The Heir of the Hill
Chapter 5, Fireside Tales Prelude:
Bilbo and Greenleaf

A prelude to a new tale, beginning in Bag End, The Hill, Hobbiton, Westfarthing, The Shire

Frodo as at his uncle's knee, his eyes large with wonder as he listened to Bilbo read from his book. The leather on the binding gleamed red as dragon's fire, and Frodo fancied he could hear the roar of the great beast in the crackle of the hearthfire. He shivered with delighted terror.

This was his favourite of all his Uncle's stories. The strange Dwarves, and the Wizard who came and went at will, magical rings and riddles in dark places, eagles and man-bears and goblins; every chapter held him enthralled and he would listen spellbound.

Outside the wind howled in a February storm, whipping snow and freezing rain against the thin windows of Bag End. All of the Shire was hunkered down in their holes and houses, staying warm and waiting out the weather.

Frodo heard the wind and his eyes were filled with fire; Bilbo's voice seemed also to fade beyond the sound of his own thinking. Something was missing from the story, he realized as he listened. Puzzles formed in his head. He sat up and touched his Uncle's sleeve.

"I have a question, Uncle Bilbo," he said.

"Only one question, Frodo?" Bilbo laughed. He could recognize that tone in the young hobbit's voice, so he knew that something was rattling around inside his nephew's head. When Frodo was in a question mood, Bilbo could expect an interesting debate. He turned the thick page to begin the next chapter, but Frodo would not be put off.

"One question to begin, Uncle," Frodo said, and he ran his finger across the map he had been looking at as he listened to the story. He pointed to the dark tangle of ink that depicted Mirkwood Forest. Tiny webs and wicked-looking spiders had been cleverly wrought in the slashes that represented trees. "You have always said that Elves are good folk, and the few I have met are very pleasant and fair indeed. Why then did the Elf-King lock Thorin and the Dwarves in the dungeons? That is not a nice thing to do."

Bilbo looked at his nephew over the top of the book. He lowered it to his lap when he saw the look of conflict on the young one's face. "They are good folk, Frodo my lad! They certainly are! But it was a sticky situation in Mirkwood at that time, and Elves and Dwarves have not been friends for a very long while. Ages indeed, back when the great smiths worked in the Dwarf cities, and when Menegroth and Nogothrond were built, they were friendly then, but alas! Much fighting has come between them, even war."

"War between Elves and Dwarves?" Frodo was astonished by the idea. "I would not want to see that! They should not fight each other!"

"Aye, my lad, they should not, nor should they fight Men. There are enemies enough without looking for more among those who should be allies." Bilbo's face was sad suddenly, and Frodo noted with surprise that he could see lines and shadows in his Uncle's face that he had not noticed before. He rolled to his feet and stoked the fire until the room seem brighter. The lines disappeared as Bilbo smiled at his energetic nephew.

"Tell me what happened in the Elf-king's palace," asked Frodo, settling again against Bilbo's knee. Bilbo turned the pages forward to that part if the story, but before he could begin to read, Frodo stopped him. "Not the book, Uncle. Tell me what happened to you, when you were living in the palace before you helped Thorin escape. You were there for a long time, but hardly anything is said in the story about that. You must have had some adventures with the Elves, even if they could not see you."

Bilbo laughed and closed the book. He laid it aside gently, and picked up his pipe, loading it as he chuckled. "Adventures with the Elves, eh? Well, well, now that you say, there are a couple of things I left out of the story, 'cause it wasn't really part of that story and also… because I was rather unkind to one particular Elf and I do not wish to compound my crime or his embarrassment. If he ever learned that I was the one responsible for his misfortune... well! I would hate to have to explain to his face!"

Frodo fetched a burning straw to light his uncle's pipe. He blew it out the flame and let his head tilt to one side, grinning at Bilbo with his eyes glinting. "You once said that we would have no secrets between us, Uncle."

"So I did! What a memory you have, my lad! Well, put the kettle on, this is a long tale. But you must swear that you will never repeat this tale to anyone! Our secret, Frodo, just like before..." and he patted his waistcoat pocket. Frodo nodded eagerly, and fetched the water swiftly, settling again at Bilbo's knee to listen as the tale unfolded.

