Bilbo gave such a start that I was about to instinctively start looking around for a defibrillator. He let out a shriek and leapt a foot in the air.

Afraid that the impact of hitting the earth from such a great height would hurt his bones, I put out my arms, caught him, and lowered him gently to the ground.

"Rhodri, what on earth-"

"I wanted something to eat and saw you up here as I came out of the staircase," I replied with a shrug.

Bilbo scowled. "Could you walk a little louder next time so that I can hear you coming?"

I nodded. "Certainly, but I did intentionally move surreptitiously this time. Come, let's talk in my office," I said, gesturing for him to follow me.

"I'd rather not, Rhodri, if you don't mind," he said from behind me with a yawn. "I find I'm quite tired and would like to try and sleep again."

I turned around and made sure to stand in the moonlight as I arched my brow at him.

"This isn't really an opportunity you want to pass up, Bilbo," I returned in a mild but slightly warning tone. "If you'd rather, though, you can deal with Elrond's hurt and disappointment on your own as you try to explain why you've been stealing. I'll happily report what I've seen and let you two sort this out between yourselves."

"You have no proof of anything," Bilbo snapped, looking worried now.

"Oh, please," I said, rolling my eyes. "Who gets up at such an ungodly hour to put away a sword hilt unless they're trying not to get caught? Nobody else would be afraid to do it in broad daylight here because they know Elrond is missing it."

I sighed. "Look, Bilbo, I'm not judging you. I don't think you're a bad person for stealing, but I think you need help to stop doing this. And I can give it to you, if you want it."

Bilbo wouldn't meet my eyes. His head was now hung and he nodded gently.

"Come, then," I repeated. "Let's sit down and talk for a little bit." I held out a hand for him to take and slowly ambled back to my office with this tiny, ancient Hobbit in tow. It was such a relief to be able to shed my poorly-played detective role and finally step back into things as a psychologist.

"Now, for this to work, you will need to be completely honest with me, just like I'm about to be with you," I said as I launched into the confidentiality spiel.

"But in this instance, I am obligated to tell Elrond because this is quite a serious breach of law here," I added afterward, passing him a glass of water. "But if you'll let me disclose what is going on to him, I think he will be very gracious about it all."

Bilbo, who had been staring at my desk this entire time, nodded sadly. "Very well," he mumbled.

Nodding back, I passed him the forms to sign, and when he had done that, the session had begun.

"Tell me about when you started taking things," I requested as I hunted around for a pen and paper.

"Oh, only very recently," Bilbo said. "Since coming here, in fact."

"The temptation to take things wasn't there before?"

"Not in the Shire, no," he replied. "As I travelled here, I started wanting to take things that weren't mine, like mushrooms and eggs, and I did help myself from time to time. Only when my supplies had started to dwindle and the householder looked unfriendly, though. It got harder to resist over time, though."

"Harder to resist, you say?" I said with interest, finally finding a piece of paper and starting to write.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Here in Imladris, I find myself almost completely unable to withstand the urge to steal things."

"Do you do it because you need them?"

"No," he said, now quite upset. "I don't understand it! I have no need for those things, and I don't even want them. I have everything I could possibly wish for, but when I see it and the desire takes me, it's unstoppable!"

"Tell me a bit more about this urge you get, Bilbo," I bid him. "What happens in those moments between seeing the object and taking it?"

Bilbo sighed and brought his glass of water up near his mouth before quickly setting it down again. "It comes out of nowhere, Rhodri," he said, looking like he was describing a mythical monster as he spread his fingers out in a small burst. "I see the thing, and then the urge sets in. And it's all I can think of when it's there. Pressure and nervousness build in me until I could almost pass out. It's so overwhelming that the only thing I can do to quieten it is to take the object."

"So when you've actually taken it, it goes away?"

"For that moment, yes," he confirmed. "It's a relief to return to normal again, but I hate doing it. I already have a reputation as a burglar, and now I'm living up to it quite well, it would seem."

Bilbo looked desperately ashamed of himself as he wrung his hands woefully, and I felt terrible for him.

