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Minas Tirith Forums » The Green Dragon » Unrest in the Riddermark - RP (Page 2)
Author Topic: Unrest in the Riddermark - RP
The Swordmaster
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 1302

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Arylia had entered the hall again in time to see her Queen's face light up with excitment, and she frowned, wondering what would have delighted Lothíriel so much.

She was still stood with the King, and so Arylia approached hesitantly, but curiously.

"My Lady?" She couldn't help but smile slightly at the happy look on Lothíriel's face. "Have you had some good news? Word from your father perhaps?" Arylia knew that she looked forward to her letters from her family.

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Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel turned to the girl and smiled.

"Yes, very good news. We're going to have company; one of the Eldar has chosen to give us the honour of her visit. I most certainly will need my new gown by then, so perhaps we should do the measurements right away?"

At the look on Éomer's face, she grinned.

"You can't have me looking like a pauper, my lord."

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Roll of Honor Mahanaxar
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 1540

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"You could be wearing naught but rags and still outshine the stars, my queen," Éomer replied, "but I will leave you two to your work. I am glad that you are pleased."

Glad may have been an understatement. Lothíriel's reaction had been greater than he expected. It wasn't often that she broke out of her usual proper etiquite with excitement. Perhaps this visitor was just what they needed.

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The Swordmaster
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 1302

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Arylia had nodded in response to Lothíriel's words, and after Éomer had spoken, she stepped forward a little.

"If we do the measurements now My Lady, I should be able to complete the dress in time, but we must also select some fabrics and a design." She frowned thoughtfully. "I can go down into the city and fetch Kaylin, she has some very beautiful materials, and bring her to our work room in just a few minutes with some samples if that would be agreeable to you?"

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Fabian
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 1948

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Vórimon let his eyes wander over the drenched hills of Rohan, they were all the same. The plains seemed to go on forever, unchanging and frankly rather dull.

"No wonder they're all mad," he said, fondly recalling his rohirric friends from the war. "You can't go about looking at nothing for decades upon end without finally cracking..."

He was speaking mostly to himself, but his lord did aknowledge the statement - the first one uttered in several hours of monotonous trotting across the rainy grasslands - with an agreeing grunt. The weather was an age-old enemy of lord Berethorn, and at the moment it was getting the better of him. Vórimon grinned with only the slightest hint of sympathy.

"One would expect, mylord, that a man raised in the mountains of Lamedon would be accustomed to a lot worse rain than this."
He looked longingly towards the White Mountains, as they trailed across the southern horizon, cloaked in a rainy haze. Geography was not his strongest point, but he assumed home would be roughly on the other side.

"Of course, back home the rain knows when to stop."

[ 01-08-2006, 03:44 PM: Message edited by: Fabian ]

From: Sweden, land of... err... stuff. | Registered: Mar 2002  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Roll of Honor Éomer
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Citizen # 2824

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That made Berethorn chuckle. "Indeed, though admittedly I was comparing this to the weather at Minas Tirith, which is far more tame," he said. That he thought more on Minas Tirith than the land that he would one day be lord of made Berethorn frown. His father had always taught him to think on Lamedon and its needs above anything else, outside of the needs of the Steward (and now the King), of course, but the young man found thinking of his home in the King's City and his place at Elessar's court to be far more pleasing.

And I won't be seeing it again for months, he thought miserably, just as he and Vórimon approached Edoras. The pair was halted at the gate, as expected, but they were let through quickly enough after Berethorn introduced himself. A bugle signaled their arrival for those inside Meduseld even as Berethorn and Vórimon rode up the hill to the Golden Hall.

Berethorn's eyes swept around at the people of Edoras, carefully examining them and their city. Of course Edoras was a mere village next to the shining splendor of Minas Tirith or Dol Amroth, and it even could barely measure up to his own home of Calembel, but Berethorn had not expected much more. Hardly a place worthy of a King, he mused. He understood that the Rohirrim did not live as those in Gondor did, though he found it interesting nonetheless.