Chapter 5: Bilbo and Greenleaf, part 1

By the hearth in Bag End on a shivery February winter...

"Well, my lad, sit there and let me tell you first about a beautiful Elf-woman named Losengriol. She was the wife of the King of Northern Mirkwood, and she had a son named Greenleaf. He was a young elf, barely a couple of hundred years old when this story begins, and she loved him well, as did her husband Thranduil.

"One day, Losengriol and her son went deep into the forest, for there were in dark places a kind of leaf and a kind of bark, and also a kind of mushroom that grew where no light ever fell, and these were valued by the Elves for their rare properties. But alas, also to be found in those places are creatures who shun the light of the Sun, and they are dangerous and some are of evil intellect. These did Greenleaf fall prey to; as he sought deep under a thick growth of woven thorns and cobwebs, for the plants his mother desired, a large spider did sting his hand, and he fell in a swoon at the poison bite..."

⌂

In Mirkwood Forest, many a long year ago...

"Emme, you know Father hates it when you go into the forest alone." Legolas closed the door to the secret exit from his father's palace, sometimes called Menegroth after that ancient kingdom lost beneath the sea. He made sure that the entrance was invisible to all eyes—just a leafy wall it seemed when closed. He shouldered his empty pack and turned to his mother who was waiting for him. "He worries about you," the young elf said.

"An escort equal to a score of brave men I have in thee, my son," answered Losengriol. She smiled at him and smoothed his fine blonde hair. "The finest archer, the best hunter, and the most loyal subject in all of Thranduil's leafy kingdom, all in one."

Legolas blushed with pride at his mother's words, and though he still felt they should have more of an escort, he did as Losengriol's commanded, her words delivered lovingly but with the stern expectation of his unfailing obeisance. He had saddled two horses in stealth and led them to the private door that the King had built in secret. Losengriol used it frequently to enter the forest without raising the attention of the King. She went there to fetch special plants for medicines or to walk in the free air of the leafy world, where her heart was most truly happy. Little did she care to dwell in the carven holes made by Dwarves; she would playfully tease her spouse and son by saying, "Elves belong in trees!" and Thranduil would say how the well fortified and strong were the walls of Menegroth, and how similar it was to that ancient kingdom where his kin once dwelt, and where he had met his wife beneath the oaks that girded the kingdom of Thingol and Melian.

"Yes, and you met me… where, my lord? Beneath the trees!" and she would win the argument every time.

Mother and son rode into the trees, holding hands outstretched, and they laughed with delight for the wind in their hair and the dappled light of the sun on their faces. The entire world was a leafy tapestry woven of living threads; bough and vine, and shrub and bole. The ground was soft, and their horses made no sound as they walked. The grass was brilliant green and the leaves shining; the air was damp and fragrant after a summer rainfall.

There were any hundred things to catch the attention of a young elf, but Legolas kept his eyes and ears on the movements and sounds of the forest, watching vigilantly while Losengriol gathered her special plants, murmuring an Elvish blessing for each one.

They worked their way into the dark heart of the woods, for Losengriol was seeking a very special plant, a puffball that grew only where the sun had never touched the earth. They had to venture deep into the woods to find such a place, far from the paths of the Wood Elves. They left their horses grazing beneath a beech tree and walked on, for the growth grew close together, and the ground-cover soon became thick and gnarled and difficult for even those on feet to traverse. Legolas's sharp eyes spotted large spiders in the trees above, and he notched his bow and made ready to shoot if any began to descend their silvery ropes.

Losengriol saw them, too. She beckoned silently for Legolas to follow slowly, and they crept forward. She had located her mushrooms and they lay beneath a thick-woven nest of thorns and cobwebs, old leaves and dry vines choked out of life.

