The Lay of Alasseon and Ristare.
((Yes, I'm finally posting a story. It isnt anything great so its ok if you dont like it. Its in chapters by the way.))
**This story is not related to the Tolkien estate in any way. Some characters and places from the books have been used. However, most are fictional.**
It was a day of mourning in the kingdoms of Men. Eldarion, son of Elessar Telcontar, High King of Gondor and Arnor, had passed on. In Gondor, the people were subdued, often turning away to weep. Eldarion had been a good king, like his father before him and had been loved by all. Kings and messengers from distant realms poured into the White City, bringing with them messages of consolation and hope. A bell chimed in the highest tower of the Church of Gondor, a deep mournful note. The standard of Gondor fluttered out at half-mast from the palace buttresses, in the memory of the dead king.
Ristare Lossefalme stared moodily out of the window in her mother’s room, watching a bird execute faultless barrel rolls in the air. She wanted that bird’s freedom, she felt as if she was suffocating in the soft voices and downcast eyes of the palace. Her lip curled in scorn as she noticed another carriage carrying another corpulent king rolled up the carriageway.
“Ristare, get away from the window darling. We have to go receive the guests.”
A woman entered the room, dressed in a dark grey silk gown embroidered with pearls. The golden crown that nestled in her raven hair identified her as Aurora, High Queen of Gondor and Arnor, wife of Eldarion. Her face, which in normal circumstances would have been pretty, was lined with sadness and her dark eyes, whose sparkle had first attracted her late husband’s attention, were sombre.
“I could care less.” Ristare didn’t move. She watched the bird intently.
Aurora looked at her daughter’s profile in minor consternation. Ever since the day Eldarion had died, Ristare had withdrawn into a protective shell, refusing to talk to anyone, sitting quietly in some corner of the castle alone.
“Please Ristare, don’t misbehave. Your presence is necessary.”
Ristare turned away from the window. She was an astonishingly beautiful girl. Flaxen hair that shone in the sun hung down her back like a sheet, outlining her delicate face. Clear grey eyes looked out fearlessly upon the world, a hundred moods swinging through them. Delicately built and tall, she resembled her grandfather in her speech and actions.
These grey eyes looked squarely into her mothers, devoid of all expression.
“ No. I don’t care. Tirnion will be there, wont he? His presence is required, not mine.” Shaking the skirts of her severe georgette gown, Ristare made as if to leave the room.
“Ristare, don’t make this any harder than it already is.” Aurora’s voice trembled slightly. “Its bad enough that your father is dead, but to have you fighting me is something I cannot handle.”
Her daughter walked towards the door. As she rested her hand on the handle, she looked back with a faint smile.
“I’m sorry, mother. I just don’t want to meet anyone right now. It’s a hard time for me too.”
Smiling lovingly at Aurora, she left, closing the door softly behind her. Outside, she took a deep breath. She had made up her mind…..
Ilya i ná malta úmirilya, lá ilyë yantë ranya nar vanwë;
i tulca enwinawë úquela,
nurë sundar arahtier lá ringwenen.
Erinillon nárë núva coivana.
***
May your Holiday's be ever MERRY,
Your apple cider always PIPPIN hot,
May SAMta alway bring you what you want,
And your Christmas Tree always be GREENLEAF!
***
Re: The Lay of Alasseon and Ristare.
Thanks. Chapter 1 isnt so good..too brief. But hope you like the rest too
CHAPTER TWO
Lassus Ferdinard was not having a good evening. His wagons had not been loaded, a shipment of supplies had not arrived, the pub was out of his favorite draught and now, to top it all off, it was raining. In these sorts of situations, he found much relief in yelling and shouting at the people around him. And that was exactly what he was doing. He raved and ranted at his underlings, spitting out curses. He cursed them, he cursed the supplies that hadn’t come, he cursed at the pub and he cursed at the rain.
It was at this time that a heavily cloaked figure came up to him.
“Lassus Ferdinard?” It was a soft, husky voice.
Lassus squinted at the figure. The heavy frieze cloak had been pulled tightly around the person and a hood was pulled low over the eyes.
“Yes?”
“ I heard that you’re going north-west towards Rohan.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Would be alright if I joined your company?”
Lassus’s pig eyes narrowed shrewdly. “And what would I get for this ride?”
The figure removed a small leather bag from its person and handed it over. There was a musical clink as Lassus shook it. “ 20 gold pieces.”
Lassus pocketed the bag. “Alright. You can come along. Is it just you or are there others? The fee goes up, you know.”
“Its just me and my horse. Our fee is covered in that bag.”
Lassus opened his mouth as if he was going to protest, but the person had already turned away. Muttering about being used, he returned to yelling at his crew.
“What time do you leave?”
“ In an hour.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Hey, wait!” Lassus jogged up, puffing. “ What’s your name?”
The person looked down at the ground, considering. “ You may call me Mercas.”
True to his word, Mercas appeared in an hour’s time, riding a magnificent black stallion. He trotted up to Lassus and tapped him on his shoulder.
“Are we ready to go?”
Lassus started, swivelling around. Seeing the now-familiar cloaked figure, he relaxed and gave an oily smile. “Yes, yes. We were just waiting for you to come. But now that you’re here, we’ll leave at once.”
The company moved off slowly through the streets, the wagons creaking and groaning under the weight of their cargo. Lassus rode up front on a seedy looking bay, Mercas riding beside him. The guards at the gates gave the wagons only the briefest of glances, waving them through.
The check-posts at the border of the city were a little more cautious. An armed soldier waved them onto the side of the way and rode up to Lassus.
“Hail, neighbour!” Lassus gave his oily smile.
The soldier merely nodded curtly to this friendly greeting. Where are you going?”
“To the realm of the horse-lords.” Lassus took out a soiled piece of paper. “Rohan.” He added to make it clear to the soldier.
“Tis a shipment of Gondor’s choicest carpets and rugs. They are in great demand, you know.”
The soldier grunted. “ Well, your papers seem to be in order.” A cursory glance was sent over Mercas and the crew. “ Are all of these people part of your crew?”
“Indeed they are. Why, this man,” he singled out Mercas “is my right-hand man. Without him, I would probably be lying on the floor of some tavern.”
The soldier’s face relaxed into a knowing grin. Obviously, he had had some experiences of this type. “ You’re free to go. Fare thee well.”
Lassus moved his horse forward. “ Good luck to you, neighbour! May you find the warm innards of a tavern soon!”
They continued down the road in silence. The rain hadn’t shown any sign of letting up and the sky was growling away. Lassus squinted up and sighed.
“ The rain-gods favour the farmers, never the merchants.”
Mercas gave a small laugh. Lassus stole a look at him. He was a mysterious fellow. Five hours into the journey, the man had barely spoken ten sentences. And what was this business of getting out of the kingdom anyways? Obviously was in trouble of some sort.
