Post by Shiro on Mar 19, 2011 16:50:33 GMT -5
A little bit of background information for those not familiar with this particular storyline (i.e., nearly everyone):
A while back, Shiromir was asked to watch over a troublemaker of a cousin of Ceallian, the old kinship head. Long story short, he fell in love with the girl. She ended up going off exploring on her own one day and word eventually got back to Bree that she had been killed. Shiromir snapped and ran after her in the same general direction of travel, as no one seemed to know any details about it.
IRL, our fearless leader got bored with this particular character and decided to kill her off.
I was told to run with it, so here it is.
The sun rose on another morning in Hollin. Robins began to sing on the cool breeze and the shimmer of dew on the foliage spoke of the now faded glory of the once proud land. Looking up at the white peaks of Caradhras, Shiromir let out a soft sigh.
The days of his search had become months and still there was almost nothing to show for the effort. The trail seemed to lead in this direction. The few elves encamped nearby, however, had only vague mentions of lone travellers in the region, and nothing to speak of a lone young woman.
She was here. He could feel it.
Ten months had now come and gone since Shiromir had set out from Bree. Part of him still didn't want to believe that she could be dead.
He trudged along the dried riverbed, looking for the next vein. Prospecting had proven to be a lucrative distraction; the elves at Echad Eregion were only too happy to trade silver and steel for provisions. His coin satchel grew heavier each day, yet he never bothered to tally its contents. The distraction was what he sought.
Shiromir chipped away meticulously at the nodules of native silver, the small nuggets falling into the bag below. Grimly he looked up to one side, his eye caught by a colour out of place.
Moving closer, he realized it was a body, weathered now for some time. His heart sank with dread, fearing whom it might be. Revealing the down-turned face, he had his answer.
It was her.
Robbed, murdered and discarded in a trench, she now lay here. All the anguish, all the anger, his long and dauntless quest had come to such an unceremonious end. She was gone. Stunned, he knelt there next to her. Tears wet the blades of grass beneath them in silence.
At last when she was buried, her grave adorned with bluebells atop a silver marker, Shiromir stood and wept once more over her. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the tree above as the sun neared the horizon, yet the world seemed eerily quiet.
He stared dolorously at the pewter cloak pin in his hand, taken from her remains. At length, his gaze turned to the sword at his hip with disdain. Gritting his teeth, he drew it, hilt up, and plunged it into the ground with a soft grunt.
The sun was rising anew at Echad Eregion as Golgallon watched the man gather his belongings and pack them atop his horse.
“You are leaving?” asked the elf.
“Yes,” said Shiromir simply, not looking up from his packing.
Golgallon watched him for a moment longer.
“You have found what you sought, then?”
Shiromir paused, but still did not look up, “...Yes.”
Golgallon frowned silently as Shiromir finished making ready. As he climbed atop his steed, Shiromir at last looked up to meet the elf's gaze.
“...Will you watch over her?”
A sombre nod was his answer.
It was nearing sunset as Golgallon reached this newest tomb. A songbird sang a sympathetic melody from the branches of the tree above. Presently, he approached the grave marker and set upon it a wreath of poppies. As he stood, he gazed over to the adjacent blade driven into the ground, the dwindling sunlight gleaming on its hilt. Sighing softly, he turned back to the grave, bowing his head in farewell. Shadows cast by the setting sun accented the lettering on the silver plaque:
A while back, Shiromir was asked to watch over a troublemaker of a cousin of Ceallian, the old kinship head. Long story short, he fell in love with the girl. She ended up going off exploring on her own one day and word eventually got back to Bree that she had been killed. Shiromir snapped and ran after her in the same general direction of travel, as no one seemed to know any details about it.
IRL, our fearless leader got bored with this particular character and decided to kill her off.
I was told to run with it, so here it is.
The sun rose on another morning in Hollin. Robins began to sing on the cool breeze and the shimmer of dew on the foliage spoke of the now faded glory of the once proud land. Looking up at the white peaks of Caradhras, Shiromir let out a soft sigh.
The days of his search had become months and still there was almost nothing to show for the effort. The trail seemed to lead in this direction. The few elves encamped nearby, however, had only vague mentions of lone travellers in the region, and nothing to speak of a lone young woman.
She was here. He could feel it.
Ten months had now come and gone since Shiromir had set out from Bree. Part of him still didn't want to believe that she could be dead.
He trudged along the dried riverbed, looking for the next vein. Prospecting had proven to be a lucrative distraction; the elves at Echad Eregion were only too happy to trade silver and steel for provisions. His coin satchel grew heavier each day, yet he never bothered to tally its contents. The distraction was what he sought.
Shiromir chipped away meticulously at the nodules of native silver, the small nuggets falling into the bag below. Grimly he looked up to one side, his eye caught by a colour out of place.
Moving closer, he realized it was a body, weathered now for some time. His heart sank with dread, fearing whom it might be. Revealing the down-turned face, he had his answer.
It was her.
Robbed, murdered and discarded in a trench, she now lay here. All the anguish, all the anger, his long and dauntless quest had come to such an unceremonious end. She was gone. Stunned, he knelt there next to her. Tears wet the blades of grass beneath them in silence.
* * *
At last when she was buried, her grave adorned with bluebells atop a silver marker, Shiromir stood and wept once more over her. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the tree above as the sun neared the horizon, yet the world seemed eerily quiet.
He stared dolorously at the pewter cloak pin in his hand, taken from her remains. At length, his gaze turned to the sword at his hip with disdain. Gritting his teeth, he drew it, hilt up, and plunged it into the ground with a soft grunt.
* * *
The sun was rising anew at Echad Eregion as Golgallon watched the man gather his belongings and pack them atop his horse.
“You are leaving?” asked the elf.
“Yes,” said Shiromir simply, not looking up from his packing.
Golgallon watched him for a moment longer.
“You have found what you sought, then?”
Shiromir paused, but still did not look up, “...Yes.”
Golgallon frowned silently as Shiromir finished making ready. As he climbed atop his steed, Shiromir at last looked up to meet the elf's gaze.
“...Will you watch over her?”
A sombre nod was his answer.
* * *
It was nearing sunset as Golgallon reached this newest tomb. A songbird sang a sympathetic melody from the branches of the tree above. Presently, he approached the grave marker and set upon it a wreath of poppies. As he stood, he gazed over to the adjacent blade driven into the ground, the dwindling sunlight gleaming on its hilt. Sighing softly, he turned back to the grave, bowing his head in farewell. Shadows cast by the setting sun accented the lettering on the silver plaque:
Here Lies Leasung