As she walked, Tilly listened as Rose talked of her Uncle Bungo's past movements. She thought of those who had died in vain.
"He may have been clever to go into hiding. Mayhap if we leave word for him in inns, taverns and stores along the way, he may hear and send us word back? Otherwise we'd be scouring the settlements for him without direction." Then going quiet, Tilly gently patted Primrose's shoulder.
"What about old Baynard?" says Lister, pointing to the harried innkeeper, Baynard Butterbur. "He may know something. Or know someone who does."
Primrose gives Lister a smile, "I was going to ask Mr. Butterbur about that the night of the attack on Combe. Let's go and ask now. He seems to know everyone, and may have information." She looks a little bit more hopeful with that suggestion, and tries to stand a little straighter as she walks.
Baynard Butterbur is tall for a Bree-Man, with hair going to grey at the temples. The Prancing Pony has been his family's business for many years.
"Ah, there you are, Miss Bunce. I've been looking for you. Or rather, I would have if I hadn't got so busy it was almost pushed out of my mind. Oh...what was it now? Think, Baynard, think." So saying he rubs the back of his neck thoughtfully.
"Ah! I have it. There's another one a' them elves in town. Meaning no harm, mind you, but that's mighty queer, that is. Seventeen years I've run the Pony and never one of them, and now three in under a fortnight! Seems strange business is afoot hereabouts and no mistake. I was just saying to young Will Russet..."
Well, listen to me talking on when you've got important things to be doing yourself, I imagine. This elf called himself Adair. He said he'd be back tonight. Since you and young Tilly Appledore seem to be collecting all sorts of, well, outsiders, I thought you might want to know."
"Now, is there something I can do for you before I make my rounds?"
Another elf? We're collecting all sorts? Imagine that. A simple hobbit collecting all sorts. She almost laughs at that, but manages to keep a straight face.
"Thank you Mr. Butterbur. I was going to ask you if you might remember a hobbit by the name of Bungo Hayward. He used to send letters from Breetown, but we haven't heard from him for years. I was hoping he lived here. I asked the guard at the gate when I arrived. He said he didn't know him. Do you remember him? Might you know where he can be located? I came all this way to see him." Primrose is very polite with her request and looks very hopeful.
I don't think I'll tell him about the scary man. It might cause a panic.
Morwenn stands with Primrose as she asks her questions of Butterbur, her attention on the man. She knew him fairly well, but did one know another as well as on thought.
She tried to discern the truthfullness of any of Butterbur's answers...
"Well now, Miss Bunce, I do seem to recall that name, though I can't rightly place it. It seems years since I heard it. There were a family of Haywards in Combe, begging your pardon, but I don't recall a Bungo in that clan."
"Hoy, Harry," he says to a young man hauling a sack of meal towards the back room.
"Yes, Mister Butterbur?" says Harry.
"Harry, do you recall a hobbit by the name of Bungo Hayward? It would have been a few years back. This lady's looking for him."
"Hayward? No Mister Butterbur, I don't think I do. Not one of the Combe hobbits?"
"No, I don't think so. That will be all, Harry."
"Yes, sir," says Harry, lifting the sack again and moving towards the kitchen.
"I'm afraid I don't know, Miss Bunce. I think I should know, but it was long ago and I'm so busy here I can hardly remember last Thursday. Begging your pardon."
What Morwenn did notice was Butterbur's son, young Barliman, listening through the window that opens under the yard. The Ranger noticed the young man slip away at the first mention of the missing hobbit.
"Well, listen to me talking on when you've got important things to be doing yourself, I imagine. This elf called himself Adair. He said he'd be back tonight. Since you and young Tilly Appledore seem to be collecting all sorts of, well, outsiders, I thought you might want to know."
Tilly noted the name of the Elf they were to meet in the evening. She wondered what he was like - and whether Adair would stay with their company.
