Writer's Note: So I saw The Battle of Five Armies, and somewhere in between uncontrollable crying, spending hours listening to the soundtracks of both trilogies, and muttering about the lack of Thranduil fanfiction (links somebody?), I started writing again. This chapter is a bit shorter than originally intended and I'm not completely happy with it, being so out of practice with writing, but the coronation scene got longer than I meant it to. I don't know how much time over the next few days I'll have to write, so here it is!
Disclaimer: I make no money from this work. Anything recognizable from The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R Tolkien.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Spring is Coming
Spring finally seemed to be coming. The air was getting warmer, the plants were budding, and the kitchen and medicinal gardens were turning greener with each day. It was like Sauron's invisible hand over Gondor had held the turning of the season at bay, and now we were touched with the breath of spring.
It was also the season of new beginnings and new hopes, Merry declared cheerfully after he'd wiped his face clear of tears when he'd seen Sam and Frodo resting in their beds. It was auspicious for a new age free of Mordor's reach, a new age of the rise of Men, and a time for me to figure out new hopes and new dreams. Waking up to spring air made me feel a little more optimistic about my uncertain future.
"When do you think the army will be back?" Merry asked, sitting on an overturned planter in the adjoining garden of Sam's room. The hobbit couldn't bring himself to be far from his brethren, and I'd joined him for a break from city-building in the afternoon.
"Soon I hope. The enemy army should have fallen apart with the end of the Ring. But it takes awhile to move that many men." It was pressing on my mind too. This wasn't over until I knew if everyone survived from the Fellowship and their assorted group.
"I don't suppose there's anything to be done from here that hasn't been done yet," Merry sighed. As soon as Frodo and Sam had arrived at the peak of Minas Tirith, Faramir had sent a messenger on their fastest steed to alert Aragorn. I'd craved to be that messenger, if only to see sooner what had become of Gondor's forces, but Faramir had been clear that wasn't an option. The land of Ithilien was still overrun with orcs, and it would have required traveling along the bleak mountains that bordered Mordor, which were no safer even with the Ring gone.
Merry started to hum a quiet tune from the Shire. "Do you think you could work a little more magic on him?" he asked.
"I think they're just tired," I said, shaking my head. I'd relented when Merry had appeared at my door early the day after Frodo and Sam's arrival and asked for a few "charms" over the two. My brand of "subtle" magic was gaining traction all over Minas Tirith, and the renown made me think of leaving the city. But to go where? Lothlórien and Lady Galadriel? All the way back to not-Fornost and into that field I'd arrived in?
It didn't feel quite over, the story of the Fellowship, not with Boromir and the rest still gone and Frodo asleep yet, but already I was thinking of what came after. Epilogues always skipped a few years; that unsteady transition from the absorbing influence of the storyline and back into routine.
So yesterday I'd wandered off after a lengthy breakfast and a false spell on Frodo and Sam and ended up talking about grafting fruit trees to a gardener on the fifth level for two hours instead of doing anything productive. There was a reason the epilogue glossed over those transitive years.
Today wasn't turning out much better. It was almost noon and Merry and I had only weeded an herb garden today. Merry had been terribly good at it too, because it had been a childhood punishment he said. I had gotten the hang of it after pulling up a few herbs and rather messily throwing dirt in both our faces.
"We ought to write a song, you know. Us hobbits I mean. Telling the story as we know it," Merry said suddenly. I was picking at a trellis climbing the wall, it's feelers stuck in the cracks of the rocks.
"You should! And I'll clap along since that's about all the good I am with music."
"Surely you can sing a bit or two?"
"No, no," I waved that notion away quickly. "I'm as bad as an orc's horn." That was a phrase I'd learned from one of the women on the second level who had an impressive set of vocal cords. I swear you could have heard her from across a soccer field, that's how loud she could yell—it didn't make the sound pretty though.
We discussed the point a little more, and when Merry sang me a basic chord I proved well enough that I couldn't even match a simple note. In the midst of all this waiting and restless idling, just as the world should work I suppose, exactly what we were waiting for arrived.
Merry's sharp ears heard the rustling of bed sheets first, and then the sound of someone coughing. He jumped up like the planter had gone red-hot under him and rushed into Sam's room.
