Chapter Text
Esme Brandybuck stared out of the round glazed window with a distracted impatience. Snowing still, and nearly spring. So inconvenient, since the servants were forever tracking slush through the smial with their clumsy feet, no matter how many times they were instructed to wipe first. Of course, they would also be the ones to clean up the mess, but with the quantity of guests that was shortly expected, she had no time to worry about that detail on top of so many others. Saradoc, needless to say, should have taken them severely to task years ago for their shiftlessness, but he had not, and she was left to deal with the lazy and obstinate lot. Her son's assistance in the matter, not surprisingly, was beyond consideration. Her husband had had far more influence on his upbringing than she had anticipated, and even though Meriadoc was to come of age in a few days, he was still not Master of Buckland caliber.
That was something Saradoc, for all his faults, was. Reluctantly, she watched with a grudging admiration as he stood in the impressive graveled yard in front of Brandy Hall's great doors, greeting some impoverished distant relations of his as they rode through the gates in a ramshackle carriage pulled by what could only be a pair of ancient plow ponies. It was the more reduced ones who always arrived days ahead, she reflected somewhat bitterly, eager to live off of the largesse of the Master of Buckland for as many days as possible on such occasions, although one would never know that from the gracious and attentive greeting they were getting from Saradoc. Well, it couldn't be helped. The heir's coming of age was, without a doubt, a momentous occasion, and not a time for any sort of frugality.
The old tunnel, she coolly classified them. Certainly it was as commodious as any lodging to which they were accustomed, and she planned on reserving the rooms in the newer tunnel for those guests who were, albeit perhaps not family, rather more illustrious. Her brother's family however, due to arrive at any time, had their customary suite of rooms in the heart of Brandy Hall's vast warren for, as Paladin firmly and frequently stated, it just was not natural that any hobbit should ever sleep in a room with a window. Fortunately, she considered with a slight taste of bitterness, their erstwhile cousin Frodo Baggins, as well as his fancy lad, would be in the small rooftop chamber to which she had assigned him as a young stripling. If it also wasn't natural for a hobbit to be sleeping so high off the ground, she had never heard such an objection from that room's inhabitant when younger. Certainly, she had no intention of allowing him to annoy respectable folk with his peculiar manners, and his flaunting of his improper relationship, any more than could be helped about the more luxurious quarters of the sprawling smial.
And, in particular, she wished to ensure that he kept his distance from Odo and Rosamunda Bolger. After a good deal of levelheaded calculation, she had decided upon their daughter, Estella, as the appropriate future Mistress of Brandy Hall. The family, needless to say, could not be of better quality, since Rosamunda was a Took, and a somewhat distant cousin of hers, and the Bolgers, while not particularly wealthy, were nevertheless quite comfortably well off. She had confidence that the Bolgers would be gratified to be offered this liaison for their daughter, since her looks were somewhat against her, having the same tall and exceedingly thin build as her brother, and also because of the disgrace that her brother had brought to the family with his distasteful relationship with that overly mature Baggins female in Hobbiton. There really was something about a Baggins, she couldn't noting with a grim amusement, that found it impossible to be reputable. But a gentlehobbit was allowed his youthful follies, and she had graciously consented to overlook that particular matter, at least as long as it was an affair of the past.
No hurry, at any rate, she mentally set the matter to the side, since Merry showed no sign as of yet of being ready to settle into domesticity. A word with Mistress Bolger during her family's stay, however, might not go amiss.
Rosamunda Bolger, her arms crossed over her chest, stared up at her lanky son with a wryly amused expression of dismay. "A week at Brandy Hall?" she shook her head, her eyebrow raised. "I hope you realize that is hardly a congenial prospect, my dear Freddy."
Fredeger ignored the appellation, one that he only accepted from his mother, and gave her an apologetic hug. "I know, my dear, it is a perfectly ghastly thought. I'm all too aware of that. But Merry isn't a bad sort at all, and the lad has finally managed to come of age. So we really must all turn out, I'm afraid. They did show up a couple of years' back for my affair, you know."
