Middle-Earth, The Shire, Northfarthing, Bindbole Wood: T.A. 2999, April 1st

Sam had never been able to say no to a girl, or at least he'd never been able to say no to any girl he knew. Which was why he was here now, standing look out, while Rosie Cotton and his sister did things behind him, rustic magic and the like. The sort of thing that could get you a hanging sentence if you got caught since Proudfoot took over.

Every snap of a twig in the distance made Sam jump, and every soft coo of a wood pigeon made him pale beneath his puckered scars. He was just about to turn around and tell the girls that they should probably head home before something terrible happened, when the loud crash from behind made the decision a moot point.

Smoke that was far too smog like and thick to be natural began to seep out around Sam's ankles. He spun around, but before he could even think to scream the smoke consumed him, and his world became grey.

'Sam!'

Marigold's voice was muffled in the fog.

'Marigold? Rosie? Where are you?'

Stumbling forward Sam followed the strangled sounds of the girls' voices, until his out stretched hands found something hard in their way. Again, he cried out for his sister and again, he cried out for Rosie, but neither of them answered.

'Marigold! Marigold! Rosie!'

Again, there was no reply, and in his frustration Sam's fists slammed against the strange stone blocking him. The smoke drained away faster than Sam could reel back from the pain, for the thing he had hit had been scolding hot.

'Sam your hand!' Marigold, who stood beside him now, grabbed for his hands, which was when it dawned on Sam that she and Rosie were in fact not dead or grievously injured, but were in fact completely fine.

'Mother Magda!'

Rosie's voice to his left brought Sam's attention back to what he had hit : it was a statue. Or at least he thought it was.

It was made of stone, of that all three hobbits could see clearly, but not of a sort that was ever found in the Shire. The strange statue was tall, taller than the three of them combined, its proud head falling only slightly short of sweeping the ceiling.

It was not a crudely carved thing by any account, but nor did it seem to be made in the way statues were made today. The features of the stone hobbit that looked down upon the three were sharp and almost feral like. As if they'd been chipped from the stone instead of carved; and had become cracked over the years the statue had stood here, forgotten. Bright stones shone in place of the eyes and gold-leaf flecked the carved fabric of the hobbit's tunic. Or at least, Sam conceded, he thought it must have been a hobbit. Yet if it was then he must have been a very strange hobbit indeed, for Sam had never seen one of his kind with hair on his lip before.

'What are you doing here?'

For a moment Sam almost thought that the voice had come from the statue himself; yet as the gnarled figure stepped out from behind it, Sam felt another flush of embarrassment at having thought something so daft.

'Be off with you, you nasty little thieves before I call the authorities.'

Both Marigold and Sam were ready to bolt at that, but Rosie stepped forward and raised her voice to the old hobbit crone.

'No, you won't.'

The two Gamgee siblings stood rooted to the spot in abject horror, as the Cotton daughter pressed on.

'You won't call the authorities on us, because if you do then we'll tell them what you're doing up here, and they'll be far more interested in that than a couple of brats that wondered off from the beaten road.'

'Why you little…'

As she was about to advance on the three tweens, the old hobbit brushed up against the statue and stopped dead. She cocked her head to the side, as if she was listening to some voice only she could hear. She smiled then and Sam was more than ready to leave at that point, no matter how rude it may have seemed. For there was something not quite of this world in that smile. It was as if the old hobbit matron knew something even the wisest in the land had failed to learn. It unnerved the boy, who had been raised on stories of the great and the wise and found even the thought that they could not know something disconcerting. Even more so when that smile was levelled at himself.

'That they would I suppose. Proudfoot does so love to stretch the neck of folk like us now, doesn't he?'

Rosie nodded slowly, some of her nerves seemingly forgotten under the weight of the old hag's smile.

'Wandered away from yer mother's apron strings, did you now?' She began to circle the three, her step jauntier than before. 'Though I suspect,' she began again, her half-blind eyes locked on Sam. 'That some of you didn't have to tug very hard to get away. Now what be the names that those sows gave ye on your birth-night? I have wish to know the names of the young folk who trespass so eagerly into my place of rest.'

Indignantly Rosie and Marigold answered, but Sam remained as silent as ever he was. He had no great desire to answer the queries of one who would insult his mother so.

'And your name is? Or shall I guess it?'

Marigold and Rosie gave Sam rather pointed looks, yet he still refused to open his mouth for the old crone. Instead he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at her until she burst out with laughter.

'Those that don't tell, are named something different instead. So, tell me which would you prefer? Your name or somebody else's? Ugly? Scarface? Beast? Solas child of Hobbick or Samwise son of Hamfast?'

'If…if you already know my name than why do you need me to tell you it at all?'

'So, Samwise is it, or would you prefer something different, little ugly Solas?'

