Chapter 37. Seeing the Old Year Out 

Yule festivities at the Great Smials that year followed much the same pattern they always have done; for Tooks are traditionalists, as a rule. Thus, a hobbit from an hundred years in the past (or an hundred years in the future, for that matter) would have found the decorations, the special food and drink, and the observances – from greeting Father Yule early in the season to ceremoniously lighting the Yule Log and then roasting mushrooms and bacon into the wee hours – hearteningly familiar.

Bilbo found the entirety of it all quite jolly, especially compared to the somewhat quieter Yuletide celebrations he remembered from his earlier years in Hobbiton, before his wandering uncle had returned and persuaded the Old Took to forgive Belladonna and own her once more.

Not that "own" is quite the right word, Bilbo mused to himself as he turned his toasting fork in his hands. Nobody could be said to own Mum, not even my old Dad – who says he married her for her spirit in any event.

His lips tightened in a brief but humourless smile as he thought back on the past few weeks since their arrival. Though Bilbo might now be properly called an empty-headed tween, in point of fact his head was quite full of thoughts and impressions as well as the new opinions he was forming based on his observations this trip, coloured by his understanding of Uncle Isen that had grown, along with pity, since that day when they'd brought the hobbit home. To Bag End, that is, Bilbo's home. How he wished it could become Isen's home as well. But the Old Took tended to maintain tight control over his children, even the married ones, bolstered by the power he wielded over the Tooks and as the Thain of the Shire.

'Penny for your thoughts!' Sigismond said beside him, lifting his sturdy-but-somewhat-unwieldy toasting fork from the fire and testing the bacon it held with cautious fingers. 'Not quite crispy...' He levered the heavy wrought-iron implement back down over the burning log and manoeuvered the working end with an eye to hovering it over a promising section of glowing coals and bright flames.

'Silver or copper?' Bilbo wanted to know, prevaricating. He certainly did not want to share his current thoughts with his Tookish cousins who were also grandsons of the Old Took.

'I'd like to know what kind of thoughts that rattle around that Baggins brain o' yours might actually be worth more than a copper,' Flambard jested from his other side.

'So you're offering me a copper penny; I think I shall hold out to see if Siggy makes me a better offer.'

'Following in your father's footsteps as a canny hobbit-of-business, are you? Very well then, silver it is!' And Sigismond shifted his toasting fork to one hand so that he could dig in his pocket with the other.

'Mind your mushrooms!' Bilbo yelped, grabbing at his cousin's tilting implement while managing to keep the tip of his own from dipping too close to the flames and potentially losing its bounty. 

Once Sigsimond had regained control of his toasting fork, he turned his face to address Bilbo with all the dignity a tween could muster. 'I am minding my mushrooms.'

'I will thank you much for that,' Bilbo said graciously. 'I wouldn't want to have to take pity on you for losing your mushrooms in the fire and have to share my portion!' ...for the Steward had counted out each tween's portion of mushrooms for midnight supper, warning them that there would be no more in the case of any untoward circumstances. While hobbits in general have a passion for mushrooms, empty-headed tweens have been known to engage in gleeful battles featuring foodstuffs as their weapons, and for no good reason that any adult might be able to discern. The impromptu snowball tournament that had drawn youth and many adults from the surrounding area after the heavy snows began falling soon after the Bagginses' arrival had only wound them up further. The plunging temperatures that came on the heels of the initial storm had kept everyone smial-bound, for the most part, except for short excursions to gather green branches to decorate the Smials in the traditional manner. "Everyone" being the gentlehobbits and their children, that is. Working hobbits still had to go out into the bitter weather, of course, though most were well-wrapped-up in thick coats and cloaks made of warm Tookish wool. Many who ventured outside went so far as to wear one or more cloaks over their coat! Why, even the vigorous Tuckbourn stream that ran through the middle of Tuckborough had frozen all the way across!

Happily, the topic of Bilbo's thoughts had gone by the wayside. Going forward, the Baggins tween schooled his thoughts, at least for the coming hours (or even until the dawning, he might hope; since this was the first year his parents had allowed him to join the tweens in this tradition, he wasn't sure if he'd be allowed to stay up until dawn or whether they would interrupt him after the Drinking of the Midnight Toast and take him off to his bed).

He certainly did not want to discuss Uncle Isen with his cousins, much less Uncle Grim or any of the other uncles, much less the Old Took! 

Perhaps foolishly, he'd taken for granted that Isen would return to Bag End with them. The hobbit had settled in so naturally, he'd leave a gaping hole if he should remain at the Great Smials when the Bagginses returned home.

...and yet, that was exactly what Bilbo had come to realise would happen! Only now did he understand his father's caution before they had set out for the Smials. Had Isen healed sufficiently to live amongst the Tooks without prompting Talk that could get him shunned or, worse, shut away from society?

