Middle-Earth, Rohan, Edoras; T.A. 3019

The small, hunched man tumbled down the steps of Théoden's palace, landing on the ground between them with an audible thump.

'Your trickery and lies, would have had me crawling on the ground on all fours, like a dog.' Théoden's voice should have been roaring loud enough for the very Valar themselves to hear, but it wasn't. Instead it was low, deep and controlled, it was the voice of a king speaking to one who had betrayed him.

Gandalf smiled, as Aragorn leaped past him and grabbed the King's wrists before he could land the killing blow on the miserable wretch.

'No, my lord, let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his behalf,' with Aragorn's coaxing words the king lowered his sword and Wormtongue ran. Gandalf did not care, nor needed, to look where he ran, he knew already. Saruman would have word of this soon, excellent, now they could begin to form an offensive in truth, and to heal old wounds that should have been laid to rest eons ago.

The white wizard glanced surreptitiously at the sullen boy standing at his side; he had not known what to make of the strange child from Dunland at first. His speech at the council had been moving and even now he seemed devoted to seeing the Fellowship's task through, yet Gandalf still felt wary. Not necessarily because of the boy himself, as the child seemed true and loyal enough, but because of Gandalf's complete lack of knowledge of Calgacus' people. In truth Gandalf had only truly known them as the enemies of Rohan, slightly deserved enemies no doubt, but enemies none the less.

With all the other members of the fellowship, Gandalf either knew them or knew their people, most for many generations in fact. The hobbits, Aragorn, Thranduil's son, Gloin's son, even Boromir had been from a people he had grown well acquainted with. Yet he knew next to nothing about this boy's people, and that unsettled him.

Were they, as the Rohan nobles had so often claimed, creatures of the dark? Somehow, he found it hard to believe, yet how could he say anything for sure if he had no evidence? He could not even say for sure whether they even believed in the Valar, let alone deliberately turned their backs on them.

'Sae aat's the king o the Rohan?'*

The boy said in that strange rolling speech of his homeland, Gandalf nodded, waiting for the scowl he knew would follow.

'Odd, ah thocht he'd be mair menacing.'**

Gandalf huffed into his beard and tried to suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. The scowl was there yes, but perhaps not quite so menacing as it might once have been. Hope, it would seem, was not quite out of sight yet.

A great feast had been thrown for the Wizard and his companions. Truly it was a sight to behold: the mead hall gleamed with rich golds and reds, and the fine lords and ladies of Rohan sat side by side with the common folk. Many of whom were…smaller than you would imagine. Aragorn, who sat at the king's table to the right of the lady Éowyn, frowned as he gazed out into the crowd. It couldn't be, he had to be imagining it, yet…hadn't Eomer said something about…no, he must be imagining it. Yes, surely his worry for Merry and Pippin, not to mention Sam and Frodo must be clouding his sight and making him perceive things that just could not be there.

He glanced at the Lady sitting at his side, could she be seeing the same things he was...perhaps he should ask her.

'Lady Éowyn?'

She turned her head and smiled tiredly at him, but he was not able to finish his question for the music around them rose and overpowered his speech. And a figure stepped out from amongst the awaiting crowd, a very small figure, with large hairy feet. It was a hobbit, yes it was certainly that, but like none of the others Aragorn had ever seen before. A scowling fellow with a sloping forehead and a long stick, which in the flicker of the torchlight resembled more a spear than the walking staff it surely was. The strange hobbit opened his mouth and began to speak.

What madman is this that muzzles me and calls it a gift?

That cries for free speech while slashing the throat of it?

Are ye crooks or Mewlips maybe?

Whoops, wrong part of the timeline this be.

Never you fear my lords, my ladies, my kings in thrall.

Your fool isn't mad, he simply sees all.

For that is my place, here in this story

A touch base for readers, to ease their worry.

Aye tis true, all you readers I see

For that is the curse of omnipotence.

