Mist on the Downs

Stony silence surrounded the table as the Brownlocks and the Greenhands ate breakfast the next morning. Dahlia's face was murderous and she resolutely ignored her eldest daughter, while Filibert and Flora and Laurel's father Doderic all avoided meeting either Dahlia or Laurel's gaze.

Laurel was thoroughly miserable and sat staring down at her plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. She loved scrambled eggs, and this batch was perfectly cooked, but it tasted like mulch in her mouth as she chewed, and it was all she could do to swallow it. Aspen sat, her glance flickering from one hobbit to the next; she hadn't been told what had happened or why her sister and mother were ignoring each other, but the meal was decidedly more interesting than usual.

So the meal passed with hardly a word being spoken, except Filibert asking Doderic to pass the salt, or Flora requesting the butter. At the end of breakfast, Dahlia spoke up. Her voice was sharp and her expression brooked no argument.

'Girls, go and pack. We're leaving in an hour.'

Obediently the three got up and headed for their bedroom. While Laurel and Poppy began folding dresses and collecting up hair ribbons, Aspen jumped onto the big bed and bounced a bit.

'Laurel, why is Mama so upset with you?'

Laurel gave a shrug. 'Why do you think, Aspen?'

It was Aspen's turn to shrug. 'Is it because you didn't come back after lunch? Because I wouldn't have either. That Wilcome boy is really boring, Laurel.'

Poppy laughed, and Laurel had to suppress a smile at her young sister. If their mother could hear! She knew her mother only wanted good marriages for the three of them but she would never have thought she would be so angry. Laurel didn't regret it though – she was in disgrace, but at least she still had the book.

When their clothes and belongings were packed, Laurel slipped the book out from underneath her pillow, carefully so that her sisters wouldn't see, and tucked it into her bag. She would share it with them at some point, but perhaps when matters had settled down a bit. Laurel turned and seeing Aspen still lounging on the bed, pushed her sister gently.

'Aspen!' she laughed. 'You need to pack!'

Poppy and Laurel helped their wayward sister pack up all her clothes and they made their way to the door and set the bags down. Laurel stood leaning against the wall, drinking in the smells of the garden – the sweet nectar of the flowers, the subtle tones of the leaves, the freshly turned earth… she opened her eyes when someone appeared next to her: her uncle Filibert. He was grinning and had a little twinkle in his eye.

'Are you alright, Laurel?' he asked.

She smiled. 'I'm fine, Uncle Fil. I don't suppose Mother will let me out of the smial for the next year but apart from that, I'm alright.'

He chuckled softly.

'I take it you found the book, then?'

'What book?' Aspen's voice cut in, and she was looking at them interestedly.

'I left a little surprise out for your sister yesterday-' he lowered his voice conspiratorially '- to help her escape from that irritating brat Wilcome!'

Aspen looked delighted at this little turn of events.

'So it's your fault, Uncle! And there we were thinking you were doddery and boring…'

Filibert looked affronted. 'Me? Boring?'

Aspen laughed and hugged Filibert, who chuckled along with her.

But a question had been nagging at Laurel ever since she had seen the maps in her uncle's study.

'But Uncle… you say you've never been out of the Shire, so why do you have all these things? The maps and the book and everything?' she asked.

Her uncle smiled. 'Just because I've never been out of the Shire doesn't mean no one comes into the Shire. I've frequented a good many taverns in my time, Laurel! I believe it was a fairly out of the way little wayside inn in Willowbottom I got that map, although I can't be sure. Maybe it was Deephallow…'

Laurel smiled at her uncle, and was just about to berate him for drinking so much he couldn't remember when Dahlia and Doderic came out of the smial, Flora following close behind. Dahlia still looked foreboding and after one look at her face, Filibert said goodbye to his nieces speedily before chivvying them all into the wagon to await their parents. When they had all said their farewells, the wagon began to move and Laurel waved to her aunt and uncle until they could no longer be seen. Turning, she let out a small sigh, but not loud enough for her mother to hear. This journey was going to be torture.

Thankfully for Laurel her mother decided to rest, and sat with her head resting back and her eyes closed. Even her father looked immensely relieved at this, and Laurel felt a smile quirk her lips as she saw her father sag a little as he breathed out a sigh.

He smiled a little at Laurel, and soon enough he too fell asleep, allowing the warmth of the sun to gently caress his face.

Laurel sat string out at the countryside as they drove past, but with a new found respect. While previously she had thought it boring, now she yearned to be able to run wild in the meadows, to climb the great trees of the forest, to follow the Brandywine river to the sea…

And so the journey passed in much the same way as before, the horse plodding steadily along and Laurel stifling a curse each time the wagon jolted on a pothole on the road.

They finally approached home, and it was with gladness that Laurel saw Stock grow larger as they neared. As soon as they entered the smial, Laurel headed straight for her bedroom, ready to fall asleep straight away. The journey had been trying, to say the least, with her mother's disapproval emanating from her even when Laurel was doing nothing other than stare out at the surroundings.

