A Yule Time Surprise by RadcliffePotter
Author name: RadcliffePotter
Recipient's name: Cathleen
Title: A Yule Time Surprise
Rating: G
Request: "Pippin and Merry and Frodo, maybe Bilbo, young hobbits, Took farm! A family yule"
Author's notes: This story is the last Yule Frodo has before the Quest. (Though obviously, he doesn't know that.)
Summary: When a fierce cold lays Bilbo low two days before Yule, he and Frodo are dissapointed to miss Yule celebrations with Merry, Pippin, and the other cousins. Fortunately, things don't always go as we imagine. ^_^
A YuleTime Surprise
By RadcliffePotter
Frodo heard a giant sneeze, echoing through the halls of Bag End. He grimaced and headed towards the source. He opened the door to Cousin Bilbo’s room to find one very grumpy and tousled Hobbit. A night of restless sleep was revealed by the bed sheets - which had been half kicked off the bed and were half in a ball on top of the bed. One of the pillows had fallen onto the floor and the other was squished flat on the bed. In the midst of this chaotic nest was Bilbo.
His hair was wild - some parts of it mashed down by his attempts to sleep, the other half standing up in various states of disarray from his wriggling while attempting to get comfortable. His nose was red and chapped (Frodo assumed from blowing it so many times) and the apples of his cheeks bore the unmistakable signs of a low-grade fever. Continuing his assessment of his uncle, Frodo saw that Bilbo’s usually bright eyes looked dull and tired. Well, there was no doubt about it. Bilbo was sick. Frodo sighed inwardly. It was only two days until Yule and he had so been looking forward to going to see his cousins in Great Smials. How he had longed to see the West Farthing!
Though Frodo was more thoughtful than his cousins and generally enjoyed some solitude to read and to pursue his thoughts, he had to admit that he had been looking forward to seeing Merry and Pippin for the holiday. Though younger and sometimes rather too rowdy for his liking, Frodo loved them dearly. What a shame. Word would have to be sent that they simply could not attend the family gathering for Yule…now he only had to convince Bilbo that he was too sick to go. Knowing how stubborn he was, his uncle would most likely shrug it off. He would say that he was “fine” and that there was no reason why the two couldn’t still go. Truth be told, Frodo knew that Bilbo had been looking forward to the festivities just as much as he had.
With a small prayer to Eru, Frodo approached his uncle. Cautiously, he approached him. Before he could even get a word out, Bilbo said, as jovially as he could muster, “Hello, my lad, looking forward to seeing your cousins?”
Frodo cast him an obviously disbelieving look before Bilbo quickly added, “Just got a bit of a sniffle. Nothing to worry about.”
Frodo thought about making the points that he was very obviously sick. But he realized that that would get him nowhere, so instead, he decided to pretend as though things were normal. If Bilbo wouldn’t believe himself and if he wouldn’t believe Frodo, perhaps time would prove the point that Frodo was trying to make. The fact that he, Frodo, was up before his uncle - who was a perpetual early riser - was only further proof of Bilbo’s sickness. “How about some breakfast, uncle?”
At the mention of food, his usually insatiable uncle mumbled something like, “Well, I could use a little something.”
It took all Frodo had not to laugh. The poor old Hobbit. Everyone knew that Bilbo (like most Hobbits) loved to eat. So, to have him grumble out something about eating a “little” was the most obvious sign of all that Bilbo wasn’t himself. But, knowing how stubborn his uncle could be, Frodo just went to the kitchen and sat about gathering together some breakfast. His uncle could keep up his ruse for as long as he pleased, but his appetite - or lack thereof - would soon betray him. Frodo went to the cold cellar and grabbed some eggs and butter. He quickly made some scrambled eggs and plain toast. He pulled some jelly and fruit from the cupboards. He poured some glasses of water. He looked at the assortment that he had piled onto the tray and - for good measure - added some fresh cheese, which he sliced, and some crackers. He carried the whole tray into his uncle’s room and was about to sit and watch his uncle eat, when a knock came at the door.
Frodo set the tray carefully over Bilbo’s legs, gave him a cheery smile, and went to see who was at the door. He opened the door to find Sam Gamgee standing on his doorstep. “Why hello, Sam!” Frodo said, cheerfully.
“Hullo, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam, equally as pleased to see his friend. “I just finished weeding the garden. Is there anything else you or Mr. Bilbo be needing?”