Finally his gaze settled on Meduseld ahead, and one of his eyebrows rose as he wondered how he and his friend would be welcomed, considering how unexpected their arrival must be...

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Fabian
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Citizen # 1948

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Soon - though not soon enough all things considered - the pair reached the city gates.

Vórimon vaguely recognized the gate keeper, he had been one of the wounded at Pelennor. He gave the man a friendly nod and was awarded a similar one in return - apparently, the guard had a memory for faces as well.

The city - to the extent it deserved the title - did little to conceal the rural and pastoral nature of the lands over which it presided. Not what that mattered much to Vórimon, welcoming anything with a roof and a fire given the weather. He nudged his horse to get ahead of his lord and rode up to the sentries at the gates of Edoras, where he dismounted with a slight bow and a cheerfull smile.

"Greetings, watchers of the Golden Hall, from Gondor and her messengers. The lord Berethorn, knight of Minas Tirith and heir to Lamedon requests an audience and humbly asks for accomodations for the night".

The greeting had taken a long time to learn by heart, but at least the rohirrim seemed reasonably impressed. Vórimon gave a stretch and shook his wet cloak, still smiling at the guard. He serched his mind for a name to the face and found it.

"As for me, Fastulf, I'd rather like a place by the fire and a mug of that Eastfold ale I've been hearing so much about."

[ 06-01-2006, 11:17 AM: Message edited by: Fabian ]

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Nelyafinwë
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Citizen # 5247

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"That would suit me very well indeed," Lothíriel smilled, her voice still tinged with happiness. "Indeed, if you will wait just a moment, I think perhaps I should go with you. I must put on my boots."

Lothíriel's "boots" could hardly be called such. They were as dainty and delicate as the rest of her, but came up further around her ankle than the soft silk slippers she usually wore, causing her to refer to them - much to the amusement of many of the Rohirrim - as her "boots."

She finished tying the laces, and ran a brush through her thick, black hair, then set the way out of the Golden Hall and into the bustling city beyond. The smell of horse was unpleasant to say the least, but she merely wrinkled her nose and lifted her skirts as she left the stone steps. The rain made the dirt floor of the city into mud, and while the guards had put down straw in an attempt to alleviate the problem, it was only half effective.

Still, she would not let it get her down. No, not today. Today they were planning for the arrival of one of the Eldar! She could only imagine that this lady would find even less of worth in Rohan than she did.

Crossing the bustling market, she heard a commotion at the gates. Had she arrived early??! Lothíriel was horrified at the thought. They were not even close to being ready to receive her in style! She hurried to the gate, climbing the wide stone stairs to the top so that she could see who was below. It was not the Elf, but two men - Men of Gondor!

She heard the man's request, and put her hand on the guard's shoulder, letting him know that she would answer herself.

"My dear lords, I welcome you. It has been far too long since we have had visitors from Gondor! Certainly, we shall offer you all the hospitality we have to give."

[ 08-05-2006, 05:40 PM: Message edited by: Nelyafinwë ]

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Roll of Honor Éomer
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While his squire introduced him, Berethorn did his best to look happy to be there. Fortunately, he'd had a lot of training at hiding his true emotions, and so he eyed the guards and offered them a nod of respect and acknowledgement, but nothing more. His interest was piqued immediately, however, when he saw the Queen of Rohan herself approaching. He quickly dismounted his own horse, hiding his grimace at the sound of his boots on the mud, and strode forward, mustering up as much grace as he could in this dismal weather.

With a look, his squire stepped aside, and Berethorn turned his full attention on the Queen, offering her a brilliant smile. "My lady, I thank you for your kindness," he replied with a sweeping bow. "I did not expect the Queen herself to be here to greet me. Surely I am not worthy of such an honor."

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Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel blushed slightly as she addressed the young Lord. She did not miss his look of distaste as his boots hit the mud, or the way his glance judged her kingdom. She felt deeply for him at this point - but still envied the fact that he could leave as he wished...

