Chapter 140

An Important Mission

The war was over, but spontaneous victory parties sadly refused to develop anywhere. I think I'd vaguely entertained the idea that everyone, now that Sauron was vanquished forever, would leap out into the streets, shouting for joy and festoon the place with garlands and hastily put together decorations before launching the street party of the century.

That didn't happen.

Oh, you could feel the sheer relief everywhere. At first it was tinged with slight incredulity; this war had been a part of everyone's lives for so long that it was hard to really believe that it was all over. Very few people in Gondor actually remembered a time before Sauron. He'd been a threat in the east for so long that they never knew any different. They feared him. They despaired that this war could ever be won. I've seen what a mindset like that could do to people. And yet the men of Gondor stood their ground for decades. They put on their armour, picked up their swords and marched to hold the Enemy at bay. Now that need for war had come to an end at last. I don't think they quite knew what to do with themselves.

These were war-hardened, cautious people who tended not to take this sort of thing on faith. They all felt it when Sauron died, as they did everywhere, but the smoking volcano had never meant anything good, so they remained cautious until they saw the skies clear above Mordor. Even then there were very few cheers and outbursts of joy. They were so tired of war that they were simply relieved that it was over. Celebrations would come and when they did, they would be heartily encouraged, but not just yet. Too many had died. Quite a number of people were still hovering on the edge between life and death. The lower city was in ruins and someone needed to make sure that the city kept moving, that the rubble was cleared, that everyone remained fed and watered and that the healers could do their jobs.

That was the situation as I found it on my arrival that evening, just after sunset. We'd had a hard day's riding behind us by that point. Folca's behaviour had been exemplary throughout, which was a definite first. He and I were slowly working our way towards a sort of understanding, which was about time too.

We reached the top level of the city and this was where our plans met with a bit of an obstacle in the form of my mother, who crossed her arms over her chest and said no, she had patients and they needed a rest. We were allowed to come back in the morning and see them then. Yes, they were all alive and yes, they were going to likely remain that way, but they were in a very bad way now and they needed their rest. This was the moment where Aragorn risked life and limb, because he pulled rank on her.

This went down as well as could be expected.

In the subsequent row I slipped away and past her – she was not paying attention to me in the slightest – and went to have a look at the patients all by myself…

Beth

The noise of the argument of the century was dulled instantly the moment Beth pulled the door to behind her. Here it was all quiet. There wasn't even any snoring. Beth found that more than a little disconcerting. On the road Thráin and Gimli had been in endless competition with each other to determine who could snore the loudest. There'd never been a clear victor.

The patients had their own beds, lined up along the wall. Thráin was closest to the door, with Legolas in the bed next to him. Then came Frodo, then Sam and Gimli was on the far end. She suspected so, since screens had been erected around the bed. He was in the worst condition out of all five of them. No one knew the details, but it seemed that somehow he'd sustained an injury on his arm and it had got infected. Very badly infected. According to her mother he was stable now, but that was as much as she was prepared to say for the time being.

It had been such a long time since she'd seen them, although technically it was only a little under a month and a half ago. It felt like a lifetime. They had changed. Beth had changed as well, but she fancied that she looked a little more healthy than the five in this room.

She never meant to linger. She agreed with her mother that they needed their rest. Hell, they had more than earned their rest. She was not planning to wake them up and pester them about details. She only ever wanted to ascertain that they were alive.

Of course that plan, like so many others, went right off the rails before it had ever left the station, because Thráin was awake. 'Beth?'

Oops. 'Hiya,' she said. Really, that the best you've got? Bloody hell, Andrews. You've got sloppy. 'Did I wake you?'

'The row beyond the room woke me,' Thráin replied.

Oh well, at least it wasn't her fault. And he was awake now, so it was definitely rude to leave. She'd better ask all the same. 'Do you want me to leave?'

He shook his head. It was nearly dark, but there was still enough light left to see by. 'No. Do you have time?'

'Only until my mother figures out that I've disregarded her orders.' The row on the other side of the door was still going strong. 'Have you met her?'

A wry smile was all the answer she needed. 'I have.'

Beth took a chair and placed it next to the bed, where she got her first good look at him since Sarn Gebir. The words tumbled from her lips unasked. 'Bloody hell, Thráin, where's the rest of you?' Good grief, but he was skinny. In her mind she had pictured him doing all those things she had been told about while still looking as he had the last time she saw him. That was a bit of a mistake, because he didn't look a thing like he should.

