The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Brokhelm now at the table, replied to the innkeeper's question, “Dear Lady, Master Eodwine had left his yarn for us to finish the weaving. And it seems I now sit at the loom. He crinkled one eye shut as he plumbed his memory for all he had learned of the Shire on the long march to Morannon. “Yes, my turn has come, and what a puzzle this young lady has left me!” he said softly. But within a few moments his blue eyes flashed, and suddenly he grinned at Saeryn as she leaned back in her chair. “Sherbet, you say? Very well then, sherbet it is!”

Adopting a secretive tone, he leaned forward toward his listeners, looking from one to the other as he spoke. “Ah, this plan of Gob and Twiddle’s was so fine in their estimation, such a delectably smooth way of slipping out of their work while accomplishing much, that it drew attention whether spoken of in code or not. Of course it did aid them somewhat, that in his satisfaction with the code-name, which happened to correspond with an item of the greatest value to Gob, he pronounced it a golden plan. For having a hankering for sweets, that far surpassed his girth, he was thinking in particular of a rich sherbet that he had tasted oh so very long ago. So refreshing it loomed in his mind’s eye, that Gob grew a bit livelier than was his normal wont, for he was hungry and ready to test their strategy as Twiddle whispered its merits. ‘Right golden it is!’ Gob said again a bit louder this time as he heard the familiar squeak of a cart. And that comment did not go by unnoticed.

“A rather aged halfling that was returning up the hill, pushing a rickety barrow full of bricks stopped cold to hear the word ‘gold’ uttered on this particular hill. It must have thrown his thoughts back to better days, for his back straightened considerably as he let go the handles, his barrow tipping over with a clatter.

“Both Twiddle and Gob turned quickly to see just who it was that would sneak up on them, and finding only one old halfling, they leaned on their shovels as they addressed their elder, telling him with a wink not to worry. If they were set to dig up this hole, than dig it up they would. Though how one could dig up a hole was quite a matter of debate, for a hole was naught but air, and the more one dug down to pry the air out, the bigger ity became. And as they had understood it, it certainly was not in the spirit of their orders to enlarge any of the halflings’ dwellings!

“The old one, paid this banter no heed, but with eyes all a-glitter said he had overheard them speak of gold. Thinking quickly, Gob looked at the halfling and told him plainly that he heard aright. And Twid joined in, furthering their plan by claiming that since this treasure did not belong to them, they had decided to leave it be, for they were honest men and not scoundrels.

“The halfling sighed; replying that such things had best be kept secret from Sharkey’s men, and easily extracted a vow from the two, not to tell anyone of their find. But as an aside, he himself was bold enough to ask just where this treasure had been found.

Both men looked solemnly at their feet, as if to say right here, and the halfling’s eyes followed their glance, nodding his understanding.
Then lifting his head, fringed as it was with downy hair, Gob blinked his heavy lids quite innocently at Twiddle, and exclaimed ‘I suppose there might be more to be found around and about. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised, Twid, if a dragon of old had its roost on this here Hill.’

‘Sure as day, these hobbits are brave enough to drive off a dragon, no matter how wily.’ Twiddle replied, ‘Aren’t you now?’

The old halfling muttered that he knew of one old dragon in the Shire that was in great need of being driven off. And it was at just that time that Gob saw in his mind the Hill swarming with halflings in the moonlight, all of them armed with shovels and pick axes. And as he idily looked at the black smoke rising from the mill, the plan to Share in the hole removal and excavation quickly changed to Sharkey’s & Henchmen’s rapid eradication. Clearly they could not be seen as home wreckers then but heroes. And the beauty of the plan was that even if the halflings were found to be gathering together in rebellion, he and Gob might find a way to slip away, or at the very least the halflings might finish digging up the hill for them as they looked for imagined treasure.


“But before either Gob or Twiddle could be quite certain that the old fellow had taken the bait, one of the ruffians sauntered over to see what was transpiring, and the hobbit trundled off, quick as you like, down the hill.

“‘Get back to work, digging up them holes!’ the man yelled roughly, threatening to cuff them.

