drum roll please……….

Chapter 6.

Disclaimer: If you say that I own The Lord of the Rings or any of its affiants, you can go screw yourself because I don't. And if I made any sort of profit on this, I would use it to build the world's biggest A-bomb and blow the crap out of this little brat in band and chemistry, then I'll take their head and bash it against a brick wall. All you lawyers can sue me for that, not for stealing anything that belongs to Tolkien.

Please Note: Yes, I KNOW that Eowyn originally has grey eyes in the books. However since this is an AU, I changed them to be blue. If you read the books, almost all the characters have grey eyes (really, read for yourself: Aragorn, Boromir, Faramir, Eomer, Théoden, Eowyn, Denethor, and I think Beregond all have grey eyes). I think Tolkien really liked the color grey because Windfola was also grey, Denethor's robes, Firefoot (in the books, Eomer's horse) was grey. I just got tired of all the grey so I changed some of it. Oh and Prince Imrahil had grey eyes. I changed Firefoot's appearance too, if you didn't realize and gave him to Hamal instead of Eomer.

Rana: You're a good guesser you know that? You figured out (one) of my plot twists, I won't say which one though. Kudos for you! Don't worry, Eowyn and Faramir will fall in love. In the next 1-2 chapters, something pretty major will happen that brings them much closer together. Not to mention a bit of fluff in this one.

Warnings: Eowyn and Faramir fluff ahead, not so much in this chapter but the next chapter. I know that my previous two chapters haven't really had much fluff between them, well this one dose. Mad Dotard Pyro alert. Eowyn is somewhat OOC in this. I tried, I really did, to keep her IC, but it just turned out that way.

My official decision: Remember earlier when I asked if you want some Eomer/Lothiriel, well the tallies are in! And the results are….

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…in the chapter. You'll have to read the chapter to find out. If you see any E/L hints, or glances, or anything, than the answer is yes. If not, the answer is no.

Enjoy…

MIMXVIVMXM

Eomer woke early the next morning. Sleep came hard for him the previous eve, despite the fact that his eyes felt like heavy anvils that threatened to drop. His mind was too busy and preoccupied by all the stress brought on by the Steward of the City. The entire night Eomer found himself staring heavily at the ceiling in a state of deep thought. Yet as he rose, ere the sun had risen, Eomer could scarcely recollect what all it was he had pondered just a few hours prior. It was strange how all the sudden you would be so deep and immersed in thought, that a second later you forget every last moment of it. From what little he could see out his window, Eomer know that it was not yet dawn and threw himself back on his bed. The bed itself was much more soft and fit for a woman's delicate form than what he had become accustomed and quite comfortable in in Rohan.

Denethor had come to visit Eomer during the night. It had come to a great shock to the Third Marshall that the throne caretaker would visit him so late at night. His blood began to boil at the mere memory of the Steward who was as cold as the stone city he ruled. Denethor had waltzed into his quarters at an unreasonable hour and then had the very nerve to interrogate him on what choice Théoden was leaning towards. If Eomer had not been so dead set against the treaty to begin with, he would have refrained from shattering his water basin against the wall but found the sound of shattering porcelain music to his ears. As every second passed Eomer continued to find more and more reason to do all within, and out, of his power to keep his sister from being forced into courtship-- or worse, marriage.

Eowyn was the world to him. He was there when Theodwyn was yelling in her painstaking contractions just as his sister was being born. He had been present to watch as his mother named her precious, and final child, and there as she died coddling both her son and daughter arm in arm. Of course Eowyn had only been a babe, but it was a tender and sad memory that he shared with none but her. Not one major incident of Eowyn's life had passed without him being present to tease, taunt, love, and embrace his sister. Eomer had been the one convinced Théoden to permit her to train under the helm of the Rohirrim. Memories of the two in the sword ring clashing blades and exchanging sibling insults were fresh in his mind. Her spirit was as wild as the stallion she rode, and Eomer would not let his sister lose it. Even the memories of their frequent trials and tribulations due to their age and gender difference, he revered because it was those precious moments that could not be replaced. The mere thought of Boromir or Faramir, much more Denethor, automatically sent Eomer's temper ablaze. Eowyn would say that when anger, her brother's eyes were akin to flame in their rage. Eomer did not know if that was true, nor did he really care. No doubt the forced marriage to a man, much less a man of Gondor, would be a tidal wave on her fiery free spirit. He simply would not allow that—end of story! (A/n: not really)

The sun was beginning to come out of hiding from behind the hills of the West and reclaim its victory against the moon. A soft knock came at Eomer's door. "Yes?" he answered. Immediately his door creaked open. He saw a very young looking boy, no older than 13 or 14, fitted in oversized mail and a helm. It was somewhat comedic looking at the boy; Eomer could not help but chuckle, but on the other hand he knew that he looked no different in his elongated helmet and armor that was twice the size he was.

