Saelud leans back in the chair, his mouth twisted in a deep frown as his trimmed stubble itches and pokes at his chin. The man's hand swirls a bit of rye around the edges of the glass he holds as his eyes stare at the fire crackling and popping in front of him, bits a pitch from the wood causing small sparks as they snapped and then faded.

Egfor silently watched the man talk. He admired his noble appearance, in constrast to his own rugged wildness. He felt like a crude peasant beside a king.

Days were shorter. Nights were longer. The air was colder, and Bree had just begun to feel the first chills of winter. Things were bleak outside, and though the frost had begun to fall, this time it seemed to stay away from both hope and his heart. 

"I feel... Good.. Better than I have in a long time." She thinks on the ride out of the valley of Rivendell. Bearing the ring Astamo gave her the freedom to think, without anxiety, without the irrational fears that had once controlled her. Only one two other things had ever achieved that, Gaelrind and Nethrida.

Again. It happened again.

I am always wrong. I know better than to trust my hesrt. Fickle are the hearts of men, and even more fickle are those who offer promises. I wish I could bring myself to love women, I get along fine with more women.

I knew better than to trust this man with my heart. I knew better...

There he was again. That fair and tall man. He felt the distance between them close, beards brushing against each other as their lips collide.

Who are you? Why do you haunt my dreams?

The mysterious man smiled, pulling Glandaron closer. He spoke no words, but there was so much written in his eyes, unspoken and not needing to be spoken. Whoever this man was, he lit Glandaron on fire, his heart and body burning up.