Chapter 50 - Elves, Easterlings, and Ever Eastward
Vezely stared curiously at the Dowinion Elf captain a moment longer before replying. His glare remained equally intense. They had never met, but there existed an unspoken tension between them. Perhaps the fact that she was "expected" as he just declared was knowledge that did not please him. "Expected?" she finally interrogated, "And how would I have been expected?"
"By me," the golden-haired, legendary Elf lord she met only briefly in Minas Tirith, descended from behind the Elven guards who had finally dropped their bows. He was clad in traveling attire though his raiment marked him hierarchically above the others in the company. "We meet again, child of Eluréd," he then greeted her in Elvish style, bringing the palm of his right hand to his chest and slowly extending it outward.
"Lord Glorfindel," Vezely hid her surprise as she greeted him the Easterling way, placing her right fist to her chest and tilting her head down. While she desired to ask what brought him this far east, she switched her concern back to her people. "My company and the civilians we are escorting request unhindered passage through these forests."
"Due to being pursued?" he raised his eyebrows, desiring to press her on their purpose; having heard her mention enemies to the Captain prior. His eyes noticeably shifted to the two hooded prisoners they had bound on the back of horses.
"War yet rages in Rhun, Glorfindel," she replied cocking one eyebrow of her own, "Our enemy has invaded north of here. The civilians are from a settlement on their path of destruction. We would engage them in battle but our numbers are too few. These forests are our only chance of survival."
"It is well that you entered them then. It will soon be nightfall. Your people should rest the evening and the guard can provide escort to the southern borders after dawn." Stepping to the side, his outstretched hand beckoned them to follow; despite having more questions he decided to postpone them for later.
"Gratitude," she again pressed her fist to her chest, and tilted her head down. Afterwards she addressed her troops who had waited patiently, albeit uncomfortably as the Elves conversed in unknown tongue. "...We will rest the night and continue south come morning..." Despite her reassurance, however, the company's nerves remained; these forests and their inhabitants were wholly misunderstood and feared by most in Rhun.
Samsara quietly voiced this concern to Vezely after they dismounted their horses in order to follow the guards on foot. "Are you sure they can be trusted?"
"Yes, our stay warrants no worry for them or for us," Vez returned assuredly as Cyane, quickly re-acclimating to being a squire, took her horse's reins.
Samsara released a huff of breath instead of mouthing a rebuke; trust was not an easy thing to ask an Easterling of Elves. Her eyes shifted to the tall, golden-haired Elf Vezely exchanged words with as he walked away, "You are acquainted with that one?"
"Somewhat," she replied calmly, her eyes also falling on the back of Glorfindel's flowing green cloak, "He is of well-repute among my race. Considered noble and wise, and some would even say blessed by the Valar. He holds no mal intent towards me or our company." Then noting the dark circles under her eyes, she cupped her shoulder, hoping to reassure her, "Rest tonight, Samsara. Your daughter is safe now. We will all be on our way to the main outpost come tomorrow." She assumed she had not slept well since hearing of the Dark Lands' planned invasion.
The Elves led the group to the outskirts of their guard's base camp, not desiring to lead them any nearer to their main settlement for fear of a return of their armies. The Elves in Rhun remained secluded for good reasons. To them, Easterlings cared for nothing but war and profit, and they would sooner kill them and destroy their forests than befriend them.
Vez bid her soldiers to build a temporary camp and to make sure the villagers were comfortable with provisions. They were all surprised when their Elvish hosts brought out food and drink for them, and though unnecessary, the gesture of goodwill calmed some of their anxiety.
Being attuned to the suffering of others, Glorfindel and the Elves watched uncomfortably as soldiers rough handled the two prisoners they were transporting; knocking them off the horses they were tethered to and then throwing them against and binding them to separate trees.
Vezely took her flask and knelt next to one of them, removing his hood to reveal a disheveled face. The young man squinted at her, internally trying to maintain what minimal strength he had in order to save face as she loosened his gag from his mouth. She smiled serenely, bringing the flask close to his lips, and he intuitively opened them, desiring to receive whatever liquid it contained to quench his parched mouth. But Vezely rerouted the flask to her own lips and drank, smirking as she replaced the lid on top. "Thirsty?" she asked him smugly; the man knew she was toying with him. "You can drink your fill in exchange for information on your people's plans in the north."
