[Arvedui III]

Things were happening too quickly. Sitting astride a frightened horse, Brass felt deaf dumb and blind all at once. The battle was hard enough to comprehend. Hob...that Josh fellow...a fight. The thought was so alien it went beyond horrifying him. Brass had just about worked up the nerve to accept what he was seeing, then Olo made his escape. Or tried to. It did not take any extra thinking on his part to realize Olo was dead. That thought struck him numb, and he forgot entirely where he was, or more importantly, the spooked horse he was ridding on.

In the beginning, Brass had throughly believed that the chief and all the sheriffs were out to only help the Shire. If that meant having big men do deeds in the night, then that was right. But, with the death of Olo, and at the hands, or hooves, of the big folk and their beasts, everything he had been told to think seemed so wrong he could scream. Olo was no the kindest of folk but he was still a hobbit, and in Brass's mind, that fact gave him an immutable right to die only when it was his time to go. Brass Stonetoe had never dreamed there was any other way things were done.

Before the young hobbit could ponder life and death further, Ahirman dismounted, leaving him to fare on a fully grown horse as he could. He lasted about five seconds. Tumbling onto grass that he thought was entirely too hard, Brass's senses awoke. He was lying in the middle of a field, the men were rushing the resistance hobbits, horses were running wild upon the grass, and Olo's mangled body lay not ten yards from him. In one deft motion, Brass sprang to his feet with his club in hand. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with it yet, but it felt better to have the cool wooden handle in his palms nonetheless.

Well, what's to be done? Olo would've sided with the men, so, maybe I sho...No. You stick by your own folk, Brass Stonetoe. Olo's dead. Stick by your own folk. Only decent hobbit thing to do.

Rushing from behind with astonishing speed, Brass sped up to met the men. "Least one of ‘em's not yellow." One of them muttered, eying Brass. Giving his club one slow test swing, Brass yelled and raised his club toward Helios, making to take out his knees. It almost worked. It might have worked if Assirim chose that moment to look his way and cry a warning. Brass swing went wide, and he toppled forward onto the ground. Without think he rolled to the right, just as a blade punched into the spot he had just been in.

Scrambling to his feet, Brass started running as fast as his little leg could carry him toward the hobbits ahead of him. "Damn Vermin!" One of the men called, chasing after him. Brass knew it was futile, knew that they would catch him and end his life like Olo's, but he kept running. Suddenly on an impulse, he pivoted and turned to make a last fight, but the men outran him as he did so. Two of the men staggered and cursed, but kept running toward the hobbits. Helios, however, tripped then turn to face him, sword in hand.

Brass gulped and swung blindly before the big man could strike. This time, his aim was true. The man howled in pain as he tottered and fell, clutching the knee Brass had probably just broken. Feeling surprisingly satisfied, Brass began to pant and looked up ahead at the hobbits and men, now nearing each other, before he ran to join them.