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Author Topic: Tides of Change  (Read 1255 times)


  • Men
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  • Alias: Cass
  • Application: Plotter
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Tides of Change
« on: August 24, 2019, 10:17:27 PM »
With pebble-strewn sand beneath his boots, Faramir stood stark and alone on the shore. The last light of day danced on the waves, the sea neither calm nor entirely at peace. In his ears rumbled the ocean's song, a low and ceaseless roar, punctuated by the chatter and laughter of gulls - and of men.

The promontory had been his mother's home. Along these very shores Finduilas had walked, breathing deep the briny, restorative air, back when she was a childless maiden, and before her health began to fail her. Both as a boy, and as a man, it was here in Dol Amroth that Faramir felt closest to his mother, despite his memories - a scant and precious handful, often ruminated over - all having been forged in Minas Tirith. The shores and wild headlands had been a balm during his youth, when the loss was acute.

But this was not like the visits of his childhood, when pale skin was made rosy by long hours in the Gondorian sun, and sea salt stiffened fine hair that was prone to tangles at the best of times. Happy memories of sailing catamarans with his capable cousins remained untarnished despite long years far from the sea, and despite the weight of adult - and more specifically noble - responsibilities.

Duty ought to weigh heavy now, as he stood as an emissary of the Steward. Lothíriel, his beloved cousin, resplendent and so very grown up, was betrothed. The news buoyed hearts made heavy by Mordor's gloom - which remained ever murky on Minas Tirith's horizon - and no other denizen of the White City rejoiced more than Faramir. Even if his dull garb did belie his joy, his body clothed in black and shades of deepest grey, Denethor having chosen those solemn colours for himself and for those of his house.

On behalf of the Steward, the second and lesser son had borne a coffer of coins. Although the official gift, it had struck Faramir as impersonal. Gold was cold, unfeeling, and said little of the bond between the family members; certainly nothing of the kinship between the cousins. Which was precisely why the ranger carried with him a small box, its delicate and sentimental contents worth more to him than all the wealth of Gondor's treasury.

The briny sea air shifted then, the breeze changing its direction, carrying with it the hum of celebration more clearly, as well as the soft sound of quiet footfall, and Faramir realised he was no longer entirely alone.


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Re: Tides of Change
« Reply #1 on: November 12, 2019, 07:33:07 PM »
It was a day of rejoicing, of cheer and happiness, yet Lothíriel only felt the press of the crowd, the dull droning of wives and mothers speaking of the little joys to come in her life once she was to become a bride herself. They spoke so certainly of these things, as if it were written and known that one day the Princess herself would be a mother, yet all she could do was smile tightly at every passing comment on her fitting qualities as a bride and finally excuse herself from her father and betrothed’s side. It was too much to listen to them speak of love and children—things the young Dol Amrothian knew were expected of her—because there was a lingering doubt in her mind that such things would ever come to her with Maethor.

It wasn’t that she doubted Maethor; no, not at all, he was a good man, worthy of marriage. It was the dreams that troubled her, the dreams she’d had for so long now of a blond-haired child and rolling seas of luscious green grass. That wasn’t Dol Amroth, that wasn’t home...but it was in her dreams.

Letting herself linger too long on such things only sewed doubt deep within, so she allowed herself to forget them, to forget those things that plagued her and made certain her mind focused only on the here and now. She’d caught sight of Faramir before amid the mass of people within the Swan Hall, her fair and bright cousin, but there was a swell of discussion that soon surrounded her, blessings bestowed upon her and talk pulling her in a multitude of directions that she soon lost sight of him...and lost him altogether, it seemed.

A little lie was all it took to excuse Lothíriel from the crowd, and as she quieted away outside, her guard followed ever dutifully behind her. A conspiratorial conversation in hushed voices led the Princess to the sea, and it was easy enough to spy him there, among the dunes and sand, watching the crashing waves. It wasn’t that she was trying to sneak up on him, but Lothíriel was ever quiet on her feet, especially in the sand, and she was within inches of him before she finally spoke. “Tell me I have not caught you unawares, cousin.”

Her voice was light and gentle, her smile bright as she came to stand by his side. Her own dark gaze was upon the sea, grey eyes watching the tide as it lapped near to their feet. “I am glad you came,” she added on, casting a glance up at him.


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