t run away yet!”

The Gaffer opened the creaky wooden door and glowered at his son. “Don’t be ridiculous! Said I would go tomorrow, and I ain’t goin’ back on me word.”

“So why are you hiding here?”

“Gettin’ ready for tomorrow, ain’t I? Nosy beggar! Awa’ with you, and tell your mother there’s naught wrong and I’ll still be here in th’ mornin’!”

***

Unfortunately the following morning Bell felt worse for wear, and looked it, too. She did her best not to show it, or snuffle and cough too much, and her husband watched her cautiously. It was apparently ‘just a cold’ like that she’d had a month ago - yet she had been far too weak to even get out of bed for five days. But she appeared to recover quick enough after that, and satisfactorily for the healer, Mr Hedgeworth.

“Ham! Stop fussing! I’ll be fine - I’m going to Bag End with you today, and I do not want to hear any protests and suggestions that I can’t cope!” Bell slapped her husband’s hand away from her forehead.

“Bell, love, the last time you were ill you couldn’t leave your bed for near a week!”

“Aye, and Hedgeworth said that was just another symptom of the cold I had!”

“Da’, if Mam says she’s fine, then let her be,” Marigold stood in the kitchen doorway, speaking as she finished tying her hair back. “Sam’s been up and got ev’rythin’ ready, so we’re just eatin’ breakfast before we go.”

“Thank you, Marigold,” said Bell. “Hamfast, listen to your daughter - let me be!”

Sam, at that moment, wandered into the kitchen. “What’s this, then? Are you feeling ill, Mam?”

“Aye, she is, but being her stubborn self, she’s insistin’ there’s naught wrong!” said Ham grumpily.

Sam looked closely and anxiously at his mother, lifting a hand to touch her forehead, before pulling back as she slapped it away.

“Hamfast! Samwise! I’m fine! It’s Yule, and I’ll no’ have anybody worriting over a damn cold!” She frowned at her husband and son. “Now, sit down, eat yer breakfast, and then let’s be off!”

***

Bell was at the point of biting off her concerned husband’s fingers before they even left the smial. He fussed over her endlessly at breakfast, then brought her coat, cloak, scarf, hat and gloves to her while she sat by the fire and the children did the dishes.

When they were ready to leave, Hamfast held her hand tightly and kept their pace slow and leisurely so she wouldn’t be tired out or breathless when they reached Bag End.

“Ham, it’s just another chill. I’m not fragile, I’m not going to break!”

“Just humour me, Bell-lass. Don’t want to risk anything.”

As they approached the smial under the hill, the Gaffer silenced them all. No use in coming to surprise Mr Baggins if he could hear them before they were even in sight!

They all stood arranged neatly on the front step, Sam at the head of the family. He felt quite nervous of a sudden, and had to pause before lifting his hand and knocking loudly on the door. The Gamgees took a collective step back from the door and waited. A few moments later, they heard scuffling and muttering, and a key being turned in the lock. They all looked expectantly at the mass of heavy wood was pulled open.

Frodo stood gaping at the eight hobbits huddled together at his door. He held a gooey spoon in one hand, and had smears of goodness knows what all over his face. He had evidently wiped his hands on his breeches, and the white cotton shirt he wore was….no longer white.

“S-Sam?” He stammered. “What are you…all doing here?” His large, bewildered eyes took in Sam’s parents and siblings, all smiling tentatively at him. They were all weighed down with bundles and baskets, except Bell, who only had a hand filled with Hamfast.

Sam beamed, a large smile spread across his face. “We’re here to take over your kitchen, so it seems. Happy Yule, Mr Frodo.”

***

Frodo returned to the living room freshly scrubbed and dressed in his finer clothes. He buttoned the cuffs of his silken shirt and smiled at Bell, who had been left near the comforts of the fire with orders to sit still and relax.

“How are you feeling, Bell?” He enquired.

“I feel a little under the weather, Mr Frodo, but my dear husband is treatin’ me as if I was expecting!” Bell shook her head and chuckled. “’Tis merely another touch of the cold. But I think he’s feart I’ll take to my bed again for another week…”

“There’s nothing wrong with being fussed over, Bell, my dear,” Frodo said, and sat in the chair next to her.

They both laughed, and Marigold entered the room carrying a tea tray, a confused look on her face. Bell noticed, and smiled. “No, Mari-lamb, we’re no’ laughing at you. Mr Frodo was just saying how there’s naught wrong with being fussed over. It seems we both have a fair idea of what it’s like.”

“Ah, of course,” said Marigold, and set the tray down on the small table near Frodo. “I brought some tea for you, Mr Frodo. Sam thought you might like some. And I’ve been told to tell you no’ to worry about dinner, as Sam and Daisy are working at it as we speak!”

“Where are the others?” Bell asked lightly.

