Chapter 131
He Who Knows Fear
Slowly but surely Minas Tirith was getting its feet back under it. The battlefield had been cleared of all the wounded. They had been transported to healers who knew what to do with them. Most of the rubble was swept out of the main streets to make for easier passage. We didn't have a gate anymore – thanks again, Sauron – so guards were appointed to make sure no one crossed into the city who did not have a right to be there. It was a good thing we did, because on the first day alone several Haradrim dressed up in stolen Gondorian garb tried to make it past. Goodness knew what they wanted, but no one was in any mood to find out, so the guards chased them off and doubled their number and their vigilance.
It was patchwork. Restoring Minas Tirith would take a lot of time and a lot of effort and for that we simply did not have the time, because in the east the dark clouds still hung over Mordor, spelling misery and doom for anyone with half a brain. Wherever the Fellowship was, it was evidently not yet at Mount Doom, tossing in a Ring. Gandalf had no idea what they were doing and he had no idea what Sauron was up to either, so it stood to reason that it was probably best to come up with some sort of plan before Sauron got funny notions about having another go at something evil.
I made a very strong case for my family to go back home – you know, where it was definitely safe – and of course I was very much ignored. Only Mary agreed to go and that was only to reassure Terrence and her kids and to perhaps pick up a few changes of clothing because we all smelled and looked disgusting. She'd be back by the end of the day and honestly, Beth, just stop wasting your breath already.
So much for my persuasive powers.
Not that I had honestly expected that Peter was going to go anywhere. As far as he was concerned all his birthdays and Christmases had come at once and he was honestly still a little bit starstruck. This did not however stop him in any way from diving into the book and my notes with a will. And that was about to come in handy.
But before I run ahead of myself, I should begin by telling you that now that we were functioning more or less normally – this being a somewhat relative term – again, we were ready to shift our attention to the pressing business. Aragorn had called a meeting to that effect. It was a very small gathering only and its attendants were carefully chosen on one condition only: that they were fully aware of the Fellowship and its mission. Naturally, Boromir and I were there. Merry, carried by Faramir and fussed over by Pippin, also put in an appearance. Théodred had been allowed to come only if he sat down for the duration. Éomer, who'd come through the battle with only scratches and bruises, stood next to him to ensure that he did. Gandalf of course showed up, with Elladan and Elrohir in his wake, Haldir at their side. I still didn't know which was which and by now this was really getting on my nerves.
Peter had of course come. My parents trailed in behind him. Neither of them liked being here and neither of them, I think, were truly happy with me being here, but I was, so here they were. Their arrival concluded the list of the invited people, so the guards withdrew from the room, closed the doors behind them and the meeting began…
Beth
'Mordor is empty.' It wasn't like Aragorn to state the obvious, but since he was now the uncrowned King, it was up to him to open this thing. 'And the Fellowship is there.'
Not good news. The longer Beth had to think about it, the more she very much did not like the sound of it. Most of the eyes in the room had turned to her, so she put on her advisor hat and put in her two cents. 'In the book it is decided to march everything and everyone to before the Black Gates as the diversion to end all diversions. It keeps Sauron's attention on us and keeps it away from Frodo and Sam.'
'So, what are we waiting for?' Théodred asked. Bold words from a man who still was not fully healed and was under strict orders to take it easy.
'Well, in the book he has an actual army to answer the threat.' He did not anymore. 'The eagles said that he doesn't now. Most likely he's sent all of it north to subdue Erebor and its allies. Chances are that's where the missing Nazgûl are as well.' Because if they had been in Mordor, then the eagles should have seen some evidence of them, right?
The words hung in the air so that the others could digest them. One by one they reached the same conclusion Beth had reached some time ago.
'Are they in danger?' Pippin asked with no small measure of anxiety.
'Yes.' There was no way to break this gently and so she did not try. 'I mean, the book situation was obviously not ideal, because of the orcs everywhere getting in the way and making the chance of discovery that much higher. But that's a thing now too, because the Fellowship is the only thing that moves there and they don't exactly look like orcs.' Not usually a drawback, but in this case it really didn't help.
'So we march and demand that we get entry,' Aragorn said. 'Sauron might not have his armies, but he cannot expect us to remain here and wait.'
