Thus dressed like a simple business-Hobbit, but with a tidy sum in his pocket, Gerry crossed the castle's yard up to Master Finran's workshop. The lively melody of the hammer on the anvil slowed down then stopped when the Hobbit came into the shop. Although daylight flooded by the carriage door and some arrow slits, it took a few moments for Gerry to get accustomed to the thin gleam projected by the red-glowing embers of the blacksmith. Coal and burned ground smells tickled the Hobbit's nose whereas overheated puffs swept his face.
Finran, sweating in this choking heat, bellowed and burried metal parts in the hearth and then turned to Gerry while readjusting his leather apron. The big man advanced with a smile, which on his half-paralysed and scarred face, drew a rather threatening grin. Sweat streamed in rivulets from his bald head. He fetched a rag and mopped as he shook the Hobbit's hand. Gerry called upon all his strength of character to remember that this man had Gandalf's trust, and not to flee this former warrior, covered with obvious ancient battle-scars.
- « Good Morning, Master Holbytla », said the man with a peculiar accent, while knotting his long ash-blond hair at the back of his head. « Do you worry for your poney? »
Gerry realized that his companion was there, blocked with an uplifted forefoot. He marvelled at Gandalf's ingenuity in spite of a genuine irritation: the wizard had found a way to immobilize him in Thalion while he was away... The farrier resumed his work by flattering the animal's neck:
- « He's a good chap, sweet and obeying. Furthermore I took some precautions and used adapted argument! », he said laughing.
Some carrot tops scattered on the ground in front of the pony testified the farrier's trick.
- « You know that you do not have anything to fear, here, my Gilles… », whispered the Hobbit by cherishing the nose of the animal.
The pony put its muzzle in the Hobbit's neck, obviously anxious about the treatment he was to undergo.
- « How is Gilles?
- He has no wounded limb, good gracious! One of his hooves was damaged by running on paving stones. No defect of balance either, although he very slightly paddles out.
- What do you mean?
- The horse paddles out when its foreleg describes a circle towards outside, particularly at trot: it puts forth its leg towards the side, by a rotational movement of the knee or fetlock.
- Is it serious?
- Not for him. It used to be very rare and regarded as a defect because it was often associated with the knock knees, but it became rather common now among the horses of Eriador. But your Gilles does not have knock knees, and he is in perfect health. We only will give him two new pairs of shoes.
- How much will cost me this fancy gift?
- Nothing at all! I am in debt with Master Gandalf!
- Do you know each other well?
- We used to hunt trolls together a long time ago. I owe him my life… several lives! »
The reference to trolls was not to the liking of the Hobbit - too much alike these terrifying family tales that from time to time cost a femur or even the cranium to some ancestor - thus he kept the conversation on the topic of the wizard.
- « Tell me everything about Gandalf! »
For a moment the giant blacksmith considered the Hobbit with a doubtful and resentful grin:
- « Are you ready for such revelations, I wonder. Master Holbytla, I suggest you should ask him yourself what you wish to know. What I can say to you, is that he never forgets his friends… nor his enemies by the way. », he added with a rather sinister smile.
The farrier took his clippers back, took a horseshoe from the furnace and resumed his merry din while struggling on the horn of his anvil. After a few minutes, sweating again, he put the red horseshoe onto fire and the Hobbit asked him whether he could show him some tools and weapons that would fit his size. They found a shovel and a small wood axe, that a Hobbit could use. Finran promised to sharpen them but advised him, for the weapon he sought, to contact the Dwarves who rested at the inn.
-« I have no steel of superior quality to forge good weapons. I can make a temporary repair, but my hearth is not hot enough for a proper war smithwork. »
The Hobbit assisted the blacksmith while he shoed the sheepish and nervous pony. Then he left the craftsman to pay a "courtesy visit" to the neighbouring bakery. He quickly realized that his exploits of the previous night were known throughout town: in spite of his camouflaged getup, he was immediately recognized and welcomed with curiosity and eagerness: "Ah, here you are! What can I do for your service, young Mr Took? ». He ordered six waybreads, in addition to several salted tortas and some delicacies and paid the whole at once. The breads, which were to be baked twice, would only be ready the next morning at dawn.
