Fire and Ice : Valentine's Day on Caradhras (Everyone)
Feb 9, 2018 0:12:29 GMT -5
Post by Faeldor on Feb 9, 2018 0:12:29 GMT -5
Gilwen had done well, Faeldor thought, to complement the jewels of the decaying carcass. An improvement she was making on her social graces from the many guests they served together at the inn, and the many visits with Knights and Nobles within the stone palacades of Dol Amroth.
Faeldor moved with Gilwen upon his arm to the fireside and tried to comfort both his own unease and the lady's with a gentle hum as he stared into the flames. The safety. He took in a deep breath to start another tune as he decided what they should do, now that they were here, but Faeldor saw his wife's wide brown eyes drawn back behind them once more.
“Fael. The…the host--? Is he supposed to be on fire?”
The man swallowed hard, and reached to tighten Gilwen's cloak about her shoulders. “Starlight, I think he… well...” He was stumped. For once Gilwen had asked him a question to which he had no answer. The man knew near every history that was written or remembered to mankind, but he could not recall anything about flaming visages.
“I think when one lives in such an extreme environment, he must take extreme measures to volley against it,” he finally said.
Before Faeldor had a chance to turn back around and take another curious glance to the creature, his eyes flickered upwards and caught a glimpse of falling ember. He gasped, quickly beginning to brush the hot rain from Gilwen, worried of the foul memories of torture it might bring to mind if she felt the sting of it. His own dress cloak had been singed now, and he shook the ash from his shoulders and brushed at his arms.
Glancing aside he took notice of the charred warg now having been set upon the table. It had less appeal to his senses than the fish gutting stalls he passed on the wharfs of Dol Amroth. Beyond the table of blackened warg, his eyes were greeted with the sight of a band of strangely clad orc.
It appeared that one of them was… pregnant, though he dare not utter mention of it around Gilwen; she was frustrated enough with her own inability to conceive; to think that an orc had been able to do such a thing… no! Faeldor did not wish to think of it! “Gilwen...” he tried to draw her attention away from the party. Perhaps this had been no grand idea to bring her.
“Do you want to… build a snowman?” he asked, glancing quickly back toward the party. His eyes once more fell on the Lady Dwarf encrusted in jewels. “Come on… let's not decay… I mean… delay.”
Gilwen
Faeldor moved with Gilwen upon his arm to the fireside and tried to comfort both his own unease and the lady's with a gentle hum as he stared into the flames. The safety. He took in a deep breath to start another tune as he decided what they should do, now that they were here, but Faeldor saw his wife's wide brown eyes drawn back behind them once more.
“Fael. The…the host--? Is he supposed to be on fire?”
The man swallowed hard, and reached to tighten Gilwen's cloak about her shoulders. “Starlight, I think he… well...” He was stumped. For once Gilwen had asked him a question to which he had no answer. The man knew near every history that was written or remembered to mankind, but he could not recall anything about flaming visages.
“I think when one lives in such an extreme environment, he must take extreme measures to volley against it,” he finally said.
Before Faeldor had a chance to turn back around and take another curious glance to the creature, his eyes flickered upwards and caught a glimpse of falling ember. He gasped, quickly beginning to brush the hot rain from Gilwen, worried of the foul memories of torture it might bring to mind if she felt the sting of it. His own dress cloak had been singed now, and he shook the ash from his shoulders and brushed at his arms.
Glancing aside he took notice of the charred warg now having been set upon the table. It had less appeal to his senses than the fish gutting stalls he passed on the wharfs of Dol Amroth. Beyond the table of blackened warg, his eyes were greeted with the sight of a band of strangely clad orc.
It appeared that one of them was… pregnant, though he dare not utter mention of it around Gilwen; she was frustrated enough with her own inability to conceive; to think that an orc had been able to do such a thing… no! Faeldor did not wish to think of it! “Gilwen...” he tried to draw her attention away from the party. Perhaps this had been no grand idea to bring her.
“Do you want to… build a snowman?” he asked, glancing quickly back toward the party. His eyes once more fell on the Lady Dwarf encrusted in jewels. “Come on… let's not decay… I mean… delay.”
Gilwen