(Outskirts of the country Arenelle)
"Something's really not right, Niall. I'm—"
May presses a trembling hand to her forehead, unease dripping from her voice. She's seated stiffly on the sofa in their vast, quiet living room.
"She's going to be alright. She's smart, honey."
Niall, her husband, stands beside her, gently stroking her shoulder—his tone calm, steady, reassuring.
"You've been saying that over and over."
May brushes off his hand and rises abruptly, as though the very thought of staying still might drown her.
"She hasn't called in five days, Niall. We need to head for Erriador. Right now!"
"May, honey—didn't she give you any contact? A friend, in case of emergency?" he asks, watching her movements carefully.
She stops mid-step, turning back toward him. Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears.
"No. No, she only told me about one friend. And her neighbor." Her voice cracks. She sniffs, trying to hold it together.
Niall steps closer. "Do you remember their names?"
She nods, almost to herself. "Emma. And the neighbor… Red. She called him Red."
"Emma and Red?" Niall raises a brow.
"Yes, yes…" May furrows her brow, trying to recall exactly what Neva had told her.
Niall gently cups her face, drawing her gaze to his.
"She's young, May. Wild, free. She's probably just out with them—living her youth, you know?"
May shakes her head and pulls his hands away from her face.
"It's New Year's tonight, Niall. It must already be the next day in Erriador. She always calls me. Almost every day. And not even a message today?" Her voice rises, thin with disbelief. "It's ridiculous—she—"
"She might've forgotten," Niall cuts in, softly. "She has her own world now. People of her own."
May scoffs, wounded. "A world without her Aunt May in it. You're a bastard, Niall. You know you are—stabbing my aching heart. Neva would never forget me."
Her tears finally spill.
Niall's lips twitch into a faint smile—she's always been soft-hearted, sensitive to the core. He wipes her tears tenderly.
"It's all my fault," she whispers. "I should've been more careful. If something happens to her... what will I do, Niall?" Her voice falters, breaking under the weight of her dread.
"Shh... Nothing will happen." He strokes her arms in slow, soothing circles. "You know I can't bear to see tears in your eyes, my love. We'll leave for Erriador tomorrow. I'll clear my schedule for the next three days."
He draws her close, pressing her head to his chest, gently patting her hair.
"You promise?" she murmurs, voice muffled against him.
"I promise," he whispers, eyes closed, resting his chin on the crown of her head.
Down the hallway, two maids pause mid-step, just before entering the living room. They peek around the corner, spying on the quiet scene. Giddy smiles bloom on their faces as they exchange a look.
It's rare—seeing a husband and wife still so deeply in love, even after decades.
But here they are: their Master and Madam, hearts intertwined. And for a moment, the maids stand there in silence, eyes soft, wondering if they'll ever find a love like that of their own someday.