AUTHOR'S NOTE:(1) Frodo is 20, Merry is 6 (or 13 and 4 in Man-years. This story takes place a few days after my story "Waiting for Bilbo") (2) This was written for the LJ hobbit_ficathon. The challenge was to work the titles of Christmas songs into the body of the story.

 BRANDY HALL ON FIRST YULE, S.R. 1388

“Where’s Uncle Bilbo?” asked Frodo, as he and Merry sat down to first breakfast in the private dining room of the Son of the Hall.

“He’s with your Uncle Rory and Aunt Gilda,” said Esmeralda. “He’s taking breakfast with them. They have some special Yule preparations to make.” She placed Frodo’s plate in front of him, and then took Merry’s from the trolley that had brought breakfast up from the main kitchen. “Here you are, Merry.”

“Where are my ponies?” he asked crossly. He liked to eat off his own special plate, that had ponies painted around the rim.

“I’m sorry, Merry-lad, but it’s still in our small kitchen, in the dishpan.   I am afraid I had no time to wash it last night.” 

Merry poked with a doubtful finger at the sausage on his plate, as though it might taste differently if it were not served on his own plate. His mother rolled her eyes. His father, who was reading a letter, lowered it and looked at Merry to remonstrate. But Frodo grinned. “That’s all right, Merry. If you don’t want to eat it, I will.”

Merry looked alarmed. “No, I’ll eat it!” and suited his action to his words.

Frodo winked at Saradoc, who chuckled and shook his head.

Esmeralda took her own plate and was seated. “Lads, when you are finished, you may want to go down and help to deck the halls. Cousin Seredic is bringing in the greenery this morning.

Frodo and Merry exchanged gleeful looks, and began to eat quickly.

A short while later Frodo and Merry were in front of the Hall, all bundled up, with their other Brandybuck cousins--Margulas, Marroc, Laburnum, Berilac, Merimas and little Mentha--and their older Took cousins, Pearl and Pimpernel--for Pervinca was scarcely a faunt, and a couple of Burrows and Goold cousins as well.

They were passing the time chasing about, but soon the sound of silver bells was heard in the lane, and they all quickly stopped and lined up to wait. Into view came a sledge, driven by Cousin Seredic, and in it, piled high, the greenery he had brought to brighten Brandy Hall: the holly and the ivy , the spruce and pine boughs, the mistletoe. The fragrance of cut evergreens was added to the crisp cold air. He pulled up, with a jolly laugh, as the children swarmed over, and began to unload his precious cargo.

Cousin Seredic followed the children into the Hall, and was greeted by the Mistress. He planted a kiss on her cheek. “Happy First Yule, Aunt Gilda!” he grinned.

Menegilda jerked back with a start. “Your nose is frozen, you rascal!” she exclaimed. “What took you so long this morning?”

Frodo and Margulas were helping their older cousin divest himself of his outer clothing, as he moved into the warmth of the huge smial. “Well, I stopped by the Grubbs’ place over by Crickhollow, as they have all that mistletoe in the great oak near their cottage. I found Ned up on the housetop, trying to get at some of it. Fortunately I had that ladder with me. The old fellow grumbled crossly, and his wife kept telling him he needed to buy a ladder of his own. The two of them kept me listening to their bickering for ages! You would never think the two of them were newlyweds!”

The Mistress laughed heartily. “You should have known better. No amount of mistletoe is worth having to listen to them!”

Meanwhile, the children surrendered their armloads of greenery to the aunties and older lass cousins, who with the aid of string and a lot of brightly colored red and golden ribbons, were transforming it into swags and garlands and wreaths.

Uncles Dinodas and Dodinas, and Cousin Saradoc, who had emerged finally from the Master’s study, went out to the sledge to bring in the final item--the huge Yule log, which would be lit that evening before the feast.

The ladies and the children now began to hurry about the Hall, placing the decorations about. Smells began to waft through the passageways from the many kitchens, of baking and cooking, and Brandy Hall began to be very festive.

The Master stood with his oldest and dearest friend as they watched the activity. “Frodo seems very happy--much brighter than I’ve seen him in a while. He always has happy holidays when you are here, Bilbo.”

