As ever, please forgive any of my typos. I'm particularly tired today (surprise surprise) so I hope I haven't missed one, but I'm not sure I've managed to catch them all

Chapter Forty-One: The Letter

Adalgrim Took had never expected to become the surrogate grandfather of three stranded dwarflings, but when it happened he was not really surprised. After all, Paladin and Esmeralda had all but adopted Kíli as their brother, and as their father, Adalgrim had been more than happy to take on the uncle position. As such, he had often wondered if one day he would have little dwarflings, or even half-dwarf, half-hobbits running around underneath his feet. Of course, he had expected them to be Kíli's – or perhaps Fíli's, or one of his grandchildren's offspring. If Nelly married a hobbit, Adalgrim would likely grow a beard of his own from the shock.

But, kin or not, the three young children of Bombur had taken to him right away. Esme had explained to him that they had no grandparents of their own, with both their parents being orphaned in their youth, and that perhaps explained their eagerness to call him 'Dad-dad' – a term that was, apparently, dwarven slang for grandfather. Adalgrim quite liked it. It was rather playful.

As were the three young dwarflings.

Still, Adalgrim had a good idea what to expect from the young'uns. For the first few days after their uncles and brothers left with half of Adalgrim's family, they were quiet and tearful, and kept very close to Ellie and Pearl, but as the days fell into weeks, they returned to their usual, bouncy selves. After all, if you spend all your time worrying whenever your kin were out of sight, you would have more wrinkles than a raisin by the time you were thirty-three, and Adalgrim told them so. Every now and again, they would grow sullen – often around bedtime – and they had each asked Adalgrim when he thought their Amad and Adad would be there to pick them up. But the rest of the time, they were cheerful and content. They were doing well.

But they were doing well. So well, in fact, that Esme had felt perfectly comfortable suggesting a night out at the Green Dragon, and Adalgrim had been happy to babysit alone. Daisy had intended to stay with him, but her sister had come down with an awful cold, and Adalgrim had assured his wife that she ought to be with her.

"We'll be fine," he had said. "Go and take care of Ivy, and give her my love."

And he had, of course, been completely right. The evening had been quite lovely – they had played out great tales of adventure with the twins' dolls, then played a game of cards, and then finally, they had all cuddled up in Adalgrim's old armchair. He was not much of a reader, but Adalgrim knew a thousand stories, and the dwarflings listened to his every word.

Finally, though, the night grew old, and he grew weary.

"Right, I think that's enough storytelling for one night," he yawned, and the dwarflings let out yawned little protests of their own.

The doorbell jangled. At first, Adalgrim thought he had imagined it, but Bodin was frowning at the doorway, and Orla (or was it Ola?) was tilting her head curiously. The bell rang again.

"Hop along to bed, now," Adalgrim said, standing up and tipping the children from his lap. "Let's go see who that is…"

He tottered down the hallway, his legs aching. Somewhere deep down, he knew that he was getting too old to sit three dwarflings on his lap at a time. He opened the door, and was faced with someone's midsection.

Adalgrim blinked, and looked up, and then he blinked again, several times. There was an elf.

An elf. Knocking at his door.

He had never met an elf before.

"Hello," he said, remembering his manners. "What can I do for you?"

"Adalgrim Took?"

"Aye. And what's your name, when you're at home?"

"I am Galdor. I have a message for you, from Kíli Baggins."

Adalgrim's knees knocked into each other as they buckled. The old hobbit clutched the doorframe. "So they're safe then? They reached Rivendell alright?"

"They reached Rivendell," said Galdor, in an even tone that was almost haughty. Then, he reached into his cloak and pulled out an envelope, handing it over to Adalgrim. The elf's eyes fixed on something down the hall. They narrowed. "Were I in your position, I would do more to conceal those dwarves."

Adalgrim glanced over his shoulder at the watching twins, but when he looked back at this Galdor, the elf was already walking away.

"I beg your pardon," called Adalgrim angrily, "but just what do you mean by that?"

The elf turned around, in a movement more graceful than the wind itself. "I mean that these lands are no longer safe. I would not have come here for any purpose, had Lord Elrond himself not begged me. War is brewing on your borders, and I want no part in it. Already, there are whispers of rewards offered for the capture of enemy children. The children of prominent dwarf lords, for example. Your land is no longer safe, if ever it was safe to begin with. Good night."

