The Rohan Pride Trilogy

Epilogue: Recovery

Book One

By: WhiteLadyOfTroy

Summary:
The War of the Ring is over, and it is time for Gúthwyn to return home with the children. Yet things are not as they used to be, and many changes are in store for her, whether she would welcome them or not.

About the Epilogue:
I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. The Fellowship of the Ring had two books within the text, as did The Two Towers and The Return of the King. The only change I have made is the first part in my Trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where The Fellowship of the Ring started. Recovery will be divided into two books.

About Chapter Thirty-Seven:
The upcoming events are based off of what I have learned from the appendices and various sources concerning the aftermath of the War of the Ring. I wish more was known, but unfortunately, it is not—thus, I have had to do much guesswork and fill in my own beliefs about what happened. Please bear with me.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

His sword glints in the sunlight;
Twirling, flashing, dancing.
A whisper in the wind,
A streak of rushing metal;
Yet it is not the beauty he seeks to destroy.
The warrior.
He sees the good in all things;
Living, dying, awake, asleep.
Kind and generous, unassuming and humble,
Willing to put himself in danger for those he loves;
Yet it is not in vain.
My brother.

A sigh escaped Gúthwyn, long and mournful. It dissipated into the air, lost amidst the cheerful civilians going about their business. They had plenty to be joyful about: Summer was upon them, the weather was perfect, and even in this early season the harvest was promising to be good. And so their faces were smiling, their hearts light, and no cloud soiled their futures.

In stark contrast to them was the sister of their king, clad as usual in a grey dress. No trace of happiness graced her features, nor did she stir as a playful breeze danced across her cheeks. Though the temperature was warm, she wore a dark cloak, wrapping it tightly around herself and occasionally breathing in its scent. Some of the people glanced at her as they walked by, but it was an unspoken sentiment that on the seventh of June, something had made their lady retreat into a deep sadness, and it was not in their place to interfere.

Borogor, Gúthwyn thought listlessly, gazing out unseeingly across the lands. I miss you more than you could ever know… the children wish you were here, as well—Haiweth is nearly nine now, and Hammel…

She could not complete the sentence, even if it was in her mind. Her eyes welled up with tears unshed—not once had she cried for him, not in all the three years it had been since he had died—and she blinked rapidly to clear them away, not wanting the guards to see. They had been watching her concernedly ever since she stepped out onto the landing hours ago, silently and with a slump to her shoulders. Ceorl had gone over and inquired as to whether she was feeling well, but she had made some excuse about having a cold.

Éomer, too, had noticed her discontent, though had also been placated by her story. It was not uncommon for her to fall ill: Mordor had weakened her immune system, leaving her susceptible to whatever sickness was passing through Edoras. Hammel and Haiweth, luckily, had escaped this, though Hammel did occasionally get runny noses. Yet it was no disease that had brought her out here to sit, still as the subject of a painting, and reflect miserably on her life. It was because the one person who should have never left her side, the one person she had wholly relied on physically and mentally, was gone.

The book she held in her hands, now opening automatically to where "The Warrior" should have been, was one of the few things she had to remember him by. The cloak she wore was another; with a pang, she remembered him placing it gently on her shoulders whenever she got the chills. His pack, which she had kept hidden in her bottom drawer ever since her return home after the War of the Ring, was the last. Some of his scent had faded away, disturbing her because she was afraid that in time, she would even forget what he looked like.

That will never happen, she told herself firmly, clutching Beregil's book tightly to her chest. He is the one man I have ever loved—the only man I will ever love.

Nay, she would always be able to recall the sight of his warm brown eyes, the feel of his hand in hers, the sounds of their swords clashing and the fierce panting as they wrestled frantically with each other. But to have experienced the sensation of his lips pressed against hers; not when the flesh was lifeless, and the grief in her heart so overwhelming that it turned her numb. A lover's kiss, given as they lay under the stars at night, or on their wedding day…

Stop tormenting yourself! she shouted angrily, drawing in a breath that was shaking from the lump in her throat. He is no longer alive! He will never kiss you! He will never marry you! He will never father your children!

Children. The thought occurred to her almost guiltily, and she shrank from it. To give birth to a son or a daughter was to have allowed someone the pleasure of her body—to have allowed someone to make love to her. Nausea swelled within her at the idea. After all that Haldor had done to her, she never wanted to be beneath an Elf or a man again. She never wanted to show herself so intimately to another, or spread her legs to accommodate the settling figure of a lover.

"Gúthwyn?"

