A/N and Disclaimer: Wow... so I looked up the hobbits online, and it turns out that after the trilogy ended, Sam and Rosie had thirteen children. THIRTEEN. That's a baker's dozen. Hm... those are some busy hobbits. ;0) All of the hobbits mentioned in this chapter belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, except for Glory—I invented him all on me onesies. –beams proudly–
'The Bonny Swans' does, indeed, belong to me. It was on my album 'The Mask and Mirror' which sold so well that I'm now living in a mansion on the Mediterranean. If you can't sense the sarcasm, please call your physician and sign up for a CAT scan at the earliest opportunity. Also, the song is sooo long (it's like seven minutes or something) that I cut out a few of the middle stanzas.
Chapter Four: Is It Just Me, or Is Thisa Little Too Easy?
From what I knew of the books, Hamfast and Daisy were both the spawn of that most loyal of gardeners, Samwise Gamgee. Roly-poly and frankly quite adorable, their amiable bickering made the walk to Brandy Hall go much faster. Hamfast was chubbier than the other two, with tawny curls on his head and toes (though the latter were much shorter than the former), and a penchant for skipping. Daisy was petite as hobbits go, with a sweet face and a snub nose; along the way, she somehow found herself at my side, and slipped her little hand in mine.
I'm not an excessively affectionate person—nor am I one of those girls who, when they see an infant, automatically revert into that almost offensive state of cooing and baby-talk. But no one—I repeat NO ONE—could have resisted such lovable little children as these three.
Faramir was the eldest of them at sixteen. I was surprised to learn that he was actually the son of Peregrin Took. For most of the walk, he chattered over the other two's bickering, regaling me with tales of his father's fame and bravery. I couldn't help but smirk a little.
"Who's the Master of Buckland?" I asked when he paused to take a breath; I knew that if I hesitated, he would only continue talking, and I'd never get a word in.
"Oh, Uncle Merry. He isn't really our uncle, but our fathers are such good friends that we call him and Uncle Samwise that. Say, did you ever hear about the time that my father raided Farmer Maggot's mushr—"
"You told me."
"Oh. Then how about the time that he sang for the Stew—"
"Told me that, too."
"I did? I don't remember... oh, well. We're here, anyway. Oi, you two! Scatter off, then!" Faramir said, shooing Hamfast and Daisy, who were ten and eight respectively, away. Hamfast shrugged, bade me farewell, and ran off to where a couple of other hobbit lads were playing a game that vaguely resembled marbles. Daisy, however, clung defiantly to my hand.
"I'm coming, too, Far, and there's nothing you can do to make me go away!" the little thing said, stamping her foot and staring crossly at her unofficial cousin.
Faramir's brow began to cloud over as he scowled at the little girl; to prevent any further shouting, I just said, "Of course you can come, Daisy, if you behave like a good girl and be quiet."
Faramir looked at me in surprise as Daisy's frown faded into a sweet smile and she nodded up at me. Apparently she'd taken a liking to the strange girl from the Old Forest. I gave her a secret little wink as Faramir shrugged and led the way into Brandy Hall, a long, low, fat building. Daisy giggled quietly.
"There he is! Uncle Merry! Uncle Merry! Master Bombadil's sent you a—" he looked up at me guiltily, and I gave him a stern look á la Minerva McGonagall. The little twit had read my letter! Though, I have to admit that I was almost more peeved at the fact that he could read it than he had read it. "I mean, someone's here that wants to talk to you!"
Meriadoc Brandybuck towered over his halfling companions at four and a half feet—the effects of those Ent-draughts, no doubt. He also looked nothing at all like Dominic Monaghan; his face wasn't as long, there was no cleft in his chin, and his eyes were further apart. He bowed elegantly to me, and I managed a very self-conscious little curtsy. "Welcome to Brandy Hall! The name's Meriadoc Brandybuck, but you can call me Merry—everyone does. I'm the Master of Buckland. How can I help you, Miss..."
"Gwen. Gwen Sherbourn," I said, smiling nervously down at him. "Master Bombadil sent me. Here—he wrote you a letter, explaining." I handed the note to him with no little trepidation—after all, for all I knew Master Bombadil could've been complaining about me, instead of recommending me.
