The next morning the hobbits were somewhat disappointed when their hosts insisted upon travelling the last few miles to the fair grounds, before having breakfast. They were more than willing to assist in the cooking, therefore, once they did arrive. The dwarves were a merry group, come to the fair to trade in toys from Dale, and beautiful ribbons and lace from a land far to the east that they called Rhun. Sam handed over a plate. The dwarves were well provisioned at least, and Sam added of his own stores, so Frodo's plate was piled with bacon, sausage, egg, tomato, mushrooms and a slab of fresh, crusty bread, thickly slathered with butter.

Frodo chewed on a juicy mushroom before asking, "How far have you travelled?"

"We've come from the Iron Hills. D'ye ken it?" Galby replied.

"I've seen it on maps. It's to our east. That's quite a way to travel for a simple hobbit fair."

"Aye. Tis not a trip we do evra year, ye ken. But we cross from east to west and back, evra senyear. This fair makes it worth the while comin' through the Shire."

Frodo latched on to his comment. "Did you come by way of Erebor, then?"

"The king would have my head if I dinna."

"Then perhaps you met my Uncle. He set out three years or more ago, intending to visit the Lonely Mountain once more."

Galby's bushy eyebrows climbed as his eyes widened. "Burglar Baggins returnin' to Erebor?"

"Well, I don't think, "burglar" is a title he wanted to keep beyond his adventure, but, yes. Did you see him?" Frodo responded with a laugh.

"Did I ken, I would have sought him out. But I dinna have the privilege."

Frodo's face fell, for surely Bilbo had plenty of time by now to reach his goal, even were he to fulfil his dream and revisit Rivendell and Mirkwood on the way. He didn't like to think of something happening to his uncle. Had Bilbo died upon the road, or been set upon by ruffians? "He travelled with some of your kin from Erebor. Perhaps you know them. They were Lofar, Nar, Anar and Hannar."

"I know Anar and Hannar. They're my kin," Toldi interjected. "They were home when we passed through, but they said nought about a hobbit."

Noting the concern upon Frodo's face, Galby patted his knee with one huge hand. "Tis sorry I am, laddie. The roads grow darker evra year. It may be that they sent ye word and tis gone astray."

Frodo fell silent and Sam leaned closer in unspoken support. Fredegar, leaned in too. "Maybe he stayed with the elves," he offered.

"Elves?" Galby shuddered. "I ken some o' my folk trade with elves, but I dinna. They're not to be trusted. There's few o' my kin would visit elves. If yer uncle wanted to go there tis likely that's where he parted ways wi' Lofar."

Frodo grabbed hold of that hope. Perhaps Bilbo was being royally entertained by Master Elrond or King Thranduil. "He would love to visit the elves. He was…is fascinated by the tales of their past."

Galby sniffed. "Aye, well. Maybe he dinna ken all their past. At least these days they stay in their own lands and keep their wee pointy noses and ears out o' the affairs of others. It was nay always so."

Mabin interrupted. "They're setting up the register, Mister Baggins." Frodo looked across the field, where a group of shirrifs were setting out tables and large heavy books. Some hobbits were already beginning to line up, no doubt hoping to get business out of the way early, so that they could enjoy the fair, with its ready supply of food and drink, to the full.

Frodo looked down at his plate. "I think I'll finish my breakfast first. If I know hobbits, our shirrifs will still be sorting themselves out in an hour's time. Besides, the voting won't take place until midday."

His prediction was correct, and by the time he joined the line it snaked half way around the fairgrounds. As he drew nearer the tables he noted Ted Sandyman ahead and experienced a moment's disquiet when Ted pointed to something in the register, and then engaged one of the shirrifs in intense conversation. However, when Ted moved off a few minutes later, Frodo put it to the back of his mind. No doubt Mister Sandyman had perceived some slight in the arrangement of names, or the colour of ink used.

"Place of residence." Frodo stepped up to the table some time later. "Hobbiton. I am Frodo Baggins."

"Now just wait a minute, Mister Baggins. I didn't ask for your name yet. We've got to do this proper," the shirrif asserted with some affront. His finger traced down the page until it landed upon "Hobbiton". Satisfied, he looked up again. "And your name please, Mister Baggins?"

Frodo bit back a grin. "It's Baggins, Frodo Baggins."

