Sorry if this reads a little choppy--there's a large section here that is only sketchily written, but details how the boys take the hobbits out in the night to find silver in the moonbeams, how the hobbits trick the boys and escape, and then how the boys' uncle gets involved in it all, but it is much too long and involved (and drafty) to include here. You'll just have to wait for the longer version, I'm afraid. And so I apologise, but I thought you'd like to see at least the conclusion of this episode.

Chapter 3.

‘...very like,’ the Man said thoughtfully, gazing at the hobbits before him. ‘Why, put a helm on your head and girt you with black and silver and you’d be the image of the Ernil i Pheriannath, as I remember him, as we stood upon the hill and watched the Dark Lord’s forces advance to crush us...’

His eyes clouded and his face grew troubled, but the boy seemed used to this happening; he touched his uncle’s sleeve and the old soldier gave a start and blinked, returning from the dark dream of the past.

‘Very like,’ he said again. ‘And so Corin and Turbor thought that you were of the Little Folk, hiding your gold in moonbeams and rainbows...’

‘I’m sorry, Uncle Cirion,’ the boy said, hanging his head. Turbor turned away, his hands fisted at his side, his head down, making a burbling sound—and Farry, looking closer, could see the glint of tears on the teen’s cheeks.

‘Now, now,’ Cirion said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. ‘Come here, lad, and give that nose of yours a blow. You were only doing what you thought best... but remember, sometimes what we think is best, is really ill thought at best. Remember the Lord Denethor’s mistake, and how dearly it cost not just himself, but others, fine soldiers, lost or nearly so because he refused to listen to Mithrandir.’

He looked again to Farry, and dipped his chin in something like a bow. ‘Your father saved the life of our Captain, and for that I and others of the Guard are forever in your debt.’

‘But what of Ferdi?’ Farry said. ‘His shoulder...’

‘I am well,’ Ferdi said, though he protectively hugged his damaged arm to his side with his good hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ Turbor sobbed, turning suddenly to the hobbits. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’

Cirion’s brows drew together at this, but Turbor’s younger brother spoke quickly. ‘He didn’t pull the arm out, Uncle,’ he said. ‘Really-and-truly he did not.’

‘No,’ Cirion said, ‘but if he’d brought the hobbits to me at once, I might have been able to put it right again. As it is, I fear he’ll need the offices of the Houses of Healing.’

‘But with everyone gone to the City for Ring Day, how will we bring him there?’ Corin said.

The old soldier stared from one nephew to the other. ‘I think that you will have to make amends,’ he said. ‘You can bring Faramir and Ferdibrand to the landing, and find a boatman to take you down to the City...’

‘Boats!’ Ferdi protested, wincing as he hugged his injured arm too tightly.

‘There are no falls between us and Minas Tirith,’ Cirion said. ‘It will be much faster, and a smoother ride, much less jarring to your shoulder than to ride all the way on the back of the ox, or in an oxcart.’ To the teen, he said, ‘Dry those tears, now, Turbor, and ready the ox for the journey. The hobbits will ride on his back, I think, with your brother to steady them, and you’ll take them to the landing, and tell Bregor that it is I who ask this favour.’

‘But, Uncle...’ Corin said.

‘You cannot manage the ox yourself, Corin,’ the Man said, and smiling gently after the teen he added, ‘and your brother would likely lose himself along the way. He’ll need your help. Great is his heart, and I would trust the hobbits’ safety to him, but weak as he is in wit he might take our guests in the opposite direction from the Anduin, and then where would they be?’

Ferdi rolled his eyes and muttered something better unheard, but it had to do with being better off wandering witless if it meant he’d avoid the trauma of getting into a boat.

Farry bowed. ‘You are very kind,’ he said.

‘Ah no, we have not been very kind,’ the old soldier said. ‘My nephew found you and instead of bringing you help he bound you, and for that I am heartily sorry and ashamed. His grandfather had a great deal of patience for him, when the rest of the family were busy with the farm and the crops, but he filled my nephew’s head, already weak as it was, with folly, and his parents have let him wander as he wills.’

‘But, Uncle,’ Corin said again. ‘You cannot stay here by yourself!’ He and Turbor had been left—nay, they had insisted on the privilege, to stay behind so that their parents might take a much-put-off holiday—to tend the livestock, and care for their uncle, while the rest of the family went to the great celebration in the City.

