[piosenniel]

The moon was already riding the western horizon when Pio made her way to the small rise west of Bird’s cottage. A long day was still ahead of her before the pieces would be in place to wipe the blight that was Ferny’s place from the countryside. Since she had not the power to make time run any faster, she opted to make good use of the time that lay before her.

In less than an hour, the sun had declared her presence and the compound to the east began to stir, readying itself for the new day. Men streamed from the small dormitories clustered in the northern section of the plantation, making their way to what she assumed was a dining hall. Smoke issued from two chimneys set in its southern end, and the smells of eggs and porridge and fried meats drifted out to her on the cool morning air. From that building the men went to the small sheds gathered in clusters about the large fields and took out the implements needed for the day.

Much of the area, she noted, was devoted to growing a broad-leaved crop. Pipe weed, she guessed, though she had never seen it except in its dried form. It seemed a labor intensive planting, even in the established fields. Men hoed and weeded about the plants, and there were numerous hands whose only job it seemed was to inspect each leaf and pick off any pests found on it. Pio wondered what promises Ferny had made to these men, that they would spend their day engaged in such mindless labor.

What most engaged her thought as she watched them stream out to the fields like so many ants, was the number of them that Ferny employed. By her count there were at least fifty men. Fifty! Mithadan and the Hobbits from the Shire numbered twenty four. Twenty six with her and Bird counted in. They were out numbered two to one, and from what she could see, there was no opportunity for her to do some discrete hunting and thin out the ruffian population. If Mithadan and some of the Hobbits were to face the bulk of the men at the north end, the outcome appeared grim.

She plucked a piece of tall grass from a nearby clump and sat chewing on the stalk. How could she swing the advantage their way . . .

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The sun was warm on her face, and something was nudging her in the back when she woke from her little nap. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and patted Falmar between the ears as the horse nudged her once again. She was tired; she couldn’t remember when she had slept last. And she had woken just now from the strangest dream . . . one of those disconcerting fantasies whose various parts shimmer and fade if looked at too hard . . . leaving one feeling just a little on edge, on an uneven keel.

Pio smiled as she stretched to get the kinks from limbs that had lain too long in one position on the uneven ground. An idea had come to her, and with any luck it would even out the odds a bit. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, settling herself into a comfortable seated position on the ground. She had spoken to him before in this manner, and now she reached out to find the familiar pattern of thought that was his.

Lorien!

She could almost feel his eyes flash and his head snap up in irritation.

Piosenniel.

Not a question, only a simple acknowledgement that she had spoken, and in doing so, disturbed him. She put away the sudden consideration that perhaps being disturbed was the main function of the Vala. No need to antagonize him further.

I have found a way you can assist us in getting the children away from here safely. she continued.

Indeed! And that would be . . .?

The desire to pursue the reason why he did not know already what she wanted – wasn’t he a Vala, after all – was also put from her mind, at least for now, as she went on the detail the particulars of their plan for the rescue.

Tonight, as the men lay sleeping, I need you give them frightening and confusing dreams. Weaken their spirits, sap their strength, so that there is not much fight left in them when Mithadan and the Hobbits attack at the north gate. Even the odds a bit, so to speak.

She could almost sense him sigh as he marshaled his arguments against this action. Pio cut him off before he could tell them to her.

We need you to do this, Lorien. We are depending on you to help us in the way that you can. You are the Master of Dreams; this is a task you can do.

She heard the "but" form in his mind.

If you do not step in where you are needed, your entire purpose for being here will be for naught. Cami and Maura, Rose and Gamba, Zira and Ban will not be returning to the ages from which they came . . . They will be dead, Lorien. Struck down by Ferny’s men. And whatever thread of time their presence knit together, it will unravel . . . and as it unravels, it will take others with it. Surely that is not an end you wished to accomplish on your journey here?

She heard only silence from his end . . .

She shrugged her shoulders, and turned her gaze back to where the men now were working in the fields, calculating just how many she could take out if the need arose . . . her thoughts drifted back to her request, and it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him he was welcome to prove her the fool for not ‘believing’ more strongly in the integrity of the Valar – as long as he would see this one thing done . . .

Amid the buzz of the clouds of little midges that swarmed about her head, determined to taste Elven blood for their afternoon meal, Pio at first did not hear the quiet words that played about the edges of her consciousness. Amused, the voice grew louder.

I said, a simple thank you will suffice, Piosenniel . . .

[ July 18, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]