'There you go, frowning again,' Siggy said, startling Bilbo out of his gloomy thoughts. 'Do you mean to bring bad luck down upon the lot of us, then? Don't you benighted Bagginses know that you have think hopeful, cheerful thoughts of all the good things you want to happen in the coming year?'

Forcing a smile he didn't feel, Bilbo said lightly, 'Well how should I know such things? This is my first time, seeing Last Night through and welcoming First Day's coming!'

'Well then, there's your first lesson in proper decorum for seeing out the Old Year!' Flambard said, turning his fork with frowning intensity until he was satisfied that his mushrooms and bacon were cooking evenly. But then he looked up with a bright grin. 'Mine's almost ready! How are you slowcoaches coming along?'

Siggy countered this insult by laughing and hoisting his iron fork in the air. 'I'm done! Last one to the table's a rotten egg!'

When Bilbo started to get up, Flambard stopped him. 'Better a rotten egg than half-cooked bacon,' he said, nodding meaningfully at their toasting forks. 'Siggy was the first one in line for mushrooms and, thus, first at the fireside...'

'I s'pose,' Bilbo said doubtfully. But then he smiled (not wanting to attract bad luck, of course) and shrugged. 'I s'pose we can both be rotten eggs together, if it comes to that...'

'Birds of a feather flock together!' Flambard said cheerily.

'From rotten eggs?' retorted Bilbo with feigned incredulity.

'Why o' course!' Fortinbras called from his place by the grand hearth. 'Rotten birds hatch from rotten eggs! Haven't you ever wondered where carrion crows come from?'

Though the joke wasn't that funny, Bilbo laughed heartily, lest someone should accuse him of solemnity.

'I wonder what the New Year will bring?' mused Adalgrim, sitting next to Fortinbras. He looked down the line of celebrating tweens to meet Bilbo's eye and added, 'That's the other requirement for singing in the New Year...'

'The other?' Bilbo said, confused.

Adalgrim laughed. 'Cheerfulness and cultivating a sense of wonder, for one... Tooks need all the luck we can gather, for we certainly seem to spend it freely all the rest of the year! ...and talking about our plans and dreams for future days...'

'For he who has no target to aim for will end up shooting at naught and wasting his arrows!' Fortinbras finished for him.

Bilbo nodded. 'Good food for thought,' he commented.

'Give me food for the eating!' Fortinbras shouted, lifting his fork and brandishing it. 'I'll see you at table, Cousin!' Another tween, toasting fork ready and loaded for bear, took his place by the fireside, for despite the enormity of the log roasting on the huge hearth in the great room, there wasn't anywhere close to enough room for all the tweens in the Great Smials to fit at one time. When Bilbo returned to the hearthside after leaving to sit down and eat his mushrooms and bacon with buttered slices of bread and pickled vegetables and the choice of the multitude of other foodstuffs laid out on platters, he would have to wait his turn to roast any more of the mushrooms and bacon waiting at his place between his parents. Meanwhile, while Bilbo was making his journeys there and back again, Bungo and Bella were eating late supper (which had followed high tea, when the log had been lit, and then eventides) and laughing and talking and exchanging toasts with the hobbits around them.

*** 

At last, Bilbo returned to the table – having neatly avoided any danger of transforming into a rotten egg, considering that another tween had slipped into his place when he'd stood up. When he sat down between his parents, Bungo slapped him on the back and queried, 'So what do you think of this new tradition?'

'New tradition?' Bella said in confusion. 

'New to Bilbo, that is,' Bungo clarified, eliciting a laugh from his beloved. From having familiarised himself with Tookish traditions during the long months when he'd been seeking the Old Took's favour and Bella's hand, Bungo had pretended to be in high spirits and had quite deliberately kept his wife laughing all evening, for it wouldn't do if anyone around them should discern her worry – and not only her worry, but Bungo's as well. This grand event, crowded and seemingly never-ending, was the critical point in their endeavour, just as he'd anticipated. All through the extended feast that had begun at teatime and would not end until after midnight supper at the earliest, Isen would have to play the part of a Took of the Great Smials to his utmost ability, without a hint of whimsy or imagination. Going forward into the New Year, the Smials was large enough that Isen would be able to avoid spending too much time with any one relative, much less a horde of Tooks, and he would have little trouble seeking solitude in the depths of the sprawling manse if he needed to soothe his nerves.

'Oh, of course,' Bella dismissed with a wave of her hand. She picked up her serviette and dabbed at her lower lip, carefully not looking at her younger brother Isengar, seated beside their mother. She'd heard his laughter ring out several times during the feast, and her furtive glances had shown the hobbits around him smiling and laughing. He'd managed not to scandalise any of his relations, it seemed, and that was all to the good. Out of all the hobbits at the head table, Isengrim appeared to be the least jolly and the most watchful. Of course, he was the one Isengar most badly needed to convince, and there was the rub.

Belladonna could only hope that her youngest brother wouldn't tire under the combination of pressure and the need for endurance, and slip, and lose all that he cared for, beginning with his freedom...

***