In the Shadow of the Star: Part 1

[Child of the 7th Age]

With Cami's first sight of Bilbo, all else was quickly forgotten. Her own worries dwindled as she gazed at her teacher's frail body and looked into his much loved, familiar eyes.

Despite the tiredness in his face, Bilbo leaned over to her and laughed, "Well, Cami, you might have arranged to meet us at the front door! But if I recall correctly, you always had a penchant for doing things differently than anyone else."

Cami blushed red to the soles of her feet. There was indeed a wealth of truth behind these words, but she would not dwell on this now. "I'm so sorry. But I had no control over the transportation here." Cami wondered if Lorien was the one in charge of that, but she could not ask him, since he seemed to have temporarily disappeared.

She turned back to the hobbits, with a smile of relief. "I'm only glad to see you made it safely here." Cami gave Bilbo a welcoming hug, and extended her hand towards Frodo in greeting.

"But wait, I've forgotten my manners. I want you both to meet a close friend of mine." She placed her hand on Pio's arm and gently guided her forward to stand in front of the two hobbits. "This is Piosenniel the Elf. I met her in Minas Anor, and we sailed together aboard the Star to come to the assistance of some imprisoned hobbits."

Bilbo looked up at her, admiration clearly reflected in his eyes, "Gandalf has told us a good deal about the Star and everything that happened. Pio, Frodo and I owe you a debt, both for how you helped the hobbits, and protected Cami so that she came to no harm."

Before Pio could reply, Bilbo leaned heavily against Frodo's shoulder, and seemed to waiver slightly, as if the strains of the trip and the billowing clouds of dust had finally taken their toll. They made their way back to the steps with some difficulty. Piosenniel and Frodo supported the older hobbit to get him safely down the steep staircase. Cami ran ahead to the two adjoining rooms which had been freshened up for their stay. Pio had even made sure that a fresh change of clothes was hung inside each of the wardrobes for the hobbits.

When they reached the chambers, Frodo looked at Bilbo's slumping figure, concern clearly written over the younger hobbit's face. "Perhaps, you should rest in bed. I'll stay here and keep you company."

"Rest in bed? Pah! It has taken me over thirty years to get back to the Shire. I am certainly not going to spend my time in bed! I intend to feel the good soil of the Shire between my toes." At this, Bilbo vigorously thumped his walking stick against the floor and made a straight line for the door of the room, only to be halted by Frodo.

Cami tugged at Frodo's sleeve. "Perhaps this will help. There's a fine, large garden out back of the Inn. It's a warm, sunny day and we can have lunch served outside. Later tonight, we are planning a small dinner with a few of your friends. So both of you will probably want to relax for now. I'll make sure to keep most of the folk away for the next few hours to give you a chance to rest or talk or take a stroll in private."

Everyone agreed this would be a good plan. Bilbo made Cami promise that she'd take him for a long ride in the pony cart another afternoon so he could see all the sites that he most dearly missed. Then they went back down through the kitchen, since this was the shortest route to the back gardens.

As they walked past the oven and cooking fires, Frodo glanced quietly at the cooks and servers and delivery boys who were scurrying around to get everything ready for the evening. The look of the kitchen, the sweet smells of the food, brought back misty memories of a distant but much loved life and the many parties he and Bilbo had hosted at Bag-end.

So this was what Cami called a "small dinner with a few friends!" There were at least two dozen platters and plates and bowls, all filled to overflowing. If there had been any doubt in his mind that they were actually going to the Shire, it was now swept away with the familiar clutter of utensils and pans and dishes spread out before him. For the first time in over twelve years, Frodo Baggins had come home!

[ February 21, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Mithadan]

Lorien followed Bilbo, Frodo and their hosts down the stairs. He waved his hands before his face as dust billowed up from the disused steps. Stifling a sneeze, and blinking his stinging eyes, he paused for a moment. "How quaint," he commented to no one in particular. Then he resumed his descent.

The trek through the kitchen had an odd effect upon him. To his surprise, his stomach growled. Rubbing his belly, he scowled in concern. Then he recalled Olorin's warnings about the shortcomings of a physical body. So when he emerged from the kitchen into the garden, he jogged to catch up with his hosts. He bowed slightly to Piosenniel and Cami. "Begging your pardon, but would luncheon be served anytime soon?"

[ February 23, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Nurumaiel]

Angelica finished combing the last tangle out of her daughter's hair, and then, looking frantically for something suitable for the little girl to wear, pulled open a drawer too hastily, and it, as well as the contents, fell to the ground. "Oh, bother!" she cried, falling to her knees to pick up the mess. "Prisca-baby, go see if your brothers are ready." Prisca trotted out of the room, and Angelica finished cleaning up the mess she had made, finding a little blue dress that would look pretty on her daughter.

Prisca came back into the room and solemnly announced, "Madoc is almost ready, and Fosco is out in the mud making pies. He tried to throw some mud at me but he missed."

"Fosco Muddyfoot…" said Angelica through her clenched teeth. She knew it would do no good to yell to him, but she had to say something or she'd burst. "Prisca, go and tell him to get out of the mud right now and come straight to Mum. Then come back here and I'll help you change."

Angelica hurried into her own bedroom to get ready. That Fosco! He'd probably find some mud puddle on the way there and go to the party all dirty, and everyone would laugh at her so, and say she wasn't a very good mother, and…

The mother took three deep breaths and pulled out the ribbon in her dark hair, letting it fall loose. No, he wouldn't find a mud puddle and no one would laugh at her. If there were any there that had their own children, or were children themselves once, they would certainly understand. Cami would understand, that was certain. Angelica laughed a little as she remembered all the horrible stories Cami had told her about a Proudfoot boy that she'd known when she was a child.

Angelica changed into a blue dress that matched Prisca's, and began to brush her hair, her thoughts wandering to Bilbo and Frodo Baggins. She still didn't understand the piece of Cami's letter about them. Would they actually be at the party? It's a welcome home for them, of course they'll be there. Angelica's heart skipped a beat. What if her dear Uncle Bilbo was in the Shire this very moment? She set down the brush and began to spin around the room, thinking of how wonderful it would be to see him again.

Suddenly there was a long wail, and the sound of the front door slamming. Angelica stopped dead in her tracks and turned pale. That was Prisca! Had something happened to her?

The door to her room was flung open and there stood Prisca, her just-brushed hair tangled and muddy. Tears were rolling down her dirty cheeks, and sobs nearly choked her. "F-Fosco is a big… meanie!" the little girl cried. "I… I… I… told him th-that he had to go t-to you but he said 'no' and then he gr-gra-grabbed me and put mud all over… my… hair!!"

Angelica stared weakly at her daughter, then sat down and burst into tears. "Merimac!" she wailed. Her husband came hurrying in and looked from her to Prisca. Then he turned and left the room, going outside. He knew what had happened.

When he finished dealing with Fosco and sent him in to get ready, he came back to his wife and put his arm around her. "There, there, Angelica, don't cry," he said comfortingly, but she could not be consoled.

"We might as well just stay home now," she sobbed. "We'll never be ready in time, and no matter how fast we go we'll be late. Fosco and Prisca aren't even close to being ready. Look at her! I have to wash her hair now and I just finished brushing it and Fosco went and put mud in it again!"

"Don't be worrying now," said Merimac, standing up. "And don't be crying. You're making your eyes red, love."

Angelica gasped and her hand flew to her eyes, then she looked up at Merimac with a little laugh. "Merimac, I'm through with being vain," she said.

"Apparently not yet." He winked at Prisca, who had no idea what he was winking about, and left the rooom.

Angelica sighed and took Prisca's hand. Well, it wouldn't matter too much if they were late, and at least she was seeing all her old friends again. "I just have to look on the bright side of things," she said to herself, as she once again washed the mud out of her vain little daughter's hair.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami scratched her head and gave Lorien a startled look. She was uncertain how to proceed. Surely their simple food and drink would not find favor with this visitor from afar, although he did seem quite different from Ulmo, the only other Vala she'd ever met.

It was Bilbo who was first to recover his wits and extend an offer of typical hobbit courtesy, "Please, join us. You must. We have plenty of food. There is enough here to feed an army." Frodo went to fetch a chair and pushed it near the picnic table, indicating Lorien should sit down.

Since their visitor still looked uncertain, Bilbo began listing off the delicacies on the table which the Vala could choose to sample. "This is all good hobbit fare. We have steak and kidney pie, bangers and mash, meat pasties, and a stew of coneys. Plenty to select from. And here's a flagon of ale to wash it down."

Piosenniel smiled to watch Bilbo fall into the role of gracious host so easily. Wanting to please his guest, Bilbo turned toward the side table where a number of pitchers and bottles were set, searching for something special that would be sure to please. "Oh, look what's here. One of my favorites. Something we all might enjoy." He held up a glass container from which the delicious and powerful scent of honeyed mead arose, and began to pour everyone a generous cup.

[piosenniel]

It was true; Piosenniel had smiled when first Bilbo took up his duties as gracious host. But now a niggling suspicion was growing in the back of her mind, that perhaps he should be a little less obliging. The party was only three hours away, and an inkling of trouble tickled at the corners of her mind. What was to have been a small lunch had somehow extended itself for several hours into a long discussion of Shire history, punctuated by toasts to the local heroes of note. And it was a long, long list for Bilbo had a long memory.

Pio watched from the kitchen doorway, her eyebrows raised, as mugs were filled again for a toast to those most excellent of Fallohides, the brothers, Marcho and Blanco, who founded the Shire in the mid Third Age. She motioned for Cami, who was bustling about the kitchen giving last minute instructions to the cooks and servers, to come near.

‘Best you keep a close eye on them.’ she warned Cami, with a nod of her head toward the party in the garden. ‘I have to get dressed and get the pony hitched to the cart. I promised Amaranthas I would be there promptly at five, and it’s going on four now.’

Pio ran to her rooms and pulled from her closet a long silken dress with trailing sleeves. One of the surprises she had found packed in her trunk by Idril when she had reached Minas Anor. Just a parting reminder from her to act a little more Elf-like. It would certainly do for the party tonight. Deep azure, like the waters off Tol Meneltarma, with a lighter blue sheer overdress shot with silvered threads. She pulled it over her head, and straightened the flow of it round her, then rustled about beneath her bed for her soft, low cut blue leather shoes. A few swipes at her hair with the brush, the silver fillet in place above her brow, and she was ready.

She dared a glance in the looking glass, turning this way and that to get the full effect. ‘Great Stars!’ she said laughing. ‘I look like a tidal wave on two legs!’

Remembering to pick up her dress as she raced down the stairs, Pio waved good-bye to Cami, and ran to the stables. Hob was just finishing harnessing the pony to the cart as she arrived. ‘Thank you!’ she called to him, pleased not to have to do the job herself. He turned to tell her it had been no problem, and her presence took his breath away.

He blushed and stammered out, ‘Mistress Piosenniel, you’re, you’re . . . well . . . beautiful!

Taking the reins from him, she smiled and kissed him on the cheek, leaving him staring, open-mouthed in the stable yard as she drove off. ‘Must be the dress.’ she thought to herself, as she flicked the reins lightly on the pony’s back.

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

[Nuranar]

Post for Miz Rose by Pio

Rose was not feeling well today. She had gotten up from bed still tired, having spent most of the night trying to find a comfortable position to lie in. There were smudges under her eyes from lack of sleep and her face was pale. She had pretended to be asleep when Sam checked on her. Today was a day he was very much looking forward to and she meant not to worry him into staying home with her.

Once he had dressed and left the room, she rose and pulled on her clothes, then brushed her hair. A quick look in the looking glass revealed her pallid features and she bit her lips and pinched her cheeks to bring some color to them.

The first order of business for the day would be getting her hungry horde fed. As she walked down the hall to the kitchen, she saw that both Frodo-lad and Elanor were awake and up already. She called to them to come to the kitchen with her, she had something important to speak to them about.

‘I’m going to need your help today, Elanor and Frodo.’ she said as they came to sit at the kitchen table with her. ‘Today is a very important day for your father, and I want it to go smoothly for him.’ She rubbed her side, feeling a mild twinge take hold of her. ‘The baby kept me awake all night, and I am very tired. I don’t have the energy to do all of what needs to be done, so I am going to ask each of you to help.’ Both of them looked at her with solemn faces and nodded their assent.

‘Elanor, I want you to take charge of Rose, Goldilocks, and Hamfast. In fact, now that I think on it, Rose is old enough to help out. You can let her take Goldilocks in hand. And Frodo, you’ll need to see to Merry and Pippin. Everyone needs a good scrubbing, and I want them dressed later in their best outfits with their hair brushed, ready to go by six p.m. this evening. Give them a little snack just before we leave, so they won’t be too hungry while we wait for the dinner to begin. And make sure you pack along a few of their toys to keep them entertained.’
they both said 'yes' that they could do this. She looked at both of them, smiling, and patted them each on the cheek. ‘I am so lucky to have a son and daughter like you two!’

They both jumped up and gave her a big hug, saying not to worry they would take care of the little ones for her. She made to get up to start breakfast, but they protested, telling her to sit and be comfortable, they could do it. Elanor scrambled the eggs and made toast, while Frodo set the table and put out the butter and pots of thick, sweet strawberry jam.

He made tea from water Elanor had set boiling in the kettle, and brought his Mother a steaming, fragrant cup of it, along with the honey jar. She sat leaning back in her chair, feet up on the seat of the one next to her. Sipping on her tea, she sincerely hoped that she could make it through the party.

[ February 24, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[ArwenBaggins]

Elanor pulled Frodo aside, making a few sandwiches to keep her mother from getting upset at them. "Did you here that Frodo? Momma said the baby kept her awake! Maybe it’s coming soon!" Elanor’s face lit up, but she heard her mother make a noise. She backed away from Frodo, putting the sandwiches in a pile.

A sleepy little Rosie came down the hall, into the kitchen. "Rosie. Go and get the other’s, and tell them to come here. We have to take care of them today." Rosie nodded, running to their rooms.

Six soon approached, and Frodo and Elanor were hurriedly dressing their siblings. Rosie struggled to comb her hair, while combing Goldilock’s. Elanor pulled on a bright blue dress, with lace on the bottom. Her mother had made it for her.

When it was time to go, the Gamgee children were standing respectively by age at door. Miz Rose stood, proud to see her children, well groomed and well behaved.

[ February 25, 2003: Message edited by: ArwenBaggins ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

As Piosenniel had suggested, Cami slipped out to the garden to check on Bilbo and the others who were gathered around the table enjoying a leisurely lunch. She wasn't quite sure how it happened, but she soon found herself seated between Bilbo and Lorien, laughing and enjoying the companionship of friends.

Lorien seemed much less intimidating to Cami than when she'd first met him. He had helped himself to generous portions of several dishes, and refilled his flagon with honeyed mead any number of times, while joining in the toasts and listening spellbound to Bilbo's recital of hobbit deeds.

It was some time later before Cami remembered what Piosenniel had originally asked her to do. She tugged urgently at Frodo's sleeve and whispered, "The party will start in just a few hours. Perhaps, you'd like to retire to your chamber to take a brief rest and change clothes. We may be up late."

Frodo nodded in agreement, and this time Bilbo did not object. Lorien said his goodbyes to the pair, and followed Ruby who had come out to the garden to show him to his chamber. Bilbo went over to retrieve his cane, then smiled at Cami and added, "I expect you'll need a minute to get ready and put on your party dress. We'll meet again later this evening."

Cami shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I'll certainly see you later. But I'll be too busy to worry about a party dress. I should have been working this afternoon instead of sitting at this table and enjoying myself, so I'll need to get busy now. Anyways, I'll just tie an apron over my skirt, and that will be fine. I expect to be helping the servers for most of the evening, and fancy clothes would only get in the way." Then she scurried away in the direction of the kitchen.

