By: Dana
Summary: Some roads are longer than others.
Characters: Celandine Brandybuck, Moro Burrows (and others)
Pairings: None
Rating: PG
Warnings: Ruffians, angst
Author's Notes: In April, I posted a minor character meme – dreamflower02 asked for Moro Burrows and Celandine Brandybuck, and had expected to get a bit of fluffy flirting. This grew plot on me, and then I found myself writing about a time during the Troubles. I meant to post the first chapter on her birthday (July 1st), but I wasn't feeling very social. I hope she enjoys this, anyhow (she's seen it already, but not the final form).
Happy happy birthday, then. Even if your present is a day late.
Beta thanks to lindelea1 – I never would have got this together, if it hadn't been for her. It really needed the editing, anyhow. Thank you, Lin.
This story might not have ended the way you would have expected, or hoped. My thoughts on that are found at the end.
Nominated at the 2007 MEFAs.


Series Index: In a Sunless Year.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

Chapter III: A Conspiracy Of Hobbits

It had been a week since Celandine had last seen Moro, since Folco had brought Celandine to the Brownlock farmstead, located to the south of the Yale, and introduced her to his cousin Pearl – Pearl, who was as much a Boffin now as she'd been before she'd married Robin Brownlock, or so Folco insisted. A week since that, and more than a week since she'd last seen Brandy Hall, since she'd thought herself more brave than foolish. But she knew it really was the other way around. Pearl was kind, and in a way reminded Celandine of her great aunt Asphodel. They were the same chestnut curls that Celandine remembered from her childhood, though Asphodel had been gone for going on seven years, now, and Celandine wondered if she even missed her as much as she could. She'd always been one for visiting, and though Brandy Hall hadn't been her home for years, as she'd been out in the Hobbiton area, living her life with great uncle Rufus, Asphodel had still acted as if it were her home.

That was what Celandine was doing, right now: acting as if the Brownlock farm were her own home. It wasn't anything at all like Brandy Hall, and Celandine was having a hard time acting as if it were.

Yes, a week since Folco had brought her here, and more than a week since she'd last seen Brandy Hall: and when Folco had headed out, with Celandine tucked safely away, he had promised her that he would get word to her family, somehow. But she didn't see how he'd be able to manage that, as the Bridge was under watch and – oh. She heard her name, and Celandine came back to herself, and nodded. Well, it wasn't her own name, not exactly. Buttercup Brownlock was the name Folco had left her with – and there was a Buttercup Brownlock, up at Needlehole, a cousin who wasn't known for anything other than her dislike of proper correspondence, and that fit their game well enough the farm – Buttercup, who had dark curls, though Celandine's were a lighter shade, honey-brown. That wasn't a problem and, the first night, Pearl and her daughters had made a fuss over her, Periwinkle as she looked for clothing that would fit her, and Poppy as she helped her mother work a dye made of walnut into Celandine's hair. Shaking her thoughts from her head, Celandine stood, and exited the kitchen, leaving Pearl and her two younger daughters, Poppy and Periwinkle, behind. (There was a third sister, the eldest, and her name was Pansy, but Celandine hadn't met her. She'd married, the year before the Troubles, and was currently living with her husband and her newborn son, down at Whitwell, which caused her mother no good amount of stress and worry).

'Buttercup, won't you go fetch the water? Periwinkle, go along with your cousin, that's a good lass.'

Periwinkle nodded and smiled at Celandine. Yes, they were all playing a game, and while she was a cousin, at least by marriage, as well as through their mother, Poppy and Periwinkle both knew she wasn't Buttercup, not even close. But they didn't say a thing, and Periwinkle went out with Celandine, and they went down to the well, at the south end of the front yard.

'What's it like?' Periwinkle asked, as she drew the bucket up. 'At Brandy Hall, that is.' She spoke in a whisper, though she wasn't otherwise cautious. Celandine shrugged, and took the bucket, and set it on the edge of the stone well.