"Difficult to forget that occasion," his mother sighed, reaching up to fondly pat his cheek, "but I hope you realize she does have certain intentions regarding your sister." She sat down in her favorite chair, in the inviting parlor of Budgeford Smial, and poured herself a cup of tea.
"For Stella?" Fredeger, or Fatty, as he was more universally known, gave a chuckle that quite nearly bordered on condescending. "Well, she may, but I can most certainly assure you that Merry has not. Nothing against Stella, you understand, but Merry is quite spoken for, I believe, and Stella is in rather a different category."
"Oh, of course, that business with the Took lad," his mother airily dismissed Fatty's objection, settling back more comfortably and raising her teacup in response. "Gentry have frequently had a tendency toward that sort of thing in their youth, you know, but then there's always the matter of an heir. Straightens them up eventually, that does. Of course you had to go off into an entirely different direction, my boy, but then you were always quite a unique fauntling. And how is dear Lobelia, now to mention it? You haven't brought her up in ages. Well, no matter, you may as well let your sister know what she will be in for. A bit of a warning may well be useful."
"A warning? For me? Whatever for?" Stella, and there really was no other word for it, bounded abruptly into the room. "My stars, Fatty, did you totally make away with all the biscuits? I know there were at least a dozen of them on that plate when it left the kitchen."
"Then that hardly seems like enough, does it?" retorted her brother with a playful tweak of a sandy curl. "You could have brought some cake with you, or at the very least a scone or two."
"I took care of the cake in the kitchen," Stella gave him a satisfied smirk, "so I suppose we are even. But out with it now, what is this warning business about?"
"The Brandybucks, my dear," her mother mildly interposed at this point, setting her cup on the nearby table and glancing wistfully at the empty plate. "Or more precisely, Mistress Brandybuck. You do know she has designs on you, my pretty one. It certainly is difficult to sample Cook's skills with the both of you about," she added, somewhat ruefully.
"Oh, I'm sorry, mother, I'll you fetch you the scones in an instant," Stella hastily made amends. "But what's this, now? Surely you don't mean for Merry?"
"None other," Fatty responded with a grin. "Mistress of Brandy Hall. Sounds rather fine, I should say."
"Pah," Stella answered back succinctly. "He's a decent enough sort, but certainly doesn't seem to be much in the way of marriageable material at the moment. Surely his mother has noticed that. And I am hardly the type of lass to sweep him off his toes, and cause him to see the blind folly of his ways."
Both her mother and brother had to concede, however silently, the truth of that statement. Estella Bolger, some might say, was a wild and willful lass; fond of the outdoors and tramping through the countryside on her own, passionate about riding her pony (rare indeed with the Shire lasses) and an absolute authority when it came to playing cards. Since none of these skills had much application when it came to running a household, most of the mothers of young male gentlehobbits had looked elsewhere for a prospect. Clearly, when it came to luring a young lad into a feminine ensnarement, she was unmistakably at a loss.
"Well, not ours to wonder why," her brother consoled her, not unkindly, "but there it is. You might want to bag your best frock, just in case of a momentous announcement of some sort while we are there."
"Pah and rubbish," was the spirited clarification. "Merry is adequate enough, as I said, but that mother of his is entirely another thing altogether. However, she does set a decent table, and along that line, I may as well go search for the scones, as the both of you scheme together. Kindly leave me out of it, though, for I'll have none of it."
Frodo and Sam stood together on the snowy doorstep of Bag End, a couple of cases set to the side, waiting for the pony and cart that Frodo had hired to show up. Frodo gave a quick sympathetic glance toward Sam, who was trying his best not to show a long face, but not entirely succeeding. "I know, my dear, it would have been a wonderful tramp, snow and all, but it really wouldn't do not to arrive in time. Just too unpredictable at this time of the year."
"We might o'gotten lost along the way," Sam muttered, with an undisguised yearning for that lost possibility.
