Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate, not mine – none of them!  I do this for the sheer enjoyment of it.  The ‘Great Wild Goose Chase’ is in honor of my own large – and sometimes scary- white goose, whose name just happens to be Sam.

A special thanks to Dragon-of-the-north for encouragement to actually finish something in this busy, joyous season!

                                    A Hobbit’s Yuletide in Rivendell by TreeHugger

            Frodo Baggins stood quietly at the window of Bilbo’s room gazing out into the courtyard beyond.   This room in Rivendell looked west toward the Sea, but Bilbo insisted it looked west toward the Shire.

            “There is nothing beyond the Shire that I wish to see anymore, Frodo my lad,” the old hobbit chuckled, laying one arm about his young cousin’s shoulder.  “Therefore my window, and Elrond has assured me it IS my window for as long as I want it to be, looks only to the Shire…though I do wonder what the Sea looks like.”  The old hobbit would sigh wistfully then and Frodo would know that he was regretting that age had caught up with him at last and his adventuring days were over. 

           Frodo had no doubt at all that Bilbo would take the Ring all the way to Mordor just as his cousin had thought was expected of him when Elrond had held the Council back in the brisk days of autumn.  Now watching the snows fly gently past the window to carpet the ground in a gentle white blanket, the Council meeting seemed so long agothat it was hard to believe only two months had passed since then.

            Small birds twittered about, eagerly pecking at the seed scattered on the ground and poured in the skillfully crafted feeders by the Lady Arwen and Aragorn earlier that morning.  Frodo had watched the two with some amusement and much fondness as they moved from feeder to feeder, Aragorn carrying the heavy bucket filled with small seeds, nuts, and dried berries while Arwen, her long spill of dark hair escaping the blue hooded cloak she wore, her fair face outlined by white fur, scooped the food out.  Both were smiling and laughing, something that Frodo wished they did more of, and they seemed perfectly content and happy.

            The time was approaching when Frodo knew they would leave Elrond’s hidden valley and begin the arduous journey to the east, toward Mordor.  These last days had been filled with a frenzy of activity as the residents of Rivendell prepared for Yuletide, a celebration they wanted to share with the Fellowship before they left.

            “Does it snow here every Yuletide, Bilbo?”  Frodo had asked, watching the gentle drift of white flakes that fell steadily from a sky of somber silver.

            “Yes, it does,” Bilbo had chuckled, then laughed merrily when Pippin and Merry appeared in the courtyard, pelting one another with snowballs and laughing like carefree children.  “Yuletide is very nice here indeed,” he continued, “but I do miss celebrating Yule-tide in the Shire.  The elves manage it quite well, but it isn’t the same . . . not really.”

            Frodo turned as the older hobbit made his way across the room, pulling his pale shawl tightly about his frail shoulders.

            ~He has aged so much since he left the Shire, ~ Frodo thought sadly, remembering the shock and sudden sadness that had passed through him when he had first seen Bilbo here in Rivendell.  Many years had passed since Bilbo had ‘vanished’ into the starlit night on his eleventy-first birthday never to be seen in Hobbiton again, but not enough time to have wrought such a marked change on his beloved countenance.

            “I think about it quite a bit, you know,” Bilbo said in a low voice as he sat down in his comfortable chair on the worn cushion and began to pack Old Toby into the bowl of his favorite pipe.  The chair was placed close to the small hearth and a cheerful little fire crackled quite happily there.  “I miss the Shire and everyone there,” Bilbo continued.  “Not that I miss ALL of them, of course, but I do miss some of them and I do miss Bag End and our lovely times there.  Do you remember the grand Yuletides we had, Frodo?  Seeing you and the other lads has made me yearn for the old days, and the sound of happy hobbit children and the smell of greenery and sweet apple wood burning on the hearth, a soft new nightshirt given the night before, and good solid hobbit fare  to be had all day long!   The elves are wonderful cooks, don’t misunderstand me, but it isn’t the same.”  Suddenly he chuckled.  “Do you remember the time of the Great Wild Goose Chase?”

            Frodo laughed and moved to sit on the floor at Bilbo’s feet, gazing up at his cousin’s face.

            “How could I forget?” he said in a light voice.  “Sam has certainly never forgotten it!”

            Bilbo chuckled, blowing a smoke ring into the air.

            “Yes, I suppose our dear Sam remembers it better than anyone,” he commented, smiling fondly down at Frodo. 

