Buckland
A fire crackled merrily in the kitchen hearth as the hobbit-woman eased her hands into
the tub of hot, soapy water and began scrubbing dishes.
'Cross meadow and
valley
The flowers wave gladly
The wind in the willow
Brings tears to my
eye
Mirabella Brandybuck was always singing songs under her breath, a habit
she had inherited from her mother.
Merigold and the bluebell
Fair rose and
cockleshell
King's keys and snapdragon -
She was suddenly cut off as her
husband swept in, his heavy feet pounding the earthen floor. He stood for a moment as she looked
him up and down, taking in his attire which included his grandfather Madoc's seldom worn,
fur-lined coat.
'Gorby, where are you going?' Mirabella asked, still swabbing plates and
then dunking them in the adjacent tub to rinse them.
'Meeting,' the burly hobbit replied.
'Hamish Goodpasture and Giles Hamwidge say that their animals have been acting all skittish, and
they think it will be a right cold winter to top it all off, after such a bad harvest this
year.'
His wife regarded him quizzically. 'But you are no farmer - why must you
go?'
She stacked a few of the plates and then began rubbing a skillet with great
gusto.
'I am going to show that the Master of Buckland cares about the affairs of his
people.' He said the words assuredly, leaning back against the doors of a pantry, then dabbing at
his forehead with one of the dishtowels. The kitchen was rather warm, and he was
overdressed.
Mirabella sighed. 'And I suppose this meeting is taking place at The
Stonebows?'
Gorbadoc nodded. 'Yes, my dear. It has been awhile since I have sampled
Frelibert Brewer's ale.'
She raised her eyebrows, then replied, 'The Master of Buckland
cares much about the ales of his people.'
He laughed and patted his rather large belly. 'I
am merely doing my part to assist in assuring that our reputation for spirited hospitality remains
intact.'
He leaned over, kissed his wife on the forehead, then turned to leave the room.
'It may be a late evening,' he said, glancing back at her. 'You know how the farmers are once they
have a listening ear beyond each other.'
Mirabella shook her head even as her husband
walked purposefully out of the kitchen and made his way through the many corridors of Brandy Hall
that would take him to the front door. She had a nagging sense that something did not ring wholly
true in their recent exchange, but she was not by nature an unnecessary worrier. So she resumed
her cleaning and her song, though now her brows were lightly furrowed, the words of their
conversation running in the background of her mind, even as she kept
singing.
'Cross meadow and valley
The flowers wave gladly
Bright sun in
the morning
Brings joy to all hearts.
A motion out of the corner of her eye
caught her attention and she stopped washing, then stepped back from the tubs, wiping her hands on
her apron. She walked a few steps over to the window which was open just a smidge, then her eyes
widened with surprise.
Snowflakes.
She closed the window, thinking, Only my
Gorbadoc could pick a wretchedly cold night like this and insist on going to the tavern, even if
it is under the pretense of business.
She suddenly felt very alone. She took off her
apron and hung it on its hook, then went to find Rori, her nine year old son. Maybe she would let
him stay up a little late tonight to keep her company.
***
Gorbadoc was humming to
himself even as he closed the front door. That story was so convincing, even I believed it for
a moment! he thought as he readjusted his coat, readying himself for the walk to The
Stonebows. It was bitterly cold, and after he had made only twenty or so steps from the Hall, he
noticed flakes of snow landing on his shoulders and hat. He shook his head.
You are a
glutton for punishment.
The thought swirled through his head, but he pushed it aside
even as he kept his steady pace down the road.
Ah yes, but as well there are pleasures
for those who continue down the path.
He took this one to heart, and began humming
again, striding resolutely toward the tavern, imagining the reception he would receive, the
blazing fires, the fine ale
The rest he would not imagine, but wait to experience upon his
arrival.
***
The tavern was doing a brisk business despite the cold and the time of
the evening. There were a dozen or so hardy souls still partaking of Frelibert's unique peaty ale,
and when they saw Gorbadoc, a great cheer went up.
"Broadbelt" Brandybuck was much-loved by
the hobbits of Buckland for many sound reasons, but one in particular pleased the tavern-owners
most, and his less munificent wife least: more often than not, when the Master of Buckland
appeared at The Stonebows or The Horny Stag, he would buy a round of drinks for all present. He
was in an especially jovial mood this night, and with a knowing wink as he shed his heavy coat,
Gorbadoc motioned to Anson, Frelibert's nephew, to pour a round for the assembled
company.
Gorbadoc walked to the bar and a mug of freshly poured, fragrant ale was soon
thrust into his brawny hands. He thanked Anson, and turned so that he could quickly let his gaze
rove around the room. With a start he saw Farmers Hamish and Giles indeed sitting together,
talking.
