A/N: Surprise! I know I said I discontinued this story... but I was bored and inspired and just couldn't bear not to finish, so here's the newest chapter! I know it's rather short and fluffy (my apologies) but I'm setting to work on Chapter Ten right now, and it should be quite a bit longer—and more interesting. The action'll really start then. So, tell me what you all think! And thank you to those of you who stuck by this story when even I wanted to abandon it!

Blayney: -gags- Be more sappy, Indy, won't you?

Indy: You know, for a muse, you're awfully snarky.

Blayney: -grinning- And that's why you love me.

Indy: Bah.

Chapter Nine: Seeing Stars

"Ah! Gwen! Have some mead!"

Grinning, I shook my head at the hobbit. "I'm sorry, Master Fatty. Duty calls, you know," I said, motioning to the bewildered Gondorian soldier following in my footsteps. The chubby little fellow just nodded, and marched right up to Bowen.

"Fatty Bolger!" he announced, sticking his hand almost straight up in the air so that it would be easier for Bowen (who was by no means lacking in height) to reach.

"Er—Bowen son of Thalion, at your service, Master Bolger."

"Fatty, Fatty!" the inebriated hobbit insisted, before pushing the tankard of sweet mead into Bowen's hands. "Drink up, me lad! 'Tis a great day in the Shire!"

"Thank you, Fatty," I answered for Bowen, who had turned to look at me, completely at a loss of what to do. "Do you know where Sam is?"

"Eh, talking with guests and whatnot, over at the pavilion," he replied with an absent wave of his hand in that general direction. "How many times this evening have I told him, 'Join the party, Sam, old man! It's your birthday! Stop playing the politician and have a little fun!' But, nooo, he just..."

"Thanks, Fatty," I said with a fleeting smile before grabbing hold of Bowen's upper arm and pulling him after me, through the thronging crowds of hobbits. "Sorry about that," I whispered, standing on my tiptoes so that my low voice could reach his ear; the music was loud, as were the hobbits, who had already started in on the various alcohol beverages—I saw mead, ale, and beer, and wouldn't be surprised if there was some whiskey around here somewhere. "Fatty's a bit of a talker when he gets smashed."

"Verily," Bowen said, raising one eyebrow as he looked around at waist height, surveying the faces of the hobbits. A smile passed over his face, and I swear, I nearly fainted. "They are a merry bunch, this halflings—my Lord told me that I would receive a warm welcome amongst them, but this, I had not expected!"

"You should try the mead," I said, grinning up at him. "Usually it's diluted with fruit juices or water, but it's left untouched at parties. Packs quite a punch, if you know what I mean," I said. He looked surprised, but lifted the tankard to his lips anyway as I led him around a group of dancing hobbits and towards the pavilion, where I could, indeed, just see Master Sam's golden head amongst the others.

"Ah, there you are, children! I thought you'd gotten lost!" the dear fellow said as Bowen and I climbed the steps of the pavilion. The roof was high enough that I had no trouble, but Bowen had to duck, and afterward, I noticed with a grin, kept a close eye on the swinging lantern in the center of the pyramidal ceiling.

"With my sense of direction?" I joked, fluttering my eyelashes innocently. Several of the hobbits gathered around Sam laughed; if my way with kids was well-known, my lack of navigational skills was a household byword. "I've come to deliver the deliverer of your gift, and to bid you a happy birthday, Master Sam!"

I ducked down and planted a kiss on each of the hobbit's cheeks. He laughed and patted my hand. "Thank you, dear girl, on both accounts!" he turned to Bowen, who was still eyeing the lantern warily. "So, you're the lad that old Strider sent, then? Welcome, my boy! Welcome to the Shire! Gwen, child, make sure that Sir Soldier gets everything his heart desires tonight! I'll not have it said that Samwise Gamgee slacks in his hospitality!"

"I thank you," Bowen said, bowing low and courteously, "but that is really not necessary—"

"But it is!" Sam said. "Now, I'm the birthday boy, so you must heed my word!" he said with mock severity, waggling one finger at Bowen who seemed to be struggling against laughter.

"Once again, sir, I thank you. I am Bowen son of Thalion, come to deliver your birthday gift from King Elessar. I wish you a happy day and a long life, sir!"

Sam beamed up at him and patted his arm, taking the parcel from him. He unwrapped it with all the delight of a child; out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bowen smiling down indulgently at the chubby little man. I could see that he, too, now shared my almost parental affection to these hobbits.

"Look, Gwen! How lovely! Embroidered by my Lady's own hand, or I'll be damned!" Sam said, displaying a smart new surcoat.

Bowen's compliments and my own were lost amidst the cries of, "How lovely!" and "Try it on!" Smiling at each other, the Gondorian and I left the pavilion to join the party.

