Post by Narbeleth on Sept 9, 2009 9:10:13 GMT -5
Minas Tirith-- Year 3002 Third Age
Seven Years Past
A Summer Afternoon
-----
She was in her late thirty’s, but her eyes were so bright, and skin so fair, and her long hair about her shoulders so dark and soft, that she hardly looked older than twenty-five summers. Only those who knew her well, or knew her children, could guess her age, for she had been married nearly twenty years. Her husband attested that she looked not a day older than the day he had met her, and it was nearly the truth, for she was a sturdy and healthy woman, and even though she was far along in her sixth pregnancy, she seemed spry enough that it could have been her first.
Young Narbeleth, eleven years old, lay on the grass with her head resting on the woman’s stomach, playing with a flower stem in her fingers, and feeling the soft vibration’s that every so often would course through Meleth’s rounded stomach and cause her mother to smile. The happy mother’s hands played with her daughter’s hair as she watched her youngest daughter, just having passed her fifth birthday, playing on the walkway with the baby boy. Little Faelon clutched a twig in his chubby hand and was beating it on the stones, laughing at the tapping noise he was making. Marileth shook a little rattle, made of a beautifully painted and hollowed gourd, filled with dried beans, and the little boy dropped the stick and reached for it.
Two others, Meleth’s eldest children, sat upon the stone steps together, talking and laughing. The dainty hand of fifteen year old Miriel was upon her elder brother Faeldor’s arm, as he told her the events of the day past at the stables, and of the luck he was having in gaining the attention of a daughter of one of the Calvary men, Maeniel, of whom he had attended the recent Ball on Midsummer’s Eve with.
“Mother says that I should invite Mae over for supper. We’ve done naught together but dance at the ball, and talk in the stables, but perhaps if I see her tomorrow I will broach the subject,” Faeldor said, smiling boyishly.
Miriel squeezed his arm delightedly. “I am ever so excited to meet her,” she chimed. “I should even do the cooking. Mama does not rest enough as is.”
“Well, I will wait to have her over until Father is back from his run with the Calvary. I should like him to meet her as well.” Miriel agreed happily. The two siblings sat for a time quietly, watching the little ones play on the cobbles. “Faelon is going to work in the stables with Father and I,” Faeldor finally said, grinning. “Can you see him atop a horse?”
Miriel looked at the little bundle of boy and laughed, “Well I don’t think he could reach the stirrups yet. Will he be a stablehand then, or should we send him off in the Calvary?” she asked, her eyes gleaming.”
“Look at his demeanor, of the Calvary at best,” Faeldor answered. Little Marileth noticed that her siblings were watching them, and she flashed a smile, and tried to get her brother to look. The baby, though, was far too content with the rattle to care.
“I wish that I might work in the stables with you and Father,” Miriel continued. “It is entirely unfair that women are not allowed.”
“Oh, Miri, you know how it is. Aside, you’re much to pretty for such heavy labor. And just because you do not work there does not mean that you cannot visit the horses. You know that Father has been discussing the matter of getting you your own mount. Your skills are superb; you could likely ride on the Pelennor on your own. Though, I doubt that I would let you have all the fun,” he jested.
“We are going to the lower stables next week to find a horse,” Miriel attested. “If Mother is well enough to leave alone,” she added quickly, glancing lovingly at her mother once more.
Faeldor nodded, about to comment, when he heard footsteps behind them, and a man clearing his throat. He turned about and stood as Almurdir, one of the men of the Calvary approached. “My Lord,” Faeldor greeted him kindly, standing and ascending the rest of the step. Miriel followed as well, smiling and holding to her brother’s arm.
“Faeldor,” Almurdir nodded. There was something in his eyes that the young stablehand could not read. “I am sorry to intrude as such; nobody answered when I knocked, but I did hear your voices. I have news for you,” he glanced at Miriel, and past them to their mother.
“You do look so somber,” Miriel smiled, turning her eyes on the man. Almurdir simply looked at her, but did not answer.
“I will put it plainly to you, with your mother’s condition I would not with to be the harbringer,” Almurdir stated. Faeldor’s face fell, and Miriel’s along with it. “Your father’s party was attacked crossing the Anduin. We found them just a day ago, though it appears it had happened some days past. We don’t know for certain how. But… there were no survivors.” Faeldor’s eyes searched the man, and Miriel looked to her brother; her face stricken pale. “I am sorry for your loss,” Almurdir concluded, bowing his head.
