Eacanwyn lay upon the flagstones of the great hall, her cheek pressed to the cold slate. Desperatly, vainly, she tried to crawl forwards but found that she could not. Her strength was leeching away as swiftly as her life fluid. It puddled around her, running in rivulets between the small dips in the flooring, but she did not see that. Her wide green eyes registered only the doorway to the antechamber, so far away from where she now was.
The heavy tread of boots sounded from behind her, the noise mingled with the crackle and pop of the flames which licked at the lacquered furnishings and rich tapestries, swiftly spreading out and filling the room with thick grey smoke. She did not care about the advancing man, however. She knew what was to come, knew that it was inevitable, and knew that it mattered little. What mattered, the only thing that mattered now, was getting Leofric out of the building.
"Wait," she heard herself say, the words sounding to her ears as if they came from a great distance. "Leofric.... you have to get Leofric out..."
"I will."
"And the book," her voice sounded again, weaker this time. "The book by his cradle. It is... important..."
The only reply was the sound of steel scraping across stone as the man dragged his sword around in front of him.
Seaver. She had known it would come to this one way or another. Siward's bastard son had betrayed her. She really should have had him killed on the day they first met, but for the sake of her beloved spouse she had tried to give him a home instead. The apple had fallen so very far from the tree between father and son. The weak-willed wretch had not the stomach for doing what must be done, instead letting himself be swayed by a pitiful look from an empty-headed swine.
Siward, now Siward had been merciless and pitiless. Oh, how Eacanwyn had adored the man for that; so strong and driven, brutal and determined. He would have let nothing stand between himself and his vengeance and had never once batted an eyelid at her antics. How ironic that Seaver would worship his father as an example to live up to when the man had, on more than one occasion, even managed to outdo her in creative cruelty.
The air rushed out of her in a breathless laugh as the blade drove home through the centre of her back, pinning her down to the floor. At only twenty-three she was now to die and, as she had always known would be the case, she looked back upon her life and smiled. Every moment had been enjoyable, every day had been worth it. For sixteen years she had done exactly as she had wanted, never allowing rules or regulations to come between her and her goals. For sixteen years she had lied, cheated, betrayed, extorted, stolen, killed and manipulated her way through life and she regretted not a second of it.
She had laughed, cried, loved, lost, feared and hoped. From her humble village beginnings, she had risen to become a rich landowner, a Lady of Rohan and, more importantly, wife to the most extraordinary man she had ever met and mother to his child. Was she as irredeemably evil as Seaver claimed? She did not think so. Some might agree with his estimation if they knew the truth of what she had done, but she cared not for their opinions on the matter. They were cattle blinded by the light of the world, sheep conforming to meaningless expectations on how best to stand and chew at grass.
She dimly felt her slender body jerk as the sword was pulled free of her flesh and watched as Seavers boots passed by at speed, propelling him toward the private quarters of the manor.
"I'm sorry," she mouthed, no sound escaping her throat. "I failed you. Leofric.. I love you. Siward... I'm coming."
As the bright dancing flames turned dark and the searing heat from the spreading fire left her leaden limbs cold, she found that she did have one regret after all: she would never see her son become a man.
