He rode up to the base of the tower, blowing on his hands periodically to keep them warm.  He dismounted into snow and knocked on the door with a mittened hand.

Soon the door opened to reveal the Warden of Westmarch, asking who could be coming to call in this kind of weather.  Kerry stepped inside.  “It’s a matter of business,” he said.

Elfstan Fairbairn led him into the kitchen, where his daughter Sandra was preparing tea.  “Let’s discuss it over something hot, then,” he said.  “Sandra, could you set out another place for our guest?”  He pulled up a chair, which Kerry gratefully sat on.

“It really doesn’t warrant that much discussion.  Dad would have written, but it’s rather important and the post is slower in the winter, anyway.”

“What’s the business, then?”

“A girl—a guest at the Hall last winter—was found in the Old Canal on the White Downs last week.”

“How dreadful!  Is she alive?”

“Yes, but barely.  Her aunt was summoned to help care for her, which is how I found out about it.”

“Do you know who this girl is?”

“Yes—her name is Kira Proudfoot.  I taught her how to read over the winter.  And this is the strange thing—they found, not too far downstream from her, a book.  I thought she might have gotten it—”

There was a crash as Sandra dropped the teacup she was carrying.  Elfstan and Kerry looked at her.  She had gone all pale and was shaking.  “Oh, Elbereth,” she said, and ran out of the room.

Kerry got up to follow, but the Warden restrained him.  He had also gone pale.  “What is it?” said Kerry.

“Last April Kira visited the library while I was away, so Sandra was left in charge.  She gave her the original.”

“The what?  Oh, no…”  Kerry buried his head in his hands.  “This is a thousand times worse than what I thought…”

“Do you know how they ended up in there?”

“No, I didn’t hear anything else… though if Kira was given the Red Book she would have taken care of it.  I hope.”  Kerry stood up again.  “Where did Sandra go?”

“I don’t know… possibly her room.  I’ll check.”  The Warden stood up and left the room.  Kerry followed.  While Elfstan was poking his head in the bedroom, he heard the sound of weeping farther down the hall.  He ran towards it, and opened the door to the room that, until September, had been her grandmother’s.  Sandra was on the bed, sobbing into and punching one of the pillows.

He did not know what to do.  He simply acted.

He ran into the room and touched her on the shoulder.  She looked up at him, eyes swollen from crying.

“Sandra, it’s not—”

“It is, too, my fault!  I gave her the original!  The original!  With Frodo’s handwriting and everything!  The one that felt real!”  She choked back a few more sobs.  He sat down on the bed next to her, feeling a few tears slip from his own eyes.

“Then it’s my fault, too.  I taught her how to read, after all.”

“But you didn’t—”

“No, because I wasn’t at Undertowers at the time.  You can’t be faulted for it; you didn’t know…”

“No, and I wish I did!  You wouldn’t have been so stupid, would you?  I only wanted her to believe; I didn’t know—and now we’ve all lost it forever…”  She broke into weeping again.

Tentatively he placed his hand on hers.  She turned to him, flung her arms around his neck, and began to cry into his shoulder.  “If she fell in the canal with it, at least she believes it now,” he said.  But even as he said it, he felt more tears slip away.  He put his arms around her and patted her back, like a mother comforting her child, making soothing noises until the torrent subsided.  Only then did he begin to weep in earnest, too; and when Elfstan saw them he did not dare interrupt them, these first mourners of the Red Book of Westmarch.

Later Kerry would say that he felt a bond forged between them that day, as sure and strong as if they had kissed.  Sandra would say that that was the day she knew she loved him.  But for that day they gave no thought to that, no thought to themselves, only thinking of the fate of the child that had so suddenly drawn them together, and of the book that she had borne that was now so suddenly lost to the world.