“…… a Bridal Tour.” Seregrian murmured through a serene smile, her half-lidded eyes shifting to his as they lay together. His attention was completely on Her, as her forefinger traced the shape of his ear, but he was only vaguely aware of Her exact words. The meaning of them, however, was not lost.
“A grand tour?” his asked, his own voice sighing with her attention. “As a couple celebrating their newly taken marriage vows? Well, yes, that is a custom among Mortals, mostly among the more affluent of us. Still, I am honored you would suggest it, melon nin. Yes, I think it’s a marvelous idea. A holiday journey together is just what we need. There are so many places we might show each other.”
They began to list all the places they’d each been, where they may still know people whom they’d like to introduce to each other, sights to see again and share each with the other, and stories they could each tell the other of experiences they had not yet shared, all while the seasons would still allow easier travel.
Cutch had wandered far in his younger years, barely more than a boy, not really knowing that what he was seeking was himself. Since returning to the Bree-lands and finding Her, his thoughts were nowhere near the map his memory had drawn of all the lands in Eriador and Rhovanion that had heard the hoofbeats of his horse, lightly loaded with a young vagabond’s merest of possessions. Ten years he wandered thus, working his way in kitchens and fields, hunting and fishing his way along meadows and rivers. The thought of revisiting them with Her inspired him to relate all the little adventures he’d had and people he’d known.
He also looked forward to the same stories She might share with him and wondered how many places they had both known and how near they might have previously been across distances or time. But the last half of summer was already marching in on heat and thunder. They would have to move quickly if they would have time to make all the journey he was imagining.
She laughed at him as he sprang up from their bed. “Get up, melon nin!” he beseeched excitedly throwing on his night clothes. “We have much to do, and little time to get it done!” To impishly prod Her, he suddenly reached beneath the covers to playfully pinch at Her toes. Her laughter turned into sharp squeaks as she writhed, half-intent on escaping his grasp.
“Go make us breakfast, my mortal fool!”, she happily commanded, knowing it was already in his mind to do so. He gave her an absurdly exaggerated bow and spun to prance away downstairs but was suddenly transfixed with a notion brilliantly exploding from him. He whipped around again to face her in a dancing crouch.
“The Shire! The Farmer’s Faire! What better way to start our journey!” He spun away, flying down the stairs, shouting back half-thoughts about Appleciderblossom and Lancogard, and provisioning the beginning of their journey with Hobbit victuals, and other things hardly decipherable as his excited voice echoed up to Her from the chambers below.
She sat, elbows on knees, hands cupping her chin before slowly sliding together to cover Her broad grin. A shuddering laugh burst from beneath joy-moistened eyes, and She could only wordlessly savor this moment etching itself onto her memory. In less than a minute, She was up, deftly donning a robe and floating down the stairs behind him.
