“High-hipped hooligans! That’s what they call you, you know, tromping around the Shires like a herd of … well, Big Folk”. Royzenberry, sitting tall in her pony saddle, looked down at Cutch and Ardanion squatting by the campfire. She leaned forward, one forearm propped on the pommel, a teasing smirk on her face. “They don’t care to know why you’re rushing about. All their worries are on their gardens and livestock, for which they find you an easy excuse for anything wrong with them. But that be fine, loves. Berry will get you through without nary a single rotten tomato splatting your backs.”
The two looked up at her with blank expressions for a long moment, then all three broke into happy laughter. “Yes!”, Ardanion exclaimed. “Mighty Berry will save us from the horde of hobbits attacking with pitchforks and torches!” Father and son continued to laugh, but Berry sat straight up and glared at them with mock disdain.
“Hey now!” she growled. “Don’t you be disrespected a company of riled up hobbit farmers and herders! They’ll send you packin’ with stomped toes, whacked shins, and the seats of your britches on fire!”
Cutch stood and approached Berry with a warm smile and outstretched hand. “It’s always good to see you, dear friend. And we are happy to have you escort us prudently through the Shire.”
Berry took his hand and shook it with surprising vigor. Her small stature concealed a formidable stoutness. “So, you wish to pass quietly to the Sarn Ford, Her Ladyship says?”
Cutch nodded as Ardanion joined him to also offer his hand. “That’s right, Aunt Berry. Naneth figured you would be as right-headed as any for this.”
With lifted chin and a wink, she cooed, “Right as ever she is. We also need to be stoppin’ in Michel Delving so’s I can have a word with the Mayor. Her ladyship wants Cider and my Lancey-boy freed up from bounder work so’s they can join her little jaunt.”
Ardanion nudged his father with an elbow. “Three hobbits, Ada. Hobbity meals every hour or so. We could be out here for months fattening up”, he said with a playful smirk.
Berry squinted at the young man and waggled a finger. “Oh, no, boyo! You’ll be sparrin’ with me every spare second! You still got’s a few things to learn and if I know you, you’ll need lots of practice! No getting’ fat for you.”
They all laughed as Cutch and Ardanion mounted up and fell in behind Berry on the Foxden Road toward Little Delving.
Unlike the Shire proper, most of the Yondershire was wild. Foxden Heath was virtually untouched, except for the road that wove from east to west across its northern stretch. As the trio proceeded along it through their morning, they would occasionally glimpse quaint hobbit farms further to the north where the wildness had been tamed by the charming attentions of the diminutive local farmers, herders, and gardeners. The road itself seemed like an intrusion on the heath’s undisturbed beauty, but also an invitation for travelers to pass through the area at a distance from the residents.
“And a good way for folks to go through without the nosy ones getting under foot”, Berry announced. “Hobbits like their privacy, but some can be annoyin’ busybodies.”
As they forded the last river before the Shire proper, the terrain began a gentle descent while the grasses and scrub gave way to the lush flora most common to the east. Before they rode down into Little Delving, Berry had them stop for a mid-day meal, and sparred with Ardanion. The boy worked hard to keep away from her quick, sharp attacks, but as always, she would leave him a bruise somewhere on his legs to remember her lessons by.
Mounting up again, they son dropped into Little Delving. As the town residents watched their little parade, Berry told her companions, “Just ride behind me and don’t start any conversation. We don’t need to know their business and they don’t need to know ours.”
Cutch and Ardanion obeyed, and as they made their way through the village, Berry would offer the townsfolk tight lips and cool nods, and they would respond with curious stares but return to their own doings after the riders passed by.
No one spoke.
Father and son exchanged glances as they left the village, then looked at the confident Berry leading the way ahead. “Another reason to have a hobbit in the company”, Ardanion muttered.
“One of many”, Berry called back without turning to face them; she simply rode on in the lead towards Michel Delving.
The road dipped down between the Delvings, affording them a view, across a tree-lined pond, of Sandson’s Farm where sounds and smells of his chickens drifted their way. As the road lifted again, a hobbit bounder from Michel Delving, on his walking patrol, waved at them in greeting. Berry intercepted him, stating rather officiously, “I got’s business with the Mayor. Is he in?”
The bounder blinked at her sternness and nodded. “He’s at the Town Hall…. miss….?”
“Nightwalker”, she growled in response, and he stepped aside, barely glancing at Cutch and Ardanion as they passed. “These Big Folk are with me”, she proclaimed.
The stunned bounder watched them disappear over the next rise, then hurried off, backtracking them toward Little Delving with a head full of questions.
“Same drill, loves”, Berry called over her shoulder to the others. “Follow and let me do the talking”, She led them down into Michel Delving, swinging off the road into the Town Hall courtyard. Postman Grubb saw them coming, and trotted to the Hall’s front door, stuck in his head, and shouted something. A moment later Mayor Wil Whitford stepped out, wide-eyed and brushing crumbs from his vest with one hand while carelessly spilling tea from a cup in the other.