His head looked too large for the rest of his body, but that was because he'd lost so much weight, she reasoned. No way he would have fit into that shirt before the quest. His eyes looked tired, more than the rest of him. She squinted. It was difficult to see in the half-dark, but she was fairly sure that he'd had a few grey hairs now, right at his temples.

Her remark made him frown, then grin. 'Where is the rest of you?' he returned.

'Rations, running and riding.' She had an answer to that. 'We're all still alive, you know. I don't know if anyone's told you that yet?'

'All of you?' he asked, quite alert all of a sudden.

So no one had told him. 'All of us,' she confirmed. 'A bit battered and bruised, but all of us are still alive and kicking. Merry's still recovering from stabbing a Nazgûl from behind and Aragorn and Gandalf are still nursing their broken noses, and everyone has a few scrapes, but we're all still functioning people.'

He relaxed back against the pillows, tension draining away. 'Éowyn killed the Nazgûl, then?'

Beth nodded. He was trying to get up to date. She had a million questions herself, but she'd indulge him. He'd had the more difficult journey out of both of them. He deserved to know. 'One of them, yes.'

'One of them?'

'There were three. We suspect Sauron sent the other six north, because we never saw them.' It was only a theory, but so far it held up to scrutiny. 'Éowyn killed one of them, the Witch King, just as the book predicted.'

He knew she was not telling him something; Beth could tell by the look in his eyes. She could also tell that he was rapidly working it all out. 'Who killed the other two?'

'Aravir killed one,' she replied. 'I think you've met him before?' She waited until Thráin nodded in the affirmative before she continued. 'He shot it down while it was focusing on Faramir – he's also fine by the way – and wasn't paying attention.' She let the suspense build until just before he would break and ask, then said: 'And I killed the third, although he was technically the first to die.'

Thráin blinked.

Then blinked again.

'You…?' She could tell he had some trouble wrapping his head around that.

'Killed a Nazgûl.' Well, she still had trouble believing it herself. Even the memory of the event felt surreal, like it had not really been her. How could it have been her? She was prim and proper Beth, who never ever killed anything or anyone. She was not brave enough. Only she had. Death's Bane is what they call me now. It did happen. 'With some help from Boromir. Stabbed it right in the face. It was bloody stupid, because I couldn't remember anything that you taught me, but I figured that the face would do for him. And it did. And then I passed out and Gandalf had to step in to heal me.'

'You killed a Nazgûl?' Thráin was still catching up.

Beth nodded.

'That is quite the achievement.' He wasn't one for outright praise, but she fancied that she could hear it, right there.

'It was.' Which led her to another conclusion. 'I'm pretty good actually.'

He inclined his head. 'I knew that you could be.' Once you put some backbone into it. He didn't say that, but they both heard it and they both knew he was right.

The last time they'd seen each other she was only just getting to grips with her role. For all he knew she would have run scared and decided that she did not want to do it anymore. She hadn't and the lack of faith hurt a little, but she could not fault him for it either. Out of the two of them he had always been the most devoted to this quest.

'Do you want to hear what happened?' Beth asked. 'Or do you want to sleep first and I'll tell you tomorrow?'

Stupid question, really. 'Now, if you will.' His gaze drifted towards the door, behind which the vigorous discussion had just picked up a notch.

'My mother's trying to deny the others entrance to the sick room,' Beth clarified. 'Aragorn tried to outrank her.' That of course had gone down like a lead balloon. Fiona Andrews was pleasant enough to be around, but she was extremely protective of her patients. Anyone trying to do something that she felt was not in their best interests was in for a fairly unpleasant time. 'So we have until she realised I slipped past her to visit the sick without her express permission.'

'You slipped past her?'

'I know my mum.' Only too well. 'And she was distracted. I doubt she's realised I've gone. Yet.' Not while Aragorn was still trying to push his point. If he didn't lose patience and grabbed for his blade, chances were that they'd still be arguing come dawn. 'Shall I tell you?'

He nodded.

So she did. Thráin settled himself back against the pillows, which seemed to be the only thing that kept him in a more or less sitting position. Quite frankly, it was alarming to see how weak he was. In all the time she'd known him, he'd never once showed weakness. He took the blows the world threw at him, shrugged them off and carried on. Now at last he needed to slow down and take it easy and he was so exhausted that he couldn't even hide it.

