The Legend of Puff Hornblower

[Quenore]

This is an early work of mine written for a class in high school some years ago. I'm putting it up here because I only recently came across it again and find it a rather enjoyable story for anybody. Based off the works of J.R.R. Tolkien it's really nothing more than a bit of fan fiction, and as lame as that can sometimes be, I tried to breath new life into an otherwise terribly over-used medium. Enjoy!

The Legend of Puff Hornblower
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“It was all Nob’s fault!” proclaimed the grumpy old hobbit tipping back in his chair. It was a rich summer’s evening in the South Farthing and over the last couple years everything had slowly returned to normal, or so it seemed, but nobody cared to split hairs over the matter. The beautiful tree they called Brave Samwise was growing tall and beautiful in the middle of Hobbiton and when the sun would set, its silver bark would keep the fields alight with a soft blue glow. Some of the hobbits dared to proclaim they could see its light from Longbottom, calling it the marvel of the Shire, though nobody really believed them.

“That slowcoach would always go too far out of his way to ‘pease the travelers! Why he should just’ve minded his own business! I daresay we’d be a lot happier!” The old Bolger threw his hands up in the air with his eyes wide and made a crackling sound mimicking an explosion, frightening the wee ones about him, nobody really knew why. It was almost bed time and ever since the coming back of the Four Heroes, it was customary for Fredegar - Uncle Fatty the children called him - to tell them stories on the weekends, though they all knew he made up most of them.

“It’s because of that slowcoach that Dîn came through our fields, blast the name.” Some of the younger hobbits covered their ears readying themselves for a string of swears, although they never came. “Poor, poor Puffer got tangled up in ‘is no good web of lies, ‘ed been a lot better off without ‘im!” Fredegar turned around and threw another faggot on the fire, the rich smell of pine fresh in the halls. The children would clap and cheer as the air-pockets would burst, finding it rather amusing.

“What happened to Mr. Puffer?” asked one of the Tooks, a rather obese little hobbit. “Well, I’ll get to that if you’d let me!” exclaimed Fatty with a big grin from cheek to cheek. “It’s when that good for nothing dwarf Dîn came into town that poor Master Hornblower got mixed up in the wrong business, if you take my meaning. He’d been better off just staying put tending the fields like ‘e used to. Now, blast all, who knows where ‘e is.”

The children, sure that their story would break off into a tangent, skooched closer to Fatty’s chair, chins raised, reminding him to stay on track. “Well, well, let me see, it all happened about twenty years ago I believe, right here in Longbottom at Hornblower Hall,” he picked up his cane and rapped it on the floor, “with a knock at the door.”

Chapter 1
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‘Knock, knock,’ came a sound from the door on a spring afternoon. Bongo came scuttling to the door covered in red and blue paint, and threw open the mighty hatch to find on the other side a dwarf, barely any taller than he. “What business brings you to Longbottom?” asked Bongo inquisitively, eyeing him up and down. The dwarf, at first spoke no reply but rather tossed off his cloak and threw it on the coat rack, bowing low. “Greetings to you my furry-footed friend!” said the dwarf, his voice rhythmically coy. “I come from lands afar with knowledge of old; hear you my tales of riches and gold!” Bongo stood their bewildered as the charlatan danced about with his flamboyant clothes soaring in the breeze. Bongo, unable to contain his confusion any longer, erupted “what in the devil are you blowing about?” wishing to shut the door on this vagabond and return to his work. “Why, have you listened to nothing I said?”, quothe the dwarf. “Riches and gold and rubies of red!” Bongo rolled his eyes and sighed, slamming the door in the dwarf’s face. “What a nut!” he exclaimed as he went back into the hall and grabbed his brush.

“Blast!” cried Dîn as the door almost hit him in the nose. “I need to try a different angle!”

The dwarf was dressed in jester’s clothes of impeccable fashion, something that would sell for a pretty penny if he had the brains to part with them. He had been traveling the reaches of Eriador for some time looking for a partner in his crooked business, looting and plundering. He found some luck in past towns, especially Bree, with his bright clothes and irresistible charm, but these Shire folk seemed much more adamant about hard work and tall pints than adventuring of any type. Maybe old Nob was wrong. Maybe there wasn’t any brand of adventurers in the Shire.

