In other news, I forgot my copy of Lord of the Rings at school, complete with the calendar… I fully intend to correct any date mistakes. If there are any temporary ones, then I beg your pardon and patience in my amending the flaw. Let’s see how well I remember things without a book to double-check… Thanks! Meanwhile, if you ever want to drop a line, feel free to IM me at Speedyhobbit or visit my LJ (http://www.live journal.com/~speedy hobbit). Happy belated St. Patrick’s Day!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything!

1 Yule 1393

It was a cold winter’s evening in Hobbiton. It was so uncomfortably frigid, in fact, that all hobbits in the vicinity had retreated into the warmth of their holes seeking the comforting heat of the hearth. It was the sort of merciless cold that could freeze one straight through to the marrow. It was very still outside, save for the gusts of wind that blasted through and sent any loose earth flying through the air. There were no stars or moon to be seen, for all celestial bodies were completely covered by inky black clouds that seemed to be gathering. What these portended, few could conjecture. Were it summer, the forecast would be immediately spotted as a thunderstorm.

Within Bag End, there was quite the aggregation around the fireplace of Bilbo Baggins. The master of the hole himself was seated within his squashy armchair, and many other seats had been dragged into the room so the families of Saradoc Brandybuck, Paladin Took, Odovacar Bolger, and Hamfast Gamgee could be seated. Several empty chairs stood where the Boffins had sat, but these had opted to scurry home before whatever mischief the clouds might cause could be unleashed. The Tooks and Brandybucks had travelled from the Eastfarthing and thus were to stay, whatever might happen, and the Bolger and Gamgee families seemed uncertain upon what action to take. The Bolgers had come from Budgeford but had not intended to stay the night. They meant to depart in approximately two hours. They had almost left when the Boffins had, but Bilbo had insisted they remain for another round of food. As for the Gamgees, they had not far to proceed at all, residing just over on Bagshot Row. Even if it did rain, surely the weather might not be so onerous as to prevent them from walking a short distance?

“Another round of the Old Vinyards?” Bilbo inquired of the adults. There was a collective bobbing of the heads in the affirmative, and a great deal of grinning and appreciative gestures.

“Our dear Bilbo Baggins truly does have a most admirable collection of drink,” Saradoc Brandybuck remarked to his wife Esmeralda, who nodded in concord so fervently her springy brown curls danced straight off her shoulders and fell again.

“He might even give Old Rory a run for his money,” the wife added. Saradoc simply chuckled merrily as he accepted a fourth glass from the host.

It was Paladin who first noticed that a few more seats had emptied. The girls of the various families remained in the room stitching upon samplers or reading books, and a couple of the sons had lingered as well, but five children had vanished.

“Now, where has my son gotten off to?” the Thain remarked, looking about. The toddler Peregrin was nowhere to be seen. The child had recently gained the capability of running- not walking, running, and ever since then was increasingly evasive.

“Hopefully, wherever Merry, Frodo, Freddy, and Sam have gotten off to as well,” responded Odovacar Bolger, who was rummaging in his pocket for a handkerchief to give his sniffling daughter Estella, who had acquired a bit of a cold. “We do know those boys are not inclined to remain in one place.”

“Indeed you speak the truth,” Paladin answered. “Bilbo, did you see any of the children leave?”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. “Why, no, I did not! Would you like me to look for them?”

“Y-- no,” Paladin had said. He had started to confirm Bilbo’s question, then changed his mind. The older boys were responsible enough; they would look after the roaming young lad.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Down in the study four boys were delving into the collections of what could only be deemed “stuff,” for there was a wide array of it. Maps, books, letters, notices, and various scribblings… pretty much everything. It had first been Merry who had asked “What does Uncle Bilbo keep in there?” At first Frodo had refused to let Merry, Sam, and Fatty in, but the others had wheedled and pleaded, so finally he had given in after first telling them not to make a mess. They had gotten bored with the sitting-room and listening to the adults speaking of matters about which teenagers and teenagers and children simply did not care.

