A Land to Call Their Own RPG

[alaklondewen]

Marcho was not pleased by the news brought by Harold Chubb. Missing property was one thing, but stolen property was a serious issue, especially if a hobbit among them was the offender. As the scout followed the Harfoot through the camp to meet Fordogrim, he noticed that no one among the Fallohides and Stoors appeared to be troubled. Could this be simply an attack on the Harfoots? Of course, it might be possible that a few things were misplaced, or one of the children was playing a prank.

When Fordogrim came into view, Harold went ahead of Marcho and spoke a few hushed words to his father. The scout saw the elder shake his head and look slightly confused.

“Mr. Chubb,” Marcho tipped his head in greeting. “You were guard last night. Do you remember hearing or seeing anything out of the ordinary, Sir?” The Fallohide knelt next to the hobbit and awaited his reply.

[Memory of Trees]

May tossed in her hard bed in the wagon. It was too hot in here to sleep, and besides, she wasn't feeling sleepy anyway. Quietly, she got up and stole gently across the wagon bed and out into the cool night air. She padded down to the water's edge and sat down in the soft grass. For the first time that day May felt as if she could breathe.

It was a clear, cool night, and May turned her face up to the velvet sky. The stars seemed so close tonight, so real, as if she could reach up and touch any one of them. May tried to imagine what touching a star would be like. Cold, like ice, she thought, but it would burn and tingle, too. Fiery ice. May looked up at the sky and imagined strumming the stars with her fingertips. Just like harp strings, she imagined. They would probably make music, too, clear and haunting and ancient, just like the sky itself. Singing stars. May closed her eyes and smiled.

There was a noise from the wagon. Glancing over her shoulder, May saw her father leave the wagon. His lamp made eerie shadows in the grass as he strode off toward Mister Bolger's wagon. Wonder what he's up to? May thought.

