The Golden Perch, Stock, in the Shire
32 Yávië in the Reckoning of Imladris
(Being the Ninth day of September in the Shire-reckoning)
My Bridal Tour has rolled merrily and peacefully onward for three weeks now, a leisurely pace – almost Elven – across the Shire. My husband and I have stopped and stayed at each hamlet, village and settlement from Falathlorn to now, and enjoyed the great doings and the small of the folk of these lands. And in these last weeks, I have done something in keeping with my own mind (I suspect Cutch knows, though he says nothing) – I have used the Bridal Tour as a vehicle for furthering my body of lore regarding the Shire-folk, as well as any of the halfling worthies we encounter.
One item regarding Halfling-lore is the need to tread carefully through any topic that surfaces. Halflings are most prone, I have observed, to veer wildly from any topic of conversation as the talk progresses. As example, at the Farmers’ Faire in Bywater I gave an impromptu bardic performance outside the Green Dragon public house, which was enthusiastically received by the crowd of halflings gathered there. The company responded with escorting me around the various vendors and displaying their wares and offerings.
As we talked, I shared a few notes I made with some of the halflings who gathered round. I made passing references to the clans of the Bolingbrokes and the North-tooks, which I was familiar with through Applecider and Lancogard, respectively. Sage nods and agreements came in reply, with mentions of both my friends and their doings on behalf of the community – especially dear Lance’s reputation for using birds for his post.
“Let me ask you this, Madam Elf,” as one halfling began to lecture me, “I first saw Shirriff Lancogard with some ruddy great eagle north-aways a few months back – up in Brockenborings, ‘twas – and he spoke to it as if it understood. An’ it even obeyed his commands, if you please! An’ not a few hours after he speaks to it, you show up all in red on a red horse!
"Now, if’n you know our Lancogard - an’ he you, by extension - what can you tell me about that bird, that a respectable hobbit might have such command of creatures, an’ what not? You didn’t lay any of that Elvish magic on him, didje? ‘Taint natural that,” he said with the finality of running out of breath. Seeing that he was finished, I couched my reply.
“My dear Master Halfling – Bolimac, if I heard your name righty? – Master Bolimac. Deputy Lancogard, who is dear to my heart for his many courtesies, wields no ‘magic’ at all, neither his nor mine. My eagle-friend, Windwalker in your tongue, understands the speech of all who walk, crawl, or fly upon the earth – such is the gift he has, as befits the noblest of birds.
“You must know that all creatures, great or small, noble or humble, understand the Elven-tongue and shall respond to it as they would to your own speech. Observe,” I said as I turned to face a halfling who was struggling with a stubborn pony at one of the vendor booths. I rose and addressed the pony in my own tongue:
{ Why dost thou resist, O wise beast? Suffer this halfling to lead thee, I bid, and he shall show thee gratitude when thy task is done.}
And of course, the pony quieted and turned his head to me, then to his halfling handler and struggled no more. The halflings gathered stared with amazement, especially Bolimac whose comical gaping jaw made me smile.
“He shall consent to let you lead him now,” I said to the halfling holding the rein, “so long as you reward him with a treat when you are done.”
“That I shall, milady,” the halfling replied, “I had saved an apple just for him. Erm, and thank you for your good word on him!”
Smiling, I turned back to the assembled halflings. “As it so happens, Lancogard knows the proper words in the Elven-tongue to give Windwalker direction for bearing messages. There is no more ‘magic’ involved than the knowledge of speech.”
“Um, Lady Elf?” spoke up a young lass in the crowd, “can we see your eagle? Can you call him, is that what you can do?”
“I can, if he is near,” I said, “but Windwalker is abroad, bearing letters on my behalf. I will know if he is near, if need be.” The lass looked a little downcast, so I decided then and there. I moved to stand apart from the halflings and let out a shrill whistle – some of the crowd stopped their ears, I recall. After a few minutes, still nothing could be seen or heard.
“He is far and away from here, I think,” I said to the lass. “But should you see him, do not hinder his way, but speed him on – for his errands may be of great importance.” The lass nodded, wide-eyed.
At that point, I made my excuses to the crowd, as I saw Cutch beckoning to me. I flew to his side, greeting him with a kiss. And the day passed into a pleasant evening where I retired to make this entry, smiling - I wonder what might have happened, had Sûlpadron arrived at that moment….
