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Sam eyed Pippin critically. "Ain't heard the like, not never," he stated, with finality. "Not as if folk out Tuckborough way don't have customs as are different from ours, but it just seems mighty unlikely, if you don't mind my mentioning it."
"Oh, I don't mind in the least," Pippin assured him, with a cheeky grin and an airy wave of the hand. "But there's all sorts of unlikeliness when Tooks are involved, you know."
Frodo, cozily tucked into the corner of the settle beside Sam, gave a snort of amusement at Sam's expression. "Really, it's quite true," he laughed, as Sam turned to him with an eyebrow cocked in disbelief. "Tooks, you know."
"Well, not just," Pippin pointed out, tilting his head back and blowing a ring of smoke upwards. "Although I must admit we rather kick the whole proceedings off. And I wouldn't be quite so pert about Tooks, cousin Frodo, seeing as you're more than half one yourself."
"Certainly not I!" Frodo lifted both eyebrows upwards with mock indignation. "A staid and stodgy Baggins, through and through, that is what I am, young Pip."
Even Sam had to join in Pippin's laughter at that transparent dodge. "You couldn't be stodgy, try you ever so hard, and this nose would be showin' your Took blood, say what you will," he teased affectionately, lightly kissing the aforementioned feature to its owner's grinning approval.
It was Merry, watching the proceedings with amusement, and with feet stretched contentedly before him in Bag End's comfortable study and an affectionate arm about Pippin's shoulders, who then spoke up. "Trust me on this one, Sam. They say 'tis the touch of fairie, but there are no stranger customs in all the Shire than those of Tuckborough. But why don't you and Frodo come out to celebrate Year's End with us? My mother has given her blessing, or more accurately, her grudging consent, so I will be joining Pip and the rest of the Tooks this year. And I do believe I've even persuaded Fatty and Folco to join in the festivities."
Sam said nothing, but glanced questioningly at the hobbit snuggled at his side.
"It has been years, hasn't it?" Frodo murmured, absently staring at the brisk flames crackling at the hearth. But then he turned back to the others, his smile merry once again. "Then, Sam, if you've no objections, that is exactly what we shall do. I do warn you, though, that spectators are not tolerated. You'll be joining the rest of us, you may be sure of that."
"I'd be havin' it no other way," Sam gave him a sudden crook of a smile, and clasped his hand just a little tighter, and the matter was settled.
It was a grey and bone-chilling morning as the two inhabitants of Bag End set forth westward together with their two guests, but that was hardly surprising. It was, after all, the tail end of winter, and nearly time for the year to begin anew. Neither Sam nor Frodo had much minded, to be sure, the long months that they had spent holed up in their cozy smial, but new sap had begun to course through the ostensibly dead limbs of the trees, the crocus had popped their heads up through the rather scruffy patches of snow, and the anticipated arrival of spring was truly a tempting thought to one and all.
Old Ben, proprietor of the only stable in Hobbiton, had jumped at the chance of hiring out a couple of his ponies to make the trip to Tuckborough even though it was the dead of winter, since the ancient home of the Tooks was known throughout the Shire as a veritable paradise for even the lowliest of ponies. Even though the weather was at its most biting, he could be sure that the ponies would return fatter than when they had left, and this time of the year, that was a very good thing indeed. The cart was relatively clean, and had not been used to carry any particularly odoriferous material as of late, and so was quite acceptable.
It was, however, rather heavy, and four hobbits plus luggage made slowing going for the two patient ponies, once they had left the fairly clear roads about Hobbiton. So the travelers made good sport of it, with two in and two out, for the rest of the afternoon, following behind as the ponies, with a good deal of huffing, stomped their way through the drifts. It was gratifying not to have to be carrying packs on their backs, which made up considerably for frosty toes. They were all in a merry mood, for it was good to be out and about, and Frodo had hardly noticed the darkening sky, until he caught sight, as they suddenly came around a bend in the road, of an eerily familiar tall pine, well-dolloped with snow, and a pair of tightly shuttered windows tucked snugly into a sharp hill at the side of the road. The light behind the shutters was bright, though, and smoke drifted up in the dusk from a chimney nearly buried in the hill above.
"The Rusty Thrush!" he cried out in delight, catching Sam's arm. "Do you remember, Sam?"
