Being a letter from Applecider Bolingbroke, to Lancogard North-Took, Hon. Deputy-Shirriff of the Northfarthing –
(“Salutations, and all me compliments to the honorable Bounders, May their nice crispy bacon forever be cooked just-so. Fair word of warning: If you’ve got a helm with a sturdy chinstrap at hand, Lance, I’d suggest tying it now, because this WILL blow your mind….”)
– Letter written sporadically at various Shire roadside accommodations over the course of three days, and affixed to a second, fatter letter, detailing the revelations of [“And the House Shall Rise...”]:
~~~
... DID I not call it, Lance?!?
I could whop every one of these Big Folks with a Dwarf-iron skillet.
BARDIC TROPES BE THE PRODUCT OF A THOUSAND YEARS’ OBSERVATIONS: THEY WILL NAE TELL YEH FALSE!!! A Gent what breaks the heart of a lass will do so for one of three reasons, and I CALLED OPTION THREE!!!
Okay, had me a wee dose o’ Blagroves, here: I be calm … ish. … Miss Sergie were oddly calm at the revealing of it all, actually. Which usually means something’s about ter go up in flames, in short order.
I be of half a mind she an’ I may have switched personas fer a bit, Lance: Normally I’d sit with a tankard an’ a lute an’ a quill-pen, letting me bardic imagination run mad fer several days, while Miss Sergie would be out the door, galloping ‘er horse halfway ter the horizon without stopping to brush her teeth (our Elf be a great many things, but yeh must admit: Subtle-Tempered en’t one of ‘em).
Short version: Once everyone left Miss Sergie’s place, all a'stew one an’ all, fer our own homes and beds, I loaded up Jonagold, an’ took ter the road before dinner.
I overnighted at Duillond, an’ dispatched via their kestrel post a note ter Miss Sergie, sayin’ I had some people ter call upon: Catch yeh laters luv, Cheerie-bye. Come dawn, I presented me papers at the waypoint at Needlehole.
Then I turned north fer Brockenborings faster than an Inn League Initiate on the first leg of the Challenge.
I made town this morning, not a half-hour past, but ye were nowhere to be found: Bounder Primstone said ye were out on yer routine rounds up ter Bindbole an’ back, and he did nae expect ye till nightfall, or maybe even tomorrow.
We gots ter apply some Hobbit sense ter this afore any more calamity be done, Lance.
Miss Sergie now be a thousand an’ twelve percent preoccupied with th’ restoration of her burly squeeze, an’ I suppose no blamin’ her fer that. The House o’ Bar an’ Acorn be wholly employed with backin’ her up, harping ON an’ on about traps, an’ Daaaaaaaarrrrk Secrets, an’ bloodlines, an’ family squabbles, an’ deceptions within deceptions -- It be a recipe fer a fair soup of chaos (honestly, these Big Folks).
Still, I made note of one thing, of which were made NO mention at Miss Sergie's council.
Mister Crane 'imself failin’ ter communicate his situation with Miss Sergie be one thing, Lance.
But thar were another bloke – apparently in full knowledge of ALL o’ this – who were in VERY direct contact with us what be interested in th’ case.
An’ one who ‘ad every opportunity ter tell us what be afoot, on the bounds of OUR homes an’ lands.
Events ominous enough ter ruffle the feathers of Elf-kind an’ Duney-Lads alike be stirring at the edge o’ the Shire, Lance.
... An’ I en’t heard tell of a single sensible Hobbit what be in the know of it.
So soon as I finish up this here batch of Elf Toast (I be trading an hour’s music, playing fer th’ patrons, fer use o’ the Plough & Stars’ ovens), I’ll be occupying meself with another call, ter another Big Folk I could wallop, slightly farther up the way toward Oatbarton.
That Green-Hooded Bounder, Mister Sir Halros, has got some ‘splainin’ ter do .....
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