[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne Brandybuck

Hawthorne stared after the dwarf who'd interrupted her at the door. The fellow was gruff and a bit blustery for her taste, but evidently meant no real harm. In any case, Dwarves were far less an oddity in the Shire. Many times, she'd spied their trading caravans loaded down with goods, making their way along the Great East Road that skirted Buckland's northern border.

With Elves, it was entirely different. They appeared to be so distant, so far from the world that she knew. Their willowy figures and poetic manner of speech bore little resemblence to most folk around her. Even now, she glanced around the Common Room trying not to stare at the Elven folk, all the while wondering who they were, why they had come to Hobbiton, or whether they noticed that she was in the room. Just being in the presence of an Elf made Hawthorne very nervous.

Hawthorne's throughts raced back to a time almost six years before. One spring, when the Gamgee family had visited Brandy Hall, she had gotten up the courage to ask Master Samwise what Elves were really like. He had laughed at her, then turned serious and spent a moment pondering how to respond. When he finally spoke, it had been in a sad voice.

Did you meet Master Frodo, Hawthorne? She had nodded her head. For she did remember one time when Frodo Baggins had come visiting at Brandy Hall, a little before that business with the Ring. She had been six years old. He had sat with the younger children before the hearth one evening and had spoken in hushed tones of many different things... about a great jewel named the Arkenstone and the Elves of Rivendell with their beautiful house sitting on the very edge of the wilderness.

Hawthorne was not terribly good at remembering the words of stories. What she remembered best were pictures in her head. And the picture she held of that evening was not of jewels or Master Elrond or even of the Elves, but an image of Frodo the Storyteller. One moment, he would be solemn and pensive, lost in some other world where she dared not follow, and the next laughing and affectionate with the children, his eyes gleeming bright. He had a politeness coming from inside himself that was more natural than any she had seen.

So she wasn't surprised when Samwise turned to her and wagged his finger in the air, Hawthorne, you mustn't think that all Elves are the same for surely they are not. Still, there's certain things they seem to share. A look of longing, an easy grace, and a certain steady wisdom bound up with a heart that, if truth be told, can be as determined as any I've seen. He smiled over at her, and lowered his voice, as if confiding a deep secret. And if there ever was a mortal that had a piece of that Elven heart, it would have been Master Frodo. Bound and determined, yet still always longing. So, if you see and remember Master Frodo, you'll understand a bit about what it is to be an Elf.

Jerked back by that odd image to the reality of the Inn, Hawthorne smiled. For Master Frodo hadn't been strange or fearsome once you got to know him: just a little different than most other folk. Perhaps these Elves, although bigger in size, would prove equally interesting and approachable.

Hawthorne shook her head to clear away the silver cobwebs and trotted over to the bar, holding out a piece of paper with some words written on it that said a room had been reserved for them. Ruby read the note and nodded, "Mistress Aman is out for the moment. But this letter does seem to be in order. Let me check the list of rooms."

Picking up the roster, Ruby found the entry with Hawthorne's and Dandelion's names written down. Right beside the names, in the column just adjacent, were some scribbled jottings that said the two hobbits were to be given a chamber on the upper floor, what had once been the attic of the Dragon. Ruby wrinkled her brow and wondered. How very strange! Those rooms were usually reserved for staff and servants at the Inn. Although neat and liveable, the attic rooms were tiny, a tight squeeze for two hobbit ladies accustomed to living in a place like Brandy Hall, especially one adorned with as many fancy gewgaws as Hawthorne. She didn't look to be the laboring type.

But Ruby knew how to follow orders. She didn't mention her doubts to Hawthorne, but led the lass up the two flights of steps to a tiny chamber at the very rear of the Inn that overlooked a series of rather bedraggled gardens. Ruby pointed to two cots. A single chest sat on the other side of the room and a small table was lodged tightly in between the beds.

Ruby thought she heard Hawthorne mutter something furtively under her breath: that her bags and chests would never fit inside such a terribly cramped space. But Hawthorne had been taught manners, and said nothing directly to Ruby. She thanked the maid, and decided to wait till Dandelion made it to the Inn before taking up the question of the room assignment with Ruby's employer, who had obviously made a mistake. Before returning to the Common Room, Ruby slipped a hand into her apron pocket and gave two letters to Hawthorne that had arrived for them at the Inn earlier that week.

Once the door was shut, Hawthorne sat down on the creeky bed and wondered what could be keeping Dandelion. Several hours had passed since her own arrival, and still the nursemaid had not made her apearance with the cart. Too tired to think about bothersome details any longer, Hawthorne stretched out on top of the covers, thinking that an afternoon nap would be just the thing, and had soon fallen fast asleep.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:35 AM January 06, 2004: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]