Blotmath, SR 1419

It was the eighteenth of Blotmath, and the day promised to be clear. Sweetbrier Chubb, just come of age (as she would celebrate her thirty-third birthday this very day, no matter if it was a day fit for such celebration) woke early, as there was much work to do before she let herself think of frivolities or of parties.

If she woke before her parents and her siblings, then they wouldn't be able to stop her from doing what needed to be done. Well. She thought on it. It was a special day, so perhaps some frivolities would put her in a better cheer.

There were chores. If she worked hard enough, she wouldn't mind that there would be no cake: after all, she hadn't thought ahead to her birthday, what with the Men having sat upon their town. But the Men were gone now, so she would do some gathering, and have mathoms for her birthday, at the very least.

She knew her mother would manage what she could. There were late berries on the bushes, and perhaps if she gathered enough then they could have tarts and sweet cream. She thought of that, put on her cloak and bonnet, took her basket, and went outside.

The day had promised to be fine, even through her bedroom window. As she wandered away from home, she looked at the patches of sky that showed bare through long branches. She had not gone walking like this, not in many months: the Men had sat upon Pincup, as it made it that easier for them to keep a watch on the Tookland, and they had terrorised and bullied the hobbits of town. Brier and her family lived on a farmstead seven miles to the west of Pincup, and that much closer to the Tookland.

She did have chores to do. Tom and Branders would come back from Pincup proper, and then they all would be together: Brier was the third of six children, and the eldest daughter. Tom and Branders were her elders, Tom at thirty-seven and Branders at thirty-four. Appleblossom was twenty-seven, and Honeysuckle twenty-one. Tanding was the youngest of her sibs, and only seventeen.

With Tom and their Da both away, it had fallen on Branders to keep the family whole. In Rethe, Brier's father and her older brothers had gone to Pincup to market, but only Branders had come back. She remembered it still, how he'd looked on his return (and what a shiner he'd been given!) – 'they took them, they took Da, they took Tom. There wasn't anything I could do. They took our coin, as well – I couldn't bring back anything from market. Not that there was anything to spare.'

So they stuck together, her siblings, even the young ones, to look after their farm, and look after their mother. Branders and Brier were the eldest, so perhaps the younger ones didn't fully understand. And anyhow, there were still five of them, and they could keep the farm running (and their were eight, when the Goodbody sibs, Will and Bluebell, and their Goodenough cousin, Handson, came looking for refuge, for they had been run from their home, only to watch it be burned, and Handson said they were lucky they hadn't been marched off to the Lockholes, too, and Will itching for a fight).

And they did it, and didn't crumple when the Men came gathering, even though they felt like prisoners in their own home. And one day, Tom and Da both came back, and Da worse for the wear. And one day! It had only been two days since their return, and it was Sweetbrier's birthday, and they had reason now to celebrate.

She went to the brambleberry thicket, loosened her bonnet, knelt on the ground. She hummed as she picked berries, eating one for every seven that went in the basket, and when she had hummed her fill, she began to sing. Her Da and brother had brought word of the battle at Bywater – though it had been some days now, since that. Still, the Shire was free! And the Men had been run out of Pincup! She hadn't had reason to sing in far too many months, and now she thought she'd never have her fill of it.

She had not felt so free in a very long while, and her voice carried over the clearing. The hand that pressed over her mouth startled her, as did the sharp metal pressed to her throat. A cough at her back, and her scream was muffled, the blade pressed deeper. All song died in her throat, and she felt fear run through her, the hand pressing her tighter.

Another cough, the splatter of something warm on her cheek. 'Need... need... what a pretty song-bird I've caught,' the voice laughed. 'Tell me, pretty bird, where do you live?'

It was her birthday, and this shouldn't be happening, for she had heard herself that the Men had been run from the Shire – but an oversized hand pressed against her mouth, kept her from screaming, and rough metal pressed into the skin of her throat.

He shook her, and Brier felt her eyes overflow. 'Well, where do you live, pretty bird?' He seemed to see she couldn't answer, then, and let his hand fall away, and then he gripped her arm. 'Well, pretty bird?'

