Chapter 13: The Beginning of the Journey

Folco woke up because he was being shaken rather unceremoniously. He reluctantly opened his eyes - they were stuck together, he terribly wanted to sleep - and remembered that the morning of their last day in Annuminas had come. Above him stood an already dressed Thorin; in the corner their traveling bags were piled, packed only yesterday evening: from the yard came indistinct voices and the clatter of hooves mixed with the creaking of cart wheels.

Get up, brother hobbit, - Thorin’s eyes were dark, his voice muffled, - the time has come. We are leaving. Wash quickly and let’s go to the tavern - I’ve already made arrangements for breakfast. Our people are all here already.

Shivering, Folco climbed out from under the blanket. The house was cool, the fireplace was not lit. Outside the window in the morning fog moved the figures of men and dwarves engaged in final preparations. Folco sighed and went to have breakfast.

In the familiar hall at a long table gradually gathered all their companions in the detachment. Fourteen dwarves, twelve men and one terribly lonely at that moment and confused hobbit. Some conversed quietly, but all were gloomy and preoccupied. No one made beautiful speeches, even the talkative Hornbori was silent this time. Breakfast passed cheerlessly. Folco could not rid himself of the gloomy thoughts that tormented him, sometimes rolling over him in waves of incomprehensible horror. Where were they going? What was he doing, how did he end up here at all? From the moment of awakening he had moved thoughtlessly-mechanically, obeying the general bustle. Now, when the gates of the tavern were already thrown open and the dwarves began driving out one after another the covered wagons with supplies onto the street, the hobbit felt really bad. Feeling terribly lost and worthless, he stepped aside and sat down on a stone near the porch. Out of the gates jumped the already dressed in traveling gear Kid, with sword and dagger at his belt and axe behind his back.

Folco! Come on, Thorin is calling, we need to close the house - and say goodbye.

The hobbit reluctantly rose and dragged his feet after the hurrying Little Dwarf.

Thorin stood on the porch of their house, already in a cloak and armed. The shutters of the house were closed, and now the dwarf held in his hands the keys to the front door. The Kid and Folco approached him, the other dwarves gathered at a distance. The men were led away by Rogvold, deciding not to interfere with his comrades. Thorin began to speak, his face was gloomy and impenetrable.

At last the day has come for which we have been preparing all winter. Ahead lies a path whose labors and dangers no one can foresee. Let us then say farewell to the place that gave us shelter.

He slowly bowed to the doors, and the Kid and the hobbit repeated his movement. Thorin took a deep breath, inserted the key into the keyhole and slowly turned it several times. The lock clicked quietly. The door was locked. Thorin removed two keys from the ring and gave them to the Kid and Folco.

Let each of us, the masters of this house, have the keys to it with him, - Thorin slowly said, - for who knows which of us is destined to return?

Folco shuddered, as if from cold - he felt that he would never see their cozy little house again.

Thorin turned to his comrades waiting for him and beckoned invitingly. Everyone in a crowd moved into the street.

At the tavern their small convoy had already lined up. The men stood in a tight group around Rogvold. The old huntsman also did not have a very cheerful appearance - wrinkles lay deeper on his face, and the blueness under his eyes spoke of the fact that he too had to spend a sleepless night. He approached Thorin.

Give the command, Thorin, son of Dart, - he said quietly. - Nothing else detains us here.
Hey-ho! To your saddles! - Thorin shouted, waving his hand.

A moment’s movement - and the men were already mounted, the dwarves settled some on ponies, some on the fronts of the carts. Folco, Thorin, the Kid, Dori and Hornbori rode mounted, somehow immediately finding themselves at the head of the detachment. Thorin touched the reins, and his pony trotted forward. The clatter of its hooves was immediately drowned out by the tramp of horses and the creaking of cart axles. The detachment slowly moved off.

