Copperfox
ᴡᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴏᴘᴇ & ꜰɪɢʜᴛ - ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ
Empty and almost phlegmatic light orbs wandered around the area. Faramir was hurt - deep down. And everyone who knew the young ranger could see that easily.
__
"Father, the council of elders decided for Faramir to go to Imladris, not me", Boromir insisted. The heated argument had dragged on for many moments, though Faramir had mostly stayed quiet. Getting between Boromir and his father wouldn't be the wisest of decisions to make. "You're brother!? I highly doubt the decision of that council. I doubt he'd even make it to Imladris", those hurtful words rolled over Denethors tongue as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Faramir swallowed down his hurt and took a deep breath.
"If not like that, how else can I prove myself of any worth to you?", finally, the younger Stewards voice filled the big throne hall.
__
Denethor was determined to send Boromir towards Imladris, to represent Gondor in the question of the Rings whereabouts. It could have been the chance for Faramir to prove himself, show his father he was just as much of a diplomat and leader as his brother. But the Steward had cut down and crushed all his hopes with a simple, yet loud "no". After arguments, discussions, and more hate-filled words, his older brother had ventured towards the elven realm.
Faramir would have died to get there. For the stories, Mithrandil had told him in his childhood truly sounded astonishing. Boromir didn't care too much about the elves, their lore, and music.
"What should we do about them?", the voice that ripped him out of his thoughts was a mere whisper. It was so low that the brown-haired man himself almost failed to hear. Before his eyes, in the open valley, was a group of wandering people.
From afar the rangers knew these weren't just their fellow Gondorian or even people from Rohan. Those were Easterlings - very certain. Yet Faramir couldn't make out from which part of the east and south. "We will separate their leader from the rest of the group. Cutting its head off will do it", Faramir answered with his deep baritone voice, staying as quiet as possible. The younger brother in the Stewards family tried to spill as little blood as he could. Violence was sadly means to an end in these dire times.
Finding the One Ring and it being brought to Imladris was something bad. All the stories of the old and almost forgotten days about the war and the evil. Even to this day, it haunted his dreams, and he hadn't even been there. What if it would be just like these times? Faramir couldn't even imagine that, and honestly, he didn't want to. But since a few, the number of Easterlings slowly but steadily rose.
With his group of rangers, he moved to follow the group for a while. At some point, he would spot the leader and then try to lure that person away from the group. A great moment for that was when they started building a temporary shelter in a somewhat promising spot.
The stewards' son made a motion with his hand for the rangers to spread out and surround the group. One of his rangers started rustling in rich and outlying shrubbery. It was thick enough to cover the person, giving the impression that maybe one of the mountain lions were hiding there, or other scared animals.
The trick was one of the oldest one could pull off, yet it was almost always successful. When the leader got closer to the shrubbery, Faramir motioned another time. And like that, the ranger emerged from his coverage. "Scream and blade will be the last thing you've tasted", the words sounded like a vow from him, as he held the tip of his sharp sword between the shoulder blades of the supposed leader of the group. He couldn't simply kill that person, for there was valuable information he could miss. "Who are you, to walk so carefree in the lands of your enemy?"
_____####_____
The wide and tall trees of Lothlorien were not her home, yet she strived between them as if she had been there forever. Artafindë though was a mere guest to these realms, even to this continent. After her parents had fallen in war, her grandfather had given her into the care of Gil-Galad in Mithlond. But the last great elven king himself had fallen in the War of the Last Alliance.
The golden-haired grieved long about those losses. Before all these miseries, she had learned to fight and defend herself with a spear and a bow. The golden-haired made to be a good archer and even better fighter in closer combat.
After several years, Mithlond didn't seem like a place to dwell in for much longer. The Vanyar felt lonely and had to face her pain every day. So the elf-maiden departed and went for her own journey across middle-earth with a golden spear and elaborately made bow on her back.
Most places, races, and things were new to the Vanyar.
In Lothlorien though, she had Galadriel. One who was to a part of her own kin, thus the golden-hair, and even related to Artafindë. Maybe there she would find some peace.
During her journey, the female noticed how certain darkness was lingering at almost every corner of the world. Was that the darkness that had claimed her parents and guardian?
As her fine ears picked up a commotion that seemed close by, she was quick to make her way back to Lothlorien's capital, Caras Galadhon. Her green orbs were quick to pick Haldirs silhouette, followed by a rather unusual fellowship. An elf, dwarf, some halflings, and men. Visitors to these realms were rare, such a big company even more!
Artafindë was very curious, so her light feet took her quickly back and upwards the stairs around the trees. Before taking the last few steps, the she-elf halted in her movement. Haldir had just escorted the fellowship to Galadriel and Celeborn. The sensitive elven ears picked up every word, and suddenly also a warning, that was spoken directly into her head.
"These are happenings not made for you to witness, Artafindë.", the soft voice of Galadriel spoke, even when the Lady of Lothlorien wasn't looking at her. Artafindë nodded to herself and made to quickly disappear from the unusual visit.
But she couldn't help it. The curiosity in her was too strong. So in the evening, the golden-haired helped the other maidens prepare supper. Whilst the others brought the food to the halflings, elf, and dwarf, the curious she-elf brought a plate to one of the humans. A dark-haired man, restrained but open towards her kin as it seemed.
Her walking was light-footed, almost as if she was floating over the ground. And just like Galadriel, there was something radiating from her, almost like a glowing. In fact, it was the warm light of Valinor she carried within herself, as she had been born there.
"Visits to this elven realm are rare, as much as the formation of the company that came here", she carefully neared the man, offering him the plate of food. Her eyes spoke volumes of her interest. Everything new was something she had to learn and pick up it seemed. Between all the suffering and grieving she had gone through in earlier years, that maybe was the only thing keeping her content with the life she had chosen.
