Disclaimer: Middle Earth and all its locations belong to the JRR Tolkien estate. The main characters belong to me and are copyrighted. I do not claim ownership of anything of JRR Tolkien's, and I bow down to him in thanks for his wonderful creations which act as inspirations to us all. *bows solemnly*

In the Heart of the Shire

Finally, unable to go any farther, he fell to the ground and lay like one dead. The wind blew more gently, and a blanket of snow began to cover him until he was but another small drift on the white earth.

        Trotter dreamed. The wind was blowing with a great howling noise, and he was on an endless plain of ice that was cracking apart beneath him. Whiteness stretched out blindingly in all directions, laced with black lines like giant cobwebs. He could hear the crackling as slabs of ice broke apart into smaller and smaller pieces, floating away to reveal deep blue water underneath. It was getting warmer, and the ice was melting and the crackling grew louder and louder until it filled his ears. Crack! The slab he was standing on broke in half, and he scuttled to the opposite side. Crunch! A giant rift appeared right in front of him, and he could feel himself tipping, tipping toward the freezing water …

        … Trotter opened his eyes to the sullen grey sky peeking through green branches above him. He was lying on the ground outside in the shelter of a tall evergreen with blankets heaped upon him, and there was a fire burning next to him; it was the source of the warmth and the crackling he had heard in his dream. Trees raised their green, snow-covered heads all around, and there was a dim sound of water nearby. He felt numb and tired and could not remember what had happened or why he wasn't inside a warm house in such weather. For a moment he merely rested, watching the bright sparks float by above his head. He wriggled his toes, relieved to find them intact and unfrozen, and flexed his hands by his sides.

        Suddenly, memory rushed back with all the force of an avalanche. He had fallen into the river … and that had not been a dream. But he could not remember anything after he had stumbled back out into the storm. How had he survived, apparently unharmed?

        "Am I really still alive?" he wondered aloud to himself.

        "Well, I don't know many dead Hobbits that can talk!" replied an unfamiliar voice cheerfully.

        With a yelp, Trotter started up, scattering the blankets around him. He stared around wildly, looking for the speaker, and found himself face to face with the mischievous brown eyes and insolent grins of two young Hobbits, sitting across from him on the other side of the fire. He blinked, wondering if he was seeing double, for the two Hobbits were so much alike in face and bearing that they could have been the same person. Both had the curly dark brown hair typical of their people, and their lively brown eyes danced with identical amusement at his surprise.

        "Good morning!" said the one who had spoken before, "I'm Falco Oldbuck."*

        "And I'm Folco Oldbuck," said the second.

        "We're twins," said Falco.

        "Identical twins," added Folco.

        And immediately they both burst into laughter, seeing the dumbfounded look on Trotter's face. He blinked in confusion, wondering which question out of the multitude that was clamouring in his head to ask first.

        "How …?" he said, not sure himself exactly what he wanted to know.

        "I suppose you're wondering how you got here, and who we are, and why we are here, aren't you?" said the one who had called himself Falco helpfully.

        "No, I think he's wondering how he can get something to eat quickly," Folco disagreed, "As any sensible person would in his situation!"

        "Not everyone always thinks of food, Folco!" Falco said in exasperation to his brother, "I'm sure he's much more interested in other matters right now!"

        "What do you know?" Folco replied tartly, "I'll bet he's just ravenous, too! Well," he continued, rounding on Trotter suddenly, "Which of us is right?"

        "Both," Trotter said, finally finding his tongue. He sat up fully and pulled the blankets back around himself, shivering in the cold air. "I must admit I am rather hungry," he continued, "But hardly less curious!"

        "You see?" said Folco, "I was right!"

        "So was I!" Falco retorted.

        "Right," said Folco, "How about some vittles?" And quick as a flash he began rummaging in a large leather bag lying next to the fire, pulling out a fair amount of sausages, rolls, butter, jam, eggs, apples, ale, and even some honey in a small jar (Hobbits are not the sort to travel unprepared when it comes to matters of food). With flink fingers he speared the sausages onto some long sticks and stuck them into the ground leaning over the coals; this done, he began to butter the rolls. Falco grabbed an apple and tossed it to Trotter, then took one himself and began to munch on it nonchalantly.

        "We've already had breakfast," he explained, "But not second breakfast yet, and we'll be glad to share it with you! Well, Mr. Wanderer, what is your name?"

        "Trotter," said Trotter, taking a bite out of the apple. His stomach growled and he realized how hungry he was. He had not eaten since lunchtime yesterday, and that is a very long time for a Hobbit!

        "Really? What an odd name," Falco remarked, "But you are a Hobbit, of course. From what family?"

        "The Marchbanks of Bree," Trotter said, "I have some relatives in the Shire, in Michel Delving, but none in the east. You are from the eastern marches, I assume?"

        "Of course!" Falco said, "We're Oldbucks, as we said. We came out for a little boating trip – wanted to have some fun before the winter set in! But it seems winter was too quick for us this year, leastways this storm was in a real hurry to put an end to the harvesting season and the boating season alike. Our boats are over there, on the bank of the Brandywine." He pointed vaguely in the direction beyond Trotter.

