Chapter 42
Edoras, December the 30th, 3019
Amrothos watched Runhild taking care her last chores and checking that she had locked the stables' storeroom the customary three times. Never less, never more. "Are you ready yet?".
"Yes, we can go", she told him with a smile, "Thank you for accompanying me. It's not that I'm not convinced about the gift, but I'd like a gentleman's opinion and you know Éothain well".
"Always happy to help, ginger".
"Will you ever stop calling me that?", she groused, her elbow hitting him with unerring precision. They headed for the city's outskirts and entered a shop Amrothos knew quite well. He had been there many times before to buy gifts for his family. The owner was a nice old man who didn't charge a fortune for creations that were just as beautiful – if not more, as those being sold in the much fancier workshops located in the Markthalle.
"Good afternoon, Eóda".
"Prince Amrothos, what an honour to have you again in my humble establishment".
"This time merely in the guise of an advisor", he explained as he held the door open for Runhild.
Eóda nodded and produced a small velvet envelope from under the counter. For some reason Amrothos had assumed Éothain's gift would be one of the many decorative blades adorning the shop's shelves, but he had been obviously mistake. "What did you get him?", he asked.
"A brooch. And before you say anything: I know my husband is not exactly the kind of man who wears brooches. Bema, he had to wear a doublet once in the past twelve months and he's still complaining about it! Says the seam was making him itchy and that it chaffed his armpits, poor soul".
"If the occasion you are referring to is the coronation, I must say he endured his suffering quite valiantly. Why, he was the portrait of solemnity as he led the King's guard into the Golden Hall!".
"That's because I threatened him with unspeakable horrors, should he dare being anything less than impeccable. He's the Captain of the King's Guard, Amrothos. Whether he likes it or not, he must look the part".
"Very true. I suspect your gift comprises more than just a brooch then?".
"A cape in deep red".
"Not green?".
Runhild rolled her eyes in a dramatic fashion. "What is it with you Gondorian always thinking we Rohirrim must wear green all the times?".
"It's your colour".
"And as an Amrothian, yours is blue. How dare you be dressed in gray?".
"Right you are. Can I see the brooch now?".
"Please".
Amrothos opened the envelope to find a golden jewel that was both simple and exquisite. A lean round design with a sword shaped pin that was just perfect for someone like Éothain - anything less elegant and it would be inappropriate of his status, anything more flamboyant and he'd surely refuse wearing it. "Did you design it?".
"No, no. Eóda proposed a few options and this was the only one I deemed appropriate. What do you think?".
"It's a fine gift, Runhild. I'm sure Éothain will wear it without the need of further threats".
She clapped her hands excitedly and with her last remaining doubts now finally cast aside, she proceeded with footing a bill that must have surely taken a chunk of her savings without as much as batting an eye. "I'm going to meet some friends at a new tavern that opened nearby the South-eastern post. Why don't you join us, Amrothos? I'd like to buy you a drink as a token of gratitude, and the place has some excellent ciders".
He gladly accepted – Runhild rarely took no for an answer anyway, and followed her to a part of the city he was not familiar with. "I didn't know there were so many shops in this neighbourhood", he said looking around with interest.
"Because there weren't, most of them opened only recently. There are also a couple of inns renting rooms. I've visited one the other week and thought it was lovely. I reckon the next time your countrymen visit Edoras, they'll be lodged there. Many are looking forward to it, you know? For so long the people of Rohan have learned to douse their hopes and live with less. Now, there seems to be a new opportunity around every corner ".
"What about the King's absence? How did the people react to the news coming from the Westfold?".
Runhild lowered her voice a notch. "They think the Dunlendings should be dealt with an iron fist. There is discontent, sure, but I'm not too concerned with Edoras and the East-mark: the King has a too strong reputation here and the people will always rally behind him. The West-mark however, that is an entirely different matter. Though nobody ever told it explicitly – at least not in my presence, I know many believe the King committed a mistake in making an offer of peace to the Dunlendings and that the attacks on the granaries prove it".
Amrothos scratched the stubble on his jaw. "Have you told my sister?".
"Yes – nothing she didn't already know anyway. I only hope the men return soon and that the situation at the border is not as dire as some say. Ah, there is the tavern! Enough with the serious talk, come!", Runhild exclaimed, grasping his hand and dragging him inside with a strength that he always found disconcerting for a woman of her size.
His first impression of the place was surprisingly positive: it was cozy, with an upper balcony overlooking the main floor and an outside porch that was closed now, but that would surely make for a great spot during the summer. They sat at a long table with a bunch of other people and it proved a good occasion to test his fast-improving knowledge of the Rohirric language. Runhild's friends were a funny lot and he ended up staying much longer than he had intended to. It was only five ciders and two roasted chickens later, that he finally decided to call it a night: "Time to hit the sack, ginger. Do you want me to walk you home?".
"No, I'll stay a little longer. Thank you again for today, Amrothos".
"Don't mention it. I'll see you tomorrow at the stables".
He returned her affectionate embrace and slowly pushed his way through the crowd of inebriated patrons. It wasn't too cold outside and he decided to take the longer way back to the hall, so to get a better look at the neighbourhood. He reckoned it must have been shambles after the war, for many of the buildings appeared to have been recently renovated. The paint on the shops' banners was bright, the windows bereft of any stain or sign of aging. He made a mental note to come back during the day and just as he turned onto the main street, he was suddenly pushed backwards, the back of his head hitting painfully the hard surface of a wall. His fight instinct instantly kicked in: he grabbed the arm that held him by the scruff of his neck and… he stopped.
"Gondorian swine". Alling's breath reeked of alcohol. His eyes were glazed.
With a quick glance around, Amrothos took stock of the situation: Ealith's former betrothed was in the company of five blokes, the most sober of whom must have already drunk a barrel of ale by the look of it. They did not look friendly but also not interested in joining the fight, and he relaxed a little: one drunken fool he could handle.
He tried to shake him off him but with all that he stood at least five inches taller, he soon realized there was no way he could pull it off without harming him.
"I should kill you for what you did. You took her from me!", he cried, a drop of spit landing on his chin.
Amrothos stared at it, silently wondering whether he too had looked so obscenely pathetic when used to drown his sorrows in liquor. "I did not take her. Ealith is a grown woman. She chooses what to do with her life".
"You lie! You deceived her, turned her against me!".
"I did not".
"I know what happened in the cellars!".
