AN: Ok, I started this fic what seems to be AGES ago, and just recently, I got into a huge Tolkien kick again. Maybe it's because I finally watched Bakshi's 'Lord of the Rings', and it made me realize just how SUPERIOR a story Lord of the Rings really is…I swear, all it takes is on REALLY crappy movie version to make you truly appreciate the genius that was Tolkien. So I guess, I write this as a Tribute to the great Oxford Don…that somehow, my measly fare might some how pay homage to his work. I've tried. I've revised the first six chapters after reading more into the history of the Northern part of the Shire, and plan to continue the rest. I really want to use this fic to explore the lands to the north of the shire, and also just to continue the lives of my favorite hobbits, Pippin and Merry. All I can hope is that I've done this man and his creation justice. So I give to you…
"Diamond in the Rough"
Farmer Cotton stared out of the window. A single candle sat in the sill, its tiny light standing bravely against the dark world outside—its light stood by him as he kept watch. He was getting old—he was starting to wonder if he was getting a bit too old for what needed to be done.
"They ain't coming."
Farmer Cotton glanced over his shoulder. His daughter Rosie stood under the door way, a shawl over her nightgown, her hair loose and hanging down. Her face was pale in the room's dim light, her eyes dull with tired acceptance.
"Get back to bed, Rosie, and don't go saying such things," Farmer Cotton softly said, giving his daughter a half hearted smile. "They'll come—them Long Cleeves always do."
"How do you know that Da?" she asked, her face echoing her own uncertainty. "Them Big Folks, they're using dogs to track down hobbits who go about after dusk. Them Long Cleeves have such a way to go, to get here. What if they don't want to take the risk?"
"Rosie, them Long Cleeves wouldn't stop coming if a whole army of Big Folk stood in their way." Farmer Cotton turned back towards the window, his eyes turning towards the candle instead. "Long Cleeves, they have smarts, Rosie. They're cunning an' quick—they ain't going to get caught."
Rosie continued to stand in the doorway, shifting form foot to foot nervously. "Da, I…I just don't understand!" she blurted out. "Why do you keep this up with those Long Cleeves? You all go about as if your getting ready for a war when no one's willing to fight, and those who would fight are either unable too or in the lock holes."
Farmer Cotton kept his eyes transfixed on the candle. "Because…we're like candles Rosie," he said, softly. "We ain't much—but we give just enough light, so that something can be done. We're just enough to make a way for whoever decides to give the call—sure, no one here is willing to fight, but give them a call to arms Rosie, and they'd hop to it! We have to make it easier for whoever makes the call…simple as that, Rosie."
Rosie nodded her head. "I wish it wasn't so…it's still such a risk…" She gave a little smile. "Good night Da…tell which ever Long Cleeve that shows that I give my regards."
Rosie turned, and wrapping the shawl around her tighter, wandered back to bed.
Farmer Cotton sighed, and pulled a rocking chair over. "A bit of Southfarthing would do me good," he mumbled, stretching his legs. "Hard times, it is…but somebody's got to keep things stirred up…"
The cautious knocks of someone at the back door suddenly interrupted the silence in the house. It was so soft that at first Farmer Cotton doubted his ears. "Tom? Who goes there, son?" he called out as he got up and picked the candle up from the window.
"It's a friend Da—a Long Cleeve bearing good news!"
Farmer Cotton hurried out of the room, a spring in his step as he walked towards the back door. He found his son Tom handing a mug of water and a bit of good bread to a cloaked figure that had sat itself down right in the narrow entrance way. The figure was trying to eat, drink and take deep breathes at the same time, pausing just long enough to look up at Cotton. "Throw me in a lock hole if I speak false—drown me in the Brandywine all I care! But I meet with my brother on the way, and I'm be stitched if it hasn't started!" the figure exclaimed.
"What? An' how? An' chew your food, or you'll regret it later," Farmer Cotton ordered.
The figure lowered the mug and bread, and looked up at Cotton, eyes flashing. "Four hobbits rode into Hobbiton, and gave them sure-cock Big Folk a run for their high an' mighty airs! Their wearing mail an' carrying swords an' look mighty fierce an' grim. Milo ran fast for Long Cleeve to get them in the north ready—that's when I ran into him."
The figure was beaming, and talking faster and faster, voice getting louder. "It's our chance Cotton, an' we can't miss it! Perhaps THIS will wake up all them lazy bodies in the Shire to rise up an' fight!"
Farmer Cotton motioned for the hobbit to lower her voice, but he couldn't help but smile. The North-tooks were not wealthy or very well off by hobbit standards, but if one was in need of fiery blood, a fierce independence and unwavering loyalty, one only had to look North. They were ready to fight to the end, and had been ready since the first day the Big Folk had come.
"But how's your family holding up?" Cotton asked kindly.
The hobbit's face lit up. "Ma an' Da are holding out—they really are something! Tolman and Milo have been keeping them sheriffs hopping, Emerald had her baby, an' Coral, Crystal, Opal, Ruby, Sapphire an' Amethyst have been fawning over it since!"
"An' you? How have you been, Diamond?" Cotton asked.
Diamond North-took of Long Cleeve, the youngest of the 'northern treasures' as her father joked, grinned. She was dirty, her clothes were old and torn, her cloak stained beyond repair, and yet her eyes sparkled in the candle light. She couldn't be considered pretty when compared to other hobbit lasses, but there was a fire inside her, a spirit that live up to her name.
"I'll be better off when the Shire belongs to hobbits again, and no one else!" was her stubborn and proud reply. "I've been ready for this for a long—"
"DA!" came the cry of Jolly, another of Cotton's sons. "Someone's riding hard down the lane!"
A horn in the distance rang loud and clear, making Diamond's heart leapt, compelling it to action. She jumped to her feet, and covered her head again with her hood.
"Quick lass, get ready to run, it might be one of the Big Folks'!" Farmer Cotton ordered, his face creased with worry for the young hobbit lass.
"Keep safe, Diamond! Give our regards to the North-tooks." Tom added as he ran after Farmer Cotton for the front door.
Diamond put her hood up, and slipped out of the house, her heart swelled with excitement and fear. Had it started? Or had the Big Folk's stopped it before it had the chance?
She ran for the cover of the trees, and paused enough to listen to what her heart told her too do. Exhaustion and hunger flew from her mind, and as she tightened her belt, a grim smile settled on her lips.
She ran for Hobbiton.
