Enjoy!
Kill Your Heroes
Chapter 4
The bank of the Water, the large river cutting through the Budgeford, was covered in tables and tents. Great strings of lamps hung from the willows. Tables sunk under the weight of the food. Empty barrels of drink were being used as impromptu chairs. Hobbits were everywhere, singing, drinking, eating, and dancing.
Marigold clung to Belba's dress as she and Rudigar navigated the crowds and called greetings to passing hobbits. It seemed to take a lifetime for them to get to the center of the action where their family sat.
"Belladonna, oh I have not seen you in years!" Belba rushed forward and embraced a slightly older hobbit woman with dark brown curls. Marigold stumbled as she tried to keep up. She didn't want to lose her shield.
Marigold had been dragged to her first hobbit wedding. Belba's youngest sister Linda was getting married, and it was the first time Marigold would be introduced to Belba's family. They lived in Hobbitton and had not visited since she had been born.
"And Bungo!" Belba exclaimed, turning to hug an older male whose dark hair had started graying along the edges. "You seem to be getting a bit larger with age, brother!" Belba teased.
Bungo's retort was cut off by Belladona's sudden exclamation.
"Oh, so this is little Margiold!" Belladona crouched down and tried to peer around Belba to get to Marigold.
Marigold noticed immediately that Belldona was older than Belba, but still beautiful in the soft, curvy way all hobbit women seemed to be. Dark thick ringlets framed her face, and vivid hazel eyes sparkled with warmth.
"She is beautiful," Belladona declared, though Marigold was sure she had barely been able to see half of her face. "Thankfully she takes after her beauty of a mother, right Rudigar?"
He laughed good naturedly at his sister-in-law. "I am glad for it every day."
"Marigold, don't hide, come meet your aunt Belladonna," her mother chided, pushing her out from the folds of her skirt.
Marigold gave a small wave and smiled shyly. The adults cooed.
"Where has that son of mine run off to? I swear, the closer he gets to thirty, the harder he is to keep track of." Belladonna told them, while scanning the crowd. "Ah, Bilbo! Bilbo, come here and meet your cousin!"
Marigold's face dropped. Shock and terror battled for dominance on her face. Thankfully, all the adults were too preoccupied with the boy plodding towards them to notice.
Oh god, she couldn't have been born after canon, could she? When things like the butterfly effect wouldn't potentially cause an evil sorcerer to take control of all of Middle Earth?
A young hobbit, a late teenager in appearance, trudged with great reluctance towards their group. Embarrassment colored his face as he waved for his friends to continue without him.
Belladonna reached out and pulled him forcefully into their circle.
"Bilbo, you remember your aunt Belba and uncle Rudigar? This is their daughter Marigold. She had just been born last we visited."
"Mother, it was only five years ago."
Belladonna laughed good-naturedly. "Well who's to know what stays in that head of yours?"
Bilbo rushed through the usual greetings, hugs, and kisses that seemed to characterize all hobbit family interactions. Marigold was given a pat on the head and a fleeting glance before Bilbo began trying to catch sight of his friends. He looked like every other hobbit teenager. A mop of curly brown hair atop a round, elf-like face. Warm brown eyes that crinkled as they darted to and fro, still searching. His feet just as hairy and thickly soled as the rest.
He didn't look special. He wasn't even particularly noteworthy. Simply average. Nothing hinted to the fact that he would travel halfway across the world and battle wits with a dragon. That he would find a magic ring. That one day he would hold the fate of Middle Earth in his hands and be one of two people to ever voluntarily give it up.
In her eyes, he was just a boy. A boy who wanted to sneak a couple pints when his parents weren't looking and maybe work up the courage to talk to the girl with pink hair ribbons by the food tent.
The battles of the quest were far off for him, lost in the 'what-ifs' of the future, but for Marigold they couldn't have felt closer.
"Can I go now, Mother?" he finally asked, interrupting her conversation with Belba.
"If you must," she replied with a great sigh. He scampered off before she had even finished. "Stay away from the mead, young man! You're not yet thirty!"
Marigold paled. If Bilbo wasn't even thirty, then the quest was over twenty years away. She would just be turning thirty by that time-just of age by hobbit standards.
Her brain crashed.
She would be an adult.
"Shit," she cursed.
"What was that, Marigold?"
