My MacGuffin for this was “a mithril thimble”

A/N: I ask my reader’s indulgence. I am horrible at coming up with character names. There would have been several to have to come up with for this story - and I didn’t do it. Please forgive and accept the abundant pronouns.

Beta by Marigold and Llinos

The “Wizard’s Chair” at the Great Smials was first used in Llinos’ story, “Big Enough To Be Thain” and is her creation.

Heirloom


“For you, my dear,” Isengrim said, handing his dear wife a small prettily wrapped present.

She held it without opening it. “’Tisn’t your birthday.”

He shook his head.

“Nor our anniversary.”

Another shake of the head.

She turned the wee package this way and that whilst turning her head about at the same time.

Isengrim laughed. “I think you need to open it if you wish to discover what it is, my dear.”

Her eyes twinkled. “I know, I just like making you wait.” She pulled the ribbon and took the lid off the box.

Inside was a thimble.

It gleamed, the darkness of the tiny dents in its surface only serving to make the shine more pronounced. The band around the bottom of it was adorned with an intricate etched braiding.

“Oh, Isengrim! It’s beautiful!”

“The Lady of such a fine smial should have something beautiful to help her with her favourite art. And like my love, it will never grow dim. It is mithril, my love. That wonderful metal of the Dwarves that shines like silver but, like gold, never dulls.”

She threw her arms about his neck. “It is beautiful, my darling hobbit. I shall treasure it always.”

They kissed long and well before he pulled away. “Now, if you will accompany me to the official opening of your new home, Mrs. Isengrim Took.” She wrapped her arm around his. “What do you think of calling it ‘Great Smials’?”

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

“Here, my dear. It is yours now.”

“But Mother Took, it is yours,” the younger lass said as she looked at the mithril thimble resting on her palm. “You should keep it.”

“Alas, I don’t sew anymore, as you well know, and my darling Isengrim is gone. I shall follow him soon.” Her old hands patted the younger ones of her daughter-in-law. “It came to me when I became the mistress of this beautiful smial. I choose to give it to you, as this day Isumbras becomes The Took and Thain, and you become the Mistress of Great Smials.”

The younger hobbitess tenderly embraced her mother-in-law. “Thank you so very much, Mother Took. I shall treasure it always.”

“Bless you, dear lass. Now, you have a ceremony to attend.”

After another quick hug the lass hurried off.

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

“There is something I’ve been meaning to give you, Ferumbras. (cough) Wasn’t quite sure when I ought to do it, but (cough) this day seems right. Here, my lad.”

“Mother’s thimble? But . . .”

“But what, lad? Let it be (cough) lost in some mathom room? (cough) I’ve kept it with me and drawn much (cough) comfort from it. Time to (cough) pass it along. It is what . . .”

“Father? Father!”

“Thain Isumbras has passed on, Thain Ferumbras.”

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

“Oh look, Fortinbras. Look what I found.”

He turned to see what his wife was holding.

“It was your mother’s, wasn’t it? I remember her using this thimble when she sewed. I had a loose button. I found this under some embroidery work at the bottom of her sewing basket whilst I was digging about for the proper colour of thread.”

Fortinbras Took looked carefully at the thimble on his wife’s finger. He gently touched the still deeply engraved braiding around its base.

“Yes, it was hers. And it was my father’s mother’s before that. Mother used to tell me that Great Grandfather Isengrim II gave it to his wife when they officially moved into Great Smials.”

He kissed her finger, and the thimble that was on it.

“Fancy it turning up today of all days.” He sighed.

“You will be a wonderful Took and Thain, my love. I have faith in you.”

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

“Adamanta, my dear. Come here a moment would you?”

“Yes, Mother Took?”

“I promised myself you wouldn’t simply happen upon this whilst needing to sew a button.”

“Your mithril thimble! But . . . um . . .”

“I know, Ada my dear, Tin isn’t gone from us nor is Gerry officially Took and Thain. But everyone knows he’s been doing the job ever since the accident. My dearest Tin won’t be here much longer I’m thinking.”

Ada gasped and bit her trembling lower lip.

“There, there, my dear lass. ‘Tis the way of life, and he’s been hurting so that I think it will be more a blessing than a curse.” She dabbed at her own eyes nonetheless. “That goes with being Mistress of Great Smials and I wanted the joy of actually seeing you have it.”

“Thank you ever so much, Mother dear. I’ll treasure it always.”

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

Isengrim III looked around the shabby old room in which his father had spent most of the last few decades. He sat down on his usual chair. To his right was the Wizard’s chair, directly across from him sat his father, The Old Took. Isengrim chuckled in his mind. At eighty-eight he wasn’t exactly young any longer himself.

“Well, Father. What is it you want?”

“Eh?”

“What - is -it -you - want?” Isengrim said much more loudly and slowly.

“Oh! Oh, yes. I’ll be leaving soon. Feel it in my bones I do. Time to give you a few things. Oddments. They . . . they’re special.” The Old Took waved his hand in the direction of the mantlepiece.

Isen walked over to see what these oddments were.

The small farm set that father had made for Hildigard that the lad never got to play with, still in its wooden box. Hildifons’ second best pipe; he had taken his best pipe with him on his journey, from which he never returned.

Mother’s mithril thimble in the silver case that Father had made for it. The case could be worn like a necklace as Mother had ofttimes complained that she would set the thimble down and lose it for weeks at a time.

“Should have given that to you years ago, lad. Hold on to it and pass it on more timely than I have. Especially the thimble, Isen. Been in this family a goodly long time, that thimble.”

