Chapter Four
"Pippin, you up for a bit of mischief?"
Pippin rolled his head back and gave Merry a look that said plainly, "stupid question." "Merry, my parents will have me publicly drawn and quartered if I do anything to make the Tooks look like a rabble of blithering idiots."
Merry grinned crookedly and was about to make a less than flattering remark, but Pippin gave his cousin a mild kick in the knee. "Don't bring all that up, Merry, it's extremely ancient history."
"If you insist. Got any more leaf?"
Pippin produced a small leather sack from his pocket. Merry took it and fished some leaves out, stuffed them in the bowl of his pipe, and lit it with a nearby candle. He then sat next to Pippin on the bench, puffing away at his pipe (again.)
"You smoke enough weed for five other hobbits," said Pippin, shaking the ash out of his own pipe. "Always walking about with a pipe in your hand and smoke hanging around your head like a gray halo."
"Aye," Merry agreed amiably. "And you smoke only when either stressed or nervous, and I know you're both at the moment. Want to talk?" He blew a rather wobbly smoke ring and watched it float away over the quasi‑dignified crowd of dressed‑up hobbits.
Pippin shook his head and stuck his pipe in his pocket. "Not with a great crowd of strangers around us. But Merry, this is the greatest bunch of fraudulence I've ever seen."
"How so?"
"Everyone here wants to be somewhere else, and only stay out of politeness, which is silly because no one wants to stay anyway, but for the pastries. And all the out‑of‑towners are high‑strung, it's not a fun party." Pippin gestured at the tense gathering vaguely.
Merry leaned back and shrugged. "Maybe so, but I think you're seeing what you feel in everyone else rather than the truth."
"You're getting far too insightful, it's scaring me." Pippin chewed nervously on his thumbnail, then sighed. "See that russet‑haired lass there? In the green dress?"
"Aye."
"I'm supposed to marry her in three days' time. I don't even know her. How did that work out?" Pippin cocked his head to one side thoughtfully, as if pondering the mysteries of the universe.
Merry shrugged, gnawing on his pipe‑stem. "One thing led to another, I suppose. But there's no way out of it now. Get to know her, at least‑ you'll know what to expect to some extent when you and her jump the broom."
Pippin growled and shoved Merry off the bench with a thump. "Shut up. You're being a great big annoyance."
"Look at yourself!" Merry retorted, standing up and rubbing his bottom, then examining his now‑spilled pipe bowl with a frown. "Calm down."
Thoroughly annoyed, Pippin stood and stalked off in the general direction of the ale barrels.
* * *
"Mother, can I go? Please? I have a frightful headache," said Diamond, desperately wanting a way out of this mental torture.
"You've been here a scant half‑hour," Sage whispered back. "When an hour is spent you may go back into the smial."
Diamond rolled her eyes and stomped away, looking highly unladylike. Not that she cared at this point. All she wanted was to escape. Perhaps to Lothlorien, or maybe Mirkwood. She was so desperate she would ever consider Mordor as a future homestead, so long as she was single when she got there. And no one holding any sort of betrothal agreement within a hundred miles.
"Diamond, are you all right? You look ill," said Laurel, appearing at her friend's right elbow. Laurel was like a bloodhound when it came to emotional distress.
"I want out of this place," Diamond whispered, shaking her head. "I've suddenly found that I can't stand the Shire."
Laurel's brows knitted in concern. "Surely you don't mean that, Diamond. Of course it's not what it used to be‑ the trees are all saplings, there are more graves than there ought, but it's not terrible. Why this sudden wanderlust?"
Diamond laughed, but not pleasantly. "I don't want to be tied to a hobbit I don't even know. Besides, you know me‑ I want to do something and not have my family breathing down my neck like vultures. I want freedom, and I don't expect I shall ever get it."
Laurel watched Diamond with some concern. Diamond was moody, true, she could swing from giddy to angry to depressed in the time it took most people to decide between water or milk to drink. But something this extreme Laurel had never seen‑ or maybe Diamond just never let her.
"Perhaps you should retire," said Laurel mildly. "I'll explain to your mum, don't worry. Go and take a bath or something."
Diamond gave her friend a grateful look, then hitched up her skirts and ran towards the Great Smials, desiring nothing more than silence and a good book.
"OOF!"
"Ow!"
Diamond suddenly found herself flat on her back, staring in shock at the night sky. What on earth...?
"I'm dreadfully sorry..."
Diamond pushed herself up on her elbows. When she recognized the hobbit she had gone crashing into, who was climbing to his feet not a foot away, she flushed tomato‑red.
"Let help you up." Pippin extended a hand to the flustered lass on the ground. He couldn't make out her face here, beyond the firelight. She grasped his hand and he pulled her to her feet.
"Thank you," said Diamond softly, brushing dirt from her skirts. Of all the people I could have run into...
"I'm sorry, it was my fault," said Pippin. "Where were you going?"
Diamond kept her gaze firmly on the ground. "My room in the smial," she replied.
"I'll escort you there if you like. I'm headed there myself."
Panic swelled in Diamond's chest, but she shoved it down (no small feat for the excitable girl) and nodded.