Tilly turned back to the conversation at hand and listened as Primrose asked after her Uncle Bungo. As Mister Butterbur answered, Tilly listened harder, trying to discern the truth of his words (and those of Harry's) for herself.
"Thank you for your answer. I'd hoped you knew where he might be. I'll try talking to the Combe hobbits." She makes note of the elf's name, and moves away from the bar thinking hard about where to go next to look for her uncle.
Morwenn listens to Butterbur answer Primrose's questions, smiling as he warms to the tale.
Out of the corner of her eye, she catches movement at the window...Butterbur's son, Barliman, listening.
An eyebrow rises as the young man moves away from the window the moment Burgo's name is mentioned.
Intruiged, Morwenn gives Prim's shoulder a squeeze and in a look , bids Tilly to follow her outside, where she quickly rounds the building to where Barliman had been standing, looking for the lad.
Noting Morwenn's intent look bidding her follow, Tilly politely excused herself and followed Morwenn outside; now searching for the slippery Barliman.
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The trio of women, Ranger, Bree-Woman and Hobbit exit the Prancing Pony by the stableyard door in time to see a small figure slip over the waist-high wall and head for the Hay Gate at the north end of town. Young Barliman doesn't look back, but seems to be in a hurry.
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The woodsman of Emyn Vorn finds himself alone in a corner of the Prancingb Pony's main room with Sirothel, the impressive elf who appeared from nowhere to help drive off the terrifying figure in the Chetwood. Sirothel notices another elf walk into the room, a sylvan elf of Lindon by the look of him, with the proprietor. "Now where did that Miss Primrose get to all of a sudden?" asks Baynard. "I wanted to introduce her to Mister Adair. Now isn't that strange? Well, these are strange times and no mistake. Ah! Mister Waylon, sir. This is Mister Adair. He's come from beyond the borders, as I'm sure I don't need to tell you. I thought you might like to meet."
Sirothel smiles, then nods towards the Sylvan Elf.
"Well met it is, to find one of my kind so far from our homes. I am named Sirothel. How fares your lord Cirdan?"
"Well met Mister Adair. I am sure Miss Primrose will be back shortly." Waylon nods and smiles at the newcomer.
"Well met, indeed! I had no expectation to see any kindred here! What arts do these men display to draw your attention?"
He looks slightly confused at Waylon's comment, but seems to just smile and ignore it.
"Cirdan ensures more ships are built and works to ensure that everyone has what they need. The people keep him very well in thanks."
The trio of women, Ranger, Bree-Woman and Hobbit exit the Prancing Pony by the stableyard door in time to see a small figure slip over the waist-high wall and head for the Hay Gate at the north end of town. Young Barliman doesn't look back, but seems to be in a hurry.
Tilly glanced at Morwenn and Primrose and quietly asked, "Should we hurry after him, hollering for him to stop, or follow quietly behind to see where he goes and what he does? I much prefer the second option."
Morwenn spares a moment from watching young Barliman, to glance at Tilly and smile, "That option appeals to me as well. Quickly now, before he gets away..."
And with that she hurries after the boy...
"Aye, let us go then, quickly and quietly."
Tilly wondered if she could keep up with the long-legged Ranger. She cast a glance back at Primrose and with a "Come, let's see what Young Barliman knows of your Uncle Bungo,", Tilly began to give chase, following Morwenn.
You see young Barliman knock on the door of a cottage near the Hay Gate. After several moments, he is let in. Tilly, being a gate warden herself well knows that this is the home of Bert Willowreed, a peat-cutter and sometime post-rider for the town.
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The innkeeper Baynard Butterbur beams down at the table of his foreign guests with the satisfied air of a men with one less loose thread to worry about. "There now. I'll leave you, Masters, but won't be far. You can call on me or Harry if you've a need for anything more."
"Well, sir, I could use a wine or ale. Thank you, very much." Turning and looking at the people he has just met. "So, what do the locals do around here?"