One after another they left behind the elegant streets of Annuminas and finally rode up to the city gates. Warned by the Steward’s order, the guards respectfully greeted the comrades leaving for difficult and dangerous business. The convoy passed through the gates, and suddenly an elastic, fresh and warm spring wind struck them in the face, fluttering the folds of cloaks and tousling hair. Folco involuntarily took a deep breath and immediately heard how beside him Rogvold barely audibly muttered to himself:

Somehow stuffy it was for me in Annuminas… Rising in the stirrups, Folco cast a farewell glance at the mighty walls and towers of the Great City, sighed and turned away. Now for long months his gaze would be riveted to the south and east.

The detachment moved slowly, conserving the strength of the horses for the subsequent journey. The friends walked along the same Green Road by which they had arrived in Annuminas in autumn, and the first day passed without any incidents. For the night they stopped at one of the numerous inns. They drove the wagons inside, unharnessed the horses, ate and drank beer without hurrying, thoroughly, and then lay down to sleep. To the hobbit who had frozen dejectedly by the dying hearth, Thorin approached unnoticed.

Are there still embers? - Thorin deftly snatched out a smoldering brand and began lighting his pipe. - Well, here we are on the road.

The dwarf leaned back, resting his back against the log wall, almost hiding in the darkness; only the light of his pipe glowed red.

Only how it will end, - Folco sighed, thoughtfully stirring the glowing coals of the hearth.
Grown sad, brother hobbit? - Thorin suddenly unexpectedly harshly and point-blank asked. - Don’t deny it, I see everything. I see how you start shaking all over when someone starts talking about Moria! Well, admit it - you’re scared, aren’t you? That’s right, that you’re scared… Think, Folco, think once more - we’re not going to play games! - Thorin’s voice became muffled. - What’s ahead there, no one knows, maybe we’ll have to fight. Will you have enough for this? I know - from the very beginning you didn’t want to climb underground. I understand, it’s not hobbit business, and not human either. Hobbitania, no matter what you say, holds you tight! Not by chance, even at our first meeting, in your estate I noticed how a very pretty little face looked in the window while you slept… What’s her name? Think, Folco, and no need for sacrifices and heroism. If you don’t have enough strength or you get scared, then not even the important thing is that you’ll die yourself, but that those who relied on you will fall, those whose back you volunteered to cover! Don’t think that I or the Kid are so brave. You think I want to go to Moria? I would stay in Annuminas with great pleasure, would start my own business. Or we would go south, to the Caves of Aglarond, or head to Erebor, there was a war recently, experienced and not cowardly are needed in the Iron Hills. Understand, Folco, we don’t go by our own will! Neither I, nor the Kid. So, I tell you again - think hard! Otherwise you may become a burden. I give you until Bree to decide.

Thorin, suddenly breaking off the conversation, abruptly rose and disappeared into the darkness.

The dwarf left, and Folco seemed to freeze by the dying fire. His cheeks and ears burned, he barely restrained tears. There was nowhere to go. Thorin was right. Milisenta appeared in dreams every night… Buckland, the estate, uncle. But what to do, in the end!

The tears finally broke through.

“For which time is this already! - sobbing, the hobbit thought. - Apparently, I’m completely no good… The only thing left is to grow turnips, nothing else.”

Continuing to sob, the hobbit felt his way to his place and lay down, covering himself with a cloak. The tears dried up, giving way to resentment: “And where did he get the idea that I would chicken out or let him down?! In the Barrows what would they do without me? Eirik almost clubbed him with a mace, who pulled him out? Who fought off the ghost in the yard? I didn’t run away for some reason. And if so, then sleep, Folco, son of Hamfast, and pay no attention, you will still have occasions to prove that you don’t eat bread in the detachment for nothing! - The hobbit turned over on his other side and decided not to think about it anymore. - Nothing. Nothing! Frodo, Samwise, Meriodoc and Peregrin went on much more dangerous and, essentially, fatal business, and nothing, they didn’t whine, didn’t moan! So let Thorin say what he wants. He’s not always right either… Ah, if only old Gandalf weren’t sitting out across the Sea, but were here… There would be more use from us.”

