Written for Back to Middle-earth Month's "Sauron Defeated" Challenge.

Challenge: Begin a story with a character on his or her way to deliver an unpleasant message to someone. From here, show us what transpired to bring the character to this moment. (You may or may not show the actual delivery of the message.)

Berilac led his pony from the ferry, and mounted thoughtfully. This was not a very pleasant task; yet Uncle Saradoc felt it was important that this message be delivered by a representative of the Brandybuck family. And a written message would not do.

He'd been to Hobbiton, to Bag End, before. He'd even been to the famous Party old Bilbo gave the night he vanished. While his uncle and his father had not told him any of the details they had from poor old Fatty Bolger, it was clear to Beri that whatever threatened Frodo and his friends was actaully connected with Cousin Bilbo's vanishment. He gave a shudder; what could make Merry and Frodo feel so threatened that they felt safer going into the Old Forest than facing the threat? Of course, Brandybucks were never quite so intimidated by the Old Forest as other hobbits-- but they had a healthy respect for it in any case. Going in there was no lark to any hobbit of sense. It was possible that Pippin, who was a tween and a Took, might have done so. But Merry, who was as level-headed as they came? Or Frodo, who was uncommonly wise about such things?

Beri passed north through Stock, at a brisk trot. He was very tired still. It was early enough that most in the village were not yet stirring; he passed The Golden Perch on his left-- it wasn't open yet, nor was the stationer's. He'd thought to pick up another pouch of pipe-weed for the journey, but he'd have to wait, he supposed, until he got to Bridgefields. He'd have luncheon at Whitfurrow. In the meanwhile, he could substitute a couple of apples for the second breakfast he'd be missing. Then he'd have to detour to Budgeford briefly in order to deliver his first message to the Bolgers.

Thank goodness Fatty had recovered enough to write his parents. But Berilac was sure that Fatty's father and mother would question him closely about the circumstances.

Beri didn't really know the Bolgers. Fatty had never been to Buckland before, and Berilac had not seen him since they were both children-- in fact, at that very Party at Bag End! He knew that Fatty had become very good friends with Frodo, and that, of course, meant that he was also good friends with Merry, who'd naturally take to anyone Frodo liked. When he'd come with Merry to bring Frodo's belongings to Crickhollow, Merry'd brought him down to the Hall for dinner. Berilac had talked to him a while then, and thought him a pleasant enough fellow, if a bit silly. He'd looked nothing then like the pale and wild-eyed hobbit who'd huddled in terror, babbling incoherently two nights ago. And he certainly had not looked like someone who could run a mile-- but with something like one of those Black Riders after him, Berilac could understand why!

Only Uncle Saradoc and his father had any notion of why those mysterious creatures were after Frodo. They'd told Fatty to speak to no one else of it. But whatever they were, they were not common Big Folk. They'd left behind them a miasma of terror even greater than their actions-- horrific as they were-- could account for. The mere sight of them had completely unnerved many of the hobbits whom they'd left in their wake, and that was before they'd even run down Ned Banks! Poor little Neddy! Beri had seen his trampled and mangled body, a sickening sight! To be ridden down like that! He forced the thought from his mind-- he could not afford to stop and be sick at the side of the road, and it would frighten the pony.

Beri tried to turn his thoughts away from the terrifying events recently passed. The countryside was pleasant, signs of autumn colour and the recent harvest were everywhere, the sky was beginning to brighten to a crisp blue, and the breeze brought the scents of mown hay. Hobbits were now going about their business and waved at him as he passed. He did not stop-- gossip was the last thing he had time for now. Soon the Bridge came in sight, and he stopped briefly at the Bridge Inn, where he purchased a pouch of leaf, a mutton pasty and a half of ale. Fortunately, the common room was not much occupied. The innkeeper wanted a bit of news, for of course those in Bridgefields knew of what had happened and had felt some of its effects.

"Business is off, Mr. Brandybuck. Folks was frightened by what happened t'other night. Poor little Neddy-- his funeral is today. We'll have some of the mourners in this afternoon, a-trying to drown their sorrow, I expect. Do you know any more of what happened?"

