Prologue

A Sort of Homecoming

Lirael curtsied as she put the four mugs down on the table and faked as sweet of smile as she could. "The Green Dragon thanks you, sirs." The four completely wasted hobbits grinned and raised their tankards to the ceiling in reply. They laughed drunkenly and broke out into another bawdy song as Lirael turned and walked away. She snarled under her breath as yet another drunken farmer accidentally elbowed her in the ribs. He slurred something of an apology and she smiled sweetly and helped him back into his seat.

"Stupid git." She muttered as she went behind the bar and grabbed a washcloth. As she leaned over the bucket, which held the water and rags, she felt something pull out in her back. Lirael gasped and stood up sharply, rubbing her lower back. She knew all this work couldn't be good for her; the hours of serving at the Green Dragon were beginning to take their toll. Every time she lay down, she could feel an aching pain at the base of her spine from the mopping, scrubbing, and the carrying of the heavy tankards.

Filpert Hornsblower, the owner of the tavern, came behind the counter to fetch another tankard. He stopped and looked at the pained expression on her face. "Everything alright then, Lirael? You're far too young to be having back pain." She heard him laugh of the noise of the crowded establishment. "Why, only old hobbits like I should be feeling those aches." Lirael blushed and lowered her head. "Sorry, Filpert. I'll get back to work." "What?!" He leaned forward, unable to hear her quiet reply. "I'll get BACK to WORK!" She yelled. He nodded approvingly and walked with two full tankards to a table.

Lirael cursed herself for being caught scrimping her duties. She knew he was only being kind, but it still bothered her. After all, if it was up to her, Lirael knew the Green Dragon was one of the last places she'd choose to be. Surrounded by drunk, noisy, old farmers at all hours of the night was not exactly her cup of tea. She laughed to herself as she pulled a rag out of the bucket. Then again, Lirael knew she'd deal with all of this is only he was here. A blush rose in Lirael's ivory face as she thought of him. However, as the thought of him warmed her body, it came with a stab of pain as well.

No, she told herself, things would be far worse if Lotho was here. The first time she had excused as an accident and the next few times as simply drunkenness, but she knew it wasn't true. Lotho Sackville-Baggins somehow ended up falling or tripping when she came near, resting his hands were he shouldn't in order "to get his balance back." She shivered as she thought of how she could sense the approval in his eyes when she walked past and the weight of his gaze on her back. Yes, when Lotho was around work was far, far worse.

Lirael rubbed her temples and pushed her raven hair out of her face and told herself to focus on her job, but remarked to herself how ironic the whole thing was. She used to look forward to coming to work to spend more time with him and at the same time Lotho watched her every move. No, he and Lotho were nothing alike. She snapped back into reality and mentally scolded herself. Her family needed the money and thinking of him at a time like this would do no good. She walked briskly over to a table in the far corner of the tavern and began to scrub. Over by one of the tables was Rosie Cotton, her loveliness seeming to fill the tavern. Rosie worked there as well, but Lirael never talked to her much. They were far too different.

Lirael laughed as she mentally compared herself with Rosie. In all aspects, they were complete opposites. Where Rosie was friendly and outgoing, Lirael was quiet and shy. Rosie was beautiful, too, in the ideal hobbit sense of the word at least. She was golden with rosy cheeks, achingly blue eyes, and the most perfect blonde curls imaginable. Lirael knew she was none of these.

For as long as she could remember, she has been teased about her looks. It was more than teasing, though. At least people made fun of you to your face, she thought. No, the rumors about Lirael were the sort that were to be whispered and never brought up in polite company, which made them far more painful. While no one had ever mentioned them to her face, she had noticed the side looks and the quiet conversations as that seemed to stop as soon as she came near.

The anger inside of her was stirred and she scrubbed harder at the stains left by the ale. The problem was that she looked nothing like her parents; in fact, like any of the other hobbits. She had ivory skin and dark red lips with high cheekbones, nothing like the freckled, round faces all the other hobbits seemed to have. However, although she would never admit it, Lirael did have a few small freckles over the bridge of her nose that she was quite proud of. Her face was framed by long, raven black hair in which not a curl was to be seen. Also, she didn't have the curvy figures so many of the male hobbits seemed to admire. Lirael was quite thin, thin enough that her collarbones stood out against her shoulders and her shoulder blades could be detected underneath her dress. Lirael had never thought it to be an unhealthy skinny as her parents complained, she simply felt that was the body she had been born with.

But perhaps the thing that most disturbed the majority of the hobbits were her piercing eyes, a swirl of violet and grey, beneath long eyelashes. From the day of her birth, word has quietly spread that perhaps she was a faerie child, something of the elves that lived afar. While nobody really believed this, she was still odd enough that people had never known what to say in her presence. Because of this, Lirael had grown up a very lonely child with only one real friend, until that one fateful day.

Tears sparked up in Lirael's eyes as she thought of her friends and how much she longed for them. No one in the Shire knew of what had become of them, except that Gandalf had been the one to stir up the trouble in the first place. It had been over a year, thirteen months to be precise, since Lirael had seen them. She bit back the tears and stared down at the table, which had been scrubbed clean ages ago. She stopped scrubbing and breathed deeply.

Lirael sighed and happened to glance over at Rosie Cotton. She gasped as she stared at whom she was talking to. It couldn't be. Lirael stood up in a daze and began to walk towards them, making sure the yellowed light of the tavern wasn't playing tricks on her eyes. She was stared so intently at the hobbit Rosie was talking to that she accidentally stumbled into a farmer who was carrying a huge pumpkin. She tripped over herself and spun around, knocking two tankards out of someone's hands.

Lirael didn't even look up. She immediately began to apologize and grabbed the fallen tankards. "I'm so sorry. I'm so clumsy. I'll make sure that you get another…" To her surprise, the person standing above her began to laugh. Lirael righted herself with the pints in hand and nearly dropped them again as she saw who it was.

"Surprise?" He offered. Her eyes widened and her eyebrows rose in disbelief. "Merry?" Sure enough, Meriadoc Brandybuck stood in front of her, grinning. "Good to see you, Lir. Have you been good while I'll been away?" Lirael laughed with joy and threw down the tankards on a table. She threw her arms around his neck and he returned the embrace. After a few seconds, she pulled back and looked at him, her face shining with happiness. "It's been an entire year, Merry! Where have you been? What have you been.." He interrupted her by laughing. "Honestly, Lir. The story takes hours and quite frankly, as Frodo'll tell you, it's rather dull."

"Frodo? Frodo's back, too?" Merry nodded and pointed to a corner table. "And I trust you've seen Sam chatting up Rosie. Took all the forces of Mordor to him to get the courage, you know." Of course, Lirael had no idea what he was talking about, but she was so blindly happy she made no notice of it. Lirael made a start for Frodo, but Merry stepped in her way. "I'd hold on a sec, Lir. I think there's somebody else to see you first." He looked over her shoulder and she began to turn around, but a hand came over her eyes and she stopped, confused. "What the?" The hands over her eyes guided her back to where she had been standing before.

"Guess who?" With those two words, Lirael stopped breathing. She searched for something to say, but was unable to and just stood, feeling the tickle of his breath at her neck. She knew that voice. A tidal wave of emotions that Lirael had been trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress for the past thirteen months, and in fact the past ten years, rushed through her. After a long pause, Lirael whispered, feeling her mouth slowly forming his name. The name of the hobbit she had secretly and deeply loved for as long as she could remember. "Pippin."