            Sam had been sent to fetch the goose that had been fattened for Bag End’s Yuletide dinner that year, but it seemed the large white goose had other ideas.  It had led the young hobbit on a merry chase through Hobbiton, scurrying up and down the lanes, honking indignantly and flapping his great, powerful wings, much to the amusement of anyone who happened to catch sight of Sam chasing and calling after the gander.  At last the Gaffer’s son had slowed to a halt, puffing slightly, and called,

            “Here now!  You oughtn’t to be doin’ that!  Mr. Bilbo is awaitin’ for you up the Hill!”

            The goose, realizing that no one was giving chase had turned to regard the young rascal of a hobbit with one baleful eye.  Then he squawked in a horrible voice that would have given a Nazgul pause, and flapped his mighty wings, which were at least as long as Sam was tall if not longer, and suddenly charged at the young Gamgee.  Sam’s eyes had widened in sudden surprise and fear, and with a small yelp, he had run up Hill Lane chased by the Great Wild Goose all the way to Number Three Bagshot Row.  The goose stood outside their humble home honking and squawking loudly, snowy feathers ruffling until the Gaffer had come running to see what all the commotion was about and found his youngest son cowering inside the front door, his hands over his head.

            With a laugh and a playful swat on the boy’s backside, he had sent Sam out to “finish fetching the goose to Mr. Bilbo”.  Sam, after a few false starts when all he wanted to do was bolt back into the house, had finally managed to get the goose up the Hill to Bag End, but only by running, quite swiftly, with the goose chasing once more, honking and squawking.

            Bilbo had been so amused by the entire thing that he had decided to keep the goose as a pet, as such a clever and brave bird deserved to live out his life any way he chose and so the goose was christened ‘Sam’ in honor of what the hobbits of Hobbiton came to call the Great Wild Goose Chase.  He was even more ferocious and feared than Farmer Maggot’s wolfish dogs were, making an excellent guardian for Bag End.

            Frodo laughed at this remembrance and shook his head. 

            “Sam has always been brave, hasn’t he?” he murmured quietly, staring into the flames.

            “Yes, he has,” Bilbo agreed, sitting back and puffing contentedly on his pipe.  “He was always brave when it counted.  Do you remember when . . . .”

            Frodo listened to many more tales of shared remembrances, and watched the play of emotions over Bilbo’s face.

            ~I would like to do something for him before we go, ~ he thought.  ~Something nice that we will all remember and laugh and talk about later when this quest is all over. ~  And as Bilbo talked once more of Yuletide in the Shire, Frodo thought of just what he wanted to do to make this Yule-tide memorable.

~*~*~*~*~*

            Never had such a flurry of joyous and secretive activity beset the inhabitants of Rivendell.  When Frodo had made his wishes known to Lord Elrond, he had been amazed by how eager and delighted everyone was to help.  The fact that it had to be kept secret – at least from Bilbo – seemed to add to the fun.  It seemed everyone wanted to help make this a very special Yuletide for the dear old hobbit and were willing to go to any lengths to accomplish this.

            Lindir had been recruited to occupy Bilbo when certain of the larger preparations were being undertaken and the merry young elf was glad to spend time listening to any new songs or poems composed, and listen to them many times over, offering suggestions on how to ‘improve’ them much to Bilbo’s exasperated amusement.  He did enjoy “arguing” with the elf about words and style, so he was quite unaware of what was happening outside his room or the Hall of Fire where he and Lindir would spend the days lost in prose and laughter.  Bilbo would be seated before the fire, his feet propped on a plump cushion, his toes quite toasty warm, his pipe clamped between his teeth as Lindir would expound on some obscure point of language or the use of certain words that he felt Bilbo favored too much and used too often.

            In the evenings Frodo, and on occasion Sam or Merry and Pippin, would come in and sit with Bilbo, listening to tales and stories, or his adventures during the day with Lindir.  The scents that permeated the air told that the Rivendell kitchens were in full preparation for the feast, and the sharp resinous scent of the greenery that was hung in every room and adorned every hallway made one feel as though they were out of doors even when tucked snugly in their warm rooms.

            The day before Bilbo’s Surprise, Pippin was munching happily on an apple when he carelessly remarked, “Hobbiton is looking quite nice, don’t you think?”

            This unwitting observation was met with a sharp hiss and a stern look from Merry, who shook his curly head in annoyance.

