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.