An Unexpected Friendship by StarSpray

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

Third Age 2869
(Shire Reckoning 1269)

There was definitely someone out in the woods just west of the Great Smials. Belladonna and Isembard had spent the whole morning searching—they hadn't seen anyone, but they had heard a burst of cheerful flute music just after they had turned to go home. It had come from a bright clearing full of wildflowers, near a small stream, which was just the sort of place Belladonna would have expected to find elves. Of course, no one had been there when they returned, but she could have sworn she heard faint laughter when they gave up for the second and final time. As they walked home, Belladonna made plans for the next day's searching.

Most likely she would have to go out by herself, since Isembard had plans to go to Michel Delving. She would take a picnic—Cousin Diamond would probably miss a cheery pie or two, but she deserved it after the frog business, as far as Belladonna was concerned. And she would pack some cheese and fresh bread and her picnic tea set…

"Uh oh," said Isembard as they approached the kitchen yard. He stopped so suddenly that Belladonna ran into him. "You should go around to another door, Bell. Cousin Diamond looks like she's on the warpath."

Cousin Diamond, who ruled the kitchens of the Great Smials with an iron fist and flour-covered rolling pin, was stalking through the kitchen yard, scattering squawking chickens and scaring one of the smial's many cats away. She was ruddy-faced and usually cheerful, but when she was angry her face was like a thundercloud, and all of the Took children knew better than to get in her way—and she had been in a terrible temper all morning. Belladonna peered around Isembard, saw Diamond's expression, and fled.

Isembard would be all right. He never did anything to make anyone angry, even Cousin Diamond. Belladonna on the other hand hardly ever seemed to be able to get on Diamond's good side, even when she tried. She raced down one of the many lanes and paths that criss-crossed around the Great Smials, which had many entrances and even more windows, until she ran into someone else so hard that she bounced back and fell down hard in the dirt.

"Goodness," said a familiar old voice, as Belladonna blinked and caught her breath. "Where are you going in such a hurry, Miss Belladonna?"

It was Gandalf, of course. He stood leaning on his staff, dark eyes gleaming with amusement as he held out a hand to help her up. Belladonna accepted it gratefully. "Trying to stay away from Cousin Diamond," she said.

"What did you do now, Belladonna?" asked her Dad, who was of course outside with Gandalf. It looked like they were getting ready to settle down and blow smoke rings out over the garden.

"Nothing!" Belladonna said. "It was Hildibrand who set the frogs loose, but Diamond won't ever listen to me, and Isembard and I only just got back from looking for the elf in the woods and she's out in the kitchen yard still looking angry so Isembard told me go find another way inside so she wouldn't yell at me and—"

"All right, all right," Gerontius said. "Hildibrand is mucking out the stables, you know. He confessed to setting the frogs loose. Whatever bee Diamond has in her bonnet now must have to do with something else. Sit with us a while, Bella, and get your breath back. And watch where you're running next time, or you'll run into something more unforgiving than Gandalf."

Gandalf chuckled as he settled onto the bench beside Gerontius, while Belladonna sat down on the grass. Sitting a while with her dad and old Gandalf always meant stories—and Gandalf always had the best stories. "What's this about an elf in the woods, Miss Belladonna?" he asked as he lit his pipe. He and her dad listened with interest as Belladonna described the morning's adventure. In particular Gandalf wanted to hear about the music, but it was rather difficult for Belladonna to really describe it, except that it was the loveliest music she had ever heard.

Her dad blew a very large and impressive smoke ring that floated lazily up and out over the roses and nasturtiums. "I suppose you have plans to go back tomorrow? You be careful, now. Remember what happened to old Hildibold." Hildibold was one of Gerontius' many cousins once or twice removed; the family story was that he had gotten caught up in a party held by elves somewhere on the White Downs and had fallen asleep and woken up to find all his children grown up with children of their own, and everyone quite surprised to see him come stumbling back home singing strange songs long after he had been declared dead.

"I promise I won't drink the elf wine," said Belladonna solemnly. She'd had her first taste of wine only that summer and had not liked it at all, which made this a very easy promise to make. Gandalf's chuckle suggested he knew this, though Belladonna couldn't imagine how.

Having thus promised to be careful of accidental enchantments, Belladonna changed the subject in order to extract a good story out of Gandalf, who was quite happy to oblige, with a rollicking tale about giants and heroes and dragons and princesses.

The next day, Belladonna discovered that she did not have to sneak anything out of the kitchen. When she went down to the kitchen she found a picnic basket already waiting for her. Mama was also in the kitchen, up to her elbows in flour and bread dough. "You aren't going out alone, are you, Bella?" she asked as Belladonna hoisted up the basket.

"I'll ask Donnamira," Belladonna replied.

"Ask one of your brothers, too," Adamanta said. "Maybe Hildibrand—Bella!" But Belladonna had darted out of the kitchen before she could hear why Hildibrand would be a good companion for the day. She had already asked Isembard, but he was, as expected, already tagging along with Isengrim on an errand to Michel Delving.

Donnamira looked both skeptical and nervous when Belladonna asked her. "I don't now, Bella," she said, holding her current favorite doll a bit tighter. "Are you sure it's a good idea to go looking for Elves by yourself?"

"I wouldn't be by myself if you went with me," said Belladonna.

"But then we would be by ourselves," Donnamira retorted, so Belladonna gave up—clearly Donnamira wouldn't be any fun anyway—and headed out of the Great Smials and to the trail she and Isembard had followed the day before, just herself and her picnic basket.

It was a good walk to the clearing where she and Isembard had heard the music, and it seemed like it took longer, with a heavy basket in her arms and without any company. But she hummed a walking song to keep her steps in time, except when she paused to watch a bird at its nest, or a particularly lovely butterfly as it flitted over a clump of honeysuckle, and made good time.

When she got closer to the clearing she could hear the flute music again. It was not the same sort of music that she had heard before—it was quieter, and more melancholy. Belladonna set down her basket and crept forward, making a real effort to be quiet so that she moved soundlessly through the underbrush, to crouch behind the raised roots of the old oak tree. On the other side of the clearing was the elf. He was seated, with is long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle, and his eyes were closed as he played, his fingers moving smoothly over the flute. Aside from his height, he did not look at all like Belladonna had expected. His clothes were worn and in many places torn and ragged. He was not as dirty as all of that might have suggested, but his hair was wet, soaking into his shirt where it lay over his shoulders, and Belladonna suspected that he'd just finished bathing in the stream, which struck her as terribly uncomfortable. It was one thing to splash one's feet in a cold stream on a hot day, but a proper bath required hot water and a tub.

The elf finished his song and lowered his flute. He did not open his eyes, but he said, "You can come out. I don't bite."

Belladonna blinked at him, and then stepped out from behind the roots. "How did you know I was there?" she asked.

He opened his eyes and smiled at her. "The trees told me," he said. Belladonna looked up at the oak tree as a breeze picked up just enough to make its leaves rustle like whispers. Then she looked back at the elf suspiciously, unable to tell if he was being truthful or not. The Brandybucks told strange stories about trees, but those were in the Old Forest, and everyone knew that was queer country, on the other side of the Brandywine. There shouldn't be anything queer about the trees here. But of course, this was an elf she was speaking to, and maybe elves could talk to even normal trees.

"Was that you playing yesterday, too?" she asked, deciding to leave the question of talking trees for the moment. The elf nodded, his smile widening just a bit. "You were teasing us!" Belladonna accused. This made him laugh. It was a nice sound, almost as musical as his flute. Belladonna liked him already. "Wait just one moment," she said, and darted back to fetch the picnic basket. This did surprise the elf. He sat up a little straighter, eyebrows raising just a bit, when she carried the basket into the clearing.

"What's this?" he asked as she set it down beside him.

"Lunch, of course," she said. And then she dropped a proper curtsy. "Belladonna Took, at your service."

The elf rose to his feet and bowed gracefully. "Maglor son of Fëanor, at yours," he said. He was very tall, and Belladonna wondered if he was unusually tall or if Gandalf was unusually short. As Belladonna spread out the blanket and got out the tea set, Maglor disappeared behind the his tree, and reappeared with an armful of dry branches, which he used to deftly start a fire in a small ashy depression that Belladonna had not noticed the day before. It was a relief when he sat down again, so Belladonna did not have to crane her neck to look up at him. She spread out the blanket, filled the kettle in the stream, and set it over the fire before turning to see what her mother had packed for them.

There was a great deal of cold meats—an entire chicken, already sliced, as well as ham— and fresh bread, and cheese, and some apples, a cherry pie, and a dozen scones, as well as a bottle of apple cider. "Goodness," said Maglor, peering into the basket. "All this just for one meal?"

"Well," said Belladonna, "Mama was hoping I would bring Isembard or Hildibrand or someone, but they're busy."

Maglor's mouth twitched. "And you are no longer on speaking terms with Hildibrand."

"That too," Belladonna agreed. "Wait. How did you…?"

He laughed. "I heard you telling your other brother about it, yesterday. Indeed, it was difficult not to listen."

"Are you here by yourself?" she asked as she stirred in the leaves into the teapot.

"Yes."

"Oh. Are you going west, past the Tower Hills?"

Maglor bit into a piece of cheese, and shook his head. "I came from the west," he said.

"Oh! I didn't think Elves did that."

That made Maglor laugh again. "We are perfectly able to go in whatever direction we like," he said. "Elves do not only go to the sea to sail away. There is a city there, Mithlond."

