Used to the usual mail from friends, and the occasional one from farther off, Guriwen looked at the letter suspiciously at first. It was clearly written in a hand unknown to her and she imagined it, from the almost childlike appearance of the writing. She set it carefully on the table in the hall of her home in the Cape, putting off whatever the news might be, at least temporarily.
Too much excitement had been filling her life of late, first with he fiasco of Deorla’s silly request and the resultant mess it created for she and Alairif, who were as resolute as ever to be a couple, the appearance of Tornimrad and sadly, the estrangement of some friends who just did not seem to understand the dilemma of being in a kin… Most of all one lead by a follower of Sauron.
She and Alairif left the Company entirely and started their own kin. The last part was satisfying, but often there was little time to spend playing music or chatting with Aureliane or Merry or Ulysior. There were just too many things to do. There were houses to settle and decorate and long talks over their individual visions of what the kin should be, and then also Gael asking for help wrangling her musicians and band practices or performances… It just never stopped.
Hanging in the miasma of plans and portents along with this newly arrived piece from the Dale was the one delivered to Alairif, from the king himself by the tenacious Ranger Tornimrad. Guri had not asked about it because she sensed Alairif was still coming to terms with whatever was held inside, but she had to admit she was curious. Why would King Elessar write to Alairif?
Sighing in exasperation she snatched up the letter addressed to her and turned it over to open it. A piece of simple vellum held what looked like a hastily scrawled letter:
Dear Miss Luthier,
Sorry ta bother you, but I do need to speak to you about a delicate matter, Miss. I found a book in your father’s old shop, and I think you might need to have a wee peek at it. It contains personal information, and I will not be sharing this letter but prefer ta hand it to you. I be guessing you know where to come.
Sincerely,
Stokrit
Guri looked at the note in bewilderment. What book could there possibly be left there? She had been in Bree for so long, it seemed more an error in the dwarf’s judgment. Now without a shop she knew he sold toys from a cart outside, just on the fringe of the marketplace and across the way from the Jolly Bell.
Smiling to herself Guriwen recalled many a day therein the large inn, some listening to the songs of the occasional bard wandering to Dale from either Erebor or Rohan. She had played her first songs there on the stage set in the center of the large two-story building. She wondered if the carpet was still that bright green.
She set the letter back on the table, and promised herself she would speak to Alairif about it. Given all on the couple’s shoulders it might be awhile before they had the time to journey to Dale… It seemed like a lifetime ago. She looked at the letter sadly and her blue eyes filled with tears. It was not the place; it was her father. She missed him. What would father think of Alairif? No doubt he would love him as much as she did, she wondered, while trying not to think about her mother. That was just something she refused to let back in. Defensively she picked up the harp, and turning on her heel was out the door and into the bright sun again. At least the sun and blue sky chased away some demons.
