Author notes:
As some of you might have noticed, I've grown increasinly fond of the earlier generation (though the later one is included here as well ;) ) and this story has been lurking at the back of my mind for quite a while. Those who have been reading one or another of those stories might find a reference to it in another chapter but I will point them out then.

Special thanks to Dreamflower for the beta.

~*~*~

Chapter One: Pieces of a Puzzle

Year: 1349 (Paladin: 16 [about 10.5], Merimac: almost 6 [about 4])

A gust of wind blew auburn hair into his face and made him quiver. Expanding circles rippled through the river water and nearby bushes whispered angrily. Treetops rustled and the shadow of their leaves danced over him causing bright specks of sunlight to chase each other across his skin.

Paladin Took, dressed only in his breeches, sat on a huge stone at the bank of the Brandywine and gazed languidly across the wide brown surface. His skin was wet and the soppy stem of a garden sorrel was in his mouth. The sour taste had long dwindled and Paladin spit the chewed plant into the bushes.

As he did so something stirred at the back of his mind. There was something wrong, something unusual; the silence unreal. There were no children, no shrieks, no laughter, no splashing and shouting. Paladin shivered, the full load of the quiet weighing him down. He stood up and looked about him but he was, indeed, alone. A feeling of unease spread within him; a feeling of sheer loneliness.

I’m lost! he thought despairingly and the realisation took his breath away. He felt cramped and it seemed to him the trees were moving nearer, closing him in. Dizziness overcame him and though he tried to remind himself that this was Buckland, the river Brandywine, and that Brandy Hall was only a few minutes’ walk away, he could not focus. He fell to his knees, choking, gasping for breath. He was lost. He was captured.

Shaking all over Paladin lifted his heavy lids to gaze bleary-eyed into the blinding bright sunlight. It was then that he saw her. A girl stood in front of him, pale as death, with black hair and dark eyes full of sorrow. Her dress was tattered and dirty, its once scarlet colour barely discernible.

“Help me!” Paladin entreated her with an effort and a voice barely more than a whisper.

The words hurt his blocked throat and yet they came from her mouth. Her voice was sweet as honey, but the weakness and grief in it tore at his heart.

And as he stared at her, gazing deeply into the misery in her eyes the weight on his chest lifted. He sucked in a breath, dimly aware that the calm scenery around him hadn’t changed, before he broke into pitiful sobs – tears, he knew, were not his own.

He had never felt so forlorn in his life, so utterly alone, and part of him knew that there was no hope of ever being saved. He was battling the emotion, knowing it was wrong, that he had a family who would always be there for him, but the anguish washed over him like a heavy shower. Trembling with the violence of the spell he looked up at the girl again. She was younger than him, not much more than Merimac’s age, and watching with silent sympathy.

Suddenly he understood. It was she who was crying, crying through him.

“Who are you?” he asked her hoarsely.

She did not answer but his tears subsided.

“Where are you from?” he asked sitting up. “Brandy Hall?”

Recognition flashed in her eyes and before Paladin knew what was happening she darted up the bank and off towards the Brandybuck’s residence.

“Wait!” he called after her but she didn’t stop. Instead, Paladin felt an odd pulling in his chest as if she were connected with him through an invisible rope and drawing him along. Paladin clumsily stumbled to his feet and hastened after her. She was faster than he had expected from a girl as frail and sickly-looking as she was.

He was sweating and out of breath when they finally reached Brandy Hall. The girl apparently knew her way. She took one of the many side entrances and ran down the corridors. Paladin called after her to slow down but she wouldn’t listen. He had a dreadful sting and his lungs ached. As he hurried after her, he wasn’t even surprised anymore that the usually crowded smial was empty.

Sconces flickered as he dashed past them and some of the candles even went out. Deeper and deeper into the hole the girl led him, past the luxurious bathing chambers, past the servants’ dormitories, ever down and ever westwards. Candles became scarce in these deep and doubtlessly seldom used passages. Paladin had lost sight of the girl and yet he knew she was ahead of him. It was she who led the way, she who was calling him – even though he could not hear her voice. Even with his eyes closed he would have found his way.