            “I KNEW it would be you, Peregrin,” he muttered, glancing apologetically at Frodo, who had been stoking the fire.

            Frodo gazed over at Bilbo, hoping that he had perhaps fallen asleep as he did sometimes when they were visiting and had stayed for a long while.  But Sam, seeing Frodo looking at his old cousin, shook his head and shrugged for Bilbo turned toward the young Took.

            “What do you mean, lad?” he asked Pippin.

            “What do I mean?”  Pippin stammered, looking frantically from Bilbo to Frodo then to Sam and finally to Merry.

            “Yes, Pippin,” Merry said, raising his brows, eyes dark.  “What DID you mean?”

            “I . . . well, I . . . but I. . . .”

            “I think what he meant, Mr. Bilbo sir,” Sam answered smoothly, though his heart was racing, “was that Hobbiton always looks particularly nice this time of the year, what with the wreaths on the doors, candles twinkling in the windows and sparkling on the snow.  All the presents and things.”

            “Yes!” Pippin exclaimed with a grateful grin at Sam.  “That is what I meant exactly!  You see, Merry?  Everything is fine.  I told you -!”

            An apple bounced off the young hobbit’s forehead, cutting his words off quite effectively.

            “If you two are going to start that,” Frodo interjected as he lay aside the fireplace poker, “then take it outside.  Leave the apples for Bilbo, Sam, and I.”  He plucked up the apple thrown so deftly and accurately by Merry and took a bite out of it with a smile.

            “He’s right, Pip,” Merry said, rising to his feet.  “I think a brisk walk in the snow is just the thing.”  He reached down and pulled Pippin up.

            “But, Merry –!”

            “But nothing.  Here’s your cloak.  Let’s go.  It is time that young hobbits like you were asleep.  Good night, Bilbo.  Frodo.  Sam.  We will see you in the morning.”  Eyes twinkling as brightly as stars, he led the rather startled Pippin from the room.

            “He’s right, Mr. Frodo,” Sam agreed with a yawn.  “I think it is time for young hobbits like me to be asleep as well.”  He stood and bid the other two goodnight, and with a wry grin at Frodo, turned to go.

            “Watch out for any stray geese, Sam,” Bilbo chuckled as Sam fiddled with his cloak clasp.

            “Don’ you worry, Mr. Bilbo,” the Gaffer’s youngest son said, “I think I can handle any geese that might be about.  Or at least outrun them,” he added with a grin.

            Frodo stayed only a few moments more, hoping that Pippin’s strange behaviour would elicit no uncomfortable, unanswerable questions.  But the old hobbit was indeed beginning to nod though he insisted that he wasn’t tired in the least.  When Bilbo’s eyes closed, Frodo tiptoed quietly across the room.

            “Goodnight, Bilbo,” he whispered as he softly closed the door behind him.

~*~*~*~*

            The next day dawned brightly, the sun glistening on the snow and turning the icicles to glittering diamond spikes.

            Bilbo awoke to find four eager, beloved faces peering in his door, looking stacked like so many apples, grins as wide as the Brandywine.

            “Happy Yuletide, Bilbo!”  Frodo called as they tumbled into the room for Pippin, crawling on his knees being the lowest apple in the bunch, tried to enter first, but ended up making the others trip over him.  All four landed on the floor in a laughing pile.

            Bilbo chuckled heartily and sat up, ginning back at them.

            “It is early yet for such Yuletide greetings, lads” he called, watching as they untangled themselves, poor Pippin on the bottom of the heap.

            “Not this year,” the young Took called, jumping agilely to his feet and springing onto the bed.  “Lord Elrond has decreed,” he grinned back at his fellows over the impressive word, “that we could have it early this year.  So come on!” he urged, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You have to look at the -!”

            Merry poked him rather sharply in the ribs.

            “Breakfast,” Pippin finished ingenuously, with an innocent glance at Merry.  “You have to look at breakfast.  I’m starved.  Aren’t you?”

            Frodo laughed and shook his head.

            “Why don’t we go and EAT breakfast instead of just looking at it?” he chuckled, smiling fondly at Pippin.

            Bilbo studied them suspiciously, but he threw off the covers and got out of bed with only a little help from Frodo.

            “Breakfast sounds like just the thing,” he said, hobbling across the room to the trunk where his clothing was stored.  “I will be right with you, lads.”

             “Is that a new nightshirt, Mr. Bilbo?”  Sam asked, hardly able to conceal his own excitement and merriment.

