On hearing her username is technically a spoiler if you can even spoil a 75-year-old book

[kingsdaughter]

[Sigrid doesn't even stop washing dishes when she gives a snort, shaking her head with a brief smile as she wrings out the dishcloth.]

You've got to be joking. Da's not a king. Even Girion wasn't a king. He was the Lord of Dale, and that was a long time ago.

[She pauses as her mun points out her father's popularity. Her smile is gone by now.]

That doesn't mean they'll make him a king. They'd follow anyone if you offered them gold or food or straw to patch their roof, but we don't have anything. Trust me, people like us don't become kings.

[She applies a dab of bear grease to her wrinkled hands and starts rubbing it in.]

You might want to go before Da gets home, sorry. He's not used to strangers in the house. I've got bread rising anyway, so I really have to get back to work.

[OOC: Desolation of Smaug spoilers are likely in comments.]

Comments

[bemerry]

He'll be a King, all right. A great King of tales. Your brother, too, I'd imagine. [ Merry gets up from where he had settled in a chair to come help her with the dishes. He'd feel terribly rude if he did not. ]

Muns have a good intuition about these sort of things, even if i didn't already know it as fact. Benefits of the future, y'see.

[ Merry's rather gotten over his mun's habit of tossing him into timelines where he isn't really around yet, or at least most of the people he's interacted with aren't as far along. It's nice, almost, to know everything about certain things. Even if he, perhaps, clings a little tighter to those he loses than he ought. ]

I can help with that, at least. [ He gestures towards the pile of dishes. ]

[kingsdaughter]

Here. [Sigrid places a stack of dry dishes in front of him.] Put these away. [Not going to turn away help where it's offered. She goes to a table and plucks a small towel off the breadpan to check the rising bread. She gives another scoff.]

King Bain? Now I'm sure that one comes from someone's nightmares. [She pulls the dough out onto the table and starts kneading.] The future must be an awful place. Maybe it's good we'll all be killed by the dragon first.

[It's a black humor that her father absolutely hates to hear from her, spoken with the flippancy of a child of the Cold War joking about a nuclear apocalypse.]

[bemerry]

[ Merry nods and moves to try and put them in their proper places so far as he can tell. Some of the higher cabinets are a bit beyond his reach—he's still a hobbit, after all, even if he is a tall one—but he managed to get them up their with some careful balancing and some stretching. ]

The dragon'll be the worst of your worries, when the time comes, but it all works out well in the end.

[ He's heard there was a great battle at Esgaroth and Laketown, with Dain Ironfoot and Bain's son fighting side by side, until they were both slain. It's not something that seems like it should be shared, as grim as it is. But the war was won on both fronts, Dale and Erebor living on to prosper.

He's caught up in the thought of it, not truly recognizing the grim lack-seriousness of it. He's seen enough that such things takes on a weight of memory, and not a gallows humor. It's not the sort of joke he'd have known, anyways. As far as Smaug, though. ]

You said they'd follow if you gave them something nice. A dead dragon sounds like it'd fit the bill, I think.

[ Bard does kill it, strikes the shaft in a soft, exposed spot of it's underbelly. So Bilbo had told him, and his memory has not been wrong, yet. ]

[kingsdaughter]

[Strong hands stop kneading suddenly. Sigrid turns to stare at him.]

...Are you telling me the truth? [A slow smile begins to spread over her face.] Will he really do it?

[bemerry]

Aye. And soon, now, I'd imagine. [ Before the war—wars, truly—that come after. ] Though I confess I am somewhat uncertain as to when now currently is. [ Even with the grim reminder hanging over his head, Merry cannot help but smile back at her with equal joy. ]

A brave and good man, your father. Much like you, it seems. [ His smile is a tad more impish, at that comment, but he'd see these people smile more. Despair should not weaken these people any more than their situation already has. ]

[kingsdaughter]

[She does smile back at him--grin, actually, though not for long before she tucks it mostly away. The hobbit might be telling her a story to give her hope, but it's been a while since she really needed hope to go on. She has duty instead, now. She turns back to her loaf.]

