Within the next week or so, Miarka started to recover, albeit slowly. Once the fever was completely gone, she was left very weak physically, but her mind was all there. Having to stay in bed nearly all day was torture to the poor girl, and tormented me all day to put down my sewing and invent some kind of bedside game to keep her amused.

It was hard on our resident ball of energy to have to conserve her enthusiasm.

It wasn't only Miarka's constant whining - Jedda-ah, I'm so bo-ored.... I want to play.... Grandmother, get Jeddah to play.... - that was doing my head in at the moment. In my heart of hearts I was glad my sister had a chance at a proper childhood - at her age I had already been Mother's primary carer, and after her death I'd nearly worked myself to my own grave, trying to keep us alive. But at times like this it was difficult to keep myself from snapping back at her high-pitched wails, because I kept having this recurring thought that I could not ignore.

Years ago Túrien had wanted me to move to Gondor, and start a new life there. 

She'd even tried to teach me some phrases in that insufferably difficult language of hers, but I had come up with all kinds of excuses - my sister is too young, my grandmother is getting old and is in need of care, I am finally beginning to do well as a seamstress here - but now, these excuses had begun to seem a little feeble even to me.

Miarka was growing up. She was still a tiny mouse of a girl but she had the same endless optimism that I'd always admired in Thekla, and that I could vaguely remember Mother showing before her illness. When she put her mind to it - which admittedly wasn't often - she could work almost as hard as me, and her cookery skills were improving daily. Grandmother had taught Miarka the art of running a household because I'd never really had the time, or the incentive.

And though Grandmother often felt sore at the knees on cold nights, she was still fairly spry even for a woman of her age - and she would have been mortally offended had she heard what I told Túrien about her.  She might pretend to be a wise old lady but she was still as energetic as Miarka at heart - though in a different way.

But they were my family - I could not simply leave for my own benefit! 

Or could I? 

I knew many people who had left their families to seek hope and prosperity in the newly established city of Kazabhâd - even, if they were daring enough, the White City of Minas Tirith. Thekla, for one. Túrien told me the marketplace in the White City was so busy and lively, with traders from all over Gondor and even Harad, now - that I'd feel almost at home.

I was doing well as a seamstress, that was true. But I'd seen with my own eyes the tight, strange garments Túrien wore upon her initial arrival. I'd have to learn new skills to keep at the work I loved, if I ever....

But I couldn't - Miarka and Grandmother would have no money, nothing to trade - they would starve without me!

These were the kind of conflicted thoughts that entered my mind, and I would sew a crooked seam, or prick my finger, and could not concentrate at all when I tried to make any kind of decisions related to the future. Miarka howled in the other room, and for a time I would oblige her - come up with riddles, or games with wooden pegs, or teach her to weave patterns between her fingers with a reel of thread - anything to keep my mind from further torment.

•●•●•●•

"Grandmother, I must ask you something before I go mad."

It was evening, Miarka was already asleep. I was sitting before the fire with Grandmother, a pile of fabric in my lap - a silken affair with many trimmings for one of my wealthier customers. I'd tried for ages to make a start on it, but I was so preoccupied I couldn't sit still. Grandmother raised an eyebrow in response, so I decided to be matter of fact. Nothing frilly about it. 

"How would you react if I said I wanted to travel to Minas Tirith?"

There was a long silence.

"Jeddah, you must understand that before I give you a suitable response I must tell you the story of my son Adja - your father. You have inherited your father's love for travelling, Jeddah - but it cost him his life."

I clapped my hands to my mouth in horror, though I hadn't really understood what she meant.

"When he was not much older than you are now, Adja wanted to travel. It was a very dangerous time to travel, Jeddah.... Gondor was completely out of the question, you are very lucky we are not bitter enemies as we were at that time. You are also lucky we are not still under the oppression of that terrible, evil eye.... they were dark times, but my son insisted he wanted to see the world. As much of the world as he could.... he hated to fight in wars, and shied away from anything remotely violent. So with a heavy heart, I allowed him to go. He went to the only place where it was in any way remotely safe to go.... east, to Rhunic lands.

"He returned, several months later, a changed man. What he had seen, who he had met, had scared him.... and yet, he always had to return, every year at the same time, and I began to get more and more afraid. I pleaded with him to stay with me, in Pazghar, but he refused, and grew cold and angry. That was only a show, though.... I always saw the fear, buried deep in those beautiful dark eyes. I knew he should not have left to go to Rhun.... they have dangerous, fanatical religions there, no matter how grand their cities or lovely their landscapes.

