Border of Buckland, TA 3016- Yule's Eve

The frigid wind blew across the snow-covered plains, bringing with it the promise of even more snow. Most of the hobbits who lived along the Hedge had closed their doors to the cold by now, for the sun was beginning to fall to the horizon in the West and temperatures were dropping quickly. In addition(And arguably more importantly in the hobbit's eyes), each and every one of them was preoccupied with preparations for Yule's Eve. The smell of roast meats of all kinds wafted through the air and the laughter of young hobbit children could be heard. The warm light of hearth fires leaked out through the windows of the hobbit's homes, inviting any who were caught on the road in such weather inside. They were most certainly comfortable within, away from the freezing cold. The Dunedain, however, were not.

Three of them sat huddled about in the forest just outside the Hedge. They dared not light a fire, for they did not want the Halflings to be aware of their presence. One of them, the leader of their group, cupped his hands to his mouth as he tried unsuccessfully to warm them.

"I've half a mind to ask those Halflings to let us dine with them," He muttered, shivering slightly as his dark eyes caught the reflection of the light coming from one of the dwellings.

"They wouldn't let us past the Hedge cousin, especially looking the way we do now," one of the others replied. His auburn beard was frozen, and it bristled outward in almost comical fashion.

"Whaddaya mean?" The third Ranger laughed as he rubbed his hands together. "You look like ol' Tom Bombadil, what with that beard and all!"

"You've never even seen Tom, Flicker!" The first ranger countered.

"No, but your stories of him are enough to give me a pretty fair mental image, Aragorn." Flicker raised a hand in front of him and began to elaborate. "What was it you said...? Pointy red hat, big ol' belly like a baker, jolly red cheeks and a big smile. Spittin' image of our Gerithor!" He motioned towards the second ranger, who frowned. His eyebrows, which were also frozen, furrowed and he let out a growl.

"Jolly red cheeks my beard," he said. "They're just about frozen off."

"What, you're too cross to respond to the 'big ol' belly' part?" Aragorn inquired with a raise of his eyebrow.

"I wish," Gerithor replied. "A big belly full of mead and mutton would do wonders for my mood lads."

"You can hope for all that and more at the Yuletide feast, mate." Flicker closed his eyes, as if imagining a magnificent meal laid before him. The Dunedain traveled to Rivendell, or The Last Homely House in the West as it was also called, every few years to celebrate Yuletide with the elves. Lord Elrond always provided the best food, the finest music, and the best hospitality; More than the Rangers were privy to anywhere else.

"Well, we'll be done here soon," Aragorn replied with a sigh. "But the halflings are far too fat and complacent to deal with wargs. Especially an entire pack like the scouts reported."

"Aye, you're right," Gerithor said, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I just hope they'll try and attack the Hedge so we can be done with it and travel to Rivendell."

Right now, the prospect seemed unlikely to him. The wargs had been spotted by Dunedain scouts between the Chetwood and the Old Forest two days past, making their way westward toward the Shire. The scouts said that the pack was large, at least forty wargs strong. The news was alarming, to say the least, and the Rangers had quickly gathered in small groups all along the border of the Shire to prevent the pack from passing into it.

So now they were waiting. Time was ticking by... And with each passing hour, the chances of them returning for the Yuletide celebration were fading.

============================

East West Road, Same Time

The wargs in mention were on the hunt in the trees on either side of the East-West Road. Game was plentiful there, and the wargs had already managed to hunt several stags.

But that only made them easier to track.

Two dark cloaked figures slunk from tree to tree, little more than shadows to passersby. In fact, anyone on the road would be hard pressed to see them even then. For they were elves, and elves are known for being able to move undetected when they wish.

"Dartha an," one of them whispered as they made their way through the forest. The sun had set little more than an hour ago, and already a waxing moon shone upon the newly fallen snow.

"I drauga a tuma," The other, a silver haired elf wearing a white cloak, replied as he examined a set of tracks. The other, taller elf knelt down beside him, his dark armor glinting in the moonlight.

"Min talt adel," He murmured as his emerald eyes surveyed the snow-covered landscape around them.

"Ai!" The silver haired ellon exclaimed in frustration. "They're always one step ahead of us."

"They seem to have a destination in mind," the dark-armored elf said as he absently traced one of the tracks with a gloved hand. Suddenly he lifted his hand and tilted his hooded head to the side.

"Caledorn? What is it?" The smaller elf asked, immediately alert to his surroundings.

"They're on the move again," the dark clad elf replied, instantly springing up and bounding away into the forest. "Quickly!"

"I'm not as young as I once was, mellon-nin!" The silver haired warrior replied as he slowly stood and followed his companion deeper into the trees.