Mercas spoke suddenly. “ I’m not a murderer you know. I’m quite harmless.”
Lassus blushed. “I meant no harm, young sir. Its just that you’re one mysterious fellow and…”
“ Its better if it stays that way. I’m not a murderer, but I am trying to leave certain problems…and people…behind.”
“So where are you headed to?” Lassus opened up the conversation again. “ Staying in Rohan or going beyond?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t really know,” said Mercas. “I want to see the world, and find adventure, so lets see what happens.”
“Must be big problems you’re running away from,” said Lassus, with a flash of insight.
Mercas gave a hollow laugh. “You have no idea.”
They came to a small town some 20 leagues from Minas Tirith, Barkhar it was called. There they stopped for the night, at the inn where, said Lassus confidingly to Mercas, they served the best ale in all of Northern Gondor.
Ilya i ná malta úmirilya, lá ilyë yantë ranya nar vanwë;
i tulca enwinawë úquela,
nurë sundar arahtier lá ringwenen.
Erinillon nárë núva coivana.
The inn was extremely crowded and pipe-smoke hung thick in the air. The smell of beer and unwashed bodies mingled together to come up with a peculiar stench that made one gag. Several tables hailed Lassus cheerfully, inviting him to come sit with them.
At the end of the Third Age, when the Wars of the Ring had finally ended, and a king had returned to Gondor, Barkhar had gone from being a tiny farming village to a major trading post. Traders and travellers from all over Middle-Earth going to Gondor and its surrounding realms, or leaving them, invariably stopped at the Tumbling Tumblers Inn, which served “the best ale in Northern Gondor”.
Lassus manoeuvred his way towards a table near a window, indicating Mercas to follow. At the table sat one large man with a large face and piggy eyes, surrounded by smaller men with ferret eyes.
“Lassus, you old dog!” roared the large man, his four chins wobbling.
Lassus pulled up a chair and grinned. “Hello Horace old boy! How is it with you?”
“Bad, my friend,” Horace shook his head. “Bad. The government will kill me with their tax rates and the market for furs has gone down, as it is…” He sighed heavily.
“ And yet you live the life of a king.” Lassus flashed Horace another grin. “By the way, meet a friend of mine. Mercas something-or-the-other. I’m giving him a lift to Rohan.”
Horace wagged his face at Mercas, staring curiously at the hood that remained over his head. “How d’you do…any friend of Lassus is a friend of mine, I always say.”
Mercas was to learn that Horace always had something to say.
“Heard the latest news from Gondor?” Horace turned his piggy eyes back at Lassus.
“No, what?” Lassus waved to the waiter.
“ The princess is gone. Ristare I think…the eldest one at any rate. They say there’s absolute mayhem in Gondor at the moment, what with the Queen fainting and crying at the drop of a hat, the guards of the Tower tearing the place apart and the Crown Prince sending off search parties in every direction.”
“Gone?” Lassus raised a lazy eyebrow. “Gone as in run away, or gone as in kidnapped.”
Horace leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “They say it’s a kidnapping, but the truth of the matter is that the girl’s run away.”
“Now, why would she do that?”
“That I don’t know. However, thanks to all of this, all the routes are swarming with the army.”
“Which,” said Lassus dryly, “must be affecting your earnings.”
Horace shrugged. “Business is business, my friend. I have my own ways.”
“Spare me.” Lassus smiled at the waiter who had just arrived. “Three pints of your finest ale…and put it on this gentleman’s bill.” He nodded towards Horace.
“That was uncalled for.” Horace said feelingly.
“Think back to Bree, old friend.” Lassus grinned. The two plunged into nostalgic reminiscences, arguing friendlily.
Mercas stopped listening after the second story. He sat back in his seat and let his gaze wander from under his thick hood. It fell on Men from all over the world, jabbering away in strange tongues to each other. It fell on small stout men with broad belts and long beards, counting piles of gold and sending evil glances at anyone who approached them with a hopeful smile. He saw tiny little folk sitting at tables piled with (now) empty dishes, smoking long pipes. There were a few oddballs who sat either in groups of two or alone, dressed in mud-splattered clothes…some travellers, Mercas guessed.
A few voices suddenly rose up in song. Swivelling in his seat, Mercas saw some young men sitting in one part of the inn. Their faces were fair and blessed with ageless wisdom. Elf-children, he thought. One elf caught his hidden gaze. He was sitting apart from the others, as if he was not a member of their party. A wicked looking sword lay on the table in front of him. He looked older than the other elves there. Dark hair fell untidily over his forehead, giving him a boyish appearance. Though extremely handsome, his face had some grim lines, making him appear stern. This sternness was belied by his vivid green eyes, which looked about him humorously. He stared at Mercas, his eyes narrowed.
Looking away, Mercas turned back to see the beer being placed on the table.
“ Drink up, Mercas friend!” cried Lassus. “This will be a beer to remember!”
“Err…no. No thank you. I’m not much of a drinker.” Mercas pushed the glass away, only to have it firmly put in his hand.
“It doesn’t matter here, young man!” a bleary-eyed Horace peered at him. “ All of here are either drunk or on our way to being drunk!”
Mercas smiled uncomfortably at the two men with him. He looked down at the amber liquid. It winked back at him, yellow lights dancing in it. Taking a deep breath, he grasped the glass and lifted it to his lips.
Ilya i ná malta úmirilya, lá ilyë yantë ranya nar vanwë;
i tulca enwinawë úquela,
nurë sundar arahtier lá ringwenen.
Erinillon nárë núva coivana.
Lord of Isengard
Posts: 570
(12/28/02 6:43 am) Reply
Re: The Lay of Alasseon and Ristare.
Go on...
I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart. As a man calls for wine before he fights, I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights, Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. Think first, fight afterwards--the soldier's art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights.
“ Glorfin?! Is that you?!” A hearty voice exclaimed from behind Mercas. An equally hearty thump was dealt to Mercas’ back, leaving him choking and spluttering his first sip of ale.
Lassus and Horace, who had already progressed far into their drinks, squinted up at the source of this hearty voice. Seeing not too clearly, they squinted at Mercas questioningly.
“That’s not Glorfin, neighbour,” slurred Lassus. ‘That’s my friend, Mercas.”
Mercas sat and stared up at the newcomer silently. It was the elf who he had seen sitting in the other corner of the room. The dark hair was falling even more untidily over his forehead and his eyes sparkled with sheer joy at the meeting.
“You scoundrel!” laughed the elf. “What on earth have you done now that you had to change your name?”
Mercas stirred slightly. “ Just the regular things…nothing too bad.”
“Come and join me…we’ll catch up on old times.” The elf pointed to his table. “That is,” a quick, bright look at Horace and Lassus, “ if your friends don’t mind…”
Horace waved them away. “Go on, go on. Never brush a friend off, that’s what I always say. We’ll meet later on.”