"She was your betrothed and I shouldn't have kissed her. I apologize for that. But if you think I am the reason she left you, then you have truly never known her".
"What are you insinuating?", he hissed to his face.
Amrothos let his arms drop by his sides. It would be a pointless discussion with a sober Alling, let alone a drunken one. "Unhand me", he ordered, but the grip around the collar of his tunic only tightened.
"Did you bed her?".
"I said, unha-". Amrothos saw the punch coming but chose not to dodge it.
Some of Alling's friends were cheering, others appeared uncomfortable with the scene unfolding in front of their eyes, but not enough to intervene.
"If she left you because of me, don't you think we'd be together right now?".
Alling raised his fist again but this time, Amrothos moved - not enough to evade him, just to limit the damage. "You convinced her to leave me and once she did, you abandoned her, you miserable scum!", he babbled.
"I would nev-".
He was hit again - once, twice, until the taste of blood filled his mouth and his head was spinning. But still he refused to fight back and knock out his attacker, even though it would have been so ridiculously easy for him to do so. At long last, the commotion caused by the one-sided scuffle drew the patrons of one of the nearby establishments and Alling was unceremoniously pulled off of him.
"What is the meaning of this? Have you lost your mind?".
Amrothos staggered back and fell. A cut on his brow was bleeding profusely, making it hard for him to see what was happening. He could make out Alling, lying facedown on the street, a man crouched on top of him and holding his arms behind his back. Elfda – he recognized him now, cast a murderous glare at the drunken onlookers: "Listen up, lads. You will now get this imbecile home and see that he doesn't leave until he has sobered up. And if I ever get wind that he pulled another crap like this and that you little morons stood there and watched it happening without raising a finger to stop him, I will drag you one by one to the training grounds and kick your sorry arses in front of the entire city. Are we clear?".
They nodded in unison, their smirks replaced by a worried, almost scared expression.
"I'm sorry, I did not hear you".
"Yes, sir!". They each grab one of Alling's limbs and forcefully took him away. Long after they had gone from sight, Amrothos could still hear the fool screaming obscenities and making incoherent threats.
Elfda helped him up and offered him a cloth to stanch the blood. "Bloody hell, Prince. The idiot was going to beat you to a pulp. Why didn't you defend yourself?".
"I'm fine. It's not as bad as it looks like".
"That's because Alling punches like a five years old girl. That's anyway no excuse for what he did. Let me take you to the hall".
"There's no need. I can find the way…".
"Oh, I'm sure you can. Unfortunately for you however, I'm not looking forward to explaining the Queen why I didn't make sure her beloved brother made it safely back to Meduseld after being attacked in the streets. I taught her how to punch and I assure you, she's more effective than that pathetic little wimp".
Amrothos nodded, too tired to argue. He still hoped that despite Elfda's presence he'd manage to sneak into his room unnoticed but of course, the moment they stepped inside the hall they run right into his sister, who very nearly had a heart attack upon seeing his bloodied face. "What happened?", she shrieked, passing Elfwine to Beyrith so she could better check the state of his bruised, swollen face.
"An unfortunate encounter with my archenemy".
"Alling did this? How?".
"Your brother let him use him as a punch bag", Elfda drawled.
"With all due respect, this is none of your business. I appreciate you coming to my help but if you don't mind, my sister and I can take it from here", he retorted angrily.
Lady Aldwyn's goon ignored him completely and only when Lothíriel dismissed him, did he finally leave. She ordered Ides to bring her some healing salves and walked him to his room. "Is it true what Elfda said?".
"Yes. I run into Alling while on my way back to the hall. He was wasted and it ended up in a fight".
"I mean about you refusing to fight him back. Even at his best, Alling could never take you down. Did you let him beat you?".
"It was either that or me knocking his teeth out".
Lothíriel faltered in her efforts to clean the wound on his brow. "You did it for Ealith, didn't you? Even though she's not here and might never know about it. You did it for her".
"She feels guilty for what happened between her and Alling and would never want to see him hurt. But it's not just that. I… I understand how he feels. If I was in his place, I'd be devasted about losing the woman I love, about losing Ealith. He's hurting and he was drunk and he lost control. Please don't turn a brawl into a diplomatic case just because I happened to be involved".
She glared at him, looking like she wanted to argue. "Fine", she conceded, her discontent obvious from the scowl on her face, "I'll let it slip for this one time but if it ever happens again, Alling will have to answer for his actions whether you like it or not".
Éomer was in a foul mood – had been for days now. He should have been in Meduseld right now, celebrating the first Yule since the war had ended with his wife and son, indulging in food and ale and sleeping well into the day. Instead, he had been forced to leave and spend four consecutive days in the saddle, under a constant scourge of either rain or snow and whipped by cutting gusts of freezing wind. To make things worse, upon arriving at destination he had seen his worst fears all but confirmed: the Dunlendish settlement on the other side of the river had been occupied and Lord Wídca's henchmen patrolled lands that did not belong to Rohan.
Ever the man of action, he had been tempted to arrest the advisor and be done with it. Alas it would have been a dangerous move because for all his flaws, Lord Wídca had secured himself a solid reputation with his subjects: his house provided financial support to widows and orphans of war and for people who for decades had seldom seen a King in person, he was the trusted face of a monarchy which had otherwise too often failed them.
Compromise was what Éomer had needed to do, and compromise he did: when in public, he had been mindful to show only mild discontent, so to avoid antagonizing the locals; behind closed doors however, he had unleashed against his advisor all the anger and the frustration he had been brewing for days, since the moment Léored had informed him of what was happening in the Westfold and forced him to leave his family right at the beginning of the festivities.
In executing the trespassers and invading Dunland, thus becoming a trespasser himself, Lord Wídca had not only taken a decision that was not his to take, but also done something that was both dishonourable and dangerous. There was a reason why kingdoms sought to establish their borders along rivers and other geographical features. They are easy to defend, make it harder for the enemy to invade. What did the idiot think he was doing building Rohirric settlements on the other side of the Isen? How did he think he'd be able to defend their inhabitants once the Dunlendings returned to claim what was rightfully theirs? Coming spring, when the river would swell and crossing only become possible at a handful of old, dilapidated wooden bridges – the closest of which was a half-day ride from their current position, how was he going to supply the settlers he had sent colonizing lands that were not theirs for the take?
