Chapter Three: First tale by Dreamflower: Second tale by Periantari: Linking passages by Gayalondiel.

“You know,” boomed Gimli, his voice cutting through the silence that hung at the end of Frodo’s tale, “Hobbits are not the only people who celebrate Yule.”

“No indeed,” replied Aragorn. “Many Men keep the Winter Festival, including the fine folk of Gondor.” He inclined his head to Boromir with these words, and received a gracious smile and nod in return. “But I have never heard that Dwarves kept the feast.”

“Most do not,” replied Gimli. He leaned back against a large rock and took a few puffs on his pipe, sending little wisps of smoke aloft, to be tattered by the wind. Only a Wizard could manage smoke rings in such blustery cold. “Dwarves are not much for the kinds of annual holiday celebrations you hobbits go in for.” He continued. “We do have our special days, but they are not something that just occur on the same date every year. But one year in the Lonely Mountain, some of us did give a hobbit-style Yule a try.”

Pippin twisted around, his green eyes wide, earning a reproachful tug from Aragorn, who had decided that tending a fidgety Took was not all that easy. “Whatever do you mean, Gimli?”

Frodo smiled. “Yes, Gimli, I think I too would like to hear about this. Why would Dwarves want to celebrate a Shire holiday?”

The Dwarf chuckled, and cleared his throat. “I think that you can guess that it was Bilbo’s fault entirely. It happened not quite twenty years ago--in fact it was the year before Bilbo’s famous party. Dori and Nori, accompanied by two of their young kindred, Nuri and Borin, sons of Nain made a stop at Bag End. They had delivered some gifts that Bilbo had commissioned. Most of them were for his coming birthday--his one hundred and tenth--but some were also for Yule. Bilbo loved to plan elaborate gifts, and always ordered them well in advance, so they were delivering them in the spring.”

The hobbits all laughed delightedly. Frodo grinned. “We remember that visit only too well!”

Merry blushed and buried his face in his knees. Pippin blushed as well, and might have tried to hide his own red face if not for Aragorn’s firm grip.

“Those two were so excited over the visit. Pippin sat on Dori’s lap and played with his beard, and then that night he and Merry tried to eavesdrop on Bilbo when he was talking to the Dwarves.”

“Well, be that as it may, Master Baggins, you and your kin made a mighty impression on Nuri and Borin. It was their first journey away from Dwarven strongholds, to folk who were not Dwarves. They were quite charmed by the Shire and by Bilbo Baggins. On their return to the Lonely Mountain, they talked about little else for weeks on end, until many were ready to run in the other direction when they saw them coming.”

He paused a moment, to puff on his pipe once more. Aragorn had chuckled at the picture he imagined, of the two enthusiastic young Dwarves. Gandalf shook his head, a twinkle in his eye. He had heard about this before. Boromir sat forward, and looked quizzically at Gimli.

Even Legolas, who was again on watch, cocked an ear to hear what was being said.

“Yet there were many of us younger Dwarves who were impressed with what they told us. One of the customs of hobbits that especially intrigued Nuri was that of Yule. Perhaps it was because he had made many of the Yule gifts that Bilbo had commissioned. He came up with the idea that we should try to hold ‘Yule’ there at the Lonely Mountain. Dáin was amused at the idea, and did not oppose it, though he refused to decree it an official holiday. He said those who wished to participate were free to do so, but he would not put a royal command on any.

This was quite sufficient for Nuri to make plans. Most of the older Dwarves thought it a waste of time; some, like Dáin, were merely amused. But a great number of us younger folk embraced the idea with enthusiasm.”

“But--” interrupted Merry, “--how did they know how hobbits celebrate Yule?”

Gimli grinned. “Ah, Master Meriadoc, there you have put your finger on the problem.”

Dori stiffened at his workbench. It was Nuri again.

“What do you want this time?” he grumbled.

“I was given to understand that you have a copy of the calendar of the Shire. I would like to see it.”

The older Dwarf sighed. The lad’s enthusiasm for all things hobbity was beginning to wear a bit thin. Perhaps he had been too young for the journey. He was only seventy-two, after all--of age for barely twenty years.

