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Keep Alive the Memory  by Celeritas

Chapter Two

For about the two hundred fifty-first time that winter, Kerry Brandybuck wondered just what he had gotten himself into.  He had only wanted to see how the poor crippled girl was doing—he pitied her, really—and he thought it was wrong that she should be all alone (he would have chided Andric if he’d thought it would do any good).  So it was just a brief conversation, a few white lies (ones that would have been true if he had thought them possible), to comfort her and give her hope—and he had landed himself in the position of a private tutor.

So here in late November, Kerry had to find a way to squeeze reading lessons into his already busy schedule.  It was difficult to do, from the precious sleep he lost to depleting the Hall’s supply of tallow candles when he made up the work his father deemed more important; but every day he managed to come to Kira’s room for at least an hour.  He was always glad he did.

For one thing, it gave him a sense of authority: it put him directly in one of those leadership roles his dad was always talking about, which was a very important thing if he was to be Master of Buckland one day.  That was the practical benefit.  But to see the child’s face light up in anticipation of doing something constructive was a joy in its own right.

He had never taught anyone to read before, yet he must have done a decent job.  In only five weeks she had learned what it had taken him a year to master when he was young.  He had started with the basics—showing her the various letters and demonstrating the sounds that went with each.  He had her memorise the consonants from an old primer borrowed from the nursery (which she did in two days), then the vowels, both short and long.  Next came vowel combinations and consonant blends, stress patterns—all those rules he now took for granted; and then Kira Proudfoot was reading words.  Kerry could not help but feel a twinge of pride when she sounded out her first sentence:  “In a hole—in the g-r-ound… there liv-ed… liv— lived… a hob-bit.”  Kira had repeated the sentence to herself several times until she could understand exactly what it said, then laughed aloud and declared that she could read.

Kerry had thought the Red Book would be nice to teach with—the first part, the part that Bilbo himself had written, was designed for children.  There had been no Yule party, but Kerry had wanted to give her something anyway.  His gift, then, was letting her read from the Hall’s copy, after considerable discussion with his father (who Kerry was surprised even let the tutoring continue once the lecture about ‘duty’ was over).  She seemed to be enjoying it, which Kerry deemed remarkable considering her earlier scorn for mere ‘Travellers’ Tales.’  If the girl’s passion was genuine and not just a result of being bedridden, the ensuing stories would get progressively harder until she reached the legends and things that had only been copied for Brandy Hall in abridged form.  Of course, by then seasons would have passed and Kira would be back in her home on the White Downs.  She could get a copy at Tuckborough, or better yet, read from the original…

Kerry looked up at the mantelpiece clock in the library.  Fifteen minutes until the lesson, though Kira had said not a minute sooner, as that was when her cousin Fanny visited her.  He glanced back at his work: ‘Harvest Records for October 1539,’ and decided it was at least close enough that he could clean up, find the book, and get a bite to eat in the meantime.  He stacked the parchment and set it in a corner of his private desk, capped the ink in the inkwell, wiped his quill, and stood up.  Walking over to the shelf of histories, he quickly located the section that contained their oldest books.

He started.  There was the Red Book’s normal resting place, but the Red Book itself was nowhere to be found.

*  *  *

Kira awoke with a start.  It was freezing cold.  She gathered the covers back over her and returned to her pillow, only to find the Red Book obstructing her head.  The page she had lain on was all rumpled.  She laughed to herself as she recalled the night’s events.

She hadn’t been able to sleep at all—having all that new information about sounds and words in her head was too exciting.  She was doing something over the winter, not just lying in bed, and moreover silly old Bilbo Baggins was encountering trolls.  After five minutes of internal debate she’d sat up in bed, brushed her left leg loose of her sheets and blankets, and set her toes on the cold wooden floor.

