Later that evening, Laenilas sat in Gorhend's chair beside the fire, wrapped in a shawl and staring into the hearth. A mug of warm ale rested on the chair arm and periodically she would take a sip of the soothing liquid and return to her contemplation of the flames.
The only other person who still had not succumbed to the exhaustion of the day was Boromir. He had gratefully accepted quarters in the bunkhouse where the herdsmen had lived, but he could not rest peacefully. He had instead spent the early hours of the night walking around the surrounding property, sword at his side, ever watchful and consumed with his own thoughts.
The small wail of the hinges announced his return to the house and Laenilas leaned forward to watch him enter. "Is everything in order?" she asked. When he nodded, she motioned for him to sit down.
He did so and spoke soon to avoid any silence. He had just been surrounded by nothing but the dark stillness outside and now he welcomed the sound of voices, the sound of the living. "I must be returning soon to Minas Tirith," he said, his hand placed on the hilt of his sword in reminder that other places were in need of him. "But if there is anything else you would require of me before I leave, you have only to ask. For such a friend as he, my sword and my strength were ever at his command."
Laenilas smiled in gratitude. "He would be embarrassed to hear you say such things," she said. "Rather, he would insist that it was the other way around." Before he could reply, she added, "I have nothing to demand of you. You have already been a blessing to us when we most needed it."
"May I inquire what you will do?" he asked. They had long dispensed with the formalities, but neither was unaware that they existed elsewhere. Lords and ladies seemed to have no place in such rustic surroundings.
Laenilas leaned back in the chair and looked upwards, lost in thought. "I do not know. I have my own plans, though they will perhaps be of surprise to some." She closed her eyes. "I will travel to Rohan, by one road or another. It matters not which."
"You will leave?" he asked, startled.
"Is there a reason for me to stay?" she replied. "I have spent many, many years on this land. I remained for my husband because I loved him. I remained for the horses because he loved them. I remained for the land because we both loved it, but two of those pleasures have vanished. All that awaits me if I stay here is to rebuild. I would need to spend more years of my fast-ending life creating once more what took decades to achieve and one night to destroy. I am a tired old woman, Boromir." She cupped her chin in her hand and stared at him levelly. "Perhaps it is selfish, but I would like to look upon new sights and see other people."
"You would leave Myrhil behind?"
"If she chooses to stay, I will not force her to come with me. I will ask, but I will not demand. She owns this place now by right of inheritance. She can do with it whatever she chooses."
Boromir scratched at his forehead in thought, his grey eyes peering at her from between his fingers. "I do not believe you would admit defeat so easily. You are sporting with me."
Laenilas looked momentarily startled at his amused response, then a smile graced her normally strained and tightly drawn lips. "Is it so hard to believe that I can give up and lay down my sword?" she asked. She took a long draught from the mug. "I do not think I have conceded without a fight, and I would desire to walk from the field with dignity. I am not running, but instead--" she paused and brought a finger to her lips in thought "--gracefully withdrawing." She finished this with a simple sweep of her hand and a smile.
"You phrase it well," he told her. "You should write military dispatches."
Laenilas smiled faintly. "I doubt Théoden King would find that necessary, but I will not be an inconvenience to him. I greatly desire to know him and be of use to my kinsman in some way."
This prompted Boromir to comment, "The West Road is a long route. You would come to Minas Tirith first, naturally."
"Unless I took a path through the mountains," she corrected him. "If one exists that mortals can tread, that is. Yet I doubt it very much. So yes, I will be coming to Minas Tirith before pressing on to Rohan."
Boromir cleared his throat and scratched his brow again. "If you can arrange your affairs here quickly, then I can escort you to the White City. I would have you reach it safely."
Laenilas nodded and sighed. "Safety is such an uncertain luxury, is it not? Last night proved it so." She brought a hand to her eyes. "This region is safe no longer. Who knows what other destruction those orcs wrought before they reached here?"
