~~*DISCLAIMER: I am not the great Tolkien. I wouldn't mind being Tolkien,
by any means, but alas. I am but a 1700 year old lady of Middle Earth. So
plz read my fan fiction and review. Flammers always welcome as I said in
my explination.*~~
Eámanë blended in well with the crowd at the Prancing Pony, and that
suited her just fine, seeing as being discovered would mean
persecution, banishment, ridicule, and death threats. It was the same
in every place, every time. Someone would find out what she was, and
she would make another midnight flight.
Truth be told, she relished the whole ordeal. Nothing thrilled her
more then fleeing for her life by moonlight. It was romantic in a
heart thumping, pulse racing, 'don't-get-caught-if-you-value-your-
life' kind of way.
In fact, she had escaped from another town just a few nights ago.
Escaping had been a simple matter of running by moonlight and hiding
during the day. Somewhere in between, she had used an old sword of
her father's to cut her flaming red hair.
Her father would have never approved of her living this way, but she
couldn't change the fact that her parents had been a hobbit and an
elf. Romance tends to hit in the strangest places and moments. Now,
she ran from place to place like some elusive wraith, in pursuit of.
well she didn't know quite yet, but it was something major.
The chill wind ripped across her body as the door opened letting yet
another weary traveler in from the inkiness of the night. There would
be no moon to guide her fleeing feet until this storm passed. Let's
hope she wouldn't be forced to deal with that.
She wrapped her midnight blue velvet cloak tighter around her wispy
frame. All around her, people were singing and celebrating, just like
they had been since the "one ring" had been destroyed. Eámanë had
done her fair share of partying too. That's when her life on the run
had started.
She had been celebrating in some pub, in some town, and gotten a
little too drunk on brandy wine. She had begun to dance, and thrown
her cloak aside for easier movement, and her Elvin form had been
revealed. Though most of her appearance and skill came from her Elvin
father, her height and hair were of her hobbit mother.
Now, she keeps to herself and joined in celebrating in other ways.
Never again would she get that drunk, she knew that for sure. She'd
had one hell of a hangover that next morning.
When someone would toast, she joined in, and once or twice she could
be persuaded to sing a song, but beyond that she was a corner
decoration. Her aquamarine eyes scanned the room periodically, and
were suddenly caught by the most breath taking green orbs. They held
her captive in their glance; spoke to her, but she couldn't make out
what they were telling her.
She forced herself to look the rest of the way around the rest of the
room, and then back into her mug. How could one pair of eyes effect
her so, dare she say rock her to her very core? She couldn't stop
herself, she looked back towards the chair that the stranger had
occupied, but he was gone.
The disappointment threatened to overwhelm her, though she couldn't
understand why. She got up and strolled back towards her room,
nothing left to entertain her here. She was about halfway back when a
strong hand grabbed her arm and pulled her into a claustrophobic
closet.
**I'm sorry Megs, nothing hot and steamy quite yet. Later I'll throw
in a passionate anger turned to passionate kiss scene, just for you.**
Eámanë blended in well with the crowd at the Prancing Pony, and that
suited her just fine, seeing as being discovered would mean
persecution, banishment, ridicule, and death threats. It was the same
in every place, every time. Someone would find out what she was, and
she would make another midnight flight.
Truth be told, she relished the whole ordeal. Nothing thrilled her
more then fleeing for her life by moonlight. It was romantic in a
heart thumping, pulse racing, 'don't-get-caught-if-you-value-your-
life' kind of way.
In fact, she had escaped from another town just a few nights ago.
Escaping had been a simple matter of running by moonlight and hiding
during the day. Somewhere in between, she had used an old sword of
her father's to cut her flaming red hair.
Her father would have never approved of her living this way, but she
couldn't change the fact that her parents had been a hobbit and an
elf. Romance tends to hit in the strangest places and moments. Now,
she ran from place to place like some elusive wraith, in pursuit of.
well she didn't know quite yet, but it was something major.
The chill wind ripped across her body as the door opened letting yet
another weary traveler in from the inkiness of the night. There would
be no moon to guide her fleeing feet until this storm passed. Let's
hope she wouldn't be forced to deal with that.
She wrapped her midnight blue velvet cloak tighter around her wispy
frame. All around her, people were singing and celebrating, just like
they had been since the "one ring" had been destroyed. Eámanë had
done her fair share of partying too. That's when her life on the run
had started.
She had been celebrating in some pub, in some town, and gotten a
little too drunk on brandy wine. She had begun to dance, and thrown
her cloak aside for easier movement, and her Elvin form had been
revealed. Though most of her appearance and skill came from her Elvin
father, her height and hair were of her hobbit mother.
Now, she keeps to herself and joined in celebrating in other ways.
Never again would she get that drunk, she knew that for sure. She'd
had one hell of a hangover that next morning.
When someone would toast, she joined in, and once or twice she could
be persuaded to sing a song, but beyond that she was a corner
decoration. Her aquamarine eyes scanned the room periodically, and
were suddenly caught by the most breath taking green orbs. They held
her captive in their glance; spoke to her, but she couldn't make out
what they were telling her.
She forced herself to look the rest of the way around the rest of the
room, and then back into her mug. How could one pair of eyes effect
her so, dare she say rock her to her very core? She couldn't stop
herself, she looked back towards the chair that the stranger had
occupied, but he was gone.
The disappointment threatened to overwhelm her, though she couldn't
understand why. She got up and strolled back towards her room,
nothing left to entertain her here. She was about halfway back when a
strong hand grabbed her arm and pulled her into a claustrophobic
closet.
**I'm sorry Megs, nothing hot and steamy quite yet. Later I'll throw
in a passionate anger turned to passionate kiss scene, just for you.**