The first Yule celebration without his parents was very hard on young Frodo. The day started out with him awakening to find two wrapped packages placed at the end of his bed. One label read, ‘To Frodo, Love Aunts Menegilda, Amaranth, Asphodel, & Begonia’. The other, ‘To Frodo, Love Uncles Rorimac, Saradas, Dodinas, Dinodas, Rufus, & Cousins Milo & Seredic.’

Disinterested and not the least bit curious, Frodo left the gifts where they were and padded out of his room to use the water closet. When he returned, he found Esmeralda and Saradoc sitting on his bed waiting for him, still dressed in their nightclothes. Frodo felt a pang of sorrow go through his heart; he should be running to jump on his parents’ great big bed as he had done every Yule since he could walk … not this.

“Good morning, Frodo,” Esmeralda greeted with a smile, bending to give him a warm hug and kiss. Frodo gave her a half-hearted squeeze back in return.

“I see you have a couple of Yule gifts from our Brandybuck aunts and uncles already. Aren’t you going to open them?” Saradoc asked, sounding more enthusiastic than he really needed to be. Both he and his wife continued to be very worried about the young orphan they were fostering and they hoped Frodo would not be tormented by his overwhelming grief during the weeklong celebration and festivities of Yule. They knew they were going to have to find the proper balance of dealing with the lad this week--more so than usual. Try to get him to participate in too many activities that he didn’t want to do, and the lad would become belligerent. Let him have his own way all of the time and the child would seclude himself away from everything and everyone, wallowing in his grief and the memories of his parents. Either way they looked at it, the end result was the same--a miserable Frodo. The Brandybucks were fully expecting a tantrum of some sort this week from the Baggins lad; whether it would be of temper, tears, or both remained yet to be seen.

What they didn’t yet know was that Frodo had already decided that he was not going to speak at all today, not even to his favorite Uncle Bilbo, who was coming to spend Yule in Buckland with his Brandybuck first-cousins and their families. His heart was so full of sadness and longing for his parents that he felt that if he spoke, his pent-up grief and frustrations would burst out and consume everyone around him on what was supposed to be a joyous occasion. Part of him wanted the other hobbits living in Brandy Hall to understand what he felt and to be sad with him, but he didn't know how to tell them that. Another part of him didn't want anyone else to suffer from as deep a sadness as he was.

With a slight nod of his curly head to Saradoc, Frodo climbed back onto his bed and dutifully began opening the gifts from his mother’s six brothers and sisters, their spouses, and children. Inside one of the wrappings, Frodo found a new set of winter clothes made by his aunts. There was a new white shirt of heavy warm linen and a pair of dark brown corduroy breeches, complete with matching vest and jacket. There was also a new suit for the holiday. It was a lovely shade of pine green and made from a heavy, yet comfortable, wool. At the bottom of the package were a few pairs of under-linens, which Frodo would normally have been mortified to receive from any relative, save his parents. Today, he didn't care at all and merely placed them aside with the rest of the new clothing.

The package from his uncles and two of his first-cousins contained two pairs of suspenders, one a patterned dark green and one plain brown; a light-green cravat and pocket handkerchief, which matched his holiday suit perfectly; a gold and silver tack pin in the shape of the letter ‘F’ for the cravat; a primer for practicing his writing; a bag of various colored marbles; and a small tin of peppermint candies.

Esmeralda insisted that he should try the new clothes on right then and there. … They were all too big for his slight frame. “I suppose the Aunties made them a little big so you will have room to grow into them,” she said lightly, but made him leave the holiday suit on so his many aunts would see him in it at dinner later that afternoon.

Frodo stood still while Esme cuffed the sleeves of the suit’s jacket and tightened the suspenders to better hold up the sagging breeches. She then gathered a handful of excess material at the back of the high-waist breeches and pinned it together with a large safety pin. The slightly overlong vest and jacket would easily cover the pin from anyone's notice. Frodo knew that he should be feeling ridiculous in the too-big outfit, but he found that he really didn’t care.

Shaking his head at the poor lad’s misfortune with his new clothing, Saradoc pretended to stub his toe on something poking out from under the bed; he hinted that Frodo should have a look. When Frodo dutifully peered into the dark space underneath his bed, he discovered a brightly painted red sled with shiny metal runners. His eldest first-cousin helped him to pull it out. The tag on the pull-rope read, ‘For Frodo, Love your Cousin/Uncles Saradoc, Merimac, (& Little Baby Berilac.)’

