Winter Games

S.R. 1 Solmath, 1389

Winter was rarely fierce in the Shire, for the winds usually moved from the southwest; still the post-Yule months of January and February were well deserving of hibernation.  It was a practice (while not instinctive to halflings) that more than a few of them would have quite willingly adopted if it hadn’t meant missing meals.  As it was, Shirelings were a most lethargic lot during those months.

In Bag End, though, there was plenty of activity.  Although Gandalf  was no longer there, Ham and Hal Gamgee slogged the muddy path from their home at Number 3 Bagshot Row to the Baggins’ almost daily.  They and Frodo were getting quite good at reading and writing.  Bilbo had begun to teach them counting.

With their own hole overflowing with people in the cold months, Ham and Hal spent the wintry evenings at Bag End playing the inventive games and mazes that Frodo would draw.  Often Bilbo joined in as they played.  One game in particular Bilbo found quite amusing, for Frodo had by accident made it impossible to finish.  They had played for several hours before anyone became aware of the problem, however, for Bilbo concurrently held the boys captivated by lore of the Three Ages of Middle Earth.  It had happened thusly:

“How long have there been elves, Mr. Bilbo?” asked Hal, setting down his mug of hot cider mulled with spices beyond his experience.  He always loved anything Bilbo could tell him about elves.

“Hmm.  The way they tell it, they have been here since before the Second Age began.  That would be over six thousand years, I believe.”  He smiled as Hal attempted to figure out just how long that really was and arrived at comprehension with a stunned face. 

“And they never die, Hal.  Do they Uncle Bilbo?”

Bilbo waited until Frodo had finished adding a couple of logs to the fire before he answered.  “Well, they never age, it seems.  They can die, it is said, from a broken heart or if they are struck down in battle.  That is what made the alliance between elves and men against the army of the dark lord so horrible at the end of the Second Age.  Many who were not meant to die were slain.  But that is a bleak story that I will not tell you until you are older.”

“Do elves have children, then?”  Frodo asked, returning to the table.  “If they never age, how could elvish children grow up?”

“Well, they must go through some aging at first,” Bilbo puzzled, thinking about it for the first time.  “As a matter of fact, I cannot say that I’ve ever seen an elvish child.  They do have familiar relationships, I am sure, because I know of some who are siblings or use parental / offspring terms to communicate with one another.  But once mature, they do not grow old.”

“Just like you, Mr. Bilbo,” Ham commented.  “My Gaffer says you’re almost as old as my grandfather, but you don’t look it.  ‘Well preserved’ is what he said you were.”

Bilbo fumbled around his pocket, nervously, at Ham’s candid observation.  It was then that he noticed the problem with the board game. “Well, now, look at this,” he pointed out with some relief at finding a handy diversion.  “No matter what number you roll, you wind up going around this circle again!”

Frodo studied the paper carefully.  “You’re right, Uncle,” he admitted sheepishly.  “Unless, of course, you land on this space, which takes you all the way back to the beginning!”

They laughed heartily at the fact that they had been going around in circles all afternoon without even realizing it.

TBC