Getting up, Mercas silently followed the elf to his table. Once they were seated, the sparkle from the elf’s eyes disappeared and they became slightly hard. He looked thoughtfully at Mercas.
“Who are you?” Mercas finally asked. “And why did you do that?”
“The question, my elusive friend, is who are you.” The elf sipped his ale, his eyes never leaving Mercas’ face.
“I am Mercas Tallion, a carpet dealer from Gondor. I am travelling with my employer, Lassus,” he pointed to the drunk Lassus, “to the realm of Rohan to do some business.” Mercas stopped. This should keep the elf happy.
The elf took a reflective sip from his tankard. “A carpet dealer you say?”
“Yes.”
“ A carpet dealer with a great need for secrecy, is that not so?”
“Secrecy?” Mercas shifted slightly in the chair.
“ One does not normally wear a thick cloak inside a warm inn, and especially, one drawn so close about him.” The green eyes glittered.
There was a slight pause. “The weather is unpredictable and I catch cold easily.” Mercas said lamely.
The elf put the tankard down and for the first time in their conversation, showed some surprise. “ Is that the best excuse you could come up with?”
“I beg your pardon?” stiffly said Mercas. “It was not an excuse.”
“Oh indeed? And I suppose it just might rain inside a building?”
Mercas sprang to his feet nervously. “I will not stay here to be insulted by some busy-body who doesn’t even know me.” He ran out of the inn and towards the stables. Things were not going the way he wanted them to. Finding his horse, he began to saddle up. From behind, a familiar voice drawled.
“ Actually I know you better than you know yourself, Mercas Tallion.”
Mercas wheeled about. The elf from the inn was leaning casually against the stable door, watching him in a bored fashion. He fumbled under his cloak and drew out a leaf-shaped dagger.
The elf threw a careless glance at the dagger. “There’s no need to get violent. I mean you no harm.”
“Who are you and what do you want from me?” Mercas’ voice quavered.
“ Alasseon Gilfaun, Prince of Lórien, Elf-warrior, at your service.” The elf bowed mockingly at Mercas. “As for what I want from you is quite simple. I have been charged to find you and upon doing so, returning you to the bosom of your family.”
“I have no family. Leave me alone!”
Alasseon looked at Mercas contemplating. “True. Mercas Tallion does not have a family.”
Mercas relaxed his grip on his dagger in relief. “Yes, I don’t…”
“After all,” he continued. “Mercas Tallion doesn’t even exist.”
The grip tightened again. “Are you mad?? I’m standing right here in front of you!!”
The elf crossed the space between them in quick steps. “ But you are not Mercas Tallion.” He said softly, his eyes gleaming.
Mercas stared up Alasseon. He wanted to say something, but his mouth just wouldn’t open.
The elf gently pushed the hood covering Mercas’ head back. Flaxen hair gleamed palely in the moonlight drifting in through the window, throwing the delicate face structure into relief.
Ristare looked up at Alasseon, her beautiful grey eyes wide and fearful. The dagger was still in her hand, her grip on it loose. Gently, Alasseon removed it from her grasp and placed it in his belt.
“No, you are not Mercas Tallion. However, I may not be wrong in saying that you are indeed Ristare Lossefalme, Princess of Gondor and Arnor.” A smile crossed his handsome features. “My congratulations. You have managed to confound the entire Gondorian army and their fat generals with your swift departure from the city.”
Ristare licked her lips nervously. “Thank you.” She said colourlessly.
“You do realise that I have to take you back, don’t you?”
Ristare’s head snapped up at this, her eyes anguished. “No! Please, don’t send me back there.”
Alasseon frowned, not in anger, but in thought. This was strange. What on earth had happened? “Why not?”
“I…I…” the princess fumbled for words. Taking a deep breath, she continued in a calmer voice. “ I want to get away from my father’s death. I want to forget my mother’s tears. I want to find adventure, not lived locked up in a castle. And most of all,” here her voice rose in anger and disgust, “ I don’t want to be just married off to that…that horrible man!!”
She looked away from that brilliant stare and sat down on some hay bales. Alasseon looked down upon her stormy face and felt a twinge within him. She reminded him of himself when he had been younger. An idea formed in his mind. This would definitely land him in the books of infamy, he thought wryly. His conscience tugged at him, but he brushed it away. Taking a deep breath, he kneeled before the princess.
“Your Highness,” he said formally. “ I understand your sentiments completely. However I have been called upon by your brother, Crown Prince of Gondor and Arnor, to see you safely back home.”
He raised a finger, silencing the protests rising to her lips.
“ As I earlier said, I completely understand the way you feel. Your reasons for not returning are just. Therefore, I feel that I must withdraw my consent to Prince Tirnion and kidnap you, thereby providing you with adventure.”
Ristare stared at him in amazement. She couldn’t believe her ears! The elf-lord watched her, his eyes dancing roguishly.
“Kidnap me?” Ristare had difficulty putting words together.
“With your permission offcourse.” He added, his face absolutely straight.
Ristare had a feeling this was a dream. Carefully, she reached out and prodded Alasseon’s shoulder.
“Ow! What d’you do that for!” Alasseon rubbed his shoulder, glaring resentfully at her.
Slowly, Ristare shook her head. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”
Alasseon’s face split into a grin. “Not as far as I can see.” He saw the look of sheer happiness spread across her face. “I should probably tell you that I’m not the angel you think me to be. You, my princess, have fallen into the company of a libertine.”
Ristare looked at him with shining eyes. “No, you can never be a libertine in my eyes, my lord. Indeed you are extremely noble for having helped a lady in distress.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” Alasseon blushed. Seeing this, Ristare laughed, the clear sound ringing throughout the stable.
“I name thee, my lord, my knight and champion.” She got up and curtseyed to him.
Alasseon surged up, his face alarmed. “Now see here! I don’t do this champion thing. Nor am I anyone’s knight. I just help people out sometimes. Don’t go around calling me your champion or anything or else I’ll…”
Ristare doubled with laughter. Alasseon watched the laughing girl with misgiving. Obviously, this time he had bitten off more than he could chew. His sense of fun came to his rescue. This just might be an interesting experience….
Ilya i ná malta úmirilya, lá ilyë yantë ranya nar vanwë;
i tulca enwinawë úquela,
nurë sundar arahtier lá ringwenen.
Erinillon nárë núva coivana.
Lord of Isengard
Posts: 575
(12/30/02 6:10 am) Reply
Re: The Lay of Alasseon and Ristare.
Yeah...me too.
I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart. As a man calls for wine before he fights, I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights, Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. Think first, fight afterwards--the soldier's art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights.
Re: The Lay of Alasseon and Ristare.
