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7 Fourth Age: After Six Years; [Brewyn]
Topic Started: 11 Nov 2008, 03:27 AM (317 Views)
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The horses and wagon had moved too slowly for Cirion’s liking. They transported the fresh and salted fish from Dol Amroth to Minas Tirith to sell in the market, but my was the journey long. The load was heavy, and they could not over tire the horses, nor could they press them to go to fast for there were no extras if one were to founder. Their goal would be useless and the fish would rot. Cirion tired of sitting in the wagon. His legs were restless as he switched from riding to walking next to it. It was far too slow.

“Cirion! You are restless!” his friend Balied remarked, grinning at the man, as he watched Cirion yet again jump off the side of the moving wagon to walk alongside. Balied was a fellow fisherman, an older man, who had not gone off to war, but stayed to care for his family while his sons went instead. He had been glad to welcome Cirion back to the fleet of fisherman from his ship when the war finished, for Cirion was one of his best workers. Devoted and quick. “What troubles you?” the man asked, wondering how the younger man had such abounding energy.

“I forget how many days trip it is to the White City,” Cirion answered.

“You tell me that you just spent six years on patrol, and now this one week is making you restless? Relax, enjoy the ride, look at the mountains, are they not splendid?” They had already passed through Losarnach, and were less than a days ride from the city, but it was still dreadful for Cirion.

“Six years was enough, this one week is tedious,” Cirion answered. He knew they would come to see the city soon, but it was unbearable for him. He did not know the entirety of his restlessness, but he knew it was not because he wanted to sit at the market and sell fish like in the old times. His trip to the White City was for the sole purpose of finding and meeting his beloved Brewyn. He had been away far too long, and in the thick of war, which she much despised. He had not sent word that he would be coming, for it was an impulsive decision that brought him to this point. He had very recently returned to Belfalas, and had only been out on the trip for two single excursions before making the trek to Minas Tirith. Cirion gave Balied no more of an answer.

He was a changed man, Cirion. For once he had been given a sense of responsibility. He had never been the one granted with responsibilities, for he was not trusted with it, but he had been a protector of his people. Not only was his face more weathered, and his body more lean from training and battle, but he bore his scars. Physical scars, and also the scars of someone who has taken life. Someone who has put fate into his own hands and changed that of others. The men he had slain, who knew if they were truly evil, or if they were just like him, sent to the borders to protect their land. Perhaps he had killed a man who had children or a wife, or a beloved waiting for him back in the city of his home? This was what truly weighted on Cirion. The fact that he must admit to his Brewyn what had happened, and the things he had done. She had abhorred the idea of war as long as he had known her. But the land of Belfalas had been in danger! Men from the south had approached and set fire to the southern cities, and it would not have been long before they had reached Dol Amroth as well. It was necessary that even the country men such as himself participated in making the kingdom safe.

As they rounded a rocky crag and the city came into view, Cirion pulled himself back up onto the wagon, the whole time, as the great tower approached, mustering thoughts in his mind. His heart was a combination of joy and sorrow as they neared and entered onto the first level of the city, heading up to the markets on the third level. Both men kept quiet as they set up their stand. In the busy market, people flocked around, for fresh fish was a much enjoyed food.

“Now that we are here, you may as well go find her,” Balied told Cirion, knowing why the man was anxious. Cirion nodded, “Thank you,” he answered, refastening his travelling cloak, the seal of the Silver Swan on his shoulder, he set off to where he knew best to find her; the Houses of Healing. If she was not there, he would go to the door of her parents home.
 
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Brewyn was tired. Tired was not something Brewyn was entirely used to or enjoyed. But tired she was. She was tired of looking around corners for him. She was tired of wanting him. She was tired of waiting for him.

Him. Cirion. Even after six years she couldn't bare to speak his name out loud. She could hardly bring herself to think of him. At nights she dreamed of him, some dreams were full of laughter and hope. She could picture his face and hear his laughter. But most of her dreams were filled with despair and the only thing she could picture was his dead body in one of the beds at the Houses of Healing.

