disclaimer - all lord of the rings characters that appear in this work of fanfiction are property of JRR Tolkien. My OC is my creation.
I had missed the cold days, if only because it meant there would be a fire in the hearth. It crackled and climbed up the length of the blackened bricks, spreading its cheery warmth into the gray parlor.
I had many chores to do and less time than ever to do them, as that day and the conclusion of it would bring company into Bag End. When, we did not know. Frodo had read the letter out loud, and it was clear Merry and Pippin did not give any indication of when they'd arrive – except that we could expect them before nightfall. Frodo assured me it was in character for the both of them. They were still quite young and carefree, and boring things such as punctuality or schedules were not a social construct they adhered to.
If I were pressed, I'd admit to the nervousness I felt about their coming, intensifying with every passing hour. Two more people to serve, cook for, and, most importantly, to impress. I had already beaten the dust and ashes out of the rug in the parlor at least twice, noticing the frayed tassels. The timeworn fibers were beginning to bear the true marks of their age. With a disapproving shake of my head, I replaced it where it belonged.
At the moment, while Frodo lounged with a book in his lap and a spare apple in his pocket, I busied myself with dusting for the third time, making sure I missed no nooks and crannies. In my anxiety, I found I had glossed over pockets of dust bunnies here and there.
"Daisy, I do believe you'll start removing the varnish off the wood if you polish that table again," Frodo pointed out, flopping his book down as he finally took notice of the flurry of activity happening around him.
"Nonsense," I replied, but I did pause briefly in my frenzied scouring to assess the state of my cleaning rag. There was no dust or grime to be found. "We mustn't invite guests into an untidy house. It should be homey and cozy, not dirty and unsightly."
"I don't even Lobelia Sackville-Baggins herself could turn her nose up at this place, now that you're here," He said.
"Who?" I asked.
He turned a page in his book, having returned to it once more. "Oh, a relative of my Uncle's, once eager to sink her claws into this place. She relented at last. I suppose Bag End no longer held the same appeal it once did, after her son died. It was supposed to go to her and her husband long ago, but they grew more and more resentful as Bilbo lived far past his "expiration date". By and by she had been quite vexed about the fact that Bilbo adopted me, making me heir to the estate. I see her less nowadays, but she is still not a pleasant woman."
"I don't expect we'll have to host her anytime soon," I said, a light shudder coursing through me.
"Not ever," he replied. "She attempts a breaking and entering from time to time, just to make sure the place hasn't burned down in her absence, but mostly I've become practiced in the art of shooing her away effectively and reminding her she gave it up. It's state no longer her concern."
I disappeared into the kitchen, which had also been scrubbed to perfection during the course of the last few days. Ever since Frodo had received Merry's letter, I had been working twice as hard to keep Bag End looking its best. It practically glittered in the golden rays of sun streaming through the open windows. I knew, now that I was housekeeper, that the state of it would reflect upon me, and I was eager to please anyone who was held in high regard by Frodo Baggins.
"What are they like?" I asked as I began to sort through the freshly washed dishes from breakfast.
"Brave, kind, and true," he said. "And like any Tookish hobbit that grew up on the banks of the Brandywine, have a highly developed sense of adventure. But also quite young, for they are at least fourteen years my junior. They live easy and unburdened lives, being of gentry as well and the heirs to a good bit of land. Pippin is a Took, arguably the wealthiest family in Buckland, and Merry does exceptionally well in his own right, as the Brandybucks also have a fair bit of wealth to their name, and he shall become master of Brandy Hall one day. I expect they still make much mischief together - visit the tavern often, relay their adventures to anyone who will listen, and carry on in much the same way as they did before our journey."
"Aren't they married? Betrothed?"
"No," Frodo replied, his voice a hum from the other room. "I don't expect any announcements in that regard any time soon. Though they do indeed entertain prospects often enough. Oh! I hear voices...I think they've come at last!"
I heard him toss the book on the seat of the chair he'd been occupying since after breakfast. The door opened, and Frodo did not say a word as he stared out into the garden, past the picket fence, suspended over the precipice of breathless excitement for that first glimpse of his friends.