Bilbo leaned over to Frodo and whispered something in his ear. The two nodded their head in agreement, and went inside searching for Piosenniel. When the Innkeeper noticed them looking about the corridors, she inquired if she could help and went on to explain that Pio had gone out with the pony cart to fetch someone for the party and was not expected to return for some time.

Bilbo fixed an eye on Frodo. "Piosenniel isn't here. That leaves things up to us. Cami came here the same way we did. All she has are the clothes on her back. I expect Pio has found her an extra skirt or blouse to wear when she's helping in the Inn. I doubt the women have had time to think about party clothes, with all the preparations they've been doing in the past few days. And it's not only the party I'm thinking about..." Bilbo's words trailed off, leaving his thoughts unfinished.

"But what can we do?" Frodo queried. "We haven't any money with us, or anything we could barter."

"Perhaps not, but I suspect there are a few things of ours still lying around in odd corners of the Shire."

Frodo's eyes widened as the meaning of Bilbo's words sank in. "The wardrobe?"

Bilbo nodded, "Yes, I expect it's still there even after all these years. Now, let's get to work. Could you get me some vellum and a pen from the common room? Then see if you can hire a messenger willing to ride to Hobbiton and back as quickly as possible. I don't expect that Pio will object if we charge that expense to our Inn bill." Bilbo smiled at that, since neither he nor Frodo had even a single penny to pay for their accomodations or meals, but were relying on the generosity of their hosts.

By the time Frodo returned with the supplies, Bilbo was already seated at one of the tables and was already composing the two notes in his head.

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

[Carrûn]

Frodo-lad tossed and turned as he attempted to catch a few more moments of sleep before his day began; what it might hold he had no idea, but he had seen his first elf and now believed that anything was possible.

Finally he gave up and swung his small but sturdy legs over the side of his bed and, sliding on a pair of slippers crept quietly towards the kitchen. On the way he noticed his father sitting quietly in his study reading over a piece of paper, a letter perhaps - yes that must be it. Arriving in the kitchen he cut himself a slice of cheese, hopefuly small enough that it would not be noticed missing but large enough to make his trip worth his while. Sliding back to his room he attempted again to turn his attention to his letters. He got dressed quickly, but was sure that if his family really was going to a party his mother would undoubtedly re-dress him at least once. Or twice.

He was pleasently surprised when his mother instructed him that he would be responsible for helping to get his younger brothers ready for the party. In fact, he even voluenteered along with his sister to get breakfast ready. The thought that getting his siblings to cooperate smoothly might be difficult hadn't quite sunk in. For now, this was looking like it was going to be a fine day.

[ February 24, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Orual]

It was early morning, and all the children were still asleep. After making sure that Rose was okay--even after eight children, Sam was still a bit anxious when his wife was expecting--Sam went back into the study to finish up some work. That was his alibi, at least. He was really trying to get some quiet time in which to think.

The beginnings of sunrise shone in from the little round window above his desk, illuminating the room with its quiet, glowing light. He slid the letter from Cami in front of him again, and looked for a long while at Frodo's name. He'd practically memorized the letter already, but kept re-reading it. Over and over again. It wasn't that he didn't believe it, he did. And yet, he couldn't keep himself from making perfectly sure that he'd read it correctly, that it really said what he thought it did.

Eventually he got to doing some work, but it was half-hearted and after a while began to show that he was preoccupied, so he put it down. It was nothing important, anyway, and certainly nothing that would be hurt by a day's wait.

Finally his family woke, and the day began. But for Sam, the day was simply a preamble to what was coming. And he'd never have to re-read the letter again.

[ February 23, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Rose Cotton]

As Rosie went about her business through the morning and afternoon, she could hardly contain her excitement. She couldn't wait to see Pio again. Rosie was quite excited to meet an Elf and still had so many questions for her. Plus Bilbo and Frodo would be there. It was if they were fairytale heroes popping out of the pages of her book.

As if this wasn't enough, when Elanor came in to tell her to get ready, she had said mother wanted Rosie to help out with the younger children too. Rosie felt so proud. That had never happened before. She wondered what other suprises the day would bring, and could hardly wait for the party to start.

[ February 26, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[mark12_30]

The breeze blew in at the window, and Frodo breathed it deeply, and thought ironically of the decay and dust and mustiness of the room he had woken up in. How different than what he had expected! Sam never let Bag End get musty; he always kept it clean, either fresh and breezy, airy, invigorating; or, cozy, warm, and dry from steadily burning wood-fires. And always swept and tidy. Never musty.

Sam always thought of everything, and always anticipated Frodo's every need. Beloved, loyal Sam.

Frodo's gaze wandered down the road, past The Water and to the Mill, and almost unwillingly, up the winding road to The Hill. There, sparkling and shimmering-- he squinted a little; no; it wasn't sunset yet, it was only shimmering in his imagination-- there at the top of The Hill was his old home. There were the hedges, the gardens, the windows, the steps, the inviting round front door. There, where the Party Tree had once been, stood Sam's magnificent Mallorn. And there within his old home lived his old friend, with his devoted wife and his rascally children. Frodo smiled. He had seen those children in dreams more than once. He knew them all.

Eight children, counting the unborn Daisy. No doubt Sam and Rosie were quite busy.

Would Sam have time for a glassy-eyed refugee from the Elvish West? he wondered, and then chided himself. Of course, his dear old Sam would make the time. And of course they would pick up where they had left off. Wouldn't they?

Wouldn't they? Perhaps not, thought Frodo, his heart sinking as he stood by the window. The years had given Sam broader horizons; as Mayor, The Shire was his Master now, and Frodo reflected that Sam would serve The Shire with every fiber of his being. With a sudden pang, he realised that the loyalty and devotion that had once poured from Sam to Frodo was now spent on a much broader need.

And well it should be, Frodo reflected, hardening himself to the thought. I can't expect Sam to pick up where we left off. It might feel natural to me, but it won't feel natural at all to Sam. He's moved on. He's not my own Sam anymore. He belongs to The Shire, deeply, truly. I must let go and let him serve, and not divide him again. He is meant to be whole, and not torn in two. And if I grasp at him, if I intrude into his life too much, he can't help but be torn again.

"Frodo, " said Bilbo's voice from within the room, "I'm getting a bit dry. How about a refill?" Frodo turned to see Bilbo waving his water-glass in the air.

"Water? Or something else?" Frodo asked, turning from the window, and mustering a warm smile for his uncle.

"Just water, for now, " Bilbo said. "Wouldn't want to deplete the party supplies."

Frodo's eyes sparkled accusingly. "You're saving room in case they open something good and old," he said, and took the glass. "Water it is, then." Frodo tried to shake the sense of loss that he felt no right entertaining as he caught up a pitcher and went looking for the best, coldest water available. He ended up at the well. He tasted the wellwater first. It was icy cold, and sweet, as he suspected it would be; he nodded and filled the pitcher. But as he did, he felt Bag End gazing down at him from the Hill. He finished pouring, and looked up.

An overwhelming desire came over him to use osanwe and probe his old home, to investigate how Bag End had changed, to see it through Sam's eyes, or Rosie's eyes, or one of the children; or-- even more tempting-- to share thoughts with Sam; to see how he had changed, to stir up their old friendship, to remind him of their old bond.

But then he recoiled at the idea, and rebuked himself. Don't be absurd, he thought; let them be. Let him go. Leave them in peace.

Taking the pitcher, he returned to Bilbo.

[ February 24, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[piosenniel]

Just an hour now, and Miz Pio would be here to fetch her to the party! Amaranthas washed up a bit and ran the brush through her thin, grey curls. Then put on her dress, fumbling with stiff fingers at the buttons, and smoothed out the wrinkles with her hands. Placing the string of amber beads around her neck, she admired herself in the mirror for a few moments.

If she squinted, just a little, she could still see that young girl who had loved to dance at the Midyear’s Day parties by the silvered light of moon and the soft gold light of the candle-lit lanterns.

Only a half hour until Miz Pio arrived! She sat down in her chair by the window, her gaze fixed firmly in the direction she would come from. Her cane tapped on the floor, in a lively manner, the aches in her hips quite forgotten. Her eyes gleamed merrily.

Perhaps there would be dancing tonight.

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

It was a leisurely trip to Amaranthas’ house. A pleasant cusp of evening with a light breeze. She let the pony pick his way down the roadway at his own pace, the clop-clop of his hooves against the hardened ground lulling her thoughts.

Pio let her mind quest out, seeking Mithadan. He was somewhere near the borders of the southern Shire, but she could not tell if he had crossed into it as yet, or lingered just beyond. He was very tired, though, she could tell.

Just two more days, beloved. Then you can rest in my arms. She put her hand on her belly, as if to make a stronger link, and let his children’s lively spirits reach out for him, call to him.

Her mind caught another familiar pattern not too far from Mithadan. Bird! Now just half a day’s journey behind him, at rest in a sheltering tree for the evening. Bird, we’ll see you soon then. She sent her the picture of a sleeping Mithadan. You are only a short distance from him. Ride in together, my friend. I cannot wait to see you. Pio chuckled as she felt Bird’s surprised squawk at having her thoughts disturbed.

Her eye caught the green of Amaranthas’ door as the cart came to the rise of the hill above it. A few moments and they were at the house, itself. Amaranthas was at the door, waving to her. A small black beaded bag on her arm, and a lacy black fringed shawl about her shoulders. She climbed on board the cart with Pio’s assistance, and off they went.

Two finely dressed ladies on their way to a party . .

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

[Birdland]

The old Trade Inn at Sarn Ford had changed little since last she had been there, but Birdie certainly had. Since she had received the last “message” from her old friend she had been in flight, heading northwest away from desert lands until she found the broad, flowing Anduin and followed it to the white towers of Minas Anor.

Finding that she had once again missed Mithadan, she left arrangements with his servants for the delivery of her baggage, which was being sent to the city by a trade caravan from the newly opened South Lands. After resting three days, she left the city at dawn, racing the sun through the days as the windswept plains of Rohan passed below her, following the Great West Road. She paused to rest for two days in the hills of Dunharrow, denying the temptation to turn North and visit the vast spread of Fangorn.

But the ruins of Isengard, now guarded and explored by the soldiers of King Eomer, could not be so easily resisted, and Bird had spend some seven days watching the work and listening to the tales of the soldiers as they discovered treasure after treasure (and horror after horror) in Saruman’s folly. Had she been in women’s form, she would have certainly been arrested and detained, but a small black and white crow picking through the ruins did little to arouse the suspicion of the Horse Lords; the grounds were full of scavenging birds, after all.

But Bird was tiring, and her will was being diluted from having remained in the form of a flighty jackdaw for so long. Her travels across the green lands of Enedwaith and Dunland was done in shorter stages, with more stops made as ruins and signs, hidden from those on the ground, caught her eye in mid-flight. (She had even found some ancient smials of the Stoor-Folk) The signs of past civilizations were far more frequent than the marks of current settlements. King Ellesar had brought peace to the lands, but it would be a great many years before people would again fill these hills and valleys. The trip across the empty countries of Middle-earth was a lonely one.

At last she arrived at Sarn Ford as evening fell, and looked down fondly at the smoking chimney pots of the Trade Inn. She looked forward to exchanging gossip and tales with her old friend the Innkeeper, and thought back on the time she had spent there with her friend Holly Stoor (now happily settled with Olo in the Tower Hills) and a certain wise and irascible Grey Wanderer. She smiled in anticipation as she flew down from a towering oak, morphing as she fell, and landed in women’s form at the edge of the woods.

The Trade Inn stills see travelers from many lands, but even so, Bird’s dress was bound to raise a few eyebrows. She cared little though. The red bandanna, holding back her thick, wavy black hair and accenting the gold hoops in her ears she thought very flattering. The matching ballooned pants and soft kid slippers were comfortable and suitable for traveling, and the embroidered white blouse with the tight fitting black vest showed off her small but still pleasing shape. All in all, she thought she cut quite a dashing figure, and believed that the dress of the people of Harad was far more sensible and comfortable than the weighty leathers and iron of the Northlands. Gold, which “had no country”, would go far to dispel any questions about her choice of costume. She jiggled the full bag attached to her belt, thankful that there would be no need for trickery to pay for her stay this time.

At that minute, a call from Pio in the Shire wiggled through her brain, setting up an itch at both temples, but easier to bear then when she was sporting her insect antennae. Mith…near…come…hurry…friend

“Alright. I’m coming”, thought Birdie to herself, wondering if her thoughts were reaching out to the impatient Pio, or if she were only “speaking to the winds“. Another day’s flight and she would be in the lands of Suza. But she had no intention of arriving as a bedraggled, wing-sore traveler. She strode eagerly towards the door of the inn, looking forward to good food, a bath, and a soft bed. And of course, gossip “as strange as news from Bree.”

(If you would like to see Birdie's costume, click here. Birdie will explain to Pio who the guy on the right is later. [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] )

[ February 24, 2003: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[piosenniel]

Amaranthas wanted to know just who would be there. She wasn’t one for surprises. ‘Too old for that.’ she said, fixing her eye on a V of birds making their way across the cloudless sky to the west. ‘I’m happy when I know just what’s going on. And when I’m happy, everyone around me is happy.’

‘I can believe that.’ murmured Pio, chuckling at the statement. ‘Speak up, girl. Don’t mumble.’ Amaranthas' bright black eyes turned full on Pio. ‘I said, Miz Amaranthas, that I can list them for you . . . if that is what you would like.’ She grinned at the old Hobbit, knowing she hadn’t fooled her at all.

Pio went through the invitation list she had seen Cami make out, naming all who would be there. ‘You say they’re bringing their husbands and wives and children, eh?’ Amaranthas, her mind sharp as ever, ticked off the spouses who would be coming and named the children, too. ‘Should be a nice sized crowd. Though not too large that you can’t meet everyone and say a few words.’ The Elf looked askance at her. This social side was not one Amaranthas was noted for and she could not wait to see her in action.

They were nearly at the Inn. Amaranthas was busy going through the list of names one last time. She put her hand on Pio’s arm, a perplexed look on her face. ‘Now, I was sure you said there were three special guests coming to the dinner party.’ She ticked of two names on her fingers. ‘Bilbo. And Frodo. But who’s the third one. I didn’t catch his name.’

Pio blanched at this question. She was hoping to just gloss over it, that Amaranthas would not remember she had said there were three of the special guests. ‘His name.’ said Pio, drawing out the two words to stall for time. Amaranthas looked at her as if she had just suddenly become addle-pated.

‘What’s the matter with you, Pio? You’re acting daft. His name, what is it? And once you’ve mastered that answer, how about telling me where he comes from. Is he from a reputable family, or are there some juicy tidbits I need to know about him.’

A sudden fit of coughing came over the Elf at these last two statements. She giggled then broke into a full fledged laugh, thinking of the Fëanturi and the rest of the Valar. ‘I do not know much about him, Amaranthas. Just his name. Lorien, I believe he calls himself. From somewhere way to the west it's said. I believe his family is one of some repute. Though I have heard there has been some behavior on their part which some would call questionable.’

‘Past the Tower Hills, then?’ pursued the tenacious questioner. ‘And this questionable behavior, might I have heard of it?’ Pio took a deep breath, wishing once again that she had never mentioned a third visitor.

‘Far past the Emyn Beraid, Amaranthas, so I have been told. And as to the other, it happened so long ago, I fear no one recalls it. At any rate, look!’ Pio waved her arm toward the Inn, whose path they had just entered. ‘We are nearly to the Green Dragon.’

The cart pulled up near the front porch of the Inn, and Hob came running out. He gave his hand, assisting Pio to alight, then held the pony still as she helped Amaranthas to the ground. The two women went up the step and Pio held the door as Amaranthas entered the Inn.