"Aye, indeed," Sam responded, with a broad smile, as the other two peered from behind them from the cart with the greatest of curiosity. " 'Twas an interesting night, t'say the least."
"Ah, Sam," Frodo laughed gaily, his eyes bright with delight, giving Sam, as they walked behind the cart, a tight hug. "I never thought it would be so hard to get you alone as on that trip."
"Tell, Frodo, tell!" crowed Pippin, as he hung over the back of the cart with a wicked grin. "I am sure that was never Sam's choice, so you must tell us all!"
"Pippin, really," sighed Merry at the reins, with only the slightest of exaggerated sighs. "It's their own business, now, isn't it?"
"Old gaffer," Pippin gave him a mischievous glance, but quickly leavened it well with an apologetic kiss. "You know you want to hear this; don't pretend otherwise."
"No doubt," Frodo responded with a sly grin, "but. . . ." The rest of that sentence was never to be known, for a most disheveled hobbit quite suddenly burst through the hastily opened door of the establishment in question, and with a decided lurch, sought his footing with some difficulty. Spying the newcomers, he tapped the side of his nose, and growled out, "Infamous, they is, good gentlehobbits. I'd be not setting foot in such a place if I was you. Toss you out on your ears, they do, and not a bit of drink to help a poor old hobbit on his way."
Pippin was beginning to look rather alarmed at this condemnation, but Frodo gave Sam an amused glance, and muttered quickly, "Old Bill hasn't changed much, has he?" before he gave the older hobbit, pulling a battered old cap over his head, a polite nod. "Thank you very much for your advice, and we will certainly keep it in mind. But evening is here, and our ponies are weary, and thus we must make do, I'm afraid."
"Well, you can't say as you warn't warned," Bill gave them all a disgruntled glance, and was soon making his way, only slightly unsteadily, into the evening darkness.
Soon as he was out of earshot, Frodo gave a quiet laugh and reassured his cousins, "Pay no attention; apparently he's never terribly happy about going home. Come along, let's see if this place is as lively as it was the last time Sam and I were here."
Not only had nothing changed within, as far as either Sam or Frodo could remember, from that evening so very long ago, but the burly innkeeper was in the very same act of struggling with a full and heavy cask of beer as he been then, as well. Once again, without a thought, Sam hastened over to assist him, but this time Merry automatically did as well. "Thankee, thankee," he grunted without glancing at them, but once the cask had settled into position, he turned around, wiping his brow, and quite suddenly burst into a hearty laugh as he caught sight of Sam.
"Samwise Gamgee, why now ain't you a treat!" he guffawed, reaching for his hand and shaking it heartily. "I ain't forgettin' that strong back of yours, not a bit of it! And that'd be Mr. Frodo Baggins then, t'be sure! I'm that sorry I'd not be recognizing you that last time, but news travels mighty slow this way, no mistake."
"Not to worry, I'd just become Master under the Hill, after all," Frodo chuckled, reaching out his hand and cordially shaking the innkeeper's broad one in turn. "No reason you should have known me. How are you keeping yourself these days, Mr. Broadbur?"
"Ah, well enough, but it's just Willum, if you'd not mind, good sirs. But stars, if it ain't Master Took!" His eyes widened as he caught sight of Pippin behind Frodo's shoulder.
"In the flesh," Pippin grinned, reaching his hand out as well. "I do believe my father has stopped this way a time or two. And of course, the fourth member of our party would be Meriadoc Brandybuck."
If Broadbur had been surprised to see the heir of the Tooks in his inn, he was positively dumfounded to have the heir of the Brandybucks there as well. "Oh, my stars," he repeated with a stammer, beginning to look rather aghast at the prospect of entertaining such illustrious a group of travelers, but Frodo quickly shook his head with a smile and a reassuring hand to his shoulder, and promptly tried to set him at ease.
"I remember the hearth of your inn being quite dry and warm and more than comfortable the last time, Willum, and we'd not be looking for anything more elaborate. Although we do have some ponies this time around, and a bit of food and shelter for them would be most appreciated."
"Ah, well, that can be managed well enough, and there is a back room I can offer you good sirs, although it might take a bit of turning out, seeing as it's being used as the storeroom these days, as we'd not be havin' the sort of folk as look for much in the way of. . ."
But it was here that Sam took pity on the still flustered Broadbur, and reassuringly patted his arm. "Ah, well, then 'tis fine enough. If you'd not mind sendin' a lad out after the ponies, I'd be glad t'give you a hand with the room, whilst the rest can have a sit-down and a mug o'your best."