Bilbo chuckled. “My Baggins relations are always at me to stay home for the holidays,” he said, “but I say nothing beats Yule at Brandy Hall!”

Rory grinned expansively. “Well, I am very glad that you feel that way!”

Bilbo smiled indulgently, and pointed with his chin at Frodo, who had lifted Merry up to hang a ball of mistletoe. Merry’s eyes were wide with alarm at being up so high, but there was a set of determination to his chin as he hooked the ribbon over the nail above the doorframe. “I did it, Fro!” he gasped. “Let me down now!”

“Good job, Merry!” Frodo said proudly, giving his small cousin a hug.

“It does my old heart good to see him enjoying himself so.” Bilbo sighed. He wished that Buckland were not so far from Hobbiton, and that he could see young Frodo more often. After Yule was ended and he returned home it would be three long months until the lad paid a visit to him at Bag End.

After luncheon in the main dining hall, presided over by the indulgent eyes of the Master and Mistress, and the Son of the Hall and his wife, came the time for presents from family. Tomorrow would be the day to give gifts to the servants, and to those friends who came to call.

Not every relation gave gifts to every other, and nor were they all new--many gifts had made several rounds of giving without ever making it back to the mathom rooms. But the Master and Mistress always made sure that every child and tween had at least one new gift.

When all was done, Merry and Frodo, their arms laden with their bounty, were shepherded back to the apartment by Saradoc and Esmeralda, accompanied by Bilbo.

The little family spent awhile in quiet activity in the small sitting room, with a treat of chestnuts roasting on an open fire, while Bilbo sat with Merry on his lap, Frodo sat on the floor in front of his beloved older cousin, leaning against his knee. Saradoc and Esmeralda sat on the settee, and all listened to Frodo read from the new book that had been his gift from Bilbo. It was a long and complicated poem about a mariner, and the lilting words soon put Merry to sleep. When Frodo finished reading, he carefully took his little cousin in his arms, and carried him to his room and put him on the bed. “I think I shall take a little nap myself,” he thought, and next to Merry’s warm little body, he drifted off to the sounds of the adults’ quiet conversation.

Sometime later, after they had a small tea--for no one wished to blunt their appetite for the marvelous feast of the evening, they all prepared for the evening, dressing in their best finery.

In his own room, Frodo chuckled at the sound of Merry’s protests, as his mother was combing his curls, head and foot. He fingered the fine weskit that had been his gift from Bilbo--a rich blue figured silk with silver buttons. Quite the fanciest and most grown-up bit of apparel he had ever had. He grinned as he buttoned it up, and admired himself in the mirror for a few minutes, before putting on his jacket of an even darker blue. There was a tap at the door.

“Come in,” Frodo said.

The door opened, and Saradoc stood there. He had come to tell Frodo it was time to go down to the main dining hall for the lighting of the Yule log. But he stood there speechless for a moment. Frodo turned, to see tears standing in his cousin’s eyes.

“Uncle Sara?” he asked, worried.

The older hobbit coughed. “I am sorry, my lad, but you looked so very like your mother just now.”

Frodo came over and gave him a hug. “Thank you, Uncle Sara.” He blinked himself, and gave a little sniff. Saradoc returned his hug, and chuckled warmly.

“Come now, lad, it won’t do to show a sorry face to Merry and his mother.”

The four stopped by Bilbo’s nearby guest room, and then all five of them went down the sloped passage to the first level, where they were joined by the dozens of hobbits as they entered the main dining hall. The room was chill, for there was as yet no fire lit. All gathered about the huge fireplace, wide enough for a grown hobbit to stand in, though as Frodo had reason to know, with a chimney nowhere near wide enough for a teen to climb up. The great log was there, and laid about with kindling, and the Master of the Hall stood by, and the Mistress. Old Rory wore a splendid weskit of burgundy velvet, which matched the frock the Mistress wore. Both weskit and frock had been gifts from Saradoc and Esmeralda, who looked pleased to see them.

Rory called for attention, and there was instant silence. All the younger children were toward the front of the crowd, and the adults stood by in anticipation.