And then he turned, and walked away.

It took Adalgrim a moment to realise that his own mouth was hanging open. He tried to speak, but neither his mind nor his tongue would cooperate, and he simply stammered and gaped like a landed fish. He did not know if he was more terrified at the news, or outraged at the way it was delivered.

"I don't think much of your manners!" he yelled, when at last he gathered the wits to sleep, but already the elf was enveloped by the darkness. Adalgrim's eyesight was not what it used to be.

Swallowing, Adalgrim closed the door, and after a second's pause, he bolted it. He gazed down at the envelope in his hands.

The paper was thick, heavy, and sealed with red wax. And with Kíli's seal. Across the front, in Kíli's handwriting, were only two words – 'Took House.' It was awfully non-specific. Almost like he did not want the recipient to be found, if the letter fell into the wrong hands. Adalgrim rubbed the back of his neck, and tried to stroke down the hair that stood on end.

He was grateful that he could hear the cattle-like footsteps of the young dwarflings running down the hall towards him – had they come out of nowhere and surprised him, Adalgrim might have had a heart attack.

"What was that, Dad-dad?" asked Orla, tugging on his arm. "Was that an elf? And why was he talking about wars? Is that letter from Amad, or Uncle Bofur?"

"I don't rightly know," answered Adalgrim, patting the girl's head absently. "But I will tell you in the morning. To bed now."

"But we're not sleepy," protested Bodin, and his sisters opened their mouths to back him up.

Adalgrim steeled his tone. "Now. I don't want any more noise from you tonight. Now, don't pout there, you're not in trouble. But you need to sleep, and I need to think."

The three dwarflings exchanged glances, and then fled down the hall to their bedroom. Adalgrim sighed, and hoped they would not still be disgruntled come morning. He had learnt that dwarfling children held grudges far more deeply than young hobbits.

Somewhere, a window was open.

There was a breeze coming through the house, a cold night wind, and Adalgrim went from room to room until he found it. It was in his office, and the room was cold as an ice box. He latched the window quickly, and drew the curtains. Then, he went to the kitchen, and brewed a strong pot of tea. When he had his tea, and a full plate of biscuits, he sat down in the comfortable chair by the kitchen fire.

Then, he took a butter knife, and opened the envelope.

Dear Tooks,

We have reached our destination safely, and will return when the mood takes us.

With love and salutations,

Kíli.

And that was it. A whole sheet of paper, and less than two dozen words. That could not be it – and why would Kíli use the word 'salutations' to mean goodbye? He was a smart lad, an educated one, and Adalgrim was sure that he knew it meant hello.

For almost an hour, he sat there, staring at the paper. The fire burnt low, and began to smoke a little more. When one of the logs collapsed with a particularly loud crack, he took that as a sign to move, and he rebuilt the fire. Then, he padded silently down the hall to check on the children.

…rewards offered for the capture of enemy children…

Who would outwardly seek to kidnap children? At once, he thought of the awful stories that Paladin had told him of Mirkwood. He remembered emptying his stomach over the toilet after hearing about how his son, and his five year old grandson, had been tortured, tortured, in the middle of a dark wood. He remembered how pitiful the reasons seemed more Adalgrim thought about war, the less he wanted to know. He shook his head and pushed open the door to the back spare-room.

They were asleep, all three of them. Orla and Ola were entwined, and Bodin's hand was lying on one of their cheeks. Their window was closed, latched. Adalgrim smiled, and returned towards the kitchen.

But on the way, a sound chilled his blood.

Someone was rattling on the door-handle. Trying to get in.

He crept towards the door and heard muffled voices – and immediately he recognised them, and felt like a fool. He quickly unbolted the door, and found himself face to face with his son.

"What's going on?" Paladin asked quickly. "Papa, why did you lock the door?"

"Come in," he said, ushering them all inside.

Paladin immediately stepped back, and pushed Pearl and Ellie in before him. He tried to push Esmeralda, too, but she glared at him so viciously that he raised his hands in surrender and entered the house. Snickering, Saradoc took up the rear. Adalgrim rolled his eyes, even as he bolted the door.