Sam stamped his foot in frustration.

'Oh, be away with you, old nag, my name is Samwise as ye know. Otherwise you wouldn't have suggested it.'

The old crone wrapped her arms around the statue's middle and cackled madly.

'There now that was not so hard, I wish I could give you my own name in return but alas I do not have it. He took it years ago, so he could fill my head with secrets the others won't tell.'

Rosie who had clearly had quite enough of this nonsense, pushed in. 'What others, there's no one else in the cave besides that statue. Why do you think we came up here in the first place? No one to over-hear while we worked on our rustic-arts. Well, I suppose besides from you.'

Another cackle and the old thing flopped to the ground, unable or rather unwilling to pick herself up from it.

'The rustic arts she says? Oh ho, such power we see before us my prince, such power it must have taken to botch a glamor spell so spectacularly. Such smoke to hide in; surely no one would have considered that out of the norm as you strolled down the streets of the Shire, buried in your smoke cloud. Did you hear that my lord, their rustic-arts they say, oh dear me such strength as is given to the young!'

As she cackled, she turned and began to crawl/hobble away down the passageway, and with great trepidation the three young hobbits followed her. Though, even years later Sam could not recall why any of them had thought that would be a good idea.

There was a tunnel behind the statue; it was a thin thing barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast. Hence why the four hobbits marched, or rather crawled in single file down the thing's length. Even then there was barely any room to move, and the air was thick with dust and grime and more than once Sam thought that he might be suffocating.

There were always small reliefs in every situation though, the one here being that for all its numerous faults, it was not a very long tunnel. So, they were free of its cloying presence quite quickly. Of course, upon seeing the chamber that lay beyond, all thoughts of that dark, dank and stinking tunnel fled their minds. For how can any memory so depressing stand against such magnitude?

The chamber was a large, spherically carved room; whose walls seemed to glisten with embedded copper. But it was not the shape nor the walls of the chamber that left the onlooker speechless, it was what was contained within: statues, solid silver statues.

Stumbling forward, her knees still bent from crawling Rosie reached out to one of them, her hand freezing just before it could touch the beautiful thing.

'The Blarney Son!'

Neither Sam or Marigold had ever seen a depiction of the Blarney Son before – neither of their parents had been followers of his teachings after all – but they had certainly heard a great deal about him from the Cottons. Many tales told of his great courage & valour, and of course his skill in magic was unparalleled; but none had ever spoken of his mighty scowl, or his sloping forehead or the fact that he carried around a spear that was at least four feet taller than he was.

To see all that now, in such a silver-plated form, left them voiceless – which considering Mrs. Gamgee's aversion to loud noises in her house, was not all that rare an occurrence. Rosie on the other hand, lacked the capacity to remain silent.

'What are these things? What the Blarney is this place?'

Neither Sam or Marigold had the answer to that question, but it would appear someone behind them certainly did.

'These are hobbits from before.'

Sam spun around, expecting to see the old crone emerge from wherever she'd disappeared off to the second they'd entered the chamber. Yet it was not her, in fact it seemed to be absolutely no one at all, the voice had simply come from the air around them.

'Well that doesn't answer anything!' Snapped Rosie, unaware of the chamber's increase in temperature as she talked.

'What does "hobbits from before" even mean? Before what exactly? Before the Shire, before the founding of the three tribes, before they were hobbits? What, tell me you old hag, what the Blarney do you mean by all this?'

Finally, the girl spun round ready to give the old crone a good tongue lashing for her grief. Yet as Sam had found before her, there was simply no one there.

'Before?' Said the air around the three. 'Why before all that you know now, child. Before this very second even. All which is past to our kind is remembered in this place, for you stand now within the Cave of the Forgotten.' With that last word the voice screamed at them, all the air seemed to be sucked out of the chamber. Huddling together the three fell to the ground and began to sob with terror and the voice continued to bellow

'We will not fade into less than legend, just because it is convenient for the mighty. We will not vanish just to ease someone else's conscience, we are here, and We Shall Not Fade! See now what has been hidden, see now what they fear. See now the future that awaits us all.'

From amidst the darkness that now encased the room Sam saw something flash; something long and sharp.

One day from Rivendell: T.A. 3018, December 26th

Over the shoulder of the blue-faced boy Sam saw now the same long and sharp thing he'd seen then, and this time he was ready for it.

Boromir's sword clattered to the ground and he howled in pain as he followed suit. Sam lowered the frying pan and nodded to the others, who all stood speechless as the gardener turned around to finish dishing out dinner for the night.

'Well,' said Gandalf finally getting a hold of himself. 'With luck that will be the end of your bickering. But I must admit I highly doubt it.' And with that last statement, he strolled over to the fire to receive his share of the slightly ruined sausages.