Everybody will experience the desire to have something that doesn't belong to them at one time or another. Perhaps it's a piece of chocolate someone across from you on the bus is enjoying. It could be a fascinating but outrageously priced book you find in a bookstore. Maybe it's a Lamborghini you see parked near your workplace, and you can readily picture yourself looking absolutely gorgeous behind the wheel of that roaring beauty.

However, the vast majority of us are very easily able to accept that we cannot simply take the thing, because it doesn't belong to us. On that basis alone, most people are unwilling to steal, and even in desperate situations such as poverty or a serious need for the object, folks will usually exhaust all other options before even considering theft.

When the urge to take things doesn't die down, though, and it's not driven by a need for the object or to make use of its value (e.g. stealing a jewel to sell off), we start to enter the realm of kleptomania, and I could be of some help in managing that.

"So you're aware that you don't have any real use for the objects you take, you say, Bilbo."

He nodded.

"You're not hearing a voice, for example, telling you to steal something?"

"No, no, nothing like that," he said heavily.

"Are you doing it to get back at someone, or to make a statement of some sort? Showing anger or something like that?"

Bilbo's eyes widened. "No, not at all," he said, shaking his head fervently. "No, that's the worst part. I am very happy here, and Lord Elrond and everyone else is so kind and hospitable here. I feel so terrible for doing it..." He buried his face in his hands.

"I'm just so tired, Rhodri," Bilbo choked after a moment as he wiped the tears off his cheeks. "The urges have become so strong, and I don't have the energy to resist them any more. But I try to make things right. I return them after a few days when others aren't looking."

"Like with Narsil tonight, huh?"

Bilbo sniffed and nodded.

"Are you doing this all by yourself, or are others helping you?"

"No, I do it all alone."

"Well, I have an idea of what the problem might be, but I need to ask a few more questions first. Can we talk a little longer?"

Bilbo gestured, inviting me to speak.

"How's life apart from this? Things like your mood, how well you're sleeping, that sort of thing."

"Oh… well, guilty, but otherwise quite all right, I suppose," Bilbo answered noncommittally. "I sleep as much as ever, which is a lot. I still work on my book often. I eat well enough, though the guilt makes me lose my appetite a bit. I take walks and admire the scenery. All fairly normal, really."

"No sudden surges of energy that keep you up all night, or feeling invincible enough to do a lot of risky things?"

"Goodness me, no," he said with a little laugh. "Not at my age, Rhodri. No, I'm quite content with my short walks and Elevenses."

"Right," I said with a nod, striking a line through the words manic episode. "Okay. Here's the thing. I don't think this is your fault."

Bilbo looked astonished. "You don't?"

"No. I think you have a condition called kleptomania, which refers to irrepressible urges to steal things. I can give you treatment to help you manage the urges, and like I said before, I think Lord Elrond will be very gracious about it all, but," I held up a finger now, "stealing is a destructive behaviour that impacts others, and now that you know you have a problem, you are morally responsible for being honest about the issue with Elrond and me, and pursuing treatment to keep the condition under control."

Bilbo nodded quickly. "Of course," he said.

"Jolly good. Well, we won't start treatment now, as it's an ungodly hour. I'll speak to Elrond about this in the morning, but before I let you go, I need to know what it is that you've stolen while here."

Bilbo listed all the things that had already been reported to me, plus a pair of leather gauntlets from the training yards and a small bag of sweet potato seeds, which I scribbled down to show Elrond.

"Okay. I think that'll do us for now," I said, putting my pen down. "Don't worry about trying to return anything more tonight, just get some sleep. We'll start treatment after lunch, all right?"

Bilbo nodded, slowly got up to his feet (he was 111, after all), and with a friendly goodnight, he was off.

I locked Bilbo's file away in the drawer and left the office, slipping back downstairs to get the snack I'd been after all this time. On one of the benches in the kitchens, I spotted a bowl of the first apples of the late summer harvest. They were rosy pink and were almost rock hard to the touch- my favourite kind of apple. I took one for myself and one for Glorfindel and scarpered back to our chambers.

Though I had attempted to enter the room as quietly as possible, Elf ears are pretty damn good, and Glorfindel was finally well-rested enough to be stirred by it.

"Hello," he murmured with bleary affection as I stepped inside and shed my clothes.

"Good morning," I answered warmly, holding up an apple for him to see. "Fancy a snack?"

