The Thain's apartments at the Great Smials were one of the wonders of the Shire. The rich golden brown wood covering walls and floors was called mahogany and came from a land so far away it didn't appear on any map known to a hobbit - even the odd ones who kept an ear out for word of goings on in the wider world.

According to the Year-book of Tuckborough, the floorboards dated back five hundred years to when a Took went on an adventure and came back with a wagon full of oddities - including the beautiful hardwood that so entranced the Took clan, he was dispatched on another adventure to locate more of it. It cost them a good portion of their flocks, but the result was worth it.

Rontius Took was fourteen and despite his love of lore and history, he was not inclined to treat the mahogany floor with any degree of respect. He bounded down the corridor to the guest smial where his favorite relative lodged. After a cursory knock, he pushed open the door.

"Grand-Uncle are there really such things as Orcs," he demanded of the old hobbit seated at a writing desk breathlessly. He wanted the Orcs, awful as they sounded, to be real so that no one could call his uncle a fool or a deceiver. Young Rontius adored this eccentric and exceptionally tall hobbit and could bear slander or stain on his reputation.

His uncle set quill and parchment aside to fix the lad with his faded, but still piercing, green gaze. "Who has been telling you tales?" he demanded in his rough voice. "There are Orcs - some call them Goblins - or I'm not a Took!"

"Addie says its made-up nonsense to scare little hobbits," the lad replied.

"Addie is misinformed," the old Took answered crisply.

"Misinformed?" Rontius was unfamiliar with that word.

"It means she's wrong because she doesn't have the facts," explained his uncle. "I've see goblins, slain them in battle. Are you calling an elder a liar Rontius?"

Young Rontius hastened to point out that he did not think his uncle a liar. The old Hobbit smiled and Rontius suffered his dark brown curls to be ruffled.

His uncle's face grew serious. "You're going to be Thain someday my lad, its your duty to know about goblins and things in case any stray into the Shire."

"Is it also true," Rontius began anew, "that you've met elves and wizards."

"As sure as Shire-talk."

"May I meet a wizard? Please?"

"Well..." the old Bullroarer could not imagine the family taking his exposing Gerontius to elves and Gandalf very well - they already thought him strange in ways that had little to do with his unusual height. Still, he was past a hundred now and stepping closer to his end with each new day. Someone in the family had to carry on the friendship with the wizard, for Bandobras often worried that the Shire could become too isolated and not hear of ill tidings until they arrived armed and fierce at the family smial. Gandalf came to the aid of the Shire during the Days of Dearth and the Bullroarer never forgot his kindness. He had been the one to introduce the wizard to pipeweed and was never hesitant to part with a barrel of his finest for his guest.

He leaned in close to look the lad straight in his green eyes. "All right lad... I'll introduce you to Gandalf next time he comes, but it'll be our secret. Your mum and dad would have my feet for doorstops if they found out."

Gerontius nodded solemnly, but was unable to conceal his excitement. Bullroarer promised that He was going to meet the wizard!

The Bullroarer was fond of joking that Gandalf came to visit him only because his hole had the highest ceiling in the four farthings. When standing, the wizard had an entire inch between the top of his head and the lowest of the beams.

The Bullroarer's Long Cleeve home was also Gerontius Took's favorite place in the Shire. The dark oak floors took a great deal of punishment and the only flowers were out in the garden where they belonged. Most of the furniture was sturdy hardwoods and constructed to accommodate the Bullroarer without swallowing others. The curtains and cushions were of sensible fabrics with abstract patterns or checkered prints rather than the frills and floral designs his cousin's wives seemed to favor. There were no delicate confections of glass or pink-cheeked porcelain figurines; this was a house intended as a family dwelling and the Bullroarer's energetic offspring had already seen to the destruction of anything easily breakable.

The only damage that upset the old hobbit was an injury to his beloved carpets. The Bullroarer was fond of padding under his feet. Otherwise, he was untroubled by the sort of dust and clutter that drove other hobbits, Rontius' parents among them, to distraction.