"After his third visit, I made him go somewhere else. The wanderlust had never truly left him, you know, so I sent him to Harmindon instead, for a change.... and there he met your mother, Talia the seamstress, and for a time, he seemed to forget his troubles. They were married, had children, seemed happy for a time, I even stayed with them in this very house for a time.....

"Then, one day, my son came home with a wild look in his eyes that I will never forget. It was partly fear, partly anger.... He took Talia to the gardens, and they stayed there for hours, talking. When they came back it was obvious neither of them were satisfied with how their conversation had gone. However, in the next few weeks, Talia began to fall ill. She tried to hide it, but my son knew his wife.... He knew what had happened. He stormed out of the house, and disappeared. We never saw him again."

"Poor Mother!" I managed to gasp.

"Talia told me, some years later, the whole story. Adja had indeed encountered those strange, devil-worshipping fanatics in the Rhûnic desert, and when he refused to join their forces, they grew angry and threatened him.... and when he married, they threatened his family. You have no idea, Jeddah, how much danger you truly were in as a baby.... even I did not. But Talia did. The Rhûnic men came to my son that day in Harmindon and gave him an ultimatum - join their ranks, or they would take his family, one by one, beginning with his young wife. Talia and he could not agree to either of these demands, obviously, but the more they hesitated, the weaker Talia grew. It was clear she was being poisoned."

I suddenly remembered to breathe.

"Adja went to confront them, but he never returned. I was fearful he had joined them - those demons -" Grandmother's voice shook with rage.

"Talia talked me out of that notion - she believed until the day she died that he had been murdered by.... by them. But it was too late - that strange, slow-working poison had already made its way into her blood. Her death was hurried by her worry of you - you and Miarka, who was only a baby, and how you would survive alone. I must confess - and I am ashamed to admit it - I did not hurry to help. My son's death had shaken me, and it took the second shock - Talia's death - to shake me back to my senses, and I came for my granddaughters then.

"When I first arrived, you were so small and fiery, so protective of your sister, so determined - you take after your father, you know - but you have taken all these traits, the fierceness, the determination, everything that made him into.... well, into the person he became. You took these traits and made them into something better, something new. I was rather afraid of what I saw in your eyes at first, when you pushed little Miarka behind you so protectively as I stepped over the threshold - but you have become such a unique character. You have faced so many hardships, and I often felt so terrible to see you work so hard, but it made you into a better, stronger woman. I do believe, Jeddah, that you could face anything, and everything you set your mind to will always be in your favour."

Grandmother was breathing heavily after her speech - and no wonder. I could see she had waited years to get it off her chest. She'd tried at first to censor the true danger, but couldn't help herself - and I felt only pity for her, didn't blame her in the slightest for leaving, for being scared.

I would have done the same myself.

"So my answer is - if you told me you wanted to move to the White City I would not stop you. As I said, you take after your father - but there is something unique about you. You are resourceful and resilient, something Adja never was - I don't have the slightest doubt you will thrive in the new environment."

I was about to burst into tears, but the bedroom door suddenly opened, and a small, familiarly innocent face peered out. Miarka sat down in front of the fire with an authoritative air, though her spindly legs still trembled from the unwanted exercise. 

"I heard you talking and wanted to join in."

Grandmother shot me a worried glance, afraid Miarka had overheard - but I was sure she hadn't. Miarka was generally more expressive of her emotions, and her face displayed nothing but childish curiosity. So I told her my plans, and her eyes grew round.

"Will you miss me?" I asked.

"Of course I'll miss you!" Miarka wailed, staggering to her feet and thrusting her arms around my neck with some of her old energy returning. "You're my sister and I love you and I don't ever want you to go! But if you do," she lowered her voice, hot breath tickling my neck, "I won't stop you. It will be an adventure, and you're to write to me every day and tell me everything until I'm old enough to come and visit. And you have to write or I will steal a Mûmak and find you myself."

Before this unusual, utterly endearing Miarka-like speech, the tension in the air had been so thick I could have reached out and touched it. Now though, both Grandmother and I laughed - and because I laughed, Miarka laughed, bless her heart. 

Grandmother had always been evasive and strangely dramatic in her way of speech. I was quite used to needing the patience to sit through a long story before she got to the point, and though I wept for hours that night in private about my poor brave parents, she had shown, in her way her support for me - even though I suspected she still wasn't entirely sure about those Westerlings. Even Miarka, with her passion and determination, had shown her support. 

Therefore I banished all my worries and made the decision to leave Harmindon. Grandmother and Miarka had the money I'd saved, and all my careful handiwork, to trade and keep them going for several years - they would be fine by themselves.

It was official, then - I was going to Gondor!

•●•●•●•