And then he saw her sprinting down another passageway. He stopped in the corner, panting and clutching his sides, as she, too, came to a halt. His legs trembled and his knees were weak as he leant against the wooden wall.

The girl stood a few paces ahead, illuminated by a single lamp. Her face looked even paler now than it had done at the riverside. Yet she seemed happier and she was beckoning him to her, her movement almost impatient. Paladin walked slowly towards her and just as he caught up, she darted down a corridor, leading further west and further down. Paladin frowned. He hadn’t seen that corridor from the place he had stood before. Only the one a few paces further up, leading eastwards, to the Hall’s best wine cellar, was visible.

The girl beckoned to him again and Paladin all but felt her agitation. He sighed heavily, turned west into the corridor, and bumped his head painfully on solid wall.

~*~*~

Paladin snapped his eyes open to stare blankly into darkness. He needed a few moments to gather his senses. His heart was pounding and the memory of the dream burned vividly in his mind.

He was lying in Merimac’s bed in his cousins’ room. Merimac had insisted that he stay in their room and had even agreed on sleeping on the mattress when Old Rory had tried to tell him about hospitality demanding that a guest should have a bed of his or her own when free rooms were available. It hadn’t taken much to persuade Paladin, though. He would rather share a room with his young cousins than with one of his sisters.

A shimmer of light shone from the slit under the door. He turned to look at the sleeping forms of his cousins. Saradoc, in the opposite bed, had his back turned to him, while Merimac had pushed the mattress to Paladin’s sleeping place and was now running the risk of falling off it and rolling straight under the bed. Paladin smiled down at his cousin’s sleeping face and watched the regular rise and fall of his chest hoping it would calm him enough to fall asleep again.

He did not know how long he had lain there in silence. His heartbeat was slowing down again but whenever he closed his eyes he could see the girl’s face; and she was beckoning him. Even in waking he felt the strange power that had pulled him after her. He had to follow.

Silently he crawled out of bed, careful not to disturb Merimac.

Moments later he was walking past the bathing chambers searching the passages he had followed in his dreams. It was easier than he had expected. No adults had stopped him for at this time of night even the servants were fast asleep, and the drear corridors seemed strangely familiar. He knew the way without thinking and yet he felt uneasy. His heart pounded and blood rushed through his ears. The silence and emptiness of the Hall was too similar to the loneliness that had welcomed him in his dream. A chill ran down his back and he turned round and held aloft the candle in his hands. The flame flickered, but there was nothing but the dim light of a few sconces behind him. He shuddered. If he had followed the girl in his dreams he felt as if someone was following him now.

Paladin waited, but eventually shook off the disquiet, and walked on. The lights grew scarce, but Paladin recognised the corridors he had walked along in his dreams. Ever down they led; ever westwards. Paladin had never ventured as deep into the huge smial and every step he took seemed to be more difficult. The air had become cool and goose bumps covered his skin.

A draught wafted from the next western corridor and Paladin stopped, his candle flickering, and looked nervously down the first unlit passage he had come across so far. He swallowed hard and leaned against the wall unsure whether he should go on, when he heard the soft padding of feet behind him. Paladin wheeled around only to see a door fall closed.

He stumbled backwards with fright and bumped against the opposite wall. His heart was pounding fast and he was sweating in spite of the cold. With a trembling hand he clutched his candlestick and pricked his ears. Silence but for his harsh breathing.

Careful and on his tiptoes he advanced the door, pushed it slightly open and peered in to find himself gazing into a mirror. But it was not only his face he gazed into. Pale cheeks and dark eyes, framed by black, curly hair looked also back at him. Paladin screamed and once again stumbled backwards to fall onto his buttocks. The candle went out and only then did he realise, that there was another voice crying out – a voice he well knew.