"Sam! Good ol' Sam!" he cried as he hugged the stuffing out of the other hobbit. There wasn't as much stuffing as there should have been for a hobbit, which had worried Merry terribly when they'd first come in. Hobbits were not meant to be lean, and both Sam and Frodo had been thin. "You and Frodo did it! It's gone!"
"We did it," Sam said, marveling, hugging Merry back and repeated himself three more times. "We did it. We really did it! Aye, and it's good to see you, Merry."
The two hobbits eventually pulled back and just looked at each other, Merry tearing up and Sam's whole face trembling slightly like he didn't know whether to laugh, sing, cry, or grin.
I slipped back outside into the garden and leaned against the wall beside the door. It was a private moment for two of the hobbits of the Fellowship, and I wanted to let them have their time.
"Where's Mister Frodo?" I heard Sam ask.
"Not awake yet, but the healers say he's fine," Merry replied, voice drifting back on a spring breeze. The whole world seemed suffused with a bit more light now that one hobbit had woken. The last strings of the story were tying off one by one.
"I've got to see him. Mister Frodo, I mean, but all the rest too," came Sam's voice. Then Merry responded more lowly, and I could no longer make out the words. Not at least until Merry returned to the doorway.
"I wanted you to meet him, but he's asleep now."
"That's okay, I bet he's tired. What he and Frodo did was… it could not be repeated." I didn't know how to say miraculous, or awe-inspiring, or heroic, or any word that could possibly describe the sacrifice and struggle they'd been through. Maybe there wasn't even a word for it.
"Yeah," Merry said, bouncing back from the somber topic. "What's it called, you said? The waiting game?"
It was a waiting game, not just for Frodo but also for the army to return. I met Sam a few hours later, after the healers had declared him healthy, just exhausted. Sam had made clear he was also starving, so he was in a bit of a food coma when I finally approached his bedside.
"This is Lady Maddie," Merry introduced, as I shyly stood by the foot of the bed. Sam was not in the least intimidating, but I knew better than anyone right now what he and Frodo had gone through.
"It's nice to meet you," I curtsied.
"She can see a bit of the future," Merry explained, holding Sam's hand gently. "She helped out the rest of the Fellowship, especially Boromir, during the fighting." Then the hobbit whispered something else in Sam's ear that made his eyes go wide. I tried not to let my smile fall into a playful grimace at Merry.
"Well you do me a great honor, Lady Maddie," Sam said with a smile. He really did have the air of a gentle neighborly hobbit, so it was all the more amazing how he'd endured the trials to Mount Doom.
"You don't have to call me lady. And I probably can't do three quarters of the things Merry's told you."
"Well it's some sort of magic," he said stoutly, "if you're about slaying Black Riders and knowing a bit of the future."
"Some sort of magic," I conceded. We spent a few more minutes talking about Minas Tirith and small, meaningless things. Sam didn't seem to have any desire to talk about what had happened to him, not until Frodo woke. Merry was just happy to see them both alive, and I think it eased some of the ache in him for Pippin.
I actually missed Frodo's grand awakening a day later, but Merry was there, and Sam jumped out of bed, scaring the healers, so he could be there. I was rather nervous about meeting Frodo, who occupied such a fantastical place in the story. He turned out to be a rather diminished hobbit and somber, but I found staring at his little body in that big bed, that I still thought him remarkable. He'd resisted the corruption of the Ring almost until the end, after all.
"Thank you, then, I suppose," he murmured, looking inward and not at me, after Merry and Sam had told him about me. I was sitting by his bedside, Sam on the bed and Merry at the foot.
"I didn't do anything," I demurred.
We waited in silence, but Frodo was not outspoken. What the Ring had done to him was impossible to fathom, but it had changed him on a fundamental level; opened him to worlds of thought no mortal had ever traversed before. He still seemed to be coming to terms with it, though he perked up whenever he looked at the two hobbits beside him.
"What of Gandalf?" he asked slowly. "They say he was here."
"He's the White now," Merry explained quickly. "Bit different, bit the same. Probably still does fireworks." Sam and I chuckled, but Frodo barely twitched. I wondered if he would have been diagnosed with PTSD or something in my time. It certainly would have made sense given what he'd gone through.
"He's not normally like that," Merry reassured me later, as we left Frodo and Sam to chat. "It's just…"
"The Ring changed him," I supplied. "It's okay, I understand." Merry seemed disheartened with how Frodo acted, but I had not been expecting enthusiasm. Frodo seemed both happy to be rid of the Ring, but also in that tiny bit of his heart, missing it, because the Ring's influence would never fully leave him. I didn't know how to tell Merry that, but perhaps he knew and mourned the young, carefree Frodo he'd known.