Beth had the good grace to pretend not to notice.

He wanted to know about her journey, so she gave it to him, warts and all. She described the fight near Sarn Gebir and her role in it, the subsequent hunt, the reunion with Gandalf and the events in Edoras, including but not limited to Théodred's survival. Thráin nodded every once in a while; like her he recognised the rough outlines as detailed in the book. She went on to tell him about Helm's Deep and the elves he sent their way. At this point he smiled, just briefly. Well, he had every right to be pleased with himself, because they had needed the elves.

At this point it all became really messy. She glossed over Boromir's supposed death and discovery, gave some attention to Théoden's death – because honestly, who'd have seen that coming? – and then told about their visit with Saruman.

'He's dead,' she said, short and to the point. 'At my recommendation.'

She waited to see what he made of that.

Truth be told, she did not regret it, not much anyway. Saruman had been a lying, two-faced traitor who all things told got off lightly. He would have wreaked havoc on the Shire and that just didn't seem fair repayment for the hobbits who had given so much on this quest. Besides, there had been a crime. It stood to reason that there should be punishment. She could justify giving that recommendation.

She just wasn't sure if he thought the same way.

Dwarves were different, entirely alien in some ways. They didn't approve of going the sneaky way, behind people's backs. Beth hadn't gone behind someone's back exactly, but she'd planted a seed, saying one thing while meaning the other. She hadn't said: 'We should kill him.' She had implied it instead.

She worried for nothing. 'Good.' He nodded. 'It would have been poor repayment to our friends.'

'That's what I thought.'

So on she went, mentioning the wedding and avoiding Thráin's gaze every inch of the way, because she was not ready for that commentary. From the corner of her eyes she caught his I-knew-it grin and she was in no mood to undergo the I told you so treatment. It made her wonder how much he had suspected in the first place.

She did not ask that either.

Instead she related the palantír incident, making him laugh a little when he realised that most of them had a go, before his cracked ribs reminded him that laughter was something he should probably avoid for now. From there on she related the journey to Osgiliath and the events there that led to her killing a Nazgûl and acquiring a nickname. She told him about the horrible mess with Denethor and that he'd eventually killed himself, despite all measures they'd taken against that eventuality. She told him all about Faramir, making sure to bestow as much praise on him as she could. Barely anyone knew what he'd done, which made him one of this mission's unsung heroes.

'Were your family here during the battle?' Thráin asked when she concluded her account of that event. By now they had been here for some considerable time and the argument outside was showing no signs of letting up. It was a miracle that apart from Thráin none of the Fellowship here were awake. Perhaps they'd been drugged.

'No, that happened after.' She explained how that had come about. 'Gandalf said he'd learned from the mistakes he made with your mother.'

'That is good,' he said, eyes solemn now. 'Do not misunderstand me, I do not condone his actions. There will have to be a reckoning still.'

That did not sound good, but this did remind her. 'I found his accomplice.' When he did not immediately understand, she elaborated: 'The one who came to England to arrange it all. It was Elrohir, Elrond's son. I met him here in Minas Tirith and he looked so horribly familiar that I was sure I had met him before. Which I had. At a book signing in Bristol a little over a year ago. I signed a book for him and had a bit of chat about facts and details and whatnot and somehow that made him think I was perfect for the job.'

As expected, Thráin's eyes darkened. 'I knew it,' he growled under his breath, reminding her why she should never want to get on his bad side. 'I knew Gandalf did not do this thing alone.' And he'd been right even when Beth had her doubts on the matter. He was often a lot more observant than anyone gave him credit for.

'Well, I was tempted to scratch his eyes out,' Beth said. 'But he had his brother with him and he's a guest here, so I couldn't do that. Apparently it's considered rude.' Not to mention that she didn't have the strength to do such a thing anyway. 'So I said I would instead just casually mention it to you and see what happens next.'

It was not the dwarvish way, but Thráin actually chuckled. 'You do remind me of her, sometimes.' When this did not prompt enlightenment, he added: 'My mother.'

It was a conclusion Beth had reached as well these past months, over and over again. 'Well, we are related,' she replied airily. 'There's bound to be some resemblances between us.' She looked over her shoulder at the door, behind which the argument still raged. 'Listen, I should probably go. We'll come back tomorrow morning. Promise.'