He had an idea what Lord Wídca was aiming at. There had always been rumours about mines located deep into the hills of Dunland, whispers of underground richnesses. But no one know how much truth was in those hearsays and he was personally very sceptical – if Dunland was such a rich land, how come its inhabitants had never managed to capitalize its wealth?
Most important of all: even if those mines did exist, they had no right over them.
Éomer had thought long and hard about how he should best handle the matter. Things were going to fester between him and Lord Wídca, there was no avoiding that. But what he could not let happen, was for the man to drum up the sympathies of his fellow advisors and possibly cause widespread discontent. So, while he gave Wídca the stick and all but informed him that one more misstep and his lands and title would be seized from him, he dangled a carrot right in front of some of his peers' nose: he informed them of his malcontent towards the Westfold lord, offered them praises for the way they had supported the Crown and, in the most subtle manner he could come up with, had left intended that should Wídca fall, he'd call upon them to take over his stronghold.
Someone might have called it playing dirt, but if the only way to keep the advisors from uniting against him was to turn them against each other, he had to qualms doing it.
Once the situation with Lord Wídca had been contained and against everyone's advice, Éomer took a small number of guards and entered Dunland, hoping of reinstating the fragile treaty they had signed after the end of the war. To him, it was a calculated risk: on the one hand, prudence demanded he took his entire eored with him to ensure his safety; on the other, doing so would likely be seen as a King committing an act of aggression - which, in any war book, meant one thing and one thing only: open conflict. By entering Dunland with a too small number of men to pose any threat, Éomer hoped to avoid further bloodshed.
It took him and his men over half day to locate the next Dunlendish settlement. By the look of it, it must have been built by the refugees that had escaped the riverbanks. There were no walls and no guards. Just a messy cluster of ragged tents, some so poorly built he was surprised they had not been swept away. Their presence went unnoticed until they were practically entering the village and then, it was widespread panic. Children crying. Women screaming and running for the woods. The few men around – most of whom were more than a little long in the tooth, advancing on them while brandishing improvised weapons.
His guards stood around him, swords unsheathed. Éomer could feel their hesitation, for it was the same that steadied his hand: those men were no warriors. They posed no threat but to themselves.
"King", one of them spoke, a bony finger raised at him. His hands were covered in lumps, veins bulging out. He was tall for a Dunlending – almost as tall as he was, but with so little flesh on his bones that his features were no more.
Éomer removed his helmet and advanced on him: "Where's your chieftain?", he asked.
But the man just stared at him, one eye eerily hollow, the other as sharp as the edge of a knife. He spoke to one of his fellow villagers, who promptly took off and returned moments later with an elderly woman in tow. A heated argument erupted and even though Éomer could not understand a word of what was being said, it was clear there was malcontent as to how his presence should be treated. Eventually, the woman stepped forward, a look in her eyes that could only be described as pure hatred: "Grend want to speak, ask why Horselord King here".
"I mean you no harm and only seek audience with your chieftain: your people have broken the treaty we signed after the war and I demand to know why".
"Grend chieftain. King speak, Mata translate".
Éomer was taken aback: he had envisioned someone like Zarn or Cedarn to lead these people, not an old man who, as it was, was barely able to stand on his feet. "Several among your people have trespassed into our lands these past weeks. Were they acting on your orders?".
The woman – Mata, remained silent. Only when Grend snapped at her, did she relay his question. "Chieftain say no. He told them no cross river, but they disobeyed. He…", she paused, like she was physically struggling to spill out the next words, "…Grend say we apologize. We accept punishment Horselord gave us and ask when we can return to our village".
Éomer considered his options carefully. He could take the chieftain's word and play for time, see if the trespassing truly halted and if not, act consequently. But something told him there was more to the whole incident than Grend and Wídca were letting on, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. "Why did your people attack us? We agreed upon restoring Dunland's borders and you have plenty of land here. Why cross the river and steal from us?".
Mata translated through gritted teeth and whatever Grend said in return, she refused translating. They were arguing again, their tones escalating quickly, and Éomer grew concerned he and his men might have to intervene to placate things - the last thing he wanted, was to be linked to the death of a chieftain. "Do you want to see why we trespass, Horselord?", Mata asked while Grend tried to keep her from speaking, "Come with me". She turned and walked towards the Western side of the clearing, into the woods where most of the people had dispersed.
Éothain leaned in. "How do we know she's not leading you into a trap?".
It was a fair question, but Éomer had already taken a risk coming there and wasn't going to back down now. Besides, while he didn't doubt Mata would happily stab him in the back if given the chance, at the same time he didn't think he was in imminent danger. He followed her past a cluster of crude shacks made of wood and animal skin and into a makeshift hut. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly lit room and when they did, it was like the air had been sucked out of his lungs.
At least two dozen children were crammed in a space that would be barely enough to host a family of four. Their shabby clothes and the measly fire burning in the hearth did little to shield them from the cold, so much he could hear their teeth chattering. In the corner was a little girl, five or six years old, a mess of greasy hair plastered on one side of her face. She held an infant who couldn't be much older than his own son. But where Elfwine was chubby and rosy cheeked, this one was pale, his complexion almost greyish. His skin was too taut, his pupils small. Éomer brushed a thumb on his tiny hand, but the child barely showed any reaction.
Behind him, Éothain looked like he had been turned into stone.
"Where are their parents?".
"Some here. Some dead".
"They are starving. You all are".
"Men busy make war. No harvest last year".
"That's why you crossed the river and attacked our granaries".
"We checked. Always came when strawheads away. If people there, we locked them in cellars. We killed no one. But you killed us. My son, seventeen years old, dead. He stole bag of flour but harmed nobody. Strawheads on horse chased him to river and killed him, then burned our homes".
Each word was like a punch in his guts. Mata wasn't lying: the assaults on the granaries had caused no casualties and no injured among his people, and yet Rohan's retribution had been swift and ruthless. He stood slowly and before leaving, he forced himself to take another good look at the heartrending scene in front of his eyes, made sure he'd never forget it. He ordered each of his men to enter the dilapidated building and only after they had come out, pale faces and haunted eyes, did he walk back to Grend.
"The men who had seized your village have been ordered to leave and return to Rohan. You may return to your homes, if you so wish. A peace agreement was signed between my people and yours, and I will not see it broken. No man of Rohan will enter Dunland unless invited, and so must your people also respect our borders. Trespassing will not be condoned, and anyone caught violating our agreement will be arrested and subjected to a fair trial". He moved his eyes to Mata. She was translating as quickly as she could, her face betrayed no emotion but disdain. "My people have suffered greatly during the war, often at the hands of Dunlendish warriors who attacked our cities and slaughtered defenceless civilians. Crops were destroyed, fields burned. But inflicting pain upon you today won't bring back our loved ones and I won't have innocent children die on account of their parents' faults. I will see that enough supplies to make it through the winter are delivered to your village".