“Merimac?” he panted.

“Why are you doing this?” his cousin yelled back, his voice trembling with fear and anger. “Why did you cry out for nothing?”

“Why are you following me?”

“You were gone. I had to look!”

“You scared the life out of me!”

“And you scared me to death!” Merimac retorted indignantly and when several moments passed in which the cousins stared at each other and regained their breaths he added:

“What are you doing down here, anyway?”

“I’m following something,” Paladin explained and got up again. “You can come with me, since you’re already here.”

It was nothing but a lame excuse but Paladin felt that he was less anxious with a child like Merimac at his side. He would take away the feeling of emptiness and loneliness, and enjoy accompanying him besides. The wide smile on the pale face was proof of that.

He relit his candle on one of the sconces and led the way down the corridor. Merimac didn’t feel the slightest bit of unease. He was happily babbling away beside him and Paladin felt himself relax. The darkness was less pressing now and some secret joy stirred within him as they moved closer to their destination. He would find the girl again like she wanted him to.

They were now in the passageway that led to the Hall’s wine cellars. Further down Paladin recognised the corridor diverging to the right, but as he walked down, brushing his hand along the wall on his left there was no opening there. He could feel when he had reached the right place but instead of another corridor he was facing a wooden wall. He handed the candlestick to Merimac and felt the smooth surface, knocking ever and again, but it was solid and there was no sign of the passage the girl had disappeared in.

“What are you doing?” Merimac asked imitating his movements.

Paladin shook his head and shrugged helplessly while knocking on the wall once more. “I’m not sure, but I think there is something, someone down here.”

~tbc~

Author notes: This chapter includes references to The Gift of Sight, The Lay of the Black Lake, and hints at events taking place in A Stormy Night.

~*~*~

Chapter Two: Sight

Year: 1395 (46 years later)

Merimac yawned widely as he shuffled down the corridor on his return from the privy. He could hardly keep his eyes open, but he knew the way and the candle flickering happily in his hand was nothing more than an object of habit – he might run into someone even in the dead of night.

As he rounded the corner he found that there was indeed someone roaming the smial. Merimac struggled to force his eyes open for longer than a split second but he could not make out the figure that hastened through the shadows as if it were one with them. He straightened and shook his head, as if that could help him to get rid of his sleepiness. He wasn’t worried. Though folk in Buckland locked their doors at night, unlike those on the other side of the river, Brandy Hall was still the safest place east of the Brandywine and its corridors were never quite empty. Nonetheless, Merimac decided to follow the stranger.

Lights flickered whenever he passed and eventually he had to draw his robes closer. The figure went straight into the deepest passages, walking without turning around once. Whoever it was knew his way, and wakened Merimac’s curiosity. He quickened his pace and blew out his candle when the scones grew few and the dimly lit corridors led into passages plunged entirely into darkness.

And suddenly he knew where the night-wanderer was heading to and he also recognised him as Paladin Took. A shiver ran down his spine. It was many years since his cousin had last led him here. Night after night Paladin had wandered the smial and day after day Adalgrim had grown furious at his insistence that something was amiss with the Hall’s most western corridor until his father had told him the story of the Great Flood in 1226, in the times of Gormadoc Deepdelver Brandybuck, who had wanted to make his smial more spacious and splendid than any other in the Shire, and had paid a great price for it.

As he had done when he was a teen Paladin was feeling the wooden wall again. His fingers trembled as he did so. His face, shining golden in the light of his candle, was a mask of worry. Merimac watched in silence, hidden in shadow. Paladin glared at the wall, slammed his fist against it and paced up and down in front of it. Merimac frowned and stepped into the corridor which caused Paladin to jump with surprise.

“The last time I followed you here you were young and devastated,” he said. “Now you’re far from young and…”

“… you’re still charming, eh?” Paladin replied but the humour his words suggested did not echo in his voice.

