Two: The Address
"Eowyn of Brandy Hall,
Bucklebury,
Buckland."
To be precise, Brandy Hall was not in Bucklebury, but the post office was, so letters were addressed there.
And to be precise, Eowyn always made clear that her name was Brandybuck. Until now. She opened the letter with a finger, for she had lost her penknife again. The letter read:
"August the seventeenth,
Prancing Pony Inn,
Bree Village
To Eowyn, my dearest:
I arrived here yesterday, safe and dry, for the rain started only after I got a roof over me. A high roof at that, for I chose to enter the famous Prancing Pony. The beer is good but I have been careful not to drink too much. I must make a good impression if I wish to get a job. One of the Big People offered me a position in his household, mainly herding goats and milking them, and looking after a few hens. But I have not decided yet, for his smallholding is near Archet where there are hardly any hobbits. I would prefer a job here at Bree, for the village looks splendid and the travellers interesting. Combe would also be all right, hobbit-sized as it is. I have even asked the innkeeper, Brandon of the famous Butterbur family, if there is any need for a helping hand right here. It would be ideal, but he hasn't decided yet. I think he is measuring me up to a standard. I have told everyone my name is Marron Maggot, just like Grandma Maggot advised. People have heard of Lily here, and I know some have connected me to her. I will not correct them, if they think her baby was a boy. Tell me if you would like me do otherwise.
I miss you, as my dearest friend, as the one person I love. I send this message with anyone whom I can trust not to open the seal. Eowyn, if you can, write to me. I promise I will keep writing letters. I could never forget you. Although I write about living among hobbits, I have no intention of marrying a breelander. The medallion of Esmeralda Brandybuck will go with me to my grave, even if I never see you again. If so, it will be a lonely grave.
Yours, with everlasting love
Marron."
Eowyn wiped her tears. Then she went to the oil lamp, took it down from its hook, lifted the glass, and slowly let the letter touch the fire. It burned, until the fire touched her fingers. Then it went out. There was ash on the table, and a tiny white corner of paper in her hand. She carefully replaced the lamp, wiped the ashes and carried them into the fireplace. Then she took the piece of paper and put it between the diary she kept under her mattress. She would remember the letter, word to word. To her grave.