Chapter Twenty-Three: Winter Fun

The months passed uneventfully in the Shire. Merry and Pippin returned home the day after the party, already making plans for their next visit, for Yuletide – one of the best times of year for young hobbits. Yuletide lasted a full six days (the last three and the first three days of every year), in which there was feasting, games, festivals, and best of all: presents! The Yuletide Festival in Hobbiton was the largest celebration, and hobbits flocked from neighboring towns and farms to come.

Several days before the beginning of Yule, the cold December wind blew down upon young Frodo Baggins as he made his way through the newly fallen snow to Bag End. "I’m back!" he announced, stepping inside and beginning to remove his wet scarf, coat and mittens. "And with three letters," he added as Bilbo came into the room.

"Splendid!" siad his uncle, helping him to remove his wet things. He had not been outdoors long, and fortunately, his clothes were still dry beneath his thick coat.

"Come into the sitting room and have a bit of tea," Bilbo said, after he’d returned from putting the wet clothes in the washroom. "We’ll read the letters as we drink."

The two sat, comfortably bundled up in thick quilts, with a fire crackling in the hearth, sipping some warm tea. "Well now," Bilbo said presently. "About those letters."

Frodo handed them to him, and his uncle read the addresses of each silently to himself. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed as he came to the last one. "It’s from Peony! She hasn’t written in quite a while."

Frodo leaned in eagerly; ever since Peony had announced that she was pregnant*, two months before, they’d been receiving – and returning – weekly letters. But she’d skipped a week, and now they were anxious to read what she had to say.

"‘Dearest Bilbo and Frodo,’" Bilbo read aloud.

"‘I’m dreadfully sorry that I have not written for a while. I’ve been visiting Lila for the past few days, and she was delighted to hear my news. And you would never believe it, but she is expecting, too! Now dear little Daisy will have a younger brother or sister to spoil (and order about!). She doesn’t quite understand all the commotion yet, but she will soon.

‘Milo has been very busy carving lately. His shoppe is almost always filled with customers now, asking for all kinds of things for Yule. The poor fellow hasn’t had a moment’s peace. He seems still to be slightly overwhelmed by the fact that we are going to have a child. Oh, it will be so marvelous! I am certain that the baby is a girl, but Milo is adamant that ’tis a boy. Oh well. We shan’t find out who is right until sometime after midsummer, according to Dr. Bolger – not the Dr. Bolger who tended to Frodo, but his sister, Lilac. And what a dear she is! Always going out of her way to check up on me, and so kind; just like her brother.

‘Porto and Ponto** are coming for a visit, for Yule. They are both astonished to hear the news as well, and Ponto’s beautiful little daughter, Angelica, is coming up with names already. She stands with me in the belief that the baby will be a girl, and she tells me that I should name her ‘Pansy’ or ‘Poppy’ – something similar to my name. But no, Milo and I have already decided that we will name the child – boy or girl – something beginning with ‘M.’

‘I have made a small list of my own names. For girls, my favorites are: Myrtle, Mimosa (as you know, my great-grandmother’s name), or perhaps Maylie? For boys, my favorites are: Mosco, Minto or Moro (needless to say, Milo has helped me a good deal with the boy names!).

‘Well, I shan’t bore you any longer with names and such. We are all doing well here, and we hope that you both are, as well. I can’t wait for the Yuletide Festival – Milo and I will be sure to attend!

‘Love,

‘Peony Burrows’"

"I think the baby will be a boy," said Frodo when Bilbo had finished.

His uncle chuckled. "And what do you think they should name him, if indeed it is a boy?"

Frodo took a sip of his tea and smiled. "Well, from Peony’s list, I like Mosco best, I think."

Bilbo nodded. "I liked that one too, but Moro isn’t too terrible, either."

There was a comfortable silence for several moments, as they were each lost in their own thoughts. At last, Frodo drained the last of his tea and sat back against the soft downy sofa pillows. "Who were those other two letters from, Uncle?"

"Oh yes! Dear me, I’d forgotten them. Well, one is from old Rory," he laid that one aside to read later. "Ah, and here’s one from Lindir! ’Tis about time – though I imagine elves have more important things to do than write to hobbits," he chuckled as he opened the letter and read it quietly to himself.

Suddenly, Frodo gave a cry and jumped to his feet. "Oh, stars, I forgot!" Bilbo set the letter down and stared curiously at his nephew.

"Frodo, what are you talking about?"