"Hullo there! Pippin! Merry!" He called at last.
"Frodo!" Came their reply.
I crossed to the window to witness the merry meeting, peering outside as I buffed the water stains out of a butter dish. Two hobbits, a bit taller than Frodo, stood before him and both greeted him in a crushing embrace (I noticed the heedful manner in which they handled his left shoulder). They were young and fair with golden shaggy locks upon their heads that were tousled in the afternoon breeze. Glimmers of youthful vigor lit their eyes. Their silver and dark blue waistcoats were paired with light cotton breeches and travel stained cloaks the color of deepening twilight. A silver pocket watch and its chain hung from the pocket of one's waistcoat, and he checked the time as Frodo spoke with the other. He held it aloft, bringing both of their attentions to the lateness of the hour. It was approaching elevenses. I remembered where I'd left off, abandoning the butter dish and beginning preparations for tea at once. I wanted to be one step ahead of them when they walked in.
Frodo returned with his honored guests, shooing them inside and closing the door behind them. There was a flurry of activity, with much stomping of mud-caked feet and hanging of cloaks, and rising above it all - the clamor of many voices speaking with much enthusiasm over the other. Merry and Pippin contributed the most to the noise, their laughter filling the house with a new energy that I did not recognize, having become so used to Frodo's serene calm that much resembled an afternoon stroll through the woods. Merry and Pippin reminded me of dancing and shared drinking songs. They were bawdy lays over foamy tankards and midsummer fireworks that burst against a ceiling of stars.
They all entered the kitchen. Merry and Pippin arrived in a flurry of darting silver and molten gold, twin beams of sunlight breaking through the early mists of dawn. Frodo leaned against the door frame, apart from their lighthearted bickering. Affection softened his forget me not eyes, dissolving in the light of the open window. I steeled myself for introductions, repositioning my shoulders and wondering with an arrow of panic darting through my heart – should I curtsy or bow? Or shake hands as I did with Sam? Perhaps I should stand utterly still and wait to see how they would broach the subject of greetings.
"Merry, Pippin," Frodo said. "This is Daisy, my new housekeeper and cook. Daisy, these are my cousins, distantly related, and dear friends first and foremost."
"Pippin!" Said one, whose hair was a shade darker than the other, resembling the deep gloss of burnished bronze. He came forward, a hand outstretched for me to take, and paired it with a rather low bow. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Daisy."
"And that leaves me, Merry," said the other. He, too, greeted me with a handshake and bow, his less sweeping than the other. "The taller and older one."
"No one in this room right cares if you're taller or older, Merry, except you." Pippin said.
"Besides, I'm older than both of you," Frodo chimed in.
"And no one cares about that either, Frodo," Pippin said.
"You're just sore because you're the youngest," Merry replied, looking over the bench and its available seating, finally making his choice after long consideration. "It's not easy being the wee lad of the group, I wager."
"Sore?" Pippin exclaimed. "Not as sore as you were when I drank you under the table last week at the Golden Perch. I suppose being the youngest does not trouble me in the least when it comes to besting you in that regard."
"One time, I suppose, is much to brag about, when you have little in the way of bragging to begin with." Merry rolled his shoulders, unimpressed by Pippin's small victory.
I tried to hide my smile as I went about preparations, allowing myself to fade into the background of conversation and situate myself just beyond their notice. I set the table for tea while waiting for the kettle to boil, returning with a platter laden with cakes, biscuits, scones, and bread with butter and boysenberry jam for spread. While I worked, I observed Frodo with renewed interest. He seemed to listen and nod along, but hardly engaged in the jesting of his peers, and when he did, it did not carry the same lightness and ease as they did. It was harder work for him, as he often drifted out of the conversation entirely, and could not seem to find his way back again more often than not. They drew him in as much as they could, but Frodo seemed reluctant, content to listen, having little to contribute to the conversation. In fact, as much as I could see that he loved them and held them in high esteem, he seemed quickly exhausted by their limitless energy. I wondered if he always looked so drawn and listless as he did now, eclipsed by the fierce joy and unapologetic vitality of his younger cousins.
