A Land to Call Their Own RPG

[alaklondewen]

As the wagons bumped along, Marcho silently brooded over the events of the last week. Crispin was still in the hands of Fredigar Headstrong, although his mother was permitted to visit him during breaks to ensure he was being fed. The accusations against the lad did not sit well with Marcho. He just could not envision his nephew as a thief in the night. Even though Marcho and Crispin had never spent a large amount of personal time together, the Fallohide knew his nephew had a good and honest heart. “How could this have happened?” He thought aloud.

“I do not know,” Estella answered quietly and placed her hand tenderly over her husband's. Mrs. Bolger had watched her husband toiling with his thoughts for days. “We must do something about it.”

The Bolgers remained silent for several minutes, each in his or her own reflection. “Marcho,” Estella began again, pausing momentarily to gather her thoughts. “Marcho, you must simply demand that Fredigar release Crispin.” Marcho opened his mouth to answer, but his wife cut him off and continued. “I mean it. You march over there and demand it.” Estella nodded her head matter-of-factly.

“It’s not as easy as that, Estella. You know that.” Marcho kept his eyes on the road, not looking at her as he spoke. “We don't know if he really did not…”

“What?!” Estella interrupted. “Marcho Bolger, you know as well as I do that Crispin would never have stolen that necklace…or anything else for that matter.”

“Yes, Dear, but Fredigar really believes that…”

“Fredigar Headstrong does not know his head from…from the underbelly of a goat. Hm…we can’t believe anything he says. Fredigar Headstrong…" Estella mumbled his name and shook her head negatively. “And Adelard Proudfoot!” Her voice rose in both pitch and volume. “That hobbit is the most spoiled…obnoxious, lying, rude, atrocious…hobbit I ever saw. We certainly cannot take his word as truth.” To make her point, Estella sat back and crossed her arms.

Marcho did not speak for fear of her temper. Estella was the most loving, sweet-spirited hobbit he knew, but when she wasn’t happy…well, let’s just say Marcho did not wish to cross her further. In his heart he knew she was right. Crispin needed to be released, but the scout was unsure how to go about it.

Another concern had continued to rise in his mind. If Crispin did not steal the necklace and other items…then who did? Harold had planted a seed in Marcho’s mind that he had mulled over since. What could they do to nab the real thief? This is surely what it would take to clear Crispin’s name. It didn’t help that nothing had been taken since the lad’s arrest, but if the thief was among them, then he could possibly be tempted and trapped.

During the travelers’ next rest, Marcho met with Kalimac and Harold and proposed they devise a trap for the thief. The trio sat huddled together behind the Whitfoots’ wagon and spoke in hushed voices. “Kal, do you have anything of value that we could make a fuss over to get some attention and then set out after dark?”

[Child of the 7th Age]

Garlin moaned and hung his head, pressing his fingers along the top of his brow. The incessant pounding in his head was making it difficult to concentrate.

The last few days were all a blur. Immediately after his successful venture into the Hobbit's camp, he had disappeared with his prizes, looking for a buyer. He had managed to pawn a number of things to some travellers on the road in return for a large leather pouch filled with foaming ale. He'd spent considerable time enjoying the contents of that pouch. But now it was empty: he was left with a headache, and wondering what he should do.

Garlin still had the topaz necklace that he'd taken from the last wagon he'd visited. His plan was to sell it for a tidy sum of cash. But to do that, he'd need to find a place where there'd be more ready buyers than could be found here in the middle of the woods. He seemed to have just two choices. Either he could head east towards Bree and sell the necklace, or ride west again to make a second visit to the Hobbit camp and 'borrow' a few more belongings.

The sensible thing would have been for Garlin to call it quits and cash in the piece of jewelry. But he was not thinking clearly, and the idea of conning the Hobbits twice in a row was beginning to sound very attractive. He knew from his previous stint of spying that the Hobbit convoy was moving at a snail's pace. He could probably catch up with them by late afternoon. Shoving the necklace to the bottom of his saddlebag, Garlin hastily mounted his horse and began following the deep ruts of the wagon tracks that led westward on the old road.

[Kransha]

Days passed, but hardly drearily. The whole time, Elsa was frantically on edge, Kalimac remained poised to pounce of Adelard, Alora had no idea what was going on, and the Chubbs didn’t seem to comfortable with the situation either. Crispin’s arrest had stirred a great deal of unrest among the Halfling caravan. The hobbits didn’t seem able to give each other straight looks or engage in conversation as they all theorized about what had actually happened, all except Fredigar and Adelard, who seemed to be very sure of what had occurred that night not long ago. Kalimac had almost stirred to the breaking point when he was called upon Marcho to rendezvous with both him and Harold Chubb, to his great surprise. Still stewing and seething over what to do, Kalimac met with them during the next uneasy rest period.