She feared that that was his fate, left alone on a battle field to be food for the darker creatures of this world. That very thought made her heart stop and cut her breath short. For that very thought was her worst fear, her worst nightmare for the world truly would be a drearier place with his smile and laughter in it.

And yet, she Brewyn, still had hope. And hope was not something she felt very often. She had grown up with war surrounding her, and had felt the slowing of dying men's pulses. She knew the reality of death and she knew that in all likelihood Cirion could be dead. The war, the dreadful war that he had left her for, was over and she still had not seen or heard from him. She knew the realities of death and yet she had hope.

Hope that one day, when she turned the corner, he would be there. He would be as he was before, aged of course, but still just as wonderful and marvelous as before. That was her hope. That was her dream. That was what made her get up in the morning.

Brewyn shook her head and attempted to push the thoughts from her mind. And then she saw him. She couldn't believe it. And that was when she did the very mature thing of diving into an alley.

She wanted to run into his arms and tell him that he made her whole and that her life was all the more better with him in it. She wanted to tell him that every day since he had left, she had missed him and yearned for him. She wanted to say that she loved him.

But Brewyn was not one to do as her heart wished her to do. She was stubborn and certainly a little angry at him. And so, instead of telling him all sorts of wonderful and cheery things with tears and everything she composed herself and waited for him to pass. And then, with the dignity, anger, and bitterness she could summon she stepped out of the alley and said, "Lost again are we Cirion?"
 
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Cirion’s breath caught in his throat as he stopped walking, and turned around at the voice. He knew who’s voice it was, although the gentle lilt had gone from it. Once she had been happy on their meetings, but now there was only bitterness. Grey eyes searched her face, but there was only anger. Even in the way she stood spoke of her solemn attitude, for where she had once been unwound and relaxed in his presence, she stood stiffly , holding herself in the most dignified manner. She looked different. A bit older of course, and tired. Cirion had never seen Brewyn tired.

“Not lost,” Cirion answered shortly, for he was not. It seemed as if it had taken him ages to answer, though it had only been a few quick moments. He was merely on his way to the Houses of Healing, to which he well knew the direction. “I was just looking for you. Though perhaps you would be in the Houses of Healing. But you’ve found me first, as usual.” A grim smile was upon his face.

He was at a loss for what to say to her. Cirion. At a loss for words. This was an unheard of situation. Had he really expected an enthusiastic greeting? He knew how she hated the idea of him joining Prince Imrahil’s army, but he only did so to defend her, and to defend his remaining family. If there had not been need, he would not have done so, for he would have been perfectly content to fish the Seas and provide food for his people, without donning a sword and shield.

Not to say the war had not changed his personality as well. He stood tall and proud, a Swan Knight of Dol Amroth. He felt very free, used to wearing a helm and armor, but now just common clothes, though they too bared the mark of the army of Dol Amroth, the swan. “I have been released from the service of the Prince,” he finally added, as if it would help the situation. “And I have come to find you. Will you walk with me?” He would have taken her home to Belfalas with him if she had allowed it, even on this trip; if there was anything to cure a tired heart, it was gentle words and the great Sea.
 
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She frowned slightly. War had changed him, he seemed meeker. She thought for a moment to forget whatever speech she was planning and to just forgive him. The urge to jump into Cirion's arms, to hold him and talk as they once did was overwhelming. But Brewyn was an ace at controlling her urges.

"I am almost impressed." She said, a smirk sliding on to her face. "It seems you can find your way around the city, you're even going in the right direction." She said scathingly. It was something she would have said before the war as well, only with a lot more laughter in her voice. But the war had also changed Brewyn and she laughed less now.

"I am no longer taking permanent residency there. As you know the worst battle of the war has been over for six years now. I am training to be a midwife." Six years. Six terribly long years without him by her side. True, they saw each other rarely before that considering they lived in different cities but at least he had made an effort.