Mata stumbled, then resumed speaking in hushed tones. When Grend shook his head, they started bickering once again. "Chieftain says we cannot accept Horselord offer. Not honourable for Dunlendings".
"Accepting my offer of help is dishonourable, but stealing from us is not? You'd let your young ones die over a matter of pride?".
He could see that Mata agreed with him, but the stubborn old man still refused to listen.
"Can you pay for it?", he proposed.
A sparkle of hope lit her eyes. "Pelts. But not now. In spring".
"Agreed. Inform Grend that supplies will be delivered in latest a week time and that payment is expected no earlier than by the next summer solstice". Éomer signalled his men and mounted his horse, all hopes that he'd manage to leave for Edoras within the day quickly melting away.
It would take time to arrange the delivery, and he could hardly trust Lord Wídca with such delicate matter.
In the years before the war, when her husband had been still alive and a member of the King's Council, Lady Aldwyn had made herself a reputation for hosting banquets that were – based on most accounts, extraordinarily eccentric. Amrothos knew people had a penchant for exaggerating tales however and as such, he entered the lady's house that evening with a healthy dose of scepticism.
The moment he walked through the open doors, he knew he should have given those rumours more credit.
The hall that he had come to know during his previous visits as a proud, striking example of Rohirric architecture, was all but gone. In its place stood – and he had to rub his eyes to believe what he was seeing, what he could only guess was a Shire inspired banquet. There were no savoury foods, only a selection of mouth-watering cakes and two open barrels of Longbottom Leaf pipe-weed. Their distinctive smell already saturated the air and as he ventured further in, he realized that was but the beginning of a culinary journey that winded through the Mark's traditional food, before approaching more familiar shores.
Amrothos popped in his mouth what looked like some sort of fried fish and let out a sound of ecstatic appreciation: salted cod! Unable to contain his excitement, he snatched a plate and filled it with more food than he should have, stacking it into a pile that kept collapsing under its own weight. That was how Lady Aldwyn found him some time later, mouth stuffed and fingers coated in the spicy sauce of a meat potpie.
"I meant to ask whether you are enjoying the banquet, but I see there's no need for that".
He gulped down the food and wiped his hands clean. "If my childhood tutor could see me now, he'd probably have a heart attack. Years spent instilling the importance of good manners and here I am, gobbling down all your food".
"Nonsense. This is meant to be a joyful occasion, not one for worrying about how much you can eat before causing someone to scrunch their eyebrows in condemnation".
"I have one question, if you don't mind".
"Ask away".
He opened his arms and looked pointedly around. "How?".
Lady Aldwyn laughed, the sweet wine swirling in her goblet. "One of the women who are currently hosted in the Golden Hall used to work as kitchen hand in Minas Tirith. She learned all the ropes watching the cook at work and was more than happy to accept my offer of employment. As per the Shire part, Tidhild – my granddaughter, always had a sweet-tooth. When the Halflings were here, she discovered they too have a fondness for cakes and inquired about recipes".
"Incredible. How long did it take you to organize it all?".
"The greater part of the past two months – mainly because of the time it took to get the supplies delivered from Gondor".
"The effort was definitely worth it: this is by far the most impressive, tastiest banquet I've ever had the honour to be invited to".
"Splendid! Seeing you are here alone, I assume the Queen won't be honouring us with her presence?".
"She sends her apologies - she'd have liked to come, but what between the end of the festivities and the King being away, she's had a long week".
"Of course, I understand". Lady Aldwyn nodded imperceptibly, "I'm glad to see you have fully recovered from your recent injuries".
Amrothos touched his brow. The cut was still there but his face no longer looked like a red swollen mess. In the dimly lit hall, it was unlikely anybody would notice the fast healing bruises. "Elfda told you?".
"He works for me", she pointed out nonchalantly. "When he returned from Meduseld that night, he had the misguided idea to tell me what had just happened while Aldwyn was also present. I very nearly had to lock her in her room".
"Ah yes", he sighed exasperatedly - he had had that same conversation countless times already and was getting dreadfully tired, "I should have hit him back, I should have run him through a sword and a whole lot of other bloody things. Spare me the lecture, I beg you".
Lady Aldwyn scoffed scornfully. "I am not my eighteen years' old granddaughter, Amrothos. Among all my children and grandchildren, she's the one who truly inherited my spirit. And just like I was at her age, she too is guilty of being impetuous and immature. Despite having seen some minor battles, Aldwyn has lived a moderately sheltered life and still has this romantic notion that glory can only be earned in war, and that defending one's honour means striking back – no matter the circumstances. But life is more complicated than that and I, for one, am glad you acted the way you did".
"You are?".
"Why, yes! Any boor can swing his fists and pound his chest, deeming it a worthy way to prove his valour, his virility. And any lady swooned by such deed is naught but an empty-headed imbecile. You acted like a man. A good man. One who understands that sometimes, there's more honour in being struck than in striking a foe who's already down".
Amrothos grimaced, his appetite lost.
"Ealith did the right thing in leaving, Prince. I personally never understood why she wanted to marry Alling in the first place. The man is like…", Lady Aldwyn pinched her chin, eyes scanning the ceiling in search for a fitting term of comparison, "…like a loaf of bread, into which dough the baker forgot to add salt. It looks good. It smells great. But as soon as you take a bite, you realize it tastes like absolutely nothing. Can you still eat it? Sure. But would it be your choice of bread for the rest of your days? I don't think so".
As silly as the analogy may have sounded, it was actually so accurate that Amrothos knew he'd never be able to look Alling in the eyes again, without immediately picturing a loaf of saltless bread!
"Ealith's parents had been childhood sweethearts and loved each other madly. I believe she thought Alling was to her what her father had been to her mother two decades before. Alas he wasn't and thankfully, she realized it before it was too late. I understand it may be difficult for you to accept, but falling straight into your waiting arms immediately after breaking the engagement would have been a mistake".
"I know". Amrothos shifted his weight from one leg to the other, unsure whether he should voice his thoughts. "I hope what happened – or did not happen, between Aldwyn and me, hasn't offended you".
