A Land to Call Their Own RPG

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold listened to Marcho's plot and hesitently nodded his head. He did not particularly relish the idea of drawing the thief into the camp a second time. Once had been quite enough! But he desperately wanted to capture the scoundrel, and he could not think of a better way to do so.

As a young Hobbit, Harold had been involved in planning numerous mischievous pranks on neighboring farmers, but never anything as serious as this. His concern for May and Henry made him even more reluctant to agree. He wondered if the thief was armed. However, Harold reasoned that they would be in no real danger because the cowardly thief dare not strike before everyone was asleep.

Both Marcho and Kalimac seemed to be waiting for him to say something. Best speak up.... Harold told himself.

"Marcho, I think that that your plan is a good idea. Unless my children have bitter objections, I'll encourage them to do as you've suggested. But I will ask one thing. Let's all have our weapons handy in case this fellow is armed. We don't know how dangerous this thieving scoundrel is."

Harold glanced over in Kalimac's direction, who seemed to be nodding in agreement.

With a sigh, the Harfoot continued, "Normally, I'm not one for grand schemes, but there comes a point when a Hobbit has to stand up for what is right. Thieving isn't right, nor is keeping a good lad locked up when there's so little evidence. And this rogue will not get off with my Sarah's necklance. We're going to catch him and punish him for taking from so many hard-working Hobbits. I'm ready, Marcho!"

Kalimac spoke up quickly, "We're all agreed then. Let's bait a trap to catch our prey."

Harold added, "And if my guess is right, my father will be with us too."

The three shook hands on the agreement.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim stumped along the edge of the camp, muttering to himself grumpily. Stout snickered beside him as their breaths misted in the cool night air, and a waning moon glowed down upon them with enough light to cast faint shadows on the grass. The elderly hobbit tried not to look toward the small copse of trees behind them, but it was an agony of determination only that prevented him from doing so. After the children’s little play with the pouch of gold this evening, Marcho had disappeared into the woods and come back only after dark had fallen. At his hastily convened and secretive meeting with the Chubbs and the Whitfoots, he had confirmed that there was indeed a thief lurking in the woods nearby. The scout had not seen the Man – as he had judged him by the signs of his boot prints – but he had seen enough to know that their prey was nearby.

The elderly hobbit turned to his faithful friend. “Well me lad,” he said quietly, so as not to wake the others. “What do you make of all this? Think it has a cake’s chance at a party of working?” The pony merely nuzzled his face. “I guess you’re right old fellow; that Marcho Bolger might be a crack-brain and all, but he does seem to have some sense when it a-comes to catching thieves in the night.” He looked over to the dark shadows of the Whitfoot wagon where he knew Marcho was hiding. The scout was waiting for Fordogrim to feign sleep. Then, if things went according to plan and the thief co-operated, he would spring their trap. Harold had volunteered to stay awake with Marcho, but the scout had pointed out that anyone watching the camp would notice the extra guard, and had instructed the Chubb father to lay low in his cart as usual. As Fordogrim neared the cart, he could tell from the gentle sounds of breathing that his son had fallen asleep. Fordogrim looked down at his son and smiled warmly in the night.

It had been many a year since he had looked at his son this way, and doing so now took him back to the days when Harold had been only a baby, and Fordogrim would steal quietly from his bed at night and tiptoe down the hall to gaze at his lovely boy. He turned his back to the cart and settled against the wheel. As he laid his head back he knew that he would not need to feign sleep. He did not even think to try and stay awake to confront the thief, for the pain in his leg had grown much worse in the past few days and he would be useless in a fight. He was not concerned, for he knew that his son was more than up to the challenge before them.

My Dearest Prim, he began,

Well my love, that much has happened since I last wrote that I hardly know where to begin. I suppose the first thing as I ought to tell you is about our Sarah. What an eye-opening did she give me! First, she showed more grit than I thought she had in her. There were some hard words between us, but hers were shovels as did some use and mine were stones as did nothing but lay there. She pointed out a few things about me and her that I had never really thought about before, and that’s given me a lot to think on. You see, my love, I’ve missed you so awful since you went away that I seems to have turned it all on our poor Sarah for taking over your place in the house – as though it were her fault you had to go in the first place! Now isn’t that just the foolishest thing you’ve ever known? Well, of course not, as you’ve known me a good long time!