Faeldor’s mouth was dry, and he could not speak. Yet Miriel was the opposite. She began to cry out, and Faeldor felt her grip on him tighten as she went into her hysterics.
Meleth, who had finally removed her daughter from her lap, and stood with a slight struggle for her large stomach, walked over smiling to greet their guest. She began to ascend the stairs, and first noticed Almurdir’s somber look before her eldest daughter screamed. “Papa is not dead!” Miriel shrieked, as if saying such would take back the words from the mouth of the man who had just stated them. Faeldor stood motionless and silent. “He is not!” Miriel said once more, though her voice had turned somber and her eyes had already filled with tears.
The woman felt her heart leave her chest and smash on the steps before her. “Faelon…” she muttered forlornly as all the color left her face, causing her children to look to her. Meleth gripped at her chest and felt that she could not stand.
“Mother!” Faeldor shouted and started quickly toward the woman, but he was too late and not quick enough, and Meleth’s legs had grown weak beneath her. The woman lost her balance and was not within her son’s reach as she collapsed, and fell backwards down the steps, her body landing heavily on the cold ground, and the side of her face scraping the rocks. She was not out for long though, because the instant she hit the ground, Meleth moaned and clutched at herself, and Faeldor was at her side, helping her to sit up. “Mama,” he almost cried out, grasping the woman.
“The baby…” Meleth muttered as if in a daze, clutching her stomach and leaning over. Faeldor saw blood beginning to soak through his mother’s dress. “Help me get her inside!” her son panicked, looking to the bringer of bad news. The other man had already rushed down to offer his help. “Miriel, go get the midwife, and a healer,” Faeldor called to his sister. Young Miriel however had become a sobbing heap on the ground and did not even look up at her brother’s response. “Miriel, go!” he ordered her, and she did nothing. “Now!” Faeldor commanded once more.
“Leave me be!” Miriel shouted back this time.
“Would you have both your parents die then, as well as the baby?”
Narbeleth had run over at the sight of her mother’s fall, and was also crying, though for her mother, for she had not heard the news of her father yet. But when Faeldor spoke his last words, her quick mind put two and two together and she gasped, “Fael? Papa!?”
“Beleth, go and get the midwife and the healer,” Faeldor told the little girl as he and Almudir gently lifted Meleth. “Yes, Fael,” Narbeleth answered, horrified as she saw blood dripping and trailing to the ground as her brother walked. “Run, Beleth,” Faeldor said quickly. “Yes, Fael,” she answered smally, holding back a sob before she took off at full speed.
Little Narbeleth had run as quickly as she could. She had always been teased for her sprightly demeanor and her inability to sit still, although now she wished her little legs would carry her faster. The Houses of Healing though were not far; and a little girl such as herself bursting in caused great attention on the part of the healers. Soon she had found who she needed, and they had come after her. Meleth was a friend of many of the ladies on the sixth tier; especially those who worked with the children and infants in the Houses of Healing, for she often volunteered her time there.
When Narbeleth returned to her house, she was sent outside. Faeldor was with her mother and the healers, and Miriel was nowhere about. She wandered forlornly back to the gardens, and almost vomited at the sight of the blood still staining the wet cobbles. It was still damp, and she dropped to her knees, and began to sob as she scrubbed at it with her own yellow dress.
“What is wrong, Beleth?” a little voice asked as a hand clutched at her dress. Little Marileth’s face was covered in dry tears, and she realized that baby Faelon was still sitting back on the walk near the flowers; though he was crying as well.
“Nothing Mari,” Narbeleth answered, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape her throat as she moved to cuddle the crying little boy. “It is time for you and Faelon to go to bed,” the girl continued.
“But it’s not even dark yet!” Marileth pouted.
“It is time for bed,” Narbeleth said firmly, looking pointedly at the little girl. “We’ll go in the side entrance.” Her little face was pale and peaked, but Narbeleth’s eyes could not be reckoned with, and Marileth followed as her older sister lifted the baby into her arms, gripping at her dress.
"Come now, little ones, what song shall I sing you tonight," Beleth cooed to the frightened children. It is here that she placed the care and keeping of her family far above her own emotional distress. Father would not wish the little ones to cry.
