In the Shadow of the Star: Part 1

[Child of the 7th Age]

Westra lag wegas rehtas, nu isti sa wraithas...

A straight road lay westward, now it is bent...

This tale is written in the spirit of The Lost Road and the Notion Club papers, the beginning portions of two books that Tolkien never completed, but whose fragments appear in HoMe, volumes V and IX. Both of these explored the idea of time travel, not in terms of an actual machine such as other writers have postulated, but rather by dream journeys, which show how the power of myth can escape explosively into the present.

The tale itself is set in the eleventh year of the Fourth Age, shortly after the completion of the Voyage of the Lonely Star. It takes Tolkien's view of dream journeys one step further, postulating that there may be certain circumstances in which visions and reality actually coexist in our world, with no certainty at all as to which state is actually in the ascendent.

In his time travel fragments, Tolkien suggested that, with the destruction of Numenor and the obliteration of the Lost Road, the only way for Man to reach the Blessed Realm was through the vehicle of dreams. This story builds upon that notion. It assumes that the dreams of characters like Cami and Bilbo and Maura, who exist only in another time and place, actually had the power to influence a particular locale in Middle-earth, to bring it onto another plane of existence, much as Tolkien viewed the Blessed Lands.

In this story, for a very brief instant, the Green Dragon Inn becomes a place where the boundaries between dream and reality disappear, and it is possible for individuals not actually present in the Fourth Age to travel to the Inn and speak and meet with each other. In this particular locale, the normal notions of time and place have been suspended, or perhaps transcended.

When we read the Lord of the Rings, we are left with a similar impression of the dissolution of time/space boudaries in regard to the House of Tom Bombadil and, equally so, in Lorien. Because we are only mortals, it is not possible for us to sustain this level of reality for an extended period. Sadly, we are not Tom Bombadil or Galadriel, but mere folk who live and die. The dream portal of the Green Dragon Inn is indeed a temporary one and, in the end, must dissolve, leaving the characters from outside the Fourth Age with little choice but to return to their separate paths.

[ September 15, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

An elderly hobbit ambled towards the Sea, watching the morning sun reach out its golden rays to enfold the timeless shore of Tol Eressea. Endless white-capped waves lapped gently against the beach, while a long-legged seabird circled and dived from above, wading though the shallows and poking its beak into hidden crevices and cracks. The hobbit felt the warmth of the sun upon his face and back. He stopped a moment on the shore, scooping up a handful of white sand and letting it trickle down through his fingers.

Leaving all this behind wouldn't be easy. Yet, his time in the West was drawing to a close. Bilbo had lived longer than any hobbit had a right to expect, and enjoyed an abundance of riches which he felt to be greater than anything he deserved. His life had been one of comparative ease, and he'd known so many friends and kin, whose hearts had touched his own.

Things had not seemed so hopeful just eleven years before when he and Frodo first arrived on Cirdan's ship. His body had been weary, his mind confused, with the burden of age pressing on his head. Yet Bilbo had been surprised to see clarity and vigor return. Now, he took pleasure in a tiny interval of peace set within a land of great beauty.

His younger cousin Frodo, his adopted heir, had not found things so easy. There had been bad days and good days, with tears and talks and solitary rambles, as Frodo endeavored to sort out everything that had happened to him. Most of all there had been Bilbo's unwavering affection and the watchful presence of Gandalf and Galadriel, whose wisdom had helped Frodo comprehend much that at first seemed beyond the ken of a simple hobbit.

Bilbo could see that the burden of the Ring had left a mark on his cousin that not even the West could erase. There were finely etched lines and cracks evident in Frodo's face, mirrored deep within his eyes, as if a glass had been lifted up and shattered into a thousand pieces. Those pieces could never be made whole again, at least not within the boundaries of Arda.

Yet out of this struggle and near despair, Frodo had managed to inch his way back a little at a time, in some ways the same hobbit and in others quite different than what had gone before. Like Gandalf's foretelling in the Red Book, Frodo had become like a glass filled with clear light, a tiny reflection of Galadriel's phial. Each splintered fragment cast back its own ray, all the more beautiful for the pattern of brokeness which glittered underneath like a delicate crystal.

It was only now, when Bilbo felt assured of Frodo's healing, that he had begun to consider continuing on with his own journey. Yet there was still one question inside his head that begged for an answer.

Frodo had been special, but the lad was not the only hobbit whom Bilbo had befriended. For many years, he had reached out to the youngsters in the Shire, inviting them to Bag-end to listen to stories or share his love of Elves. Most were distant kin like Angelica Baggins, or Merri, or Pippin. A few were neighbors living in nearby Bagshot Row.

Those youngsters had looked up to Bilbo, and relied on him for many things. He had no intention of leaving until he was sure they had each found their niche in life.

Talking with Gandalf, Bilbo had been relieved to discover that his younger friends were quite happy with how their lives had turned out. That is, all except one. There was one name at the bottom of the list that still troubled him. He resolved to speak with Gandalf again to see if anything could be done.

[ February 15, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Bilbo Baggins, you are a meddlesome fool! Can't you leave well enough alone?"

Gandalf stared at the older hobbit with obvious irritation, while Frodo lowered his head, looked away, and smiled slyly to himself. He had seen Bilbo use these tactics on more than one occasion, and, given the soft spot Gandalf had for the elderly hobbit, they often accomplished exactly what he wanted.

Bilbo responded back without any hesitation, "No, I can't leave well enough alone, when well enough is not good enough for Cami!

"Gandalf, you don't know this girl the way I do. You have made a dreadful miscalculation. There is an old hobbit saying that every youngster in the Shire knows: 'Life is a comedy for those who think, and a tragedy for those who feel'. I don't know what nonsense Cami has told you about how bright she is, or how many tales she's memorized. But I can tell you this. The thing that makes this girl special is not her booklearning. It is her heart, her ability to feel, her loyalty to those she loves."

"And now you have put her in this miserable situation, binding her heart to a hobbit whom she can not be with inside the circles of Arda. And, worse than that, you did not give either of them a chance to repeat their vows publicly, to stand as husband and wife before their own people."

"Bilbo...," Gandalf attempted to interject a word with little success.

Bilbo shamelessly continued, "And don't give me any faddle that she is not really his wife, or that she will go out and find herself a mate among her fellow hobbits. Faddle, pure faddle. This girl is singleminded in certain things. You should have realized that before you placed her in this situation. But now that you have done so, I insist that something be done to help her."

Bilbo hesitated for a minute, but then gained a second wind, and decided to list his other complaints, "And that's not the worst of it! You have led Cami to Greenwood which, in a space of a few years, will become totally uninhabitable save for spiders and Orcs. You have saddled her with a dozen suitors whom she must beat back with a broom and, worst of all, you have burdened her with a burrowful of young hobbit lads who might generously be described as 'difficult.'"

"Bilbo Baggins! you did not listen to anything I said before. First, I did not personally do any of these things to Cami. They were free choices she made on her own. Second, there were reasons why Cami was asked to carry a burden in this matter of the Star. Reasons that go far beyond the woman herself, or even her hobbit kin." Gandalf shot a withering glance towards Bilbo.

Up till now the conversation, for all its heat and volume, had been openly cheerful. But, at this point, there was a definite change in mood. Bilbo glanced briefly over at Frodo and then dropped his eyes. He suddenly looked much older, as his voice trailed off in a whispered sigh. "Yes, I know, there are always good reasons, reasons that go far beyond anything I can understand. But, at the end, someone is still left alone trying to put the pieces back together. I've seen too much of it, Gandalf. Is there nothing you can do to help this girl?"

Gandalf, or Olorin, as he was more commonly known in these lands, put his hand up to his brow and sighed. There was a look of genuine sorrow in his eyes. "This thing is beyond me. But there are others who might be able to help, although perhaps not in the way you are thinking. It is even possible that this gift could bring healing to more than one." His eyes strayed momentarily in Frodo's direction.

Bilbo stood up, and rushed over to embrace the Maia, "Please, help. I know my time is ending, and I must move on. I'm willing. But it's hard leaving behind so much sadness. Is there nothing we can do?"

Gandalf looked down affectionately at the small white head, and slipped his hand though the mass of tangled curls, "We will try Bilbo, we will certainly try."

[ January 30, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

In the middle reaches of Greenwood, in the year 1000 of the Third Age, a community of some seven hundred hobbits had lately taken up residence near the eastern boundary of the woods. Most had constructed rough, temporary burrows on the ridges, looking down over a series of streams, an area rich with fish and many types of game. A smaller number had chosen to live in campsites set up above ground, while a few adventurous souls, mostly Fallohide in origin, had built flets in the treetops similar to those shelters that were common in Lothlorien.

There was a great deal of practical work to be done in building homes, securing food, and managing all the details of an ordered community. The Council of Elders met in endlessly long meetings, trying to untangle disputes between hobbits of varying clans, and determine who had the rights to a particular parcel of land when two different families each decided to build their home in the exact same spot.

When the Elders met in their circle, their deliberations were generally guided by a middle-aged hobbit woman who sat off a bit at the far end of the campfire, listening carefully to everything that was said. She was short and plumpish with brown curls, green eyes, and an open, pleasant face. Some referred to her as Nitir, and others as Cami, although she seemed to prefer the latter name.

Cami occupied a special place in the circle, and, even though the male hobbits might not normally defer to their womenfolk at home, they seemed willing to accept her guidance, purposely turning to her for help when thorny problems and disputes arose. She was astute and alert, and often thought of things that the other hobbits had not considered. It was as if she saw things differently than they did, which was indeed the case, for she had come from an age and place that was totally different than the one in which the rest of them had been born.

Cami lived in a small and simple burrow that looked no different than those belonging to her neighbors. She had five adopted sons--Gamba, Asta, Roka, Ban, and Maura--and one adoted daughter Rose, the only one of the group who was actually related to her by blood. It was Rose who stuck with Cami most closely.

The lads loved her dearly, but were more likely to scamper off on their own adventures under the guidance of Gamba, the eldest boy, who almost acted as a surrogate father for them. In the judgment of many neighbors, this was an unusual arrangement, which occasioned more than one raised eyebrow. But, given who Cami was and what she stood for, few were about to say anything directly critical to her face.

Most of the community, and even the Elders, secretly reasoned that the best way to fix this situation was to find Cami a good hobbit to share her bed and burrow. There were a string of suitors turning up, night and day, all generously offering their hearts and earthly possessions to this kind but odd woman who'd come to live among them.

Cami treated each suitor with equal politeness and respect, then packed them out the door with a strong "no thank you." If truth be told, the neighbors had begun placing wagers whether or not the woman's heart could ever be won, but they were still not ready to give up the attempt.

Cami was enormously busy with everything she had to do, but she was also just a little lonely. She fiercely missed her old friends, and found it difficult to break through to the older hobbits in the community on any kind of equal or intimate basis. Aside from the few who were trying to win her hand, the Elders treated her with immaculate respect and a certain amount of distance. Occasionally, when no one was looking, she remembered back to her time with Maura, when she had been so accepted and loved, and then she cried a few secret tears of regret.

Perhaps the hardest thing of all was recognizing that the boys would never truly acknowedge her as their mother in the same way that she had hoped for. On one level, they were a family. They laughed and played and worked together. Cami would rise up and defend her brood against anyone who dared question them.

Yet, there were times when she instructed the younger ones to do something, and before they agreed, they took a hidden, side-long glance at Gamba to make sure he approved. Once, in starry dreams, she'd glimpsed a fleeting image of a distant time when, older by a good many years, she'd seen the boys leave one-by-one, following in Gamba's footsteps, to some far away place where she could not go. The last to leave had been Maura, the littlest one who was the favorite of her heart. She had stood on a ridge and sadly waved goodbye, wondering why so many people had to leave her in this life.

The scene of departure struck a chill in her bones. Hobbits in the Shire did not behave that way. They stayed in one spot, usually next door to their parents. Her memories of the Shire were fading, as Gandalf had predicted they would, yet certain feelings and premonitions stubbornly hung on, even in this remote time and place.

Cami was happiest when the little ones from the neighborhood came to her burrow to learn their letters and numbers. There were no books to be had, a loss she grievously deplored. But, when she wrote out the words, and they managed to decipher them, the shy smiles on their faces melted her heart. Someday, she promised, when she had time, she would sit down and write a book for the little ones to help them remember a bit more of their past. It would be nothing that would upset the balance of time, just lists of families and a few bits of lore that each clan wanted to preserve.

The other time Cami was most happy was when she and Rose rode off on their healing rounds and made sure that even the smallest community had someone who could manage simple illnesses and wounds. She had already selected a number of likely hobbit lasses and lads whom she was beginning to teach the more intricate questions of healing and herbal lore. They looked forward to her visits and instruction, and, if she had known it, were beginning to regard her with deep affection in a way quite different than their parents.

Occasionally, these healing rounds carried them deep into Greenwood to visit those hobbits who'd chosen to live a life in the wild. Sometimes they met a small band of woodland Elves. Whether it was Gandalf's influence, Piosenniel's earlier threats, or Cami's own ability to earn their respect, the Elves generally greeted her in friendship, and even allowed the two women to share their campfire and listen to their songs and tales. In a world where no books existed, Cami always felt she had come to a place of magic, one from which she was sadly shut off in her own life and community.

Sometimes, Cami remembered Maura and the other life she might have led, if only things had been different. But, on bad days, it seemed to slip so far away that she found it harder and harder to see the images clearly. Still, she would not have given up her love for Maura, not for all the riches in the world, or even for a path less lonely. Wherever Maura might be now, Cami knew he was still the center of her life. Whatever good she did in Arda, whatever lives she managed to touch, it was because he'd given her the courage to follow duty, but not forget the cries of her heart.

Cami sometimes felt as if there was something she'd left undone from her quest on the Star. Yet, she couldn't imagine what that might be. In the daytime she was very busy, and, at night, her fea roamed somewhere else, searching for those she'd left behind. Only, so far, she hadn't found anyone at all. And, in the morning, she remembered nothing.

She snuggled closer to little Maura and Ban, who'd come stumbling into her bed, a rare treat since the three older boys had gone off for several weeks on a hunting expedition in Greenwood with the Greenbottle family, and Rose was with her friend Anee. She pushed her nose deep in the smallest lad's curls and felt a few silent tears drop down, wetting the edge of her lashes.

[ September 14, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Olorin had returned to the household of Nienna and, with her consent, approached her brother Irmo, or Lorien, who, as master of visions and dreams, dwells in the gardens of repose. Within those gardens stands Lake Lorellin where the grey-clad Este, wife to Lorien, sleeps on an isle in the midst of its clear waters.

These gardens are the most beautiful in all of Arda. They contain flowers of delicate colors and hues, and sweet-flowing fountains whose waters are said to carry healing. Sometimes, silver mists rise up from the ground and drape all in mystery and loveliness, acting like a curtain that descends over the eyes of Men and Elves when they wander through the land of dreams.

It was here that Olorin came to inquire if anything could be done to grant the hobbit's request before it was his time to pass beyond the circles of Arda. Because Bilbo had been a faithful Ringbearer, Lorien listened carefully to the words Olorin spoke. And he looked deep into the eyes of the Maia and saw great wisdom and compassion reflected there.

Then Lorien turned and sighed. "I have known for some time you would bring this matter before me, so I went to my wife and spoke with her. For when she sleeps, she sees many things, and watches those who wander nightly searching for others whom they love. In truth, the hobbits whom you describe, Camelia and Maura, are known to her. Though separated by untold years, they search for each other in sleep and dreaming, seeking to pierce the veil of time and come into each other's arms. By night, they pass within a finger's breadth of each other, yet, being mortals, lack the eyes to see."

The image Lorien called up tugged hard at Olorin's heart, as the Grey Pilgrim thought back to his days in Beleriand, and to the two hobbits who had led their people from the prison camp of Ladros to the freedom of Tol Fuin. "Can nothing be done to aid them?"

Lorien replied, "The portal of time has closed, and may not be opened again to those on the Star. Manwe has spoken to me concerning this matter, and his dictates are not to be denied. And yet, ...." Lorien's voice trailed off for a moment, before he continued.

"There is another way, and that is the path of visions and dreams. Since these two already seek each other, it may be possible to open their eyes and grant them wisdom that is normally withheld from the Children of Men and Hobbits. In this way they may watch over one another through all their years in dream, although their bodies remain far apart. But, for this to come about, they must first journey to a timeless place where vision and reality blend so that, for a brief instant of time, their minds and bodies join."

"Lorien, or the Blessed Lands?" Gandalf interrupted. "Do you speak of these? But such places are meant for Elves."

"Olorin, there are more wonders in Middle-earth than even you have imagined. This garden stands at the center of a hub. Its silver tendrils reach out to the free folk, and, for each of them, one or more chambers have been set aside, that which best suits their nature, where dream and reality walk hand-in-hand, and limitations of time or space mean but little."

Olorin's eyes went wide with wonder, as he considered this possibility, "But where are there such places for hobbits like Maura and Cami?"

Lorien smiled, then laughed, "I can not reveal all my secrets to you. But know that every people has its own true place. For hobbits, there is one spot filled with companionship, and another that mirrors the goodness of the land. For these things speak to their people most deeply."

"I will say no more, since I will act as the hobbits' guide and watch over them. For there are dangers in what they would attempt. Both they, and those about them, must remain alert."

Then the two spoke at length about what Olorin would say to Bilbo once he returned to the isle of Tol Eressea.

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

A small vessel skirted the isle of Tol Fuin, searching for a protected cove amid the innumerable boulders and cliffs that spanned the length of the shore. At the tiller stood a solitary figure in grey robes. His eyes scanned the coastline, as he carefully maneuvered his craft through jagged rocks and shallows. When a fresh gust of wind filled the sail, tilting the skiff towards the west, Ancalimon finally spotted the half-hidden sandy beach and dropped anchor close to shore.

It had been over a year since he'd last seen the hobbits. At that time, they had just arrived on the island and were struggling to find shelter and food to withstand the depths of winter. Now, much had changed. The hot sun of late summer beat down on a small but well ordered community that had grown up near the coast. Ancalimon could see burrows dug neatly on an overhead ridge, as well as outlines of fields rich with crops and a surprising variety of animals. A number of small fishing vessels were drawn up on the sand while their owners, who looked to be Stoors, worked to mend and strengthen the nets.

A group of hobbit children chasing minnows through the waves were the first to greet their new visitor. As the Grey Pilgrim slipped over the side of his boat, he was instantly engulfed by welcoming arms. They begged to see what he had brought them, pointing to the heavy brown sack which was slung about his back.

"Later, I promise," he laughed. "But first take me to Loremaster."

One of the younger boys proudly announced. "Now, we have two Loremasters. Maura who teaches and Lindo who sings. Which one do you want? I am one of Lindo's boys. He is my father."

Ancalimon smiled, reached out a hand to grip the lad's shoulder, "I'm sure I'll be speaking to Lindo as well, since I intend to stay for a while. But, right now, could you take me to Maura?"

The childen responded by tugging on the edge of Ancalimon's cloak and beckoning him on with their hands. They guided their guest up the beach to the row of burrows set highest on the ridge. At the far end of the settlement, under the shade of a stately beech tree, there was a tidy burrow with a round door and a surrounding garden crowded with a tangle of sweet flowers and herbs and vines.