__
"Father, the council of elders decided for Faramir to go to Imladris, not me", Boromir insisted. The heated argument had dragged on for many moments, though Faramir had mostly stayed quiet. Getting between Boromir and his father wouldn't be the wisest of decisions to make. "You're brother!? I highly doubt the decision of that council. I doubt he'd even make it to Imladris", those hurtful words rolled over Denethors tongue as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Faramir swallowed down his hurt and took a deep breath.
"If not like that, how else can I prove myself of any worth to you?", finally, the younger Stewards voice filled the big throne hall.
__
Denethor was determined to send Boromir towards Imladris, to represent Gondor in the question of the Rings whereabouts. It could have been the chance for Faramir to prove himself, show his father he was just as much of a diplomat and leader as his brother. But the Steward had cut down and crushed all his hopes with a simple, yet loud "no". After arguments, discussions, and more hate-filled words, his older brother had ventured towards the elven realm.
Faramir would have died to get there. For the stories, Mithrandil had told him in his childhood truly sounded astonishing. Boromir didn't care too much about the elves, their lore, and music.
"What should we do about them?", the voice that ripped him out of his thoughts was a mere whisper. It was so low that the brown-haired man himself almost failed to hear. Before his eyes, in the open valley, was a group of wandering people.
From afar the rangers knew these weren't just their fellow Gondorian or even people from Rohan. Those were Easterlings - very certain. Yet Faramir couldn't make out from which part of the east and south. "We will separate their leader from the rest of the group. Cutting its head off will do it", Faramir answered with his deep baritone voice, staying as quiet as possible. The younger brother in the Stewards family tried to spill as little blood as he could. Violence was sadly means to an end in these dire times.
Finding the One Ring and it being brought to Imladris was something bad. All the stories of the old and almost forgotten days about the war and the evil. Even to this day, it haunted his dreams, and he hadn't even been there. What if it would be just like these times? Faramir couldn't even imagine that, and honestly, he didn't want to. But since a few, the number of Easterlings slowly but steadily rose.
With his group of rangers, he moved to follow the group for a while. At some point, he would spot the leader and then try to lure that person away from the group. A great moment for that was when they started building a temporary shelter in a somewhat promising spot.
The stewards' son made a motion with his hand for the rangers to spread out and surround the group. One of his rangers started rustling in rich and outlying shrubbery. It was thick enough to cover the person, giving the impression that maybe one of the mountain lions were hiding there, or other scared animals.
The trick was one of the oldest one could pull off, yet it was almost always successful. When the leader got closer to the shrubbery, Faramir motioned another time. And like that, the ranger emerged from his coverage. "Scream and blade will be the last thing you've tasted", the words sounded like a vow from him, as he held the tip of his sharp sword between the shoulder blades of the supposed leader of the group. He couldn't simply kill that person, for there was valuable information he could miss. "Who are you, to walk so carefree in the lands of your enemy?"
_____####_____
The wide and tall trees of Lothlorien were not her home, yet she strived between them as if she had been there forever. Artafindë though was a mere guest to these realms, even to this continent. After her parents had fallen in war, her grandfather had given her into the care of Gil-Galad in Mithlond. But the last great elven king himself had fallen in the War of the Last Alliance.
The golden-haired grieved long about those losses. Before all these miseries, she had learned to fight and defend herself with a spear and a bow. The golden-haired made to be a good archer and even better fighter in closer combat.
After several years, Mithlond didn't seem like a place to dwell in for much longer. The Vanyar felt lonely and had to face her pain every day. So the elf-maiden departed and went for her own journey across middle-earth with a golden spear and elaborately made bow on her back.
Most places, races, and things were new to the Vanyar.
In Lothlorien though, she had Galadriel. One who was to a part of her own kin, thus the golden-hair, and even related to Artafindë. Maybe there she would find some peace.
During her journey, the female noticed how certain darkness was lingering at almost every corner of the world. Was that the darkness that had claimed her parents and guardian?
As her fine ears picked up a commotion that seemed close by, she was quick to make her way back to Lothlorien's capital, Caras Galadhon. Her green orbs were quick to pick Haldirs silhouette, followed by a rather unusual fellowship. An elf, dwarf, some halflings, and men. Visitors to these realms were rare, such a big company even more!
Artafindë was very curious, so her light feet took her quickly back and upwards the stairs around the trees. Before taking the last few steps, the she-elf halted in her movement. Haldir had just escorted the fellowship to Galadriel and Celeborn. The sensitive elven ears picked up every word, and suddenly also a warning, that was spoken directly into her head.
"These are happenings not made for you to witness, Artafindë.", the soft voice of Galadriel spoke, even when the Lady of Lothlorien wasn't looking at her. Artafindë nodded to herself and made to quickly disappear from the unusual visit.
But she couldn't help it. The curiosity in her was too strong. So in the evening, the golden-haired helped the other maidens prepare supper. Whilst the others brought the food to the halflings, elf, and dwarf, the curious she-elf brought a plate to one of the humans. A dark-haired man, restrained but open towards her kin as it seemed.
Her walking was light-footed, almost as if she was floating over the ground. And just like Galadriel, there was something radiating from her, almost like a glowing. In fact, it was the warm light of Valinor she carried within herself, as she had been born there.
"Visits to this elven realm are rare, as much as the formation of the company that came here", she carefully neared the man, offering him the plate of food. Her eyes spoke volumes of her interest. Everything new was something she had to learn and pick up it seemed. Between all the suffering and grieving she had gone through in earlier years, that maybe was the only thing keeping her content with the life she had chosen.