Now for this future I see clearer than thy

Ah what a sad fate in which we all die.

Good Men shall be king and then quickly die out

Leaving nought but the Mewlips to stuff their fat snouts.

Aye beware the Mewlip king that comes a calling.

For his price all good men shall simply find galling.

This is the fate I see for all thee

If you do not heed pleas of thy enemy.

For the tale of the Mewlip is no hobbit story.

Of that fact I am really quite sorry.

For that is the joke, you've just not got yet

All ye sons and daughters of a Northman's get.

Gods and Monsters did not die out with the first elven boat

We lived on, and well we dwelt under yer fire's smoke.

And know this I do, for my visage you have seen.

In a cave of the forgotten with a silver sheen

And when at last my lords and gents, you've laid yourself to rest.

Then the Blarney Son be the Fool tonight and give you all a jest.

The music played as the hobbit spoke, though he made no attempt to try and match it with his voice. It was as if he had forgotten he was supposed to be singing, and had instead composed a poem on the spot. A poem that Aragorn noted kept to no particular rule of poetry, either of Elven verse or the less refined poets of men. Other than their rhyming nature, the beats of the words were random. It was as if the message of the verse was more important to the author than the beauty of it.

But it was a message Aragorn could not comprehend.

Having finished with his sad little verse, the hobbit's face spit into a smile as he finally addressed his waiting audience.

'Good evening my ladies and gentlemen!' the hobbit in the strange garb cried. 'Good evening my cobblers and good humble folk, a what a merry night this is that we should see our king in such good spirits.'

There was a growing rumble of a collective titter from the crowd, as if they were just waiting for the punchline of a joke.

'And what a merry night his son shall have with all our fine spirits.'

The crowd cackled, and Aragorn glanced at Théodred who was, as the Halfling had noted, far too into his cups to notice he was being mocked.

'And what fine visitors we have among us tonight. Gandalf Stormcrow, or as my people call him, the Disturbance of the Peace. My how far you must have come to see us, you've become quite white since last a hobbit beheld you. Well I suppose anyone would under prolonged exposure to the Tooks.'

Gandalf snorted through his nose.

'And Elves, my word I bet most of us have never even seen an elf before, let alone one as fine and noble as this here fellow. Tell me sir, what land do you hail from?'

Every eye in the room, including the king's, was locked on Legolas then, who seemed mildly annoyed by the attention.

'Mirkwood.' The elf said stiffly.

'Mirkwood, my what a grand sounding name, why I think I've even heard of it. Wonderful security, why only twelve dwarves escaped on old Thranduil's watch last year. But the wine, I have to say I'm not a fan. I mean I understand tradition and all but you wood-elves just have to learn to put your dwarves in after, otherwise it just ruins the taste for everyone else.'

Legolas shook his head, trying not to smile, and Gimli laughed so hard that he almost fell off his chair.

'Is that a dwarf from Erebor? My what a world we live in. Times past you would have been at each other's throats, now look at you. Riding side by side ready to save the day, tell me…do you spoon at night?'

Gimli yelped and turned as red as his beard.

'No, not quite yet? I'll come back at the end of the story then, shall I?'

Laughter circled around the hall as Legolas tried to calm Gimli down. The Fool flicked his eyes over to the boy, Calgacus who had been staring at his plate, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible until that one laugh had bubbled from his throat. One laugh too many it would seem.

'Dunland strikes again it would seem,' said the Fool, as the laughter of the Rohan whittled down into an almost accusatory silence. 'Fear not though my good Horse lords, the enemy is never who you think. I see eyes old in a face too young to have them, I see eyes too strange to belong to men. Odd characters like that, never live long past their use in the tale – but never ye fear, for we'll see them again in one way or the other.'

If there was any laughter now, it was of the nervous and uncomfortable kind. The Fool sighed in what must have been irritation.

'Ah woe is me; abstraction and words of doom never do go well in a Fool's show.'