It had felt odd, as getting out for the first time after winter always did, and she hadn’t been sure if her leg would support her.  As soon as it left the safety of the bed her right foot had started throbbing, making it hard to concentrate with each course of blood.  She’d tried to stand up, but her left leg had buckled; and, forced to crawl, she’d crept over to her crutch where it stood dusty by the door.  It had taken a few minutes of rest before she could pull herself up, and a few more for the pain in her bad foot to subside enough for her to walk; but she’d managed, finally, to stumble out the door.

The small library hadn’t been too hard to find.  Kerry said it used to be the Master’s study, and as such was in the centre of Brandy Hall.  Kira’s room was on the edge, so she had simply headed in the direction of warmth and darkness.  Once she had located the book, she’d slipped back to her room with no one the wiser.

But then, how could she have experienced the fruit of her labours on so dark a night?  She remembered seeing the moonlight filtering into her room through the cracks of her shutters, and, climbing upon her bed, opening them to let the light in.  She had lain in bed and read until the moon’s light had left the room.  She did not recall falling asleep, but it must have been very late indeed.

Kira was startled out of her reverie with a knock on the door.  Hastily she snapped the book shut and hid it beneath her pillow.  That would be Fanny with the breakfast, she supposed.

“Kira?  Are you awake yet?”  Kira’s heart stopped.  It was not Fanny; it was Aunt Penny, and she sounded very concerned.

“Yes,” said Kira, trying to sound as meek as possible.  Now you’re in for it! she thought.

Aunt Penny slowly opened the door.  “My, it is freezing in here!”  She entered the room, carrying, Kira noticed thankfully, a tray laden with poached eggs, a rasher of bacon, and several slices of toast.  “I was sitting in my own room, knitting a scarf, when Fanny appears and informs me that the shutters in your room are open, your crutch is on the floor, and you are fast asleep with your head pillowed on a book.  A book—and the wintry air blowing in!  What exactly has been going on?”

Kira sat up, awaiting the victuals, but it became clear in an instant that she was getting none until she explained herself.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Penny.  I… I was bored half-mad, but I couldn’t get to sleep—and I wanted to know what would happen next in the story—”

Aunt Penny tapped her foot; Kira knew from Mother’s selfsame mannerism that her excuse was unacceptable.

“Please understand!  I was getting so dreadfully restless all winter and I needed something to do, and I had to open the shutters because there was no light to read in!”

“Why in the Shire would you need to read, Kira?  Only the finer folk do that.”  Aunt Penny pursed her lips, thinking through the rest of Kira’s explanation.  “And you should know better than getting out of bed in the middle of night, in the dead of winter—it strains your foot.  And the open shutters?  I’d ask you what you were thinking, but I don’t believe you were!”

Despite her bluster, however, she seemed to be appeased for the moment, for she set the tray of food on Kira’s lap and moved over to the window to close it.  “You have to take care of yourself, no matter how dull it seems!  And don’t you have plenty to do as it is?  Delphie and Andric have both told me how well you were doing!”

Kira laughed, though she was shocked and dismayed when she wheezed a little.  “Delphie and Andric?” she said.  “I haven’t since those two since November!”

Penny’s jaw dropped.  Then she stiffened. “They told me they were making their visits as usual.”

“No, no—they stopped visiting long ago.  I daresay they were glad to—neither one wanted to be here, and both were irritating when they were.”

Penny huffed out a sight.  “Well, I shall have a number of harsh words with them.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well…”  Kira blushed a little.  “I didn’t really want them to come back.  And then the reading lessons started, so I wasn’t as bored, and I didn’t really want you to find out…”

“Kira, you need to tell me everything that happens; I’m too busy for you to go around keeping secrets.  But just how are you learning to read?”

Just then Kerry appeared at the open door.  He was about to speak, but Kira stayed him with her hand.  “He’s been teaching me.”

Kira’s aunt turned around and saw Kerry.  Kerry saw her as well and his eyes widened.  “Oh, dear,” he muttered.