She laid back on the soft hill of dirt she was sitting on. As much as she'd tried to forget the day's events, the images kept playing themselves over and over in her mind. And Adelard's sneering face was right in the middle of them.

~~~

It had started after the forest episode. Adelard was in a nasty mood the next day (surprise, surprise), and determined that someone should pay for "dragging him off into the forest and injuring his innocent person." He demanded that whoever was responsible should be forced to care for him until his was sufficiently recovered from his illness. And yes, of course. Mayflower Chubb was entirely responsible for the entire mishap.

Or so Adelard was convinced.

And what could her mother and father do? She had been irresponsible, and she should be punished. Besides, the Proudfoots were a very wealthy family!

May was furious, to say the least. Any sympathy she had felt for the Proudfoot boy had vanished when his stood, face purple with rage, pointing an accusing finger at her, and yelling about what an injustice she had caused him. No, May was not pleased at all.

And right now May was quite convinced that she hated Addy Proudfoot. With all her heart she hated every inch of his fat, stuck-up self.

May got up and returned to the cart.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim was shocked to see the sun almost above the horizon when he opened his eyes. He felt immediate shame at having slept through the night and not waking the next watch. He hoped that nothing had gone wrong while he had been asleep. “Of all the woolly-pated, knuckle-skulled pumpkin heads in the world. Fordogrim, you must be one of the worst,” he railed at himself. Stout leant down his old head and nuzzled Fordogrim as though to assure him that there was one creature in the world, at least, who loved him as much as Prim had. Fordogrim’s scowl transformed into a smile at the memory of his dream. It had been so real that he cast about on the ground for signs of her footsteps, but there were none, of course. Harold’s shadow loomed on the grass before him and Fordogrim scrambled to his feet (with more than a little help from his son).

Harold quickly informed him of the apparent thefts and asked if he had heard or seen anything on watch last night. Fordogrim immediately thought of his vision but decided that was probably not the kind of thing his son was asking after. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t say as I did.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “But I wasn’t altogether…well…you see, I couldn’t have seen everything that happened last night for I, well…” Fordogrim never liked to admit when he was at fault, and given the gravity of his mistake, he found telling his son a difficult thing. He had never approved of the necklace, Useless gewgaw, but he knew how much it meant to Harold and Sarah and he felt bad that he had been the cause of its theft.

Marcho Bolger chose that moment to approach and demand (or so it seemed to the elderly hobbit) if he had seen anything suspicious. Fordogrim scowled at the scout and retorted sharply. “As I was just a-saying to my son, who’s already asked me that question, no, I did no see anything out of the ordinary, or in the ordinary for that matter. For I was, well, to be as honest as I’d hope any hobbit would be – I was asleep. I know that I shouldn’t a-been sleeping” he rushed ahead of Marcho’s recriminations, “but there it is: I was. Now, I’m not one to go about casting blame away from me as belongs to me, but if you leave an old hobbit whose been attacked by wolves and saving certain children from rivers to try and keep his eyes open, when younger ones than his get to close for the night, well, I think you can’t complain overmuch when those old eyes fail you.”

Marcho seemed on the verge of speaking but Fordogrim did not give him the chance. His temper had been on a slow boil for days, and now it had hit the very limit of the pot’s endurance. As he saw things, he’d been dragged from his home and lead through the wild to be assaulted by Whitfoots, threatened by wolves, and now accused by Bolgers – to make matters worse, the son who had taken him on this wild-brained, crack-headed fool-hearted venture now stood beside the very scout who had taken them into the wild and exposed them all to these dangers…and Fordogrim to the sting of his own guilty conscience. None of this, he reflected angrily would have happened if I’d been allowed to live out my life in my own hole! The elderly hobbit rounded on his son. “Don’t you dare stand there accusing me with that crack-brain Bolger scout. If we hadn’t come on this gallavant we’d none of us be in the dangers we’re in, and you and I would still be comfortable and happy in our hole! You should have a-listened to me, my son, and stood well enough alone! I know why you came out here, though! I know! It was your wife as led you to it! And you, squandering good money on a ridiculous necklace – a necklace that’s good for nothing more than puffing up her vanity and attracting the eyes of thieves! I won’t say I’m glad it’s been stolen, but I ain’t sorry it’s gone!” Days of fury and frustration, of anxiety and of feeling old, of the incessant pain in his leg and of the ache in his heart – all of it came out, motivated and set afire by his shame at having failed his family in his duty. “I know what you all think of me: ‘Useless old Grandpa Fordo. Good for naught but nagging word and to tag along at our heels.’ Well, it’s true, and I guess we’ve all seen it now!”

As he raged, the tears started in his eyes, and he longed for the calming presence of Prim. But she was gone now, and he was alone.