The kettle began to shriek over the fire. I was quick to catch it before it interrupted the stream of dialogue still flowing at the table. I poured each of the hobbits a cup of searing hot rose hip tea. Each of them met my eyes with an unspoken gratitude.
"Daisy, won't you stay and join us?" Frodo pressed, ever so gently. "She often takes meals with me, and I've made it quite clear that she is welcome to join me whenever she feels inclined."
"I appreciate your offer, sir," I replied. "But today, I have much to attend to, and I do believe you and your friends have much to discuss. I would not wish to insert myself."
"Insert yourself indeed!" Pippin said. "Why, you are far and beyond the loveliest of this homely lot, and boast the most pleasing array of freckles out of us all, and I daresay you could only improve the company with your presence."
"Pippin, have you been drinking?" Frodo asked.
"We stopped for a visit at the old Green Dragon before we came, if you must ask," Merry answered. "Something you could use more of, I think, Frodo my lad. And I quite agree with Pippin, something I did not think I'd admit today. We would be honored to have you take elevenses with us, Miss Daisy."
He gave a showy bow, one so affected and lordly that he was dwarfed by the grandness of it, like a little boy playing knights and dragons. It was an effort to draw a smile from me and I rewarded him with one. It lightly touched the outer corners of my mouth.
"Come, Daisy, we don't put on airs here," Frodo reassured me. "And as you can see, Merry and Pippin are no different. Boisterous, they might be, but highbrow and high society they are most certainly not."
"Speak for yourself, Frodo, I sport the highest of brows," Pippin cut in, and I could now detect the slightest cadence of a slur in his voice. He slurped noisily at his tea. "And anyway, we have lots of questions. From where do you come? What possessed you to work for such a slovenly bachelor as Frodo Baggins?"
They all seemed to stare at me as I lowered herself down onto the plush seat, tucking my skirts and smoothing the wrinkles out of them. I felt rather nervous and exposed under their undivided attentions. Looking for something to distract myself, I poured a cup of tea, watching the bloom of each vibrant pink tendril as it bled into the clear water. It turned it rosy and lovely under the light.
At last, situated and comfortable, I replied, "I come from Buckland."
"Buckland?" Merry asked. "I find it hard to believe we've never crossed paths. The Tooks and Brandybucks are families that pride themselves on knowing everyone."
"I believe you've just described most hobbits," I said. "And yet I don't believe I've met a more nosy lot of busybodies, kind and simple as they are, than these Hobbiton folks."
Pippin choked on his tea. "Is this rose hip?" He spluttered.
"Don't be hasty," Merry said, cornering me. "You haven't answered my question just yet. What's your family name?"
"Brockhouse," I replied, hoping he did not venture to ask from which side of the borders of the Shire my family hailed. To my relief, it was a question that did not even enter into Merry's mind.
"Brockhouse!" Merry hummed and took out his pipe, which Pippin must have thought a grand idea, as he too began to rustle through his pockets for his own. "A good sturdy name. I've heard of your lot, but not spoken much in person."
"Bilbo had a few dear friends who were quite proud of their Brockhouse title," Frodo offered in suipport. My gratitude was wordless, but no less genuine.
"Ah, Bilbo," Pippin sighed with deep longing as he packed a wad of Old Toby into his pipe. "Remember his eleventy first birthday, Frodo? What a party! The likes of which I'd never seen before, nor since. The food, the beer...the fireworks!"
"I distinctly remember the fireworks," said Merry. "The dragon that looked as true to the real thing as I might imagine, having never seen a real dragon, and breathed fire like one too. I believe the party was his crowning achievement, and the dragon of course we owe to Gandalf's genius."
"Bilbo did love his parties," Frodo said, his low voice a stark contrast against the backdrop of Merry and Pippin's strident tones. "I daresay, one of the things he loved most about them was giving gifts. Especially to the children."
The room began to fill with the rich, herbaceous scent of pipe weed, smoke rings rising into the air and joining together in a cloudy haze which circled above their heads. The fumes wafted over her and through her and into her nose, and she felt the acrid tang of it bursting on her tongue. Merry and Pippin continued to indulge in the cakes and scones left on the platter before them, but as was usual for Frodo, he barely touched the food sitting on his own plate.