"My Lord Denethor summons you to dine with him this morn. It will commence in one hour," the lad managed to stutter out. He looked positively hilarious in his nervous state and trice sized too large armor. Every other word the boy was forced to re-adjust his helm for it continued to fall over his eyes.

"Thank you. Tell your Lord that I will be there," Eomer said. He doubted there was any legitimate way out of it. Théoden, Theodred, and Eowyn were most likely summoned as well. He dismissed the petrified child and went to dress. For the day he chose a pair of fine buckskin breeches, and a simple breastplate with no mail beneath it. There would be no battles and any unnecessary weight was immediately lost. He draped a simple yellow mantle around his shoulders to balance the beams against the slight chill that the wind brought with it.

As had became his routine of norm since late, Eomer did is daily vow not to kill, harm, maim or dismember Boromir, Faramir, Denethor or anyone else for that matter no matter how tempting the matter became . The Third Marshall was a proud man, no one could deny that. Also no one could deny his short fuse and explosive temper even though it was what made him so ideal for the life and training of the Rohirrim. With a deep breath, he pushed away all thoughts of negativity of Gondor and those from it---in and out—in and out. Satisfied that his temper would remain in check, Eomer left his room in search of where the dining hall was located. He assumed it was somewhere in the vicinity of the throne, but was forced to do every man's bane—ask the locals for directions. The soldiers were glad to point Eomer in the right direction.

Halfway to his destination, Eomer saw the yellow hair of his sister in front of him. She too looked life sleep did not come freely or willingly to her. "Eowyn" he called out. Eowyn turned around and waited for Eomer to catch up with her hastened pace. Small circles rimmed the bottom of her eyes and her face was pale, but Eowyn smiled serenely at her brother. "I daresay that you had as much sleep as I did," Eomer said to his sister.

"And I daresay you are correct," Eowyn grumbled. Since Denethor's midnight visit to her quarters she spent the entire night fathoming what scheme the Steward had up his finely furnished sleeve.

"Dare I inquire, did by any chance Lord Denethor visit you last night?" Eomer said, trying—and failing—to make his voice sound casual.

Eowyn jerked her head in his direction. How did he know? Or worse, did the nearly senile ruler interrogate Eomer as well. Anger began to boil in Eowyn. "And if I said yes?" she answered. Eomer said nothing but met his sister's gaze. "Don't tell me…the audacity of this Steward of theirs!" she exclaimed, her checks becoming red. Of all the things, Denethor took it upon himself to systematically question the niece and nephew of the King. She wondered if he had the very nerve to question Theodred. It would not come as a complete surprise if he did.

"You too?"

"Yes," Eowyn replied sourly. All thoughts of food to quell her talking stomach were vanish, even if hunger did not. "Should we say anything to Theodred, or our uncle?" She questioned, not really knowing the proper course of action to take. No doubt Theodred would get word, whether or not the siblings told him directly; news and hints of such things were always at the tips of their prince's ears. But as to tell Théoden? Neither sibling knew.

"Well, I suggest we cease this conversation considering our surroundings," Eomer quickly said, pointing yet another set of marble doors. Two gaurds stood sternly on both frames, gesturing the pair to come inside. Eowyn 'shushed' her tongue and burning questions. Did the Gondor Princes know of this, or was Denethor so conniving that he would force his own kin into such a predicament. She wouldn't put it past the cold ruler. Scowling, Eowyn entered the magnificent dining room.