“‘Hang on now, we’ve just been working at it. We’ve been working at it quite hard’ Twiddle replied with injured tone, his hat toppling off as he wiped his brow. Their guardian leered at them menacingly.

“Tell me what would you expect happened then?” Brokhelm asked. “For I myself am unsure of what came next.” And Brokhelm looked around for any takers. “Perhaps you would like to take up your story again, young Miss?” he queried Saeryn. “Or would one of the others care to relate the outcome,” he said looking from Gudryn to the dark haired girl who listened in silence. Finally his gaze rested on the hobbit. “I think Master Falco must be amused by my poor depiction of his homeland, but I have yet to set eyes on that place.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

“Perhaps you would like to take up your story again, young Miss?”

Saeryn had been very interested in continuing the story only minutes before, but now she felt dizzy. She touched her fingers to her bruised head for a moment before closing her eyes for a second, breathing through her nose. Perhaps it was just a momentary occurance... She stood to go to the privy for a moment and lost her balance, landing back on the bench. Pretending it hadn't happened, she decided to take a nap. Perhaps she'd come back in a little while... perhaps she would just go to bed.

The rest of the group didn't need to know that she was dizzy. They would just worry about her more and she'd already taken enough of their attention. Surely she'd feel better after a bit of sleep. After all, it hadn't been long since she'd been injured and she'd been up all day.

A rest... yes... she needed a rest. She'd come back later.

Excusing herself politely with an apology to Brockhelm and Linnèa for leaving so soon after their arrival, Saeryn made her way to her room for a bit of a lie down.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine passed Saeryn on her way to her room. "A rest will do you good, m'dear. May your dreams be filled with good things, and may nightmares of Mordor be far from you."

"Somehow," Saeryn replied, trying not to allow her speech to slur, "I don't think that will work very well."

"Well then, rest easy and be refreshed."

He grinned a knowing grin, having eavesdropped on the story as it had progressed under the care of Saeryn and Brokhelm. They needn't know.

Falco bid Saeryn good night and picked up on Brokhelm's kindly hint as he saw Eodwine re-enter the common room, giving him a nod and a wink.

"Maybe you've never set eyes on the Shire, Brokhelm, sir, but your tale is well told. I've seen the Shire from end to end and top to bottom, but I can only hope to tell my tale half as well.

"I was a shirriff since before ol' Sharkey. The ruffians swelled our ranks, and I didn't like it. Not that the new boys wasn't any good, mind you. But they was all green. They needed to be trained.

"You might wonder what training it takes to gather old toby, casks of ale, and grain for bread from poor Shire folk as needs it and shouldn't be forced to part with it. Well, new rules was coming in as fast as new shirriffs, and there was no learning the new shirriffs their craft and keeping all the new rules straight at once. So the new boys stayed green and under the thumb of the Sharkey boys while us old scabs got ornery ... at everybody, I'm sorry to say, but so it was.

"Well, one day I'm ordered up from Michel Delving by old Will Whitfoot hisself, that is afore he got jailed up by Sharkey's boys. He ordered me up to Hobbiton to help out with the Sharkey changes. Seems they was having some trouble up that-a-way. Up I go, and I don't like what I see. Who likes seeing dug up roads that have served for years beyond count? Who likes gathering food, backy and drink from folks what came by it honest? I knew what Sharkey's boys said, that it was for fair distribution. Fancy word that. What it meant was Sharkey's boys got it and we didn't.

"So I gets to Hobbiton and see ruffians digging out hobbit holes and hauling bricks and mortar from who knows where. And then I see these two shifty looking men. Well, all the ruffians looked shifty, but these two was shifting a different way, like they was on the outs with Sharkey's plans. Takin' too long carryin' out orders and really only just lookin' like they was workin'.

"So I kept my eye on 'em and saw them make excuses around the ruffians, and friendly talk with hobbits. So I got to thinkin', mebbe there's something could be done with these two. I went up and said hullo and who are you, makin' sure they could see the shirriff feather in my cap.

"And now it's time for me to drink a bit and listen to Eodwine or someone else pick up the tale."