“Would you care to explain why you have been teaching my niece how to read without my permission?”

Kerry paused before formulating his response, hands raised in peace.  “Forgive me, Mrs. Brandybuck.  I was not aware that I did not have your consent to instruct your niece.  She wanted to learn, and I saw no problem in teaching her.”

“Did anyone else know about this?”

“I told my father as soon as she was able to read from a book, and I assure you that he approves.”

“Well, I suppose I shall have to speak with him, too, and inform him that, Master or no, he does not decide what is suitable for one girl who is a guest here from the Westfarthing and not even related to him!”

Kerry continued to breathe steadily; Kira wondered if such calm was inherited or attained through years of practice.  “If you will forgive me for correcting you, ma’am, Kira Proudfoot is related to me, and to my father.  She is my second cousin on her father’s side, and thus my father’s first cousin, once removed.  Moreover, she is the great-granddaughter of Meriadoc Brandybuck himself, who certainly would have been pained to see one of his own flesh and blood illiterate and ignorant of the Histories in which he and many other worthy hobbits played a part.  I do not see why there should be any objection to letting her learn.”

“The great-granddaughter of Meriadoc Brandybuck?  That’s balderdash!”

“Kira herself was unaware of the fact, but she knew the name of her father’s mother.  If you’d like to discuss genealogies we have plenty laid out matter-of-fact in the Library, but for now you may have it on my authority that she is directly descended from him.”

Penny’s voice dropped so low that Kira had to stop eating to listen.  “Kira’s father died before she was born.  Her mother does not associate with that side of her family, and I have found it best to follow suit.  Had I known what was taking place, had I known that you were even related to her, I would not have let you so much as meet her.”

“Please, Mrs. Brandybuck, if you have any concerns about my side of the family or whether Kira may or may not talk with me, take them to my father.  All I am concerned with is this lass’s welfare, and whether or not she should be able to read.  So far you have raised no clear objection.”

The room went silent.  Kira resumed her meal, casting a hasty peek at her aunt to ensure that she had not noticed Kira’s interest in the conversation.

“We do not want any foreign ideas put into Kira’s head,” said Aunt Penny, finally.

“If you are worried about the off chance that Kira will take it into her head to go off on some ‘adventure’ just because she can now read, I assure you that she is aware of her own condition, and that her odd fancy, fleeting as it was, would die as a result.”

“No, no—you misunderstand me, Master Kerry.  It’s not so much the actions that come from the ideas, it’s the ideas themselves that harm.  We hobbits live in the ground—no sense having our heads in the clouds—or our noses in dusty old books.”

“I hardly see how trying to escape, if only in the mind, from a sickbed harms anyone.”  He paused and sighed, the first sign of exasperation that Kira noticed.  “But all this talk is moot; I came in here to tell Kira that our lesson for today is cancelled.  Apparently someone took our copy of the Red Book overnight.”

“That was me,” said Kira, turning red.  She set aside her empty tray and fished the book out from under the pillow.  “I’m sorry,” she said, handing it to Kerry.  “I just wanted to find out what happened next.  I got out of bed at night and took it back here—I think I messed up one of the pages; sorry.”

“So you can’t argue that reading did not hurt her,” Penny put in.  “Imagine, the cold air blowing in all night!  I wouldn’t be surprised one whit if she’s already come down with something!”

Kerry bowed his head.  “I must agree with your aunt on this, Kira.  There’s nothing wrong with reading in itself, but you can’t put yourself at risk of getting sick when you do.  Follow your aunt’s rules for bedtime, and if it gets dark too early I can get you a lamp or a candle.”

“And my rules,” added Aunt Penny, “are still ‘No Reading.’  I shall be having a good many talks with both Kerry and the Master, and unless they can convince me that reading is absolutely harmless, the rules shall not change.”

