Chapter Seven
Things did not happen quite as efficiently as the brothers had hoped. It was three days until everyone was ready for the departure. In that time, Marcho and Blanco summoned the hobbits of Bree to join them in Staddle, and soon enough many had answered the call and arrived in Staddle.. They numbered in the hundreds, hundreds who had joined the two brothers in their dream. At last, they were all ready to leave home for the last time.
Marcho and Blanco decided first to lead the hobbits through Bree, entering the southern gate and exiting the western gate. The Big Folk turned out to watch this spectacle; hundreds of hobbits carrying all their worldly goods upon their backs or on ponies or on wagons. Marcho feared that the Sheriff’s Men might attempt to compromise their exodus as they passed through the village, but these hobbits were under the protection of the Arthedain. Those who attacked his vassals might not live to regret it. Soon enough they left Bree behind to the east, many of them never setting eyes on it again.
Slowly they marched westwards, upon the Great East Road. Marcho and Blanco led from the front, both with walking staffs in hand. Whilst they tried to keep their people moving at a steady pace, the journey was plagued with problems. A spoke on one of the wagon wheels gave way, causing the entire march to halt. It took almost half an hour for the wheel to be repaired before the journey could continue. Some of the more elderly members of the journey found the march all too tiresome, many of them requesting that they stop for a moment or two for them to rest. These moments turned into minutes. But despite the problems that they encountered on the way, the hobbits were in high spirits. Songs were sung as they marched, which made the long trek more enjoyable for everyone. Many spoke openly about their plans in their new land, of how good their lives would be there. The brothers only hoped that their expectation of their promised land would not be a disappointment. After all, they had never seen it for themselves.
On the night of the second day of the march, Marcho and Blanco called everyone to a halt. They would make camp here for the night and arrive the next day. Everyone at this point had a smile on their face, for they knew that they were almost there. They were almost home. Fires were lit and food was cooked for everyone. Autumn would arrive soon enough, and the night air was cool. Everyone had much work to do once they arrived, if they were to survive the winter. This had been on Marcho’s mind ever since Gandalf had mentioned it in Fornost. It was now that he truly missed Grandfather. He always knew how to get everyone working together towards a common goal. But Marcho had never been a leader until now, nor had Blanco. Before that unpleasant business in Bree, the two of them had lived a life of adventure and mischief. But this was their greatest adventure of all.
By the next morning, the hobbits were on the move again. The pace now was considerably faster than it had been before, for everyone knew that the end was in sight. Soon enough it was indeed in sight. A river could be seen in the far distance, with a stone bridge across it. To the west of that river all was green, with rolling hills as far as the eye could see. It was more beautiful and charming than the dream the two brothers had shared.
“The Baranduin River.” Marcho announced.
“And the Bridge of Stonebows.” Blanco added.
It was at midday when the hobbits reached the bridge that Blanco spoke of. The two brothers halted the march before they could cross. By now all were weary from travel, and there was much work to be done in this new unknown land before the winter.
“My friends!” Marcho called out from the bridge to those who waited at the riverside. “Our long journey is now done. But there is no time to rest, for autumn is fast approaching and with that comes winter. Do not think our work is done once you have crossed this bridge, for there will be much hardship ahead of us all before we might settle.”
Blanco now came forward beside his brother. “This land is a great gift, and ought to be treated as such. We may live peacefully, in time, but remember to whom we owe loyalty to. This is a shire of the King’s realm, our shire, the Shire!
“The Shire!” the crowd cried in response.
At that, the crossing of the bridge began. It was the two brothers who first set foot upon the Shire, and at once their dream became the most powerful reality. From this moment the Shire Reckoning began. Marcho bid that the hobbits did not wander off across the vast leagues of the Shire for now, as it was his intention to settle close to the river until the spring of the next year arrived.
“In good time you may take yourselves westwards or northwards or southwards.” He explained to them. “But time is now of the essence, and haste does not call for wandering.”
It was his word that they hearkened, and soon enough the burrowing of homes in the green hills of the Shire began. Marcho named the region of land by the Baranduin the Marish. His own home was dug upon the tallest hill in the Marish, which was completed first of all the holes. By the coming of winter, the hobbits were all warm and sheltered from the cold. These holes were not burrowed as permanent homes, for many wished to spread out across the land once the spring came to make true homes for themselves and their families. Thankfully, the winter was not a harsh one. Many of the crops endured the cold which kept everyone fed.
With spring soon arriving, the two brothers knew that soon enough many would depart the Marish. Although the rest of the Shire was unknown to the hobbits at this point, most were eager to find out what lay beyond the horizon.
“What happens now?” Blanco asked his brother over supper.
“Now we allow everyone to make their own choices. Should they wish to find a new home away from the Marish, then they may do so. It is a vast land that we have been granted.”
“What of us? What do we do?”
Marcho smiled at his brother. "There is much to explore in this green country. I should like to see it all, before settling down!"
"My place is with you, as it always has been."
When the winter snow began to thaw, Marcho and Blanco departed the Marish, venturing together across the Shire. Some years later, they would establish the town of Michel Delving in the White Downs, settling there for the rest of their days. Others hobbits followed their example. Far and wide they spread, founding settlements of their own all across the Shire. They were the ancestors of the Bagginses, Boffins, Tooks, Grubbs, Chubbs, Burrowses, Hornblowers, Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses, Proudfeet, and all other Shire families. These families and communities soon began to thrive and burrow deep within the hills.
Marcho and Blanco did not forget their loyalty to the King. They fulfilled their allegiance by speeding his messengers and maintaining the roads and bridges throughout the Shire. In return the hobbits slept soundly at night knowing that their land was protected in the King’s name. The successors of Argeleb the Second honoured this understanding until the fall of Arthedain that followed the death of King Arvedui, some four hundred years later. Soon enough the days of the King were forgotten by the Shire. But one day this faded memory will be renewed.