Of all coincidences! he thought as he raised his tankard in their
direction. They waved for him to join them by the roaring fire, but Gorbadoc tilted his head
toward a door which led to the stairs up to the second level and some private rooms. Some folk
thought it was a bit odd, but there were some occasions when the Master of Buckland simply wished
to have his pint and retreat, alone, to one of the several small furnished chambers on the second
floor. When he did stay to wander through the room, chatting with them about the ups and downs of
life in their more particularly perilous regions of the Shire, his personality was so amiable and
gregarious that folk did not begrudge him his time alone. Though only officially named Master in
the past year, his father's health had been declining over the past decade, and Gorbadoc was the
Brandybuck whom the hobbits had become accustomed to seeing around farms and inns.
"That's
a lot of responsibility a-lying on Broadbelt, and a man's allowed some thinking time away from
home, even if it is under Brewer's roof!" some said.
"From hearth to hearth, he keeps a
watchful eye, and we're safer for it!" said others.
One hobbit knew better.
Mostly
hidden in the dark, since the only light in the room was provided by a small fire and a taper on a
bedside table, Gorbadoc stood at the window for only a few moments before he heard a surreptitious
knock on the door.
'Come in,' he said gently, without turning from the curtained view
before him.
The door shut quietly, and the latch locked firmly into place before he rounded
to greet his visitor. Holding out his arms, he said admiringly, 'Luna, you are a vision for sore
eyes!'
The object of his affections walked forward to meet him. There were many reasons why
Lunella Merriweather had caught his eye, and she had played all of them up to their advantage this
evening. Her uncommon grey-green eyes were set off by a mossy coloured skirt and bodice, the tight
lacing of the latter creating inviting shadows which danced across her bountiful cleavage in the
flickering half-light. Dark chestnut curls were pulled away from her face with a ribbon,
strategically tied so that only one pull would release her hair down around her
shoulders.
It had all been carefully calculated. Lunella was a very clever young woman, and
while she d
id indeed enjoy the affections of the most powerful man in Buckland, she was of an age
now where she needed to think seriously about a marriage. She planned later this evening, with
honest regret, to say that they should no longer engage in these secretive trysts. But she would
certainly enjoy herself one last time prior to such a dismaying message that she knew would not
sit well with one who so obviously adored her.
'Dear Gorbadoc,' she began, as she held his
hands and with mock shyness, lowered her eyes to the floor, but quickly raised them again, 'you
have been away for ages!'
He embraced her warmly, then put a finger under her chin and
placed his lips on hers. They kissed softly at first, but soon did so more hungrily. Differing
passions affected them: For Gorbadoc, it was lust, heavily tempered by tenderness as he knew that
she had come to him uncoerced; for Lunella, it was his power which irresistibly drew her, yet also
her gratitude that he allowed her to explore her sexual nature which she had come into rather
young, and if she had acted on it in the open, she would have been shunned. And so, this equally
advantageous situation had somehow arisen. If they had both been honest with themselves, however,
it was the added layer of the fact that these meetings were illicit which more heatedly stoked
their already smouldering desires.
A rousing cheer from the main room filtered up through
the floorboards, and they broke apart for a moment, laughing at the souls below, caught up in
their own very earnest issues, or in this case, jovialities.
Gorbadoc let his large thumbs
play against Lunella's insistent breasts, now pressing against the moss-coloured fabric, as he
breathed into her ear, 'I have a gift for you.'
She couldn't help herself, but she
shuddered nonetheless, both in anticipation and under his very focused attentions. 'Yes?' she
queried, running her fingers through his silver-streaked hair.
'Yes,' he continued, and
then he gathered her into another passionate kiss. Stepping away from her, he motioned to the bed,
a rather homey quilt topping the sheets and sturdy woolen blanket that was sure to be found
between the layers. 'Please, my dear, make sure that you are comfortable.'
Lunella was
rather unsure what to make of such comments, but did as she had been bidden. Given the winter
chill, her feet were quite cold, so she rubbed them quickly as she sat on the edge of the bed,
even as Gorbadoc walked toward the fire and warmed his hands for a few moments, then returned to
her.
'Close your eyes,' he bade.
She did.
With toasty warm fingers, he
gently put his hands around her waist and raised her from the bed so that she was standing, then
slowly raised his hands under her skirt to remove her under-drawers. Once she had stepped out of
them, he moved away from her. She could hear him moving things around, but it wasn't until he took
her by the hand that she realised what he had done. He had taken the quilt and the blanket and
laid them on the floor, near the hearth, and now cradled her around the waist to lay her down in
the warm bower near the fire. He also seemed to have removed most, if not all, of his many fine
garments.
'Please lie down, my beloved.'
She did.
