Edwin did not remember his mother.

"Taken away from us far too early," his father had said one summer night, his eyes damp, a terribly far-off look deep within them. "Fever. You weren't even two," he'd said before lapsing into an impenetrable silence for the rest of the evening, fiddling with the golden band around his third finger. It was years later that Edwin discovered that summer night had been his parents’ wedding anniversary.

Actually, to say that Edwin didn't remember his mother would be incorrect. He remembered two lovely blue eyes, dark and deep, and cinnamon-honey colored hair. The smell of warm cooking always was about her, and she would sing a little lullaby that was soft and slow, a song that started in hello and ended in goodbye, sweet and sad. Sometimes he would lay awake at night, trying to remember the words or tune, but all he could think of was how it seemed to have been written just for him; he had never heard it sung by anyone else since.

He thought he missed his mother, but he wasn't really sure. How could he miss someone he had not known well at all? He occasionally wondered how his life would be if she was still there.

Edwin didn't ask his father about his mother- even on his best days, he was trapped in the past, remembering happier times. Edwin didn't want his father to sink even further into long-passed memories, but was achingly curious nonetheless. He had once asked father about the happier times, and he had said, "During the Telcontar line in Gondor, I was twenty, still courting your mother. Those were better times, my boy. Then the last of the Telcontar house died, and the protection that had been provided from robbers and ruffians disappeared. I don't know how things are in Gondor are now, who is ruling, but it's rather obvious that they don't care for the humble north."

"What made the house of Telcontar so special, dad?"

"They had Elf blood in them. And the first of the house was from the north; he was one of us. That's what made them special to me, and the fact that they took care of the entire realm. They remembered where it was they came from."

Edwin didn't know very much about Elves, only that they had all sailed to the Undying Lands long ago. In his mind, they were tall and beautiful, with dark blue eyes and cinnamon-honey hair, and sang bittersweet songs. He had heard tales of Elves from some of the villagers in Archet, and how there had been many in Middle-Earth at one time. He wondered if they had lived in dark forests, like Chetwood. Chetwood was his front yard, back yard, and playing-ground. It was also dangerous, according to the villagers, because the robbers had taken to living there again ever since the house of Telcontar had fallen. What did they know, anyway? Chetwood was his home. He wasn't entirely sure the villagers approved of that fact.

"It can't be a good place to raise a boy," he had heard one of the village gossips say while he was waiting for his father to finish bargaining with one of the shopkeepers for their food. But Chetwood was the best place, with or without these so-called "robbers". He and his father had never been robbed. And why would they be robbed? They lived in a small cabin a mile into Chetwood with a little stable for their horse and owned nothing of value- unless, of course, if you thought of a few weapons and a pin as valuable.

The weapons (two swords, a bow and a quiver of arrows, and a set of throwing knives) were his father's. The pin was a silver star, and looked as if it could have been used to fasten a cloak. He had asked his father about it, and he had muttered something about it being his father's. Edwin hadn't even met his grandfather- he had been killed, so his father said. Grandfather had taught father how to fight (his training had never been finished), and now father was using his incomplete knowledge to teach him.

Learning how to use swords and arrows and knives was very fascinating to a boy of twelve, but Edwin couldn't help but feel slightly overwhelmed, especially because his free time was dwindling down, being rapidly gobbled up by practice. He couldn't help but wish he was eight again, when he had had his first meeting.

Edwin was playing in the forest, within sight of his cabin, when he heard a giggle from the bushes. Curious, he went over to the bushes and pulled the branches apart to see a lass about his height with sparkling green eyes. She shrieked, and then burst into laughter again. Slightly confused, Edwin confronted her.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked.

"You- you- your feet!" she giggled, and then doubled over in hysterics.

Now Edwin was a little cross. He looked down at his feet. What was wrong with them?

"They're green!" she howled, and then wiped away some tears of laughter. "Oh- I'm sorry. Ma says it's not polite to laugh at people. But I just couldn't help it! I've never seen green feet!"

"My feet aren't green!" he said indignantly, looking down at his feet again. How would she know what color his feet were? He was wearing stockings and green boots, so there was no way she could see his skin.

The lass snickered. "If that isn't green, I don't know what is."