'Louder,' she said, and Periwinkle laughed. Then Periwinkle took the bucket from her, and poured it into the bucket that they would carry back to the house – much larger than the one that hung down in the well. Periwinkle dropped it back in, and lowered it down so it would fill again, for the larger bucket was only half full.

'I think I'd like it. Mum has Bolger cousins at Budgeford, but we hardly ever go there – says she never got over uncle Rudy asking for her hand.'

'Rudigar, you mean?'

'Oh, aye. Says he spends most of his time out about Long Cleeve, now, at any length – he married a North-took, you know. But Mum does like it here, for all I think it all so terribly plain. I've a good enough hand when it comes to my needlepoint, but I like to dance. Hardly ever get a chance for that, out here. Mum's happy enough, and Da, too. Well, our farm's not the only thing that's so terribly plain.'

Celandine chuckled, and when the chuckle was done, her smile remained. Periwinkle smiled back at her, and drew the bucket back up. Celandine helped her once again, and when the bucket was full and the smaller one had been left hanging in the well, Celandine picked the larger bucket up at once side and Periwinkle at the other, and they carried it up to the farmhouse.

Periwinkle didn't ask her any more about Brandy Hall, though she hadn't told her anything of use. But she was worried, and not without proper concern: There was a trio of Men who would come around, at times. Since Celandine had settled here a week ago, she'd seen them twice. They'd come by, and the leader of the three – Celandine had heard his name, and it was Gorthol – well, he'd make nice with cousin Pearl, and cousin Pearl would smile back at him and then they'd talk for a while, her in the kitchen and him sitting outside the wide kitchen window, and his fellows would have a talk with cousin Robin. They weren't just wondering after the rebels, the hobbits that stood against them and their Chief, but they were wondering after a certain runaway, too – an escaped prisoner, it was better put. Celandine came to understand, not the first time, but on the second day instead, that Folco had been cracked to leave her here. But at the same time, it was the best place she could be.

And Gorthol would make nice with cousin Pearl, and when he was finished, and his fellows were finished, too, they'd make their way off, with a load of fresh baked bread and treats. 'You see,' Pearl told her, 'it really is the only way. They have their hands in everything, anyhow – and if you're nice, they don't just take without asking. No, it isn't what I want to do, and I'd rather not have my lasses at such risk – or have you at the same – but you do rather fit here, Buttercup. And Gorthol won't ask after kin of mine. By letting him think that I'm willing to play at being nice, well, I've made certain that he does the same.'

Celandine had only been able to nod. And as it was, she did understand.

Another week went by, and Wedmath lengthened towards its end. Before they knew it, Halimath would have come. One night, Celandine sat awake in the room that she shared with Periwinkle (they were the same age, and while the other lasses had their own rooms, there wasn't a proper guestroom in the house), thinking about how long it had been since she'd seen her mother and her father. But two weeks wasn't anything, not when she thought about cousin Merry. It'd be a year, soon, to the day, since he'd last been seen. Uncle Saradoc still believed that Merry would come back, though Celandine found it rather hard to believe. But if Uncle Saradoc could hold onto that, and it having been a year, almost, then Celandine shouldn't give up on getting home. She'd make it back, she would. She had to.

Oh, it had been just that long since she'd seen her brothers, and for all the bothers they could be, as lads, they had always only wanted to take care of her, little sister that she was. She missed them, too, though not as much as she missed her parents. Yes, she'd make it back. And not only because she had to.

The Men came again, at the end of the third week, and they sat outside the farmhouse, and, as Pearl was otherwise occupied, and Poppy at the time was feeling under the weather with a sudden cold, Celandine and Periwinkle were the ones who served them, where they were sitting on the grass. Gorthol was polite enough, if that counted, and maybe Celandine understood, more, how Pearl was handling the situation. She wanted to think that Pearl couldn't be true to herself, not like this, but it was what was keeping her family safe – though Celandine hardly felt that she was safe. They served the cake, as the Men expected, and then they were asked to sit. Periwinkle did, of course, with a bright smile – she was an entertainer, just like her mother was, and as she did, biting on one of the biscuits, she told the Men stories and made certain that they all had fresh cups of tea.

