In the Shadow of the Star: Part 2

[piosenniel]

‘Well, if you ask me,’ said Buttercup as she picked over the strawberries for the shortcake to be served later in the day at the party, ‘we should be hanging crepe and dressing in black.’ The berries, all minus their leafy caps, now, and any bad spots, sat in a colander on the sink drain board, glistening from their last rinsing.

‘Isn’t that the truth,’ threw in Ruby. ‘There should be smiles and laughter since the children were rescued, and folk congratulating each other on a job well done. And don’t you think the parents should be beaming at the prospect of introducing their childrens’ names to their friends?’

She washed the pile of yellow and green summer squashes, and brought them to the cutting table to be chopped into good sized chunks. Mistress Piosenniel was partial to an exotic dish she had eaten in her travels in the south. Wooden skewers with chunks of squash and onion wedges and little fat mushrooms, grilled over a bed of coals, slathered at their final turning with some spicy sweet sauce made from plums.

Ruby, not one to stray far from her plain Shire diet, had wrinkled her nose when Pio had asked for this during her pregnancy, but the finished product had a tantalizing smell – so much so, in fact, that she had tried a bite the first time she had made it. One bite had led to the entire skewer and one skewer led to two. She remembered that Pio had raised her brows at the diminished number that had finally reached her plate. This time she was determined to make a quantity of them, and eat her fill.

‘Well, you’ld think so,’ said Buttercup, washing mushrooms, and sorting them by size. She brought the bowl of them to the table and sat down with Ruby. The onions had already been washed and peeled and she cut them into wedges. Picking up a wooden skewer, she began to layer on the vegetables. ‘And what about Miss Cami and her new husband. There’s another pair that’s acting oddly. They’re newlyweds for goodness sake – they should be all blushes and holding hands and giggles and sly eyes. They’re as gloomy as mourners at a funeral.’

Ruby was just about to comment on this, when Cook sailed into the kitchen from the yard. Hob, a basket of wriggling river eels in his hands followed in behind her. ‘What are you two nattering on about?’ she asked, catching just the last of the conversation.’ She eyed the strawberries, and went to the pantry to pull out the flour and sugar and leavening. ‘I’m going to bake the shortcake rounds now. One of you needs to help Hob get the eels cleaned and skinned and cut into thin steaks. Buttercup, you can do that while Ruby finishes those skewers.’ Cook ever the organizer, tapped her fingers on the counter for a moment as she ticked off in her mind what needed to be done. ‘And Ruby, once you’re done with the skewers, make that dark sauce with the pinch of bead molasses in it that Mistress Piosenniel told us her Mister likes on the grilled eel.’ Cook dragged out her big green crockery mixing bowl and retrieved the sweet cream butter from the cold larder. Wooden spoon in hand, she started in on the shortcake dough.

Buttercup got up from her chair and leaned close to Ruby before going to help with Hob at the sink. ‘Big Folk certainly have some strange things they eat, don’t they?’ she whispered.

‘Aye, that they do,’ said Ruby, smiling at her friend’s ‘limited’ tastes. Her mind turned to thoughts of the grilled eel as she finished up the skewered vegetables. ‘I wonder if that will be as good as these are,’ she thought to herself, her mouth already watering in anticipation . . .

[ August 02, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

By late afternoon, the staff at the Inn had finished all the preparations for the party that was to take place that night. Prim, much to the grumbling of the afternoon customers, closed the Inn to business, and she and her ‘girls’ cleaned the Common Room from stem to stern. Hob was directed to recruit a few suitable lads, and they set up more tables on the greensward at the front of the Inn.

Hob scratched his head when Buttercup relayed the message to him on how many tables and chairs were to be set up. ‘I thought Mistress Piosenniel said these naming affairs were small – just limited to announcing them to the families on either side.’ He looked at the goings on in the Inn and considered the number of tables he had been instructed to set up in the yard. ‘Looks to me as if the whole of Hobbiton and Bywater are coming tonight.’

‘Well now, it’s not like Miz Pio and her Mister have any family here, is it?’ said Cook, who had come out with an armful of tablecloths for the buffet tables. ‘What sort of pitiful party would that be with them and Miz Cami and Miz Bird. They’re all in some sort of a funk as it is. It would be dreadful!’ She handed the cloths to Buttercup, instructing her which tables they were to be put on. ‘And besides,’ she continued, ‘the twins were born in the Inn and we’ve all grown fond of Miz Pio and Mister Mithadan. And didn’t they help us out when the children went missing?’ Hob and Buttercup nodded their heads in unison. ‘Well, then, we’ll all be their family for tonight, won’t we?’

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Amaranthas was the first guest to arrive, and to be honest she had bullied the young lad set at the gate by Hob early in the afternoon into opening up for her. Caught between two sets of instructions, he hopped from foot to foot as he explained that he was to allow no one in. But Amaranthas had insisted, and had gone so far as to get down from her cart and come face to face with him. The prospect of going head to head with the Dragon persuaded him that he should open the gate for her, and he went so far as to help her up to her cart and lead Thistle through.

Later on in the evening, the door to the Inn was opened wide and the great brass dragon doorstop, now turned green from age, held it in place. The windows were all opened, and the gate at the end of the path now bore a sign saying “Welcome One and All”. Hobbits and their families streamed up the road – on foot, on pony, and by cart, laughing, and singing and jostling one another a good natured way, eager for the chance to celebrate. And it didn’t matter, really, what the purpose of the event was, it had been dark times for the Shire for a while, and now they intended to enjoy the return to more peaceful, pleasant times.

The tables were laden with platters of food, and one whole table had been devoted to sweets, cookies of all sorts mostly. And in the center several great pyramids of short cake rounds, dusted with sugar, surrounding a large bowl filled with sliced strawberries. Several kegs of ale and cider had been set up and tapped in the yard and a table for wine stood near them.

On the verandah a small band was playing music – two fiddlers, a fife, and one energetic young fellow on the concertina. Between plates of food, and spurred on by the free-flowing spirits, there were many rousing rounds of dance, especially among the young lads who flashed smiles at the lasses as they showed off their fancy steps.

Mithadan had gone out to greet the guests as they arrived. And looking much better than he had on his return from Bree, many commented. Many came up to him as he strolled about the yard, thanking him for what he’d done. Even Halfred, in his roundabout way, expressed his thanks, though if truth been known, Millefoil’s hand was hard on his back as she pushed him forward and nudged his words along. Mithadan was gracious, and returned the thanks in kind to the Shiriff for his assistance, all the while flashing a toothy grin at the woman behind him. Others came up to shake his hand, and congratulate him on becoming a family man now. He smiled and thanked them, and ducked their questions when they asked if there were more in the planning.

Pio came out once the party was well under way, bring the twins with her, one to each arm. She ate and danced and spoke with her numerous well-wishers, and showed the babies off to all who asked. Her face was composed, and as fair as ever, but there were dark smudges beneath her eyes if one looked closely, her lids were red rimmed from the tears that had escaped them, and her smile did not flash out as often as it was wont to do, nor was there laughter. She, too, was gracious, in her own way, but some remarked she seemed reserved – that now there seemed a barrier between her and the events that swirled around her.

[ August 04, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Isil rose into the bright sea of stars, resting just barely above the horizon. The little lamps strung from the trees and eaves of the Inn had been lit, their soft light blending into the pale light of the waning quarter moon. Little jewels . . . they pushed back the shadows.

The party had wound down, become a quieter tableau. Hobbits sat in small groups talking, laughing, telling stories. Smoke from their pipes drifted up into the darkness, the full heady scents lingering in the air. The rise and fall of the voices hushed as Mithadan stood, and taking Piosenniel by the hand drew her into the center of the gathering. Each of them held a little one, nestled in the crook of their arm. She smiled at him as he bent to whisper a few words in her ear, and kiss her cheek. All eyes were on him as he turned round, smiling at the folk who ringed his family. Holding his son securely in his hands, he held the little one up for all to see.

‘This is my son, Isilmir, named for a forebear of my family, one of the Faithful who escaped the fall of Númenor, and sailed to the safety of Middle-earth. Bid him welcome, if you will, friends.’

Hands reached out to take the baby from him, and on a great wave of arms the little one was passed from one to another, the murmur of his name, rising and falling, before and behind.

‘And this is my daughter, Gilwen, Star-maiden – her name reflecting the ship that bore such unlikely companions as we were through dark waters and into the light of true friendship. Bid her welcome, if you will, friends.’

Again the sea of hands reached out for her. Pio blinked her eyes and gasped, as this time it seemed unseen hands were also there, from those left behind. And there, just at the edges of her vision, it seemed a pair of golden eyes blinked once or twice, and there in the darkness a brief, toothy smile of approval winked into being and was gone.

At long last, Gilwen and Isilmir were brought back to their parents. The rise and fall of conversation picked up, as congratulations were offered and talk turned to the namings of babies that had occurred in the various speakers’ families. Mithadan was clapped on the back, and offered a pipe and pouch, and saluted on his fine family.

Pio sat on the steps of the Inn, a little one on each knee. Their grey eyes regarded her in a serious manner as she watched the reflections of the sea of stars swim on their surfaces. ‘Isilmir,’ she whispered, drawing her son’s attention as she kissed the little fingers he had wrapped tightly round her own. ‘My little jewel.’ She bent to kiss him on his brow. Fëanen, I name you. Spirit of Water. She turned to her daughter, calling her softly as she kissed her, also. ‘And you, Gilwen, my precious gift.’ Fëasolmë, I name you. Spirit of the Wave. She smiled at both of them. Welcome . . . welcome, indeed . . .

Too soon, they grew tired, announcing their needs with insistent cries. Excusing herself, Pio took them to their room and nursed them to sleep. Gilly had followed after her, and took each as they finished to lay in their cradle. She smoothed the dark hair on each little head, whispering their names to herself and to them. ‘Sleep well,’ she murmured to them, ‘I will be here when you wake.’

Pio drew her from the room and back out to the yard. Music was playing softly, and Prim brought out the last of the sweet, Dorwinion wine. ‘Saved the best for last!’ she laughed. ‘To you!’ she said, raising her glass to Pio, and was echoed by Gilly as she raised hers. Pio smiled, holding her glass high, and nodded back at them.

‘To life,’ she said quietly, clinking her glass against both of theirs. ‘To wondrous life . . .’

[ August 04, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Maura instinctively gripped Cami's hand in his as the couple watched Mithadan take each of the children in turn, cradle them in his arms, and speak the names by which they would be called. Isilmir and Gilwen....fine names indeed. Fine names for a son and a daughter who would surely bring joy to their kin as they grew up under the protective shield of their parents' overarching love.

His wife's head was nestled softly against his shoulder, almost like a little child herself. She looked so terribly fragile, so small and vulnerable to everything that was happening that day. He wished he could take her in his arms and make the pain disappear just as his own mother had done for him whenever he had encountered some minor hurt or disappointment.