"I suppose long gone are the days of grand parties thrown by mysterious and secretive Baggins bachelors," said Merry.
"They were never my partiality," Frodo replied. "Bilbo was a great deal more sociable than me."
"More sociable?!" Pippin cried, outraged. "Said the fair, charming lad with rosy cheeks and dark hair who always had at least five young maidens swooning after him."
"And yet none of them ever entered into serious courtship with me," Frodo replied with a laugh. "I believe their fathers disapproved of any such match, thinking me as queer and un-hobbitlike as Bilbo from the start."
"You never did yourself any favors, wandering around the woods and reading about the legends of elves and great kings of men," Merry said. "Besides, as usual, Pippin's still lamenting that about half of those maidens were ones he had his own eye on."
"I'll admit to that," Pippin sighed. "My heart still aches a little over Rosemary."
"No, my grand party days are over," Frodo said. "A small dinner with dear friends is all I need to mark the passing of another birthday."
Daisy felt a change come over the room, watching the bright and eager faces of Merry and Pippin begin to crumple and dim, like dying embers. They became quiet in the wake of Frodo's confession for the first time since they crossed the threshold of the hilltop, their spirits dampened, their mirth diminished. She could read their concern in the furrow of their brows, the lightness of their eyes. Even the shape of their shoulders seem to slump, burdened by the sudden onslaught of their dark thoughts.
At last, when the hush that had fallen over the room grew too stale and uncomfortable for them to suffer any longer, Merry spoke up. "We are simply glad to celebrate with you, old friend."
"Aye," Pippin said. "Glad you are with us. And glad to know you."
.
.
.
At long last, the night of the party had arrived. It had been a day of much celebration, though carried out in a way that respected the wishes and proclivities of the ribadyan himself. Merry and Pippin, too eager to sit back and watch Daisy make the preparations for breakfast alone, inserted themselves with such an earnest and confident zeal that she found she couldn't deny them their place in the kitchen alongside her. This led to the demise of a few pieces of Frodo's china collection and many more blunders of that nature, and Daisy wondered if their help was needed, even if their heart was in the right place. But eventually, they all found a way to work together and around one another, and so Daisy was satisfied with allowing them to continue assisting her.
The three of them put together a pleasing array of delicacies that would reflect the great significance of the day. Daisy found she was grateful for their vast well of knowledge of Frodo, from what kind of tea he liked best for breakfast, down to his preferences for what kind of meat he enjoyed with his eggs. They even had such details as his penchant for overripe tomatoes, and how much salt and pepper he liked on them. It was a meal tailored for Frodo in every particular, down to the use of spices and method of preparing eggs, and Daisy could see how deeply beloved he was by the two hobbits in the way they thought only of him in all the provisions.
They bombarded him with a chorus of birthday wishes and a greeting which nearly knocked him down to the floor in its exuberance. Daisy stood off to the side and waited her turn, seeing how overwhelmed Frodo was, looking only half awake with his tangled mess of dark hair and bleary eyes which he had not had a chance to rub the cobwebs of sleep away from just yet. She found a short window of opportunity as he seemed to detect her presence nearby, squinting into the blaze of morning sun in order to find her. Taking her chance, she presented him with her own happy birthday, Master Frodo and gestured to the table, laid with all the food and drink and other dainties, anything and everything he could ever want waiting just for him.
He had seemed lighter of heart that day, his attention stolen from its usual morose fascination with lone wandering in the wild places of the world. The veil was pulled back, a glimpse of the young hobbit who had once captured so many young hearts with his fae beauty and air of self-possession materialized like a vision from the past. The heaviness that made his smile so carefully affected was shed like an old skin. Frodo had laid aside the cares and burdens of the years and Daisy wished it could always be this way.
As the day drew on, they drank together and talked and smoked in the parlor, lounging in the plush armchairs and throwing their heads back in unrestrained laughter. She listened as she worked, affording them all the privacy she could give as she kept to the anonymity of the kitchen to work on her pile of mending. Here and there, she could hear their voices receding as they floated in and out of the garden, going on walks together, and Sam returned with them on one occasion, arriving at last to bring his own birthday salutations. Frodo met him with dear affection, the depth of which Daisy had never seen before in all her years of living.