He turned his back on the massive wooden hall, but as he was walking away, the doors were flung open again and out came a young hobbit calling behind him, “I’m going to Tom’s, mom!” The lad came flying out of the hall, then, crashing blindly into the dwarf, knocked them both to the ground. “So sorry!” cried the hobbit blushing with embarrassment. Staggering to his feet, he helped the dwarf up. “I should have been paying more attention.”

“Worry not,” said the Dwarf springing into character instantly. “Worry not, worry not, all will be well. You seem to be young and brave, voice clear as a bell!” ‘That was terrible,’ Dîn thought to himself, knowing it would have been better had he rehearsed it.

The hobbit stood up with the exact same look in his eyes as Bongo had displayed when he first saw the oddly-clad stranger. “Just knock on the door and my uncle Bongo will tend to your needs,” he said, turning his back, ready to head to Tom’s.

“Not so fast, not so fast! Slow down wild boy! I may have some news that could fetch you some coin!”

The young hobbit was weary of his act already (patience not being one of his virtues) and turned again to leave. The dwarf finally leveled with him. “Ah, come on kid, give an old dwarf a chance!” he cried, his voice dropping two whole octaves. “The name’s Dîn, Dîn the Smuggl… the Daring.” A quick recovery.

“What business brings you to Longbottom?” said the lad, almost identical to how his uncle had said it before, a family thing.

“Just looking for business,” Dîn groaned, sensing that yet another customer was lost.

“Well, what kind of business would that be?” replied the hobbit with sympathy.

“Finding gold,” he said, surprised by his own honesty. “I find gold,” lowering his gaze trying not to look as excited as he really was. ‘Maybe this kid will actually take the bait!’ he exclaimed inwardly.

Now that he could see the tween might actually be interested, he sprung back into the act and said reversely, “well, it doesn’t seem like a little kid would be interested in something like that though,” turning away. “Good day master… master… I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

The hobbit, now more or less intrigued by this strange fellow replied, “Puff Hornblower sir, but my friends call me Puffer.”

“Well Puffer, Dîn the Dwarf is glad to meet thy acquaintance!” he pitched, charlatan once more. “Sound heavenly trumpets and devil trombones,” he roared jovially, “for this evening we dine!” The dwarf threw an arm over the hobbit’s shoulder and dragged him along down the road towards the inn, young Puff overcome by his pomposity.

 

[Quenore]

Chapter 2​

The Stone Well was a quaint little pub, hardly mentionable when compared to The Dragon, but the hobbits of the South Farthing found it a good home after a long day’s work, where one could lose themselves in a pint… or six.

The dwarf finally let go of the poor hobbit as they approached the tavern and sprang forward, doing cartwheels towards the door, flinging it open enthusiastically. “After you, Master Hornblower,” said he.

Puff entered, but was now growing rather weary of the act once again. The dwarf reeled forward to the bar but Puff headed for a table, and the dwarf, realizing that his companion wasn’t following, quickly ran to the table to pull out the youth’s chair. He pushed in the hobbit’s seat and then took the chair across from him.

“Barkeep!” he exclaimed, “Bring us a bottle of your finest vineyard, and make it double-quick!” He had had enough dealing with hobbits to understand some of their language, even picking up a slang phrase or two, having run into many of them in Bree. The bartender returned as fast as his furry feet could carry him and poured a full glass of wine for the dwarf and put a pint in front of the young hobbit, knowing that one of his finest patrons hated wine over the tap. The dwarf was about to correct this mistake but noticed then that the hobbit was already half-way through the pint and dismissed the idea.

The tavern was still fairly empty, being that the sun was still in the sky, but the few inhabitants gave the dwarf a funny gaze, confused by his outlandish attire. “So, Master Dwarf, what is this business of which you speak?” inquired Puff. The dwarf put down his bottle, which was more painful than he had expected, and started to recite his speech. It never failed.

“On top of mountains is where I have been, gold and silver are piled within! I know the secrets of…”

“What mountains?” interjected the hobbit without batting an eye.

“Well Master Hobbit, let my tale progress! You will find out more, I will do my…”

“Was it Ered Luin?” interrupting again.

“What?”

“Ered Luin? The Blue Mountains, bordering the sea? Surely you know of them, it’s ruled by your people after all.”

The dwarf sat in his chair agape. He had been expecting small country folk without a clue in the world, not somebody actually educated.

“Master Peregrin taught me many things, Master Dwarf, god bless his soul, please, spare me your ramblings.”