"As we travel east, no doubt there will be news if they did."
"I expect Myrhil will choose to stay. If she does, I wonder if I will myself," Laenilas said, more to herself than to him. "Though what protection I could offer should there be another attack will do nothing to change the outcome. There would be no one left to bury those fallen." She shook her head. "Forgive me. I have become grim."
Boromir thought in silence, uncertain if Gorhend's widow desired advice. Though he was not a parent in the literal sense, as a leader of men, he understood the call of duty and loyalty she was undoubtedly feeling, as well as the call of adventure.
"What would you suggest?" Laenilas asked him.
Boromir cleared his throat again. "I do not pretend to know the right way to do things. My father is more skilled in that than I. To my mind, one way is as good as another for most situations. But what you have to decide would be as though I wanted to move to Rohan and leave the White City behind."
"The White City being Myrhil?"
"I--I suppose so, in a way." He shrugged. "'Tis not a good comparison, I confess."
Laenilas tucked her legs up under her large shawl. "No, no, it is a very good one, to tell the truth. Still, that does not make it easy to answer."
"My choice would be clear," Boromir continued. "I could not ever leave the White City. My loyalty runs too deep."
"As can a mother's love," Laenilas mused. "I will put the question to Myrhil, but I am afraid that it is I who shall be tested, depending upon her answer. She may wish to stay here as much as I wish to leave."
When she fell silent, Boromir began to feel the call of sleep beckon to him. Taking his leave of her with wishes for an untroubled night, he returned to his quarters in the barn.
He had to pass by Cirien's pallet before he reached his own and his sword clattered against him noisily. Before he could remove it, Cirien had wakened. "Lord Boromir?"
"Yes, it is I."
"Begging your pardon, my lord, may I speak with you briefly?"
Boromir made a sound of assent and advanced toward Cirien's pallet. The corner of the room was immediately illuminated by the glow of a lantern that hung from an overhead beam. The flickering flame cast shadows on every object, but Boromir thought the haggard and haunted appearance on Cirien's face was no trick of the light.
He sat down gratefully on a small stool and waited for the man to speak.
Cirien took a seat as well. He seemed nervous and uneasy about summoning a Steward's heir, but when Boromir did not display any signs of impatience or seem offended, he gathered his courage and pressed on.
"It is not my place to ask, sir," he began, "and forgive me if I am forward, but what is going to happen now?"
Boromir shook his head. "You should be asking your mistress instead of me, my good man. I do not have the right to make conclusions about which I know nothing."
"Which mistress, indeed, is one of my questions, sir," Cirien continued. "The Master's wife, or his daughter?"
"Do you have a preference?" Inwardly, Boromir bristled. Do not let this man be solely concerned with his own welfare, he thought. The Valar know I cannot remain away from Minas Tirith any longer. Do not force me to leave my friend's child in the hands of another unworthy sharp.
Cirien recognized the dormant sharpness in the warrior's tone and softened his own. "Myself, I do not. If Belaród was alive, he most certainly would. But that no longer concerns us, now that he lies outside in the ground."
Boromir relaxed visibly and pondered whether to divulge a little of what he knew and decided that there was no harm in doing so. The poor man is only uncertain as to how his life will proceed from this moment on, he told himself. Do not be suspicious. Reserve that for the court where it is warranted.
"I have just spoken with the Lady Laenilas," he said, "and she has indicated that everything belongs to Myrhil now, but what the girl chooses do with it is entirely her decision."
"She would not stay here?" Cirien asked, unable to conceal his puzzlement. "There is a chance the girl would leave?"
"I could say more, Cirien, but now we are in territory where it is not my place to say or ask certain things," he said with a light laugh. "I am only a visitor here and I would not dictate how matters should be resolved."
"I understand, sir," Cirien replied, smiling. His eyes were fixed on the floor. "It seems strange, as well it should, there are so many ghosts about this place now. There is much work ahead of us all, past and future and the like."
