Chapter Text
"I can't thank you enough for seeing me, my good sirs," our visitor murmured, standing before the study fire and still dripping water onto the hearth. " 'Tis an evil night out, this night, and not one I'd ever be out in, if there were any choice in the matter."
"We don't mind in the least, do we, Gamgee?" Frodo immediately assured him, with great courtesy. "But, my good hobbit, do take a cup of tea, or something stronger, if you care for it. The chill can bite into your very bones, this night."
"Indeed, Mr. Baggins, you speak the truth," the visitor gave a weak laugh, and tried his utmost to conceal his shivering.
My healer's instincts were, however, aroused, and I couldn't let the fellow catch his death of a chill in our very smial, so I snatched up a thick blanket from the settle, threw it around him despite his wet attire, and very nearly forced him into the comfortable chair in the corner. "Just you stay put," I used my most commanding tone, as he tried to excuse himself and stand up again. "Whatever your business may be will have to wait, for I've no mind to have any guest catching a fever right in front of my very eyes. Stay right where you are, and I shall have Mrs. Rumble fetch you some tea, with something stronger in it, and a basin of warm water in which to soak your feet. You've no business at all, I must say, gallivanting about on a night like this as lightly dressed as you are. And I'll hear no more about the matter."
"You'd best do as he says," Baggins chuckled, taking a deep draught on his pipe. "It's the healer in him, you know. You may tell us both of the entire affair once he has you squared away, but not until then."
It wasn't long before the good widow had provided our visitor with a hot pot of tea, with a neat dollop of brandy added, as well as a plate of buttered toast and a pot of honey. His feet were in a basin of warm water which went a long way to easing my concern about his being so thoroughly soaked to the skin on such a cold night as this. Both of us declined to hear a single word he had to say until he had finished at least one cup of tea, and a piece of toast, but Baggins was putting the interim to good use.
"You've come a very long way," he murmured at last, when our visitor's shivering seemed to be easing, "even as far as, I'd venture to guess, Brandywine Bridge. And you've come in the greatest of haste, even on such a foul day as this one has been."
Our visitor very nearly dropped his cup on the floor in his consternation. "Bless me, Mr. Baggins!" he exclaimed, his weathered face all astonishment. "However did you know that?"
Baggins chuckled, and pointed with his pipe stem to the front of his jacket, that was visible under the blanket. "You mis-buttoned your weskit, and as you appear to be in trade, that would indicate anxiety, since you would be quite used to wearing one. In addition, you did not consult the weather before setting out, another indication of haste, since the jacket is far too light for a long journey at autumn's end. As for the location, the type of trousers that you are wearing are often seen in towns along the river, since they can easily be rolled up and fastened to keep them out of the water. But I noticed that, when we shook hands, you did not have the sort of calluses that are indicative of the life of a river-hobbit, once again indicating a trade occupation. So I hazarded a guess as to the nearest location with a good deal of river traffic, and that would be the Brandywine Bridge."
"Indeed," the gnarled hobbit breathed, still awestruck, "you are every bit as good as he said. Jem Reedborn, that is."
"Ah, so Reedborn recommended the both of us?" Baggins gave a pleased nod in my direction. "For you realize, of course, that we always work together. Good heavens, it's been quite nearly a year since that affair with Nethercleft. Well, do go on, my dear hobbit. If Reedborn has thought fit to send you, this must be a matter of some interest."
"You might put it in that manner," replied our visitor, somewhat dryly. "Anyway, my name is Nick Greenshanks, and I'm Jem's cousin. I have a trading company in Bridgeton, on the bank of the Brandywine near the Bridge, and do a good deal of trade with Bree. As I'm quite sure you know, Bridgeton is the last village in the Shire, before you set off on the Great Eastern Road, and so I've always had a good number of customers from Bree who order what can't be had except from here. Mostly it's hobbits, but some of the men from Bree have a taste for our pipeweed, and that sort of thing as well."
"Now, about half a year or so ago, I started getting requests for a type of plant, a weed, really, that is common in the hills of East Farthing. Kingsfoil, we call it, but those who wanted it had another name, which I disremember. It seemed like an odd request, sure enough, but there ain't no accounting for the tastes of some folk, as I learned long ago, and it was an easy enough matter to send a lad up in the hills to pick a bushel or two of the stuff. I was packing it up and sending it with the usual shipments to Bree, when there started to be trouble."
