Chapter 125
Pieces of a Puzzle
Jack's death had a huge impact on the Free Folk dwelling under the Lonely Mountain at that time. Only so very recently he had become their hero, a symbol of the resistance against Mordor, more so than even Thoren. Thoren had defied the Enemy far away from Erebor itself. The troops that bore witness to this, revered him for it. The folk who stayed behind in Erebor itself had Jack to look up to instead. He had boosted their morale and then he had been killed.
The outrage was not pretty.
With his life and with his death he had made a difference to the war. In life he had led by example, never asking of others what he had not first done himself. In death he kindled rage and even more defiance. In some ways, I think it is fair to say that he became something of a martyr. After all I have heard about him, I think that this is not something he necessarily would have liked.
But it was useful.
The second siege of Erebor had begun. All the Free Folk had withdrawn into the Lonely Mountain and then the gates were shut. Those who could still stand and hold a weapon were encouraged to indeed do so on the battlements.
Yet nothing happened. The orcs discovered that the gates were closed and that they were not something that they could bring down in a hurry. Dwarves build their things to last. Having learned their lesson from the unfortunate incident with the dragon, they had made a better and stronger gate that even Smaug himself might find one hell of a challenge. Thousands of orcs could not make a dent in it.
They responded in the only way that orcs could possibly respond to it: they had a bit of a temper tantrum. Their little hissy fit was bad news for everything that still stood after their first foray into this region. Thoren had shown great foresight when he had decided to move his parents' tomb to within the Mountain. If it had still been outside, it would have been smashed in the latest episode of Mordor's reaction to not getting the things it wants. The orcs burnt everything they found to the ground, reverting the area back to something that was indeed uncomfortably reminiscent of Smaug's desolation.
Inside however the Free Folk noticed only a small part of these goings-on. They couldn't see awfully much of it from the battlements. So long as the orcs did not truly attack, there was not much for them to do anyway. The Nazgûl tried of course. They flew close on their winged lizards to try and spread the despair. That was unpleasant, but the walls were lined with archers and they could not focus on all of them at the same time, so a few arrows made them think better of this whole venture and they departed again without having done any damage whatsoever.
Inside the Mountain itself this all seemed like a very distant thing. They had more important things on their minds…
Cathy
'He is not breathing!' Never before in her life had Cathy heard her sister make such sounds. 'Maker be good, please do something!'
There was nothing to be done. Jack had spent his last breath on the child who now sat frozen on the bed, tears flowing down his face without restraint and a tremor in his hands. He did not make a sound, shocked to the core.
Cathy reached out instinctively and laid a hand on his shoulder. It was all he needed. He turned around and hurled himself into her arms where he at last began to cry in earnest, long, howling sobs that spoke of a grief too deep and heavy for a seven year old boy. Cathy herself had managed quite well so far, but now her resolve broke down at last. She had done her level best to keep her grief to herself. She reckoned that Jack would not want to see it.
But now he was gone.
She could have frozen on the spot and in that moment, she would not have cared. She felt cold to her very bones. This was not how it was supposed to go. This was not the way things were ever meant to be. Yes, they'd all agreed that Jack's mind was at risk. His life was never supposed to be.
Now he lay before her, no longer breathing.
'He can't be.' Duria was not making any sense and she was not making this any better either. 'He's not supposed to die.'
What did she think this was, their mother's book? Anger rose hard and fast and almost she had spoken some scathing words, but Uncle Nori came to the rescue once more. He grabbed Duria firmly by the upper arms to still her frantic movements. When she then opened her mouth to demand that he let her go, he drew her into an embrace. For just a moment it looked as though she might hit him, but then her grief overwhelmed her and she burst into tears instead.
Cathy had never been one affected by another's tears, but she was already crying and Duria set off another bout of it just as she was catching her breath. Looking at Jack didn't make it any better either. They'd done their best to clean him up, but he'd bled profusely. It was everywhere. The blow that killed him had not touched his face – small mercies and all that – but the blood had leaked through the sheets that covered his body. He didn't bleed anymore of course.
Not now.
Harry never stopped crying and Cathy, try though she might, couldn't either. She had not always seen eye to eye with Jack, but he was her brother, her twin, and sixty years was far too young to die. He was supposed to have many, many years ahead of him yet. He hadn't. The war had taken him instead.