"Not the worst of fates," Frodo chuckled, "but you know we never would have heard the end of it from Merry. At least," he continued, glancing down the Row to where the pony was coming into view, his shaggy hoofs stamping the snow down firmly into the road and his breath visible in the frosty air in the form of great steamy puffs, "there ought to be quite a crowd there, and we should be able to avoid anyone we wish to for most of the visit. Pippin is probably already there, it goes without saying, but I hear Fatty and Folco are to be at Brandy Hall as well."
"Ah, well, that's a fine bit of news," Sam visibly brightened up at that thought. Catching hold of the edge of the cart, as it pulled up along side of them, he easily swung the cases into it as he greeted the driver with a nod and tip of his rough woolen cap. "Thank'ee much for bringin' it out this way, Daddy Goodfoot," he greeted the gnarled elderly hobbit respectfully, as he assisted him down from the driver's seat to the back of the cart. "An' you're sure then you'd not be wantin' a lift back to Hobbiton?"
"Nay, nay, lad," Goodfoot shook his head with a grin. "Your dad owes me a visit and a pipe, he does, an' I'll be takin' him up on his offer of same. You and Mr. Frodo'd best be off, for my bones tell me there's summat brewin' in the wind, and more snow to come."
"I suspect you are entirely correct," Frodo commented, with a keen eye to the east. "Perhaps I'll pop back in for a few more rugs to wrap around us." He quickly did so, and after dropping the sociable Goodfoot off at the startled Gaffer's door, they were off, Frodo at the reins, and Sam tucking a thick woolen rug about the both of them. The pony was stolid, but by no means reluctant, and the carrot Sam had slipped him had gone a long way toward establishing good will, so Frodo was able to let the reins rest lightly in his lap, and allow his right hand to find one of Sam's under the blanket.
"So, do you think that visit will go well?" he turned to Sam with a smile.
"Only through the first mug," Sam chuckled. "An'then there'll be summat they won't be agreein' to, and then it'll go from there as it allus does w'those two. And I'd not be surprised if he ain't there for awhile, too. That's a right dark cloud movin' our way."
"Hmm," Frodo considered it as the pony plodded along the snowy road. "But it doesn't seem to be moving that fast. With any luck, we can make it to the Toad and Whistle before the snow begins."
"Well, with any real luck, we'd have to stay there," Sam muttered, and was rewarded by a laugh from Frodo.
"Couldn't agree with you more, dearest, but we do have to remember Merry. His feast day would be entirely too bleak without us."
"Pippin'd distract him," was the confident response. "He'd not be missin' us that much, I'd be thinkin'."
"You very well may have a point, but Aunt Esme would surely notice if we were not there to annoy her, and she would take great delight in pointing our absence out to Merry, you can be sure of that. We cannot possibly dream of disappointing her. You know how she relishes our visits so."
"Aye, there is that compensation," Sam grinned. "We do seem to be a thistle under her saddle, or mayhap elsewhere." He finished off his comment with an unexpected yawn, and Frodo gave him a stern glance.
"And how early were you up, anyway, Sam?" he raised an eyebrow. "Swept off the lane to Bagshot Row, that I know, early this morning, but anyone else's?"
"Ah, well, the Widow'd need a bit of a hand," Sam tried unsuccessfully to stifle another yawn, "and then you know how'd busy Tom'd be what w'another wee one on the way and he an' Mari w'five already."
"That's what I thought," Frodo declared firmly, halting the cart. "To the back with you, Sam Gamgee, and take yourself a nap with not another word on it. I traveled this way before you were out of nappies, my dear, and can find my way back just as well on my own."
Sam did not dispute Frodo's judgment, for it had been a late night last night besides, and a bit of rest really did seem a delicious thought. So before long, the pony was on his way again, and Sam was buried deep under the wraps in the back of the cart and sound asleep.
Frodo could not help stealing an occasional glance back, along with a tender smile. Sam's face was peaceful in sleep, with the occasional drifting snowflake caught in his tangled tawny curls, and the golden lashes soft against the rosy cheeks, reddened by the frosty air. He was entirely the most beautiful creature, Frodo decided yet once again, and there really were no words for how incredibly fortunate he had been to find this love. Let Esme hiss and scratch, he lifted his chin proudly as he turned back with his attention on the road, for he could truly care less.