She jumped nearly a foot in the air, terror flooding through her veins, before she realized that the speaker was Lothíriel. "H-Hello," she said cautiously, craning her neck to look up at the queen.

For a moment, Lothíriel did not speak, and Gúthwyn thought back on their recent interactions. After she had defeated the other woman on the training grounds, they had barely spoken to each other. It was not that they were avoiding conversation; yet, for one reason or another, their paths never seemed to cross anymore. Gúthwyn was still spending much of her time with Tun, whereas Lothíriel was either in her chambers gossiping with Nethiel or in council with Éomer's advisors. The only times they were in the same room together were during meals and whenever Gúthwyn was in the company of Éomer.

But even though they had rarely so much as discussed the weather, Gúthwyn was aware that the inexplicable tensions between them had not gone away. Lothíriel was frostier than usual to the children; even Haiweth, who had met hardly a soul who could resist her vivacious personality, was finding her efforts to be nice to the queen deterred. Hammel had long ago given up, and confided to her that he, also, had detected the lingering disapproval with which Lothíriel viewed them.

"May I ask what it is you are reading?"

Gúthwyn started, and then glanced at Beregil's book. "The Warrior" was in plain view. Hastily, she closed it, not wanting Lothíriel to see what she had not shown to even Cobryn or Éomer. "Ah…" she began, not sure of how to respond to the question satisfyingly enough without revealing the answer.

"Your diary?" Lothíriel inquired, leaning against a pillar as she spoke. Her eyes flicked around, as if searching for a quill. "I used to keep one myself, though I was long ago forced to give up the habit. There was simply no time. Yet I remember that I would write down everything… my hopes and dreams, the men I secretly (and often foolishly) admired from afar…"

Gúthwyn blinked, wondering at this sudden confidence. "That is nice," she said awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

"You know," Lothíriel mused, sitting down beside Éomund's daughter gracefully, "I have been thinking about what some of the advisors have been discussing of late."

"What is that?" Gúthwyn questioned, as she was supposed to.

Lothíriel lowered her voice, and said, "Your marriage."

Alarm spread rapidly throughout Gúthwyn. She straightened, and demanded, "When did they start talking about this again?"

"Recently," Lothíriel answered with a wave of her hand, as if to say such details were not important. "But one thing that struck me as odd was that they were not approaching you about the subject. Surely you would like to partake in these meetings?"

"They are having meetings about it?" Gúthwyn asked, feeling the beginnings of panic worm their way into her. "Why has no one told me of this?"

"Oh, not whole meetings," Lothíriel assured her. "Just now and then, whenever there is a spare moment…"

"I do not wish to get married," Gúthwyn said bluntly.

For an instant, a look of surprise crossed Lothíriel's face, but she swiftly recovered. "Now, surely you do not mean that," she said, smiling indulgently. "There must be someone whom your heart has been turned to of late."

For half a second, the thought that Lothíriel knew who Borogor was raced through Gúthwyn's mind. Then she realized that not even Éomer knew his name, and that such fears were needless. "N-No, there is not," she replied hastily, stuttering somewhat on her words.

"I can see it in your eyes," Lothíriel said knowingly. Gúthwyn paled, and quickly looked away.

A hand was placed on her shoulder. Gúthwyn flinched, then stiffened as Lothíriel's quiet voice entered her ears. "Gúthwyn, I am only trying to help you," the queen said. "It matters not to me whom you love—I will not ridicule you for it. But since you have small desire to attend the councils, I might be able to suggest the man, and perhaps even turn the negotiations in his favor."

"There is no one," Gúthwyn responded, more vehemently than she had intended to. "I do not want to become a wife. Not now, not ever. Please, if you wish to help me, then tell them not to waste their breath on finding me a husband!"

Though her face was turned away from Lothíriel's, she could picture the queen's shocked expression. "But surely there has to be a man you watch from a distance, or whose presence makes your heart race even the tiniest bit? If you are afraid that Éomer will be angry with you—"

"Lothíriel," Gúthwyn interjected, curling one of her hands into a tight fist. This was too much. Out of all the days the queen could have approached her, it had to be on that of Borogor's death. "There is no one. I do not love anyone. If I did, Éomer's approval would only be a small factor in my decision to marry them. There is no one!"

A pause worked its way between them, until Lothíriel said, "Then, what of the children? Do you not think they deserve a father?"

"I have been raising them well enough on my own," Gúthwyn retorted sharply. "The answer to all of your questions is no. Please, I have no desire to discuss this!"