But his wife was no child. She was a woman whose brown hair was streaked with silver, who had known her share of grief and toil, and had voluntarily left everything she knew to journey on the Star and follow her people on their migration homeward. Only now the voyage was ended. Truly ended. Cami had given her word as Gandalf had required, and, against all expectations, the hobbits had found a home. Only now, personal miracles were in short supply. No, he could not shield her.

In the midst of these reflections, Maura felt a slight stirring at his elbow and glanced downward. "Are you alright?" he whispered intently in Cami's ear.

His wife nodded uneasily, her eyes brimming with tears that she stubbornly refused to let fall. "Maura, could you make sure the children are put to bed? I'll be back soon. I promise."

Maura nodded mutely as he watched Cami vanish down the hallway where Pio had taken the twins a short while before. That evening, he would have agreed to almost anything she requested. He collected Holly in his arms, escorted Rose back to her chamber, and then led Gamba and his brothers over to their quarters in the stables.

When Maura approached Asta for a final goodnight and stopped to tuck him into bed, the lad watched him with wary eyes and tremulously murmurred, "Will we be a family... like you said, or are you going away?"

The words cut like a knife. Concealing his own feelings of indecision and doubt, the older hobbit spoke in an even voice and ran his fingers through Asta's towseled curls. "I do not know if I can come, but your mother and I are trying. Whether I am there or not, I love you." Maura tugged the covers up and tucked in each of the younger boys with a final kiss or other gesture of affection.

Gamba, who was the last in line, paced the floor uneasily, finally going over to a chair by the open window where he sat down and stared at the Inn. Maura had never found the older boy easy to deal with, but over the months he had earned Gamba's grudging respect. But now the lad sat stiff as a ramrod refusing to budge or soften the goodbyes with an embrace or kind word; he tossed out a curt retort encapsulated in bitterness, "You'll go away, just like the others."

There was no reason to ask for further explanation. Maura had heard enough tales about the Star and Numenor to understand exactly what the older lad had meant. Maura stood up and walked over to the stable door, unlatching the gate and swinging it outward. Then he hesitated for an instant and turned around to shake his head, "I hope not. By all the Powers in this upside-down world, I certainly hope not," vanishing down the pathway in the direction of the Dragon.

[ August 10, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

As Cami headed down the corridor to the chamber where Pio had taken the twins for their nap, the cheery sounds and music of the party grew softer and gradually faded away. The room was dimly lit with lacy curtains drawn across the windows. Grey shadows played along the walls as Cami tripped inside and latched the door behind her. She could hear the babies' breath rising and falling with reassuring regularity and a slight rustle or two as the twins nestled deeper into their bedclothes.

Leaning over the two cradles, Cami gently stroked the soft, dark hair on the top of each small head. A flood of conflicting emotions welled up inside. I am so lucky to have come here, to have this tiny space of time. I might never have known that you even existed. But, however I engrave your images on my heart, you will not remember me, and your faces will remain young and unchanging.

She stroked the sleeping form first of Isilmir and then of Gilwen, attaching the names to the faces and vowing that she would never forget them. She tersely reminded herself not to mar the goodbye with tears, then stepped back a pace and quietly spoke.

"If I pick you up, you'll probably awaken so it's best not to try. We'll have to be content with this. But when my own son is born, as winter turns to spring, I'll remember the friends he might have had here. If only....if only..."

Cami's voice trailed off. Then she turned and hastily retreated. Only when she was well down the hallway did the tears threaten to overwhelm her eyes. Pacing resolutely into the common room, she was rubbing her fingers hard against her brow to try to regain some semblance of composure when she unexpectedly heard a voice calling her name from across the room. Glancing up, she saw the familiar figure of Lorien striding towards her.

Cami felt her body stiffen with displeasure. This was the last person she ever wanted to see. She'd had enough pleading and begging to last for the remainder of her life.

Before she could open her mouth, Lorien raised his hand slightly as if to forestall further conversation. When he spoke, his tone sounded grave. "You are to come. Bilbo has decided it is time. He rests in the courtyard at the back of the Inn. There, he listens to the rustling of the beeches and gazes out at the stars that glitter from beyond while Frodo waits by his side."

Cami hastily arose and followed in Lorien's footsteps, walking through the kitchens and out the back door into the gardens. She stopped just once to register a plea in Cook's ear, asking her to speak with Pio and Mithadan and let them know what was happening. As the iron gate creaked back on its hinges, Maura rushed forward and engulfed her within his arms, steadying her with his presence.

********************************************

With her arm clinging tight around Maura's waist, Cami watched Frodo kneel beside Bilbo, and reach out to stroke his silver hair in a final gesture of intimacy as the two exchanged words of sorrow and reassurance. She saw the younger hobbit place a kiss on his uncle's brow, shakily stand up, and turn about to face them.

"He wishes to talk with you....both of you," Frodo murmurred, gesturing in Bilbo's direction.

Cami stepped forward but then stopped, looking gravely into Frodo's eyes, "You will be alright?"

"Yes, I think so." He smiled wearily, "He tells me to hurry up....that it's time for all of us to leave this dream and find our way home to where we're meant to be." Cami leaned forward and, on a rare impulse, embraced Frodo for an instant and then let go, taking up Maura's hand.

"Come," Maura whispered softly, guiding his wife forward. Together, the couple walked to the base of the giant beech that stood in the middle of the garden, where Bilbo lay resting with his back nestled against the trunk; his body hung limp and quiet but the light of his eyes still shown bright.

As Cami knelt down for one last time to try and dissuade him, Bilbo curtly interrupted, "I know what you mean to say. We've been through this. It's time to move on. I won't have any useless discussion now." He smiled at Cami in the familiar way that he had so often done when she was a child, with a gaze both stubborn and affectionate.

"We have other things to settle," Bilbo reminded them. "You two. You will do as Lorien bid." He stared at Maura with a question in his eyes.

"We've given our word," Maura responded evenly with no hint of emotion. "Just as we gave our promise to Mithrandir and the Valar in Beleriand. However hard it seems, I will honor that pledge."

"And you Cami?" Bilbo turned to his former pupil. "I need to hear it from your own mouth. I can't ask for something like this if you're running off somewhere causing trouble. Will you hold to the bargain that you sealed on Tol Fuin, the night when the waters rose?"

Cami pushed back her smile and stared off into the night locked in private reflection, as she struggled to find words that would honestly explain how she felt, "You are a friend, one of the dearest I have ever had, and I've given you my word. I will not break that."

"Beyond that, I can not say. I can no longer pretend to agree with the Valar or to understand the bargain they've doled out to me and my children." She hesitated and added with emphasis, "Especially my children who were no partners to this pact... Nor can I hide my fears and anger pretending those feelings don't exist. But you, Bilbo Baggins, have asked me to do something in hopes that you can help us, and I won't go back on my word to a friend. Perhaps, wherever you are going, a simple promise to a friend will suffice."

Bilbo shook his head and crustily observed, "Then, whatever our reasons, we are agreed. You will do as Lorien asks and return to your own time. And I will do as I must, going beyond to carry a plea for you and Maura to come together through the mists of time, just as Luthien once implored Mandos that she might join Beren, and that same request was brought to Manwe, and even further beyond. But whether a simple hobbit with little merit can be heard, I can not say."

"Now, get that rascal Frodo to come down here again."

Maura politely nodded and stepped back as Frodo approached Bilbo's side. Cami waited for a moment whispering a final farewell under her breath, "Goodbye, Bilbo. Thank you for the kindnesses you've shown me all these years, and for how you tried to help us. Maura and I won't forget...no matter what happens. Sleep well, my friend."

With that Cami embraced Bilbo and waited with Maura by the side of the garden. They both watched as Frodo bent close to his uncle exchanging a few secret words. Then Bilbo lay back in sleep, and the light that had sparkled in his eyes spread out over his entire face, and he seemed to be at peace. Like a young child, Frodo lay curled up on the grass beside him and instantly fell asleep. A moment later the two had vanished, each going on a separate path. Then, Maura took Cami's hand in his own and led his grieving wife back through the gate and inside the Inn.

[ August 31, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

‘To life,’ she said quietly, clinking her glass against both of theirs. ‘To wondrous life . . .’

The wine did not reach her lips. Nor the smile her eyes. Gilly and Prim drank deeply from their glasses, refilling them as they chatted on about the party and who had come, and what was the latest gossip from the Inn. Pio waved off the bottle as Prim tipped it toward her still filled glass. Her hand crept to her forehead, and she begged off from their company, saying she had a headache from the long day, and would they excuse her if she went to her room. Gilly stood, saying she would just check on the babies, but Pio bade her stay and enjoy the pleasant evening and the good company of Prim, saying she would see to the little ones as she found her way to bed.

It was not the long day that drove her from the circle of friends and well-wishers in the Inn yard. It was the aching, urgent sadness that had crept into her thoughts. Cami had been to see the twins . . . to say good-bye to them. Pio had sensed someone in their room, drawing them up from their drowsing to a brief awareness of someone’s soft voice. She reached out them and to the one who stood near them. Just as she raised her glass to the others, she heard Cami’s small voice speaking to them of her yet unborn son and her wishes that he might have grown up knowing them.

It was all too final. Too quickly, the small period of grace that had been granted was drawing to a close.

And then Cami had retreated down the hall and into the mix of words and images had come the urgent voice of Lórien bidding her hurry . . . Bilbo had chosen his time . . . and it was now . . .

Her fair face more pale than the moonlight that picked out its troubled features, Pio followed the Hobbit and the Vala as they made their way to the back of the Inn, to the gardens. Her footsteps went unnoticed as she came to the iron gate and slipped through, her slender figure easing itself into the shadows of the elms along the edge of the yard. Barely breathing she listened to the promises extracted, the promises made beneath the giant beech where Bilbo lay. Her heart was leaden, and her tears, rarely surrendered, now trailed down her face unheeded. She watched as Maura and Cami stepped back; as Bilbo and Frodo fell into their separate dreams, then winked out, as if the air about them had blinked and resettled itself into a picture, empty now of its subjects.

Why do you cry, Piosenniel? Lórien’s question broke her vigil, and she turned to face him. Does it bring you no comfort that Bilbo has chosen to plead for them?

Naught but cold comfort, Lórien she told him, rubbing the wetness from her face with the sleeves of her dress. She turned away from him, new tears finding new tracks down her ashen cheeks. Lórien’s thoughts gathered for another question; it teetered on the edge of them. No more words, Lórien, need pass between us she said quietly to him, pressing her hands against her eyes. A ragged gasp escaped her lips and was cut off, as she sought to rein in her sorrow - put it away to be looked at and taken in later. He reached out a hand to touch her rigid back, and she withdrew from it, shifting round to face him once again.

