The Great Road Tavern in Waymeet was not empty as one might suppose it would be with Lotho Sackville-Baggins having closed all the inns and taverns of the Shire. Lotho really hadn’t given much thought to where the men who worked for him were when they weren’t in Hobbiton, he would have been surprised to learn that many of them were living at The Great Road. It would worry him to know that they held regular meetings there, meetings he was not informed about. Meetings at which he and his Shire were the main topics of discussion. This evening, the evening of the 3^rd day of Rethe, there was one of those meetings.

Natuck and Slengan, who had worked the Shire under Yengan’s leadership sat with a group of nearly one hundred and fifty Men listening to the new leader who had been sent from Sharky, Naznock. Though none would admit it, Naznock made their blood run chill in their veins. He was taller and broader than most of the men who had first been sent to work "for Lotho", with an openly evil feel to him. The truth was Naznock was an Uruk. He had emerged looking quite Man like, with a bit more intelligence than his brethren, causing his Master to decide he would be perfect to properly motivate the raggedy bunch of Men he had sent to handle the Hobbits to begin with.

"Now we act like we work for the Shire runt," Naznock was saying to those he now had charge over. "A time is comin’ soon when this will not be. For now we only do small things, soon we will make the rats our Boss’s slaves."

The crowd cheered and stomped their feet while sloshing the best Shire ale down their throats and chests. Naznock let them go for a bit before continuing.

"Quiet!" he hollered. "Now I will meet with the ones workin’ close with the Shire rat what calls himself their Chief. The rest of you, finish your ale and get back to where you belong. If you live here, then get to your rooms." With a signal to Natuck and Slengan, Naznock headed for a small room off of the common room.

The two men sat at the small table in the middle of the room while Naznock chose to pace. He knew his size was intimidating and he liked using it to his advantage. He spoke without looking at the men. "Are you two doin’ anythin’ with the rat?"

Neither man answered. Naznock stopped his pacing long enough to glare at them, then resumed his thudding strides.

"How . . ." Natuck tried to swallow but his throat didn’t want to perform the simple task. "How ya mean? Doin’ what with him?"

"Who is makin’ the decisions? Who is runnin’ this dung heap, you lads or the little fur-footed rat?"

"We wasn’t sure what we was s’posed to do, what with Yengan gettin’ hisself killed an’ all," Slengan mumbled.

"You are s’posed to make sure the rats are miserable. If the chief rat doesn’t, you have to make him do it."

"But we’re s’posed to be makin it look like we’re workin for him. How’re we to be doin’ that whilst makin’ him be workin’ for us?"

Naznock stopped his pacing and leaned in close to the men. He bared his teeth in what was possibly a grin, though it was more a leer. "Ya tell him what to think. You make the runty little fool think they be his own ideas." He straightened up and paced again. Natuck and Slengan followed him with their eyes. "Keep the rat in the dark. Don’t let it know what we really be doin’." Naznock paused, rubbed his chin in thought then grinned. "Tell the fool that chiefs don’t go out nosin’ about. Tell him chiefs stay where they be comfy like, they let their lackys do the checkin’ up. Keep him out of touch. Let in only what we wants him to know."

"Sounds good!"

"Right smart thinkin’!"

Naznock turned back to the men, finally joining them at the table. "You, Slengan, you know your letters?"

"Passable."

Naznock pointed to the writing supplies on the table. "Then write. Here’s some ways we can have ourselves some fun and be doin’ for Sharky. There’s business he be attendin’ to just now, but when he has settled with them horse lovers, he’ll be expectin’ good reports from us."

The Ruffians got to work on their plans, not knowing that their Master’s plans had taken an unexpected turn.

It was two nights after the Ruffian’s first meeting with Naznock that Esmeralda looked out her sitting room window onto the open yard below. The light of the nearly full moon shone on healer Merimas’ small carriage as it was backed carefully up to one of the entrances to The Hall. She could not see, but she knew a litter bearing an elderly or ill hobbit was being removed from the narrow space that a false bottom had created in the carriage. It was just one of many such secret places that had been created in many carts, carriages and wagons during the past weeks, all to implement her husband’s plans to help the poor and elderly of Buckland. If Buckland suddenly seemed to have an unusually high number of healers, dray-hobbits and farriers the Ruffians had not yet noticed. The travel permits Lotho issued to Saradoc had been simple for the Master Scribe of The Hall to copy accurately, and one of The Hall’s carvers had no trouble making a seal to match that of the self-proclaimed Chief of the Shire.