He slowly fell into the gently embracing veil of peaceful sleep, from his lips again escaped a barely audible name of the wizard, his eyelids closed, and sleep finally took possession of him.

He did not know and could not determine how much time had passed, but suddenly he saw those white walls on a pink cliff, surrounded by wondrous gardens. The vision slipped away, melted, and he strained all his strength so that it would not disappear. And then the shore, trees and cliffs suddenly rushed straight at him, as if wings had appeared behind his shoulders, and a second later he noticed them out of the corner of his eye - these were the wings of a seagull. Below flashed a white-foamed strip, green crowns flashed, immediately merging into a solid carpet. It carried him further and further, everything flashed before his eyes, and he came to his senses already finding himself in a space filled with radiance, where it was impossible to understand where the floor was, where the ceiling, and where the walls. He did not notice how the greenery around him disappeared, giving way to soft glowing curtains - this is probably how marble suddenly come alive and filled with fire could look. And from this radiance straight toward him stepped out a tall figure of an old man dressed in white with a long white staff in his left hand. On the right hung a strangely familiar sword in blue scabbard. Not yet seeing the face, Folco with a frozen heart understood that before him was Gandalf.

He froze, more precisely, everything around him froze, and only the old man walked unhurriedly toward him. The hobbit saw thick eyebrows, deeply set bright eyes radiating unprecedented power, majesty and kindness, and immediately heard a voice coming from lips overgrown with a snow-white beard of the one who was in reality Olorin:

You called me, and here we met. Speak then, I am listening, but do not delay - we have little time.
Gandalf… - the hobbit babbled, more precisely, understood that he babbled. - So you are now in the Lands Beyond the Sea, yes?
And is that all you wanted to tell me?
No, of course not, - Folco hastened. - But, Gandalf, we so lack your help! We have such things here… How can we figure it out without you? Why are you there, and not here?!

The smile disappeared from the face of the old man who appeared to the hobbit.

What is happening in Middle-earth is known to me, of course, in the most general terms. But now you will have to decide and figure everything out yourselves. I and others left precisely because the peoples of the Northern World no longer need shepherds, they can live by their own understanding. Therefore I am here, among the elves, in the land of my youth. My epoch was the Third. I opposed Sauron, and having fulfilled the duty assigned to me, I could return. Such is my answer to your first question.
But surely you will not advise us? The counsel? Not all our anxieties and fears were born now, some, it seems, from the Primal Days!
I cannot give advice, - a deep sorrowful sigh sounded. - Simply I could not detach myself from Middle-earth, and although I now have completely different affairs and concerns, I have preserved the ability to sometimes converse with some of those inhabiting Middle-earth. With those in whom the reflection of the First Fire is still alive: with the ancient - that is, with elves, dwarves and you, my dear odd hobbits. But do not ask me for advice - here I have no power. Because the all-knowing do not and cannot exist, only through incessant labor can the Wise earn the highest right to judge and advise. Once I had it, and I used it.
So you cannot help us at all? - It seemed to Folco that he cried out these words.
I can encourage and support in moments of painful doubt, - Gandalf answered. - And knowledge presented ready-made, truly, is worth little. I can only guess at the root cause of your present anxieties, and to tell you about the Lands Beyond the Sea I simply have no right. You have already heard about the Scales? All knowledge must be earned, so don’t despair yet! And remember, there are no all-powerful in our world, there never were. Even the Bright Queen is not omnipotent.
But to ask you about the past, about the War of the Ring, about the fate of the hobbits who left with you, about the Valar and Earendil I can?
About the hobbits you can, - Gandalf smiled. - You can even see them. And about the rest… about the War of the Ring everything that Mortals need to know is set forth in the Red Book. About Earendil it also says enough, and about the Valar… you will know enough that they exist and their service is far from completion. Understand, this is not my evil will, but the same Scales. For knowledge one must pay. Sometimes with oneself.
But why was Earendil not allowed to return after his feat to Middle-earth? Is there really a Great Stairway? Where did Sauron go? Why did Thranduil remain?
In one thing you hobbits have certainly not changed, - Gandalf smiled again. - You are just as insufferably curious when it comes to questions. I cannot answer you - I cannot yet. Already the fact that our thoughts met, overcoming gigantic distances and something more powerful than them, speaks of much. You will be able in the future to rise even higher… If you do not stumble. I alone here earned the right to speak with the Mortals of Middle-earth, and I applied enormous efforts for this. I will still show you those you wanted to see. And remember - our meeting was not the last. And remember also - keep close to Pelagast! And for now farewell!