Boromir nodded. "Myrhil said something like that just this morning. She knows what lies ahead of her, I think."
Cirien turned to him. "If you will forgive me again, sir, that girl has been fighting an uphill battle ever since her brother was killed, and now it seems like she will know naught else. Not to imply that she was treated badly, mind," he hastily added when he realized his words might be construed by his dead master's friend as criticism. "Nothing of the kind. Considering she is what she is, I think she was given more freedom than was proper. . .for other girls."
"Apparently it was not enough to her way of thinking," Boromir put in. "Else the trouble with Belaród would never have happened."
"I know nothing about that matter," he said, looking away uncomfortably. "It was not my business to interfere."
Boromir shrugged his shoulders. "Naturally. It is a wise man who knows when to keep his nose out of rooms else a door shut on it."
"Very true, sir. I suspect that Myrhil is the kind who, when she knows what she wants, will go after it even if the method is not exactly--"
"Subtle?"
"I was going to say wise, but you are right, sir." He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "Belaród was her method to take her brother's place. Aye, but she is young and no doubt she will grow out of such stubbornness, now that there is no other head to butt up against. That thought comforts me, knowing she will most likely be the one taking her father's place."
Boromir stood and clapped a hand on the older man's shoulder. "Good night, Cirien. I cannot say I envy you, under the rule of a young girl who has shown herself to be hotheaded and rash, but remember your soldier's training. That will let you weather any storm she may conjure with her temper."
With an encouraging smile, he turned and retreated to his own pallet. He unbuckled his sword and stretched out on the straw mattress with a grunt of relief. Closing his eyes, he rolled onto his side with an arm cradling his head. His mind was uncluttered with doubts and fears. All that could be put to rest had been. The dead were already in the midst of their eternal rest, he would be leaving for Minas Tirith within a day or two and, if all went well, Gondor would still continue to have a supply of horses from the northern reaches of Lebennin. It would only require a delay until the herd was again plentiful.
Before Boromir could think of anything else, he was enjoying the tight embrace of untroubled sleep.
Laenilas came into Myrhil's room as soon as the sun rose over the horizon, water bowl and cloth in hand to cleanse her daughter's scabbed wounds. After a brisk good morning, she set about inspecting the stitches on her shoulder and the bruises on her face.
"The swelling has decreased by half, at least," Laenilas commented. "You should thank Boromir for tending that injury when he comes inside for breakfast. He will not be here much longer to receive your gratitude. He and I shall depart for Minas Tirith tomorrow, should all go as planned."
Myrhil continued to lean her head wearily against the wall as her mother inspected the angry, weeping wound on her shoulder, but when those final words pierced her consciousness, she stiffened in alarm and sat up straight, her body rigid.
"Leaving?" she asked in disbelief.
Laenilas managed an innocent expression. "Yes. Why? Does that shock you?"
"Is there a reason why it should not?" Myrhil demanded, her voice containing a faint tremor.
Laenilas set the bowl down on the floor and looked levelly at her daughter. "It should come as no surprise to you that I wish to leave. We have already discussed that."
"But. . .so soon!" came the protest.
"I shall not leave you behind if you wish to come," Laenilas said in a soothing tone. "I assumed that you would prefer to remain here, with your inheritance." She paused to let her words settle on her daughter's ears.
Perhaps it was unfair of her to spring such a subject on someone half- asleep, but for the first time in many years, she was feeling an urgency within her that begged to not be leashed or stayed. Just as Boromir's sleep had been tranquil, Laenilas had spent the entire night in restless torment. Penetrating through whatever scraps of sleep she was able to muster was the morning sun glinting off the fabled Tower of Ecthelion, the fresh spring breezes coursing over the Rohirric plains, and the close and smoky din of an evening meal in the wooden and golden hall of Meduseld, that immense structure dominating so many of her childhood tales. Such sights and smells begged her to partake of them and she yearned to have the road already beneath her feet.
