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Heather
Heather listened wide-eyed as his story unfolded. Here indeed was a tragedy of misunderstandings. Did love always lead to this? Was it the fate of affection to wound deeper than it healed? Heather remembered the grey, closed face of her father, laugh lines creased into frowns, his eyes haunted with the same hopeless question that shadowed this man of Dale. She brushed her hand across her eyes before the tears could gather.
“Will you not help me, Heather?” Ravennar finished. All signs of reserve had long gone. “Although, now that you know my true self, maybe you are not that willing to aid me.”
Heather sat up. She tried to sound indignant, though it came out rather choked. “Now that I know you, sir? What’re you meaning by that, may I ask? Ravennar,” Heather said slowly, “You speak to me with candor and humble yourself without need. It is a fading age indeed if men so lightly condemn one another.” She smiled. “Anyone could tell you that Annuminas is to the north, by Lake Nenuiel, at the very mouth of the Baranduin. Even on foot, it should only take a fortnight to get there.”
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