Bilbo had begun to make a habit of spending his mornings in Elrond’s rather splendid and extensive library, and, with his host’s kind permission would occasionally borrow a tome or two to take back to his own little apartment to read and to copy, which was how he usually spent his afternoons. He would usually have tea by himself, making it in his own little kitchen, which was well furnished with hobbit-sized dishes and saucepans and pots. Once in a while he could prevail on Master Elrond or one of the other Elves to join him. 

Supper was mostly taken in the feast hall, where he was also given dishes and spoons just his size, and he marveled at how thorough Master Elrond had been in having all these delightful things made for his comfort. Bilbo had always prided himself on his own hospitality when he still lived in Bag End, but the Last Homely House put his own small efforts to shame.

After nights spent in the Hall of Fire listening to the Elven music, he would return to his chambers in a daze of pleasant exhaustion, to fall sleepily into his small bed, in the bedroom with the round door.

Autumn was giving way to the crisper air of winter, though Bilbo had been assured that winters in Rivendell were never bitter. One morning Bilbo went into the library to discover a fire had been laid in the hearth there, and the windows, which usually stood open were closed, and the Sun shone in dusty motes through the panes.

The day before, Bilbo had found an area of shelves on which most of the books were written in Westron, rather than the more usual Sindarin or the occasional Quenyan. A brief examination showed him that they seemed to be the records of the Northern Kingdoms, and he looked forward to perusing them.

Most of them were bound in grey leather, and were rather large, with the year of the Age on the spine. But as he examined them, he espied a smaller volume, bound in dark brown leather. It had no lettering on spine or cover, and he drew it forth curiously.

He carefully opened it to the first page. “Oh my stars!” he exclaimed.

In a very Shire-like hand, the first page read: The Memoirs of Hildifons Took, also Known as Trotter: His Adventures Beyond the Bounds of the Shire. Then he noticed the date, just beneath: The Year 2938, of the Third Age, being 1338 of the Shire Reckoning.

Bilbo felt his heart pounding with excitement. Hildifons Took, his long-lost uncle, had been here in Rivendell at some point in time! Was he finally going to learn his uncle’s fate?

Closing the small tome, he took a deep breath. He had questions. Some of the answers might be in this book, but he had a feeling the Lord of the House could answer more…

Elrond looked up in surprise at the tap upon his study door. It was rather tentative, and came from lower down upon the door--it must be Bilbo. Elrond was puzzled; the hobbit had never seen need to interrupt him during the day before. He wondered was aught amiss. “Please enter, Bilbo,” he said.

The door swung open, and the elderly hobbit padded quietly across the floor, and placed a small brown volume upon Elrond’s desk. Elrond smiled to see it. Bilbo looked at him expectantly.

“Ah! I see you have found out about your predecessor.”

There was a hint of both anger and hurt in the hobbit’s eyes as he looked at his host. “This apparently came to be here only a few years before I came here myself for the first time! Why was I never told?”

Elrond looked at him, and there was a twinkle of fondness in the ancient eyes, though his face remained solemn. “Because your uncle asked that we keep his secret, and we respected his wish. Although I am not certain that Gandalf did not confide in your grandfather. But he had severed all his ties with the Shire. He died shortly after writing out these memories.” Elrond leaned back, and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. “I can see no harm in your knowing now, however. You are his kin; consider the book a gift and an inheritance. I hope that you will understand more after reading it.”

Bilbo stood thoughtfully for a moment. “Thank you,” he said, much mollified by his host’s attitude. “But I do have a question.”

Elrond chuckled. “You are very like your uncle. Ask me.”

“The rooms I have now--those were his, were they not?”

“Yes, Bilbo, they were. You were not the first hobbit to live a well-deserved retirement within these walls. Go now, and read what he has to say, and perhaps you will understand.”

After returning to his rooms, he looked at them with new eyes. Now that he came to think of it, it was clear that the little kitchen and the small bedroom with its round door were not something new, built within the last few months, but had been there for a number of years. He prepared himself a light luncheon, and took it to his sitting room. Settling in next to the hearth, he began to read…

I think back now over nearly a hundred years of life, and wonder at the circumstances that brought me here. It seems hard to resist the feeling that all of this was “meant”, as Gandalf is fond of saying.

And yet, when I came to leave the Shire, I was a rather callow and innocent youth, just barely into my majority, and at the time I thought that my life had been destroyed and my future blighted. I could not see my way clear to staying in the Shire after my heart had been broken.

Though I had just come of age, I had thought for a few years that I knew who my soul mate was to be. Gardenia Sackville was a very pretty lass who had caught my eye a few years before, when she had come with her family to the Great Smials for the Mid-summer’s holiday.

I remember clearly the two of us standing close together, and watching Gandalf’s fireworks in awe. She was so beautiful, with her face upturned to the sky, and her mouth slightly open, her brown eyes wide. And at that moment, I became quite certain that she was the lass for me.

Alas, soon after the holidays, she went back with her family to their leaf plantation in the Southfarthing. Yet I believed she returned my regard, and I flattered myself that she would remember me. For the next couple of years, I often made excuses to visit her family. I am certain Father was not fooled by my frequent offers to see to purchases of leaf for the Tooks. Mother was not so sanguine; for some reason she was rather cool towards Gardenia, and I could not fathom why.

I was very disappointed when the Sackvilles declined the invitation to my coming-of-age party, and so, two days after the party, I rode down to see Gardenia, and to officially offer suit to her.

Perhaps I was too impulsive, for I sought her out at once, rather than speaking to her father first, as would have been proper. She seemed startled by my visit, but agreed to walk in the garden with me.

Her response to my declaration was not at all what I expected.

She looked up at me with a furrowed brow. “I am sorry, Hildifons, but what on earth made you think that I was interested in you?”

I was staggered. Perhaps the way she had always accepted my gifts, laughed at my jokes and allowed me to hold her hand?

“I would not have presumed,” I said angrily, “if I had not received some encouragement!”

“Of course I was kind to you,” she said condescendingly, “you are, after all, the son of the Old Took, even if only one of the younger sons. But my father--as you would know if you had spoken to him first--has already agreed to allow Norbert Longbottom to court me, and I have accepted his suit. We will probably announce our betrothal at Yule.”

“And what makes Norbert Longbottom so much more acceptable?”

She drew herself up. “He is not a Took, for one thing. No rag-tag conjurers would be welcome in his family smial! And his family’s holdings are next to our own.”

And now the final blinkers fell from my eyes, and I realized what my mother must have known all along--Gardenia did not love me and had never loved me. I fled her presence, and rode home without stopping over, in a fit of alternating fury and despondency.

It was embarrassing when I arrived home to realize that none of the family were surprised that I had been jilted. Everywhere I looked, I saw in their eyes not only pity, but relief. My little sister Belladonna, who was only twenty-three, was quite open about it. “Good, I am glad that she will not be our sister-in-law, and I won’t have to pretend to be nice to her!” While seventeen-year-old Mirabella was indignant, and was overheard plotting with little Isengar to put toads in the guest bed the next time the Sackvilles visited. Donnamira told them acidly that the opportunity would never arrive, as they would never be invited back to the Great Smials.

While it was nice to know that my family supported me so staunchly, it was also humiliating. All of them knew I had hoped to make Gardenia my wife, and I could not imagine any other lass in that role, even though I knew now she would have been quite unsuitable.

After a week of this, I found I was still quite as miserable as I had been when first it happened.

Gandalf, whom Gardenia had so scornfully called a “rag-tag conjurer” was still visiting, though he feigned not to notice my turmoil, which was a welcome relief from my overly solicitous family.

After supper, as my father, older brothers and I sat in the parlor smoking, we listened to him spinning tales of the world Outside the Bounds, and suddenly I felt the weight of my sorrow beginning to lift. Outside the Shire was Adventure, and the chance to be far away from people who knew of my humiliation. I suddenly had an Idea.

The next day, I told my father that I thought I would go to pay a visit to some of our distant relatives in the Northfarthing. My parents looked relieved--I am sure they thought I simply wished distraction, and my brother Isembold offered to accompany me.

Of course, that would not do at all, as I had no intention of going to Long Cleeve, which was where the North-tooks lived. I simply told him that I needed to be alone, and he gave up the idea.

Perhaps it would have been better for me had he been more persistent.

Perhaps not.

I headed north, only so far as Bywater, where I spent a pleasant evening at The Green Dragon, and I continued my talk of heading north to visit our kinfolk, descendants of the Bullroarer, Bandobras Took. I was treated to several ales by those who were pleased by my recounting of the tale of the Battle of the Greenfields, but I was careful not to overindulge, for I planned to be away before daybreak, so that no one would see in which direction I traveled: not, North, but East.

I spent that night under the stars, something I’d not done since my early tweens, for I did not wish to stay in any more inns until I had left the Shire; and, again before daybreak, I rode across the Stonebow Bridge and took the Great East Road towards Bree--the only place I had any certain knowledge of outside the Shire

It was a nice summer morning; the Sun had only just showed her face above the horizon as I crossed the Brandywine. To my right was Buckland, but I did not turn that way. While it’s said by many in the Shire that Buckland is outside the Bounds, we Tooks have far too many family connexions there. If I showed my face at Brandy Hall, news would quickly be sent to the Thain by the new Master of Buckland, Marmadoc Brandybuck. I had met him a time or two, and I had no doubt he would find a way to detain me until my father should fetch me home. His folk, I had heard by way of gossip, were already calling him “the Masterful”. No, I had no wish to encounter him.

Instead, I kept on the Road, heading East. From what I had heard from Gandalf and other travellers, it was a good two days’ journey to Bree. I would spend another night beneath the stars, and the next night I would find an inn in Bree.

So far, I had not noticed much difference in the surroundings. From the way many hobbits spoke, it seemed that just to cross the Brandywine would take one into strange lands. But so far as I could tell, I was just passing more small farms and wooded copses and the occasional hill being grazed by sheep on my left, and to my right the eaves of the Old Forest. Much as I hoped to find Adventure, I had no desire to go into that dark place, of which many unpleasant tales had been told.

For second breakfast, I ate a mushroom pasty in my hand as I rode, and munched on a pear, washed down with water from my waterskin. I determined, however, to stop for elevenses. I did so, near a small streamlet north of the Road, where I made myself a cup of tea to go with my bread and cheese, and found some lovely blackberries for afters. It was tempting to take a nap in the summer sunshine, but I resisted the temptation, and went on my way once more.

Soon I realized I was seeing fewer and fewer farms and sheep. And the cottages on the farms I did see were much larger. I realized they were meant for Men, and not for hobbits, and a wholly delicious thrill ran down my spine! It was quite probable that I would be encountering some of those large beings! Of course, I had met Gandalf many times, but he was different, after all. He was a Wizard, and I was not at all sure that he was like an ordinary Man.

As it turned out, the first person I saw was not a Man, but a woman of that race. She was rather elderly, and was herding a flock of geese across a stile. She had got most of them over, but one old gander, clearly a stubborn fowl, was not only refusing to go over the stile, but attempting to flee.

I reined in my pony and dismounted as the gander ran in my direction, and between the two of us we soon had shooed him across the stile. She turned to me, and said in a quavering voice: “I thanks ye, Master Hobbit! Old Snapper there, he can be a mite stubborn!”

I gazed up at her. She was not quite twice my height, stooped with age as she was, but other than her size and her shoe-clad feet and her rounded ears, she could have been any hobbit gammer, with her grey curls tied up in a kerchief, and her blue eyes, sharp as gimlets, and the lines of laughter and years about her eyes and mouth.

“You are quite welcome.” I gave her a bow. “I am Hildifons of the Shire at your service.”

She gave a bob of the head and a very nearly toothless smile, and said, “Mistress Polly Thistlewool at yours, little master. And what is taking a hobbit of the Shire so far from home, may I ask?”

I found that I liked this Mistress Polly very much, in spite of her Outlandish name, and grinned back at her. “I had a fancy to see Bree, Mistress.”

She nodded. “You must be a Brandybuck, then. Them’s the only Shire hobbits we see out this way. My son is out with the sheep, and I was heading to the house to take my nuncheon. Would you care to keep me company, Master Hildifons?” She gestured to the cottage at the end of the path from the stile. It looked much like a hobbit cottage, with its stone walls and thatched roof, save that the door and the window were square, of all things!

I followed her in. The room was not so very much larger than a hobbit house, but it was much higher--the rafters were a good nine feet up at least, and I saw a small loft with a ladder leading up to it at one end.

Delicious smells reached me--there was a garden soup simmering on the hearth--I could smell the potatoes and the tomatoes and the carrots and celery and onion and thyme and summer savory among other toothsome smells--and she took up the flat shovel to draw out some ash cakes from the embers.

We sat and talked, or rather, she talked and I listened, as she told me of her two married daughters who lived in Bree, and her married son who lived on another nearby holding, and her youngest son who still lived at home and cared for her and would have the little farm when she was gone. I learned all their names and the names of her seven grandchildren, and she gave me a message for her oldest daughter who was married to an innkeeper in Bree.

“Now, you be sure to stay to the Prancing Pony, Master Hildifons, as it’s the nicest inn in Bree, or indeed in all the Bree-lands! But you won’t make the rest of the journey today. Would you stop here with us, this night? I don’t like to think of you going in sight of those Barrows, and it being so late in the day and all.”

“Barrows?” I asked. Indeed, we’d heard tales of those Barrows even in the Tooklands, though I had always thought of them as so much moonshine. They were the sorts of tales tweens told to frighten one another around the harvest bonfires.

“Oh yes, little master! They’re right shuddersome, they are! When we go to visit my daughters, we always leave as early in the day as we can, so as to have them behind us while the Sun is still high!”

I gave a little shudder myself, and found myself considering her offer. But I still wanted to put more distance between myself and the Shire.

We ate of her excellent soup and tasty ash cakes, and finished up with some strawberries from her patch. Then, over her blushing protests, I assisted her in washing up.

As I made my farewells, she warned me once again about the dangers of the road, and of the Barrow-downs. I wish that I had listened to her.

I started on the road once more, a little apprehensive now, after Mistress Polly’s warnings.

The afternoon was drawing on, and the shadows in front of me were growing longer. And then I began to see them away to the south--those ominous mist-shrouded hillocks. Just the sight of them caused a chill to run down my back and my stomach to do flip-flops. I began to remember some of those campfire stories, which had been both thrilling and funny at the time--now, though, they seemed to hold an ominous kernel of truth hidden within. Stories of creeping hands and ghostly mutters, of travellers venturing into the barrow-mounds in search of gold or other treasures and never seen again; or seen months later, white-haired and gibbering in madness.

All those stories could not be just stories, could they? After all there was the old Shire saying: “No smoke without fire”. For the first time since I had left, I began to wish myself safe at home in front of the hearth with my family around me, especially my father.

Teatime had passed, and suppertime was approaching. But for once I had no appetite, and no desire to stop to eat. The Sun had not yet set-- the days were still long-- after all, it was only a few weeks since Lithe. But she was tinting the sky behind me in rosy colours, and the sky in front of me was going purple. I even saw a star or two twinkling far to the East. I could not keep riding much longer. It would be dark very soon. Yet I had hoped to get away from the sight of those Barrows before I stopped.

The land to my left was perfectly ordinary. It was lightly wooded, not dense and dark like the Old Forest, but beeches and alders were growing in small copses. And as my head was beginning to ache from hunger-- for if my stomach rebelled at the thought of food, my head most certainly knew it had missed two meals-- I finally decided I would have to stop for the night.

I recalled from some of the maps I had seen at home, that I was probably only a half-days’ journey out from Bree. But I was exhausted, and I was sure that my pony was just as weary. Poor Porridge! He had never had so long a journey in all his life, I am sure!

There was a thicket just off the road, about two rods to the north, and I could see the gleam of a little rivulet running nearby. It had a wholesome look about it, especially compared to what was visible to the south of the road. I led Porridge off the road, and as he drank his fill in the little brook, I unsaddled him, and tethered him. As he cropped the grass for his supper, I found the bannocks Mistress Polly had given me, and some cheese, and a pear. I started a small fire and brewed a pot of tea, and then I settled in to enjoy my meal and a pipe.