Elvaethor was one of the few who didn't cry and yet his grief broke her heart all over again. He stood there, still as a statue, face wiped clear of emotions. But oh, his eyes could have brought a body to tears all over again. He was within reach, so she held out her hand to him and he grabbed it as though it was the only thing that tethered him to life. Harry took his other hand and then they all just clung to one another.
She could not say for how long they stood there, only that when the first wave of grief had come and gone, all her tears were spent. The sense of loss was no less potent, but her eyes were dry. He is gone, she thought with startling clarity. And he didn't die so that we may spend our days mourning and wasting the opportunities he bought us with his life. Jack would be dismayed to find them all weeping like fountains over his demise. None of the others was doing anything even remotely useful – Duria least of all – and so it fell to her instead.
'Right,' she said, as much to give herself courage as to get the attention of the others. 'Uncle Nori, will you take Harry and see to it that he is given a good cup of tea? It might be best if you perhaps looked after Dari and Nari as well for a bit.' She was somewhat surprised by the brisk tone she managed to use. 'Elvaethor, Thoren yet lives and is in need of help. Are you able to offer him that?' She very deliberately phrased it as a question.
He bowed his head to her.
'Very well.' She didn't know how she did it, because her heart was still breaking. 'Uncle Dori, please tell the leaders of the Alliance that we will be unavailable for some time.'
'I will go.' Fíli had been very quiet, but now he spoke. 'Leave this with me.' He left the room, but Dori walked out with him anyway.
So far, so good. 'Uncle Ori, will you see that a burial site is prepared for him?' At this point her voice nearly broke. Not again, she told herself. Not now. Not yet. These were the things that needed to be done and she was the one to get it done. 'That would be very good.'
'What will you do?' Duria demanded, a little of her old fire returning.
'Clean him up.' It was to be a gruesome sight, but it must be done. As much as she loved her kin, this was not a task she wanted them to perform. That duty lay with her, as the only ones of her siblings that was present, standing and in a relatively stable state of mind. 'It must be done.'
'I'll help.' Flói too had been quiet, but possibly because the tears prevented him from speaking. He stood at the end of the bed, looking lost and forlorn. Never before had she even seen him cry, unless it was tears of laughter. This made him look much older than he was. Aunt Thora stood next to him, also crying, but she too made no move to go and see to any of the other living wounded who might have needed her care.
'And I.' Duria wriggled herself out of Nori's arms and crossed her arms over her chest in a way that for just a very brief moment made her look like Jack, whose preferred stance that had been when he was making it clear that he was not about to budge.
'If you wish.'
Who was she to say her nay?
Harry did not want to go. He clung to her as though his very life depended on it. For the first time since she knew him, he was entirely beyond reason. He cried and batted at Nori's hands when he made to take him from Cathy's arms. She found that she still had tears left to cry after all.
He's reached breaking point. Who could blame him? So have we all.
'Come on, my lad,' Nori said, not unkindly. Everyone knew him as the rogue and the slightly loveable crook, but he'd make exceptions for kin. He had a way with youngsters that drew them in and made them pay attention. 'Let Cathy do what she must, shall we? There'll be time to say goodbye again if you want after.'
That at last broke through. 'Promise?' Harry asked, casting an anxious glance at Jack's body.
'Promise,' Nori said before Duria could have an opinion on the matter. 'We'll go together if you'd like.'
The boy thought about it, then nodded. 'Yes, please.'
'There we go then,' Nori said brightly. 'Come on, you can ride on my back.'
And so they went. Cathy watched them go until the door had fallen shut behind them. There was no avoiding it now.
You are a dwarf. You don't avoid unpleasantness. Cathy herself had made a start on removing Jack's armour, but she had never finished. What remained of it could almost certainly be thrown away, because it could never be used again. It's done a miserable job of shielding him from harm. She hadn't seen it. She had been on the battlements trying to see all that there was to be seen, but her attention had wandered for just a moment in the wrong direction. The first she knew of it was when Duria carried him off the field and through the gates.
There'd been no ignoring it then.
The armour went a long way in hiding the horrific damage underneath. Cathy was not squeamish, but the bile rose in her throat when she saw what the orcs had done to her brother. Was it any wonder that not a single healer believed that they could save him? 'Better to let him die in peace, my lady,' one had said in compassionate tones, 'and with his kin around him. Nothing we do will avail him now.' He'd had the right of it.
