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“This represents a considerable sum,”
said Aragorn, gazing into the casket of jewels—emeralds,
rubies, cool, pure diamonds, and sapphires in every colour of
the sky—that sat on the desk before him. “Does your
father know what you are doing?”
“No.”
“Does Eowyn?”
“Of course!”
Aragorn smiled. “Of course…”
“The income is to be administered by Lady Emliet—”
“I will wager that that is not popular with Lord
Glarimar!”
“No.” Legolas shook his head. “I think the arrangement
will be the cause of much dissention in that household. But the
lady is adamant, and I have made her a promise—she will use
the revenues to pay Master Silrim an annuity to replace his lost
income—”
“However did you calculate that?”
“Berkin did it.”
“Ah.”
“—provided, that is, that she is satisfied he is keeping
to the terms of our agreement.”
“No more whores.”
“Precisely—of either sex. She will use the remainder
of the income to set up a home for Silrim’s women and boys—and
any others who come to her in need—none will be questioned;
none turned away. All will find a safe home, either here, or in
Eryn Carantaur.”
“Legolas…” Aragorn leant back in his chair and
regarded his friend curiously. “What is to stop these women
turning your safe house into a brothel of their own?”
Legolas smiled. “Lady Emliet,” he replied.
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