"You've made the old dear's day," I said with a smile. "And for that, I'll do exactly what he told me." Bowen looked at me curiously, and I gave an overly-dramatic bow. "Anything you wish, Sir Bowen, I wish to give you!"

"Anything?"

"I'm at your service, sir," I said, still playing it up.

"I'll hold you to your word, m'lady," he said, his own tone matching mine. "But first—I'm starved!"

I laughed. "There's a reason why I've always referred to men your age as stomachs with legs."

"And other appendages!" he protested.

I clapped my hands over my mouth, but even this couldn't stop the explosive laughter that his comment inspired. He blushed, seeming to realize just how his comment had been taken. "I meant, hands," he said, holding them up and wiggling his fingers. "You are the most inappropriate girl I have ever met, Gwen Sherbourn!"

"And you are the most prudish boy that I've ever met, Bowen son of Thalion!" I retorted, smirking cheekily at him. "Loosen up—it's a party, and we're young! We're supposed to be bawdy!"

"Bawdy, eh?" he said with a smirk that made me suddenly think that maybe I'd said something wrong. "You're speaking to a soldier of Gondor, madam. If you want bawdy, I can do bawdy."

I snorted, and he looked surprised and comically hurt. "Oh, I'm sorry, Bowen—but you nearly had a stroke when I showed a bit of ankle in there."

"Well, I was not expecting it," he said with great dignity.

"Next time I'll be sure to announce the fact that I'm about to lift my petticoats for you, then," I said, rolling my eyes.

He raised one eyebrow at me, and it was my turn to blush at my choice of words. I really wasn't this bold, normally... I guess I'd sampled a little more mead than was good for me. He laughed at the quietly puzzled look on my face and grasped my hand. "Come, Gwen. Let me feed all of my appendages," again that smirking, cocked-eyebrow, suggestive expression, "and then you will dance with me."

"I will?"

"You will."

Grinning like an idiot, I led Bowen son of Thalion towards the dining tent, a matching smile on his handsome face.

It was around four in the morning that we finally collapsed, exhausted, into the long, sweet grass on the far side of the hill from the party. We were both sweating and exhausted from long hours spent dancing and frolicking and all around acting like children, and the cool feeling of the earth beneath my back was very welcome. The stars above were so brilliant that my breath caught in my throat in awe.

Bowen, hearing me, looked over, expectant.

"It's... the sky," I whispered. "It's so huge... there're so many stars. Where I'm from, you can't see half this many."

"Aye, well, the Old Forest is home to rather large trees. They must block out much of the view," he said, thinking that he understood.

I felt a sudden and wholly unexpected pang of homesickness. My throat tightened. "Yeah," I choked out. "The trees block the view." I scanned the firmament desperately, looking for any constellation that was in the least bit familiar, but I saw none. No Pegasus or Orion or Cassiopeia—no Big Dipper or North Star or Cygnus. I hadn't truly expected them to be the same... but I wished they would be.

Bowen's fingers tightened slightly around mine. "Gwen?"

"It's—I'm all right," I said, smiling at him and swallowing back those inexplicable tears. How badly I wanted to tell him the truth! I almost did, in that moment—I took a deep breath, preparing to tell him, and to accept the fact that he would never want to speak to a lunatic or a liar (whatever he decided I was, in the end).

But no sooner had I opened my mouth, than he rolled onto his side, leaning on one elbow, and looked down at me with an expression that made me just—stop. He tucked an errant strand of my auburn hair behind one ear, and stroked my cheek with his callused thumb. "Gwen Sherbourn," he said, "I wish you could see the stars in Gondor. From the top of the highest tower in Minas Tirith, one can see for miles, and the sky seems to extend forever. It is so large that here, in this place, this sky seems small to me. I hope," he breathed, his eyes concerned for some reason that I couldn't quite fathom, "that one day you will come and see it."

I could have died happily right then and there—but noooo, Bowen just had to keep going! Smiling at me, he dipped his head and placed a soft, chaste kiss on my lips. I closed my eyes and just lay there for a little bit after he had, once again, lifted his head.

"Gwen?" His voice was uncertain. "I—I'm sorry—I should have asked—"

I opened my eyes and caught at his hand just as he made to leave. "Don't go. Please?"

"You—you are not vexed with me? Any maid of Gondor would have slapped me for my impudence."

"I'm no 'maid of Gondor,' as I think we've already established," I said. Relief passed over his face, and he lay back down beside me, winding his arms around my waist. With a contented sigh, I brushed my lips against his. When I pulled away, he made a sound of dissent in his throat and ducked forward, catching my lips in a bolder kiss.

Eru bless the Gaming Piece!