'What about this one, then?' one of them asked, and Celandine felt his eyes on her. She risked a look at him, looking at him through her loose curls, darkened by the walnut-dye, and smiled sweetly, but with some reserve.

'Oh, don't mind cousin Buttercup,' Periwinkle laughed. She leaned against one of the Men and, in a loud but still somewhat conspiratorial tone, told him that Buttercup Brownlock had always been rather shy. The Men laughed at that, but their eyes were still on her. That frightened Celandine more than anything else. They were looking for her, she was sure, and here she was, caught in the moment, looking Gorthol right in the eyes.

And then he looked away, and Periwinkle freshened his cup of tea, and then started on another of her stories, and another of the biscuits.

At one point, Celandine took the pot of tea – now empty – and one of the Men reached for her hand, and took it. 'Rather nasty cut,' he commented. 'Least it seems to be healing.' Then, he was looking in her eyes again, and he in hers, dark curls falling down about her cheeks. The flesh on her palm was pink – Pearl had a deft hand with her needlepoint, and before she married her Robin, she'd apprenticed herself to the Healer at Budgeford, Honeysuckle, and she'd put the stitches in herself, and it had healed nicely – the wound almost gone, scar beginning to fade from its first bright reminder.

And Celandine only laughed, with a flutter of something in her chest. 'I've no steady hand when it comes to gutting fish. You should have seen the blood.' He was still looking her in the eye, and gripping her hand too tightly. For a moment, Celandine found herself completely lost, and held, in the darkness of his gaze – and the bruises he was surely leaving, though all her other bruises had already faded. She lost hold of the moment, after that, of Holly and Haysend, and even of Brandy Hall. But she didn't forget Moro, no, nor his sacrifice.

Then Gorthol laughed, and let her go, and Celandine didn't tremble much as she took the teapot, as she stood, and as she went back into the farmhouse. No, she didn't tremble at all, though, when she stood in the kitchen, with the teakettle hanging over the fire in the kitchen hearth and whistling shrilly, she let herself, for one panicked moment, laugh as though she knew she'd reached the end. Then she wrung her hands together and she wiped her eyes, and she took a deep breath. She was standing in the kitchen, so she looked at the fire burning on the hearth.

Gorthol had looked her in the face, and hadn't been able to tell who she was.

Celandine took a shaky breath, and then she let it out. She shut her eyes tightly, blocked out all the light. Then, with another breath, she sang a bit of song – just a lullaby, and one her mother had been fond of it, when she'd been a very small lass – and she balled both her hands into fists, though that made her right hand ache.

'Evening has fallen, the Sun's in the West. The nightbirds are calling, the Shire is at rest. Peaceful the night and gentle the breeze, in cot and in smial, the folk take their ease. High above the Stars are kindled, kith and kin within are nestled, safe from harm in loving arms, find slumber deep, fall into sleep, may joy find all your dreams, may only joy find your dreams…'

Then, she opened her eyes, and took another deep breath. She had made it to the end, and she did feel somewhat more at peace.

She went back out with the tea, and with a shy, reserved smile she served the Men. First Gorthol, who still watched her though there was more of an appreciative look in his eyes – Celandine still didn't like it, but he wasn't looking at her like she was their runaway, and that must have been what counted. They laughed, and ate, and drank, and were all perfectly at ease. They spoke of their Chief, and how it had been too long since they'd had any word from him – and that concerned Celandine, as her father and her Uncle Saradoc both agreed on all this awfulness having been Lotho Sackville-Baggins' fault.

That night, when they were all gone, when she spoke with Pearl again, she hugged her tightly. Periwinkle would be back on her feet, soon. And afterward, the Men only came back, once, towards the end of Halimath. That was well enough, as Celandine looked at it. Well enough, indeed. But she never heard any word back from Folco, never knew if her parents knew that she was safe, never knew if Moro lived – but she knew that never could be forever.