Glad to know someone does...I don't !
CHAPTER FIVE.
“The first thing to do, is tell that Lassus that you’re not going any further with him. Say you’ve decided to continue your journey with me.”
Ristare had finally stopped laughing at Alasseon. They sat on some hay bales, facing each other. Alasseon had decided that it was time that they came up with a plan of action.
“Do I go as Mercas with you?” Ristare put a straw in her mouth and looked questioningly at her new friend.
Alasseon toyed with the idea. “No.” he said finally. “Horace was right when he said that the entire army of Gondor and Arnor was covering the roads. A carefully cloaked rider will immediately be thought suspicious. That’s what caught my attention first.”
Ristare nodded equably. “True. I should have thought of that. Well what then? I can’t go without a cloak, or else they’ll recognise me.”
Alasseon looked at her thoughtfully. “I could pass you off as my sister. If you don’t mind me disguising you that is.”
“Anything that gets me out of the reach of home is fine with me.” She turned to her horse and began to croon softly to it.
Alasseon gazed at her curiously. It was almost as if she hated her former life. He watched her pull her horse’s ears and stroke the velvety black nose.
“Why don’t you want to go home?” he asked suddenly.
Ristare looked around, surprised. “I told you why…”
“Not that. I want to know what you’re so afraid of, back at the palace. It’s not like your mother or your brothers and sisters are cruel to you. I’ve seen them, and heard the love in their voices when they speak of you. So what is it?”
A shadow stole over Ristare’s beautiful face. All at once, the sparkle in the clear grey eyes was diminished. The pretty mouth drooped slightly, giving her a poignant look. She came and sat beside Alasseon, pushing her fair hair off her face.
“ If this had been before my father had died, then I would have said nothing to you taking me back home. If my father hadn’t died, I would have never even been here in the first place.” She gave a small laugh that bordered on a sob.
“ My father and I were very close. I usually went to him if there was anything wrong…not my mother. Then, one day, he fell sick. He said it was because he was getting old. It wasn’t that though. He had the blood of Numenor…that sort of tells you that he’s going to be living for a long, long time.
“It was at this time that Gondor was attacked by Merkos, a realm to the east. My father being ill, it was Tirnion who led our armies onto the battlefield. Our strength was superior; we began to gain on the mongrels from Merkos. That’s when the king of Merkos approached my father.”
Here her voice faltered. Ristare stared at the straw covered floor, her eyes turned inwards, remembering the past. Alasseon could feel the anger and pain radiating from her. Unobtrusively, he took her hand in his.
“He…offered for my hand in marriage. He said that if he were to marry me, then Merkos would draw off its armies. Father knew that Gondor was winning, yet, oddly enough, he agreed to the proposal. An agreement was drawn up and both of them signed it. None of us knew about it…Tirnion was on the battlefields along with the Lord Administrator, mother and I had gone to Ithilien to pay our respects to the Prince. By the time, we found out, it was too late to change anything.
“ I met with my husband-to-be as is our custom and within that very moment of greeting, I began to loathe him. He is the most pompous arrogant egoistical man I have ever laid my eyes upon. He believed himself to be a gift to womankind the world over. He was quick to inform me that he did not wish to wait for the sanctity of marriage vows, something I was just as quick to disillusion him about.”
Ristare looked up at Alasseon inquiringly, as he shook with silent laughter. Noticing her look, he hastened to explain. “I was just imagining what you must have done to him.”
“Oh. I poked him with my brooch. However, the agreement signed between my father and the King of Merkos could not be annulled and I have to marry him whether I like him or not. Shortly after this meeting, Father died and I don’t think I ever understood that I’d lost him forever. I don’t think I still have. Life at home became unbearable what with the weeping and hysterics. So, I decided to leave it all behind and start a new life.”
“So you became Mercas Tallion, carpet-dealer, and went towards Rohan.” Alasseon flicked a speck of dust off his boots.
“Well, not a carpet-dealer per se, but I took the guise of one.”
Alasseon leaned back against some bales and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. Ristare anxiously watched his face for some emotion. Feeling her gaze, he smiled down at her.
“Don’t worry, I’m not taking you back to Gondor. I was just trying to remember who the king of Merkos is.”
Ristare gave a brittle smile. “ His Royal Highness, King Kartian Merkytus of Merkos.”
“Merkytus…” Alasseon frowned slightly. “You mean to tell me that that snivelling family actually made it to a throne?”
The princess nodded. He whistled in disbelief.
“Unbelievable! You’re supposed to marry him?”
She nodded again.
“But you two would never deal together!!!” Alasseon closed his mouth, realising how familiar his words sounded. He began to mutter an apology, but Ristare interrupted him with clapping.
“That, my lord, is exactly what I have been saying!! Nobody believes me!!”
“Well, never mind. As long as you’re in my company, you wont be marrying that snivelling twerp.”
Ristare gave him a happy smile. The elf lazily winked at her. It occurred to her that she knew next to nothing about him.
“ I told you about myself, but what about you? I don’t know anything about you.” She took out a piece of twine from her tunic pocket and tied her hair back with it.
“There’s not much to tell,” said Alasseon. “I’ve already told you who I am…Alasseon Gilfaun, Prince of Lórien, Elf-warrior. I was born in the Third Age of this world, when Sauron the Dark Lord, was still in Mordor. I met your grandfather once, when I was very young. Four I think. He was an astounding man.
“Anyway, on my 20th birthday, I learnt that I was to marry a rather irritating elf-maiden. Do not be fooled into thinking that all elves are blessed with wisdom. My intended bride was stupider than the stupidest Halfling. Not to mention extremely demanding!”
He waited for Ristare’s laughter to subside before continuing.
“Well at any rate, I managed to shake her off. Devoting my time to my education, I soon became the most skilled archer of Lórien, a fine swordsman and perhaps one of the finest scholars of my time, if I may say so myself. Seeing that there was nothing left for me to do wandering through forests, I decided to see the world.
“ I wandered here and there…going nowhere in particular. The Dunedain, Rangers of the North, became my steadfast friends and I often helped them. I later joined these warriors going south to Gondor for battle against the Dark Lord. It was soon after that my mother left for Valinor. I wasn’t tired of Middle-Earth and thus had no wish to leave with them.
“ So, I’ve just been continuing with my travels, occasionally working for someone, usually in a rather improper manner! Reliable sources have let me know that many would love to see my head decorate the stakes at their castle turrets for one reason or the other.” Alasseon grinned wickedly.
Ristare listened to his narrative with parted lips, her eyes shining. When he finished, she stirred slightly and said in an envying voice; “What fun you must have!”
Alasseon nodded thoughtfully. “Its not always fun though. There are times that have had me quite worried.” He frowned down at Ristare. “Come to think about it, it’s not the sort of life you should lead. I think I’ll just find a safe place to put you in till all this dies down.”