"Is that where you live?" Belladonna asked. If it was, Maglor must have wandered off quite a long time ago, by the state of him.

"No. I don't live anywhere in particular."

"Oh." Belladonna wanted to ask why not, but that seemed like a step too far into prying, especially since they had only just met. Instead she asked when he had come into the Shire, and what had brought him here.

"The Shire," he repeated, "is that what you call this country? And what are your people called?"

"Yes, this is the Shire. And—well, Big People call us Halflings, or Little People I suppose, if you're in Bree. But we call ourselves Hobbits."

Maglor had dozens of other questions, and they spent a very pleasant afternoon sipping tea and nibbling at the remains of their lunch while Belladonna told him all about the Shire, and her family, and the immediate neighborhood. It wasn't until the shadows started growing long and Maglor asked her if her parents would not be worried that she had been gone so long that Belladonna realized what time it was. "Oh, goodness!" Belladonna exclaimed. "I'll be late for supper!" She scrambled to gather up her things, but left the remaining scones and bread and cheese with Maglor. "Will you be here tomorrow?" He didn't answer, having already lifted his flute back to his lips to play along with a meadowlark that had started singing in the nearby trees.

Dinner in the Great Smials was always a noisy and busy affair, so it wasn't until afterward, upon escaping the washing up, that Belladonna was able to sit down with her dad and Gandalf and tell them about her new elven friend. Gandalf's bushy eyebrows shot up upon hearing his name, but he made no comment except that it was unusual to find an elf wandering about on his own and in such a ragged state.

Gerontius was more skeptical. "You don't see hobbits wandering about in rags, except for tramps," he said. "And they're as likely to clean out your larder when you aren't looking as anything."

"I don't think you need to worry about Maglor stealing your potatoes," said Gandalf, eyes glinting in amusement as he lit his pipe and settled back to blow smoke rings out the window. "It sounds to me as though he has been quite lonely for quite a long time. Miss Belladonna, you might be very good for him."

"Well, where does he come from, I'd like to know?" said Gerontius. "Didn't you think to ask, Bella?"

"Of course I asked," Belladonna said. "But…well, he never did answer. He just started asking me questions instead. I didn't even notice until now." Gandalf chuckled. "But if Gandalf thinks he's all right then he must be all right. And anyway he's an elf. Elves are good people, you always say so, Dad."

It was Gandalf who answered, "As a general rule, Belladonna, yes, but you must remember there are always exceptions, even among Elves. But I shouldn't worry about this one." And that was that. When it came to Elves, and the world outside of the Shire, Gandalf was the authority. Even Gerontius, who had been on a number of adventures in his youth that took him north and east, even beyond the Barrow Downs and the Old Forest, did not argue with him about it.

But when Belladonna returned to the clearing the next afternoon, Maglor was not there. The only thing to say that he had ever been there at all was a small wooden flute with a B rune carved delicately into it in the form of twisting and leafy vines, resting on the roots of the old oak tree.

.

Third Age 2877
(Shire Reckoning 1277)

Belladonna did not see Maglor again, though at least once a season she went out into the woods to look for him, or for other elves. But there was never even the echo of a flute, and after a few years she went more out of habit, and for the enjoyment of a lone walk in the forest, than to really search. And then once she hit her tweens and was old enough to go farther afield with her brothers, there were other places to explore and adventures to be had elsewhere in the Shire. But the Elf Clearing, as it came to be called among herself and her siblings, became a favorite picnic spot. They made a proper fire pit and Hildifons and Isembold somehow got a nice big round table all the way out there, so they didn't have to always sit on blankets and worry about ants getting into the butter.

Then Madoc Brandybuck died. He had reached the very respectable age of one hundred and two, and his death and his son Marmadoc's taking up the mantle of Master of Buckland was all the whole Shire could talk about for quite a long time. Then there was a party to celebrate Master Marmadoc, after a suitable amount of time had passed since old Master Madoc had died, and of course Gerontius Took, as the Thain, had to attend, and with him went his wife and all of his children, in addition to other Took relations up to making the journey across the Shire.

It was always a great deal of fun to visit Buckland. Brandy Hall was even more of a warren than the Great Smials, and the tables were always so laden with food, especially for celebrations like this one, that even the greediest of hobbits were sure to leave satisfied. And the company was interesting, too. The Mayor was there, as well as all the notable families from all four Farthings. Added to all the Brandybucks and their various relations, Bandy Hall was nearly filled to bursting.

As the feast wrapped up, and folk started to leave the table to dance or play games or cluster together in more comfortable chairs to fill in the corners with little cakes and dainties, Donnamira leaned over to Belladonna to whisper, "Don't look now, but you have an admirer, Bella. And he's rather handsome."

"I have many admirers, Donna," Belladonna replied, tossing her hair over her shoulder. This earned her an eye roll from Hildibrand on her other side, and a shove from Mirabella. "Who is it?"

"Um…I don't know. Isembard, who is that making eyes at Belladonna?"

Isembard leaned forward to peer down the table, under the guise of reaching for a roll. "Oh," he said, as he sat back, "you mean Bungo Baggins?"

"Baggins?" Donnamira wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, never mind, Bella."

"What's the matter with a Baggins?" asked Isengar, who was seated on Belladonna's other side.

"They're boring, is the matter," said Donnamira. "Absolutely predictable. You don't even have to talk to them to know what they'll say on a matter—and it's always the most boring opinion."

Belladonna reached for a roll herself, glancing down the table to where the Bagginses were seated. She supposed Bungo was the young man who hastily turned away when he caught her looking in his direction. He was a sturdy-looking fellow, with brown curly hair and dark eyes. His clothes were neat and finely made; the buttons of his waistcoat were polished to a bright gleam in the lamplight.

"Well, he can't be that predictable if he's making eyes at our Bella," said Isembard, laughing.

"Did you ever hear of a Baggins marrying a Took?" Donnamira asked. "Good gracious. Bella, you'd never have any fun again."

"How did we go from noticing an admirer to discouraging me from marrying him, all in less than five minutes?" Belladonna wanted to know. She buttered her roll and took a bite. She had to admit she was rather intrigued, but there was no way she was going to admit it in front of Donnamira. Or in front of any of her brothers—otherwise she'd never hear the end of it. She finished the roll quickly and got up. "Isembard, come dance with me!"

By the end of the evening, Belladonna had been properly introduced to Bungo Baggins. He was several years older than she was, and extremely respectable, although Belladonna did not find him particularly boring—though they only spoke for a few minutes in between dancing and party games, so it was difficult to judge properly. He did look rather alarmed when he learned that Belladonna, Donnamira, Isembard, and Hildifons were planning to ride off to Bree after the festivities at Brandy Hall.

"That's terribly far outside of the Shire, isn't it?" he asked.

"Oh, it's not too far. A full day by pony, if you keep a brisk pace. Hildifons has done it before. And, you know, there are hobbits there."

"Queer folk, I'm sure," said Bungo. Of course, in Hobbiton the Bucklanders were considered quite queer folk—though he was too polite to say so in Brandy Hall. "They live right in among the Big Folk, or so I've heard."

"Yes, that's right. Hildifons says it takes a bit of getting used to, but everyone seems quite happy with the arrangement. And Gandalf says the Prancing Pony is very comfortable." Belladonna only added the last part to see what else Bungo's face might do, and she was not disappointed. He looked like he was actually biting his tongue to keep from saying something rude about the wizard. And then they were both called away, and Belladonna did not see him again.

Two days later, when all the other guests had dispersed, Belladonna, Donnamira, Isembard, and Hildifons set off on their ponies, going east along the road. Their mother fussed over them, lips pursed in disapproval—going off on a lark in the Shire was one thing, but she never liked it when her children left its borders—and their father waved them off with a cheerful warning to beware the Barrow Downs, and not to leave the road.

It was a bright spring morning, perfect for traveling. They jogged down the road, laughing and chatting and snacking on apples as they went. The Old Forest behind its hedge loomed up on the south, and hilly moorlands opened up on the north. Isembard started singing a travel song, and Donnamira joined him. Belladonna dug her flute out of her pocket to accompany them, letting her pony go where it would—it was a good pony, and followed behind Hildifons' obediently. Overhead the sky brightened from pale to vibrant blue, without a cloud in sight.

As the first song finished, and they paused for breath before beginning another, Donnamira drew up suddenly, turning to the south. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Isembard asked. They all stopped and held very still, listening hard. After a moment Belladonna heard singing—not an echo off the hills of their own voices, but someone else in the wood. It sounded very cheerful, but if there were words she could not make them out.

"Surely that's not in the Old Forest?" said Donnamira. "Is it an elf?"

"That doesn't sound like any elf music I ever heard," said Belladonna.

"And when did you ever hear elf music?" Hildifons asked.

"There was elf music right near the Great Smials some years ago," said Isembard. "I heard it, too. Bella's right, though. Whoever that is, I don't think it's an elf."

"But who would be singing like that in the Old Forest?" Donnamira asked.

"I don't know," said Hildifons. "None of the Brandybucks ever mentioned someone living in there. But I'm certainly not going to go find out—that's a queer place, and even the bravest Brandybucks don't go in farther than the old fire clearing. Come on."

They rode on, all of them glancing back once in a while, until they were well away from the strange music. They did not stop again, and sped up as they passed by the Barrow Downs, where mist still clung to the shady hollows between the hills, and even at a distance the view was enough to make Belladonna shiver. Then Hildifons started singing a silly old song about cats and fiddles, and they forgot about the strange music in the forest and about the Downs, which shrank slowly into the distance behind them, a harmless shadow in the distance.

