[piosenniel]

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 party, it had been a profitable fortnight for the Inn. They could well afford to lay in a few luxuries and extras for their customers.

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 a two 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 on him now as he rode the last stretch from Edoras to the Fords of Isen. She sensed his delight as her mind brushed his. We await you, beloved! she called to him. Keep safe as you ride to us.

Pio bent back to her task, her eyes refocusing on the list before her. Still, 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.

She could not help but notice that Cami was also in a good mood. The Hobbit wore a soft, dreamy look and she, too, sang as she walked down the stairs. Pio waved her quill at Cami, and catching her attention, motioned her over. She patted the seat beside her and bade the Hobbit sit with her for a moment.

From under the counter she brought forth her silvered flask of miruvor and two small silver cups. ‘It appears we both have something to celebrate today, little Andreth.’ she said quietly. She poured them each a measure of the jeweled nectar.

‘Mithadan rides north to the shire. He will be here in a month’s time. In time for the birth of his son and daughter on Midsummer Day.’

She raised her cup to Cami and drank it down. ‘Now tell me, what is the news you wish to keep so secret. Bilbo spoke to me in part of it. But I questioned him not on the details until he could speak with you . . .’