Legolas could not watch his mother mar her beautiful hands on such work, and he gave her is bow and knelt, reaching beneath the thorn-break himself for the plants. He drew his hand back with a hiss, and a big spider dropped to the ground. It was whitish and nearly invisible, and had hidden in the mould beneath the mushrooms, striking out with its stinging beak. Legolas fell back against Losengriol, for already the wound was darkening, and angry red lines ran up the pale skin of his arm. He swooned as the venom overcame him, and Losengriol saw with dismay the greater spiders dropping now with silent speed to steal the prey of their lesser kin. She abandoned the bow and arrows; gathering her son in her arms, she ran.

For years uncounted she had roamed this wood, and other woods before she had come here. She knew the animal trails and every lighting-blasted limb and twisted root. The spiders pursued her but they could not overtake her; like a doe she ran, and her burden slowed her not, for love and fear lent her speed, and she went swift through the trees to the place where the horses had been left.

She smelled them before she saw them; goblins. A hunting party had followed the prints of the horses, and had tracked them to the glade. The horses had bolted and fled, and the goblins were arguing and cursing the sun; she heard their harsh voices. She bent her path to avoid them, running swift around and daring not to linger and hide, for the spiders still followed, and she could hear their hissing and rustling above.

One of the goblins spied her movement, and shouting he drew his bow of horn and fired an arrow after her. She did not stop or slow, but ran on with greater speed. Not for her own life did she fear, but for that of her son and the heir of her people's ruler.

She heard cries and more curses behind her, and she knew that the spiders had taken some prey at last. A part of her laughed, as the plans of evil by evil were undone again, but still she did not slow her flight, for another race was upon her, and she wanted to reach her sanctuary.

In a grove of oaks just beyond the wall of the palace, she lay down her son Legolas on a leafy bower. He opened his eyes, for the venom was in him still, but he was strong and fought the unnatural sleep. He saw her with blood upon her, and he cried out and took her in his arms. She smiled at him and took his face in her hands, her white fair hands, and she spoke to him one last time. "Beneath the trees," she said.

And then she died.

⌂

Back in the Bag End, Bilbo's favourite armchair creaks...

Bilbo took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes, sighing and clearing his throat.

"That is so sad, Bilbo!" Frodo said softly, and his eyes were full of tears. He leaned his head against Bilbo's leg and stared into the fire.

"That is one of the reasons I have not told you this tale, my lad," said the old hobbit, tousling Frodo's dark curls affectionately. "I thought that it would upset you; make you think about your own mother, dear Primula."

"All my memories of her are happy ones, uncle. When I think of her, I remember being warm and safe and loved. They don't ever make me sad... except, well... I wish that I had more memories of her." The young hobbit sighed. He lifted his head and placed his chin on Bilbo's knee, looking up at him with eyes of sapphire. "Greenleaf was very sad that his mother died, I am sure. How terrible for him!"

"Yes, he was sad, but death for Elves is not what death is for Hobbits or Men, or even Dwarves. Their spirits go to Elfhome, away beyond the furthest West, and sometimes they can come back again."

"Like Glorfindel of Gondolin? I love that tale, though it is also very sad!"

"Yes, just so! My, what a memory you have, Frodo! And so, you see, even though he was very sad, Greenleaf knew that his mother still lived across the vast sea, and he knew someday he would see her again."

"Oh, good," breathed Frodo, and he sat against Bilbo again, his head on his uncle's lap. "That makes listening easier! But what has this story to do with your adventure with Thorin? Did this happen while you were there?"

"Who is telling this tale, Frodo Baggins?" said Bilbo in mock annoyance, and Frodo giggled. "Take that kettle off the flames before it boils away completely and fetch some bread and jam from the pantry. We shall have some tea, and then I will tell you more."

Chapter 5: Bilbo and Greenleaf, part 2

Winter howled through the Shire, but in Bag End, two hobbits sat near a warm hearth, one telling and one listening...

"Well of course all this happened hundred and hundreds of years before Thorin and his company, myself included, ventured into Mirkwood Forest. The king had done as his wife had asked with her last breath and made a mound for her beneath the very oak tree where she had lain her son and herself down. He missed her greatly, for she was much beloved to him and had been with him for many, many years. He waited patiently to see if she would someday return..."

