Missives
Éomer frowned and scratched his beard, tapping his fingers on his desk. He should not feel so intimidated by a blank piece of parchment however, he understood the significance of the message he was to pen. Exhaling loudly, he dipped his quill into the small pot of ink and concentrated on his task, but the words would not come. What would he tell Ithílwyn, how could he possibly convey his greatest wish for her was that she would seek her independence and happiness and yet resist the temptation to say that he would be beside himself with joy if she should decide to remain his wife without adding unnecessary burden on her as she deliberated on her future. He anticipated that she would feel bound by duty to fulfill the role she had vowed when they were married, however reluctant she might be. According to messages from Mundburg, Ithílwyn was recovering steadily, and to impose these concerns and worries about their uncertain future might negate her improved health. That he could not risk. Deep down he was certain her happiness was his utmost desire, and any sorrow on his part was justified. After all, it was due to his folly that she had suffered. Despite acknowledging his deserved punishment, he was selfish and he longed for her, heart aching at the mere thought of her. The noble desires warred with the craven, and he sighed as he revised letter after letter, tossing many in the fire with great frustration.
Dear Ithíl,
It has been wonderful to hear of your continued recovery. I am delighted that you are well and trust that you have enjoyed the gardens in Mundburg. It is a strange place, steeped in legends and myths, a stately reminder of ancient glory. Undoubtedly there will be much to fascinate you, I imagine you in the libraries, confined happily amongst sheaves of withering scrolls and leather tomes.
He paused, and rubbed his face wearily, wondering what else to say. Had Ithílwynsuffered so much anguish in writing him those letters he still kept in a chest along with his most prized possessions? Perhaps not, she was better with words than he.
You are sorely missed here, and I find myself lying awake during the night regretting the ill choices I have made, all leading to your unhappiness knowing that your melancholy could have been prevented. I beg your forgiveness for I have been a poor protector and a poorer husband. I vowed to protect you and failed, adding to your pain with my impatience when you were already bearing a burden so great.
I only wish for your health and happiness, that you should do as your heart wishes until you decide with confidence the path you want to take. Whichever you decide, know that I support you wholeheartedly. When we talked last, we agreed to be friends. Know that you will have a friend in me as long as I draw breath.
You have my heart, today and forevermore.
Your friend, Éomer.
Ithílwyn folded and unfolded the letter. She lifted her quill but after a moment's hesitation, returned it to its original place, her lips pursed as she deliberated on her message. Lately she often found herself in a war between her heart and her mind. She no longer felt herself, yet she could not shed the shadows of her past. Deep in her heart, she loved Éomer. But the hurts and griefs she sustained had marred even the brightest of memories. It was effortful to recall the happy moments in their marriage, and she wondered if she could ever recover from the affliction it had caused.
Though he blamed himself; in this she could not deny that he was at fault, he had not borne any ill intention toward her. But he was not the sole transgressor, for she often wondered whether she was entirely innocent. She should have known that only misfortune would befall her by daring to reach beyond her station. Yet she had made a vow, and she now considered the paths that lay before her with great consternation. Both paths were laced with great sorrow and little promise of joy. She was relieved that he had not demanded a decision, and grateful that he allowed her time to think.
Her upcoming journey to Harad provided her with a convenient excuse and a welcome distraction from the Terrible Decision, which meant that she forgot to form a reply to his letter until two weeks after she had received his missive. She picked up her quill and silently prayed for wisdom as she wrote.
My Lord Éomer,
Forgive my delay in replying. Unfortunately I do not have much to say. I am grateful for the freedom that you've given me. It is a great gift. There is still love and affection in my heart for you but I am not certain that I wish to reprise my role as your queen. I do not believe that I am capable of fulfilling such an important role and experience has proven my inaptitude. You are a wonderful king, loved by your people, who prosper under your reign. But you deserve happiness also. I do not know what my decision will be and in truth I am hoping that my travels will contribute much needed perspective and wisdom to aid in this difficult dilemma.
In this request, I realise that it means forsaking my duty in serving my King, and I beg for your grace and mercy. It is my hope that you shall soon find a worthy replacement, a beautiful and capable lady befitting your noble lineage. I relinquish the hold on your heart and return it safely to you, grateful that you have deemed me worthy to keep such a precious treasure in my possession these few years. I do not know when I shall write again, and I will caution you that I do not intend to return soon.