        Trotter twisted around slightly, taking in his surroundings, which he had hardly noticed before. They were close to the river, facing south, at the edge of a small clearing among the trees that lined the Brandywine, and evergreen branches hung over their heads, casting deep shadows on the earth beneath and protecting them from the worst of the wind and cold. The brothers had built a makeshift camp here, with their backs to a wide pine tree and the fire sheltered by several large boulders. There was a tiny cove some feet away, and two boats were pulled up into it, of the small, rowing kind that the Hobbits who live by the river are fond of using. The water flowed by sluggishly, a depressing greyish-brown colour, and snow was piled everywhere, though it was already much warmer than it had been yesterday. The fire burned merrily, and Trotter felt his spirit lifting and his strength returning even before Folco handed him two sausages wrapped in buttered rolls.

        "I'm sure you'll find these tasty," said the young Hobbit, "Our own recipe, delicious and perfectly suited for travelling! We call them hot logs, what with the log shape and all."

        "Then you travel a lot?" Trotter asked, biting into the first hot log, which was quite as satisfactory as Folco had promised.

        "Not so much," answered Falco, "At least, not outside of the Shire. We like boating – that's why we're here now, as I said before. Lucky for you, too! We were coming up the river yesterday when all of a sudden that storm blew up out of nowhere, and it started snowing like anything. So we pulled our boats up out of the water and struck camp here under the shelter of the trees. Then sometime in the evening the snow and wind started to let up, and I had just popped out for a look around when all of a sudden I saw a Hobbit wandering around, looking half-dead and all lost! I was just about to speak when you fell down, and by the time I reached you, you were already unconscious. So Folco and I carried you over here to the fire to try and warm you up. I can tell you, we were mighty worried for a minute! Your feet were all blue and we were afraid frostbite had set in … but all's well that ends well, as my gaffer always says!"

        "But tell us," Folco said curiously, "Who are you, and what are you doing wandering around here alone with nothing but a very odd sword?"

        "I'm not alone at all," Trotter replied, finishing his second hot log. He felt much better already, and the thought had struck him that he did not know where Anna and Beleg were, or if they were all right, or what he should do next. "Or at least, I wasn't alone – I have two companions. We were separated in the storm, and now I'm not sure how I should go about finding them. You haven't seen anyone else, have you?" he asked anxiously.

        Falco and Folco shook their heads unanimously.

        "We haven't seen anything but snow or heard anything but wind since yesterday," said Falco.

        "Then I don't know where they could be," Trotter said, staring down at his hands in his lap, "Anywhere at all, most likely … but I absolutely must find them! I can't continue on by myself!"

        "Continue on to where?" Folco asked.

        "Well …" said Trotter, hesitating. He did not feel he should tell the whole of his errand to just anyone, even a pair of well-meaning Hobbits who had saved his life. But he had to give some sort of explanation. "I did indeed live in Bree," he said finally, "But now I am coming from Norbury**, where I have seen the King and taken part in a council on behalf of Hobbits. I am a messenger of sorts – my companions and I are going to the Shire and then on to Tharbad by way of Sarn Ford, and we are to alert everyone on the way of the danger coming." It was a lie, but not so far from the truth.

        "Danger?" said Folco, spell-bound, "What kind of danger?"

        "Now wait a minute," Falco said with a frown, "If there's something so important happening as to make the King send a messenger to the Shire – which I well know hasn't happened in many a year! – then I don't think we should be talking about it here. My uncle the Thain of the Oldbucks should hear about it, and the Took as well, most likely. You'll be wanting to come with us back down the river, I expect."

        "Yes, but I …" Trotter began, then noticed for the first time that he was missing something. "Where is my sword?" he asked anxiously.

        "The great black thing?" Folco asked with a shudder, "You had it in your hand when we found you, but we couldn't find a scabbard for it. You must have lost that somewhere along the way … we put the sword into some leather wrapping for you, to dry it out." He twisted around and dug once more into a different bag, turning back a minute later with Nyéra held gingerly in his hand.

        "What a strange weapon," Falco said, shaking his head, as his brother extended the blade carefully towards Trotter. Falco obviously did not know much about swords; he was offering Nyéra to Trotter with the sharp end forward. Trotter leaned gingerly away from the black point.

        Suddenly, an arrow whistled through the air, barely missing Folco and landing with a thwack in the tree behind them.

        Folco yelped and dropped the sword, tumbling backwards to the ground in shock. At the same moment, Trotter leaped haltingly to his feet, searching the surrounding woods for the source of the arrow.

        "Beleg!" he shouted, "Don't shoot!"

        For he had, of course, guessed the identity of the archer, and sure enough, a few seconds later Beleg himself came bounding out of the trees at the south end of the clearing. His long bow was in his hands with an arrow knocked, but when he saw Trotter waving at him a look of delight crossed his face and he put away his weapons in a flash, running on light feet towards the little camp and catching Trotter's hand in a clasp of friendship.