But Merry's face only showed pleasure and surprise. I breathed a sigh of relief—I should've known that Master Bombadil wouldn't ever do anything so mean-spirited!
"Well, Miss Sherbourn! Ol' Tom says here that you're looking for somewhere to stay in the Shire. Is this true?"
"Indeed it is," I said, trying once more to fall into their pattern of speech. Talking like a twenty-first century teenager would only make me stick out more, and as it was, I stuck out like a sore thumb. At five foot one, I had never in my life felt so tall.
"Let it never be said that Meriadoc Brandybuck turned away anyone seeking shelter in Brandy Hall! Welcome to Buckland, Miss Sherbourn."
"Call me Gwen, please."
"Gwen, then," he said, looking pleased. "I see you've met Faramir and Daisy."
"And Hamfast!" spoke up the little girl, who still had my hand in her grip. "Only he went off to play with Glory and Merry and Pippin."
I blinked in confusion—but I was talking to Merry, wasn't I? Oh... didn't Sam name two of his sons after Merry and Pippin? That would explain it.
"Glory," Merry the Elder informed me, "is my son, Glorfindel Brandybuck. But come! It's time for supper! We can introduce you around then, eh?"
I allowed myself to be led off by Daisy and the Master of Buckland, gazing around curiously as I went. I warranted more than a few 'curious gazes' myself, of course—I could hear hobbits whispering as we passed. News traveled like wildfire in Brandy Hall; by the time we reached the dining hall, which was easily the largest, grandest of all the rooms I'd so far seen, the walls were practically lined with hobbits waiting to get a glimpse at the member of the Big Folk who'd be dining with them.
"Glory!" Merry called out as a group of young hobbit lads, Hamfast among them, appeared. A boy with Merry's nose and eyes stepped forward, looking expectant. "Go fetch the pillow for our guest!"
I looked at the Master of Buckland curiously as he led me through the crowd and towards the head of the table, where he motioned for me to stand by the left side. "We've had a fair few of the Big Folk dine at Brandy Hall before, and the tables are too low for any chair to fit; albeit, most of them were quite a bit bigger than you!" he chuckled. "But we have a sort of large cushion that you can sit on. Most of my guests have claimed it passing comfortable!"
The cushion that Glory Brandybuck dragged in a moment later was, indeed, quite comfortable. I sat with my legs crossed under the table as the benches filled. The table was practically groaning with food; I could see at least three large turkeys, dozens of loaves of bread, loads of dishes filled with vegetables and stews and the like, and several baskets of fresh fruit. The carved wooden goblets were full of some sort of fruit drink that had a slightly alcoholic tang. I sipped at it and turned to Master Merry (I'll refer to him as such for the rest of the story to prevent any confusion between him and Sam's Merry).
"Is this alcoholic?" I asked.
"Oh, very mildly so," he said. "It's just a bit of mead mixed with fruit juice. Delicious, isn't it? It's my Estella's own creation," he said, looking proudly at the hobbit who had just sat down beside him. "'Stella, this is Gwen Sherbourn. She'll be staying here at Brandy Hall. You'll help her find something to occupy her time, won't you, love?"
"Of course!" Estella Brandybuck neé Bolger said, smiling at me. "How do you do, Gwen?"
"Very well, thank you. Your husband has been very hospitable."
"That's my Merry," she said with a sweet smile as she piled some buttered potatoes onto her plate. "Taters, anyone!"
Daisy, who had taken the seat at my side, beamed and passed her plate over. Mine followed it.
I'll say this much for hobbits; no wonder they eat so much! The food was so good that, as I finished my second helping of everything, I lamented the fact that I'd soon be at least twenty pounds heavier. At the end of that second plate, though, I found myself practically bursting at the seams and waved off any more helpings; Master Merry was horrified by this and demanded to know whether or not I was sick. Estella laughed brightly and informed him that Big Folk often didn't eat as much as hobbits, and that, of anyone, Master Merry should know that.
Supper was also very informative; I learned that, though most of their family was in Hobbiton, several of Sam's children (Daisy, Hamfast, Merry, Pippin, and Goldilocks) were staying at Brandy Hall for the summer. I also learned that Master Pippin and his wife, Diamond—along with Faramir, of course—actually lived at Brandy Hall, but had gone off for a few days to visit Diamond's family in Long Cleeve. After much begging, Faramir had been allowed to stay behind.
