Yuletide Preparations

S.R.  28 Foreyule, 1388

Frodo was piecing together a light snack as he wandered into the drawing room.  “When are we decorating, Uncle Bilbo?”

“We were just waiting for you to get back from rehearsal.  Gandalf and I were out today getting the tree.  You aren’t too tired, are you?  We can start tonight and finish up tomorrow.”

“I’m not too tired,” Frodo swore.

“Um-hmm,” Bilbo and Gandalf murmured in unison.  By their calculations Frodo had at most an hour before he would be asleep on the hearth rug.

“Finish your milk while I bring out the ornaments.”

“I’ll bring in the tree,” Gandalf added.

The light rekindled in the lad’s eyes.  Both Bilbo and Gandalf suspected the energy burst would actually shorten Frodo’s remaining minutes awake.

The tree that Gandalf had selected was about four and a half feet tall and well formed.  The unique thing about it was that it was still alive.  The wizard had coaxed the ground around its roots to warm enough to enable him to pull it from the ground and place it in a nice pot.  He would return it to its position alongside the road once the season was over.  “You have to respect all living things, Frodo,” he explained as he placed it across the room from the fireplace.  “That’s something I learned from an Ent friend of mine.”

“What exactly are Ents?” Bilbo asked.

“Ents are tree-herders, and many are as old as Middle Earth.  In fact, the one I’m speaking of calls me ‘Young Master’ whenever he sees me.”

Frodo laughed.  “You’re not serious, are you?”  Bilbo looked equally amused.

Gandalf smiled at the skeptical twosome.  “I am quite serious.  Ents were around long before the elves came from across the sea.   They shepherd the primeval forests.  They actually even look a bit like trees.”

“How do you shepherd trees?” Frodo asked, thinking about the dogs that kept the sheep and goats in line.  “Trees don’t move.”

“Don’t be too sure of that, little halfling.  There are trees that are themselves ages old.  The elves believed that they were the ones that brought awareness to the trees, but Treebeard says that trees had been aware long before that point.  Trees have a language of their own, if you listen carefully.  I myself have even witnessed some move.”

Frodo found he liked the idea of plants being conscious.  He went to the kitchen and brought the little evergreen a drink of water, which he poured in its base.  “I’d think you plants would like hobbits,” he told it.  “We like taking care of living things more than almost anything.”  He thought for certain that the tree adjusted its limbs slightly in response.  He looked up at Gandalf.  “Are there any Ents in the old forest on the edge of Buckland?”

“I have not met any; although that doesn’t mean that there are none there.  Ents do not often interact with the hasty folk, as they consider us.”

Hasty seemed a fitting word to Frodo, who was himself considered hastier than many Shire hobbits.

 Bilbo brought the first box of ornaments out.  “You may recognize some of these, Gandalf.”

“Indeed?”

“Uncle Bilbo says he has a story for each one,” Frodo explained, “and that many of those stories involve you directly.”

The first thing pulled from the box was a ruby ring set in mithril taken from the troves of three now petrified trolls.  Gandalf was taken aback.  “That’s a Yuletide ornament?  I wonder how many kings would so trivialize such a prize.”

“I’ve no better use for it,” Bilbo answered.  “Honestly, Gandalf, it’s a mathom – the most I could do is to give it away to someone.  It’s worth way too much to find a buyer.  It’s too big for a hobbit hand, and we’ve nothing in the Shire with which to cut the mithral to resize it.”

The wizard sent Frodo off to the kitchen to get him a refill of tea.  “What other rings do you hang on trees?” he whispered urgently.

“Not that one,” Bilbo answered, his hand touching his vest pocket.  “That one fits.”

“Good, and may I suggest that you not tell Frodo about that one.”

“Never,” Bilbo agreed readily, uncertain as to why they both were so resolute that his magic ring be the one item he possessed that he would forever keep secret from his young cousin.

The second item was a cork that Bilbo had pulled from a barrel that had once secreted a dwarf from the wood elves of Mirkwood.  He had since been amused to become a friend of the elves’ king and his son, a youthful statuesque immortal named Laegolas Greenleaf who did not look his two-thousand-some years.

“What is the meaning of Yule, Gandalf?” Frodo asked as they finally sat for a late snack.  It was nearing midnight.

“Yule is the celebration of the creation of Middle Earth,” the wizard answered between bites.  “The night of music that precedes Yule represents the music of the Ainur who sang to Eru, the One, before aught else was made.  I actually am surprised that you hobbits follow that custom since you know not the account of the Ainulindale.”

“Elves and dwarves and men created the tradition,” Bilbo explained.  “We hobbits have had dealings with other races over the years before coming to the Shire.  It makes sense that we would pick up their rituals.”

“Granted,” Gandalf answered.  “The children of Eru, or Illuvatar, are elves and men – the firstborn and followers.  Aule, one of the Ainur who became a Valar, created the seven fathers of the dwarves.  Each of these peoples has more intimate knowledge of the Valar than a hobbit ever could.”

“You’d think that hobbits just one day sprung up from the ground from how you tell the story,” Bilbo argued.

“Perhaps you did,” Gandalf said with a smile.  “I do not know the history of halflings.  You are on none of the ancient roles.”

“So what is the difference between an Ainur and a Valar,” Frodo asked eagerly.

“They are essentially one and the same, Frodo,” Gandalf answered.  “The Ainur are brethren – the offspring of Eru’s first thoughts – and they originated as themes of music in the Void.  In time, as Aman – or Valinor – took shape, they too took form of sorts so that they could dwell therein.  It was from that vantage point that they bequeathed their special gifts to the Realm of Arda, the World in which Middle Earth resides.  It is because of the gifting of the Valar that people give each other gifts at Yule.  Manwe is the mightiest of them, and gave the wind and the clouds.  With him dwells Varda, the lady of stars.  Their children are Fionwe Urion and Ilmare.  The children are called Valarindi and are lesser spirits than are the Ainur, although greater than the Maia.  Ilmare is the most joyful of the Holy Ones, even counting Tulkas...”  The wizard noticed that Frodo suddenly smiled at the mention of Ilmare, as if at a fond memory.

“You told me once that the Valar were not gods,” Bilbo reminded when the wizard stopped his recitation of the Valar and their gifts for breath and bite.

“That is right.  Only Eru can claim that title.”

“But the elves worship the Valar, don’t they?” Bilbo pressed.

“They do, but that does not mean they must.  Eru has left the management of his creations to the Valar, so many elves and men beseech them when in need.  My order was sent by the Valar in answer to these pleas. ”

“And what is the significance of New Year’s, Gandalf?” Frodo asked.

“New Year is a much more recent addition.  It is the anniversary of the day in which Sauron was vanquished by the last alliance of elves and men, and so it is considered to be a new beginning.  Calendars were adjusted accordingly, making the year start in the throws of winter instead of on the first day of spring as of old.  The Third Age of Middle Earth began on that day, nearly 3,000 years ago.  It was on that day that I set out from Valinor and I have been here ever since.”

Frodo could no longer suppress the yawn that pushed against his cheeks in spite of his interest.  “I’m glad you’re here, Gandalf, to spend Yule and New Year’s with us.  It will mean even more to me now that I can relate it to your coming to Middle Earth.” 

*

TBC