[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Even the mention of the small hobbit made Snaveling’s flesh burn, but with an effort of will he controlled the pain. Toby saw his quick intake of breath and the grimace that contorted his features, and regretted having brought up the topic. Snaveling pulled himself to his feet, and using the stable wall for support replied to Toby’s question. “How should I know who he is?” he snapped. “This is your country not mine! Frankly, I’m amazed that there’s anyone in this…place you don’t know. Isn’t he your cousin’s wife’s half-brother or something?” Snaveling paused when he saw the look of outrage in Toby’s eye. He did not really care that he had offended the little fellow – but then again he was not altogether comfortable that he had done so either. Snaveling shook his head, trying to recover his usual demeanor. Another week here and I’ll be as ridiculously sentimental as this halfling! he told himself to steel his mood.

“I don’t know who he is,” he said more politely, “but I intend to find out.” Snaveling stepped toward the stable doors and then paused, before turning to Toby. It cost him greatly but he finally managed to say, “I would appreciate your help, Master Hornblower. I suspect that the little fellow might be more comfortable speaking to me with one of his own people around.” For the second time that day (and year) he attempted a smile, and while it once more looked more like a grimace than anything Toby would associate with joy, it was somewhat healthier for the practice it had received. Toby returned the look with genuine surprise and jumped up after the Man. “I’d be delighted to lend a hand, Mister Snaveling,” he said. “I want to find out what’s going on around here as much as you do!”

“It’s not ‘Mister’,” Snaveling said.

“Eh?” Toby’s brow furrowed.

“My name. It’s not ‘Mister’ Snaveling; just Snaveling” Snave, they called me once.

“Oh,” the halfling replied with genuine surprise. “Most folk just call me Toby, so I don’t see why you shouldn’t do the same. It takes less time when asking to pass the salt, my old father used to say.” Snaveling did not know what to make of this and did not try. Are food and comfort the only things these people ever think about?. He shook his head in wonderment.

Together Snaveling and Toby left the stables by small side door in order to avoid Galadel, Roa and Valthalion who were talking together outside the main gate. As they moved away from the stables, Snaveling heard Roa’s laugh from across the yard, and he scowled. I don’t know how, yet, but that Woman is responsible for what’s happening to me somehow. He did not let himself think about his actions in the cellar, nor how those might be connected to his situation as well.

It did not take them long to find the small hobbit. He was scurrying out of the Inn with an armload of scrap wood and looking for the world like a frenzied mouse returning to its nest with winter’s bedding. Snaveling had prepared himself for this meeting, but the instant he set eyes on the hobbit he knew it was going to be difficult. The burning beneath his skin intensified and threatened once more to overwhelm him, but the air of Galadel’s herbs in his lungs, and the memory of her song in his mind were enough to quell the worst of his reaction. Still he had to swallow hard before he could speak to the halfling.

“Excuse me,” he began in the politest manner he could, “but I need to ask you a few questions.” The hobbit stopped dead in his tracks and did not say a word. He was extremely small, and almost exactly like a rabbit in the way that he looked at the Man with alarm and nervous energy. For a moment it even looked as though he might flee, but Toby asked him his name. Being addressed by a fellow hobbit seemed to calm him, and he said that his name was Fordogrim Bolger.

“Well, bless me,” Toby said, “I’m on exceedingly good terms with the Bolgers. Brewers of some of the finest ale in the Four Farthings! Do you know Bandoboras Bolger…?” Snaveling was content to let the hobbits ramble on. He examined Fordogrim with interest, trying to determine why this little chap should cause him such discomfort. The burning was returning and he knew that he would soon have to flee. For some reason, his mind turned to the purse of gold that he had stolen, and at that moment his nightmare threatened to return with full force. He staggered back a step and would have fallen, but something the small hobbit was saying to Toby caught his attention. He held on to the sentence like a still point of surety and used it to balance himself.

Toby had apparently asked Fordogrim what had brought him to the Green Dragon Inn. At this, the hobbit fetched a huge sigh and replied, “Ah me. I had come here to do some business. I was going to pay in advance for a year’s supply of hops from a few of the farmers up in Hobbiton. But that fire has ruined me. I lost all my gold in that Inn.”

Snaveling staggered toward the hobbit, grasping him by the arm and glaring into his eyes with such ferocious intensity that the poor little fellow let out a squeal of fright. Fordogrim had hardly even seen a Man, and had certainly never been accosted by one as grim and severe and Snaveling looked now. With the last of his energy, Snaveling choked out, “Your purse…was it made of calf-skin? With red thread and a short black cord to close it?”

“Yes,” Fordogrim said with equal parts terror and amazement. “It was precisely like that. Have you seen it?”

Snaveling staggered forward and fell to his knees. “Yes,” he said, “I stole it from your room” his head swam and his vision grew dark. He held on to the shreds of his consciousness and pointed across the yard to where Galadel, Roa and Valthalion were talking. “Go to those people and tell them what I’ve said. They have your purse.”

Drawing himself to his feet, Snaveling ran back to the stables, ignoring the surprised calls of his companions and threw himself onto his makeshift bed.