"My hobbits, who've worked for me for years, told me that on the last two shipments, they were set about by bandits, with their faces well-hidden. But it seems as though they wanted naught but this weed. They let them have it, gladly, thinking it of little worth and relieved to get off so easily. But the next day, come daylight, they passed the remains of a bonfire, to the side of the road, and saw as it was the kingsfoil, and it had been set afire. Why the thieves were bent on destroying it, I've no idea, but after it happened twice, I told my customers in Bree that they'd have to come and fetch it themselves, as I'd no mind to be dealing with these scoundrels any longer. But that would hardly be the sort of matter with which to concern you, Mr. Baggins. And you likewise, Mr. Gamgee," he added politely, with only the briefest of pauses. We both inclined our heads courteously, and waited for more.
"Well, seems as though the customer for this item was most persistent, and offered a good deal for at least one more shipment. In addition, he agreed to provide a guard for this trip, so I saw no harm in accepting the transaction. I wish I never had." The last statement was made with a bitterness that quite startled me, but I saw by Baggins' expression that he was expecting something of that sort.
"Do go on, Mr. Greenshanks, you are quite intriguing me," he murmured, steepling his hands before his face as was his wont when he was keenly interested in a matter.
Our visitor took a quick draught of his tea, seemingly to collect his thoughts, and then continued. "Two hobbits arrived from Bree, as per our arrangements, and they were a sturdy and grim pair, no mistake. I saw they were even armed with long knives. Some one was taking no chances this time. I sent two of my stoutest lads along with them, and had no fear for their safety. It appears I was quite wrong to feel that way." He halted his recitation for a moment and gave a convulsive gulp. "After only two days out, one of my lads made his way back to Bridgeton, but exactly what happened, he could not say. His wits were quite gone, and his mutterings and scattered words made no sense. I took several of my hobbits and my cousin, Jem, out to find out what I could, and discovered what was left of the ponies, not far from the Road. The shipment of kingsfoil was, as before, burnt a little ways off. There was no sign of the hobbits from Bree, and my other lad was gone as well without a trace. There was, however, another body there beside those of the ponies."
There was unmistakable fear in his eyes as he looked up at Baggins and continued. "It was a man, and no ordinary one. He was a Ranger."
It was a brutally cold morning as we left Bag End. The rain had ceased, but the sky was white, and there was the promise of snow before long. There was but the two of us, as we had left Greenshanks behind. His chill had led into a coughing complaint, as I had feared it would, and he was in no condition to travel. We had left him in the care of Mrs. Rumble, who was more than happy to have a patient over whom to fuss. Both Baggins and I severely disappointed her along that line, since we were both abnormally healthy, so I was delighted to leave her with a hobbit who would need all her attention.
It was not long out of Hobbiton when the snow began. Great swirling flakes they were, at first, starting to stick on the bushes and tree to the sides of the road, and attaching themselves to one's face and lashes. Partially to distract myself from the annoyance of brushing them out of my eyes, partially from the desire to forget quite how frigid my toes were becoming, and partially as well from pure curiosity, I turned to Baggins as we walked close together, hand tightly clasped in hand, and asked, "Tell me, Frodo, what do you know of these Rangers?"
"More rumor and conjecture than facts, I'm afraid," he gave his characteristic short bark of a laugh, "and really not that much of either. The facts are that they are undeniably men, they live to the north of the Shire, and they keep to themselves. Would you have the rumors as well?"
"Indeed," I chuckled. "I know you scorn them, my dear, but I have always felt that hidden in any rumor is generally the kernel of a fact."
"Very well put, Gamgee," he murmured, and I felt the glow of satisfaction from the unexpected compliment. "The rumors are generally centered about their purported descent from the Kings of Westernesse, from days of old," he continued. "They are also said to act as guardians by some, and predators by others."
"Guardians? Of whom?" I asked, perplexed by that notion.
"The Shire, for the most part, but the other lands of the west as well."
"I suppose they are doing a decent job of it, then," I couldn't help but chuckle. "All of the trouble we've run into during the last few years has come up from the south or possibly the east. Of course, I'd no idea that anyone lived to the north of the Shire other than the odd wolf or two."
"Either you are quite right about our lack of neighbors," Baggins responded seriously, "or they have indeed been performing that task well. But the death of one of them, very nearly on the doorstep of the Shire, has me suspecting that the latter has been the case, and there is much more to this, now, than that of which we are aware. However, it is idle to speculate without sufficient facts, so we must wait to see what may be discovered in Bridgeton. I am especially interested in Reedborn's report of what he saw, since I have a great appreciation for his eye for detail. Be that as it may, I am beginning to suspect we will not be hearing it tonight, for the snow is coming down rather more heavily than I had anticipated."
