19 years of age-- During the War of the Ring

Amära hurried along the road, passing by the shabby houses and hollow eyes peeking through windows or above bare gardens. She rushed into her house to inform the others.

"Mother! Guess what news?" She panted, the room was clean with no sign of sewing. "Oh, Bron!" She said, noticing the big-boned smithy sitting in the plush chair, made once for her father. She pursed her lips but reasoned that there wasn't anywhere else for him to sit.

Bron smiled at her. "Your Mother invited me to a home-cook meal. I hadn't the stomach to say no."

Amära chuckled. "Did you hear? The riders made it to Gondor."

"You're happy about that?"

Amära sniffed. "I'm proud of our king. As for Gondor, they ignored the desperate need of a faithful ally and failed to answer our call for help. While we were battling the enemy, Gonder, with its vast, powerful army was fighting to regain Osgiliath while Orcs slaughtered our inexperienced boys and ailing grandfathers at Helm's Deep. Their old ruins were more important than honoring their alliances to neighbors. Despite our heavy losses, we've kept our word when others would've chosen safety. Maybe if they had a king instead of a steward." She said this in one long fluid speech.

Bron nodded. "Many in these parts have strong feelings same as you. Perhaps even Théoden, King himself. The truth is, if Gondor falls, we all fall."

She switched topics, "Have you heard, Éowyn has been left to rule in the king's absence? Rohan is becoming open to having women in higher ranks. The Numenorians had three queens. The elves have Galadriel, and I don't Gondor hasn't had any."

Bron widened his eyes but kept silent.

Amära looked around, a delicious aroma filling her senses. Different from the stew they've been eating in recent months.

"Dawyn?" She asked her older sister. "What are you cooking?"

Dawyn hummed as she moved around the kitchen cutting onions and watching the boiling pot. "Roast Chicken, boiled potatoes, and...!" She held up a wooden bowl. "Custard."

"Custard?" Amära asked?

Footsteps sounded, and she turned to see her mother dressed in a clean, blue gown, a wistful smile on her lips.

Dawyn resumed her cooking while mother set the table; the silver was polished. A feeling settled in Amära's chest, as though she were a child, waiting for Father to return.

"You look, beautiful mother; I haven't seen you wear that dress since Balmere was six."

"Yes well, good clothes are no use in the chest."

The back door opened and Balmere walked in. He was fifteen now, but since the return from Helms Deep, he acted older.

"There's a horse in the stables."

Amära lit up. "A horse?"

"Do we know who it belongs to?" Balmere asked. "Are we keeping it for someone?"

"Was it gifted?" Amära broke in.

Her mother brightened. "It's ours."

Amära beamed to Balmere who looked concerned. "It's not a workhorse."

Her father's horse came to mind, and she smiled.

"How're we going to feed it?" Balmere questioned.

Their mother tilted her head. "Don't you want riding lessons?"

"Our neighbors might eat it."

"Balmere! We have a guest." Dawyn scolded.

Balmere peeked around, seeing Bron who smiled awkwardly.

"Oh, hi Bron."

"Supper's ready," Their mother announced.

* * *

It was dark, she should've been getting ready for bed, but Amära wanted to see the horse.

"Balmere?" Amära asked stepping into the stables. "Why are you here?"

"Betsy." He answered, petting the cow's nose from outside her stall. "She's agitated with the newcomer."

Amära looked over to the dappled gray mare who had tired eyes. "She's a beautiful creature...what should we name her?"

"Name it? We aren't keeping it." Balmere replied.

"Perhaps Windfola." The mare snorted.

"Too pretty."

"Fram?"

"For a donkey," Balmere replied the horse bobbed her head.

"What about Runwyn?" the mare nickered fondly. "I think she likes it." Amära smiled.

"It ate Betsy's apple; I'm sure it's still pleased with itself." Betsy mooed sadly. "I wouldn't get attached to it." He added.

"You used to like horses," Amära said, holding her hand out for the mare to sniff.

"Workhorses are fine, they plow fields and pull wagons. That's a horse that takes you to war."