Gandalf took a step aside and disappeared. Folco unexpectedly saw a window in the solid golden radiance. At the window sat three, and, peering, he understood that these were hobbits. Two of them looked very old, one - completely ancient, and closest to Folco was a sturdy middle-aged hobbit. Their heads were bowed, and Folco could not make out their faces, but immediately understood who was who. This vision lasted only a brief moment, then everything went out.

In the morning he awoke surprisingly fresh and calm. All the gloomy thoughts that beset him had vanished somewhere, and even Milisenta’s face, which had given him no peace in recent days, had not so much faded as somewhat receded. Now he was eager to go forward, firmly remembering what Gandalf had said to him in his dream: you can rise higher if you do not stumble. Here it is clear - Gandalf rose to the very top after the victory over the Balrog! And who knows, would he have seen the wizard if not for the Barrows before…

The first week of April was passing, but everything around was already beginning to flourish and bloom luxuriantly. And although the sky was covered with gray even clouds, it seemed to Folco that this was one of the clearest days of his life. They moved through the core Arnorian lands, not fearing attacks, but still at night left someone to guard their horses and wagons.

From time to time Folco caught Thorin’s approving glances; the change in his mood had not escaped the attention of the detachment leader. No one proclaimed him commander, but somehow it turned out that everyone asked his opinion, even Rogvold. The huntsman had also noticeably changed after they left the capital. His gait again became free, soft and light, his speech acquired familiar metallic notes, and his gaze - the usual concentration and confidence. In keeping with him were the men who had set out with them - middle-aged, stocky, strong, experienced. They did not hide that they were not going to climb into Moria; their task was to remain on the surface, guarding the detachment’s supplies and maintaining communication with Annuminas. Men and dwarves went peacefully and amicably, not counting by race, but doing one business. So four days passed.

On the fifth day the detachment entered a well-familiar to the three travelers valley, where in autumn (to Folco it now seemed that this was very long ago; the time since he had left Hobbitania he already measured in years) they had happened to separate peasants locked in combat on a dusty field boundary. The day was already fading when they crossed the ridge of the range, and they decided to spend the night in Hagal. To Bree at an unhurried pace remained another full four days’ journey.

Little had changed in the village - except that several new houses had appeared on the outskirts. The villagers did not forget about caution, and their voluntary guard stopped the detachment at the strong village gates. Fortunately, Thorin and Rogvold were recognized, and soon the travelers received the most hospitable reception. Hearing of their appearance, Eirik galloped from some distant post, tavern servants were already moving tables together, someone sent boys to Harstan, and the feast lasted until midnight.

The friends learned that the winter had passed quietly, if not counting three skirmishes of Hagal’s guards under Eirik’s leadership with bandits. The Angmar detachments had not once bothered the villagers, and this seemed to everyone a good sign. Folco could not decide for a long time to ask about Suttung, and when he gathered courage, he was told that for several more months this restless man had incited the Harstanites to avenge offenses and burn the village of their neighbors, after which they should all leave for the north; there, he said, he had real friends, there they could live freely and comfortably, under reliable protection. He was first asked to calm down, they even threatened to hand him over to Bree to the new captain Diz; they said that Erster had fallen into disfavor and was greatly offended. However, Suttung did not wait for his kinsmen to lose patience, and one fine night he disappeared together with his family and several close friends, just as wild as he was. No one remembered them.

The village detachment had doubled by the addition of their neighbors, Eirik was telling the hobbit meanwhile. From the good autumn harvest they bought weapons, some things their local craftsmen were able to forge. The village guard reached almost two hundred swords and now serves as reliable protection for the entire area.

