Disclaimers and such can be found in 'Prologue'. Reviews are much appreciated -- and much thanks to all of you positive reviewers! (I know know why some writers say they live off of feedback. ;)
However, as the rider grew closer, Legolas realised that it was no Man. Well, technically, at least.. This rider was a woman - and not just a woman. This was Eowyn, beautiful and resplendant in her early years.
|Zephyr and his rider come!| was exclaimed from the beauty astride a palamino mare.
As one, the golden-haired men stared past the figure, and gave cry; their whoops filled the air, scaring even their mounts. Now looking back, Legolas remembered that nearly all of Rohan rode upon beautiful chestnuts, bays and greys - not a black horse to be seen in their midst, thanks to the Dark Lord and his evil Nazgul; however, the rider bearing down on them was astride a powerful black stallion.
Nientwil - Mithril - gave a cry, her light elven-bred hooves furrowing in the dirt as she darted forwards, past Wyrd, to stare dubiously at the stallion coming.
And yet, the cry still called - |Zephyr! Zephyr! Make way for Zephyr and the rider of hope!|
Eowyn cried out, her high tone calling out above the rest, |Hope brings a message from the king of the Mark!|
From even this distance, Legolas could see a definate difference in the rider approaching and those surrounding him. Indeed, the one arriving was much darker - his hair, though shorter than the Riders of the Mark, was still shoulder-length, and dark. His features were stouter, and yet leaner, all in one.
And then, her voice came - and lulled over the riders, magic to their ears. |The King of the Mark bears news by the rider of Zephyr!|
And now, Legolas's eyes shifted to glance over the stallion. He was a glorious specimin of horseflesh, indeed all of the things the riders had claimed; perfection in ultimate time and grace, confirmation nearly faultless - dished face wide, blue eyes stark against the ebon of his coat. Tail whisked along, high in the wind, as the Rider plunged forwards.
'Yea, hear the words of the King of the Mark, borne by the rider of Zephyr!'
Both Priynel and Legolas were jolted by the spiel of elvish - and, unlike Eqil's halting words, the rider was fluent, words flipping out with the grace of one who grew up speaking the language of Imladris or Lothlorien - or even Legolas' homeland of Mirkwood.
Indeed, the one who's mouth bore the words /did/ grow up speaking the language of the Last Homely House; he departed the news that the majority of the riders were being called back to their regular regent, and he would resume with Eqil and two Riders on his border patrol.
But when Eowyn and the company of Riders departed with cheerful words, leaving two figures cloaked in Rivendell's silver with Eqil, Zephyr's rider grew curious.
With a halting tongue, he enquired, |Declare yourself, Riders of the Mark, to the rider of the one who speaks.|
Pri reined in her mare - the lithe Isilme was no slacker in beauty and endurance, if she lacked the speed of the Rohan's horseflesh. Sidling her mare closer to Wyrd, the female Elf didn't respond.
However, Legolas flipped his hood back, and stared at the silver-eyed young man in front of him - the man who fit the description that Elrond had given him of his son.
"Estel?"
(( So, what do ya'll think? Should I write more, or just give up on my first attempt at fanfic? ))
However, as the rider grew closer, Legolas realised that it was no Man. Well, technically, at least.. This rider was a woman - and not just a woman. This was Eowyn, beautiful and resplendant in her early years.
|Zephyr and his rider come!| was exclaimed from the beauty astride a palamino mare.
As one, the golden-haired men stared past the figure, and gave cry; their whoops filled the air, scaring even their mounts. Now looking back, Legolas remembered that nearly all of Rohan rode upon beautiful chestnuts, bays and greys - not a black horse to be seen in their midst, thanks to the Dark Lord and his evil Nazgul; however, the rider bearing down on them was astride a powerful black stallion.
Nientwil - Mithril - gave a cry, her light elven-bred hooves furrowing in the dirt as she darted forwards, past Wyrd, to stare dubiously at the stallion coming.
And yet, the cry still called - |Zephyr! Zephyr! Make way for Zephyr and the rider of hope!|
Eowyn cried out, her high tone calling out above the rest, |Hope brings a message from the king of the Mark!|
From even this distance, Legolas could see a definate difference in the rider approaching and those surrounding him. Indeed, the one arriving was much darker - his hair, though shorter than the Riders of the Mark, was still shoulder-length, and dark. His features were stouter, and yet leaner, all in one.
And then, her voice came - and lulled over the riders, magic to their ears. |The King of the Mark bears news by the rider of Zephyr!|
And now, Legolas's eyes shifted to glance over the stallion. He was a glorious specimin of horseflesh, indeed all of the things the riders had claimed; perfection in ultimate time and grace, confirmation nearly faultless - dished face wide, blue eyes stark against the ebon of his coat. Tail whisked along, high in the wind, as the Rider plunged forwards.
'Yea, hear the words of the King of the Mark, borne by the rider of Zephyr!'
Both Priynel and Legolas were jolted by the spiel of elvish - and, unlike Eqil's halting words, the rider was fluent, words flipping out with the grace of one who grew up speaking the language of Imladris or Lothlorien - or even Legolas' homeland of Mirkwood.
Indeed, the one who's mouth bore the words /did/ grow up speaking the language of the Last Homely House; he departed the news that the majority of the riders were being called back to their regular regent, and he would resume with Eqil and two Riders on his border patrol.
But when Eowyn and the company of Riders departed with cheerful words, leaving two figures cloaked in Rivendell's silver with Eqil, Zephyr's rider grew curious.
With a halting tongue, he enquired, |Declare yourself, Riders of the Mark, to the rider of the one who speaks.|
Pri reined in her mare - the lithe Isilme was no slacker in beauty and endurance, if she lacked the speed of the Rohan's horseflesh. Sidling her mare closer to Wyrd, the female Elf didn't respond.
However, Legolas flipped his hood back, and stared at the silver-eyed young man in front of him - the man who fit the description that Elrond had given him of his son.
"Estel?"
(( So, what do ya'll think? Should I write more, or just give up on my first attempt at fanfic? ))