"Not really, Mr. Headstrong. Uncle Saradoc has increased the number of Bounders, though, so we should have more warning if they try to come back."

"Mr. Frodo should've never gone off to Hobbiton like that, with that cracked Bilbo Baggins! Mind you, he should've stayed in Buckland with folks that are sensible."

Berilac did not try to argue. He finished his ale and went on his way.

Word had not yet reached Whitfurrows, and in spite of the crowd at The Happy Fox he was able to eat his own luncheon in peace; most of the hobbits there were proudly wetting the head of one of their own local lads, who'd just become a father for the first time, and had no interest in the unfamiliar Bucklander who was taking his nuncheon in a table in a corner. He ate his brown bread, cheese, onions, pickles and ale quickly, left a few coins on the table for the serving lad, and left.

It wasn't far to Budgeford, and he presented himself at Brock Hall. He introduced himself to Odovacar Bolger, who had answered the door, as Merry's cousin, and told him that he bore a letter from Fredegar.

He felt rather guilty, knowing the news he carried, at the hobbit's wide smile. "Why it's so kind of you to bring it, Mr. Brandybuck! I am surprised Freddy did not simply entrust it to the Shire Post! Rosamunda! We've a letter from Fredegar!"

Berilac soon found himself ensconced in their parlour, a cup of tea and a plate of ginger biscuits in his hand. "Mr. Bolger, I have to tell you that the letter is rather urgent, and that there is some rather unusual news from Buckland."

This earned him a sharp look, and Odovacar took the letter and opened the seal with his thumb. Rosamunda went to stand behind him, and read over his shoulder.

Berilac sat forward uncomfortably as the Bolger's read Fatty's letter. Rosamunda kept making little gasps and moans as she read, and Odovacar's face grew grimmer and grimmer.

"I knew no good would come of his crossing the River," he said, putting the letter down at last.

Rosamunda picked it up again. "He says he's 'indisposed'! What's wrong with him? What have Frodo Baggins and Meriadoc Brandybuck landed him in?"

Berilac flushed. Their tone was accusatory, but he couldn't really blame them. "I know very little in the way of details. Fredegar spoke to my Uncle Saradoc and my father, but they did not confide in me what he told them. We do know that on the night of the thirtieth, several strange Big Folk dressed all in black and riding huge black horses invaded Buckland. They seemed to be searching for Frodo. Fat-- er, Fredegar ran all the way to the nearest home to bring warning of the danger, and then collapsed afterwards. The strangers ransacked Crickhollow, doing a good deal of damage to the house, and then rode off. They killed a young hobbit at the Bridge-- ran over him with their horses."

There was a stunned silence, and then Odovacar slowly drew breath. "Thank you, Mr. Brandybuck. You said you were on your way to Hobbiton?"

"Yes, sir. One of the missing is Frodo's servant Samwise Gamgee. Uncle Saradoc charged me with bearing the word to his father."

Odovacar nodded. "It's too late now for you to reach Hobbiton tonight. You are welcome to take supper with us, and spend the night in our guest room."

Berilac was grateful to accept their offer; he'd been prepared to return to the road and go on to The Floating Log in Frogmorton to spend the night. The evening was rather subdued, but the bed in the Bolger's guest room was comfortable, and Beri slept better than he'd expected to. He left immediately after first breakfast, riding briskly, and took his second at The Floating Log. He purchased some bread and cheese there, and ate his lunch at the side of the road, then road on once more, passing through Bywater and arriving in Hobbiton before teatime.

Now that he'd come to his destination, he found himself reluctant to complete his task. One of the reasons Uncle Saradoc had sent him, rather than trusting to the Quick Post was that he knew that Master Gamgee was unlettered. The news had to be delivered in person, and Saradoc felt it should be a family member to give the tidings. But to have to tell Sam's father that his son had vanished into the Old Forest, pursued by some unknown danger-- he could tell him no more than he'd told Odovacar Bolger-- and Mr. Bolger's son, at least, was safe!