[Nerindel]

Æoelhild now listened expectantly her chin in her hands and her elbows resting on the table a habit her father had despaired from teaching out of her, her gleaming eyes glanced around the table as she wondered excitedly who next would take up the tale, Gurdyn, the inn keeper or perhaps one of the twins but even as her eye caught the mischievous grin of the one named Garreth her name being spoken startling her out of her silent musings.

“What about you miz…” Falco was saying pausing as he realised he did not know the girls name. “Æoel” Bethberry helped him out and it was this that drew her attention. “Miz Æoel is it,” he smiled “Well would you like to take up our little anecdote?”

Surprised Æoelhild did not know what to say at first, she knew little of this Shire and did not wish through her lack of knowledge to inadvertently offend Falco or his homeland, but then remembering the feather she had an idea and she nodded acquiescently with a mirthful smile that lit her dark eyes.

“Well at the halflings sudden appearance," She began smiling at Falco "Gob looked at Twid and Twid at Gob," She went on suddenly turning to the person to her left then to her right. "neither knowing the significance of the feather the stout little fellow was casually making sure they both noticed" she went on drewing her audiance in. " ‘Perhaps he wants us to tell him how pretty it is Gob?’ Twid whispered out of the corner of his mouth. Nodding Gob then suddenly bowed deep startling the sherriff that he was force to step back a pace as not to be knocked over by the strange fellows over emphasized hand gestures.

“Good day to you sir my name be Gob and this young fellow here be my good friend Twiddle, he said gesturing to Twid who accordingly tipped his hat so it slipped further over his eyes coming to rest on his hooked nose. “That be a very fine feather there in your Hat, Gob grinned hopefully. But the Sheriff frowned starting to doubt his initial assessment of the pair and now wondering if these fellows where not just as mad as march hares and as if to confirm his new assessment Twid suddenly burst into song prancing about him.

At this Æoel suddenly bounced out of her seat laughing and skipped round the table singing…

Handy Dandy’s (at this line she winked at the others as her hands grazing both Garreth and Harreths Shoulders as she passed behind them, causing the others to laugh)
Came to town
A riding on a pony
Stuck a feather in their cap’s
And called them macaroni!

And at the last line she fained placing a feather in an imaginary hat upon Falco’s head.

With the mirth and laughed about her and the memories of her Grandfather singing her that same little ditty she momentarily forgot herself and still laughing she wrapped her arms playfully about Falco’s neck and gently kissed his cheek as she would her grandfather when they finished playing this same game.

Then coming back to herself she smiled awkwardly and moved back to her own seat. Sitting again she coughed gently trying to clear the sudden tightness in her throat, “perhaps someone who knows master Falco better than myself can capture his reaction to Twiddles strange display,better than I” She said in a quiet voice, her eyes lowered staring at the grooves in the table as her cheeks turned a deep pink against the pale of her skin. Feeling deeply foolish she hoped someone would save her further embarrassment and quickly take up the tale.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Ah see that now, Linnéa", Brokhelm said through his mirth. "We are in the presence of a well seasoned shirriff of the Shire."

"You poor soul, you are mesmerized! Is it not merely the trick of the tale to make you believe so?" she replied. "A shirriff in fiction is not one in fact, and I greatly doubt, dear brother that you could guess what it is a shirriff does!"

"Well in either case, fact or no, it seems that it has earned him a kiss, and so must be quite a desirable occupation. Did he not say himself that many youths had been similarly employed? With such payment, who would not strive for such a post?"

Linnéa smiled at Brokhelm's joke, for though still in his twenties, it had been too long since she had seen him so merry.

"Shh!" Brokhelm cautioned her gently before turning to the dark eyed girl. "Well done, Miss Æoel! If only all storytellers could be so well paid!" Then realizing the full import of what he had said, he quickly cleared his throat. "Master Macaroni," he began again, addressing Falco this time. “Please enlighten me, for my sister Linnéa’s sake – for she has guessed correctly that I do not know the term shirriff – what is this post, and were might one sign up for a position? It seems a most popular vocation!” Brokhelm grinned as Linnéa tread on his boot under the trestle like the old days as children.