"Come into the kitchen," he said. "We had a visitor."

"A visitor? Who?" Pearl looked around as though she expected a relative to pop out from behind the door.

As quickly and accurately as he was able, Adalgrim recounted the tale of the elf at the door, and repeated Galdor's every word.

"…but the letter says nothing. No more than two dozen words – there's less than that!"

"Let me see," Esmeralda asked, and he passed her the letter at once. Her eyes flickered over the words, and then she smiled slightly. "Salutations."

"Milk!" cried Saradoc.

"Ah…" Paladin nodded sagely. "Of course. That makes sense."

"Now, boys, girl, I'm too old to have you speaking in tongues on me," said Adalgrim, though he could not help but smile. "What do you mean?"

"When we were children, we used to play spies," explained Esme. "We'd watch old Mabel Willows baking and pretend we were gathering intel against the wicked witches of West Farthing."

"And we thought that 'salutations' was an adult way of saying goodbye," added Paladin, striding across the kitchen. To Adalgrim's bemusement, he pulled out the iron, and set it to heat above the fire. "So we used it whenever we played the game."

"And," Saradoc chipped in, "in a moment of my great brilliance, I figured out how to make invisible ink."

Pearl curled up her nose. "Using milk?"

"Yep," said Esme, narrowing her eyes and holding the paper very close to her face. "To see it, you just have to heat it."

"Invisible ink?" Adalgrim confirmed, raising his eyebrows. "And you were how old, Saradoc Brandybuck?"

His son-in-law winked. The nostalgia of their childhood games seemed to have calmed Paladin, Esme and Saradoc, though Adalgrim supposed that the alcohol that they had undoubtedly imbibed would have likely helped with that.

When the iron was hot, Esme laid the paper on the table and began to gently glide over it. To Adalgrim's amazement, runes began to appear, runes that covered most of the paper. Esme's frown deepened as they became clearer, until she put the iron down on its plate.

"I… I don't understand. It doesn't make any sense."

"What doesn't?" asked Paladin, leaning over her shoulder. The same, confused frown soon covered his face.

"The whole thing," said Esme, shaking her head. "Those aren't, they aren't words. Not in Khuzdul, in any case…"

"May I see?" asked Pearl, and Esme stood out of the way. Pearl sat down and considered the paper for a long moment. Then, she gave a soft laugh, and shook her head. "That's because it's elvish. Sindarin words, as they'd be written in the Westron alphabet, but with the equivalent Khuzdul symbol."

"Huh…" Adalgrim nodded, rather impressed.

Esme rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "Well, you don't get much more Kíli than that. Your elvish is best of all of us, Pearl. What does it say?"

Pearl took a deep breath, and began to read aloud. "My family – I am sorry to be writing to you this way. I hope that you are in fact reading this, and not cursing my name to the skies for not sending more than a few words. We made it to Rivendell, but Fíli was injured, badly, and we lost Bali."

"Bali?" asked Adalgrim, even as his hands clenched around the arms of the chair.

"A pony," Esme said evenly. "Go on, Pearl."

"Fíli is now recovered. But we received word from Erebor – the city may soon be under siege. War is brewing in all parts of the world, you must make yourselves safe. Make yourselves ready. Keep the little ones hidden, for there are those who will seek them now. Send word to Ered Luin the next time the dwarves come to the market – do not arouse suspicion, but send for aid – for weapons, and advice. I hope with all my heart this fight will not reach you, but if it does, you must be ready."

Pearl's whisper faded away altogether, and she looked up at her grandfather. Meeting her eyes, Adalgrim nodded sombrely.

"Go on, lass. What else does it say?"

She licked her lips, and shuddered. Then, she continued to read. "I do not know how to write this, but I have no time to dull the blow. I am so sorry. Bilbo volunteered for a mission – a dangerous one – and of course I was to accompany him, with several others. When we did not expect it, Frodo acted upon the lullaby 'The Old Man and His Daughter Fair.' Samwise, Meriadoc, Pimpernel, Peregrin and Bróin went with him. We believe that Gimli, Aragorn, Boromir of Gondor, and Legolas of Mirkwood are with them. We follow on, to whatever end. Pervinca and Bofin travel with us by their consent. We will send more news when we have it. Be safe, and know that I send you all the love my heart can hold. Your Kíli."