Oh yes, by the way! - Eirik suddenly slapped his forehead. - Here another rumor about Hraudun rolled through. He, as you remember, ran away then.

And about three days ago news arrived: two villages about thirty leagues east of us quarreled to death, caused a real massacre, burned houses… They said that in one there settled some strange old man, seemingly helping those who sheltered him, and their neighbors disliked them for some reason. A familiar story! No doubt, again Hraudun, the cursed villain! - Eirik struck the table with a heavy fist. - Ah, to catch him - and by the beard! We would deal with him!

You’re always sticking your nose into other people’s business, Eirik, - Rogvold reproachfully remarked. - Winter passed, you drove out the bandits, repelled the Angmar folk. You’d better write to the sheriff, and don’t miss the sowing!

Eirik turned purple, but restrained himself and said nothing.

The village where he settled did take the upper hand, - he continued. - But the whole surrounding area turned against them at once, the local guard pulled up, and those who remained of the unfortunate victors went into the forests, and there what - only banditry. So there’s Hraudun for you!

At dawn, when they set out further, Eirik long escorted them on horseback, and Folco firmly remembered the words spoken by the leader of Hagal:

Something heavy is on my soul, friend Folco. All this is not accidental, and this Hraudun is also not accidental. There will be much blood, remember my words, much blood…

The detachment moved south along a calm, reliably guarded road. Everywhere field work was beginning; spring was coming on strong. Another four days passed, and before them loomed the long-awaited roofs of Bree.

All these days Folco did not lose that light, confident mood that appeared in him after the amazing vision of the Lands Beyond the Sea. He often and at length pondered over Gandalf’s words, and the further, the more questions arose in him. Why, if the wizard cannot tell him anything, why does Gandalf need this at all - to converse with someone living in Middle-earth? Perhaps he listens to their stories? But the wizard did not question him about anything…

Presenting for the last time their travel papers to the mounted patrol at the northern gates of Bree, they unhurriedly pulled into the settlement. And, of course, their hands of their own accord directed the horses to the hospitable doors of “The Prancing Pony.”

Nothing had changed in the familiar hall, and even the people, as it first seemed to Folco, were the same as on that ill-fated evening - only the men in green were missing. Much beer was drunk and many songs sung; the dwarves kept striking up their famous “Over the Misty Mountains cold,” the men, in turn, began “The king sat alone that evening,” and only when the evening thickened did the hobbit manage to slip away unnoticed and go to where, as he unerringly determined, he was expected. He went to Pelagast’s shop.

The windows of the shop were dark, but when Folco knocked quietly at the door, it unexpectedly opened easily. He stepped into the black opening.

Lock the door behind you, - a calm familiar voice sounded, and Folco saw ahead of him a weak, trembling candle flame and in its meager light - a man bent over a book. - Go around there, on the right…

The hobbit cautiously approached. Pelagast raised his single eye to him, and Folco involuntarily shuddered. The eye seemed a bottomless black well, at the bottom of which, like a dim light, beat a thought incomprehensible to others. The hands that had fallen on the ancient pages seemed dry branches of broom, shoulders and chest were drowned in darkness, weak reflections of light fell on cheeks cut by wrinkles.

Sit here, on the bench, - Pelagast continued. - I have been waiting for you for a long time. Tell everything in order. Don’t be afraid to get confused: what is needed, I will ask again.
But… who are you? - the hobbit squeezed out of himself, only now realizing to ask the one sitting opposite him this simplest and most natural question. - About you was told to me by… - He broke off, timely remembering that everything that appeared to him could be a simple dream.
Gandalf himself, or rather, Olorin? - Pelagast smiled slightly. - I guessed that sooner or later he would find you. He was always partial to you hobbits. So, you saw him! He, of course, said nothing to you, talking about the Scales?
That’s right… But how… - the astonished Folco began and again stopped, feeling the inappropriateness of his question.
The cursed Scales, - Pelagast sighed. - But nothing can be done. As for me… haven’t you guessed yet? And you read the Book. Well, however, it’s not so important. You came to me yourself, which means you knew, though not with your mind. About me we will talk more, but for now - I await your story.