Abruptly, Lothíriel stood. "I shall tell them what you have told me," she said, her voice cold. "Though I do not think that will be enough to deter them, as only Éomer is even half listening to Cobryn." With that, she walked away, and Gúthwyn heard the shutting of the doors a few seconds afterwards. She flinched. It had not been her intention to lash out and anger the queen—she could understand why Lothíriel was frustrated, as she had only been trying to help. She had reached out with a kind offer and was met with a stubborn, outright refusal; yet what else could Gúthwyn have done?

She found herself repeating Lothíriel's words: Only Éomer is even half listening to Cobryn. Well, she knew now that Cobryn, at least, was adamant about keeping her wishes predominant. But it troubled her that Éomer still wanted her to get married. Did he not realize that she had no interest? Had she not told him so on countless occasions? However, the worst thing was that he was absolutely justified in wanting her to find a husband, and that according to society she was in the wrong. An unmarried woman who had two children… Even though they were not her own, it still appeared suspicious to the casual observer.

Sighing heavily, Gúthwyn wrapped her arms around her knees and drew them close to her chest. Horrible feelings of guilt worked their way through her as she thought of discussing marriage on the day that Borogor died. She had the strongest urge to apologize to him, though she had not encouraged Lothíriel in the least. Why did you have to go? she wondered, for what must have been the hundredth time that day. Why did you have to leave?

"My lady?"

Startled, Gúthwyn glanced up to see Tun ascending the stairs. "Hello, Tun," she said quietly, giving him a sad smile.

He frowned. "Is everything all right?"

Gúthwyn nodded. "I am just a little tired," she replied. "It is nothing."

Her champion was silent for a moment, and in that time she noticed something off about him. He seemed strangely jittery: He kept shifting back and forth on his feet, and his eyes were darting around. Yet before she had a chance to inquire, he said, "I… I was wondering—ah, do you know where… where Éomer is?"

Slightly surprised, Gúthwyn nevertheless pointed at the doors. "He is inside, probably finishing his lunch."

"Thank you," Tun said, though he did not seem at all inclined to enter the Golden Hall.

"Do you have a message from Erkenbrand?" Gúthwyn asked, puzzling at this. "I can deliver it to him, if you would like."

"What? Oh, no, that is… that is fine. Excuse me," he said hastily, his face pale. With that, he made to go towards the doors. Yet she reached up and took his hand, stopping him.

"Are you feeling ill?" she asked concernedly.

"No, I am fine, thank you," he responded swiftly. "I am a little nervous, though." Then he flushed, as if he had not meant to let that fall from his lips.

"Éomer is no longer angry with you," Gúthwyn assured him. "I spoke to him about it awhile ago."

Indeed, she had, though there was something about her brother's answer that had been unusual. He had seemed rather subdued, and his voice had been weary as he told her that he did not have a grudge against her champion. However, Gúthwyn had attributed it to the fact that he was simply tired from all his work. She could only begin to imagine how much effort it took to manage a kingdom; she had barely lasted the months that he had been away on campaigns against the foes of King Elessar.

"He… he is not?" Tun questioned tentatively, a hopeful look flickering across his face.

"He is not," Gúthwyn confirmed, and this time her smile was wider.

"Thank you, my lady," Tun said. He let go of her hand and then walked to the doors. One of the guards, for reasons unbeknownst to Gúthwyn, smirked at him as he held them open.

Once her champion was out of sight, however, Gúthwyn's posture slumped, and she again wrapped herself in her gloomy thoughts. Her birthday was approaching soon; she was dreading it. Out of all the people she had met during her seven years as a thrall, only Borogor had known the significance of the thirteenth of June. He had been the only one to wish her a happy birthday, the only one who had done his best to make the day worthwhile for her.

Now, without him, Gúthwyn just wanted a pair of invisible hands to turn the clock of her life forward, so that she could skip her birthday entirely. Something was bound to happen to make it awful—last year, she had been in the midst of a fever, and spent the entire day throwing up uncontrollably. At least with Borogor, she had been able to lean on his shoulder, and feel the warmth of his body as he comforted her and held her against the reality of what Haldor had done to her. She almost would rather relive those memories than make new ones.

Her troubled gaze lifted from her knees, and wandered out to the main street of Edoras. Hammel and Haiweth were amongst the people somewhere, not knowing that this was the day Borogor had died. Well, Haiweth certainly did not—Hammel had likely put two and two together to figure it out long ago. Her thoughts drifted back to what Lothíriel had said: What of the children? Do you not think they deserve a father?