Broadbur, gratefully to have a concrete plan, nodded happily at this, and gave a call out for a lad to attend to the ponies immediately. All customers of the well-packed common room had given, by now, their full attention to the causes of this commotion, and it was only a matter of moments before word was excitedly passed about as to who these strangers were. Sam caught a wistful glance from Frodo, and knew that he wished that he was anonymous as well, and resolved immediately to console Frodo thoroughly for the unwanted attention as soon as they were alone.
Merry and Pippin had no qualms whatsoever regarding their notoriety, however, and beamed at the acknowledgment. The Tooks were quite well known in this vicinity, for the inn lay on the road to Waymeet, but Merry had the star quality of being from Buckland and, more specifically, from the fabled Brandy Hall itself, so it was a very near thing as to who received the most attention. It only seemed fitting that these young gentlehobbits stand a round to all present, and from that moment on, the younger two were the center of all gaiety. Seizing the moment, Frodo lost no time in vanishing from the boisterous crowd, and quickly caught up with Willum and Sam in the corridor on their way to the storeroom.
"Those two scamps are on their own," he pronounced, with a cheerful nod to the innkeeper and a warm smile in Sam's direction. "I certainly can't be held responsible for what they get up to if I am not present, I should think."
Willum gave him a rather startled look at that implication, but Sam gave a laugh, and reassuringly patted his arm. "Oh, they're good lads, but I suspect you'll be doin' quite a bit of custom this night."
Thus soothed, not to mention encouraged, Willum opened up a rough wooden door, and placed his candleholder on a small shelf directly inside. The flickering light revealed the shadowy shapes of barrels and boxes, dusty sacks and various packages, and underneath it all, toward the back earthen walls, a pair of bedframes. " 'Tis not used much these days," he murmured, regretfully. " 'Twas a time when we had a fair number of travelers, but times ain't what they was, I suppose."
"Why, this is exactly what we need," Frodo responded cheerily. "Warm, dry, and something on which to sleep. This will do very nicely, indeed. I don't suppose you might have a broom about?"
By the time Pippin and Merry had managed to toast every occupant of the room, and enrich the coffers of the Rusty Thrush quite considerably in the process, it was late indeed as they finally wobbled their way back to the storeroom under a sleepy Willum's direction. A small lamp had been lit, but the other two residents were already fast asleep well-buried in blankets on one of the humble sturdy beds. The small room was quite tidy and well-dusted with the stores now neatly stacked to the side, betraying no sign of how uninhabitable it had earlier been, and a pile of blankets had been left on the other bed for the younger two. They fell into bed without even undressing, and soon nothing but steady breathing was to be heard throughout the ancient inn.
"Must that pony breathe quite so loudly?" Pippin grumbled unhappily, tucked in the back of the cart, holding his head in his hands.
Merry chuckled serenely as he sat on the driver's hard seat, deftly directing the ponies as if born to the task. "You would decide to go one-to-one with that stout hobbit with the feather in his cap, wouldn't you, Pip? If there is one thing I've learned the hard way, it is to never try to out-drink a hobbit with a rosy nose like he had. Chalk it up as another learning experience, my dearest Took. Your mother doesn't let you get out nearly enough, I suspect."
"Well, that's what you are for, Merry," Pippin muttered crossly, and then relented, leaning his head back against Merry's jacket-clad back. "Among other matters, of course."
Merry gave a warm glance over his shoulder, and reaching back, tousled Pippin's curls lovingly. "Cheer up, love. Some elevensies should set you up nicely. How much longer to Waymeet, anyway? It's been quite awhile since I've been this way, you know."
Pippin opened a discerning eye then, and gave a glance about. "Round that curve ahead, you ought to be able to see smoke from the chimneys, this time of year. About twenty minutes, I suppose." And in a few more minutes, his prediction was proved to be true.
"Waymeet ahead," called out Merry, rising up in his seat and turning to Frodo and Sam, who had been quietly following the cart, hand in hand and lost in reminiscences of their last excursion to the Rusty Thrush and beyond.
Frodo stopped short, looked about, and recognized his surroundings. "Why, yes; I hadn't realized we were nearly there. There's the Frog in the Bottle, in the center of town, they do a pastie amazingly well. And I must admit to being famished, which means that poor Sam must be doubly so. How is Pippin doing?"