"To be honest, Lord Berethorn, I just happened upon your arrival. We are expecting guests later in the week, and I was concerned that they had arrived early. But never mind! Come and dry yourselves by the fire while I have my maid see to your accomodations."

This Lord who calls himself Berethorn is a noble looking man...

And best of all, he was from Gondor....

"Lord Berethorn," she said to him as they were led within the city gates, their horses taken to the stables. "I do hope you can give me news of Gondor, and of my father? It has been many long days since I have heard from them."

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Roll of Honor Éomer
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Berethorn nodded graciously and sent his squire off with the horses, then followed Lothíriel, brushing a lock of his fiery hair out of his eyes. "Gondor is well, my lady. Better than I ever remember it, in fact. Since the King has returned to the throne, it seems as if the whole realm has awakened from a long slumber. The gates of Minas Tirith are being restored, and King Elessar has already ordered that Osgiliath be rebuilt, along with Annúminas and the rest of the North-kingdom. That is my destination, in fact."

Berethorn had to admit that the opportunity to see Annúminas thrilled him. His forefathers had once lived there, after the Downfall, and lingered later in Arthedain before finally being forced to flee to Gondor when the Witch-king's power became too great.

"As for your father, I have not seen much of him since the fall of Mordor. I assume that he returned to Dol Amroth after your wedding to King Éomer. But I hear that Imrahil and his land fare well, like the rest of Gondor. I wish I could offer you an account from my own eyes, but I have not visited your home in many years." The last time Berethorn was at Dol Amroth, he had not yet come of age, and Lothíriel had only been a young girl. Now she stood before him a woman, fairer than the dawn, and a queen as well. Only queen of Rohan, perhaps, but a queen nonetheless...

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Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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"It is good to hear that things are well in Gondor..." she said softly, listening to his every word with a sad desperation. News of Gondor, any news at all, was what kept her alive on these long, wet days.

They entered the Golden Hall, and Lothíriel spoke briefly to the servants, after which she turned back to Berethorn.

"We shall have sandwiches and ale shortly. Please, sit by the fire - you must be frozen from the rain."

Lothíriel sat across from him, her back to the blazing fireplace.

"Yes, yes, you must tell me about Gondor. Everything there is to tell - I do not care how trivial it seems. It has been so long that I have been away, and my condition does not allow me to travel. I wish to hear everything, Lord Berethorn, if you will appease a lady's curiosity."

[ 08-06-2006, 08:50 AM: Message edited by: Nelyafinwë ]

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Roll of Honor Éomer
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 2824

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With a grateful smile to Lothíriel, Berethorn removed his rain-soaked cloak and left it in the hands of one of the nearby servants. He moved to the fire and sat down quickly, eager to feel it warming away the chill that had spread through his body. When Lothíriel sat before him and began speaking of Gondor, he could not help but grin at her excitement.

"Well, 'everything' would likely take quite some time to detail," he answered. "But I shall endeavor to honor my lady's wishes to the best of my abilities..."

He wasn't certain how long they sat there in front of the inviting fire, discussing their mutual homeland, but the time was more than enjoyable. When the servants arrived with food and drink, Berethorn accepted them eagerly, but did not allow his hunger to interrupt their conversation.

Lothíriel proved to be very fine company indeed; she engaged in their conversation with an infectious enthusiasm that Berethorn soon found himself submitting to. When he would finish relating a bit of news, she would reminisce about memories of her own. Berethorn was surprised to discover that he was enjoying himself. He did not expect to find much joy in the months that it would take he and Vórimon to reach Annúminas, but this young woman had so far been a welcome diversion.

Eventually he had exhausted his stories of Gondor, and grew curious about Lothíriel's adopted country. "If my lady is willing, I would like to hear about Rohan. How fares the flower of Dol Amroth here in these bleak lands?" he asked, winking playfully in regards to that last comment before taking another sip of his surprisingly palatable ale.

