A/N: woot! Reviews! I love 'em!

Chapter Ten: Refer To Rule Number One

I'm sure you're all dying to know what happened between Bowen and me, so I'll get that out of the way before I continue with the story. I'm afraid if I don't get over the sappiness quickly, Blayney might skin me alive. The fluffy scenes make him uncomfortable, poor, unloved ickle wizardkins! Eh... all right, Blayney, there's really no need to be ostentatiously sharpening your daggers like that... I'm getting on with it...

Anyway.

Bowen, being one of King Elessar's most trusted (and talented) messengers, obviously could not stay in the Shire with me forever, no matter how much I wanted him to. He managed to swing a few days by claiming that his horse had pulled a muscle, or some such nonsense. The hobbits were all too terrified by the massive horse, gentle as he was, to approach, so no one questioned Bowen's reasoning. For the three days he spent in Hobbiton, the only time we were separated was at night (yes, no nasty thoughts now, kiddies—this is an autobiography, not a bodice-ripper!) and soon Lily and Dahlia were making comments about how these flowers would make a gorgeous wedding bouquet, and how pretty I looked in green (the traditional color that hobbit brides wore). Even my most evil governess-glare couldn't quash their commentary—and Bowen's presence certainly never hindered them in any way!

Too soon, the fourth day dawned, and I met Bowen at the Hobbiton stables, among other things, a hodge-podge first aid kit, complete with bandages, ointments, burn salves, a pair of scissors, and a package of dried herbs.

"I thank you, Gwen," he said, grinning at me as he tied it firmly to his horse's saddle.

"And here's a few meals' worth of food, if you tighten your belt," I said, passing him a sack filled with bread, a wheel of cheese, dried meat, and apples. "And your clean clothes—Rosy fixed the tear in your cloak."

"Will you give her my gratitude?"

"I will."

Awkwardly, we stood looking at each other for a long minute.

"Gwen—" he began just as I said, "Bowen... haha... uh, you go first."

His cheeks burned a little as he took the few steps that separated us and enclosed my hands in his. "I do not want to leave, Gwen."

"Hobbiton does have the habit of growing on you unexpectedly, doesn't it?"

"No, that is not..." he sighed. "I do not want to leave you, Gwen, though I fear I must." I remained silent, heart pounding at about a thousand miles per hour, as he lifted one hand and ran the back of it softly down my cheek. "Know that, now and forever, you have my... my... my admiration and respect." He blushed even deeper. "My king needs me."

So do I, I wanted to wail. I wanted to throw myself in his arms and make him swear to never leave—but of course, I didn't. "Oh. Right, yes, of course. Ara—Elessar needs you more than I do."

A look of pain spasmed across his face.

"That's not what I meant, Bowen! Oh, botheration. I want you to stay, too, but—but he's a king. As in, has the fate of an entire country in his hands. You help him do that. I don't think it would be right for me to steal away his most faithful messenger."

The doubt seeped out of those clear hazel eyes of his, and I breathed a sigh of relief, releasing my hands from his grasp and wrapping them around his waist, pulling him into a hug. He put his own arms around my shoulders, and I felt him kiss the top of my head. I felt myself verging dangerously on tears—no no NO. Bad. Badbadbadbadbad. CoughMarySuecough. Damnit, suck it up, Gwen! Don't be a baby!

Oooh, but I wanna...

You'll see him again.

How do you know?

I just do. Now, trust me already and stop sobbing. You're making him uncomfortable.

Panicked, I wrenched myself out of my internal argument, and found that my other-self had been somewhat exaggerating the situation. Sure, I was crying a little, but I certainly wasn't sobbing—and Bowen didn't seem uncomfortable at all.

Sniffling slightly, I pulled out of the embrace and smiled bravely up at him. "All right, now, get going. You've wasted enough time here—I'm sure Elessar needs you back yesterday."

"I did not waste time here, Gwen."

Oh, botheration.

To save myself from further humiliation, I snapped into governess mode. "Regardless, you're the one who reminded me that the King needs you. Now, stop being so sweet or I'll be forced to hog-tie you to keep you here, and screw Elessar. Figuratively speaking, of course."

He laughed, though it was a little strained. "Bawdy girl."

My smile was pinched. "Prudish boy."

He beamed at me one last time, squeezed my hand, kissed my cheek, and mounted his horse. "You will write to me?"

"Of course." I hugged my arms and forced myself to smile up at him. "And Bowen? Don't forget—you promised to show me the sky from the White Tower."

"I will not forget."

With that, he clucked to his horse and rode out of Hobbiton—and, or so I was sure of then—out of my life.

"Gwen, stop moping!"

"I'm not moping."

"You're sulking."

"Sulking and moping are not the same thing."

"Yes, they are!" countered Faramir as Goldilocks struggled to physically haul me to my feet. I resisted her efforts by clinging to my bed's headboard.

"No, they're not. To sulk means 'to be sullenly aloof or withdrawn,' while to mope means 'to be gloomy or dejected,'" I said. "I need to get one of those signs that say 'Rule Number One: The Teacher is Always Right. Rule Number Two: In Case She Is Wrong, Refer To Rule Number One.'"

