A/N: First, my sincere apologies for the delay in posting. This story is completely finished (it's quite long!) but some of it needs revision, particularly in the early sections. Unfortunately, this chapter is mostly new, and the parts I kept from the first draft needed a great deal of reworking at a time when real life threw me a number of curve balls. It is my intention to post at least one chapter a week as often as possible (and sometimes more) but there will be weeks when that probably won't happen (I'm on vacation the first two weeks of September, and will post if I can – I'm hoping to have several chapters completely revised and ready to go before leaving town) but if I do disappear for a week or two, don't despair – the story will be eventually be posted in its entirety. Once I'm back from vacation, my life should calm down considerably.
A/N 2: I commented on this before one of the earlier chapters, but feel I should repeat it in light of Wondereye's question. This is a very dark, very angsty story, and quite frankly, it gets much worse before it gets better. I've tried to drop lighter moments in as we go along, and I promise that everything ends well, but it's dark enough in places I've wondered if I should have rated it M just for the angst factor. I know there are people who don't like a lot of angst, or at least like to be prepared for it…so you've been warned. ;)
More replies at the bottom…
Eomer awoke, disoriented. In the candlelit darkness of the cave, it took a moment to remember where he was, to move past the confusion of seeing the cave walls around him. Past the panic of an arm that still wouldn't move.
With relief, he saw Lisswyn enter the room from the direction of the outer cave. As soon as she saw he was awake, she veered over, eased down next to him. "How is your arm?"
He resisted answering the question. If he didn't voice his concerns he could pretend they didn't exist. But her silence wouldn't be ignored. "There is some sensitivity, but I can not control it," he finally said, and not wanting to see her pity, he stared back down at his useless limb.
She didn't respond, and after a long moment, he forced himself to look at her. She was staring off into the distance, a frown on her face.
"Lisswyn?"
She shook her head in reply, then started to reach for the covers still tucked around his arm before hesitating, drawing back, her expression uncertain. "Would you mind if I examined it? Or perhaps you'd rather one of the other women do so?"
"Why would I want someone else?" Baffled, he didn't understand at first, and when he did, impatience colored his tone. "What went before is over. No one but you is to care for me." It surprised him to realize just how vehement he was about that point, how much it mattered that she be the one to tend him.
She cleared her throat. "Thank you for that." Reaching forward again, she moved the covers, looked down at his arm. He followed her gaze, noticed the splotches of discoloration. That couldn't be good.
She lightly ran a finger from his palm to his elbow. "Can you feel that? Does it hurt?"
"I can feel your touch, but no, there's no pain."
He watched as she continued tracing the discolored areas on his arm – it was hard not to, with her leaning across his body in order to do so – and he found it remarkably easy to be distracted by her nearness. Her hair hung in a long braid down her back. It was thick, and judging from his earlier view, very straight. He wanted to see it loose again. Perhaps she'd unbind it if he asked…
The thought startled him. He had no business thinking anything along those lines.
A sudden blaze of pain brought him back to the matter at hand and had him suppressing an oath. She'd moved up his arm, was now gently examining the wound itself.
She stopped, a concerned look on her face. 'I'm sorry. I should have realized there would be more tenderness there."
More carefully, she continued her examination, then met his gaze again, relief in her eyes. "I see no signs of infection, but am going to clean it again and treat it with salve made from an herb which counters infection. It will sting, I'm afraid."
He nodded, watched, as she reached toward a bowl of warm water. She must have prepared it earlier, had only been waiting for him to awaken to use it.
The procedure did hurt, and he once again turned his head, gritted his teeth. Biting back the words that wanted to spew, he tried to distract himself from what she was doing. There was plenty of distractions to choose from – worries about the orcs and his men, for starters – but his mind insisted on focusing on the woman tending him.
She smelled of herbs, a clean, fresh scent that he found pleasing – more so, really, than the scents many of the women of the royal court wore. It was almost certainly the result of the herbs she'd been using to treat him rather than a deliberate attempt to smell nice – he couldn't imagine her concerning herself with such feminine behaviors as scent when their survival seemed so tenuous. But it was pleasant, none the less.
…and he had no more business thinking of her scent than he did wanting her to unbind her hair. What was wrong with him? Desperate for another diversion, he again forced his mind to the orcs.
