N/A – This story was written for Marigold's Challenge #30.  The elements I had to include were Bilbo, Bag End, a memorial, a violent storm, and harvest time.

During the Fell Winter, Gerontius Took is 121 years old, Bilbo and Sigismond Took are 21 years old, Adalgrim Took is 31 years old, Fortinbras Took (the future Fortinbras II) is 33 years old, Flambard Took is 24 years old, Rorimac Brandybuck and Dora Baggins are 9 years old, Falco Chubb-Baggins is 8 years old, Drogo Baggins is 3 years old, Otho Sackville-Baggins is 1 year old, and Dudo Baggins is a newborn (Ages 79, 13 ½, 21, 20, 15, 6, 5, 1 ½, 8 months, and newborn in Man Years).

Thanks to Dreamflower and Marigold for all of their beta assistance.

Lasselanta

On the twenty-second of Halimath, Bilbo set out for the Lonely Mountain for one last adventure. As he journeyed to Dale, he was beginning to feel the effects of his old age.

“You’re not as spry as you used to be,” he sighed. “Bilbo, my lad, it is Lasselanta.* The latter part of autumn is upon you and the winter is just beginning.”

An odd shiver coursed down his spine wholly unconnected to the unusually mild mid-Blotmath weather. “Let’s hope it is a much easier winter than the Fell Winter was.”

The Fell Winter. It had started with Lasselanta as well, that old Elvish word that the hobbits had for some reason been using ever since the early days of the Shire.

It had been the worst winter since the Long Winter of 1158 -1159. When Bilbo had been a lad, Grandfather Gerontius used to tell him stories about the Long Winter, back in the days of the Bullroarer who had been the hero of the Battle of Greenfields. In the Shire, many thousands of Hobbits died during the harsh winter and the resulting famine that lasted until 1160. Gandalf had even come to help the Hobbits back then.

As a matter of fact, Gandalf had once told Bilbo that that was when his fondness for the Shire-folk grew. He had been impressed by their courage and their pity for one another in the face of great hardship. Gandalf said he had recalled these qualities when he had decided to bring Bilbo along on the quest to reclaim the Lonely Mountain from Smaug back in 1341.

Bilbo chuckled at the memory of that adventure before focussing once again on the Fell Winter of his youth. To him, it had been just as bad as the Long Winter in Grandfather Gerontius’ stories had been.

________________________________________________________________________

It had been such a good spring and a warm, dry, sunny late summer and early autumn that nobody had suspected in 1311 that the winter would be so bad. This type of weather would have helped to ensure that the grapes would not become swollen with rain, which would dilute the sugar and acidity and leave the grapes susceptible to disease. In fact, Bilbo’s Father had said that weather like this would make for one of the finest grape harvests of the decade, a vintage to look back on with pride.

Fortunately, Bilbo’s father and his hired hands had just finished harvesting the grapes for the making of the Old Winyards before the weather changed.

Bilbo had just entered his tweens during the time of the Fell Winter of 1311. It had started with an unusually cold, violent storm just after his birthday that year. Bilbo had helped his father and the gardener to quickly bring in as much of the harvest of food as they could at Bag End before it was destroyed by the frost. It had been so cold that his father had even made him put on boots before going outside. The harvest was quickly brought inside the warm smial – cabbages, various types of squash, green peas, beans, carrots, beets, turnips, potatoes, sprouts, parsnips, onions, Tookland apples, and blackberries. It had been long, hard work, for a twenty-one year old, and Bilbo could still feel the chap of his dried hands from digging through the cold, hard ground to save the dusty vegetables.

But once the harvest had been safely brought inside the smial and the bitter weather had stopped and turned mild, it had been a splendid time. About a week after his birthday, Bilbo and his parents went to the Harvest Home festival in Bywater to celebrate the harvest and the bountiful land. Bilbo enjoyed watching the pony races and even took part in some of the games before going off to look at the food gathered for the festival. There was a large tent which was decorated with vases which held golden autumn leaves, berries, and flowers, all of which had been gathered before the storm. Special tables were set up to display marrows, cabbages, and baskets of fruit and vegetables of all kinds. These would be used to make a special Harvest Home dinner for all of the assembled hobbits to enjoy before they danced and listened to a band play festive music under the thin crescent of the moon. It was the beginning of Lasselanta.

