| Dinenlasse |
 The Hope of a Shieldmaiden (keep)
on: August 31, 2006 11:30
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(O.O.C. This takes place in Edoras during the Fourth Age. This is pretty open, and ideas are welcome. There is an occ for this as well. Please pm me or post in the occ before or after posting.)
Dawn was beginning to break over the city of Edoras, a splendid display of red, pink, and orange splashed vibrantly on the horizon as the folds of night faded away. The air was moist, as was typical of an autumn morn, and the scent of wet leaves filled the senses of those out and about at the time of day. There weren’t many trees around Edoras, but those that were there sported an array of colors on their crowns. Warm umber, wine-red, earthen-brown, and gold were arrayed in endless patterns as the early morning breeze teased the leaves and knocked some of them to the ground. The browning grass was damp with dew, but the promise of a fair day threatened to evaporate it soon enough. Contentment mingled with the hopes of a bountiful harvest were the thoughts of many a hard-working farmer, and the hope of continuous peace was on the minds of the king and his Rohirrim.
The beauty of the coming day wasn’t entirely lost on the maid that was seated on a slope overlooking her house about a half-mile out of Edoras. Her arms around her knees and chin placed on top, the young woman contemplated many things. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of loam and of an apple tree that was rooted near her home, laden with its precious fruit. Her dark-brown hair flowed down her back, and her keen emerald-green eyes stared at nothing in particular. Her mouth was silent, but her thoughts were in a turmoil, thrashing and screaming as they raced around her mind. It was a wonder no one could hear them.
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Díore, as the maid was called, was the daughter of a Rohirric captain, Hasufen. He was older and wise, a fearsome warrior in his time. He had the ability to command his Riders’ attention without too much trouble. A true leader he was indeed. He had been willful to the point of recklessness as a young man so it was little wonder that he wed the headstrong daughter of a noble family from Dol Amroth. Her mother, Awyndel, was just as strong-minded as her father and had the same charismatic ability to encourage people. Díore always thought that they were suited for each other just fine.
Because of their similarities in personality, everyone thought that the child that Awyndel had been heavy with would be the same way, headstrong and unruly. How wrong they had been! Yes, Díore was stubborn, but she was as obedient as her parents could hope for. Now at the age of twenty, the young woman was growing into her prime, and it was hoped that marriage would be a possibility for her. Díore was considered a beauty by most, and so it shouldn’t have been a problem to find a prospective husband for her. However, Díore had no interest in love, only the thought of becoming a warrior, perhaps a shieldmaiden like Lady Éowyn.
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Shieldmaiden. What it would be like to have a title like that. Díore sighed heavily, laying on her back and staring at the sky. All her life she had admired Éowyn, for her skills in battle, for her compassion, and for the drive that led her to go into battle where men thought women had no place. There had been no other female warriors in Edoras since Éowyn had left. Some young women practiced arms, but none that Díore knew wanted to do more. Her father had seen to it that Díore was trained in most weapons, from the bladed weapons like swords, spears, daggers, and the long pikes favored by the Rohirrim, to bows and even hand-to-hand combat. Her best and preferred weapon was the sword, much to the delight of her father.
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“It is good that you like the weapon that many others choose. That way if you face them in a fight, you will know what to expect,” he had said one day when Díore was about ten. “However, if you know how to wield other weapons, then you can know what they are like if you must deal with them as well.”
Being the young maid that she was, Díore had replied with the innocence of a child. “But Father,” she said, “you have said that since the War has been over, there has been almost no conflict here at all. What use is this training if I can never use it?”
Hasulfen nodded wisely. “You are learning well, Díore, but you must remember that orcs or other manner of defile from Mordor are still out there, ready to spread their poison once more.”
Thinking nothing of it, Díore had grown up without knowing of the taste of battle or blood. Through her father she learned of the different enemies he had fought against, from orcs to the Uruk-hai, from the Easterlings to the Dunlanders. She had jousted with the local stable boys and squires of passing knights. Her skills were tested and honed, and her knowledge of battling grew.
Regardless of her skills, Díore was often mocked when she challenged other men. Understanding that had made her slightly bitter when meeting strangers, and added with her stubbornness, made it hard for her to get along with others and to become close acquaintances with them. Her sharp tongue didn’t help matters much, but the few friends she had were as close to her as would a brother or sister would have been.
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The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon as the singing of birds welcomed the day. Still lost in thoughts, Díore turned her mind to adventuring. Of course Halsufen wanted her to become a warrior, but that didn’t prevent him from being a parent; he and Awyndel refused to let her journey alone. I am a score of years old, she thought indignantly to herself. It is about time for me to make my own way in the world, and I can do that through journeying. The sound of a trumpet snapped her out of her reverie. A trysting horn, perhaps?
Díore leapt up and rushed toward her home. Awyndel was coming out of the house to gather crops from the garden. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Díore’s mother inquired, noting the excited look on her daughter’s delicate face.
“The town,” Díore replied abruptly, running into the barn. Grabbing tack, she made her way into the pasture that lay to the side of the barn. An ebony-black stallion was grazing in it, but his head lifted when he saw Díore. “Durithil!” she called to him, and the stallion’s ears pricked forward to hear her voice. She tacked and mounted him after he cantered up to her. The horn still sounding, Díore rode Durithil out of the gate and galloped him toward Edoras.
As she neared the town, Díore spotted a familiar face heading through the main gate. “Alardin!” she cried, galloping toward him. The man didn’t acknowledge her. “Alardin, you arse, wait!” The man turned, and a smile lit up his handsome face.
“What a nice way to hail me, Díore,” Alardin said as Díore dismounted Durithil.
“What is going on?” she asked hurriedly. “Is it a trysting horn?”
Alardin shook his head. “No, the horn is announcing the return of the king and the prince.” And sure enough, through the open gate, she heard the cries of “King Éomer!” and “Prince Elfwine!”
Cursing softly, she replied, “And here I was hoping for something to brighten my day. Nothing but the arrival of the royal family.” It was well that they were back, but that seemed to be the only interesting thing that happened anymore in Edoras.
Alardin noted the disappointment on his friend’s face. “Come on, Díore,” he said, trying to placate her, “let us go into town and break our fast.” He led her to a small tavern near the castle wall.
And so it always seems that the great adventures start in taverns, Díore thought to herself as they entered the dingy, low-lit tavern. Maybe something will happen today that will get me out of Edoras and onto the road. Alardin and she sat in a corner away from the hustle and bustle of the main chamber. Drunkards were everywhere, and every so often a brawl would ensue, but Díore knew that this one was tame compared to the taverns her father would oft times speak of.
In another corner of the room, a cloaked figure watched Díore with interest, and its eyes narrowed as it tried to remember where it had seen the likes of her before.
[Edited on 8/31/2006 by Dinenlasse]
[Edited on 10/13/2006 by Dinenlasse]
[Edited on 2/7/2007 by Dinenlasse]
"There is no such thing as a geek, just those who love things the rest of humanity finds weird."
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