“If you say so,” Merimac answered and waited, silently weighing whether he could dare to speak on. “You caused quite an uproar with your story of a girl.”

Paladin looked at him, sighed heavily, and leaned against the wall facing the one he had so closely examined. “There was a flood that caused the western tunnels to cave in,” he said and slid onto the floor.

Merimac didn’t object. He knew about his cousin’s gift though he didn’t always believe in it. He yawned again and sat down next to his cousin lighting his candle on the one Paladin carried. In silence they gazed at the wall. It had grown dark with the years and at places it was decayed and crumbled.

“Pippin sees her too.”

“Pippin?!” Merimac was stunned.

Paladin nodded and gave him a grim smile. “I think he inherited more than his father’s looks.” He sighed and closed his eyes as if in pain. “Tina doesn’t know yet, at least that’s what Pippin told me. He said he knew I was dreaming too. Do you understand, Merimac? He knew.”

Merimac looked into his cousin’s troubled face and could not understand why he worried so. “That doesn’t prove anything. Everyone dreams and everyone knows that.”

“It’s different,” Paladin insisted angrily.

“It’s not,” Merimac said, too tired to argue much about obvious facts, “even Frodo’s been sitting here at times during his first years in the Hall.”

Paladin stared at him with wondering eyes and Merimac knew immediately that he had made a mistake. “Frodo? Do you think he could have inherited the Sight as well?”

“Don’t be stupid!” Merimac waved the assumption aside. “He’s only a quarter Took. There’s not more Took blood in him than there is in me and…”

“You hardly count,” Paladin interrupted. “Your mind’s not open. But Frodo,” he thought hard for a moment. “There’s as much Took in him as there is in me – and you, for that matter. Have you forgotten that much of your genealogy? Uncle Rory wouldn’t thank you for denying your own Tookish ancestry. We’re all Gerontius’ great-grandsons, though you...” He chuckled and his eyes took on a distant look. “Remember calling me a ‘fanciful Took with nightmares’?”

Merimac grinned and leaned his head back against the wall. He would never forget that night – the forest, the shed, and The Lay of the Black Lake. He had come to reconsider his opinion for there was truth in whatever Paladin saw even though his cousin couldn’t always make sense of it. There was something eerie to his gift and sometimes Merimac thought that even Paladin was afraid of it. The concern he saw in him tonight was all the evidence he needed.

“I don’t think Frodo Sees anything the way you do,” he said eventually and smiled at his cousin. “Still, why not ask him? He and Bilbo arrive tomorrow.”

Paladin raised an eyebrow. “And what should I say to him? ‘Hullo, Frodo! Do you dream true?’”

“That,” Merimac chuckled, “could turn into an interesting conversation.”

He laid a hand on Paladin’s shoulder and looked at his profile. His eyes were still focused on the wall and the deep lines of worry on his forehead seemed to carve themselves deeper into his skin with every passing minute – a fact that troubled Merimac more than he would have liked. He tilted his head to one side, wondering. “Even if Pippin shares your gift, what’s so bad about that?”

Paladin looked at him, brow a-frown, and Merimac smiled in a, what he hoped was an encouraging way. “You say you didn’t always know what to make of it but Pippin has you, hasn’t he? You could guide him. You could help him understand whatever it is he Sees. Besides, it’s yet another trait that makes your son special.”

It was the first genuine smile Merimac saw on Paladin’s face that night, even though his cousin did not look at him. “You’re probably right,” he said to the wall and Merimac clapped him hard on the shoulder.

“Of course I am!” he said and stood up. “And I’m dreadfully tired besides. Let’s get to bed now or you’ll run the risk of having to carry me back to my quarters.”

Paladin chuckled. “I’d sooner leave you here for the night.”

“In this cold?” Merimac scolded while helping Paladin to his feet. “Who’s charming now?”