The mild weather lasted even into the middle of Blotmath, so Bungo, Belladonna, and Bilbo had gone to visit his mother’s family in the Great Smials. Bilbo loved going places with his mother, who always managed to make going anywhere an adventure. While his father steadily drove the waggon, Bilbo and his mother would play games, such as “spot the wildlife,” or find pictures in the clouds, or guess at riddles, a pastime Bungo also enjoyed. But what Bilbo loved most of all was singing. Like most Tooks, his mother had a love of music and the gift of a beautifully clear voice when raised in song. This she passed on to her only child.

And so Bilbo and his mother sang and played while his father drove the waggon all the way to the Great Smials.

The first thing Bilbo did when they arrived at the Great Smials was search for Cousin Sigismond, his best friend in the entire Shire. Sigismond, who was two months older than Bilbo, was Uncle Hildibrand’s and Aunt Apatite’s oldest child.

Of course, the first order of business was to raid the larders when the cooks were not looking. Having grown up at the Great Smials, Sigismond was an expert at this and more than happy to teach Bilbo the finer points of successful plundering for food.

“Now the trick is,” Sigismond would begin in a whisper, his green eyes twinkling, “the best time to get food is while the cooks are having their meals. While they are eating in the servants’ dining room, usually nobody is in the kitchen, unless one of them pops in unexpectedly. So we still have to be sneaky.”

Bilbo nodded his head in excited anticipation. This certainly was more fun than they ever had at Bag End or visiting his Baggins relations who were seldom interesting other than Great-Uncle Ponto. At times like this, Bilbo really did feel like a Took on an adventure.

Quietly, they waited for their cousin Fortinbras’ signal. Although he had just come of age this past summer, Fortinbras still enjoyed getting into a bit of mischief with his younger cousins. At last, he waved a tea towel so Sigismond and Bilbo could see it.

There was nobody else in the kitchen so the three cousins stealthily headed for the larders. While Sigismond opened the larder door, Fortinbras went inside, placed a chair in front of one of the cupboards without a sound and helped Bilbo to climb up so he could get what was on the top shelf. Bilbo was always elected for this job since he was the slightest of the three cousins.

Bilbo stretched his hands as high as he could to the top shelf and removed three cherry tea cakes and an applesauce pie. He handed them down one at a time to his waiting cousins before getting off the chair. Bilbo turned around for one last look at the larder, quickly grabbing a few Tookland sausage rolls before they left.

After the three cousins had enjoyed their plunder, they went outside into the unusually warm sunshine and headed to the butts to join cousins Adalgrim (whom almost everybody called “Grim” as a joke because he was quite the opposite) and Flambard for some target practise. Ever since the old Bullroarer had defeated the Orcs who had invaded the Northfarthing all Took lads, and even some of the lasses, made sure they were adroit with a bow and arrow.

Bilbo had so wanted to keep up with his Took cousins that when he was sixteen, he had begged his father until he made an archery target for him at Bag End. He had been so thrilled that Yule to receive the archery target from his parents and his very own bow with a quiver of arrows from Grandfather Gerontius. Bilbo had sharpened his archery skills almost every day since then, even taking some time away from his beloved books if it was sunny outside. His hard work had paid off. Bilbo was an even better archer than Sigismond, though not as good as Fortinbras.

When the lads had tired of archery, they decided to do another very peculiarly Tookish thing – climb trees. It was a very good thing that Bilbo favoured his Took side because his Baggins side was firmly telling him to remain on solid ground. But Bilbo’s Tookish curiosity got the better of him. He looked upon climbing a tree as an adventure; there were so many interesting things waiting to be discovered up a tree, even in late autumn when the tree was bare. Cousin Sigismond proudly showed him an old bird’s nest still clinging to the branches that he had discovered in this tree the last time he and Flambard had gone climbing it. And when Bilbo stood up on a thick branch and held onto the trunk of the tree and looked out, he could see for miles and miles. He chuckled and quipped that he could almost make out Bag End, they were so high up in the tree.

Bilbo and his cousins stayed in the tree for quite some time, climbing and playing, and having a good chin-wag until it was time for afternoon tea.

Every day at the Great Smials was spent in the same fashion – getting into mischief, practising archery, climbing trees, and eating. Sometimes, they went to look at the animals in the barn or gazed at clouds, guessing at their shapes. And music. There was lots of singing and playing of musical instruments. Evenings at the Great Smials were always filled with music from at least one Took. Even young Took children were taught to play the bullroarer, a musical instrument made of a small fat slip of wood tied to a string which made a booming, humming noise when twirled rapidly. Bilbo’s own mother knew how to play four instruments – the bullroarer, the violin, the flute, and the tambourine. Bilbo wished he could play so many, but he could only play the bullroarer and the violin.