The shirrif picked up his pencil, and was about to make a mark by Frodo's name when one of the other shirrif's stopped him. "Just a minute, Adgar. We've had word that this fella's a bit suspect." Frodo found himself being studied closely by the shirrif who had earlier been speaking to Ted Sandyman. His heart leapt into this throat. "Come with us please, sir." Frodo was mortified to be led away rather firmly, by two shirrifs, while a crowd of folk looked on in open curiosity.

Frodo was taken to a small tent, set up in the corner of the field specifically for shirrif business. That business usually consisted only of the collection and return of lost faunts, or the safe keeping of tweens who had imbibed too much cider. Frodo was grateful that neither were in evidence at present as he sat alone upon a stool. The two shirrifs who had led him there departed with not a word, despite Frodo's entreaties that they tell him what the problem was. Of course, he knew who the problem was…Ted Sandyman, but not what it was. He jumped to his feet as the tent flap opened to admit a large group of hobbits, led by Penley Whitfoot, the incumbent mayor.

Penley planted himself in the centre of the space, the others ranged behind him. "Sit down, please, Master Frodo."

Frodo decided that a little reminder of his maturity was in order. "It's Mister Baggins now, Mayor Whitfoot."

Penley grinned. "Well, congratulations! I was at your uncle's party and had clean forgotten that it was your coming of age as well. How are you?"

A throat cleared at the rear and Penley turned to frown at the assembly of shirrifs and other hobbits crowded behind him. "It costs nothing to be polite," he quipped, before returning to smile at Frodo.

For his part, Frodo was finding it very hard to be polite. "How am I? I was doing very well, before being dragged off by the shirrifs."

Penley evinced some surprise at this statement. "Dragged off? I should hope there was no dragging and I shall be having some stiff words if there was."

Frodo repented his hot words at once. "No, indeed. Perhaps, 'dragged' is too strong, but I was certainly given no chance to object. The word was chosen in haste, and grew out of a perhaps misplaced sense of injustice. I apologise. The shirrifs were polite at all times. But I am rather concerned as to why I am brought before the Mayor. As far as I'm aware, I have broken no laws."

"Well, it's not a law, as such. You could say it was more a matter of principle," Penley offered with an apologetic air.

"Oh, get on with it." A sour-faced Ted Sandyman pushed to the front to point at Frodo. "He's like his uncle. Mad as a box of frogs."

When Frodo opened his mouth to protest, Penley waved him silent before turning to face the accuser. "Now then, Mister Sandyman. There's no call for talk like that. Mister Baggins seems sane enough to me."

"He's been seen, trampin' about the Shire in the middle of the night. And he says he talks to elves. Elves!" Ted announced with a derisory hoot.

Penley returned his gaze to Frodo. "I don't see that taking a walk in the dark is any sign of madness. If it were, every inn in the Shire would have to close at midday come winter, and never a courting couple would get to marrying. As for saying that you talk to elves … that could be considered a bit odd, I grant you."

At that moment there was a disturbance at the rear of the tent and it was with a sense of relief that Frodo heard Tom Cotton's voice. "Let me through, I tell ye! I'm a voter from Hobbiton too." At a signal from Mayor Whitfoot the crowd parted and both Tom and his wife, Lily, stepped forward.

Lily offered Frodo a reassuring smile as her husband spoke. "Mister Baggins was chosen by the folk of Hobbiton to vote for them. I know Frodo personally and he's no madder than anyone else in this place." He paused to shoot an angry look at Ted. "If there's anyone not in his full mind 'tis Ted."

Ted squared up to Tom, and Frodo thought they were about to exchange blows, but one of the shirrifs stepped between, forcing Ted to back down.

Penley looked from Ted to Frodo. "It seems to me that maybe this is just a village feud."

"I'll not deny there's bad blood between the Baggins and Sandyman family," Ted announced. "But that don't make him any more fit to speak for sane hobbit folk."

"Oh hush, Ted." Frodo would later swear that he could have he heard a blade of grass bend, the silence was so absolute. All eyes flew to the speaker and Penley folded his arms, his voice taking on it's best Mayoral tone. "It is the decision of this Mayor, that Mister Frodo Baggins is sane enough to represent his village, in the voting for the shirrif and mayoral elections."

Ted began to protest but Penley held up a hand. "That's an end to it Ted, and if you don't like it you'll have your opportunity to vote me out of office this very afternoon. Now I, for one, am ready for elevenses. I understand they're serving a very good bacon sandwich here." With those words Penley swept out, taking the shirrifs with him. The rest of the onlookers followed, no doubt enticed by mention of bacon. Soon there were only Frodo and the Cottons left, Ted Sandyman having melted away with the crowd.

