“Look at this one, Uncle Bilbo.” Frodo pointed to some faint scratchings in the lichen-covered boulder which bisected the trail they were following. “It’s another star and an arrow pointing to the left. I’m going to sketch this one.”

Bilbo came up the trail and squinted to read the faint marks. “Yes, I do believe you are right about these things. Definitely markings.”

“They are terribly old, aren’t they?” Frodo asked. He put down his pack and retrieved his little writing pad. Taking out a piece of charcoal, he made a tracing of the pattern in the rock, then carefully folded it and placed it back onto the clipboard, tucking it safely away into the pack.

“Yes, and no,” Bilbo replied. “It looks to me like this sign was carved into the rock a long time ago, but has been refreshed more recently. Can’t tell how recently though.”

“Bet it’s a trail marker made by the Numenorians,” Frodo excited announced. “Wonder why they want us to go left here instead of right. The trail looks much easier on the right. And the right-hand section seems to lead more directly down to the water.” Frodo turned to his Uncle. “So, which trail do we take?”

Bilbo thought for a moment. “Gandalf used to make marks in trails somewhat similar to these. I think it best if we take the left-side trail, even if it looks more difficult and adds time to our hike. If we have time later on our return, we can explore the other trail and see where that leads.”

They started off down the rocky left-hand path. The going was rough, with well-established thorny brambles and tangles of clingy vines partially obscuring the way. The day became hot and sticky and the air laden with moisture. Frodo’s dark curls were soon plastered to his sweaty forehead. He and Bilbo both slapped mosquitoes at every step. But at least they were going downhill.

The path gradually led them out of the hills and into a rocky forested area, where the trail joined up with another coming from the east. The hobbits had only gone into the woods a few minutes when they realized their path had run out. There was no telling which way it went, since the forest floor was completely covered in a thick layer of moss and dry pine needles. Even though it was mid-day, very little sunlight filtered into the deep, gloomy woods. Paradoxically, hiking through the high trees was much easier than on the path, since the scant sunlight reduced the number of understory scrub bushes and tangled vines.

“Which way do we go now?” Frodo looked to his Uncle. He had lost his bearings in the tall pines, unable to see or feel the sun. A thick cloud cover had moved in, and what sky they could see through the dark tree limbs was leaden with threatening rain.

“Since we are trying to reach the lake, I suggest we follow our feet downhill,” Bilbo prompted. “But be on the lookout for shelter. It’s bound to start pouring any moment now, and I don’t relish spending a soggy night out in the open.”

They hiked downhill through the ever-darkening gloom. Sometimes they could just make out large boulders jutting up out of the ground at odd angles. It began to thunder in the distance. Bilbo took the lead, trying to find some sort of shelter from the impending storm. As the thunder intensified and lightening flashes were seen, he spotted what looked like a convenient outcropping of rock with a large undercut area. Fat raindrops began as the hobbits raced towards the distant shelter.

Frodo found himself on a trail towards the rocks. If they ran, they could reach the shelter before the full force of the lightening and rain came upon them. “Hurry, Bilbo! I think we can just make it!” he yelled back over his shoulder, clutching his bouncing sword with one hand and his staff with the other.

“Frodo! Stop!” Bilbo yelled into the wind. His keen eyes had seen what Frodo’s had overlooked in the rain and his haste. Another of the scratchings – this one on an ancient tree trunk along the pathway. Except this time under the star was an ‘X’. “Frodo! Stop!” Bilbo again screamed as the rain began to pour out of the black sky.

In one flash of lightening he could see his nephew racing ahead along the trail. Bilbo fumbled in the rain and finally unsheathed Sting from its wet scabbard. He looked up just an another flash of lightening illumined something much more ominous; Frodo was nowhere to be seen. Bilbo ran up the path as the cold rain continued. He could hear something running in the pine needles to his left. More noise to his right. Bilbo quickly turned around, Sting at the ready. He was relieved to see it was not glowing blue. But the sight which met his eyes unnerved him just the same.