"Inheritance?" Myrhil repeated. She pondered it behind the seclusion of her closed eyes, one of which was an ever-darkening shade of purple. Her expression threatened to crumble as the silence lengthened and her mind mulled over the word and its implications. "What inheritance?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "There is nothing left! No men to look after the horses, and no horses to be looked after! It is gone. Everything gone."
Laenilas shook her head. "Do not despair, my girl. When I was a young bride, I did not even have a roof over my head, but simply a tent in a soldier's camp. That is, until your father decided to settle me here while he continued to fight for Gondor." She took up the bowl again and soaked the cloth. "Or," she continued, squeezing it out and looking at her daughter from the corner of her eye, "are you disappointed that your future was not given to you complete and without a blemish?"
Myrhil was not so tired, pained or bewildered enough to miss the familiar reproachful tone in her mother's voice. But she was too exhausted to retreat and mask her true feelings under another guise. "Yes," she said honestly. "But I am not being unreasonable. Just how am I to make all this what it once was with less people to help me do it? With few horses to repopulate? With no will to see it through to the end?" She sighed. "Mother, I do not think I can do it."
"Then you would have me stay?" Laenilas asked. The words almost refused to come to her lips when her throat constricted painfully. "I do not see how one person could make a difference to you."
The reluctance that saturated those words was unmistakable. Myrhil did not want to look in her mother's eyes for fear of what she might see. No, she knew exactly what those pale blue orbs held: a sad longing, combined with eager excitement, to see that which she had never set eyes upon. Myrhil had also wondered what lay over the ridges to the east, north and west, and what waited beyond the sea to the south. She could not be angry with Laenilas for wanting to follow such a call. Now that it came to it, she was envious. Very envious.
She was also very ashamed. Ashamed and mortified that, once she had all that she had long believed should be hers, she felt inadequate to own it. It is just as well that Father is dead, she thought. Then he would not see me shrinking from my duty like the greenest recruit, unable to tell one end of a sword from the other and afraid to touch either.
She brought both hands to her face and exhaled heavily. "Then go," she said, her voice muffled. "I shall not stop you. I have no desire to do that."
Laenilas reached out a hand and stroked Myrhil's hair softly. "If you wish to come with me, then I shall not balk at your company," she said kindly. "I am certain that Cirien and Cardhel will find employment elsewhere." She paused. "Or you can pass it along to their very capable hands. It would be a pity for Cirien to leave a place he loves so much."
"No," Myrhil said, not removing her hands. "I cannot leave. I must not."
Laenilas stood, her hand still resting on the top of Myrhil's head. "Do not stay if your heart wishes differently," she murmured. "I will not hold any decision against you." She gave the dirty brown curls a kiss and she left the room.
Myrhil was left alone with her thoughts, and they clambered inside her head, each demanding to be considered first before all others. They hounded her from her bed and she made her way out of her room. As she passed through the house, she could hear her mother and Cardhel in the kitchen, such familiar sounds that would no longer be heard once Laenilas left to pursue her long-dreamed visions.
Silently, she slipped over to the door and opened it, the need to breathe the clean air of the outdoors burning within her lungs. Though her mother had thrown open the door and windows yesterday, Myrhil was certain she could still detect lingering traces of decay that stubbornly clung to the walls and rafters. It hung in the air, a pall that refused to dissipate.
The evening's dew had been thick and the dirt clung to the bottoms of her bare feet as she trudged stiffly across the yard between house and barn. It was early yet, and the sun barely hovered over the horizon. Clouds had begun to gather, ready to smother the dawn scantly after its birth. No doubt a spring rain would fall during the day. At least that might delay Mother's journey if the whim takes her to leave immediately, Myrhil thought. Despite what she had said earlier, a large part of her did not want to see Laenilas leave.