Tears swelled in her eyes. But for Faramir, they would have had a father: She had become the mother to them that no one else was, and how many times had Borogor watched over them while she was at Haldor's tent? More than she could begin to count, that was for certain. He had tended to Haiweth when she had been taken by a fever, Gúthwyn unable to watch over her due to exhaustion.

And now he was gone. Buried somewhere in Ithilien, never to see her or the children again. Gúthwyn could not stop her shoulders from shaking, but she determinedly kept her eyes dry. Sometimes it felt as if all the tears she had yet to spill for him were steadily building up, the amount growing by the day. But she could not bring herself to do it; her sadness was beyond crying, her grief too vast to adequately mourn him.

As she sat there, misery shrouding her so tightly that she could almost see its cloak, the sights before her became a mere blur, blending together until only Borogor was visible. There was another figure behind him. Beregil it was, smiling gently at her, the wounds she had last seen marring his body now completely healed. For what felt like years, she watched the brothers, unable to reach out and touch them but knowing that they were with her.

Then the sound of a door opening reverberated against the corners of her mind. She blinked. Borogor and Beregil vanished.

"Hello, my lady," she heard behind her.

Only somewhat disappointed, Gúthwyn turned around to see Tun. Contrary to his demeanor upon entering the Golden Hall, he was now smiling so broadly that it was as if there was no luckier man in the world than he.

"You seem happy," Gúthwyn commented, the corners of her mouth twitching. His gaiety was infectious, though she knew not what it was for.

"No words can describe it," he murmured, his eyes fixed on hers. "My lady, there are some things I must do—farewell!"

"Wait!" she called after him, as he made to go down the stairs. He paused, and looked back at her. "What did you and Éomer talk about?"

For a moment, he said nothing. His cheeks were flushed, and his breathing was coming quicker than usual. Then he grinned. "Everything," he said.

With that, he turned away, and hummed a little tune as he walked down the stairs.

That evening, Gúthwyn's chair at the dinner table was pulled out for her by none other than her champion. Éomer had invited Erkenbrand and Tun to dine with them, as he and the Marshal had been discussing the affairs of the Westfold until late in the evening. The servants had added the extra seats, and were now setting the food before them.

"Thank you," Gúthwyn said as her chair was pushed in. She smiled a little at Tun, though her spirits were low and she did not have the heart for much conversation.

"It was my pleasure," Tun replied, and sat down beside her. Hammel and Haiweth were on her other side; across from her was Éomer. Completing the group were Lothíriel, Erkenbrand, and Cobryn.

"Sister, how are you feeling?"

Gúthwyn glanced up to see Éomer looking concernedly at her.

"Excuse me?" she asked, confused.

"You said that you had a cold," he explained, raising his eyebrows quizzically. "Is that not so now?"

"Oh, right," Gúthwyn said, remembering what she had told him. "My head is clearing up, thank you."

"That is good to know," he remarked in relief. "I would not want you getting sick like you did last year."

Gúthwyn winced. It had been the very same fever that had caused her to spend her birthday leaning over the chamber pot—for nearly two weeks, she had alternately battled the chills and a burning heat that made her whimper and moan in anguish. Luckily, it had only spread to Hammel in a mild form, and Haiweth had been unaffected by it.

Frowning, Tun asked, "That was on your birthday, was it not?"

She nodded, and responded with only the slightest trace of bitterness, "It was a wonderful day."

Cobryn's lips tugged upwards in a wry smile. "From what I have heard, you and your birthday do not share a tightly-knit friendship."

Gúthwyn shrugged, not wanting to admit how close to the mark he was.

"Erkenbrand, how fares your sister?" Lothíriel then inquired.

The Marshal answered her question to the best of his knowledge, and so the dinner began. Gúthwyn divided her time between talking to Tun and convincing Haiweth to eat her vegetables; both activities were a welcome diversion from her thoughts, which had haunted her relentlessly the entire day. She did not wish to remember Borogor now—she would not be able to conceal her misery from the others.

It seemed to take forever for the meal to end. Outwardly, she maintained a façade of normality, in that she spoke easily with her companions and laughed at many of the jokes. Yet her heart was not in the ordeal, and she longed for the opportunity to retreat to her bed so that she might put this day behind her. Disparagingly, it was far from over; nay, she was willing to bet everything she owned that the nightmares would hold her in a fierce grip tonight.

She shivered, trying not to think of the darkness, and for a long time she was quiet. Such was her thought that she almost did not notice Tun trying to get her attention. It was only when he put a gentle hand on her arm that she blinked, glanced up, and asked, "I am sorry, what were you saying?"