"What, haven't you ever seen boots before?" Edwin asked angrily. "Here," he said, pulling off his boots and stockings. "My feet are normal," he said, wiggling his toes in the dirt.

The lass peered closely at his feet before giggling again. "I'm sorry! I can't help it. No wonder you wear coverings on your feet!"

"Why? There's nothing wrong with my feet! They're perfectly normal!" fumed Edwin. "What do your feet look like, for mine to be so strange?"

The lass lifted the hem of her skirt to show two large, bare feet, very dirty, with hair covering the tops. Edwin was fascinated.

"That's so amazing! I've never seen anything like that!" he exclaimed, getting down on his hands and knees for a closer look. The lass dropped her skirt, alarmed.

"You mean your parents don't have feet like this?" she asked, backing away.

"Of course not! What would make you think that?"

"How old are you?" she asked, suspicious.

"Eight," he answered proudly. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one," she said, remaining a good distance away. Now it was Edwin's turn to laugh.

"You can't be twenty-one! That's impossible! You're only as tall as me!" he snorted. "How old are you, and please tell the truth!"

"I am twenty-one! I'm a tween now!" the lass shouted, stomping her foot.

"Ssh! You don't want my dad to hear, do you? He's just inside, over there," he said, gesturing towards the cabin.

"You're one of the Big Folk, then," the lass said. "I thought so." She glanced around, suddenly frightened. "You won't tell anyone about me, will you?"

"No. Why are you here?"

"My second cousin (three times removed, and he's also my fourth cousin several times removed at the same time, funny how that works, isn't it?) told me there was a patch of mushrooms around here. I thought he was lying, but just wanted to make sure. You know, they are mushrooms, and all."

"You like mushrooms?"

"More than anything else."

"Well, there is a patch. Dad said I wasn't ever to eat anything from the forest until he showed me what was safe, so they've been left alone. I could take you to them," Edwin suggested as the lass's face lit up, "if you would do one thing for me."

"What's that?"

"Could you come back and visit, maybe? It's only me and dad out here in Chetwood. We don't go to Archet that much, so I don't really have friends. I get lonely."

The lass edged back and forth uncomfortably. "I'm not supposed to go near Big Folk. In fact, you're the first of the Big Folk I've ever seen."

"Well," Edwin said airily, "you'll just have go home without your mushrooms, then." He turned his back on her and began walking towards the cabin.

"Wait!" the lass said, running towards him. "I'll come back. I promise!"

"That's better," Edwin said.

The lass glowered. "But I won't promise to like it, you devious little Big Person. Ma always said to watch out for Big People like you."

"Right. This way," he said, creeping towards the mushroom patch in the underbrush. He didn't hear the strange lass following. When he got close to the patch, he looked back to see if she was still by the bushes where they had met. She wasn't there.

"You do make so much noise," commented a voice right in his ear. Edwin jumped, and then spun around to see the lass a scant inch away from his face. She grinned. "How is it that you crunch around so much in the leaves?"

Edwin scowled. "Show-off lass," he muttered.

"Clumsy Big Person," she countered.

"Why do you keep calling me Big Person? I'm not at all big. I'm very small. Shorter than all the other lads my age in Archet.”

"That's exactly why you're a Big Person. You're only eight, but you're going to grow a lot. I'm twenty-one, but I'm only going to grow a few inches."

"So, if you're not a Big Person, then what are you?"

"You might call me... a hobbit."

"Hobbit. Hmm... can't I just call you Little Person?" Edwin teased as he pulled aside a branch.

"No you can n- Oh!" she exclaimed, dashing over to they yellow mushrooms growing amid some green moss. She examined them thoroughly before picking about half of them. "Winter mushrooms. These are my favorites!"

"How do you know they aren't poisonous?"

She flipped one of the mushrooms over to show the underside. "See these thin looking strips on the bottom of the cap? They're called gills. If this were a poisonous look-alike to the winter mushroom, it would have much thinner gills. Actually, the gills on these mushrooms aren't really gills- see how they're partially attached to the stem?" Edwin believed that she was prepared to prattle on about the differences between winter mushrooms and the poisonous ones for a long time, so he cut her off.

"You know what you're doing."

She gave him a withering stare. "You can't be a hobbit and not know what you're doing with mushrooms." She gathered up the mushrooms in her apron and said, "I'd best be getting home now."

