A/N: Quick question... anyone have any ideas for trouble that Gwen absolutely must get into while still in the Shire? I have a few things up my sleeves, but I'd gladly take ideas, too!

Also, as you may have noticed, I changed my penname! Woot!

Elven Bunny: why, thank you! And don't worry—all of the characters' coloring, etc. will be as faithful to canon as I can possibly keep it.

Chapter Six: Twenty Questions

I knew it would happen eventually.

That didn't mean, though, that I wasn't crossing fingers, toes, legs, arms, and eyes in an attempt to placate Fate and keep this eventuality out of my own personal annals.

"Where are you from, Gwen?" Faramir asked.

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit shit shit shit bother shit shit shit.

Shit.

Think, Gwen, THINK!

Oh, no.

"Um... not here."

Goldilocks rolled her eyes as she continued to plait a bracelet out of the long grass in which we sat. Currently, we were very near to the river Brandywine—in fact, Glory and Merry were currently dipping their furry toes into its swift current. I took advantage of the distraction and shouted, "You two be careful! Don't fall in!"

Glory looked back at me and snorted. "I'm a Brandybuck. I don't fall."

"Yes, you do," countered Merry with a grin as he pushed his companion. I jumped up, heart pounding—I was not exactly lifeguard material, here, and hobbits don't have the best track record when it comes to moving water—but Glorfindel managed to steady himself and shove Merry right back. I ran over to them and picked them up by their collars—not as easy a task as one might think. Small they might be, but I'll remind you that, as growing hobbits, they tucked away a tidy seven meals a day with a fair few snacks on the side.

"Oi!" Merry squealed, struggling.

"Geroff!" agreed Glory, whacking at my hand, which had moved off his collar and to his ear, twisting gently. "OWWW!" he howled, and was soon echoed by his friend.

"Trust a Brandybuck and a Gamgee to be so stupid!" I growled, releasing their ears. They stumbled away from me, rubbing their ears and growling mutinously. "Honestly! I look away for one second..."

Oh, God. I was turning into my mother.

They must have noticed the shocked look of dawning realization on my face, because Hamfast frowned and asked me whether I was feeling well or not. "Never mind," I said, sitting down. "You two," I called as Glory and Merry began to edge back towards the Brandywine. "You go one step closer to that river and you'll go to bed without your supper tonight!"

Their horrified gasps and Goldilock's exclamation of, "No!" put a smile—all right, smirk—back on my face. The common punishment from my world had come as a nasty shock to the hobbits, and much to my surprise—apparently some of the lads were getting a bit more than 'a little' out of hand—their parents all agreed with me! With such a severe punishment looming over their heads, they had no choice but to obey me.

In fact, over the past few months I'd earned quite the reputation in the Shire; everyone from Stock to Michel Delving had heard of the 'daughter of Men' taken in by the Master of Buckland. The rumors that circulated amused me... those hobbits who had regular contact with Men recognized my short stature and claimed that I was the bastard daughter of Master Merry from his adventures during the War of the Ring (which, frankly, was ridiculously absurd and led to a lot of laughter in Brandy Hall). Some said I was the daughter of Tom Bombadil, which I guess stemmed from the fact that he had recommended me in the first place. I was named everything from a Barding to a Dorwinion to a daughter of Rohan.

The strangest part of it was, no one had ever asked me where I was from—not even Master Merry or Estella! Even Master Pippin, that most curious of all hobbits, had remained silent on the subject. They conjectured, certainly. They drew conclusions based on my height and coloring (both of which, apparently, pointed to Rohan), and attempted to place my accent.

But no one ever asked.

It's my opinion that they thought prying into my history would be too invasive. They were, after all, hobbits, and we all know about hobbits and their sense of propriety!

So, over the course of two months and roughly a fortnight, I had grown to be a part of the social structure of Buckland. Thanks to my reputation as a fair but stern taskmaster (hey, I wasn't going to let the little buggers get away with anything if it threatened such a cushy position), soon more and more hobbits of the Hall approached me about keeping an eye on their little ones while they tended their gardens, prepared feasts on festival days, or just took a load off. I, in return for their trust, really dug in and began to take my roll in Hall society seriously. Since I knew little about Middle-earth's history (and, let's be frank, Tolkien wasn't the easiest man to understand, so I was relatively uncertain about what I did know), I taught them snippets from earth science or math; they were well-educated on the whole, anyway, so I was able to teach them fun things. Though it was considered 'my responsibility' to look after the children of Messrs. Brandybuck, Took, and Gamgee, many of the other hobbit-parents paid me in coin or trinkets for my services.

I very much enjoyed my role as 'Governess to the Hall.' Faramir Silvertongue (I added the sobriquet, because the lad could talk his way out of—or into—damn near anything) coined that phrase, and it stuck. I taught them anything I could remember well enough without the assistance of my notes or a textbook, so it was rather patchy, but I think they enjoyed it. I showed them how erosion works, described the water cycle, instructed them in basic arithmetic (and even, for a few of the older ones, the simplest of algebra), and the food chain. They soaked up the information like sponges—though I'm not so sure how much Daisy and Hamfast, the youngest of my core group, understood.

I had become absurdly attached to the whole lot of them, and soon learned a little of what I'd missed by having so few friends as a child; I'll admit right now that I was damn jealous of them sometimes... but it seemed like they had a sixth sense for emotion, for no sooner would envy rear that ugly green head than they'd invite me to join in their games, or referee a shouting competition, or something like that.

Glory, Merry, and Pippin were dubbed 'the Terrible Trio'—for hobbits, those three certainly got into a lot of trouble! Thankfully, Glory had recently started taking lessons with his father, I guess to start learning how to lead Buckland, so most of the time, I only had to juggle Merry and Pip. They were good-hearted for all of their mischief, though, and usually seemed genuinely contrite when they realized the trouble they caused me.