"There." She gently positioned a clean cloth over the wound as a bandage, and sat back. "The wound itself seems to be healing quite well, really." She met his eyes. "The arrow that pierced you was thinner, lighter than any I've seen before. It did less damage to the muscle than it might have."
He took a deep breath as the pain faded, then nodded. "The purpose of the arrow was the poison, and a lighter arrow flew farther."
The relief faded to a frown as she reached over for a clean cloth and began to wipe the salve off her fingers.
"What? What is it?"
"I'm sorry, sire." In the closest thing to temper he'd seen her display, she tossed the cloth down next to him and ran her hands over her face. "I've been trying to remember more of what my mother told me about the effects of the numbing poison, but it was many years ago. I do not know what else to do for you."
"There may not be anything else you can do," he said grimly. At her look of distress, he added, "What do you remember her saying?"
She was slow to answer. "That if the anti-poison was not administered quickly enough, it could prevent the poison from killing the victim, but leave the limb useless." Her frown deepened as she struggled to remember. "That there are three stages of damage and healing, the first being where the arm can neither be felt nor controlled, the second where there is sensitivity but no movement, and the third where full use of the limb returns."
"And it's just as possible to be permanently left at one stage as the others." At her glance, he continued, "I've known men who were poisoned." He looked down at his arm. "Thus at the moment, I have sensitivity, but no control, and that may improve …or it may not."
"I should have left earlier to go after the healing plants."
"What?" The comment confused him until he saw the guilt on her face, and he forcibly reined in impatience. "Did you make the best choice you could at the time?"
"Of course."
He reached up, took her chin in his hand, forced her to look at him. Her skin was soft, and nearly distracted him from the misery in her eyes. Nearly. "Your sister told me you left at first light – if you'd gone earlier, you might have missed seeing the plants, or might have taken a worse tumble than you did and not returned at all. Let it go," he said firmly. Then, gentling his tone, he added, "Do not doubt yourself, nor question your care of me. I am alive, and that is no small thing. Indeed, it is far more than I hoped for when the arrow struck me, when I realized how outnumbered we were."
The guilt slowly faded from her eyes, and she pulled her chin away from him, cleared her throat. "You must not give up. The arm may yet come back." A sound of frustration escaped. "That is what I most wish I could ask my mother, or another healer – how long it can take. I simply don't know. But you must not give up," she repeated.
His gaze returned to his immobile arm, and he reached over, folded the fingers of the left hand into a fist, then straightened them. "No. No, I will not give up."
For both their sakes, he changed the topic. She was still moving cautiously, obviously sore. "How are you?"
Lisswyn opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked away, plainly embarrassed.
"An honest answer, if you please."
"I will be fine, my Lord."
"That is not what I asked you."
Reluctantly, she finally said, "I am sore with bruises and scrapes, but nothing more serious than that."
"Let me see your arm."
"My lord…"
He raised an eyebrow, and watched her embarrassed color deepen before she rolled up the sleeve, unable to control a wince as even the light material dragged over the raw places.
With a very light touch, he stroked an area that was only bruised. He frowned. "Should you not wrap the rest of it?" She had bandaged only the scrapes that continued to bleed.
Lisswyn shook her head. "We do not really have sufficient cloth to make so many bandages, sire. I also thought some exposure to air would be a good thing."
The reminder of how few possessions they had troubled him, and he cleared his throat, wondered what he could possibly say in reply. He finally nodded, then moved onto the other pressing issue. "What of the orcs? Has there been any change in their movements?"
Her relief at the change of topic apparent, she shook her head again. "Not really. They've gone off in groups all through the night. One group returns, another heads out. But they're still using the area below us as a main camp of sorts."
"It's a fairly secluded area."
"Which is one of the things that made the caves so attractive to us in the first place," she said wryly.
He started to ask how they'd come to be living in the caves at all, but before he could do so, she raised her head, a question in her eyes.
"What?" he prompted when her silence stretched out.
"What of your men, sire? Do you believe any of them still …" she trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
"Live?" He didn't answer her immediately as sadness pushed at him. "I don't know. I believe so." I hope so.
"Eoden told me of the way the orcs separated you from them."
"There were so many of them, far too many for it to be a coincidence that they happened to see us, decided to attack. But I still don't know what their purpose was – if it was merely to kill me, they would have used a heavier arrow. And without knowing their intentions, I don't know how concerned they were about battling all my men to the death. That would have increased their casualties as well, so if the true purpose was to capture me after I succumbed to the poison, more of my men may have escaped."
