A restless night

The night between 5th and 6th March, Imladris:

With sleep escaping her so far tonight, Arwen tried to pass time with some embroidery on some clothing for Aragorn that would be worthy to be worn on a King, should he take the Crown of Gondor. Somehow, she could sense that something was happening in the South, things which were not set in stone, changes which had not been possible about fourteen years earlier.

"The current Queen consort of Rohan could not have known what sort of changes she would bring with her. Even Father was confused by her arrival, because his gift of foresight suddenly began to show different images of her and the symbol of her House…"

Magic had grown less common in the Race of Men over the Third Age, and much of it would be called a far cry from what could be witnessed in the First Age, long before her father had been born. Yes, Arwen knew that there were still sorcerers existing among Men, some born with their magical powers, or gaining them through various means, such as pleading loyalty to Sauron.

"Yes?"

A knock had come from the door, and her father entered, dressed plainly as if he too was wearing the robe mostly to not be seen in his nightclothes, though that would have been no problem among the servants. Most likely, it was in case Bilbo may wander in the house again because of his own lack of sleep and needed someone to gently guide him back to his chambers. The elder Baggins was very old by the standards of the Shire now, after all.

"Arwen, are you being kept up as well?" Elrond asked, joining her on the chairs facing the open windows.

"Praying my brothers and the Grey Company shall reach Rohan soon, to help Aragorn. Praying for hope, and that the Shadow shall be defeated, should Frodo succeed with the burden he wore to carry on his shoulders."

For some people, Arwen may come off as somewhat passive, being traditionally feminine in both behavior and interests, but Elrond had lived for so long that he knew just how wrong it was to think of such women as weak and unable to defend themselves. Those people failed to see the "silk hiding steel" side of feminine women, as a saying from the ancient East went, and that such women could sometimes be successful in vastly different ways even without using weapons, if they knew how to use their own strengths and weaknesses correctly.

"I am at least grateful that Samwise Gamgee chose to join his Master. A humble gardener he may be, with no idea of the dangers ahead. but that strong loyalty may be exactly what Frodo needs to succeed on this dangerous task. Sometimes, a loyal friend is exactly the right push out of doubt and fear of failure."

Yes. Many such stories of hope, often based on reality, were proof that they could not give up yet. Giving in to despair and doubt, would only gain Sauron an indirect victory over those who tried to fight him.

Taking a deep breath, Arwen began to sing. An ancient song of hope, without any real words, hailing from the very first days of the Eldar, carried by the night air towards the south.

And Elrond knew that he was not imagining a responding song somewhere, in a long dead Mannish language from the East. The tongue of Kemet, and its oldest, reborn princess praying for the soul of the fallen father that she now had to face as an enemy.

~X~X~X~X~X~X

The lands of Rhûn, in the Temple of Shadows:

Sitting up in her bed, Visenya looked without a word on the bandages covering her more or less anywhere. When Rhaenys had closed the portal at Dragonstone, blocking Sauron from Westeros, the daughter of Lyanna had fallen unconscious from the huge strain on her body and magical powers. When she had woken up again, she found herself like this, bandages covering the marks with the Eye of Sauron that had marked her while the portal was open.

"Heh…just how wrong was Rhaegar about you, dear sister Rhaenys? How could he miss the spark in your eyes, that could have been a warning that you were not what you seemed?"

Well, personally Visenya did not hold a grudge against her older half-sister for closing the portal. If anything, that proved just how blund Rhaegar had been to the true selves of his legal wife and children she had borne him. Besides, it had been very enjoyable to sense the soul of Aerys getting a taste of his own medicine and then locked up forever with no chance to escape his prison.

"On the other hand, I feel tainted with the symbol of Sauron on my own body…"

Removing the bandages on her right arm, Visenya picked up a fruit knife from the bowl on the table next to the bed.

"Just to change the shape into one of the symbols of Kemet, to honor my Master!"

It did hurt a lot without anything to numb the pain, but Visenys gritted her teeth in an attempt to not start crying and kept going. But naturally, as she had started to carve the knife into her flesh on the right arm as well and the blood began to come out from the nearest cut, someone had to see her:

"How do you feel now after resting for a day, Consort Visa….what?! You foolish girl, what are you doing?! You are not to remove the bandages after suffering such horrible injuries! And you can not hurt yourself like this!"

It was one of the older priests crying out in alarm over what he just witnessed, rushing forwards to stop it. Cursing loudly in protest, Visenya still was a young girl compared to him and even an aged eunuch like this priest could have some hidden strength despite looking rather frail due to old age. As a result, the bloodied knife was taken out of her hand, far out of reach even if she would rise to her full height.

