(AN: One of the biggest complaints from the Lord of the Rings "fans" [you know who you are] is that a certain jolly woodland fellow is useless because Ralph Bakshi, Brian Sibley and Peter Jackson thought he shouldn't exist. Well, he does serve a purpose, albeit a small one, but a very important one. You shall see why in this story.)

(For those who may not know, Brian Sibley was the one who adapted Lord of the Rings for airplay for the BBC in 1981. It is, in my mind, the best pre-Peter Jackson adaption of Lord of the Rings. Period. Oh yes, and thank you for the reviews. As far as Clara goes, I think she's way too over-powered in the actual canonical television series [hence the euphemism I had for her once upon a time: "Mary Sue Dalek."]. Now, while I was thoroughly satisfied with Mr. Moffat's explanation for her in "The Name of the Doctor", this story, which takes place before that, while trying not to ruin her character, will make her seem like she knows what she's doing...when she probably doesn't.)


Riddles in the Dark

On the eastern shore of the Brandywine River, two soaked figure sploshed ashore on their hands and knees. Meriadoc Brandybuck toppled off the Doctor's back and the other hobbits ran to their side. As Clara and the Doctor arose, she began wringing out her jacket while he removed his and began trying to drain the water out of his pockets: a daunting feat, since each one was so much larger on the inside, they had practically liters upon liters of river water in each.

"Merry!" Frodo exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I went out in search of you, Frodo," the soaked hobbit replied. "You hadn't showed up and Fatty and I were getting worried."

"With good reason," Clara said, looking back across the river.

"What was that?" Merry asked. "I've never heard of Big Folk like this kind."

"Doctor?" Clara asked, turning towards the Doctor. He was already on his feet and draining his pockets. Out of one came a torrent of river water, a small fish and one of his shoes. Another deposited a clump of algae, a brown paper bag thoroughly soaked, another shoe and a pair of circular spectacles. With reverent hands he picked up the glasses and examined them, his face drooping with sadness.

"Doctor, what's wrong?" Clara's voice snapped him back into reality. He dropped the glasses, stammered and then reached down onto the moist grass and picked up the brown bag.

"Look, they're still good," he said with a weak smile, throwing the bag to Clara while he dove his hand into his pockets in search of his screwdriver.

"Jelly babies?" Clara asked, having opened the bag to see what was inside.

"Why not?" the Doctor asked, remembering the time his fourth incarnation gave him a bag of jelly babies.

"Doctor, sometimes I think you never really grew up," Clara said, shaking her soaked hair, trying to remove the grasses which had been tangled therein. "You're just a little boy in a grown man's body."

"Maybe, maybe not," the Doctor said with a smile as he pulled out his sonic screwdriver. "After all, what's the fun being able to look young if you're going to act like a grown-up? In my younger days, I always regenerated into older forms. Perhaps it was because I may have wanted to appear older and more authoritative. But now that I'm old, I've gotten progressively younger. You should have seen me in my eighth incarnation, I had the best..." The Doctor then turned and saw the hobbits staring up at him.

"Can't we please be going now?" Frodo asked. "I could hear what was happening on the other side and I don't relish the idea of waiting here while that Black Rider comes after us."

"Right," the Doctor exclaimed. "Onward to Crickhollow!"


The rest of the way to Buckland was more or less uneventful. Though they were benighted, the Doctor's sonic screwdriver was able to give them enough light to make their way to the hole which Frodo had suggested. One by one, they filed in, with Clara and the Doctor bending low to mind that their heads didn't hit the ceiling. Once they were inside, the three hobbits went off to bathe while Merry went to the kitchen to see to their food. Once Frodo, Sam and Pippin arrived, clad in bath-robes and with curled hair still dripping, they sat around the table with Fredegar Bolger, the Doctor and Clara.

Once Merry arrived with food - there was plenty of food for them all, even by hobbit standards - he asked Frodo about all that had happened, and Frodo told them about their encounters with the Black Riders as well as the Doctor. Once he had finished, all eyes turned towards the Doctor, who cleared his throat.

"Right," he said, a serious look on his face. "All conspiracy aside, we all know what's after us and our highest goal should be to avoid them at all costs, never speak to them."

"But what about you?" Pippin asked. "You always speak to them?"

"Yes, well, I'm the Doctor," he said with a fond smile, thinking back to when he talked down the Dalek Emperor in his ninth incarnation. "And if there's one thing I can do, it's talk." He turned back to the others. "Right, now, anyone have any ideas?"

