Irmo_of_lorien |
|
bow_and_arrow |
|
Iri |
|
Dinenlasse |
|
bow_and_arrow |
|
ElfmaidenofLorien |
|
Dinenlasse |
|
ElfmaidenofLorien |
|
bow_and_arrow |
|
ElfmaidenofLorien |
|
bow_and_arrow |
|
Dinenlasse |
|
Iri |
|
bow_and_arrow |
|
ElfmaidenofLorien |
|
Dinenlasse |
|
Dinenlasse |
RE: The Hope of a Shieldmaiden (keep) on: August 16, 2007 09:24
|
|
Hasulfen startled a laugh of his daughter by sneaking up on her as she lay in the hayloft that overlooked the stalls. Dust motes sprang into the air as he climbed the ladder and leapt onto the hay. Díore scurried away from her father on all fours, rather ungainly for a youth, and made it to the other side of the loft. Hasulfen followed after her and proceeded to tickle her. She laughed even harder and struggled to get away. Her father let her up for a moment before chasing her again. The game of catch-and-release continued until the pair fell back in the hay, simultaneously choking on hay dust and laughing uncontrollably. The sun beamed through the open window, illuminating father and daughter.
The memory shifted.
Díore was mounting her first real horse. It was a gentle bay, with doe eyes and a lovely disposition. The mare nudged her and whinnied. The young girl, about five, giggled happily and fed the mare a carrot. Grabbing the reins that lay spread over the sleek neck, Díore hoisted herself onto the broad back and situated herself in the saddle. “Mama, Papa! Look at me!” she shrieked with delight, leaning forward.
“Gentle,” Awyndel warned, stifling the urge to grab her unruly daughter from the mare’s back.
“There now, dear,” Hasulfen chided his wife gently, placing a hand on Awyndel’s shoulder. “How else will she learn to ride something other than a pony if she has not the experience?”
“But isn’t she a bit young?” Awyndel persisted, biting her lower lip anxiously.
Hasulfen shook his fair head and chuckled. “Not at all. Why, I was about her age when I first rode my old horse Hythin. And he was as gentle as Iowing there.” He inclined his head towards the mare.
The dream changed.
“My mother wants you over for dinner tonight, Díore,” Alardin said, taking his friend’s hand and dragging her up the hill and away from the other boys. She was around fourteen now to Alardin’s sixteen.
“But Papa promised to take me out scouting,” Díore replied, craning her head around to glare at the others who had mocked her. She tore her hand out of his grasp and shouted at the boys. “And the next time you think about starting a fight, I will give you more than a bloody nose.” She spoke to one unlucky individual who had gone home crying after she punched him in the nose.
“You know, you really shouldn’t pick fights with them, Dí,” Alardin cautioned. “They will only hold it against you when you are older.”
“Huh,” she scoffed with the assurance of youth. “They’ll know not to mess with me if they know what’s good for them.”
Alardin smiled at his friend and said, “I’d be afraid of you if I were them. But come, she really wants you over. You haven’t been with us in forever. Scouting can wait, or you can go later on in the evening.”
Díore threw a fond glance at Alardin and replied, “Only for you then.” She grinned brightly, and Alardin stared at her face, already fair at such a young age.
Díore woke to sunlight streaming through the barred window. Her green eyes focused to take in her surroundings. Damp stone walls surrounded her on four sides, with the window on the east wall, her only link to the outside world other than the guards. A hoarse sob escaped her throat, and she hugged her knees to her chin as she sat up on the thin cot that served as her sleeping place. A thin blanket lay huddled in the corner of the bed, ragged and worm-eaten.
Díore shut her eyes and tried to capture the memories of her childhood again, but it was like holding water in cupped hands; the more she tried to hold onto the memories, the more they left her consciousness.
A knock on the cell door preceded its opening, and a bored-looking guard entered the cell. He carried a tray with a bowl of water and a piece of plain bread. “This is what ye’re supposed to have until milord summons you,” he said, almost sympathetically.
