"Out from the tree stuck Merry’s legs, inside Pippin had been swallowed whole!" The children’s eyes widened in surprise and excitement at the story their grandfather told. It was the first time they’d heard the part of Old Man Willow in the Old Forest. Their two older siblings, however, had heard the tale more times than they’re own family history.

Enola sat behind her three younger siblings, mesmerized by the tale of the Old Forest. It was her favorite out of all of them besides the tale of Lothlorien. She loved when her grandfather came to visit. He knew all the old stories of the Fellowship and of the four hobbits who came to be the greatest heroes in the Shire. Enola was a hobbit herself, living in Hobbiton with her family. Her family’s hole was near the mill.

It had been so many years since Middle-earth had seen that wondrous time in the last days of the Third Age. The year Enola lived in was S.R. 1899 December 8.

"Then they heard a ‘Hey dol! Merry dol!’ Do you know who that was?"

The boy grinned with a twinkle in his eyes. "I know! Tom Bombadil!"

"That’s right, Dolen" Grandfather replied, pointing to him. "How did you know?"

"En told me tales of Bombadil, but not this one, I’m afraid." He looked back at his sister with a suspicious cock of his brow.

Enola held up her hands. "I wanted you to hear this one from Grandfather. It’s even more special from him since he knows the Story of the Ring better than I."

"But you know better than to keep your brother and sisters up so late, En" their mother, Sula, said walking in the front room.

"It’s not everyday they get a chance to hear Grandfather’s stories" Enola protested.

"It doesn’t matter. They’re just stories." Sula scooped up her two youngest daughters and bused down the hall. "Come along Dolen." The boy stood, rubbing his tired eyes, and followed his mother.

"I should be off to bed too" Grandfather said, creaking as he stood. Enola grabbed his arm to help him. "Thank you, child. Getting old has it’s rewards, but time also wags it’s finger at you. Good night, Enola."

She smiled at him as he waddled down the long hallway, disappearing into a room. She stared down the dark hall until a small light shining toward her. "They’re not -just- stories, mother."

Sula brushed pass her daughter to stoke the fire. "Yes, they are. There’s no proof of those happenings...of a magic ring and a quest."

"It’s true. There was Frodo Baggins who carried the ring in a Fellowship of nine."

Sula turned to her daughter. "I know there was a Frodo Baggins, along with a Took, Brandybuck, and Gamgee that the tales are based after, but what they did cannot be possible. Or maybe not the same as we know. I’ve never seen an elf or dwarf or talking tree or any of that nonsense."

"How do you know? It’s our history also! Middle-earth’s greatest faring. What about the Red Books? They were proof."

"The Red Books were lost." Sula grasped Enola’s arm, squeezing it. "I use to believe the same when I was your age. Then I grew up."

Click. The front door closed. "Did I miss something?" a male voice asked at the sight.

Sula released her daughter, walking away to the kitchen. "You have missed nothing, Griffal."

Griffal peered at his sister, who’s face was contorted in a scowl. "I’m guessing I’m about to hear of your dispute."

"Come with me" Enola said, heading to the porch.

"Now, what is it?" Griffal asked, sitting down on a crate near the garden.

"We had the argument again" she replied, knowing that he knew exactly what it was.

"Every time Grandfather comes, you two gnarl at each others throats over his tales."

"She doesn’t believe in them!"

"I know that, En! You don’t have to shout it. She’s probably spying through the window anyway."

"I don’t get it, Griff" Enola heaved, raising a hand to her forehead. "She’s denying our past just as many folk do in the Shire. They either don’t care or want proof of the matter, which was lost when the Red Books disappeared."

There was a pause of silence. Only the hard breathing of Enola’s frustration could be heard. "There is proof. Lots of proof."

"And, where could we find it?"

Griffal stared up at his sister, a grin forming on his face. "Gondor."

The answer awe-struck Enola. "Gondor?"

