A/N: If you haven’t read my story, “Remembering Aright”, you should read it before reading this chapter as this picks up where it leaves off. Hmmm . . . did I have a note a lot like this at the beginning of the prologue?

And So It Began

Other’s coming of age party had been appropriately grand, considering he was a son of one of one of the Brandybuck family tree’s more nominal branches. A descendant of Meriadoc the Magnificent it was true, as were a good many of the Hall’s residents, but well removed from the branch that had produced the long and unbroken chain of Masters of Buckland. It was announced that Other’s wedding to Athelas Took would take place in six months time, with cheers and congratulations then being raised to the young couple. As in the case of a certain distant ancestor, Athelas was the older of the pair so there was little need to wait a long time after Other’s coming of age, only long enough to make all the arrangements and preparations for a proper hobbit wedding.

It was noted by some that Other’s older brother, Jebbin, seemed lighter of heart than he had for a goodly long time. It was also noted that he finally seemed to be noticing the lasses, though actually it was only one lass; that being Miss Marjoram Proudfoot. He had danced every dance with her and when not dancing they had been seen giggling together in the quieter corners of the ballroom and main dining hall. Whereas Athelas Took was a small, dainty, though sturdy blacksmith’s daughter with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, Marjoram was deemed by many of the eligible lads of the Hall to be a bit mousy. Oh, pretty enough, but . . . mousy. She was a teacher, as was Jebbin, and they seemed to suit each other well as he also chose to dress a bit plainly and had the pallor of those who spend their time indoors reading.

The next day, Jebbin and Marjoram bundled up against the brisk mid-Winterfilth day to go walking along the Brandywine River. They talked as they walked. They talked about their students, about the Hall, and about their favorite books, a conversation that had begun the evening before.

“I adored “Trampings of a Tookish Tinker”. It was amazing the things that he saw and did, going all the way to the town of Northlands, for goodness sake!”

Jebbin looked at the lass walking beside him, hurrying a bit to match his stride. He saw no mousy lass. Her hair was a rich dark brown, her eyes sparkled with the day, the exercise, and the fun of talking about something she loved. Her cheeks, nose and forehead were rosy from the crisp autumn day. Jebbin’s heart leapt, then it gave an odd twist. He was about to embark on a course of action that would most likely end in tragedy, how could he allow himself to fall in love?

Marjoram had kept talking. “. . . and I also love anything historical. I,” she paused, bringing Jebbin to a stop with a hand on his arm. “I read your pamphlet, “Brandybucks and The Old Forest: Observations on The Loss of the High Hay”. It was wonderful.” She turned a bit redder than the shade the weather had used to paint her cheeks. She turned her head away to look toward the river. “Look, there’s a fallen tree just there, out in the sunlight near the cliff over looking the river. Could we sit a while?” Marjoram flitted away without waiting for his answer but Jebbin didn’t mind. He happily followed her.

“I can’t believe you read that old dry bit of mindless musing, Marjoram.”

“Not mindless at all, Jebbin. Inspired, I would say.” She reached over to touch his hand. Not in a forward way. A butterfly would have pressed firmer against his skin. Her hand was gone nearly before he knew it had been there. “Would you call me Marjy? Marjoram seems to take so long to say.”

“Marjy,” he repeated, nodding quickly.

“It is a well written and thought out small work, Jebbin, you really should . . . Do you have a shorter name you use?”

“No, not really. Sometimes Other calls me “In” and I call him “Er”. But that was more when we were younger and only between we two. Everyone else calls us Jebbin and Other. Mum said she had tried “Jeb” when I was a faunt, but didn’t like the feel of it in her mouth.” They both chuckled at that. “And Da said “Oth” sounds like “o-a-t-h” so it didn’t seem like a name, just a word.”

“Jebbin then.” She smiled prettily then continued with the conversation. “As I was saying, it really is a well thought out work, Jebbin.” She suddenly looked down at her hands in her lap. Her voice was quieter. “I noticed you . . . didn’t dwell much on the Travellers experiences in The Old Forest. I noticed that too in your, “Changes in the Ordering of the Shire Including Changes in the ordering of Buckland and the additions of the Westmarch and Undertowers.” You mention Sirs Meriadoc the Magnificent and Peregrin the Peerless and Mayor Samwise, you even say more about Frodo Baggins than do most authors, but you really say very little about them.”

She looked up from her study of her hands to search Jebbin’s eyes.

“Do you not like the Travellers?”

For a moment he looked taken aback, though that was rapidly replaced with a smile. “To the contrary, Marjor . . . Marjy, they are my favorite characters in Hobbit history. I’m descended from Meriadoc the Magnificent,” he chuckled. “As is most of Buckland anymore.” Jebbin tipped his head a bit and added wistfully, “Descended from Peregrin the Peerless too, it so happens.”

