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Old 04-22-2004, 04:49 PM   #179
piosenniel
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Gondor

The patter of small bare feet down the stone floored hallway came to a sudden halt just outside her room; the soft slap-slaps giving way to hushed whisperings that curled round the cedar frame of the door. Pio pulled the quilt over her head, snuggling down inside the warm, dark cave of it. She was in that curious state between dream and waking; the place where a small effort of will might change the avenues of imagination, effect a more desirable ending.

What images she could capture were indistinct, obscured by darkness and the haze of fear. A ship . . . ships . . . and great blossoming fires. Small figures . . . some safe under the cover of night, some gone missing . . .

Her brow furrowed with unease, unable to move the passing phantoms into a clearer light . . .

Soft light . . . muted morning pushed its way through the loosely woven curtains to the side of her bed, falling warmly on her closed eyes. It drove away the last of the flitting dream, and wove itself pleasantly in with the sweet, sharp smell of cinnamon and sugar. One sticky finger tapped lightly on her cheek.

‘Are you sleeping, ammë?’

The wistful words proved the final breaking of the dream’s spell, one grey eye popping open to see Cami’s face near her own, a sanding of cinnamon and sugar about her lips. Someone had crawled under the covers at her back and now lay snuggled against her, back to back. Isilmir, it was, as Gilwen spooned in against her belly. With a groan of mock displeasure, Pio reached out an arm and drew in her youngest daughter, too; into the safe haven of the bed quilts.

‘Well, I guess I am truly awake now,’ she laughed, reaching back and forth to give them each a tickle.

‘Tell us about the party, then!’ coaxed Gilwen. ‘Did Baran really go with you?’ ‘Who was there? And what did the King look like?’ asked Isilmir, imagining the great sword hung at his belt. Questions and more questions followed, one upon the other. Pio’s own opinions of the party dropped away as she viewed the party through her children’s eyes. Magic wove through her narrative . . . candles in crystal holders . . . glinting off the shiny baubles worn by the party goers. Rich colored banners hung from the hall’s wooden beams, twined with shiny ribbons. The women were graceful, their dresses lovely; the men all tall and handsome in their finery. There was music and dancing and sweets piled high on silvered platters. It was a more enchanted scene, she knew, than what had really been . . .

Cook had come to stand in the doorway. She listened quietly to the story, a smile on her face. At a pause in the narrative, she rapped gently on the door frame. ‘Breakfast,’ she said, ‘if anyone’s interested.’ ‘Or still hungry!’ she laughed, as Cami bounced off the bed and went running for the kitchen a few steps ahead of her brother and sister. Pio drew on her robe and stood at the side of the bed for a moment, watching Cook follow after the trio.

Silence settled round the room once again. And from the corners the shadows seemed to grow darker. Pio shivered, drawing the robe closer about her. Remnants of the dream still lingered, niggling at the edges of her mind. A piping voice at her side once more dispelled the murky thoughts.

‘Hurry, amme,’ urged Isilmir, slipping his hand into hers. ‘Cook’s made griddlecakes and opened her last pot of strawberry jam to put on them.’ He pulled her quickly down the hall. ‘Come on! Or we won’t get any!’

Last edited by piosenniel; 04-24-2004 at 02:42 AM.
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