"Contrary to what you might think I do understand the necessity of war on some occasions." She knew that, and though she had feigned anger when he had left her to play soldier, she had understood. Understood that sometimes there was things worth dying for. "But six years Cirion. For six years I have waited and this is what you tell me!" She certainly was more than angry now. It was always the same with her, as she soon as she started yelling she couldn't stop. She was going to make him hate her and yet she still couldn't stop. "Well I am glad Prince Imrahil had finally decided to let you off his service. Tell me, did he also forbid you to write letters to your friends and family?

"I thought you were dead! I thought you had been left for orc meat on some battlefield! For six years! She said bitterly, her eyes glaring into his. People were beginning to stare now. She almost let herself smile at another memory, a happier memory, when the two of them would spin gossip for the elderly to amuse themselves with. "Did you forget me? Do I mean nothing to you now? Was I just another female to torment?" She said angrily. She doubted it, Cirion was not like that. But she still feared it.

Brewyn then continued to walk towards her unknown destination. She then stopped, turned around and said, "Are you coming or not?"
 
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Six years; she just kept repeating it, and he felt all the worse each time it was stated. It had been six years. He knew that fact. Why, if she had asked him, he could have told her exactly how many days it had been, let alone years.

Brewyn had spoken quickly, and in rage, not giving Cirion a chance for a word in edgewise. And then she walked away from him! This was not what was supposed to happen! Should there not be joy at their first meeting after the long years had passed? He realized that she was walking away, but at least she had stopped to ask if he was following or not, and that he did.

Cirion frowned finally offered a chance to respond, “You know very well that I cannot write to save my life. I once told you this and you were quite alright with that fact.” But perhaps his life did need saving! My but was she angry. Cirion could barely sign his own name, let alone write Brewyn’s name. And he had asked people to send on his word, but there were few travelling between the Southern borders and Minas Tirith, and they often had great purpose and could not be bothered by such a meager mission. He would not even bother to tell her this though, for there was truly no excuse. Brewyn was a passionate woman, but her passion had turned from joy to bitterness! He attempted to not raise his voice at her, the way she did to him. Throughout his years in a battalion, he had learned much better to control his anger and not argue with those who argued with him. He had of course not lost his joy in sarcasm and taunting arguments, but out of anger and respite, he could not bring himself to do so right now. Not with Brewyn.

Despite her anger and yelling, Cirion did nothing but love her more, and pity her, for what he had done, and what the war had done. “I did not mean to abandon you, and in my heart I have not. You must understand. While the forefront of battle was upon the forces at the Black Gate, the lands of Belfalas were still under siege. While Gondor’s gaze was on Mordor, and while the forces of Dol Amroth were at the gates, there was great opening for the dark creatures and men of the earth to invade Belfalas, and that they did. After we returned the mountains were still teeming with orcs, and the men of the South had drawn their lines. They did not have the power as before, but by all means it was not safe for my family. My grandparents, my brother, and even your family, Brewyn. You know they live there, and you know that I care for them. As I care for you, beloved, but I knew you were safe here in this city.” He said all of this in a calm, clear voice, avoiding the argumentative, but being precise so that she would not cut him off in her anger. He wished that the people would not stare so, though he knew if he had seen a woman displaying such a dramatic fit in the city, he would have stared as well.

Gentleness, that was the key, gentleness. He could not fall into argument. She was tormented, and he could not display anger the way she did, or it would ruin everything. At least Cirion had been on the move all these years; never too much thought put to one place. Brewyn though suffered the fate of enclosure in the city, where day after day she did the same work, and had all the time in the world to contemplate this very moment. Cirion wondered what would happen if he were to just stop in his tracks, grab her shoulders, and tell her to stop her yelling and argument. He knew she was a sweet woman, and it was not like her to display this rage on another human. On human ideals, perhaps, but not upon him. Then again, she was also an energetic as she was sweet, and she had obviously been frustrated and worried for these entire six years. She needed to release it, and as long as it was on him, nobody else would be hurt by it. She was by all means not the only one to release their wrath on Cirion in the past six years, but hers hurt the most. His frown diminished now to a look of plain grief, though he said no more, and just walked beside her.
 