Lunch was eaten in the saddle, because fifty miles in one day was no leisurely jaunt if they wanted to arrive at Bree in time for supper. The sun set before they reached the town, turning the skies behind them all bright reds and pinks before sinking into purple twilight, and Isembard brought out lanterns for each of them. Outside of the lantern light the hedges were dark and menacing looking, and beyond them the night noises made Donnamira ride up close beside Belladonna, who did not like the sound of them either but who was determined not to show it.

At last, they came to Bree Hill. The gates were just closing, but the gatekeeper opened them up again, greeting them cheerfully and directing them to the Prancing Pony. "It's quite a crowd there this evening," he said as he closed the gate behind Isembard. "A troop of dwarves just arrived this afternoon, comin' in from the east. And we've got a wandering minstrel in town!"

Bree was an eye opener, and no mistake. Belladonna and Donnamira both nearly fell off their ponies at least once, craning their necks to look at the buildings towering over them. They weren't as tall as, say, the elf towers in Gandalf's stories, but they were much taller than proper hobbit houses. And folk slept upstairs! Belladonna would have liked to go up to see what everything looked like out of one of those windows, but she wouldn't like to spend a whole night that far off the ground. It just didn't seem safe—or sensible.

"Do the other hobbits live like that, here?" Donnamira asked Hildifons.

"No, of course not. Most hobbits in the Breelands have proper holes, out in Staddle, but there are plenty of proper hobbit houses here in Bree, higher up the hill. You'll see when we go walking around tomorrow. And don't worry about the Prancing Pony," he added, even as it came into view, as big or bigger than the other houses and shops they'd been passing.

"I'm not sleeping in a room I have to climb stairs to get to," Donnamira said flatly.

"I'm telling you, you won't have to," said Hildifons. "Just wait, you'll see."

The Prancing Pony was bustling with custom when they went inside, but Mistress Butterbur spotted them immediately, and hurried over to see to them. Rooms were available and ready for them, and a pair of young boys, identical down to their freckles, went scurrying outside to take care of the ponies and bring in their baggage. "It's lovely to see you again, Master Hildifons," Mistress Butterbur said as she led them down a corridor to a pair of rooms, perfectly suitable for even the pickiest hobbit, putting all of Donnamira's fears to rest. "Will you be wanting your supper in private, or will you join us in the common room? There's a parlor here you can use, if you like, young masters and mistresses."

"We'll come out," said Hildifons.

"Excellent! We're always happy to hear all the latest news out of the Shire. And there's a minstrel in town, staying here at the Pony. I give him a bed and meals in exchange for his performing every evening he's here, and he's been most obliging. Nicest music we've had in many a long year! Now, I'll leave you to freshen up. Will you be wanting anything else?" They did not, and so she bustled out in a rustle of skirts and a bellow for one of her children.

"Hurry up," Hildifons called after Donnamira and Belladonna as the boys and girls split into their separate rooms to wash the road off before going out to supper. "No one will care if you're a tiny bit dusty, Donna. I'm starving!"

"I care," Donnamira muttered as Belladonna shut the door. "I can feel it in my hair and it itches."

"I'll brush it out for you," said Belladonna, "and I'll do it quickly—so don't complain when it pulls a bit." Of course Donnamira did complain, but they were clean and brushed and presentable in record time, and even Hildifons couldn't complain, when they made it back to their little parlor before he did.

Together they went out to the common room, which was both familiar and strange. There were plenty of tables for hobbits and dwarves, and plenty more for the Big People, all scattered around with no real rhyme or reason, so that finding an empty one involved going through a maze of tall chairs and table legs, and dodging out of the way of one or two farmers who had had had a bit too much that evening and were unsteady on their feet. But in the end Isembard found them a table near the big hearth, which was also where the minstrel was, at a table of his own, on which sat an empty plate and a half-full tankard of beer. On his lap sat a harp, its wooden frame made of interlocking pieces of pale wood, and carved with waves and stars and twisting vines.

The minstrel himself looked up as they sat down. He had dark hair in a loose braid that lay like a thick rope over his shoulder, and his eyes were grey and bright like stars. He was cleaner and wore nicer clothes than the last time she had seen him, in the woods of the Shire—and he was wearing boots!—but it was definitely Maglor. He caught Belladonna's eye, smiled, and winked.

She couldn't swallow her gasp, and as they sat down she turned to grab Isembard's arm. "It's him! It's Maglor—the elf I met in the woods!"

"Can't be," he said. "Here in Bree? Who ever heard of Elves in Bree?"

"Who says Elves can't come to Bree if they want?" Belladonna retorted.

The argument was cut short by the arrival of one of Mistress Butterbur's daughters, to tell them what was for supper and if they needed anything special. She bustled off, a miniature of her mother, and came back with beer and bread and butter. As they took their first sips the other guests in the common room finally took proper notice, and greetings and introductions whirled around. There were so many names that Belladonna did not even try to keep track of them all. Everyone wanted news and gossip, and were delighted to hear that Buckland had a new Master, which was fodder for conversation the rest of the night.

After she had eaten her supper, and while Hildifons and Isembard entertained their new friends with an imitation of their father's speech at Master Marmadoc's feast, she slipped away from the table and went to sit beside Maglor.

"Well met, Miss Belladonna," he said, his fingers never pausing on his harp strings. He had not been singing, just playing music to fill the (admittedly infrequent) pauses in merry conversation.

"Hullo, Maglor!" she replied, hoisting herself into the seat beside him, which was not made for hobbits. "Do Elves often come to Bree?"

He laughed softly. "I don't think so," he said. "But I needed a new pair of boots."

"I did think it was strange that you weren't wearing shoes before," Belladonna said, "but then I thought maybe Elves were like hobbits that way. How long will you be in Bree? We've only come for a few days. Mama wasn't very happy that Donnamira insisted on coming—she's barely a tween."

"Oh, I don't know. I have promised Mistress Butterbur to stay and entertain her guests until at least the end of this week. After that, I suppose it depends on where the wind is blowing."

"You could come back to the Shire with us," Belladonna suggested. "You could meet my parents. My dad knows some Elves, I think. He used to go off on adventures with Gandalf when he was younger. Do you know Gandalf? He seemed to recognize your name, when I mentioned it to him."

Maglor's hand slipped and a single discordant note twanged on the harp. Belladonna only noticed because she was sitting right beside him. He did not answer right away, instead casting his gaze out over the rest of the room. "No," he said finally, "I don't think I do."

"You'd remember him if you'd met," Belladonna said. "I suppose you must have mutual acquaintances. Anyway, will you come back for a visit?"

"Perhaps I will." He flashed her a grin. "Depending upon the wind."

"Hey, minstrel!" someone called from across the room. "Hey minstrel, give us a song!"

Maglor immediately obliged, strumming a series of notes that sounded like water tumbling over stones, the sound filling the room in a way his music had not before. He seemed himself transformed, taller and even a little luminous. Belladonna's breath caught in her throat as he began to play a tune she had never heard before. And then he began to sing, and it was the most beautiful song she had ever heard. His voice also reminded her of water, somehow making her think of the sea, though she had never seen it and had hardly ever thought of it before.

He sang of a city on the edge of a lake, with tall towers and lush gardens, and wide streets filled with a proud and mighty people. Belladonna closed her eyes and could see the city, all the windows lit up red and orange with the sunset reflected off the lake, and the tree-lined streets, and a beautiful palace right on the water, where a king sat on a tall throne, crowned with a star, and holding a silver scepter in his hands. Maglor's song sang of the building of the city and the long years that it stood beautiful and bright on the edge of the lake—but at the end of the song it was deserted, because there was no king anymore, and the people had gone away, and dark things had come down into the kingdom out of the north. Now all that stood by the lake were ruined, crumbling foundations covered in moss and lichen and overgrown with vines, and instead of sitting on the brow of a king the only star hovered, bright and beautiful, in the twilight sky over the water.

When Maglor finished his song there was not a single dry eye in the Prancing Pony. And it was getting late, so as the last notes faded away most of the folk got up to bid each other goodnight, and to drop a few coins onto the table by Maglor's plate before stepping outside. Belladonna had a view of the door and could see nearly all of them pause to glance up at the stars, as though they had never really looked at them before and were only now realizing how lovely they were.

"What city was that, you were singing of?" she asked Maglor, as Isembard and Donnamira and Hildifons came over to them.

"Annúminas," he replied. "It was once the capital of the kingdom of Arnor."

"Is it still there?" Hildifons asked. His eyes were bright with a look Belladonna associated with ideas and plans.

"There are still ruins," Maglor replied.

Belladonna made introductions, then, and there was much bowing and "at your service"ing, but Donnamira was yawning and Isembard was quick to excuse all four of them—they had been on ponies all day and were quite tired.

"Goodnight, Maglor!" said Belladonna as she hopped down off her seat. "I hope you will still be here in the morning!"

"I will be," he said. "Goodnight, Belladonna."

