Blotmath, SR 1419

When the opportunity was presented, Andson took up with the Shirriffs – now, he knew how some viewed them, and the Men they sided with, but Andson didn't see it as such. He thought he had a bit of power of his own, and didn't think it to much – he wasn't Lotho, after all, and needn't be Chief of the Shire. But knowing he could say do, and that hobbits would hasten to listen to him... well, he did like that. It wasn't for want of being cruel, but just of wanting his own power: what was the harm in that?

So, he liked it, having that small bit of power, even knowing that he wasn't fully in charge. He could take a little, and needn't have it all. Still, there were some so uppity as to need to be put in their places. He'd known Robin Smallburrow all his life, who acted so righteous, as if he wasn't a Shirriff, too, as if he hadn't put up the Rules, as if he hadn't done as all the rest of them had. He would have fought him, but Robin threw a harder punch than he had guessed. Andson could always wait.

When Robin was sent away, Andson was sent away, too, though west to Waymeet: he didn't like it there, for he felt out of his element. He was there when tall Meriadoc came riding from Bywater, after the Men had all gathered and went off tromping down the road – a road block was needed, to make certain they could not come roundabout back this way, and Andson thought to run while he could, and get lost in all the fuss. Instead, he acted his place, put his cap away, and worked with all the others, and hoped they wouldn't see.

But after, when the battle was done, when victory was had, when the Men ran scoured from the Shire, Andson had come to a point, and thought he ought to have run, too. He hadn't, though, and there were some, even after that, when the hobbits at the Lockholes had been liberated, who saw him back to Hobbiton, and thought him in need of that escort. But one of them spoke for him, said he hadn't known better, that he shouldn't be punished for having been so very stupid: and, of all things odd, it was Robin who'd spoken up.

Robin, who'd been a Shirriff, too, but who'd fought at Bywater (and gained some scars), and not the hobbit Andson remembered, nor even a righteous fool. Andson asked him, some long months after that, 'Why?'. By then, things were almost back to normal, and Andson had survived on Robin's pity alone: Robin, a Shirriff still, after the Deputy Mayor had put them back to their proper numbers. Then Robin said something about forgiveness, and Andson couldn't understand. Things had come round, though: Andson hadn't expected such change, and the start of it, but he'd expected this even less than that.

It seemed there'd always be those who couldn't trust him, and perhaps that was well enough: like the Widow and her son whom he'd ousted and who'd then been conducted to the Lockholes: or the brother and sister, collaborators, caught and punished: or the one rebel, that lad, the one he'd heard had been hung. He hadn't done it, himself, any of it, but he still felt the weight of it: and it followed him, day through night. But he was saved, not shunned, or banished, himself: Robin's pity seemed a harsher punishment, somehow, and after all that was his due.