A/N: Written for Marigold’s Challenge #24.  The common theme was Yule and the elements I had to include were a bitter gale, a paddock, and Saradoc. Thanks to Dreamflower and Marigold for beta-reading this story.

DISCLAIMER: The characters all belong to the amazing world of Middle-earth created by the genius of J.R.R. Tolkien. I just borrowed them for a little while.

YULETIME WISHES

The thin layer of snow crunched under Saradoc Brandybuck’s feet as he made his way silently across the pasture toward the pony barn. Since he hadn’t needed to light a lantern to get to the barn on such a clear, starlit night, with the crescent moon shining bright, he buried his hands deep within the pockets of his coat to keep them warm.

As he closed the paddock gate behind him, Saradoc stopped and listened. The faint strains of a fiddle and harp floated through the cold night air, urging him to come back inside the warm Hall and join in the festivities. He slowly turned and looked back around at the source of the holiday music.

Even though nobody felt like celebrating this year, Esmeralda had insisted that they continue their Yule traditions, although they would not extend as many invitations this year. “It’s what Merry would wish for us,” she had said firmly. And so, Paladin and Eglantine had come to Brandy Hall with their three daughters, just as always (“Pippin would want that.”). The Bolgers were invited as well and were now inside the warm Hall. All the resident Brandybucks were in attendance. They were all trying to make as happy a Yule as they could.

Every round window in Brandy Hall shone with the golden light of one of the special peppermint scented candles Esmeralda made for the Yule celebration every year. Normally, the Brandybucks purchased their candles from one of the local Buckland merchants, but Esmeralda insisted on carrying on her own family’s tradition from back when she and Paladin were mere faunts.

With all its many eyes lit with the peppermint candles, it was as if Brandy Hall itself were waiting for the Son of the Hall to return, Saradoc thought heavily. He smiled sadly to himself as he thought of his treasured son. Esmeralda’s candles were burning so brightly that Merry and the others would have no trouble finding Brandy Hall if they came back tonight.

It was very quiet in the barn as Saradoc entered it and lit a lantern. The sweet smell of oats and hay mixed with the warm heat of the animals filled his nostrils, easing the cold chill that had taken hold of his heart since shortly after Frodo’s last birthday. There was something very comforting to him about being near to so many large animals, especially when they were all snug in their stalls.

All but five, that is.

“Hullo, Biscuit. How’s my lass this evening?” said Saradoc, gently stroking the sturdy pony’s nose for a minute before reaching into one of his bulging coat pockets for an apple. Reaching over, he grabbed a small knife from its hook on the wall and sliced the apple in half to make it small enough for a pony-sized mouth. He held half of the apple out in his flat palm and offered it to Biscuit. “I brought you a present. Happy First Yule.”

Now, hobbit ponies are as notorious for liking their food as hobbits themselves. Biscuit soon had finished her bit of apple and was nosing Saradoc for the other half.

“Give an old hobbit a chance, lass!” chuckled Saradoc. “Here you are. Now to give to the others before they get jealous. The lot of you are as greedy as Lotho is rumoured to be of late, though better in temperament.” His pockets were soon lightened of the apples and carrots that the Master of Buckland and the Son of the Hall gave to the ponies every year at Yule.

But not this year.

Saradoc sighed heavily and stared at the five lonely stalls with their carved wooden nameplates, lost in thought. Time passed by with no meaning. Instead of seeing the stalls as they were, he saw the middle stall as it once had been, with his Merry inside it, carefully grooming a chestnut pony with a bright white blaze running down its nose.

“The Master of the Hall should be inside with his guests this night.” Startled, Saradoc turned his head to see that his brother-in-law had joined him.

“As should the Thain.” Saradoc reached inside one of his pockets for what had once been a bright green handkerchief. Bilbo had given it to him when Saradoc had brought Frodo back to Brandy Hall shortly after Frodo’s parents had died and he had run away to the Old Forest. And now Frodo had run away again, this time with Merry and Pippin. Saradoc turned back toward the empty stalls, closed his eyes, and grimaced in physical pain at the thought. How far away were they now? It had been months. Even though the ponies weren’t the quickest, they could be anywhere by now.

