It all belongs to JRR Tolkien. I only own my angsty imagination.
Candle Glow
Rosie's lit the Yule candle and we shared it's flame with Number Three. Now it sits in the window, lettin' everyone know that we're all one an' even on the darkest day light will come. There's a party down the hill an' we'll be goin' later but now we're just sittin' round the fire with cups of mulled wine.
I look at Mr Frodo across the hearth, his pale face lit by the fire. I reckon he's like that Yule candle. What worries me is that once the wax has melted there's nothin' left but the memory of somethin' beautiful.
END
First Yule
The folk of Hobbiton had dressed Farmer Cotton's barn in every scrap greenery they could find. Pantries had been emptied to fill the lines of trestle tables, dressed with bright cloths and best china, and Gaffer Gamgee took charge of the dispensing from several kegs of ale.
There was still much work to be done cleaning up the Shire but on this Yuletide everyone had downed tools to celebrate the return to life. All were invited, regardless of previous allegiances, for now was the time of healing.
A cheer went up as Mayor Baggins touched Yule Flame to the bonfire.
END
Yuletide Blessing
Frodo was ushered into the empty Hall of Fire, by light of a single candle. "There is no fire," he noted.
Elrond smiled. "Always have I set flame to the first fire of the year as reminder that Imladris is a place of hospitality. I understand there is a Shire custom to carry fire from door to door at year's turning." He handed over the candle.
Misty eyed, Frodo set wick to kindling, bowing to the first tiny flames as he recited the Yule blessing. "May you have hearth to comfort, oven to cook and candle to guide you home."
END