Author's Notes:

Beg pardon, my editor is working overtime and has less time than usual for fanfic. She just now sent me this chapter, which I am passing on to you.

Once upon a time, hobbits lived in harmony with Men, farming the upper vales of the Anduin. They lived so quietly, as a matter of fact, that none of the Great noticed them at all. (The Great are more likely to notice troublemakers than folk doing what they ought.) Times changed, a darkness crept over the land, shadowing the hearts of Men, and some Little Folk made the dangerous crossing of the Mountains to the West, while others were driven into the shelter of the forest, where they passed quite a few years in pleasant obscurity once more. It is not always a misfortune being overlooked...

Readers taking the time to review are muchly appreciated. The Muse seems to run on virtual pina coladas and reviews...

Bookworm, I love sneaking in characters from the original wherever I can manage to do so. Glad you recognised the brown one!

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Expect another chapter of "Small and Passing Thing" in a couple of days, if all goes well.

Chapter 19. A Parting and A Meeting

 'Are you Grand-alf's brother?' the small voice piped, and the brown one looked down to meet wide eyes looking up from the hobbit he cradled. They had nursed this little one for some days, and when it seemed Pick was out of danger the grey one had gone off to do some "looking about", leaving the hobbit in the brown wizard's care. These were the first clear words Pick had spoken, unmuddled by fever and pain.

The wizard considered his answer, and when he did reply his words were slow and measured as always. The white one scorned him for his deliberation, he knew, but what did it matter?

 'You might call us cousins,' he said at last. 'We have known each other long.'

 'You look alike,' the hobbit said, 'only different.' In spite of himself the brown one found himself chuckling. There was something about these little ones, just as the grey one had said...

 'What is your name?' the hobbit persisted.

 'Name?' the brown one said, raising an eyebrow. The hobbit sighed. Were his folk the only sensible ones? No, the alfs had given their names after initial caution. 'I'm told your name is Pick,' the wizard added, evading the topic of his own name.

 'Pickthorn,' the hobbit corrected. 'My father is Thorn--the Thorn,' he emphasised. 'Do you have a staff?'

Such quick changes of topic were bewildering. The brown wizard was used to following a trail of thought to its end before starting another. 'A staff?' he said, bemused.

 'Does it flare and flame like Grand-alf's?' the hobbit said, eyes bright with interest.

 'No,' the wizard said. 'Mine has other uses. Fire is his servant.' Actually it was the other way around; the grey wizard was a servant of the secret Fire, but he doubted this little one would understand.

A bluebird called in the canopy above them, and the brown one whistled an answer. The little voice spoke again. 'They're different from ours.'

 'Eh? What's that?'

  The little one whistled a bluebird's call, subtly different. 'O yes,' the wizard said in recognition. 'That is the call of Greenwood.' He eyed the little one. 'That is on the other side of the Anduin.'

Pick nodded, recognising the alf's name for the great River. 'The Lady,' he said, 'it is Her wood,' and the wizard nodded. Grandalf had told him about the Lady. These Little Folk had at least one powerful friend. 'Where are we?'

 'In the lap of the Misty Mountains,' Grandalf said, coming up to them. To be literal, the hobbit was in the lap of the brown wizard, looking quite comfortable for one so nearly torn to pieces in an eyrie a fortnight ago. 'Your people were making the crossing when you were lost, and we must follow. Evil is on their trail.'

 'He is not strong enough yet for a journey,' the brown one protested.

 'I will carry him.'

The brown wizard muttered to himself and whistled sharply. To Pick's wonder a bird came down from the canopy to perch upon an out-thrust finger, and then there was a conversation of whistles and chirps before the bird flew off again.

 'At least have some stew before you go,' the brown wizard grumbled. 'I went to the effort of making it while you were off looking for trouble.'

 'Finding it, you mean,' Grandalf said, bending to take Pick from the brown one's lap. He smelt faintly of smoke and thunder on a sultry day. 'How are you, young Pick?'

 'I can walk,' the hobbit said bravely.