"Yes! Don’t you remember, King Elessar made a grand exhibit of the Fellowship’s gear. If we were to see that, we’d have our proof."

"For one, my dear Griff, we wouldn’t be able to bring any gear back to show everyone. For a second, we don’t know the land beyond Bree. Times are different than they were when Gondor’s people lingered here. We don’t know what to expect out there."

Griffal suddenly came directly in her face. "You want a solution, you have one. Besides, who was your heroes? Surely not the Fellowship of the Ring with that talk."

Enola searched his eyes. No fear of the outside world and it’s hidden dangers could be found. Griffal had taken the old tales as serious as she did, but to go this far? Maybe it had to be done to keep the heroes’ and lore of the distant age alive.

"There is a reason for us believing in it so. We need to journey to Gondor, but how?"

Griffal smiled, mischievously. "I know where we can get our hands on a map."

"You’re not going to steal one, are you?" Enola asked, planting her hands on her hips.

"No." Griffal snorted. "I’ll go borrow one from Narnor Brandybuck. He has piles of maps of Middle-earth even some made from Meriadoc Brandybuck himself. Some of the only belongings left of his too."

"All right, as long as you don’t steal one."

Griffal’s smile never faded. "I won’t."

***

The next day, Griffal found his sister feeding the ducks near the mill. "Hullo En!" he greeted, cheerfully.

Enola whirled to catch her brother walking up behind her with a rolled up parchment in his hand. He waved it in her face. "Guess what I have?"

"Is that?" Enola’s eyes widened.

"It is." Griff sat beside her on the grass. His smiled reflected hers.

"When do you think we could start out?"

"So hasty, my dear sister" Griff joked. "What would the Ents have to say of you?"

Enola smacked his shoulder. "Hush up! I can see you want to leave as quick as I want to. Adventure is stirring in your eyes. Our history is waiting to be given back to our people. We need to make haste. But mother will need help with the three little ones while we’re away. We should ask Grandfather to stay for an extenuation."

"I hadn’t thought of that."

Enola rolled her eyes. "Of course not. I should pack our clothes and food, with your scattered-brain hanging around. When shall we leave?"

"10th of December. You get packing, sis. I’ll take care of our other supplies."

***

Smoke rose from the old chair Grandfather always sat at when he visited. He had gotten far for the night, leaving the tale off with the Fellowship departing from Rivendell. Enola came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

"You are truly a wonderful storyteller."

Grandfather looked up from the fire. "You are a wonderful listener, child."

"I have a very important question...well, questions to ask you." Enola sat on the stones of the fireplace, curling her skirt around her tucked legs. Grandfather waited with raised eyebrows. "Do you believe in the tales of the Fellowship of the Ring?"

He hesitated, his pondering clearly showing on his face. "I do believe in them all."

"What about elves and dwarves and the magic ring and..."

"Calm down, child" he said, grabbing her shoulder. "If I believe in the tales, I believe in all of that and more."

Enola smiled. It was the reassurance she needed. Then she remembered..."Mother doesn’t."

"Your father did."

"I know." She hung her head, sadly. "I wish he was still alive. He understood."

"Let’s not dwell on sorrowful times, child. Your father loved you, Griffal, the young ones, your mother, the Shire, and especially the history of Middle-earth’s past. Don’t ever stop believing."

Enola felt tears prick at her. She never expected a couple simple questions would lead to this. "I won’t. My other question is, will you stay here for an extended period? Griff and I are leaving for a journey in two days. Mother will need help around here."

"Where are you two heading off?"

The girl lowered her head and said in a whisper, "Gondor."

"Where?"

"Gondor" she said louder.

Grandfather gawked at her in shock. He couldn’t find the words to ask or comment...why? Enola placed her hand on his, and explained everything. When she came to the end, waiting excitedly for a response, he finally said, "You have all my blessings." At that moment, En knew they were doing the right thing.