        "Trotter!" he cried, ignoring Folco, who was looking at him with a scowl on his face, "You are well! We feared you were lost in the storm, or captured by servants of the Enemy!"

        Trotter grinned, but before he could answer, he was distracted by a streak of gold hurtling towards him from the same direction Beleg had appeared from. He found himself engulfed in a hug by Anna, who seemed hardly able to contain her joy.

        "Thank heavens I've found you again!" she said, "Beleg just won't listen to any sort of reason! I told him there wouldn't be any Orcs around here – practically in the Shire! – but he insisted on getting out that bow of his and shooting at everything in sight without even stopping to find out what it is! And now look, he could've killed you, or … or …" She trailed off and stared at the twins, who had gotten to their feet and were watching the strange reunion with matching expressions of confused interest.

        Trotter cleared his throat.

        "These are my companions," he said, "Anna Applethorn and Beleg of Lindon."

        "Pleased to meet you …" Falco said, eyes twinkling as he extended his hand towards Anna in greeting, "I'm Falco Oldbuck."

        "And I'm Folco Oldbuck," Folco said immediately.

        "They're twins," Trotter added.

        Falco and Folco grinned roguishly.

        "Identical twins!" they chorused in unison.

        A few hours later, Trotter sat in the bow of a small boat, watching the chilly Brandywine flow around him. Nyéra was in his lap, wrapped in brown leather until he could find a new scabbard for it, and his hands rested easily upon the unassuming package. After some discussion and a modified account of Trotter's errand, the five travellers had eventually decided to depart with all haste for Buck Hall, home of the Thain of the Oldbucks, which they could reach in a few days by boat. Beleg was forced to leave behind his horse, as it could not travel with them by water, but since Anna and Trotter's mounts had also disappeared in the storm, the remaining animal could not have been much help to the three of them anyway. Trotter hoped the horses would find their way back home eventually, for Anna's sake if nothing else.

        They had divided up the baggage and piled into the two little boats, setting off at about ten o'clock in the chilly morning. Trotter and Beleg joined Folco in the first boat, while Falco, winking mischievously, invited Anna to travel with him in the rear. She had accepted with a smile, though Beleg frowned darkly – he had not been amused by the twins' irreverent humour and light speech, and they had not forgotten his unprovoked arrow either.

        The riverbanks passed by swiftly, lined with trees of varying heights that often trailed their branches in the brown stream. Trotter watched the swirls and eddies in the current idly, fascinated by the movement of the water. The sky was still overcast, though the amount of snow diminished noticeably as they continued southwards, and by the end of the first day it had disappeared altogether. On the evening of that day they camped on the west bank of the river, within the Shire itself, and by the following morning the clouds had finally broken and blue sky greeted their eyes. The Brandywine looked much more cheerful here within the actual Shire; the trees, a mixture of dark evergreens and vivid autumn colours, waved brightly in the breeze, and the water looked more pleasant under clear skies. The wind blew white, fluffy clouds across the horizon, and the scenery was almost like a picture in a storybook. They travelled for some days in this picturesque setting, and Trotter almost forgot the danger inherent in his journey, imagining that he was merely taking a little vacation himself, on his way back home.

        On the afternoon of the fifth day they passed the Brandywine Bridge, and Trotter began to look eagerly for the familiar sights of the East Farthing. He had passed this way before, on the East Road on his way to visit relatives in the western part of the Shire, but that had been years ago. Now he watched the villages and towns appear over the horizon, chimneys puffing innocently with smoke from the cheery fires inside. The Shire was bright in the harvest season, its little woods and rolling hills charming as ever, the roads filled with children enjoying the last warmth of the year and farmers driving their carts to market. There were other boats on this part of the river, and some of the water-goers greeted the twins as they passed, but Trotter did not recognize anyone he saw.

        It was late in the evening of the seventh day when they reached Buck Hall. The Hall was located in the southern Marish in the town of Deephallow, a small settlement on the Brandywine, facing the borders of the Old Forest across the water, and inhabited mostly by the Oldbucks and related families. Trotter was watching the river again when they rounded a minor bend and the large hill rose in front of them. It was a hobbit-hole, to be sure, but as much greater than a normal hole as a palace is compared to an ordinary house. The Hall was delved out of Buck Hill next to the river, its many windows and doors dug into all sides, though the main ones faced the Brandywine or the road on the opposite side. Yellow light streamed out of the windows into the evening darkness, and the merry sound of laughter floated in the air. Whole generations of Oldbucks and their relatives lived in the Hall, which was in truth an endless warren of rooms and corridors, pantries and dining rooms and kitchens to make a Hobbit's heart weep with delight. Still, this was only a shadow of the magnificence of Brandy Hall, which would be built years later on the east bank of the Brandywine.

        There was a fair-sized dock in front of the Hall and a path leading to a large, round door with a lantern hanging beside it. This was called the Dock Door, and it was used mostly by Hobbits wanting to go for an idle boat ride on the Brandywine. Folco and Falco tied their boats to the piers and hopped out quickly, calling to Trotter and his companions merrily.         