Without saying anything, Dori pulled open a nearby drawer. “Here,” he said gruffly. “Make a copy and bring it back. Don’t lose it. I need it to keep track of when we need to deliver Master Baggins’s work.”

“Oh thank you, Uncle!” He practically snatched the calendar from the older Dwarf and took off with it.

Dori heaved a deep breath. Fond as he was of Bilbo, that dratted hobbit had a way of stirring things up. Even from hundreds of miles away.

Armed with the calendar, Nuri hurried back to the rooms he shared with his brother Borin. Also there were several other friends: Gimli, Buri, Farin, Sturri, Narvi, Kali, Sudri, and a few others. All of them were quite excited over the notion of a hobbit holiday.

“Let’s see this calendar,” said Gimli. “We’ll have to compare it to our own.”

Borin rummaged in a cabinet, and drew out a large roll; placing it on the table, they spread the Shire calendar next to it. After a bit of discussion, it was finally decided that the hobbit’s date of Yule basically corresponded to the winter solstice. They were dismayed to discover how little time this gave them to prepare for the celebration.

Farin shook his head. “I don’t know, Nuri. This only gives us a few weeks to get ready. What will be involved in all this?”

“Aye,” said Gimli, “we shan’t have time for anything elaborate.”

Nuri and Borin looked at one another. They had hoped to have time to write to Master Baggins for some of the details, but obviously they would never get a reply in time for this year. And Nuri did not want to wait another year, as he was afraid the enthusiasm would wane. Rather than admit that his own notions of the holiday were rather sketchy, he answered with what should be obvious to anyone who had ever met a hobbit.

“Well, there is feasting, of course. With hobbits there is always feasting--I think at celebrations they have a very bountiful feast.”

There were several grins at this. While Dwarves did not eat so often as hobbits, they were also enthusiastic at the table, and quite fond of their victuals.

“I recall,” said Borin, “young Master Frodo telling me that they decorate the rooms with branches of evergreens.”

This drew a few raised eyebrows. Putting plants inside? Even cut ones? It seemed more than a bit odd, but of course they were hobbits, and that would explain it.

“And” added Nuri, “little Master Pippin told me that they give a lot of sweets to the children.”

“Yes,” put in Borin, “I got the impression from him that the youngest children were allowed to have as many sweets as they wished on Yule.”

“Oi, Pippin! That’s rich! What was that? A bit of wishful thinking?” snorted Merry.

“I don’t remember saying that! Ow! Strider, that smarts!”

“You don’t want an infection, do you?” He grinned at the older hobbits. “Do you mean to say that wasn’t true?”

This put the other three into a positive paroxysm of laughter.

“I should say not!” said Frodo, wiping tears from his eyes. “Especially for Pippin. When he was small, his sweets were carefully rationed, even at Yule. It was a danger to life and limb and every breakable object in the smial otherwise.”

“Not much different now,” said Merry.

Pippin turned a hurt and affronted look at his cousins, and then looked up at Aragorn with sad reproach. “Aragorn, they’re picking on me.”

He gave a mock stern look to the other hobbits, and in a mild tone, said “Stop picking on Pippin.”

This of course just made them laugh more.

“What else did your friend know about Yule?” Sam asked Gimli finally.

The other Dwarves nodded. That made sense. Some of them had actually worked on a few of those rather extensive orders.

Borin added “We also know that they have music and dancing and games.” That was fairly safe to say--any celebration would have such.

It was decided that Nuri and Sturri would go and tackle old Bombur the toymaker. Gimli and Borin would go to the women’s quarters and talk about the children. Buri and Farin were put in charge of finding the decorations. Sudri and Kali would talk to the cooks in the kitchen about the feast.

Unwed Dwarf women lived and worked in freedom among the males, but once they wed, they were sequestered for their protection, especially once they became child-bearers. For that reason, many Dwarf women chose not to wed at all, as it meant giving up their freedom.

At this time, there were less than thirty wives in residence in the women’s quarters, and fewer than four dozen beardless bairns, as they called the children under twenty. There were perhaps sixty more between the ages of twenty and forty. Adolescents moved out of the women’s quarters, and dwelt with their fathers until coming of age at fifty-two.

Gimli, as the older of the two, asked the attendant at the door for an audience with Dáin’s Queen, Thora daughter of Fundin.