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Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel suddenly found herself torn on how to reply. Did she give this man - a total stranger but a fellow Gondorian spirit - her true opinions on this place, perhaps painting her husband in a poor light? Or did she lie as always, telling visitors how grand and wonderful it was to live here?

She sighed tiredly, and decided to compromise.

"Lord Berethorn, it has been a struggle for me to acclimate myself to Rohan. It is a lovely place, full of its own culture and customs, and it has taken me some time. I do not yet speak the language, I fear, and I am not sure that I am wired for proficiency in foreign tongues. But my Lord Éomer helps me in that respect, and he is very kind and even doting to me. He is a dear, kind man, and has done everything he can to make my adjustment easier. I am lucky to have found such a Lord."

Despite her words, her face was downcast. She wished she could bring herself to love Éomer, to love this place, but her heart was simply not here. She woud be a good wife to him, she would bear his children, and perhaps someday find some kind of contentment with him, but now, it was as if all of her dreams had been trampled in the Rohirric mud.

She shook her head, forcing a smile.

"But Rohan is lovely. The flowers are everywhere in the spring, and it is a special time when the colts are born."

[ 08-06-2006, 09:00 AM: Message edited by: Nelyafinwë ]

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Roll of Honor Mahanaxar
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Citizen # 1540

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Éomer roamed the halls with a distinct sense of purpoase but with no real intended destination. He just walked almost for walking's sake. He enjoyed interacting with those around him in the castle and helping them as best he could if he had nothing official to attend to, though official business of the King of Rohan had a drastically less amount of pomp and circumstance than that of the King of Gondor. The Rohariim were a more down to earth people and didn't find that sort of thing necessary. Despite his title, Éomer was no exception. In fact he was very seldom in one place for too long, the exception being in the presence of his queen. Her beauty seemed to sooth the wild heart of his inner beast.

On his rounds it did not take long for word of this unexpected visitor to reach his ears. Without wasting any time he walked hastily towards the gates, though when he arrived he was informed that the visitor had followed the queen to the Golden Hall. Éomer smiled at the guards in with a mixed expression of curiocity and thanks as he departed for the hall.

As he entered the large room he spotted two figures sitting by the fire talking. As he drew closer he saw the one as his wife and the other as who he assumed to be the surprise visitor. He thought it good of her to keep the man company while he waited. As Éomer approached the two he smiled as he greeted the emissary from Gondor with his usual booming voice. "Welcome to the Kingdom of Rohan!" he said proudly. "I see you've already become acquainted with my beautiful wife Lothíriel." He took a moment to smile at her before continuing, "I am Éomer, king of this land, as I'm sure you know. I find it curious that I was not told of this visit. Might I ask first your name and then your news from the White City?"

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Nelyafinwë
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Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel froze as she heard her husband's voice, suddenly feeling icredibly guilty. She was not doing anything wrong, was she? She was only talking to their visitor. It was polite, wasn't it? What she should be doing with their guest. Then why did she feel so guilty???

"My Lord," she said gently, lowering her eyes and smoothing her dress.

What had he heard?

She looked up just slightly at Berethorn, smiling a bit consipiratorily, hoping he would not repeat to her husband the negative things she had said about Rohan. Her cheeks reddened, feeling horribly guilty, and she wrung her hands in her lap, waiting for him to answer Éomer.

[ 08-07-2006, 01:51 PM: Message edited by: Nelyafinwë ]

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Roll of Honor Éomer
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Berethorn had just been about to reply to Lothíriel's half-hearted attempt to disguise her true feelings about Rohan when they were interrupted. A brief look of annoyance flashed across his face before he realized who it was, and Berethorn quickly stood and bowed respectfully before the King of Rohan.

