Chapter 2: Mottled Pages
Rushey, The Shire
From the moment Laurel was up the next morning, her mother was fussing and fiddling over Laurel and her clothes, her hair, her face… Laurel grew irritable as her mother smoothed her curls for the fifth time in half an hour, and patted the soft green fabric of her dress, chosen by Poppy to complement the red undertones in Laurel's chestnut hair.
Wilcome and his mother and father were expected for elevenses and were to stay until dinner. It was going to be an interminably long day, Laurel sighed. She was dreading it – countless hours of Wilcome boasting and talking without a break while Laurel feigned interest in this self-centred boy.
Soon the Potts were at the door, at all at once Laurel was ushered in front of Wilcome with a hiss from her mother not to leave his side. As expected, once they were settled, the conversation became increasingly one-sided after they got past the niceties. To Laurel's immense relief, Poppy stayed true to her word and stayed close by the two, occasionally interjecting when Wilcome paused for breath. Every time he addressed Poppy (which he seemed to do more than he addressed Laurel), Laurel would utter a sigh of utter relief and allow her features to relax into a scowl, before correcting them back into a demure smile and laughing prettily at the mundane flow of words that streamed from his mouth.
Often it was hard for Laurel not to scream with frustration, so boring was the conversation and irritating the speaker. He had a habit of cracking his knuckles, which Laurel found immensely annoying. The only time Laurel had brief respite was at elevenses and lunch, when Wilcome was solely focussed on the food and completely ignored her.
And to think her parents wanted her to marry this hobbit! He needed a mother, not a wife; he still lived at home and his mother doted on him. Laurel couldn't stand the thought of matrimony with him. As soon she came of age she would find someone of her own choosing; even if she incurred her mother's wrath it would be better than facing the rest of her life as Mrs Laurel Potts.
During lunch Laurel stood up and excused herself, saying she had to use the bathroom. She hurried out of the dining room, leaving the murmurs of her parents and relatives to the Potts and the sound of Wilcome munching far behind her. She didn't need the privy, but the atmosphere in there was so heavy and unpleasant that Laurel couldn't stand it a moment longer. She just had to get out, and fast.
She walked along the spacious corridors of her aunt and uncle's smial, and paused as she neared the back door to the gardens. She leant back against the wall for a while, breathing deeply. The servants had opened up the back door and the breeze blew softly through the round opening, playing softly over her face. This wind was much more preferable to the hot air that perpetually vented from Wilcome's mouth. She snorted in disgust – her mother would have been shocked at such an unladylike noise.
She stood back up and turned to go back, realising that she couldn't stay away for too long before her parents suspected something. But as she walked her feet took her past a door left slightly ajar – her uncle's study, just like last night. Remembering the maps she had seen, she instantly went inside to see if she could find them again. The feel of the old, thick parchment beneath her fingers and the musty smell of dusty tomes would soothe her.
But the maps were nowhere to be seen. Not on the desk or on one of the bookshelves, or even framed on the wall. She felt the weight of disappointment sink in her stomach. Her aunt Flora, she supposed – he'd have to hide them from her. Being her mother's sister, Laurel supposed the two of them would have very similar sensibilities and disapprove of anything remotely un-hobbitlike.
She sighed and sank down on her uncle's soft cushioned arm chair, and looked around the study properly. It had been too dark to see it completely yesterday, the corners thrown into shadow by the guttering candles. The room was literally filled with books – the walls were hidden by bookshelves, except for a space by the window on the far wall. There was a soft cushioned window-seat… upon which there sat a lone book; black leather covers frayed with age and the paper incredibly thin. Instantly Laurel had crossed the room, scooping it up to have a closer look.
On the front cover, embossed in gold text, was the title: Tales from the Realms of Middle-earth.
Inside, on the first mottled page, a subtitle proclaimed that within this volume was contained stories and songs from the various parts of Middle-earth – tales of the daring battles of Men, the love of nature of the elves, the legendary smithy skills of the dwarves… Laurel's heart rate picked up; her uncle must have left this here for her on purpose, sensing how much she wanted to know more about the world. Her delight only increased when she saw, at the back of the book, a scaled down version of the map she had seen last night. The names were tiny, almost illegible, but it was still breath-taking.
She really didn't want to re-join the party now. Wilcome was pretty much ignoring her, and she didn't want to encourage him anyway. Her mother wouldn't be best pleased, but Laurel would accept whatever form of punishment she received. One thing was certain – she was not going back into that dining room.