Trying his best to be subtle, Frodo asked casually, “Sam, would your mother make some more of those blueberry muffins that Bilbo loves so?”
“O’ course,”
“And, perhaps some of that delicious chicken stew?”
Sam paused and eyed Frodo up and down, “Are you feeling sick, Mr. Frodo?”
“No, no!” Frodo said, a little bit too hurriedly.
Sam seemed to realize what the other option was if Frodo wasn’t sick. He nodded and then hurried off to request the needed things from his mother, but not before he said, “Make sure he gets plenty of sleep.”
Sighing with relief, Frodo turned and headed back to his uncle’s room. Bilbo hadn’t gotten very far with his tray. He had eaten the toast dry and had picked at the eggs, but didn’t seem to have touched any of the other food. Bilbo smiled wanly and said, “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Frodo refrained from saying that was obvious and instead said, “You didn’t eat much.”
“I wasn’t very hungry,” Bilbo said. Hearing those words from his own mouth, he too seemed to realize that he was sick. Not that he’d admit it, of course. But there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Frodo looked around and saw that the fire in Bilbo’s room was dying out. He knew he had better build it up so that he could keep Bilbo warm.
Like magic, there was a knock at the door. Frodo once again left Bilbo’s room and this time found the Gaffer standing on the doorstep of Bag End.
“Why hello, Gaffer,” Frodo said, “how are you today?”
The Gaffer leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Apparently better than old Bilbo. I hear from my Sam that he’s not doing so well.”
Frodo shook his head. Thank goodness. The Gaffer and Bilbo were old friends. If anyone could gracefully get Bilbo to admit that he was sick, it was the Gaffer.
“Well,” the Gaffer said, much more loudly, “is there anything that you and Mr. Bilbo will be needin’?”
“Perhaps you should ask Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo said, just as loudly.
Knowing where Bilbo’s bedroom was, the Gaffer set off down the hall. He knocked politely on the door and waited for a response before entering. Frodo didn’t bother them. He knew the Gaffer would make Bilbo see sense. In the meantime, he had to get word out to Merry, Pippin, and the rest that they couldn’t come for the holiday. With Bilbo sick and so many little ones at the Hall, the cold would be sure to spread like wildfire - a Yule present that the Thain would be sure to dislike. Fortunately, Sam always seemed to know just when he was needed, for he turned up at the still open door bearing an armful of firewood. “Ma’s workin’ on making those muffins and soup,” he said. “Since the Gaffer can always get Bilbo to see some sense, I sent him on up here.”
“Oh, Sam,” Frodo said, gratefully, taking the firewood from his friend’s arms. “Thank you so much. But…” he said hesitantly, “I do need to let the Thain know that we will be unable to come. They should be expecting us and if Bilbo and I do not arrive soon, they will most certainly begin to worry.”
Sam nodded. Realizing the importance of the task, given how close it was to Yule, he said, “Don’ you worry, Mr. Frodo. A messenger lad will be off in no time,” and he was gone.
The next day and a half passed uneventfully. Bilbo was still sick, battling what seemed to be an intense head cold that took away a good portion of his appetite. Fortunately, the cold seemed contained to his head and he wasn’t throwing up - but Bilbo certainly wasn’t a happy Hobbit either. He kept sneezing and blowing his nose, complained of constant sinus pressure, and slept quite a lot. However, the Gaffer kept returning to provide Bilbo with some company, Sam’s mother kept making delicious and nutritious soups, stews, breads, and deserts designed to tempt their sick patient, and Frodo (with the help of dear Sam) kept Bag End running.
Far from having time to spend reading or in contemplation, Frodo found that he spent much of his time trying to do everything he could to keep Bag End in order while fretting about Bilbo’s health. He knew Bilbo was certainly not a young Hobbit. And though it might be silly to worry about a simple head cold, Frodo couldn’t help himself. He didn’t know what he would do without Bilbo.
At the same time, knowing that Bilbo was sad not to be visiting the cousins for Yule, Frodo spent his spare time decking out Bag End with all manner of Yule decorations. There were strings of cranberries, cheery boughs of pine trees, bowls full of pinecones, apples, and oranges, and the kitchen smelled of gingerhobbits baking in the oven. Poor Bilbo, Frodo thought.
Wanting to make his uncle’s Yule wonderful, despite the unfortunate coming of his cold, Frodo decided that he would pull out all the stops and cook a wonderful Yule feast (with the help of Sam, of course). Frodo found himself running between the market and home multiple times a day as he found more that he needed for his recipes.
