DISCLAIMER: Professor Tolkien’s wonderful characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night

DISCOVERIES

“Mr. Frodo, come look at this!” Sam gasped.

Frodo hurried to where Sam bent over a branch lightly dusted with snow, gazing raptly through a small metal tube. Years ago, in one of his trades with the Dwarves, Bilbo had exchanged a basket filled with savory breads and cakes for one of these clever devices. Utilized by the Dwarves to inspect gems and crystals for flaws, the hobbits delighted in the magnifying tube's less practical uses -- seeing with astonishing clarity the barbs on a fly’s leg, or perhaps the exquisite detail of a feather’s irridescent structure.

“Oh Sam,” Frodo breathed, taking his turn with the instrument. “How beautiful!” He marveled at the delicate crystalline forms, each seemingly unique.

“Aren't they lovely, sir? D’you think it's some kind of elf magic?” Sam whispered. "We may be the first ones ever to see snowflakes up close like this."

“Very possibly,” Frodo smiled at the excited lad, handing back the tube. “It can be our secret. Let’s see how many shapes we can find!”

The boys were very late for tea that afternoon, their cheeks and noses flushed with cold. And they couldn’t keep their secret for long, excitedly dragging May, and Daisy, and even the Gaffer and Bilbo outside, so they could peer through the tube and see the magnified crystals for themselves. But the lads' most enduring discovery, that winter, turned out to be something more lasting and precious than any fragile snowflake. It appeared that friendship -- like magic -- could sometimes be found in the least expected places. You had only to look for it.

** END **

BABY TALK

Little Sam kicked his feet in the air, trying to capture them with his hands. Frodo finished diapering the infant with perfect confidence and skill, then took one tiny, soft foot in his mouth and pretended to eat it -- which elicited giggles from the child. He then lifted the baby and sat down in Bilbo’s favorite rocking chair.

“Remarkable,” Bilbo sighed in relief. “When I told the Gamgees we could watch him until Bell is over her cold, I never dreamed they’d say ‘yes’. I don’t know the first thing about little ones.”

“But I do,” Frodo said, making silly faces at Sam. “They’ve watched me with the baby for months, every time I visit. They might not trust you, Bilbo,” he continued with a grin, “but they know I won’t let anything happen to this sweet child.”

“Impudent lad.”

“Impudent, do you hear that, Sam? ” Frodo addressed the baby. “Can you say im-pu-dent?”

“Of course he can't, ” Bilbo chuckled.

“You have to address babies seriously,” Frodo informed his uncle. “How else will they learn to speak properly?”

Bilbo was just glad that the Ordeal of the Diaper was over, for the moment. “I need some tea,” he said, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll bring you a slice of that lemon bread.”

“And one of those hard biscuits for Sam to chew on, please,” Frodo said. “The rascal is gnawing on my buttons.” He lowered his voice. “Aren’t you, Sammy wammy? Aren’t you trying to gobble up my button wuttons?”

“What was that, Frodo?" Bilbo called out.

“Nothing, Bilbo,” Frodo replied hastily. “I was just reminding Sam about proper speech etiquette and linguistics.”

Sam looked up at Frodo expectantly.

“Whew, he almost caught us,” Frodo whispered to the baby. He gently disengaged the tiny hands from his shirt. “Shall we bounce-bounce? Shall we go bouncy wouncy, Sammy wammy?” He bounced Sam very gently on one knee, the baby’s happy gurgles filling the air.

In the kitchen, Bilbo smiled to himself, his heart light. “Sammy wammy” was in good hands indeed, and he supposed it mattered not at all if the the child’s visit was – or was not – linguistically sound.

HOLIDAY BLESSINGS

“Mum made them,” Sam said shyly. He had been given permission this year to deliver the Gamgee family’s Yule gifts to Bag End, and he held up a small package wrapped in brown paper and tied with sturdy string. The evening air was crisp and clean, and the stars glittered overhead. Sam’s breath came in little frosty puffs as he spoke.

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said. He held it up to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Oh my, this smells delicious!”

“Doesn’t it?” Sam beamed. “Mum used a few drops of peppermint oil in her sweets this year. She made these for you and Mr. Bilbo, too.” He handed Frodo the larger, bulkier package.