But I still could not help thinking about those barrows. Facing them, I could not get them out of my mind. I tried turning my back on them, but that was even worse--what if something did come from there, and I did not see it sneaking up on me? I thought of Mistress Polly’s words. “Shuddersome” was the least of it.

When I finished my food and my tea, I banked the fire. Then I took out my blanket roll, and lay down upon the ground, with my back to the fire and facing the road. I would try to get some rest, and yet still keep watch. I felt so wide awake with apprehension that I was sure I could not sleep!

But my eyes grew heavy, and soon I drifted into a restless slumber, haunted by ill dreams. I still cannot remember them except that each involved being pursued, but I kept falling into them and then thinking myself awake, only to realise as some new fear arose, that I was still dreaming. And each new dream seemed worse than the last.

And so it was that for the instant I heard my pony whickering in fear, that I sat up to find myself surrounded by large figures, I thought myself still in a nightmare: until hands clutched at me, and they were all too real. Loud, harsh laughter rang in my ears, and I struggled mightily. Finally, in desperation, I lashed out with one foot and at the same time, sank my teeth into my captor’s arm. With a curse, he flung me aside.

I was for only a split second stunned. But I scrambled to my feet and fled, not even caring in which direction I was running. I felt the hard surface of the road beneath my feet, and then cool grass, and then even more fear.

I had run straight across the road towards the Barrows, and now my panic gave way to a freezing fear. My heart pounded, and I heard chill voices, cold as death and chanting in an unknown tongue. I felt my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth. I wanted to scream, but my voice did not work. Something horrid was approaching me--I could sense malice like nothing I’d ever imagined. It seemed as though laughter teased at the edge of my hearing--cold and evil laughter. I could not move, not move at all.

And then I heard another sound: Porridge whinnying loudly in the distance, and it broke the evil spell.

I backed up slowly, and then I turned and ran again, very nearly mad with horror--right into the arms of my captors.

They were not gentle with me. They were Men, clearly brigands and ruffians of the worst sort. Their language was coarse and crude, and with many curses they relieved me of my purse.

One of them said, “Well, shall we slit his throat here, or wait until we’re out of sight of the road?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said one of the others. “I think we might make something off him. There’s those as’d pay right well for a fine young Shire-ratling like this.”

There was more crude laughter at this remark. They bound me with ropes, and flung me atop the back of my hapless pony, across his back with my head hanging down, and then with their big booted feet, they stomped out the fire and led me off, into the Wild.

 Interlude: Dark Memories

Bilbo closed the book and drew a deep shuddering breath, as he thought of his long ago, and never known, Uncle Hildifons.  He remembered hearing his mother, aunts and uncles occasionally speak of their brother “Hilfy”, always in quiet, hushed tones.  He had gone away and never come back, unlike Uncle Isengar, who had not only come back, but had lively stories of far-off places for his nephews and nieces. 

The assumption had always been that Hildifons had perished in the Wild somewhere, devoured by wolves or lost in the Old Forest, or as Uncle Isembold often speculated, had simply fallen into a hole somewhere between Tookland and the North-farthing.  He had once heard his parents speaking of how Uncle Isembold blamed himself because he had not accompanied his brother on his journey to Long Cleeve. 

But no one had ever voiced the idea that Hildifons had lived to a ripe old age somewhere beyond the bounds of the Shire.  That was something else he and his uncle had in common then, for Bilbo was sure that of all the hobbits in the Shire, only Frodo would believe that he was still alive in a year or so.

And both of them had experienced some not-so-pleasant things.   Bilbo pushed away some unwelcome memories that tried to force themselves into his mind.  He went into his little kitchen and made a cup of chamomile tea.  Perhaps he’d go to bed early tonight…

Hours later, he woke suddenly, his heart pounding, his breath coming in gasps.  How long had it been since he’d had nightmares of being captured by goblins?  Years, he thought, though in the months  just before leaving the Shire he had been tormented by increasing nightmares of Gollum.  But those had disappeared altogether since he had left the Shire behind.  His sleep since he had come to stay at the Last Homely House had been remarkably untroubled.

Now his mind was filled with the memories of his terror as he was driven through the caverns along with the Dwarves, by the whips and coarse voices of the goblins.  Taking a deep breath, he sat up, and took a drink from the little tumbler of water he kept on the bedside table.  Then he stood up, put on his dressing-gown, and went to stand by his little window, which he threw open.

He leaned out, and felt the brisk breeze on his face, and looked up at the glittering stars, and let the peace of Imladris fill his heart.  This was all due to reading that journal, he was sure.

But tomorrow he would read further.  Things had to turn out for Uncle Hildifons, after all, or he‘d not have been able to write his story out.

When next I awakened, I knew at once my bonds were gone. But I was still in the presence of Big Folk. I could hear their deep rumbling voices, though I could not understand what they said, for they spoke in a low tone of voice.

“He is awake,” said one of the voices. I shrank into myself fearfully, wondering what was in store for me now.

But one of them came near me, sat down on the cot. “It is all right--those who captured you are gone.” His voice was gentle, not rough like those other Men. I opened my eyes fearfully.

“Who--who are you?” My voice was rusty, and my head was pounding.

“They call me Longshanks,” he said, and chuckled. It was a warm sound, and I realized that in spite of his rough appearance, he was not like those others. His dark hair, though unkempt, was clean. And his grey eyes were very kind. “And who are you? he asked me.

“My name is Hildifons T--er--Chubb,” I said, still reluctant to reveal my true name. My mother’s maiden name would do as well.

“ ‘Chubb’, eh?” He smiled. “Those green eyes of yours speak of the Tooklands…”

I sighed, but did not confirm his guess. I did not deny it, either.

He glanced at his companions. “These are my friends Archer and Stark.”

Those didn’t sound anymore like real names to me than “Longshanks” did. I suppose I must have looked rather skeptical, because both of them laughed quietly. “Who are you? How did I come to be here with you?”

“We are Rangers-- we make it our business to protect innocent folk from brigands and ruffians and other wickedness when we can.”

“Oh.” I was rather taken aback. I’d never heard of such a thing. But then the Shire has a distinct lack of brigands and ruffians. I supposed the Bounders or the Shirriffs might have known of these Men. I wondered if my father did. And I wondered at this Man’s seeming familiarity with Tooks.

“Do you know the Shire?”

“I have some passing acquaintance with it,” he said, “and one of my good friends visits the Thain quite often. You may have heard of him? Gandalf the Grey?”

I’m afraid I may have looked a bit stupid with surprise. Finally I closed my jaw, and then said “You know Gandalf?”

“I do indeed.” He smiled at me, and then said, “I need to look at your head for a moment.”

I’d been aware for a while that my head hurt rather abominably, but I was surprised when he reached over very carefully. I could not help flinching at the approach of his large hand, for my time among the outlaws had left me skittish and timid.

Longshanks sighed and shook his head sadly. “I am sorry that you have been so mistreated by those villains. I assure you I mean no harm,“ and he began to gently unwind a bandage from around my head--I‘d no idea it had been bandaged. “I had to put in a few stitches,” he said, “but it appears to be healing cleanly. I think we will leave the bandage off now. Do you think you could eat a bit of broth?”

Truth to tell, something savory had been tickling my nose for a while. “Coney?” I asked.

“Mostly coney,” he said, “some squirrel as well.”

I sat up gingerly, and realised that I was clad only in my smallclothes; apparently my rescuers had cleaned me up while I was still unconscious, and I found myself immensely grateful to be clean once more, after the filth of the ruffians.

The one called Archer brought over a rather alarmingly large mug. Fortunately it was only half-filled, but even so, Longshanks had to help me hold it as I sipped. The broth was very plain--a bit salty, with a hint of wild thyme and a few very small bits of meat floating about in it, but nothing else. Still, it warmed my belly, and I was surprised to feel full long before I had finished it. My headache grew a bit duller.

“Now, Mr.--Chubb,” and he gave me an ironic arch of brow at the name, “what were you doing so far from the Shire, and how did you come to fall among those ruffians?”

I knew it was going to be hard to keep up the “Chubb” business. “Please, call me Hildifons,” I said. “I thought to see a bit of the world outside the Bounds, and planned to make my way to Bree. The brigands waylaid me when I was only about a half-day’s journey from Bree. They robbed me, and then decided I might be worth something as a captive--though I’ve no idea of what value they might have found in me.”

Longshank’s face grew briefly grim. “I do. It is well that you do not.”

It was several years before I realized what that remark meant. I was very innocent of the world then.

“I think, Master Hildifons, that you should take some rest. We shall see about finding someone to escort you home to the Shire in a few days. Tomorrow, you should rest. We recovered your pony and some of your goods from the thieves, but I do not think you should risk being robbed again.”

I could not help a gasp of dismay! Even though my experience among the brigands had been dreadful, I could not think of going home to face the embarrassment and humiliation of having my family know I had run away! I swallowed. “That will not be necessary, Master Longshanks,” I said. “Please do not trouble yourself on my account, for I do not plan on returning to the Shire at this time.”

He arched an eyebrow at me, clearly doubtful of my ability to fend for myself, and said mildly, “Well, we shall see what we shall see. In the meantime, do take your rest.”

And yet, as it turned out, I need not have worried. The Man called Stark was sent away with messages the next morning, and the Man called Archer was going hunting in search of meat to replenish the Rangers’ diminishing supplies. And it appeared that they were also awaiting the arrival of others.

I still had a lingering headache, and was not yet allowed to leave my bed, “to be on the safe side”, Longshanks said. Truth be told, I was weary and sore and bruised and weak from my days of captivity, so I found that it was not at all unpleasant to spend the day tucked under the blankets in the oversized cot.

I found Longshanks to be a pleasant, if taciturn companion. He did seem to know something of hobbits, for he fed me at appropriate intervals, but the fare was very plain and dull. Plain unsweetened porridge for both breakfasts, a bit of rather stale bread and some very nice blackberries for elevenses, and some more of the salty broth for luncheon. Still it was more and better food than I had been allowed in my time among the outlaws, and I was grateful.

At any rate, he did not seem to talk much. He busied himself with small tasks in the little hut, sitting tailor fashion upon the floor by the hearth, singing to himself quietly in a pleasant, if somewhat deep and rumbly, voice as he sharpened a sword and a dagger, and then began to check the arrows in a quiver, setting some aside to be re-fletched or otherwise mended.

I drifted in and out of sleep, sound sleep with no dreams, a sleep such as I had not had since leaving the Shire.

When I wakened again, it was late afternoon--perhaps near teatime. I did not see Longshanks anywhere, but the door to the hut stood open to the sunshine, and I could hear voices just outside. Apparently Archer had returned.

My headache was finally gone, though my head itched abominably where the stitches had gone in. I sat up and looked about. At the foot of the cot my clothes were folded, clean and dry. I crawled along the bed to my clothes and put them on, pleased to discover that they had not only been washed but mended. Then I slid carefully to the floor. It was rather a long way down. Then I headed outside to see what was going on.

The two Men were engaged in the business of butchering a deer--apparently Archer had the luck to bring home venison. I walked over, and they looked up in surprise.

“What are you doing out of bed, Master Hildifons?” asked Longshanks, rather sternly.

“I am feeling much better! I see that we shall dine well this evening!”

Longshanks wiped his hands on a cloth and crooked a finger at me, and I went closer. He looked at me carefully, and then reached for me. I am afraid I flinched again. “I am sorry,” I said, and meant it. But I did fear it would be a while before I could do otherwise when a Man approached me.

He sighed. “I would like to examine your injury.”

I allowed him to take my chin in his hands, and he looked at my head, and nodded, and then gazed into my eyes. “Your eyes are clear, and you appear to be healing rapidly, then. That is good.”

“I am feeling a great deal better than I have for several days!” I looked down at the deer, for Archer had not ceased his own dismembering of the meat. “I see you hunted well, Master Archer.”

The other Man smiled, and it transformed his rather dour countenance. “I am looking forward to real meat, even if we do scorch it.”

I blinked. I had envisioned a nice juicy haunch, an even rich golden brown on the outside and dripping with fat, and on the inside pink and tender and flavourful. But it did not sound like what we should have if the Men cooked. I stared at the haunch again, and then made up my mind.

“Perhaps you would allow me to cook it for you? It’s a way I can show my gratitude for all you have done for me!”

The two Men looked at one another in surprise, and then Archer said, “Are you sure you are up to it? Do you have much experience cooking?”

Longshanks laughed. “He is a hobbit! You’ve met enough of them in Bree to know their reputations as cooks!” He glanced at me, and said “I think we will be glad to accept your offer. I am afraid we’ve not much to go with it. There is a bit of wild thyme growing near the doorstep, and a small box of salt in the cooking box by the hearth.” He arched his brow again, and I realized he was setting me a small challenge.

I looked about at the clearing and the nearby woods. “Will it be safe for me to forage a little?”

He bit his lip and glanced around. “There should not be much danger as long as you stay within sight of the waystation, and within shouting distance.”

I nodded. “Very well.”

I went back into the hut to check. Yes, there next to the hearth was a covered box. I opened it to find what they might have on hand. There was about half a sack of barley flour, and another somewhat larger bag of oats. I also found the small box of salt, and a stoppered jar which turned out to contain honey on the comb. Longshanks had not mentioned that, and I wondered if he had forgotten about it, or if it was to be saved for special purposes.

There were the pots and pans and cooking tools: an iron pot with a lid, good for roasts and stews, a tripod, a cast iron spider, a clay pot with a lid, pot-hooks, a flat shovel, a long fork, a wooden platter and a large wooden bowl. I blinked at the size of them--but thought I could manage to handle them. After all, I had used the tools in our kitchen at home as a small child, handling the utensils meant for the adults. There was also a sharply honed paring knife and a boning knife as well, wrapped in cloth. They did not look well used-- I had noticed the two Men had been using daggers to butcher the deer. They probably seldom bothered with cooking knives.

Pleased with my inventory, I took up an empty basket that had been atop the covered box, and headed back outside, where the two Men were still at their task. I chose the haunch I wished to use, and they put it aside for me; and since I had found no butter, oil or even lard, I asked them to cut some belly fat out for me as well.

Then I slowly made my way to the edge of the clearing to the west, keeping my eyes out for anything useful. I found wild carrots and wild onion and wild garlic, as well as a plenitude of dandelions and sorrel-- not so tender as spring greens, so they would not make a good salad-- but still I could cook up a mess. Perhaps I could make some greens and porridge to accompany the meat.

I found some bilberry bushes, loaded with fruit, and then made my way into the shady eaves of the woods, careful to check that I could still see the hut. I was hoping for mushrooms, and was not disappointed, for I found Summer Boletes, Bronzy Boletes, Penny Buns, and Chicken of the Woods. Only a few of each, but enough to make a nice meal!

As I foraged, I recalled the camping trips my father and my uncles had taken us on as lads. My father firmly believed every hobbit, no matter what his station, should know how to forage and how to cook. He saw to it that his sons and nephews all had that knowledge.

My mother had taken care of my sisters’ cooking lessons, sometimes teaching them herself, at other times assigning them to help the cooks. I remembered Belladonna’s scornfulness at the discovery that the only thing Gardenia know how to make was tea and little sandwiches cut into fancy shapes and little sugared biscuits. Gardenia thought that other sorts of cooking were beneath her.

I realized now that I should have been warned by that; at the time, I thought my sister was exaggerating. I also thought it merely amusing and endearing that Gardenia was not a good cook.

My mushroom hunt was rewarded by a find of Saffron Milk Caps. A glance back showed me I had ventured as far as I could, and I would need time to cook, so I returned. Longshanks and Archer were cleaning themselves up after their task. The meat and fat I had requested had been put aside for me.

Noting that there was a pail of water in which they were washing, I asked about water.

“There’s a stream south of the waystation, about half a furlong,” said Archer. “I will fetch you some, for I do not think you could carry our pails, Master Hildifons.”