It seemed to Bilbo that the warm sunshine and lovely visit at the Great Smials would last forever. He was sorry when Da announced at the end of Winterfilth that it was time for them to go back home to Bag End.

It was just as well that they did go back to Bag End when they did. Amidst all the fun he was having with his Took cousins, Bilbo had completely forgotten that his mother’s birthday was coming up on seventh of Blotmath, only a week away, and he hadn’t even begun to look for something to give her yet. It was a good thing Bilbo knew that the mathom rooms at Bag End were so full of things waiting to be chosen as gifts.

When Great-Uncle Largo and Great-Aunt Tanta came to visit two days later, Bilbo saw his chance to sneak into the mathom rooms. For Uncle Fosco and Aunt Ruby had also come and they had brought their three children. Nine year old Dora was the oldest, a cheery young lass with long dark brown curls who adored Bilbo. Then there was Cousin Drogo. He was only a faunt of three years old. Bilbo had already taken quite a shine to the little lad with the large blue eyes. The youngest was Dudo, a babe of only four months of age.

As Bilbo gave Great-Uncle Largo a warm hug of welcome, he was sorry that he would not be able to spend more time with the old hobbit on this visit. For although Great-Uncle Largo was Bilbo’s favourite uncle because he had a large supplies of jokes and stories, Bilbo would not be able to hear many tales today since he had to look for a present for his mother. Taking hold of Dora’s and little Drogo’s hands, Bilbo went to the mathom rooms and began his search.

“Do you have any idea what you are looking for?” Dora asked as they entered the first mathom room, a dusty place filled with odd curiosities and old furniture covered in worn sheets and blankets.

Bilbo shook his head and lifted a blanket to reveal a three legged table with a deep scratch in it. “I’m just glad Bag End has so many things in the mathom rooms to look through. I want to find something special for Mum.”

“Why?” asked Drogo.

“Because she deserves it.” answered Bilbo simply. He lifted an object and blew the dust off of it to reveal a wooden picture frame. It was pretty, but not what he had in mind for Mum’s birthday present.

“Why?” Drogo looked innocently at his cousin, waiting for him to explain.

“Because she’s a wonderful mother!” Bilbo was afraid he knew where this was leading to. As much as he loved the lad dearly, his cousin was at that impossible age where every statement to the child was greeted by the question “Why?”

Just as Bilbo feared … “Why?”

Bilbo inhaled deeply and smiled indulgently at his little cousin. “Mum’s just grand! She’s always singing and teaching me how to cook and do things … helping me become a better archer, telling me stories about some of our Took relations’ adventures, or gazing at the clouds with me … she’s just wonderful!”

“Wh…”

“Drogo, that’s enough!” exclaimed Dora. She turned toward Bilbo, “Sometimes you have to tell him to stop it or he’ll keep it up all day.”

Bilbo inclined his head toward her in gratitude and continued his search.

“What about this?” Dora asked. Bilbo turned and looked at what she was holding. It was quite unusual. He took it from her and looked closer at it. It was perfect.

The unusually warm weather held and Mum’s party turned out to be a spectacular event, even though it was marred in Bilbo’s opinion by the inclusion of the Sackville-Bagginses. It was amazing. Cousin Camelia’s son, Otho, was only one year old and already Bilbo could tell the child was going to grow up to be wretchedly spoilt. Aunt Camelia was constantly cooing at him with disgustingly sweet baby-talk, even when he snatched at things. And on the few occasions that Bilbo had seen him, Otho was screaming every time his parents put him down.

Bilbo tried to ignore his S.B. cousins, which was easy to do with so many others at the party. Even some of the Brandybucks had made it all the way from Buckland, which Bilbo was glad to see, since he did not get a chance to visit with nine-year old Rorimac often enough. Even though Rorimac was so much younger, Bilbo liked Rorimac because he would tell Bilbo of his latest adventures with his father, Gorbadoc, in the Old Forest. It was such a spectacularly spooky sounding place that Bilbo made a mental note to visit the Old Forest as soon as possible.

After Bilbo had visited with Rorimac for a while, they went over to Bilbo’s Took cousins and spent the rest of the day playing with them. It had been a whole week since he had seen them and he had missed them terribly.