Aunt Thora placed a hand on her shoulder. 'We'll clean off the worst and then I'll stitch him up as best I can.' Unlike Cathy, she had done this before. 'We'll do right by him.'
Cathy only nodded.
Someone had fetched water and cloths while she wasn't looking, so she set to it with a will. She had already cleaned his face, so she started with the neck and worked her way down, forcing herself to look, but not see. Duria hesitated, but joined in eventually, while Flói cut away what remained of armour and clothes. Part of her wanted to tell him not to do that, that these had belonged to Jack and they shouldn't be cut up like rags, but rags was what they had become. There was nothing there to salvage.
Bit by bit, the dirt and blood and grime was cleared away until the water at long last ran clear again. Servants came with clean water and took the used at regular intervals, but they never spoke. For the moment she was grateful for that.
Her mind wandered along the paths of memory. She had never been close to Jack. As a child he had already been drawn to Flói's company. This had been the foundation of a friendship that had lasted for the entirety of his too short life. To her he was the annoying brother who'd only seldom let her join in his games with Flói. But they'd both grown up and they had thawed out. But whereas she had only grown more content with life, Jack had gone on the opposite trajectory. Only these past few weeks had she seen him grow into himself, at ease with himself. Now all that had been cut brutally short.
'I recall one time we poured out bottles upon bottles of ink over Lord Nali,' Flói spoke suddenly. Tears still made tracks over his cheeks and into his beard, but his voice was steady at last. 'We must have been about six years old, about Young Harry's age at any rate. We were at lessons and our tutor, dull old Nuror kept droning on and on about elvish grammar rules or some such. I don't rightly recall. Either way, we were above the library, in one of those old offices with a balcony that overlooked the library itself. And there we saw old Lord Nali.'
Cathy knew him. He was the father of the insufferable Lady Nai, Cathy's mother-in-law, and every inch as insufferable as his daughter. Cathy recalled her father complaining about his insatiable demands many a time at the dinner table.
Aunt Thora nodded. 'I remember that.'
'Jack saw him before I did, you know.' Flói's voice had a little tremor now that they all had the grace to ignore. 'So he proposed the idea.'
'You, being the nice little obedient dwarfling that you were naturally told him immediately that you'd do no such thing,' Aunt Thora played along.
Flói smiled faintly. 'If that helps you sleep, amad. We'll say I was coerced. So on we went, bottle after bottle. Nali never knew what hit him and we laughed and laughed. Nuror never knew anything about it either.'
'How come?' Cathy forced herself to ask a question. She understood what he tried to do. Right now she didn't know if it wanted to make her cry less or more, but the pain was less acute, so that must mean that it was a good thing, wasn't it?
'He'd had his back to us, writing out verbs or some such on a chalkboard. And he never stopped talking either. We were both glad when Elvaethor returned eventually and took over lessons again. We begged him to stay forever.'
Now he has. And such grief it had brought him already. Her heart broke for him and for herself both. How was any of this fair? How did a body just go on existing with so much hurt in the world? Was it any wonder that her father had given up when at last it became so bad that he could not withstand it any longer?
Under their ministrations Jack returned to his former self. But not quite. Those eyes will never glare again. That forehead will never frown again. No one will ever hear him laugh. It had been a rare sound, yet they'd all cherished it, for it meant that it was a good day.
The good days were over forever now.
She left it to Duria to dress him in clean clothes and turned her attention instead to his hair and beard. Her hands plaited in the styles he preferred. He'd always done it himself, self-reliant in as much as he could. Now his hands had gone still forever. It fell to her to do what he couldn't do anymore.
'Farewell,' she whispered at last. Cathy couldn't say how much time had passed when they were done at last. This room had no window and her sense of time had long since abandoned her. 'Be at peace.' He had perhaps longed for that beyond anything.
'He is.' She had not heard Elvaethor come back, but when she looked over her shoulder, there he was.
'What do you mean?' she asked. She held out her hand to him.
He accepted it and came to stand next to her. His face was once more under his own command, though there was a sadness about him, invisible yet tangible. Then again, who was she to criticise? It was as though a cloud hung over her like it did over Erebor, pouring out grief and despair over her head until no joy remained.
'Look at his face.'
She did. 'Peace,' she understood. Never had he shown such peace in life. Yet he had gone to his death unafraid.