He was, indeed, there in the morning. After a hearty breakfast (the Butterburs were excellent cooks), Hildifons went off by himself to visit some friends in Staddle on the other side of the hill, leaving Isembard, Donnamira, and Belladonna to explore Bree itself. Maglor fell in with them just outside the inn. It was market day, which meant everyone from all around Bree Hill was crowding into Bree to buy and sell and visit. It reminded Belladonna a little bit of the Free Fair, except this was less of an Event because it happened more often. They did not spent much time at the market itself, instead skirting around it to visit the different neighborhoods—and finding plenty of hobbit houses and holes in the hillside, just as Hildifons had said. Maglor was good company, and even better, being so tall, at making sure none of them got lost, like when Donnamira had paused to admire some ribbons and nearly gotten left behind in the crowds.

They stayed in Bree for four days, in total. It was a delightful place, and Belladonna was fascinated by all of the different people who came to stay at the Pony. There were dwarves, of course—but they were not new, since she had seen plenty passing through the Shire—but there were Men of all kinds: farmers, hunters, traders. A pair of travel-stained men stopped by one night, and though they were treated courteously enough by Mistress Butterbur the rest of the people in the common room gave them plenty of space and did not ask for news or tales. That night Maglor did not sing one of his old songs, either.

"Who were they?" Belladonna asked him the next morning, after the pair had disappeared.

"They are called Rangers, here in Bree," said Maglor. "They don't live anywhere in particular, I understand, and are often grim, and according to the Bree folk their speech is strange. Usually they keep to themselves, and no one knows quite what to make of them. They believe I am a Ranger too, actually."

"Oh. Well, you are a bit of one, aren't you? You don't live anywhere in particular either, and you wander all over the place."

"I suppose I am, after a fashion." He smiled, soft and small, like he was laughing at an old secret joke. "The Rangers are more than they seem. It was their city I was singing of the other night. Annúminas on Lake Evendim, the Tower of the West, the seat of Elendil who came from Númenor after its fall, though no one in Bree remembers it."

Belladonna shivered as the old names dropped from Maglor's tongue like shining stars. "But then why do they let the Breelanders call them names and look at them sideways?" she asked.

He laughed. "Perhaps for the same reason I do." He would not explain more, no matter how many times Belladonna asked.

When it came time to leave Bree, Maglor agreed to visit them in the Shire, but not to travel back with them. "You'll find me in the woods when you return home," he promised Belladonna. "Bring your flute, and we will play together."

"Only if you promise to come back to the Great Smials for supper," Belladonna replied.

They left quite early in the morning, seen off by Mistress Butterbur and her sons, both of them still yawning and rubbing their eyes. The ride back to Buckland was as uneventful as the ride to Bree, only this time they had the whole adventure to talk over together. They also happened to fall in with a company of dwarves who were headed to the Blue Mountains, so it was a very cheerful party that trotted into Buckland that evening when the stars were first coming out.

"There you are!" their mother exclaimed, hurrying out to embrace them as they slid off of their ponies. "How are you, my dears? You didn't run into any trouble, did you?"

"Of course not, Mama," said Isembard.

"Bree was excellent!" Donnamira exclaimed. "Where is Mirabella? I bought her a new hair ribbon."

"Mirabella is taking a bath; she spent the whole day by the river with young Gorbadoc," said Adamanta. "They've taken a liking to one another, I fancy. I've told Adaldrida that they must come to the Great Smials for Midsummer."

Belladonna was suddenly very grateful that she hadn't spent more than a few minutes talking to Bungo Baggins. If her mother heard that he'd been making eyes at her, she'd never escape the match-making. For all she had accepted the wild Tookish nature of her husband and children, Adamanta was a very proper hobbit at her core, and was determined that at least her daughters would settle down as respectably as possible. Belladonna wondered, as they trooped into Brandy Hall to say hello to Master Marmadoc and Mistress Adaldrida, whether Mirabella knew what their mother was up to.

They left Buckland the next day to go home. They traveled through the Shire at a much more leisurely pace than on the road to Bree, and it took several days to reach Hobbiton, where they stayed at the Green Dragon, and where Belladonna happened to run into Bungo Baggins again. "Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Took!" he exclaimed as the two of them reeled back from the collision.

"It was my fault," Belladonna replied. "I wasn't looking where I was going. I was watching that cloud up there. It looks rather like a dragon, don't you think?"

Bungo looked up, squinting into the bright sunshine, nose scrunching up just a bit. "I suppose," he said, rather doubtfully. He looked back down at Belladonna. "How was Bree?"

"Oh, it was lovely."

"No trouble on the road?"

"No, none." Belladonna paused, and then leaned in to add in a low voice, "Except, of course, for the ghosts that came out of the Barrow Downs and chased us for ten whole miles—" She broke off at the horrified look on Bungo's face, and laughed. "I'm joking! Good gracious, you'd think a ghost had sprung up right behind me!"

"Well—I don't think it's very funny." Now he was very red in the face, and after stammering an excuse he hurried off down the lane. Belladonna watched him go, all her laughter abruptly gone.

Fortunately, when they at last reached home she was able to forget all about Bungo Baggins and whether or not she felt bad about teasing him, because the first chance she got the morning after their arrival, she recruited Mirabella to help her pack a picnic hamper, and, joined at the last minute by Donnamira, they fled the Smials and went out into the forest. The path to the picnic clearing was now well-worn. Donnamira told Mirabella all about Bree as they walked, including about Maglor.

Mirabella was skeptical. "What's an elf doing at a place like Bree?" she asked. "I mean, I know they're queer folk all the way out there, but I thought elves lived in great big towers in the mountains, or by the seashore, or something. They do in all the stories."

"Maybe he does live in a tower by the sea," said Donnamira, "but he comes down sometimes in disguise. At least, he must have been in disguise in Bree because no one else thought he was an elf. Only Belladonna recognized him."

"They think he's one of the Rangers that come into town sometimes," said Belladonna as she lifted a broken branch off of the path and tossed it into the undergrowth. She startled a rabbit in the process, a quick brown flash through the green as it darted away. "And he went to town because he needed a new pair of boots."

"He needed new boots?" Mirabella repeated. "That doesn't…sound very elvish, does it?"

"Where do you think Elves get their boots and clothes and things?" Donnamira asked.

"I don't know. Magic, I suppose."

"I wish I could magic up new clothes," Donnamira sighed, as she hiked up her skirts to step over some roots. Mirabella rolled her eyes, and Belladonna laughed. Of the three of them, Donnamira's wardrobe was the fullest. Their mother kept threatening to dive into it and throw out all of the old things that never got worn anymore, but so far she hadn't done it—perhaps it was too daunting of a task.

"If I could magic up things," Mirabella said, "I'd want to magic up all my favorite foods whenever I wanted."

"What would you magic up, Bella?" Donnamira asked.

"I'd magic myself," Belladonna replied, "to go anywhere I wanted, in the blink of an eye! I could visit the seashore and the mountains and Hobbiton and be back home before supper. I bet that's how Gandalf travels, the way he just appears. I've never seen him actually come up the lane."

"I did, last time he was here," said Mirabella. "He was driving a cart."

"Oh, well, he'd need that for the fireworks."

They were still debating what the best use for magic would be when they arrived, at last, at the picnic clearing. "I don't think he's here yet, Bella," said Donnamira, as she brushed leaves and twigs off of the table so Mirabella could set the picnic hamper on it. The rest of the clearing was empty, except for a squirrel that had fled up a tree at their approach, and the usual chorus of songbirds. "And, you know, he probably won't be for ages yet—especially if he's coming on foot all the way from Bree."

"Unless he has magic like Gandalf," said Mirabella.

"Why would I need magic when I have two legs?" asked Maglor, his voice coming from over their heads. Donnamira shrieked and fell backwards, and Mirabella darted behind Belladonna, who looked up to see Maglor perched in the branches of the beech tree under which he had been sitting when she'd first laid eyes on him.

"Hullo, Maglor!" she said. "You remember Donnamira. This is our youngest sister Mirabella."

Maglor dropped from the tree, landing on light feet in the grass, and bowed gracefully to Mirabella, who turned pink to the tips of her ears. "Well met, Miss Mirabella."

After Donnamira picked herself up and both she and Mirabella stopped blushing, the afternoon was spent eating the lunch they had brought, and playing music. Maglor insisted that instead of teaching them Elvish songs, they teach him Shire music. All of the songs he knew, he said, were too sad for sunny days in such a lovely country. Donnamira pointed out that he had played a good deal of cheerful drinking songs in Bree, but Maglor claimed that he had learned nearly all of them at the Prancing Pony.

"Well, it's not as though we have that many different tunes here in the Shire," said Belladonna. "We just use the same ones over and over, and make up new words when we want."

Since Belladonna had her flute, and Maglor a flute and a harp, it was left to Donnamira and Mirabella to teach Maglor all the words to their favorite songs, and to demonstrate their favorite dances, in particular Mirabella's favorite, the Springle-ring, which left both her and Donnamira red in the face and out of breath by its end. They managed not to collapse, however, and curtsied prettily as Maglor applauded.

Thus they passed the spring, and the beginning of summer. Maglor taught Belladonna many Elvish songs, in the end, and he had been right when he said most of them were sad. But there was joy in them too, beneath the melancholy. When they were not making music they went walking through the countryside, often accompanied by one or more of Belladonna's many siblings. Isengar and Hildifons were both frequent companions, and they had dozens and dozens of questions for Maglor about the lands outside of the Shire. Isengar, in particular, wanted to know all about the Sea.

As the Midsummer celebrations approached, Belladonna convinced Maglor to join them at the Great Smials. "There will be fireworks," she said. "Gandalf always leaves some behind when he visits, for these sorts of occasions."

