The alder tree, beneath which Boromir and Saro gently swayed to the slow and tender notes of harp, pipe and mandolin sat in the middle of a clearing embraced by a great crescent of trees. Behind one of these, a huge oak that spread its limbs like the arms of a drowsy giant, sat the bedraggled figure that had followed Merry, Pippin and Boromir to the fairgrounds. Seeing Saro look into the Beeman’s eyes like that had been like a dagger in his heart. “You’ve done it, now,” he wept bitterly. “Wasn’t bad enough, the way you done t΄other night, you fool. You’ve lost her for sure, Bob Ferny, gone and lost the last of your kin, and no one to blame but yourself. You’re a drunken louse what’ll never amount to naught. All you had was her, and you’ve gone and thrown it all away with your drunken foolishness.”

He managed to get himself upright, and after leaning against the tree, his face almost paper-white and his limbs trembling with the sickness that always came when he did not drink, and managed to get his feet under him. Shambling like a man in great old age, he crept off toward streets he so often could not remember walking. He wept as he walked, almost blind to all around him. He came upon a drinking companion—one could scarce call such a fellow a true friend—and shook his head almost violently at the offer of a drink. He left the man standing in the street scratching his head in puzzlement. “Bob Ferny, not drinking?” the man exclaimed, “Why, the world must be coming to an end!” Ignoring this, Bob somehow slipped by the man, and, finding a corner down an alley behind the livery settled himself in the deep shadows to be alone with his misery, sick in body as in soul. He lay in a pile of rags and watched the stars pass before the purple velvet background of the night, as miserable as the stars were beautiful.

But under the alder where the dancers swirled like leaves in the wind, there was no misery, no regret. Saro, looking into Boromir’s eyes, smiled. His face, bright and fair with happiness, shone with a light to rival the moon and stars. “Lady,” he murmured, so softly she must draw near in order to hear him, “To dance with you is to fly to the moon, to tread upon the very stars, as a child in new snow. Yet no hint of cold do I feel. Nay, indeed, more the warmth of summer’s kindest day—for it is the very sun we dance upon. Can you not feel it?”

“I… I do,” she said, her voice tremulous. How hard it was to speak, when her heart yearned to sing. “I cannot find the words,” she finished, looking down, ashamed to feel so tongue-tied, when the man who gently held her spoke with seeming ease and eloquence.

But then, he caught her chin with his fingertips, and raised her face, and she saw a man stricken through and through. I have never seen the sea, though I have heard it described many times, she thought, but I may spare myself the journey to see it for myself, for there it is, in his eyes. It was true; his eyes were like windows into the sea, clear and open, yet somehow mysterious and even a little sad. So filled with longing were those eyes that her heart felt as though it might tie itself in a knot. They were the eyes of a child, yet a child grown old beyond his years. Her spirit yearned to reach into those windows and touch the mystery she saw there, a thing strong enough to carry her away, but as fair and fragile as the tender leaves of early spring.

Her hand crept to his cheek and pressed itself there, seemingly of its own accord, and he leaned into the caress, turning his cheek just enough to leave a soft kiss in her palm. She realized quite suddenly that his need of her frightened him, and that he sought some sign from her, some semblance of reassurance. Never had she seen him—no, nor any man—thus. She had only seen him, though kind and gentle he may be, as a man who was always sure of himself, yet here he stood, trembling in her arms like a lost little boy. And that was when she knew: Yes, she was in love with him, had been for some time, probably since the first time she had seen him giving treats to the poor children, and he had smiled at her so warmly. It was true, she was in love with him, and he with her. She was sure of it now. Had he not said he had wanted to know her better for some time? He did not strike her as a man to act impulsively in regard to the fair sex. She felt he had deliberated for some time before approaching her.

Yet he had only ever treated her with the gentlest and kindest regard, as courtly as a prince, so much so that she had mistaken his regard for something else, something unreachable for the likes of her, as unattainable as the firmament. How could she not have seen it? How could she not have seen that his behavior had been meant to make her feel like a real and true lady, gently born and bred? And of course, it had made her feel exactly so, had made her understand that she was more than her ill name and her undeserved reputation as a girl who could never quite make anything of herself but what she was: a drudge. She had always felt like a girl who would never be anything more than second best, if even that.