The wizened Hobbit looked about her, taking in every detail of the room. Her eyes lit on the nice little fire burning merrily in the grate of the great fireplace and she led Pio over to take a seat with her. ‘Fetch us something to take the dust of the road from our throats before you sit down, won’t you dear?’ sending Pio off to find some chilled wine. Her eyes darted about the room, looking for any sign of the three visitors. Pio, with her spare and evasive details, had piqued her interest on that Lorien fellow. Now where was he?

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

[mark12_30]

Frodo peered carefully out the window, wanting to remain unseen just yet. "Old Amaranthus. My goodness."

Bilbo grunted, raising an eyebrow at his nephew. "Well, you didn't think Cami would leave her out of the party, did you?"

Frodo replied uneasily, "How large is this party going to be? Has she canvassed the Shire looking for guests?"

"Of course she has, " snapped Bilbo, eyes sparkling; "She's a Goodchilde, she's not some illiterate bankdweller from the South Marish. She knows how to make lists." Bilbo waggled his finger at Frodo. "You're my best student, but you're not my only student. "

The dig did not penetrate Frodo; he was staring off into the distance, glassy-eyed. "Then... then Pippin, and Merry--"

"What did you think?" Bilbo snapped again, eyes sparkling.

"I guess I didn't think, " Frodo smiled.

"You've gotten spoiled, dealing with elves, and always reading another's thoughts with osanwe, " Bilbo said softly. "You've stopped thinking ahead, anticipating another's actions. Havent't you?"

Frodo studied Bilbo, and thought back to his long conversations with Finrod, Finarfin, Fingolfin, Gil-Galad, Aegnor. He had become a superb listener during his stay in Tol Eressea; but perhaps other skills had lapsed. "Yes, " he pondered, "you're right, Bilbo. I have; in that sense, I have actually gotten rather lazy." My goodness, he thought. All my old friends will wonder why I am so slow-witted; I wonder whether I will seem dull. And to think I used to be called Jolly Old Frodo. Well, I'm not the life of the party anymore; I knew that.

He sighed, trying not to worry. "I should look forward to this evening," he said softly; "I am healed and well, I thought, and ready to enjoy my old friends. But I wonder whether they will enjoy me."

"Don't worry, " smiled Bilbo. "I am sure they will."

Frodo nodded, but he wasn't so sure.

[ February 24, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Mithadan]

Mithadan's horse threaded its way carefully among the rocks and roots along the banks of the Baranduin. Just a bit farther and Sarn Ford would be in sight. He scratched at a welt on the back of his heck. This trip which had begun so well was now evolving into a bit of a nightmare. He had been roused from his sleep by an incessant buzzing only to find a cloud of midges and stinging flies had descended upon him for breakfast. He had leapt fully clothed into the river to await the departure of the villainous insects, then clambered back out, covering his breeches in mud in the process.

Even his horse had sniffed at him distastefully as he mounted. But by now, Mithadan was beyond concerning himself about a bit of dirt. His journey was nearly over and he would soon see his wife. It had been eight months or more since she had ridden off for her 'short' trip to the north -- far too long.

As his horse splashed through the Ford, he looked up at an Inn which stood not far from the west banks of the river. He had intended to ride straight through to The Shire, but he was painfully aware that his food had run out nearly two days earlier. After a brief debate, he decided that a stop for some lunch and a bit of tidying up would do no harm. He rode up to the stables and dismounted, taking his bag from the horse as the stablehand took the reins. The lad's frown at the condition of the rider changed to a smile as Mithadan tossed him two silver pennies. Then he entered the Inn.

The common room was typical as such places go. A great fireplace took up much of the eastern wall. There was a long bar and a number of tables, most unoccupied at this time of day. A barmaid sauntered over, looking at him dubiously. "Good morning, ma'am," said Mithadan in his politest tones. "A beer and whatever you might have for a weary traveller to eat, please." He placed two more silver pennies on the table in an attempt to encourage her frown to abate. As she walked back to the bar, he heard her mutter, "First that odd lady and now this vagabond. This is shaping up to be a fine day."

When she returned with his beer, he inquired about the 'odd lady'. When the barmaid finished her description, Mithadan grinned and asked where she might be found. The server scowled as if doubting what good bringing together two such persons might do, but answered that the lady had not yet come down from her room. Mithadan settled in and waited...

[Birdland]

The food had been ample, warm, and delicious, the bath hot, steaming and filled with the scents of lavender and camomile. The bed...ahhh, the bed! Crisp sheets smelling of sunshine and herbs, a pillow and mattress stuffed with a veritable flock of goosedown. It was fit for a king, the best room at the Trade Inn, and Birdie had not had to share it with anyone.

When she arose, very late, she put on her freshly laundered and brushed clothes, and came tripping down the stairs, giving a little leap at the bottom and spinning with delight, little caring for the looks from the few drovers and tradesmen who still sat in the common room. The morning (or noon) sun was shining in through the open door of the inn. It looked like a magnificant day for flying, and good friends and the end of her journey awaited her.

The barmaid, who had been up since 5:00, cared little for her enthusiasm. She had vague suspicions about this little woman with the unsuitable dress who had arrived at the inn with no horse or escort. Five years working at the busy Trade Inn had not expanded her horizons, or brain, and she cared little for the "outlandish".

Bird just laughed at her weary scowl, and flipped a silver coin into the air, which the barmaid was deft enough to catch and secret away.

"I'm as hungry as a cat down a well, good Mave. Warm bread and butter, lamb sausage with mint, and three boiled eggs, if you please. Oh, and is it too early for berries? With cream? Hot tea and cold buttermilk. That will do for now. Isn't it a beautiful morning?"

Mave just sniffed, silently wondering how anyone could call the crack of noon "morning", and went to place the order. Bird leaned on her table, spying out the few other patron in the room without making eye contact with anyone. Then the warm breeze from the open window blew in her face, carrying the scent of the decidedly unwashed, dust-covered man shrouded in the shadows at the far corner.

Birdie delicately wrinkled her nose at the smell. She had just washed the dust and odor of the road off of herself, and didn't much care to be reminded of it from this stranger. She wondered if she could possibly changed her table in order to place herself downwind.

Then the figure rose...

[Mithadan]

Mithadan nearly laughed as Bird pirouetted down the stairs in her outlandish Southron outfit. He watched for a moment as she placed what appeared to be a sizeable breakfast order with the barmaid. She looked about the room and glanced at him with a wrinkled nose and disapproving look. He wiped selfconsciously at his dirty and rumpled shirt then rose and walked toward her.

Seeing him approach, she sat at a table, pulled her chair in and pointedly faced away from him. Mithadan stopped behind her chair and waited for a moment. She did not turn around (though she did fan at the air before her face), so he spoke with a rogueish grin. "Well met, fair maiden," he said. "I understand that you are a fellow traveller making for The Shire. I suppose we could travel together, although I suspect that you might wish to employ a quicker, more direct route...as the crow flies?"

She spun around upon hearing his 'crow' comment. Then recognition dawned upon her and she leapt to her feet. "Mithadan!" she cried, carefully keeping the chair between them. "You look...horrible! What happened?"

"I've had a difficult week of travel," he responded with an embarrassed grin. "And unfortunately, my stomach demanded that I eat before seeking a place to change..."

"And shave and bathe appearently," she interrupted with a grin of her own. "But its good to see you nonetheless. Would you like to...errr, join me?"

Mithadan laughed. "Your ravishing clothes are surpassed only by your politeness. But I'd rather you not gag during your meal. I've just eaten. So, I'll find a place to change and clean up a bit, then I'll join you." He walked over to the barmaid and spoke to her briefly. She pointed down the hall and gestured to the right. Mithadan turned back to Bird and said, "I'll be back."

She watched as he walked away. "Under the circumstances, that might be a threat," she muttered.

--------------------

About an hour later, Mithadan returned. He wore a clean, if rumpled, white shirt and a fresh pair of breeches. He had scraped and rubbed at his boots in an unsuccessful attempt to clean them from the road, and had bathed, though he remained unshaved. Bird rose to meet him and this time they embraced before sitting.

After chatting for a bit about the events of the past months, Mithadan became silent. He frowned and looked up at Bird. "I'm a bit concerned about something," he said. "In her last letter, Pio said that Cami was with her."

"What!" responded Bird. "Are you sure she meant the same Cami?"

"It sounded that way," he answered grimly.

"That's impossible," Bird scoffed. "It must be some quirk of her pregnancy or overwork. Or a mistake more than likely."

"You will arrive before I or so I assume," he said. "Please make sure that she is taking care of herself. I'm a bit worried and I will not arrive in Hobbiton before tomorrow evening at the earliest I would guess."

"I will," promised Bird with a smile. "Its good to see you, Mith. We have much to discuss and puzzle over concerning my trip into the south."

"We'll have plenty of time to talk in Hobbiton," he said. "But for now, I'm eager to be on my way." He rummaged in his bag for a moment, then looked about cautiously before passing over a leather pouch. Bird undid the drawstring and her jaw dropped as she looked inside. "There must be twenty gold pieces in here!" she hissed.

"There's more waiting for you in Gondor," Mithadan responded with a smile. "Between the three ships we sold and the last Numenorean knife, our last voyage was a success from the perspective of trading."

Bird looked in the bag once more, then closed it and sealed the drawstring before passing it back to Mithadan. "Carry it for me, please? I'm travelling...light. Oh, and shave that beard. I can't imagine Pio liking it."

Mithadan laughed. "I lost my shaving kit on the road," he said ruefully. "I've enough cuts and scrapes on my face so that I don't wish to chance using a knife. I'll wait until I reach The Green Dragon. See you in a day or two!" Then he turned and walked out to the stables...

[Child of the 7th Age]

A small bay pony clattered noisily down the lane that stretched from Bywater to Hobbiton, a distance that spanned no longer than a mile. Its rider, one of the officially attired Shire messengers, brandished an envelope in his outstretched hand as he dismounted from his saddle and raced up to the front entrance of Bag-end.

Pulling down resolutely on the silver bellchain and nervously tapping his toes on the step, the lad waited a moment for someone to appear, then began banging insistently against the door. Please be home, he pleaded. I'd rather not have to face that old fellow again with empty hands.

His persistence was rewarded by the sudden appearance of a sturdy and stout-hearted hobbit, evidently in the prime of his years. The boy doffed his cap out of respect, "Mister Mayor, I beg your pardon, but I'm much oliged to find you here. It's an urgent message from an elderly hobbit, a newcomer to the Shire, who's staying at the Inn. He's a bit hard-headed and demands an immediate reply."

Sam glanced quickly at the handwriting on the envelope and grinned. He could recognize those spidery letters anywhere. Newcomer, indeed! And "hard-headed" to boot. Well, he had to agree with the latter assessment.

He scanned the note and immediately turned, making his way to the second-best bedroom which now served as a guest chamber. A tall, wooden wardrobe had stood there untouched for many long years. Untouched that is, except for the hands of Miz Rose who had made sure that everything was kept tidy and in good repair. There were a number of treasures still hidden in its drawers, but he fished about with his fingers and pulled out just two. One was a well-worn volume on the history of the Brandybucks and, the other, a soft and diaphanous garment of great beauty that looked to be made of green and yellow silk, but which was done in the fashion and style of hobbits from some time ago.

Sam scratched his head, wondering why these two were needed out of all the treasures stored here. The book he could understand. It had been given to Frodo by his mother when he was but a lad, and detailed the geneology of her family, going back for many a year. There was a loving personal message inscribed on the first page. This alone would explain why Frodo might want to bring it with him

But, the dress? Sam couldn't imagine what Bilbo could possibly want with his mother's antique wedding gown. He made sure to tuck in the envelope and note that went with it, a personal and very poignant missive from Belladonna Took to her handsome young son, with hopes expressed that Bilbo's own wife and daughters, or perhaps the wives-to-be of his sons, would one day wear this gown, and pass it down through their family.

Sam looked at it and sighed. A thing of beauty, but it also made him a bit sad. There'd been no bride for Bilbo, nor was Frodo likely to need it, and there were no others in the direct Baggins line. Perhaps Bilbo intended to sell it, although that would be surprising, since the elerly hobbit could be quite sentimental under that witty exterior.

Sam quickly made his way back down the hall, handing the dress and the book gently over to the messenger, before sharing one last word of advice, "I'd like to make a suggestion. Treat that elderly gentleman with respect. He's no newcomer here, but someone from long ago. He's done more for Hobbiton and the Shire than you can even imagine." Then, he tipped the lad generously and asked him to convey his regards to the sender, with the added promise that he would be seeing him very shortly.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami sat slumped over the table that stood before the cooking fires in the kitchen, her head resting awkwardly on top of her folded arms. Some time ago, she had yawned, closed her eyes, then drifted off into a groggy haze, despite the ongoing racket of pots and pans and other hurried preparations for their dinner.

"Cami. Wake up! You've been working too hard. The cooking's done. You have to go and get ready for the party. This is your party, too, and you'll enjoy yourself. I've seated you near Bilbo and Lorien." Pio's voice leapt into her mind, as she struggled through to awareness.

Cami dragged herself up and tried to clear her head to focus on Pio's words, vaguely remembering there was no reason for her to go up to the room to change. But, before she could even protest, the Elf had maneuvered her out of the chair and pushed her down the corridor in the direction of her chamber. Cami came into the room and closed the door, and went over to look out her window at the green fields and poppy-strewn meadows and tiny, snug homes that were so clearly visible from the rear of the Inn. Such a very different picture than what she'd come to expect in Greenwood.

The prosperous and respectable citizens of the Shire would have a hard time recognizing themselves in their struggling ancestors who made up her own hobbit community. There were no chambers filled with fine furniture, no lace doilies, and certainly no clocks, such as this room displayed. Still, if the Shirelings could sit down and speak with those earlier folk, and maintain an open mind, they would have sensed a similarity of values and love of family that lay at the very base of hobbit life. Cami vowed neither to brag or to feel shame at who she was, but to acknowledge the hardships and wild beauty of the forest that were now shaping her life, and to somehow communicate that vision to those she loved best.

The staff of the Inn had drawn a lovely, bubbly tub for her and she gratefully sank down into it, using her fingertips to chase the soap around in circles. She sang softly as she bathed, her spirits rising gamely at the thought of the evening to come:

O' Sweet is the sound of falling rain
and the brook that leaps from hill to plain;
but better than rain or rippling streams
is Water Hot that smokes and steams.

Sliding out of the bath, Cami dried herself off, then brushed her hair and tried to get her bouncing curls to stay in place.

Then she decided to change her clothes, since her other skirt and blouse would be cleaner, without so many obvious patches or darns. The shadow of evening had already thrown its arms over the Shire, and Cami's room was wrapped in grey so that it was difficult for her to see, as she hadn't bothered to light her lamp. She slipped her hand inside the wardrobe. She was surprised when her fingers touched something soft and gentle hanging on a hook, something very different from what had been there that morning. Curious at her discovery, she pulled the item out and laid it on her bed.

Before she even got a clear glimpse of the dress itself, she caught sight of the envelope with her name carefully written in Bilbo's elegant hand:

Dearest Cami,

A very long time ago, my mother Primula Took wore this gown on the day she was married. I know nothing of dresses, but I am told it is quite pretty. Many years passed and, before she died, my mother instructed me to hold onto it so that my own wife and daughters, and the wives of my sons, would have the honor of wearing it.

Each of us treads a different path in life, one that we can not always foretell. I shall not be needing this dress, nor is my dear Frodo likely to take a bride. My own story will soon be ending, and I would prefer to see merriment in your eyes while I am still here to enjoy it.

Although we have gone in different directions, I always remember you fondly. If I had been privileged to marry and have a daughter, I should have been most happy if she had turned out to be like you, a bit hard-headed but with a kindly heart.

So please humor an old hobbit by wearing this gown to the party tonight, and keeping it near your side for whatever else might come up in the future.