Frodo looked back through the open door of Bag End to make sure Bilbo wasn’t in sight, then bent to whisper in Sam’s ear.

“What is it? I won’t tell Bilbo, I promise.”

Sam loved that he and Mr. Frodo shared so many secrets. Gifts were meant to be surprises until opened, but he had quickly learned that the young master could never wait to know their contents.

“Scarves,” Sam whispered back. “One blue with brown flowers, and one brown with yellow leaves.”

Frodo grinned. “We’ll love them, Sam. Bilbo and I will thank your Mum personally when we bring our gifts in the morning.”

Sam bid Frodo goodnight, then headed down the lane towards home.

Frodo stood in the open doorway for a moment, warmed by the youngster’s friendship and generous heart. He held the packages appreciatively; whether in work, smiles, or gifts, the Gamgees always gave the best they had. They were the kindest folk in Hobbiton, and no mistake.

Sam looked back and waved before turning into Bagshot Row. Young as he was, he knew that this Yule brought much to celebrate; the larders were full, the family healthy, and firewood was stacked high for the winter. Not only that, Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo were the kindest folk in Hobbiton, and no mistake.

“Come inside, Frodo lad, before you catch cold!”

Bilbo waited by the hearth fire, and Frodo scurried back inside to join him.

Frodo felt the most fortunate of hobbits; he had friends and a home, and knew he was loved and wanted. Tomorrow he and Bilbo would deliver gifts of food and other welcome things to their neighbors before returning home to their own small feast. But tonight they would read aloud to one another for awhile longer, then raise a final toast before wishing each other a happy Yule and blowing out the lamps.

**END**

May the holidays and New Year bring you joy, everyone!
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Written for the Waymeet community on Livejournal's “Whodunnit?” Challenge: Each author chooses from a list of story titles, and every story should center around a mystery of some kind.

Takes place in my AU “Quarantined” universe, in which Frodo and Bilbo own a pup named Scamp, and Aragorn is known by the hobbits as ‘Estel’. This ficlet references my story “Reflections of the Past” chapters 1 and 5.

The Six-Fingered Glove Mystery

“Will you be home for supper?” Frodo asked as he helped his uncle unload the cartload of groceries.

“I'll try, Frodo lad. I just need to dash up to Overhill and pick up the apples Farmer Leafstock is holding for us. But you know he'll want to show me through the orchards while I'm there. Look for me when you see me, and don’t wear yourself to a frazzle with those Elvish translations. We’ll work on them together this evening, if you like.” With a quick hug, Bilbo climbed back up onto the seat of the cart. “Is Scamp safely on the ground?”

“She is,” Frodo assured his uncle. Scamp had accompanied Bilbo on his shopping trip that morning to Bywater, riding in the back of the cart which was cushioned with thick straw.

Frodo put all the sacks and boxes away in the pantry and cold cellar while Scamp happily raced around Bag End as if she hadn’t been home in months. She sniffed her way in and out of every room, then settled down to a late luncheon with Frodo in the sunny kitchen.

It was a beautiful, crisp autumn day, and Frodo soon felt restless sitting at his desk puzzling over Elvish poetry. As the sun began to set, he went outside to see what Scamp was up to. The small dog was under the big oak tree, playing with something unfamiliar. He walked over and picked it up.

“What’ve you got there, Mr. Frodo?” Sam called out. The lad was standing in the pumpkin patch, admiring the healthy vegetables.

“I’m not quite certain,” Frodo said with a confused smile. “Have you noticed this lying around, Sam? Is it your Gaffer’s?”

Sam came over to investigate, brushing his hands off on his breeches before taking the item from Frodo. It appeared to be a large glove, made of soft, brushed leather. However, it was like no glove either of them had ever seen before. The fingers were very long, and very thin, ending in rounded tips of cloth even softer than the leather. And that wasn’t the oddest thing.

“I’ve never seen this before,” Sam said, frowning. He turned the glove over and over, and even peered inside. “Where’s the thumb? Why does it have six fingers?”