Kira’s eyes drooped at this.  “Really, though, Aunt Penny, this is so much more enjoyable than watching Andric sulk.  I’ve never had a winter pass as quickly as this one is, and it’s not as if I’ll keep reading once I’m up and about.  Besides, the tales are such fancies they could hardly be real.”

Aunt Penny looked from her niece to the Master’s son; Kerry nodded at Kira’s sentiments.

“And if I do get to finish the story, I’ll follow my bedtime and Fanny’s visits and all, even if I’m at the most exciting part in the whole book.”  At this Kira felt a sneeze coming on; she quickly buried her head in her pillow to mask the noise.

“Thank you for your opinions, Kira, but the rules stand fast unless I say so.  I do not want Kerry to visit you until I am finished speaking with his father, and I certainly do not want any smuggling of books during that time.  I shall keep both my eyes on you: I can’t have you turn ill, especially not after last night.  And now, Master Brandybuck, I will request that you leave—I am afraid that however little sleep Kira got last night is not enough to keep her in good health.”

After Kerry left, Aunt Penny rummaged about and found a musty brown cloak, which she draped over the window to keep the light out.  Kira noticed that as she left, she took the crutch with her as an added precaution, but Kira was soon too tired to care.  Within ten minutes she was sound asleep.

*  *  *

Kira awoke to a piercing light shining directly across her eyes.  She shivered and felt for her blankets—they were not there; she must have kicked them off during her sleep.  Someone laid them on top of her; she mumbled a “thanks” and turned her face into her pillow to try to get back to sleep.

But, tired as she felt, sleep eluded her.  She became aware of a gnawing sensation in her stomach, she could hear faint voices in the background, and, she realised wearily, her right foot was hurting just enough that she couldn’t ignore it.  She decided that sleep was futile, and that she could hardly wait till spring when she wouldn’t be plagued with all these problems.

Kira rolled back over and forced her eyelids open.  “I’m hungry,” she said to whoever had placed the blankets on her.

“Fanny, go to the kitchens and see if you can’t get the lass some broth and a glass of water.”  Kira focused her eyes just in time to see her cousin leave the room.  She looked for the person who had told Fanny to get her food and saw near the door a middle-aged hobbit she didn’t recognise.  He walked to the bedside stool and sat down.

“So, Kira, how are you feeling?”

Kira tried to sit herself up in bed.  “Terrible.”  She took a ragged breath and looked around for something in which to cough.  The hobbit drew a handkerchief from his waistcoat and handed it to her.  When she was done coughing he took it from her and looked at the gunk inside.

“Tut, tut,” he said.  “Well, the worst is over, at least.”  He stood up.  “I’ll get your aunt for you, shall I?”

“Who are you?”

“Garminas Brandybuck, the Hall’s doctor.”

Kira sighed.  “So I did get sick.”

The doctor sat back down.  “‘Sick’ is a bit of an understatement, my dear.  Your fever has broken, but, even if you were able, I would not have you leave bed for another two weeks.  And you seem to have gotten quite a build-up of stuff in your lungs, which will take at least a week to get out.”

“I don’t think I want to leave bed.”

“That’s a good thing, and you shouldn’t.  Your body is trying to fight off the sickness, and it needs all the strength it can get.  Let me go find your aunt.”

Kira nodded and lay back down.

Within a few minutes the doctor returned with Aunt Penny.  The two were talking.

“And she has a doctor to see her back home?” Dr. Brandybuck was saying.

“Yes—Dr. Grimwig, I believe.”

“He usually sees me about once every two months,” Kira put in, “or more often if I’m ill.”

The doctor nodded.  “That is what I would do as well, for a lass like her.  I shall try to see her tomorrow if I have time, but as long as you take good care of her I shouldn’t need to come in.”  He went to the stool and set upon it a ream of handkerchiefs.  “She should be allowed to cough up whatever she has in her lungs into these, and they should be washed frequently so that she always has some.  Give her plenty of liquids, and I’ll ask for the kitchens to make up a tea that will help soothe her throat.”