Hamfast was, to no one's surprise, his father's son through and through. The boy didn't have a green thumb, he had a frigging green arm, I swear—he could've gotten a cactus to grow in Alaska, I swear. He was a bit on the loner side, at least as far as hobbits can be loners.

Goldilocks was a sweet girl, and I was grateful for her help; she often kept an eye on Ham and Daisy while I was sorting out the Terrible Trio. She was bright for a hobbit, and very pretty, with a laugh that made everyone else smile in sympathy.

She and Faramir were pretty much a matched pair; of course, having read the books, I knew that they were destined to, one day, marry. Their little courtship was cute and... all right, occasionally revolting in it's sentiment. But really, they made quite the couple.

Faramir himself was probably (and God forbid I take preferences) my favorite, other than Daisy. He was a charming young rogue with polished manners, a biting wit, and a keen mind. He was, ironically enough, also the most intellectual of the core group; more than once I'd caught him scribbling away at some story or poem when he was supposed to be doing his sums, but because they were so damned good I never punished him.

Daisy still clung to me as much as ever, so much so that I sometimes called her 'my shadow.' While the others were playing or studying their history texts (thank goodness, Master Merry supplied that knowledge for them), I told her stories—Peter Pan was her favorite, though, as I recall, she was rather partial to the tales of the Brothers Grimm, as well.

So there (plus a few occasional extras) are my kids, as I call them. Kids, of course, is one of those words that no one in Buckland had ever heard before... it's ridiculously fun to use some common American phrase and watch the hobbits try to puzzle it out on their own. It took them days to figure out 'mad as a hatter,' and then it wasn't even really right... I gave them an A for effort though—Fatty Bolger was really quite clever to turn it so that 'hatter' referred to Gandalf (whose hat, apparently, was famous in its own right here).

"Gwen?"

I jerked my head up to see Goldilocks watching me with those keen brown eyes of hers, her petite mouth twisted into a speculative grimace that looked absurd on her pretty face. I smiled abashedly at her and flicked a strand of auburn hair out of my eyes. "Yes, Goldie?"

"You never really answered Faramir's question."

Oh, botheration.

"Which question?" I asked just as sweetly, hiding behind a façade of ignorance in a futile effort to buy myself some more time. Maybe if I talked in circles for a while, they'd give up and leave me alone...

"Where are you from?"

Now Faramir was watching me curiously, as well, not needing to look at his nimble, practiced fingers as they wove a daisy chain for his lady-love.

I looked from brown eyes to brown eyes and could only blush.

A sudden thought came to me, and I channeled Minerva McGonagall, staring sternly at them. "That," I said succinctly, "is really none of your business."

"Oh, please, Gwen?" Goldilocks asked, pouting.

"No, Goldie."

"I have an idea."

Let me just say right now, that in the Shire, Faramir Took practically has the phrase 'I have an idea' copyrighted. It's his trademark—sort of like Trump's whole 'You're fired!' thing. Goldie and I both turned to look at him.

"Let's play twenty questions!"

I groaned. I had introduced the game of twenty questions to the hobbits one day as a way of diffusing a potentially volatile situation; Hamfast kept lording it over Glory that he knew something Glory didn't, and young Master Brandybuck was getting angry, so I agreed to teach them twenty questions. The deal was, if Glory guessed it, Hamfast would have to stop acting like a prat. If not, then he could lord away. They both concurred, and it had since taken the Hall by storm.

"Very well," I said, knowing that there was no way they could guess it.

"Is it far away?"

"Yes."

"Have one of our fathers—or Master Merry—ever been there?"

"No."

"Did you walk here?"

"No."

"Did you sail here?"

"No."

"Did you ride a horse here?"

"No."

They looked at each other, clearly puzzled. How else could I have gotten to the Shire?

"Is it near the sea?"

"No."

"Is it in the mountains?"

Well... I had lived near the Catskills. Might as well give them a little encouragement. "Yes."

Faramir frowned perplexedly at Goldie. "Can you think of any more questions?" he whispered.

"No. Should we ask about her family, instead?"

Faramir grinned at her and then turned back to me. "Are you an orphan?"

"No."

They both looked surprised; I'd never mentioned my family yet, for obvious reasons. "Do you have any brothers?"

"No."

"Do you have any sisters?"

"Yes."

"More than one?"

"No." It was true... I had a half-sister, Isabelle, who was a good eleven years younger than me.

"Was your family poor?"

"Not really."

"Um..." Goldie looked at Faramir, and then grinned. "Have you ever courted a fellow before?"

"No."

They both looked distinctly disappointed at his revelation. "Maybe we should go back to where she's from," Faramir whispered, and Goldie nodded her agreement. "Was it to the north of the Shire?"

"No."

"Was it to the west?"

"No."

"The east?"

"No."

"The south, then."

"No."

"It isn't to the north, south, east, or west of the Shire?" Faramir asked again, looking confused.

"Nope." Ha ha! Score one for the Governess of the Hall!

"You're sure?" Goldie asked, breathless.

"Yep. One question left." I smirked at them.

I should've known better. I was, after all, dealing with Faramir Took here. A speculative gleam came into the sixteen-year-old's eyes. That thought surprised me... he was only a year younger than I was, yet he seemed so much younger. It wasn't just the difference in height... hobbits matured slower, mentally and emotionally, than humans. After all, they didn't come of age until thirty-three, did they? So Faramir was what, a ten year old to them, maybe? That was startling...

"All right—last question," he said slowly, drawing the words out, his brown eyes fixed on mine. "Are you from Middle-earth?"

BOTHERATION!