Primrose slips away quietly while Baynard was filling an order. She follows the ranger and the Bree-woman quickly. Whose house is that? What does he know? She slips up to a window to peek in.
Morwenn silently pursues the boy and with the others sees him enter the home. When Tilly whispers what she knows about the owner of the home, Morwen joins Primrose in listening at the window...
Sirothel glances down at her raiment, the fine cut of her Elven clothing clearly marking her as an outsider.
"I really wouldn't know."
"I have also just arrived in the area. It sounds like the locals had quite the harrowing time recently as a rather large band struck out at the town."
Primrose slips quietly among the Big People, noiseless as all hobbits, while Morwenn uses her woodcraft to remain in the shadows. Tilly follows the ranger closely and also remains hidden.
The three of you arrive outside the house of Bert Willowreed. Will you hide nearby and watch? Slip in close to eavesdrop? Something else?
Seeing the other females by the window, Tilly quietly moves up beside them and while they look and listen inside the building, Tilly looks about the yard/field to make sure they aren't watched or noted from the outside.
You overhear young Barliman speaking in an urgent voice. "...before anyone notices I'm gone!"
Another, older voice that Tilly recognizes as Bert Willowreed's.
"Fine, fine, Barley. 'Tis no trouble. I'll set out in the morning."
"No," comes the young man's earnest reply. "It has to be today. Now, Mister Willowreed. You've got to warn him. I think... I think some people want to hurt him. And him up there all alone. It isn't right, sir, and you need to warn him before those as... well, them that burned Combe come to find the truth that he wasn't there."
There is some grumbling and movement within the house.
"Please, Mister Willowreed. It's important. You must ride right away!"
"Alright, alright. Calm yourself, boy. I'll go. But just you go out and saddle Millie for me and I'll be along directly."
"Thank you, Mister Willowreed. It's a good thing you're doing. He's as good a hobbit as ever lived on the hill, and that's a fact."
Before you can react, the door bangs open and young Barliman races down the lane towards the stables. He doesn't spot you at all.
The younger elf shrugs. "You were both here when I got here. I have no idea what you might have learned. Never hurts to ask, right?" He looks around and sees, well, a calm, quiet little place.
"So, what brings you two here, then?"
Primrose wants to dash after him with everything in her, but she she can't. She's too weary from the battle. She looks at the other two ladies, and nods toward the door.
"Shall we see what that message is or should we follow him to his destination. I think that's my Uncle they were discussing." She shakes with excitement at getting a possible lead.
Morwenn nods at Primrose's assumption, saying lowly, "I believe your right, Prim. "
She rises and walks to the doorway recently vacated by young Barliman, "Mister Willowreed, a moment of your time..." she asks with all the courtesy she can muster.
"I was just passing through looking to see if I might find some work. I am a traveling veterinarian. Sadly, when I came to this town I found many more injured people then animals and so I thought I would try and help them as well." Waylon takes a swig of his drink after answering his new acquaintance.
"Injured people? What's happened?" The question seems genuine, and not just a bored distraction.
Unimpressed by the vagabond at his door, Bert Willowreed continues donning his coat and stuffing small goods into a battered leather satchel. "Sorry!" he says "No time today. I really must be going. Any other day, you understand."
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"Well that'd be the attack on Combe," says Lister Goatleaf, just sitting himself down next to Waylon. "A band of ruffians out of the Chetwood burned most of the hamlet to the ground before the Bree-folk could see them off. Two nights ago, this was."
" . . . .." The young elf obviously starts to say something, but stops, looking both unhappy and uncertain.
"Is there something we can do to help? I can use a hammer. Try to help replace some buildings, maybe? I assume someone's already dealt with the ruffians."
Tilly watched young Barliman race toward the stables before she turned back around and moved with the other two to the door.
Unimpressed by the vagabond at his door, Bert Willowreed continues donning his coat and stuffing small goods into a battered leather satchel. "Sorry!" he says "No time today. I really must be going. Any other day, you understand."
