Chapter Six
“Come on!” cried Blanco to his brother. “We’ve got to find Grandfather!”
The two brothers had made it back to Staddle after following a merchant caravan back from Fornost. The return journey seemed to be much shorter than travelling north with Ben. Despite being excited all the way home, Marcho halted once they had entered the village.
“Something is wrong.” He told his brother. “It is so quiet.”
It was true. Normally Staddle was full of voices as the hobbits socialised with one another. But no voices could be heard now. It was as though no one was home. But they were, the problem was that nobody was speaking. All of their faces were full of sorrow and pain. In haste, the two ran to Grandfather’s Burrow to learn what had happened. And learn they did.
“He fell ill soon after you left.” Wisteria, Grandfather’s daughter, explained. “The fever took him quickly and he passed away in his sleep, without pain.”
Grandfather had been buried before Marcho and Blanco had returned, upon his favourite hill where he used to sit and sing when the weather was fine. The two brothers entered Grandfather’s Burrow, which still smelt of herbs. But the familiar cracking of the hearth could not be heard, for the fire had burned out. Grandfather never let his fire die. Together they wept for his passing, and forgot their good news from the capital.
At last they left Grandfather’s Burrow, which was in the centre of the village. All around it the Staddle-folk stood in silence, staring at the two with weepy eyes. They thought that they had simply come to pay their respect to Grandfather. But they had come for leadership.
“He named you as Thain.” Wisteria told Marcho. “We look to you now.”
This was quite the shock for Marcho. He and Grandfather had always been close, but he did not expect him to name him his successor. But Grandfather was wise, and must have done so for a reason. Marcho and Blanco’s dream was also Grandfather’s dream, which they would make true in his memory.
“It would seem that I am to lead you now.” Marcho timidly announced to the crowd. “My brother and I have acquired a new land for us, found many miles to the west. A fertile land with rolling green hills and little rivers. It is a home for hobbits, far away from the Sheriff’s Men. But I do not wish to pry anyone away from their homes. Those who wish to stay in Staddle are welcome to do so. But those who wish for a new beginning should begin to pack your belongings. We shall set out as soon as possible. The King of Arthedain himself has blessed us in this, for it is his realm that we shall live in.”
“Staddle has been our home for centuries!” one hobbit called out from the crowd.
“Indeed it has.” Marcho replied. “But a better home awaits us. War and fire will soon be upon us, and I do not wish to see our people slaughtered when it arrives.”
“What of our livelihood?” another cried out.
“As I said, the land I speak of is a fertile one. Two thousand leagues of fertile land. A land to live and work upon, in peace.”
This stirred the crowd, causing them to talk among themselves about the land that Marcho spoke of.
“How can you expect to rule over two thousand leagues, Thain?” someone called out.
Marcho shook his head at this. “I cannot. As I leave Staddle, I also leave behind the thainship. It is the King’s authority that we must answer to now.”
Again the crowd bickered among themselves about this. The king had granted the hobbits the land to live upon, not to rule over. So long as there was a King in Fornost, they would have no need of a Thain.
To their surprise, a majority of the Staddle-folk agreed to follow Marcho and Blanco on their uncertain journey. Only a number stubbornly refused to leave the village that their ancestors had lived on for centuries. Packing their belongings onto wagons, or carrying what they owned on their backs, Marcho and Blanco’s followers were soon ready to leave. Many farewells were exchanged between those who would join the brothers in the west and those who chose not to leave. In the air there were sentiments of excitement, but also sorrow.
