A/N: This is a little WIP that finally got finished after four years. :)

March 25

Winter, 1420

“I don’t know if it will catch on, Pip,” Merry frowned. “Yule just isn’t Yule when it’s not Yule, if you know what I mean.”

Pippin eyed him suspiciously. “You’re starting to sound like me, Merry. So how can you possibly not agree with me?”

“I don’t know, Pip. I suppose it’s just that it doesn’t sound like a very good idea.” Merry smiled despite himself as he shaded his eyes and looked up at Pippin again, seated on the gate in his livery, muffled up in his scarf and gloves with the bright winter sun shining down on them. He had been out there long enough to make Merry think he must be thinking on something hard, and Merry’s instincts were rarely wrong about Pippin.

“I think ‘second-Yule’ is an excellent idea. If they’re doing it in Gondor it will certainly catch on in Tookland. The Tooks are all rather keen on Gondor now, you know, convinced that Strider will come and stay at the Smials one day. Of course we’ll have to make some arrangements if that happens…”

Knowing that the Smials’ Royal Suite was not what Pippin really had in mind, Merry ignored Pippin’s Took-centric thinking and wandered closer so that he could hop up onto the gate and talk to his cousin without blinding himself in the sun.

“Anyway, my Da reckons that Yule is just a custom we borrowed from the North-men, and doesn’t really mean anything at all. Why not borrow second-Yule from the south and have it mean something really important?”

Merry smiled at him. “I’m not sure everyone will think about Frodo and the Ring so much as enjoy the excuse for some more feasting and idling. I know just how you feel, Pip, and it bothers me too that Frodo’s got so left out of things. It still bothers me how everyone behaved when Frodo resigned during Overlithe. Imagine, instead of paying tribute to him.”

No-one had even remembered that Frodo had resigned once the alcohol had worn off, and Pippin scowled at the memory. “Sam said there were Hobbits knocking on his door for days afterwards swearing he’d done no such thing because they’d had their heads under a cask of ale for a week.”

Merry glanced behind them at their little cottage, where so many festivities had taken place. They had all earned this great joyous year of plenty, but of late it had become tainted by increasingly frequent news of Frodo’s illnesses.

“But that’s why it matters,” Pippin continued. “Da’s already got half a mind to propose a “Pre-Yule” festival to celebrate the Battle of Bywater. Can you imagine? Celebrating our own little victory without a day that celebrates Frodo too?”

“A third-Yule, now?” Merry frowned at Pippin’s sharp elbow in the ribs. “And what is Tookland doing talking about a pre-Yule without the involvement of the magnificent leader of Buckland’s army?”

“Well I don’t see his magnificence taking much interest in third-Yule yet, which is far more important,” Pippin scowled. “I’m sure all we need to do is say that it’s celebrated in Gondor and it should catch on.”

Merry sighed. “Gondor is right to celebrate it, Pip... I just don’t know if we are. I know you need to feel like we’re doing the right thing by Frodo. But… in Gondor that day really does mean something and Frodo is honoured as he should be. We had our own battles here, and we won them justly, at the cost of Hobbits’ lives. It wouldn’t be wrong for us to celebrate our victory and honour our dead.”

Nor was it wrong that they’d felt joy again that year. He put his arm around Pippin’s shoulders and frowned, trying to find the right words. “If Frodo’s deed is to be remembered at all, I would rather have it remembered by the four of us, and Rosie, and no-one else, than throw a great party that is just like any other.”

Merry pretended not to notice as Pippin swiped at his eyes. “You’re right, Merry. But sometimes I just wish we could be in Gondor again. I wish Hobbits would open their eyes.”

Merry smiled inwardly as he pictured to himself ridiculous old Farmer Bolger conversing with the King about foreign politics and new treaties… or the slow bartender Ned Bracegirdle musing with his regulars over the decline of the Elves. What would they say if they really knew what happened at Mount Doom… or thought they did? There were darker sides to that picture and he did not want to think on them.

Poor Pippin, who had been mercilessly babied by his sisters until he left the Shire, had found himself knowing far too much about the great things of the world and now wanted for someone to talk to about it all. To let him know how he should feel. But those who knew the same things would rather not talk of it. More than ever, Merry missed Gandalf, who had proved such an unexpectedly considerate friend to the lad – and no-one could know more than he.

Pippin looked up at the sun and sighed. “Merry, you are very right, as always. I don’t know what I was thinking… third-Yule… as if Frodo would approve of that. He’s the last of us that would celebrate, knowing… you know. I hadn’t thought of that. I just feel that he’s very alone, apart from Sam. I want him to know how much we love him.”

“He knows, Pip. But we’ll be there anyway, won’t we? Like we always used to be.”

***

It was late in the evening and Frodo, Merry and Pippin were sitting outside Bag End smoking pensively in the glow of lamplight.

They were there, just the three of them, and no-one had yet given the day a name, besides Pippin, who had already made sure to toast the New Year in Gondor.

They had been waiting for much of the day, but there was still more than an hour left of it when Sam came out of the guest room, red-faced and beaming, and announced the arrival of his firstborn daughter… Elanor.

Gathered around Elanor as she took her first turn in Frodo’s arms, they could all see she was the fairest child they had ever known. Pippin glanced at Frodo’s captivated face and then turned to meet Merry’s gaze, and Merry saw joy there again too. His heart so full, he could not help but laugh aloud.  

“She’s perfect,” his cousin whispered to Rosie, laughing face turned up to them. The perfect gift of life to Frodo, on this very day, and no-one needed say or do anything to better it.