Written for Marigold's Challenge #11, for stories about holidays or celebrations.

YULE IN HOLLIN

“What’s wrong with the hobbits, Aragorn?” asked Gimli quietly. They were five days out from Rivendell, and the first few nights of walking had been accompanied by non-stop hobbit prattle, especially the two younger ones. But tonight they had all four been mostly silent, and had clung together more than usual.

Aragorn shook his head, and shrugged, looking at Gandalf.

The Wizard glanced at the four hobbits, huddled together glumly. They were taking a short rest before moving on. “Tomorrow is the first day of Yule.” He saw that they did not understand. “According to the Shire calendar, the last day of the old year, and the first day of the new, are called Yule. It is a major holiday for hobbits, and involves gifts, feasting, story-telling and family. Obviously, they have realized what they are missing.”

“Poor lads!” said Gimli. All of them were so young, except the Ringbearer, and none of them ever out of their homeland before. Nothing like missing a major occasion to bring on homesickness.

Aragorn glanced at Gandalf, and then went over to speak quietly to Legolas and Boromir.

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The hobbits were weary and footsore as dawn began to break over the chill bleak landscape. Legolas had scouted ahead, and found a little out of the way spot, nestled between two hills. There was a copse of scrubby trees to one side, and a great rock formation to the other.

Gandalf looked at the site with approval. “I think we may be able to have a fire and a hot meal this evening.” This at least drew the hobbits’ attention, if it did not seem to cheer them much.

Sam was laying out the bedrolls, close together, as they had been sleeping for warmth and comfort since leaving the Shire. Packs were slung down, and Sam and Pippin were getting ready to lay down, when they realized Frodo and Merry seemed to be waiting for something.

Frodo blushed, and reached into his inside jacket pocket, and pulled out a small bag. “When I realized that we’d be on the tramp today, I got these from one of the Elves in the Rivendell kitchen.” He poured out into his hand some boiled sweets, each wrapped in a twist of paper. There were nine of them, and he handed one out to each member of the Company. “I know it’s not much, but it’s something. Happy Yuletide.” He attempted to sound cheerful with the traditional greeting, but it sounded more than a bit forced.

“Thank you, Frodo,” said Gandalf gravely, as he popped the treat into his mouth. Everyone else followed suit, except for Sam who said he would save his for later, and Pippin, who just stared at his.

Merry reached into his pack. “I have to confess these are not from me. I don’t even know what they are. Bilbo gave them to me just before we left, with instructions to pass them out today.” He opened the package, and startled a laugh out of both Frodo and Gandalf when it revealed a stack of pristine white handkerchiefs, nine of them. He passed them out carefully.

“This was very thoughtful of Bilbo,” said Aragorn, a bit bemused, as he stowed his in his pouch.

“It certainly was,” said Gimli. “I will have to thank him when we return.”

Merry placed Pippin’s in his hand as he did not make a move to take it. The tweenager looked at it, and burst into tears.

“I didn’t even think of bringing something!” he wailed.

Merry moved to hug him, and Frodo used his new handkerchief to wipe the lad’s tears. But Sam just stared at his toes, looking every bit as miserable as Pippin, though there were no tears.

The rest of the Fellowship looked on, a bit uncomfortable, and then moved on about the business of settling in for a day’s rest, leaving the hobbits to comfort their own. The four finally arranged themselves for rest, but Pippin cried himself to sleep.

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They awakened in the twilight to a delicious smell. For once, someone had started the cooking without waiting for Sam.

The four of them sat up, blinking owlishly at the fire.

Frodo stood up. “What do we have?” he asked.

The other three were getting up as well.

“Legolas brought down a pair of fine, fat pheasants,” said Aragorn, turning the birds on the stick that was serving as a spit. “Come sit over here, my friends.” He gestured to one of the larger rocks, which had been decorated with a few holly branches.

“Oh!” said Pippin, in stunned voice.

“Master Sam, I am afraid I have been into your stores. I got a few potatoes for the roasting,” said Gimli.

“That’s all right, Mr. Gimli,” Sam answered, amazed.

“Where is Boromir?” asked Merry, looking about. Then he spotted him near the edge of the light, on watch. He turned briefly and smiled, then returned his gaze outward.

“Boromir contributed this,” said Aragorn, holding up a flask. “I think we will water down these spirits, but I do believe the occasion calls for a toast or two.”

Pippin gave a little bounce where he sat, and Frodo gave a smile that was genuinely cheerful. The food was soon served out, and for a time concentration was on the meal.

When they had finished eating, Merry moved as if to prepare for the night’s travel.

Gandalf put a hand out. “There’s no rush, Meriadoc. I do believe we have time for a pipe and a tale before we move on.” He lit his own pipe, and blew the shape of a butterfly, followed by a series of rainbow colored rings.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Bilbo danced on the table at the Prancing Pony?”

Sam sat forward eagerly, and Pippin relaxed into Frodo’s embrace.

And the stars looked down from a clear sky.