After what seemed only a few seconds of riding, Maethor slowed to a halt
behind a lone boulder just as a campsite came into view. My mount blew out
a great cloud of steam and his tail flickered excitedly behind him; he
wanted to keep going. I slid stiffly off of his back, and rubbed his
sweaty neck after stretching a moment to loosen my muscles.
"Thank you, my good friend, I shall return relatively soon. I hope."
He snorted in protest when he realized what I meant to do, but too late: I was already twenty feet away, crouched low behind a thorn bush. I leapt up, and scurried forwards to another bush, only about twenty feet distant from the campsite.
There were many four posted tents; some lit and yellow with shadows moving inside, the rest dark and purple in the night. Near the largest was hung a large triangular flag. standard- most people call it, I think. then, on the other side of the camp was another large tent where a different flag was hung. There seemed to be a line dividing the grey canvas tents from the white or cream canvas tents, as if they were from two different countries.
A stray piece of hair fell from my bun and into my face in front of my eyes. I absentmindedly brushed it behind my ear to get it out of the way for the time being. My hand froze in the air as my fingers brushed over the cartilage of my right ear.
That wasn't there earlier. That definitely wasn't there earlier.
Obviously, I couldn't pull my ear off to examine it properly (I would have if I had been able) so I reached my left hand to my left ear.
That wasn't there earlier either.
My jaw dropped open and my eyes widened in astonishment. There were points on my ears.
My mouth snapped shut as my attention was drawn back to the campsite by someone walking out of the larger - possibly the largest - tents. He, I'm sure he was a he by the way he was built, strode - no glided is a far better word - a few feet away from the tents. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked up at the stars, a jet of steam issuing from his nose as he breathed.
I gasped lightly as a woman came out of the same tent. She glided (no, floated is a better word) towards him, and reached up to massage his shoulders. She spoke to him, and I could barely make out their conversation after he answered.
"The stars are different here, Love, they almost remind me of Doriath." He commented, his voice strong, yet wise and terribly sad.
The woman sighed, in agreement I would guess. "Celeborn dear, you should get some rest." She tried to pull him, but her hands had no effect on him at all.
I realized that these two must have been married, but it's not like they were kissing or anything so I wasn't invading privacy and imposing on something personal. Besides, I was here before Celbron, or whatever his name was, got out of the tent.
Who were these people? Why were they here on the abandoned plains of Dunland? They certainly didn't seem like farmers..
Cele. whatsisname. wrapped his wife in his arms, but continued staring at the stars. I looked up, hoping to find some answers of my own in what was obviously enchanting this man. I was brought out of my thoughts as they began speaking again, though I had no clue what they were saying, because it was in a language I didn't speak. I remembered hearing it before though, I think.
Their words were liquid sound; the flowing syllables reminded me of wind blowing across the fields of wheat and grain. I was awestruck, the words they spoke before seemed to be what it would sound like if my family's chickens tried to speak Westron. Well. I was bored one day, and had taught the hens to say: "I'm a hungry dinner." My mother hadn't been impressed when her chickens called out in all hours of the day (and night) "I'm a hungry dinner! I'm a hungry dinner!" Needless to say, we ate them first.
After a while, Celeb. I give up. Anyway, the dude permitted himself to be pulled into the tent by his wife. Momentarily, the woman's eyes caught mine and she smiled. It was only in passing, so I don't know if the smile was from winning against her husband, or if she really saw me and knew I was there. As soon as they disappeared in their tent, I sprinted back and relayed to Maethor everything I heard before we rode home.
**
The next morning, everything had cleared up at home, and I told myself, that, now that I had found out what was there, I didn't need to go back. By the afternoon, I knew that that promise was going to be impossible to keep. Those two people had fascinated me beyond what I thought was feasible; I had to return. I would go that night because I would have no idea when they were leaving if I didn't.
That night, again disobeying my parent's orders I rode Maethor in the direction of the campsite. This time, seeing no one about, I snuck as close as I dared up to the great tent from which the pair had come, and kneeled out side of it, trying to listen to their conversation. I froze in one spot when I finally heard voices from inside, and again, I could understand nothing of what was said. That was until I heard the name "Haldir," my heart did a flip-flop for some strange reason as one man got up and left the tent.
Suddenly, I felt two pointed things at my shoulder blades. Damn, I cursed under my breath to myself as I realized what this meant: I had been found out, and there were two arrows in my back. Damn, damn, damn. Damn. Father is going to be beside himself with anger.