As Ancalimon stooped to smell the heady fragrance of the blossoms, his eyes fell on a stubborn patch of athelas, blooming sturdily where no athelas should bloom. For one instant, but only an instant, he questioned why the plant was growing in such an unlikely spot, so far from the lands and age that had given it life. Yet, who was he to say whether a miracle should or should not be? For athelas, like love, is a habinger of hope for folk whose hearts and bodies ache. And, in matters such as these, differences of time and place often appear very unimportant.

With that wistful reminder, he lifted up his staff to pound against the door, waiting for someone to let him inside. It was on his third try that a tall hobbit emerged from behind the house, cradling a crying infant in a sling at his chest, and carrying a hoe in his left hand.

The hobbit's reaction was instantaneous. A smile wreathed his face, as he threw down the hoe and rushed to embrace Ancalimon.

The peddler responded with genuine affection. "Maura Took, you rascal. It is good to see you. When I got no answer at your door, I thought you'd decided that I was more trouble than I was worth."

"No, no, that's not true. Zira's little one was singing so loudly with all her complaints that I was lucky to hear you at all."

"This is your new niece then?"

Maura beamed with pride, "Yes, this is Azra, named in remembrance of a dear friend. She was born just six months ago. My sister Zira is on her rounds as a healer, and Ban is working in the fields, so Uncle Maura was delegated to tend the babe."

"And Abar?" Gandalf ask, referring to Zira and Ban's eldest son.

"He is at Lindo's playing with some of the Snowhobbits. He has become quite the young lad, since you last saw him."

Maura invited Ancalimon inside and set some food and drink between them to share. They sat down together and began to speak in earnest. They talked at length of what had happened to the hobbits since the fall of Beleriand, and how fine a place Tol Fuin had turned out to be. Ancalimon gave Maura two books of lore, one Elvish and one Mannish, so that it would be easier for him to pass on knowledge to the younger ones. The hobbit set these volumes on the shelf beside the few others that he had managed to bring with him to the isle, including the journal of the wise-woman Andreth, which Cami had discovered in Ladros.

Maura wistfully fingered the old leather binding of Andreth's journal and gazed over towards Ancalimon. There was silence between them for a full minute. Then Maura spoke in softer tones, "Can you tell me anything, anything at all about her?"

"Only this. That she works diligently to bring goodness and healing to her people in Greenwood, especially the little ones who have come to rely on her. That her promises to you stand at the center of her life, even now. And that she has found much joy, but it is always tinged with sorrow and longing."

Maura answered simply, "It is little different for me." Then he looked away, and went to gather up the plates, steering the conversation towards other subjects.

By mid-afternoon, Ancalimon excused himself, and inquired about the way to Lindo's burrow, as there were other matters he wished to discuss with him. And, to Maura's delight, the Grey Pilgrim promised to return for the family's evening meal and to stay with the hobbits for a good number of days.

[ February 01, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Hísimë, Year 11 of the Fourth Age

She had not intended to stay this long. It was to have been a quick trip to the Shire, gathering in threads to what most would now call an old story. But to her, the faces she had left behind were fresh in her memory. As if just yesterday she had seen Cami draw the attention of her young charges to a small red fox as it flicked its tail and ran to hide from their footsteps. And still she heard the young ones’ laughter peal out through the waiting trees and run down the trail beyond.

Mithadan had been busy; his time taken up in seeing to the repair and refitting of The Lonely Star. He was good at this, and she was not. It was necessary, she understood, if they were to take the ship out again, but nonetheless, she found it a tedious task, and was glad that he had taken over the supervision of it. She found life in Minas Anor a bit confining, also. And there was only so much time she could spend dockside in her old haunts, listening to tales of voyages, before even that grew stale, and she longed to see fresh sights herself.

It had been the quilt, she recalled, that prompted her to go north, seeking a finish to the history of her dear friend. She had taken it out, intending to store it carefully in her cedar wood chest. A basket of lavender to tuck among the layers was at her feet as she unfolded it. The fresh scent of the small sprays of blue flowers filled the room, bringing up memories of the heady scent of blooms that grew in abundance on Tol Meneltarma.

She shook out the quilt and laid it on her bed. There before her lay the story of her last voyage on the Lonely Star. She smiled and touched each square of it fondly, the memories vivid as her fingers ran over the cloth blocks. Her brow furrowed as she came to the last square. The story was not complete. It only told the tale to Númenor, not what lay beyond.

And so Pio found herself, in mid Yavannië, Year 11 of the Fourth Age, bidding farewell to Mithadan. She was on her way to trace the history of her old companion, Cami Goodchild. In the back of her mind was also her promise to Bird, that she would seek clues to the shapechanger race's history. It was her hope that in seeking for the one there would be clues to the other. At any rate, it was to have been only a short trip.

It was not to be so. Time and circumstance conspired against her best intentions, as she found herself filling in as Innkeeper at the Green Dragon in Bywater.

*********************************************
Child's Post:

Ban had already curled up asleep for over an hour when Cami sang a lullabye to little Maura, one that she remembered her own mother crooning long years ago in the Shire. She watched the boy's eyelids flutter, grow heavier, and then become still as he drifted off in sleep. She felt curiously alert and alive, and could not seem to settle for the night. Being very careful not to disturb the boys, she slipped out of bed and padded over to the table where her own work lay strewn about.

Lists, always more lists! Lists of chores and supplies, lists of important things to remember. The hard thing now was securing enough vellum and ink for the lists she intended to make. Radagast had given her a generous supply, but it would not last forever. Perhaps she'd have to learn to do what the other hobbits did, keeping things straight in her head and not bothering to write them down. But something inside her resisted that. It seemed like another small step in a direction that was very different than the one Bilbo had taught her to go.

As Cami sat down at the table to resume her work, she impulsively reached out, pulling back the heavy leather curtain that had been tacked over the window to keep out the cold night air. The sky looked particularly beautiful tonight. She could see Bright Earendil making his way across the heavens, a glittering beacon of hope, and a personal reminder from a time long ago. She offered a silent plea to whichever of the Valar might be listening that they should take care of her children, her separated friends, and especially the one she held most dear. Then, she lay her head down on the table, unexplainably overcome with drowsiness, and closed her eyes to rest.

Despite all her curiosity and long reflections, Cami could never reconstruct exactly what happened next. From the few scant glimmerings still in her head, there had been a room filled with light, and a serious conversation, only no real words had been spoken. She did remember objecting to leaving little Maura and Ban alone, but had then received assurance that others would be watching over him as well as the others in her family, and that she would soon see them again.

Cami knew she'd said yes to something. Yet, whatever it might be, she couldn't recall. Then all had gone misty, a silver mist that was as soft and sweet as the tiny instant of awareness that comes at the moment when the curtain of night lifts to reveal the sudden surprise of morning. After that, she knew nothing until she woke up lying in a fine wooden bed, nestled in a thick feather bolster, with the warm sun streaming down on her through a large pane of clear glass.

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

Pio's Post:

She had seen the tail of his red flannel shirt just as it disappeared into the stables. Standing on the low porch to the kitchen’s entry, she hailed him in a most unladylike manner, yelling loudly, so that he could not say he had not heard her.

‘Hob Hamfast! Come here and help me for a moment!’

Pio watched as his surprised face peeked round the edge of the stable entrance. She waved him over, a smile on her face for encouragement, and noted his slow amble toward her. She sighed to herself. They were still getting used to her, still a little afraid. ‘Well, who would not be afraid,’ she mused to herself, ‘if one of the Eldar appeared out of nowhere and started barking orders at you.’

She had arrived at the Green Dragon just a week and a half ago, surprised to find one of her old acquaintances now ran the inn. He had been called away just two days later, a sudden emergency, he said, and would she consider overseeing the running of the inn until his return. She had a fair head for business, he said, and she laughed at this idea of her. It practically runs itself, he went on. And besides, most of her concerns would be to keep the peace in the inn, and he was well aware that she could do that. Nothing long term, just a few days, he had assured her.

Those few days had turned into a week now, and still no word of his return. The staff at the inn had looked at her warily when she called them together to explain what she would be doing. They had come at first to a sort of uneasy truce, though behind their pleasant faces she could see their hesitations. ‘An Elvish taskmaster! Would she be impossible to please? And why did she dress like some wandering warrior? And would she use those knives at her belt readily if they did not please her?’

She had put her knives away, though the ones hidden in her boot tops and beneath the sleeves of her tunic remained. Her manner of dress she did not change, only that she made sure to wear garments that were clean and unrumpled from being thrown on the floor. And she had made sure to ask for their advice on how things were done at the inn, to appear to take their comments into consideration as she made her decisions. Old habits die hard, though, and at the last consideration it was always her decision which stood.

‘What can I do for you, Mistress Pio?’ came the question from Hob. He had stopped in the yard to wash the stable grime from his hands, and now stood drying them on the tail of his shirt.

‘I need the use of your muscle, Hob.’ He followed her as she made her way to the staircase in the Common Room, that led to the inn’s rooms above. He listened as she told him there were some important visitors that would be coming to the inn later that day. She wanted to get the big room ready for them, and she needed his help to flip the mattress.

They paused outside the door to the inn’s best room. ‘Go on in and strip the old linens from the bed, if you will.’ she directed him. ‘I am just going to the linen closet to find fresh sheets and a coverlet for it.’

Her head was stuck in the closet, her hands pulling out sheets and such when she heard a commotion from the doorway. She turned to see Hob backing out of the room, red faced and stammering. ‘Begging your pardon, Miss!’ he kept saying, as he stumbled backwards.

Pio laid the sheets on the hallway table and turned the Hobbit toward her, a questioning look on her face. He pointed toward the open door, eyes wide. ‘We can’t make the bed, Mistress! There’s someone in it!’ She grasped him firmly by the shoulder and turned him about. Both of them entered the room together.

He pointed at the shaking lump hidden beneath the quilt, and Pio pushed him behind her, drawing the knife from her boot. In an icy voice she commanded the vagrant who had stolen into the inn’s room without paying to come out and face her. Hob peeped from behind her, not wanting to miss any of the action.

Two hands appeared at the upper edge of the quilt, then a mass of brown curls, as the quilt slowly drew down from the hidden form. A face she thought never to see again in the circles of this world peeked out at her, a look of disbelief across it as the brown eyes stared back into her grey ones.

‘Cami!’

The knife in her hand clattered to her floor. Tears clouded her eyes as she sat down quickly on the bed and hugged her dear friend fiercely.

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

Child's post

Cami struggled to rub the sleep from her eyes and to shake off her lingering sense of drowsiness and confusion. Then she shot up in surprise at the sudden sight of the familiar figure seated beside her on the bolster.

"Piosenniel, is that you?" she demanded, staring increduously at the Elf.

"Yes, yes, it's me! What are you doing here?"

Cami hesitated for a moment, uncertain how to respond to her friend. Her head felt clear, her mind sharp and alert, yet she had not the slightest idea how to answer Pio's question. "I'm not sure. I remember very little. I know it wasn't anything I did. One minute I was sitting in my burrow in Greenwood feeling sleepy, and now I'm here."

Cami shook her head, hesitent to reveal anything that sounded so strange even to her own ears. "Maybe all this is a dream. Only, if it is, it's a dream that feels more wide awake than life itself. I remember something about a room and a bright light and a conversation without words.... Oh, dear, none of this makes any sense, does it?"

"Yet, something inside me says I belong here, at least for now, though I couldn't tell you how or why." Her confession sounded inadequate and absurd, yet it was as close to the truth as any words she could manage to spell out.

Cami turned and stared desperately into Pio's eyes, seaching for some reasonable explanation as to why all this had happened. Then she sprinted over to the window and gazed outside. She could see the neat streets of Bywater with their burrows and outlying fields of green, and, just beyond those, the even larger outline of Hobbiton itself. Her heart beat curiously fast as she spied the scenes of her childhood again spread out before her gaze.

Cami's fingers instinctively groped for the green gemstone that hung about her neck. She seemed relieved and comforted to find it there again. Her tone was calm and insistent as she turned to ask, "Piosenniel, what is this place? And when is it? If I didn't know better, I'd swear it was the Shire, not far from where I was born and grew up in Hobbiton. What happened to Greenwood, and all the hobbits who were with me from the Tombs? Was everything that happened on the Star only a dream?"

Pio’s Post

Fearing that her friend was some figment of a tired mind, Pio held on to her hand tightly. The work at the Inn had been steady, leaving little time for rest, and less time than that for the real reason she had come to the Shire in the first place. She had come to find Cami, that is, what had happened to Cami after she and her little band of Hobbits had left the Lonely Star and gone north with the Elves. Was this some strange quirk of pregnancy and overwork - a hallucination that she had indeed found her friend? Impossible!

She reached out quickly with her free hand and pinched the Hobbit hard on the arm. Cami let out a surprised yelp and slapped her smartly on the cheek. Both women stared at each other, aghast. Then Pio fell back on the bed howling with laughter. Cami looked sternly at her, and rubbed at the place where the Elf had pinched her. ‘It’s going to leave a bruise, you know!’ she said indignantly.

Pio raised herself up on her elbows, still laughing, and looked warmly at her friend, a look of pure delight and amazement played across the features of her face. ‘You are really here . . . truly here. I thought never to see you again, Cami. Never.’ She reached out softly for her friend’s hand, and brought it to her cheek. ‘I have been searching for any news of you since I arrived here, any inkling of what had become of you, what you had done, where you had gone. And now I have you here beside me, like some great gift granted for this space of time.’

‘It was not a dream, Cami. The voyage and task of the Lonely Star was real. My last remembrance of you is as you went down the trail from the Anduin, heading north with the Elves from Eryn Lasgalen. They brought you to Greenwood, I do know that, and from there you and your family traveled west. Here, to the Shire.’

Pio stood up and drew back fully the curtains at the window. The sun shone in warmly through the leaded glass, and she opened the mullioned window to let in the fresh, crisp breeze. She pulled Cami from the bed, and they stood together looking out the window on the courtyard below.

It was busy, as usual, for this time of year. Late winter in the Shire, not much to do in the way of farming, or gardening, or the raising of any sort of livestock, and so the locals often found their feet bound for the Green Dragon to share a story and a pipeful, and stand a drink or two for friends.

‘We are at the Inn in Bywater. The very same that I am sure you remember from before we ever met.’ Pio told Cami how she had come north and west, leaving Mithadan to deal with the refitting of the Lonely Star. ‘With his blessing, of course.’ she added, as Cami arched her eyebrows. ‘No, I have not run off from him again!’ Cami’s eyes had lit with pleasure at the mention of Mithadan.

‘And Bird?’ she asked. ‘Is she here too?’ Pio explained how Bird had gone traveling, soon after their return to Minas Anor. She was searching for any clues to the background of her own race, and Pio was assisting her as she could with research in the library in the city, or picking up any information in the Shire which Cami might have left for them during her stay here.

Cami sighed as she looked out the window. ‘So I really am here. This is not a dream.’ ‘As real as any piece of time is.’ rejoined Pio, thinking of the layers of time they had traveled on the Star. ‘Shall I pinch you again, and make sure of it?’

Pio smiled as Cami eased away from her in mock fear. One of the babys thumped hard with its foot against her ribs, and she let out a little oof! of surprise. Cami looked at her in concern. Pio drew her close and placed her hand firmly against her belly. The baby kicked hard at Cami’s hand, and the Hobbit smiled in delight.

‘There, Cami, is that real enough for you?’ asked Pio. ‘The twins will be here in six months. And with the grace of the Valar, their Auntie Cami will be here to hold them. I care not how you came here. But only that you are here, and that I may have my friend at my side for what little time is gifted us.’

[ September 14, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Ringarë, Year 11 of the Fourth Age

Mithadan’s Post

A tall man wearing the dusty livery of the Guard of the White Tower of Gondor enters the Inn. His boots are worn and his face grimy from long riding. Seizing a rag from the bar, he mops his brow, then collapses into a chair at an empty table.

It had been a long ride to this northern territory, and he had just spent several unpleasant hours detained by the Shiriff until his writ of safe passage from King Elessar had been debated and scrutinized and debated again to the satisfaction of the local authorities.

"An ale, please," he asks of a server. "And if you have such a thing, a glass of cordial made from the plant known in the Common Tongue as agave." The barmaid looked blankly at the Man who sighed in disappointment.

When the ale arrived, he drained it in a single long draught. He ordered a second, then looked about. A number of the patrons were staring at him and his uniform.

Painfully aware that he still wore the dust of the road as well as his clothes, he swept at his tunic with an open hand to little avail.

A bold young Hobbit approached him. "I am Elanor," she said. "What brings a Man of Gondor so far to the North?"

The Man smiled. "Well met, Elanor," he replied. "I am Hithmir, and I am here on an errand. I am one of the King's messengers and a bear a letter for one who is said to be currently in The Shire..."

Pio’s Post

'A Man!' she thought to herself, noting the new customer who had just come in. 'And from Gondor!' She called the server to her.

'What did he order? He looked disappointed at the ale.' The server explained he wanted some strange drink that she couldn't find behind the bar. Pio's brow furrowed at the mention of the name, then her eyes lit up, remembering the dusty, faceted bottle with the silvery, white liquid she had found in the cellar.

A small while later, she approached the Guard's table where Elanor sat speaking with him, bearing a small glass, the dusted bottle, and a dish of sour green fruits, cut in wedges.

'I am Piosenniel,' she said, introducing herself. 'Or Pio, if you prefer, the Inkeeper here. Welcome to the Green Dragon.' she placed the glass and bottle on the table before him. 'The drink you ordered, I believe. We don't get much call for the Southron spirits.' She put the dish of green wedges down, along with a small dish of finely ground salt. 'I did not know if you would want these.' She poured him a small glass of the silvery liquid. 'I have seen it drunk many different ways.'

'Now tell me,' she said, watching him swallow the drink at a single gulp, 'what brings you to the Shire?'

She poured him another drink, and waited.

Mithadan’s Post

Hithmir blinked in surprise and nearly dropped his glass. "Piosenniel?" he asked. "Did you say Piosenniel?"

"That is my name," said the Elf with a curious smile.

"Why then, it is you I seek!" he cried. He stood, opened his satchel and began rummaging through it. "Now, where is it?" he muttered. "Ah, here. Two parcels for the Lady Piosenniel. Now, please sign here..."

Piosenniel went to the bar and found a quill and an inkwell. Returning to the Man's table, she signed a piece of paper with a flourish. "And here you are," said Hithmir.

He handed over a sealed envelope and a small package which jingled promisingly. "Now, I could use a room for the night," he continued. "Tomorrow, I will be heading south, back to Gondor." He grimaced, thinking of the Shiriff, once again, and recalled that he had been ordered out of the Shire as soon as his business was completed.

Pio’s Post

Her hand shook as she took the letter with the familiar handwriting on it. ‘Please let it be good news from the South.’ she murmured. Pio tucked the letter in her belt, and placed the packet in her breeches pocket.

She asked Elanor to freshen a room for their new guest, asking if she might have the girl take his bags up to the room. ‘He looks fit enough to carry his own bags.’ thought Elanor to herself, but smiled and curtsied, saying nothing.

