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| 6 Fourth Age: The Trials of a Wanderer; [ open ] | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: 27 Sep 2008, 09:43 PM (954 Views) | |
| Deleted User | 3 Nov 2008, 10:38 AM Post #11 |
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As the young female stilled, so did the man next to her, tensing with alert and cautiousness, and he felt the feeling of panic fill up within him. He remembered now why he hated walls, you couldn’t see what was going on around you, you didn’t know what was happening. Whilst in the wild you may find yourself in the same situation, the trees never created such a thick presence that it imitated the claustrophobic feeling of walls. Even after the voices faded and his healer got up to stand by the window, Esril kept himself at a alert and tense position, even doing so much as to push himself into a sitting position and swing his legs over the edge of the bed. He could sense the light annoyance that touched on the air and closed his eyes in anticipation. Having a younger sister, Esril was used to the quick change in emotions, and so when she spoke again, he simply sat still on the edge of the bed and let the frustrated words flow over to him. He smiled lightly at the fact before opening his eyes and returning his gaze to her, he could see her point of view, almost, but it was a shame she couldn’t really understand his. Not that she had anything to go on, but Esril had spent many years without much socialization within the world, and any interaction with another was shaky on his part. But he allowed her to get angry, to have this furious gaze glance to him, and gave little but a passive, if a little amused, look back. He knew his answer would determine whether the blaze in her eyes would ignite into a full blown forest fire, or die down to a light glimmer, but for the moment, he remained silent and allowed her to have her moment of frustration. At her clipped tone, Esril managed a grin and shook his head. “You are quick to be angered, if you think you are being doubted.” He murmured lightly. “It is not your treatment I fine unsatisfactory, my lady, I am lucky and honored to have someone as talented as you. It is just that I do not do well inside walls, this place, Minas Tirith itself, is not a place of comfort for me. Surely, you could bring yourself to understand why I would wish to rid myself of it as soon as possible” A riddle, almost, a small explanation that held little information but enough to hopefully calm the anger of the female. Placing both hands onto his knees with a soft wince, Esril sighed and cast his glance out of the window. He didn’t necessarily mean to anger anyone, but he didn’t necessarily hope to stay within the walls of Minas Tirith for very long if he could very much help it. He would return to the wild and continue as he had done, hopefully next time being more careful with how wounded he became so close to the white walls of the capital. |
| Deleted User | 7 Nov 2008, 03:28 AM Post #12 |
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Díorë was accustomed to bickering. Being raised one of six had somewhat skewed the odds, ensuring that always – regardless of what conversation found its way to the dinner table - at least one of the hot-headed brood would manage to find fault with the general consensus. She was accustomed to flare-ups, to battles of the wits, to down-right dirty verbal disputes and given the tone she had used to address this stranger she had expected his response to be inclined to the defensive – falling somewhere in the range previously described. Therefore to say that Díorë was slightly surprised by the calm tone that was extended to meet her own irritable one would have been a terrible understatement. She had expected a great many things: anger, male pride, a strong hand, or at the very least, the annoyed sting of his tongue; but not once had she ever considered that she might actually receive a grin for all her efforts! Taken aback, the girl who never seemed short of something to say found herself grappling at the edges of her vocabulary, searching for words to express the riddle of her seemingly blank mind, but she found none. And so, like a love struck maid – minus the underlying feelings of course – Díorë stared at him in silence, lips a breath apart, eyes slightly wider. Much like a wild filly calmed by the gentle, yet commanding croon of its master, Díorë found herself unknowingly tempered by the steadiness of his voice. “Díorë,” she said finally, correcting the loose title he addressed her with. “My name is Díorë.” As suddenly as it had appeared the anger that had burned in the soft blue of her eyes hardening them beyond her years, had vanished and in its stead something new burned with equally ferocity – curiosity. Encompassed by mystery, with not even a name to his tired, yet noticeably handsome face, this man was a stranger to her in every possible way. Whilst his physical appearance differentiated him from all the men she had ever known – bar her uncle who too was a man of Gondor – his mannerisms intrigued her further still, his careful politeness appearing as no more than a guise for what lurked beneath. She wished to know more. Bright eyes fixed steadily upon him in silent question, his wince did not go unnoticed to her and she received it with a slight frown, putting aside her childlike intrigue to slip effortlessly back into the role as his healer. “And you should be resting.” Straying from her haven beside the small window Díorë approached him slowly before settling on the bed beside him. When her curiosity became more than she could bear, she spoke once more. “Are you heading somewhere? I mean…as you’re so eager to be rid of this place surely there must be someplace else you’d rather be? Someplace you’re trying to get to?” |