"My lass never cared much for the look of indoor things, she planned the farm and garden, I choose the smial furnishings," Bullroarer mused as he sat outside the hole with his pipe. After her death, he never referred to his wife by her name, though he would sometimes gesture to the window boxes that overflowed with red poppies in the warmer months.

The coin to build the smial originally came from his father, Thain Isengrim II, who gave his younger son enough gold to purchase a small farm in the Tookland. To the surprise of all the Tooks, Bandobras removed to the Northfarthing where the land was untamed and not as thickly settled. He bought a good-sized farm and settled down to raise sheep and barley.

Then, in 1147 some of his sheep began to disappear. After a conference of neighbors the villagers of Long Cleeve scoured the area until they found the culprits. They were expecting wolves but discovered instead goblins. The creatures hissed and insulted the hobbits, but when pressed revealed they were the forerunners of an invasion.

Bandobras picked up his wooden club and charged the ranks of the enemy, his brave act galvanizing the courage of his neighbors. He cleaved the head from the goblin king, propelling him into Shire history and inspiring the game of golf at the same time.

Fame did not change him; he accepted the accolades of others and the nickname ‘Bullroarer' without comment. He did create a small golf course on his property and played regularly. He married his sweetheart Poppy Boffin and the pair focused their efforts on the farm and their offspring – they eventually had ten children, eight of whom lived to come of age.

Then came the winter of 1158. Times were dire though not as bad as they were in other parts of the Shire. They did not starve, though the family suffered from malnutrition. Poppy miscarried of a child who ought to have been their fourth.

Then the wizard came. The Bullroarer found himself showing him around the area, unaware that hobbit fortitude and lack of complaint in the face of disaster won the admiration of the Istar. The next spring, the old man returned with a wagon full of seed. Crops from that line were more numerous and frost resistant.

Bandobras repaid his kindness with a barrel of pipeweed, the last of a better year. The wizard took to it like a duck to a pond.

* * *

Spring was just beginning to break winter's grip in the North as Gandalf the Grey entered the Shire. As always, life in the Northfarthing hiccupped when he paid a visit to his old friend – there was no help for it; someone near twice his size would attract and hold his attention too. As he approached the smial with its bright yellow door and tidy garden, Gandalf watched as his old hobbit emerged with a dark haired youngster in tow. The wizard was convinced the hobbit hadn't aged a day since his last visit – but that had only been three years previous and the Took family was well-known for its longevity.

"Gandalf, I've been expecting you since Mersday," the hobbit announced as he greeted the wizard.

"Wizards, Bandobras Took, arrive in their own time," Gandalf rumbled. His eyes twinkled, "I was delayed by an inspection of the quality of the Eastfarthing beer."

"It's not a patch on our beer," Bandobras had the zeal of a convert and was all for the North in most things.

Gandalf was willing to be convinced. "I look forward to sampling your local brew."

"My nephew," Bandobras introduced the lad. "Gerontius Took, son of Fortinbras Took and Daffodil Brockhouse."

"At your service sir," the youngster said, stepping forward. He was of average height for his age with dark curls and the green eyes of the Tooks.

"And your family's," Gandalf replied. "It is always a pleasure to meet a youngster. But Bandobras," he said as he waggled a bushy eyebrow at the elder Took. "Are you adopting the ways of men my friend? I happen to know this lad is actually your great-nephew."

"I was being concise," the Bullroarer defended himself. "You told me yourself that Big Folk ain't so interested in family lore and exact relations as hobbits."

"True," Gandalf conceded, "but I've always been an exception when it comes to hobbits. So too are you."

"And the lad."

"We shall see," Gandalf said, but his tone implied that he already agreed with his host.

* * *

"How is your nephew the Thain?"

