[Orual]

"You'll have to set out immediately, I guess," Della said, following Anson into their room with little Rudy.

Anson nodded regretfully, but when he spoke his voice was calm, conversational. "I would've liked to set my affairs in order before I left, just in case. This isn't just a walking-party, you know, it's a real quest. It could be that some of us won't come home, or that none of us will. But anyway, can you do that for me? Set it all straight, in case I don't return? I want you and the children provided for--"

He startled when a sob came from behind him. He turned around, aghast, at Della's distress. She had set Rudy on the floor and was kneeling, her face in her hands, weeping like her heart would break. "Della," he said softly, kneeling by her to comfort her. He stroked her chestnut curls, and she leaned into his shoulder and let herself fall apart. He had so rarely seen her cry, he didn't know quite what to do. And he'd never seen her cry like this before.

He held her for a little while, until he finally stopped crying. She shuddered and breathed heavily, taking her arms off of his shoulders. Rudy was on the verge of tears himself, knowing that something was wrong, and it didn't really matter what it was. His mommy was crying, so something must be not right. Della scooped the boy up, and murmured some reassuring words to him. "I need to go wash my face," she said in a hoarse whisper, and left the room hurriedly.

Anson sat back on his heels for a moment, composing himself, then went back to his packing.


"Hullo, Anson." " 'Morning, Anson." "Good morning, Mr. Hornblower." Anson nodded to all of his countrymen in turn as he came to the rendez-vous that he had designated at the meeting. He gave a short speech, mainly for morale, and asked them all to check their bags and make sure that they hadn't left anything necessary behind. Depending on the way the meeting at Bree went, some of them might not be back home for a long while.

Anson recognized most of the faces around him, but there was one that was unfamiliar to him. A pale-eyed hobbit lass, not yet come of age, with a long braid down her back and clever, inquisitive eyes. He knew most of the folk in town, but he had never seen her before. He sighed a little, and smiled. Her eyes and her quick movements reminded him of his Violet, who had been heartbroken when her father left. If he was to lead this band of hobbits, he would need to know them, and they would need to trust him.

"Morning, miss," he said jovially as he approached her. She startled a little bit and looked up at him. "I don't believe I know you. I'm Anson Hornblower. It's nice to meet you. What can I call you?" He extended his hand to her, and waited for her answer.