Eomer and Miriam watched from the living room, smiles on their faces as they took in the harmonious scene of Ayumu and Visil together. But the smiles didn't last long and concern soon replaced them.
"Why would they hurt a child like this?" Miriam's voice trembled with anger. "The wounds… they're terrible. He's only eleven. Have the people in the palace completely lost their minds?"
Eomer sank into the single leather couch that had been specially made for him and let out a heavy sigh. "Things are not going well," he began. "The five White Magis sent from Graitan to Rodh were ambushed. Three were captured, two escaped… and now the Emperor is furious. He wants to start another war. A war we cannot afford."
He rubbed his temples. "The Dark Magis… they no longer want to fight another war. They despise the non-magis. The emperor too, of course. And somehow, their hatred has turned toward the White Magis. They think we are the root cause for all of this. What on earth did we do wrong?"
Miriam crossed her arms and gave a scoff. "Let those idiots be. Dark Magis have always been problematic. Maybe all the curses they keep on doing had damaged their brains or something. I never liked them....dark magis. Humph!"
Eomer couldn't help but chuckle at his wife's cheekiness. He felt a bit better, atleast for a while.
Miriam handed him a glass of cold tea, and as he took it, she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. He responded by caressing her hands and placing a soft kiss upon them.
He loved his small family more than anything. But to keep them safe, he had to stay apart from them. No more blood was to be spilled on his account.
And if the Emperor ever discovered Ayumu… Eomer shuddered at the thought. The girl would be expected to step into his place as Royal Advisor someday, a future he could not allow.
White Magis could live up to two hundred years, while non-magis rarely passed sixty. But ever since Epsos had taken Graitan, White Magis rarely saw beyond eighty. They did not die of age—they were taken by other avoidable causes.
Eomer himself was still young, only forty, and Miriam forty-two. Their daughter, Ayumu, was six—a small baby by magis standards. He could see his family only once every two weeks, sometimes a month. But he repeated the thought to himself constantly - it was for their safety.
Miriam noticed the worry etched deeper into his face. With a mischievous smile, the voluptuous woman sat on his lap, purposely making herself heavy enough to make him grunt.
"Ooofff!" he grunted.
It seemed his wife had put on a little weight, Eomer thought. But he dared not say a word. One wrong comment, and he might find himself locked up with the chickens in the barn tonight.
Miriam has a rough idea of what her dear husband was thinking. "Anything you want to say to me?" She grinned. Seeing if he dares to speak about it.
Eomer held her close, his voice calm yet full of affection. "Just that...you are beautiful, my love."
Miriam's cheeks flushed. She was not used to being admired so openly. Her husband is usually away so she is not immune to flattery.
She tugged at his ponytail, pinched his cheek, and wriggled out of his grasp. And Eomer giggled in response.
Ayumu and Visil watched the two silly adults, and soon their giggles joined.
What a happy family.
If only such moments could last forever.