"We've arrived just in time!" Falco laughed, "They're having the Harvest Feast! It falls every year on the third Friday in October – and today is Friday, all right, the twentieth!"

        "You'll be treated to a real feast now," Folco added, "Even the Bree-Hobbits can't cook like the Oldbucks, meaning no offence, of course." And he bowed slightly to Trotter.

        "None taken!" replied Trotter amiably, climbing out of his boat. He hesitated for a moment over Nyéra, but in the end decided to leave it inside his pack, well hidden in its cloth.

        "And dancing!" Falco continued, "You'll get all the dancing you can ask for as well tonight! Of course," he added, turning to Anna, "If you feel like celebrating, might it please you to grant me one dance?"

        "Certainly," Anna said, blushing with pleasure. She had spoken little that day, and merely watched the countryside pass by, smiling slightly the whole time. The Shire reached some part of her heart that had been cold and empty before; it was like a home, a place where even she could feel she belonged. Neither Falco nor Folco had made the slightest comment about her appearance or identity (unlike practically every Man she had ever met), and the Hobbits they had passed by on the river had waved to her with dimpled smiles, so that she waved back in surprise, wondering at their friendliness.

        "Lovely," Beleg remarked blandly, "You can compete over who is the more clumsy. Hopefully the other guests can escape before you break their feet as well as each other's."

        "At least they'll be out of the way in case someone randomly begins to shoot arrows at them," Falco retorted.

        Beleg scowled, but did not take his bow from off his back.

        Folco opened the Dock Door, and the five of them filed inside into a wide corridor. It was empty, and the rooms around were silent, but a faint sound of laughter and music came from further away.

        "Everyone will be in the Great Room," Folco said, "I'll just run off and find the Thain and tell him you've come – Falco will show you to a chamber where you can leave your baggage."

        Folco disappeared down an adjoining hallway while Falco led them further down the current one. They soon arrived at a good-sized room with south-facing windows where they put down their packs, cloaks, and weapons, and quickly washed some of the dust of travel off of their faces and raiment. With no further delay, they hurried on through the spacious, wood-floored tunnels, drawing ever closer to the sounds of merry-making.

        After a few minutes the corridor widened even further and they arrived at the Great Room. It was well deserving of its name, rising to a surprising height and brightly lit with dozens of lively lamps. The walls were decorated in autumn colours and hung with dried corncobs and wheat bushels. A huge fireplace filled one wall, and there was a space cleared in front of it, where some Hobbits were already dancing to the music of fiddles, flutes, and drums. The other half of the room was filled with low, round tables, laden with food and drink of all sorts and surrounded by comfortable, cushioned chairs. In the middle of each table stood a hollowed and carven pumpkin into which a candle had been set, illuminating the diners with an orange light. There seemed to be no particular order or etiquette to the party, and the arrival of the newcomers was not noticed amidst the general confusion.

        "There's the Thain," Falco said to Trotter, directing his attention towards a pleasant-faced, middle-aged Hobbit who sat at a table at the far end of the room, engaged in an apparently engrossing discussion with a young Hobbit-lass. "Bucca of the Marish, but every one calls him the Thain, or sometimes The Buck."

        At that moment, Folco appeared at their side, popping suddenly out of the crowd of Hobbits. He looked pleased with himself, and beamed at the sight of Trotter and his companions.

        "The Thain awaits you," he said, "And he's quite interested to hear your story – loves stories, the old dear! I suspect you'll be too busy talking all night to do much else, but do try the blueberry scones if you get a chance, and grab yourself a dance or two!"

        But Trotter found he had no appetite, nor any desire for dancing; the party around him reminded him of the danger drawing near from the north, and the urgency of his errand. He shuddered at the thought of the Witch-King's power reaching into the innocent heart of the Shire. But he concealed his feeling as well as he could, not wanting to alarm his companions or spoil their enjoyment of what could be their last safe resting place for a long time.

        "Don't wait for me!" he said with a smile to Anna and Beleg, "No one can celebrate like a Hobbit - so enjoy the party!"

        "Don't worry!" Falco called after him as he turned away, "We'll take care of that!"

        Trotter waved at him and began to thread his way through the laughing, dancing, busily eating crowd. He was greeted somewhat tipsily by various Hobbits, and one old gammer hung a wreath of woven autumn leaves about his neck. As he approached the Thain's table, he had a chance to examine the head of the Oldbuck family in more detail.

        The Thain was fairly short, even for a Hobbit, but it was obvious that weakness was not in his blood. His face was lined with deep creases, of laughter more than of sorrow or age, and patience was written on his brow as well as wisdom of a deep and quiet kind. His curly hair was entirely grey, but his eyes were sharp and keen, and he seemed aware of everything around him without so much as looking away from the girl he was talking to. She, in contrast, was young, smooth-faced and brown-limbed, with a wide smile that flashed continuously, like light that spills through a door that is repeatedly opened and closed. Their conversation died as they watched Trotter draw near, abandoning their laughter to stare curiously at the stranger.