Seven Years Past
A Summer Afternoon
-----
She was in her late thirty’s, but her eyes were so bright, and skin so fair, and her long hair about her shoulders so dark and soft, that she hardly looked older than twenty-five summers. Only those who knew her well, or knew her children, could guess her age, for she had been married nearly twenty years. Her husband attested that she looked not a day older than the day he had met her, and it was nearly the truth, for she was a sturdy and healthy woman, and even though she was far along in her sixth pregnancy, she seemed spry enough that it could have been her first.
Young Narbeleth, eleven years old, lay on the grass with her head resting on the woman’s stomach, playing with a flower stem in her fingers, and feeling the soft vibration’s that every so often would course through Meleth’s rounded stomach and cause her mother to smile. The happy mother’s hands played with her daughter’s hair as she watched her youngest daughter, just having passed her fifth birthday, playing on the walkway with the baby boy. Little Faelon clutched a twig in his chubby hand and was beating it on the stones, laughing at the tapping noise he was making. Marileth shook a little rattle, made of a beautifully painted and hollowed gourd, filled with dried beans, and the little boy dropped the stick and reached for it.
Two others, Meleth’s eldest children, sat upon the stone steps together, talking and laughing. The dainty hand of fifteen year old Miriel was upon her elder brother Faeldor’s arm, as he told her the events of the day past at the stables, and of the luck he was having in gaining the attention of a daughter of one of the Calvary men, Maeniel, of whom he had attended the recent Ball on Midsummer’s Eve with.
“Mother says that I should invite Mae over for supper. We’ve done naught together but dance at the ball, and talk in the stables, but perhaps if I see her tomorrow I will broach the subject,” Faeldor said, smiling boyishly.
Miriel squeezed his arm delightedly. “I am ever so excited to meet her,” she chimed. “I should even do the cooking. Mama does not rest enough as is.”
“Well, I will wait to have her over until Father is back from his run with the Calvary. I should like him to meet her as well.” Miriel agreed happily. The two siblings sat for a time quietly, watching the little ones play on the cobbles. “Faelon is going to work in the stables with Father and I,” Faeldor finally said, grinning. “Can you see him atop a horse?”
Miriel looked at the little bundle of boy and laughed, “Well I don’t think he could reach the stirrups yet. Will he be a stablehand then, or should we send him off in the Calvary?” she asked, her eyes gleaming.”
“Look at his demeanor, of the Calvary at best,” Faeldor answered. Little Marileth noticed that her siblings were watching them, and she flashed a smile, and tried to get her brother to look. The baby, though, was far too content with the rattle to care.
“I wish that I might work in the stables with you and Father,” Miriel continued. “It is entirely unfair that women are not allowed.”
“Oh, Miri, you know how it is. Aside, you’re much to pretty for such heavy labor. And just because you do not work there does not mean that you cannot visit the horses. You know that Father has been discussing the matter of getting you your own mount. Your skills are superb; you could likely ride on the Pelennor on your own. Though, I doubt that I would let you have all the fun,” he jested.
“We are going to the lower stables next week to find a horse,” Miriel attested. “If Mother is well enough to leave alone,” she added quickly, glancing lovingly at her mother once more.
Faeldor nodded, about to comment, when he heard footsteps behind them, and a man clearing his throat. He turned about and stood as Almurdir, one of the men of the Calvary approached. “My Lord,” Faeldor greeted him kindly, standing and ascending the rest of the step. Miriel followed as well, smiling and holding to her brother’s arm.
“Faeldor,” Almurdir nodded. There was something in his eyes that the young stablehand could not read. “I am sorry to intrude as such; nobody answered when I knocked, but I did hear your voices. I have news for you,” he glanced at Miriel, and past them to their mother.
“You do look so somber,” Miriel smiled, turning her eyes on the man. Almurdir simply looked at her, but did not answer.
“I will put it plainly to you, with your mother’s condition I would not with to be the harbringer,” Almurdir stated. Faeldor’s face fell, and Miriel’s along with it. “Your father’s party was attacked crossing the Anduin. We found them just a day ago, though it appears it had happened some days past. We don’t know for certain how. But… there were no survivors.” Faeldor’s eyes searched the man, and Miriel looked to her brother; her face stricken pale. “I am sorry for your loss,” Almurdir concluded, bowing his head.
