"Alright?" I breathed a sigh of relief as Frodo answered, "Of course I�m alright! Why wouldn�t I be alright? I�ve never felt better in my life! But did you see that?"
"See what?" The beams of Bag End seemed quite sturdy and I was glad that the hobbit hole would not collapse about me, "That explosion . . . what was it?" As the dust settled, I was able to see both Frodo and Sam standing directly opposite of me, with little worried expressions on their faces. Personally, I was quite nervous as well, "Something quite large . . . you don�t suppose a dragon or something?"
"Well, I�m afraid that�s the closest to a dragon you�ll ever see in Hobbiton," Frodo pressed his face up against a window, and turned back with a sigh and a rather perplexed look, "Courtesy of a Took and a Brandybuck, of course."
"A which and a what?" I sputtered, confused, "There are dragons in Hobbiton?!"
"There haven�t been dragons around here for a thousand years," Sam grinned, "According to Mister Bilbo, that is."
"And it was a Took and a Brandybuck," Frodo almost shuttered, "I had hoped your introduction would have gone much more smoothly, but still," He heaved another sigh and began heading out of Bag End, "I suppose you�d best meet them now."
"They�re dragons?" I tried, still confused, "I thought Sam just said that there weren�t any dragons around here!" Still, meeting a dragon could prove to be a very interesting experience!
"No, not dragons," Pushing the round green door open, Frodo and Sam scurried through, but I almost forgot that the door was low. Luckily, I didn�t. The slight chill of the night air caused me to shutter, but the light sounds of rather rustic music reached my ears, and that chill instantly vanished. Frodo continued, "They�re our friends. Hobbits."
Seemingly knowing where he was going, Sam led the way down to the brightly colored tents, and the hub of all excitement a little ways down the field. A well-lit birthday cake fitted with eleventy-one candles was visible from here, the little flames flickering in the wind. Even after Rivendell, I had to admit that I was pleasantly surprised by the length of the many rough wooden tables, worn smooth with time and love which threatened to buckle underneath their overlay of mouth-watering assortments of food.
"Now where are they . . . ?" Frodo had stopped on the outskirts of the crowd of curly-haired hobbits, standing on tip-toes, and I found that I stood quite a bit higher than any of them. It would be impossible for them to lose me, and that, for some reason, was a comforting thought. "Hmm . . . that�s funny . . . I always thought that they would be in the middle of all this . . . But then again, after that firecracker . . ."
"What firecracker?" I asked, glancing up at the sky for some sign, but only stars twinkled back down at me, "I don�t see anything!"
"Ah then, you have missed all the excitement!" An older and rather hairy-footed tubby hobbit with his feet on the table and a pipe in his mouth gave me a large wink, "You don�t seem to be from around here."
"I�m not from here." I steeled myself slightly, "I�m from . . ." I faltered, until I finally settled upon Rivendell. "Yes, that�s it. I�m from Rivendell." I gave a huge sigh, and extended my hand in greeting, "I�m Emily."
"Ooch," The hobbit grinned, showing crooked teeth, "Rivendell," Suddenly, he grew a little suspicious, "That�s over the Brandywine, isn�t it?"
"The River?" I asked, "Oh yes, it is further than the Brandywine. Much further."
"Then you must be with the wizard." I limply withdrew my hand as the hobbit stared at it as though I were about to slap him silly. He glared at me, "I thought as much."
"Um," Growing uncomfortable, I looked around, but didn�t see Frodo nor Sam, "Did you see the two hobbits I was with? Which way they might have went? Little . . . curly hair . . . about this high . . ." I motioned with my hand.
"We all are like that." The hobbit grunted, "And if you don�t like it, stay home."
"I meant no offence," I blubbered, a little baffled, but how else would you describe a hobbit? "I can�t help but be from where I am from!"
"Em!" I turned at the sound of my name, and was greatly relieved to find that I was facing Frodo and Sam once again. But I was not only facing them, for with my two little hobbit friends were two others, both looking as though they were chimney-sweeps by profession, as they were covered in a head to toe covering of rather black sooty stuff. Frodo scowled at the tubby hobbit now behind me, "Don�t mind him, he�s just an old Proudfoot."