The light began to lessen, giving way to the first dying cinders of evening. Shadows deepened and grew, casting long and mournful shapes into the corridors beyond. Daisy felt her heart grow heavy with them. She knew that when the day ended, the spell would be broken, and the pale wraith of sorrow would return to claim him once more.
Sam took his leave to help Rosie with the final arrangements, and the three remaining hobbits retired to their rooms to wash and clothe themselves for the much anticipated party. Daisy set aside the breeches she had been working on, finding it harder and harder to see as the candle flickering in the middle of the table became the only light in the room. She craned her head, looking out the open window, and caught a glimpse of the hills which had turned formless and gray, now draped in the mantle of silver twilight. Above them, stars blinked back at her in the heavens, glinting like jewels set in a black velvet swathe of sky.
Daisy left her post at the table, stretching the stiffness out of her back and legs after sitting for too long. The cool of evening had begun to seep into the kitchen, bringing a chill along with it. The hearth lay cold and untouched, and she thought about fetching more kindling to start a new fire to coax some cheer back into the room. Frodo and his companions would soon be leaving, and she would be alone for dinner.
Their voices could be heard again and she realized they had come into the parlor. She could only hear Merry and Pippin, and wondered to herself if Frodo had already left or was still washing up in his own quarters.
"Daisy?"
His voice came upon her suddenly, and she whirled around at the sound of it, backing up against the edge of the table. "Sir!"
She found herself face to face with him, standing under the eaves of the door frame leading into the breakfast nook. "Won't you come with us?" He asked.
"Come...with you?" She replied. "Does Rosie need extra hands for help?"
"No, nothing of the sort!" He laughed. "You would come as my guest."
Daisy found it hard to believe that the invitation was not a joke or a dream she had conjured up in her isolation, having surely thought she would be left behind. At first, she wondered if she'd heard the correct words, and her brain grappled with the authenticity of the offer. Surely, it could not be true. Surely, he was having a good joke at her expense, even if the nature of it seemed so out of character for the kind and merciful master he had shown himself to be.
Still, it did not seem possible. Surely.
"Are you…" She searched for her own correct words. "Mr. Frodo, are you quite certain you...you want me there?"
Daisy found it so difficult to become accustomed to the lightness of his mirth, so true, so golden, after living with the dark he wore the clarity of it around him like a halo.
"Of course," he replied. "After all, I did request all of my friends to come to my birthday party."
. . .
The short walk down the hill to Number Three Bagshot Row was dark, but not unpleasant. Crickets began their songs in the hedges which lined the much beaten path, and they could be heard on their other side, where the hillside sloped gently down to the edge of the water below. Merry and Pippin sang a song, one Pippin had learned from his recent visit to the Golden Perch, a triumphant tune that invited one to skip along with the lively beat of its verse. Frodo walked at Daisy's side with his hands deep in the caverns of his pockets, his steps aligning with hers. They did not speak, but she could hear his laugh threading through the inky darkness at her left where he walked along in the trail of dust Merry and Pippin kicked up in their frolicking.
Sam must have heard them as they sauntered down the hill, a mere shadow standing in the doorway as his features were eclipsed by the light flooding the house behind him. Daisy could hear the sound of dishes being stacked from the kitchen floating out to meet her in the courtyard. She yearned to leave the bunch of male hobbits amassing around her, feeling out of place in their company. Leaving them behind, she walked inside, and found herself in a quaint but homey place where the influence of a female hand could be found in every corner.
A small table filled the cramped dining room, dressed in a bright yellow runner. She noticed the food displayed in neat crockery and on chipped platters across the dining table. There was roast chicken next to heaping piles of peas that swam in a sea of butter. A large robin's egg blue tureen of soup sat next to it, the handle of a serving ladle leaning against the curved rim. Slices of bread with butter were placed on a wooden tray nearby.