Mum was very happy with the set of three oval nesting boxes made out of maple that Bilbo had given her the day before for her birthday. She liked them so much that after the party was over and all of the guests had departed, she even put them in the parlour where company would be able to admire them. And Bilbo was thrilled with the new bright green rucksack she had given him since his old one was worn out. Even though it was already Blotmath, a nice long walking trip seemed in order. It was likely to be Bilbo’s last chance for an adventure before the new year. Maybe he could get his parents to let him go if he went with Cousin Grim on the walking trip. Maybe they could leave in about a week.

But Bilbo never got the chance to go on his walking trip. Four days after Mum’s birthday, on the eleventh of Blotmath, Bilbo woke to the sound of a cold, howling wind outside his bedroom window, which was now caked with frost. It was so cold that he could even feel it seeping into his room from the icy glass pane.

Bilbo took a deep breath and quickly threw back the covers and got dressed as fast as he could. There were animals to be taken care of and firewood to be got in, and with weather such as this, it was unlikely that Da’s gardener would be able to make it all the way from Bagshot Row.

By the time Bilbo had got in from milking the cow, Bilbo and the milk in the pail were both frozen.

“Goodness, Bilbo! Your lips are blue! Come quickly by the fire!” Mum exclaimed as she quickly took the pail of milk from him and removed his hat and coat and steered him in front of the roaring fire in the hearth. “I knew I should not have let you go help your father in this weather!”

“I’m fine, Mum,” Bilbo got out through chattering teeth. “Besides, it’s quite warm in the barn. It’s just the walk from the barn to the smial that’s cold.”

“Hmmm…Where’s your father? Did he not come back with you?” His mother asked as she thrust a steaming cup of hot tea in Bilbo’s hands.

“No, ma’am. He said he was going to give the animals their feed for tonight, too, so that he would not have to go back out in this. Mum, it’s snowing!”

“Yes, dear, I know it is. The weather’s been such a puzzle this year. First that cold storm in Halimath after your birthday and now this! Snow, in Hobbiton! I’ve heard of snow up in the North Farthing or even in Buckland, but it rarely snows here in Hobbiton, especially this early in the year! But no need to fret, Bilbo, it’s bound to blow over soon enough. Now, take another sip of that tea while I make us some nice hot porridge.”

The snow finally stopped after the fifth day and Belladonna allowed Bilbo to go out and play. Such deep snow was such a rare event in Hobbiton that all of the children from faunts right on through the tweenagers were out playing in the snow in the sun-drenched white world.

Eight-year-old cousin Falco Chubb-Baggins, hit Bilbo squarely in the mouth with a snowball, stunning Bilbo for a moment before he dissolved into fits of laughter and threw a snowball at Falco in return. Then Uncle Fosco and Aunt Ruby came over to visit and Bilbo and Falco were joined by Dora and little Drogo while Aunt Ruby carried baby Dudo into the smial to get warm, even though the weather had turned milder.

It was such a grand day. By the time Bilbo and his cousins had come in, all with rosy-red cheeks, Mum, Aunt Ruby, and Falco’s mother, Aunt Chica, had made a feast to celebrate the rare snowfall.

There was Mum’s savoury pie of seasoned beef, carrots, and mashed potatoes, Aunt Ruby’s mushroom soup and Aunt Chica’s fried apples and onions. There were still some green beans left from the harvest to enjoy with onions and bacon. Bilbo was delighted to see that Mum had made his favourite, bubble and squeak. Da even got involved in the preparation of the feast and made some of his noodles and cheese. And there was plenty of Bywater sage cheese and rosemary herb bread.

“You know, we really ought to write some of these receipts down so we can all share them,” suggested Aunt Chica.

Belladonna nodded in agreement. “There’s no time like the present,” she said. “We can do that tonight after dinner. Right now, I’d like to go for a ride and enjoy some of this pleasant snowy weather while it lasts.”

“Why, that’s a fine idea!” Aunt Ruby said.

After they had all finished filling out the corners with some cinnamon whirls and seedcakes, Uncle Fosco and Uncle Bingo loaded a thick pile of hay onto the sledge while Da hitched the ponies up.

