Chapter 46
Edoras, February the 1st, FO 4
That morning, Lothíriel sat at her vanity longer than usual, making sure she looked flawless when in reality, she knew she was just delaying the inevitable.
Six years since the war had ended. Six years of peace and abundance, in which Rohan had thrived and prosperity had far surpassed any hardship that had occasionally come their way. Six years during which they all had grown and changed, each their own way.
There were still times when, in private, Éomer complained about the burden of being King and she knew that deep inside, he'd always miss being a simple Marshall. But he had lived up to the name they had given him early on in his Kingship – Éomer Éadig: his rule was just, his love and dedication to Rohan and her people boundless.
Their love too had changed: it had lost the giddiness of its early months perhaps, but it had solidified into something far deeper and more intimate, becoming the foundation over which everything else around them was built. Before being a revered King and a hero of the war, Éomer was first and foremost her husband, the love of her life, and a doting father to their beloved son.
At five years of age, Elfwine was growing fast – too fast. It felt like yesterday that he had taken his first trembling step, uttered his first word, and even though she tried to savour each step of the way, Lothíriel often wished she could slow down the passing of time or else, she feared one day she'd blink and discover he had become a grown man already. In terms of looks, he looked like a miniature version of her father, but with Éomer's deep eyes and the same adorable little dimples. And in terms of character, he took the best from each of them: like his father, he was protective towards those he loved and, if he sensed it was right to do so, he had no qualm standing his ground against larger opponents. Like his mother, he tended to be more reflective and less impulsive, and always weighted his words carefully.
Lothíriel smiled and tried to give herself some credit too: settling into the role of Queen hadn't been easy, but she thought she had done a decent job. She had taken upon herself as many duties and responsibilities as she could and found they gave meaning to her days. Granted, there were still days when she wished she could throttle an advisor or two, but she couldn't imagine nor want her life to be any different.
Their group of close confidants had grown and solidified as well – something for which she considered herself a thousand times blessed!
There were Runhild and Éothain, of course. Through years of hard work, her former handmaid had earned herself a place of responsibility within the Royal stables and more than once she had heard the stablemaster joke that if she was ever to leave, the place might just implode. Her busy work schedule had been one of the reasons she had postponed motherhood for so many years. But now that she had become irreplaceable in her position and moved progressively away from physically intense duties, she suspected things might soon change. As per Éothain… well, Éothain was Éothain. He belonged to the category of people who just stood the passing of time with hardly a change. One more reason to look forward to seeing him become a father, for that was sure to shake the ground beneath his feet!
Beyrith and Théocanstan had married in a small spontaneous ceremony a couple of years back. Their relationship was difficult to gauge by standard terms, but their love wasn't and it always warmed her heart to see how gentle and protective her hulking guard was towards his wife.
Lady Aldwyn, who for many years had been one of her closest confidants for all ruling related matters, had sadly passed away the previous summer. One night she had gone to sleep and never awoke. Her abrupt death had left in its wake a family greatly devastated by the loss of their matriarch. Aldwyn – who now people could finally refer to as Lady Aldwyn without fear of being misunderstood, had taken the loss especially hard. She had dressed in mourning wear for months, visited her grave every day. It was during that time that, after years in which they had never been more than distant acquaintances, she had grown close to Háca. The young man had come a long way since he had joined Éomer's Eored in Aldburg. She remembered how he and Éothain would exasperate everyone with their continuous quarreling. How, at first, she hadn't liked him much either. But he was a good man and had eventually carved himself a place of honour within Aldburg's Eored first, and the King's Guard then. With his good looks, Háca had always been a heartthrob and she honestly thought he'd never settle. But he had fallen hard for Aldwyn and because she never was one to do things by halves, they had eloped and returned to Edoras a married couple.
And then there were Amrothos and Ealith.
Háma's Manor had stayed that – a mere manor, for less than a year before people had started settling around it. Its large stables offered plenty of work opportunities and with the steadily increasing flow of travellers crossing the Dimholt, more had sprouted everywhere around it: an inn, two taverns, a smith, an armourer, a baker, and several other shops. Solid stone walls had been built and, most recently, a garrison of twenty men had been established in what was by now a fully-fledged city. Amrothos and Ealith's contribution to the success of the manor was equal: she had come up with the idea in the first place and worked tirelessly to expand the family's business. Everything horse related, she handled personally, and already the manor she had named in honour of her late father had earned itself a prestigious reputation that spanned well across Rohan's borders. Amrothos had worked just as hard, pulling every string he had to make sure everyone in Dol Amroth and Gondor knew about the Dimholt being safe and the manor located just behind it. He invited friends and acquaintances, had Amrothian carpenters contribute to the construction of their house and stable hands from Dol Amroth spent often time at the manor to learn the ways of the horse masters.
Lothíriel adored the place. Whenever she was feeling overwhelmed with her duties, she'd take Elfwine and spend a few days there.
Amrothos' family was loud and merry, just like she had expected it to be. Ealith had become pregnant very early in their marriage. She had been present when she gave birth and the shock on both her and Amrothos' faces when, after their first daughter was born, it became evident it wasn't over and that there was a twin on the way, really was one of her fondest memories. Eadhild and Maerwyn were four years old now, two spitfires who were the spitting image of their mother, but with their father's colours. In the greenery that surrounded the manor, their parents were raising them wild and free and, sometimes, she envied that Elfwine could not enjoy the same level of freedom and carelessness. But she loved her nieces to bits and, she had to say, Amrothos and Ealith had proved wonderful parents. In six months' time, they would welcome another child and there were many who teased her brother about the possibility of Ealith giving birth to yet another girl – maybe even more than one! Fools could not see that deep in his heart, Amrothos hoped for it. That he was hopelessly in love with his brood of mini-Ealiths and would be all too happy to add another one to the party.
Lothíriel smiled – a nigh sure reaction whenever she thought of her nieces.
Yes, she mused. They had all had a good six years, and it was only to be expected that sooner or later, the good times would come to an end.
The rumours had started the previous autumn, when the rangers of King Elessar operating along Gondor's eastern border had caught wind of something stirring. For months his scouts had travelled to and fro, the news they bore growing less and less reassuring.
That was when King Elessar had decided to take things a step further.
After the War of the Ring had ended, a small community of Easterlings had deserted their people and asked Gondor for refuge. Many had been unhappy with the King's decision to let them settle in the rural plans of the South, but in the end they had proven peaceful folks who were only seeking a better life for themselves and their families. There were some warriors among them and King Elessar called upon them to infiltrate Rhûn and gain knowledge of what was really taking place in the East.
