7 Fourth Age: someone put o u t the [moon]

7 Fourth Age: someone put o u t the [moon]
Topic Started: 17 Feb 2009, 05:53 PM (126 Views)
Deleted User	17 Feb 2009, 05:53 PM Post #1
Deleted User	Bare footed yet again, the Lady in Waiting to Queen Lothiriel stepped out onto the cool tile with some degree of cautiousness. She would probably be scolded if the wrong person caught her, but the need to see the stars on such a clear night as this was too strong. She couldn’t help it; it was in her blood, to sneak out at night and at watch the sky. Darting out down the corridor and shivering at the cold that shot up her body, Lyda allowed her fingers to trail within one another and swing just in front of her stomach. Her knowledge and co-ordination wasn’t the best, so she was careful to not get lost once again and spend the early hours of the morning trying to find her room again, covered in dirt and freezing cold for the maids to find her shivering in her bed during morning clean up. The memory had his smiling lightly and pushing the door open to allow her escape to the world outside. “Ooh, wow!” the shocked gasp that left her lips was soon followed by a smile and a hand to her mouth in surprise, the stars glowing brightly within the darkness and lighting up the entire world. Forgetting her earlier cautiousness and running forward, her feet patting gently across the ground, the young female closed her eyes and placed her hands close to her chest, interlinked. “After the sun has all burned out, and darkness is all around, the stars will light the way, leading to a new day…” Humming an upbeat self-thought tune under her breath as she skipped further out into the gardens, Lyda allowed the beauty of the night to wash over her. Hands clasped tightly together as her eyes closed to murmur a soft, thankful prayer. “For this, I thank you” Glinting blue eyes flashing open to glow with the burning orbs above her once more, the humming returning and despite the cold wind, she stood, content, within the darkness in nothing by a dark green nightdress that blew lazily around her pale ankles.
Deleted User


Deleted User	25 Feb 2009, 02:00 AM Post #2
Deleted User	"Where is the sun, móminya?" asked the small boy, glancing up at his mother with round, doe eyes and a tilt in his head. The boys face was constructed around gloriously high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a wide brow. These, his father had always said, were the makings of a king. Affectionately, the boy's father would often call him King Éomer, though those days have long been spent. "It's below the hills, my love. It must sleep, just as you must," whispered the woman with flowing hair of dark golden thread. She cupped her hand around the boys face, gently, softly. "Just as we all must sleep, Éomer." Misery crept across her face, the warm, honey-gold eyes watering on the ends. Retracting her hand, the woman faded into the black abyss that surrounded them. Metal clashed against metal, cries of courage and anguish rose above the din, though few could hear it. Bloody, grimy orcs ravaged the rapidly decreasing éored. They had been completely taken by surprise, not having a proper scout on watch and consequently, they weren't prepared for a skirmish three hours past midnight. It happened quickly, silently. One of the orc's pig-stickers reached through the massive onslaught and caught Éomund in the side. It was at that exact moment that one of the Rohirrim was forced back by the savage orcs and fell into Éomund, causing him to spin clockwise and carry the blade through his abdomen. Éomund, son of Éomod, passed into the abyss. The King of the Riddermark wakened in a cold sweat. It was not the first time, nor would it be the last time, that Éomer visited his parents in that manner. Never did it change, his dream. It always ended in death and desolation and always shall it be so. Glancing at the glowing embers of the fire, he judged that sleep had only visited him for an hour. Even in the summer, the lands known as Rohan still had a fierce chill in the twilight hours. This is why, when rising, Éomer donned a thick fur mantle in addition to putting on proper breeches. His bedchamber, though filled with the greatest comforts and wife of eight years, felt desolate. Only under the twinkling stars and dilating moonlight would Éomer King find any solace. Sliding through the corridors of Meduseld, the man of six feet and six inches met no one. He had been dwelling in the Golden Hall long enough to know the way of moving around and encountering few. At this hour, the early hours of the night, he encountered no man. The ghosts of his past, however, Éomer encountered in abundance. Grima Wormtongue, the traitor of the Rohirrim, snaked through these hallways. Théodred, his cousin lost at the hands of Saruman, had once played with him in this very spot. Éowyn, his sister and one confidant in this life, used to practice swordplay in secret around this corner. Éomer knew she always had, as he'd wake up with a misplaced sword and her with light bruises. When Éomer finally broke free from the building, he opted to not stand on the porch as he usually did. Instead, the expansive summer gardens appealed to him. It was this that inspired the king to make the brisk walk into the yard of bushes, trees, flowers, fruits, and other beauties. It was this moment that a humming noise floated over the breeze, as though the Elves themselves came to chant in his garden. Following the noise out of curiosity, it came to some shock to see a lady. Her face was obscured and the night hid the description of her clothes, so immediately Éomer ran the improbability that it was truly an Elf that stood a handful of yards before him. Approaching closer, making little noise out of habit, he called through the night, "Lady, what brings your melody into my gardens at this hour- and with so little to keep you warm in this chill night?" His tone was one of intrigue, though it did have the edge of power that seemed gifted to each King of the Mark. Gifted, or cursed. mother- Tolkien never saw fit to develop the language of the Éothéod, the people that the Rohirrim come from. So, I'm making up bits and pieces of it based on what Tolkien did write of it. Bwaha.
Deleted User


Deleted User	26 Feb 2009, 02:37 AM Post #3
Deleted User	Staring, dazed across th gardens with a soft smile on her face, Lyda felt the wind rise and travel over his shoulders with a grin. She believed it to be the gods around her that caused the wind to blow so close and so warm against her shoulders. Almost encouraging her singing, she liked to think, although with the warm safe feeling she felt, came the depressed guilt of those who were not as lucky. Who were either ill, had family ill or were poor, and unlike some higher class people she had met, Lyda didn’t believe they could help being poor. “And are you so lost in yourself, that you cannot possibly, hear those around oneself, with their prayers and their pleas…” Her voice travelled again, the tone softer, deeper, and much more solemn and depressing than what it had been moments before. Closing her eyes and clasping her hands together to her chest once more, the female took another deep breath. “And do you see those on the ground, too weak to carry on, too lost to be found” She fell silent again, but her tune remained. “Let the night sky shine, and bring forth the days of peace and happiness, to defeat the darkness that will intertwine, and allow the light to shine and to bless~” she gasped, suddenly aware of the presence behind her and the tune, the singing and the humming stopped. Turning around quickly on one foot, her hands still clasped to her chest in the intertwining way of a prayer, Lyda felt her face drain of blood, before rushing back up with a blush. “I-I’m so sorry!” she automatically stammered, of coarse she recognised the man just a way from her, and with that, she bowed, closing his eyes tight. Slowly straightening up, Lyda thought back to the question. “I came to watch the stars, my King, they are so bright tonight and I could not resist their call!” At the remembrance that it was cold, Lyda glanced down at her dark green robe and shook her head, dark blonde hair shaking over her shoulders as she did so. “I rarely feel the cold, my Lord, it is not something I have ever been known to be” And it was true, even when she was young, Lyda had never complained about the cold, her body never seemed to register it. “I am sorry for intruding on your gardens, I did not think anyone would be here…I will depart if you wish it so…”
Deleted User


1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)


« Previous Topic · 7 Fourth Age · Next Topic »