A/N: I'm back! Finally, after a month of overachieving at school,
procrastinating, being entirely uninspired, I return. This chapter is
rather short but I'm so thrilled my muse and I are getting along at the
moment (due to much therapy) that it has gained control at the moment.
Hugs and kisses to Dragon Girl Revlis, my beta and almost the sole reason I kept doing this.
WANTANELFL: Ello poppet! I am attempting to get on your good side as you are my key to getting into R rated movies (Ned Kelly, Troy) and seeing random movies with a naked Viggo. "It's good, it's good, really."
All my reviews: I love you all to death! Continue to review because its the only thing that encourages me.
Lauren
Eowyn
We sat side by side, backs against the knotted, twisted trunk of the willow, an utter and complete silence hanging between us, a blessed silence marred only by shallow breaths of my companion and the gentle breeze stirring the leaves on the boughs of the tree.
"Do you ever contemplate your place in this world?" he murmured, his low voice scarcely audible. "Do you ever wonder if you were born to fulfill some purpose, destined to traverse a certain path?"
I wearily pressed my eyes closed, content to allow the smooth, subdued cadence of his voice to engulf me. "At times, when I used to look out over endless sea of grass of the Riddermark from my lofty perch before the steps of the Golden Hall, I doubted if I even possessed a situation in this world save sheildmaiden, lurking in the shadows, attending to a kind, who's decaying life paralleled the deterioration of his realm," I said. I was bewildered as to why I was conveying what I told no other mortal to this Gondorian lord, regal and distant yet humble and gentle.
He turned, our eyes interlocking, mine keen, shrewd and scrutinizing, his grey irises possessing a faraway look, as if he was gazing back through the ages, or merely penetrating the shrouded soul of an austere sheildmaiden with his subtle sympathy. How I loathe pity, detesting all who degrade me with their sympathetic looks, yearning to be regarded no different than all else who tread upon this ground. Yet I remained transfixed, captivated by his stare, deep set grey eyes that were unfathomable seas of anguish and joy, sorrow and love, pity, encompassed by dark half moons, an distinct mark of pure exhaustion.
"You remind me of someone, someone who I have afflicted my memory incessantly for some remembrance of, for merely the gentle lull of her voice, the sound of her laughter, her affectionate touch. These memories elude me, however leaving me only with images of what she became, ensnared by duty, honor, and love within these walls, a fortress of white amidst the sea of plains and pinnacles of stone. An ocean of plains that could never satisfy her unquenchable, immortal love for the sea..." He paused, bowing his head, intertwining his calloused fingers, blistered from the flames of his father's insanity. "I know not why I am telling you this," he muttered. "These utterances had never encountered the ears of even my brother, my closest confidant, and nor will they.
"Gondor is a world of contrasts, Eowyn. Of constricting honor and one's heart fighting the eternal battle. A world where you feign emotions, permitting the true ones to fester and wrought within you a treacherous personality. Gondor is a violently opposing ambiance of black and white; you are either one thing, or the other. A son is both unfailingly loyal and deferential to his father or a disgraceful wretch of a creature, in their narrow perception. I was neither, yet Gondor has not a position for anything save the most extreme of the spectrum.
"My father, who breathed the very essence of the Gondorian mentality, is a prime example of such contrasting extremes, for he held them within himself. He taught valiance, while he himself submitting to his gnawing fears. He preached respect, while he possessed none for me. In front of his populace he was a pensive and shrewd leader, while enclosed in the walls of the House of Stewards with his family, he was volatile and degrading.
"I fear becoming like him. I only take comfort in the circumstances that have given me no family to suffer from my somber moods and insanity, should I grow to be that way in old age. I am my father's son, however touched with the gentleness of my mother. Even divinity will not be able to deter my descend to becoming my father."
All the while I listened intently, chin resting in the cradle of my hand, peering at him anxiously, absorbing his every syllable.
"There, I have bored you with my melancholy mood and profound reflection, have I not?"
"Quite the contrary, my lord," I murmured in response. His hand was lying unfurled on the grass and I covered it in mine, the coarseness of his skin contrasting with my pale, white hand.
Contrasting, yet harmonizing.