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Her emotions were simmering close to the surface now. She could feel the hot angry tears threatening to pour out of her eyes. "I thought you were dead! I thought I would never see you again! You killed me!" She said angrily. Perhaps it was a bit melodramatic of her, but she was always one for dramatics. "Part of me died with every passing day that I didn't see you. You left me here to wallow in self pity!" She was being slightly petty now as well. "I was left alone here! Everyone left to fight and I was entrapped with the stench of death and bloodied bodies!"

She wanted to roll her eyes at herself. Tell herself she was being stupid and immature. But she couldn't, her stubborn pride would never let her forgive him without first punishing him. "I am sure you made friends, just a simple, "Hello my lovely beautiful gorgeous love of my life! I have not been ravaged by orcs! That would've sufficed." She said with a certain amount of bitterness. The slight joke recoiled her emotions slightly.

She listened to his response, it only made her angrier. It made sense, it made perfect sense. She hated his voice, the monotony of the tone destroyed her. She wanted him to yell at her, to tell her what an idiot she was being. Instead he just remained calm. She wanted him to grab her and take her into his arms.

She stopped, seething with anger. She had to fight even harder to control her tears now. She turned to stare at him, his meekness scared her. The look of hurt etched upon his face frightened her. "Just yell at me! Argue with me!" She screamed. "Why?!" She yelled as she hit him as hard as she could in the chest with a slight scream. She was shaking with emotion now, and she felt weak...pathetic. She hit him once more before she collapsed into his arms; tears running down her face.
 
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Cirion did not know what to do. She was now soaking his cloak in tears, whereas instants earlier she had been using all the force bestowed upon her small frame to knock him over. Both efforts were to no avail, for he did not move, and seconds later he encompassed her with his arms. What was he to do?

“Why? Why should I argue with you? What have you done to me? Aside from acting like an orc and trying to take me down. You are too beautiful to be an orc though, so you need to stop this fighting right now. Do you not know? I have been fighting orcs for six years, and I am tired of it now,” his voice was still calm, but now there was a slight lilt to it. Perhaps she would take comfort in the fact that he had called her an orc. That was how he always had made it through situations like this before; humor.

He continued, “And this is where we start over, and I pretend that I have met you in a different manner. You greet me with an embrace and tears of joy, for I do not return to you bloodied and deceased, but very much alive, and I say, ‘Hello, my love, I have missed you.’ Then I pick you up and spin you about in my own delight to see you.” As he spoke, he gently lifted the sobbing Brewyn and carried her to the nearest alley between the tall white buildings of the city, out of sight of the onlookers who had gone as far as stopping whatever task they were doing to watch the ridiculous woman beat up the strangely calm man.

“And afterwards, we retreat to a place where we can be alone together in our joy at again meeting,” he still spoke, even after bringing her into the bright alleyway. Despite Brewyn’s distress, Cirion’s attitude had changed slightly. She was just the same; passionate and uncontrollable. She did not hate him. That was just how she was. His arms were still lightly around her, and he marveled at it, for he had not so much as touched a woman in the entirety of his service to the Prince. He wondered at the warmth of it, and placed a calloused hand against her pallid and tear streaked cheek, his fingertips in her dark hair; he turned her face upward to look at him. His grey eyes were alight. His face was a bit aged, maybe moreso than it should be for only thirty years, and there were one or two faint scars that played along with the creases in the corners of his eyes. But his eyes were the way they had always been, from the moment he had met Brewyn until now.
 
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She hit him in the chest once more as he picked her up and carried her away. "Why should you argue with me?" She said smiling up at him for the first time. Seeing him for the first time. She was still hurt, and a little angry but she knew that she would forgive him. She always knew she would. "You should argue because you love me. You should argue because you love me and you need to tell me the truth. "You should argue because I am foolish immature little girl with far too much pent of rage." She said hitting him once more, this time in a playful manner. "Thats for calling me an orc."

Her words were broken as she attempted to control her tears. But she hadn't cried for too long and it was harder to control. She sighed as Cirion's hand touched her skin. It was familiar, calloused before from fishing and now from years of battle. "I missed you," she replied quietly, her tears slowing.