            “Yes, it is,” Bilbo answered, fingering the soft material with a wistful smile.

            Frodo and Sam exchanged grins with Merry and Pippin before they hustled Pip into the hallway, as the youngest hobbit looked as though he were fairly bursting.

            As Bilbo dressed, the four young hobbits stood in the hall with Merry admonishing Pippin to be quiet and a, ‘try not to give anything away!’

            “I wouldn’t do that, Merry,” Pippin said, looking somewhat hurt.  “I’m just excited is all.”

            A few minutes later, the five Hobbits were headed for the dining hall, Bilbo talking and laughing about Yuletides past.  Pippin was fairly bursting with excitement and Frodo could see what a trial it was for him not to say anything.  He took pity on his young cousin and said,

            “Why don’t you go and warn the kitchen that five very hungry hobbits are coming?” he suggested.

            Pip’s eyes danced and he opened his mouth, but then closed it again, grinning.  He bounded down the hallway and they heard a distinctive ‘whoop’ of joy after he disappeared from view.

            Merry sighed, but he smiled at Frodo.

            “I had better go and make certain that he doesn’t start without us or there will be nothing left for us to eat.”  He nodded to Bilbo, his face glowing.  Sam and Frodo exchanged amused glances as he hurried away calling, “Wait for me, Pip!”

            “It is nice to see everyone so excited,” Bilbo said with a wink.  “It was very kind of Elrond to make Yuletide early this year.  I do hope he knows what he has gotten himself into.  Do you remember the time those two rascals stole Angelica’s silken shawl for their snowhobbit?”

            “She always insisted it was made by elves,” Frodo laughed as they approached the dining hall.

            There was not a sound to be heard, but their voices.  Frodo grinned behind Bilbo’s back at Sam, who was trying very hard not to laugh at the amusing reminisces of the old hobbit.

            Frodo hesitated only a moment before the shut doors.  Wreaths made of green leaves and apples decorated the carved them, making them festive and reminiscent of wreaths hung on round doors in another part of Middle Earth.  Suddenly he pushed the doors open.

            “Happy Yuletide!” the chorus of voices called as the three hobbits entered the room.

            Bilbo gasped in delight to see so many assembled in the green-decked hall.  Holly and ivy were twined over the doorways and windows and sprawled over the hearth where a sweet apple wood fire burned; bright sprigs of holly and evergreens were tucked here and there; strands of dried berries and bright ribbons of scarlet wound in and out of the branches, looking very festive indeed.  The scents were spicy and sweet, rich, and not exactly Elvish.  They were . . .

            Bilbo laughed with delight and turned to look at Frodo and Sam.

            “It smells like home,” he said, tears shimmering in his eyes.

            “I certainly hope so,” Sam said stoutly.  “I spent a great deal of time with the elves trying to get things just right for you.  They gave me some odd looks about it too.  Elves have some strange ideas about how things should be cooked, but I set them right.  I said that Mr. Bilbo wants to eat Shire food and Shire food is what you will get.”  He grinned then, looking very pleased with himself.

            Merry and Pippin moved forward, and Pip grabbed one of Bilbo’s hands.

            “We can show him now, can’t we?” he asked eagerly.

            “Yes Pip,” Frodo answered, smiling widely, blue eyes shining with happiness.  “It is time to show him.”

            The assembled group parted and Bilbo was lead to where a large table had been set up.  Atop this table was a wonderful thing, a strange thing.  Bilbo frowned and moved closer.  Gandalf bent forward and hoisted him onto a chair so he could see the entire creation.

            “It’s a map, the Grand Map,” Pippin explained importantly.  “Of the Shire, and all the places you have visited.  Everyone helped to make it.”

            It was a map, but it was not just a map drawn on paper or parchment.  It had been carved piece by piece by many hands that had delighted in the crafting.  Trees grew in the forests; mountains raised their magnificent snowy heads; bright blue rivers ran; and beneath the green hills in the Shire were hobbit holes.

            “Look!  Look!”  Pippin exclaimed, pointing at Hobbiton.  “There is Bag End!  Do you see?  That is you!”

            Indeed a small carving of a hobbit that looked exactly like Bilbo, with a red waistcoat and a pipe, was standing outside Bag End.  Miniature sunflowers, snap-dragons, and nasturtiums trailed over the walls and peered in at the round window.  Elrond plucked up the small figure and handed it to Bilbo for examination.