‘It must be the atmosphere,’ said the dwarf to himself, wishing now that he had picked a different place to talk. The hobbit, only in his tweens, spoke as if he had years of experience dealing with foreigners. The dwarf couldn’t help but be impressed.

“So, I see I am dealing with no ordinary Shireling,” said Dîn apologetically. “I’ll do us both the favor and drop the whole act,” he said now, removing his silly hat and putting his elbows on the table, leaning forward. “As I said before I’ve been all over the world,” he lied, “in search of gold. Some places I’ve found it, other places, well, I haven’t. All the same though, I think I have a good inkling about this particular job. Will you hear it?”

The hobbit, seeing now that the prey was becoming the hunter, kicked back his feet and made a swirling motion with his hand, as if to say, “go on, get it over with.”

The dwarf, though young by his people’s standards, was well over twice the age of Puff and didn’t find it too amusing to be bossed around by an underling, but, for the sake of business, he continued undeterred.

“Rumor has it that somewhere in the Blue Mountains there was a stash of gold put there thousands of years ago by men. What men were doing in that area of the world isn’t as interesting as what happened to the stash.” He pulled out a dusty old map. “See here,” he pointed to a small ‘x,’ “this is where it was supposed to be, and the stones know that my people have tried finding it for years upon years with not so much as a coin.” He was lying again, his people had banished him years ago for unsavory behavior in the King’s presence. “But here’s something interesting that I found,” he pulled out another piece of parchment from a flask in his breast pocket. “It’s another piece of the same map, and it gives more directions!” He put the two pieces together creating a whole. “The ‘x’ isn’t where the gold is, it’s where you have to start to find it! And look! There are detailed instructions of where to go from there!” The dwarve’s eyes were wide with excitement.

“If this gold is but waiting on your fingertips,” said Puffer coyly, “then why haven’t you taken it for yourself?”

“Ah ha! So now we get to the interesting part! My people would never let me take the gold for my own, and if they ever found out that I took it for myself, the shame to my name and family would carry on for generations!” Another lie, and no matter how convincing the dwarf thought he was, the whole time Puff sat back in his chair thinking to himself, ‘who does this guy think he’s fooling? He’s been banished, just look at him! He can’t take the gold because they’ll kill him if he does.’

“Why don’t you ask permission then?”

“The King would never allow a commoner such as myself to be in charge of such a mission; he’d take my map and the gold for himself.” His rebuttal was lightning fast. He’d been asked these questions a dozen times before; nobody ever took the bait.

Skipping ahead in the conversation and rather enjoying the whole thing from the start, the hobbit liked being able to reveal himself as a master of wits to somebody as unsuspecting as this. “How does this involve me, oh Lord of the Mountains?” he said, sarcasm bleeding through his teeth.

“I need somebody else to find the gold for me. The King would never steal it from somebody of different kin.” - which was entirely true. “I need you to be the one to find the treasure vault, then, when you take the gold back we split it fifty-fifty. “Sixty-forty,” said the hobbit, cocking an eye up at the dwarf. Dîn, biting his teeth, said, “Fine, sixty-forty.”

The deal was outrageous, but he had no intention of actually letting the hobbit keep any money anyway. The plan had always been to kill the second person after the treasure was his. The dwarf reached his hand across the table, “Do we have a deal?”

The hobbit reached out and returned the shake, “Deal!” knowing full well that the dwarf was as untrustworthy as a goblin chef pouring a bowl of soup.

“We set out tomorrow morning,” said Dîn, laughing proudly inside his head at the victory.

“No,” said Puff even before the dwarf had finished. “We leave now.”

The dwarf practically spit out his wine at the hobbit’s last comment. “And why on earth would we do that?” he inquired with a chuckle.

“Because,” Puff said with a smirk, “I have the map.”

 

[Quenore]

Chapter 3​

It was a week since they had left the Shire, and as Puff had suggested, they left that very night into the cold mists of the Old Road. In previous years, it would have been unheard of for a hobbit of any stature to just up and leave on such short notice, especially when they were leaving the Shire, but ever since the Four Heroes had returned, things were quite different and for the first time in their history, hobbits were taking an active role in the ways of the world, and no longer feared the outside.

Puff had said goodbye to his family and told them he’d return shortly. Being a traditional hobbit family, they didn’t very much like the idea of him leaving with such a queer folk as Dîn, but Puff insisted that he would be just fine; after all, Dîn was in his control now.