My thoughts had been wandering in places far away so it was with a bit of a start that I looked about us, and discovered that he was quite right. The brown and green at the side of the road had been transformed to nearly entirely white, and the drifting snow was beginning to mound up in the road as well. "There's no inn near the road in this vicinity," I murmured in dismay, "and the idea of camping out for the night is not particularly appealing to me, I must admit."
"I entirely agree, my dear Sam, but I'm afraid we're in for it." was his wry reply, and we tramped through the drifts for a mile more in silence.
Then I noticed a clearing in the trees to the side of us, and suddenly realized exactly where we were. "Well, if I'm not the greatest of ninnyhammers as ever was!" I exclaimed happily, stopping in my tracks. "Of course, things always look different in the snow, but down that path lies Farmer Braeburne's smial, and we very nearly passed it by!"
"Farmer Braeburne?" Baggins gave me a quizzical glance as he tried to stamp some of the snow from his feet.
"Certainly," I assured him cheerfully. "Had a fauntling that had a touch of the ague last spring. A genial sort, and we undoubtedly could find some hospitality with him in such a wretched bit of weather as this has turned out to be."
"Excellent, Gamgee. You have persuaded me completely," Baggins cheerfully replied as he blew on his fingers to warm them up a bit. "Lead on, my good fellow, and I shall be the most pleasant guest imaginable for the chance to stand before a rousing fire and sip a cup of something hot."
I was gratified to find that Farmer Braeburne, after only a moment's puzzlement over the two well-dressed hobbits knocking on his door in such inclement weather, recognized me right off, and opened the door wide with a warm greeting. "Mr. Gamgee, do come in! Bless me, but it ain't a fit day to be on the road! You must have urgent business indeed to be out and on your way."
"Indeed we do," I assured him, as he pumped my hand most heartily in greeting, "but we are not as far along as we had hoped to be."
"Well, then, you must stay the night, and I'll hear no more on the matter!" he grinned widely, and gave Baggins a curious glance.
"My pardon," I hastened to introduce my companion. "Frodo Baggins, of Bag End."
"Pleased to meet you, good sir, and any friend of Mr. Gamgee is more than welcome in our smial. Mother!" he called out lustily, after having shaken Baggins' hand as well, "here are two fine travelers come to call!"
Mrs. Braeburne appeared promptly at her husband's call, wiping her hands on her apron, and closely shadowed by a small fauntling. "Oh, 'tis good to be seein' you, Mr. Gamgee, though unexpected on a day such as this, I must say! No matter, you and your friend are most welcome!"
"The chicken, I should think, Mother?" the farmer quietly mentioned, as the fauntling transferred her shelter to her father, peeking out at us from behind him.
"Oh, aye, and just enough time to fry it," she beamed. "I'll be gettin' the kettle on, Father, and you be takin' the gentlehobbits wet clothes, now, or they'll think we have no manners at all!"
Recognizing the young lass I had seen to, several months ago, I bent down to greet her as the farmer took Baggins' wet cape from him. "Hello, Cherry, m'dearie, do you remember me then?"
She nodded hesitantly, her dark curls bobbing about her small face, and her expressive dark eyes fixed on me. Then she gave me a wide smile, immediately resembling her father. "Aye, you'd be the one as gave me the honey drops!" she exclaimed gaily. "Would you be havin' any more then?"
"Cherry!" exclaimed her father, fondly wrapping an arm about her shoulder. "Don't be botherin' the gentlehobbits so!"
I took off my cloak as well, but as her father turned to hang them before the fire, I gave Cherry a conspiratorial wink. "I'll have a look, m'dear, in my pack later tonight, and see if one or two haven't found their way into the bottom o'it," I whispered to her. She gave a pleased giggle and returned my wink, but as I straightened up, I caught Baggins, out of the corner of my eye, looking at me with an odd expression on his sharp features.
There was no time to consider that, though, for Farmer Braeburne was urging us into two comfortable chairs before a hearty fire, and handing us rugs to wrap about our chilled feet, and his wife was bustling into the room with a tray loaded with a steaming teapot and a plate piled high with buttered toast and a small round pot of jam and a good round cheese at the side. "Help yourselves, my good sirs, and I'll have this dinner out in no time," she assured us with a smile, and gave her young daughter a significant look. "Come along, now, Cherry, m'pretty, we've much to be doin'."