"But you will come back, won't you?"

"Of course! I left half the mushrooms here, didn't I? I'm going to have to come back for them eventually," she replied, grinning. She turned to leave, and then looked back. "Who are you, any how?"

"I'm Edwin."

"I'm Holly. Pleased to meet you." She nodded in farewell, as her arms were too full to wave, and then departed.

After that first meeting, Edwin had asked his father about the Little Folk, as he had taken to calling them. His father, to his delight, knew much about the Little Folk, halflings, or "hobbits", as Holly had said. His father had launched into a grand tale about a Ring and how it was destroyed by hobbits, and how the King of Gondor had returned. Edwin had listened with fascination, but was a little dubious of the veracity of the story at the same time.

"Where are the halflings now, dad?" he had asked, wondering if his father knew what he knew.

"I don't know. When the house of Telcontar was ended, defenses broke up in the north and more and more ruffians came into the Shire, the halflings' land, as you'll recall. They started to move away when there were too many; the ruffians had started to murder by then, and sad as the halflings were to be leaving, they had no choice. The days when there would have been an uprising were long gone by then. The Ring was destroyed hundreds of years ago."

Of course, this was all four years ago, and Edwin had wheedled some very interesting information out of Holly on her frequent visits.

"Holly," he asked one day as they sat by a small stream running through Chetwood. "Are there really robbers in this forest?"

Holly had given him a sly grin. "I have two answers to that. Which would you prefer?"

"Both. With explanations as well, if it's not too bothersome."

"Well, no- the robbers you are thinking of, the Big Folk robbers, haven't been in this forest for a long time. However," she grinned rather evilly at this statement, "you could say that I am from a family of robbers and burglars."

"You’re what?" Edwin exploded. "You mean to say that you're stealing from us Big Folk? And you didn't tell me? Why would you do that?"

"Well, we had to do something to keep you out of Chetwood! And it's not as if we're taking things from people who can't afford to have things go missing! As a matter of fact, we sell the goods that we can't use and then leave the money for your poor! All in all, I think that we are doing a very good job of keeping the rich off their high horse, thinking they can lord over all the others with their riches, and providing for your poor, while keeping our home safe in the bargain!" Holly hissed, eyes blazing. "Your kind already drove us out of the Shire, so I'd say that we have every right to be here and that we are treating your people a lot better then you have treated us!" She had nearly stormed off, but Edwin had caught her arm. Already being a foot taller and much stronger by then, he managed to get her to stay and (after many sincere apologies) to calm down.

"I'm sorry, alright? I didn't realize that the Big Folk had driven you out of the Shire," Edwin lied.

"Well, what can you expect," she muttered, splashing water from the creek on her hot face, "from an oafish, ignorant Big Person?"

Edwin grinned. "No more than you can expect from a stubborn, stuck-up Little Person." That ended that dispute right there.

Holly often surprised him with little things, like her outraged outburst in defense of her people. The longer he knew her, the more little quirks and hidden details he found out. There was one thing that remained constant, however- she wasn't very punctual. Edwin had been waiting for nearly an hour for her to turn up this time. He was waiting by the mushroom patch, their agreed meeting place. He wished she would hurry.

He'd been rather lonely for the past month- Holly had been traveling with her family. She hadn't told him her destination, but she had mentioned that her path would take her through the Shire. She had been excited, chattering to him about what this cousin had said about this place, and that brother had said about that place, until he was fairly sure that he had heard the entire history of the Shire.

Suddenly he heard a sound- a crashing sound mixed with the high-pitched giggle of anxiety. Strange. Not Holly's usual quiet entrance, where she sneaked up on him half the time (Edwin was learning how to creep through the forest quietly, though- soon he would pay her back).

Holly burst into the clearing, giggling, with the oddest look on her face. Before he could ask what was wrong, she blurted out, "I had the scariest experience of my life!" before collapsing in a fit of nervous giggles.

"What?"

Holly composed herself. "Sorry. Well, on our way back, (we went to the Towers on the far side of the Shire, did I tell you that? There's still some of our family over there) we passed through what used to be Hobbiton. We were traveling by night, you know, and keeping off the main roads to avoid Big People, but Hobbiton seemed rather deserted, so we decided to rest for a day, a night, and then another day before leaving.

