Glancing at Linta, Tornimrad patted her desk, inviting the bird to hop through her window and onto it, the motion of the goshawk scattering a few papers. She looked slightly battered, as if she had met another foe, but the tube with the correspondence seemed intact.
She drew the letters coiled up tightly from inside and stroked the lacy feathers of the bird’s chest.
“I am almost afraid to read these,” she said to no one in particular, as she watched the goshawk leap to the sky from the windowsills, her wings beating skywards with ease, as she headed to the Falconry high atop the seventh level.
Out in the hallway, the cleaners made sure the floors were spotless, their voices interrupting her chain of thoughts for a moment. Wedding plans in Minas Tirith were in high gear and soon all the levels of the city would be overrun with visiting dignitaries and old friends of the bride or groom.
The curled parchments the bird had delivered, looked like they were from both Alairif and Guriwen. The minstrel’s fine hand, honed of jotting musical notes onto parchments to remember later was clear, while the other, more masculine, printed and bold, was easy to see was the Guardian’s. Tornimrad felt relieved, knowing both yet lived when they penned these, she did not realize how worried she was for Alairif.
Picking his letter up she read it, cursing under her breath as he told her about finding Deorla on the road. She shook the letter when they explained him following the assassin into that cave system. Sometimes Alairif reminded her of his father, bold, too trusting, and sometimes foolish. She could easily see this might be something he had inherited from his him, as well. The man was charming, but could easily get himself into trouble. She silently felt a bit sorry for Guriwen. She knew too well how hard it was to love someone intent on swearing oaths that are too difficult to honor. But, after all, he had managed to track down the slippery assassin, so he had partially fulfilled it. She chided herself silently at growing soft in her advancing years.
“They were alone" she reminded herself, whispering. “Easily outmatched by the assassin of Sauron".
Thankful they had warned Maeolwyn, one of the thanes of Rohan, she read Guriwen’s letter carefully and grabbed both to take to Elessar.
The time was high to send the guard after Deorla, she had not stepped down and was still involved with the Company, just running things from afar.
Red and pink flowers festooned every light post, and she walked across the pier to the Hall. Never much one for lovely things Arwen and a massive team of decorators had transformed the stark white edifice, with color and banners hung everywhere. Yet the warm sunlight belied her dark mood as she waked across to the Hall.
.
Elessar looked weary and nodded to her, smiling at having a distraction from wedding plans, as Lady Arwen turned to speak to another, a cook, judging by their huge white hat.
Bowing, as was her habit, the Ranger handed the letters from the pair to him which he read quickly. His pale blue eyes flashed in anger, his frustration easily seen in his furrowed brow. Hissing in anger, he cursed. “She has outmatched them, which is not surprising, really. She has escaped capture easily before."
Bristling, Tornimrad, nodded, knowing he was referring to her and the other Rangers he had taken on that mission long ago. She had been the first to try bringing Deorla to justice but would not be the last.
Clearing his throat, Elessar held up Alairif’s note. “Still no assurances of coming? You knew Alaidan as I, why would he not want to find out the truth? He needs to know."
“Well, my friend, why do we not speak it aloud? Because it is painful, or regretful or too sad to mention?”Her countenance softened, her own heart knowing regret and loss fully well.“He had no one", she added. "How could he not think the worst? As far as I can tell, he grew up alone, till he was old and strong enough to become a mercenary.”
“And Guriwen? They seem like a good pair; does she have a similar story? I know nothing about her; she helped Arwen and I as we traveled through Gondor. She seems kind and helpful, a typical minstrel by her actions."
“She is disarming, and well loved by Hobbit, Dwarf, and Man alike. She is more than just an everyday bard, a well versed singer in her own right, though she too has had her fair share hardships.” Tornimrad was loathe to describe the pretty bard and shifted uncomfortably before pronouncing her next words. “They are a good match, if she could only get him to cease his silly oaths… Oaths he cannot complete entirely,I might add.”
“Then I am going to bid they come. It is high time I told them what happened, and the wedding is a perfectly good occasion to send for them.All my emissaries will receive invitations. She has been sent one already." He turned, taking a piece of parchment, and began writing upon another invitation from a stack left there seemingly for this purpose. .
To Alairif Nordhcoll,
You are hereby requested to attend the wedding in Minas Tirith on Midsummer's Day.
I know Lady Guriwen will be attending, and you are expected as well.
Elessar Teclontar
High King
Waving it to dry the ink, he folded it carefully and added his seal. “I expect the both of them, make certain he understands.” His blue eyes flashed as he gave her the note.
“As you bid, Thorongil,” she says softly.
Chuckling, Elessar called out to her back as she was leaving. “Yes, he needs that whole story. Turning he said softly to a guard standing at his right hand. "I need an emissary for Rohan, a message to take to Eomer.”