One of the owners of the arrows ordered me to do something in that wonky language of theirs, which I only understood as "stand up!" from the fact that I was kneeling down. I raised my hands and locked them behind my head in innocence, and I slowly got to my knees and stood. The arrow in my left shoulder nudged me to turn around to face them.
My eyes widened in fear under my hood as I felt a sword come into contact with the skin on my neck. There was no quaver in the pressure denoting a steady handed master. In the darkness I could determine the outline of three men. The one holding the rapier reached behind me with his other hand and I flinched as my hood fell, exposing my face.
That night I had only shoveled my hair into my hood when I had left, and now it flooded over my shoulders, covering my ears and the man's sword. Slowly, he reached up and pushed a bit of my hair away from my ear; I winced as the cool air collided with my pointed, yet sensitive ear. His hand trailed lightly down my back causing me to shiver, but the sword lowered, as did the arrows. I let out a sigh of relief; maybe they would let me leave.
Not a good idea, apparently, as the guy with the sword grabbed my arms and led me to the entrance of the tent. That was only after giving me a good yell and sheathing the curved sword. I stared placidly at him; his incomprehensible words had no meaning whatsoever and bounced off of me.
"Will you let me go?" I interrupted him in Rohirric, and deeming that he didn't understand me, I jerked my arm from his grasp.
"No."
"Please let me go!" I asked in Westron this time, receiving the same answer and a painful squeeze on my arm. He guided me to the front entrance of the tent and the four of us entered.
"Hannad le, Haldir, Rúmil, a Orophin." The woman I heard last night said quietly. The guy holding my arm released me momentarily and bowed to the name Haldir. The archers bowed and left the tent. Haldir made a report in the language, his eyes fixed on me - I could feel his unruffled gaze on my head and back.
"You may let her free, Marchwarden; she will do us no harm." Celeborn (so that's his name!!) commanded lightly in Westron. finally something I could understand. I felt the iron grip on my arm and wrist loosen and disappear, and I rubbed my sore wrists; there would be a bruise in the morning. This Marchwarden stepped back to a corner after bowing and crossed his arms tensely in front of him.
"What are you doing here, dear?" The woman from the night before asked, her voice even, but a hint of curiosity rang through. Her eyes locked onto mine and I couldn't look away; I felt open, like a book, for any and all in the room to read. Now, for the first time in my life, I felt inferior to another being. I had always been stronger than my father, and more graceful than my mother. This new feeling of inferiority heralded fear; another emotion I had only felt a few times in my life, but now, I couldn't help being scared.
"Thank you, my good friend, I shall return relatively soon. I hope."
He snorted in protest when he realized what I meant to do, but too late: I was already twenty feet away, crouched low behind a thorn bush. I leapt up, and scurried forwards to another bush, only about twenty feet distant from the campsite.
There were many four posted tents; some lit and yellow with shadows moving inside, the rest dark and purple in the night. Near the largest was hung a large triangular flag. standard- most people call it, I think. then, on the other side of the camp was another large tent where a different flag was hung. There seemed to be a line dividing the grey canvas tents from the white or cream canvas tents, as if they were from two different countries.
A stray piece of hair fell from my bun and into my face in front of my eyes. I absentmindedly brushed it behind my ear to get it out of the way for the time being. My hand froze in the air as my fingers brushed over the cartilage of my right ear.
That wasn't there earlier. That definitely wasn't there earlier.
Obviously, I couldn't pull my ear off to examine it properly (I would have if I had been able) so I reached my left hand to my left ear.
That wasn't there earlier either.
My jaw dropped open and my eyes widened in astonishment. There were points on my ears.
My mouth snapped shut as my attention was drawn back to the campsite by someone walking out of the larger - possibly the largest - tents. He, I'm sure he was a he by the way he was built, strode - no glided is a far better word - a few feet away from the tents. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked up at the stars, a jet of steam issuing from his nose as he breathed.
I gasped lightly as a woman came out of the same tent. She glided (no, floated is a better word) towards him, and reached up to massage his shoulders. She spoke to him, and I could barely make out their conversation after he answered.
"The stars are different here, Love, they almost remind me of Doriath." He commented, his voice strong, yet wise and terribly sad.
The woman sighed, in agreement I would guess. "Celeborn dear, you should get some rest." She tried to pull him, but her hands had no effect on him at all.
I realized that these two must have been married, but it's not like they were kissing or anything so I wasn't invading privacy and imposing on something personal. Besides, I was here before Celbron, or whatever his name was, got out of the tent.
Who were these people? Why were they here on the abandoned plains of Dunland? They certainly didn't seem like farmers..
