[piosenniel]

Birds sang in the trees about the camp, their raucous piping heralding what would soon be the start of a new day. It was the hour before dawn, and Pio stood looking northward into the waning darkness, willing herself to see the route that Cami and her band must take.

Mithadan was up, poking shavings and twigs into last night’s remaining embers. He leaned over the small promise of fire and blew on it gently. It sprang to life, the flames licking hungrily at the dried wood, and he laid some larger pieces on it. ‘Tea soon.’ he said, smiling at Pio, wrapped tightly in her cloak. She handed him the kettle, filled from the river, and he placed it on the grate balanced on the fire pit’s rocks.

The sun had barely risen in the east, its first pale light softening the eastern rim of the horizon, when the tea was done. She took a cup of the sweet, hot liquid from him gratefully, letting the warmth of it steal into her chilled fingers. A presence coming from the west, intruded upon her thoughts, and she looked up from the steaming tea, smiling.

Legolas! Welcome to our fire. Will you take some tea?’

Mithadan, standing close beside her, smiled, and extended his greeting. Yes. Welcome, indeed, is Thranduil’s son. Please, come sit with us.

Legolas looked in wonder at the Man. ‘Not often do we discover one of the Apanónar, the Secondborn, who has the skill of osanwë. It is a delight to find it not only present but so strong! Well, met, indeed, Mithadan.’

They sat on kegs round the welcome heat from the fire, and talked pleasantly of many things until the sun was well up, and its light had driven away the night completely. Cami had come up, smelling the promise of sweetspice tea. She leaned against Pio, listening half attentively to the conversation, her mind wandering over all the details that must get done today that they might start the trip to Greenwood. So it was no surprise to Pio, watching the thoughts play across her friend’s face, that Cami missed the question asked of her.

Pio nudged her gently, her eyes flicking to Legolas, who looked at the Hobbit with an air of expectancy. ‘Pardon?!’ came the polite request from Cami. ‘I was sorting through things to get done and missed your question.’

Legolas smiled at Cami, his eyes gleaming merrily from a fair face framed by raven hair. ‘I had asked if you wished to go northward from here by the North Stair, or did you wish to travel along the west wall of the Emyn Muil?’

Pio spoke quickly to cover the Hobbit’s surprise at the question. ‘Here are the maps I promised you, Cami.’ She ran to her bedroll, retrieving the leather map case she had stowed them in, and handed it to Cami. ‘Here,’ she said, taking the largest of the maps from the roll and spreading it out on the ground before them, ‘let us show him what route we had discussed.’

Using her finger as a pointer, Pio traced the route around the western Emyn Muil, saying to Legolas that they thought the passage across the high cliffs, accessed by the long, steep North Stair, and bordering the river, would not be hospitable to travel by their group. ‘They can take the somewhat longer route and return to travel along the Anduin when they have passed the walls of the Emyn Muil.’

‘From there,’ continued Cami, placing her finger now on the river’s path, ‘we will proceed northward, to where the Limlight meets the Anduin, and then up to Lórien.’

‘Where we were hoping,’ interjected Pio, ‘that you might be able to assure them easy crossing along its eastern edge.’ Legolas’ brow furrowed for a moment at the thought of explaining the group he traveled with to the Elves of the Golden Wood, but thought that if they traveled quickly by the Naith there would be no hindrance to their passing. ‘We must not disturb the Wood as we pass.’ he cautioned the Hobbit. Pio sighed softly and sent a silent request into the air, hoping that none of the Hobbits would go haring off on some ill thought out adventure at that point.

Cami looked at both Mithadan and Pio, then squared her shoulders, saying her band would do what was necessary to get through with the least difficulty. A half smile played about Pio’s lips, and she wondered if her friend had also sent out some urgent plea that this might be so.

Mithadan looked closely at the map, and found the point where the river narrowed in the north. ‘The journey from Lórien to this ford looks straightforward enough. Long, yes, but through pleasant, open country. And the ford is close to the western border of Greenwood.’ He looked up. ‘I cannot recall,’ he said to Legolas, ‘Is there a bridge here or does one ford the river through the water.’

‘An apt question from you Mithadan,’ came the soft voice from the trees. Radagast stepped forth from the shadows to join them. ‘In this time there is a stone bridge which runs from one bank to the other, in later days it will have gone, and the river must be waded.’ He drew closer to where the map lay out on the ground, and kneeling along the edge of it, looked it over thoroughly.

Drawing the sleeve of his brown robe upward to uncover his hand, he pointed to a small eyot in the river just north of the ford. ‘Between this small islet and the ford, here in the vales of the Anduin, lies my dwelling – Rhosgobel, here at the western edge of Greenwood. We will pass by it as we enter into the forest.’

Pio stirred up the fire, feeding it more wood, while the others talked specifics of the journey. She made more tea, and freshened the cups of those who already had one. Radagast accepted a cup from her, spilling a few drops on the brown expanse of his robe as he brought it to his mouth. She examined him closely, wondering if the mocking epithets she’d heard in later times, would prove true – Radagast the Simple, the Fool, Bird-tamer. She shook her head, remembering then who had called him these names, and put their mocking tone from her mind.

He had been called Aiwendil in Valinor, she recalled – Bird-lover. Radagast the Brown in Middle-earth. Radagast, the tender of beasts, it meant in the tongue of Númenor.

‘Now let him tend well to these Hobbits.’ she thought to herself. ‘Let him see my friends safely through this passage.’

She stared into the flickering flames, wishing there was a way for her to see this done. Mithadan had come, as if called by her unsure thoughts, and crouched down beside her. Taking her hand, he gave it a reassuring squeeze, motioning with a nod of his head to where Cami was in deep discussion with the Elf and the Wizard.

Pio smiled to see her friend step in as an equal, to claim her right to be recognized and heard, to be a decision maker. She gave Mithadan’s hand a light squeeze in return.

‘Yes,’ she murmured, ‘they will do well. She will do well . . .’

[ December 30, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]