Eacanwyn, or Jenn as she had become known in Bree-land, sat in one of the many upper chambers within her manor house. She did so most days for it was rare now that she had time to go to town and socialise. She missed that, amongst other things, but she would be the first to admit that her life here was more than comfortable.
As the reluctant heiress to an estate in Rohan, and the wife of Siward, she was a very rich woman. For all that she was not in her homelands, still her surroundings told the tale of who she had become: a far cry from who she had been only a few short years before. Her story was one of rags to riches, and riches she certainly possessed in abundance. From the thick soft carpets that covered the floors to the highly polished and beautifuly carved wooden panels along the walls, the private quarters of her home spoke of money. She had never been one for it, though. Gold had only ever been a way of keeping score for her, the silk dresses she wore these days were merely to promote an idea.
She drummed her fine fingers against the arm of her intricately carved chair in an idle fashion. It did not matter how much wealth one might have, how comfortable ones life was, it was still amazingly boring! Leaning her elbow against the chair arm and her chin in her hand, she sighed as she turned her sea-green eyes toward the large window. Even the village in which she lived was painfuly dull. At one time it had been vibrant and alive, full of opportunity and thrills. Now, though, it had become stagnant, stale, silent and devoid of anything that she could consider as fun.
A happy gurgle interrupted her thoughts, snapping her back to the present. She lowered her chin, a bright smile stretching across her plump cherry lips as she turned her attention to the child. Leofric, a blonde, tousel-haired boy of just over a year old, sat upon the plush rug at the foot of her chair playing with a set of wooden blocks. The light of her life and the only thing in the world that she valued as much as her husband, her son was the sole reason she stayed within the confines of the manor house.
Rising from her chair with an accompanying swish from her silken dress, in her favoured hue of soft blue, she stooped to sweep the boy up into her arms. He grinned as his blue-green eyes met hers, shining brightly with unconditional love and the light of innocence. His little pudgy face creased with laughter as she spun him around, dancing with slow light steps from one side of the room to the other and back, her light clear voice lifted in a song for her beautiful boy.
A shout from below caused her to halt in her movements, a frown descending upon her smooth brow. She held her breath for a long moment just in case she had been hearing things, but the yell came again. It was a womans voice, a familiar one at that, calling her name. It sounded frantic, urgent and impatient.
Only a moment later, a knock sounded at her chamber door. She had no time to reply before the thick oak swung inward to reveal an apologetic Mhelindra.
"Apologies, my lady," the gentle maid spoke with a quick bob. "It would seem that you have a visitor, although I heard no knock. Shall I turn her away?"
Jenn shook her head, walking swiftly over to deposit Leofric in the maids waiting arms. "No, I shall see her. Keep him up here, please."
Without awaiting a reply, knowing all too well that Mhelinda would do as she was bid, Jenn strode out of the room, along the wide corridor and down the stairs, her fingertips trailing along the all too familiar carvings. Pausing only a moment to run her fingers through her thick shock of auburn hair, she strode out into the main hall.
Sure enough, there was Ystcild, as tall and gangly as ever. The copper-maned woman, so reminiscent of her pet hawk in her sharply defined features was, as ever, unkempt and clothed in a travel stained leather hauberk. Her piercing blue eyes, so like her brothers, shone with unshed tears, anger and sorrow, her thin lips quivering in an effort not to cry. Jenn's practised study took all that in within an instant, but that was not what held her gaze. She did not question the state of her sister-in-law, for the answer was laid out on the polished mahogany map table.
Without word, Jenn ran across the intervening space. She reached out her hand, hesitant to touch that which lay before her, knowing that if she did so it would be a reality instead of just a terrible dream. Almost against her will, her hand continued to move until at last her fingertips touched one pale cheek.
His brillant blue eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful, just as he did when he slept, but his skin was so cold. It felt waxen, like someone had sculpted a giant candle in his image and, for a moment only, she allowed herself to believe that this was not him, that it was nothing more than a cruel joke enacted by a talented artist.
Jenn had always been good at fooling others, but never had she succeeded in fooling herself. She knew, without having to check further, that the life had fled from the huge man. Her husband, her beloved Siward, was dead.
Dumbly, she looked up to Ystcild for answers.
"I found him this way," the woman told her in their native tongue of Rohirric.
Jenn nodded slowly, her eyes turning back to his unmoving form. Her legs buckled causing her to stumble forward and almost fall over onto him as realization hit her. Never again would he lie next to her in their bed, his sleeping presence so comforting in the dark hours when some of her most terrible memories would come back to haunt her. Never again would he look at her, his sapphire eyes speaking a devotion that he could not put into words. Never again would his heavily muscled arms wrap themselves around her slender frame. Never again would his hot breath tickle her ear as he whispered his intent toward her, nor his lips form that smile that had always set her heart racing.
It all seemed so trivial now, all the arguments they had engaged in over her hatred for his drinking, or him spending so much time away from home. He would never come home again.
Her vision blurred as the tears spilled hot and fast, soaking into the black material of his robe. She wrapped her arms around him, her frame shaking with sobs even as the heartbroken wail spilled forth from her throat, echoing back and forth across the hall as if to taunt her in her anguish. He was gone. Gone. The love of her life lost to her.
She felt gentle hands upon her shoulders and tried to shrug them off, but they were insistant. Pulled away from him, she found herself turned around and fell without further ado into the waiting arms of Ystcild. Unable to support herself she sank to the floor, pulling the taller woman down with her. The pair, who under normal circumstances got on only sporadically, held one another tightly, united in their grief. She could feel Ystcild stroking her hair soothingly, the womans strong heartbeat thuddiing beneath her cheek. She could also feel the droplets of moisture that coursed forth from Siward's sister to soak into her clothing, but none of these things mattered in the least to her.
Eventually, when both women had pulled themselves together, Jenn raised her head. Her eyes sparkled with the vestiges of her outpouring, but beyond that lay a cold and terrible malice. It was rare that she allowed anyone to see what lurked behind the friendly and playful persona she projected in public. Siward had known the truth of her, but Ystcild did not. Now, though, Jenn made no effort to hide it. Her voice, when she spoke, lacked its usual sweet air, instead coloured by both her inner agony and natural malevolence.
"Find who did this."
