Chapter 1. A Knock at the Door

Seledrith hummed a little tune under her breath as she rocked baby Robin, feeling the pleasant pull-and-tug of his nursing, the opening and closing of his little fist against her breast, the warm and cosy sensation of his head snuggled against her.

The homely rattle of dishes came from the little kitchen as Gwillam and his brother Robin, for whom the bright-eyed baby was named, washed up after breakfast. Gwillam had already put the kettle on the fire, filled with smoked meat hanging from the attic rafters and chopped vegetables from the root cellar, and soon the aroma would fill the shop and living quarters with the promise of good things to come... and a good thing, too, Seledrith thought with an absent frown. Gwillam had looked so unwell this morning when he'd kissed her awake.

'You look as if you haven't slept a wink,' she'd said, scolding lightly. 'Was little Rob up all the night? Why didn't you waken me?'

'I put him in bed between us when he wakened hungry, love,' he'd returned, 'but I do believe you slept as he suckled. You didn't stir when I took him away again...'

'And laid him down, and yourself, I hope?' she'd said.

'He was fussy, my love, and so Father and I took turns walking him up and down. Every time we tried to lay him down, he'd start up again, and so...'

'And so the three of you were up all the night!' Seledrith had said. 'And how is little Rob ever to learn the difference between night and day if you spoil him so, you and dear Father?'

Such a soft heart as her Gwillam had; he couldn't bear to lay the babe in his cradle and let him fuss himself to sleep.

It was no wonder that Gwillam's father had slept through breakfast this morning. Seledrith had let him sleep, though it was his custom to go off fishing with Gwillam on days when the Halflings were expected to walk the market. The old Man had a horror of the little folk, and so his son took him off on such days, to lessen the chance of an encounter. Really, Seledrith thought, if Father just got to meet one of the Halflings, he'd find they were no more fearsome than anyone else. But this was one point she could not budge her husband from, even though he let her rule the roost in most other matters.

Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to be married to someone brave and bold, like her sister's husband Denethor, whose exploits on the battlefield, and valour later in defending the visiting hobbits from ruffians, were known far and wide--both in Gondor, and here in the North. ...or even her youngest sister's husband, a brawny man, well-muscled, who wrestled steel into swords and other weaponry for the Kingsmen who guarded the North. Gwillam was slight, and quiet, and altogether unexciting...

But he was so very devoted to his father and brother, which touched her heart, and he was soft-spoken, gentle in his manners, and somehow his bashful admiration, when she had come to manage the newly built shop for his father, had turned Seledrith's attention from the tall and handsome guardsmen who came around to buy her pocket-handkerchiefs (Imagine!) and strive with each other to win her smile.

...but the Halflings had visited the shop yesterday, after the grand welcoming feast, coming unexpectedly. Seledrith smiled, returning to her train of thought. It was a good thing that Father had slept through their visit, though he'd been quite disturbed at supper when Gwillam and Robin had told him, so agitated that he could scarcely eat, and he and Gwillam had stayed up long past the time for retiring. Seledrith had heard their low-voiced conversation for what seemed an interminable time, before she slipped into sleep, and yet try as she might she could not make out any of the words. Likely Gwillam was trying to persuade his father that his fear of the little folk had no basis in truth...

In any event, if the Halflings came early to the market, as was their custom, Father wouldn't see them, sleeping as he was, and would not be disturbed. And there was a good chance that they wouldn't come this day, having purchased her entire stock of hobbit-sized pocket-handkerchiefs the previous afternoon. Of course, Mistress Diamond had not sent payment as she'd promised, but Seledrith had no worries. Diamond always paid what she owed, and often added a little extra for sweetness.

It was a good thing that the shop was already swept and put in order, for a knock came at the door before she was quite finished. 'Gwillam!' she called, lifting the sleepy--and he ought to be sleepy, keeping his father and grandfather dancing through the night--babe to her shoulder and gently patting and rubbing the warm, solid little back. 'Robin!'

Robin hurried from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a cloth, and pulled the curtain to shield the alcove where Seledrith sat, from the eyes of casual passers-by as he opened the door.

'We're not quite open yet! A moment, only...' he called as he unbolted, but the rest of the cheery greeting died on his lips and the colour left his face as the youth stared up at the tall guardsmen standing there, and the body of men behind them. He didn't see the hobbits in their midst--he staggered, grabbing at the doorpost to keep from falling; for somehow, in the faces of the guardsmen he read his doom.

'Robin! Of course the shop is open. Ask them in!' Seledrith called from behind the curtain, hastily doing up her dress as she rose from the rocking chair. But his next words electrified her, shouted at the raw edge of panic.

Will! Fly! Now! They've come!