Author's Note: Very new chapter. less edited and slightly less thought out
than previous ones. Because I hadn't become sufficiently familiar with my
characters at the beginning of the story, this chapter is mostly character
development. I would much appreciate it if you take a bit of time to tell
me what worked, what didn't, etc.
-----------
Allanora let her back slump slightly under her nearly-empty pack. To all appearances, she was bedraggled and tired, but her mind was whirring fast under unwashed, matter hair. The appearance of this Northman had driven away all thoughts of fatigue, and her mind turned from her achy feet to the large frame in whose shadow she moved. So the old wives may be right, for once, after all the times they led me wrong! If I live to see help from this 'legend,' I'd end my vendetta against those hags in a second, and beg pardon for all the devilments I've brought upon them. Not that they weren't fully deserving of it at the time. she thought, following this line of thinking into what now seemed the distant past.
Yes, I could not walk indoors without one of them onto me in seconds about the unladylike state of my clothes, hair. regaling me with speeches about the danger of tree-climbing. And, far worse, telling me time and again that the small boys I beat in swordfighting and horseback riding were by no means going to desire me as a bride a few years later. Oh! I detested that.nay, say rather I do detest it most of all: the constant references to marriage. 'Use your fork, dear, no man wants a wife who cannot be displayed at royal dinners.' Yes, it seemed everyone in that house was bent on marrying me off, and quickly. except my father. He saw it as a necessity, true, but he respected my pursuits nonetheless. Although, looking back, I'd wager he was a bit surprised that my soldiering turned out to be anything more than child's play. I remember him smiling almost indulgently when the nurse towed me up to his office for discipline, as I reeked of stable or midden. Then, when the nurse left in a huff, he would wash my face and send me on my way. As I got older, though, he once sat me down on the throne and clasped the Eärendilmir on my brow, with me still unwashed and squirming slightly. He knelt to one side of the great chair and propped his arms of the edge of the armrest, and asked how it felt to be royalty. I remember saying, 'But Ada, I'm all dirty!' and he smiled sadly and told me slowly about ruling a kingdom, and how difficult and delicate it was, and how the people wouldn't have very much faith in a noble lady who crawls about in the middens all day. 'Don't they want me to have fun?' I asked. 'Unfortunately, Alya,* you aren't the center of the world. what the people want, just like you do, is to be happy. And sometimes we have to put aside our own desires in order to govern fairly. When the time comes, I know you will be able to do that, but it is indeed a great challenge.'
Allanora broke suddenly out of her reverie of bittersweet memories. A challenge I wish I had the opportunity of facing, now.strange that I should have been trained from birth into this way of life, my mind refined for the ins and outs of subtle political strategy, and when my time becomes ripe, to be cast away from all of it with little hope of return. Yes, we are all political tools without a use.but my discomfort is the least of it. What of my brother, who would have been king? I wonder how he fares, and whether he has been able to secure aid for us.
Aranarth sauntered down the sunlit hall of workshops bordering the courtyard of Cirdan's large havens. The spacious, well-lit hall resounded with the sounds of hammering from inside the rooms he passed, and a smell of fresh wood wafted through the tall doors. Motes of sawdust floated on the wind, gathering briefly and suddenly being scattered by a particularly malicious gust. Not, of course, that anything would seem malicious about the wholesome Elven-built halls Aranarth was wandering.
Looking at the sawdusty floor as his mind wandered, he lengthened his strides so as to step directly from one of the squares of sunlight projected from the large windows onto the floor to the next. He was beginning to feel out of place among the many Elves at the haven. But it is doubly haven to me, Elves or no! When I first came here, I was far too. heartbroken to notice much about the residents. Yes, heartbroken, but I also recall this feeling I have in the pit of my stomach from when I was a child and broke something of my parents'. This whole situation has thrown me back onto my childhood instincts, he thought, abruptly and rather ashamedly breaking off his pattern of stepping into the sunlight, but this is something different. Strange that I should feel. guilty, almost, for Arthedain's fall. Admittedly, I have done my best, and it is no fault of mine that I did not stand for the last battle. I am the heir, after all, and it is from me that the blood of Numenor must descend in the North. But there's not it, either.
Aranarth began to become frustrated with himself for being so uncertain, both of how exactly he felt and why. Usually he was able to pin down his own thoughts, and if not control, then at least track the progression of his own emotions. Yet, 'tis unreasonable of me to expect anything to be normal. No, it seems everything is caught up in a great whirlwind.the fabric of our lives being separated strand by strand, painfully teased out and knotted back together into something foul, mocking the forms that the race of Numenor has painstakingly constructed.Ai! Do not think this way, Aranarth! It was a measure of his distress that he volleyed so between thoughts. He decided that pacing about was not going to help him, and was just wandering off to find something useful to do, when he nearly bumped into Cirdan.
"Ah, Aranarth! Just whom I've been looking for," he peered into Aranarth's eyes, and Aranarth found it impossible to keep the Elf from looking straight through his consternation. "Good news," he said solidly, laying a heavy hand on the other man's shoulder, as if to bring him back to the concrete world. "We've ships and men ready to sail for the North. Early tomorrow morning the tides should be right, and we shall find that company of yours, hmm?"
Aranarth did not smile, but the lines lifted from his brow and he clasped Cirdan's other hand like a lifeline. "Thank you, Lord Cirdan. Whatever may come of this, your generosity towards Arnor shall not be forgotten so long as my line lasts."
