It was a particularly chilly morning in the Bree-lands as autumn rose with the morning sun, bringing with it a shroud of mist which roused Tiverton’s senses. The hobbit was making his way along the road to Buckland, passing beneath the Brandy Hills; occasionally kicking the fallen leaves beneath his feet. Tiverton often ventured into Bree for work, for he was a scribe by trade and took it upon himself to deliver his newly written pages in person. Although the postal service within the Shire was extremely trustworthy, anything outside of its borders had a habit of being lost or damaged. Tiverton remembered only too well the painstaking hours he put into a ledger, only for it to arrive to his client damp and muddy. He wouldn’t be making the same mistake again.
The bridge entering the Shire could at last be seen in the distance. The hobbit began to whistle a merry tune as he made his way downhill, clasping the handles of his backpack. It was to his surprise that he found that his whistle had an echo, even stranger one of a different pitch to his own. He paused, then there was silence. Shrugging this off he continued to walk and resume his whistling to which he was met with the same, deeper echo. Pausing suddenly once more he was startled to hear the echo continue without him. Turning, he found the source of the sound coming from a tall, rough-hewn looking man, gazing down upon the Hobbit.
“Good morning!” Tiverton said, pausing upon the road to greet the stranger.
“Aye, it is” the stranger responded. “Though, a little early to be out on the road don’t you think?” The stranger folded his arms. As he did so, Tiverton saw a small hatchet upon the stranger’s belt which urged caution.
“The road has been a constant companion of mine, which I visit at all hours of late. Business, being what it is.” He gestured to his pack, offering a smile “On this occasion I’m playing the role of postman. As the old saying goes; if you want a job done properly be sure to do it yourself.”
The stranger glanced toward Tiverton’s pack and his lip curled. “What say you let us check them letters of yours, to see if there’s anything for us?”
Tiverton opened his mouth to speak, but paused. Behind him approached a second stranger, younger than the first but equally as scruffy. He gave a mock salute to the Hobbit as he advanced, placing his hands upon his shoulders to spin him around.
“Gentlemen, there really is no need.” Tiverton protested, his smile unfaltering. “I assure you there is nothing of-“
“Gentleman!” cried the older stranger, laughing. “Gentleman is it? Well, that’s very uncommonly kind of you, Master Hobbit. Very uncommonly kind of you indeed! That might be the first pleasant title I’ve been given, what say you Tutt?”
The younger man called Tutt, who had now opened Tiverton’s backpack smirked as he rummaged through it. “Quill, ink and a few books.” he announced, “But you said business, business means coin. What’s this on your belt?”
Tiverton frowned as his purse was snatched from his belt to be thrice thrown up into the air, offering a healthy jingle. “That would be my payment” he replied, “which was well earned.”
The older man laughed. “Well earned, eh? Well, we appreciate all your hard work and effort. But we’ll be taking your reward for ourselves if it’s all the same to you.”
Tiverton knew there was very little he could do to prevent this. He was after all unarmed and one Hobbit against two brigands. Tutt threw the purse to his comrade and moved from behind Tiverton to whisper something into his ear. There was a moments silence before the older man spoke. “For your trouble, we’ll be inviting you back to our camp as our guest.” He said, a hint of mirth in his voice. “As a matter of fact, you might be able to help us with a spot of business. Though I should warn you, the payment won’t be fair.”
“You’re too kind!” Tiverton said, “But I’ll have to decline, I’ve more work to be done and haven’t the time.” This was met with more laughter.
“Oh, still so polite. No, no we must insist!” The older man pulled his hatchet from his belt and brandished it threateningly. Tutt moved from his side and placed a firm grip upon Tiverton’s shoulder and turned him towards the nearby forest. Tiverton felt a pang of panic rush through him as he was guided towards the trees, the two brigands mocking him with the same tune he whistled before their meeting.
__________
Tiverton spent many hours within the brigand’s tent, as the sun had all but set. His hosts did very little to provide comfort, occasionally poking their heads around the entrance to check on their bound captive. From the laughter and voices he could hear, there must have been five or six of the men outside offering very little hope of escape. It wasn’t until the late evening that Tutt entered the tent and approached. He cleared his throat, unable to look Tiverton in the eye as he mumbled “Good evening.” This surprised Tiverton who, in his cold and unhappy state had forsaken all pleasantries and chose not to respond. Tutt scratched the back of his head and sat down before the Hobbit, eventually meeting Tiverton’s glare. “See, I’ve a favour to ask of you.”
Tiverton barked a dry laugh. “A favour? I’m sorry, but you have my purse already. I cannot imagine what other service I can provide given the circumstances.”
“I’ll give it back!” Tutt eagerly replied, reaching out to unbind Tiverton’s hands. “I’ll give it back and more, I…” he paused, appearing embarrassed. “I just need your letters.”
Tiverton was taken aback by this. “My letters?” he asked, confused. “You mean to say you wish for me to write for you?”
Tutt clicked his fingers and pointed to Tiverton “Exactly that!”
Tiverton, rubbed his sore wrists and considered. Surely this was some sort of trick he thought, however there was a strange glimpse of truth within the young man’s eyes that he couldn’t ignore. He had almost turned completely red when he made the strange request. “I’m listening” he said, bringing a smile to Tutt’s dirty face.
“Alright, this is how it is. There’s a woman up on the outskirts of Bree-Town, her name is Olivia. She lives on a farm with her father and…” Tutt’s face turned the same colour as Tiverton’s rope-burnt wrists as he added “I like her, see.”
Tiverton stared at Tutt in disbelief. “You like her?” he asked, “You like her and you would like me to write to her on your behalf?”
At this Tutt clapped his hands together. “We’re like of mind, you and I! Ah, what was your name?”
“Tiverton. Tiverton Ashenbrook, as you didn’t ask. However I can assure you we are not like of mind. In fact, I am surprise you don’t just kidnap this Olivia and be done with it.”
Tutt frowned, almost recoiled from Tiverton’s words. “See, if you help me write my words and deliver them to her, I’ll let you go. I’ll let you walk out of this camp with your coin in hand, you can’t say fairer than that, eh?”
“I can” replied Tiverton “But seeing as I have very little choice in the matter I’ll do as you ask, providing that I have your word.” Tiverton realised the foolishness of this, as the word of the brigand was very little to uphold. That being said, what choice did he have? “I will need my backpack.”
