Instruments
Chapter One
By Beethoven's 7th
For Marigolds Challenge #9
Special Thanks to Mysterious Ways for being my sounding board
and for the loan of "Wee One" the laptop
Till and Iris Lomesdown were married in a quiet ceremony at his parents house in Deephollow. The Lomesdowns, Till's family, were quiet hobbits. Till, who like his father was a farmer, looked as though he would turn out to be just a quiet and reclusive as his parents. Many of the townsfolk wondered then what would draw a vivacious soul like Iris's to such a quiet one as Till's. But drawn she was and thus they were married. Iris had no family there to represent her. Her mother died years ago when she was a very young girl and her father had died just a few short months after Iris's 33rd birthday. She believed, that once she was of age, he had finally succumbed to the heart, which had broken on his wife's death and had gone on to join her. Iris did have her good friend Flora standing with her though and that was enough. With Till, she found happiness, companionship, love and completion.
Despite growing up with a distant, yet overprotective father and lack of a mother for a great deal of her childhood, Iris grew up as a happy, vivacious child. The farm on which she and her father lived was some distance from any other, and so, she had few friends. She developed ways to amuse her self at a very young age while accompanying her father wherever he went. Sometimes even to the fields if he was in a particularly fretful mood.
Iris loved music. On rare occasions, she and her father would go into town, usually just to arrange for the selling and delivering of his crop. He just didn't have the heart for large social gatherings such as would form at festive times of the year, like Yule and Lithe. But whenever they did, little Iris was always drawn to the groups of hobbits playing music that always seemed to form when hobbits got together. The most regular excursions were those to a small local pub, the Golden Leaf, where her father would catch up on such news as may seem important, and argue with the other farmers about what might be expected from the weather next. On nights when her father went to the pub, he would take her with him, rather than leave her at home alone, and she would sit and listen, enraptured the music and singing. All types of music pleased her. She never grew tired of listening and wishing one day to be able to play music herself. After months and years of listening, she came to know almost any song played and would quietly sing along with them, twisting the curls of her brown hair around her finger and swinging her feet in time to the music. The musicians all grew to appreciate their wee audience member and gradually coaxed her name out of her by playing her favorite songs and slipping sweet treats to her. Her name was all they were able to learn from her. Realizing that she would incur her overprotective father's anger for talking to them overly much, they let her be.
One night while Gerry the fiddle player was taking a break he overheard Iris's soft singing. And oh what sweet singing it was. Such a pure and sweet voice as hers should not be kept silent, to be shared with no one. Gerry decided right then and there that he would find some way to get her father to allow her to learn a bit of music and to sing with the group. So it was that a few inducing drinks later Iris's father's attention was directed at the sight of his daughter's enraptured face as she listened to the music. While he would protect her from all the dangers of the world and keep her safely sheltered, he hadn't the heart to deny her this. He gave his permission for her to learn about music and join the group. That day was the happiest of her quiet life. Music filled her lonely soul. It became her light in the darkest of days. Music could make her cry bitter tears, or laugh the purest laughs. At times her laughter was now so infectious she could even entice her father out of the darkness into which he had fallen.
For her twentieth birthday, her father gave her a wooden flute made of golden wood in a dark blue velvety bag. He had carved it himself during breaks while out in the field, or in his room late at night after Iris had gone to sleep. The flute player at the pub, Emmolene, helped him with the design and tuning of it and even stitched the bag in which the flute would be kept. It was a lovely thing to behold and its tone was rich. Iris took to it straight off. Emmolene said she had never seen anyone learn quite so quickly. Surely, her very blood flowed with music.
After her father died, Iris rented out much of the family's small farm, but stayed on in the house alone. Iris continued to sing and play flute with the group at the pub. Her evenings at home were spent in solitude at home, where she would practice her music or attend to what few chores a single hobbit needed done. In general she was happy. She had a comfortable home, a small but steady income and good friends in the musical group. Her close friend Flora visited her when she could, but she was courting a lad from Buckland and so those visits did not come as often as Iris would have liked.
It was on one of Till's rare visits to the Golden Leaf that he first set eyes on Iris. His quiet hermit-like soul ached for her alive and effervescent one. His visits to the pub became more frequent. Many months later, he finally worked up the courage to talk to her and the romance, which would end with the quiet wedding ceremony, had begun.
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