X-X-X
Gerry, warned by this first try, mustered his courage and left the castle enclosure. You can imagine his surprise in front of the pitiful spectacle of this old royal summer residence: beyond the few true houses which bordered the paved square in front of the castle gate, hardly thirty thatched cottages were pressing inside a stone and wood palisade. Beyond, some huts sheltered refugees and several herds. Thus the coaching town of Thalion that Gandalf had praised, city of fair for a score of miles around, had become this small borough which fought for its survival…
Gerry ventured on the plaza and was at once surrounded by squawking children. Among them he recognized the hirsute mug of the pilferer, the bakers bane, and he brought simultaneously his hands to the Hornblower father's treasure and his purse, to protect them from any accidental alleviation. The young imp casted an interested glance over him but seemed to think otherwise and moved away. The Hobbit managed to disperse the rascals by distributing sugar refineries acquired to bakery, and started to stroll on the plaza, crowded with carts, tents and barges.
His senses were overwhelmed by a profusion of colors, fragrances, cries praising various products, cooking fumes which hustled on the town square. Craftsmen had assembled their foldable workbenches on the bare paving stones and carried out minor repairs the inhabitants could not deal with. From hamlets nearby, several farmers had come to sell their products, often making original and tasty dishes out of them. Needless to say, our Hobbit honored many of these culinary initiatives, without discrimination, since the aromas excited his curiosity.
The house-fronts of the town-square flaunted their out of date splendour. Worked beams were regularly maintained with natural varnishes, and colors refreshed with local dyes. The front of the tailor's place exposed some bright attires but his workshop did not sell anything but utility clothes; to survive, the great-grandfather of the current owning tailor also had to become a weaver, but he jealously preserved the know-how of his predecessors. The drugs shop formerly sold subtle compositions from extreme-Harad. Now the herbalist survived by distilling himself remedies and perfumes, with local products. Times were hard but the craftsmen of Thalion preserved, like a talisman ennobling their days, the memory of past glories and the lore of their ancestors.
Gerry experienced the whole range of the Big Folk reactions about the contrast between his adult capacities and his child size: jaded disbelief, renewed surprise, diligent distrust, respectful distance, patronizing mockery… For a few minutes, he made quite an impression among housewives who came to the market, then from time to time groups of children led by an adult came and contemplated "the other halfling".
« Although Thalion is only two or three days march from Sarn ford, the immense majority of its inhabitants never leave their village », thought Gerry.
The insulation of the communities made them ignorant and vulnerable. Neglecting their immediate neighbors, their customs and habits, their aspirations and their fears, they would end up forgetting that they shared a need for safety and alliance, for exchanging goods and know-how.
After a few minutes he could move around the stalls without being stared at too openly. He explored tents and carts, being on several occasions nearly trampled by panicked animals or indifferent herdsmen. Gerry began touring the cattle merchants. His mount being locked, he needed another to return to the Shire. But he realized that the only available horses were for work in the fields or carrying -too big and too slow for him.
Although the townsquare was less wealthy than Bywater's marketplace, for example, he noticed that some of the articles had not reached the Shire yet: unknown aromatics and exotic spices shared the stalls with local condiments. Paradoxically, the Hobbits irrepressible taste for "nice fine dishes" did not stress any kind of culinary curiosity, even if chance and need had sometimes supported gastronomical adoptions. About this particular topic, Gerry certainly proved an exception.
Luxury fabrics also seemed more varied than in the Shire. Dùring the feastdays in Hobbiton, young Hobbit ladies wore discreet embroidered bonnets and traditional cross-stitched, brightly white aprons on their sharp colored dresses. On the other hand, in Thalion, young women, and even their elder, competed with wit and imagination to emphasize expensive but small pieces of fabrics with moire colours or rich textures, which came from afar. The Big Folk could not allow the true luxury any more, but they managed to keep bits from it and did not give it up completely.
Gerry sized up the rise and the decline of the Dùnedain civilization through the habits of their descendants in Eriador: the immemorial notion of the good, the beautiful and the true survived at any cost, sometimes born again from its ashes. Only the most prestigious and richest families of the Shire - and particularly the Took - afforded a certain clothing extravagance, like Gerry's satin waistcoats. But the Big Folk of Thalion had preserved a true passion for jewels: Women wore them, Men admired them, this revived the memory of the kingdom of old.
At the ground floor of one of the town square houses, he found Thalion's weaver. There, after choosing a travel overcoat, that the master dressmaker fitted from a Dwarf cape, he bought covers and good quality wax-cloths. He supplemented his purchases with linen for an adult man and a ten years old child, which would certainly suit him, and had the whole delivered for him at the inn.
