Hey there! I'm sorry about the delay this week, but I do have two chapters tonight to make up for it ;) Thank you to all my lovely reviewers for the wonderful response to the last chapter, and I hope to update again soon.

As ever, please forgive my typos.

Chapter Ninety One: Mama Knows Best

Esmeralda Brandybuck woke suddenly in the dark, struck to the bone with a crippling, inexplicable terror that something was wrong.

Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, muffling the sound of her gasping breaths, and she shuddered, sitting up in bed and listening intently. She could hear Saradoc breathing deeply beside her, hear her brother snoring the next room. She could hear the wind blowing gently outside.

And she could hear nothing else. Nothing that would indicate danger, nothing that would suggest there was anything wrong. There was nothing to see, or hear, or even smell that would suggest that things were not right, but she felt it, a sensed deep in her gut that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Silently, she slipped out of bed and into the hallway, tiptoeing past her brother's room, and Pearl's room, and her parents' room, but she heard nothing. Nothing except a gentle silence, and the soft, snuffling sleep sounds of her family.

Her gut clenched tighter.

Holding her breath, she pushed open the door to the children's room, and then and there, at last, she sighed. Orla, Ola and Bodin were all curled up safely in bed, tucked in, and sleeping soundly.

She leant against the doorframe, letting her chin fall against her chest. Her heart was still racing, and as she raised her chilled fingers to press against her neck, she felt no sign of her pulse slowing. Something was wrong.

The wind stirred the curtains, and spilt moonlight into the room that used to be hers. It seemed a lifetime ago, now. When this was her room, life was easy, and life was sweet. All the things that had troubled her then now seemed so petty. When that room was hers, she had worried about what might happen if Lobelia made good on her promise of making Kíli and Bilbo social pariahs, or whether or not Eglantine's flirting with Paladin was genuine. It had been by that window she had worried about what to wear to the May Ball, and whether or not Saradoc liked her back.

In fact, it had been in that room that she had given birth to Merry.

Pregnancy had not been kind to Esme. She had been plagued by sickness and discomfort and dizziness, and in her seventh month she and Saradoc had moved back into her parents' house. The birth had gone far from smoothly – for over twenty-seven hours Esme had languished in the pains of labour, pains worse than anything she had ever imagined. Her mother had been forced to manoeuvre the baby's position while he was still in the womb to stop him from being born feet first, and when the time came at last to push, Esme was so exhausted that she was barely able to deliver him.

She could still remember hearing the frantic, muffled voices of her brothers as Paladin and Kíli stood outside the door begging to see her, to know whether or not she was alright, and she remembered Saradoc crying as he held her, begging her to push just one more time, hold on for just a little longer.

She remembered the first time she saw Merry, a large, healthy child, and she remembered thinking that a babe who could cry so loudly with lungs so strong had no need to make his mother so uncomfortable. She remembered smiling about that, she remembered knowing at once that she would do it again, that she would do anything, for the little one in her arms. Anything, and everything, for Merry.

She did not remember much after that, for unconsciousness had taken her only moments after her son was placed into her arms. It was months before Saradoc could admit to her how terrified he had been, how certain he was that she was dying, that he would have to raise their son alone, and Esme felt awful for him. But she regretted nothing. From that birth, that awful, never-ending labour that had ended any hopes she had for a large family, she had been given the single most perfect being in the world. She had been given her little Merry.

A sudden thrill of horror shot through her.

It was Merry. Something was wrong with Merry – she knew it was, she felt it, felt it in her heart, and she whirled around, sprinting down the hall to wake Saradoc, to warn him, but she stopped short of the door.

She could not tell him. Not like this – to wake him and tell him that their baby was in trouble without any proof or reason… It was not fair. The frantic fear in the flutter of her heart and the aching pain in her gut were not proof, and the grim feeling that she had hit the nail on the head was nothing more than a feeling. It was evidence of nothing. And there was nothing she could do to find out if she was right or not.

She could not find him. She had no way of finding her baby. He might be hurt, or afraid, or in danger, but he was also far away.

There was nothing she could do.

She felt the heat of tears rise in her eyes, and pressed her palm against her mouth.

No sound, now, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. No sound. No one else needs to suffer for my nightmare.

They were suffering enough already.

The war had reached the heart of the Shire now, there was no way to deny it. The raids on Hobbiton were weekly, almost daily, and it was starting to feel more like a spot of sport for their attackers than it did a prolonged war effort. Since Halbarad had left in search of aid, battle at Bywater had claimed the lives of thirty hobbits and five Rangers, and a second had cost twenty hobbits more, but then the large-scale fights seemed to stop. Instead, the raiders had come in smaller droves, destroying farms and houses, ransacking homes and burning gardens.