"Oh, Hobbiton is still lovely, just as my grandmother described it to me. She used to live there. There are a few trees that the ruffians haven't cut down here and there, and there's the most enormous tree in the center of a field. It's terribly old. I think the ruffians are afraid of it- it was a gift from a most powerful Elf Lady. That's why it's not been cut down." Edwin allowed himself a small smile. So that part of the tale was true...

"But that's not the scary part. There are still some old holes there. I did tell you about hobbit-holes once, didn't I?" Edwin nodded.

"So you went in a hole and saw an abnormally large rat or spider, is that it?" he teased.

"No! That's not scary at all!"

"Of course, abnormally large to us Big Folk is enormous to you, I would think."

Holly pouted. "I'll have you know that I could tell you quite a story about a large spider!"

"I don't doubt it," Edwin muttered, grinning.

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing at all... your terrifying experience?"

"Well," she said, pausing for dramatic effect, "There's a large hill near Hobbiton, with several holes still there. One of the holes has been almost completely left alone- the one at the very top. The door's still on it- chipped green paint, and a tarnished gold doorknob in the center. But, at the top of the door, scratched by a knife, there's a big X, like a warning. Ruffians don't go in there, and they haven't torn it down. They're afraid of the place. But I was brave. I went in there- at night! I'm braver than the ruffians," she proclaimed, looking extremely proud.

"Ruffians are just big bullies. They're not really brave. How brave can they be if they don't go in a hobbit hole? What's scary about a hobbit-hole?"

"This hobbit-hole is special," she said, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "It's very, very haunted."

Edwin threw back his head and laughed, long and hard. When he finished, he wiped the tears out of his eyes and glanced over at Holly, who looked extremely miffed.

"What?"

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"All I've ever heard of haunted places is rubbish."

"What have you heard?"

"Only that the little children like to tell stories of ghosts in haunted houses, or in your case, holes, and then can't sleep for weeks because of what they hear from the others."

"That's absolutely nothing. My brothers told me that if something traum- trauma- sad things happen in a place, then bits of that sadness gets rubbed off on the place, and stays around when the people are long-gone. But I think that happy bits get rubbed off sometimes, too."

Edwin stared at Holly. "You can't possibly believe in ghosts, can you? You're what, twenty-five? I don't quite understand how hobbits age compared to Big People, but by now you should know that things like that don't exist!"

Holly flushed. "You don't believe me." It wasn't a question.

"What proof do you have?"

Holly threw her hands in the air. "Proof! You Big People and your need for proof! If you hadn't met me, and someone told you about hobbits, you'd laugh in their face like you did to me!"

Edwin hung his head, shamefaced. Yes, he would have. "Sorry. What did you see in there?" He could hear her out, but that didn't mean he had to believe her.

Holly settled down, convinced she had his attention, if not his belief. "Not so much as what I saw- I used almost every sense but sight. Though, now that you should mention it, it was terribly dusty and dirty. And, as you were so curious about the animal life, there was a mouse nest. There were some adorable baby mice inside, but I didn't touch them." She caught a glance from Edwin. "Oh, all right. I heard- well, first there was this horrid silence. It was heavy and thick. It felt like if I breathed, I would breathe it in and choke, but then, if I didn't breathe, I would suffocate. So I took a deep breath, and the silence went away at the sound of my breathing. Then there was another sound- a strange scratching noise.

"I followed it down the hall, and it was clearest in one room- the door was shut tight, but I managed to push it open a crack, and then there was a voice. It was soft, so soft I could barely hear it over the scritching and scratching. It was a very sad voice- I think the person was talking to himself. I couldn't make out the words, but I thought someone was in there. I opened the door a little more, and- this is the part that scared me very much- the entire room was empty. There were just some bare shelves, and an old fireplace. I think there was a carpet under all of the dust, but I couldn't be entirely sure. And there was a desk. But the scratching and the soft voice was gone.

"I went over to the desk, and there were all sorts of papers strewn everywhere, all dirty and yellowed. But there was one paper, fresh as ever, with the words "My dearest Sam", like the start of a letter, in a lovely curling script (the ink was still wet, even), but then there were wet splotches, like drops of water. Right next to that paper was an eagle-feather quill with fresh ink in it. I looked around for an inkwell, found it, and all of the ink was dry.