"A Proudfoot?" I asked, a little haltingly, but decided to ignore the fact as Frodo parted the crowd and we all followed, "What is a Proudfoot?"
"It�s a family of hobbits," One of the chimney-sweep hobbits offered, "Their feet hair curl funny."
"Feet hair?" I repeated, and suddenly, the dark heavens above burst into a purple light with a terrific bang. For a brief second, I stared at the falling, glittering stars, wondering if this was some sign, but at the same moment, realized how stupid I was. Fireworks. Hadn�t I arrived with a darn cart full of them? It wasn�t a dragon half stomping out Bag End! Arg . . . I groaned at my own stupidity and wondered if anyone else had noticed.
"Yes, feet hair." Sam led us over to a rather long table oddly unoccupied by any other hobbits, and I supposed that he and Frodo had already staked it as their own. I slid into a seat next to Frodo and politely declined any offers of what seemed to be ale.
The pair of chimney-sweep hobbits quickly downed half a pint and turned to Frodo, "It�s a mighty good thing you got us out of there! Imagine having to do pots and pans after this bunch of folks!" He laughed, and elbowed his counterpart, "Especially on a night like this!"
"You�re on kitchen duty?" I asked, a little surprised, "Couldn�t that wait until morning?"
"It�s their own fault, Em, so don�t waste any pity on them." Frodo muttered, but seemed to be amused, "Sneaking off with fireworks . . ."
"Hey, with fire, they do work!" The one who downed his half pint in a go answered again, but fixed his attentions onto me, "Aren�t you a little tall for a hobbit?"
"Oh, I�m not a hobbit." I answered, and thought it would be rather obvious.
"Ah, that would explain it." He offered me his hand, which I took, although he scrubbed it a little on the tablecloth first (I pretended not to notice), "I�m a Took, that is, Peregrine, although I suppose you could call me Pippin along with everyone else." Pippin nudged the other soot covered hobbit next to him, "And this is a Brandybuck. Merry." I hurriedly introduced myself and picked a little at a slab of what seemed to be some type of meat, not feeling hungry at all.
"You said you were from Rivendell?" Pippin was asking, "That would fool that old Took, but not me. Where are you really from?"
"Rivendell." I insisted, flushing, "Really, I am."
"Right. And I�m from Mordor." The hobbit rolled his eyes, but then smiled, "Fine. Keep your secrets."
"It�s not a secret," I must have looked confused, "I really am from Rivendell."
"You couldn�t be from Rivendell." Frodo tried, "That would be impossible."
"But it is possible!" I was beginning to get frustrated, "That�s where I�m from!"
"Alright, that�s fine." Merry soothed quickly, "You�re from Rivendell. We�re from the Shire."
"Sam?" I tried changing the topic, "You�re awfully quiet." The hobbit was not paying any attention to any of us but rather had his eye fixed on something of more importance. In the sky, brilliantly colored fireworks exploded with a sudden regularity, although like a hobbit party, no words could do their splendor justice. A pretty hobbit-maid was showing off her steps a little distance off, and Frodo noticed the little sparkle in Sam�s eye and grinned.
"Ah, Sam�s had his eye on Rosie for a bit . . ." Frodo laughed, and elbowed his friend, "Right?"
"Eh?" Sam blinked quickly, and turned back to us, quite obviously oblivious to our conversation, "Eh?"
"Oh, Sam!" Frodo sighed, "Why don�t you go over and ask Rosie for a dance?"
"Or maybe two." Pippin offered, "Or even three!"
"Um . . ." Sam blinked rapidly again, this time, he looked a little green, nervously casting his eyes down onto the table, "Rosie? I don�t think so." I remained silent as the hobbits urged Sam to reconsider, and finally, with a literal shove from Frodo, they managed to get him where he really belonged. Frodo murmured a bit of something, and turned his attentions away from Sam.
"Something is going to happen." Frodo shuttered slightly, and I stared at him almost blankly, "I know it is. Something unexpected. That will change the course of our lives forever."
"Ah, I have found you at last!" With an exasperated sigh, the thong of hobbits parted for Father as he waved to catch my attention, "I have to talk to you." It could have been a light sentence, or a simple statement. But the tone with which it was conveyed brought a slight chill to my very bones, and from the look on Frodo�s face, I supposed that he had caught it as well.
