Chapter 2

"I can't believe we leave tomorrow. I almost thought it would never happen…"

"Chin up, Diamond, it's not the end of the world. Does this stitch look all right to you?"

"Mmm."

Laurel set down her embroidery and glanced at her friend. Diamond's hands lay idle, not a single stitch on her cloth. She was staring into the fireplace, watching the smoldering fire crackle and glow red. She looked eerie in the light‑ half her face awash in the orange of the lantern light, the other dark red from the glow of the coals.

"Diamond?"

Diamond looked up. "What is it, Laurel?"

"You're doing it again."

Diamond sighed and picked up her needle and thread and held it ready to embroider the fabric in her lap. "I know it's silly, letting my mind wander, but I can't help it. I can't keep all the silly what‑ifs out of my head."

"Diamond, please, stop being so anxious about everything. You'll put yourself into nervous fits again, like you did when you moved from that old hole to this new place."

Diamond nodded and began her sewing, paying hardly any attention to her task. "What do you reckon Tookland's like, Laurel?"

Laurel shrugged. "Not much different from the rest of the Shire, I'll wager. It's all the same wherever you go, Diamond‑ hills and grass and streams and farms as far as you can see. And speaking of that, I would dearly love to see the sea. Wouldn't you?"

Diamond shook her head, sending her red‑brown curls dancing. "No, I'd frightened to death of it. Water as far as you can see and then some- not for me. I like good solid earth far better than flighty ocean waves."

"But you're so much like them…"

Diamond looked up sharply, head cocked to one side as she considered her long‑time friend. "What on earth do you mean, Laurel Honeycutt?"

"Well…" Laurel gestured vaguely. "You're moody, you switch tracks at the drop of a hat, you're awfully anxious, like some old spinster. I don't think you where ever really a child, Diamond, you're always worrying about tomorrow."

"I do not!"

"Yes you do, Diamond. Don't argue that point, every hobbit lad and lass in Long‑Cleave will back me up. Now hurry up with that napkin border, we still have these three left to do."

"Mmm." Diamond returned to her embroidery and cast her friend's words from her thoughts. It was unimportant if she was flighty, what was important was getting to the Great Smials without having a nervous breakdown.

"I know you're awful frightened, but what if this Peregrine person ends up being straight out of your dreams?" asked Laurel suddenly, her eyes distant. "What if, through some weird twist of fate, you've been paired with the hobbit you're destined to be with?"

Diamond laughed bitterly. "Then I'll be very surprised."

* * *

"That's a raw deal if I ever heard one," Sam commented, puffing away on his pipe and sending smoke rings about his red hair. "Even if it's the fiftieth time I've heard it."

Laughter rippled through the dim, smoky inn. Of those chuckling, Merry was loudest, but was halted but a quick glare from Pippin.

"I suppose you find that very funny."

"Of course we do," said the Gaffer from his table a few feet away. "Buck up, lad, your folks ain't hard enough to put you with some ugly wench now, are they?"

"You don't know that," said Pippin, gesturing with his half‑empty tankard. "Father cares more about the politics of the thing than how I feel about being wed to a stranger."

"That's true," said Merry, chewing thoughtfully on the mouthpiece of his pipe. "But sitting here hashing it out more often than Sam weeds‑"

"Hey!"

"‑doesn't do beans," said Merry, ignoring Samwise's interruption. "Let's change the subject, eh?"

"Amen to that!" said the barkeep fervently.

"Taters doing uncommon well this year," said the Gaffer, and everyone except Samwise groaned. Hamfest Gamgee never talked about anything except his gardening.

At that point everyone broke off into their own conversations. Sam‑for once in his life‑declined to discuss plants with his father and instead crossed the room to sit at Pippin and Merry's table.

"Holding up all right?" he asked conversationally. Pippin laughed darkly into his ale‑the third tankard he'd had that night‑ and Merry shrugged.

"As well as can be expected, considering this deadweight takes pleasure in my company." He gave his cousin's shoulder a poke for emphasis.

"Very funny, Merry. What about you, Sam? Rose and the little'uns doing all right?"

"Sure are," said Sam. "All three and a half of them."

"I heard something about that," said Merry, waving his pipe at Sam. "Are you trying to pack as many children as you can into as short a time period as possible?"

Sam flushed and took a deep swig to hide it. When he set down his mug, he shook his head. "No. It just... happens."

Pippin giggled. Merry could see a series of dirty jokes on the horizon, but with impeccable timing the inn's door flew open and seven‑year‑old Elanor came running in.

"Papa, Mum's says it's late and you need to get home!" Elanor gasped, her blonde curls tangled, her dress dirty, dirt smudged on her face. Sam stood, laughing at his daughter's breathless entrance, and swung her onto his back. "We'd best be going. Good‑bye, then." He waved to the inn in general, then exited with more than a little relief.

"You'd almost think he planned that," Merry snorted. Pippin nodded.

"Almost," he agreed. "Wish I had a convenient excuse to get out of trouble." He studied the interior of his tankard. "I should leave, before I get entirely too happy." He grinned stupidly.

Merry gave his cousin the fish‑eye and nodded. "Uh, yeah, I would say so. Let's go, then." Merry tossed a handful of coins on the table to cover their bill, then helped Pippin out of the inn. The sandy‑haired hobbit was rather unsteady on his feet.

"You're a bit anxious about this marriage, aren't you?" asked Merry as the pair wobbled their way down the dirt road towards Bywater.

"I should think so," said Pippin, and promptly fell down.

* * *

"Have you packed everything?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Is it all on the cart?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Did your father hitch up the ponies?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Is Laurel ready to leave?"

"Yes, Mother."

"I think that's all..."

Diamond folded her arms and shook her head, watching Sage drift about Diamond's bedroom looking for something left behind. The only of Diamond's possessions being left was her collection of dolls, for the obvious reason that a married hobbit‑woman didn't own such frivolity.

"Mother, we're going to be extremely late. It takes two days to get there, we'd best leave," said Diamond, fighting down her own anxiety in the face of her mother's flighty nervousness.

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Sage gave the stripped room one last glance, then hurried down the hall with Diamond trailing close behind. In short order they had left the smial and were above ground. Sage climbed onto the front seat with Tiberius, and Diamond sat on a pile of bedding in the back with Laurel and all their things.

"You're on your way to whole new life," said Laurel as the ponies began trotting down the road towards Tookland. Diamond sighed, watching the familiar landscape of her home vanish from view.

"Don't remind me."