Pouring one last drink for Hithmir, and wishing him a good stay in the Shire, Pio returned to her seat by the fire. Cami came near, wanting to know, in her ever curious Hobbit way, what Pio had received. ‘Let me read it first.’ said the Elf, and then I will share it with you.’

She shooed the Hobbit off with a smile and a wave of her hand, then took the packet and letter, laying them side by side on the table. Which one to open first, she wondered, running her fingers lightly over each. She chose the packet, and opened it with the small knife from her boot top. Ten gold coins poured out, in to a glittering heap on the table top. ‘Ah! He must have sold the knife.’ She fingered the face of one of the coins, picking out the gull winged helmet that graced the upturned side. ‘A pity he could not have kept it, to pass down to his son. A good businessman, he is, though. And I am sure that if I thought about it clearly I would understand the need for profit which drives the world of Men.’

A few moments lost in thought, and then she opened the letter, running the sharp blade of the knife carefully along the letter’s edge. A single, white piece of parchment, crisply folded, fell to the table as she shook the envelope. Opening it, she read:

~~~~~~~~~~~

Beloved:

I hope this letter finds you well. You are always in my thoughts.

The refit of The Lonely Star proceeds apace, though it may be perhaps three months before it is finished. The barnacles alone took two weeks to remove.

I have sold Elros' dagger to King Elessar. Together with the proceeds of sale from the three ships some time ago (you recall I think) and less the expense of repairs to the Star, I have secured some 600 gold pieces for the partnership. This should keep Bird going for I time, I think.

I am advancing you some of the profits for your ease. But tell me, when will you return to the warmth of Gondor? Surely you do not intend to give birth to the twins so far from me? Of course, if you wish I will join you in the frozen north. You can, of course contact me without writing.

I await your reply and look forward to seeing you soon, for I miss you sorely.

With all my love,

Mithadan
~~~~~~~~~~

A few tears edged her lashes, as she folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope.
Elanor had come to tell her the guest and his bags had gone up stairs. ‘Some sad news, Ms. Pio?’ she asked concerned. Pio turned her face to the girl, smiling, and wiped away the threatened tears.

‘No, not sad at all, Elanor.' Pio's hand rested protectively over the soft swell of her belly. 'I am just missing someone . . . very much, at this moment.’

Pio asked Elanor to see to the guests for the afternoon and retired to her room. She sat at her desk, pushing the clutter of books and maps to one side. The crumbs from some forgotten meal were swept up into her hand and deposited into a nearby planter.

Taking a clean sheet of vellum from the stack on the shelf above the desk, she smoothed it out in front of her, dipped a sharpened quill in the waiting inkwell and penned a reply to Mithadan.

Once done, she blotted the excess ink from the paper and folded it carefully in thirds. She tucked it into an envelope, securing the flap with sealing wax and pressed the pattern of her knife pommel into it. On it she wrote:

Mithadan
Captain of The Lonely Star
Harlond, Minas Anor

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

‘Hithmir!’ she called as she knocked on his door. He opened it wide, thinking it might be the wine he’d asked Elanor to bring. Surprise shone on his face, replaced quickly by a smile as Pio explained she had need of him. He nodded his head at her. Yes, he would leave tomorrow early and take her letter to Gondor with him. She thanked him as she handed him the letter and one gold coin.

Calling for Elanor when she reached the first floor, Pio sent her upstairs with a bottle of Dorwinion wine. ‘And tell him it is with my compliments, if you will.’

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

Child's post:

A number of months had passed since Cami's arrival in the Shire. The hobbit was surprised at how quickly and painlessly she had settled into the routine of the Green Dragon Inn. She still had no clear sense of why she was here, or what would ultimately be expected of her. Yet she had finally made her peace with the situation. She was intensely happy to find herself again in Piosenniel's company, even if it might last for no more than a brief interval.

But there was another reason for her contentedness that went beyond this. Cami was quite sure that she had not come here through any merit or action of her own. This suggested that someone else had meant for her to come. Basically, that left just two choices. Cami simply could not conceive that any servant of the Shadow could have led her to such a peaceful refuge, so she supposed her being here must be alright, and that something good might come out of it.

So month after month, she'd made beds, washed dishes, scrubbed floors, and learned to serve drinks, voicing few complaints about her work or questioning why she was here. Piosenniel kept her quite busy at the Inn so there was little time for personal reflection. Even with their heavy chores, she and Pio had found time to talk and laugh and joke together.

The work here was also much easier than her responsibilties in Greenwood had been. There, she was always worrying about the safety and security of the hobbit community as a whole, and wondering what was going to happen in the future. Here, she did her job to the best of her ability and left the rest to take care of itself. After a few months of this, she'd even come to think that, back in Greenwood, if she ever got back to Greenwood, it would be good to carry home a little piece of that trust, and not worry so much about how things might turn out in the future.

Sometimes, though, Cami did slip out and go on long walks through the countryside, wistfully searching for places that she'd known from many years ago when she was a child growing up in Hobbiton. Yet, she made it a point to stay clear of Bag-end, or any member of the Gamgee clan, or even any of the other hobbits she'd known from before. Something inside her head warned her that the time for this had not yet come. Moreover, she'd been away from Hobbiton so many years that, when one or two childhood friends had finally spied her working in the Inn, they hadn't even recognized her. Cami almost felt as if she'd become a ghost.

Yet, as accepting as she was of her own presence here, she was also surprised at how often her mind slipped back to Greenwood, and to the little burrow where Rose and the boys were. Cami wasn't worried about their well-being. She was certain someone was looking over them. But she found herself missing them much more than she'd ever expected, not only Rose, but also Gamba and the little ones.

The last time she'd seen Gamba, Cami had bitterly complained how headstrong the lad could be. But now, here in the Inn, she dreamt they were again together as a family. She imagined herself sitting near the hearth in her small burrow, with the long shadows of evening creeping up around them, while she recited tales of Elves and dragons to Rose and the boys. Just as she'd finished, Gamba would come over and kiss her gently on the head. Then, the soft rays of the sun would filter through the great glass window in her bedchamber, and Cami would awaken in the Shire, wondering about those she'd left behind.

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Súlimë, Year 12 of the Fourth Age

Mithadan’s Post

Far away to the south, a rider entered the city of Minas Tirith bearing a message from the north. After making inquiries, he determined that the addressee was at Harlond working at the docks. The rider, weary from his long journey, entered an inn and rested for a night before moving on.

The morning found him prowling the docks seeking to deliver the message. He came across a tall man with grey eyes and raven hair shot through with strands of silver. The man was wearing a fine cloak of blue embroidered about the collar with gold. He was sitting on a piling while reviewing a scroll and occasionally looking up at a ship which rested in drydock with workers swarming over its wooden hull and decks.

The rider urged his horse forward, then dismounted, twitching aside his black cloak to reveal the livery of the White Tower. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "But might you be Mithadan, captain of the Lonely Star?"

The man looked up at the rider, squinting slightly in the morning sun. "Aye," he responded. "That I am. And you are?"

"I am Hithmir, an errand-rider of Gondor," the rider replied. "I am recently come from a journey to the north which I undertook at the behest of the King. I have a letter for you from the distant land of The Shire."

Mithadan rose and stepped forward eagerly. "A letter?," he asked excitedly.

"Aye," answered Hithmir. "From a fair Elven maiden that I met there." Hithmir rummaged about in his pouch and withdrew a sealed packet which he handed to Mithadan, who hurriedly passed the rider a handful of silver coins before stepping away to open the missive. He smiled and shook his head as he read:

~~~~~~~~~~~

My Bearer of Light before the Sun and Moon –

Beloved, I know you would never think of yourself in this way. Even now I can see you smiling and shaking your head ‘no’. But each night I look out my window to the western horizon, where the bright evening star hangs just above the Emyn Beraid, and I hold you in my thoughts for a few, too brief, moments. It is my hope, that when the season turns, I will not look toward the east, above the Hithaeglir, to find the morning star heralding the sun. But that it will be your own dear face which wakes me with its light and laughter.

I had not intended to stay this long away from you. But events have conspired to make it so. The Inn is busier than I expected, and I have found no one as yet to take over the responsibilities left to me by the former Innkeeper. As is my wont, I have run myself ragged seeing to details. But do not worry about me. Cami is here, and she sees that I take care of myself, as best she can.

It was good news that we were able to turn a tidy profit for the partnership. Bird and I had made some plans before we finished our last voyage, and she will now be able to finance her part. It is our hope that in time we can track down the history of her race. As you know, it was in fact, the quest for that knowledge that first brought me to the Shire.

As to the Lonely Star, my feet long to feel her deck beneath them, and my hands to grip the wheel. What I would give to have these lively babies, pummeling my ribs as I write these words, rocked to sleep by the glassy waves!

Your son and daughter grow stronger every day. They miss their atar, as do I. Their fëas are vibrant, reaching out with great energy to take in the world around them. Once they are born I fear their ammë will be hard put to keep up with them! How I wish you were here to watch them in this season of their growth.

I wish that I could return to the warmth of Gondor and to your arms. But I find I cannot, until this task of mine is done. I miss you sorely, also, and would have you by my side, for even just a brief space of time.

Will you come to me, Mithadan?

I await your answer.

~ Your Piosenniel
~~~~~~~~~~

Mithadan frowned for a moment. "Cami?" he muttered. "Is she delusional from overwork and pregnancy?" Then he smiled again and looked back to the ship. It would be a month and more before the work on it would be completed. He could not wait even if the seas could carry him to the north quickly enough. He would need a horse... and clothing for cold weather.

Hithmir watched as Mithadan read the letter. When he lowered it, the errand-rider asked, "Need you send a reply? I can arrange for a rider to carry it."

"Thank you," replied Mithadan. "But I shall carry my own message..."

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Tuilérë, Year 12 of the Fourth Age

The moon shone bright and full this night. The Inn was quiet, the guests asleep, lost in dreams of the promised Spring. It was Tuilérë, the vernal equinox, when Anar and Isil shared the passage of the day’s time as equals.

Pio was awake, her cloak wrapped about her to ward off the still chill air of early Spring. She walked the well trod path along The Water, watching the moon’s reflection as it followed her along the course of the river. At the Bywater Pool, she paused, listening to the current as it rushed over rocks and sand making music in the quiet night. It hushed into silence as it entered the widened banks of the pool, then picked up the refrain again as it flowed out through the narrowed channel of the river on the other side, hurrying on its way to the Brandywine. She came here as often as time would allow. It was soothing to her. The music of the water as it flowed over the stone recalled to her the fountains of her youth in Gondolin.

This night, as she sat listening, another sound came to her - the passage of small, soft feet padding through the undergrowth beneath the trees that ringed the Pool. They paused and she sensed the scrutiny of a keen and curious mind focused on her.

‘Come!’ she called softly. ‘I will do you no harm.’ A dark, musky scent of overwhelming wildness assailed her nose, and she turned her head slowly to watch as a small red fox, sporting a bright pink patch of spiky hair on the top of his head and carrying a small leather pouch slung across his shoulder, came from the shadows of the trees, pausing to regard her. The dark pools of its eyes held her gaze as it approached, its gait light and graceful. Nearing her, he paused and doffed his pouch, rummaging around in it with his nose. He pulled out a much crumpled and travel stained letter. This he took in his mouth and dropped it near her outstretched hand. He retreated a few steps, and sat nearby, waiting expectantly. She picked the envelope up and recognized the faded script. It was addressed:

The Lady Piosenniel
Green Dragon, Bywater, The Shire.

Bird! Pio laughed, a light, silvery sound, and inclined her head to the fox. ‘I thank you, Ruscomir. I am in your debt. You have brought news from a dear friend.’ The fox inclined his head toward her, and faded silently beneath the trees once more.

Pio took the letter from its envelope, reading it carefully by the moon’s light.

********

21 Ringarë,Year 11
"The Water Lily", New Osgiliath, Emyn Arnen

Dearest Piosennial,

Please don’t let the name of the town where I am at mislead you. "New Osgiliath" is nothing more than an inn, (Though a very nice inn) here on the shores of Anduin in North Ithilien. The name changes daily, and the settlers and watermen who pass through here argue constantly as to what the name of this new town should be, or even if a new town will be the end result.

North Ithilien is truly a lovely land, and our King never did a better day’s work than when he bestowed the stewardship of this fiefdom on our good Prince Faramir. Though the majority of the labor is still devoted to the restoration of Minas Anor, hardy bands of people of all races have been striking out to settle land and make their fortunes here. The woodland kin of Lord Legolas have arrived, and while they seem disinclined to actually build permanent dwellings (at least that we with merely human eyes can see), their touch on the land has not gone unnoticed, and the woodlands and fields bloom and thrive.

I even actually got to see Legolas and Gimli! They did stop by to sample the ale here at the "Lily". I can’t say that the Elf Prince was much impressed with the accommodations, but the son of Gloin would not bypass a chance to sample the best - in fact the only - ale in the South Kingdom.

You may be asking yourself why, if I am so close to the city, I have not gone farther and sought out Mithadan. I very much intended to do this, but I ran into some misadventure on the road from Dol Amroth, and have stopped here to lick my wounds and recover before moving on. Please don’t worry, I am truly on the mend and will be fit to travel in another week or so. I had intended to inform Mith of my whereabouts, but found when I arrived here that he had taken the "Star" on a trading expedition and was not in the city. And the innkeeper informs me that you are holing up in the Shire! How in Middle-earth did you wind up there? So I have decided that I will wait until I can travel again, and will surprise your errant husband with my unannounced presence when he returns to the city.

Did you get the letter that I sent you before I left Dol Amroth? I hope you have given much thought to the information I discovered in Harad. The second map and drawings are still safe, of course, though I cannot make heads or tails out of what it all means. I hope you have given much thought to the words spoken by the blind shepherd. I truly think this could be an important lead to finding my kin!

Well, the innkeeper’s wife is scolding me. Seems to think the act of letter writing is far too wearying for someone in such a delicate state as I, and she orders me back to bed.

I have been having the oddest dreams of Cami. Seeing her with Bilbo and Maura, of all things. How I miss our little friend. I think of her often, at the oddest times.

Well, six more months, and the twins will be here. I hope you will not force me to travel clear to the Shire in order to see them. Please write to me care of the Dock Master at Dol Amroth to let me know where you will be. In the meantime, after a quick trip to visit with dear Mithadan, I will be returning again to the warm lands of Far Harad. The people there are a suspicious lot, and always seem to speak in riddles, but I really feel that I am getting closer to discovering the fate of the skinchangers.

And now to bed! And now to bed!

With great affection,

Birdie

P.S. - I hope this fox is reliable. At least his services came cheap.
P.P.S. - Did I tell you I rode on an Oliphaunt?!


*******

‘There is no time to write a return message.’ she thought to herself. ‘It has taken three months for this one to get to me. By the time she receives my reply, the twins will already have been born.’ Pio picked up a small stone and lobbed it into the Pool. The ripples spread out in widening circles. She sighed and shook her head. ‘I know she hates this. She says she has no talent for it. But that simply is not true.’

Pio closed her eyes lightly and let her mind quest southward, seeking her companion.

Auntie Bird! Shire. Three months. The twins. Loendë, Midsummer’s day. Come!

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

As Cami watched her friend's figure blossom with the impending birth of twins, she found her own feelings caught up in a spiral of thankfulness. This must surely be why she'd been allowed to come back and spend this time with Piosenniel. Perhaps because she herself would never be graced with the birth of a child, she'd been given a rare chance to act as a loving Aunt. Later, when she'd heard that Mithadan, and even Bird, might be arriving shortly, her joy had increased even more.

Instead of hiking off on her own across the fields and roads of the Shire, she found herself spending more and more time preparing for the babies' arrival. In the late evening, after her chores were done, she'd sit with her handiwork in front of the fire, knitting booties and stitching samplers so the little ones would remember their Auntie Cami even after she'd gone far away. She even dragged out the quilt from the Star which Pio had tucked into a chest, and began adding blocks to tell what had happened to the ship and its passengers after they'd sailed from Numenor.

Cami was always full of good advice for Piosenniel on what she could eat and drink, or those activities which were good for her, and those from which she should refrain. The Elf seemed to take all this in a good natured manner, though Cami suspected that, when she was actually on her own, she did whatever pleased her, paying no attention to the hobbit's wise words!

Still, Pio couldn't help but be impressed with Cami's evident wealth of knowledge on small babies and their ways. The hobbit was a font of information on what babies ate and wore, how to feed them, the most sturdy and reliable toys, and time-honored tricks for enticing collicky little ones back to sleep.

One day, after a particularly long and intricate discourse on Cami's part, Piosenniel had looked over at her friend and laughed, "Cami, from all you know about infants, and how you love to go on about them, I'd swear you were the mother of ten!"

Cami shook her head, and looked a bit wistful, "Oh, no, Pio. It's just that I grew up in the Shire, and everyone discusses the best ways to raise children. It's one of our most popular topics of conversation. You see, almost all hobbit girls choose to marry and have little ones of their own, often in considerable numbers. An Elf may feel herself blessed to have one son or daughter, but, from the time they're young, hobbits dream of a whole burrowful of children. Even the lads do, although most of them won't admit it, until they come of age and marry." Then, Cami cheerfully took off on another tangent, offering to show her friend the most successful methods for swaddling a tiny infant.

Pio yawned, and promised to listen more attentively tomorrow, saying goodnight and retiring quickly to her own chamber. Cami stayed in the common room for a few minutes, poking about in the hearth with a rod, and watching the fire burn itself out in a medley of silver ashes. She didn't quite know how it happened, but she never made it to her bedroom that night. Instead, she felt herself nod once or twice, her body sliding down into the chair, her head falling gently to her chest as she slipped away in dreams.

[ February 03, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

As the first morning songbirds trilled their notes over the Shire, Cami awoke with a start, pulled herself up from the wooden chair where she'd slept last night, and ran to find Piosenniel. Pio was already hard at work in the kitchens, giving orders to the staff, and keeping a watchful eye on the kettles, pots, and frying pans to make sure that nothing burned. The hobbits who worked in the Inn were a bit less afraid of her now. Cami had made certain to reassure them that the Elf was really not a bad sort, as long as they honestly did their jobs and were truthful in their comments to her.

But, this morning, Cami's mind was not on the staff or the bedchambers that needed dusting or even the meals being prepared and served to their guests. Indeed, her mind was a thousand miles away from the Green Dragon Inn, as she reflected on a place where she'd never been, but had heard a good deal about, in fact considerably more than most other hobbits.

"Pio, Pio," Cami tugged insistently on the Elf's tunic, trying to get her attention. "It's important. I really need to talk to you now. I figured out why I'm here."

"That's nice, Cami. We'll talk about it later. Now, can you take these out to the group of young hobbit lads seated near the bar?" Piosenniel thrust out a serving tray towards her friend with a vast assortment of breakfast platters stacked up in three untidy piles.

Cami clutched desperately at the overloaded tray, with its plates unsteadily perched and wobbling, trying to keep them all in line. Then she stuck her head out from the side of the load, and bellowed, "No, this is important. Really important."

The Elf sighed and handed the tray over to Elanor, pushing Cami before her into one of the side pantries. "Now, what is so important that it can't wait till after breakfast? Especially for a hobbit!"