‘Go away, Vala.’ The low spoken words strung out in the space between them like barrier. ‘Leave me and my little ones in peace. Send me not your gift of dreams. I have no use for it.’ ‘Go away,’ she said again, her cheeks ruddy where she had rubbed the last of the tears from them. ‘Go away. Let there be no further words between us.’

She left him standing there and hurried away, her eyes dry and clear now. Bilbo was gone . . . the dream was coming to its end . . . soon Cami, too, would fade from this slice of skewed reality.

A pressing sense of urgency drove her on . . . Cami would be gone soon . . . Pio needed to see her . . . one last time . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

A full moon hung silhouetted against the black night sky, its rays caressing the soft contours of the hills. Silver light from the moon and stars bathed the woods and marshes, the rich tilled fields and farmsteads, which ran from the eastern bounds of Buckland through the East and West Farthing, extending north up to Greenfields and as far south as Sackville. Almost at the center of this protected circle stood the town of Bywater with its smaller cousin Hobbiton.

At the Inn in Bywater, five hobbits sat huddled in a corner of the Common Room with their heads bent close, seemingly oblivious to the overarching beauty of the heavens. They spoke in tense, urgent tones, each of them trying to make sense out of what might happen later that night. The hands of the Dragon's clock stood close to midnight, yet no one gathered at the table seemed eager to retire to their beds.

Cami was seated next to Maura with her fingers interlaced with his. She had finished her goodbyes to Lindo, whom she'd known from the camps in Beleriand, and to Maura's sister Zira and her husband Ban. She wished there'd been more time to spend with them, especially Zira, whose talents as a healer had first alerted Cami to the possibility that she herself might want to follow in that path.

Maura had found it even more painful to explain to Lindo that he might or might not be returning home, and, even if he did, the length of his stay was uncertain. He could come to Tol Fuin for a tiny interlude and be suddenly whisked away, or live there quietly for the remainder of his days. There was no way to predict.

Lindo had looked frustrated as he confronted Maura with a series of questions, "Why didn't you tell me any of this before? I may never see you again. How can you leave your family? And all the time and effort we spent developing the community.... I understand you want to be with Cami, but why can't she come with us?"

Clenching his fists at his side, the young songmaster stood up and, without waiting for a reply, fired over at Zira, "Don't tell me you agreed to this?"

Zira flashed her brother a look of reassurance, "If Maura leaves, I will miss him to the end of my days. But I understand why he must go. I would do the same for my own husband." Her eyes locked onto those of Ban's.

"As far as Cami coming with us, that won't happen. The hobbits in the Anduin face greater danger than those in Tol Fuin. Cami must stay where she is, just as Ancalimon told her."

As Lindo sat down and helplessly pressed his head into his hands, Maura reached out to grip his friend's shoulder. "This is hard to say.... I don't like leaving any more than you like seeing me go. But, Lindo, if you'd had the chance before Gondolin.... the chance to join Niphredil, even if it meant leaving the community you knew, would you have gone?"

Lindo kept his head down for an instant as his fingers tightened their grip on his head. Then he replied in a weary, small voice, "Yes...yes, I would have gone with her."

"That's what I'm trying to do. To stay with my wife and her children and with our young son who'll be born next spring. I must try even if it leads me far from home. But whether our plea will be heard or any action will be taken, no one can say. We have only blind hope."

A painful look spread over Lindo's face. "Even after all these years and the joy I get from my lads, I still miss her... His voice trailed off into silence. "Alright, Maura Tuk. How can I fault you on those terms?" Lindo went on speaking more warmly, "If it wasn't for you, Loremaster, I'd never have begun writing songs. I shall miss you." Then he turned and walked away, with Ban following at his shoulder.

As Cami watched the two hobbits leave, she leaned over to Maura and added, "Stay here with your sister. I need to go out and take a walk by myself, and then say goodbye to Pio and Mithadan."

"You'll come back to our room then?" His tone sounded wistful.

"Yes," she indicated with a rapid shake of her head. As soon as I can. I promise."

With that, Cami slipped out the front gate and began walking earnestly along the road towards Hobbiton. Within less than a quarter hour, she had reached the party fields. Cami could see the graceful mallorn outlined in the middle of the grassy field with its gleeming silver bark. To the south lay the tiny burrows that had once been Bagshot Row, the spot where she used to live. To the north she could glimpse the front windows of Bag-end, now still and silent, where Samwise and his family slept protected. Cami suspected that Frodo had shared his goodbyes with Sam before the end of the party.

So many memories and so much of her past lay here. There were too many goodbyes to hold in a single evening.

As Cami approached the edge of the field, she glimpsed a tall, familiar figure under the crown of the mallorn whose body lay half-concealed in the shadows of the night. She found herself laughing for the first time that evening. I swear she knows what I'm going to do even before I decide to do it! How I shall miss her back home....

[ September 04, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Pio leaned against the mallorn tree, hands tucked behind the small of her back for comfort against the hard trunk. The branches creaked above her echoing the disquiet in her mind. She turned and leaned a cheek against the smooth bark.

I remember you from Eressëa, Old One, and Nísimaldar. And often have I seen you in Lórien, as I passed through, the fragrance of your presence bringing pleasant memories. You leant me comfort in times before. Will you not do the same for me now?

The leaves, heavy with scent, rustled at her words, but their offering could not drive away her sadness this time.

Her thoughts were on Cami, and she could feel the nearing presence of her friend. A sudden and familiar laugh signaled her approach, and Pio stepped forward from the shadows and into the star light, her hand raised in greeting.

‘I was just waiting for you, Cami.’

The tears she had pushed back in her encounter with Lórien inched down her cheeks again, and she rubbed at them with sleeves of her gown. Crying for her own loss and for Cami’s. Back-lit by the moon, the features of her face were cast still in shadow, the tears unseen. She knelt down on the greensward, as her friend drew closer.

I was waiting for you, she thought to herself, watching the moonlight and shadows play on the familiar planes of Cami’s face as she trudged across the field, all my long years . . . and now, when we should be enjoying the pleasure of our children and husbands together, at least for a while, you are torn from me. She took a deep breath and shook her head, chiding herself for selfishness in the face of Cami’s own overwhelming grief.

‘Come sit with me for a while, Cami.’ Pio patted the ground next to her as she sat back, tucking her legs to the side. She pulled the Hobbit close to her, wrapping her arm about her shoulders.

‘I cannot say good-bye to you again,’ she said, resting her chin of the top of Cami’s brown curls. ‘Once, on the banks of the Anduin, is all that I can manage.’

She let her mind drift down to the little life growing inside her friend. ‘Tell me about your son, Cami. What will you name him? And what will he look like? What games will he play? And where? And with whom? And what stories will you tell him at night, when his eyes are heavy with sleep, and he begs for just one more.’

Pio bent down and nestled her cheek against the Hobbit’s for a moment. ‘Tell me all the things you imagine for your little one, Cami. So that I might know him, and think fondly of him and his mother as my own children grow and stretch their wings and push away from me as they must.’

She laughed just a little, the sound catching in her throat. ‘I will think of you, you know, when they are acting horrid, and I find myself wanting someone to commiserate with me. And I will think of you when they have done or said something rather brilliant and want to brag to you. Every stage of growth they meet and pass - your little one will be there, also, in my mind.’ As will you . . .

Pio shifted round to face Cami, taking her hands in hers. ‘Tell me how you will speak to him of the Elf who holds him in her heart. Talk to me of him. Give me the words my children and I will know him by.’

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami knelt on the grass and gazed into her friend’s earnest, questioning face. Pio was right. More sad goodbyes would not help either of them face the burdens that lay ahead. Whatever happened with Maura, whether he came or didn’t come to Greenwood, what joys or sorrows lay ahead for her family, Cami knew things wouldn’t be easy where she was going. Mithrandir had emphasized that fact. However her destiny played out, it would come knocking on her burrow door in just a few short hours. And setting aside her wild dreams and wishes, she was powerless to alter any part of that doom.

The one thing she could control was this tiny speck of time....this single instant that she had with her friend, and perhaps, if she was lucky, a few minutes with Maura back at the Inn. She could waste these precious seconds, throw them away as worthless, because she was drowning in self pity and desperately wanted something more. Or she could meet the moment with some measure of grace and good nature.

Her people had generally managed to do the latter, even in times of hardship and sorrow. Once more a smile played on Cami's lips. How ironic that she needed an Elf to remind her of that. But then Pio was Holly’s daughter too.

Cami sat on the grass and leaned back against the trunk of the mallorn, staring up at the starlit mantle that covered the skies while pondering the question her friend had raised. How can I make them understand? My little ones back home.

She reflected for a while before responding out loud, choosing her words with care, “I will tell my children to look at the skies. That the glittering lights they see are the same ones smiling down on you and your children. That we are all part of one song, and the feelings are still there, even when our families can’t see or touch each other. ”

“And, Pio, show your children this,” Cami scrambled through the pockets of her skirt, fumbling for something she’d mislaid earlier that day. She pulled out a rather crumpled piece of vellum and carefully unfolded and smoothed it out, and then held it up to the moonlight. She glanced shyly over at her friend before offering her the precious sheet. “Please don’t laugh. I drew something for you and Mithadan.”

Pio could glimpse a rough charcoal outline of a hobbit family seated round a campfire with a circle of stars shining down from above. They seemed to be near a river. Cami eagerly sketched out the grey shapes with her finger, "You see, that's me, and the boys, all five of them. Plus, I'm holding my newborn son on my knee. And there's Holly."

Pio gingerly took the gift from Cami and held it closer to her nose while trying to puzzle out the shadowy figure in the foreground. "What's this?" the Elf queried, pointing to another hobbit form, sketched in even more roughly at the very apex of the circle.

"That?" Cami looked down at the ground and squirmed. "That's Maura. I wasn't sure what to do so I put him just half-way in. I figure, one way or another, he'll be there, if only in spirit."

"And this," Cami added hopefully. "This is the best part. Can you tell what it is?"

The Elf smiled and shook her head. "I can't quite make it out."

Cami forged ahead undeterred, "There in the dirt, I've used a stick to draw an outline of our ship and the Star that flew upon her mast, almost like those stars above our own heads."

"I'm telling everyone a story, my little ones and Maura, so they won't forget anything important that we did, certainly not you or Mithadan or your beloved children."

Cami wiggled her toes and sighed, "You said a sword didn't suit me. That it wasn't my weapon. So I drew a picture of me fighting the way I like best...with words. Fighting to hold off forgetfulness and complaisance, to cling to what's important. That's how my children will remember you."

Cami looked sternly at her friend, "I know Mithadan's asleep now, but make sure he sees this tomorrow after I leave, and the twins too once they get older."

Rising from the damp night grass and starting their trek back to the Inn, they halted for a moment at the very edge of the party field for a last look at the golden mallorn and the receding image of Bag-end. Pio carefully tucked the little sheet under her belt and looped her arm around Cami's shoulder. There was silence on the way homeward, as the two friends listened to the soft chirps of crickets and silently wondered what the morning might bring, until they mounted the steps of the Dragon for one final goodbye and parted in the corridor with a gentle hug.