Folco meekly held his hands up and outstretched as Iris deftly wove the creamy thick spun yarn in and out around them. The fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, and candles brightly lit the comfortable sitting room, as Iris hummed a faint tune to herself and apparently gave the task her complete attention.
"You know," Folco suddenly mentioned, "if you were to rig up a couple of spindles set in a base of some sort, you could do this anytime you wish without another's assistance."
"And why would I wish to do that, my dear?" Iris lowered her head but lifted her eyes, giving him a stern glance that was at least mostly in play.
"Oh, well, yes," Folco stammered a bit with a shy smile. "This method is very nice too, of course."
"Exactly," Iris rewarded him with a sweet but triumphant smile. "After all, we won't have much time for just the two of us when we are at Brandy Hall. Oh, Folco!" she suddenly dropped the yarn down, her excitement at the upcoming visit obvious in her sparkling dark brown eyes. "I just can't believe you managed to have Pansy and me invited along with you! Brandy Hall, my dear! To think!"
"Well, it is a fine place, I suppose," Folco blinked a bit, but gave Iris a fond smile. "A bit too much fuss, if you ask me, but adequate enough in its way."
"Oh, adequate, is it?" Iris laughed affectionately at that. "From what I've heard of her, Mistress Brandybuck would be ever so pleased to hear you say that. But perhaps Pansy will find a beau there, and Folco, my dearest, that really can't happen any time too soon. I've never understood Mother's silly rule about elder daughters needing to marry first, but there it is."
Folco returned her smile, and lifting one of her hands up, gave it a lingering kiss. "First thing we do, my love, is find Fatty and leave the matter of Pansy up to him. If ever there was a hobbit who could help us, it would be him. But I hear your mother considerately coughing from behind the door, my love, so I suppose it would be time for me to be leaving for tonight. Rest assured, though, I will have the carriage ready to pick you and Pansy up tomorrow directly after first breakfast. It will all work out, my dear, you see if it won't. Fatty really is the best of fellows, I promise you."
Bramble Grubb looked about the Great Hall of the Brandybucks, as she and Rufus entered, in undisguised amazement. "'Tis a vision, Mistress Esme, indeed it is! Just like all the tales I've ever heard of it."
Esme, who had turned to a housemaid to instruct her as to where to house Saradoc's erstwhile relations, politely nodded and gave the rustic hobbits a gracious smile. "Thank you," she cordially murmured, turning to leave, when the sudden shocked gasp caused her to spin quickly back around again. But it was only the visitor, who had just caught sight on the grand stairway to the upper levels of Brandy Hall.
"Dearie me, Father," she exclaimed to her almost equally dumbfounded husband, and no matter that their only child had died many years back as a fauntling, but they still referred to each other on these terms, " 'tis almost like a great tree indoors. How a body could climb that and not fall to the ground, why, I'd never know."
Esme, who was finding it difficult to maintain a courteous demeanor in the face of this barely credible display of ignorance, abruptly nodded to the servant lass, who was patiently awaiting her inclination. "Child, show the Master's guests to their quarters," she exclaimed, forgetting the servant lass's name in her unconscious eagerness to disassociate herself with them. "The old tunnel; one of the back rooms should do." Turning back to her guests, she added quickly, "Dinner an hour after sunset, main hall. She can give you directions," and giving the briefest of nods, she was gone.
"My stars!" Bramble exclaimed, rather surprised, blinking in a bit of confusion at the patient hobbit who had been assigned to them. "Is she always in this much of a bustle, then?"
Holly couldn't help a bit of a grin at that characterization. "Indeed, that she is," she chuckled, with a quick curtsy. "But let me show you to your room then. I imagine you must be fair worn out after your trip in this fearsome weather."
"Aye, that we are, and no mistake," Rufus spoke up for the first time, with rather of a rumble. "No, my dear, don't you even think of it," he added, as she tried to pick up their baggage. "A little lass like yourself shouldna have to tote this lot. I'll handle it, no problem. You just lead us on then, and I certainly hope it ain't up those, what did she call them, stairs?"