She froze. She craned her head up to see all the adults staring at her. It was Belladona who had spoken and who looked particularly troubled. Belba's face twitched with embarrassment. It hadn't been the first time Marigold had let some English slip.
"She has such an imagination." Belba gave a little awkward laugh and waved a hand dismissively. "She's always making up words and such. She's quite bright for her age. Speaking of age, how old is Bilbo now? He's looking more and more like you, brother."
Marigold was impressed by how adept Belba had gotten at sidestepping the oddities that plagued her daughter. She supposed Belba had had a lot of practice.
By the end of the night, Marigold was exhausted. She had been forced to at least try to play with the other hobbit children. They, however, wanted nothing to do with her. While she could fool adults, strangely enough children seemed to sense there was something off about her. It worked out fine for Marigold. She was able to sit on the grass and fiddle with a doll, while trying to keep the consequences of her placement in the timeline from sending her to hysterics.
Bilbo was twenty-six years old. The quest was in twenty-five years. She would be thirty, a brand-spanking new adult. It was too much to be a coincidence. Much too perfectly timed.
That night she snuck her mother's hand mirror into her room and stared long and hard at the mark on her back.
"Why?" she hissed in English at her back. "Why am I here? What am I supposed to do?"
All she wanted to do was go home.
"Look, whatever it is, you have the wrong person, okay? Just send me back. Please. Just send me home." Tears trickled down her face. "I'm tired. I'm done with this fucking world. Please. I just want to go home. Please."
She resisted the urge to throw the mirror across the room. Instead, she collapsed on her bed and sobbed into a pillow.
When her tears slowed, she made herself turn over and settle in properly. She whispered into the dark as she did every night before sleep took her.
"Marigold Bolger has a cousin named Bilbo Baggins. Her mother is one of six siblings, one of those Bungo Baggins, Bilbo's father. Belladonna, Bilbo's mother, was there when Marigold was born.
Jude Callaway has no cousins. The only Bilbo Baggins in her life was fifty years old and went on a quest to take back a dragon-guarded mountain. He would go on to adopt his orphaned nephew who would, in turn, save all of Middle Earth. And Belladonna Baggins had been long dead before anything of importance had happened."
She awoke the next morning with a headache that pounded behind her eyes when she sat up. She dragged a hand over her face as she recalled the night before. Drinking games had been such a terrible idea. She caught sight of the bed under the window. The covers were neatly pulled up, but creases showed it had been slept in. Flashes of her conversation with Bilbo the night before struck her.
She flopped back onto the bed with a groan.
She had been stupid and reckless. And sheltered Bilbo was cleverer than she gave him credit for. Conniving, actually. The alcohol had left her tired, and the desperation to share, for someone to understand, had won out in that moment.
She kicked her feet at the bed and generally just flopped about for a moment to exhaust her frustration.
With one last groan she dragged herself back up and out of bed. "Nothing to be done about it now." She slapped her cheeks to wake herself up. "First order of business: find some coffee."
She stood and walked over to the water basin to begin making herself presentable. A hazy mirror hung above it. Marigold ducked her head and carefully averted her eyes to avoid looking into it.
The parlor was mostly empty as she trudged down the stairs. She spied Gloin, Oin and the 'Ri brothers at a table not too far from the stairs. They traded glances, but did not move to call her over, which she was thankful for. She wanted to be alone. Hangovers were best suffered in silence.
She picked at her bread and sipped her coffee until her stomach insisted on no more. In defiance, she chugged the coffee in one great gulp. Her stomach still churned in protest, but she needed the caffeine. The remaining bread she slipped into a pocket. Maybe she would feel more up to eating later.
Soon after she found herself on the threshold of the Prancing Pony, breathing in the crisp morning air. She took a deep breath and held it, letting the air sting her lungs. The cold worked to clear the fog clinging to her mind and body.
Thorin had declared last night that they would be departing late in the morning, allowing time for replenishing supplies or an inevitable lie-in for those who had overindulged.
Marigold was glad for it. She had some shopping to do.
She set off to the south where the innkeeper had told her she would find the market. The streets weren't as crowded as the day before. Whether that was due to the time of day or the lane itself, she couldn't be sure, but she was thankful either way. She felt more prepared than yesterday to face the city of Men, yet still she was sure to keep her gaze fixed on the ground. More prepared was still not quite all prepared.
