•●•●•●•

I watched the birds fly over my heads, all colours of the rainbow, squawking cheerfully in the early dawn light.

I held up my hand to hold under the icy-cold trickle of Na'Man ab Jubayr, one of the endless channels that were divided by the massive aqueducts, Harmindon's pride and joy, flowing into a nearby fountain. In a few hours, housewives from all over the city would begin making their way to the fountains, collecting water for their daily chores. With a pang, I remembered that ridiculous, uncomfortable well - and dismissed it quickly lest I think about Malbeth and burst into tears.

I remembered that glorious night when I was arrayed in finest silk, gazing in awe at the splendour of marble halls. Such a difference to my brown cotton dress, light enough to provide relief from the heat that would inevitably come during the day - but hardly distinguishable from the servant's uniforms that were already awake and scurrying about the Ramyah's palace, determined to catch a word of praise for their quiet efficiency. Had I no talent - no nimble fingers, no eye for fashion - I might be one of them.

The tall trees above me stood still, their broad, waxy leaves shadowy in the gloom. I remembered wistfully the tiny, paper-thin leaves in all different shapes and sizes that grew from tiny buds during the spring on trees much smaller and daintier (or larger, gnarled and more intimidating, depending on the age of the forest).

In short - and I realised this with a guilty shock - Harmindon no longer felt like home.

I had no time to dwell on this, however, as a familiar soft clip-clop, clip-clop drew close.

"Miarka, when you told me you had arranged transport -"

"I know, aren't they magnificent?" She squealed, and would have danced about in glee if she wasn't so mindful of the two large horses she led in either hand. Miarka was barely tall enough to reach my shoulder, which made her look even smaller beside the huge beasts. "Lady Túrien was so kind to lend them to us, I told her about our plans and she was so supportive. Once we get to Minas Tirith they'll go back to Harmindon with the next caravan of traders."

"They are huge," I remarked as she tied them up skilfully. "How did you ever learn to ride?"

"Much can change in a year, sister mine. Most of that time I worked with the lonely old horseman that the ramyahani engaged to be 'Master of the Stud,' whatever that means. He had no other help - most people in Harmindon distrust horses on principle - and he was glad of my company. It was sad, saying goodbye," she said, suddenly crestfallen.

"I fear I fit in with 'most people in Harmindon' then," I said, warily eyeing the horse nearest to me. "Miarka, you had a year to learn to ride a horse. I have several hours."

"I know!" Miarka made a brave return to cheerfulness and showed me how to mount, clasping the reins, reaching for the stirrup with a much too flexible leg and swing herself into the saddle with practised ease. I was astounded - the horse was about twice her size.

She waited for me.

"Sorry, how am I supposed to -"

"By the Stars." Miarka swung down and helped me into the saddle, which took a lot of undignified scuffling and some falling, on my part. The poor horse snorted alarmingly if I grabbed his mane to try and balance.

Eventually, this 'hardest part,' as my sister put it encouragingly, was over and I found myself sitting on a horse.

"It's not fair!" I wailed, trembling madly and losing a stirrup for what seemed like the tenth time. We set off at a walk - this horse must have truly been well trained or too old to care much because the way I was panicking must surely have sent any other animal into a frenzy. "Malbeth can do this as easily as walking. And why do we sit like the men, anyway? My dress is all bunched up and it's most uncomfortable."

"We sit like this because it is easier," Miarka told me patiently. "Imagine sitting lopsided, you can't even balance sitting normally. Sit up straighter, by the way. Besides, Lady Túrien does not have any saddles specially for sitting side-saddle. She doesn't seem the type, to be frank."

"What possessed me to agree to this?"

"It is faster than by cart, and I can't well go and steal a Mûmak - much as I would like to," Miarka said as we reached the paddock - large enough to be the perfect place to practise, albeit with an audience of Mûmakil, complete with drivers. I disagreed - at the moment I could have walked faster. I said so too, which was a mistake.

"Let us go faster, then. Trot on," Miarka said firmly, and I slipped from the saddle the moment the horse set off jerkily.

"Jeddah - this is pitiful." Miarka was very sympathetic as we went through the whole rigmarole of climbing back up, made even worse by the bruise already forming on my thigh.

"You need to have more confidence. This stallion is the most placid creature in probably the world, nothing will happen to you."

I didn't listen - I was too busy fishing for the stirrup with my foot again.

After a while though, I reluctantly began to agree with her and relaxed slightly. I started to improve by the minute after getting over the initial scare - I even started to enjoy myself, and even got used to the swinging rhythm of the trot. I only fell twice after some hours of practise - the Mûmakil and their drivers were hugely entertained by this spectacle - but I ignored their laughter and carried on with dedicated energy until I even worked up the courage to try a gentle canter.

It felt like I was flying - I'd never moved faster in my life. My hair flew behind me, and the nearest Mûmak driver cheered - sarcastically, but I chose to ignore that, smiling so widely the muscles in my face ached as much as those in my legs. I had never sat in such an awkward position before, let alone for half a day, and they were already protesting painfully.

All too soon, it was time to leave properly. Miarka had packed our provisions in brimming saddlebags and in leather bags we slung around our shoulders.

We stood before our cottage for a long time, not speaking.

Farewell, Father.

Mother.

Grandmother.

None of us said it aloud but I put my arm around Miarka's shoulders as we walked through the ramshackle building one last time. Miarka was right - there were more memories here than we could stand for several lifetimes. It was time to make some new memories.

We didn't look back as we left the city, for - quite possibly - the last time.