*alya - Quenya, meaning "blessed." Here used as a nickname.
Allanora let her back slump slightly under her nearly-empty pack. To all appearances, she was bedraggled and tired, but her mind was whirring fast under unwashed, matter hair. The appearance of this Northman had driven away all thoughts of fatigue, and her mind turned from her achy feet to the large frame in whose shadow she moved. So the old wives may be right, for once, after all the times they led me wrong! If I live to see help from this 'legend,' I'd end my vendetta against those hags in a second, and beg pardon for all the devilments I've brought upon them. Not that they weren't fully deserving of it at the time. she thought, following this line of thinking into what now seemed the distant past.
Yes, I could not walk indoors without one of them onto me in seconds about the unladylike state of my clothes, hair. regaling me with speeches about the danger of tree-climbing. And, far worse, telling me time and again that the small boys I beat in swordfighting and horseback riding were by no means going to desire me as a bride a few years later. Oh! I detested that.nay, say rather I do detest it most of all: the constant references to marriage. 'Use your fork, dear, no man wants a wife who cannot be displayed at royal dinners.' Yes, it seemed everyone in that house was bent on marrying me off, and quickly. except my father. He saw it as a necessity, true, but he respected my pursuits nonetheless. Although, looking back, I'd wager he was a bit surprised that my soldiering turned out to be anything more than child's play. I remember him smiling almost indulgently when the nurse towed me up to his office for discipline, as I reeked of stable or midden. Then, when the nurse left in a huff, he would wash my face and send me on my way. As I got older, though, he once sat me down on the throne and clasped the Eärendilmir on my brow, with me still unwashed and squirming slightly. He knelt to one side of the great chair and propped his arms of the edge of the armrest, and asked how it felt to be royalty. I remember saying, 'But Ada, I'm all dirty!' and he smiled sadly and told me slowly about ruling a kingdom, and how difficult and delicate it was, and how the people wouldn't have very much faith in a noble lady who crawls about in the middens all day. 'Don't they want me to have fun?' I asked. 'Unfortunately, Alya,* you aren't the center of the world. what the people want, just like you do, is to be happy. And sometimes we have to put aside our own desires in order to govern fairly. When the time comes, I know you will be able to do that, but it is indeed a great challenge.'
Allanora broke suddenly out of her reverie of bittersweet memories. A challenge I wish I had the opportunity of facing, now.strange that I should have been trained from birth into this way of life, my mind refined for the ins and outs of subtle political strategy, and when my time becomes ripe, to be cast away from all of it with little hope of return. Yes, we are all political tools without a use.but my discomfort is the least of it. What of my brother, who would have been king? I wonder how he fares, and whether he has been able to secure aid for us.
Aranarth sauntered down the sunlit hall of workshops bordering the courtyard of Cirdan's large havens. The spacious, well-lit hall resounded with the sounds of hammering from inside the rooms he passed, and a smell of fresh wood wafted through the tall doors. Motes of sawdust floated on the wind, gathering briefly and suddenly being scattered by a particularly malicious gust. Not, of course, that anything would seem malicious about the wholesome Elven-built halls Aranarth was wandering.
Looking at the sawdusty floor as his mind wandered, he lengthened his strides so as to step directly from one of the squares of sunlight projected from the large windows onto the floor to the next. He was beginning to feel out of place among the many Elves at the haven. But it is doubly haven to me, Elves or no! When I first came here, I was far too. heartbroken to notice much about the residents. Yes, heartbroken, but I also recall this feeling I have in the pit of my stomach from when I was a child and broke something of my parents'. This whole situation has thrown me back onto my childhood instincts, he thought, abruptly and rather ashamedly breaking off his pattern of stepping into the sunlight, but this is something different. Strange that I should feel. guilty, almost, for Arthedain's fall. Admittedly, I have done my best, and it is no fault of mine that I did not stand for the last battle. I am the heir, after all, and it is from me that the blood of Numenor must descend in the North. But there's not it, either.
Aranarth began to become frustrated with himself for being so uncertain, both of how exactly he felt and why. Usually he was able to pin down his own thoughts, and if not control, then at least track the progression of his own emotions. Yet, 'tis unreasonable of me to expect anything to be normal. No, it seems everything is caught up in a great whirlwind.the fabric of our lives being separated strand by strand, painfully teased out and knotted back together into something foul, mocking the forms that the race of Numenor has painstakingly constructed.Ai! Do not think this way, Aranarth! It was a measure of his distress that he volleyed so between thoughts. He decided that pacing about was not going to help him, and was just wandering off to find something useful to do, when he nearly bumped into Cirdan.
"Ah, Aranarth! Just whom I've been looking for," he peered into Aranarth's eyes, and Aranarth found it impossible to keep the Elf from looking straight through his consternation. "Good news," he said solidly, laying a heavy hand on the other man's shoulder, as if to bring him back to the concrete world. "We've ships and men ready to sail for the North. Early tomorrow morning the tides should be right, and we shall find that company of yours, hmm?"
Aranarth did not smile, but the lines lifted from his brow and he clasped Cirdan's other hand like a lifeline. "Thank you, Lord Cirdan. Whatever may come of this, your generosity towards Arnor shall not be forgotten so long as my line lasts."
*alya - Quenya, meaning "blessed." Here used as a nickname.