'He knew where he was headed,' Elvaethor said. Already he was losing the stiff elvish mannerisms. He let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulder instead. She drew more comfort from it.
'"Home" he said.' At long last he knew where he belonged. She should find comfort in that, but didn't. The loss was still too recent. There was no room for true comfort, not yet. 'I know that. I know that he's gone where he'd want to go, but…' He was too young. This was not his time. It's this wretched war and what it's doing to us. It's… Not even in her own head did she have the right words for this.
'Go home and rest, Cathy,' Elvaethor counselled. 'I shall keep my vigil at his side tonight.'
She was tired, so he did not need to try hard to persuade her. She had done what she could. The rest would have to wait. So she bid her new brother goodnight with a kiss on his cheek and a hug that she held longer than strictly necessary for both their sakes. We are five in number again. Perhaps we were never meant to exceed that number. Irritably she pushed that thought away as a trick of her sleep-deprived mind. The world did not work like that.
So why did it feel like it did?
She pondered it no longer, for just a few paces behind the door she found a miracle, a small ray of hope, waiting for her. Halin was dirty from top to toe and she was sure that there'd been less grey in his hair, but he was hale and whole. She rushed into his arms and cried until the night made way for the day.
Beth
I have done what I must.
Sending off the box lifted one weight off her shoulders and dropped another one on them. The old life was gone for good now. Her new one had fully begun. No more excuses for non-engagement, Andrews.
Following from that was the realisation that she had really run out of excuses to sit in her room and wallow. There was battle clean-up to be getting on with. There were wounded to care for. Beth was no healer, but she could bathe a forehead and, in a pinch, she could drag up just enough memory of a first aid course she'd been on ten years ago to bandage or clean a wound. It wasn't pretty, but life in general had been short on such things lately.
Beth remembered the way to the Houses of Healing. It was just a simple matter of retracing her steps there from back when she had been a resident. Even if her memory deserted her, she would have found her way there without difficulty; everyone was headed in that direction. Even now people still found living men and elves among the bodies of the slain. There was always the odd one out who simply refused to die, no matter how much logic dictated that he should have. A bit like Boromir, really.
'Lady Elizabeth!' she was hailed just as she was about to go in.
She turned around to face Haldir. 'Good to see you,' she said, although he looked like he had been dragged through the mud behind a bolting horse for the better part of a week. She refrained from comment. These elves had gone above and beyond. They had ridden with the Rohirrim. She'd heard both parties claim that it was at the other party's absolute insistence, so she took that to mean that they'd all really wanted to go and fight this battle together.
They'd paid a heavy price. Only about four hundred elves now remained of the original two thousand Haldir had led to the gates of the Hornburg. It was a sacrifice almost too great to comprehend.
'And you,' he returned with a very courteous bow. How the times had changed since the initial introduction. 'I come to you with a request.'
'Name it,' she said without hesitation. After everything he had done and lost, doing him a favour was the least she could do in return. 'What can I do for you?'
Haldir made a hand gesture and two elves stepped out of the shadow and into the light. Beth blinked. For a moment she was convinced that she was seeing double. They looked identical, until she looked closer and saw that the one on the right had his left arm bandaged and the one on the left sported a nasty looking scratch along his neck. Otherwise they were completely identical.
Though she had never met them, she was quite sure that she knew who they were. Elladan and Elrohir, Lord Elrond's sons, twins at that. Identical twins, obviously. According to the book they'd ridden with the Grey Company and accompanied Aragorn on the Paths of the Dead. That bit was something that the book did apparently get right, because here they were.
'It is an honour to meet you,' she said, making the closest thing to a curtsey that she was capable of. Note to self, work on that. This was a more formal society than she was used to. 'How can I be of service?'
Even as she said it, it occurred to her that the brothers looked somehow familiar, but she could not quite put her finger on it. Was it simply the resemblance to Elrond that she saw? She examined that possibility and dismissed it again. The resemblance was there, but that was not what set off her alarm bells. It's like I've met them somewhere before. It could have been Rivendell, but somehow that too struck a discordant note.
Where then?
'We have met before,' said the one on the left. 'I believe that is the question you ponder now, is it not?'
Oh joy, another mind reader. Well, she couldn't in good conscience deny it, so she confirmed that. 'There is something familiar about you that I cannot place. Where did we meet?' Surely she should remember? Had she been hit on the head one too many times recently?