"Nay," Holly giggled as she started down the maze of hallways, candle in hand. "Naught but Mr. Frodo's bedroom up there. Storage mostly, otherwise. But that stairway looks grand, don't it? Ain't nothing in the Shire like, or leastways so I've been told."
"Well, count our blessings for that," Bramble fanned herself a bit, and then picked up one or two items herself, and followed her husband and the hobbit lass. "Mighty fine t'look at, without a doubt, but it'd not be seeming home-like, if you'd understand. But then, I'm but an ignorant county hobbit, so there's much in this world I'd not know. Mr. Grubb, now he'd be Master Brandybuck's third cousin, at least on his mother's side, so that's how we'd end up here, my dear," she explained confidentially, having caught up with Holly and drawing a companionable arm through hers. "Master Brandybuck, now, he'd stop by our smial, from time to time when he'd be on Brandy Hall business, and a finer gentlehobbit there never was. So when he invited us to his son's coming of age, we couldn't have been more pleased. But this Mistress Brandybuck, she'd be a different sort, then, wouldn't she? And the son, young Master Meriadoc, what manner of hobbit is he, now, lass?"
"Oh, he'd be a fine decent lad," confided Holly, feeling quite at home with the Grubbs, and giving in to a bit of secret admiration on her part. The tunnels that they passed through were getting narrower, and progressively less grand, but neither of the visitors were noticing. "Handsome and tall, he is, and more like his father than not. But a bit of a temper, from time to time, and that he'd be getting from his mother, without a doubt. But as they say in the Hall, no Master yet. 'Twill take some doing to reach Master Saradoc, and no-one can deny that. But you can judge for yourself at dinner tonight, for he's sure to be there."
She stopped at that point, in front of a plain round wooden door, much like many others they had already passed. "But here's your room, and let me make sure the candles are properly lit for you." With a flourish, she opened the door, and shortly there was light within.
Master Grubb and his wife entered and gasped with pleasure. The room was simple indeed, but undeniably cozy and welcoming. There was a small fireplace, with a chimney that snaked its way somewhere to the surface, and Holly quickly and deftly had a small fire started for them. The bed was comfortable, with a fine straw mattress, and the best of woolen blankets. No feather beds and fine comforters for these rooms, but since the Grubbs knew nothing of these items, they did not feel the lack in the least. A commodious wardrobe, a small table and a pair of comfortable chairs completed the furniture, and a couple of small braided rag rugs, one by the bed and one in front of the chairs, kept the chill of the bare earthen floor from their feet. There was a small glass on the table with a handful of modest pansies, for the weather would not admit to much else, and the Grubbs were entranced. Their estimation of Mistress Brandybuck immediately rose ten-fold, for this was the most delightful room they could have ever imagined.
Holly gave them directions to the dining hall, and wound the small clock for them, explaining how to determine the appropriate hour, and left them to luxuriate in the glories of Brandy Hall.
"Oh, love, that is tight enough, to be sure," Pearl puffed, as Daisy determinedly drew the laces of the fine bodice from behind, in the privacy of her snugly luxurious room in the Great Smials. "How I'm expected to breathe in this, I'd never know. Surely my mother has given up showing me off like a fine bantam hen by now, I would think."
"Ah, but you forget," Daisy chuckled, and turned her around with a quick arm about the waist, the better to admire her efforts. The candlelight flickered on freckled pale skin as Pearl twisted her head around to scrutinize the full effect of the light silver frock. "There will be fine lasses a'plenty there, and it should ne'er be said that Pearl Took herself cannot keep with the best of them."
"Oh, pooh," Pearl waved her hand depreciatingly, but did not deny herself the pleasure of Daisy Gamgee's frank admiration. "They'll all be there for Merry, no doubt about it, the great heir of Buckland come of age. Of course, neither my sisters or I will have any of it, for I would not want to be facing dear Pip, young as he is, otherwise. No matter, it's all nonsense, for there's no-one in all the world I want other than you, Daisy my dearest, and I really believe Mother has finally accepted that fact."