Bilbo was pleased to see that Da had used the harnesses with the merry jingle bells on them. Once the ponies were hitched, Bungo helped Belladonna, the aunts, and all the children to climb into the back. The hay would help keep them nice and warm, as would the roasted potatoes that Bilbo’s mother gave each of them to put in their pockets to keep their hands warm. When everyone was snugly in the sledge, Bilbo’s father climbed into the back with the children and settled into the warm, good smelling straw.

Once Uncle Fosco and Uncle Bingo had climbed up into the seat, Uncle Fosco made a sound by clicking his tongue and the ponies broke into a slow trot. They were off! The golden coloured jingle bells made such a lovely sound that it was like music to Bilbo’s ears, especially when joined by all of the other hobbits with their teams of ponies with jingle bells on.

Belladonna started humming and before Bilbo knew it, everyone in the wagon had picked up on the tune and they were all singing.

O gracious morn, with rose-red dawn,
And thin moon curving o’er it!
The old year’s darling, latest born,
More loved than all before it!
The birds are hushed; alone the wind,
That through the woodland searches,
The red-oak’s lingering leaves can find,
And yellow plumes of larches.
But still the balsam-breathing pine
Invites no thought of sorrow,
No hint of loss from air like wine
The earth’s content can borrow.
The summer and the winter here
Midway a truce are holding,
A soft, consenting atmosphere
Their tents of peace enfolding.
The silent woods, the lonely hills,
Rise solemn in their gladness;
The quiet that the valley fills
Is scarcely joy or sadness.
How strange! The autumn yesterday
In winter’s grasp seemed dying;
On whirling winds from skies of gray
The early snow was flying.
And now, while over Nature’s mood
There steals a soft relenting,
I will not mar the present good,
Forecasting or lamenting.
O stream of life, whose swifter flow
Is of the end forewarning,
Methinks thy sundown afterglow
Seems less of night than morning!
Old cares grow light; aside I lay
The doubts and fears that troubled;
The quiet of the happy day
Within my soul is doubled.**

Bilbo couldn’t remember when he had had such jolly fun! It was like a different sort of adventure! He wished that it would snow like this all the time.

It seemed that Bilbo was going to get his wish. For after only three days of mild weather, the air turned bitterly cold again and the winds began to shriek and howl with fury. It was another blizzard, this one lasting for four days and three nights. But his parents were not worried. There was plenty of food still in the larders from the harvest. And so the family busied themselves during the blizzard by telling stories to each other to see who knew the most stories. They told stories of adventures from some of Bungo’s books, and of some of the adventures of Belladonna’s Took relatives, some funny stories and some silly stories. In the end, Bilbo’s mother was the winner.

“You are a wonder, Belladonna,” said Bungo, his eyes twinkling as he looked proudly at his wife.

There were only two days of respite before the next snowstorm hit. After Bilbo had helped to milk the cow and muck the stalls, he took his axe and went with his father to chop some more wood for the fire. While Bungo brought the wood in, Bilbo got one of his mother’s great, big tubs and trudged back outside to fill it with snow to melt for their baths. Bilbo was beginning to feel that perhaps all of this snow and cold weather was not such a good thing after all. While Bilbo sat at the kitchen table eating some delicious bean soup, he wondered how the people on the moors of the North Farthing could stand so much cold and snow.

Yule was fast approaching and Bilbo began to wonder if they would be able to make the trip to the Great Smials or if another blizzard was going to strike. Since that first blizzard, they had only had two, three, or perhaps four days of good weather before the next blizzard struck. And to be caught out in a blizzard was something that no hobbit with any sense was willing to risk. While it was fine with Bilbo to spend more time indoors, he really was looking forward to seeing Cousin Sigismond and all of his Took cousins, aunts, and uncles again and smelling the lovely peppermint candles that were a Took family tradition.

But it was not to be. The blizzards were unrelenting and a trip to Tuckborough was out of the question.

Instead, Bilbo and his parents planned a nice, quiet Yule at Bag End. At least Bilbo was not to be disappointed about the candles. His mother knew how much he was looking forward to seeing them and had got out her large candle making kettle. She showed Bilbo how to carefully add the peppermint oil that is the hallmark of the Took Yuletide candles when the wax starts to boil. She even let him dip the large iron ladle into the wax and pour it into the nine and twelve candle moulds to cool.

