[piosenniel]

Pio lay back on the bed, laughing. The chill of the previous entries in the journal had gone, and now a certain warmth and satisfaction coursed through her. The plea had been answered; the hope longed for, now realized. She sat back up and watched as Mithadan flipped casually through the remaining pages.

‘More good news?’ she commented, leaning in against him to see the page he had open before him.

‘Yes, for the most part, but no, too.’ His eyes held a faraway look. ‘There were many joys along the way for our companions and their families. And Cami has written them down faithfully, ever the chronicler to the end.’ He turned the pages to various entries he had skimmed. ‘Look here,’ he said, pointing with his finger to them as he went along.

Her eyes delighted in the entries he showed her. Here was the marriage of Came and Maura. ‘No, Merimac it is,’ she reminded herself firmly. And here the births of their children. Rory first. ‘So that is what she called him!’ she thought, rolling the sound on her tongue and well as in her mind.

‘A good name,’ said Mithadan, giving her hand a squeeze. ‘But look here.’

‘A daughter, too!’ Pio grinned at the entry. ‘And she has named her Daisy! Little Holly must be pleased to be the older sister of such a likely crew.’

Ah! So this is where your ‘no’ comes in, does it not? He nodded, as she continued. Our happiness for them tempered by the understanding that they are all long gone from us. Now the faraway look was in her eyes - reminded that these little ones, so close in age to her children would never be their playmates, companions through childhood, or friends in old age.

He leafed through the pages, pushing further into the story of their companions. There was Rose, grown up now, and marrying. Having children of her own. Here the marriages and families begun for Holly, Rory, and Daisy.

And Gamba! Married! He had found some peace in his life, she hoped.

Faithfully tracked were the places the families had moved to and settled in. Cami, she noted, had moved at last to Rivendell. She could picture her dear friend there. Nosing happily through the many rooms and shelves of the library. She laughed, sharing the image with Mithadan - the Elf who oversaw it bending his tall frame to speak with the little, grey haired Hobbit in whispered conference as they looked through one scroll and then the next. Both happy to have found another who delighted in the riches of history.

‘I wonder what other writings of hers are there,’ mused Pio, out loud. ‘The Elves – would they take them with them as they sail West . . . or would we find them still there in the dustless rooms, tucked away carefully on a low shelf.’

‘No, Piosenniel!’ His voice cut through her branching thoughts and plans. Startled out of her reverie, she glanced up, and found him grinning. ‘You were away from me before the twins were born. You cannot think I would want you gone now, too.’ He raised his eyebrows at her before she could get out a word of protest. ‘And besides,’ he said, ‘I just promised Amaranthas not that long ago, I would keep you close and not allow you to go “traipsing off”. Can’t break a promise to the Old Dragon.’

‘But we could . . .’ she began, trying a different tack.

‘No, there are things to be done here. I’m in the midst of arranging a trade mission for the Star. There are merchants depending on us to carry that through for them. And the babies, and Gilly . . . and we two . . . our family . . . has just settled in. I’m appealing to your better sense to stay here.’

His last words struck her funny, and he looked aside at her as she burst out laughing. ‘My better sense, eh? Even now I can see Cami wagging her finger at me, weighing in on your side of the argument.’ She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Alright, then I shall concede to my “better sense”. But we will all be going on the voyage . . . with you . . .’ She smiled as he agreed. ‘But I shall send a messenger to Rivendell,’ she thought to herself. ‘To see what can be found.’

*******

The hour had grown quite late as they paged through the ledger, stopping here and there to linger over an entry and to reminisce. Mithadan at long last begged off, saying he would read more tomorrow. He must be up early, he said, to make the final meeting with the merchants and to see to a crew.

Not yet tired, Pio lingered a while longer over the entries, turning the lamp down low so as not to wake him. The ones near the end were shorter and written in several different hands. Cami had died and others had picked up where she left off and others after them.

The words of the journal were bittersweet in the Elf’s mind . . . the thoughts double edged. Bringing both joy and sadness . . . though the joy was undimmed by the fact that they had all now passed beyond her . . . and even the sadness felt a natural, if unwanted, part of lives now completed.