[ September 04, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Bird

Cami had just turned down the hall to her and Maura’s room when the soft flutter of wings grew loud behind her and a sputtering ball of feathers and bony feet came to rest on her right shoulder.

‘Here now! You weren’t thinking of doing your disappearing act without saying good-bye to me, were you?’

Bird fixed Cami with one beady black eye and gave an indignant shake of her tail feathers. She plucked a particularly lovely black and white feather from her tail and handed it to the Hobbit. ‘I followed Pio. Saw the drawing you made for her. Stick this in your pocket and show it to the folks when you’re telling them about me.’ She fluffed out her feathers and preened a bit. ‘Let them know I was your friend in all my guises. And to be mindful of the little critters about them . . . never know when one of them may turn out to be exceedingly helpful.’

The little jackdaw dropped down to the floor changing as she reached it to her human form. She drew Cami into a fierce hug, whispering a few last words to her. By then, the door to Cami’s room had opened slightly, and a slender shaft of soft light poured out followed by Maura’s head, looking hopefully down the hall.

Bird drew back from the hug with a barely concealed sniffle and turned Cami round to face toward the open door. ‘Go on, now. No time for boo-hooing about things we can’t do anything about. Maura’s waiting for you. Go on!’ She gave the Hobbit a little shove in the small of her back that sent her hurrying toward the waiting man.

Then, with a resigned sigh, Bird turned her own steps toward the Common Room. It was empty of customers, and the Innkeeper was abed. There on the shelf below the bar was a bottle of fiery Southron spirits she had spied on one of her late night excursions.

Back in her room, glass in hand, she sat by the open window, feet propped on the sill. There, in the south, just peeking over the dark horizon was Helluin, the Azure Bee. Pio had shown her that cluster of stars many years ago, calling them the Shapechanger’s constellation. Ingil, Ingwë’s son, it was said had followed after Telimektar, the son of Tulkas, when he rose into the sky as Menelmacar, The Swordsman of the Sky. Ingil had taken the shape of a great bee bearing honey of flame and settled at the foot of Telimektar, awaiting the Last Battle and the End of Days.

Bird raised her glass to the southern star and threw back the drink in a single gulp, the fiery liquid burning it’s way down her throat. One more she drank to Cami and the realization of her hopes.

The rest she sipped at slowly, letting the few hours of the night slip by thinking on what she might do when they returned to Minas Anor . . .

[piosenniel]

Gilwen roused up when her mother entered the room, a small cry of protest forming on her lips. Shhh! Let your brother rest, little one. Pio’s hand rubbed lightly on the baby’s back easing her back to sleep.

The light of a single candle burned on the nightstand by her bed as she entered her room. Mithadan had left a light for her. How like him to be so thoughtful. She regarded his sleeping form, his back turned to her, and wondered at the simple pleasure she took in the fact that he had thought of her comfort.

Turning away from him, she changed into a light gown for sleeping, and freed her hair from the confines of the band that held it back, running her fingers through it until it fell in long dark waves about her face and down her back. She fingered the drawing Cami had given her, looking at it one last time, then placed it carefully on the top of the chest of drawers.

‘What is that you’re looking at?’ The soft voice from behind surprised her. Mithadan had turned toward her, his head raised from the pillow and resting on his hand. He drew back the covers and motioned for her to come to bed. She came, bringing the drawing with her, and spread it on the pillow between them.

‘This is a drawing that Cami made for us.’ She recounted for him what had happened that night. How she had followed after Cami and Lórien and witnessed the passing away of Frodo and Bilbo. And how Cami had come to say good-bye beneath the mallorn tree, and all that had passed between them. ‘She is going away for the last time, Mithadan. As is Maura. Each to his own time and place. She is resigned to it. And it grieves me to see her so sad.’

A space of time passed as they spoke quietly to one another. Mithadan had spoken at length with Gamba and then with Maura, he told her, wishing them both farewell. Maura he had wished the same happiness for with Cami and their family, as he shared with Pio. Gamba he had given what hope he could, and reminded him that he would always hold a place in his heart and in his thoughts. There was nothing more they could do now. No course of action to change the situation. When their words had come to an end, Mithadan drew her closer to him. Placing the drawing on the table beside the bed, he blew out the now guttering candle.

They took what comfort they could in each other’s arms, warding off the coming of the day.

[ September 13, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Maura greeted Cami at the doorway, encircling her with his arms, as she leaned forward with her head nestled against the folds of his travelling cloak. Her small body trembled as she fought to hold back tears. There were mugs of hot cider set out on a tray that Maura had brought up from the kitchen just a few minutes earlier. While Cami sipped the steaming brew and the aroma of sweet spices wafted through the room, the couple sat down to talk.

"That was Bird come to wish you well?"

"Aye, I've seen little enough of her in recent days. 'Tis a sadness in my heart. I miss her laughter, her wit, even her grumpiness. But now, there's no time to mend that loss."

"And Pio? You saw her?"

"Yes, in the party field under the mallorn, we spoke of how we would never forget each other. I gave her my sketch, the one I finished yesterday, and asked her to share it with Mithadan."

Cami waited for a moment and then spoke, "Is Holly alright? And the boys, and Rose? I didn't think to ask earlier."

Maura gestured towards a small figure with tangled curls tucked in neatly under the bedcovers. "She was already asleep when I carried her to the Inn. Then I said my good nights to the boys and Rose. They are as well as we could hope."

"Even Gamba?"

Maura nodded soberly, "He is worried about what will happen..."

Cami sighed and looked away. She pushed her chair back from the table and approached the bed, bending down to plant a kiss on Holly's brow and then walked towards the window that overlooked the road. She gazed westward in the direction of Hobbiton as distant memories tugged once again at her mind. "I remember when I was little. Bilbo always said it took a brave heart to set out on the road, since you never know where it might lead. I didn't feel that way before, not even on the Star with all those leagues of water behind us, but tonight I understand exactly what he meant."

When she finally spoke again, her face was pensive, almost bleak, without the hint of any smile or tear, "Maura, I'm afraid. I don't know if I can do this. Maybe Gandalf made a mistake when he told me to come to Greenwood."

"No, Cami, I don't believe that, and neither do you. Whatever happens, we will manage. Both of us. We have our people, our families and our memories, our lore and our ability to know right from wrong. Many in this world have far less than that."

Maura paced over to a small bookshelf in the corner removing a familiar volume whose leather cover was stained and torn, showing the wear of many hands. He glanced down at the old treasure and held it out to Cami.

"Here. Take this. It's yours."

"Maura, no. This is Andreth's journal. It belongs on Tol Fuin."

He responded slowly, choosing his words with care. "This trip has taught me many things. About myself, and us, and our people. The hobbits of Tol Fuin have these tales engraved on their hearts. The words of Finrod and Andreth, the stories of the hills of Dorthonion and the mirrored depths of Tarn Aeluin where the stars glitter in the night. My world remembers this, but yours has forgotten. You must take it with you, and remind them."

"Anyways," he added with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "When I come later, it will be waiting for me."

Without another word, Cami tucked the volume inside her pouch, where she'd also packed the dress Bilbo had given her and a few remembrances of the Shire. She fastened the travel pack about her waist and tightened the buckle.

"What shall we do now?"

"Come sit beside me by the fire. We'll watch it burn down until we fall asleep." He sat cross legged as Cami stretched out on the rug, curling her body about the pack and resting her head in his lap. They both looked on in silence as the tiny tendrils of red-blue flame gradually faded and died, falling into golden embers.

"Maybe I could stay awake forever? Never go to sleep," Cami stared at the glowing remains in the grate still propped up on Maura's knee and stifling a yawn with difficulty.

He glanced at her and laughed. "I think Lorien might have something to say about that."

"I suppose so. But he has nothing to say about the few minutes we have left here. At least, I do not see him in this room."

They drew together in playfulness and affection, and then sat in silence for a spell, each listening to the other's heartbeat. Maura was the first to sense the shimmering curtain of silver mist descending on their heads. Cami looked up in surprise and caught the glimmer of recognition in her husband's face, as he softly murmurred, "It has come."

He watched as Cami's eyelids fluttered, opening and closing, then closing for a final time, her body still warm and quiet within his embrace. Engraving the image upon his heart, he frantically struggled towards consciousness for one last time, vainly attempting to extricate himself from the tangled threads of Lorien's silken web.

Just before the mist enveloped his mind, a final plea took shape flying towards the stars, "For her....let us be together. For her and for our family. And if there is a price to pay in this life or beyond, I will gladly pay it."

Then the curtain of sleep dropped over the Inn, and all within were silent. Only silver ash remained in the grate and slivers of shimmering moonlight reflected off barren walls.

[ September 08, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

In the midst of tenderness and the insistent embrace of love, the sadness seeped in.

It has come. she heard him say, and then, the soft, last desperate plea. For her....let us be together. For her and for our family. And if there is some price to pay in life or beyond, I will gladly pay it . . .

Pio cried out, and she struggled to rise from her bed.

Cami! No!

Mithadan locked her in his embrace, whispering gentle words. ‘I heard them also, Piosenniel. Stay with me. We can do nothing now.’ His lips sought her tear-stained cheeks, and then her lips – gently at first, and then with greater urgency, he plucked their kisses. He drew her down and she lost herself for a space of time in the overwhelming solace of his arms.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Isilmir and Gilwen cared not for the comings and goings of those secondary to their needs. Their cries woke the one they wanted and she came to them, drawing them toward her for comfort and fulfillment. She brought them back to bed with her.

Mithadan was awake and watched their greedy mouths seeking sustenance and the slaking of their needs. Much as I have done. he thought, his fingers resting lightly against her thigh.

The pale fingers of first daylight crept in through the crack in the curtains. The twins, sated, had dropped off to sleep once again, her milk rimming their now slack lips. Pio reached out with her mind for Cami. There was nothing . . . nothing at all . . . nor was there any hint of Maura . . . or of the children . . . and none of Lórien . . .

They are gone, then. she thought to herself, her thoughts spilling over into Mithadan’s awareness. She laid the sleeping twins next to her, and he grasped her hand in sorrowed understanding.

He rose with her, then, drawing his robe around him, and went to Cami and Maura’s room. One ember still lay smoldering in the fireplace. It hissed and popped, breaking apart as they entered the now cold and empty room.

Come with me. she asked of him.

Where is it that you wish to go? he said gently, clasping her hand.

The pond . . . where they dwelt in happiness for a brief time . . . I would say my final good-byes there. She sighed in resignation, a shuddering breath that held back the full extent of her surrender to events she could not alter.

[piosenniel]

Cook was insistent. ‘Elf or no,’ she said, ‘I won’t have you shorting the wee ones for lack of food.’ You’ll eat what I’ve fixed for you,’ she said firmly, ‘and then you can go on about your business.’

