I'm aliiiiiive! :D Blessings on anyone who's still around to read this—NaNoWriMo did kill me (though I yelled my inner perfectionist into being okay with not reaching 50k and counting it as a life lesson), and then work and grad school stepped in to make sure it took. On the plus side, this chapter is again the longest yet, a little over 3k, so please take that as a peace offering, because I've been working on it for at least a month or more. Thank you for all your support! *distributes your favorite kinds of pies*
Amaranth's mind was still whirling as she shut Uncle Posco's gate behind her as slowly as she could bear. Despite her best efforts, though, it still creaked just before she latched it, and she winced, glancing toward the darkened front windows of the smial before her. No candle flickered to light, though, and she moved silently to the door. Gently, ever so gently, she took careful hold of the knob and tugged just a little, and it swung outward easily. Still gripping her basket and hoping to the Lady that the pie pans wouldn't make any clatter, she slid inside and carefully clicked the door shut as her eyes adjusted to the lack of moonlight.
Then she turned around.
"Oh, confusticate it."
There stood Prisca, in her dressing gown and nightdress, but very much awake.
"Prisca! Whyever are you still up? You should be getting all the sleep you can." Amaranth kept her voice just above a whisper as she maneuvered herself and her basket around her cousin and made for the kitchen. "Let me just put these pans in here and then we can both go to bed. You needn't have stayed up on my account." She'd have to wait till Prisca was asleep before starting in on the pies, but she could at least gather her things while she waited.
"What did those dwarves want with you?"
Double confusticate it. She was glad Prisca, following behind her, couldn't see her face. "They were lost and needed a guide, that's all."
"Did they have anything to do with taking pies to cousin Bilbo? Or did you just happen to walk by Bag End—after escorting them in the opposite direction from the Green Dragon, mind you, so I know they weren't going there—and happen to see his party through the windows?" There was just the faintest hint of laugher in Prisca's voice. "No, that wasn't it. What was it Papa said—something about tweens in the flowerbeds and asking Bilbo for flowers, was that it? I don't suppose you have any in that basket . . ."
With a rueful sigh Amaranth set the basket on the kitchen table and turned to face Prisca. "You know me far too well. No, no flowers, no tweens, I just desperately wanted to know why they were visiting Bilbo. Now if you insist on staying up, can I impose upon the bride-to-be to wash some of her own pie pans while I fix up some new crusts?"
"I do and you may." Prisca tied an apron over her dressing gown and set to work as Amaranth measured flour and salt and butter into a wooden mixing bowl.
There was a moment of silence, and Amaranth began writing a letter home in her head as she cut in the butter. Dear everyone, By the time you read this, I shall be embarked on an extremely Tookish endeavour for which the great wizard Gandalf and my misguided sense of curiosity are entirely to blame. I am not sure when I may return, but as our Company is traveling to the entire other side of Middle-Earth, I will almost certainly not be home this coming week as planned. Much love to you all, and if I don't come back, don't let the boys take all my hair-ribbons for fishing lures—those go to Asphodel and Primula.
That was sure to go over well.
"Did you find out what they wanted?" Prisca asked.
"Eventually."
"And that was—"
"Someone to go on an adventure." She remembered how guarded Fili and Kili had been about the purpose of their quest, so there must be some necessity for caution in discussing it willy-nilly.
"And they started looking at Bag End, of all places. That's the complete wrong end of the Shire, I hope Bilbo let them know!" Prisca laughed.
"Oh, he did. Even I did. Told them they should have started off in Tuckborough, or even—Buckland." Too late she knew she shouldn't have hesitated there, that was a certain giveaway, and sure enough—
"Amaranth?" The sounds of scrubbing stopped, and Prisca came around the table to face her. "Is there something you're trying to ease into? You know you needn't do that all the time. Just say it."
Amaranth upended the bowl to let the first piecrust plop onto a floured cloth. "Pass me the rolling pin?"
Prisca fetched it from its shelf but held it out of Amaranth's reach. "Tell me first."