'Outside Pincup,' she gasped, hiccoughing with fear. 'Please, don't hurt me, please.'

'I won't... won't hurt you...' he coughed again, rasped. 'Need a... need a...' Another cough. He stood, and jerked her to her feet – for a moment, she dangled off the ground, blind and panicked. She then had a look at her attacker, his face rough to look at, his shirt blood-drenched, his throat ill-bandaged. 'Take me home. Your home. Need a place to rest.'

This wasn't fair (it was her birthday!). Her brother and her father had only just some back to them. The Man put her down, but kept his bruising hold on her wrist. She couldn't lead him to her home – but if she didn't, he would kill her, and find her home, anyhow, or some other hole. She kept herself from sobbing in fright, and stood tall. 'My basket,' she said, indicating it with one hand. 'Let me fetch it, and then I'll take you somewhere safe.'

He let go, after a moment, and she took her basket but did not run. He was wounded, but taller still, with long legs, and he would catch her. She shook, and clutched her basket close. It was only half-full.

She started on the path home, and the Man lumbered behind her.

The Captains were not about, not now, not since that day they had first come through, nor any lad she could think of who had taken up with them and aided in their scouring – if she took this Man home, what would he do? What would he take? They had so little! She had no way to warn her family ahead of time, and her feet stumbled beneath her (and then he caught hold of her arm, and pressed with bruising fingers – he had put his knife away, at least, and had his other hand pressed to his ill-dressed wound at his throat). But she went on. They were closer. And closer. She could see her house through the trees, and then they came to the yard.

Her mother looked at her, and her face went pale. What did she see? The Big Man, clutching Brier's arm, and blood on Brier's frock. She shook her head, as she didn't want her mother to rush blindly into danger. Instead, her mother gripped the edge of the door, and even at a distance, Brier saw her knuckles had gone white.

'We...' Brier felt ill. 'We've company, Ma. He needs for a healer, and a safe place to rest.' He gripped her arm harder. Brier grit her teeth, her fingers going numb, she clutched her basket that hard.

The Man pushed her forward, and she stumbled again but then regained her footing. Her mother pushed the door open, eyeing the Man, and Brier shook her head once more. 'Tom and Bran?' she whispered.

Her mother shook her head, to say they weren't yet home, though her mother was still looking at their company. 'Don't,' the Man said, and grabbed Brier's hair, yanking her head back. She gave a small cry, more startled than in pain. 'No need for whispering. Need rest. Healer.'

Her mother nodded, and pushed the door open wide. 'You'll have to duck,' she said, 'but the inner room is of a goodly size. Take yourself there.' He did, dragging Brier alongside him, Brier trying not to weep.

He deposited her on the ground, all but collapsing. He let go his hold on her, pressed his hand to his throat again, breathing hard. She felt his touch still, pushed away from him, but he made a grab with his other hand and caught her leg.

'Now, pretty bird, won't have you leaving,' he said, breathing hard. He leered, and Brier shook hard, and then he laughed roughly. 'Once I'm mended, I'll make sure to give you proper thanks.' He pushed his hand up her leg. She shrieked, and kicked hard with her free foot. He yowled, and let her loose, and she picked herself up and made for the kitchen. She shrieked again when his hand caught her, and then she hit the ground, his weight pushing her down. She shook, but didn't sob, his body warm and heavy. Then he heaved himself up off her, and dragged her backwards, holding to the back of her dress.

Her mother came, with her little kit. 'My Ma's trained some as a healer,' Brier said, and the Man loosened his hold again, but she didn't make to run. Her mother came over, put her kit down, opened it.

Had she spoken with Apple and Honey and Tandy? Did they know to warn Tom and Bran? Would Da come walking in, and get himself hurt, or even killed? The Man's hand squeezed Brier's wrist, and she thought that he would soon break it, pressing cruelly as he was.

'I'll need to take a look at the wound,' her mother said, and he grunted then pulled the blood-soaked bandage off. Brier couldn't see the wound herself, but it couldn't be good, not judging from her mother's expression.