‘Curse that filthy rat!’ Dîn had said to himself time and time again. The thought of hewing him to pieces was ever fresh in his mind, but the Halfling showed no sign of fear or doubt and always kept a sharp dagger loose in his scabbard. ‘Come on, think you stupid dwarf! You’ve been in stickier situations than this!’ he was thinking on the fifth night of their journey, camped below the mountains. ‘This little runt only wanted to come along to take the gold for himself! Which was a job that was already taken!’ Dîn was proud that he made that clever connection himself. ‘I’d bring him to Dwalin’s throne as a treacherous thief if my head weren’t on the line as well. There’s no way they’d tolerate somebody stealing from their domain!’ Puff was sleeping, or so he seemed to be, as Dîn found out the hard way a couple nights before, still bearing the scar to prove it. The dwarf was wide awake still, pacing about the campfire savagely, kicking dirt to and fro, swearing under his beard.

He realized that he may have been talking aloud so he sat down and started to think again. ‘Maybe I can take that cockawhoop into some kind of trap where he’d get caught by Dwalin and his men, but what about the map? I can’t take it from him, he’s too clever, he’d figure it out double-fast, and if I send him to Dwalin with it still on him, then it’ll be lost forever and they’ll get the treasure instead of me! There has to be another way!’ He slammed his fist onto the stump where he sat. Puff twitched in his slumber.

‘We’re within one day of the Dwarven Realm and surely there we will be discovered by spies and brought before Dwalin, or even worse, to the gallows.’ He stood up and began pacing again. ‘Alright, just calm down and think,’ he said under his breath. ‘The answer has to be there, there has to be a way to take the gold for yourself. There has to be!’ His eyes were burning with guile.

He stood for a moment without moving or blinking, then suddenly it hit him.

“That’s it!” he exclaimed aloud. The trees emptied as birds fluttered off into the night. ‘I’ll take us to the Dwarven Realm tomorrow and when we cross the borders, I’ll escape before we get caught. He’ll be captured by scouts and brought before Dwalin. Then the next day, I disguise myself as a Dwarf of Undermountain and come before him claiming some Halfling rat stole my property. Hopefully by then they won’t have found the map, or examined it close enough to realize what it is, and I’ll take it back as the rightful heir! And ridding myself of that runt at the same time.’

He crashed back on to the log exasperated with a sigh and wiped down his forehead. ‘By gar Dîn, you’ve done it again! I still won’t have anyone to help me get the treasure, but at least I’ll be around to have another go at it. He glanced sideways at Puff as if to say “I’ve got you now,” yet the hobbit lay motionless, deep in some wandering dream.

It was growing late and it was best that Dîn get some rest before facing the long day ahead. He fixed his bedding by the fire and curled up, snoring like an oliphaunt.

After the dwarf was fast asleep, Puff woke up - or just sat up, it was hard to tell which - walked quietly over to Dîn, and opened the dwarf’s back pocket. The dwarf shuddered as if in a strange dream; Puff froze until it passed. Dîn merited himself on his light-sleeping habits, always claiming that a pindrop would wake him, but the clever hands of Puff were unflawed as quietly and secretly he placed the torn pieces of parchment into the dwarf’s back pocket and closed it as it had been before. Then, as the mid-hours of night came round, the young rogue grabbed his pack and his gear, and took to the forest like the shadow of night. The dwarf snored until noon.

 

[Quenore]

Chapter 4​

The region around Ered Luin was a fine mix of woods and plains, and was always green, even in winter. Puff had walked towards the mountains for several hours now, whistling ancient hobbit tunes as he marched forward. He had heard all of what the half-witted dwarf had said and studied his voice to figure out the rest. He knew that betrayal was coming sooner or later, and that it was in his best interest to be the first off the tee.

The sun was starting to peek over the horizon and Puff’s mind was wandering, as carefree as may be in the wilds, back to the Shire and to the stories and songs that Master Pippin would tell him, about Aragorn and Minas Tirith and about Bilbo and the Dragon. A familiar song came into his head:

“Upon the hearth the fires is red,
Beneath the roof there is a bed;
But not yet weary are our feet,
Still round the corner we may meet.
A sudden tree or standing stone
That none have seen but we alone.
Tree and flower and leaf and…,

Suddenly he realized, as he had been expecting for some time, that he was no longer alone. Out of the shrubs came a sturdy vanguard of dwarves and at their head was a particularly old looking one with a long white beard.

