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Chapter Text

“To...His Royal Majesty King Elessar Aragorn, King of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor, Lord of the Western Lands, King of the West, Lord of the White Tree, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, Lord of Annúminas, and Friend to All Hobbit-Folk:

I write to you not only in the interest of information and accuracy and that sort of thing, but also to right what may- perhaps- have been a wrong, unintentionally done though it might have been. Provided is a summary of our findings, for several of the sources in question are in no fit state to be sent by post, you understand. My purpose in this correspondence is only to find the truth and to correct- or, that is update- the account circulated in The Red Book of the Westmarch.

Please do take this request into consideration, for you are very busy being King and all but it really does concern you as well, Your Majesty.

Warmest and Really Most Respectful Regards,

Miss Poppy Fairbairn

on behalf of Miss Hyacinth Fairbairn, Miss Haesel Whitfoot, and Master Darwise Fairbairn- co-researchers.”

Chapter Text

It was the end of Halimath (or Harvestmath, or September for those parts even further afield) and the proper golf season was perilously close to its end. Word told of leaves in the North-farthing already beginning to yellow, and any day now the wind would adopt the kind of bite that required one to find a pullover in the morning. Now, the Westmarch had a more moderate climate, being as it was so close to the sea, but that did not stop the breeze from whispering of cold winters, hot cider, and time spent indoors curled up with a book and a blanket. And a cat on one’s lap, should one be so lucky.

Poppy Fairbairn had come to the foot of Old Foothill- that is, the roof of the Undertowers- with a basket of prodigious large acorns to practice her swing. The Greenholm Invitational and Tweens’ Tournament was in a week and four days, and she was finally eligible to compete¹. The prize for her age bracket was, well, more of a mathom than anything else, but it came with the promise of lessons from the great Bluebell Brockhouse herself and that was something Poppy couldn’t chance missing.

The latest acorn arced through the air and well down the hill, nearly to the road. In terms of pure distance it was a gem, though that time she had hooked it too far to the right of where she had been aiming. Poppy imagined the new apple saplings on the side of the road as her flags, and the acorn had bounced short of them.

“Ah well,” she said to herself, “still under par for the Tween-holes I wager.”

While the acorns weren’t regulation, nor was her course, her grandfather’s Tween’s-club might have been as perfect as the day it was carved. It was Poppy’s prized possession: a beech-headed longnose with an ash shaft and a cherry finish. She remembered sitting on her grandfather’s knee and hearing his stories... One would think he’d taken lessons from the Bullroarer the way he spoke of his drives. Fastred Fairbairn had taught her everything she’d ever wanted to know about the game, and now she wanted to make him proud as much as she wanted to win.

Another acorn whistled away into the wind. Poppy shielded her eyes as the sun decided to poke at her from between the clouds. In the end, she couldn’t be sure where her last drive had landed. The grass was a little overgrown by the road, and none of the goats of the Undertowers Farms had been encouraged in that direction. Before she could examine it further, she was drawn away by a voice.

“Poppy! Poppy dear, you’d best come inside!”

“Mum!” She hadn’t decided whether to pout or not yet. It could be time for Dinner. She might also be in danger from a lecture about the state of her room.

“Come inside, Poppy, it’s going to rain any minute!”

Certainly it was, for the moment Poppy decided she’d open her mouth in tweenly protest, a drop landed squarely on her nose.

“Coming!”

The Undertowers were safe, dry, and rumored to be quite nearly- almost but not exactly entirely- as big as Bag End. Records and blueprints with the exact numbers were likely stored in the offices of the contested smial. Master Bungo Baggins was the kind of hobbit to have submitted his plans to the offices in Hobbiton, though he was also the kind of hobbit no one at said offices would bother to question. Poppy had seen the blueprints for her home, framed in the archive, many a time before. Her father kept saying they’d pay a visit to Uncle Holfast and the Gardner clan one of these days to see the Bag End for themselves, but it hadn’t come to anything so far.

Still, the older she got, the odder she found her home. It was a perfectly respectable hobbit hole with all the amenities, but it was a tad odd living an acorn’s drive from an old Númenórean fort. Well, an Elven Númenórean fort, if she got technical, but that was beside the point. Most of the other tweens lived in the town of Undertowers, not the house of Undertowers, and as such did not have ancient ruins for neighbors. As a matter of fact, she was nearly certain part of their smial had been a collapsed section of Númenórean basement². It was decidedly odd to imagine she was eating her Dinner in the same places Elves might’ve snuck around and played hiders and seekers in. Had Elves played hiders and seekers?

Her mother Astera leaned the door open with her shoulder as she carried the Big Pot to the table. Poppy had washed up to help set the silverware, while her younger sister Hyacinth (called ‘Cynthie’ by her family) carefully proved her competency at slicing cheese. Should she survive the week with all her fingers intact, she would be granted the privilege of using their father’s (dullest) set of knives in future culinary endeavors. Her younger brother Darwise had hefted a large book into his chair and waited patiently for his mother to set him upon it.

Her cousin Haesel- not Hazel, and visiting from Greenholm- stood somewhat awkwardly in the door to the pantry³. She had arrived soaking wet in the middle of an odd downpour yesterday, and perhaps it was only a prelude to today’s. Cousin Haesel- with her spectacles and pinafore dresses- was of an age with Cynthie but much quieter. It seemed she wasn’t used to the kitchen at Undertowers yet, or at least to the population. Auntie Firiel only had two children, and Poppy couldn’t remember if she’d ever actually been in the kitchen at Greenholm. It might’ve been smaller.

Poppy knew what had to be done and so took mercy on her cousin. “Haesel?” she asked, “Could you grab some rosemary- oh and the big pepper mill from the pantry? We’ll be needing it!” Haesel disappeared, looking relieved. Inwardly, Poppy smiled. She’d been right.

After placing the pot, Mum popped off her oven mitts and set them aside on the hutch. She smoothed her hair back, tucking free strands into her orange headband (all the rage with Shire ladies) and puffed her ponytail high and round on the top of her head. Poppy was amazed how her Mum could do so much around the house and still be nearly the whole Treasury Department for the town, and a mum. Her father Elfstan- bless him- only had one job, even if it was a big and important job given to the family by the Thain. He was a wonderful dad as well, of course, but his hair was never perfect anywhere but his toes.

“Darling dearest!” Mum’s voice carried quite well without being shrill. “Dinner’s on!”

Even as she picked up Darwise to set him atop his book, hobbit footsteps thudded down the hall. The dining room door opened with a rush to reveal Dad in all his dishevelment. Elfstan Fairbairn, second Warden of the Westmarch, was dressed nearly head-to-toe in skewed green paisley. His waistcoat and pants were part of a set, and where his jacket was only he knew. If indeed he knew at all!

“Pardon my tardiness Astera dear, love of my life,” he said as he hurried to the table, kissing Mum on the cheek as he passed, “but the ticker only stopped ticking an hour ago, and Wilhelm left not five minutes ago for his own Dinner.” Dad tucked his spectacles into his waistcoat pocket as he sat. He grabbed up a bowl and set to getting Darwise his porridge first. “Sometimes I envy the rest of the Shirefolk. Most never use the Newpost at all if they can help it⁴. I swear, I shall start ticking in my sleep one of these days.”

Cynthie giggled from where she was plating the cheese board, Haesel unobtrusively set the pepper mill, and Mum clucked her tongue. “Dearest honeybun,” she said, “if you tick in your sleep I might make you set a bed in the fort.” Her daughters fought down giggles, but Darwise’s eyes grew huge at the mention.

“Can I set a bed in the fort, Mum? Please? I won’t have nightmares, I promise. I’ll stay all night and I won’t even take a torch.”

This only got him headshakes and sighs. “No, love,” Mum said, “it’s not safe to sleep in the fort. It doesn’t have proper doors anymore, and many of the windows have been cracked by storms. You might step on broken glass.”

Darwise frowned, but this only stalled him a moment. “I’ll wear my Stoorboots. Even when I sleep! That way no broken glass can get me.”

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one tempted by the prospect. Cynthie set her shining board of cheese, breads, and chopped vegetables down on the table and chimed in. “I’ll go with him! I mean, we don’t need to spend the night there, but can’t we go looking around?”

Poppy shoveled a spoonful of steaming porridge into her mouth. Mum and Dad exchanged a glance. She knew where this was going.

Dad fiddled with the spectacles in his pocket. Poppy had seen him do this many times over the years, mostly when in the company of his peers or members of the Town Council. He was trying to come up with a way to say ‘Not on your life!’ without appearing rude.

“Cynthie dear,” he started, “I know the Elves were fascinating folk, but they haven’t left anything interesting up there. All the beautiful and clever things we recovered are in one of the Mathom Museums⁵, or were given to the Men for safekeeping.” Here he had an idea and tried to change the subject. “You know what? Undertowers’ branch of the Museum has a few lingas full of songs and even an old crank-Laerchennor you can play them on⁶! How about we plan a visit on our next trip into town?”

Cynthie and Darwise both looked less than pleased at that plan. Poppy’s glance shifted to Haesel. She appeared quite surprised at the mention of Elf-forts and adventures but kept her mouth shut. Maybe the Whitfoots and Bagginses were alike in that. Respectable hobbits with no need for adventures.

Unfortunately for their apparent respectability, the youngest Fairbairn had allied himself with a very determined, very stubborn, very astute older sister.

Sitting up as straight as she could, Cynthie tilted her chin and leveled her parents with her very least insolent rebuttal. “But Mum and Dad, Poppy’s gone before. When she was Darwise’s age! It’s not fair if she gets to go and we never could! And besides, Haesel’s a guest and we ought to treat her.”

Poppy paused with a mouthful of porridge. Part of that was true. Granddad had taken her up to the fort one day on a bit of an adventure, when he was Warden and went where he pleased. But old Fastred had been a Tookish Fairbairn on his grandmother’s side, and that was rumored to be part of the reason Mayor Gardner wanted him for the job. Mum and Dad had not been consulted on the trip, and Poppy remembered that they had been rather cross...

But... she also remembered the high windows, the gentle curve of half a staircase, and the leaves etched on the pillars that not even time could sweep away⁷.

Dad seemed to be working on a response to that, but Mum beat him to it. “Ah, but Poppy did not have permission to go into the fort-” she cut off Cynthie’s legal objection, “-from her parents. And neither do you or Haesel. Besides all of that, we can’t possibly take a trip up there when it’s raining like this. We’ll slip and fall from a... a... parapet or something.”

In Poppy’s hazy recollection, the fort didn’t have broken glass or accessible towers, but she wasn’t about to get into the middle of this argument. Cynthie had nearly dragged her in once, and that was bad enough. She was on her very best behavior as to cement her golfing privileges. Greenholm was fifty miles from Undertowers. She was going to tentatively be allowed to ride with Haesel on her return trip, and such a trip could easily be canceled for tweenly misdemeanors.

Cynthie and Darwise were both pouting into their porridge, but she was sure they’d be righter than the rain outside in no time at all. Haesel nibbled demurely on a slice of cheese, visibly unbothered. The fort was a constant temptation for even the least Tookish Fairbairns, but only the Warden or one of the Groundskeeping Officials had real permission to enter. It wasn’t as if Poppy didn’t understand. She’d thought of it herself after that first trip. Elves and their culture seemed so far removed from hobbit life... But, in the end, she had her own affairs to look after. She didn’t need any adventures to inquire today.

After Supper had come and gone it was still raining, so Poppy stayed in the living room with her book and only watched proceedings with occasional interest. Cynthie and Darwise were giving Haesel a second tour, highlighting mathoms, rooms, and features they missed the day before. There were things like Granny Elanor’s tea set from Annúminas, the photograph of the entire Gamgee-Gardner clan as it had been right before Great-grandpa Sam left them. They even pointed out the record hall with all its wooden filing cabinets. That much wasn’t terribly interesting- just papers and accounts for the Red Book⁸. Poppy was content to sit where she was. She knew the best was yet to come, anyhow.

For the crowning piece of furniture in the Fairbairn smial was their Bifurgram Solo⁹, a great maple box with a diamond-shaped window covered in fine silk mesh. It glowed faintly from the vents in orange light and awaited the time when its master would bring it to life. Other than the ticker- which Granddad had installed when he’d built the house and needed for his duties as Warden- and something Dad called ‘the Ringing Tyrant’, their Bifurgram was the only piece of Modern toolwork in the house. That is- the only one that required Dwarf-craft to work. Mum liked to listen to music if she was cooking alone, and her Bifurgram Springbox could go for hours with a crank. Loads of people had one of those.

But, Poppy secretly hoped her cousin would be impressed. It wasn’t as if they were wealthy like Bungo and Belladonna had been in legend. The Bifurgram was a novelty, a gift, and honestly just a tad frightening. The Shire had never been big on imports of toolwork, least of all those of Men. It was no different now. The big pubs would keep a Bifurgram (usually a Chorus model) in the community room for the occasional program, and some wealthy houses kept a Melody or one of the littler Ditty models. But since Shire programs only came on once a day (except twice on Mersday) they weren’t something everyone invested in.

Obviously Haesel had seen some Bifurgrams before, but clearly never one this nice. Her eyes widened behind the spectacles as she examined the craftsmanship. In all odds, there were probably only two or three nicer models in all the Shire. Poppy couldn’t remember if Auntie Firiel kept one in the house or her offices, but she seemed like the type to enjoy Trewsday Tunes Orchestra Hour...

“Alright, alright, take your seats.” Dad bustled into the room with a mock air of authority. “No shoving in the music hall, no torches in the house seats. Please keep your snacks to yourselves, even if your neighbor thinks they are quite appealing.”

The three of them giggled, and Poppy set her book down. Tonight was the ‘play of the week’, and if her memory served-- Dad slid the lever so the receiver popped into place, and the Bifurgram glowed to life.

“-with original music by the Cloudyhead Symphony Orchestra!” The box buzzed, and Mum joined them as the program started to get underway. They’d tuned in just in time.

“Birdie Boffin’s Play of the Week¹⁰ is proud to present... Ode to Old Bloodtusk!”

And what an Ode it was. Rain pattered on the exterior window of the smial, and everyone was far too busy to think of Elves, or forts, or least of all adventures.

Chapter Text

Even though it was still pelting rain, life in Undertowers carried on.

Dad had Warden duties that would take him out to his ‘proper’ office today, and Mum had a meeting with the Town Council Department of Records. Poppy had trudged around the house in her pajamas with a mug of warm tea while they left their instructions and said their goodbyes.

“Remember,” Dad had said to the two youngest and cousin Haesel before he’d left, “Poppy is in charge, but--”

“Mrs. Bracegirdle is more in charge.” Cynthie and Darwise chorused. Mrs. Bracegirdle tweensat on the days when neither Fairbairn parent was at home and no other engagement called the children from the house. She was a grey-haired grandmother with huge-rimmed spectacles and a large purse full of untold mysteries. Mrs. Bracegirdle was also Wilhelm Bolger’s mother-in-law, and rather enjoyed errands that kept her in proximity to family. Wilhelm himself was locked away in the ‘small’ office¹¹ taking ticker notes and doing all sorts of very important paper pushing. He wouldn’t be out of there until Luncheon.

Poppy sat by the window with her book, but didn’t put much thought into reading. She had little to do today since it was too wet outside to practice. Cynthie and Darwise were still showing Haesel around the smial, and Mrs. Bracegirdle was knitting by the fire in the den. The sunroom wasn’t very sunny, and neither was Poppy just then. She wanted to pace, but that sounded like a frightful waste of energy. She wanted to practice, but she’d learned her lesson long ago with a shattered cabinet and hours of polishing the real old silverware. There was nothing to do, and she was forced to admit she was bored.

Getting up from her window seat, Poppy decided she’d make a quick snack for early Elevensies. Mrs. Bracegirdle would probably just have the bread pudding and expect the tweens to take care of themselves. They weren’t truly little except Darwise, but he had responsible-enough older sisters who didn’t let him go hungry.

Well. He had one responsible sister.

“Bullroarer’s clubs, what are you doing??”

Cynthie and Haesel froze, the one hefting Darwise through the open window and the other ready to catch. All three were in cloaks and Stoorboots¹² and looked much readier for the outdoors than anyone with good hobbit-sense ought to be in their places.

“We’re going to the fort!” Darwise filled her in helpfully. She thought she heard Cynthie shush him from outside the window, but it was far too late for that.

“And what- pray tell- made you think that was a good idea?” She hadn’t raised her voice yet, but with Mrs. Bracegirdle very hard of hearing and Wilhelm at the ticker, neither would hear her unless she truly made a racket.

Haesel licked her lips. “We... we don’t have Elf-ruins at home.”

There was a long silence. And here she’d thought Haesel was a Bagginsy-Whitfoot. That would show her to jump to conclusions. Either that or she’d been entirely swayed by the miscreants Poppy had as close kin. Even now, Darwise sat on the windowsill and made large, pleading eyes at her.

“Well!” Cynthie finally piped up from outside. “If you hurry, we’ll wait for you!”

And that was how Poppy Fairbairn- most sensible, rule-abiding of her siblings- found herself stealing away into the rain after Elf treasure and secret rooms. She told herself she was doing it to save her siblings and by extension herself from her parents’ wrath. After all, letting her brother, sister, and cousin sneak away right under her nose might cost her the trip to Greenholm. Really, there was nothing else for it.

She’d overheard Dad grumbling about the rain while he made his tea, and as such hadn’t skimped when it came to rainwear. The hike to the fort wasn’t a long one- they were practically in its basement after all- but sopping wet tweens would be a dead giveaway if they were caught coming home. Now that she was a conspirator, she had to be smart about this.

“Dar, put up your hood. If you catch a chill we’re caught.”

The fort was large, imposing, and most importantly dry on the inside. Poppy couldn’t remember its proper name. Dad had mentioned it offhand once, in ‘Elven-Quenya’ she believed it was¹³. Everyone locally knew it as ‘the fort’ or even ‘the Undertowers fort’ if they had to distinguish it from the one closer to the old Havens. But, stepping inside, Poppy could not imagine war or anything close to it.

The white marble did not glow like in the stories, but it stretched up to dizzying heights. If there had been glass in the windows like Dad feared it was long gone. Rain dripped into oblong patches near them, but the rest of the main entry was almost dusty. A staircase- either crumbled or smashed- spiraled up to the higher floors with railing like wrought vine providing delicate support. It was less beautiful than the hall of her fuzzy memory. She mostly remembered sunlight, Granddad’s voice, being carried, and the way he’d talked about Elves sliding down the banisters. If it was a fort, she doubted they’d break military protocol like that, unless there was some kind of exception. Maybe sliding down the banisters was permissible, because war was very tiresome and the troops needed... What did they call it? Morale. They might need to slide down the banisters for morale.

Poppy was wrenched from her thoughts by Darwise’s full-voiced cry.

“Wow! Who ever needed to build such big rooms?” The three girls shushed him simultaneously, but Cynthie was kind to follow up with a suggestion.

“We’d best be quiet, Dar. You know the smial’s attached here in the basement. What if Mr. Wilhelm hears us?” That was enough to get Darwise’s attention, and his face took on comical resolve. He held a pudgy finger to his lips and gave her a shush of affirmation. No one could say how long that would last, but it was a good reminder to Poppy that she was in charge. She had to lay down some rules.

“Alright you lot.” She straightened up and pretended not to see Cynthie’s eyes roll. “We’ve snuck out, yes, but we’ve got to stay snuck or we won’t see the outside of the house until the new year, or even Lithe¹⁴. So it’s not me being bossy, it’s me saving our skins, got that?”

This time, even Cynthie nodded. Poppy noticed that her cousin was watching her curiously, probably still trying to take her measure. She had no idea what her sister had said to Haesel. They were of a closer age so Cynthie might’ve said she was stuck-up, a terrible bore, bossy, or any other common failings of older sisters. She may have, of course, said nice things, but it was a sibling’s right to complain. It occurred to Poppy that this might be her real first impression. General niceties or meals hadn’t counted since they’d been eating and making polite conversation. She also knew that Haesel had an older brother herself and could be favorably or unfavorably predisposed to this kind of management.

Poppy had better get this right the first time. “I’m not making rules for the love of it. No climbing- up or down- because if you break your leg I’ll have to explain that to Mum. No touching anything that looks breakable or moveable, because if it falls or drops on you I have to explain that to Mum. No going in rooms with doors, because if you get locked in I have to explain that to Mum. Any questions?”