Like the rest of the city, it was pillared marble. In the room's epicenter a large elongated stone stable lay with chairs surrounding all ends. Great pewter goblets were placed on the table with fine china pates and utensils. However despite the grand layout, the only one's to greet the siblings of Rohan were those of Gondor. Boromir and Faramir sat on the far upper end on either side of the table's up most pinnacle. Apparently they had been in deep conversation before their presence was graced by Eowyn and Eomer. Boromir nodded curtly at their presence and Faramir welcomed them and pointed to their seats. Eomer sat to the left of the lower pinnacle and Eowyn, the right. A basin of water lay in the middle of the table and the two brothers passed it to the other end of the table. Eowyn and Eomer hastily washed their hands and waited for the arrival of Théoden, Theodred and Denethor.

"No doubt that knowledge hungry dotard is catching up on his lost hours spent interrogating us," Eomer spat out acidly in the native tongue of Rohan. His voice was loud enough so Eowyn snorted at his bold words, but low so as not to catch the lobes of Faramir and Boromir.

"I concur," Eowyn agreed, also in her first tongue not the Common.

"Concur with what?" came a boisterous voice from behind. Eowyn turned around to see the ever-cheerful face of Theodred. She often wondered if anything ever made him truly angry. Not even those times in the sparring ring when she had disarmed him as a lad Theodred didn't lose his cheery disposition. Behind the bright face of their prince was the expression of gloom that was glued to Théoden's visage. The King of Rohan took a seat at the lower head of the table.

A few moments later Denethor came in and sat between his kin. Semi-dark circles rimmed his cold steely eyes and he looked like an irritable temperament had taken a hold. Eomer and Eowyn glared at the Steward, which didn't go unnoticed. Boromir and Faramir saw the expressions of contempt that they were throwing at their father. However they reckoned that it would be wisest not to say anything.

Faramir eventually went to sleep when the moon was high in the sky. He often felt alien in his quarters at Minas Tirith in their exquisite luxury. Usually the soft moss that grew in thick sheets in Ithilien served as his bed, or the mist of the Forbidden Pool caressing his body at moonrise was his blanket. He did not have servants that would wait on him beck and call. He and his fellow Rangers were equal and did their own bidding, not called on another to do so. When he did finally succumb to sleep he had a very strange dream that he could not take his mind from.

/Dream mode/

A fell entity clad in black nothingness stood tall, and erect with his evil aura. All around this strange creature of darkness were the screams of blood lust, rage, revenge, murder, and death. The sun was rising above the hills to the East, but the usual beauty brought on by the sun's rays was drowned by a dim cloud of looming death. The tall tan grass that was the Pelennor was soaked with the dead bodies of fallen forces, both good and ill. Iron clad warriors with the White Tree lay lifeless along with the evil vermin spawn of Sauron. Their banners of the Eye stood out clear in the thick swells of smoke and ash that rose in the sky like a deadly poison. The shrill callings of horses pierced the night and green flashes were seen everywhere. And yet standing out from all this chaos was the same black robed figure.

His steed was no horse, Warg, or even one of the Mumakil that stomped viciously and called out in their blood rages. But a great winged beast that was bare with spines along his backbone. And yet as intimidating this beast was it was dead. The bloody stump that was once connected to a dragonish head lay bleeding its fluids freely across the already scarlet glazed ground. "Thou fool," the fell entity hissed. His voice was hallow, mirthless, and all emotion was absent. His giant iron mace was gripped in a mighty mail clad hand. "No man can hinder me," he said.

Before this creature of the Eye stood a solitary, lean and somewhat undersized solider. He held little to no muscle mass and might have well been a mere lad. Blue eyes flashed from beneath his helm and the sound of metal was heard as a sword wad drawn from its sheath. The solider took a battle stance of imminent death against this fell entity.

For the first time Faramir became aware of himself in the middle of this battle field. He was bloodied, weak and arrow stricken. He screamed at this warrior to stop and not die so foolishly in the battle field. Slowly he strode forth to the lone solider in a desperate attempt. His strength was hastily waning and he knew that he would not reach his destination, which was currently dodging the blows from the iron mace. The creature wailed in anger and Faramir felt like his ear drums would explode from the shrill hollow and downright evil cry. Faramir felt the free flow of his crimson fluids but that did not detour him from his goal. He knew not what force was pulling him to save this underfeed soldier's life, but the drive was strong and he could not resist.