Am I the only one who finds the format fixed now? I' m praying it's not just a fluke. I think I may change the title of this story (once again) to Contrasting Yet Harmonizing but I need opinions!
Review!
Hugs and kisses to Dragon Girl Revlis, my beta and almost the sole reason I kept doing this.
WANTANELFL: Ello poppet! I am attempting to get on your good side as you are my key to getting into R rated movies (Ned Kelly, Troy) and seeing random movies with a naked Viggo. "It's good, it's good, really."
All my reviews: I love you all to death! Continue to review because its the only thing that encourages me.
Lauren
Eowyn
We sat side by side, backs against the knotted, twisted trunk of the willow, an utter and complete silence hanging between us, a blessed silence marred only by shallow breaths of my companion and the gentle breeze stirring the leaves on the boughs of the tree.
"Do you ever contemplate your place in this world?" he murmured, his low voice scarcely audible. "Do you ever wonder if you were born to fulfill some purpose, destined to traverse a certain path?"
I wearily pressed my eyes closed, content to allow the smooth, subdued cadence of his voice to engulf me. "At times, when I used to look out over endless sea of grass of the Riddermark from my lofty perch before the steps of the Golden Hall, I doubted if I even possessed a situation in this world save sheildmaiden, lurking in the shadows, attending to a kind, who's decaying life paralleled the deterioration of his realm," I said. I was bewildered as to why I was conveying what I told no other mortal to this Gondorian lord, regal and distant yet humble and gentle.
He turned, our eyes interlocking, mine keen, shrewd and scrutinizing, his grey irises possessing a faraway look, as if he was gazing back through the ages, or merely penetrating the shrouded soul of an austere sheildmaiden with his subtle sympathy. How I loathe pity, detesting all who degrade me with their sympathetic looks, yearning to be regarded no different than all else who tread upon this ground. Yet I remained transfixed, captivated by his stare, deep set grey eyes that were unfathomable seas of anguish and joy, sorrow and love, pity, encompassed by dark half moons, an distinct mark of pure exhaustion.
"You remind me of someone, someone who I have afflicted my memory incessantly for some remembrance of, for merely the gentle lull of her voice, the sound of her laughter, her affectionate touch. These memories elude me, however leaving me only with images of what she became, ensnared by duty, honor, and love within these walls, a fortress of white amidst the sea of plains and pinnacles of stone. An ocean of plains that could never satisfy her unquenchable, immortal love for the sea..." He paused, bowing his head, intertwining his calloused fingers, blistered from the flames of his father's insanity. "I know not why I am telling you this," he muttered. "These utterances had never encountered the ears of even my brother, my closest confidant, and nor will they.
"Gondor is a world of contrasts, Eowyn. Of constricting honor and one's heart fighting the eternal battle. A world where you feign emotions, permitting the true ones to fester and wrought within you a treacherous personality. Gondor is a violently opposing ambiance of black and white; you are either one thing, or the other. A son is both unfailingly loyal and deferential to his father or a disgraceful wretch of a creature, in their narrow perception. I was neither, yet Gondor has not a position for anything save the most extreme of the spectrum.
"My father, who breathed the very essence of the Gondorian mentality, is a prime example of such contrasting extremes, for he held them within himself. He taught valiance, while he himself submitting to his gnawing fears. He preached respect, while he possessed none for me. In front of his populace he was a pensive and shrewd leader, while enclosed in the walls of the House of Stewards with his family, he was volatile and degrading.
"I fear becoming like him. I only take comfort in the circumstances that have given me no family to suffer from my somber moods and insanity, should I grow to be that way in old age. I am my father's son, however touched with the gentleness of my mother. Even divinity will not be able to deter my descend to becoming my father."
All the while I listened intently, chin resting in the cradle of my hand, peering at him anxiously, absorbing his every syllable.
"There, I have bored you with my melancholy mood and profound reflection, have I not?"
"Quite the contrary, my lord," I murmured in response. His hand was lying unfurled on the grass and I covered it in mine, the coarseness of his skin contrasting with my pale, white hand.
Contrasting, yet harmonizing.
Am I the only one who finds the format fixed now? I' m praying it's not just a fluke. I think I may change the title of this story (once again) to Contrasting Yet Harmonizing but I need opinions!
Review!