Your servant, Ithílwyn.
The months that followed were lonely and bleak for the Lord of the Riddermark. He wrote her many more missives out of longing, many of which he did not send. None save those printed letters knew the depth of his anguish over the loss of his wife, friend and dearest companion. His council took no issue initially, allowing him some time to mourn for what seemed the "passing" of his wife though their patience soon wore thin and he was beleaguered by their attempts to negotiate the presence of a new woman in his bed.
He was introduced to daughters, widows, cousins, nieces, all hopeful to reclaim the king's heart and a queenship. Tired of polite conversation and simpering gentlewomen, he took to dining in solitude but it provided little comfort in the face of such unbearable loneliness.
There was much to do after the Great War; territorial disputes to discuss with the wild men of Dunland, the governing of both Westmark and Eastmark, and the endless amount of civil affairs awaiting royal counsel that were brought to his attention daily. In these he found a numb reprieve by immersing himself in his work. And when King Aragorn needed his aid later in the autumn, he rode to Gondor gladly, out of willing allegiance to his dear friend and liege, but also in hopes of reuniting with his wife once more. Her warning had been true: missives were scarce and he knew little of her whereabouts. Perhaps she had desired this, if they were but mere friends, there would be no need for her to disclose all her comings and goings. Surely she would spare some time to see him, if only a little while? That is what a friend would do, and she was still his friend even if she were doubting their marriage.
"She is not here" Queen Arwen whispered, casting him a small smile. "You miss her greatly," she said in the same quiet voice, speaking only to him. He nodded briefly, struggling to subdue his emotions. "She..," he began then paused, realising that he would not see Ithílwyn as he had hoped and his disappointment overflowed. All at once, the despair that he had repressed during the long, lonely months burst from its weakened dam and he choked on a sob, hanging his head as tears spilled down his cheeks. He left his place at the table hurriedly, briefly registering the Queen's assurances toward everyone at the table that the Lord of the Mark felt unwell and deftly persuaded everyone to return to the merriment that his sudden departure had interrupted.
With the door bolted behind him he pressed his forehead to the door and wept. He had hoped like a fool to meet her and yet she eluded him. Perhaps not on purpose, but he had longed and waited for her, thinking she would return to Mundburg to see him despite her travels. Frustration, desperation and dejection erupted within him and he trembled, unable to contend with the magnitude of his emotions. Terror gripped him and he ran, racing past the ancient hallways, tears blurring his sight. He found his way to the stables and mounted Firefoot, riding away under the cover of darkness.
He curled up on the grass, his fists clenched as he wept. Ithíl's absence had a clear message: she was pursuing her happiness, and she had found it without him. The possibility that she would not return was soon becoming reality, her mind was set and her future all but decided. The thought of living the rest of his years without her was something he had not considered, but now it seemed inevitable. Firefoot tried to console his master, but it was not until the sun rose before he would begin the short ride back to Minas Tirith.
His grief turned to anger on the battlefield, but he returned weary despite the victory, devoid of joy. While his men celebrated, he returned to his chambers and wept in the dark. Upon his return to Meduseld, it did not go unnoticed that the king was often lost in his memory, staring into space, listening but not comprehending. It was in dreams that she was there, and he spent much time imagining the sound of her laughter, the feel of her skin, the glimmer in her eyes. He bore her no spite despite the agony he suffered in her absence; instead he hoped that she was truly happy, wherever she was. They could not both be happy, and if either one of them deserved joy, it was she. Still, her happiness came at a cost. He was engulfed by his own misery, haunted by dark dreams. She had sacrificed her own happiness for him, and now he knew the pain she had borne.
"My lord." Éomer glanced up at the woman who was serving him ale, recognising the groom's younger sister. The occasion of Lord Heahset's eldest son's wedding did little to cheer him up and he glanced away from the woman disinterestedly. "Are you enjoying the festivities?" she asked, her eyes eager and bright. Her intentions were clear for all to see, and the king's ale soured in his mouth. "What is wrong, my lord, how can one remedy the situation?" she pressed cheerfully when the king made no reply.
"What is it that you want?" he gritted through his teeth. Not expecting to be treated in such a hostile manner, she gulped and composed herself.
"My lord, do not accuse me of desiring else but to serve my king," she replied sweetly, casting a shy smile at him and brushing her hair aside with false meekness.