Marcho’s plan took him by surprise, but he definitely wasn’t against it. The scheme seemed to be the only way to convince that buffoon, Headstrong that Crispin was not the guilty party. As Marcho concluded his plan, both Kalimac and Harold gave understanding nods while Marcho turned to Kalimac and posed a simple enough question. “Kal,” he said smoothly, “do you have anything of value that we could make a fuss over to get some attention and then set out after dark?”

“Well, Marcho, I’ve a great many things of value,” Kalimac almost boasted, but quickly simmered down, considering the dire aspect of the situation. He thought for a moment, stammering slightly under his breath and he contemplated both the proposal of his half-brother and an adequate answer to the question queried to him. He scratched his chin pensively and kneaded his weary, sagging brow for a long moment as he summoned up some thoughts about the many valuables he carried in his wagon.

“Ummm…I do believe any thief would want…a purse of gold…” he murmured on, his words jumbled but still understandable, “I’m not sure if you’d rather I came up with a trinket of some kind, but if I were a thief, I would most certainly salivate over a pouch stuffed with gold coins. If it is a trinket you prefer, I have all manner of valuable things, but a purse of gold would do just as well, in my opinion.

[alaklondewen]

“You’re exactly right, Kal. An experienced thief, as this fellow seems to be, would drool over a bag of gold. Snatching something like this would save him the step of having to sell it elsewhere.” Marcho sat back and rubbed the tops of his legs considering their next move. “We need some attention brought to the purse.” The scout rubbed his chin and looked at the two hobbits. “What about your children, Harold? Yes, and Alora.” Marcho smiled as his thoughts began to take shape into something that resembled an actual plan.

“Marcho, I don’t know whether I want my daughter involved in this. After what Crispin has gone through, I don’t think Elsa and I could handle another mishap.” Kalimac burrowed his brows and Marcho sensed his sincerity.

“Kal, I think if you will hear me out, you will see Alora will be kept from any harm.” Kalimac nodded hesitantly, and Marcho continued. “Harold, if Henry and May will participate, this could work.”

“I will do what I can, Marcho, but I will have to hear your plan first and propose it to them.” Harold was thoughtful in his reply, and Marcho understood that Harold would never put his children in unnecessary danger either.

“This is what I propose...” Marcho began; his voice was kept low to ensure no one else could hear him. “The older children will be watching Alora play in and around the wagon. They were caring for her and Crispin before, so that should not seem at all suspicious. Alora can pull the purse from the wagon and show it to Henry and May. Here a bit of performing can take place. Henry and May will speak loudly of the gold…very impressed by it. Or maybe…maybe your father, Harold. Fordogrim certainly has a way about bringing attention to him. Whichever, we need enough focus from others drawn that the thief will be aware of the purse, then Alora will simply drop it on the edge of the wagon…uncovered. Making it an easy target.” Marcho paused to let his words sink in, then continued. “After the bait is in place, we simply wait for him to try to nab it. Let’s put Fordogrim on watch again so the atmosphere will be the same as the first night. We, three, will not sleep tonight, but we will pretend to be. Once the thief comes out, we will wait until he has the purse in his hand…then he’s ours.” Marcho looked at the Whitfoot and Chubb trying to gain insight into their thoughts. “What say you?”

[Witch_Queen]

It had been many days since Sarah had last talked with Fordo. Sarah didn't like the fact that Crispin was the one arrested for stealing her precious necklace. All she wanted was to have it back. Once the real crimminal was caught everything would be better for her and the rest of the travelers. "Grandpa, can I talk to you for a moment?" Sarah had to talk to someone and thought that perhaps Fordo would listen to her and not try to bring up the arguement from the past week. "I know we have our differences, but could I talk to you please?"

Sarah thought she was going to die when Fordo talked to her. "Quit pestering me Sarah, I said I would listen so start talking before I change my mind." She thought she heard him mutter something under his breath but decided to ignore it.

"Oh never mind.." Sarah decided that perhaps her problems shouldn't be told to Fordo. "Grandpa is it ok that I am regreting my decision to even come on this journey. I know that I'm the only one of the Chubbs that wanted to come. Now I just wish we could have stayed at home. Everything would be better. You wouldn't have hurt your leg and well I would never of found the mushrooms. I think you get my point. All I want to do is go back home and see my family happy for a chance." Sarah's voice told her entire feelings. She was sad and depressed and it wasn't because of her missing necklace.

Sarah actually wanted to go home. She wanted to have her family together and happy even if it only lasted for a few moments. Sarah was tired of the everyday cart ride with the chickens. To her the journey seemed like it would last for all eternity. Sarah's daughter hadn't talked to her for almost the entire trip. It's all because of me that my daughter and son won't even talk to me. I have ruined everything. I don't blame Fordo for saying anything bad about me. I'm an evil person. All I want is to be happy again and to have my husband and children be proud of something I did once more.

[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.”