The woods appeared to suddenly fill with the ghostly forms of Men. Tall and silent they were; clad in grey cloaks; dark masks covering their grim faces. Most carried bows and arrows, and a few had swords drawn, ready for battle. Bilbo was surrounded. One lone hobbit against a host of warriors. ‘Disappear…’ The thought came unbidden to his mind. Bilbo instantly discounted the voice, planted his feet firmly in the mud, and raised Sting.

One of the men strode over to the hobbit, bright long sword at the ready. “Where is your companion?” he demanded, his cloak whipping around his legs in the wind.

Bilbo waved Sting in his face and yelled into the wind. “What have you done with Frodo?”

The tall masked stranger eyed the small Elvish blade with some curiosity, but quickly put his questions aside. “Time is of the essence, my friend,” he replied. “If he ignored the warning signs, your companion is in great danger.” He effortlessly sheathed his own sword back into its scabbard and approached Bilbo with open hands. “Speak quickly. Did he go up the trail?”

Bilbo looked around. Another lightening bolt revealed the stranger’s grey eyes and a lock of his long blond hair whipping out from under his hood. Bilbo hesitated for only a second. “Yes! He was running towards those rocks.”

The band of men silently divided into two groups and headed through the rain-soaked woods on either side of the trail. “Follow me,” the leader said, “and walk in my footsteps. If you stray but a little, you also might be lost.” With a turn, he left the path and began to go uphill.

Bilbo had no choice but to put Sting away and follow as best he could. Thunder and lightening boomed overhead as the rain became a torrent. After a few moments, the group halted. They could hear it coming from below.

“Help! Help! Bbbb … Bilbo!”

Frodo’s voice was coming from somewhere close by. But it was muffled as if it came from under the earth. Bilbo automatically turned towards the voice. “I’m coming Frodo! Hold on!” But he was restrained by the leader.

“A pit,” someone said.

“Mardil. Elessar. Take the ropes,” the leader instructed. Two tall men grabbed ropes and disappeared into the gloom of the wet trail. A couple more men followed them. Groundwater was now trickling over the rocks and forming a stream where the trail should have been. It would soon become a flashflood if they did not hurry.

“Let me go to him!” Bilbo struggled to escape from his captor’s arms. “Frodo! Hang on!”

“My men will save him, if they are able,” the calm voice replied as the rain intensified. Bilbo could do nothing except wait as instructed. It was one of the most horrifying times of his life.

“We have him!” The shout could barely be heard over the crashing of the thunder and the noise of the rain slashing through the trees. “We’re taking him to the cave.”

“Come with me,” the leader instructed.. Bilbo followed the dark host of men uphill and through the woods until they reached another outcropping of hard granite. This one was wide and deep and dry. Horses were tethered next to the small cave’s opening, withers to the wind and rain.

Four men were already in the shelter when Bilbo’s crew arrived. Much to Bilbo’s relief, Frodo was sitting next to a fire pit, tightly clutching a large cloak to his shivering wet frame.

“Frodo!” Bilbo raced up and hugged his nephew to his breast. “My boy! Are you hurt?”

“No,” Frodo said, “but I am grateful you sent these men to help when you did. I would have drowned in that pit.” Frodo looked up uncertainly as more silent dark-clad men came into the shallow cave. A total of nine surrounded the two drenched hobbits.

“I didn’t send them,” Bilbo replied. “Chance and good fortune brought them to our aid.”

“One makes one’s fortunes in the Wild,” the dark-haired man closest to Frodo replied, “and chance had little to do with this.” The only thing Frodo could see of his face was his intense grey eyes. They seemed far older than Frodo could have imagined.

Frodo shrank back against his Uncle. “Numenorians,” he whispered. “Are they ghosts?”

The man snorted in amusement. “I’ve been called worse.” His companions chuckled.