Killing, when the mood seemed to take them.

Altogether, nearly seventy hobbits now lay buried before the memorial mound in Hobbiton, alongside eight of the Rangers that had been protecting them, and Esme mourned them all, deeply and fiercely, but she knew in her heart that if the ruffians attacked in full force, the whole of Hobbiton would likely be underground. Their nameless enemy was a spiteful cat, and they were the mouse between its paws.

Yet still, the hobbits of Hobbiton and the surrounding villages were closing in around the dwarflings in their care with a determination that surprised even Esme. True, it was safety in numbers that drew many folk from the smaller villages into Bywater and Hobbiton, but in every raid that had taken place, no less than a dozen hobbits had surrounded the Took house, and the raiders had not seen hide or hair of the little dwarflings.

Not yet.

It was getting close, though. Last week, it had got far too close for comfort.

Esme studied the apples carefully, as if it really mattered which one was the greenest, or which would be the juiciest. Going through the motions was now the main driving force of Hobbiton's marketplace, with folk trying to go about their business as normally as possible. They were all trying desperately to hold on to some semblance of control, of routine, and so far, no attacks had been made on the marketplace. Not with the Rangers keeping watch, and the sun high above them.

That was why Bodin was at her side, his hand tucked into her sleeve, and his eyes gazing out at the meadows beyond the water. A tang of pity tugged at her heart. He wanted to play, to run through the fields like a normal child, but that was impossible now. No child in Hobbiton was running free, or playing in the fields. It was too dangerous.

For the dwarflings, security was even tighter – Esme, Saradoc and Paladin had agreed to take them out only one at a time. One dwarfling with curls in their hair was far easier to mistake for a hobbit than three. Ellie argued that they should all be kept inside at all times, but that did not seem fair to Esme. If the rest of the Shire could have an hour to pretend everything was alright, the dwarflings should too. Yesterday, Saradoc had taken Ola to visit the Cottons, and the day before Paladin had brought Orla with him on his trip to check in on Hamfast Gamgee. Today was Bodin's turn.

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the market, and Esme gasped, grabbing Bodin and throwing him behind her skirts even as she turned towards the sound. She felt his little hands grab onto the strings of her apron, and she slowly lifted the blanket from her basket, unveiling the bow inside as the crowd staggered back around her.

As the hobbits parted, Esme's heart dropped – there was a dwarf in the marketplace, clad all in black, and clutched in his arms was little Ruby Smallburrow, screaming for her mother with cheeks that blazed bright red. Posy was only a few feet away, screaming just as hysterically for her daughter, but there were two hobbits holding her back as the dwarf raised his knife.

"Hail, Shire-folk!" yelled the dwarf, his voice lilting with an accent that Esme did not recognise. Silently, she took hold of an arrow and placed her basket down on the market stall. The dwarf was smirking, his knife pointed at the wailing girl's cheek. "Now, I don't need to hurt this little lass here, not if you all cooperate. I think an even trade will suffice – you hand over the son of the dwarven Lord Bombur, and you can have your little lass back, how about that?"

Bodin whimpered, his hands twisting tighter around Esme's apron, and she drew a deep breath. Then, moving as fast as her body would allow her, she wrenched her bow into position, aimed, and loosed the arrow, with a precision as good as Kíli's. The dwarf was dead before he hit the ground, Esme's arrow lodged firmly in his eye. Ruby flung herself up and into her mother's arms, and Esme snatched Bodin from the ground.

"Get him out of here!" hissed Amaranth, the grocer, pawing at Esme's arm and pushing her back towards the Took House. "Quick, Esmeralda, there could be more of them! Get him home, get him safe! Go!"

Esme had run, and she had not stopped until the door was bolted behind her. Bodin had sobbed himself to sleep for three nights in a row, after that. Not even his sisters could stop his tears.

They had not let the dwarflings out of the house since, and the same could be said for most hobbit children. There was no more laughter shrieking through the hills as the little ones ran free, and no more children skipping from house to house to ask others to play. On the rare occasion when you would catch sight of a child, their hand would be firmly cased in an adult's, and they would not be outside for long. Instead, they would be hidden behind closed doors, doors that now had not only keyholes, but bolts and chains, and often a doorstop or two for good measure.