The two had been talking for some hours before the conversation turned to people and events in other parts of the Shire. Had Rontius still been up, Bandobras would have censored his words, but the Bullroarer had made a point of frankness and honesty with his friend. "He's improved a bit, but as Thain's go, Fortinbras is a place holder. He don't know how to be anything else, the lad's a follower not a leader. It's Cousin Hildi who runs the Tookland in truth."

"Young Gerontius is the only son?"

The hobbit nodded; Rontius was an only child, through his parents had seen three quicken and a lass stillborn. Their misfortunes marked the Thain and his wife, and accounted for the odd distance from their son even while in the same room. Bandobras Took found himself filling the void in the lad's heart.

"I see," Gandalf mused. "Grief and suffering can lower barriers in some and raise them in others."

"He's a good lad, it's a tragedy his parents treat him as such." Bullroarer attended to his pipe for a moment. "Elves still here?"

"A few more leave every year, but yes there are still elves in Middle Earth," Gandalf said. Only a hobbit would ask if elves were ‘still here' and he found it a vital part of their charm.

"It's rather late and this old body needs to be in bed," the Bullroarer said as he rose, one hand straying to his back.

"Is your back still paining you?" Gandalf asked, concerned. Since childhood, Bandobras suffered from terrible back pain related to his great height – a height hobbit-frames were never intended to support. On one of his trips to Imladris, Gandalf even inquired of Elrond on his friend's behalf, but save for pain-dulling medicines there was nothing for him. The Great Elf-lord was astounded the hobbit survived as long as he had, but the Days of Dearth taught Gandalf much about the tenacity of hobbits and he was still learning.

Bandobras nodded. "Healer gave me a tonic that helps, but it clouds my mind so I only take it before it rains. My back always flames just before wet weather sets in."

As Gandalf watched his friend shuffle into the smial, he wondered how many winters the Bullroarer had left. He did not believe there would be many more for the old hobbit. Since the Days of Dearth, something made Gandalf pay attention to the Shire, a task eased by his friendship with Bandobras. The wizard undertook his mission with no small pleasure for the small affairs of hobbits were a relief after the labyrinthine councils of the wise.

Bandobras Took was a perceptive creature and Gandalf did not believe the presence of his nephew was an accident. He was being invited to cultivate the lad. The wizard turned his thoughts to the boy. Gerontius' very presence and excitement showed potential, and he was the heir to an important hobbit and privy to even more news than his exceptional grand-uncle. Had the choice been left to Gandalf he would have looked first among the North-tooks, but once again Bandobras surprised him.

       Spring was just starting to give way to summer at the Great Smials when Rontius found his Aunt Daisy in the garden sobbing over a letter clutched in her plump hand.

       "Aunt?" he inquired cautiously. Someone was dead; it was merely a question of whom. He tried to remember if anyone was especially ill, but no names came to mind. Dread bubbled up inside of him.

       "Bandobras Took passed on Highday," Aunt Daisy croaked between tears. Rontius took the letter from her and read it twice before handing it back. He found himself waling up the path from the garden to the grand entrance to the Great Smials. He stood in the Octagon room, the eight sided hallway that served as the gateway to the Thain's apartments, the dining halls and the main part of the smials. As he stood there, he felt strangely empty, like a glass tipped over to spill out most of its contents. For the first time in his life, Rontius stood without any clear idea of where to go. His feet surprised him by leading him to his father's study. He knocked on the door.

       "Enter," came the Thain's voice.

       Rontius pushed open the door to find his father studying reports of expected crop yields. He cleared his throat, causing his father to start.

       "Thought you were Barley with tea," the Thain said. "Well, what do you want?"

       As always, Rontius felt as though he were speaking to his father from the other side of the Shire. His parents were never deliberately cruel to him, but their lack of affection rubbed him like course cloth.

       "The Bullroarer is dead."

       The Thain sat up in his chair. For a moment, the young hobbit saw grief flicker across his father's worn face before it was submerged under his façade of calm.