Gray clouds blanketed the sky and bathed the streets in a dull light that reminded her that winter had yet to fully succumb to spring. Back Home she would have already been sweating by April. Winter there was simply sporadic cold fronts bookended with beautiful seventy-degree highs. Spring barely had a chance to put down roots before summer settled with all its heat and humidity.
Her curls would be a complete mess in that humidity, but it was price she'd happily pay to be Home.
She stumbled.
Jude Callaway has long, pin straight, blonde hair. Even in a sauna her hair wouldn't gain any volume. She put a hand to her forehead. Marigold has curls. Jude does not. And when she went home, she would be Jude again.
She blamed the lapse on the hangover and hurried on.
She heard and smelt the market before she saw it. An aroma of bread, meat, and fish drew her to the street's end. A narrow plaza opened up before her with stalls lining each side.
The stalls weren't much different than those in the market back in Budgeford. There were stalls of vegetables and fruits, spices and honey, coffees and teas. She moved past them, sparing a glance but focused instead on the far end of the market where she could see smoke billowing. Cheeses, meats, and fish were next, and she wrinkled her nose as the smells assaulted her. The market in Budgeford was in a clear open space down near the river with plenty of room. The air off the river provided a constant breeze. It was a far cry from the cramped almost claustrophobic feeling of Bree's market, with the buildings looming over the streets.
Her nose found the stall first. The transition from animal to leather smell was abrupt, as if she had stepped into a new car. The stall was larger than the others she had passed and connected to an open-air workshop. A worn, squinty eyed man slouched over a table, clamping two pieces of leather together and running a long needle through them. In the rear she spied a curly head of hair hovering over a large boiling metal pot. Pointed ears poked through the curls, identifying him as a hobbit.
The thought induced panic in her chest. She squashed the urge to run.
The hobbit likely had no connection to anyone in the Shire. He couldn't turn her in. Probably.
Her feet crunched the hay littering the ground as she entered the workshop, but neither man nor hobbit looked up. She shifted her weight. She still had a chance to run.
"Ahem," she coughed.
The squinty eye man peered up at her but did not move. The hobbit did not even turn. A moment passed with the man studying her. She resisted the urge to fidget.
"A new face," he said finally. "An unusual one." Despite his words, his expression did not shift from the same squinty eyed concentration he had directed at his leather. He stood up, but the curve in his back did not fully straighten with him. He was older, likely in his fifties, and had spent too much time bent over a workman's bench.
Marigold didn't care for his observations. "I am in need of some armor," she declared. "A cuirass, gauntlets, and bracers."
His face did not show any acknowledgement of her words, but he stepped closer. Marigold fought the urge to move back. Even stooped he towered over her.
He scanned the street behind her before his squinted eyes found hers again. "Well do you have your husband's measurements then?"
Marigold's cheeks reddened. "The armor is for me," she said testily.
He showed real emotion this time. His brow furrowed. "Does your husband know you are buying armor?"
Her freckles were likely invisible now under the redness of her skin. "I have no husband."
The tanner's eyebrows shot up. "No husband?" he echoed. The hobbit in the back turned at the sound. The tanner leaned in. "Where are you from, young hobbit?"
Maybe he was being a nice, concerned citizen. Maybe he was doing what he thought was chivalrous. Maybe he saw a young girl doing something unusual and wanted to make sure she was okay. And maybe if Marigold wasn't actually Jude Callaway who was a whole world away from her family struggling to take charge of her own fate she would have considered that. Maybe.
"It is absolutely none of your concern where I am from," she snapped. "Neither is my marital status or absolutely anything other than the fact that I require some bloody armor, and I have the gold to purchase it," she spat.
The man jerked back as if bitten.
She grabbed the pouch of coin from her belt and shook it at him. "I will happily take my business elsewhere."
The tanner's face hardened. He crossed his arms. "I am the only tanner in Bree."
Marigold foolishly called his bluff. "I am leaving Bree this morning. I can find what I need elsewhere if you refuse my silver."
He glared at her, but nonetheless turned on his heel and strode over to a pile of leather in the back of the workshop.
Sorting through the pile, he called out to the hobbit at the boiling pot. "Odo, fetch the smallest gauntlets and bracers we have." The hobbit nodded and slipped through a door into the shop. The tanner trudged back to her.
"Here," he dropped a rough leather vest in front of her. "A hobbit sized armored vest. It will not fit you, but I do not make a habit of making armor for women. If I had but more time…" His tone made it clear even if he lived from then until the end of days, he would not have enough time.