I nodded my thanks, and turned to Longshanks. “I noticed that there was some honey in the cooking box. May I use it?”

Longshanks nodded, but added “Do not use much of it. It Is sometimes needed for healing.”

I thanked him, and taking the meat that had been set aside for me, I went inside to begin my preparations.

First I stirred up the banked fire, to get some hot embers going. When Archer came in with the water, I was really able get to work. I heated an iron spider in order to render some of the fat, and used the oats to start some porridge in a clay pot with a lid at the hearth. Soon I had the roast in its iron cooking pot searing in some of the fat. I would later put the lid on it and cover it in embers to finish roasting,. I would add the wild carrots to the roast later. I thought I’d add the greens to the porridge for a nice side dish, as they were not tender enough for a salad. It was a shame I had no cheese or butter to add. A few barley bannocks, and the mushrooms fried up in the spider would go well--and for afters, I could use a touch of the honey and some oats to make a crumble with the bilberries.

It had been a while since I had done any cooking, so I paid close mind to it-- I wanted the Men to enjoy their meal. They had, after all, saved my life.

I had made good progress when Longshanks and Archer came inside. They had hung the rest of the meat in the small lean-to which served as a smoke-house.

“Master Hildifons” said Longshanks, “this all smells wonderful!”

“Indeed, we never eat so well when we are away from home,” added Archer.

“This is not your home, then?” I asked.

“No, this is merely a waystation, where we can make our base when we are patrolling the area for such villains as attacked you.”

Longshanks sat down on the floor near the hearth, while Archer sat on one of the two large beds that made up the hut’s only furniture, aside from the cooking chest.

Archer was glad enough to talk to me about his wife and children, who dwelt in a small settlement a good many day’s journey to the south and east, while Longshanks remained silent, as seemed to be his wont.

However, the conversation soon died out as the meal needed tending. Soon the three of us were dining well. To my mind, the meal could have used a few more vegetables, and I am sure the mushrooms would have been better cooked in butter than in rendered fat, but I had done the best I could with the ingredients to hand, and felt rather pleased with myself. The Men seems happy enough with the food, eating nearly as much as I.

We ate until we were sated, and though there was a little meat left, nothing else remained. Archer offered to do the washing up, and as I was tired, I did not argue with him. I returned to my bed, and drifted off to the sounds of the Men’s quiet conversation.

The next morning, after I had prepared a breakfast of griddle cakes and leftover venison, Stark returned with some mysterious messages, I did not know what they were, though I was curious, but Longshanks seemed pleased by the news.

Over the next few days, I made myself of help to my rescuers, cooking for them, tidying up the waystation, and foraging to supplement the cookpot.

I gradually came to learn more of Archer and Stark, though I learned very little of Longshanks, save that he recounted some of his acquaintance with Gandalf. And I was quite pleased not to hear any more of being sent away.
___________________________

A/N: Much of the information about Hildifons’ cooking skills came from The Magic of Fire by William Rubel, wonderful book about hearthside cooking. And the information on the foraging of mushrooms came from "http://www.gigaflop.demon.co.uk/mushcook/tables.htm", a most useful site.

 The Men of the West

About a week after his return, Stark asked if I would like to accompany him on his hunt. I was quite surprised, though pleased that he asked. As he gathered his gear, I searched the area for some good throwing stones. I spared a moment to regret not having my bow--I was a pretty good shot, although not the archer my oldest brother Isengrim was. In fact, he had taught me, as he did most of the young Tooks, and was responsible for overseeing the Shire Muster’s archers as well. But it was one of the items which had not been recovered when I was rescued--I had watched the outlaws mock it and play with it as though it were a toy, and then break it amid much laughter. They had thought it highly amusing that I should even have such a thing.

But I’d rarely used a bow to hunt anyway, and soon I had a pocketful of stones--mostly smooth and round and a little smaller than my palm--perfect for throwing.

Stark headed to the east of the hut, not a direction I had yet explored much, although Longshank’s order for me to stay within earshot and sight of their waystation would have kept me from venturing very far anyway. The area was mostly clear of trees save for a few isolated copses. I saw some signs of rabbits, but saw none out in the open. We moved quietly, not talking, so as not to scare off any game there might be. I walked beside Stark, taking two steps to his one, trotting to keep up. When he stopped, holding up a hand, I nearly passed him. He pointed to a small brook that crossed our path about ten furlongs ahead, I could scarcely see the glint of water. There were some shrubs and a copse of young alders along the bank.

“There might be waterfowl,” he whispered. “Though it is not quite the right time of year.”

I pursed my lips and studied the ground ahead. “The grass is high. I believe I can get close without alarming any that might be there.”

He studied me closely for a moment, as if he wondered whether or not I was simply boasting, but he nodded.

I scarcely needed to crouch, the grass was so high. And I moved as silently as I could, until I was within a couple of furlongs of the wide brook. Surely enough, a small flock of coots were paddling about.

I glanced back. Stark had moved a little closer, but was standing quite still. He was too far to shoot one should they fly up, and if he came closer, he likely would startle them.

I took out two of my stones, and eyed the birds. I knew I could get at least one. I stood up very slowly, and made my cast. The stone flashed, and struck one of the birds squarely. The others flew up with a raucous cry, and as quickly as I could I made my second cast. It was a hit. A second bird dropped from the air.

I heard Stark coming up behind me. He had seen the second bird drop.

“What did you do?” he asked.

I showed him a stone. He blinked. We went on to the brook, and found both birds floating. The Man waded in and brought them both forth. He was shaking his head and chuckling. “I have never seen the like! A stone! Who would have thought it?”

“That’s how hobbits hunt most small game,” I said.

We took up the birds and continued on our way. Between Stark’s bow and my stones, we managed to bag two pheasants and three quail before we decided it was time to turn back. I trotted alongside the Ranger, and he glanced down at me.

“You have had a very successful day, Master Trotter!”

I looked up at him in surprise. He stopped. “I did not offend you, did I?”

I shook my head; I was not offended but felt honoured. While I had yet to learn any of my companions’ real names, I had heard enough to know that the epithets they addressed one another by had been bestowed by others. For some, those names had been given by outsiders, in scorn and adopted by them in defiance, but for others those names had been given by friends. I was quite certain that Stark did not scorn me--therefore, he considered me a friend.

“I am very honoured,” I said with a smile.

I was surprised to find on my return that the Men had buit for me a small cot, just my size, one which slid easily beneath the larger Man-sized cots. And a new cloak peg had been placed next to the door, one which was well within my reach. They were amused at my gratitude.

“I do not know,” said Longshanks, “how long you will be among us. But I think that you will always be a welcome guest here-- you may as well be comfortable.”

I felt a pang at the suggestion that I might not stay among these Rangers--and yet, there was no talk of sending me away immediately. I did not believe that they would have gone so far as to make the small bed if they did not expect me to stay a while.

At first, it was only Stark who called me by the new name, but as the others saw I was pleased by it, they too began to address me as “Trotter”. I felt absurdly pleased at this, and even more than the bed or the peg, it made me feel as though I were one of them.

There were other Rangers who came and went, as did the three with whom I had originally met-- even Longshanks went off on his own sometimes. One was a droll fellow-- he had a wicked scar upon his cheek and a brown leather eyepatch, who went by the name of “Smiley”; another was a fellow with a prominent nose, who was called “Hawk”. And then there was “The Poet”, a younger Man than the rest, but who had a huge store of poems and songs and stories in his head. There were others as well, but most of them stayed only long enough for a meal and to sleep one night, before they were off once more.

One rainy evening, I sat by the hearth preparing a simple stew and some ash cakes. Only Archer and the Poet were there, and Archer asked something of his companion in a language I did not understand, and was answered in the same tongue. I had heard fragments of this language among the Rangers from time to time.

“Who are you Rangers?” I asked.

They glanced at me, startled by my question. Archer said “I beg your pardon, Trotter.”

But the Poet answered my question. “We are Men of the West, Master Trotter, remnants of ancient Westernesse, long gone beneath the Sea.”

The word “Westernesse” teased at my memory, as of something I had once heard long ago. “Westernesse?” I asked.

In response, the Poet began to tell a tale of an ancient land over the Sea, of how it had been given to Men by the Powers in gratitude for Men’s valour against an ancient Enemy; how at first it had flourished, but then was brought down by the pride of its King. He told of the Faithful few who had fled east over the water to safety and returned to Middle-earth. It was a long story, and he told it well. As we ate our simple meal, I realized where I had heard of it before-- it was a tale that Gandalf had told once, before my father’s hearth when I was scarcely more than a faunt.

When I retired to my cot that night, I thought long over the tale he had told, and the Men I now found myself among.

The next morning, I told Longshanks of my decision to stay among the Rangers, if they would have me.

He smiled and nodded. “But I felt I owed you the chance to return to your own people now. If you stay among the Rangers, it could be a very long time ere you get another opportunity to go home.”

“I would like to go home someday. But I am not ready to do so yet. I have only just begun to know my new friends! And there is still much to see in the world!”

Longshanks chuckled. “Truthfully, the others were not happy with me for giving you the chance to leave! They enjoy your cooking far too much!”

I laughed as well. There had been a couple of times when for one reason or another, one of the Men had done the cooking. I have to say, it was certainly not up to hobbit standards.

He grew serious once more. “Once we return to the waystation, we will be gathering most of the Men, to return to our home base, which is far from here, a little to the south and east. We shall be wintering there with our families. It will be a long journey.”

I nodded, trying not to show my dismay. I was happy with the life we led in the wild for now, and it made me feel a little shy at the thought of meeting the Men’s families. A few of them I knew about-- Archer for one, often spoke of his wife and children. And I knew the Poet was betrothed. Stark, I knew, had no family since his parents had died some years previously. However, I had no idea about Longshanks’ own family, for on that subject he had remained steadfastly tight-lipped.

We gathered our things together, and went down the stairs to partake of a substantial breakfast. I had become somewhat accustomed to the habits of the Big Folk, who only partook of three meals in the day. I made up for it by making sure to eat heartily, and then find something or another to nibble in between. I can't say I didn't miss second breakfast and elevenses, but it was not the hardship I once would have thought it. And I had begun introducing the others into the idea of teatime. I daresay they partook at first merely to humour me, but just before Longshanks and I had left for Bree, I had felt gratified to hear Archer tell the Poet that he would miss having afternoon tea with me!

Still, since we were journeying this day, I ate a hearty breakfast, for any nibbles we might have would be eaten in the saddle.

I said farewell to Mistress Tilly, and she promised to convey my thanks to her mother when next she saw her, and by nine o' clock, we two were riding back out through the gate into which we had come the day before.

The sky had turned grey, and the air was chill and damp. It seemed to me that we might have rain, either that day or the next, and Longshanks agreed with me. Once more, as we took the Road west this time, I averted my gaze from the Barrow-downs. We rode silently, neither singing nor humming, until we were well past those frightening mounds, and had turned north off the Road.

We were soon riding through the woods again. I noticed that even a day or two had made a difference to the foliage, which was just beginning to turn. In farmlands, harvest was past, or nearly so, for most crops. My family would be planning this year's Festival for the Tooks. I wondered whether my absence would put a damper on their festivities, and whether I should have decided to return home after all. Yet I had made my choice, and I would not go back on it now. Perhaps next year, I would go home. And if I could find someone going to the Shire, I could send a letter to assure them of my well-being, so that they would not grieve over me.

Perhaps I should have thought of that when we were still in Bree. I am sure that Mr. Butterbur could have been trusted to send such a message. But there would be other chances, I was sure.

We stopped at noon, to partake of the luncheon Mistress Tilly had provided us for two farthings. I was surprised when Longshanks paid for it, but he told me that he had luck with the furs he had brought in, and that this would repay me in part for my paying for the room. I did not argue with him-- if it came to repayment for hospitality, I owed the Rangers far more, for their rescue of me and for taking me in the way they had. But I had discovered they had their pride, so I made no more of it.

"Will all of us be leaving the Waystation?" I asked, as we ate.

Longshanks shook his head. "Lots were drawn before you and I left. Smiley and Hawk will stay on there this winter. But they will often be away-- we have other Waystations which they will check from time to time as they patrol."

"Ah," I nodded as though I understood, though the truth was, I really did not. I still was curious about what drove these Men to their lonely and hard life protecting people who knew next to nothing about them.

We were clearing up, leaving a few breadcrumbs for the birds, and packing all else away, when I heard something. I had learned that hobbit ears were sharper of hearing than those of Men, and I froze and turned to Longshanks. He caught my alarm. "What is it?" he asked sharply.

"Someone's coming," I said.

"Hide!" he ordered. I would like to have protested, but I did as he commanded instantly. I vanished into the undergrowth, and peered out, as he rose and drew his sword.

But suddenly his grim expression changed to one of joy, and he slid his sword back into its sheath. "Well met!" he exclaimed. "Come out, Trotter! Friends are here!"

I crept out to see the small body of horsemen-- most of the Rangers I had met so far, who smiled back at me. But my gaze was drawn to two others: identical they were, as like in face and form as a reflection in a mirrror. Their hair was dark and glossy, and hung down their backs; they were fair as the Sun and the Moon-- I had never seen one in my life before, but I knew without a doubt that these were two of the Fair Folk-- Elves!"

They both dismounted with a fluid grace, and reached out to Longshanks, who gripped their arms, one after the other, in greeting.

"Well met, indeed, Arador! We found you sooner than we had expected."

Arador? I looked at Longshanks in wonder. So that was his true name! And he was friends with Elves?

"Were you seeking me, then, Elladan?" my friend asked.

They both nodded. "Your father had a foresight, that you would be needed at home sooner than he thought."

Then one of them turned to look at me. "And is this the famous Trotter, of whom your Men cannot stop speaking?"

I gazed up at him speechlessly.

Bilbo looked over his little sitting room carefully. He had swept and dusted it himself this morning. Although he knew that the servants of the household would be glad to do those tasks for him, it made it feel much more cosy and homelike when he did those little things for himself. 

The room was neat as a pin, and he had pulled two of the "big" chairs closer to his own well-padded armchair, with the tea-table in the center. His guests should be quite comfortable.

The tea-table was laid with all sorts of dainties. Those had been made by Elves, down in the main kitchen, and were beautifully arranged on a platter, as pretty as a picture. The tea, however, he was brewing himself in his own little kitchen.

He heard the kettle whistle, and darted in to take it off the fire. Soon the tea was brewing in the pot, and just at the right time, too, for he heard the knock upon his door.

He opened it to see one of Elrond's sons standing there. "Good afternoon, Bilbo! I do hope I am on time."

Ah! It was Elrohir! In the months he had been in Rivendell, Bilbo had still not learned to tell the twins apart just by looking. But Elrohir's voice was just the slightest bit higher in timbre than the deeper voice of Elladan. He smiled. "Do, please, come in, Elrohir! Your brother is not with you?" Bilbo led him to one of the larger chairs and saw his guest seated.

"He will be along shortly, I am sure! We were both looking forward to taking tea with you!" Bilbo saw Elrohir gaze curiously about his little apartment. This was the first time the twins had been his guests since he had come to dwell in Rivendell, although he had entertained their father and sister more than once.

Just then there was another rap on the door, and Bilbo went over to open it. "Good afternoon, Elladan! Your brother is already here!"

"Thank you for inviting us, Bilbo!"

"Do come in," said Bilbo. They turned to see that Elrohir had risen from his chair and was standing by the mantelpiece, where Bilbo kept a few mementoes of home. There were several small framed portraits, his parents, himself and Frodo, and another small oval portrait, which Elrohir had picked up and was looking at intently.

Elladan came up behind him, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. Bilbo said, "That's a picture of my cousin, Sigismund Took. He and I were very close friends when we were young. He died a few years before I left the Shire." He smiled, remembering some of the troubles they got into as children. "We were the same age," he added sadly.

Elrohir smiled. "He looks very much like your uncle."

Bilbo felt a bit of surprise. He had wished to ask the two what they remembered of his Uncle Hildifons, but had not expected them to bring up the topic themselves.

