A/N: I have tried valiantly to make this as canon as possible. I used real dates and real ages. However, many specifics are not told, that is why I chose to write it. There is no mention of the Dunedain protecting the Shire during the Fell Winter, but I thought it would be a nice touch, and quite possible, so I found who the chieftain was at the time. He died the year after the Fell Winter according to Appendix A, so I also made up a death for him. I had to add Bilbo, because, after all, in the time of the Ring, He was the only hobbit that remembered the Fell Winter. I have always liked Bilbo. After reading the Hobbit he was sort of my hero, but when he had no real role in LOTR, I was slightly disappointed. But then I found a new hero, his great grandfather and his grandfather have been added to this tale.
The year, by Shire reckoning was 1311, or 2911 of the Third Age of Middle Earth. The summer of that year was unusually cool and, though the hobbits enjoyed it, they realized that the winter would be unusually cold. They prepared as well as they could, and sure enough by mid October, the ground was frozen and some snow lay about.
The hobbit children loved the snow, of course. They would allow themselves to be bundled up by their mothers and they would romp in the snow as only children can. The smaller ones would get cold after a rigorous snowball fight and they would go in by the fires, leaving the bigger children to continue their play.
The adults, however, though they liked snow, were afraid of its duration. Surely with snow so early, and likely so late, they would not be able to find enough fuel for the fires, or food for the tables. They watched fearfully as the snow piled higher against the round windows.
By December, the snow was up to the waists of most hobbits. Each head of home and his sons would scrape the snow from the walkways of their holes and helped to clear the road so travel could be made possible. December was the month that the snow ceased to fall and instead the temperature dropped. Before long, the hobbits dared not venture far from their holes for any period of time. The air would nip their noses and ears and chill their lungs so that if any were out for long, they would return with a cough. It became so cold that all of the little bubbling streams froze in solid eerie shapes. And, if they had ventured out, the hobbits would have found that even the great river Brandywine was frozen over the top in a smooth sheet. But, no hobbits dared venture that far in the cold. Even the hobbits of Buckland, who were much closer to the river, stayed indoors and did not realize the danger of the thickening ice.
Now, the Bucklanders had a thick hedge round their establishment which they called the High Hay. The High Hay served as a barrier between them and the Old Forest and the other wild things across the river from the shire. The High Hay is what protected them that Fell Winter.
Now Bilbo was a hobbit of the shire and he lived with his parents Bungo and Belladonna in a hole in Hobbiton called Bag End. Bilbo was quite a young hobbit at this time, being only 21, and even the Old Gaffer had not been born.
Bilbo enjoyed the brisk weather and would often put on his heaviest cloak and hood and swath his face in scarves so that he could go for a brief walk along his favorite path. It was he who heard the Horn-call of Buckland.
It was a very long was from Buckland to Hobbiton, but the horn sound carried faintly through the clear cold air. Bilbo took fright and hurried back home to tell his parents of the warning horn. He slipped on a patch of ice in the road, and crashed down upon his knees. There he crouched in pain, unable to regain his feet for some time. As the cold of the snow began to seep through his layers of clothing, Bilbo heard a sound he had never before heard, one that no hobbit of the Shire had ever heard. The sound was the far off baying of wolves, though Bilbo did not know that. He only knew that it was menacing, and not nearly far off enough. He tried to pull himself to his feet and succeeded to stand shakily. He hobbled slowly toward Bad End, frequently slipping and taking rests for his knees. As he passed other hobbit holes he shouted from the road that the warning horns of Buckland had been sounded and that some great menace was not far off. Thus, many stout hobbits (and by stout, I mean not only in girth, but also strength and courage) armed themselves with what they could and sat just inside their doors. Their weapons were mainly rakes and other garden implements. Finally Bilbo made it to his own hole and collapsed breathless inside the door. His mother rushed to him.
"My poor lad! Were have you been? We were beginning to get worried!" She helped him out of his wet clothes and listened as he told what he had heard.
Bungo brought a steaming cup of tea and questioned Bilbo on the menacing baying.
Bilbo could not tell much, "It was very like a dog's howl, but much more frightening." He said, and gulped the tea. Belladonna went pale and her husband look quizzically at her.
"The Tooks, you know, we get out and about more than most. We hear tales of other lands." She paused fearfully. "The cousin of the Old Took traveled once to the Northern Waste. There he heard the White Wolves. They strike fear into any being who hears their hunting call. The Took who heard them was the only one of his party to return to the Shire, the rest were taken by the wolves." She sighed and paced. Bungo sat with his head in his hands. Bilbo still shook with the memory of the sound.