Mrs Cotton stepped up to rub Frodo's arms. "Are you alright, Frodo? We came as soon as Sam told us you'd been taken off."

Frodo let out a relieved breath. "I am now. Thank you Lily, Farmer Cotton. I dread to think what would have happened had you not intervened."

"Think nothin' of it." Tom clapped Frodo on the back as he led him from the tent. "We can't have Hobbiton a vote short at the elections, now, can we? Although, if anyone asks, I'd keep that bit about the elves under yer cap."

The rest of the day was a distinct improvement upon its start. Frodo, Sam, and Fredegar strolled around the various booths, sampling many foods, and examining the wares for sale. Most were items available anywhere in the Shire but Sam spent some time examining boots from The Marish, much to Frodo and Freddy's amusement. Both had been fostered at Brandy Hall and encountered the items before.

"But, how do you know they'll fit? My feet are bigger than Mister Frodo's," Sam asked.

Frodo grinned. "Most hobbits have them made specifically. They make these to standard sizes and, if they're too big, you just wear an extra pair of socks."

Sam gave a perplexed blink. "What's socks?"

Fredegar pointed to the other end of the table, where a large array of brightly coloured knitted tubes were on display. They all had an intricately fashioned right angle, knitted at the middle, and Frodo had to slip his hand and arm into one to show how they fitted the shape of a foot. Then he surprised Sam by purchasing a couple of pairs.

"I didn't know you had any boots, Mister Frodo."

"I have a pair somewhere, although I doubt they'd still fit. But socks are lovely and warm for walking about indoors in winter. Perhaps your Da would like a pair. He feels the chill in his toes nowadays."

Sam jumped back, as though bitten. "I don't reckon my old gaffer would take too kindly to somethin' so, well, outlandish. Beggin' your pardon."

Fredegar laughed as Frodo dropped the 'outlandish' garments into his pack. About to move on to the next booth, which appeared to be selling woolly mittens, they were interrupted by the loud blowing of a horn.

"There's the signal for voting," Fredegar announced, and both he and Frodo began fishing in breeches pockets, to retrieve their bag of voting counters.

"How's the votin' done?" Sam asked, intrigued by the counters. "I've never seen it before." He followed his companions as they joined a long line forming to one side of the field.

"Can you see all those jars on the tables? Each one has a label with the names of those put forward for shirrifs, and the candidates for Mayor," Frodo explained.

"This black counter is for the Mayor. There's only Penley and Will Whitfoot, and old Delbin Boffin, standing. I suspect Will is the one to win. Penley's made it clear he wants to stand down and nobody is going to vote for Delbin," Fredegar announced.

"Why not?"

Frodo grinned. "If Ted Sandyman thought I was as mad as a box of frogs, Delbin is a whole pond full. I think they only allowed him to stand so that it doesn't look like a family business, when Will takes the job from his father."

"So the white counters are for the shirrif's?"

"That's right, Sam. We can only choose a fixed number and we just drop a counter into the jar for each one we want." Frodo smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid it's a bit haphazard, as most people don't know all the candidates personally. But as the shirrif's don't have much in the way of duties anyway, it's not too much of a problem."

As they talked they had drawn closer to the front and now one of the incumbent shirrifs beckoned Sam aside. It was not considered proper to unduly influence the voters. Moments later the trio reunited, and Fredegar proposed they have a snack and a half of ale, declaring that voting was hard work.

The rest of the day was spent browsing and eating, and they finished back at the dwarven wagon There, Sam spent two pennies on some ribbons for his sisters, pleased beyond measure when Galby added in two yards of fine white lace at no extra cost. The companions were invited to share supper with their new friends and to stay the night once more.

At sundown the results of the elections were announced, and Will Whitfoot performed his first duty as new mayor, by lighting the bonfire at the centre of the field. Hobbits and dwarves, high-born and low, danced, and sang, and ate, and drank into the wee small hours. Most crawled into their blankets as the horizon was beginning to brighten with the dawn of mid year day. Some simply slept where they fell, too deep in their cups to care.

It was almost midday by the time Frodo began to cram all his purchases into his pack. "Will you be travelling on to the Blue Mountains or back to the Iron Hills? Only I see that you still have goods to trade, and Hobbiton market will be open in two days."

The dwarves were intent on their own packing, although there was a good deal less to stow away after the Free Fair. "We had nay decided. But we've a few bits left." Dalby grinned. "Did ye fancy a ride back to Hobbiton, Mister Baggins?"

