Chapter Four: Bonds
"The bond that links your true family is not one of blood,
but of respect and joy in each other's life."
-Richard Bach
Núnhel, Anórien, Gondor
(Feb. 11th) 21st Nénimë, 3007.
Tawny tresses shot with silver tumbled down the front of Selethryth's brown dress, swaying as she bent forward. On the floor, a little boy reached for a hair strand, yanking it hard. She scooped him up and freed herself from his chubby hands.
"Naughty imp," she chided. "I will pardon you for now, till you grow too big for my lap."
"Just like his father. He pulled braids until girls began to beat him up," murmured Ilfrith.
Aira smirked to herself, attempting to focus her concentration beyond the conversation. She shut her eyes against the dimness of the room, seeking the pale blue light of the window. Latticework of frost patterns framed the opening, glowing dully against the stone. Selethryth cooed to the child, bouncing him gently upon her knee.
"Your brother has such sweet boys."
"He won't have any further children. He is mad with grief since his wife died at Rhosfein's birth," said Ilfrith in soft voice.
She swung her blonde hair over her back, and rose to her feet. She placed a peat log upon the dimming hearth, and reclaimed her seat. The flames' gold light danced across the floor, fringing the area near Aira's feet.
"I understand his grief. I lost my firstborn. Our family has lost too many children," replied Selethryth.
"I will not let Marhath run off with Rhosfein too," said Ilfrith. "He disappeared with Ramloth and his sheep into the mountains last year. I have not seen my nephew since."
"Will you take him to Pelargir?" asked Aira, her voice distant.
The girl remained stalwart and fixed to the window, her attention lost beyond the house. Ilfrith studied the tidiness of Aira's clothes, and the straightness of her back.
"Yes. I doubt Gaearon and I will have time for our own children. He spends most of his time at sea."
Aira shifted her weight, scooting her feet closer together. "At least he will have stable parents."
Raising an eyebrow, Ilfrith glanced at Selethryth. The older woman sighed, her gaze wandering to Aira's back.
"Your parents' happiness had little chance before they met," replied Selethryth. "At the beginning, they were struck by those who believe Gondor's blood should be kept pure. These individuals are responsible for atrocities like the attack on Herindol, and the Kin-strife."
"My mother is Northern Dúnedain, there is no difference," murmured Aira, remaining in place. "These divisions among Men keep us weak."
Yet Arcúnalin grows more divided by the year.
Ilfrith put aside her sewing once more, and flexed her fingers fretfully. She leaned closer to her Aunt, her voice low. "Gaearon is descended of the same house. Will that cause us problems too?"
Rolling her eyes in response, Aira shut her ears against further conversation. Her nerves were already frayed, and she didn't want to hold anything against the anxious girl.
"No, your situation is different. His mother Emmelin is from Dol Amroth, and your betrothed does not carry inherited titles," answered Selethryth. "Such purists are rare, or hide in holes like Haranór."
The infant snatched at the woman's hair again, drawing her attention away. Noticing the other girl's further withdrawal, Ilfrith stalked to the windowsill and tapped her shoulder.
"What is it?"
Aira's mouth tightened in reaction, holding in words. Spheres of grey stillness met her own, startling her with their eager patience. A draft emanated from the window, sending chills into their spines. Swiftly Ilfrith snapped the shutters closed.
"You ran here at top speed. Now you spend the day staring like a caged animal out the window. What's wrong?"
"Ilfrith," said Selethryth in a sharp tone. "Come get the boy, he's sleepy."
The older woman brought her nearer, offering the infant to her. Rhosfein's greedy hands clutched at Ilfrith, gurgling with delight. Selethryth led her from the room, closing the door.
"Is she waiting for my father?" asked Ilfrith.
"She was not looking for Marhad, but my son Thurstan." Selethryth paused in the corridor, smoothing Rhosfein's hair with a palm.
"I thought him gone since Yestarë, on a hunting venture with your family. She did not mention him at all."
The other woman mumbled low. "Thurstan was here when Aira arrived last month. It seems easy for him to forget the years she spent under our roof. He made comments regarding her grown stature and kissed her cheeks. My son is a good man, but his judgment remains untested with women. I sent her to Marhad after witnessing it. Her virtue is safer under your roof."