They moved to the chairs, and Bilbo poured out the tea. "Tell me about my uncle," he asked.

The two of them exchanged a smile, and then Elrohir said, "He was a very charming young person, full of questions…"

We made our way eastward. The weather remained dismal, but the further we rode, the lighter the mood of the Rangers became. The Men knew that we were going home to their families.

I often heard them talking among themselves in that beautiful but strange language, but when I heard the twin brothers, Elladan and Elrohir speaking it, I suddenly realised that the language must be Elvish. I listened intently though I couldn't understand it; it fascinated me. A few days after we set out, I rode beside Longshanks--or Arador, as I was trying now to think of him--and one of the brothers. I still could not yet tell the twins apart. Arador and the one who rode beside him were conversing in that lovely tongue, and they did not realise, I suppose, that I had come alongside them. That is, until the other brother came up, and said "For shame! Where are your manners? Trotter cannot understand a word you say!" And yet, in spite of his words, he sounded more amused than angry.

I was startled, but spoke up. "Truly, I do not mind, Master El--" I hesitated, and then made a wild guess--"ladan? It's very beautiful to listen to. I suppose it is Elvish?"

All three of them laughed. The one who had ridden up said, "A very good guess, Trotter! I am indeed Elladan, and I am glad you find the language beautiful. But it is not polite to speak so that others present cannot understand."

"I suppose not," I replied. "But I never really thought about the idea of any other languages before. I knew that they existed, but I've never heard one spoken before. I keep trying to find words I understand--some of them sound almost familiar, and yet not quite. And I am quite sure they do not mean the same."

Another laugh. Then Elrohir said, "To answer your question, it is one form of Elvish, called Sindarin. It is the one most frequently spoken."

"Do you mean to tell me Elves have more than one language?" I was astonished at this revelation. "Why do they need more than one? And what are the others? Do you speak them? And when did you learn Westron? Do you suppose I could learn this Sindarin? Would I need to learn the others too?"

Now they burst out into laughter once more. Arador said, "You see, my friends, I told you he was a very curious hobbit!"

"I do not doubt that you could learn Sindarin, Trotter," said Elladan.

I was delighted. "Do you really think so?"

"I am sure of it."

And so began my lessons in Sindarin. Elladan and Elrohir would point things out: "galadh", "tree"; "las", "leaf"; "gond", "stone"; "rád", "path"; "amon", "hill"; "fileg", "bird";"roch", "horse"; "pad", "walk". * We slowly added phrases as well, so that I could say "Hello" and "Farewell" and "Please" and "Thank you." I fear however that my own voice never sounded so sweet when I spoke as did those of the Elves.

I began to be able to find the differences in my teachers. Elladan's voice was a little deeper than his brother's, and he ever so slightly favoured his right hand, while Elrohir occasionally favoured his left--although most of the time they seemed to use both hands equally. There were also subtle differences in the way they wore their hair and in their clothing. But it was many years before I could easily tell them apart at a glance.

Elladan was an excellent teacher, and I progressed quickly in learning the language, but Elrohir was most patient with my countless questions. In the Shire, Elves were often thought of as "only stories". A good many people thought that Elves did not ever exist, while to others they were something from "long ago and far away". My father and Gandalf had told us many tales of Elves, and I am afraid I peppered my teachers with questions about what the wizard had told us. Elladan would laugh at my queries, and say, "Mithrandir (which I learned was the name Elves used for Gandalf) has much to answer for!" but Elrohir would carefully answer me, explaining anything I asked him without becoming annoyed.

The days passed, and we drew ever closer to the home of the Rangers. The closer we came, the more haste our leader urged. I noticed that Arador had become more and more distracted as we traveled, and I wondered at that. I had never before known him to be anything but alert and watchful.

The day we crossed an ancient stone bridge that ran across a rushing river that was called the River Hoarwell, or Mitheithel, in the Elven tongue, we turned away from the great road we had been following to head almost due south. It would take us only two more days to arrive at the village. The Poet, whose real name I had discovered was Dirhael, told me that the village's name was Two Rivers, and that it lay between the Hoarwell and another river, its tributary, called the Loudwater, Bruinen in Sindarin.

Dirhael grinned. "I shall be very glad to return, although I confess I am more than a little nervous."

I had learned, through the teasing of the other Rangers, that Dirhael was betrothed to a young woman by the name of Ivorwen, and they were to celebrate their wedding at Yuletide.

I sighed. "You're very lucky, Dirhael."

He studied my face intently. "What is wrong, Trotter? Your sigh is heartfelt."

I felt my face redden. "It is just that I envy you. I doubt me that I shall ever wed."

"Well, there is a shortage of hobbit lasses outside your Shire, but someday you will return home."

I shook my head. "It won't matter."

He put his hand on my shoulder. "Why do you say that, my friend?"

"Because I gave my heart to one who did not return my regard. She is to wed another." I looked at him, and then for the first time, admitted the whole sorry story of why I had left the Shire.

He listened quietly, and at the end said, "She is not worthy of you, Trotter."

I shrugged. "Perhaps. It matters not-- it's not the usual way of hobbits to love twice over."

He nodded. "It is the same among Elves, and among most of the Dúnedain. Among other races of Men, I have heard otherwise."

I was grateful that he did not try to persuade me, as my parents had, that my love for Gardenia had been only a tweenaged infatuation and that I would get over it and find another. My heart knew better.

I thought I would have trouble sleeping that night. Thoughts of why I had left the Shire often made it hard for me to fall asleep. Yet that night after I had unburdened myself to Dirhael, I slept very soundly, and woke refreshed.

It was nearly noon when we rode in sight of Two Rivers. The Hoarwell was running alongside the path we rode on our right, wide and silent. But to our left, out of sight, we could hear the roar of the Loudwater, as it rushed to join the larger river. In front of us, the path led to a causeway which went straight up a large dike. Ahead of us was a giant mound-- as large as a hill, with a wide ditch running in front of us. The causeway led over the ditch and up the mound, where a tall wall of upright timbers stood. Large gates stood open, and within I could see many thatched cottages, very similar to that of Mistress Polly's. Far behind them, I saw another taller, narrower mound, with a wooden tower at the top.** People were coming and going in and out of the gate, and as our party had ridden into sight, I saw many of them pouring out of the gate, waving, and as we drew nearer, I could hear the shouts of welcome over the sound of the water.

The Rangers urged their horses into a trot, Arador and the twins at the lead, and Porridge and I were hard pressed to keep up. The Men of the West were home.

________________________________________

*Sindarin words found here: The English-Sindarin Dictionary

**The description of Two Rivers is partially based on this sketch of an English motte-and-bailey village of the eleventh century.

We clattered across a wooden bridge over the water filled ditch, and up through the gateway. As we entered, the various members of our party were claimed by friends and family members.

An older woman rushed up to Arador, where he sat still astride Flein, as the twins had begun to dismount. "My lord! You have come in the very nick of time, for your wife is already far gone in labour, and your father fears trouble with the birth!"

In a trice, he had dismounted, and began to run through the village. Elladan and Elrohir followed more slowly.

So far, not one person seemed to have noticed me yet.

I was loathe to dismount. I put Porridge into a trot, and followed the quickly vanishing forms of Elladan and Elrohir just as they turned a corner of one of the lanes. They had come to a cottage somewhat larger than the others, built right up against the mound on which the watchtower stood. Elrohir entered, but Elladan saw me approaching, and halted. "I am sorry, Trotter, that we forgot about you."

I shook my head. "No matter, I can see that this is urgent." I dismounted, and Porridge stood where I left him, lowering his head to crop a bit of grass that grow by the lane. I approached hesitantly. I had no other place to go, but at the moment, I was feeling dreadfully out of place.

I went in to a scene of chaos. A large room, was occupied by several shouting Big Folk-- which is to say, a Man surrounded by three women. A door at the other end of the room was ajar and I heard the familiar moans and cries of a woman in childbirth. I could see neither Arador or Elrohir, but I could hear Arador's voice in that room. I glanced back at Elladan, who was shaking his head.

"Argonui, if you do not send for that surgeon, we are likely to lose our daughter-in-law! He only left the village two days ago, on foot! I am sure a fast horse will catch him up!" This woman was nearly as tall at the one she called Argonui, her black hair braided and bound around the top of her head.

"No!" Another woman turned on the other. "No, Meldis! I will not have one of those monsters anywhere near my daughter!" She was shorter and stouter than the other woman, and very red in the face.

"Not all surgeons are like the one that attended your mother, Norniveth!"

"My ladies!" said the third woman, "I have given her red wine and valerian! Perhaps that will slow her labour. I know she had a difficult time with her first child, but we need to give it time to work! We do not know that this time will be as difficult, after all, and now her lord husband is here, perhaps he will calm her, and--"

"Peace, Glavror!" shouted the Man they had called Argonui. What more he might have said was interrupted by another cry from the room in which the labouring mother lay. All three women and the Man rushed to the room, but from another door, I heard a plaintive cry.

"Nana!" I turned to see a child, a little boy, a faunt or only just past it, by the look of him, standing in the doorway, his lip trembling. Elladan walked over and picked him up, but the child pulled back. "Nana's hurt!" he said.

"Peace, now, little one," Elladan said. "Elrohir is here. He will take care of your Nana now." The child nodded, and buried his face in the Elf's neck. After a moment, he peeked out and looked down at me.

"Who are you?" his eyes grew large as he looked me over.

I smiled. "My name is Trotter. I am a hobbit. What is your name?"

He bit his lip, and studied me for an instant longer, and then said, "My name is Ar'thorn."

"Well, Thorn, I am Trotter of the Shire at your service."

He wriggled to get down, much to Elladan's amusement.

When he came over to me, he was very nearly as tall as I was. "Will you play with me, Trotter?"
 
 

I glanced up at Elladan. Would it be acceptable for me to distract this little one for a while? He gave me a very small smile, and nodded.

"I have a pony. Would you like to see him?" As I had hoped, this brought a smile to little Thorn's face. He nodded enthusiastically. "I do need to tend to poor Porridge," I said to the Elf. "I just left him standing there..."

"There is a stable. Lead him past the house to the west; you will see a paddock there, and on the other side, a small barn. There is a Man there, named Lainon; tell him I sent you." I thanked Elladan, and taking Thorn by the hand I led him outside. It was very odd to feel the chubby, child's hand, nearly the same size as my own. "My pony's name is Porridge," I said.

Thorn giggled. "That's a funny name for a pony."

I led him over, and Porridge looked up from his cropping of the grass and whickered a soft greeting. He seemed pleased to see me, and I patted his nose. "Hullo, lad. This is Thorn."

The child seemed completely unafraid, and patted my pony on his soft nose. "Can I ride him?" he asked me.

"Not just now. He is tired, for we've had a long journey, and I am sure he would like to rest. Let's take him to the stable." We led Porridge to the stable, where the stablehand stared at me in surprise, but was courteous enough when I gave him Elladan's message. I saw Elladan's horse, and Elrohir's, as well as Flein and a couple of other horses were already there. Flein whinnied a greeting, for he and Porridge had become good friends.

Once we were certain that the pony was in good hands, I allowed Thorn to lead me away. We rambled aimlessly about the village as he showed me the sights-- or rather what a small child would consider the sights. We saw the pond where he liked to catch frogs and the space between the house and a boxwood shrub that made a lovely place to hide. We saw the tree he liked to climb, from which hung a swing. We saw the place where he liked to play in the dirt. All of these places were within the sight of any who cared to look from the door of the house, and he did not seem inclined to wander further away than that. He chattered on about things and people of which I knew nothing, but I enjoyed his prattle. But then, in the middle of telling me of a certain friend, who could spit further than anyone else he knew, he stopped abruptly, and looked at me seriously. "Ada and Nana say I will have a brother or sister."

"Yes, it does seem that way," I said. "You will be a big brother!" I paused a moment, and added, "I have three little brothers and three little sisters, and I have four big brothers."

His jaw dropped and he stared at me in astonishment. "How many is that?" he asked finally, holding up his chubby fingers. I took his left hand and bent down the first finger of his left hand.

"Isengar is my littlest brother." I bent down the next finger, "And Mirabella is my youngest sister." He looked up and nodded. I went on to each finger, "Then there is Donnamira, and Belladonna, my next two sisters, and Hildibrand". He looked at his five fingers, now clutched into a little fist. I took his right hand, and turned down the first finger on that hand. "That's for Isembard."

I pointed at my chest, "Then there is me."

I returned to his fingers. "Then we have Isembold, and Hildigrim, and Isumbras," (I did not mention Hildigard, who had died of the spotted fever when only a faunt), and finally I turned down his thumb, "And then there is my very oldest brother, Isengrim." I stopped and stepped back.

Thorn stared at his fists for a moment, and then spread his fingers out once more and wiggled them. "That's a lot," he said in wonder. "And they have such funny names. Tell me about them."

So we went and sat upon the doorstep, and he leaned against me. I put my arm around his shoulders, and noticed his thumb finding its way into his mouth. I smiled, and began to talk of my brothers and sisters. "Isengar is a funny little fellow," I said. "He is always running around after us older children, and trying to do things that he is too young for…" I had thought speaking of them this way might make me feel melancholy and homesick, but it did not.

Instead, I felt close to them in a way that I had not in their presence, for several years-- since my mid-tweens, at least. I told him of them all, especially comic stories of my sisters, whom I had delighted in teasing, and of my older brothers, whom I had followed about the way 'Gar had followed 'Brand and 'Bard and me. "My oldest brother, Isengrim is a very good archer. He is the best archer in all of the Shire, and always wins the competitions at Lithe…"

I glanced down. My young companion had fallen asleep against me. I noticed that it was getting late. My arm had gone to sleep, and my stomach was reminding me that I had missed teatime and that supper was likely past as well. But I knew that meals were often the last thing on the minds of a family when a birth was imminent.

Still, I wondered what I was to do with Thorn. I was loathed to wake him, for he looked so peaceful. But he was far too large for me to carry in to his bed as I had sometimes done for my younger sibs at that age. Yet I was beginning to think that I would have to do so, when the door opened behind us. I glanced round and looked up. It was the Man called Argonui.

"Ah!" he said. "Lord Elladan told me that you were taking care of my grandson, Master Halfling. I thank you." He bent over and picked up the sleeping child. "Come in. Since they made her leave the room, my wife is preparing some supper. It will be a long night I fear, and we might as well eat."

I could not have agreed more. I followed him back into the house.

I watched as he carried his grandson into the chamber from which the child had come earlier. I looked about-- I could smell the lovely aroma of sausages frying, and saw the woman called Meldis at the large hearth at the back of the house. At the large table, Elladan sat with Arador. I walked over to them.

"Is all going well?" I asked.

Arador looked at me apologetically. "I seem to have forgotten you altogether, my friend. I am sorry; Elladan tells me you have been tending my small son for me. Thank you."

I placed a hand on his arm. "That is all right. Thorn is a delightful child."

He chuckled weakly. "Ah, a nickname for him already, Trotter!"

"And how is his mother doing?" It seemed quieter in the chamber where the labouring mother lay.

Elladan answered. "Elrohir and Glavror the midwife are the only ones attending her now. My brother gave Norniveth a calming draught-- she is asleep in little Arathorn's room. She is very worried about her daughter. Elrohir threw everyone else out-- he said everyone's fear was making things harder for Moriel. The labour has slowed, but is progressing."

"She had such a difficult time with Arathorn," Arador said, "and now this child is nearly six weeks early."

I patted the arm. "I am sure that things will work out. My mother bore twelve of us. And my sister Mirabella was nearly six weeks early, but all was well in the end."

Arador looked at me in astonishment. "Twelve! However did your father stand it?"

Argonui came out of the other room. "He is sleeping soundly by his grandmother's side. I do not believe it would be wise to waken either of them to eat." He glanced at me, and then at his son. "My son, you have brought us a guest?"

"I am sorry, Adar. This is my friend Hildifons of the Shire, who has become known among us as Trotter. Trotter, this is my father Argonui, Chieftain of our people"

I made my bow. "At your service, Lord Argonui, and your family's."

