Isulril stood in her near-empty home, staring into the fire in the grate. The furniture had been covered in white sheets, and dusty. But there was not much of it. The home had not been used in some time, when she had arrived several months ago.
She thought about Handrynhad, who had spent part of his life in Bree-land, though much of it in Gondor. He was a minor noble, who had his hand in trade more than politics. He bred hounds, and made much gold off the selling of them.
She remembered first arriving at his rather large estate outside of Dol Amroth proper. She remembered the way his favorite hound, Grimhilde, used to sniff her and beg to be petted when she would arrive. She remembered also Handrynhad's costly robes, the way he fondly smiled at her when she came to visit him, the heady scent of his beard when he drew her in for a kiss.
She had not cried since her arrival to Bree-town. She had not shed a single tear. But tonight, as she sat in her chair--formerly his chair--she wept bitterly. She buried her face in her hands, and she thought not only of the one who called her such sweet names, but also of her current situation.
She was alone in the world, but for one friend. She had arrived to Bree-town two months ago, and while she had been nearly everyone's friend in Dol Amroth, she had but one she could speak of, and she was not sure she could indeed call him friend, for the nature of their relationship was strange.
She had slighted or offended nearly everyone in the Prancing Pony, especially the Men. She recalled how brutally she had seemed to have offended the one Man in the inn, causing his interlocutor to depart with apparent haste.
She thought again of her peculiar friend, but even then, she had run him off once or twice with one of her moods.
There has got to be a better way, she thought to herself. Did she miss Handrynhad after his passing? It was hard to say. It had been some time since they had seen each other, and yet she remembered when she received the letter telling her of his passing and of his wish to give her his small estate in Bree-land.
It was just what she had needed, she had thought at the time. A way out, and a way to a place where her infamy was less than nothing. Where she was unknown.
And yet, here she was, already known to most as the Ice Maiden of Gondor. A pity, perhaps, but some things never changed. She supposed she would always be notorious in some circles, though in a different way from previous times.
Isulril wiped the tears from her eyes with her shawl. Valar, it was cold, even in front of this fireplace. Friends were difficult to come by, but friends she would make. She was certain of it.