“I can’t imagine,” Frodo said. “I wonder if a Ranger dropped it along the road, and Scamp picked it up.”

“A Ranger with six fingers?”

“It’s possible, I suppose,” Frodo mused. “There have been Men with whole hands missing, you know.”

“Well, maybe Mr. Estel left it behind after his last visit,” Sam offered.

“I don’t think so,” Frodo said. “Scamp would have found it before now. Besides, Estel would never leave anything behind. He always checks his pack before he laces it up.” He looked down at Scamp. “Where did you get this, you rascal? Did you find it in Bywater? Bilbo shouldn’t let you pick up strange things.” He let the glove fall back to the ground, and the pup pounced on it.

“Mr. Frodo, maybe a dwarf dropped it!” Sam said excitedly. “Wouldn’t long, thin fingers come in handy to pull jools and gold out of the rocks? How many fingers do they have?”

“I... I don’t know,” Frodo said. “I haven’t met any of them yet.” His eyes widened. “Maybe it is a dwarf glove, Sam! It certainly is a lot bigger and stranger than something a hobbit would wear.”

“Six-fingered dwarves with no thumbs,” Sam said, awed. “Did Mr. Bilbo ever mention anything about that?”

“No,” Frodo said. “Maybe he didn’t want to scare us.”

“Dragons and talking spiders and going without food for days and days is scary enough,” Sam agreed. “I’d hate to think he was out adventuring with folks with more fingers than they ought to have.”

There was a sudden rustle in the tree above them -- just a bird leaving the nest to hunt for night-flying insects -- but both boys jumped at the sound. Sam looked about nervously. The shadows were beginning to lengthen, and who knew what was lurking behind the trees...

“Mr. Frodo, you don’t suppose this dwarf is about anywhere, do you? Maybe looking for his missing glove? I’d lock your door for sure tonight, and don’t let in any strangers, you hear?”

“I’ll be extra careful,” Frodo said, feeling a bit uneasy himself. He found himself wishing that Bilbo would hurry home. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“G’night, sir,” Sam said. He suddenly turned and ran, and didn’t stop until he reached his own front door.

“Come on, Scamp, let’s go in,” Frodo said. Scamp picked up the glove in her teeth, obviously unwilling to part with it, and scampered through Bag End’s open door. Frodo followed, and was sure to lock it after him. He then went around lighting extra lamps before heading for the kitchen to start supper.

When Bilbo returned, bearing baskets of apples as well as hard cheeses purchased from the Leafstock farm, Frodo greeted him even more exuberantly than usual before bringing out the stew and bread he had kept warm. He joined Bilbo in the dining room while he ate, listening to his uncle’s news from Bywater and Overhill... all the time wondering about the glove and its origins.

“Bilbo,” Frodo said at last, “is there something about dwarves you never told me?”

“What’s that?” Bilbo asked. “What kind of ‘something’?”

“Do they have lots of fingers?” Frodo asked earnestly. “And no thumbs?”

Bilbo lay down his fork and stared at his nephew. “Frodo, is this some kind of riddle?”

In answer, Frodo left the room and located Scamp, sleeping in the parlor. The glove lay next to her, and he quietly picked it up and returned to the dining room.

“Scamp found this somewhere,” Frodo said, showing the strange item to Bilbo. “Sam and I thought, well... that maybe a dwarf dropped it.”

“Frodo, my dear lad, where did you get such an idea? Tom Cotton gave that to Scamp today when we visited him.”

“Farmer Cotton?” Frodo asked. “Why would he have a dwarf glove?”

Bilbo burst out laughing. “I doubt that he would! His wife made it a few years ago. Tom gave it to Scamp to play with, since she seemed to remember it.”

“Bilbo,” Frodo sighed, plopping down again into his chair,“I think you’d better start at the beginning.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Bilbo said. “When Scamp’s mother died, the Cottons had to nurse the pups themselves, you know. Apparently, Mistress Cotton sewed this glove to look and feel like a mother’s belly, filled it with warm milk, and the pups learned to suck on the ends of the ‘fingers’ where the milk filled them up.”

“There were only three pups,” Frodo said, not yet convinced.