 'Have a bite to eat first,' the brown one said stubbornly. 'You'll go farther if you do.' Though the grey wizard was taut with tension, he settled down, still holding the hobbit, and allowed the brown one to serve them. He ate rapidly, however, and some of his urgency was transmitted to Pick.

The hobbit found himself wolfing his food instead of enjoying it. 'Done,' he said at last, when he'd eaten as much as both wizards put together.

 'We'll be on our way,' Grandalf said, rising with his burden.

 'Wait,' the brown one commanded, holding up a hand.

 'We cannot wait,' Grandalf said huffily.

 'You'll go on better if you do,' the brown one replied. 'Ah, here we are.' Hoof beats could be heard approaching, a light tappety-tap of a gallop.

 'Where did you find a horse in these parts?' Grandalf said in astonishment.

 'Not a horse,' the brown one said softly. 'A friend. Now be still.' He held out a hand, and all three waited, scarcely breathing.

The hoof beats stopped outside their clearing, and the brown wizard called, a low, hollow tone. There was a moment of silent waiting, and then a great stag stepped into the clearing, walking proudly forward until it nuzzled the outstretched hand. The brown one spoke in low murmurings and the great crowned head nodded. 'He will bear you, brother,' the brown one said. 'He has feet that are both swift and sure, and he will bring you over snow and ice safely. The birds say that winter already has laid her cloak over the mountain passes.'

Grandalf stepped forward, extending a hand to the soft, wet muzzle and was thoroughly snuffled. 'I thank you,' he said softly to the great beast, and the deep brown eye regarded him thoughtfully. He lifted Pick onto the broad back and lightly mounted himself, the hobbit safely before him, hedged in by his arms. 'Send word to the elves of Greenwood,' he said, 'and those of Elrond who lodge there. The orcs are moving into the mountains, and will seek out fastnesses there to waylay unwary travellers. I will take word to Imladris.'

 'We are going to Imladris?' Pick said, his heart lightening. He thought he'd never see his people again.

 'Indeed we are,' Grandalf assured him. 'We go by the path your father chose. Indeed, I intend to meet up with him again in the new land!'
 

Elladan heard the splash before he saw the maker of the sound. It was more than the jump of a fish in the stream. He tensed, nocking an arrow to his bow, and crept forward. He paused to see the small figure on the rock, holding a staff in hand, knife tied to the end to make an improvised fishing spear.

 'Black?' he said, and the figure tensed, then turned towards him. It was the hobbit he remembered, though much thinner, grim of face, bearing scars he hadn't seen before.

 'Ell Adan?' the hobbit said. 'Do you know how many valleys there are in this country, that all match the description you gave me? We'd given up on seeking Imladris, found temporary shelter in the forest beyond, and are trying to keep from starving while dodging the great Men who hunt in the woods.' He looked around him. 'Grandalf promised a fair land, but we have known only sorrow and hardship.'

 'The fair land and the others of your sort lie further to the West,' Elladan said.

 'Wouldn't you know it?' Black said. 'Another wrong choice... without my father and Beech to lead us we've been lost. The Lady has not spoken since we made the crossing, and I have not known what to do save find some sort of shelter and send out what hunters we have left to feed the mothers and babes.'

 'What hunters you have left?' the son of Elrond echoed.

The hobbit nodded grimly. 'Gobble-uns followed us,' he said. 'They nearly had us, but my father took most of the hunters to meet them. None ever returned.'

 'Blackthorn,' Elladan said softly.

The hobbit raised his head. 'I am Thorn,' he said proudly, but then his shoulders slumped. 'The Thorn, for all the good it does. You did not see any sign of bodies as you came over the pass? They were all killed and taken for the pot then,' he ended bleakly.

 'I came over a different pass,' Elladan said. 'I travelled quickly, on horseback, to bring news of Glorfindel to my father, and I had no need to avoid the paths taken by Men.'

The Thorn nodded, fish spear drooping in his hand. Elladan dug suddenly in his pouch, bringing out a packet of waybread. 'Here,' he said. 'Take this; it will lend you strength. And then I ask that you take me to your people. We will guide them to my father's house.'