As it turned out, the snow stopped early on the morning of First Yule and the Sun came out to shine, leaving the world glittering with little sparkles of clean light against a pure white blanket. As if that were not a pleasant enough gift to make this a happy Yule, Bilbo was surprised when some of his Baggins relations showed up at Bag End to celebrate Yule. Besides
Aunt Ruby and Uncle Fosco with their three children and Uncle Fosco’s parents, Great-Aunt Tanta and Great-Uncle Largo, as well as Aunt Chica and Uncle Bingo had also come with their son, Falco.

Sadly, Great-Aunt Mimosa had not come. Aunt Chica told them how Great-Uncle Ponto had been outside chopping more wood for the fire when a great big tree fell on top of him and killed him on the spot. Of course, Cousin Polo and Cousin Rosa had come straight away to be with their mother, even during such foul unpredictable weather, but Great-Aunt Mimosa was in no mood to celebrate this Yule and so they had stayed at home.

Bilbo ran into his room and closed the door so he could be alone and think for a while. He couldn’t understand it. It was such a senseless way to die. Great-Uncle Ponto was only ninety-five years old. Sure, he had been old, but he had been in such good health that Bilbo was certain he would live at least another twenty years. Bilbo had always liked Great-Uncle Ponto. For a Baggins, he enjoyed doing things on the spur of the moment for the thrill of doing something unexpected. If Bilbo had not known better, he would have sworn that Great-Uncle Ponto was a Took related to his mother instead of a Baggins related to his father. But now that didn’t seem to matter. Great-Uncle Ponto was dead.

By the time Bilbo came out of his room with red, swollen eyes, the smial was alive with the sounds of adults and children laughing. Life went on. That was the hobbity way of things.

“Son?” Bilbo started, unaware that his father had come up behind him until he had placed a hand gently on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Come. We need to find more presents for this lot.”

Bilbo looked up at his father and nodded. They went hurriedly to the mathom rooms to find Yuletide presents for everyone. For a good host always gave Yuletide presents to each and every one of his guests.

Belladonna and the aunts had made another festive meal, which was soon devoured by all. It was a good thing indeed that they had been able to bring in as much of the harvest as they had during that first violently cold storm in Halimath.

But even with as much of the crop as they had been able to harvest, some of their supplies were beginning to get low by the time Rethe came around with no signs of the blizzards ending. With such cold weather, it took more food to keep a body warm, even though Bilbo was beginning to tire of having some of the same food over and over again. The apples were all gone. So were the peppers and turnips. The onions were getting low, too, and so was the meat. And worst of all, there were only a handful of dried mushrooms left. But, still, they had a fair amount of beans, dried peas, and flour. The bad weather had to end soon and then they would be able to plant more crops so they would have more food.

Bungo and Belladonna were beginning to worry how some of the poorer folks were faring. Bungo had spoken with some of the other hobbits around town and while Bilbo and his family were well off, there were many hobbits in Hobbiton and all over the Shire whose provender was almost gone. It was especially hardest on some of the poorer families with many mouths to feed, like the Cottons, and the Greenhands, or the Goodchilds or Smallburrows. Bilbo felt ashamed that he had ever felt tired and bored of eating the same foods every day.

It was then that the real trouble began.

Wolves.

It had been such a bitter cold winter that the Brandywine River and some other rivers froze, which allowed White Wolves from the North to enter the Shire over the frozen Brandywine. In this time of emergency, the Horn-call of Buckland sounded. Uncle Gorbadoc was rallying the Hobbits to fight off the Wolves.

All able-bodied hobbits went into swift action, including Bilbo. Young as he was, he pulled on his warmest coat and grabbed his bow and quiver of arrows before kissing his mother goodbye and racing off toward Buckland with his father to help drive the Wolves back or kill them if necessary.

It was the scariest ride Bilbo had ever recalled, riding through the darkness of night with the snow pelting down around him, blinding him as the bitter wind bit at his skin, knowing what waited when he got to the East Farthing. What did a Wolf really look like? How large were they? They were starving, too, so how vicious would they be? How far had the Wolves got? What if they made it all the way to Hobbiton and attacked Bag End? And with Bilbo and Da gone, who would protect Mum? All of these questions went whirling through Bilbo’s mind as they all raced to protect the Shire.

When they stopped to get fresh ponies, Grandfather Gerontius and Bilbo’s Took uncles and cousins somehow caught them up and they all rode on together now in one tight pack with more and more hobbits joining them all the time. Much life a wolf pack, protecting its own, thought Bilbo.

