Every word exploded beside Charlotte's ears like a clap of thunder.
The Sauron army had been annihilated... Harald was dead... the Northern Border had been liberated... Karl was safe... and so was her father...
Too many good tidings had come too suddenly, and for a moment, she could barely process them. She stood rooted to the spot, holding Klein without moving. Those words echoed over and over in her mind, like echoes in a valley, crashing against her heart again and again.
Then two streams of burning tears slid down her cheeks without warning.
They were not tears of sorrow, but tears of relief, of joy, of pride. Days upon days of worry, anxiety, and longing—the sleepless nights spent tossing and turning, the moments of silent prayer, the days of forced composure—all became these soundless tears, flowing freely at last.
She remembered the morning Karl had departed. He had stood in the morning light, his armor reflecting a golden gleam, and told her, "Wait for me." She remembered how her heart raced every time she heard hoofbeats these past days, how her fingers trembled whenever she opened a letter, how she silently recited prayers before sleep. And now, it was all over. Everything was all right.
When Klein saw his mother crying, he anxiously stretched out his little hands to wipe the tears from her face. His tiny hands were warm and soft, clumsily rubbing back and forth across her cheeks, while his childish voice was full of worry. "Mama... Mama, what's wrong? Don't cry... don't cry..."
Charlotte was roused by her son's actions and words. She hurriedly wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, then lowered her head and pressed her face against his soft little cheek. She felt the warmth of his breath,