"They're looking for you."
"My men?"
"The orcs. We heard them say your name, but could not tell what they were saying."
He wasn't surprised. The attack had been too well coordinated, particularly for orcs, for the creatures simply to give up after his escape. "As for my men…I know some of them fell, but I believe others escaped." Anticipating her next question, he continued, "Any who are uninjured are almost certainly looking for me, but it will not be easy to find my trail. Staying in the saddle took all my energy, so I let Firefoot have his head, trusting him to outrun the wargs. But the orcs chasing me will have covered my tracks."
He paused, considered, tried to see the situation objectively, not colored by false hope. "A few of the men may well have returned to Edoras, particularly if there are others who are injured. They will notify any eoreds they encounter, and Elfhelm, captain of the city guard. The eoreds will be hunting both for me – or my remains – and the orcs. Whether they realize it or not, the orcs do not have long to survive," he finished grimly.
Some of the tension drained from her face at his words. "That is encouraging – that eoreds will be looking for both you and the orcs," she said quietly. "We have a supply of water, and some food stored in the caves, but are not prepared for a long siege."
She carried so much responsibility. He'd seen it in the way the other women referred to her, turned to her. And his own admiration for her was growing. "You should sleep."
She looked startled by the comment. "I slept earlier. I find it difficult to rest knowing the orcs are so close." She glanced toward the front cave. "Morning is not far off, anyway."
Silence fell between them again, and in spite of himself and his own concerns about the orcs, his eyes closed, a sudden weakness coming over him. He forced them back open, and looked at her.
"If you can sleep, you should do so," she said softly. "My mother called sleep the great healer, and it can only help your arm."
He nodded, grateful that she understood his desire to stay awake, stay alert, even while encouraging him to let his body rest. His eyes closed again.
Lisswyn sat with her back against the wall of the outer cave. By leaning a little to the left, she could peer over the edge, down into the orc camp, while still well within the protective shadows.
How many were there? Fifty? Sixty? It was hard to tell, when they kept coming and going. A small group would go off, then return sometime later, argue with those who'd stayed, and then that group would go off in the other direction while the first group, snarling and fighting amongst themselves, rested.
They were obviously still looking for the King, and she heard his name more than once. Again, she wondered what measure of bad luck had the creatures making their camp right below the caves, but at least it made it possible to keep track of them.
Not all of them were on wargs. Was that a status thing? Simply an indication that there weren't enough of the beasts to go around? Or perhaps more of them had died? She could only hope so.
She glanced up, noted the position of the sun. It was low in the sky, and never had she dreaded nightfall more. At least in daylight, it was easier to see what the orcs were doing.
Sensing movement, she looked up, watched as Maegwen quietly joined her on the floor of the cave. For a moment, the other woman said nothing, simply stared off in the direction of the orc camp.
"Is there any change?" Her voice was not even a whisper.
Lisswyn shook her head. "The King?"
"Still sleeping."
Lisswyn nodded. He had slept for much of the day, but it was a restful sleep, with no fever, no sign of infection. He still could not move his arm, however, and her fear was growing in that respect. She'd seen the same fear in his eyes, though he'd not spoken of it.
"How are you?"
Startled by the question, she looked up, met the concerned eyes of her friend. "I'm fine."
"He's an attractive man. A good man."
Heat rushed into Lisswyn's face as she understood the question had not been about her physical injuries, but she kept her expression calm. "He is. And I'm an ordinary village woman who knows he is not for the likes of me."
Maegwen's expression remained steady. Troubled. "The heart does not always choose wisely. I would not have you hurt."
Lisswyn looked away, considered how to reply, how to respond to the other woman's concern. When she looked back, she managed a smile. "True. But I think my heart knows better than to leap in that foolhardy direction. Still…" She looked past Maegwen, toward the cave where the King slept.
"What?"
"No matter what price I might pay in terms of caring perhaps more than is wise – and you're right, it is very difficult not to do so – I will never be sorry for having met him." She paused, struggled for the right words. "As you say, he's a good man. A good king. And regardless of what happens to us, I will always be glad for having been able to see that for myself. To know that the Riddermark is in good hands. To know that after all the losses of the last few years, there is true hope for the future."
"The boys told me what he said to them." Maegwen's expression turned thoughtful. "I believe I have more real hope for them, for their future, now than I have at anytime since word came that their father and brothers were lost."