“The boys have gone outside with Da’. Sam kicked ‘em from the kitchen! Da’s gone to inspect Sam’s work of the gardens, and I think Hal and Ham are tagging along.”

“Well, I’m quite sure they will find nothing to gripe about, and nothing that needs tending, as Sam has it under control!” Frodo added his part to the exchange. “Now, Mari, unless you are required to help anymore, please join your mother and I for tea.”

Marigold smiled shyly and sat on the sofa beside her mother.

It seemed a remarkably short time later when Sam appeared at the doorway of the parlour, announcing that Dinner would be served in the dining room shortly. As Frodo, Bell, and Marigold prepared to make their way through, they could hear Daisy arguing with her older brothers.

“No! That knife sits on the outside! Hal - fold the napkins like this!”

Hamson muttered something vague and Marigold hid a smirk behind her hand.

“No, one will not do! We’re doin’ this proper, for Mr Frodo, or not at all!” The sound of cutlery being slammed on the hard wood table was heard. A moment later, Daisy appeared in the corridor. “Ah, there you are! I was beginnin’ to wonder if Sam had gotten side-tracked an’ forgot to tell you dinner is being served!”

***

It wasn’t long before the starter dishes were devoured and scraped almost clean. After the two cooks for the day had cleared the empty tableware and, sharing the weight of the tureen (and partly for show: Sam - or Daisy, for that matter - could easily have carried it alone), placed the goose in the centre of the table, everyone waited quietly for either Frodo or Hamfast to say something. Frodo waited for Hamfast, thinking it polite, as he was the head of the family; Hamfast waited for Frodo - he wasn’t about to jump ahead of his betters and tell his family to dig in as usual.

The brief pause stretched into a long moment. Clearing her throat, Bell broke the silence. “Would someone like to carve the goose?”

Another moment of silence followed, before Hamfast handed the carving knife to Frodo.

But Frodo smiled and shook his head. “No, I would like you to have the honour of carving the goose, sir.”

The Gaffer’s eyes widened slightly and he paused, debating fiercely with himself, but he slowly lifted the large blade and smiled at the eight pairs of eyes watching him closely. “Well…here we go.. But before I do, I must say thank you to my son, Samwise. Yer a good lad, honest and hard-workin’.. even if I don’t tell you as oft I should.” He cleared his throat and glanced up at his wife, who sat at the opposite end of the table, smiling softly. “Well, then..”

Without further ado, Hamfast expertly sliced into the goose.


Creamed potatoes, roast potatoes, peas, beans, sprouts, boiled cabbage and carrots, batter puddings, and gravies and sauces in abundance accompanied the roasted goose - and that was just for their main course. Before getting stuck into it, Daisy had served up creamy mushroom soup with warm crispy bread rolls, and followed that with a slice of light, refreshing watermelon with a small dollop of raspberry sauce to sweeten, much to the other Gamgees’ delight and surprise. Frodo had smiled and caught Sam’s eye - he had once described to the young lad the extravagant and exotic affair of Yule at Brandy Hall…then the following year, Sam had experienced the event first-hand. And Sam remembered Frodo’s fondness for the particular quirky appearance of the melon as a starter.

Goblets of mead and wine were drained and refilled, happily accompanying the rich food down the gullet. There was silence, save for the clacking and scraping of knives and forks, and appreciative noises from the small party.

And despite his initial misgivings of their sudden appearance on his doorstep, Frodo was immensely grateful for the Gamgee’s company that day. He occasionally glanced around the table, taking in the happy faces of his companions, and smiling to himself. Another problem, however, that presented itself to Frodo during the course of their meal, was the presents, or lack thereof, that he had to give.

After a prolonged desert of lemon sponge cake or blackberries and custard (or both: hobbits not being folks to tolerate leftovers), the group moved themselves - slowly - to the parlour. Bell directed Hal and Ham to clear the table, despite their, and Sam’s, protests. Frodo excused himself from the room, setting his glass of rose wine on the end table and scampering as quick as his full belly would allow through the tunnels of the smial.

“Gifts, gifts.…where did I put them.…” He went into his bedroom and opened his closet doors. No presents. He frowned, and headed across his room to the cupboard built into the wall. “Oh, yes, Frodo Baggins, it’s a safe place to leave them ‘til the new year alright!”

“Mr Frodo?”

Frodo spun round, hastily closing the cupboard door, and holding his hands behind his back. “Yes?”

Sam started a little, stepping further away from the open bedroom door. “Just…we’re all in the parlour now and we…”

“Yes. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Frodo turned back to the cupboard, then, after making certain Sam had left, carefully pulled a delicately wrapped packed from the top shelf. He closed his fast-welling eyes, breathing deeply. The moment passed, and he collected the rest of the parcels and shuffled back through to the parlour, arms laden.

Bell was emptying a basket containing small gifts as Sam urged her to sit down and relax. She took a breath and opened her mouth to protest, but was caught with a short coughing fit.