Daisy's smile lit up her face, and it was quite impossible for Pearl not to throw her arms about her and nuzzle her neck slightly for that. "Fortunately, it should be a very full house indeed," she whispered in Daisy's ear with a grin, "and if a gentlehobbit should wish to have her lady's maid and personal healer quite close at hand, well, that will not cause much of a fuss, I should think."
"Not in the least," Daisy murmured, slipping her own arms about that finely clothed waist. "And as long as I am with you, my beautiful Pearl, I care not about the rest of it. The months without you are far too long; I mean to enjoy every moment we have."
"Someday, Daisy, my own love," Pearl drew back and raised a hand to her brow, gently smoothing back the reddish locks and giving her a suddenly serious look. "Someday, I swear to you. There won't be any months without me, not any more." Pearl's mouth was at once on hers, insistent and demanding, and Daisy let herself fall back onto Pearl's bed, her heart filled once more with delight.
Sam gave the chilly, slightly musty room an approving glance. The proprietor had started a fire, not too long before, but it was obvious that the room at the end of the hall deep in the hill, though not often used, was kept tidy and clean. This time of the year, half way between Yule and spring planting, was not one in which travel was common, and so the probability of having to share the two bed room was, thankfully, quite remote. He dropped their bags at the foot of the better bed, and picking up the worn woolen blanket hanging on a hook near the hearth, kept there expressly for this purpose, used it to retrieve the brick that had been warming near the embers, and wrapping it up tightly, pushed it under the covers. It wouldn't take that long to warm the bed, with two bodies in it, but it didn't hurt to have the brick give them a bit of a head start.
It wasn't long before he heard rapid footsteps coming down the hall and he smiled to himself. Frodo had politely stayed in the common room and chatted with the local populace as long as was expected, but Sam knew that the details of the East Farthing business were of breathtakingly little importance to the Master of Bag End (as he was more commonly known in these parts). This was a fact Frodo immediately confirmed as he entered the room and quickly closed the stout door firmly behind him. It was only the work of a moment before he had his arms around a willing Sam and his mouth firmly planted on his.
"Ah," Frodo sighed as he at last released Sam's gratifying lips and rested his forehead against Sam's with a smile. "I don't know why it's so very different, but when I see you across a table in a public place, with the firelight in your hair and a bit of foam on your lip, I find that it's so very nearly impossible to keep myself from leaning over and kissing it off. I would do that at home and never think twice, but when I can't, oh, Sam, how that goads and teases me so!"
"Just a bit of patience, m'dear," Sam murmured, happily tightening his embrace of Frodo, "and you can fancy it is still there. Show me, dearie, what was it again that you wished to do?"
Frodo did not wait, then, to eagerly demonstrate to him, to their mutual satisfaction. But the room was still chilly, and the fire already drawing low, and they must be on the road early again the next morning. So the bed would have to be taken as it was, still cold and slightly clammy, and in no time at all, they were huddled together under the coarse cloth and woolen blankets, still shivering slightly, and with their shirts still on. The possibility of additional travelers, after all, could not be entirely ruled out, and it was best to maintain the aura of respectability, if suddenly needed. The bed was narrower than that of Bag End's master bedroom, and there was a certain amount of readjusting required of both of them. But before the embers had entirely burnt away, Frodo was slightly on his side, his back toward the wall and away from drafts, and Sam was nestled quite close to him, his head tucked into its favorite resting place in the crook of Frodo's neck, and one of Frodo's arms draped over him.
"Brandy Hall tomorrow," Sam whispered, giving Frodo a lingering kiss at the corner of his jaw, "and your aunt to face once more. Just remember, me dear, I love you more than anything, and we'll be back to Bag End soon enough, no matter what."
"I know, dearest," Frodo murmured with a smile, his eyes dark in the guttering light as he held Sam's gaze. "Don't you fret on my account, love. She can be as nasty as she likes, it honestly hardly matters to me any more. You are my home and my family, Sam dear, and I need no-one and nothing else." He found Sam's mouth once again and kissed him tenderly. "Oh, Sam," he sighed, as they broke reluctantly apart, and Sam's settled into his embrace. "How very fortunate we are."