"My lord Éomer! It is an honor to stand before the King of the Mark," he said. Despite his misgivings about this country, Berethorn knew Éomer's reputation well, and had fought with him at the Pelennor Fields and the Morannon. If he had been a man of Gondor, Berethorn no doubt would have considered Éomer as great a lord as his father, or Prince Imrahil in Dol Amroth and Prince Faramir in Ithilien.

"I am Berethorn, son of Lord Angbor of Lamedon," he continued, standing to his full height and noting (rather proudly) that Éomer now had to look up to meet his eyes. "I apologize that you were not notified of my arrival, my lord, but the Queen insisted that I tell her what has been happening in Gondor these past months.

"As I was just saying to my lady Lothíriel, Gondor is still recuperating from the War of the Ring, but already it seems like a new land. The return of the King has certainly been good to our--my country," he added, smiling down at Lothíriel as he said that last part.

He focused his attention on Éomer again, his emerald gaze locking with the Horse-lord's own eyes. "But from what the Queen has been telling me, it seems that Rohan has been faring equally well," he lied, sensing Lothíriel's nervousness. "She'd just finished telling me how happy she was to be here and how wonderful your country was. I regret that I arrived on such a downcast morning; I would have liked to have seen the Riddermark in its full glory."

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The Swordmaster
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Citizen # 1302

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Arylia had been all but dismissed by the arrival of the visitor from Gondor, and she wandered on down to Kaylin's small shop alone. The Queen had not instructed her to do so, but she knew that it was likely that the Queen would be far too engrossed with the visitors to think about her new dress, and it was up to Arylia to make sure the dress was ready on time.

She was so focused on her purpose that she didn't see the man in front of her until she ended up sprawled on her back in the mud.

"I'm so sorry!" It was the rider of the bay mare, the solider she had smiled at that morning. He reached one hand down and pulled her back on to her feet, making an apologetic face when he saw the thick mud down the back of her dress.

"It's my fault," Arylia said with a quick smile, trying ineffectually to wipe the mud away. "I wasn't looking where I was going...I seem to have a habit of doing that."

The man laughed, "Perhaps then you should find softer things to walk into." He placed one hand against his muscular chest. "I'm afraid I'm a little solid." He smiled when she giggled and slightly nervously ajusted his clothing. "I'm Thwain by the way, I ride the..."

"Bay mare," Arylia finished his sentance. "I know. She's a beautiful horse."

Thwain nodded, "Fast too...when I rode her against..." Suddenly he stopped, looking abashed. "I'm sure you don't need to hear about it, but you do need some clean, dry clothes...perhaps you'd best head back up to the Hall..."

Arylia's eyes widened, "I can't go back up there looking like this! I'm only supposed to be going down to fetch some fabrics and then I have to go to my duties. I can't possibly serve the Queen covered in mud..." she sniffed slightly and wrinkled her nose in distaste. "And other less pleasant things by the smell." She gave Thwain a quick smile, "I really had best get this sorted out...I'll..well I'll see you in the stables I'm sure." She quickly turned and hurried away, trying to interpret some of the things she was currently feeling.

It didn't take her long to reach Kaylin's workshop, and she waited a moment for the customer inside to leave and then stepped in through the door.

"What on earth is that smell?" Kaylin turned to face her, one hand to her nose and mouth.

"I think it might be me..."

Kaylin tried hard not to laugh and took the younger girl by the arm, "Oh dear Arylia, what have you been doing this time? But before you tell me...at least let me get you out of that dress and into a bath!"

Only a while later Arylia sat wrapped up in a thick robe, her hair still wet from her bath, telling Kaylin all of the recent events, up to and including her meeting with Thwain.

"So you know his name now at least," Kaylin said nodding knowingly. She had three daughters of her own and had taken Arylia under her wing sometime ago, and told anyone who would listen that if only she'd got her hands on the young girl a few years earlier she wouldn't be quite such a misfit, and that no girl should be brought up by only a father.

Arylia made a slight face, "I know his name, but it really doesn't mean a lot." She ran one hand through her wet hair, "I really need to get back up to the hall, the Queen is going to wonder where I've got to..." She paused and smiled a little ruefully. "Actually she probably won't even notice that I'm not there, but I really should get back."

