[Durelin]

Sighing softly with relief, Durelin gripped tightly the newly found child’s hand, deciding that letting him do as he willed again would not be wise. “Aw, mama! You always come at the worst time! We were having a very secret talk.” Durelin glanced down at the child with a smile, then turned back to the innkeeper, the woman who had just rescued her!

”This most certainly is the little man I so fervently searched for,” she began, smiling at the woman in gratitude, her good-natured smile growing as she continued, “and now I believe you can see why.”

The innkeeper chuckled lightly, a few others in the room did as well, with understanding in their laughs. One of these was the old woman who seemed to be a ‘naughty child’s bane’. “I am Durelin, this is my son, Loar,” she paused for a moment and looked down at her son. “Well wave hello, at least!”

“Hello. That’s my mamma,” he said, pointing over to his mother with his free hand. Durelin suppressed a small laugh, knowing not to encourage him. Not looking at the young boy, so that he did not see the smile playing on her face, she shook her head. “I have another little one at home, a fresh new addition to the world. And then I have a big one at home, as well. My husband did not feel the need to be social today.”

This brought more knowing chuckles. Many of the people around her smiled with kind faces. It seemed Durelin had been relatively accepted, for now. Already, she was beginning to suppress all of her doubts about changing her life so much. It had seemed that following her husband’s wishes, which was her own wish, most of the time, would for once lead her to unhappiness. But she realized that when she said that her family was now in Edoras, it took on a whole knew meaning. These were her people now, and good people they did seem. She missed the usual hobbit that was found in Bree, and the small-town feel of her home, but this city of Rohan was still comprised of people. People just didn’t change that much for any number of miles.

“We come from Bree, a small village in comparison with this great city. I confess to only ever managing with one inn in a town, and intend to keep my life manageable. Expect my patronage regularly, as well as that of my husband. He shall most likely be more of a patron, talking less and drinking more.”

Loar burst into fits of laughter at this, practically falling onto the floor and out of his mother’s grip. Durelin pulled him up straight, but the laughter did not cease. “And what do you find so funny?”

The boy quieted for a moment, and tried to speak, but then laughter exploded out of him once more in a loud bark, and his arm gripped his stomach as he started to double over again. Durelin tugged him up again, and he managed to wheeze, while his face turned red at the effort of not laughing, “You’re talking about daddy drinking. I was just remembering the last time daddy was drinking. He was real funny then.”

Durelin’s hand shot over the boy’s mouth and color blossomed in her cheeks. All those nearby who had heard the boy simply laughed at his antics, but Durelin knew that she had to scold him, as well as keep her hand where it was for a moment longer. The boy loved making people laugh, and loved to laugh himself. Durelin thought it was wonderful, and found her son very amusing quite often, but she also knew that he had to learn when to laugh and when to make people laugh, and, especially, how. This time, he had made people laugh at his father’s expense. Hopefully these people would not pay attention to the words of a boy of only eight, but…if his father heard any chuckles about him…

Bending down, Durelin whispered in Loar’s here. She knew not to scold him in front of others, making a big fuss, and allowing him to get more attention. “You do not speak of your father that way, especially not to strangers. You shouldn’t make people laugh at someone. Your father will be coming down to this inn, and if he hears of a little boy talking about his funny father…”

Loar’s eyes opened wide, and a small noise came from under Durelin’s hand. It was the squeak of a surprised mouse emerging from a boy that was fast becoming a man, at least in physical appearance. A father could reduce any son to a mouse with his wrath, and, in this case, whispers of his wrath.

Forgive Loar, for his outburst,” Durelin said with a small smile of victory, removing her hand from his mouth. “He now remembers himself, now.”