Technically that could still work, but to Beth it looked like an empty gesture. Sauron had no more troops to send, but the Black Gates were apparently not easy to take, so all Sauron had to do was wait it out. He didn't even need to pay much attention to the troops camped on his doorstep. He just needed a couple of orcs to keep an eye on things.
We need something bigger and flashier. They needed something that would really draw Sauron's attention and then hold it.
Peter turned to Beth. 'Does he know about Aragorn yet?'
Beth recalled a rather chaotic night and an incident with a palantír. 'Yes, he knows.' So much for using that as a trump card. 'And he would have had to be blind to miss the whole display with all the dead people, so I think Aragorn's firmly in the picture.'
'Shame,' said Peter, shrugging. He turned to Faramir. 'Pardon me, sir, but does he not think that you have the Ring now?'
A conversation followed in which no words were used. Apparently Peter was onto something and from the looks of things, Faramir cottoned on pretty quickly. Beth for one had no idea what was going on in her brother's head – nothing new there – and she didn't know Faramir well enough to read him yet, but it served to remember that this was the man who had suggested fooling Sauron with this Ring thing. He hadn't flinched either in confronting the Nazgûl. If anything, the book had sold him a little short.
The silence lasted forever.
'What?' Beth demanded when no inspired insights dropped out of the air. 'Peter, what are you planning?'
'Faramir?' Boromir asked when no reply came from Peter, but Faramir nodded and smiled in a manner that reminded her oddly of Thráin.
And not in a good way.
'You have a very clever brother,' Faramir told her.
'I have an impulsive brother,' Beth said, not liking the sound of this at all. 'What are you two up to?'
Had they even met before today? Goodness knew just what Peter had been getting up to while Beth was trying to sort out everybody's problems for them under Mary's tutelage. It hadn't occurred to her to ask what he had done and seen and who he had met. She had just assumed that if he had met any of the major players, he would not have failed to tell her.
It might turn out that he had done exactly that.
'Well, I was thinking,' Peter began and, honestly, a sentence that started like that had never once ended well, 'that Sauron still thinks that he has the Ring and if he still had the Ring and the battle was won, well, then he'd want to use it, wouldn't he, because that's how the Ring works.' No one objected to this, so Peter carried on. 'So I just thought, why don't we capitalise on this?'
Now she was sure she didn't like where this was going. 'Capitalise on this how?'
'I thought if there was some way that we could make Sauron believe that Faramir still has the Ring and is planning to use the Enemy's own weapon to destroy him, well, that should give him pause. At the very least it should draw his attention.'
She wanted big and flashy, but she wasn't sure she liked it in this particular flavour. Neither apparently did Gandalf, who frowned in a very disapproving manner.
So naturally Faramir went and made it worse. 'It is our belief that if Sauron were to think I had subjected all to my will, he would also believe that I have mastered his weapon. And then he would know fear.'
And Boromir might have a heart attack by the looks of things. So, as a matter of fact, might Beth, because the implications of this were huge. Never mind if it could work – it very probably could – but what would happen? Sauron might not have the orcs anymore, but he was not powerless. And somewhere there were still a few Nazgûl roaming about. Beth had seen how fast those winged beasts were that they rode. How long would it take them to be recalled here and unleash another hail of terror and sorcery? Was Faramir trying to get himself killed?
He was not done either. While everyone else was still trying to find words to convey the utter stupidity and recklessness of this scheme, he plunged new depths of suicidal idiocy. 'And then we march on Mordor. Sauron will not fail to keep an eye on us then.'
No, he would not. And that would then of course become the very least of their concerns. 'Are you certain you're not related to Thráin?' she demanded and it was very much not intended as a compliment.
He took it as one. 'Regrettably not.'
'This is reckless, brother.' Boromir, not usually one for the more sensible path, had second thoughts as well.
Most of the attendees were still in something of a shock, but Aragorn was the first to recover. 'If this will draw the Eye and keep it away from our friends, then that is a task I am glad to perform.'
She had half thought that he really didn't have his priorities straight when she stopped dead in her tracks, because he did. This wasn't about the people here. It was bigger, much bigger and by now she should have seen that. She was worrying about the people here while the Fellowship was in far graver danger.
We are relatively safe. They are not. Get a bloody grip, Andrews.
Aragorn's seal of approval was the cue for everyone else to also voice their approval. Even Gandalf looked reluctantly impressed. One by one everyone stood and spoke the words.