Gerry spent hours on town square, observing the Big Folk and inhaling the market's fragrances. There he crossed Evarista who had come to buy venison, and gave him a discreet smile, wise but knowing. He bumped on a ropemaker who carded vegetable fibres and bought to him a rope coil of fifty yards. As the weather became gloomy, he resumed his search a little more thoroughly. After crossing the town square three times in a different width, Gerry realized that the person he sought was not there. He asked for the hawker and was directed towards a lane downtown.
He stopped by a thatched cottage, next to a small orchard, to buy dried fruits. The ridge of the thatched roof was planted with resplendent irises, their rhizomes consolidating the whole of the roof. The low flint walls supported frameworks of beams with half-lap or bevels joints and filled with flexible branches. These beams seemed healthy and adjusted with art, but the scaled cob of straw and clay, threatened to fall on the ground. The building, narrow and long because of its strongly inclined thatched roof, obliged Gerry to cross the rooms of the residence to reach the storeroom. Large wooden trays, empty for now, were garaged in a corner to leave some place for the jute bags filled with apples, cornouilles, pears and quinces. A little further, bags of sweet chestnuts, carobs, nuts, medlars, hazelnuts, acorns and beechnuts were piled up to man's height. On a corner, a wooden box sheltered the dried raspberry, sorb and elderberries reserves. Gerry selected six pounds of berries and fruits, he also had brought to the inn.
In spite of Thalion's small size he had difficulties in finding the hawker but bumped on him by pure chance. The merchant had pulled his hand-carriage in a small alley, sheltered by two thick hedges from the rising wind. The Hobbit recognized both ruffians who were at the inn the day before, who were speaking with the hawker. He could not repress the need to dodge and hide under the hazeltrees hedge, not daring to move any more. Gerry still surprised himself to seize father Hornblower's ring under his waistcoat. What did impel him to remind of his culpability and his faults, when he crossed that man? And which strange fascination did lead him, like a criminal, to spy on strangers? He saw them side-way, on both sides of the merchant who seemed extremely embarrassed. Both carried a black travel-cape and riding boots. The tallest, thin and athletic, carried out the conversation, sometimes shaking his head in an aggressive way, sometimes by taking the poor merchant by the shoulder with a false friendly air. The most massive, who had caught the Hobbit off guard hiding his ashamed treasure, crossed his arms with an impatient air and played with his dagger under the nose of the street pedlar. Snatches of conversation reached Gerry: the two brigands were exerting various pressures until having their prey bend, in an insidious way, by veiling threats and tinkling his purse. The lure of gain adding to the fear for reprisals, the merchant yielded:
-« All right, I shall tell you if I see some! Rangers, a Halfling or horses! »
The big brigand, smoothing his moustache with satisfaction, gave a last "embrace" to the merchant who, livid with fear, hardly stood upright.
They moved away in the direction of Gerry, who hid further under the branches, charged with pale green flower-buds. He saw the two brigands pass, observing the riding boots, the dark breeches, the overloaded cross-belts and the rigid leather suit. The Hobbit, who once again had silently clutched his treasure, cautiously waited a few moments then left his hiding-place and comforted the street pedlar. Then he recognized the guest at the inn, eating alone the day before at the end of the dining room.
-« Hello master merchant… Are you well?
- No, no, I feel a little dizzy.
- May I help you?
- I assure you, little Sir, that I already feel better.
- As you like. May I ask you whether you sell lamps and flint lighters? »
The hawker had no lamp but Gerry did not have to negotiate the flints, so shaken was the small man. He slipped them into his purse and harangued in a convinced way:
-« Good people should always help each other. That would avoid them being abused separately by a bunch of cowards. »
To his great surprise, the merchant answered him with a resigned look over his shoulder:
-« You had better watch your back, little Sir. »
Gerry only had time to turn over and catch a glimpse of a short hirsute shape running away through the garden on other side of the hedge. He did not stoop to pursue a child, even as large as him. The street pedlar continued:
- « As for me, I have no friend. Anyone thinks I steal as a living. My business is so hard…
- You will always be able to count on my assistance, as humble as it is, as well as my friend Gandalf's, I promise you that.
- You small Folk attend curious people. But start by learning how to defend yourself! », the hawker said doubtfully.