Ristare sprang to her feet, looking down at him in dismay. “But…but you promised!” she stammered. “You said that you would take me with you…that I’d have a taste of adventure. Oh, Alasseon you cant take it back now!” She gazed beseechingly at him, tears in her eyes. “Its not that I can’t look after myself. I’m rather adept at doing so…and I’m a skilled swordswoman and I can arch and I can ride and…”
Ristare was silenced as Alasseon raised his hand. She stood there, mutely watching him. He was going through some inward struggle she could see.
The story that the young princess had told Alasseon had had an effect. He sank deep into thought, struggling with the two alternatives in his mind. The thought of this girl going through some of his more harrowing experiences filled him with apprehension. She certainly did not fit in his lifestyle out in the open or in rowdy bars.
Alasseon stole a glance at Ristare’s despondent face. He saw her in Merkos, sitting beside Kartian, locked up within the walls of his moulding castle. Kartian would destroy her. He would make sure that she lived in sadness and discomfort for her life.
Something inside him rebelled at the very thought of Kartian laying his hands on her.
“ You realise that your life would be in danger in many situations?” he finally said.
“Yes.” Ristare whispered the word incredulously.
Alasseon sighed. “And that if anything happens to you, I’ll find my head decorating a stake at the turrets of Gondor?”
Ristare gaped at the elf-lord who was watching her with weary interest.
“Your…your head?” she stammered.
“Mmhmm.”
Ristare eyed him warily. “Are you laughing at me?” she asked suspiciously.
Alasseon favoured her with a wide innocent look. “Who? Me? Never!”
The regal chin rose up into the air. “Very well then. Put the horses to. We shall leave at once.”
“So you don’t mind my head going up as a turret decoration?” Alasseon asked diverted
Ristare smiled frostily. “Not in the least.”
With that, she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, turned on her heel and walked out of the stable in good order, leaving Alasseon to smile wryly at her retreating figure.
Ilya i ná malta úmirilya, lá ilyë yantë ranya nar vanwë;
i tulca enwinawë úquela,
nurë sundar arahtier lá ringwenen.
Erinillon nárë núva coivana.
Lord of Isengard
Posts: 593
(1/5/03 7:06 am) Reply
Re: The Lay of Alasseon and Ristare.
Well, it still could go that way.
I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart. As a man calls for wine before he fights, I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights, Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. Think first, fight afterwards--the soldier's art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights.
~*Tamaiti a te rangi*~
Posts: 3060
(6/17/03 9:04 am) Reply
Re: The Lay of Alasseon and Ristare.
CHAPTER SIX
“Free as a bird, I fly!
Up, up into the deep blue sky.
Never shall I come down,
To live upon the ground!”
Alasseon gritted his teeth and silently rained down curses upon Ristare’s voice. For all her beauty, he reflected grimly, she had a voice of a crow. He winced as her voice rose in a particularly shrill note.
It had been two days since they had left the village of Barkhar. They were travelling towards Rohan in easy stages so as not to arouse any suspicions about them. Alasseon stole a covert look at Ristare. Nobody could have recognized her as the Princess of Gondor. Her shining golden hair had been dyed a nut brown, a tiny mole had been drawn at the corner of her mouth with the help of a pencil. Only her eyes were the same: a sparkling grey.
She looked much happier too. The sullen look on her face and the wariness in her eyes had all but vanished, leaving a laughing, happy girl behind, giving the greatest change of all.
“My teacher, Heru Aipain, said that I have the most beautiful voice.” Ristare tossed her head, ever so slightly.
“The man must have either been bought or deaf,” thought Alasseon. “Oh really?” he asked out aloud, politely. “Er…was Heru Aipain an old man?”
“Oh YES! He was my aunt’s teacher, when she was a child.”
“Ah! That explains it!” The latter statement was whispered under his breath.
Luckily for him, Ristare did not hear him.
“So, tell me something about yourself.”
“I already told you about myself. What else would you like to know?” Alasseon cast a glance around them, checking for hidden dangers and threats.
Ristare sniffed. “Indeed you have! All you’ve said is that you are Alasseon Gilfaun, Prince of Lórien.” She was struck by a thought. “Does that mean that you are the son of Lady Galadriel?”
“No, but I am of her kin.” He grinned. “My mother was Lord Celeborn’s youngest sister.”
“Was?” Ristare’s smooth forehead crinkled in puzzlement. “Aren’t elves immortal? Oh, I remember! You said she had left for Valinor.”
The smile on Alasseon’s face faded away. “She was killed while travelling towards Mirkwood, to the halls of Thranduil. A party of wargs attacked them. Only two handmaidens survived.” His handsome features tightened.
His companion looked at him, seeing the glittering green eyes filled with pain. An overwhelming sadness came over her.
“I’m sorry. It must have been very painful for you and your family.”
He inclined his head, but did not look at her. His thoughts were in another place, another time.
Ristare hesitated, not knowing whether it was the correct time to ask him. Curiosity, however, overcame.
“Is that the reason why you don’t want to go home…why you want to?”
Alasseon did not say anything. Ristare, crimson and mortified, stammered out an apology.
“Forgive me…I shouldn’t have…I mean, it was wrong of me…”
“My wife and son were part of the company.” Alasseon cut off her apology. “They were taken as hostages and tormented in the Azagh Caves. Nobody expected them to return home anytime soon, so we never went looking for them…until the two maidens came to our borders. How they managed to find their way back home is beyond my comprehension. My father was devastated over my mother’s departure. The soldiers of Lórien set out at once towards the Caves.
“ We took the wargs and goblins by surprise. They fled through the tunnels that roamed throughout the mountain, drawing us in. However, we were at a disadvantage, for elves seldom enter caves and places beneath the earth, preferring the light and beauty of the world above. A fierce battle ensued and our losses were dear. Rùmil, a friend of mine, and I broke away from the rest of the battalion, going to search for the prisoners.”
The green eyes glittered, pain darkening them as the memories resurfaced. “ Five were already dead: children and the elderly. But Elenea and Astalder were alive! Scared, hurt…but alive! Moreover, angry! Even from that distance, I could see their eyes on fire.
“There was a company of goblins there, keeping guard. Rùmil and I were, I think, at the northern side of the hold. From the south, some goblins rushed in, screaming something in their filthy language. Neither of us knowing the language presumed it was to call off the guard and go fight the ‘infidel elves’. We sat down in our poky little tunnel, waiting for them to leave.”
Alasseon stopped. He stared rigidly in front of him, seeing nothing. When he spoke again, it was in a monotone. “There was a sudden scraping of steel against steel…a muted plea…the soft thuds of bodies falling to the floor…and goblins marching out of the hold. Neither Rùmil nor myself moved. Maybe it was shock. Maybe we did not realize what had happened.