Cynthie huffed quietly but sounded more or less in agreement when she asked “If you’ve been in here before, can you at least point us towards the cool stuff we’re allowed to look at?”

That, she could do. Poppy pointed straight back through the biggest archway in the room. “The dining hall is in there. Granddad said it was where the Elves ate and had their parties. It’s got a real chandelier, but it’s carved into the ceiling so it can’t fall on us. I think also there’s a painting of... of Bellery-land¹⁵, the place the Elves came here from. And there are plenty of rooms with no doors or stairs at all.”

She’d hardly finished before Cynthie was grabbing Darwise’s hand and scurrying off. Haesel did pause before her own exit.

“Are you staying here?”

Poppy nodded. “To be quite honest, I’m not really interested in this place. I’ll stand guard.” She thought of something else. “And if you’re really in trouble, please shout. Getting caught is much better than actually getting hurt.”

Haesel nodded, gave her some kind of salute, and dashed off to join the others.

Now, Poppy was faced with a choice. She could stand guard just as she’d said, or she could... well, no, she couldn’t. Surely not. She was a Fairbairn and a Boffin and Gamgee-Gardner. They’d been respectable before the War and they were respectable now. No Tookishness or Brandybuckery. Nary a one of them ever broke a leg scaling an Elf’s columns.

Although...

The banister had captivated her as a child, and it held her attention now. She tried to think of a rational explanation for the allure. Yes, the leafy design was quite nice. It would... it would make a wonderful motif for a decorative set of clubs! That was it! She’d get a closer look to study the design. With her prize-money, she might have some special-ordered. Or if she made it all the way to the Leagues or the Bullroarer’s Cup¹⁶. They love to give out mathoms and trinkets as prizes.

Only, when she finally got to the broken part of the staircase, she found her gaze traveling upward. There was a door at the top, one with more vine patterns and just a hint of light peeking through it. There might be a window up there, and she might be able to see out of it! ...As lookout, it would really only be responsible for her to make sure Mum wasn’t coming home early. From that vantage, she’d have ample warning!

Poppy found herself bracing her booted feet against each bar in the railing as she sidestep-climbed like a squirrel over the broken gap. Her arms shook a little as she went, but she had days and days to recover before the tournament. She would do her duty as a lookout, nothing more! Absolutely not an adventure!

There was- in fact- a fine layer of dust here at the top of the staircase. Poppy was breathing hard, and the heavier shuffling of her feet kicked up some. She tried to cough quietly. No way she could get caught by the others. That would be worse than being found out by a grown-up. Had she really just done one of the things she’d practically had them swear not to do..? Poppy looked back at the landing and the staircase she’d just scaled. What had come over her?

Ignoring the lookout point completely, Poppy found herself wandering a room in the fort very unlike the ones she’d seen previously. Of course, Granddad hadn’t made the climb with a small child, so she doubted this room was on his tour route. It was adorned with old paintings- quite like the ones downstairs- but these... These were like something you’d find in a fort. There were Elves with shining mail, real armor, weapons... And the ancient weapons with fine inlays and detailing you only saw in books, much less on the battlefields. Weapons of war were yucky things, and in all the stories she’d ever heard, folks would have much rather used them for decoration as they had in the painting. There certainly weren’t any displayed here, just like there wasn’t furniture or glass in the windows.

Just like there shouldn’t have been a box in one corner, off center, underneath a particularly golden elf¹⁷. It was completely unremarkable. A wooden box. The kind you might keep tea in. The kind the woodworker sold for a little less than the others because it was apprentice’s work and not crafted with as much skill. But it had managed to call her all the way from the fort’s foyer, up an unhobbity climb, and right into the middle of tremendous trouble if she was caught. Somehow, she’d forgotten about being a lookout the minute she’d broken rule three and gone through that door. The box was calling her, and even the golf tournament was the furthest thing from her mind.

Of course, Poppy approached. There were no more Elves in Middle-earth now, and it meant the box was without an owner. The Mathom Museum would appreciate it. She’d... she’d find a way to donate it quietly. Yes, let the scholars do their work. It was what a novice researcher ought to do.

She definitely shouldn’t have just opened it.

There wasn’t a key lock, just a simple turning latch. Like the kind on her mother’s tea box. Shifting it, she could tell it was full to the brim, but the contents were covered by one of those fabric-wrapped plates of cardboard that went in traveling cases and walking-holiday boxes. What she could see of the inside was plush and possibly silk, not like a tea box at all. And the smell! It smelled like the Undertowers archives, yes, but a little like metal, and earth, and a few other things she couldn’t place.

Worst of all, there was a folded letter pinned to the fabric of the dividing plate. It was right on top and held in place with the most splendid leaf-shaped brooch of green and silver-- That alone was treasure enough to slip into her pocket and nevermind the Museum! She lifted it out, felt the most quizzical combination of substance and lightness, and then her eyes fell upon the letter. Or, rather, the words on the outside:

For the Most Tookish Gamgee

Poppy’s first thought was resentment. What a scandalous notion!

Her second thought was, ‘Well, that explains it!’

Chapter Text

Hiding the illicit tea box from Cynthie, Haesel, and Darwise was not nearly as much of a problem as she anticipated. It nearly choked her- resting in the hood of her cloak between her and the wall as she ‘encouraged the others to race back while she brought up the rear’. Getting it down the staircase had been worse, but she’d been able to make a basket with her cloak and lower it over the gap with little enough effort. Poppy felt as if she’d stolen a pie straight from a windowsill, feeling the pounding of her heart louder than the squelching thump of her Stoorboots as she made her way to the smial alone. The others were whispering but not checking her progress as they shed their wet things. Darwise had wanted to draw parts of a painting he’d seen in the dining hall, and the other girls were eager to do secret reminiscing. The paintings there had been glorious. Kings, Queens, fancy-dress balls, magic, landscapes... Poppy nodded along and reminded them to keep quiet about it. They could still be caught at any time.

And her most of all. She’d made certain not to slam her bedroom door and arouse suspicion. She could have tweenly mood swings at her age, but not at this moment. She needn’t draw attention even from her co-conspirators. But she had a good excuse for seclusion if asked. Her book was... simply too engaging at the moment. What a biography of Malva Headstrong¹⁸ could mean to her wouldn’t matter to someone who had just seen an Elven mural.

The tea box rested in the center of her bedspread. Divested of cloak and boots, Poppy was only moderately damp and felt like no danger to the contents. Probably. She hoped. She had to hope, for her curiosity was going to get the better of her any second. The accusation that she could possibly be the most Tookish Gamgee... It could very well be a prank. This could be something Mum, Dad, or Granddad cooked up to keep the children from the ruins. She may open it up and find a springing snake like the kind in Mad Baggins’ Haunted Burrow¹⁹ that scared the little ones during Harvestmath. Maybe ten springing snakes. It was certainly big enough.

No, Poppy had to do this correctly. Even if she was about to be made a fool of, she needed the prank’s mastermind to know she’d been serious about research and had gone through the proper steps of preserving an artifact. Tookish Gamgee or no, she was a Fairbairn of Undertowers and knew her family work!

The tea box rested briefly on her side table while she sought out a clean linen. Poppy scanned the hall feverishly for onlookers while she found the right closet and a spare tablecloth before scampering back to her room. Next, she took a hand towel and made sure her arms and hands were extra dry. She even rooted through the hutch drawers in the dining room (on a second perilous excursion!) to find a delicate pair of sugar tongs. Whatever was inside- even fifteen springing snakes- would have to be handled with care.

Armed with all the tools of her fledgling and improper trade, Poppy opened the box once more. There was the letter and the pin just like she’d left them. In the better light, the fabric on the inside looked a soft-if-aged cream color. It was well-preserved and nearly matched the paper. Having already touched it once, there was really no reason for Poppy to use the sugar tongs to pick up the letter with. But she did so. She also used the lid of the box to help unfold the paper so she could read it without touching it further. After the insulting opener, it ran as follows:

Well met, if only in ink! If you’re reading this, you have my hearty congratulations. Friends of mine said you might not exist for an age, which would be a shame, as it would be a sad reflection on both hobbits everywhere and the state of adventures within the Shire. Of course, we need not all be like Bilbo and raid dragons’ lairs, but I am getting off topic.

With you being the most Tookish Gamgee, I- a well-known Took and representative of the species- entrust you with the secrets kept within this chest. They’re very pre-- They’re quite special and some fragile, so do take care. But someone’s got to know the whole truth other than us! And sooner, rather than later, though we’re split two-to-two on when this ought to see the light of day. So we did the best thing we could: consulted Elven wisdom, and put the whole thing out of our minds.

An Elven friend of mine suggested the introduction to this letter by-the-by²⁰. Once we’d asked but before we’d decided, he said “A Tookish Gamgee will be the one to see it done”. He’s been right about things before, so I thought I ought to make sure the letter was addressed to you. Good old Sam isn’t Tookish at all, but if there was a Tookish Baggins, I said, there was hope for his line yet.

If it hasn’t been terribly long since I placed our own dragon’s hoard, do come find me and make sure the rest of us know Merry and I were right. If it’s been a great deal of time and you’re on the Fifth or Sixth Age now, well, I hope there’s still Tooks in Tuckborough and Brandybucks in Brandy Hall! Frodo will have been right then, but he is about many things as well.

So I give you this charge, my Tookish Gamgee: Safeguard this chest and its contents, and make sure they find their way into the official record. (This is why I’ve hidden it at Undertowers, you know. It used to be in a cupboard at Bag End, but I think Sam had a bit of Elven wisdom of his own when he suggested the switch!) I have no specific direction on how best to do this, and I trust your Gamgee honor to shine through. Only, don’t let the Red Book sway you, you keeper of records! However long it has been and whatever stories you’ve heard, forget them all. This chest is full to the brim with secrets, and heroics, and adventures even Old Bilbo hardly believed. 

Be warned that this is not all fun and adventures. There’s reason enough why we never spoke openly of it, and why much of what was written down was revised before pen met ink. There was wisdom in the decision to keep secrets. I know as well as any that there are dark things in the world, and many peoples’ peace was sturdier since we kept it all quiet. Frodo was vocal on that more than anything else. But he has all the peace in the world now, I think. He’s sailed to where no secrets can bother him again. 

I will leave you with this: Every face in this chest had a story. Some did not survive to see the Long Night through till the Dawn, and they’ve found the White shores, and a far green country under a swift sunrise. I’ll grieve them until I join them there. See the heroes of this chest as I see them. Borrow my eyes for a bit until your task is done. If it’s been three Ages I think I’ll be happy they’re getting use.

Now go, make an old Took proud (and The Old Took, while you’re at it. The whole line wishes you well!)

Yours in ink,

Thain Peregrin Took
Private in the Lord Steward’s Army (ret.)
Fellowship of the Ring

Poppy’s fingers trembled. This was a letter from Thain Peregrin Took himself... No, surely it had to be part of a prank. There was no way the Thain would leave a box of... something in Elven ruins. Not for her to find! And not part of some mission either! The letter dropped from her sugar tongs like it was on fire. Hastily, she lifted the brooch off the silk-covered plate like it may also burn her, and then picked at the edge of the plate itself. There was a ribbon loop on one edge, and it was easy to grab onto. The whole thing came up feather-light.

So quickly did it come up, that the pressure of its removal brought something with it Poppy was forced to use her hand to catch. An… old photograph? It wasn’t even in color, and the people in it- the non-hobbits especially- wore some very strange fashions. Divider forgotten, Poppy poured over every inch of sepia proof that this was no prank.

More startled than she could ever be by twenty springing snakes, she began recognizing faces from other photographs, and from portraits in the Museum. Even... There was Great-grandpa Sam in the middle! He looked so young, so unlike his oval portrait that hung in the record room. He didn’t look particularly Mayor-like here. He wore a suit, yes, but he didn’t have the wise wrinkles and gold-rimmed spectacles, or even the broken pocket-watch he had never been seen in public without²¹.

And gracious, there was the Thain himself! He was wearing a uniform, not at all like something the head of the whole Shire wore. It looked… military! Of course, The Refounding Four²² had gone and provided some sort of... well it was espionage or something for the High King. But they’d gotten all their acclaim after rescuing the Shire from Sharkey’s men. Landed titles were hereditary of course, but the fame came from doing all that work for the safety of ordinary hobbits! She hardly even noticed the Master of Buckland sitting beside him in the silly hat. She was perplexed. Had he been given honors by the High King? Reaching back to check the letter, she wondered if he'd been “Private in the Lord Steward’s Army” as some kind of Gondorian military honor? He would have to have retired from that, if he was to be the Thain.

Eventually her eyes fell upon the last hobbit, the one in the middle of the sofa. Well, if three of the Four were there, that could only be one person. He’d never had a portrait made, and any photos he’d ever taken were private, and likely held by the other people in them. Poppy had never seen him, but this had to be Frodo Baggins. He was dressed even more simply than the rest, and hurt! He had been injured in some way in service to the King, record held, just not how. Though, war was quite bad and it made sense for folks not to bring it up. Most of the ones who’d lived it preferred never to speak of it at all, outside the necessaries for record-keeping. Maybe those ‘two’ the Thain wrote of- they’d have to be the Mayor and Mr. Baggins now hadn’t they?- had felt the same way.

She took in the rest of the photograph even more slowly. There was the High King. He was much much older now, but he did look enough like his portraits and the ones on the fancy stamps. He was dressed old and funny too, but of course this was taken in old and funny times. There was a man in a white suit on the other side of the fireplace that she didn’t recognize in the least. He had to be important, as had the man in the photograph sitting on the sofa next to Mr. Baggins. She could barely make him out, but he wore a padded jacket. Whoever had picked the photograph had at least found one of him that matched the contentment of the other subjects.

The dwarf could only be Gimli, son of Gloin. There were many famous Dwarves, of course, but logic told her this would be the one the Four were such good friends with. Besides, he’d sent fascinating mathoms to the Shire on the death of the Thain and the death of the Master. He’d also something to do with Bifur Novelties, and their people, and Durincrafts²³. The Bifurgram in their house had been Lord Gimli’s gift to Grandpa. He didn’t have portraits in the Shire, but he was known to be a wonderful sort- for a Dwarf- by everyone.

That left the Elf. Well, he could be Lord Elrond, but he didn’t really seem regal enough. It could have been either of his famous sons- Elladan and Elrohir- but why one would appear without the other? Poppy thought. Could it...? It could be Legolas of the Woodland Realm. He was mentioned in quite a few documents, but mostly in anecdotes. ‘Legolas of the Woodland Realm was there as well’ was a sentence she had read many times. Perhaps ‘Legolas of the Woodland Realm was there as well’ in this photograph. She was pretty sure the Thain had known him.

She was going to sneak out to try and find a magnifying glass so she could study the many paintings in the back, perhaps to get clues as to where the photo was taken, when it occurred to her that there might be an easier way. Many archival photographs came with a hint, and this one was no different. She flipped it over, and the words on the back froze her faster than any accusation of Tookishness.

The Fellowship of the Ring

October ‘19

Frodo remember: if all the mighty elf-friends of old, Hador, and Hurin, and Turin, and Beren himself were assembled together, your seat should be among them. The Ringbearers all have a place among us.

Elrond

The photo seemed to tingle in her fingertips. Frodo Baggins, elf-friend? The Fellowship of the Ring? And Ringbearers! For what Ring? It appeared in the letter and now here! Was it a real ring, or another secret? What, would she find it there at the bottom of the tea box?

Poppy didn’t have time to search just then. She nearly dropped the photograph afresh when someone ‘ahem’d loudly in the doorway behind her.

Chapter Text

None of the children spoke a word to each other during Luncheon. That was the one meal Mrs. Bracegirdle had them all take together- Wilhelm included- and the secrets were piled higher than slices of ham and cheese. Even Darwise, who was little known to keep secrets, recognized the import of this one and opened his mouth only to bite sandwiches. None of them ignored Mr. Wilhelm or his mother-in-law, and nodded politely in response to her stories. Today, she described the ‘absolutely captivating’ pictures of one of the to-dos in Gondor that had made the Hobbiton Gazette.

“My mother always said the King was a good sort, you know, doing uncommon good for all Shire folk and holding them in high regard. So, I suppose anyone who makes Prince or Princess or whatever they have for Thains and Masters and Mayors with the Big-folk must be good sorts too.” She took a bite of roasted carrot and made swirling motions with her fork as she chewed. “But I will say this new Prince of Dol Amroth certainly knows how to pick a flower arrangement. It was a bit blurry in the picture- I don’t reckon the Big-folk have much of an eye for these things in general, least of all the poor photographer bless him- but his hydrangeas were positively perfect. Even in print! I dare say he’s got the brains to do whatever it is they’ve got him doing in Dol Amroth.” She turned to Wilhelm. “That’s one of the Gondor-farthings, isn’t it?”

Wilhelm- and Poppy- could point out Dol Amroth on a map. He might know more about it than her, being involved in record-keeping, but he only nodded. “Yes, mother, right on the Bay. A bit like the Havens.”

Mrs. Bracegirdle nodded back. “And he has to work in the sea-air! Ah, I wish the boy every success. He’s of good stock too, so I think. His father was the one that sent those beautiful marble urns on the death of the Thain? What was his name, dear?”

“Prince Alphros²⁴, mother.”

“Thank you dear. I saw them, you know, visiting my sister in Tuckborough. Poor Thain Faramir wasn’t sure what to do with them, bless him. They’re on either side of the courtyard fountain. Look absolutely lovely, almost like they’ve real flowers growing in them.”

Every single child listened to this and other tales with ratcheted muscles and clamoring hearts. The very instant polite excuses could be made, they all got up as one and left the table. Poppy could feel marching eyes at her back all the way to her bedroom. There was no getting around this. She’d been caught, despite all the trouble she’d gone through. Or perhaps because of it. How could she hope to hide tweenly trouble from the two local masters?

Haesel shut the door softly once they’d all gathered in Poppy’s room. She felt as if she’d been sat down for a lecture from her parents, not her two younger siblings! Of course, they were very much in the right, even if she wasn’t going to admit it. Keeping secrets from Mum and Dad for the sake of adventure was one thing, but secrets from her own co-conspirators...!

“Well. Start apologizing.” Cynthie plopped herself down on the foot of the bed- valiantly pretending not to be tempted by the chest and resisting just as well at looking inside. “What happened to not touching anything? This looks tremendously heavy. Especially if it was on a shelf.”

Poppy crossed her arms. “It was on the floor.”

“I’m quite close to the floor! And I didn’t see it ‘t’all.” Darwise started indignantly. He had his hands on his hips in a fair imitation of Dad and another time it might’ve made her laugh. “So where did it come from?”

Poppy shifted her feet. “It was upstairs.”

Cynthie shot up off the bed, just barely keeping her voice down. “You climbed! Oh, sister! Oh shame, that’s two of your own rules! Dare I ask if the room had a door?”

Poppy continued looking at the floor.

“That’s rich! Now I don’t think it needs saying, but you owe us, sister dearest. Whatever mathoms you found, we get shares. Shares, or we spill the whole plot to Mum and Dad.” Poppy whipped her head around, not daring to believe it, but Cynthie plowed on. “Oh yes! Nevermind us going into the fort on our own. You came with us and then exhibited some shockingly irresponsible behavior.”

All feelings of guilt forgotten, Poppy positively glowered back at her sister. This was blackmail and she was not going to stand for it! “You’ll have a hard time proving that, sister dearest. Your  word against mine? After you begged Mum and Dad to take you into the fort at Dinner? Who are they going to believe?”

They’d both become a little red in the face. Cynthie pointed at Haesel by the door. “Cousin will vouch for us. Won’t you, Haesel?”

Now, three sets of conspiratorial eyes were on her. Haesel had been quiet the short time she’d been at Undertowers. Nice, but politely aloof. Poppy didn’t know what she’d want to hide from Auntie Firiel, or if she held resentment towards adventurous older siblings. Or even if she wanted ‘a share of the mathoms’ for herself.

Haesel folded her hands in front of her and surprised them all. “I should like to see what’s in the box. We needn’t quarrel over it if Poppy’s not hidden something terribly interesting from us.”

That, Poppy had, but she had a chance to turn this around. Haesel was willing to be reasonable. This might work out for her yet.

“I’d only just opened it.” Poppy confessed. She shooed Cynthie back from the chest and undid the latch. “Come and sit ‘round, and I’ll show you everything I’ve found. There’s only two bits I’ve looked at, so really I haven’t had a chance to hide anything- interesting or otherwise.” For all they knew, she could’ve been waiting to share. They’d run off to color anyhow. In fact, if she could sway Dar to her side, she’d outnumber Cynthie in the end. Absolutely no chance of being ratted out for good or ill.

