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Author Topic: come morning light, you & i'll be safe & sound  (Read 1423 times)


  • Elves
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  • Alias: Dory
come morning light, you & i'll be safe & sound
« on: August 19, 2020, 11:16:30 AM »
Though Elves did not need sleep, or not a great deal of it anyway, Artanis had felt from the moment they'd crossed the girdle of Meilian that she could easily sleep a thousand years, and then some. Not forever, perhaps, for to succumb as such was never to be in her nature, but she'd have liked a thousand years of it, and no less. And not because of any real sense of safety, either; they had long left the Western realms willingly, the Helacraxe reduced to naught now but a nightmare, but that did not lessen the sense of displacement. Nor could she ignore the underlying tension, though she felt sometimes only she saw it with clear eyes, between the disparate elf kin despite the display of open arms from Elwë Singollo and in kind, the acceptance of Fëanor.

It was still early days, though.

Too early, she felt, impatience characteristic even in the fog of ambiguity and uncertainty. It had pulled her from sleep, the sense of disorientation, though whether it was borne from not knowing where she was at first or the cold, cold nightmare that still burned itself into her waking vision was debatable. 'He's dead, 'Tani. Let him down.'

The whisper of the nightmare come with the bile of a grief she would never, ever show to even the most circumspect of the Hidden King's court was swallowed down hard, Artanis forcing her mind to come back to her body once more so that it could register, finally, that they were in the rooms given to Finwe's children and not the searing, frozen path of the Helacraxe; that the cold she felt was not cutting ice but the floor where she'd fallen from her bed, cold with the morning of the early springtime. So early that the sun was barely more than a haze of orange lining the horizon, but Artanis drug herself to her knees, shivering with fever dream as much as literal cold as she shuffled necessarily, but still embarrassingly, on the aforementioned to her cloak and the soft slippers she'd worn the night before. She had no desire to wake her brothers, but it was only her brothers who knew best that the proud, upright Noldo Princess of these last several nights had trembled on pained feet if left alone too long, had held tightly to Finrod's arm and evaded any offer to dance not simply because of hubris or arrogance.

The problem there, of course, was that she was left only to rely on herself in the here and now. And so she quite simply did, allowing herself a wince in the privacy of the bedroom as she slipped the soft shoes over her bandaged feet, letting herself grit her teeth as she pushed herself to her feet with the sheer will of one who wanted to escape the heaviness of their dreams-- memories...both, inexorably intertwined. The worst kind of dreams.

With no support but her own, Artanis was left to limp for the open air she sought. Providence, or perhaps Varda herself, watched over her in this instance though; her journey mercifully free at this time of day of potential encounters. Once she'd alighted into the gardens though, she paused, unsure of where she might now go, feeling however that sitting here in the aforementioned, though unpleasant, was somehow unfinished. Not giving up, perhaps stubbornness some on her part, but it just...wasn't what she wanted. And she never did what she didn't want to do. Even though, in this case, pain was a strong motivator and-- oh!

Well then. She didn't know Doriath well quite yet, or Elu Thingol's halls, but what she did know was the scent of horse. Her keen nose picked up the familiarity amid the unfamiliar, her heart as keen, ravenous even, for the solid comfort promised by such companionship. It took her a moment, given how disinclined her feet were to move on their own so she might explore, to gain a clear idea of which way she was headed, but once assured, Artanis pushed her way through the small break in the hedgerow, ignoring the tug of the branches at her night clothes in favour of the absurdly childish pleasure that was discovering the little path well-worn it seemed, but otherwise hemmed in either side by forest. It gave her leave to bumble along as gracelessly as she pleased on her cut up feet, tracking what she sought until, finally, it filled her vision before she.

She was as absurdly pleased to discover that where Finwe's children had been given rooms was, it appeared, within such short walking distance to the fields these royal horses preferred-- should one know that little trail existed. And royal they were, these beasts; it was in every line of their wondrous bodies, even the mares who were heavily pregnant and the stubby, tiny foal that looked, it seemed, to be the first one born of the season.

It was watching her with pricked ears, the foal. Eyes alight with the curiousity of the young and the innocent, and Artanis yearned to reach for the scrubby, fuzzy fur, run her fingers over satin hide and seek comfort in the world through the silk of a horse's mane. But these horses were not hers to be so familiar with, the careful way the mare who must be the mother of the foal also watched her a lovely, if painful reminder of that. So with a soft sigh, Artanis made herself accept the joy of their presence alone, closing her eyes and leaning against the tree nearest her. It didn't quite relieve her feet, but she didn't fancy trying to get up from the ground either if she sat down.