Just a bit further, Faramir consoles himself as the two figures become closer and more acute. Yet in concurrence to his progress, the dark creature began taking his toll on the brave but fool some warrior. The cold metallic stick of his own blood breaches through his mail and drips unrelenting on the ground but still he walked on. His head began to wobble and eyes move in and out of focus. Before Faramir knew it, his knees had buckled and he met the ground with a THUD. "No," he moaned in pain.

Before his eyes the two brawling figures had slowed to a halt. The heavy breathing of the young solider was labored and clearly heard above all the other screams of pain from Knights, Rohirrim, Orcs, Haradrim and Mumakil alike. And in a flash, the Eye's foulest servant drew forth a blade and separated the brave fool's head from their shoulders. Faramir tried to scream at the sight, but his own voice was extinguished with the gushes of scarlet that came from his abdomen. As the head flew further from its body, the creature hissed in victory and went on to his next killing, an old man pinned beneath a stark white horse. With another THUD, the severed part landed helmless next to Faramir and he saw the face of the dead solider. It was perfectly rounded with blue eyes and long golden locks of hair.

Bile rose in Faramir's throat as he realized who the brave fighter was. Tears rimmed his eyes as he passed out on the red streaked ground next to what was once the Lady Eowyn—a Shieldmaiden in life and death.

/ END dream/

The dream deeply disturbed Faramir and he awoke from his bed in a cold sweat. Was it was a premonition? Or was it of the nature of his dream of the Great Wave and green country (a/n: If you don't know what I mean, e-mail me and I'll tell you). Would Eowyn meet her death as a warrior for the country and free realm she so cherished? Faramir scowled at the china plate below him. However his thoughts did not get a chance to become deep rooted for the call of his father's voice roused him back to reality. "Today, Théoden-king of the Riddermark and I will begin to take council and see if a favorable agreement on both parties can be reached," Denethor announced.

"We will take council after this morning meal, and alone," Théoden added. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible so he could return to his own borders with Eowyn intact and not in the fury of her brother's wrath that no doubt come to an official decision of betrothal.

Everyone around nodded and breakfast went along as if someone had pushed a 'silent' button. No one spoke to the other and only snide glances and crude gestures exchanged. The food was amazingly prepared and delicious. Wine was also served, which Eowyn felt somewhat odd. Her usual form of refreshment was the clean crisp water that was retrieved from Snowbourne. The meal ended quickly; Denethor and Théoden were the first to rise and exit to a small door to the left of the room. A small hoard of armor clad gaurds opened and closed the doors with a loud clamor. Eowyn guessed they were the Council Chambers. The sight of the stone faced gaurds greatly discouraged any eavesdropping, she noticed dimly.

Next the pair of brothers finished their goblets and left the way they came in. Theodred and Eomer were next to depart, leaving Eowyn alone to her thoughts. She still had a little wine left in her goblet, but decided against finishing. Her body did not tolerate alcohol well, no matter the form or potency, as Theodred loved to remind her and everyone else who would listen. Solemnly she rose from her seat and exited the room. She noticed out of the corner or her eyes the servants that scurried to clean up the mess her and her company had made. Eowyn felt a desire to help them, but knew that it would not be tolerated. Sighing she scanned her mind for activities to do to keep her from being consumed by boredom or worry.

Not really knowing her destination, Eowyn walked the long dimly lit corridors. Before she knew it, Eowyn found herself in the library of Minas Tirith. She knew not how she got there, save by taking random twists and turns throughout the labyrinth of halls. Shelves and shelves of books were scattered around in no particular order. Initially Eowyn had been looking for the stables, decided that a visit to Windrod would be in order, but quickly became lost and found in the library. Resolving to her surroundings, she surveyed the shelves. Many of the books were in foreign tongues, some she guessed to be Elven with their intricate runes. At the end of a shelf was a series of chairs. Seated in the unit nearest to her, Eowyn saw a strange looking man. He sat with his arms propped on his knees and a book in one hand. He had cropped black hair, hazel eyes, a chin of light black stubble, and a muscular build. The man looked to be middle aged, somewhere around 40 years of age.

He looked up at Eowyn, nodded his head in greeting and went back to his book. She nodded in response and resumed her search of the books. Soon she found one that appeared to show interest in horse lore and she picked it out, sat on the opposite end of the black-haired man and began to read. It was written in the Common Tongue so she had no trouble deciphering the written words. As it turned out, the book was on the linage and care of the noble steeds of Gondor. There were many ink illustrations on the dry, dust speckled parchment, but Eowyn found it interesting. She learned quickly of the strange methods that Gondor stable boys used on their four legged beasts. Many she knew of, but many of the methods had been corrected and perfected by her native horse lords.