She walked over to the two fresh graves, the dirt bearing a mottled pattern of dampness, and gazed at them silently for several long moments. The rectangular mounds oddly looked like sleeping sentries. They would become common sights, just as a quiet kitchen would soon be a common sound. Common, but not comfortable. Or welcome, for that matter.
Her eyes turned from the earthen beds and rested on the barn. The sliding wooden doors were opened a crack to allow fresh air to force out the musty smells of winter's hibernation. She approached the door at a slow shuffle, her toes kicking the damp dust onto the backs of her heels. All of her movements felt slow, cautious even, as though she was a stranger wandering about someplace newly discovered. She could not help but feel like she was seeing everything about her for the first time.
She was startled when, as she rounded the door, a figure emerged suddenly from within. Her throat emitted a choked gasp of surprise, in turn making the other person jump.
"Lass, why are you skulking about?" Cirien said when he had realized who the intruder was. Remembering her new station, he hastily added, "Sorry to scare you, milady." He stumbled over this last word, unsure if it was the correct one to use.
Myrhil looked at him strangely when that new word left his lips, then she nodded sadly. "Forgiven, Cirien," she said, making to walk past him into the barn. "But please call me lass or something. Just not. . .that. Promise me you will."
"If you wish it," he murmured, eyes on her back as she stepped into the barn. "Lass," he called out, "you only have half your clothes on. Did you know that?"
Myrhil paused and looked down at her clothing. She wore a loose woolen shirt, but only had thin underbreeches on her bottom half. "Yes, I realize it now, Cirien," she said listlessly.
"Are you feeling yourself?" he asked, following her into the barn and taking her by the arm. "You are acting. . .lost."
Myrhil turned in his grasp, her eyes not meeting his, but instead seeking out the shadowed features of the darkened interior. She saw the ladder into the loft where she and Belaród had retreated several times. On the walls hung the harnesses and leather tack, soaped and oiled to a supple softness. The barred stall doors, lining a center aisle, contained the remainder of her inheritance that happily chewed its fodder.
"I am lost," she replied, her eyes going from object to object. "I know that things must be done, but I do not know what to do or how to start." Her gaze rested on his familiar gaunt and weathered features as he looked at her curiously. He had been a constant here for many years and, in this moment, she wanted to be assured that he would remain for many more. She swallowed and dragged an arm across her nose as it threatened to run. "Cirien, promise you will never leave me!"
"I will try, lass," he said softly.
His reply seemed enough to reassure her of his faithfulness, for she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder. Cirien concealed his surprise poorly and stiffened at her sudden move. Hesitantly, he snugged his arms around her in a firm embrace. "I will never leave," he affirmed. "As long as you want me to stay, here I be."
She drew away from him reluctantly, the warmth and comfort of his presence striking her for the first time. In a way, it seemed as though her father was again before her, but she would not let herself be deluded that Gorhend had returned in another form, however much she wanted to believe in such a thing.
"Is there aught you wish me to do before I start in on breakfast?" he asked, taking her hands and clasping them tightly. He craned his neck to the side, trying to catch her attention, but Myrhil's head and gaze were cast downwards. "Anything you want me to do, just give the order. Remember, lass, 'tis all yours now."
Her shoulders slumped at his words. Yes, all hers. But all of what? Tattered remnants of a once-thriving business, now operated by a paltry band of three. She felt so defeated, so unable to pick up her pack and soldier on, as her father would have done -- and had done -- without complaint.
"Go and eat," she told him, squeezing his fingers and managing a smile. "Tell Mother I am out here, will you? She does not know that I left."
He nodded and took his leave of her, exiting the barn and walking towards the house. Myrhil watched him go, then returned to her contemplation of the barn. Her eyes again lingered on the tack and equipment that were now hers to use. Would she finally be able to break the horses she had so longed to master? She did not think that Cirien would stop her from doing such things. He had always been very kind to her, though perhaps a little awkward in the past several months, ever since he had felt the swift and capricious winds between her father and herself. She had before believed that he simply distanced himself from those who antagonized Gorhend. But his kindness of only moments earlier told her that he was a true man who had been loyal to the father and was transferring that loyalty to the daughter. He would be a better master than I a mistress, she thought. He knows where his duty lies, while I ponder and doubt.
