Chapter Thirty: Bluebell
T.A. 2903 Bag End
"Your mother would be better dead, you know," Lobelia Bracegirdle says.
"How can you say that?" Bluebell demands as she watches her curls tumble to the floor and mix with her mother's.
There wasn't enough of her father left to take his hair for the mourning jewellery. Her mother stares blankly ahead, her once beautiful hair lying in short, tight, curls. Bluebell's will be the same soon. Lobelia's mother, tuts and pushes at Bluebell's head to make her look straight.
"Your mother's mind is gone, dear," she says. "Lobelia may not have said it well, but she meant it in kindness. You can't care for her alone and she'll waste away quickly enough. No one has ever recovered from what she did. You know they left the clerics who took such actions behind during the Wandering."
"She saved me, I can't give up on her," Bluebell insists as the last curl falls to the floor. She stares at her reflection in a mirror brought in for the occasion and hardly recognises herself.
Winter is finally over; the farming hobbits have been able to encourage an early crop that has helped put some fat back on the bones of most of the surviving population of the Shire. Everyone is still too thin, though, dresses sag where they shouldn't, and crude tacks have been put into place in nearly every garment to keep them from falling down until they need to be let out again.
Bluebell's face is still far too thin, she's running herself ragged trying to take care of her mother. What the Bracegirdles don't know is that this catatonic state is an improvement. For most of the winter Belladonna has been locked in the pantry with a nest of blankets and food left twice a day. A necessity after she twice tried to kill Bluebell as she slept. The young hobbit touches her neck, though the bruises are gone now, remembering the icy fingers that woke her. Only Belladonna's fragile state had allowed her to break free and she hadn't dared to risk there being a third attempt. It's probably the real reason the clerics who tore life from other beings were left behind. Not because they had to be carefully led around and instructed to care for themselves, but because they became too dangerous to keep around.
Not that she will tell anyone her theory. Given her basis for it she hates to think what they would do to her mother. The only reason her Baggins relatives haven't removed Bluebell from the smial is the fact that they can't agree who should take her on. Whoever takes her would also assume responsibility for Belladonna since she's (as far as they are aware) Bungo's widow. Bluebell doesn't dare mention what happened in the smial that day. If she did Belladonna would be turned over to the Tooks, who are all far too distantly related to want to take care of her, and the daughter will likely find herself an orphan inside of six months.
A knock at the door interrupts Bluebell's thoughts and she sighs. It's probably Otho again. In a bid to solve the problem of who takes on Bag End the Sackville-Baggins line have taken to trying to convince Bluebell to court Otho. Never mind that she is in mourning and unapproachable until her hair reaches her shoulders, or that she won't be of age for nearly ten years.
Mrs Bracegirdle grumbles something along similar lines, but everyone knows that she wants Otho for Lobelia. Even though her majority is some way off there are those with the opinion that it is never too early to think of marriage. She rushes to the door before Mrs Bracegirdle can reach it. She wants to give Otho Sackville-Baggins a piece of her mind and isn't in the mood to be stopped by her best friend's mother. She falls into stunned silence when she sees who is on the other side of the door.
"Irak-Adad," she breathes.
She hasn't seen him for nine years but Frerin hasn't changed. The dirt of the road is thick on him and his pack is obviously heavier than she has seen in the past. It's him, however, and if anyone can take care of her and Belladonna it's this dwarf. She flings herself at him with a low cry, tears spilling from her eyes and she doesn't know if it's relief or grief.
"I came as quickly as I could, mizimith," he comforts her softly, scooping her into his arms and carrying her into the parlour where Belladonna and the Bracegirdles are waiting.
"It's you," Mrs Bracegirdle sniffs, disgust clear in her voice as she and her daughter continue to scoop hair into a bag. "Couldn't wait until Bungo was cold in his grave, could you?"
"I came because Bluebell asked me to," he replies levelly but the hobbit knows that he is taking in everything from her mother's vacant eyes and stillness to the hair that litters the floor. "What have you done?" He snarls.
"I don't know what you mean," Mrs Bracegirdle sneers. Frerin takes a step forward.
"No! Irak-Adad, stop," Bluebell interjects, remembering the value dwarves place on hair. "This is how we mourn."
"You don't have to explain to this barbarian," Mrs Bracegirdle tells her. "Give me the word and I'll send for the Bounders, dear."
"It's fine, Mrs Bracegirdle," she replies. "Let me know when the rings are ready."
The Bracegirdle matriarch's lips pinch together but she grips her daughter's arm and leads her from the smial. Bluebell watches them leave.
"Mizimith?" Frerin's voice is gentle, reminding her that she had decided to explain their ways.
"I assumed Mama had told you," she whispers. "It started during the Wandering. We didn't have the resources to make clothes for mourning, like the Men do and we don't really know what we did before. The immediate family of the dead hobbit would cut their hair and weave it into braided rings for friends and family to wear in memory and mourning. Mrs Bracegirdle should be weaving mine and Mama's with Papa's but," she swallows and takes a trembling breath. "But there wasn't enough left for even one ring."
She begins to weep again. Her grief is raw and fresh, but she hasn't been able to express it properly while alone caring for her mother and trying to hide the terrifying truth of her condition from the neighbours. Now that Frerin is here, she can. She knows that Bungo hated Frerin, just as she knows that Frerin tolerated Bungo for the sake of Belladonna. That doesn't matter. He holds her and sings softly, a song he will tell her is one of mourning among his kind. He listens silently, grief growing in his eyes as she tells him what happened and what it has done to the one he loves.