When they returned months later, the worst of all the scenarios they had considered rapidly materialized in front of their very eyes: the Easterling's fragmented tribes had once more found a leader – or a triptych in this case, under which they had reunited in the name of their ancient hatred towards the men of the West. They had been preparing for war for years already, rebuilding their strength, re-forging their weapons. Two thousand men were battle ready, a number expected to double within six months' time, when they would be ready to launch an assault on Gondor.
King Elessar had had two options on the table: defend or attack.
Wait for the Easterlings to invade and defeat them on his own turf. Or lead a campaign in Rhûn to stamp out their numbers.
Weeks of hectic communications had followed, messengers coming and going at a frantic pace.
If they waited, Gondor would bear the brunt of the incoming onslaught. Even with the Rohirrim riding to its aid, thousands would likely die, soldiers and civilians alike, and villages would be burned - a grim playback of what had already happened before and during the War of the Ring. If they attacked, they would be the invaders: they would face a smaller force, true, but the home advantage would be of the Easterlings.
Éomer and King Elessar had eventually agreed on the option that presented the smallest cost in terms of loss of human lives: Gondor and Rohan were to ride to Rhûn as one and with the full force of their combined armies behind them. A display of strength that not only ensured they had the numbers to win the campaign, but also sent a message that no matter how many warriors the Easterlings managed to recruit, they would never be able to succeed in defeating the allied kingdoms in the West.
It wasn't the best time of the year to ride to war. Rohan's grasslands were still white with snow and the weather in the East was known to be volatile. Alas, they could not afford postponing and it was so that after a month of feverish preparations, the day had finally come for the Rohirrim to ride to war once more.
Even if all went according to plan, Éomer and his riders would be gone for four to six months at least. During that time, both kingdoms and especially Rohan would be severely undermanned, a risk they had agreed to take because while Gondor still had to guard its southern border against the Haradim, the situation in the Mark was more stable. Relationships with their old enemy, the Dunlendings, were good – as in: they kept interactions to a minimum and when they did have to deal with one another, it was always in a civil manner.
Lothíriel let out a forlorn sigh. During the first year of their marriage, Éomer had been often away. Even so, they had never been parted for more than two months at a time. And in the last years, it was a rarity if he was gone for more than a couple of weeks.
Now, they faced months apart.
Ironically, she wasn't even worried about being Rohan's sole ruler during that time. She had grown accustomed to her duties, she had two trusted advisors to rely on - Haleth and Léored, who had proven their loyalty countless times, and Erkenbrand and Amrothos were not riding to war, so she could also count on their support. No, what she dreaded were the lonely nights without Éomer's soothing presence wrapped all around her, and not knowing for how many weeks or months she'd be left without news.
It was that she had gotten spoiled, that's' what it was!
With a scoff, Lothíriel stood and left their apartments.
In the Council Chamber, Éomer was having a last tedious session with his advisors before leaving. Silently she entered the room and instead of sitting by his side like she'd normally do, she stayed in the back, occasionally looming over the men sitting at the table, glaring at them, the expression on her face crystal clear.
Éomer observed the swarm of low bowing men leave the room, a grin spreading on his face in spite of the severity of the situation. "You never cease to amaze me, wife".
"That was nothing. I have trained them to decipher how angry I am based on how arched or furrowed my eyebrows are. I was clearly displaying the run for your lives message right there".
He stood and grimaced, disliking the feeling of the armour. After years spent wearing it almost every day, it had been so damn easy to grow unaccustomed to its weight.
"Everything's ready", he whispered with little joy.
Lothíriel brushed her hands on his shoulders and checked that the straps beneath the vambraces were fixed properly. They had said their farewells the night before, and he knew she was trying to be stoic.
"We will be all right. Don't worry about us".
He crushed her against him and kissed her. Bema, how he loved her! How he detested leaving her and Elfwine! A little voice inside his head kept whispering that it was for their own good too. Another just screamed it was unnatural to be parted from them, and he wholeheartedly agreed. "I'd ask the same of you, but we both know you won't heed my advice".
A knock at the door saved her from having to answer.
"Come in", she called, and Elfwine slipped in the room, looking very solemn in his green and red velvet doublet.
Éomer picked him up and only resisted the urge to ruffle his hair because he knew how long it had taken to Beyrith to get him to look the part of the Prince. "Will you look after your mother while I'm away?".
Elfwine scowled, a little pout on his face. "Yes, father".
With his son's arms looped tight around his neck, Éomer slowly headed outside. Five hundred men waited for him at the gates. Fifteen hundred more were camped North of Aldburg. Another thousand would join them in Gondor.
Three thousand men. A three weeks journey. A campaign that was to last until the summer at least.
His eyes sought Théocanstan, Balláf and Eofor - Lothíriel's protectors since her early days in Rohan. If anything was to happen in Edoras, he knew they'd lay down their lives for his wife without batting an eyelid. They weren't the only ones who loved and trusted their Queen, but not all were like them.
It didn't matter: Lothíriel knew how to hold things together. Rohan was in good hands.
Their public farewell was short, for they both knew they wouldn't be able to keep their masks on for too long and it wouldn't do to have the people see the hurt on their faces: they were riding to war and would come back victorious.
There was no place for despair.
As he left the city, Éomer turned back only once. He could still see Lothíriel standing on Meduseld's terrace, heedless of the cold wind whipping the plains, a flurry of green and white. He placed his right hand over his heart and with an effort, he turned around to face the long road ahead.
The ride to Gondor was misery. It reminded him of the journey from Minas Tirith to Aldburg, after he and Lothíriel had wed: blistering cold and, one way or the other, water in various states of matter falling on your head. King Elessar and Prince Elphir met them in Osgiliath and on the next day, on February the eight, they crossed the Anduin and rode past Ithilien. It was a path many of them had taken six years earlier to ride to Mordor's Black Gate, whereas for others – the youngest among them, it was blessedly unknown.
From there, their journey turned East for another twelve days.
The Easterlings would see them coming eventually, but they were confident the element of surprise was theirs for the take. Based on the last information they had received, their army was camped some thirty miles across the border, halfway to the Sea of Rhûn, on barren lands bordered in the North by a forest they knew very little of, and in the East by a river they knew even less about, save that at this time of the year its murky waters rendered it non wadeable for many, many miles.