"I wonder what inspired your boldness to come to my table and dishonour yourself with such untoward behaviour. Was it selfish ambition or did your father ask you to whore yourself so that you may reign over your jealous friends as Queen?" At his harsh words, she drew back, affronted at his insinuation. "Or perhaps you hope to win the wager, young Rose, you who consider yourself the fairest in the Mark, with your shining golden hair and cornflower eyes. You think your beauty alone, and your charm could earn your place in my bed."
He drew closer to her, aware that eyes were watching her futile attempt at seducing him. She was shaking from fear, but he was enjoying himself and did not wish to stop. "I do not wish to bed you, young Rose, I know you are not as pure as you make yourself seem," he said in a low voice, his tone harsh and bitter. "No king would want a shameless hussy like yourself as his bride. All the beauty in the world cannot compensate for the darkness in your heart," he whispered threateningly in her ear and tapped her on the tip of her delicate nose. "Goodnight," he bade and walked back to his chambers, smiling perversely when he heard her sobbing.
"My lord!" Heahset called as he confronted the king in an empty corridor far from the revelling guests, angry and red-cheeked. "You have greatly insulted my family on such an auspicious day," he accused, barely able to contain his rage.
"Nay Heahset, I did not bring any attention to myself until your daughter approached me. Her whispers and her boasts drew attention away from her brother on his wedding night, and he has only her to blame." Heahset's face paled, but soon bloomed once more in anger.
"I was only concerned for her reputation, my good man. In fact, I think you should resign from the council. After all, you are getting on in years and deserve to occupy yourself with future grandchildren. I do not think it will be long until Rose conceives should she continue to conduct herself, so, hm the word escapes me now," he paused, watching the portly old man clench his fists in rage. "Ah yes, forwardly. Such a shame that a lady of breeding and of such beauty should be born without scruples or good conduct. Perhaps she has taken after her father. Alas, I have spoken too much and I am drunk. Farewell Heahset, I shall surely look forward to your absence in my council," he waved cheerfully and patted him on the back with more force than necessary and chuckled to himself silently as made his way to his chambers.
Ithílwyn hid Éomer's missive in a book about the uses and medicinal properties of seaweed and shoved it under her pillows. Lothíriel peeped her head through the door, casting a mischievous smile at her new partner in crime. Ithílwyn had become like a sister to her, a welcome change after being accompanied by insufferable brothers throughout her childhood. "I think dinner is ready," she said. Ithílwyn nodded, then spied something green and wet in the princess's hair. She laughed and beckoned the princess to sit while she brushed the seaweed out of her hair.
They had been swimming in the rock pools, since it had been a rare warm winter day. The two women had been pretending to be mermaids, and had adorned their hair rather childishly with seaweed. Their excursion had also provoked her curiosity into how seaweed was used, hence the book under Ithílwyn's pillow. "I do not think I would like to be a mermaid after all," Lothíriel jested, wrinkling her nose at the wet clumps. Ithílwyn smiled, admiring her beauty and feeling a pang of regret in her heart. Without thinking, she spoke.
"My lady," she began, in a formality long dismissed since she befriended the princess.
"Queen Mildred," Lothíriel replied, arching an eyebrow. "You are the queen of Rohan."
She sighed wearily. "That is to be determined, and you were born a princess. I merely received an honour I did not deserve nor desire."
"You still outrank me, Millie" the princess replied, sticking her tongue out cheekily at Ithílwyn, who returned the gesture gladly.
"Your family is more ancient, and you have Elvish blood."
"Tis nothing but a rumour," she dismissed, collecting the bits of seaweed falling from her hair.
Ithílwyn stared at the princess's delicate features and wondered if there was some truth to those rumours. Even if she were the queen, it was Princess Lothíriel who appeared regal, her beauty unmatched by any woman save the Elf queen by King Aragorn's side. She glanced at her reflection at the mirror and sighed internally, her plain features reminding her of her stupidity. "At least you look like a queen," she added quietly to herself, but the princess caught her.
"What do you mean?"
She cleared her throat, wondering why she could not be more discreet. "You would make a great queen, my lady. And I have cherished your friendship greatly, there are few women of gentle birth with such joy, grace and wisdom as you possess," she began, contemplating on how to present her argument, but the princess held up a hand and interjected before she could elaborate.