"Pippin is doing quite well," responded the owner of the name with uncharacteristic annoyance, "and would appreciate being addressed in person. But a hearty luncheon would be a good idea, you know. There are not many inns between Waymeet and where we are bound."
Merry laughed, and gave Frodo a humorous shrug, while Frodo grinned and bowed to Pippin in mock apology. "A thousand pardons, Master Took," he lightly apologized, "I should have known you would have the stamina to see this through. The Frog in the Bottle it is, then."
It was late in the afternoon when the travelers finally reached their final destination. It had not been the Great Smials to which they had been bound, but another ancestral dwelling of the Tooks; one, some claimed, that was even older. The extensive smial was dug into an ancient loamy hillside, about ten miles north of Waymeet, and in the opposite direction from the Great Smials. This was hill country, empty and scarcely populated, with small stands of stunted pines rather than the more majestic forests to the east. The smial was rustic, lacking the majesty of the Tooks' primary dwelling, but it did have one attribute that the Great Smials did not. It overlooked a dark cold spring-fed lake, whose bottom was fabled to extend to the very depths of the earth. In the last light of dusk in the cold frigid air, it gleamed like well-polished onyx, glistening with a hard flat luster, and showing no sign of ripples or waves. The smial was simply known, to the Tooks, as the smial by the lake, and although it was frequently used in the summer by various family members wanting a bit of a change, it came into its own at the end of every winter.
The ponies stolidly rounded the final turn, and then lifted their heads, as if sensing the presence of others of their kind on the chilly air. Pippin laughed at that. "These two'll be in no hurry to be heading back to Hobbiton," he assured the other travelers with a grin. "Father doesn't believe in luxuries here for the likes of us, but for the ponies? Well, that's an entirely different matter. The barn was completely done over last summer, so I was told, and is most likely more comfortable than our smial, at this point."
A stable lad came running up at the commotion of their arrival, so Sam couldn't verify that fact at the present, but he had his doubts as to whether that was possible. Tooks didn't seem to go in much for excess and fuss, he had noticed, and what they did have was invariably well used, but it always was extremely comfortable, and in unimaginable abundance. He suspected that their accommodations would prove to be more than adequate.
As indeed they proved to be. They were greeted at the entrance way, as the ponies were led off, by the most unexpected personage of Fatty Bolger, who seemingly shimmered into existence at their side in his normal manner. "Good heavens, Fatty," Merry gave a start at his sudden appearance. "Can't you stamp your feet a bit, or cough perhaps, before you do that? And what are you doing here before us, anyways?"
"Accompanied the inestimable Folco and his fair bride," Fatty mentioned mildly, pulling out an apple from his pocket and giving it a hearty bite.
"What? When did that happen?" Frodo blinked incredulously. "Have we missed something?"
"Well, you know our Folco," Fatty appeared amused, draping his lanky self against the open main door of the smial. "Not one for much fuss and bother, and apparently the lovely Iris is now of the same mind. But they were doing the expected rounds of visits afterwards, and happened to stop by the humble Bolger establishment, and I mentioned that I was on my way here, and that the Tooks, being the souls of hospitality, never minded the extra body or two, and thus here we all are."
"Splendid!" Pippin beamed at this explanation. "I'm sure Father had no complaints. You know how much he loves this time of the year. But, really, I could do with a mug of hot tea, if not something stronger, and I really can't feel my toes at all. Let's go in, and we can natter all we want in just a bit, as soon as we've had a chance to thaw out." And since no one could possibly disagree with that plan, they headed in.
"Well, there you all are!" Pervinca Took suddenly appeared, a large pile of bedding in her arms, as they entered the earthen hallway just within, which was lit with fat candles in the sconces and with a soft albeit well-worn rug underfoot. "And not much time to spare, is there? I was beginning to give up hope. Of course, except not really. But here you are," she repeated with a grin, tossing the bundle into a startled Merry's open arms. "We all just got here this morning, you know, so it's been a perfect frenzy of opening the place up, and sweeping up the cobwebs, and chasing all the mice and bats out for the time being. You'd really think they'd expect us by now, but it seems as though they have no sense of the calendar. Silly creatures. Fatty, you're set, and Pip, you and Merry have your usual room, but come along then, Frodo. And Sam, too, of course, Almost didn't see you, my dear, you are so very quiet. Well, I suppose that's because I'm used to this one," she added, giving a nod in the direction of her disappearing brother. "There's still a rather nice room left in the west tunnel, with a window even, since I know both of you prefer that sort of thing, but if we don't claim it for you now, there's no telling where the two of you will end up. Pimpernel has invited at least a half dozen of her friends, and it seems as if each lass must have her very own room, although I'm quite sure not over half have such a thing in their very own homes, but I suppose we'll find room somewhere, even if it means digging out an extra hole or two."
