14 Afterlithe, S.R. 1263

"Mummy!" The howl from Adamanta's youngest daughter brought the Thain's Lady running - she was glad her baby son was being watched over by his nurse. No more, Adamanta thought. An even dozen, if she counted her lost son, was quite enough. And with her second-youngest putting up this fuss...

"What is it, Mira?" Adamanta asked, trying to appear calm in front of her latest faunt. "Did something go amiss with the Gifts? I thought the posy of flowers you left Hildi was especially nice, you know, Mira, and the feathers you gave me are lovely." The words seemed to cheer Mirabella a little, but didn't entirely mollify her.

"Mummy, is all Bard fault," she said, and Adamanta turned to look at her nearly sixteen-year-old son. The lad was just half-grown now, though he fancied himself quite grown up. "Isembard, what happened?"

"It's Mira's fault, Mother," Isembard replied, eliciting a shriek from the new faunt. "She needs to…know her place."

"Oh, really?" Adamanta's mood had soured considerably.  Perhaps Opal was right, perhaps we shouldn't have spoiled Bard so, she thought reluctantly. Only the fact that Bard's tone had made it a question rather than a statement of fact gave Adamanta hope for her third-youngest lad.

"She does," Isembard said, sounding more confident. "Because she's only little, and only a lass, and--ow!" Mirabella had kicked Isembard hard in the ankle. Adamanta swept Mirabella up into her arms and held the child tightly. "There will be none of that, Mirabella Took," she told her daughter quite firmly. Sniffling, Mirabella curled into her shoulder. Adamanta frowned at Isembard.

"So, just who has been telling you that sort of nonsense, Isembard?"

"Eldric Clayhanger," Isembard said, rather reluctantly. The lad lived down in Tuckborough with his father Cado, and he was one of Bard's favourite playmates despite being some three years older. Adamanta had suspected it, and sighed.

"Eldric is a fool to speak so of lasses; your father and I consider our daughters as worthy and lovable as our sons, including you. And after all, I am a lass too, am I not?" Adamanta asked.

Isembard hadn't thought of that. Eldric had no mother. "Oh," he said, blushing rosily.

"Just because you are our seventh-born does not give you the right to be naughty, Isembard," Adamanta said quietly. "You're quite old enough to understand that by now. Perhaps we've been more lenient with your behaviour than we ought to have been, but your Grandmother Sapphire was a very superstitious hobbitess, and she insisted we raise you how she instructed. Now she's gone, and I'm sorry for it as I loved her well, but you're going to have to understand now that you are just the same as the rest of our lads, and lasses. Loved well...and not to grow up speaking ill of others."

Bard stared at the ground. "Yes, Mama. Mother," he quickly amended.

Adamanta set Mirabella down, and raised Isembard's chin, giving the lad a gentle smile. "It's been some time since you called me Mama, my little love. I've missed hearing it, so I'll let that go in private. But you'll be saying sorry to Mira now, you hear me?"

"Sorry, Mira," Bard said quietly. "I won't be mean anymore. I mean, I'll try not to be."                                         

"Sorry I kick, Bard," Mirabella said, unprompted. Isembard looked at her for a few moments, nodded, and hugged his little sister.

Adamanta exhaled slowly, relieved. Sapphire Took had left a heavy load to bear as Thain's Lady, but this obstacle seemed to be conquered now, at least.

No rest for the weary, she thought a moment later, as Isengar's wail called her from the room. He would be their last faunt, she swore to herself. Twelve, even with one departed so long, was quite enough.