"It has not. I have known about you two all along and never thought you'd be a good match for her".
Amrothos couldn't hide his surprise. He knew very little happened in Edoras without the formidable old lady knowing about it and as such, he had always assumed she approved of him as a possible suitor for her granddaughter. "Did you tell Aldwyn?".
"Now, why would I do that? You tell a lass that she must stop seeing someone, and all you'll achieve is to make her pine for that person even more. Life is trial and error and since I knew you'd behave honourably with her, I let it play out. Too often women consent to marriage without having the faintest idea what would make them a good husband. I've always let my daughters and granddaughters find it out for themselves".
"Is that what you also did?", he asked intrigued.
"My parents were of a different mind. Very conservative, suffocating almost. The day I found out they were arranging me a marriage with a man almost twenty years my senior, I run off".
"You don't say. Where did you go?".
"An old shack in the woods about a half-day ride from our Westfold estate. I stayed there for some days, just enough to make them sick with worry, before returning home and announcing that if they ever tried to marry me off, they'd never see me again. They acceded to my request, but I would lie if I told you it was smooth sailing afterwards: my father and I were always arguing and my mother blamed me for the deterioration of our family ties. Two years later, I met the man who'd become my husband. He came from a well-respected family but had five older brothers, which meant he was set to inherit almost nothing from his parents. However, unlike his brothers who weren't, how shall I say, particularly bright, he was the smartest man I had ever met. He had a good sense of adventure but not to the point of gratuitous recklessness, he was witty, funny and terribly handsome. We married and moved to Edoras, where years later he'd become a member of the King's Council. Each year we'd spend months travelling, we had four beautiful children and lived a full, happy life. Four years ago, an incurable disease took him from us".
"You miss him".
"I do. Not a single day goes by that I don't think of him". Lady Aldwyn was silent for a moment, the drink in her hand forgotten.
"I didn't mean to sadden you".
"You didn't, I was just reminiscing". She turned and looked at him in a way that he could only describe as motherly-like: "My husband used to negotiate trade agreements on behalf of the King, often with his Gondorian counterparts – something not very different from what you've been doing lately. Regardless of what Ealith will do, you should know your presence in Edoras has been a blessing, and the work you've done for the King impressive".
Amrothos was momentarily speechless. He searched for the right words to say but before he could find any, Lady Aldwyn had already moved on to the next guests, leaving him standing with a pile of forgotten food in one hand and a big inward smile on his face.
The horn announcing the return of the men rung on a gloomy morning of mid-January, instantly throwing the city into a frenzy. Lothíriel was very much at the head of it, instructing the staff to alert the healers in case there would be injured riders to take care of and sending Ides to the kitchen to arrange for the traditional welcome cup. She dressed Elfwine into his warmest clothes and frantically searched for a mirror to ensure she looked decent. Beyrith hadn't fixed her hair yet and it was with no small amount of dismay that she realized their unruly state. She brushed them quickly, arranged them in a simple plait and wrapped a woollen shawl around her shoulders.
She stepped outside only mere moments before Éomer came in sight and immediately, she knew something was wrong.
He moved brusquely, features set in an angry scowl. His men too were in a similar mood, quickly dispersing to reunite with their families. As he climbed the stairs two steps at a time, he kept looking at her while at the same refusing time to lock eyes, like he always did when he wanted to hide feelings, he deemed too dark to be shared. He snatched the cup from her hands and emptied it in one gulp. A moment later, she was pressed almost painfully against his armour, her feet dangling a few inches off the ground. As her eyes roamed the square below, Lothíriel suddenly realized there was someone she hadn't seen returning and a chill went down her spine: "W-where is Éothain? Has something happened to him?".
If it had, Runhild would be heartbroken! Bema, she'd be too - they all would!
"He's at the stables. We all made it back safely, do not fret love". He scooped Elfwine in his arms and without uttering another word, he picked them both up and strode inside the hall, uncaring of the befuddled gazes around him.
"You are scaring me, Éomer. What has happened?".
"Just let me hold you for a moment, please".
He took them to their bedroom and sat in one of the plush armchairs in front of the hearth, Elfwine happily nestled against his chest, she perched uncomfortably over one of his knees. They stayed so for a while, only the crackling of the fire and their son's occasional gurgling remarks breaking the heavy silence. "I did not mean to worry you. Forgive me".
Lothíriel shifted in his lap until the pauldron of his amour was no longer digging into her side. "Will you speak to me now? What had you and your men troubled so?".
He rubbed his face, head hanging back in exhaustion. "Everything Léored warned us about was true - the Dunlendings stealing from us, Lord Wídca's ruthless reprisal, his attempt to claim their lands. But that was only the beginning". His hand never strayed from Elfwine's sleepy form, his voice almost breaking as he recounted what he had discovered upon entering the Dunlendish encampment. "I had to help them, Lothíriel. My legacy cannot be a country where people watch little children die without lifting a finger".
"And it won't be, Éomer. I know the hatred that runs between the Dunlendings and our people is ancient and that the massacres perpetrated during the war have only fuelled it, especially in the Westfold. Even so, I refuse to believe any Rohirrim would choose to willingly sacrifice the lives of innocent children in the name of it".
"When I announced we were sending help, there was almost an uproar".
"How did you handle it?".
"I handpicked the men who would deliver the supply, made sure I selected one from almost every family – and some women too. I wanted them to witness it with their own eyes, wanted to know if they'd still have the nerve to dissent afterwards. None of them had, but it proved a cold comfort for while we were at the encampment, the condition of some of the children worsened. We brought in healers, did everything we could to save them. Three did not make it. One of them was only five months old but so tiny, so…".
Lothíriel's chest tightened. "Do not wear the blame for their death, Éomer. You did right by them and if their brothers and sisters will live to see more prosperous days, it's only thanks to you".
He caressed her face, his touch so gentle she wanted to cry at the unfairness that such good, kind-hearted man, who had had to confront evil and death almost every day of his life, would still not be given a moment rest from the horrors of the world. She locked her arms around his neck and kissed his cheeks. "We are so proud of you, so lucky to have you. And we have missed you".
His lips stretched in a tired smile. "How did the festivities go?".
"As well as they could without you and the men around".
"Nobody gave you any trouble? No pesky advisor lurking around?".
"After receiving your last letter, Dernwine and Elfere didn't miss the chance to pay me a visit. I swear I have never seen two bigger fawners. I spent an entire afternoon listening to them listing all the reasons why Lord Wídca deserves to be put in his place and how the Crown can always count on their unreserved support".