“Thank you so very much, Dr. Brandybuck,” said Aunt Penny.  “You’ve been so very helpful the past couple of days, especially in caring for a guest to the Hall.”

“My pleasure to do so, ma’am.  As long as I can help someone to recover, who it is that’s ill doesn’t matter.  And you, miss,” he said, turning to Kira and pointing a finger at her, “I don’t want to have to see you for another month at least.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” said Kira.  The doctor left.

“Well, lass,” said Aunt Penny.

“I’m sorry,” Kira said.

Penny gave a tired sort of laugh and sat down at Kira’s bedside.  “It’s quite all right, now that you’re on the mend.  Rosemary will be most disappointed, but as long as you’re safe and whole we’ll manage.”

“So does that mean I can read now?”

Aunt Penny shook her head.  “Do you truly think that in caring for you I’ve forgotten how you got yourself into this mess?  Or that I’d even have had the time to discuss the matter with the Master?”

“No,” said Kira.

“So, no more notions in your head, right?”

“Right,” said Kira.  “Of course, I don’t know what I’ll do in the meantime.”

“If you’d like I could get your cousins—”

“No.”

“Well, Fanny at least.”

“I suppose.”

“But you shouldn’t be exerting yourself in any way—you’ll feel tired anyhow, if you don’t need a doze right now.”

“Right now I need—”

Kira was interrupted by Fanny, who entered the room with a tray that she set on Kira’s lap.  Kira looked at the meagre fare before her, a bowl of chicken broth and a few slices of bread, and wrinkled her nose.

“Now, if you don’t want to eat that kind of food, Kira, you shouldn’t get yourself sick like that,” Fanny explained.

Kira grumbled something expressing her knowledge of the situation and dunked a piece of bread into the broth.

“Is that all you need me for, Mother?” asked Fanny.

Aunt Penny thought it over a while, then said, “Actually, would you mind watching over Kira for a few more minutes?”

“Of course not!”

“Good.  Make sure she finishes her food, and see if she can’t go to sleep after that.”

Fanny nodded.  Kira blew her nose into one of the handkerchiefs and took a sip of water.  When she had finished the meal she lay back down in the bed and pulled the covers around her.

“Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?” Fanny said.

“No, thanks.”

Fanny sang one anyway.  Kira was too tired to argue.

*  *  *

When the doctor returned the next day he declared that Kira was healing nicely, and promised to check in the next week.  Aunt Penny, having told the doctor that she would let him know if Kira’s condition ever worsened, immediately turned her eyes to the new task looming before her: confronting the Master of the Hall.  In her opinion, Kira was far too nosy about the business for a decent hobbit lass, but even had she lost all interest in reading Penny would still have had to go.  She had not counted on that lad Kerry to be so forthright about something as obvious as the girl’s well-being, nor that he would ask his father to arrange an appointment with her!  He’ll make a good Master, she thought, though as the day drew closer she found she dreaded the meeting.

Kira, on the other hand, was mostly coughing and sleeping, too tired to entertain the idea of reading for more than a few minutes.  But after three days it grew boring, and without so much to cough up, her energy began to return and she could sit up in bed for half an hour without wanting to lie back down.  When Fanny was in (much more often now) she began to tell Kira stories about a queer old man that lived in the Old Forest, having decided two months late that her cousin might be getting tired of hearing about the exciting routines of Brandy Hall.  The tales were new, but they grew old fast, and after a few days of eager listening Kira found herself wanting to find out about the Lonely Mountain, and trying to imagine what would happen next, and being ever so bored with sitting, and sitting, and sitting, and being unable to do a thing till at least March.

After an Age the doctor returned, saw she wasn’t coughing nearly as much, and said that she should be completely well after ten days at the latest.

“Where’s your aunt?” he asked when he was done examining her.

“I don’t know,” said Kira.