They continued riding through the night and all of the next day, stopping only to rest their ponies or get fresh mounts. Bilbo’s back was sore from spending so many hours in the saddle, and when he got down from his pony so they could eat and rest the next night, Bilbo was walking bowlegged; he was not used to sitting atop a pony for so long.

As Bilbo lay next to Sigismond to get some rest on their pony blankets spread over the soft snow, they could hear a nearby conversation between their fathers and some of the others.

“How much longer should it take us to reach Buckland?” asked Cousin Pogo, the tweenaged grandson of Great-Aunt Lily and Great Uncle Togo Goodbody.

“Well, in normal conditions, we could probably ride in haste from Hobbiton to Buckland cross-country in about twelve hours if we changed ponies halfway, but it’s usually at least a two day ride,” Uncle Hildibrand explained.

“Yes, but in such horrible weather conditions, with all of this snow and ice, it will probably take three or four days,” Bungo added. “And how many days had the messenger who brought word of the Wolves taken to reach us?”

There were unsettled murmurs among the assembled hobbits as they listened to the conversation.

“Yes. Those days must be added back to the tally as well,” said Uncle Bingo.

Cousin Pogo looked wide-eyed in panic at his uncles. “By the time we get to where the trouble is, it could very well be too late!”

The hobbits gathered around nodded in agreement as their frantic murmurs increased.

Grandfather Gerontius stepped forward and put a calming hand on Pogo’s shoulder. “That’s why we must make all haste, lad. There’s no time to waste if we are to have any help of saving them. But we will get there sooner if we have had our rest. Now go lie down while you can. We will be starting again soon enough.”

Bilbo heard the footsteps of Pogo crunching in the snow as he left to go rest as Grandfather Gerontius had told him to do.

“Do you think there is any hope? For Mirabella and the children?” Uncle Hildebrand asked in hushed tones.

“Gorbadoc and Orgulas will have Brandy Hall well protected,” said Grandfather in equally low tones. “It is not so much for them that I worry so much as for the rest of the Shire. Buckland and the Marish are but the first in danger. Those Wolves crossed the Brandywine. The Eastern and Northern Farthings are not safe. And with the lead that those Wolves have on us, neither are the Southern and Western Farthings.”

Bilbo turned toward Sigismond, who was listening just as raptly to Grandfather as Bilbo was. The two cousins exchanged worried glances before closing their eyes to try and get some sleep. The situation was indeed very dire, just as Grandfather had said.

After a few hours rest, all of the hobbits including Bilbo mounted back up and continued on their mad dash to try and protect the Shire from the Wolves. His legs ached as he climbed back into the saddle, but Bilbo ignored the pain and kicked his pony with his heels until it began to gallop with the rest of the pack. Buckland was so far away; everyone could be dead by the time they reached it.

Bilbo turned toward his left to look at Cousin Sigismond, and caught Sigismond’s eye.

“Rorimac,” Bilbo said quietly to Sigismond.

Sigismond nodded. There was a serious but determined look on his cousin’s face that reassured Bilbo. They were all in this together. Sigismond looked Bilbo over and noted the bow and arrows strapped to Bilbo’s back and smiled.

“Now we will put all of our practise to use, Cousin.”

Bilbo nodded. “Being a Took can come in handy at times.”

They never made it to Buckland. The Wolves had indeed crossed the Brandywine and were running loose in the Shire proper, attacking livestock and pawing at the windows of cottages and smials alike.

The Wolves were huge, as Bilbo had feared. And hunger had made them fierce. These were not beasts who wanted to kill for the sport of it or because someone had come too near. These were wild animals that were doing whatever needed to be done in order to find food and survive. They were fighting for their lives, same as Bilbo and the rest of the hobbitfolk were. He wished that they did not have to hurt the Wolves or worse, kill them, but knew that there was little choice.

Scores of hobbits were running about, either on ponyback or on foot, brandishing torches to try to drive the Wolves away from their homes and back across the Brandywine to the Wolves’ own homes. Other hobbits, those that were better armed, such as Bilbo and his Took relations, took aim at those Wolves that would not be turned.

It was a cacophony of sound – Wolves’ snarling and growling, hobbits screaming and yelling, sheep bleating, pigs squealing, horses, cows, … the list went ever on. And then there was the sound of death and destruction.

The first time that Bilbo released an arrow, he felt his heart sail away with it as it left his bow and struck its mark. There was a brief sharp horrible sounding yelp of pain from the Wolf, and then it was silent. Bilbo had killed.