| Deleted User | 19 Nov 2008, 01:30 AM Post #13 |
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He could read the confusion on her face and felt a small smile grace his lips, it had been so long that he had experience such anger, and to still know that nothing has really changed. Another’s anger could still he extinguished by the cool, calm tone and gaze of the passive party. He glanced away; allowing her a few moments to remain shocked without causing her too much – if any sort of – humiliation. Instead he focused on trying to move his fingers without causing himself too much pain, and it was quickly decided that that wasn’t going to heal anytime soon. Which definitely meant walking was out of the question, which meant he was going to be within walls for a few more days yet, and that he had better get used to it. He frowned a little, hearing a small, girlish chuckle from behind him, but knew better than to turn around and see if anyone was actually there. Glancing instead, to the young woman he could now recognize and title as Diore, the man managed a smile, but did not give his own name right back. He had learnt not too, a lot of pain came with his name and if the girl had any ties to the Duendain - …unlikely – then he didn’t want them knowing of his existence within the walls of Gondor just yet. He ignored the blatantly obvious note that he should not be trying to move, and instead he should probably be doing anything but moving at that stage, and remained in his painful sitting position. For a moment, he remained silent, only the small nod of his head even giving away the fact that he had heard the young woman. Still, as she dream nearly, filled with the obvious curiosity that often came when he spoke in his riddles, Esril allowed a small sigh to escape his lips and he relaxed. “Someplace I’m trying to get too…” he repeated slowly, thoughtfully, and the giggling behind him returned. “I do not know my path, anymore…I’m simply trying to get to a point in life where, it doesn’t hurt so much anymore” He smiled then, the soft call of his name haunting his senses. “Esril.” He spoke, before grinning to her, bright eyes following with the sad remembrance for a moment, until he blinked and it was gone. “Son of Anath, greatly honored to be in the hands of a talented healer such as yourself, Lady Diore” |
| Deleted User | 2 Dec 2008, 04:51 AM Post #14 |
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It was becoming increasingly apparent that he had no intention of playing by the rules. Instead, this nameless stranger seemed determined to remain so, deliberately straying from the prewritten scriptures that dictated so many frivolous things including the simple act of exchanging names. Granted, they had both technically turned a blind eye from such conventions, postponing the introductions that typically proceeded the first conversation carried out between two strangers, but now that Díorë had revealed her own identity she had expected him to do the same and was sorely disappointed and a little confused as to why he had not. Perhaps he wished to keep the upper hand, she thought grudgingly. Or worse yet, perhaps his name had unfavourable ties to it, marking him as someone she would not wish to keep in her company. Still, there was something about him that kept her close. He was so strange, so mysterious. It was unsettling and yet surprisingly, she felt no fear. Perhaps it was her naivety, her youth preventing her from seeing how completely illogical and potentially dangerous this situation was. The facts spoke for themselves really: she knew nothing about him, he was easily double her size, and if he wished it he could put aside his own pain to inflict some upon her. And yet, despite that, Díorë trusted him in such a delicate way that he had neither earned, nor truly deserved. A childlike trust. Like the love between a mother and child; there was no reason for it, it simply was. Eyes downcast and caught up in a mesh of thought, Díorë listened to him in silence. He spoke slowly at first, rolling the words around in his mouth as if they were foreign sweets belonging to a language he couldn’t quite comprehend, though she knew better than to think this was the case. “I do not know my path anymore…I’m simply trying to get to a point in life where, it doesn’t hurt so much anymore.” “That’s perfectly dreary.” She replied with a grin that matched his own. She liked it when he smiled. It transformed his face, cracking it wide open and allowing her to glimpse something beneath his tough exterior, something vulnerable, something recognisable. Something human. Finding a small contentment in the fact that he had finally entrusted her with his name, Díorë met his gaze and for a moment, as blue met blue, she was overwhelmed by the startling similarity in colour. Perhaps that was why she trusted him so easily. When she looked into his eyes, he didn’t look like a stranger. If anything, she just saw herself staring straight back at her. “Esril.” She said finally. “That wasn’t so hard now was it.” |