⌂

When King Thranduil had been told that both his son and wife were found dead, he cast down whatever he had to hand and hurried to their sides. A search party had discovered them lying together some distance from the walls of the palace. He knelt with stricken face, but shouted quickly for a healer to be brought, for he saw that his son was not dead, only swooning with venom and grief. He lifted his wife into his arms and wept with sorrow, but he also wept with joy that his son was yet alive.

Legolas was borne back to the fortress and succored with herb and healing draught, and in time restored to health to the king's great relief. When he was able, he visited his mother's grave, bringing flowers from sun-drenched meadows or wreaths of green leaves from the tops of the mighty trees, mistletoe and holly, to adorn her mound. After many years had past he still visited there, to be alone with his thoughts and his memories of her. The fair walls of the palace did close on him as they had upon her, and he longed often for the freer air.

Thranduil frowned upon his frequent ventures outside of the fortress alone, but he could stay the willful son no more ably that he could the mother. He watched from a distance whenever he learned that Legolas had left the caverns, and he sent stealthful guards that Legolas ignored.

He grew in strength in those long years; mind and body were honed by the skill and wisdom of the father. Legolas trained with Thranduil's best swordsmen and bowmen, becoming greater in skill than any other of the folk in Mirkwood; He earned justly from his proud father the title of a Chief of the guards.

He was on guard during the Festival of Sudden lights, the Elf-feast that was celebrated in the forest, and which twelve dwarves interrupted with their untimely arrival, venom-sick and starving. Thranduil was angered by their intrusion, and also by their leader Thorin, whom he had already taken prisoner for his uncivil tongue and trespass. Little did he love dwarves, and these were a particularly surly and uncooperative lot. They refused to answer even simple questions, so Thranduil had them locked away in the dungeons until they recalled courtesy.

⌂

Winter's breath rattling the windows of the Shire, far away from Mirkwood Forest...

"Now understand, Frodo," said Bilbo, leaning forward and looking into his nephew's eyes, "Remember, the spiders were roused, and Greenleaf and the other guards were hard put to it to fight them off while their folk escaped, leading twelve dizzy dwarves and one invisible hobbit. I followed their lanterns, wearing the Ring, and saw that many spiders who had crept up behind us were slain and driven back by the fierceness of the bow of Greenleaf.

"And in the dungeons the Dwarves stayed for a long while, aye, for still Thorin refused to yield a reason why he was traveling through the Elf-king's territory, and stubborn and obstinate were all his words. Thranduil said in his wrath that Thorin could wait there for a hundred years, if he chose. Elves can afford to be very, very patient!"

Bilbo chuckled, finishing his tea that had grown cold at his hand. He set the cup aside, and leaned back, continuing, "None of the other dwarves would speak either, so Thranduil let them alone in their cells, and in doing this, he saved all our lives.

"For the woods were crawling with wargs and goblins, and the spiders were stirred up and angry. No Dwarf and hardly any Elf were safe in the forest anymore...

⌂

Horns blowing in the fortress, ringing through the caverns…

Thranduil went swiftly to the gate to see that a group of goblins were gathered under a ragged flag of dirty white, begging the King's hearing. He went forth with a strong guard and his son beside him, and listened to the parley of the goblins.

"How dare you come into the territory of Thranduil, King of Northern Mirkwood, and what have you to say to him?" spoke Legolas, for Thranduil would not speak to any goblin in wrath of the loss of his wife and many of his folk over the long years of struggle. Legolas's wrath was hardly less, but it was his place as Chief of the guard, and he bit back his anger.

A large hairy and obscenely twisted goblin stepped forward, holding the filthy white rag like a shield against the cutting glare of the Elf King. "O mighty king of all the Forest," began the goblin, sniveling with attempted flattery, "We come from the Mountains, hunting murderous dwarves that have slain the Great Goblin! They snuck into our tunnels like thieves and robbed us, and by wizardcraft have ended our great leader! We desire only revenge for our chieftain. We offer no harm to any Elf, or any who have friendship with the Great King of Mirkwood." The goblin ducked in a parody of a bow, and his snarling face would have smiled, if such an exercise were able so foul a creature.

