2. Laughter, song, carry away, doll
The halls of Meduseld are filled with laughter once more. It has been so long...
My daughter shyly comes up to me, her doll clutched fiercely in her arms. She is the apple of my eye, my Theodwyn. Lothíriel tells me that Wyn has me wrapped around her little finger, although she is not yet three years old. Perhaps she is right...
I cannot resist her round blue eyes, so like Éowyn's when she was little. And her sweet voice never fails to carry me away.
"Song," she says. It is not a request.
And I will sing for her.