Marigold turned over the leather with a critical eye. The vest was simple. Three pieces of leather sewed together on the sides and laced in the back with a knot. The leather itself was a deep brown, smooth and dull. Her face twisted in appraisal.
She had absolutely no idea what she was looking at.
She knew nothing about armor. What made one better than another? She tried to bend it. It would not give. Was that good? Was it bad? The leather was half an inch thick. Was that thick enough? Could it stop an arrow? A sword? Was this what she needed?
She resisted the urge to slap her forehead. She was an idiot.
She could have asked one of the dwarves for help. Well, she could have asked Gandalf. He would have come along with her. Or he would have at least given her some advice on what to look for. But she hadn't wanted to seem unprepared in front of the company.
So instead, she had thoroughly pissed off the one person in this situation who knew anything. God, she hoped she at least looked like she knew what she was looking at.
"It'll be twenty silver."
If she had water in her mouth, she would have spit it out.
"What?" she cried. "My pony cost less!"
The tanner shrugged. "I don't know what kind of pony you got, but that vest is ten. It will be another ten for the gauntlets and bracers."
"You must be out of your mind," she argued. "That's outrageous" she declared with absolutely no basis for that claim. Hell if she knew how much armor cost.
"Then you may find what you need elsewhere," he countered with a sneer.
Marigold was sure she was nearly as red as her hair. She was going to punch this man before she left Bree. She swore it.
"Excuse me, Master Tanner," a voice called from behind them. Both Marigold and the man swiveled to greet the newcomer.
Marigold's brows shot up. Gloin stood at the entrance to the workshop. He did not spare her a glance. "I am in need of some armor," he declared stepping into the shop.
The tanner quickly brushed the leather vest and Marigold aside. His tone honeyed. "Of course, Master Dwarf. We have the best wares this side of Bree-land. What are you looking for?"
"A new leather cuirass, bracers, a pair of greaves, and perhaps a pair of gauntlets as well," he said.
"But of course," the tanner simpered. "And is this armor for yourself or…."
"No, not meself. Smaller, for my lad."
The tanner's head bobbed. "Of course, of course. Odo!" he called back to the hobbit who had just returned with a pair of gauntlets. "One moment," the tanner said, before stepping away and leaning to speak into the hobbit's ear. Some hurried whispers and nods, and the hobbit disappeared back into the shop.
"Odo will return in a moment. Anything else I can interest you in?"
"No." His tone left no room for debate.
Marigold's brow furrowed. How was Gloin even going to get the armor to Gimli? Could he send it back to the Blue Mountains? Or would he have it waiting for him when he arrived back? A souvenir for his son if the quest didn't go as planned?
Marigold would have softened at the thought if she wasn't being so thoroughly ignored by the dwarf. He hadn't even looked in her direction.
The hobbit burst through the door with a basket of leather. He hurried over and set it at the tanner's feet.
"Thank you, Odo," the tanner said. He showed Gloin multiple options of everything he had requested. With a critical eye and a wave of his hand, Gloin sorted through the lot until only three remained: a chest plate and a pair of bracers and gauntlets.
He held up the chest plate again and pinched the leather. "This is certainly better quality than that boiled scrap you have over there." Gloin motioned at the vest at the far end of the table Marigold had been turning over. "That would crack and crumble at a hint of dampness."
Marigold dropped the vest. Her glare burned into the side of the tanner's face. He resolutely ignored her. Though so did Gloin for that matter.
The tanner's smile grew strained at Gloin's comment, but he did not respond.
"How much," Gloin gruffed.
The tailer folded his hands. "Well these are the best I have in this size and the craftmanship alone…"
"How much," Gloin barked.
The tanner jumped. "It will be twenty for the three."
Gloin narrowed his eyes. "I will pay eight silver and not a coin more for the lot," he countered.
"Now that is quite low, Master Dwarf. The skins themselves cost nearly that much."
Gloin crossed his arms.
"I have a family to feed. Two little ones in fact." The tanner continued trying to reason with Gloin; however, he may as well been speaking to a statue for all the response the dwarf gave him. Marigold didn't even see his face so much as twitch.
With a great sigh, the tanner relented. "I do this as a personal favor to you, Master Dwarf. Nine silver."
