Warmth

Bilbo had loved snow for as long as he could remember. And encountering it in the middle of a quest to reclaim a lost kingdom made Bilbo think perhaps things would turn out all right, that he belonged here, that he could somehow call thirteen dwarves and a wizard family.

A violent chill shook his body, causing him briskly rub his hands up and down his arms. An instant later, an unexpected warmness settled over Bilbo's head and ears, followed by a wool scarf being wrapped snugly around his neck. Startled, the hobbit looked up at a bare-headed Bofur, who grinned at him before sticking out his tongue to catch snowflakes on it.

Candlelight

Celeborn looked up from his papers when the study door squeaked, opening to reveal his wife in the doorway. The candle Galadriel held bathed her pale face and white dress in a golden glow. Silently, gracefully she came into the room.

She spoke softly, "Celebrian will be bursting into our room, no doubt, at sunrise for us to open presents. Come to bed." She held out a hand to the silver-haired elf.

Sighing deeply, her husband accepted it while he rose from his seat at his desk. As she started to turn away, he tugged gently to bring her closer to him. Leaning forward, Celeborn impulsively kissed her, and she smiled against his lips.

Home

"Uncle Oin!" Gimli cried when he threw open the door.

The healer, exhausted by the long, hard day's work, smiled and lifted his little nephew up into his arms with ease. "Hello, lad!"

"Are you staying for Yule?" the dwarfling asked in a hopeful whisper.

Oin's "yes" earned him cheers and another long hug from the ginger-haired lad, and as he returned the embrace, he thought, it's good to be home.

Midnight

"Wake up, Uncle! Wake up!"

The two excited voices and jostling of the bed disrupted Thorin's sleep. With a groan he rolled over, burying his face in his pillow.

"Five more minutes," he murmured. He grunted when two small bodies purposely jumped on him.

"But, Uncle Thorin, it is midnight!" Fili pleaded.

"Already?"

"Yes!" Kili answered, clapping his hands. "You promised!"

Shaking his head, Thorin sat up and looked at his nephews. They appeared much too awake for such a late hour of the night, shaking with energy, faces glowing with excitement.

"Very well," he yawned, permitting them to help throw back the covers. "But remember," he managed to appear and sound stern while only half awake. "Only one gift is opened now. The rest wait until after breakfast. Understand?" He glanced between them.

The two dwarflings nodded vigorously. A smile tugging on his lips, Thorin sighed as Fili and Kili scrambled into his arms, wrapping their small arms around him, pressing kisses to his cheeks. Standing and walking out of his room, the dwarf chuckled, wondering how he got himself talked into these things.

Roaring Fires

Smaug's devastating fire and the seemingly countless goblin torches had made Bifur lose his focus. His gaze had become lost and empty as he was drawn into a dark isolated place without escape that terrified him; he only finally had come back to the present when violently shaken, his worried cousins' raised voices finding him.

Now the doors of the main hall were thrown open, revealing the festive decorations. But the only thing the dwarf saw was the roaring fireplace, and he froze, the world threatening to spin and darken around him. Suddenly a firm, unfamiliar hand pressed down on his shoulder, and the storm swirling inside him grew calm. Inhaling deeply, Bifur discovered Bard standing by his side. There was no judgment or fear in his dark gaze; the bowman looked at him with a sense of understanding, empathy.

Holding the man's gaze, the dwarf sighed, realizing he was not the only one who was haunted by dragon fire and gaining comfort from that knowledge. Clasping the man on his lower arm, Bifur grunted his thanks and bowed his head. Bard's smile revealed his comprehension, and, neither letting go, the two together stepped further into the hall.