She quickly lost track of time delving deeply into her book, but when a shadow was cast over the dried pages Eowyn lifted her head up to see the cause of the darkness. A woman with waist-length black hair woven into a long plait down her back stood there. She had green eyes, and a perfect slender body with curves in all the right places and a petite waist. She was very beautiful and obviously some sort of noble woman. The girl was around Eowyn's age, give or take a few years. For a fleeting moment Eowyn found herself jealous of the beauty in front of her, but she quickly cast it aside. "Who are you?" Eowyn asked.

The young woman smiled. "My name is Lothiriel. I was sent to show you around the city for today," her voice was sweet and melodic like a silver bell toned in spring. "Oh," was all that Eowyn could really say in reply, knowing she sounded and looked dumb in the presence of Lothiriel. "My father is Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Lord Denethor summoned my father and I to his magnificent White City for the official announcement of the treaty between Gondor and Rohan," the woman smiled.

Eowyn narrowed her eyes. "Lord," she managed to say without cringing, "Denethor had already proclaimed the treaty fulfilled?" she asked keeping her temper in check as her hands shook with fury.

"Yes Lady. Is that not so," Lothiriel inquired.

"No, unless my uncle has announced my betrothal to those of Dol Amroth first instead of me," Eowyn hissed.

"Oh dear. I had no idea! You're the Lady Eowyn of Rohan? I did not know, or else I would have used my brain before my tongue went astray," Lothiriel apologized, bowing her beautiful head sincerely. "I did not it was you. My father just simply told me to show you around Minas Tirith. I am truly sorry," she finished.

Eowyn smiled kindly. She should have refrained from lashing out at Lothiriel, and save her energy for Denethor if fate every allowed her that chance. "Fret not. You did not know," Eowyn said. Lothiriel twisted her perfectly formed lips into a perfect smile. She was indeed the incarnate of beauty and perfection. Eowyn doubted if a lady could get any fairer, even of those akin to the elves.

"I am here to show you around the city, so where would you like to go?" Lothiriel asked gently, still keeping her sleek round features in a smile.

As if a light bulb went off above her head, Eowyn immediately perked up. "Can you show me the stables where the steeds of Rohan were housed?" she said quickly, putting aside her book. A visit to Windrod would be perfect in her current mood, and now she would not get lost in the labyrinth of mazes in the White City.

MXIXVIXIM

"Too slow little brother," Boromir crackled jokingly at his brother. Faramir may be more skilled in the study hall, but it was his brother who excelled in the sword ring, which was exactly where the pair was. A large stone courtyard rimmed with training equipment and hay targets, for bows, lined the area. Over head the sun was shining brightly and the sky a perfect pale blue. Faramir scowled as he nursed his cut thumb by gently suckling the leaking red fluid. He ignored its metallic taste, having to self-dress wounds far worse than this alone in the middle of the Ithilien moor. He dropped his sword to the stone floor, and silently cursed his inferior ability with a blade. Boromir approached his brother, "You alright?" he questioned. Faramir smiled and nodded in return, picking up his weapon.

Denethor had allotted none into his council chambers with Théoden-king. A pair of tower gaurds carefully patrolled the dining corridor that led to the chambers. The idea of a bribe for eavesdropping on their council had greatly appealed to both brothers, however they were quickly turned away as both of the tower gaurds gazed sternly at the pair, as if mentally sensing their plans. 'No,' Faramir had consoled his brother. 'If father found out he would be furious. I harbor little doubt that both those gaurds would jump at the opportunity to reveal our listening ears to father,' said he. Boromir had only grunted in response and suggested casually that they head off to the sword ring where they could vent their frustrations on each other. So far Boromir had done all the venting.

When they had ventured down to the ring, they were met by Eomer and Theodred who obviously shared the same sentiments as the brothers. In the middle of a sparring match, Faramir and Boromir studied their fighting style. The way of the swords to the Rohirrim were much more primal and broad, very much in contrast to the acute and articulate way of the Rangers and Knights of Gondor. It was fascinating to observe their round, which Eomer promptly won. It wasn't until Theodred had lowered his head in defeat that they took notice of the siblings. And so every other round they rotated so as to allow equal time for both parties.