'First, it needs to be cleaned. I'll need my daughter's help, to fetch hot water – do you understand? You need to let her go.'

'Then my bird'll run,' the Man panted. Laughed, and shook his head. 'Not run, but she'll fly. She'll fly away.'

But mother shook her head, frowning, and said, 'She won't. You'll bleed out, if you don't – I'm amazed you haven't yet, actually.' The Man's eyelids drooped, and then, sluggishly, he nodded.

So he let her go, and Brier stood, rubbing at her sore wrist. Her mother nodded at her, and Brier went for hot water – in the kitchen, there was a tea pot hanging over the fire, and she usurped that for this purpose instead, pouring the water into a large bowl, then carrying it back to the sitting room. Her mother stood, studying the Man's injury, clucking her tongue. Then Brier set the bowl down, beside her mother's kit, and her mother took a clean cloth and dipped it into the hot water, and thusly, cleaned the Man's wound.

'I'll bandage it for now,' she said. 'And give you something to dull the pain.'

The wound itself had been a nasty looking thing, wide and bloody, even when it had been cleaned. It would need to be stitched, and Brier wondered if the Man would trust her mother so, or if her mother would even offer. Even now, after it had been bandaged, he was bleeding through.

The Man did not answer her, his eyes half-opened, watching Brier. She wanted to turn away, but didn't, sat and watched her mother, instead. Her mother sent her for water, again, and Brier went and then returned. She stirred a number of herbs into the hot water, and Brier knew her mother's sleeping-draught well-enough, knew that's what this was. She put in more than she would have, for a hobbit, and surely that would be enough for this oversized Man. And then, they would figure out what to do with their unwanted guest. She might have shuddered then, but held herself still.

'I haven't the skill for this,' her mother said, as she eyed the bandage, the red soaking through. 'I need to send my daughter for help. I trained beneath Mistress Poppy, away in town – she has the skill to suture this, but not myself.'

The Man's eyes were lidding, falling shut. 'No,' he said, gripped Brier's wrist, pulled her to him. 'No, not my bird.' He leaned his head back, his eyes falling shut fully, and Brier's mother let out her breath.

'Go to town, child.' Brier almost protested, for she was no longer a child. She worked on freeing her hand, but even in a drugged sleep, the Man's fingers were too big for her to easily budge. It took some time to work herself free, and by then, her wrist had been bruised in an ugly fashion, dark blotches already forming on her skin.

'We need to get him out of here. He'll sleep for some hours, as far as I can tell – I dosed him well enough, I think. You need to fetch your brothers, and your fathers, and what help you can. And alert the Quick Post, for the Captains will want to know about this – it was only the day after last they rode through, and ran out the Men. Why, they might be looking for this one, yet!'

Brier nodded, then rubbed her wrist. 'Ma, I–'

A grunt, and the Man's arm went swinging, knocking her mother back – she hit the table, cried out, the bowl rocked and then fell over, water splashing – then, there was a terrible crash. Brier's mouth fell open, but she did not scream, felt the Man's hand catch hold of her hair. She jerked forward, with all the strength she could – and she broke free, for he was still drugged. She saw him, from the corner of her eye, moving sluggishly, his big hand fumbling for his knife, his mouth twisting open, blood soaking through the bandage, and rage in his eyes.

To the side of the kitchen door, her mother's good pans all hung – she took the biggest down, clutched cold iron in both her hands, and swung the frying pan with as much force as she could summon, felt a sickening, if otherwise satisfying, crunch, as it connected upside his head. His hand fumbled once more, his knife hitting the ground with a thud, and he slumped back, his eyes rolled back in his head.

Brier stood with the handle clutched in her two hands, shaking, breathing hard. The front door came open, and she heard Bran's voice, calling for her, calling for her Ma, but she felt herself fall into a swoon – she hit the floor with a thump, and the frying pan went with her, as she was still holding on tight.