        Trotter did not know himself how he looked in their eyes, for he could not see himself and would likely not have noticed anything special if he had. But he had changed since his sudden departure from Bree. Three weeks of travelling had left their mark on him; he had always been fairly tall (for a Hobbit), but he was thinner now than he had been and stronger, and though he carried no weapon at the moment he had the look about him of someone accustomed to wearing a blade. The scar on his neck had healed badly and stood out starkly against his skin. His sorrow and his errand rode heavily upon his shoulders. And he had drunk of the wine of the Elves and heard their singing in the wild hills, which can leave no mortal unchanged. What the Thain saw was a Hobbit, yes, but a strange Hobbit with a light in his eyes and purpose in his steps.

        Trotter stopped next to the table and bowed deeply. "Greetings to the Thain of the Oldbucks!" he said, "From Trotter Calacolindo the messenger of the King!"

        "I return the greeting," the Thain replied, "And welcome you at my table. Will you not sit? You must be hungry after your travels. June," he said, turning briefly to the young Hobbit sitting beside him, "Leave us for a while please, daughter." He smiled gently at her and she hopped obediently away, but not without casting a furtive glance at Trotter, who did not notice.

        Trotter bowed once more and sat down next to the Thain. He declined the older Hobbit's offer of food, but accepted a mug of ale with pleasure.

        "We have much to speak of," he said softly, "And I have little time to remain here."

        "My nephew tells me you have come from Norbury," the Thain said, "With news that concerns the Shire. I am very interested in what you have to say. We have had troubles here lately, and rumours of darker troubles in the outside lands have come to us. Our allegiance is to the King, and we remain loyal to him; but Hobbits are easily forgotten among the councils of Men, and I am anxious to ensure the well-being of the Shire. What have you to say?"

        "Very little that is pleasant," Trotter admitted, "I come from one of the very councils you refer to – the Last Council, as it was called by King Arvedui. The Witch-King has grown powerful once more, too powerful for the failing strength of the North Kingdom. An alliance has been bound of Men and Elves and Dwarves to stand against the dark tide coming from Carn Dûm, and yet even with the combined efforts of the three peoples there is but little chance of victory. The roads east and south are drowned in shadow, and Arnor can count on no further help. Yet the King and his councillors did not wish to give up hope, and so they have sent me with my companions to find a way to Gondor, the South Kingdom which reigns still in the full height of its power, and to bring help to Arnor in its precarious struggle with the Enemy. I was also instructed to speak to the Hobbits, and ask for aid on behalf of the King, in the form of supplies or soldiers. My errand is secret, and I bid you to speak of it to no one; but I am a Hobbit, and I could not pass the Shire without giving due warning, for if Arnor falls this land will be open to attack from the north and east. "

        "I thank you for that thought, at least," said the Thain, "Though your news is dark indeed! And yet it is not so great a surprise to me as you think. This hall is on the marches of the Shire, and news still comes to us from the outer lands. The Old Forest stirs across the river and strange creatures wake to life in the marshes in the south. But this is worse than I had feared … I will send messengers to The Took this very night, if I can, and to Michel Delving as well, for the Shire must be alerted. But tell me now of this council, and leave nothing out, I beg you!"

        So Trotter recounted in detail what had been said at the Last Council, and told of the darkening of Bree and the messengers who had not reached Rivendell, and his own tale, starting with Nyéra and flowing on until Fornost, though he left out Arneniel and her message. And he spoke also of the storm that had come upon them, and his fear that the Witch-King knew already of their errand.

        "As to the last," the Thain said after Trotter had finished, "I fear there is little doubt that the Dark Lord knows already of your purpose. I wonder now if the road you have chosen is truly the best one. If he knows your route, you are in much danger, and it may be that you will not reach Gondor in time, or ever, or that that kingdom cannot give the help you hope for. But that is no reason to despair! The wild lands are wide and unknown even to the Witch-King. Go swiftly and secretly, if you wish to continue, and he will not find you, for even his spies cannot be everywhere. But in that case you cannot tarry here. The longer you delay the slimmer will grow your chances. When do you wish to depart?"

        "Tomorrow morning at best," said Trotter, "But I am not certain which route is the wisest. We purposed to go on foot south until Deephallow and then continue on through the wilds to Sarn Ford. But now you tell me that the marshes have grown dangerous, and they bar our path. To follow the East Road and then turn south at Waymoot is a longer road that I would wish, but I will take it if there is no alternative."

        "There is no need," the Thain said, shaking his head, "You can go by boat. I will send with you some of my people – no doubt Falco and Folco would be delighted to lend their help in this matter! – and they will guide you to Sarn Ford. The river splits into many shallow streams, some of them flowing into the marshes, but it is still navigable if you are careful. From there you must go on foot. But I advise you to keep off the South Road!"

        "Then your advice is the same as my own council," said Trotter, "We had planned to cross the plains, taking the straight route until the Gap in the Misty Mountains, but staying off the roads."