"Isn't that what we wanted...? Fighting Orcs." Amära said as the horse's whiskers tickled her hand.

Balmere was quiet. "Cows are friendly; they give you food."

"Speaking of which, you didn't eat."

"Wasn't hungry."

She turned to him. "That was the best meal we've had in years."

"How could I eat custard when our neighbors don't have supper?"

She watched him as he pets the doe-eyed cow, Runwyn nibbled her auburn hair.

"Why don't we do something about it."

He looked back at her. "Like what?"

"Well, let's see what's in the root cellar." She grinned.

* * *

The house was asleep beside Dawyn who was in the root cellar planning tomorrow's breakfast. She watched them as they invaded her domain. The root cellar wasn't full to bursting but stocked fuller than it had been since their father died.

"Dawyn...?" Amära smiled.

"You should be asleep." The eldest said with a frown. "You're not getting any treats at this hour."

"No, we were just thinking," Amära started. "About how our neighbors are so hungry."

Darwyn's features softened. "Yes, I saw old Folca earlier today, all skin and bones." She shook her head.

"Precisely, Balmere and I thought long and hard about this," her brother glanced at her knowing full well that she came up with the plan a few minutes ago. "And offering stew for our neighbors would help the low morale and supplies." The two of them smiled.

Dawyn raised an eyebrow. "Have you talk to Mother about this?"

"We...decided to make it a surprise."

"A surprise."

Balmere broke in. "With all the food, mother dressed up like she was, and Bron..." He said. "Something good happened, we may not know what it is, but why not share it with our friends and neighbors?"

Dawyn flicked her eyes away from them. 

Amära nodded for Balmere to continue. "I want to do something helpful Dawyn, something that brings our people together." 

Dawyn was silent for a long moment before looking at them. "Stew." 

"Stew." Amära affirmed. 

"For tomorrow." 

"Mother will be in town for the afternoon; we can do it then." 

Dawyn crossed her arms. "And where is this happening?" 

"I have the perfect place," Amära said thin-lipped 

* * * 

The pot was set up over the fire with bowls and wooden spoons stacked on a small blanket.

"Lovely to see you all." Aldin grinned, staff in hand. 

Amära glared at the red-headed boy who looked down at her. "We're here because--" 

"Father told me." He interrupted. "My father said to tell you thank you for the honor." His voice was genuine, but looked down as she hid the basket behind her of misshapen potatoes. 

"We spread the word; there will be a crowd soon." 

Dawyn's chopping quickened, and Amära gave the pot a questioning look. 

"Don't worry; you'll have enough." He said with a knowing smile. 

The four of them, including Aldin, worked together. People began to arrive in small clusters turning into larger groups and then longer lines. It was a great relief that many brought their own pots, kettles, tea, bowls and any meager food they could bring to help out. 

The mood was sober at first, but as the food started to get passed around, there was laughter, bantering, and the sharing of stories. 

"Not a bad idea Amära." Aldin said, coming next to her. 

She smiled at the compliment. 

"Where d'you get all the food?" 

"We came into good fortune." 

"I knew that sheath would fetch a good price." 

She looked up at him. "What?" 

"The sale of your father's sheath..." He trailed off as he saw her horrified expression. "I'll see if I can help out." He hurried away. 

It made sense. The food, the horse, the good mood. 

She made eye-contact with her mother. They held each other's gaze before her mother took a bowl of soup and sat down, away from the crowded groupings of people. 

Amära grabbed a bowl and sat next to her. "You sold the sheath?" 

"To Bron." 

"How could you do that?" Amära asked breathlessly. 

"How could you steal food from the seller without talking to me?" 

"I can't watch them starve." 

"And I can't watch my children starve." 

Her mother gave her a meaningful glance, her age and the hard years creased her face. She

looked down and ate a spoonful stew. 

Amära looked around at the families gathered together while their men were off aiding Gondor.
She turned around and laid her head on her mother's shoulder.

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Strengths: Unity, loyalty, planning/improvising