To further this end, she lifted her younger brother up onto the bedspread enough away from the chest as to not topple anything but close enough to see. Haesel was gestured to the other side, and the three youngest now made a ring around the box. Poppy would be the curator and ringmaster of this affair now. She’d just about guaranteed it.

She began by reading the old Thain’s letter and answering the immediate slew of questions thrown her way. No, she wasn’t sure what it meant. Yes, she found it rather insulting being referred to as a Tookish-Gamgee. No, she didn’t know what Army he was referring to. It certainly hadn’t anything to do with the Great Unpleasantness²⁵. No, she didn’t know what the Fellowship meant.

But that last prompted her to reveal the photograph. She held it in her sugar tongs and let them all lean close, but not touch. Even they knew the value of such a thing, and how fragile the original must be.

“So... this is from the Thain’s adventures? The ones with Great-grandpa Sam?” Haesel asked.

Poppy nodded. “I expect so. There’s... quite a bit in here. But we can’t just shove our fingers around. We’ve got to be careful.”

“I’ll get the archivist gloves. I’m sneakiest.” Blackmail plot forgotten, Cynthie volunteered to creep into the research study and lift equipment used for Dad’s records-work. Haesel went for more linen and a card table, and Darwise promised to sit still and touch nothing. All three were good on their word, and soon Poppy’s room became a makeshift archival lab. She set aside the big photo with the letter on her dresser, and took up the sugar tongs again. The divider had fallen back into the top of the chest, and she had an audience for its removal. No fumbling now.

There was a great soft gasp as they took in the trove of treasure. Baubles, papers, things none of them could put a name to just yet called just as loudly outside the fort. Trinkets shone and stubs of cardstock winked at them and whispered of secrets of a bygone age. 

“Poppy-” Darwise was the first to break from the reverie, “-what’s that bundle there?”

It was obvious the one he meant. There was a book of maroon leather- a kind of thick folder- stuffed to the brim with papers. She had to lift it out with her hands and not the tongs. It was so full, smaller pieces fell out at once. Poppy rescued orange, pink, and blue slips from where they’d landed and set the whole thing down on the linen in front of the chest.

The book itself looked like it had been old even when in use, for the sticker on the outside concealed another underneath and the corners were cracked. With the other three crowded around, she held her breath and opened it. Its bulk and sturdiness turned out to be the force holding all the crammed papers together. Faded and browned sheets fell like leaves onto the linen. Poppy’s eyes caught so many words- some familiar, some foreign, and some Elven- as well as pictures and print. ‘Lothlorien’ was on so many, and ‘Rivendell’.

“Rivendell?” Cynthie had seen it as well. “The name sounds familiar but... I can’t place it.” She went after the sugar tongs and grabbed one particular paper. ‘Tonight:’ it read in decorative print, ‘The Halls of Fire welcome the Poets of Imladris for a round-table reading. All welcome, all encouraged.’ There was a picture included, but it was only an ink reproduction of an elf with a harp, presumably to let the reader know what was to be expected.

“Imladris!” Haesel piped up. “You know, that Rivendell, where Old Bilbo retired to after his adventures. This must have been from when the Refounders went to visit him. Before he disappeared.”

“He didn’t disappear.” Cynthie argued. “He retired again in Erebor. We have a photograph of his monument next to the one for Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews.” She stuck her nose in the air, fond of being right. “Dad got a letter from King Thorin Stonehelm.”

Haesel, not much one for emotion up until this point, positively scowled at her. “I know about the letter.” She glowered through her spectacles. “But he wasn’t buried in Erebor. Just because King Thorin III honored his passing doesn’t mean he passed there.”

Poppy blinked, a little dumbfounded. She’d seen the photograph, of course, and Auntie Firiel often received post and communications from the greater family, especially since they were all in Granny Elanor’s direct line and had a responsibility to Old Bilbo’s legacy. But she’d assumed- just like Cynthie- that Old Bilbo had died and been buried alongside his friends in Erebor. Why wouldn’t he?

“The Bagginses have a habit of disappearing.” Haesel flushed a little red as she said this. The proclamation seemed odd, but she was heated about it and was going to have her say. “Mrs. Belladonna did it, Old Bilbo did it, and though we’re told it’s none of our business, Mr. Frodo did as well. His affairs are his as my mother says, but we’re all curious. And he’s not here so it’s not like we can pry. If we find out, then... then we find out.”

Her voice got soft at the end of the tirade, once a tirade she realized it was. All of that was... true, of course. But Great-grandpa Sam had always said, and written, that where Frodo had gone was Frodo’s affair, that he was likely with friends, and likely on a mission to find peace. ‘War is a terrible thing’ had been the closing of many an argument with the Mayor.

“Well,” Poppy spoke up, “whether or not he disappeared, it can’t have been then.” She flipped over the flyer. On the back, scribbled in pencil, were several paragraphs looking to be a transcribed poem. The first line began ‘Eärendil was a mariner’ and the scrawl hurried along to the very bottom of the page. Squeezed in at the end it said ‘Bilbo Baggins, song, The Short Lay of Eärendel: Eärendillinwë; 3018’. In another hand, someone else had scribbled ‘And Strider helped’ after the fact.

They all wore matching frowns. Darwise, at least, had one because he couldn’t read such letters.

“What were they doing in Rivendell then? By all odds, that lines up with when they were out of the Shire, but they couldn’t have made Rivendell! They’d be going the wrong way²⁶!” Poppy was as confused as the rest. That wasn’t at all part of the trip to Gondor, as they had it in the records. But… in the Thain’s letter, he’d said-

“Maybe there’s more!” Cynthie started prodding with her own gloved hand. “How about this one?” She held up another sheet. It looked boring at first glance, but Cynthie had noticed something important: there were a great many Tengwar characters, as well as pencil translations.

Poppy took the sheet and started reading: “Poultice of aethelas,-’ That’s one they have written in below, ‘-to be applied no fewer than thirty minutes and best left overnight if travel permits. Boil and steep in clean water, bind with fresh linens.’ And then at the bottom-- here it is again! ‘If Strider’s out hunting, ask Legolas, as he can read it’.”

“Strider!” Darwise made a fist and pounded it into his other hand. “Who’s this Strider fellow, and what’s he always reading about?”

“I don’t know, Dar.” Poppy’s eyes gleamed. She began sifting through the leaflets with a greater eagerness. There were more mentions of Imladris, Rivendell, Strider, aethelas, and several of Lothlorien, now that they were looking. In and amongst the pages, Haesel even turned up a second photograph. This one depicted three Elves- one female and two male- and one she recognized. Here was, at least, another connection to Rivendell: Lord Elrond himself. Maybe it was a clue.

‘Maybe the paths that you each shall tread are already laid before your feet, though you do not see them’ was all it said upon the back. She set it aside.

The little folder occupied them for some time, much of it engaged in reading to Darwise, but nothing there within told them anything more about why Rivendell. Some confirmed the ‘when’- primarily dated tickets, and one receipt for them written to ‘Mr. Underhill’- but this folder seemed mostly full of keepsakes. Many even had nothing to do with Elves, and some were from as recently as fifty years ago. Poppy wondered what on earth a hobbit band could’ve been doing performing a concert in Rivendell until she’d found the date and location²⁷. Those were a dead end.

With all of the papers spread out upon the linens, Poppy had the overwhelming feeling that she was looking not at keepsakes, but a puzzle. A puzzle that not even this chest could hold all the pieces to.

Chapter Text

Mum had come home during one of the readings, causing them to scramble. It wasn’t as if she checked every one of the bedrooms for illicit goods from Elf-forts, but they weren’t at all prepared to expose their scheme now. Not when they had so many questions unanswered. Between the four of them, they had arranged the card table into a play fort and stashed most of the items (carefully) inside behind a pillow. The linen provided most of the cover, and anything that might find the opportunity to come loose had been supplemented with pencil drawings and watercolor sketches from various existing collections.

“A perfect rainy-day painting studio” Haesel had declared- slightly out of breath- when they had finished.

Mum had poked her head in once, but everything looked more-or-less innocent. Any previously-done sketches of the Elf fort had to be hidden as well, and soon every trace of tweenly mischief hid under a spare tablecloth. What a wonder.

Afternoon Tea was remarkably similar to Luncheon. Mum joined Wilhelm, the children, and Mrs. Bracegirdle (who had not yet ventured out) for additional sandwiches and mixed-berry scones. More was heard about Prince Aglahad II of Dol Amroth, and Mum relayed a little bit of business from the Town Council. Nothing out of the ordinary. Wilhelm passed news via the ticker that it was expected to rain all week.

“My lovelies,” Mum addressed the children, “if you don’t mind doing your afternoon reading²⁹ quietly, I have a few notes to copy before your father gets home.”

They were all giving their assent when Poppy made a risky venture. “Mum?” she asked, “When did Great-grandpa Sam go with the others to Rivendell? Was that before the big battles in Gondor?”

Smiling, her Mum shook her head. “No, sweetheart. They hadn’t the time! They were needed on their missions for the King. Straight through Enedwaith with the Grey Company. Why do you ask?”

She could feel her co-conspirators’ eyes on her. “I... wondered if we had any stories about how Elves spend the New Year, and couldn’t remember if he had gone...” It felt a lame excuse to her ears, but her Mum didn’t think twice about it.

“Oh! I’m sure we have something lying around about their trip home. They certainly weren’t there around that time, but the Buckland Library has some wonderful materials. We could inquire about something via the Newpost?”

Briefly at a loss for what to do, Poppy simply went along with it. “I will! Maybe when it stops raining. Or when I run into town for groceries. Or... or when we go with Haesel to Greenholm.” She’d almost forgotten the tournament with everything else going on. Had it really been yesterday when that was the biggest weight on her mind? Everything she’d known about the Refounders and her family was turning on its head, and her Mum had no clue!

They pretended to all go their separate ways for reading before reconvening in Poppy’s room. Haesel and Cynthie were whispering fiercely back and forth about the fate of Old Bilbo, and Darwise was unsuccessfully trying on a second glove. His hands were far too small, so Poppy offered him the sugar tongs instead.

“Alright, you lot.” She clapped her hands softly and the simmering argument ceased. “We know a few things: We know Great-grandpa and the Refounders were in Rivendell before the War. We know they were part of something called ‘the Fellowship of the Ring’, and that they were with Legolas, possibly Lord Gimli, and someone called Strider.”

“Could this be him? Strider? He looks like he can read.” Darwise had used the tongs to lift up the picture and pointed a careful finger to the man clad in white. Poppy hastily moved the photo to a safer position and considered. He looked like a Man, at least, mostly. There was something different about him, even standing next to the King. He seemed too stately a fellow for a name like ‘Strider’, but what did she know?

“Could be, Dar.” Poppy replied. She set aside the photo and opened up the chest. The maroon bundle had been placed in a spare pillowcase for safekeeping and so it wouldn’t get mixed in with anything else they brought out. Poppy wanted more information on this Fellowship. They had a connection to Rivendell, and she was going to figure out what.

Haesel poked a gloved finger into the chest. “Can we look at these? They look like letters. Maybe one of them is from Strider.”

“He could be the man in the photo in the photo.” Cynthie added, though her attention was on the stack of letters now. “He’s about the same distance from Legolas.”

Poppy was careful to undo the string in such a way that all the letters and envelopes didn’t just explode out onto the table like the papers had. Once she was sure the stack wouldn’t topple, she grabbed the first item off the top. The outer envelope was unaddressed.

“This one’s got no name but-” Her eye caught on the envelope just underneath it. It was addressed to Great-grandma Rosie, from Great-grandpa Sam. And it had a Rivendell stamp!

She set aside the other envelope and snatched this one up. “Here’s something!” The letter wasn’t sealed so she popped it open and began to read.

“Read it out loud Poppy!” Darwise whined.

Sighing, she went ahead and read:

‘Dear Miss Rosie,

I’m sorry for leaving the Shire so abruptly. Of course, you know Mr. Frodo moved to Crickhollow and left Bag-End behind and all, and where was I to go but with him, at least until he’s settled or has no need of me. But it seems now he does have need of me, only not in the way I’d supposed he would. That is to say, I won’t be gardening at Crickhollow, but some of his business has taken him elsewhere. It’s pretty far elsewhere too if I do say so myself, but I’m not at liberty to say where, it being Mr. Frodo’s business and all.

I hope one day I can tell you every last bit of it, the good and the bad, for it’s been a tiresome and magnificent business. I scarcely believe it myself, and here I am living it!

Our journey has taken us to a very large and welcoming house, full of lovely folk. They’re a queer sort, but they’d be a welcome addition to any party once they’re given a fair chance of it. They make beautiful music, write lovely poems, and have guest halls bigger than the whole of the Great Smials by my reckoning.

Strider made sure we got here safely enough- and I can’t say as to who he is, but seeing as how that’s not his proper name I don’t see how putting in a letter can do any harm- and I owe him a great debt for all the help he’s given us and Mr. Frodo. It seems these are his people after a fashion, though not by blood. There’s a bit of a difficulty in that there, and I can’t say more on it.

It’s all very secret- Mr. Frodo’s business, that is. But one good thing has come of it if nothing else: we got to visit Old Mr. Bilbo! He’s here visiting, and he’s got those wonderful tales just as he had when we were little. Not only that, but he’s written down more of them and made up some himself, just for the pleasure of it. Strider’s even helped him write a song for the- folks we’re staying with. And here I was thinking he was an unsavory type not much prone to letters, or songs, or anything of much beauty and goodness. I may have been right about him skulking and keeping secrets and being all together too dangerous to be respectable company, but I do owe him an apology on that front! He’s something of a singer himself and does read Elvish words well. Maybe he’s just needed a bath all this time, and underneath all the grubby Ranger gear he’s not so bad after all.

I hope you’re doing well, Rosie. You and your dad and the farm. Give my love to them, and of course my Gaffer if you run across him, and the others. I’ve quite run out of paper or I’d have much more to say! Too much more, that is, and mostly of Mr. Frodo’s business which isn’t for writing down after all.

Yours

Samwise’

“Awww” Cynthie cooed. “It’s almost like a courting letter, in some spots.” She stopped. “You think he copied Bilbo’s song on the back of that flyer? And Strider the Ranger was there too?”

“I think they might’ve gone there straight from the Shire.” Haesel chimed in. “He talks about moving to Crickhollow- which we do have on the records- but only Fredegar Bolger’s account for the day they really left. We know they had to have been there in Rivendell before the War. That’s the only way it could’ve gone.”

Darwise poked his nose over the edge of the envelope still in Poppy’s hand. “Why’s it got no ink-stamp³⁰? Do they have those in Rivendell?”

She took another look. Sure enough, there was no postmaster’s mark of any kind. Not the ones customary for something from so far away. “Maybe he didn’t send it after all, Dar.” She studied the address again. “It just says her name, too. He didn’t fill it out all the way.”

Haesel was eyeing the rest of the stack almost hungrily. “Maybe it was too secret. See if there’s anything else.”

Poppy turned her attention back to the letters. There were more from Sam, all not fully addressed. The first one not in her Great-grandpa’s hand struck her as interesting. It didn’t have a return address or a stamp, but it was addressed simply to ‘Uncle Bilbo’.

“I think I know who that’s from,” Haesel whispered solemnly.

Poppy thought she did too.

‘Dear Uncle,

How are things in Rivendell? I hope you are well. And I hope you don’t mind the pleasantries at the top of this letter. I know how much you dislike silliness in letters, especially when someone’s burying the matters of import in a lot of rubbish. I was tempted to do so, for I fear I have some bad news.

I want to spare you that bad news as long as I can, but I know in my heart you’ll be too eager to read it now that I’ve said so, and my only recourse is to make you read some important things first. This way, you’ll be too much a mix of interested and cross to be as sad as you might be. But I won’t apologize for the trick.

We have arrived in Lothlorien, which is so unlike Rivendell as Rivendell is from the Shire. The woods are truly golden, Uncle, and though our time here has been troubled, it is a sight worthy of your songs. They have many songs of their own, though they don’t allow strangers past their borders. I’m sure they’d be willing to teach some to you, provided you looked respectable and had a sufficient letter of recommendation.

Your gift has also served me very well! I don’t know if you thought it silly that Thorin Oakenshield would give you such a fine coat of mail- for what use has a hobbit of that? you might well ask- but it has already saved my life. A cave troll- not unlike the ones you encountered in the Trollshaws I am fairly sure- was doing some very careless and silly things in the where we were. He might’ve done me real harm, had it not been for your mail shirt.

That does, I fear, lead me to the sad news. While we were traveling

He was your dear friend so I know it will pain you

The Elves of Lorien have written him a song, which I will try to have Legolas transcribe

Gandalf protected us’

The letter stopped there, and Poppy was sure why it had no postmark or stamp.

Haesel and Cynthie were peering over the letter themselves. She had stopped reading where the writer- Frodo Baggins, she had to assume- had started striking lines. The implication was clear enough, but so was something else. She hadn’t stopped to think if this was a suitable adventure for her brother, or for Cynthie and Haesel, or for her.

Gandalf the Grey, purveyor of fine fireworks, wizard, and old friend of Old Bilbo, had died defending Frodo and his Fellowship somehow. They said that Gandalf only ever visited the Shire so often and was unlikely to do so again now that all the big business had been concluded with Mordor, but that he had died-

“Why did you get all quiet?” They couldn’t fool Darwise for long. “What does it say?”

Cynthie was much quicker on her feet. “Frodo didn’t finish the letter.” She made a very convincing huff. “Probably why he didn’t send it.”

“Aw.” Darwise had been listening intently. He was as wrapped up in this adventure as the rest of them. And maybe that wasn’t a good thing.

Poppy opened her mouth to try and put an end to it, when Haesel of all people interrupted her. She fixed her cousin with a cool gaze, like she knew exactly the thoughts tumbling around in Poppy’s head.

“Well, maybe there’s more in the next one.” She kept her stare even and tone level. “Let’s both read one, and maybe Darwise and Cynthie can sort the other folder into piles so we’ve got all our evidence straight.”

Cynthie hopped to the plan and started sifting the maroon folder, handing pieces to Darwise, who used the tongs to sift them out into piles. Poppy nodded silent thanks to her cousin. They had to tread carefully in more ways than one.

The next one she picked up was another draft, but this one of verse. She didn’t have to read long to find it was a lament for Gandalf, and the author Samwise. It was unsigned, but in the same hand as his letter to Rosie and the transcript of Bilbo’s poem. She handed it to Dar. “One for the Lothlorien pile! Which one is that?”

He indicated the stack just as Haesel nudged her with her elbow. She had a letter in one hand and an envelope in the other. “You need to read this one next,” Haesel said, and her expression was strange enough that Poppy couldn’t provide an emotion to describe it.

She read silently:

‘Dear Merry,

I miss you ever so much. Gandalf says you’re safe with King Théoden and the Rohirrim, and if all’s well I’ll see you soon. I would almost rather not if it meant you had to come here, but not almost enough. It’s awful, Merry. The city is so beautiful, everything Boromir said it would be and more. Even the tree, though it is dead, is still bittersweet and not all the way sad.

I pledged my service to the Lord Steward. He’s Boromir’s father if you didn’t remember, and Gandalf was very cross with me when I did so. If I did wrong, I’m not sorry for it. I’ll never forget him. I can’t repay him for how he saved us and you know what we’d do if we could have.

Anyhow, Merry, it is strange to love and hate a place so much. Well, I don’t properly hate Gondor or Minas Tirith but it is so much more frightening than even the Uruks. I have never seen so many dead. I have never seen such weapons of war.

But the people are just like him. I know why Boromir did it, if this was what he wanted to protect. I’ve met his brother. Faramir is every bit as clever and kind and even sort of frightening as Boromir said. He saw Frodo and Sam too, and thinks they are well. But meeting him, I do think Boromir was wrong about one thing. I wish it hadn’t gone the way it did, Merry, but I would still rather have him in the Fellowship all the same.

Gandalf tells me to take heart, and that maybe writing you will help my nerves. I’ve been given a post and a uniform. They say it was Faramir’s as a child and it does comfort me. I hope you don’t have to see any of it. Come with the Rohirrim if you must and end this long night, but close your eyes. Don’t look at the dead, Merry.