He nodded. 'I shall think on the question you posed.' Although she never actually posed it. 'Did he apologise?'

Seriously? 'No. What'd you think?' She stood up. 'I'll tell the others I've seen you and that you're all on the mend and then hopefully I'll get them all away so that you can catch some shut-eye.' She hesitated. 'It's good to see you, Thráin.'

He inclined his head. 'And you.' It even sounded like he meant it.

She said goodnight and slipped out the door, unseen by her mother, who still had her back to her and was apparently in the midst of a good lecture that involved letting the sick get all the rest they needed. The one who did see her was Aragorn, who pointedly looked away the next moment to give his undivided attention to the woman who was still having a go at him.

Bloody hell, he's keeping her distracted, isn't he? One of these days she would have to stop underestimating him.

She slipped in next to Boromir, trying to look as though she'd never left in the first place, while Aragorn admitted defeat with bad grace and a warning that he would return in the morning when he fully expected to be admitted or else. After that he led their motley little bunch away, but only about three corridors, where he halted – as did everyone else – and turned to her.

'Are they well?'

Beth nodded. 'Most of them slept right through the whole thing, but Thráin was awake. They're all right. Tired, skinny, battered and bruised, but alive. I think Gimli is a little worse, though. We shall have to see tomorrow.'

Aragorn inclined his head in thanks. For some reason he seemed really pleased with himself.

Thoren

It was late, but that didn't stop Thoren from calling a meeting. It was a small one, not an official one, and in many ways the aim was self-indulgence. Aye, there was a need for this, but it was nothing that could not also wait a few more days until everything was a little more settled. It was not urgent enough to warrant immediate action.

Thoren however was of a different mind and so he had sent Harry and Tauriel to track down the folk he wanted and bring them here. Flói was the first to arrive, weary and dirty. It seemed that Harry had accosted him the moment he came back in through the gates. Elvaethor and Thranduil arrived together. He had sent for Glóin too, but he had fallen off his horse and broken both his ankles, Tauriel reported when she only returned with Kíli instead.

'Very well,' Thoren said as Harry also slipped back into the room, dragging Nori in with him. He also had not taken the time to clean up since returning from the field of battle.

'What can I do for you today, my lad?' Nori enquired before Thoren could get a word in edgewise. 'It's a little late for a meeting.'

'It is,' Thoren agreed. 'And I shall keep it brief. Please sit.'

The attendees did.

'The war is over,' Thoren said. True, for some time the Free Folk Alliance would have to occasionally deal with the remnants of the orcish and Easterling armies. They had scattered to the four winds, but small groups still clustered together to make trouble sometimes. They would be easily dealt with, but the main war was won tonight, which brought him to his next point: 'We know that this is because of a Fellowship that set out to destroy the Ring. Today's events prove that they were successful.'

Folk nodded their agreement of this assessment.

'Two of them belong to Durin's Folk. A third is Lord Thranduil's own son. The last is Harry's mother, who has long been separated from her son, dragged into this quest by the will of a wizard. I would see all four of them escorted back from where they are at the moment as soon as can be arranged.'

Harry's face lit up in a smile and he immediately forgot that he was not supposed to speak during this meeting. 'I can go!' he exclaimed.

Thoren smiled indulgently, but shook his head. 'I do not yet trust in the safety of the roads, nor in the state of the roads themselves. It would be irresponsible to send you out when I cannot guarantee that.'

'I will go,' Nori said immediately. 'It's been some time since I was last down south.'

Thoren inclined his head. He had hoped for as much. It was he who had broken Thráin out of gaol in Minas Tirith thirty years past. If Thráin's writing was right, it was to that city that the Fellowship would go. 'It might be best to try in Minas Tirith first. It is the closest city to Mordor that I think is still standing.'

Nori grinned. 'It's been some time I've headed that way. I should like to see it again.'

'I shall accompany you,' Kíli announced.

'And I,' said Flói almost simultaneously. He looked tired, perhaps desperate to leave and let the memories come to rest. He stood alone now. Perhaps it had been an unconscious decision, a force of habit, that he had left a space next to him empty for someone who would never be there again. In many ways, Jack's death must have hit him the hardest. They were always in each other's company, as close as brothers. Now one half of that equation was gone forever.

'I would appreciate that,' Thoren said. He turned to Thranduil. 'Would you like the opportunity to send some of your people with mine for the sake of your son?' It seemed decent to ask. They were allies still. The alliance held and he suspected it might yet survive the war for years to come.

