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Old 10-19-2007, 04:00 PM   #551
Legate of Amon Lanc
A Voice That Gainsayeth
 
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Join Date: Nov 2006
Location: In that far land beyond the Sea
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Legate of Amon Lanc is spying on the Black Gate.Legate of Amon Lanc is spying on the Black Gate.Legate of Amon Lanc is spying on the Black Gate.Legate of Amon Lanc is spying on the Black Gate.Legate of Amon Lanc is spying on the Black Gate.Legate of Amon Lanc is spying on the Black Gate.
Same time, different place

Gentle sound of clacking hooves echoed in the silent air above the Stock Road. Oak and elm trees lining the road quietly whispered in the morning breeze. The early rays of sunlight were shining through the roof of leaves and through tiny holes in Rory's straw hat. The hobbit carter was sitting cross-legged on the rack of his old wooden waggon, while the sorrel pony slowly pulled them towards their destination. It was the first time for the animal to ride through this road, but his owner has been many times through this part of the Shire; either to visit his relatives in Buckland or to deliver a package to some of the hobbits who lived near Brandywine.

Rory Brandybuck was a carter. Carrying goods, news, letters or even hobbit passengers from one part of the South- or Eastfarthing to another was his job. He liked travelling, he liked the smell of fresh air and fresh news in each of the places he visited. Arny Sandburrow, one of the Shiriffs in South Farthing used to say that Rory is more of a Shiriff than him, for he knows about everything that happens between the River and the Downs. Maybe Arny was exaggerating a little bit here, but in the end, he always was. In one thing he was correct, though: Rory Brandybuck of Pincup was the kind of hobbit who sought, listened to and remembered every rumour that he could stumble upon during his journeys. And in turn, whoever appeared in his vicinity had the possibility to hear what the vocal carter experienced, saw, or heard of; for if there was anything from what Rory could not be prevented, it was recounting his rumours to everyone who was around, even if they did not care about his stories at all. And if he had no person to listen to him, the carter spoke at least to his pony, Buttercup. Like now.

"We have a nice day, Buttercup," he said to his companion, who obediently pulled the waggon and obediently listened to his master's voice. "Keep going. This is good weather and a good road." The pony noddled, as if he agreed with the words. The carter did not seem to care. "You know what the Tooks did?" he continued in his semi-monologue. "They paved the road from Tookbank to Waymoot. Well yes, the Thain himself gave quite a lot of money for that. The next time we go to Whitwell, we don't need to worry about getting stuck somewhere in the fields as the last time. But it took them long. This road is better. Even when it gets wet, the water may drain away to the fields. All roads in this part of the Shire are built like that. Well, most of them."

Rory stopped for a moment and listened. It seemed to him as if he heard something far, far away, a sound that did not belong to this place. But maybe he was mistaken.

"It's nothing, Buttercup," he said to the pony, who did not care at all and pulled the waggon. "Well, what was I saying. Never mind. We must be near the Stock now. Andy said one of his cousins will be moving there. That's the one who was supposed to marry that Took who was, wait, the Thain's... hmm... second cousin? Yes, that must be him. Paladin was his name. Well, he is marrying someone else, you see. One of the Banks. Ah, here we are."

The waggon slowly steered into the village. The Stock was still half asleep, though several figures could be recognised moving among and around the low houses. Rory looked around, not willing to drive right through the village. There he saw it - the familiar sign. As if he knew the intentions of his master, the pony turned towards the inn, slowing down; and finally he stopped near the entrance. Rory jumped down from the rack, raising dust as his large hairy feet hit the ground. Not caring about mote embedding on the front of his white shirt, he turned and started unharnessing the pony. He shot a lothing look towards the stables. "There's no need to bother the ostler, Buttercup," he spoke towards the pony. "Go and find your own graze while I have mine. Just don't eat any farmer's cabbage like the last time." With these words, he left the pony and the ladden waggon alone and walked to the door.

"Good morning!" he sang out upon entering. He turned to face the bar and smiled at the innkeeper. "I come a long way," he said. "But I thought that a dip of the best beer in the Eastfarthing could refresh me a little." A coin clinked against the bar. "Belive it or not, but in Deephallow, they once served the Master of Buckland water instead of beer. He was there on a visit, you see. But it was late in the evening and the Master was so tired after the journey that he did not even notice!" Rory smiled once again, showing his pearl-white teeth. "But don't count on that with me. I have a long journey ahead still, and I can tell beer from water." He turned to overlook the room. "How's the business going? I heard that in Woodhall, they had to close their Inn for awhile, because the locals did not have time to visit it for a month! Imagine that! But I hope this is not your case," he said, turning back to the host.
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