Gorhendad Oldbuck stepped out into the graying dusk and reached to shut out the tumult of voices behind him.  The night had not gone at all as he’d expected.  No, not at all.  Thank heaven his father and grandfather weren’t alive to witness it.  But then, perhaps that was part of the problem.  No – Gorhendad shook his head.  He alone would bear the blame.  Alone … then for the first time he wondered what Dahlia would say, all their dreams gone, her brother Isumbras to be Thain instead.  Not much hope of a family blessing now.

He stepped thoughtfully away from the hall and down the hill.  So, the Tooks had finally done it, taken the opportunity of Gormac’s unexpected death to denounce his heir as unorthodox, not properly settled to be Thain, and – just like that – he wouldn’t be.  No, not just like that.  Gorhendad kicked a stone that lay in the path.  It had been coming for a long time, perhaps he’d even hastened it along, a bit.

The stone hit the water of the peaceful Brandywine with a satisfying ker-plunk and Gorhendad plopped himself down by the stream.  He did love the Shire, but not always its people, and a good Thain (as he’d been told often enough), safeguarded one by shepherding the other.  Gorhendad sighed, feeling his anger and disappointment sink like the stone to the bottom of his heart. 

The night was quiet now.  The uproar of Shiremoot had died down behind closed doors.  The river murmured quietly, and Gorhendad found himself wishing for the eleventieth time he could understand her words.  Beyond the river, the first eastern star was just peaking out from behind the clearing clouds.  As Gorhendad looked, it seemed to wink at him and, after a moment’s thought, he winked back.