Not an hour later the baying could be heard from inside the hobbit holes. One fell voice would call, and from a separate location another would answer. The hobbits soon realized that the Shire was overrun with the terrifying beasts. They locked their doors and closed their shutters. Terror seized many of the young ones. They huddled in their beds with fingers jammed into their ears, whimpering and shaking. Many of the grownups had similar reactions. Some huddled in their cellars to escape the noise, and also to drown it out with ale.
At this time, the Chieftain of the Dunedain was an old man named Argonui. He and many of his men just happened to be patrolling the northwestern borders of the Shire when the White Wolves came down from the North. The Wolves were driven by hunger, but had never before crossed the Baranduin. With its icing over, they found courage and they sought to sate their hunger. Argonui had before dealt with the White Wolves. They were often encountered in the northern realms where the Dunedain made their home. But never had Argonui heard them so far south. He listened the frantic horns of Buckland and rallied his few men.
There were a great many Wolves, crazed with hunger that attacked the shire, but very few of its inhabitants were killed because of the intervention of the Dunedain. The doughty men fought the large beasts, and were not even seen by the cowering hobbits.
Arador, son of Argonui led one group of men directly southwest to Hobbiton as Argonui took another force south along the Baranduin. Their plan was to catch all the wolves, kill as many as they could, and drive the rest back North. But that plan did not work as well as they hoped. The Wolves were much too mad to be driven anywhere and they put up a great fight. They would prefer easier prey, but anything with meant on the bone was viewed as food.
But the Dunedain were not ready to be devoured. Though Argonui's group was vastly outnumbered, they formed a circle bristling with swords. The bodies of White Wolves piled up around the men, staining the snow crimson. But the numbers of the Wolves seemed not to lessen. They continued to attack as fiercely as before, heedless of their kin dying underfoot. The Dunedain battled valiantly, but began to realize that the odds were against them. Though stalwart, and skilled with their weapons, some men were overwhelmed by the fell creatures and joined the corpses to bleed in the snow.
Argonui dared not flee the beasts to let them prowl the Shire. He wiped his soiled blade upon the drift snow and loosened his scarf. The action of the fight had warmed him sufficiently. At present, there was a lull. The Wolves were gathering their numbers, and the men rested briefly to prepare. The beasts began once more to howl, and soon, to the west, answers could be heard. Some of the men began to mumble despairingly, but over the cacophony of baying they began to hear the shouts of men. Arador's men were apparently herding, or giving chase to, the other pack of wolves.
Arador stopped a moment and listened. Over the noise of the pack they drove before them, he heard more baying, then shouts of men in answer to the yells of his own men. He raised his sword and charged towards his besieged father.
The new pack of wolves joined the familiar one and instantly they attacked the Chieftain and his men again. The men fought with renewed hope at the promised reinforcements. Argonui grinned as he slashed his foes and left them lying. But he was an old man, and once, as he swung, his right shoulder shirked its duty and his blade faltered. The shining tip dipped toward the ground and the Wolf that was attacking lunged forward, bowling the Dunedain over.
From only a few hundred feet away, Arador saw his father wince as his shoulder gave way, and saw as he was knocked to the snow by the beast. Swiftly Arador drew his bow and an arrow and shot the beast squarely in the head. The wolf was killed instantly, and it slumped on the inert leader's body.
Buy some miracle, the Wolves were routed and their remainder was driven northwards across the river. The Dunedain Chieftain had suffered several vicious bites to his arms and shoulder, but was yet alive. Some of the Dunedain carried him to safety as others cared for their other wounded and dead. Still others dragged the bodies of the White Wolves out of the populated areas and buried them.
After the decimation of the Wolves, the people of the Shire began to come out of their holes to see what the ruckus was. As it was still far to cold to venture far, they saw nothing. A few of the Hobbits had fought some wolves, and most of those few had perished.
So the winter continued and the snow fell again, covering the bloody and beaten snow of the fight. By February the snow began to melt and the Brandywine River flowed free again. Most of the hobbits knew nothing of the Dunedain's sacrifice. Most were content to sit by the fire and tell tales of the Fell Winter and the White Wolves to wide-eyed youngsters.
Argonui never recovered from his hurts. His frail old body could not withstand the venom of the Wolf bites and he died before the spring was fully come. Thus, Arador became the fourteenth Chieftain of the Dunedain.