"I was wondering if I could convince you to go on a walk with me," her champion said quietly.

The request was unusual, and for a moment Gúthwyn puzzled over it. Then she nodded. "Of course."

Looking around her, she saw that those at the table had finished eating and were now entertaining themselves with light conversation and casual banter. Éomer was speaking with Erkenbrand; when there was a lull in their speech, Tun leaned forward and inquired, "My lord, may Gúthwyn and I take leave?"

Éomer's head swiveled towards them so fast that for an instant Gúthwyn thought his neck would snap. "What?"

"We will just be walking outside," Gúthwyn explained, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his anxiety.

For a moment, her brother merely looked at her. Then he swallowed, his face suddenly wooden, and said gruffly, "As you wish."

Gúthwyn and Tun rose. "Behave," Éomund's daughter cautioned the children.

Haiweth made a face at the word, but Hammel merely nodded. His eyes flicked back and forth between her and her champion. "Have fun," he said.

She smiled a little, and turned away. Yet before she and Tun departed the hall, she caught a glimpse of Cobryn's face. He was watching the two of them intently, his eyes narrowed—in studiousness, not in anger. Something in his expression made her pause for a second; it was different, strange. But then Tun offered her his arm, and she was distracted by giving the automatic response of a giggling acceptance.

Once she and Tun had gone outside, Gúthwyn felt far more at ease than she had in the throne room. Despite the grim mood that had fallen over her, the sky above was perfectly clear, and the stars were sparkling as a multitude of jewels strewn across the velvety blackness. She heard herself sigh in contentment. "Where do you want to go?" she questioned absently. The arm that was linked with his was warm, comfortably so.

"Do you remember when you, Haiweth and I looked at the clouds?" he returned, glancing at her.

She nodded. "Aye." A lump formed in her throat, though she knew not why. "That was fun."

"Would you like to go there?"

Again, she nodded, and soon they were making their way around the Golden Hall. Though Gúthwyn knew it was not fair to Tun that her mind should be distracted so, she could not help but think of Borogor. He would have loved her home, of that she was certain. And how often had she thought that he and Éomer should have met? The two of them were so similar…

"How has your day been, my lady?"

Startled out of her thoughts, Gúthwyn said, "Well, I suppose." The reply did not seem adequate enough, and out of guilt for not paying as much attention to him as she should have, she inquired, "And what of you, Tun?"

They arrived at the clearing. She felt the grass brushing against the hemline of her dress, and on impulse hitched it up the slightest bit so that it could tickle the bare skin around her ankles.

Tun watched her with a faint smile on his face. "Not just today, either," she elaborated. "How have you been?"

"I have nothing to complain about," he replied. As she lowered her skirt, he took both of her hands. Something stirred in Gúthwyn's memory, a flash of swaying trees and rustling leaves, but just as quickly she buried it away. "I am able to put food on the table for my mother, and the two of us are healthy. I have a wonderful job, and the honor of being your champion."

"Oh, Tun," she said, smiling at him. It was chilly outside, though somehow their bodies had moved closer together so that she was not as cold as she might have been. Another recollection fluttered through her mind, of someone else before her and shifting on his feet…

No, not now.

In an effort to forget—to forget what was never to be—she murmured, "It sounds as if you are missing nothing in your life."

"Well, my lady," he began, stumbling a little on his words. Up close, she thought his face was paling. "There is one thing."

Gúthwyn had not realized that the moon was shining down on them, but now she became aware that she could see her champion's face almost perfectly. "And what might that be?" she asked.

He drew nearer, so that she had to look up to gaze into his eyes. There was another whisper within her mind; something was different. A bird lifted its thin call into the air.

"I do not have a wife," he said.

Gúthwyn did not, could not, say anything as he leaned towards her. Numbly, she saw the space between their faces—their mouths—growing smaller. She did not step away from him. A part of her wanted to. The other half teetered on the brink of a new beginning, something that was hers if only she said the word. For she saw now, with stunning clarity, what she had been oblivious to before…

Tun's lips brushed gently across hers. She did not pull back. It was as if she were in a dream. His hands left hers, and slipped around her waist to bring her closer to him. Warmth flooded her body. She felt his tongue running tentatively along her lips, asking silently for permission. Her mouth opened of its own accord, and then he was inside of her. What a strange feeling it was… Half of her wanted to start over, to forget Mordor. To begin a new life, even with someone at her side. And Éomer always said that she should get married…

Borogor.