"The hunt will wait for no one Glorfindel, least of all an elf who complains of his age," Caledorn retorted over his shoulder, which earned him an unhappy glare from the other elf. Instead of replying however, he continued to follow Caledorn in silence.

The path led them in a strangely direct course, diverging neither to the north or south. It grew increasingly clear that the wargs were traveling somewhere specific, though where remained to be seen.

As the hours went by the snow began to fall harder, and the cold wind chilled both elves to the bone. Glorfindel wondered how the wargs were able to keep a steady pace in such fierce weather, and began to think that it might just be a better idea to give up and return to the warmth of Imladris. Their horses were stabled in the nearby town of Bree, where they had originally heard of the warg pack. They would have brought the horses along but the beasts were not bred for such cold weather, which was particularly unfortunate in their current situation.

"Perhaps we should turn back!" Glorfindel yelled over the howling wind.

"They can only go so far!" Caledorn replied, covering his face with his scarf as he strode atop the snow. "Even wargs suffer the ill effects of the cold eventually!"

Glorfindel frowned, but nodded as he quickened his pace to catch up to his dark-clad companion. He knew Caledorn well enough to know that once the stoic warrior had made a decision, he would not change it even if every being in Middle Earth was trying to stop him. Even if it meant he'd freeze to death in a forest in the middle of the Bree-land.

============================

Imladris

"We're short on Dorwinion Red, my lord," the attendant, a prim and proper elf named Gelon said as he let out a slightly annoyed sniff.

"Send for more from the cellar then," Lord Elrond replied. Without waiting for a reply he turned and strode gracefully to a nearby window, his scarlet and white robes swishing behind him. The snow was falling outside, the large flakes wafting slowly down upon the windowsill.

It was times like these that Elrond valued most. The momentary peace of the falling snow, the soft sound of a harp in the dining hall nearby... Moments such as this were all too rare in his life of late. And he intended to savor this one to the fullest.

...That is, he would have were it not for Gelon, who seemed intent on asking him questions every five seconds.

"Where shall we place the evergreens, my lord? I myself thought that they'd look absolutely exquisite near the stairway." The elf always had an air of self-importance about him... But Elrond was attempting to tailor him for stewardship someday, so he forced himself to endure Gelon's peevish nature.

"Place them in the dining hall, in the corners," Elrond said with a wave of his hand. Gelon, though put off that Elrond had not taken his suggestion to heart, hurried to carry out the orders.

The entire house smelled of pine and fine food, and Elrond gave himself another moment to indulge in admiring the scents. Though he often had feasts, Yuletide always felt special somehow. He couldn't quite put a finger on what made it so, but everything about it was extraordinary. The food, the winter weather, the companionship of those close to him... Perhaps those were the reasons.

"How many Rangers will be here, my lord?" Gelon asked as he hurried past to inspect a nearby wreath.

Elrond stopped for a moment to think. Aragorn had said that he and twenty of his men would arrive, but he had also said that they would have made it to Imladris two days ago. Were they still coming?

"I do not yet know," he replied slowly. "Prepare places for thirty."

"Thirty rangers??" Gelon asked, his lip curling up slightly in disdain for a moment before he hid it. "As you wish my lord."

As Gelon scurried off, Elrond couldn't help but wonder if something had prevented the Rangers from arriving. They often dealt with unexpected events that drew their attention away from festivities, but Elrond couldn't imagine that anything could have happened today. After all, there had been no sign of danger near Imladris.

For some reason, he still couldn't escape the feeling... What if they were in danger?

============================

Border of Buckland, Midnight

A long howl rose over the sound of the wind, causing Gerithor to immediately wake from a restless sleep.

"They're near," Aragorn said as he readied his sword. "They've been howling for some time now."

"Aye, they're taunting us," Flicker growled. "I wonder how much they'd like this!" He fired a grey-feathered arrow from his bow into the darkness, and immediately a roar of pain pierced the air.

"Take that, ya mangy halfbreeds!" He cried, fitting another arrow to his bowstring.

Suddenly a warg stepped into view, its thick white fur bristling as it bared its sharp teeth at the rangers. Gerithor pulled back his bow and aimed at the warg, ready to shoot. But just as he was about to release the string, four more massive wargs stalked into the bright moonlight, their eyes glowing in anticipation of their next meal.

"Stand back to back!" Aragorn commanded as he watched several more wargs appear. One by one they trotted into view, until the rangers were completely surrounded by snarling fangs and fur.

"There's too many!" Flicker exclaimed. "At least forty by my reckoning."

"We're done for," Gerithor said grimly as he pulled a horn from his belt. Its call would summon the other Dunedain, but by the time they arrived he feared it would be too late. But better late than never.

Just as he raised the horn to his lips, an entirely different song began to echo through the trees, faint at first, but growing in volume over time:

Go away ye mangy beasts!