"Your flattery is appreciated, but I refuse to seduce your husband." Ithílwyn's jaw dropped in shock. Her friend laughed.
"Oh Ithíl, that is what you meant by your comment, no? You are not the first, and I doubt you will be the last," she murmured, sighing wearily. "Did he tell you that we spoke briefly, before they marched to Mordor?" Ithílwyn nodded. "He was the new king of Rohan, and he told me about you, a woman he was madly in love with," she spoke with dramatic flair. Ithílwyn rolled her eyes.
"Soon after, there were rumours that we would make a great match between us, and we spoke about it. As you know, I detested that my life was being arranged without my knowledge. So I confronted him, knowing that my father approved of him and held him in high regard. Besides, he is very handsome, as you already knew." Ithílwyn blushed and nodded shyly though Lothíriel could sense that there was more that she admired about her husband besides his facial features.
"An opportunity presented itself and we conversed about the possibility of a union between us," here Lothíriel paused to look at Ithil, and she found no trace of envy, only a quiet resignation, "and he told me about a woman he was married to, whom he loved dearly. Millie, he loves you and I do not wish for a broken man who pines for a lost love while we are married. He is a good man, but I deserve to be loved and not have my marriage plagued with a shadow from his past. I do not mean any offense Millie, but if I marry him, I fear that you will also be part of it. I love you like a sister Millie, but I do not think a marriage should involve more than two individuals."
"That is not true, in time he will forget the past and he will grow to love you." Lothíriel smiled reassuringly at her friend.
"You did not see his face that night. He loves you with all of his heart Millie, and even if he came to love me I am certain that he would never love me as much as he loves you. He will never cease loving you. Surely you cannot expect that life for me, knowing that my husband will love another woman more than I?"
Ithílwyn stood silent, "Forgive me Lottie, I did not..." she choked on a sob and buried her face in shame.
"You only wanted the best for him, and I am once again flattered that you would consider me the best." she said jovially, placing her arm around the despondent woman and casting a reconciliatory smile. "I may be younger in years, but even I know a heart is not a gift so easily returned. You may not desire a life with him, but he has given you his heart, and it will remain with you wherever you may be."
Dear Éomer King.
I wish you good health. Winter in Dol Amroth is a pleasant change, the weather here is temperate enough to go swimming in the ocean. Lothíriel is teaching me to swim, but I appear to lack "sea-legs". Due to my land-legs, we decided to wade in the rock pools instead and pretend to be mermaids. They are a mythical creature in Dol Amroth legend. They are half fish, half man and they are imagined as colourful and possessing glittery scales. It is said amongst the sailors that the mermaids serenade lonely men at sea and drown them.
I hope you have not been devoured by your loneliness, and that you find pleasure in your old hobbies like riding, and sparring. You have yet to write to me about the women on the list, that should be another activity to pursue should you find nothing to do, though you might not find it pleasant. Forgive the brevity of this missive, as an apology I have enclosed a sketch, a poor mimicry of the illustration I saw. Do not laugh, it was a labour of many unnecessary hours. At the very least, it should provide an inkling as to what mermaids may look like. It is disappointing that they only exist in legends, but I suppose the lonely sailors might not appreciate being serenaded to their deaths either.
I am happy where I am, and it is because of your generosity. It would be wonderful to know you are happy in Meduseld.
In gratitude, your servant Ithíl.
It had been half a year since Ithíl's departure and Éomer did find it pleasant to engage in his old hobbies, although it reminded him that the War was over, and in peacetime men married and turned their devotion to raising a family, not training for war. His joy would be greatly increased if he had his wife with him, but he took comfort that she was exploring the world, satisfying her curiosity and finding joy in her new discoveries. Her renewed joy was evident in her last letter, but it reminded him that she was happy without him and that realisation increased his anxiety that she would leave and never return. It was clear from her letters that she no longer associated herself with the title inherited by her marriage, and it was fairly certain that she would leave, but she had not yet sent any word to confirm her decision and so he continued hoping that she would arrive at the realisation that she was wise, just and kind. Ithíl had been an excellent queen, not only in supporting his role as King, but in aiding the rebuilding efforts, sheltering the orphans and overseeing the household affairs in Meduseld.
