Written for Marigold's Challenges #17

Edited by Marigold

Are You Going to Tuckborough Faire?

Though it was only a couple of hours past dawn, the Tuckborough Faire was already coming to life in the fields across from the Great Smials when the wagon crested the hill. The ride from Pincup wasn’t nearly as exciting when one spent the whole trip looking at where the wagon had been instead of where it was going, but Eglantine’s heart was not much thrilled with their destination. Her legs and skirts dangled down into the dust stirred up by the wagon wheels which, oddly for her, was of no consequence. She usually was fussier about how she would look for the Faire. Lanti Banks stroked the farm cat who had stowed away in the wagon and sulked.

She was quite finished with hobbits, by which Eglantine meant the males of her kind. First it had been Sam Burrows. A good enough lad, she supposed, but soon it was clear he had nothing in his head but boy’s games, fishing and hunting. Then it had been Tobias Pincup. Oh he had been a grand one, he had, being descended from those self-same Pincups after whom their town was named. Bright lad. A clever lad. A boring lad, who wished to do little but sit about, it had seemed, and use large words that Lanti had the feeling he wasn’t using properly. Then there had been a break in seriously considered lads for nearly a year, during which time her nearest dearest brother, Tobias, wed Clemantis Sandybanks. Dear, dear Clemie . . . whose youngest brother had tried to be Eglantine’s next special lad. Poor Bo He was shy to the point of uselessness and horribly clumsy as well. And . . . well . . . he simply wasn’t her special lad. She would know her special hobbit when she met him, if she met him. After Larkin Took she wasn’t sure she ever would. Being altogether done with hobbits would make it difficult.

Larkin had made Lanti’s heart melt. It had been like her best friend and cousin, Jewel, had said it would be when the right lad came along. The sun paused in its march across the sky, the birds in the trees sang louder, the stars fell from the heavens. It was wonderful. Until he . . . well he . . . he . . .

Eglantine had kissed her fair share of lads. She had laughed and flirted and stolen sweet kisses off away from the lights at birthdays, haymaking, weddings, Lithe Days. But Larkin Took . . .

She found out later he had got his way with a good many lasses when, two weeks after she had run from him tripping and stumbling through the dark back to the party, past the party and into her Aunt Aster’s hole, it was announced that he had wed Daisy Pincup. Their babe was due next month.

As Eglantine Banks watched the last hill before Tuckborough rise behind her father’s farm wagon, she promised herself, as a tear rolled off her chin to darken the orange fur of the cat in her lap, no more lads. Especially, no more Tooks. All of which might prove difficult while at the Tuckborough Faire.

“A good mornin’ to you and yours, Tobias ” A sturdy hobbit greeted the Banks’ wagon and its passengers. He had a sheaf of papers in his hand and a rosette ribbon on his left shoulder that read “Tuckborough Faire Staff”.

“And to you and yours, Ingrim. How’s everythin’ lookin’ this year?”

“Right well, right well. Lots o’ sellers ‘n lots showin’ stock ‘n goods. Quality in both regards as well, should be a right fine Faire this year.” Ingrim looked through his papers then looked over the loaded wagon. “I’m showin’ ya for sales space ‘n for show space, is that bein’ proper this year, Tobias?”

“Aye. My Missus has put up a goodly amount of her herbs and medicaments for sellin’. We’re showin’ crops, the colt tied to the back ‘n some o’ the Missus’ and Lanti’s finery work. My lads will be bringin’ in some o’ their own goods ‘n such later in the day.”

Ingrim shuffled his papers about a bit before looking up with a smile. “Aye, that all checks out with our records. ‘N I see the young lass is wrote down as a healer?”

“That she is,” Tobias proudly answered. “Been studyin’ under her mother’s tutelage since enterin’ her tweens. She be thirty now ‘n a right fine healer, just needin’ experience at it.”

“Glad to hear o’ it. Always be needin’ healers at the Faire, what with the stock, the games, and the young one’s what o’er stuff themselves.” The two hobbits exchanged knowing glances while chuckling. “You ‘n your lads’ place for sellin’ is lot number twenty-three.” Ingrim handed up a piece of paper. “There’s your map with your lot marked in red. Hope it will be a good year for ya.”

