The byre had been built under the stand of rowans that the Hobbits had spotted the previous night, the lower boughs tightly intertwined to provide an almost solid cave that could keep all but the most inclement weather from its occupants. It had obviously been erected for some time, Tom decided. There were green shoots projecting from the mesh and a number that had been trimmed. "How long, 've you been here?" He asked curiously, trying to get a better view of the workmanship. "That be as good a bit of laying as I've seen and I've known a few good uns. Must be a good three year old!"
The she elf laughed. "Not as long as these bushes. There is drink and food at the back. We know Hobbits are always hungry! I am Othmiel. Malindron is my brother."
"You promised to explain why you are here," Bilbo prompted after they had taken, by Hobbit standards, a modest lunch of elven bread, fruit and bright spring water, flavoured with some sort of cordial that the elves poured into their glasses in carefully measured amounts. "The only elf left in Eriador is Legolas and he's down over Rohan way." He waved expansively towards the South-East.
"Oh, there are always elves!" Malindron assured him, glancing towards his sister. "We come to watch and wait. Sooner or later men will stray further West and our new homelands will be overrun again."
"Now suppose you explain why three fat hobbits are wandering the marshes?" Othmiel demanded all business. "There are no Hobbit villages North of here."
"It's because of the Gaffer!" Bilbo blurted in uncharacteristic enthusiasm. "People won't leave him be. He gets fair tuckered with all them folks asking silly questions."
"And the foolish Hobbits think that going on a journey will change that?" Malindron suggested, a smile playing across his smooth face. "Your people go to your Gaffer for advice because of his wisdom, not for the size of his tales."
"They ain't got no right to see him to an early grave!" Tom lashed out in defence of his brother.
"With more than one hundred summers behind him, Samwise Gamgee will never be ready for an early grave!" Othmiel laughed. "Well your words are spoken with true heart. So what are you intending to do with the Dwarves when you find them? Chase them away? I think they may be a match, even for three sturdy Hobbits?"
We don't rightly know," Farrimer admitted. "Thought we might talk to them and get them to stop fouling the Evendwr?"
Othmiel became serious. "Listen good Hobbits. Elves are not known for giving advice, freely or otherwise. But this I do for the service your brethren have done for us. Not all dwarves are as Gimli, son of Gloin, good of heart. You would be wise to return to the Shire if all you are able to offer is words."
"We're here. Ain't goin' home till we been an' had a look," Bilbo declared resolutely.
"In that case you should rest here until the fog lifts. We will not be able to help you further in your travels," Malindron cautioned mildly. "Our path does not lead to the North and we must leave you here."
The fog lifting was the sign for rain to start, forming an even thicker grey curtain around the Hobbits small refuge. It was not a feature that encouraged further travels abroad, especially after their earlier escapades and with little idea as to where they were.
The Hobbits silently and unanimously took their rescuers advice and settled under the Byre's protective canopy to await better weather. But found the wait, wet as they were, cold, damp and miserable.
Tom finding kindling amongst the Elves small store at the rear, plus a small pile of dry timber, risked a brief foray into the wet world outside for more dead wood and built a small fire in the entryway. It did at least offer a little warmth and the prospect of hot tea, so they gathered around it gratefully until long after nightfall.
The first weak gold rays of the sun rising in the East played across Bilbo's face. He snuffled at the unwanted intrusion and tried to brush it away. The slap he gave himself woke him with a start. For a few minutes he did little else other than worry at the all encroaching stiffness that belied a nights sleep with nothing more than one's own knees for a pillow, then crawled outside.
He found himself nose to nose with Green Leaf, their erstwhile pack pony, still with the packs attached. He guessed that the Elves had found her on their way to were ever and had brought her to the Byre. For that he was grateful, though he still felt a tinge of regret that they had not done the same with the other ponies. Perhaps they were hoping that the Hobbits would simply return to the Shire on foot.
Well, he reflected as he rifled the pack for the means for breakfast, they were a lot closer the Dwarves than Hobbiton. It would be waste to come this far and not finish by having a look. Besides the day was promising fine weather, the sun rising in a cloudless sky was already warming the wet grass around his toes.
Satisfied with the bread and cheeses he pulled from the pack, he settled to rebuilding the fire. Tom was the great fire builder, not Bilbo. But with the aide of the long matches from the pack and the kindling and wood that Tom had put aside the night before, he managed to light the fire before the smell of the smoke awoke the others.
"Gonna be a hot day," Tom grumbled mildly as he staggered around the glade trying to retrieve some feeling in his cramped legs.
"Well at least we can see what we are sinking in!" Farrimer opined brightly. "Might even get beyond the marshes before the sun goes down?"
"Aye, but in which direction?" Tom asked sourly. "Them Elves were less than keen for us to see the Dwarves. Thought they be trouble. What are they doing here any roads? They didn't say owt, as they said they was."
"I think they have their own business," Bilbo offered. "Besides they pulled us out of the marsh."
"Aye. T'is that," Tom agreed. "Ain't complaining 'bout that."
"I don't see a problem carrying on. It's not as if we're looking for trouble," Farrimer asserted confidently. "Look, we can see the hills from here. So we aren't that far. We still have Green Leaf and we would have to lead the ponies before long."
It took some time to break Tom from his ill-humour, taking not just breakfast and copious tea, but second breakfast as well to return him to his normal ambivalent view on life.
It was, therefore, rather later than any of them would have liked by the time they physically set off. Farrimer leading, testing anything that looked soft with a long stick and Tom leading their pony, trailing the other two.
