Just for fun.
By the time the rather tall hobbit-lass had finished collecting her payment for rounding up the hens –a plucked Mustard –Gandalf had already had a rather interesting conversation with Bilbo and was headed back to Bree.
Marigold went to turn the brass door knob only to find the door locked. A gentle-hobbit never locked their door, one only locked their door if they had something to hide.
"Bilbo!" she called, rapping sharply on the wood. "Brother! Why have you locked me out?"
Dilated eyes peeked around the corner of the large door finally deciding that his sister was not a threat.
With large cautious steps Marigold walked into their hole, Bilbo shutting the door behind her with a snap. She frowned at her adopted brother and stood stubbornly, arms crossed and all.
Bilbo continued to check the door, his hands fussing with chairs and umbrellas, jamming the door.
"What on earth did I ask him to tea for? What have I done?" he moaned and muttered like a Hobbit who had been hit too many times.
"Bilbo, just how much pipe-weed did you smoke this morn'?" she asked suspiciously. Her brother was nervous and slightly volatile at the best of times, combined with just a pinch too much to smoke and before you know it she had to tie him up in a blanket and let him sleep it off. Nasty business, he has a fondness of ranting. Even the most patient of kings would tire of, "Too green! Too green!" after a while.
He scowled at her, seeping with disapproval. "The usual amount Mari. I promised you I wouldn't do that again," he chided, like Marigold was the one in need of telling off.
"Yes you did, five times," she stated. His mouth opened and closed like a fish freshly pulled from the river. Before he had a chance to retort she continued, "you didn't happen to see a large man with a ridiculous hat? He knows about my wings!" She was beginning to panic just as much as Bilbo.
He stopped in his fussing and turned to his sister, quirking his eyebrow in the way she had learnt.
"Well of course Gandalf knows! He was the one who suggested mother take you in. He didn't get to you as well did he?" he asked frantically.
"I just ran into him," Marigold defended. "He seemed polite enough until he asked how my wings were!" she exclaimed indignantly.
"Stay well away from him sister. That wizard brings adventure and trouble," he warned.
"He had good fireworks though," Marigold whispered, remembering a party under the stars and a man with a pointy hat who made the sky explode.
"Yes well, if he comes around don't open the door. Come a get me, I invited him and I can uninvite him!" the trembling little Hobbit said victoriously, completely forgetting all the grammar his father had instilled in him.
With a weary shake of her head she brushed past Bilbo to throw her chicken on the dining table before retying her apron and retrieving her largest knife.
"Perhaps we should have chicken for dinner instead?" she asked, looking up at Bilbo slightly as she snapped the chickens thighs.
He was still flustering around even going as far as carrying a chair to jam the handle before shaking his head and taking it back.
Marigold sighed and got back to her work, her brother was in no state to talk to her. Once the chicken was gutted and placed in the larder she set Bilbo down with a cup of tea and fell to his feet.
"The woes of being a girl," she sighed, leaning her head against the chair.
"You wouldn't leave me behind would you?" Bilbo asked quietly.
"What a strange question," she muttered. "You would not survive without me Bilbo," Marigold chuckled. "Who else would cook and keep up appearances?"
Bilbo snuffled and mussed up her hair making her squawk and pat it down again.
"I can take care of myself quite well thank you," he huffed. Marigold stood up with a smirk and patted Bilbo's arm on her way out.
Marigold walked down the lane with a bag of supplies slung over her sturdy shoulder. Down the hill she went to the edge of the line of trees. The younger children of Hobbiton and beyond had marked out their favourite tree. It was rather easy to find, with initials carved onto every available surface.
She set out the planks of wood she had saved from the farms along with nails, rope and a mallet.
Just as she had completed the first pallet she was attacked by several screaming younglings.
"Mari!" voices chorused from all around her. She was stuck in the middle of 11 little hobbit boys and girls.
"How is everyone today?" she asked kindly.
"Good," they chirped in unison.
"Are you finally making it?" a little girl cried.
"I promised I would Fíriel, I just happened to take my time," Marigold defended herself. "Wouldn't want it falling down now would we?"
The children all obediently shook their heads. They did not need to know of her unexplainable need for everything to be perfect and organised before she could start.
Marigold and the young ones spent the afternoon ignoring their chores, hauling their tree-house into place and getting mud all over themselves.
Marigold returned home with her skirts ripped and her feet muddied. Bilbo had locked the door again and seemed rather panicked when he opened the door to find his dishevelled sister.
"What happened to you?" he asked, standing back and letting her through –only after making sure she wiped the mud off her feet.
"Children," she stated with a smile. Bilbo made a noise of understanding before scurrying down the burrow back to his meal.
"I made dinner!" he shouted back down the hall. Mari gawked at his back. Impossible.
"You can't cook Bilbo. I mean no offence but you cannot," she said blankly.
He looked back at her indignantly. "I most certainly can! You prepared the chicken earlier today and all I had to do was cook. I don't know why you make such a fuss out of it!" he exclaimed throwing his arms into the air as he set her plate in front of her –still hot from the oven.
Marigold bit her tongue and shook her head. At the very least Mustard was living up to her name.
Updates may be slow but be assured that they will not be non-existent. Remember the dwarves turn up the day after Gandalf.