Around dinner time on Yule Eve, Frodo heard a knock at the door. He couldn’t imagine who it would be. At the express request of Bilbo, Sam and the Gaffer had been sent home for the holiday so that they could spend time with their own family instead of spending time with, to quote Bilbo’s words, “an old, grouchy Hobbit”. After exchanging a quizzical look with Bilbo, Frodo went to open the door.
Frodo burst out with a half laugh, half gasp of surprise when he beheld Pippin and Merry on the doorstep. “Hullo, cousin!” said Pippin, throwing himself into his older cousin in an exuberant hug. Merry smiled broadly as he watched Pippin’s bone crushing hug and said rather wryly, “Surprise, Frodo!”
Grinning with mirth, Frodo let the two in and closed the door against the winter chill. Before Frodo could even ask, Merry said, “Well, you didn’t think we let you and Bilbo spend Yule here all by yourselves, now did you?”
“Of course we wouldn’t!” Pippin chimed in cheekily, “I mean, considering how old you both are.” Frodo spluttered indignantly but couldn’t help but feel like he was bursting with happiness. Putting a finger to his lips for silence, the three heard Bilbo yell in a voice still hoarse from coughing, “Frodo, who was it?”
“Just someone calling to see how you were feeling, uncle!” Frodo called back. He winked conspiratorially at his younger cousins and indicated that they should quietly follow him. Frodo headed back to his uncle’s room.
“Uncle,” he said, peeking his head into the room, “I found something quite nice had been left on our doorstep,”
“Oh?” said Bilbo, curiously.
“Ta-da!” said Pippin, bursting into the room with Merry on his heels. “We’ve come to surprise you! Happy Yule, Bilbo!”
Bilbo’s expression of shock quickly turned into one of barely concealed mirth as the two cousins climbed up onto his bed and began regaling him with tales of their journey to Bag End. Frodo slipped away to finish making the Yule feast he had been working so hard on. He couldn’t help but smile as he walked away. He could hear Pippin saying something about “fighting trolls” on their way to Bag End. Frodo was quite sure that there were no “trolls” on the route from the West Farthing to Hobbiton, but if the happiness saturating Bilbo’s voice was any indication, this would certainly be the best Yule - and the best medicine - that any Hobbit could hope for.
Recipient's name: Cathleen
Title: A Yule Time Surprise
Rating: G
Request: "Pippin and Merry and Frodo, maybe Bilbo, young hobbits, Took farm! A family yule"
Author's notes: This story is the last Yule Frodo has before the Quest. (Though obviously, he doesn't know that.)
Summary: When a fierce cold lays Bilbo low two days before Yule, he and Frodo are dissapointed to miss Yule celebrations with Merry, Pippin, and the other cousins. Fortunately, things don't always go as we imagine. ^_^
A YuleTime Surprise
By RadcliffePotter
Frodo heard a giant sneeze, echoing through the halls of Bag End. He grimaced and headed towards the source. He opened the door to Cousin Bilbo’s room to find one very grumpy and tousled Hobbit. A night of restless sleep was revealed by the bed sheets - which had been half kicked off the bed and were half in a ball on top of the bed. One of the pillows had fallen onto the floor and the other was squished flat on the bed. In the midst of this chaotic nest was Bilbo.
His hair was wild - some parts of it mashed down by his attempts to sleep, the other half standing up in various states of disarray from his wriggling while attempting to get comfortable. His nose was red and chapped (Frodo assumed from blowing it so many times) and the apples of his cheeks bore the unmistakable signs of a low-grade fever. Continuing his assessment of his uncle, Frodo saw that Bilbo’s usually bright eyes looked dull and tired. Well, there was no doubt about it. Bilbo was sick. Frodo sighed inwardly. It was only two days until Yule and he had so been looking forward to going to see his cousins in Great Smials. How he had longed to see the West Farthing!
Though Frodo was more thoughtful than his cousins and generally enjoyed some solitude to read and to pursue his thoughts, he had to admit that he had been looking forward to seeing Merry and Pippin for the holiday. Though younger and sometimes rather too rowdy for his liking, Frodo loved them dearly. What a shame. Word would have to be sent that they simply could not attend the family gathering for Yule…now he only had to convince Bilbo that he was too sick to go. Knowing how stubborn he was, his uncle would most likely shrug it off. He would say that he was “fine” and that there was no reason why the two couldn’t still go. Truth be told, Frodo knew that Bilbo had been looking forward to the festivities just as much as he had.