Three days later, Frodo had recovered some of his good humor, enough to enjoy Merry's retelling of his adventures, and I had bitten my nails down to the quick as I stalked the parapets. I had become very familiar with every messenger in the Gondorian army, annoyed Faramir to the breaking point, and was still pacing holes into the floor.
The Fellowship and the rest of the Gondorian and Rohirrim combined armies were due back today. No word of any major deaths had been sent back to Gondor, but that was no guarantee. I didn't feel like this story was over until the Fellowship was reunited again, and I didn't feel like my story was going to be over until that happened either. It left me on edge for several days and quite the mess.
For all that waiting though, it seemed abruptly over and forgotten as soon as the trumpets rang out—flags, spotted to the north!
I'd just reached the courtyard that led to the stairs to the lower levels when Éowyn appeared, breathless and hair full of flyways. She took one look at me and I knew she didn't know if she could grin that they were home, or turn white with fear that her brother was not with them.
"Miladies," a guard trotted up to us, interrupting the moment. "Lord Faramir is below, and he requests dignitaries and nobles to come and await the armies."
The orders shored up Éowyn's courage, because she looked at me and said, "You might want to change."
I was wearing one of the older dresses of mine because I hadn't expected to do more than pace and chat with the hobbits, who hardly cared what I wore.
"And I suppose the cloak too?" I said, even as my heart wasn't in the joke. In fact, my heart seemed to be erratically beating in my chest, drumming a mixture of fear and anticipation.
"It has to be the wizard one. You ought to braid your hair or something too," she added.
"No one's going to be looking at me," I griped but I yanked on the cloak, adjusting it haphazardly on my shoulders, and then pulled a brush quickly through my hair to hurry this up. Éowyn helped me to make two simple braids to hold my hair back, and as I looked in the mirror at myself I thought: This is how I will be seen, for good or ill. If everyone survived, as I knew they did in the books, it would be a triumphant look. If not… I shook my head and pasted a smile on my face for Éowyn.
"There is always someone looking," she said. "It's something you learn early." Her gaze became distant for a half second, and I noticed the gap between us that was so easy to forget with Éowyn.
And then the chasm disappeared and we were both just women whose hopes for the moment turned on seeing familiar faces coming home. I hoped for both our sakes I was right and they'd all come back.
We took the horses down, but it was slow as the few guards left in Minas Tirith forged a path for us. The crowds had already appeared, the elderly, women, and children of Gondor and it's nearby cities squeezing onto the streets and overhangs to see the returning army. People called to me thanks and praise, which was overwhelming my already tested nerves. The banner of the King of Gondor had already been identified, and people were cheering for Aragorn. There was no word yet on the Steward's banner, but as Éowyn said, he was likely marching in a different part of the army to help control it. Cold comfort, but I would take anything.
When we reached the first level I saw Faramir in formal dress on a set of stairs to a great building, now crumbling and seemingly cut in half by a boulder. It was missing its roof and second story, the front wall crumbling, and blood staining some of the white stone, but somehow it looked proud still with stiff-backed Faramir, the elderly nobility of Gondor, and Éowyn standing in front of it. Merry remained on Thunor so he'd be above the crowd and able to see.
It took a long time for the army to approach and we could hardly see anything through the broken gate, but as more and more of it became clear the watchers on the wall shouted out house banners and companies as they recognized them. Some of the people crowded below us cried, but whether in joy that a company had returned or that one had been skipped, I couldn't tell.
"More banners, milords!" One watcher called, and started to shout down house names. I didn't know which house Boromir was in, but as he ran down the list Éowyn suddenly squeezed my arm.
"That's him! The House of the Steward!" she said excitedly. "If they have raised the banner then it means Lord Boromir is beneath it!"
I felt a bit faint with relief, and my knees wobbled dangerously. I had to crane forward to see Faramir, but he seemed to be biting back a smile. When he glanced my way we made eye contact, and I felt the grin spread across my face before I could help it. He'd survived! I hoped that meant the rest had too.
