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Post by Rúmil of Lórien on May 21, 2006 3:34:40 GMT
A gentle breeze whispered through the boughs of the trees, shaking the fresh springtime greenery of the Mallorn trees from their fitful slumber. Rúmil slid a sandaled toe into the icy waters of the Anduin, sighing contentedly as he did. It had been a hard fight, a long fight…finally they had peace; Lothlorien had never looked as beautiful before, now that it had finally be freed from the shadow of Sauron.
The world was changing. Rúmil crouched along the river banks and pulled the flowing grey robes he wore a little tighter. He ran his hand through the tall grass and sighed contentedly…and a bit regretfully. The Lady of the Wood had departed, Elrond Halfelven as well. The time of the elves had finally come to an end, the age of men was at hand. Almost immediately he thoughts turned to Brania Denethor, a daughter of men, and his ward; it was time for her to rejoin her people.
The hem of the robe slipped into the river, and for a moment Rúmil wished that he was wearing his old clothes, the clothes of a Marchwarden. He missed the feeling of a quiver at his back and a bow in hand, and he felt almost off balance without a sword at his side.
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Brania of Lorien
Dúnedain of the South
Wanderer Healer
Myrddin Dark Elf Elven Assassin
Posts: 84
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Post by Brania of Lorien on May 21, 2006 4:07:53 GMT
Brania walked along the river, thinking. This river was the one that she had traveled up to get away from Gondor. This was the river the Elves had found her half-dead, sick from exposure and starvation. This river had changed her life. She was dressed in a beautiful robe of Elven silk, blue with a bit of purple. She had returned home only a few hours ago from a trip.
Rumil hadn't been home, but some friends had directed her down here to where he had been heading. She didn't know where he was exactly, but they would find each other sooner or later. Brania had adopted many Elvish ways, including a bit of calm that things would happen in time. Soon enough she saw an Elven man by the river's edge. "Cormamin lindua ele lle, Rumil," she greeted.
(My heart sings to see thee)
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Post by Rúmil of Lórien on May 21, 2006 4:30:50 GMT
Rumil had heard the girl - no, he corrected himself, woman - as she approached the river, and had recognized her, long before she spoke. Brania had long since adopted the manners of the elves, Rumil and his brothers had personally trained her, and she was the serenest, and incidentally stealthiest, daughter of men that the elf had ever met. It stemmed from an accordance with the nature that surrounded them, nature spoke to them, and quieted their footfalls.
Brania greeted him with the flowingly beautiful speech of the elves; the speech of his people…but not of hers. Rumil rose, turned towards her, brushed the dust from his robes as he did, and smiled gently. “And I thee my sister,” he spoke, not in the flowery words of the elves, but in the tongue of men. He hesitated a moment, and then, with a swift stride, wrapped her in a brotherly hug.
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Brania of Lorien
Dúnedain of the South
Wanderer Healer
Myrddin Dark Elf Elven Assassin
Posts: 84
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Post by Brania of Lorien on May 21, 2006 5:06:46 GMT
She laughed softly as Rumil hugged her. Sometimes he was so formal, reserved. It came from his great age she figured and the calmness that came from their bond with nature. Either way, she always felt special that he would break that formality with her, just as he did with his brothers. Brania hugged him back, grateful once again that he and the brothers had found her 20 years ago.
"What brought you to the rive, my brother?" she asked, slipping into the tongue of men. She much prefered Elvish these days, had for years, but if Rumil wanted to speak in her birth language, she would follow.
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