The Last Hobbit

[Karl/PA]

The Last Hobbit
(c) KFS 2/26/02

It rained last night, a soft late April rain that lasted the entire night. The air was sweet and clean for a change. Gilfor Fairbairn leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes. He was weary, and still, he had one more task to accomplish. He had just buried his youngest son. Little Boromir was the latest victim of the “trembling disease” that first appeared in the Shire during the summer of 1613, almost two years ago. A pall of smoke had hung over the Shire for the past year as the hobbits burned everything from flesh to smelly concoctions and tried every cure and incantation ever heard or thought of to rid themselves of this evil malignancy.

It was reckoned by many to be an old curse wrought by the accidental breaking of a dozen-odd earthenware crasks in the cellars of the old museum ruins in Michel Delving. Workmen had broken them while removing an old beam. It twisted and fell, crashing through the rotted flooring into the cellars, unknown to be there by anyone then present. It is said that a sticky foul-smelling black liquid bubbled forth from the depths and spewed out, scorching everything it touched, and sending forth clouds of acrid green smoke. It choked everyone and everything that it touched. The three involved died the next day, feverish and racked with pain, and “trembling and shaking to the end”.

No one knew the origin or content of the containers. Best reckoning dated them to around the late Third Age, about the time the Shire was under the control of the evil Sharkey and his shirriffs. By year end, no one or thing was alive around Michel Delving. A brown ring of death had spread rapidly in all directions. Grass and trees died. Their leaves remained, curled and brown. They rustled hollowly in the breeze, shurr, shurrr, shurrrrr, the only sound.

Birds and small animals were first. They fluttered helplessly and became still. Kraals and hedgehogs raced aimlessly until overtaken by exhaustion. Hares and foxes palsied uncontrollably. Hobbits unfortunate enough to contract this evil affliction themselves shook and trembled. Overcome with fever and pain, they quickly died. Everyone around Michel Delving moved away just as fast and far as they could go. Most left everything behind. They were under attack by an unknown enemy and there was no way to fight back. No enemy could be seen. They spread to all parts of the Shire and into the new lands of Westmarch. Some went eastward as far as Bree. At first they were welcomed and places made for them, but as the brown ring spread, and new ones began, first in Eastfarthing, then in Westmarch and Buckland, panic took hold. Most of the refugees were shunned and some were even stoned. The slow tolling of ondrtook’s bells could be heard night and day in every part of the Shire.

As Mayor, a post “inherited” from his grandfather, Sam Gamgee, and affirmed by the Thain, Gilfor bore the heaviest of responsibilities. Meetings and councils were called. Riders carried requests for counsel and help to the far ends of the kingdom. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Those skilled in healing were among the first to fall as they rushed to the aid of others. The spreading rings quickly joined and wiped out any healing herbs still growing. Urgent appeals were made. King Elsemere responded by sending his best healers, wizards and alchemists, and a large company of soldiers and rangers. These remained camped across the Brandywine. Rangers were posted along the borders with orders to allow no one in or out of the Shire. Anyone attempting to leave was immediately hailed. Those foolish enough to disregard were quickly convinced by bolt or arrow. Hobbits who had previously made it to Bree and elsewhere were quickly rounded up and returned to Shire lands.

By year end, 1613, only Gilfor and little Boromir were left in his family. All the other Fairbairns and Gamgees lay under the sod at the edge of the Brandywine, along with hundreds of their relatives and friends. Mothers and young ladies seemed especially subject, although it eventually overtook everyone and everything. At winters end, fully two-thirds of the Shire failed to green-up with the coming spring. The bells no longer tolled. The ondrtooks had themselves fallen and their tasks fell to whoever was available. The Shire was being relentlessly besieged from within and rangers blocked the borders.

At the noon hour on May 1st, Gilfor and Melvor Tarkin, the Shire Baliff, met with the Captain of the Rangers, Brandlin Bockslee on the Brandywine bridge. “I have here”, said Brandlin, “a copy of the King’s Order of Containment, he calls it, to be posted at the Shire offis for all to see and heed”. Gilfor took the document and tucked in inside his tunic without comment. Brandlin continued, “I have been on the road with these here wizards and such for o’er a month, and a stranger bunch I’ve never seen. Fomenters, the whole bunch, what with spells and curses on each other, and the poor horses, and they all have more than one familiar, and...why, here’s Randoc, their leader, now.” A tall man with a grey-streaked beard was striding toward them. He wore a wide-brimmed pointed hat and a flowing dark blue cloak. Gilfor immediately thought of the picture his grandfather Samwise had drawn of Gandalf many years ago, when Gilfor was just a little hobbit. “I am Randoc Firestarm, Wizard to King Elsemere, son of Elessar. I bring you his tidings and assurances that we will endeavor to rid you of the scourge from which you presently suffer. We are six in number, and, along with us we have eleven alchemists and twenty seven of our best healers“. ”I bid you welcome”, replied Gilfor, “ I am Gilfor Fairbairn, son of Fastred, and Mayor of The Shire. This is Melvor Tarkin, son of Laire, Baliff. We have eagerly awaited your arrival. Come, sit, counsel with us.” They were joined by another wizard, Earonir, dressed in brown, a healer, Farim Olcorst, who wore undyed cloth, and an alchemist, a dwarf, attired in green and gold stripes, Belanak Talkingstone.