The old soldier smiled. ‘There is nothing here that I cannot tend,’ he said, ‘if you take the ox with you. And I could tend even the ox, were I hard-pressed so to do. I am not so helpless as your mother would make me out to be.’ His eyes lighted and his smile brightened as Turbor emerged from the byre, guiding the ox to them. ‘Ah, your carriage awaits!’ He nodded again to Farry and then to Ferdi. ‘It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If you should ever travel this way again, we will make a better welcome than you had this time.’

Farry bowed low to the old soldier, and Ferdi bowed as well as he could. ‘Our thanks,’ Farry said. ‘And I’m certain that my father will wish to stop, on our return journey to the Shire, to talk over old times.’

Turbor lifted each hobbit in turn to the back of the ox, and then his young brother, settling Ferdi between the other two as his uncle instructed, and then he turned the ox’s head towards the lane and touched the goad to the heel of the beast.

Farry, peering back, shouted again his thanks and farewells, and Cirion raised his arm in salute. He watched until the travellers reached the road, and then he nodded and hitched himself along with the ease of long practice and his heavily muscled arms, seeming unhampered by the lack of legs, to begin the evening’s chores.

***

It was two days later when the family returned to the farm, having stopped at the landing to reclaim the ox from the field of the friend who’d provided the boat for the travellers’ passage.

‘Well, well, and how was the celebration?’ Cirion asked, once the excitement of the arrival had diminished, he’d received all the kisses his nieces wished to bestow, and he’d seen for himself that his nephews had managed to find Minas Tirith, and their parents, and were back safe again without terrible penalty for their abuse of the friends of the King. He gave a sigh of relief. He hadn’t wanted to send his nephews to Minas Tirith, to face the possible wrath of the King, but he’d been able to think of no other way to bring the injured hobbit quickly to the healers at the Houses of Healing.

Forcing a grin, he said, ‘Is the Queen as lovely as ever?’

‘Lovelier!’ his sister said, crouching to hug him and press her cheek against his. ‘And you are well, and took no ill from being left here all alone, with no one to...?’

‘I am well,’ Cirion said, ‘as I keep telling you.’ He gave her a gentle push, but she only hugged him closer. ‘My only complaint is that my cooking pales in comparison to yours, or Niniel’s, and so I am very glad to see you come back, if only for the promise of a good dinner!’

‘Promise!’ Turbor said, seizing on the word.

‘Ah, now, Nephew, what is it?’ Cirion said, shading his eyes to look up at the teen.

‘They promised,’ Turbor said, ‘They promised us gold if we’d let them go, and they did!’

Cirion frowned, but his dull-witted nephew babbled on, his face bright with enthusiasm.

‘And they were! They were! And you said they were only Halflings!’

‘I said they were only Halflings,’ Cirion echoed, bemused.

‘But look! See!’ Turbor crowed. He held out his hand, to show a glimmer of gold. ‘They were!’

Cirion took the hand in his, looking at the shining coin that lay there on the palm. ‘Gold?’ he whispered.

‘His reward from the King, for “rescuing” the hobbits after their terrible ordeal,’ his sister said with a smile.

‘What did you...?’ he said to Turbor, who neither blinked nor ducked his head.

‘Turbor told the King everything,’ Corin said, throwing his arms around his older brother and beaming at their uncle. ‘Everything! You know that he cannot tell a falsehood. And Ferdi said he’d like to put in a good word for us, and Farry too... And the King looked long and hard into our faces, and then he said that there might have been Little Folk here at one time, but that they were all gone away, and any to be seen in this day and age would be either Halfling or Dwarf, and we were to offer hospitality to them should we meet them...’

‘And you said they were only Halflings,’ Turbor said with a grin, and closed the gold in his fist. He withdrew his hand from his uncle’s and shoved his hand deep in his pocket with a satisfied sigh. ‘I knew what they were, when first I set my eyes on them!’

‘Did you, indeed?’ Cirion said, exchanging a meaningful glance with his sister. He was going to have to take the lad in hand, for certain, and teach him a few things about the realities of life. But, he thought, as Turbor turned away with a happy song on his lips, he’d let the lad continue to believe in Little Folk, with their magic and their tricks and their bags of gold. At least, until after dinner.