It was unclear to the others in the Inn, that morning, what had happened. An obscuring curtain had come down in the night, veiling the events that had taken place. They only knew that when they awoke, something had changed. And that the Elf and the Man were disconsolate in the wake of it.

Buttercup laid out their place settings at the kitchen table, and Ruby poured mugs of strong tea sweetened with honey. A plate of eggs and toast, spread thick with gooseberry jam, was set before each of them. And under the steely-eyed watch of Cook, they made their way through the offering.

For Pio, the food was no more than ash in her mouth. She did not taste it, but shoveled it in, in a perfunctory manner, counting the seconds until she could be away from the walls of the Inn which now pressed in on her. Hob was there, sipping his cup of tea, and she bade him bring round both Mithadan’s horse and her own.

Once done with breakfast, Pio drew on her cloak, pulling it close about her, though the day was dawning warm. A short ride brought them to the pond, and they dismounted, leaving their mounts to graze on the sweet clumps of grass that rimmed it.

The waterfowl were there. Their persistent noises pulling at her attention. I have nothing for you, little ones. No apples from the Hobbit’s store, this time.

We gave your message to him. they insisted with their cries. There should be something for our trouble!

A laugh escaped her - an unnatural sound in the silence that surrounded the water. I had forgotten, little masters! She fished in the pockets of her cloak, finding the toast that Cook had insisted she take with her. Here! This is all I have. She spread the crumbs on the flat rock on which they sunned themselves. I thank you for your words to the Lord of Waters. ‘Though even he,’ she thought quietly to herself, ‘could not hold back the turn of these events.’

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Arm in arm, they walked slowly about the place where Cami and Maura’s burrow had once been. There was little to see. Only ash and rubble . . . a cracked cup where the cupboards had once been, a scattering of burnt clothes, the neglected remains of a doll that had once been dear to little Holly, its sightless face turned up toward an uncaring sky.

It was Mithadan who saw the edges of the books sticking up beneath the carpet of leaves some newly fallen, some burnt. ‘Look!’ he cried, his fingers digging out the tomes that had been buried under the refuse of the Hobbits’ fallen home. ‘’It’s the one thing left intact, it seems.’ He held them up, beckoning Pio to come nearer.

She took them from his hands, cradling them as if they were precious jewels. ‘Cami’s,’ she remarked, turning the untitled stack in her slender fingers. ‘She hadn’t looked at them yet,’ she said, noting the thin leather cord that bound them still. Pio tucked them under her arm, and poked through the ashes a little while longer.

There was nothing more. It was all gone. The ashes of Cami and Maura’s brief life here had been picked up in the morning breeze and scattered . . .

Pio knelt down among the burnt remains of the small bedroom. There among the blackened feathers of the pillows and the ragged remains of the ticking that marked where the bed had been, she reached out her hand and stirred the cold ashes where the little family had dreamed their dreams.

‘Eru grant you the grace of your wishes realized,’ she murmured.

She stood, tucking the books beneath her arm, and made for her horse. Mithadan, pausing where she had knelt, put his right hand to his chest, and spoke clearly, his back against the rising sun. ‘The grace of the Valar be with you and Maura.’ Then he stepped away, following her, their steps leading them for the last time away from this place and to that where their own family awaited . . .

[ September 08, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Three days after Cami and Maura’s departure

The breakfast dishes were done and dried, the kitchen swept up, the big kettle dragged out and put on the hob for the dinner soup. Ruby and Buttercup sat at the kitchen table, a diminishing pile of vegetables in front of them to be chopped up and simmered in the kettle’s broth.

Cook took her cleaver to the chickens Hob had brought in, chopping them into good sized pieces. The mound of them and the herbs she had snipped earlier would go into the kettle first. She scrubbed up her chopping board once done, and counted the loaves of bread she had left from the morning’s meal. Wiping her hands on her apron, she looked round the kitchen with a satisfied smile. All was in order once again.

‘When you’re done there,’ she said, eyeing the growing pile of cubed tubers and vegetables ‘go on and help out with the rooms to be cleaned and tidied. It’s mid month and the fellows from Buckland should be here with their cartloads of supplies from Bree. We’ll want to make sure the rooms are ready for them.’

‘I’ll do it!’ cried Buttercup, laying down her knife on her cutting board. ‘You finish this and I’ll start on the other.’ Ruby nodded in agreement with her; she was loath to pick up a dust rag and broom at the moment, preferring to finish the task before her, and then sit back with a cup of tea, if she might.

Broom and cloth in hand, Buttercup trudged down the hall to the room just a way beyond Mistress Piosenniel’s. Pio’s door was wide open, and as she snuck a peek in, in passing, she noted Mithadan methodically packing piles of things into wooden crates. She could not help giggling when he called out to the Elf, unseen by her, in a mockingly exasperated voice. ‘You came here on horseback, Piosenniel. How in the Sundering Seas did you manage to collect so much . . . stuff!’ He winked at Buttercup as she stood in the doorway. ‘Don’t tarry too long, Hobbit. I’ll draft you into packing all this up!’

Buttercup laughed and backed out of the doorway, just as Pio came into view. ‘Do not take him seriously, Buttercup. He is master of the Lonely Star crew, but not the Inn!’ Mithadan Hmmmphed at her and reached for another crate. ‘And besides,’ confided Pio in a loud whisper, ‘he can be quite fussy in how things are stowed away for a journey.’ The two watched as he fitted . . . and sometimes jammed, various items into the crate. ‘Really!’ assured Pio to the skeptical Hobbit, ‘there is a method to his seeming madness.’ Another Hmmmph! followed, and a request that perhaps the ladies could find something else to do and let a poor man get his work done. Pio bent to give him a quick kiss, noting he held the bound stack of books in his hand they had found by the pool. ‘Oh, let me deal with those,’ she said, taking them from him. ‘I shall just put them with the items I am packing. With any luck, I can look through some of them on our trip back to Minas Tirith.’

‘Wait for me, Buttercup. Let me just put these in the back room.’

The sound of her hurrying footsteps faded away and then returned just as quickly. ‘I am going to the kitchen for a mug of tea. Is that where you are bound?’

The Hobbit explained that Cook had requested the rooms be cleaned for the guests expected that day. ‘I’m just going down to do that little room, down the hall, then I’ll work my way upstairs.’

‘. . . that little room . . . The phrase rolled around in Pio’s mind as she walked with Buttercup. She had avoided ‘that little room’ – the one where Cami and Maura had been - since the brief visit the morning after their “departure”. Hadn’t wanted to see it, to be reminded again that her friend and her family had spent their last minutes there. Reluctant, in a way, to be prompted with anything that would bring the stinging memories of the loss flooding in again.

As it was, she had no reason to be worried. The room was tidy, the bed unslept in, a few odds and end lay in the bottom of the clothes cupboard. Most of their possessions had gone up in smoke, she recalled, when the ruffians had come to the Shire.

Buttercup was at the side of the bed, stripping it of its sheets and covers. Pio stepped over to her, saying she would give her a hand. ‘Extra hands make light work,’ she said, then catching the words as they came from her, smiled. Some one had taught her that phrase. Cami most likely, reminding the Elf that Hobbits preferred to work together to get a thing done rather than alone.

A small cry wrenched her from her thoughts. ‘Oh, now, what’s this,’ hissed Buttercup, stepping back from her side of the bed. She had jammed her toes up against something, and now stood with one foot propped on the bed, rubbing them.

Pio knelt down, and reached her hand into the dark interior under the bed. ‘Hmmm. What is this?’ she asked, fishing out the offending item.

She gasped as she hauled it into the light. It cannot be! She gave that journal to Andril on the Star. The leather bound day book she found under the bed looked much like the one Cami had left out for them to write in on the Star. The leather cover was worn, like that first one she remembered, but not smudged by the imprint of numerous fingers from the hands of all those who had written in it as they passed by the open door to the Hobbit’s room. Cami had usually left the Star journal lying open on her table for anyone to come and have a look. She had encouraged her friends to add their own thoughts into the narrative. Those scattered notes had been like a trail of memory that bore witness to all they had seen.

Pio ran her fingertips over the soft leather of the day book, remembering something her friend had said to her back then. She could see Cami just taking up her quill to write a few comments at the end of a day. Hopeful ones she had told her friend, who lay resting on her bed beside her, head propped up on her hand, as she watched the Hobbit dip the quill into the inkwell, then carefully rub off the excess before laying it to the vellum. There was a quiet rhythm to her movements, and a pleasure in setting words upon a blank surface reflected in her face.

‘Hopeful?’ Pio had asked, catching at least part of what the Hobbit spoke to her. ‘You mean you are certain how this will end and this gives you hope?’ She remembered that she, herself, had not been hopeful, finding it too slippery a concept to base one’s actions on – or at least that is how she had reasoned it out at that time.

Cami had put down her quill and looked closely at her friend. ‘No, Pio. I’ve learned that certainties are few. For even as one story ends, another begins. And it is rare for people to recognize in their own lives where that point of transition is.’

There had followed a comfortable silence as she recalled. The scritch . . . scritch . . . of the quill point against the paper the only sound in the room. Pio had lain back against the pillows, her eyes closed, thinking about endings and beginnings. It was a lesson, she realized now, that had surfaced, would continue to surface, again and again, as she made her way through this life she had chosen.

A flurry of activity drew her attention away from the unopened book she held in her hand. Buttercup had unfurled the clean sheets and was busy making up the bed. She nodded at Pio. ‘I wonder who left that behind,’ she said. ‘For the life of me, I can’t recall who last stayed in this room.’ Pio said nothing, but left her to her bed-making and took the daybook back to her room.

[piosenniel]

Mithadan looked up, and seeing the pensive look on her face, bade her sit down next to him. She put the journal in his hands, and he flipped through it casually. ‘Most of the pages are blank,’ he said, ‘but it was Cami’s, sure enough. Her hand is a familiar one.’ He ran his finger over the last entry in it, half finished it appeared. A quick note of excitement - that in a day her hand-fasting to Maura would occur.

‘So much happened after that,’ murmured Pio, leaning close against him as they looked at earlier entries. ‘She didn’t have time to finish it.’

He reached up and brushed a long strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘We’re almost done here,’ he said, gently changing the subject. ‘Shall I pack this carefully away for you . . . until later, perhaps?’ She shook her head, the curling tendril falling forward again to brush against the pages. ‘No, I think I will keep it handy. No use to waste it. I can end the story for her, the one that was begun here. I can remember it for her and put it on these pages. And begin the story that carries on with those left in this place and time.

Camelia Goodchild Tuk! You little sneak! Pio laughed, fingering the edges of the leather cover. Another lesson for the Elf. I taught you the use of a blade, and now you will teach me the intricacies of the quill.