"Do you have so little faith in her?" asked Ilfrith, gritting her teeth.
Selethryth frowned. "I have much faith in her, but I know my son. Aira is reserved, and rarely shows her inner convictions. Since their encounter, she shows ardent desire for him. I have not seen it before. "
"Aira and I were raised alongside Men for years. We remain free of troubles with them," said Ilfrith.
"Niece, men can see you as the woman you are," said Selethryth, guiding her to a nearby room. "Your pretty baubles and fine dresses keep them in place, demanding space and respect. You worked well with these tools and chose the right man. Aira has placed herself on a different route, with ambition to find respect among them."
Ilfrith placed the boy upon a table, pulling carefully at the ties on his clothing. She made a face at the boy, and squeezed his cheeks
"Had my health allowed, I would've chosen her lot. The freedom she can gain by it—"
"With your Rohirrim mother, I would not have been surprised," said Selethryth, chuckling.
After checking the diaper cloth for cleanliness, Ilfrith refastened Rhosfein's garments. "Ah, there's a good boy," she cooed.
"The route of strength is precarious. It can guarantee equal treatment, or feed a vulnerable sheep to wolves. I hope both of you will be able to protect yourselves on either route as a woman."
"I will be married soon," said Ilfrith flatly. "I will no longer face uncertainty with men."
The older woman shook her head. "Dear lady, it is only the beginning. This is a world of men, but we hold the reins. It is always our responsibility to guide other women."
"How so?"
"Well, Aira is emotionally vulnerable since her grandmother's death, so I moved her to your father's house. If she and my son wish to pursue one another, they will do so under Marhad's watch. You would do the same for any daughters you might bear."
A chorus of voices flooded the adjoining corridor, breaking the quiet of the house. The door to the other room flew open, followed by rapid footfalls. Ilfrith peered out of the nursery, watching a banner of chestnut hair fly past. She followed noiselessly in her slippers, and reached the entrance hall. Her cousins bobbed in enthusiasm, chattering to the welcoming girl. Thurstan seized Aira by the middle, stumbling in awkward movements. Her laughs rang into the rafters, her icy aloofness melting away.
"Easy," said Carnastir. "Lest she snap in two."
Thurstan ignored his brother's remark, squeezing Aira's waist once more. Carnastir spotted Ilfrith across the hall, acknowledging her in solemn courtesy.
.-.-.-.
"Hup!"
Thurstan's voice reached across the field, self-assured and urgent. He gained solid footing on the turf, increasing his speed. Aira's hair unraveled further out of its pins, the wind whipping it wildly. Cool air streamed into her gulping mouth, swelling her throat with dry air. She sprinted to the looming rowan tree, pumping her legs faster. It cast long shadows across the wilted yard, reaching its barren branches towards the setting sun. She halted at top speed before the trunk, reaching for it in triumph. Her cloak yanked her backward, Thurstan grasping it tightly. He smacked the bark, and thrust the girl in the opposite direction.
"You lose!"
Struggling against his grip, she indignantly tried to free herself. She twisted in his direction, punching him good naturedly. Thurstan jabbed her in defense, mercilessly poking her in the ribs. She laughed and tried to avoid his touch.
"I thought we—were—gah!"
He pulled away the cloak, easily reaching her sensitive areas. She bent over in defense, attempting to kick him. She gasped in non-stop laughter, unable to breathe properly. Her urge to fight grew. She needed to flip him over, to fall on top and make him beg for mercy. He pulled her tighter against him, until she could no longer struggle. His cheek rested next to her ear, his breathing soothing her nerves. Her fists opened in surrender.
"No more please," she begged.
Thurstan pressed his cheek next to her ear, whispering. "I promise, but do not punch me again."
"I can't promise," she replied wryly.
