[piosenniel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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