"Begone, spawn of Morgoth!" said Legolas harshly, unable to contain his ire further. "No satisfaction will you find here, nor will you find aught in this forest except your own deaths, if you linger here. You have no business in the Forest! Go back to your holes."

"Let the Lord King of Mirkwood speak his own words, snaga," snarled the goblin to Legolas, and he laughed at the Elf's flushed face. His laughter was cut short as a feathered shaft appeared piercing the scrap of white cloth he held. He dropped it and turned to hurry away, looking back over his itching shoulders. The other goblins spat and cursed the elves, shaking their fists and growling.

"Well said, son of Thranduil," spoke the King, for he was greatly pleased to hear that the Great Goblin was dead, though doubtless he would soon be replaced with some other greedy and tyrannical orc. He ordered the guards doubled, and sent a strong party to assure that the goblins departed the area.

⌂

Green forest fades to red fireside...

Frodo sat up, his legs crossed and his elbow set on them, attending Bilbo's words most avidly. When his uncle paused in his tale, he stood and filled the tea cups, noting that the drifts of snow outside were piling up so that the holes and houses of Hobbiton seemed like so many mounds with little curls of smoke seeping from their peaks. He placed another log on the fire, then resumed his place, nodding for Bilbo to continue.

Bilbo chuckled. "I think the Elf King then figured out for himself why Thorin was there, and what might follow if he was released—Thorin would try to take back the kingdom of his forefathers from the Dragon. Thranduil could handle a mob of angry goblins, but the wrath of Smaug would destroy his forest and his people. He had a truce with the foul lizard, bought with gold and treasure from his own vaults, to spare the trees from his draconic appetite so long as no Elf raised a hand or bow against the wurm.

"Greatly did Thranduil disdain that truce, but rulers must do what they can to protect their people, even if it is very distasteful. He aided the Men of Long Lake and secretly sent them arms of superior workmanship, but the men were long past the strength and will to fight openly against the dragon. Only a few would carry the strange and fair weapons of the Elves, for they feared and envied their grace and long lives."

Frodo interrupted his uncle, his face bright with excitement, "Did King Thranduil then make the Black Arrow that Bard the Bowman slew the dragon with?"

"Now! No jumping ahead in the story! You would think that you have heard it all before, the way you carry on!" Bilbo laughed and patted Frodo's head, and the young hobbit chuckled.

"The king would not sell the Dwarves, you see; while he was not friendly with them, he did honour their deed and respect them their lives as he did all living things. But soon the goblins returned, and this time they said they had captured an Elf and that they would ransom his life only for the Dwarves. Thranduil cast about for his son who was absent from his usual place, and he knew who it was that the goblins had captured."

Frodo gasped and sat up sharply. "Not Greenleaf? Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes, I'm afraid. They took him by surprise when he went to visit his mother's grave. Lay in wait for him in that place, they did, having no respect for a resting-place.

"Stricken was the king, but he granted no parley. A captive of the goblins is a victim of the goblins, as is oft said, for they slay their captives cruelly rather than allow them to be rescued. Thranduil knew that his son was likely already dead, and his heart mourned.

Taking his own sword in hand, he came out through the gates and slew the foul messenger, and ordered that all guardsmen prepare for battle, for they would march on the marrow against the goblins and drive them from the forest at last."

Chapter 5: Bilbo and Greenleaf, part 3

Bilbo patted his excited nephew on the head. "Well! I was beside myself with fear for Greenleaf, as I knew little of the ways of goblins, it seemed to me that Thranduil had forsaken his son, and that made me angry. I had grown fond of Greenleaf in the time I had spent in the caverns. I slipped from the fortress and followed the party of goblins back to their camp, tagging along just within sight of their torches. I was afraid that they would have wolves about them, but they had none. When we reached their camp I saw that Greenleaf was indeed still alive, gagged and bound to a tree.

"The goblins reported that their leader had been slain by the king, and called for Greenleaf's blood to repay it, but the chieftain refused, claiming that this action proved that the Elves had the Dwarves in keeping. He insisted that the Elf would be useful still. An argument started and the goblin messenger and the chieftain began to fight.