Daisy had become accustomed to the overabundance of food, even in the short time she had lived at Bag End, but there seemed no end to the opulent fare spread out before her. She fought to tear her eyes away, hunger gnashing in her empty stomach, and turned into a short corridor which led to the kitchen.
A golden-haired hobbit lady stood at a counter taking inventory of the dishes she'd need for each guest served that night. The tendrils of her curls were caught up into a knot at the back of her head, exposing the sweet curve of her neck as it disappeared into the top of her floral green stays. Her eyes were a playful shade caught between a summery blue and vibrant green, framed by high cheeks which wore a lovely flush from much activity. Her beauty was as fresh and inviting as a summer garden bursting with flowers, portraying a woman still in the bloom of her young years and enjoying the sweet adventure of a new marriage.
The lady turned her head and gave a broad smile in welcome, assuaging the shyness that made Daisy's hands cling to the folds of her skirts. "You must be the Miss Daisy I've heard so much about."
"And you Rosie," she replied. "I have heard much talk of you as well."
"All good things, I hope," she laughed. "Although I believe Frodo is quite generous when it comes to first impressions."
"I am sure he has not been generous at all," Daisy said. "But only told what is true. He is quite ingenuous when it comes to his descriptions of others. How might I be of service? Can I help you with those plates?"
Daisy carried on in her conversation with Rosie Gamgee and found that her reservations about being well received by the lady melted away by the time the company sat down for dinner. Being the only two females in a long established group of male hobbits made them cling together, and Rosie invited her to sit by her as she sat beside her husband, Sam. Sam took his place at the head of the table and Frodo at the other. Merry and Pippin occupied the two chairs that put their backs at the window which overlooked the small, lush garden of Number Three Bagshot Row. They were enveloped in the warmth of the small room, the smell of fresh flowers cutting through the aroma of roasted meat and the rich bouquet of wine.
"Where's Elinor?" Frodo asked. She could not help but hear the disappointment in his voice, for he failed to mask it at all.
"Asleep, I'm afraid," Sam replied. "They don't do much but sleep at this age."
"She'll be more amusing soon enough," Rosie assured him. "But she'll only be this little for a short while longer."
"I was hoping to see her," Frodo said. "I suppose I should have come earlier."
"You didn't know, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. "I still find myself quite surprised every time Rosie announces its bedtime."
"I don't pretend to know a thing about babies," Pippin chimed in, setting down a tankard full of a light honeyed ale. "But, I daresay, they seem to like me, and I haven't met one yet I didn't like."
"It's a true test of character, when a little one takes a shine to you," Sam said. "And I don't believe I've met a challenge yet so daunting as being a father."
"Sounds indeed daunting and quite above my capabilities," Merry interjected. "I don't think I could perform half as well under that sort of pressure as Sam has."
"We don't call him Samwise the Brave for naught," Frodo teased. Sam's blush deepened more still, until Daisy could not help compare the color of his cheeks to the shade of a ripe summer tomato.
Pipping raised his glass, struggling to speak around the mound of half-chewed roasted pork in his mouth. "I say we toast the dear birthday ribadyan! And drink his health. May he live long in the land, surrounded by friends, and may his larders never be empty!"
The rest of them raised their glasses to toast Frodo and took a long drink. Daisy felt the bitter taste of ale splash over the length of her tongue and begin to warm her from the inside out.
"That reminds me!" Frodo leapt to his feet, retrieving a satchel that lay in a wrinkled heap by the round yellow door. "As is custom, gifts for you all, my beloved guests."
He began to pass gifts to each hobbit at the dinner table. Each parcel was wrapped with care in a muted brown strip of cloth, and everyone opened the gift as it was presented to them. Sam's revealed a leather-bound volume with a plain cover, and he turned it over and over in his hands, a sparkle of interest in his eyes as Frodo explained it was a translated collection of Elvish song and poetry.
"Thank you, Mr. Frodo," he'd whispered, holding the volume close.
Rosie unwrapped her parcel to find a delicate crystal vase, which Daisy admitted was quite an appropriate gift, as she had many potted plants in the home but nothing for fresh flowers. For Pippin and Merry, expensive bottles of Old Winyard—a gift met with surprise and elation. They'd thought the last of it had been drunk just before Frodo's move to Crickhollow.