I think I understand Frodo a little more too. If this is even a portion of the load he carries, I couldn’t do it as he does. I know why he tried to go away without us. Is it selfish to wish you were here, like Sam is with Frodo, even if you have to see this too?

Come quickly, Merry. I’ve never been scared of the dark before.

It was unsigned like the other, but it didn’t need to be. She already knew the Thain’s hand. But something else struck her. Gandalf was with Pippin in Gondor. But, if Gandalf had died before they reached Lorien, how came he to be there? She looked to Haesel for answers, but her cousin had none.

Chapter Text

“We’ve made our own Elven fort!” Cynthie blurted. “Since the real one is too dangerous!” She hung her head in equal parts panic and fake contrition. “Sorry I didn’t say so earlier, Mum, I didn’t want you to be cross.”

Mum and Dad were wondering what could possibly have made them late for Dinner, and Cynthie was doing her level best to keep the game alive. She’d taken it upon herself to distract Darwise when the letters became too heavy by liberating Poppy’s golf clubs from her bag and using them to supplement the fort. One was propping up the entry curtain, and Poppy’s oldest, smallest club was Darwise’s Elven Sword.

Their parents stared a moment, then Dad laughed. “Well! I suppose that’s one of the better ways to spend a rainy day indoors. No broken glass in here, no crumbling walls!” Darwise was biting a small fist, valiantly remembering at the last moment not to correct his Dad, for how was he to know how clean and safe it really was?

“Right, well my young explorers,” Mum started, fluffing her hair absently, “Even Elves had to eat. I’ve started the potatoes but if you want anything else you’d best hurry on to the ‘mess hall’.”

Poppy was last to leave, and was surprised to find Dad stopping her in the hallway. He’d let his spectacles hang around his neck on their chain, but his eyes were bright and smiling as the rest of his face.

“I wanted to thank you, Poppy.”

“For... what?” She hadn’t exactly been doing extra washing up.

“For playing along with Cynthie and Dar. And Haesel, of course. I know we were cross with your grandfather for taking you into the fort, but it’s true you got to see it and the others won’t. You’re doing something kind for them, going out of your way when you could be doing all sorts of other things.” Dad smiled even brighter. “I’m proud of you, dear.”

“Oh.” Poppy couldn’t pull her eyes away from her father’s face. She’d need to if she wanted to make up something, something about the fort, but she couldn’t manage it. Poppy’d never had a reason to lie to her Dad. Not a Big lie, not like sneaking off to the elf fort when she’d been told not to. Not like hiding a box of treasures belonging to the Mayor, the Master, the Thain, and Frodo Baggins. “Um... thank you, Dad.”

He kept smiling all the same. “It’s not easy being eldest child of the Warden of Undertowers. I’d know.” He actually winked. “But I’m glad you’re helping Cynthie and Dar. And Haesel. It really isn’t all about adventures, you know. There’s beauty in doing honest work, duty, and quietly managing your part.” Dad craned his neck around to see the window at the end of the hall. “And I do hope it’s not coming down like this in Greenholm, for your sake!”

Now she had an excuse to look away.“It’s... not like I can practice while it’s raining? We... We’re drawing a bit but I was thinking... Maybe writing down the adventures. It’s a good chance for Dar to practice his letters more...”

“Oh, Poppy! Splendid idea!” Dad clapped her on the shoulder. “That’s my girl.”

Dinner was only a little less awkward than Luncheon. The conversation veered back and forth between Dad’s work, Mum’s work, the weather, and a handful of heavily revised adventures in the mock fort. Cynthie made up nearly too much in the way of details, and the others were hard-pressed to keep up. But in the end, they survived.

The rest of the evening was spent as a family in happy conversation. They played cards and listened to Trewsday Tunes Orchestra Hour³¹ on the Bifurgram at the appointed time. Eventually everyone went to bed.

Poppy was sure she was the only one lying awake, mind whirling with visions of Men at war, and hobbits in far over their heads.

Morning and Breakfast came and Mum went to do some shopping. Dad had mentioned something of the ‘sisterly kindness’ to her, and she asked if Poppy wanted the inquiry to the library mailed on her behalf. Dad and Wilhelm would be in the little office all day, and four young hobbits were intent on ‘playing fort’.

“Right.” Cynthie rubbed her hands together. “Haesel, what’s the fort situation in Greenholm?” Apparently, it was Cousin Haesel’s turn to ‘help’ Darwise, and Poppy was sure her turn would come tomorrow, ‘most Tookish Gamgee’ or no. Still, they had a task ahead of them. Dar had his piles and now he was making labels at Haesel’s direction. Practicing his letters was the very best excuse she could’ve dreamed up.

“Here.” Cynthie pulled on her glove and picked up the formerly string-tied bundle. They’d gotten about halfway through yesterday, and the work wasn’t over. “I’ll take this one, you take that one.”

Poppy accepted the envelope. “It’s postmarked to Gondor. Oldpost style, but no sender’s marks at all.” It wasn’t sealed, but right away she could tell there wasn’t just one piece of paper. Not a letter, but three postcards were stuffed within. One by one she removed them. The first was a printed reproduction of a painting depicting a valley with waterfalls, Elven statues, and a tremendously large building of Elven style. In the painting it was dawn, and light caught both the waterfalls and the marble. Even without a label she knew it had to be Rivendell. Poppy flipped it over.

‘Brother-

I wish you’d been sent in my stead, as you’d appreciate this far more. The painting doesn’t do it justice, and I hope you may see it yourself someday. The Elves are fair, yes, but so odd! I miss Minas Tirith more every day.

Boromir’

“Boromir?” Cynthie had been drawn by the sight of the painting and turned the name over in her mind. “Like the Master of Buckland?” Her eyes grew wide. “Or... or yesterday’s Boromir?”

“I... It may have to be... yesterday’s.” Poppy pulled out the next card, this one less ornate. It simply said ‘Herne’ on the front in Green, with a stylized tower and rolling hills. This card had faded and crumpled. She surmised it had taken more wear than the others.

‘Faramir-

The Kingdom of Arnor must have been tiring to pass through even in its’ heyday. I am lost beyond all Men’s reckoning and wish- yes, don’t tease me!- for some of your skulking Ranger skills. Know that I will mail this from civilization, for no postman can be found this side of Tharbad. (Yes, that Tharbad, they have no cards of it)

-All my love. Boromir’

Boromir... his brother Faramir a Ranger... This stirred something new in the back of Poppy’s mind, but there was still another card in the bundle. It was of thicker stock- drawing paper, but that of high quality- and rough-cut as if by a knife. On it was a drawing in ink that turned her blood to stone. In the center, a man held a knife by the handle, blade pointed inward, explaining something. In front of him, impossibly young and unmistakably petulant, sat the Old Thain and Master- Peregrin and Meriadoc themselves!

“Poppy!” Darwise had noticed the cards as well. They were striking, and relevant to his task. “What’s it say? Where’s the third one from?”

She turned the card over.

‘Faramir-

I had not made this with you in mind, but perhaps of all people it should go to you. For you have many memories of him, and this of his last deeds might cheer you most. Had I thought it more than play I or one of the others might have joined them. Boromir alone- though I admit with some help from Estel when pressed- sought instruction for them. I am of the belief it saved their lives.

Your fellow but not equal in grief,

Legolas of the Woodland Realm’

“This one... goes in the ‘unknown’ pile, Dar. But let Haesel check it for me first.” Her voice shook only a little as she passed the card over. Cynthie was trying to compose her face. She’d been close enough to read, and that confirmed something they’d nearly had proof of. Poppy made a note to add ‘Estel’ to the list of names to look up. Now that their parents knew about ‘the fort’, afternoon reading time may exclusively be spent reading. Still, she could use the time to cross-reference. Just because they hadn’t been recorded in connection with this secret quest didn’t mean there was no record at all!

When she looked up, Cynthie had reached out a gloved hand for another look at the postcard. Her face was solemn, but her eyes were lit with something else. Something a little fierce. Haesel handed over the card, and Cynthie promptly flipped it to focus on the drawing. She squinted, stared hard, and finally spoke.

“Let me see the big photo, Pop.”

Poppy passed that over as well, and Cynthie held them both up to the light.

“It’s him. It’s the man in the little photo. I think he must be Boromir. Look at the jacket.” She set the two pictures down side-by-side. Yes, it was a similar looking jacket to the one on the small figure in the photo. He had the same build and stance as well. Poppy wouldn’t swear to it but... Yes, they might well be the same man.

“Boromir and Faramir, like the Thain’s second letter...” Haesel muttered again. She studied the pictures together. “That’s Thain Peregrin’s son’s name. Great-uncle Faramir. And Master Meriadoc named his son Boromir...” She looked up. “Named for these brothers, do you think?”

“I think you might be right.” Poppy said. “And I think we need a little more reading material.” It was obvious to the three of them why Boromir had been referenced and depicted thus. Sometime between Lothlorien- whose flets³² could be seen sketched in the background of the postcard- and the Thain’s arrival in Gondor without the Master or the other Refounders, Boromir had died. His photo was all that was left of him when the Fellowship had reconvened. Boromir had died, and Gandalf had not. Unless Frodo’s letter to Old Bilbo had been greatly confused. Gandalf had died and yet not died? Something big was missing.

Poppy needed to pace. But more than that, she needed a reference. She got up, handing all the cards to Cynthie. “I’ll be right back.”

Undertowers was the seat of the Warden, yes, but it also held the records, particularly those pertaining to the Refounders, the Baggins family, and much of their combined dealings with the kingdoms of Big folk. It held many books, some printed painstakingly on the big press, and some hand-copied. She knew for a fact there were copies of lineages of Gondor, of records pertaining to the friends of the Refounders such as Faramir the Prince, and his brother. Poppy knew the name somehow. Not just because Boromir Brandybuck was Master of Buckland. It was important. She just needed to remember how.

The records rooms were largely held in the basement of the Elven fort, the part that was now more smial than anything else. It was sealed off, warm, and dry. Everything had been set and optimized for keeping records and keeping them well. Poppy knew just where she ought to look. She found the right bookshelf, ran her finger along the spines, and selected the tome of Gondorian heraldry. This one had the line of Kings and the line of Stewards- which would probably also shed light on the ‘Lord Steward’s Army’ mentioned by the Thain- and would no doubt contain the reference she sought.

Poppy took the book to the nearest countertop and started searching. The first Boromir- Boromir I- in the line of Stewards was not at all the one she sought³³. He had taken a war wound of some kind and it plagued him for the rest of his days. He certainly hadn’t gone on an adventure with Elves and Hobbits. She kept looking.

There. More than a footnote, but shorter than the entries that both preceded and followed it. Boromir II, son of Steward Denethor II, son of Ecthelion II. An awful many ‘the seconds’ in this family, but that was neither here nor there. Poppy kept on reading.

‘Boromir II, son of Denethor II, was first heir to the Ruling Stewardship of Gondor. He- by his own merit- attained the rank of Captain of the White Tower, and oversaw the defenses of Gondor as Captain-General, and High Warden of the White Tower. His military prowess is known by the people of Gondor and recorded in another volume.

In the War, he maintained a successful defense of the city of Osgiliath until June of 3018, when it was overrun by the armies of the Lord of the Nazgûl. He and his brother Faramir- along with others- destroyed the Great Bridge and halted the enemy’s advance for a time.

After that, he was sent on a secret mission- presumably to gain aid in greater Eriador, though specifics were never confirmed- and fell to Sauron’s forces scouting his position. No eyewitnesses are reported, but it has been widely circulated that he died in the defense of some ordinary folk (see ‘Rumors and Tales, Gondorian Wartime folklore;’ Rochildis & Ioreth³⁴). He was survived by his brother Faramir, who discovered sufficient proof of his passing and inherited the Stewardship upon the death of their father (see: Denethor II).’

Poppy read the entry three times. That wasn’t right at all! Boromir had made it to Rivendell, and Lothlorien! He’d helped the Thain and the Master to fight with knives and written to his brother from... well from several places. He’d died- by the Thain’s account- in defending the lives of him and the Master, though that may have been the kernel of truth in the so-called rumor. There was nothing here about the rest of his exploits. She decided she would ‘see: Denethor II’ and maybe clear a few things up.

After a few minutes Poppy slid the book back onto its place in the shelf. She hoped- and she prayed- that there was no letter in Thain’s account about... about that.

Chapter Text

By the time she’d liberated the right tomes from the records room, Poppy’s co-conspirators had reached an impasse.

“Oh good, you’re back.” Cynthie barely greeted her and went straight into an explanation. “We’re having a bit of a disagreement.” Haesel remained cool and quiet through all of this, but her posture told Poppy there was some personal stake in it.

“Hope it’s a quiet one...” Poppy murmured. She set the books down on the card table. “Well, what is it?”

Haesel opened her mouth but Cynthie cut in too quickly. “Dar’s gone through the box and found some things. Oh, he got them out with the tongs but these are odd mathoms and we need you to tell us who’s right. Or point out the book where we can confirm it.” Her eyes had strayed to the stack of reference materials. Poppy knew what that meant. Cynthie would not be one for researching herself, but she’d be eager to know if her guess had been the correct one after someone else went and dug it up.

Having finally had enough, Haesel said what she wanted. “We found another photo, and some medals and ribbons. Cynthie says they’re for the folks in the photo, but I say they’re not. I say they’re for the Refounders.” That earned her a glare from her opponent and piqued Poppy’s curiosity in the affair. No simple disagreement, then.

“Alright. Which medals are these?”

Haesel and Cynthie both scrambled to set the evidence before her in an orderly manner. They spread out a ring of shiny gold and silver awards, one button, and oddly enough the brooch from the top of the box. Somewhat snootily, Cynthie set the photo in the middle of the ring. It was this Poppy wanted to examine first. Identify the players, then the game.

The photo was of a couple- a Man and Woman- wearing what had to be Men-fashion of the time. The man wore lots of green, and a jacket similar to the ones the King and Legolas wore in the big photo. He had dark hair and a kindly look about him, but there was some secret hiding in his eyes, like he was laughing at the photographer. The woman was stunning. She had long blond hair done up in a bun, with simple jewelry and a different kind of jacket slung over one shoulder. There was a great scar on what was visible of that arm, but it didn’t seem to hinder her. She was smiling too, carefree and full of joy.

In the background was the biggest flying contraption³⁵ Poppy had ever seen. She’d seen other pictures, but this one was very large. The couple in the front concealed most of the moving parts, but they had to be connected to it in some way.

“That’s her, that’s Éowyn!” Cynthie pointed, nearly tapping the photograph. “She flew into battle with the Rohirrim! The Master was there with her later when she defeated the Witch King! This has to be her medal.”

Poppy found the medal in question. “Are you sure it’s hers and not the Master’s, maybe?”

Cynthie stopped short. “Why would he get one and not her?”

“Maybe she kept hers.” Haesel tried valiantly not to sound smug.

Poppy jumped in before there was another argument. “She’s not wearing it in the photo. And besides, maybe she got a bigger one. This one is just a little plain.” She turned it over in her gloved hands. The medal was gold, but the horse design was simple and elegant. It hung from a faded green and white ribbon on a gold pin.

“Hand me the glass, will you Cynthie?” Poppy had found something, but she wanted to mollify her sister’s feelings as much as she could. No sense in any of them running off to pout and risking the whole venture. Glass in hand, she could read the worn etching on the back of the horse’s head: ‘For your Valor in Battle, Knight of the Riddermark’.

“I think it is the Master’s.” Poppy said, quickly adding, “Only because ‘Knight’ isn’t quite as grand as... as...” Suddenly, she couldn’t remember what the Lady Éowyn had been named following her great victory on the Pelennor. Just as suddenly remembering where she could find this key information, she continued, “I have the reference here! Let me see her proper title.”

According to the records, the Refounders had made their trip with the Grey Company- hobbits would’ve gone virtually unnoticed with such stealthy and paradoxically striking Men- and she’d grabbed the book on the accomplishments of the Rohirrim as reference. Only, now she was flipping to a different page. “Ah, here it is." ‘

Éowyn, daughter of Théodwyn, (sister of Théoden) and Éomund of Eastfold. Sister of Éomer. White Lady of Rohan. Éowyn served long and valiantly at the side of her uncle- Théoden King- prior to his recovery from long illness and resumption of the active ruling of Rohan. She trained in some capacity as a Shield-maiden, though her first command was at the behest of Théoden, as the muster of the Rohirrim was then underway and she was to be left with the running of the kingdom and defense of its people in his absence (Note: Though not entered into written record, it is surmised that- had Éowyn maintained her post at Dunharrow- her official rank would have fallen as ‘High Aldor of Edoras’, marking her as distinctly superior to Aldors of the East and Westemnets, Reeves of smaller regions, and Thanes of their cities.)”

Poppy didn’t read the entire entry, but there was proof enough. “She would’ve been High Aldor! I think that’s pretty far above Knight.”

Cynthie was mostly appeased, but asked, “Well, she if she wasn’t technically High Aldor but would’ve been, what fancy title did she get for killing the Witch King?”

Poppy skimmed some more. “Lady of the Shield-arm. I think in part because that’s how she got that scar.” She pointed to the photograph. “So, that’s probably not hers I’m afraid. It must be the Master’s, though whether it was for his part in the battle or something he did off the record, I don’t know.”

Haesel did not look nearly as smug as Cynthie would have in her place. Accepting victory with dignity, she looked over the other medals. “Well, some are duplicates of each other. Maybe we can rule them out that way. If one’s obviously for something done in Gondor, I mean.”

Scanning the others, Poppy picked up a medal on a blue and red ribbon. The back read ‘Mustered in service of Théoden King for the charge upon the Pelennor Fields’. She held it up for the others. “Alright, that’s two pieces. And I think I know how they’re connected.”

Darwise clapped his hands and began making room in the pile marked ‘Rohan’. “Don’t leave us waiting, Poppy!”

Smiling, she set both medals down in the empty place. “In the Thain’s letter from Gondor, he said the Master was safe with Théoden King, but that he still wished Merry would come. So, that, and the letter, has me thinking he did not come down through the Paths of the Dead with the Company and the King, but with the Rohirrim.”

Haesel and Cynthie nodded in a little more understanding than Dar. “So,” her cousin said, “the King and his Company took that path. And if Legolas and Gimli went with the Thain and the Master, along with Boromir, Gandalf, Frodo, Great-grandpa, Estel, and Strider, how on earth did they meet up?”

“Good question.” Poppy picked up another medal, this one in a box. It was impossibly shiny, the fabric of the case pristine, and- unlike the others- much more deeply coated in dust. It was safe to say the box was seldom opened, and the medal never taken out. “Who do we suppose this belongs to?”

Cynthie shook her head. “No idea yet. But it’s nicer than the others.” She watched as Poppy turned it over. “Maybe it’s from the Elves?”

It didn’t look Elven-make, but Poppy didn’t want to burst her sister’s bubble again so soon. She looked inside the lid, and did find a clue. The words ‘Frodo Baggins’ had been painted daintily in gold leaf. Taking care, she flipped the medal over to read the inscription. The cloth it rested on was well-dented from its weight.

‘A Token for a service Middle-earth can never repay’

“It.. was Frodo’s.” Poppy set it back down in the ring. “I’m not sure what for. I think... I really think there’s something big we’re missing. The Refounders went well out of their way, hid it, an did all this but without saying for what! There has to be a bigger secret than just... fighting with Rohan and Gondor!”

She searched the medals for some kind of clue and found none. Poppy even took to turning them over haphazardly in her frustration. ‘Silver Simbelmynë- For Injury sustained in Battle in the Service of Rohan’. ‘Blue Star- For Valor in the face of Unspeakable Evil’. ‘Golden Tree- for Sacrificial Service to the House of the Stewards’³⁶. All of them were weighty and important, but they didn’t answer her most burning question:

Why?

Chapter Text

By Afternoon, Poppy felt as grey and dreary as the weather outside. They had uncovered so much! The Thain had gone to Gondor with Gandalf- who did not die!- and the Master to Rohan. Frodo and Great-grandpa had disappeared off the face of the earth, and no one in that silly box had written down why. She supposed, ruefully, that it made sense. A secret this big couldn’t be put to pen and expected to stay secret.

She made copious notes during reading time. As a matter of fact, by the time she needed to help make Dinner, she’d nearly found all the holes they’d drilled in the official account. With Dar’s crayons, she’d mapped out places she knew they had to be, and possible routes for how they’d had to get there. Rivendell-to-Lothlorien had been tricky, but there were at least two that would fit in the timeline and she allowed for both of them.

