[piosenniel]

Buttercup had the curious knack of recalling bits and pieces of things she’d heard. And at odd moments a word, or phrase, or snatch of song would coincide in a seemingly incongruous way. This was one of those times.

‘Sunlight,’ she murmured to herself, as she and Ruby took their empty trays back to the kitchen to be refilled.

‘Well, yes,’ said Ruby, looking close at her friend. Buttercup stood still, her eyes unfocused, her ear cocked as if listening to something. ‘Yes,’ said Ruby again, nudging her to put her tray down on the counter. ‘Don’t be daft. It’s stopped raining, and there is sunlight.’ She peered out the small window by the kitchen’s back entrance. ‘Though if truth be told, there are clouds on the horizon, and it could be gone in a snap.’

Now it was Buttercup’s turn to look at her friend with a wondering expression. ‘I’m not talking about the weather, you ninny!’ She hummed a few notes of a pretty little melody. ‘Sunlight! Once I heard Mistress Piosenniel singing a little song as she rocked her babies. In Elvish it was . . . soothing. It rippled along in the air . . . like the merry sound of The Water where it riffles over the pebbles and rocks, where it enters Bywater Pool. She said it was a lullaby – her own mam had sung it to her to help her sleep, and now she sang it for her wee ones.’

‘Go on,’ said Ruby, wiping the crumbs from the trays as she listened to her friend.

‘It was about water, and the part she sang to me was how silver moonlight loved to dance on the little waves at night, and the golden sunlight did the same for the day.’ She looked toward the door that stood open to the Common Room. Aurë, that was the word for sunlight Mistress Piosenniel used.’

Buttercup called up the image of the man as he had turned toward them, the golden light falling over the features of his face. ‘He doesn’t look all that sunny, does he?’

‘Who?’ asked Ruby, her rag poised in mid swipe.

‘Why, that Mister Auryn out there . . . He’s all sort of clouded over and hidden, isn’t he? Take more than that pint he asked for to “rid him of his chill”, or so I’m thinking . . .’

‘Well, what I’m thinking . . .,’ came the low voice from behind them. The Hobbits froze at the familiar sound. As one, they whirled to face Cook, who had come up quietly behind them.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Buttercup, trying a small smile out on the older Hobbit. ‘We know. The guests are fed, now the dishes need doing.’

‘Then it’s break time,’ they continued in unison.

Cook arched her brows at this rote recital of her rule, then burst out laughing. ‘Come now! I’m not that predictable am I?’

A questioning look grew on her face as the eyes of the two Hobbits grew wide, and Buttercup gasped and clapped her hands.

Cook felt a gentle grip on her shoulder and soft words spoken with a chuckle near her ear. ‘You are just that predictable, Cook. It is one of the reasons I am so fond of you.’

A wide grin split Cook’s face, and crinkled up the corners of her eyes. She turned, her arms going tight about the waist of the woman who stood there. ‘Mistress Piosenniel! We weren’t expecting you for a few days, and now here you are come sneaking up on a poor old Hobbit, and scaring her half to death.’ Cook hugged her tight again. Ruby and Buttercup came forward adding their noisome greetings and hugs.

‘Hey!’ came the voice from the kitchen’s back door. ‘What about a greeting for the poor lout who’s had to pack these fussy little whelps under his cloak from Waymeet to Bywater so they wouldn’t get wet!’

‘Mr. Mithadan!’ went up the cry, as the three bustled over to relieve him of the babies. Another lively exchange of greetings and embraces ensued, and a brief argument over who was to hold the twins first.

Buttercup lost out on the first round and stood, hands on hips, a pout on her face, as the other two cooed and fussed over the little ones. She fixed Pio with a stern look and tapped her foot impatiently on the ground. ‘I told you before we needed one more to go round!’

Mithadan laughed and nodded at Pio to take that complaint. Pio knelt down and put her arm round the stiff little Hobbit. Drawing her near, she whispered in her ear. At her words, the storm clouds in the Hobbit’s face fled, replaced by a gasp of wide-eyed surprise and a loud whoop of laughter.

‘Quiet,’ mouthed Cook, the little girl stirring in her arms. ‘Shhh,’ hissed Ruby, quieting down the boy with a rocking motion as he startled awake.

‘Sorry!’ said Buttercup in a quieter voice. At a nod from Pio she spoke again.

‘Next year, when they come back for a visit,’ she paused and looked meaningfully at the Elf, ‘next year, there’ll be a baby for me to hold!’

She clapped her hands quietly, grinning all the while at the surprise registering on the faces of Cook and Ruby . . .