'You do so with our blessing,' said Elrond's sons, hands over their hearts, inclining their heads.
'This is a risky endeavour,' Théodred spoke, ignoring the healers' firm instructions not to leave his chair. 'Whatever support you require, ask and it is yours.'
Pippin too stood up straight. 'You're a very brave man, Captain Faramir, the very bravest. We are only hobbits, but if there is anything we can do, we shall.'
'There is no such thing as "only a hobbit," Master Peregrin,' Faramir reminded him. Beth had to agree with him there. This world would be a darker place without hobbits.
Perhaps Pippin might have wanted to say something else, but he never got round to it, because Gandalf did a step forward, indicating that he wanted to speak and no one who had any plans about seeing tomorrow dared to utter a sound when he was talking. 'You are very brave, Faramir,' he said and his words carried weight with Faramir, Beth could tell. 'Ask what you need.'
Faramir accepted that with a nod of the head, but then turned to Boromir with what seemed to be apprehension. It was perhaps his opinion that mattered the most here. Silence hung in the air for long moments. You could have heard a fly tap dance, it was so quiet. A conversation happened without words coming into it. Faramir quietly reasoning, Boromir equally quietly worrying.
In the end Faramir won the debate. 'Anything you need,' Boromir vowed. 'And my sword at your back.'
As if there was any chance of it being anywhere else. But nevertheless it was a solemn moment, a moment that had weight to it. Somehow the air appeared to crackle with energy. A shiver went down Beth's spine. Something momentous was taking place right here and right now. Once they really went down this path, who knew where it would lead?
'What do you need?' Aragorn asked.
It appeared as though Faramir had given this a fair bit of thought and at this stage Beth was undecided about whether she should find this encouraging or not. And she was proven right when she discovered exactly what he had in mind.
Her mouth dropped open. 'You can't be serious.'
It was very probable that everyone else was thinking the exact same thing, but they were still speechless. The silence lasted far too long. No one else protested. The faces she saw around her were solemn, but in agreement.
God help us all.
She had too few fingers and toes to list all the reasons why this was such a very bad idea. There were so many ways that this could go wrong. Perhaps the others doubted the success too, but when she looked at Boromir's face, there was not a trace of worry there. Not anymore at least.
This brought her up short, but before she could blurt out something else, reason and memory at last caught up with her. Yes, Faramir may be a reckless fool who modelled his conduct entirely too much on Thráin, but he was also the one who had never faltered for even a moment when the Nazgûl gave it their all. Faramir had a backbone made of steel and ten times more faith than anyone else in the room.
If anyone could pull this off, it was probably him.
She kept her mouth firmly shut.
Gandalf himself went off to retrieve the necessities while Faramir and Peter – when had they become so chummy? – organised everyone else. Beth allowed herself to be led to her place, near the front, but behind Aragorn and next to Boromir. She squeezed his hand, he squeezed back.
We must be insane.
If Faramir himself was having reservations, he never showed any of it. He was quiet and serious, true enough – who wouldn't be, considering what he was about to do? – but calm and capable as well. He and Peter stuck their heads together, going over a few final details. Surely they must have met before today.
It was a little under ten minutes after the decision was made that Gandalf returned with the palantír, still wrapped in layers upon layers of fabric. Beth fancied that she could feel something, but that might just be the nerves. If they did not make this convincing, if they couldn't persuade Sauron that what he saw was real, then who knew what would happen next?
Faramir inclined his head to Gandalf in thanks when he took the palantír from his hands. No one spoke. They had not agreed on it, not in words, but perhaps they all felt that anything they said now, now that thing was here, could be heard by unfriendly ears. So they said nothing.
Faramir's hand hovered above the palantír for a moment, slight frown on his forehead. Was that a tremor in his hand? She looked closer, but she must have imagined it, because he was in complete control of himself.
He nodded at them. Boromir nodded back.
And just like that, the whole thing began. Faramir withdrew the last layer of cloth from the palantír and the show was on. Beth concentrated on her part, which, all things told, was not really all that hard. She stood meekly, head bowed, staring at the floor, whilst also trying to see through her lashes what was going on before the throne.
It was not a sight she'd soon forget.
Faramir stood, back straight, head held high, the palantír raised in his right hand. The counterfeit Ring hung very visibly on the chain around his neck. Something had changed in his face. It was cold and cruel and even though she knew that it was an act, she wanted to do a step back, because bloody hell did it look real.
