Maiden of the Meadow
It all bloomed from a call.
A call from the blossoming trees and the green grass of spring.
An urge, from the thoughts of Mother Nature herself,
Hinting, that it was meant to be...
No one ever quite understood my strong connection with the green gardens of the Shire. I was always twirling in a yellow dress out with the butterflies in the fields, my long, dark red, curly hair springing out like an umbrella around me. The warm, yellow sun on my skin was always inviting. I was always near nature.
I suppose that was what got me through life in those days. For me it seemed like bad luck sprouted out of the ground around me like weeds.
I never knew my real parents. I was left on the Brandybuck doorstep as an infant with my older sister. She was about six at the time. The Brandybuck family took us in, but my sister was taken away two years later. I never saw her again; I didn't even know her name. So I was the only one of "my family" still left to be raised by the Brandybucks.
I grew up with their harsh rules and punishments, and I don't think they even wanted me there. I was just in the way. They also had a son named Meriadoc, who was the same age as me, but he pretended like I didn't exist and didn't want anything to do with me. He was too busy. Too busy getting into mischief with his accomplice Peregrin Took. He's a bad influence. Those Tooks are always getting their noses into trouble, but Pippin was always very polite to me, so I suppose he made up for it.
Tragically, both my guardians-Merry's parents-drowned when I was seven. Merry was affected immensely by it. After that, he changed a lot and started becoming more mature and even cared for me a bit. I suppose he felt that now he was responsible for the fate of his family. After all, I was adopted into the family, and I had no idea what my last name was before. I was a Brandybuck, adopted or not.
So since I was an infant, I have been living at the Brandybuck's hole in Hobbiton, trying to stay alive with Merry. I guess all of my grief was released when I was near nature. And that's exactly how it all began; that's how in the midst of all the weeds, flowers started blooming, and some good luck started growing for me. Clear, blue skies blanketed Hobbiton that day. The sun shimmered down through the giant tree's strong branches. It was early spring.
I frolicked through the tall vivid-green grass. Pink and white daisies sprung up along the path as I danced through the woods. I had no particular destination. You could say I was just "wandering".
I had awakened that morning alone in the Brandybuck's quiet hole with the sun glinting happily around the room. Merry was off stirring up mischief with Pippin, so I had some free time to myself before he came back and made me make Elevensies. It was half after nine. I had plenty of time on my hands.
I had skipped breakfast and second breakfast. I had no time for that. The world was waiting, and that day, so was someone else: fate.
I bent down and plucked a pink flower out of the ground and stuck it in my red curls. I then began to sing the song my sister used to sing to me as I wandered through the trees. When I was upset, she would place me on my bed, run her fingers through my hair, and sing this song:
"Our Journey's keep going, Like the brooks of my childhood. Rising and flowing, No one is knowing, Where it will end up, Around the bend, But unlike our Journeys, Brooks come to end.
A shadow whis..,"
I abruptly stopped in mid-verse, and curiously glanced around myself. Someone else had been humming my tune.
A few yards in front of me stood a strong, thick, old tree with beautiful green leaves that didn't have a speck of brown within them. Below the tree was a young boy.
He was a hobbit, about my age, skimming through a leather book. One of his ankles rested on his knee, his back against the tree. I couldn't see his face for he was looking down at the book in his hands. His dark-brown curly head of hair had leaves and flowers strewn in it as if he had been rolling in a pile of the contents.
I gazed at him, dumbstruck. I had never seen anyone in the trees of the Shire before. Not when I was present.
I finally gathered my senses and stopped gaping at him. Then I asked curiously, "How do you know that song?"
The hobbit under the shade of the tree sighed and answered in a crystal-clear, soothing cadence without looking up, "One hears many things in the gardens of the Shire, my dear: tales and songs of great kingdoms far away, dragons, adventures."
My jaw dropped open again. I lit up with surprised joy. "You've heard of adventures about dragons and far away kingdoms?!"
"Yes, my friend. In fact, my dear Uncle Bilbo went on an adventure such as you've described."
I couldn't believe it. I was awestruck. Nobody ever goes on adventures in the Shire. We sing of them, but we never dare to go on them. His Uncle had been on an adventure! I cocked my head to the side, "What's your name?"
He still kept his head down. "Frodo. Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo."
I smiled at his name: Frodo. It sounded sweet and tingled on my lips. "Well, Frodo, son of Drogo, are you going on an adventure anytime soon?"
Frodo paused, "What's your name?" he asked.
"My name is Larkspur. Larkspur Louisa Brandybuck." I replied.
With that he gazed up at me for the first time, slowly, eyes smiling. My heart skipped two beats. They were ocean-blue like an eclipse on the horizon. Behind his pupils were flecks of gold like the sun. His boyish, ivory face broke into a half-smile. He confidently said, "I can guarantee it."