When he reached the foot of the Hill, he dismounted, and led his pony. He wanted more time to think. Or perhaps, to postpone his task-- he was honest enough with himself to admit it.

As he drew closer to Number Three, he could hear a voice, shrill and immediately recognizable to any who'd heard it even once. Lawks! It was Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, and she was screeching even more loudly than she usually did.

"I SAID I'D MAKE IT WORTH YOUR WHILE!"

The old fellow, who stood leaning on a walking-stick in front of the gate leading to a tidy little smial with a yellow door, replied "No, it ain't a mile!"

An attractive lass who stood behind him said, "Gaffer, Mrs. Sackville-Baggins wants you to come back to work on the Hill."

"That's right," he said "Ain't never shirked and never will."

Lobelia drew a great breath, and then let it out in an exasperated huff. "OH, YOU ARE PERFECTLY HOPELESS!" She looked suspiciously at the lass. "And I suppose you will not come back to work at Bag End either?"

" 'Twouldn't be proper, Missus, not without my brother or my old Gaffer working there, too."

"Ridiculous!" She thumped her umbrella on the ground by her feet for emphasis. "Well, it is your loss, I'm sure, as you will note when I am paying generous wages to someone else." She turned to stomp up the Hill, spotting Berilac, as he stood there waiting, and fumed. "What are you staring at, you young lout! Mind your own affairs!" And she stalked up the Hill, with each stride punctuating the road with her umbrella.

The Gaffer waited until she had gone some distance, and then chuckled. "T' old besom! I'd not work for her if she paid in gold ducats! Mr. Frodo should never've let those confounded S.-B.s into Bag End... and what is it you want, young fella?" he added beligerantly as he saw Berilac standing there.

Berilac, who'd been somewhat apprehensive during the exchange with Lobelia at the thought of having to scream his news at Master Gamgee realised to his amusement that the old hobbit was not nearly so hard of hearing as he had appeared. But now, recalled to his errand abruptly, he shuddered and grew sombre. "Mr. Gamgee? I am Mr. Brandybuck-- I believe you know my cousin Meriadoc?"

The Gaffer nodded warily, and the young lass looked at him sharply. "Mr. Brandybuck? You've news of our Sam haven't you?"

Berilac realised this must be Sam's younger sister. "I am afraid so, Miss Gamgee," he said solemnly.

Her hand flew to her mouth, and she gasped. The Gaffer opened the gate. "Best to come in, young sir; it's clear to see you've no good news. Shan't be telling it at the garden gate for prying eyes and ears." He turned and led them into the smial. It was small, but meticulously tidy. The Gaffer led Berilac straight to the kitchen, saying "Bad news needs a hot cuppa..."

Sam's sister, who introduced herself as Marigold, bustled to making tea, and Berilac sat down and began to explain his news as best he knew it.

The Gaffer's face darkened with anger, and Berilac expected to hear him begin to rant about "those queer Bucklanders across the River", but instead he nodded as though he'd expected as much. "Sounds like that queer black fella showed up at my door the night they all left. If I'd've known he was up to no good then...but no good crying over spilt milk. Besides, it's clear who's to blame!"

"Who?" put in Marigold, as she sat down with her own tea after pouring theirs. "Not Mr. Frodo, surely!"

"Nay!" said the Gaffer. "But I've heard the gossip from down Southfarthing way! Big Folk! Who is it hires Big Folk, to come in and take jobs as should rightfully belong to upstanding hobbits? It's that Lotho! Why would Mr. Frodo sell Bag End to him, of all people? He must've made threats to Mr. Frodo to make him sell! He's up to no good, mark my words! He's sent them Big Folk of his a-plundering after poor Mr. Frodo and our Sam, to make sure as they can never come back!"

Somehow, Berilac doubted this theory. He'd seen and felt the terror left behind by the Black Riders. But he felt no inclination to argue. If it comforted the old fellow to imagine that Lotho Sackville-Baggins was behind his son's disappearance, Beri would not try to disillusion him.

As soon as he decently could, he made his farewells to Sam's worried family, and rode down the Hill, to take a room at The Ivy Bush. His errand was done, and he wanted to go home.