        "Good!" said the Thain, "Then I wish you speed and good luck on your journey. But come! Let us speak of other matters for a while. I am eager for news from Bree. Are you acquainted with the Eastbucks, by any chance?"

        The night drew on as the conversation continued in a lighter vein. Both Hobbits were engrossed in their talk, noticing little of the events around them (though Trotter did at one point catch sight of Anna and Falco, dancing a very lively number). And so neither of the speakers noticed the curly head of June Oldbuck peeking out from beneath the neighbouring table, and eavesdropping on every word that was said.

        Colours twirled about Anna's head as Falco spun her in a circle, and she laughed giddily. The fiddles squealed gaily in her ears in perfect harmony with their flying feet, and the Hobbit's wide grin could not have been a more appropriate accompaniment. The music continued, and they spun faster and faster, not noticing that the other dancers had dropped out and were watching them, clapping along in encouragement. Anna was aware only of the world whirling around her and the throbbing music that sent her flying out of her clumsy body onto the paths of joy.

        With a flourish, the song ended, and they slid to a halt, staring at each other with glowing eyes as they panted for breath. The surrounding Hobbits broke into applause and wild cheering. Falco bowed to their audience graciously, and Anna followed suit (deciding not to try for a curtsy this time).

        "Thank you most kindly," said Falco breathlessly, "We are honoured, to be sure …" His voice was drowned out as the music started up again and the partygoers laughed, hurrying back to the dance floor.

        "Shall we take a rest?" Anna asked. She was tired, though Falco seemed as energetic as ever.

        "Certainly!" he replied, "Let us go outside … there is nothing more beautiful than the moonlight on the Brandywine River, with the forest waving across the water and the stars bright in the sky! At least," he added with a wink at her, "Almost nothing more beautiful."

        Anna smiled as he grabbed her hand, and they hurried through the shifting crowd out of the Great Room and back into the corridor. She looked around briefly for Beleg, but did not see him, and dismissed him from her mind. They trotted lightly through the empty halls, Anna listening while Falco explained the uses of various chambers and pointed out family heirlooms. In a few minutes they had reached the Dock Door again, and stepped out into the chilly night.

        Anna took a deep breath, the fresh air cool against her hot skin, and they strolled slowly away from the light spilling out of Buck Hall towards the dark river. They walked down beside the dock on the grassy riverbank and stopped, looking across at the Old Forest on the other side.*** The trees loomed tall against the sky, blocking out the eastern stars, and the soft sound of running water muted the music floating distantly to their ears.

        "It's lovely," Anna said finally, "Like all of the Shire."

        "Lovely," Falco agreed, though Anna had the feeling he was not referring to his homeland. He paused a minute, then asked, "Do you like it here?"

        "I love it," Anna said honestly, "It's not like the other places I've been … it's like a different world, all by itself in the middle of the big dark one. I can't imagine trouble or danger or hatred in the Shire. It must be wonderful to live here! To be surrounded by smiles and laughter and music everyday, and to see the little hills and woods and the little people all around. You don't know how lucky you are."

        "I think I do," Falco said, "Although even the best of places can be bettered. Yes, the Shire is lovely and happy and safe. It's too bad you are only passing through."

        "Yes," Anna agreed. Now that she had seen the Shire, she truly did believe that she could be happy here, and that she need not search any further for peace. But long miles still lay ahead of her, and she could not be certain she would ever return to the land of the Hobbits. She had a task … or at least, she was following Trotter on his task.

        "Why are you following him?" Falco asked, and Anna jumped, wondering if he had read her mind. "What binds you to Trotter?" the Hobbit asked, not noticing her surprise.

        "He's my friend," she answered simply.

        "So you will go with him across all the leagues of Eriador? You will leave behind safety and peace for another's quest?" He hesitated a moment, then hurried on. "You would not like to stay here? He can go to Tharbad or wherever his heart leads him, but he may return in the end to the Shire, and you will see him again. Would you not like to stay?"

        Anna opened her mouth, but no sound came out. To stay in the Shire … the idea had not occurred to her. She had not considered parting from Trotter since they had ridden out of Bree together. But after all, why not? She was not bound to him. She loved him, yes, and he loved her as well, but that did not mean she had to wander over all of Middle Earth with him. There was love enough in the Shire for her as well. And he would understand – he would not ask her to come if she chose not to. All she had to say was yes. And yet … she could not say the word. She felt somehow that if she left Trotter now all the happiness she had found in the last two weeks would disappear, that it came from him and was given by him originally, and if she deserted him now she would prove herself unworthy of the friendship she craved. She could not bear the thought of him, struggling on alone to Gondor in the face of all dangers, while she sat safely in the Shire, the land of his own people, which he left behind in order to save it. And yet another thought whispered in her breast, but she would not listen to it; it was too new, too frightening in its unfamiliarity.

So she stood there in indecision, torn between two choices, unable to answer, until someone else spoke for her.

        "How touching," came Beleg's voice from out of the darkness, "Is this an attempt at seduction or a covert love-affair? In either case there is a distinct note of betrayal in it."