Frodo groaned and sat back down. "On our second night out on that trip Merry and Sam and I took to Bywater, Sam recited a poem for Merry and me. It was beautiful, about Elbereth, and the stars… I promised I’d tell it to you, so you could send it to Lindir!" He shook his head mournfully. "But after everything that happened, it slipped my mind and I haven't thought of it all these months – poor Sam!"

As Bilbo continued to stare at his nephew, whose face was filled with guilt, he began to chuckle. As Frodo raised his head in confusion, Bilbo’s chuckles increased to a full-on laugh, and he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. Frodo’s puzzled look only added to the comedy of the situation, and caused Bilbo to laugh all the harder.

When he had a small measure of control over his laughter, he gasped, "I’m – I’m sorry, Frodo. But you should see the expression on your face! Your eyes are as big as saucers!" Frodo smiled slightly, despite himself.

"But about that poem," Bilbo went on, able to speak now. "It's no great problem. Lindir has been out in the Wilds with Elrohir and Elladan anyhow – he wouldn’t have gotten the letter until just recently. We can send the poem with my next letter. Do you know it off the top of your head?"

Frodo shook his head. "I don’t think I can recite all of it. You should hear Sam do it – can I go get him now?"

Bilbo chuckled again at the eagerness of his nephew, and waved a hand in resignation. "Very well," he said. "I can see that you shan’t be able to sit still until you’ve brought him in and I’ve sent the letter. But remember to bundle up!" he added as Frodo jumped up and dashed to the door.

"Thank you, Uncle Bilbo!" the old hobbit heard as the door shut behind his nephew. He smiled to himself, and then went back to reading his letter.

Frodo raced to #3 Bagshot Row like his life depended on it. When he finally reached the door, he was completely out of breath. He knocked quickly, and it seemed like hours before the door was opened by a very surprised Hamfast Gamgee.

"Master Frodo!" he exclaimed. "What’re ’ee doin’ here, sir, in such cold?" Without giving Frodo a chance to reply, he ushered the lad inside and shut the door behind him. "Oh, here, sir, let me take yer coat an’ scarf." Frodo knew better than to argue, and handed his wet things to the gardener.

"Now, what can I do fer you, young master?" Hamfast asked when he’d finished hanging the wet coat and scarf over the hearth to dry.

"Nothing at all," said Frodo with a smile. "I just wanted to see if Sam could come over for a quick visit, sir." He resisted the urge to chuckle when Hamfast’s eyebrows rose slightly when he was addressed as ‘sir.’

"I’m sure Sam would love ta come, Mr. Frodo," the gardener said. "But ’e can’t stay long, I’m afraid. I’m goin’ ta take a trip down ta Bywater fer some things, an’ I’ll need him with me, seein’ as Halfred and Hamson are helpin’ their Uncle Andy. Now, you come over ’ere and warm yerself by the fire, Mr. Frodo, while I go an’ get Sam." He hastened down the narrow hall, leaving Frodo by the hearth.

Frodo stood close to the fireplace, holding his hands out in front of him to absorb the wonderful heat. He loved being at the Gamgees’, although they could be a bit overprotective at times. But he knew they were only acting as they had been brought up, and allowed them to address him as ‘Master’ or ‘Mr. Frodo’ (knowing from repeated fruitless attempts with Sam that it was useless to try to get them to simply call him Frodo). But he always made sure to treat them with respect in return, calling Hamfast and Bell ‘Mr.’ and ‘Mistress’ Gamgee.

Suddenly, Frodo heard a soft noise from behind him. He turned around to see a pair of round eyes peering from around the doorway of the kitchen. He recognized them as belonging to Marigold, the youngest of the Gamgee girls.

"Hullo," he said cheerfully. "What is it that you’re watching that could possibly be so interesting?"

The eyes widened, and Frodo heard a small gasp as they disappeared. "Come now, Goldie," he said, getting down on his knees so that he was closer to her height. "I won’t bite. Won’t you come out?" Shyly, the eyes peered around again, and then the rest of the girl’s body followed, slowly.

Marigold Gamgee had just seen her twelfth summer, and was growing into quite a comely young lady. She was stocky and strongly built like both her parents, and brothers, but she had slender, long-fingered hands that were quite skilled with helping her mother care for the ill, when called upon. Her curls, tied up in a messy bun, were the same color as Sam’s, as were her eyes. In fact, she looked very much like Sam, but in feminine form. And like her older brother, she adored tales about Elves.

Now, she shyly made her way over to Frodo. She liked him, and Mr. Bilbo very much, no matter what her friends said about them. She didn’t have an ear for gossip, and didn’t believe a word of what was said about her masters.