Bilbo stood and addressed the tall leader as the men busied themselves to wait out the storm. “My nephew and I are grateful to you, sirs, for rescuing us. To whom may I give my thanks?”

“You may thank my Lord Elrond for keeping us on patrol, Mister Baggins,” the leader replied, removing his mask and cloak to reveal himself as a golden-haired Elf-lord. He smiled and sat down across from the hobbits. Frodo’s mouth flew open. One of the men started a fire.

“You have me at quite a disadvantage, sir,” Bilbo calmly replied. “It seems I am known to you, although I do not think we have met.”

“I was away on another, um…, journey the last time you were at Imladris, Mister Bilbo Baggins,” he said. “But I heard all about your adventure to Erebor and back again from Lord Elrond himself. You are well known at the Last Homely House in the West. My name is Glorfindel, and these men and I patrol the Wilds around Imladris. I believe Men and hobbits of Bree call them Rangers.” He turned to Frodo. “And you, my young and very foolish hobbit, are…?”

Frodo stood and bowed deeply to the Elf. “Frodo Baggins, at your eternal service, my lord. Thank you for rescuing this extremely foolish hobbit from that terrible pit. I shall not forget your kindness, nor that of your men.” Frodo turned to the dark-haired men and bowed to them as well.

The fire brought a measure of comfort to an otherwise dreadful afternoon. The rain tapered off and finally blew away towards the east. The rest of the company took off their wet cloaks and masks and arranged them to dry. Frodo could now see that Glorfindel was the only Elf among them. The rest were tall, dark-haired men of tough and wiry build. Most appeared to be in their thirties, although a couple had grey in their hair and beards. They were completely unlike the rather round, short and soft merchants from Bree, who tended to have brown or reddish hair and would never have been caught out in the Wild. The Men from Bree were more closely related to hobbits than to these strange Men.

Not much was said as the men went about their tasks. A spit was set up over the fire, and soon roasts of venison were cooking. Bilbo and Frodo offered to share their foodstuffs with the Rangers, and their offer was gratefully accepted. Then Rangers looked on in astonishment as Bilbo and Frodo unloaded not just a few items from their backpacks, but a veritable feast to the hungry woodsmen’s eyes: bread (although a bit soggy); hard cheeses; dried fruits including peaches, apples, prunes, cherries, and raisins; walnuts; almonds and hazelnuts. The Rangers had never seen such a variety of foodstuffs pulled from a backpack in their lives.

Yet despite the merriment of the cheerful fire and the excellent repast, the Rangers maintained their vigilance. Guards were posted and the fire carefully screened from sight of unfriendly eyes.

“What brings two hobbits up into the Wild northlands?” Glorfindel asked after dinner was finished. “We normally do not see hobbits anywhere except in the Shire or around Bree.”

“We’re looking for the lost city of Annuminas,” Frodo piped up,.

Conversation halted. “Any why would you be looking for that city, my friend?” the Ranger called Elessar asked.

“My young nephew wanted to go on an adventure,” Bilbo explained. “Whether we find the lost city of Annuminas or not is now immaterial, since this little episode has proven my point that adventures are dangerous.” He pointedly looked at Frodo, who was scribbling madly in his notebook.

“Well, if you continue wandering about in this part of the Wild, you better pay closer attention to the warning signs,” Glorfindel said.

Frodo looked up. “The star and pointers? Like this one?” He showed his rock rubbing to the Ranger sitting next to him.

“Impressive that you noticed them,” Elessar replied, “but unimpressive that you did not heed them.”

“I didn’t see that last one,” Frodo frowned. “It was raining.”

“You were running without looking,” Mardil said. “A dangerous habit if one wishes to stay alive.”

“We will remember your sage advice,” Bilbo replied. “What exactly are those markers?”

“Dunedain signs,” Elessar said. “The star is one of the signs of the King. These lands were once overrun by evil men who placed many traps for those of us who remain to protect what is left of the Kingdom.”

