#derufin

[lesbiansforboromir]

Canonically queer characters within - Lord of the Rings Online

[lotro-quest-objectives]

Talk to Derufin and ask him about the dreadful, ghostly images

[sweetearthandnorthernsky]

'he would not fucking say that' meme but its derufin and duilin

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Dream fanfic idea for my niche little area of interest – a Mounds of Mundburg Collection. That would be a grouping of fics, not necessarily tied to one another narratively, but that each star or heavily feature one of the obscure, doomed men whose deaths are commemorated in the Mounds of Mundburg song that ends The Battle of the Pelennor Fields chapter of ROTK.

The fact that these guys all died in that battle is literally all we know about some of them; for others, we might also have just one or two small details, like the town they came from or the weapon they favored. But they’re essentially blank slates, with nearly infinite room to build your own backstories and fill out their worlds with people who love them or hate them, great things they’ve succeeded or failed at doing, aspirations and hopes that they had planned to pursue after the war, ways that they intersect or don’t with major canon events, etc.

The men in question are Harding, Guthláf (♥️), Dúnhere, Déorwine, Grimbold, Herefara, Herubrand, Horn, Fastred, Hirluin, Forlong, Derufin, and Duilin. I’ve already written quite a bit about Guthláf, both in ficlet and multi-chapter narrative form, and I have Dúnhere and Grimbold in my WIPs, but that still leaves a half dozen Rohirrim and all 4 Gondorians. So I don’t know if it’s something I’d ever get to and finish on my own, or if it would be a fun shared effort to build the collection over time with someone else who happens to love one or more of these little NPCs of Middle Earth. But I like the idea.

[cycas]

Ancestry Makes the Man

For @tolkienocweek day 1: Family, here's a chapter of a long-neglected WIP about a Second Age Numenorean settler who lived in Lond Daer.

*******

I’m an old man now. If the Enemy returns again, as the Elves say he may, one day, I shall not be here to see it. 

I saw him once and did my part, when he came in flame and fury with his hosts even to the western coasts, and that was enough.  

Now I sit under the big oak tree and look out over the shining blue waters, and I am glad that I and the oak tree are still alive under the spring skies.  

But this account is not for me.  I am writing this, my last report, for my distant kinsman, Elrond.  

He writes in his letter, ‘that it would be well for these matters not to be forgotten’.  

How can I answer no?  I shall write my story, and then, he tells me, he will have copies made, and it will be remembered among the immortal Elves, and a copy sent Over Sea to Númenor, to the King’s own archive, and maybe even into the Uttermost West. Such fame, to send word out among those who have never heard of me! I know it’s an old man’s vanity, but I don’t care.  I’ll take my small immortality in words.  It’s better than being dead and forgotten, for I know Death is beginning to come close at my heels now, a hunt with only one ending..

So.  I should speak first of my family, of my ancestors.  Thus, you shall know who I am, and how I came to write this account. 

Ancestry makes the man, so the saying goes. 

My name is Berengar, and I am called a Númenorean, but I have never been to Númenor.  

It was my great-grandfather Derufin who came here to Eriador from Númenor.  

In those days, the word goes, the harbour of Lond Daer was the main settlement on the coast, and Tharbad, which is now a great trading town, was little more than a market-village for the growing timber-trade.  It was timber that first brought Númenor here: timber for buildings and ships, but as the forests fell, meadows spread out where they had been, feeding the great herds of Númenorean cattle and sheep, for Númenor needed more and more leather and wool.   

Nobody was too concerned that the woods already had people living in them.  There was a lot of woodland, in those days.  They used to say that a squirrel could go from Lond Daer all the way through the mountains to the Great River and beyond, without setting foot to the ground. 

To eyes from Númenor, one forest is much like another. My great-grandfather did not, I think, understand why the people who lived in the woodlands along the River Gwathló would not simply move away from the timber-works and the herds, or better still, buy cattle and build herds and timber-yards of their own. 

I am none too sure myself how to explain that choice, even though I have kin on both sides and have lived my life, to some extent, upon the cusp, neither Númenorean, nor a Woodsman. I find myself unable to speak for either side. 

The common way of thinking is that the Men of the Wood had no desire to sail beyond sight of land, or build tall towers, or change the ways of their fathers. 

I hesitate to say they felt no discontent, because can there be any Man of whom that is true? At any rate, their discontent did not lead them to fell trees, or make cities. 

