Torry watched Millaray Boggs on her pony trot up to him and Constable Tanglerush. The hobbit rider was dressed in red Watch armor with her pony adorned in Watch livery. Reining up before the two, Millaray saluted the Constable without dismounting, and announced, “Watcher Boggs reporting as ordered.” The hobbit Watcher held a confident but respectful demeanor and the Constable returned the official salute, but then smiled and said warmly, “Good morning Millie. How are you and Gammy today?”. Millaray returned the smile, replying, “We are well and trust you are, too. Thank you for asking.”, and then she turned her attention to Torry.
“This is Torry Greenlake”, the Constable introduced. “He just filed his Watcher Oath this morning and the Mayor already has an errand for him, and you.” Taking that as a cue, Torry offered the letter and a polite nod to the hobbit. “My pleasure, Miss Boggs”. Millaray returned the nod and took the letter, saying, “You can call me Millie. Welcome to the Watch.” She scanned the letter, then glanced up at the Constable. “When are we to leave, then?”
“There is no urgency”, Tanglerush answered,” but also no need to delay. Might as well head right now to the Mess Hall for provisions, and then get Greenlake outfitted. The rest is up to you as ranking member on this task." Looking at Torry, Millaray said, “Let’s crack on then, Mr. Greenlake”, and turned her pony towards Bree. As Greenlake mounted, he replied, “Yes, Millie, let’s get about this thing. And, please call me Torry.” With the hobbit in the lead, the two rode back toward the Staddle Gate into Bree.
The Bree Market Square was not so precisely shaped, being a roughly circular plaza of cobblestones centered by a large fountain occupied by three oversized stone boars spewing water into a round, knee-high basin. Immediately surrounding the fountain stood semi-permanent tentpoles grouped into four covered vendor stalls, shared by visiting merchants and local farmers selling their goods. A number of shops formed the plaza boundary, their doors opening towards the fountain. Intersecting the plaza, the main street through Bree ran roughly down slope from north to south, with the lane connecting the Combe and Mud Gates perpendicular. On the southwest side of the plaza, the Mess Hall had just finished serving breakfast for the town guardsman who, with busy toothpicks and satisfied bellies, were dispersing to their various posts. Millie led Torry to the Mess Hall, where they dismounted and entered.
Bellem Foxglove looked up from the washtub filled with morning dishes as Torry and Millie entered the Mess Hall. “Too late for breakfast, too early for lunch”, he called out firmly, removing the bandanna from his bare pate and using it to wipe the glisten from his head and grey-bearded face. No doubt the two could still smell the bacon, eggs, and biscuits that the cook had served up, but now gone into hungry Watcher bellies. As the two approached Bellem, he tossed the bandanna onto a table and wiped his hands on his apron. Millaray put on her brightest smile, but before she could speak Bellem said, with hands planted on hips, “Boggs, don’t be trying to hand me some tale about you being bigger on the inside than on the outside. This is not a pub...”
Millaray joined Bellem in completing his well-known refrain. “...it's a Mess Hall. You get fed when the cook feeds you. Yes, Bellem, I know.” She waved a hand towards Torry. “This is Torrance Greenlake. He just filed his Oath and we’ve got an assignment riding out to the Shire and back. We need provisions.”
Foxglove wiped his hands again before stepping forward to offer to shake hands. “A Greenlake in the Watch again, eh? That’s good news. How are your mum and dad?”
Torry shook hands, remembering Foxglove as an occasional visitor to the Greenlake farm. Bellem and Torry’s father, Ben, were of about the same age and fairly well acquainted, but the relationship was mostly business. Bellem’s duties included making regular rounds to all the farms to collect provisions for the Mess Hall.
“They’re doing fine, Mr. Foxglove. I’ll tell them you asked and I’m sure they’d like you pay a visit soon.” Millaray looked between the two men and, seeing that they already knew each other, took the opportunity to quietly back away while they chatted. It didn’t surprise her that they were acquainted; most everyone at least knew of the prominent Greenlake family, and she had heard of Torrance’s skill at the forge. Her gaze swiveled about the Mess Hall, looking for good things to pack for the trip. As she moved toward a set of crock-laden shelves, Bellem spoke over his shoulder, “Stay out of my honey, Boggs.” Millaray frowned as she diverted her attention to the salted meats hanging nearby in rough cloth sacks. Once the two men finished catching up, they joined her.
“Provisions for a ride to the Shire?”, Foxglove asked, rhetorically, and continued without waiting for an answer. “Should be about two days out and two back, unless you’re in a hurry?” Millaray handed the mayor’s letter to Bellem, saying, “Tenderlarch didn’t say it was urgent.” Foxglove looked over the letter. “Michel Delving,” he said thoughtfully. “That could add another day of provisions each way.... unless Boggs has family to put you up?” They turned to Millaray, who shook her head. “Family, no,” she said, “but a few friends that might do us the honor. Would be nice to bring them something for their trouble...?” She looked up at Bellem with wide, hopeful eyes, eyelids batting, and knowing Foxglove’s fondness for hobbits. He grinned at her beneath a frown and shook his head, but said, “One jar. Cherry blossom honey is on the bottom shelf, tucked in the back.” Bellem chuckled as Millaray nearly disappeared into the shelves to retrieve the treasure.