“When we finally managed to gather the courage to look down, it was to see the remaining prisoners…four of them…lying on the ground, dead. Among them lay my Elenea and Astalder. My darling Elenea and brave Astalder.” The last was said in a whisper.
Silence fell between them, Alasseon lost in his memories, not saying much. A sad look reposed on his face, his eyes dull, all humor gone. Ristare after glancing at him a few times decided that it was best not to say anything at all. Even if she did want to say something, she reasoned with herself, she wouldn’t know what to say.
At sundown, they came to a straggling village, which had one inn. Ristare looked at the building (which was hardly more than a decrepit shack) with misgiving, but quietly followed Alasseon inside. After a slight verbal tussle with the innkeeper, a short fiery man called Durmstar, they were given two tiny chambers at the back of the house and shown to a small, dimly lit parlour.
Two spitted pigeons, ham, tomatoes, bread, wine and water were kept on their table and Durmstar discreetly disappeared to the back of the house. Ristare fell to hungrily. It had been a long day and there hadn’t been time to eat a decent breakfast today. All problems were suspended, food occupying her mind.
Alasseon watched her eat like a young wolf, an amused twinkle in his eyes, eating his share at a slower speed. She swept up the last few crumbs, took a long drink of the sweet water and sighed contentedly.
“Feel better?” Alasseon smiled at her.
She nodded, a satisfied smile on her face. “Much better. Isn’t it wonderful what food can do for one’s morale?” A yawn escaped her.
“Yes, tis truly marvellous but I think you need to sleep now.” Alasseon carved himself another piece of ham.
“Yes. I cannot wait to feel a soft mattress under me again and nice feather pillows.”
Alasseon spluttered on his wine. Ristare looked at him in alarm. For the next few minutes, he was suffering from a coughing fit.
“Are you alright? What’s the matter?”
He nodded. “Just something you said.”
A winged eyebrow shot up. “Oh? And what was that?”
“Just your talk of soft mattresses and feather pillows.”
Ristare stared at the elf-prince in surprise and some trepidation. “I do think you’re mad!! What on earth is wrong with mattresses and pillows?”
Alasseon shook his head. “Nothing at all Princess, nothing at all.” With a small laugh and shake of his head, he returned to his meal, leaving a puzzled Ristare looking down at him.
Ristare stood at the threshold of her room, her mouth wide open. The room wasn’t exactly what she had expected. All the visions of a room lit with scented candles and hung with lace curtains and satin bed sheets and flowers on the tables, the mattresses and pillows plump and soft, disappeared in a puff of smoke.
A rickety little bed stood in the corner of the small room with a lumpy mattress, a dirty green duvet covering it. A small mound at the head of the bed seemed to server as a pillow. A few spluttering candles stood in the corners of the room, throwing it in dim light. Grimy curtains of some indeterminate colour hung at the grimy window. A brown carpet covered the floor, mottled with stains.
The conversation downstairs played again in her mind. A hot flush coloured her cheeks as she thought of Alasseon’s laughter. All her talk of soft mattresses and feather pillows!! She, a Princess of Gondor, was to sleep in this…this…this…hovel!! A Princess of the line of Elessar Telcontar and Elawen Elênmiel!
She stamped her foot down and then jumped back as the floorboards creaked ominously. Turning around, she ran straight into Alasseon. He steadied her and looking into her stormy face, unforgivably grinned.
“Are those pillows soft enough?”
“Ohhhhhhh!!!!!!” A frustrated scream escaped Ristare. Flinging herself away from him, she stomped off into her room, slamming the door shut behind her.
Alasseon grinned wider. The Princess would learn something yet.
~*he world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater .*~
~*Tamaiti a te rangi*~
Posts: 3153
(8/2/03 6:55 pm) Reply
Re: The Lay of Alasseon and Ristare.CHAPTER SEVEN
Ristare rode beside Alasseon, her mouth set in an uncompromising line. He tried to talk to her of the superiority of the weather of the day, but was speedily silenced by one murderous look from her. From the set of her back and the way she winced at times, it wasn’t hard for Alasseon to realise that she was rather sore from last night’s stay at the village inn and that she blamed him for it.
“Are you going to sulk the entire time?”
Silence.
“You’re going to become a tiresome companion you know.”
Silence.
“Come on, Ristare! It wasn’t my fault that the mattresses and pillows were bad! We were lucky to get a room there as it is. And you’ve got to admit, it was rather funny to see that look on your face!”
Another murderous look came his way.
Alasseon shrugged. “Well, you can sulk if you want to, but we’re approaching Rohan and you need to keep your eyes open. We’ll be taking the…err…trade route in and the Rohirrim have a rather annoying habit of skulking near these lesser-known paths and along the plains.
Ristare snorted. “If they are so unknown, then how, may I ask do the Rohirrim know of them?”
“Near the paths, dear princess, not on them. You see, it is the duty of two trading countries to make sure everything is nice and clean, the money going where its supposed to go, revenues paid to the king. Now some people, like your friends Lassus and Horace for example, feel that these revenues are just a ploy of the kingdom to rob them of their hard earned money. Therefore, they travel along these roads. Of course, there are also other characters that walk upon them. More dangerous, desperate ones.”
“Like you, I suppose?”
“Well I wont deny that they’ve often saved my neck.” He shuddered slightly. “I remember a particular incident when a rather enthusiastic spear-man was after me…”
Alasseon recounted the tale as they walked down the stony road. Ristare couldn’t help laughing as he re-in acted dashing across the plains with a Rider (“who wasn’t more than a boy”) behind him. The boy had challenged the elf when he had caught him journeying across Rohan under the guise of a tradesman who had nothing to sell. An image of the cool, collected, elegant elf-prince sprinting over plains for his life chased by a mere boy sprung into Ristare’s mind. Alasseon looked at her, a trifle sourly, as she laughed.
The scenery began to change. The rolling hills of Gondor slowly flattened out, giving way to plains. Woods and forests began to thin out, long green grass streamed in the breeze. Somewhere, far away, there was a flash of silver as a river snaked its way towards the seas. Here and there, there was a dark smudge, where a hill or two rose up into the horizon. Towards the northeast, there was a dark spread.
Ristare crested a hill and looked down curiously.
“Well, here we are…Rohan, land of the horse-lords,” Alasseon pointed towards the dark spread. “That is Fangorn Forest, towards the north.”
“Fangorn!” Ristare exclaimed. “I’ve heard so much about it. Is it true that the trees there can talk to each? And move?”
“Ah, you’ve heard of the Tree-Herders then. Yes, there are some who can. The oldest of them all is Fangorn; at least that is what he is called in your tongue. He is older than all beings that walk on this earth, save maybe for Tom Bombadil. Though I do believe the two are of the same age.” Alasseon grinned as Ristare blinked in surprise. “Don’t they teach you anything in that big city of yours?”
