[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling was shaken out of his reverie by the oddest trio of hobbits he had ever beheld. For a moment, he could have sworn that he was looking at the younger cousin, or perhaps even the brother of Tobias, for the Halfling who addressed him had the same overblown sense of grandiosity that was so charming in his friend. One moment’s inspection, however, dispelled this notion, for nowhere in this countenance as there evident the good hearted roguery of Tobias Hornblower. Instead, Snaveling detected the officious sanctimony of a minor official with an inflated sense of his own purpose. Snaveling could not help but smile at the trio, who gave in return only stern looks. “I am not,” Snaveling began, in his best court manner, “in the habit of giving out information about my friends to total strangers. Might I ask who you are, and why it is that you seek the Innkeeper?”

For a second, the lead Halfling looked like a kettle that had been left to boil dry, so furiously did his chest puff out. A thick thumb planted itself in the middle of his out-thrust shirt and the little fellow chuffed out, “Mister Fescue Bracegirdle.” His thumb then moved to point over his shoulder and he said again, as though he were listing off produce in a shopping bag, “Masters Spurge Proudfoot,” his thumb moved to his other shoulder “and Grumwell Boffin.” He returned his thumb to his pocket and, planting his feet apart, began in what Snaveling felt must be his best official manner. “We are here on Thain’s business, sir, and not to be rude, but if you aren’t in the business of discussing your friends with strangers, I’m not about to speak of my mission to an outsider, begging your pardon and no offense intended.”

“None taken.” Now Snaveling had a very difficult moment repressing his smile. To cover the effort he straightened in his chair and spoke in the manner that he had learned from watching his King with foreign emissaries. “My name, though you have not asked it, is Tar-Corondil, although I am known to the people of these parts as Snaveling. To answer your question, the Innkeeper is…”

At that moment a loud voice from the far side of the room announced that it belonged to the new ruler of the Inn. Even as Snaveling was attempting to digest this odd notion, the owner of the voice fell to the floor. Snaveling rose to his feet, not to help but the better to watch this comic moment unfold. His eye caught sight of Tobias sitting alone in a dark corner, and in a flash he knew that the arrival of Fescue and company had something to do with his friend. Eager to distract their attention, Snaveling pointed to the man on the floor and said to Fescue, “Why the Innkeeper has saved me the trouble of pointing him out! There he is upon the floor. You must forgive his outburst, it happens when he’s partaken of too much ale.”