       "We'll need to send someone to the funeral," the Thain mused, running the bottom of his pen against his chin. He studied Rontius carefully with his shrewd gaze. "It's about time you started assuming some responsibilities. You can begin by representing the family at the funeral."

       "Yes sir," Rontius said before he departed, wondering as usual if his father gave him permission for his sake or that of his position. He shook himself out of his thoughts as he hurried to his room to pack. What did the reasons matter so long as he was able to pay his final respects to the hobbit he most admired.

       Now the nominal head of his branch of the family, Beryl North-took stood solemnly outside the Bullroarer's smial to greet family and mourners. He was the first in his line to carry the name 'North-took' – his father approved the change for his offspring but felt himself too old to change the name he'd had all his life. As Rontius passed him by, the North-took met his gaze and gave him a sympathetic nod; Beryl knew how close his father and young cousin had been.

       The funeral was simple but dignified, a combination of which the Bullroarer would have approved. He was planted between his wife Poppy and the small grave of their youngest daughter Willow. His surviving daughters, Spirea, Forsythia, and his granddaughter Periwinkle scattered wildflowers across his grave. Within a few months his bare mound would be as green and grassed over as the others in the small burial ground.

       "I'm surprised you made the funeral, our messenger must have rode quickly to reach you. I don't doubt you were on the road within an hour of hearing the news." Beryl remarked with his usual candor at the funeral feast. "With the warm weather we couldn't wait long to bury him."

       "I'm representing the Thain and the Took," Rontius said wearily. The neighbors brought a fine array of dishes for the feast to ease the burden on the family, but Rontius found himself unable to do much more than pick at his food. Across the field, Periwinkle frowned at him and he made a show of eating before she worried his aunts with his lack of appetite.

       Beryl raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He was a hobbit who tended to reserve judgment and as a result was well-liked.

       "I'll be going back to Tookland tomorrow."

       "You can stay longer if you wish," Beryl offered. "We may be a house in morning, but you are family. Besides you'll need a cart for Da's bequests to you and the family in Tookland."

       Rontius raised an eyebrow. "Bequests?"

       His elder cousin smiled, it was his father's expression encompassing warmth and amusement. "You don't think he didn't leave you anything but memories, now did you?"

       "I hadn't thought of it," Rontius answered him honestly. He thought the wonderful memories the Bullroarer left him were the finest inheritance in the Shire.

       "Bide with us another few days before going back to Tuckborough."

       Beryl assigned his niece Periwinkle to help him load the small cart – it and the fine dappled pony to pull it were a bequest to one of the Tooks farming near Tookbank. Assorted oddities were left to various relations; there was a pipe for the Thain, a length of a rare petal-soft cloth for his wife, a vase and table for Aunt Daisy, and small pouches of gold for Cousin Hildi and his daughter Peridot among other tokens of esteem and affection.

       To Rontuis, his uncle left a small copper-lined cedar trunk filled with odd things. A few books from his library, including an annotated copy of The Life of Bandobras Took, Bullroarer with all the exaggerations and inaccuracies pointed out in the old hobbit's crisp hand in the margins. Also included was the black tooth of a sea creature. It was triangular and bigger than his hand. Rontius shivered at the thought of the mouth it had once been in and was glad neither the Shirebourne nor the Water supported such a monster. It could probably swallow a hobbit whole.

       The tooth seemed to reaffirm for Rontius that the sea for all its wonder were not a place for a hobbit; those crazy Bucklanders in the Eastfarthing might play around with boats, but that was on the ale colored Brandywine not the wild and undrinkable sea. Rontius harbored a profound distrust of water deeper than himself. Some Tooks might crave adventures, his small longing for excitement was quenched by journeys in the Shire and tales of far-off wanders; he had no desire to see such things for himself.

       As he tucked the tooth back inside the trunk, he was struck by an odd and far-off sound that was both a crash and a roar, and the smell of salt. It frightened him, as though one he dearly loved were taken by the rolling gray-green waters. The moment faded he was back in the Shire he so loved, but the fear left its stain upon his mind.