He smiled. "You have already been of some service to my family this day, I thank you."

He sat down, and turned to Elladan. "Lord Elladan, I thank you and your brother as well for your timely arrival. My wife was insistent that we send for the itinerant surgeon who lately left the village, but I feared that course of action would be disastrous."

I left the three of them to talk things over, and wandered to the back of the room where the other woman was cooking. The sausages smelled wonderful, and I saw she was paring potatoes.

I approached her and introduced myself. "Hildifons of the Shire at your service, my lady."

She gave me a smile, and I thought she looked far too young to be a grandmother. "And I am Meldis of Two Rivers, at yours, Hildifons."

"My friends call me Trotter," I said. I picked up a potato and took my own knife out of my pocket and sat down to help her with the paring. She looked at me, and arched on eyebrow. I was unaccountably reminded of my mother-- though they could not have looked more different.

"Thank you for your help, Trotter."

We peeled potatoes in silence for a few minutes, broken only when she turned the sizzling sausages. Soon we had finished the paring, and she set to chopping them up with an onion, at one end of the table. It was too high for me to reach easily, so I took up a fork and took the sausages off the fire and placed them on a large plate she had nearby.

"Thorn is a sweet child," I said, by way of conversation.

"Thorn?" she smiled. "So he is. We are all very proud of him. I just hope he will have both a mother and a healthy brother or sister when this is all over."

"Thorn's other grandmother seemed very distraught." I was curious, I confess.

Lady Meldis nodded. "Norniveth lost her own mother and baby brother many years ago, when a surgeon interfered with the difficult birth. He tried to deliver the child by cutting it free of the womb. It was a sad and messy business, and left her terrified of surgeons. I must say, the one who left here a couple of days ago seemed very competent and kind, although all he did while he was here was remove a wen, take care of an ingrown toenail, and pull a couple of teeth."

"I am not much familiar with surgeons," I said. "Surgery is not much practiced in the Shire so far as I know. Barbers generally take care of teeth and toenails there. Healers stitch up wounds or take off limbs damaged in accidents. But I cannot imagine one interfering with the delivery of a child by cutting." I shuddered. It sounded dreadful.

"I do not think that a surgeon will be needed now that Lord Elrohir is here. He is a skilled healer among his people; he was taught by his father, who is a great healer indeed." She said no more, and I could tell that she did not wish to speak of it any longer.

I turned my attention to the food, which by now was nearly ready, the potatoes and onions browning in the same skillet in which the sausages had been cooked. It was clear that Lady Meldis was a very good cook.

Soon all of us were seated about the large table, and enjoying the sausages and potatoes, along with bread that had been baked the day before, and had been toasted. There was beer in a pitcher, and water as well.

I tried to make a bit of conversation about the food, but Big Folk seem to find that topic hard to sustain. We were all tired and quiet. We could still hear the occasional moans of the birthing mother.

After we finished eating, I assisted in washing up. Then I went outside for a smoke and a sniff of air. It looked to be a long night.

It was nearly midnight, when I dozed off, curled up on the floor by the hearth. All of the others were wakeful and anxious as the hours dragged by.

It was dawn when I was wakened: by the cry of a newborn child! I sat up, wondering how the mother fared.

The door to the chamber opened, and Elrohir stepped out. Arador leapt to his feet.

"You have a daughter," Elrohir said. "Your wife is exhausted, but fine."

The rap on his door startled Bilbo. He had been engrossed in Hildifons' journal again. "Come in," he called, wondering who it could be this morning. The Elves rarely came to his rooms uninvited.

"Good morning, Bilbo!"

"Aragorn! How pleasant to see you! When did you return to Rivendell?"

"I arrived last night, just ahead of the snowstorm."

"Snowstorm?" Bilbo looked out the window. A light powder of snow lent an attractive sparkle to the landscape, but it certainly did not appear that there had been a snowstorm.

"The snowfall was much fiercer outside the Valley, Bilbo. Winter here is never harsh."

"Oh." Bilbo had never been quite certain if the mild and beautiful weather of Imladris was simply due to the location of the Valley, or if it was some hidden Elven magic, but he supposed it did not really matter. "I have missed your company," he said. He had met the Dúnadan only a few weeks after returning to Rivendell, and they had struck up a firm friendship during their brief acquaintance.

Aragorn's eye fell upon the journal in Bilbo's hand. "Ah, I see you found your uncle's book. I used to read that often when I was young."

"Did you really? Did you ever meet him-- or, no, I suppose not..."

"Oh, but I did. I do not remember a lot, for I was very young. I was only two when I first met him, and only six when he died. But I can recall seeing him here from time to time. He was very old by that time, and did not often venture from his rooms. I think sometimes he forgot who I was-- he often called me 'Thorn', which I understand was his name for my father."

"He seemed taken with your father from the first time he met him."

Aragorn smiled. "I think that the feeling was mutual. I have been often told of what dear friends they were."

Bilbo grinned and laid aside the book. "And I hope that I shall be so dear a friend to 'Thorn's' son! Tell me, what have you been doing in the months since I last saw you?"

They named the little girl Orwainiel, which Elrohir told me meant "Daughter of the Fresh Dawn", though it was not long until the family, at least, had shortened it to Oriel. She was too small of course, having been born too early, and very tired from her struggle to be born. Elrohir feared she might have weak lungs, but that proved not to be. And like my little sister Mirabella had, she quickly gained weight, and had the entire household dancing attendance upon her.

Arador made a place for me in the household of his father. The family consisted of Argonui, his wife Meldis, Arador and his wife Moriel and the children, Arathorn and Orwainiel, and two servants--Lainon, who took care of the stables and horses, and his sister, Mithien, who had been the one who gave Arador the message as we entered the town the day before. I had not seen her return, but she was there in the morning when I awakened. Mistress Norniveth did not dwell there, but on the other side of town, with her brother and his family, as she was a widow. But she had come to stay with her daughter during her confinement.

I found myself sharing Thorn's room, and he was quite pleased with the arrangement. He decided I was his brother, too. I did not argue with him, and his parents found the notion amusing, fortunately.

I soon began to learn my way around Two Rivers. The Chieftain's home was the largest house in the town. I learned that there were more rooms than the two doors visible from the main room indicated--much like a smial, the house was built back into the large tower hill behind it. There were three more rooms there, including the large upper chamber which was the room of Lord Argonui and Lady Meldis. There was also another room off the chamber shared by Arador and his wife.

There were steps leading up the tower hill, to the watchpost overlooking the joining of the two rivers for which the town was named. From the Chieftain's house, a lane ran towards the centre, while another street cut across the lane and encircled the entire town. More lanes cut across it at intervals. Houses similar to the Chieftain's, though smaller were interspersed with shops and stables. There were two smithies, to my surprise. The middle of the town was a large green space very similar to the one in the Shire in Michel Delving. I assumed it was where merchants would set their wares up on market day, or where the people of the town could gather when it was necessary to assemble. On the North side of the green was a building used both as a storehouse for goods, as well as a place to hold important meetings. To the East of the green was a building that I was told was a school for the children who were considered old enough to learn their letters.

This seemed very odd to me. In the Shire, children are schooled by their families-- parents or older siblings teach the younger children their letters and numbers, and children who need to learn more than the basics have lessons with cousins or uncles or aunts who are knowledgeable. I could not understand how the parents could entrust their childrens' learning to strangers!

There were no inns, but there were two taverns, The Western Star and The Ranger's Rest. Next to the gates were two large buildings-- I was told that one was the armoury, where weapons were kept for the defense of the town. The other building, I was told, was a barracks, where many of the younger unwed Rangers dwelt when they were within the town. Behind the armoury was a large area, fenced in, which I was told was for weapons practice.

I soon realised that although the buildings and houses were smaller, the area of the town was even larger than Bree had been. I noticed that the walls of pointed timbers did not run all the way around the town. As the area narrowed into the angle of the Hoarwell and the Loudwater, the steep embankment on the West protected the town on that side. The wall on the East side had another smaller gate that led directly to the river.

Often goods would come to the town from that direction.

I soon found that I could be of great help to the family. Thorn was often in my company, and I could run errands for Arador or his father. And Lady Meldis allowed me to assist her with the cooking-- she was quite a good cook herself, but welcomed my help. We often had lively conversations about food and preparing dishes.

The days passed, and winter drew in. Soon it would be the turning of the year, and the day for the Poet's wedding was drawing near.

Indeed, the next morning, I ate a quick breakfast, and went to saddle Porridge. He had grown a bit plump over the winter, for I had not much chance to exercise him. He seemed pleased at the thought of a jaunt however.

Thorn was most unhappy, and I fear he would have indulged in a storm of tears and anger at the thought of our leaving. However, his mother took him firmly in hand, and his father reminded him to "be a big boy", so that one day he could also go with us and be a Ranger. He still seemed angry, however, and averted his face when I proffered a good-bye kiss, but then ran to embrace me when I was ready to mount. As we rode off, I looked back to see him waving sadly from his grandmother Meldis' arms.

In addition to Arador, we also had in our patrol Dirhael, who was a bit subdued at the thought of leaving his bride; Avor, who was called "Lefty", obviously because he was left-handed; Baranir, called "Red", for he had reddish hair-- highly unusual among these generally dark-haired people, but his mother had been a foreigner; and Duinir, who had picked up the unfortunate nickname "Beanpole" on his travels--he was exceptionally tall and thin.

We rode out and met Elladan and Elrohir a few days later. That spring and summer was exhausting, and yet exhilarating. I saw mountains and barren lands to the North, and made the unwelcome discovery that those Wargs did indeed exist. Our encounter with them was frightening, but my stones accounted for at least one of the creatures, and I have to admit, I felt a bit proud and heroic afterwards.

The waystation for those patrolling in the North was not like the one we had used in the West. It was instead, a large cavern. Sometimes I was entrusted to keep it on my own for a few days at a time-- I did not like that duty; I missed the others, and could not find enough to keep me busy, although I did use one such opportunity to bake a few biscuits for the others to give them as my birthday gift. And I was quite surprised when I was gifted with a new bow-- made for me by Elladan!

It was growing cold by the time we returned to Two Rivers. Dirhael was delighted to discover that Ivorwen was far gone with child-- she was due to deliver only a week after our return. Oriel had two teeth, and young Thorn was in minor disgrace for having ventured up to the watchtower on his own, and had to be brought down by one of the guards to his distraught mother and grandmother who had been searching for him. He appealed his punishment of confinement to the house for a week to his father, on the grounds that the watchtower was part of the house!

Needless to say, Arador was unimpressed. However, I was amazed to realize that he was now as tall as I was!

This set the pattern for the next few years. I am saddened to realise how seldom I thought of my own parents and family or the Shire during that time-- I kept telling myself I would return sometime, but not quite yet.

Most years I accompanied Arador's patrol, though one year when Dirhael led a patrol to the South I went with his group, and another year I went to the Western waystation with Archer.

I found that I was useful not only as a cook, but that my ability to move even more quietly than the most careful of Rangers made me a good scout. And on more than one occasion, I took part in small battles, using my bow or throwing my stones-- for it seemed clear that I would be at a great disadvantage at any hand-to-hand fighting that might occur. But it served the others well to have me at a distance with my own chosen weapons. And once, about five years after I had become one of the Rangers, while scouting I came upon an encampment of four ruffians we knew had been troubling the area with stealing sheep. I was able to knock all of them out with my stones and tie them up, before returning to fetch the others. I must confess that I had a bit of a swollen head over that episode! My comrades' praise was music to my ears, and I truly felt like a warrior for a while.

The year Thorn was seven, Moriel asked me to remain in Two Rivers. He was to start school, and was not happy about it. Arador consented to my staying, and it was arranged that I would assist the schoolmaster, a retired Ranger named Master Hensael. He had lost a leg to goblins ( something I had yet to encounter, though I knew enough now to realise they were real. The Rangers called them "orcs" as well as other names less pleasant, and they had often fought them.) and now he was the schoolmaster for the children of Two Rivers.

My presence there made things much easier for him. He sometimes had one of the older girls of the town to help as well, but the little boys did not obey them as well as they obeyed me. I enjoyed teaching them-- it was something I'd done for my own younger sibs, and I had a number of tricks to keep them entertained as they learned.

Still, the following year I was very glad to go back on patrol with the other Rangers!

I had been among them for eight years. That year, the sons of Elrond did not go out with any of us on patrol-- some years they did, and some years they did not-- but shortly after we had returned to Two Rivers for the winter, they came.

Thorn was now twelve, and it was time for him to go away with them to their father's house. There he would stay and be fostered and learn until he turned twenty. This, I was told, had long been the custom of the Chieftain's family: to foster the heir among the Elves for a time. Elladan and Elrohir had come to escort him to Rivendell.

And with them was someone I had not seen since leaving the Shire.

Gandalf.

He did not seem to be surprised to see me, and I felt somewhat hurt that his greeting to me was not heartier. In fact, the look he gave me was very disapproving.

There was a feast on the green that night, though the weather was a little brisk, and a bonfire-- it was not only a feast of welcome for our guests, but one of farewell for Thorn. He would not see his home again for eight years-- suddenly, I felt very ashamed of myself. I should have made time to go back to the Shire before now, or even written another letter. At least Thorn's family would know when he would be back home.

And suddenly I realised why Gandalf was angry with me.

But I was only partially right. As I stood alone at the edge of the gathering, feeling rather maudlin and ashamed, I felt a large hand land upon my shoulder.

"Hildifons Took. When I heard that the Rangers of Two Rivers had taken a hobbit into their fold, I was sure that it had to be you." His voice was very stern. "Why did you leave the way you did?"

I sighed. I still thought of Gardenia from time to time, and sometimes wondered if I could ever have done anything differently, to have won her heart. "I was crossed in love," I replied.

He moved to stand before me, and reached to tip my chin up, so that I would have to look up at him. "You were crossed in love," he repeated, and gazed intently at my face. I felt uncomfortable at his scrutiny, but I did not try to look away. "Yes," he finally said, "I see that you were. Yet I do not think that was the only reason you left-- although you yourself do not realise that even now."

I blinked at his words. I did not understand what he meant.

He knelt before me, and now his gaze was very serious and sad. "Why did you never send word? You know that your parents and sibs believe you long dead?"

Now I was even more confused. "I wrote. I wrote a letter a few months after I left!"

He raised a brow. "Your father never received it. How did you send it?"

"I gave it to Archer; he found a tinker in Bree who was going to the Shire. He gave him coin to deliver it, he said."

"Well, clearly the tinker was unreliable, or some mishap kept him from doing as he had promised. I see now that you are not quite so irresponsible as I had thought."

"What should I do, Gandalf? Another letter after so long will never make up for their grief." I was quite distraught at the thought that my letter had never arrived.

"I do not know now, Hildifons, but I will give it some thought to the matter. Have you been happy here among the Dúnedain?"

I smiled. "I have, Gandalf. They are so brave and fierce-- yet they are also so kind. They saved my life-- that's how I came to be among them."

"Tell me about it." He sat down on the ground next to me and took out his pipe, and I seated myself by him and took out mine, and I told him of how they had saved me from the brigands, and how I had come to stay with them. He listened patiently, and when I had finished, he simply nodded. We sat together silently for a long time, blowing smoke rings.

The next day, we farewelled Thorn, and watched him ride off between the twins. His parents were proud and smiling, but I saw tears in Lady Moriel's eyes, and young Oriel, now eight, was openly weeping. Her brother teased her often, but he also was very protective of her.

Gandalf had remained. He spent many hours consulting over some things with Lord Argonui and with Arador. They seemed to consider him a person of great importance, and it occurred to me that his visits to the Shire, where he was considered merely a conjurer who entertained hobbits with his fireworks and his tales, were only a very small part of the wizard's story. For the first time, I began to wonder just who he really was.