With a sigh that sent up a puff of flour, she nodded. "I—I won't be able to stay for the wedding." Once she pushed those words out, the rest was relatively easy. "I'm sorry, I surely am, but it's not something that can wait even a few days, I don't think. If you know of someone here in Hobbiton who could help you, I will personally see them in the morning to request their assistance, and if there is anything else I can do tonight besides these pies, I will, but I have to be packed and on the road to Bywater by half-past-ten."
"Is all well at Brandy Hall?" Prisca gave her a concerned look along with the rolling pin. "Ill news from home? Or is this—this has to do with the dwarves. Oh Amaranth, you didn't. What did you do?"
"Make up your mind, cousin, did I or didn't I? No, I'm sorry, this is a poor time for jokes." She attacked the lump of piecrust and spoke as she rolled it out. "There was, well, an adventure to be had, and Gandalf was very particular about inviting a hobbit, and Bilbo turned him down so I offered to go instead."
"Not Gandalf the wandering wizard!" Prisca's eyes were round as the mixing bowl. "Papa recalls his fireworks every Midsummer's Eve—I've always wanted to see. And you'll be traveling with him and those two dwarves?"
"More dwarves than just them, but yes."
"Does your family—no, they wouldn't know, this only happened tonight. Will you be passing through Buckland on your travels, or would you like me to post a letter for you?"
Amaranth raised an eyebrow. "What, no horrified remonstrances or attempts at persuading me not to go? This really is everything I shouldn't be doing."
Prisca shrugged. "I'm mostly certain you'd just argue or laugh if I tried. Of course I can't say I'm anything like overjoyed, and I don't even want to think about how people will talk, but you're abominably hard to talk out of things. So the least I can do is help you tell your poor family that you're haring off into the wild instead of knocking some sense into me when I wake up Saturday morning in an absolute panic over marrying dear Willy."
"Here's what I'll do. When I write a letter for my family, I'll write one for you as well, and then if you do start to go off, just open it up and it'll be like I'm sitting right on your bed, shaking you by the shoulders and telling you everything will be absolutely wonderful." Amaranth went around the table to give Prisca a tight hug, feeling the tears trying to start. "And then I'll come back and you'll be happily married to young master Wilibald, and you can name your first fauntling after me as a welcome-home."
"E-even if it's a boy?" Prisca's voice was a little watery as well, despite her smile.
"You'll simply have to make sure it's a girl, I suppose." She stepped back and blew one of her curls out of her mouth. Back to business, Amaranth. Food now, tears later. "Now, I've four pies to make before dawn, if possible, so unless you want to be up to your elbows in berries, you'd best get along to bed."
"No, I'll stay." Prisca handed over two clean pie pans and set to work on the others. With her help, Amaranth soon had all four pies in the oven by just a little while after midnight. When she worried again about leaving Prisca alone for wedding preparations, her cousin quickly put her fears to rest—Posco's sweetheart Gilly Brownlock and her mother would no doubt be more than capable of managing anything that needed it.
"And you won't say why exactly I've left, will you?" Amaranth cut herself a wedge of brown bread and spread it thick with raspberry preserves. Baking was hungry work.
"Of course not! I'm sure that will spread soon enough, but I won't be the one to start it." Prisca dipped a spoon straight into the jar of preserves. "I'll just say you've been called away unexpectedly, and they shan't ask questions. The Brownlocks are good folk."
"I'm sure even the 'good folk' in Hobbiton won't be able to keep from talking when they hear I set off from the Green Dragon with a company of dwarves and Gandalf the Grey himself." Amaranth shook her head and licked the preserves from her knife. "That's bound to make it all over the Shire, I don't doubt."
"Aren't you even a little worried what they'll think?"
"I'm a Brandybuck with Took blood, we've done worse. They already think we're odd for boating on the Brandywine or wearing boots when the mud is especially bad—this won't turn but a few more heads than usual."