She turned from the window with a sigh. Esme knew that all this sneaking about and deception lay heavily on her husband. Like her, he had been taught as a child that such behavior was unbecoming to a gentlehobbit. Not that it was unheard of. There had been a few Master’s of Buckland whose behavior had brought shame to the family, but not many. She gave a soft huff as she wryly thought that there had been some unsavory Thains as well. But still, it didn’t seem quite right to have to stoop to Lotho Pimple’s own level in order to do good for the hobbits of Buckland. Esme shivered a bit as she got into bed. The brooding sense of evil that had hung over the Shire had lifted somewhat in the last couple of days, but she sensed it was not yet gone. Something deeper and darker remained at the edges of her heart and mind as she fell into slumber.

The moon looked down into a small vale. The small entourage of Men, an Elf, a Dwarf, a Wizard and two Hobbits had made their camp for the night, setting two men on guard duty as the company settled in. All was quiet, except for the stirring of a small hobbit. Well, a bigger hobbit than he had been before drinking Entdraughts, but still small enough that he did not attract even the smallest glance from the guards. He wanted . . . no, he needed; he wanted and needed to look at the strange ball he had picked up in Isenguard.

"No!" he scolded himself in his thoughts. "Gandalf didn’t want you to have it, Peregrin Took, and so you’ve no business at all with trying to sneak a look. But . . . why was it so heavy? I’m certain I saw something inside of it. I . . . No!" Pippin shifted again. Earlier he had been keeping Merry awake with his fidgeting, now his sleeping cousin just added to Pippin’s unease. " ‘Just go to sleep, Pip.’ Thank you, Merry," Pippin thought wryly, "I would if I could. Think of something else, Pippin. Think of, of . . . of . . ." Pippin wiggled some more. "Home! Think of home. The old farm at Whitwell, yes, think about that. Barn cats to play with, the tree swing, hide and seek in the barn, the sun on the pond shining like glass. Smooth and dark and cool to my hands and the sun shining on it and in it and I’m certain I saw something in there. It was glowing and . . . no!" Pippin flung himself onto his back. "Tuckborough. The Smials. The stand of woods that I like to go hide in with the pond shimmering like glass so clear you can see the fish and the turtles swimming about in it. I bet I could see home in that glass. I bet I could see how my parents are if I . . ." Pippin got up and slowly made his way to where Gandalf lay.

The moon shone down in a small vale filled with small fires and the forms of blanketed sleepers. Esme walked amongst the sleepers looking for someone. Who was she looking for? Why was she looking? She felt driven to find whoever it was she was looking for. Thoughts drifted through her mind. She should be looking over on the old farm in Whitwell. She would find the glass ball there. This wasn’t Whitwell. Don’t stop until you find him. Find it. In the pond in the woods. In the glass ball. Everything would be fine in the glass ball. Esme held the ball in hands that shook with excitement. All you want to see is in the glass ball. A glowing in the ball. A presence in the glass.

Esme felt something tear loose within her; or was she torn loose from something? Her hands no longer held the strange ball. A gust of wind, strong and powerful, blew through her. "Tookling!" cried a voice, melodic yet deep and throaty. The strength that Esme had felt in the wind had gone elsewhere leaving her feeling naked and exposed to the elements. The wind howled as it does when trying to get in where it is not wanted. She could feel it’s fury. She felt it shift and diminish. Cold it came upon her, settling around her into an eerie silence. There was no sound of the leaves of autumn. There was no comfort. Fear and sorrow filled Esme.

"It is Him."

Esme knew the voice, though it held none of its usual melody.

"It is the Dark One."

The voice quavered. The cold sank deeper into Esme’s heart.

"I cannot break the bond The Dark One has forged. I cannot. My Tookling is alone before Him."

A shrill cry. A bond broken.

Esmeralda gasped as she awoke in her bed. She arose and hurried into her sitting room. She had thought to stir the fire to ward off the chill that held her. Instead she paced the width of the room. She was filled with fear. Pippin’s fear. But anger slowly replaced the fear, though she did not know the reason for the anger, nor whose anger it was. Esme could not sit still, hugging herself as she continued to pace. Suddenly her heart tightened and she could barely breathe. Merry! She knew it was her Merry. The anger had been his, though now some horrible emptiness had taken hold of her son. Esmeralda sank to the floor and wept as she felt something in her heart growing weaker. She suddenly felt scared and . . . alone.

On the back of a horse, holding fast to Aragorn, Merry’s anger with Pippin drained from him, replaced with the sudden terrible knowledge that he and his dearest friend were going in different directions and may never see each other again. Merry leaned his head into Aragorn’s back and wept.