Still, he seemed quite content to tell his tales among the children of Two Rivers, and when Yule arrived, he lit the night with his fireworks for our benefit. As it turned out, I was the only person in town who had been privileged to see his fireworks before-- it was the first time he had ever done so in Two Rivers. I asked him why afterwards. He simply smiled at me, blew out one of his more fanciful smoke figures, and winked at me.

I still do not understand what he meant.

When Spring arrived, our patrols prepared to leave. Arador was taking us this time to the North-east, to a place called Fornost. Gandalf travelled part of the way with us, though he made no secret of the fact that he would leave when we turned Northwards, as he was heading to the Bree-lands and the Shire.

We talked privately several times, and he asked more than once if I would consent to go back with him, but I was not ready yet. One day, I told myself, one day I would return.

We spoke one last time, the night we camped at Weathertop, for he was to go on alone, as we turned off the Road and headed North the next day.

"Very well, Hildifons," he said (he never called me Trotter) "I will bear word to your father of your fate; I will leave it to him whether to tell the others in your family. I can see that you are going to be quite stubborn about this. My heart tells me you may have some task to perform before you are ready to go back to the Shire. Take care of yourself, young Took. The world is a very big place and you are one very small hobbit, after all. But I think you have found good friends."

He left his horse with us the next morning, and went on his way on foot.

The journey to Fornost, or Norbury as some called it, was uneventful. For the first time in several years, we stopped at that Ranger waystation where I had first encountered Longshanks and the others. We spent some weeks there, off and on. I mostly remained there with the Poet, and a youngster who was making he first foray as a Ranger. His name was Nethon, and so far that was his only name, although I was sure it would not be long until he had earned a Ranger name-- either bestowed by the people we travelled among, or by his fellow Rangers. He was some months short of coming-of-age. Among the Dúnedain, this was twenty-one, although I had been told that among some other Men, it was as young as eighteen, or even sixteen. I found this rather astonishing, but I had noticed that the children of Men grew up much more quickly than those of hobbits.

We fell into the old routines of repairing any winter damage to the station, hunting, and short forays and patrols to ensure that the area was free of brigands and other predators. But after a month and a half, Longshanks chose Archer, the Poet, Nethon and myself, and we rode North to Fornost. I was most curious, for in the Shire, it was called "Norbury of the Kings" and the legend was that forty hobbit archers had set forth for there to do battle for the King against the Witch-king of the North, and only one had returned. While the legend was usually dismissed as a mere story by most of the Shire, the Tooks knew it was so. A parchment kept with the oldest of the Yellowskin records held the roll of the names of those who had gone.

However, even the Poet did not know of the fate of those hobbits, whether they had fought or how they had perished. "Perhaps you might ask Elladan or Elrohir when next we see them," he had added. "Or other Elves, if ever you meet them."

Fornost was amazing. While it was naught but ruins from long, long ago, it was clear that it had been immense. One day, I traced my way around the outline of the foundation of the central building. I was astonished to realize that one building had been larger than the entire town of Two Rivers! It made the tales of vast cities seem much more real to me.

There was a large stream near the ruins, which was our source for water, and a good place for fishing. Nethon and the Poet enjoyed swimming there, and often tried to coax me into learning. But swimming is just not something hobbits do-- although I've heard rumours that the Brandybucks do. At any rate, it's not for Tooks.

However, the swimming was Nethon's downfall, as he allowed himself to get sunburned, when he went for a swim, and then decided to dry off in the sun before getting dressed. He fell asleep in a partially shaded area, and the result was a patchwork of colour. He peeled badly, and ended up quite freckled in the end. Naturally, on the way home as we passed through Bree, he earned the epithet "Freckles" from the local people. The name stuck. After a good deal of teasing, we took pity on him, however, and continued among ourselves to use his real name.

Over the next few years, we returned twice to Fornost. Arador never did find whatever it was he sought there. The following year, our group went to the South, down as far as a place called Tharbad. We travelled through empty and desolate lands, but near Tharbad there had been a few settlements of villages or small farms, and rumour had come to Argonui of bands of Men called "Dunlendings" attacking the smallholders. We took a larger than usual group of Rangers-- nearly two dozen of us.

The rumours were true-- the Dunlendings had been harrying the people, forcing them to give up their harvests under threat of arms. I was able to scout their numbers: they outnumbered us nearly three to one, so Arador devised a clever plan in which we were able to capture their leader by stealth, and thus win their promise to withdraw. Although they seemed a crude sort of people, their warriors were not without honour, and kept their word.

The following year took us to the Bree-lands, and I seriously considered making a visit to the Shire. But I had a strong feeling that if once I returned, I should never get away again-- and my fellow Rangers needed me.

Someday, I thought. But not quite yet.

I was fifty years old when the event that was to change my life forever happened.

Two Rivers was all a-stir preparing to welcome Arathorn son of Arador home. He had completed his fosterage in the hidden valley of Rivendell, and would return home, a young Man just come of age, ready to take up his duties among the Rangers.

We had heard from him from time to time, usually by way of messages sent through Elladan and Elrohir, but we were all eager to see him again, and to see what changes time had wrought in our friend.

Oriel, who was now sixteen, had made a new frock for the occasion, and if as it seemed, she wished to draw the eye of a certain young Ranger by the name of Nethon, then that would simply be a side benefit. Her mother and grandmother were quite amused by it all. Her father was not sure how to take it, for though he liked Nethon well enough, he was unsure about him as a son-in-law.

As for me, I thought her far too young to be playing at such games. She was only sixteen, which in the Shire would not even be halfway to coming-of-age! She teased me about my attitude, reminding me that hobbits grow up more slowly, but I am afraid it did not much mollify me.

At any rate, all was quite festive when on the first day of Spring, Elladan and Elrohir rode through the front gate of Two Rivers, a tall and dark-haired young stranger between them--for he did seem at first a stranger, riding so regally there and clad in finer garments than he had ever worn at home. But as he spotted his family, he gave a grin and a wave, and there I saw him, my brother Thorn, that old mischief in his eyes and laughter on his lips.

We allowed the crowd to mill about him, giving him their cheers. When he had enough-- and I could see his patience wearing thin-- Elladan and Elrohir waved the well-wishers off, and Thorn dismounted and loped over to his family's arms. He grabbed Oriel up by the waist and swung her around, and then to my astonishment, he grabbed me up as well and gave me a fierce embrace. "I missed you, Trotter! There was so much there you would have liked to see!!"

"I missed you as well, Thorn. But pray put me down! You may have grown into a great gangly lummox," I laughed, "but I am no faunt to be tossed about like a poppet!" I tried to sound cross, but I am afraid I did not fool him.

He laughed once more and put me down, and turned to embrace his parents and grandparents in a more dignified fashion.

There was a feast to celebrate the return, held that night on the green; however, it did not last late into the night, for we were to leave on patrol the next morning.

The next day dawned full of promise. Thorn would not lead this patrol, but he would be Dirhael's second. Archer would be joining us, as well as Lefty and Red and Nethon, and the sons of Elrond would join us also. We were to head north, and up in the direction of the Ettenmoors. I had never been in these lands before. We had no particular objective this time; Arador and Argonui wanted Arathorn's first mission to be a quiet one, and nothing untoward had been heard from that area in some years, although no patrol had been there for at least three years. We headed out in high spirits, and I rode next to Thorn and listened to him tell me of Rivendell and the Elves and of Lord Elrond, who was a great master of lore.

All was well enough until we had crossed the Last Bridge and turned North. It was a barren and desolate area, and unpopulated for the most part. There had often been rumours of the creatures called Trolls in the hills further North-- thus the name of the area-- but none had been seen for many years. And further North still, was Mount Gram, rumoured to be the haunts of goblins-- even I recognized that name! It was said that the goblins who invaded the Shire in the days of my Great-great-uncle Bandobras had come from there. But all of that lay many leagues further away than we planned to foray.

Still, something was disquieting as we rode further. The sons of Elrond were very uneasy, though they had yet to give voice to the source of their unease.

We had been ten days on patrol when Dirhael decided to stop where we were for a day. "I think that we need to know more of what lies ahead. Archer and I will set up a temporary base here." He turned to the Elves. "my Lords, if you would scout to the North-east?"

They nodded.

"And Thorn, you, Trotter and Nethon will scout to the North-west. Go no further than you can report back before sunset. I have misgivings about any of us being separated at nightfall."

We also nodded, and made ready to leave as soon as we had finished a quick breakfast. I led the way. We did not take our mounts. My pony now was named Honey-- she was a lovely little mare. I had put Porridge out to pasture a couple of years ago, as he was getting a bit long in the tooth. But for scouting it was best to go on foot. We spread out, but remained within sight of one another.

We had gone less than half a league when Thorn called me. "Look, Trotter!"

Nethon and I hastened to his side. There was a footprint unlike one I had seen before: the mark of a very large, very heavy boot, the marks of iron nails clear to be seen. Perhaps, I thought, we've found another nest of brigands. But what would brigands be doing in such a bleak and isolated land? Surely there would be no travellers to prey upon out here. So far as I knew, not even shepherds came this far.

Thorn looked at me, and I saw a look of dawning dread on his face. "I've never seen it myself, but I have heard it described often enough. Trotter, I fear this is the track of-- an Orc."

My eyes widened. "Do you really think so?"

"I am not certain, but-- " He did not finish, but I read more certainty than I could have hoped in his distressed expression. This was part of the lore he had been sent to Rivendell to learn.

"What should we do?" Nethon asked.

I looked to Thorn as well.

He frowned, but said "They do not like the sunlight-- they will be holed up somewhere close by until after dark."

I glanced around me at the rugged terrain. "There could be a cave nearby."

"We have to find out."

I felt a chill run down my spine, but I agreed. This time the three of us did not spread out, but stayed close together, although we tried to move carefully and stayed close to the ground. It was not long before we found more signs, and knew we were going in the right direction.

Soon we found more signs that we were near what we sought. Hiding behind a large rock, I peered around. About half a furlong from us, we could hear the sound of running water-- there appeared to be a cleft in the ground, where a large stream or small river coursed. Just beyond it we could see a tor in which there was a cave, about halfway up.

There was a rather twisted and gnarled solitary tree growing on this side of the water, and I studied it carefully. Something was there, huddled in the shade. Was it just a trick of shadow, or…there was clearly movement, with no breeze to account for it.

"It must be a lookout," I said in dismay.

The three of us exchanged glances. We needed to alert the others, and we would need to catch them by surprise if we could. A lookout could alert them, and we knew not how many of the enemy we would face.

Thorn pursed his lips and studied the situation. Finally he turned to us. "Nethon, you go back. Tell Dirhael and the others what we have found. We must deal with this problem before the sun goes down."

Nethon nodded, and sprinted back the way we had come. It was perhaps, about an hour past noon, if my growling stomach was anything to go by. If Dirhael and the others hurried, we might very well be able to deal with this menace in the daylight.

We watched. As the Sun made her journey West, the shade of the tree altered, and we watched the huddled creature move with the shade.

Thorn looked at me and whispered, "I think I can reach it without it seeing me. If I can take it out before it raises an alarm, it will be far easier to deal with the others."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Trotter, as long as he is there, we cannot get any closer."

"We should wait for Dirhael and the others."

Thorn shook his head, "No. They may not be able to stay hidden from him."

And with that he slipped away from me and darted off about two rods to hide behind another rock.

My heart was right down to my toes! Surely he wouldn't try to tackle that creature all alone. But clearly, he was. Off he'd gone again, to crouch behind a bramble-bush, nearly there.

I swallowed hard. I wanted to shout to him to come back, but of course that would be the worst thing I could do-- alerting everything within earshot. I had never felt so frustrated in my life. I bit my lip and held my breath. The lookout leaned back against the tree. It was facing the other way-- perhaps Thorn could do it after all!

I watched Thorn make his last mad dash, and with a swiftness I would never have believed, he had grabbed the lookout from behind and put his hand over its mouth. But the goblin struggled. Thorn held on, dangling from its back like a child's doll. There was no sound, thankfully, but suddenly the two of them vanished over the edge of the embankment.

I bit my hand to avoid screaming out, and ran to the place where they had gone over, fearing the worst.

Thankfully, the embankment was not more than about ten feet high. About halfway down a narrow ledge jutted out, beneath an outcropping of rock. The two were grappling silently, save for grunts and groans, but suddenly, the goblin threw Thorn aside abruptly. Thorn hit his head on the rock, and fell to the ground at the rim of the ledge, unconscious or worse. The Orc, a hideous being such as I had never seen the like of, gave a snort of laughter, and drew a wicked looking knife. It went over to Thorn and took him by the hair, baring his neck.

I couldn't bear it. I leapt to the ledge myself, distracting the Orc. I reached to the ground around me, picked up a stone, and let it fly.

The stone took the creature squarely in the temple, and I could hear the crunch of bone, and saw the blood-- it was black for Mercy's sake! It made no sound, but fell backwards, and over the edge. I watched the body of the creature tumble down the side of the embankment into the water below. It did not move until the current caught it, and drew it away downstream. I had slain it with my stone-- the only way to save Thorn and myself.

On the other side of the narrow ledge, I saw my friend move slightly, and I felt a wave of relief. He was alive then. The blood on his head had frightened me badly.

But then I noticed something that frightened me even more. There was a rattle of stone, and the rock shelf that jutted out above us shifted. It was balanced precariously, and our struggle with the goblin had partially dislodged it. Even as I watched, it shifted again.

I crawled the short distance to his side, and studied the slab of stone from below. There was only one way I could think of to protect him. I turned on my back and raised my feet until the soles were flat against the bottom of the stone, giving it some support. I did not know how long I could keep it up, but perhaps I could hold it off us until Dirhael and the others showed up. They had to show up. There was no other hope for us.

I lay there for what seemed like ages. My legs trembled. At first they hurt, and then they burned, and then they began to go numb. I tried not to move or shift, for fear of bringing it all down.

The shadows lengthened, and I began to fear I would lose consciousness. Then, just as I was convinced I could not hold out any longer, I heard the sounds of fighting, shouts and clamor, and the clang of weapons. Then there was silence. What had happened? Who had won?

"Hoy! Thorn! Trotter!" It was Dirhael's voice!

I wet my dry lips with my tongue and called out. "We're here! Here!"

"Trotter?"

"Look down!" I shouted. And then I felt the rock shift. "Hurry!"

"Where are you?" The voice was very close.

"Here! We are on a ledge down here!"

"I can barely see you," said Dirhael. I was staring straight up, and I could not see him myself. "There is a shelf of stone above you."

"Please be careful! It may fall on us. Thorn is unconscious."

I felt my legs tremble again. "Please hurry!" I cried. I was sure I could not hold off much longer.

"Just a little longer, Trotter. I have sent Elrohir and Archer down to the water. They can bring you both down from below."

He had no sooner finished speaking than I could hear and feel the scrabbling behind me.

"Trotter." It was Elrohir. His voice was close behind me.

"Get Thorn first. He's unconscious, and if I move before you get him, this rock is coming down."

I turned my head sideways, and saw Elrohir's arms and hands reaching for Thorn. He gripped him beneath the arms, and I breathed a sigh of relief, as I watched him being angled slowly off the ledge.

I could hear Elrohir and Archer speaking below, and was relieved to hear that they had Thorn safe.

"I am coming for you now, Trotter."

I was weeping at this point, I was so weary. I could not see Elrohir behind me, but I could hear him. He was muttering under his breath in Sindarin, and I was too fearful to try and translate what he was saying. Suddenly I felt him gripping me as he had Thorn. "Ready?" he said, but he did not wait for my answer. He pulled me away quickly. I heard a rumble above me, and the last thing I remembered was the sound of my own screams

When I awakened, I had no clue where I might be. I was in a soft and comfortable bed, in a room lit by soft sunlight. I blinked. How long had I been asleep? I wondered. I tried to sit up, but found myself feeling very weak.

"Good morning, Trotter." It was Elrohir who sat by my side.

"Where am I? What time is it?"

"You are in my father's house," he said. "It is about an hour before noon. You have been asleep for ten days."

I blinked. Ten days? I tried to remember what had happened. "Thorn! How is Thorn?"