In a few minutes, they were ushered into her presence. The queen was accompanied by Gimli’s mother, Gerd, and two other women whom they did not know. The only difference between the women and the men was that the women wore their hair in two braids rather than one, with their beards worn loose and unbraided, and the elaborate embroideries on their garments, which were otherwise the same. Thora wore a beautifully crafted circlet of mithril.

Gimli and Borin bowed deeply, and as the elder, Gimli spoke. “Your Majesty,” he said, and then nodded at Gerd, “Mother.”

“Gimli, son of Gloin,” said the queen, “what would you have of me?”

Gimli cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, there are plans afoot to hold a special celebration at the winter’s Solstice, called ‘Yule’--” the queen nodded. Dáin had told her of this with much amusement. “--since this celebration is for entire families, and especially for children, we needed to speak to you about it. Would you grant your permission for the wives and children to attend the feasting? And there are to be special gifts and sweets to be distributed to the children.”

“This sounds most interesting, young Gimli, tell me more…”

Bombur walked over to his visitors, rubbing his hands. “Well, laddies, what can I do for you?”

Nuri nervously explained his mission. He was more than a little nervous, as he knew most of the other older Dwarves did not wholly approve of this ‘Yule business’. He needn’t have worried. Bombur was delighted. He had over the years sent many of his most marvelous work west to the Shire at Bilbo’s behest. The idea that their own beardless bairns would also now benefit was only too welcome to him. Of course, as there was no real profit to be made, he could not afford to give of their best work, but--

“I know just the thing, lads! I have hundreds of apprentice made toys in storage, most of them nicely made, but of course I can’t sell them…”

“What do you want?” He asked brusquely, turning to gesture furiously with a wooden spoon to an assistant who must have been doing something wrong.

Nervously, Sudri explained about the feast. “The hobbits of the Shire always have very abundant and elaborate feasts--”

“What do I have to serve?” he interrupted.

The two younger Dwarves looked at one another. Kali shrugged.

“Whatever you so please, so long as it is festive. And it is customary to gift the bairns with many sweets.”

The cook grinned. Free rein. This could be interesting…

“How do we do this, Buri?” asked Farin.

Buri shrugged. “Let’s just chop down half a dozen and haul them into the Mountain.

“Good day, Gimli,” said Thora. “The women and I have been talking, and were wondering about how we would distribute the promised sweets to the children. We can’t just pass them out without them quarreling. Your mother came up with an idea. We will take from each child one of his or her stockings, and those can be filled with the treats. Then they will have whatever is in their stocking…”

“And what, pray tell, is so funny, Master Hobbits?”

“Oh, Gimli!” said Frodo breathlessly “whole trees? Inside?”

Sam shook his head. Just like Dwarves to cut down perfectly good trees and drag them indoors. Why, if they insisted on doing that, they should have just dug them up and planted them in barrels. Hobbits were content with a few branches of spruce or holly, and some sprigs of mistletoe.

Pippin looked interested. “It’s a shame hobbits don’t wear stockings--a stocking full of sweets would be splendid!” His green eyes glittered at the thought of that many sweets.

“You would say that,” grinned Merry.

“Harrumph!” Gimli cleared his throat. “If I may continue?”

“By all means, Master Dwarf,” said Gandalf, his delight well hidden beneath his gruff tone. He had heard this story from Dáin himself--but it was quite amusing to hear it from a different point of view. “pray continue your tale.” He took a puff on his pipe, and blew out a wisp of green smoke that resolved itself into the shape of a large evergreen tree, before dissipating in a burst of color. It was gratifying to hear the appreciative “ahhs!” of the hobbits as they watched.

The Queen came in, leading the wives and mothers, as they ushered in the children, beardless bairns and older youngsters as well. The stockings full of treats had been laid out in rows beneath the trees, and the children, at a gesture from their mothers, raced each to find his or her own. There was no wait to begin greedily gobbling down the contents of the stockings either, and the Dwarven women began to feel stirrings of dismay.

Then Bombur entered. He was dressed in a fine outfit of red, and carried over his shoulder a large bag full of the promised toys. Behind him came half a dozen of his apprentices with the same thing. They were nearly overrun by the little ones as they rushed up to claim their surprises. No child got fewer than a dozen presents, as well as some of the sparklers and crackers.