But as if that weren’t enough, our Sarah then comes round and says as she now regrets a-coming on this trip. But wouldn’t you know it, even there she’s gone and taught this grumpy old hobbit a thing or two. I’ve been hurt and angry about a-coming on this trip for my own sake, but her thoughts are all for the love of her children and family! She does love our Harold and Mayflower and Henry so much – well, I admit, I’m ashamed of myself that I never did give her the credit she deserves for it. It was a bit tough admitting to her as I'd been wrong, but I up and did it over dinner just this night. It would be difficult to make up for years of hard words with a few gentle ones, but I did my best.

As to my mind, though, I’m beginning to think that I might have had it a bit wrong about this trip. You should see our Harold: like a new hobbit. He’s still the gentle, soft-spoken boy you made him to be, but there’s an iron in there that I’ve not noticed before. Why, would you believe that he’s stood up to that Kalimac Whitfoot twice on this journey? And he’s even given me a good what-for when I deserved it. I think this new place we’re headed to, if it gives Harold the chance to stretch himself a bit more – why, that can only be good I think. I’d never really thought before how small and tightly-fit he was into our life at Bree. This wide open land will give him the room he needs to grow.

Well, my love, I can a-feel myself a-fading fast so I’d best leave it there. I hope that you are well and happy. I miss you awfully.

Your husband,

Grim

And with a contented smile, his head fell back against the cartwheel and he fell asleep.

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He felt a familiar touch on his cheek, and was instantly awake. Before him stood Prim, looking exactly as she had the day they had met all those long years – and distant leagues – ago. He smiled up at her and felt as though his heart would break with a joy past bearing. She returned the smile, and her cheeks were round like fresh apples, and her hair hung about her face like the new tendrils of the sweet peas that she loved. “I’m glad that you and Sarah have made things up at last," she said. "That will make our Harold so happy, my love.”

“Well,” he replied, “it took me long enough time to see it, but I’ve been awful hard on the lass for all the wrong reasons. I’m just glad that I’ve come to my senses in time to put things right with her. To be honest, I’m a-looking forward to spending more time with her.” Prim gave him an odd look: not sad, but thoughtful and sympathetic. He knew that look well. “What is it, my love?” he asked happily. “You’ve got something as you want to tell me, but you’re not sure of how I’m a-going to take it. Out with it, lass!”

Prim shook her head prettily and merely said, “I don’t think you’ll be able to spend as much time with her as you’d like my love. But that’s all right, she knows now how you really feel.”

“I won’t get time?” Fordogrim replied. “But why, Prim? Is something going to happen to her?”

“Why yes, lots and lots.”

“Not anything bad, I hope, Prim. Y’see, I’ve grown that fond of her, and she makes our Harold so happy.”

Prim held out her hand and helped Fordogrim to his feet. He did not notice at first, but the pain was gone from his leg and he stood upright without the use of his cane. “Some bad things will happen to Sarah,” she was saying, “for she has a long way to go before the end of her road. But most of what she finds on the way will be good, and the darkness of that road will only make the light of home seem all the brighter.”

“Why Prim,” he said with wonderment, “How strange you are a-talking. According to that Marcho Bolger we’re not far from our new home now!”

Prim smiled once more and turned Fordogrim about to face the East. “Not that road, you silly hobbit. I’m talking of a much longer Road – the Road that we all must travel before we can finally take our rest in our rightful home.”

“Why Primrose Chubb, what kind of Elvish talk are you talking…?” But Fordogrim stumbled to a halt for as he faced back over the road they’d travelled he saw the night give way to a new dawn, and instead of an empty land there lay before him and to all the horizons around a land full of busy hobbits, tilling the earth and turning their nimble hands to their arts. The land bloomed with life, as crops were raised and holes were dug, houses and barns were built and all the lanes and roads were filled with busy, sensible folk. Fordogrim turned to the West and stared open-eyed as he saw Harold and Sarah as two elderly hobbits, sitting in their easy chairs before their door, hand in hand, surrounded by their children, and the children of their children, and as though a mist had pulled back he saw after them generations upon generations of Chubbs living and loving the land and each other. And the land that they worked was theirs and theirs alone, and they were their own masters, and they held in memory with reverence their ancestors who had given them that chance.

“Prim,” he gasped, “Is what I’m seeing…is this…what’s going to happen?” He turned toward his wife and she smiled at him like springtime. “Of all the wonders,” he said. “Prim? What’s going on? Why do I feel so strange?” And he looked at his hands, and they were no longer lined and crabbed, but smooth and supple. And as he looked up once more, he felt youth and life flood back through his limbs and he laughed aloud for the joy of it all.