The spies of King Elessar met them at the border. Ten sturdy men with olive skin and straight black hair. Rough around the edges and foreign looking perhaps, but good hearted men. They asked for news of their families and stowed away the letters Aragorn gave them with great care.
The pleasant part of the meeting pretty much ended there.
They were soon informed that three days earlier, the enemy's army had split. A larger host was heading East, towards the shores of the Sea of Rhûn, where there were many settlements that allowed easier access to supplies. A second smaller host had moved closer to the forest edge, where they planned to stay until ready to march against Gondor.
Once again, Éomer and King Elessar found themselves at a crossroad: stick together and gain an easy victory against one of the two contingents, knowing however that in the meanwhile the other half of the enemy's forces would flee deeper into their lands, where it would be too dangerous for them to pursue, thus forcing them to leave their work half-undone. Or split, send part of their forces after the contingent that was moving East so to engage them in battle before they made it too far, while the other headed North.
Both options presented risks and benefits. The former was safer, but half of the Easterling forces would come out unscathed and, within a year – two at best, they'd likely be back to square one. The latter exposed their men to a greater danger – especially those who would have to venture farther into enemy land than they had planned, but gave them a chance to call the campaign a victory and be reassured the danger in the East had been dealt with.
He, King Elessar and Prince Elphir spent an entire night in council, making sure they were factoring in all the possible variables and scenarios.
Finally, at dawn, they agreed they would split their forces.
Their spies had warned them that the contingent moving East was under direct orders of one of the three leaders that were behind the reunification of the tribes, and that they feared their numbers might have increased already to well over one thousand. As such, it was decided the whole Rohirric army would give them chase: two thousand riders against an estimated fifteen hundred Easterlings.
The numbers were still firmly on their side, but not for long, Éomer feared.
Time was of essence and now more than ever, they needed to act swiftly if they wanted to cripple their enemy for good.
Edoras, March the 30th, FO 4
After weeks spent indoor, her days fraught with worries about the ongoing campaign in the East and often tormented by a mild but persistent headache, riding felt marvellously good.
It was one of her worst habits, Lothíriel knew: whenever Éomer was away, she tended to get absorbed by her queenly duties until she reached the point when, whether out of lack of sleep or not feeding herself properly, neither her mind nor her body could keep up.
With him at home, it never happened.
Throughout the years, they had fallen into a comfortable routine. They woke up at dawn and told each other about their plans for the day. Éomer would always try to be in the hall for lunch and if he did not manage, then she'd be the one to bring him something to eat, wherever in the city he might be. And in the evening, after Elfwine had gone to bed, they'd either enjoy some quiet time in the solar or, more often than not, a not so quiet one between the sheets.
But without him, her routine was broken and things had gotten so much out of control that two nights earlier, she had fallen asleep on the desk in her study. When Beyrith had found her the next morning, she had given her the closest thing to a scowl she had dared and murmured a displeased, "This is not good, my Lady".
She was right. Éomer wouldn't return for several months and she needed to find a better balance. That was when she had decided an outing was in order: after all, day trips were one of their favourite pastimes and during the warm season, she, Éomer and Elfwine went out riding at least once a week.
It wasn't the warm season now and Éomer was away. But the weather was lovely and who was to say she and Elfwine couldn't have a little fun!
Lothíriel smiled as she watched him bouncing happily in Runhild's saddle. Aldwyn leaned closer and the trio shared some conspiratorial whispers that meant one thing and one thing only: troubles.
"What are you three up to?", Eofor inquired.
In Éothain's absence, he and Théocanstan had become the favorite targets of their pranks and he was understandably guarded.
"Us?", Aldwyn squeaked, the portrait of innocence, "Nothing. The Prince was just demonstrating that he has learned the entire succession of the Kings of Rohan, from Earl the Young to Éomer Éadig. Isn't that impressive?".
Eofor's eyes narrowed to slits, "Sure".
Lothíriel stifled a laughter. Elfwine, Runhild and Aldwyn's incursions had become sort of legendary around Meduseld and never ceased to amuse the staff, who was always more than happy to lend them a hand. Still: they were not in the intimacy of their beloved home today and with a pointed look, she made sure her son knew that once they had reached their destination, she expected him to behave accordingly.
They arrived in Gippeswyk in the late morning. The small fishermen's village had changed greatly since she had first visited it during her early times in Rohan. Nestled on the riverbank halfway between Aldburg and Edoras, it had become a convenient stopover for travellers. The local population had doubled, there was a tavern, an herbalist, a trader and – most recently, a small school had opened its doors.
It was the reason why she had chosen to visit the village: several schools had opened in the past years, but only in larger cities. It was rather unheard to see one in a fishermen's village, and it had picked her curiosity.
Their visit came unannounced and caused a great deal of ruckus. The same elderly couple who had been so kind to take her in that night of many, many years ago, welcomed them officially to their village. They had grown greyer and hunched over, but they were as sweet as she remembered them. "Beylid, Brytta. What a joy meeting you again".
They seemed moved that she would remember their names. "Your Highness, we were not expecting you".
"I know. Hopefully my visit doesn't come at the wrong time?".
Beylid blushed a deep red, while Brytta rushed to say, "Of course, not! That's not what we meant. Just…".
"I know, I know", she smiled, and nudged both upright because they had no business bowing so low.
Behind her, Runhild helped Elfwine dismounting in a more dignified manner than the wild leap he'd normally take. His posture was perfectly poised as he approached and greeted them with a solemn, "Good day".
"Prince Elfwine and I are very happy to be here today, aren't we?".
"Yes, mother. The ride was...", he hesitated and looked back. Behind him, Aldwyn mouthed lovely! "… lovely. The ride was lovely. And your village too", he finished a little awkwardly, like those weren't exactly the words he had practiced, but the best he could remember at the moment.
"Oh my, aren't you the charmer", Beylid laughed.
Elfwine's eyes darted to the riverbank, "Are those fishnets?".
"They are".
"Are there fishes inside?".
"Only one way to find it out".
As they walked away, Elfwine asking excitedly about how large fishes they normally caught and grossly exaggerating the size of the one he had once fished in Dol Amroth, Lothíriel scanned the buildings around her. The tavern definitely stood out, with its bright red banner. To the far right was a small hut on whose door were painted a mortar and the branches of a willow – the herbalist, she surmised. The other buildings looked all alike – some newer, some older. But there was one in particular that caught her eye, for in front of it stood a tall woman surrounded by a dozen kids: "I have much heard about Gippeswyk's school. Am I in the right place?", she asked.