At first the Dwarves were all charmed to see the delight of the children. But many of the toys were of the noisy kind: horns and drums and bells and whistles, not to mention the crackers; and some of the children became quarrelsome as they saw some other child with a toy they coveted more.

The Hall was beginning to dissolve into chaos; one child drew too near the trees with his sparklers, and they were set alight. Gimli and Nuri moved quickly to douse the fire, but it had certainly subdued everyone, and an ominous calm descended.

But just then, Grerr appeared to announce the feast. Now everyone took their places at the tables, for once wives and children sitting with their husbands and fathers--something very rare under the mountain.

A parade of cooks and waiters appeared, bearing dish after dish. The tables were groaning with the weight of the food, and the wine began to flow freely. No sooner had the assembled Dwarves begun to make headway with the dishes already before them, than the next remove was announced, and more food began to appear…

Before the evening was ended, the tables were not the only thing groaning.

The next morning was an unusually quiet one under the Lonely Mountain. Dwarven healers, who were themselves suffering, found themselves only too busy with the hangovers and bellyaches of others. The remains of broken toys littered the floor of the Hall, and the smell of the burned trees lingered. In the women’s quarters, cross mothers were dealing with children still far too full of excess energy from all the sweets…

“Oh,” said Pippin, “that’s too bad.”

“I don’t know, Pip,” said Merry. “Seems to me like only hobbits have the stamina for a proper Yule.”

Gandalf burst out laughing, and soon the others joined in. For several long minutes they enjoyed quiet mirth, but true to his Tookish heritage, Pippin’s curiosity proved insatiable and he sat up straight once more, belatedly remembering his damaged ankle.

“Ow,” he groaned dramatically, earning himself sympathetic looks and a renewal of attention from his cousins. Assuaged, he looked up again and caught Boromir’s eye. “Aragorn said you celebrate Yule too, Boromir?”

“We do,” he replied.

“Tell us a story?” Pippin assumed his pleading face; the one with wide innocent eyes and a hopeful expression. The one that had never failed to date, despite his age. Boromir squirmed.

“Yule has been… complicated for my family,” he said at length. “I will tell you a tale of my brother, Master Pippin, for the Winter Feast is for us a time for family.”

“Oh, good!” said Pippin approvingly, settling his head against Merry’s shoulder.

The wind blew fiercely against the windowpane which young five-year old Faramir was staring out of. Faramir was not that content about the Yule season so far. Father had been unnaturally quiet about the whole holiday coming up, and Boromir did not help in easing the pain of the first Yule without Mother. He had scarcely remembered the tragic event that happened close to that of last Yule, for he had not been allowed to see Mother in the last days of her life because of fear that her illness would spread.

Faramir cupped his hands in his face and pouted. He wanted a big feast and presents too despite the lingering feelings of melancholy regarding Mother.

Young Faramir was so entranced with the falling snow outside and his own thoughts that he did not see that Boromir had stepped into the room to see him.

“Hey, Faramir!” Time for the big Yule feast that you’ve been looking forward to,” said Boromir as he swooped done upon his younger brother and picked him up.

“We really are going to have it, Boromir?” Faramir asked excitedly. I had thought that Father didn’t want to do anything this Yule other than to be sad and grumpy,” replied Faramir with a smile.

“Father didn’t want gifts to be delivered, but I do not think he means not have a Yule feast… The feast had always been Mother’s favorite part of Yule …” Boromir trailed off, but continued holding onto Faramir closely.

“Come, let’s see if the feast is ready… I do not think it’ll be as great as last year or the year before, but I’m sure Father did not choose to get rid of this tradition… Mother would not be pleased with that,” said Boromir.

Boromir and Faramir went quickly downstairs to the great dining hall of the Citadel. There lay many plates of chicken, roast beef, potatoes, fish, cakes, and fruit. Denethor sat at the main seat of the great table and grinned at his sons when they appeared.

“The cooks have prepared quite a feast for us. We’ll have a Yule feast in commemoration of Mother for I know that she would want us to be well fed during this season,” said Denethor with a dry smile.