Lunella was now beginning
to wonder what on earth the Master was up to, but then she ceased her questioning. With an intent
but tender tongue, Gorbadoc began making a trail from her inside ankle up her left calf, and then
up further
She found herself shivering, though not with cold. This was gift
indeed!
He continued in his focused attentions, his meaty, familiar fingers exploring parts
of her in a way that was both common and yet also unexpected, until a rather different sensation
surprised her in her most intimate senses, and she -
Lunella half sat up, and exclaimed,
'Gorbadoc!'
'Yes? Does this displease you?'
She luxuriated backward. 'Oh, no,' she
purred, now allowing his tongue to more freely explore places that she thought of only when with
him, but this was altogether different
Heats and need and wanting and tensions ready to
burst all focused, and then unexpectedly, she found herself moaning in a low voice as her hands
grasped at the quilt, her hips jutting brazenly toward his giving mouth, and she shuddered as she
was wracked by waves of pleasure that she had never felt before. She continued to clutch at the
bedcovering, even as she felt the much more familiar sensation of his most private and thick part
of himself filling her, then he gently rolled them over. He was, after all, much larger than she
was.
She looked at him in wonder even as his eyes were closed, and she moved in familiar
patterns that she knew would bring him pleasure.
They did.
As they lay for a while
by the fire, Lunella realised that she was still wearing most of her clothes, and somehow that was
a reassuring thing, despite the astonishing intimate gift he had bequeathed to her. She didn't
want to know where, or how, such new ideas had come to him, but as she basked in the orange glow
of the fire, she was grateful that they had been shared with her. She could never be seen with him
in public, and yet she knew that he was very, very fond of her.
After a while, she
disengaged herself from him as soothingly as possible. She tended to herself with a small
handkerchief placed thoughtfully by Gorbadoc, a small but meaningful gesture, donned her
under-drawers, rearranged her skirts and petticoats, then spent a few moments staring idly at the
curtained window. When she heard the Master of Buckland rise, she kept her eyes toward the window
in a gesture of modesty, and was rewarded when he came and surrounded her in his broad
arms.
'I have a gift for you,' he breathed into her ear, even as he pulled the ribbon that
allowed her hair to tumble down around her shoulders.
She felt her most tender areas throb
again, even though she knew she needed to get home. And more importantly, this was to be the night
when she brought these meetings to an end.
Would that my body did not betray me! she
thought.
'But you have given me a gift already,' she murmured, enclosing his hands in
hers.
'Yes, I have. But that was not the gift that I spoke of.'
At this, she turned,
puzzled.
'Close your eyes,' he bade.
She smirked. 'You already had me do that,
Gorbadoc!'
He gazed fondly at her. 'Do it again. It will be worth your
while.'
Lunella pondered this for only a very few moments, then closed her eyes. She found
her right hand taken in his, and a piece of cold metal placed in it. Startled, she stared into the
palm of her hand. Situated there, still with Gorbadoc's fingers on it, was a gold ring with a
diamond.
A diamond! She held her breath for a moment.
Had she not been as
sophisticated a hobbit as she was, her mouth would have hung open. Lunella being Lunella, she only
gazed at it, then picked it up with her dominant hand, and turned it in the light.
'Gorby,'
she whispered, 'What is this for?'
He shook his head. 'No questions. I was fortunate enough
to buy it from a Dwarf who said that he had purchased it from one of the northern Rangers who was
down on his luck.'
She looked keenly at him.
'I am not so down on my luck.
"Broadbelt" is doing quite well, and as you and I can only share these occasional times together,
I wished to give you something so that you would know how honest my affections are for
you.'
Lunella fingered the gem in her left hand, feeling the gold warm under her
fingertips, gazing at the jewel, its finely cut facets glittering brightly though lit by only
meagre light from the now underfed fire.
'It was strung on a necklace, but I thought it
would suit you better as a ring,' he said assuredly, his deep voice as smooth as silk.
She
placed it on her fifth finger, and admired it in the fire glow.
'You are the best
gift-giver that I know,' she said humbly.
Gorbadoc made
himself presentable for going back
through the main area of the tavern, then returned to the window to bid Lunella a reluctant
farewell.
'You will know
?' he asked.
'I always do,' she finished, then traced a
finger down from his brow to his chin.
As the door shut behind her, she moved to spend some
more time before the fire, looking at this very unexpected and surely very costly gift. Then she
made her way to the window, peeking from behind the gingham-checked curtain.
It was
snowing. There was already a half-thumb's amount sticking to the ground, which was uncommon.
Despite the warmth in her body, she gave a small shiver. It was a few moments later when she heard
a very distant call of a wolf to its kin. Then she shivered all over, and raced to the quilt and
wrapped it around herself, shaking.
The Fell Winter had begun. "Celestial Quartet" Chapter 3
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