"All right then."
They started off towards the low, long hill that was the Great Smials. Diamond concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping her gaze firmly on the ground. She had no desire to engage in conversation with Pippin‑ she just wanted to go hide.
"What's your name, miss?"
Diamond's head snapped up. "Um, Diamond," she said, flushing furiously. She saw a faint blush spread over Pippin's face and he looked everywhere but at her.
"Uh... sorry," he said sheepishly, talking to his feet. "I didn't see your face."
"That's all right."
They walked the rest of the way to the smial in silence. When they reached the closest entrance, Diamond turned to thank Pippin as etiquette demanded.
"Thank you for escorting me," she said, voice just above a whisper.
Pippin bit his lip, then‑surprising himself just as much as Diamond‑"Do you want to marry me?"
Diamond's jaw dropped slightly and she stared at Pippin, rather aghast. She swallowed hard and forced herself to speak. "By no means. I'm only thirty-two years old, I should be behaving like a silly girl and getting into trouble rather than marrying anyone, let alone a complete stranger. But it's not my choice‑ my father arranged it, and Tiberius Took's word is law." She shrugged helplessly. "I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place."
"Sounds familiar," said Pippin dryly. He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Well, I'd better go." He half‑turned, then turned again sharply. "By the way, my parents forced me into this too. At least we have something in common." He gave a wan smile, then went his way.
Diamond spun on her heel and went inside, practically bolting for her room. That was disconcerting, she thought, and wished more fervently than ever that she was home.
* * *
Pippin felt like kicking himself. He hadn't recognized her at all, and had thus made an utter fool of himself. But then, he'd avoided any social interaction beyond Merry all day‑ he could hardly be blamed for not knowing who she was.
But on the other hand, he should be ashamed of himself, came a sneaky thought that sounded suspiciously like his mother's voice. She was going to be his wife in just over two days.
The idea made him feel rather ill.
I wish Gandalf were here, Pippin thought suddenly. He'd know what to do. Or even Gimli, or Legolas, or even Frodo would know better than I how to handle this insanity. Merry doesn't count‑ he's no more use than a sack of potatoes. Oh for heaven's sakes, I'd even be happy for Arwen's advice.
He vaguely noticed that all the people mentioned had been involved in his one‑year escapade. Well, such things forge friendships that last longer than lifetimes. You can't share a foxhole with someone, tend each other's wounds and fight Orcs together, or face down Ring‑Wraiths together, and not trust that person with your very soul.
"My kingdom for an Ent with words of wisdom," Pippin muttered disconsolately. "Or even an Elf, cryptic as they are."
"Are you all right?"
Pippin looked up and saw his sister, Pearl, looking at him with not inconsiderable concern. She was a full fifteen years his senior, and already had three children. Pippin had never been very close to her, but right now he was thankful for any willing ear beyond Merry's.
"Not in the least bit," said Pippin honestly. "How would you feel if you were to marry a complete stranger?"
Pearl shook her head. "Pippin, it's not so bad. I've spoken with Diamond, and she seems a nice girl. A bit moody, but pleasant. Would you rather wed some cranky old wench?"
"You're not listening," said Pippin. "It had nothing to do with her personality, or what she looks like‑ it's the fact that before today I had no idea who she was, that Father didn't consult me in the least bit, my life is going to completely change in two days, and the only one who understands I really don't want to spend that much time with, because in two days' time I'm going to be spending almost all my time with her."
Pearl didn't know how to respond to this. "Well, I haven't any words of wisdom for you, Pip‑ but cheer up. The world isn't about to end."
"It's not you though, is it?" Pippin scoffed. "You're not in my shoes."
Pearl pursed her lips, looking rather irritated. "Oh grow up. This is reality, now deal with it." She stomped away.
Pippin sighed from his toes as he watched his elder sister march away, proverbial steam pouring out her ears. Pearl always was easily annoyed.
"She's got a point," Pippin grudgingly admitted to himself. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to listen."
* * *
Diamond flopped backwards on the ludicrously comfortable feather‑down bed, staring at the curved ceiling. Strange patterns of light and shadow drifted across it as the curtains flapped.
Pippin seems all right‑ but then, will I say the same in a year's time? I don't want to end up like my parents. I know arranged marriages are rare‑only the political families ever do them, and almost never‑but did it have to be me?
Diamond sat up with a frustrated sound. "Stop moping," she muttered to herself. She swung herself off the bed and sat in front of the small vanity. Pausing a moment to light the solitary candle, she watched herself in the mirror.
"I wonder if he likes me," she murmured. "In looks, anyway."
Diamond had never considered herself particularly pretty, just plain. True, she had been a ratty‑haired, dirt‑smeared terror as a child, but she had yet to see that she really was rather striking. All she saw in the mirror was a too‑small nose, a face dominated by brown eyes that she was convinced were the color of mud, and she had Big Hair. Frizzy, terribly annoying, and always in the way.
"Well, nothing I can do about it," she said firmly, surprising herself. "Nothing I can do about anything at this point, really. So just go along with it and try not to go mad, will you?"