Gloin unfolded his arms. He studied the armor again and fingered his beard. "I have thought better," he declared. "I can find better craftsmanship in the Blue Mountains. Good day, Master Tanner." He turned on his heel and strode past Marigold.
Both her and the tanner's jaw dropped.
"Wait, Master Dwarf! I will lower it to eight and five coppers, but no further," the tanner dogged his steps.
Gloin did not pause. "As I said, Master Tanner. I will find better amongst my kin."
The tanner's face dropped. "Eight silver!" he caved.
Gloin did not even deign him with a reply. He turned out of sight.
Marigold and the tanner stared after him in shock.
It took her far longer than she will ever admit to realize what had just happened. Luckily the tanner was too busy squinting after Gloin to catch on any quicker.
Marigold leapt at the armor. "I will take it!" she cried and slammed down the coins. "For eight silver- I will take the lot!"
The tanner spun. "Wait a moment-no-"
"That is the price you demanded, and I have paid," she scooped up the leather. "Good day, sir."
She hurried out of the shop before he had a moment to gather his wits. She rushed down the street away from the market nearly tripping and dropping her new purchases and didn't stop until she turned off the main road and made it nearly halfway back to the Inn. Only then did she pause and take a moment to shove her new purchases into her pack. The chest armor did not fit so she cradled it in her arms the rest of the way, grinning with a warmth in her chest.
When she entered the Prancing Pony, Marigold found half the company loitering about the parlor with bags packed . She counted heads. Gloin and Oin were still missing, as were Thorin, Dwalin, Kili and Fili. She gravitated over to the table with Bilbo, Gandalf, and Balin.
"Good morning," she chirped, setting her new armor down in front of her.
Bilbo avoided her gaze, which gave her some satisfaction. At least he felt some remorse for last night.
Gandalf greeted her and took a puff of his pipe. "You appear to be in a chipper mood this morning, my dear Marigold." His eyes crinkled. "A little rabbit told me you had your fill of ale last night. I must admit I had not expected to find you in such good spirits."
Marigold grinned up at him. "I bought some armor." She reached into her pack and pulled out the gauntlets and braces.
Gandalf studied one of the gauntlets. "The quality is quite fine for the work of Bree. Where did you come by it?"
"The market. I paid only eight silver for it," she bragged.
Balin's brows shot up. "Did you now?" He reached over and ran a finger over the armor. "A very good deal then."
Gandalf eyed her with interest. "How did you manage it?"
Marigold snuck a glance around the parlor. "I am a very convincing negotiator."
Bilbo snorted into his tea.
Marigold crossed her arms. "I'm here, aren't I? I convinced the company to take me."
Gandalf laughed. "Convinced? My dear, I don't believe you left them much of a choice."
Bilbo nodded. "Threatened more like it," he added. Marigold huffed. Balin smiled sympathetically but agreed. "Aye. Not sure I would call it that either, but it wasn't quite diplomatic."
Marigold rolled her eyes. "I got results."
Gandalf humored her. "I suppose you did, my dear."
At that moment, the Inn's great wooden door swung open and drew their attention. The last of their party trudged in with Thorin at the head. His eyes scanned the room. Marigold swore his eyes narrowed as they passed over her.
Gandalf continued, voice deepening, "though the damage of your methods may haunt you yet."
Marigold glared back.
Balin stood from the table to greet their leader. He gave her a sympathetic pat on the back.
Bilbo, bless him, changed the subject. "It's rather large, isn't it?"
Marigold found him studying the armor. "Doesn't look like it would fit you right. Would drown you, I imagine." He caught her eye. His ears turned red. "Not that I would know-I mean, maybe it would fit you-not that you're large, but-"
Marigold laughed. "Don't worry, cousin. I know it's too large. The tanner made sure to tell me he did not make ladies armor." She ran her hands over the smooth leather. "Maybe I can take it apart? Trim some of the extra?" she mused.
Bilbo eyed her skeptically.
"It shouldn't be much different than sewing," she defended. "Mother taught me."
Belba Bolger had spent hours and hours teaching Marigold to sew. And knit. And crochet. And embroider. And all manner of other things with thread that Marigold did her best to ignore.
She was awful at it all.
It had never seemed useful. She already knew how to sew up skin. She didn't need to know how to add a flower to it.
"We move out," Thorin called over the chatter. The lazy warmth of the parlor dissolved into a flurry of movement. Marigold repacked her belongings and followed Bilbo out the door.