"We just have to stay quiet and alive long enough for the King's men and the eoreds to find us," Lisswyn murmured, looking once more down at the orc camp.
Maegwen nodded, and there was another long moment of silence between them before she spoke again. "You're wrong about one thing, though." As Lisswyn looked back at her, she shifted into a crouching position in preparation for easing back, away from the edge of the cave, then leaned over again, and very softly said, "There's nothing ordinary about you, and the king is wise enough to see that." With that, she slipped away, back toward the other caves.
Stunned, Lisswyn could only stare after her in complete astonishment. Then she shook her head. Maegwen wasn't normally given to such fanciful remarks – worry over the situation with the orcs must be affecting the other woman more than she'd realized.
She should have known her oldest friend would see her attraction to the King, though. Indeed, the other woman had probably been aware of it since the night he'd saved them from the Dunlendings.
Maegwen was right to be concerned, she admitted. Every encounter she had with him seemed only to emphasize that he was more than just a good king. He was a good man. He had been under no obligation to apologize to her, and yet had done so. Sincerely and humbly…but without losing the essential nobility and dignity he seemed to carry with him always.
Although she'd spoken the truth when said she would always be grateful for having had the opportunity to get to know him, that didn't mean she was foolish enough not to recognize the danger of losing her heart to him. This interlude would pass. He would return to Edoras, to the women of the court; she would remain in the caves, trying to keep herself and the others alive through the coming winter. It was going to be difficult enough to do without the added complication of an aching heart.
With determination, Eomer succeeded in pulling himself into a full sitting position, then waited for the room to stop spinning around him. He'd slept the day away, and now, with night far gone, was impatient to be up and around. He wanted to check on Firefoot and the orcs for himself, wanted to see what the layout of the caves was really like from a defense perspective.
Wanted to prove that he could at least stand, he admitted to himself, even if he still had no control over his arm.
Lisswyn slipped quietly into the room, and he looked up, a bit embarrassed that she'd caught him struggling just to sit up, but then, all he had to do was breathe loudly and someone came to check on him. How they knew when he was awake was a mystery.
"How are you?"
Impatient with the question – also asked every time his eyes were open – he bit back a sharp retort. "Unchanged, but weary of sleeping."
Wariness came into her eyes. Apparently he hadn't been as successful as he'd hoped in hiding his frustration.
"Due to your excellent care, I feel fine except for my arm," he said more gently, "but I'm unused to sleeping so much."
Noticing that she carried another mug of soup and more of the flat bread, he sighed. That was another given when they realized he was awake – they'd try to feed him.
"Perhaps you'd like something to eat, then?" she asked a bit uncertainly, setting the bread and soup on the floor as she settled next to him.
His expression must have given him away, for the hesitancy on her face deepened. "I'm sorry we have nothing else to offer you but the chicken stew and the bread," she began apologetically. "If we could reach our gardens—"
He held up his hand to stop her. "The soup and bread are fine." And they were. Someone in the caves was a very skilled cook. "There is simply a finite amount I can eat in one day, particularly when all I've done is sleep."
To his relief, amusement came into her eyes and her lips twitched. "I suppose we have been feeding you rather frequently."
He nearly grinned in response. "I've only just finished the bowl Maegwen brought me before she went to bed," he said, indicating the empty bowl near him.
Surveying the bowls near him, she let out a choked laugh. "Oh, my. I'm sorry, indeed."
"Don't be. As I said, I appreciate the care you've given me. But at the moment, eating any more is an impossibility. You, on the other hand…"
"What?"
"Unless I miss my guess, you haven't had any of that excellent stew, have you?"
"Not yet," she admitted.
He motioned to the bowl. "Then you will eat that," he said firmly. Their food stocks were clearly limited, and his suspicion that the women were going without in order to feed the children – and himself – was growing.
Her mouth opened, closed, then clearly recognizing his tone, she picked the bowl up, then hesitated. "I could take it into the other room, if you'd like to be alone."
"Please stay." He allowed humor back into his tone. "I'm tired of eating, I'm tired of sleeping, and I'm tired of being alone. I'd enjoy the company, and when you've finished your meal, perhaps you can take me to Firefoot. I know Andric has been taking care of him, but I would like to see him." Anticipating her next comment, he finished with, "It is time for me to get up, even if only for a short time."
Amusement came back into her eyes. "I was going to suggest the same thing, actually."