~*~*~

Paladin spent the following days thinking and observing. The hubbub surrounding Frodo’s arrival was amazing. Esme fussed about him almost immediately, while the children, including his own, were all eyes, ears, and jovial chattiness. It was they with whom Frodo spent most of his time. He enjoyed their attention, blushed at Esme’s and seemed to grow whenever Saradoc clapped his back and spoke with pride of his former fosterling. He had grown into a fine young gentlehobbit, indeed. Only his ruffled hair didn’t quite fit his appearance, but that was one of the first things Esme said she would take care of. Several girls of his age-group, however – Pearl among them – didn’t mind the bit of wildness in his looks and Paladin was only too aware of the admiring looks his eldest daughter cast in Frodo’s direction. The lad definitely had the potential to become a son-in-law and while Paladin watched him, he didn’t think he would mind much to one day welcome him into his family.

Yet a memory was constantly nagging at the back of his mind: It was an evening during his first stay at the Hall with Eglantine at his side. Frodo had been but a few years old and Paladin had not immediately recognised him. Besides, what he had seen when he first laid eyes on him was not the cheerful lad Frodo had become again. What he beheld was loss, fear, and sorrow; and an odd connection to a child that was but a distant cousin.

It was that connection over which he kept brooding. Frodo had shown remarkable insight that night by placing his fingers just where Paladin’s headache had pounded, but he had never been sure whether it was the Took Sight or coincidence that made the child touch him.

True, apart from one other occasion – during the funeral of the lad’s parents – Paladin had never felt a similar bond to his cousin. He would never forget the lost little boy clutching a stuffed pony to his chest while Esmeralda tried to be as much comfort to him as she could.

As he rummaged his mind, Paladin realised that it had been a moment of distinct sorrow when he connected with the boy the second time; and he understood why a newly orphaned Frodo had found his way to the wooden wall on the passageway to the wine cellars. Even if the boy was not capable of the Sight Frodo had been open to the girl’s grief, being himself anguished over the bleeding wound that was his parents’ death. Loneliness, sadness, abandonment.

Just what he had felt in last night’s dream – the same dream that had troubled him years before; just what Pippin had spoken of the other morning.

“She is sad, dad. So very sad.”

Paladin knew he had to find out more, so after the general excitement of Frodo’s arrival subsided he asked the lad for a private moment in which he led him into Brandy Hall’s darkest cellars until they stood in front of the wooden wall.

Frodo was baffled at his choice of place for a quiet conversation. His brows narrowed in a frown and he wrinkled his nose while he looked in utter confusion at the planks of wood. His face glowed in the candlelight and the dancing flame’s flickering reflection caused his eyes to sparkle. “What are we doing here?”

Paladin didn’t know what he had expected from this but somehow it had been more. “Well,” he began, slightly discouraged and struggling to find the right opening words. “Mac told me you’ve come here time and time again.”

“I lived here.”

The words erased every supposition Paladin might have had, yet he did not want to give up hope straight away. “Of course,” he smiled. “But why here? Why this remote corridor?”

Frodo’s frown deepened and he shrugged. Paladin felt his nerves tingle. His grip on the candleholder tightened as he watched the tween’s thoughtful expression. “I don’t know. I was drawn here, I think.” Unseeing eyes stared at the wall and the voice that spoke to Paladin was distant. “It was just a feeling.”

“What kind of feeling?” Paladin enquired. His heart raced and a seedling of hope prospered. He knew that look, that far-away voice, and the effort it sometimes took to come back to the here and now.

“Why do you ask?”

The boy tilted his head to face him with curious eyes and Paladin felt like a house of cards collapsing. Frodo didn’t know about her and yet Paladin had to ask him. “Have you ever seen a girl?”

“I’ve seen many,” Frodo grinned and there was the hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“Of course, you have.” Paladin chuckled and laid his hand on the lad’s shoulder. The boy equalled him in size and as alike as the tween was to Drogo, Frodo couldn’t deny his Brandybuck kinship either.