[alaklondewen]

Even in his comfortable straw bed that was covered with layers of padding, Adelard had not slept well. Every movement he made, be it small or large, made his injury throb, and so he lay awake most of the night in anguish. Now that morning had come round he was in a sour mood and feeling downright cantankerous. Looking around his camp he searched for someone whose mood he might ruin. There only seemed to be adult Fallohides up and busy at the moment, and he knew he would not get away will ordering them. He would just have to find May. She was supposed to be taking care of him and his injury now anyway.

Adelard told his mother what he wanted to break his fast, and then made his way through the hobbit camp. His family had stopped very close behind the Bolgers, so he still had to cross the Stoor hobbits before arriving at the Harfoots. As the Proudfoot neared the Chubb camp, he noticed Marcho and the Chubb men talking in hushed tones, but as he came closer old Fordogrim began shouting. Adelard ducked behind the nearest cart and listened.

“Don’t you dare stand there accusing me with that crack-brain Bolger scout. If we hadn’t come on this gallavant we’d none of us be in the dangers we’re in, and you and I would still be comfortable and happy in our hole!” Adelard heard the old hobbit crossly say to his son. Accuse him of what? The eavesdropper stuck his head out and leaned a bit closer to hear.

“I know! It was your wife as led you to it! And you, squandering good money on a ridiculous necklace – a necklace that’s good for nothing more than puffing up her vanity and attracting the eyes of thieves! I won’t say I’m glad it’s been stolen, but I ain’t sorry it’s gone!”

Adelard’s eyes widened and he sat back on his heels. Stolen?! But who? He looked around him accusatorily thinking of which of these indigent hobbits would be a thief. It was this moment that the Fallohide remembered seeing the young Crispin Whitfoot gallivanting about late after all others were sleeping. Adelard had immediately become suspicious of the lads actions, and now he knew why. The Proudfoot must have sensed the lad’s criminal activity. I’ve got to tell Fredigar, he thought and jumped up find the lawmaker. He might had stepped in and told Marcho what he knew, but Adelard thought the scout thought too much when obvious action was needed. He wanted someone to act now, not later. If Crispin Whitfoot was a thief, he needed to be punished…immediately.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Despite his father’s spirited rant, Harold detected an underlying ambivalence in the old man’s behavior and speech. Fordogrim seemed painfully aware of his blunder last night and didn’t want to be blamed for the theft, but was covering it over with a string of words. Harold sympathized with his father. He could imagine how guilty his dad must feel in failing to perform his obligation. Although, given the fact that his father’s aged eyes were not as sharp as they had once been, Harold wondered whether he would have seen the thief even if he had been awake. And maybe it was good that he had not been awake. Knowing his father, he bet that Fordo would have charged the infiltrator head-on and gotten himself injured or killed.

Upset and ashamed, Grandpa Fordo was now yelling at Harold about matters over which neither of them really had any control. Harold tried to respond calmly, determined not to worsen the situation further by inciting the already irritated Fordo.

“Father, you know as well as I do that I had absolutely no choice in moving. If I had my druthers, we would be back home in the fields outside Bree right now. But we’re not and I don’t see how complaining about our present situation helps. We were never given a choice, but simply told what to do. Believe me, I would rather be back in Bree, where my dear mother lies. But I fear that we must leave the Bree that we once loved behind and try to make a new life in the far downs. "

"No one is accusing you of anything. After a long day on the trail, all of us were tired. It's not your fault you dozed off, but simply the wear and grind of the journey. We just wanted to know if you'd heard any suspicious sounds that might point to the criminal. Perhaps we may learn something useful of this yet. And with some crazy fellow on the loose, it might be wiser to appoint two people for guard duty in the future so if one falls asleep; the other can wake them up." Harold glanced briefly in Marcho's direction and then went on.

"As for the necklace, I did not trade away so much of my milk just for the sake of Sarah’s vanity. It's a symbol of my great feeling for her and a display of my affection. Surely, dad, with how you felt about mother, you can understand that! You're the one who taught me that a wife can be the best friend a man can ever have. So don't begrudge her that little necklace."

"But, enough of that. This isn't helping anything. Dad, are you ready to catch the criminal? We could surely use your assistance and experience......"

[Witch_Queen]

My necklace... its gone? But it cannot be. Sarah didn't want to believe that it was stolen. Fordo should have seen something. I mean after all he was the watcher last night. Yet he says that he went asleep. I would not blame him, Grandpa is not as young as he use to be. Sarah walked over to where Fordo, Harold and Marcho was only to see that the words she overheard made Fordo mad. "Grandpa Chubb, has anyone got an idea about who it was stealing from the wagons last night." Sarah wasn't going to say it but she believed that there was a theif amongst them. She tried to keep her temper down since she heard Fordo's ugly remarks about how it was Sarah to blame for the Chubbs coming on the little "adventure."