"I mean your reputation, Amaranth. Going on an adventure is one thing, but going on an adventure in company like that—" Prisca let her words trail off.
Oh. Bother. The one logical objection she hadn't though of. But Thorin and Gandalf hadn't either, for all the talk about honor. So. "No need to worry, it's all entirely respectable. They're not like that at all. They're—I don't know how to describe them, but—they love good food, and beautiful music, and besides Gandalf is coming with us, and he wouldn't go around with dishonorable people, would he." She didn't sound very convincing, she knew, but she also knew that the only danger she'd be in would come from outside the Company, even if she couldn't articulate why she knew it. And if people wanted to talk, well, she couldn't do anything about that.
Prisca didn't look satisfied, but she let the matter drop, and soon the pies were cooling in the pantry and Amaranth was packing her bag. She hadn't brought much to Hobbiton—a few outfits and aprons, a bedroll for sleeping along the way, her two brushes, a few other personal items. She left out the fine green dress she'd planned to wear to the wedding, not without regret—she had made it new, and it seemed a shame to leave it unworn, but she couldn't see any use for finery on the journey ahead of her. Her sewing kit, however, was an absolute necessity . . .
By the time she had culled through her things, the little clock in the hall had chimed two in the morning, and she didn't even bother changing into her nightdress before falling into bed.
She woke to Prisca shaking her frantically as the clock chimed ten. "Hurry, it's nearly time!"
Exactly twenty-seven minutes later, she'd scribbled out a letter to her family and the promised wedding-day note for Prisca, haphazardly brushed all her hair, jammed a few last-minute additions into her bag, slung it and her bedroll over her shoulders, and received hugs and some bread and cheese for breakfast from Prisca and a confused Uncle Polo.
She paused on the doorstep and turned, feeling the sunlight warm on her shoulders. Prisca smiled at her a little sadly, and Amaranth found herself stumbling for words, torn between her family and the road calling her name. It was time. She was really doing this. Taking her first step toward the rest of Middle Earth. And they were letting her.
She gave both of them one last hug and blurted out, "I hope the wedding goes off splendidly!"
Then before she could second-guess herself, she was off, racing down the road to Bywater.
It was only a mile or so, but she wanted to arrive before the time Thorin had given for departure—if he wanted to leave at eleven, by the Lady, she'd be ready to leave by quarter till! So she kept up as good a pace as she could manage under her load and didn't stop for anything, beast or hobbit. If anyone she sped past gave her strange looks or called after her, she didn't notice.
She slowed to a more sedate pace just before she came in sight of the Green Dragon and tried to brush most of the dust off her hem as she walked. It wouldn't do to show up looking a complete hoyden. Forcing her breathing under control (she really didn't run much, did she, this was terrible shape for a burglar to be in), she strolled into the courtyard before the inn.
It was full of ponies.
(And hobbits clearly gathered to stare at the ponies' eventual riders, but mostly ponies.)
Well, probably only fifteen or so, but she'd never seen so many in one place before. Was she going to get to ride one? Twin springs of excitement and dread bubbled up inside her. Sure, this was an adventure, but they were just so big—even the smallest pony was a head taller than her! How was she supposed to get on, let alone tell the beast where she wanted it to go?
"Ah, there you are, Amaranth!" a familiar voice shouted from the inn door. Fili waved over the ponies' heads. "Won't you come join us?"
She made her way across the courtyard, studiously ignoring everyone's stares, and arrived safely at Fili's side. He gestured for her to precede him inside, and she stepped cautiously into the sunlit common room, which was just as full of dwarves as the courtyard was of their mounts. They had pushed most of the tables together to form one large seating area, and everyone was indeed seated. There also seemed to be no eggs, forks, or crockery flying through the air, so the few hobbits daring enough to peer through the windows or hover just inside the doorway were at least not receiving a horrible first impression of the Company, thank the Lady. She saw no sign of Gandalf anywhere.