He grew even lonelier during the long nights of winter. Without his knowledge, Mathilde returned as matron of Meduseld, but she appeared far too busy to spare him time to converse. Perhaps she had never left, but he could not recall when it was that he last saw her. He was surrounded by many, but he had no one to confide in and felt utterly desolate. By now, he accepted that this suffering was just punishment for the many occasions he had mistreated her. He reflected on his betrayal, beginning when he spied her bathing in the lake, and continued when he took her virginity away from her husband, keeping her as his mistress instead. He knew if Ithílwyn had been a lady, he would not have treated her so disgustingly. She would have been brought back to Aldburg and a wedding would have been arranged immediately. Her virtue would have been given to him as her husband, but he denied her the honour she deserved and it was no wonder she was denied the prestige she was due as his queen. He was too late; and it had cost him his wife and his son.
Éomer became grim, silent and pensive after Ithílwyn left. No one addressed the queen's absence, and as such no one knew the extent of his anguish. He was perceived as unwell and given medicine to cure his ailment. His solitude grew worse and he decided to return to the cave as spring approached. Feigning an excuse to travel to Aldburg, he asked Erkenbrand to oversee matters in his absence. Once he arrived in Aldburg, he disappeared though he told Elfhelm he would be hunting in the nearby woods and that he need not worry. He was glad for the Lady of Aldburg, who insisted gently that the King had restored peace to the lands, and that he was more than capable of looking after himself. Indeed, Éomer had devoted much time to exercise and had developed more muscle although he had grown more lean as his appetite decreased.
His sole companion was Firefoot and they trekked to ithil's childhood home, the king disguised as a weary traveler. The cave where he had first met Ithílwyn was beset with many fallen trees, and new grass grew where foul Orcs once trampled. Some of Ithil's traps had found some success, and frozen corpses lay in the melting snow. All was quiet, and Éomer breathed in the clean air with great satisfaction. He cleared a path for Firefoot by sawing great branches blocking the route to the cave. When he got to the cave he removed the camouflaged screen woman had placed there. Though it was still morning he lit a torch as he went inside. Several bats flew out at the sight of fire and he heard the sound of vermin squeaking in the dark cave. He growled at first, and then he shouted angrily, finding some relief in his outbursts. His heart felt lighter and with a strange ferocity, he began chasing away any foreign creatures who had taken up residence in Ithil's home. Once he was sure there were none but him, he pulled some dry logs and lit a fire. Then, he rummaged around to find several buckets to transport water from the lake.
He soon found his strength diminishing and relied on his horse to carry water in large skins. Then he boiled great amounts of water in the biggest pot he could find. Taking a brush and a besom he began cleaning the cave, using warm water to scrub excrement off the floor and nests from the roof. Once the cave was flushed out with more warm water he stood outside, allowing the fire and air to dry the now clean floor. Éomer washed the wicker mats in the stream, scrubbing it gently with a soft brush and some soap before leaving them to dry on tree branches. His stomach protested as the noon sun shone down. Despite his hunger, he decided to go fishing for his meal. He found some familiar herbs along his route to the lake, and he could envision Ithílwyn walking beside him, telling him the name of the plants and its respective properties as he walked. It was bittersweet that he should feel such a great connection to his wife here, yet be utterly alone save Firefoot.
An uncanny serenity settled upon him as he sat by the bank where he had first made love to woman, his bait cast into the placid waters and his horses grazing behind him. He gazed over the lake and the trees, dainty snowdrops growing now that the forest ground was undisturbed, free from the heavy footfall of trampling beasts. Should Ithílwyn decide to remain his wife, he thought with his heart aching in his chest, he would bring her home to the cave at once. Yes, that is what he would do, he vowed silently.
A little while later, the line began to race and after some struggle, he succeeded in catching a fish big enough for a meal. He looked around to display his triumph, but only Firefoot paid him any mind and was not at all impressed. He set the fish to roast over the open fire once he had cleaned it and stuffed it with herbs and salt he nearly forgot to pack. Then as the fish cooked, he brought in the now dried wicker mats and laid them carefully on the cave floor and unpacked his bed roll. It was now dusk, and he whistled for his horse, instructing him to stay close and quiet. He ate his meal in silence, accompanied by the chirping of crickets and the crackling sounds coming from the fireplace. The cave still smelt slightly musty and he went out to pick some lavender and hung them upside down in bunches. It smelt so familiar that he began to tear. Then he climbed into his bed roll and sighed. Making sure his sword was by his side, he nestled into the forest and fell fast asleep. For the first time since Ithil's absence, he slept fitfully despite being wary that there could be enemies in the forest.