Maglor hummed, tilting his head a little so that his dark hair fell forward across his face. They had walked all the way out to the White Downs, and sat atop one of them, from which they could see out across the whole Shire in the east, with Michel Delving closest, and the smoke from Hobbiton's chimneys only just visible in the far distance. To the west lay the Far Downs, and beyond them, Belladonna knew, though she had never seen them, were the Tower Hills, and the tall white Elf Towers—and beyond them lay the Sea. "Will Gandalf be there?" Maglor asked as he strummed his fingers over his harp. He always wore gloves, even now in summer, the sort with no fingertips; his old ones had been so much darned and patched that they were barely holding together, so Adamanta had knit him several new pairs in different colors. Today he was wearing the bright blue pair.

"I don't know," said Belladonna. "He's as likely to be there as he isn't, if you know what I mean. You never do know with wizards."

"Mm. All right, I'll come to your party."

"Wonderful! An elvish minstrel at the Tooks' Midsummer party—we'll be the talk of the Shire the rest of the year!" Belladonna laughed.

"Is that good or bad?" Maglor asked. "I suspect I am not what most of your folk would call respectable."

"Not in the least," she agreed cheerfully. "The Brandybucks might not mind. But they live on the edge of the Old Forest, and they mess about with boats on the Brandywine, so they aren't precisely respectable either. If you want respectable, you have to go to Hobbiton and find a Baggins, or perhaps a Chubb or a Bracegirdle. Or perhaps a Whitfoot—the Whitfoots have always been very respectable. Lots of them have ended up as Mayor. Very good at presiding over things, are the Whitfoots."

"I shall take your word for it," said Maglor, in that tone he used when he didn't want to say out loud just how silly he thought some hobbit customs were.

Belladonna leaned back on her hands and gazed up at the sky, looking for interesting clouds. There was one that looked like a rabbit, and another that looked a bit like her grandfather Fortimbras, with his bulbous nose. It made her remember a question she'd been meaning to ask, but had never quite gotten around to. "Maglor?"

"Yes?"

"Don't you have a family somewhere? You must have parents, surely."

"My mother lives across the Sea," Maglor said.

"And your father?"

"He died long ago, and all my brothers."

"Oh. I'm terribly sorry."

"They were dark days. But with spots of brightness—I have sung you a few of the stories from the Elder Days."

"Were your brothers in any of them?"

Maglor did not answer immediately. His fingers stilled on the harp. Only when the last echo of the last note died away did he say, very quietly, "We did very little that was worthy of song."

"Oh."

The conversation fell away after that, and when the silence stretched too long to be comfortable anymore Belladonna got to her feet and said, "We should be getting back, or we'll miss tea."

"I have never seen a people so committed to mealtimes," Maglor said as he rose to his feet. He slung his harp over his shoulder and followed Belladonna down the hill.

"You could do with a bit more commitment," Belladonna replied primly. "You're still practically skin and bones." He laughed, a bright sound that startled a few birds into flight out of the grass.

When they reached the Great Smials, Maglor settled onto the grass in the flower garden while Belladonna went inside to see about lunch. Maglor could fit inside, but he had to hunch over to do so, being much taller than Gandalf, who only had to duck his head a tiny bit, and it was more comfortable for everyone if they set up tables and benches outside.

"And where have you been all morning, Miss Belladonna?" Cousin Diamond demanded as Belladonna entered the kitchen. She was as formidable as ever, but Belladonna was learning how to pretend not to be intimidated—according to Isengrim, that was the best way to stop being afraid for real. If you pretended hard enough you might even fool yourself someday.

"I was out with Maglor," Belladonna replied.

Cousin Diamond sniffed, and returned to scrubbing out a large pot. "Well, now that you're back you can make yourself useful and peel some potatoes."

"All right," said Belladonna, as she slipped several honey cakes off of the table and into her pocket. "I'll just take them outside. Maglor's come back with me and it would be rude to just leave him by himself."

Diamond protested hotly, but before she could finish her first bellow Belladonna was out of the kitchen with the basket of potatoes and the honey cakes. But as she approached the door to the the garden she heard Maglor talking to someone—and not in any language that she knew. Belladonna slowed, not wanting to interrupt, and then halted altogether when she heard Gandalf, also speaking the strange tongue. She did not recognize any of the words except Maglor's name, but it sounded like a question. Maglor replied, his voice sounding strange, too tense and almost shrill. Gandalf sighed, and said something too quietly for Belladonna to make out even if she could understand it.

She hurried forward, and stepped out into the garden to find Gandalf just sitting down on a bench by the door as he drew his pipe out of its pouch. Maglor was nowhere to be seen.

"Hello, Belladonna," said Gandalf as he struck a match.

"Where is Maglor?" she demanded, rounding on him. "What did you say to him?"

"He's gone, and I doubt he'll be back for the Midsummer party. My fault, I'm afraid."

"What did you say?" Belladonna repeated. "You were the one who told me it was a good idea to make friends with him—"

"It was and is a good idea," said Gandalf. He paused to blow a large smoke ring up and out over the roses. It dissolved in a breeze that sprung up to rustle the grasses over top the Great Smials. "I made the mistake of mentioning a mutual acquaintance of ours."

"I don't understand," Belladonna said. "Why do you always have to talk in riddles?"

Gandalf sighed. "Have a seat, Belladonna. And get started on those potatoes—Mistress Diamond will be very put out, I imagine, if they aren't peeled to her satisfaction by the time she needs them."

Belladonna huffed, but sat down on the bench beside him, and even handed over one of her purloined honey cakes. Gandalf accepted it with a chuckle. Once they had both finished their cakes and Belladonna set to peeling the potatoes, he asked, "How much has Maglor told you about himself?"

"Hardly anything," said Belladonna. "He doesn't live anywhere in particular, and he told me today that his father and his brothers are all dead. They died a long time ago, he said. During the Elder Days, when all the things he sings about happened, only he said he and his brothers didn't do anything that you'd sing songs about."

"Well, that's not quite true," said Gandalf. "They did many very courageous things. But they also did some very terrible things, which rather overshadow the others."

"What did they do?" Belladonna asked. She could not imagine Maglor doing anything horrible. When he wasn't performing he was rather quiet, and he was kind and funny and he never minded her questions, except for that afternoon—but even that awkwardness had passed quickly.

"Well, it is a very long tale. In fact all of the stories of the Elder Days are connected to it. Has Maglor mentioned the Silmarils, in any of his songs?"

Belladonna thought about it, as she carefully dropped a potato peel into a bucket by the bench. "I don't think so," she said finally.

Gandalf sighed. He told her, briefly, about the Silmarils and their maker, Fëanor, who was Maglor's father, and how they had been stolen, and Fëanor's father killed, by the Dark Enemy of the Elder Days, and how Fëanor and all seven of his sons had sworn and Oath to get them back, no matter who had them. That had led to some very terrible things, by the end of the war against the Dark Enemy. Maglor and his brothers had attacked their own kin and friends. And by the end of it all, Maglor was the only one left.

"So you see, he does not feel that he would be welcome among the Elves who still live in Middle-earth," Gandalf concluded. "I should not have mentioned Elrond—our mutual acquaintance. I'm afraid it will be some time before you see Maglor again. He thinks I've given away his secret and someone will come looking."

"It seems like a very long time to hold a grudge," Belladonna said after a few moments. "I mean, of course what they did was awful, I don't deny that, but there's no undoing it now, and you can't make amends if no one will even talk to you."

Gandalf chuckled, and blew another series of smoke rings up over the rose trellis. "That would be very sensible if we were speaking of other hobbits," he said, "if generations had gone by, but there are those still alive among the elves who were there, who remember Menegroth, and the Havens of Sirion burning. I would like to see Maglor welcomed back among the Eldar, and I know there are at least a few who would speak for him, but he has grown very used to punishing himself."

"Is that why you wanted me to make friends with him?"

"Yes. Six thousand years is a very long time to be alone, Belladonna. I can tell you've already been a very good influence on him." He patted her shoulder. "I'm sorry I frightened him off. But you'll see him again someday, I fancy, as long as I stay out of the way."

.

Third Age 2886
(Shire Reckoning 1286)

It was raining—pouring, in fact—and Belladonna did not think she had ever been so wet, or so cold. She dragged her pack beneath a rocky overhang and tore off her sodden cloak, wringing it out before finding a little piece of stone jutting out just far enough to hang it. There was no wind, at least, so the rain stayed outside of this little overhang, soaking into the dirt and flowing away in rivulets down the slope.

She was as far from the Shire as she had ever been, and she was extremely put out about it. Hildifons was in for it, when she found him, the foolish hobbit. Going off with hardly a care in the world, talking of finding the way up to Lake Evendim, to see the ruins of the old king's city on the shore. A proper adventure, he'd said, he'd be back before winter, he'd said. Well, that had been two winters ago. Adamanta was in such a state of worry that they all feared she'd make herself sick with it. So Isengrim had called all the remaining Took siblings together to decide what to do.

In the end, Belladonna set out with Donnamira, Mirabella, and Isengar. Isengrim had too much responsibility around Tuckborough, as the future Thain, to be heading off into the wilds, and nearly everyone else had small children, except Hildibrand—and he had only just gotten married.

The trip to Bree went quickly and uneventfully. They stopped in Buckland, where Gorbadoc and his brother sister Cressida joined them. Then it rained on the road, and Mirabella woke up with a terrible head cold the day after they arrived. So it was only Belladonna, Donnamira, and Isengar who set out, against all advice from the Breelanders both Big and Small, following the old north road, hoping to find Hildifons somewhere along it.