"I would rather spit in your face, if I could spit," he returned sternly. Scouts were among the most steadfast of warriors since they were most at risk of being captured by the enemy; thus they were hard to break.
"Never simple, is it?" She remarked in annoyed amusement while looking at the lieutenant who stood nearby, "Keep him gagged. We'll see how long he wants to fast."
Vezely knew neither of the captured scouts would talk for the sake of water or food. It would require torture, but she would not perform such acts in the presence of Elves. Thus she would have to wait until they were far from the forests of Dorwinion to get the information she desired.
Cyane, who was leading the general's new horse, stopped aside Glorfindel, who stood silently watching Vezely's interaction with the prisoners. Unabashed, the youth engaged him in Elvish, "'Quel undome." (Good evening.)
"'Quel undome," he returned in Elvish with a curious smile looking down at her; the youth's ability to speak his tongue was most certainly unexpected. "What is your name?" he then asked her.
"My name is Cyane, I am squire of the general," she replied fluently.
"And how is it you speak Elvish, Cyane?"
"The general teaches me," she returned proudly, "Do you speak Easterling?"
"Some," Glorfindel confided humbly.
"Squire!" Samsara strictly called to her daughter, wary of the conversation and of her skirting duties, "Take the horse to be fed."
"Aye commander," she returned promptly, prepared to follow orders. She then added to Glorfindel with a smile, "Perhaps we can talk later, my lord."
Nodding to her request, Glorfindel responded kindly, "Rest well, young one." Watching the youth pass, he further contemplated what made her fascinating - she was a squire yet wore civilian clothes; she bore resemblance to the second in command making him believe they had familial relations; and there was an uncanny brightness about her, the likes of which he didn't often find among the race of men.
Leaving others in charge, Vezely followed Glorfindel to hold council, remarking along the way, "You are rather far from Imladris."
He turned his head, smiling at her slightly, "That I am. I have traveled as far as the Orocani Mountains seeking Elves who may desire leave from these shores and escort to the Grey Havens," he revealed freely, not holding his mission necessary to keep secret. "Currently I am on a brief stop in these woods before continuing the journey with my followers westward, first to Eryn Lasgalen before onto Lindon."
Vezely had not heard the name of the re-christened Mirkwood for some time, making her suddenly more aware that she stood in a forest of Elves who lived not unlike her during her childhood in the Woodland Realm. She had not even taken in the feel of the forests since entering, her mind having only been set on leading her people to safety. Thinking of Mirkwood made her inevitably think of the forests of Ithilien, and the happiness she briefly experienced there with Legolas 28 years ago. The memories however, made her more uncomfortable of the impending conversation. Already 18 years had passed since she had met with Eomer and Aragorn in Rhovanion, and now, admittedly she felt even further disconnected from the West. The years of war and the plague had also led her to push aside hope in a future where she could return. Practicing such mental escapism was selfish, she thought, especially for someone who had no personal fear of getting sick while those around her lived like they were walking on eggshells. Glorfindel was extraordinarily perceptive; she remembered this as she followed him. He would undoubtedly interrogate her, making her wary of saying too much.
They walked up a short flight of steps to a flet perched low in the trees, giving them a full view of the camp below. Once up top, Glorfindel turned towards her, "I had not expected to be hindered by both civil war and a plague of such devastation."
"The war was unavoidable," Vez crossed her arms as she turned her eyes to the camp below, "For ten years peace was maintained, but the People of the Dark Lands will not halt their desire for an empire. And they now use our weakened state to further their intentions."
"By invading north of here?" Glorfindel returned to the reason of this shortcut through Dorwinion, "I am curious, why would a general and her second in command risk confrontation with such a small company all in order to aid this one village?"
Vez narrowed her eyes slightly, spying Cyane from afar, "Part of it is personal."
"One that perhaps pertains to your squire?" Glorfindel asked but spoke knowingly, both noting her gaze and before having picked up on the youth partaking in militia chores while wearing civilian attire.
Vez smirked slightly. "You remain perceptive. She is the daughter of my second in command," though Vez forwent details on the troubling aspects this infringement of contract involved. "She was the impetus, but with affirmation of these attacks, the Coalition can call an end to this farce of a cessation and retaliate."
"More war?" Glorfindel returned carefully.