Sam gave a quick glance in Frodo's direction, as they followed Pervinca down one of the innumerable halls, and then had to look rapidly away, as Frodo had a hand very firmly clamped over his mouth, and was obviously finding it difficult to keep from bursting into laughter. Fortunately, it wasn't long before the room was found, and Pervinca rushed off in a bustle to greet the next arrival.
"You see why Pippin spends a fair amount of time out and about." Frodo managed to wait until Pervinca had gone from earshot before his laughter bubbled up uncontrollably. "Of all my cousins, that one will fair talk your ear off. But she is right about the room, this one is quite nice. It must be you, Sam. Last time I was here, I got a rather dingy one in the back hallway. Of course, my unfortunate remark about her new hairstyle on that occasion might have had something to do with that."
"Ah, well, you see, that's where havin' sisters'd give me a bit of a leg up," Sam grinned, unable to resist catching a laughing Frodo up in his embrace and giving him a hearty kiss. "Never express an opinion on a matter such as that, m'dear. Just agree w'theirs. You can't possibly be right otherwise."
"Thank heavens you are anything but complicated, Samwise, my love," Frodo murmured throatily before returning his kiss. "You always understand what I mean, dearest, even when I bungle my words."
Sam raised his hand, at that remark, and cradled Frodo's head; his eyes, glinting gold, meeting Frodo's with obvious frank desire. Since the need for conversation was clearly over, he had just started to lead a very willing Frodo over to their bed, when there was a sharp rap on the room.
"Dinner in no time," cheerily announced Pippin, popping his head in. "Oh, no time for that now," he laughed as they hastily separated themselves. "At least not yet. But later tonight, that might be just the very thing, you know. At least, those are my plans," he added impishly, with a cheeky grin. "But come along now, or Pearl will feel obligated to search you out. We can't be having that."
Dinner occurred in the one common room in the smial. It was nothing like, of course, the grand dining hall at the Great Smials, nor anything like any of the other numerous drawing rooms, parlors, and other places of assembly there. Instead, it was a cavernous room populated by a perfect muddle of chairs, benches, table, settles, footstools, piles of cushions, and innumerable odds and ends, which appeared to be the result of all the mathoms of the entire West Farthing, at least in the way of furniture, having been tossed haphazardly within. Comfort and utility were clearly the main objectives, and appearance was well in a secondary role.
Dinner consisted of a steady stream of savory stews, thick hearty soups, and hot freshly-baked bread, all perfectly suited for the frozen crystal clear night that lay without the snug smial. Parties wandered about the room, renewing old acquaintances, or ensconced themselves in cozy corners near one of the several crackling fireplaces, as suited their fancy. Folco Boffin and his new bride, the former Iris Burrows, were of course the center of attention, but once all the proper congratulations had been made, attention began to turn to the main event of the evening. It was the last night of winter, after all, and as the new year approached, there was a palatable sense of renewal, as if the new year could bring anything and everything with it. A feeling of excitement began to surge through the breasts of all present, and there was no evidence of any being drowsy in the least as the hour approached midnight.
The hands of the venerable timepiece on the mantle, brought specifically from Tuckborough for this occasion, were nearing the hour of midnight, when an imperious cough was heard from a location near the central fireplace. A quite elderly hobbit rose to her feet, although it was rather difficult to tell, since she was extremely short as well, and pointed to the clock. "My dear family and friends, the year is nearly over. It is time to greet the new one," she announced in a reedy and yet commanding voice. "Let us prepare ourselves."
A hearty cheer from all assembled greeted this remark, and Frodo tugged at Sam's sleeve with a wide grin. "Back to our room, my dear, we need to get ready." The vast room was rapidly emptying into the hallways, as all the guests prepared to do likewise.