"Is something troubling you?" I stood, and Father turned, motioning for me to follow him. "Well . . ." I turned back to the hobbits, "I suppose I�ll be back in a quick second." Something told me that my courtesy statement was far from the truth, but both Pippin and Merry missed that, nodding cheerfully.
Oblivious to anything but the party about them, I made my way through the crowd of hobbits to a small clearing beside one of the larger flapping tents at the edge of the party where Father waited, having found the time to settle on a large keg of ale and had just lit his pipe. I looked around and quickly confirmed that there was no one listening to us, although I couldn�t imagine that the issue would have been confidential. Father was silent. He always was silent and wore the look before breaking any bad news. Would I have to go back to Rivendell and miss out on a trip to Minas Tirith again?!
"I want you to leave. Now." His first words were soft, although they hit me as though a sledge hammer. Bingo. "For Rivendell."
"Rivendell! If you�d pardon my boldness, but why?" I voiced, and he simply smiled, as though it were very amusing, "And now? Why not tomorrow? In the morning, perhaps?"
"That would be too late." Father sighed, "I know this is a nasty shock, but I have a hunch."
"I�m leaving because you have a hunch?" I blinked quickly, "On what?"
"Never mind." He quickly replied, but looked around cautiously, "Normally I wouldn�t want you on the roads alone, but you do have an elven steed and I�m sure she�ll look after you."
"I can look after myself." I answered a little rebelliously, and he looked all the more amused, "Really. Honestly. I can."
"Um." Father lifted an eyebrow, "I hope you won�t have to prove yourself right." Almost as though he conjured it out of thin air, he held out an envelope of parchment to me, "I need you to stop in Bree for me."
"Ooh. That rhymes." I replied, almost stupidly, "Bree and me."
"Yes, I see." He continued, "It is nothing that concerns you. A bit of a back up plan, if you must. Just give it to the innkeeper under the sign of the Prancing Pony. Butterbur."
"Isn�t that the place with all the rats?" I groaned, "Oh no!"
"You don�t have to stay there, just give him the letter and get out of there, if you�d must." Father sounded impatient, "Alright?"
"Would it be meddling in the affairs of wizards if I asked where you might be heading?" I asked, "And why couldn�t we have dropped this off on the way here?! This is so . . ." I hesitated slightly, "Confusing."
"Wouldn�t it be a very drab world if everything turned out as expected?" He grinned, but then grew serious, "I�ll make your excuses with the Bagginses, and I�d suggest that after that quick stop over in Bree, that you would make straight for Rivendell." Father drew in a long breath, "I have seen to it that everything is ready." I took the letter from him, and he finished, "You should be in no danger."
"Oh." I stared stupidly, "Danger?"
"Never mind." Father hesitated slightly, "You�d best be off."
"What is this all about?" I tried for the last time, "You will come to Rivendell afterwards, right?"
"Rivendell." He laughed lightly, "A great evil to be concealed by the power of the elves."
"This isn�t as simple as it seems, now is it?" My last question went unanswered as he stood and motioned towards Bag End with his pipe, "Yes, yes, yes, I understand."
Almost reluctantly, I didn�t hurry on my way back to the Bagginses residence, but instead, turned the sealed letter over and over in my hands and it wasn�t until I was on the dirt road, the hobbit music barely audible behind me did it ever occur to me to look at whom it was addressed to. In the limited light, I could just make out the elegant script bearing a single name. Frodo Baggins. I frowned. Maybe it was just a trick of the light. Or maybe a reused envelope. Or perhaps Father had finally lost all his marbles. But this letter would do no good in Bree as Frodo Baggins would never pick it up. Why would the hobbit leave the Shire anyway? Can always stay here and be happy, not to be shuttled to and fro Rivendell as though a parcel. Lucky him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Maybe it was all a mistake. It had to be. Maybe Father carried more than one letter and just grabbed the wrong one. It could happen. Maybe there was one addressed to Butterbur, perhaps a reservation of some sort. Yes, that would explain it. I would check with him before I left. That would be my best action plan. No fire had been lit in the hearth of my guest room in Bag End (which was quite hard to find), but that did not matter, as I was leaving anyway and the bright sliver of moon in the sky provided more than enough light for me to gather my few things. I had not the time to unpack anything anyway. Arg. Back on the road again. There should be a song for that.