She glanced up at his face, scars were there that had not been the last time she had seen him. She took her hand and traced the contours of his face happy just to feel his heart beating against her skin. He had changed, the calm was almost unnerving. Built up from years of forced calm in the battlefield. "We can't forget. I won't forget. Cirion, my love, you can't erase or redo what I have said. You can't forget what has happened to you over the last six years. It will tear you up inside, its already eating away at your very soul. You have changed, but know this Cirion, I will love you till the day I depart from this Middle-Earth." She said softly.

"Now can you put me down? As charming as it is to be in your arms I wish to stand on my own two feet. I need to regain some of pride." She said with a small smirk. Any ounce of seriousness lost from her face and voice.
 
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"You may also pretend that your pride remains, but I think your dignified image has been erased from the minds of the people of Minas Tirith after that spectacle. Even if you did straighten your hair and wash your face, they would not believe it," Cirion replied as he placed Brewyn safely down on the ground, releasing her from his gentle hold. He wanted to reach out and wipe the wetness of tears from her face, but he would wait now until she chose to come closer.

He continued, "And where does arguing solve our problems anyhow, Brewyn? Has it helped any that you have yelled in my face and bruised my chest? I know that you are foolish , woman, but does it really help if I continually remind you?"

"I did not say I will forget what has happened, just that I wished we would have had a more joyful meeting. If I have somehow kept my memory of the happenings before the war, I surely will not lose the most recent years. Do not worry, you can hear an account of each day if you like; each wound I received, and each beast and man that I killed. It will take me six more years to describe them to you. And other than age, strength, and experience; how have I changed? Have you even taken the chance to listen to me, against the sound of your own voice? Do you demand that I throw a tantrum such as you have done on the streets of Minas Tirith, and tell you of the anguish that my battles and being away from you has caused me?" He knew that Brewyn had settled down a great deal now, but their conversation was by all means not over yet.

"I promise I will tell you all those things, but by all means don't make me speak of it right now upon our meeting," he finished, standing unmoving in his place.
 
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"Oh I have my pride. You may not know it, and they may not know it but I will always have ridiculous amounts of pride." She said calmly.

"I highly doubt I bruised your chest," she said looking up at him, raising her eyebrow slightly. "And yes it does, because I enjoy arguing and if you had at least attempted to stop me I might not have had an emotional breakdown in front of the people who to come to me to birth their children." At least he responded now.

"Joyful meeting? Did you honestly expect me to just jump into your arms Forgive you?" She said in an indifferent tone. She was controlled now, her emotions had all been shoved down deep inside her and she had no problem controlling them. "Your absence may have turned me into a pathetic foolish weeping woman, but I could never just forgive you.

"Not changed? War changes everyone, war changes everything." She said looking at him sadly. "You're right, I don't know how you've changed, but you feel different. Do you think I have not changed?" She said looking up away from him. "Do you think that war didn't touch us here in the White City? I was the one who got to tell all the families that we could that their son, husband, brother, father would no longer be coming home. I was the one who held my best friend's hand as he died right in front of me. I was the one who told his wife of three weeks that she was now a widow for the rest of her life. I didn't even cry then." She said and turned back towards him. "Do you think that I am still a foolish , insolent, ridiculous child incapable of forming intelligent coherent thoughts? Despite my resent display of incredible immaturity, I have changed."

She took a step towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Tell me what you want, when you want. I understand that you do not wish to speak of the terrible things which you have seen right now and I will not force you. But, we have both changed."

She looked up into his eyes. "It is my deepest wish to hear you laugh once more." She said with a small smile. "To have joy in our hearts and in our lives and maybe if I wasn't such a ridiculously arrogant and stubborn female we would already be happier. But unfortunately I haven't changed that much." She leaned her head up against his chest and smiled as she felt his heart beating once more next to her. "So what shall we speak of Slave Boy? I am afraid I don't know how to converse anymore so you must help me."
 
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