Stumbling from his embrace, she attempted to straighten her displaced clothing. She stared at the sky for several moments, gathering her wits. His tawny hair was splayed across his head, and his bright eyes gleamed. Meekly she tightened her belt, realizing the tussle had allowed him access to her bare skin. Cold air reacted against the blood pumping in her veins, reddening her cheeks. Thurstan studied her intently, absorbing every movement she made. His face radiated charisma and passion, contrasting against her memories of him as a boy. Disquieted by his focus, she approached him with caution.
"You said there's a birthday present hidden here. Was it just a trap?"
"No, I have a present for you."
She tilted her head questioningly, and he grinned. He maneuvered her towards the tree, and made her place both hands over her face. Impatient, she stared at the insides of her hands, trying to make out details in the cracks of her fingers. The outline fumbled in the apex of the tree, where the trunk split into several sections. The rustling of material reached her ears, and she shifted testily.
"Can I look?"
"Yes."
Thurstan grasped her palms, and slid a bulky item into them. The bundle was sturdy, and covered in thick red cloth. Aira quickly removed the wrapping, revealing a pair of stirrups in the center. She traced the edges, the metal glinting dully in the fading sunlight. Memories of an inquisitive brown colt floated to the surface of her mind, trickling happiness into her veins. Clutching the stirrups to her chest, she gazed at Thurstan with appreciation. His bright eyes were very close, regarding her with fascination. She became all too aware of her flushing cheeks, clammy hands, and wild hair tumbled around her face.
"Thank you," she said softly.
The rest of her words caught in her throat, too thick to extract. He stroked her flushed cheek, fingertip roaming to her chin. It traced the underside of her lip, spreading rivulets of warmth into her chest. A rising urge surfaced in her, propelling her to him. Their mouths met in disjointed fashion, seeking to meld together. Unsure of placing her mouth, she pushed harder and soaked him in. Thurstan grasped her to his chest, nearly making her drop his gift. Their knees knocked together, his wiry frame wrapped around her.
Their fervor surged, making them oblivious to the cold. He kneaded her back, beginning to wander to other places. Their stance pushed her against the tree, trapping her against him. The newfound sensations were dizzying, the closeness overwhelming her. Needing space, she loosened her grip and pulled away. Her chest rose in erratic rhythm to gain more air. He drew reassuring patterns on the base of her neck, dark eyes full of her. She smiled and traced his cheek.
"I like this present too," she said mischievously.
"I know it wasn't as nice as the stirrups—"
He stole another kiss, nipping her lips in play. She laughed loudly, and flushed deeper red. The tree trunk pressed further into her backside, the entrapment making her fidget. Seeking a distraction, she lifted the gift in his direction. Thurstan stepped back, allowing her to fold the stirrups away. A thick mesh of unspoken words stuck between them, filling the space beneath the rowan's branches.
"I wasn't sure what you liked," said Thurstan. "Father mentioned you'll receive a horse at eighteen years old next year. It seemed appropriate."
Her expression brightened, and she said softly, "It means a lot you remembered my birthday. My family did not."
"They are busy with themselves," he said, causing her to grimace.
"I remember this was the last place I saw you—before you left," she said, twisting a corner of her cloak.
"I had no choice in the matter, I needed to train."
"But you could've trained here instead of Daerost."
"You know better," he replied. "I do remember saying goodbye. You pitched an impressive fit, climbed this tree, and refused to come down."
"When you tried to fetch me, I tried to hit you and fell out of the tree," she said, raising an eyebrow. "It hurt very badly."
Hesitating, she rolled up the shirt sleeve, revealing a scar beside her elbow. Thurstan bent over her limb, examining the skin.
"Wow, it left quite a mark. I never saw you cry until then, even when Hallas left."
Lowering the shirt, she sighed. "I didn't cry from the pain of the wound. I—when I saw you a month ago, I almost didn't recognize you. When you smiled, I knew it was you."
Thurstan shifted uncomfortably, bowing his head. He ruffled his hair messily, turning his face away. "Aira, you sound like a lovesick puppy."
"It's true! I missed you very much."
"How much experience do you have with men?" he said sharply.
Taken aback, she stared at him wide-eyed. "Why do you care about my past experience?"
"Don't misunderstand. I am only concerned this is too for you to handle. I assume with your background in the male profession, you've learned a few things about us. I don't want to hurt you."