Yet Boromir had seen something more in her. He had seen the girl she had always wanted to be, under the dirt and tattered raiment and shabby shoes. He had seen what seemed to him the whitest rose growing in a midden, shining like a star in the gloomiest of gardens. He had seen a white rose, and had been stopped in his tracks, captured by the fairest blossom in the foulest setting, and the sight had stirred his heart. He had been unable to pass such a thing by, as so many had, and her heart was moved; nay, not just moved but broken, and yet healed, too, and how could this be? Oh, aye, my girl, she thought, you have fallen in love, well and truly.

She could not seem to move or to speak, but only to look into those eyes, drawn as moth to flame, and she realized that the music had stopped playing for some time now. She giggled, and he gave her an odd and somewhat injured look. “The minstrels have stopped playing,” she explained. “See? They are yonder, by the pie-vendor, and they are already eating their fill! We have been dancing to silence for a while, I fear.”

Then he returned her smile with one of his own, enjoying a laugh at himself as they turned to see their friends, who had been watching them from a distance and who now applauded in gleeful jest. Round about the alder, people were spreading blankets or dragging chairs into place. Bree, being a place partly inhabited by hobbits, held great stock in food as well as drink, for the men of Bree, in close company with hobbits for so long, had grown hobbit-like themselves. Around blankets, benches and chairs, baskets filled with food and drink were being emptied, and the celebration changed from dancing to dining for a while. Boromir took Saro by the hand, and together they strolled back to their friends. Already the blanket was laden with food a-plenty, which meant, of course, that the items had been purchased by Merry and Pippin. Bluebell was the only one who had thought to bring a blanket and a basket full of cups and towels, along with the wonderful red wine that had been given to her parents by Thain Peregrin.

Their friends had found a spot near the crescent of trees, and Boromir and Saro settled themselves beside Bluebell, Merry and Pippin on the blanket. Saro and Bluebell poured the wine and handed out pies and mushrooms, along with fresh, fragrant, golden seedcakes, a bit of good, sharp cheese and crisp, red apples as big as Boromir’s fist. Saro and Boromir could not help noticing the knowing glances between Bluebell, Merry and Pippin, and knew it must be quite obvious what had passed between them during their dance. They could only smile sheepishly like children caught rummaging through the pie-safe. Being a bit tardy at getting to their repast, they were also tardy at finishing, and before the seedcakes had been eaten the minstrels struck up the next tune in a roll promising to fill the night to the wee small hours; they would stop only for a drink now again, until the dance be done. From their blanket they saw dancers young and old assemble beneath the alder and begin to wheel about. Amongst them danced the poulterer’s daughter.

“Look,” said Pippin, “She dances with old Beetle’s eldest son. Have you seen them together before tonight?” He raised his brow, looking at Saro and Bluebell.

“Indeed not,” Bluebell said. “He has always been very shy, though he is not unfair to look upon by any means.”

“He is shy, because he stutters,” Saro said. “Some of the girls in the village have been rather cruel with their teasing. But why now, I wonder?”

“Why?” Merry said, “It is because he saw Boromir dance with her, and saw she has a sweet smile when she is happy. Perhaps he wishes to see her happy more often.”

“Lilac,” Saro said. “Her name is Lilac. Her sisters are Lavender and Lily. But yes, her smile does much improve her countenance, I must say.”

“It does indeed,” Pippin added. “Yet I think it is more than that. Did you see how confident she looked after the dance? I think she did not believe it was possible to catch a lad’s eye, poor thing.”

“You are both right,” Boromir said. “Yet there is still more to it. Whilst I was a soldier, I learned much about the ways of men. The surest way to make a man want something is for him to see another man want it first. Much as one dog, spying another with a bone, will want it for himself. I fear we do have some rather unseemly habits, we men.”

“Well, I see what you mean,” said Pippin, “But I am not convinced that such behavior is common amongst your kind only, Boromir. We hobbits have had some fine examples of that!”

“Aye, there’s the truth of it!” Merry agreed. “Look at Otho Sackville-Baggins, for instance. And there were others, as well. Dwarves and even Elves are not immune, either, from the tales I got from Gimli and Legolas. And even wizards—don’t forget Saruman.”

“I am happy to say I never had the experience of meeting that worthy,” Boromir said. “I dare say I do not know what I should have done, had I met him, knowing what I now know of his treachery.”

“Neither do I,” Pippin said, “But I should very much like to have seen it.” He grinned like a fierce little fox.