"Ooh, that looks good," he said, a little more awake now as he sat up and accepted it.

As we sat in bed crunching noisily, I told Glorfindel about my run-in with Bilbo, though I neglected to mention any of the therapy aspects.

"Goodness me, the things I miss while asleep," Glorfindel mumbled through a mouthful of apple. "It sounds like things were rather exciting there."

"That's one way of putting it," I conceded as I caught an errant drop of juice on my tongue. "In any case, Elrond will need to know first thing after breakfast."

"He'll be glad to have Narsil back," Glorfindel mused.

"Mmm. I wonder what he'll think of Bilbo after all this…" I wondered aloud as I placed both our apple cores on a plate by my bedside table and licked my fingers clean.

"Hard to say, really," he replied, sliding back down a little as he rested his head on my chest.

Since neither of us could be bothered to stir our stumps and get out of bed for the day, we went back to sleep until the sunlight started to billow in through the windows and shine in our eyes.

At breakfast, I saw that Bilbo was sitting at another part of the table, eyeing me nervously now and then as I made small talk with Glorfindel, Elrond, and now Erestor as well. When we had eaten to elegant sufficiency, I asked Glorfindel to take Erestor to his study and fill him in on what had happened so that I could show Bilbo's file to Elrond.

"My goodness," Elrond said after I explained what Bilbo had divulged to me. "This is really quite extraordinary." He sighed and shook his head in disappointment, pacing around gently.

"I have a theory as to why this is happening now," I said as I twirled my pen in my fingers. "Only a theory, mind you."

"Mm?"

"I think it's that ring he had."

Elrond's brow wrinkled and his eyes widened a little. "Oh?"

"I don't know for sure what that ring does, but assuming he left the ring in the Shire when he moved out here, I think he's experiencing some issues as he withdraws from ownership of it."

"Goodness me," Elrond breathed. "The irresistibility of it…"

"Yes!" I said with a nod. "Exactly. I don't doubt the ring had tempting properties of its own, and he probably indulged those now and then, and now that it's gone, his brain has replaced those urges with something else."

"Then this isn't his fault at all," Elrond murmured.

"I don't think it is, no, but I do think it behooves him to seek treatment. He knows he has a problem now, and can't just keep stealing things. You should know, though, Elrond, that the treatment I offer him might not be completely effective. He might sometimes be unable to master the urge, and steal again."

"Something will have to be arranged, then," he muttered, brows knitting as he resumed pacing around the room.

"Yes. I would suggest nominating yourself or me as a safe person he can come to when he has relapsed and taken something so that we can handle the matter discreetly."

Elrond sat quietly and tapped his lips with his finger. "Yes, very well. I suppose I had better speak with him," he said heavily.

"Do, and if you speak to Glorfindel or Erestor about it, don't divulge details about the therapy. Tell them he is in my care now; that is all they need know. If anyone else asks about it, the issue has been handled and the objects have been returned."

He conceded with a nod.

"I'd better start drawing up a treatment plan for him," I said, excusing myself.

"Could you send Bilbo to me while you're out, please?" Elrond requested politely.

I gave him the thumbs-up. "Consider it done."

Fortunately, Bilbo wasn't far off, having found himself a lovely spot in the sun in the courtyard downstairs. He watched me apprehensively as I strolled over to him, not looking even vaguely comforted by my smile.

"I suppose I have to speak to Elrond?" he asked.

"It's in your best interests to," I said with a small nod. "Don't worry about it too much. Just be honest with him. I've already told him what he needs to know." I clapped him on the shoulder and helped him to his feet as we wandered back up to Elrond's study.

Alone in my office, I started pondering how to even approach this. If that ring was really responsible for how his brain managed impulse control, would I be able to provide any assistance that could override that? Would Bilbo have to simply be monitored and have his room raided every so often to empty it of whatever he had nabbed through the course of the day?

I drummed my fingers impatiently on my desk. One of the main means of treating kleptomania is aversion therapy, which tends to be quite effective in a fairly short space of time. Most people hear about it in the jokey context of zapping someone with a cattle prod or snapping a rubber band on their wrist every time they go to fulfil their urge. Things, in other words, that are unpleasant and make the consequences seem far too unpleasant to be worth the gratification of indulging the impulse. Most of these measures involved physical punishment, which seemed awfully unsuitable for someone of Bilbo's (very) advanced age. I was already afraid for him doing a tiny jump in the air. Zapping? Pinching? Absolutely not.