Cele. whatsisname. wrapped his wife in his arms, but continued staring at the stars. I looked up, hoping to find some answers of my own in what was obviously enchanting this man. I was brought out of my thoughts as they began speaking again, though I had no clue what they were saying, because it was in a language I didn't speak. I remembered hearing it before though, I think.
Their words were liquid sound; the flowing syllables reminded me of wind blowing across the fields of wheat and grain. I was awestruck, the words they spoke before seemed to be what it would sound like if my family's chickens tried to speak Westron. Well. I was bored one day, and had taught the hens to say: "I'm a hungry dinner." My mother hadn't been impressed when her chickens called out in all hours of the day (and night) "I'm a hungry dinner! I'm a hungry dinner!" Needless to say, we ate them first.
After a while, Celeb. I give up. Anyway, the dude permitted himself to be pulled into the tent by his wife. Momentarily, the woman's eyes caught mine and she smiled. It was only in passing, so I don't know if the smile was from winning against her husband, or if she really saw me and knew I was there. As soon as they disappeared in their tent, I sprinted back and relayed to Maethor everything I heard before we rode home.
**
The next morning, everything had cleared up at home, and I told myself, that, now that I had found out what was there, I didn't need to go back. By the afternoon, I knew that that promise was going to be impossible to keep. Those two people had fascinated me beyond what I thought was feasible; I had to return. I would go that night because I would have no idea when they were leaving if I didn't.
That night, again disobeying my parent's orders I rode Maethor in the direction of the campsite. This time, seeing no one about, I snuck as close as I dared up to the great tent from which the pair had come, and kneeled out side of it, trying to listen to their conversation. I froze in one spot when I finally heard voices from inside, and again, I could understand nothing of what was said. That was until I heard the name "Haldir," my heart did a flip-flop for some strange reason as one man got up and left the tent.
Suddenly, I felt two pointed things at my shoulder blades. Damn, I cursed under my breath to myself as I realized what this meant: I had been found out, and there were two arrows in my back. Damn, damn, damn. Damn. Father is going to be beside himself with anger.
One of the owners of the arrows ordered me to do something in that wonky language of theirs, which I only understood as "stand up!" from the fact that I was kneeling down. I raised my hands and locked them behind my head in innocence, and I slowly got to my knees and stood. The arrow in my left shoulder nudged me to turn around to face them.
My eyes widened in fear under my hood as I felt a sword come into contact with the skin on my neck. There was no quaver in the pressure denoting a steady handed master. In the darkness I could determine the outline of three men. The one holding the rapier reached behind me with his other hand and I flinched as my hood fell, exposing my face.
That night I had only shoveled my hair into my hood when I had left, and now it flooded over my shoulders, covering my ears and the man's sword. Slowly, he reached up and pushed a bit of my hair away from my ear; I winced as the cool air collided with my pointed, yet sensitive ear. His hand trailed lightly down my back causing me to shiver, but the sword lowered, as did the arrows. I let out a sigh of relief; maybe they would let me leave.
Not a good idea, apparently, as the guy with the sword grabbed my arms and led me to the entrance of the tent. That was only after giving me a good yell and sheathing the curved sword. I stared placidly at him; his incomprehensible words had no meaning whatsoever and bounced off of me.
"Will you let me go?" I interrupted him in Rohirric, and deeming that he didn't understand me, I jerked my arm from his grasp.
"No."
"Please let me go!" I asked in Westron this time, receiving the same answer and a painful squeeze on my arm. He guided me to the front entrance of the tent and the four of us entered.
"Hannad le, Haldir, Rúmil, a Orophin." The woman I heard last night said quietly. The guy holding my arm released me momentarily and bowed to the name Haldir. The archers bowed and left the tent. Haldir made a report in the language, his eyes fixed on me - I could feel his unruffled gaze on my head and back.
"You may let her free, Marchwarden; she will do us no harm." Celeborn (so that's his name!!) commanded lightly in Westron. finally something I could understand. I felt the iron grip on my arm and wrist loosen and disappear, and I rubbed my sore wrists; there would be a bruise in the morning. This Marchwarden stepped back to a corner after bowing and crossed his arms tensely in front of him.
"What are you doing here, dear?" The woman from the night before asked, her voice even, but a hint of curiosity rang through. Her eyes locked onto mine and I couldn't look away; I felt open, like a book, for any and all in the room to read. Now, for the first time in my life, I felt inferior to another being. I had always been stronger than my father, and more graceful than my mother. This new feeling of inferiority heralded fear; another emotion I had only felt a few times in my life, but now, I couldn't help being scared.