"Gandalf gave us a task," Frodo said. "And, while I know that it is dangerous, I know that I must do this task."

"But you can't do it alone, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. "Take those as you can trust, just like Mr. Gandalf said."

"How do I know I can trust any of you?" Frodo asked. "The three of you seemed to know what was going on since the Party." He turned to the Doctor and his companion. "And there's more about you, Doctor, than you let on." He remained in quiet thought for a moment, then nodded. "Whatever that may be, it will be for Gandalf or Elrond Half-Elven to discern, once we reach Rivendell."

"But what about these Black Riders?" Fredegar asked. "You can't expect to head east on the main road with them on your tail."

"Of course not!" Merry added. "That's why we'll make a short-cut through the Old Forest."

"Please, cousin Merry," Pippin interjected. "You know how I feel about short-cuts..."

"He's right," Frodo added. "There have been many stories about the Old Forest, none of them good. I'd rather face a Black Rider than anything in the Old Forest."

"Did he really just say that?" Clara asked the Doctor.

"It's because he's not yet aware of the danger he faces," the Doctor whispered.

"And by the way..." Fredegar continued.

"Oh, no one in Buckland believes those rumors about wolves and spiders in the Old Forest," Merry said. "It's certainly queer there, especially after dark. But some of us Brandybucks have gone into the Old Forest and have come back out. We don't live there, but it would certainly help shaking these Black Riders off our trail."

"Excuse me," the Doctor spoke up. "Just a second here. There is something I should say first and, being the eldest, I should say something."

"Eldest?" Frodo asked.

"Well, of course," the Doctor said. "Over a thousand years old." He then continued, as though he had just mentioned the condition of the weather. "Now, if you will take my advice, you'd listen to Fredegar and bypass the Forest all-together. There is an evil lurking in the depths of the Old Forest that must never be awakened."

"What?" Frodo asked with a laugh. "Evil?"

"This is still the Shire," Merry added. "Queer, maybe, but hardly anything evil."

"You still don't listen, do you?" the Doctor asked. "The Shire's hardly a safe haven, not anymore. Those Black Riders have driven off those who kept it safe for the past millennium. Have you even heard of the Barrow-downs?"

"Of course," Pippin said. "But nobody believes those tales about old bones stirring on the North Downs."

"That's the least of your worries," the Doctor said. "Your best option is to stay out of the Old Forest."

"But what about the Black Riders?" Sam asked.

"I'm with you," the Doctor said with a confident smile. "You have nothing to worry about. Now, we've all had quite an ordeal today. So off to bed with you, go on. Don't worry, I'll clean up the mess and keep watch."

Reluctantly, the hobbits made their way to their rooms, while the Doctor began gathering their plates with Clara buzzing about him.

"What?" he asked, as he saw in the corner of his eye a smile across Clara's face.

"Never thought of you as a cleaning lady, Doctor," Clara replied.

"I'm not a cleaning lady," he replied. "I once spent a year with some friends of mine doing absolutely nothing. Yes, we did nothing, we waited for this little black box to do something, they were all over the earth at that time."

"Are you talking about 2011?" Clara asked. "I remember that. I was on holiday when the boxes appeared." She paused for a moment, her hand moving instinctively above her chest where her sat her heart.

"I became quite skilled at keeping house," the Doctor continued on, a twinge of sadness in his voice. "You'd be surprised how much mess a man and a woman can make on their own. And I thought exile was bad!"

"Doctor," Clara interjected. "What is this about the Old Forest? I don't remember an Old Forest."

"Really?" the Doctor asked. "It was in the movie."

"When?" he asked.

"Merry and Pippin at the eaves of..." the Doctor began, then his right hand slapped himself across his chin. "No, wait! What am I saying? They cut it out of the story, but it really was there. The Old Forest, a huorn-wood in the very Shire."

"Hornwood?" Clara asked.

"Huorn-wood," the Doctor corrected. "Huorns, they're a kind of wild-life here, semi-sentient. Made of wood, not exactly anything I can do to help against one of those. They look like any common tree, which is what makes the Old Forest so dangerous."

"Was that the evil you spoke of?" Clara asked. "The huorns?"

"No," the Doctor said, pausing for a moment. "Something much worse."