"Yes, your Highness. I am Innien and these are my pupils".
"Welcome to our school, Lothíriel Queen!", a well-tuned choir chanted.
The youngest in the group looked about four years' old, the oldest ten. Six girls and seven boys.
"Thank you. It is not my intention to disrupt your lesson, but I was hoping I could perhaps join your class for today?".
The children were trying very hard to contain their enthusiasm, but here and there it spilled over in an excited clap of hands, a thrilled gasp, an elated hop. They showed her inside in an adorable mix of giddiness and shyness and brought a stool for her to sit. There weren't enough for everyone, so some had to sit on the ground and chose to do so spread in a semi-circle around her.
From a crooked shelf, Innien took a wax tablet and passed it to the young girl sitting at the front: "I'd like you all to introduce yourself to her Highness. Why don't you start, dear?".
There was a look of absolute concentration on the girl's face as she took the stylus and started slowly carving, the tip of her tongue occasionally darting out. Once she was done, she looked at her handiwork and brought it to her with a beaming smile.
"Eadlida", Lothíriel read, "what a beautiful name. Pleasure to meet you".
The tablet went around and after each of the children had introduced themselves, the lesson resumed. Lothíriel was not surprised to discover it was about the history of Gondor, for that was obviously where Innien came from. She was a good teacher, managing to keep a good balance between educational value and fun component that was sure to keep the children interested. The classroom could obviously use some improvement and yet, in spites of its shortcomings, the place held a homely feeling, what with the straps of colourful fabrics hanging from the walls and the little wooden toys neatly aligned on the sill of each window, like wards guarding their students against the outside world.
As noon approached, a loud clatter coming from outside signalled the end of the lesson. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Your Highness", Beylid said entering the room, "We have prepared lunch and were wondering whether you'd like to join us?".
"With great pleasure".
The first time she had visited a similar village, years before, Lothíriel had asked Meduseld's staff to pack food in abundance. She had thought it would be a nice gesture to bring something to eat, but had quickly learned it was not so: for the local folks it was a matter of pride to be able to offer their guests a warm meal, and almost an insult to bring your own supply, no matter how good your intensions were.
The villagers of Gippeswyk were no different.
A tent had been set and, under it, was a long table laden with different types of bread and cheese and a pot filled with piping hot stew. Every family in the village had likely contributed with something, and so Lothíriel tried to take a bite of everything. Elfwine followed her lead and she fought hard to stifle a laughter when he put a piece of cauliflower in his mouth and swallowed it whole without daring to chew. The carrot bread with pumpkin seeds definitely proved their favourite and they dared sharing a second slice.
As the table was cleared, Lothíriel approached Innien, "I'd like to personally thank you for what you have started here, Innien. May every village in Rohan be as lucky as Gippeswyk".
She lowered her eyes, touched. "Thank you, your Highness".
"May I ask where do you come from? Your Rohirric is flawless, and yet I do detect a familiar accent…".
"Your Highness has good ear. I was born in Pelargir but grew up in Minas Tirith. My sister married a rider of Rohan after the war and five years ago, I decided to come spend the summer with her in Aldburg. As you can guess, I never left".
Lothíriel chuckled. Funny how she had spent far longer years in Edoras and yet, every time she heard the name of the old seat of the Kings of Rohan, her heart skipped a beat. "Does she live there?".
"Yes. She tried to set me up, insisted she must introduce me to a friend of her husband, that she was sure I'd like him".
"Did you?".
"No, I thought he was horrible! But then one thing led to another, he introduced me to his cousin and well, we've been married for four years now".
"How did you come up with the idea of opening a school?".
"I worked at one in Minas Tirith, mostly attended by the sons of the city's minor nobility. I was just an assistant, did a bit of everything: I helped during the classes, but also cleaned and cooked the meals. I always wanted to teach and so I tried to learn as much as I could while working there. Then I came here and during the first couple of years, to earn something myself, I'd read and write letters for the other villagers. Often times they expressed the wish their children could learn themselves and I thought, why not. I cannot charge them for what I do, for very few could afford sending their children here. But one way or the other, they repay me anyway: there's always someone bringing me lunch and, if my husband is away, dinner too, and when the roof of our house needed repair last winter, they did it for us".
"Do you teach them Westron too?".
"Oh yes! Odd days we speak Rohirric, even days we speak Westron. They learn so fast at this age".
Lothíriel couldn't help but feeling immensely proud of her people. Not six years earlier, most would have scrunched their noses at the idea of their children learning Westron. And now there they were, all making little contributions to ensure their sons and daughters would learn to read and write in both languages, and hopefully have better opportunities in life.
Innien's initiative deserved praise and as soon as she had returned to Edoras, she'd see that supplies were delivered to her school. More stools. A couple of desks at least. A blackboard and plenty of chalk. Wax tablets. And a few more books, of course.
After lunch, Lothíriel took a stroll through the village. Once she had crossed to the other end, she decided it was time to wrap up her queenly duties and dedicate the rest of her time to the young man who held diligently her hand. "I say we should hike up that hill".
Elfwine's eyes lit up. "We can?", he asked, and glanced at her leg.
It still troubled her at times – especially on cold winter days. But it really was a low hill and she had sent guards ahead to ensure it was safe for them to wander alone. "Of course - as long as you promise you won't ask me to race you to the top".
"I promise!".
It took them no more than a half hour to do the climb. The terrain was muddy and Elfwine was soon covered in dirt up to his knees. At the top they discovered a collapsed cairn and, brimming with excitement, he declared, "We must build a new one!".
Soon they were both crouching, elbows in the dirt, collecting the best shaped stones and balancing them carefully on top of each other. They laughed when they managed to add another piece, and they laughed when they failed and caused the tower to collapse. In the end, they built a respectful one-feet tall structure which Elfwine celebrated with an impromptu dance. She joined him of course, mimicking his hopes and turns and inwardly guffawing at what the villagers below might think about their Queen behaving in such silly way.
For once, she decided she didn't care.
After bidding the Queen farewell, Aldwyn pondered what to do.
She had given her staff the day off, which meant she could either stop at the Hammer for supper – for which she had no mood, or heat up whatever leftovers the cook had left in the kitchens.
