[piosenniel]

Pio leaned against the mallorn tree, hands tucked behind the small of her back for comfort against the hard trunk. The branches creaked above her echoing the disquiet in her mind. She turned and leaned a cheek against the smooth bark.

I remember you from Eressëa, Old One, and Nísimaldar. And often have I seen you in Lórien, as I passed through, the fragrance of your presence bringing pleasant memories. You leant me comfort in times before. Will you not do the same for me now?

The leaves, heavy with scent, rustled at her words, but their offering could not drive away her sadness this time.

Her thoughts were on Cami, and she could feel the nearing presence of her friend. A sudden and familiar laugh signaled her approach, and Pio stepped forward from the shadows and into the star light, her hand raised in greeting.

‘I was just waiting for you, Cami.’

The tears she had pushed back in her encounter with Lórien inched down her cheeks again, and she rubbed at them with sleeves of her gown. Crying for her own loss and for Cami’s. Back-lit by the moon, the features of her face were cast still in shadow, the tears unseen. She knelt down on the greensward, as her friend drew closer.

I was waiting for you, she thought to herself, watching the moonlight and shadows play on the familiar planes of Cami’s face as she trudged across the field, all my long years . . . and now, when we should be enjoying the pleasure of our children and husbands together, at least for a while, you are torn from me. She took a deep breath and shook her head, chiding herself for selfishness in the face of Cami’s own overwhelming grief.

‘Come sit with me for a while, Cami.’ Pio patted the ground next to her as she sat back, tucking her legs to the side. She pulled the Hobbit close to her, wrapping her arm about her shoulders.

‘I cannot say good-bye to you again,’ she said, resting her chin of the top of Cami’s brown curls. ‘Once, on the banks of the Anduin, is all that I can manage.’

She let her mind drift down to the little life growing inside her friend. ‘Tell me about your son, Cami. What will you name him? And what will he look like? What games will he play? And where? And with whom? And what stories will you tell him at night, when his eyes are heavy with sleep, and he begs for just one more.’

Pio bent down and nestled her cheek against the Hobbit’s for a moment. ‘Tell me all the things you imagine for your little one, Cami. So that I might know him, and think fondly of him and his mother as my own children grow and stretch their wings and push away from me as they must.’

She laughed just a little, the sound catching in her throat. ‘I will think of you, you know, when they are acting horrid, and I find myself wanting someone to commiserate with me. And I will think of you when they have done or said something rather brilliant and want to brag to you. Every stage of growth they meet and pass - your little one will be there, also, in my mind.’ As will you . . .

Pio shifted round to face Cami, taking her hands in hers. ‘Tell me how you will speak to him of the Elf who holds him in her heart. Talk to me of him. Give me the words my children and I will know him by.’