What she could not figure out was why Sam and Frodo had gone missing, and where. Sometime after the Fellowship had stopped in the Golden Wood, they disappeared. Neither was mentioned being in Gondor or Rohan by any of the letters. As a matter of fact, the Thain went out of his way to say that they weren’t there. He was alone, save Gandalf.

Her chart was colorful. Too colorful. There were so many conflicting threads. She needed more information.

The four conspirators managed to sneak away one last time before bed, each still too enthralled with the mystery to go to sleep just yet. They’d keep going. Just a little more for tonight or they’d risk discovery, but there had to be something...

“Oh, this has got to be something!” Cynthie held a black box aloft in her hands, careful to touch only the sides and with gloves. It was a curious thing. Old, yet obviously cutting edge for its time, it took Poppy a moment to place it.

“It’s a camera, but an odd one.” She donned her own gloves, taking care to lift the black box without disturbing the knobs and buttons poking out. Poppy turned the camera over in her hands. It was an old model- she could tell by the numbers- but remarkably small. It was the kind- Yes! The square hole it had made in the packed chest revealed several tiny silvery cylinders. She’d only ever heard of such things at bedtime or on Granddad’s knee.

“It’s... called a covert camera, I think.” Poppy found the serial number and model information. “Bifurdex 360x³⁷. I think it’s designed to fit in a pocket.”

“In a pocket?” Haesel asked. “Didn’t they have bags?”

Poppy shook her head. “Well, they did but... I think the Thain- or one of the Fellows- used it for their espionage. At least, that’s what it says in the records. They do mention things like this.” They all knew how reliable those records were now, but thinking about how such a camera would be used in War was a troublesome thought. In the following silence, she reached down with the tongs and lifted out one of the dark cases. “The film would be in these. They’re probably... photos of the places they saw.”

“I want to see!” Darwise was eager, but Poppy wasn’t. None of the information they had so far made her think a mission camera was going to have the same innocuous content as the postcards. Whatever they were documenting, it would not be so easy to look at.

“We... can’t.” Poppy said lamely. “It’s... it’s film, Dar, not a real photo. We’d have to get them developed. They’re too small to see, on a small camera, and if we opened it I think we'd ruin them.”

Cynthie and Haesel were looking at her with frank disbelief, but neither of them challenged the claim. However, Cynthie snatched up a glove and held out her hand. “I still want to look.”

Poppy turned over the camera and began picking up the film cartridges to set aside on the card table. They were helpfully labeled '1 to '4' and a loose panel on the back of the camera confirmed it was empty. It was true, she couldn’t develop the film. She didn’t even know what to do with- what were they called? oh yes- the negatives should she want to. Those would have to be taken somewhere, to someone who could. But who--

That was an idea. She’d have to wait, bide her time a little, but if she could crush the curiosity surrounding the camera...

“Well, that might be a sign we’re done for the day.” Poppy sighed heavily, pretending to be defeated by this obstacle. “Maybe we’ll have an idea with fresh heads in the morning.”

It was all too easy to lie, to get them out of the room and on their way to bed. She scooped up the camera and the film canisters and put them in a shoebox she’d hastily cleared of rocks and funny leaves. After a moment of thought, Poppy took the camera back out and replaced it in the chest where it had been. The others would be suspicious if it was gone without explanation. But the canisters? Those were not so interesting. Those wouldn’t be missed.

Poppy didn’t sleep well that night either.

When Mum and Dad got up in the morning, Poppy asked if she might be allowed to go to the library today, since the rain was lighter but it was far too muddy to practice still. She’d whispered and winked at the others, saying it wouldn’t be at all suspicious if she- the only one not begging to go to the fort- went and found the materials they needed to research.

She’d been granted permission, provided she went properly dressed against the rain all the same. That she’d agreed to as it raised another question. She had no idea how to make sure the canisters would stay safe. Eventually, she settled on wrapping them in a towel, and then sealing them tight in an empty jam jar. The jar went in her bag, the bag went under her cloak, and the cloak and her in it under an umbrella. That would keep out the rain, or nothing would.

Poppy tried not to run into town.

Undertowers and the town of Undertowers weren’t so far apart. It was a brisk walk and wet despite it all, but Poppy was on a mission. She passed the grocer and the Post Office and the Town Hall before she reached her real destination. She’d said it was the library, but that wasn’t entirely true. Poppy stood on the steps of the Undertowers Daypost³⁸, the town’s small newspaper.

The Daypost was run by two brothers, Muldo and Bardo Proudfoot, who delighted in printing the Farmer’s Almanac, announcements of birthdays and weddings, and not all that much else. In fact, the Daypost was sometimes called the ‘Every-other-day-post’ behind hands, as the brothers did not always have enough news to put out in a pamphlet every single day.

But what they could do was develop film. They needed the odd photograph for a celebrity birthday- like the Master or the Thain- and any kind of prize-winning produce. And they were never, ever, busy.

Poppy was right. The inside of the Daypost office was clean, orderly, and utterly devoid of activity. Muldo sat at the front counter reviewing a book, and Bardo was making notes on a calendar that hung on one wall. They both looked up when the front bell rang.

“Hullo there!” Bardo called, while Muldo looked down at his work again. “Have an announcement for the paper, Miss Fairbairn?”

Poppy shook her head. “No, not exactly, Mr. Proudfoot. I was rather hoping you could help me with... a small errand. For my father the Warden.” It was a bald-footed lie, but neither of them seemed to notice. Though, it did cause Muldo to look up again in interest.

She approached the counter and took the jar out of her bag. “I... didn’t have the proper case.” Realizing it might be ridiculous to try and lie too much to hobbits who ran a paper, she hurried on with something closer to the truth. “We have these film canisters, you see, for the records. I need to have the film developed as quickly as possible. If... if one of you could show me how...”

Bardo began turning over the silver cylinders in his fingers. “No question these came from the archive! Here, Muldo, see how old they are? And the tiniest I’ve ever seen!”

Muldo took out a monocle from his pocket to examine one. “Tiny.”

“Right enough.” Bardo collected the canisters back in their towel and nodded towards Poppy. “It’s a fair complicated process, but you can help it go faster.” He gestured towards the back of the offices, presumably where that sort of... wherever that equipment was kept.

“Put the lunch sign up, Muldo. We’ve got a job for the Warden!”

She followed them down the short hallway, past the great big press, and to a door marked ‘FILM ROOM: DO NOT ENTER’. Not foreboding in the least. Bardo unlocked the door and gestured for Poppy to follow him in. Inside, there were tables, boxes, candles, and metal and wooden containers holding who knows what. Glass bottles lined shelves, and a clothesline hung from one end of the room to the other.

Poppy could see none of it, of course, as it was pitch dark from the moment Muldo shut the door. He brushed past her politely to where his brother was. How the pair of them navigated the place in the dark was beyond her.

“If you’ll just have yourself a seat, Miss Poppy, we’ll be able to have your help in a moment.”

“Where... where is the seat, Mr. Bardo, sir?”

“Oh, to the left of the door. Six inches.”

Poppy felt back for the door, then to where her best guess for six inches to the left was. Then down. Her hand found the lip of a stool and she sat gratefully.

“Alright, Muldo. Have the jar?”

“Here.”

“Excellent, thanks much. And the first of our noxious potions?”

“Here.”

“Perfect. It’s a good thing it’s so mild and rainy! On a hot day, this would truly be a challenge, Miss Poppy.”

Poppy tilted her head in the direction she hoped Bardo was. There were some metal noises, a glass container opening with a pop!, and sounds of sloshing liquid. The smell reached her eventually and she wrinkled her nose.

“Is that very important, Mr. Bardo?”

“Oh very! It’ll take quite a few baths in some very un-delicious soups, and then we’ll have some pictures for the Warden. Oh, do we have plenty of the good ol’ bathwater mix, Muldo?”

“Nope.”

“What do you mean we don’t? Surely we’re not-- Oh, dear! We used tremendous much developing the pictures of Mrs. Bolger’s quadruplets, didn’t we? Lots of photos, that was. Four times as many as usual!”

“Quintuplets.”

“Even better! Well, I shall have to run out and get the things for more. Shouldn’t be too long but-- Ah, this will be a wonderful opportunity! Miss Poppy, you said you’d like to learn something, well! We’ll have you beat the drum when we go. It’ll be faster if Muldo and I split the shopping list.”

“Expedient.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. But Muldo’s the man of letters around here- Ha! He sets the type.” There was a slosh and a louder clank. “There we go! Into the drum with the lot. Miss Poppy, now’s your time to shine. Step right this way!”

Cautiously, Poppy hopped off her seat. She set her bag down on the last known point of existence and began inching forward in the dark. Hands outstretched, she soon found the gentle, upturned palm of one of the brothers and took it.

“Got her, Muldo? Gallant of you! Alright, this way. Stick out your hand, Muldo will take your other one to the crank. I’ve set your father’s film in the drum³⁹- that’s the big vat that tumbles the cans- and I’ll set the timer. You turn the crank until the timer goes off, and by that time I’m sure Muldo and I will be back with everything we need to finish the job. Any questions?”

Poppy had a million, but she shook her head, then said aloud “No sir!”

And so she found herself, in the pitch dark, turning a crank while half a dozen metal containers thudded against the drum. Liquid sloshed and clanked, and over it all Poppy could just hear the ticking of the wind-up timer.

It felt like hours. To her arms, it felt like days.

A knock at the door startled her into a little yelp just as the timer went off. The door cracked open, and for the first time Poppy could see the room. It was smaller than she expected, and the sliver of light illuminated a table in front of her: the empty canisters, the crank in her hands, and the big metal drum. It was... It was actually less interesting than the strange shapes she’d made in her head.

“Perfect timing! Muldo, grab one more candle.” Bardo came in and shut the door quickly. Poppy was about to despair, when she noticed it wasn’t dark anymore. Bardo held a candle lit inside a red glass. It wasn’t very bright, but it lit his corner of the room well enough at least to see by.

He saw her watching and smiled. “They’re sort of like eggs, Poppy. We can’t crack them until they’re good and ready. Well, if you cracked eggs with light. That’s why we had to do the first part in the pitch dark. And now that they’ve tumbled a bit, they’ll be much safer. Only the last few baths, the rinse, the dry, and then your eggs will have hatched!” He chuckled. “Of course, to extend the metaphor, Muldo and I have to rear your chicks if you want to look at them without a magnifying glass, but I suppose your father wanted photographs, not just the negatives?”

Poppy wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that, but ‘negatives’ didn’t sound like progress. “Oh yes sir! Photographs, please!”

“Quite right!” Bardo stopped to put a little box over the candle- replunging the room into darkness, when Muldo knocked at the door. “All clear! We haven’t taken them out yet!”

Muldo entered with a second red-covered candle. Then, Poppy was sent back to her seat- which was not nearly as far from the drum as she imagined- while the brothers mixed the ‘soup’ and the ‘baths’ with some more smelly liquid. The second candle was covered as well, some more mixing went on in darkness, and finally the candles were uncovered. This process took a while. By the smell alone, she was glad they hadn’t asked her to help.

“Hmm? What have you there, Muldo…?” She watched absently as Bardo leaned over to observe… whatever part his brother was at now. Something to do with a strip of shiny ribbon, almost like a paper eel. Bardo talked so fast sometimes, Poppy couldn’t understand. But the silence stretched on for longer than the more talkative Proudfoot had managed so far. Now curious, Poppy paid attention. And, to her dismay, the moment she did, Bardo noticed. 

“Do you… Did your father tell you what these were, Miss Poppy?” 

She felt something like a fishing weight drop in her chest. “Oh, no sir. I… I didn’t ask him.” That was the truth, and she felt both bold and panicked enough to follow up with another in the same vein. “I did gather it was… secret.”

No less shocked but much less agitated, Bardo nodded. “It does seem to be that way. Fear not! We… won’t have to look too close. They have some funny developers’ marks baked into the negatives like– Oh, don’t worry an instant about it!” He put on a cheery face that looked as false as her story, even in the dark. “Tell you what- draw that curtain behind you before you open the door, and go and pick up some lunch! We’ll–” For once, the chatty Bardo was at a stall, and his eyes flicked back and forth searchingly. “We’ll take lunch as payment for the work! No need to trouble the Warden with our… our customary fee! Luncheon seems equitable, doesn’t it, Muldo?”

“Very.”

Now Poppy was sure something was wrong, but she wasn’t supposed to know a thing about the canisters. She felt a little bad. She was becoming very practiced in Big lies.

“Oh of course! Forgive my saying so, but this room is awful stuffy and I can’t wait to get some fresh air! I’ll take my umbrella and my bag- and I can leave my jar here? Will it take overnight? Should I drop home and come back–”

Bardo shook his head. “Oh not terrible long! We’re old hands at this! Go and pick up lunch and a little treat for yourself. Did-” More gears began turning in his head, and Poppy wondered if even grown-ups ever got accustomed to this. “Did the Warden give you money? Take what you need from the bag under the counter if you’re short, and we’ll– we’ll–”

“Customary.”

“Quite right! We’ve got all the paperwork- invoices- and he can pay us back at his leisure. The ordinary way. Do it all the time. Off you go then!”

No part of the exchange filled her with confidence. She left the bag where it was and counted out her own pocket money. She’d foreseen such a complication, and had just enough for a nice Luncheon for the brothers. Skipping herself was a small lie, and a price quite worth paying. She grabbed her rain things and tried to remember she didn’t have to run.

Chapter Text

Just after placing her order with the Fox & Clover, Poppy hurried down to the library (‘The Warden’s Library at Undertowers Town’, though it had little enough to do with the actual family) and laid more bricks into her scheme. She talked with Mrs. Sandheaver the local archivist about books, Mum’s request, and the continuing rain before grabbing two very dense and inconsequential tomes. Those should keep Haesel and Cynthie busy and their noses out of her affairs. Darwise would be easier to placate. She found a picture book of ‘Mad Baggins Tales’ and dreamed up probable tales of her own.

Books tucked away in her bag, Poppy skittered through a light downpour back to the Daypost offices, dropped off her loans, picked up a picnic basket, and dashed back to the Fox & Clover. Lunch was soup, bread, roast chicken with vegetables, and two scones (the last of which Poppy devoured on the porch in secret). The travel jars could be returned at the brothers’ leisure. She was finally ready.

Poppy and the full basket were waiting innocently in the offices of the Daypost when Muldo and Bardo ducked their heads out of the film room.

“Ah, Miss Poppy! You’re back. And is that our Luncheon?” She had eyes only for the sealed paper packet in his hands, but she had to play along.

“Yes sir! I’m sorry to say I’ve eaten mine. And-- don’t worry about payment from Dad- from the Warden. I came down with enough to cover it.” That was true, and if he assumed the money had come from said Warden there would be no need to follow up with pesky questions.

Bardo smiled, but not as brightly as he had when she’d first arrived. He held out the packet to her, and she had to stop herself from snatching at it. “Here you are, then! Now, don’t open it. Not yet. The ah, the film isn’t quite set. It’ll need to stay in the packet- to protect it from the light, you see- until about... Oh, probably by the time Dinner rolls around. Just hand it off to the Warden. And no peeking!”

This was spoken nearly even and almost certainly might have been true, if Poppy had not remembered his words from before. Whatever the film was had been quite safe after it had ‘hatched’, and before whatever he’d meant by ‘rearing the chicks’. If these were her chicks, she only needed wait to open it until she was alone.

With inconsequential promises to hurry home before it started raining more, Poppy left the Daypost. She pretended not to see the glances shot between Bardo and Muldo. Both had suddenly taken to the idea of reticence. Based on what she knew already, she couldn’t blame them.

Poppy made it home well before Afternoon Tea and afternoon reading. But, as she’d walked up the path to the smial, she knew she couldn’t rush things. As much as she’d wanted to tear straight into the packet, she had to be cautious. The Proudfoot brothers weren’t spooked for nothing. If she wanted to keep this secret from her co-conspirators, she had to be careful. She had to be patient.

Afternoon reading was spent in the fort, as usual. Poppy dispensed her tomes and instructions. Haesel and Cynthie were too look for more information about Gandalf, Boromir, Strider, and Estel, while Darwise was to do the same, but primarily for Gandalf who was known to have gone on Bilbo’s adventure and primarily for the purpose of drawing him in crayon. Poppy continued to work on her timeline. She referenced volumes she’d already sought from the records room, and toned down her colors in this new draft so it would look less appealing to younger eyes.

She’d missed the lunch broadcast- as it was Mersday and they’d have news at noon and other programming at night- so she was able to distract and listen distractedly as Dar described and the other girls clarified the details of The Ballad of Dain & Brand⁴⁰ . Poppy knew that story well enough. She still perked her ears as it was during the War, and might have some bearing on their quest, but nothing stood out to her. King Brand had been heroic, and King Dáin II Ironfoot a true friend to the end.

When it was time for Dinner, Poppy made sure to carefully pack and sweep all of the trinkets and letters into the chest. Someone might notice if the piles were out of order, but something shuffled after being put away would hardly raise eyebrows.

She went to the kitchen quietly and full of nerves. She’d broken her conspiratorial trust before and gotten caught. How was she to make sure it didn’t happen again? The potatoes seemed to slice themselves as she pondered the Thain’s letter, the death of Boromir, all the names of the dead upon the Pelennor- and those just the ones they recorded--!

It should have been no surprise that she sliced her hand. Poppy became too careless and held the butt end of the potato too tightly. She hissed and jumped back from the counter and nearly into Mum.

“Oh dear, Poppy!” No reproach, just concern, but Poppy was kicking herself anyway. It would be harder to hold papers now, with a big bandage.

“I’ll get the kit.” Dad said from the doorway. He’d likely just come in and was soon back out again.

Mum handed her a washcloth and nudged her towards the door. “Go get yourself seen to, love. I’ll finish the potatoes for you, never fret.”

She hurried down the hall towards the washroom. It was awfully stupid of her to get sidetracked like that! Suddenly her stomach dropped. They were leaving for Greenholm in two days! Sterday was supposed to see them off bright and early so they’d be in time for the opening ceremonies on Sunday. The Tweens' Invitational portion wasn't until a few days after, but... Was this going to hamper her grip? Her swing? And with Haesel going home and the mystery still unsolved, how on earth was she going to get her mind centered enough to compete? She was going to be lost in Lorien and Gondor when she should be concentrating on the green!

She was already so lost in thought she nearly ran into Dad as he was leaving the washroom with the kit. His spectacles were already askew on his nose but he straightened them as if he’d been bowled back. “Here comes the flood of injured! The hands of the Warden might not be as potent as the hands of the King, but I think I can patch up this scratch to your satisfaction!”

Poppy wasn’t hardly in the mood, and she was a little sad to say it showed. Her father’s face fell slightly as she scooted past him and sat on the lip of the tub. She held out her washcloth-swathed hand and said to the flooring “I don’t think it’s very deep.”

Her brusqueness may have bruised his mood, but not his sense of duty. Dad set the kit on the countertop and turned on the sink. “Well, we’ve still got to wash it, haven’t we?” He pulled a fresh washcloth down from the cabinet, wet it, and applied a little cleansing salve to the middle. Humming softly, he took her hand and gently dabbed at the cut.

“There.” It still bled but it really wasn’t so deep. Her father went back to the kit for a glass vial and the Kingsfoil cream⁴¹. The sweet scent reminded her of grass after the rain, and that even this dreadful downpour had to come to an end sometime. He gently rubbed some onto the cut, readied a tiny wad of gauze, and bandaged her finger up. Then, to her surprise, he planted a kiss over the spot as he hadn’t done since she was Dar’s age.

Dad looked back up at her. Once again, Poppy couldn’t look away to think, or to anticipate his question.

“Are you worried about the Tournament, Pop?” His eyes were so full of concern, she couldn’t speak to lie to him. She settled for nodding her head. “It’s quite understandable. The competition will be steep and you’ve been cooped up indoors.” Dad shook his head. “I wish I could make the sun come out sooner.”

Poppy nearly told him everything then. About the Refounders, about Boromir and Gandalf. Even about the paper packet burning a hole in the box under her bed. But she kept her mouth shut. Dad gave her hands a squeeze and let them go.

“Well, if there is anything I can do to help you darling, I will.”

“Thanks Dad.”

Despite having seen the finest healer in the house, Poppy felt worse than before.

Chapter Text

Night had fallen in Undertowers, and Poppy Fairbairn had a mystery to solve. She’d do it tonight, for once and for all. The film held the key. It had to.

