A whirling shape crashed down between them and hoisted Frodo to his feet.
"Come on, Frodo!" shouted Pippin. "Dance!"
Next moment Frodo found himself in a spinning ring of dancers, all cheering Sandyman the fiddler in the center. Merry leapt into the middle and jigged furiously, his feet a brown blur that made the floorboards shake. Through the crowd Frodo glimpsed his seat on the bench, and Maylily's equally empty place. He looked around wildly but saw her nowhere.
Pippin's high whistle pierced the music, and Frodo spun around to the center. Maylily was there, dancing faster than Merry had been. Her cheeks, red from drink and exertion, were rounder than apples as she laughed. Her hands clutched her skirts and lifted them above her shins, showing small feet flocked with silky brown curls. The fiddle music quickened, and with a shriek of delight Maylily quickened her pace to meet it. Finally, with a last flourish, Sandyman bowed out. "You've beaten me, lassie - I can't go any faster'n that!"
Pippin whooped and grabbed his cousin, standing her on the table and setting a wreath of violets on her head. "Ladies and gentlehobbits, Maylily Took - the finest dancer in the Shire!"
Maylily blushed and curtsied, catching Frodo's eye. He lifted his hands above the heads of the crowd and clapped, beaming at her. She threw back her head in a full-throated laugh, her long curls flying over her shoulders. Her cap was askew, her apron rumpled, but Frodo was mesmerized.
As the crowd began to disperse, Pippen lifted Maylily down - "Here, Frodo! Catch!" - and tossed her suddenly to Frodo. He caught her around the waist, turning red as she half-fell against him, and set her on those delicate feet. She looked at him, and her smile faded as she saw the expression on his face. "Why, Frodo," she said, "you're all quiet."
Her gaze traveled downward, and too late he remembered his hands still rested on her hips. He snatched them away, his face burning now, and looked for a second towards the bar, praying Pip and Merry weren't watching him.
When he turned back he saw Maylily talking to Merry. Pippin elbowed his way through the crowd, weaving a little unsteadily. "Frodo! One more for the road, then me'n'Merry are takin' this lass home."
"All the way back to Tuckborough? It's forty miles-by pony it'll take you an hour!"
"Well, we've nowhere else to go, do we? Unless we stop over at Bag End," Pippin chuckled.
"Why, then," said Frodo slowly, shocked at the idea that had occurred to him, "come for the night. It's my birthday, after all."
~*~
Frodo lay awake that night, tossing in his sheets like a thing possessed. They'd stayed up fairly late, smoking and talking, and turned in around two. Pippin and Merry had the spare-room, and Maylily had curled up by the fire in the sitting-room, only too happy to doze off in one of the cushioned wicker chairs. Every time Frodo got nearer to sleep her eyes would appear in his mind, jolting him awake. Finally he could stand it no longer.
He padded down the hall to the entrance-way with the round green door and turned right, into the sitting room. The embers glowed faintly, casting a murky light over the small figure in the basket chair.
Frodo took a step closer. The red blanket hid her small body but not her face; sleeping on her side, she had tucked a hand underneath her head. Her white shift peeked out from the blanket's hem, and a few toes were visible elsewhere. Frodo gently pulled the blanket down to cover them. Then, slowly, he brushed a curl back from her face and tucked it behind her ear.
Maylily stirred and Frodo froze in panic; as she settled down again she murmured in her sleep. "No. no, that's not mine. no, stop! Leave me alone!" She began to struggle with the blanket, her voice rising in volume. Frodo dropped to his knees and grasped her shoulders, shaking her as gently as he could. "Maylily! Maylily, wake up!"
Her eyes flew open and she sat up, breathing hard. Frodo stared at her, in concern as much as in wonder. Hobbits were never bred for beauty - most were round, sturdy little folk - but Maylily was delicate in a way that belied her strength, and she wriggled under his hands, striving to break free, before she realized who he was.
"Frodo!"
"What happened? Don't worry, Maylily, it was just a dream-" He saw she was fighting back tears. "Here, I'll make us some tea."
Ten minutes later Frodo carried out two mugs of raspberry-leaf tea to the sitting room. Maylily was hunched over in the blanket, sitting in the center of the basket chair. Frodo handed her a steaming cup.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Frodo settled himself in one of the overstuffed chairs. "Maylily, if there's anything I can do for you-"
"Will you listen to my story?" Maylily said in a soft voice.