"Pio, Bilbo and Frodo are doing what you did. They're coming back, back from the West, at least for a visit. That must be why I'm here. I'm finally going to get to see my teacher again."

Pio's eyes fixed hard on the small hobbit, but she said nothing for a good while. Then she asked her friend, "Cami, where did you learn this?"

Cami stopped a minute and thought. That was very hard to answer. To tell the truth, she wasn't totally sure. She'd woken up that morning, and the exciting news had been there, taken up from somewhere in sleep and now staring her in the face. The hobbit turned to her friend and sighed, "Please believe me. If you've ever set any trust on my word, you will listen to what I say and act on it. Tomorrow evening, the hobbits will arrive here at the Inn. We need to turn down the beds in our best rooms and invite friends over for a small dinner party. It would be very rude to welcome them in any other way."

"I do not know why they're coming, unless it's for Bilbo and I to see each other again. But someone else will be with them, someone I've never seen before."

"Who is this someone?" Pio gently probed.

Cami heard herself speak. "Perhaps you will know of him, for he is no common mortal. He wears a silver-white garment, and his eyes are as deep as a pool from a bottomless spring. And, wherever he walks, a curtain of grey mist arises about him, spun from silver dreams." Cami looked up startled, for she could not even say where these words were coming from.

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

[Child of the 7th Age]

Pio's Post

‘The problem is, Cami, I do believe you.’

Pio rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes for a moment against the dim light of the pantry. Her face had gone pale, and she eased herself down onto the top of a large pickle barrel. When Cami, concerned at her appearance, asked if there were something wrong, she shook her head ‘no’.

‘Unless, of course,’ came the quiet voice of the Elf, ‘you consider the visit of one of the Fëanturi to be “something wrong”.’

She looked at Cami, and shook her head again, though this time the seriousness of her expression was relieved by a brief smile. ‘You and Mithadan have always been true dreamers, close to the hearts of the Valar. I thought I had done with that once we finished the task they had set for us on the Lonely Star. That there would be no more dreams and portents to trouble us. But now one of the Valar comes poking his nose into the affairs of those across the Sundered Sea, and here you are asking me to make up a bed for him as if he were some welcome guest.’

‘You know my opinion of them. They keep their own council; their ends are their own. They care but little for the Firstborn, except as they meet their needs, and less for those who came after.’ Her expression grew grave as she sorted through the many years of her life. ‘Trouble, of one sort or another, always follows them when they step beyond the concerns and boundaries of Aman. And in this world, shadow always follows light.’

She heard the Hobbit gasp as she spoke these words. And she recalled that Cami and Mithadan had always had a certain kind of faith when it came to the Valar and the West. Pio tempered her words, saying, ‘I think this may be different, though. Look what good has already come of it. You are here – my dear friend I thought never to see again; and soon you will be reunited with your dear teacher Bilbo, and with Frodo. These are good things, no?!’

Pio stood up and straightened her apron over her growing girth. ‘Let us finish with breakfast, and then we will see to getting rooms ready for the visitors. Three you say.’ She had just stepped to the door of the pantry, her mind already sorting through the details of the accommodations, when she felt a hesitant tug at her tunic. Cami stood there, a perplexed look on her face.

‘You never told me who that other visitor was, Pio. One of the Fëanturi, you said. But I don’t know them. Who will it be.’

Pio crouched down to be at eye level with the Hobbit, and took her hands in hers. ‘Do you remember when I was slain in Gondolin?’ Cami shook her head ‘yes’, the memory of those terrible times brought fresh to her mind. ‘My fëa was summoned at death to the Halls of Mandos on the western borders of Valinor. The keeper of those Halls is Námo, one of the Fëanturi, Masters of Spirits. He is also called the Doomsman of the Valar. There also, I met his sister, Nienna – a name I think you might already know, do you not? She dwells west of West, near the Door of Night, her windows looking out beyond the walls of the world. It is to her whom all those in Mandos cry. And to their spirits she gives strength and turns their sorrow into wisdom.’ Pio’s gaze moved beyond the face of the Hobbit before her, as if she saw these things once again.

Recalled from her reverie by the touch of Cami’s hand on her cheek, she continued on. ‘It is the last one of these siblings who will visit you. He is the other Fëanturi, and is called Irmo, the Master of Desire, the master of visions and dreams. His dwelling is Lórien, the Gardens of Dreams, and often he is known by that name.’

She stood up and led Cami back out to the kitchen. ‘I wonder why Irmo is to come with them. Though, of the three, he would be the most welcome.’ She smiled to herself, remembering the beauty and grace of his gardens. ‘They reminded me of Gondolin – the fountains in his gardens, I mean. They are lovely beyond words, and often the Valar come there to draw refreshment from them. And from Lórien, to find repose and the easing of the burdens of Arda.’

They hurried through their morning duties, then went to freshen the three best rooms. Pio left Cami to sort out the details of the dinner party. The Hobbit was in a very happy mood, and sailed through the day with a smile on her face.

Pio was inclined to a more reflective state of mind. And while she was exceedingly happy that her friend was to have a chance to see Bilbo once again, she was already planning how she could spend the least amount of time possible in the presence of the Vala.

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

[piosenniel]

18 Lotessë, Year 12 of the Fourth Age

Pio stood behind the counter of the bar making a list of the supplies they would need to carry them through the next week. Head bent over the paper before her, she ticked off each entry with her pen as she estimated what it would cost. Despite the outlay for the heavy traffic of guests, it had been a profitable fortnight for the Inn. They could well afford to lay in a few luxuries and extras for their expected guests.

She paused for a moment, smiling, and stared off into space, eyes unfocused. The song came unbidden to her lips, and she sang the words softly to herself.

“O fare you well, I must be gone
And leave you for a while,
But wherever I go, I will return,
If I go ten thousand mile, my dear,
If I go ten thousand mile . . .”

Mithadan was on his way to her, and her heart leapt at the thought of it.

It was about a two and a half month journey from Gondor to the Shire on horseback. Just enough time to get to the Shire before the twins were born. He had left the day he received her letter, riding hard to the north and west. And he did not tarry as he passed through the country side along the Great West Road, only stopping for food and sleep and a change of horse as was needed.

Her thoughts were always on him now. She had watched as he rode the last stretch from Edoras to the Fords of Isen. She sensed his delight as her mind brushed his. Now he was just a few days from Tharbad, and then the Greenway would bring him north to her.
The Inn was busy today, humming with a multitude of conversations. Pio focused on the paper she had placed before her, and blocked out the noises and voices that surrounded her. The list of supplies was done. Now she placed a fresh sheet of paper before her to write out a more personal list.

The quill’s tip had become dull from the long listing of supplies. She took the sharp little knife from her right boot top and honed it to an acceptable point. Dipping it quickly in the inkwell, she tapped off the excess ink and began to write.

Top of the new list was the word Midwife. Now who did she know who could recommend one to her? Pio rubbed the feathered end of the quill against her cheek. She grinned as the ideal source for information came to her. Amaranthas! Tomorrow she would ride to see her and together they would sort this problem out. She wrote the venerable Hobbit’s name next to the word, and went on to number two.

Inkeeper. Both she and Cami would be unavailable starting mid-Nárië. She wished to keep her friend close to her as the time for the birth drew near.

Summers, as she understood from the regulars to the Green Dragon, were quite busy times of the year. Besides the locals, looking for a refreshing drink on a hot summer’s evening, there were many thirsty travelers on all sorts of business along the roadways at this time of year. They would all be wanting food, drink, and lodging as they passed through Bywater on their ways east or west, and the Green Dragon would be their place for it.

‘I wonder if one of the long time servers here would mind taking on the position.’ Her brow furrowed as she ran through the list. With a sure hand she wrote several names down, of people who seemed capable of doing the job well. They were all of the friendly sort, even handed in their approach to others, and seemed quite capable of handling themselves in a sticky situation. One of them, especially, seemed to fit the bill, and she drew a firm line under the name - Primrose Bolger.

Pio sat back in her chair, looking at the flames of the small fire. Her mind wandered from present matters, questing south to see where Mithadan might be. She watched the countryside as it sped past him, heard the hoof beats of the horse as it flew north, felt the breezes cool him as they rushed past his cheeks and brow.

Where are you now? she asked, feeling his mind turn to her. We miss you greatly. She chuckled, thinking how long it had been since he had last seen her. I fear you will not recognize me when you see me. Your son and daughter grow apace, and I sail slowly through the hours like some great merchant ship laden with treasures. Were you to place me side by side with the Star, I think I might overshadow her! She is a trim vessel, and I am not these days. She placed an image in her mind of a great lumbering vessel coming into port. One of the ships of Númenor that had sailed the seas in the early days to Vinyalondë and the Grey Havens. She laughed as he perceived it.

Someone was calling to her. Needing something seen to. She bade farewell to Mithadan, a faint kiss brushing his brow. Ride hard, beloved. she called to him. I would see you soon.

She rose from her seat to see to a guest. The babies sent their little thoughts to her as she turned from thinking on Mithadan. A smile played about her lips, and she placed her hand lovingly on the swell of her belly. Soon, sweetings, soon. Your atar is coming. They pushed against her hand, gently, in response.

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Mithadan’s Post

In the wilds of Enedwaith, a lone horseman rode along the remains of the Old South Road. One more day's riding, perhaps two, and he would reach Tharbad and the crossing of Greyflood, at which point his journey would be more than two thirds over.

He rode over a plain covered with tall grasses and low shrubs at a fair clip. Even now, after the King had returned, there were yet rumours of bandits in these lands and not far to the east lay Dunland, whose people had no great love of Gondor despite the peace treaty that had been signed some years ago.

He felt a tickle in his mind which resolved itself into a familiar touch. "Piosenniel," he murmured under his breath, and he reined his horse in to a slow trot. Then he concentrated and strained to hear the not-voice from miles away.

Where are you now? We miss you greatly. I fear you will not recognize me when you see me. Your son and daughter grow apace, and I sail slowly through the hours like some great merchant ship laden with treasures. Were you to place me side by side with the Star, I think I might overshadow her! She is a trim vessel, and I am not these days. She placed an image in his mind of a great lumbering vessel coming into port. Then he felt a faint kiss brushing his brow. Ride hard, beloved. I would see you soon.

He laughed at the image of the great ship and smiled at the faint kiss. He attempted to respond but found that he could not concentrate well enough on horseback. He almost stopped there, on the faint track which would soon become a roadway leading north and west. But he took note of the smoke of a cooking fire not far off to his left and rode a few hours more before finding a forest where he might spend the evening undetected. After quickly making camp, he sat with his back to an oak tree and cleared his mind.

Dearest, I come as quickly as I may. Yet though I do not wish to, at least my steed must rest from time to time. Tharbad is not far off. From there it is perhaps ten days to the Shire, or so I am told for I have never visited that land. Soon, beloved, soon. Then you may regale me with tales of the kicks which my children have delivered at inopportune times and your imaginings of Cami. Soon.

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

The bedclothes heaved like the waves on a stormy sea, as she turned from side to side trying to get comfortable. It was a fair night out, and she had left the windows to her room open, to let in the breezes. Despite the cool night air, despite the fragrant cup of chamomile tea Cami had made for her, Pio could not sleep.

Twelve brief days and Mithadan would be at her side. She reached out with her mind to him, felt him sleeping there in Enedwaith, dreaming. She nudged his thoughts, making them pleasant ones, and kissing his brow, withdrew. He would be here by the end of Lótessë, or the beginning days of Nárië at the latest. That would give them a month before the twins were born. She smiled at the thought of it.

Pio got up from her bed and drew on a light green gown that hung to mid-calf. She had taken to wearing such dress since the time she had tried on her largest pair of breeches and could not fasten them about her. Her hair was long now, and she brushed it as smooth as the tenacious curls in it would allow, letting it flow down her back to her waist – a cascade of raven black waves. She slipped her feet into a pair of soft leather shoes, and went quietly out the kitchen door to the stable.

The moon was a silver sliver on the western rim of the Tower Hills. The morning star hung just above the distant Misty Mountains, heralding the coming of the sun. It was that hushed hour before the birds awoke to greet the day. Quiet, everywhere.

The horse nickered softly as Pio stepped into the darkened barn, eager to be out in the open. Rochfalmar, she was called, for her coat shimmered like a cresting wave shot with the sun’s light while the deep greys of the sea rolled beneath it.

Leading ‘Falmar to the yard, near the fenced in exercise ring for the other horses, she clambered up to the top rail, feeling quite ungainly in her balance. ‘Steady on, girl!’ she admonished the horse as well as herself. ‘Falmar drew near, and let the Elf make her ungraceful mount.

‘This may well be the last time I ride you. If I get any larger it will take a siege ladder to get me astride you again!’ ‘Falmar whickered softly at this comment, as if chuckling.

Pio tapped her heels against ‘Falmar’s sides, and led the way out of the inn’s yard. The reins were light in her hands, as she headed for the eastward path along the Water. She was bound for the home of a good friend she had made in the shire, Amaranthas Bolger. She lived just a few miles up the road that heads north from the Water to Oatbarton. Her intent was to ask the venerable Hobbit who could best serve her as a midwife.

Less than a mile from the inn, and they had left the small congestion of Bywater and were well into the low rolling hills of the East Farthing countryside. They made their way through the sea of high grasses. The wind rippled through the fields, the heads of the grasses undulating with it, like waves on a bright green sea.

‘Falmar stopped, her head held high, and shook her neck and head vigorously. Her grey mane flew wildly in the wind. Pio could feel the tension of the great horse’s muscles coiled beneath her. She wanted to run through the grass, cleaving it like a great ship through the cresting waves. Eat up the miles and leave them far behind her.

The Elf inched forward on the withers and bent down to whisper to the horse. Her hands wound tightly in ‘Falmar’s mane, and she gave a wide smile as the horse nodded its head vigorously.‘The wind is with us, 'Falmar. Let us run with it.’

She leaned as close to the horse as her babied girth would allow. Her mind reached out to catch the feeling of abandon as ‘Falmar leapt to meet the rolling green waves. They flew, and the wind of their passing was like a great sigh through the fields. The tall grasses parted for a brief moment, bowing down before them; then closed behind, as if undisturbed, once again . . .

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

19 Lotessë, Year 12 of the Fourth Age

The horse and rider went slowly down the other side of the hill once they had raced to the crest of it. It was not a great distance to Amaranthas' house from here, and Pio wished the sun to be up just a little more before she knocked on her door.

Once they had reached the house, Pio clambered off, leaving her mount to nibble the grass in the greensward. A few steps along a clean swept stone walkway brought her to a freshly painted green door. To each side of the entrance were stone planters with riots of red, yellow, and orange blooms spilling over the sides. Pio tapped twice on the door, then stepped back to await its opening.

‘WHAT WOOLY PATED HOBBIT IS DISTURBING MY MORNING TEA?! TOLMAN BYWATER, IF THAT’S YOU AGAIN PLAYING TRICKS ON AN OLD LADY, I’LL HAVE YOUR HIDE FOR IT!’

The door cracked open the barest of inches. One baleful, bright black eye peered out at her. Pio stepped up close to the door. ‘It is Piosenniel, my dear Amaranthas. I have come to ask your advice on something.’

The door swung open slowly, and the tiny Hobbit came forward, leaning on her silver handled hawthorn stick. She had been no more than three feet tall in her prime, and now age had bent her spine, making her even smaller. Her face was as wrinkled as a wizened winter’s apple with cheeks stained red, and her eyes were still keen and took in all. Dressed in her usual black, widow’s weeds with a white starched cap securely covering her thinning grey curls, she looked the Elf up and down taking her measure.

‘Those babies are getting bigger by the minute, Miz Pio!’ She looked over to where ‘Falmar was grazing on the greensward. ‘Tell me you didn’t ride the horse here this morning! Are you trying to bring them out early, you little fool.’

The Elf stifled a giggle at this comment. Who was this tiny Hobbit to call her a little fool! She heard the loud crack as Amaranthas tapped her cane hard on the stone porch. ‘No need to be laughing at an old lady, Missy! You need to take better care of yourself if you intend to be a mother.’

Pio blanched at this comment. How many times had she heard it already from Cami! She stammered out an apology, trying to look contrite. An expression not familiar to the features of her face.

Amaranthas laughed at her guest’s discomfiture, a dry dusty sound that wheezed out of her like a long, sustained note from an old squeeze box, the kind the tinker would play as he walked along to draw his customers’ attention. Pio stepped forth, a look of concern on her face, as the laugh seemed to roll out with no intake of breath to replenish it.

The laughed dissolved into a cough, and Amaranthas waved the Elf back, nodding to her that she was alright. ‘Come in! Come in.’ wheezed the old Hobbit, pointing the way to the parlour. Pio stepped in and went to the cozy little room, having visited the house previously, while Amaranthas shut the door securely.

‘That’s a good girl, to fix us some more tea. Your mother did a good job of raising you!’ Amaranthas had come to the table and sat herself down as Pio busied herself brewing a fresh pot of tea, then rooted through the cupboards for one more cup. Cup in hand, she nosed through several more cupboards before asking, ‘Now where is that seedcake you told me you always bake midweek? I am famished!’ Amaranthas chuckled and pointed out the bread drawer to the left of the stone sink with her hawthorn cane.

Pio busied herself slicing the cake into thin slices, and piled them high on a small, flowered plate. Plate in one hand and a pot of gooseberry jam in the other, Pio plunked herself down at the table, and poured the steaming tea for the two of them. She passed Amaranthas the seedcake and jam, and the pot of honey to sweeten the tea. Piling a generous spoonful of jam on the slice of cake in her own hand, she raised it to her mouth, and bit down in delight.

They passed a fair time in pleasant conversation, and Amaranthas filled her in on all the news of all the neighbors round her. Pio’s head swam with the jumble of facts and imaginings she now knew about people she did not know. She was just about to fill her in on the despicable Bywater family when Pio redirected her commentary with a question.

‘Amaranthas,’ she said, offering her the plate of sliced cake, ‘I need to ask you for a favor.’ The Hobbit was now all ears. ‘Can you direct me to someone you would trust as a midwife?’ She put her hand on her belly for emphasis. ‘The twins will be born on Loënde, Mid Year’s Day, just a little over a month away. I need to find someone who can be there with me.’

The venerable Hobbit looked at her questioningly. ‘I don’t know much about Elves, but I’ve been through my share of Hobbit births. How do you know they will be born that day exactly? Aren’t these your first? They could come at any time. And twins! That could prove difficult.’ She sat thinking on poor Marigold Brandybuck who lost one of the twins she had carried and never did get over the loss.

‘It will be Loënde, because the twins and I have agreed on it.’ Amaranthas arched her eyebrows at this information, and gave a distinct ‘Hmmph!’ ‘And as to difficulty in the birth itself, Elven women are different in this respect, we carry our children differently and their births are fairly effortless. I expect some discomfort but nothing as I have heard told of Men’s births.’

‘Is that so?’ said the Hobbit, her black eyes glittering with barely concealed mirth. ‘Discomfort! Now that is an interesting word, indeed. Sort of pretties things up, doesn’t it?’ She smiled at Pio and winked.

Pio kept an even expression on her face and looked back at her. ‘More tea?’ she said, pouring herself another cupful. It was true her store of knowledge on this subject was extremely limited, having avoided involvement in helping with any births throughout her long years. Still, she assumed she would get through it much as she had any event in her life. She would simply take charge and see it done the way she intended.