Frodo held out his arms to her, and after hesitating a moment, she smiled and threw her arms around his neck. The first time her parents had seen her hug Mr. Frodo, they’d been quite shocked that one of their children would act with such familiarity to their Master’s heir. But as neither Mr. Bilbo, nor Mr. Frodo seemed to mind, they had let it be.

"I haven’t seen you in quite a while," Frodo said as Marigold pulled out of his hug, smiling brightly. "You must’ve grown two inches!"

Marigold giggled. "Will you tell me a story, Mr. Frodo?" she asked eagerly, with a twinkle in her brown eyes that reminded Frodo very much of Sam.

"I’m afraid I don’t have time today, Goldie," said Frodo reluctantly. "I’ve just come to see if Sam can come over for a quick visit." He looked down at her, a playful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Would you like to come along? I’m sure that Uncle Bilbo could tell you a story while Sam and I visit." Marigold’s eyes widened and her smile broadened. She loved being inside Bag End, although she had not been there often.

She began to reply, but just then, the Gaffer returned with Samwise beside him. "Hullo, Mr. Frodo!" the young gardener said happily. "Sorry I took so long; I was out back."

Frodo stood up and the Gaffer retrieved his things from over the hearth. "Well, they’re still a mite wet, I’m afraid," he said as he helped Frodo into the thick coat and wrapped the scarf snugly around him. "But Bag End ain’t far, an’ the snow’s not deep."

"Thank you, Mr. Gamgee," Frodo said with a smile. "I’m sure I’ll be fine. And I was wondering, could little Marigold come along as well? We shan’t be long, and I’m sure she would enjoy the trip."

The Gaffer looked from his young master’s questioning blue eyes to his daughter’s beseeching brown ones, and back again. "Very well, Mr. Frodo," he said at last. "She can come, if you’re sure it’s all right."

Frodo smiled. "Quite sure."

"Well then," Hamfast said. "We’d best get you bundled up, Goldie-lass." He took Marigold by the hand and the two disappeared into the room the girls shared.

"Why’d you want us to come over, Mr. Frodo?" Sam whispered while they waited. "You’ve got that look in your eye, sir, beggin’ your pardon, like you’re planning somethin’."

Frodo chuckled. "I am indeed, Sam. But I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait and see."

When the three made it inside Bag End, Bilbo was waiting to greet them at the door. "Hullo!" he said cheerfully. "Marigold, I wasn’t expecting you! What a pleasant surprise!" Marigold blushed with pleasure beneath all her layers of clothing. Once their scarves, mittens and coat had been removed and placed beside the hearth to dry, Bilbo led them into his study.

"Now, Sam my lad," he said as he walked around his desk and sat in the chair. "Frodo tells me that you wrote a poem that you’d like me to send to the Elves of Rivendell?"

Sam’s eyes widened and he blushed right up to the tips of his pointed ears. "Y-yes, sir," he stammered, risking a glance at Frodo, who was grinning in amusement. "It ain’t proper poetry, sir; just somethin’ I made up."

Bilbo smiled warmly at the lad and showed him the paper that was before him on the desk. Written in Bilbo’s thin, rather spidery hand, was his latest letter to Lindir. There was a large blank space beneath the words, "And here it is:"

"Do you want me to write the poem, or do you want to write it yourself?" Bilbo asked, exchanging an amused wink with Frodo.

"I-I think you should write it, Mr. Bilbo," said Sam, eyes still wide. "I’m not too good with my letters yet. Leastways, not like you or Mr. Frodo."

Bilbo patted his hand and turned the paper back around. He picked up the pen that was beside the paper, and dipped it in the inkpot. "As you wish," he said. "Would you be so kind as to recite it to me?" Sam’s face went, if possible, even more red, and Bilbo tactfully gestured to Frodo.

Frodo took Marigold by the hand and they both left the study, shutting the door behind them, so as to make sure Sam didn’t feel pressured. He probably would have been more at ease had it been Frodo he was reciting the poem to, but it could not be helped.

"Would you like something to eat, Goldie?" Frodo asked, leading the girl into the kitchen. "I just made some blackberry tarts." Marigold’s eyes widened as she sat down at the table. While her brothers and her father could cook – quite well in fact – she had not thought that an ‘upper-class’ lad like Frodo would know how to cook!

"You made them yourself, Mr. Frodo?" she blurted, before she could stop herself.

Frodo laughed and brought over plate of the tarts. "I suppose it does seem rather odd, doesn’t it, that I’d be able to cook anything?" he said good-naturedly.