“What I mean, Frodo, is,” Paladin took a deep breath, “have you ever dreamed of a girl that wasn’t real? A girl that perhaps led you here and, “he gestured at the wood, “and disappeared behind this wall?”

Frodo shook his head and raised a critical eyebrow which caused Paladin to look away and hide his disappointment. If Pippin’s account had not proved Paladin’s vision was more than just a dream Frodo’s affirmation would have verified everything.

“But you do.”

Paladin looked up to see those blue eyes inspecting him with the same curiosity and interest they had bestowed upon him years before. A chill ran down his spine and for a moment he thought he felt that strange bond again. He nodded. “Have you ever heard of the Took Sight?”

“The fairy-blood?” Frodo asked eagerly.

Paladin smiled. He would not have put it that way but: “Yes.”

“Do you have it?” Paladin could see those blue eyes sparkle with more than just the candle’s reflection. “Do you really See?”

“It’s not seeing,” Paladin corrected him, “not always. It’s more like feeling and dreaming. Dreaming true.”

“That’s amazing! It’s like magic! It’s,” the lad grew twitchy with excitement. “Can you teach me?”

“No, Frodo,” Paladin smiled and brushed his hand across the back of the boy’s head. “No, it cannot be taught. It’s inborn and cannot be controlled. It’s like doing a puzzle you don’t know whether you’ve got all the pieces. I hoped you could help me to put what I have together, though.”

“Oh.” The disappointment could not be denied and it was Frodo’s turn to look away. His voice was quiet again, and sad. “I’m sorry I cannot help.”

Paladin did not answer at once. As he looked at Frodo it seemed to him that he had never seen a light that much hidden under the bushel. It wasn’t just knowledge or any special ability. There was, indeed, a soft glow radiating from the boy that had nothing to do with the candlelight surrounding them. It was a light brighter than any he had yet seen and it seemed to vibrate from deep within Frodo. If he hadn’t thought the idea ridiculous Paladin would have reached out to it for the light was definitely touching him.

“Don’t be sorry, Frodo,” he said, touching the boy instead and placing his hand once again on the tween’s shoulder. “You can help. I’m sure you were drawn here because you, too, sensed something. You have a gift, lad, even if it isn’t the Sight, of that I am convinced. Together, and with your cousins’ help should they assist us, we will solve this riddle.”

Frodo nodded, and smiled. He did not protest when Paladin led him back to the main corridors.

Chapter Three: Putting Together

He was sitting in the Master’s study. He could hear the crackling of the fire, could feel its warmth glow on his back and smell the scent of apple wood. Merimac sat beside him and his voice, as well as the Master’s, echoed in his ears. Old Rory sat in a huge leather chair, the Hall Records spread out on the desk before him, and while he read Merimac was adding bits and pieces of the story he had been told in his childhood. This was Brandy Hall’s history and while the Brandybucks heard tales about half-forgotten incidents in their early childhood, Paladin had never heard the whole story of the flood in 1226 and he couldn’t help but get lost in the words.

During the time of Gormadoc Deepdelver Brandy Hall had prospered like seldom before. The Master gathered kin and distant relations about him until the smial threatened to burst. But Buck Hill was huge and every few months, new passages were dug and a second level, which soon grew to be part of the Master’s quarters, was installed.

Brandy Hall, more than ever, became the pride of the Bucklanders and especially of their Master. As the years passed by, Gormadoc grew more and more daring and he expanded his smial to the west, ignoring the threat the river had always posed to the Brandybucks. The river, however, was what brought down the Master’s haughtiness in the end, and two families besides.

The new corridor had just been built, and the first families had moved into new quarters when one night in late spring the Brandywine burst its banks and the western passages were flooded. Children and adults ran for safety, but for four hobbits all hope was lost. The new passage collapsed, so sparing the rest of the Hall from the spate of water, but taking the lives of two families. One was a newly-wed couple, Gormadoc’s own granddaughter Asphodel, and her husband Rufus Puddifoot; the other had been a father and his only child, Mungo Greenhill and his daughter, young Daisy, who had come to see the Master’s support, since Daisy’s mother had died in childbed some years previously.