As if she had read the Elf’s thoughts, Amaranthas shook her head, kindly holding her tongue on the subject. Instead she gave careful consideration to Pio’s request, and after a few moments produced a name she thought would fit the bill.

‘Rose Cotton Gamgee.’ she said with some finality. ‘That’s who it will be. I’ll speak to her myself this afternoon.’

Two more hours passed pleasantly in small talk. Pio regaled the Hobbit with tales of Cami’s mothering of her, and her industrious knitting projects for the babies. ‘It settles my mind a little knowing you have someone with a good head on her shoulders to keep you in line, Miz Pio. Stars above, those babies would be looking a little rag tag if it were up to you alone.’ Pio took the admonishment good naturedly, knowing that there was probably some truth to it.

She helped to clear and wash the breakfast dishes, and dry them. When the last of them were put back into the proper cupboard, she took her leave of Amaranthas, saying that she would send the Inn’s wagon round for her next week and the Hobbit could visit her at the Inn.

Amaranthas motioned for her to bend down to her and surprised her with a kiss on the cheek. She pressed a cloth wrapped seed cake into her hands, saying she would look forward to the visit. ‘Now what did you say that Hobbit’s name was who was staying with you? I’ll bring her some of my mushroom pasties.’

‘Cami. Camelia Goodchild.’ said Pio as she mounted back on ‘Falmar.

Shaking her head, Amaranthas tsk! tsk’d! at seeing Pio back on the horse. She watched from her front steps as Pio made her way to the top of the hill and disappeared behind it. She was just preparing to go in, when she turned with a puzzled expression on her face and looked in the direction the Elf had gone.

‘Camelia Goodchild, was it? I knew of a Hobbit that had that name. A fey sort of creature as I recall.’ Her eyes looked keenly in the direction of the Inn. ‘It couldn’t be her, though. She’s been dead these many years. Couldn’t be.’

She closed the door securely behind her and sat down in her favorite chair to think.

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

19 Lotessë, Year 12 of the Fourth Age

Noontime

‘Falmar delivered her rider safely back to the Inn. Pio dismounted and led her back to the stable for a wipe down and a small nose bag of oats. ‘I promise,’ she said, brushing the horse as it finished the snack, ‘that is the last time you will have to bear me until after the twins are born.’ She picked up the comb and began to work the tangles and grass tassles out of ‘Falmar’s tail. The horse nodded her head vigorously, indicating that she had finished, and Pio removed the feed bag. Picking up the currying brushes, she soon fell into the gentle repetitive rhythm of the strokes.

She let her mind drift as her hands continued the pattern of the brushing from front to back and round to the other side. The babies were resting, the occasional bump of a heel against her rib as they turned in their dreamings. Cami was in the Inn, her mind busy with plans for the small party. She could sense that she was happy, looking forward to the arrival of her old teacher. Mithadan’s thoughts were on the country side about him – enjoying the sights, enjoying the pleasant day, and wondering about . . . Ah! He was hungry. He was wondering whether he should stop for lunch or just ride on.

Stop and eat! Rest a little. she chided him gently. We’ll still be here.

The last part of the grooming was the mane. Carefully combing out the tangles where she had gripped it as they raced through the grasses, she worked from the withers up toward the forelock. Her mind drifted out once again, this time a little further.

A pattern of irritated, tired, and breathless thoughts caught her hands in mid stroke. She dropped the combs, her eyes went wide, and she doubled over in a fit of laughter, nearly losing the contact.

It was Bird! Flying north as fast her jackdaw wings could flap. A string of complaint and invective lost in the wind that streamed behind her.

‘Isn’t it just like that inconsiderate Elf. Goes traipsing off to some far off region, leaving poor Birdie to beat her wings to death trying to get there. Kids’ll probably be already weaned by the time their Auntie arrives! And who’s going to hold old Mith’s hand while he’s pacing the floor waiting for news of his heirs’ arrival? By the One, why couldn’t she be like the normal mother-to-be and stayed in Gondor, near the hubby, to do her nesting!’

Pio could feel the mounting fatigue in her dear companion.

Bird! Rest a while. You are almost here. Mithadan rides north also. I cannot tell how far apart you two are. You will be here in plenty of time to hold his hand!

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Some months earlier: Tuilérë, Year 12 of the Fourth Age

Bird's Post

(Somewhere in Far Harad)

In the heat of the day the dark shelter of the cave was a welcome refuge. But the desert could get cold at night, so the bandits appeared as shadowy lumps, wrapped in filthy skins or stolen blankets to keep out the chill.

A small black and silver neekerbreeker crept along the wall of the cavern, waving her antennae and finding the smallest cracks which she could cling to with her sharp, bristly feet. She gazed down at the sleeping forms, searching for the leader and finally spying him; closest to the banked fire, of course.

She knew that this excursion was a waste of time. Two days of following the bandits and eavesdropping on their tedious conversations had convinced her that they had no knowledge of the people that she sought. In fact, Bird was sure that no self-respecting Skin Changer would have dealings with these stupid, but very dangerous Men. Their speech and manner were little better than Orcs.

But she had decided to do a thorough search of the leader's pack before she abandoned this particular dead end. There might be something hidden there; a letter, another map, a piece of carving. Any scrap of evidence that these brigands might have some knowledge of her secret kin.

Bird flexed her back legs, preparing to leap the distance from the wall to the pack, when Pio's message hit her like a ton of bricks:

"Auntie Bird! Shire. Three months. The twins. Loendë, Midsummer’s day. Come!"

Bird's antennae straightened as if they had received an electric shock, and a throbbing pain stabbed into both temples. She gasped and lost her hold on the cave wall, falling ten feet down to the dirt floor and landing on her back, where she struggled to right herself, all six legs scrambling furiously in the air.

As she wrestled to right herself, struggling in her rigid carapace, she let loose a furious stream of curse-words in six languages, including her newly acquired stock of Haradian phrases. Then her legs stilled, and for the first time the importance of the message sank in.

"Midsummer's Day? Why, where has the time gone? I only have three months to make it back to the North Lands for the birth! You'd think she would have given me a little more advance notice. Now if I can only right myself and get out of this infernal den!"

Help came from an unexpected source, as a massive, sour smelling bandit rolled over in his sleep, his pockmarked face a mere few inches away from the struggling insect. He drew a massive breath, and Bird could feel her lightweight body being sucked closer to the massive green teeth and slack jaw of the brigand. Then after a short pause, he released a long, spray-filled, lip-flapping snore, that washed a fetid odor of garlic and rotten teeth over the neekerbreeker, and blew her all of six inches away.

The force of the bandit's breath flipped Bird over, and she stood on all six legs, gagging from the noxious fumes that engulfed her, but upright at last.

A few minutes later the little neekerbreeker stood at the mouth of the cave, her hard-shelled head and faceted eyes gazing up at the full, desert moon. Then the body of the insect shifted and melted like a sugar-candy cricket, and in less than a moment, a small black-and-white bird stood in its place.

Bird raised her wings, sprang into the air, and for a moment was silhouetted against the huge, golden moon. Then the shadow of the jackdaw disappeared, as it turned and headed North.

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

19 Lotessë, Year 12 of the Fourth Age

Afternoon

Amaranthas put on her straw hat with the soft brim and tied it neatly under her chin. A light wool shawl, white, went round her shoulders, even though the sun shone warmly this afternoon. Her bones chilled easily at her age, and she meant to ward off what discomfort she could. Taking a last look in the looking glass, she pushed a few stray white curls back from her forehead, and satisfied, picked up her blackthorn walking stick with the silver handle and went out the door. She was off to find a midwife for Miz Pio and her soon to be born twins.

She was bound for Bag End, to see Rose Cotton. Or rather Rose Cotton Gamgee as she was now called since her marriage to Samwise Gamgee. ‘One of those gallivanting Hobbits!’ she thought to herself as she trudged down the path from her house to the lane. Still, Rose had settled him down quite nicely, and they were well on their way to have a family of quite satisfactory size.

‘Now Miz Pio could take a lesson from that lass! Settle down, have plenty of children, tend the garden, and feed your husband well.’ Amaranthas stopped mid stride as this picture played through her mind. The thought of Miz Pio doing any of this set her cackling, and she drew out her lace edged hanky to wipe away the tears of mirth. ‘We’ll be lucky to get her through this birth. Poor git thinks she’s going to have such an easy time, her being an Elf and all. Used to having her own way. Hah!’

The venerable Hobbit resumed her walking, her mind turning to other matters. ‘And what about that so called husband of hers?’ she wondered out loud, her lips pursed in thought. ‘Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since she’s been here. Now what kind of fellow leaves his new wife, in a family way, to fend for herself far from him? A bounder, that’s who! That young man needs someone to set him straight on things.’ She thumped her stick vigorously on the ground as she thought about this, wondering if the so called husband, Mithadan, actually existed at all.

It was with these dark thoughts that she found herself already come to the little path that led upward to Bag End. She paused for a moment, to catch her breath, then trudged up the path and up the stairs to the round green door.

She tapped firmly on the door with the head of her stick, and stood back a pace to wait for the door to open.

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Nuranar's Post

From the open window beside the door came a roar and a yelp. Suddenly a tiny Hobbit boy flew out the door, closely pursued by another. “Stop, Bilbo!” this one shouted between roars. “Smaug got you this time!” The two dashed past Amaranthas with nary a glance.

“Stop! Merry, that’s not supposed to happen!” called an older Hobbit boy, leaping after them. Behind him ran a girl, giggling delightedly. “Elanor, there’s someone at the door!” the boy yelled back to the Hobbit hole.

“What are you – oh!” Amaranthas turned back to the doorway. Framed in it, stood another girl. Her lovely golden curls framed a face that was renowned throughout the Shire, even in all of Amaranthas’ ninety years.

Remembering her manners, Elanor dropped a curtsey and invited the visitor in. “Please step into the parlor, ma’am.”

The parlor was a comfortable room, and like the rest of the house in a state of mild disarray. A matronly Hobbit bustled in from the kitchen, her cheeks rosy and her soft brown curls up in a bun. “Why, Miz Amaranthas! Please have a seat. May I get you anything?”

“I would look kindly upon some water, Rose dear. It’s a bit of a walk from my place and I’m not so young as you or those boys of yours!”

Rose laughed cheerily and indicated her own maternal figure. “As you can see, I’m not as spry as them right now anyway!” Suddenly the thin wail of a toddler broke upon their ears. “And speaking of…Elanor, would you take Goldilocks and Hamfast outside in the garden? It seems the boys woke them up. And make sure you keep Ham from eating the bugs! Miz Amaranthas, I’ll get you some water.”

By the time Rose returned, Amaranthas had established herself in Bilbo’s old chair by the fireplace. Setting the glass down on a table at her visitor’s elbow, Rose seated herself in a chair by the work table and fished out her thimble. “I’m sorry for the confusion, but it is such a surprise to see you. Tell me, what brings you to Bag End?”

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Small as Bilbo’s old chair was, it nearly swallowed the tiny figure of Amaranthas. Leaning forward in it, she picked up the glass from the table and took a long drink. Rose busied herself with her darning, peering at the neat seams she was making through the small wire rimmed glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She pulled the edges of a hole in one of little Merry’s breeches together with a fine seam, speaking softly to herself as she tied it off.

‘There! That should do it.” She held the garment up for inspection, and laughed. ‘If it makes it through Pippin’s wearing of it, I’ll be lucky. That boy is ten times harder on things than his older brothers!’

Amaranthas nodded her head, and admired Rose’s efficient handiwork, thinking of all the holes she had patched for her brood. ‘Enjoy the holes, Rose. And the tears, and all the missing buttons.’ she said to her, remembering her own lively boys. ‘They’re healthy boys. And hard to believe as it is now, they’ll be gone all too soon.’ Rose smiled at the old Hobbit and looked at her, over the rim of her glasses, waiting for her to go on.

She took another small sip of water and shifted in her seat to face Rose. ‘You asked what brings me to Bag End. Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve got a friend, new to the Shire, who’s just about ready to have her babies. Twins, they are. She’s staying at the Inn. Took over when the former Innkeeper was called away on family business, in fact. She’s asked me who might be the best midwife, as these are her first. And I naturally thought of you.’

Rose looked up, surprised that Amaranthas had taken such a friendly interest in a stranger. It had been a long time since she and Sam had had the opportunity to visit the Inn, and she had heard no word of who was innkeeper now. ‘And who is it who runs the Dragon, Amaranthas?’ she asked, putting away her sewing and leaning in closer so as not to miss a word. It was not often such an interesting bit of gossip came her way and she intended to get the full story. ‘What family does she come from? Is she from Buckland or beyond?’

The old Hobbit leaned forward in her chair, hands resting on the knob of her cane, planted firmly on the floor. ‘Well, my dear, I’m afraid the new innkeeper is come from farther away than Buckland or even Bree-land, for that matter. And she’s come from none of the families we might know about.’ Taking note of Rose’s furrowed brow, she paused, wondering how best to put this, then decided just to plunge in. ‘Her name is Piosenniel. A lovely woman, though none too knowledgeable about having babies.’ She cackled and told Rose what Miz Pio had said to her about her kind having only a little discomfort when their babies were born.

The furrows grew deeper along Rose’s brow, and she looked at Amaranthas with questioning eyes. ‘Her kind?’ she asked. ‘And, Piosenniel, that’s an odd name for a Hobbit. Even for one from far away, as you say.’

Amaranthas tapped her cane on the ground in irritation. ‘I knew that wasn’t going to come out well, the minute the words left my mouth.’ She sipped the last of her water and set the glass down carefully on the little table when she was done.

‘She’s not a Hobbit, Rose. Miz Pio is an Elf.’

Nuranar’s Post

The thimble dropped from Rose’s finger and tinkled along the floor. “An Elf?” she gasped. “But what is she doing in the Shire of all places?”

“I told you already, she took over at the Green Dragon,” Amaranthas snapped in a tone that clearly said, “Come on, Rose, get over it!”

Rose pulled herself back together. “Well, of course I’ll be the midwife for her. I haven’t any experience with Elven births – ”

Amaranthas snorted. “As if anyone else in the Shire has! You’ll do fine, with all your experience,” she winked. “I ween our Miz Pio may discover that ‘her kind’ really don’t have it that much easier than the rest of us.”

Rose giggled. “She’s in for a surprise!”

Pio’s Post

‘Mama! My dolly!’ The indignant yell of two year old Goldilocks spilled in through the parlour door, followed by the red faced toddler with two fat tears puddling on her cheeks. ‘Oh, Goldi, now what have those scamps done?!’ Rose cradled her sniffling daughter on her lap and tried to comfort her. But the girl wanted justice not hugs.

Goldi pointed a chubby baby finger at the window, as her rag doll sailed in an arc from one side to the other just outside on the lawn. ‘You’ll have to excuse me Miz Amaranthas,’ said Rose as she got up and peered out the window. ‘It seems I’m needed to referee in a case of kidnapped dollies.’

She placed Goldi on her hip and spoke firmly out the window to Merry who had just tossed the beloved doll to Pippin. Goldi howled as the doll dropped in the dirt in a missed catch, then stuck out her tongue at both boys when Rose reprimanded them.

‘I can see you’ve got your hands full, Rose.’ said Amaranthas, smiling at the mischief going on. ‘I’ll leave you to sort it out. No need to show me out. I know the way.’ She walked slowly to the door, her cane tapping on the wood floor as she went. Rose followed behind, opening the door for her as both of them went out.

‘I’ll send Miz Pio to see you soon.’ she called out to Rose as she headed down the stone walkway. Amaranthas looked back, unsure if she had heard her. Rose had already walked over to where Merry and Pippin stood shamefaced, looking down at their feet, but she looked up at the old Hobbits word’s and nodded.

Amaranthas chuckled, thinking those boys were in for it now. She hurried back to her house as quickly as her old legs would carry her. She would write a note to Piosenniel, she thought, and send it to the Inn, with one of the Bolger boys, early this evening.

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami carefully dipped her feathered quill into the ink pot and set her pen to the first sheet of vellum. Beside her on the table lay a short list of friends and kin whom they had decided to invite to their dinner. Her eyes quickly scanned the names to make certain no one had been omitted: the Tooks, the Brandybucks, and the Gamgees; Bilbo's cousin Angelica Baggins; Fatty Bolger; and Amaranthas. Jotted underneath were the others who would need no formal invitations: herself and Piosenniel, Frodo, Bilbo, and the mysterious guest Lorien.

Cami stared at the last entry with a puzzled expression on her face, wondering why a Vala would bother visiting the Shire and just what he would look like. Outside of dreams, she'd met only one Vala face-to-face. That had been Ulmo, Masters of the Seas, who had visited the hobbits on the isle of Meneltarma at the time of the Choosing. She expected Lorien to be similar in appearance and behavior, very majestic and full of light, with a grave and measured demeanor, which would brook no familiarity or interference. She would need to mind her conduct and urge Piosenniel to do the same, since her friend had not seemed too happy about his coming.

Cami's reflections drifted away from Lorien to focus on Bilbo's expected arrival. It had been so long since she'd seen her teacher. Her last memory of him came from some thirty years before, when she'd sat under the Party Tree, long since cut down, and watched him vanish with no advance warning. Cami did not like to remember that day, since it held a secret she'd never admitted to her friends or even to herself. There had been a time, in fact a very long time, even after she'd learned about the Ring, when her main feeling towards Bilbo had been one of anger. She had repeatedly questioned why he had to disappear from her life without saying anything, leaving her hopes and plans so adrift. But the years had mellowed her heart, or so she imagined, and this resentment had slipped to the back of her mind with the excitement of her teacher's arrival.

Cami now bent to her task with renewed vigor and, within a short time, finished writing out her first invitation. It was done in an elegant, spidery script, that she'd learned some forty years before when, seated beside Sam, she'd studied her letters and numbers at Bilbo's kitchen table.

20 Thrimidge, Year 1433 S.R.

Honored Guest,

My friend Piosenniel and I are pleased to invite you and your family to a dinner party given at 7 o'clock sharp on 21 Thrimige in the Green Dragon Inn. This is a welcome home celebration for our dear friends Frodo and Bilbo Baggins who will be arriving that evening to spend some time with us in Hobbiton.

As many of my own friends recall, I myself have been absent from Hobbiton for some twenty-four years, and have only recently returned from my travels for a brief holiday in the Shire. I look forward to greeting each of you and catching up on all the local news I have missed.

At our dinner, you will also be able to meet my good friend Piosenniel who hails from a land far distant from here.

Your friend,

Cami Goodchild

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

An hour or so later, and Cami had finished her task. All the invitations lay stacked in a pile, neatly tucked inside their envelopes. Cami scooped them up in her hand, as her heart filled with pleasure. Never, in all her years, would she have dreamed this was possible. She ran to Pio's room and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Then she hurried down to the kitchen which now seemed largey deserted.

The Elf sat alone in front of the cooking fire staring at a letter that was set before her on the table. Cami wondered how many times Pio had read it and whether she'd committed all the words to memory. The hobbit made no comment on this, but quickly pressed the invitations into her friend's keeping. "Here they are! All done. Can you make sure these are delivered as soon as possible?"