"Who is that, again?" murmured Merry to Pippin, as they joined Frodo and Sam in the merry jostling crowd in the hallway. "She's a relative, I'm quite sure of it, but I just can't place the name."
"Great-Aunt Heleboria," Pippin replied with a laugh. "By far the oldest Took, so of course she gets the honors. She absolutely lives for this moment, you know, never comes out of her lair in the back hall of the Great Smials otherwise. Here, Frodo, this hall is ours, and I see Fatty up ahead. Meet us at the main door in a few minutes; let me catch up with Fatty and let him know. Keep an eye open for Folco too, would you, although I suspect my sisters have made off with him and Iris."
Frodo nodded, and he and Sam found their way back to their room, where they found a pile of blankets and towels had been left on their bed in their absence. "Here we are, then," Frodo smiled, quickly stripping himself of his clothing, and wrapping himself in a large towel and a blanket over the top for good measure. "Are you ready for this, Sam-love?"
Sam laughed as he followed Frodo's lead. "No backin' out now, eh, dearie? An' I won't be havin' nobody say as a Gamgee ain't got nerve."
"Ah, you would face a dragon, if needs be, Sam, I am assured of that, dearest," Frodo merrily swung Sam about, his cheeks pink with excitement and his eyes dark blue and sparkling. "Here we go, then!"
It was a great timbered outbuilding in which the crowd gathered, a few hundred yards from the smial, and located on the pebbly beach of the lake. The roof was low, with great wooden beams that spanned its length, supporting ancient iron lanterns that lit up the space below and threw the shadows into the farthest corners. The room was open, with only roughly hewn and well-sanded benches circling it, and a large square pit in the center in which burned a blazing fire. Despite the freezing air out of doors, the room was already warm, and once the crowd was all within, grew even warmer still. The blankets, in which the guests had wrapped themselves in the quick dash from smial to outbuilding, were heaped in a corner, and none had more on than a loosely draped towel.
Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin were comfortably tucked together in a corner, and were soon joined by Fatty, whose towel was mightily attempting to cover his lanky length, but failing miserably to do so. "You haven't seen Folco anywhere, have you?" Pippin quite nearly shouted out at him, above the animated din. "Do sit down, Fatty, that really is an amazingly small towel, you know."
"Its size shall shortly be quite beside the point," Fatty serenely replied, as he deftly inserted himself between Frodo and Merry. "Rather the throng, here, isn't it? I did spy Boffin as I came in, but he appears to be relentlessly attached to his better half, and she was being held captive by a swarm of the fairer sex, and so there is no hope of escape for him, I'm afraid."
"Shan't matter much, in a few moments," Merry commented, who had been keeping his eye on the large ornate clock that had progressed from the smial to the outbuilding along with the guests, and which had been displayed in a position of prominence. "Just about time."
He was not the only one present who realized this fact, and an expectant hush gradually circled through the room until only the crackling flames, and the excited murmurs of the fauntlings present, could be heard.
At last, the minute hand clicked forward and joined the hour hand, which also pointed straight up. Midnight. All eyes turned toward Heleboria Took, who slowly rose from her seat, and triumphantly strode to the door. Turning back to all those present, her dark eyes compelling and her chin high, she announced in a full voice, "The end of the year has come. The old is past, and the new has arrived. Tooks! We begin anew. Take no hurt, no sorrow, no regret from the past. Throw them all away, for the new year will not hold them. Forward, Tooks! Take nothing, and throw out!" And dropping her towel to the floor, she turned and majestically left the building.
"Take nothing, and throw out!" came the returning roar from all assembled, and there was a rush forward and Tooks and guests, young and old, lads and lasses, gentlehobbits and serving hobbits, fit and feeble, gaffers and fauntling alike, all rose as one, tossing their towels aside likewise, and followed Heleboria Took out the door. Laughing and singing, they made their way in a joyous mass, as rapidly as each was capable, over the pebble-strewn beach, and into the icy black water of the lake. With shrieks and cries and great splashes, they gasped and chortled, plunging again and again into the frigid water, greeting the new year in the traditional manner of the Tooks, under the brilliant white light of the stars.
Sam could see Merry and Pippin, to his right, ducking each other in the water and laughing merrily, their heads as dark and sleek as young river otters. Fatty was on his other side, being surrounded by a giggling mass of lasses, some but not all young, who were obviously familiar with his rather scurrilous reputation. Fatty was grinning broadly, and did not appear to be minding his predicament in the least. That left he and Frodo nearly unnoticed in the throng, and he took the opportunity of that anonymity to wade over to Frodo, grasping him tightly about the waist below the water, and give his eartip a light nip.