'I made a promise to you,' Faramir spoke, slow and measured. 'I gave you the chance to join me, yet you made war on me instead. This was unwise.'
It was a bit like listening to only one end of a telephone conversation. Whatever Sauron said in return, she had no idea, although it seemed likely that he was not thrilled by this recent turn of events.
'Behold,' said Faramir, holding up the palantír even higher. He turned his gaze upon the small gathering assembled before him. 'Kneel,' he commanded. 'Kneel before your Lord.'
Beth knelt along with all the others, her eyes fixed on the floor. Tempting as it was to look up and see what on earth was going on, she didn't dare. Who knew what Sauron could see, but if he found someone even slightly disobeying the instruction, he might realise that it was all a farce. So she didn't look.
The silence dragged on for a long time.
At last Faramir spoke again. 'The throne of Gondor is mine. None now stand in my way.'
Beth heard the footsteps on the marble floor as he did something that he technically had no right to do. She didn't hear him sit down and she didn't see him do it either, but she knew that he must have, because the footsteps ceased. As far as Sauron was concerned, he had as good as crowned himself King without any opposition whatsoever. Even the white wizard bowed down before him.
'I will see an end to you,' Faramir vowed. 'Know this. I shall make war on you. I shall strip the land bare and raze Barad-dûr to the ground. All you hold dear I shall take from you, so that you may watch, suffer and succumb to your despair, because you will never have it again. Then I shall kill you. This I promise you.'
Beth heard the rustle of cloth as he covered the palantír. 'Mithrandir, take this away.' The tone of voice was still cold, still commanding, but she dared to look up now. Faramir sat on the throne, face weary, yet relaxed. If he had entertained even the slightest doubt that he hadn't succeeded, it would have shown there.
It didn't.
And he confirmed it once Gandalf had left the room with that wretched palantír with a grim triumph she had not seen before: 'Now he knows fear,' he said.
Cathy
Many people had come. They trickled in one by one at first, clustering together at the far end of the hall. When the hall filled up further, they were slowly pushed more to the front. And then it just never stopped. An endless stream of people turned up.
The lack of sound from them unnerved Cathy the most. They didn't speak. Normally it'd be a challenge just to hear yourself think in a crowd this large, but all she heard were footsteps. This was not a happy crowd.
She had not been out and about much. Halin had told her bits and pieces about the restlessness on the streets, the outrage that followed Jack's passing. She took his word for it.
Now here they were.
They weren't supposed to be here, she thought. Most of them had not much cared for him for years. They only saw the hero who led them to victory. He had been so much more in life and they had never known nor cared. They had no right.
Those who did have the right were right here with her. She held Halin's hand in her left and Harry's in her right. She drew strength from Halin that she conveyed to Harry, because the boy was only barely holding on. Had he stopped crying yet? He didn't sob, but the tears kept coming.
Much like they did with her.
Duria on the other hand was dry-eyed and stony-faced, almost as she would have been in the days before the war. Only now she held Narvi's hand as though her very life depended on it, right here in this crowded hall for all with eyes to see. Elvaethor was here too. He stood tall and yes, his eyes were dry too, but the grief in them was more than she could face. Not so Flói, who looked like he hadn't slept a wink since that day, whose eyes were red and swollen. He stood beside Uncle Ori and Aunt Thora, but she didn't think she had ever seen him look more alone than he did then.
There was an empty space beside him where Jack used to stand.
Thoren had come. Apparently the healers had voiced protests, which he had ignored. He was yet too weak to stand or walk, so he had been carried in and deposited in a chair from which he was commanded not to move. He didn't. He only looked right ahead at Jack's body, eyes unseeing.
There was an empty place where Thráin should have been.
He doesn't even know. Then, another thought: he might be dead as well and we would never know. Maker only knew where he was, if he was safe. Would he be in Mordor now? Was he close? Even if the Ring was already destroyed, would they know anything about it? Mordor was so far away and the armies were here. Whatever he did might come too late.
There was a ceremony. Cathy was sure of that. Uncle Dori had arranged it all. Even late last night he'd come to her door to discuss specifics. She hadn't taken any of it in then and, truth be told, she didn't take anything in now either. Words were spoken by several people, all of whom no doubt spoke highly of Jack. She didn't hear a word.