Mithadan grinned at her. Always the teacher, eh? Are you up to the challenge this time? He placed the daybook back into Pio’s hands, and she grasped it firmly.

So be it, Cami! You will find me an apt pupil, I think.

[ September 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Two more days found the family finally ready to go. The good-byes had all been said, and there were promises made that letters would be sent. The Inn staff was teary, as the last of the crates were loaded into the small wagon drawn by two sturdy Shire ponies. And even Amaranthas had been seen to dab quickly at her eyes with the lace hanky that was in her hands. She gave Pio one last hug, before the Elf climbed up to the wagon seat, and handed her a loaf of her seedcake, wrapped in a clean linen towel. Bird eyed it greedily, and Amaranthas surprised her by handing her one as well. Gilly she instructed one last time to take good care of those babies, to which the young Hobbit nodded her head vigorously in agreement.

The Old Dragon caught Mithadan off guard, when she bade him crouch down by her and then clasped him in a fierce hug. ‘You’re not the scallywag I first thought you,’ she said, fixing him with her beady black eyes. ‘You’re a stand up fellow, respectable even.’ She stepped back a little and wagged her finger at him. ‘Best you take good care of her, though,’ she admonished him. ‘She’s a right treasure, and you’re lucky to have her.’ He looked at her solemnly, a gentle smile on his face. ‘And one last thing,’ she said, her expression mirroring his. ‘Don’t let her go traipsing off once you get her home. And don’t you go haring off on some business of your own when the next baby’s due.’

She stepped away, her ear tips a little crimson, when he kissed her on the cheek and swore to her he would do better.

Finally all were mounted up. Mithadan on his horse. Gilly and Pio on the seat of the wagon, Gilwen and Isilmir safe in a basket between them. Falmar was tied to the back of the wagon, and ambled along contentedly at the leisurely pace set by the little group. Bird, for this part of the trip, was content to sit on Pio’s shoulder, the occasional contented neek-breek sounding from her. Those in the wagon waved at the little crowd in the Inn yard, until the final turning in the road, when they could no longer be seen.

Then, they turned their faces eastward, heading home.

[piosenniel]

Two months later – leaving Firien Wood, heading southeast

Bird had elected to travel, at least for this while, as the jackdaw and sat perched on the handle of the brake at Pio’s side. Only half a month more of travel and barring any catastrophe, they would be in Minas Tirith.

The twins were napping, and Gilly sat, head nodding, not too far from sleep herself. Mithadan had gone on down the path, scouting the way ahead. Bored with the unending scenery of trees and hills, Bird fluttered up to Pio’s shoulder and brought her beak close to Pio’s ear, settling in for a chat. The prospect of being able to put her plans into action with a little of the funds that were hers excited her, and she talked at length about what she had planned.

The Elf, for her part, was happy for her friend, promising that she would poke about in the city’s library for any references to shapechangers. They fell to talking about Cami, and how she had been a great one for ferreting out information from the scrolls and tomes in the stacks.

Pio let the ponies amble along and brought out her daybook, showing Bird her newest entry of their trip so far. There was a small sketch of the jackdaw perched on the rim of the twins’ basket she had done one recent evening when they’d stopped for the night, and Bird turned her head this way and that, giving it a critical appraisal.

There were other small drawings on other pages, and Bird looked through them as Pio turned the pages, noting how she had captured the likenesses. One she chuckled over – a picture of Amaranthas leaning up against Angara, both their eyes fixed on the viewer, challenging them to refute some opinion they had just given. ‘That would have been an interesting meeting to have witnessed, eh, Bird?’

No response was forthcoming from her friend. Pio looked up to see Bird giving her a considering look. ‘There was something that Amaranthas said when we left, something that lay in the back of my mind. This picture just prompted it back into focus.’

Bird looked down to where Isilmir and Gilwen lay nestled together, their backs touching one another; then glanced back at her companion, who sat grinning slyly at her.

‘You’re not,’ said Bird, fluffing her feathers and giving them a shake.

‘We are,’ said, Pio, looking into the distance where Mithadan, astride his horse, now picked his way back to the wagon.

‘Her name will be Cami in the Mannish tongue, which is how she will be known by most.’ Pio grinned at the little jackdaw. ‘To me she will be Eresseleniel.’

Mithadan drew up alongside the wagon, looking down at the daybook opened on Pio’s knees. ‘What are you two talking about,’ he said craning his neck to see the pictures. His brow furrowed at the picture of Amaranthas and Angara. And he frowned down at Bird, who was hopping back and forth on Pio’s shoulder.

She looked at the twins, then fluffed her feathers once again, and shook them. Launching herself from her fleshy perch, she flew up to the Man and settled in on his shoulder, pulling at a strand of his silvered hair. ‘We’re talking about the family, Mithy . . . you . . . Pio . . . and the triplets . . .’

‘Triplets?’

‘Yes,’ cackled the little jackdaw, ‘Gilwen, Isilmir, and the one due in nine months.’

‘One . . . due . . .?’

‘Is there and echo in here?’ chortled Bird, hopping up and down with glee. ‘Your other daughter . . . Cami.’

‘Cami?’ His gaze snapped round to Pio, who simply nodded her head ‘yes’.

A wide grin split his face, followed by a deep belly laugh. The two looked at him, awaiting an explanation.

‘Well, then,’ he said, a smug look on his face. ‘Triplets it is!’ He grinned again.

‘Elvish triplets!’

[piosenniel]

A month later, and they had reached Minas Tirith and settled in for the while. Bird had stayed for a time, and they delighted in her company. But soon she grew restless, the confines of the city hemming her in she said. Bird left it to Pio to scour the library as she promised, while she took a pouch of coins and headed south and east, as she had been planning.

Another month passed before Pio unpacked all that had been brought back from the Shire. One of the last things looked through being the worn leather pack she had thrown into the corner of their bedroom. It was a fair autumn afternoon when she did so. Mithadan was at the docks, seeing to the Star – a trading voyage was soon to happen and he was finishing up the details of it. Gilly had bundled the twins up and taken them for a short stroll down to a friend’s house.

There were five books in the packet jammed at the bottom of the pack. Four were cloth bound and appeared to come each from a different part of the Shire. They were little logs that the post deliverers had kept over the years. Accounts of letters - who they had gone to and who had sent them; parcels that had been delivered; complaints that had been made; new routes that had been added. And interspersed among all these little notations were other items of interest – new babies; the deaths of family members, expected and unexpected; who was ill; who was in trouble; who was getting married; and on and on. All the little news that the postal deliverers were privy to. A wealth of information for someone who loved the history of things as Cami did.

It was the last book, leather bound and secured shut with a thin leather cord wrapped round it, that intrigued her. It looked as if it had been someone’s daily companion. The surface of the covers was worn smooth from much handling, and the leather edges that overhung the pages looked as if they had been grasped often, their rims stained darker from the oils of the fingers that had often held them in their grip.

She untied the cord and opened the front cover. Stuck against the front page was a dried yellow flower, five petalled set against its heart-shaped leaves. It stirred a memory in her, of Amaranthas’ garden, and the wood sorrel that grew in the shady areas beneath the trees.

Carefully turning the page and flower, Pio gasped as she saw the faded and familiar script on the second page. Heart pounding, she sat down on the edge of her bed, holding the journal open on her knees. Her fingers traced the lines of words on the page as she read them . . .

[piosenniel]

The ink was faded, almost a pale grey against the surface of the vellum, now lightly yellowed from the passage of many years. On the page, the words centered carefully, was written:


~*~ Being the Account of Camelia Goodchild Tuk ~*~

- Year 1000 of the Third Age: After Her Return to Greenwood -


“Tuk” had been lined through, once, she noted, and above it, printed in legible letters, was the single word, “Zaragamba”.

Pio’s heart was racing, and her hand shook as she tracked the letters of that familiar script. She took a deep breath, steadying herself as she let it out slowly.

This was Cami’s journal! From her time in Greenwood. How had it come to be hidden in the ashes of her burned down house by the Bywater Pool?

There had been a thin envelope, she recalled, stuck between the cover of the first book of the stack, one of the Postal ledgers. Pio had pulled it out and laid it on the bed beside her, thinking to look at it later. Some letter, undelivered, she thought, stuck in the daybook by one of the post men. Now she picked it up, and fished out the thin piece of paper, its brief message written in a bold hand.

It was a note from Merry Brandybuck, written to his friend and fellow author, Pippin Took. He had recently come upon a number of interesting books concerning events pertinent to Shire history and hadn’t had time as yet to look through all of them. Would Pippin, he asked, be so good as to look through the lot he was sending him, and they could discuss their merits at their next meeting. Four of the books, he thought, might interest Mister Bilbo’s old student – Cami. Would Pippin see that she got the chance to look at them?

At the bottom of the note, were a few sentences penned by Pippin. Hope you enjoy looking through these books, he had written Cami. And asked her to take a few notes for him and Merry; then send them onto the Mathom House if she thought them worthy of keeping.

‘Oh, Cami!’ cried Pio laughing through her tears at the twist of fate that had hidden the answers to Cami’s questions and wonderings. ‘Here was the treasure, right under your feet.’

She turned the page and glanced quickly at the first entry. With a gasp she took in the barebones of it, then closed the ledger, her hand touching firmly against the leather cover. Mithadan would be home later in the evening. This is something that he should see, that he would want to see. They would read it together, when the evening’s routines had been seen to.

Pio opened the drawer to her bedside table, and fitted the ledger in. She could hear Gilly and the twins returning from their visit. They would need to be washed and fed, and then a light supper made and kept for the rest of them as they awaited the return of Mithadan.

Giving a last glance at the little table, Pio hurried from the bedroom. Duties to be seen to before desires were met . . .

[piosenniel]

Child and Pio's collaborative post

‘Oh leave the drying up for tonight. I have found something you must see.’

Supper had been seen to and its aftermath. Gilly and Mithadan had put the babies down for the night, and easy task this evening since their excursion earlier had worn them out. Gilly had fixed a cup of tea for herself and taken it back to her room. During supper, Mithadan had mentioned several letters he was sending out tomorrow and she wanted to finish her own to her family in Waymeet and have it sent along.

Mithadan came back to the kitchen and picked up a towel, intending to dry the dishes that Pio’s hands were flying over. He laughed at the distracted frenzy of the dishwasher as she scraped the burnt on crust from the final pan and commented that perhaps he should get out the mop instead, seeing the quantity of soapy water that had splashed onto the floor from her hurried actions. Her mind only half on what he'd said, she nodded at his words as she hurriedly rinsed the cleaned pan and stacked it precariously on the pile with its fellows. A quick wring of the dishrag followed, and then it was flung unceremoniously over the side of the sink.

And now he found himself flying down the hall after her, his hand gripped by her still wet one, toward their bedroom. The pan of soapy water, left to its own fortunes, still sat in the sink.