"Good. As long as they think they can get something out of Wídca's fall, they won't be receptive to any plea he might approach them with. What of Léored?".
"I haven't seen him. Not that I expected to – I imagine the holidays must be a difficult time for someone who has lost his family. As far as I know, he spent Yule alone at his grandfather's cabin. Two messengers came while you were away. One from Gondor carrying a letter from my cousin Faramir. He says the construction of his home in Ithilien is going well and that Legolas might establish a colony of Mirkwood Elves in the region. The other messenger bore news of your sister as well as my brothers. Éowyn says she's enjoying her time in Dol Amroth and that my family is helping her enormously getting ready to life in Gondor. As per Elphir, he and Gliril have welcomed their first daughter Erthriel and going by the tone of his letter, she has him wrapped around her little finger already!".
As she spoke, Éomer seemed to relax a little and so she went on and on, telling him everything she could remember of those letters. From Erchirion's confession that he and Míririen wished for a child too, to Gaeril's promise that despite she detested travelling, coming spring she'd be in Minas Tirith to meet Elfwine in person. She suppressed a giggle when he dozed off, only for their son to wake him up with a cry of protest. "He's right, you know? You can't fall asleep – not until we've taken that filthy armour off you. How about I ask for a bath to be drawn, then we eat something and take a nap?".
"I am at my Queen's mercy".
"Excellent. I'll see if Amrothos can look after Elfwine for a couple of hours, or else we won't be getting any sleep at all I'm afraid".
"We are not even pretending to have a nanny anymore?"
"You know my brother, he'll sulk if I don't ask him first". She took a set of clean clothes and laid them on the bed. She had one hand on the doorknob already, when she suddenly halted and turned around: "Next time you travel to meet with Lord Wídca and check out the Dunlendish community, I'd like to accompany you".
"I will not take you within a hundred miles of that place, Lothíriel. You don't know what you are asking for".
"But that's exactly the problem, is it not? When you first told me about the raids, I didn't see anything wrong with Lord Wídca executing the trespassers in cold blood. If it wasn't that he had gone overboard by crossing the river himself, I'd have recommended you to let him handle the situation and discouraged you from travelling to the Westfold. To me, the Dunlendings are the evil men who abducted me and Beyrith. The fact that they too have women and children who are still suffering from the aftermath of the war, never even brushed my mind. I was wrong, and you were the wiser".
Éomer looked away, as if pretending he had not heard her, and Lothíriel knew better than to insist. Just like she knew that wasn't the last time they were going to have discussion.
Edoras, April the 10th, 3020
Winter proved lenient that year and already by Summer Finding, temperatures on Rohan's grasslands had risen to more pleasant levels. In late March, the families that had been left stranded in Meduseld at the start of the cold season were finally able to move into their new homes and only a few days later, a group of young Gondorians arrived in the city. They were the sons and daughters of at least a dozen different noble families, some coming to stay in Rohan only for the duration of the summer, others for an entire year. They had each travelled with a small escort of guards and attendants and local businesses couldn't be happier about their presence: inns had most of their rooms rented, taverns were busy throughout most of the day and artefacts at workshops were being sold faster than they could be made.
To honour their arrival, the Queen decided to host a celebration and already in the early afternoon, when Amrothos returned from his customary ride with Théocanstan, the Golden Hall was in a hectic state. Eager to spare the staff the additional effort of drawing him a bath, he made do with a basin of cold water and spent the next couple of hours catching up with his correspondence. It was the peak of sunset when he left his room and headed for the hall: thin blades of red crimson light stretched between the ornated pillars and even though it would take another couple of hours for the food and the music to start, barrels of ale had been brought in already and with them, several early guests had started pouring in.
Amrothos spotted his sister standing by the dais and moved towards her, stopping here and there to greet the young lords and ladies who always strived to engage him in conversation. Most were innocuous, but there were a few notable exceptions: it seemed indeed that now that his brothers and cousin had married – or would soon be anyway, a target had been drawn on his back to the benefit on any unwed woman within a radius of miles. Right on clue, he deftly escaped the clutches of a particularly determined young lady and scoffed irritably: good grief, that lass couldn't have been older than fifteen years old! Who did they take him for? An old pervert? He shook his head in disapproval and was so taken with muttering his outrage, that he didn't realize until the very last moment who his sister was speaking with.
Amrothos stood rooted on the spot, disbelief painted all over his face. In the time it took him to recover from the initial shock, Lothíriel took her chance to leave and quickly vanished in the crowd of guests, leaving him wishing she hadn't acted so smooth for he really needed a moment to wrap his brain around the fact that after months of wait, Ealith was finally standing right in front of him.
"Good evening, Prince Amrothos", she greeted him, more formally than he'd have liked.
"Lady Ealith. I wasn't expecting to see you".
"I have only just arrived. I hadn't planned to be here tonight, but I run into the King at the stables and he all but ordered me to stop by. I won't stay long though, for my uncle has planned a family reunion - which, as you might guess, means we'll be having dinner together, just the two of us".
"Sounds lovely".
She smiled politely and he could swear he had never seen either of them behaving so awkwardly – and they had had plenty of awkward encounters before!
"I should probably go now, or else I'll be late".
The moment she started to move away, Amrothos' hand snatched to grab hers, startling them both: "Meet me at the portico. I won't keep you long, I promise", he pleaded and before she could refuse, he walked briskly away.
His steps echoed in the corridors, spurring him into an even faster pace. He retrieved from his room the wooden box into which he had poured his soul during the long winter months and, for some reason, he grew increasingly uncomfortably with how light it felt in his hands. More than once he was tempted to bail out, but he resisted the urge and held on instead. When at last he arrived at the inner porch and found Ealith waiting for him, a little thrill of excitement and a much larger one of apprehension pushed him ahead. "For you", he said holding out his hands.
She took the engraved box hesitantly. "What is it?".
"A present. You don't have to open it here. In fact, I'd rather you don't".
"But I don't have anything for you".
"I'm not in the habit of making presents with the intent of receiving something in return".
"That's not what I meant".
"I know. Just take the gift with you, Ealith".
"Very well", she said heavily. "Thank you, Amrothos. I must really go now. I guess I'll see you around".