Logic dictated that enough time had passed for her to really take it in that he wasn't alive anymore, but it refused to sink in. Yes, she knew, with her rational mind, that he had departed this life. And yet, even yesterday she'd caught herself just in time before she directed someone's military query in her twin's direction. It was instinct and habit and they had not yet caught up with recent events.
Would that she was as similarly blessed.
The words all washed over her unheard, so she watched instead. Jack was laid out on a bier especially made for him. He was too tall still to fit on anything that would easily accommodate a dwarf. If he were still here, this would have vexed him beyond measure. He'd have insisted that what was good enough for their people was good enough for him and never mind that he looked ridiculous lying on something too small for him. Wasn't that his source of grievance with the world anyway?
Only he wasn't angry with the world, not anymore. And just now he had begun to be at peace, he had been snatched away. How is any of this fair?
She wriggled her hand out of Harry's in favour of wrapping it around his shoulder instead. He in turn clung to her, hands twisting the fabric of her skirt because what else was left to hold onto? Jack had gone and it was him Harry cleaved to. Cathy thought of adoption papers, never mentioned since that day, but quietly locked away in Uncle Ori's desk. All of that had come to nothing.
And so might we.
The grief was palpable, but so was the anger. It simmered in the air, waiting to find a way to escape. There was no doubt in Cathy's mind that it would not be a pretty sight when it did. She hoped that a lot of orcs would be standing ready when the people did vent their anger at last, because Maker knew they could do with something like that.
We're trapped.
She looked at her brother again. They'd dressed him in fine armour, but not the pieces he had fought and died in. Those were gone, too damaged to ever be used again, unworthy of being worn by a prince of Durin's line. This was something he had never worn before, good craftsmanship, she was sure, made by dwarves. It was elaborately decorated too, giving him the appearance of a hero from distant times, stripping away all that had been real and flawed about him. Yes, it was meant to honour him, but it wasn't real.
It wasn't him.
Once the ceremony was over, people were given the chance to walk past the bier to pay their last respects before the family would see Jack to his final resting place in private. Cathy had argued against this vehemently. They hadn't the right. He'd been nothing to them. How dare they? Halin had stepped in and saved her from herself before she could tear her uncle to pieces. Of course, he'd said, the people should be offered this opportunity. Jack had led them to victory, had fought and bled for their sake. It was only natural that they should wish to honour him for that sacrifice.
That had given her pause just long enough.
So she stood back and she watched the endless line of people. The highborn came first. Dáin and Stonehelm opened the procession, both of them solemn, but respectful. Thranduil, still swathed in many a bandage, followed. Before the bier he halted, placed his right hand over his heart and bowed his head. No elf ever deferred to a dwarf in this manner. Surely it was a moment of historic value, but Cathy barely paid it any heed. Brand and Bard came behind him, also heavily bandaged and limping, leaning on each other.
Behind them many followed. Cathy knew few of them, and she doubted Jack had known many of them by name, but for the sake of the peace she held her tongue. She had agreed to this. It was, all things considered, the right thing to do.
And yet…
He had not been their brother.
She stood between Halin and Harry, not best pleased that these folk obscured Jack from her eyes. Soon enough she'd never see him again. She'd have to rely on memory then. Will I forget what he looked like in days to come? Will my memory one day fail me and I'll just be unable to recall if he had freckles or what his smile used to look like? As much as she still loved her parents, there were details about them that faded with time. When that happened, she made the trek to their tombs with the statues to remind herself, hating the unreliability of memory.
How can I forget when I still love them so much?
It made no sense.
At long last all the people filed out, leaving only Jack's nearest and dearest. It was a small gathering compared to the many who had attended the ceremony, just kith and kin. Jack had never made friends beyond that small circle. He'd never felt the need to do so.
Now she could approach without people getting in her way and so she did. Harry once again held her hand with no intention of letting go anytime soon. He was quiet, though the tears still came. What a cruel world this has become, when children cannot stop crying, she thought. What a cruel, cold world.
Jack had departed for a better place. Even now she could see the peace reflected on his face. His eyes were closed, as if in sleep, his hands folded on his chest, a sword clasped between them. The blade had no more belonged to Jack in life than the armour had; his own sword had disappeared in that fateful battle. Like as not the orcs now had it, a thought that set Cathy's blood aflame.
'He doesn't look like him,' Harry observed softly.