"That was when I knew that there was something wrong with the whole place. Oh, I was so scared! I ran. I couldn't stay in there for much longer- I shot down the hall as fast as I could. But then, this was rather odd, I heard laughter from another room. It was the same voice, but he was with someone older. I couldn't tell how old- I'm not good with voices yet. And then there was more laughter, giggling really, like little hobbit-lasses barely out of the cradle just as I got left." She took a deep, shuddering breath and turned towards Edwin. "What do you think?"

Edwin raised one eyebrow. "What do I think? You're either mad, a very good storyteller, or telling the truth. I don't know which one yet."

Holly sat there, picking at the moss absently. "It was really quite a mess in there... I think the dust was about an inch thick or so... Ma said that the place was empty for eighty years, twenty of those years before we left."

Edwin let those words register in his mind before speaking. "You're saying that your kind left sixty years ago?"

"Fifty-five, actually. Sixty years ago, the King died, and it took about five more years before the ruffians really got bad."

His father's words rang out in his ears. During the Telcontar line in Gondor, I was twenty, still courting your mother. Twenty? But- if the King died sixty years ago...

How old was his father?

He had never bothered to ask, assuming his father was about thirty-five, considering he was twelve. His father didn't look any older than that, either. Twenty and sixty would make... eighty. But that made no sense!

"Edwin?"

He looked up to see Holly staring, concerned. "I'm alright. I have a few things I have to ask dad. I'll see you later," he said over his shoulder as he walked off. "Enjoy your mushrooms!"

"I will!"

Edwin wasn't sure how to go about asking his father how old he was. It wasn't a question that was asked comfortably. He decided to go with a straightforward approach.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"How old are you?"

His father looked rather surprised by that question. "Why do you ask?"

Edwin took a deep breath, and then said, "You said you were twenty when you were courting mother, and when the King died, but I found out that the King died sixty years ago. That would make you... eighty."

His father sighed. "You're right. I'm eighty."

"H- how? How is that possible?"

"I'm sorry, Edwin. I should have told you this a long time ago. Do you remember the first King of the Telcontar house I told you about, Elessar? Do you remember how old he was when he took the throne, and how old he was when he died?"

Edwin's eyes widened. "You mean that you're like him? A- a Ranger?"

His father nodded.

"Then why aren't you out there? Protecting people?"

"I told you the truth when I said that your grandfather was killed- I was just about your age, as it was. I learned a bit here and there over the next few years, but I didn't have any relatives to teach me. And then I met your mother, who was also a child of the Rangers. When I was courting her, the King died, and the Rangers did their best to keep the Shire safe from the ruffians, but without help from the south, our numbers decreased, picked off by ruffians." His father crossed the room and picked up the star pin.

"We would wear these to fasten our cloaks, as a sign of who we were. But, over the past few decades, wearing one of these is like wearing a target sign, if you're spotted wearing one in public. I never learned to fight well enough against great numbers, so I never wore it. But I promise you," he said, "if you want, I will teach you everything I know, and I will learn more, so you will be able to wear this someday."

Edwin knew that he wanted to. He could help people, even if it was a terribly thankless job.

"I want to." More than anything, he added to himself.

"Have you heard of Rangers, Holly?"

"Yes! Oh, you don't know how much I've heard about them! No one knew much before we left the Shire, so my ma says, but we realized everything they did for us after, that's a sure thing!"

"I'm going to be a Ranger."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Holly launched herself across the mushroom patch and hugged him. From somewhere around his midriff he heard, "Thank you.”

The ‘thock’ an arrow makes when it lodges itself in something is unmistakable. It’s especially hard to miss when it lodges itself into one’s leg, that leg happening to belong to Edwin. Edwin, having more than two decades of training in combat and wounds, still found it difficult to bite his tongue and hold back the pain.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ he berated himself. What was he thinking, traveling in the Shire, wearing that pin? Cocky lad. After his father had told him that the pin was like a target! Granted, that had been almost twenty-six years ago, but still! Now there were ruffians hot on his trail, and he was injured. Stupid!