“… and Paladin thinks there’s something behind the wall, down where the old corridor was, the one that’s been flooded,” Merimac once again explained to the Master and Paladin looked up as if he were waking from a dream.

“Someone,” he corrected his cousin who looked at him in confusion. “Daisy Greenhill, if I’m not mistaken.”

Merimac wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brow but turned back to his father to repeat: “Daisy Greenhill.”

Rorimac pondered that for a few moments and though it had been Merimac who had spoken to him it was Paladin his eyes rested on. “The wooden wall? The same one you made such a kerfuffle over some fifty years ago?”

Paladin nodded and ventured further than he knew he was allowed to go. “Can we tear it down?”

Merimac nodded his agreement and, like he had done fifty years pervious, when he was always eager to please his older cousin, he turned to repeat the question to his father.

“Can we--“ he stared at Paladin. “What?!”

“I need to know what’s behind there and I’m quite sure it isn’t just a collapsed corridor,” Paladin said and looked imploringly at the Master. “It’s an old wall, Rorimac. It needs mending anyhow so why not kill two birds with one stone? Let me have a look at what lies hidden and secure. You’re ahead by replacing rotten wood with fresh planks.”

Rorimac gazed sternly at him. His manner changed and all of a sudden the air seemed to sizzle with the Master’s authority. “Tell me, Paladin,” the old hobbit said in a voice that had lost nothing of its influence, “since when does a Took know what is best for the Brandybucks?”

Paladin sighed. “Sir, I did not intend to leave you out. I’m certainly not implying that I know much about managing a smial like Brandy Hall. I simply ask for your permission and want to point out that it wouldn’t only be to my advantage.”

“I see that,” the Master answered. While the old hobbit rose to fetch his pipe from a chest of drawers, Paladin too, got to his feet and looked enquiringly at Merimac who shrugged but said nothing.

“You say my home is haunted by the ghost of a girl who drowned more than a hundred years ago?”

“She is grieved by her fate,” Paladin said. “She was so young and she feels alone. My son has the same dream which troubles me, and Merimac tells me that when he was distressed after his parents’ death Frodo…”

“Frodo?” Rorimac stopped mid-movement and looked at them. His features softened and a distant expression flickered across his face. He smiled lovingly and though his eyes were sad they spoke of acceptance. Rorimac, like his eldest son, had done what was best for their beloved fosterling, even though it meant letting the boy go.

“Very well,” the old hobbit finally said and produced a pouch from his breast pocket. “You have my permission, though I would like you to wait until the new planks are finished.”

“Certainly,” the cousins chorused and as the Master gestured for them to sit down again and have a smoke with him, Paladin smiled and bowed his head respectfully. “Thank you.”

~*~*~

“Tea-time, lads!”

Esmeralda walked around the corner, loaded with a huge tray filled with mugs, a jug, and sandwiches for all of them.

“Food!” Merimac was the first to welcome her. “You’re a treasure!”

“Dad!”

Paladin followed his cousin’s example to find his son stumbling towards him with a huge mug in both hands. He wiped his smut-streaked and sweaty brow and took the drink from him before scooping to boy into his arms. “Hullo, my dear.”

“Did you find something?”

Paladin looked about him. The passageway was in a terrible state. Two days previous the carpenters had torn down the wall, only to reveal a corridor full of debris. Paladin did not know how he had convinced Old Rory to let him have a look behind the rubble, but ever since he, Saradoc, Merimac, and sometimes even Marmadas had burrowed a hole into the old corridor. They had dug so deep now, they needed beams to support the ceiling and no one felt quite safe anymore.