With that, the merchant mucked around at the bottom of a small coffin in his hand-carrier. After some swearwords of impatience, he lifted a strange thin flexible leather strap, approximately two feet long. The end was tailored as a loop, and a bulge was set in the middle of the stringcourse. Like any young imp of the Shire, Gerry had already used slings, usually for hunting catbob or fox. He acknowledged that this hunting weapon was an excellent choice for him: light, easy to dissimulate and seldom short of projectiles. He proposed to pay but the merchant was walking away already. Gerry thanked him cordially and took the way to the inn. The sky had become threatening and passer-bys hastened to join their homes. The air became heavy and the Hobbit shivered. Soon alleys were empty. Gerry was going back to the town square, when he saw, after turning in a hedged street, the largest ruffian emerge in front of him. He was surveying the street in company of the young hirsute boy who had followed the Hobbit and was now pointing at Gerry with vehemence.
The man, whose severe face showed a small grin of satisfaction when he saw our Hobbit, held on a leash an immense mastiff, which mightily pulled forward while dribbling to launch the kill. Gerry turned pale and felt his legs shaking under him, regretting the mother Plump caraway mill. He plunged the hand under his waistcoat, clutched his treasure and disappeared! At least this is how the brigand perceived the scene, unlike his mastiff which did not let itself be lured. The black dog rushed and thundered frantically; however the man, undecided, stopped for several seconds. He had received secret instructions for such strange cases, but his main task was usually to gather information and intimidate the populations. The slob hesitated as for the means to be used.
These few seconds saved the Hobbit. He had quite simply, of course, ducked and hidden in the alleys of the vegetable garden next to the street, with all the art nature had alloted him and all the motivation circumstances pressed him on. Like a fox, he crawled discreetly towards a hen house, entered there, came out of it and climbed on its roof. From there he jumped into the thatched cottage by a window which he closed behind him. Very happy with his performance, He pushed a long sigh of relief. The thatched cottage kitchen he stood in appealed to his Hobbit's instinct: at this place, tasty cakes were cooked, everything proved it, the aroma, the flour spread on the ground tiles, the few biscuits left to cool on the metal plate! A biscuit in hand, he was about to seek for an exit on the other end of the house, when he bumped on the belly of an enormous grandmother of the Big Folk who fairly looked like a Dwarf. The rugged-looking matron asked him, with a rolling pin in the hand:
- « What are-you doing here, you little imp? »
No more way to escape! A fluffy moustache spread out on the ungrateful face of the old lady, whose thick spectacles emphasized the severe aspect even more. When the small grandmother wrinkled the eyebrows, her glasses fell and balanced at the end of a small chain attached to her check apron. Trusting his instinct, Gerry found no other resource than imitating a weak and high-pitched child voice - remainder, it was not necessary to counterfeit his much:
- « There is a naughty, nasty man outside who's stealing your hens! When I saw him, he wanted to do bad things to me! »
The energetic country-woman, who each summer loaded her cart with hay and pulled it with the strength of her arms, felt her motherly heart melt with a protective love for the poor little darling. Is not the true talent of heroes to be loved by women?1 Gerry's last conquest put her rolling pin in the pocket of her apron, she seized a kitchen knife long as a Hobbit's arm and slipped it in her belt. After a short barking "Stay quietly here! You will have cake!", the grandmother went out on her porch and grabbed her hay fork. Gerry remained hidden behind the door of the thatched cottage, enjoying the remainder of the stolen biscuit: one does not disobey that sort of woman. A few seconds later, the din of hard-pressed hens was followed by the howl of a wounded dog, then by a threatening man's voice, that lost his haughtiness when the country-woman began mustering the vicinity with many insults and calls for help.
Then Gerry left his shelter, just in time to surprise the second brigand – the big ruffian who had seen through him – who was sneaking in the grandmother's back, with his dagger in hand. The Hobbit shouted without thinking; with a hiss the dagger planted itself in the door, a few inches on the left of his face. A wild grin distorted the red and curiously swollen face of his attacker. The brigand leapt and unsheathed his rapier, while Gerry seized the dagger. The Hobbit flew by the street in direction of the town square, the two brigands trailing closely behind.
The drum-roll of the rain, which started to fall, covered his calls for assistance. A smell of burned ground, mixed with metalic savour filled the air. His advance melted in the straight lines and increased with each subterfuge opportunity. The Hobbit wasted time to try and catch stones in the hope of shooting them with his sling, but he was in dire straits. The darkness that started to fall gave him back some small hope. He ran and zig-zagged but realized that the brigands had a second dog, quick and silent, set on him. Gerry had no more a hiding-place in the street, enclosed by house walls or thick garden hedges. Hard-pressed, he ran randomly, a mastiff pursuing him; he emerged by chance on the town square at the time when a flash streaked the air and illuminated the castle frontage. Gerry fell blind on the wet paving stones, resigned to his deadly lot.