“We have found and destroyed most of them, as far as we can tell, but there are some which are too large to fill in or deactivate,” Mardil said. “We mark these paths as dangerous and to be avoided.”

“If you look for the sign of the King, your path will be safe,” Glorfindel said. “You might also see marks of a tree and seven stars, or one of the seabird wings. These are also ancient signs of the King. But be on guard at all times. There are yet followers of the Great Deceiver who live in these lands. They would not think twice about having your heads for trophies.”

It was late evening. Frodo was exhausted with his narrow escape from the water-filled pit. He fell into a deep sleep listening to the quiet talk around the campfire. Other Rangers also turned in, catching what rest in safety as they could find.

Bilbo stayed up long after the others had gone to sleep. Normally he would have lighted up his pipe, but Glorfindel warned him that the unusual smell of pipeweed would attract undesirables, so he refrained. Instead, he found his hand naturally drawn into his pocket to finger the ring. Bilbo did not bring the ring out into the open firelight. An unusual fear of it being discovered by the Elf suddenly came into his mind. Glorfindel sat across the glowing embers from the hobbit. He was staring up into what midnight sky was visible through the canopy of the trees.

“Your nephew is an unusual hobbit,” Glorfindel quietly said.

Bilbo looked quizzically at him.

“Gandalf tells me that hobbits are a naturally quiet people; not given to wanting to know about the world outside their own country. And certainly not given to seeking adventures,” the Elf said.

“That is an accurate description,” Bilbo had to admit. “I think that is one of the reasons Gandalf likes to visit the Shire.”

“Yet you two are here, in the Wild, off on an adventure for no reason other than young Master Frodo wanted to go on one. I perceive that there is more than meets the eye concerning your own adventure, Mister Bilbo Baggins.” The Elf was not looking at Bilbo as he nervously fingered the ring in his pocket. “I do not know why Gandalf asked the Dunedain to increase their patrols around the Shire. Wizards have their own reasons for doing things and sometimes do not bother to explain their requests.

“But he asked the Dunedain to do so after you left Imladris many years ago. It does not surprise me to find you have decided to go on another adventure, but I would have thought that old age would have prevented it.”

Bilbo put away the ring and looked into the fire. “I don’t know why, but old age has been very kind to me. I feel as young and strong as I did when I first left the Shire with Gandalf.” He looked up again at the handsome Elf. “But now the urge to go adventuring has captured my heart again. I can’t explain it. I long to leave the Shire and see mountains again. Perhaps go back to your lovely Rivendell and enjoy some peace and quiet there.”

Bilbo glanced over at Frodo quietly sleeping. His raven-dark hair and eyelashes contrasted sharply against the milky whiteness of his innocent face. Bilbo was again reminded of how Frodo had a faint Elvish air about him.

Bilbo sighed. “But you see, I have obligations now. I want to stay with the lad and see to his proper upbringing. But I also have this great yearning to leave. I do not know how much longer I can resist the urge to flee the Shire. I thought that going on a little holiday with Frodo – well, that I could calm down my own restlessness.”

The Elf smiled. “You will do what is best for both of you. When your heart tells you to leave, I am sure the time will be right.” He also gazed upon the sleeping form of the younger hobbit. “But stay with your nephew until then. There is something about this one which makes him special. Something I have seen too seldom in my long years of walking under the stars of Middle Earth. A goodness which must be allowed to mature with the wisdom he still lacks. And I perceive only you can give him that which he needs. Stay with Frodo, Bilbo Baggins, and raise him well. And when you are ready, I am sure my Lord Elrond will welcome you back to the autumn of Imladris for as long as your heart desires.”

Bilbo smiled. “I think I can last until he comes of age. And you are right. There isn’t another hobbit in the Shire like my boy there.” Bilbo settled down into his bedroll. “Goodnight my friend. And thank you again for all you have done for us.”

“Goodnight, Mister Baggins,” came the quiet reply. “We shall meet again.”