With a small prayer to Eru, Frodo approached his uncle. Cautiously, he approached him. Before he could even get a word out, Bilbo said, as jovially as he could muster, “Hello, my lad, looking forward to seeing your cousins?”
Frodo cast him an obviously disbelieving look before Bilbo quickly added, “Just got a bit of a sniffle. Nothing to worry about.”
Frodo thought about making the points that he was very obviously sick. But he realized that that would get him nowhere, so instead, he decided to pretend as though things were normal. If Bilbo wouldn’t believe himself and if he wouldn’t believe Frodo, perhaps time would prove the point that Frodo was trying to make. The fact that he, Frodo, was up before his uncle - who was a perpetual early riser - was only further proof of Bilbo’s sickness. “How about some breakfast, uncle?”
At the mention of food, his usually insatiable uncle mumbled something like, “Well, I could use a little something.”
It took all Frodo had not to laugh. The poor old Hobbit. Everyone knew that Bilbo (like most Hobbits) loved to eat. So, to have him grumble out something about eating a “little” was the most obvious sign of all that Bilbo wasn’t himself. But, knowing how stubborn his uncle could be, Frodo just went to the kitchen and sat about gathering together some breakfast. His uncle could keep up his ruse for as long as he pleased, but his appetite - or lack thereof - would soon betray him. Frodo went to the cold cellar and grabbed some eggs and butter. He quickly made some scrambled eggs and plain toast. He pulled some jelly and fruit from the cupboards. He poured some glasses of water. He looked at the assortment that he had piled onto the tray and - for good measure - added some fresh cheese, which he sliced, and some crackers. He carried the whole tray into his uncle’s room and was about to sit and watch his uncle eat, when a knock came at the door.
Frodo set the tray carefully over Bilbo’s legs, gave him a cheery smile, and went to see who was at the door. He opened the door to find Sam Gamgee standing on his doorstep. “Why hello, Sam!” Frodo said, cheerfully.
“Hullo, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam, equally as pleased to see his friend. “I just finished weeding the garden. Is there anything else you or Mr. Bilbo be needing?”
Trying his best to be subtle, Frodo asked casually, “Sam, would your mother make some more of those blueberry muffins that Bilbo loves so?”
“O’ course,”
“And, perhaps some of that delicious chicken stew?”
Sam paused and eyed Frodo up and down, “Are you feeling sick, Mr. Frodo?”
“No, no!” Frodo said, a little bit too hurriedly.
Sam seemed to realize what the other option was if Frodo wasn’t sick. He nodded and then hurried off to request the needed things from his mother, but not before he said, “Make sure he gets plenty of sleep.”
Sighing with relief, Frodo turned and headed back to his uncle’s room. Bilbo hadn’t gotten very far with his tray. He had eaten the toast dry and had picked at the eggs, but didn’t seem to have touched any of the other food. Bilbo smiled wanly and said, “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Frodo refrained from saying that was obvious and instead said, “You didn’t eat much.”
“I wasn’t very hungry,” Bilbo said. Hearing those words from his own mouth, he too seemed to realize that he was sick. Not that he’d admit it, of course. But there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Frodo looked around and saw that the fire in Bilbo’s room was dying out. He knew he had better build it up so that he could keep Bilbo warm.
Like magic, there was a knock at the door. Frodo once again left Bilbo’s room and this time found the Gaffer standing on the doorstep of Bag End.
“Why hello, Gaffer,” Frodo said, “how are you today?”
The Gaffer leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Apparently better than old Bilbo. I hear from my Sam that he’s not doing so well.”
Frodo shook his head. Thank goodness. The Gaffer and Bilbo were old friends. If anyone could gracefully get Bilbo to admit that he was sick, it was the Gaffer.
“Well,” the Gaffer said, much more loudly, “is there anything that you and Mr. Bilbo will be needin’?”
“Perhaps you should ask Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo said, just as loudly.
Knowing where Bilbo’s bedroom was, the Gaffer set off down the hall. He knocked politely on the door and waited for a response before entering. Frodo didn’t bother them. He knew the Gaffer would make Bilbo see sense. In the meantime, he had to get word out to Merry, Pippin, and the rest that they couldn’t come for the holiday. With Bilbo sick and so many little ones at the Hall, the cold would be sure to spread like wildfire - a Yule present that the Thain would be sure to dislike. Fortunately, Sam always seemed to know just when he was needed, for he turned up at the still open door bearing an armful of firewood. “Ma’s workin’ on making those muffins and soup,” he said. “Since the Gaffer can always get Bilbo to see some sense, I sent him on up here.”