He is the best of men. [Her tone is proud and warm, but the smile slips a little more.] He does too much, though. Maybe being a king will be good for him even if he will hate it--and he would hate it. He wouldn't have to worry about us anymore, that way.

[Working so often and so long and returning so weary...

Sigrid catches herself and starts kneading the bread more vigorously.]

Sorry, I didn't mean to say so much. I think I've been improper. I've only met one hobbit before.

[bemerry]

If he's anything like my da, he'll still worry about you even after you've led an army and won. Being a king won' change that. [ It is hard, he imagines, and Bard likely carries such a burden on his shoulders even now. And to have his children worry over him, so. He's worried enough over kinto have some inkling of the fear. ]

It'll be easier, at least, and much good will come. He is a good king, and a prosperous one. And those kings above all seem to have the most rest. [ Kingship is not a burden that seems easy; Merry thinks of Theoden's grim determination, Aragorn's long face, and Eomer's hardened fear for his people. They all smiled so bright in mirth, in good moments and, for the latter two, good times. ] From what I've seen of it, at any rate.

[ I've only met one hobbit before. Soon, then. Merry spares a glance out the window, and has to steady himself against the momentary flash of brightness in the night. Very soon. He's a tad nervous himself. ]

You needn't worry much, my lady. Sometimes it is better to say one's worries, lest the grow in the dark and hurt more for the shadows they hide in.

[ Merry smiles again, this time, softer, but more clever, as if inviting her in to mischief/ ]

I'll let you in on a little secret. Most hobbits, for all their polite manners, are far more nosy and talkative than you've been. [ He makes a show of looking around, comically ] You can't say I said so, though. It's ruin my reputation as a gentlehobbit. [ He winks, and sets to cleaning what few dishes are left in the sink. ]

[kingsdaughter]

[Sigrid grins again, working the dough with her fists.] Are you really a gentlehobbit or are you only saying it?

[Because gentlefolk don't really talk to her. Or at least they don't say anything nice to her.]

[bemerry]

I am from one of the oldest and most respected [ slightly debatable ] hobbit families, and soon to be Master of Buckland, to boot. [ That seems like the most believable of his current laurels, and the one most relevant to gentlehobbitry, in any case. ] The Brandybucks have quite a name for themselves, and Tooks, like my mother, are perhaps even better.

[ He smiles wide, though, and bows. ]

Meriadoc Brandybuck, at your service.

[kingsdaughter]

[She gives him a rather floury curtsy, still grinning.]

Princess Sigrid of Dale at yours, Your Lordship!

[bemerry]

Your highness, if you would honour me with a dance, once your heavenly bread has readied itself in the ovens, I would be most happily at your disposal ever after.

[ He smiles his most charming smile, tempered with his own mischievous laughter. Regardless of what the others' think, he'd easily believe her a great lady. ]

[kingsdaughter]

[Sigrid only wraps the bread in its towel and puts it back in the pan, then dusts her floury hands off on her apron.]

Well my lord, since the bread must rise a second time, I find myself free to dance with you now. To what music shall we dance?

[bemerry]

Why, the lovely ballroom music playing, of course! I shall try to hum along as best I'm able, though I warn you my singing may leave much to be desired.

[ Merry hums, and is quite adept at keeping up a happy tune—pleasant to the ear, regardless of what he says—as he offers out his hand and bows. It's completely silly and make-believe, but he's a grown hobbit and he can enjoy whatever he likes without shame. ]

Your Majesty.

[kingsdaughter]

[Sigrid schools herself into a poised, regal air and curtsies deeply to him, then rises and offers him her hand.] My lord.

[bemerry]

[ Merry grins as he takes her hand and begins to guide her about the small room. He doesn't know many proper dances, but hobbit dances are cheerful enough, and it's still nice and fancified if he does say so himself.

Humming all the while through several songs, occasionally singing the nonsense lyrics that accompany most of them, his smile wider then, but the rest of his face serious enough that he's trying to get her to laugh. ]

[longestnose]

You never know, lass, how the cards of fate may play. Royalty or not, your father would do a right good job at ruiling your people.

[Fili smiles, wistful and sad.]

I am only sad I will not be there to see it.