Stealing silently out of the study, Laurel considered where her best bet of a secret hiding place was. Somewhere not even would go often… the linen cupboard. Laurel had hidden in there plenty of times when playing hide-and-seek with her sisters when they were younger and it wouldn't be too detrimental to her dress – which might just allay some of her mother's anger when Laurel didn't return to the party. Hopefully.
She sneaked around to the linen cupboard, hoping a servant wouldn't come that way just at that moment. Thankfully she was lucky, and reached the small, warm room without any mishaps, the book clutched tightly under her arm. She went in and shut the door, and settled herself against it. She used a couple of bedsheets to make a cushion – she'd fold them back up afterwards and no one need know exactly where she had hidden – and opened the book reverently.
The first chapter was entitled: "Of the Lands to the East of the Misty Mountains". Laurel quickly flicked to the map at the back, and ascertained that the mountain range was that that formed the spine of the world, a curved belt of mountains cutting the land in half. Laurel admired the geography of such a landform, and she wished she could see what they really looked like.
She began to read. She learned of the elves of Greenwood the Great, that forest stretching down; of the dwarves of Erebor, the mountain that stood proud and tall on its own; of the Men who inhabited towns next to lakes and rivers. She learned tales that the elves and the dwarves and the Men told their young ones as bedtime stories – to Laurel's mind infinitely better than those her own papa had told her as a young hobbit lass. She would have to read them to Aspen and Poppy, one day…
Laurel was almost breathless when she finished the chapter. She had read quite a long way into the book, but had no idea of the time so couldn't ascertain whether her progress was fast or slow. She didn't hear any shouting from downstairs – yet – but she hastily turned the page and continued.
"Of the Settlements along the Misty Mountains"…
"Of the Realm of Rohan and the Horse-Lords"…
"Of the southern Realm of Gondor and its lands"…
"Of the Sea"…
Laurel shut the book softly, and blew out a breath. Her mind was racing – so much new information, so many new stories… she felt a little sick. A combination of too much rich food earlier and the frustration that she would only ever see these places in her mind made her stomach feel uncomfortable and heavy. She knew so much, but had even more questions. Minas Tirith was a city of white stone, built on the mountain side – but how did that work? What did it look like? The elves of Lothlórien lived on platforms in the branches in woods full of golden trees – but what did they look like? There was so much she wanted to know more of, but never would. She heaved a sigh of frustration as she stared at the leather cover.
The last chapter was her favourite. She had always wanted to see the sea, whenever she had heard it mentioned, and now that desire was stronger than ever.
She got up stiffly – how long had she been sitting for? – and folded away the bedsheets. They were a little crumpled, but who would know once they'd been fitted on the bed? Quietly she made her way through the winding corridors to her own room. The sky outside was the blue of dusk, with the clouds turning grey as the sun disappeared. She slumped onto the bed, lying staring up at the ceiling, when she started suddenly. There at the door stood her mother, looking furious.
The obedient part of Laurel quailed slightly at the sight, but the new, adventurous part of her strengthened her resolve and stared straight back at her.
Dahlia moved into the room, her arms folded and a steely glint in her eye.
'Wilcome and his parents have gone,' she said simply, staring at her daughter, watching for a reaction.
'Good,' Laurel shrugged.
'Good? Good?' Dahlia hissed. 'Laurel Brownlock, at this rate you have just insulted the only lad in the Shire who might be willing to take you as a wife! You are disobedient, wilful and rude; no man would willingly take you on, except for the very one who has just left!'
Laurel's eyes stung as her mother's comments hit home, but she jutted her chin out and refused to be cowed.
'If he was the only one, mother, I'd rather not marry!' she retorted, and her voice was stronger than she felt.
Her mother laughed derisively.
'Of course; and be considered faulty, or not quite all there! You don't know what's good for you, Laurel; until you have learned how to behave, you are in disgrace. I thought I had raised you better, Laurel.'
So saying, she turned on her heel and slammed the door shut on Laurel's aghast face. Laurel sat stiffly upright on the bed, her breath coming in shuddering gasps. Soon her breathing slowed, but as she changed into her night things Laurel couldn't help herself from crying softly as she replayed her mother's speech over and over in her mind.
Was Wilcome really the only man in the Shire who'd have her as his wife?
She knew that it was proper and decorous for women to marry, and it was exceedingly rare for them not to. Would she really be considered… mad, if she didn't marry?
Laurel curled up under the blankets, the tears flowing freely. After a while it wasn't because of the sharp tongue of her mother, but more for wounded pride and knocked self-esteem. She heard the door open and instantly stopped the tears, for fear it was her mother again, but when a warm body appeared next to her and wrapped her arms around her, Laurel turned and wept against Poppy, who soothed her gently until she fell asleep, the little black book safe under Laurel's pillow.