4.Willy Or Nilly

   “You do not care for feasts, Miss Diamond?” Pippin asked the lass seated to his left, who continued shifting restlessly on the bench.  She had been frowning and muttering through the meal and picking at her food, and though his other neighbor was doing her level best to ensnare him in conversation, he had been watching the tall huntress and hoping for an occasion to speak.

   “It isn’t the food, but this impractical and bothersome garment my mother insists is the only proper attire for a lady in the presence of a guest,” she snarled, glaring at the offending dress as one might at a toad in one’s soup.

    “Well, if it’s any comfort, it is a very fetching gown,” he said, suppressing a grin as her sleeve trailed into the gravy on her plate when she reached for her wine.  A disdainful sniff was her only reply.

    He was about to steer the subject to what he hoped would be a more pleasant topic of conversation when she noticed the state of the lacy material, now clinging coldly against her wrist.

    “Oh, a pox on guests and all their complications!” she muttered under her breath, sponging at the mess which was now dripping into her lap.

   “I’ve often thought the same of those that overstayed their welcome in my father’s house,” Pippin said quietly, handing her his napkin.

   “Why an uncouth dandy from the South should hold such an opinion is entirely beyond me,” she said acidly, snatching the proffered cloth without thanks.

   Pippin let fall his hand, stung by her remark, and his eyes hardened, though a polite smile remained on his lips.

   “Forgive me, I had not realized I was in the presence of so keen an arbiter of good taste and conduct.  I can promise you to be gone within a day or two at the most, and so cease to poison your existence.”

   He pointedly turned his attention to the lass on his other side, belatedly recalling the carrot-topped hobbitess’s avid stare, and his resolution to escape it at all cost.  He muttered some inanity in her general direction and hid his face in his wine glass, wondering for a moment why any hobbit would marry, trapped between sharp-tongued vixens and whey-faced mice.

   Diamond choked back a surprised apology and rose from the table, resisting at the last the urge to fling the gravy-stained napkin at his back.  She was not entirely sure why his remark, though milder than many she had been subject to, had struck her so.  Perhaps because it had been true, and well deserved besides, perhaps because she had only just noticed the friendly light in his eyes when it had disappeared at her sharp words.  Storming from the dining room without another word, she forced herself not to look back to see if he had taken note of her departure.

                                                               ***   ***   ***

   “I cannot believe you are doing this to me!”  Diamond said angrily, glaring at her father across his desk.  “I have far better things to do with my time than go chasing after the fancies of a harebrained Bounder who couldn’t find his way across the Moor with a map and a month-full of sun.”

   What regret and embarrassment she had felt the night before for her hasty words and sharp tongue had melted like snow in the sun with her father’s request.

   “You are the one always harping on that we need to extend our concern to protect our neighbors, and though I’ve never said so, you are the best tracker in the North Farthing.  Young Master Peregrin has need of your services and you *will* give satisfaction.  Come now, lass,” Angrim said, his voice softening somewhat.  “This is no fool’s errand, but a real problem that needs a clear head and a keen eye.  I am entrusting this task to *you*.”

   She nodded, defeated by his reasoning as well as the niggling itch of curiosity that she had been trying so hard to ignore.

   “Now, you may wish to remember, however, that it is the next Took and Thain that you so glibly denigrate, my daughter, and though we are far from Tuckborough here, he could be a good friend to your brother someday.”

   “I’ll do my best to be polite,” she said sourly as she took from him the short list of hobbits she would be taking with her.

   Muttering and planning out her route and supplies, she quickly strode through the small parlor outside her father’s study and failed to notice the dark-haired hobbit who sat quietly behind a book, an amused grin twitching at his lips.  Pippin stood, one finger marking his page, as Angrim stepped out of the darkened room, catching sight of him with a start.  The older hobbit paled, Diamond’s strident words echoing in his mind.

   “You heard…”

   “Aye, well, walls are thin and chance is perverse.  Merry warned me this would happen.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “The worst of my reputation has caught up with me, and in the face of the only one I’ve ever met to match me for sheer contrariness and stubborn pluck.  Fate has a twisted sense of humor.”

   Angrim watched the young hobbit anxiously, having expected anger or wounded pride rather than the bemused thoughtfulness that filled his guest’s face.

   Pippin smiled, seeing his uncertainty, and clapped the older hobbit on the shoulder.

   “It should be an interesting expedition.”

                                                            ***   ***   ***

   Wearily handing his tired mount to a lad playing in the courtyard, Sancho slowly approached the main door of Brandy Hall as evening darkened the sky.  He walked into the noisy brightness of its wide dining hall, where the thirty or so Brandybucks who lived within the vastness of the Buck Hill were getting ready to sit down to supper.  A half-grown girl with a pair of sticky-faced toddlers in tow brushed by him, dragging her charges towards the hand basin and towels sitting near the entrance.

   “Miss!  Excuse me…” he said, reaching to tap her shoulder.

   “Wash your hands, lads!  And no splashing!” she said to the little boys, pushing them forward, before turning to smile up at the young Bounder.  “Did you just ride in?  You need a wash,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

   “Well, yes, I imagine that I probably do,” he replied, staring down at his dusty, slept-in clothes.  “But first, I need to speak to Master Meriadoc Brandybuck, if I could.”

   “Oh, you’re in luck, he should be about tonight,” she said, running back to interrupt the incipient flooding of Brandy Hall’s red tiled floors.

   Stepping back outside to brush off the worst of the dry mud and dust he had acquired on his hurried ride across the Shire, Sancho ran into the very hobbit he had been searching for.  The tall Bucklander looked rather weatherworn himself, mud-spattered trousers and feet and windblown hair a sure indication he too had been riding through much of the day.  He nodded a polite greeting to the stranger standing uncertainly at his door and reached for the knob, eager to put down the heavy satchel that bowed broad shoulders under his winter cloak.

   “Master Meriadoc?  I’ve a message for you, sir,” Sancho said, stepping out of his path with a short bow.

   “Well, come in and tell me, the sky’s about to fall,” Merry replied, holding open the door as the first drops struck the dirt of the courtyard.  “Oh, good, supper’s on.  I’m utterly famished.  You’ll join us, of course?” he asked dropping his burden on the dark bench that spanned the length of the entry hall.

   “Ah…  Well, a hobbit’s got to eat sometime, I suppose, but my business is rather urgent.”

   Merry sighed and scratched his head, abandoning all thoughts of well-deserved rest, and finally gave the bedraggled Bounder a short smile.

   “We can take our plates to my study then, and you can apprise me of my cousin’s latest mischief,” he said with a good-humored sigh.  “Wait here a moment.”

   Sancho watched him gather up a well-loaded tray as he spoke to a lovely lass, round with child and obviously less than pleased with his news.  She followed Merry back to the entry hall, dark gaze taking in the young hobbit’s disheveled state, the feather that graced the cap in his hand and the anxious look in his eye.  She gave Sancho a small smile, not unfriendly for all the suspicious concern that filled her face, and shook her head with a sigh.

   “Well,” she said quietly, addressing her husband, “Do see he gets fed and warmed up before you go galloping off, Merry dear.  You have two months to get my cousin out of trouble and my husband home to me, Master Bounder,” she added, turning to their guest, one hand smoothing the soft fabric of her winter dress against the swell of her growing child.  “I’m afraid this lad has his own schedule we all need to abide by.”

   “Yes, ma’am, ” Sancho replied, with an embarrassed blush.

   She smiled and gave him a friendly wink before returning to the busy tables in the next room.

   “Well, we’ve our marching orders, let’s get on with it,” Merry chuckled, waving him towards the small door that led into the north wing of the smial.