He left for a few minutes and came back, saying that she wasn’t nearby but Andric had told him that she was seeing the Master of Buckland for a few minutes.

“Oh,” said Kira.

“Do you know why she’s visiting him?”

Kira chewed on her lip.  “I think so…  I think he’s trying to convince her to let me read while I’m here.”

Garminas Brandybuck raised his eyebrows high.  “In that case,” he said, consulting a gold pocket watch, “you may tell her I said your progress was satisfactory and that she may see me when she has the time to do so.”  And with that he left the room.

As the minutes crept by Kira realised why the doctor had not waited for her aunt.  It was a full two hours before Aunt Penny returned to Kira’s guestroom, and she returned looking exhausted.

“Well?” said Kira as soon as she entered.

“What?” said Aunt Penny.

“Am I allowed to read or not?”

Aunt Penny heaved a sigh.  “Oh, that,” she said, as if there were anything else Kira was talking about.  She was silent for a few moments, perhaps hoping that that look of expectation on Kira’s face would diminish.  “Well, my dear, it seems that you and Kerry have won in this case.  You may continue your lessons, and you may read as long as you do not exert yourself, or go past your bedtime, or read while Fanny is visiting you.  Do you understand?”

Kira nodded; she wondered if Aunt Penny’s expression meant she shouldn’t have looked so happy.  “Sorry,” she added.

Aunt Penny shook her head.  “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said.  “Kerry asked me to tell you that he’d like to recommence the lessons on Monday.”

“All right,” said Kira.  “Oh, and Dr. Brandybuck says I’m getting better just fine.  He came to see me two hours ago and when I told him where you were he asked for me to tell you.  You can see him whenever you have time.”

“It seems as if he’s had delays like this before.  I’d better stop by.”  Penny turned to go.

“Wait!” said Kira.  “I forgot to say thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, lass.”

*  *  *

Monday morning Kerry came in with a big smile on his face and a red book in his hand, and Kira began to read again.  They started where they had left off, as if none of that fever business had ever happened, but the lesson was shorter than normal.

“I don’t see how mental activity could make one bodily tired but we can’t take any chances,” Kerry said with a rueful smile when he snapped the book shut.  But the lessons soon grew back to their natural length, and Kira found herself going to sleep at regular times, not dozing off intermittently as she had been wont to do after her fever had broken.  In another two weeks she was as well as could be expected of one confined to bed.

On the sixth of February Kerry came into Kira’s room carrying a bag.  “Tomorrow is my birthday,” he said, “and since I’m the heir and all we’re having a party, and I have to be there all day.”

Kira’s countenance fell.

“I realise that means I won’t be able to see you, much less hold the scheduled lesson, so I thought I should give you your present in advance.”

“Present?”

Kerry put his hand in the bag, and drew out the copy of the Red Book from which she had been reading since Yule.  “You’re far enough along that I don’t need to see you as often, and you certainly don’t need me looking over your shoulder as you read.  I spoke with my father and he said it’d be all right if you read from it.  Just don’t read it while you’re eating or drinking—it’s an old copy—and make sure you follow your aunt’s rules and stay out of trouble.”

“I mean to—you’ll really let me read a book like that on my own?”

“You certainly managed to before.”

Kira burst into a smile.  “Oh, Kerry, thank you so very much!  This is the best birthday present I have ever received!”

“There’s no need to thank me; you’ve earned it.  Just… you know, don’t read too much.  We can’t have any notions entering your head.”  He winked.

“And a very happy birthday to you, too.  How old will you be?”

“Thirty.”

“I hope it’s a good year to you.”

“Thank you,” said Kerry, and he left the room.  He must have been very busy.  Heart beating just a little bit faster, Kira opened the book.  “Bilbo had escap-ed…escaped the goblins, but he did not k-now… k-… know where he was…

*  *  *

All throughout the rest of the winter (and it was a long one—a fact which would have disappointed Kira had she not had the book) Kira read.  Kerry still visited from time to time, but soon the visits trickled to a halt so that he had only seen her once during March, and thus far into April (though she was to leave Buckland soon) had not seen her at all.  Perhaps now that he was thirty he was just busier.