How long she was there, she'd no idea, save that the sun had begun to filter weakly through her eyelids. It was long enough, it appeared, for curiousity on gangly little legs to venture forth, and it was only elvish stillness that kept her from startling them both when she felt whiskers and the huff of breath on her belly. The foal-- colt, a quick glance underneath told her-- blew loudly when her gaze fixed on him, but he stood his ground-- boldness and imperiality in infancy. And, Artanis felt, a little wickedness; there was something in the babe's eye that made her want to smirk, even as he stood on caution-stiff legs.

Little ears swiveled back, then forward, then the same again, each time at the soft, short but musical whistle drifted from the stranger before him. Sniffed carefully, then drew back, from a hand finally offered. And then all at once did he glance one last time at a mother still watchful but not alarmed, before pushing his head into Artanis's hand. The answering smile was no less warm in its dream weariness, though wan it still was, Artanis's long fingers making quick and familiar work of the itchy spots so often on horses. Though young enough to be nowhere near shedding his foal fuzz for glossy adult hide, the colt still groaned in pleasure, pushing himself closer-- too much so, and it was with a pained yelp that Artanis lost her own unsteady footing to land hard on her behind. Quite literally lost at that, one of her slippers sailing in the air a short distance as she was pushed backwards.

The foal had come with her though, and after a startled look, he'd immediately decided that lying down was as perfect a place to be as any. Her pained yelp turned to a startled laugh as he rubbed his head against her hands peremptorily, attending obediently to scratches while he stretched his gangly, dark little body against her.

"You are rude, little one," she murmured admonishingly in Noldo, before realisation turned her tongue to Sindar for the horse's sake. "Rude and bossy."

And she, utterly belying herself when she scratched an itchy shoulder a moment longer, allowing the ache in her feet to settle before she wrapped her arms tightly around the compact little foal body. Sighing deeply into his neck; the warmth of him not quite able to drive the cold entire away, for he couldn't hug her back. But it was still...something, in this unfamiliar, displaced place.
« Last Edit: September 18, 2020, 10:55:52 AM by Galadriel »

played by Dory


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  • Alias: Becca
  • Application: Plotter
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Re: come morning light, you & i'll be safe & sound
« Reply #1 on: August 20, 2020, 04:47:48 AM »
Celeborn was absolutely thrilled that his discussion the previous year about what to do between Elu’s stallion and his own mare had born fruit, or in this case a colt. The young one had been born a few days ago, and still had yet to be named. As the rider of the mare, it probably should have been his purview but he had acquiesced to his great-uncle’s request to name the foal. Not that this was the first time Gwaedal had foaled, having already done it twice before this one. So he knew what to look for in terms of trouble, for both foal and dame.

He generally preferred to go early in the morning to visit Gwaedal normally, and nothing had changed with the birth of her foal. He knew his white-coated horse rather enjoyed apple and that the foal seemed to enjoy the apple slice as well. So he had come prepared to pamper both his rather spirited but behaved  mare and her just as spirited foal, slicing an apple though Gwaedal would get most of it, assuming the colt wanted any. Plus, visiting the herd always helped settle his mind. And hopefully distract himself from thoughts of Artanis. He had yet to write the note Thranduil had suggested, though with everything going on with the foal, it was hardly surprising.

The silver-haired prince arrived at the pasture where Elu and the rest of the royal family kept their horses and his gray eyes immediately sought his horse, white coat noticeable, though he quickly frowned when he found her offspring not nearby her. But he wasn’t worried since she was not stressed, alert but worried. His gaze followed Gwaedal’s and he was pretty sure he lost his breath when he saw her, Artanis. Not only was she breathtakingly beautiful but the fact the colt was willingly interacting with a stranger, when it was even a little cautious with him, despite his mother’s trust of Celeborn, was rather remarkable.

Instead of his original intent of going over to his mare, Celeborn stood transfixed by the sight, staying in the shadows to not disturb the scene, though he kept half an eye on Gwaedal for any signs of distress. He frowned when the colt was a little too eager for attention and essentially shoved the fair lady until the ground, only to settle on the ground next her, her slipper sailing to the ground some ways away from the pair of them. It was then that Celeborn made his way easily towards Gwaedal, the mare coming to him with a simple click of his tongue. She chuffed against his shoulder as he whispered his greetings to her.

Artanis’s words about the colt being rude and bossy made him snort in amusement as he stroked the mare’s head. ”Much like both his sire and dame, though the former is the rude one while the latter is the bossy one.” The was said with affectionate bemusement and an apple slice as way of apology. He glanced at her and then her slipper. ”You seem to have lost your slipper, milady.” This was said with considerable amusement. And if to prove his earlier words about his mare, she chuffed rather impatiently for more apple, which he obliged with a wry shake of his head.


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