She curtsied and as soon as she had left, Amrothos let out a frustrated groan. For all the times he had tried to envision the moment they'd be reunited, he had never considered it might prove so… overwhelmingly underwhelming! He had imagined the scenario in which she'd fall right back into his arms. The one in which she'd tell him she didn't want to have anything to do with him. But never the one in which they behaved as if everything that had happened between them since that day in cellars, had never taken place!
Lothíriel must have guessed things hadn't gone according to plan and wisely chose not to inquire about it, at least not for time being. She kept an eye on him though, spending more time with him than she'd normally do at such events, where guests practically fought to gain her attention and she was normally whisked away from one tedious conversation right into the next.
The hours ticked by painfully slow. After the food came the bard, and after the bard came the time for dancing. The young Gondorian guests didn't know the first thing about Rohirric steps, but that hardly stopped them from taking one enthusiastic attempt after the other. He was occasionally dragged into it and patiently endured the torture, if anything as a way to keep his mind from straying to more sobering thoughts.
In the brief pause between one tune and the next, Lady Inil, daughter of Lord Carvon, locked her arm with his and all but forced him to be her partner for the next dance. Among all the Gondorians, she was the one he was absolutely sure had no interest whatsoever in learning about the Rohirrim ways and had only come with the intention of seeking a husband – and if she managed to ensnare an Amrothian Prince in the process, all the better!
As the music started, he was mindful to keep her at what he deemed a proper distance, easily outmanoeuvring each of her subtle attempts to move closer – he hadn't stayed a bachelor that long without knowing a thing or two about how to dodge the unwanted attentions of flocks of ambitious noble ladies! At some point she tried to steer him towards the centre of the floor, where she knew there would be too many people in too little space to maintain any distance at all. And again, he outsmarted her, leading her into a turn at the end of which he had them already skirting along the pillared side of the hall. Lady Inil smiled at him, batting her eyelashes in a flirtatious way while inside, he was sure she must have been fuming at being rebutted so.
Halfway through the insidious predicament, Amrothos felt a hand grabbing his forearm, forcing him to stop so abruptly that Lady Inil was almost thrown off-balance: "The Lord and I are dancing, don't you know it is rude to interrupt us so?", she snapped angrily and took advantage of his lowered guard to gain a more intimate stance, her joined hands coming to rest on his chest.
Unfortunately for her, Amrothos had no intention to tolerate her games any longer. Not while Ealith was standing right in front of him, her fingers tightly curled around his wrist, staring at him in a way that he didn't know if he ought to be afraid or happy, only that he preferred it a thousand times over the polite and distant look she had given him earlier.
"May I speak to you, please?".
"Have you not heard what I just said?", Lady Inil bemoaned, maybe presuming he'd throw himself to her defence, but tragically misreading the whole situation. She studiously ignored his attempts to move away but what she – and him too!, had both failed to consider, was that Ealith was not acting alone.
Amrothos watched Aldwyn's sudden appearance on the dancefloor in a mix of horror and amusement. In her hands was the biggest pitcher of ale he had ever seen. She approached them with a devilish grin on her face and once she was close enough, she feigned a totally unlikely episode of gawkiness that culminated with fifty ounces or so of dark mead pouring all over Lady Inil's silk dress: "Oh my, how clumsy of me! I'm so sorry, look at what I did to your beautiful gown!", Aldwyn shrieked. She had her hands clutched over her chest and he'll be damned if she didn't look like she might burst into tears! "Please, allow me to help you, it is the very least I can do!", she offered in a begging tone that blatantly clashed with the way she snatched Lady Inil's hand in a grip tight enough to make the woman wince.
Within moments they were gone, leaving him standing by Ealith's side, mouth slightly gaping, his own clothes soaked - collateral damage, one might call it. "Had I known Aldwyn has a knack for getting rid of aspirant she-suitors, I'd have hired her myself a long time ago. Though, she should really work on her aim…".
Every person within earshot burst into a roaring laughter, except for the one he had hoped to see smiling.
"Can we speak now?", Ealith asked again.
"Of course. Would you like to go outside and get some air?".
"No".
Holding his hand firmly, she guided him away from the crowded hall, shoving people out of her way and incinerating with a deadly glare anyone who dared complaining about her manners. It was the type of behaviour he had learned to expect from someone as temperamental as Aldwyn, but that was totally out of place for Ealith, always too concerned with behaving properly to act so carelessly. They entered Meduseld's private wing and a couple of random turns later, he realized she had no idea where she was leading him: "There's a sitting room at the end of that corridor", he said pulling her to a halt, "nobody will bother us while the fe-".
Ealith's embrace caught him off guard. "Forgive me, Amrothos".
He remained motionless, hands hovering awkwardly in the air. "For what?", he asked, unsure he was going to like the answer.
"For the way I behaved earlier today, for treating you so coldly. I just… I did not know what I would find once I returned to Edoras and wasn't prepared to face you. I feared I had been away too long, that perhaps you had moved on since we last met".
"Did you really think I could simply go on with my life and forget you?".
"I hoped not, but you could have. I never promised I'd return, never asked you to wait. I didn't want to presume…".
Amrothos tilted her chin up and cupped her face. He brushed her lips - slowly, tenderly, trying to pour into the kiss everything he felt for her, to let her know not waiting had never been an option in the first place. She let out a little sob and melted in his embrace, the feel of her body pressed against his threatening to turn their kiss into something more - something he craved for desperately, but that he knew they could not indulge in: "We are not in our little solitary cabin in the woods, Ealith. This is Edoras, and I don't think your uncle would be happy if we were to take things any further".
Her reaction to his words was both swift and unexpected.
Hands fisted into his tunic, she pushed him backwards, into a nook in the wall he had never even noticed before. The long heavy coat she wore came loose – or had she unbuttoned it?, revealing an enticing sprinkling of goosebumps covering her neck and chest. Driven by the overpowering need to feast his eyes on her and far too tempted to stop, Amrothos tugged the garment a little lower, uncovering in the process more of her smooth, creamy skin - too much of it.
His eyes snapped back to her face.
"I have spent my entire life trying to live up to other people's expectations, and I've never been happier than since the moment I stopped caring. I love my uncle, but he has no say in what happens tonight".
As if in a trance, Amrothos loosened another button. His hand reached around to cup her backside, sliding further down to stroke the back of her thigh and silently prompting her to hook her leg around his waist. Soft wool gave way to the hard leather of her ankle boots. He lingered there for a moment, and when his fingers dared to revert their course and slipped beneath the hem of her coat, he found naught but more gloriously bare skin. Rationally, he knew it was madness, that even though it was unlikely, there was still a chance someone might walk by and catch them in the act. But the exact moment he had realized Ealith was completely naked underneath her cloak, all blood had left his brain and flowed between his legs.