Best regards from your crusty old teacher,

Bilbo Baggins


Cami glanced at the soft gown, with its traditional green and yellow hobbit hues, put her head into her hands, and burst out in tears.

[ February 25, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Prim, the Innkeeper

The new Innkeeper’s gaze swept the room with satisfaction. Everything was in place for the dinner party. The staff was dressed in clean clothes and sparkling aprons; the tables looked wonderful and inviting – awaiting only the placing of the platters of food on them. There were fresh bouquets of flowers everywhere, sending their subtle scents into the air. The entire Common room gleamed in readiness.

Prim stepped out to the front porch of the Inn and tacked a rather large notice on the door. The Inn would be closed this evening for a private dinner party. But if anyone were thirsty and required a pint before heading home, then would they please step round to the greensward near the stable, Hob Hamfast had been recruited to be provisional outdoor barkeep for the evening for any regulars stopping by. She straightened the notice, tacking it down securely on the bottom as well as the top, and went back into the Common Room.

Guests were starting to arrive for the party. That is, Miz Amaranthas had just swept in the door with Mistress Piosenniel, and seated herself at the small table by the fire, her eyes roving the room for interesting persons to comment on. Prim admired the old Hobbit. Smart as a whip, though her tongue could also sting like one should you happen to rub her the wrong way. Wicked sense of humor! Prim watched her, perched like a little queen on the edge of her chair in her lovely green dress.

Prim had changed into a nice dress, too, for the party, though for the most part, it would be covered by her apron. A deep violet bodice and skirt, with light violet primroses embroidered along the neck and hem. She was glad the guests that Cami had invited were less of the troublesome variety that often came to the Inn. Otherwise she would worry about staining her dress with slopped wine or ale.

She noted that Pio was looking about in the kitchen for something, in the big stone cooler. Chilled wine, one of those bottles from the far east. ‘Here let me help you Miz Pio. I know right where they are. You go sit with your guest and I’ll bring it to the both of you.’ Pio thanked her, and returned to the table with Amaranthas.

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

[piosenniel]

Amaranthas had moved away from her seat by the fireplace, and taken one closer to the small window near the west end of the Common Room. From there she could peer out the glass to the Inn’s front steps and see who was about to enter. Her sharp eyes made out a small cloud of dust to the east, a fair way down the road. Too large for a single horse, she thought, and too small for a wagon. Must be someone coming in a small pony cart. ‘Now, I wonder who that might be?’ she murmured to herself as she ticked off the list of those invited in her head.

Pio had come to sit with her, followed shortly by Prim with a bottle of Dorwinion wine, the moisture from the chilled container glistening with a fine sheen of condensation. Pio thanked the Innkeeper and asked if there were anything she needed to do to help before the party started. Prim smiled prettily at her, saying, ‘Just sit back and relax, Mistress Piosenniel, the staff and I have everything in hand.’

‘Now that was a good choice on your part.’ said Amaranthas, watching Pio pour them each a crystal goblet full of the dark red wine. ‘Yes, I thought so, too, Miz Amaranthas. My mind will rest easier knowing the Inn will be well taken care of by her.’ They raised their glasses to each other and took a drink, savoring the cool, rich liquid as it sat on their tongues and ran merrily down their throats to pleasantly warm their bellies.

Amaranthas motioned Pio to come round to her side of the table. ‘What can you see with those Elf eyes of yours.’ she asked, pointing to the nearing cloud of dust. Pio shaded her eyes with her hand and looked hard into the distance. ‘A pony cart. Two people sitting in the front. Judging from the speed they should be here in about twenty minutes or so.’

Amaranthas cackled in delight. ‘I knew it! That’s a Bolger for you. Always arrive early and stay late. Don’t want to miss out on any food, drink or the opportunity to gossip.’

‘A Bolger?’ Pio ran the list of invitations through her head quickly and recalled no Bolger. She raised her brows to the Hobbit, awaiting an explanation.

‘Estella Bolger. And that’s her husband with her. That overly tall Hobbit, one of Frodo’s friends.’ Pio shrugged her shoulders waiting for her to go on. ‘You weren’t listening the last time I was telling you about those Bucklanders who live outside the Shire! Queer folk some of them, living in the wilds, next to that forest.’ Seeing the appropriate look of contrition on the Elf’s face, she smiled in satisfaction. ‘Estella married one of those outlanders. Meriadoc Brandybuck, it was.’

Pio leaned back in her chair. So it was Merry and his wife, Estella, who were to be the early arrivals. She looked forward to meeting him. Sipping at her wine, a sudden memory came to her, and she laughed aloud. It was now Amaranthas’ turn to wonder what the explanation for this outburst might be.

‘Amaranthas,’ said Pio, still chuckling, ‘as I recall, you are a Bolger, aren’t you?’ The venerable Hobbit drew herself up straight in her chair, and rapped her cane on the floor once for emphasis. ‘Of course I am, you little ninny!’ she said good-naturedly. ‘That’s how I know them so well!’

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

[piosenniel]

Merry arrives at the Inn

‘Really, dear, I don’t know why you brought that chapbook with you. This is supposed to be a party, not a get together for dusty old scholars!’ Estella pushed the curls behind her ears into place, and smoothed the wrinkles from her dress where they had gathered as she sat in the pony cart on the long journey from Buckland. She glanced up just in time to see Merry slip not one but two of his little journals into the inner pocket of his coat. Smiling fondly at him, she wondered which pocket he had stowed the small quill and ink set she had gotten him one year as a birthday present.

Meri looked up just in time to see her smile, and grinned guiltily back at her. He had gotten a good start on two treatises of interest to him – Herblore of the Shire and Old Words and Names in the Shire, and was looking forward to talking them over with Pippin. ‘And if it really is true that Bilbo and Frodo are here, then I’d like them to see what I’ve written, too.’ he thought to himself.

He reached under the seat of the pony cart, and brought out a dusty bottle. Old Winyards from the Southfarthing, laid down by Old Rory in 1382 in celebration of his son’s first child, Meriadoc. ‘Now if only Pip has brought some of that pipe weed he’s been studying, we will have us a celebration ourselves of old friends come home at last.’

Estella waited for him at the door, and he opened it graciously for her, ushering her in. It had been quite a while since he’d been to The Green Dragon, and he stopped in the entry way, taking in the familiar interior. A brief look of disappointment crossed his face as he saw they were the first to arrive. Pip was not here yet. And even more disappointing, there was no sign of Bilbo or Frodo in the Common Room. He was beginning to regret he had come. Perhaps this was only an elaborate joke of some sort.

Estella had gone over to greet some one, an older Hobbit, sitting by the window. Merry strode to the bar and asked the server there to keep it safe behind the counter. He ordered a pint, and sipping at it, walked about the room to stretch his legs a bit after the ride.

Joke or not, he intended to enjoy himself while he was here tonight.

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

[mark12_30]

"Does it measure up?"

Merry spun at the soft, familiar voice, and looked hurriedly around the room. There, standing just outside the hallway door-- "Frodo!"

Merry bolted forward, setting his mug down on a table as he passed it, and laughing, reached through the doorway and siezed Frodo by the shoulders, and dragged him forward into the room. "It's true! After all these years! Frodo!" Frodo found himself emgulfed in Merry's powerful arms, and then held again at arms' length by the shoulders. "You're looking well. Quite good. Oh, it's good to see you."

Frodo looked into the sparkling brown eyes and laughing replied, "It's good to see you too, Merry. You're as tall as ever!" And I feel ilke a little rag-doll in your grip, he thought.

"A what? Rag-doll?" Merry replied, and Frodo started; he hadn't meant to let Merry hear that; he had carelessly pressed the thought into Merry's mind. Frodo brushed it aside. "Nothing. You put your half-pint down before you answered me about it," Frodo laughed. "Does it measure up?"

Merry put one arm around Frodo's shoulders, and reached for the mug with the other hand. "Well, you tell me, " he said. Frodo sputtered and swallowed hastily as the mug met his face. Merry laughed, and showed no signs of letting Frodo come up for air; laughing, Frodo had to back up underneath Merry's arm to avoid spilling the last quarter of the mug onto his shirt. "Half a moment! " Frodo spluttered laughing, "I've only just arrived, and you'l have me soused in a half hour at that rate!"

"Well, then, sing! And I'll give you a rest from drinking, " Merry roared, pounding Frodo's back. Frodo's eyes bugged. In the corner Frodo could hear Amaranthus wheezing with laughter, and as Merry caught Frodo in yet another bear-hug, Bilbo's voice rang out behind him.

"Beer's wasted on the lad these days, you might as well give all his beer to me, " admonished Bilbo, coming through the doorway.

Frodo denied this loudly, and was pleased to notice that while Merry was no less enthusiastic about greeting Bilbo, he was far more gentle with him than he had been with Frodo. He refrained from pouring the remainder of his mug down Bilbo's throat, anyway. Bilbo nudged Merry's mug. "Empty? What kind of a host are you?"

"I'm not the host! But all right, you old rascal, I'll bring you a mug! He hasn't changed, " Merry guffawed, and Frodo and Bilbo joined him in a loud, long laugh.

Bilbo beckoned to the innkeeper. "Prim, good evening, you charming young sprite! A mug, Prim, a mug! " he said, nodding enthusiastically. and waving.

"I'm getting you one!" Merry said, turning indignantly, "since you unreasonably demanded I play host!"

"You're not going to leave me with one empty fist?" Bilbo accused him. "Frodo, lad, help me over to see Amaranthus. Miz Amaranthus, now that is a fine, fine dress. Hello, Estella! Good evening, Piosenniel!"

Frodo looked back at Merry, who was charging towards Bilbo with four mugs, two per fist. He handed one to Frodo, and one to Miz Amaranthus, and thrust the other two at Bilbo. "If it's full fists you want, then full fists you'll have, " Merry roared. "Prim! Two glasses of wine for Pio and Estella, and another mug for me!"

Within moments, a loud song had started, with Bilbo and Merry leading the charge, and Amaranthus keeping time with her walking stick (Prim tried not to worry about her denting the floor) while Frodo sang along and Piosenniel and Estella danced a casual jig.

[ February 25, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[piosenniel]

Pio’s cheeks were flush from the wine and the dancing. She sat down at the table and watched as the three old friends moved as if in some current out of time. The years fell from their faces and the banked embers of their deep friendship flared up and lit their countenances from within.

Fresh pints were in their fists, and they egged on the singer. Bilbo it was, this time. “Give us something from that time you went out as the thief with all those dwarves and Gandalf.’ cried Merry, leaning forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘That one about them in your kitchen!’

Bilbo stood and shook his head, smiling as he did so. ‘Terrible guests they were.’ He said in a hushed voice, drawing his listeners in. He looked straight at Piosenniel, who had not heard the story before. Her eyes were fixed on him, eager for him to go on. ‘They have a dark sort of humor, Dwarves do. They nearly caused my heart to thump out of my chest when they offered to do the dishes.’

He thumped his tankard on the table in a booming sort of rhythm, his voice taking on the deeper intonations of his long ago Dwarven guests.

Chip the glasses and crack the plates!
Blunt the knives and bend the forks!
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates--

Smash the bottles and burn the corks!
Cut the cloth and tread on the fat!
Pour the milk on the pantry floor!
Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!

Splash the wine on every door!
Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl;
Pound them up with a thumping pole;
And when you've finished, if any are whole,
Send them down the hall to roll!

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!
So carefully! Carefully with the plates!

Pio laughed delightedly and clapped her hands. ‘But that is wonderful!’ she said, impishly. ‘Just the sort of washing up party I should like to part of!’ Bilbo pretended to scandalized at this declaration by one of the fair folk and raised his bushy eyebrows at her.

‘Here’s one for you, Merry.’ Frodo stood forth and raised his tankard to his old companion. ‘Sam and I were the ones to hear this one. That time when Old Man Willow had grasped you in one of his great cracks and meant to squeeze the life out of you. As I recall, only your feet were sticking out when Tom and we got to you!’ Merry wrapped his arms about himself, recalling the strength and malice of the old tree.

Frodo sang out in a clear, fair voice, with a jolly lilt to it.

Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!
Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!
Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!
Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling!
Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling.
Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,
Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight,
There my pretty lady is, River-woman's daughter,
Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water.
Old Tom Bombadil water-lilies bringing
Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him singing?
Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! and merry-o,
Goldberry, Goldberry, merry yellow berry-o!
Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away!
Tom's in a hurry now. Evening will follow day.
Tom's going home again water-lilies bringing.
Hey! Come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?

Amaranthas leaned in close to Pio, tapping her on the foot with her cane. ‘Queer doings in that Old Forest! Didn’t I tell you?’

‘What about you, Master Merry?’ asked Pio. ‘I have heard some fine songs from these two gentle Hobbits. What have you to offer?’

‘I have one, Mistress Piosenniel.’ he said, setting his drink upon the table. ‘But I fear it is more dark a song than these others that you’ve heard.’ His face was grave, and his deep, rich voice sang out the song made not so long ago in Rohan.

We heard of the horns in the hills ringing,
the swords shining in the South-kingdom.
Steeds went striding to the Stoningland
as wind in the morning. War was kindled.
There Théoden fell, Thengling mighty,
to his golden halls and green pastures
in the Northern fields never returning,
high lord of the host. Harding and Guthláf,
Dúnhere and Déorwine, doughty Grimbold,
Herefara and Herubrand, Horn and Fastred,
fought and fell there in a far country:
in the Mounds of Mundburg under mould they lie
with their league-fellows, lords of Gondor.
Neither Hirluin the Fair to the hills by the sea,
nor Forlong the old to the flowering vales
ever, to Arnach, to his own country
returned in triumph; nor the tall bowmen,
Derufin and Duilin, to their dark waters,
meres of Morthond under mountain-shadows.
Death in the morning and at day's ending
lords took and lowly. Long now they sleep
under grass in Gondor by the Great River.
Grey now as tears, gleaming silver,
red then it rolled, roaring water:
foam dyed with blood flamed at sunset;
as beacons mountains burned at evening;
red fell the dew in Rammas Echor.

‘To Théoden King!’ said Merry, raising his mug. ‘To Théoden!’ came the response. ‘To you all.’ murmured Pio softly, raising her glass to them.

A pleasant silence fell upon the group, and glasses and tankards were refilled. Bilbo bowed toward Pio, saying, ‘Surely our fair hostess must have a song for us. Do you not?’

‘I love to sing, Master Bilbo. But I fear I only know the old songs well. The stories long forgotten here in Middle-earth.’ ‘Sing one for us anyway, Miz Pio.’ said Amaranthas. ‘But make it in plain language none of that Elvish, if you please.’

‘Well, then, here is one for Mister Frodo and Mister Bilbo, so lately come from the West.’ It was a plain-song she sang for them, in a fair, strong voice.

East of the Moon, west of the Sun
There stands a lonely hill;
Its feet are in the pale green sea,
Its towers are white and still,
Beyond Taniquetil
In Valinor.

Comes never there but one lone star
That fled before the moon;
And there the Two Trees naked are
That bore Night’s silver bloom,
That bore the globéd fruit of Noon
In Valinor.

There are the shores of Faëry
With their moonlit pebbled strand
Whose foam is silver music
On the opalescent floor
Beyond the great sea-shadows
On the marches of the sand
That stretches on forever
To the dragon-headed door,
The gateway of the Moon,
Beyond Taniquetil
In Valinor.

West of the Sun, east of the Moon
Lies the haven of the star,
The white town of the Wanderer
And the rocks of Eldamar.
There Wingelot is harboured,
While Eärendil looks afar
O’er the darkness of the waters
Between here and Eldamar –
Out, out beyond Taniquetil
In Valinor afar.

The last notes fell away. ‘Too somber, these last two songs!’ she said to Merry. ‘Pick up the tempo and the mood if you would. This is a party, not a wake for dead men and dying dreams.’