"Unfortunately," Vezely continued to stare out pensively, watching the Elves bring out more food and water to the wary though weary villagers. Her tone displayed her concern, "We were winning, Glorfindel, but this sickness. I have watched a third of my legions fall to an enemy we cannot fight."
"It will run its course and in time it will end," Glorfindel told her reassuringly.
Vezely breathed in deeply; all plagues eventually ended, but the cost of this one had already been too great. "And in that time, if we are not also overcome by our enemies," she looked at him through strained eyes, "You once said I could ride as leader into Rhun, but I must leave it in the hands of the Second Born and fade also."
"That I did," he replied staring back at her curiously, remembering the conversation at the fountain in Minas Tirith's guest house. "Yet you remain leader."
"I cannot abandon this fight," she replied defensively.
"I am not saying you should," he rejoined calmly, "You will know when the time is right."
"Will I?" Vez smirked slightly, looking back below, "If it could be when I am standing on a field of victory, knowing that peace is secured." He did not offer a reply to this, and thinking he could not foretell anything else concerning her future, Vezely shifted the conversation, "And how fairs the West? You have been in Rhun some time, but longer still since I have had news."
"Aye, I heard of your meeting with Lord Aragorn and Lord Eomer in Rhovanion. Quite a surprise, indeed. Both the kingdom of Rohan and Gondor have flourished..."
As Glorfindel told her of good tidings, some commotion in the camp below disrupted their exchange, turning their attention and requiring their physical presence.
An Elf had tried to give water to one of the prisoners, but was quickly pushed back by the guisarme of one of the Coalition's guards.
"What is the meaning of this?" Vezely interrogated the perpetrator in Elvish, while calmly commanding her own guard to lower his scythe.
The Captain of the Elves was already at the scene and intervened, "You are starving them. We cannot simply turn a blind eye to their suffering."
"They are prisoners and will be fed when I say they can be fed, suffering or not," Vez told him firmly.
"You remain a tyrant," he returned boldly, tilting his chin up slightly.
Finding his remark and the way he had acted around her odd since they met, Vez asked pointedly, "I'm sorry, have we met?"
"No, but we know of you Vezely of the Balchoth," he said, his gaze condescending.
"Captain," Glorfindel finally intervened, hoping to provide caution, "Past grief is not worth present confrontation."
Vezely held her hand up, telling Glorfindel as if he were one of her guard to halt his desire for civility, "What past grief do you hold, Captain?"
"We remember Ester Ridge," he told her, his grey eyes stone cold on hers, "We followed the smoke to the settlements you torched, finding lying within their streets the women and children your soldiers cut down. Infants with their heads having been cracked open against their home's stone walls. Those that survived spoke of Vezely of the Balchoth, the General of Sauron, and now we discover you are general again. Lord Glorfindel assured us you have changed, but to us your name will forever be attached to that which haunts our memories."
With the reason behind the tension she suspected since their first greeting revealed, Vezely admitted to not being surprised. She would not display any contempt for being branded a tyrant, instead she responded calmly, "I share your disgust in the deeds which destroyed those towns, but you can continue remembering me as you will. I care not for changing my reputation or my mind on these prisoners."
He stared at her sternly, surprised by the way she spoke indifferent and detached from this past; remorse was not present, "If even evoking remembrance persuades you not."
"I cannot change the past Captain, but only work towards a different future. And I would not have one in which our enemy rules these lands," Vezely narrowed her eyes on his, "You think your forests are safe from the People of the Dark Lands? I could easily have invaded here with my legions, and done the same to your folk as I did to Ester Ridge. I would have burnt these forests to the ground without any thought to your suffering, but you're lucky I followed orders and kept north. Our current enemy hates Elves almost as much as Sauron did. If they win, do not expect superstition to keep them away. You are not safe my dear Captain unless we do our job and right now that is handling these prisoners as such. To you it may seem that starvation is cruel, but if it prompts them to offer valuable information on our enemy in exchange for nourishment, is that not preferable to torturing them in other ways?"
The Elf shifted his gaze from her to Glorfindel, uncomfortable by the truths she spoke - the Dorwinion colony knew war was potentially close at hand and many were considering journeying west to Lindon with Glorfindel because of it. They had avoided war in the past, but perhaps in this new age they could not.