Sam pressed down upon the contents of his master's pack as Frodo struggled with the drawstring and buckle. Frodo tugged, managing at last to pull it closed enough to fasten upon the very last hole. As full as it was, he was not looking forward to lugging it all the way back to Hobbiton. "Well, if you would be willing to do that, I am certain you will have customers eager for those ribbons at our little market, and I would be happy to offer you a good, home cooked meal, in payment. In fact there are beds aplenty in Bag End, if you fancy a feather bed and a proper roof over your head for the night."

Galby grinned. "Did ye hear that, lads? Good food and a feather bed."

Mabin stuck his head out from the back of the wagon. "And a chance to sell the last of our wares. I, for one, would not say 'no' to a feather mattress."

"I'm with Mabin," announced Toldi and Setic, as one.

"Well, Mister Baggins, it seems Hobbiton is gettin' the opportunity to buy our ribbons and toys, and ye get some supper guests," Galby declared. He hefted Frodo's pack, as though it were a feather pillow, and tossed it into the back of the wagon "Hop in, little masters."

Fredegar needed no persuading and even Sam was beginning to like these dwarves. Soon they were joining the throngs leaving the Free Fair. The wagon made better time than travelling on foot and they drove straight through Michel Delving, leaving many of the walkers far behind. Frodo spotted Ted and Orton Sandyman at one point and gave a cheery wave. In return, he received a brace of scowls that promised retribution at some future date. Upon reflection, that wave was not perhaps one of his better ideas.

That evening they sat about a campfire within a small copse of birch trees. Frodo lit his pipe, passing the glowing twig to Toldi, who used it to light his own. "We seem to have more and more dwarves travelling through the Shire of late," Frodo observed, "And not all are coming to trade."

"Aye. There's been a deal o' messengers runnin' back and forth of late. I know nothin' of the doin's o' Kings, ye ken, but there's been rumours," Galby declared in an ominous tone.

"What sort of rumours?" Fredegar asked with a shudder.

"Well, some o' my kin staggered into our halls in the Blue Mountains last year. They said they were attacked by trolls, and not yer usual trolls neither. These had strange weapons and were cunning enough to waylay a party of well armed dwarves."

"Aye," Toldi added. "And there's talk of orcs multiplyin' in the Mountains o' Moria. There's been no word from Khazad-dum for some time. Some even think the colony may have been slain."

"Enough, Toldi!" Galby growled. "We dinna know, fer sure, and tis nay wise to call down trouble where it's not wanted. There's trouble enough about."

To Frodo, it seemed that the bright world of adventure he had always assumed lay beyond the Shire's borders was growing rather dark and frightening. His hand slipped, almost of its own volition, into his pocket to grasp Bilbo's ring on it's sturdy chain.

"That certainly sounds trouble enough," Sam declared, with the lightness of one who considered such warnings had little to do with his own peaceful world.

"But it's not all," Toldi replied, quietly. "There's news from lands to the south. The Rangers speak of the Dark Tower being rebuilt in Mordor."

"What's a Dark Tower?" Fredegar asked. Like Sam, he no doubt felt that such news held little import for him, but the catch in his voice showed even he was being drawn into the fears of their hosts.

"And what's a Ranger?" Sam added.

Galby flicked a pebble at Toldi's chest. "Enough, now. Pay him no heed, little masters. Toldi's always one to take a molehill and make a mountain of it. Tis all whispers and half tales and should nay be taken serious." He turned to Setric. "Break out that whistle o' yours and give us a tune. This night's grown too dark and I'll not give our friends nightmares."

The next day, Fredegar left them at the turn-off to Bywater, after promising Frodo that he would visit Bag End soon, and the wagon rolled to Hobbiton. At the bottom of Bagshot Row they unhitched the wagon, left the ponies stabled with Arty Sedgebury's cow, then the group of dwarves and two hobbits trooped up the hill to Bag End.

Marigold Gamgee had already taken on her mother's mantle, bringing provisions to Bag End, ready for Frodo's return. It took only minutes for Sam to run down the hill to Arty, to collect fresh milk, and Bag End's guests helped light the kitchen range and make up the spare beds themselves. Mabin earned a room to himself, on account of his snoring, and Galby, Toldi and Setic decided to share the big bedroom usually reserved for Gandalf the wizard. That way they only had to make up two beds, which suited everybody.

Within an hour, supper was on the table and it was a merry group that sat down to eat. Even Sam was persuaded to join them, although he kept leaping up to offer more bread, more cheese, a slice of ham, another ale…