Afternoon became evening and the council on the bridge wore on. Gilfor told of the start and spread of the “trembles”. Questions were posed and theories proffered, but in the end, the questions remained mostly unanswered and the theories unproven. At last, a plan was developed. Melvor would escort the healers first to Buckland, since it was closest, and then into the Shire and on to Westmarch, dropping off healers as they went. Gilfor, with the wizards and alchemists, would make directly for Michel Delving. They wanted to see for themselves exactly where and how this all began. They would have to walk and carry everything, or pull the small hobbit carts that Gilfor offered to make available, since any animals could not be expected to survive. No other men would enter the Shire.

At daybreak the next morning, Gilfor had six carts waiting at the west end of the bridge. One was quickly laden with provisions and the alchemists, with their huge stores of equipment, commandeered the remaining five. They set out as soon as they were loaded, with Gilfor, Randoc and Belanak in the lead. The East-West Road toward the west, was good, the weather fair, and there was no indication that anything was amiss. Then, at a small bend in the road, the company suddenly stopped, overwhelmed at the spectacle before them. As far as the eye could see, the earth was barren and desolate. Everything was brown. Nothing stirred. There was no sound, save the rustle of leaves. “Aeoyn mas nowwwn” swore Randoc. “I have never seen such. Nothing survives”. “And nothing can be used”, said Gilfor. “The wood won’t burn, and its too hard to cut.” For hours they traveled on in silence, awestruck. Even the squeaking of the carts ceased. The only sound was the crunch of the wheels on the brown gravel.

Arriving at Michel Delving, they went immediately to the ruins. For a thousand yards in all directions, the ground was black and burned. Streaks of green-black obsidian ran out from the ruin in all directions, like a giant spider on black velvet. The alchemists babbled excitedly to each other in some unknown tongue, poking this and tugging that and testing everything with their secret potions. The wizards worked quietly and methodically, examining every shred and shard. Randoc and Earonir entered the cellars and suddenly Randoc screamed “Aeoyn, Aeoyn Rundill!” He emerged from the darkness, shaking his head and holding a large piece of sealing wax. It had survived the wreckage intact. A perfect circle of fragile wax a foot across. Embossed in the center was an eight inch seal, that of the evil Sauron, and inscribed around it in ancient runic was the legend :

My energy rises twofold with each sun.
I answer only to ring number one.

They sat in the dirt in a circle, staring at the wax disk. Each of the wizards and alchemists, in turn, verified the translation. Randoc was the first to break the silence. “There is no hope of stopping this torment. The ring went into the fire with Gollum in the last age. Without that ring, even Sauron was afraid to unleash this cursed scourge, and chose, instead, to store it.”

The wizards and alchemists stayed three months in the Shire, maintaining the King’s containment. At the end of July, it was reckoned that men were not affected by the disease, although the two dwarf alchemists died at mid-May. The wizards and remaining alchemists left on the third of August. The healers stayed until January, providing what comfort and care they could. Wagons loaded with provisions were left daily on the Brandywine bridge, sent by King Elsemere and by the people of Bree. The last wagon arrived on March twelfth. It was still there. It wasn’t needed.

It rained last night, a soft late April rain that lasted the entire night. The air was sweet and clean for a change. Gilfor Fairbairn leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes. He was weary, and still, he had one more task to accomplish. For two days now, he had been aware of a tingling in his toes and fingers, and at times his legs would twitch. The hair on his feet was falling out. It was time. It had to be now.

He got up stiffly and looked around, expecting to see someone, anyone, but there was no one, nothing. He set out toward Westmarch at a steady pace across the brown desolation. He knew what he had to do. He reached the Undertowers at sundown the third day. It was still green here, but everyone had either died or left. His feet were numb and his arms and legs ached and the tingling and twitching was becoming worse.

He knew where Elanor, his mother, had kept the red book. He took it and began to chronicle the account of the trembling disease and how it had despoiled both hobbits and the Shire. He made clear that the evil Sauron was laid with blame, and the names Randoc Firestarm, Earonir Arkenbottham, and Belanak Talkingstone were entered as faithful witnesses of the King. Finished, he closed the big book and put it in his pack. He set out at first light, traveling a bit south of due east. He met the East-West road the second day at White Downs and travel became easier, although by now he had no feeling in his legs and sometimes he would jerk uncontrollably as he walked. He stopped only for short rests and water, and walked on through the second night, reaching the Brandywine bridge just after daybreak. He paused for a drink, then went out on the bridge and hailed the rangers. As Brandlin appeared at the other end, Gilfor simply said “For the King” and laid down the pack containing the red book and turned away, shaking. Brandlin nodded, then walked out and picked up the pack, and saluted.

At the west end of the bridge was a little oasis of green, a quarter acre not yet touched. An old elm stood leaning slightly out over the river. A distlefink cried mournfully for its mate from a branch high above. Gilfor sat down gratefully on the green grass and leaned against the great tree. After a while, the trembles stopped. He took a drink and reached into his pocket and withdrew a leaf pouch and tinder box. From the other he took his pipe. He crumbled the leaf slowly into the bowl and lit it from the tinder. He drew deeply on the pipe. This was good Southfarthing leaf. He looked out at the sod covering his wife and family and nodded to them, tears welling. He took another draw and blew a great smoke ring. He watched it wobble in the breeze, then closed his eyes.

[priell3]

Interesting. Where did you get this from or did you write it yourself?