Elrohir smiled. "He is doing well. After all, his injury was to his head, which is the hardest part of him! He will be sorry to learn he missed your waking, for he has spent most of the last ten days by your side."

I tried to move, but once more was foiled by my weakness. "Why can't I move?"

"You have been given medicine to prevent pain, and you are gravely injured my friend."

"What do you mean?" I asked, feeling foolish.

"Let me go find my father. I believe that he can explain things to you better than I." Elrohir rose, and I noticed how grave his expression was.

While I waited for his return, I looked about me. The room was very large, as was the bed in which I lay. To my right was a bank of great arched windows, uncovered by curtains. The center window stood open, and a pleasant breeze wafted in. Beyond the windows, I could see the tops of trees, and far past them in the distance, a waterfall. I turned my head to the left, and saw a beautifully carved chair-- the one in which Elrohir had been sitting. Against the whitewashed wall on the far side of the room stood a tall chest, and a tapestry hung next to it. I could not see the subject of the tapestry very well, but the colours were rich and vibrant.

I could see the door beyond the foot of the vast bed. It opened, and I saw an Elf enter, Elrohir behind him.

"Good morning, Master Hildifons. I am Elrond, Master of this House. I tended your wounds when my son and his friends brought you here."

"What happened to me? I mean, I know the rock fell-- that's the last thing I remember…"

He sat down in the chair next to me and leaned towards me.

"Master Hildifons, you were pulled almost free as the rock fell. But your feet were caught by it. It took quite some time for Elrohir and the others to remove the debris and free your feet. They were very badly damaged. Elrohir knew that healing them was beyond his power, and you were in much pain. So he put you into a deep healing sleep, and you were brought here to Rivendell, that I might tend you."

I bit my lip. "My feet are beginning to ache," I said. Indeed, I could feel them starting to throb.

"I will have a draught brought to you for your pain, for it is likely to increase now that you have wakened."

"How soon will they be healed?" I asked.

He gazed at me intently for several minutes, and then sighed. "It will take a long time, I am afraid, and they may never be healed completely."

My eyes widened in shock. "What do you mean? Why? Will I be able to walk?"

"You will be able to walk," he said, "but possibly never as well as before, and it will take a long time. Let me explain: in both your feet, the long bones which connect your toes to your heels were broken, all five of them in your left foot, and in your right foot all but the last one. In addition, the large bones in your heel were also broken in your left foot. Your left foot was crushed far more badly than the right. The difficulty in the healing of your feet is that the arch of your feet will never be the same, and your feet, especially the left heel, are likely to ache badly for the rest of your life. It will be a long time before you are able to walk again, and you may need aids to do so."

I shuddered and felt tears spring to my eyes. I would be a cripple.

"Another thing concerns me. The sharp rocks also damaged the hair and skin on the tops of your feet, scraping off a good deal of the hair and some of the skin as well. I fear that it will never grow back as well as before. The tops of your feet are likely to be rather unsightly after this."

I could not help it. I burst into tears and wept like a faunt

___________________________________

Author's Note: My thanks to SurgicalSteel for all of her help in figuring out Trotter's injuries.

Lord Elrond ordered a draught for me, willow-bark and poppy and valerian and some other herbs. It was bitter, but not as foul as some of the draughts made up by hobbit healers. I drank it down without protest, my mind still numb from the news I had been given.

The poppy made me drowsy, and Lord Elrond placed his hand above my face, and sang some words in Sindarin, almost below his breath. I felt a pleasant warmth steal over me, and found myself cast once more into sleep.

When next I wakened, I knew I had not been so long a time sleeping as before-- a few hours perhaps, judging by the light and shadows. My stomach was unreliable; I was not at all hungry, as I remembered the news I'd been given. I shuddered.

"You are awake."

I had not even looked to see if anyone else was in the room with me, but I turned my head to see Thorn sitting next to me in the carved chair.

"Hullo," I said. "I'm glad to see you are alive." He was very pale, and I had never in my life seen his face so grave. "Are you well? The last time I saw you, I feared you were dead."

"Oh, Trotter! I am fine. I suffered no more than a knock on the head-- a very hard head, as everyone has been at pains to remind me. I am so sorry!"

"Sorry?" I asked, wondering why he apologised.

"It is my fault entirely that you are injured. You saved my life!"

"Well, of course I did!" I still was not sure why he was recriminating himself.

"But you would never have had to do so if I had listened to you in the first place. I will never forgive myself for having placed you in harm's way, nor in being the cause of all this." He bit his lip and gazed at me sadly.

I did not at once answer. I had not thought of blaming him, but he was right-- if he had not been so impulsive, I would not have had to save him. I could not think of what to say about it. Should I be angry? I did not know how to feel. "I am thirsty," I said instead.

He turned at once, and found a small tumbler on a table near the bedside. He poured out some water, and supported my head with one hand, as he held the cup to my lips with the other. I sipped the water gratefully, and tried to concentrate on how good it felt to assuage my thirst.

After I drank, I felt weary once more. I looked at my companion. "I'm glad you're alive, Thorn, and I'm glad you're here with me. But I don't feel much like talking; if you would just stay with me?"

He nodded, and began to smooth the curls from my forehead, as I had sometimes done for him when he was little and distressed. Soon a lassitude came over me, and I slept once more.

In fact, over the next several days, I was asleep more than I was awake. Sleeping meant I did not have to think or talk. My appetite returned, and the trays of food brought to me by the Elves were delicious. I found that I could concentrate on my food, trying to guess all the seasonings and ingredients by their flavour and smell. I rather missed having another hobbit to discuss it with-- Big Folk are not nearly so sensitive of taste and smell as are hobbits. Thorn listened without complaint, but he could not really enter into the game. But at least food was something besides my crippled feet to think about.

He rarely left my side, and when he did, I was often joined by either Elladan, Elrohir or Dirhael, who had also remained after sending the others back to Two Rivers with news of what had happened.

Lord Elrond checked the dressings on my feet daily, a procedure that began painfully, but once they were bared, he would place his hands above them, and seemed somehow to draw the pain away; after a welcome warmth, the pain receded. He had not yet allowed me to see them-- he kept the coverlet propped up so that I could not look at my feet. He also put some sort of unguent on them that deadened the pain once he replaced the bandages. After the first few days, he stopped giving me poppy-- he said he did not wish me to become dependent upon it.

About a week after I wakened the first time, Thorn came in after Lord Elrond had checked my feet and looked at me even more sadly than he had before.

"Trotter, I have to leave. My father says I must come back to Two Rivers and to the Rangers. I do not wish to leave you here, but you are still too gravely wounded to travel."

I was not as sorry to hear this as I should have been. I had forgiven him, and had told him so. But it seemed to have made no difference to him-- he no longer laughed, he would do anything I asked him to, and always his eyes on me were filled with guilt and sorrow-- making it hard for me to forget that he had every reason to blame himself. Yet I also knew that his folly, if folly it were, had not been intended to harm me. And folly often has a much harder result than it deserves. Yet somehow, I felt that this disaster would be the making of him.

I took his hand. "You must do your duty, Arathorn son of Arador. I am very glad that you lived to be able to go home. Please, give my love to your parents and grandparents, and to Oriel."

His eyes filled with tears, but he blinked them back. He bent over and embraced me, and placed a kiss on my forehead.

"Good-bye, Trotter."

"Good-bye, Thorn."

The day after he left, along with Dirhael, when Lord Elrond decided to change the bandages, I was finally allowed to see my feet.

They looked horrible! Bruised, discolored and misshapen, and the tops of them still scabbed over in places. Most of the hair was gone, and what was growing back looked more like stubble. I had never seen a hobbit foot that looked so dreadful, and I choked back a cry of dismay.

Lord Elrond looked up at me. "The colour will improve, Master Hildifons. The bruising has already faded somewhat, and I have to say, the bones are knitting more quickly than I expected. But we will continue to keep them immobile for a few days longer. I think that we are managing your pain well enough with mathad nestadren*. I would like to lessen your doses of willow-bark, as over time that can be damaging to the stomach. Once I am certain that the bones are well-knitted, we will begin massaging and exercising your feet, as well as your legs-- it will be a long time, however before you will be able to walk upon them."

I nodded apprehensively. I was so heartily sick of being bed-ridden, yet I knew the process of getting to my feet once more would be very painful.

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked plaintively. "I think I'll go mad with nothing to do but to lie a-bed and think."

He smiled at me, and it quite transformed his austere face. "If you are feeling well enough to be bored, then I am sure you are on the mend. I will send some books from my library for you to read."

I was grateful. "I thank you very much then."

The next day, an Elf who told me his name was Erestor brought me a large stack of rather weighty volumes.

"These are some of our books in Westron," he said. "I think that you will find the ones on top of interest, as they concern the ancient Northern Kingdoms, and may even have some word of your own people in them."

I was quite pleased, and thanked him profusely. Indeed, I was very glad to read these, and to learn more of the history of the Dúnedain.

In addition to Lord Elrond, some days I was attended by Elrohir instead--he had stayed on, while Elladan had returned to Two Rivers with Thorn and Dirhael. I knew that he had only stayed for my sake, and I greatly appreciated it. Another Elven healer, Angul also came to work with me. It was he who began the exercises of flexing my legs and feet, raising and bending them, and it was he who one day came and measured me-- my height, the length from beneath my arms to my feet, and the length of my legs, and my feet themselves. When he was finished with me, I was exhausted and in pain. He looked at me sympathetically. "I think we will finish with cam echuir*." And then he did the same thing that Lord Elrond and Elrohir often did, drawing the pain away with his hands.

To take my mind off things, I asked him why he called it something different.

He smiled at me as he finished. "It's simple enough; I had a different teacher, and that is what he called it, my curious perian."

I had been bed-ridden for over a month now, and even reading was beginning to pall. I longed for something besides the four walls of my room however pleasant, and something, anything to do.

I was just finishing up a first breakfast of fruit and bread and tea when there was a rap on the door. Elrohir entered. "Do you feel like company?"

"I always welcome your presence, Elrohir," I said.

"Ah, but it's not of me that I speak," and he stood aside, and to my delight and astonishment, I saw Gandalf enter!

"Good day, Hildifons."

"Oh my!" was all I could think of to say.

Elrohir backed away and closed the door, leaving me alone with the wizard, who crossed the room and sat down next to me. "I understand you did something rather astonishing."

I looked at him and shrugged. "I did what I had to, to protect my friend," I said.

"You did indeed protect your friend, and you protected far more than that. I am uncommonly proud of you, Hildifons Took." He looked at me intently. "What are you going to do now?"

Trust Gandalf to ask me the uncomfortable question I had been trying to avoid for weeks.

I took refuge in another shrug, and looked away from his gaze. He said nothing, and the silence grew, until I burst out angrily, "What can I do, Gandalf? I am a hideous cripple!" I flung the blanket aside, so that he could see my feet.

He looked at them briefly, and then returned his gaze to my face. "I see scars of honour, Hildifons, like those borne by many of the Rangers who defend these lands. As to what you can do, you do have choices. Elrond has said that you might remain here in Rivendell, or when you are fit to travel, you may go back to Two Rivers where you have many good friends, or-- you might return at last to the Shire."

His last words hit me like a slap. My throat felt suddenly dry. Finally I manage to choke it out. "No. No, I can never go back now! I would not go back to be a burden to my family and an object of pity and gossip! I always thought I'd go back one day-- I always thought the Shire would be there for me-- but now, now I never can!"

"I do not think your family would find you a burden-- your father loves you very much, and the rest of them would be pleased to know you still live. But you are, perhaps correct about the pity and gossip of the rest of the Shire."

"Why did I never go home when I had the chance?" I groaned.

"If you had, Hildifons, who would have saved Thorn from his folly?"

I stared at him in astonishment, and then I felt a shudder pass through me. I took a deep breath. Suddenly my mind felt clearer than it had since my injury. I did not know what I would do now, but I felt ready to face my choices.
_________________________________

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
*These Elven phrases were provided for me by friends who are generous with their knowledge. The first phrase, mathad nestadren was provided by SurgicalSteel and Pandemonium, and means "healing touch", and the second phrase, cam echuir, came from Jay of Lasgalen, and carries the same idea, but literally means "awakening hands". My thanks!

I remained in Rivendell for over a year, learning first to use the crutches, and then to walk, awkwardly at first, but gradually more easily. It took a long time before I got used to the clattering I made wherever I went, a long time to get used to the feel of the stockings and the weight of the shoes. But they did what they were meant to do and helped me to walk almost normally.

I had come to love the Last Homely House, and to feel at home among the Elves who had become my friends. I began to consider staying there. I knew I would be welcome-- that had been made clear to me, though I was never quite certain why they were so fond of a small and rather useless mortal. It was that last which decided me.

I knew that I would be of no use to the Elves. There might be small things I could do, potter about the garden, or occasionally cook something a bit different than the fare to which they were accustomed.

If I returned to Two Rivers, I would no longer be a Ranger-- what kind of scout would I be, clacking about in my wooden noisemakers? But there were things I could do in Two Rivers to actually be of service-- children to mind (and I sorely missed the presence of children in Rivendell ) and I would be of help to Lady Meldis and to Lady Moriel in their home. Perhaps I could assist in the schoolhouse. I knew that whatever happened, in Two Rivers I would be needed.

And too, I missed Thorn. I hoped that we could have things easy between us again-- he had felt so guilty over my injuries, blaming himself more than need be. I had long since forgiven him, but I hoped that he would forgive himself.

The day finally came when he arrived, accompanied by his father and by Archer and Dirhael. I had been preparing for my departure-- I could no longer ride, not with the shoes, and so I was going to ride with Elrohir, as he and Elladan would be going out with the Rangers as well.

I saw them coming. I was sitting in the courtyard as they cantered up. Arador it was who dismounted first, and the others followed suit. He came over to me, and I grinned up at him. "Hullo, Longshanks! It's been a while."

He laughed, and knelt to embrace me. "Ah, Trotter! It's good to see you again!"

The others greeted me as well-- all save Thorn, who hung back. I was dismayed. I could not bear it if he was afraid to speak to me. His father cast him a troubled glance, but then saw Elrond at the top of the stairs, and he and his Men moved to pay their respects. Thorn started to turn, but I called out to him.

"Thorn? Have you no greeting for me?"

He looked at me and blushed. "How are you Trotter?" he asked diffidently.

"I'm doing well enough. See my fancy footgear?" I put my foot out and tapped my shoe against the paving stone.

"Oh, Trotter!" His voice was filled with dismay.

"Come here, Thorn!" I was still his elder by some years, even though he was now an adult, and he obeyed, kneeling before me.

I reached out and took him by the shoulders. "Thorn, what happened, happened. If you still have some idea that you are in my debt, you may begin by bringing back my old friend Thorn, who smiled for me and laughed at my pointless jokes."

He looked up and studied my face carefully and then leaned forward into my embrace. "Oh, Trotter, I've missed you!"

Our journey back was uneventful, and rather cheerful to me, for I was able to catch up all the news from Two Rivers. The toll of Dirhael's and Ivorwen's sons was now five, but Ivorwen had declared she would not give up her quest for a daughter, though Dirhael declared their house was already full to bursting. Poor Oriel was as smitten with Nethon as ever, but he continued to think of her as a child-- which suited me well, as it did her father.

Shortly after we arrived, it was time for Arador and Thorn and several of the others to leave once more on patrol.

It was bittersweet for me-- I would miss being able to ride with the Rangers, and for the first time since I arrived, I wondered if I'd made a mistake in my choice.

Stark had received his own injury a few years ago, an arrow to the shoulder that prevented him from wielding a sword as well as he once had. But now he was in command of the defense of the town when the Chieftain was away. At one hundred and six, Lord Argonui still rode out sometimes, and he had taken the patrol to the West this year.

Stark asked me if I would join in the group of former Rangers who served in the watchtower and at the gates, and I was pleased to take on the duty. So every third day, I spent at the gatehouse. Climbing to the watchtower would have been too difficult with my shoes, which though fine for walking, were rather awkward for climbing!