But of a sudden he grew sombre and silent, and turning to Prim he said. “I have to go now don’t I, my love?” Prim nodded. “But you’ll be there won’t you my dear?” And she smiled, and he knew that she would, and that they would never have to be parted again. He took one last look at his family. Harold and Sarah were asleep in the cart, wrapped in one another’s arms, and not far from them lay Henry and Mayflower. He wanted to say goodbye to them, but Prim took his hand and led him away. He cast one last look at Stout and his faithful old friend snickered happily in his sleep, stamping the ground. “Will I ever see them again?” he asked, and Primrose replied, “Of course my love, but not for a long, long time.” Fordogrim smiled, “Well, I’m glad of that,” he said.

They passed through the lands of the west and there was a journey as though they were being swept across the Sea on the wings of a great ship. And at last they saw a distant green land, and the mists pulled back and there were green fields and the sound of the most wonderful music came to them with the dawn. “Well, as I live and breathe,” Fordogrim whispered. “I could never have imagined such a place as that.”

“Maybe you’re dreaming,” Primrose suggested.

“No,” he replied slowly, taking her by the hand, “I don’t think I am.”

[Kransha]

He was sitting now, but propped up on his back legs as if ready to uncoil those legs and spring forward with catlike agility to pounce upon his prey. Night had fallen, though there was a crimson rim tinting the dusky horizon over the line of trees that halted further vision into the distance.

The hobbit glanced about with a pang of anxiety in his look as he focused on the small, weighty purse that hung precariously from the wall of the Whitfoot wagon, just waiting, even screaming to be taken by some villainous thief. Kalimac took a nervous glance at Fordogrim, who had drifted into slumber as planned, and then at Marcho and Harold, who leaned beside him, both putting on a much better show of being asleep than he. He couldn’t even pretend, though. There was far too much on his mind. All the memories of his contemplations stung at him as he leaned back, maintaining a threadbare façade.

The memory, resilient and firm, of the last sunrise and sunset stuck firmly in him.

He’d given more thought to the matter of the Chubbs after his meeting with Marcho and Harold. He had work to do certainly, but thinking to do as well, and soon if his brain could manage it. He weighed the plight of the Chubbs, a dilemma present in his mind for almost a whole week now, shoved aside just slightly by his concern for Crispin, but still very obviously present at his mind's front.

‘They’re really not so bad’ he had thought as he strolled through the camp, murmuring half out loud, ‘…Not bad at all…Harold is a hobbit better than I, no matter what I say of it. I’m a rich fool, and I would care greatly if my funds were lost. But he doesn’t care that it was something valuable he lost, I’ll wager. He cares about the necklace because it was a gift, a heartfelt gift, to his wife. By all the shadows in the Old Forest, I’m no more than a selfish oaf, a penny-pinching miser. That’s it; from now on it’s going to be different! And when this whole blasted thing is over, I’ll give Harold and his wonderful family what I should’ve given them years ago, indeed I shall! But, first and foremost, I’ll make sure this thief is caught and get Crispin out of trouble, then to other business. Let’s see then; that’s quite a lot of reparations to make. At least Harold and his young ones are less antagonized by me now. That only leaves…Fordogrim. Well, he’ll be gotten to and turn. I have my own family to worry about. Oh my, there’s so much to do and so little time to do it in. Best get cracking, I suppose. Workto be done, work to be done...’

Slowly but surely, Kalimac’s pace increased until he broke into an equestrienne gallop, plowing past wagons and letting his limbs dangle behind like numb wings which glanced off the shoulders and arms of so many. He soon fixed his keen, focused eyes upon the sight of his young daughter, who already had a melancholy air about her as she sat on the wagon side, her feet swinging limply beneath her as she stared glumly at the ground, probably displeased by the lack of a jovial older sibling to play with. Alora’s apparent mood just fueled Kalimac’s resolve. He ran over to her, recovering the use of his arms in full, and clasped her firmly by the shoulders, wincing inwardly as he realized how much he’d shocked her. He looked meaningfully into her eyes as he spoke, examining her gaze as it met easily with his.