        Anna yelped, leaping into the air in surprise, and Falco twisted toward the sound of the Elfit's voice.

        "Where are you?" he asked angrily, "Show yourself!"

        A shadow rose up from the planks of the dock, and stepping forward into the stray light falling from the open door, revealed itself as the lithe figure of Beleg. He leaped lightly from the dock, landing on the bank next to it, and leaned nonchalantly against the wooden structure, staring unblinkingly at Falco and Anna.

        "Eavesdropping, I see?" Falco said hotly, "What a noble occupation!"

        "Not at all," Beleg replied, unperturbed, "I came out hours ago to look at the trees, and was sitting peacefully on the dock listening to the river when my blissful reverie was disturbed by the most disgusting display of shameless courting I have ever been privileged to witness. Really, what were you going to ask next – whether she would like to see your bedchamber?"

        "Beleg!" Anna snapped. She was blushing furiously, and hoped it wasn't too obvious in the darkness of the night. "This is none of your business!"

        "Isn't it?" he retorted, losing some of his cool, "And you, about to leave Trotter right before the darkest part of the road, when he might actually need you? So this is your idea of friendship!"

        Anna clenched her fists and raised her chin, but she could not help feeling guilty; she really had been thinking of letting Trotter go on without her.

        "And you think you know what friendship is?" Falco asked, scowling, "Spying on people in the night? Mocking your host, to whom you should be grateful for your bed and board!"

        Beleg stepped towards Falco, looking down at the shorter Hobbit with narrowed eyes.

        "I owe you nothing," he said coldly, "Fool of a Hobbit! You think I should be grateful to you? I have travelled in lands and faced horrors your puny mind cannot imagine, and you would gibber with fear at the very sight of them. And if Trotter and I fail on our mission now the Shire will be swept away by a shadow darker than anything you can comprehend. So have a care, Halfling!" And so menacing did he look with his glittering stare that Falco really did take a reflexive step backwards.

        "Beleg!" Anna cried, her ears ringing with sudden fury, "Stop it! You have no right to go around yelling at people and insulting them and scaring them just because … just because you're jealous!"

        "What?" the Elfit hissed, rounding on her like a whip cracking.

        "Yes, jealous!" Anna repeated, "You! Jealous because everyone else is enjoying themselves while you sit here and brood like a child, and jealous of me because I …" but she trailed off, for Beleg was laughing.

        "Oh, heavens!" he said, gasping for breath, "Jealous of the precious Manling! What a gem you are, Anna! And you have so much that is worth envying, don't you?"

        "Yes," said Anna icily over his laughter, "I have a heart."

        Beleg stopped chuckling and stared at her calculatingly. Then the familiar mocking smile flickered over his face and he bowed stiffly.

        "Ah," he said, "But you are betraying it."

        And without another word he turned his back on them and walked unhurriedly back into Buck Hall, leaving Anna at a complete loss.

        Trotter was already in their chamber when Beleg slipped in through the door, and the Elfit saw him at once, of course. For a moment he thought Trotter was asleep, though the lamp was lit, for the Hobbit was sitting motionless on one of the beds, propped against the headboard. But he turned his head at the arrival of his friend, and Beleg saw that his eyes were wide and awake. He closed the door quietly behind him and sat down cross-legged on a second bed, facing Trotter, who seemed lost in thought. But after a moment he stirred, and looked at the Elfit.

        "Hello … oh," he said.

        "What? Is there a problem?" Beleg asked.

        "You've been arguing with Anna again, haven't you?" Trotter remarked, "You have that look."

        "I wouldn't really call it arguing," Beleg said drily, "Something along the lines of 'the second Battle of Unnumbered Tears' would be more accurate."

        Trotter rolled his eyes but made no comment. "I hope you at least managed to enjoy yourself at the feast," he said.

        "Actually," Beleg grinned, "I did meet this marvellous little hobbit-maid. Slender as an Elf, and what's more, a redhead."

        Trotter stared at him in horror.

        "Oh, come on," Beleg groaned, his grin disappearing, "I was only jesting. I went outside and stared at the forest the whole time. Are you satisfied now?"

        Trotter's expression did not change. But then after a moment his face softened and he looked down at his lap.

        Beleg realized then that Trotter was holding something in his hands. He tilted his head to get a better view, and when Trotter held up the object he saw that it was a short scabbard, black and green and adorned with golden embroidery in the shape of leaves.

        "What is it?" he asked, curious as to where Trotter had found a sheath for Nyéra so quickly.

        "The scabbard of Marcho Fallohide," Trotter answered, "One of the two brothers who founded the Shire many years ago. It was kept after his death and passed through generations of Hobbits until the present day. The Thain gave it to me after the feast – I mentioned that I had lost the scabbard to Nyéra. And with it came a final piece of advice, a private last council, so to speak." He stopped talking, staring with wrinkled brow at the scabbard.

        "What did he say?" Beleg asked after a minute. Trotter looked up at him.