"Of course I took full advantage of the situation, and I slipped behind the bound Elf and cut his ropes with Sting. He couldn't see me, but as soon as he was free he was running, and I hurried on behind as fast as I could. It was some time before the goblins noticed that he was gone! Some how I managed to keep the running Elf in sight, and made it back to the fortress just as the great doors opened. King Thranduil was at the head of the column of warriors, riding out to bring battle to the goblins. Greenleaf collapsed in the arms of his own father, and I slipped into the fortress through the open gates.

"Thranduil ordered his soldiers to attack, for a great band of angry goblins could be heard following, howling and yammering and coming to revenge themselves. The goblins met a wall of spears and were destroyed. If any survived that attack, it was because they had tripped and gotten lost in the forest! Thranduil won the day, and his son was alive and safe."

Frodo's eyes were round and wondering. Surely his uncle was the bravest and most resourceful adventurer in the entire world! "You rescued him! And he never knew that you helped him?"

"No, my boy. Discretion being the better part of burglary, I failed to mention it and simply headed for the kitchen to steal some bread and a mug of wine to recover myself. That was when I got the Idea... and the key to helping my Dwarves escape."

Bilbo cleaned out his pipe. He glanced through the ice-coated window at the thick fall of snow outside. "It was not this cold when we made our escape, but the water of the River Running felt as though it were freezing to this old hobbit! Let me tell you, Frodo, it was a cold drink indeed!

"The king's private pantry, which I had long discovered contained the very best of foodstuffs; many beautiful platters and goblets were there stored, studded with precious gems. There were wares of silver and gold, and piles of silken napkins and linen... a great wealth of finery. And all deserving of the most excellent foods; bread so fair and white it tasted like cake, and roasted meats and fruits, vegetables steamed and baked and fried..."

"Uncle! You are making me hungry," complained Frodo with a laugh.

"Let's go and see about getting our supper going. I will need some hearty food to see me through this telling to the end, as your appetite for stories is less easily satisfied than your need for dinner!"

Frodo stood and stretched. He went to the round window and wiped a circle with his sleeve, peering through the frosted glass at the anonymous landscape beyond. He gathered up the teacups and went into the kitchen where Bilbo was shaping a loaf of bread that had been rising. He set the china down with a clatter, almost dropping a saucer.

"Careful, by boy! You are as bad as a Dwarf with my good china!"

"Chip the glasses, crack the plates... that's what Bilbo Baggins hates!" sang Frodo in a low squeaky voice, the closest he could come to the booming baritone of a Dwarf-singer. Bilbo laughed and filled the basin with warm water, washing up the teacups and service. He handed Frodo a dish to dry, and carried on his tale...

"As I said, the king's pantry was well-stocked, and less well-tended that day, for Thranduil was busy with is son, and killing goblins and all. I went in for a morsel to refresh and reward myself after my adventure in the forest, and found that the butler had in his haste left open a cupboard that was usually closed and locked.

"Inside were rows and rows of small bottles with corks, each containing a little liquid or a portion of any of a hundred marvelous things; leaves and stones, tiny insects like living jewels, and... other less pleasant things, too. I guessed that this must be a storage place for the magical medicines that Elves make and use.

"Now, the Elves of Mirkwood are civilized folk, and wise as all their race is wise; living for Ages and forgetting nothing. These Elves however, do not use writing and runes, thought they occasionally do learn the letters and languages of other races. So all these bottles were labeled with artful pictures, and one bottle that caught my eye had a sketch of an elf, fast asleep beneath a big mushroom.

"I took that to mean that it contained a sleeping draught rather than a shrinking draught, though by that time I was so desperate I would not have hesitated to shrink each dwarf down to the size of a mushroom cap and walk out with them all in my pockets!" Bilbo laughed and passed Frodo another dish. "But luck was mine that day, and a few days later again, when another opportunity rose that led to a chilly adventure..."

⌂

Dark tunnels of stone, licked with torchlight...