For a several moments, no one spoke. The only sound came from the logs that crackled and smouldered in the grate. The smoke was the only thing that breathed. Adalgrim was not entirely sure what all parts of the letter meant, but he knew enough to get the gist. His three most problematic grandchildren had finally done what they had been threatening to do since birth – pull a stunt that would threaten heart-attacks to each of their parents.

"Well," said Esme, her voice hollow. "Shit."

"Shit, indeed," muttered Paladin, before Adalgrim's automatic chiding could even begin.

"Frodo's, he's, they've taken the-" stammered Pearl, but she did not seem capable of stringing together a full sentence. "Gone – if, when, going to get killed!"

Paladin swore again. "Dammit – we've got to go-"

"No," said Esme. At once, her voice was sharp, and firm, and she shook her head slowly. "No, Paladin. What can we do that Kíli cannot? It will do no one good for us to traverse across the world a hundred leagues behind those we chase. We've got to worry about what we can do. The Shire is vulnerable. The children are our priority. Those children, in that bedroom," she pointed towards the three dwarflings, and her voice began to tremble, "and the other bairns in the Shire. Who else is there to protect them? We know little about warfare, I know, but we know a great deal more than most around these parts. We can help, and we've got to. There isn't anything else we can do, so that's what we're going to do. And, we're going to keep Bodin and the twins safe, and we're going to make the Shire safe and we're going to wait for news and we're – excuse me."

Adalgrim hung his head as his daughter covered her mouth with her hand and fled from the room. Saradoc stood, squeezed Pearl's shoulder, and then sighed. He left the kitchen without a word. Seconds later, the sound of wrenching sobs came from the Brandybuck's bedroom. They were muffled by whatever pillow Esme had her face buried in, and by the walls and door, but the sound carried.

"What are we going to do?" Pearl whispered.

"Look at the facts," said Ellie quietly. "We do not know what it is they are doing. I suspect that we all have our theories, but we do not know. All we know is that they are out of our hands. Your Aunt is right, my little flower. We have to look after those we can reach, before we stretch out for your siblings."

Adalgrim stared at his daughter-in-law for a long moment. She was pale as the paper before Pearl, but her eyes were strong.

"Besides," she sighed, "we are all a little tipsy, and upset, and afraid. Now is not the time to make any decisions. Other than one – we do not tell the children. We tell no one."

"I think I'd agree with that," said Adalgrim. "Doesn't make much sense to flout it around. But that'll mean being mighty careful, where those kids are concerned."

"We can, we can do that," said Pearl. Then, she stood up, and brushed down her dress. "If I may, I'm going to bed. I will see you all in the morning."

"Goodnight, darling," Adalgrim murmured as she kissed her parents, and then him, and then walked out of the room.

Paladin picked up the paper she left behind, his forehead creasing as he read. His lips moved silently, and he shook his head. "It gives me a headache to read it, but I can't fault Pearl's translation. She's always had a knack for languages, but I've no idea where she gets it from. Thank you, Papa."

Adalgrim blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Thank you," Paladin said again, embracing him tightly for a moment. "For looking after us. I know it makes your life more dangerous-"

"Oh, you cut it out right now. I'm your father, it's what I do," he said, tapping Paladin's cheek twice. "Now, I think we best all be getting to bed. Come on now. We've got an awful lot to think about in the morning, and your mother is not going to like this news one bit."

Ellie gave an empty laugh. "I don't like this news one bit."

"Neither do I lass," sighed Adalgrim. "Neither do I."

When he made it into bed, Adalgrim stared at the ceiling. He was trying very hard to remember his own advice about not worrying about those out of reach, but knowing that three of his own grandchildren were among a group of others that he dearly loved and heading towards some sort of unknown doom made it difficult. He had expected many things to come from 'Baggins Complications' in his lifetime, but he had never expected this.

That said, after all he had seen from his family through the years, Adalgrim Took could not honestly say that he was surprised.

And with that, I'm going to bed too. I hope that you enjoyed that Shire interlude, and that you're well :) Thank you very much for reading, please do review if you fancy :D