Chapter Eight - Old Friends, New Friends

Paladin watched through the folds of the food sacks as the four riders dismounted. He recognized one of the riders as Gandalf, but hesitated to come out of hiding until he learned who the other three were. He almost gave his hiding place away when he heard the two hobbits in the front of the cart jump down and whoop for joy. “Addie!” he whispered as loud as he dared when he his friend jumped from the back of the cart. Paladin saw all the hobbits running to greet the grey pilgrim like children excited to see a long lost relative.

“Isengar!” said the old Wizard, “I am glad that you received my letter--and from this burglar, no doubt. I was grieved to learn that you had not been outside of Tuckborough in years.”

Bilbo looked surprised at his uncle, “You’ve attended the Leaf Sampler in the Southfarthing every year, haven’t you? Or the Buckland Harvest Fair ever since your sister married into the Brandybuck family--how ‘bout--”

“All right!” Isengar interrupted his nephew, “So I’ve been outside Tuckborough a few times.” Then added more wistfully, “but I haven’t seen the Sea in ages it seems. The longing for the sea does have a way of growing on a person.”

Gandalf smiled in reply, “Which is why I took pity on you and sent you a letter of my own.” He turned to his companions, “You and Bilbo remember Elrond’s sons Elladan and Elrohir from your individual stays at Rivendell. This one,” he indicated to a younger version of the other two, “is…Thorongil. We are traveling to the Havens to see this one off on a long journey of his own.” The man looked at Bilbo and Isengar, nodding his greeting. His steel-grey eyes shining through the growing twilight.

“At your service,” Bilbo remembered his manners and bowed low.

“Well met,” said Isengar, bowing his head. “Allow me to introduce my young nephews, Adelard, generally known as Addie, and Pal--” But when Isengar turned to the lads, only one of the twain stood there. “Paladin! Come out and greet our friends,” the elder hobbit turned to the tall persons, “you’ll have to excuse him--he’s still a mere boy.” Isengar grinned; he knew just how to rouse the young hobbit.

From the back of the cart came a ruffling of the sacks. A small figure silently slipped to the ground, cautiously making his way to the small crowd of strangers. Still apprehensive of the tall men, Paladin stood his ground next to his cousin. “I am not a mere boy--I am a full three-foot five, I’ll have you know--and I’m almost twenty-five years old!”

Thorongil was thoroughly amused by the group of Little Folk and laughed. “Hold onto your swords, friends! Here is a force to be reckoned with!”

Gandalf smiled at the humor, but because he had already seen the true hardiness of the hobbits, he replied in their defense, “I would not cross one of these little ones, my friend,” he said, “the mettle of the elder two have been tried and tested in battle, and both have come out the victor.”

Thorongil looked in wonder upon the Little Folk. “My apologies, young one.”

“What was that, Gandalf?” asked Bilbo. “It didn’t look like goblin--or not wholly, anyway.” The group walked back a ways to observe the body of a disfigured-looking man.

“It was a half-Orc--or goblin, as you know them,” the Wizard answered. They looked at the body lying in a heap in the tall grasses. “And he is not the first that I have caught following me, either. Where they are coming from, I can only guess--but no more of that right now. We should move on a little further down the road together and then make camp along the underbrush.”

“So that’s why Sting had only a faint glow,” said Bilbo with wonder.

Gandalf walked leisurely on the road between his old friends, leading his horse by the reins. “Yes, Bilbo, and I am glad to see that you brought your old sword.”

Paladin and Adelard exchanged looks. “I get to drive!” said Adelard, both racing to the driver’s seat in the front of the cart. The three tall companions mounted up and rode behind the company, keeping watch for any other half-breed orcs following them.

~ ~ ~

The following morning, Esmeralda was allowed out of her room, but forbidden to go outside of the Smials. She had a small parchment folded and tucked inside her apron pocket as she made her way to the far end of the hallway. She paused in her movements to listen for anyone else in the tunnel; there was no one else that she could hear. The tween stealthily paced in front of a certain door. Pulling out her pocket handkerchief, she opened it up, finding the black specks hidden deep in the folds. Esmeralda raised it to her nose, breathing in the pepper she herself had sprinkled inside. Not five seconds later she began sneezing her head off.

Soon, the door was opened up by a young teen. “Hullo! Who’s out here?” He saw it was Esmeralda. “Gracious me! Are you all right?” Saradoc pulled out his own pocket handkerchief and handed it to her. He looked both ways down the hall; seeing no one was about, he invited her inside. “Perhaps a glass of water is all you need.” Not one to wait for a second invitation, she followed him inside.

Esmeralda noticed that the Master’s suite was decorated more elaborately than her own family’s guest quarters. Even though Rory was not yet Master, he was representing his father, who was the Master of Buckland, not to mention his mother, Mirabella, was the Master’s wife. Esmeralda let out a huge sneeze, almost knocking over a large, expensive vase. She guessed it was expensive because she had never seen anything of it’s like before. Still following her friend into the sitting room, she stood off to the side waiting for the glass of water he was pouring for her. Then she saw the small and frail hobbit matron sitting in a chair by the window. “Hull-- achoo!”

“Goodness, lass! What illness have you brought inside here?”

“’Tis not an illn-- achoo!”

Poor Mirabella was baffled; “then why are you sneezing? And what is your name?”

“My name is--,” Esmeralda wiped her nose--with Saradoc’s handkerchief, “My name is Esmeralda Took--most everyone calls me Essie, though. My father is Adalgrim. Hullo, Ma’am.” Esmeralda curtsied.

“Ah, yes…,” Mirabella smiled, “I know Adalgrim. My grandson and I were about to have Second Breakfast--would you care to join us?”

“Yes, I would like that very much indeed, Ma’am.”

“Please, lass, I’ll call you Essie if you call me Mira,” said the matron. “Sara--please fetch me my lap quilt in my bedroom.”

Esmeralda quickly rose up, “I can do that Ma’--, I mean, Mistress Mira.”

“Mira, dear, please.” Mirabella watched the two young hobbits disappear around the corner and into her bedroom. A smile spread across her face from ear to ear.

Inside the bedroom, Saradoc found his grandmother’s lap quilt quickly then bumped into Esmeralda when he turned round back to the sitting room. He was speechless; all he could do was lose himself in her deep green eyes.

Esmeralda stood before the same bright, blue eyes as the day before. She had never felt so comfortable with any other lad before. She sensed the air easing around them; without realizing it, she felt him kissing her. It was a very affectionate kiss--coming from a teen, that is.

Suddenly he stopped kissing her; he stood apart holding his mouth. “Something’s burning on my lips!” He smiled, “it tastes like…pepper!”

Esmeralda turned a deep crimson. “I’m sorry--perhaps I should leave.”

“No!” Saradoc was swift to try and change her mind. “I mean, that isn’t necessary. I wish for you to stay--at my invitation as well.” He smiled again, “Dad never said that I couldn’t have guests.”

“Saradoc!” They heard Mirabella from in the sitting room. “Leave that poor lass be, and bring me my quilt!”

“Yes Grandmother!” Saradoc shouted back. “On our way.” He held out his hand. Esmeralda took it in hers; together they walked out to the sitting room for breakfast.