"I am not as closely related to Peregrin as I should be," Maylily began.
"Papa adopted me when I was only very small. He is really my uncle; my
mother was his wife's sister. Mama - that is, my aunt - was Iris Proudfoot
before she married Adelard Took; her sister Violet Proudfoot, my mother,
married a North-took from Long Cleeve. I was their only child.
"My mother died in childbirth when I was only a babe, taking a brother of mine with her; and my father, Everard, raised me till I could walk and talk. But when I was still just a small child, my father was killed.
"He had gone into Bree, you see, leaving me at home with Peregrin and his family. When he was there he was mistaken for one of the Bree-land thieves that roam the village in the winters - he was tall for a hobbit, being descended from Bandobras Bullroarer. Three men attacked him on his way out of the gates. He made it back home on his pony, but died in bed a few days later.
"The last time I saw him was the night before he died. He called me over to his bedside and touched my hair. Then he handed me these." She toyed with the white beads around her neck. "They had been my mother's." Frodo had a sudden image of Maylily weeping over her father, and the thought shook him to the core.
"He said I should have them," Maylily went on. "I was still so small that at first I refused to take them, because I still thought of them as my mother's. But he insisted, and finally Adelard tied them around my neck. I've never taken them off since.
"They buried him back in Long Cleeve, next to my mother and brother. Uncle Adelard became my father then, and when aunt Iris had a son that year she named him Everard.
"Now I have dreams sometimes about the men who murdered my father. They come back for the necklace, which is all I have to remember my parents by. Mostly my sister Daisy wakes me up. I'm sorry if I woke you." She looked down and buried her nose in her cup, and Frodo saw she was crying.
He shook his head slowly. "Don't apologize, Maylily. I would much rather be woken than leave you alone and sad."
Those great dark eyes looked at him, and a tear slipped slowly over the freckles on her cheek. Frodo stood and inched toward her, then knelt and tentatively brushed the teardrop away with his knuckle.
She laughed shyly, her gaze in her lap. He slid his hand down her cheek and under her chin, raising her face until their eyes met. Gently, Frodo leaned forward and touched his lips to hers.
They kissed softly, both nervous, but as the kiss went on the nervousness melted away. Frodo had noticed a shy eagerness about Maylily in the Green Dragon; now, as her rosebud mouth moved over his own chapped, windbeaten lips, he sensed that same eagerness once more, veiled by a bashfulness that was all the more endearing. Her small hands tangled in his black hair, cupping the back of his neck, and yet the pressure on his mouth was no more than a breath of air.
He drew away reluctantly and looked at her again, checking to see her reaction. She smiled faintly. "Aye, Merry was right, I see," she said.
Frodo's face made a question. Maylily covered her smile with her hand.
"'It's them big blue eyes, Maylily,' he said. 'He'll rope you in, aye, and never let you go.' Looks like he was right."
Frodo's mouth curved up in a long grin. "If you fell for these blue eyes, those brown ones of yours did the same thing to me."
Maylily leaned forward and kissed him again. This time they both expected it, and could savor the touch of each other's skin, their smell, their taste. Frodo slid his lips from her mouth to her cheek; he kissed her eyes, her nose, her dainty ears. She giggled. "That tickles."
Frodo lifted Maylily from the chair and moved her over, then sat down beside her. She cuddled against his chest; his arm went around her shoulders, his lips to her hair. "Maylily, what you said before - I know what you mean. When I was a boy my parents drowned in the Brandywine, and I have almost no memory of them. Aye, you're lucky, to have such a treasure as that necklace."
"What were their names?" said Maylily sleepily.
"Drogo and Primula Baggins. My mother was a Brandybuck."
"Primula Brandybuck. It's pretty." Maylily snuggled down under the blanket. "Thank you, Frodo. If you want to go back to bed, I shan't keep you."
Frodo looked at her, her face glowing red from the dying fire. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll stay here. Although once you're sleeping I'll have to creep off to my own bed, unless you want Pip and Merry spreading this all over the Shire."
Maylily's smile was radiant. "Please stay with me."