Legolas had no stomach for feasting. He touched his hand to his bandaged ribs and walked his remaining paces, glad to be on guard duty again and not listening to his father harangue him about risking himself by visiting his mother's grave alone. He knew that his father was glad he was alive and mostly unhurt, but coming so close to losing his son a second time had made the Thranduil stern and sharp-tongued. He had tried to get from Legolas a promise not to venture alone out if the palace again. A ridiculous request of a grown Elf! Legolas refused to swear it, and Thranduil was still annoyed with him.

Still, a feast was held to celebrate his return and the victory over the goblins. Legolas traded duty with another guard to ensure he had something else to do during the festivities.

He nodded to the Elf waiting at the end of the corridor. Legolas handed him his spear, such as all the guards carried. He sighed and walked toward his chambers, rotating his stiff arm wounded by the goblins. They had handled him roughly indeed, but he was mending, and had a thirst on him he meant to sate with a draught of wine, if there was any to be had without entering the feast hall.

As Chance would have it (for good or ill) he passed the lowest cellar, avoiding all the corridors where he might meet merrymakers, and found the door was open. Quiriki, the King's butler hailed him as he looked inside.

He was sitting at a table, a large cask of wine newly broached, a fluted decanter sitting on the board, filled with pale yellow wine. In the floor nearby yawned the open trapdoors that led to the river, flowing noisily below. Many barrels lay around, stacked and empty, ready to be sent floating back to Long Lake.

The butler rose and beckoned to Legolas. "Greetings, Thranduilion! Great is my pleasure in seeing you on your feet again! We had given up hope that you would be restored to us! I have a treat in store to celebrate your escape from the jaws of captivity!"

"I am in no mood for celebrations, Quiriki. If I were, at my father's side I would now be. And I deserve no praise for my foolishness, as I was freed by chance and some odd magic."

"All the more reason to celebrate, dear Legolas! Please come! A cask of new wine has arrived from distant Dorwinion, and it has yet to be sampled to see if it is fit for the table of the King. Try some with me?"

Legolas laughed and agreed. "We must make sure his Majesty receives only the finest wines... would not do to send on poor stuff!" He fastened the ring of keys to his belt and sat with Quiriki. The butler filled two large flagons with wine from the decanter, and they drank each other's health.

⌂

Glasses clinking as a table is set, leagues of miles and time away from Mirkwood Forest...

Bilbo sighed as he set two clear wineglasses on the board, "I regret having to trick the Elves, and I had rather become particularly fond of Greenleaf, but sadly it was he and the one other that were in the cellar that night, and he had the keys to my Dwarves' cells. I had no choice! This opportunity would not come again, for the barrels would be gone and the doors closed next time, perhaps. I wore my Ring at all times while I was in Thranduil's kingdom, so they could not see me when I slipped into the room. I held my breath and poured all of the tiny bottle into the breathing wine, while the Elves were still bantering in the doorway.

"A flagon each they drank, and then I saw my first sleeping Elf—two of them! I took the keys from Greenleaf's belt and rounded up my Dwarves as quick as I could, praying that all the guards were making rounds past the feasting tables, and hurried them into their barrels of freedom.

"Now, I never stole anything I did not need or use, and I used the keys to free Thorin and my friends. I did replace them on his belt, hoping that it would be believed that the Dwarves had been whisked away somehow by sorcery.

"I wondered afterward how much trouble poor Greenleaf got into over the affair, after being discovered bent with wine and thirteen dwarves short. Many a guilty night I have had! But I reckon his punishment had not been too severe. I did what I had to do, and Thorin and the Dwarves escaped and Smaug was slain. But I do often wonder what became of dear Greenleaf. I wish I could see him again!"

"Maybe you will, Bilbo!" Frodo's eyes were shining in the firelight, and the spatter of wet snow struck the windows with a musical sound. Occasionally some snow would come hissing down the flue to make the flames dance. The storm deepened outside, and Frodo shivered with delight and excitement. "Maybe we will both meet him someday! Would not that be a grand adventure?"

Bilbo smiled as he carefully loaded his pipe. There was nothing like telling tales to pass a winter day.

The End