Hello, all! My newest story is a series of stories telling the tales of those left in the Shire during the adventures we know so much about. I’ve always wondered what happened to the hobbits during this rather long period of time. This story is dedicated to anyone who has ever let their feelings choose their path (myself included). So enjoy this, everybody!
-Ara

~o~Mist and Shadows~o~

Chapter one:

“Alright! Who said that?”

The wind didn’t whistle.

The trees never moved.

And nobody answered.

Even Fredrik who had never been silent more then a moment in his life, did not respond.

“Out with it, you little rats!”

Anger coursed through his small frame like water down a well. Fyre could barely contain his rage.

The ruffian bared his yellow teeth, and snarled at them. The were intimidated, all of them. They were a peaceful people, not accustomed to all this, this hate and distrust.

Fyre glared at this big-person, his eyes turning a furious shade of navy. As headstrong as he was, Fyre Bolger felt lost and alone.

But he wasn’t alone.

And that was the problem.

Even hours later, after the ruffians had stormed off- to angry for words, to rude for farewells-Fyre sat alone on the hill that overlooked Woody End. His light brown hair flying in his eyes as the wind whipped the green grasses.

“You’ve always liked being along, Fyre, but missing supper? Out with it Bolger.”

Fyre groaned and rolled his eyes. “Leave me alone Meara,” he said lowly, looking over his shoulder at the hobbit lass.

“You expect me to believe that you’re just sitting up here, enjoying the view?” Meara asked, as if she hadn’t heard him. Walking confidently over, the Took plopped down beside him.

“Nope. You’ve seen Woody End near every day for your entire life,” Meara stated, biting into an apple.

But Fyre suddenly bit back his retort to stare hungrily at the bright red fruit in her hands.

“Where did you get that?” he said, nearly hissing it.

Meara shrugged nonchalantly and tossed it in the air, missing her catch by several inches.

“I wasn’t the one who missed supper.”

“But there are none!” Fyre cried, scrambling to his feet. “The ruffians took everything! There aren’t any apples left in the Shire!”

Meara looked reproachfully at him. “Yes there are.”

Fyre just stared, open-mouthed. “Where? Mom and Da haven’t been able to get any fruit for a month! All we’ve had are biscuits and gravy. Do the Great Smials have a secret supply?”

Meara looked strangely at him, as if she thought him of the less-intelligent kind. But this only infuriated Fyre more; his temper quick and absolute.

“I dunno. We always have apples,” Meara replied finally, wiping her hands on her dress and tossing back her long, golden hair.

“If you have apples, why don’t you share them with everyone else?” Fyre demanded, thinking of his mother, who had grown thin in the past two months, his older brother, Fredigar who had been taken by the ruffians, and hadn’t been seen since, his little sister, Estella, who hadn’t sang a song in ages. “You’re all safe there, with your, your apples and probably roast chickens and stews!”

Meara cocked her head at Fyre’s outburst, her hands on her hips. “Safe? We’re in as much danger as everyone else, thank you very mu-,”

“You know what? I don’t believe you, Meara Took! I don’t believe you, or anyone else!” Fyre shouted, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Shaking his head, he turned on his heels.

“Where are you going?”

Fyre cursed under his breath. Why was everything so hard? He had such a good life before those, those men came, and ruined everything! He dimly thought it wrong of him to shout at Meara, but his anger clouded his thoughts; all except one.

Fredigar.

His old brother, his role model. How had he let him suffer for a month? How had he made his family suffer? How had he let his own brother be taken by ruffians, all because of his own mistake?

Not anymore.

Fyre stormed away down the hill.

“Where are you going?” Meara cried after him.

“Anywhere but here!” Fyre shouted back, tears choking him. He fought them back, setting his eyes only on Hobbiton; on those ruffians.

He never saw what waited on the bottom of the hill.