And the laughter was back, almost as if it had never left at all.

Aragorn caught the eye of the Lady Éowyn who was laughing so hard she could barely speak, but she smiled at his questioning look.

'My Uncle's Fool.'

'A hobbit. Are there many of his kind in your land?' said Aragorn sharply.

'YES, THERE ARE!' cried the fool, as the crowd began banging their mugs of ale on the long tables before them.

'The hobbits from the Shire wandered up here from their gentle hills and found themselves embraced by the good people of ROHAN!'

A loud cheer from the crowd and the hobbit began to sing, a rather bawdy ballad about a young hobbit lass who had had the misfortune of falling in love with her own shadow.

Aragorn frowned and tried to catch the eye of Gandalf; he didn't know why but somehow the thought of hobbits here in Rohan made him uneasy. Maybe it was because they were such a gentle people, and this was such a harsh land.

The Fool flipped backwards onto the King's table and landed on his hands in front of Aragorn and Éowyn.

'That's not the reason why and you know it yer Majesty, think a little harder than that. This isn't like ruling a kingdom, you can conceivably do this if you think hard enough.'

Aragorn blushed, more than a little annoyed at the reference to his lineage. It was one thing to proclaim it to the Riders of Rohan, out on the plains where no one else could hear him. But it was quite another to have it thrown back in his face by the King of Rohan's odd-looking fool.

'Why so silent, sir? Does your mind dwell on your elven love? Mine would if I had such a thing – but then I'm of a more romantic nature than most. Which is fine when you're a lover in a song, but wordlessly unhelpful when your prospective father-in-law demands that you become the king of two countries before he'll sell his daughter.

Aragorn went as pale as he ever could.

'Pha what Seer is this Elrond. If he really could see the worlds that will come to past as I can, he'd know how fruitless such a quest is. They'll be no king on carven throne, they'll be no new life in Gondor's halls. And as for Arnor, it is dead and should always be so. You'll be no king, not really – but she'll be queen or she'll think she is anyway. But dead men wear goodmen's faces and its always the women who suffer worst. Ah poor Evenstar, better to die now before such horror comes about.'

Aragorn saw red. Somewhere in the new blackness of the mead-hall around him, a hobbit screamed, and a wizard yelled.

'Well, I hope you feel pleased with yourself, Aragorn,' said the disjointed voice of the wizard over Aragorn's mead addled brain. 'Because,' the wizard continued raising his voice a degree higher. 'If you thought you would endear yourself to the king by attacking a member of his court, you were sadly mistaken.'

Aragorn clutched his head and tried to bury his nose deeper into the pillow over his face. 'What happened, Gandalf? I remember very little after the Fool came out. And nothing at all after…after…'

The ranger sat bolt upright and cried out in disgust.

'What did I do, what foul force compelled me to strike a creature of the Gentle West? A kinsman of our own hobbits?'

'Fear, that is what compelled you Aragorn son of Arathorn,' said the wizard as close to thunder in his voice as the Dunedin had ever heard. 'You feared that the Fool knew too much that he should not, perhaps had you been sober, you might have controlled your terror to a more appropriate time. But you did not, and now you shall have to face the consequences of misdeeds.'

'Was he injured?'

'No, fortunately for you he was not, he hit the floor not too hard once you had struck him and was able to bounce back up again. I believe he found it all quite funny, Théoden did not, I have been in council with him through most of the morning and have managed to talk him down from chopping something off you. They prize the worth of their servants highly in Rohan.'

'As they should, I will apologise to the king and his Fool. Fool, truly no person was better suited to the name than I. What punishment has he settled on?'

'None, you shall escape retribution by the King's hand this day Aragorn, but I suggest you take pains to avoid him for the rest of the day at least and avoid the Fool entirely. He may try to provoke you again, I believe he plans to work the incident into his comedy routine, so please stay your hand if he does.'