Bracegirdle surveyed his reflection in the looking glass prominently displayed near the entry hall of his extravagantly appointed smial. Entirely satisfactory, he concluded, rather smugly. Undeniably the form of a well-to-do gentlehobbit, with the rather stout figure that accompanied that state, but tall and commanding, nonetheless. Unquestionably the proper figure to lend an air of sanction to the coming of age of the heir of Brandy Hall. It was the least he could do for the Hall's gracious Mistress, the charmingly regal Esme Brandybuck. If there ever was a lady, he considered briefly, but no. It was better to admire from afar.
"Tom!" he raised his voice sharply, turning toward the hall where a young hobbit lad hurried toward him, heavily burdened with packs and parcels. "Really, now, you dull creature, I have no time to waste on your incompetence. Add those things to the carriage at once, and we must be off. What a fool you are, to be sure."
Tom said nothing, bowing humbly, but an observant eye would have noticed him shrink against the side of the carriage as Bracegirdle approached the door that was meekly held open for him. The gentlehobbit stopped as he was about to enter, however, and gave the very young hobbit a cool appraising look. "No," he murmured thoughtfully, very nearly to himself, "I can't abide the jouncing and rattling. There will be time, later, upon our arrival. Join the driver on the upper seat, then, boy, and don't annoy me with your sorry demeanor."
The slender young tween began to clamber up beside the driver, with undisguised relief, when Bracegirdle grabbed his arm, and hissed vehemently in his face. "A little more enthusiasm for your tasks would be advisable, lad. Do not forget what fate may yet befall your family if I am displeased with you. I expect your attentions whenever I desire them, and a little more zeal in your performance would be prudent indeed. Now out of my sight, and not a word to the driver about private matters. And inform him I expect us to arrive at Brandy Hall by nightfall, or he'll find that he will have gone all this way for naught."
"If I have to listen to Esme's condescending commiseration on the subject of our daughters one more time, my dear, I shall positively throw a fit," Eglantine Took counseled her husband sternly, as they rode a magnificent pair of ponies, side by side, on the snowy road to Buckland.
Palantin glanced at his normally mild-mannered wife with a fond smile and an undisguised twinkle in his eye. "You really should, you know," he remarked tranquilly. "Would do her a world of good. Esme needs to be put in her place from time to time, and Saradoc seems to have given up on that, as of late."
"Hmph," the Mistress of the Great Smials tried her very best to remain severe, but her husband's enjoyment at that unlikely prospect was contagious. "You may well laugh, Pal my dearest, but I swear that if she refers to Pearl once more as 'your poor unfortunate daughter', I really can't answer for myself."
Palantin chuckled at that possibility. "If she refers to Pearl in that manner within our dear daughter's hearing, you won't have to do a thing, I suspect. That delightful child, I have noticed, is quite capable of defending herself. Indeed, so capable, that I'm afraid we Tooks might find ourselves tossed out on our ears, even on such a grand occasion."
"Why, yes, Esme might do just that," Lana brightened up at the notion. "But I believe there is another issue that is concerning her far more than our daughters," she added, suddenly serious again, drawing closer to Palantin on her grey dappled pony. "It's this business with Pip, my dear. I know she tolerated his closeness to Merry as long as Merry was underage, but now that has changed. She will be looking to find a well-connected wife for him, and having an obviously infatuated lad about will not help matters."
"And what will Merry have to say about that?" Palantin cocked an eyebrow at his wife's surmise. "You are quite aware that the infatuation runs in both directions, my love. She may not find her son as biddable as she would like."
Lana sighed, and gave a worried frown. "No doubt you are quite right, but I would not be surprised if Saradoc does not come down on her side of the question, for a change. For Brandy Hall to leave Brandybuck hands is unthinkable, but without a wife, that is exactly what would happen."
Palantin stoked his pony's dark mane thoughtfully and said nothing for awhile. "You do have a point, my dear," he said gravely, at last, "and if Pip had been the older of the two, it would have been us facing that dilemma first instead of Esme and Saradoc. But I am telling you, as I would tell Esme, that the feelings between the two of them run very deep, and are not to be denied by any of the rest of us. Any wife that either should take would do well to make her peace with that fact, and never try to break that bond, for that will simply never happen."