She waited until far after nightfall, staying in the dark and listening to the clock. It was harder than anything she’d had to do yet, sitting and waiting, but she’d done it. Now she could get a torch, open up the paper packet, and finally get to the bottom of this.

Part of her was afraid Bardo Proudfoot had been telling the truth, and that the photos inside would be destroyed upon seeing the light, but she took a deep breath and tore open the seal. In one go she dumped the contents out on the card table. It surprised her to find that the photos weren’t all loose in there, no. The brothers at the Daypost had packaged everything into little envelopes. There were eight in all, and it took Poppy a moment to figure out why. Half of them were numbered 1 through 4, and the other half the same, only with the word ‘negatives’ printed after. She understood now! The negatives would keep, it was the photos she wanted.

She took up envelope one and quietly tore it open. There they were. Remembering her gloves at last, Poppy pulled them on with shaking hands and began to card through her treasure. The first few photos were obvious tests. One was blurry on one side, but it was recognizably the Thain looking into the camera. The second was of the Master, and another hobbit-- Poppy realized with a start that in this envelope alone, she might have more photographs of Frodo Baggins than there were left in the whole rest of the Shire, save perhaps a lost album of Old Bilbo’s in Bag End.

And Frodo was in more of them. He sat across from Legolas of the Woodland Realm in front of a cookfire. There was the back of his head while the Thain and the Master held up several different kinds of berries in the foreground. And the very last photo was of him alone. It was blurry, in failing light and with the leaves of the tree behind him looking almost blue. He was looking down into the camera with quite a look of helpless consternation. It look Poppy a moment to realize someone had dropped the camera, and this was the moment Frodo was picking it up.

She studied this accidental photo for a moment. It was the only one of just him in the first set, and he did look different from the big portrait. He had lighter shadows under his eyes, and he was bundled up in warm traveling clothes of the era. A scarf obviously not his own was thrown over one shoulder.

Poppy almost didn’t notice it. It was a glint, a blur. It was half out of frame at the very bottom of the photo, but it was visible. Frodo wore a gold chain around his neck, and the top of whatever charm or bauble hung on the end was just visible. Curious, she looked back to see if it was in any of the other photos, but she drew up blank. Could it have been one of the gold medals? That didn’t make sense. Those would have been awarded after the journey, not before.

She moved to the second envelope. The canisters had been marked, so neither she nor the Proudfoot brothers had any reason to think they were out of order. Delighted, Poppy tore this next open. Only... The first picture was blank. She frowned. It was completely black. She moved her torch around and- well, there was a little white dot in one corner, but that wasn’t much to take a picture of. Perhaps this roll had been damaged somehow? Nervously, she flipped on.

The next photo was startlingly different. She felt her fingers shaking as her eyes fell first on the figure of Boromir, looking off into the corner of the room, and then of the very clear skeleton on the floor before him. There was a large stone... something, a counter maybe, and a helmet of dwarven-make- the kind that looked like a serving dish with a chin strap- resting reverently on top⁴². Light from pale crystals lit the room. Poppy saw more helmets.

She was not at all encouraged by the next photo in the stack. It was hazy, red, like some kind of wildfire seen at night. A splotch of a figure stood before the flames, and the shadow of another was caught in frame much closer. There were no more details than that.

Under this, the setting changed abruptly. No longer the dark, moody captures of little detail, but a place of gold and light. The Fellowship was in Lothlorien! This one was taken through some bushes, with the leaves partially obscuring the scene, but Poppy could see more than enough. It had obviously been meant as a covert picture, but both figures were staring directly into the camera. One was an Elf-woman, tall and fair with long blond hair and a flowing white dress. Just touching her short, puffy sleeves were the laced hems of long gloves that spiraled down her arms but left her fingers and palms uncovered. She looked directly at the photographer and- after all this time- directly at Poppy.

She shuddered, and looked at the other figure. It was Frodo once more. He at least seemed startled upon discovering he was being observed. He wore the same travel clothes, minus the scarf and- there! He clutched one hand to his chest in fright, but there was the chain! And on it--

Poppy cocked her head to the side and wondered what the fuss could be over a plain gold ring?

At least on the identity of the elf Lady, she had a fair guess. If they were in Lothlorien, that was likely as anything Galadriel, Lady of the Golden Wood. She was Lord Elrond’s mother-in-law if Poppy remembered right, so of course she’d help a mission that started in Rivendell. And she was on the White Council, with-

Poppy stopped. Lothlorien. Gandalf had not made it to Lothlorien. She flipped back to the other photos, the dark ones. Boromir and his stone room she could rule out. There were no enemies there and the only dead were... were Dwarves, so she thought. She set the two remaining photographs down side by side. Gandalf had not appeared on the first roll, but neither had Gimli, or Strider or Estel, so that wasn’t too important. No, her clue was here, and she hated to think what it might be.

A small light in the corner of a black abyss. A great bonfire and one figure standing against it. She felt the weight sinking in her stomach again just as another thought struck her. There were two possible routes to Lothlorien, and the one that had seemed most likely had now been cast into doubt. Where was the ridge of the Misty Mountains? Where was the photo of Caradhras and the sunset on the peaks? She rifled through envelope 1 and set Frodo’s picture with the other three. That might be a mountain behind his tree. But it was very tall. He was not standing on another slope in this photo.

A shiver ran down her spine. Had they--? They must have preceded the doomed venture of the Iron Garrison⁴³. They must have gone to Lorien... via Khazad-dûm. It would explain the dark photos. A hobbit- and she had an inkling this photographer was Great-grandpa Sam- might not have known how a camera should be operated. Least of all a century ago! He might have seen something truly glorious illuminated by that small light and not realized how the camera paled against the living eyes.

But that led to a thought darker than the chasm in her fingertips. Gandalf had not made it to Lorien. A quick peek at her map told Poppy that the Great Gates on the east end of Moria were not far at all from the borders of Lothlorien. And something told her that with Lady Galadriel so near, nothing in the expanse labeled ‘Nanduhirion’ would be very great a threat.

Her eyes strayed to the last picture that her heart insisted was from Khazad-dûm. A great fire. A small figure standing in its path. Another shadow closer, but probably moving away rather than towards the blaze. She was nearly sure. That had to be Gandalf’s end.

Hesitantly, Poppy began setting the photos down next to her timeline. It was still a rough approximation, and many photos were clumped together along the same locations, but she had something. She had evidence- in letter and photo- that the Fellowship had made its way to Lothlorien, and along something like this path. Out next to the spot where she’d circled Caradhras, she made an x and wrote ‘For whatever reason, the Fellowship of the Ring-’

Poppy stopped. She reached out and took up the photo of Galadriel. Surely... No, it had to mean something else... Looking closely she saw that, yes, Frodo had that Ring on a chain around his neck. No others had come up in relation to their quest, and Galadriel had not been in Rivendell or the one on her finger might have been a contender.

So, perhaps this was it? Was it a token of some sort? An identifier? Were they delivering it somewhere, to Gondor perhaps? She knew the King had many tokens upon his arrival in Minas Tirith that proved his claim, and there was a ring among them⁴⁴. Maybe there was a grain of truth in the story about the Grey Company. Maybe some heirlooms of the King had to come to him by a different road? But why then the secrecy? Their exploits had been public- even if the details had come out piecemeal over the years- so why not thing Fellowship?

She shook her head to clear her thoughts and finished her notation. Steeling her resolve, she picked up the stack again.

The next photo was almost a portrait. It depicted just Lady Galadriel, in the same setting and light as the previous photo, and she smiled more brightly here too. Poppy smiled herself. Perhaps Great-grandpa had been caught on his mission and allowed a chance for a better angle. She set it aside to look at the next one. There were still those golden trees visible here, but the object of this photograph was a boat. Inside were the Master, the Thain, and Boromir- though he looked troubled. He was gazing off at something just outside the shot. Poppy supposed she may never know what and sent it to its place.

‘Fellowship leaving Lorien’ she noted on her paper.

More of the same. There were boats, campfires, blurry shots of the river by the trees (in which Poppy could discern no subject) and finally one with Sam. He was sitting by Frodo around the cookfire, discussing something with him. Off on the other side, Boromir was watching them as he readied one of those travel-hardy coffee pots over the fire.

Now that was odd. Frodo’s face had lost any cheer and even Sam looked suspicious. Of Boromir? Surely not. He’d given his life to save the Master and the Thain. Maybe there were... suspicious ruins behind him. Maybe their position was watched.

Poppy had arrived at the end of this roll. The last three photos in the envelope were quite similar to an early one, and the sinking feeling came back with full force. The photographer- presumably Sam- had hidden himself in a bush or behind a low-hanging branch. Through the leaves, she could see Boromir standing by himself. He looked over one shoulder, and had a few sticks- presumably for kindling- under his arm. The next was much the same, taken only a moment later, but he was checking his watch. The final photo was of Boromir’s back, taken in the same spot. Only, he’d dropped his pile of kindling and was headed into the woods. What could that mean? He didn’t appear to be running. If the Master and Thain were in trouble, surely he’d have sounded the alarm even if he was the only one who could have made it in time...

And why had Sam taken those in hiding? What did he have to fear from Boromir?

These last three photos joined the stack labeled ‘camp on the Anduin’. If they took a boat from Lothlorien that would put the Thain in Gondor and the Master in Rohan, they certainly hadn’t taken the Nimrodel.

The only thing she could do was to keep going. Poppy wasn’t sure how late she’d waited up, or what time it was now. All she could think about was the envelopes, her timeline, and how she couldn’t possibly sleep yet. There was something in here. She’d find it, no two ways about it!

Envelope 3 was ready and opened just the same as the others. The first picture inside was a stunning but poorly angled picture of half the Argonaith. Well, it stood to reason that they’d kept going with the boats. That was nearly in Rohan, however, and she wondered if there would be pictures of horses soon.

Instead, Poppy got marshland. The next two were of some kind of... of bog with odd blurry patches she couldn’t quite make out. After that, Poppy’s jaw actually dropped in fear and fascination at the Oliphaunt armored for war. It actually had pieces of plate for itself, huge swathes of fabric to cover parts of its flanks, and a light but well-covered structure upon its back. Men rode on horses alongside it, wearing uniforms she didn’t recognize. They looked so... Well, had it not been for the weapons, she might’ve mistaken it for a parade.

No wonder Great-grandpa had such a fascination for the oliphaunt. The whole procession was magnificent... Two photos of the War Oliphaunt and its retinue went in a blank space on Poppy’s timeline. She had two lines for the Thain and the Master going to Gondor, but Frodo and Sam’s had both stopped at the Rauros. Tentatively, she’d begun to set photos in Emyn Muil and the Entwash, as those were the two largest marshes south of Nen Hithoel. Now they’d taken a path she couldn’t follow. Not yet.

Of course, she returned to the envelope. Until she ran out of photos, she’d keep going back. The next one was almost blank, as if something covered the bulk of the lens, and then the one after that was of a great waterfall⁴⁵. Well, it was no Rauros, but perhaps it would be on a smaller map. She needed more information.

It took entirely too long for Poppy to recognize what was in the next photograph. There was a lot to take in- the pale glow of the building in the background, the shimmering stones on the wide dirt path, and the debris. She picked up her magnifying glass.

Poppy had never seen an orc before. Not in photo, and only a mild likeness in drawing. There were thousands of orcs in this picture, marching with what she had to assume were weapons of War. She had never seen their like but knew instinctively they could be nothing else. Only the closest to the camera were distinguishable as individuals from the mass, but now that she had spotted them she couldn’t mistake them again. There was no dirt on the path, or at least none visible. That was the army advancing on Minas Tirith, or she’d eat her Stoorboots.

Her estimates matched. Wherever they were, it would have to be sometime close to the siege. And the things in the middle of the army, the long metal shapes with great wheels, they had to be the ‘siege weapons’ no book ever went into detail depicting. That craft, at least, had been destroyed with Mordor. For a moment, she was tempted to destroy this only of all the mementos from the chest. Such evil, such a force assembled and devices created only to destroy...

Poppy swallowed her revulsion and set it down. Near the spot, she marked ‘Minas Morgul or the Black Gate, army marches on Gondor’⁴⁴.

After that, dark stairs on a cliff face. Frodo was in this one, sitting on a rock with his head leaned back and his eyes closed. There was another of the stairs from a different angle. After that, the stairs from the top. A great forest stretched out beyond the reach of the fortress, and smoke poured from the land like tendrils of steam from a pot.

In the dark, in the quiet and late at night with only a torch for company, Poppy had to press a hand over her mouth to stop a startled squeak. Great glassy eyes, out of focus but alarmingly close to the lens, stared up at her from the next photo. A pale, nearly hairless creature with few teeth and a grimace to display them with peered from the paper with almost the same intensity as Lady Galadriel had. Poppy was quick to set it down. The creature was not in the following photograph, only a dark spire made of black stone.

She bit her lip. None of these landmarks were identifiable to her. If things carried on this way, she would need more time than she had! More time to investigate Mordor, more time to see if any of the landmarks had survived the eruption of Orodruin, or if someone had taken down notes. She paused at the picture of the tower to write down more of what she knew and puzzle over that. Frodo and Sam had gone to Mordor and performed some kind of heroic act.

Poppy paused with her pencil just over the paper. That was it! They’d scouted the armies of Mordor and Minas Morgul and reported back to Gondor in time to warn the White City! Confident in her answer, she penciled in an ‘x’ somewhere between the words ‘Black Gate’ and ‘Minas Morgul’ on her timeline and drew a straight arrow back to Minas Tirith. Satisfied, she picked up the stack and set aside the dark tower.

There! She’d been right. There was the Thain, though from something of a high angle. Maybe Sam had been-- No, that wasn’t right. Thain Peregrin- wearing the same uniform from the portrait, now covered in dust- was staring up at the camera with an equally dirty and tear-streaked face. He bit his lip and seemed barely capable of posing, but that he did: he held aloft a sparkling shirt of silver mail, about the size of--

No, no how could that be?

Poppy dived back into the chest for the letters. Frodo had mentioned the mail shirt. There were records of it- if only from Bilbo’s account- being of that description and virtually indestructible. She knew- there it was! Frodo’s unfinished letter to Old Bilbo. She set the torch upon the table and pulled it from its envelope, only to discover she couldn’t read it. It was darker paper than it ought to have been, and the words looked more like scribbles than real letters.

She rubbed her eyes. She looked again.

It was not one letter, but two, fused together by time or heat or some other damage! What luck! Perhaps it was another letter to Bilbo, letting him know that they’d split up on two missions. Obviously Frodo and Sam had gone to Mordor for intel, while the Master and the Thain had gone... perhaps with Legolas and Gimli? They’d gone to Rohan and Gondor one way or another. Met Gandalf again in Minas Tirith... somehow. Perhaps Frodo would explain. He’d explain everything.

Carefully, Poppy began to try the edge of the paper to see if she could peel the two letters apart. At first, it didn’t give. But, as she worked the edge, she heard a soft crackle and the pages began to separate. It was delicate work and likely a fool decision in the light of it, but Poppy took off her gloves. The grip of her fingertips was better than that of the archival cotton. Carefully, she worked the papers apart. Slowly, painstakingly, they separated.

At last, Poppy had two letters in her hand. After checking to make sure there was nothing on the back of the Lorien one, she began to read:

Dear Strider,

I am too ashamed to speak these words aloud, for I know you feel differently and will not hear them fully, but I must pen them now or have fear take the chance away forever.

I have failed in my mission. This is the truth. Sam has told The story about Sméagol is only part, but not the whole. It is true, he took the Ring from me in the mountain, and there he did fall to his doom, but not before I had fallen already. Oh my shame burns as hotly as that forge! How many good people died so that I might reach Mount Doom? How many people suffered and depended on me, doing their duty to the last? And here was I, unable to do the only thing that must be done!

I stood above the fire, Strider, where the Ring must have been made. I stared into it, and all thoughts of my duty fled. I did not wish to destroy it. Truly I would have rather died than be parted from it, and I nearly did so. I struck out at Sam, my dear Sam! In my heart I cursed him , and had Gollum not intervened I fear I may have tried to kill him

I do not want any of this praise, any of this glory for the truth of my deeds is not worthy of song. Even now there is a Man outside the bower whistling and writing up a ballad. I can hear the clatter of his fingers on the machine and I dread to think what deeds he will attribute to me. He should sing of Boromir, who died to save Merry and Pippin! At least his deeds were noble, and I understand and forgive all of those that were not. He fell not for greed, and our fates deserve to be reversed.

I am about to speak with Gandalf about all of this. And after him, that bard! I want no honors. I want my name forgotten and my deeds shrouded. I deserve no glory, no honor, and though Pippin feels differently, I believe no recognition whatsoever. The Ring is too terrible a thing to be recorded in any song. Why should we not heed Elrond's wisdom, even at the end? So few of us know the truth. It will stay that way.

Frodo

Shaking, exhausted, and utterly heartbroken, Poppy could think of nothing better to do than cry. She held the letter, unable to pick out the words through her tears. Not Frodo! After all that, not Frodo! She sucked in a shuddering breath. Maybe she ought to tear the letter to pieces. She thought of Cynthie and Haesel and Dar, and how they couldn’t know. It wasn’t the King’s ring, but something terrible. Something like Galadriel’s ring? They’d both had one in that photo, surely that was no coincidence. Maybe it held a secret, or a prophecy like the one that defeated the Witch King--

“No...”

The letter trembled in her hands.

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

The fact that Galadriel, an Elf, had-- Her hand hovered over the photograph. Lord Elrond had one hand behind his back, but the other...

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Even if they had been real, and not part of a nursery rhyme, a story about how the Dark Lord deceived the Elves--

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

It was a coincidence Mordor had Nine lieutenants. It was a coincidence.

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie
One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them,
One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

Frodo could not have had it... could not have kept it...!

Poppy began to sob in earnest, and scarcely noticed the soft knock, or the door opening behind her. Not until her father spoke.

“Poppy? My dear girl-- Is everything alright?”

She turned, heedless of the tears splashing on a letter of vast historical import.

“I... No! Everything is wrong!”

Chapter Text

Poppy sat in her father’s office, wrapped in one of Granny Elanor’s quilts with a hot mug of herbal tea in her hands. The tea smelled faintly of peaches and had been liberally sweetened with honey. There would be no going back to sleep tonight, not for sometime yet.

The last part of her ordeal had been spent crying on her bedroom floor. Her father had held her through the worst of it, reminding her that the middle of the night was when things most often went all wrong. She was sure he had seen the chest, even in the beginning, but he waited until she was ready to tell him. Poppy had looked through wet eyelashes at her father’s face, sniffled, and started to tell him everything.

She’d stammered and restarted, gestured, ducked her head and wrung her hands... She’d tried to tell it in chronological order- the order the events had taken place with the Fellowship, that is- and when she pulled out the timeline, Dad had reached for his spectacles. They weren’t there. Poppy had grown panicked in the pause and hadn’t been sure if she could restart the tale, or if her nerve would fail while she waited.

“Sweetheart,” her Dad said at last, “you may have just solved the greatest mystery in the history of all the Shire.”

And so she found herself at last in the warm, lit, comfortable office her father did most of his work in. Thunder rumbled overhead. His wall clock said they were well past midnight, and Poppy was having trouble picturing a sunrise.

Dad came back in with a whole pot of tea and a mug of his own. He was still wearing his pajamas, but had thrown his best green paisley dressing gown over it. This one had a pocket for his spectacles, unlike his nightshirt.

“Alright my dear,” he began softly, “I told your mother you’d had a nightmare-” he paused, catching sight of the creature poking out of envelope 3, “-which may not be all that far from the truth.” Now he put his spectacles on and examined the chest. He had helped Poppy move it in here, but it had lost all cohesion on the way. Papers poked out, the divider was askew, and Poppy had shoved all the medals in the pocket of her nightdress. She decided now was a good time to scoop them out onto the table. Dad stared a long moment. Then sighed.

“Would you be alright to tell me the story from the beginning, or should we wait until morning?” His eyebrows scrunched together and upwards in the middle. “You’ve had an awful time of it.”

Poppy shook her head. “I can tell you. I... I have almost the whole story, though there are lots of things I still don’t understand.”

Dad nodded. “Brave of you, my girl.” He held up a finger gesturing for her to wait and and started to dig through a drawer. After a moment, he grunted, pulling a black box⁴³ up onto the desk. He blew a layer of dust off the top and waved at the particles now in the air.