By listening to them chatter around me, I began to accustom myself to the hobbits' presences and culture. I felt rather like an anthropologist would when invited to dinner amongst some hitherto unknown tribe—full of questions and eager to learn more.
"—Gwen?"
I looked over at Master Merry, who was speaking. "Pardon? I must have drifted off a bit."
"I'll say!" he laughed heartily. "I asked if you'd be willing to spin us a tale or sing a bit. It's custom for a guest to provide the entertainment."
I raised my eyebrows. "B-b-but—"
Damn stutter. Always showed up at the worst of times.
"Now, Gwen," Estella said in a mollifying tone, glancing warningly at her husband, "we'll understand if you don't want to, dear. You've had a trying day."
"Song!"
"Tale!"
"C'mon, Gwen!"
Apparently the rest of the hobbits didn't agree with Estella so much. Sighing, I stood. "All right! One song. Let me think for a moment." I pondered desperately—I couldn't sing anything rock'n'roll or oldies or anything. I didn't know much about space-time continuums, but that definitely did not seem like the best choice. It was rather fortunate, then, that I was a fan of traditional Celtic music—one rather astonishing Miss Loreena McKennitt in particular. I ran through the roster of her albums mentally before hitting on one that I knew well enough to sing. "All right, this song is called 'The Bonny Swans.'"
I cleared my throat and began to sing.
A farmer there lived in the old country, a hey hee oh and me bonny oh!
He had daughters, one, two, three—the swans swim so, a bonny oh!
These daughters, they walked by the river's brim, hey hee oh and me bonny oh!
The eldest pushed the youngest in, the swans swim so, a bonny oh.
"Oh sister, oh sister, pray lend me a hand, hey hee oh and me bonny oh!
And I shall give you house and land, the swan swims so, a bonny oh!"
"I'll give you neither hand nor glove, hey hee oh and me bonny oh,
Unless you give me your own true love, the swan that swims, a bonny oh!"
Now, not to brag or anything, but I can sing. And I don't just mean that I have the ability to use my vocal chords and lungs to make my words into a melody—I mean, I can sing. It's like a gift or something. And apparently, it was one that my vertically-challenged hosts enjoyed thoroughly. At this point they were clapping along, and a few of the younger ones were dancing around. I couldn't help but grin as I continued.
He made harp pins from her fingers fair, hey hee oh and me bonny oh,
He made harp strings from her golden hair, the swan swims so, a bonny oh
He made a harp from her breast bone, hey hee oh and me bonny oh,
And straight it began to play alone, the swan swims so, a bonny oh!
He took her to her father's hall, hey hee oh and me bonny oh,
And there was the court, assembled all, the swan swims so a bonny oh!
He laid the harp down upon a stone, hey hee oh and me bonny oh,
And straight it began to play alone, the swan swims so, a bonny oh!
"There does sit my father the King, hey hee oh and me bonny oh!
There does sit my mother, the Queen—the swan swims so, a bonny oh!
There does sit my brother, Hugh, hey hee oh and me bonny oh!
And by him, William, sweet and true—the swan swims so, a bonny oh!
And there does sit my false sister, Anne, hey hee oh and me bonny oh!
She drowned me for the sake of a man, the swan swims so, a bonny oh!"
They all applauded as I, blushing furiously, curtsied. Daisy, in particular, was vociferous in her support of my talent. Master Merry shouted about having me sing every night, and Estella seconded the notion; she said that I could play minstrel to Brandy Hall.
Then it hit me like the proverbial sack of potatoes.
I sat down, hands in my head, and gave a quiet wail that wasn't heard by anyone except little Daisy, who looked at me concernedly. The rest were all listening to young Merry, who was now spinning a tale involving a mushroom-loving dragon and a curious hobbit lad.
"No... it can't be..." I whispered, staring at my hands as though expecting them to turn purple any moment.
But it was.
The dress had fit me perfectly.
I'd found my way with minimal trouble to Brandy Hall.
I was welcomed without question among the hobbits.
And now I had been invited to sing for them daily—probably the closest thing to a job in the music business that existed in Middle-earth.
Was I becoming a Mary-Sue?
"NOOOOOO!"