I hoped that Bilbo and Frodo wouldn�t mind if I left my large Rivendell trunk here, after all I couldn�t very possibly take it with me, and they didn�t have any use for it. It was slightly pretty, the raised repetitive patterns of sheltering oaks, but you could hardly use it for a coffee table. It would have made an interesting effect, though. Rustic decorating. An ewer of warm water and its accompanying basin sat upon the chest of drawers and I took the opportunity to freshen up slightly, fixing my hair and changing into fresh things. I grinned as I realized that I was trying to wash away the sudden fatigue and the prospect of spending another week in saddle. If I kept this up, I�d end up looking like Aragorn. Arg.
Father�s idea of preparation was a nice little picnic lunch tied up in a blue checkered cloth sitting nicely on the mantelpiece. Winter-wrinkled apples, a block of cheese and some bread seemed to be my destined diet and I wrinkled my nose in distaste. At least there wasn�t any of that crumbly cram. Not another week of three food groups. What about fresh meat? Why didn�t anyone believe in the Middle Earth Food Guide? I supposed that I could get it myself if I was that desperate for some . . . I wouldn�t say that I was particularly well equipped for any situation that would require the preparation of small game as the elven blade that hung from my waist sheathed in a silver and leather creation of a scabbard and was a bit longer than a long elven knife, but shorter than a sword. Light and delicate, it didn�t seem a weapon, but more or less a decorative trinket easily wielded, albeit a potentially deadly one. Maybe my knife for those rats could have sufficed, but then again, I didn�t openly carry it when I was on the road and frankly, it was for rats. It would only be for rats. And I hoped I would never have to use it.
With a small bundle and quiver slung over my back and bow in hand, I turned and surveyed the room for one last time, as though I was sure I was forgetting something. Perhaps I was. Maybe a nice note . . . ? But then again, how to explain? Father wants me in Rivendell. He doesn�t think the Shire is safe. Too many rats in agricultural societies. Arg. No. There was nothing here. Just a short run to Bree, and on to Rivendell. Ah, my drab and unexciting life. And what was Father saying about how I would be able to explore Middle Earth? As if. Bree. Wow.
The small door pushed open quite easily and I made my way to the main entrance, following my footprints in the fallen dust from before. The dust wasn�t that thick and the little hobbit prints and my own larger steps would have been quite hard to follow, especially in the dark, perhaps not so for an elf or a Ranger. But then again, they weren�t impossible for me to decipher either. Strange. Luckily, I remembered to duck as I made my way through Bag End, as I didn�t think a bright bang on the head would have been beneficial to my long term health.
"I suppose you think that was terribly clever, don�t you?" Yes, ducking my head is terribly clever. Instead of the silence I had expected in the hobbit hole, Father�s voice rang loudly and I stumbled, looking around for him. Wizards had the nasty habit of popping up everywhere, but then I realized that he wasn�t talking to me, nor anywhere near me. An answering voice came from the larger main rooms near the front, and I made my way there, eager to do a final letter confirmation and be on my way.
"There are many magic rings and none of them should be used lightly." A crackle of flames in the fireplace could now be heard, along with footfalls upon wood. There was an answer and I thought that I could place the voice as Bilbo. But shouldn�t he be at his party? A sudden feeling crept into my mind of forgetfulness. Now what I had forgotten this time? Aside from being constantly late, seemed to have inclinations of being forgetful as well. Darn nab it. That letter. Where was I going without it?
Why am I such an idiot? I moaned softly and quickly made my way back to my room, snatched the letter from the mantelpiece and hurried back to the front of Bag End and found that I had taken much longer than I thought I had. A loud slamming of the front door met me as I finally walked into the large foyer where Frodo was standing, mouth agape, staring at the now closed door. The chandelier upon the roof was shaking slightly from the impact of the closed door.
"What happened?" I asked, looking around, and the hobbit gave a startle jump, "Where�s Father?�
"I wouldn�t say I would know." Frodo answered, still staring at the door, and I noticed that in his hands was another parchment envelope, very similar to the one I carried, but without an addressee.