Except, I realised, there was one sense that I had quite overlooked. Hobbits loved food. They were exceptionally good on the fang, and were real connoisseurs of flavour and texture. The ultimate foodies. If I could find something that tasted terrible and had no real consequences healthwise, it might be just the thing to put Bilbo off.

In my lightbulb moment, I slammed a hand on the desk triumphantly and made my way outside, where I stopped dead. Where on earth would I even go to hunt up something foul tasting? I very much doubted that Singlis and Oldreth would appreciate me fronting up to their kitchen and asking if they could supply me with something that would entice a person to lick the road.

Ah, but medicine, though! Didn't everyone bitch about some nasty concoction they'd had to force down their gullet for the sake of their health? Granted, there was much less of that here, but there was undoubtedly something here.

I fronted up at the hospital wing where the head healer, Gildin, was working. She was a terrifically funny person who had a real gift for surgery and concocting pharmaceuticals. When times were more peaceful and we were blessed with an hour or two of the Q-word (see Nurse Notes), she'd come to my office or I'd visit her at work and we'd knock back a cup of tea, talk clinical, and indulge our shared love of medical humour.

Gildin, who was busying herself with the preparation of some sort of anaesthetic, turned around at the knock I made at the door, her almost blue-black wavy hair rippling out as her head flicked around.

"Oh, Rhodri!" she said, beaming at me. "Haven't seen you in a long time! Come and hold this bottle for me while we talk." She beckoned me over cheerfully.

"Sounds like a plan," I said, smiling broadly back at her as she passed me a large glass receptacle that had a metal funnel sitting in the neck.

"Now, I want to hear your news, and while you're at it, swirl as I pour," she instructed as she tipped several phials of liquids into the funnel at once.

"I'm here to pick your brain on something, actually, Gildin," I said as I gently sloshed the liquids around.

"Oh, yes?"

"Mmm. I'm on the hunt for a substance that does nothing but tastes bad."

"Does nothing…?"

"Except taste bad, yes."

"That's an interesting one. What's that going to be used for?"

"Ah, it's part of a technique used to break bad habits, see. You take some of the foul-tasting concoction as you go to indulge in the bad habit, and it's so unpleasant that you don't want to fulfil the urge any more."

"My word, that's fascinating," she breathed. "That should be enough swirling to combine them, I think, thank you, Rhodri."

I nodded and handed her back the bottle, which she took and sealed up, labelling it with a name and date before putting it on the shelf with the other tinctures.

"Do you know of anything that would do that, though?" I continued. "Nothing comes to mind for me."

Gildin sat cross-legged on a stool, her ice-blue eyes shining as her mental hamster sprinted on the wheel.

"Nothing in here, I don't think…" she replied slowly, shaking her foot thoughtfully. "But I do remember that there was a weed growing in my yard that I ate once as a child. I don't remember the name of it, but it was the worst thing I had eaten in my life, and there were no side-effects. It grows abundantly in the summer, so I imagine there's plenty of it there now. Let's go and have a look for some!"

Gildin bounded off her seat, and together, we made our way to her place, which was situated a short walk from Elrond's house, just before the valley started to slope downhill.

We strode into her yard and started looking around, and a voice called out to us as a woman materialised at the porch whom I recognised as Gildin's mother.

"Gildin! Oh, and Rhodri, hello!"

"Hi there, Henemír," I said sunnily, waving at her.

"Hello, Naneth," Gildin replied. "We're looking for a plant."

"Oh?" Henemír stepped off the porch and strolled over to us.

"That weed I ate as a small child, the one that tasted terrible."

"Ah, yes," Henemír said. "Saerlas, you mean?"

"That's the one," Gildin said, snapping her fingers as the lightbulb went on. "It's not poisonous, is it?"

"Not at all," her mother replied. "The taste is punishment enough, I think."

"Just what I need," I murmured. "Do you mind if we pick a few bunches of this, Henemír?"

She laughed. "Please, take as much as you like. It means less for me to clear out later."