‘As you wish, Mistress Piosenniel.’ He turned to the Frodo and Bilbo and hummed a few bars of a livelier song. They grinned at his choice, and joined in –

Ho! Ho! Ho! to the bottle I go
To heal my heart and drown my woe.
Rain may fall and wind may blow,
And many miles be still to go,
But under a tall tree I will lie,
And let the clouds go sailing by . . .

They were on their third round of the verse, even Amaranthas had joined in with a hearty voice, when the door to the Inn opened, and the wind blew in another guest . . .

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

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami was still upstairs fidgeting with her dress, trying to get ready as quickly as she could. She could hear the merry sounds and voices and music issuing from the common room, with the front door of the Inn opening and closing as new visitors came inside. But her lovely green and yellow gown had thirty-two tiny buttons, all in a row and neatly centered down the middle of her back. Her arms weren't long enough to get to all of them! Cami fussed and fumed, pulling her gown this way and that, trying to maneuver all thirty-two tiny pearl buttons within the reach of her fingers so that she could finish latching them.

I should have done this earlier and asked Piosenniel for help! By the time I get there, the party will be over. She gently tugged on the material, first up, then down, thinking that a nearby husband or sister would come in mighty handy just now.

Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one....Cami counted as she slipped the tiny buttons inside their hooks. Finally, number thirty-two. She hastily smoothed out the material in her billowing green skirt, and snatched up the flute that she'd bought the other day at the market in anticipation of the party. Then she scampered down the hallway towards the sound of the music, tapping her fingers and crooning a lively song beneath her breath.

[ February 26, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

As Cami entered the Common Room, she spied a familiar figure coming through the door whom she had not seen in a long while. When she was a tweener, and living in Buckland Hall, Cami had known Fatty Bolgar quite well. She had worked for the Brandybucks some eighteen years and, during much of that time, was the intended of Hob Fields, a kindly lad from Tukborough whom she had promised her mother to wed. Hobb had come from Tukborough to work at the Bolger farm, so that he could be closer to Cami. The distance between Budgeford and Bucklebury was not all that great, and there had been much coming and going between the two households. It was no wonder that Merry had ended up marrying Estella, who was Fatty's sister. Whenever Hob came courting Cami in Buckland, he had generally been accompanied by his friend Fatty, and the three of them had spent countless hours tramping through the woods, enjoying rounds of archery.

Before Cami could collect herself and go up to greet her friend, Merry piped in with a word or two. "Another Bolger? We'll have the Inn overflowing with them if we're not careful." He turned and winked at Fatty.

Amaranthas lifted up her cane and gave the Master of Buckland a hearty poke in the ribs, glaring at him and warning, "Best watch your tongue, Brandybuck, or Estella will be having a word or two with you." Like Amaranthas, Estella was not known for her reticence.

"Now, Amaranthas, I meant no harm," Merry quickly countered. Twas but a jest! I have the best wife in the world, and I'll not be upsetting her. I can promise you that." Merry took Estella's hand and squeezed it tightly to reassure her. For the two hobbits had just gotten married in the past year.

Fatty turned around from Merry and caught his first glimpse of Cami. His eyes widened in surprise and delight. "Cami Goodchild, when I received my invitation, I assumed it was written by a ghost. I can't believe you're really here. How many years has it been?"

"Let's see," Cami mused. I left the Shire in 1403 to move to Buckland, and, after that business with Sharkey, I decided to leave, but it took a while to arrange things. Merry got me a position in Beregond's household two years later. So it's been a good twelve years since you and I met."

"Aye, the battle of Bywater," he whispered solicitously, nodding his head. "That hit more than one family." Fatty remembered that Hob had been one of nineteen hobbits killed that sad day, and Cami had decided to leave quite soon after."

"In any case, I'm glad you're back. You should never have left Buckland or the East Farthing. I know the wander-lust hits some hobbits, but you always seemed too sensible for that. After all, you're not a Took." Cami did not respond, wondering how she could explain to this dear friend that her present life was anything but sensible.

"You know Cami, you look quite lovely tonight. I don't know which is prettier, you or that dress." Fatty hesitated for a minute and then asked, "Not married yet?"

Cami mutely shook her head, thinking she'd best explain that this was only a temporary visit. But before she could respond, Fatty was pushing forward, "You must come see my family in Budgeford. My father and mother are still alive and well. They have always liked you. Plus, you can pay a visit to Merry and Estella at Buckland. What fun we'll have. Just like old times! I'll be happy to drive you about in my pony cart to see all the sights."

"But I can't. I'm working here at the Inn. And I'm helping to take care of my friend Pio."

Fatty looked in the direction where Cami was pointing and saw a tall, graceful, and very pregnant Elf. Unlike Frodo and Sam and his other friends, Fatty was very much a typical stay-at-home hobbit who had never been far from the Shire. He had not even seen an Elf before.

"She's your friend?" Fatty's voice sounded slightly incredulous.

"Yes, indeed, a close friend," Cami reassured him.

"Then, I'll have a talk with her later. Perhaps, she'd like to come too and see the sights of Buckland."

Before she knew what was happening, Fatty had slipped his arm around Cami's shoulder. She found herself squirming and trying to think of an excuse to leave. Oh, dear, this isn't supposed to be happening. What do I do now? This is even worse than Greenwood. Cami desperately fingered the green gemstone that hung about her neck. At that instant, she noticed Frodo standing alone behind the bar. She smiled, then blushed, as she maneuvered Fatty over in that direction. Bilbo gave her a stern look as she walked by.

She pulled Fatty up n front of Frodo, and muttered, "I know you two have a lot of catching up to do." Frodo's face lit up as he saw his old friend. The two hobbits embraced in a bear hug and then began earnestly conversing, leaving Cami thankfully free to slip away, at least for the moment.

Cami's mind roamed back to Buckland, and all those occasions when the three of them had gone out together to have fun. She and Hob, and Fatty.... And now Hob was gone these many years, and she was still not wed. Cami began wondering how many other things she'd forgotten or overlooked from her time at Buckland Hall.

[ February 26, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[mark12_30]

"Fatty, come have a half. Come on, I'm buying." Frodo took Fatty's elbow, and steered him away from Cami. "You're looking stout, you solid Bolger you! The wind will never blow you away!" Frodo continued amiably, poking a finger into Fatty's middle. Truthfully, there were many hobbits far rounder than Fatty, but the nickname flowed easily over the tongue, and the poor fellow was doomed to carry it for life.

"Can't we ..." Fatty began, half turning back towards Cami.

"Tell me how your mother is doing, " Frodo cajoled, steering Fatty away again.

"Not as pretty as Cami, " Fatty said pointing with his mug.

"Oh, come now, your mother is a fine-looking woman and ... " Frodo began.

Fatty snorted. "I thought you had more sense than that. Maybe folks are right about you, " Fatty said.

"What are they saying now?" Frodo laughed.

"That you look through a lass instead of at her, " Fatty said impatiently, looking over his shoulder at the lovely apparition in the yellow and green party dress.

Frodo suddenly felt off-balance. "Do people really say that?" he said indignantly, hiding his discomfiture.


"The lasses say it!" Fatty said, poking him in the chest. "You get that glassy-eyed look and they know they are out of luck. I wish half the lasses who looked at you would look at me too-- I say, Ma'am, two more half-pints please."

"Ladies say that about me?" Frodo replied with a real edge to his voice, and Fatty, tearing his eyes from Cami and taking a hard look at Frodo, belatedly realised that the air of injury about him was no jest.

The mixed emotions on Frodo's face unsettled Fatty. "Oh, don't worry about it. Really. Here, cheer up and have another beer, " Fatty ended lamely, waving at the inkeeper. He rallied again. "The point is, Frodo, Cami is far prettier than my mother, and even you should be able to see that. Whether you look at her or through her, " he glowered at Frodo and waved his mug in Cami's direction.

"Well, I know she's-- but-- I can see that-- what I meant was-- Look, Fatty, that's not the point. The point is--" Frodo was stuck and could think of nothing to say.

"The point is?" Fatty prompted, waiting.

The point is that she's here for someone else, but I can't tell you that, Frodo thought, this time successfully keeping his thoughts to himself. "Tell me, " Frodo said deliberately, "how your mother is. And your sister--"

"Ask Merry."

"And your father--"

"Fine."

"All right then. Your mother?"

"Not as pretty as Cami."

"You're hopeless!"

"As a matter of fact, " Fatty said, waggling his finger at Frodo, "I am very hopeful indeed. And that hope suddenly centers around someone who is definitely prettier than my mother!"

Out of ideas for the moment and still a little flummoxed, Frodo took a deep pull at his mug. Fatty smiled, and turned in his seat so that he could study the exquisite creature wafting about the party in a lovely, lovely yellow and green dress.


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

Child's post

Cami glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder to make certain Frodo was succeeding in keeping Fatty occupied for at least a little while. Then she sidled up to the bar and poured out a generous flagon of ale, as Merry walked over to join her with an unusually solemn expression on his face.

The tall hobbit pulled Cami cautiously aside and leaned down to whisper. "Estella tells me he was soft on you, back in Buckland when you were younger. He's a good hobbit, Cami. You could do a lot worse."

Cami turned beet red, and didn't know how to respond so she decided to steer the conversation in a totally different direction. "You know, I do miss Buckland and the Marish, the woods and river and marshes and all the old tales and songs. In many ways, it's still the most interesting part of the Shire to me."

"'Part of the Shire?' Now, don't be saying that. Buckland still stands outside the bounds, although I've been working on a plan to stretch those bounds a bit. But that won't come easy, I'm afraid."

Cami looked up and laughed, "Inside or out, you can't change the heart of the land. There's something that makes it special and different from the rest of the Shire."

"Aye, and you should never have left there." Merry wagged a finger accusingly at her nose. Running off to Minas Anor like that, and never coming back! I must have been daft to help you get a position that far from home. Going on advenures is one thing, but coming back is another. I hope you're here to stay. If you need help getting settled, Estella and I will be glad to pitch in."

"Thank you, Merry. But I can't even think past tomorrow." Cami hesitated to say anything further, since it would require such a long explanation. "But do you remember the songs we used to sing, the ones from Buckland and the Marish, back when we were younger?"

"How could I forget? The ones with Tom Bombadil visiting the hobbits?"

"And we never believed he was real.... I was so angry with you and Frodo when I heard later that you'd actually met him." Cami sighed. "Merry, for old times sake, let's give it a try. You sing with Estella, and I'll play for you." Cami picked up her flute, and began piping a tune. Merry scurried off to get his wife and they returned with arms linked, twirling and dancing about while they sang in perfect counterpoint.

Laughing they drove away, in rushey never halting,
though the Inn open stood and they could smell the malting.
They turned down Maggott's Lane, rattling and bumping,
Tom in the farmer's cart dancing round and jumping,
Stars shown on Bamfurlong, and Maggot's house was lighted;
fire in the kitchn burned to welcome the benighted.

Maggot's sons bowed at door, his daughters did their curtsey,
his wife brought tankards out for those that might be thirsty.
Songs they had and merry tales, the supping, and the dancing;
Goodman Maggott there for all his belt was prancing,
Tom did a hornpipe when he was not quaffing,
daughters did the Springle-ring, goodwife did the laughing.

When others went to bed in hay, fern, or feather,
close in the inglenook they laid their heads together,
old Tom and Muddy-feet, swapping all the tidings
from Barrow-downs to Tower Hills, of walkings and of ridings;
of wheat-ear and barley-corn, of sowing and of reaping;
queer tales from Bree, and talk at smithy, mill, and cheaping;
rumours in whispering trees, south-wind in the larches,
tall Watchers by the Ford, Shadows on the marches.

"That's enough of that. I'm all out of breath." Estella begged Merry to halt, and he quickly complied with her request. Then the threesome began chatting once again, comparing this and that fine sight in Marish and Buckland.

Fatty Bolger soon came over to join them, apparently finished with his conversation with Frodo. "Ah, that was a fine tune from all of you. You'll be asking Cami to come see Brandybuck Hall?" Fatty slipped in near Cami and stood behind her, resting his hand on her shoulder, and looked over towards his sister.

Estella beamed back, "Cami's welcome to come to Buckland anytime. She's almost like a member of the family already."

Cami smiled faintly and began to slither out from the circle, looking slyly around for any respectable means of escape. She could not see the Elf anywhere, but standing quite nearby was her old friend Angelica Baggins, who had apparently just arrived. She and Angelica had shared many an adventure as children growing up in Hobbiton. Cami lifted her hand to her friend and almost on cue, as they'd done so many times before when they were younger, Angelica noted her distress and came striding up to rescue her, "Cami Goodchild, how are you? It's been too long!"

Cami reached out her arm to Angelica in a quick embrace, and excused herself from the others, walking over to the opposite side of the room.

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

[dragoneyes]

Pippin was sat outside the bedroom with Faramir on his lap, waiting for Diamond to emerge. He and Faramir were both ready to go but, as always, Diamond was taking her time. Pippin was becoming restless, he couldn't wait to see everyone again, especially Frodo. The door opened and Diamond stepped out wearing her best dark-green dress, Pippin was momentarily struck by her beauty. "You look wonderful!" he said standing up and ptting Faramir on the floor. He took her by the hand towards the door, took her coat off the hanger and handed it to her. Diamond smiled at her husband, it was clear he was eager to go and there was no point in making him wait any longer.

The ride there was shorter than it usually would've been, which Faramir certainly had no objection to, he loved to go fast. Diamond, however, was more worried about Faramir's steadyness on the back of his father's pony, even with Pippin holding him tight.

They arrived at the Green Dragon and could hear singing and chattering through the door. Diamond pushed her hair back with her hand, it had gotten a little out of place on the way there. Faramir reached up for his father's hand and clasped it, he hadn't been to the Green Dragon before and wasn't quite sure what was in store for him. Pippin opened the door and the enticing smell of food and drink floated out. He glanced quickly over the hobbits gathered inside and picked out Merry strait away, him standing above everyone else, and he began to make his way there, bringing Faramir and Diamond with him, thinking that if he was going to find Frodo or Bilbo, that would be the best place to start.

"Pippin!" he heard a familiar voice call, looking over to where it had come from, he spotted the caller. "Frodo!" he cried and then, rushing over to him, caught him in yet another hug.

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

Mark12_30 Post

Pippin's hug was as energetic and powerful as Merry's, and Frodo felt like a rag doll again, albeit a well-loved and appreciated one. He smiled up at his tall friend, catching his breath, and laughed. "Pippin! Hello! Oh, it's good to see you. Hello, Diamond, " he called, waving, and then he looked down by Pippin's side. "And hello, Faramir."

"How d'you know my name?" Faramir asked suspiciously.

"How could I not know your name, Faramir, my good sir?" Frodo evaded. Now, let's see you. My goodness, you're a fine young lad."

Pippin's eyes sparkled, and he smiled proudly at his son, and then gratefully at Frodo. Merry came over and greeted Pippin, and the three stood silent, glad and solemn for a moment. Then they laughed, and all began talking at once, and laughed again. They talked about many things, family, home, Buckland and Tuckborough and The Smials. They drank several rounds of beer, and sang a few songs together.

There came a pause, and Frodo quietly studied first Merry, then Pippin, and softly said, "Marriage agrees with you, Merry. And you, too, Pippin."

There was a slightly awkward moment, and then Pippin said, "I'm happy. Happy as I've ever been."

Frodo nodded, satisfied. Merry also nodded in agreement. There was another pause.

Suddenly Pippin grew serious, and softly said, "What's it like in the West, Frodo?"

Merry and Pippin both waited for the answer, and Frodo thought carefully about what to say. "Well, you remember Lothlorien. And Rivendell."

"Yes."

"Do you remember... in the Hall of Fire, when the singing became like a river? Did you sink under the enchantment of it like I did then?"