“What brings you to our mountain, Master Hobbit?” spoke the white beard with a thick, boisterous laugh.

Puff dropped his bag, feigning surprise and started quivering as if deathly afraid. “Please, please Lord don’t hurt me! I’ve meant no harm!” The white beard took a sideways glance at his comrades and smirked. “Don’t fret young hobbit, the only neck my axe is ready to hue is that of an orc, and thanks to the Great Folk of this age, we haven’t had one of those in these parts for many a long year. What brings you to Ered Luin?” Puff let out a deep breath and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow.

“I was just making my way to see the sea, Lord, if you take my meaning,” he said with utmost sincerity.

“Oh?” said the white beard, raising a brow. “And what would a hobbit do in the sea? Swim?!” This caused some great laughter amongst his crew, knowing that hobbits were scared to death of water.

“No sir, not swim, just to see it, sir.” A dragon would have been convinced by the performance.

“Well, we’ll let you on your way then, Master Hobbit, good day.” The white beard bowed low with all professionalism and turned to leave.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, one and all kind dwarves!” exclaimed Puff, his plan working out perfectly. He reached down to pick up the rest of his gear and started searching about frantically as if something were missing.

“What is it?” asked the white beard bewildered by the hobbit’s sudden behavior. “Did you lose something?” Puff was digging furiously through his bags, letting concern show through his eyes. “It’s missing,” he cried, “it’s missing!”

“What’s missing?”

“My ring! It’s gone!” Hobbit lore at its finest.

“Well that’s a shame,” said the white beard bending an eye of suspicion towards the Halfling.

“It was very dear to me!” sobbed Puff. “I won it fair and square!”

“There, there,” the white beard patted Puff on the back trying to control his sobbing. There were looks of confusion in the troop.

“I don’t know what I’ll do now!” Puff’s act was quite professional. “We needs it!” And with that, he started going into a tantrum. During one of his throws, he secretly placed a small wooden band from his finger in the white beard’s pocket. Nobody seemed to notice.

“You stole it!” Puff exclaimed. “You want to keep it for yourself!”

The white beard had dealt with Puff’s behavior up until this point, but the last comment he did not take warmly. “This conversation is rather familiar to me, Master Hobbit,” he said, feigning anger and removing the ring from his pocket. He gave it back to Puff. “Master Peregrin held you in such high regard, Master Hornblower,” scoffed the dwarf, with a sudden grin.

Puff sat astounded.

“You hobbits are ever harder to figure out,” said the white beard, no longer caring to hide his joy in outsmarting the hobbit at his own game. “One minute you’re singing and dancing, and the next you’re weeping like a child! You will accompany us to the King’s Chamber; he’d be much obliged to meet your acquaintance!”

They formed a line with Puff in the middle and the white beard at the head, marching towards the mountains. The white beard was singing loudly.

Tree and flower and leaf and grass,
Let them pass! Let them pass!
Hill and water under sky,
Pass them by! Pass them by!”

Puff was speechless.

 

[Quenore]

Chapter 5​

The Hall of Kings under the Blue Mountain were far more majestic than the tales Puff had heard ever gave credit, and even walking through the threshold he could hear the countless footsteps lose their voices deep in the open vaults and chasms. It was truly spectacular in all its magnificence. Since his arrest in the woods, Puff had been walking wearily with a rope about his neck, led through gate after gate, going deeper into the mountain. To his great surprise, The Hall was better lit than he could have imagined, and all the way to the incalculably high ceiling he saw shadows dance around the pillars from the torches and candelabras below.

As they came through the last gate they entered the vast throne room of Dwalin, who sat on a giant stone chair at the end of a row of massive columns, all draped with red and yellow banners. His chin was rested firmly in his palm and his other hand was drumming on the armrest. The King seemed to be in a rather unpleasant mood, definitely not good, the hobbit noted.

The dwarves came in single file and approached the throne, halting about twenty feet away from the King where they then disbanded, forming two ranks on each side of the great carpet. Their movements were perfect. Puff stood alone in the middle.

“Glóin here tells me that you caused some mischief back in our woods,” said the King, pointing to the white beard. Puff pieced together some of the puzzle now, making more sense out of the whole ordeal. “Surely, one under the tutelage of our dear Master Took would know he had great dealings with me and my people, and Bilbo before him. What was your aim Master Hornblower?”

