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Old 04-13-2009, 06:52 PM   #203
mark12_30
Stormdancer of Doom
 
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Taitheneb watched Avarien pacing on the streambank in a slow circle dance. Though she was bent on her dance and heeded him not, he rested in her presence.

Bending to the stream, he dragged his fingers across its surface, and began tracing a circle. There were many in the circle dance; Rohirrim, and a man-child, and a lithe elf-maid. And many stood within the circle; the red-haired man; the ranger from the north; Avarien-- nay, the young mannish lady from the stone city.

Erebemlin was there. And Amroth was there. A strong, weary elf-woman-- he knew her. Mithrellas! And in Erebemlin's arms was-- an ancient woman, golden and silver-- or grey? Withered she was, and weary; yet young she was and lithe, dancing, and seeking-- seeking for the voice of the stream.

He sighed. Small wonder Erebemlin was weary. He searched for the king.

And found despair.

Lord Amroth.

A cold fear burdened his heart, and he fought it. Weary though Erebemlin was, nothing had prepared Taitheneb for the weakness of his king.
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