Pippin and Merry exchanged glances. "Well, somewhat. A little."

"Do you remember Bombadil's house, when Goldberry sang."

"Yes. Very compelling."

"It's like that, eventually, " Frodo said. "It's as if the music flows through you, there, and takes you with it, and washes you, or sweeps you to a destination. Only it's a destination of your heart and soul."

"What music? Do you mean that they sing all the time?"

"They sing a lot, " Frodo said, "but the music I'm talking about is... a harmony, well... it's that they have unity there."

"Unity?"

"Do you remember when Galadriel read our thoughts, to test us? When the fellowship first arrived in Lorien?"

Pippin shuddered. "Like a knife."

Frodo raised a hand. "But not like that. She was after something, in each of us, testing us. But in Valinor, people just share that way. They talk that way. That's what I mean by harmony."

Merry thought it over, and sipped his beer. "That's a different way to live, " he said, eyeing Frodo. "Did it take some getting used to?"

"About as much as Rivendell's music did, " Frodo laughed, and they knew he meant that he loved it. They studied him. "And yet you came back here, " Merry said.

"For a while, yes, " Frodo replied. "For a visit."

Merry considered what he had heard, and nodded. "It sounds like what you need. So Gandalf and Arwen were right to invite you west."

Frodo nodded.

"So, you're doing better. With the, the memories of the darkness, and... and that sort of thing, " said Pippin.

"Yes."

Pippin hesitated, then, "Can we talk more about this later?" he asked.

Frodo looked up at Pippin, and pressed the thought into Pippin's open mind: Yes, Pippin. We will talk more about this.

Pippin looked surprised, and then pleased. The gentle warmth and friendship that came with the thought was quite different than the memory he had of Galadriel's interrogation. He began to look forward to learning more about Valinor.

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

[Mithadan]

Mithadan was less than two hours out from the Old Trade Inn, when he caught a glimpse of a Man darting into the underbrush alongside the road. He halted his horse ten yards before reaching the bushes and dismounted. Keeping an eye on the road ahead, he knelt as if to check his horse's shoes. Then, taking the steed by its halter, he led it forward until he was a few paces from where he had seen the Man. In a single motion, he drew his sword and leaped off the road. Kneeling behind the bush was an extraordinarily dirty man whose face was covered with three day's growth of beard.

Setting the point of his blade to the Man's chest, he smiled and spoke. "Now, if you're looking for berries, they're out of season," said Mithadan. "So might you care to explain why you are burrowing in this bush?"

The Man's eyes moved from the sword to Mithadan's face and back before he answered. "Heh. Good move. Fast. Yer gots some skills," he said. "I was tryin' ter not be seen. Guess I didn't do so good."

"Your name, sir," demanded Mithadan, leaving his blade pointed at the Man's chest.

"Well, yer can call me Stoat. Old Stoat I yam. Might yer be headin' ter the Shire?" Stoat asked.

"I might be," answered Mithadan carefully.

"Well yer might as well not," said the Man. "They don't like us big folk, they don't. The Hobbits'd just as soon see us gone. They don't let none of us in their lands no more. So if yer headin' there expect to have to head back."

"We'll see," responded Mithadan, taking a step back but keeping his sword raised.

"O ya will," laughed Old Stoat. "Ya will, indeed. They'll bundle ya up and roll ya out as quick as ya please. Say! Maybe ya might be lookin' fer some work? We gots needs for a man 'o arms where I come from. Maybe once yer gets a taste of Shire hospitality, yer might wanna meet up with me again. If yer want work, ya'll find me in Bree. Pays well."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Mithadan as he retrieved his horse and led it on down the road.

"Do that," said Stoat as he rose from the dirt. "Just ask fer me..."

[piosenniel]

Amaranthas poked Pio in the side with the head of her cane. ‘Your friend, there. Is she married or spoken for?’ Pio looked up to see Cami clinging to the arm of a female Hobbit, as if for dear life. ‘Now what is that all about?’ she thought to herself. ‘And why does Amaranthas want to know if she’s married?’

‘No, she’s not married. And how does that concern you, Miz Amaranthas?’ Pio watched as Cami and the other Hobbit walked to the other side of the room, their heads bent together in conversation. Must be one of her old friends – Angelica, she reasoned.

‘That Bolger boy, there.’ Amaranthas pointed toward where Estella and Fatty stood talking. ‘I can tell he’s sweet on her. Unless you’re fortunate enough to be born a Bolger, you can’t do much better than to marry one!’

Pio spluttered in the wine she was sipping. ‘Sweet on her? Marry one?’ She took a critical look at Cami as she stood talking to her friend. Cami kept one eye on Fatty, and it didn’t appear to be for the purposes of drawing him nearer to her. In fact, she kept positioning Angelica between herself and Fatty, trying to maintain a good distance from the available Bolger male.

Cami! Stand up straight and don’t hide behind your friend. Do you need some help from me? Or can you work this out on your own?

The Elf had learned it was best to let Cami ask for assistance, and not to go charging in to fix the problem.

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

Child's post

Cami had been walking across the floor with Angelica, firmly holding onto her arm, when she felt a strange but familiar sensation inside her head, as if someone was trying to speak with her. Only this time, the message was not getting through in any recognizable form. The room was warm and hazy, and her head was beginning to swim. She looked up and, at the front of the Inn, near the doorway, Piosenniel stood staring at her from across the floor.

Cami sighed. She did not need osanwe to understand exactly what was on Pio's mind. The Elf's face was filled with concern, but also held a warning to Cami that she had best be careful to protect herself and not to mislead her friend. This was very easy to say. It was not so easy to do.

Cami acknowledged that the only way to untangle this misunderstanding was to pull Fatty aside and have an honest conversation with him, at least as honest as she could be, given her peculiar set of circumstances. But the Inn was crowded, and folk were enjoying themselves, not the kind of place conducive to a private unburdening of the soul. Perhaps later, when the welcomes were over and things quieted down a bit, she might take him outside in the garden and make sure there were no misunderstandings between them.

Yet, before she could turn back to Angelica to resume her conversation, a sharp pain ran through her heart, as a hundred different thoughts intruded on her mind. None of this is fair, not for me and not for Fatty Bolger, a decent hobbit who deserves better from me than playing along in a masquerade.

If Maura was here, if he was only beside me, none of this would be happening. Everyone would understand who I was and what my commitments were. But he's not, and I am left with suitors on my doorstep, and a hobbit in the Shire remembering things from twenty years ago.

Cami tried hard to concentrate on Angelica's words, but they kept slipping away. She excused herself, turning aside for a moment to reclaim her thoughts and composure. Yet, she still could not shake the insistent voice inside her head. She remembered the books of lore she'd read that were filled with tales of lovers. Even stories of Elves and Men who had been granted the right to blend their lives together, their hearts and bodies intertwined, somehow overcoming the intrinsic differences in their nature. Why not me?, she wondered.

In all the months since the downfall of Beleriand, in all the tears she had shed, she had asked only for grace to bear the burden that Gandalf had committed to her. Even in the time of bitterness within the Tombs, when she had cried out in despair, Cami had never thrown herself down and begged the powers in the heavens that she and Maura could somehow be allowed to spend their lives together, however unworthy they might be.

She could feel her defenses crumbling, as her heart filled with the stark reality, not of despair but love. For an instant, she sensed the quiet pulse that lay at the center of Arda, and it was filled with a feeling so sweet that there were no words to describe it. Please, Varda, you are a woman as I am, in spirit if not in body. You must know something of the yearning in my heart. I will bend my neck and do what is asked of me. But can there be no other way to bring us together? Just as Beren and Luthien were permitted to hold each other's hearts for a brief space beyond death itself, is there no way to bring down the walls of time? Intercede for me, plead for me, unworthy though I am.

She stared down at the ground and bit her lip fiercely to try and stifle the tears that had begun streaming down her cheeks. Then she managed to composed herself and again set her attention on her friend and the little ones who scampered gayly about their feet.

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

[Nurumaiel]

"Cami Goodchild," Angelica said once more. "It's wonderful to see you again." She opened her mouth to say more but there was a tug at her skirt. She looked down. "Yes, Prisca?" she asked.

"Fosco says there isn't going to be any food," the little girl said worriedly. "Is that true? Because I'm hungry, Mummy."

"Don't listen to what Fosco tells you, Prisca-baby," said Angelica. She turned to Cami. "Cami, this is my daughter Prisca."

"Pleased to meet you," said Cami, smiling at the girl.

"Hello," said Prisca shyly. "You are the one called Cami Goodchild? Mummy has told me about you." Then she hurried off to find her twin again.

Cami looked at Angelica, and the mother blushed. "I haven't said anything gossipy about you, Cami," she said. "I only told her the best things about you. Come, sit down here for a moment." They sat down together.

"So how long have you been married?" Cami asked.

"Fifteen years now," said Angelica. "My husband is here, too, but I don't know where he went..." She looked around, then sighed and shook her head. "Probably getting a pint," she said with a grin.

"You look lovely," said Cami.

"Don't say that!" said Angelica. "I've been trying to break myself of my old vanity. I'm afraid Prisca is taking after her mother."

"She's a sweet thing."

"Yes, I know. I can't say the same for Fosco, her twin. He's hardly ever sweet; he's almost always a nightmare." And Angelica went on to tell Cami of Fosco's mischief, and the rest of her life as a mother (and Muddyfoot).

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

Child's post

This time it was Fosco, who came skipping up to his mother. Cami knelt down beside the lad and held out her arms. The child backed shyly away, then came closer, staring out from behind his mother's skirts. Cami looked up and laughed, "He's beautiful and sweet, even if he is an imp. His eyes shine with love for you. I don't have too much experience with little girls, but I know boys."

Cami took a deep breath wondering if she should reveal more. But she couldn't keep hiding everything. It was too much of a burden. Perhaps, everyone in the Shire would disapprove, or not believe her. But the other way was even worse. No one would understand who she was or what she'd become. They would only remember the empty shell of a child who had long since grown and changed.

Cami lifted up her head, and turned to face her old friend, "I have six children."

Angelica's eyes widened with surprise as she considered the meaning behind these simple words. "B-but, I thought you weren't...."

"Weren't married?" Cami casually finished the sentence for her. "No, I'm not married. My children were adopted. My girl Rose is a kinswoman, like Bilbo's adoption of Frodo."

"And the others?"

"I have five boys, none related to me by blood. Cami stopped a minute and wondered how to explain. "They had been through very bad times, and there was no family left. It was the right thing to do, and they make me laugh sometimes. A passel of boys will do that."

Angelica sat back for a moment, and wondered what it would be like to have a whole houseful of Fosco's. She smiled wryly at the thought.

"Oh, no," Cami said with a grin, picking up on her friend's startled expression, "They're not all little. The oldest is eighteen and the youngest just five." Her thoughts strayed back to little Maura.

"Cami, how do you take care of them all? Six mouths is a lot to feed,"

"Yes, it is! And they always seem to be hungry. I teach other people's children, and sometimes tend to the sick."

"Other hobbits pay you to do that?" Angelica queried.

"Actually not. Our community doesn't use much money. We exchange food and help each other do things." Cami shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.

"You support all those children by teaching and healing?"

"Sometimes it is difficult so we all pitch in together. We fish and hunt and trap and dig out shellfish from the river. Gamba has become an excellent shot with the bow. Even Rose and I help."

Angelica's eyes were becoming even wider as Cami routinely described these strange activities. "Where is this place exactly? It sounds similar to something I read in a book Bilbo gave me about the early life of the Tooks."

Cami tried to hide a smile. "Actually, Angelica, this place is very distant from here. I'm sure you've never been there. So giving it a name wouldn't really help you. But if you think of it like Bilbo's textbook, you've probably got the basic idea very well.

Angelica hesitated before she asked her next questions, "Cami, are there hobbits in this place? Are you happy?"

Cami reassured her. "We have close to a thousand hobbits now and more on the way." She hesitated and thought a minute before she answered her friend's other questions. Was she happy? "Yes, I do like it very much. It is simple and rugged, but more beautiful than you can imagine. As to whether I am happy, I would say yes. There is great happiness and joy in my life, along with some sadness. But I suspect it is like that for most of us here in Arda."

The two hobbits continued chatting for a moment in a lighter vein, with much of their conversation centering on the strange ways of children. They promised to meet again later. Just as Cami was about to walk away, she caught a glimpse of Piosenniel standing a little ways off to her left.

Pio's Post

Pio gasped, and an almost physical pain went through her. Tears started in her eyes, and Prim, standing near her asked if she was alright. Was it the babies? Should she bring someone to see to her? Pio waved her off, saying there was no problem with the twins; they were fine and so was she. All of which was true, to a point.

She was not fine. The deep sadness of her friend overwhelmed her. She stepped out for a moment to the porch and leaned heavily against the railing, watching the sun’s last trailing light in the west.

Intercede for me, plead for me, unworthy though I am.

Who could be more worthy than Cami, she wondered. Her tasks were not completed with sword and might and great deeds written of by poets, but with the simple day to day strengths that assured this world that at its foundation was goodness that went forward with a pure, bright light.

Surely even the far off Valar understood the sacrifices already made.

But perhaps not. She did not share the same trust in their care that others did. Still, for the sake of her friend, she bent her stiff neck, and bowed to the west, her right hand at her heart. Bright Eärendil hung like a jewel, low in the western sky.

Let it be so for her. And if it cannot, then allow me the grace to bring her some measure of comfort as I may.

There was nothing she could do now. No way to undo time, as once there had been.

The party flowed on in all its vibrancy as she reentered the Inn. There, before her, standing a little way off was Cami just stepping away from her meeting with her friend. Pio stepped forward and took her by the hand, and for a moment, the noisy crowd parted and they found a sort of refuge in the dark at the top of the stairs. Sitting there on the steps, their arms about each other, they watched the party swirl on below them, a colorful dream of sights and sounds.

Pio turned toward her friend and rested her forehead against hers.

Cami, I heard you call out to the Lady of the Stars. Your pain nearly broke my heart. That I can do nothing to lift it from you.

It stirred memories of some things Ancalimon said to me, long ago now it seems, on the Lonely Star. When bleak despair had me firmly in its grip, and I had no hope or expectation that good would follow from my actions.

He asked me to move from this idea of hope, ‘amdir’, to the deeper foundation of ‘estel’, trust. That in Eru’s design of the Music, that which issues forth must be for his creation’s joy. Untouched by darkness or grief. Hope promised, already fulfilled, and never as some might say, ‘mere flight in a dream from waking’.

She spoke softly now. ‘I have wedded my hope and trust to yours, little Andreth. That time and being will unweave their courses, for a space of time, as you asked. And your own dear Maura reach out his hand for yours and you grasp it.’

They sat in silence for a short while longer. Then the door of the Inn burst open, and the Gamgee family arrived. ‘Another guest has come, Cami.’ The two looked down into the Common Room as Sam and Rose and their seven children made their exuberant entrance. Pio laughed, and grasping Cami by the hand pulled her to her feet. ‘Bad form not to greet the Mayor.’ She brushed the creases from her own dress and tucking one of Cami’s stray curls behind her ear, down the staircase they went.

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

[Orual]

"Rose! We're late!"

Sam raced to the coat closet and began passing out coats to his children with hasty orders to put them on quickly, they were going to miss the party! "Rose, are you ready? It's time to go!"

"I heard you the first time, Sam," Rose called, sounding irritable. She came into the room, pulling a coat on little Hamfast, who was struggling violently against his mother's efforts, with the occasional piercing scream to accentuate his dislike of the situation. Rose looked like her nerves had been worn ragged, and she gave her husband a dark glare to make sure he knew that she wasn't pleased, and she put one hand on her swollen belly to make sure he remembered that she was, indeed, pregnant.