“Oh, mama, please just sit down afore the Gaffer gets into a flap!” Daisy rushed to assist Sam and together they guided her to an armchair. Frodo watched the scene worriedly and silently, then continued into the room, placed the bundle of gifts on the floor behind a chair, and forced a smile on his face.

“Well now, where is Master Hamfast?”

“Just coming, Mr Frodo!” The Gaffer hurried through as fast as his old pins would allow him, propped up by an old walking stick and carrying a mug of beer in his free hand. Sam smiled to himself, and not for the first time, happy that his old dad was having a good time.

With the last of the family settled in the parlour around the warm fire that had been banked up during his absence, Frodo moved to stand in the centre of the gathered hobbits. “Before we begin with the traditional gift-giving, I would like to say a few words.” He glanced around the room, certain he held their attention. “I wish to thank you all for being here today. I must confess that it was my intention to bide here alone over Yule. I hadn’t accounted for how lonely I would feel, and I cannot express enough how much I appreciate all your thoughtfulness, everyone. But, without further ado…” And with that said, Frodo smiled jauntily and moved to grab the first of his gift for the Gamgees.

A new washtub for the family, even if four of them no long lived at home for the most part of the year; a small keg of ale to see in the new year; a bag of flour and jars of fresh, heady spices; a bright, new axe for chopping firewood, a new kettle and plenty of tea aside to set it to good use.

And then after the family gifts were given, Frodo brought out small individual wrapped and tagged presents. Marigold held her package in her hands a while, looking carefully at the coloured paper and hand-written label.

“You can open it, Mari,” came Bell’s soft voice.

Marigold looked up, suddenly aware of her sisters’ gleeful expressions as they admired the hair ribbons and matching lacy collars and cuffs, May’s in buttercup yellow and Daisy’s sky blue. With shy eagerness, the youngest of them pulled the wrapping off the small bundle. The two ribbons were white and green checks; the lace pieces a soft white.

Sam’s brothers appeared eager to try their new pipes, each carved uniquely and from different woods. He heard Frodo mention something about the weed coming from the same trader in the Southfarthing as he and Bilbo used, gaining appreciative murmurs from the guests in the room.

A whoop from the Gaffer, who cleared his throat in embarrassment, turned all heads toward him. Frodo smiled as Ham lifted up his new pipe in one hand and a beautiful new walking stick in polished mahogany, as chuffed as he had been in a long while. After a moment, Frodo passed gifts to Bell and Sam. Sam watched his mother closely as she slowly accepted the present and removed the delicate paper, and for a moment it was struck by how fragile she looked, and a wave of uneasiness washed over him. But the disquiet vanished and was immediately replaced with something else.

“Oh! Oh, Master Frodo…” whispered Bell, holding up a crocheted, ivory-coloured shawl, with small pink roses, also crocheted, scattered over it. A very faint scent of lilac clung to the fibres and the garment, although old, still felt as soft and as strong as if it were just created. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was your mother’s, wasn’t it?”

Frodo nodded, silent, as he watched Bell’s joyful face, a soft smile tugging on his lips as she bent her head to breathe in the old, comforting scent. Her eyes were closed, but whether in contemplation or some kind of reverence, he couldn’t tell.

Sam watched from his place next to the Gaffer, tears misting his vision and his heart full of gratefulness and gratitude toward his thoughtful master.

“Sam…open your present.” Marigold’s sweet voice brought Sam back into the world and he blinked for a moment, then stared at his gift. Slowly, he pulled the string holding together the paper and pulled it away.

For Sam....a book of Elvish tales, ordered especially for him from Dale.

“I searched the Shire constantly for such a book, but…but I had to go with my last resort and order it.”

“From…it says inside that it’s from Dale,” Sam murmured, and turning to a random page of the book, running his fingers over the elegant script. “Sir, you…I…you can’t give me this…”

“Well, why ever not, Sam?”

“It’s…it’s…too good for the likes of me.” Sam blushed, sneaking a look at his Gaffer.

“But you enjoy Elvish tales, do you not?” Frodo argued. “Here is a book of your own. To read at your leisure, and to keep.”

“Have you read these tales?”

“No,” Frodo conceded, “but I could borrow it from you, or you could always read them to me,” he teased. “Here, did you see the inscription?”

Sam turned to the title page of the book, blank save for the heading in thick, flowing writing. On the other side of the page however, Sam found a short paragraph, written to him by Frodo, the handwriting light and graceful.

"To Samwise Gamgee: without whom Frodo Baggins would be lost in a world with little colour; for showing his old friend that dreams come true, wishes are granted and faerytales still live on in the world. For restoring faith in close ones and building trust in peers. To Samwise, whom I owe much, my rainbow, and dear friend.

"Yours, F.B. Yule 1401"


~end, part 8~