Minas Tirith

The house stood nested deep within the winding alleyways of the Soldier’s Tier. The late afternoon sun barely shone down in these crooks and crannies of Minas Tirith, leaving Revion’s home in the shadows even during the peak of summer. Luthion recalled this part of the city with fondness, spending many days of his youth in play here, bereft of worry or concern.  

She knew nothing of suffering. She was excessively rich, for a woman of Bree. She dressed too lavishly. She relied too much on her moods and was bad at hiding them. She should live on the streets with the working women, selling herself for coin.

All of these thoughts came to her in the days following the events of the previous days. They were not originally her own thoughts, but rather, things that had been said to and of her over the past week, and even before that. Flashes of what had happened over those days came to her, and she clenched the fist of her uninjured hand.

It had been another evening in the company of the physician, after her work in the garden. She had found it difficult to extract from herself her reasons for staying, long after her work had finished. It was becoming something of a companionable habit for her. She felt some guilt on the matter, and had told him so, but she could not express why, to him, or even to herself.

A smile crept over the woman's features as she examined the interior of the property. She stood beside a much older Bree-man, in an older farmhouse. The man had suggested a reasonable sum for the property. Indeed, she thought to herself, this place was perhaps too reasonable to be true. 

Eduwiges of Faldham hurried through the glistening courtyards up on the Sages Tier of Minas Tirith. Intent on her mission, the beauty of the fountains and courtyards passed her by as she approached the steps to the Houses of Lore. Eduwiges smelled of sweat and horses. Oenone had not let her down. The horse of the Riddermark lived up to her breeding and the travel time to the city was short.