The ironsmiths had never been so busy, nor had they ever worked for a cheaper price. Day after day, they churned out new bolts, new locks, new chains, and they took only the cost of the materials as payment. The carpenters were scurrying around delivering them, and installing them free of charge, and as they did, those who classed themselves as hunters shadowed them with bows at the ready, covering their backs in case of sudden attack. In the Shire, they looked after their own.

On the day that Esme first met Dís, the dwarf had been shocked to find that the Bagginses left their front door unlocked when they went out for the day, and even more so when she discovered that locking the door at night was unusual.

Now, every soul in Hobbiton locked their doors at night. It had become a ritual, one shared by every household. Bolt the windows, pull the curtains, lock the doors. Stay in the house until sunrise, unless you were due to take over a watch – or you heard the horns of the rangers, or of the bounders. Keep the lights to the minimum, stay quiet, stay low –

Esme shot upright with a sudden thrill of horror.

Bolt the windows.

The curtain in the children's room had been drifting in the breeze.

The window had been bolted before they went to bed.

She raced down the hall and skidded into the room, and the breath fled from her lungs.

The curtain was still swaying gently in the breeze, and the moonlight was still dappling on the ground. And the children were still sleeping, undisturbed, in their bed.

Not daring to even breath, Esme snuck across the room and peered out from behind the curtains, scouring the garden outside for any sign that there was something wrong. At once, she caught sight of a tall, hooded figure walking along the nearby road, but as her hands curled into fists he turned, and the moonlight fell on his face. It was one of the rangers, Aldaron, and when he caught her eye he gave a small nod. She nodded back, and he turned away, continuing on his rounds in silence.

Carefully, Esme leant forward, checking the flowerbeds beneath the window – they were untouched, undisturbed, without so much as a bent leaf, let alone a footprint. There was no sign that anyone had been there, and when she ran her fingers over the window-frame she found no evidence that the window had been forcefully opened from the outside.

As slowly as she could, she pulled the window tight, latched it, and then rattled it slightly, just to make sure that the bolt stayed in place.

"'m sorry, Auntie Esme," mumbled a small voice, and she jumped, her hand landing on her heart even as she turned to look at Orla. The older twin was sitting up slightly, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes. "I – I thought I heard Adad."

"What?" Esme murmured, crouching down before the bed to look the girl in the eye. "When?"

Orla sniffed, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I – I woke up, and, I thought I heard hooves, and voices, it sounded like Ada. I wanted it to be… but when I opened the window it was just the guard changing over. I meant to close it, I did, but… but I, I was worried that if Adad did come and I didn't hear him, he wouldn't know where I was. I, I just fell back to sleep. I'm sorry."

Esme smiled, sadly, adjusting the rollers in Orla's hair so that they were no longer hanging in her face. "You don't need to be sorry, sweet-pea. I know you miss Amad and Adad. I miss them too. But it's not safe anymore to leave the windows open."

Orla's eyes filled with tears, and her little lip began to tremble. "I know. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry," said Esme again. "You just need to try not to do it again. If your Adad comes to get you, he will find you. No closed window could keep him away."

"Will he come soon?" whispered Orla, reaching out and winding her fingers into Esme's hair. "I'm… I'm starting to get a little bit scared, Auntie Esme."

"Me too, darling, me too." Esme swallowed, and shook her head slightly. "I don't know when your Adad will come. He might send Uncle Bofur and Uncle Bifur back instead, if he has to stay with the little ones in the mountain."

Orla sighed, leaning forward to rest her head against Esme's. "I want to go home now," she whimpered, and Esme felt a lump rise in her throat.

"I know, sweet-pea. I know. I want to go home too." She closed her eyes, pressing her face to the little dwarfling's for a moment, but then she pulled away, and poked the tip of Orla's nose, doing her best to smile. "Come now, we won't get to sleep again in this state. Let's get some nice camomile tea and a biscuit or two, shall we?"

Orla considered this for a moment and then nodded, and Esme lifted her up out of bed. It was starting to get tricky – Orla was easily up to Esme's ribcage now, and dwarves were nothing if not sturdy, but she made no complaint as she carried Orla down the hall and into the kitchen. Their stores of tea were beginning to grow low, particularly the black tea that always grew best in the South Farthing, where the earth was a little warmer. It was becoming more expensive as travel between the farthings grew less frequent and more dangerous, and few of the market traders had any left. Even Old Stoker's tea rooms were running low on stock, and folk had started to make three or even four cups of tea from the same leaves before throwing them away.

Tonight, however, Esme used a generous scoop of camomile, and sprinkled in a little hops, in an attempt to keep the nightmares at bay. Wrapped up in blankets by the fireside, she and Orla sipped slowly their tea, and the felt its heat try to untie the knot in her stomach.