“There were only three without homes by the time we arrived to meet Scamp,” Bilbo agreed, “but there were apparently six to begin with.”

“Oh,” Frodo said, feeling embarrassed.

“You lads certainly have active imaginations,” Bilbo said with a chuckle. “Now why don’t you give that ‘dwarf glove’ back to Scamp and we’ll see what we have for afters. Any berry tarts left?”

“Yes,” Frodo smiled. “I’ll make some fresh tea.” He picked up the glove and stood up, then hesitated. “Bilbo, could you... would you tell me more about dwarves? Do they really have beards down to their waists?”

“They really do,” Bilbo said, “and some even longer.” He got that faraway look in his eyes that Frodo knew well, and had learned to treasure. No matter how many fingers dwarves had, the story-telling would be extra-good tonight, and no mistake.

Happy, hobbity holidays, my friends!

Sam is 12, Frodo is 24, and Bilbo is 102.

The Magic of Words

Bag End was fragrant with baking and the sweet smell of the Yule logs glowing on the hearth. Burrowed into an overstuffed chair, with a book in one hand and a cup of hot tea in the other, Frodo sighed in contentment.

"Botheration!" Sam muttered from where he sat at the study table Bilbo had set up for his use. Hearing his young friend use one of Bilbo's favorite expressions made Frodo smile, but when he looked up, he saw Sam scowling fiercely.

“Anything wrong, Sam?”

“I didn't mean to disturb you, Mr. Frodo!” Sam exclaimed.

“It's all right,” Frodo said soothingly. He put down his book and tea, and joined Sam at the table. “What's causing you such distress?”

“I’ll never learn my letters proper, sir, and that’s a fact,” Sam said mournfully.

“Why do you say that?”

“Just look at this!” Sam said indignantly, pointing to one of the lists on his slate.

Yule
Spool
Jewel
Fuel

“They sound nearly the same, but are spelled different!” Sam said in frustration. “I don’t suppose Mr. Bilbo is pulling my leg?”

“I’m afraid not,” Frodo said gently.

“Who invented this spelling, sir? It’s rather daft, if I may say so.”

“You may, and I have no idea!” Frodo laughed. “It’s quite confusing, isn’t it?”

“Darn near impossible,” Sam grumbled. “Why, a turnip has more sense than to spell all these different.”

Bilbo emerged from the kitchen, holding a plateful of gingerbread.

“It's time to take a break, Samwise,” the old hobbit said cheerfully.

“Take and break,” Sam sighed. “There we are again.”

"Thank you, Bilbo," Frodo laughed, and took the plate from his uncle. "I fear that Sam is finding your new lessons a bit challenging."

"I'm not surprised!" Bilbo said. "He's learned all the rules so well, I thought it was time to start him on some of the exceptions."

"You think I'm doing good, Mr. Bilbo?" Sam asked delightedly.

"You're one of the best students I've ever taught," Bilbo said.

One of the best. Sam's eyes grew bright with joy.

"This calls for a celebration," Frodo announced. "I'll fetch some milk to go with that gingerbread."

"And I'll have to think up new things to challenge this lad," Bilbo chuckled, ruffling Sam's hair. "Perhaps we should tackle more of these exceptions over the winter."

"Like what?" Sam asked eagerly.

"The plural of foot is..."

"Feet!"

"The plural of root is..."

"Reet! I mean, roots." Sam corrected himself. "That's quite odd, isn't it? Oh, Mr. Bilbo, there's so much to learn."

"There is," Bilbo agreed. "And if you're smart enough to stay curious, and keep asking questions, you'll keep learning right to the end of your days."

Frodo returned with a pitcher of cold milk and three mugs, and the three hobbits sat by the fire and had their snack, and talked about the magic of words until the afternoon was quite gone and Sam had to leave.

"It's snowing," Frodo said, standing at the front door with Bilbo. He held out a hand to the softly falling flakes.

"It will be a lovely Yule," Bilbo said contentedly. "Perhaps Gandalf will come for a visit."

"I wonder who taught him his letters?"

"Now that's the kind of curiosity I like to encourage!" Bilbo laughed, and they closed the door, safe and warm in their beloved Bag End.