He looked down at his wound. The arrow wasn’t too deep, and it wasn’t likely he would get very far with it still in his leg. Which was worse, pulling the arrow out now, or the alternative, waiting for the ruffians to catch up, who had more than just arrows?

No question about that.

Bracing himself, he took a firm grasp on the shaft and yanked. The arrow came out with an odd squelch and Edwin let a small groan escape before dropping the arrow and running as fast as he could, considering the circumstances.

His father’s instructions came to mind. “If it’s a wound that bleeds, cover it! They can track you faster and much more easily if you leave a trail of blood.” Well, that wasn’t much use now. They could see him, for Eru’s sake! But he tore a strip off the hem of his shirt, the cleanest cloth in his reach, and began to bind the wound as he fled.

‘Where am I now? Where can I hide?’ he thought quickly, which was rather frantic for him, as his father had taught him to be cool and collected. What had Holly told him about the Shire? There were a few places ruffians hadn’t gone, superstitious lot that they were. He knew he was in Hobbiton- he had passed an ancient sign, the words barely legible, faded beyond almost all recall. There was a tree, she had said, in Hobbiton. A tree wouldn’t be a very good place to hide- he wouldn’t be able to shimmy up any trees with high branches with his leg.

As he reached the top of the hill the path he was on climbed, he saw the tree. Incredible! Even if he had been at the peak of his strength, he couldn’t have reached the first branch.

Something else caught his eye. A hill, overlooking all of Hobbiton. Something tugged at his memory. There’s a large hill near Hobbiton... Ruffians don’t go in there... Haunted? He didn’t think so. Safe? Yes!

With an almost superhuman burst of speed, he raced to the hill, not bothering to take the winding road up to the hole- it was probably as overgrown as the rest of the land was, having had years in which to grow a good layer of grass. Nearing the top, he began to look for the door. Green, she had said, with a gold knob and an X over it... there!

He charged towards the door, flung it open, threw himself into the tiny entryway, and kicked the door shut with his good foot. Limbs shaking, he crawled as fast as he could far down one of the halls until he was in a segment of the hole that had no windows. Breathing heavily, he listened to the drunken voices outside the door:

“Gone in there, ‘as ‘e?”

“Aye! He’ll go mad after hearin’ voices fer a day!”

“And if not, he’ll starve.”

“‘E won’t come out, not if ‘e thinks we’re out ‘ere.”

“I think he might come out.”

“O’ course not! He’s got a bad leg! He can’t go anywhere until it’s healed!”

“‘E got up the ‘ill.”

“He was on his last legs there! Get it?”

“Aw, shut up. That was a bad joke. Now let’s go. I’m not stayin’ ‘round here another minute!”

Edwin was panting hard and gritting his teeth from the pain. He took out a knife and made a slit up his trousers until it reached the wound on his thigh. His makeshift bandage was already soaked through, so he just cut that off to look at the wound itself.

It would need stitches, he was sure of that. But not now- that could wait. He carefully checked for any splinters from the shaft, and, seeing none, took a waterskin, packet of herbs, and some clean cloths out of his pack. He cleaned the wound as best he could with his water and the herbs before binding it tightly with the cloths. Exhausted, he dragged himself into the nearest room and fell asleep, using his pack as a pillow.

It wasn’t the pain that woke him up, as he’d thought it would, but the sound of crackling flames. He quickly sat up (a motion he regretted almost instantly), and looked for the source. He was in a room with a fireplace, a few empty shelves, and a desk- the room that Holly had described to him.

There was no smoke, and no heat, but the fire sounded like it was coming from the fireplace. ‘I’ve gone mad,’ he determined.

Deciding this phenomenon would be better appreciated if he closed his eyes and imagined he was warm, he scooted towards the wall and leaned on it, tilting his head back. Funny thing really, but he could swear that he really was getting warmer! Not willing to break the spell of warmth that his mind had obviously cast, he didn’t open his eyes when he heard the sound of soft feet in the hall. He wasn’t worried it was the ruffians- and if it was a daring young hobbit child, then they’d just get a fright to see a half-asleep Ranger in the study. When the door opened, he prepared himself for a high screech of surprise, but nothing happened.

“Mr. Frodo?”

“I am wounded, Sam. Wounded, and will never really heal.”