Faeldor’s mouth was dry, and he could not speak. Yet Miriel was the opposite. She began to cry out, and Faeldor felt her grip on him tighten as she went into her hysterics.
Meleth, who had finally removed her daughter from her lap, and stood with a slight struggle for her large stomach, walked over smiling to greet their guest. She began to ascend the stairs, and first noticed Almurdir’s somber look before her eldest daughter screamed. “Papa is not dead!” Miriel shrieked, as if saying such would take back the words from the mouth of the man who had just stated them. Faeldor stood motionless and silent. “He is not!” Miriel said once more, though her voice had turned somber and her eyes had already filled with tears.
The woman felt her heart leave her chest and smash on the steps before her. “Faelon…” she muttered forlornly as all the color left her face, causing her children to look to her. Meleth gripped at her chest and felt that she could not stand.
“Mother!” Faeldor shouted and started quickly toward the woman, but he was too late and not quick enough, and Meleth’s legs had grown weak beneath her. The woman lost her balance and was not within her son’s reach as she collapsed, and fell backwards down the steps, her body landing heavily on the cold ground, and the side of her face scraping the rocks. She was not out for long though, because the instant she hit the ground, Meleth moaned and clutched at herself, and Faeldor was at her side, helping her to sit up. “Mama,” he almost cried out, grasping the woman.
“The baby…” Meleth muttered as if in a daze, clutching her stomach and leaning over. Faeldor saw blood beginning to soak through his mother’s dress. “Help me get her inside!” her son panicked, looking to the bringer of bad news. The other man had already rushed down to offer his help. “Miriel, go get the midwife, and a healer,” Faeldor called to his sister. Young Miriel however had become a sobbing heap on the ground and did not even look up at her brother’s response. “Miriel, go!” he ordered her, and she did nothing. “Now!” Faeldor commanded once more.
“Leave me be!” Miriel shouted back this time.
“Would you have both your parents die then, as well as the baby?”
Narbeleth had run over at the sight of her mother’s fall, and was also crying, though for her mother, for she had not heard the news of her father yet. But when Faeldor spoke his last words, her quick mind put two and two together and she gasped, “Fael? Papa!?”
“Beleth, go and get the midwife and the healer,” Faeldor told the little girl as he and Almudir gently lifted Meleth. “Yes, Fael,” Narbeleth answered, horrified as she saw blood dripping and trailing to the ground as her brother walked. “Run, Beleth,” Faeldor said quickly. “Yes, Fael,” she answered smally, holding back a sob before she took off at full speed.
Little Narbeleth had run as quickly as she could. She had always been teased for her sprightly demeanor and her inability to sit still, although now she wished her little legs would carry her faster. The Houses of Healing though were not far; and a little girl such as herself bursting in caused great attention on the part of the healers. Soon she had found who she needed, and they had come after her. Meleth was a friend of many of the ladies on the sixth tier; especially those who worked with the children and infants in the Houses of Healing, for she often volunteered her time there.
When Narbeleth returned to her house, she was sent outside. Faeldor was with her mother and the healers, and Miriel was nowhere about. She wandered forlornly back to the gardens, and almost vomited at the sight of the blood still staining the wet cobbles. It was still damp, and she dropped to her knees, and began to sob as she scrubbed at it with her own yellow dress.
“What is wrong, Beleth?” a little voice asked as a hand clutched at her dress. Little Marileth’s face was covered in dry tears, and she realized that baby Faelon was still sitting back on the walk near the flowers; though he was crying as well.
“Nothing Mari,” Narbeleth answered, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape her throat as she moved to cuddle the crying little boy. “It is time for you and Faelon to go to bed,” the girl continued.
“But it’s not even dark yet!” Marileth pouted.
“It is time for bed,” Narbeleth said firmly, looking pointedly at the little girl. “We’ll go in the side entrance.” Her little face was pale and peaked, but Narbeleth’s eyes could not be reckoned with, and Marileth followed as her older sister lifted the baby into her arms, gripping at her dress.
"Come now, little ones, what song shall I sing you tonight," Beleth cooed to the frightened children. It is here that she placed the care and keeping of her family far above her own emotional distress. Father would not wish the little ones to cry.