As Faramir was disarmed by his brother, Theodred muttered to Eomer, "He shows no mercy that one". Eomer nodded and agreed in silence. There was no denying that Boromir was a formidable foe, and wished that he would not be his enemy in battle. The Third Marshall pitied the Mordor-vermin that would find themselves upon his blade. However the fighting manner of the elder differed greatly from his brother. Faramir was much more fluid in his motions, preferring subtle and indirect attacks whereas Boromir would always head straight for victory. The pair made a great match, but it was clear that the first son held more years of experience. "You fought well," Theodred congratulated the elder. Boromir nodded in thanks, and began to retire to the sidelines to make room for Theodred and Eomer. Faramir followed suite.

Just as the prince of Rohan, and Third Marshall were in the process of taking their stances, a soft decisively female voice laughed and said, "Your style is flawed".

"Eowyn," Theodred and Eomer said in unison. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm on my way to the stables," she responded. Beside her, Lothiriel came into the frame and bowed before her lords, and foreign guests. As always, she moved with a fluid grace of a noblewoman and her manner was ladylike and proper.

"Lothiriel, I did not know you were here," Faramir said.

The black haired, fair skinned woman answered, "My father and I arrived ere the sun rose this morn. I was instructed to show Lady Eowyn around our splendid city. Of all places, why she wishes to visit the stables I do not know," she said in earnest. Faramir laughed silently. No doubt her wild stallion, Windrod, was missing his mistress and she him. It was odd how Eowyn was so connected to a horse, more so than to most people. And yet, oddly funny how Lothiriel knew so little of her customs.

"I daresay Windrod has been calling for you?" Eomer joked with his sister. Eowyn laughed in response and nodded. As she did, the Shieldmaiden of Rohan could not help but notice how Lothiriel was eyeing her brother. Her hazel eyes were locked on Eomer, and she seemed as though she could not draw them away.

For the first time Boromir spoke up, "What do you mean my style is flawed?" he demanded of Eowyn. How could she, a mere woman, know whether or not the blade in the hands of a man fell on ill strokes or not? No matter what her heritage is. Certainly the King of Meduseld did not allot women in the sword ring with the men.

For a fleeting moment, Eomer and Theodred met the other's gaze. Why did Eowyn always get herself in trouble? Why? Could she not, for one day, hold her pride to her own thoughts, Theodred mentally screamed. Eomer on the other hand looked smug at the fact that his sister had criticized the first son of the Steward. After all, it was by their own request that half the company of the Golden Hall be drawn to the White City at the possible prospect of a forced marriage treaty. It also helped that Eowyn was right. Eomer had noticed it as well. When Boromir would lunge at his opponent, more often than not he would jump from too great a distance allowing his enemy to jump back and escape the blow. It was nothing major, but a common mistake that was easily remedied. A smirk was glued to Eomer at the thought of Eowyn rectifying Boromir's fault.

"Do you not know the meaning of the word flawed?" Eowyn responded coldly, locking eyes with Boromir; violent grey spheres meeting with proud blue orbs.

"Eowyn—," Theodred tried to intervene, but was cut off by a sharp glance by Eomer.

"Then show me," Boromir challenged. He could not lose to this woman. She was just that—a woman.

With a great effort, Eowyn repressed her cold smirk that was beginning to bubble to the surface. At that, Eomer tossed his sister his sword. She caught it with little effort and made her way to the ring.

Faramir stood shocked, mouth agape. What did she think she was doing? Even he could only just defeat his brother, and that was only if the stars were aliened for his victory.

SVIXIXMXIXVS

END CHAPTER.

MUAHAHAHAHA, I am so mean. I love cliffies. Don't hate me. Please. Pretty please? Purdy please with sugar and a cherry on top?

Okay, you can hate me. XD

And to answer your questions, yes there will be Eomer/Lothiriel, in case you didn't get my hint.

Sorry this took longer than I anticipated updating. And I apologized for Eowyn's OOC nature. The next chapter will be better.

Remember, please, R&R. I will love you forever if you do.

Elen sila lumenn' omtielvo

Narya