Edwin held his breath, his eyes screwed shut tight. ‘There must be someone in the room, that’s all. There’s no such thing as ghosts, especially ones that were supposed to have gone to the Undying Lands hundreds of years ago. I must have a fever, that’s it. My leg is infected. That’s probably why I’m so warm. I’m hallucinating...’

The voices had gone, and the feeling of a roaring fire slowly changed into the warmth of dying embers on the hearth. The first voice came back.

“All right, one tale before bed. Which shall it be?”

There was a restless rustling, and then several children chorused amid giggles, “Let’s hear about Frodo and the Ring!”

“Yes, that’s one of my favorites!” a little boy chirruped. “Frodo was really courageous, wasn’t he, dad?”

The first voice said warmly, “Yes, my boy, the most famousest of hobbits, and that’s saying a lot.”

A little girl’s voice said, “You’ve forgotten one of the chief characters! Samwise the Brave! I want to hear more about Sam!”

“I think you’ve heard this story a bit too much, if you’ve memorized the lines!”

“Please tell it!”

“Yes! I want to hear about Aragorn!”

“I want to hear about Gandalf!”

“The Elves, dad! The Elves!”

“And what about those two dashing warriors?” a voice from the back of the room interjected, with a satirical seriousness. “Meriadoc the Magnificent! And that other... well, he wasn’t quite as important.”

“Oh yes he was!” another voice from the back said cheerily. “Ernil i Pheriannath! The Prince of the Halflings! Much more important than that ruffian Rider of Rohan!”

‘I’m mad. I’m hearing conversations of the three famous hobbits, and, presumably, their children,’ Edwin thought. But soon he just stopped thinking and listened to the voices, for the first voice, a warm, comforting voice, began to tell a tale that he had not heard in a long time, of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom. Some parts were missing, though. Wasn’t there a part in there with a giant spider and an orc tower? And ruffians in the Shire? Where were the Nazgul stabbing Frodo?

When the story ended, he grudgingly opened his eyes, hoping that it wouldn’t break the warm silence that had just fallen. When he looked around the room, he resisted shutting his eyes again. ‘I’m mad. I’m insane. This is not happening!’

He could see the room as it once was, not a dirty mess, scattered with papers with a fine layer of dust over everything, but a cozy study. There were dying embers in the fireplace. The shelves were lined with many books. The desk was polished and tidy. In an armchair by the fire sat a hobbit- obviously the one who had been telling the story. Sprawled on the floor in front of him were several hobbit children, all asleep. In the back of the room, two very tall hobbits leaned against the wall, smiling.

“Is this how you get them to sleep every night?” asked one.

“Mostly. Some nights they fall asleep to Mr. Bilbo’s tale.”

“And that’s all they want to hear?”

“Yes.” The storyteller smiled down fondly on the children, obviously his children. “And they ask for it the same way, too. Someday, maybe I’ll tell them the full story, but not now. Not yet.”

Edwin resisted blinking as long as possible- he felt that if his eyelids even flickered for one moment, he would lose this vision completely. His eyes watering and itching, he blinked. The scene dissolved, until Edwin was left alone.

“Maybe I’m not mad,” he whispered. “Maybe it all really did happen.” With that, he turned to tend to his leg.

Edwin spent two weeks in that hole while recovering enough for his leg to be useful. He grew accustomed to the cramped spaces, the occasional giggle, and the voices that were still there. He grew to believe that he wasn’t mad, or not as mad as some people, in the least. He learned why it was that his father had stressed the value of rationing food, and was highly grateful for it. What he was even more grateful for was the water pump in the kitchen- although it spewed rust the first few pumps, it gave clean water soon after.

In his time under the hill, he heard silent sobbing from the study and one of the bedrooms when the storytelling hobbit was gone, felt an oppressing chill, like he would never be happy again (he dubbed the feeling “Nazgul-like”, owing to his father’s descriptions of the air of a Nazgul), and saw visions of the storyteller’s family in times that were happy and times that were sad. Sometimes, when he was attempting to stand and test his leg, little hands would reach up and steady him. Occasionally, when he was eating, even tinier hands would tug at his sleeves until he “accidentally” dropped a sizeable piece of his meal.

Finally, when his leg was healed enough to travel, he stood up straight (or as straight as he could) and said, “Thank you for everything. I understand better now the entire story, and I believe that it is true.”

