[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling and Toby enjoyed their pipes in something that was apparently rare for Toby – silence – for he was the first to break it. “Well, Mister Snaveling, this is quite a rare treat for you, I daresay: a day without labour! What are we to do?” Snaveling thought on this for a moment before speaking – a habit that he wished Toby would learn from him soon.

“Well master hobbit, if you are up to a brief walk I thought that we could check my traps for game. You needn’t worry,” he said quickly in response to the look of alarm on the gentlehobbit’s face, “we won’t be going far. Indeed, I have been forbidden by My Lady Roa from wandering beyond the grounds of the Inn.” He glowered darkly at her where she worked at the Inn. “Fortunately for us, there is plenty of good game right around here.” Together they got up and wandered around the edges of the yard, peering into the small copses and bushes together to see if Snaveling’s traps had caught anything. They soon had a number of pheasant and quail that had been captured in the springes and Toby was fair dancing with glee at the thought of roast squab for dinner.

Snaveling’s mind was taken up with more than collecting his prey, though. Even as he moved about the yard he could feel the eyes of Roa and Galadel following him, and the things they had said to him at breakfast rang unsettlingly in his ears. The threat of being taken to Minas Tirith – to the very seat of the King of Gondor himself! – had shaken him to the core. He had heard of the White City and of how it was a virtual mountain itself made by the Men of old who had taken the land from Snaveling’s ancestors, and he had little desire to go there. But if what Roa had said was true, and there were a way to address the wrongs done to his people by her King…but he shook that thought from his mind as impossible. What strange power does that Woman have over me that she can cause me even to consider travelling there? he asked himself. As for that Elven woman… his thoughts trailed off into troubled silence. Despite the lie he had told Galadle, he did recall the singing that had come to him, easing his terror. He looked toward the Elf slyly as he thought of her and, sure enough, her eyes were on him again. He knew that she had not been fooled by his denials, but he did not want to give her the satisfaction of seeing how she had effected him with her revelation. He scowled at her ferociously, and immediately felt foolish for doing so.

All the while that Snaveling was lost in his thoughts, Toby had been running on about the Shire and its ways. He had taken to pointing out all the hobbits about the yard to whom he was related – which was most of them – or with whom he was acquainted – which was the rest. At first Snaveling had been dismissive of the hobbit’s views of the world, but as the incessant chatter slowly penetrated his mind, he began to recognise something in Toby’s view of the world that reminded him of his own people. They too had known little of the outside world, and had sought to weather the storms of history by retreating further within their borders and hiding. It was beginning to dawn on Snaveling that perhaps, like Toby, his own view of the world was less than entirely reliable. Indeed, had Snaveling ever stopped fully to consider the source of his people’s information about the Men of Gondor, he would have found much reason to doubt it. The only people who travelled through their lands were those bound for the north or south of the White Mountains, but who – for whatever reason – wished to avoid Minas Tirith.

When they had checked, emptied and reset all of Snaveling’s springes they walked their catch to the cooking fires and handed them over to some very surprised and grateful hobbits. It pained Snaveling to do this without even thought of payment, but he knew that Roa would disapprove of him trying to profit from these people. As for Toby, all the payment he needed was granted in the form of the admiration that he garnered as he walked toward the cooking fires laden with game.

As they were turning from the cooking fires, an extremely small hobbit passed them coming from the stables. Snaveling had seen him about the Inn yard for the last week but not paid him much heed until now. He was middle aged and dressed in rich clothes that had seen better days. What attracted Snaveling now was the mournful look of loss that hung about the little fellow. The hobbit looked up and met Snaveling’s eyes.

Snaveling was in agony. The flames from his dreams assailed him with a ferocity beyond what he had experienced even in the worst nightmares, he cried out and clutched for Toby, but darkness overcame him and he tumbled to the ground.