"But he was here a moment ago!" I frowned, confused, "I have to ask him something."
"Questions. Questions that need answering." The hobbit gave a choked laugh, as though he were quoting, and then continued in a mumble, "But I don�t understand. Neither does he." Suddenly, as though realizing that I was standing there, Frodo gave a start, and shoved the envelope behind his back. I pretended I hadn�t seen it. "Oh, I�m sorry Em! What were you saying?"
"Nothing. Nothing important." In return, I fingered my own envelope I was supposed to deliver to Bree and there seemed to be no one to ask now. A trust in Father�s judgement would be required. "Really."
"Oh, are you leaving too?" Frodo seemed disappointed, and looked around Bag End, "First Bilbo, then Gandalf and now you."
"Bilbo?" I asked, "Gone?"
"Elves." The hobbit grinned wryly, "He�s gone to stay with them."
"I�m going to Rivendell as well." Uncomfortably, I shuffled. I thought Father would have remembered to make my excuses with him. "Didn�t Father say something about . . ."
"Oh. Yes." Frodo sighed, "Right."
"I�m heading to Bree." Maybe Father had left a hint behind, "Did he say anything about a delivery? Or . . ." I recalled the snatchets of conversation I had heard, "Perhaps something about a ring?"
"Ring?" Looking as though a deer caught in bright light, Frodo blinked quickly, "What ring?"
"I just heard . . ." I faltered as he began to panic slightly, "What�s wrong?"
"You know about it too?" The hobbit licked his lips nervously, "I don�t understand! Did he mention leaving?"
"To me?" I blinked, "No. Nothing." Gripping my unstrung bow tightly, I thought quickly to our last conversation . . . a hunch . . . about something . . . "He mentioned something . . . he didn�t sound sure himself . . . Did he leave a message or something for me?"
"No messages. No hints. Nothing. Just to keep it secret and safe." Frodo sighed, "But I suppose it doesn�t matter that I�ve told you. You�ve know about it already."
"About what?" I asked, frowning, "Father leaving?"
"No." He finally brought forth the envelope, "Bilbo�s ring."
"Ring? He had one?" The parchment was thick enough to hide anything beneath it, thus, I only stared at its creamy coloring, "A magic ring . . ."
"I had thought it was a little thing, nothing more." Frodo sighed, as though a heavy burden had settled upon his shoulders, "But now I know, it is no mere trinket."
"I�m afraid I don�t know anything about it." I reshouldered my bundle, "Father wished me to run an errand, and I suppose I�d best not be late."
"Yes," A faint smile tugged at the corners of the hobbit�s mouth, "I suppose I�ll be seeing you around, then. You�ll be wanting to return to the Shire."
"Of course," I nodded in agreement and extended a hand which he shook, "Until then."
"Until then." He assured me and turned away, starting to walk into Bilbo�s study, mumbling to himself, "Secret . . . and safe . . . but where . . . ?"
The bright green round door opened and closed easily as I turned the brass knob and stepped into the chilly night, scented with the fresh smells of a new fall. True to his word, Father had prepared Elendil and she patiently stood, tied loosely to a post of the fence about Bag End. The chestnut had gone, although its presence would have been much more alarming. I led my horse out of Bag End and gave Hobbiton a silent farewell, the gate clicking closed behind me.
"Elendil," I sighed and she flicked her ears back at me as I tied my articles onto her saddle, "I suppose it�s going to be just you and me." The mare bobbed her elegant head, as though agreeing. "You like it that way, don�t you?" It would have been so much easier if she could answer in the Common Tongue.
"Hmm . . . I�m talking to a horse." I muttered, as I swung into the saddle, realizing that I usually didn�t ride at night. "Bree? I�ve never been to Bree by myself!" Luckily, Elendil seemed to know her way and with a gentle nudge of encouragement in her ribs, her sure step sounded light and delicate in the evening silence.
I leant down and whispered, "What did I do to deserve another week in saddle?" Her horsy nicker of a reply sounded far too much like laughter to my ears. What did I do to deserve another week with you in the saddle? I nudged her with my heels and she sprang forward in response, "Oh be quiet!"