After wiping at his eyes with the handkerchief, he carefully folded and put it away, trying to think of something to say to his brother-in-law. “This stall belongs to Meriadoc’s favourite pony, Rascal. Merry was so happy the day his mare gave birth to the colt. He’d come in here and curry him every day, twice a day. Polished his hoofs until they shone, too.”

“I remember that mare. What was she called again?” asked Paladin.

“’Stormy,’” replied Saradoc. “Merry named her himself after a bitter gale that was blowing when the filly was born. My, but that was a long night! First time Merry’d seen a pony born. He was just a young lad of twelve at the time, but he took to Stormy straight away and he helped raise her and when she was old enough, helped to break her in. Merry used to ride her all over Buckland. He wouldn’t let anyone else ride her, except Frodo or Pippin, of course.”

“Peregrin first came to me …he must have been about … nine… and asked when he could have a pony of his own. As if it’s not bad enough when he turns those big, green eyes and sad face on me, he had to say, ‘But Merry has a pony!’”

“Ah, that look of Pippin’s…I never could get around it. Esmeralda uses that same look on me all the time – it must run in the family. That look of Pippin’s has always worked on Merry and Frodo, too.”

“He cried and carried on a bit, but Eglantine put her foot down.” Paladin chuckled. “If we had got Pippin a pony, then there’d have been no end to it. His sisters would have been next.”

“I suppose in some ways it’s easier just to have one child, although we also had Frodo with us until he went to live with Bilbo.” A chill ran down Saradoc’s spine as he thought of his dear nephew. He and Esmeralda had raised the lad for so many years that he was almost like a son to them. They had sworn to him that they would keep him safe.

“Frodo,” he said in a thin voice.

“They must be well, Saradoc.” Somehow, the conviction in Paladin’s terse voice failed to reach his face, thought Saradoc. “Samwise will look after Frodo and Frodo will not allow anything to happen to Meriadoc or Peregrin. And neither of our lads would let harm fall on the other or on Frodo. Besides, they’re riding Brandybuck ponies, the finest in all the Shire.”

“Paladin, you know as well as I that those ponies are not very swift.”

“What they lack in speed they make up for in soundness. With Frodo and Samwise to protect them and such good mounts underneath them, our sons will fare well.”

Saradoc wasn’t sure which one of them Paladin was trying to reassure, but he did not feel like arguing the matter further. Instead, he went back over to Biscuit and began to rub the pony’s nose absently. “I keep hoping that they’ll come back… Every time I hear a door open or a pony approach, I keep hoping that it will be Merry with Pippin, Frodo, and Sam, apologising for making us worry so.”

“The apology I would gladly do without just to see my Pippin again,” Paladin said softly as he rested his arms on the top of the stall where one of the ponies from his waggon was happily licking a block of salt. “That lad does get into some of the unlikeliest spots of trouble, but naught like this. This… I fail to ken why he even went; Peregrin’s a mere tweenager, not even of age yet.”

“As if that would have stopped Pippin,” chuckled Saradoc with a thin wry smile. “You saw Merry’s letter … heard Fredegar … Frodo’s in grave peril and had to leave the Shire. You know better than I how stubborn your son can be; there’s nothing he would have allowed to stop him, not even his older cousins.”

Paladin nodded silently in agreement. “Had Fatty Bolger any other information about their course? Surely, he must have some idea of their path.”

Saradoc shook his head miserably. “Were that the case, you and I would not be here now, Paladin. Fredegar gave as little information as possible after those black riders attacked Crickhollow. He was upset that he had not been able to win Frodo more time.”

Paladin sighed heavily, put an arm around his brother-in-law, and steered him out of the barn. “They are all hale, quick of mind, and used to travel from tramping about the Shire with Bilbo or Frodo. We will have to put all of our trust and our hopes in the lads, Saradoc.”

As they left the quiet of the barn, they were greeted by the warm glow of the candles in the windows and the cheerful sound of the music. If only Merry could hear that music. It might encourage him; give him the strength he needed to keep all of them safe and to come home.

“I wonder where they are now and what sort of Yule our lads are having,” Saradoc said in a voice barely above a whisper. He fought to keep the unbidden thought from taking hold of him: and if they are still alive.