Boromir and Faramir looked at each other with expressions of happiness. They could not believe what they saw in front of them. They quickly ran to embrace their father, who rarely showed any happy feelings the whole year since Finduilas’ illness and subsequent death.

“Now, now my sons, do not forget to say your prayers to your Mother before indulging and also remember that she too loves you very much,” said Denethor.

After Boromir and Faramir had said their prayers, Denethor spoke up once again.

“There are many stories to be told about your dear Mother during Yuletide. One happy story I must tell you all is the first time I met her was during Yule time. It was during a Yule party that I had attended and the first time I saw her was one that I would never forget. Your beautiful mother had on a blue mantle cloak, which complemented her beautifully because of the blue ribbons in her hair. We spoke to each other during that party, and I realized that she had qualities of gentleness, forgiveness, and caring beneath her lovely and fair face. It had been such a great twelve years with her, and I feel extremely blessed that she bore me two sons. She would want you, Boromir, to become a great steward of the realm of Gondor…” Denethor’s voice faded as tears came upon his eyes.

“Now… yes… more stories about your mother later… this day and this feast are for you to enjoy as well,” said Denethor.

Boromir and Faramir ate in silence, savoring the delicious food that Father had told the cooks to prepare. Boromir missed his mother a lot as well and had thought about what Yule would mean without her. He could understand his father’s somber mood and his reluctance to celebrate with all the Gondorians this year. However, he was also in the mood to have happier stories be told about Mother. Like the time that Mother had taught him about the names of the constellations of stars in the sky or the time in which she had sown one of the most elaborately conceived coats that she had spent a lot of time making. In order to be fair, she had always made sure that what he had, Faramir would always get something similar as well.

“I have memories of Mother as well,” Boromir said out loud. “So very many. I remember her many stories that she told Faramir and me before bedtime. I remember especially the one about what would happen if I did not engage in my studies and equestrian lessons… that every common peasant in Gondor would outpace me in learning all that is relevant to maintaining the city and country.” Boromir chuckled. “She said many stories that said how I will eventually become if I were not motivated enough.”

“Mother sang me lullabies,” said Faramir with a mouth full of potatoes. “I liked that about her a lot.”

Denethor and Boromir laughed. They could barely hear what Faramir was saying but he was funny with the gurgle of sounds that came out of his mouth.

“Yes, Findulias was a great mother, a caring wife,” said Denethor. “But there’s another story about her that must be mentioned and he meaningfully looked at Boromir when saying this. “When you marry, older son, you are to give your wife that beautiful blue mantle that so complemented your Mother. I would love to have it be given for good use for the future stewardess of Gondor.”

“But one must realize what Yule is about. It’s about being together with the family you have and sharing moments with them while you still can. Yule will never be quite the same without your dear mother, but I know that we can adapt and perhaps bring back all the other traditions that are associated with this time of year.” Denethor paused.

“Ah, but you are both young still, and I still feel the weight of grief close to my heart. But you young lads must remember what Yule means in light of this great tragedy that has happened to us… oh my dear Finduilas…” Denethor’s voice drifted once again as tears gathered in his eyes.

“We ate the rest of the meal which had only dessert left, but we ate the fruits in utter silence. Faramir and I understood what Father had meant, but it seemed hard to ingrain in his mind what Yule means.”

“ The reason why I tell this Yule story is because of the significance of our trying to recover from Mother’s death. It had been hard for Father the whole year, and that Yule would be the only one in which he would hold a small Yule feast, surprisingly for he grew more reserved and quiet ever since 2989. I do not know if Faramir remembers much of that first Yule, but I gave Mother’s blue mantle cloak for him to keep as a keepsake of her. Faramir reminds me of her, with his actions and his pity towards others. He cares more for music and lore like Mother did as well. Faramir is dear to me and to have seen him smile because of the plentiful food at Yule is an image I would never forget.”

With those last words, Boromir stopped his story. “It is another’s turn to share a Yuletide story. I know mine was not the most cheery, but it is one that had much meaning in my life…” He glanced over the hobbits, and saw that their faces were bright with a mixture of sympathy, kindness understanding and something else… love? Could it be that these little ones bore love for the comrades they had known so fleetingly? They were indeed a people to be treasured.

TBC