The sun’s rays were just peaking from the tops of the trees as Enola and Griffal laden their ponies and set out on the road heading south-west to connect with the Greenway Old South Road. Griffal hadn’t been sure if that road even existed in present time, but he hadn’t heard of any danger awaiting in that direction. It had to be the best way, right? He wished they could travel the same road as their heroes, but it would be utterly impossible. *Not very wise for two hobbit tweens. At least, less wise than what we’re doing now.*

"I think my pony needs a rest" Enola announced, breaking the silence. She tugged on her pony’s bridle and came to a halt, hopping off. "Do you think we should set camp for the day?"

Griffal laughed. "Dear sister, it’s barely evening. We could go for another mile." He hopped off his pony as well. "I was pondering..."

"Really?" Enola quirked with a plop on a soft, patchy spot of grass. She waved him over and pulled him to her level. She eyed intently.

"What?"

"Your eyes aren’t cross. Must not have pondered too hard."

Griffal sighed, jerking his arm from her hand. "Enola Wise Acre, I’m trying to be serious. I wondered if we are doing the right thing, going off just the two of us without a larger party."

"You were the one who threw this very subject in my face! You are very slow to think."

"Well, what if we lose our way and never get back to the Shire?" He started pacing in anxiety. "I’ll never get to taste Mama’s strawberry cream again."

"Calm down, Griff, and stop thinking with your stomach! Come sit by me." She patted the spot of grass beside her. Griff, with a heavy sigh, obeyed. "Everything has a reason and purpose. Our purpose may be for us to keep alive this great memory of honor. We’ll make it." She smiled. "Now you have me consoling you. May I see the map?"

"Of course." Griff slipped off his pony, pulling out the rolled parchment from one of his packs. He trotted back to his sister, and handed it to her.

"Thank you." Enola unrolled it. Tears housed the edge of the map, which was yellowed. "How old is this?"

"I couldn’t exactly get my hands on a newer map. This was the best I could do."

Enola turned to him. "Griff, how old is -this- map?" she persisted again.

Griff scooted away a bit, an abashed redness glowing from his face. "About two hundred years old. Maybe more."

"Griffal Wise Acre! You did steal a map!"

"Narnor wouldn’t believe my story of wanting to do a study of Middle-earth’s regions."

"Of course not!" Enola pushed her forefingers against his forehead. "You’re a dimwit!" It took less than five seconds for En to straddle her pony and begin to ride off.

"Enola!" Griffal stumbled over the thick grass before hopping his horse to ride up beside his sister. "You know, you are truly a combination of Quash and Wise Acre with that spouting temper."

Enola threw him a sidelong glare, but an amused twinkle in her eyes betrayed her anger. The argument was forgotten for the time being, Enola spoke, "Are we going through Bree?"

"Sadly, no. We’re going nowhere near there."

"Are you sure we can’t make a detour to Auntie Leesel’s home? She makes the best rolled biscuits."

Griffal laughed. "Now who’s thinking with their stomach?" He laughed even harder as his sister blushed crimson red. "Open the map and look for Greenway Old South Road." Enola did so.

"Oh, I see where we’re heading."

"I wish we could, but Auntie Leesel is in Chetwood. That is seriously out of our way. We’re travelling south crossing the Brandywine then the River Greyflood to where Isengard use to be."

Enola turned to face him swiftly. "Isengard is not there anymore?"

"From what I have heard, the land was left to the Ents back in the days after the War of the Ring. The Ents made the land into a splendid garden until they moved on in search of the Entwives. No more was heard of them. Some Men dwelled there for years after, but deserted it when the land suddenly died. From then on it has been called Grievous."

"That is horribly sad!" Enola said, frowning. "I was hoping we may catch a glimpse of the magnificent gardens of old."

"The road, I’m almost sure of, is desolate save for a small town below the Brandywine. We’ll pick up more supplies there. I’m sure we’ll have enough food and water till we come to Rohan." Griffal turned to her and continued, "It will be a very long and empty road. Are you absolutely positive? We can still turn back."