The maiden remained silent, her gaze on the worn floor. The guard set the tray down and left, promising to return later.
Díore rolled on her side and faced the wall, ignoring the meager sustenance. Had it really been three months or so since she had been captured? It had been so easily done, now that she thought about it. The last memory she had was when they had been attacked while traveling to Henneth Annún. Somehow they had been overwhelmed. Díore remembered there being three men to begin, but reinforcements had arrived later on. She had been knocked unconscious and dragged from her horse, and the rest was blank. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Eben, Ciron, Geongan, or Feorran since that fateful day.
Durithil. And what had happened to him? Knowing Rinfelir, she didn’t think he would have kept him for himself. Instead, he would have been used as leverage for assurance of Díore’s cooperation. The black was her best friend, and for some time, her only companion. How was he faring? Maybe the guard would know. She would inquire the next time he came to visit her. Visit? She laughed harshly. It was not visiting, more of just making sure she was alive. Alive, that was, not well. Probably not much better of than her parents, whom she still hadn’t seen since she came. They were held on another floor with the king and his family. Curse him! she thought bitterly. Curse him for ruining so many lives!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Is she faltering?” Rinfelir asked the guard, tapping his foot impatiently against the wood and stone floor in his throne room.
The man fingered his spear hilt worryingly. “Yes and no, milord,” he replied, keeping his gaze on the ground.
“How so?”
“There has been talk that she has cried out in her sleep for her parents, and during the day, she is silent and speaks to no one.”
“And her appearance?” Rinfelir prompted.
The guard sighed inwardly. Of course he would inquire about that. He still had the notion of marrying the girl, even if she showed no inclination towards agreement. “Fair as can be expected, given her…condition. She is tired and worn, one can see that. But other than that, she seems to be in good health, if not in good spirits.”
“Any word on her companions?” Somehow the other four had managed to escape.
“None.”
Rinfelir dismissed the man away with a wave of his hand. He sat in his inlaid throne and ran his fingers along the curves and indentations of the glossy wood. Only a matter of time before she breaks, he thought. And then, I will be ready.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Díore continued to muse on her bed, her thoughts turning to her companions. How were they faring? Were Feorran and Geongan as close as ever? And was Ciron becoming a better warrior, with the guidance of Eben? Eben, she sighed wistfully, closing her eyes and letting her mind dwell on his rugged features. They had become closer during their brief time together, and unwittingly, the maiden had developed something of an attraction to the Ranger. About his feelings towards her, she didn’t know, but if she saw him again. She shook her head deftly. There was no way for her to escape her cell. Unless…
Unless she consented to marry Rinfelir. Díore fought to keep down the bile that had risen in her throat. Never! she cried silently. He can threaten me with death, and still I will not consent! Marriage to him would be worse than this cell, an endless prison for life.
And so the maiden was lost in her thoughts, unaware that Rinfelir was planning to make her his wife using any means necessary.
(Iri, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to continue on the whole attraction thing that we had discussed earlier, if I remember correctly. As for everyone, I didn’t really have any plans other than what I had said, but if someone has any other ideas to throw in for the plot, some unexpected twist, please let me know the general idea and we’ll make it work! I hope this time we can continue this thread! It is good to be back!)
(There is always a possibility of starting a sequel to this as things move into the battle stage (or whatever stage, if we have no battle). It could be as a new thread, but still continue along the same idea. If it is easier to do that, then that is fine, but if everyone is comfortable continuing with this thread, then that is okay too. Let me know your thoughts either way.)
[Edited on 8/16/2007 by Dinenlasse]
"There is no such thing as a geek, just those who love things the rest of humanity finds weird."
|
|
ElfmaidenofLorien |
|
bow_and_arrow |
|
Irmo_of_lorien |
|
bow_and_arrow |
|
Shadowfax_Pip |
|
ElfmaidenofLorien |
|
Irmo_of_lorien |
|
Dinenlasse |
|