"Have I kissed a man? Yes. Have I let him between my legs? No. Have I seen all sorts of provocative displays? More than you can imagine," she replied flatly. "I am not deaf, blind, or dumb to the ways of men. I am old enough to be with you."
"I hope you're not mistaken."
She tilted her head in curiosity, studying the stern lines in his forehead. "Why would I be?"
"A lot changes in seven years," he murmured. "I would hate to cause something unpleasant."
"Stop it. If you're so worried, why did you kiss me?" she asked, throwing her hands in the air.
"I am concerned, because I care about you. You're beautiful; it's why I kissed you."
He seized her free arm, stepping beside her. Aira's heart leapt in surprise, beating wildly at his nearing presence. Thurstan gripped her waist tight, melding his lips to hers. At sunset, they returned to the Caeadan estate, and the watchful eyes of Marhad.
.-.-.-.
Clear light cascaded through the chamber's long windows, spilling over the group nearby. Ilfrith's hair blazed like white flame, her head tilting left and right. She twisted at the waist, watching the woman and measuring device behind her. Aira remained frozen in place, lost in the sight of waving green leaves out the windows.
"Please stop fidgeting," said the stooped woman.
"Where will the rear embroidery be?" said Ilfrith, pausing.
Heaving a sigh, the woman lifted the hem in her direction. The younger apprentice at Aira's side ignored the activity, continuing her diligent snipping. The process continued in an endless flurry of fabric. Insistent aches began to develop in her feet, increasing her restlessness.
Patience waning, Aira spoke at last. "Ilfrith, why such fuss? This is the third day of our standing here. I think I am growing roots to this floor."
"Everything needs to be perfect."
"The gowns for the joining ceremony are finished already," said Aira. She motioned to the table, where large cloth bundles stood.
The other woman rolled her eyes. "These new dresses are for the procession and post-celebration."
"Ilfrith, this is beyond reason."
"Are you changing your mind?" she retorted.
She spun in Aira's direction, making the seamstress curse her. A looming silence threatened the space between them, filling with the sounds from the working women.
"Of course not. I will represent your family at the ceremony, but I do not deserve it."
"Nonsense!" said Ilfrith, stamping a foot. "You are my closest kin next to Aunt Selethryth."
"By bond, not blood."
Weight dropped into Aira's stomach, memories threatening to surge forth. Aníran's lifeless countenance, Iradan's explosive anger over her military training, the retreating backs of her brothers leaving her alone in Núnhel… She blinked hard, and forced herself into a neutral expression.
"You forget Deor," chided Ilfrith.
"My great-grandfather?"
"Yes. He was my great-grandmother's brother. Therefore we are cousins anyway."
"You put too much thought into this," said Aira, smirking. "I haven't examined the facets of my family tree, nor do I wish to."
"You ignore yours entirely, titles and all. I don't understand it. If I had—"
"Ilfrith, you are marrying Gaearon, my nearest cousin. My family tree will become yours too, and you may keep it."
The woman fell silent, lost in thought.
"Maybe Gaearon and I should have many children."
Late in the afternoon, they were freed of the seamstresses' tyranny, and left alone in the chamber. Ilfrith glided across the floor in her chemise, darting to the tables. She unwrapped the awaiting bundles, her excitement released in erratic noise.
"Oh my! Oooh!"
She held up an elaborate pale red gown, examining the stitching with discretion. She peered through an outstretched sleeve, nodding in approval.
"This one is yours. They did a fine job."
Aira stared at the garment, gauging Ilfrith's expression. She walked over slowly, touching the material in hesitation.
"It's pretty. They added a lot of decoration."
The woman thrust it forward, stepping closer. "Try it on."
The blazing enthusiasm in her movements said not to argue. Surrendering to her will, Aira donned the tent of fabric. Her movements were encumbered and slow, trying not to rip the seams. She began to tighten the laces, but the neckline remained dangerously low on her chest. She tugged in confusion, attempting to cover the edge of her cleavage. Ilfrith slipped on a gown with ease, and turned to watch the struggle. Next, Aira fidgeted with the sleeve corners enveloping her elbows. The embroidery made it hard to grip, and the dress outline defied her.