It was long past midnight, the Doctor had long since cleaned up the mess and was now regaling Clara with the tales of the many adventures he had been on throughout his many lives. He told of his adventure on Skaro in the ancient past as though Sara Jane, Harry Sullivan and himself were government agents on a secret mission of the utmost importance. When he spoke of when he stopped the Master in America at the turn of the millennium, he painted the story as though it were a great work of art and he the Thomas Cole of the universe. By the time, however, he had finally gotten to the time he and Martha Jones had been trapped in the middle of a planetary war on the other side of the universe in the 41st century, he realized that she had fallen asleep.

Humans, he thought fondly, his mind still fresh from the billions of memories he had accumulated over his many long lives. Like flickering, sputtering stars, who burn for a moment and are snuffed out, yet their light is brighter than the trio of Orion's Belt.

For a moment, wrapped as he was in the fond memories of companions long gone, he forgot all about Clara's oddities. As she sat there, slouched forward on the table in her slumber, she did not look like the girl in the Dalek asylum - though he had never truly seen her - nor did she look like the Victorian nanny: she looked clearly and plainly human.

Suddenly she snapped awake, eyes wide open. Her head spun around, looking behind her towards the door. The Doctor cast his eyes thither and noticed that someone had left the door unlocked.

"Not good," he muttered, as he made his way across the hallway to the round door and sealed it shut, locking the door and increasing the fortitude of the metal locks with his sonic screwdriver.

"Doctor," Clara spoke up. "Did you happen to see anyone out there before you closed the door?"

"No, not really," the Doctor replied.

"That's funny," she said. "Because I thought I saw something, or someone, standing in the doorway. But when I turned to look at it, it was gone."

"What was it?" the Doctor asked.

"It doesn't matter," she replied.

"No, it does matter," the Doctor retorted. "This is Buckland, not Hobbiton. They lock their doors at night, because they, even in their hobbit naivete, know the dangers of the Old Forest and other things their silly little bounders can't keep out. Now tell me, was it a Black Rider? What was it?"

"I don't know," she shook her head. "It almost looked like..."

"Like what?" the Doctor asked.

"No," she shook her head. "It couldn't be." She moved her hand over her mouth as a king-sized yawn of sleep came over her. "N-Now I'm going back to sleep, Doctor. Wake me up when we're ready to go."

She lay her head back on the table and fell fast asleep. The Doctor, meanwhile, was not wholly convinced. Running to the door, he decreased the metal lock's resistance, then pulled it free, swung the door back on its hinge and crouched down as he poked his head out of the hole. He looked this way and that, but there was nothing to be seen. For a moment, however, he thought he saw two shapes covered in shadow vanishing into the darkness of the Old Forest. His ears could not detect the sound of hoofs or neighing horses. At last, as he closed the door and sealed it off again, he had to concede that whatever Clara had seen was gone for good.


When the morning finally came, Frodo awoke to find the others were already up and gathering their supplies with them for the journey. Sam, who was the first one up, told of how the Doctor had been awake all night and made them breakfast, despite his insistence that that was his job, and began waking them up one by one.

"You shouldn't have let me sleep in, Sam," Frodo said. "I would have liked to be on my way sooner."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo," Samwise replied. "But Mr. Doctor said otherwise."

"Just the Doctor, Samwise!" the voice of the Doctor called back.

"Alright, now," the Doctor said as he walked in, running his hands through his hair. "We're almost ready to depart, just waiting on you, Frodo. If all goes well, we should be in Bree by mid-afternoon."

"May we at least have breakfast?" Frodo asked.

"We've already had it, dear cousin Frodo," Pippin stated. "You've been asleep for quite a long time, we've all eaten. The Doctor even managed to convince Sam to eat before you had arisen."

"Don't worry, though," the Doctor said. "Even with a late start, I've made sure that we can leave on time, get to Bree and hunker down at the Prancing Pony before we're spotted on the East Road. We even have time for a late breakfast for Mr. Frodo. Oh, by the way, I've brought a spare pocket handkerchief, just in case."

Frodo smiled. "I don't think I'll be needing one."


(AN: This chapter gets published after the BBC announced the Twelfth Doctor. I was surprised, because I didn't think they would choose someone like Peter Capaldi, but I won't complain. He might just turn the series around, bringing it back to the form of the classic Doctor Who.)

(The chapter title, obviously, is from The Hobbit and not Lord of the Rings, but it will be important. Also, there have been speculations that "the evil lurking in the Old Forest" is the Witch-King. I don't believe that, I think it's more plausible to believe that it's Eru-Illuvatar than the Witch-King: which, of course, the Doctor thinks is evil since he's killed more gods than Captain Kirk! Yes, of course I'm talking about Bombadil!)