X-X-X
But death had already struck. The mastiff laid, half-calcined and smoking, still traversed with spasms. Gerry crawled back horrified. Gandalf stood close to him, haloed with a narrow break in the black clouds. The end of his staff and his pupils shone with a bluish light that the Hobbit had never seen in his gaze. The wizard put the hand on his shoulder and said :
- « May I not leave you for several hours without you mustering all the dogs around? »
Gandalf had a severe face and a mocking tone, but he saw that his pupil was shaken:
- « All goes well now! Tell me what happened.
- You saved me! You could have come sooner!
- A wizard always arrives at the right time, he is neither late nor in advance. As for you to save, that will happen more than once, it is obvious. I thought my counsels and a secured town would be enough, but you have the talent to attract troubles… But as for now, luck was rather on your side, and I like that! Let us return to our shelter. »
Never an inn's room was sweeter for a Hobbit than the covered parapet of the Drunken Goose this evening. The two travellers had ordered a restoring meal in their room. A hot water basin erased the marks, if not the memory, of the tribulations of the day. On his return in the room, Gerry had the excellent surprise to find his belongings cleaned and folded, in addition to some old shirts and breeches of replacement:
- « Adorable Evarista… », he muttered for himself.
He bravely withstood Gandalf's suspicious glance. Whereas storm thundered outside, the Hobbit rushed on the meal that Hobegar brought them, then he told his day in detail. Gandalf listened to him with interest, up to the part when the two brigands were involved; from now on he focused all his attention. Gerry did not extend on his "disappearance", regarding it as an innate aptitude of all his kin. But this particular detail interested the wizard very much. He even stopped the history to go and say a word to the landlord about his indelicate hosts; when he returned he announced joyfully:
- « I could not learn anything more about your attackers, who have slipped by, obviously! Yesterday evening already Finran's workshop had been searched. Before fleeing today, they tried to steal your pony, but one was harmed with a red-heated horseshoe on the face, and the other by a kick of your Gilles…».
The wizard's laughter released Gerry from a great weight. The Hobbit finished his story by describing his feeling of terror and impotence with relief and recognition. Gandalf, without showing anything, was very satisfied with Gerry's courage and presence of mind, although he had already experienced the formidable instinct of Hobbits self-preservation, for several generations. Gerry showed him his catch triumphantly: the brigand's dagger. The weapon measured slightly less than a foot length, which could be used as a sort of Hobbit-sword. Its steel blade, sharp on both bevelled sides, threw gilded reflections in the light of the lamp. Its leather handle ended with a bronze wild boar head, while the guard adopted the shape of two stag antlers, one turned towards the hand and covering it as a protection, the other turned towards the blade. Gandalf lengthily examined the dagger then returned it to his companion while saying gently:
-« This is obviously a hunt dagger. I see no malefic inscriptions, I believe you can learn how to use this weapon without any daunting danger for yourself. It's been a long time that I haven't seen a similar one. I wonder how it arrived up to here. In any case you have fought tooth and nail, I congratulate you. But I believe that we should soon find a mentor who would teach you how to handle it. »
A few days earlier, such an assertion would have appeared ridiculous to the young Hobbit, whose only weapons had always been his charming smile and his still slim waist… But the world proving larger and more dangerous than he had imagined, he wished not to be found as short of self-defense skills as he had been this afternoon.
- « Why not Finran, I believe that he has many skills. He was amazing with Gilles today, not to mention the hot horseshoe blow… »
Gandalf sensed Gerry's resentment towards an old authoritarian wizard. Nevertheless the fortuitous but hard lesson of the day bore the fruits of reason for the Hobbit: with such miscreants at his heels, it was unsafe for a Halfling to venture alone along roads, at least before learning to defend himself, if that was possible against such formidable opponents.
- « Finran would certainly be competent and up to it, but I believe healthier for you and me to disappear for some times. I am in a hurry, and I do not like the look of these two brigands. They left the inn a little before the arrival of the storm, after their theft attempt. If Finran had not been there, the algarade would have gone wrong for my Hobbit friends. About that, I see that you sympathized with Hobegar and Evarista?