•●•●•●•

"Miarka?"

"Jeddah?"

"I have an idea."

Three days later we'd covered more than double the ground we would have in a merchant's cart. I had to admit, riding was certainly an efficient way to travel - however, there was one negative aspect. I was aching all over, so badly I could barely stand when I slipped from the saddle in the evening. Every morning when Miarka helped me up - this was becoming routine now - it was agony, my cramping thighs on fire. I bore it with minimal complaining, though, as the journey was flying by.

It was late, and the sun was setting on the horizon in a spectacle of purple and gold, sending steaks of scarlet across the sky where a wisp of cloud was. A twinkling map of stars was already beginning to appear in darker sky like a net of diamonds, and Miarka and I were sitting huddled against each other before our tiny fire, the light reflecting in our dark eyes.

"Oh, dear. Well, I suppose I'll have to hear this out," Miarka sighed.

"You needn't be quite as sarcastic, if you please," I huffed. "I was going to suggest - let us not go straight to Minas Tirith. When we reach the Anduin, we can simply follow the bank west instead of east, and see the sea."

Miarka was silent for a moment, thinking.

"Alright, perhaps that was not such a bad idea. Seriously, Jeddah - I would love to."

"Very well, then. Some sea air will do us good. How, I cannot say - it's something Malbeth often said. The sea air is good for the lungs."

We sat in silence, watching our fire die down, the embers shifting and sparks flying into the cool, darkening night.

•●•●•●•

Before our sojourn to the sea, though, I had a different promise to keep entirely.

And, it seemed, I was just in time.

"By the Golden Serpent, Thekla.... she's beautiful," I told my friend in honest admiration.

Thekla smiled, glowing with a unique kind of pain and happiness, the kind of emotion only felt when one's firstborn is laid in their arms. It was true- it was indeed a truly beautiful baby. Soft, down-like hair dusted her soft head, her skin as smooth as a mirror - in short, as beautiful as Thekla herself, with Pesah's dark eyes. Those eyes were huge, so dark they were almost black - she turned to look inquisitively at me, and began to shriek her head off.

"Well, that's gratifying," I yelled over the din, as Thekla almost doubled over with laughing.

"My poor sweet - you're not used to strangers, are you? There there, Rena - nobody will hurt you. Hush, darling," Thekla soothed, rubbing her cheek against her baby's soft head.

"Being a mother suits you," I pointed out, as Rena quietened almost immediately at the sound of her mother's voice. She was only a few days old, too young to smile properly, but she pursed her tiny lips and made an admirable effort.

"I surely hope so. Let us go outside - I feel like I haven't been in the fresh air for weeks. Rena will sleep now anyway."

"You seem confident," I laughed, as Thekla set her daughter down into a nearby cradle, leaning in adoringly for a last kiss. For some reason, though, that gesture made me feel not admiration, not happiness or anticipation and not even envy - just a sharp stab of some emotion known to me all too well, especially when I was younger.

It was despair - a strange, ethereal pain that shot through my entire body.

I shook my head and ignored it, following Thekla outside.

Kazabhâd was just as perfect as it was  the first time I'd been there. In Harmindon, people rushed about and were loud and cheerful, whereas in Minas Tirith people were too proud and reserved by comparison - almost bordering on unfriendly. But in Kazabhâd, the quiet friendliness of neighbours made life here seem idyllic. Passing women called out to greet my friend.

"Good day, Thekla dear! How is dear little Rena?"

"Hello, Thekla!"

"Good afternoon, Thekla! Lovely weather, isn't it?"

Most of the men were either at the market or working on the farms, and loud banging and scraping came from Pesah's carpenter's workshop behind their house. Thekla walked along, serene and unworried about her baby, asleep with only Miarka in the next room. And, I thought, why should she be - it was truly a paradise of sorts here, in a town with both Gondorian and Haradrim traditions.

"Where are we going?" I asked curiously, as we reached the outskirts of the city and began walking up a small hill, where many trees grew.

"My favourite place," Thekla replied. "There it is. Kazabhâd's not such a large city - everything is withing walking distance, fortunately."

What Thekla pointed out to me was a little bench, nestled in the shade of a particularly large tree.

"It's got such a lovely view of the city. You can even see the servants beyond the walls of the Ramyah's palace - and my house, even though it's nearly the other side of the city! It's so peaceful here. Pesah built this bench for me the year after we were married."

"Not as nice as our tree in Harmindon," I teased, and she feigned offence for a while - and soon we were back to our usual spiel of banter and gossip.

"Miarka tells me your going to be married!"

"Will she tell everyone we meet?! One of these days I will strangle that girl," I said furiously, blushing madly.

"So it's true!" Thekla squealed in delight, throwing her arms around me and giving me a hug that left me gasping for air. "Tell me, tell me, tell me! What's he like? However did he manage to crack your shell? I would have thought any man would go running to the hills once you set eyes on him."

"Thank you," I grinned. "I'm not even sure myself how it happened. Look at this."

I held out my ring.

"The Wsterlings use a ring to show an engagement, it's like a reminder to keep a promise."

"How romantic!" Thekla cried, her voice rising to a pitch that could have shattered glass. "So when's the wedding?"

"No idea," I admitted, shrugging my shoulders. "I haven't seen Malbeth in over half a year. There was no point in either of him writing as I wouldn't be able to read it. He knew this, of course - when I told him I had to leave so suddenly, he asked me to marry him. He gave me the ring to ensure I returned to him one day."

"How romantic," Thekla repeated, sighing happily.

•●•●•●•