The Whole Shire

Cold winds blew down from the north-north-east, too cold for the time of year. Ghost Winds the hobbits of the Shire called them for they came down from the desolate lands of the old kingdom, then they blew over, around and through the Hills of Scary and the ancient quarries. They were winds that went to your bones. It was a bit more than half-way through Winterfilth, there was no Harvest Festival to look forward to, no Yule celebrations. The future of the Shire was as dire as the weather.

In Brokenborings the hobbits scrounged what edibles they could find. There was not a farm that had not been thoroughly searched several times after the Re-Gatherers had been found out. Of late, several farms and homes had been burned to the ground. Food was scarce indeed. The bark of some trees was somewhat edible if boiled long enough. Any plant growing in the wild that was known to be the least bit palatable was sought after. Parents began to fear the need to eat the family pets. But they gathered together at night around what fires they had upon their hearths and would sing the old songs and tell stories of the old days.

Odovocar and Rosamunda Bolger, their farm-hands with their families, were all together in the Bolger barn in Budgeford. It was their home now as Ruffians had taken over the smial. They had all lost someone to the Lockholes, some of the hobbitesses having lost both husband and sons. But they took comfort in having one another and were determined to do the best they could.

In Michel Delving the presence of the Lockholes added to the gloom. There were times that those passing near to them could hear the sounds of weeping, or moans of pain. The large numbers of Ruffians and Sherriffs in the town added to the tension as the hobbits knew everything they did was closely watched. Within the prison it was becoming more than over crowded. Most of the cells held at least five hobbits, a few as many as eight. There was no privacy of any kind in any situation. They were still fed three times a day but the gruel was thin and barely nourishing. Still, the hobbits held out some hope. There were few females in the Lockholes, few children (and they were with their families), while beatings had become less frequent as the guards spent as little time as possible in the foul-smelling recesses of the tunnels. Only one hobbit was alone in his cell. Fredegar listened to as much of the talk around his cell as he could, faint as it was with his door having no window. He played chess in his mind. Freddy smiled. He would be ready to beat them all soundly on the chessboard when Frodo, Merry and Pippin returned.

The adults in Tookland held to their pledge; the children still ate better than they did. That wasn’t saying too much. Most adults ate twice a day so the young ones could eat thrice. The number of raids upon their farms and towns was increasing. Something had changed, and the Tooklanders had no idea what it was. The Ruffians seemed to be getting bolder. Rumors continued to ferment at the inns and taverns while, from a lack of necessary ingredients, ales and wines did not.

It was in the evening of 15 Winterfilth that Eglantine Took had to go in search of her husband. Paladin had not been seen by anyone all that day. She was near to becoming frantic when she thought of their dear Pippin and knew she needed to look once again in the library.

"Paladin?" Eglanine pulled the heavy curtain aside. Her husband was sitting on the floor beside the tall window, sound asleep. For this moment, he looked more like his son than he usually did, hiding in Pippin’s old hiding place. "Paladin, my dear." She eased herself down beside him then kissed his cheek.

"Um?" He didn’t open his eyes.

"I love you, Paladin Took," Lanti whispered in his ear, her breath causing it to tickle. He awkwardly raised his hand and swatted at his ear. "I love you," she said once more.

"Then the madness of the Tooks has found its way into the Banks’ family." He shuddered but did not open his eyes. "Only a mad hobbitess could still love me."

"I will be right back, my love," she said before getting, rather ungracefully, up and going to the large sofa to fetch the lap robe from its back. She returned to her husband, sat beside him once more, then wrapped the blanket around both of them. Lanti snuggled up tightly against Paladin, she could feel that he was shivering.

"Why are you here?" His voice was tear-choked. "Why? I . . . I . . ." Paladin drew a sharp breath and shuddered once again. "I have failed and we shall all perish because of it."

"You, Paladin Took, have not failed." He turned his face to her and started to protest, she put her finger to his lips, then put her lips to his in a gentle kiss. "They failed you."