Puff saw that he was not yet in any certain danger, though the situation was much more dire than he wanted it to be. “I thought he had taken my ring, sire,” he said hoping that Glóin had not yet betrayed all the happenings to the King.

The white beard went up to the throne at the kings bidding and the two talked for some time, then the King turned his attention back to Puff. “You placed that worthless band in his pocket when he had already set you free. You could have been on your way were it not for this strange act. Tell me, why did you feel so, so… so obligated to complicate things?”

“To get a chance to meet you, Lord,” said Puff after a long silence, doubting very much than any lies would have passed through the King.

“To meet me? All you needed do was ask!” Dwalin howled with laughter. “We are not at war with your people, these are better times ohh Master Shireling! Tell me, Master Hornblower, do you dance?” laughed the Dwarf King, changing the subject completely.

“Do I dance, Lord?”

“Yes, of course. Do-you-dance?!”

“Uh, well, yes Lord, I… dance,” said Puff boggled.

“Well then, how would one of the folk in the Shire dance for a King?” Dwalin’s lore was not so bad either.

Normally Puff would have loved the opportunity to sing and dance for royalty, remembering the tales of Pippin in the White City, but this time he was so encompassed with confusion and doubt that he could find no joy from the idea of doing such silly things before the heavy gaze of everyone in the hall.

“Well, let’s see it. Dance for us!” roared Glóin, foregoing proper manners, for it was always customary for the King to do all the talking in his own hall. Some of the dwarves started clapping in a brisk rhythm and soon enough the entire hall was thundering with the deafening boom of their strong hands.

Puff, seeing no other way out, started bending at the knees and swinging his arms. Before too long he was spinning and jumping all about doing the Longbottom Hornpipe, a jig made famous by his family and one he had performed countless times back at Hornblower Hall. It was a truly spectacular display, given the circumstances, and if it had been done back in the Stone Well, he’d have received applause from all ends of the Farthings, but this time it was not so. Every dwarf stood there without cheering or hollering, just clapping to the beat. It was terrible.

After some time Dwalin raised up his hand and the clapping ceased. Puff stopped his leaping and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his soaking sleeve. The hall was eerily quiet.

“Show this fine hobbit to his quarters,” stated the King with unchanging tone. “We’ll discuss your sentence in the morning, Master Hobbit.”

Servants came forward and took the exhausted Puff away while Dwalin sat where he was as before. Even before Puff was out of the room he was already discussing more important matters with his captains. Never had a hobbit felt so ridiculous after dancing. Never.

 

[Quenore]

Chapter 6​

The sentence Puff was going to receive in the morning, whatever it might be, wasn’t even bothering him; it was the humiliation and the thought of letting down Master Peregrin that bothered him most. It was truly terrible. The room he was in was luxurious in every aspect, it was as if he were Thain, but reminding him that he was not was the secure deadlock on both sides of the massive stone door.

He threw himself upon a stack of massive pillows and lay there sprawled out, facing the vaulted ceiling far above. ‘There must be a way out of this mess,’ he thought. His original plan had failed miserably, and now not only was he in custody but the map was with that cursed Dîn, and out of his reach. He thought it would have worked like clockwork. He’d plant the map on Dîn then get into the King’s presence. And when the stupid dwarf would come barging into the chamber, Puff would tell them he was carrying the stolen map, gaining favor and renown from the King instantly, and maybe even some coin. It all seemed too easy when he was thinking about it, and unfortunately the only piece of the plan that he was sure still lay intact was Dîn. He was coming to Thorin’s Hall, despite the danger it meant to him; it was just a matter of time before he arrived.

Puff sat there thinking and then it finally hit him. He had to get to that dwarf before the others did, it was his only chance. He sprang up and without much trouble loosened the lock on his side of the door and then carefully, with his tiny hobbit hands, released the mechanism on the other side after some work. He slipped the door open and out into the hall. The feet of the hobbit are quietest of all, and not even the sleeping guards took notice of them as Puff stepped over and out the final gate, back into the woods. He took everything with him save a piece of paper he left deliberately on his bed.

It was the middle of the night and the moonless sky was alive with millions of glowing stars. He headed back in the direction of the campsite where he left Dîn as silently as he could while still maintaining good speed. It was within an hour before dawn that he finally came into a thicket and heard a distant ruffling noise in the brush. He approached it with caution for he could tell by the low, monotonous voice that it was of course Dîn, and he wasn’t in a very pleasant mood. Puff marched forward and turned on the waterworks.