“Frodo… what is this huge bundle of letters?” Fatty Bolger inquired in a slightly muffled voice; he had just taken an especially large mouthful of a piece of cake. It was intelligible to the other boys nonetheless; they were quite used to Fredegar Bolger eating massive quantities of food. It was more of an oddity when the boy was *not* munching upon cake, or a cookie, or fruit, or bread, or meat, or any foodstuffs- especially cake.

Taking the epistles, Frodo sought a return address. The top letter did not bear one, but the rest read “Dora Baggins.” A few remained yet to be opened, but most had been.

“These are from Aunt Dora,” he said. The other boys, except Sam, groaned and made various comments about her. Aunt Dora was one of their stuffier kindred, and she had the annoying habits of adjusting their clothes, lecturing them about how grubby they were, giving them smothering, sloppy and wet kisses when they passed her inspections, or, worst of all, pinching their cheeks and cooing over how much they had grown in the fortnight since she had seen them. They often tried to escape her grip, but she had astounding strength for an older hobbit-woman.

“*She’s* not supposed to be coming, is she?” groused Merry, wincing. Frodo shrugged his shoulders.

“I would certainly hope not- though it is quite cold… and there are far more abominable possibilities for visitors; she’s really not bad.”

“Who could be worse?” Merry asked. “She was here for Yule… remember how we all had to take *three* baths? One when we woke up, one after we played outside, and one after supper? And they were cold, to boot!” He took on the most elderly, nagging voice he could manage. “Cold baths are far better for a hobbit lad’s health!” The others laughed at the mimicking of their Aunt.

“They didn’t do my sister any good though, she has the sniffles!” Fatty chimed in, punctuating what he had to say with a “gulp” announcing the swallowing of the last bite of cake. “But, Frodo, who is worse than her?”

The oldest of the four shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know… perhaps… let me think… the Sackville-Bagginses?”

At the mention of that detestable lot, the others cried right aloud at the very horror of the thought. The father Otho was a grouchy louse, the mother Lobelia… they could all write volumes about *her*- and the son Lotho was an ill-humoured bully.

“That would be Yuletide nightmare!” Merry Brandybuck declared, replacing the book about the Fell Winter years and years ago in the Shire upon the shelf. “Why, I as reading that the Brandywine froze over years ago, and Wargs invaded the Shire… what are Wargs, I wonder?”

Frodo looked at him. “Bilbo told me once they’re like wolves- only worse.” He racked his brain to see what he could remember being told of the Fell Winter. “Didn’t they eat quite a lot of hobbits?”

“I- I think the book said so… that’s really scary!” Merry declared, shivering perceptibly.

“Well, that was years ago, and the Wargs are long gone,” Frodo assured the others. “It is fun to play pretend about them, though!” At that, he curled his ten fingers as though they were claws, bared his teeth, and attended to make a growling noise. The other boys chuckled, also replacing the books or letters. Frodo inspected the vicinity to ensure it looked the same as when they had arrived, and then the foursome quit the study.

“Shall we see what the parents are getting up to, then?” Frodo suggested. His two cousins nodded. Sam simply shuffled uncertainly on his feet.

“Maybe Mr. Bilbo can tell us a story, Mr. Frodo” he suggested shyly. He had the proclivity to remain quite taciturn around those of the aristocracy whom he did not know well, although Frodo had helped to draw him from his shell a good deal.

“That would be GREAT if he did!” Merry declared. “I want to hear a story!”

“I want to hear a story!” Fatty echoed. “And perhaps there will be more cake!”

At that, the four boys treaded the length of the corridor, shivering perceptibly at one point as they passed an ajar door leading to the outside- which remained unnoticed- and rejoined those in the sitting-room, taking their chairs.

“Welcome back, you four,” Bilbo said, smiling. “Would you like some tea and crump-”

Just then, the wife of Paladin Took interrupted, her voice shrill. “Where’s Peregrin?!” she cried aloud.”

Author’s note: Okay, time for me to desist procrastinating and get back to my English papers! Or maybe I’ll just post some crazy New year’s antics in the Livejournal, Myspace, and Facebook… *grin*