“Of course they do! But this is the first time I have ever heard of a Tom Bombadil.”
“Probably because you weren’t paying attention to your lessons” Alasseon murmured.
“What?” She asked suspiciously.
He smiled sunnily. “Oh nothing…nothing at all. Now Tom Bombadil was an old…well I suppose you could call him a man, who lived in The Old Forest.”
“What, the one near the Shire?”
“The very same. He lived there with his wife, Goldberry, the River-Daughter, unconcerned with what went on beyond his borders.”
“You mean he didn’t care if anyone was in trouble just because they were no longer in his land?”
“No, no, offcourse not!” Alasseon glanced at her exasperatedly. “Learn to open your mind a little, Ristare! He helped all those that he thought deserved help. However, he preferred to live away from the world, happily and in peace, collecting water lilies for Goldberry. And I suppose he had seen enough to know the folly of interfering in what was meant to be.”
“Eru above, how long had he lived here?”
Alasseon gave her his crooked smile. “Long enough. He saw the Awakening of the Elves, the coming of Men, the ships from Valinor, the fall of Morgoth, the rise and fall of Gondolin, the rise of the Witch-King of Angmar, the forging of the Rings of Power, the Wars of the Ring.”
Ristare looked taken aback. “And you call him a man?”
“No, I said I suppose you may call him a man. He is, in sooth, a Maia.”
“Is he still living in The Old Forest?”
“ Nobody knows.” The elf shrugged. “Old Tom likes to keep to himself, and shows himself to only those who he wants to see him. Perhaps he is here, perhaps not.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“No, but then, I haven’t travelled much in Eriador.”
Ristare rode some distance sunk in thought. A question suddenly burst out of her, as if she couldn’t keep it in any longer. “Do you think we could meet him, if we went that way?”
“Well…” Alasseon looked a little perplexed. “If he is still there and luck is with us…I don’t see why not.”
She smiled gladly up at him.
They had now left The Greenway and had come upon forested roads that were just a little more than trails. They wound through the forest, at times just barely visible in the undergrowth. All around them was the excited twittering of birds. Golden sunlight streamed through the trees, glinting off trees. A pleasant breeze flitted through the trees. All around them, there was a sense of tranquillity.
It all changed in a flash. Alasseon suddenly sat up straighter in his seat, his eyes darting around, alert and watchful. Ristare looked at him in mild surprise.
“What’s the matter?”
He glanced around before replying softly. “Keep your eyes open. There is something…or someone…out here.”
Ristare shot him a look of pure amazement. “But you said that nobody comes this way, except for the...err...special traders.”
Alasseon gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes in her direction. “Obviously, I was wrong.”
Ristare sniffed. “Well, really, I do think that you shouldn’t say things unless you’re sure about them. Otherwise its really…mmmph!”
She was rudely cut off in mid-sentence as Alasseon roughly covered her mouth with his hand. He had brought the horses to a standstill and was listening very carefully. Silently, he motioned Ristare to move towards the bushes. The look on his face was serious enough to send her quietly to where he indicated. She watched as the elf-prince dismounted and lithely swarmed up a tree…and seemed to disappear.
Ristare looked frantically at the tree, swelling with anger and fear. He had left her here!! Somebody, obviously not nice, was coming and he had left her here to face him or her alone!! Just as she was about to get up and walk over to the tree, she heard the sounds of horses coming towards her. Coarse laughter and singing came to her ears.
Frightened, she shrank back into the thick bush, oblivious of the thorns. The voices were coming closer; she could hear a harsh, hacking cough…a horse passed before her, a booted and spurred foot that she could touch if she reached out…
Suddenly one of the horses started neighing loudly. A cruel voice came to her ears, “What is it, Ankhara? What’s out there?”
Ristare cowered in the bushes. She was going to die she knew it. Any moment now, they’d part the leaves and see her hiding there.
Sure enough, there was a startled oath as the bush trembled and was violently pulled apart. After a surprised moment, Ristare was dragged to her feet and pulled before twenty of the most repulsive men she’d seen in her life. All were dressed in dark green and brown, liberally splattered with mud and something that she didn’t want to think about. Wickedly curved swords dangled from their sides, their gold teeth glittering malevolently as they smiled down at her.
The biggest of the lot shook her. A serpent earring hanging from his ear indicated his dominance over his comrades. “Who are you and why are you in my forest?”
Ristare tried to speak but nothing came out. Swallowing and trying to ignore the nasty smiles, she tried again, “It’s none of your business who I am and this is not your forest.”
The bandit laughed and spread out his hand, indicating the surroundings. “Do you see anyone else here? No? That’s because this is my forest. As for who you are, you can take the easier path by telling me straight away. I don’t like making little girls suffer.” He ran his finger down her cheek, making her shudder. “Especially pretty ones like you.” He pulled her face towards his.
The next moment he was lying in a heap at Ristare’s feet, two arrows sticking out of his back. The other bandits leapt back with yells and shouts, staring around frantically. Another arrow whizzed past the head of a trollish bandit, embedding itself into a tree. He yanked at his bow and began to fire in all directions. “Where is this coming from? What devilry is this?” He yelled.
“Show yourself!! Come out and fight like a man!!!” A bandit with a mangy look about him shouted out into the forest. He was answered by a soft, derisive laughter that seemed to echo throughout the forest and a voice that seemed to whisper through the leaves of the trees came to be heard.
“But I am not a man, mortal fool. I am much more than a mere man. I come from the eons of time, the dust of stars, the breath of the heavens.”
The thieves banded together in fear, looking around them. The same bandit spoke again, “You couldn’t be much if you cannot come out and face us in the open.”
There was a pause and the voice spoke again, sounding amused. “You dare challenge me?”
The bandits trembled but the spokesman stood strong. “Yes.”
Ristare could almost feel Alasseon’s shrug. The men cried out in surprise as the owner of the mysterious voice dropped from the trees. Slowly, he straightened up, lifting his face so that they all could see him. The sun made his vivid eyes shimmer mysteriously. In his left hand was the long bow that was usually slung over his shoulder, an arrow dangling negligently from it. In his right hand was a very businesslike sword that gleamed viciously when light fell on it. A thin bandit with spaniel like eyes swore out loud.
“Stars help us, it’s Alasseon Gilfaun!” After a pause, “You’re supposed to be dead!”
Alasseon put the arrow back into his hold and slung his bow back over his shoulder nonchalantly. “Yes, I do have an annoying habit of coming back from the dead don’t I? When was the last time we met, Merin? Ah yes! The quest to Ered Mithrin!!” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “ Undoubtedly, my memory is terrible, but I do seem to recollect we did not part as the best of friends. Hmm…” The green eyes brightened. “Ah yes!! Now I remember!! You tried to kill me!!”
