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A New Reckoning  by Dreamflower

CHAPTER 11

The main dining hall was quite crowded as most of the hobbits at Brandy Hall wished to get an eyeful first hand at the strange guests.

Bergil was seated at the high table between Pippin and Pippin’s sister Pearl. He felt very out of place. For almost a year now, at feasts and such, he had been serving as page, and not taking part in the meals until afterwards. But hobbits had different customs. The servers brought the food to the tables, but did not serve the guests. Instead, they loaded the food on the tables and the diners passed the dishes around and served themselves.

And there was so *much* food! Platters of early spring vegetables--tiny carrots, radishes and green onions; two kinds of soup; a huge ham; roasted chickens; lamb chops; many other kinds of vegetables; and *mushrooms*! Mushrooms fried and mushrooms stuffed and mushrooms baked and right now he had on his plate a piece of mushroom and cheese pie. It was delicious, but he had eaten so much already! And Mistress Pearl kept encouraging him to eat. She looked so worried if he did not.

Pippin glanced up at Bergil from his conversation with Gimli on the other side, and noticed the hint of panic on the lad’s face.

“Pearl,” he chuckled, “leave the lad be. He needs to save room for dessert.”

Dessert? Bergil’s eyes widened even more. How did these pheriannath--hobbits--eat so much?

On the other side of Esmeralda, Legolas sat upon his cushion, and enjoyed the meal. He had an idea of what to expect, knowing hobbits, and so was taking very tiny portions of everything--most of which was quite delicious. He noticed that Frodo on his left was doing the same thing, and felt a pang of concern that the Ringbearer’s appetite had yet to return to what was normal for one of his kind. He saw Sam, on Frodo’s other side was also taking note of the plate; Sam’s eye caught his, and he nodded.

Legolas turned his attention back on his hostess. He had noticed that she was wearing the necklace that Merry had brought from Minas Tirith. She was asking him about it.

“Yes, Mistress Brandybuck, the story Merry told you was quite true. I did sketch the design for the jeweler, but your son knew very well what he wanted. The small flowers in the chain are niphredil, a flower of Lothlorien. And Gimli chose the emerald. Merry wanted a very good example of your namesake stone.”

“And is it also true the jeweler did not want to take any pay for it?”

Legolas laughed. The clear music of his Elvish laughter rang out and drew the attention of everyone. It seemed to lift the hearts of all present.

“Yes, that is true as well. I do think he got a fair price for it in the long run, but it fairly drove Gimli to distraction trying to arrive at that price.”

But his hostess was looking troubled, rather than amused. “Merry said that no one seemed to want to take their money in the City?”

“What worries you, Mistress Brandybuck?”

“It’s such a weight of gratitude, on four small hobbits.”

“Ah.” He did see. She did not really understand all that had happened, though she had been told. But she saw the results, and knew what it meant. “The weight of the gratitude is yet less than they deserve.” He wanted to add a bit more, but the subject was a sore one for Frodo, and he did not wish to risk distressing him lest he overhear the conversation. “We will perhaps, speak of this at greater length another time?”

She nodded, and turned the conversation to their journey to the Shire.

Merry was talking to Gimli, who sat on his right. “I thought that you and Legolas would be for Mirkwood and the Lonely Mountain; I’m surprised that you were travelling again.” For he had been told that the two met up with the party from the south in Rivendell, and had joined it for a chance to come see their friends in the Shire.

“Aye, lad, we did go to both places, but we did not stay long. While King Thranduil was surprisingly open minded about my friendship with his son--once he got over the shock--his people were not. And I am afraid that my father was far less than open-minded. We went to Rivendell first, and had thought to make our way back to the south, when word came to us of this party heading your way. Well, we could hardly pass up an opportunity to see you all in your own homeland, so we begged leave to join the official delegation.”

“I am glad that you did. I have missed you heartily, and Legolas as well. It’s a shame that the King and Gandalf could not have come also.”

“And then we could all tramp off together into the wilderness? No, lad, it would not be the same.” Gimli sighed. It was good to remember the friendship and the good times, but the Quest had been far too serious to want to turn back time.

And Saradoc, seated between his wife and son felt a weight upon his heart as he listened to the conversations. How long would his son be content to stay in the Shire? Would he feel restless now that he had been in the wide world?

Legolas turned now to Frodo, who had asked him about Bilbo.

“He is still well, though feeling finally all of his years. He does not write as much, and spends a great deal of time sleeping in the Hall of Fire. He still has a keen interest in his meals, however. And he sent his most loving regards to you.”

“I am glad he is still well. I feared--I feared that” he stopped, not sure how to put his fear into words.

“You feared that the destruction of the Ring would destroy him as well?”

Frodo nodded, feeling ashamed. He sometimes felt grateful to the Ring, evil as it was, because it had kept Bilbo alive for him. It was one of his many shameful thoughts about the Ring. And Bilbo had seemed so much older and more frail, when he had seen him last, on the way home.

Legolas was not sure what kind of answer to give Frodo. The truth was that Bilbo was nearing the end of a life that had lasted far longer than natural for one of his kind. Yet to Legolas, also, it seemed far too short a time, as did all mortal lives. He contented himself with giving the hobbit a comforting squeeze of the arm, and a sympathetic nod.

The meal was drawing to a close. The servers were bringing in the desserts. Bergil thought he might cry. There were tarts, and cake and two kinds of pie. Would he have to eat some of everything? He had to be polite. And Mistress Pearl was helping his plate to some pie right now. He glanced at Pippin, but he was talking past Gimli to Merry right now. Giving a sigh, he picked up his fork.

________________________________________________

After the meal had ended, they had remained at the Hall for a while to mingle with the assembled Brandybucks. Now Merry, Pippin and their guests were walking back to Crickhollow under a clear and starry sky. The night was cool, but the fresh air was pleasant after the stuffiness of the crowded room, and the friends were feeling in a mellow and light-hearted mood.

“Legolas,” laughed Merry, “tonight will go down in the history of Brandy Hall.”

“Do you think so?”

“Oh, yes indeed! For the first time ever, a male caught the eye of my cousin Celandine and she was too shy to speak to him! I have never in my life heard anything quite so funny as that little squeak she gave when you were introduced.”

Pippin and Frodo laughed too. Celandine was only twenty-four, but she was already becoming notorious for her flirtations.

“It wasn’t just Celandine,” put in Pippin. “I thought Melilot’s betrothed was going to have apoplexy, the way she was gazing at our lovely Elf.”

Legolas was thankful for the darkness, which hid his blushes. What was it with mortal women? It had been pretty bad in Minas Tirith; at least these hobbit lasses were too shy to do more than just gaze at him longingly.

Sam sniggered. “I think every lass there between twenty-one and eighty was smitten.”

“Including Pearl!” said Frodo slyly.

“Oh, now there’s an idea!” said Pippin. “How would you like to be my brother-in-law, Legolas?”

The Elf shook his head. He was just thankful that Gimli had so far stayed out of this conversation.

“You know,” came Gimli’s voice--

Oh, no--he wouldn’t--not the main reason they had left so quickly from the Lonely Mountain--

“--even Dwarven women are not immune to our Elven laddie--”

He would.

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Esmeralda had made a pallet for Bergil in one of the guest rooms only a few doors away from the Master’s suite, and seen him settled in there.

She and Saradoc had talked for a while, but now she thought she would go check on their young guest one last time before retiring for the night.

She cracked open the door, and peered in. The lad was moving restlessly and then he moaned softly.

“Bergil? Are you all right?”

He sat up slowly, clutching his middle. “Mistress Brandybuck? I don’t feel so well. I think I ate too much.”

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