Legacy.

And so when the great barrow was sealed and the grieving populace dispersed did the son take his leave from concerned kinsman and took refuge in an empty chamber.

It was a room without memory whence he could shield himself from prying eyes. Any other room within the halls held just too much of his fathers presence…how could the son live up to such a sire and how could he cope with such a great loss?

He fingered the scabbard which contained the mighty sword which had come into his possession. Always had he been in awe of that mighty blade and now it was his, but rather he would have had his Father back than a thousand such blades.

The door swung open and he knew by the rustle of fabric and the light tread of soft footsteps that it was his Mother. Inconsolable had she been, devastated by her loss but she knew him well and with eyes red from weeping had seen her son slip away and so she had followed

He stood as she approached and wordlessly she enveloped him in her embrace as he wept.

He drew back first from the comfort of those soft arms, yet her loss was the most intense.

She picked up the scabbard from whence it lay and drew the blade forth.

“Wear this blade well with pride, my son”, she whispered in the dim light. “Remember your Father with love, honour his memory and it will never fail you”.

He nodded and she smiled back.

Great was the charge on him now. But he was more than ready for the task and for his people.

Guthwine was sheathed as Lothiriel and Elfwine emerged from within to attend the funeral feast.

He squared his shoulders and together the Lord of the Mark and Dowager Queen entered the great hall of Meduseld .