I am not going to have a dim-witted old goat tell my husband what he can and cannot do. Harold is grown up now and does not have to have his father's permission. Especially if Harold feels that he wishes to buy me a gift like my wonderful topaz necklace. Which is still gone. I want it back and I will not stop until it is back around my neck where it belongs. No matter how hard Sarah tried to keep her temper down she couldn't. Grandpa had pushed her buttons too much and it was time for her to do something about it. "Grandpa you have said too much and done too little. I have tried to get along with you, which is out right impossible, but you persist in making everything my fault. Is it enough that you must criticize your own son about what he does for his family. Goodness, Fordo this must stop and it must stop now!" Sarah felt a little better about herself now that she had told Fordo almost everything on her mind. She had to keep some of it just in case Fordo should retaliate.

"So Mr. Chubb what do you wish to say about your behavior over the past years?" Sarah wasn't sure about Fordo liking her or not. She had the feeling that the fued was long sine overdue. It didn't matter to her anymore, Fordo was the straw that broke the cow's back. All Sarah wanted to do was give him a piece of her mind. Now she feared that it was too much.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Harold’s words went deep to Fordogrim’s heart – and cut a bit when they got there. He did know what it was like to love the woman in your life so much that you did crazy things for her: things that to outsiders must look like madness. He remembered back to the year of Great Tempest when he had spent much of the storm in the flower garden, staking up the sweet peas and gladiolas that his Prim loved so much when everyone else had been in the orchards trying to save the fruits of their harvest. He had seemed mad to everybody then – as his son had seemed to him now – but at the time he had not even thought about it. Prim’s happiness was simply more important than the crops. The old hobbit also had to admit the truth of Harold’s words about the move. There had been little choice. He began to see the Whitfoots in a wholly new light. For most of his life they had simply been his landlords; like the great stone in the middle of his fields, they were an uncomfortable fact of life that you had to work around. But perhaps his relation to them was somewhat different. He had always assumed that they thought about him in the same way – as a fact of their lives, but not a part of their daily existence. But the way they had treated Henry and May in their desire for babysitting came back to him. And Kalimac’s overbearing manner toward him in the ensuing fight. Perhaps the Whitfoots simply took the Chubbs for granted. His aged mind shifted and clunked into a new idea: Harold had not chosen to follow the Whitfoots as one chooses to accept a bad frost, he had been compelled to go with them on this crack-brained adventure.

His mind was still whirling with this when Sarah stood before him, her hands on her hips, and raged at him for his attack. At first, Fordogrim felt all of his anger well up at this affront to his dignity, but having just come to the realisation of his son’s position, Sarah’s words quickly followed Harold’s into his heart, where they stung deeply indeed. While there was truth to what she said about Harold, Fordogrim was not going to accept her accusations against him. His face grew red and he pulled himself upright. Harold placed a calming hand on his shoulder, and the gesture was so much like something that Prim would have done that he could have cried again. It did much to still his heart, but he could not hold back all of his words.

“I’m not easy to get along with, am I? Well, I’m an old hobbit and I’ve been around long enough to know the way I like things done, and there’s no denying that. Still, I’m not so old that I can’t see when I’ve gone and got something wrong, and I can see now that mayhap I’ve had this journey all wrong from the start. Mayhap it wasn’t that you and Harold had much of a choice in this. Mayhap it was others as I won’t go accusing here” but he looked pointedly at the Whitfoot camp “left us all with precious little choice. But you” and he pointed his cane angrily at Sarah, “you wanted to come on this here journey, and you can’t go as denying it! Now I’m sorry if you feel that I’ve been a-blaming you for all that’s gone wrong, as that’s just not how it is. There’s plenty of blame to go around” and he glared and Marcho, “and there’s far more of it than any one hobbit can bear. So I’m sorry to you for making you feel as though I hold you responsible for all, my Sarah, I really am. But as you’ve started this fight, I have to say that you’re no easy person to get along with either. There was a way of doing things about the hole that I’d been comfortable with for many years. Ways that I’d come to count on for when I gave over the running of the farm to my son, and all those ways were done and gone the moment you stepped across the threshold. Now there’s no way anyone could replace my Prim, and I don’t say as you should try, but as I said I’m an old hobbit and set in my ways and in my place, and I don’t take well to folk meddling with that. And Sarah – and I’m sorry to say this Harold, but she’s asked me for it – you are as meddlesome a hobbit lass as any I’ve met!”