Frodo drew a deep breath. "Anything. I will do anything."
Next moment Frodo found himself in a spinning ring of dancers, all cheering Sandyman the fiddler in the center. Merry leapt into the middle and jigged furiously, his feet a brown blur that made the floorboards shake. Through the crowd Frodo glimpsed his seat on the bench, and Maylily's equally empty place. He looked around wildly but saw her nowhere.
Pippin's high whistle pierced the music, and Frodo spun around to the center. Maylily was there, dancing faster than Merry had been. Her cheeks, red from drink and exertion, were rounder than apples as she laughed. Her hands clutched her skirts and lifted them above her shins, showing small feet flocked with silky brown curls. The fiddle music quickened, and with a shriek of delight Maylily quickened her pace to meet it. Finally, with a last flourish, Sandyman bowed out. "You've beaten me, lassie - I can't go any faster'n that!"
Pippin whooped and grabbed his cousin, standing her on the table and setting a wreath of violets on her head. "Ladies and gentlehobbits, Maylily Took - the finest dancer in the Shire!"
Maylily blushed and curtsied, catching Frodo's eye. He lifted his hands above the heads of the crowd and clapped, beaming at her. She threw back her head in a full-throated laugh, her long curls flying over her shoulders. Her cap was askew, her apron rumpled, but Frodo was mesmerized.
As the crowd began to disperse, Pippen lifted Maylily down - "Here, Frodo! Catch!" - and tossed her suddenly to Frodo. He caught her around the waist, turning red as she half-fell against him, and set her on those delicate feet. She looked at him, and her smile faded as she saw the expression on his face. "Why, Frodo," she said, "you're all quiet."
Her gaze traveled downward, and too late he remembered his hands still rested on her hips. He snatched them away, his face burning now, and looked for a second towards the bar, praying Pip and Merry weren't watching him.
When he turned back he saw Maylily talking to Merry. Pippin elbowed his way through the crowd, weaving a little unsteadily. "Frodo! One more for the road, then me'n'Merry are takin' this lass home."
"All the way back to Tuckborough? It's forty miles-by pony it'll take you an hour!"
"Well, we've nowhere else to go, do we? Unless we stop over at Bag End," Pippin chuckled.
"Why, then," said Frodo slowly, shocked at the idea that had occurred to him, "come for the night. It's my birthday, after all."
~*~
Frodo lay awake that night, tossing in his sheets like a thing possessed. They'd stayed up fairly late, smoking and talking, and turned in around two. Pippin and Merry had the spare-room, and Maylily had curled up by the fire in the sitting-room, only too happy to doze off in one of the cushioned wicker chairs. Every time Frodo got nearer to sleep her eyes would appear in his mind, jolting him awake. Finally he could stand it no longer.
He padded down the hall to the entrance-way with the round green door and turned right, into the sitting room. The embers glowed faintly, casting a murky light over the small figure in the basket chair.
Frodo took a step closer. The red blanket hid her small body but not her face; sleeping on her side, she had tucked a hand underneath her head. Her white shift peeked out from the blanket's hem, and a few toes were visible elsewhere. Frodo gently pulled the blanket down to cover them. Then, slowly, he brushed a curl back from her face and tucked it behind her ear.
Maylily stirred and Frodo froze in panic; as she settled down again she murmured in her sleep. "No. no, that's not mine. no, stop! Leave me alone!" She began to struggle with the blanket, her voice rising in volume. Frodo dropped to his knees and grasped her shoulders, shaking her as gently as he could. "Maylily! Maylily, wake up!"
Her eyes flew open and she sat up, breathing hard. Frodo stared at her, in concern as much as in wonder. Hobbits were never bred for beauty - most were round, sturdy little folk - but Maylily was delicate in a way that belied her strength, and she wriggled under his hands, striving to break free, before she realized who he was.
"Frodo!"
"What happened? Don't worry, Maylily, it was just a dream-" He saw she was fighting back tears. "Here, I'll make us some tea."
Ten minutes later Frodo carried out two mugs of raspberry-leaf tea to the sitting room. Maylily was hunched over in the blanket, sitting in the center of the basket chair. Frodo handed her a steaming cup.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Frodo settled himself in one of the overstuffed chairs. "Maylily, if there's anything I can do for you-"
"Will you listen to my story?" Maylily said in a soft voice.
Frodo drew a deep breath. "Anything. I will do anything."