[piosenniel]

So fair was the grace of Goldberry that it seemed her dancing feet moved through the rhythms of the dance as the quick waters of a rain-filled brook flow quickly over small grey stones, a rushing song in their passing. Her hair shimmered and rippled in the firelight, and “a light like the glint of water on dewy grasses flashed from under her feet as she danced."

She reached out a slender hand to Lorien, her eyes untricked by the guise he had assumed, and drew him for a while into the dance. Her gown rustled softly like the wind in the tall rushes bordering on a river as she danced, and her laughter fell softly into spaces between the notes of the song like a clean summer’s rain.

Tom pulled her and Lorien from the circled dance, closing the gap left by their exit as he joined the hands of the Hobbits on each end.

‘Well met, Master of Spirits! What brings so fair a dream to the Shire, so merry a meeting of old friends and new?’ He took the now empty flagon from Lorien’s hands, and refilled it from the cask, filling one also for himself. ‘Yes,’ joined in Goldberry, casting her bright eyes about the room at the Hobbits, ‘what has tempted you from the pleasures and the peace of your own gardens, and from the side your gentle Estë.’

Lorien drew them into a quiet corner and spoke of desires and wishes woven together in this space of time, and of his part in it. Tom’s head nodded many times, as if he had already known this, and had waited only for Lorien’s words to set it into being. Often his bright blue eyes would drift to where Frodo and Bilbo stood, and his face would wrinkle in a wide smile, as Lorien spoke.

Goldberry’s eyes were often on Cami as the story unfolded. ‘So like a summer’s flower in her green and yellow,’ she thought, ‘awaiting the refreshing touch of raindrops on thirsty leaves and roots.’ And when Lorien had finished speaking, she stepped lightly away for a moment, saying she had some small thing to bring in for the party.

The River’s-daughter “. . . passed out of the room with a glimmer and a rustle. The sound of her footsteps was like a stream gently falling away downhill over cool stones in the quiet of the night.” At the foot of the stairs to the Inn, she and Tom had left two small casks of honeyed mead, made last summer with honey from their beehives and the hardy flowers of late summer just passing into autumn. Rich, dark gold was its color and its spirit strong.

‘Mead!’ cried Lorien, his eyes dancing with delight, as she brought it in. ‘I had a taste of that this very afternoon. A wondrous offering of Middle-earth.’

Old Tom’s brown beard wagged up and down, and his eyes twinkled merrily, as he filled a glass of the thick, golden liquid for the Vala. Lorien drained it quickly, his hand reaching out the glass for another. Tom laughed, as did Goldberry, as he poured another round for Lorien.

‘Master of Spirits you might be,’ he chuckled, ‘but best be careful that Goldberry’s spirits do not master you.’ Lorien simply winked at the Eldest, and offered his empty glass once again.

Goldberry left the two to talk and make merry with the mead. Her footsteps brought her to Cami, and she smiled invitingly at the Hobbit, offering her a small glass of mead.

‘Well met, Elf-friend. How goes your time in the northern forest?’ She laughed merrily at the look of surprise on the Hobbit’s face. ‘The waters run south to the sea. They bring news.’ She laughed again, a softer silvery sound. ‘Come now. I have brought you some of my garden’s own mead for your pleasure.’

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Child's post

Goldberry handed Cami a cup of the sweet honeyed drink, and bowed graciously before her, her sweet voice tingling with merriment, like the echo of a free-flowing river.

Cami curtseyed in response and whispered a few polite and earnest words concerning her home in Greenwood, the hardships her kin faced, and her fears for their safety. For it surprised her greatly that Goldberry should know or speak to her of such things.

Laughing and swirling about on her toes, the daughter of the River raised her slender white arms above her head. A wind stirred within the Inn itself, like a breeze that rustles the slender boughs of a tree or ripples through its leafy foliage. "Come now, Miss Cami. Such solemn words and such a serious demanor! This is not what I had hoped to find. Speak no more of hardship or shadow. For tonight I would hear you voice your dreams."

"Look there, how the Master of the Gardens of Lorien and the Master of the Old Forest dance within the circle. They weave visions together into one great tapestry, which stands bedecked with silver mists and the lilting tunes of songbirds. Once again, the curtains part."

"Hobbit lass, you have been summoned into the circle. Such a thing is rare and wondrous. They weave one dream for you, and another for Master Frodo. Do not turn away, or ask so many questions. Join in the song, and share the secrets hidden in your heart."

For some unknown reason, Cami found herself blushing pink from the top of her curls to the very soles of her feet. And she shared with Goldberry many things concerning her love for a wise hobbit Loremaster who dwelled in a place far away. And the River-daughter laughed to hear all she said and urged Cami to join the dance, and not to lose her hope.

[ March 02, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]