She opted for the second and dearly hoped that just for once, she'd manage not to spoil the food - a month earlier she had cooked tarts for Queen's ladies in waiting and by all means, she had wanted them to taste bad because they were an insufferable bunch; but she hadn't meant to cause the pilgrimage to the privy that had ensued!
The hall of her house – the same that had once belonged her grandmother, was dark and silent. She lit each of the torches hanging on the wall but didn't bother with the fireplace. The room was large, the ceiling high; it would take too many hours to warm it up
Choosing not to try her luck, she cut a slice of meat pie and ate it cold. It tasted dry and somewhat chewy, but at least she knew she wouldn't be sick later in the night!
As she struggled to finish the food in her plate, Aldwyn decided she wasn't used to be alone and didn't like it one bit either. Hers was a big family: whether in Edoras or at the Hornburg, there never was shortage of company - her sister and her children, her parents, her cousins, her grandmother, Ealith, Háca. But her beloved granny had passed away. Her sister – whose husband rode in the King's Eored, had decided to spend the winter at the Hornburg with their parents. Ealith was at the manor. Her cousins had either gone to war or, for one reason or another, chose to relocate elsewhere. And, of course, Háca was gone too, his absence carving a trench of sadness all around her.
Upset by her own brooding mood, Aldwyn leaped on her feet. She had almost made it to the door when she suddenly remembered the disapproving look her husband would give her and, with a frustrated groan, she went back to collect her dirty dishes and washed them. Satisfied that she had cleaned after her mess, she put a coat on and went for a walk.
Maybe she should have gone to war.
For years she had regretted having been unable to prove herself on the battlefield. The campaign in the East could have been her chance to remedy that, but after her grandmother had passed away she had taken over many of her duties and wasn't sure who could replace her if she was gone for months. That, and also the fact that she had come to understand through the eyes of the people she loved that war was a far uglier beast than she knew, and not at all the romantic shot at heroism she had childishly envisioned in the past.
Once inside the stables, she checked the little room in the back that Runhild used as a study for her administrative tasks. Being the stablemaster's right hand, she often worked until late; that day however, it seemed she had decided to retire at a decent hour. Aldwyn considered visiting her at home, but she didn't want to impose – no more than she had already done in the past weeks anyway.
Resigned to a miserable night, she headed back.
She was crossing the Markthalle, when someone called her name. An old man - or so she thought at first. Upon second look however, she realized he couldn't be older than fifty – perhaps fifty-five years. He was well-dressed and clean shaven, but far too thin for a man of his size. His cheeks were sunken, his hands trembled. She could not say what ailment afflicted him. All she knew was that when she looked into his eyes, hidden beneath his withered looks, she couldn't unsee a striking resemblance.
"I am very sorry to bother you, Lady Aldwyn. I had meant to visit you tomorrow, during more proper hours. But when I saw you walking by, I couldn't stop myself…".
"Who are you?".
"We can sit inside", he offered nodding at the tavern on the other side of the street, "I don't want you to think I have ill intentions and there are a few patrons in there".
Sensible. But completely unnecessary. "I asked you a question!", she asked again, irritated.
The man limped to a nearby bench. He winced as he sat down and after a moment of silence, he wheezed, "I'm your father-in-law".
Anger swell quickly inside her chest: Háca was an orphan – it was one of the very few things everybody knew about him! "You lie".
"I don't, lady. And neither did Háca when he told you I was dead, for as far as he knows, I really am. So, please, do not be disappointed in him".
Aldwyn looked around. That wasn't the type of conversation one should have in a public street, but she was loath to invite a stranger home when there was no one around. "Why should I believe you?".
"I think perhaps I should start from the beginning. My name is Háca and I was born in Wolford. When I was but a lad, I met a woman named Waerrith and fell stupidly in love, like one does at that age. We married and had two children. We lived at the Hornburg and were happy for some time, but then things changed and we became bitter and resentful. Truth is, despite loving our children, we regretted marrying each other. And while my wife endured a loveless marriage, I sought comfort in the arms of other women. I was a frequent visitor of the city's various brothels, and that's where I met Éorrun".
"She wasn't a prostitute", she snarled, incensed that the man would insult a dead woman.
"She was. Your husband knows it too, but I understand why he chose not to tell you. It doesn't matter, really. Éorrun was a good woman – too good for the likes of me. She quitted her job and we were lovers for over a year. I knew she wished I'd leave my wife, but she never dared asking for she was aware that no matter how much I loved her, I'd have never done it. I was a respected member of the community and I feared the shame I'd cast upon my wife and children. Then, one night, I walked into the room Éorrun had been renting and found that she was gone. She told the landlord she was tired of living that way, that she'd rather leave me than continue our clandestine affair. I looked for her and when it became clear I wouldn't find her, I returned to Wolford with my wife and children and tried to make the best of our marriage".
He panted, like speaking was exhausting him.
"It wasn't until many years later that I found out the true reason Éorrun had left: she had been pregnant with my child and knew I could not be a father to him. After I moved back to Wolford, she returned to the Hornburg and found work as maid. When Háca was five years old, she died in an accident and he was brought to the city's orphanage - which, as I'm sure you've been told, used to be a terrible place back then".
"How would you know about all of this?".
"I met someone who used to work at the orphanage. An awful man, really. He took all the credit for those few children who came out of that accursed place and managed to make something of their own, and blamed the rest for their failures. Among the former was a boy named Háca, whose mother had been a prostitute by the name Éorrun, who had become a renowned rider. I looked into it and discovered it all".
"And yet you never came forward", Aldwyn hissed.
"He was a grown man by then, serving in the Third Marshall's Eored. What difference would have made? What could I have given him, that would have mended the years he spent in that orphanage? I travelled to Aldburg. Saw him fighting in the Midsummer tournament and winning. He seemed happy, settled in his new life, surrounded by good friends. And I didn't want to disrupt that".
"Then why are you telling me this now?".
"Because I'm a dying man. And a selfish one at that. The healers say I am lucky if I make it until the summer. By the time Háca will have returned from the East, I'll be dead. So, don't worry about the grief I may cause him, for I wasted my chance to ever meet my son and it's too late now to ask for a second shot. But I thought – hoped", he corrected himself, "that in what little time I have left, I may still get to know him. That maybe you would be willing to indulge me, as undeserving of that as I am, and tell me about him. I'll understand if you refuse and leave at once, lady".