'When shall they leave?' the elf asked.

'As soon as can be managed,' Thoren replied. The sooner his people were home, the better he would like it. 'First light, if possible.' That left only a few hours, but now that all was done it was foolish to waste more time. His heart told him that Thráin had survived. He must have survived, for he had a destiny to fulfil. Yet he should like to see the evidence with his own eyes and embrace the brother he had not seen for so long.

'I shall appoint two of my people to go with yours,' Thranduil decreed.

He had not expected anything else. So now he turned to Elvaethor. 'My brother, can you ride a horse without discomfort?'

This question he did not ask lightly and if he had been well himself, he might have ridden out in his stead. But he was not well. Only Thoren, Elvaethor and Galadriel knew of what Thráin must become. The Lady was not one to send on such an errand. He himself could not go. Yet someone who knew should be among that party.

It was for this reason that he had not asked Duria to be present. She would have broken out in righteous indignation before the last word had even left his mouth. She did not know yet, so she would not understand the importance of this. Soon he would sit her and Cathy down and tell them what Galadriel had told him. They must know sooner rather than later.

Elvaethor, still in his wheelchair, held his gaze for a long moment and then nodded. Thoren suspected that he knew precisely what Thoren truly asked of him. 'Yes, I should think that I can do this,' he replied. 'I have done so this night and it caused me no further pain. I shall go and retrieve them.'

Thranduil arched an eyebrow, but held his tongue. No doubt he yearned to ask what the meaning of this was. No one volunteered an explanation. His own folk did not understand, but they would never say so where an elf could hear, which suited him best for the time being. Perhaps Elvaethor would speak with them on the journey, but that must be his decision.

Harry looked at him with hopeful eyes. 'You will bring my mother here, Mr Elvaethor? Really?'

'When I find her, I will do so with all due speed,' Elvaethor vowed. It was the best promise he could make. Who knew what harm had befallen her on the journey? It was a perilous road by all accounts.

'Her name is Elizabeth Andrews, though I believe that she prefers to go by Beth,' Thoren said, addressing his folk. 'Finding her, or news of her, is an important part of your task, for young Master Harry's sake. They have been kept apart for too long. I would see a swift end to that.'

His folk nodded.

'Well, if that's the way of things, I'd better go and pack and bid farewell to my brothers,' Nori said cheerfully. 'And I'll not mind betting that'll take up most of the night. I'll see you fine fellows at the gates at sunrise.'

He left the room without further ado, as was his way. Flói and Kíli nodded, bade their farewells and departed as well, which left Thoren with three elves and young Harry. Thranduil showed no signs of leaving, Tauriel and Harry now lived here and he would appreciate a word alone with Elvaethor, but Thranduil really was not shifting.

Nothing else for it then. 'Can I be of further assistance, Lord Thranduil?'

'Perhaps.' He never much cared for that calculating look. 'Perhaps you would clear up a matter that confused me.'

'What matter?' Although he had a suspicion of the matter in question.

'These past months I have seen this young lad and remarked, as many did, on his uncanny resemblance to your late brother.' It was what Thoren thought it was then. 'I've heard speak names that are unfamiliar to any part of the world that I have seen. It occurred to me then that your own mother bore a similar name.'

There was no question in this, but Thoren heard it loud and clear. His first instinct was to tell the elf to keep his nose out of other people's business. This was not his concern, but in the interest of good relations between their kingdoms, he felt that it was perhaps time for some honesty.

'Your observations are correct,' he therefore said. 'My mother was not from this world. Neither are her kinswoman and young Harry here. They came from a place they call England and were brought to our shores on the will of Gandalf the Grey.' It was a truly rare sight to see any elf so lost for words. Thranduil stared and his mouth opened, yet no sound came out of it.

Thoren sat back – truth be told, there was not much else he was capable of at any rate – and waited until the elven king rediscovered the gift of speech. It proved to be a lengthy process. He looked and frowned and opened his mouth several times, closing it again when he found that he did not have the words for this after all.

Elvaethor meanwhile sat serenely in his wheelchair. The information that was so new to his former king was already well-known to him. Tauriel sat at his side in silence, waiting patiently and also unsurprised. He was glad now that he had told her several weeks ago. Young Harry was neither calm nor serene, but he was of a somewhat more cheerful disposition than he had been for the last several days. He sat on Thoren's other side, practically vibrating with excitement and, in a gesture that he probably thought of as helpful and reassuring, grinning at Thranduil as widely as he could. It missed the mark, for every time Thranduil looked on it, he appeared more confused than he was before.