She fell asleep instantly, and it was late when she awoke the next day. She headed to the dining room to get some breakfast, and her mother was waiting for her. Dahlia regarded Laurel closely as she ate, and when she was finished Dahlia spoke up.

'Laurel, you are in trouble and as a consequence of your behaviour, your punishment is this: you are not to go anywhere unless necessary and then only if you are escorted by me. With your freedom curbed, perhaps you won't so easily run off.'

Laurel nodded meekly; she didn't want to incur the further wrath of her mother and risk a harsher punishment. Admittedly it was a shame, as it was late autumn and she would have liked to go and pick the last of the summer apples with her sisters and help with the hay-rolling, but her thoughts wandered to the book, safely tucked into her bag. It wouldn't be so hard to endure this punishment, not with such a treasure as that book to keep her occupied. She could read that book a thousand times over and not grow bored.

But of course she kept her face perfectly still and did not let her mother know that in fact she didn't really mind the rules her mother had set out, and Dahlia was satisfied enough with Laurel's apparent humility that she allowed her to go while she herself went to inspect the state of the kitchen.

Laurel hurried to her room and unpacked her bag, taking especial care with folding and hanging her dresses, until she reached in and pulled out the little book. She smiled as she stared down at it, feeling the weight of the words contained within the pages. But she didn't read it; instead she was determined to make a good impression on her mother so that she might perhaps shorten the length of Laurel's enforced restrictions.

She walked to the kitchen, pulling on an apron from the cupboard as she did so. Dahlia looked surprised at her entrance.

'Mother, I'd like to help you – if that's alright,' Laurel said, and her mother looked at her appraisingly.

'I was planning on making some cakes to thank Mrs Goodapple for minding the smial while we were gone. You can help me.'

Eagerly Laurel accepted her mother's invitation and fetched the recipe book. It was a file full of recipes handed down to the women of Dahlia's family through generations; many of the papers were significantly browned and curling and the ink was faded, and a number of them were covered in splodges where the baker had not been careful and had splashed the instructions with apple sauce or other condiments.

Dahlia appreciated Laurel's help, and soon softened towards her daughter; shedding the hard outer demeanour she had worn since Laurel's escapade. She didn't scold Laurel for spilling the sugar or getting egg shells in the mixture, and Laurel was thankful. She enjoyed herself, and vowed to herself that if helping her mother of her own free will made her this nice, Laurel would do it every day – rather than having to be nagged at, which was all too often the case with Laurel.

Two weeks passed and Laurel helped her mother in the kitchen and in the other household chores, such as hanging laundry out and dusting rugs, and every night she would read from the book, memorising the map until she could trace the mountain ranges and territories of Middle-earth almost as well as she could those of the Shire.

One evening at supper, which Laurel had made with only a little assistance from her mother, her father sat deep in thought, and he didn't hear when Dahlia called his name.

'Doderic? Doderic!' the harsh note was creeping back into Dahlia's voice.

Her father looked up, and asked Dahlia to repeat herself. When Dahlia huffed slightly, Doderic explained himself. He pulled a letter out of his waistcoat pocket and handed it Dahlia, who scanned it.

'As a landowner I have to go and pay this quarter's rents to the Mayor. It's been five years since the last time we all had to go in person so that means it's time again to do so.'

Dahlia nodded and handed him back the letter.

Laurel's mind was buzzing.

The Mayor… Michel Delving… that was in the very West of the Shire… where she had never been…

'Father, can – please may I accompany you?'

She held her breath in the silence. Her mother shot her a sharp look, and Doderic glanced at Dahlia.

'I see no reason why not…' he said uncertainly.

Dahlia remained silent, but the thin line of her lips that meant 'no' was not present on her mother's face, and she allowed herself to hope…

'You have been good, Laurel. I… I hope you have learnt your lesson.' She turned to Doderic. 'Yes, Laurel may accompany you to Michel Delving.'

Laurel allowed a small smile to flash across her face, before she quickly schooled it back. It wouldn't do to let her mother see quite how happy this made Laurel, or else she'd think Laurel was up to something.

She caught Poppy's eye, and Poppy sent her a wistful smile.

'Mother… could Poppy come too? She is not too young, and I'm sure Father would appreciate the company…' Laurel trailed off. Had she gone too far? She hoped she hadn't pushed her luck with this request, but Poppy had sat up straighter and glanced hopefully at her parents.

Dahlia was evidently in a good mood, as she smiled. 'Of course, Poppy, you may go too.'

Poppy smiled and thanked her mother profusely, jumping up to peck her on the cheek quickly. Of course this provoked much jealousy from Aspen, who promptly turned sullen and bemoaned the fact that she had been born last.

But Laurel was too happy to take much notice of her youngest sister's mutterings; she was going to Michel Delving, and would finally see more of the Shire! It was the closest she would ever get to going on an adventure like people on the stories, and she would make the most of it.