Oh, she was tempted to tell him to leave! And to punch him in the face! Possibly kick him in the nuts! But the encounter had left her rattled and Aldwyn retained enough reason to know she needed to think this through.
Did the man speak the truth? Was he really who he claimed and, if so, what should she do?
Without saying a work, she turned on her heels and rushed back home. Maybe he was a fraud; or maybe his motivations weren't as steadfast as he claimed and he would leave Edoras on his own accord, sparing her the headache of deciding what to do.
Somehow, she doubted it.
That night, she writhed in her bed, unable to catch any sleep, her mind drifting inevitably back to Háca.
He was a strange man, her husband. With a well-earned reputation for being one of the King's most trusted men and also one of Rohan's greatest warriors, whose cockiness was only equalled by the number of dalliances he had entertained throughout the years. She had once heard her grandmother say that he was pleasant on the eyes but too empty-headed to be worth more than a glance, and found it oddly reassuring to know that even the famed Lady Aldwyn could be wrong, that her judgment was, after all, fallible.
Because if there was one thing Háca wasn't, it was empty-headed.
He was intricate. Surprisingly quiet. Contradictory, his heart filled with a grief he sometimes dressed as arrogance, while others he let it become anger; but there was also kindness and a well-hidden vulnerability. His life had been everything hers hadn't and even after several months of marriage, at times she still found him wandering around the house, hands clasped behind his back, his face painted with the expression of someone who's clearly wondering what on earth was he supposed to do with all those countless rooms. All his belongings fit in one small trunk. The maids adored him because not only he was unfairly handsome, but his presence in the house amounted to no extra-work whatsoever: he made their bed in the morning, folded his own clothes and if he accidentally brought in dirt with his shoes, he'd clean before anyone had had a chance to stop him.
Much of his behavior stemmed from his difficult childhood. His alleged father claimed he knew what a terrible place the Hornburg's orphanage used to be, but she doubted he knew even half of it.
The word abusive didn't do it justice.
Háca hated it. And he hated the idea of people knowing he had been raised there.
Which was why no one knew.
Her heart had broken when he had confessed what he had suffered at the hands of both the caretakers as well as the older orphans. Until he had grown and learned how to defend himself, how to lash out before others would.
With all that he had made it so far in life, it made her both sad and furious to know the orphanage would always be a part of him, one he'd never be able to shake off completely.
It was almost dawn when Aldwyn heard the faint sound of footsteps downstairs. She put on a robe and hurried to intercept Elfda before he could retire to his bedroom.
"Getting up early or retiring late, which of the two?", he asked, his smirk instantly dissolving as he took in her worried expression, "What is it? Are you all right?".
"Yes. And also no. I need the advice of a friend. But first you have to promise me that none of what I am about to tell will leave this room".
"Need you ask?".
"What I am about to say Háca considers very personal, and I don't think he'd approve of me telling you. Just give me your word, please".
"Very well. I won't tell a soul".
"Thank you", Aldwyn whispered.
She felt awful. Awful for betraying Háca's trust by revealing intimate details of his early years to someone else. Awful for asking Elfda to reinstate his loyalty, for he had earned her family's trust a thousand times over. But she desperately needed his advice and so, she told him as much as it was needed for him to understand, while at the same time keeping as much of Háca's most hurtful memories for herself.
By the end, Elfda's expression was many things. Above all: confused. "Why are you even entertaining the idea of giving this man what he wants? Just tell him to get lost: if he's a liar, then good riddance; and if he's not, then he's a sorry excuse of a man who only discovered he had a conscience when at death's door and chose to put you in an impossible position because of… what, exactly? Guilt? I say he can choke on it".
"I want to know whether what he says is true".
"Why?", he pressed her.
"To understand his motifs".
"He may be after your family's wealth".
"He didn't look like someone who's doing bad. And I'm not that gullible, Elfda: if he ever asks for money, then I know what he is".
"And what if he's only here to clear his conscience?".
"Háca doesn't remember much of his mother, save that she loved him and was a very caring woman. If this man is who he claims, maybe I could learn something about her that would give back Háca sweeter memories of an otherwise stolen childhood".
"Then before you take any decision, you should write him".
"To tell him what? That there's a man claiming to be his father? That maybe he lies or maybe he doesn't, so please tell me what I shall do? He's riding to war; he may be fighting right now for all we know and I don't want to burden him".
Elfda watched her carefully. "You're upset, aren't you? Upset that Háca may have lied to you".
She turned away like he had just slapped her in the face. "I can't explain why, but I believe that man really is Háca's father. And yes, it hurts that my husband wouldn't trust me with the identity of his mother and it makes me wonder whether there's more he lied about!".
"You are of Rohan's highest nobility. He's the son of a prostitute - maybe. Can you really not understand why he'd be reluctant to tell you?".
"I can. But can you not understand that it hurts nonetheless?".
"Then tell him when he's back. I know you've only been together for a few months, that your marriage is still young and vulnerable. But that's anyway no reason to indulge mister father of the year".
"I'm not doing this for his father, that I can promise you. Nor am I doing it to mend my wounded ego. I am aware the safest course of action would be to ignore this man's request, and maybe that's exactly what I'll choose to do. But I still want to know whether what he told me is true. I want you to travel to the Hornburg, Elfda, and look into his story. Urgently, but as covertly as possible".
Rhûn, April the 1st, FO 4
Éomer was tired. And old. Or old and therefore tired. Whichever the correct semantic, bottom-line was: the campaign in the East had been raging for almost two months now, there was no end in sight and he was tired and angry.
And old. Never forget the old part. The old part is important.
"If I may, my Lord, I think our only chance is to split and comb every wedge until we have ferreted out every last one of them".
"I heard you the first ten times, Balca. Is the eleventh no going to sound any closer to a yes, you think?".
The young lord bowed his head and left the tent, doing a spectacular poor job at hiding his frustration.
"Must be a family thing: everything that comes out of Wídca's loins has a clause that says, your only scope in life will be tormenting your liege", Éothain drawled.
Elfhelm chuckled while behind him, the flap was pulled open and Korul – the leader of King Elessar's spies, entered the tent. Éomer had gotten so used to receiving the same discouraging news over and over again, that when the man started out with an urgent "It's happening, my Lord", he turned to look at him with the face of someone who's sure he's misheard.
For weeks the Easterlings had led them on a merry chase. Once they had discovered they had Rohan's arms at their heels, they had broken into smaller groups and dispersed in a barren maze of canyons. Carved by ancient rivers that had long since run dry, the place was as hostile as it could get.