Yet Kira did not mind.  She was reading, and time was sweeping past her, faster than she had known was possible.  By the end of February she discovered that she did not have to repeat words or sentences to understand them, and by mid-March she had learned to read silently.

Just as the last snows were melting away, Kira finished Bilbo’s narrative.  Her foot had stopped hurting, which meant that as soon as she was fit she could go home.  With Fanny on one side and Delphie (drafted for the task by Aunt Penny) on the other, she risked getting out of bed.  It was typical—at first she collapsed, hardly able to keep herself off the ground.  Then, when she could she tried standing, then walking, for short intervals of time.  Soon everything would be back to normal.  On the eighth of April Aunt Penny and her mother had made enough arrangements that Kira knew when they would depart.  They were leaving at dawn on the tenth, and by the night of the eleventh Kira would be back home.

She wondered if home would be any different, if the long winter had affected it any.  She had never been away for so long, and it seemed as if an Age had passed.  Of course not, she chided herself, that was the purpose of home: not to change.  Yet she knew she’d miss her little room in Brandy Hall, and the book that had kept her company.

But she was ready to leave.

On the evening of the ninth, Kira walked over to the library on stiff legs and replaced the red leather-bound tome on its shelf, in the same spot that she had found it during that evening in January.  Then she set out to find Kerry—it would be nice to talk to him before she left.

She found him working on some sort of paperwork in a little room adjoining the library.  He set his quill down when she knocked, and turned to face her.

“You’re up,” he said.

“Yes,” replied Kira.  “I’ll be leaving tomorrow for home.  I wanted to thank you for everything—for teaching me to read.  I finished the first part of the book this morning.”

“What did you think?”

“It was... astonishing.  And very, very good.  I liked reading it, very much.  I wonder how long it took Bilbo Baggins to think it up.”

Kerry raised an eyebrow.  “Think it up?  Kira, that tale was real!”

“Real?”  Kira laughed.  “How could it be?  The story had a dragon in it, for heaven’s sake!  And elves!  Everybody knows elves don’t exist.”

“That’s odd,” said Kerry.  “That must mean I’m nobody.”

“You believe elves existed?”

“I believe they do exist.”

Kira laughed again.  “That’s absurd!  Whoever has seen an elf?”

“Bilbo.”

“Well… who has seen one today, in the Fourth Age?”

“Plenty of Men, I’m sure—”

“We don’t talk to Men; you can’t be sure.  Have you ever seen an elf?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know they exist, if you haven’t seen one?”

“There… there’s no ‘how’ to it.  I just do.”

Kira rubbed her head.  “You’re a strange fellow, Kerry, you know that?  Believing in elves, and then such a mad tale as that one.  I shan’t believe it until I get some proof that it really happened.”

“Proof?  Like what?”

“How should I know?  Something from that journey, that would show that it was real.  Like the Arkenstone, or Bilbo’s armour, or that magic ring he got.  And no cheap tricks, either.  It’d have to turn you invisible and everything.”

Kerry blinked for a moment and then laughed.  “Well, if it’s the Ring you’re after, you can’t get your proof.  Something happened to it after—you’ll find out if you read on.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t keep you from your work,” said Kira.  “And I have to get ready to leave.  But I did want to see you before you left, and thank you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

Kira turned towards the door, but did not leave.  “You didn’t have to do this much work before you turned thirty, did you?  I should hate to have kept you busy teaching me.”

“Of course not,” said Kerry.

 “Good.  Goodbye—maybe if you’re ever nearby you could visit or something.  Mother always loves company.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.  Goodbye.”

 Kira limped to the door and left the library.  That night she dreamt of home.





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