Stormy weathers were rare in Rivendell but not unseen. That was quite a stormy night and while the atrocious winds have waned they left quite a lot of broken branches and dislocated roof tiles in its wake in the valley. A calm dawn was breaking. 

Our story begins as most stories do when recited as a well-practised sonnet from the lips of the bard in your local tavern, with our heroine running late for work for the second time that week. When the slithers of winter had truly settled in and cast a smattering of frost across every thatched cottage and lamppost which made up the charmingly rustic little hamlet of Combe, described most lovingly as the arse-end of Bree-land.

A Hobbit Inquisition, Part the 3rd: Bad Pie

Being the observations of Applecider Bolingbroke, assisting Lancogard North-Took, Deputy-Shirriff, his ongoing investigations.

(As recorded in a cipher that may be genuinely unbreakable, as she may not have been entirely sober when she invented it. So the decoding trick may not actually work),