“Nothing,” Paladin replied and wondered when he had turned into a fool. He kissed Pippin’s forehead. “Promise me to never run after a ghost like me.”

“Yes, dad.” Pippin hugged him close and Paladin had a feeling the boy had not at all listened to him.

Paladin ruffled his curls and nonetheless felt glad about his son’s curiosity and that he, along with Frodo and Merry, had not yet lost belief in him. The children came to check on their progress every few hours and while Paladin slowly lost faith in himself, the boys turned their grubbing into one huge treasure hunt.

“This is the last afternoon,” Paladin heard Saradoc promise Esmeralda before he pressed a kiss onto her lips. “If we’re not through until dinner I doubt we’ll ever be.”

Esmeralda nodded, and then turned to him to offer him a sandwich. Paladin gratefully accepted. The look on her face told him two things. First, she was annoyed that he kept her husband busy all day. Second, she knew about his disappointment. They should have found something by now.

“I think you’re through.”

Paladin turned in surprise to find Frodo standing in the narrow passage they had excavated.

“Get out of there, Frodo,” Esmeralda ordered. “It’s dangerous.”

“I think he’s right, mother,” Merry agreed and within seconds, Esmeralda was in the tunnel herself to drag her son out, only she couldn’t.

Paladin and his cousins had clustered in behind her just in time to see Frodo push a shovel through the loose earth, which trickled to the ground immediately. Saradoc handed a lamp to the boy who held it up high to reveal the remains of an old passage. The corridor was still discernible, although the wood had long rotted. Several ancient, rusted lamp holders lay on the floor and the smell of decay and wet earth filled the air.

“Look!” Pippin suddenly called out and Paladin knew at once that the request was aimed at him. The boy pointed past Frodo, and he could see that the corridor was, indeed, changing. Walls, ceiling, and floor brightened and were once again covered with clay and wood. The flickering light of sconces cast the passage into a friendly, welcoming light. The scent that tickled his nostrils was fresh and unsullied – the sweet fragrance of a new home.

And there, just a few steps ahead of them stood a girl. Her hair, neatly combed and fastened into a pony tail, was black. Her eyes were dark and her dress was scarlet as a rose’s petal. She waved at him and smiled, and in her eyes was the shimmer of a hundred falling stars. She was a pretty little girl, all rosy-cheeked and healthy.

Paladin’s heart swelled with joy and he pulled Pippin closer to him when the boy tightened his grip around his neck. The girl, Daisy, looked at them for a long while and then she waved in farewell. When she turned her back on them and ran down the corridor Paladin no longer felt an urge to follow. And just as her figure faded in the distance the corridor grew dark and rotten once more.

“She’s happy now.”

Paladin blinked to find the others look at him expectantly but he didn’t heed them and instead kissed Pippin on the forehead. “I think she is, my boy. I think she finally is.”

With that Paladin walked out of the ancient corridor, relief in his heart, and did not speak about the incident again until late that night when he, Frodo, his cousins and their wives sat together over a mug of ale.

“It’s not fair!” Merimac pointed out when Paladin had recounted his vision. “I couldn’t see a thing in that stinking old passage. Good thing the new planks will block it out again come tomorrow.”

“Couldn’t you feel it at all?” Frodo asked in surprise, and Paladin pricked his ears, curious. “All of a sudden everything was calm and peaceful; light.”

Paladin smiled at that and exchanged a knowing glance with Merimac. There was some mysterious air about the boy.

“You’ve got too much Took blood in you, scallywag,” Merimac said and clapped the tween’s back. “Stick to us Brandybucks. Stick to sense.”

Merimac winked at him and Paladin did not hesitate to raise his mug and smile. “To sense!”

“To sense,” the others agreed laughing and while he drank Paladin thought that perhaps it wasn’t always so bad to get his way, even if his reasons could not be explained easily. He sensed more than others, and if Pippin should one day decide to hunt after a ghost after all Paladin would not hesitate to support him.

~THE END~