'No, he doesn't,' Cathy agreed. 'But it's to honour him.'
Harry did not understand this. He opened his mouth to ask, but Elvaethor hurried to the rescue: 'It is what folk do, young Master Harry, to show their care for him. It is how we say that we loved him when we dress him in such finery.'
Harry nodded solemnly. 'But I didn't give him anything.'
Truth be told, this child had given Jack more than he could possibly comprehend. He had given Jack peace and belonging, companionship and kinship. None of those things had been known to him before the war. Had it not been for Harry, they might have been forever beyond his reach.
'You gave him you,' she said, gently squeezing his hand. 'And he could have asked for no greater gift.'
Harry blinked up at her. 'I was enough?'
Her natural instinct was to say that yes, of course he was enough and how could he possibly think otherwise, but then her memory caught up to her just in time to remind her that this boy's father had not thought so. In these past few months he had been passed around from one person to another, separated from his mother and all the kin he had known before. Then he had chosen Jack and Jack, against all expectations, had chosen him.
And now that bond was lost as well.
'You were more than enough,' she said. 'Never doubt that, Harry.'
I'll look after him, she vowed silently, looking at Jack. Never worry, I'll do right by him. For his sake and yours. Maker only knew what had become of Beth, but so as long as her fate was uncertain, he'd have a place under Cathy's roof. Farewell, brother. Be at peace.
She drank in the sight of his face one last time, committing as many details to memory as she could. Then she stepped back to allow the others the chance to say their farewells.
Duria only stood and bowed her head. If she wept at all since Jack's death, Cathy had seen no evidence of it. Thank the Maker that Narvi was home to stand beside her. As much as she wanted her memory to let her down in this regard, it persisted in reminding her what happened the last time that Duria believed she had suffered a loss.
Thoren firmly disregarded the advice of the healers – no surprises there – in order to stand and pay his respects on his own two feet. Dwalin supported him on one side, his elf on the other. Truth be told, Thoren looked less alive than even Jack did. His complexion was almost grey. He'd lost weight too. The clothes he wore were his own, but they were too loose and apparently no one had thought to take them in to fit him now. His hair was still mostly red, but she noticed a few strands of grey at his temples. If he had been hale and whole, these would have given him authority and gravitas, but as matters stood, they only made him look old and tired.
Which, in some ways, he was.
This war has aged us all before our time.
Thoren did not speak. So far, none of them had felt the need to fill the air with any words. What could they say that had not already been said? What could they say to make this better? Words could not restore Jack to life. Words could not undo what had been done. What sense was there then to speak?
So they said their goodbyes in silence. Even Uncle Dori had nothing to say.
She stood firm when they accompanied Jack to his tomb and she stood firm when he was locked in forever. She was no longer a girl that she could demand to retrieve him from there, so she did not. Halin had wrapped an arm around her waist in support, for which she was glad. At this stage in her pregnancy she was finding it harder to stand for long periods of time. She didn't complain.
This is the least that I can do.
They filed out when it was done. In time, a statue would be erected, to remind one and all what he had looked like. For now the tomb was bare and cheerless.
Ordinarily, there would have been a meal provided for all attending, but not for Jack. They hadn't the supplies to spare. Part of Cathy railed against this. Had he not earned this small token of respect many times over? Yet this was war time and Jack himself would have been the first to tell them to stop wasting anything they could ill afford to miss on useless gestures that availed them nothing. Truth be told, she was convinced that he would have been less than polite about it.
It was for the first time since… it happened that she was out on the streets. She'd been told that the mood was grim and that the smallest spark could set everyone off. She had not been lied to; the mood was foul, but in a different way than it had been when they had traitors to contend with. This was not turned inwards. This was turned against folk beyond the walls, who were undoubtedly deserving of everything these people wished on them. These were not people who had been beaten. These were people raring for a fight.
So let's give them one.
She turned to Elvaethor, who was now in charge of all things military. 'Make them pay,' she charged him.
He inclined his head only once. 'I intend to.'
Next time: Elvaethor's embarking on a mission. Is it dangerous and ever so slightly reckless? Of course it is. By now you should know that most of the characters have absolutely no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.
Thank you so much for reading. Reviews, of course, would greatly brighten these grey and dreary December days.
Until next week! And in the meantime I'd like to wish you all a very happy Christmas!