| Deleted User | 9 Dec 2008, 03:08 AM Post #15 |
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He realized many things within those few short seconds. One, he should have probably given his name much ealier, two, he probably should have followed the normal…script one used when meeting someone knew, and 3, he should not have fallen off his damn hore in the first place. In the end, that was what it had come down too, he hadn’t looked after himself and in return for his foolosihness he had gotten a swift kick in his pride and in the gut, although he was hardly one to deny help, even if he was being treated by a very strict and stubborn female healer, who had been left alone in his presence, who had not rushed to get her father or brother upon his awakening. Which he was grateful no end for, it was much more soothing to wake up to find you being treated by a female, who was less a threat, than a male healer. He ignored the brief, what he considered to be rhetorical, question about whether it had been hard to say his name. Yes, it had been hard, because he had not used him name for many months now, he had not mentioned his father’s name for even longer time. It was a name that brought back so much pain, so much annoyance and hatred, feelings he had buried if only for the fact he did not quite know how to deal with them just yet. Closing his eyes for a moment, he thought back to when he had first awoken, Faelyn’s voice echoing in his mind, but there had originally be something else too, another sound, another voice when he had woken up, and after a few minutes, he realized. “Humming” he said finally, his throat still sore from not being used in many weeks, but after a tough cough and a pat on his chest, he glanced to his healer once again, smiling lightly. “You were humming, when I awoke, you had a tune floating in the air, may I ask what it was? May I hear it again?” it was the memory he wanted more than anything else, his mother had used to sing before he and his sister woke for breakfast, and it had been a way to find out how people were feeling, what was in their deepest heart of hearts. A soft, light song told so much compared to a loud but gentle song even if the only different in the two was the tune and the volume. “Please” he requested softly. “I would like to hear it in it’s entirety” |
| Deleted User | 17 Dec 2008, 06:04 AM Post #16 |
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“You heard that?” Her eyes widened noticeably, but it was not embarrassment that made it so, merely the lingering fact that somehow her voice had reached the dark crevices of his mind, that he had been capable of conscious thought before he had even opened his eyes. Clearing her throat, Díorë shifted in her seat, adjusting her position so as to turn slightly towards him. When she was finally comfortable again she pulled her loose golden mane over her shoulder, absently running her fingers through it like her mother had done to her when she was small and the melody had been her lullaby. “My mother used to sing it to me when I was younger. It’s a Rohirric lullaby.” Díorë paused, glancing away to mask her hesitation. It was one thing to sing to someone who was all but dead to the world, lost in peaceful slumber and dream, and another thing entirely to sing upon request to an awake and fully conscious audience, a stranger nonetheless. Still, she silently reasoned, he had already heard her humming and besides she was accustomed to singing before people. And so, having convinced herself, Díorë begun her song, loosely translating it from her tongue to the common speech Esril would understand: “Sleep dear heart, close your eyes Horses race across the skies. Black and brown, white and grey Flowing manes, loud they neigh. Their rider’s call, heed them not Following them is not your lot. You stay safe, by the hearth With the one who gave you birth. Sleep, dear heart, close your eyes Horses race across the skies.” At the completion of the song, Díorë allowed for silence to settle, for it to move in and fill the small space between them. No blush coloured her cheeks for she was not ashamed. Singing was apart of Rohirric culture. Whilst the Gondorian’s favoured the art of words to record their history, filling many scrolls and many volumes with grand stories of their victories and their loses, those of the Riddermark were mainly illiterate and so retold their history through song. “Did you mother used to sing you to sleep?” She said finally, her gaze intent and focused on his face once more. Naïve, Díorë did not consider her question to be too personal and so awaited his response with a welcoming smile. |
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