They left the week after. Laurel had been accosted by Poppy after the dinner, and the two sisters danced around in silent excitement at the thought of the journey they would make.

'Thank you, Laurel, thank you!' Poppy breathed, quietly so as not to provoke further irritation from Aspen.

'It wouldn't be so fun without you,' Laurel replied, and that was the truth; without Poppy the journey would not be quite as exciting as it would be together.

Finally the day of the departure dawned, and Laurel was woken up early. She had packed the night before, making sure her book was tucked safely into her bag, and she had merely to wash her face and teeth and dress before she was ready to leave. Her mother and Aspen had also got up to say goodbye, and Laurel hugged her sister tightly.

'I'll bring you back something, yes?' she said, and Aspen nodded.

She climbed onto the wagon and Poppy sat down next to her. Doderic had taken the reins and they set off, waving goodbye to the Dahlia and Aspen, who was staring after her sisters in wistfulness.

Laurel saw much to marvel at. They travelled through villages and past forests and along streams and rivers, and to Laurel it was all new and exciting.

They stopped for the night in Whitfurrows, at an inn, and Doderic laughed at the giddy excitement of his daughters at leaving Stock and seeing more of the Shire than their little town.

They followed the East Road, stopping at various towns to stay the night when it grew dark and to rest the horses. Laurel couldn't have enjoyed herself more, and she and Poppy spent a good many hours playing I-Spy and other games they hadn't played since they were young.

One day they were growing near to Michel Delving, and the road had begun to turn south. The air felt stiller here, and Laurel looked around in wonderment at this new part of the Shire. It was different – more different; if Laurel was honest, Bywater could have been Stock and the forests were technically all the same, but this area was unlike anything. She had seen it on maps, but to really see it…

'The White Downs,' her father murmured.

The ground was a sea of rolling little hillocks, grassy and green; the waves rolling as far as the eye could see. Laurel stared out at the endless tussocks, breathless with wonder, and Poppy beside her was the same. Their father smiled.

'We need to rest the horse, so we may as well stop here for lunch.'

Laurel and Poppy immediately agreed, and while the pony chewed on the grass Laurel, Poppy and Doderic chose a hillock and settled themselves down to eat their lunch. When they had finished, Doderic decided to have a little nap and told Laurel and Poppy not to wander far.

Laurel couldn't help herself and ran from hillock to hillock, enjoying the feeling of speeding up and down, up and down… Poppy chased after her, but soon slowed.

'Laurel, come back! You've gone so far…'

Laurel looked back, and her father was tiny. But just ahead, the hillocks grew larger and she wanted to see the difference.

'Just a little further, Poppy!' she called back. And with that she continued.

She leapt from her little hill, and stepped onto the larger ones. She walked foreard in awe. As she walked she shivered; the air felt different, colder… it was damp, here. She looked behind her, but she couldn't see Poppy. There was a white haze surrounding her… mist. Alarmed, Laurel turned back, but as she ran she stumbled and fell, rolling down the side of the hill.

Disorientated, she looked around, but everywhere looked the same and she wasn't sure which direction she'd come from and which way was back to Poppy. She shivered again as she sat on the grassy floor, her dress covered in grass stains; if only she had her coat…

She thought back to the map of the Shire she had seen so often. She had stumbled onto the Far Downs. Tales were told about the ghosts and monsters that appeared here, to ensnare unwary travellers.

Laurel let herself curse. The mist was growing thicker, and when she stood up her ankle sent sharp pains shooting up her leg - she'd twisted it as she fell.

Now thoroughly panicking, Laurel called out.

'Poppy? Father?'

But she heard nothing. Straining her ears, she fancied she could hear the moaning of a ghost… just the wind, she berated herself; the heavy breathing of a creature behind her…. She span around, to see nothing. It was just yourself, you clothead, she told herself angrily. She called out again, and began crawling forward, hoping desperately it would take her to her father and Poppy.

She could definitely hear something now.

A soft chink, chink, chink… it wasn't her breathing and it wasn't the wind, and it was growing louder.

Terrified and panicking, Laurel looked around her desperately, cursing the adventurous part of her that had made her go further, rather than trusting to good, common hobbit-sense. She tried to stand, and managed, although pain continued to shoot up her leg and make her gasp.

As she wobbled, the noise grew closer. Whatever was making it couldn't be far, but the mist shrouded everything in a white haze.

It sounded… she'd never thought she would ever hear this sound. Described in books, yes; but in real life it set her heart hammering and her breath coming in short gasps. It sounded like the clinking of armour. Of weapons.

Rooted to the spot, Laurel couldn't have run even if she wanted to. She stood stock still, as shadowy figures began to appear out of the mist.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this :) On a side note, I don't actually know what the White/Far Downs would actually look like, so I made it up. Please don't be cross if it's wrong... :) Please do let me know what you thought :D