“Thank you, Ingrim, and for you as well.” Tobias Banks clucked to the team and started off to park the wagon in the Banks family’s lot.

“That should take care of it all, Da.”

Adalgrim Took surveyed his son’s work. Their lot had a sampling of their hay, oats and wheat so as to take orders, all sorts of feminine bits and bobs that his wife and daughters had made over the year, along with a good selection of the braided leather goods that Paladin enjoyed making. What caused Adalgrim to raise an eyebrow was the sign above Citrine’s baked goods.

^*^* CITRINE TOOK’S PRIZE WINNING BAKED GOODS *^*^

“Aren’t you being a bit presumptuous, Paladin? The competition for the baked goods won’t even be judged till just before luncheon.”

“It was my idea, Da.”

Addy turned to his youngest. “That doesn’t surprise me in the least, Esme. When did you become a judge of the baked goods competition?”

“Since all of these.” His twenty-seven-year-old bubbled as she stuck a handful of colorful ribbons under his nose before turning to pin them to the sign. “Mummy hasn’t placed lower than third place in . . . well . . .” Esmeralda scrunched up her face as she pondered the years of her mother’s triumphs. “Mummy hasn’t placed lower than third since forever, and then it was for those strange breads she would insist on trying. So they are Prize Winning Baked Goods; just not this year’s.” She turned to tap her father on the nose. “Yet,” she added with an impish grin.

Paladin came up beside his youngest sister reaching for the ribbons. “I hear a band playing on the green. You run along now and enjoy the Faire, Esme. I’ll finish this for you.”

She looked at him with questioning eyes but he shook his head. She handed the ribbons to him. “I’ll be back so you can have luncheon.” Esmeralda gave both her brother and father quick pecks on the cheek then ran off toward the green. Addy turned toward his son, his green eyes looking much like his daughter’s had.

“I don’t suppose you would care to tell me why I’m not the one left minding the stall?”

His son shook his head as he began pinning his mother’s ribbons in place.

“Paddy?”

That brought the lad up short. Odd, Adalgrim mused, most parents used their children’s full names to get their attention, with his son it was the rarely used short name that did the trick. The tween hadn’t replied but had stopped pinning ribbons. Addy said nothing, he knew his son.

“I’ve no heart for it this year, Father.” Paladin said after a bit. The lad looked at the ribbons in his hands, not at his father. “You go on and have a look at the ponies we’re up against this year in the confirmation classes. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you still going to ride?”

Paladin nodded. “Aye. Nightingale and I are signed up for formal riding and the hunt.”

Addy’s heart went out to his son. He gave the lad a firm hug. “ ‘Twill soon not hurt as badly, son. You’ve plenty of time. Plenty of time. You’ve not even reached your majority yet.” He pulled back to look into his son’s eyes, but they were downcast and he could not read their expression. “I’ll leave you be.” He patted Paladin’s slumped shoulder before walking off toward the temporary stables that were set up for the Faire.

It was only a short time later that a well loaded wagon pulled into the empty space on the east side of the lot assigned to Adalgrim Took. Tobias Banks eased himself down from the seat while Eglantine hopped down from the back. Her eyes met Paladin’s for the briefest of moments before they each turned away.

“Wonderful ” Lanti thought as she busied herself with unloading the herbs and medicaments. “A hobbit. And, oh goody, a Took one at that.”

“Oh grand ” Paladin muttered. “A lass. How nice. Hope she leaves their lot soon. The Banks lass, I think, not that it matters.” Paladin went to fuss with the perfectly neat and tidy display of his leather goods on the west side of his lot.

The morning dragged by. The sounds of different performers on the green came floating on the breeze mixed with the constant hum of the passers-by. Those whose goods were their livelihood began the rhythmic hawking of their wares. The food vendors were now at full strength and the air smelled of flowers, herbs, meats, dainties, baking, and sweets.

It was a good thing for a certain two tweens that the selling stalls of the Toby Banks family and that of the Addy Took family were kept moderately busy. Other than the goods set aside for the competition, Citrine Took’s Prize Winning Baked Goods were the first to disappear from the Took’s displays. After all, you don’t win ribbons all those years without establishing a reputation. At the Banks’ it was headache and stomachache remedies that were vanishing. Hobbit mums, their flocks of wee ones tugging on their skirts and running in circles about them, were already in need of the headache tonics. They bought the stomach powders knowing they would be in need of them later anyway.