The man called Merin shifted uncomfortably. “No, no. Nothing of the sort, Alasseon.”
Alasseon shook his head firmly. “No, I remember quite clearly that you wanted to kill me. Something to do with wanting my share of the hoard, I believe. You always were a greedy fellow. But to steal up on someone when his or her back is turned is too much, I say. And you didn’t even wait to see if I was dead.”
Merin licked his lips fearfully. “I…I…”
“I’m afraid I will have to teach you a lesson.” Alasseon looked at the rest of the bandits. “The rest can learn too. They say that education is good for you.”
Merin was a ghastly white by now. He backed away from the elf. “Now see here, Alasseon, my friend…we were part of the same guild! We went on a quest together.”
“Yet you didn’t mind sticking a knife into my back did you?” Alasseon ignored Ristare’s gasp and walked towards Merin.
“That…that was ju-just a mistake, my friend! If you like I’ll pay you back whatever I took from you that night.” The man backed up against a tree and looked wildly around for an escape. The other bandits watched tensely.
Alasseon looked at him with dislike. “The only way you can pay me is by dropping dead right now.”
Merin sent a half-glance at the mangy bandit who had shouted out to Alasseon earlier on. Alasseon did not see it, but Ristare did and she instinctively knew that the bandits were going to attack her friend. Sure enough, the mangy bandit had casually drawn out his sword, the others following suit.
“Alasseon!!! Look out!!” She screamed.
Before she had finished, Alasseon dived to the side as one of the thieves leapt at him. With a scythe like movement, the elf brought his sword down across the man’s back. A gurgle emitted from him as he collapsed on the ground. Merin drew his sword and leapt at Alasseon. They both rolled over on the ground and fought with each other.
The mangy bandit turned towards Ristare, his slit-like eyes gleaming cruelly. Ristare pulled out her own sword with trembling hands. It felt very heavy. She tried to remember what her teacher had told her. “Always hold the point up. Once you lower the sword’s point, you lower your defences.”
“Put that thing down and I promise I won’t hurt you.” He leered at her.
Ristare backed away, horrified. Behind her, Alasseon pushed Merin off him and had run another thug through, but was outnumbered twelve to one. They were going to die, Ristare thought numbly as she continued to back away from the mangy bandit. All at once, she felt two arms close about her in a crushing grip. The trollish bandit had come up behind her silently and caught hold of her. Screaming, she kicked out and swung wildly with her sword. She felt it slide in softly into the side of her attacker with hardly a sound. Just as silently, the man fell backward, carrying her with him. Before she could get up, the mangy bandit had her covered with his sword. She closed her eyes. Miracles don’t exist…this is the end…
Suddenly Ristare felt the weight of the bandit removed and the sounds of horses around her and frenzied yells. Opening her eyes, she saw what remained of the bandits running into the deep forest, followed by horsemen with flowing gold hair. Two of them lingered. Alasseon was rubbing his arm. She saw him look up at the horsemen and then grin wryly.
Some of the feeling came back into her body and she slowly, carefully sat up. One of the riders dismounted and walked towards Alasseon.
“I should have known that wherever there is trouble, the great Alasseon Gilfaun had to be present!” He said. His voice was nice, Ristare thought detachedly. Musical.
Alasseon grasped the rider’s hand. “The great Alasseon thanks the noble Eothair for coming to his aid and wonders what such a nobleman is doing on roads such as these.”
“Making sure people like you don’t ruin our trading with other realms!” Eothair retorted laughing. He looked around to where a dishevelled Ristare was sitting, looking around her remorsefully. His eyes widened, but he spoke in the same light way he had been. “Who is this new beauty that you’ve run away with Alasseon?”
Alasseon looked over at Ristare and a curse escaped his breath. “I’d forgotten all about her! Is she alright?”
“I’m presuming so. Obviously she does not mean much to you if you cannot even remember her presence.” An eyebrow shot up quizzically.
“That’s…” Alasseon hesitated, but decided to come clean. “That is Ristare…Princess of Gondor. I’m…err…taking her on an adventure.”
Eothair gawked at him and then started laughing. “Trust you, friend! The kingdoms of Men are in uproar and here you are quite coolly taking this girl for ‘an adventure’.” He looked over at her again. “Will you introduce me to her?”
Alasseon shot him a look, but nodded. He walked over to the girl. Ristare looked up at him blankly for a moment as he pulled her to her feet and then glared at him.
“This is all your fault!! Why did you leave me in that bush anyway?”
“Yes, I was wondering when you were going to start shouting at me. However, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. Eothair, this is Ristare, Princess of the realm of Gondor. Ristare, this is Eothair, heir of the throne of Rohan.”
Ristare looked up at the tall young man who stood before her. He was very handsome, she concluded. Eyes the colour of sapphires twinkled down at her from a mischievous face, golden hair hung over his shoulders like all the other horsemen. White horse hair flowed from the helm that he carried in his hand.
Eothair gazed down raptly at Ristare. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and he seen many. Dark hair surrounded her heart shaped face, which he suspected to be as gold as his. Clear grey eyes gazed at him critically, taking in every detail of his appearance. She wasn’t very tall, but there was a sturdy spirit about her. He bowed deeply to her. “I believed Rohan to have within it all the jewels of this world, but Gondor it seems, has one fairer.” He smiled slightly as she blushed.
Alasseon watched the two sourly. He rolled his eyes as Eothair spoke and looked even more disgusted when Ristare blushed. He tapped Eothair on the shoulder.
“If you don’t mind, Eothair, I’d like to get going. It’s late and we’ve had a long day. Do you know any place where we can stay unnoticed?”
Eothair mediated over this question and then smiled. “My father had a palace built not far from here. I was heading there myself for the night. You’re welcome to come along. No one will speak of you.”
Alasseon opened his mouth frowningly, but Ristare beat him to it. “ Do you have feather pillows?”
Eothair looked rather taken-aback at the question but nodded bemusedly.
“Well then, that’s settled. My lord, we should love to stay with you!”
“Ristare…” Alasseon began.
“No, Alasseon. I’ve stayed in all those filthy inns and taverns because of you. Now I want to stay in a palace which has feather pillows.” A dreamy expression came over her face. “Do you have feather mattresses too?”
“Err…yes, I think so.” Eothair looked at Alasseon who shrugged exasperatedly.
“Brilliant!! Come along then, what are we waiting for?”
She walked over to her horse and mounted, waiting for the two men, one bemused, the other irritated to do so as well and followed them dreaming of feather mattresses.
~*f you want to live my life, pay my rent.*~
~* don't need nobody flyin' in my jet stream...take the bus, go on and get yourself your own dream.*~
!
he world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater .*~
f you want to live my life, pay my rent.*~
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