All the while Belladonna sits and stares in silence. Both miss the single tear that gathers and falls from her midnight eyes.
T.A. 2941 Mirkwood
Bluebell clings to Fili's hand as they follow the elf prince through the almost deserted corridors of Thranduil's halls. His grip is just this side of painful but after nearly ten days of separation (and with the sickness of the land teasing at the edges of her awareness) she welcomes it. It has been torturous, she thinks, to be so close to him and yet unable to seek the comfort of his arms. As relieved as she is to be with her family again, however, she dislikes this plan. Gathering their belongings before escaping seems like a waste of time, she would rather write them off as lost and get out. More than one member of the Company, however, has items of sentimental value among the weaponry and outer wear taken from them. Truthfully, Bluebell would mourn the loss of her little sword were she to abandon it. Its light enough for her to wield effectively and seems to fit in her hand as though it was made for her. Fili's throwing axes, she knows, belonged to his father, as did Kili's sword. She can understand why they might want them returned.
She feels exposed, though, and the urge to whisper the words of the Hiding is strong. She only stops herself because it has to be their last resort. They don't want even a single elf to know what the hobbits can do. They may need it later.
Fortunately, the store room where the Company's belongings have been placed is unguarded and secluded. Bluebell suspects that they didn't start here. There are a few things missing but nothing that causes much concern.
"We cannot linger," the elf, Legolas, says softly.
Bluebell doesn't like him. Something about him sets her on edge and it has nothing to do with any preconceived notions of his kind. Before this experience she had been inclined to think well of elves.
"On that we agree," Thorin mutters and he makes a couple of quick gestures at Balin and Dwalin (Iglishmek, she's seen enough of it on the journey to recognise the gestures if not the meaning).
They hurry through the corridors, the way suspiciously clear of anyone who may try to stop them. Bluebell knows she isn't the only one to have noticed, the others are muttering about it as well. Everything is going far too well, as escape plans go, so when Legolas signals for them to halt it isn't a surprise.
"The guards shouldn't be here," he hisses. Thorin grumbles something and Frerin mutters a reply which causes the King-In-Exile to look at her in question.
"He wants to know if you can make it work," Fili clarifies as he touches a finger to the charm still hidden under his clothes. She nods, although it's uncertain, the sickness in the land is less than it was deeper into the forest, and while she managed it against the spiders it was difficult and left her in an alarmingly weakened state.
"Distract your guard," Thorin growls, "we will find our own way out."
"You must wait for me," Legolas replies, "you will need me to find the safe path to Lake Town or you will end up back in the dungeons or eaten by spiders."
Thorin grunts, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, but Legolas doesn't move until he gives a short, regal, nod. As soon as the elf is gone Bluebell begins to whisper, biting back nausea as she draws from the earth beneath them. It takes several repeats before indigo light flares over the limbs of the gathered Company and she knows she won't be able to maintain it for long. There isn't enough for her to draw from, the land is dying even here. Something is tearing the life from it and without life the Blessing doesn't work.
Seeing that she has struggled, Thorin urges them all to move as quickly and silently as they can, ducking in single file past the two guards who are conversing with their prince. Bluebell leaves last, flicking the elf's finger as she passes to let him know they are done. She stops whispering behind a tree just far enough away that, so long as they are careful, the guards shouldn't catch them,
"What have your people done to this place?" She demands of Legolas as soon as the elf joins them. He's caught them up too quickly for Thorin's tastes (he had been happy to risk leaving the elf behind) but Bluebell is too sick and exhausted to move quickly. He tilts his head in confusion.
"It's like a festering wound," her mother clarifies. "Dead flesh decaying and infecting the living tissue around it. This isn't natural. My daughter is right, something has been done to this place."
"It isn't our doing," Legolas replies. "It began sometime after Thorin I abandoned Erebor and went to the Grey Mountains."
"We don't have time for this," her Adad cuts in as Thorin snarls "My people had no part in this," over him.
"Alone, no," the elf says, "but there was another race who lived at the base of the mountain and relied on yours for protection. When Erebor emptied they also left, and things began to change."
Bluebell exchanges a glance with Fili, they have both discussed the theory that there has been past contact between hobbits and dwarves. His mother's heirloom broach is proof enough of that. Her people may not be certain of where they came from or why they left but they do know that it was this side of the Misty Mountains and in response to an unknown threat. Could it actually be as simple as this? Could their people have once been this closely connected?
"Your brother is correct, however," Legolas continues. "We don't have time for this. It will not be much longer until your escape is noticed, and my involvement discovered. We are still several days from Lake Town. We must move quickly."
"Do you think you can keep up?" Fili asks softly as they pick up the pace.
Bluebell shrugs, they both know that she has to keep up or be captured once more. Legolas has given her much to think about, however, so she takes Fili's hand to allow him to guide her and sees Ori out of the corner of her eye as he comes up next to her. Kili's presence is a reassuring warmth just behind her and she sees Fili glance back at him on occasion.
"I don't trust him," Kili says in a low voice. Legolas is well in front but with elven hearing being what it is there is every chance he will hear it anyway.
"None of us do," she agrees.
The Woodland elves are not of Elrond's ilk. They cannot afford to trust this one as they did the Lord of Imladris. They can only wait and see exactly how he plans on betraying them.