“Alora, dear, I have something that I really need you to do for me.” She looked intrigued already, “It’s actually a game, one you must play with Henry and May Chubb for me, and it’s very important. You see, Alora, you have to do some acting and a little job. Before the sun goes down tonight, you must go off and play in our wagon.” She still looked enthusiastic about it, nodding vigorously after each sentence, much to Kal’s delight, “There will be a bag in there, which you have to ‘find’ in there, yes?” a prompt and energetically youthful nod affirmed her understanding, “Good. Then, you must take it out, still playing the game, and show it to May and Henry. Now, you must pretend that you did not know where the bag was, or what is in it. This may confuse you, but it is very important if we wish to get Crispin out of mean mister Headstrong’s wagon. You're a crucial part of the plan, Alora, and I know you can handle that responsibility, am I right?" she nodded further, "So, you understand?”

Again, a gleeful nod from his daughter came. For the first time in two weeks, Kalimac smiled genuinely at anyone. Only luck had it that that someone was his saddened child. She seemed strangely spirited by the idea, which she gave her father credit for. Still grinning soothingly, he let go of her shoulders and backed off carefully, responding to her nod with one of his own as he turned and sprinted madly off, like a Halfling possessed into the mass of wagons in the caravan.

Now the trap was set, the job had been done, all was ready. But, one thing had to be done before the arrival of that thief. The acting of May, Henry, and Alora had been done, superbly in Kal’s opinion, but that could not be brooded on. Something had to be accomplished before the knave’s arrival. Shaking Harold’s shoulder reluctantly, Kal turned to the Harfoot as he was jogged from his false slumber and looked quizzically at Kalimac. “Harold, this has been, if you’ll hear me out, my hardest few weeks ever. The strain of this journey has done a lot to both of us, but the greatest hardship to come will not be, for me, the capturing and punishing of our thief, but what I am about to do and say.”

Harold still looked confused as Kalimac whispered, his soft voice still overshadowing the clicking noises that hiccupped every so often from the roadside. The words didn’t come easily as Kalimac forced them doggedly up his throat, stammering madly as he tried to hold eye contact with the Chubb in his employment. His mouth sagged, bouncing up and down and projecting no sound until nervous, stuttering, shuddering, shivering Kal Whitfoot began to speak, choking back half the syllables of his oration before they were emitted.

“H-Harold…I’m…I’m very sorry…about attacking your father and blaming your children for the incident in the woods, really. I had no idea…then, at least, that there was so much more I should be thinking of. I didn’t realize how selfish and stupid I was acting, and what you said a week ago really made me think. I’ve treated you well, but not well enough over these years, for which I again apologize, most profusely, Harold. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been dying to tell you this, since I never realized I had to. Now I’ve told you, and I hope you can accept my apologies…along with a decade’s back-pay for all the funds I deducted from your pay, to be paid now in full, with interest.”

[Regin Hardhammer]

Harold could hardly believe what Kalimac was telling him. First, an apology for the misunderstanding they'd had and, now, a generous offer to reimburse the Chubbs for all the rents and fees they'd paid out over ten years..... What a difference that money would make for his family in getting a new start!

He stared the landowner squarely in the eye and tugged at the brim of his cap, "Mister Kalimac, you're too hard on yourself. You've always been a fair man asking no more than your due. Not like some others I've Known. But I certainly won't say no to your proposal."

"Truthfully, I've been wondering and worrying how we'd come up with the things for our new home. I am good with my hands, but there are times when it would be nice to hire someone with skills to make a new bedstead or a sturdy table. This will make it easier for us!"

"Now, if you'll excuse me for just a moment. Before we nab that thief, I need to make sure my father is safe. He was standing guard on the hill and needs to lie low till the prowler leaves. I'll be back in just a minute." With that, Harold wandered off.

Harold's real reason for going to find his father was actually more complicated than that. He wanted the old gaffer to stay safe and sound, but that wasn't all. Harold wanted to share his good news with his Dad. It was his father who had drummed into his head that work shouldn't be slipshod, and that you must always try your hardest. Harold wanted to be the first to tell his Dad that these wise words had finally paid off, not only in personal satisfaction for a job well done, but now also in a little something extra.

Harold sprinted up the hill, just like when he was a child and went looking for his father who was out in the fields working hard. But this time Harold would be the one bringing the good news!

Walking towards a small wooded copse, he saw Fordo resting on the ground. Harold smiled. Once more, his father had fallen asleep on watch. How tired he must have been.

Harold sighed. He's worked plenty hard all those long years and deserves some rest. This money will help do that. But as Harold knelt down in the soft grass, he quickly saw something was odd. His father lay so still, quieter than Harold had ever seen him, and his face looked amazingly peaceful. The young Harfoot reached out his hand to stroke the sparse gray curls. Fordo did not stir or respond in any way.

