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Flames  by Lindelea

I hunt all day midst the curing hay,
Just to catch a brace of coney dinner,
For a coney pie brings a gleam to eye,
Such a pie is sure to be a winner!

And I'll sing you a Hey!
If you make it this way:
With a crust as flaky as can be!
Hey, ho! Bake it up this day,
And I'll ask you--hey!
Pretty lassie, will you marry me?

 --from a Hobbit hunting song

The song rang out as the waggons rumbled along the road from Stock to Tuckborough, tendrils of melody passing back and forth between the waggons, weaving them together in harmony as the round continued. Finally reaching the last verse, Ferdi shouted from the driver's seat of the second waggon, 'Pretty lassie, will you marry me?'

He was answered by Hally, driving the first waggon, 'Pretty lassie, will you marry me?' The line echoed several times until the last group of singers ended, and the waggons erupted in cheers and laughter. Snatches of song were heard from other waggons before and after them on the road, all travelling in the same direction, towards the Great Smials for the Barley Festival and the shooting tournament that always took place at the same time.

'Nearly there!' Hally shouted, and the little Bolgers cheered lustily. Ferdi looked ahead to see the first houses of Tuckborough, and rising behind them, the bulk of the enormous hill that contained the Great Smials of the Tooks. They drove through the town, waving to the inhabitants who called greetings, into the large meadow between the town and the Smials proper.

Hally drove to the spot Ferdibrand had told him about, pulled his brake, hopped down from the waggon, rubbed his hands together, saying, 'Right! Shall we set up our pavilion?'

'Start a fire, first,' Rosemary laughed. 'It's teatime already!' The little hobbits cheered. They'd eaten several cold meals in the waggon; breakfast at the newly rebuilt Crowing Cockerel seemed ages ago. Hally sent the two biggest brothers off to the nearby spring with a bucket whilst he built a fire. Ferdibrand hobbled and tethered the ponies in a patch of lush grass behind the waggons, then began to set up the brightly coloured fabric booth that would hold their wares as well as screening the waggons and their living area from the sight of the anticipated fairgoers. When he was done, Rosemary brought him his tea and a few tarts she'd packed up just for this occasion.

'I'm afraid they're not hot from the oven anymore,' she said. 'Stale, rather, having been baked early yesterday.'

Ferdi bit into one of the tarts and grinned. 'Your stale tarts,' he said, 'are better than anyone else's fresh out of the oven.'

'Go on with you,' she said, giving him a push, but she refilled his plate when it was empty with a smile.

The sun was westering when all their tasks were done, the booth set up for the fair's opening on the morrow, tents for sleeping erected and filled with soft bedding, plates and cups washed and put away ready to be brought out again for late supper. Ferdi and Hally had shot several conies as they were on their way, and roasted over the fire with a bit of Rosemary's tasty bread and some potatoes baked in the coals, they'd be a tasty meal indeed.

'There'll be a bonfire by the racecourse this evening,' Ferdi said. 'Marvelous singing, and storytelling, in the bargain.'

'Will you go?' Rosemary asked softly.

'No, I'll stay and watch over things,' Ferdi said easily. 'You go, you and Hally, and all the children. How often do you get to the Smials, anyhow?'

'As often as I wish to,' Hally said, but he grinned. 'Come, Rosie, let us walk the fair and see what wares will be there to tempt us on the morrow.' It was common for the vendors to "walk the fair" the evening before, to arrange some private trades... a set of carven bowls for a length of brightly dyed cloth, a finely crafted bow for a gleaming new axe, a nicely carved cooking spoon for a paper of needles, a quiverfull of arrows for a finely woven blanket of softest wool.

Ferdi sat back against the wheel of one of the waggons, fletching yet another arrow to add to the stock of wares on the morrow. With the shooting tournament and all, Hally would likely sell all the arrows he had, and mourn that there were not more to offer.

At a step he looked up. 'Hullo, Tolly,' he said. 'Pull up a piece of turf and rest your feet.'

'Hullo, Ferdi,' the other said soberly, but obediently sat down. 'We wondered if we'd ever see you again.'

'I told Regi I'd be back in a month,' Ferdi said, 'and here I am.' He paid more mind to his work for a moment; it was a delicate business to make an arrow that would fly straight and true to the mark. 'And Pip asked me to watch over his Brandybuck cousin. Have they arrived yet?'

Tolly's face, of a wonder, grew even longer. 'Aye,' he breathed. 'They arrived last night.' He shook his head. 'Poor lad.'

'Who? The Brandybuck? Or our Pip?' Ferdi asked. 'I can see you saying that, with him at the Smials his da will make him work harder than he ever has in his life. He'll be glad to get away again and ride about the Shire like the ne'er-do-well that he is.'

'Ferdi,' Tolly hissed. 'Bite your tongue.'

'Why?' Ferdi asked curiously. 'Has the lad done a lick of work since he threw the ruffians out?' At the other's hesitation, he nodded. 'He's a wastrel, Tolly,' he said softly. 'Surely you can see that.'

'He's a brave lad!' the other protested. 'Why, when that waggon was swept away in the flood, he dove in and--'

'Just like any Brandybuck would,' Ferdi said. 'Of course, you know, the Brandybucks can swim, they practice enough in that great River of theirs when they can find no other way to waste their time. 'Twas no great feat for Pip to dive into the flood, Tolly. He's a fine, strong swimmer, I hear tell.'

'Ferdi, the Tooks will cast you out of Tookland if you don't mind your tongue,' Tolly whispered.

'Let 'em,' Ferdi said equably. 'As long as I end up near Woody End, I shan't mind.' He finished the arrow, put it into the quiver, and picked up another shaft.

 





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