It had been Isengar's idea to split up, to cover more ground. It had been a bright and sunny day, warm, and with the old road, though broken and long-overgrown, stretching out in front of them as a clear landmark, it hadn't seemed like such a bad idea. But that had been a week ago, and it had been raining for the last two days, and Belladonna had gotten herself completely turned around.

She also had the uncomfortable suspicion that she was getting close to Deadman's Dike. Belladonna knew absolutely nothing about the place except that the Breelanders shook their heads and muttered about hauntings whenever it came up. The name certainly wasn't terribly inviting.

Belladonna squeezed as much water as she could out of her skirts, and sat down, shivering, to dig through her pack. Its contents were a bit damp but not soaked through, fortunately, so she was able to change into her spare clothes and huddle up in her blanket. Her box of matches was dry, but every bit of wood in sight was sodden, so a fire was out of the question. "I hope Donnamira and Isengar found better places to sleep tonight," she muttered, huddling as far back against the stones as she could. "But I hope Hildifons is as uncomfortable as I am, drat him!"

The rain subsided overnight. Somehow Belladonna slept through it, and woke to clear skies and the beginnings of a head cold. Another piece of poor luck to lay at Hildifons' feet. Her clothes and cloak were still wet, so Belladonna gathered them up and climbed the rest of the way up the hill, where there were some low bushes she could spread them out on to dry properly in the bright sun. It promised to be a warm day, so she thought it wouldn't take too long, and in the meantime she could get her bearings.

From this hilltop she could see surprisingly far, though most of the land was wooded and that made things more difficult. To the north, closer than she'd thought the day before, rose taller hills that must be the North Downs. She could reach the southernmost hill by that evening, if she wanted. Belladonna was not entirely sure where exactly Deadman's Dike was supposed to be, except near the North Downs, and along the North Road. She could see where that was, too, from her little hilltop. She'd strayed from it several days before, but it was nice to see now that she wasn't as far away as she had feared.

She sneezed again, and then set about foraging for breakfast. There was little enough to find, but she discovered some late-season berries to go with her morning ration of bread (which was starting to turn stale) and cheese. It was hardly more than a snack by Shire standards, but she'd resigned herself upon leaving Bree to tightening her belt and making her food last.

Having eaten and refilled her water flask in a clear and cold stream at the food of her little hill, Belladonna returned to the top to consider where to go next. Hildifons had spoken, before leaving home, of going to see the ruins of Annúminas. To go there she would have to cross back west over the road and find the Brandywine, somewhere, and follow it to its source at Lake Evendim. But from there, Belladonna realized, she had no idea how to go about finding the old city. If she had built it she would have placed it right by the river, since Big People had about as much sense as the Brandybucks when it came to fooling about in the water. But she remembered Maglor's songs about it, and there hadn't been a river in them. Of course, maybe the Brandywine just wasn't impressive enough to make it into the songs, but somehow she thought that if it had been there it would have at least been mentioned.

And if Annúminas had not been built right by the Brandywine, that left the rest of the eastern side of the lake to search, and from what Belladonna could gather, Evendim was quite large. "I could search until the king comes back and never find it," she sighed. But anyway, Hildifons had left the Shire two years ago. He could still be searching for Annúminas by the lake, or he could have wandered off elsewhere. Donnamira and Isengar were already heading up the Brandywine, anyway. Belladonna needed to think of where else he might have gone. As she had the thought, her gaze strayed north again, to the dark line of the North Downs. Hildifons loved stories about ruins and haunted places. He'd insisted on investigating every haunting in the Shire that they'd heard of as children.

Belladonna sighed. A meadowlark alighted in a nearby bush and cocked its head at her. "When I find my brother," she told it, "I'm going to throttle him." Then she sneezed and the meadowlark made a startled noise and fluttered away.

Belladonna did not set out again that day, instead letting all of her things dry thoroughly before being repacked. She had a terrible time finding enough wood dry enough to burn, but by supper time she had managed at least to boil water, and to find some mushrooms to make a very simple stew. It was a terribly smoky fire, though, and she worried as she stomped it out after she ate that someone, or something, might have spotted it. But it was a passing worry—the way her nose was stuffing up and her throat becoming scratchy was a far more immediate concern—and so far the lands all around had seemed terribly desolate and empty, except for herself and the birds and the occasional rabbit.

Still, she took her things and, before the sun went down fully, she left that hill and found a better shelter on the western side of the next one, where there was a rocky outcrop that featured a little tunnel just the right size for a hobbit, and she made herself a comfortable bed near the front of it. By the time it grew dark, she was quite comfortable, except for the cold, but even that didn't keep her awake for too long.

In the middle of the night, however, something woke her. And she felt terrible, fuzzy-headed and scratchy-throated, and breathing through her nose was now nearly impossible. But it wasn't that that had woken her. It had been a noise. Belladonna held very still, listening hard and wishing the entrance to her little cave was just a bit smaller.

There it was again. A voice. It was an ugly voice, talking ugly words, and it was answered by another, slightly reedier voice, but equally ugly. Goblins, Belladonna thought. She swallowed a cough and carefully sat up, gathering up her blanket and inching back in her little cave. The goblins were very close by and she thought of her smoky fire earlier, and silently cursed the rain, and wished very hard that she were back at home, in the Great Smials, by the fire with a mug of warm chamomile tea in her hands and all of her brothers and sisters laughing around her. Not out here in the cold wilderness, alone and armed only with a small hatchet for cutting wood, and an even smaller knife.

A dark shape moved at the entrance of her little hole, and Belladonna froze. She could feel air moving behind her—though in the dark she couldn't tell how much farther in the tunnel went, or where it might come out. She dared not turn to investigate properly. The shape was a goblin; she saw moonlight glint off of a jagged blade in its hand, and it turned to say something to its companion—companions? And worse, Belladonna could feel a sneeze rising up in her throat. She pressed her blanket to her face, willing herself to stay silent. But the sneeze wouldn't be held back, and when she opened her eyes she found two pairs of yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness back at her.

"Well, lookit what we have here," said the bigger goblin. "A little mouse caught in a trap, eh? Come on out and play, little mouse."

"This one smells funny," said his companion, leering in at Belladonna. There was a third who brought a torch, so the red light glinted off of jagged teeth and flared in their eyes. Belladonna scooted backward farther, and couldn't bite back a whimper when her foot hit open air. The goblins thought she was only afraid of them, and they thought it uproariously funny. Belladonna inched backward again, as they started to argue about who was going go in and get her, since they were all a bit too big for the opening. She reached her foot back and discovered that the hole was quite large, big enough for her to fit down, only she didn't know how deep it was, and whether she would be able to get out again. She fumbled for her hatchet as she huddled at the edge of it, and although there wasn't enough room to swing it properly she did hit the first goblin's hand as it reached in for her, making it yelp and draw back with a string of curses. Belladonna then slid backward and managed to brace herself against the sides of the hole so she didn't just tumble all the way down, instead sliding—and it was not straight down but a very steep incline—and scraping and bruising herself up in the process.

When she came to a stop, at last, she found herself in utter darkness, clutching her pack and blanket to herself in a tangle of straps and fabric. It was difficult over the pounding of her heart and the desperate need to start coughing to hear, but Belladonna held her breath and listened hard for the goblins somewhere above her. Their arguing echoed down the tunnel, but she couldn't make out any words, and had no idea if they would try to follow her or not. Hobbits may be comfortable underground, but in the deep darkness under cold stone she knew that the goblins would be far better equipped. At any rate, they were the ones with a torch.

Finally, she couldn't hold the coughing fit in any longer, though she managed to muffle it in her blanket. Oh, of all the times to get sick! This was not the sort of adventure Belladonna had always dreamed of having. When she imagined goblins, she also imagined being with Gandalf, who could probably wave his staff and turn them all into toads.

Coughing fit over, Belladonna took a deep breath and closed her eyes, since having them open was pointless anyway, and tried to think. Sitting there feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to help when the goblins came down after her, and it wasn't going to get her out of this mess, either. She rolled up her blanket and stuffed it into her bag, fastening it back up by feel and hoping she'd done it securely. She found her hatchet on the ground beside her, and counted herself lucky she hadn't managed to cut off her own toes. Then she tried to determine what sort of place she'd landed in. The incline back up toward the goblins was easy to find. The tunnel had narrowed just a bit as she'd come down, but it widened again going in the way opposite of the incline. Belladonna felt at the ceiling and discovered it was rocks piled atop one another, as were the walls. The floor was smooth enough, but she didn't want to think about what might happen if a rock was dislodged.

"No way out but forward, Belladonna Took," she told herself. "You've gotten yourself into this mess, and you'll have to get yourself out." Taking her hatched in one hand, she started crawling, only pausing to wipe her nose and feel about to make sure she wasn't going to fall into another hole, or run headlong into a dead end.

Finally, she both heard and felt fresh air moving through the tunnel—and at the same time she heard a screech behind her and a thump that suggested the goblins had finally decided which of them was going down after her first. Belladonna scrambled forward, glimpsing light at the end of the tunnel; after so long in the dark even starlight seemed very bright. She reached the end of the tunnel, but heard the goblin scuttling through the dark behind her, and didn't look before crawling out—and her hands hit air instead of ground. Belladonna shrieked as she tumbled down another steep incline, this one almost shear. Her hatchet went flying off somewhere, and she barely managed to curl into a ball and cover her head as she fell, bouncing off of rocks and tough branches growing out of the stone.