"But I’m responsible. It is I who will be held accountable. I . . ." He huffed softly, closed his eyes, rested his head against the cold glass of the window and whispered, "I’m The Took and our family, our clan, is dying." He winced as the words pained him. "I’m Thain of the Shire and have been of no help to it."

Eglantine drew his head away from the glass and onto her shoulder. "They did not do as you told them to do, my dear husband. The Tooks, as Tooks are wont to do, went their own way. You know as well as I, they listened to outsiders who were snuck into Tookland by those who were unhappy with your becoming Thain. If they had done what you wished . . ."

"They did what I wished, Lanti!" His head jerked up off her shoulder, there was a fire in his eyes. "They refused the Gatherings. They turned away the thieves. They helped shut us off from the rest of the Shire. Shut us up in our own little plot of earth. Shut us away from those I’m sworn to help defend. They listened to me right well, Eglantine. They did as I told them and sealed our fate." He turned his head to the window once more. "My decision, my leadership condemned us to death by starvation and disease. I have failed."

For a bit nothing more was said. Lanti waited until she could no longer feel his heart thudding as though he had just run a race before she spoke. "Do you know what is happening outside our borders, Paladin? Do you truly know? All we hear are the lies told by those sent to deceive us. But we have seen the smoke rising in the sky just as it rose from the burning fields of Tookland." She took his face in her hands, turning it toward her own face. "I do not think all is well beyond our borders as the scoundrels say. I have had some of my patients, those . . ." She closed her eyes. She knew she was treading on thin ice. "Those with eyes like Esme’s and . . . and our dear son’s." Paladin did not stop her so she continued. "They have said the Shire suffers as Tookland suffers. I believe them, my dear one. I do not believe that it would have made the slightest difference if you had agreed to the Gathering."

Paladin looked long into her eyes. Love was there in those soft brown pools. He took his dear wife into a fierce embrace and wept long upon her shoulder.

Saradoc looked up as Esmeralda came into his office.

"They are gone," was all she said as she sank wearily into a chair.

Saradoc raised an eyebrow. "They found nothing."

"Nothing."

Saradoc sighed and slumped with relief.

"I fear it won’t be long before they succeed."

He looked up sharply. "I know . . . I know." He rose and began to pace. "They come every day now. They are starting to know whom they have seen and whom they haven’t seen." He paced a bit more before returning to his chair behind the desk. Saradoc reached for a thin stack of papers then thudded them on the desktop to even them. "I’ve drawn up instructions . . . I’ve . . . They shall know what should be done, should the worst befall us."

Esmeralda rose then leaned across the desk and clasped both her husband’s hands in hers. "I am prepared for what may come. But I will say this to you as well, though I know . . ." she paused. She closed her eyes to gather herself. "Help is not far off. I . . . I’m not sure what, nor who, but it comes. It is near. I will not give up hope until I hear the door of a cell in the Lockholes clang shut behind us." But she did know. Her nephew had been with her the night Marrodoc’s farm had been burned to the ground, he and his family carted away. Pippin had been there and somehow she knew, he and the others, he and her dearest Merry, dear Frodo and Sam were not that far from home.

Saradoc lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them several times before laying his head atop them. "I will try, I will truly, truly try, to share your hope." She drew her hands away, walked around the desk to sit upon his lap. His arms wrapped lovingly around her.

Bleak. The sky was bleak. The scenery was bleak. The Gaffer sat on his front bench, bundled well against the cold, eyes on the barren dirt beneath his feet. Down the way a bit, Daddy and Dimm sat on their front bench, further yet was the Widow Rumble. It was as close as they could get to one another. It was Rule # 34: "No congregating of Hobbits allowed. Two or more Hobbits may only be together if they are of the same household." So, despite the unseasonable cold, they sat out on their little wooden benches. At least they could see each other. At least they knew that none of them were ill. Along the row of huts sat the forlorn figures of the old and poor, bravely keeping each other in sight.

Yet, the change had begun. It was growing in the hearts and minds of the Hobbits of the Shire and Buckland. It just needed a nudge.