'Have no fear on that account Gandalf, I shall stay in sour repentance for the rest of the day. But Gandalf, a hobbit in Rohan, how could such a thing come to pass.'

'Many ways Aragorn, and none of them leave a sweet taste in the mouth.'

Legolas walked down amongst the twisting streets and cobbled houses of Edoras, smiling as he glanced more and more hobbits amongst the crowd. Strange little creatures, smaller than a dwarf, and far comelier in appearance. No, he should not say that, for Gimli had grown on him, and if he was to be truthful, he quite enjoyed the sight of the dwarf's pleasingly full beard. Yet that didn't change the fact that the hobbits around him were certainly very strange, even by hobbit standards.

He had grown used to the sight of hobbits while on his journey, he had grown used to their curly heads of hair, and the little leaf-shaped ears. He had grown used to their round, apple-like cheeks, and their bronze button trimmed coats. Even Samwise with his plain peasant-like garb and bearing, had been a gentle soul to look upon, not so these hobbits. They looked thinner, ragged and hungry. If they wore waistcoats then they were of a much rougher kind than their Shire born kin. Strange leather holsters – possible for knives - were strapped to their hips and as for their coats, well they were long, and flapped in the breeze – again if they wore them at all. Hats with wide brims or round tops seemed to be quite popular even among the men. The Lasses and matrons of the Rohan hobbits wore plain dresses for the most part, long shapeless skirts. It was as if they had tried to bring the world of the Shire – buttons, suspenders, and handkerchiefs – into the world of the Rohan. But they had not truly succeeded on either account.

They seemed a tired, and thoroughly unfriendly lot.

Yet all that he could have understood, the hobbits he had known were from the Shire, and these clearly were no longer so. They had adapted as much as they could to the lives of the Rohan people, and that was good for them, it was just … it felt like it was more than that. Their faces were more ashen then a hobbit should be, though most of them had the same bronze completion as Samwise.

'Are ye an Encroacher, like the kind the Blarney fought?'

Legolas stopped mid-stride and frowned down at the small hobbit maiden who looked up at him through her messy black curls, tied sloppily back with a green ribbon.

'What?'

'The Blarney son, sir…the greatest Magic wielder in all the land…they said ye'd travelled with our kind before…how can ye not know him?'

'Ha, and he calls himself a hobbtla expert!' said a man in a blacksmith's apron.

'Well, have pity…maybe these hobbtla didn't celebrate the day of the Blarney, as ours do.'

An old woman growled over her spinning.

'Well?' said the girl who had first posed him the question. 'Did they?'

Suddenly all eyes were on him again and Legolas felt struck for words. For he had never heard the hobbits of the Fellowship speak of the Blarney Son before…wait no, that was not quite true. Samwise had said his name as a curse more than once…but the elf very much doubted these hobbits would appreciate that piece of knowledge.

In the end all he could do was shrug and try not to be offended at being called an encroacher by a child.

'Probably just a bunch of Tooks, looking for some cheap Adventure.'

Laughed an old hobbit, waving his walking stick in the air for emphasis.

'Tides may leave, and Earth may flatten, but one thing that'll never change is a Took's sense of Adventure.'

The way he said it, like longing for the wider world's wonders was somehow something to be ashamed of, angered Legolas. How many times had the Tooks placed themselves in danger for others – the elf had heard enough of the sneering small-minded nature of hobbits in the Shire from Master Bilbo, but he'd never thought to find it in a hobbit who'd clearly done more than a little adventuring himself.

'No actually, only one of my companions was a Took, my good hobbit. But a gentle thing he was, with more honour in his soul than you will ever know.'

'Oh aye, I'm sure he was…Took's are just fine as companions…so long as you've never had the misfortune of working for one. Cheapskates and terrors to the core. But don't look so sour, if you say the Took was a gem, then a gem he is. And I'm sure his companions were just doves. Tell me their names, or shall, I guess? Oh…let me see, if there was a Took then there must have been a Brandybuck?'

