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Maén dismounted her horse and stormed into the one roomed shanty.
“Guriel” she called. But was surprised when she was met by an old woman sitting in a rocking chair in front of the fire knitting an ugly grey jumper.
“Guriel? He aint here.” Said the old women in a croaky voice.
“Where is he then?” shouted Maén in frenzy.
“He’s over the hill, has been there for a while.” The old woman snarled. Immediately Maén stormed out and started walking as fast as she could.
There over the hill was a cemetery, nothing else, no house, not even a stable. Maén felt the blood pumping through her veins.
“What did she mean he is here?” Maén said shakily the temperature of her blood rising with anticipation “What did she mean!” she screamed looking wildly around.
Until she spotted the grim marker under a large tree.
There at the back an ill kept grave stone read:
“Here lies Guriel Il Galoth, Now of the East, rests: No legacy shall be found for it is in you. No house of Il Galoth will reap benefits”
“No” Maén shook her head. “It is not so, this is some other I-” she looked pleadingly to the others of the company. It was if some madness had overcome her.
“My life has been stolen from me!” she wept into the ground. It was a pitiful sight to see the strong woman reduced to the mere innocence of a small girl. Maén fell to her knees in utter despair, tears fell freely from her eyes and her body shook with new sobs of sorrow. She was not ashamed for the others to see her. She just- let go.
Her whole life had become revenge, and while she did not shudder at taking life, she now found herself in a hole which she could not get out of. There was bitterness within her heart, bitter at the fact that Guriel had gotten away with what he had done. She was now faced with the inevitable, her life would never change. Deep down Maén had truly believed that if she could undo the evil done to her that some how her life would go back to being normal. The thought of her life was unbearable, and the thought that it would stay this same way for the length of her life was excruciating.
It was as if she were doomed to live her life in shadows, the shadows of the Minas Tirith court and of the fading dynasty of the once mighty Il Galoth military clan. Guriel the Traitor represented everything that she believed to be the cause of her grief, and in a way it was. She had not been driven by gold to find him, but by a desire to set things right.
Lysia had too hoped that Guriel could be killed for revenge of taking her husbands life. Maén remembered the words of her aunt, “It could be nothing…” and so it was.
“How can this be?” she cried.
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