"Mister Willowreed, it is very important we speak with you, now. We only ask for a few minutes of your time, if you'd be so kind," offered Tilly politely.
Primrose sticks her head around the door. "Who you taking the message to? Is it a hobbit gentleman?" She looks hopeful.
Sirothel looks back and forth, following the conversation and events but saying little; she is still clearly on the lookout for more danger, as her hands are never far from her bow.
"We found this group out in the woods. There are many bandits in this band and so little has been done to stop them to date. But the band seems to be looking for someone and one of those I traveled with seemed to be related to this good hobbit. I believe they must be seeking information on how to find them now as they seem to have left this fine inn." Waylon takes another swig as he tells about their small adventure leaving out the part about the Shadow lest he scare any who might be listening in.
The young elf gives Waylon his attention. "So, you're saying the bandits are basically still at large and free to wreak more havoc again, here or elsewhere? That's no good. Can we gather together enough of a force to stop them from hurting anyone else?"
Bert stays a moment, whether out of respect for Tilly or because he simply unwilling to try to barge past three women in his doorway. He glances down at Primrose and over at Morwenn, but talks directly to Tilly. "I've nought to discuss, Mistress Tilly. But I'd not say no to a daughter of the Appledores. Your pa was good to mine when times were hard and so any Appledore is welcome under my roof."
"But the posts are private as you well know. Now I'm to ride forth today before the rains so if you don't mind I'll be taking my leave now."
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Lister shakes his head. "It was two score men if it was a single man. And the bandits weren't the worst of it. We took them by surprise at Combe, but routing them from the Chetwood would require more men than Bree-Land can spare."
"Then, Master Lister, perhaps you should not send many men. Perhaps...a small group, full of valour and righteousness, to cut the head off the snake. If we can find the head."
"You mean, like in the tales of old great deeds? That would be a marvel to see."
"But the posts are private as you well know. Now I'm to ride forth today before the rains so if you don't mind I'll be taking my leave now.""
Tilly noted the man's physical reaction to Primrose's question and proceeded; appealing to his good nature.
"Please, Mister Willowreed, all Primrose wants to know is if her Hobbit uncle is alright. She's been searching for her kinsman and is worried sick, you see. She is my friend and I've given my word to help her find him. Can you not help us?" Then in lowered voice, "His name's Bungo. Bungo Hayward."
Primrose give the saddest face she can give him. "Please do you know where he is? I've been so worried about him."
"Uncle?" says Bert, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. He relents in the face of Tilly and Primrose's evident sincerity.
"Mister Hayward is your uncle?" He rubs his chin, thinking hard.
"Well, I'm not supposed to say anything, so don't you go making me regret this. But Old Mister Hayward moved away up north on the Downs, right up near that dreadful Dead Man's Dike. I'm sure I don't know why. But young Barley thinks its got to do with the burning of Combe, even though Mister Hayward's been up there these four years now."
"I'm to take him word that somebody's come to the Prancing Pony asking about him. Elves and hobbits and so forth. I suppose that's you lot? Young Master Barliman wants him to leave again, says he's in danger. You're sure you don't mean him no harm?"
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"We tried that," says Lister gloomily. "You saw the results, sir," he says to Sirothel, still recalling the Elf fighting the horror beneath the trees. "You and Miss Tilly, you saw what happened when we tried just to scout them. There's too many of them. And dogs, and bats and..." his voice trails off.
"No Mr. I don't mean him any harm. I came to visit him, and ran into the burning of Combe the day I arrived. We can take the message for you. If you take it to him he'll leave, and I may never find him." Primrose almost cries as she asks the man not to deliver the message.
"At least if you feel you must deliver the message, take one from me as well so he knows I'm traveling to see him."
Sirothel's jaw tightened.
"Are the people here safe, then? Should we be making this place defensible?"