And then killed some more.

With his father and his uncles and his cousins during that long and horrible night, Bilbo did what had to be done and slaughtered those Wolves that would not be turned back away from the Shire. Daylight brought with it a ghastly scene. Blood and broken bodies of Wolves and hobbits all over the hills and plains of the Shire.

The Wolves bore an uncanny resemblance to dogs. A shiver ran down Bilbo’s back that was wholly unrelated to the biting cold. Although it had stopped snowing sometime during the night, Bilbo found that he had ice frozen to his cheeks in the exact spots that tears had streamed from his eyes down his face.

Bilbo thought of his Great-Great-Uncle Bandobras, the Bullroarer. He had fought in the Battle of Greenfields. He had heard the story of that battle so many times from his Took relations while growing up, yet never had he realised what a horrible thing that must have been to live through. If it were so unbearable to kill Wolves, how much worse could it have been for the Bullroarer and the hobbits under him to kill orcs?

And worse than the killing of Wolves or orcs … the deaths of their fellow hobbits. Bilbo knew many of the hobbits who had lost their lives, including Great-Uncle Largo, Dora and Drogo’s grandfather.

It was a nightmare that Bilbo wished he could forget yet knew he never would.

When the hobbits had finished burying their dead and burning the bodies of the Wolves and livestock destroyed by the Wolves, they returned back to their homes to confront another gift of this unending winter: famine.

The posthobbit brought a message from Bilbo’s grandfather, Thain Gerontius, saying that the hobbits of each town were to get together to redistribute their food to provide for all so that all had enough to eat until more food could be brought in from Bree or grown upon their lands. The hobbits went into action immediately. Bungo organised a group to ride throughout Hobbiton assessing how much each family had and how much it needed until spring came and more food could be had. Then they redistributed the food so that no hobbit, young or old, would starve to death. All over the Shire, other groups of hobbits were doing the same.

Yet still, some hobbits died. Aunt Lily Baggins Goodbody had caught the winter sickness during one of the many blizzards and been battling to survive ever since. In the end, the forces of nature were too much and her little body succumbed to its power. The fields of many graveyards were now adorned with many new plots of bare earth where so many hobbits now slept in their permanent beds.

At last, spring finally came. And with it came riders from Buckland bringing fresh provisions from Bree.

Grandfather Gerontius organised a memorial service, to be held at the spot where the hobbits did battle against the White Wolves. All hobbits from the Shire attended on a day bathed in warm sunshine. Even the wizard, Gandalf, had come to pay his respects.

“My friends, this has been a harsh winter,” began Grandfather in a clear voice. “One that began in Lasselanta, when the first bitter winds blew and destroyed some of our harvest. One that continued through blizzard after blizzard in places that rarely ever see more than a dusting of snow. A winter that continued through the new year and into Rethe, where we held our faces up to mirrors and saw our hunger reflected in the faces of White Wolves that came across the frozen Brandywine.

“But now I say to you, at long last, our Fell Winter is over and we have survived. With steadfast determination and strength of purpose, we have not only endured, but we have pulled together with our neighbours in the spirit that defines hobbits and are now ready to move forward with our lives.

“We shall not forget those that have died of illness or starvation or who have forfeited their lives to protect others. To all of them, we pledge our undying love and respect. And to them we dedicate this memorial as a testament to the spirit of hobbits everywhere, to the spirit of hope.”

Grandfather removed a muslin sheet that Bilbo now noticed had been covering a marble statue of a Wolf sitting at the side of a healthy looking hobbit.

Bilbo realised that Grandfather was right. Steadfast determination and strength of purpose brought about hope as much as any adventure, if not more. He had lost three of his close Baggins relatives, yet here were the rest of the Bagginses, gathered together with the rest of the Shire, ready to look toward the future with hope. Suddenly, Bilbo was more proud than ever to be a Baggins. He loved his Took side dearly, but he was proud to be a Baggins.

____________________________________________________________________

Bilbo’s eyes grew misty with tears as he thought of those sad events from his youth.

“Well, you made it through that winter long ago, perhaps you will find a way to make it through this one, too.”

A/N –

*Lasselanta – the latter part of autumn and the beginning of winter in Middle-earth.

**from “St. Martin’s Summer,” by John Greenleaf Whittier. The mild close days that so often follow a brush of hard weather about mid November are known as St Martins’ summer in Europe and Indian summer in the United States.