Frodo threw his head back, laughing, with water spraying from his dark curls. "I sense you have other plans for the new year, Sam," he murmured, returning the embrace with a smile.
"You might say so, no mistake," Sam breathed, watching the starlight play on that fair skin with a sudden burning desire. "I'd not be thinkin' we'd be missed all that much."
"You are quite right, Sam," Frodo agreed hastily, his grin now impish as he tugged Sam along behind him, striding towards the shore. "I would suggest, however, that cold water or no, we find the towels very quickly.
Sam found that suggestion imminently sensible, and both of them, along with some other less hardy souls, were soon scurrying for the smial.
"Oh, love, those feet of yours are like ice," Frodo gasped, as they dove under the bedclothes in their snug guest room at last.
Sam chuckled, grateful for the warm brick that had been thoughtfully wrapped up under the bedclothes, but determined to warm the bed in a more vigorous manner. "Yours usually are, m'dear," he responded with a grin, "and yet I manage somehow."
"Samwise!" Frodo gave what might have been an indignant squeak, if Sam's mouth had not managed to find that luscious hollow at the base of his throat at exactly that same moment. "Ah! Oh, but Sam, really. . .ah!"
"Happy new year, dearie," came a rather mumbled greeting from the region, currently, of his chest as Sam began progressing further downward.
"Oh, Sam, happy new year, my love," sighed Frodo, closing his eyes and leaning his damp head back against the pillow. "May this new year be. . . my!"
Sam's tongue had just managed to do something extraordinary to that sensitive indention at the center of his belly, but there was no time to focus on precisely what that was, for Sam's mouth was continuing to move on, and Frodo had no doubt in the world as to exactly where it was headed. And indeed, in a moment, he was instantly in that blissful state of not knowing and not caring where he was or what the world about him did, as long as Sam's mouth was enclosing him, teasing and provoking him, leading him on and then turning him back from the brink, until he no longer thought of anything else, or indeed, had a will of his own about the matter. He had a fleeting vague notion that he ought to be reciprocating these attentions, but years of experience had taught him that Sam preferred to concentrate on one thing at a time, the sign of a master. And there was no doubt that was what he was, knowing every preference, every whim, every inclination that Frodo possessed, and yet always able to conjure it into something entirely new that managed, once more, to take Frodo's breath away, and make him fall more hopelessly in love than ever with this quiet gentle giving hobbit, the love and center of his life.
It was far into the night when they both lay, at last thoroughly satisfied, in each other's arms and watched the stars beginning to fall into the far side of the sky. "A new year beginning," Sam murmured drowsily. "Don't seem as if it could possibly be better than the last, but that's what I said last year, likewise."
"The Tooks may say what they like," Frodo responded, running a thoughtful finger lightly down Sam's nose, in profile next to his face, "but I don't plan on leaving all behind in the new year. I would take every bit of you, Sam my dear, with me, both the good and the bad, assuming I could ever imagine anything bad about you, that is, and would never dream of leaving you behind. Not a single bit of you. Not ever."
"Then perhaps you are a Baggins, after all," Sam chuckled sleepily, and buried his nose in the crook of Frodo's neck as he adjusted himself to his customary position. "A beautiful contrariwise Baggins. And nothing will ever suit me as well as that."
The pale winter sun rose the next morning on a white world. Snow had begun to fall, not long after midnight, and all the towels and blankets that had been thoughtlessly strewn somewhere between the smial and the lake, during the previous night's festivities, now lay buried under soft round mounds of glinting fresh snow. No one was about, and not even the first smoke had begun to issue from the kitchen chimney, when a large white stag daintily picked his way through the soft drifts, quite near the smial. He stopped for a moment, turning curiously to the glass, for he knew the creatures that occasionally dwelt inside were within this morning.
But they did not hold his interest for long, and with a proud lift of his antlered head, he passed on, and was quickly lost to sight against the snow-covered hills. Sam lifted his head from Frodo's chest, not entirely sure what he had sleepily glimpsed out of the corner of his eye, but whatever it was, it was now gone.
The stag made his way north, and the hobbit nestled drowsily against his sleeping lover, and a new year began.