"It's supposed to sit that way," said Ilfrith. "It's the latest fashion."
"But you can see my—form very clearly. I feel naked."
Giggling, Ilfrith patted her shoulder with affection. She maneuvered the girl to a full mirror, and began making minor adjustments. She cinched several laces tighter, and let down Aira's hair. She passed a comb to her, and wandered to the table of accessories. Aira stared at herself in awe, examining every inch of her reflection. The comb was slippery, catching painfully as she worked on tangles.
The female in the mirror seemed older, her features unrecognizable. The grey eyes were persistent and watchful, shielded against her penetrating stare. An unwelcome bump had developed in the bridge of her nose, and her skin remained ruddy from the sun. The planes of flesh were refining with time, into an acceptable sight. The red dress accentuated pink hues in her skin, and hugged her frame in the right places. Pride began to overtake her doubt and ill ease. Her mind strayed from the mirror, wondering how others might see her.
Would his dark eyes fill with that burning hunger and focused stillness? She saw the look more frequently now, when he yanked at the limits of her clothing and felt his desire against her hips. She responded with equal enthusiasm, but he always broke off their embraces. If he could easily see her female shape would he finally act on the impulses? Would he find fault with the hard muscles and sun ripened skin beneath her clothes?
Ilfrith called her name, interrupting the reverie. "Do you like the dress?"
A knock came at the chamber door, followed by Marhad's entrance. The dresses surprised him, and he beamed at their exhibition. The female pair marched around him, showing the fullest extent of the garments.
"Worth every coin," said Ilfrith. "I will do Gaearon justice in them."
Marhad nodded, examining one of the dress sleeves. "It is enough. Others will not point at you and think only of a farmer's daughter."
"I have rarely worn such a fancy thing," said Aira, lifting the skirt.
"You would run about with Melle as a child, and maim your clothes. Selethryth did not dare dress you up."
"I should have behaved better," she replied, laughing. "Why should anyone judge Ilfrith less by her gowns?"
"They judge my house, not Ilfrith," said Marhad. "They do not understand why my ancestors traded war and nobility for peace and farming." The man waved further questions away, and slid a letter into Aira's hands. "This arrived an hour ago. The messenger is waiting in the kitchen, if you wish to send a reply."
Marhad glanced at her in solemnity, and allowed Ilfrith to pull him away. Aira studied the stamp upon the wax seal, recognizing the rearing deer beneath a multipoint star. The paper weighted in her hands like lead, and coldness seeped into her body. Dreading the words, she unfolded it carefully. She recognized the narrow scrawl of her father's handwriting.
To our daughter Aira,
The Caeadan sent word of your arrival in winter. Tuilérë passed long ago, yet you remain absent from our home. We resolved all conflict pursuant to your departure from Rhovanion, and sent for your belongings. There is much news to discuss, and events to plan after your long absence. Hallas will marry Gweneth daughter of Kiril after the harvest. All of us will proceed to Pelargir for Gaearon's marriage to Ilfrith Caeadan in several weeks. Make haste to Haemuin and join us immediately. Send word when you receive this post. Innas nîn no caro.
Your parents,
Iradan Indûrion and Elrîn Thôrhenn
Haemuin, Arcúnalin. Second of Lótessë, in the year three thousand seven of the Third Age.
The formality and demands left a bad taste in her throat. Her trembling fingers seized the edges of the letter, and tore it through the middle. She spun to Marhad, flashing him the ripped note.
"Please have the messenger return this to Haemuin."
"Aira, do you mean to break ties with your family?" he asked.
He slipped the letter away, studying the shredded edges. She fixated on the floor, refusing to look at him.
"I don't know."
"Those bonds are not broken so easily."
She frowned and pivoted to the door, leaving without further answer.
.-.-.-.