With only the slightest twinge of pain, he walked, hunched over, towards the door. It was night outside- the perfect time to flee. He put his hand on the doorknob, and stopped. There, lying on the doormat, were four painted wooden carvings, about two inches high- hobbits. One was the storyteller, two of them were the tall hobbits, and one was the one hobbit he hadn’t seen in all of his time there. He fingered them, naming each individual as he studied them.

This one, the storyteller, was Sam. His father hadn’t told him what had happened to the hobbits once Frodo had sailed to the Undying Lands, but he was certain that Sam was the storyteller. The detail was amazing- Edwin could pick out individual curls on the hobbit’s head, count the buttons on his shirt, trace a finger over the wrinkles on his rolled-up sleeves, and see the rippling folds in the cloak, as if the hobbit had been standing in a breeze. Sam had a wide smile on, and in his hand he held a single rose.

This tall hobbit must have been Merry. He was taller than Sam, and wore armor and carried a shield with a horse. Somehow, the carver had managed to get a small twinkle in his eye. Or was that paint? No- it was a tiny speck, a miniscule crystal imbedded in the eye, giving Merry an air of humor and happiness.

The same thing had been done with the other tall one, Pippin. Only this crystal was slightly larger, making Pippin’s eyes laughing eyes. Pippin was wearing armor as well, with a white tree surrounded by seven stars etched into the wood and traced in silver. There was a worn-looking scarf draped over one arm.

The fourth was the one hobbit he had never seen- he had heard his voice many times, and was certain that the soft, pained sobs had belonged to him. Frodo, the Ringbearer. Edwin wasn’t sure if this was Frodo before the Quest, or after the Quest: he just had a look of peace, like one who has woken up to find that everything is better, and that all of his problems had been solved overnight. Such an awe-inspiring look of hope!

Edwin drew a soft leather pouch from his breast pocket and reverently slipped the four figures in. “Again, my thanks. You have been kind beyond belief, just by allowing me to stay.”

A soft voice brushed his ear like a cobweb. “Any Ranger is welcome here. Thank you, my friend.”

He nodded, smiled, and then opened the door and stepped out into the night air. He shut the door firmly and turned to look at it.

“Haunted,” he said pensively. “I think not. Inhabited is a more appropriate word.” He turned and strode down the hill, taking care to avoid anyplace there could be ruffians. He wasn’t quite careful enough, though.

“Hey! What’s that, over there?”

He’d been seen. He drew his sword and prepared to fight, a grim look on his face. Five ruffians approached. He could take them- as long as they didn’t have arrows.

The first ruffian had a torch. Lifting it to see better, the light glinted off of his sword and the silver star pin. The ruffian blanched and froze. The other four came up behind him and stopped short. Edwin did not lower his blade, nor did he remove the look from his face, although he was highly confused.

“It’s that Ranger! The one we left in the old hill!”

“He’s one of them now!”

The ruffians turned on their tails and fled. Edwin, to say in the least, was bewildered. What were they talking about? He glanced down at himself and started laughing, which sounded like rather maniacal laughter to the ruffians- the very sound gave them wings.

Edwin was covered in dust from head to toe, turning his dark garments grey and his skin very pale. No wonder! He had practically been rolling in dust for the past two weeks. And they thought he was a ghost!

Years later, tales would circulate amid the ruffians about how unlucky it was to kill a Ranger- they would surely come back to haunt you!

Holly was in the mushroom patch, waiting for a visit from her old friend. He was late. Unpunctual Big People! Perhaps there was something wrong, as she was the one that was usually late...

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped and whirled around to see... Edwin!

“You scraggly Ranger!”

“I missed you too, Holly.”

“You’re getting better at that sneaking, I’ll admit.”

“A compliment? From Holly? Surely not!” he teased. “I am shocked to death! As a matter of fact, I have something to say that will shock you.”

“What?”

“You were right and I was wrong.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Remember when you were younger, you went into the haunted hole in Hobbiton? You were right. It’s haunted.”

Holly opened her mouth with a smart reply to that, but Edwin cut her off.

“That doesn’t always mean that you will be right!”

“We’ll see about that. Now, care to tell me about the nature of your venture?”

Edwin laughed and began to tell his tale.