“They took it!” he yelled. The dwarf lurched violently at the unexpected noise. “They took it from me!”

“There you are, you little runt!” said Dîn, charging at Puff with vengeful eyes. “What did you do with my map!?”

“I told you! They took it!”

“Who’s they?!” yowled the dwarf, unsheathing his sword.

“I don’t know! Dwarves! I went to get a drink last night when I was ambushed by a whole gang of ‘em! There must have been twenty or thirty!”

“What!?!”

“They brought me before the King and they TOOK THE MAP!” sobbed Puff uncontrollably.

Dîn collapsed, stricken with disbelief, his gaze vacant. “How come you didn’t stop them?”

“How could I?! There were too many of them!” He was bawling more than ever.

“Well, I have to go get that map back now! No thanks to you! You little cockawhoop!” bellowed Dîn angrily.

“And how would you do that?! They said only the rightful owner could come and claim it!”

“Wait, what was that?”

“Only the rightful owner could claim it!” Puff emphasized these words, seeing his trap was working.

Dîn rapidly grabbed his things and began running, not even so much as looking back at Puff. The hobbit did the same and chased after him, hollering and yelling, hoping his madness would keep him from reason.

After some minutes had passed of chasing, Puff slowed down, feigning exhaustion, yet the greedy dwarf pressed ahead faster and faster towards the mountains. After he was far out of sight, Puff relaxed and took a deep breath then started laughing hysterically. “Well, that went rather well,” he said aloud, his sides splitting.

 

[Quenore]

Chapter 7​

It was early in the morning and in the Great Dwarven Hall. Dwalin had called an early council. “Bring me the hobbit,” he said, sending away two of his servants. “We’ll get this settled once and for…” The door came bursting open with a deafening crash.

“Sorry to disturb you M’lord,” said one of the guards, “this dwarf demands immediate council with y…”

“Hey, hey!” said Dîn, bursting past the guards doing cartwheels. “Sorry for my absence, I did not mean to be late! For all my lost wage I hope you will compensate!”

“Shut up fool!” said Dwalin, disgusted with this rat that crawled back on the ship. “Your ‘lost wage’? You were banished if I so remember, why in the world have you returned?”

Dîn started…

“Hell, it doesn’t matter,” said Dwalin interrupting, already having enough. “Send him to the dungeon, I’ll deal with him after the hobbit.” Guards came moving in immediately and closed in around Dîn.

“The hobbit?!” exclaimed Dîn, his confusion conquering him. “I just passed hi…”

“Yes, yes, what is it?” sad the King as his two servants returned to the hall. One of them ran up and whispered something in his ear, handing him a crumpled piece of paper. “What?!” exclaimed the King in disbelief as he opened the crumpled note, then slowly looked up with bewilderment and focused his eyes on Dîn. The hall was silent. Dîn was held hamstrung by his assailants.

“Check his pockets and bring what you find to me,” said the befuddled king with hesitation. His guards were even more confused at such a strange request.

The guards began searching through Dîns’ clothes and out-turned his pockets until one of them came up with two small pieces of neatly folded parchment out of his back pocket. Dîn struggled furiously.

The guard ran up to Dwalin and kneeling, presented the King with what he had found. Dîn was screaming.

The King unfolded the pieces of parchment and sat there quietly for what seemed like ages, staring blankly at the two pieces of paper.

“Send him to the dungeon,” said Dwalin finally snapping out of it, “and find that hobbit.”

“Yes, Lord,” said his guards and they broke off to perform their assigned tasks.

“The Rest of you leave me,” said the King still holding the papers in front of him, his face like he had seen a ghost.

The hall emptied and still the King sat on his giant stone throne completely unmoved. All alone.

The sound of the closing of the last door behind his servants came crashing softly in the distance and the old dwarf sprang from his seat with a great “Haloo!!!”

“YaaAAAHoooOOO!!!” he roared victoriously, as his feet hit the stone floor, for there in front of him he held the treasure map, both pieces now together, intact, and in his possession. So great was the Dwarven King’s joy that there in the hall of his fathers he cast off his giant boots, cape and crown and took up the chorus with many dwarven songs of old, dancing and singing like a madman. And to this dynamite rhythm he started with kicks, throws and spins, laughing the whole while long.

It was the Longbottom Hornpipe.