He halted the pony then, and glanced behind them. The carriage containing their younger two daughters, as well as a few servants and a good deal of their baggage, was making its way slowly along the freshly snow-drifted road, and had fallen behind. Pearl, on her pony, was nowhere to be seen, but that was not surprising. She had taught Daisy Gamgee to ride, on Daisy's stay with them last summer, but Daisy was still a novice, and not quite able to keep up with the Tooks, who were, without exception, born to the saddle. Pearl had assured her parents that they would not fall too far behind, but that she and Daisy were going to be traveling at a more leisurely pace.
Palantin waited patiently for the rest of his company, but as they drew near, he gave his wife a wry side glance. "Sometimes I think old Bilbo had entirely the right idea," he muttered. "Love whom you will, and when you are ready, choose some likely lad for your heir. Certainly worked out well for him, and Frodo too, for that matter. All this fuss about marriage and bloodlines and property is rubbish. No matter, I was fortunate enough to find you, my dear, and never had to bother my mother at all about such nonsense. Of course, it never hurt that you were a Banks, and not at all Tookish. As a matter of fact, I rather think that helped, as far as Mother was concerned."
Eglantine beamed at him as she nudged her pony close to his and drew a gloved hand through his arm. "Aren't you a silly dear," she murmured affectionately, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "The best that we can hope for is that our children are happy, in the end, isn't it? Ah, well, I imagine all this will all sort itself out somehow."
Pippin Took gave a quick stretch, and then raised himself on his elbow, next to Merry. "I don't think I want you to grow up, Merry," he murmured, the white light that flooded the room causing his eyes to glint more green than usual. He reached out and softly pushed back a dark blonde curl from Merry's forehead as Merry lay curled under the rough blanket, smiling tenderly up at him.
"Can't be helped, Pip," he responded slowly, still smiling. "I'd rather not, of course, but I'm afraid there's no other option. It happens to the best of us. Well, maybe not to you. I can never imagine you all grown up and stodgy, my dear. That would be entirely impossible."
"I could say the same," Pippin mentioned mildly, but his hold on Merry's bare shoulder was fierce, and when he swooped down to meet Merry's lips with his, there was an intensity in his kiss that was not in his words.
"Don't worry, my darling," Merry breathed, as he and Pippin finally caught their breath, Pip in his arms once more. "I don't plan on giving you up any time soon, no matter what others may think. As long as you love me, Pip, and I love you, well, there is nothing else we need to fear."
One hand rose, to gently and soothingly stroke the side of Pippin's cheek, as the other held the younger hobbit close to him, but his gaze traveled unseeingly to the bare glass of the round window. Their haven was a small unused storeroom, high on the upper floors of Brandy Hall, and not far from Frodo's old room. Merry had furnished it, over time, with a mattress, blankets, and a feather comforter, and the fireplace still worked properly, as well. It was here they retreated when they had the need for solitude and comfort, secure in the knowledge that none of the inhabitants of Brandy Hall would ever search them out here.
With a sigh, he gave Pippin one last kiss, and pushed himself up. "They'll be wondering where I am," he muttered, reluctantly, "and I'd rather they not go looking. Your family is due tonight as well, Pip, so we both needs make our entrance. Separately, of course, though I doubt if that fools many these days."
Rising lithely from the mattress, he pulled Pippin up as well and turned to the rumpled heap that had been their clothing. "Sun's just about down," he commented, with a glance out the window. "Dinner not far off. I suppose we'd best put on our finery, because it's bound to be a massive affair. And of course, with me as the center of attention."
Pippin had been silently dressing as well, but as they were ready to leave, Merry suddenly grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and drew him into a passionate embrace. "Don't give up on me, Pip," he muttered, into Pip's ear. "I swear I won't lose you. Not ever, and not for anyone or anything."
Pip said nothing, but clutched Merry tightly, his eyes closing in heartfelt gratitude.