They had located and defeated four of the enemy bands, amounting to four, maybe five hundred men. It was a painstaking process and sure, he could split his forces – again. But it was a gamble he wasn't willing to take: many of his men would be left without the spies' guidance and support, and that may just obliterate the advantage their larger numbers gave them.
He had known all along the campaign in the East would last several months and while he was undoubtedly tired of it, he wasn't going to rush things.
If anything, oldness had taught him to be patient.
Their supply line was solid and could easily last them until the autumn. The Easterlings however, had left their former camp with only enough food to make it until the next cluster of settlements. They should have been there by now, but their appearance had forced them to go into hiding in lands that, as far as resources went, offered very little. Furthermore, the canyons into which they were hiding were a blind alley with only two ways out: one in the South, which was where he and his men had set camp; and one in the East, by crossing the only river that still flowed in the region. Unfortunately for the Easterlings, it was a move his spies had anticipated and the few bridges that existed had been promptly sabotaged.
The war had then become a contest of who had the steadier nerves, and Éomer was hellbent on winning. He had ignored all attempts to lure him deeper into the rocky wedges, he had dismissed the numerous advises of those who – like Balca, thought they should take the initiative, he had endured the ugly weather and made it abundantly clear he'd rather stand another three months in the rain, than chase after ghosts.
Of course, he was tired. Of course, he'd rather be in Meduseld, spending his days with his son and losing himself in his wife's soft curves at nights. But that was no reason to be reckless and put his men's lives at risk.
And maybe, his patience was at last yielding some much-awaited results. "Explain yourself, Korul".
"The Easterling army has re-grouped. Twenty miles north of here, on a ridge above the river".
Maps were gathered and hastily spread out. "How many?".
"Thirteen hundred, but some of the tribes are unaccounted for. It is little known, but there are caves on this side of the canyon, dozens of small mouths on the outside that converge into a large inner chamber. I reckon there might be another hundred men hidden in there, waiting to ambush you from the sidelines. It's probably the reason why they chose to fight you there".
"What's the ground around the caves like?".
"Ugly. They are elevated over the ridge and the soil is unstable. Your horses won't manage the climb and it will be difficult for your riders too, weighed down by their armours and with arrows raining down on them".
"Is there another way in?".
"Aye, Lord. But it's a one-day ride, and then another half day hike into the dark".
Éomer grunted at the idea of fighting in a cave. That ought to bring back memories!
He dismissed Korul and waited for the sound of his footsteps to fade away. "What do you make of it?", he asked Elfhelm and Éothain.
The Marshall poured himself some water, his eyes roaming over the map, the wheels inside his head spinning furiously. "Wiping out the men in the caves would be the cautious thing to do. But I think we would be going too much out of our way to defeat a mere hundred foes".
"I agree", Éothain chimed in, "we are two thousand strong. The archers hidden in the caves might give us troubles, sure, but who is to say we won't lose just as many men by confronting them in the darkness?".
Éomer studied the map and run the numbers again. Elfhelm and Éothain's logic couldn't be faulted. Any yet, a warning sounded in his heart.
Not for the first time, he wished he had his Queen by his side. She was no expert in military strategies, but she always knew how to ask the right questions, the ones that would inevitably lead him to one of those a-ha! moments and melt all doubts away. In his mind, he tried to play their conversation and knew right away what she would get him to focus on: the Easterlings could have chosen to fight them in one of the canyons' narrow valleys, a move that would have damped the strength of Rohan's chivalry and significantly reduced the advantage of their larger numbers. Instead, they had placed themselves on a ridge wide enough for their horses to come charging in.
Like they were trying to be the proverbial sitting duck.
Why? Would a hundred archers be able to change the tide of the battle in their favour? Unlikely - just like Elfhelm and Éothain had pointed out. So, what was their plan?
"I am not ordering an attack until I know for certain what's in those caves", he decided.
"Some of the men won't be happy", Elfhelm warned.
He was right. Especially among the younger riders, there was a pesky eagerness to simply blow the horns and charge ahead, that was damn right difficult to ignore. But these were not the Pelennor Fields and they were going to sit tight for as long as it pleased him: "Then make sure my orders are clear. At the same time, I also want you to make them ready for battle: it will keep them happy and in the likely chance we have Easterling scouts watching our camp, it will convince them we have taken the bait".
Éothain stood. It was clear he doubted there was a bait in the first place, but knew better than to contradict him. "What do you want me to do?".
"Pick two hundred men. At dawn, we head for the caves".
Seeing the hooded figure sitting by her desk, Lothíriel braced herself for what she dearly hoped wasn't going to be an unpleasant conversation.
"Good morning, Lord Léored".
The nobleman stood and removed the ragged garment. His closeness to the Crown was their best well-kept secret and he always took every precaution to avoid being recognized. Only three people knew about him: Runhild, because working at the stables she was easy to locate and could move freely inside the Golden Hall, thus making it possible for her to escort Léored inside Meduseld through one of the least frequented alleys; Théocanstan, because as a precaution she never met anyone outside of their inner circle without a guard for protection, and she knew he'd never relay to anyone about their meetings and conversations; and Haleth, because it was just more effective for him to know there was at least one Council member he shouldn't worry about.
Sometimes she felt guilty for keeping the information from the rest of their family and close friends, but it was just more prudent to do so.
"Your Highness", Léored greeted her, bowing respectfully his head. There was a streak of white in his otherwise light brown hair, the mark of a grief too visceral to be withstood without some of your inner scars spilling out. He was a sombre man and in the six years she had known him, there had never been a smile on his face.
"What news from the famers of the Westfold", Lothíriel got right to the point.
The previous summer had been a disaster: a disease had spread through their crops and if it wasn't for the supplies they had hoarded from the previous years' surplus, winter would have proved a grim affair. Some of the farmers had blamed it on Gondor, others on the Dunlendings – for no other reason than there always ought to be an idiot pointing his finger at the foreigner. In an ironic twist of fate however, it would be precisely one of them – a foreigner, the only one capable to help them: upon hearing the news, Legolas had sent one of his kin to Rohan - an elf by the name of Heledhion, who had settled within the community he had established in Ithilien and was wise in the matters of the earth. He had spent days inspecting the rotten crops, and then weeks teaching the farmers how to cleanse the soil. They had followed his instructions to the letter and plowed the fields throughout the entire winter to disperse the remedies he had given them, in the hope that coming spring the disease would prove stamped out.