Gúthwyn did not have the gift for seeing into the future, nor did any in her family. But in that moment, she saw herself on her wedding night, trembling in fear. She saw Tun doing everything he could to please her in bed, confused and worried by her lack of response. She saw him wondering why, on the seventh of June, she looked at him with guilt-filled eyes and whispered Borogor in her sleep. She saw him trying to comfort her after her nightmares, not knowing why she cringed from his touch. For she could not tell him… and he would think that it was his fault. She saw them both spiraling downwards into depression and misery, Tun because his lady did not love him and she because she could not confide in him that which was crucial for him to understand her. And finally she saw herself, struggling uselessly to keep the tears from streaming down her cheeks. She was holding a small vial in her hands. Tun lay sleeping beside her, his breathing even. As Gúthwyn watched herself, the wretched version leaned over and kissed him on the brow. He did not wake. Then she glanced upwards, and in one quick gulp drank the entire bottle.

All of this went through Gúthwyn's mind in mere seconds. But in that time, she made her decision. She pulled away from him, swallowing hard. Tun stepped back as well, though his hands remained around her waist.

"My lady," he murmured, before she had a chance to speak. "I have loved you ever since you returned to Edoras."

He could not have said any words that would have affected her more, not if he had sat and thought about it for weeks. Gúthwyn froze, and felt something blur her vision so that her champion shimmered in a burning haze. "Two years?" she whispered. A series of memories swirled through her. He had wanted her to keep his cloak at Dunharrow… His anger and hurt when she had danced with Legolas… Éomer's fury with him over the sparring incident—by the Valar, how could she have let it go?—and how he had left, and now she knew why… Their tag game, and she had been caught, her waist pressed against his and wondering what was happening… Looking up at the clouds—he had even taken her hand—and lying so close to each other… All the moments that they had shared, how she had unconsciously encouraged him throughout the years…

And it was then that Gúthwyn realized that she loved her champion.

"Two years," Tun confirmed, and his hand reached up to hesitatingly touch the side of her face.

Tears began spilling down her cheeks. No matter how she felt towards Tun, she could not marry him. Her love for him paled in comparison to Borogor; she would not ask her champion to compete with a ghost from her past. She would not ask him to make her forget that there was someone buried in Ithilien who would have given everything for her, had she but requested it. It was unfair to him, and would only end in resentment, or worse—regret.

"Oh, Tun," she said, drawing a shaky breath. He was bewildered, unsure of why she was crying. This only made the tears fall faster. "Tun, I… I love you, but not… I cannot…" Her shoulders were heaving up and down, but she could not go to him for comfort. He went to hold her; she shook her head frantically. Her voice was remarkably steady, but she felt that if she had not been so close to him, she would have been unable to stand. "Tun, I cannot give you what it is you want. I cannot… I cannot love you as a woman should love her husband."

His face went white, his eyes wide. "My lady," he began, sounding as if he could barely speak. Heart-wrenching confusion was written across his features. "I… I do not understand."

Gúthwyn wept, hating herself for doing this, hating herself for denying him something that—for so long—he had desired with all his heart. "Tun, you are a w-wonderful man," she said, her breath hitching with each syllable. "Y-You are the sweetest person I know, and any woman would be lucky to marry you. But you deserve… you deserve better than me."

"My lady," Tun said quietly, "there is no one better than you—I do not…"

His words struck such a chord within her that it felt as if her heart would break from guilt and misery. "Tun, I-I cannot make you happy. Please, do not ask why. But I know that our marriage…" What had she done to merit this? Did the Valar think it was a cruel joke, that he should propose to her on the day of Borogor's death? Did they believe it amusing, to watch her reject an honest, decent man who had never done anything to her in his life?

Tun was staring at her, his back rigid in shocked disbelief. "Tun," she whispered, struggling to finish. "Our marriage would never work. I cannot do it. I will not."

"My lady," he said, and something shone in his eyes. "My lady, please…"

For the last time, Gúthwyn embraced him. She was sobbing now, for she knew that when she pulled away from him, a door would close forever. Their relationship would never be the same. And for the last time, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for being my champion."

"My lady—"

Gúthwyn let go of him. His gaze was full of a stunned hurt that she could hardly bear to look upon. The knowledge that she had brought it about tore at her heart, until she truly thought it was the worst thing she had ever done in her life.

"I-I am so sorry," she choked out, and turned away.

He made no move to follow her as she stumbled in the direction of the Golden Hall.