At long last the elf broke the silence. 'I do not understand,' he said. It was evidence of his great confusion and also trust that he spoke of this at all. 'What purpose did Mithrandir wish for them to serve in this world that could not be accomplished by one born here?'

'Something truly great,' Thoren replied. 'My father's quest and this quest that Harry's mother has accompanied are the subjects of a great story told in this other world. It was Gandalf's wish that certain elements of it be… changed.' Changes that led to him being alive in the world today. Changes that had led to Thráin being alive in the world today. He wondered if anyone had ever even known how great the changes were that she wrought on the world. 'Harry, in my study, in the top drawer of my desk, lies a book entitled The Hobbit. Would you be so kind as to fetch it for me?'

Harry hopped off his chair, shot another too cheerful grin in Thranduil's direction and disappeared into the study. He rummaged around for some time, then returned with the requested book in his hands.

It was old now. Even when it was new it had gone through events that no book should be exposed to, through fire and water both. It had been extensively used and this showed. Some of the pages were coming apart from their binding. When Ori next had a moment, Thoren resolved to ask him to have it all copied out. This was information that he felt should not be lost forever and there was none he trusted more with such a task than his uncle.

'Give it to Thranduil, if you please, Harry,' Thoren instructed. 'Just to look at and then I shall want it back.'

Thranduil held out his hands and took the book almost reverently. He looked through the pages and presumably the notes scrawled in the margins, as Thoren had done so often. During this time no one spoke. They all waited.

Harry remained on hand to take the book back when Thranduil was done with it and, on Thoren's instruction, carried it back to the same drawer in the study that he had withdrawn it from.

'I understand more now,' Thranduil said. 'Here were forces at work that even the wise struggle to comprehend.' Unsurprisingly he counted himself among the wise. Thoren bit his tongue and said nothing of it. 'I thank you for your frankness.' He rose to his feet. 'And now, I believe, it is time for me to depart and bid you a goodnight.'

Thoren inclined his head. 'I shall do likewise. I believe that you will not be offended when I ask you not to spread this tale beyond this door.' This was still a secret even in Erebor. Only a very select few were ever aware of it.

Thranduil nodded. 'I believe I take your meaning,' he said. 'Very well, I promise not to do so. Good night.'

He departed. The door shut behind him.

Now at last he could truly speak freely. And so he turned to Elvaethor. 'I mislike having to ask this of you now, my brother, but I believe you understand why I asked you to go?'

Elvaethor waved his objections away as if they were minor inconveniences. 'I can sit on a horse and not harm myself in doing so. Someone who knows should go to Thráin.' He cast his gaze down. 'And the news of his loss should come from kin, I believe.'

That was another matter that they had not spoken on. 'Yes, it should.'

If it were any other than Thráin who should be told such news, he would instruct the messenger to break the news as gently as he was able. But this was Thráin, who did not appreciate folk beating around the wretched bush for ages until they were good and ready to give him their news. He'd want to be told straight and as soon as possible. A bad thing did not become less bad by folk dancing around it, he always claimed.

Fortunately Elvaethor knew this. 'I shall do what must be done.'

'I shall come and say goodbye to you at the gates,' Thoren promised. He wished he could have risen to his feet to say his goodnights standing up, but that was not yet something he could do. His body was too weak. 'And I know you will perform your duties in the way you always do. Yet I have one request to make before your departure.'

'Please make it.'

'Come back alive.' There had been too much death of late. 'You are needed here. You are only sent to deliver a message. You are not on your way to a battle. Please be careful.'

'I shall see to it that this is done,' Elvaethor said. 'After all, I have a home to return to.'

So he had. Just thinking about that eased some of Thoren's pain.

First off, a thousand apologies for the long delay! I've had a bit of a home redecoration project which – to the surprise of no one except me – turned into more of a thing than I actually anticipated. I'm back now. I haven't got round to responding to reviews yet, but I'll try to get round to that in the next couple of days. If I accidentally overlook yours, please know I very much appreciate every single one!

Next time: Nori presents his companions with an intriguing riddle.

Thank you so much for reading. Reviews would considerably brighten this cloudy day!

Until next week!