"Well you can't wear that dress," Kaylin said firmly. She glanced round the room where there were a number of half-finshed and completed dresses for the Ladies of the court. "Right, I don't normally do this, but you are a special case." She took down one of the most simple of the completed dresses, but it was still far finer than anything Arylia had ever worn, made of fine fabric that Arylia could tell just by looking at it would flatter her figure in the best possible way.

"I can't wear that," she protested, even as she longingly reached one hand out to it.

"You can and will," Kayin said firmly. "Put it on whilst I fetch those fabrics and designs for the Queen."

Only moments later Arylia was back out on the street in the beautiful new dress, and nervously making her way back up to the Hall, the fabics for the Queen bundled up in her arms.

She reached the Hall, and for a moment contemplated seeing if she could just slip past and back to the Queen's workroom, but she knew where her duties were. She passed the bundle of fabics on to a serving girl with instruction on what to do with them, and then quietly approached the Queen to take up her customary place at her shoulder.

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Dancing Sparrow
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Citizen # 2240

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A single leaf breaks away form its small perch and floats silently down to earth. Its movements mock those of a little butterfly with erratic spins, swirls, and sharp turns. It finally comes to rest on the soft long grass not far from its parent tree. A pair of whiskery gray lips moves through the grass searching for the tenderest of baby grass shoots, pushing the brown dead leaf to the side. Only the munching of grass and smooth breeze can be heard as the dark threatening clouds move over the open plain. Time passes and the mechanical munching continues.

A single sudden gasp broke the calm of the plain and the large head of a dark gray draught horse rose from the earth with ears perked and eyes bright. Not but a few meters from him a young woman sat gazing off into the distance with wide terrified eyes. Her heart pounded so hard it pained and her breath heaved to catch itself. She let out a sharp cry as shock, relief, fear, and pain swept over her body. She covered her mouth with her hand as she sucked in more air still. There just didn’t seem to be enough air in all of Middle Earth to satisfy her empty lungs. She closed her eyes in an attempt to center and calm herself. As her breathing finally slowed the sudden realization of where she was hit her and her breath stopped. Her eyes flashed open and scanned the horizon.

Where was she? What had happened?

The wind picked up for but a moment causing a bit of dust blow into the nostrils of the massive horse resulting in a long deep snort. The woman turned to the source of the sound and saw a familiar face.

“Lorn.”

Her inner self smile, but her face did not move. She rolled over to her hands and knees, and then pulled herself to her feet. Her body ached with some parts aching more than others. Her thighs and lower back were so sore they seemed to feel numb. She had been riding long… or hard… or both. As she thought of this, bits and pieces came back to her but only enough to give her this instinctual feeling in the pits of her stomach to keep on the move. She walked up to Lorn and took hold of the single rein attached to his bit. The check piece that was supposed to hold the bit on was broken on one side. The bit just hung from Lorn face with no way of reattaching. She unbuckled the remaining cheek piece from the bridle and let the bit fall into the grass, then tied the one remaining rein to the noseband so to lead him. She was far too sore to attempt to mount him especially since his saddle was completely gone. She simply pointed herself in a direction so that the the newly falling rain did not sting her eyes and started walking.

Just then the sounds of dogs on the hunt echoed across the plain. Her body froze for a second then panicked. She dropped the rein and abandoned her mount. The jolt of movement startled Lorn and he bounced a bit, but quickly calmed. The woman dove into the grass knowing her fate was sealed for you can not hide from dogs and even a full grown man would find it difficult to out run them.

She squeezed her eyes as tight as she could and braced for the impact of sharp canines and their crushing force as a dog over came her. She cried out as loud as she could in sheer terror only to be silenced by a warm tongue and the happy prancing of feet. She opened her eyes to a face as dark as the gelding’s and eyes twice as bright. It was her own deer hound that must have followed her and who knows how long it took him to find her. The devotion of her beloved friend filled her with joy as she threw her arms around him, but this joy was short lived. That feeling in the depths of her insides overcame her again as she rose to her feet. With horse in hand and her hound in tow she continued on way into the unknown.