Frodo drew the blanket over her, then rose and put another log on the fire, so it flared into life. He settled back down again, holding Maylily until she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. He checked the clock on the mantelpiece: it was quarter past three. He reached for a pillow and placed it under Maylily's head as he eased out of the chair, then kissed her on the cheek before tiptoeing back to his room.
"My mother died in childbirth when I was only a babe, taking a brother of mine with her; and my father, Everard, raised me till I could walk and talk. But when I was still just a small child, my father was killed.
"He had gone into Bree, you see, leaving me at home with Peregrin and his family. When he was there he was mistaken for one of the Bree-land thieves that roam the village in the winters - he was tall for a hobbit, being descended from Bandobras Bullroarer. Three men attacked him on his way out of the gates. He made it back home on his pony, but died in bed a few days later.
"The last time I saw him was the night before he died. He called me over to his bedside and touched my hair. Then he handed me these." She toyed with the white beads around her neck. "They had been my mother's." Frodo had a sudden image of Maylily weeping over her father, and the thought shook him to the core.
"He said I should have them," Maylily went on. "I was still so small that at first I refused to take them, because I still thought of them as my mother's. But he insisted, and finally Adelard tied them around my neck. I've never taken them off since.
"They buried him back in Long Cleeve, next to my mother and brother. Uncle Adelard became my father then, and when aunt Iris had a son that year she named him Everard.
"Now I have dreams sometimes about the men who murdered my father. They come back for the necklace, which is all I have to remember my parents by. Mostly my sister Daisy wakes me up. I'm sorry if I woke you." She looked down and buried her nose in her cup, and Frodo saw she was crying.
He shook his head slowly. "Don't apologize, Maylily. I would much rather be woken than leave you alone and sad."
Those great dark eyes looked at him, and a tear slipped slowly over the freckles on her cheek. Frodo stood and inched toward her, then knelt and tentatively brushed the teardrop away with his knuckle.
She laughed shyly, her gaze in her lap. He slid his hand down her cheek and under her chin, raising her face until their eyes met. Gently, Frodo leaned forward and touched his lips to hers.
They kissed softly, both nervous, but as the kiss went on the nervousness melted away. Frodo had noticed a shy eagerness about Maylily in the Green Dragon; now, as her rosebud mouth moved over his own chapped, windbeaten lips, he sensed that same eagerness once more, veiled by a bashfulness that was all the more endearing. Her small hands tangled in his black hair, cupping the back of his neck, and yet the pressure on his mouth was no more than a breath of air.
He drew away reluctantly and looked at her again, checking to see her reaction. She smiled faintly. "Aye, Merry was right, I see," she said.
Frodo's face made a question. Maylily covered her smile with her hand.
"'It's them big blue eyes, Maylily,' he said. 'He'll rope you in, aye, and never let you go.' Looks like he was right."
Frodo's mouth curved up in a long grin. "If you fell for these blue eyes, those brown ones of yours did the same thing to me."
Maylily leaned forward and kissed him again. This time they both expected it, and could savor the touch of each other's skin, their smell, their taste. Frodo slid his lips from her mouth to her cheek; he kissed her eyes, her nose, her dainty ears. She giggled. "That tickles."
Frodo lifted Maylily from the chair and moved her over, then sat down beside her. She cuddled against his chest; his arm went around her shoulders, his lips to her hair. "Maylily, what you said before - I know what you mean. When I was a boy my parents drowned in the Brandywine, and I have almost no memory of them. Aye, you're lucky, to have such a treasure as that necklace."
"What were their names?" said Maylily sleepily.
"Drogo and Primula Baggins. My mother was a Brandybuck."
"Primula Brandybuck. It's pretty." Maylily snuggled down under the blanket. "Thank you, Frodo. If you want to go back to bed, I shan't keep you."
Frodo looked at her, her face glowing red from the dying fire. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll stay here. Although once you're sleeping I'll have to creep off to my own bed, unless you want Pip and Merry spreading this all over the Shire."
Maylily's smile was radiant. "Please stay with me."
Frodo drew the blanket over her, then rose and put another log on the fire, so it flared into life. He settled back down again, holding Maylily until she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. He checked the clock on the mantelpiece: it was quarter past three. He reached for a pillow and placed it under Maylily's head as he eased out of the chair, then kissed her on the cheek before tiptoeing back to his room.