But the Men of the Sea desired all those things and more. 

Further east, in Tharbad, it was different. Númenor brought trade, new knowledge and unknown luxuries, and in Tharbad, there were many who took to the new ways and made the best of them. I’ve kin in Tharbad, and the people there call themselves Númenorean, though there are those who are no more than five feet tall, bald as an egg on top and bearded beside.  In Tharbad, almost all the children learn Navigation, Architecture and Law as matter of course.

But not so in the coastlands around Lond Daer.  

Kinsmen I never knew were among those who raided the Númenorean settlements, stealing sheep, killing cattle.  Sometimes they went so far as to attack the trading ships passing up and down the Gwathló river, and that was a perilous enterprise, for if caught, the attackers risked death or transportation to Númenor or Pelargir or perhaps some still more distant colony. 

There were few who could hope to make their way home again to the western woods after many years of servitude to the Crown estates. Life is long for Numenoreans, and so are the sentences they hand down upon their enemies. And yet the attacks went on, and along the rivers, fort after fort was built, to ward off the men of the woods. 

So the world stood when my great-grandfather came here  from Númenor as a young man: a younger son eager to make his way in the world. He was not himself counted royal, as these things are reckoned in Númenor,  but he was a great-great-great-grandson of Elros Earendilion, via the great king’s youngest son’s youngest daughter. 

Or... so he said.  I believe there are a great many of our kin at home, by now, and it’s a long, long way from Númenor to the mouth of the shadowed river Gwathló. 

I only remember him as an old man, stiff in the back, with a great craggy nose much like my own. But in our family, we say that in his youth he had the height and shining dark hair from the portraits of King Elros Earendilion himself.  He was beardless as one of the king’s line all his life, as I am myself.  

That would be an advantage for a young man even now, and more so then, when there were none too many sons of Númenor on the western shores of Eriador. With this advantage, and, I must admit, a certain lack of scruple, he rose to second-in-command one of the new river-forts, built to ward off the people of the woodlands. 

I remember, even as a very old man, he always dressed very much in the old Númenorean style, with the long wide belt double-wrapped, and he wore his grey hair long and loose, with just a head-band to keep it from tangling. He used to say it made the right impression.  Though, I don’t know if they even wore their hair like that in Armenelos. 

He said they did, but then, he said he was a great-great-great-grandson of Elros Earendilion, and I’ve had my doubts about that, too. 

I cut my hair short, and wear a good woollen hat on top. It’s warmer in the winter, and I can’t imagine anyone hearing my manner of speech and thinking I am from Armenelos, even if I wanted them to. 

Ancestry makes the man, so the saying goes, but thinking of my great-grandfather, I wondered if it was the man that made the ancestry. Or I always did, until I went out to war, and met Elrond...

No matter. I was writing of my great-grandfather, founder of our house.  

So: he had his navy pay and a little investment of some kind from Númenor.  He said it came from a childless kinsman at home in Númenor, who died before I was born.  But I don’t think he ever intended to go home to Númenor, where descendants of Elros are unremarkable, and land and houses expensive.

Wherever he got the money, he invested in shipping; part-shares ships sailing home with cargoes of wood and leather. Small cargo of gems from Eregion, and metal-work from the great and renowned smithies of Khazad-dûm.  

And people, too. It was his duty to deal with those who attacked Númenorean traders, stole Númenorean goods, and deal them justice, even if that justice was none too particular, and carried heavy chains. 

If it had not been him, it would have been another man. Númenorean thralls eat well. Some of them do come home afterwards. But I cannot feel easy in my mind about it. 

He was a hard man. My great-grandfather’s name is remembered among my kinsmen in the wood, and it is not remembered fondly. 

The usual tradition for those not destined for high office was to leave the navy at the age of sixty years. By that time he already had a house in the port of Lond Daer, and another in Tharbad.  In Tharbad, he married Abrainzil, a lady with no great ancestry to boast of for all her Númenorean name, but whose well-established brewery in Tharbad produced ales that were much in demand by the Dwarves, who in those days often paid in gold for goods that pleased them. A prosperous ancestry to be born to.  A thought comes to my mind, which I shall write down here, in this report that will be sent to Numenor.  And that is: A man can choose his path. He cannot choose his ancestors.

[hobbitwrangler]

I got an Ask (wish I could credit them but it was anonymous) about which of my OCs or Name Only characters I’d most want to hang out with, and since you have a wonderful and complex collection of OCs and Name Only folks, I thought that would also be a fun question for you! Any idea which of your people would be your choice to hang with for a day?