Such a strange day it has turned out to be. Awakening in a field to two beloved faces, neither of them human, and a constant drive to keep moving no matter the destination. That was all that was before her. No memory of before she awoke on the plain. Memories of her childhood, family, and up bringing…yes… but nothing more recent than now. She needed food, sleep, a bath, and time to think.

The ache with in her tensed and her pace quickened.

[ 08-10-2006, 12:01 AM: Message edited by: Dancing Sparrow ]

From: Over Yonder *points south* | Registered: Jun 2002  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Roll of Honor Mahanaxar
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Happy to be here. Was she, truly? Êomer hoped this visitor told the truth, though noted that he had still not told him the reason for his visit.

"Then I insist you ride with me as soon as fairer weather permits," he replied with a smile. "The mark is truly something to behold and there is no feeling quite like its wind rushing through your hair." Changing the subject he continued, "It is good to hear that Gondor continues to fare so well, it certainly could not find a nobler king. It was an honor to fight alongside him, as was it with your father. Any kin of him is well beyond welcome in my house. Tell me, how is he?"

From: pants | Registered: Jan 2002  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Nelyafinwë
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Lothíriel felt ill. She was not sure if it was the baby, the stress of sitting here knowing what she had truly told this man of Gondor, or the ever present and very strong smell of horse that emanated from both Berethorn and Éomer but she could not take it anymore.

She rose quickly, steadying herself on Éomer's arm.

"I'm not feeling well, my lord...please excuse me while I go lay down."

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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Arylia stepped forward quickly as the Queen rose to her feet.

"Would you like me to accompany you, Your Majesty? Or can I bring anything to your room, something to drink perhaps?"

She knew that the Queen had suffered from some sickness for a while, but had thought that it was easing, and it worried her to see Lothíriel looking so pale.

From: Paphos, Cyprus!!! | Registered: Dec 2001  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Roll of Honor Mahanaxar
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 1540

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Éomer's face reflected the same worry. He held his arm out strong as Lothíriel put her weight on it. He smiled sympathetically and said, "As you wish, my love." Turning to her handmaiden he said, "And I think it would be best if you did go with her at least as far as the room." Turning back towards his wife, Éomer said, "I will see that Berethorn is shown his room. Rest well."

Inwardly he grimaced. He hated it when she called him "lord", even if he was a king. It just seemed too.... cold. Too formal.

[ 08-09-2006, 02:28 PM: Message edited by: Mahanaxar ]

From: pants | Registered: Jan 2002  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Nelyafinwë
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Since the very day they had been married, Lothíriel had been uncomfortable calling her husband by his given name. She had done so once or twice on their wedding night, when there was a need to be intimate, but she had not done so since.

Leaning on Arylia's arm for support, she made her way back to the bedroom she shared with him, and nearly collapsed on her bed in exhaustion. She was not made for this land. She wondered if she could ever call it home. She wanted to go home. Home to Dol Amroth, where she could stand by the sea and watch the dolphins and the birds, with the sea air in her face...

Tears came to her eyes, and she grasped Arylia's hand, suddenly looking very small and frightened.

"Please," she nearly begged, "Stay with me a while."

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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Arylia felt tears come to her own eyes when she saw her Queen looking so vulnerable.

"Of course I shall stay with you, My Queen," She said, squeezing Lothíriel's hand in return. "For as long as you need me." She knew that there was a distance between her and Lothíriel, bourne from a difference in rank and upbringing, but she felt for the young woman in front of her. They were of a similar age, and perhaps had more in common than either of them thought, both lived in a world that they felt uncomfortable in.

From: Paphos, Cyprus!!! | Registered: Dec 2001  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
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