Near to elevenses, a gaffer approached Eglantine Banks. “I’ve a mind ta have a pull at one o’ them fancy new style o’ bow ya has yonder, lass.” He pointed to the line of bows Lanti’s third from eldest brother made and sent to sell. She had no idea what the old hobbit was talking about, bows after all, to Lanti, were just . . . bows. “Them new bows, lass,” the gaffer repeated.

Lanti moved to stand before the twenty or so bows that leaned against the wooden frame Tolly had built for them. There were longer ones and shorter ones. There were light wood and dark wood, fancy carved and plain. She made no move to take a bow from the rack.

“THEM - NEW - BOWS, LASS ARE YE DEAF OR MERELY ADDLEPATED?” the old hobbit shouted while Eglantine flushed a deep red from embarrassment.

Suddenly, one of the bows rose off the rack and seemed to float in the air before her. Lanti’s eyes were like saucers.

“One of these,” the bow whispered.

“Ah . . . ah . . .” She started to back away in shock. It was then she noticed a hand, fingers tight around the wood of the bow near its base. The rack backed against the Took lot.

“A Recurve, it’s called a Recurve,” the whisper explained. She snatched the bow from the disembodied hand.
“Of course, sir, my apologies, sir. You mean one of these fine Recurve bows.” Lanti handed the bow to the gaffer, who strung it quicker than she would have thought him capable of doing with his knotted old fingers.

“Aye,” he muttered as he tested the bow’s draw. “Aye, that be the name.”

“And that looks to be a fine bow indeed. May I see one?”

Lanti did not speak to the Took from the stall next door as he stepped up to her table. He had smiled at the old farmer, but not at her. She handed him a bow but continued to address the elder hobbit.

“Does it seem to suit you, sir?”

“What’s this ‘un be made ‘a, lass? Ma old eyes don’t be seein’ the grain as well they used ta. Do ya be knowin’ it’s pull? And do ya be knowin’ what reason there be for the odd shape?”

Lanti started to turn red again. She had no idea of any of this. She would shoot Tolly with one of his own bows the next time she saw him.

“ ‘Tis yew, sir, a good wood for a bow.”

“Aye, that ‘tis lad.”

Lanti would shoot the pushy Took, then she would shoot Tolly.

“I’ve heard the shaping is to give a more balanced pull on the string from both the upper and lower limb thus improving the accuracy of the shot. Important on these shorter hunting bows.” The Took looked at the bow in his hand. “Ah I know this mark These are Tolbert Banks’ bows. A fine bow maker is Tolly.” He looked at the bow the old gaffer held. “It says here,” the Took pointed, “that your bow has a 25lb. pull. I’ll take this one, Miss,” the lad added as he placed the cost of the bow on her table and walked back to his own stall. The gaffer bought a bow as well. Eglantine went back to replenishing the herbs while trying to not look at the tween in the next lot.

It was only a short while later, Esmeralda having just come and gone from picking up their mother’s entries in the baked goods competition, that Paladin was called away from the set of reins he was braiding.

“Young hobbit ” a cross female voice snapped. “Are you here to mind these goods or waste your time with whatever uselessness you are doing back there?”

It wasn’t easy to intimidate a Took, especially one descended from the line of the Old Took himself. Paladin looked up with a glare in his eyes, but it instantly faded.

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.
The tween hurriedly lay down the strip of leather which slowly began to unbraid itself. “Yes, Ma’am. Of course, Ma’am. Sorry to keep you waiting.” This one could scare a ghost, Paladin thought.

“These here.” She poked a pile of different colored pieces of netting with a boney forefinger. Paladin looked blank. “These, you stupid lad.” Lobelia grabbed hold of several of the items and shoved them under the tween’s nose. Paladin grew pale and looked even more blank.

“Oooo Snoods ” said a cheery young female voice. “And such lovely colors as well.”

With a great deal of effort, Paladin pulled his eyes from those of Mrs. Sackville-Baggins to look toward the newcomer. It was the Banks lass.

“What They’re what?” crackled Loblia. “Speak up, girl, I’ve not got all day.”

“They are the very newest fashion, Ma’am. They keep one’s hair back out of the way but are much cooler to wear than a kerchief. It being a net, it lets the air through. One’s head doesn’t get nearly as sweaty.”