Isen went over to his father’s chair and bent to kiss him on the cheek. He thought the old hobbit to be asleep . . . but he wasn’t.

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

“You may as well have this now, Sumer”

Isengard III’s brother, Isumbras IV, looked askance.

“Father just gave these to you last night, Isen.”

“And I’m giving them to you. My wife is long since gone and there’s no son of mine to carry on. You’ll be the next Took and Thain. You might as well take them. You have grandchildren who can play with the farm set. Your pipe is the ugliest thing in the Shire, at least this one is nice looking. And your wife is still with you and should have the thimble. I’ll brook no argument, little brother.”

“All . . . all right, Isen. Only because you insist.”

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

“At least the two of you should have a bit more time to enjoy being the master and mistress of this house. Fortinbras isn’t too old.”

“Mother Took, I . . .”

“Yes, yes. You’re in no hurry for me to go. I don’t reckon I’ll be long for the world now that Sumer is gone. All that waiting and I get to enjoy my due for such a short time,” she said bitterly. “And I’ve never been convinced by all your honeyed words, lass.”

“You could be The Took, I’ve heard, if you should wish it. They say only that the Thain ought be a male as it’s military and all.”

The old hobbitess looked irritably at her daughter-in-law. “Why does it not surprise me that you would know about that, Lalia? Well, I don’t think I want the position, not at my age. And just you mind that I’ll keep my things until I’m gone. Go on with you now. I’m sure there is something you need to have Tinby do for you.”

“As you wish, Mother Took.”

“Let that lass eye my things,” the newly widowed Thain’s wife thought. “She’ll have naught till I’m in my grave.”

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

“You need to marry, Ferumbras.” Lalia the Great, The Took of the Tooks of the Shire toyed with the dainty thimble. It never had fit her sausage-like fingers. “It simply will not do to have no heirs.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Mother.”

“You keep saying that but you do nothing. I should buy off some poor hobbit’s daughter. Hobbit’s can father children well into their old age, it’s we hobbitesses that dry up.”

Ferumbras said nothing. He had long since decided he would never give his mother the pleasure of tormenting some poor lass, well, other than the poor dears that worked as her companions. No, he had no intention of ever marrying. Let Paladin have the mess when he was gone, poor bastard. He even had finally sired a male child. Let them have it and good luck to them. How interesting that his eldest daughter happened to be Mother’s current companion. And she is such a plucky lass . . .

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

She carefully hung the piece of jewellry around her mother’s neck.

“Open your eyes, Mother!” Pearl Took said gleefully.

Eglantine’s eyes widened as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. “I saw this on Lalia more than once, though not often. I’m sure it wasn’t rich enough for her tastes.”

Lanti sucked in her lips as she looked down at the top of the dressing table.

“I shouldn’t be so harsh.”

“She was easy to be harsh about, Mother,” Pearl said sadly. “But, you are right, she rarely wore this. I think because it didn’t fit her.”

“The chain seems quite long, why wouldn’t it fit her, Pearl?”

“No, Mum. Not that part of it.”

She reached around from behind her mother and opened the patinated silver case. The thimble shone from its red velvet nest; unlike its case, it was untarnished by the passing years.

“It is mithril, Mum. I think that is the only reason Lalia valued it enough to not put it in a mathom room or give it away. She told me it had been handed down to each new Thain’s wife since the building of Great Smials. It suits you. Lalia was no homemaker. She never sewed a stitch. But you love to sew, Mum.”

Lanti turned and hugged her eldest child about the waist. “Thank you so much for giving it to me, Pearl.” She broke her embrace, reached into the case and removed the thimble. She looked up at her daughter then placed it on her finger. A perfect fit.

“I shall treasure it always.” Eglantine Took sighed happily.

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

“I want you to have it, Diamond. You do such lovely embroidery and my hands are too crippled now to do anything at all with needle and thread.”

“It’s beautiful, Mum!”

“It’s old, mind you. And made of that mithril as is the image of the Tree and Stars on Pippin’s surcoat.” Lanti smiled. “Who would ever have thought my rascal of a son would be a knight.” The two hobbitesses shared a loving laugh.

“Where ever did you get it? Did Pippin bring it home for you, Mum?”

“No. It’s as old as this home - as old as the Smials. At least that is the story I was told. That Isengrim II gave it to his wife along with this grand dwelling, though I don’t know that the case is as old. One would think it would be mithril as well if they had been given together, but the case is regular silver.”

“It is a wonderful wedding present, Mum.” Diamond said as she hugged her mother-in-law. “I will treasure it always.

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

“Why are you doing this, Da?”

“I’ve told you, Faramir. Merry needs to leave and . . . well . . . I do too.”

Faramir Took hung his head and shook it sadly.

“None of us want either of you to go.”

“We know, son. And a part of us doesn’t really want to go either. But the part that has to is stronger. Here. Give this to Goldie.”

Pippin placed the necklace into his son’s hand.

“Diamond should have passed it along, but . . .”

There was a loud catch in his father’s breath. Faramir looked up to see his father’s lips drawn tight, his eyes clenched closed. He gradually let out a breath.

“But she went so quickly and I forgot about it entirely until a couple of days ago. Goldie will soon be The Took and Thain’s wife. It . . . the thimble goes with that.”

“I know. I always liked to have Mum tell me the story of it.”

Pippin grabbed his son and hugged him hard. Faramir was surprised at how much strength his father still had.

“I’m leaving a large part of my heart with you all,” Pippin’s tears softened his voice. “Keep our story in your heart as you have all the stories your mother told you.”

“I will, Da,” Faramir whispered into his father’s ear. “I will treasure them always.”