[piosenniel]

Giggles and ‘shushes’ alerted her to the presence of the twinlings, as she had begun to think of them. ‘You can come out, girls!’ she called to them. Coral and Shell came forward, and placed a wreath of starred flowers on her hair. They had been wandering the great meadow in the center of the isle, they told her, and had found a dense patch of these beautiful flowers. The girls had made one for each other and then one for her. Adjusting it on her head, she stood, and the three held hands in an admiring ring, saying how pretty each other looked.

It was just after mid-day, and as she stood there, she noticed the gathering of peoples in the shaded grove. ‘What is going on over there?’ she asked Shell, picking her up and pointing toward the trees. She placed the girl back on the ground and knelt down to be at eye level with them. Their faces were serious, and they looked away from her, suddenly shy. Then Coral, the braver of the two, spoke up. ‘We did not want to go to that, Pio.’ she said, her lip trembling. ‘It is too sad.’ Pio frowned in concern and looked at Shell. ‘It is for all those people who died before we came to this beautiful place.’ said the hobbrim, quietly.

Pio stood again and looked to the mass of people gathered. ‘Needs be that I must go there then.’ she told them. Their faces fell, thinking she might take them with her. She looked to where Mithadan lay still sleeping. ‘There is something I would ask of you. Would you do it for me?’ They nodded their heads at her, faces solemn. ‘Mithadan lies here sleeping. I do not wish for him to be alone. Will you watch over him while I am gone and see to his needs should he awaken?’ Smiles of relief flooded their faces, driving away their gloomy thoughts.

They sat down, one on each side of the drowsing Man. As she strode off toward the grove, she heard them whispering to each other, a small giggle escaping from them now and then. She turned, and shading her eyes against the sun, looked back at them and smiled. They had freed the small, red, spicy scented flowers from her bouquet, and were plaiting them among the salt and pepper strands of his hair.

************************************************** ******

She stood beneath the trees, hidden in shadows. Ancalimon had gone down already to sit among the Hobbits in the small clearing when she had slipped silently through the trees. Her ears caught the clear young voice of Phura as he sang a song of parting and remembrance.

She closed her eyes and let her mind wander with the music as it poured over the gathering, flowed over the trees and flowers, ran down the shining waters of the stream to mingle with the seas own tears and shoot up again as waves and foam and wind. Beneath her feet, the layered leaves and rocks lamented all those now gone, trees and flowers called out in remembrance, sending out their fresh, sweet scents in recollection.

A new voice broke in upon her thoughts, naming the dead. Shells, then, heaped one upon the other. Some like small white stars fallen too soon from the sky. Then life pushed in again against the dead, springing up from small hands, bright flames of reds and golds and whites, standing as sure sentinels against despair.

She wept, not for the dead now beyond caring, but for those who bore the burden of their loss. Through her tears she saw the dear face of Cami, the single tear that traced a path down her sun-browned cheek, the weight of it.

She stood there a long time, bearing silent witness to grief and hope.

It was dark now, and her eyes were dry of tears. She came out from the shelter of trees and down toward the mounded shells gleaming softly in the moon and starlight. Nothing stirred at her passing, save for the slender stalks of flowers as she moved lightly through them. She held two golden leaves in her fingers and tucked them carefully beneath a star shaped shell.

‘Thank you .’ she whispered, recalling the faces of the Teleri who had died. ‘May your stay in the Halls be brief, and your life light.’

‘O fading time,’ she sang softly,

‘When morning rises late all hoar with rime,
And early shadows veil the distant woods!
Unseen the Elves go by, their shining hair
They cloak in twilight under secret hoods
Of grey, their dusk-blue mantles gird with bands
Of frosted starlight sewn by silver hands.

At night they dance beneath the roofless sky,
When naked elms entwine in branching lace
The Seven Stars, and through the boughs the eye
Stares down cold-gleaming in the high moon’s face.
O Elder Kindred, fair immortal folk!
You sing now ancient songs that once awoke
Under primeval stars before the Dawn;
You dance like shimmering shadows in the wind,
As once you danced upon the shining lawn
Of Elvenhome, before we were, before
You crossed wide seas unto this mortal shore . . .

. . . Here on the stones and trees there lies a spell
Of unforgotten loss, of memory more blest
Than mortal wealth. Here undefeated dwell
The Folk Immortal under withered elms,
Alalminórë once in ancient realms.’


It was quiet when she had finished singing. She bowed her head briefly, and then turning, went quickly back through the darkened trees.

(Poem: excerpt from The Trees of Kortirion by J.R.R. Tolkien, BoLT I)

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Mithadan's Post:

Mithadan woke gradually, stripping layers of sleep off like excess clothing until his eyes fluttered open and he looked up at a darkening sky. He heard the sound of a voice reciting names and realized that it was a roll of those who had died in the caves.

He sat up and looked about. Piosenniel was gone. Next to him sat two Hobbit lasses with broad smiles on their faces. "She has gone to the ceremony," one said. "We were to keep you company while you slept," piped in the second. He smiled his thanks and rose to his feet. He passed through the ring of trees and stood at the back of the crowd, watching as a pile of shells was made; one each to commemorate the dead. The tears of those left behind ran down faces and dropped to the grass as memories of times happy and sad mixed together in the minds of the mourners.

Mithadan breathed in the fragrant air of the island. Reborn indeed; built upon the bones of the departed both the evil and the good. He thought of the generations of the Faithful who had lived on Numenor and the many who had died either at the hand of Sauron the accursed or in the drowning of what had once been a fair land. And he wept also, not only for those who had died but also for those who were yet to live but were doomed to walk in the shadows. When all had been spoken and all had been mourned, he too turned away and returned to the Telerin ship to gather his things before moving on to the Lonely Star.

__________________

Pio's Post

Pio stepped onto the silent beach and watched the waves, backlit by moonlight, break against the sand and run in thick lines of foam, curling up round her ankles. The water beckoned her with its frothy kisses, the slow push and pull of the incoming tide.

She ran with abandon into the welcoming waves, diving deep beneath them, to surface far along the silvered path laid down across the waters. Tilion steered the last flower of Telperion across the dark night sky, and she swam his wayward course until her arms ached from the effort of it and her lungs burned.

Angara called her back. She was much in her mind these days, seeking still to keep her safe. Come back to the Star! You have gone out too far. I would speak with you.

I know what you would say to me, Dragon. This day has already had its share of sadness. Leave me in peace for a while longer. Then I will return to you.

She lay on her back for a long while, watching the patterns of the stars, riding the sea's swells back toward the distant shoreline. The Star lay at anchor in the small bay off Tol Meneltarma. As she drew near the ship, she flipped over and swam lazily toward it.

It was late when she climbed aboard, and she thought to go to her bed. But there was Angara, waiting.



[ November 08, 2002: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[ November 09, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]