Glorfindel tried to mediate, "She is partially right Captain, it is the Reunited Easterling Coalition who we should place our hope in for peace in this region. But to overlook suffering, Vezely, that is not in the nature of Elves. If they can at least be given water during their stay, it would suffice. Just water."
Samsara who had been trying to rest had joined her side, her hand around the hilt of her sword distrusting that the conversation would end peacefully. Vezely then told her what was being discussed, desiring her opinion on the matter. Samsara responded angrily, her eyes narrowed on the Elf Captain, "They have no right to tell us how to handle our prisoners."
"No they do not," Vezely replied quietly, her face stern, "But we have been allotted passage through their forests. If we cause rebuke now..."
Glorfindel waited patiently, deciphering their conversation the best he could, though his mastery of spoken Easterling and its numerous dialects was subpar. From the corner of his eye he saw Cyane retrieving a flask of water and going aside Vezely with it, as if expecting she would be called upon soon.
Samsara also reasoned it would be preferable to be guided to the south by the Elves' goodwill rather than have to lead themselves in the middle of night. Yet before allowing Vezely her response, she spoke her own viewpoint on Rhun-based Elves. Stepping forward toward Glorfindel and the Elf captain, she declared annoyed, "The whole world is suffering but they prefer not to see it. Instead they hide in their forest while we bleed to keep it safe," but she stumbled as she pivoted back towards Vezely; a dizzying spell took over her and she fell with Glorfindel catching her.
"Mother!" Cyane dropped the flask and ran to her side, only to witness her coughing up blood.
Some villagers nearby gasped; seeing the blood, they knew what sickness had befallen her. Glorfindel gently laid her down on the grasses below, as her daughter took a handkerchief from her pocket, putting it to her mother's mouth as she coughed.
Vezely felt momentarily frozen; disbelieving her second in command could be affected by the fatal illness. She locked her widened eyes briefly with Glorfindel who had respectfully stepped aside as Vezely went to kneel beside her, touching her hand to her forehead, finding it hot to the touch. Glorfindel would request the Elf guards to bring a stretcher and have her moved to a nearby flet where there was a comfortable bed to rest in.
Knowing she needed to put aside the disagreement concerning the prisoners for a more pressing matter, Vezely picked up the flask Cyane had dropped and forced it into the Elf captain's chest, telling him, "Just water," and afterwards addressing her own guards in Easterling to also allow the Elves to tend to the prisoners.
Entering the flet they brought Samsara to, she found Glorfindel mixing an herbal tonic, while Cyane buried her face into her mother's chest. "Don't cry child," Samsara told her tiredly, stroking her hair back.
Cyane looked up at her mother, but quickly turned her attention to Glorfindel, speaking to him in Easterling, "Can you save her?"
Glorfindel gave her a pained look as he shook his head, "I can only provide comfort," he replied softly, bringing the tonic over for Samsara to drink. The commander found no need to question the potion or its possible effects at this point.
The liquid was soothing to her throat, and relaxed her muscles, allowing her to breathe and speak easier, "There is no cure Cyane."
"But there has to be," Cyane choked.
She stared at her wistfully, "You are safe, that is what matters." She began coughing again and she slowly retrieved her own handkerchief to cover her mouth, displaying to others that it was already stained in blood.
"For how long have you been like this?" Vez immediately asked, noticeably upset as she looked upon her proud friend who now appeared no different than the multitude of soldiers she had witnessed fall to the disease.
"Three days," Samsara replied in a breath. She had been keeping the blood in her phlegm hidden, not desiring to cause any worry or to slow them down. Her general's sullen demeanor unsettled her, so Samsara spoke again as if the situation was less severe, "I guess I could not fight it." Vez shook her head, painfully smiling at her manner, and finding herself having no ability to reply with any levity. She was not prepared to deal with her impending death. Instead, she took her cold hand in her own, hoping to show reassurance through touch. Samsara's grip tightened, "General. My daughter. Do not abandon her."
"I will not," Vez returned assuredly, "She will remain safe."
With the last of her strength, Samsara's eyes interrogated hers as she spoke; she needed to be certain of the truth of her words before she could accept what would come. The disease took its victims quickly; she had a day at most.
Vezely left the fleet shortly after; her feet quickening beneath her as she raced into the forest's dark depths. She needed space away from the camp and her men; a space where she didn't need to maintain her composure.