“Oh, Sam,” Frodo said, gratefully, taking the firewood from his friend’s arms. “Thank you so much. But…” he said hesitantly, “I do need to let the Thain know that we will be unable to come. They should be expecting us and if Bilbo and I do not arrive soon, they will most certainly begin to worry.”
Sam nodded. Realizing the importance of the task, given how close it was to Yule, he said, “Don’ you worry, Mr. Frodo. A messenger lad will be off in no time,” and he was gone.
The next day and a half passed uneventfully. Bilbo was still sick, battling what seemed to be an intense head cold that took away a good portion of his appetite. Fortunately, the cold seemed contained to his head and he wasn’t throwing up - but Bilbo certainly wasn’t a happy Hobbit either. He kept sneezing and blowing his nose, complained of constant sinus pressure, and slept quite a lot. However, the Gaffer kept returning to provide Bilbo with some company, Sam’s mother kept making delicious and nutritious soups, stews, breads, and deserts designed to tempt their sick patient, and Frodo (with the help of dear Sam) kept Bag End running.
Far from having time to spend reading or in contemplation, Frodo found that he spent much of his time trying to do everything he could to keep Bag End in order while fretting about Bilbo’s health. He knew Bilbo was certainly not a young Hobbit. And though it might be silly to worry about a simple head cold, Frodo couldn’t help himself. He didn’t know what he would do without Bilbo.
At the same time, knowing that Bilbo was sad not to be visiting the cousins for Yule, Frodo spent his spare time decking out Bag End with all manner of Yule decorations. There were strings of cranberries, cheery boughs of pine trees, bowls full of pinecones, apples, and oranges, and the kitchen smelled of gingerhobbits baking in the oven. Poor Bilbo, Frodo thought.
Wanting to make his uncle’s Yule wonderful, despite the unfortunate coming of his cold, Frodo decided that he would pull out all the stops and cook a wonderful Yule feast (with the help of Sam, of course). Frodo found himself running between the market and home multiple times a day as he found more that he needed for his recipes.
Around dinner time on Yule Eve, Frodo heard a knock at the door. He couldn’t imagine who it would be. At the express request of Bilbo, Sam and the Gaffer had been sent home for the holiday so that they could spend time with their own family instead of spending time with, to quote Bilbo’s words, “an old, grouchy Hobbit”. After exchanging a quizzical look with Bilbo, Frodo went to open the door.
Frodo burst out with a half laugh, half gasp of surprise when he beheld Pippin and Merry on the doorstep. “Hullo, cousin!” said Pippin, throwing himself into his older cousin in an exuberant hug. Merry smiled broadly as he watched Pippin’s bone crushing hug and said rather wryly, “Surprise, Frodo!”
Grinning with mirth, Frodo let the two in and closed the door against the winter chill. Before Frodo could even ask, Merry said, “Well, you didn’t think we let you and Bilbo spend Yule here all by yourselves, now did you?”
“Of course we wouldn’t!” Pippin chimed in cheekily, “I mean, considering how old you both are.” Frodo spluttered indignantly but couldn’t help but feel like he was bursting with happiness. Putting a finger to his lips for silence, the three heard Bilbo yell in a voice still hoarse from coughing, “Frodo, who was it?”
“Just someone calling to see how you were feeling, uncle!” Frodo called back. He winked conspiratorially at his younger cousins and indicated that they should quietly follow him. Frodo headed back to his uncle’s room.
“Uncle,” he said, peeking his head into the room, “I found something quite nice had been left on our doorstep,”
“Oh?” said Bilbo, curiously.
“Ta-da!” said Pippin, bursting into the room with Merry on his heels. “We’ve come to surprise you! Happy Yule, Bilbo!”
Bilbo’s expression of shock quickly turned into one of barely concealed mirth as the two cousins climbed up onto his bed and began regaling him with tales of their journey to Bag End. Frodo slipped away to finish making the Yule feast he had been working so hard on. He couldn’t help but smile as he walked away. He could hear Pippin saying something about “fighting trolls” on their way to Bag End. Frodo was quite sure that there were no “trolls” on the route from the West Farthing to Hobbiton, but if the happiness saturating Bilbo’s voice was any indication, this would certainly be the best Yule - and the best medicine - that any Hobbit could hope for.