Peace, calm, stillness. Three words that had been removed from Isulril's vocabulary for the past month at the very least. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of activity for her. She had seen so many changes that it had been difficult to keep up. Life was changing, and she was changing too.
The feeling of wishing to run had come to a crescendo for the woman. She had considered leaving everything, leaving Bree altogether, returning to Gondor as a disgrace. The disgrace that she knew in her heart that she was. But she had remained.
And the past few days had made things better for her, so she thought. She had kept herself to herself, and maintained her work. She rarely went to the inn, rarely saw anyone else, rarely saw that particular man. If she did, it had been in passing, and that was all that she needed.
The lack of interaction had become a balm to her. She thought about how calming it was to not have people around her who sat on her nerves, who frayed them by their very presence. The lack was a benefit, an addition.
She enjoyed this, adored it. Didn't she, at the very least? The solitude was much needed.
She found herself checking the post at the Prancing Pony. She received very little mail there, very few missives. But today, there was one, written in an elegant hand that she recognized.
Dearest Isulril,
I am not sure if you remember me from those halcyon days past, but I well remember you. I remember your hair, the way it smelled of jasmine and a hint of something else that was simply yourself. I remember your lips, plump as strawberries and ripe for kissing. I remember your eyes, blue and icy, yet with the depths of the ocean in them. I could go on, but I know you know what I mean. Allow me to get to the point of this missive.
I will soon be visiting Bree on business. Indeed, as I write you, I am beginning to pack for the journey. I remember that our mutual friend passed from these lands and to the ether. It has been nearly two years. Can you believe it? I cannot help, however, to think he left you poorly. It was badly done on his part, whatever cause you to leave in the first place.
I should like to right certain wrongs. I hope that you will accept me when I arrive, as your friend, but no longer as your patron. I hope, if you will come to think of me as such, to become your husband. I know I am rather older than you, but I have retired from my rank, and I can make you more than comfortable. I hope you will but give me a chance, Isulril.
Devoutly,
Hathostaran
Isulril clutched the letter as though clutching it for dear life. Her eyes immediately filled with tears. This would be her out, her way out of this poor town. Her way away from the society into which she had become ever so entrenched. She bit her lip. Her calm was shattered. Did she really wish for this, now that it was offered her?