The faint scuffs of leather on stone emanated over the window ledge, all too familiar. A dark shape flitted though the garden as Aira watched. Her mouth slipped into a lazy smile, her lips swollen and tingling. Her skin twinged on her shoulder, where a discoloration began to flower. Warm drafts of air seeped into the room, brushing the exposed skin of her frame. She tightened the displaced fastenings on her nightgown, and replaced the shutters against the imminent dawn. Shivering in remembrance, she turned for her bed. Fissures of dim light smeared the adjacent wall, setting an unearthly glow to the chamber. She gathered the discarded bedding, arranging a comfortable formation on the mattress. She settled into the nest, attempting to recall every movement made the past few hours. Her hand stroked her hip bone, attempting to recall where he'd kissed her first. A sharp voice broke the stillness, snapping the night's excursion out of her mind.
"Aira!"
She moaned in frustration, watching the door open to admit Ilfrith. Aira tensed at her appearance, heart thudding deep.
Had Ilfrith seen him?
Candlelight illuminated the darkness, flickering patterns against the pale face. Aira shuffled upward in bed, making an effort to appear disturbed and sleepy.
"Ilfrith?" she mumbled in a convincing tone. "What are you doing?"
Rushing forward, Ilfrith jutted the candle onto her nightstand and threw the shutters open.
"You must get up now, life depends on it."
Lumbering onto sore legs, Aira rubbed her knees and stretched. Ilfrith shoved a mantle and slippers into her arms. Unease grew in her belly, every movement demanding extra effort to lift leaden limbs. She averted her face, swallowing hard.
"What do you mean?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
Ilfrith pulled her through the door, muttering incoherently. "You'll see."
The foyer opened empty and still around them, their steps echoing ten-fold in the empty house. Aira managed to free herself at the staircase edge, gripping the woman's elbow. She pulled Ilfrith to a halt, staring at her fiercely.
"Why are you upset?"
Ilfrith retracted her arm, pale eyes studying her. They regarded each other with questions, daring the other to speak first.
"I woke you up for another reason. Yes, I saw Thurstan sneaking out of the house. Marhath would escape the same way when he was a boy. I did not wake you up because of it. T'is none of my business, unless you are with child," said Ilfrith flatly.
Aira gaped at her, struggling for words. "No, we haven't-"
"I don't want to know!" said Ilfrith. Her jaw tightened, and she blew air in exasperation. "Shut up and follow me."
They marched along the stairs in silence, finally reaching the far corner of the main hall. Two figures emerged into sight, sprawled onto benches outside the servant entrance. The nearest person reacted first, a lanky young man, whom Aira recognized as Anborn. His dark hair hung scraggly over his rugged face, which was plagued by worry. He rose to greet them, seeming not to recognize Aira. A moment later, his mouth widened.
"Air—Lady Aira?"
She looked back and forth between the man, Ilfrith, and the second bench, where a girl lay sleeping. The girl was no older than fourteen, and completely oblivious to their presence. Anborn bowed in proper acknowledgment, and cleared his throat.
"I did not realize you were here."
The apprehension from her confrontation with Ilfrith vanished, replaced by deepening confusion. Aira tilted her head, studying him closer.
"Why are you here?"
Anborn's forehead creased, seriousness overwhelming his expression. "Milady, I am part of Lady Elrîn's escort."
Her mother's name collapsed her composure, renewing her anxiety. "Go on," she said.
"Lady Elrîn departed Haemuin several days ago, with few to attend her. I formed part of the guard. Our party reached Caras Gwathel yesterday. On the outer border, we were ambushed by outlaws. They plundered our goods, and killed the other men."
Blunt pain began to gnaw at the bottom of Aira's stomach, and her chest tightened. "What of my mother? Why was she traveling into Núnhel?"
"To see you it seems," he said, voice inaudible. "She directed us here, without explanation. Last I saw her, a throng of men carried her away. I was thrown by my horse during the ambush and knocked unconscious. It is the only reason I survived. I did not understand why they would take her, until I awoke."
He gestured to the sleeping girl, and pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket. He lowered his face, handing it to Aira.
"They spared Elrîn's lady-in-waiting. I found her wandering the hills nearby, carrying this note."
Aira fingered the crumpled and dirt stained edges, holding it warily. It was framed by brown splatter, dried blood. Clearing her throat, she read it aloud.