Others besides the Gondorian army began to be called out—the Rangers were declared, as were the Rohirrim, and at least one group of Elves. When the Rohirrim were named, Éowyn immediately shouted about the flag with the white horse on it, and when it was confirmed she put her face in her hands to hide her tears.
"He made it," she said, breathing a little harder than necessary when she lifted her face again, her eyes red-rimmed. "It seems as though they have all made it."
"But what about Pippin!" Merry demanded, still sitting on Thunor next to the stairs so he would be eyelevel with everyone. "Has anyone seen him?"
"Master Hobbit, the guards are not Elves, but I promise should anyone see him I will have you alerted as soon as possible," Faramir swore.
My feet were starting to ache from standing in one spot for so long, but soon enough the trumpets began to ring in chorus, the sign that the army had finally reached the gate. Everyone in Minas Tirith collectively held their breath as the clipping of horses and the clatter of armor started to rise in a crescendo until Aragorn and Éomer, followed closely by Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, and a tiny curly-haired hobbit, clattered into Minas Tirith. The cheering poured forth in a rush to greet them, their worn and dirtied faces lightening it seemed with every flower thrown at them. The flag of Gondor's King waved bravely behind them sending the people into an uproar.
I felt like I wasn't quite standing there anymore, like I was watching the movie again and I was seeing the great return through a screen. I don't think my heart quite knew how to take this overload of emotion, so I stood there frozen as Faramir joyously praised the soon-to-be-King and the Fellowship, and then embraced his brother.
I barely even felt Éowyn push past me to hug Éomer. Then Pippin and Merry's voices joined the shouting as they came together and then cried as the news was passed among the Fellowship: Frodo and Sam had returned and were well.
I saw the intense emotion on Aragorn's face at the news, and Boromir too looked overwhelmed for a second with joy, and I knew neither of them had found it too painful to hope for them to survive. The rest too, indeed, seemed almost euphoric.
"—And many thanks too, for the truthful words of our fair lady! It heartened the Men to hear of victory," boomed Gimli, who grabbed my hand and pressed a very bristly kiss on the back of my hand. I jerked out of the daze very suddenly and almost tripped down a step when Gimli yelled a greeting to Merry and picked the hobbit up.
"Indeed," echoed Boromir who was laughing as he watched. "Many a man stood strong with your promise remembered. And to have all the Fellowship together at least is a blessing none of us foresaw." He smiled through grime and bloodied armor, looking elated, and I think I started to cry then, or maybe I started to cry harder.
"You're alive," I cried in English, and Boromir stepped up another step with his arms a little out to his sides, the universal sign of a hug. So I threaded my shaky arms around his neck with the aid of a few more inches from the stairs and clung on. "I wasn't sure, but you are. You are."
"I am glad you are well," he said, slowly pulling away. I flushed as we stared at one another, only to be broken by a gentle tap on Boromir's shoulder by Gandalf.
"The King goes ahead. As Steward you should join him," he said, eyes twinkling at the two of us. Boromir waved me farewell and mounted up again, and the din of the crowd came back in a rush and suddenly all I could hear was crying and laughter, sorrow and joy all mixed up together as men continued to stream into the city.
"You have done well, Maddie," Gandalf said warmly. His robes were actually muddied and his beard a bit shorter than I remembered, but he was alive and well too. "What you do now is entirely up to you—of course, there are celebrations and coronations first. And feasts, since there are four hobbits to honor. I could not imagine missing those."
I smiled, but it was wobbly from a mix of deep happiness and even deeper burrowed fear he'd touched. "You're right, I couldn't miss that." I wiped the tears from my face, smiled and hugged Pippin, and counted the people I saw. It was amazing to realize they all came back. A happy ending indeed, even if endings never really happened.
Legolas, who was standing not far from us, gave me a look I couldn't read as Gandalf returned to Shadowfax and helped Merry up while Pippin pulled away and got a lift from Faramir. As Gimli mounted up with help from two Gondorian soldiers, Legolas approached me.
"The Elves of Lothlórien will stay for the coronation," he said, and I felt surprised and then guilty that I had not thought of Erynion until now, being so caught up with the Fellowship's story. "I am told you traveled with one for a time. I do not believe he was one of the fallen."
He gave me a slight smile before springing up behind Gimli and trotting off. I smiled back, relieved. When I looked up to mount Thunor, I saw Boromir smiling at his people from horseback, following in the wake of his king, the Ring gone, Middle Earth freed, and I felt a swelling of pride fill me so quickly I thought I might burst. They were all here to see this day.