Most of the dwarves didn't notice her at first, too busy wiping down their plates with what was left of brown barley rolls, but Kili was sitting nearest the door and looked up as they entered. Lifting his tankard in greeting, he called out, "Ho there, Amaranth, a good morning to you! Not having any second thoughts?"
"Of course not!" She could feel how broad her instant smile was—just being with the Company again was exciting, even if some of them were ignoring her completely (Gloin and Dwalin in particular) and some were staring in poorly concealed surprise. At least Kili and Fili were happy to see her.
Thorin, of course, showed no trace of emotion as he drained his own tankard and rose from his seat. The other dwarves' conversations quieted, and all eyes turned to him as he greeted her. "Good morning, Mistress Brandybuck. Is that all your belongings?"
Her smile died instantly. "Yes sir. Is it too much?" She'd worried that maybe she should have left something out—did she really need the aprons, for instance? Would he make her repack? Was "sir" even the right title to use?
He shook his head. "It is adequate; you will not overburden the ponies. Kili, Fili, help her with her things. We will be leaving momentarily."
Kili bounded to his feet and joined Amaranth and Fili almost before his uncle had finished speaking. "Right then, shall we be off?"
She followed them back outside, and they led her to a brown pony with a splash of white down the middle of its face. "Do you do much riding?" Fili asked as she cautiously reached out to touch the pony's side.
"No, as a rule we hobbits prefer to walk for most things. Though we do keep ponies for plowing, or pulling carts." The pony's hair was soft under her fingers. "What's this one's name?"
"Don't know if she has one." Kili shrugged. "We bought a couple of new ones when Gandalf said we'd be picking up a burglar, and we've just been using them for carrying supplies. Want to name her?"
"I'll think on it. Naming is a serious business."
"Here, let's get your things tied on," Fili offered, and she handed him her bag and bedroll willingly enough. The sweat that had collected on her back instantly chilled in the April air, and she rolled her shoulders back and forth, relieved to be free of the weight.
"Speaking of names, yours is far too long," Kili declared with a grin.
Without looking, Fili reached behind him and hit Kili in the shoulder. "I apologize for my brother, Amaranth. Sometimes I fear he's forgotten everything Mother tried to teach us."
"Only sometimes?" She raised an eyebrow, and both brothers laughed.
"That's it, we're keeping you." Kili tried to sling his arm around her shoulders, but she was stepping toward the horse to see exactly what Fili was doing with all those straps, and he missed. "Really, though, we can't go around calling out 'Aaa-maaa-raaanth' every time we want to get your attention. What if some wild beast or, or big hairy troll is trying to sneak up on you? By the time we got to the end of your name, you'd be a goner!"
"You really need to have more faith in how quickly you can talk," she tossed over her shoulder. Fili snorted as he pulled the last buckle tight.
"There you are, everything should be secured." He patted the horse's side, calming her as the other dwarves came pouring out into the courtyard. "You can practice tonight. Come along, Kili, we'd best mount up."
"I'm not letting this go," Kili promised as he made off for his own horse. "It's a matter of the safety of our very important burglar."
Important? She'd never been called that before. A funny warm sort of feeling joined the excitement and dread from earlier (though the dread by now was all but vanished), and she rather liked it.
Of course, that was before she heard the watching folk of Bywater (and probably a few from up the Hill) start murmuring about burglars and Brandybucks. There went that chicken out of the coop.
With the help of a handy bench and a few false starts, she managed to pull herself up onto the pony's back. Rearranging her skirts and feeling glad it was cool enough that she'd packed longer ones, she looked around and realized she was last to mount. All the dwarves were already up, and Thorin was leading them toward the road.
Fortunately, her pony knew enough to follow the others, because Amaranth had no idea how to make her start walking on her own. Unfortunately, she only just had time to be happy about this before they were all stopping again, and her pony bumped into the back end of—Ori's, was it?—before halting.
And the reason they were stopping?
Was a very familiar figure running helter-skelter down the same road she'd run, and waving a very familiar sheet of parchment.
"Wait! Wait! I've signed it!" called out cousin Bilbo.