‘Hold up, a moment!’ he said, planting his feet firmly on the floor as they crossed the threshold. ‘What’s all this rush about!’ She loosened her grip on his hand, almost causing him to fall backwards and ran to her little bedside table, pulling open the drawer to remove the ledger.

‘This!’ she cried an edge of excitement evident in her expression. She sat down on the bed, her back up against the headboard and motioned for him to sit next to her. ‘Look what I discovered in that stack of books we found by the Bywater Pool.’ Curious, he took the plain looking leather-bound book from her, wondering what was in it that would make the Elf shiver in anticipation.

A gasp escaped him as he opened it up and read the first page. ‘Cami’s journal!’ She nodded at him, her eyes glinting in their eagerness. ‘I have not read it yet,’ she said as she turned the page to the first entry. She leaned back against the headboard, shoving a pillow behind the small of her back for comfort.

‘Go on’, she said softly, nudging him with her hand. ‘Read it to me . . .’

~*~


Three days have passed since my return to Greenwood. I feel I must set something down in this ledger, although I had hoped for a sweeter tale . . .

Mithadan’s voice caught as he read the inauspicious beginning, but Pio’s hand, resting against him, gave a little pat, urging him to go one.

I have neither seen nor heard from Maura. I can only suppose that Bilbo’s plea was not heard, or that the Powers beyond Arda have listened and chosen not to grant our wish.

But this is not the end of it. When I first awoke in the morning, I found little Mo and Ban curled up asleep and, within a moment or two Rose was sprinting down the path to welcome me from where she’d been staying with a friend. But there has been no sign of the others, despite the passage of time.

I spend my days searching through our village or traveling to nearby hobbit settlements to inquire if anyone has caught a glimpse of a small Stoor lass with blond curls and laughing blue eyes. The Elders glance at me strangely for there are no children in our area who fit Holly’s physical description.

The night that Lorien brought my three elder sons to the Dragon, the boys had been camped in Greenwood with Will and Hob Greenbottle. The latter are accounted responsible and levelheaded hobbits as well as the finest huntsmen in our settlement. With my blessing, and after begging for permission, Gamba, Asta, and Roka had traveled with the Greenbottles and several of the ‘tweeners on a two-week trek deep into the woods to secure needed provisions for winter. Their return is now several days overdue, and the Elders are becoming nervous.

Yet I will not give up hope. I wonder if Lorien could have some part in these mishaps, not intentionally, of course, but by careless oversight or blunder. Still, this would not explain the disappearance of an entire hunting party from the forest, a group that included nine hobbits as well as the ponies that they had taken with them.

Written with a heavy heart, the 18th day of Blotmath, shortly after Rose and I finished our supper

[piosenniel]

Child and Pio’s collaborative post

‘We knew it would be grim at times.’ Mithadan had come to the end of the entry, his face grave. ‘Still, logic doesn’t make the reality of it any easier.’ His words trailed off, his heart heavy at the thought of what fate his friends may have met.

Pio sat up, taking the ledger onto her own lap. Having already wiped the beginning of tears from her own eyes, she reached up her hand and stroked his cheek gently. ‘Let me read the next,’ she said softly, perhaps another day brings better news.’

~*~

Another two days have passed since my last journal entry. There is a cold chill in the air and, from the look of the animals storing up nuts and seeds, our winter will be a harsh one. I have already seen a snowflake or two.

It is a strange thing. If I had returned here to find Maura missing and my children gathered about me, I might have spent time grieving or mired in lethargy. But given the situation, I feel compelled to put all that behind me and work day and night to do whatever I can to help.

Yesterday, I again took my seat in the circle of Elders and pleaded my case, supported by the other families who are also missing kin. To our eternal gratitude, the Elders have finally agreed that we must do something other than sitting on our hands waiting for bad news to arrive. An armed search party will leave on the morrow to journey deep within the woods and hunt for any signs of those who are missing. Despite the hesitation of some, the scouts readily agreed to accept both of us in this group. Rose and I promised to carry a bow and blade, and to fight if we encounter trouble. My neighbor Lilac has agreed to look after my young ones while I am away.

Pio, if only I could speak with you and see your face! You once said that a sword did not become me. You are probably right. Yet this world is so full of sorrow and conflict that I sometimes feel impelled to take up weapons, even when my heart is not in the act. And I can think of nothing more precious to guard than the lives of our children. Still, whenever I gird a blade on my right hip, I will make sure to tuck a healer’s kit into my saddlebag, since folk will surely have need of the latter. If only the world went differently...


Written before a blazing hearth under a full moon on the 20th of Blotmath, with my satchel already packed for the morning.

[piosenniel]

Child and Pio’s collaborative post

‘No, do not take it from me yet. Let me read one more. If we read long enough there must be some hope that informs the fading ink of these grim words.’

Pio reached out to Isilmir and Gilwen, glad that they were safe in their own little bed. Her heart ached for Cami, faced with the possibility of never seeing her children again, as her arms ached to take the long gone Hobbits within the protective circle of their reach.

“Indeed . . . if only the world went differently . . .” She dried the last of the tears with her sleeve, and read on.

~*~

The weather grows colder as freezing rain falls on our heads. The ponies slip and slide on the trail, struggling to keep their feet on firm ground.
Still, until the weather changed, we made steady progress. It took two days to trek eastward on the Old Forest Road, almost sixty miles inside the borders of Greenwood. Now we are heading northward trying to reach the foothills of the Mountains, where we know the brothers intended to set up their final camp and search for game.

Just before we veered off the road, we ran into another hunting party that was bound for home, this one a group of woodland Elves taking shelter under a ridge as they waited for the weather to change. By chance, the Elf in charge of this band was Legolas who promised to leave his fellows on their homeward trek and aid us in our search for the missing hobbits. Perhaps he is doing this out of respect for his pledge to Radagast. Whatever the reason, I am thankful for this stroke of luck, if luck be.

‘Let us hope that this chance meeting heralds a turn of the luck she speaks speaks about,’ Mithadan murmured. His eyes were closed as she read, Cami’s face and little figure playing across his mind as the search continued.

Legolas has lived here many years and knows the forest well. He says some hidden evil has begun to extend its shadow over the trees. Just a sliver, nothing more, but he fears it will grow worse and someday claim all of Greenwood as its own. I do not know what to say. I can feel the rain and cold and the dull ache in my heart, but I see no sign of great evil. But he is an Elf, and sees things that are hidden from me. I only hope that Gamba and his brothers are somewhere dry, warm, and safe, and that Maura has found some measure of peace.

Scribbled out with stiff, blue hands in front of our small campfire, the evening of 23rd Blotmath—my inkwell is half frozen.

[piosenniel]

Child and Pio’s collaborative post

Pio rubbed her hands together as if they were cold and stiff from the chill of that winter’s day. ‘It cannot have been the Necromancer, yet,’ she said, considering the words of Thranduil’s son. ‘Still, even before he came to Amon Lanc, there must have been a few of his minions seeking to cause what troubles they might in his dark service. Her words here chill me more than the thought of that meager fire hissing in the icy rain.’

Mithadan chafed her hands in the heat of his, and drew one of the coverlets folded at the end of the bed about her. ‘Lean against me, for warmth,’ he prompted her, taking the ledger onto his own lap. ‘Let me read for a while.’

~*~

The rain has stopped, and we are making good progress.

Late this afternoon, Legolas led us to the hobbit encampment, or rather what was left of it. It lies within the foothills, in a clearing protected and half-hidden by a hedge of overhanging gorse bushes. On the ground there is clear evidence of a fierce conflict that raged here no more than a week ago.

We saw the half-mangled bodies of four ponies looking as if some giant bird of prey had attacked them, lying cold and stiff on the ground and frozen into place. We managed to round up three stray mounts, one of whom belonged to my eldest son. Thankfully, I saw no dead hobbits, but there is a newly built mound that fills my heart with dread. Still, whatever may lie within those rocks, someone had to be alive to dig it, and evil creatures would not take the time to bury their dead.

There was a small gasp; a half strangled ‘no!’ as Pio leaned against him heavily, peeking at the place where his finger marked the passage on the cairn.

From that point, Legolas guided our party further up the slope on the path he feels the hobbits took. We skirted the lower ridge of the mountain and clambered over a narrow rocky ledge where there were further indications that a struggle had taken place. In the midst of one clearing lay the body of an Orc.

None of the other hobbits in our party even knew what the creature was. I know too well from my days in Beleriand. Legolas was not surprised. Such things are not common in Greenwood, but the Elves have seen small Orc bands in recent months and these seem to be increasing in number.

Legolas has assured us that at least some of those in camp made it to safety, apparently fleeing deeper into the hills. He seemed puzzled by the great nets and traps that had been expertly laid out on the hillside. He questioned the lads to find out if there were any hobbits who’d had prior experience battling Orcs. Apparently, someone had devised a clever plan to outwit the brutes, someone who understood the ways and weaknesses of these creatures. Not only was one Orc killed but two fled on foot.

I have kept my counsel to myself. We are to camp tonight in this mournful place and resume our journey on the morrow deeper into the hills.

Nervously awaiting the return of the sun, 24th Blotmath.

[piosenniel]

Child and Pio’s collaborative post

I have kept my counsel to myself . . .

Mithadan’s arm was clasped hard in the Elf’s grip. ‘Take a breath, Piosenniel!’ he ordered gently. His quiet chuckle broke the gloom that seemed to wrap round them, as his fingers eased hers from their grasp. ‘I, too, am hopeful that Cami’s thoughts on this are the same as ours.’

The first few words, though, that began the next entry caused them both to frown. And Mithadan circled her with his arm, drawing her close, their heads just touching, as they took turns reading the words that flowed down the page.

~*~

Today I have bittersweet words to set down in this journal . . .

It is a tale that’s messy and hard to understand—--really not much different than life itself. There are parts filled with sadness, and others with joy. I can’t pretend to understand the meaning behind all these events. The most important point is this: my family is back. All of my family. Back in my crowded burrow, tumbling and sleeping and jostling one another. Squabbling and working and building memories. It’s all that I can ask.

I have pieced this story together bit by bit, questioning those who survived the Orc attack and attempting to fill in the holes where the course of events was uncertain. The tale given below probably leaves out many things, but it is the best that I could manage.

First, our own party of hunters was not the only group traversing the wilds of Greenwood. A band of Stoors was cutting through the woods on their way down towards the southern reaches of the Anduin in hopes of enjoying a milder winter. It was a large family group---mother, father, young lads and lasses, even a tiny miss in her mother’s front sling. I do not know the name of this family but dearly wish that I could discover it.

It is clear that the Orcs attacked these poor folk in their camp, late one night in the foothills of the mountains. Seemingly, no one was left alive. The Orcs took what they wanted from the carnage, but left several of the hobbit bodies lying untouched on the forest floor.