“Wilhelm and I will have a bear of a task dictating.” He began fiddling with the buttons and pulled a white box from a different drawer. This slotted into an indentation on the top of the first machine. “But it will all be worth it, I expect.” He pressed the largest button on the top, and something began to whir.

“Start at the beginning, sweetheart.”

So Poppy told. She started- haltingly, embarrassed- with the trip to the elf fort, and continued through the pictures, letters, postcards, medals, and research that led her to sneaking down to the Daypost and having the film developed. Dad only took off his spectacles to rub his temples once- when she first mentioned the Ring- and she only paused to allow him to study some of the mementos or change the ‘tape’ in his machine.

He had plenty of questions, of course. Poppy was glad she had made notes. She could point back to the books she’d seen things in and provide the physical evidence to show where events diverged. Her timeline was spread out on the table, and Dad had made a handful of small notes (with her permission) with names and dates she hadn’t known. Now it looked like a tangle, yes, but much more of a proper timeline than before.

She’d also found out who the last ‘man’ in the photo was. Dad had identified him as Gandalf- but not the one she recognized.

“We in the Shire knew him as the Grey,” he said, hovering one finger over the portrait, “and he appeared in Gondor as the White. They call him ‘Mithrandir’ in the Gondorian records. And I suspect you’ve identified the reason for the change. And here we all thought it was something to do with breaking Sharkey’s- that is, the Wizard Saruman, once the white himself- staff. But there were records of him in Edoras as the White before the King rode to Helm’s Deep...”

His hand strayed to one of the medals in the Rohan pile and paused. Reaching down, he lifted envelope 4, still sealed, from the desk. He turned it over and looked towards Poppy. “You didn’t open it?”

Poppy shook her head. “I didn’t want to.”

In truth, she regretted opening the third envelope. She regretted ever looking at the film. As fascinating as it had been it was frightening. It was disheartening. It turned her world upside down and revealed the dark truths the Thain had so hoped she’d discard in his letter.

Dad held it by the corners with his fingertips. “Would you like me to open it first? See if it’s... what the Proudfoot brothers were concerned about you seeing?”

She nodded.

Letting out a deep breath, Dad adjusted his spectacles. He sat up straight, cleared a spot on the table in front of him, and opened the fourth envelope. Poppy held her mug protectively in front of her as he stared hard at the first photo, then flipped it to the back. Then the next. He squinted at the third, then flipped it. She counted to sixteen. He’d arrived at the first again.

Dad pushed his spectacles up on his nose, looked at her, and smiled. “Would you like to see them, Poppy? I don’t think they’re quite as frightening as the Gollum creature.”

Cautiously, she scooted closer. He smiled and held out the stack.

The first photo was of the sky. Light pierced the ring of dark clouds, and just over the ring of the mountains, an orange light glowed.

The second photo was blurry, but it was of Gimli and the Thain. And they were smiling.

A great mound of dirt, almost a hill. The King, and a man she didn’t recognize clasping hands, mouths open as if they were both yelling.

Trees. Dozens of trees in a ring, with tents and soldiers and cookfires and another camera, but this one of the kind that stood on legs and had an accordion body. The photographer was taking a picture of the King, and Éomer King, and the Prince of Dol Amroth- Imrahil, the new Prince’s great-grandfather. That one- that photograph- would be on the front page of every newspaper in Gondor the next day. ‘WAR OVER’ in every headline. They had a copy framed in the records room.

Frodo and Sam in the rather lavish tent set aside for the hobbits. Both looked terrible, but they smiled. Frodo held a piece of paper in his hands, and his eyes... They were the eyes in the portrait, and not the eyes that had looked at a fallen camera before the doors of Moria. It didn’t need saying what he was thinking of.

Six was of Merry, in a white marble room on a bed, with a tube taped to his arm that ran off the side of his bed. The Blue Star medal was pinned to his shirt. He held up a fistful of weeds, and knocked ashes from his pipe into a bowl.

This one was of Éowyn. And Faramir. The wind blew their hair in front of their faces... The next was also of Éowyn and Faramir, only now they’d seen their audience.

The crowning of Elessar. An angle that never made the papers.

Dawn from the prow of the White City.

The White Tree- or, no, the sapling that would become the White Tree- and standing next to it a man in a black uniform. Faramir stood next to him, looking as if he had pulled him into the photograph just in time. Both were trying not to laugh.

Twelve was hard to determine the location of. The shot was composed through a few sets of legs and over one hobbit shoulder. Just visible were the smiling faces of King Elessar and Queen Arwen, clad in white, looking at nothing but each other.

The Thain and the Master pointing just above the camera, mouths open as if giving directions. They sat, surrounded by Men in grey uniforms with leather scabbards- empty- canvas packs, and more pockets than should be possible in that amount of fabric. Grins were wide and hands full with tankards.

Great-grandpa Sam sat on the back of a large horse, arms wrapped around the waist of Legolas (of the Woodland Realm). The Elf laughed.

Frodo and Bilbo. They sat on a bench, outdoors, in a white pavilion of Elven-make. Old Bilbo’s hair was white as snow. Frodo’s smile looked just a little brighter.

A boat. An Elf with a beard and a fine telescope under one arm. Gandalf, looking as he had in the big portrait. Lady Galadriel, her husband Lord Celeborn, and Lord Elrond. Old Bilbo. Frodo. Frodo.

Poppy remembered the words from the Thain’s letter: He’s sailed to where no secrets can bother him again. 

She set the stack of photographs down. The office was quiet, save the gentle patter of rain and the tick of Dad’s mantle clock.

Dad took off his spectacles and ran a hand through his hair. He reached over to the machine and hit the big button. They had been sitting in silence a long while. He looked very tired, but it was very late or very early in the morning, and Poppy was tired too. He looked out his office window at the rain, then to the scribbles all over his desk, then to Poppy. To her eyes, he looked how she felt: exhausted, bewildered, and deep down quite amazed.

“Sweetheart, this is your discovery.” He gestured to the keepsakes and the photos, even to the last ones now in her hands. “We shall have to tell someone, but I should like for you to decide who and how first.” Reaching over, he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “You’ve been very brave. You’ve... had a terrible burden on your mind, and made the very kind decision-”

“Foolish decision, Dad.”

“No, no, I mean it. Very kind decision to try and spare your sister and brother and Haesel. We’ll tell them too of course, but not everything just yet.” He made sure she met his eyes. “For a little while longer, you carry the weight of some very big and troubling knowledge. Before we try in vain to return to our slumber, what must be done?”

Poppy paused. She thought about it. She thought about the portrait, what had happened to all assembled, and what this might mean for her- for the whole world. The whole world.

“We’ve got to tell the King first, I think” She pointed to the big photograph. “He was there. How much he knows isn’t clear, but I know he did help Frodo and Sam and Merry in the Houses of Healing. He has to know something. Maybe not the whole thing, but enough.”

Dad nodded. “Very well, my darling.” He stood from his chair and stretched. “I wouldn’t do this for anything but an earth-shattering emergency, but I think this qualifies.” He walked over to a side cabinet, opened a drawer, and pulled out yet another black... something... to set upon the desk⁴⁴. It had a white face like a clock, only it was full of holes and not the right amount of numbers. Dad ducked behind the dresser with a wire. Poppy followed the end back to the desk and to a hole in the machine.

“This, my dear,” he began, “is a very bothersome piece of toolwork. I never leave it attached unless I absolutely must. It may drive the Mayor to distraction and the Master to madness, but it won’t get me.” He detached the top third with ease, letting a curly wire dangle down to the body of the toolwork box. He held the top to his ear, and if Poppy listened close, she could hear a faint humming. Dad saw her looking and grinned. “Won’t be a moment, Pop.”

Dad stuck a finger into one of the white face’s holes and turned, causing the whole front to spin and make an odd whirring as it slid back into place. After a long moment, he spoke.

“Operator? Yes, good evening. Good morning, rather, apologies. This is the Warden of the Westmarch, and I would like to place a call to Annúminas 1401.” There was a long pause, and Poppy heard another kind of buzzing. “Yes, I’m aware that is the emergency line. If you’ll just take a second look at my own line number, I believe I qualify.”

Here there was a much longer pause, and Dad briefly held the top away from his face. “I’m getting a message to the King” he said.

Once again there was buzzing and--! Poppy realized it was a voice. She’d only ever heard of... She wasn’t aware there was a Speakingstone in her own home!

“Yes. I would like to speak to-- Yes. Annúminas 1401. Yes. Yes this is Shire 02. I am aware.” Dad was becoming quite frustrated with whoever he was speaking to. “Shire. Zero-two. I am sure. There are only three, you know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “May I speak to your records-keeper, or whomever the most senior overnight guard is? Yes, I’ll hold.”

He held the top of the Speakingstone briefly to his chest and rolled his eyes for Poppy’s benefit. They sat in silence for a rather long time until someone else came to the other end, and Dad had to recite his numbers all over again. It was getting tiresome for him and her both, and she couldn’t even hear half the conversation.

“I asked for 1401 because I am certain-- Yes. The Hall of Records? Tomorrow? Why--!” He cupped his hand over the part he’d spoken into, took a deep breath, and exhaled. “The gall of some folk!”

When he spoke again, his tone was cool, but his eyes held a fire the likes of which Poppy had never seen in a hobbit.

“This is the Warden of the Westmarch.” He paused, and the voice on the other end seemed somewhat hesitant to her ears. “This is Elfstan-” Dad began again, much colder, “-son of Elanor, daughter of Samwise. I hold by order of Faramir Took, Thain of the Shire, the position of Warden of these lands so entrusted to me, to keep and defend the Westmarch as long as my line should hold and the King should so please.”

He took a breath. This was not the demeanor of her ordinary Dad, the one who was always straightening paisley waistcoats and fussing with napkins. He was the Warden of the Westmarch, and he carried her mission through this minefield of red-tape and fussy clerks. “Now. I know what an hour it is and I would not have you up out of your bed without due cause. I would also not have the King out of his bed by command of a mere Warden, so I will leave the execution of my orders until the morning.

“But-” now he glanced at Poppy, and his glare melted, “-I am going to hand the receiver to someone of equal import with vital details to be passed along to His Majesty. And you-” he finished, “-are going to need a pen.”

Chapter Text

The Greenholm Invitational and Tweens’ Tournament had been canceled, due to excessive rain. Highday’s broadcast came in the morning- before Second Breakfast- and Poppy added it to her bleary mix of joys and sorrows.

Mum and Dad had ‘found out about the fort’. The truth would out, if slowly, and for now they’d decided to break it to the others in stages. At Breakfast, they said Poppy had been caught red-handed with materials from the records room- which had a good degree of truth- and while she had not given up her co-conspirators, the truth had been easy to guess. No blame was laid at her door, though a stern talking-to was had for all of them.

But it was Highday, and their punishment would be an easy one to bear. Mum ‘confiscated’ the chest and all its mathoms (to peruse for herself, in the sanctity of Dad’s office, so she might be caught up on all that had really transpired) while the culprits were sentenced to Cleaning the Smial and no hope of parole.

Dad became their prison warden, cheerily handing down tasks and making sure they were properly carried out. Darwise was sentenced to polishing the silver first. He was wild and impressionable, but also young and small. The tedium of the task was the real punishment, and it was safe enough to carry out while Dad watched. He moved on to dusting (assisted, and with a handkerchief mask), towel-folding, candle-scraping, baseboard-washing, forced naptime, bathtub-scrubbing, and pantry organization.

While Haesel was not their child and punishments were traditionally left to the parents only, she was a co-conspirator to the end. She had looked very glum and uncharacteristically sullen, but she’d stated flat that she’d suffer whatever the others had to and wouldn’t complain (in earshot). Dad had taken that- and the fact that Auntie Firiel would not let this sort of tweenly mischief slide- into account in his judgment. Haesel also didn’t live at Undertowers and as such couldn’t know how the house was normally arranged. She was sentenced to washing all the dishes and doing all the laundry. Should the sun come out, she was to hang the drying on the line outside and otherwise use the indoor line and folding racks which would require adult assistance in setting out.

Poppy saw her father wink at her before making a show of putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. His disappointment was much on display, but there was no sting in it. She was to haul, scrape, and clean every rug and mat in the house for starters. The half-porch where they kept outdoor tools and excess firewood would do for the beating part and the mudroom for the drying. After that, she needed to polish mirrors and windows, pull down and put up the curtains (which Haesel had to wash), change all the bedding, and get down Mum’s Winterfilth and Blotmath decorations from the attic. She took her sentencing bravely.

Cynthie’s had been a little different. Dad quite correctly identified her as the instigator in the entire affair. He couldn’t be entirely cross with her either, not for her curiosity and not for her aid in uncovering the truth. But, he knew if she wanted to take responsibility, she would have to take it. And learn what that meant.

Cynthie was sentenced to reviewing, counting, cataloging, and listing every scrap of food in the smial as well as noting what was absent, factoring out how long the existing stock would last, consulting the almanac for ideal times to purchase, and planning said purchase down to the day and the cent for it all. Only once did Poppy hear a wet sniffle from the dining room table. Just after, Cynthie could be heard cursing the variable weather in springtime, so it was not true despair.

Dad puttered around doing anything else that needed doing, except when he monitored Dar’s naptime. The snoring was likely for effect.

Time was served and time passed in Undertowers. Mum and Dad held (understandably) secret conferences between themselves, and with Wilhelm once he was back in. Haesel had not gone home to Greenholm, but had been given strict instructions by Newpost to ‘stay exactly where she was [STOP]’ and ‘by no means to get into any more mischief [FINAL STOP]!’

The sun came out again. Auntie Firiel was there by Monday, and Cousin Artamir along with her. Artie looked very much like Haesel- round, spectacled, and observant- but he was taller than her and Poppy. She’d remembered him being withdrawn, but he was positively vibrating with bottled excitement.

“Bill wanted to join us,” Auntie Firiel said when she kissed Dad on the cheek, “but he slipped off a ledge while we were in Michel Delving and broke his foot. His sister- you remember Rosemary?- is helping out until he can move around again.”

That was sad news to be sure, but it explained nothing. And nothing was explained! Auntie Firiel and Artie had bags of their own, and Poppy saw Mum and Dad fiddling around with luggage themselves. What was going on?

Come Trewsday, there was the strangest contraption on the road, and none of the adults seemed surprised in the least to see it. Poppy, Cynthie, Haesel, and Dar had their noses pressed against the front-most window of the house to observe until Mum pulled them away. It had no horse, but the right number of wheels. It had windows of its own, but wasn’t at all large enough to be any kind of house. There was a box in the front like a guard-post, and out of that stepped one of the strangest hobbits Poppy had ever seen.

She wore something like Stoorboots, first of all, but her whole manner of dress looked more like the Thain’s in the photograph than anything else. Her uniform was blue, trimmed with silver, with epaulets and silver buttons. She wore a pair of thick goggles with a head-strap that she let dangle around her neck as she approached. The floppy cloth hat with a single blue pom seemed most out of place. As she neared the door, the four of them scrambled from the window to try and get a glimpse of her on the doorstep.

There was a polite ring, and Dad answered the door. He’d stood ready for it, but waited an appropriate amount of time, as to not spring it open on her.

The hobbit took off her cap, revealing very curly but neat hair. “Master Warden,” she dipped her head in a bow, “Ranger Eirien⁴⁵, Station Dwaling: Evendim--” She stopped suddenly, looking rather warm. “Pardon me! I’m so accustomed to giving reports in the Man-fashion. Where are my manners?” Ranger Eirien straightened up and tried again.

“Good morning, Master Warden, sir. I’m Ranger Eirien Primstone of Greenfields. I hope I’ve come at a convenient time?”

Dad actually laughed but gave a very civil reply. “Good morning, Ranger! We’ve been expecting you, of course! Won’t you come in for some tea? My family has a few more preparations before we get on our way.”

Eirien nodded and stepped through the threshold. She did remove boots and socks as was polite before following Dad into the tea room. Four smaller sets of eyes watched her go from the cover of the sofa in the sitting room.

But they weren’t long in the dark. Mum made sure they were presentable, then presented them to their guest along with Auntie Firiel and Artie. Ranger Eirien, they soon found out, had come with a mission.

“She’s to escort us to Bar Calenglad⁴⁶, where we are to meet with an envoy of the King and proceed to Annúminas at His Majesty’s request.”

For the first time in her life, Poppy fainted.

The odd contraption outside was, apparently, ‘The Thain’s Buggy’. “Though,” Ranger Eirien explained, “He keeps it in the King’s Garage. Says there’s positively no room for it in Tuckborough and he never has much need for it. He’s right, of course, but it’s funny how far he’d have to send for it if he ever did!”

The Thain’s Buggy was, they were informed, a Durin Alpine⁴⁷. This was a special type of Buggy, and a gift from the Lord of Ered Luin to the Thain. The Thain had sent back very fine cheeses and wines, Dad informed them, but had been quite confused overall. Whatever it was, Poppy gathered it worked much like the great planes of Rohan. Except on the ground. So, maybe not that much like one at all.

Ranger Eirien did not take the Great East Road, but a ‘more direct’ route to Evendim. Poppy had absolutely no clue where they were, but during her turn at the window seat, she did see enough to recognize they’d passed through the North Moors and gone around the northernmost bounds of the Shire.

It took them all day to get to Oatbarton-on-the Bounds, and Ranger Eirien had arranged a stay at the local Inn. Breakfast was toast and jam (‘straight from Northcotton Farms’ so they were told), and everyone bundled back into the Buggy for the last leg.

Every building in Bar Calenglad was taller than any other building she had ever seen, and not just because they were Man-sized. Poppy stood with her entire family in the courtyard of a truly impressive stone building with spires capped in green marble. The banner of Elendil flew alongside the King’s Banner above tremendous doorways. Horses and larger buggies of different makes roamed the street behind them. Big-folk of the Dúnedain passed by on their errands, some dressed like Eirien but most not wearing a uniform of any kind.

The Fairbairn-Whitfoot traveling party huddled together like a flock of ducklings missing their mother. Luckily, another Ranger- and this one a Man⁴⁸!- approached them with purpose. Ranger Eirien cut off his path and whispered something to him before taking her leave. Poppy imagined she had to get the Thain’s Buggy out of the street.

The Man-Ranger continued up to them with a smile on his face. He bowed as Eirien had, and introduced himself in a calm but slightly stilted manner.

“Hello ah...” He looked down as if trying to remember and when his face cleared, he continued. “Well-met, Master Warden of the Westmarch and family. I am Ranger Radorion, and... I’m from Dolindir to the east. I’m here to provide your escort to the King’s City and attend to your needs.”

Dad took the reins. “Well-met, Ranger Radorion. I’m Warden Elfstan, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed as well and gestured to the flock. “It would also be my pleasure to make introductions, unless we are expected anywhere in a hurry...?”

Radorion looked relieved. “As a matter of fact we are, sir, but it would be an honor to make your acquaintances better once we’re underway.”

Ranger Radorion led them at a rather long-legged pace to the other side of the courtyard. There was another, larger buggy, and a Ranger dressed like Eirien standing beside it. He saluted Radorion and opened the door for him, reaching inside after he did so to extract a set of wooden steps. The family climbed these into the buggy, which looked as if it could seat eight men on the wall benches, and was more than enough room for the lot of them. Radorion followed behind them after sorting the luggage, took his seat, and knocked twice on the wall between them and the other Ranger. Poppy held the bottom of the bench as the buggy lurched to a start.

They were on their way to Annúminas! Beyond the bounds of the Shire and headed to the King’s City! Granny Elanor had served there as the Queen’s handmaid for a time, but as far as she knew no one else in the immediate line had ever ventured north of Greenfields.

Radorion explained what they could expect, though much of it went over Poppy’s head. Dad and Mum and Auntie and Artie nodded like they understood perfectly, and she resolved never to be out of sight of them.

Every chance she got, she watched out the window. When Darwise took a little nap, she peered out and up to the hills so far above them, and swore that those were more spires and not just trees upon the crest. They had to exit the buggy at King’s Crossing⁴⁹ and Radorion informed them that horses were the highest power of transportation allowed in the King’s City. An open carriage was next for them.

Of course, this meant that the ride there was a treat. Nenuial sparkled like a glass chandelier, and stretched nearly further than the eye could see. The water was a rich, deep blue, and floated an armada of ships in every shape and size. White sails flapped like napkins on a drying line and skirted green islands with ease. Pillars of white and green marble towered above some of these, and Poppy realized they must be lighthouses. She hoped sincerely she’d get to see them at night.