He sent another glance at the armor in her arms. "Maybe I should get some armor as well," he thought.
Fili and Kili appeared on either side of the hobbit. "Worry not Mr. Boggins. We will protect you." Kili threw an arm over Bilbo's shoulder.
"It will be a sad day for our company if our burglar must pick up arms," Fili teased.
Marigold kept her mouth shut.
Bree was still visible behind them when Marigold found herself sandwiched between the two heirs of Durin.
"How are you feeling this morning?" Fili grinned at her.
She smiled back. "Quite well. And yourselves?"
"Nothing a glare from Uncle couldn't shake." Kili grinned.
She snorted.
"So where does a proper hobbit lass like yourself learn how to play drinking contests?" Fili wondered.
She snorted again. "I'm not sure a proper hobbit would be traveling across Middle Earth with a company of dwarves."
"Bilbo's here."
Marigold chuckled. "I suppose you're right." Her eyes found the back of his curly head. "Though he won't be considered such when he returns."
Fili traded glances with his brother over her head.
She continued. "Hobbits don't approve of quests."
"So the disapproval is not just limited to your parents," Fili said.
Marigold eyed him wearily. "Was disapproval of the quest limited to your mother?"
Fili sighed. "Not exactly. Many worry. They believe the risk too great. Life is hard, but not impossible in the Blue Mountains. They worry what will happen if Thorin should fall."
"And his heirs with him." She added.
Fili nodded.
Marigold opened her mouth, but Fili held up a hand. "It was our choice to make."
Her stare became hard, but she withheld her comment.
"Now back to the drinking contests," Kili interjected. "Where did you learn them?"
Marigold shrugged. "I have attended a lot of weddings. Even proper hobbits become relaxed with enough ale." She winked.
The brothers laughed.
"What are they like?" Kili asked, leaning forward in his saddle. "Hobbit weddings? How do they go?"
"Well, I suppose like most weddings," she mused. "A large party."
Fili snorted. "Well I'm glad to hear they are not done in secret."
"You can do better than that. Come on, tell us," Kili urged.
Marigold rolled her eyes, but a smile pulled at her lips.
"Fine, fine, if you're resorting to begging like children, I will share." Marigold quipped. "Like I said they are large parties. Distant relations from across the Shire are expected to be invited. A large tent is setup in the Party Field by the water. The couple gets married surrounded by flowers. Then there is food, drink, and dancing well into the night. Even children are allowed to stay up into the early hours of the morning." She smiled. "The music is fast and lively. It is my favorite part."
"You dance?" Kili asked with mock incredulousness.
Marigold sent him a dry look in response. "Of course I do. Everyone does," she said. "Whether they dance well is another matter entirely," she added.
Kili sent a look ahead. "Uncle does not."
Marigold snorted. "Yes, well I imagine it would be difficult with that stick so far up his arse."
There was a beat of silence during which Marigold's brain caught up with what she had said. She slapped a hand to her mouth.
Kili broke first, hunching over his saddle holding his stomach in laughter. Fili was little better, his shoulders shaking and head thrown back.
Their laughter gained the attention of those in front, and Marigold ducked when many eyes turned their attention to them.
Kili and Fili continued unabashed.
Fili recovered first. "I believe you just solved one of the many mysteries of Uncle."
"We cannot wait to hear more of your wisdom, Missus Seer." Kili added.
Marigold swatted at them.
Marigold had never been so bitter to be right. She was too miserable to even try to catch Dwalin's eye and throw a smug look his way.
The gray clouds of the morning darkened as they rode out of Bree. By that afternoon they unleashed their downpour.
Everything was cold and wet.
She quickly learned that her cloak was not as waterproof as she had hoped. The wool had done a decent job at first, but after hours of riding through the rain, the water leeched through.
She peaked out at Bilbo. He fared no better. In fact, he looked even more miserable than she did. His curls glued to his forehead guiding rivulets of water down his face, which poured like a waterfall off his chin. It seemed neither of them had the travel ready cloaks the dwarves had. Or maybe they had their own dwarvish secrets to keep out the water, as they all appeared far drier and in far better spirits than the two hobbits. Bofur even managed to keep smoking his pipe.
She shifted on Storm's back and grimaced at the heaviness of her waterlogged clothes.