"Auntie Esme?" asked Orla hesitantly, her eyes fixed on the swirling tea. "Couldn't… couldn't we just go home?"

Esme frowned slightly. "What do you mean, darling?"

"Well, you could take us home," said Orla quietly. "You and Uncle Saradoc and Uncle Paladin and Auntie Ellie, you all know how to travel, and, and Dad-dad and Mam-mad could come too, and we could just go home, go back to Amad and Adad before the bad men could get us."

Esme's heart sank, and she shook her head sadly. "I don't think that's a good idea, sweetheart."

"But why? I want to go home now, and you, you said you wanted to go to!"

"I do," promised Esme, leaning forward slightly. "I do, Orla, but it's not that simple. Firstly, you know that Saradoc and Pal and I aren't enough to protect you on our own – we know little more than basic self-defence, and we've never travelled without dwarven protection before. As for Dad-dad and Mam-mad, they're getting old, sweet-pea, and a journey so long would be very difficult, even if the world were not at war. The world outside is just as dangerous as the Shire now, if not more so."

Orla's lip trembled, and she gave small, sob-like hiccup. "I want to go home."

Esme closed her eyes for a moment, praying that it would keep the tears at bay. "I know. I know…" A sudden thought had her eyes flying open again, and she looked carefully at the girl before her. "Orla – you were not thinking about running away, were you?"

Orla frowned heavily, looking rather affronted. "No."

"Are you sure? Because that would be very dangerous and very selfish, if you did…"

"I know!" said Orla, her eyebrows descending down towards a scowl. "I wasn't! And if I was I would take Ola and Bodin with me, wouldn't I?"

"Alright, alright," said Esme, in as soothing a tone as she could conjure. "I'm sorry. I had to ask, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

Orla's scowl lingered for a moment as she studied Esme's eyes, but then it faded, leaving only weariness and sorrow on the child's face. "It's alright, Auntie Esme."

None of this is alright, Esme thought, but she forced herself to smile slightly.

"How about a story?" she said. "A nice fairy-tale to help you get back to sleep?"

Orla nodded, snuggling back into her blankets expectantly, and sipping on her tea. Esme began to talk slowly, reciting a tale her mother used to tell about two sisters and a great, enchanted bear, and after a while Orla's eyes began to droop. Eventually, she nodded over her teacup and Esme prised it gingerly from her fingers. When Orla sighed, but did not stir, Esme picked her up and carried her back into bed, tucking her in next to her sister. A small, mumbled half-sigh that sounded almost like a thank you left the little one's lips, but Esme may well have imagined it.

Exhaustion was taking a hold of her too, now, but she walked once more around the house, listening at bedroom doors for snoring and breathing, and checking all the windows and doors she could reach, before she finally returned to her room.

She was satisfied that the house was safe, that no raid would come that night, but she felt no better for it. If nothing was wrong here, then she had no more doubt in her mind. Something had happened to Merry, and she was not there for him.

Fighting back tears, she crept into bed beside Saradoc, and he sighed.

"Was just about to send a search party," he mumbled, his arm weaving around her. "You alright?"

She nodded against his chest, swallowing. "Fine."

He paused, long enough that she wondered if he had fallen back to sleep, but then he pressed a kiss to her hair. "You sure? You're shivering…"

"I…" she broke off, wrapping her arm around his chest. "It's nothing, I, I'm sure it's nothing."

"I'm not," he murmured, stroking her cheek gently. "Talk to me, Esme… Don't shut me out, now."

She swallowed, glancing up at him. She could only see the outline of his face in the darkness, but she could feel him waiting, and she sighed. "I… I just have a horrible feeling," she admitted. "And I – I'm afraid that something's wrong. With… with Merry."

Saradoc's arm tightened around her, and he rested his cheek against the top of her hair. "Me too," he whispered. "Me too. I – I just wish there was something we could do…" She heard him sniff, heard the thickness of unshed tears in his voice, and then Saradoc gave a shuddering sigh. "I – I love you, Esmeralda."

A small sob escaped her, and her fingers tightened around his pyjama shirt. "I love you too. So much."

"Merry… he'll be alright," whispered Saradoc. "Kíli will find him. You know he will, you know he… he'll find him, and he'll keep him safe. You know he will, he always has. Whatever's happened, if, if anything even has – Kíli will fix it."

Esme gave a watery laugh, and nodded slightly. "That wouldn't surprise me."

