A short story by Angus Abranson of Hobbits and scandalous files that refuse to go away…

——————————————————-

Two small figures trudged, struggling and cursing, through the As the mist hung low two small figures struggled through the swampy Dead Marshes. One of the figures tripped over a rock or a half-submerged skull, and muttered something unheroic whilst clutching his pack tighter.

The other figure, wiping mud from his cheeks, squinted…

“There’s somethin’ queer in the muck, Mr. Frodo,” he said. “Not bones, but… parchment? Looks official.”

Crouching down Frodo pulled a slime-ridden waterproof leather binder from the greasy waters, making out the words TOP SECRET – THE EPSTEIN FILES in Gondorian stamped on its cover.

“It’s heavy,” he whispered. “And it hums with some… dark bureaucracy.”

Sam took the binder for a closer look, opening it to find pages upon pages, filled with names, addresses, and what appeared to be flight schedules scribbled in crabbed handwriting. “Why, it’s a whole book of… acquaintances,” Sam said, puzzled. “Lords, bankers, even Elves! And half o’ them already deny knowin’ the other half.”

Before Frodo could reply, a wet gurgling voice rose behind them.

“Preciousss! They found it! Nasty hobbitses, digging where they shouldn’t!”

Smeagol slithered into view, his pale eyes bulging with panic, hands pawing at the air.

“Give it back! Wicked Men dropped it long ago, yesss, and Smeagol keeps it safe. Very safe. Mustn’t let anyone read about… the island.”

“The island?” asked Frodo.

“Yes, yes, the island where the big Men go on their… retreats. Full of secrets, terrible secrets.” Smeagol clutched his head, “Hobbitses give it to me!”

Frodo hugged the binder closer to himself. “I already carry a burden, Sam. The Ring… and now this. Perhaps it is my fate to reveal corruption as well as destroy it.”

Suddenly Orcs appeared on the horizon, led by a bureaucratic-looking Uruk in tiny spectacles. “Search them!” it barked. “The Master wants the Files. He says the truth must never, ever come out.”

Frodo and Sam, panicking, bolted into the reeds in with Smeagol scuttling after them.

Hours later, with the three huddling in a damp and gloomy cave, Frodo opened the binder again.

“It seems everyone powerful was friends with this Epstein,” he said, bewildered. “Even Saruman’s name is in here, right next to some Elvish yacht club.”

Sam groaned. “We’re doomed, Mr. Frodo. This is darker than Mordor itself.”

Smeagol whimpered. “No one must know… no one ever believes anyway. They’ll just argue forever, precious, forever…”

And so the hobbits carried on, not only with the fate of Middle-earth in their hands, but also the greatest scandal that had managed to survived through the ages.