That's what Flicker said

But they don't want to leave their feast

For they too must be fed!

So harken now, my creatures kind

And hear the word of Tom, Tom Bombadillo!

Go 'way North, and there you'll find

Deer, elk and armadillo!

And don't come back to southern lands

Or ol' Tom will make ya

Leave again and go to sands

Far o'er the River Yarada!

At the sound of the voice the wargs fled as one, heading quickly northward and disappearing once more into the darkness of the forest.

The rangers were astonished to see a large, big bearded man dressed in red come bounding through the trees, dancing merrily and humming a tune as he approached.

"Ho lads! Don't go a provokin'! Wargs travel in packs for a reason, they'll attack if you kill em!" He said the words as an admonishment, but none would know by looking at him. He wore a huge toothy smile and his cheeks were as red as his clothes.

"Ol' Tom Bombadil!" Aragorn replied with a laugh. "You're the last person I expected to see!"

"Ring a ding dillo! If it isn't Aragorn, Strider, Estel, or whatever other name you go by nowadays!" Bombadil said with a hearty laugh. "I just saved your life!"

"Indeed you did," Aragorn said. "And for that we thank you. But what brings you out on such a cold night?"

"A little of this, a little of that," the strange fellow said mischievously, tapping his nose knowingly with a white-gloved finger. Then, as if to no-one: "Out of the shadows, elves! You look much fairer in the light! The wargs you're a-hunting are gone away to the north, never to return!"

As if by command two elves emerged from the trees, one clad in raven black and the other in armor white as the snow.

"Bombadil!" Glorfindel exclaimed with almost childlike joy. "It is good to see you, Eldest!"

"And you, Wraith-bane!" Tom said happily. "What a lovely gathering! But I'm afraid I must be off! Ol' Tom has more than Goldberry to look after at Yuletide!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gerithor asked confusedly.

"None of your business Lastborn! And don't act surprised, I know you well! Even if you don't know me!" Tom laughed. "Oh, I almost forgot! I happen to have something Goldberry wanted me to give you!" As if by magic, he produced a masterfully crafted quiver from the small pack on his back. "Take care of it and it will take care of you!" He laughed again at the speechless expression on the ranger's face, then turned to Aragorn. "I have something for you too!" He pulled a pipe, small but inlaid with silver, from his pack. "Used to be my favorite!" Without stopping he pulled a long hunting knife, complete with an embroidered sheath, from the pack and handed it to Flicker. "Mind the blade! Sharper than a razor!" And to each of the elves he gave a dozen arrows, black feathered for Caledorn and white feathered for Glorfindel. "Mithril heads on those! Take care of 'em!"

All of this happened within a minute. And no sooner had he finished than he winked at the company and vaulted over the Hedge, leaving no trace of his presence behind aside from the last snatches of a jolly song.

"What just happened?" Gerithor asked, scratching his head.

"You tell me," Flicker replied.

"You just met Tom Bombadil," Caledorn said with a wry look on his face. "The fellow is strange beyond all reason, but he's older than the mountains themselves. I suppose because of that alone he has an excuse to be a little eccentric."

"Why'd he go over the Hedge?" Gerithor inquired, observing that Tom's footprints were completely gone.

"That, I do not know the answer to," Caledorn replied.

"Perhaps he's going to give free things to all of the halflings," Aragorn said with a smirk.

"As if," Flicker snorted. "That pack was too small for the gifts he had in it as it was."

"Well, no matter," Gerithor said. "He's a strange fellow indeed, but now I can put a face to all the stories you tell about him Aragorn."

"And now you know why the stories are so odd," Aragorn said with a laugh.

Everyone took a moment to register what had happened before thinking about what to do next.

"Well, our task is done," Caledorn said. "The wargs are no longer a threat."

"As is ours, mellon," Gerithor replied with a smile. "We can rest easy now."

"In that case... We should hurry to Rivendell! We might still arrive at the feast on time!" Flicker exclaimed.

"I second that," Glorfindel said as he shivered. "Anything to get out of the cold as soon as possible."

In unison the group began to make their way back in the direction the elves had come, the cold wind at their back... Back toward Rivendell.

=====================================

Imladris

After retrieving their horses from Bree the company made quick time, hurrying through the night until they reached their destination. Rivendell looked even more fair in the winter, for a thin layer of snow covered the roofs of the buildings and the nearby waterfall was frozen, the ice glistening in the light of the nearly full moon. The faint sound of laughter could be heard in the valley below, and the warm light from the Last Homely House was an invitation that could not be turned down.

As the company made their way down the worn path into the valley, the joyous sound of singing rang through the frosty air:

Oh, what are you doing,
And where are you going?
Your ponies need shoeing,
The bright snow is falling!
Oh, tra-la-la-lally
Here down in the valley, ha! ha!

