In the Wake of Yule

By: Elemmírë

Summary: A warm, cozy look at Bag End on the last night of Yule--through the eyes of a rather unique visitor.

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit off either its story or characters.

Author's Note: This was written rather spur of the moment, as I wished to share a warm holiday moment with all of you. Happy Hobbit Days ... (I mean Holidays) to you all and may each and every one of you have a wonderful and prosperous New Year! ~Julie

It was a scene of utter tranquility, he thought to himself whilst peering into the round window of one of the curious tunneled homes of the fur-foots. The gently falling snow gathered at the base of the circular window sill and his cold, wet nose pressed against the glass windowpane, his frosty breath momentarily fogging the view. A deep sniff revealed the lingering scents of a scrumptious Yule dinner consumed earlier that evening.

Inside, there was greenery hung about the spacious room with its high-beamed ceiling. There were garlands of fir branches intertwined with ivy, along with wreathes of holly with its shiny red berries adorning the hole. A small pine tree stood in one corner of the room; it was decorated with baked biscuits hanging from red and green ribbons, strings of cranberries and nuts, and there were also chains of brightly dyed parchment circling its' girth. Underneath the tree lay an assortment of oddly shaped items with bits and pieces of brown or decorated paper and ribbons strewn amongst them. A warm, cheery fire roared in the round brick fireplace at the center of one cream-colored wall, while melting candles shed their glowing light into the dark corners. Along with two cups--one of milk and one of tea--a plate resting on the end table revealed the crumbs from some long-eaten piece of cake or biscuit.

Seated in the middle of the room on a large, cozy chair were the two fur-foots who lived in the hole. The elder with the slowly greying hair sat comfortably with his large furry feet propped up on a cushioned stool, his bare toes wiggling about every now and then. In his hands he held a book and if one listened close enough, one could hear an ages-old tale involving the Elves.

The younger of the fur-foots--the one with the dark curls-- sat beside the other, practically curled in his elder's lap underneath a soft, but well-worn patchwork quilt. In his little hands was clutched some sort of new wooden toy--of Dwarvish make, no doubt. Every so often, the young fur-foot would struggle not to let out a yawn and would blink to keep his large, blue eyes open.

Eventually the smaller of the two fur-foots fell fast asleep, its head of dark curls resting against the elder's shoulder. The elder fur-foot closed the book and set it aside, before carefully removing the coveted new toy from lax fingers and placing it atop the book. The elder fur-foot gently pulled the little one full into his lap, kissing a rosy cheek before holding him close. The blanket was tugged into place over both and soon the sound of the elder's snoring could be heard reverberating against the now-frosted windowpanes. The fire continued to crackle merrily in the hearth, providing a warm heat that permeated the cozy smial, sheltering it from the cold outside.

As silent as he had come, The Fox turned away from the warm scene and padded back down The Hill in the deepening snow. A perfect Yule night it was at Bag End.