Pio nodded in agreement. Then, the two women talked a bit on the various preparations that would be needed for the dinner and who would be responsible for each.

Pio took in Cami's quiet smile and observed, "You look happy, happier than I've seen in a long time."

"Yes, as happy as I can be." Cami's voice sounded content but still a little wistful. Yet Pio did not miss the hidden meaning of these words.

To cover over the moment, the hobbit quickly turned and pointed to where Mithadan's letter still lay on the table, placing her small hand over that of her friend, "Don't worry, you'll see him again soon. He'll be here for the twins' birth. Then everything will be alright."

Pio sighed and, remembering that Lorien was coming, thought with some bitterness, Why can I not say the same thing to her?

[ February 18, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

"You know, Frodo, I shall be quite content to see it again, just one more time, after all these years." Bilbo ran a hand through his mane of silver curls and contentedly nursed a pipe, as he recalled the night he had left the Shire over thirty years before. "And you?" he asked, gazing towards his nephew.

Frodo's response came with little hesitation. "The land, the fields, all my favorite hidden spots....it will be good to visit those again." Then he turned to Bilbo and laughed. "What a pair we make! Here we sit in the most beautiful place in all of Arda, talking about somewhere else that's very far away."

Bilbo smiled, "No, there can't be more goodness or peace than what we have here." His eyes swept over the horizon, with the gentle dales and hills that could be seen from their doorstep, its mountains and ocean shores peeping out from behind. "Beautiful, yes, and pure. A fine place to go for a nice, long visit, but it still isn't home."

He settled back in the chair the younger hobbit had set out for him on their front stoop. The last few months had seen a gradual change in Bilbo's physical strength as the older hobbit found himself walking more slowly, and needing to lean against another's arm. Still, his mind was bright and clear, and that was all he could possibly want.

Frodo found himself speaking in an almost wistful tone. "For me, it's the friends we had. I keep remembering them. Merri and Pippin and Sam, especially Sam. I wonder how that will go." Frodo knew he'd changed in certain ways from his stay in the West. His Quenyan was fluent, and he was adept at osanwe. Yet there were also a few more grey hairs on his head. Even Tol Eressea couldn't change that. But he wouldn't be the only one who was different. Sam had probably changed too, in ways he couldn't even guess.

"I expect we'll find out soon, any day now." Bilbo took a puff on his pipe and continued. "It's strange. When I was younger, I was convinced that you and I would find time to travel and share some adventures outside the Shire. But I never dreamed we'd be sharing them here, in the West. And, now, we head out on another trip, the final one I think, or at least for me."

The two hobbits looked intently at each other. Then Bilbo leaned back, set down the pipe, and closed his eyes. There are certain things for which words are not needed. Frodo went inside and brought out a woolen blanket, tucking it about the older hobbit's lap to protect him from the cool night air. He sat down on the step nearby and leaned against Bilbo's knee, as a misty, silver curtain seemed to fall in place, bringing with it an abundance of dreams and hope.

Mithadan's Post:

Lorien stood above the slumbering Hobbits with Olorin and gazed down upon Frodo and Bilbo with a faint smile. Then he turned to his companion and spoke in the tongue of the Valar. "Art thou certain of this venture, Olorin?" he said. "It seems much to undertake for the benefit of a few of the Younger Children, even such honored ones as these."

"Certain?" replied the Maia. "Thou knowest that nought is certain beyond the Music of the Ainur and that the ways of Man twist and evade Fate at every turn. Yet it is right that we do this. These Perianath are deserving of some reward for their faithful services and this seems little enough. So too are Maura, Cami and those who labored with The Lonely Star deserving."

A wry grin appeared on Lorien's face. "Very well, then. But perhaps I should thank thee, for it has been ages since I have walked upon Middle Earth, save perhaps in thought."

Olorin looked uncomfortable. "Master Lorien, art thou certain that thou should accompany the Hobbits?" he said. Then he shifted his speech into Westron. "You are less familiar with the ways of Middle earth than I. And you must be placed in a physical body for that is our way; the powers no longer may walk the fields of the mortal lands without doing so. In taking the shape of a Man, you are subject to the hurts of the world. Moreover, you must conceal your identity to all but a few and speak their Common Tongue. Are you certain that you wish to do this?"

"Aye, Olorin," Lorien answered in Westron. "I am certain. And I will take care. I thank thee...thank you for your concern. And I believe that I shall enjoy this."

With that, Lorien raised his arms and shed the appearance of a body with which he clothed himself in Valinor. Unclothed, he shone brightly for a moment until a mist flowed about him. Then the light dimmed and he stood before Olorin, tall and shrouded in a grey cloak. His hair and beard were silver and his eyes blue as the sky. He looked down upon his body and smiled. "Hmmm. Interesting." Then he looked up at Olorin again. "Before we go, would you be so kind as to tell me about...pipeweed?"

[ February 18, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[ February 20, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Cami had somehow finagled the Elf, in her usual way, into doing a chore for her. And now Pio found herself sitting at the kitchen table of the Inn after the Hobbit had left, with a stack of invitations that needed delivering this afternoon at the very latest. She could not recall having actually agreed to do this for her friend, but it was best just to get it done and let Cami get on with the preparations for the party.

She changed clothes, putting on a pair of tights that would accommodate her girth, and a large, loose shirt with long sleeves. A bright, tapestry vest brought some color to the outfit, though she bemoaned the fact the vest must hang open, since it would not close over the swell of her belly. Her soft leather knee boots were on her feet, a knife hidden in each top, And beneath the voluminous sleeves of her shirt were strapped her two daggers, one to each forearm. Her hair hung long, cascading in thick waves to her mid back, the occasional curl straying down the front of her shoulders.

All of the invitations, but one, she delegated to one of the servers at the Inn to deliver. She gave him a silver penny and sent him off in haste, saying that as soon as he returned he would have the twin to the first coin in his hand. She watched with some amusement as he pocketed the penny in his vest, and tucking the invitations into a satchel hung from his shoulder, he ran down the path as fast as his short Hobbit strides would take him.

Pio turned from watching him, and went to the stable for the second time that day. Hearing the familiar footsteps, ‘Falmar whinnied at her and looking over the stall door, eyed her with something akin to equine amusement. ‘I know. I promised that I had ridden you for the last time until after the babies are born.’

‘Falmar stomped her hoof hard on the ground and shook her mane vigorously as Pio opened the stall door and waved her out. ‘And again, I know! Amaranthas has lectured me thoroughly on the dangers of riding at this late date. Not to mention what Cami would say if she saw me mount you.’ She led the horse to a stack of small wooden crates and climbing to the top of them, pulled herself onto the back of the patient steed.

‘Quietly and quickly now.’ she urged her mount in a soft voice. Pio had not taken time to bridle ‘Falmar, but simply twisted her hands in the thick mane and tapped her lightly with her heels. She passed quickly through the Inn’s yard, to the small road that led west to Hobbiton, then turned north onto Hill Lane and crossing The Water went up the small rise to Bag End.


The invitation was secured in the inner pocket of her vest, and she patted it occasionally to make sure it was still there. ‘Master Samwise Gamgee and Family’ was written in Cami’s lovely hand on the front of it, and Pio wondered if the venerable Hobbit, Sam, would be surprised to hear from an old friend. At any rate, she thought, this would be a good opportunity to introduce herself to his missus, Miz Rose.

The round, green door of Bag End came into view. ‘I wonder if Amaranthas had the chance to see her today as she said she would.’ she thought, as she drew nearer to the house. She dismounted at the entrance to the steps leading up to Bag End. ‘Falmar she left to wander on the greensward.

Pio climbed the steps to the front porch of the house, taking in the welcoming sight of lovely flowers growing to each side of the pathway. She reached down, delighting in the petalled beauty, and plucked a small sprig of fragrant rock daphne to ornament her hair.

She straightened her clothes as she stood there, and brushed the dust of the road from them as best she could. Then taking the invitation from her vest pocket, she held it carefully in one hand and rapped loudly on the door with the other.

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Rose Cotton's post for Rosie:


The young hobbit girl struggled to keep a grip on the watering can as she made her way to the flowerbed in front of Bag End. Slowly Rosie tipped the can and sprinkled the flowers. A wide grin spread across the
eight-year old's face as she went about her task. Daddy would be so proud of her.

While this thought crossed her mind, she had heard someone coming up the road. As the person had come over the ridgem Rosie could scarcely believe her eyes. Was that an elf? She watched in awe as the tall figure passed through the gate and up to the burrow, knocking at her front door.

Now Rosie was sure this was an elf. She looked exactly like the ones in her daddy's stories. The elf bent low and spoke to her in a kindly voice.

"Hello. Is your mother inside?"

"Who are you?" asked Rosie curiously.

"I am Piosenniel. My friends call me Pio. Is your mother home?"

Rosie gestured excitedly for Pio to follow her into the house.

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

Arwen Baggin's post:

"Momma! Frodo and Pippin are throwing rocks at the neighbor’s dog!" Elanor Gamgee yelled in through the open window of Bag End.

Rose Gamgee sighed, and looked out into the sunlight. "Elanor dear, just tell them to come inside. Hurry now. We don’t want them in trouble again." Rose shook her head and went back to her chair.

Elanor skipped over to where her brother's were, and almost froze when she saw her little sister Rosie greeting a very tall person, and letting her into their house. "Rosie! What are you doing?"

The stranger and her sister both looked at her, and Rosie yelled, "Elanor! Don’t be so mean to our guest!" Rosie waddled in her bright yellow dress over to her sister. "She’s an Elf! See! I’ve never seen a hobbit that big! She wants to see Mommy."

Elanor rubbed her eyes, and grabbed her sister’s hand. ‘An Elf! Here at Bag End!’ They walked forward, and Elanor curtsied to her guest. "Welcome to Bag End. I am Elanor. This is my sister, Rosie. Welcome, Welcome. Come, step inside."

The Elf chuckled in a friendly manner, and stepped ahead of them. She waited for the hobbit girls, and Elanor opened the door to their home.

[ February 18, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Pio stood in the Front Hall and looked about her. The two young girls had scampered off to fetch their mother or father she supposed, and being curious, she stepped through the rounded entrance to her left and into a long hallway. It was cool; no, not cool, but just a pleasant temperature here under the hill. A pleasant relief from the hot, midsummer’s day she had just ridden in.

On her left, as she walked slowly down the corridor was the entry way into the parlor and on her right, the drawing room. She knew she should probably go in to one of them and wait patiently, but the smell of something good to eat drew her further on to the kitchen just past the drawing room.

She peeked in, and seeing no one went in. There, in all their sumptuous glory, were set blackberry muffins on large wire racks on the wooden counter to cool. One of the berries, it seemed, winked at her from its pastry throne, its shiny black skin catching the light from the small kitchen fire. Laughing, she bowed courteously to it, and picked it up from its fellows. She bit into it, crumbs from the warm, plump muffin falling unheeded onto her vest.

‘Ah! This is wonderful!’ she said, her lips stained a dark red from the juice of the berries. She took another bite, and went searching for some milk to wash it down.

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Nuranar]

The stone pitcher on the table appeared to be sweating in the heat. But no - it was full of cold milk, apparently just brought from the springhouse. 'Perfect!' Pio murmured to herself. She swiftly poured a glass and sauntered through the hallway to the parlor, prepared to pull the innocent-abandoned-visitor stunt when she was discovered.

Through the open window she saw and heard two young boys scamper through the front door, glancing behind them as if they expected pursuit. Ah, the dog-abusers have returned home! Pio thought. Their giggles faded back deeper into the house.

Suddenly the comparative peace of the afternoon was rent in no uncertain manner. 'BOYS! Come here right now! Who's been in the muffins?'

Jumping guiltily, Pio flushed and crept to the door of the kitchen. Lined up in a row were the two - oh, and now three - boys, all with bewildered expressions. 'Mama, we didn't even know you made them!' the tallest protested with an air of injured innocence.

The matronly hobbit woman who stood over them raised a skeptical eyebrow. 'Muffins don't walk away, Frodo. Now who ate it?'

[Carrûn]

Frodo was sitting next to his favorite window; one with bright green trim that looked out towards the West. He was lazily alternating between daydreaming and dozing in the sunlight. Bright rays glinted off of shining swords as the two armies raced down opposite ends of the valley towards each other.

He laughed, chiding himself, and attempted to re-focus his attention on the papers before him. His father was a good teacher, but a gardener at heart. Frodo had a deeper desire to learn more about the scripts and tounges of Middle-Earth. He sighed. He mulled a few phrases of basic Elvish that Sam had imparted to him over in his head. His brother Pippin's head poked in through the window. "Come on! Old Bowser taking a nap!" Grinning, Frodo crawled out of the window. Creeping over towards the old dog they began tossing a few small rocks towards him, then running behind a small stump to hide. He heard one of his sisters shout from the other side and grabbed his brother's hand. "Let's go Pip - game's up!" Rushing back through the window he set himself down again and attempted to look like he had been reading all along.

His false appearence was inturupped by the sharp, knife-like tone of a very upset mother - his mother. 'BOYS! Come here right now! Who's been in the muffins?' Stumbling over himself, he rushed to the kitchen to find two of his brothers already lined up looking as innocent as possible. Scrambling in to place he added a few words of his own for communal defense: 'Mama, we didn't even know you made them!' She was not convinced. 'Muffins don't walk away, Frodo. Now who ate it?'

Frodo didn't seem to hear her. He was staring past his mother with his mouth gaping.

‘I am afraid you have the wrong culprits this time, Miz Rose.’

There in the doorway stood what the young hobbit lad assumed was an elf. She was holding a glass of milk but all the boy noticed were the various knives she was carrying. He felt like he should say something and attempted to work his tounge to form some sort of greeting but found himself unnable to do so. Finally noticing that his lower jaw was nearing his chest he closed his mouth with a snap. The elf winked and Frodo relaxed, but his amazement did not lessen.

[ February 18, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[piosenniel]

‘I am afraid you have the wrong culprits this time, Miz Rose.’

The grinning Elf stood in the doorway to the kitchen, holding up the half full glass of milk and her now empty, berry-stained hand. ‘In fact, if I might, I should like to have just one more muffin. The other twin needs one, too.’ She winked at the three, open mouthed boys and bowed her head courteously to their mother.

‘My name is Piosenniel. Pio, to my friends.’ She nodded, smiling at the three boys, and moved further into the kitchen. ‘Did little Rose and Elanor tell you I had come?’ Placing her glass on the counter, she fished the invitation out of her vest and handed it to Rose. ‘This is for Master Samwise Gamgee and Family. An invitation to a dinner party at The Green Dragon, tomorrow night.’

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[ArwenBaggins]

Before Rose could respond to the woman, her daughter Elanor had run up behind her. Elanor was eyeing the muffins, and also stared closely at Pio who still stood dusting off the crumbs.

Noticing the envelope in Rose's hands, Elanor asked, "What’s that Mama?" By standing on tiptoe, she could just peer over her mother's shoulder and see that it was addressed to ‘Samwise Gamgee and Family.’ Rosie-lass came running behind Elanor, and skidded to a stop, anxious not to miss any of the fun.

"Oh, this is an invitation to a dinner party tomorrow night at the Green Dragon hosted by Piosenniel and our cousin Cami Goodchilde, whom we haven't seen in a very long time."

Rose lifted up the invitation to read it again. A look of surprise came over her face, but she said nothing. Instead she turned to her children. "I need to share this with your father right away. Elanor, would you know where he is?" Miz Rose peered down one of the halls, searching for any sign of her husband.

"I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since breakfast. I’ve been outside all day."

Miz Rose turned to Rosie to ask her the same question, but the little girl just shrugged her shoulders.

"If you will excuse me for just a moment, I need to find my husband." Miz Rose nodded politely in Piosenniel's direction, motioning toward one of many chairs. "Please make yourselves comfortable. Elanor and Rosie will help you if you need anything at all." Miz Rose bent down to plant a kiss on both her daughters' heads, then walked down the hall to search for Sam and share the good news with him.

[ February 19, 2003: Message edited by: ArwenBaggins ]

[ February 24, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Nurumaiel]

At a desperate and protesting scream from the garden, Angelica Baggins Muddyfoot looked out the window and gave a groan. Throwing the window open, she shouted to one of the two children sitting on the grass, "Fosco Muddyfoot, stop that right now!" Her youngest child, a three-year-old girl, began running towards the front door, sobbing. Angelica gave her son a look that clearly said, "I'll deal with you later," and then rushed to the door.

Her daughter's gold-brown hair was smeared with mud, as well as her dress. Angelica sighed as she picked up the little girl. At least she had her apron on. Fosco will catch it from his father for doing that to his sister, she thought as she carried the child into the bedroom to get her tidied up. I wonder where he learned that? He did it to the neighbor's girl just two days ago.

"There, there, Prisca-baby, don't be worrying your pretty head," Angelica said, helping the girl change. "We'll get you all tidied up and you'll look fine in no time." But Prisca continued to sob. Angelica sighed and began to wash her daughter's hair.

Twins! They hated and loved each other at the same time. Unfortunately with this particular set of twins they spent most of their time together hating each other. Her friend over in Buckland had twins and they were the best of friends, though they occasionally fought.

Madoc, her eldest son, could be heard calling from the front door, "Mum! Mum!"

"Yes, Madoc?" Angelica called back.

"There's someone at the door for you!"

"I'm sorry, dear, but I can't come right now. Ask him to leave a message!" Her mind was elsewhere, and whatever she was thinking of made her groan. Today is the 20th of Thrimidge. That means I have to get the clothes washed. And there'll be even more work if Fosco keeps this up. She looked down at her daughter.

"That's what he's leaving, Mum. He's delivered a message." There was the sound of a door closing, and feet running down the hall.

"Don't run, Madoc!" Angelica said. How many times did she have to tell the children that? A strand of her brown hair fell into her face, and she dropped Prisca's hair for a moment to tie her own back once more. The little girl screamed as the wet hair fell down her back. Angelica hurriedly finished doing her daughter's hair, and then left the room to find Madoc.

She found him sitting on a bench near the front door, holding a letter. As she approached him he looked up and held out the letter for her to take. "It's addressed to you, Mum, from someone called Camelia Goodchild."

Angelica practically snatched the letter from her son's hands and read it excitedly. After she had finished she set it down on a table and began pacing back and forth. She had been invited to a party at the Green Dragon the next evening, which would be a welcome home party for her cousin Frodo and uncle Bilbo. Cami had said that Piosenniel, an Elf, would be there as well.

Angelica sat down next to Madoc and thought for a moment. Bilbo… Frodo… Elves? It was very confusing to her. "I'm afraid I can't," she said, standing up. "Merimac would come with me, of course. I couldn't leave the children alone, and I can't think of anyone I would trust to be responsible enough to take care of them, especially the twins."

"It says to take the family with you," a voice behind her said. She started and whirled around, smiling with relief to see it was only her husband. He smiled back. "You've told me about your friend Camelia more than once, and I'm sure you'd love to see her again. No doubt you want to see your two relatives as well… Bilbo and Frodo."

"But we couldn't take the family, Merimac," Angelica protested. "The twins would cause such havoc, and - "

"I'll watch after the twins," he said, giving a stern look to Fosco, who had just entered the room. "Now, if our little girl is correct, I need to deal with Fosco."