- You are telling guesses to get to the truth, Mister Wizard, said Gerry smiling. Please note that I can behave on the occasion. I like less than half of those you think of, half less than you fear! »
The wizard, laughing, looked at the Hobbit :
- « You managed very well, after all. We shall make someone out of you! ... But tell me, maybe it is time for you to carry out a small demonstration of smoke rings? See what Hobegar found for me! He yielded a weedpipe to me which he thought was too large for him! »
Gandalf produced a superb and long wooden weedpipe from his sleeve. This old "furnace", solid and worthy by its antiquity, had a metal head and a hearth of a dark wood. Many wrinkles had disappeared from his face. The prospect of a new experiment seemed to renovate the old wizard. His malicious eyes sparkled with such a communicative simple joy, that the laughing Hobbit took his small clay pipe and his best pipeweed.
After a small but solemn introduction about the choice of pipeweed, the Hobbit filled his pipe and observed the wizard doing alike. Gerry stopped him, filled the wizard's furnace correctly and returned his pipe to him. He took a small piece of wood in the stove and then slowly carried out lighting by commenting on each of his gestures. The wizard imitated him in all respect. Gerry did not expect that the wizard would cough for his first puff, however that is what happened.
- « For today, we will limit ourselves to learning how to tolerate the pipeweed smoke. The appreciation of savours, and let alone the smoke rings and other fumes figures, will be the subject of the following lessons. », Gerry clarified.
On his advice, Gandalf got over it and tried again more slowly, with less smoke. After some tries, the wizard slackened a little and took his "first steps".
- « My dear Hobbit, I am all at the same time allured by this pipeweed flavours, and disappointed by the prickly taste on my tongue. It got me good feelings during the very first puffs, then quickly the smoke's aggressiveness took over.
- Gandalf, I find you to be somehow hasty. Usually beginners can feel the flavours only with their fifth or even tenth pipe. You should be grateful to have been able to collect the soft fragrances of this "Old Tobbie".
- Really? Thus I shall compel myself to the training you will prescribe for me.
- That you should do! You will develop much more complex and interesting olfactive feelings when you understand that pipeweed must be earned. It is necessary to tune the exact degree of drying, the association with the proper pipe, the adequate filling… »
The lesson continued late in the evening. Gandalf showed completely disconcerting aptitudes in this art, as besides in all he applied for, but Gerry endeavoured to maintain his pupil in a studious perseverance, suggesting there was still a long way ahead. When the wizard had found the quiet rhythm which was appropriate to him, the Hobbit probed his state of mind:
-« And now would you tell me, if you wish, what are your thoughts at the moment…
- See how strange, certain memories return, which I had not cherished any more for ages. It's how it went: the fragrances of eternal flowers wrapped the most perceptive among us and conferred to them a kind of insight…»
The Hobbit did not understand Gandalf's memories, but he guessed they were remote and very personnel, though in relation with the pipeweed's virtues. He did not insist and let the wizard sail along his reminiscences. After a long pause, he ventured towards other grounds:
- « I wonder what these ruffians were doing around here! »
The wizard's sharp glance at once stared at the Hobbit through pipeweed fumes.
- « Would you believe I happen to ask the same question precisely? They were sober and quiet within the inn, but they revealed their perverse and dangerous nature when they knew they were discovered. I think these are kind of spies. But for spying on what? To which aim? And who would benefit from it? »
A few minutes later, the wizard internally formulated his first assumptions:
- « The dagger that Gerry pilfered from them is neither Dwarf work nor Elven art. Men soaked this blade, but not the Dùnedain. I do not believe the Dunlendings forged it… Some of the elite troops of the witch-king, a long time ago, had rather similar weapons. But these troops came from very dispersed and remote regions. Nowadays there is nothing more than shades, orcs and dragons in the north… I heard these men speak with a remote intonation. Probably these ruffians come from Rhovanion wilderland. But if I am right, for which dark goals? They are in the service of a hidden power, that at least seems clear. What do they seek here? »
The deductions he carried on did not please the wizard. The Hobbit stopped his thinking:
-« Maybe they are rangers?
- What makes you utter similar nonsense? Did I not explain to you who the rangers are? », Gandalf roared.