The story does not end here. Within a few hours another traveler came wandering down this same path, a tall hobbit in the prime of his years with silver hair and grey eyes who had no memory of where he had come from or what errand had been entrusted to him. He stumbled upon the bloodied encampment and immediately sensed what had happened. There was something in his mind that understood this kind of thing, as awful as it was.

Since it was daytime and he knew the Orcs would not return till late that night, he set out to construct a simple cairn. When he came to lift the mother’s body and lay it gently within the grave, he was startled to find a tiny child nestled in the mother’s front sling, a chubby toddler with blond curls whose heart still beat. As he raised the babe up to have a look, she whimpered and began to cry. He took the living child, cradled her to his body, and found her food to eat
.
This is how the Greenbottles and their companions found my own dear Maura and Holly late that afternoon in the very same campsite near the base of the hills. Maura had no memories of where he came from or who his family was. He gave his name as ‘Merimac Zaragamba’, and this is what the Greenbottles called him and my own sons as well. Later on, Gamba told me he thought he’d met him somewhere before but couldn’t quite place him. Only Rose and I seem to see him with true eyes.

That night the same scene repeated, with three Orcs attacking the camp, expecting to wreck havoc and come away with their dinner, leaving only bloodied bodies behind. But this time, they were mistaken. Although a number of the ponies were slain at the base camp, Merimac hastily led the lads on a wild chase up the slopes to a treacherous rocky ledge where they’d constructed a number of obstacles and traps. Only nimble hobbit feet could navigate this precarious spot. In the end one Orc was killed and two fled in terror.

The victory came at a price with many of the nine hobbits grievously wounded. How they managed to drag themselves higher up the cliff, I cannot imagine. Unable to travel any further, they hid in a protected cavern, hoping that aid would come their way before the depths of winter. Gamba still has a cracked rib and Asta has a shoulder wound that’s healing nicely, but Roka’s leg was broken and the pain is considerable. It was beyond my skill to set, although Legolas did the trick very neatly. Even so, Roka will probably walk with a limp for the rest of his life. Only Merimac escaped with no injury.

Oh, Pio and Mithadan and Bird, how I wished you’d been there! Not only to share in our family’s joy, however tempered it may be, but for a very practical reason. We could have used your muscle and bulk to help us return home. We had an assortment of injured hobbits to care for, most of whom were unable to walk. We built sledges so that the ponies could drag those most grievously wounded back towards our settlement, but others needed help walking and Holly was still so frightened that I carried her in my arms.

I said that Merimac escaped with no real injury, but that is not actually true. There are injuries to the body and others to the mind. And it is the latter that has stricken Maura. Whether this came from the dangers of Greenwood, or some time before, we cannot say. He remembers nothing, absolutely nothing about what happened to him in his earlier life. When I say the name 'Zira' or 'Ban' or mention 'Tol Fuin', his face shows no recognition. All his Elvish language and lore has vanished, his knowledge of the Valar and Eru, and even his ability to read the common speech. Most frustrating of all, he does not remember me. Sometimes it tears at my heart to see him this way, yet he himself seems to accept this puzzling situation with singular grace and composure.

Yet it is not so bad for me either. He is still Maura, the same gentle man I knew. If he does not know the Powers by name, he still does their bidding in his heart. He is patient and loving to me and already I can see that his feelings are still there, even if he does not fully understand them. While it may sound cocky or overconfident, I am certain that he will choose me for his own very quickly, just as he chose me in Beleriand, and again in the Shire. And this time, there will be a child, perhaps more if Elbereth smiles on us.

Gamba idolizes Meri as a great Orc killer and already the Elders are saying what a fine military leader he will make if the Orcs continue their incursions into the area.

Whatever happens, I am well content. I asked for a chance to make new memories and that is exactly what I have been given. The old ones are gone. Whether or not they will return, I do not know. But I will not sit around fretting and fuming. I have been granted enough strength to turn the page and go on.

It would be a grievous thing and impolite to accept such a blessing without a nod of thanks to Bilbo and, even more importantly, to the Power who granted our plea in whatever form or fashion. And to you, my distant friends, on Meneltarma and Eressea and, most of all, in Minas Tirith, I wish that you were here to laugh with me…..nay, with all of us. We will not forget.

Written in joy before my warm hearth, this 30th day of Blotmath

[piosenniel]

Pio lay back on the bed, laughing. The chill of the previous entries in the journal had gone, and now a certain warmth and satisfaction coursed through her. The plea had been answered; the hope longed for, now realized. She sat back up and watched as Mithadan flipped casually through the remaining pages.

‘More good news?’ she commented, leaning in against him to see the page he had open before him.

‘Yes, for the most part, but no, too.’ His eyes held a faraway look. ‘There were many joys along the way for our companions and their families. And Cami has written them down faithfully, ever the chronicler to the end.’ He turned the pages to various entries he had skimmed. ‘Look here,’ he said, pointing with his finger to them as he went along.

Her eyes delighted in the entries he showed her. Here was the marriage of Came and Maura. ‘No, Merimac it is,’ she reminded herself firmly. And here the births of their children. Rory first. ‘So that is what she called him!’ she thought, rolling the sound on her tongue and well as in her mind.

‘A good name,’ said Mithadan, giving her hand a squeeze. ‘But look here.’

‘A daughter, too!’ Pio grinned at the entry. ‘And she has named her Daisy! Little Holly must be pleased to be the older sister of such a likely crew.’

Ah! So this is where your ‘no’ comes in, does it not? He nodded, as she continued. Our happiness for them tempered by the understanding that they are all long gone from us. Now the faraway look was in her eyes - reminded that these little ones, so close in age to her children would never be their playmates, companions through childhood, or friends in old age.

He leafed through the pages, pushing further into the story of their companions. There was Rose, grown up now, and marrying. Having children of her own. Here the marriages and families begun for Holly, Rory, and Daisy.

And Gamba! Married! He had found some peace in his life, she hoped.

Faithfully tracked were the places the families had moved to and settled in. Cami, she noted, had moved at last to Rivendell. She could picture her dear friend there. Nosing happily through the many rooms and shelves of the library. She laughed, sharing the image with Mithadan - the Elf who oversaw it bending his tall frame to speak with the little, grey haired Hobbit in whispered conference as they looked through one scroll and then the next. Both happy to have found another who delighted in the riches of history.

‘I wonder what other writings of hers are there,’ mused Pio, out loud. ‘The Elves – would they take them with them as they sail West . . . or would we find them still there in the dustless rooms, tucked away carefully on a low shelf.’

‘No, Piosenniel!’ His voice cut through her branching thoughts and plans. Startled out of her reverie, she glanced up, and found him grinning. ‘You were away from me before the twins were born. You cannot think I would want you gone now, too.’ He raised his eyebrows at her before she could get out a word of protest. ‘And besides,’ he said, ‘I just promised Amaranthas not that long ago, I would keep you close and not allow you to go “traipsing off”. Can’t break a promise to the Old Dragon.’

‘But we could . . .’ she began, trying a different tack.

‘No, there are things to be done here. I’m in the midst of arranging a trade mission for the Star. There are merchants depending on us to carry that through for them. And the babies, and Gilly . . . and we two . . . our family . . . has just settled in. I’m appealing to your better sense to stay here.’

His last words struck her funny, and he looked aside at her as she burst out laughing. ‘My better sense, eh? Even now I can see Cami wagging her finger at me, weighing in on your side of the argument.’ She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Alright, then I shall concede to my “better sense”. But we will all be going on the voyage . . . with you . . .’ She smiled as he agreed. ‘But I shall send a messenger to Rivendell,’ she thought to herself. ‘To see what can be found.’

*******

The hour had grown quite late as they paged through the ledger, stopping here and there to linger over an entry and to reminisce. Mithadan at long last begged off, saying he would read more tomorrow. He must be up early, he said, to make the final meeting with the merchants and to see to a crew.

Not yet tired, Pio lingered a while longer over the entries, turning the lamp down low so as not to wake him. The ones near the end were shorter and written in several different hands. Cami had died and others had picked up where she left off and others after them.

The words of the journal were bittersweet in the Elf’s mind . . . the thoughts double edged. Bringing both joy and sadness . . . though the joy was undimmed by the fact that they had all now passed beyond her . . . and even the sadness felt a natural, if unwanted, part of lives now completed.

[piosenniel]

Child and Pio's collaborative post

She yawned, the night now lay in its late watches . . . the lamp burned even lower. Pio closed the journal, intending to get some sleep before daylight crept on her and the twins rose to begin their day. She brought the back cover of the book in a closing arc, thinking she would finish the last of the entries when she woke. But something caught her eye in the dim light.

There on the very last page, the side which faced the inner surface of the leather cover was a list. Written in a tiny letters, the spidery script gave dates and brief comments on important events in the Hobbits’ lives. Cami’s hand, it was, that had begun the barebones record and later the same hands that had taken up the entries in the main body of the book after her death carried it on.

Pio held the lamp closer over the page, shielding the light from the sleeping Mithadan with her body as she turned up the wick, just a little. There it all was . . . a simply done chronicle of events . . . dates one after the other with brief comments. The whole of her friends’ lives in an area barely larger than her hand.

Her index finger ran slowly down the list, begun along the right hand edge of the paper and then trailing down the middle of the same page, pausing occasionally over the ones that stood out for her . . .

~*~

• 1000 The marriage of Camelia Goodchild and Merimac Zaragamba enrolled before the council on 25th of Foreyule, 1000 of the Third Age; adoption of Holly at the same time
  
• 1001 Birth of Rorimac (Rory) Zaragamba, 2 Astron 1001
  
• 1002 Birth of Daisy Zaragamba, 11 Astron 1002
  
• 1016 Rose comes of age, marries Hamlan Galbasi
  
• 1017 Gamba comes of age
  
• 1020 Gamba explores the Langwell river area; in subsequent years he is sometimes accompanied by his various brothers.
  
• 1020 Birth of Rose’s daughter Peony
  
• 1030 Birth of Rose’s son Hal
  
• 1030 Daisy marries
  
• 1034 Rory marries
  
• 1035 Maura dies unexpectedly at the hands of an Orc
  
• 1037 Holly marries Froderick Maplehill; several children are born in subsequent years
  
• 1050 Cami retires to Rivendell where she can study and write
  
• 1050 Gamba marries Opal
  
• 1055 Cami dies
  
• 1056 Rose and family move to Weathertop
  
• 1056 Holly, Rory and Daisy’s family move north in the Misty Mountains; also Ban and Roka.
  
• 1084 Gamba dies
  
• 1093 Holly dies
  
• 1095 Rory dies
  
• 1101 Daisy dies

~*~

The lamp guttered out, the oil in it spent. Pio lay down in the bed, the lamp now put safely back on the table. The book she put back in the drawer for safekeeping.

It would be there when she woke, she thought, drifting off . . . the story of her friends caught forever between its worn covers . . .

[piosenniel]

~*~ FINIS ~*~

[piosenniel]

~*~ To Elvenhome ~*~