"Because it's true, and predictable," said Saradoc, his voice sounding a little stronger. "They'll be alright, Esme. I'm sure they will." He kissed her gently, and ran a hand through her hair. "Come, let's try and get a little sleep, at least. You must be exhausted."

But sleep scorned Esme until morning. She drifted away several times, only to be bombarded by nightmares, or woken a minute later by the hoot of an owl or the whisper of the breeze. When the sun began to break over the horizon and into the room, she felt as though she had not slept at all.

Still, there were dwarflings to protect, and to entertain, and they were early risers, so Esme hauled herself out of bed, ignoring the fatigue that enveloped her, and the dull ache of worry in her gut. She put on the kettle as usual, and brewed a strong pot of coffee, and then she began to toast the last of the bread.

She tried not to think about where the next loaf would come from. They had enough flour for one batch of dough, maybe two but then they would be utterly out, and she had not seen a bag of flour in the market for nearly two weeks – not since the Old Mill was burnt down, in any case. The loaves prepared by the bakers were growing smaller by the day, and belts were growing tighter.

Esme closed her eyes.

And someone knocked on the front door.

She stiffened, her hand tightening around the bread knife. Dawn had barely broken, and no one in the Shire would be out so early by choice – not anymore. She stepped towards the hall, only to pause and put down the bread knife in favour of the hunting knife hanging from the wall. The door knocked again, louder, more insistent, and she slunk down the hall. Bodin popped his head out of the door, and Pearl appeared in the doorway of another room in a frown and a nightgown, but Esme waved them back into their respective bedrooms. As the two doors slammed, two more opened, and Saradoc and Paladin stepped out from behind them. Saradoc's slingshot was already pulled back, and the arrow nocked in Paladin's bow was aiming at the door.

She nodded, and they nodded back, faces grave and grim, and stepped closer. Before she could demand the identity of the knocker, they knocked again, and she steeled herself, but then a voice she recognised floated through the wood.

"Hello? Is anyone home? Ellie? Paladin?"

Not trusting to hope or faith, Esme drew her shoulders back. "Who's there?" she demanded, her voice ringing loud and clear in the small, homely hallway.

"It's Ori," said the knocker, the plaintive innocence in his voice daring her to trust him. "And Master Glorfindel, and a few more elves after that. We're here to help."

Esme glanced over her shoulder at her boys. Paladin's eyes were narrowed, but indecision folded his brow, and Saradoc shook his head with a slight shrug of his shoulders. He did not know either. With a pang, Esme wished desperately that Kíli was there. He would know what to do– he always knew.

Her heart in her throat, she peeked out of the window by the door, catching sight of the dwarf standing outside. It certainly looked like Ori. Her hand moved to the bolt, but then she paused. Once upon a time, traitors had used a look-alike of Dwalin to torture Kíli.

She took a deep breath. "If you are Ori," she called, "then tell me – what is my son's middle name?"

The voice gave a soft laugh. "Merry's? He doesn't have one, officially – but according to Kíli it's Archibald Stinkerpot."

A small smile twitched onto Esme's cheek, and she glanced over her shoulder again. Paladin still looked uncertain, but Saradoc nodded, and Esme unlocked the door. She opened it a crack, and there was Ori, looking a little weather worn, and worse for the wear, but also healthy and whole, and as soon as she was sure that there was no ruffian behind him holding a knife against his ribs, Esme leapt forward.

"Ori!" she cried, hugging him fiercely before pulling away. "Where are the others? What happened?"

"It's just me, out of our kin," said Ori, a little uncertainly. "But I'm not alone." He glanced over his shoulder, and Esme followed his gaze to Glorfindel, who stood by the gate.

And then Esme saw who was behind Glorfindel, and her mouth dropped open in shock.

Ori had not been lying when he said a few more elves.

Standing on the little dirt road outside Esmeralda Took's family home, and stretching all the way back into the village were rows upon rows of fully armed, fully armoured elves – at least a hundred or so.

It was a small army. A small army of elves. In Hobbiton.

She fought against rubbing her eyes – she was dreaming, she had to be dreaming –

But then she heard Saradoc's breathless laugh, heard Paladin's whispered prayer as they walked out behind her.

"Good morning Esmeralda, Saradoc, Paladin," said Glorfindel, bowing with a small, bittersweet smile. "We have much to talk about, and much to do, I am sure."

"What – what," she breathed, but her words did not seem to want to form and she looked at Ori. He shrugged a little, smiling somewhat sheepishly. She took a deep breath, and tried again. "What is this?"

"This is all that is left of the army of Imladris," said Glorfindel, "save those needed to guard the valley. And, my dear lady, we are at your service."