Expedition: Swanfleet, Day Three
35 Tuilë in the Reckoning of Imladris
(11th of May in the Shire-Calendar)
Ruddymore, near Sarn Ford
Whenever I ride through the Shire, I am always struck by just how, well, pretty! these lands are. The rolling green hills and meadows, the ordered and lovingly kept fields and orchards, offset by the little hamlets and the crazy quilt of burrows and sheds that mark where the hobbits live, work, and just live – pretty is just the first word I’d use.
(I don’t dare say it out loud, but some days I like staying in the Shire better than I do at Torech Besruth…)
On the third morning of the march, we set out from Waymeet south through the woods and the plantations of the Southfarthing. By late afternoon we had arrived at the stone gate where our road crossed the Brandywine (or Baranduin, as I was taught growing up). Crossing the river we could hear birds from every direction, like a chorus that rose up with one verse to the left, then faded to be answered by a chorus to the right. The trees that lined the roads and paths of the Shire suddenly ended at the river, and beyond the Brandywine was a land of scrub bushes and looming rocks. It looked to me like a giant hand had wiped the landscape a hundred years ago, and only now were the trees coming back.
We passed over the ford and crossed into the land called Ruddymore. A small camp sat beneath the trees, held by Men who were plainly of Dúnedain descent. Naneth and Hartagil spoke easily with them, and we soon resumed our march south along the road. Iyenue rode a furlong or so ahead of us, Naneth and Hartagil and me together. Royzenberry rode quietly behind us with Gammer Goldflower, who kept up a cheerful stream of chatter at the many new things she saw. Gammer looked on this as less of an adventure and more of a tour of “lands beyond the Bounds”, as she called them. But I got the sense there was also something else bothering Royzenberry that she would not put into words yet.
We made camp as the sun began setting, a league or so southeast of the ford beneath a forlorn cluster of trees just off the road. While the hobbits busied themselves with kindling and supper for the party, I was helping Iyenue with the mounts. Hartagil was looking down the road in the gathering dark.
“A red land, it reminds me of the Iron Hills in a way,” she said. “And look, there is an old blockhouse ruin up ahead, a few leagues distant.”
“A remnant from the days of Cardolan,” Naneth said. “These downs are covered with ruins of the old Dúnedain realm.”
“Whispers of times long past,” Iyenue remarked from where she tended the horses.
Royzenberry looked around from the fire. “I’m confused, I don’t understand these lands at all.”
“Oh, Auntie Berry - you just gave Naneth her opening!” I cried in mock terror, the others laughing. The hobbits had a filling supper laid on and we all tucked into a hearty stew as the sun set, the evening turning cool even though it was May. We set a watch and one by one dropped off to sleep. I was roused awake in the late hours by Iyenue, who wore a determined look on her face.
“Wh-what is it?” I blearily asked.
“Trouble,” she said. “Hartagil and your mother went to investigate. Stoke the fire while I see to the horses.” She melted into the night as I built up a good blaze. Gammer and Royzenberry came over, Gammer looking worried while Berry had her sword out, staring off into the dark. Suddenly off in the distance came a flash of light followed by a terrific frooosh! of noise and a hoarse scream.
“Well, that only means one thing,” Berry said wryly, and I could only nod in agreement. Hartagil and Naneth emerged from the gloom a moment later, Hartagil casually holding her greatsword over her shoulder, Naneth gripping her staff in both hands. In the light of the fire I swear I saw the head of her staff move, the lunar moth fluttering as if trying to take flight.
“Two Southrons less to worry us,” Hartagil smirked. “I saw them sneaking toward the camp, and we decided to greet them. Can't have a wolf taking a bite of our hobbits, now, can we?”
“Brigands, or worse?” Royzenberry wondered, “seems we have enemies about, we might have to be careful.”
“One scout party, but there are no doubt more watching the roads,” Iyenue said. “You sent them a message, Your Ladyship?”
“Yes,” Naneth said simply. She was looking out into the dark beyond the campfire, her back to us and still grasping her staff. “All eyes from here to the Greyflood know where we are now, and I gave my reply to their scouts: I am here.” She turned back to us, her eyes hard and bright in the firelight.
“We’ll keep a stronger watch for the rest of the night,” she said. “Hartagil, keep the fire going, use up all the wood we have. Iyenue, be ready to scout ahead before first light. The rest of you get what sleep you can, we break camp and ride at dawn.”
“Who can sleep, with ruffians about?” Lemonberry said. “I can, that’s who – can’t let a poor body rest, you can rout as many as you like, Your Ladyship!” Royzenberry tried to look alert and ready, but I was yawning where I sat. I curled up and drifted off, the last thing I heard before sleep was Naneth speaking to Aunt Hartagil.
“No news of Cutch, or Ardanion?”
“Nothing back at the ford, and nothing since. When daylight comes, we must keep an eye for Windwalker.”
“Do you have any ideas for tomorrow, or the next day?”
“Cutch and I discussed a route he and Ardanion would take. There is a settlement, Herne it is called, another day’s march ahead. If we hear nothing tomorrow, we shall wait another day there, before moving on.”
“And you are not concerned, little sister?”
“No, are you? See to Iyenue and her patrol, and have an eye for the horses. I shall mind the fire.”
