The loneliest people are the kindest, the saddest people smile the brightest, and the most damaged people are the wisest. All because they don't wish to see others suffer like they do." Anonymous
She was only days old when she lost her mother, and somehow, the little one knew it. She barely made a sound other than to remind her caretakers and her family of her existence. She was an easy baby to care for, following an extremely predictable schedule of eating, napping, and diaper-changing. She was well-cared for on a physical level, but the emotional level told a different story. Her brothers were usually under the watchful eye of tutors or her father and did not associate with her that much. Her oldest brother did read aloud his textbooks to her as well as told her stories. As for her father, he had little time to spare for her as he was preoccupied with grieving for his wife, raising three sons of various ages, running the princedom, and (in almost every sense) managing a nation. He did remember to give her a bid her goodnight, so there was that.
At the age of one, she had successfully gone through more nurses and nannies than her brothers. It was her gaze, each caretaker cited, for her eyes shone like silver and seemed to pierce the soul. Her father solved the problem by having a maid meet her physical needs while he just put cribs and playpens in his meeting room, study, and every room where he or his sons might be.
At the age of two, she was walking, but she never really talked. Some assumed that she could not while others (her family) merely said she was just really quiet. She had dolls and picture books to entertain her as well as a garden to play in, but she was often in some hidden corner in the designated areas slowly sounding letters and words in one of brothers' forgotten textbooks.
As the years passed, she was far more mature than those her age. She rarely associated with her peers because she usually listened to adult conversations from the shadows. Perhaps it was her upbringing, or perhaps it was the elvish blood in her veins trying to strike a balance with her human limitations. A more observant person would note that the daughter of Imrahil was often with those not part of the generally accepted circle. A watchful eye would see her tilt her head with a furrowed brow as she watched an old woman, called a hag and witch by others, gather bits of driftwood before going over to help. Or maybe she was found playing with a child with ragged clothing on the beach. Few dared to interrupt the young princess lest they meet the sharpened sword of her gaze.
Yet for all her kindness to the friendless of society, she was a lonely person. She felt the absence of her mother keenly, and no one attempted to step into that role. She did not connect with people, for the people she met had not raised themselves. No one she met knew a childhood of disconnection from their own family, for she was not like her father or her brothers in any way. And even though they bore physical similarities, there was still a demeanor that marked her as different. When she was younger, she felt the loneliness keenly, chasing her sadness away with books, music, and long hours on the beach. But now that she was older, she had learned to live with it although she survived more than she lived.
He was only a boy of eleven when the news came to him. He was just a child when both parents left the earth for the skies above. For his little sister, he smiled, pretending that the world was alright even though he felt like there was nothing but a pond of water that stretched beyond the line of sight. Like the sea, he heard in stories from passing strangers. He smiled brightly for his little sister even when the days grew dark for her. She would cry in his arms as their dear mother's brother slipped into a world of his own and as a slimy snake hissed in her ears. When their cousin passed away from his injuries, he smiled because of the memories of the fallen man. And still, he greeted his sister with a smile, maybe not as big as it was in the past, but it was still a smile.
And when the slimy snake hissed words more bitter than wormwood, he smiled. It was a strange sight to behold. An older man with greasy, unwashed hair and eyebrows that would not grow despite every effort spitting on a warrior of powerful build and sardonic smirk. Even as he was escorted to the prison cells, he smiled with a dangerous glint in his eye. The snake would have preferred for the warrior to be dragged, but the warrior was honored by the people and no man dared to lay a hand on him.
It was with a smile, he greeted orcs before drawing his battle friend. A feral one. Like that of a wolf snarling in preparation to attack for the defense of the pack. It was with a grim smile that he rode to the city of stone in a land that he barely heard of. Before each battle, a smile played on his lips as he made his plans and rallied his èored. It was whispered that his smile heralded death and destruction.
He scared all the marriageable ladies with his grim countenance and intimidated scheming fathers and matrons with his smile. Well, he thought he did until he met her. Joyous music, merry laughter, and swirling colors filled the room, for the war was over. Yet, she stood near a window, half bathed in moonlight, half bathed in candlelight. She was smiling, but there was something off about it. A half-smile that only came from a thoughtful mind rather than a simpering flighty lady. It was not joy for the ending of the war. It was not for the victory of the free countries. It was not for the destruction and total demolition of the dark lord.
Breaking all the rules of society, which demanded that he be introduced to the lady by a mutual acquaintance, he dared to approach her. With a bowed head and right fist on his beating heart, he murmured, "Lady, may I have a word?"
She raised her brow, but answered in equal tone and an inclination of her head, "Sire, to what do I owe the pleasure of a conversation."
"I see many things in this joyous gathering," he answered, "and everyone is easy to read. Yet you bring a mystery to me, for your smile is for reasons unknown."
"It's the effects of the lights," she answered after a moment of careful dissection of his words. "Candlelight gives the effect of softness and warmth. Starlight gives an air of majestic distance, and yet it is by a star one can find the way home." She gazed at him with her star-like eyes, before adding, "There is a smile behind that mask you wear. Do you not wish to show it because you are known for bringing death with that smile? There are worse ways to die than from a smile."
At that, he could not help but smile, for the lady was refreshingly honest. A breath of life from the sorrow and death that surrounded him since he was a boy. And if looks could kill, he would have been killed twice over by her. She was beautiful, and her gaze from her grey eyes was far keener than his advisor's wits. She saw him for who he was, and she was kinder than all those who pitied him. For, unlike the rest who talked over his sorrow, she listened. As for her, she could feel the sadness heal with the smile he always greeted her.
They were both damaged, she from loneliness and he from sorrow. Yet, they were the wisest rulers Rohan had seen. It did not take long for them to rebuild the country and minimize the causes of suffering. Orcs, wargs, and all the creatures that would bring misery to villages and families were rooted out from their hiding holes in the mountains and utterly destroyed. Careful planning brought plentiful harvests. Wise judgments ended the rule of unjust and unfair men. Together, the once lonely girl and the once sad boy brought healing, peace, and prosperity to a damaged country. And they did this all because they did not want another child to suffer as they did.