*Using all my restraint not to put a thumb on the scales by pre-advocating for my personal favorites!*

Oh yeah, I saw that ask! It was great seeing your thoughts on your ocs/name only characters :)

This was really hard but for name-only characters, I'd have to pick the pair who have been dominating my fic-writing over the past few weeks: Ivriniel and Gamling. Ivriniel would be incredibly fun to hang out with - she'd be full of fun gossip and great advice and Gamling is based on one of my great-uncles anyway, so I know I'm going to have a great time hanging out with him. If I could get them to adopt me for the day, I'd be guaranteed free food, entertaining stories and maybe a tour of wherever we are (Minas Tirith, Edoras, Gamling's back yard, I'm not picky).

As for ocs, I'd have to pick Eirlys (Boromir's partner from this fic), Ejder (her step-brother, who I mentioned here) and Miryeman (her stepmother, who I have unfortunately not talked about much) because, much as I love writing their chaotic dynamics, their entire family would be exhausting to be around. These three are in general more measured than Duinhir, Derufin and Duilin, and they get on really well (once they work through all the stepfamily drama). Eirlys embodies the type of person that I want to grow up to be (independent, reliable, mature and positively contributing to those around her) and like you with Eadlin, I think there's a lot I could learn from her. Ejder is just lovely and deserves more love and downtime than he generally gets in his family. And Miryeman is both a hardass and also a big part of the reason Eirlys eventually turns out as well as she does.

Thank you for this opportunity to ramble about my ocs/name only guys, I'd love to hear what your picks would be!💚

[masterelrond]

E + D... Derufin had not even told Lord Duinhir of us before... oh Egnir :(

[rannadylin]

Very big Grond. Very tiny Hobbit.

Also, Derufin and Duilin have the right idea; we should standardize Mûmakil as a unit of measurement. :-D

[regalfairytaleacademy]

Technical Information

Name: Delphine Mermaid

Japanese: デルフィン・マーメイド(Derufin mamēido)

Quote: "More tough on training. But take time to spare with family."

Age: 16 y.o

Birthday: June 8th

Star Sign: Gemini

Height: 170 cm

Race: Coral Mermaid

Species: Mermaid

Homeland: the Underwater of Serpentine Ocean

Family:

Malik Triton (Father)

Azura Mermaid (Mother)

Dylan Triton (Older twin brother)

Calypso Triton (Older twin brother)

Rex Kingsley Oceane (Uncle)

Diona Maella Mermaid-Oceane (Aunt)

Calian, Dolan, Jay, Twyla, Alcina Oceane (Cousins)

Nicknames / Aliases:

Delphie (by her family and friends)

Perle de corail (by Rook Hunt; means "Coral Pearl" in French)

Del-chan (by Floyd Leech)

Shadow's Queen (by herself for online name)

School Facts and Fun Facts

Dorm: Paw Pflege

Occupation: Student

Sole heiress to the throne of Mermaid

Best Subject: Wild Magic | Study of Magical Relics

Worst Subject: Magiphilosophy

Club: Dragonback Riding Club

Dominant Hand: Right

Favourite Colors: Aquamarine blue, Leaf Green and Cherry Red

Favourite Food: Oden

Least Favorite: Sweet Potatoes

Likes: Her family, games, animes and manga, anime collections, colors, dolls, pretty clothes, chatting on the phone, Shadow Lord from TSL, sword, training, playing with mermaids, travelling, flowers

Dislikes: Seeing her brothers fight, treated as a damsel in distressed, horrors, expose clothes, forced, her long mermaid tails, ignored, nagging, isolation, water pollution, trash, being a lone wolf, worst socialization

Hobbies: Playing video games, training, collecting ornaments, decorating terrariums

Talents: Coral manipulation, swordsmanship, summoning sea creatures, identifying people for 5 second

Etymology

Delphine is a feminine Francophone given name, a form of the Latin Delphina, meaning woman from Delphi. Delphine of Glandèves was a 14th-century nun from Provence.

Her last name "Mermaid" is come from an aquatic creature with the head and upper body of a female human and the tail of a fish in folklore.

Character Inspired

Delphine was inspired by

Teresa (Winx Club series)

Leviathan (Obey Me!)

[whats-in-a-sentence]

We heard of the horns in the hills ringing,

the swords shining in the South-kingdom.