"Good." Her smiled tugged at him, made it easy to smile in return.
They sat in silence for a few minutes while she ate, then he glanced around. "Tell me how you came to be in the caves."
Her relaxed demeanor vanished, and when she answered her voice was careful, cool. "After the wildmen burned the village last spring, there simply weren't enough cots left for all of us."
He frowned. "But you and Brynwyn should have had refuge, at least. Your uncle told me he would take you in."
At the mention of her uncle, her tone went from merely cool to flatly chilly. "He placed …conditions on our staying with him. Conditions I did not wish to abide by." She sat the bowl down, and he was glad he'd waited until she was nearly finished before broaching the topic, since it appeared to have spoiled her appetite.
Baffled, both by her tone and her uncle's willingness to let his nieces live in caves, he said, "But you're his family."
She gave a short, impatient shake of her head. "He's not a blood relative. He is the husband of my father's sister."
"But still…" Something in her expression warned him, and he felt anger begin to churn low in his belly. His tone was sharp when he asked, "What were his conditions?"
She grimaced, hesitated, and he reached out and once more forced her to look at him. "You will tell me."
It wasn't easy for her, and he watched her struggle against the command before she finally answered in a clipped tone, "My aunt died two summers ago. He informed my father I would do as a replacement since it was clear I was never going to find a husband on my own." Embarrassed color came into her cheeks, and she jerked away from him, looked away. "My father told him I was free to choose my own husband, or not. My uncle was angry, but let it go until…"
"Until what?" She seemed to be fighting tears, and he wondered if it had been wise to pursue the subject. But he wanted to know.
She swallowed hard, but her voice was once more calm when she answered. "My father died in an orc raid only a few weeks before the wildmen came, and my uncle began repeating his demands. I held out…we had the cottage, my loom, our garden."
"Then the wildmen came and the cottage and loom were gone, and he made marriage a condition for giving you shelter." Remembering the way the man had mocked her in front of him, the deliberate attempt to humiliate her, he forced back the hot words that leapt up. The man had lied to him, had allowed him to believe he would care for them. He would answer for that. Oh, yes. He would. Eomer had been unable to protect and defend Eowyn from Wormtongue, but this situation he could rectify, and he relished the thought of doing so.
"He has told me that when we abandon the caves, he will still take us, providing I wed him. Many of the people in the village think me foolish, to choose the caves instead." Lisswyn said quietly, and he turned back to her. She was gazing toward the back of the caves, where her sister slept, and seemed to be speaking to herself. "I had to try, to see if we could do it, but if we can not, if it becomes clear we can not survive the winter here…" she turned back to him, her face clear, her voice calm. "I will not let my sister starve."
Admiration for her, and anger on her behalf made it hard to speak. "Lisswyn." He met her eyes, made the words as firm as possible. "That will not happen. I swear it."
She watched him, her eyes large in the shadows, but said nothing for a long moment as relief and hope chased across her face. "Thank you," she finally said simply. "There are still days when I think we can make it here…our people have dwelled in these caves in the past. But other days, I cannot figure out how we will do so, how we will make it through the winter," she ended on a frustrated sigh.
Eomer marveled that they'd made it as long as they had.
A noise from the back of the caves had her looking up. Gathering the bowls, she said, "I'm going to check on the others, then will return to assist you in standing." She gave him a warning look as she added, "You should not attempt it on your own, as you may be weaker than you expect."
He nodded. Sitting up had taken more effort than he'd expected, but he also knew that the only way to begin regaining his strength was to start pushing himself.
As he watched her leave, he knew from the careful way she held herself that she was in more discomfort than she was admitting to. And yet her thoughts were all for the others in the caves. For him. And beyond her compassion, there was a calm demeanor and practical approach to problem-solving that made it easy to believe those problems could be solved.
No wonder the other women seemed to look to her to lead them.
No wonder his own interest in her was growing.
He told himself it was because of how she was caring for him, that he felt indebted to her. That such interest was normal. But as the hours passed, he knew it was more than that.
She was full of contradictions. She could be hesitant and uncertain one moment, but bold enough to tease him the next. She could be shy, and yet carried a role of authority in the caves – among women older than she was. And she was altogether lovely.
The difficulty was not just that now was not the time for him to be noticing these things, that their situation was too precarious for him to be being distracted by anything unrelated to the orcs. It was that he wasn't sure he was free to notice such things about her at all.