Radorion attended best to their need for information, pointing out Men Erain- the Way of Kings and the road into Annúminas- as well as the Tombs of the Kings on either side. Haudh Elendil was the largest, of course, and had its own bridge to where it sat upon the lake.

The carriage took them through the East Gate of Annúminas, up the white marble streets of a city crowded with life and around in a loop until they reached the white bridge they had previously passed under. Radorion gave whatever sign was needed for their entry, and they passed the gate onto the lantern-lined bridge. Nothing grew upon it except vines, but upon reaching the other side, Poppy found herself unable to count the trees. Ost Elendil- the palace on the highest point of the city- was surrounded on all sides by green. Trees, bushes, flowers- it could have been a garden rather than a ruling seat.

Their carriage stopped underneath a great archway. Radorion got out first to open the door and set the steps, but footmen in white and turquoise appeared to help him. Their uniforms were much simpler, but with gold buttons instead of silver, and a silver star upon each of their caps instead of a badge. These men and women took their luggage and informed Radorion in low tones where they were expected to go. The Ranger adjusted his uniform and gestured for them to follow.

“The King understands it’s been a long day of travel and has prepared... Afternoon Tea for you, I believe.”

The picnic lunch Mum had the foresight to pack had been adequate, but they were all hungry and eager to follow the Ranger to food. Radorion led them again through the halls of Ost Elendil and Poppy wondered if every new place they found would be more magnificent than the last.

Every hall in the palace was set with tall, bright windows that bounced off the white floors and gold frames, flooding every step in light. Even the ceilings boasted stained glass, with pictures of stars and moons, waves and boats. Gold fixtures and purple carpets accompanied them wherever they went. And even in here- Poppy noticed- the garden ruled. Potted plants of great variety dotted the halls and guarded the doorways. Wisteria from Umbar, delicate ferns, and flowers of every arrangement filled the air with a scent of life.

One such plant-adorned doorway held a small dining hall. A low table stretched down the middle, draped in a teal tablecloth and piled high with food! Poppy had to stop herself from racing forward as Darwise was tempted to do, lest she too be stopped and scooped up by her mother. Radorion instructed them to make themselves comfortable, and to direct any questions to him. He even tried to go so far as to stand by the table until Dad bullied him to a place setting.

From there, the hobbits made themselves at home. Poppy sat between Mum and Dad, dutifully passing bowls as she was bid and confining herself to one request for more tea. Her fingers tingled with excitement and nerves as she thought about eating at the King’s table, sampling the King’s scones, drinking the King’s tea, and asking the King’s Ranger if the warming stone was safe to touch or if it was much too hot. It was much too hot, and she decided not to test the temperature of anything she couldn’t identify.

Cynthie sampled every possible combination of jam, marmalade, dip, and spread. Darwise was content to stick to cheese and finger sandwiches, while Haesel seemed to come to the conclusion that the only thing worth splurging on was cake. Possibly pudding. Poppy couldn’t quite see her plate all the way down by Auntie, but Artie had handed her a tray of something frosted.

Radorion was initially not going to eat, but every hobbit present chimed in to say it would be a shame for him not to, and Dad even followed up with something about “cultural sensitivities” and “keen advantages of diplomatic obligation” which was a little over her head. Radorion ate, and they inwardly cheered.

A little over an hour in, a woman in a white uniform knocked upon the door. Radorion got up, spoke with her a moment, and then returned to the table.

“The King requests your presence and the presence of your family, Master Warden, but on the condition that you are all finished with your Tea.” He paused. “There will, of course, be additional refreshments in the royal drawing room.”

It was an agreeable demand. Mum fussed with every last one of them- including Dad, whose waistcoat had gone askew again- while Auntie Firiel powdered her nose and left the straightening to Haesel. Artie looked as if he might break out into a sweat, and Poppy remembered at that moment that he’d hoped to be a Bounder, or a Shire Ranger one day. How he must be feeling!

With the family largely presentable, Dad did stop Radorion with a question. “The chest I spoke to you about? Has it been delivered?”

Radorion nodded. “The King’s footman took it personally. I believe His Majesty wanted to review the contents for himself before he spoke with you.”

Dad nodded back, just once. “I understand. Thank you. We are ready. Come along then, my brave hobbits! The King is waiting.”

Poppy’s heart pounded. The hallways- though many of them were ones they had already come through- seemed to grow infinitely in front of her. She nearly tripped on one of the carpets in her nervousness. Dad stopped alongside her and offered out his arm, the one he hadn’t already given Mum.

“Chin up, my dear.” He whispered. “You’ve got nothing to fear.”

They walked- the three of them- arm in arm, while Cynthie and Dar followed suit behind them. Auntie Firiel held steady after, and Haesel and Artie practically clung to each other in the rear. Finally, an enormous pair of white doors decked in painted vines of gold and orange stood before them. Radorion knocked on the door.

“Enter!”

The voice was strong and clear, even through the wood and walls. It was a summons, and a command. The Ranger opened the door, ducked inside, and held it for them as he announced:

“The Warden of the Westmarch: Elfstan son of Elanor, daughter of Samwise, and his family.”

Poppy had to blink a little as her eyes adjusted. The room was bright, lit both by a crystal chandelier and streaming light from tall windows. Shimmering curtains of pale yellow framed these, and made them seem to glow with extra vibrancy. The floors, unlike most of the rest of the palace, were hard wood, light and carpeted by an area rug of emerald teal. Several chairs and a sofa of soft white velvet made a ring around an unlit marble fireplace, upon whose mantle sat two statues of horses, a few portraits, and a clock wreathed in wooden swans.

Beyond that, nearly every wall in the room held a bookshelf. Some reached nearly to the ceiling, and others were of an ordinary bigness (that is, Man-sized). Each held every color and size of leather-bound tomes, bookends of gold, marble, wood, and many kinds of rock and gem Poppy had no hope of naming. Above the fireplace hung a painting nearly as tall as Radorion, depicting-- Poppy recognized the waterfall from Boromir’s postcard! It was surely the valley of Imladris.

What she had not recognized right away over the splendor of the room was the figure of a Man. He stood to one side of the fireplace with his hands behind his back, just like in the portrait. His clothes had changed of course. Now he wore a suit of deep blue with a matching waistcoat. He had a tie that was mostly hidden by a white capelet draped over one shoulder and pinned with an ornament of silver, possibly the same one she’d seen before. He wasn’t wearing the Crown of Eärnur like she half-expected, but a simple gold circlet. And other than the increased grey in his hair, he looked exactly the same.

Dad bowed, and the rest of them followed suit. Poppy wished she’d had more notice to practice her curtsy, but she had no reason to worry. They’d barely begun to dip when the King spoke.

“Peace, my friends, and well met. We need not stand on much ceremony here.” He smiled as he spoke, and his eyes sparkled as they studied the assembled hobbits. “As once your forebear Samwise did, I hope we may speak as companions in our mission. I am indeed the King, but you may all call me Elessar.”

Briefly he turned to Radorion and inclined his head. “You may stay, or attend to other business if you wish.”

“I have none, Your Majesty.” He said simply. “I will stay and continue my duty.”

That grew the smile on the King’s face. “As you wish.” He turned back to his guests and gestured to the seats around the fireplace. “Please, sit. I am having tea brought in. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Dad took this as his cue. “You are very gracious, Your Majesty.” He made another, less grand bow and started to bring everyone forward. “We thank you for your hospitality and provision in our travels here.”

The King actually chuckled. “I should have expected fair words and manners from your house, Master Warden.” He eyed the rest of them again. “The Queen will be joining us soon, but I don’t believe we will require any extra chairs.”

It was true. Dad directed Cynthie, Dar, Haesel, and Auntie Firiel to sit on the sofa, while he showed Poppy and Mum to the bench arrangement just next to it. Artamir took a footstool on the opposite end of the sofa, but near enough to where he could squeeze Haesel’s hand. The pair of them paled like a judge at the Sackville-Baggins’ family Bakeoff.

The King took the chair across from them, and Poppy could see his reflection in the polished wooden table between them. She also spotted the chest. It sat in the middle of the table looking as neat and tidy as it had in the elf fort. Before she had a chance to wonder what the King had already seen, a door opposite where they had come in opened, and the most beautiful woman in the whole world stepped inside.

Queen Arwen was nothing like her photograph- that was to say, no photograph could capture the ethereal presence that glided into the room with a tray of tea. Her hair was long, dark, and embroidered in streaks of silver. She had pulled it back in an elaborate braid, and wore a delicate silver circlet atop it. Her dress was lavender like the predawn, with delicate bishop sleeves and hems of embroidered pearls.

Everyone began to stand when she entered, but she too waved them to sit. “Please, do not get up on my account, for I have come late and after everyone has been made comfortable.” She set the tea tray on the table near the chest and stopped by the King’s chair. He took her hand, kissed it, and then watched her as she sat in the chair beside him.

“Aldith was going to bring the tea, but I was already on my way here.” Her eyes shone as she studied them, and Poppy could swear the Queen could see right through her face into her mind.

“I also brought this.” She took a small bottle from the tea tray and set it next to the chest. It stood empty, and the label was facing so that Poppy couldn’t read it. “Lady Elanor entrusted it to our care, and the last of my grandmother’s gift was most generously donated to our gardens.”

Her grandmother being Galadriel. Poppy supposed that only followed. Anything Lady Galadriel had sent would surely produce those kinds of results. How could they not?

The King shared her knowing smile and, still holding her hand, gestured to the hobbit assembly. “My beloved, may I present the Warden of the Westmarch and his family.”

Dad went ahead and bowed, as did the rest of them even though they were all seated. Poppy saw something like laughter in the Queen’s eyes, but it was nothing like unkind.

“I am Elfstan, son of Lady Elanor, Your Majesty.” Dad said. “She spoke often and joyfully of her time here.”

Now the Queen’s smile was broad and delighted. “I am glad to hear it, Master Warden. I have many of her letters and cherish them still.” She turned to Poppy, and the rest of the introductions got underway. Only Darwise and Artamir stumbled over theirs, but none of the children could manage such a clear and strong voice as Dad had. Not in the presence of Royalty.

But, as Poppy feared, that would have to change. Both sets of royal eyes found her and when the King spoke to her directly, the tingling in her fingertips started again.

“Miss Poppy,” he began, “I understand we have you to thank for-” here he paused to open the chest, and withdrew the timeline she and Dad had revised that long night, “-this account of the Fellowship of the Ring?”

She swallowed hard. She nodded. At Dad’s gentle nudge, she spoke: “Yes sir. Your- Mister Elessar.” At the last moment, she remembered his direction- had it been a command?- and used the name he requested. Apparently it was the right move, for his wrinkles expanded happily- just like Granddad’s.

“And your research-” he turned to Cynthie, Dar, and Haesel, “-was assisted by your young kin?”

“Yes, Mr. Elessar” the three of them chorused after Poppy’s example. It was all any of them could manage just yet.

He hummed lightly and began unpacking the chest. Each piece and parcel was reverently laid out- from the medals to the portraits, the postcards, the folder, the scraps of ticket stubs that just wouldn’t stay tidy, the camera, and the envelopes of film and developed pictures. These last the King tapped against the table gently.

“I understand you took this task upon yourself, Miss Poppy?” She remembered all too well the sneaking and the lies, and felt her face heat up.

“I did... sir. I... I needed to see them. To know what had happened.” She tried not to wriggle in her seat as he picked up what could only be the Thain’s letter. The one that called her a Tookish-Gamgee and had started this whole affair. He read it once in silence, then looked up.

“Have you discovered the truth?”

Poppy blinked. Was this a test? Her eyes darted over the scattered keepsakes and then found the King again. She took a deep breath.

“I believe I have, Mr. Elessar. I have found... found sufficient evidence to prove that the Thain- that is, that Peregrin Took, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Samwise Gamgee, and Frodo Baggins did not take the southern road with the Grey Company and into Gondor, but went much earlier by way of Rivendell, through... through Moria, to Lothlorien, and then a variety of ways to... other destinations in part of a Company of their own. The Fellowship of the Ring.”

She took another steadying breath and clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. Dad’s hand was braced on one shoulder, and Mum rubbed unobtrusive circles on her back.

But the King didn’t have a comment. He nodded and looked on as if telling her to continue. Poppy wasn’t entirely sure what more she needed to say, but she hadn’t broken every rule- her parents’ and her own- to let the Thain down now.

“Peregrin Took went to Gondor via Rohan, but I know not how, exactly. I believe Gandalf- that is, the Wizard Mithrandir- was involved. Master Meriadoc went to Rohan as well, and went with the muster of the Rohirrim, but if he flew or rode I do not know.” She licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry. “Mayor Samwise and Frodo Baggins scouted Mordor, up to Minas Morgul and... and further in.”

Now she was acutely aware of everyone’s attention. Suddenly quite afraid, Poppy wasn’t sure if she could continue. This was the part she liked least of all, and the one that scared her the most.

“Go on, Miss Poppy.” This time Queen Arwen encouraged her, and to her great surprise, she could feel the courage well up again as fast as it had gone.

“They went to Mordor. I believe to the very fires of Mount Doom- Orodruin, I mean. I... I believe Frodo had..” she faltered, but pressed through, “-had possession of the One Ring. The one from the nursery rhyme. I believe it was real, and he was sent to destroy it somehow. And it was.” Here she locked eyes with the King, unable but compelled to voice the exact truth. “It was destroyed.”

King Elessar breathed a heavy sigh, but it sounded to her ears more like relief than anything else. Queen Arwen covered his hand in hers. So he did know. Poppy felt sure now that it had been a test, and she had passed. She had found the truth, just like the Thain wanted.

“Then, you know what very few on these shores now do.” The King sounded older then, more his age than his deep and sturdy voice had implied. “Yes, that was the Fellowship’s objective. It was carried out in secret at first for necessity, and then remained a secret at the behest of the Ringbearer.”

Poppy nodded. That much she did know, from Frodo’s letter and the Thain’s. But what that meant for her, now, she did not know.

The King reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a few cards. They were small in his hand, but when he reached across the table, Poppy found them to be about the size of playing cards. She took them, and after receiving a nod of permission, studied them closely.

At the top of each card- white with a blue border- the acronym ‘OSS’⁵⁰ was emblazoned. Below that was a photograph, and this top one she knew at once. It was Great-grandpa Sam, wearing a crisp suit and looking so nearly like all of his portraits as Mayor. Under his picture was identification information.

Name: Samwise Gamgee
Race: Hobbit of the Shire
Height: 4’2”
Codename: Gardener
Class: Fellowship; Elf-friend; Ringbearer - Secondary

That last line stopped her cold. She looked back up at the King.

“Great-grandpa was a Ringbearer too?”

King Elessar smiled. “Indeed. For only a short time, but in that time he performed more in the service of the world than anyone could have asked of him.” He continued as Poppy scanned the details of the others before passing them to her Mum, “Those are their identification cards, issued on behalf of the White Council- at the Last Council- in Rivendell.”

The words buzzed in her mind. ‘Codename: Underhill’, ‘Codename: The Fool’, ‘Class: Fellowship; Knight of Rohan; Ent-friend’...⁵¹ It was more information than she could track, and now she understood. The King knew everything. All of it. And all at once, she realized he could answer her questions. He held the missing pieces to the puzzle.

“We knew, of course, that whatever the hobbits of the Fellowship chose to reveal was their business and at their discretion. It was decided at Cormallen that what was not known by all would remain unknown, at least for a time. The Ring was every bit as perilous- and more- than any story would have you believe.” He closed his eyes for a moment and fixed his smile upon reopening them. “Frodo’s service- and that of the others- can never be repaid. It was the very least we could do to respect his wishes in this. But-” he picked up the Thain’s letter, “-I see he also allowed provision for the truth to come to light?”

“Yes sir.” Poppy pointed to the chest. “It was hidden in the Elven fort above Undertowers. I came across it when-” she blushed, and looked at Mum, “-I really shouldn’t have been in there.”

King Elessar’s eyebrows rose. “The most Tookish Gamgee indeed, going places you’re forbidden and uncovering secrets that may have stayed hidden for an Age.” The cards came back to Poppy and she handed them back to him. He tucked them into the near-empty box of film canisters. “This day was foretold, and not just by the hobbits who prepared the way for it. No, I believe the author of this prophecy had another, more poetic word: ‘One day, when the tides of war wane and the peace is not so fragile, then the praises of those gathered here will be sung, and their noble deeds known to all in this joyous dawn’⁵⁴.”

He shook his head. “That’s Elf-lords for you. Saying much and yet not the part you most wish to hear.” Queen Arwen cleared her throat, possibly in reproach but much more likely to hide laughter.

“While you are here in Annúminas,” he addressed all of them, “you will have use of anything you should need, and an escort to anywhere in the City it is safe to venture, or proper to access.” He gave them a wry smile. “My personal chambers and the city cisterns are two such places I fear your guides will not allow you to go.”

With a glance at Radorion, he carried on. “I should like to discuss the full extent of these discoveries with you, each of you.” He gave the co-conspirators a meaningful look. “Some of these secrets have already been put to paper, but the full account is yet unwritten. I believe it already falls upon the purview of your House to keep the Red Book, so I hope this order will not come as an imposition.”

He straightened up in his chair. “House of Gamgee and Gardner, Fairbairn and all family within the line: I charge you with the recording of the true story of the Fellowship of the Ring, and pledge to provide all you need to see this task done.”

“We accept,” Dad said in proper turn. He cleared his throat lightly and the rest repeated after him. It felt far more formal, far weightier and profound than even meeting the King had been. She had been given a Royal Decree. And here she thought she’d be spending this week upholding her Granddad’s legacy on the golf course!

King Elessar clapped his hands once and settled back in his chair. “Very well. You may make use of any archive, and Ranger Radorion will attend to you, as well as some others I will introduce later. Additionally, my son Prince Eldarion and my eldest daughter Princess Celebriel will be arriving in the City sometime soon, and I should like you all to join us for... Supper, I believe it will be- this evening.”

“We would be most honored to accept.” Dad knew the proper turn of phrase for everything, and Poppy supposed that came with being the Warden.

“Excellent!” King Elessar made as if to rise, but sat back. He tilted his head to one side, considered, then looked at Poppy. “Miss Poppy, you have done a tremendous amount of discovery and made many accurate guesses with little information. Before Radorion shows you to your rooms, is there any information I can provide you, or any question I can answer right now?”

Poppy snapped back to attention. There was so much she didn’t know! The reason the Master and the Thain came to Rohan, for one. Who the Gollum creature was, and how he was also Sméagol. Why Gandalf had returned as the White.

But there was a glaring question that he could answer now. It ought to have a simple answer.

“Yes sir.” She said. “As far as I have found, the Fellowship consisted of the Master, the Thain, Great-grandpa Sam, Frodo Baggins, the Wizard Gandalf, Captain Boromir, Lord Gimli, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm was there as well.” Poppy thought back to the letters. “But I discovered that The Fellowship numbered ten in all.”

The King’s eyebrows slowly rose, lowered, and rose again as she spoke. Poppy thought she’d best ask the question before it became an affair for another time.

“Who were Strider and Estel, and what became of them at the end of the War? Did... did they survive?” She had not realized how concerned she had become on that point, with so little evidence of the pair. They hadn’t even appeared in photographs, and only had a passing mention everywhere else. Even Legolas eclipsed them in the record.

To her great surprise, Elessar’s face softened in recognition. His expression took on a pleased, relieved air, and she thought she saw... Surely that was no twinkle of mischief in the King’s eye.

“That,” he answered, holding down what might’ve been a laugh, “is a question I am uniquely qualified to answer.”

Chapter Text

The Thain’s Book

Here ends the account of Poppy Fairbairn, Record-finder, daughter of Elfstan, Warden of Westmarch, and of the line of Samwise Gardener (also Gamgee) once-Ringbearer and member of the Fellowship of the Ring.

Adjacent accounts by Hyacinth Fairbairn, Haesel Whitfoot, and Darwise Fairbairn- as well as annotated notes by Warden Elfstan Fairbairn an Astera Fairbairn- have been compiled to complete The Thain’s Book: The Discovery of the One Ring and its Travels, Its Destruction, and the Documentation of Events Surrounding the Fellowship of the Ring and Their Lines.

Completed and assembled Fo.A. 98, Minas Tirith. Citation documented by Halthiriel, Apprentice Scribe of the Black Halls, House of Lore.