Steeds went striding to the Stoningland

as wind in the morning. War was kindled.

There Théoden fell, Thengling mighty,

to his golden halls and green pastures

in the Northern fields never returning,

high lord of the host. Harding and Guthláf,

Dúnhere and Déorwine, doughty Grimbold,

Herefara and Herubrand, Horn and Fastred,

fought and fell there in a far country:

in the Mounds of Mundburg under mould they lie

with their league-fellows, lords of Gondor.

Neither Hirluin the Fair to the hills by the sea,

nor Forlong the old to the flowering vales

ever, to Arnach, to his own country

returned in triumph; nor the tall bowmen,

Derufin and Duilin, to their dark waters,

meres of Morthond under mountain-shadows.

Death in the morning and at day's ending

lords took and lowly. Long now they sleep

under grass in Gondor by the Great River.

Grey now as tears, gleaming silver,

red then it rolled, roaring water:

foam dyed with blood flamed at sunset;

as beacons mountains burned at evening;

red fell the dew in Rammas Echor.

"The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" - J.R.R. Tolkien

[amazedbydevils]

All the tributes to Bernard Hill make me both extremely sad and extremely happy.

We heard of the horns in the hills ringing,

the swords shining in the South-kingdom.

Steeds went striding to the Stoningland

as wind in the morning. War was kindled.

There Théoden fell, Thengling mighty,

to his golden halls and green pastures

in the Northern fields never returning,

high lord of the host. Harding and Guthláf,

Dúnhere and Déorwine, doughty Grimbold,

Herefara and Herubrand, Horn and Fastred,

fought and fell there in a far country:

in the Mounds of Mundburg under mould they lie

with their league-fellows, lords of Gondor.

Neither Hirluin the Fair to the hills by the sea,

nor Forlong the old to the flowering vales

ever, to Arnach, to his own country

returned in triumph; nor the tall bowmen,

Derufin and Duilin, to their dark waters,

meres of Morthond under mountain-shadows.

Death in the morning and at day's ending

lords took and lowly. Long now they sleep

under grass in Gondor by the Great River.

Grey now as tears, gleaming silver,

red then it rolled, roaring water:

foam dyed with blood flamed at sunset;

as beacons mountains burned at evening;

red fell the dew in Rammas Echor.

-From The Battle of the Pelennor Fields, Chapter VI of The Return of the King

And no more despair.

REST IN PEACE BERNARD HILL (1944–2024)

[emvidal]

PRINCE IMRAHIL ARRIVES AT MINAS TIRITH

"And so the companies came and were hailed and cheered and passed through the Gate, men of the Outlands marching to defend the City of Gondor in a dark hour; but always too few, always less than hope looked for or need asked. The men of Ringló Vale behind the son of their lord, Dervorin striding on foot: three hundreds. From the uplands of Morthond, the great Blackroot Vale, tall Duinhir with his sons, Duilin and Derufin, and five hundred bowmen. From the Anfalas, the Langstrand far away, a long line of men of many sorts, hunters and herdsmen and men of little villages, scantily equipped save for the household of Golasgil their lord. From Lamedon, a few grim hillmen without a captain. Fisher-folk of the Ethir, some hundred or more spared from the ships. Hirluin the Fair of the Green Hills from Pinnath Gelin with three hundreds of gallant green-clad men. And last and proudest, Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, kinsman of the Lord, with gilded banners bearing his token of the Ship and the Silver Swan, and a company of knights in full harness riding grey horses; and behind them seven hundreds of men at arms, tall as lords, grey-eyed, dark-haired, singing as they came."

~~ The Return of the King, Minas Tirith

Art by AbePapakhian

[sweetearthandnorthernsky]

for the writing prompt thingy! 13. — pyre

Listen, there wasn't a way to make this one not mean okay, it's the nature of the word pyre & my brain lmao

The sky is dark and filled with stars and the torch crackles in your hand as you hesitate. 

This feels wrong, you think, on the very basest level.

Your people do not burn your bodies. 

It had happened though, during the plague, when the bodies piled up and created more problems for the living themselves. 

And you know there are too many bodies now to give them each the individual rites you know they deserve.

The lords – Derufin and Duilin, Hirluin, Forlong – and those of high rank will be preserved carefully, but it’s not possible to do that for each of the hundreds of Gondor’s soldiers that had fallen. 

