Later that evening, Tiverton found himself in a rather humiliating position. More specifically, wrapped within a sack and carried rather clumsily by Tutt through the camp. Nobody paid much attention to them, as if they had, they would have certainly noticed something different about Tutt’s appearance let alone the hobbit-sized sack that he carried. How he allowed himself to be roped into such an affair was beyond him, however here he was, smuggled in sack which smelled vaguely like onions and damp.
“We’re almost through” whispered Tutt, who received no reply. Tiverton was far too embarrassed to respond given his current situation.
Once they were clear of the camp, Tutt carefully lowered the sack and pulled the drawstring apart. Tiverton emerged, slightly disgruntled and scruffy from his travels and could not bring himself to look Tutt in the eye.
“Ah, I’m sorry and that…” said Tutt, scratching the back of his newly trimmed head. “I just couldn’t risk them seeing you leaving the camp.”
“I understand” said Tiverton. “However, I wonder how your friends will feel when they find me gone come tomorrow”.
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it” said Tutt. “Now, her farm is just down the way here. If we walk at a brisk pace, we should get there before midnight.”
And so they went, both brigand and scribe, marching across the Bree-fields as if they were two friends on a leisurely walk. To say that Tiverton hadn’t grown fond of Tutt would be untrue. He was quite curious of the brigand and could see that there was very little malice within him. He was a simple creature, that much was certain, and however this scenario would play out would make for a good story or poem later on down the line.
“Here!” said Tutt, as they rounded a corner to find a small farm house nestled between a cluster of trees. Smoke rose from the chimney and there was a light coming from the living room. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can go through with this.”
“Pull yourself together, man” said Tiverton, “Look, come here.”
Tutt knelt down in front of the hobbit and Tiverton went about adjusting his hair, smoothing it back with his fingers and tidying up his garments. The brigand had decided to wear a waist coat. The material was poor and it must have belonged to a larger man, but it was a lot better than what he previously wore.
“Do you want to continue quivering in the bushes watching her from afar?”
“Well, no. But…”
“Do you want to tell her how you feel?”
“Yes, I do! But…”
“Then that settles it!” Without another word, Tiverton seized Tutt by the arm and dragged him across the courtyard. Tutt struggled in protest, as if he were being marched to the gallows. But Tiverton continued on up the stairs and to the front door.
“Wait, don’t!” cried Tutt, but it was too late. Tiverton knocked hard upon the door, thrust the letter into the brigands hand and sprinted down the stairs out of sight.
Tutt stood rather foolishly at the door contemplating following Tiverton. However, in a split second he found his resolve and straightened himself upright, pushing back his hair and lifting the letter as if it were about to burst into flames. The door swung open and from it, emerged a petite looking woman with mousy brown hair.
“Can I help you?” she asked, rather timidly.
Tutt thrust the letter towards her, his face beat-red and sweaty. She stared at him with mild confusion before eventually reaching out and taking the letter.
“Say it…” said Tiverton, in a hushed tone watching from afar.
“I…” said Tutt.
“Say. It.” Whispered Tiverton once more.
“I… ah, look forward to your reply. M’lady!” Tutt blurted out, before doing a funny little bow and promptly turning to leave.
The girl stood, perplexed by what she had just witnessed and looked down at the letter. She eventually turned and closed the door behind her whilst Tutt shuffled along the courtyard to where Tiverton was hid.
“I did it!” said Tutt, “I bloody well did it!”
Tiverton offered a half smile, trying his best to seem encouraging. Watching this unfold was quite painful, but might just work.