And Folco, obeying the power that sounded imperiously in this calm voice, began his narration. It turned out to be long - Pelagast demanded that the hobbit omit not a single detail. He questioned him long and meticulously about everything that happened in the Barrows, was interested in Hraudun, and, listening to Folco, frowned even more and whispered something. It seemed to the hobbit that Pelagast said something like “again he’s up to his old tricks.” He listened to their Annuminas adventures not so attentively, stopping only on the story of the appeared ghost. He silently nodded at this, as if finding confirmation of some thoughts, and then suddenly clicked his fingers in a special way, and in the corner suddenly flashed two large yellow eyes. Not expecting this, Folco cried out.

Don’t be afraid, - Pelagast turned to him, - this is Glin, my owl.

A winged shadow silently glided straight onto Pelagast’s shoulder. Folco saw a round head, large eyes, now covered from the light by heavy lids. Pelagast said something quietly to the huge bird, and Glin noiselessly flew up, immediately disappearing into the darkness. Folco felt on his face the elastic thrusts of air. And immediately, as if lightning flashed in his head, he suddenly understood who was now before him. And before he could think what to do next, his back was already bent, and he himself was bowing in a low, respectful bow.

Pelagast chuckled.

Understood at last… Yes, I was once Radagast the Brown, one of the Five. And now I am a weapons dealer in Bree… I am the last of the Five remaining in Middle-earth. Gandalf left, and the others too… Saruman was supposedly killed… And I remained. I have nothing to do in the Lands Beyond the Sea, Folco, son of Hamfast. I was no one’s enemy, plants, beasts and birds served me. Only once I was drawn into human affairs - when I, to my misfortune, conveyed to Olorin Saruman’s invitation, not yet knowing that he had already woven black nets of cunning and treachery. After that I said to myself: “Radagast, it’s not your business to meddle in Great Wars, mind your own business!” But it didn’t work out… Old Gandalf found me after the victory, called me with him. But I refused: I had no business in the Lands Beyond the Sea, and I needed no rest.

“So you are decisively against?” - Gandalf asked me, and I saw how his face darkened. - “Do you understand what awaits you?”

“What can await me?” - I answered carelessly. - “You have your affairs, White One, I, the Brown, have mine. The Enemy has fallen, and this is wonderful. Your labors, perhaps, are finished, mine will continue forever, while this world stands. No, it is decided - I am staying.”

“You, of course, think that you will preserve everything you possessed, and all your ancient power?” - squinting, Gandalf asked me.

And I understood that he was angry, but then I did not yet know that he wanted me well, only in his own way. At first I, confess, thought that the newly-baked head of the Light Council finishing its existence wanted one last time to show his famous character.

“Whatever I preserve,” - I answered, - “you will not persuade me. I will never exchange the infinity of life for immortality.”

“Then listen, Radagast the Simpleton, as Saruman once called you!” - Gandalf cried out in his heart. - “You will have to take upon yourself all that scattered evil that still remains in Middle-earth. The Light Council will never be convened again, our Order has ceased to exist, Saruman has fallen, I am leaving. Your staff is losing power! I am powerless here already. You know who ordained it so and why it cannot be otherwise. You will have to go to people and by heavy labor earn your bread. The infinity of life you will preserve, and wisdom will remain with you, but power will diminish, and whether anything remains, I do not know, nor does the Bright Queen who sent us. Will you not change your decision?!”

I confess, I felt uneasy, but I gathered all my will and proudly answered that I was staying, whatever happened. And Gandalf somehow immediately faded, grew haggard, suddenly becoming inconceivably old.

“Farewell, Radagast,” - he said, slowly walking to the door. - “Who knows, perhaps you are not so wrong. Stay! I believe I will find a way to meet with you. But I implore you, look after the hobbits! They are very dear to me, I leave them with pain in my heart. Do you promise me this? Then I can leave in peace.”