            “Glorfindel wanted to carve you with Sting in hand, but I told him that at Yule a more peaceful figure was necessary.  I hope you do not mind.”

            Bilbo turned to look at the tall golden-haired elf-lord that stood behind Elrond.

            “You carved this, Glorfindel?” he asked, his hands trembling slightly as he looked once more at the tiny replica of himself.

            “I was given that honor,” the elf answered with a smile.  “I did put your sword in your house, over the mantle.  That is right, is it not?”

            “Yes, it is,” Bilbo said softly, smiling at him.

            “Look!”  Pippin said brightly, leaning down to peer in the small windows of Bag End.  “It really is there!”

            “Look there,” Merry said, pointing to Hill Lane where a hobbit was being chased by a white goose.  “That’s you, Sam,” he laughed, “with Sam the goose.”

            “What?”  Sam leaned out from behind Frodo.  “Now why would you want to go and do that?  Couldn’t you put me in the garden or clipping Mr. Frodo’s grass or something?”

            “Or kissing Rosie Cotton?”  Pippin said with a sly grin.

            Sam’s cheeks reddened and mumbling something, he hid back behind Frodo though many saw the tender, pleased smile on his face.

            “Here are Merry and I visiting Farmer Maggot.”

            “Visiting his crops is more like it,” Sam muttered good-naturedly. 

            “Frodo is here by the woods, talking with Gildor and his elves.  We met them, you know,” Pippin said with an air of importance.

            “There’s my old dad,” Sam said, pointing to another hobbit, this one outside in the garden of Number 3 Bagshot Row.  “And little Marigold.”

            “And there are the Sackville-Bagginses tramping up the Hill toward you, Bilbo,” Frodo chuckled.  “We wanted it as lifelike as possible.  You see, they are frowning and don’t look pleased at all.”

            “Are those my dwarves?”  Bilbo asked, setting himself back in his garden, turning the S.B.’s about so they were walking away from him and Bag End, and then pointed to a group of stout bearded figures with colorful hoods on the road just outside the Shire.

            “They are indeed,” a gruff voice said, and Gimli pushed forward, a smile peering from within the thick ruddy hair of his own voluptuous beard.  “I carved them, as I know some of them personally.”

            “You even put the silver tassel on Thorin’s hood,” Bilbo chuckled.  “And you gave him a harp!  How delightful!  Good heavens!  There is old Smaug himself.  Laketown and Bard, too!”  He pointed to where a lonely mountain rose on the right side of the Grand Map, a great dragon curled at its base, and a brave man standing on a bridge with a bow nocked with a black arrow ready to fly..  “The spiders! And the Wood-elves!”

            “That was Legolas’ contribution,” Frodo said, grinned at the prince of Mirkwood who was looking quite inscrutable as Gimli moved to stand beside him, grinning slightly.

            “And look! The barrels floating down the river as well,” Bilbo commented with a chuckle.  “That was quite a fine ride really.  I am surprised you elves have never tried it, though it is not as easy as it seems to ride a barrel, not many of them tied together in a raft any how.”

            This brought a snort of laughter from Aragorn, and Legolas’ cheeks reddened slightly, but the elf said nothing.

            “There is Beorn,” Gandalf said pointing to the large figure of the skin-changer. “And his magnificent bees.  Don’t forget the Eagles.”

            “I never could,” Bilbo assured him.  “They do tend to show up at the best possible moment just when you have begun to despair.  You even have the goblins and their wargs!  And even Dain in his armor in the north!”  Suddenly he chuckled.  “Even William, Tom, and Bert made it, I see.”  He grinned at the three stone trolls, remembering the days when his own adventure had seemed so large and overwhelming, but was now just a memory, some of it dark and sorrowful, but most of it pleasant and recalled with much fondness now that it was over.

            “There is Gandalf,” Pippin chimed in, with a surreptitious glance at the wizard, “by the Party Tree with his fireworks.  Look! The Green Dragon and the Ivy Bush too.”

            “We put Mr. Strider here in Rivendell,” Sam explained, peering around Frodo, “with Lady Arwen,” he finished with another blush and glanced to where the couple stood side by side, dressed in matching rich blue velvet trimmed in white and gold, with jewels glittering against the dark fabric.

            “There is Elrond!  And you are even holding Thorin’s map! Look! Erestor and Glorfindel are there as well.  The twins and Lindir!”  Bilbo glanced to the young Rivendell elf, who was grinning and looking quite pleased.  “When did you ever find the time to make one of yourself, Lindir?  You spent so much time listening to me and my poems and tales.”