It felt like she was falling forever, off of the very edge of the world, but at last she hit flat ground hard—hard enough that she both felt and heard a crack in her right leg, pain jolting from it all the way to the tips of her fingers and the top of her head. She would have yelled, but she couldn't make her lungs inhale—and she was certain she'd felt a rib or two crack as well on the way down. Slowly, she uncurled from her ball, biting her lip to keep from whimpering, and sat up to look at her leg. It was twisted unnaturally, and it hurt terribly, but she didn't see any blood except what came from various cuts and scrapes all over her, and nothing was poking out of the skin, which was very good news because she was certain that she would have fainted at that sight.

She looked up, but didn't see any goblins. The cliff was much taller than she would have expected to find in these hills; she must have been climbing into higher country than she'd realized. At its foot, and just a few feet from where she was, flowed a creek, swollen with the recent rains. She looked up again, wondering how well goblins could climb.

Everything hurt. Belladonna tried to drag herself toward the water, but the least bit of movement was agony on her leg, and she gave up, biting her lip until she tasted blood to keep from screaming. She tried not to cry, either, because even breathing hurt, but was much less successful there.

Then a light appeared down the stream. It was a clear and bright light, like a star had dropped down to the earth, and not red and flickering like a torch, but that wasn't particularly comforting until the person holding the light—which turned out to be a lantern—came closer, by which time Belladonna had her little knife out and was ready to at least take off a few fingers before she was killed. But there was no need, because it was not a goblin with the lantern.

"Maglor?" she gasped, as he knelt beside her.

"Yes, it's me. Hush now," he said, not unkindly, as he quickly looked her over. "How badly are you hurt, Belladonna?"

"My leg is broken. And I think my ribs are cracked. And there are goblins up the cliff. There was a tunnel in the rocks—"

"Yes, I know about the goblins." Maglor set down his pack and pulled out a roll of bandages. He also brought out a handkerchief, folded it up, and handed it to Belladonna. "Bite down on this. I am going to splint your leg and it's going to hurt." Belladonna bit down as he readied the splint, and then when he began to tie it around her leg she saw stars, and then fainted.

When she woke she was pressed against Maglor's chest, and he was moving quickly but carefully through dark woods. She could hear water nearby—and goblins somewhere behind them. She must have made a noise because Maglor said, "Shh, it's all right. Stay still." It was easy enough to obey, though everything still hurt terribly, her leg most of all. And she still felt stuffed up and sick, and very cold, though she was bundled up in her blanket and cloak, and Maglor himself was quite warm.

Finally, Maglor lost the goblins, or they gave up the chase, or something, and they came to a small hollow halfway up a very tall hill—one of the Downs, perhaps? Belladonna was all turned around. It looked like it was often used as a campsite, with wood stacked neatly where it wouldn't get wet, and a clear circle filled with old ashes nearby. Maglor set Belladonna down carefully, and set about making a fire.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked as he tipped a large log onto the fire, sending a shower of sparks flying up.

"Looking for you," he said. "I happened upon your sister in Bree, and she told me of your adventure. I had already heard that goblins were venturing west. You're lucky you didn't run into any wolves."

Belladonna squeaked, "Wolves?"

Maglor set a small pot over the flames to heat water before coming to sit beside Belladonna, pressing the back of his hand against her forehead, and frowning as he unwrapped the blanket and cloak to prod at her ribs. "What were you doing, coming up so close to Fornost?" he asked.

"What's Fornost?" Belladonna asked, and yelped when he prodded at a particularly painful spot.

"It was a city once, the capital of Arthedain, before it fell to the Witch-king of Angmar. Rangers go there sometimes, still, but in Bree they call it Deadman's Dike. It is a dangerous place, especially for young hobbits."

"I'm not that young," Belladonna protested. "I came of age last year!" She was overtaken then by a coughing fit, which had her crying by the end of it from the pain in her chest.

"It is dangerous even for not-that-young hobbits, too. Drink this, Belladonna," Maglor said, holding up a small cup of something that smelled herbal and sweet. She sipped at it a bit warily, but it wasn't terrible. Once she finished Maglor started to sing, and before Belladonna knew it she was drifting off to sleep—proper sleep, deep and dreamless.

When she woke, she still felt terrible, but her leg didn't hurt quite so much, and breathing was easier—at least where her ribs were concerned. She was still stuffed up and scratchy-throated. It was morning—late morning, by the sunshine, and Maglor was seated by the fire skinning a rabbit. "Good morning," he said, glancing up and smiling briefly at her. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible, but I think it's mostly a cold." There was something she needed to ask him about, Belladonna thought. It was niggling at the back of her mind, but she couldn't quite remember what it was. Something about the goblins…and hobbits…oh! "Maglor, what about Isengar and Donnamira?"

"I found them before I found you," he said. "They had already met some Rangers who warned them about the goblins, and were making their way back to Bree, hoping to meet you there." He began to cut up the rabbit meat to place in a pan for a stew, which already smelled delicious, with some wild herbs and the mushrooms Belladonna had collected the day before.

"We were trying to find Hildifons," said Belladonna.

"Yes, Mirabella told me all about it."

"It was probably foolish to even try. He's been gone nearly two years already."

"Your brother Isengar asked the Rangers to help. If Hildifons is still wandering about Eriador, he will be found."

"What about the goblins?" Belladonna asked as Maglor tossed another stick onto the fire. "I think they found me because I built a fire yesterday. Only I didn't have any dry wood so it smoked something terrible."

"You leave the goblins to me, if they find us," said Maglor. His eyes flashed, and for a brief moment he looked very fierce, like a hero out of one of his songs, instead of the quiet wandering minstrel that Belladonna normally thought of him as. But the moment passed, and he brought out his harp once the rabbit was set to stew a while, and he sang songs in his own elvish language that Belladonna did not understand, but that made her feel comfortably sleepy, and she dozed, half-dreaming of beautiful places far away, all lit with golden light and filled with magic and memory.

In fact, Belladonna spent most of the trip back to Bree sleeping. Maglor woke her for the necessities, such as eating, even all of that seemed caught up in her dreams. Mostly, her dreams were of the sea, which was strange because Belladonna had never given much thought to it, and had certainly never seen it. But in her dreams she was on a ship, being gently rocked by the waves, beneath the stars.

When she at last woke fully, Belladonna found herself firmly on solid ground, and in a soft bed with the smell of chamomile tea in the air, and Mirabella sitting beside her looking fretful. Her leg was bound up in a different splint, and though it still hurt it was not quite so bad. Her ribs were bound up in bandages, but her head felt clearer, and her throat less scratchy. "Mirabella?" she croaked. "How did I get here?"

"Maglor brought you back, of course," said Mirabella, starting a little when Belladonna spoke. "You had us all terribly frightened. Even Maglor, I think, though it's not very easy to tell with him. Here, you must be thirsty. You've been very sick, on top of the broken leg and the broken ribs. Master Goatleaf, he's the healer and apothecary here in Bree, he said you were very lucky, but of course we all knew that." She helped Belladonna sit up, and to drink from a teacup—the source of the smell of chamomile.

"Where are Donnamira and Isengar?"

"They're out in the parlor with Gorbadoc and Cressida. We've been taking turns to sit with you. Maglor left this morning, but he said he'd be back by supper time. I think he intends to escort us back home. Once Master Goatleaf says it's all right, Gorbadoc is going to hire a wagon so you don't have to worry about riding a pony all the way back to Buckland."

"That's very kind of Gorbadoc," said Belladonna. "I hope you told him so."

"Of course I did," Mirabella said primly, though she blushed as she spoke. If she were feeling better, Belladonna would have teased her a bit, but as it was she mostly just wanted to go back to sleep. She had rather liked that dream about being on a ship at sea—though while awake she could not fathom why.

Instead she dreamed of the goblins chasing her through dark tunnels, only these never ended, and the goblins were always right behind her, so close that if she stopped or tripped they would catch her.

When she woke up, gasping, she found Donnamira in Mirabella's place, taking her turn. "It's all right, Bella," she said, immediately getting up to start plumping pillows and fussing about. "You're quite safe."

"I think I have had enough of adventures," Belladonna said, once she caught her breath. "Maybe there's something to be said for being respectable and predictable." At least then you didn't have to worry about goblins.

Donnamira laughed. "Next you'll be telling me you intend to settle down and marry a Baggins!"

"I'm serious, Donna. In the future I'll limit myself to walking trips through the Shire."

"What, not even a venture into the Old Forest? You've been talking about that for ages."

"Well," said Belladonna after a moment, "maybe I could make an exception for the Old Forest. But not too far, and just for an afternoon. I'm certainly not going to go wandering off into the wilds again. Hildifons will have to take care of himself."

Donnamira did not laugh at that. "I do hope he's all right," she said. "But if there are goblins out there now…I hope the Rangers find him. Isengar seemed to think they were the best people for the job, and Maglor agrees, but I don't know. I wish Gandalf would come back."

It was another week before Master Goatleaf, a small man with an enormous mustache but a very kind demeanor, declared that Belladonna could go home, in a cart, if they were all very careful. It meant they had to leave very early, if they wanted to make it to Buckland before it got too late, but even Isengar was eager enough to go home to get up with only a little grumbling.

