Youth and Pleasure Faded
May 29, 2018 15:29:45 GMT -5
Post by RUIVO on May 29, 2018 15:29:45 GMT -5
September 3009
Dúnedain Camp
The Angle, South of Rivendell
Dúnedain Camp
The Angle, South of Rivendell
Inevitable was the change of the year, as summer faded into autumn. Inevitable was Ruivo's return to Imladris before the snows would fill the passes into the vale. The past winter he had departed for the west; crossing many lands as he made for Mithlond to pass time with Lord Círdan, who was more like family than the sea-elf knew. Just as long had been the return journey; though he had planned to arrive at the precise time he had and no ill fate had befallen this year's journey.
Ruivo never tarried more than a day or two in the elven dale upon his returns before trekking southward for an evening to the small village in the Angle, to hear the news.
With interest did Ruivo seek news of the Dúnedain. Always had he dealings with the Men of Westernesse since their arrival in the long ago days of the second age; since the city of Annúminas stood tall. He enjoyed to speak with them; though short were their days compared to his, as year passed by he would know some better than others. Grandsire upon grandsire had he known of those he now spoke with. He had reminisced and crafted with all the great smiths of the cities of Arnor, now fallen to ruin.
Even before the sinking of Beleriand; Ruivo had seen the first of their kings. Elros, only a small peredhil at the time bidding farewell the ship Vingilótë, the foam-flower, on which his father sailed. Little did Elros know what strong line would come of him. Despite turmoil upon turmoil through the years; still their bloodlines were strong.
Now the evening tarried on, and a fire crackled before them as they sat outdoors in a ring under star. A chill was upon the outdoor air and many seated about the fire were wrapped in furs as Ruivo had spoken through twilight hours of news from the east; from villages and encampments he had passed. What news of the weather he could tell; and predictions for the winter ahead. Some of the men would seek him at his forge in coming months for repairs to their tools and weapons.
“I have heard of the return of your daughter, Laegion,” Ruivo stated after a time, his voice low and soft. “The healers in Imladris spoke of her condition.” Alagoniel was her name, and curious in disposition had she always been to him; though it was common for the women of the Dúnedain to behave in manner far different than the ladies of elven court which he was used to.
“I admit, I am surprised she does not tarry by the fire this night. Is she…?” Ruivo tilted his head in a nod toward one of the dwellings where he knew it was that her kin lived. It was not like the youth to ignore discourse on distant lands; with much wonder had she heard the stories of Ruivo's northern travels in past years.
Yet Ruivo knew that war changes things. That youth and pleasure were never the same once one had drawn blood, and once one had felt the blade or tooth upon their own skin.