OUR ICONS LOOK LIKE THEYRE SMILING AT EACH OTHER KINDA
/ They better be smilin!
Tag! We're playing "love tag" and you're it! Now go drop something in the inbox of one RPer you feel is under appreciated and deserves some love, and be sure to pass this message on to other blogs to keep the love going. :D
/ Another darling message that I had not seen, I missed so many it appears. I love you sweetheart, thank you so much for this —
—even if it is a million days old!
[ SWEETIE~ ] Tag! We're playing "love tag" and you're it! Now go drop something in the inbox of one RPer you feel is under appreciated and deserves some love, and be sure to pass this message on to other blogs to keep the love going.
/ S’cuse me how long was I holding on to this! THANK YOU SWEETHEART! Aaaah you are the best!
The White Tree of Gondor
He is sure that tonight had been the first time in a long time that she’d seen any sort of emotion in his visage, but that was a record he would not continue. It was a vow he made silently as they rode, a vow to cease his impassive expressions, to stop behaving solely as a duke and start acting as something she truly needed; a parental figure. He knows that he will never fill the void in her heart that her father left, just as nothing can change what could’ve been in his past. Brown tresses are plastered to his forehead and neck and it’s with a sharp jerk of his head that the obscurities are sent out of his vision swiftly. Remembrance of what is lost, both in past and present, flickers, and the reality of how close he had come to losing her prompts a tighter hold on Sarah.
Returned to the temple, he dismounts his horse swiftly, but carefully, adjusting his hold on the young duchess as he pads across the threshold of the stables. Even when the soft crunch of hay turns to stone, he does not release her from his embrace and, if she were to protest, it would be ignored. It is only when he has surpassed the panicked relieved help and spots her chambermaid that his grip loosens. He offers no form of discontent or shies away when the woman approaches, throwing her lithe appendages around them, burying her face into Sarah’s drenched curls as relief pours over.
She paced to and fro. Throughout the entire night, she could not find solace in the comforts of her room. Delilah watched past the arched windows, past the torrential downpour, seeking figures swallowed by the dark. Her heart drummed terribly in the confines of her chest at every sound that filled the night’s air. The horn, the sound of horses —it all added hope that perhaps all would be well in the end. But fear, it held firmly on to her and threatened to shatter every ounce of strength left in her.
When her legs gave up, and weakness caused her to take a break and sit down, the handmaiden prayed quietly —but she was not alone in this. The Duke, Lord Orsino, had left them with a handful of knights, survivors of the last battle, to defend their home. Fanelia was still recovering from the loss of many and the one man that offered them security and peace for years past. It had not been easy for them, but they knew none suffered more than the present Lord and the young Duchess.
Delilah wished nothing more than to ease the pain, but when Sarah ran away —her own happiness went with her. But, the glimmer of hope and the potential return of joy was coming into view. Knights rushed throughout the corridors and opened the gates to receive the riders that sought out the darkness for the runaway child. Relief was audible when many cast their gaze at the bundle in the gallant rider’s arm when heading to the stables. The temple was in an uproar and Delilah was not one to ignore the cacophonous melody of cheers that filled their stone walls.
Ah, the maiden rushed without a second thought; in a flutter of silk skirts, and wild steps taken, she pushed past the armed men and made her way to the stables. Little time is wasted. Delilah reaches out for Sarah and embraces the tiny girl along with the Duke, unabashedly. Tears, tears that she held back for so many hours, fell like rivers down her flushed cheeks and a sob escaped her parted, trembling lips. Mirroring such, Sarah did the same, realizing that it was not only she who suffered— but those around her shared the same pain.
Delilah’s gaze fell over to Lord Orsino, thanking him with profusely as the red crown of the young maiden was cradled by the handmaiden. “I knew you would return, the Goddesses heard our plea —they heard us.” whispered words were spoken into the child’s hair, though her eyes never withdrew from Orsino’s. He placed her heart at ease.
It was with great focus on the steady rhythm of Epona’s footfalls and the melody spun by his host that he slowed his racing pulse, pulling back into a less nerve-wracked state. The people surrounding him were by no means gone, nor were the eyes with which they looked upon him, but he kept together. It was very infrequently that he had seen people gathered in a group so large, and he deemed it the first time such a group had their attention on him, whether fully or no. He certainly would not be able to get used to it, but he could remain composed. He knew he could.
"I s’pose it makes sense that they’re all here," he replied, voice no longer as high as at had been before. "Hunting trips are dangerous, aren’t they?" Those he had been on in Ordon were for small game, but in chilling wintertime even such nearby trips could be dangerous. And upon returning to the village, he had always been greeted in some form or another. Perhaps it was merely human nature to celebrate the return of those beloved by their communities.
"Right, ah - sorry for distracting you." He thought it best if he kept quiet, then; their meeting in the forest had proven there were more pressing matters at hand than his inability to adjust to crowds. The disease plaguing the fell wolves was one unlike he had ever seen, and it seemed as though Lady Fanelia had not much better knowledge of them. Even so, he would provide was assistance he could. He did not know much at all on the subject, but he knew how to wield a weapon. Before that, however - a feast.