Once there, she unsheathed and threw her sai at the trunk of a nearby tree as if slaying a retreating enemy in the backside, afterwards clenching her fists together, desiring to scream her discontent with the situation. But knowing the sound would not go unheard, she gritted her teeth and remained silent. She retrieved her weapons just as angrily as she threw them, and trying to calm down, she placed the metal tips of their hilts to her temples, closing her eyes at the coolness of their touch. "Legolas," she whispered to herself, "I need you to tell me it will be alright."
Helpless; that was how she felt in that moment, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop Samsara from dying, and furthermore nothing she could do to stop this plague from taking more lives as it threatened to reverse all the Reunited Easterling Coalition had fought for in the last decade. She tried to envision Legolas there, to hear his voice reassuring her, but realized she could no longer remember how he sounded, or how it felt to have him hold her. The years stretched beyond where she thought they would and her hope to accomplish what she set out from the West to do became more untenable. The Elf captain reminded her again that night; her past misdeeds would never be amended. And now, on the verge of losing another comrade, the personal anguish seemed justified. It is no longer about my redemption...
Later that evening, Glorfindel provided Samsara another tonic to ease her breathing and relax her. Cyane had not left her side.
"You are not the one," Samsara queried of the Elf as he worked.
"The one?" he asked her calmly, bringing her the cup.
"The Elf the General desires to return to," she finished tiredly.
"I am not," he replied, helping her sit up slightly to drink.
"That is unfortunate," Samsara looked upon her daughter sleeping next to her, "She deserves some happiness. She has already risked so much to salvage my own."
...Samsara would pass the following day, her daughter at her side and Vezely nearby. "...Strength and courage, Cyane," Vezely consoled the youth who was clinging to her and weeping. She slowly placed her arms around her, holding her closer, "Strength and courage," she repeated, closing her own eyes, but tears did not fall. She felt numb.
The group forewent journeying southward until after giving her a proper funeral, though it was one less worthy than it should have been for a second in command. As Cyane lit her mother's pyre, Vezely watched the child's innocence go up in smoke, and with it, a new responsibility passed onto her. Kor and Samsara were more than colleagues, they were friends. Rhun may be too large a job to fix on her own, but she would do all she could to honor that friendship and watch over their daughter. "...This sword is now yours," Vezely ritualistically handed her mother's weapon to Cyane, "May you bring honor to your ancestors with the lives you take with it..."
Before her journey, Glorfindel offered condolences for her loss and asked, "If there are tidings you would like brought westward...?" he wondered whether she desired to bring personal word to her acquaintances and specifically to Legolas.
"I have none," she answered quickly, hiding her regret; she hadn't the time or the mindset to spend the evening writing a letter. "The situation in Rhun speaks for itself. I appreciate the reprieve you've allotted my company. May your journey West be unhindered."
He nodded curtly, "May your journey be as well."
"Farewell, my lord," Cyane, who was riding behind Vezely, spoke politely to him in Elvish, "Thank you for bringing my mother comfort."
Glorfindel looked upon the child's serene face, finding in it maturity and strength, "I wish I could have done more. Farewell, young one. Trust you will see peace one day." There is something about this child, he thought, but he could not deduce anything more specific. As they departed, he called after, "Hope is not lost, child of Eluréd," but Vezely did not look back, forgoing what would have been a bitter reply to such optimism.
Reinforcements had been sent north to try and halt the People of the Dark Lands' encroachment in Logathavuld's northern regions; eventually retaking the village Cyane was raised in and keeping the enemy from encroaching any farther into Dorwinion. The devastating plague would finally run its course and a year after Samsara's death there were no reports of the illness in any of the Reunited Easterling Coalition's territories. But in those three years, the Coalition's losses, both in terms of men and land, were substantial. Agasha Dag did not fare any better, however. The temporary cessation called between the Coalition and Agasha Dag helped reignite negotiations and a possibility of a truce between the two territories; a major means for the Coalition to undermine their allegiance with the People of the Dark Lands. Due to being the territory separating the Coalition and the Dark Lands, Agasha Dag had witnessed immeasurable destruction and its leaders were wary of more war.
Meanwhile, the People of the Dark Lands spread their forces into less occupied territories of Rhun, conquering small states and accruing territories surrounding the main prefectures. It was not until the plague subsided that the Coalition could start reclaiming the lands they lost.