"To the ignoble Indûrion and subjects therein, Lady Thôrhenn is my prisoner. Should you wish to see her return, proper ransom must be paid. You will forfeit five chests full of gold, five of silver by the next full moon. Send it in the hands of a maid to Axantur Brêthand's tomb. Folly of rescue, ambush, or late payment will hasten her doom. Heed these words wisely. The esteemed thief, Master Agarcam."
They stared in disbelief, watching Aira crumple it in disgust.
"This man is ridiculous to think he can withstand Arcúnalin in her might. Lord Iradan would send the entire force to secure her release," said Anborn, striking his arms outward.
Ilfrith wrenched the note away, examining it. "Might is useless in games with these men. They play in secrets and shadows. Elrîn would be dead before they reached her."
"He has thought far ahead," he replied. "It will take days to pursue ransom or military support, narrowing the window to five days. I came to the house of Caeadan first, in hope they could act first. I did not realize they are only farmers."
Aira glared at the pair, punishing their words. "Do not damn our actions before we begin. My mother will return alive."
"Cousin—"
She silenced Ilfrith with another harsh look. Their doubt began to plague her thoughts, sending her mind reeling. She needed her mother's indomitable voice and knowing embrace; maternal love to quiet the dying screams in her memories, and the void in her spirit. She searched the letter's words for ideas, but her faith began to falter. The older Caeadan would not return from trading within two days. Her father would take longer, being unprepared and farther away. This situation demanded haste and stealth, not strength. Aira stiffened with new purpose, forbidden notions dangling in her mind.
"I will send one of the servants to notify Arcúnalin. Ilfrith, you will ride to Calceryn to fetch your father and the others," she said.
"Of course."
"Aren't you riding to Arcúnalin with me?" asked Anborn.
"You and I are riding to see Axantur Brêthand," she answered.
Ilfrith's eyes widened in horror. "You will not!"
"Yes we are," replied Aira. "If I do not succeed, then our kin shall."
"If you fail, your father will pay ransom for two, or recover your bodies."
"Any plan will be immensely dangerous, without hope of success," said Anborn sternly. "However, I am bound to the commands of your family."
Aira breathed in sharply, and flexed her wrists. She could not fathom the limits of her birth right. Youth and her purposeful isolation had spared her the majority of its use. Most comrades in arms counted her their equal; less if they counted gender against her.
"Anborn, I have no right to waste a life. I will not force you to come."
"I'd be foolish to not accompany you," he said.
"You must wait for our fathers," said Ilfrith. "You need more than two people."
"Thurstan may help us. In the end, fewer people may give us a greater chance."
"I wish I could join you, but I have to find Marhad," said Ilfrith softly. "Promise you'll come back safely."
"I promise," said Aira.
They departed the Caeadan estate within the hour, going their separate ways. Despite the insurmountable task ahead, Aira and Anborn left together. They hurried along the road to Thurstan's house, the burgeoning morning sun at their backs. Every moment led Aira towards the blinding truth; she held her mother's life in her hands.
S/N (Story Notes)
-Geography notes: Arcúnalin sits along the curve of the Anduin River, next to Cair Andros. The bottom border extends to the Great West road (outside of Drúadan Forest), and cuts off near the beacon of Amon Din. Núnhel is the neighboring province. It runs from the beacon of Nardol/Drúadan Forest to the border of Rohan, along the Mouths of the Entwash. Calceryn is south of the Great West Road, encompassing the beacons and mountains south of the road.
-Family notes: Selethryth and Marhad Caeadan are brother and sister. Thurstan and Caranthir are the sons of Selethryth. Ilfrith and Marhath are the sons of Marhad. Rhosfein and Ramloth are the children of Marhath. Aira is only distantly related to the Caeadan family, and was raised in Selethryth's house as a foster child. Gaearon is the son of Emmelin and Istoan from the second chapter. Sorry for any confusion.
- Attack on Herindol: When Aira and her brothers were very young, the Indûrion estate was attacked by rebels. Aira was nearly killed in the attack, but her guardian Kiril (Amlaith and Gweneth's father) saved her. These rebels were not happy with the fact Aira's parents and grandparents both married non-Dúnedain people. They don't like Iradan.