Daisy watched them all with affection burgeoning in her heart. She felt it balloon against her chest, taking up every last inch of empty space within her. Already she loved these hobbits with such ferocity that it made her feel ill at ease, unaccustomed to the tender kindness and devotion of friendship. To her, it felt so fragile, easily broken, akin to the glass vase in Rosie's hands – held with care, not to be trusted in the clumsy hands that lay in Daisy's lap.
"And last but not least," Frodo said, reaching over the table once more. "Here you are, Daisy."
She met the lumpy brown cloth with suspicion. It was too wonderful to even begin to imagine he had brought something for her as well, the invitation to dine with them above and beyond what she had expected to begin with. But there it was, offered to her without a second thought, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to give gifts to lowly scullery maids. Daisy felt tears push against the back of her eyes and she bit her lip, fighting against them. It would not do to cry in front of them, to break the spell of the evening that had done its work to convince her of the existence of magic.
"Surely that cannot be for me, Master Frodo," she said.
"Surely it is!" He exclaimed, and wiggled the parcel under her nose as a way of enticement. "You are a guest, and therefore as ribadyan I must give you a gift."
Daisy took it with trembling hands; it had been a long time since she'd received a gift, the last being one from her parents before they'd succumbed to their illness years ago. She had long since lost the little crystal figurine that her mother had bought for her in the village of Bree, selecting it with her beloved Daisy in mind. She could not even remember the shape of it, only that it had fit in the palm of her hand, and she'd been in awe of the way the light shone in broken crystalline fragments through the clear silhouette. She had been sure it was the most wonderful thing she'd ever beheld.
She was grateful that the rest of the company had begun to talk among themselves, but knew without a doubt that Frodo was still looking at her, waiting with much anticipation to make certain his gift was well received.
Slowly, with shaking hands, Daisy pulled the folds of the cloth back, having been wrapped several times around due to the small size of the contents within. At last, she unearthed the trinket, which was a small, delicate purse in a silky matte fabric of the softest blue she'd ever seen. Hand sewn embellishments of snowdrops had been embroidered along the edges in white and silver, and Daisy drew her fingertips along the raised edges of the stitches, finding it more difficult than ever to believe what was happening to her.
"Do you like it?" Frodo asked, the lilt of his voice sounding so unsure.
She looked up and met Frodo's hopeful gaze, a genuine smile on her lips. "I honestly don't think I could love anything more, Master Frodo."
He seemed to relax, and was drawn back into conversation as Pippin turned to him and asked him a question. The chair next to Daisy was empty, as Rosie had stolen back into the kitchen just as Frodo passed his gift to his unsuspecting housekeeper, who now clutched the purse against her chest, still reeling from the events of the day.
Another refrain of happy birthday Frodo arose from the table as Rosie returned to the dining room carrying a buttercream cake with blackberries embedded in the white frosting. A gathering of candles rose out of the sponge like twigs, their flames flickering with her movements. The cake was set before Frodo, and they all clapped and called his name while he blew out his candles, looking up at every face that beamed back at him with adoration softening his features. Daisy's heart began to thud against every bone in her chest, sending shockwaves that she could feel to the tips of her fingers and down to the pads of her feet.
She couldn't help but notice the way his eyes gleamed like the surface of sapphires, the deepest shade of blue she could imagine, and not even the dim light of the room could lessen their beauty. He laughed again as he listened to Merry tell a joke...it tolled in high, dulcet bell tones, ringing in my ears, and I almost forgot the hollow, spiritless chuckles he hid behind. This kind resonated from the well of his very soul, and the fleeting glimpse made me wish it could remain forever.
Daisy wondered how she had never noticed the dimples in his cheeks before, perhaps because she had never seen him wear such an unrestrained smile.
She had never felt more at home than she did in that moment, surrounded by the hobbits who had accepted her without delay, without question.
Especially Frodo Baggins, whose friendship meant more to her than anything else in the world, even the beautiful snowdrop purse in her grasp.