He allowed himself to remain for another three days, for he had not remembered to pack anough supplies and he could not remember which mushrooms or berries were poisonous. Worse than the lack of food was his constant talking to the wind, and he often caught Firefoot staring at him oddly as he held one sided conversations with Ithíl, answering questions that were asked in his own imagination. He spent most of his time staring, envisioning his wife wading in the lake and calling for him, reaching for herbs as she brewed tea, her fair face as she curled up in her furs. Everywhere he looked, there Ithíl's ghost lay, taunting him with her absence, amplifying his anxiety that he would never again lay eyes on the woman he loved.
It was good to see her brother smiling, Éowyn thought to herself, despite her having to recall a particularly humiliating moment when she accidentally pulled up Faramir's flowers, mistaking them for weeds. Her husband had pulled her socks off her feet while she slept for a whole week in retaliation. They walked along the gardens in Meduseld, and she noticed him staring at the flowers wistfully. She regaled him with humorous stories, sparing no effort to disguise how happy she was in her marriage, fearing his displeasure. Ithílwyn had stayed in Ithílien for several weeks, but spoke little regarding her marriage. Éomer had declined to meet her, asking his sister to avoid talking about him in his absence. Ithíl had not inquired about her brother once during her stay. He insisted that Ithílwyn had requested for time to think, and that he would respect her wishes. Then one morning, she bade her hosts farewell and pressed a sealed letter into Éowyn's hands, telling her to pass it to her brother when she visited Meduseld. She left with two Rangers, but they returned too quickly, and brought word that the lady had requested to journey alone. No word came from her, and none knew where she had gone.
"She told me to give you this missive," she spoke carefully. Her brother exhaled deeply, bracing himself as he took the letter gingerly.
"I have been anticipating this," he said in a shaky voice, "It is likely that she will leave for good, but I do not know if I have the strength of heart to accept her independence, even though her happiness is my greatest desire." She gripped his hand and he smiled, a gesture of appreciation for her support. He nodded at her, and she released his hand. Éomer opened it with trembling hands, his eyes darting from side to side as he read the contents of the missive. Éowyn watched the blood drain from her brother's face, his eyes wide with panic.
"Éomer?," she called, noticing that he began to have difficulty breathing. He stared wide eyed at her, his expression one of pure terror. The parchment fell from his hands and his legs gave way, slumping to the ground. "I was too late," he mumbled to himself over and over again, staring at nothing. He did not respond when she called his name or waved her arms in front of his face.
She called for the guards to have her brother brought to his bed and calmly asked a maidservant to summon a healer to tend to the King, hiding the letter under her skirts until she was alone. Then she picked it up and disappeared to a hidden alcove, investigating the message that had caused Éomer to faint with shock.
"Éomer King, I am grateful for the time and freedom you have kindly bestowed, allowing me to travel to my heart's content. Indeed I am blessed to have ventured to places I had not heard of and learned much from observing and immersing myself into new cultures. People live so differently and it is fascinating to have eaten foods of all colours and tastes, study inventions, delve into legends and myths and expand my limited knowledge about the world. I have travelled far and the time apart has greatly aided my certainty of what I wish for the future. The time we have shared has been wonderful and tumultuous. There were many pleasant memories, but also many more painful memories that seem to overshadow all the joy in our marriage. In contemplating the history that we have shared, I have decided to dissolve our union, if you should grant it and live our remaining days as two separate individuals. I understand that such sorrow could have been avoided if I had understood the duty and burden of a queenship for an individual of base birth and I apologise for any hurts you have suffered for my folly, my presumptuousness that I could share a union with the Lord of the Mark, son of kings and Eorl's heir.
My greatest wish is for you to be happy and I believe it is another woman, one more worthy than I who shall teach you all about joy. I am deeply honoured to have shared in your victories, consoled you in your despair and shared moments of joy and sorrow, but I cannot be with you for fear of losing myself. I only wish for peace in my heart, and so I beg your mercy, for I go back on my vows and hope for grace on your part. May you be blessed richly.
Your humble servant, Ithil.