“Master Falco, is it true that you have held the title of shirriff in your land?” she asked politely.

[littlemanpoet]

"Was I a shirriff?" Falco responded between puffs from his pipe. "That I was, and still am once I'm back within the borders of my beloved Shire. As for what a shirriff is, well that's all about what he does. What we do is deliver the morning and evening posts, mostly, and keep order when it needs keeping. Which it don't, mostly, as Hobbits are law abiding and peaceful folk by and large."

"I suppose," said Eodwine as he approached the table, "that you don't know how you got to be called 'shirriff', do you?" Heads turned to watch Eodwine, who having sat down by his daughter Gudryn, allowed her to rest her head against his shoulder.

"That I do!" Falco replied. I told ol' Will Whitfoot I wanted the job, and he had some of the senior shirriffs set me to doing tasks by which they could tell what kind of shirriff I'd make. Well, I fit the job better'n most, and once an opening- .... - now Eodwine, what're you shaking your head for like that, as if I don't know what I'm talking about?"

"I meant how the word came to be, not how you became a shirriff," Eodwine replied with great patience.

"Well why didn't you say so! Here's how the word-" Falco stopped, looking suddenly very confused. "I guess I'm daft on this one, 'cause I don't know."

"Hah!" Ruthven cackled. "Finally caught out! Well done, Master Eodwine!"

"Now see here, you old bag," Falco began.

Eodwine cleared his throat loudly. "Ladies and gentlehobbits, please calm down! The word, my friends. Shirriff. Shire-reeve. We have no Shires here in Rohan, but we have reeves. But the title has taken two different directions amongst two different folks, for Hobbits have reduced their reeves to mail carriers, while the Rohirrim have turned theirs into March wardens, second only to the King in power.

"Of course, none of this mattered to Falco, Gob, or Twiddle. They were much more interested in a different aspect of the word; at least, once they got it out of Falco. See, when Falco told him he was shirriff, Gob heard the word alright, but it passed through his wax filled ears, and came out sherbet. So he stands there looking at Falco, wondering why the hobbit is calling himself 'sherbet'.

[Bêthberry]

With a loud cackle and a slap of her thigh, Ruthven let out a hearty laugh.

"You're a sure bet, Master Falco," she said, "to be a dog's second breakfast, if it's delivering the post you're about."

"Mind your tongue, you old bat," he retorted. "Why, I bet you'd be in a pickle trying to read the mail and deliver it correctly--a sour pickle."

"It would depend on my minding my p's for pickle and q's for fair quarter, shortling. Is it pictures that you hobbits post on your mail, so you's can read it? 'Cause lordy I didn't think there was muckle book larning your way. Cans you all read and write?"

Falco's face turned a redder shade of tone and the hairs on his considerable ears stood out as he contemplated a whitering blast to this insult at the integrity of his beloved Shire. Imagine someone suggesting hobbits couldn't read nor write when they had a Shire Post!

"Each family, I'll have you know, missus rag-tag-thankee-bag, has its own mark or rune, and we knows them well. And we hire the most competent writer, we do. They are what ye call it, amanuseits."

"Whoa, Falco," interjected Gareth. 'I think the word you be wanting is amanadueler, what challenges people to obey the rules and codes and right thinking."

"No, no," suggested Harreld. "It is an amanaduial who writes other people's words down."

This was too much for the ladies at the table. Both Linnéa and Æoelhild were brought out of their shy modesty and began tittering ever so quietly, but they did their best to hold their faces steady so as not to incur Falco's wrath, nor wound his feelings.

"I do believe," intoned Brokhelm civily, "that the word in question is 'amanuensis' is it not?

"Well, that is not one which belongs to the Westron dialect spoken in the Shire," offerred Eodwine. "Is not 'amanuensis' a derivation from the Sindarin 'lover of words'?

"Now lookee 'ere," said Falco. "Just who is master of words here?"

"He is," offerred Bethberry with a large grin, pointing at Eodwine.

"What's happened to Gob and Twiddle?" moaned Gudryn.