"Give me the knife! I do not want the Master to see those marks on me when he returns! I need to reshape them into the Eye of Horus now when they are still fresh!"

As illogical her reasoning sounded, Visenya was actually not the first Consort here in the Temple to try carving symbols of Kemet into her flesh as a sign of loyalty towards Khamûl. Still, the priest frowned at her, refusing to lower his raised arm that held up the knife out of reach for the currently youngest Consort of his Master.

"We can do that once you have recovered from getting so much of your magic taken. And first speak to the other Consorts and priests as well, this sort of scarring is not something to do on your own, girl."

Ugh. Visenya knew that this verbal battle was already lost, the moment her foster mothers was mentioned. She may have joined their rank after Iset had died from old age some months ago, but Tuya and the other Consorts would still be the women who had raised her from infanthood ever since Lyanna Stark had proven herself far too immature and irresponsible for the role as a mother to a infant child that was dependant on the adults around for survival.

"...fine, help me clean the cuts and redo the bandages, please?"

She would admit defeat for now, if only to not end up getting several scoldings by everyone.

~X~X~X~X~X~X

In Dol Amroth, Princess Consort Sita had trouble sleeping, and it was not because of the strong light from the moon outside. Well, it was not that surprising, really, with a war going on and the threat of Dol Amroth being attacked.

"Ugh…think of something more pleasant, think of something more joyful…" she tried to remind herself, rolling around under the blankets until she hit the sleeping form of her husband.

"...hm, honey…" Imrahil muttered when her heel accidently hit his leg, long used to her being a restless sleeper at times, without waking up.

"Sometimes I wish that I could fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow, just like him…"

Imrahil would only protest if she ended up pulling his own blankets along in her restless movements, as this would release the heat trapped between the blanket and his own body temperature.

"You are restless because Lothíriel should be due any day now and you can not be at her side for comfort."

Of course her husband should have guessed why she had been acting oddly the last few days. It was not only the war against Sauron weighing on her mind, but the birth of a new grandchild among everything else.

"...yes, I feel guilty for not being there for our only daughter, especially as this is her first childbirth…"

Turning around so they were now face to face, Imrahil hugged Sita.

"Knowing our dear daughter, I am sure that we will get a letter soon about whatever the birth has happened or not. But now, please try to sleep instead of stealing my share of the blankets, beloved."

Knowing that she needed to sleep so she would not be tired during the day tomorrow, Sita tried to let his familiar body warmth help her relax enough to fall asleep.

"It would be sweet with a granddaughter…"

The familiar light snoring from Imrahil near her ear tolf Sita that he had already fallen back to sleep.

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Even Ihsan was still awake despite the late hour and sitting at the writing desk in his personal bedchamber, surrounded by many parchments, personal notes about the hieroglyphs that had been the writing system in Kemet and ancient books.

"Even if Tywin Lannister was stripped of his noble title by Robert and tossed into the Black Cells for some days before Robert brought him along as a prisoner in the hope of exchanging him for the royal children and their cousins from Stannis, he is still a danger…"

Ihsan did not doubt that there were many Westerland nobles who secretly plotted to free Tywin from his captivity when Robert had his focus on something else, like a battle that brought the Baratheon King away from the ship where Tywin currently was held as a prisoner. After all, the Lannisters had been the rulers of the Westerlands for so long that people simply could not imagine another noble family taking that place. It would be akin to House Stark suddenly losing the North to one of their bannermen families.

"This text here….traps in the royal tombs in Kemet to prevent grave robbers? Well, that sounds indeed like a classic in ancient times, even here in Westeros. Can not have the grave goods of a King or his relatives be stolen!"

But the reminder of the traps built to safeguard the burial chamber of Princess Mara and Morgan, had sowed a seed for inspiration inside the mind of the former Prince Consort.

"Heh…I may not be able to do magic, being an outsider married into House Martell, but I think Doran will agree that Tywin deserves every humiliation that we can throw at him, without killing him. Robert have already started, but we have not forgotten that had things done as Tywin wanted, poor Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon would have been dead at the end of the Sack of King's Landing, thanks to that they would have been in the way for Cersei getting a crown of a Queen set upon her golden head."

Smirking for himself in a manner that would have scared those who always dismissed him as a spineless, non-threatening man who always gave in to his late wife Aria when she had been alive, Ihsan began to make a draft of possible plans to let Tywin Lannister suffer the wrath of House Martell about what he had intended for Elia and her two oldest children.

"Ambinations for a family are one thing, Tywin Lannister, but even the merciless sun will kill even the strongest lion in the desert sands without water or shade."

Moving the candle so its flame danced across a map of Westeros on the wall, Ihsan blocked the roaring lion of House Lannister from his sight.