After the initial celebrating of the army's return there was no feasting, dancing, or joyful songs about heroes in Minas Tirith. Instead there were funerals and fires burning in the fields for hours and dirges sung. I didn't have a black dress, but one of the ladies lent me one of hers, and I stood in solidarity with the people of Middle Earth—Men, Elves, Hobbits and Dwarf—to mourn.
A lot of people were lost; I was among the very few who didn't know someone personally who had died, and I was eternally thankful for that. No one could give me numbers, but the orcs had been in the tens of thousands. By dawn the next day soldiers who were well enough were deployed to make sure the roving bands left after Sauron's demise wouldn't band together to attack the city. The Rohirrim ran scouting missions with the Elves, and those left in the city continue to heal and repair the damage.
It was three days of mourning, as per Gondorian tradition. During that time I got soldiers situated in shelters and homes, keeping busy through the memorials and outpouring of pain from the people of Minas Tirith. Everyone was busy in fact. Aragorn, Boromir, and Faramir were governing the city and the army, while Legolas became the liaison for the Elves and Gimli worked on building repairs. The hobbits stayed mostly in Frodo's room, recovering not just from their trials but also from newfound fame. Éowyn had to support Éomer as he was acting King of Rohan, and she had many of her own funerals to go to; not one company had been spared a death.
When the burying and wailing were done though, ribbons and garlands came up all over the city at dawn. The bakers were sold out within an hour of opening, and the food stores in the city were opened to all. Instead of the dour black dresses, everyone wore bright, gay colors to herald spring and celebration. I got to wear my lavender Elvish dress again, which thankfully clashed horribly with the red cape.
I only spent the morning today in the healing wards because Aragorn was hosting a private, celebratory lunch for those closest to the Fellowship. I had been invited, which was an honor, even if I'd been addressed as: "the Witch, Lady Maddie of the Order of Secret Fire" by the messenger. I wondered if there was an official document I could change my title on.
I adjusted the bodice on the Elvish dress as I opened the door to the hallway and almost walked into Boromir, who I definitely expected to be pouring over work until seconds before the lunch. He seemed the type to throw himself into it. He wore a silvery grey tunic with red trim that went well with his eyes, and while there was still a healing cut on his cheek, he looked a lot better than the passing moments I'd seen him over the last few days.
"Hello!" I said, surprised to see him. He looked a little takenaback, so I quickly smiled. "Sorry, you startled me."
"My apologies, I was about to knock. I… May I walk you to lunch?" taken aback
"Of course, I'm not even sure where it is," I admitted. "How are you?"
"Busy, but well," he answered shortly as we walked. "There is much in the city to do before the kingdom arises anew."
"And Aragorn? How's he adjusting?" We discussed it a bit, but Boromir didn't seem much interested in talking about his job, and I didn't blame him, so slowly conversation tapered off and began to get awkward. I wasn't used to feeling that way with Boromir, but ever since that moment before he left for war—well, I'd been trying not to think about it.
He cut through a courtyard and then as we passed by a balcony overlooking some of the gardens Boromir stopped.
"I wanted to thank you for your favor," he said, looking down before back at me. "Many a blade evaded my horse and I as we rode into battle." I was about to ask what he was talking about, but he uncurled his hand and held out a pink ribbon, now very tarnished and more than a little tattered.
It took me a moment to place the ribbon. In Rohan I'd bedecked Thunor in pink ribbons and tied my spare one to the saddle of Boromir's mount. I didn't expect it to last through a race to Gondor and a battle. "I'm surprised it made it," I admitted, and Boromir's smiled relaxed. "You're welcome, then."
"I know you say you do not have magic, but I fear I disagree with you." His smile became teasing and I started to feel a bit flustered. "May I keep it?"
"Of course!" I said immediately, and as he took a step back I realized we were standing a lot closer than normal. As Boromir slip the faded pink ribbon into his breast pocket, I wondered if maybe there hadn't been a bit of magic on it after all.
One month later I was twenty-six years old (give-or-take) and Aragorn was to be crowned king. It was probably the biggest celebration in the last thousand years by my understanding, and the guest list was enormous.