I grinned. "Thanks very much."

Fortunately, the weed was a rather juicy one, so two bunches ended up giving us a good half cup of liquid when we ground it down and extracted it.

"Are you going to try any yourself, Rhodri?" Gildin asked me, a wicked grin passing over her face as she did.

I pursed my lips hard, looking at her reproachfully. I absolutely did not want to, but it seemed rather unfair to make Bilbo use it without even knowing what it was like myself.

"I'll have some if you do," I said after a moment.

Gildin bit down on her lips and glared at me briefly. "All right, then," she accepted. She went over to the mortar she'd used to grind it up, where some of the plant was still left, and brought it over.

"Take some out of here so you don't use up the liquid."

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" I looked at her fearfully.

"Most definitely," she said with a confident nod.

I took a deep breath and grabbed some of the saerlas pulp out, as did Gildin.

"Your very good health, Gildin," I said, toasting her with it as I put it on my tongue.

Well, as God is my witness, my head nearly collapsed in on itself as the flavour hit me. The pulp had the texture of pond scum and melted all over my mouth, coating my entire oral cavity with the most bitter, foul, burning taste that I'd ever had the misfortune of experiencing. I looked up briefly, eyes watering to buggery as Gildin put a fraction of the amount of pulp she'd taken out into her mouth. She looked very displeased, but nowhere near as distressed as I was. I dropped to my knees, ready to claw my face off with my hands as I reflexively swallowed and the truly bitter flavour hit the back of my tongue. I heard a sniggering and knew Gildin had just played a magnificent joke on me.

At the other end of the room, I heard a panicked Elrond say, "My goodness, Rhodri! What's the matter?" and his footsteps drew near as I groaned into my hands like a dying animal.

Silence fell as I weakly pointed a finger at Gildin, willing myself not to be sick on Elrond's shoes.

"Saerlas pulp" was all she said.

For another moment, everything was still, and then I heard a gentle wheezing sound. It grew louder and louder, interspersed with a tittering that turned into a bona fide howl of laughter that I hadn't heard Elrond make in ages. It almost made it worth the thousand deaths I suffered in the meantime as I kept swallowing to try and wash the flavour out of my mouth.

Somehow, I don't know how, I got to my feet again and shambled out of that room, liquid in hand and leaving Elrond and Gildin to continue screaming with laughter. It was time to make my way to the kitchens to genuflect at the chefs' feet and beg them for a piece of cake.

Psych Notes

Kleptomania

A: Repeatedly being unable to resist the urge to steal things that the person doesn't personally need or can make use of through its monetary value.
B: Experiencing a growing sense of tension right before the person steals the thing.
C: When they steal the thing, the person feels enjoyment, gratification, or relief.
D: The person isn't stealing to show their anger or get back at someone, and it's not because of a hallucination or delusion.
E: The person isn't stealing because of another mental disorder, e.g. a manic episode or anti-social personality disorder.

Differential Diagnosis
Anti-social personality can be ruled out almost immediately with Bilbo, because by all accounts he is not the type to recklessly and remorselessly engage in a variety of criminal behaviours (fights, thefts, damaging property, etc) that can harm or hurt others. As for a manic episode, Bilbo has maintained a rather quiet life alongside his casual theft. Naps, food, walks. Nothing reckless. Nothing suggesting delusions of being invincible, grandly powerful, or exceedingly wealthy. He's just a little old man who steals stuff, honestly. In someone of Bilbo's age, it's also worthwhile checking for dementia, but Bilbo himself showed no outward signs of forgetfulness, personality changes, or a loss of ability to do things that he could before, so out the window goes that theory.

Nurse Notes

The Q-word is… -glances around- quiet. It is an unspoken rule among nurses and other healthcare professionals that you DO NOT say that word while on shift, no matter how miraculously peaceful and tranquil the ward has become. Even if it's empty. Even if you haven't seen a patient in hours. Even if you're looking for something to do! Saying the Q-word automatically breaks the charm, and you can bet your bottom dollar that the second the word escapes your lips, the ward will fill up, and you'll have paperwork and medical emergencies out the wazoo. I'm not joking. Don't say the word. For the love of healthcare workers, pick any other word.