They found a quiet corner, and settled down for the night. The watchman rudely woke them with his long pole. “We don’t let your kind stay here.”

“And why not?” asked Trotter.

“You want to stay in the city, there’s an inn ‘round the corner.”

“No money,” said Big Jim.

“Then you should have left before sundown,” snapped the watchman.

“We were hungry,” said Trotter.

“So you hung around to steal some bread? Thieving rascals, we have the place for you! It’s called jail, and it’ll be a nice cold place to sleep while you think on your ways.”

Big Jim got to his feet, and towered over the man, who didn’t take kindly to this action. “Here, now! Stay back, or it’ll go worse for you!”

Trotter also rose, and stumbled. Big Jim caught him, but the watchman rapped the big man soundly on the head. “I said stay back!”

“We didn’t steal our dinner,” said Trotter, swaying unsteadily on painful feet, keeping erect only by the steadying hands of Big Jim. “We worked for it, and we would have left, only we got lost, and couldn’t get out before the closing of the gates.”

“A likely answer,” said the watchman, but he wasn’t so sure of himself now. The pain in the smaller one’s face seemed genuine, and neither were giving way to clamorous protestations of innocence.

“Tiro!” exclaimed a new voice. “A hobbit!” An elf rode into the circle of lamplight, a dwarf riding behind him. Trotter remembered seeing them on the road outside the city.

“You can’t have him!” said Big Jim, raising one hand, which he closed into a fist. “I fight you both, you lay a hand on him.”

“Who said we want him?” rumbled the dwarf, gruffly. “Hobbits are a lot of trouble—and we should know, for didn’t we chase a party of orcs across the plains of Rohan to save two of their miserable lives only to find them sitting on a pile of rubble guarding a wizard and smoking without a care in the world?”

“What is the trouble, watchman?” asked the elf.

“Found ‘em sleeping in the streets. Can’t have that, milord. I was just about to call the watch to remove them. I’ll do it right now, and get ‘em out of your way.”

“And where did you expect us to sleep?” asked Trotter. “When we have no money for lodging, how could we afford an inn?”

“Peace,” said the elf with authority. “Fine hosts we would be if we let a hobbit and his friend come all this way without lodging them comfortably. Go about your rounds, watchman. We will be responsible for them now.”

The watchman bowed low, and walked away, leaving the man and hobbit staring at their rescuers. “Le hannon,” said Trotter.

The elf started. “Do all hobbits know the fair speech then? But come, you are weary, and it is still a long way to the palace.”

Big Jim and Trotter fell in step beside the horse, and asked, “Palace?”

“Yes.”

“Does the King live there?” asked Big Jim.

“Yes,” said the elf. “And he will be eager to see you—despite Gimli’s harsh words, we are quite fond of hobbits, and as they have all gone back to the Shire, he will be most interested in your news.” The elf gazed at them with interest. “You have come from Frodo, haven’t you?”

“No,” said Trotter. “I have never been to the Shire in my life.”

“This grows more interesting all the time,” said the dwarf. “So perhaps we should make proper introductions. I am Gimli, son of Gloin, at your service.” He bowed, an interesting sight as he was still mounted on the horse. “And my elvish companion is Legolas of Mirkwood Forest.”

“At your service,” said Legolas.

“I am Trotter, and my companion is Big Jim,” said the hobbit. “Likewise, we are at your service, and in debt to you for your kindness.”

When they came to a gate leading into the inner circles, Legolas paused. “Would you care to ride, master Trotter?”

The hobbit shook his head. “I can walk.”

Gimli leaned over. “Personally,” he said, “I’d take him up on his offer. Kick the elf off and make him walk for a while—it’ll be good for his pride. There’s no reason he should ride and you walk.”

Legolas laughed softly. “This, from a dwarf?”

“Dwarves not ride?” asked Big Jim.

“No,” said Legolas. “Not horses—their legs aren’t long enough. They ride ponies.”

“And hobbits—when they ride—need tiny little ponies. Why, my father still laughs when he thinks of old Bilbo riding,” said Gimli.

“Bullroarer Took rode a horse,” observed Trotter.

“And so can you,” said Legolas. The elf dismounted. Big Jim picked Trotter up and placed him in front of Gimli.

“You mean, so will you,” said the man. Trotter made no more protests, but quietly rubbed his legs, massaging some feeling back into them.

Legolas noted that the hobbit didn’t seem to mind the lack of harness on the horse, and despite his smaller stature, he was more at ease than the dwarf. Inside the palace, he wondered at the way the big man and his small companion matched strides. Several of those still wandering the halls seemed about to comment on the guests appearance, but remembering the scene in the street, Legolas fingered his knives suggestively, and Gimli kept his hand on his axe. It was enough to silence questions until Legolas could shake his head without the guests noticing. It worked. No one said anything, beyond polite greetings.

The room was fair-sized, and overlooked a garden, but there was only one bed. “Will this be all right?” asked the elf. “We can rouse the servants and bring up another, if it’s not.”

Big Jim stared in wonder and awe, but Trotter nodded. “It will be fine—thank you.”

“Then,” said Legolas, “Losto mae—sleep well.”

Outside, Gimli turned to his friend. “He’s never been to the Shire?”

“And,” said Legolas, “The man is sleeping in front of the door. Now who does that remind you of?”

Gimli waved it off. “How do you get a hobbit that’s never been to the Shire? Is he lying for some reason?”