Moro had given up so much for her – and how he'd risked himself – he would be all right, she knew. Though, all right didn't seem to be the most fitting pair of words. He would make it back, that was all. And she would make it back home, too.

It was only the end of Halimath, not even Winterfilth yet. It still seemed like she had a long way to walk, before she'd ever make it back home.

Then word came – in the form of Rodivar Bolger, and a group of Boffin and Bolger cousins, coming down from Budgeford, with news that Frodo Baggins had come back, with Meriadoc and Peregrin, too; and she heard about things that she didn't want to hear about, and heard names that she hadn't ever cared to know. She would be going home, cousin Rody would take her with an escort. The walnut-dye was fading from her hair. Winterfilth had come (and gone, and it was Blotmath now), and she was going to go home.

Peony wasn't her aunt – they were cousins, actually, first cousins once removed – but Celandine called her "aunt" at times, and this was one of those times. Peony held her close, and Celandine wept against her breast, saying, 'I'm sorry, Aunt, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let them take him away', and Peony could only hold her, tears wet on her cheeks – and with her cheek pressed against Celandine's, arms about her, and hugging her as tightly as she could. When she'd come back to the Hall, Rody was riding at her side – the dark was falling, and Rody had sent a Boffin cousin ahead. So, they'd known she was coming home. But Moro hadn't made it back, yet. All she could hope for was that he was still alive. And then, after hearing the news – or lack of it, about Moro – she'd hugged her mother, and her mother had wept over her, and her father hadn't cried, though he'd crushed her tight in his embrace.

And then, Peony wasn't her aunt, just a cousin, and she looked Celandine in the eyes – and all Celandine wanted to say was, that she was sorry, sorry, that she hadn't ever meant for it to happen. She'd been a fool, an awful fool, and Moro'd been the one to pay.

But Peony didn't let her speak.

'It is all right, child, all right. Now, shush, and quiet those tears.' But, while Peony's heart was clearly in her words, it didn't sound as if she herself found any sense in them – and neither did Celandine, who wept as if her own heart was broken, and not just by the weight of her imagined betrayal. It wasn't all right, and Peony couldn't make Celandine believe that it was. But then, she likely didn't think it all right, herself.

'Has there been any word?'

'From Merry, yes.'

Cousin Merry. It'd been a long time since she'd last seen Merry Brandybuck. She thought for a moment – yes, longer than a year, now. She wondered if she even remembered his face, and she wondered if he'd even been home – what she heard of him hadn't yet brought him back that way. She looked at the scar on her palm, a faint white trace, and it had healed well, yes. She looked at it, and wondered if she should tell Mentha she was sorry, so very sorry, for having played those old games. Those dances with Seribran, well, they didn't seem so important now, after it all.

Hilda seemed to understand that Celandine needed to speak with Peony, and the two went into one of the side parlours – one of Aunt Esmeralda's favourites, really, and the only one with windows facing south – and yes, Peony told her, as they sat, there had been word of Moro, from Merry.

Moro was coming home.

End Notes: When I first started this story, I hadn't expected it to have a plot. Like I say in my author's notes, I'd expected to write a bit of flirty fluff. And at the end, you'd think that I'd actually have a proper return for Moro, or at least show part of his story. No, this started off with him and Cellie together, but it's always been more her story, not his. That is, to say, his story is in progress and you'll see his side of things. Just, it didn't fit in hers. And at least we already know that he does make it back, right?

The song Celandine sings belongs to dreamflower02.
'Evening has fallen, the Sun's in the West. The nightbirds are calling, the Shire is at rest. Peaceful the night and gentle the breeze, in cot and in smial, the folk take their ease. High above the Stars are kindled, kith and kin within are nestled, safe from harm in loving arms, find slumber deep, fall into sleep, may joy find all your dreams, may only joy find your dreams…'

The original can be found here.