Goldilocks snorted.

"Really, Goldie, that isn't very ladylike."

"Neither is staying abed all day, sighing over that Gondorian man of yours. Really, Gwen! It's been six months!"

"Six months without a word," I said, sighing.

"There! See! You sighed!"

Faramir rolled his eyes at his Goldilocks. "Congratulations, Captain Obvious."

I stared at him for a very, very long moment. And then I laughed. No, laughed isn't the right term—howled, more likely. I laughed until my sides ached and tears were streaming down my face—I laughed until my throat was sore and both hobbits were slowly backing away from me. But hey, can you blame me? You would go into hysterics too, to hear such a very proper young hobbit using an Americanism like that. I was positive I would laugh myself to death.

"Well, now that you've got that out of your system," Faramir, who seemed to have adopted my habit of snarkiness, said, "get up."

"No."

"Now."

"No."

"Gwenith Sherbourn, get out of bed!" he said, stamping his foot in comical anger.

"Make me."

Uh-oh... wrong thing to say, I thought as Faramir gave Goldilocks a very arch look. She simpered back and blithely leapt onto the bed, pinning down my arms and legs. Hobbits, for all their small size, are surprisingly strong.

"Very well, then," Faramir said in an unconcerned voice as he circled around to the end of the bed. I yelped as the blanket was pulled back, exposing my bare toes to the cold air.

"Oh, Far!" I wailed. "Don't!"

"You gave me permission."

"Did not!"

"You said that I should make you get up, which implies permission to do anything that would get you out of bed, you lazy girl!" he countered, and set about tickling my toes. I dissolved into giggles, futilely attempting to kick him away; Goldie held me down tight, grinning.

"N-n-n-no! B-blasted---hahahaha—Took!"

"Ready to get up, Gwennie?" Goldilocks chirped.

"Y-y-y-hahaha—yes! Just—ahhh—call off your h-h-hounds!"

Faramir suddenly bounced over to the side of the bed, a frown on his face. "Are you calling me a dog?"

Wiping tears of mirth away from my face, I sat up as Goldie slithered off the bed. "Of course not. Wanna cookie?"

The reference, of course, made no sense to the young hobbit, who merely looked at me with worried uncertainty.

"No, I'm not insane. I think." I sighed and reluctantly crawled out from under the warm blankets; Master Gamgee's house, where I was staying for the winter, was uncomfortably cool despite the many fires kept roaring. Only a few weeks until spring, thank Eru. "There. I'm up. Now what did you want, you horrid little toads, you?"

"We didn't. Mamma did," Goldilocks said.

"Brill," I said, pulling a dressing-robe on over my nightgown. It was my day off, and I intended to spend it how I would spend a free day back home—writing, sleeping, daydreaming, and otherwise wasting time.

"Honestly, Gwen, you say the strangest things sometimes," Goldilocks observed, tugging absently on one of her curls. "You've missed breakfast, by the way, but I saved you some toasted bread and porridge."

I hesitated, thinking about what she just said, and couldn't suppress a grin. Goldilocks saved me some porridge. I really have to tell her that story one day! "Thanks, kid," was all I said, resting an arm on top of each other heads. "Ah, the perfect height."

For that, I was severely poked from both sides. My shrieks of mingled pain and mirth echoed through the hole, prompting several more golden-brown, curly heads to pop out of doorways. For myself, I was too busy fending off the little monsters to notice who was standing in the kitchen, watching me with crossed arms and a smirk.

"Now, now, littles. That's no way to treat our girl, is it?"

Goldie and Faramir withdrew obediently, and I sucked in a breath, straightening and smoothing out my rumpled dressing gown. When I was reasonably well-ordered, I turned to face our guest. Rosie lingered behind him, her head bobbing and her face positively glowing with cheer.

"Master Pippin!" I said with a smile, making a small obeisance. "What brings you to Hobbiton, sir?"

"Passing fair news, Gwenith, passing fair!" he said, grinning widely. Compulsively, he strode up to me and pumped my hand several times in a congratulatory manner, though I had no idea for what he might be congratulating me. "I wager that Rosie will want to tell you, though."

Curiosity was chewing through me faster than worms in an apple, and I turned my gaze to Rosie, who had begun to bounce on the balls of her feet. Her youngest, Robin, cooed appreciatively and wound his fat little fist in his mother's errant curls. "Oh, Gwen! It's so exciting! King Elessar's daughter is to be wed to the son of Lord Faramir, and we've been invited!"

Faramir gave a great whoop and Goldilocks squealed, hugging him; Master Pippin laughed, and Rosie bounced higher. Robin cooed again.

I stared.

"...Gwen?"

"We're going to Ithilien?" I asked at length, barely able to stand the three seconds between question and answer that Rosie wasted on smiling.

"We're going to Ithilien."

I stared for a few more minutes, and then shrieked happily, doing my own utterly dorky happy dance right there in the middle of the corridor. "We're going to Ithilien, we're going to Ithilien!" I chanted. Soon Goldilocks and Faramir and (to my immense amusement) Master Pippin had joined in, and we were all dancing around in circles.

We're going to Ithilien!

Yeah. This chapter's crap. Sorry.