Angelica smiled her pretty smile, and walked out of the room, saying, "I think I should find good clothes for all of us to wear for tomorrow."

[ February 19, 2003: Message edited by: Nurumaiel ]

[piosenniel]

‘This is nice.’ thought Pio, surveying the clutter of the Gamgee family’s house. ‘Nice and homey and comfortable.’ All those children, and one more on the way! She wondered how her own home and the Lonely Star would look with two lively children running about. Pio let her mind drift idly with these thoughts as she sat in the kitchen munching on the last of her muffin, feet up on another chair.

She supposed she should go soon. Get back to the Inn to help Cami prepare for the party. But the indolent mood of a warm summer’s afternoon was full upon her and she only wanted to sit here, in this kitchen, with nothing to do but lick the last of the blackberries from her fingers and relax.

Her reverie was ended when she heard the whispers and giggles. She smiled, and sat up straight, resting her feet firmly back on the ground. ‘You are still all here!’ Five pairs of curious eyes were glued on her, though none spoke. She motioned the boys - Frodo, Merry, and Pippin to her. ‘I thought your ammë had sent you off to wash?’ she questioned them.

The two younger boys look toward Frodo, frowns on their faces. ‘Mother.’ he said, holding his hands out to her to inspect them. ‘Ammë is the Elvish word for it.’ Merry and Pippin nodded and held out their chubby little hands, too. Frodo’s hands were quite clean, as were Merry’s. But, little Pippin’s fingers had streaks of berry still on their tips, and when she pointed that out to him, he smiled sweetly at her and stuck one and two at a time in his mouth and sucked off the telltale coloring. ‘Better?’ he asked, holding them up again for her inspection. ‘Much improved!’ she answered laughing.

Elanor and little Rose had drifted nearer as she spoke to their brothers. She could tell that Elanor was bursting with questions, but her position as the eldest of the children in the room placed constraints upon her to be less impulsive and more mature. Frodo, too, had been eyeing her knives, but as the elder brother held back his curiosity, trying to set a good example for his younger brothers.

Little Rose and the two younger boys had no such reservations. Rosie leaned in against Pio’s left arm, and played with a strand of Pio’s long hair, and found no problem in asking her numerous questions. Between replies, Pio listened to Merry tell her about his day, and how he’d found a hop toad and fed it some earth worms. Pippin, sidled up onto what was left of Pio’s lap and patted her belly. ‘You’re gonna be an ammë, too. Just like mine.’

Soon, Elanor and Frodo could stand being the silent ones no longer. Their voices chimed in, too, with their questions and comments. And Frodo’s eyes went wide when Pio pulled back her sleeves to show him the knives strapped to her arms, and the throwing knives hidden in the tops of her boots. ‘Come see me at the party tomorrow,’ she said, leaning toward him, and handing him one of her boot knives to inspect, ‘I will probably have need of an excuse to leave the party for a while. You can come to my rooms; I can show you my sword, and helm, and mithril shirt.

By this time, Pio had moved off the chair and now sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor with the children in a tight circle around her. Pippin still sat on her lap, and Rosie was practicing hair braiding, as if Pio were a big doll, come to life.

It was this scene in which Miz Rose found her guest when she returned to the kitchen. An Elf sitting happily on the floor, the Gamgee children crowded round her, plying her with questions and a running commentary on the world as they saw it. She clapped her hands and they stood up, looking a little guilty. Pio stood up, too, saying how delightful they all were, and how much she enjoyed their company.

Miz Rose still had the invitation in her hand. Pio asked if Sam had seen it as yet, and could she tell Cami that her old friend would be coming. Miz Rose said she couldn’t find him, and sent the children out to look for him. Laying the invitation down on the counter, she too went out to see if he’d gone to one of the neighbor’s houses to visit.

Rosie peeked back in the kitchen once everyone had left and took Pio by the hand. ‘I know where he is.’ She handed the invitation to Pio and pulled her down the hall toward her father’s study. ‘Sometimes he doesn’t answer the door when he’s busy writing.’

‘I see.’ said Pio, hurrying after her.

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Orual's Post

"My dear Marigold,

"I hope that this letter finds you in good health and good spirits. It has been far too long since I last wrote you. Being Mayor, husband, and father keeps me from the pen, and I have missed hearing from you. I hope that you will forgive your brother for failing to write to you for so long.

"The children are growing before my very eyes. Elanor is now thirteen, and you can work out for yourself what the ages of the rest are, more or less: two years apart, save Goldilocks and Hamfast, who are a year apart. Rose often complains that since she married me she's done little but have children. I trust that your own children are doing well, and tell them that their Uncle Sam sends his love, as do their Aunt Rose and their cousins...all of them.

"I have to admit, things have been a bit insane around here. I have just begun my second term as Mayor, and am continuing my duties, though I'll say that it has become easier with practice. My ever-expanding brood has reached the respectable number of eight. However, Rosie will tell you grimly that she doubts it will stay there long, for she's still young and we're trying for at least ten, though our secret goal is to continue Mr. Bilbo's tradition of trying to beat the Old Took and have thirteen to his twelve.

"Adding to the craziness here in Hobbiton is my putting the finishing touches to the Red Book that Mr. Frodo left me. Ellie's begun to help me some with sorting through papers, and Frodo-lad is begging to do his own part, and I've let him, though sometimes having two children in the room while I try to work is not the best atmosphere in which to get...well, to get anything done. But they're enthusiastic, and I do want them to remember this Book, and this Story, long after I'm gone, so I don't mind putting a little extra time and effort into it so long as they're interested. I'll let Rosie-lass help soon, once she's ready.

"It's funny how things never end, isn't it? I thought so many times that my part in history was over...first at Rivendell, then at the Fields of Cormallen, then after the Scouring, and finally after Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo left to the West. But it seems that I'm still the bearer of the flame, my duty being not to let anybody forget what happened.

"But while I keep dwelling on the past, you live in the present, and I've taken up enough of your present. Again, my deepest and most heartfelt apologies for my long absence from your post-box, dear sister. Please do not keep your own pen from the paper to punish me!

Your loving brother,

Samwise Gamgee."

Sam blew gently on the papers to dry the ink, then carefully folded the pages, tucked them into an envelope, and addressed it. He set it aside on his desk; he'd put it out later. For now, he was going to check on Rosie, see if she needed anything. She was well along in her pregnancy now.

He had just got up to leave when he heard footsteps and the excited voice of his daughter Rose, as well as another voice that he did not recognize. Curious, his attention wavered from the task at hand, and he went up to the door. "Rosie-lass?" he called. "Is somebody here?"

He couldn't understand his daughter's muffled reply, and, a little worried, he picked up his pace and quickly arrived at the door. To his surprise, Rosie-lass was standing there with a stranger--and an Elf, no less. In his astonishment, Sam didn't say anything for a slightly impolite length of time, then hastened to introduce himself.

The visitor returned the courtesy, introducing herself as Piosenniel, but assured him that such introductions were unnecessary, and that she knew who he was, and had something for him. She then proceeded to give him a cream-coloured envelope with his name written on it in elegant, spidery calligraphy, though he did not recognize the handwriting. He thanked her very politely and saw her off, thanked Rosie-lass for keeping Piosenniel company before he came, and left to his study to read the letter.

Sam opened the envelope carefully, took the letter out and unfolded it. It was to his complete and lasting shock that it turned out to be from his cousin and childhood friend, Camellia Goodchild, from whom he had not heard for years. Preoccupied with memories, his eyes read over the rest of the page but he didn't truly read it. However, he caught sight of two names that stopped him dead in his tracks: Frodo and Bilbo Baggins.

He re-read that sentence, that said they were returning to Middle-earth, well approaching fifteen times. He wanted to make sure that it hadn't been a misread. How could this be? They were returning? From the West? Was that even possible? Sam put the letter down and rubbed his eye. It couldn't be true. But Cami wouldn't lie to him, especially not about this. And the signature was most certainly Cami's handwriting; he hadn't seen her in a long time, but he knew her hand when he saw it. This was authentic; this was from Cami, and thus he was sure that it must be true.

And he was truly convinced, in his heart, that it was. But that didn't make it any easier for him to deal with. He glanced at his own envelope, the one which contained his letter to his sister Marigold. He had written, just a few minutes ago, It's funny how things never end, isn't it? He shook his head. "Things never do end, apparently," he whispered to himself.

It had been twelve years since he had last seen Frodo and Bilbo. Over the course of those twelve long years, he had changed, naturally, his life had changed. How much more had Frodo changed, having spent those years west of West? Sam was pretty sure that he himself was still more or less the same; a little older, hopefully a little wiser, and with several more children, to be sure, but basically the same Sam Gamgee who had been eavesdropping under the windows at Bag-End all those years ago. But was Frodo the same person who had tried not to laugh when Sam was caught at it?

Sam sighed. One of the last things Frodo had said to him before he left was, "You cannot be always torn in two." Now once again he was torn in two; half of him was happier than words could express that he would see his dear master again, and the other half of him wondered if he indeed was seeing his dear master again, and worried. He laughed, and wondered what Frodo would say, were he in that room to see Sam's predicament. "Even sad when I'm happy," Sam murmured to himself, as he wrote out an R.S.V.P. "I ought to be waiting for this meeting, for what it is!" With that thought, and that letter written, he went back to his task to see if his wife needed anything.

Pio’s Post

Miz Rose was back in the kitchen when Pio wandered out toward the front door. Rosie had left her to join a game of tag Merry and Pippin were playing, and Pio waved her on, saying she would see her tomorrow night.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Miz Rose walked with Pio to the front door, and paused in the entry way with her to tell her of Amarantha’s visit earlier that afternoon. ‘And were you agreeable to what she suggested?’ asked the Elf, her brow furrowed. Her face creased into a smile when heard Rose say ‘yes’. ‘Ah! Good. Then let us speak more about it once the party is over and done with. I can come to your house again, if you wish, or you can come to see me at the Inn. Let me know tomorrow at the party, what would be most convenient for you.’

Rose smiled and said she would indeed do that. She walked with Pio to the end of the stone walk, to the little gate there. Miz Rose clucked her tongue as she saw her mount her horse and head down the lane. What was that Elf thinking!

Pio waved back at her as ‘Falmar bore her down the road, blithely unaware that Rose and Amaranthas both shared the same opinions about the riding of horses . . .

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

Amaranthas was her usual curt self as she hobbled to the door. ‘Who’s bothering an old lady’s rest at this time of the afternoon!’ she hollered. Her long walk to Rose Gamgee’s had not done her hips any good. They ached even though she had drunk an infusion of willow bark in branch water and had laid hot bricks wrapped in thick flannel up against them.

Minto Boffin sighed, as he waited patiently for the door to open. He had purposely made this his last stop in delivering the invitations, hoping somehow that the one belonging to the old Hobbit would somehow be lost. He felt foolish, too. Here he was, a respectable thirty-five year old young man, still afraid of catching the thin end of the stick from the Old Dragon.

He winced, thinking of how he and his brothers had bedeviled her one summer, in their younger days. Pinching the heads off her prize flowers and eating the sweet middles from many of her melons. She had stood in her melon patch under a new moon, dressed in rag tag fashion, like a small scarecrow, right next to the biggest melon in the patch – the one they had their eyes on for weeks.

Laughing and joking that the Dragon was sleeping while they plucked the treasure, the three brothers sneaked into the patch and sat around the melon in a ring. Moro had taken out his knife and was just about to cut into the prize, when the ‘scarecrow’ stepped forward and laid into the thieves with her blackthorn stick, stinging them soundly on their legs as they popped up and made a run for it.

Worse yet, they lied the next day when she came to speak to their parents, saying that they had been nowhere near Miz Amaranthas’ garden patch. It was then that Amaranthas stuck out her stick and picked up the cuff of Minto’s breeches, revealing the angry red stripes still evident on his legs. Needless to say their Mother was mortified, and they spent a very dull summer at home, helping with all the household chores under her watchful eye. And one day a week, the three of them trooped to Miz Amaranthas’ house and weeded the garden and the flower beds.

It was a long time ago, but the respect for the Old Dragon and her stick had not diminished with the passing years.

‘It’s Minto, Miz Amaranthas.’ He yelled back at her through the still closed door. ‘Minto Boffin. With an invitation from Mistress Piosenniel at the Green Dragon.’

I’m not deaf, you ninny! Just a little achy and slow today.’ The door had opened and Amaranthas stepped forward to take the invitation from Minto’s outstretched hand. He gaped in surprise when she asked him to wait as she fished a silver penny from the bag at her waist. ‘Don’t tempt the flies, Minto!’ she told him, placing the penny in his hand.

She dismissed him with a wave of her stick and turned to go back inside. He hurried off the step and down the path, her last words chasing after his hastily retreating form. ‘And don’t pick any of my flowers, you young scamp, or I’ll be seeing your mother again about you!’

Once back in her house, she opened the invitation slowly, savoring the feel of the rich vellum and the smell of the ink. Her eyes lit up when she read the words written by Cami. There was to be a party! For Bilbo and Frodo – of all people! And she was to go to it.

Her hips protested as she walked to her chair and sat down to finish her tea. She sighed, wondering how she was to make it to the Inn. A small thin slip of paper fell from the envelope, fluttering in the breeze from her open window. It landed on the rug in front of her. She leaned over and picked it up. It was a short note, written in a bold hand.

Miz Pio was coming to pick her up with the pony cart! She would be there promptly at five p.m. tomorrow evening, the note said, and would dear Amaranthas please be ready to go by then. ‘Bless that child!’ she said to herself, hoisting herself up from the depths of the chair. Only a day away. What would she wear. These old widow’s weeds would not do to meet the legends of the Shire!

She cackled to herself as she hobbled to the closet. Legends indeed! Why she could remember Frodo when he was a mere slip of a lad. And Bilbo she remembered as being thought the prize catch for young girls by their mothers, at one time. Him and Bag End, that is.

In the back of her closet, in the long cedar chest made for her by her late husband, was her long, dark green, silk party dress. She had put it away many years ago with some dried flowers of fragrant niphredil to keep it fresh, thinking never to have the occasion to wear it again. It was a deep green, dark, the color of kale grown in rich soil, with small jet buttons on the bodice.

She plucked it out, shaking off the long dried to dust petals, and held it up to her. It would still fit her small, spare body, though she had shrunk in height, and what once had been ankle length now touched the floor. She pulled out her small jewelry box and opened it as she sat down on the edge of her bed. Her fingers ran lovingly over the few small treasures she had in there. A strand of amber beads from her mother’s mother. A silver chain with a single pearl, a present form her husband on the birth of their first child. A bracelet set with sparkling yellow topaz, a gift from her father on her twenty-fifth birthday.

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

Minto Boffin had promised his brother Moro a silver penny if he would saddle the pony and make his way to Buckland. ‘Why should I ride all the way there? Isn’t there someone around here I could deliver to? You ride the pony.’ He stood firm on this until Minto handed him the other invitation to be delivered. Amaranthas Bolger! Oh my! He grabbed the invitation to Merry from Minto’s hands and ran out to saddle Buttercup.

He didn’t stray often out of Hobbiton and Bywater, so the way to Master Meriadoc’s was not known to him. It was early afternoon when he and Buttercup crossed the Bridge of Stonebows where the Great East Road met the Brandywine River. The farmer’s market near Hay Gate was still in full swing, local Hobbits buying things to fill out the evening meal. He stopped at the stall of a root vegetables vendor and pulling the invitation from his satchel showed it to the weathered farmer.

Meriadoc Brandybuck, Esq.
Brandy Hall
Buckland, The Shire

‘Oh, it’s Himself that you’ll be wanting. Meriadoc the Magnificent, Master of Buckland.’ The farmer began gesturing to the south, down the well beaten path that lay along the Brandywine River. By this time, a small crowd had gathered, all wanting to see the invitation, and all offering helpful tips on how to get to Brandy Hall. Comments and questions flew fast, and soon Moro’s head was spinning. ‘No’, he didn’t know what the invitation was about. Some dinner party at the Green Dragon he thought. And ‘no’, he had no idea that Master Merry had been called Holdwine of the Shire in Rohan. And how interesting, that he was interested in the local Shire herbs and was writing a book about them.

The farmer he had first approached retrieved the invitation from the others’ hands and gave it back to Moro. He called his goodwife to him, saying that he would be gone just a short while. Then taking Moro firmly by the elbow, he urged him up to his wagon’s seat and the two of them headed south to Brandy Hall, Buttercup trotting along behind.

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

Merry was in his study when Moro was shown in to him. His smile was infectious as he waved the messenger nearer, asking how things were in Bywater, and inquiring after Moro’s family as if he knew them. He broke the seal on the invitation and read through it quickly, his brows knitting in a frown as he saw the names listed as the guests.

Laying the invitation aside, he asked if Moro would join him in a drink to celebrate this wondrous news which he had just delivered. Moro was put quite at ease by Merry’s gracious manner. And just as well, because when the Master of Buckland stood to fetch some wine for the visitor, his height quite astounded him. ‘It’s no wonder he’s called the Magnificent.’ thought Moro, looking up at the very tall figure now offering him a glass of wine.

Moro could not wait to get back to Bywater to tell his brother what he had seen, and after a few pleasantries and a small glass of wine, he excused himself saying he should get back to his own home, and let Master Merry get back to his pursuits.

‘A moment, if you please.’ asked Merry, picking out a half sheet of vellum from his desk drawer. Seating himself at the desk, he dipped his quill in the inkwell and penned an acceptance to the invitation. He placed it in an envelope, addressing it to Mistress Cami Goodchild, and sealed it with wax, impressing it with his ring which bore the Shield of Rohan upon it. Handing Moro a silver penny, he asked that he deliver the acceptance as soon as he returned to Bywater.

Once Moro had been seen off, Merry returned to his desk, his unseeing gaze seemingly glued to the monograph on pipeweed he had been writing, prior to the delivery of the invitation. He shook himself from his reverie and picked up the invitation, reading it slowly once again. He rubbed his eyes, thinking they might be playing tricks on him.

‘Bilbo. And dear Frodo.’ he said quietly into the empty room. Two faces he thought never to see again in his life.

He rose from his chair and strode quickly to the door of the study. ‘Estella!’ he called loudly to his wife. ‘Drop whatever you are doing and come here quickly. There’s a party tomorrow at the Green Dragon Inn. And we’ll be attending.’

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Dragoneyes' post

Pippin Took sat at his desk reading a letter from his dear sister Pearl, explaining to him the woes of family life. He smiled to himself as he read about one of the many arguments and fights between her children. Through the wall he could hear water sloshing as his wife, Diamond, prepared a bath for their own son. He was interrupted from his sister's problems by a knock at the door and upon hearing a rather loud sigh from the other room he called through the wall that he'd get it.

He walked into the large hall and to the door, opening it he found a red-faced young hobbit lad who was breathing heavily and looked like he had just run quite a way. Pippin vaguely recognised the face but couldn't put a name to it. The lad handed him a letter addressed to him. Pippin thanked him and he went on his way.

