Jumpers
What if Frodo does not like it? Ori worried. (Unlike the other dwarves, all called "uncle," he had never met Bilbo's nephew before.) His gift was not magical like the flying dragon from the wizard. It was not as cute as the stuffed bear from Thorin. Nor was it as emblematic as the hooded cloaks made in the colors of the Ur and In families from Bofur and Dwalin—
"Oh!" Frodo lifted up the knitted sweater. Bright blue with a thick golden band running along the hem and end of the sleeves, on the front a brown robed figure rode a sled drawn by Rhosgobel rabbits. Immediately putting it on, Frodo giggled at the way it swallowed him.
"You'll grow into it," Bilbo said before the scribe had time to properly panic and try to apologize.
"And I can keep it forever!"
Surprised, the dwarf blinked, suddenly finding himself with an armful of excited little hobbit.
"Thank you, Uncle Ori! I love it!"
The scribe feared his heart would burst as he blushed in embarrassment and immense pleasure. Small lips pressed against his cheek, causing his face to burn more.
"And I love you!" Frodo added.
Ori struggled for words, and instead returned the hobbit-kiss on the little one's forehead and received a happy beam in return.
Decorations
Tauriel did a double take when she entered the stables, her eyebrows slowly rising towards her hairline. Halting in front of the stall where Thranduil's elk was kept, the captain of the guard stared. The large creature had received its buttermilk bath, and its smooth fur gleamed in the light. But what was new were the garlands of holly draped over its body, a crown of tinsel resting on its head, and queer-shaped lights of various colors blinking along its antlers. The elk gazed calmly at the elf, contentedly munching on a green holly leaf.
"No, no! Snacking will spoil your appetite for milk and cookies!"
Tauriel jumped at the high-pitched, scandalized-sounding exclamation and watched in bemusement as the elven king rushed into the stables towards the stall, waving the plate of treats and glass of beverage in question which he held in his hands.
"Tis only fair she be included in the Yule festivities," Thranduil mumbled over his shoulder, his expression both dignified and sheepish, before focusing on the elk.
Tauriel simply shook her head.
Ice Skating
It seemed almost half the populace of Lake-town had chosen the afternoon for ice skating. Hand in hand, little boys and girls glided timidly over the ice, cheeks flushed from the cold. Young people skated fast and determined, exchanging shy glances. Older folk moved slowly yet surely, guiding and following without need of word or look, knowing one another so well.
Stroking alone around the outer circle of skaters, Bard clenched and unclenched his hands. In the past that had been he and Elsa; from when they could just barely walk, they had always been hand in hand. Bard had taken for granted the possibility that it would not be that way until they were old and white-haired. And now…
A gloved hand slipped into his left hand, drawing Bard's attention to his son, Bain's expression a mixture of concern and affection. The bowman glanced down as Tilda grasped his right hand firmly, her grin bright. Sigrid, holding her sister's other hand, gave her a father a small but no less heartfelt smile. Warmth filling him from the inside out, Bard's smile reached all the way up to his eyes as he glanced between his children, laughing when his youngest begged for them to go faster.
…I'm not alone.
Feast
Beorn cast a critical eye over the long table, his arms folded across his chest. There were bread and honey, stew, scalloped potatoes, stuffed and sautéed mushrooms, sausages with peppers, sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows, honey and cranberry biscuits, fried fish, stuffing, reindeer, chicken pot pie, buttered scones, cheese, pickles, honey-glazed ham, roasted chestnuts and peanuts, stout-hearted cake, lemon cake, cookies, apple tarts, and gooseberry pudding. Mead, ale, wine, coffee, hot chocolate, eggnog, and tea would be available for drinks.
A loud knock at the door had the skin-changer jumping and biting his bottom lip nervously before he waved away the goat that started for the door, a huge smile spreading across his face. "Welcome, my friends! Happy Yule!" he boomed, throwing the door open to his sixteen guests and politely ushering them in out of the cold.
It was not until the meal was done, with the wizard nodding contentedly off in his chair, the dwarves' rubbing their bellies and casting Beorn admiring glances, little bunny and little little bunny enthusiastically praising his and his animals' cooking, and Thorin Oakenshield calling him "dwarf friend," that the tall man truly believed he had pulled off the feast.
Pudding
Bofur cautiously stuck his head into the room he shared with Bombur. A quick look around confirmed Mama had not come. Whimpering from the cradle spurred the dwarfling into action. Quietly he approached the cradle and peeked in at his baby brother (though he was very big for a two-year-old). As soon as Bombur spotted his big brother, the ginger-haired boy sat up, eyes wide and hopeful.
Grinning widely, Bofur carefully handed down a tiny bowl filled with chocolate pudding. He shushed his brother when he laughed gleefully.
"Quiet. We aren't going to tell we've gotten into the pudding early. It is our secret," the dwarfing whispered, holding a finger to his mouth, his cheeks dimpling.