Crumbling ruins of some ancient Arnorian watchtower stood atop a grassy hill southwest of the Bucklebury Ferry. There was not much left of the tower, only the floor and some columns and supporting structures of the first floor remained, but because it had been built on top of the highest hill in Buckland, a man could hide there undetected if he laid low.
And that’s where The Southerner had been lying down since his arrival in the dead of night, on the eroded, hard stone floor, waiting patiently for the morning to come. He had avoided being spotted by the Bounders by entering Buckland going around the hedge on the riverside, and then following the Brandywine until he found the remains of the watchtower.
Finally the sun started coming up, coloring the Brandywine fiery red with it’s first rays of light. The Southerner had been waiting this moment impatiently, glancing between the gate to Bucklebury and the ferry now and then.
Easy now. Not much longer now. It wasn’t fear The Southerner was feeling. It was the kind of excitement a child might feel in the morning of their birthday, expectation that something great was about to happen.
The Southerner smiled to himself. He had been planning and working for this moment for so long. What would come after? After the Old Man got the Ring for himself? Would there be war? Chaos? Whatever would come, The Southerner would welcome it from the bottom of his heart, a heart filled with bitter hatred and loathing towards all sentient creatures upon the Middle-Earth. They all had it coming.
It must be the way Sauron feels, he decided.
Soon enough he started hearing voices, sounds of merry chattering approaching the gate on the hedge, and finally, there they were; Paladin and Ferumbras, escorted by Constables Calamint and Parsnip and Watchmen Liverleaf and Tuftweed, going down the path leading to the ferry. The time had come.
Suddenly The Southerner saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head to his left. He saw a woman running down a slope to the waterfront, sprinting towards the ferry as fast as her legs could carry her through the long reeds.
”Help, help!” she screamed. ”Help me! They’re going to kill me!”
The hobbits and the watchmen all turned towards the voice, looking as surprised as The Southerner felt. It was the woman who had come with Bragol from Minas Tirith, the one named Elwil. Perhaps The Southerner should have been more careful, perhaps he should have waited quietly for what was going to happen next. But he had been waiting for this moment for too long, he could not allow anything to ruin his great moment, the unfolding of the Old Man’s master plan, not now! So he jumped down from the platform, brandishing his short sword in the air, and started limping down the hill as fast as he could.
”Kill him now!” The Southerner yelled as he approached the group by the ferry. ”Kill the Constable! Seize the hobbits! We have to leave now!”
