Ithilien, in the Fourth Age
Barring the children from the still room this summer was, Éowyn thinks, the second best decision of her life. Here, all is fierce order – material proof of her skill, capability, and art.
Outside, the chaos of young voices continues unabated, as it will for years – laughter, shrieks, the occasional yell. Eight children, family and friends, make a royal racket. Hardly noticing what she does, Éowyn untangles the voices one by one, interprets them… And stays in her seat. Nobody is hurt.
The door opens. A kingly head looks inside. “Headache,” says her liege-lord and healer. Éowyn points to the shelf.