Oh, where are you going
With beards all a-freezing
No knowing, no knowing,
What brings young Varonwe,
And Flicker and Estel
On Yule? in the valley, ha! ha!

The snow is far brighter
Than gems without measure,
The moon is far whiter
Than silver in treasure

To fly would be folly,
To stay would be jolly.
Tra-lil-lil-lil-lolly, ha! ha!

Oh, what are you doing,
And where are you going?
Your ponies need shoeing,
The bright snow is falling!
Oh, tra-la-la-lally
Here down in the valley, ha! ha

When they reached the gate the song had ended, and several elves dressed in crimson garments greeted them and led them inside.

"Lord Elrond was expecting you!" One of them said to Aragorn, who was dismounting his horse. "The food is warm, and the hearth warmer! Do join us!"

"We would be happy to," Aragorn replied with a rare smile. It seemed for a moment that the weariness that constantly showed in his eyes had disappeared, and instead they shone with an almost childlike joy as he followed the elf into the House of Elrond.

Gerithor too felt that a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and he found himself smiling widely as the scent of a medley of foods reached his nose. An elf took his horse and another led him into the House after Aragorn. He was taken to a room of his own where fresh clothes and a warm bath awaited him. He thanked the elf who had accompanied him there, and once the elf had left he allowed himself to relax completely.

A candle burned in the corner, and it let off a pleasing aroma that reminded Gerithor of mint leaves. As he took his bath he found that the candle never seemed to melt, instead lasting for the entire duration of the bath(which was quite long) and not showing a single sign of wear. Elvish magic is quite a wonder, he thought to himself as he buttoned the clean shirt he had been given. It was a deep forest green, almost matching his normal attire but it was a much more elegant design. Soon after he finished getting dressed the same elf that had showed him to his room returned.

"The feast is waiting," She said with a smile. "Right this way."

As Gerithor made his way down the hallway, Aragorn stepped out of his room.

"I'm starving," he said as he rubbed his stomach in anticipation. "I could smell the food from my room."

"I couldn't, but that doesn't mean I'm any less hungry than you! Join us!" Gerithor said as Aragorn fell into step next to him. They soon arrived in the dining hall, where Lord Elrond and several other elves were already seated, including Glorfindel who was in deep discussion with an elderly Halfling.

Both Aragorn and Gerithor were seated at the vast table, upon which was a feast beyond the ranger's wildest dreams. Roast beef was carved upon a silver plate in front of him, and an entire pig lay in the middle of the table, glazed and surrounded by vegetables and small pastries. A mountain of mashed potatoes was next to it, with dark gravy that was steaming hot. The only light in the room came from the hearth and two large evergreen trees, which had dozens of candles upon their boughs.

Caledorn was soon seated behind him, though by now the elf had changed out of his armor into a midnight blue tunic, which was lined with long dark fur. Gerithor didn't recognize him at first, for his demeanor had changed almost completely. His emerald eyes twinkled with an almost mischievous glint, and he looked much younger. He smiled as he took in the smell of the feast, then turned to Gerithor.

"I haven't felt this happy in some time," He said joyfully. "Something about the House of Elrond is just... peaceful."

"I agree my friend," Gerithor said, returning the smile. "I'm glad you were able to join us!"

"As am I," Caledorn said with a merry laugh. "Nowhere east of here could dream of having a feast this fine."

At that moment Lord Elrond stood and called the room to silence. He looked regal in his deep red robes, and he wore a crown of mistletoe upon his brow which gave him an almost kingly appearance.

"Friends from all four corners of Middle Earth," he began. "You have gathered here to join in the fellowship of Yuletide, or Turuhalme in the tradition of the elves, and I am most glad you have come." He strode slowly to one of the trees and broke a small branch from it. "This is a branch of the evergreen tree. They never wither, nor do they lose their needles when the snow of winter is upon them. So may it be with our friendship. May it last through the most barren of days, the dark times, and may it never wither or fade." He passed the branch around, and each guest broke a piece off. "Take these as a reminder that our friendship is lasting."

The feeling of kinship was strong in the room, and elf, man, and Halfling alike shared in it. For their friendship extended beyond race, or even old quarrels between them. As Caledorn passed the branch to Gerithor, both knew that it was more than mere symbolism. They were brothers, regardless of blood.

"May you all share in the peace that comes with Yule, and may we stand together in the days to come, no matter how dark they may seem." With that Elrond raised his glass in a toast, and every guest followed suit. Their fellowship would not be broken, and as the evening continued on bonds were strengthened that not even the Dark Lord of Mordor could break. For that was what Yule was about, and that was what it would always be.