[30th year of the Fourth Age; 32 years after Vezely left Minas Tirith... ]
"...You fought well. Your parents would be proud," Vezely told Cyane after her first battle. She was sixteen, the legal age when one could sign up for military service.
"You are a good teacher," she responded humbly, noting the adrenaline was yet pumping through her veins.
"Not all can be taught," Vezely bantered back walking with her to her tent as soldiers halted aside them and bowed their heads down respectfully to the general as she passed. "You are the daughter of two warriors, not to mention your father is from Khand."
Cyane smirked; it was both amusing and heartwarming to be reminded again of this. Though she never met her father or had any other links to his homeland, whenever anyone heard she had Variag blood in her, they assumed her ferocity in battle and complimented her as such. She had decided for her second weapon to be a short axe in honor of him, while her main weapon remained her mother's scimitar. "Was your birth father and mother as such?" She asked, realizing she never spoke to Vezely about her blood parents, though she knew well, as everyone else, of her Balchoth heritage.
"No, they were not warriors. In fact," smiling slightly at the amusement such a connection could confer, "My father was a fisherman, choosing a simple life over one where his bloodline would have conferred him lordship in any realm he desired."
"The General, a fisherman's daughter?" Cyane remarked while suppressing a laugh, having already entered the tent where she could speak to her more candidly.
"That's right," Vezely rejoined skeptically cocking one eyebrow.
"No one would believe such a tale," she added smiling.
"I suppose it does seem strange in Rhun," Vez further considered, "Though the relation produces a different reaction among my kin."
Moving over to tend the furnace, Cyane voiced her thoughts, "I wish I could have met my father. There are so many questions I want to ask him. Like how he felt after his first battle, what it was like fighting in and surviving the great war, why he loved my mother..."
"That last one is a rather loaded question," Vezely interrupted, herself engaged in taking her rings off to wash her hands in a basin, "Knowing your father he would probably just say he did."
"Is that the way of love?" Cyane inquired while poking the burning wood with an iron rod; her eyes, however, wandered over to the General's line of rings on the table, and the one silver ring that remained on her finger, as always.
Vez took a moment to consider her response, turning the ring on her finger and thinking about its meaning as she did. "I suppose," she finally said pivoting to her as she took a towel to dry her hands. "Love often provides no explanation of why it exists, and it can occur unexpectedly. I believe your mother was not expecting to fall in love with your father."
Having watched her curiously, Cyane perceived she spoke also of her own relationship. Then brushing off anymore inquisitiveness, she added casually, "Perhaps it's strange to ask such questions after a battle."
"No, I actually find it is when one is most appreciative of life and how we live it," Vez smiled slightly, sitting down at the table, again looking upon her ring.
Cyane placed a kettle on the furnace to prepare tea, speaking as she worked, "I guess that is why I cannot stop thinking about my parents..."
Vezely realized she did the same thing after battles. Her thoughts almost always turned to Legolas and the hope that one day the battle would be her last and she could turn her horse westward. She wondered if he would still be living in Ithilien; in those perfect vernal forests and the waterfalls its trees hid from first sight. Though admittedly, part of her wondered if he had already sailed to the Undying Lands. She would not blame him if he did, for their separation had gone on longer than either expected upon her departure and to endure the call seemed a difficult task, especially if it was strong enough to pull his own parents apart.
Cyane poured a cup of Easterling spice tea for her, remarking kindly, "Thank you again, for allowing me to fight with the lower ranks."
Vezely rerouted her thoughts and looked up at her, "Your mother would not approve, but I understand the desire to prove yourself before advancing to an officer position." Cyane was already well positioned to rise in rank, having spent the past years as the General's squire and apprentice, but she had desired to prove herself on the front lines first before being given any privileged position.
And in the following six years she did just that, taking on a captain position at age 22 just like her mother before her. It was at this time that they had advanced their assault into the Dark Lands. Soon, Vezely thought as she marched with her legions over the Ukstranz River into enemy territory, soon this war will be over and I can return to where my heart is...
Chapter 50 you guys...50. How did that happen? I remember querying about posting chapter 1 exactly one year ago and thinking no one would read this story. Thank you all for keeping with it and to all my Tumblr followers (which are also over 50 now). You guys are wonderful.
And dare I say, only 1 more chapter left in Rhun and then what?