As a birthday gift Éowyn had gotten me a new dress in dark blue with silvery trim for the coronation, which was easily the most expensive gift I'd ever received. I told everyone—including Éowyn—not to do anything for my birthday because no one much celebrated birthdays in Gondor, but Éowyn ignored that as did the hobbits, who did celebrate birthdays and were much offended when I said it was okay to ignore mine. They cooked a huge meal of all my favorite things for myself, the Fellowship, and whoever walked by. Everyone had to keep coming and going from the meal because preparations and repairs to the city were constant work, but it was pleasure enough to see all the people important to me at some point in a day.
Then guests started arriving for the coronation. First lords and ladies from other Gondorian cities, all in carriages and jewels, cluttering up the balconies I liked to spend my free time in. I helped to find places for all of them in the empty rooms on the sixth and seventh floors, and make sure their horses were all stabled too. I learned a greater appreciation for hotel managers in the week of organizing that required.
Then the Elves came, including Lord Elrond and his family, who I recognized immediately. Lady Arwen drew a lot of whispers and stares when she arrived, but no one looked more love-struck or awed than Aragorn. We didn't see much of her after they arrived, but the rest of the Elves lingered in my favorite gardens when they weren't visiting the Lothlórien soldiers still camping out outside the walls.
It was there that I met Lady Galadriel for the first and only time in my life (and without much desire to see her again, as she was completely terrifying). I was out there to visit Erynion, who I hadn't seen yet because of the mourning days. I should have remembered that Elves' sense of time was slower than humans' though, because three days was not nearly long enough to mourn the loss of someone who had lived two millennia. For immortals there is no harder blow than the loss of one who could have lived forever.
The Elves didn't wear black or act particularly different, but the whole camp was solemn when I approached, and conversation was stilted. I met Ethiron, Erynion's brother, again, but neither was particularly lively. When I turned to leave after telling Erynion I was happy he was alive, even if he did overfeed Thunor, horns started to blow from all over.
"What is it?" I asked, turning around sharply.
"The Lady comes," Erynion said, rising from where he'd been sitting and quietly feeding Thunor crabapples when I was looking.
"Can I meet Lady Galadriel?" I asked him, feeling suddenly energized at the thought. She had her own ability of foresight and more wisdom than any other Elf, so she could help me—maybe to get home even.
"She chooses whom to see."
"So who do I ask to see her?" I pressed, but Erynion ignored me. "Ethiron?"
"Inquire with her guards. But Lady Galadriel goes on to the city quickly."
I waited around with Thunor and the two brothers until the dust cloud in the distance revealed white and palomino horses all cantering in time, their silvery harnesses glinting in the sun. At the lead was Lord Celeborn, Lady Galadriel's husband. He pulled in with the first few guards to greet his kinsmen, and then shortly after the Lady herself arrived.
I thought Arwen was stunning, and all Elves in general beautiful, but Lady Galadriel was something else. She radiated a kind of power and wisdom coupled with ageless beauty like the moon. She dismounted and spoke in Elvish to the soldiers around her, moving surely through the crowd that parted before her.
I felt very small when she glanced between the guards surrounding her and our eyes met. Her stare seemed to know me, reading me even from a distance. I had to lean back against Thunor as she approached lest I fall down as she closed the distance and stopped right before me.
"You are Maddie, not of this world."
I nodded.
"What question have you for me?" she asked, and I felt the words radiate inside me. My blank mind immediately filled with clamoring questions about purposes and whys, hows and ifs.
Now that it's over, do I stay here in Middle Earth, or do I go home?
She heard me even though I never said the words. I knew abstractly she could read minds, but feeling that presence of age and light in your head was humbling.
"Know what you are willing to let go of—and what you already have. Stay or go, but commit to your path."
And then she was turning away, but an afterimage of her face filled with soft light lingered with me. How did the Elves stand it? I wondered, as she walked away. It was like staring at the bright white moon so hard that every time you blinked you saw it again in reds and greens—except with Lady Galadriel it wasn't just the image but her words repeating in my head.
I wanted to say something to Erynion, but there was nothing to say. Erynion handed me back my reins and let Thunor nudge the side of my head. "The Lady Galadriel sees many things. Heed her words," he said, and he helped me up into the saddle.
Know what to let go of, I thought to myself. Know what I already have. What have I let go of? My love of iced coffee? Not my parents surely, or hope of home. But I wasn't sure what the answer was or even if I was right about that, only that I couldn't change my mind once I knew it.