        "He said to me, 'I believe that Arnor will stand by its own strength or not at all. So I will send messengers throughout the Shire in a call to arms, a call to war. But we are a peaceful people, and I doubt that many will answer the call without someone to unite and lead them. Therefore I ask you now: go not to Gondor for aid, but turn to your own people and lead them against the darkness with the taller races. We will join the muster, and this last bit of strength may in the end be more crucial than all the armies of the south, should they come too late.' And then he gave me this scabbard, which once held the sword of the first leader of the Hobbits."

        Beleg sighed. "My friend," he said, "I guess your thoughts. The Shire is a land unmatched among all those I have seen. But we cannot tarry here, no matter how much your heart wishes it."

        "I know," Trotter said, looking down at his hands, "But it is not so simple anymore. If we go to Gondor but come too late, all will be lost. But if we stay, and lead the Shire to battle, might it not turn the tide against the Witch-King? Or would we merely be leading the Shire-Hobbits to a hopeless slaughter?"

        Beleg was silent for a minute, frowning into the air. He seemed to be looking far away into the deep wells of the past, and his eyes were shadowed. Then he took a deep silent breath as if gathering strength to jump some inhuman hurdle.

        "Trotter," he said, "Let me tell you a tale. Many years ago, I dwelt for a time in the Shire, in the north beneath the Hills of Evendim. I was much younger then, and I had left Lindon for a time to be with my father, who was from the west marches of this land. He was bold and adventurous, my father, unlike most Hobbits, and had many dealings with the Elves, which is how he met my mother long ago. On one occasion I went with him into the Hills, and there were Elves with us on that road. But the Twilight Hills even then were not safe, for already the Witch-King spread out his shadow, and one night we were attacked by a pack of werewolves, or Wargs as some call them. Their king was with them. His underlings call him Drekgreth – I heard them praise him with this name! – but the Elves name him Delcarch, the Fang of Horror. He has upon his left paw a claw forged of mithril stolen from the Dwarves, and nothing can withstand it. It cut down my father, and it cut down all the Elves that were with us. And when every one of our company had been slain but for me, the king of the Wargs turned his burning eyes upon me, and I felt sure that I looked into the face of Death. But he only howled with terrible laughter, and his fangs glistened. And he said to me:

        "'Run, little Elfling! I will not kill you! More miserable will be your fate in life than in death. Go back to your puny folk and dwell bitterly on your loneliness!'

        "All his followers laughed then, and they left me there by the body of my father, whose fair face had been rent by the Claw and made terrible and pitiable. I swore there a vow of revenge, and cursed Delcarch as he left me choking in my shame and anger. Great and terrible is the king of werewolves, and yet he is but a small cog in the machinery of the Witch-King. And so I tell you now, Trotter, that I do not believe the Shire can save Arnor, nay, not even in alliance with the Elves and the Dwarves and the Men of this land. For the Witch-King is larger and blacker than all these together." And then he turned from his friend and spoke no further word that night.

        Trotter stood silently on the bank of the Brandywine the following morning, wrapped in his shadow-cloak and with Nyéra in its scabbard slung onto his back. Dawn was just breaking. Both Anna and Beleg were with him, and though none of them spoke, each felt relieved somehow, as if the last hurdle had been cleared and they could now face the future together with certainty with one spirit. They watched as the final provisions were loaded into the boats – the same two they had travelled down the Brandywine on – and climbed in swiftly themselves, joining Falco and Folco, who had agreed gladly to take them to Sarn Ford. Trotter sat next to Folco in the second boat now, while Anna and Beleg took up with Falco in front. A few Hobbits had tumbled sleepily out of bed to say farewell to the strangers who had come and gone so quickly, and as the twins cast off the ropes, Trotter looked back and waved slightly.

        The boats slid into the current and drifted swiftly away from Buck Hall, and the great burrow was almost out of sight when the Thain came running out of the Dock Door and dashed to the end of the dock, almost falling into the river in his hurry. He cupped both hands around his mouth and shouted towards them.

        "June!" he yelled, "June!"

        Suddenly the packs piled upon the floor of boat heaved with a spasmodic movement, and Trotter saw with a cry of dismay that the bright young face of June Oldbuck was peering out at him from among the baggage.

* On the Oldbucks: Later became known as the Brandybucks when Gorhendad Oldbuck moved across the Brandywine and built Brandy Hall in S.R. 740. Nyáreonië takes place in S.R. 373 (Tale of Years Third Age 1974). At this time the Hobbits were still subjects of the King, but their affairs were ruled by local chieftains such as the Took and the Thain. The Thain was at this time the leader of the Oldbuck (Brandybuck) family, and only later handed over the title to the Tooks when this family was chosen to govern the Shire (along with the mayor in Michel Delving) in later years after the fall of the North Kingdom. When the Oldbucks settled the land across the Brandywine, the head of that family took the title of the Master of Buckland.

** Norbury: Shire name for Fornost

*** Before the Hedge was planted, the trees of the Old Forest reached all the way to the bank of the Brandywine and trailed their branches in its waters.