Farmer Braeburne settled comfortably back in his chair and brought out his pipe, as did the both of us, and conversation settled on genial generalities for a time. But at last his natural inquisitiveness got the better of him, and he could not help asking about the purpose of our trip on such an unlikely day.
I set back, and allowed Baggins to take the lead on this matter, curious as to how much he wished to reveal. But apparently, Baggins had been sizing out the farmer as a source of information, since he replied, "We are on a matter of business, I don't mind telling you, having to do with some peculiar events that have happened recently in Bridgeton, in regards to the trade from Bree. May I ask, Farmer Braeburne, if you have ever had cause to do business in that particular direction?"
To my surprise, the farmer slowly nodded. " 'Tis true, I used to, indeed. When I was a tween, I used to give my uncle a hand, from time to time, on his farm t'the east. He had a good size apple orchard, and had a fair amount of trade with Bridgeton and Bree, likewise. I alus had a hankerin' to go with him on his trips to Bree, for, as you may remember, in those old days, many a hobbit used to go on their travels now and again, even outside of the Shire. Now, not that many as ever went as far as Bree ever came back, and not that all they said was believed: news from Bree, and not sure as Shiretalk, as the sayings go. But my uncle was one as did come back, and he told me many a wonderous tale of the shops of men, that seemed to reach to the sky, that I was burning to go, likewise. He finally let me come along, once, and it was a treat indeed, to see such a curious place."
"So when I had my own crops t'sell, I thought at once of Bree, but the road had become more treacherous in the meanwhile, and I had enough business with Bridgeton, that I thought no more of it. Word out of Bridgeton these days is that it don't do to go that way, a'tall, and that's a fair shame. I've no idea how those hobbits, out that way, are gettin' by anyhow."
"You are right as to the road becoming more dangerous," responded Baggins somberly, "as it is a case of murder that we are investigating. Tell me, Mr. Braeburne, what type of crops do you raise?"
""Mostly just enough for ourselves, but we've a rather nice apple orchard, and a row or two of pear and plum trees, likewise. We've just finished setting out the last bushel or two of apple to dry in the loft, and just in time, from the look o'it out of doors."
"Have you ever had any request for kingfoil?" Baggins asked abruptly, watching the farmer carefully.
"What, the weed?" Braeburne asked with a bit of bewilderment. "No, but there's a bit of it in the rocky hills just north of the farm. I could look about, if you like, when the snow clears out. Is it good for a healing brew or sommat? Can't be sayin' I ever heard of such a thing."
"We are not in the market for it, but I was curious if anyone else had asked. And I might warn you that if anyone who is unfamiliar to you asks such a question, it would be best, for the time being, to not allow as to any knowledge where it might be found. For reasons I have yet to determine, it seems to be at the heart of this dangerous business."
Farmer Braeburne had no chance to ask any more, since at that moment, his good wife entered with the welcome news that dinner was ready. We, and I might add that included even Baggins, stuffed ourselves with the delicious fried chicken, mashed taters, honey-glazed carrots and parsnips, fresh bread and a marvelous spiced apple tart with fresh cream for afters, and the topic of kingsfoil, as well as our errand, seemed to be forgotten. I did, however, catch Framer Braeburne giving Baggins many a thoughtful glance over the course of the evening.
The Braeburne smial was very old and had been, as was common in these rocky hills, built partially against rather than inside the hillside. The large comfortable kitchen, in which we ate our marvelous meal, occupied the lower floor, along with storerooms and a pantry, and overhead was the loft, with wide slats for flooring, slightly separated, to allow the air to circulate and the apples to dry properly. The Braeburnes had, of course, offered us the use of their bedroom, a proposition which Baggins and I would not for a moment consider, but the loft, where the occasional itinerant worker stayed during harvest season, was the alternative. What with the kitchen directly below, it was comfortably warm and, as we found when we climbed up the ladder fixed to the side of the kitchen wall, more than suited to our needs. A large straw mattress, well-covered with clean sheets and a stack of blankets, was tucked against the far wall, and the rows of apples, neatly laid out in tidy lines, were still fresh enough to give off a delectable aroma. In comparison to the alternative of trying to sleep huddled against a tree in the blowing snowstorm which could still be heard raging out of doors, there simply was no contest. We gave heartfelt thanks to our hosts, and soon found ourselves cozily curled together as the sound of tidying up below gradually gave away to a peaceful silence.