A door to her right led into the herdsmen's quarters and, when she opened it, she coughed on the musty dust that filled the air. Hay was housed overhead in the loft and it persistently sifted through the cracks in the floor onto those living below. She had rarely entered this exclusive domain of men, but now she walked inside and stood in the middle of the room, scanning the empty bunks and pallets. Some were still a tangled mess of blankets or made up neatly, depending on the inclination of their inhabitant. Tin cups and plates lay scattered about in comfortable disarray. A half-oiled bridle lay on the floor next to one pallet where one of the men had left it with every intention of finishing the task upon his return.
Her eye rested on Belaród's saddle bag, flung over a short stool next to another pallet. She had always admired it and he had often told her the story of how he had found it next to the half-eaten corpses of a steed and rider on the far southern plains of Gondor, near the sea. It was edged in silver and had silver clasps on the supple leather flaps. She had once laughingly accused him of stealing it, but he hotly defended himself, claiming that if he had not taken it, then a wild animal or an undeserving swine would have. He had naught else of value and he took great pride in owning such a rich piece of workmanship and obvious wealth. But he would not sell it, even when his purse had run dry. He would not even use it, but instead kept it in the best and untouched condition he could.
She had just knelt down beside it and taken the wide strap in her hand when the sound of boots approached. Quickly she got to her feet. When she turned, Boromir stood in the doorway, watching her silently.
"I am sorry to intrude," she found herself saying. "These are your quarters now, I understand?"
He nodded. "For one more night, at most," he answered. "But they belong to you, so you should come and go as you wish."
Myrhil looked down at the saddlebag in her hands and said, "I came to get. . ." Her voice trailed off faintly. She shook her head, as if tossing off some foolish thought. "I do not know why I came," she replied honestly. "Everything that meets my eyes, that once would have not stirred so much as a twinge, now seems like a knife wound." She held up the saddle bag as though it offered an explanation. "Belaród's," she informed him. "'Tis strange to have a whole day pass and not see his face or--" Her voice caught, but she swallowed and finished, "--hear his voice."
Boromir advanced into the room. He had been surprised to find her in the men's quarters, then noticed her state of dress. Wordlessly, he walked over one of the beds and grabbed a blanket. Eyes averted, he returned and held out the blanket. "You have forgotten something this morning," he said.
Myrhil looked down and smiled ruefully. "Cirien may have pointed that out to me," she said, taking the dusty woolen covering after she draped the saddle bag over her shoulder. Swathing it about her and tucking it at her waist, she added, "I am not myself this morning. Forgive me. I have had much on my mind."
"Understandably so," he said.
"I am undecided as to what I should do. I hear that Mother will be leaving with you for the White City?" Try as she might, she could not prevent an edge from creeping into her words.
Boromir detected it as well. "You are angry?" he asked.
"No," she replied quickly. Realizing her tone had been hasty, she paused and added, "I simply wonder why she feels the need to leave so suddenly."
"She wishes for safe passage and I can provide that for her," he said. "At least, to the best of my ability."
"And the safety of those she leaves behind?" Myrhil asked. She did not pause for an answer, for she closed her eyes and sighed. "I am afraid that I am being selfish. Perhaps I only wish that I could be part of her journey as well."
Boromir was silent for several moments, his eyes fixed on the floor as he pondered her words. "How many men would you need to handle all the work that needs to be done?"
Myrhil shrugged. "We will need more horses to replenish our stock, more mares. I have a greater need for them than men at the moment."
"One thing at a time," he said, scratching his forehead. "How many men?"
"I would say five, at least. Seven when we have a full herd again. It's been so long since we had enough men."