And wasn't it ironic, that the King of the Riddermark seemed to have less freedom in matters of courtship than did his subjects?
Irritably, he pushed the thoughts away. There was no point in contemplating his interest in Lisswyn, nor wondering if she perhaps returned it. Not when he needed to focus on the orcs, and keeping the women and children in the caves safe. He glanced down at his immobile arm. Not when he didn't know if he was going to spend the rest of his life crippled.
He tried to imagine life with only one good arm, and could not. He had already discovered that he relied more on his arms than he had realized for balance. Would he be able to ride? The thought of never being able to sit a horse again caused his stomach to twist.
Yes. He would be able to ride. An Eorlingas could always ride, and Firefoot would see it as a personal failure if he fell while riding him. But what of fighting? Once he mastered his balance, he thought he could still use his sword. But doing so while on his horse would be more difficult.
And there were a thousand other things he had not even considered. How did a man with only one arm dress himself? Embarrassment heated his face at the thought of having to ask someone for assistance in such a personal task.
He looked down at his arm again. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on moving his left thumb. When sweat popped out on his forehead he collapsed back on the bedding. He had not succeeded in even causing a tremble.
No, now was not the time to be developing an interest in a woman, for many reasons.
He heard a noise, looked up. Lisswyn entered the room from the other direction, where the entrance to the outer cave was. Her face was pale, her eyes large and full of fear even in the dim light of the candles.
"What is it? What's wrong?" He struggled to sit back up, his eyes never leaving her.
"Eoden." Her voice trembled, and she made no effort to steady it. "I went to check on him, to see if he'd gotten some of the stew. He's not there. He was going to watch the orcs tonight. But he's not there. He's not in the caves. He's gone."
A/N: I know, I know. A cliffhanger. But the next chapter will be along shortly, certainly before the weekend. I promise.
Now for some individual replies to your reviews:
dferveiro: Thanks for the review. As I said at the top of this chapter, I will finish posting this – it's completely written. And generally, I'm going to try hard to post at least a chapter a week – but there may occasionally be weeks where that doesn't happen, particularly when I'm out of town. But don't give up on me.
madrone: The romancing begins to pick up a little in this chapter. I'm trying to balance the pace of the romance with the crises going on around them.
Dazzler420 and Lanse: I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I hadn't specifically said how old Lisswyn and Brynwyn are because it hadn't worked its way into the story yet,but Brynwyn is six or seven, and Lisswyn twenty-one or twenty-two – past the normal age of marriage, which I'm guessing was seventeen to twenty.
SmaryK: Thank you so much for your extensive comments. I truly appreciate them, and I also saw the review you posted for Beginnings. Concerning sentence fragments -- I don't want this to sound like I'm blowing off your feedback. I'm absolutely not! I'd always been told that the rules governing the use of fragments are looser in fiction than non-fiction, and tend to use them without thinking about it – I know they're there, but they're almost part of my voice/style as a writer. But your comments concerned me, and I did some research. A number of my favorite (well-known) authors use fragments (which doesn't necessarily give me the right to – they're published, and I'm not!) so then I turned to a good friend who's been teaching creative writing for many years (and has just had her first novel published) and she told me that in fiction, fragments can be part of what's called deep point of view – you want to sound like you're very much in the character's head, nearly first person (while still in third) and writing quickly and with fewer pronouns can help that, can help make it seem we're closer to that character's thoughts (as thoughts can be somewhat rushed and jumbled.) The critical point, though, is that it's only an effective technique if it works. If it's distracting to the reader, then it's not accomplishing anything, so I'm going to try to be much more careful about how I do it – though as I noted, I don't always catch it. But again, thank you for your comments – I'm sorry this reply is so long, but I so appreciate your taking the time to write out your feedback, I didn't want it to appear I was blowing it off.
Nienor Niniel: I'm glad you're enjoying the way I'm writing Lisswyn. I believe women can be strong and equal to men in worth, capability, and intelligence, while also being different from them. (If we're all exactly alike, where's the interest in that?) Also, thanks for your comments about not mutilating Tolkien. I'm a huge fan of the films, but was a fan of the books for many years prior to that, and it matters to me that I play as honestly as possible in Tolkien's world.
Madrone, Nethien, ElvenRyder, seansbeanie, Legolas fan, Mesphia, Kay50, and any others I've missed…thank you so much for taking the time to leave reviews. They make my day. :)