For an instant Harold wondered why his father didn't wake up. Then, he gripped his shoulder and softly shook him. Still puzzled, he noticed his father wasn't breathing. At that moment, Harold could hear every sound about him: the crickets, the frogs, and the hoot of a distant owl. Most of all, he heard his own heart thumping.

He's gone. He's gone away, and I can't follow. A single tear slipped down Harold's cheek as he sat mesmerized on the ground holding his father's hand. But this isn't fair! This can't happen now. Dad just made up with Sarah, and we have money for an easier life. Everything was going to get better.

And how can I leave my father and bury him in the middle of nowhere? I took him from the place he loved, and couldn't even get him safely to his new home. Harold choked back his sobs, afraid that the prowler would come by and discover the two of them together. I just won't go on. I'll forget the necklace and Michel Delving. Let other people deal with this scoundrel, and risk their own necks. I've had enough. I'll go back to Bree with my Dad's body. A Hobbit can only take so much!

Then, out of nowhere a voice whispered inside Harold's head. Is that what I taught you? To pull out from your friends and neighbors when life gets too hard? You'd best go back right now and do your duty with Marcho and the others.

But I can't leave you here in the dirt!

Harold thought he heard a familiar chuckle. What kind of thinking is that? What better place for a Hobbit to be than warming a little piece of earth! Bree, or Michel Delving....or out here on this wooded trail, it's all the same. The place isn't what matters, Harold....it's the people in that place. It's our family: Prim and me, you and Sarah, Henry and May... Prim and I may be off down the road, but we're still part of that family. So go off, and do the Chubbs proud!

Blinking back tears, Harold struggled to his feet. He'd leave his father here till he'd finished the job, and then they'd find a spot under the trees to bury him. He slipped down the hill towards Kalimac and Marcho.

"Your dad alright?" Kalimac asked briefly before they set off on their errand.

"I reckon he is. I just reckon he is..... But we can talk more on that later."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Garlin was at least a bit more sober than the last time he'd stumbled into the camp. He'd reached the convey by late afternoon, and had hidden under the cover of the surrounding trees, scanning the camp with weary eyes to locate a prize worthy of his attention. He'd caught a glimpse of one or two interesting things in the section of the camp that he hadn't investigated before: the horses and wagons near the front of the procession. He made a note of several rich items in his head, promising to come back later.

But there was one group of children whose words and play caught his attention. They were poking their fingers into the side of a hefty bag that gave off an enticing jingle, presumably because it held their father's store of cash. One-by-one, the children stuck their fists into the pouch and came away waving their hands gleefully in the air, their fingers curled tightly about one or more precious coins.

Garlin's jaw dropped in amazement. The treasures they were holding were not coppers, or even silver coins, but gleaming pieces of gold. It was all Garlin could do to stop himself from instantly leaping out of the bushes and seizing the bag.

Garlin made his way back into camp under cover of nightfall, retracing his path to the same spot where the children had been playing earlier. The fools had left the bag in clear view on the front seat of the wagon. He reached down and grabbed the bulging bag, hoisting it up into his arms and then tucking it under his ragged jacket......

[alaklondewen]

Marcho heard a faint rustle nearby, and he barely opened his eyes to watch a shadowy figure peaking around the front of the Whitfoot wagon. We have him! The scout’s breathing became rapid and his heart began to pound in anticipation. The figure leaned into the wagon and lifted the great purse. At this moment, Marcho had a troubling realization…That’s no hobbit…that’s a Man!

He watched as the burglar tucked the purse under his shirt, and then with as loud a shout as would wake the dead, the scout leaped from his bed. With cries of similar magnitude, Harold and Kalimac joined Marcho, and before the Man knew what had happened he was surrounded by three armed, stout, Halfling men.

“Villainous thief!” Kalimac shouted and pressed the point of his crude knife against the man’s belly threatening him to try to run.

“Give us the purse and surrender and we will not hurt you,” Marcho spoke firmly, but calmly. His sword was also drawn and raised.

The thief look bewildered and as he turned quickly to run, Harold jumped upon his back and knocked the fellow to the ground. While still perched upon his back, the Chubb searched the man’s clothing. It was soon that he found that for which he searched. Harold leaned back and then slid off the man, holding a delicate necklace aloft.