"I will find the men for you," he told her. "There are many soldiers who are unable to weather another battle. Wounds that have made it impossible to endure the hardships of battle, but who are brave and want to be of service. They can be of service to me by aiding the kin of one of Gondor's finest soldiers and acting as an outpost."
"You would do that?" she asked incredulously, realizing the depth of love her father had inspired in his commander. "You are most generous." She bowed her head, hand to her chest. "Thank you."
Boromir accepted her gesture with a brief nod. "'Tis no more than what your father deserves. An honor, indeed, to continue his legacy."
Myrhil nodded and looked away. "Continuing. . . It requires strength and will," she said. "I fear that what seemed so easy to say and feel yesterday is a bit harder in coming today." She raised a hand to her shoulder and rested it on the worn leather of the saddle bag strap. "The pains I feel in my shoulder, my face . . .all over, really. . . have lessened and finding something to turn my mind from them is no longer so necessary. Yesterday I needed to break through the pain and bravely told myself that taking my father's place would not be difficult. I had to defeat the pounding within me. Now," her fingers stroked the soft hide, "there is little pain to fight. My body aches less and my mind has discovered that physical pain is a weaker enemy than the one that aims for the heart." She held up the saddle bag and gestured to the room around her. "All I see reminds me of what once was before the night everyone died."
Silence ensued and Boromir waited, expecting her to continue. When she said no more, he asked, "If it is your wish to accompany your mother to Minas Tirith, then I will not object. Within two weeks, there will be another group of men here to assist in returning your father's business to its former glory. You simply need to hand the reins, so to speak, to Cirien and all shall be in order."
"He is a capable man," Myrhil said. "I would rely on him heavily, should I stay or not." She paused as she moved past him. Reaching out a hand, she rested it on his arm and said, "I do not know exactly what type of man my father was to inspire such kindness, but my gratitude is boundless." Smiling faintly, she left the room and continued onwards to the house. She had much to think on and hoped that whatever decision she made would be of sense.
The hours passed and Myrhil still had not made a firm choice. She saddled her mare and retreated to the plains, stopping beside a calm pool of the Gilrain for some peace. Throughout the morning, Laenilas had been gathering her most prized possessions, at least those that could be carried on the back of a horse, and her hurried instructions to Cardhel and the minor chaos roiling in the house forced Myrhil to seek refuge elsewhere to sort out her thoughts. Before leaving, she briefly spoke with Cirien about Boromir's offer to send some ex-soldiers to work for them and he greeted the news with a pleased smile. Yet his brow remained furrowed when he saw her watch Laenilas' movements with an expression of longing and he quietly asked her, "You be thinking of joining your mother on her journey?"
Myrhil found it distasteful to lie to the herdsman and replied, "Such thoughts have lingered on my mind, though I do not know if I should ignore them or pay them heed." As an afterthought, she added, "I do not deny that I envy her greatly. I have known nothing other than the land here. I have heard that there is so much else to be seen, Cirien. So much."
"Aye, there is," Cirien told her. "There are dangers and pleasures, seas and mountains, cities and wilderness. And that is merely in Gondor. Imagine what else lies out there! Creatures and folk that defy description or lived in the tales of old."
"Say no more!" Myrhil exclaimed, managing a laugh, although his words struck her heart more than she would admit. "The urge to see them grows with every word you say."
Cirien fell silent and helped Myrhil into the saddle. She gathered up the reins and set off with a promise to return soon. Cirien watched her amble away with a wistful smile, knowing that he would not see her for much longer.
So it came as no surprise to the weathered old herdsman when Myrhil returned an hour before dusk and, after getting her mare settled for the evening, retreated to her room. Soon the sounds of objects being moved around rattled out into the main room where the others ate. Within thirty minutes, she joined them, her face cleared of the doubt that had clouded it these two days past. No one said a word, although Cirien and Cardhel exchanged an anxious look. The next two weeks would now be a test of their strength.