#riddarii

In the sky, the moon sat fat and full, beckoned by the hues of fading dusk. It twinkled ever brightly with the night’s clear stars, positively shimmering. Glimmering. Cold. Dazzled, they did, like those eyes of young lovers – but, my, more like tears had they blinked in silver gold! Mournfully, they flickered midst howls of great pain. Aragorn lowered his head as he steeled a heavy heart. “When at last they rest,” he spoke as Éomer neared, “then so shall I.” Solemnly, the Ranger stood in thought beside the tent of his last treated. The war over Pelennor had not yet ended, and those healing hands shone wetly with blood.

      have you wished that you had chosen differently? oh, she had been foolish! words spoken regretted with next breath. a worry voice she had meant to keep quiet, silent, tucked away to let it wither - - let it die. (perhaps all for the better, though, for these words kill that worry fast, quick-cut, like lightening they had come, to burn it at the root.) 

     how it amazes her! how easily her hands can disappear in his, slender fingers swallowed up within his grasp. his words amaze her too, for they are pretty words, yet not by beauty is she struck. beautiful words she has heard before, heard words with little meaning, these are none of those. these are well meant, each word. spoken for their truth - - not to appease her. 

     for a moment she cannot help but gaze upon his hands, feel a blush burning on her cheeks. uncertainty had haunted her, born of difference. confidence known on walkways of dol amroth’s, within her father’s halls had seemed to falter here, ‘til she worried sometimes she had become burden more than queen. (each success she herself had shadowed in unsureness.) at last she does look up, meets his gaze with hers, smiles - - almost shyly, yet more sure - - feels her heart leap into her throat at the fierceness of his eyes.

     reaches up to touch his cheek, warm skin beneath soft palm. “with luck, we shall not have to test those words,” she says, a playful gleam in her bright eyes, yet it turns solemn as the softness of her smile does. (for those words need no testing, no - - she knows them true) 

     “you are more dear to me than all the waters of the sea,” she says, for such words need return, with sentiment’s returning. “in pain and in sickness, so dear you still would be.” 

concept : a bright group verse …..

ikr where are my warrior boys

“      what a mind i must have then ,  éomer king ,  to  CONJURE  up such an image.      ”      he says ,  back straight as his mount treads forward.  there’s a smirk that curls it’s way onto his lips ,  looking down ‘pon the flaxen haired  KING  with a glint of mischief in his eye  ----  and a king he is ;  broad ,  brutal ,  and regal by all accounts.  quite the regent to behold.  to the gondorian that rides beside him ,  however ,  he is not only a monarch ,  but kin.  bonded not by blood ,  but for the love of a woman far nobler than either.  one brother lost ,  another gained.  ‘tis not the same ,  but there’s an ease in faramir’s countenance reminiscent to that which he’d bid farewell with the breaking of a horn.  old wounds mend ,  life continues on.     

“      --  though ,  surely ‘tis not the tricks of such a mind that would account for the mud on your breeches.      ”