As soon as Harold was off the thief, Marcho and Kalimac pinned him and waited while Sarah brought a coil of good, sturdy rope. Within minutes the hobbits had the thief tied and sitting in the back of the Whitfoot wagon.

[alaklondewen]

The morning air whipped around and through the hobbits as they congregated in the center of the camp. They were all packed and ready to leave for another day of traveling, but they had some unfinished business that needed attending before they could get back to the road. Marcho stood before them on the back of one family’s cart. In front of him stood Garlin Whoolthistle, the apprehended thief, who had found himself perched atop a crate surrounded by the traveling hobbit population. The Man was apparently uncomfortable with the attention as he fidgeted and a wild look was in his eye. Yet, he dared not try to run for Harold Chubb and Kalimac Whitfoot stood at his feet, and he remembered all too clearly the brunt of Harold’s weight that knocked him flat.

Marcho spoke loudly to the hobbits and told them what had happened the night before, although most already knew because of the commotion that was made during Garlin’s capture. The scout publicly cleared Crispin Whitfoot’s name, causing many (especially his own family) to clap and shout enthusiastically. Fredigar stood to one side looking almost as uncomfortable as ol’ Garlin.

Marcho presented the evidence against Garlin to the crowd and then announced his punishment. “Mr. Whoolthistle must know what it is like to loose those things which he has worked for. Since he has sold or traded all of the items he stole from the hard working Harfoot folks, each of his victims will come forward and take something from his person as compensation for their loss.” Now Garlin only came to the camp with an empty pouch, saddle bag, and the clothes on his back, so as each of the Harfoot families stepped forward there was naught to take but his old clothes. Very soon Garlin stood before the hobbits fidgeting even more as he tried to cover his bare flesh, and although Marcho stopped the folk from taking his drawers, the man appeared to be extremely embarrassed and humiliated by the actions taken against him.

~*~*~*~*~

Regin's Post

Regin had been glad to see the necklace returned and the thief captured, but he didn't have the heart to stay longer than that. Before Marcho dealt out a just punishment to the thief, Harold went to tell Sarah and the children what had happened to their Grandpa. Together, the family walked slowly up the hill to say their final goodbyes.

Arriving at the grove, they gathered round the spot where Grandpa lay. After burying her head on her mother's shoulder, May looked up with a sad smile on her face, "It's the first time I've ever seen Grandpa not have a word to say to any of us. I shall miss him. He was as honest as they come. He said what he meant. There was no fooling around or hiding the truth." Everyone nodded. Then they sat quietly, talking and comforting each other.

News of Fordo's death spread quickly through the camp. Families made their way to the grove to pay their respects to Fordo and the Chubbs, first stopping to drop off gifts of food at the family's wagon.

Harold picked out the spot where his father would lie so that the rocks could be gathered there. It was just on the other side of the hill, and under the shade of a friendly beech. The site looked out over a rolling field. Just the sort of place for good farming. Harold reflected. My father would have liked it. Then he and Henry, along with the sturdiest Hobbits, scoured the nearby countryside to find the stones and boulders they would need to construct the barrow.

Fordo's body was laid gently in the tomb and Marcho got up to speak. He talked solemnly about Fordo: how he hadn't wanted to leave Bree, but when his family made the decision to move he came with them and did the best be could. How he'd worked hard for his family so many years, and how terribly he missed his good, sweet Prim. And now husband and wife were together again.

Then Harold got up to talk, "Marcho tells me all the land you can see around us is part of the King's grant. Today there aren't very many of us. But maybe someday, there'll be more. There may even be families living and farming on this very spot where we stand. I don't want to lose my father. Sarah and I, and the children all grieve his loss. But I think my father would agree. It's better that the first death in this new land should be an older Hobbit gently passing on rather than having a young lad bludgeoned to death in battle or skirmishing with a no-good thief."

"May our lives in the Shire be as peaceful as the end Grandpa had, and may we never forget the sacrifices that he made to help get us here. Sleep Father. Stay close to my mother, dear Prim, wherever she is. You and she are still part of our family, only separated for a while. And whether we're here or in Michel Delving, that will never change."

With that , the Hobbits made their way down the hillside to their bedrolls. Only Harold remained behind for a few moments, sitting peacefully beside the barrow.....

~*~*~*~

Once the funeral was finished and Garlin was left with nothing but his underpants, Marcho signaled for all to proceed to the wagons, and soon the convoy was bumping along once more down the road.