[Child of the 7th Age]

Dragoneyes' post

Pippin Took sat at his desk reading a letter from his dear sister Pearl, explaining to him the woes of family life. He smiled to himself as he read about one of the many arguments and fights between her children. Through the wall he could hear water sloshing as his wife, Diamond, prepared a bath for their own son. He was interrupted from his sister's problems by a knock at the door and upon hearing a rather loud sigh from the other room he called through the wall that he'd get it.

He walked into the large hall and to the door, opening it he found a red-faced young hobbit lad who was breathing heavily and looked like he had just run quite a way. Pippin vaguely recognised the face but couldn't put a name to it. The lad handed him a letter addressed to him. Pippin thanked him and he went on his way.

Returning inside he was faced with an oncoming toddler, running fast as he could towards the open door. He was wearing only his trousers as he tried in vain to make a break for freedom. Pippin scooped him up and shut the door behind him. "Faramir Took, where do you think you are going?" he said, tickling the child. Faramir squirmed about and giggled, trying to get away from the tickling fingers. Pippin took him to the bathroom where his mother was ready with a bath. "What was it?" she asked as she relieved Pippin of his burden, "A letter." he replied simply.

Diamond finished undressing Faramir an gently lowered him into the bath while Pippin opened up the letter. He read over the first few sentences, then stopped when he got to Frodo's and Bilbo's names. It couldn't be the same two could it? They had sailed west, surely you weren't meant to come back once you had gone. His confusion and shock must've shown on his face because Diamond paused in her bathing of Faramir asked him what was wrong. "Nothing's wrong," he answered, his face clearing, "But there is something happening at the Green Dragon tomorrow: a party, with some old friends, and we've been invited."

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Child's post

For the remainder of that day, and well into the next, Cami kept busy with all the little things that needed to be done before the arrival of their guests. She worked alongside Ruby and Prim and Hob airing out the bedchambers, rearranging tables in the central hall, and preparing all the dishes they'd agreed to serve their friends.

With tables full of hobbits, and so many little ones, there would have to be a plentiful supply of food--vegetables, fruits, and several choices of meat and fish--to say nothing of pies and trifles and puddings, and a varied assortment of ales and wine. Cami kept Hob busy all day making the rounds to the grocer and butcher and baker. Within the Inn itself, the kitchen bell tinkled again and again, as hobbits came by to drop off deliveries.

Cami was happy to work since it kept her mind off of other things. Once or twice, she soundly berated herself. What's wrong with you, Cami Goodchild? Why can't you be a normal hobbit? You're going to see Bilbo after such a long time, plus lots of dear friends, yet you're still moping."

Hobbits are generally known for being cheerful and uncomplaining, but that was a trick Cami had never learned. Questions and worries slipped silently into her mind. She had kept her ears open when serving meals in the Inn, and had learned a great deal about some of her childhood friends. Sam was living in the comfort of Bag-end and had earned the respect of the entire community by serving as its mayor. Angelica, who'd gone on to marry and have children of her own, was still said to have a strikingly pretty face.

Cami caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror that stood in the Inn's back hall. She sighed and shook her head. Her face was not extraordinary, and she was dressed in an old frock that had been darned and stitched and darned again. Her home was a tiny burrow with a dirt floor and a single window through which cold winds blew in winter time, since it lacked a protective pane of glass. Perhaps worst of all in the eyes of many, she had no husband to share her life.

She lifted up her hands and peered down at them. They were rough and calloused from hard work, from all the times she'd gathered firewood or skinned rabbits or gutted fish, the kind of things she struggled with daily to eek out a living for her family.

She could probably ignore the judgment of the others, but what about Bilbo? How disappointed in her he would be. She hadn't done any of the things she'd promised him when she was younger. There were no learned tomes or libraries or classrooms....only little hobbit children learning their letters at kitchen tables.

She found it hard to measure her own experiences by the respectable standards of the Shire with which she'd grown up. It was not that she thought of herself as a failure. She just didn't know the right words that could explain to others why her own life was special.

With a sudden pang of homesickness, she recalled the arching canopy of Greenwood where birds and animals roamed free, and the rustling branches that seemed to reach out forever to the stars. She heard the ancient songs and tales recited by Elves beside glimmering campfires deep within the woods. And, most of all, she felt the wisdom in the sad grey eyes of a First Age hobbit who was no longer with her, but whom she would love to the end of her days.

[ February 24, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]