Frodo blinked, holding back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks at any given moment. At the sight of the sled built for a single rider, he suddenly remembered overhearing a discussion his parents had had earlier that year as the previous winter was in the process of fading away. He was supposed to have been sleeping, but he'd heard his father finally convince his mother that their son would be old enough to have a sled of his own for the upcoming winter. Needless to say, Frodo (like any lad) had been elated and had found himself jumping up and down on his little bed in excitement. His parents, of course, had heard him and had promptly tucked him back under the covers once more, bidding him a firm but loving goodnight.

Now, Frodo only felt that he should be at HIS home in Hobbiton with his OWN father showing him the ins and outs of using a sled, not a well-meaning Saradoc Brandybuck.

“Do you like it, lad?” Tentativeness replaced the enthusiasm that had been in Sara's voice as he watched the child's reaction.

Frodo automatically nodded his head, his gaze fixed upon the new sled. Saradoc looked at his wife and gave her a worried frown. Esmeralda shrugged, not knowing what was going through the Frodo's head anymore than her husband did. She didn’t know what to do or say to the young orphan anymore and she didn’t want to make him feel any more uncomfortable than he already appeared to be. She ruffled his dark curls gently and told him she would go make first breakfast and also what time he was expected to be ready to go to dinner in the main hall later that afternoon.

Leaving Frodo with his new gifts, his guardians left the small, windowless room and Frodo sat down on his bed again amidst the wrapping paper, marbles, peppermints, and so forth. He continued to stare unblinking at the red wooden sled, which was propped up against the footboard. The little hobbit reached out a small hand and hesitantly touched the sled, stroking a finger down one of the shiny metal runners. Suddenly with a heart-wrenching sob, Frodo jerked his hand back and grabbed a fistful of the brown wrapping paper and colorful ribbons. He ripped the paper to shreds with his little hands while tears streamed silently down his pale face.

* * * * *

After a splendid Yule dinner of gigantic proportions of which Frodo ate very little of, the hobbit children of Brandy Hall were directed by the Master and Mistress to sit in several large circles per tradition for the handing out of the Yule gifts. The faunts and toddlers were in one circle; the young children and teens comprised another very small circle (as there were not many of that particular age group); and the largest circle of all consisted of the tweenagers.

Frodo removed himself from the bustle of activity and climbed into in a chair located in one of the corners of the Great Hall, an unopened present resting on his lap. He could care less about opening yet another gift on this day, for he knew the gift he truly wanted would not be inside ..... and never would be. As much as he hoped ... as much as he wished, Mama and Da could never come back to him.

Frodo stared sullenly at the Yule log burning in the hearth across the large room. The well-meaning attentions of his large extended family were beginning to overwhelm and grate on him and he found himself wishing to be anywhere but here more and more throughout the long, tiresome day. It was agony for him to sit and watch the entire young hobbit population of the Hall be happy while he could not be. He was tired of their merry singing and watching them dance happily in groups or with their parents and siblings. He wanted HIS Mama and Da; he yearned to feel their loving hugs and kisses. He wanted to hear his mother call him her ‘sweet little lad’ and listen to his father’s hearty laugh as he tossed his son up into the air, only to catch him and tickle him mercilessly.

It wasn't fair.

He didn't wish ill upon the other children, but it just ... wasn't ... FAIR!

Did no one else in the entire Hall feel saddened by the loss of his mother and father as he did? Why did no one else seem to mourn them anymore? Instead, all of the hobbits appeared to be smiling and having a grand time at the Yule feast. Even Uncle Rory seemed to have lost that overly serious and guilt-felt mood that had overshadowed and burdened him since That Day.

Frodo knew he was quickly reaching his limit and if one more relation felt the pitying need to ruffle his curls and say, “Poor lad,” he was going to lash out but good. So far, he'd kept his promise to himself to not talk for the day and thankfully, Auntie Esme and Uncle Sara were not pushing the matter any. He wondered if they understood.

He looked over to where they were dancing away in each others' arms with nothing but love for each other in their bright eyes. Another pang of hurt and sorrow hit him as the orphan remembered once seeing that very same love in his parents' eyes anytime they had held one another. .... His parents should be out there dancing too, and he running about in his own merriment and mischief with a new toy in hand.

Frodo was staring at his guardians and the rest of the happy hobbits living their normal lives with such longing and despair, that he wasn’t aware of the old pair of brown eyes watching him. Seeing the lad was about to lose control of the pent-up emotions plaguing him all day, Bilbo came to the rescue and swept little Frodo up into his arms, carrying him away from all of the festive activity without a word. The unopened gift the boy had been holding now lay forgotten on the chair.

Frodo rested his head against Bilbo’s shoulder and closed his eyes, relaxing into his uncle’s strong embrace with a weary sigh. Bilbo, at least, understood … he always seemed to understand.

* * * * *