            “I enjoyed our talks, Bilbo.  I would spend my evenings carving and recalling the wonderful stories you had told me while you dozed before the fire.  It was quite a pleasant interlude really,” he finished with a wink.

            Bilbo chuckled at this.

            “I suppose my snores were quite welcome after a time,” the old hobbit chuckled, “though I know you don’t truly mean that.”  He turned back to the map studying each detail with wonder and such a feeling of joy that he felt tears prick in his eyes once more.  “This is just wonderful!  I cannot believe you have gone to all this trouble.”

            “And why would we not?”  Elrond asked, moving to stand at Bilbo’s side and placing one warm hand on his shoulder, smiling at the hobbit with great affection.  “When Frodo suggested this, we were all delighted to participate.  We want this Yule to be the best one we have had, and so it is.  But,” and here Elrond smiled at the hobbits, “it is only just beginning.  I believe that breakfast is ready and what a breakfast it is!”

            It was indeed quite a breakfast, the first of its kind in Rivendell for the abundance and variety of food served, one would almost say it was Hobbitish.  Many of Sam’s recipes had been put to good use, and indeed even the hobbits didn’t leave the table feeling hungry or deprived in any way.

            The day continued on the same note, with much giving of gifts, beautiful and clever, silly and skillful.  Then more food was served for those who wanted it, in fact, food continued to appear throughout the day along with pots of tea, glasses of wine, hot cider, and all manner of drink anyone requested.  There came a time for singing of songs, and none sang louder or more happily than the five hobbits who regaled the gathering with many Shire songs perfect for clapping and stamping, or merely just listening with a smile on one’s face.   And, of course, Bilbo had a tale or two to tell, which delighted his listeners as the old hobbit, a consummate storyteller if ever there was one, relived some of his many adventures.  Though most had heard these tales before, they delighted in them anew, for the look of pure joy and excitement on Bilbo’s face was wonderful and affected them all.  Merry and Pippin did an impromptu dance which had everyone laughing heartily and clapping their hands, and then at the end of the day the Yule feast was served on dishes of dark blue with delicate painted stars of silver and gold as the Yule log blazed on the hearth.  Many toasts and well wishes were spoken and all felt a content and peace that was indeed one of the magical parts of the season.

            As the merry group began to disperse to beds or more quiet celebrations, Bilbo stood once more on the chair and gazed at the Grand Map.  Frodo and Sam joined him, after tucking blankets around Pippin and Merry, who had celebrated themselves into a peaceful slumber by the fire on large, soft pillows that someone had thoughtfully placed there earlier.

            Bilbo sighed with content, looking at the people and the scenes from his life.  Slowly he turned to Frodo.

            “I don’t know how to thank you for this,” he began as Frodo helped him down from the chair.  “It was like being home once again.”

            “You can look at home whenever you want now, Mr. Bilbo,” Sam said, moving to look at the map himself.  “And everyone there.”

            Frodo smiled at Bilbo, and the two turned away slightly as Sam, gazing back at them to see if they were watching and was glad to see they were not, gently held the small Rosie Cotton in his hands and smiled at it.

            “I wanted to do something special for you, Bilbo,” Frodo said, leaving Sam his moment alone with Rosie.   “It has been so long since we have celebrated Yuletide together.  I am glad you enjoyed it.”

            “I think we all did,” Bilbo agreed.  “I hope we will have many more just as wonderful.  Perhaps next year we can do this again . . . if your journey doesn’t take too long.”

            Frodo sighed, feeling the weight of their quest once more.  But then he smiled jauntily and glanced back at Sam who was replacing the miniature Rosie on the map, putting her at Number 3 Bagshot Row.

            “We won’t be gone all that long,” Frodo said.  “We have to get Sam back to Rosie as quickly as possible, don’t we, Sam?”

            Sam blushed and grinned, turning to gaze at his friend.

            “That we do, Mr. Frodo.  That we do.”

            Bilbo and Frodo laughed at this shy, yet amazingly bold remark.

            “Happy Yule, lads,” Bilbo chuckled, embracing them both and holding them close for a moment.  “Happy Yule.”

            “Happy Yule, Mr. Bilbo.”

            “Happy Yule, Bilbo.”

            “Oh it was, lads.  It was.”

            The End