In an instant, he had her pinned to the wall, the last remaining buttons all but torn off, his pants undone. Bathed in the silver light that filtered through the windows, panting, her coat hanging from her shoulders and leaving her open and exposed to his hungry stare, she looked wild and fiery. Amrothos buried himself to the hilt, pleasure coursing through his veins like liquid fire. He stifled a groan against the sensitive skin of her neck, his hand reaching to cover her mouth because as much as he liked nothing better than hearing her moaning for him, he really didn't want anyone to come intrude on them. He took her in hard strokes, unable to douse the flames she had kindled and revelling in each frisson that shook her body. It wasn't the tender lovemaking he had anticipated, but the culmination of months of uncertainty and unfulfilled desires, the pleasure so sudden and intense that a groan was torn from his chest.
Some long minutes later, when his lungs were no longer gasping for air and his jumbled thoughts had somewhat cleared up, Amrothos put Ealith down. He buttoned up her coat as best as he could but with all but four buttons still in place, the front remained practically open. "Hold it closed", he instructed her and after a quick peek down the corridor, he picked her up and sprinted towards his room. Thankfully no one crossed their way and as soon as they had made it to their haven for the night, a pealing laughter rolled out of them: "You'll be the death of me!", he accused her, tossing her on his bed and earning himself an amused squeal.
He removed his clothes and stretched down next to her, taking his time to caress every inch of her skin, an odd mix of pride and possessiveness surging within him at the sight of the markings they had inadvertently left on each other's body while caught in their passion.
"The letters you wrote me are so beautiful, Amrothos", she sighed happily. "I only manged to read one before dinner was served and could hardly think of anything else throughout the entire meal. I excused myself as soon as I finished the last course, told my uncle I was tired after the long journey. I went back to my room and read the remaining letters all in one breath. Once I was done, I rappelled down my window and came here".
"You forgot the part where you thought it a good idea to wear a coat and nothing else".
"Excuse me but that's partially your fault. The last letter you wrote was very… explicit!".
"I wrote it on a day when I was missing you more than I usually did. I won't apologize for it".
"I'm not asking you to. In fact, I encourage you to write more of such letters, so that I may have something to keep me company during lonely nights and at times when we are apart", she teased him, looking so serene and happy.
"Tell me about the Eastemnet, Ealith".
"The Eastemnet has been… an incredibly intense, exhausting, instructive experience. Life on the plains is hard. Days aren't marked by the will of men, only by the might of nature: if there's a storm approaching and horses and provisions need to be secured, it doesn't matter how many nights without sleep you have already endured. You'll have to keep working until the job is done. And then when the storm hits, it can happen that for several days in a row no one can leave camp. On such occasions we would gather in the main tent; the elders would tell stories, while the women wove and the men worked the leather. There's a strong sense of community and a fierce pride in belonging to the same clan that for centuries has ensured Rohan's greatness by preserving the bloodlines of our horses. I have missed you every day that I spent there, Amrothos. And yet, if I could go back in time, I'd do it again. I needed the time away, I needed the sweat and the toil, I needed the long days spent staring into the fire while waiting for the weather to set. I still carry my burdens, but I no longer feel crushed under their weight". She reached out to caress his face, "You have managed to, have you not? You look so more at peace than when I left…".
"I do, and there are many I have to be thankful to for helping me overcome my hurdles. My sister and the King, whose faith in me never waned, no matter how bad I screwed things. Runhild and Aldwyn, who never failed to put me in line whenever I was giving in to self-pity. Théocanstan, who rarely speaks but when he does, he always leaves the mark. Elfwine, for filling my every day with so much joy and lightness".
Ealith wove their fingers together, a smile lingering on her lips. "What happens now, Amrothos? Where do we go from here?".
He had thought about it many times, the same idea always coming to mind. In that instant however, he found himself unexpectedly reshaping his plans. "Éowyn's wedding is in three months' time. I will need to be in Minas Tirith at least one or two weeks before that to arrange meetings on behalf of the King", he took her hand and kissed it, "Travel with me to Gondor, Ealith – not in late spring, but now already. We'll take lesser known roads. Some nights we'll spend in luxury and others on the cold hard ground. Some days we'll ride dawn till dusk and others we won't get out of bed at all".
"Only you and me?".
"Only you and me".
"Until Minas Tirith?".
"No. Until Dol Amroth – and that is non-negotiable".
Ealith rolled into a kneeling position. "Tomorrow", she told him with a broad grin, "Let's leave tomorrow!".
"Isn't that too early? You've only just arrived; don't you need some time to…".
"Staying some days longer in Edoras won't help my uncle - not if I'm going to leave again so soon. And the longer we stay, the more we'll have to justify our choice. Let's not bother and ride away tomorrow already".
Amrothos propped himself on one elbow. "You mean it?".
"I do".
He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her on top of him, kissing her and laughing at the same time, a familiar throbbing letting him know he better speak now, or else they were not going to make it out of bed for the next foreseeable future. "I need to inform to my sister, and I suppose you want to talk with your uncle".
"I must, yes. He's always up until very late. If I go now, I won't have to drag him out of bed. What about the Queen?".
"She'll be up in a couple of hours to feed Elfwine. I'll talk to her then. Meet me at the stables at first light?".
Ealith slid a hand into his hair, the other travelling down his chest and abdomen to find him painfully hard already. "Don't be late, Prince", she whispered in his ear, nibbling his lobe hard enough that it stung.
Before he could react, she rolled away and picked one of his tunics and a pair of trousers. She dressed up quickly, leaving him lying alone on the bed, mildly stunned and, above all, in dire need of a cold bath.
Author's notes: I think there will be another two chapters about Amrothos and Ealith, and possibly a little epilogue before I move to the next part of the story, which will focus again on Lothíriel and Éomer. I hadn't intended Amrothos' story to stretch for so long, but I had too much fun writing it!
anahvolf: always great to hear the characters are appreciated! I'm very fond of Ealith too ad here you had your happy ending (but there's more to come for these two!).
The Black Pearl: thanks for leaving a review, it's always nice to get a feedback!
Hristonostore Onnediel: who doesn't need a cat? :)
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: glad you liked it!