Sam smiled and went over to Hamfast, giving him a conspiratorial "don't cross your mother right now" look, and pulled on his coat the rest of the way. "Is everybody ready?" he asked, and was met with affirmative cheers. The eldest three of his children looked particularly excited, but his entire brood were anxious to get to the Inn. He picked up Hamfast, stood up, put a hand on Rose's shoulder, and squeezed it gently. He met her eyes and mouthed thank you. His wife smiled reluctantly and tugged on Goldilocks' jacket. The girl looked up quizically, then shrugged. Sam directed them out the door.

The ride to the Green Dragon wasn't long, and filled with the excited chatter of children. Sam, however, looked preoccupied, and of course Rose noticed. "What's on your mind, Sam?" she asked.

Sam looked over at her, a hint of apology in his glance. "Just thinking about things," he hedged.

Rose looked at him with an amused smile. "What kinds of things?" she pressed.

Sam sighed. He was really in no mood for these kinds of games, so he caved in much earlier than he usually did; their banter would last for half an hour or more, sometimes, before they got to the core of an issue. "It's Frodo," he confessed. Rose shifted in her seat and looked at him intently, paying real attention now. "I'm just worried...it's been so long, Rose. It's been twelve years. I don't know if I'll know him anymore."

Rose said nothing.

"All I have is memories of him...but they're all good memories, mainly. I'm afraid that over the past twelve years I've created this person who never existed, who isn't really Frodo." He sighed again. "I'm afraid I've forgotten, and that's exactly what I wasn't supposed to do."

Rose put a hand on his arm. "I didn't know Frodo all that well, Sam, but I do know that everything you've told the children about him is true. He was all that you think he was--or else the truth was too deep for you to be expected to see it."

Sam smiled at her. "We'll see soon enough. There's the Inn."

He unloaded his clan from the back of the cart, and gave them a short lecture on how to behave at the party. He wasn't worried; they were good children. The lecture was mainly to distract himself from his worries. But there would be no distraction soon. He took a deep breath and his wife by the arm, and entered the Inn.

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


ArwenBaggins post:

Elanor followed her parents into the Inn, holding little Goldilocks’ hand. Her sister tried to wriggle free, but Elanor tightened her grip as a wave of people came over them.

Shouts were heard from the crowd, like: ‘Here comes Samwise Gamgee!’ and ‘Make way for the Gamgees!’

Elanor was amazed. People were everywhere. Elanor brushed her golden hair from her eyes, looking at the hobbits and the Elf. Her breath became scarce, and a smile overtook her rosy face.

"Goldilocks! Look! An Elf! It's Piosenniel." Her little sister ignored her, trying to waddle off toward her mother. Her father had started ahead, toward a table in a corner where Frodo and his old friends were supposedly sitting.

[ February 28, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[mark12_30]

mark12_30's post

Frodo watched Sam as he hurried towards the threesome. The noise of the crowd abated just a little, and more than one pair of eyes turned to watch the long-awaited meeting. Frodo felt Merry and Pippin's hands on his back, softly guiding him forward towards Sam.

Sam slowed, just a little, and studied Frodo, searching his face; and Frodo did the same. Frodo's eyes lit up with pride and pleasure, and he nodded with satisfaction. Sam came forward then.

"Hello, Sam."

"Hello, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo felt about to burst with joy. "Dear Sam." They embraced, laughing, and then separated and studied one another again.

Carefully controlling his thoughts, Frodo searched Sam's eyes, and saw hope and joy, but also a touch of uncertainty and more than a little curiosity. "Sam, it's good to see you. You look splendid, Mayor Samwise."

Sam studied Frodo and sensed something odd. Frodo seemed on his guard, hesitant. Sam wondered why. "You don't need to call me Mayor, Mr. Frodo," he said conversationally. "It feels a bit odd, in a sort of way."

"Not at all. You've earned it, Sam; earned the title and the respect that goes with it, " Frodo said soothingly. "In more ways than one, " he laughed then, for a thundering herd of small children suddenly converged behind Sam. He clapped Sam's shoulder and then turned towards the children.

One by one and starting with the very youngest, Frodo spoke their names and greeted them with sparkling eyes and a warm smile: little Hamfast, Goldilocks, Pippin, Merry, Rose, Frodo, Elanor. Merry and Frodo-lad remembered to bow and say Hello; Rose and Elanor dropped lovely curtseys.

Elanor eagerly gazed deep into Frodo's eyes. "Oh, Mr. Frodo, sir, I'm so glad you've come."

"I am too, sir, " Frodo-lad piped up.

Frodo was tempted to kneel, to draw closer to them, but Elanor hardly needed that; she was surprisingly tall. He lingered over her, smiling, and heard Sam's voice at his elbow softly say, "She's been terribly eager to meet you, Mr. Frodo."

"Have you, lass?" Frodo asked, startled, and rather pleased.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Frodo, sir, " Elanor replied earnestly.

Merry and Pippin watched as the warm politeness faded from Frodo to be replaced by something else-- a softening, a restrained eagerness and hope touched with just a trace of sadness. "Well, Elanor, " he said gently, "we'll have to see if we can find some time to spend. Perhaps a walk, or a story, or a song. Perhaps all three."

Sam smiled, waiting, watching. His daughter had clearly entranced Mr. Frodo, and that delighted Sam. He watched happily as Mr. Frodo gave Elanor another smile, and then slowly studied the children. Sam waited.

Frodo felt Sam's presence beside him, and yet, somehow it was easier to focus on the children. His eyes lingered on them, noting their features, how they resembled their father. And their mother-- "Ah. Miz Rose... " His face lit up. "And how is--" He almost said "little Daisy," but he stopped himself quickly. "How is the Lady of Bag-End this evening? Miz Rose, it is wonderful to see you. You've obviously taken very, very good care of Sam. Thank you, and bless you."

Miz Rose blushed, and curtseyed, and Frodo stepped forward and took her hand, and kissed it, and then kissed her cheek.

With an effort, he turned back to Sam. Why did everyone else feel safer and less threatening than his dear Sam?

Precisely, thought Frodo, because he's not "my" Sam anymore. Let go. Let go, for mercy's sake, and let him have his life; it's brim-full as it is.

Sam wondered what the shadow was that seemed to pass over Mr. Frodo's face for a moment, but then it was gone, or seemed to be. But something still was not quite right.

He would wait, and watch, he decided. Frodo's face lit up with a merry smile, and he took Sam's arm; giving Rose a wink, he turned towards Merry and Pippin. "I suspect the Mayor could make short work of a half-pint, " Frodo said dryly.

"And I suppose, " Merry responded with equal dryness, "that like Mr. Bilbo, you suddenly expect me to play host, and get it for him."

"He is the Mayor after all, and you're keeping him waiting, Mr. Brandybuck, " Frodo replied with mock-indignation. "Now hop to, or you'll have to deal with the Mayor's representatives. What do you say to that, Merry-lad? Frodo-lad?"

Merry-lad and Frodo-lad looked at each other, and then stuck their chests out. "That's right. You will," they said. "And we're fierce, we are, " added Merry-Lad.

The taller Merry gasped in mock-terror and bolted for the bar. "Wait for me, " Pippin wildly cried and fled after him. Frodo-lad and Merry-lad gave chase, and guffawing, Frodo led Sam in their wake as smaller children eddied around their knees.

The four adventurers, surrounded by children and with curious grownups ringing the group, talked and reminisced for quite a while. But Frodo kept a close guard over his thoughts, refraining from opening up too much towards Sam in fear that he might intrude on him.

Sam perceived his hesitation and reserve, and wondered.

Orual's post:

"Come on, Sam. He's right there. It's been twelve years." Rose gave Sam a little shove on the shoulder, and Hamfast tried to copy his mother but failed. Sam turned pleading eyes to his wife, who showed no sign of pity and nodded in Frodo's direction. "If I let you decide, it'd be another twelve." Despite her pitiless words, Sam knew that she understood and was probably right.

Sam knew that the Inn's attention would be on the two of them the moment they met. Heads would turn, murmuring would begin, grins and nudges, perhaps even a few tears. He really wished that it was in a more secluded place; even as the mayor, Sam liked to do things in private, on his own. He glanced hesitantly around the room. Sure enough, more than one pair of eyes was already looking at them. Nonetheless, Sam steeled himself and walked forward.
He tried to speak, but no words came. He couldn't find any words to appropriately begin this reunion. What could he say? What would fit? What would express what he was thinking? Finally, Frodo ended his internal debate.

"Hello, Sam."

Sam almost laughed at the irony. Of course--hello always works. "Hello, Mr. Frodo," he replied.

He took a deep and--to his embarrassment--shaky breath, and tried to find something more to say, when Frodo again came to the rescue with a simple, "Dear Sam." Unable and unwilling to contain himself, Sam embraced Frodo. Hundreds of memories flooded into Sam's mind, but above all the memory of Frodo asleep in the tower of Cirith Ungol all those years ago, and the inexpressible joy that Sam had felt. He almost felt it now...but not quite. Maybe Rose was right, this was the same Frodo that he remembered--and still maybe he wasn't. He yearned to ask Frodo what it was like in the West, but felt that the question would be awkward.

"Sam, it's good to see you. You look splendid, Mayor Samwise," Frodo exclaimed when they separated. Sam tilted his head a little, strangely taken aback by Frodo's use of his title. It had finally come to sound natural from most people, and like friendly teasing from Merry and Pippin when he saw them. But from Frodo, it sounded somehow wrong. He studied Frodo more closely, and realized that Frodo didn't seem entirely comfortable, either.

""You don't need to call me Mayor, Mr. Frodo," he said conversationally, trying to mask his own discomfort. "It feels a bit odd, in a sort of way." That was putting it mildly.

"Not at all. You've earned it, Sam; earned the title and the respect that goes with it, " Frodo said soothingly. "In more ways than one," he added, as Sam's children entered the Inn, pushing and tripping over each other. Sam smiled as Elanor, Frodo, Rose, and Merry stopped short, being tripped over but not noticing. Rose put Hamfast down and he toddled over, grasping little Pippin's hand. Then she looked over at Sam as Frodo greeted the children. He nodded just a little, to say "it's going well." What he didn't add in the glance was as well as I can expect.

Elanor had approached Frodo, her blue eyes eager and adoring. "Oh, Mr. Frodo, sir, I'm so glad you've come," she said in a soft voice.

"I am too, sir, " Frodo-lad agreed, hardly containing his excitement at meeting his namesake.

"She's been terribly eager to meet you, Mr. Frodo," Sam said quietly, watching Elanor. Frodo seemed a little surprised, but overall pleased by that. They spoke for a little while, but Sam didn't really listen to the words. Elanor was so happy to meet Frodo; she had been waiting all her life. He had held her as a baby, but she didn't remember him. It had been her dream ever since she was old enough to express it to see him again. And she looked so comfortable with him, so perfectly natural. If only I could feel like that, Sam thought, and was surprised at the bitterness that he sensed in his own mind. He was happy for Elanor; it was wonderful for her to be able to get to know Frodo. Why was he bitter? He half-mindedly watched Frodo greet Rose, her cheerful blush and friendly curtsey.

But most of all, he noted the slight, almost imperceptible, hesitance with which Frodo turned back to him.

He feels as strange as I do, thought Sam. He doesn't know me anymore than I know him now. And neither of us will admit it to the other. As he thought this a brief pain crossed Frodo's face--there and gone, so quickly that Sam doubted for a moment that it had actually happened. But though twelve years had passed, he still knew Mr. Frodo well enough to tell when something was wrong. And something was wrong now.

But Frodo took Sam by the arm, smiled brightly, and turned to Merry and Pippin. "I suspect the Mayor could make short work of a half-pint," he said.

"And I suppose," Merry replied, "that like Mr. Bilbo, you suddenly expect me to play host, and get it for him." With an excellent subtlety that he had perfected over the years, Merry sent Sam a quick, puzzled look. He realized that something wasn't quite right, but didn't know for sure, and wanted Sam to tell him. Sam just shook his head a little. Frodo didn't
notice--or at least didn't seem to.

"He is the Mayor after all, and you're keeping him waiting, Mr. Brandybuck, " Frodo shot back with mock-indignation. "Now hop to, or you'll have to deal with the Mayor's representatives." Sam had to laugh at that, and hoped that that laugh was the first crack of the ice breaking. "What do you say to that, Merry-lad? Frodo-lad?"

The boys gave each other a glance and struck a strong posture, chests out and chins up. "That's right. You will," they said. "And we're fierce, we are, " added Merry-Lad.

Merry and Pippin made a show of being terrified by the boys, and were chased for a while. Finally the chase wound down, and the four adults spent some time talking. The talk was mostly just chat, with very little substance and a lot of remembering times past. But Sam noticed that Frodo was being very hesitant with what he said, being careful not to let out too much. Merry was telling a joke, so Sam took the opportunity to look around the Inn. People were still watching them, whispering, probably sharing stories that began with "Oh, I knew Frodo when...." or "I remember the time when Merry and Pippin..." or "Sam used to always..." The room was crowded, and there was hardly anywhere to go to be alone. He glanced at Frodo, who was laughing appreciatively at Merry's joke. Sam felt a pang. Would things ever be the same again?

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[piosenniel]

Estella and Fatty had gone to sit with Amaranthas. As a matriarch of the Bolger family, they felt it was respectful of them to pay her at least a modicum of attention. Their real reason, of course, was that Miz Amaranthas lived in the hubbub of the mid-Shire and was privy to far more of the current goings on among family and mutual acquaintances than either of them.

They were just settling in to listen to her telling of the latest scandal involving the Bywater family, when Estella happened to glance out the window, her eye caught by the gleam of a wagon lamp, just turning up the path to the Inn. ‘Excuse me for just one moment, Miz Amaranthas. I need to speak with Merry.’

He was behind the bar, having just retrieved the bottle of Old Winyards from the shelf, and was now engaged in spying out the corkscrew. ‘Ah! Here it is.’ he said, pulling out the third drawer from the end of the counter, and rifling through its jumbled contents. Estella put a hand on his arm just as he pulled it from the drawer. ‘Merry, dear, you didn’t invite someone and neglect to tell me.’ She eyed him in exasperation. ‘Because, if you didn’t tell me, then you didn’t let the hostess know either, did you?’

Merry grinned at her. ‘It was an oversight on her part I’m sure. The party was so hastily put together.’ He put the corkscrew and the bottle of wine back behind the counter. ‘And besides, I told him to bring a little something from the East Farthing to round out the party.’

The wagon pulled up to the Inn’s front steps just as Merry strode out the door. ‘Let me help you with that.’ came Merry’s voice, as a deep voice cried out some muffled greeting.

The door to the Inn was flung open, and in came Merry, bowed under with the weight of a small keg on his shoulders. He placed it on the drinks table and blocked it so it would not roll. ‘Prim!’ he called to the Innkeeper, just coming out from the kitchen. Bring the tapper, and we’ll set up a round of ale from Stock.’ Murmurs of anticipation went up, along with murmurs of appreciation for the cask of dark ale from The Golden Perch.

‘Here! Save a drop of that for the one who brought it!’ boomed the voice from the door. In stepped a strapping Hobbit, his features tanned and creased by days spent toiling in the sun. He was the very picture of that spoken long ago in the stone house on the River Withywindle, at the border of the Old Forest and the Downs. “There’s earth under his old feet, and clay on his fingers; wisdom in his bones and both his eyes are open.”

Farmer Maggot had arrived.

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

Pio was flushed. Too much wine and too many people! She reached over from her seat near the window, and opened the shutters wide to let in the cool evening breeze. An enticing, earthy scent came her way, and she leaned out the open window to see Estella helping what must be Farmer Maggot’s wife unload several large baskets from the bed of the wagon. Estella smiled and waved at her, then pulling back the crisp white cloth that covered the baskets, held up a large, plump mushroom for Pio’s approval.