(You hope, desperately, that your brothers are not among them.)

The acrid smoke of the torch swirls and you swallow more smoke than you’d like to. 

You take a breath, and exhale.

You lower the torch into the largest of the many pyres that dot the fields, tossing it within. 

A few moments pass as the fire hisses and crackles, jumping from log to log before blazing incredibly bright.  

The other pyres light in response, and the stars are obscured with smoke that stings your lungs and burns your eyes.

[mirielvairenen]

It's Battle of the Pelennor Fields Day, and I'm just Shook by the Rohirric poem describing the battle (it's a long one, so strap in):

We heard of the horns in the hills ringing, the swords shining in the South-kingdom. Steeds went striding to the Stoningland as wind in the morning. War was kindled. There Théoden fell, Thengling mighty, to his golden halls and green pastures in the Northern fields never returning, high lord of the host. Harding and Guthláf, Dúnhere and Déorwine, doughty Grimbold, Herefara and Herubrand, Horn and Fastred, fought and fell there in a far country: in the Mounds of Mundburg under mould they lie with their league-fellows, lords of Gondor. Neither Hirluin the Fair to the hills by the sea, nor Forlong the old to the flowering vales ever, to Arnach, to his own country returned in triumph; nor the tall bowmen, Derufin and Duilin, to their dark waters, meres of Morthond under mountain-shadows. Death in the morning and at day's ending lords took and lowly. Long now they sleep under grass in Gondor by the Great River. Grey now as tears, gleaming silver, red then it rolled, roaring water: foam dyed with blood flamed at sunset; as beacons mountains burned at evening; red fell the dew in Rammas Echor.

If you've read any early medieval battle laments, especially Anglo-Saxon or Welsh, you know this poetry. The alliteration alone is incredible! And you name the lords who died, with a short description of their life or home or death, and you weep for all the slain. When I first read LOTR, I skipped these poems because I just wanted the story, but now! Tolkien didn't have to go this hard, but he did!

[lilachobbit]

I made it to 251 before deciding I’ve soent too long on this

Frodo

Sam

Merry

Pippin

Aragorn

Boromir

Legolas

Gimli

Gandalf

Bilbo

Thorin

Fili

Kili

Bifur

Bofur

Bombur

Balin

Dwalin

Oin

Gloin

Nori

Ori

Dori

Dis

Frerin

Thrain II

Thror

Beorn

Bard

Elrond

Celebrian

Arwen

Elladan

Elrohir

Elros

Erestor

Glorfindel

Lindir

Thranduil

Oropher

Celeborn

Galadhil

Galadhon

Galadriel

Finarfin

Earwen

Finrod

Amarie

Angrod

Aegnor

Eldalote

Orodreth

Finduilas (F.A elf)

Finduilas (T.A mortal)

Túrin

Nienor

Morwen

Húrin

Tuor

Huor

Eärendil

Elwing

Idril

Maeglin

Turgon

Aredhel

Ecthelion (one Gondolin)

Duilin (of Gondolin)

Duilin (of Gondor)

Derufin

Egalmoth

Rog

Penlod

Salgant

Galdor

Gildor

Fingon

Argon

Gil-Galad

Fingolfin

Anaire

Elenwe

Fëanor

Míriel

Finwë

Indis

Nerdanel

Maedhros

Maglor

Celegorm

Caranthir

Curufin

Amrod

Amras

Huan

Celebrimbor

Mahtan

Thingol

Melian

Lúthien

Daeron

Beren

Edrahil

Barahir

Beleg

Mablung

Nellas

Saeros

Mim

Elured

Elurin

Dior

Nimloth

Rumil (of Tirion)

Haldir

Orophin

Rumil (of Lothlorien)

Saruman

Radagast

Alatar

Pallando

Tilion

Arien

Sauron

Eonwe

Uinen

Ilmarë

Ossë

Tevildo

Thuringwethil

Drauglin

Carcharoth

Gothmog (balrog)

Gothmog (orc)

Lurtz (Uruk-hai)

Manwë

Varda

Ulmo

Yavanna

Oromë

Aulë

Nienna

Mandos

Vairë

Este

Irmo

Vana

Tulkas

Nessa

Melkor

Ungoliant

Shelob

Shagrat

The Witch King

The Mouth of Sauron

Langon

Sangahyando

Castamir

Durin I

Durin II

Durin III

Durin IV

Thrain I

Narvi

Telimektar

Azaghal

Earnur

Beregond

Faramir

Denethor I

Denethor II

Denethor (elf)