'Yes,' said Legolas sourly.

'And you're an elf on an 'Adventure'…so I'm guessing a Baggins managed to sneak their way in there somehow.'

This was infuriating, but Legolas nodded and the crowed tittered.

'Anyone else?'

Legolas was half tempted to go tell the old fool where he could stick his mocking laughter, but he'd been asked a question out right and Legolas had never been one for lying, especially when it would do no good. All the fine hobbits names had already been guessed; what harm could come from telling them of their servant?

'Gamgee.'

A collective intake of breath swept over the crowd, the old hobbit lowered his stick, a look of awe spreading across his ancient features.

'You travelled with a Gamgee.'

Legolas blinked, unsure how to react to this wonder in their eyes, so in the end all he did was nod.

The old hobbit hobbled over to him, reaching into the neck of his worn shirt and pulling out a tiny Acorn on a string.

'Do you know what this is, did that Gamgee tell you what this means?'

Legolas couldn't even speak, but he didn't need to, the hobbit could see it in his eyes.

'This means I am a follower of the Gamgee…of Halfred Gamgee. He saved my life, the life of my wife and children. Of my family. I'd been caught practicing the art of the Gany…you don't know what that is, and you never shall…. but safe to say it is no longer welcome in the Shire while Proudfoot reigns. I'd been thrown in a cell, ready for my execution…and he rescued me…rescued all that were held in that prison.'

The old creature looked down at the snow-white hair on his toes, tears welling up in his eyes.

'And now you come here, strange Thingol as you are, and you tell me you've travelled with kin of that great hobbit. Tell me…Thingol…' he looked up again, a warmth spreading over his old and bitter face. 'How can we not welcome you?'

The City of Edoras was all done up in the liveliest colours Gandalf had seen in many years. Shimmering gold, and deep-sea blue flags and cloth chains fluttered in the wind, and the wizard sat back and smiled.

Their work may be far from done yet, but this was a good sign of change for Rohan…for surely such beauty could not have existed while the people mourned for their half-mad king. Said King lowered himself onto the grass beside Gandalf. They sat now on a sloping hill just outside the palace, the perfect vantage point to spy on the festivities without being spotted yourself.

'This isn't for me,' said the sober king.

Gandalf raised his eyebrow at the man but said nothing – the king needed to get this out, and if the wizard could play a part in that, then all he needed was to stay silent.

'This is the hobbtla's doing…all their doing. Do you know I didn't even know I had them in my Kingdom? It is like I have been in a dream…in a nightmare…for so long that life has passed me by.'

'But now you are awake my liege, spend no more time mourning the years you have lost…embrace the ones you have yet to come.'

The king laughed at that.

'You sound like my fool.'

'Then a very wise fool is he. Another hobbit if I'm not mistaken.'

'Yes, another surprise…I'd no idea they were real…let alone I had one serving at my court. The last thing I remember before…before everything got bad was Théodred smiling at me…he doesn't do that anymore…now he will not even look at me.'

'He will not look at a great many things Théoden King…I do not believe it is you that he is afraid of.'

'No…but I'm part of it.'

Gandalf shook his head and turned his eyes forward again, as several hobbits in baker's attire arranged sweet tarts and apple-pies around a gingerbread depiction of a hobbit with a crooked sweet smile and a dark chocolate spear in his right hand. Chocolate, a sweet thing he had only ever tasted in the Shire before, and he didn't know why but that thought made him sad.

'Do you know, I think I recognize this festival from the Shire.' Said the Wizard. 'Though it was never so outlandish, perhaps they have execrated their people's traditions out of longing for a home they may never see.'

Gandalf felt the weight of the sadness in his companion as he replied.

'Yes, maybe so. My Fool tells me it is the festival of the Blarney. They celebrate it when home should be farthest away from their minds, and the time for laughter is dearest. Come,' said Théoden turning to the Wizard at last. 'I smell the sweet aroma of Treacle-tart in the air and your kinsman's spell seems to have left me hungry for something sweet to fill my belly.'