“I am as well,” sudden enthusiasm sparkled in her voice. “Well, from Peregrin the Peerless that is. I’ve only a tiny bit of Brandybuck in me.” But the sudden glow in her voice faded away as she added, “That said, and if they are your favorites, why do you write so little of them?”

“I . . . ah . . .”

“It was actually a bit refreshing,” she said softly. “They are my favorites as well, but I . . . they usually are . . . well, I feel they’re usually over done, if you understand what I’m saying. Not,” she hastened to add, “that I don’t feel they are the most wonderful of Hobbits, they are, were. It’s just that . . .”

She looked back at her hands.

“That what, Marjy? It’s all right, truly. I like a good debate, ah, discussion of history and I’m rather good at keeping my temper and such. It’s just that, what, Marjy?”

“It’s just that, well . . .”

“Yes?”

“I’ve often wondered if they weren’t really more just like the rest of us. I mean, yes, they went on this unbelievable and dangerous journey, quest, whatever, and they came back and set the Shire back to rights. But really, were they really like the books and such all have them? Mightn’t they have just been fairly normal Hobbits when all was truly said and done? And maybe the journey wasn’t so wonderful and magical, maybe it had been hard, frightening and exhausting, and . . .”

The words had gushed forth until Marjy put her hands over her mouth to stop them. She stared, wide eyed, at Jebbin over the tops of them even now. Her face had gone pale beneath the chapped skin redness of her cheeks and nose.

“I’ve said too much,” were the muffled words that worked their way from behind her hands.

The twist Jebbin’s heart had taken earlier untwisted itself a bit. If he was hearing her correctly . . .

. . . if his heart wasn’t making his head think it was hearing what it so longed to hear, she was actually saying she felt the way he did!

Wait a moment, his mind said sternly. Athelas had been the one who had mentioned Marjoram Proudfoot two days ago in the mathom room. This was some jest on the part of that Took his brother was going to tie himself to. Yes! Of course it was. Hadn’t this lass just said a bit ago that she too was descended from good old Peregrin the Peerless? He was really beginning to dislike that interfering ghost!

Jebbin looked a bit more carefully at Marjoram’s eyes. If they were green like Athelas’ . . .

. . . but no. Odder yet, they were a lovely shade of golden yellow. Yellow eyes softly shaded with greens and browns. They were somewhat startling, though beautiful. How had he missed their unusual color up till now? Her eyes had distracted him, giving another part of his mind a chance to speak up.

How could it be Athelas’ doing? You already liked Marjoram, remember? You’ve liked her since the first day she came to be a teacher at the Hall. Other hadn’t left to learn his smithing from Athelas’ father until three months later.

All of this thinking took only a moment’s time. The terrified lass still sat before him, her hands clapped tightly over her mouth.

“It’s all right, Marjor . . . Marjy,” Jebbin mumbled. “You’re eyes are yellow.”

Her strange lovely eyes blinked a few times, but her hands stayed where they were. She nodded her head.

“They . . . they’re beautiful.”

“The lads used to call me “Cat-oram.” She still spoke from behind her hands.

“No, they oughtn’t have. Well . . . I can see why they did, but they really are lovely. I . . . ah . . .” He was embarrassed now, feeling as though he was just a young lad. What was it he had been thinking about?

“Oh, yes,” he said aloud. “It really is all right, what you were saying. As I said, I like having free and, ah, open discussions about history. Ah . . .” He paused a long moment. His heart was thudding inside him. He had fallen in love. He wondered if love could kill a hobbit? “Did you mean what you said? I mean, do you really feel that way about the Travellers?”

Marjy’s face went paler and he suddenly feared she might swoon. He hurried on.

“Because if you do, that would be grand, you see, because I feel the same way and it would be so wonderful if you did too as I’m in love with you and it wouldn’t do for me to marry you if you didn’t feel that way because I’m going to write a book about that very thing.”

Jebbin had rarely sounded so much like Other, or that meddling ghost for that matter.

Marjy’s hands dropped with a lifeless thud into her lap. Revealed with their dropping was a wide open mouth. She didn’t appear to be breathing. She simply sat there for several minutes that seemed like hours.

“Marry me?” She had at least grasped the important part.

“Yes. Yes! I love you. I want to marry you. I have since you first came to Brandy Hall. I . . . do you believe what you said?”

“Yes,” she whispered, breathless with the shock of all that was happening.

“Will you marry me?” He knew his heart was going to burst, he had to know her answer before he died.

“Yes.”

They kissed until his heart slowed its pounding and she had managed to take in a bit of air through her nose. They moved apart, smiled sloppy, love struck smiles at one another, then kissed until the cold threatened to freeze them together.

Six months later, Other Brandybuck and Athelas Took shared their wedding day with Jebbin Brandybuck and Marjoram Proudfoot. They all knew a rough road lay ahead of them.