"You have a way with fauntlings, my dearest Gamgee," Baggins murmured at last, his back against my chest. "It must be your kindly heart." I was not surprised by his comment, since I had had a notion as to what that glance prior to dinner had meant. But this matter had been discussed before and the conclusion, at least in my mind, was firm and not in the least regretful.
"An asset in my profession," I commented lightly, tucking my arm snugly about his chest.
"Rather more of a natural talent, I should think," was the carefully neutral reply. "Ever thought you'd be considering a life without any about the place?"
"Well," I could not help but chuckle, "my medical expertise tells me that we are, between the two of us, highly unlikely to produce any of our own. But what of you, Frodo? Had you ever considered the possibility?"
He rolled onto his back and stared up at me, in the ruddy glow of the dying fire from below. "Never. I always considered myself very much like Bilbo in that regard."
"And yet he had you," I couldn't help but mention, affectionately tucking a stray dark curl behind his ear with a smile. "One never really knows, does one."
His mouth quirked up at the corner, with that expression that always made my heart race just a little faster. "How very true, my love. You have me, indeed, my dearest Sam, at your advantage."
"I certainly hope so," I breathed, bending over and kissing him slowly and thoroughly. The light from below was soon gone, but I never needed it at all, for there was no form I knew better in all the world than the delectable one that was under me, no mouth I knew better than the one that sought out my own, and no heart that ever beat as true as the one that beat next to mine.
We left the next morning, shortly after second breakfast, but not without Farmer Braeburne pulling us aside in confidence. "Any little thing as I can do, to help the pair of you gentlehobbits out, you just give me the word," he declared emphatically, a sturdy hand on my shoulder. "I'd never be forgettin' what you did, Mr. Gamgee, t'help out our Cherry, and I don't mind admitting that she's all the world t'the goodwife and me. We ain't likely t'be havin' another, not at our age."
"She's a lovely little lass," I responded sincerely, "and I'm that happy to have been a help last year." And indeed she was, poking her head out from the kitchen with a shy smile. I had made certain, early that morning, to find a handful of honey drops in my pack to carefully place next to her plate at the breakfast table.
Baggins said nothing, but gave the farmer a searching look. I suspected he had plans, but knew that at this early stage, there was no point in asking. However, we were shortly underway, on the Great Eastern Road again, and to our great relief, the snow was lighter this morning. We made good time, sticking to the center of the road where the drifts were the least substantial, and were into Bridgeton by early afternoon.
Greenshanks had given excellent directions, and it wasn't long before we found Reedborn's smial, tucked away on the far side of Bridgeton, near the river. Despite the fact that it was afternoon, there was a light on inside the round window, and very glad I was of it, for it had started to snow heavily once again. We rapped on the door, and stood stamping our feet impatiently, but the door was opened by an unexpected party, Bobbin, or Willum Briarfoot, as it were.
"Bobbin!" I exclaimed in delight, impulsively embracing the tween. "I never would have thought to find you here!"
"No doubt," came the laconic drawl behind him, and Jem Reedborn appeared behind him, pipe firmly clenched in his mouth and a broad smile on his face. "But I expected to see my cousin, with the pair of you, as well. What became of him?"
"Caught a bit of a chill, and we left him behind with the good Widow. No hobbit in all the Shire could possibly be more pampered than he is, at this moment," I replied with a grin. "But however did Bobbin end up here with you?"
"We'll tell you all, never fear," Bobbin exclaimed with a laugh, "but there's no point in standing in the doorway in the snow, is there?"
"An eminently sensible lad," Reedborn solemnly responded, with a wink. "Come in, my friends, come in."
It was not long before we were seated comfortably about a snug fire, with a mug of brown ale each, and a tasty homely loaf and an excellent round cheese as well, to take the corners off. Both Baggins and I had found our pipes, at Reedborn's invitation, and the room was quickly filled with that homely aroma. Bobbin sat cross-legged on the hearth rug, for it was a small smial, and there was barely room for the three chairs that the rest of us occupied, and surveyed us with a wide grin. I made a mental note that he was no longer the scrawny lad who I had found hiding behind the counter of his cousin's inn the previous year, but he was now growing nicely and much browner.
"Life on the river agrees with you, Bobbin," Baggins murmured at my side, uncannily mirroring my own thoughts. "I suppose being innkeeper did not suit."
"A good guess," chuckled Reedborn, "although I suppose it was never a guess, coming from you. Yes, Bobbin's cousin died not long after that business we were mixed up in last year, and the next time I went down river, there was young master Bobbin, trying to keep the whole thing going on his own."
