The north wind brought the scent of marshes.
“Overbourne Marsh, they call it, Aragorn”
“They may call it as they will provided we do not need to cross it”
“Just as well, the flies and midges would make short work of you, son”
Aragorn glared at him. His father had a habit of taunting him, challenging the teachings of his Elven fostering in Rivendell with the truths of life in the open land.
“We will soon approach the first farms in the South Farthing. It would be best if we kept just inside the marsh to avoid unnecessary contact and explanations. I have a salve that repels the worst of the flying misery though you will reek of boar fat and garlic for some days to come.”
Aravir tossed a jar of the salve to Aragorn. He took a quick whiff, snorted and tossed it back to his father.
“It is too foul. I will endure their miseries”
“Very well. Then let me provide you with the lay of the land in the Shire, as they call it. We pass through the South Farthing. It was settled by Stoors, an ancient tribe of Hobbits. They left the vales of the Anduin and crossed the Misty Mountains as the forest became threatening with the return of evil to Dol Guldur.”
“They settled in the north of Dunland, and above Tharbad from Swanfleet to the Angle.”
“Those lands are empty now” Aragorn interrupted
“Indeed. Other tribes, the Fallohides and Harfoots, had also migrated from the Anduin, westward over more northerly mountain passes, gradually settling in the area of Bree. Two brothers, Marco and Blanco, left Bree and journeyed west of the Baranduin during the time of Argeleb II of Arthedain. This king granted them use of the lands there which they called the Shire. The Stoors joined them thirty years later, leaving Dunland”
“Little of this was taught in Rivendell”
“Much can be learned in the taverns of Bree if one has some coin to buy ale for storytellers. And there is one old man who cares for the Halflings. Gandalf is his name, a wizard in a grey cloak and pointy blue hat. He will make your acquaintance some day as he has mine and those before me.”
“His name has been spoken in Rivendell, though my tutors did not pass any great time on his deeds or whereabouts”
“He does as we do, Aragorn. He roams the land. But his borders are beyond those of Arnor’s ancient bounds. Through Mirkwood and beyond. South to Gondor and along the coasts. And of course the Shire.”
“To what end, father?”
“I cannot say. Though he appears as an old man, he does not age and may live long as an elf. Yet he is no elf. His full measure of capability is not known to me though I sense it is considerable. Clouded remains his purpose, though his intent seems kind, and protective as a shepherd. Ask your grandfather to tell you tales of his grandfather who journeyed with Gandalf to Dol Guldur. Then make your own decision”
Ahead of them the forest appeared to brighten. It was a sign that the trees were thinning out. As the two horsemen navigated between the oaks they saw the sudden edge of the forest, and beyond a tilled field of potatoes in the bright spring sun. They had reached the first of the hobbit farms.
Aragorn stilled his mount and paused at the edge of the forest. Dressed in woolen cloak and woodland traveling leathers and boots, he felt out of place with the quiet farmers who had settled purpose.
“They will live their entire lives here.”
“And may they be peaceful, Aragorn. Come, we need to get out of sight, take our mark in the forest again, then navigate the edge of the marshes further north.”
They rode off quietly, the footfalls of their horses unheard as the sought the eaves of the forest once again.