The Hobbit packed himself in his armchair and continued with a small voice:
-« Indeed, you told about the descendants of the Dùnedain. They were a large people. I imagine that you do not know them all personally? I thought maybe of rangers who would have turned bad. In any case I found them determined like men who knew what they wanted. They are equipped and dressed in a similar way, to prowl the wilderness. They might as well have been two brothers. »
The value of Gerry's arguments shook the wizard:
- « Undoubtedly there is truth in what you say. Indeed, they are wilderness men, accustomed to prowl in organized band. But they are by no means rangers of Arnor! »
A new pause left the travellers time to puff away alleviating smokes. Hobbit curiosity eventually overrode pipeweed:
- « What so urgent an errand did you carry out today?
- Of my comings and goings I will not account for to you. Be only aware that they were necessary. But I did not find those who I sought. That troubles me, over and above what you taught me. I believe I shall think a while about all that, with the assistance of your pipeweed. I must make my mind about our route and I am still undecided. You should sleep, as far as you may. Today you father would be proud of you! »
X-X-X
The Hobbit, dead beat indeed, laid down. Late in the night, between two dreams, he had the vision of the wizard, puffing slowly on his long pipe, re-sifting events and discoveries of the day. Actually, Gandalf evaluated their chances to pass through the meshes of a net which he felt was tightening around them. His errand had led him quite far to the North by the Greenway then in the North Downs. There he had sought friends, whom he had not found. Instead of news and assistance, he had discovered a camp, hastily deserted a few days before. Gandalf was anxious, but had decided, as often, to carry his concern alone.
For his part, Gerry sank in an agitated dream: black riders tracked him in the wilderness to steal his treasure from him. He tried to join the Shire to return to the nest egg and to put an end to the curse that weighed on him since this terrible misunderstanding. But in the familiar wooded pastureland of the East Farming, he was still pursued by a horse. That was Gilles, mounted by Priscilla, who pressed him to marry her while imposing the treasure on him by force. Confronted to Gerry's obstinate refusal to marry the undertaking Hobbit-girl, she launched her mastiffs on him in order to lighten his anatomy with various parts: the fleshiest for Chewer, the tastiest for Grumbler, the most appetizing ones for Devourer or the most used for Howler.
The Hobbit awoke in a jolt. A fine rain beat against the wood shutters, the wizard still held his pipe in hand and seemed dormant in the armchair. A thin gleam filtered in the room, the gray day rising behind thick clouds. The wizard opened an eye, rectified himself in his armchair, opened the second eye, rose and declared:
- « Gerry, it is time to go. »
They silently gathered their belongings. Gerry, gloomy, expected a quick departure without even a snack in the cold and wet dawn. They furtively went down the wooden staircase and emerged in the yard, entirely bathed with fog. To Gerry's pleasant surprise, Gandalf entered the large room and closed the door behind them. It was empty, cold and dark, thus the wizard crossed it with a fast stride with the Hobbit on his heels.
He entered the lit kitchen, where Evarista, Hobegar and Finran awaited them, sat around enticing pastries, bowls of hot milk, honey pots and various jams. A young gilded fire whirred in the chimney. The perfume of brioches just out of the furnace had the Hobbit somewhat dizzy. The chorus of the three friends greeted the travellers, and invited them at the table. They congratulated Gerry for his exploit on the previous day, serving him again and again with everything, nurturing and parenting him like a lost and found son.
Dùring a few minutes, that Gerry would remember with nostalgia for many days, he experienced the cordial friendship of simple people, with selfless devotion and a faithful word. Of course, such bonds existed in the Shire, but those had been forged spontaneously, out of the family and in the face of adversity. He thought back at the lonely hawker and recommended he should be cared about. He keenly felt what "sure allies" meant in the mouth of the wizard. Soon Gandalf discussed his route with Finran, who seemed to have carried out a short inspection around Thalion this morning. Master Hobegar went out to prepare and load the pony with the travellers belongings, the waybread and the deliveries received the day before. Evarista distilled a selection of good advice to the young Hobbit, who could not answer because he was swallowing candy reserves.
Then came the moment of departure. Gandalf liberally cleared their account and left some messages to be discreetly delivered. Master Finran offered Gerry a small brown cross-belt provided with a leather scabbard braided for his dagger. This attention heartened the Hobbit very much but it also faced him with his new responsibilities. From now on not only did he know the dangers of the world, but he also was to assume his share of it. To put on a bold front, he girded the belt, attached his sling and sheathed his dagger. He sighed deeply, driving out an increasing longing to warmly greet the company. He kissed Evarista Grubb who repressed her tears, and the travellers went discreetly away by the postern.
1 Jean Van Hamme