Leaving the Shire behind, Seregrian and I continued our Bridal Tour. Although the village of Newbury is not specifically in the bounds of the Shire, being east and just across the Brandywine River, it is still a town wholly Hobbit, and our accommodations the previous night were no less cozy and comfortable in ways most endearingly distinct for those lovely folk. Once again, we owe our gratitude to Appleciderblossom and Lancogard for arranging our stay.
Riding east early the next morning, we soon saw the lovingly kept farmlands of Hobbit-folk give way to the tree-shaded road into the Bree-lands. As we did not have that far to travel that day, our pace was slow enough to allow me a new way to study my bride’s “Mortals: A Case Study”; I read it aloud for us both to hear. For me, it would be venturing into new territory, and for Her a recalling of thoughts and feelings. I was as keen to see Her reactions as I was to read Her writings afresh.
“A Counter-Proposal” begins with Her racing to Bree:
“Time is no longer my ally, to say nothing of my friend. Nor are all the leagues from Falathlorn to the Bree-land….”
She smiled as I read the first part of this, and She seemed a bit embarrassed. She is no stranger to assertiveness and direction of action, but it is Her way to be prepared before sallying forth. However, the urgency She describes here is one of being driven by something inside Herself that is not yet clearly defined, at least in Her mind. “I recall that ride”, She says, chuckling. “All this road was very much of a blur then.”
As I continued to read her words aloud, Her expressions mirrored thoughts and feelings that had accompanied the writing. Trepidation and exhilaration, tempered by a scholars resolve, combined to move Her forward to Her goal, a Little Man in a kitchen in Bree, who had emptied his heart to Her. She halted Her horse when I read, “Looking down at his soiled apron, he quickly untied it before crossing the room, stopping short of embracing me; I simply embraced him in greeting.”
She reached for my hand, which I gladly took as always. “I think that was the moment I finally admitted to myself we were to be together.”
“And melon nin”, I replied, “I believe my heart may have heard that, for it leaped.”
We continued our ride, and I resumed reading to Her, picking up where I sat a meal before Her in the Mess Hall and inquired about where she had been and what she had been doing since last we met. She related Her research on the unions between Elves and Men, taking note of my saddened demeanor when she described the tragedies that most often resulted. I think it best to simple transcribe here how she closed this entry:
"You might desire to spend the rest of your life with me," I said, "but I could never spend the rest of my life with you. That is a simple truth, as true as the lore I have shared. And I shall also share this: you say that were you an Elf-lord, you might ask for my hand. You are not an Elf-lord, yet you asked me just the same, and don't you deny it.
"You tell me you love me, and that is real - as real to you as the heat from the oven, or the delights of your art. And it is real to me as well, indeed to any who see the look of dreams in your eyes. This at last is my answer, Cutch Crane. If you are in love, I say to you, you are not in love alone."
I could not tell if Cutch laughed or cried; for I could not see through the swimming of my own eyes...
Of course, I was doing both.
Here, at the very end of what She has titled “A Counter-Proposal”, was the first way-point of Her race; to state very clearly that, despite warnings in Her research that would counsel a prudent denial, She loved me.
The next entry, “Observations on Coming of Age” describes Her efforts to pace Herself, to “compose my thoughts and set them to parchment”, as she writes. She confesses how Her scholarly skills struggled for supremacy with Her heart’s discovery of another’s love, and how her giddiness was unseemly despite its delightfulness. She writes:
“After a brief resting time where I dozed off for a few hours, I awoke and reviewed my notes - only to find I had drawn doodles in the margins of the page, especially a sunflower with a face that sported the aquiline nose of Cutch!”
Reading this aloud brought us both joyful laughter, and we briefly halted our ride to lean to each other in our saddles and share a sweet kiss.
She then lay down a sobering consideration of whether or not, after all the long centuries of Her life, She could rediscover Her youth and experience a Coming of Age. Then, after writing and striking passages that reflect brooding thoughts and a diversion from her course, she crosses the finish line in Her race, concluding in strong strokes of the quill:
“I shall retire to rest once again, and let the coming day bring what it might. I shall meet Cutch again in the next few hours, and mark and observe what is said and done, and force myself to look at what I'm beginning to feel.”
And, thus, She is prepared to face whatever We were to become.
Our day’s ride ended with our arrival at Adso’s Camp and the surprise I had planned for Her. Teahesto had arranged for an elaborate tent to be set for us, comfortably furnished, and accompanied by my dearest friends, Claywick Cob and Caladna Greenlake.
We would feast, revel, and celebrate with the hobbit proprietor, his workers, and whoever else might be fortunate enough to be camp there this night.