Prim was summoned, along with Ruby to take the baskets from the two ladies as they entered the door. Cook, on hearing that Maggot had brought mushrooms, got out a number of large skillets and the crock of butter, intending to dredge them in flour and fry them up crisp to serve at the dinner.

Pio had gotten up, and plucked a smaller mushroom from one of the baskets before they disappeared into the kitchen. She brushed the loam from its cap and stem, and popped it whole into her mouth, savoring the rich flavor of it and the firm texture of its flesh as her teeth met it. ‘So this is why young Hobbits dare the perils of Maggot’s farm! This a rare treat, well worth the risk!’

A cold wet something pressed into the hand which hung at her side, and snuffled. ‘Who’s this?’ asked the Elf, her hand coming up from the black, wet nose of the large dog standing there to scratch the bony expanse between its ears. The dog’s hair was thin and grey, and there was white about his muzzle. ‘What’s your name, Old Boy.’ she said, looking into the still clear, dark eyes. Merry came near, and crouched down beside the dog, whose tail wagged in greeting. ‘This is Fang, Mistress Piosenniel. The last of Farmer Maggot’s old dogs. One of the fearsome trio that guarded the prize mushroom patches.’

‘Welcome to the party, then, Fang.’ She spoke quietly to a nearby server, and he scurried off into the kitchen. Coaxing the dog with words and gestures, she got him to come over to the hearth rug and settled him in comfortably in front of the small, warm blaze. The server had by that time returned with a bowl of fresh water and a rather nice sized bone for Fang to occupy himself. The old dog gave Pio’s hand a nuzzle, his tail thumping in appreciation, as he settled in to worrying what meat there was left, from the bone.

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

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami had curtsied and greeted the Mayor of Hobbiton courteously at the door, along with his wife and bevy of children. She had spent a moment or two with the hobbit couple, sharing their reminiscences about childhood days, before the two of them excused themselves and went off to find Frodo.

A short while later, Sam's wife came walking back. Despite Miz Rose's habitually courteous manner, Cami could see signs of weariness and hurting in both her face and gait. "Miz Rose, let me help you." Cami proferred her arm, and led her friend towards a bench along the wall.

Miz Rose looked up with tired eyes, and whispered. "I have a great favor to ask you, Cami, and I hope it will not be a burden. I expect Sam will be busy with Frodo for some time. Could you find me a quiet cot near the back of the Inn, where I could lay down and rest for a little? Please wake me in a short while, as I've a piece of business to attend to, and I don't want to miss the dinner. Plus, the children shouldn't fret because I'm not here."

"Don't worry, Miz Rose. Come and use my bed. I'll keep half an eye on your brood, and make sure they're fine." Cami escorted Miz Rose to the back of the Inn, and was very happy to set little Hamfast near her with some pots and pans from the kitchen. She remained at the table, keeping one eye on the assortment of Gamgees, most of whom seemed to be doing just fine as they scampered in and out of the Inn.

Cami looked about the circle of guests, compiling a short list in her head of exactly who was talking with whom. Frodo's companions were crowded about him noisily discussing old times and new. As for Bilbo, he'd made his way up to Amaranthas and her Bolger kin and was listening to an upate on Shire news, a topic which never ceased to amuse him

But all this social chatter still left one question unanswered..... Why was she here? Perhaps to talk with her teacher, or to be an aunt to Piosenniel's little ones, or even to have her friend remind her of some very basic things.

Pio had been right. The hobbit had little rational hope that the veil of time would suddenly split in two for her personal convenience. But there was still 'estel' or 'trust,' that feeling which lies deeper. Cami believed no one could live without such a little winged bird dwelling in the heart. So she vowed to keep that piece of love and trust alive, for whatever reason she'd been returned to the Shire.

'Amdir' and 'estel.' These concepts were not new. Her mind reached back to when she'd first heard them. And then, with a jolt, she remembered. It was the night in Beleriand when she and Maura had found Andreth's journal, and began to share their feelings for each other. Cami had to laugh. No matter how much she tried to put those things out of her head, it was as if she was continually running in circles. Wherever she started out, her thoughts ended up in the same place again.

Thinking about Maura reminded Cami that she needed to speak with Fatty to clear up their problem. But she quickly realized that this might not be a good time. Hamfast would not make such a discussion easy, either from the practical vantage of managing a noisy baby, or the fact that having Sam's son staring him in the face would bring little consolation to Fatty. Any thought of the conversation was dropped as Hamfast began crying out shrilly for his mother. Cami scooped up the baby and went off to awaken Miz Rose, recalling that her friend had mentioned something before about a piece of unfinished business.

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

[mark12_30]

Sam was relating the history of his struggle against an invasion of moles in the Southfarthing when he noticed Frodo suddenly turn pale, and his body stiffen. Fear came into his eyes.

"Mr. Frodo? What's the matter?" Sam said. "Are you all right?" Frodo's eyes were glassy for a moment, and then his gaze cleared to Sam's relief. But then Frodo turned toward the fireplace, and went completely white.

Sam heard a snarl. He sprang in front of Frodo with a yell, but fortunately the snarl had also reached the ears of Farmer Maggot, who barreled inside from the porch, shouting, "Fang, down! Heel!"

But Fang paused, still growling. Then he barked, sharply, several times. He and Frodo stared at each other.

Piosenniel laughed.

The dog's ears went back, and he whined softly; then Fang walked toward Farmer Maggot and sat down at his heel.

Frodo relaxed. Farmer Maggot, Piosenniel, and Fang slowly crossed the room to join Frodo.

"You surprised him, " Piosenniel smiled.

Frodo glanced wearily up at her. "I didn't exactly stand on ceremony. He was very clear about who I am and what I had done."

"Am I to understand that you told him something?" Maggot asked, intensely curious.

"I did, " Frodo replied. "I told him I was done trespassing, and was very sorry that I ever stole your mushrooms."

Maggot chuckled. "He's always had a sharp memory. Well, hello, Mr. Baggins. " Bilbo was slowly approaching.

"Hello, Farmer Maggot, " Bilbo said, and then peered at Frodo with some concern. "Weary?"

"A little."

"Well, " Bilbo replied with mock sternness, "it's a good thing I adopted you away from Farmer Maggot's mushrooms; I do believe you would have been dinner long before you ever came of age! Thievery has its price, you know, my lad, " and Bilbo waggled his finger under Frodo's nose, and launched into a wry, humorous lecture on the preciousness of mushrooms and the righteous indignation of those whose mushroom-patches have been trespassed upon.

Frodo gratefully drank in the mock-lecture, taking refuge and comfort in his uncle's familiar presence. For a few moments, there was no one in the room but Bilbo and himself. He let Bilbo's words wash over him like a river. When the lecture was over, he took a deep breath, and somewhat refreshed, turned back to his old friends, and somehow found the energy to be merry again.

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Mithadan]

Lorien sat in his chambers facing the West. He was as a statue, unmoving, but his eyes were open and glittered brightly in the candlelight. If any had been there to see, for a moment it would have appeared that his body became less distinct and that a light shone from within him. Then the moment passed and an old man sat on a chair clothed in gray robes. He nodded to no one that could be seen and smiled. I know, and we have set matters in motion.

Then his eyes dimmed and he straightened himself with a bit of a groan. Rubbing his back, he muttered, "How did Olorin put up with this for all these years." Then he stood and left the room. As he ambled down the hall, the noise from the common room grew louder. He stopped in the doorway to take in the merriment and happiness that filled the air. He observed Cami being swept away from Fatty by Angelica and was immediately aware of much which had transpired. He looked at Fatty with an impish grin. Nightmares for you tonight, little master. Cami is not for you...

Then he stepped forward into the night. The noise of the party became hushed suddenly as the guests took in the tall figure in the doorway. Then he smiled and waved to Bilbo who waved back, and the noise rose again.

He walked to the bar where Prim had just inserted a tap into a wooden keg. "May I?" he asked. "Of course," replied Prim. "The Golden Perch's finest!" She handed Lorien a half. He laughed. "What's this?" he cried. "One of Vairë's thimbles? No! Fetch me a real cup!" At a motion from Prim, one of the servers ran behind the bar and then returned quickly, bearing a pint mug which was promptly filled and passed to Lorien. He drained it in a single draught. Then, wiping his beard, he refilled it...

[ February 28, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[piosenniel]

‘No, I haven’t come to take you for a ride. Though the thought is quite tempting.’ She offered ‘Falmar an apple she had taken from the kitchen as she passed through. The horse took it from her greedily, rolling back her lips to take it whole with her large teeth. ‘Careful! Or I shall end up nine fingered like Frodo!’ She laughed, withdrawing her hand quickly. Falmar, having made a quick end to the apple, nuzzled at her neck in seeming apology, then dropped her nose to investigate the folds of Pio’s party dress for further treats.

‘Daintily now, you voracious grey-maw!’ Pio offered the horse a second apple and bit into one of her own. She opened the stall door and led ‘Falmar out to the back of the stable. To the patch of grass where she could sit and the horse graze, if she wished.

‘The party is going well, I think. Cami’s old friends have arrived, and a merry, lively bunch they are.’ Pio gathered the skirt of her dress up above her knees and sat down cross-legged on the ground. ‘She seems to be having a good time.’ The horse paused and looked at her, hearing a note of uncertainty in her voice. ‘Ah, she misses him greatly. Her Maura.' Her own thoughts turned to Mithadan, knowing that he would be with her soon, and wishing that Cami also looked forward to the certain return of her heart's desire.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of feet approaching. Hob Hamfast, two mugs of cider in his hands and a plate of fresh, crisp mushrooms. ‘Cook sent me out with these for you. Thought you might be hungry.’ ‘Always!’ she said laughing. ‘I thought you were standing in as outdoor barkeep for Prim?’

He sat down near her, mug in hand, and took a mushroom from the plate as she offered it to him. ‘Most have gone on home, and the keg is empty, anyway. I offered a hand in the kitchen, but Cook has things in order, so I came out here to check on the horses before going home.’ He grinned at her in the last of the evening light. ‘I saw ‘Falmar’s stall empty and thought you were away on her!’ ‘Not likely!’ she returned. ‘Seeing that I should have to face Cami, Rose, and Amaranthas on my return.’

They sat for a while, talking of small, familiar matters, until Hob had finished his cider. He stood, saying he should get home to Minta. ‘You’ll be alright out here then?’ he asked. ‘Yes, I am enjoying the quiet and watching the light in the west fade out to night. Go home and give Minta my greetings!’ He waved to her as he disappeared around the stable, heading for the lane and home.

‘Look, ‘Falmar.’ She motioned with her head toward the west where the last rays of the sun tinged the low lying clouds with crimson. ‘Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.’ What would she give to be seeing this from the deck of the Star.

She leaned forward watching the red deepen and grow darker.

Rose Cotton's Post

Rosie crept softly out behind the stables. Or at least as softly as was possible while dragging Goldilocks with her.

"Come on.” she urged the two year old. ‘Don't you want to see the Elf again?"

Goldilocks wanted to go back to their mother, but Rosie had said she would help take care of her sister and that meant she would have to come see Pio with her.

Rosie first heard the sounds of the horse, then she saw Pio sitting pensively on the grass and looking at the sky where the sun had sunk behind the hills. Rosie hurried over to where the Elf sat.

"Hello Miz. Pio. Why are you out here? Don't you like parties?"

Pio laughed at this and said. "Yes. I love parties but sometimes I just like to be out here by myself."

"Oh." Rosie paused for a moment. "Miz. Pio, Where's the Daddy?" Rosie pointed to the Elf’s belly.
At this Pio looked out to the sky. She was silent for a moment, then she said, "He's coming. He'll be here soon."

"Great! I can't wait to see more Elves."

"Actually. He's not an Elf. He's a Man."

Rosie looked amazed at first then smiled. "Like Lord Aragorn and Lady Arwen."

Their conversation was halted by Goldilocks, who started to whine about wanting to see mommy. Rosie thought she would have to leave Pio and go inside but then she thought of something. "I know what she'll like. A story. Do you know any stories Miz. Pio?"

Pio's Post

‘I have an idea, too, Rosie.’ She stood up and called ‘Falmar to her. ‘Steady, girl.’ she said to the horse, as she picked up Rosie and placed her carefully on ‘Falmar’s back. Goldilocks, who stood grasping on to Pio’s dress, was wide-eyed as the Elf bent down and placed her in front her sister. ‘Rosie, just put your arms on either side of Goldi and both of you hold on the ‘Falmar’s mane. I will lead you about the yard for a while and tell you some stories about little girls I knew some time ago.’

The stars twinkled prettily in the sky for the two little girls as Pio walked and talked to them of the girls she held dear from her travels on the Lonely Star. She mentioned no times or places, but she showed them Wilwarin, the Butterfly, where it hung in the sky and told them of Daisy and how she had seen Mithadan first kiss Piosenniel on the ship under a sky much like this one, and had run to tell Cami and her friend Rose. She spoke of Rose and the sword that Pio had given her, and what a brave young woman she had been in defense of some helpless Hobbits.

‘And both these girls were Hobbit lasses?’ asked Rosie as the horse walked patiently along. ‘Not Elves?’ ‘Hobbit lasses, indeed, the both of them. Just a little older than your sister, Elanor.’ She stopped to untangle Goldi’s fingers from the mane. ‘They were both my dear companions, and fought by my side.’

Pio lifted the two girls from ‘Falmar’s back, and showed them where the lightning bugs were on the wing, flitting in the summer grasses. ‘Catch me one, carefully cup it in your hands and bring it to me. And I will tell you one more story before we go back in.’

Rosie was quick and pursued her quarry with a sure foot and a keen eye. Goldi, was just happy to run amok in the grasses almost as tall as she, laughing wildly in her high little voice when she disappeared beneath their tips and Pio called out, ‘Oh my! Now where has that Goldi gone to?’ Soon they were tired, as Pio had hoped they would be, and Rosie came back, her sister following, a shining bug caught in the prison of her fists.

‘Let it go now.’ And I shall tell you of the dragon and the two little Hobbit girls, hardly older than you that saved the day for Lord Mithadan and me. ‘A dragon!’ said Rosie, her mouth in a little O of surprise. ‘Did it have sharp teeth?’ She let go the bug and leaned against Pio’s arm as they sat on the grass. Goldi had climbed on the Elf’s crossed legs, and lay against her belly, sucking her thumb sleepily, looking at the stars. ‘Sharp teeth?! Yes, I suppose she did. Though it was her wit and tongue that were her sharper weapons.’

‘Angara was a very old dragon when first I met her . . . ‘she began. It was only a shortened story, but it gave Rosie the flavor of those days in unnamed Númenor, the excitement and the adventure. Angara proved the favorite character for her, but once again her eyes widened when she spoke of Coral and Shell, the Hobbit girls who lived by the sea. And how smart they were. How they had helped Angara make the ‘dragon-fire’ pots that Lord Mithadan and Pio used - to keep back the foe who sought to slay their Hobbit friends.

Soon the story was over, and Pio carried the now sleeping Goldi back to the Inn. Rosie walked along quietly beside her, holding her hand. Just as they stepped from the shadow of the yard to the light cast from the windows of the Inn, Pio felt Rosie tug at her hand. She stopped, looking down at the girl, waiting for her to ask her question. ‘The story,’ Rosie began, ‘the one about the dragon and Coral and Shell. That was a true story wasn’t it. Not some old made up tale.’ Pio smiled, considering her answer.

‘Perhaps you could say that is so. Many of the old tales are true. They are just polished by time and set firm in words. Ordinary people with ordinary lives were many of the heroes. They stepped forward when need arose, and faded back to carry on when need was answered.’ She laughed seeing the further question in the Hobbit’s face. ‘Yes, even little girls like you.’

‘Come now. Let us go back to your mother. I am thirsty, are you? We can get some cold cider and then I should speak with her.’

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]