'In a strange and mystifying land that I believe you refer to as England,' the elf replied, smiling. He reached into his coat and pulled out the last book she'd published.
Oh.
Now the pieces of the puzzle fell into place rapidly, one after the other until she finally, finally had the full picture. I have been a fool, a bloody fool! Now she remembered and she also knew why she hadn't been able to place him until now, because a book signing session was the very last place you'd ordinarily expect Elrond's son to frequent. But yes, now that he said, she did remember.
Well, shit.
It had been a little over a year ago. Her last book had just come out and she'd been more or less bullied into doing some promotional stuff for it, which included a couple of interviews and several book signings. This one had taken place in Bristol – ha! – only a few streets away from the hotel where she was supposed to meet with G. Grey. In hindsight it all made sense.
He was Gandalf's recruiting agent in England. For a moment she wanted to ask how he'd found her, but that one she could answer on her own. The book shop in question had really gone to town on this event, plastering posters with her name and face on it absolutely everywhere. They'd made it easy for someone looking for anyone called Andrews for their last name.
This elf – she still didn't know which of the two he was – had come to the signing, loitering at the end of the queue. The event was almost over, so she'd asked if he'd come for the signing and he replied that yes, he had, but he didn't have any money. In hindsight that too was easily explained; why would an elf have any currency used on Earth? Beth, feeling particularly charitable, had signed a copy for him and given it to him as a gift. Seeing as how there was no one else, they'd chatted for a bit about her work, her love of facts and details, about analysing texts in search of truth and their relevance for the real world.
She crossed her arms over her chest. 'You might have mentioned you were performing a job interview,' she pointed out. Well, now she knew why it had been her set on a course for Middle Earth and not Peter; she'd ticked all the boxes with the job recruiter. And there she was thinking she just had a good conversation with a well-mannered man who liked her work. That goes to show what I knew.
'You could have chosen not to pursue it,' he said, smiling helpfully in a way that was ever so slightly smug. 'You came to the appointed place at the appointed time. Had you failed to respond, you would even now still dwell in your land.'
It was her own bloody curiosity that had done for her. And yet that was not entirely true. 'You lured me there under false pretences,' she reminded him. 'Yes, I came, but not for this.' She made a wide arm gesture meant to encompass everything and everywhere. 'Let's not call this anything that it's not.'
'Do you regret coming?' the elf asked.
'I don't know yet.' She both did and didn't, so she bounced the question right back at him. 'Do you regret playing your part in this sorry affair?'
He could answer a whole lot more definitively. 'No. This world is better for my actions.'
Oh great, one of those holier than thou types. 'You're Gandalf 2.0, aren't you?' It made her want to punch him on principle. Then again… 'That's twisted,' she said. 'And no, I'm not going to do anything to you.' Mainly because she was too tired and she didn't think she'd stand much of a chance against three highly trained elves. And she respected Haldir, who had nothing to do with this at any rate. 'But no force in the world is going to stop me from relaying this whole sorry tale to my cousin Thráin when he returns. I imagine he'll have a thing or two to say on the matter.'
He certainly would. He'd said as much in Elrond's house. I know Gandalf could not have done this deed alone. I know that his accomplice most likely lives in this house and works under your orders. And Durin's Folk does not forget the names of those who wronged us. He could be obnoxious and rude, but in this he was on her side. Good. She may be ready to enter into this life, but the way that had come into existence left a lot to be desired. This guy was the one who picked her for the job, so as far as she was aware there should be consequences for such a course of action.
Crime and punishment.
She'd gladly leave the punishing bit to Thráin.
Having said this – the elf's face betrayed no reaction, but she hoped to high heaven that this worried him some – she turned back to Haldir. 'You were about to make a request of me when I became distracted. My apologies. What can I do for you?' He had played no part in this, so she'd be nice to him.
'Rooms for the night would be most appreciated, Lady Elizabeth,' he replied. The puzzlement over the whole exchange was clear on his face, but he never said a word about it. Perhaps he thought he'd get the story from the brothers when she was gone to do other things.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she had no idea where to put them and why was he even asking her in the first place? Did she look like someone who knew this sort of stuff? It was a good thing she didn't translate that into the spoken word. Common sense caught up with her just in time.