"The long and empty road is worth it to be in the land of Gondor. Besides, we know an awful lot of songs..."

Griffal smiled. "A true traveller’s answer."

On their third day of travel, the two hobbit tweens made their way into the small village near the Sarn Ford. It had been settled on the Ford not even seventy-five years before, making it a very young settlement - at least compared to Bree.

The folk there were Big People, some who broke away from Breeland and others from far off lands who desired to be apart of a free people. They sometimes had trading with hobbits and Bree-folk, but mostly keep to themselves by the Ford.

Griffal and Enola rode side by side into the village. There was a main road with some houses and businesses on either side. Most houses were scattered in the woods near Sarn Ford, all located on the left side. It was almost noon as they rode in. Some folk stared or turned their heads to watch the rare sight of the little people on their fitted ponies. Griffal seemed to not notice the sudden attention. He rode on searching for a store to buy supplies. Enola, however, wondered why so many eyes were on them.

"Griffal, why are these people staring at us?" she asked, fretfully. "Hadn't they ever seen a hobbit before?"

"You have to remember these aren't Bree folk. Well, they use to be, but they rarely get to have a glimpse at us small folk. Why don't you help me look for a store instead of gawking back at everyone?"

Enola frowned, tightening her grip on the pony's reins. She glanced up from side to side trying to ignore the looks. "I see one to our right."

"Oh good!" Griffal hopped off his pony and up to the small store. Enola was right behind him. "Wait out here with the ponies. I'll go in for our supplies."

"You're leaving me alone out here?!" Enola said in horror.

Griff rolled his eyes. "You'll be all right. No one will harm you."

Before Enola could retort, he'd ducked into the store. Enola huddled between the two ponies, trying desperately to make herself smaller than she already was. Even though the Wise Acres had lived in Chetwood for most of En and Griffal's childhood, Big People still made Enola nervous especially ones from a different town. These Men could be descendants of the Ruffians who took over the Shire - mused Enola. The thought did not comfort her any more.

Meanwhile, Griffal was having no problem being among the Big People. He scanned the shelves of the store for preserved goods for their long trek to Isengard.

"May I help you, boy?"

Griffal looked up to see a Man, slender but scraggly, looking down at him.

"Yes, sir. I'm in need of preserved goods for a long journey."

The Storeowner raised an eyebrow. "Long journey, ah? Where would a young lad like you be going?"

"My sister and I have traveled from the Shire. We're on a journey to the South."

There was a pause of silence. The Storeowner looked about puzzled so Griffal raised a foot to show him. Finally reckoning dawned on the Man's face. "Oh, you're one of the Little People. I've only seen your kind once in my life when I was a boy. You can pay right?"

"For the most part, yes."

The Storeowner grinned. "Here, the preserved goods are this way."

Griffal appeared out of the store twenty minutes later with a sack full of goods. "Thank you, sir!" He waved to the Storeowner. He found Enola hiding conspicuously behind their ponies. Griffal peeked between them. "Hullo, dear sister! I thought the ponies had swallowed you."

Enola squeezed her way out. "You took forever! Did the Storeowner give you problems?"

"Actually," Griffal began to pack the goods in their ponies' packs. ", he was a kind man who helped me gather what we needed. You need to trust Men a little. What will happen when we get to Gondor?"

Enola grabbed some packets from the sack and stuffed them in her saddlebag. "I think I'll be more incline to trust Men of Gondor, because they are noble and worthy to trust."

Griffal stopped for a moment to stare at her. "You have a lesson coming to you about the way you treat people. I can see a little bit of Mother in you."

"Please, don't insult me! When the time comes for a lesson, if there will ever be one, I'll learn it then."

"Suit yourself. Are you ready to leave?"

"Yes!"

They saddled their ponies and were off again.