“Have I ever not kept my promises?” - I said in response.

Gandalf embraced me and disappeared beyond the threshold. Later I learned that he left Middle-earth together with Elrond and Galadriel. And then, - he sighed, - everything happened as Gandalf predicted. My staff broke. - Radagast shuddered, a grimace of once-endured unbearable pain distorted his face. - And I became what you see me - Pelagast, a shopkeeper with a patent from the King of the United Kingdom!

Something I, of course, lost, but still not everything. Fulfilling the promise given to Gandalf, I began looking for a new place to live somewhere closer to his beloved Hobbitania, when my small house on the eastern edge of Mirkwood was attacked by wild nomadic Easterlings. And then I understood that my powers had indeed weakened greatly. I could not defend my dwelling and barely escaped myself. Now I live here. - Radagast sighed heavily. - I long ago noticed something wrong, but bandits concerned me little - this is people’s business. I had to deal with the remains of other evil, but even here I could do little… Except - to give timely needed advice. That’s why you interested me so much. You need to see more, so that we can decide where to go next. You brought me very important information. I will deal with Hraudun myself, and with the Barrows for now nothing can be done. Their spawn are not yet too dangerous, but I will certainly meet with old Bombadil - he will find a way to deal with them. That ghost really came to Annuminas for the sword taken by Thorin. Tell him not to throw it away - this is how the Wights accumulate power given to them by people worshipping the Barrows.

I will lead Diz to the idea of watching the Field more closely. But Moria… Here I can add little to your assumptions. One must go there, and the sooner the better. Be assured - beasts and birds that obey me will help you, warn of danger, and they will also bring me information about you. And after Moria try to see me, we will think everything over together. I will send news to Cirdan and Thranduil, but everything will depend on what you can learn. That’s how it is! But you, I see, want to ask something?

What do your words about West, East, North and South mean? - licking his lips, Folco eagerly asked.
This is your path, - Radagast answered with a sad smile. - Do not demand more from me, far from always can the one who predicts interpret the words that came into his head. And I too cannot yet. But be assured: everywhere, wherever you are, my thoughts will be with you. You turned out to be the first hobbit after the famous four to dare to get involved in the affairs of the Big World, and this in itself is an ominous sign.

Radagast fell silent and lowered his head.

Tell me, I beg you, tell me something about the Valar and about the Lands Beyond the Sea! - Folco pleadingly exhaled.

Radagast looked at him with a smile with his single eye.

I will tell you when the time comes, - he answered. - Do not hurry! You will come to this. Your path now lies south. By the way, I don’t much like this Olmer from Dale, - the former wizard suddenly interrupted himself. - There is something in him, still undefined, but suspicious. Well, perhaps we will be able to clarify this too… And you for now go and wait to tell your friends about our meeting! Everything has its time. We will meet again, Folco, son of Hamfast. And for now farewell…

On a bright spring morning they were leaving Bree. Behind remained its solid houses and high palisade. They were overtaken by another patrol of ten mounted guardsmen, who galloped off somewhere south. The convoy descended from the hill on which Bree stood and unhurriedly moved along the beaten southern road. Three days of journey passed without incidents, and on the evening of the fourth, when the sun had already approached the western horizon, painting half the sky in crimson-scarlet colors, Rogvold and Dori riding ahead suddenly raised their hands, pointing to a solitary black stone located on the summit of a roadside hill. Folco and Thorin rode up to them. A three-sided stone needle the height of two human heights stood, firmly buried in the ground, and below, in the hollow, where the Road passed between two hills, Folco made out an Arnorian outpost. He looked back - here and there across the plain were scattered tiny lights of distant villages: in settlements located along the Road travelers received shelter and refuge. The hobbit looked ahead - there lay impenetrable dense twilight. The lands ahead of them were covered by evening mists, and not a single light was visible. He with sudden confusion glanced at Rogvold and suddenly understood what the stone blade meant - they had reached the borders of Arnor. Ahead spread the Wilderness.