"Oh, n-no, sir, I didn’t mean—" Frodo cut off Marigold’s protests with a laugh.

"It’s quite all right, Goldie. But Uncle Bilbo taught me. He cooks quite well, you know."

Marigold blushed as she took a bite of the offered blackberry tart. It was indeed very good, nearly as good as her mother’s tarts. "This is delicious, Mr. Frodo!"

Frodo smiled, swallowing a bite of his own tart. "Thank you," he said. "I’m glad you like it. Have as many as you like."

"One’s plenty, Mr. Frodo."

"Don’t worry, Goldie, I made more than enough for Bilbo and I. We’ll never be able to finish them all ourselves. Eat up."

"Thank you, Mr. Frodo."

It was several minutes before Sam emerged from the study. His face bore an expression of mingled astonishment, pleasure, and excitement. "Oh, Mr. Frodo!" he cried. "Thank you so very much! Mr. Bilbo said he’d send it to the Elves right away – one of my poems is goin’ to be read by Elves!"

Frodo beckoned Sam over to the seat next to him and as he sat down, Marigold watched in amazement. "Really, Sam? Elves?"

Sam looked at his sister with a grin reaching from ear to ear. "Aye," he said excitedly. "An’ Mr. Bilbo says that when he gets a letter back, I can keep it!"

Marigold’s eyes went as round as saucers, and she stared at her brother in growing awe. "Here, Sam, have a tart," Frodo said, offering the plate to the gardener. "I baked them myself. They’re blackberry."

"Thank you, Mr. Frodo!" Sam said again, no less sincerely, taking one of the tarts. "Your tarts are wonderful!"

Shortly afterward, Bilbo emerged after finishing his letter, and Marigold got her story. It was unfortunately interrupted when the Gaffer arrived to pick up Sam and Marigold. His very excited children hurriedly told him of Sam’s poem, and how it was going to be read by Elves. Elves! They were both quite disappointed to leave, but each was given a copper from Bilbo to spend on what they wanted in Bywater.

***

The next day, Merry and Pippin (whose front teeth had grown in at last) arrived. Their parents were going to the smaller, much less interesting Yuletide festivities in Buckland. The two young troublemakers were practically bouncing off the walls in excitement, and it was not long before they, along with Frodo, were banished outside to work off some of their energy.

Outside, they quickly began a snowball fight, and were soon joined by a few neighboring lads. Folco Boffin and his younger brother Fosco were among them, as well as Nick Headstrong, the son of the toy maker, and Tim and Jack Brownlow. Within about twenty minutes, what had started as a small snowball fight quickly became a full-blown snowball war. Frodo, Folco, Nick and Tim were on one team, and Merry, Pippin, Fosco and Jack were on the other.

"Surrender now!"

"Never!" A snowball whizzing through the air emphasized the point as it hit its intended target square in the face.

"Very well, we shall be forced to use… er, force!" Pippin’s threat earned hearty laughter from all around. Narrowing his eyes, the young Took grabbed a nearby stick that lay on the ground, and held it up challengingly. "CHARGE!" he shouted, and Merry, Fosco and Jack each grabbed sticks of their own and with a fierce battle cry, raced towards the enemy.

"Come on, lads!" Frodo cried, grabbing his own stick. "To arms!" His team quickly found suitable sticks and rushed onward with a war cry of their own to meet their foe.

The armies of Captain Frodo and Captain Pippin clashed in the middle of the Party Field where they were playing, and it was a sight to behold. Their battle-cries echoed through the still December air, and after a few moments of tussling, in which no one could tell who they were fighting against, it was clear that it was every man for himself.

Each team member picked – or was picked by – a member of the opposing army and engaged in fierce single combat. Frodo was against Jack, Tim was against Pippin, Folco was against Merry and Nick was against Fosco.

For several moments, none could have told the outcome of the battle, but suddenly, with a dramatic cry, Pippin collapsed in the snow, Tim’s stick between his arm and chest. "Our Captain has fallen!" Merry cried. "Retreat! Retreat!" Now the air was filled with yelps from the defeated team, and the cries of triumph from the victors.

But then, as hope seemed lost for Merry’s team, the courageous young Brandybuck stopped. "Wait!" he shouted. His army halted in their tracks. "Attack!"

Now the attackers became the attacked, and Frodo’s team began to give way. "Rally!" Frodo called. "Stay together!" His men formed a circle, all back to back, against the attacking foes.

