Maethelyn

Nelnardis tried not to look at the two boys rattling the door of her cell. They kept speaking in Rohirric, seemingly trying to get her attention.

“Maybe she only understands Westron,” one finally said in the common tongue.

Nelnardis didn’t go back to sleep. She couldn’t. Not while Thendryt was still out there on his own. She stared across the empty fields around the farm where Bovad and rider had disappeared into the distance. He must have known they wouldn’t go after him until dawn. He knew he would have the entire night for his personal errands.

Eirallyn was eating breakfast when Nelnardis returned from her early morning walk around Mirobel. There was nothing out of the ordinary, though she noted the clear skies and forgotten beauty of the view.

“Good morning, Eira,”

“I would like to reconsider,” she found herself saying to Elrohir.

He glanced up at her from the piece of parchment he was writing on, lowering the quill in his hand. Elrohir sat back in the simple wooden chair, waiting for her to speak.