At least they had left Bree behind. She used to love cities. Cities had an energy of sorts, the frequency of millions of people thrumming through the streets. Her hometown was small. Teeny even. There was a steadiness, a calmness to the town where everyone knew everyone that drove her crazy. She made sure to match to a residency program in a big city, and she loved every moment of it. She felt like she was a part of something large-larger than herself.
Bree was different. The people, the building, the energy, all of it just made her feel more other.
She had never felt like she belonged less in this world than in the city of Men. No matter what she thought, she could not fool herself to think she would be more at home with humans than hobbits. It was something that had been stupid to hope, but a comforting thought when she was too other for the hobbits. And if she didn't belong with Men or with hobbits, she really didn't belong anywhere in Middle-Earth.
The wind shifted, and rain pelted her face. She reached up and dragged her hood farther down.
She couldn't even hold out hope the rain would let up. She knew it wouldn't. Not for a few days at least. She slumped in the saddle. It was going to be a long ride.
After a day of being utterly soaked, Marigold felt a rush of relief when Fili and Kili announced they had found shelter.
The brothers led the company off the East Road through a small opening in a thicket so dense that Storm refused many times to keep going without a firm kick. Marigold winced every time she did it, but they could not afford to fall behind. She relied on the other ponies to guide Storm; she certainly didn't know how to steer her. She'd smuggle the pony an apple later to make up for it.
Kili and Fili had found a mostly dry spot for camp. Fallen trees caught in the boughs of others layered atop one another to canopy the area from the worst of the rain. It was damp, but not wet which was a distinct improvement.
Over the day the once impervious dwarves had begun looking more and more waterlogged. Camp was therefore made in record time, everyone eager to dry themselves by the fire and warm themselves with a hot meal. And strip off their drenched clothes.
Marigold froze.
She watched with wide eyes as Bifur pulled off his shirt to reveal his naked chest underneath.
Let the record show: Jude Callaway was not a prude. Jude Callaway was a doctor and had seen so many naked bodies it no longer phased her. By her third year of residency she tended to get more annoyed than not when people resisted showing her their medically relevant parts because they were embarrassed. Basically, she'd seen so many penises it ceased to matter. But thirty years was a long time.
Talking slammed to a halt. The company seemed to freeze as one and turn in her direction. Well, except for Bifur who began unbuckling his belt.
Marigold turned swiftly on her heel. Nope.
Harsh dwarvish sounded behind her, but Marigold marched as far as the shelter would allow and plopped down, back firmly to the company. Unfortunately that was only about ten feet away, but it's the best she could do.
She plucked at the edges of her damp shirt. They would likely have a conniption if she removed it to dry. Not that she ever would. Her back itched at the thought, and she resisted the urge to claw at it. Instead, she laid out her cloak and bedroll and braced herself to be miserable for the rest of the night. At least this way she would be the only one.
Bombur called them all for dinner, but Marigold resolutely stayed put. She hugged her knees to her chest. Muffled conversation carried over to her. Hopefully they had caught on.
A hand appeared in front of her. "Your bowl, please, my dear," Gandalf asked. She smiled in relief. Her stomach gurgled with anticipation. She dug out her bowl from her pack and passed it over. Gandalf disappeared and soon reappeared with a hot meal.
"Thank you," she said with more feeling than the act warranted. Gandalf smiled down at her and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Of course." Marigold jolted when he lifted it. Warmth spread out from the point, like a ripple spreading through her body. The wizard had some tricks. She couldn't turn to thank him and instead smiled into her bowl.
The rustle of clothes tickled her ears. She rolled her eyes. The company had finally caught on.
After she had eaten, there was little else for her to do except lay down and try to get some sleep. Arm tucked under her head, she curled her knees to her chest for warmth and watched the rain fall through the trees beyond their little shelter. The patter of the drops as they navigated the maze of branches and leaves soothed her.
"Jude Callaway has long, straight blonde hair. She would spend hours in front of the mirror with a bottle of hairspray to try to curl it before going out. She always wanted thick curls.
Marigold Bolger has thick red curls, which she ignores. She would do anything to avoid looking in a mirror."
Thank you everyone for your patience waiting for this next chapter. The others should come soon. I have Chapter 5 already written and 80% of Chapter 6 ready.
Thank you for everyone who followed and favorited this story. It means a lot. Special thanks to DestinLucifer for you review! (And unnamed Guest!)