[JennyHallu]

Linduial smiled to herself at the lord's question, examining her wrinkled fingers in amusement.

"Luxury and servants are too easily taken for granted, my lord. To be honest, luxury and servants, to a degree, were what I expected here. My cousin Lothiriel is older than I, but she was used to much the same luxury. Her letters to my brothers have been filled with nothing but happiness and the ordinary frustrations of a woman running a large household. If she had complaints or was surprised about the differences in the way of life here, she said nothing of it--as may have been necessary of a queen, I think."

She paused, pulling another dish out of the rinsewater and carefully drying it, aware that the Lord was keeping quite easily ahead of her, but still nervous about breaking anything. She was stalling, and she knew it. This man had helped her through an enormously difficult day, and taken on the responsibility of her guardianship without a second thought. Surely such a man deserved honesty from her. She wondered briefly what it was about some men that inspired confidence. One of her brothers, the younger one, had the same air about him, and always had the power to draw honesty from her. She wrenched her way to a decision, and spoke softly, but stopped avoiding the issue.

"I chose to travel here because my father had begun to speak of a marriage, my lord, and I did not wish to marry. The price of luxury and servants is to be handed off in marriage like--like a prized mare, perhaps dearly loved...but a mare is still a horse, and I--" She laughed, wondering whether this simile would mean what she meant it to, here, in Rohan, Land of the Horse-Lords. "I am not a horse, my lord."

"The man my father chose is kind and good and well-meaning. He is my age, he is of my class and standing, and I have seen my friends make far worse matches. But--my lord, I have known this man for many years, and never once have he and I had anything to speak of together. We exchange polite nods and chat, but never do we talk. When I make a jest, he does not realize he is meant to laugh. When I read verse or sing, he thinks I am making fun of him. To wed him would mean luxury and servants until the day I die, and maybe I am destined to have such things, but not in this man's house. Not as his wife. And I knew that if I left for a time, he would find another lady. His father is agéd, and wishes to see him wed before his death."

"It's been a long trip though, and sometimes I wonder if I was perhaps wrong to avoid this match. It is what my father wanted, and maybe conversation and jests and poetry have less meaning than I thought. I am doubtful, and unsure. But I am here, and wheree'er I go in this life, I can only start from where I am. Am I not right?" She looked up, a sunny smile on her face, but her essential doubt was there, in the tightness of her lips and the intensity of her grey eyes, as though she were looking for reassurance.