[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim had spent the day happily dozing in his saddle and offering advice to members of the convoy who happened to stray close enough to him to wake him up. The rain had come as an unhappy surprise, but the old hobbit had spent a long lifetime outdoors working the fields and was not to be deterred by a bit of wet (even though the damp made his leg ache). He noted with disdain the rudimentary attempts by the Whitfoots to protect themselves from the water, and with pride the stoicism of his own family. As the afternoon had worn on and the sky had begun to grow dark, Fordogrim had contemplated another confrontation with Marco but decided against it: the scout was clearly too far gone in his lunacy to be swayed by even the most commonsensical observations of a level-headed hobbit such as himself!

He was asleep once more when the argument started, but the raised voices of his Harold and Sarah were enough to stir him from where he slumbered with his back to the cartwheel. When Fordogrim saw who they were fighting with, he could not repress a happy smile of pride at their determination, even if he did not approve of their target. It never did any good to go after one’s employer, no matter how thick-headed and tight-fisted they might be! Hauling himself upright, the old hobbit hobbled over to the squabbling families to hear the argument better. Almost as soon as he got within range of the fury Mrs. Elsa Whitfoot turned toward him a torrent of abuse: “This never would have happened if your son hadn’t asked for pay! We give him sufficient wages already! Why should we pay our employees twice? Do your grandchildren need to be bribed in order to maintain a passable level of responsibility? How on earth were those children brought up?”

Fordogrim was stunned, and not just by the sudden attack on himself, but by the total lack of respect for his years and hobbit-sense that it showed. So enraged was he by Elsa’s attack that for a moment he stood his ground absolutely wordless with rage. Elsa, clearly taking this as a victory over him, turned to her husband to abuse him. “Kalimac,” she began, “this is madness! What are we doing, arguing with these folk? It doesn’t matter if we are being manipulated, just stop being a fool! We shouldn’t grudge them the money!”

These folk? Manipulated? This was the first and last straw for Fordogrim. Raising his cane to emphasise the full extent of his rage at the Whitfoots he staggered forward a step. He felt rather than saw Harold and Sarah attempt to stop him but nothing short of an earthquake could have diverted Fordogrim’s attention to his landlords in that moment. “Now you just listen here a moment young Miss Elsa! It’s handsome is as handsome does, I always say, and at the moment you are acting in a manner that’s far from handsome. After all the years that me and mine have been a-working your lands and providing you with rent you should owe us all a bit more respect, even if the fact that I knew your father from the time he was a rapscallion lad stealing apples from my orchard weren’t enough to shame your tongue from a-speaking to me as you have!”

Elsa and Kalimac bridled at this and said some angry words in response, unused as they were to hearing their oldest and most stable tenant farmer speak back to them. Fordogrim, emboldened by their reaction, pressed forward, despite the warning hand he felt Harold place on his shoulder. “As to the money that’s been paid, you should be thankful that our Henry and May were a-willing to take on the job of looking after your fool children. Why any hobbit with even half the sense his mother gave him can see that a Whitfoot is about as suited for a journey of this type as an easy-chair. Sitting about in your comfortable holes all day, counting out the earnings that others with grit have made for you – that’s what you're good for.”

Kalimac raged at Fordogrim for this, stepping so close to the older hobbit that Fordogrim had to take a stumbling step back. He raised his cane toward the taller and younger hobbit in order to shake it beneath his nose as he let loose with his most stinging retort, but then a very unfortunate thing happened. Just as Fordogrim began to shake the knobbled head of his cane beneath Kalimac’s nose, the Whitfoot moved his head forward to make an emphatic point. End of cane collided with tip of nose, and Kalimac roared with pain and anger.