"And making the sorriest mess of it as ever was," Bobbin laughed, unselfconsciously. "So when Jem offered to teach me the trade of a river hobbit, I packed the whole thing in and left town as quick as ever."
"I still remember how deftly you handled our little boat." I took a sip of my ale, and curled my warming toes happily. "I would have suspected you to have a natural inclination for that sort of occupation even then."
"Indeed. But as to the purpose of our visit," Baggins abruptly mentioned, his attention now shifting to the more important question at hand. "Your cousin told me some particulars, but I would appreciate hearing your version of these odd occurrences."
"More than odd, I'd say," Reedborn gave a troubled glance into his mug. " 'Tis a darker matter than that business of Nethercleft's, and that's sayin' a good deal. I'd not be knowin' as much about the particulars as my cousin, but seemingly there's been a good deal of trade in that weed some call kingsfoil, in recent years, with some folks in Bree. Whether the customers there are hobbit or human, I can't rightly say. And there also seems to be a good deal of trouble for such a worthless thing. Not so worthless to some, I'm guessing, though I can't imagine why."
"But the last shipment was when matters came to a head indeed. When Nick's hobbit, Wen, came back with his wits gone and only a wild senseless tale, Nick took me and a couple other of his hobbits out to see what was going on. It was about a day's ride from the Shire, on the Great Eastern Road, when we found what had been left of their encampment. The ponies' bodies were still there and untouched. I could not tell what had killed them, since there was no sign of wounds or a struggle, but their eyes were staring wide open as if they'd seen something fearful. We buried them, and went on a little further. It was then we discovered what had been left of a bonfire, and it must have been the kingsfoil as was burned, for there was no bit of charred wood left, as with a regular campfire. And next to it was the body of a man."
Reedborn fell silent then, until Baggins gently urged him on. "Your cousin mentioned that it was the body of a Ranger," he prompted him quietly. "What made you think that?"
"Nick knew him," Reedborn replied quietly. "It was a chap he'd met in Bree, once upon a time, as went by the name of Greyhelm, on account of his hair. Quiet sort, but if there was a bit of trouble, as was occasionally the case with so many different types living in close quarters, why, he'd show up, and things would inevitably sort themselves out. My trips to Bree were not as many as were cousin Nick's, so I never met him, but I've always shared in Nick's good opinion of Rangers, no matter what others as don't know no better might have to say."
There was a moment's silence then, and the occasional pop and sizzle of sap in the firewood was the only sound to be heard. "Well, then," Baggins finally stated what was, to me, the obvious. "I believe that the answers we seek are to be found, at this time, in Bree."
Reedborn nodded slowly, as if he had also reached the same conclusion. "It's not going to be an easy trip, this time of year," he gave a final puff on his pipe before started to tamp it out, "but I'll see to the particulars. Of course, I'll be going along. This matter concerns my cousin and me, and I mean to see it through."
"And don't you be forgettin' me!" exclaimed Bobbin, his young face flush with excitement. "After all, I was a help the last time, wasn't I, Mister Baggins?"
"Indeed you were," Baggins gave him a slow smile, "but I'll leave that matter up to Mr. Reedborn."
"As if it would be possible to leave him behind," Reedborn muttered, with a wry grin, reaching over to tousle Bobbin's hair. "Very well, I suppose it's the four of us then. Well, I'll be off then, to arrange for ponies and supplies. Bobbin can entertain the both of you while he prepares dinner. Not the sausage, though, lad, let's keep that for the trip."
The tween nodded cheerfully. "Toad in hole," he suggested happily. "Eggs don't pack well, nohow."
"Such a practical lad," Reedborn agreed with a grin and was soon off.
He returned by nightfall, two ponies in tow, and a large pack of supplies. "More for the supplies than us, but we can alternate if we like," he explained as we sat down to the kitchen table and tucked into the delicious dinner. "I have not mentioned the presence of you two gentlehobbits, but have given out that Bobbin and I are making our way to Hobbiton, to see to my cousin, who unfortunately took ill on a trip there. Thought it'd be best that way."
"An excellent idea," Baggins confirmed, with an approving smile. "Fortunately, if it continues to snow on the morrow, as I suspect it might, there will be no tracks to prove otherwise."
We left the subject of our investigation, at that point, and the rest of the evening was spent on companionable conversation. Baggins and I bedded down, in thick blankets, before the common room fire, and were quickly asleep, connected only by our clasped hands and unfailing sense of each other's presence.
The morning was frigid and white with pending snow, but we were gone before second breakfast, on the road to Bree.