Ecthelion (of Gondor)

Elros

Valandil

Isildur

Elendil

Anarion

Eldarion

Imrahil

Amroth

Nimrodel

Olwe

Theoden

Eowyn

Eomer

Eorl

Hama

Gamling

Shadowfax

Nahar

Gurthang (this totally counts)

Gwaihir

Thorondor

Tom

Bert

William

Bill the Pony

Asfaloth

Grimbeorn

Nain

Dain

Azog

Bolg

Smaug

Ancalagon

Scatha

Glaurung

Treebeard

Quickbeam

Tom Bombadil

Goldberry

Old Man Willow

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins

Belladonna Took

Drogo Baggins

Farmer Maggot

Rosie Cotton

Elanor Gardner

Old Gaffer

Barliman Butterbur

Gollum

Deagol

Círdan

Bergil

Bain

Narvi

Ulfang

Uldor

Haleth (Haladin)

Haleth (Rohan)

Andreth

Eöl

King of the Dead

Romendacil

Arathorn

Theodred

Lalaith

Fredegar Bolger

Diamond Took

Paladin Took

Bungo Baggins

Bullroarer Took

Grima Wormtongue

Ar-Pharazon

Tar-Miriel

Halbarad

Iluvatar

Galion

Elmo

Faramir Took

Bonus internet points will be awarded to anyone who actually tries this exercise before voting.

Assume you need to get the spelling at least somewhat close, and if a character has multiple names, only one counts. Also, if a character doesn't have a canonical name, I'm sorry, but "that guy's wife" doesn't count.

For reference, if you can name the 9 members of the Fellowship, the eponymous Hobbit and his 13 dwarf buddies, 3 prominent women, and the guy who runs the Rivendell B&B, that's 27 characters right there. And you probably also know the name of a dragon.

For further reference, Tolkien Gateway has 637 (!!) pages dedicated to Third Age characters. (Don't click that link until you've voted, of course)

Edit: Your humble pollmaker gave this a try, and got as far as 73 before deciding she was too tired to keep trying to remember dwarf and Silm names. If you also want to share (and don't mind people being incredulous at your having forgot ____), pastebin allows you to paste text and share it for free. :)

[hobbitwrangler]

BOROMIR/OC PLEASE!!!

For the WIP Game. And yes, I did run here as fast as I could. 😂

Your enthusiasm is very much appreciated!! (sorry for taking so long to reply it's been a hectic few days)

(also tagging @emyn-arnens who expressed interest in this fic!)

This fic focuses on how Eirlys and Boromir end up together, starting with Eirlys returning to Minas Tirith after a long absence to look into some concerns her older brother has about their stepmother's loyalties. The stress around this ends up pushing her toward Boromir, who she has known since childhood but fallen out of touch with. Because there's nothing like your family making you want to chew off your own fist to drive you to renew old acquaintances. So far we're looking at 1/3 romance, 1/3 blended family drama, 1/3 political meddling.

“I'm not doing this because I agree with Duilin,” Eirlys sighed. “I’m doing this to escape Father.” Derufin rolled his eyes, leaning back against Daeroc’s flank. “If you want to get out so badly, why not just get married?” “Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” Eirlys exclaimed, flinging her arms up in a false moment of realisation. “I’ll just get married! I’ll just grab some random man off the street and my problems will be instantly solved! Do you realise how stupid that is? I’m not a man; if I pick the wrong person, that is my life down the drain. I’ll have traded one house-prison for another. Except this time I get to populate it with my own little miniature versions of myself that I can play gaoler with. So no, I can’t just ‘get married.’” There was a tense silence as Eirlys continued to remove Cyflym’s saddle, Derufin and Daeroc watching. Then Derufin straightened, coming to stand next to her, leaning his forearms across Cyflym’s back. “Yes, but is all of that worse than being sent to spy on Miryeman?” he asked, nudging her with his elbow. He meant it as a joke, but it only made Eirlys frown, thinking of her stepmother’s shrewd eyes, her disconcerting willingness to let her silent disapproval speak on her behalf, that sharp look that had cut off even Father mid-stride. It occurred to her that Miryeman had successfully avoided the fate she described, had carved out a place apart from her husband for her and her child. Maybe she has something to teach me in that regard. “Well, I’m about to find out, aren’t I?”

WIP game