When she woke, she did not collapse into hysterics (not that she would have done much collapsing, for she was lying in bed). Bran was sitting at her bedside, pale and worried, though his expression brightened when he saw her waken. 'Morning, Sweet,' he said, grinning at her, for only he called her Sweet. She smiled in return, though her mouth felt numb.

'How is Ma? And Da, and Tom?'

'All well,' he said, and he smoothed his hand over hers. 'Go back to sleep, Sweet – you need the rest.'

She shut her eyes, then nodded, and must have slept for a longer while.

She woke again, and Honey and Apple were there – Apple fussed over her, once she'd woken, and fluffed her pillow, while Honey went away, and returned with her tea. She asked how mother was, and Apple told her she was well. 'You gave us the worse fright, though,' she said, looking severe. 'We hid in the pantry, all the while. Tandy wanted to come and fight the Man off himself, and Honey and I, we had our work cut out for ourselves, making him believe that no good would come of that.'

Brier nodded, still feeling numb. Apple took her hand, smiled, and then gave her hand a squeeze.

Honey came back, with the mentioned tea, and Brier sat with her sisters, sipping from her cup – Apple and Honey chattered at one another. Brier had missed her birthday, shocked so much she slept the whole day through, as well as the night. 'We'll have a cake today, though, a proper one,' said Honey. 'And sweet cream, and tarts, and the finest meal you could want for. I haven't a clue how we'll manage it, but somehow, we will!'

She gave a charming smile, then sipped at her tea. Brier couldn't help but smile, and the day before seemed very far away.

She wouldn't be happy, to go on, until she knew what had happened. Bran and Tom had come back, at just that moment, and they'd summoned help from town, for there were no other farmsteads close to their own. They'd then sent Halen, who rode the Quick Post, west to Tuckborough, to alert the Thain – and the Captains, who were setting a path through the Green-Hill Country, and had yet been in reach. 'The Captains came riding up, right at dusk!' Honey said, excited as she chattered. 'I knew they were both handsome, but hadn't thought them so tall!'

'You're far too young to go saying such things!' Apple chided her. 'But she's right, you know. They're handsome, the both of them! And very, very tall.' She grinned.

Brier laughed, and shook her head. 'And I slept through it all! Too bad I missed out on them – though, I can't say I'd want for another such situation, to have them come again!'

'You're luckier than you think,' said Apple. 'They went out again with their lads, to check the land about – if one Man had gone into hiding, they worried that another might – that they hadn't been so thorough as they'd thought. They've their work cut out for them, I think. Anyhow, Ma and Papa invited them to supper, though I haven't a clue how we'll feed so many! I suppose we'll manage that, as well.' She smiled and laughed, and seemed in good cheer.

'I suppose so,' Brier said, with another laugh. 'Well, I ought to rise, and wash. If we're to have company, I need to put myself at rights!'

'Yes, you need to! And do give them both a kiss, for having come – I'm certainly too young to try for that!' Honey grinned, and Brier laughed harder than she had. She drew Honey to her, hugged her, and drew Apple to her, as well.

'A lass could not want for better sisters,' she said, and she meant it, and then she kissed them, one after the other, on the cheek.

They had already dealt with the Man (Brier didn't ask questions, and so answers found themselves in short supply – but she didn't find that she minded, and perhaps not knowing was better than knowing could ever be). Anyhow, now that that business was done, Brier had other worries to attend.

(And what dreadful business it had been!)

There were tarts and sweet cream, as she'd hoped, and Apple and Honey somehow managed a strawberry cake – and there weren't many presents, but there was laughter, and singing, and the Captains were in the best of cheer. That cheer spread, and Da and Tom, who both had seemed worn, brightened in their company. Brier couldn't ask for a better party, or better company for that party.

Her sisters were right – that day the Captains had come through, with their lads, she'd only seen them from a distant. They were both very tall, and fair to look at, and Peregrin laughed as often as Meriadoc grinned. Brier knew they would only take this small rest, and then be off – there was a full wide Shire left, after all, and them set to cut to the Southfarthing, and deal with the leftovers, there.

It might have come a day late, and at some cost, but it was a very fine birthday, after all.