Onward with the chase! [January 2010] {Calon}
Feb 17, 2018 12:31:23 GMT -5
Post by Narbeleth on Feb 17, 2018 12:31:23 GMT -5
Two weeks? Why, it seemed so soon. Now there was nothing, not all the time in Arda to make things right with Remlas before he left. She had left Minas Tirith on poor terms with one brother, and now that things were so soon to be made right with him again, another brother was leaving on poor terms.
Remlas' eyes only met her own for an instant, and his laugh was not his own. She should have known she had no right to speak. It was her fault he was departing, she knew it, and she felt her heart wrench for Arobes to lose her son.
Of course, it was not a true loss. Not a full loss. It was true their Grandmother and Grandfather must be missing family. Both the White City and Dol Amroth were still of Gondor, though they may as well have been different countries for the leagues of distance between them. Narbeleth regretted she had been given no chance to meet them their grandparents. Near all her encounters with Calon had merely been upon his short breaktimes in the stables.
Narbeleth needed to busy herself now. If she kept her hands busy, she could perhaps keep her mouth shut, and the rest of the family would have their time together. The young women felt rather out of place. She was about to stand and make some excuse to leave, shifting in her seat, when Calon squeezed her leg beneath the table, in turn holding her in place. She inhaled deeply, and covered his hand with her own, keeping her eyes drawn toward the table.
Calon tried to jest on differences of city and country, and Narbeleth felt even more the upset, though tried to breath and hold her face set. She could not imagine at all that Remlas would like the bustle of the city. Of course, it was exciting at times, but it was also wearing. Dol Amroth was not half the size of Minas Tirith, and though they all enjoyed their time working on the edges of White Town, Istor's family also cherished the quiet places, the wilds of forest and wind and wave.
The white city had wind, it was certain. After being away from it for so long now, Narbeleth knew even the wind that could be felt tunneling through the carven streets or upon the seventh tier at the precipice would not be enough to let her know the freedom she did here.
She suddenly gripped Calon's hand, and pressed it off her leg. “I'll do the cleanup, and start on the rest of that meat,” she told Arobes, and pushed back her chair to rapidly begin gathering up the empty plates to a pile, then tousled Calon's dark curls with a forced smile before bustling into the kitchen and piling the plates near the washbasin.
Remlas' eyes only met her own for an instant, and his laugh was not his own. She should have known she had no right to speak. It was her fault he was departing, she knew it, and she felt her heart wrench for Arobes to lose her son.
Of course, it was not a true loss. Not a full loss. It was true their Grandmother and Grandfather must be missing family. Both the White City and Dol Amroth were still of Gondor, though they may as well have been different countries for the leagues of distance between them. Narbeleth regretted she had been given no chance to meet them their grandparents. Near all her encounters with Calon had merely been upon his short breaktimes in the stables.
Narbeleth needed to busy herself now. If she kept her hands busy, she could perhaps keep her mouth shut, and the rest of the family would have their time together. The young women felt rather out of place. She was about to stand and make some excuse to leave, shifting in her seat, when Calon squeezed her leg beneath the table, in turn holding her in place. She inhaled deeply, and covered his hand with her own, keeping her eyes drawn toward the table.
Calon tried to jest on differences of city and country, and Narbeleth felt even more the upset, though tried to breath and hold her face set. She could not imagine at all that Remlas would like the bustle of the city. Of course, it was exciting at times, but it was also wearing. Dol Amroth was not half the size of Minas Tirith, and though they all enjoyed their time working on the edges of White Town, Istor's family also cherished the quiet places, the wilds of forest and wind and wave.
The white city had wind, it was certain. After being away from it for so long now, Narbeleth knew even the wind that could be felt tunneling through the carven streets or upon the seventh tier at the precipice would not be enough to let her know the freedom she did here.
She suddenly gripped Calon's hand, and pressed it off her leg. “I'll do the cleanup, and start on the rest of that meat,” she told Arobes, and pushed back her chair to rapidly begin gathering up the empty plates to a pile, then tousled Calon's dark curls with a forced smile before bustling into the kitchen and piling the plates near the washbasin.