Boromir laughed. “But we have strayed into past times,” he said, “And I would not assault the tender sensibilities of our feminine company with such details.”

“Oh,” Pippin said, understanding that Boromir wished to dwell only in this night for now. “Yes, you are, of course, right. Look, it is another ring dance! This time it’s the lads in the middle and the ladies all around! Hurry, let us join the dance!” With that, he hopped up and off he went, Merry and Bluebell at his heels.

“Shall we join our friends?” said Boromir. He stood and offered Saro his hand, and happily, she took it. As she stood, she found herself caught yet again in those windows to the sea, and felt the world fall away beneath her feet. “Saro,” he said, “You must… that is, will you…”

“Hush,” she said, laying a finger over his lips, “You may call on me when you come to town.”

“I may?” he said with a childlike grin.

“You may,” she said, and could not help laughing, both at his joy and her own.

“I may!” shouted Boromir, “Did you hear that? She said I… may!” He scooped her into his arms and swung her around, and she squealed with laughter like a little girl. Taking her hand, they went to join the dance. The song was a merry and lively tune, filled with the joy of Harvestmath, imparting a sense of vitality and promise. It was a very popular tune, and one well known by all. Dancers and onlookers joined in the song:

Put away the spade and plow

Tonight we have not a single care

Time for rest and play is now

When we dance at the Harvestmath fair

Summer sun slips away behind us

Time to dance at the Harvestmath fair

Winter time has yet to find us

Come with me, we’re almost there

Put away the spade and plow

Tonight we have not a single care

Time for rest and play is now

When we dance at the Harvestmath fair

Moonbeam shines down through the trees

Whilst star shines in clear night air

This night we do just as we please

Dance with me at the Harvestmath fair

Put away the spade and plow

Tonight we have not a single care

Time for rest and play is now

When we dance at the Harvestmath fair

On the earth, the people spun and wheeled beneath the stars, and above the earth, the stars moved across the heavens like diamonds scattered across a backcloth of deepest purple. The ladies moved in a clockwise direction around the gents, while the latter moved in a counter-clockwise direction. As Saro and Boromir passed each other in the dizzying dance, they smiled or made eyes at each other, and sometimes made silly faces at each other. He, along with Bluebell and Merry, never saw Pippin break out of the circle and scamper off in the direction of the musicians. Pippin drew the fiddler a few steps away from where he had stood, spoke briefly with him, and with a toss of a silver coin he purchased the use of the fiddle. When the ring-dance was done, Pippin took the fiddle and, speaking briefly to the other musicians, instructed them to play an old tune—a slow and gentle one—he was certain they must surely know. They did, in fact, know the tune well, but did not know the words to be sung to it as it, for Pippin had devised the song himself, and this is what he sang:

There is a bird upon the wing

Flying silent as a stone,

A lonely bird has no song to sing,

And the bird flew the empty sky all alone

A berry hung on the bush since spring

Now ripe and rich it waited

For time and chance someone to bring

One hoped for and awaited

The bird, he spied the berry sweet,

His heart in his breast beat strong

And he took the berry and the bird did eat

And the berry turned into his song

Such is the love of a maid and a man,

It’s the berry and bird that make the song

Birds, gather berries while you can

And the berries will turn into song

Each bird with his berry now are one

And joyous, rising up take wing

With feathers shining in the sun

The bird and the berry shall sing

Such is the love of a maid and a man,

It’s the berry and bird that make the song,

Birds, gather berries while you can

And the berries will turn into song

So come away with me, my lady fair,

And let our happy hearts take wing,

And we shall fly now through the air

And both our hearts shall joyfully sing

Such is the love of a maid and a man,

It’s the berry and bird that make the song,

Birds, gather berries while you can

And the berries will turn into song

Many of the Breelanders knew Pippin to be the Took and Thain, and some few slowed their dancing, and then stopped altogether, so astonished were they that such an important visitor not only honored their town with a performance, but could do so with such skill. Seeing the Thain had his eyes fixed upon a certain couple, they followed his gaze, and understood that the Thain played and sang for the benefit of the Beeman and the little drudge dancing with him. Slow smiles grew on the faces of the townsfolk. After this dance, they would never look at Saro Ferny the same way again. No longer a mere drudge, Saro became something special to them. After all the years she had dwelt with them, she was, at last, one of them, a true Breelander, and one that none could fault, if they were fair-minded and possessed a decent heart.