“Yes? Yes?”, the mayor demanded, nervously regarding the Nightwalker leading two Men. He stood close to the open Hall door with the Postman, who gaped at the mounted trio and kept aside and behind the Mayor.
Berry signaled Cutch and Ardanion to stop, but she heeled her pony forward, reining up close to the two local officials before dismounting. She cleared her throat. “In case you might not know who I am”, she said sweetly, leaning toward them, “I am Royzenberry, Nightwalker and comrade of Shirrif Lancogard North-Took and his faithful assistant, Applecider Delphinium Ermintrude Bolingbroke, of the Brockenborings Bolingbrokes.” She paused, peering expectantly at their blinking faces. After a stunned moment they nodded in unison. The Mayor gulped the rest of his tea down his dried throat and absently handed the empty cup back to the Postman; their shocked stares never left Berry’s face.
Before either the Mayor or the Postman could offer any words, Berry continued. “These two Big Folk ride with me. I have brought them before you as a courtesy, as you’ve had issues with their kind charging through the Shire in the past, and we wouldn’t want that, now would we.” The Mayor shook his head, jaw still slack. As he drew a breath to speak, Berry leaned in and pressed on. “Well, we’ve taken enough of your valuable time, yer honor. We will be on our way. To be clear, we’ll ride straight out to the south of Waymeet and catch the road to the Sarn Ford. I’ll be back in a day or two to arrange temporary furloughs for Cider and Lance. We’ll be needing them to accompany the rest of the Red Elf’s House through here.”
Without waiting for a reply, she hopped up on her pony and vaguely waved at the Men to follow, which they did wordlessly and obediently in her track. Whitford and Grubb, still wide-eyed and silent, watched them slowly, casually ride off.
“Well done, Berry!”, Cutch exclaimed, once the three were on the quiet road to the Sarn Ford. He and Ardanion exchanged looks and chortled.
“Takes a hobbit, eh?” Ardanion said, as the two trotted up beside Berry.
“Let that be a lesson to ye, boy-o”, she winked up at him. “When in hobbits lands, let a hobbit lead ya”.
The rest of the day was uneventful, and as they approached the Ford, they halted for the horses to water. “Almost there”, Cutch announced, peering across the river, and pointed out a small cottage and hut flanking the road on the far bank. “I think we might camp there for the night and talk with those folks.” He glanced around the sky and loudly whistled. Windwalker’s answer came immediately from a stand of willows just upstream, and the three crossed the shallow ford.
As the three splashed across the river, a man and woman stepped from the cottage to the road to meet them. “Greetings, travelers”, the fellow said while the woman looked them over carefully. “We don’t often see strangers cross here anymore.” The two were garbed in the manner of the Dunedain, plainly and in colors that would blend into the foliage.
Berry looked at Cutch, who dismounted first. Ardanion watched as his father seamlessly assumed the leadership of their troop. “I am Cutch Crane, and this is my son Ardanion. Rozenberry is our friend and companion.” He offered to shake hands with the fellow.
“Rhothavron”, the man answered as he shook hands, “and this is Thorengil”. He nodded toward the lady, who offered a slight bow but kept her distance. “We tend the way station here. Where are you and your companions bound?”
“We’d like to camp here for the night, if we may, and continue to Herne on the morrow.”
Rothavron pointed at the hut. “We have grain for your horses there, and you may camp next to the house.” Cutch saw a tent already pitched and a firepit before it. The campsite reminded him of the ones the Rangers had taught him to make in his youth.
“All a Dunedain of the North would need, thank you”, Cutch commented as Ardanion and Berry dismounted.
“Crane….”, the man said in a pondering tone. “I know that name…. Trestlebridge?”
“Yes, and Cotfast. I was raised there…by my aunt and uncle.” Cutch watched Rothavron’s face light up with recognition as he stepped close to speak quietly.
“My grandfather knew your real dad…from Esteldin”, the fellow muttered.
Cutch regarded him politely, but coolly. “I never had the honor to have known him.”
At a loss to respond, Rothavron gestured toward the camp. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Thorengil! Let us make our guests welcome. We will share food and drink tales with them tonight.”
The woman gave her companion a confused look, but said, “Very well. You get them settled and I’ll round us up a fitting feast.”
The campsite was soon ready, with tents for the travelers and a campfire burning bright, clean, and welcoming. Cutch and Rhothavron spoke of their scouting mission.
“Artifacts?”, Rhothavron asked. “Aye, there might be some scattered about in hidden nooks. The ruins are not as quiet as you might find convenient, though. They are said to be haunted by the remnants of the last invaders. Peace has not entirely returned here, and rebuilding the Old Kingdom will face some challenges. The Dunedain could use the help of your ladyships House, would she be interested.”
Cutch nodded quietly, not openly speaking for Her, but suspecting Her answer……
In the morning, Berry made her goodbyes and set out for Michel Delving to complete her task with the Mayor. Cutch and Ardanion started the last leg of their journey and would make Herne by late afternoon. As they rested for their mid-day meal, Cutch summoned Sûlpadron and sent him home with his first report, summarizing all they had seen and done since leaving the Falathlorn.