I also resumed helping out in the school. The children were happy to see me, and I enjoyed being able to tell them stories and play games with them once again.

Gradually, I remade my place in Two Rivers.

The years passed, and I grew used to seeing the Rangers ride out without me, and I enjoyed watching the children grow up. When Oriel was twenty-five, she finally persuaded Nethon that she was old enough to marry, and their wedding was quite an occasion. Yet none of the maidens of Two Rivers had yet to capture her brother's eye, and his parents worried about an heir.

It was a fine fall day not long after the patrols had returned for the winter that Dirhael and Ivorwen finally became the parents of a daughter, whom they named Gilraen. She became the adored pet of her parents and all five of her older brothers. That same year, Master Hansael decided to retire from being the schoolmaster, and asked me to take on the task. At first I was reluctant, but after a good deal of encouragement, I agreed, with the stipulation that I be assisted by Oriel. She was surprised by this, but agreed.

I still dwelt with the Chieftain's family. Years ago, when Thorn had grown older, they had added onto the house, to give both of us rooms of our own. The post of schoolmaster came with its own little house attached, but I decided to remain where I was. I enjoyed having my family around me. Still, on days of inclement weather it was nice to have a place to stay the night, without having to clatter home through wet puddles-- one of the disadvantages of having shoes.

The routine of everyday life fell comfortably around me, like a warm and well-worn favourite blanket

It was the fall of the year I turned sixty-six, when we began to notice the signs that winter was going to be longer and harder than usual. The skins on the onions were hard and tough, and so were the nutshells. The animals were shaggier than usual as their winter coats began to grow in, and I noticed that I myself was far hungrier than usual-- the Men began to tease me about eating enough for two hobbits or ten, and I remembered hearing some of the old gaffers at home speak of how during the Long Winter, many hobbits had found themselves eating more than usual in the fall.

Little did we suspect, however, just how early and how cold the winter would be. The first snowfalls began before Arador's patrol returned from the North, and they told us when they arrived that they had been caught in a snowstorm as they made their way home. The wind was bitter, and the skies were low and grey long before the turning of the year. Then, right after Yule we had another snowfall, this one accompanied by thunder! The snowfall was heavier than ever I had seen before in Two Rivers-- and it did not even have time to melt before we had another snowfall! In fact, it continued to snow every few days for weeks.

My feet, which always ached more in the winter, were so painful that I could scarcely walk. Sadly, I decided to close the school. It was getting difficult for me to be there, and Oriel was with child. And I was not sure that it was good for the children to try and struggle to the schoolhouse through the bitter cold each day.

The Chieftain took to his bed. His bones ached every bit as much as my feet did-- after all, he was one hundred and fifty-five, not young by any means, even for one of the Dúnedain.

Food was growing more scarce, and firewood even more so. By year's end, Arador made a decision: he called on all of the townspeople to move into the Town Hall. The building was large and would accommodate everyone, and it would conserve firewood to only have to heat one building. Everyone brought a large store of blankets and bedding, and what food they had as well. It was much warmer, I grant you. Over two hundred people in one building made it even warmer than the fire kept burning in the large central hearth.

In spite of my aching feet, I assisted as best I could, helping Ivorwen and the other women to prepare the meals, and trying to keep the children entertained. I had feared they would grow bored and rambunctious, cooped up as they were. But instead, they daily grew more listless. I worried very much about Ivorwen's little girl Gilraen, who was only two, and usually a very lively child. And then she began to sneeze and to cough and to run a fever.

It was catarrh. Little Gilraen seemed to have only a mild case, that ran its course quickly. However, it soon began to spread, mostly among the oldest and the youngest at first. Some seemed to only have mild cases, but for others it was much worse. Old Lainon died of it first, and then an infant child, and then an elderly grandmother...

There was little we could do to succour the ill, apart from willow-bark tea to ease aches and fever, of which we had only a small supply. Arador, who had a good deal of healing talent assisted the two town healers and the women with tending the patients, but it did not stop the spread of the illness.

The Chieftain fell ill with it. Argonui had a very severe case, and his fever ran high. I watched as Arador expended his strength trying to keep his father alive, but it was of no avail, and in only a week, he found himself in the position of Chieftain of the Dúnedain.

That very same night, Oriel went into labour, and brought forth a daughter, whom she named Ninwen.

Arathorn had worked alongside his father all through this, in the hopes of stemming the tide. But when his grandfather died, and then his mother fell ill as well, he decided that winter or no, he had to seek help. Reluctantly, Arador gave his son permission, and Arathorn, accompanied only by Nethon, went forth from Two Rivers: he was going to Rivendell to seek for help from the Elves.

I had been doing my best to help in spite of the pain in my feet, clattering about the hall to tend the sick, or working over the hearth to cook the thin soups that were nearly all we ate anymore-- the food was finally running low, and soup is a meal that stretches as far as one has water--or melted snow-- to add. Our firewood was running perilously low as well. Dirhael and Archer, at Arador's command, went out one day to see what they could garner, and returned with armloads of broken chairs and tables taken from the schoolhouse, and the news that they would similarly plunder other buildings in order to get enough, if necessary.

I was so grateful to get the wood that I did not find myself much worried about where it came from. I took it to build up the fire, and added more snow to the broth I was making from root vegetables. Meat had long run out, although there was some talk of dealing with the horses, who were stabled nearby, and growing thinner for the short rations of hay. I hoped it did not come to that, but it could. No animals such as pigs or cows were allowed to be kept inside the town, and the chickens had long since been butchered.

As I worked over the fire, I found myself growing lightheaded. I knew had been aching even more than usual that day, but paid it no mind, for there was too much to be done. But then I started to have a raging headache and my throat felt uncomfortable. I tried to ignore it. I did not have the time to be ill-- but it was clearer and clearer as the day went by that I, too, had finally caught the catarrh as well.

I collapsed on my pallet that night burning up with fever, and wondered if I'd wake in the morning.

I did not, or if I did, I did not remember. I had fallen gravely ill with the catarrh and the next few weeks were only a blur in my memory. When I finally came to myself, I felt even weaker than I had after I had injured my feet. I was not the only one-- Lady Meldis had also been very gravely ill, as well as others. She had fallen prey to lung fever, and it had weakened her heart, as well. They were uncertain if she would live.

Lord Elrond himself, along with his sons and Angul and several others of his household, including my friend Glorfindel, had come to tend us and to succour us. Very few of the townsfolk were fit enough to rise from their beds and tend to the business of the town. Thorn himself had fallen ill after his return, and his pallet was next to mine. Arador had also been taken by the illness, but fortunately suffered a milder case.

The Elves remained among us for many weeks. I had been up and out of bed for some days, and spent much of my time tending Thorn, who was still weak. Arador and Lord Elrond were deciding whether people should be dispersed to their homes finally. The winter was still lingering, though the days of Spring should have arrived a month past. We no longer had snow, but the days were chill and damp. There was likely to be a short harvest this year, if the Sun did not show her face soon.

I was helping Moriel to cook some soup for luncheon, and was noticing that we were down to the last few stores of winter roots, when I heard a shout outside. I darted to the door, to see that we had a new guest: it was Gandalf.

I ran to him, thrilled to see him once more, and he knelt to embrace me. But when I drew back, I saw not the familiar twinkle in his dark eyes, but great sadness. "I have come from the Shire, Hildifons. They too suffered greatly from this winter. The Brandywine froze and there were wolves in the Shire, and the Shire too suffered from this plague of catarrh."

I felt my heart drop. "My family?"

"Many of them were ill from this same plague. Most of them are fine, but your mother, Hildifons, succumbed."

He held me close as I wept on his shoulder.

The news of my mother's death was a bitter blow to me. Gandalf comforted me as he well knew how to do. How I regretted once more, that I had never taken the chance to see my family at least one more time while I still could. And my poor father! Thankfully, he had many other children and grandchildren to comfort him.

Gandalf gave me news of all my brothers and sisters. Isengrim, who would follow my father as Thain, had been widowed several years earlier, when his wife died in childbirth. The child had not survived its mother, and so it looked as though my brother Isumbras would follow him as Thain. I learned of my many nieces and nephews, and of my younger brother Isengar's own vanishment into Adventure. "I could not see your father's heart broken again, Hildifons. I took Isengar home when I found him."

"You could have made me go home, those many years ago." I said. If Gandalf had made me go home all would have been different.

"I know. But I do not like to gainsay the choice of another, when it is made with the heart. Isengar was ready to return, as you were not."

I was amazed to learn that my lively sister Belladonna had wed a stodgy Baggins, though Gandalf assured me that Bungo Baggins adored my sister to distraction and made her a fine husband--they had one child, a son named Bilbo. I was less surprised to hear that Donnamira had wed a Boffin, for she had a dear friend who was a Boffin and had spent much time among that clan. And it was no surprise at all to me to learn that Mirabella was wife to the heir to Buckland. The Brandybucks and the Tooks often intermarried.

Gandalf remained for a while, as Two Rivers put itself back together after that Fell Winter. The schoolhouse remained closed until the following year, for new furnishings had to be built. Lord Elrond took Lady Meldis back to Rivendell, for her health and spirit had been sadly broken, both by the death of her husband and by her bout with the illness. She lived among the Elves for three years before she finally died.

But gradually things went back to normal. For eighteen years, I continued as the schoolmaster. I had other assistants, now that Oriel had children of her own. But when her youngest child, Halbarad was five years old, she decided to start him early at the school, and return to help me out. And one year earlier, Arathorn son of Arador had finally taken a bride.

He had married Gilraen, the daughter of Dirhael, and the cherished baby of her family. Their courtship had very nearly driven a rift between Thorn and the Poet, who had been such close friends for so many years. The differences in their ages was wide, and Thorn lived a life even more perilous than the average Ranger. But it soon became clear that the love between Thorn and Gilraen was strong and true, and could not be denied. I had been both shocked and honoured when I was asked to stand with Thorn at his wedding! What a day of joy that had been for us all!

The patrols had grown more perilous over the years. We had lost many of our Rangers to bands of roving Orcs, which had somehow become more numerous over the years since the Fell Winter.

I had just finished the day's lessons and dismissed my pupils. Oriel and I were tidying the classroom, and preparing to leave as well, when we heard shouting and clamoring in the streets. A patrol had arrived home early--always a bad sign these days.

Oriel reached for my hand, as she picked little Halbarad up, and we started towards the gate, where we could hear the cries of grief. I was afraid-- clearly, someone in the patrol was dead.

Gaunt and dirty, his face stained with blood and sweat, Thorn rode at the head of the patrol. But cradled in his arms on the saddle before him was the broken body of Arador son of Argonui, his father.

Longshanks. My first and oldest friend among the Rangers had been killed. I felt a keening cry of grief arise from deep within. At the same time, I felt weak, light-headed, and numb. I could not breathe. My hand slipped numbly from Oriel's and I fell to the cobbles of the street.

I vaguely recall a circle of concerned faces about me, but it was not until I wakened later in bed that I learned I had suffered from a seizure of the heart. I was not fit to go to the funeral, and later Thorn came to me, and told me of his father's brave battle with an immense hill-troll, trying to buy time for the rest of the patrol to finish their own battle with a band of Orcs. It had been hopeless, of course, but he had wounded the troll sufficiently that it fled, once its Orc-masters were no more. But Longshanks had taken several blows from the thing's immense club, and he breathed his last in his son's arms.

Elladan and Elrohir had been among the patrol, and it was Elrohir who attended on me, as I began to slowly recover. I was much weaker than once I had been, and my breath came with more difficulty.

It was Elrohir who persuaded me that I needed to return to Rivendell. "The climate is far better there for you, and you will be well tended."

I resisted at first, but finally Thorn convinced me. "Please go, Trotter. I will rest far easier in my mind knowing you have the best care possible."

"Won't you miss me?" I said plaintively.

"You know that I will, my friend. But do this for me anyway. I need to know you are safe."

I was brought to Rivendell, and given over to Angul, who saw me installed in that same room in which I had recovered so many years earlier. But I was not confined to bed for long. I was soon doing much better, and gave some thought to returning to Two Rivers when I was completely well.

And yet, this time I felt far more at home than I had before. I began to explore the gardens and spend my evenings in the Hall of Fire. There was something about it that was very peaceful, and I think that I lost track of time. I was by this time, eighty-seven years old, a rather respectable age for a hobbit, but no longer young, either. We had word the following Spring that Thorn and Gilraen had a son, whom they had named Aragorn. Thorn sent me a message that perhaps when the child was weaned, he and Gilraen would bring the babe to meet his "Uncle Trotter".

I found myself looking forward to the idea of a visitor, and begged a bit of wood and a knife to whittle a gift. I thought a carved horse might be appreciated by a little boy. I often sat on a bench in the sunshine working on it. I didn't get on very quickly, but then whittling was not my finest skill, either.

One morning, Lord Elrond presented himself to me before breakfast. I had just finished dressing and was planning to go down to the dining hall, when he rapped on my door.

"My friend, I have a surprise for you, if you would care to accompany me?"

I followed him, eaten up with curiosity, down the corridor and down a flight of stairs, the clop-clop of my shoes sounding loud upon the stone flags. We went down another short passage, and he threw open a door at the end and waved me to enter.

I was amazed to see a large and sunny room, filled with an assortment of furnishings: a desk, chairs, tables and shelves, all constructed to hobbit-size. But there were also some bigger chairs as well. To the left of the door, a single step led up through an arched opening, and I could see there a small kitchen, built exactly to hobbit size-- a stove, cupboards, a sink with a pump, a hanging rack filled with pans and pots just the right size. On the opposite side of the room was a door: a round door. Speechless, I gazed up at my host, and he waved his hand to the door. I trotted across the floor and opened the round door, and there was a hobbit's bedroom-- bed, washstand, chair, chest. Another door led to a small water-closet. I gazed around the room, stunned.

I startled when I heard Lord Elrond's voice behind me. "Do you like it? Is there anything we should change?"

There were tears running down my cheeks unchecked. "Oh my," was all I could think of.

He smiled. "I do think that perhaps you like it?"

I nodded enthusiastically.

I'm not sure how long I dwelt in my little rooms, but one night I was wakened by a clamor in the courtyard below. I sprang from my bed, and hobbled as best I could without my shoes, to the window, and threw it open. There were several riders. In the moonlight, I recognized Elladan and Elrohir, who had left weeks before; the others were Rangers, though I could not see their faces-- and there was one rider, cloaked, and carrying a burden. The rider swayed, and several of the Rangers sprang to the mount's side. The hood on the cloak fell back, and I recognized Gilraen, pale as marble. When she handed her burden down to one of the riders, I realized it was a child. Where was Thorn? I saw no sign of him. What were his wife and child doing in Rivendell?

I struggled into my shoes, snatched my dressing gown, and clattered down as quickly as I could to learn the sad news.

Alas, Thorn, the brother of my heart! Slain finally by Orcs, as he very nearly had been all those years before. They say it was an arrow. If only I could have been by his side once more.

They call the little one Estel. But I am getting old, and sometimes I slip, and call him by his father's name. He looks much like his father did when first I met him. He is curious and open-hearted. But he is not so cheerful and mischievous. I think him rather solemn for one so young.

I do not go out of my rooms much anymore. My shoes seem heavier these days, and my feet-- as well as the rest of my bones-- often ache. But that is what it means to be old.

I do not think anyone will ever read this little book. I have written it to bring back to my own mind the days of my life. But if any ever should read it, I hope they know it was a life worth living for all its sorrow, I knew great joy as well. And I daresay, it was an Adventure such as no other hobbit has had before.

Bilbo closed the little book. He would keep it close to hand, for he was sure he would read it again. It was almost like having the company of another hobbit.

And if Hildifons Took could live such a contented life in spite of his afflictions, so far from the Shire, his family and other hobbits, then perhaps his own decision to dwell here among the Elves was a good one. He had good friends here, and he was loved and cared for.

He reached over and patted the little brown volume. "Thank you, Uncle. You have given me good advice, whether you know it or not."