[piosenniel]

18 Lotessë, Year 12 of the Fourth Age

Pio stood behind the counter of the bar making a list of the supplies they would need to carry them through the next week. Head bent over the paper before her, she ticked off each entry with her pen as she estimated what it would cost. Despite the outlay for the heavy traffic of guests, it had been a profitable fortnight for the Inn. They could well afford to lay in a few luxuries and extras for their expected guests.

She paused for a moment, smiling, and stared off into space, eyes unfocused. The song came unbidden to her lips, and she sang the words softly to herself.

“O fare you well, I must be gone
And leave you for a while,
But wherever I go, I will return,
If I go ten thousand mile, my dear,
If I go ten thousand mile . . .”

Mithadan was on his way to her, and her heart leapt at the thought of it.

It was about a two and a half month journey from Gondor to the Shire on horseback. Just enough time to get to the Shire before the twins were born. He had left the day he received her letter, riding hard to the north and west. And he did not tarry as he passed through the country side along the Great West Road, only stopping for food and sleep and a change of horse as was needed.

Her thoughts were always on him now. She had watched as he rode the last stretch from Edoras to the Fords of Isen. She sensed his delight as her mind brushed his. Now he was just a few days from Tharbad, and then the Greenway would bring him north to her.
The Inn was busy today, humming with a multitude of conversations. Pio focused on the paper she had placed before her, and blocked out the noises and voices that surrounded her. The list of supplies was done. Now she placed a fresh sheet of paper before her to write out a more personal list.

The quill’s tip had become dull from the long listing of supplies. She took the sharp little knife from her right boot top and honed it to an acceptable point. Dipping it quickly in the inkwell, she tapped off the excess ink and began to write.

Top of the new list was the word Midwife. Now who did she know who could recommend one to her? Pio rubbed the feathered end of the quill against her cheek. She grinned as the ideal source for information came to her. Amaranthas! Tomorrow she would ride to see her and together they would sort this problem out. She wrote the venerable Hobbit’s name next to the word, and went on to number two.

Inkeeper. Both she and Cami would be unavailable starting mid-Nárië. She wished to keep her friend close to her as the time for the birth drew near.

Summers, as she understood from the regulars to the Green Dragon, were quite busy times of the year. Besides the locals, looking for a refreshing drink on a hot summer’s evening, there were many thirsty travelers on all sorts of business along the roadways at this time of year. They would all be wanting food, drink, and lodging as they passed through Bywater on their ways east or west, and the Green Dragon would be their place for it.

‘I wonder if one of the long time servers here would mind taking on the position.’ Her brow furrowed as she ran through the list. With a sure hand she wrote several names down, of people who seemed capable of doing the job well. They were all of the friendly sort, even handed in their approach to others, and seemed quite capable of handling themselves in a sticky situation. One of them, especially, seemed to fit the bill, and she drew a firm line under the name - Primrose Bolger.

Pio sat back in her chair, looking at the flames of the small fire. Her mind wandered from present matters, questing south to see where Mithadan might be. She watched the countryside as it sped past him, heard the hoof beats of the horse as it flew north, felt the breezes cool him as they rushed past his cheeks and brow.

Where are you now? she asked, feeling his mind turn to her. We miss you greatly. She chuckled, thinking how long it had been since he had last seen her. I fear you will not recognize me when you see me. Your son and daughter grow apace, and I sail slowly through the hours like some great merchant ship laden with treasures. Were you to place me side by side with the Star, I think I might overshadow her! She is a trim vessel, and I am not these days. She placed an image in her mind of a great lumbering vessel coming into port. One of the ships of Númenor that had sailed the seas in the early days to Vinyalondë and the Grey Havens. She laughed as he perceived it.

Someone was calling to her. Needing something seen to. She bade farewell to Mithadan, a faint kiss brushing his brow. Ride hard, beloved. she called to him. I would see you soon.

She rose from her seat to see to a guest. The babies sent their little thoughts to her as she turned from thinking on Mithadan. A smile played about her lips, and she placed her hand lovingly on the swell of her belly. Soon, sweetings, soon. Your atar is coming. They pushed against her hand, gently, in response.

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