Legolas shook his head. “No—he seemed honest. There a couple of things we need to do for our guests, and then I want to talk to some of the soldiers who went into Mordor.”

Gimli tugged at his beard. “And those shoes—clumsy wooden shoes—on a hobbit! How can he wear them?”

“That’s what makes me think Mordor,” said Legolas. “Who would be least likely to know why they were questioned, and most defensive about it? A hobbit who has no idea how or why his country became known to the Enemy.”

“And we all know that hobbits are stubborn. I wonder how he would have reacted had I worked Baggins into the conversation?”

“We’ll find out tomorrow,” said Legolas.

Trotter awakened to find Big Jim staring at himself in a mirror, wearing a clean suit of clothes that were just slightly too small for him. “Is this really what I look like?” asked the man.

“Yes,” said Trotter.

“There are clothes for you,” said Big Jim. Soon Trotter was also admiring himself in the mirror, but noticing subtle differences in their clothing. He was decked out in a fine waistcoat and jacket that hung loosely on his thin frame, while Big Jim’s clothes were simply serviceable and durable.

“Now I know why ada preferred elf styles,” he muttered.

“Why?” asked Big Jim.

“More comfortable. Less pieces.” He didn’t mention less class distinction because it was possible that there had been no other readily available clothes to fit Big Jim.

Legolas poked his fair head inside the room. “Anybody hungry in here?”

“Always hungry,” said Big Jim.

“I dreamed of mushrooms and a pipe,” said Trotter.

“For breakfast?” said the elf. “Well, I suppose we could find some for you.”

“Oh no!” said Trotter quickly. “I don’t want to be a bother!”

“Nonsense,” said Legolas. “This is the palace of King Elessar in the Golden Age—mushrooms will be very easy to find, and as for the pipe—”

“I have Longbottom leaf,” said Gimli, appearing round a corner, “And a spare pipe. I would be honoured to smoke with a hobbit again.”

They entered the breakfast room of King Elessar, and the king himself rose to meet them. “Once again we are blessed with a hobbit at our table. Welcome, travellers.”

“Welcome,” echoed the beautiful woman at his side. “Suilad, both of you.”

Big Jim looked around, and backed up. “I…”

Gimli took one big hand. “Just sit by me—you’ll be fine.”

Introductions were made. King Elessar, and his wife, Arwen Undomiel. Faramir, steward of Ithillian and his wife, Éowyn. Legolas of Mirkwood, and Gimli the dwarf. Trotter the hobbit, and Big Jim.

There was much talk around the table, but the two guests were always wary whenever ‘hobbits’ were mentioned. The meal was finished, and Gimli and Trotter were lighting their pipes when the king turned to Trotter and Big Jim. “Do you trust me yet?” he asked, half-smiling. “They say I have a rough look about me.”

“Si,” said Trotter. (“Yes, now.)

“When did they question you about the Shire?” Big Jim edged closer to the hobbit, and Trotter counted on his fingers.

“Many years ago,” he said finally. “Over forty, for I was young then. But every so often—” he shuddered, and would not continue.

“They wanted to know about the Shire, hobbits, and particularly one Baggins? Am I right?”

“Yes,” said Trotter, and got up, fear lurking in his dark eyes.

“Didn’t it ever occur to you to wonder what you were defending?” asked Elessar.

Trotter went white. Hobbit… what do you know of hobbits? Shire… hobbit… Baggins! Leering orcs, whips, red hot iron, pain, blinding pain… And always, standing just above, a black robed figure, sometimes speaking the same reasonable words as those just used by the king.

“Or why they wanted to know about hobbits?”

“No,” he said.

Faramir leaned forward. “He’s been badly frightened, milord. But Sauron is dead; and the Nazgûl with him. There is nothing left but a story, Trotter, but had you told all you knew—we would not be here today. Bilbo and Frodo Baggins would have joined you in your service to the Dark Tower, and Minas Tirith would have fallen long ago.”

Big Jim looked around warily. “You should not say their names. You will call them up.”

“It is the time of the sun,” said Arwen Undomiel. “Darkness is banished for a little while, and holds no sway here.”

Trotter looked up from a study of the floor. “Ada knew a Bilbo Baggins—before he left the Shire—he wanted him to come with him on his last journey.”

Gimli looked interested. “I’d say it was a good thing Biblo didn’t go though—else we dwarves would never have got our mountain back; and as Gandalf said, the goblins would have been rampant in the Misty Mountains, and Smaug could have come to Sauron’s aid, and who knows what else.”

Arwen considered. “I remember my brothers telling me about a hobbit, once, when we were speaking of Bilbo. He loved everything elvish—wouldn’t leave Imladris until the language was taught to him. I met him once, in Lórien. I wonder what happened to him after he left Lórien?”

“That was probably my ada,” said Trotter. “He went back to the Shire, and married, and brought her to his hole. Then they had me, and then they died.”

“What was this adventurous hobbit’s name?” asked Legolas. “I was away when he visited Mirkwood, but after the Battle of Five Armies, ada mentioned that Biblo reminded him of someone.”

“Took,” said Trotter. “Hildifons Took—and I am Elrohir Isengar Took, now known as Trotter.”

“Yes,” said Legolas.

The queen rose and placed her hands on the hobbit’s grey curls, bending over and kissing his forehead. “My brother is honoured.”

Trotter blushed.