A frown soon crossed soft lips, which twisted with the thought of perilous conditions that threatened the newly made peace that has blanketed the land. Undead have made their frequent appearances in the past, have spread their disease —yet this was not similar to that. Fanelia’s head swam with thoughts as to what could have brought forth such pestilence. The sour expression on her face diminished nearly as soon as the thought was pushed aside, the last thing she desired was for him to become just as concerned. After all, this was not his realm.
"Our hunting trips are not often this dramatic, usually there is more banter and laughter than fear and concern. We had only a few times that things did get out of control, a curious dragon or two proved to be a thorn in our sides." Sarah explained with a light smile that danced along her lips; sea-green eyes were focused on the promenade ahead as they ventured past the stone arcs above.
Scarlet ringlets are pushed behind elongated ears as the rich sound of celebration dies behind them and they are exposed to the shops, inns and several establishments that filled the main, cobblestone path. “Worry not about any distractions, for they are welcomed. My thoughts, I must confessed, are filled with troubling things after that encounter.” Sarah turned to look at Link with eyes that glittered with mirth —despite the concerns that lingered behind them.
A few stragglers waved as they went about with preparations throughout the marketplace; some stopped and lowered their heads in a bow as the group, now thinned out due to some of the knights remaining in the village, head to the ivy-covered gates to the courtyard. “We have a stable for your horse, if she desires to stay in one. Then I can take you towards your quarters and Delilah can assist, she is my personal handmaiden.”
»—› Flurries of ice pattered against the harsh rock crags of the upper mountain, swells of viciously dancing snow spiraling in whichever direction their invisible carriage saw fit. Fir trees moaned in repose, their branches threatened to snap with encasings of diamond ice weighted down by the enchanting, alabaster snow. Iron-metal skies betrayed the land of sunlight, casting a dreary overcast through the dangerous gales, if one were so lucky to see the heavens above. Besides the siren song of the tundra weather, the fiery heart of a dov kept itself quite comfortable.
Obsidian talons dug into the jagged edges of the mount, dark scales muted and saturated by the lack of light, giving an illusion the beast were constructed of molten rock itself. Carmine eyes, ever glaring, sliced through the snow, sharp and keen with an animal’s blessings. Leathery membranes bristled in the sharp winds that whistled through the thin crevices betwixt his scales and protrudings. Even the trolls failed to ascend or brave mountains in such a blizzard, so it was most peculiar when the distinctive smell of a man - no, woman - came thrashing through the billows.
Nostrils flared and shot air, furnace hot, into the atmos, dark trails of smoke sucked away before one could see them. Lifting his skull into the onslaught of the icy flakes, the black dragon scoured the breaks between trees for the one foolish enough to climb the great snowy mountain, especially since songs sang of the dark demon sitting upon its crag. Far off, a woman trudged through the deep snow. Black wings threw themselves into the gales, and wind caught their bulk and lifted the dov into the air with the assistance of a leap forward. Powerful thrusts propelled him over the whining forest, and though it took effort, the black dragon came arching around the path of the woman.
Soaring across the tree tops, cardinal orbs glared down upon the woman, his flight path never faltering. Briefly he would lose her amongst the trees before he’d sail ‘round and return, a low, threatening rumble escaping his throat. Coming around again, the winds howling and whistling to the creature powerful enough to best him, Alduin circled, using trees and rock alike to thrust him when the winds attempted to counter.
Each movement was slower than the last and one would have assumed by now, from the way villagers spoke about her when she passed through, that she would be frozen before clearing this storm. Perhaps they were true in whispering and spreading such a rumor, for her body was giving in to the elements —yet her mind urged her to continue. Will-power was the key factor in her continuance on this suicidal journey, Sarah had no other choice now and couldn’t possibly turn back.
Through the white, blanketing the terrain and falling miserably from above, she saw a figure, bold in color and wide like the side of the mountain itself. Sarah steeled her frame and made no sudden gesture to catch its attention, but it was far too late. She was a speck against a sea of powder white and did nothing to conceal herself from the eye of the beast.
She felt the strong currents assail her back when the winged creature took flight past her. Bitter cold nipped at her features and caused teeth to clatter slightly, but she would not show it in her fair countenance how stricken with anxiety she was or how the cold seemingly affects her so. Sarah tilts back her head and watched as the dragon vanished but soon returned, this time, accompanied with a sound that did not come from the bending of trees against the gales. It was sounds like a guttural growl, a sound the Duchess is not too fond of.
"I fear not the weather in my path, and you were simply made into song now, your existence was but a story, a rumor! I tread this path, but not as an enemy made to you! I bring no ill-intent." Her words, they are whisked away and carried into the brisk, unforgiving winds. The coat is pulled close to her frame, but a hand does slip past it to reach for the grip of her blade, in case this dragon decides that this vision of an half-elf is but a blemish upon the white tapestry below.