Within ten minutes, in which a fierce battle ensued, most of Frodo’s army had fallen. Now it was only he, and stouthearted Nick. They still held their back-to-back formation, stubbornly refusing to give up. A dramatic cry went up as Fosco fell beneath Nick’s ‘sword’. Merry and Jack renewed their attack with even more fury, and finally, doughty Nick fell.

Captain Frodo stood alone between Merry and Jack. "Surrender now!" Merry cried. "Your army is destroyed!"

Frodo’s eyes were filled with stubborn determination. "Not while I still stand!" And even as he cried his defiance, his stick-sword stabbed forward, and Captain Merry fell with a loud wail.

Now it was just Frodo against Jack. The two fought fiercely, parrying blows right and left, both with hard resolve in their eyes. Only one would be the victor. Suddenly, Frodo’s sword was wrenched from his hand and flicked across the field. Jack pushed him down into the snow and leveled his sword at him. "Surrender or die!" he shouted. The ‘dead’ soldiers raised their heads to see what the outcome would be.

Courageously, Frodo cried, "Never!"

Jack raised his sword. Frodo closed his eyes, ready to ‘die’ with honor. "Then—"

"I’m hungry."

Young Peregrin’s voice interrupted the climatic final battle. "Pippin!" they complained collectively. 

Pippin grinned and stood up, brushing snow off his coat and scarf. "I’m sorry, but I’m starving!"

Fosco’s stomach suddenly growled, announcing its emptiness. "Me, too."

Frodo sighed and stood up. "Then do we call a truce?"

"Truce," came the chorus of voices in reply.

"All right then, we’ll meet back here after lunch."

Tim shook snow out of his brown curls. "Jack an’ me can’t come back," he said disappointedly. "We have chores to do."

"And I have to help my da in the shoppe," Nick announced.

There was a collective groan from the other lads. "All right," Frodo said. "The we’ll resume our battle tomorrow."

"Aye!" The agreement echoed through the air.

"Until tomorrow then," said Frodo with a teasing smile at Jack.

"You won’t get off so easily next time, Captain Frodo," the larger lad said playfully. "I’ll make sure of that."

***

The armies met again the following day, as planned, and they started their battle over. By the dramatic end, it was Frodo’s team that conquered, though the valiant captain fell in the deed.

But more important to Merry was that Daisy Broadbelt was arriving that day! The little lass was coming for a visit for the Yuletide festivities, while her parents went to a smaller family gathering in Bywater.

Merry paced impatiently for most of the afternoon, and nearly forgot even to eat lunch. When at last the long-expected guest arrived, he was beside himself with excitement. For her part, Daisy seemed rather bewildered about being in such a large smial – in an even larger town – and her green eyes were round as she gazed around the wide hallway.

"Come on, Daisy," Merry said excitedly, taking her by the hand. "I want you to meet my cousin, Pippin."

Pippin was in the midst of eating the last of the blackberry tarts. "Hullo," he said cheerfully, stuffing a large bite in his mouth. Frodo shot a half-hearted look of annoyance at him for his lack of manners, and bent down for his greeting hug from Daisy.

After showing her around the smial, Merry and Frodo proposed that they go out into the gardens. Sam was there, planting tulip bulbs for the spring. He and Daisy greeted each other happily, and the little girl was eager to meet his sisters (especially her namesake Daisy). As it happened, the Gamgee girls were walking up the lane at that moment, and Daisy was given the opportunity to meet them.

Daisy Gamgee, the eldest, especially liked the little lass, and the two chatted for a while, much to the lads’ dismay. When the girls had finally ceased their chattering and continued up the lane, Daisy was brought back inside with Merry and Frodo, and they played with her in her room for over an hour. She eagerly showed them the dress she was going to wear for Yule, carefully and lovingly made by her mother.

Beneath the bodice and skirt of the dress was a long, thick blouse, reaching as long as the skirts. The bodice and skirt was a deep, pine tree green, made of soft velvet. And of course, beneath that, she was forced to wear several layers of petticoats to keep her warm. She also had a cloak, lined with white fur (which must have been terribly expensive for her parents), of the same color as her dress, and a white fur muff. All in all, a very pretty and costly outfit.

There is not much to tell about the remainder of that day. They did not do much else, and Merry had a hard time sleeping because of excitement. Frodo, however, did not seem to have any trouble whatsoever, and went to sleep almost the instant his head hit the pillows.

Merry lay awake for a long while, listening to the sound of Frodo’s soft breathing and the mournful howl of a dog outside. But at last, he fell asleep, his last thought being of the Yuletide Festival, and Daisy in her beautiful new dress.

TBC...