Returning inside he was faced with an oncoming toddler, running fast as he could towards the open door. He was wearing only his trousers as he tried in vain to make a break for freedom. Pippin scooped him up and shut the door behind him. "Faramir Took, where do you think you are going?" he said, tickling the child. Faramir squirmed about and giggled, trying to get away from the tickling fingers. Pippin took him to the bathroom where his mother was ready with a bath. "What was it?" she asked as she relieved Pippin of his burden, "A letter." he replied simply.

Diamond finished undressing Faramir an gently lowered him into the bath while Pippin opened up the letter. He read over the first few sentences, then stopped when he got to Frodo's and Bilbo's names. It couldn't be the same two could it? They had sailed west, surely you weren't meant to come back once you had gone. His confusion and shock must've shown on his face because Diamond paused in her bathing of Faramir asked him what was wrong. "Nothing's wrong," he answered, his face clearing, "But there is something happening at the Green Dragon tomorrow: a party, with some old friends, and we've been invited."

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

Child's post

For the remainder of that day, and well into the next, Cami kept busy with all the little things that needed to be done before the arrival of their guests. She worked alongside Ruby and Prim and Hob airing out the bedchambers, rearranging tables in the central hall, and preparing all the dishes they'd agreed to serve their friends.

With tables full of hobbits, and so many little ones, there would have to be a plentiful supply of food--vegetables, fruits, and several choices of meat and fish--to say nothing of pies and trifles and puddings, and a varied assortment of ales and wine. Cami kept Hob busy all day making the rounds to the grocer and butcher and baker. Within the Inn itself, the kitchen bell tinkled again and again, as hobbits came by to drop off deliveries.

Cami was happy to work since it kept her mind off of other things. Once or twice, she soundly berated herself. What's wrong with you, Cami Goodchild? Why can't you be a normal hobbit? You're going to see Bilbo after such a long time, plus lots of dear friends, yet you're still moping."

Hobbits are generally known for being cheerful and uncomplaining, but that was a trick Cami had never learned. Questions and worries slipped silently into her mind. She had kept her ears open when serving meals in the Inn, and had learned a great deal about some of her childhood friends. Sam was living in the comfort of Bag-end and had earned the respect of the entire community by serving as its mayor. Angelica, who'd gone on to marry and have children of her own, was still said to have a strikingly pretty face.

Cami caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror that stood in the Inn's back hall. She sighed and shook her head. Her face was not extraordinary, and she was dressed in an old frock that had been darned and stitched and darned again. Her home was a tiny burrow with a dirt floor and a single window through which cold winds blew in winter time, since it lacked a protective pane of glass. Perhaps worst of all in the eyes of many, she had no husband to share her life.

She lifted up her hands and peered down at them. They were rough and calloused from hard work, from all the times she'd gathered firewood or skinned rabbits or gutted fish, the kind of things she struggled with daily to eek out a living for her family.

She could probably ignore the judgment of the others, but what about Bilbo? How disappointed in her he would be. She hadn't done any of the things she'd promised him when she was younger. There were no learned tomes or libraries or classrooms....only little hobbit children learning their letters at kitchen tables.

She found it hard to measure her own experiences by the respectable standards of the Shire with which she'd grown up. It was not that she thought of herself as a failure. She just didn't know the right words that could explain to others why her own life was special.

With a sudden pang of homesickness, she recalled the arching canopy of Greenwood where birds and animals roamed free, and the rustling branches that seemed to reach out forever to the stars. She heard the ancient songs and tales recited by Elves beside glimmering campfires deep within the woods. And, most of all, she felt the wisdom in the sad grey eyes of a First Age hobbit who was no longer with her, but whom she would love to the end of her days.

[ February 24, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Pio was up early the day of the party, awakened by the sounds of thumping, and bumping and hammering. She threw on her clothes and looked out the door of her rooms, into the Common Room. It was a beehive of activity. And there, in the midst of it all was Cami, the queen bee, herself. She had organized both the Inn staff and the regular patrons into work brigades. And all were busy finishing their appointed tasks – rearranging tables, tacking up decorations, and just generally giving the Inn a thorough cleaning and freshening.

She frowned, looking closely at Cami’s face. Perhaps it was just the strain of having so much work to get done before this evening, but she looked uneasy, and even a little sad. There was no time now to speak with her about what troubled her; there was still too much to be done before the guests arrived. If there were time later, she would seek out Cami and sound her out about what was troubling her. Until then, she gave her friend a little nudge. It will be alright, Cami. I will be here. Let me help you.

Stepping into the bustle of activity, Pio grabbed a broom and feather duster, and began to lend a hand. She worked sided by side with Primrose Bolger, ‘Prim’ for short, one of the servers in the Inn. During a brief break, she invited Prim out to the front porch of the Inn for a breath of fresh air, saying she had something she wished to ask her.

Leaning against the railing, Pio let the cool breeze riffle through her hair. Prim sat on one of the crates of wine delivered but not yet stored that were piled by the door. She had removed the kerchief from her head and sat mopping her brow with it. Pio turned and spoke to the Hobbit. ‘I have a proposition to make you.’ Prim looked up at her, and raised her eyebrows. She had ceased to be amazed by the directness of the Elf, having worked with her for some time now.

‘I will need some one to replace me soon. Tomorrow, if I had my choice about it.’ ‘Replace you?’ asked Prim. Pio smiled, realizing she had once again been unclear. ‘As Innkeeper.’ She sat down next to the Hobbit. ‘Once the babies are born, Mithadan and I will be heading south to Minas Anor. And Cami, too, will be moving on, I think.’ She looked Primrose directly in the eyes, assessing her one more time. ‘I have thought about it for some time, and I think with your personality and good head for business you would fit in nicely as the Green Dragon’s new Innkeeper. What do you think?’

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[arelendil]

Primrose gasped and tucked curls of dark hair behind her ears in a most business like manner. Her dress of pale yellow wasn't as clean as it had been that morning what with all the cleaning, but her eyes, of deep blue, remained as bright as ever.

"Well," began Prim, thinking over all the things she'd be taking on as Inn Keeper. "I'm sure there are others more suited to the job, but if you think I could, I'd sure like to have a go."

Prim blushed and played with the forest green sash about her waist. The gentle wind was cool and refreshing. It lifted Prim's spirit, and brought a rosy glow to her fair skin. She turned to Pio and smiled.

"Yes. If you think I'm the person for the job."

[ February 20, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

‘Ah! You cannot know what a relief it is that I can leave the Green Dragon in such capable hands.’ Pio grinned at Prim, thinking of how some of Prim’s young male admirers would react to her new status. It was one thing to flirt with the server when you were a little tipsy and were needing to go home, and another to face the Innkeeper. She had no doubt in her mind, though, that Prim would handle it well – a firm hand and a good sense of humor would see her through.

Prim had been a server at the Inn long before Pio had gotten there and the job of Innkeeper fallen into her lap. It was Prim who had taken Mistress Piosenniel in hand and shown her the ropes for the Green Dragon. Pio, other than enjoying the hospitality and drinks of many inns, had never had a hand in the running of one. It was a time consuming business, she had found, and it was fully to Prim’s credit that the Inn was running as well as it did now.

Pio stood up from the carton she was sitting on. ‘I’m going in, to tell Cami that you will be taking over my duties. I am sure she has a long list of necessary “things to be done” for you.’ Pio smiled inwardly, glad not to have to be working her way through such a list today.

She found Cami, busy directing one gang of workers on where the tables should be set for the food and drinks, and another, of the kitchen workers, on how the tables should be set, the food presented, the drinks made available, the bouquets and candles placed . . . and a host of other detailed instructions. Waiting until the instructions had been given and gone over, and the workers had gone back to their assigned tasks, Pio approached the Hobbit, who stood in the middle of the room surveying her handiwork. There seemed a wistful look in her eye, soon displaced, though, with a calculating one as she called out to one of the kitchen staff to drape the tablecloths just a little lower to the floor.

Cami was not surpised that Pio had chosen Prim. ‘A hard worker, and smart. I like how she jumps right in to tackle any situation that comes up. The Inn will be in good hands when we have to leave.’ Pio placed her arm round her friend’s shoulders. ‘I wish that would not ever happen, Cami. I would steal you away and take you with me to Minas Anor and the Star if I could.’

The two women looked at one another, and burst out in laughter. ‘And what would Mithadan say about that, Pio?’ said Cami, wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes. Pio grinned at her, an impish gleam in her eye, and intoned in a serious and solemn voice, ‘Cami’s appointed task does not lie with us, Piosenniel. You should not hinder her.’ She bent down and gave her friend a quick hug. ‘Still I would, if I could figure out some way to do it without bending the rules too much.’

She stepped back, a look of resignation on her face. ‘But I do not see how that is possible. So, instead, let me enjoy my time with you.’ She looked about the Inn, at the near completion of the party preparations. ‘What can I do for you, to ease your burden today?’ she asked, sincerely hoping it included something in the kitchen, to be done sitting comfortably at the table there, a cool glass of sweet spice tea in her hand.

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Mithadan]

Mithadan had crossed the Greyflood at Tharbad more than ten days before, but was yet to reach Sarn Ford. After a pleasant enough night in the Inn at Tharbad, he had run into trouble just a few miles further along the road. Three men on horseback had approached the road from the east, and upon spying him, had spurred their horses to a run and drawn swords.

He had led them on a merry chase along the road until it reached a cutting in a small hill. Catching a glimpse of more men on the hill, he turned off the path to the southwest, crashing trough some light brush before entering a pine forest. The branches had torn rents in his cloak and scratched his face until his steed's hoofbeats became muffled on the needle-strewn ground beneath the pines.

He kept his horse at a fast trot as they dodged between treetrunks, then turned to the west as his the sound of his pursuit faded behind him. Not trusting to luck, he continued riding long into the night before he turned back to the north and searched for a place to rest.

When he resumed his journey the next morning, his surroundings were covered with thick underbrush causing him to make frequent detours, usually towards the west. Then the underbrush gave way to a boggy area which turned him again to the southwest. Although he turned north at the earliest opportunity, he never did find the road, instead coming upon the banks of the Baranduin. He followed the river north and east, and as night fell on his eleventh day out from Tharbad, he at last caught a glimpse from a hilltop of the road as it wound toward the Ford.

He washed as best he could in the shallows of the river. The cold water stung the cuts and scratches on his face as he scrubbed at his cheeks and the beard which had grown during the past several days. He looked down ruefully at his roadworn and torn clothing and scratched at the itch caused by the beard. He laughed quietly for a moment. I must look quite the rascal, he thought. Then he grew more serious. Between the bandits and other delays of the road, he was nearly five days behind schedule. He should have reached Hobbiton by now, but, if he were lucky, he would barely reach the borders of the Shire by midday the next day. Hungry and tired, he spread a blanket on the ground and fell into a deep slumber almost immediately.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Helen's post

Frodo stirred, and stretched, eyes still closed, reaching for the pleasant dream he had been having, trying to recall it before it slipped completely out of his conscious thought. He heard Bilbo snoring nearby, and that made him smile. But something else was bothering him, intruding on his reverie. His nose wrinkled, and he struggled to reconcile the assault on his nose with something he could place.

A stale, musty, dusty odor of... decay.

Decay? His eyes flew open, and he sat up, squinting into the murky darkness. Nothing decayed in the undying lands, nothing but him and Bilbo that is. Hadn't they fallen asleep out of doors in a garden? And here they were in a dark, dusty, musty... where were they?

As he stood, groping, his hands landed on something soft, and a snort answered him. "Eh? What's that? Who's there?"

"I'm sorry, " Frodo apologised, "I didn't know you were there. Forgive me. And Hello. My name is Frodo Baggins, but I'm afraid I don't know why I am here, or quite where here is."

"Of course you don't, " said the stranger. "Dreams are like that."

Frodo wished there was enough light to see the stranger's face, because he couldn't tell whether that last was spoken in jest or not. "Well, " he said, "I'm afraid I haven't any breakfast to offer you, nor do I know where you can refresh yourself after your night's sleep. I'm sorry to be such a poor host."

He began exploring the room with his hands, tracing the outer wall. "Ah. Perhaps this is a shutter-- over a window. Yes, I think--" He couldn't open it but he squinted through a small crack. "It's daylight outside. Perhaps someone will hear us if we make some noise. I wish I knew whether or not we want to be found."

"Oh, it's all right," said the stranger, with a yawn and a luxuriating stretch. "You don't have to worry about that. Aren't you eager to see your friends? "

Frodo blinked in the shuttered darkness. "My friends-- why-- ah. Bilbo's scheme to help Cami. We're there? In Eriador?"

"In the Shire," nodded the stranger. "I thought you expected to wake up there. You knew of Bilbo's plans, did you not?"

"Well, yes, of course I did," said Frodo with a touch of annoyance, "It's just--"

"Hmmm?"

"I guess I just naturally assumed that I would wake up in my old bed at Bag End, " he said, embarassed and slightly testy about it.

"Hmmm. Now that, " pondered the stranger, " would have given Mayor Gamgee rather a start."

Their outburst of laughter woke Bilbo.

Frodo brought Bilbo up to date on what he knew, which did not take long. Frodo then found a door, but could not open it.

"My, my, little halflings. You aren't used to dreams yet, are you?" said the stranger, and casually walked through the door.

Frodo and Bilbo gaped. Frodo thought it over, and said, "He has mentioned dreams more than once. I wonder." Tentatively, Frodo approached the door, telling himself that in dreams many things are possible. Bilbo watched expectantly, and made ready to follow Frodo. But Frodo clunked against the door. It was quite solid. He and Bilbo exchanged rather disspirited glances; it had sounded intriguing to walk through doors. "Why could that fellow--" Frodo began.

"You're neglecting your osanwe, " Bilbo scolded him.

With a wry face, Frodo reached out in thought. "Ah. Irmo... Lorien. A Vala in disguise." Frodo smiled. " And he's thoroughly enjoying exploring with his new body."

"Well, " Bilbo said, groaning a little as he stood (Frodo hurried forward to take his arm), "He may enjoy exploring, but right now I'd enjoy some tea, and a change to refresh myself. This room is stuffy. Moldy."

"Well, back to brute force and ignorance then," said Frodo, and with an ironic laugh, began to bang on the door with his fist.

Child's post

Still laughing at the image of Mithadan that Pio's words brought to mind, Cami sat down at the table in the kitchen, glad to take a moment to put up her aching feet and sip a cool drink. Sweet tea? Perhaps that was fine for Pio in the state she was in, but Cami thought she could definitely use something stronger.

She slipped out to the bar and retrieved a bottle of dry red wine, which had been sent north in a shipment from Gondor, carrying it back into the kitchen. Then she took out a rather large glass and filled it close to the brim. Pio gazed at her and raised one eyebrow in surprise. The hobbit shrugged her shoulders in response.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Cami grumbled. "Sometimes, I swear you could read my mind." As her words came tumbling out, Cami glanced over to Pio with a laugh and said in a quizzical tone, "But then, that may be exactly what you're doing."

"Cami, your feelings are written on your face. There's no need for me to search deeper. Still, if there's anything, you'd like to add...."

The hobbit wriggled in her seat and sighed, not sure where to begin. "All these years, in Minas Anor and on the Star and even on Meneltarma, I kept believing the Shire was my home. I thought I could come back here without any trouble or interruption, just take up where I'd left off. Now, I'm not so sure. I've changed. Everyone seems to fit in here except me. I'm not even sure what "home" means any more, or if I've got a home at all."

"Where is 'home'? Is it Greenwood, or the Shire, or the Star, or someplace I haven't even been? Maybe Elves are meant to wander, but I've never thought of hobbits like that. To be a hobbit, and not have a home, is a very scary thing."

At that instant, Ruby came running towards them, grabbing onto the Elf's arm, wrenching her up and trying to pull her along behind. "You have to come quick. To the upstairs bedroom, the old one in the attic we never use, the one where the door is stuck fast in the frame so we can't even open it. There's someone inside banging hard to get out. It sounds like three gentlemen, and they seem just a little upset."

Cami glanced nervously at Pio, "You don't suppose?" Without another word, the two women hastily left the kitchen, and sprinted up the old, deserted staircase at the very back of the Inn which was festooned with curtains of silvery cobwebs. Cami wondered how long it had been since anyone had used the old staircase leading to the attic. Probably just as long as I've been away from the Shire. That thought made her smile.

[ February 24, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

‘All my time here, and I had no idea this staircase existed.’ Pio sneezed and coughed, her eyes teary from the years of dust that were layered on the steps, disturbed now and flung into the air as their feet hurried upwards. At the mention of a door being stuck fast, she had grabbed a hammer and cold chisel from the handyman’s chest beneath the bar.

A few more steps brought them to the landing in front of what once must have been the upstairs maids’ bedroom, as the stairs led up a private, narrow staircase near the back of the Inn by which both the second floor guestrooms and the back of the Common Room could be accessed. Cami tried the door handle, and though it turned easily, the door itself would not budge, even though she leaned heavily against it.

Pio stepped forward and wrapped on the door with the head of the chisel. ‘Anyone in there?’ she called. They could hear the sound of several pairs of feet scuffling about on the wooden floor. And two decidedly male Hobbit voices yelled out ‘Yes!’ in unison. ‘Bilbo? Frodo? Is that you?’ asked Cami, barely able to conceal her excitement. ‘Yes, and yes!’ came the unequivocal answers.

‘Stand back, then, away from the arc of the door.’ Pio placed the chisel’s blade between the door and the doorframe, tapping it in with the hammer, forcing the door open, little by little, as she moved up the frame from bottom to top. ‘I thought you said there were three of them coming, Cami.’ she commented as she worked steadily up the frame, her eyes fixed on the slowly widening gap. Cami crouched down beside her, watching the chisel bite into the wood. ‘Well, that’s what I thought from my dream, and Ruby did say there were three gentlemen fussing about behind the door.’

The familiar smell of Longbottom Leaf assailed their noses. And the soft swish of fabric against the floor tickled at the edge of Pio’s hearing. She leaned close to Cami. ‘Someone stands behind us.’ she whispered, leaning close to her friend.

‘Thou hast the right of it, Piosenniel.’ Pio and Cami stood, as one, and turned to face the speaker. He was tall, and cloaked from head to foot in a grey cloak. A long thin pipe sent out a slender stream of smoke from its bowl, the stem of it disappearing into a voluminous hood which hid the man’s face in shadows.

‘And how is it that you know my name.’ she asked.

His slender hands came up from within the folds of his sleeves and pushed back his hood. His hair and beard were silver and his eyes shone blue as the sky, twinkling merrily at the pair of them. ‘You walked once, in my gardens, I think.’

‘As did you. In dreams.’ he said, inclining his head toward the Hobbit. ‘Cami, is it not?’ She nodded and looked inquiringly at Pio.

‘The third visitor, Cami, stands before you. Irmo or Lorien, the Master of dreams and visions.’ The Hobbit stood star struck in the presence of the Vala. Pio nudged her back to reality. ‘Our other two guests are still stuck behind the door. Perhaps we should concentrate on getting them out.’ She picked up the hammer and chisel from where she had laid them on the floor, then smiled and cocked an eyebrow at Lorien.

‘Unless, of course, you would like to lend us a hand.’

He placed his hand against the door and gave it a small shove. It swung open with a groan, and the two Hobbits came stumbling out from the dark, shuttered room, blinking in the light.

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]