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[lastest_ringbearer]

silver bells	warm	chocolate orange	cardinal	decorating
carols	snow	travel	hearth	baking
cookies	cold	feast	icicles	Misrule
sacred	fruitcake	present	storm	igloo
prints in the snow	cousin	mittens	blue	Yule

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Comments

Hearth

[lastest_ringbearer]

Fires were worrying to poor Smeagol. He had, after all, come very close to burning to death not so long ago. Unfortunately, the rest of Bag End got very cold on winter nights. So he tended to wind up huddled at the very edge of the firelight, getting the worst of both worlds.

This sad state of affairs continued for some time, but one day Frodo nearly tripped over him in the dark and saw the misery on that thin face.

"What's the matter, Smeagol? Why are you huddled in the shadows?"

"We's cold, Precious, but we's scared of fireses."

"Oh Smeagol, why didn't you tell me? We have extra blankets--even a spare bed, if you'd like."

Smeagol gave Frodo a horribly lost, blank look. "What is bedses, my Precious?"

"Oh. Oh Eru, you don't remember what beds are? Beds are . . . remember the nice things we woke up on when we woke up, after the Quest was won?"

"No, Precious. We was too busy being pokeded and proded by healerses to sleep."

". . . well, beds are soft things made for sleeping on." Frodo scratched his head. "Do you have a room? There should be one in there."

"We has nothing to keep in room, why bother?"

"Point. Well, we'll just find you one to sleep in, shall we?"

And so they did.