Of course she looked like someone who knew this sort of thing. She was the current Steward's wife, was she not? Not to mention that she was also the only lady currently in residence. That'd change once Arwen got here, but that was some time from now. Until then, Beth was all there was. That was the way these things went here. She'd seen it in Edoras with Éowyn. Running the household and looking after the guests was what she did. Beth had better get some practice in. Some days I can barely look after myself, never mind anyone else.
But this is your world now, Andrews. Act like it.
'Naturally,' she said. 'Follow me, please.'
Now that she did think about it, she became fairly confident that she could pull this off. She'd had the guided tour a few days ago. She knew where the guest quarters were. Some servants still worked in the palace – most of them men, who had in many cases fought like hell – and so she set them to making the guest rooms ready for use, after which she showed her guests there. Job done.
She suspected that the servants were making it easy for her by anticipating what she needed. There's some leeway for those who are new and still need to learn the ropes. Beth did not expect that to last, so she put some backbone into it. This was her life now. It was not the life she envisioned when she was younger, but it was the life she had.
Make the best of it.
So she stayed in the palace and she learned. She tried to be everywhere and nowhere, figuring out how the place was run, who was in charge of what and where everything was. She wrote a lot of it down, but by day's end she felt like her head was about to explode. Yet it was what she needed, she realised when at last she entered her room for some much needed peace and quiet. She hadn't had the time to dwell on her losses. That'd come when the war was over.
Boromir was only fifteen minutes behind her and he looked as tired as she did. He washed and undressed and joined her in bed. 'Most of the battlefield has been cleared,' he reported. 'Merry and Éowyn are out of danger. Aragorn healed them.'
'Good,' Beth said. It was about time the book got back to being right. She wished that it would get the destruction of the Ring right too, but that bit had gone beyond her control now. All of that was up to Thráin.
'What have you done today?' he asked.
So she told him. She told him about her chat with Gandalf, writing her letters goodbye to her family. During this bit his arms went around her to offer support where words would never have done the same. She drew strength from that. Then she told him about Gandalf's little trick, that she could retain contact after all and how relieved she was that it was possible.
Only now that she talked about it did it dawn on her that her family still might not believe what she had written. Just because she knew that it was all real now did not mean that they knew the same. To them it would sound just as ludicrous as Kate's letters had sounded to her family. She ought to have learned her lesson from that.
So much for doing better.
Still, if only they'd try to send the box back, they'd see it disappear into thin air the same way Beth had seen it disappear before her. Wouldn't they begin to wonder if what she told them might be true after all? Had her own grandfather not chosen to take it all on faith and believe what his sister had written?
Yes, for lack of a better alternative. It might have been sticking his head in the sand more than actual faith. She knew that.
It's out of my hands now at any rate.
So she told Boromir about her confrontation with Elladan and Elrohir and how one of them had played the job recruiter without her knowing it. Lord knew what else he'd got up to during his time in England. At the moment she was not sure she wanted to know.
'Which one of them was it?' Boromir asked.
'Not a clue. They weren't kind enough to properly introduce themselves.' Come to think of it, she'd seen that kind of elvish behaviour before with the one who spectacularly failed to introduce these elves. 'I can see a pattern forming, can't you?'
He chuckled, but he still held her and she still needed that. 'How are you, Beth?'
The honest answer was pretty shit, so she didn't say that. There were plenty of people in this city alone who had it far worse, so she wouldn't be the first to moan about her fate. You signed that right away this very afternoon.
It still hurt like hell.
'Can you just hold me?' she asked.
He did. He held her all throughout the night. Beth feared that she might not find sleep easily, but eventually she drifted off. By the time she opened her eyes again it was morning. Boromir still held her. It might have been idyllic.
If not for the shouting in the corridor.
'What the hell?'
Next to her Boromir was woken by it too. 'What is…?'
Beth shrugged. 'Not a clue.' But she had a feeling that it might be her job to find out and calm everyone down.
It was coming closer anyway. The voices grew louder until at last she could make them out clearly: 'Where the hell is my daughter!'
Anyone want to guess who that is? Answers coming this Thursday.
Next time: unlikely developments in Minas Tirith and trouble in Mordor. Then again, it's never anything else in that place, is it?
Thank you so much for reading. A special thanks to the guest reviewer who frequently leaves reviews and who I unfortunately can't thank anywhere else. It's very much appreciated! As always, reviews would brighten my day.
Until Thursday!