Maglor fell in with them outside of Bree, walking along with his hand on the side of the cart, where Belladonna was nestled among sacks of grain and bolts of cloth—and Isengar, who was using one of those bolts as a pillow, having gone right back to sleep as soon as they said farewell to Mistress Butterbur. In spite of the early hour it was a merry party. Maglor had his flute, and he played walking songs that the rest of them sang cheerfully—except for Belladonna, who had a hard enough time just breathing with her ribs wrapped up as tightly as they were. They ate lunch on the road, and arrived at Brandy Hall by nightfall. Maglor melted away into the twilight, promising to rejoin the Tooks when they set out for Hobbiton again, but not wanting to alarm the residents of Buckland by the sudden appearance of an elf.

Isengar, Belladonna, Donnamira, and Mirabella had all agreed that their mother should never hear of Belladonna's run-in with the goblins, but they had forgotten about Gorbadoc and Cressida, and it wasn't long before all of Buckland had heard about Belladonna single-handedly fighting off a whole horde of goblins—and wolves too!—out in the wild. The story grew as rumors usually did, until Belladonna hardly recognized herself in the telling.

"It's no use trying to explain what really happened, you know," said Mistress Adaldrida, when Belladonna was reduced to speechlessness by a particularly outlandish version.

"It's only been a day and a half!" Belladonna exclaimed. "What are they going to hear in Hobbiton, I wonder?"

"Oh, no doubt you'll have fought a dragon or a troll or two," said Master Marmadoc cheerfully. "The famous Belladonna Took, the most adventurous of old Gerontius' daughters! It will either bring all the young suitors to you or scare them off—I haven't decided which is more likely." Adaldrida laughed. "Don't worry, Belladonna," Marmadoc added. "You can tell your mother you only tripped down a hill, and there were no goblins at all, and she'll believe every word of it. She knows when a tale is too tall to be true."

By the time they did reach Hobbiton (in a new cart, the one from Bree having been sent back home), the tale had not grown to include dragons, thank goodness, but it had gotten there before them, and Belladonna received many wary and curious glances when they stopped at the Ivy Bush (the Green Dragon seemed a bit on the nose, said Isengar, which made Donnamira roll her eyes and Mirabella giggle).

"Don't you dare make it worse," Belladonna said as fiercely as she could, when Isengar got that look in his eye, overhearing someone whispering about what Belladonna had been up to. He went wide-eyed and innocent-looking, but Belladonna wasn't fooled. "I'll dump your beer over your head if you say a single word," she told him, and meant it.

The next morning, Bungo Baggins appeared as the Tooks prepared to leave. "Oh, Bella, I was joking!" Donnamira exclaimed when Belladonna turned to smile at him.

Bungo, as it turned out, had not heard the rumors yet. "Good gracious, Belladonna, what happened?" he asked, seeing her on crutches.

"I fell down," she replied. Isengar, up in the cart, snorted. "But I'm all right, really."

"I'm glad," said Bungo, so earnestly that Belladonna felt herself blushing. They exchanged a few pleasantries, asking about Bungo's parents, and if there was any news from Buckland, and that sort of thing. Bungo also asked if he might come visit Belladonna in Tuckborough, and she was pleased to say yes, if only to hear Donnamira make a strangled noise behind her.

"Don't you splutter at me," said Belladonna, once Bungo had gone inside, and she was settled in the cart, her leg propped up on a pile of straw. "He's very nice."

"He's a Baggins," said Isengar. "He's not even that handsome."

"He's very comfortable looking, though," said Mirabella.

"He's nice," repeated Belladonna, "and I won't hear another word about it, Donnamira. I saw you making eyes at Hugo Boffin last month, remember."

"Hugo Boffin," Donnamira said, sticking her nose up in the air and trotting ahead, "is very handsome."

"He's handsomer than Bungo Baggins," said Isengar. "Or any Baggins, for that matter. They all look as boring as they are."

Maglor met them again on the road to the Great Smials, where everyone was used to him coming and going. They still caused quite a stir when they arrived, but that was all down to Belladonna's crutches—and Hildifons' absence. "Belladonna Took, what in the world did you do to yourself?" Adamanta demanded as Hildibrand and Isembard rushed over to help her down.

"She fought off a horde of goblins, and slew a troll," Isengar said before Belladonna could glare at him.

"I fell down," Belladonna said loudly. "I took a tumble down a hill, Mama, and I'm fine."

"Out in the wild?" Adamanta asked.

"It's fine, Maglor found me, and took me back to Bree."

"Oh, well." Adamanta looked up at Maglor, who bowed. "Thank you very much, Maglor. I hope you plan to stay a while with us."

"Thank you, Mistress Took. I would be glad to."

"We're going to have another visitor soon, too, Mama," said Mirabella. "I think Bungo Baggins wants to marry our Belladonna." Adamanta's eyes lit up, as assorted cousins and brothers laughed at the idea.

"Our Belladonna, settling down with a Baggins?" said Isembard, as he helped Belladonna to a comfortable seat in the garden. Maglor sat down on the grass beside them, already pulling out his harp. "What really happened, Bella?"

"I fell down a very large hill," Belladonna replied.

"Bella."

"It's a very big world out there, Isembard. I don't think we're ever going to find Hildifons in it."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't get lost, too," said Isembard. "And—and if you really do want to settle down with Bungo Baggins, I'm glad for that, too. He's very much a Baggins, but he isn't nearly as stuffy as some of his other relations."

Maglor started to play as Isembard headed off. "Are you planning to marry this Bungo Baggins?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Belladonna. One of her crutches slipped where she had it leaned against the bench, and knocked her in the head. "Ouch." She pushed it away. "No, you know what—if Bungo Baggins asks me to marry him, I think I will say yes. I like him—he's very nice, and he doesn't mind me teasing him, and I think I could get him to start teasing back, given time. And Hobbiton isn't so bad. We could even dig our own hole somewhere, and I'd make sure the ceilings were high enough for you and Gandalf when you came to tea." She looked at Maglor, as he plucked a series of notes that sounded like rain falling on leaves. "You would still visit me, wouldn't you? Even in Hobbiton?"

He smiled at her. "Of course I would."

.

Third Age 2983
(Shire Reckoning 1383)

It was nearly fifty years since Belladonna had passed on. Maglor did not visit any particular hobbits anymore—the generation that had befriended him was long dead, and their children, even among the Tooks, were much less inclined to adventure. Maglor wondered, sometimes, if this was because Gandalf no longer visited so often, or if he had stopped visiting because of the hobbits' new wariness.

But he still liked to slip into the woods near the Great Smials in Tuckborough and visit the little clearing that the Tooks still used as a picnic spot. The table had been replaced several times over the years, and the current one was weathered and worn smooth by wind and rain and much use. Whenever Maglor visited he left gifts on it for the hobbits—usually children and tweens—to find. It was never anything elaborate—an interesting stone, or a carving he had made. He also liked to hide in the trees and play music, both Shire tunes and his own songs, for anyone who happened to come by.

Today he placed a bit of sea-glass in the center of the table. As he turned to head off into the trees, thinking he would find a good stream to fish in for his supper, he heard, "I thought it must be you!" Maglor whirled around, and found, sitting by the table as though he had been there all along, a hobbit, beaming up at him with Belladonna's smile.

"Bilbo Baggins," said Maglor, still caught off guard but very pleased to see him. "How in the world did you do that?"

"I'm a burglar, you know," said Bilbo, as he hoisted a picnic basket onto the table from where it had been sitting just out of sight beneath it. "I've gotten quite good at going about unnoticed. Even by Elves! I suppose you heard about that business with Smaug and the goblins at the Lonely Mountain some years ago."

"I heard something of it." Maglor sat down across the table as Bilbo began to unpack the picnic. "I did not hear that you were involved." He supposed Gandalf was to blame, or thank, for it. No one else would think to send a hobbit to slay a dragon.

"I played a rather small but, I like to think, important role," said Bilbo. He loaded a plate with cold meats and cheeses and a generous portion of seed cake, and handed it to Maglor. "Wine? I have a bottle of Old Winyards I brought from home—laid down by my father, you know. Very good stuff."

"Thank you." Maglor accepted the food and the wine, taking the opportunity to get a better look at Bilbo. He had to be nearing a hundred years old, but he still seemed to be in his prime, with scarcely a grey hair on his head. There was also a light in his eyes that Maglor recognized. "You are an Elf Friend," he remarked.

"The Elvenking named me one, after the Battle of Five Armies," Bilbo said. "Quite a nice fellow. I don't suppose you've been to Mirkwood lately?"

"I'm afraid not."

"No, I didn't think so. I spent some time in Rivendell, on my way east and coming back—and, you know, Master Elrond had been very kind in sending copies of some of the old tales to me, so I can try my hand at a proper translation." He sipped his wine and looked at Maglor with sudden keenness. "You had quite some adventures yourself, you and your brothers." Ah. Maglor set down his plate. "Do you still wander in pain and regret on the seashore, or have you moved on to pain and regret in the forests of the Shire?"

It was asked so politely that Maglor couldn't help but laugh. "The songs are still true enough, Master Baggins," he said. "The sea always calls me back, eventually." And he still had plenty of regrets. But it seemed Bilbo was prepared not to hold them against him, which he supposed was not unexpected. In spite of appearances, it seemed that he was very much his mother's son.

Bilbo nodded. "I've heard it does that," he said. "I should like to see it myself, someday. But for the moment I've got my hands full. Will you stay a while and meet my nephew Frodo? I've just adopted him as my heir, and he's very keen to meet an elf."

Maglor smiled. "I would like that very much."