“This year, before the singing, we have something a bit special. Our dear Cousin Bilbo Baggins has brought us a marvelous gift.” He took a small pouch from an inner pocket of his jacket. “This is a powder, supplied by his friend the Wizard Gandalf, which should make our Yule log burn even more splendidly than usual.”

There were gasps and murmurs among the gathered relations, not all of whom approved of Cousin Bilbo *or* the Wizard Gandalf, but Rory turned and began to sprinkle the powder liberally on the mighty log and its kindling. Then he applied his striker, and the fire caught at the first try, a sign of good luck. As the small flames grew to a blaze, there were gasps of appreciation as the flames began to turn various colors: blue, green, violet, and red, in addition to the usual cheery yellow. They watched as the log caught, and then there was the signal to sing, beginning with "Buckland Yuletide".

“No shorter now will grow the days
May the Yule log brightly blaze…”

This was soon followed by “It Is the Turning of the Year”, “Wassail, Wassail” and other favorites of the season. As the last notes were sung one of the children gave a cry of joy, and pointed out the window.

White flakes could be seen, swirling and dancing, between the windows and the darkness--there was a great cheer from the children who rushed toward it jumping about and shouting “Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!”

The adults were hard put to calm their excitement, but the smells as the servants began to bring the food in to lay upon the waiting tables were soon enough to claim the younglings’ attention.

The tables were groaning with food--Old Rory was not called “Goldfather” for nothing, and he was determined to surpass his father’s reputation for hospitality and the generosity of his table. The hobbits ate. And ate. And ate.

And then filled up the corners.

But soon enough, some were slipping away--the musicians went to fetch their instruments; Esmeralda fetched her fiddle, Uncle Dinodas fetched his flute, Cousin Seredic his squeezebox, and Uncle Rufus brought out a drum. Then the work began of moving the tables over to the walls to make room for dancing.

Merry hung back, looking on a little wistfully. He would not be able to stay for the dancing until next year when he was seven. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to Cousin Bilbo. “Are you ready for the story-telling?” he asked.

Merry nodded, his wish to watch the dancing evaporating, for Cousin Bilbo always took the little ones to the side parlor for story-telling. He did turn back for a moment, to watch as Frodo was assisting to move tables.

Bilbo chuckled. “Frodo will be along shortly, Meriadoc. He likes to dance, but he likes to hear the stories as well as any of you younger ones. Let him have a few dances first, shall we?”

And Merry nodded, and took Bilbo’s proffered hand, and they went to the parlor where a cheery fire burned, and some of the aunties and lass cousins who were not so fond of dancing were already waiting with many of the little ones. He saw Pimmie, and there were Pervinca and Melilot, who were barely faunts, and several other cousins. He plopped himself down next to Berilac, who had claimed a prize spot by the hearth, near the armchair where Bilbo always sat.

The old hobbit sat down, and began with the children’s favorite, his story of the trolls he had met with in his Adventure. He had told it so often that he often believed that was the way it had really happened…

He was telling the tale of Bandobras the Bullroarer and his battle with the goblins when he saw Frodo slip in and sit down by Merry, who, without even looking up, snuggled into his lap.

Bilbo continued weaving his spell of words until the fire had nearly died out and almost all the smaller children, including Merry, had dozed off. Parents or older siblings came in and claimed their children, and Bilbo got up, and Frodo, carrying Merry. Off in the main hall, they could still hear the sounds of music and dancing.

“Do you wish to go back to the dancing, Frodo?” Bilbo asked.

“No, I’m rather tired. I’ll take Merry up to bed, and I think that I shall get some sleep myself.”

“And so shall I. I’m not so young as I once was.”

They returned to Saradoc’s apartment, and with the ease born of long practice, Frodo undressed his limp and sleeping cousin, and drew his nightshirt over his head, and tucked him into his bed.

Bilbo was in the sitting room, looking out at the snow. Frodo joined him at the window. “It looks like a winter wonderland,” he said with awe.

“It does, doesn’t it?” The older hobbit put a companionable arm on Frodo’s shoulder, and for a while, they stood and stared out at the peaceful and silent night.
_______________________________________________