Paladin still said nothing, he only looked at the lass with his mouth slightly open. The fool of a girl was sounding so pert, did she not know to whom she spoke? He slowly looked back at the old harridan hobbitess.

“Humph ” Lobelia dropped her handful of the crocheted nets back onto the table. “Humph Foolish name for a foolish frivolity. But then again, what else would any hobbit expect from Tooks. Kerchiefs have been fine and will be fine. Snoods Humph Foolishness ” Lobelia continued her grousing as she stomped off down the road.

When Paladin came out of his stupor, the Banks lass was back in her own stall, fussing over some embroidered linens. He stared at her a few moments before slowly shaking his head and returning to his leather work.

It was past afternoon tea and Eglantine Banks was wandering about the displays of prize winning finery. Her father had come to have a turn at tending to their stall so his daughter could enjoy some of the Faire. She had won a second place with a set of embroidered serviettes, her Mum a first with a crocheted tablecloth. Agate Took had taken a first with one of her crocheted snoods. Aggie Took? If Aggie was the hobbitess making the snoods, then that lad in the stall next to the Banks’ must be . . . what was his name?

#%#%#%#
About the same time that Toby Banks had come to take over at the Banks’ stall, Paladin had gone to have his luncheon. Esmeralda had returned to the stall in a whirlwind of excitement because their mum had swept the cake competition. Citrine had placed well in other events as well and Esme had barely stopped talking long enough for Paladin to give her a hug before leaving her to watch their stall. He didn’t eat very much, he was nervous about the riding he would be doing in the afternoon. He went into Great Smials to change into his riding kit, then headed over to the Faire’s stables.

“There, there, m’lass,” Paladin crooned to his sleek black mare. “Naught that we haven’t done over and over at home. Just this time more hobbits about watching us.”

Nightingale nickered as she nuzzled the pieces of apple out of her master’s palm.

“That’s right, Gale m’girl, same old thing. Terribly boring for you I know. The fun will come later with the hunt course, but you simply move too beautifully to not show you off in formal riding.” He removed the duster he had worn over his kit while grooming the mare. “Now, I’ll just take myself over to the ring to see how your lad does against the other yearlings for conformation. We’ll give the Thain a right good run for the trophy, I should think. Your wee Nightshade is a looker and that’s the truth.” Paladin took hold of the mare’s head and lifted her velvet nose to his lips, kissing it gently. “And you, m’lady, are the most beautiful mare in the Shire.”

A while later Paladin returned to the stable feeling a bit dejected. Nightshade had taken second to the Thain’s Copperpenny. Not, mind you, because Copperpenny was the Thain’s pony, but money could buy the better bloodlines and the Thain had more money than his cousin Adalgrim. Paladin apologized to Nightingale for having raised her hopes for her colt as he saddled her, then he led her off toward the show ring for the formal riding competition.

Eglantine was standing in the tent that held the Hobbitesses Hand Arts competition. She was looking at Agate Took’s prize winning snoods and trying to remember Aggie’s brother’s name when she heard a runner approaching.

“Healer needed ” the lad shouted as he ran past. “Healer to the pony show ring, at once Rider down Healer needed ”

“I’m on my way ” Lanti shouted running toward the show ring.

Eglantine pushed her way through the crowd of hobbits pressed against the rails of the show ring. “Healer I’m a healer, let me pass ” she hollered, until she managed her way through the crush, getting herself and her skirts between the rails and onto the sand of the show ring. A shinny black pony danced and fretted off to the side as she ran to the much smaller group gathered around the fallen rider. Sprawled on the sand, pale, with blood seeping from a wound on his head, was Aggie Took’s brother.

They had wisely left him as he had landed. A hobbit lad with a slingshot and poor aim had hit the Took’s pony with a stone, Nightingale had been badly spooked and thrown her rider. As all this was told to her, Lanti checked his pulse and breathing, then quickly began feeling him over for broken bones. She gently felt along the back of the young Took’s neck before having a few of the hobbits standing about roll him slightly to one side so she could check his spine. It wasn’t until she had given permission for her patient to be eased onto a litter and taken into Great Smials that she noticed his father and sister huddled together nearby. Adalgrim was nearly as blanched as his son, trembling in his daughter’s arms. The lass, Lanti thought her name was Esmeralda, was obviously supporting some of her father’s weight. The two tweens nodded to each other before moving along in the small procession following the litter.