“You might want to consider cold camps until you get to the Shire”, Bellem offered, returning the letter to Millaray. “The rumors around breakfast this morning suggested there are brigands skulking around the East Road near Buckland.” Millaray stood, tucking the honey into an empty sack. “Aye”, she said, remembering the route to the Shire. “We could ride a short day to Adso’s, then a long following day to Newbury. That would at least keep us in daylight on the road, and less likely to have intruders at night, but it would be wise to be ready for cold camps.”
Torry gave her a puzzled look. “And if we run into them during the day?” The hobbit Watcher pursed her lips before answering. “You just filed your Oath and haven’t had your training yet.... you ever been in a real fight?” Torry understood that to mean a melee with proper weapons, and he shook his head. “No, but I am a fair shot with a bow.” Millaray lifted a brow and asked, “Mounted and moving?”. Torry again shook his head. “So,” she continued, “we have two choices. Fight, if there is only one scalawag, and that would not be likely unless he’s delirious, or, if there’s more than one, run and hope your horse is faster than theirs.” Torry snorted, “Run? Aren’t we supposed to be protectors?”. Patiently, Millaray answered, “We can’t protect anyone or anything if we get captured for ransom, or killed for our belongings. You’ve got a lot to learn, Boot Greenlake. As Watchers patrolling the roads, out first objective is information.”
Falling silent, Torry watched Millaray finish gathering provisions from Bellem: bread, cheese, fruits and vegetables edible raw, jerky, hard-boiled eggs, all nourishing without the need for a cookfire, although she was able to cajole Foxglove out of some bacon. After they exchanged goodbyes with Bellem, Torry followed her outside to help load his horse and her pony. As they worked, Millaray said, “We need to get you some sort of weapon and shield, as well, and a uniform.” Torry shook his head, puzzled. "Why? As you say, I haven’t been trained yet.” Anticipating the question, Millaray immediately answered, “Two riders in proper Watcher gear might appear more discouraging than just one. And if you get cornered, you're more likely to keep yourself alive behind your own shield until I can sort things out.” With dropped jaw, Torry looked at her. She had confidently assumed she was his protector. After a moment, he realized that she would be, given that he lacked any training or experience in his new role as a Watcher.
Satisfied that the provisions were securely loaded, Millaray mounted her pony and looked to Torry, who obediently followed as she turned her horse down the main street south towards the Town Hall. “Now to get you at least looking like a Watcher”, Millaray teased as they rode abreast. He smiled at her, deciding he liked her straightforward confident manner, finding it comforting. “Here”, he thought, “is someone who knows what she’s doing”. He was looking forward to an appropriate time to ask her about ‘the heirloom’ Constable Tanglerush mentioned.
Back in the Town Hall for the second time that day, Torry headed up to the Mayor's office while Millaray skirted past the clerk’s barred window and into the small barracks wing of the Hall, slowing to explain she was to outfit the new Watcher. Walt indifferently waved at her with his feathered quill and returned to his scribbling. She climbed the stairs to the storage loft where, having some skill in tailoring, she felt confident that she could find something to fit Greenlake. Millaray thoroughly rummaged through the shelves, bins, and chests, but all she could find was a farrier’s robe. She grinned at that, thinking it ironic to have a skilled metalsmith like Greenlake dressed for shoeing horses, but at least the garment was Watcher red. An appropriately sized helmet, hung from a wall peg and also Watcher red, would suffice to complete the uniform. The weapon racks provided suitable bow, full quiver, shield, and a one-handed fighting hammer she thought, with a smirk, quite nice for a blacksmith.
Loaded with Torry’s gear, she descended to the first floor and laid it all out on a table and, hearing him and the mayor say their partings, stepped back into the Hall foyer. Before departing on official tasks, the Mayor shook hands with Torry, and Millaray beckoned the new Watcher back into the barracks room. With an impish grin and dramatic flourish, she drew Torry’s attention to the table where she had laid out his gear. When his eyes found the robe, he snorted through a smile, giving her an incredulous, squinted look.
“So, I am to be a horseshoer, now, eh?”
With cheeks unable to fully suppress her grin, she answered, “Perfectly honest work, Boot Greenlake. No doubt you have a natural talent for it.” They both laughed, and he slowly nodded. It wasn’t nearly as impressive as his uncle’s scale mail shirt, but it would be appropriate and convincing. “Very well, my fearless hobbit Watchwoman. You are, as Constable Tanglerush said, the ranking member on this task. But, make no mistake, when we get back, I will be changing THAT.” He punctuated his remark with a determined finger thrust at the robe. “The hammer is nice, though, much like the one my Uncle Gar wore.” He hefted it, and Millaray thought it seemed natural to him. She left while he changed into his uniform, telling him to meet her outside with the horses.
Millaray looked him over carefully when he came outside. She moved around him, making some small adjustments to his wearing of the makeshift uniform, before stepping back again, nodding in satisfaction. “We are ready for the road, Watcher Greenlake”, she announced. Both Watchers mounted, and Millaray led the way to and through the Bree South Gate. For a while, they rode unspeaking, skirting the southwest arc of the Bree city wall. As they approached the East Road leading out of the town’s West Gate, Torry pulled up alongside his hobbit companion. “So, Constable Tanglerush said to ask you about an heirloom...?”
The hobbit looked up at him, blinking with surprise. She chuckled and scratched her chin thoughtfully. “Aye, she would do that.” And so, the first leg of the journey found a hobbit great-granddaughter telling the son of prominent family of Men how she bearded a troll in its cave.