[kingsdaughter]

[Sigrid has seen her fair share of death at the age of fifteen. But in her world, death usually happens to the sickly and weak, the infants and the elderly. But Fili is none of those. He did everything right. He is young and strong and he saved their lives. That is supposed to merit some kind of reward in life, isn't it? Work hard, and your efforts eventually pay off. Is that not true anymore? What does she work for, then?]

I...I didn't know. I'm sorry.

[It's wrong, so wrong that he has to die. She covers her mouth with her hand.]

I'm so sorry.

[longestnose]

Ah, Sigrid, lass. [Fili moves over to press a hand to her arm, not able to reach any higher on her, giving a gentle squeeze.]

Don't be sorry for somethin' that you had no control over.

Perhaps it happened as it should. No use trying to sort it out now.

What's done is done.

[kingsdaughter]

Sorry. [yes she does apologize for everything]

It...it wasn't us, was it? You didn't die protecting us?

[longestnose]

No lass, it wasn't you.

[Fili smiles shaking his head.]

But if I had, I wouldn't want you to blame yourself, either. You and your siblings are good children, worth protecting.

[emptybarrels]

[ He's only caught the tail end of the conversation, but–bothersome guests or no—he's happy to be home all the same. ]

Hey, darlin'. You been hearing ridiculous tales?

[kingsdaughter]

[She goes to him and hugs him tight, resting her cheek against his warm shoulder. No words need to be said.]

[emptybarrels]

[ He just holds her close for a while, rocking back and forth and tucking his face into her hair. So much like her mother. Bard is glad to be home, with his beautiful wonderful children. Safe for the moment. Tilda and Bain are likely to come in soon, from wherever they may be playing. His family, this children so precious to him. More precious than all the world.

He squeezes tighter, for a moment, as though by sheer will and love he can keep all danger form them, even if he knows enough of the world to realize that it is not so. Then he lets go, and slowly breaks away. ]

We'd best finish supper.

[kingsdaughter]

[She really does have everything handled and knows he must be exhausted, but they both love the little moments they get alone together when he cooks with her. It would be worse to deny him that than to tire him out even more. They both gain some kind of strength from it.

So she releases him and draws him into the kitchen.]

I'll get the rue started. [For gravy.]

[emptybarrels]

[ He settles easily into a stool near the counter, washing what few vegetables Sigrid hasn't already and beginning to slice and peel them into finer chunks. It's a comfortable rhythm, and in many ways it helps him feel less absent, less useless, within his own home.

To navigate the lake, collecting barrels and fish and trade, sometimes with the wind in the meagre sales, sometimes having to pole along the still waters when the air is still and heavy with damp. It is long, tiring work, and he spends most of his time out of his home than in it. He wishes it could be otherwise, though perhaps it is best that he spends little enough in the town and therefore as much time away from the Master of Laketown as possible.

Normally they keep a comfortable silence, but he has been too silent for the past days, nothing but the cool quiet of nature to be company. He wants to use words. ]

What was this nonsense going on before I returned? A new tall tale about a monster in the lake?

[kingsdaughter]

[Sigrid stirs the rue carefully so it doesn't burn, shaking her head softly at the same time and causing the little curls around her face to sway from side to side.]

Nothing.

[emptybarrels]

[ Bard lifts an eyebrow in her direction but says nothing as he finishes chopping up the vegetables and starts on gutting one of the fish he had brought home, carefully sliding out the fine bones and tossing the entrails into a slop bucket.

He is patient. If Sigrid truly does not wish to tell him, she need not. But, he suspects she may eventually cave after all. He's rather curious, now. ]

[kingsdaughter]

[It's more curiosity than anything that makes her speak.]

You don't think...if they asked you to be Lord like Girion was, what do you think you'd say?

[emptybarrels]

[ He stops what he is doing, setting down the knife and resting his hands on the table. His fingers clench briefly, for a moment, and then release. ]

I doubt they'd have any desire to do such a thing, Sigrid. [ He takes his work up again, ill at ease with the question and the thought. There would be no reason that they would- ]

But, I do not see how i could refuse, if they did.

[ It is still his responsibility, this town, these people, even if there has not been a Lord for nearly a century. ]