The Wizard laughed and for the first time since they had road into this kingdom of the horse lords, he felt a lightening in his chest. Perhaps the world could not be so terrible if treacle tarts were still eaten here.

Gimli bit hard on the tip of his pipe, holding it steady between his teeth as beside him the small Fool from last night's feast sat chewing on a blade of grass he'd plucked from the ground. The Elf – Legolas he reminded himself, they were friends now he must remember to call the Elf by his given name – stalked past them, throwing a tear-filled gaze at the small creature at Gimli's side.

'A sour kick-up in the town I think,' laughed the strange Fool.

'Yes, probably, we are not accustomed to seeing hobbits…well anywhere really. The ones we travelled with were…not like your people.'

'My people, their people, it's all the same really under the great big open sky. Your friends were from the Shire, but so are these hobbits, they've simply been gone longer.'

'Yes, I suppose everyone must change when they leave home.'

They both closed their eyes and sat back and basked in the intense rays of the mid-day sun. Gimli's worries were still on the forest, and the hobbits who now dwelt somewhere within it. True Gandalf had claimed them safe, yet even Wizards could be wrong on occasion.

'Ents aren't anything to be feared my lord,' laughed the fool. 'They're just big shepherds. The forest is their flock, and it is you who are the wolf.'

Gimli could not help but smile at that even though he still felt a shiver thinking of that forest.

'We are heading for a war my good fool, surely fear is something we all share.'

'Aye, a war my lord. The War to end us all.'

Gimli thought on this for a while, he was often taken by such maudlin thoughts himself. But eventually, like the others before it, he rejected this one too.

'Do not be so quick to dismiss hope, Fool. The Free people of Middle Earth may yet still prove their worth.'

Gimli's mouth twitched around his pipe, pleased at his own little rhyme. But the Fool shook his head, and scowling, opened his mouth and let out a sound that was quite unmelodious to the ear. So unpleasant was this noise, that it took the dwarf more than a little time to realise that the fool was a singing a song and not just yelling at someone who Gimli could not see.

The Free People of Middle Earth?

Ha! What a load of Derth!

They're as free as the Ground

When armies march, they take a Pound

What is Freedom to you, my Lord?

With thy fine Chains and mighty Sword?

Is Freedom the wealth held in a mountain old?

Or coins in your purse when thy service is sold?

Freedom is nothing, it is only a word

No strength can rescue a broken bird.

The People will die, as they always must do

Without revolution to mount such a cue.

A King is not free to do as he likes

He must show his people his power and might

The people aren't free, they must serve a king

Who'll bend an' crack 'em to the will of his whim.

No man shall be free

While duty hangs, he

Not king, nor prince, nor peasant or serf

Shall ever know peace on this Middle Earth

The only free one, is ever the Mewlip

For unlike the others he chooses his Whip

That Silmaril's his business, hidden under my kinsman's cap

And that is the reason, we all must endure this crap.

The voice of the singer, the voice of the Fool, changed on the last note. It was deeper, it was older, and it was far angrier than any hobbit's voice should ought to be. Gimli sat up and stared at the Fool, who blinked confusedly into the air around him.

'He's close, now, so close to us, yet not quite here.'

Gimli had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knew who the hobbit spoke of.

'He? Is it He who we fight against now, or is it another, whom do you fear child of the kindly west?'

'Should be more than one, but isn't, now he thinks he's whole, but he isn't. So close now but he shan't see, no shan't see till a few more chapters' have gone by.'

'Who?'

'The Villain of the story Gimli, well the main one anyway.'

'Sauron.'

'Yes, I suppose we must worry about him too, mustn't we?'

Doric Translation

*'So that's the king of the Rohan?'

**'Odd, I always thought he'd be more menacing.'