It was now the moment of truth and Lothíriel waited with bated breath for Léored's next words.
"All signs are encouraging and the crops we planted in the greenhouses appear healthy and uncompromised".
"Bema be praised", Lothíriel exhaled. Edoras' stocks had been almost completely depleted, and the same applied to the Hornburg and Aldburg as well. Another year of meagre harvest would have left them with no choice but acquiring wheat, barley and whatnot from Gondor – which was possible of course, but never ideal, especially for people as proud as theirs.
"The other advisors confirmed it too?", she ensured.
"I have travelled to each of the affected regions personally. I believe we succeeded".
"A most welcome news, Lord Léored. Without your support this matter might have spiralled out of control. You have my gratitude".
He acknowledged her words with barely a nod, his brown eyes losing none of their sternness. The man might have betrayed his country in the years before the war, but Lothíriel thought that if there was anyone who deserved a second chance in life, it was him. She also knew however that, had she been in his shoes and lost both Éomer and Elfwine, all joy would be forever ripped from her heart and had enough respect for Léored to spare him empty words of encouragement towards a merrier future. All she could hope for, was that serving his country would bring his bleeding soul a tinge of fleeting solace.
Seeing he had made no move to leave, she inquired, "Is there something else?".
"I met Lord Wídca in Wolford".
"I surmised as much", she spoke, her jaw clenching instinctively. After his unwise decision to invade Dunlendish lands years earlier, Lord Wídca had toed the line and not dared provoking his liege's ire again. His wealth and influence had grown considerably though, and she was more wary of him than ever before.
"He reported some bags of grain have been stolen at various locations".
"Unfortunate, but such things can happen when people are hungry and fear they won't have enough food to feed their children. We received similar accounts from other regions as well. Unless we are talking of a substantial amount and in light of the positive news you've just delivered me, I am willing to close an eye".
"I believe your Highness is right - these are isolated petty thefts, nothing more. But Lord Wídca suggested, albeit indirectly and in not so clear words, that the culprits might be Dunlendings".
"Of course, he would. Has he been poisoning the people's ear?".
"Not that I know. But if he decided to tell me, then I suspect he let the rumour out".
"Is there a way I might have learned about this, without you telling me?".
"Send someone to look into the matter of the deceased crop. Lord Wídca thinks you don't trust me and won't find it strange to see one of your men showing up at his door. An inspection of the granaries would be in order then and, if it is like I fear, the farmers he fed his doubts to will surely mention something. That will give you a legitimate reason to confront him and remind him of his place without raising any suspicions".
"I shall tell Marshall Erkenbrand to send his second in command. Do you think there's a pattern in his actions?".
Léored sighed gravely. "He is unhappy. The Crown has stripped the Council of most of its powers. The advisors know they hold no influence over you, that you only share with them what you deem harmless to know, that you only trust them with assignments that are as tedious as they are innocuous. They are all upset, but Wídca is the one who is rallying their bitterness and attempting to use it to his own advantage. I know there are good reasons why you allowed the Council to outlive the crimes it committed in the years before the war. But Wídca is becoming dangerous. Last week, when I met him, I felt there was a recklessness about him, and that there was much he was not telling me".
"You're suggesting we remove him from the Council".
"I think as unpleasant as it may be to deal with the fallout of his removal in the short term, it would be the safest option in the long one".
Lothíriel rubbed her temples, the nigh constant fatigue that had accompanied her since Éomer had left only aggravated by discussing such matters. "I hear your reasons, Lord Léored. But this is not a step I can take lightly, and I am loath to move against Lord Wídca while the King is away".
"It would be wise to wait for his return, yes. If you do anything to strip Lord Wídca of his role within the Council, he'll make sure it reflects poorly on you – at least within the people living under his influence who, unfortunately, account to a conspicuous number. I just thought you should know, your Highness".
It was her turn now to respond with a scant nod. For the first two years of his Kingship, Éomer had managed to keep his advisors at each other's throat through a carefully crafted web of subtle discontent and alluring opportunities. But it could only last that long and once it had become clear he had no intention of removing any of them, the advisors had resigned to make do with what little crumbles he tossed their way. They still annoyed them to no end, but they were mostly harmless.
Or so they had thought.
Had they underestimated Lord Wídca? In the long years of peace and prosperity, had they become complacent?
Léored's voice startled her. "Apologies, I was lost in thought. What were you saying?".
"I asked whether there is news from the East".
"A messenger arrived last week. The campaign is proving more challenging than expected. The enemy army has split and, in order to eliminate their threat, our forces had to do the same. King Elessar took his men North, while our Lord King marched East. The rider who carried the message left Rhûn on March the fifteenth, two weeks after the split. There have been minor skirmishes, but we have yet to locate the bulk of the enemy's army".
"They are drawing us deeper into their territory".
"It would appear so. But we still have the upper hand and with most of the Easterling spies riding with us, we are not as ignorant of their land as our enemy makes us".
Léored said nothing, but his thoughts were plain to read. Can we trust these spies?
She had asked herself the same question many, many times. King Elessar trusted these men. And she trusted King's Elessar's judgment.
But was that enough?
Lothíriel stood. Supper must be almost ready, for she could smell the whiff of onion soup coming from the kitchens. The discussion with Léored had left her stomach in knots, but she asked anyway: "Would you like to join me for dinner?"
Thankfully, he declined.
Later that night, she read Elfwine one of his favourite stories from Lady Thédowyn's book. Éomer's mother had a fervid imagination, her tales were sweet but also meaningful at the same time. After he had fallen asleep, mumbling the last words written on the yellowed page and holding tight his favourite stuffed animal, she tucked him in and lay down.
Perched on the edge of the mattress, she took a paper out of her pocket and unfolded it, her eyes scanning the little numbered boxes for an answer she already knew; one that filled her with dread and excitement.
Just like the first time around, the timing seemed horribly wrong.
But just like the first time, maybe, it was an omen of victory and better times to come.
Author's notes: so here's finally the first chapter of the second part of this story. As I anticipated in previous notes, we jumped forward of a few years, but hopefully I managed to give some continuity and to not make you feel lost as to what happened in this time to the main characters. Let me know what you think! :)
Catspector: thank you, you summed it up perfectly!
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: glad you enjoyed it, I honestly loved writing Amrothos and Ealith' story!