Paladin heard voices, floating about in the blackness around him.

“There’s naught broken, Mr. Took, though I won’t doubt but he’ll be sore and bruised.” A healer’s voice?

“His head.” That was his father’s voice. “What of his head?”

“There’s no,” the female healer’s voice paused, “there’s no softness to his skull, sir. A nasty large lump and the cut, but I’m not overly concerned. As I’m sure you know, cuts to the head bleed a great deal.”

“Ni-un-gle,” Paladin mumbled.

“He’s talking ”

“Shh, he tried to speak.”

“What, Paladin?”

All the voices came at him at once. He focused on Esme’s as it seemed closer to him. “Nigh-n-gale,” he said more clearly this time.

“Paladin she’s fine, you silly goose. Worrying about your pony with yourself all laid out.” His sister’s voice was in his right ear and he could feel her strong hug across his chest.

“Son? Can you hear me, lad?”

“Uh-mm, Da.”

“Sir.” There was a pause. “Mr. Took, if I may? Esmeralda?”

Paladin felt his sister move away as the strange voice came closer. But, was it really a stranger’s voice? Somehow, he seemed to recognize it.

“Paladin?” asked the voice. It was a nice voice. He liked how it made his name sound. “Can you open your eyes?”

“Trying.” He wished he could do more than mumble out a word or two at a time, but he felt so weary. He slowly opened his eyes, though it took an unusual amount of effort.

Two rather lovely brown eyes looked back at him. Nice brown eyes. Soft, dark brown eyes. Nice eyes. His mind was rambling. He wished he could see them better. Something else appeared. Pale, pinkish, stick.

“Can you see my finger, Paladin? Can you follow how it moves?”

“Finger,” he muttered, but his eyes tracked its slow swing side to side smoothly. Quite unexpectedly, he grabbed the finger. “Hold still. Making me sick.” He felt himself being swiftly rolled onto his side as he was sick anyway. When he looked up, it was to see that the lovely brown eyes were the Banks lass’ eyes . . . and he had just been sick all down her skirts.

But she was smiling at him. She gently ran her fingers through his hair. Nice cool fingers touching, yet not hurting, the spot on his head that was starting to throb. He liked her smile. He liked her eyes. He liked her voice. He liked her soft, gentle touch. He had thrown up on her. Paladin felt sick again, but it had nothing to do with the increasingly sore lump on his head.

“He has a slight concussion, Mr. Took.”

Her quiet voice. Her gentle touch.

“He will need to stay abed a few days. Can you stay here at the Smials? I mean,” she blushed, “I know you are relations, but . . .”

“Yes.” Paladin could hear the hint of laughter in his father’s voice, but he continued to look at the lass standing beside the bed. Oddly enough, she continued to look at him. “Yes, we are cousins in good standing,” Adalgrim continued, “we can stay as long as needed.”

Eglantine Banks looked at her patient’s eyes, they were more focused now than before. Hazel eyes, light brown flecked with green. Nice eyes. Kind eyes. He had helped her out with Tolly’s bows. His family was loving and close to each other. He was still holding onto her finger.

“Could you perhaps see if I could stay as well? I know Great Smials has competent healers, but we healers really do like to make sure all is well with our patients.”

Adalgrim and Esmeralda exchanged knowing grins. “I’m sure you’ll be welcome to stay and over-see Paladin’s care,” Addy said. “I’ll send word to your father and let him know that we’ll see you home in a few days time.”

“I’ll see about getting you a clean frock,” Esme said, giggling as she ran from the room.”

“Yes,” Paladin whispered. “You need to . . . make sure I survive.” He slowly blinked a few times. “And I need to know . . . your name before you . . . get to have another frock ruined.” His words were a bit slurred, his grin was silly, and he blushed at his own impertinence. Maybe, he thought, just because she lived in Pincup it didn’t mean she would treat him as Daisy Pincup had.

She liked the way her finger felt in his hand. She liked that he was grinning a silly grin up at her. She liked that he could jest about her frock. Maybe all Took lads weren’t as bad as Larkin.

“My name is Eglantine.”