Bilbo carried Frodo back to his little bedroom in Saradoc's apartment and helped the tired lad get washed up, changed from his oversized new suit and into his comfortable nightshirt. Instead of tucking Frodo into bed, however, he plopped himself onto the settle in Sara and Esme’s sitting room, holding Frodo upon his lap. In a corner of the room, Bilbo spotted the Yule gifts he had given Frodo earlier in the day. They were all sent with Bilbo to Buckland from some of the Baggins side of their family. After warning him of Frodo’s dour mood, Saradoc and Esmeralda had graciously left Bilbo alone to bestow the presents to his favorite nephew. Bilbo had enjoyed helping young Frodo open them, their contents as much a mystery to him as they were to the despondent twelve-year old. (Frankly, he thought he enjoyed the entire experience more than the little one did.)

Aunt Dora had sent a box of her homemade candy and had made Frodo’s favorite biscuits. In addition, she had sewn him a small, stuffed toy sheep thinking he could certainly have use for another such comforting plaything while living amongst the Brandybucks ... and a friend for Beorn perhaps. The head, legs, and long floppy ears were all made from a very soft black , velvety cloth; the round body was made with real prize-winning wool from Uncle Dudo's sheep farm and Frodo had let his fingers stroke the soft lamb's wool before putting it down beside him. There was also a long letter from Aunt Dora, complete with the advice of not to eat all of the sweets in one sitting; however, there was also the advice that these were meant just for the lad and that he didn’t have to share them with any of his multitude of cousins at Brandy Hall if he did not wish to. Frodo had silently offered Bilbo a treat though, much to the older hobbit’s delight.

Uncle Dudo, his wife Chrysanthemum, and their thirty-year old daughter, Daisy, had sent a brightly colored ball and cup game made with painted wood and a string; a pair of soft mittens knitted with woolen yarn dyed blue along with a matching cap and scarf.

And Bilbo himself had given the young hobbit a new storybook complete with colorful pictures; a small bag of coins; along with a writing set that contained two fine quills, a clear glass ink well, several bottles of ink of various colors, sealing wax, and sheaves upon sheaves of fine parchment. He had told Frodo that he fully expected the lad to write to him more often using these, especially as it would be good practice. Frodo had run his small fingers along the paper and the feather quills, nodding solemnly.

And now the opened gifts sat right where Frodo had left them hours ago, untouched since the numerous boxes had revealed their secrets. Bilbo watched the flames dancing cheerily in the fireplace. All were merry and bright on this day … all except one deeply grieving little hobbit child.

Bilbo sighed and hugged Frodo closer to him and felt the small arms try to encircle him in return, tiny fingers clutching onto his holiday vest. He rested his chin atop Frodo’s soft curls and breathed in the sweet, clean scent of them. “Would you like to hear a story, my dear boy?” he asked eventually.

Frodo’s response was immediate, almost as if he had been waiting all day to be asked. Bilbo felt the sharp nod of the small, dark head and the lad cuddled into him even closer, resting one small hand atop his own larger one. Bilbo entwined his fingers within Frodo’s and closed his eyes in empathy … Frodo had yet to speak a single word to anyone today, even to him. Bilbo wasn't going to push the matter any, however, knowing full well the extent of Frodo's stubborness inherited mostly from his Baggins heritage, with a touch from his Brandybuck half as well. He couldn't even begin to imagine what the poor dear must be feeling today of all days, suddenly forced to partake in the holidays without his beloved parents at his side as they always had been. No, it was better for now to be supportive and just let the lad be. Tomorrow was another day.

“What would you like to hear, Frodo?” Bilbo asked, hopeful that the promise of a tale might just be the thing to loosen the lad’s tongue.

Frodo merely shrugged his narrow shoulders, the fingers of his other hand now playing with the brass buttons on Bilbo’s fancy vest.

The old hobbit gave a slight worrying frown into Frodo's curls at the lack of verbal response on his nephew's part. Deciding against a scary tale, an overly happy one, or even a melancholy one involving the Elves, Bilbo chose to tell Frodo a more neutral story. And so, he began to tell the little one all about the great Eagles he had met on his journey with the wizard Gandalf very long ago.

Frodo closed his own eyes and sighed in content, losing himself in the tale. He rested his head back against his uncle’s shoulder and listened in the hope of waylaying his grief and sadness. During Bilbo’s very detailed description of the giant birds, Frodo began to imagine that he would someday have an Adventure of his own in which he would meet one of the great Eagles. He wondered how big their feathers truly were? Could one be used as a quill for writing?

Frodo suddenly pictured Bilbo sitting in his study at Bag End writing him a letter with a quill pen made from an Eagle feather as big as he was. For the first time in a very long while, Frodo smiled a very small smile. Another image of Bilbo trying to dip the giant feather into an ink well floated into his mind ... and his smile grew.

His strong sense of curiosity peaked to the point of breaking his promise to himself, Frodo shifted, turning to ask his uncle about the Eagle feathers when the front door to the apartment opened. Uncle Sara and Auntie Esme strolled in together, hand-in-hand. Frodo’s eyes widened when he saw the time on the clock on the mantel. The First Day of Yule Party was now officially over and he had never been allowed to stay up this late before by anyone, not even his parents.

Gesturing for Bilbo to continue his story, the young couple sat down on the pair of wingback chairs across from the settle. After Bilbo finished his tale, Saradoc declared that it was far past time for a certain young hobbit be in his bed. He and Bilbo laid the still silent Frodo on his bed, kissed him goodnight, and stoked the dwindling fire.

Esmeralda then entered the room, carrying a neatly folded up quilt in her arms. Instead of spreading the blanket over Frodo however, she handed it to him. Frodo looked up at her quizzically, wondering if he was supposed to tuck himself in.

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