February Kinship Challenge: "Our Imaginary Friend".

Perchance we traveled late one eve, through a forest glen,
and spied a funny looking woman of the race of Men.

Her clothes were loose-fitting, like something you'd wear at night,
Yet she was in the middle of the forest with nary a house nor a bed in sight.

She sat aloft in the trees, watching as we drew near,
It was so unexpected to see her, I asked; "How'd you get here?".

Her hair was short and eyes so bright, I couldn't help but smile,
With a cheerful shrug she replied; "I've been here for awhile."

"I climbed this tree on spur of thought, imagining I was someone new;
Like an elf or a tree spirit." she said. I smiled, "Hey, I do that too!"

We talked for an hour or so, getting to know our funny friend,
Yet by and by the sun was set, and I knew our meeting must end.

I asked, "Have you anywhere to go where you will be alright?"
"I have," she said, "And it's not far, but this is where I'm spending the night."

This puzzled Taivian and I, as you might think for sure,
As fun as imagining is, reality must be considered; and a tree was no place for her.

"Why?" I asked, she smiled broadly with the funny charm of a clown,
Finally she admitted, "I don't know how to get down.".

~Aivah
P.S Taivian drew the picture, I just colored it.

February Kinship Challenge--"Friendship Across Distance"

This is Amdiriel, a dear friend of mine.  I tried to capture her likeness as best I could--it's been a few years or so since I saw her last.  You might be thinking to yourself that that's a name of Stoningland (or Gondor, as some folk call it), and you'd be right.  How did I meet a woman of Stoningland?  Well, it all started a few summers back...

I can still remember it quite clearly.  After all, it's not every day that you get a visitor from all the way in Stoningland.  After helping out around the farm in the morning, I'd gone over to visit Wigmund, my master.  As usual, we spent some time going over the songs and tales he'd taught me most recently, until I could rattle them off in my sleep.  Like he always says, a minstrel's mind is just as important as his voice or his instrument.  Or maybe even more so, for where would I be if I forgot a tale?  Then we really got down to business.  That day, he taught me songs of Brytta Léoffa, son of Fréalaf, and how he earned his name from helping those who needed it most.  

Ah, right, on to meeting Amdiriel.  Master Wigmund had just released me for the day, and so I met up with Léofstan and a couple of friends to head down to the tavern and relax a little.  Well, who should we bump into on the way but Eardwulf and his wife Elwen (she was from Stoningland, you know).  But there was someone else with them--a short dark-haired girl that Elwen introduced as her brother's daughter, who was going to visit with them for the summer in Cliving.  I'll admit, at first, I wasn't quite sure what to make of Amdiriel.  Oh, not that I thought her a bad sort--but she was rather quiet, is all.  Or so I thought at first.

As the days passed, Léofstan and I soon became friends with Amdiriel.  We showed her around Cliving and all the best places to visit.  We even introduced her to Swiftstride and Thunderhoof, which she liked very much. She soon began to show a keen interest in the Riddermark--especially its stories.  I was eager to tell her what I knew, for there's nothing quite so grand as someone hearing a real rip-roarer of a tale for the first time, and I have to admit that I was proud to share the stories that people of the Mark loved so well.  I sang of Eorl and how he became the first king, of Brego his son, and of Aldor the Old and his long reign.  I told stories of kings and shieldmaidens, of brave riders and even crofters and other simple folk.  I even snuck in a few tales of the adventures (or should I say mischief?) that Léofstan and I got up to.  And in return, she told me of Stoningland--of her home and her family.  And let me tell you, you wouldn't think her quiet when she found something she wanted to talk about!  She spoke of books, and how much she loved to read them.  She spoke of them like they were a precious treasure, finer than gold or silver.  Books, she said, could take you to wonderful places if you only let them.  She talked of certain tales, and how opening the pages of a book was like meeting with an old and dear friend, how the writing was like making a picture with words.

She talked of one day writing down the tales that danced in her mind--and the frustration of staring at a blank piece of parchment and trying to get the words out.  And she even taught me something of letters!  I'll admit, Master Wigmund wasn't quite sure what to make of that...  Reading and writing isn't very common among the Eorlingas, save for learned folk.   He said that the songs and tales would fall out of my head, that writing them down would make me forget.  But I'm not so sure that's right.  I love my craft, but I don't think there's anything wrong with books.  A minstrel's voice might fade, but ink and parchment will last for a long time, and so will the songs and stories that we love.

But all good things have to come to end, I suppose.  And in time, that long and happy summer ended, and my new friend left with it.  Back to Stoningland, back to the town and family that she loved so.  She promised to write to me--and that if I ever came to Stoningland, I was to come and visit, which I readily agreed to.  After all, does distance mean anything to friendship?  

And I'm happy to say that we still send each other letters as often as we can.  She's a scribe now in Stoningland, responsible for writing down facts and figures--and she tells me that she's writing a book of stories, as well.  Stories of the Mark!  And not just tales of the kings, either, but the sort of tales that I told her.  Can you believe it?  A whole book of the folk-tales I'd heard as a boy...  There will even be pictures--and she said that she's adding my name to the book, so that all who read it will know of her friend Gladwine son of Léofwine. 

February Kinship Challenge: "The Mother I Never Knew"

On the back of a tattered parchment is a faded painting of a woman. At the bottom of the painting, in childish scrib, is written this inscription:

 

This is my mother. When I'm all alone at night, and it's too cold to sleep, I dream about her. I imagine what she must be like, my mother who I never knew.

There is something special about her eyes. I can never get them right. That bothers me. There's something to them that only my heart sees, I guess, I can see how much she loves me. But when I try to draw them, it's not there. And that spoils the whole thing. So I've stopped trying to draw them.

I focused on her hair instead. It's thick and dark, like mine. I got my hair from her. She likes to brush mine and tell me that. She's a nurturer. I don't think she would ever hurt anybody on purpose. And I'm the most special person in the world to her, so she is extra careful not to hurt me.

The orcs were fighting today. Someone got killed. The bosses made a big deal shouting about it. My mother would never fight or shout. She has a soft, gentle voice that soothes those around her. She's a peacemaker, always tries to avoid fighting... to a fault. She's a bit too timid. If the orcs shouted at her, she would probably put on a brave face for a while, but when she was alone, she would cry. And I would have to go and crack them all a good one for it. Nobody shouts at my mother.

Sometimes I cry too. But I never let anyone see it. No one but her. And she understands. She wipes away my tears and tells me to be strong. She reminds me of all the yesterdays I've gotten through. "You'll just have to get through tomorrow, too," she'll tell me. She's stubborn like that. My mother never gives up. I shouldn't either.

I think she's like an Elf. She loves to grow plants and take care of animals. But if I ever told her she's like an Elf, she'd blush and say she wasn't. She'd tell me how clumsy and plain she is. But I wouldn't see it. She's the most beautiful person I know. She'd tell me about all the mistakes she's made. But I would only half-listen. None of those things would matter to me. Because, to me, she is perfect.

Erauniel, age 10

February Kinship Challenge: "Lost Memory of a Childhood Fantasy"

-I lay back beneath Old Roots, resting my eyes on his strong branches. They seemed to separate the light beams streaming down from the sun to kiss my face. A warm summer breeze begins it's delicate dance through my hair like playful sprites through a hollow. Taking in the comforts of the shire about me, I close my eyes..  But wait.. That sound. I have heard it before. There it is again!.. The ringing laugh, two children playing.. Why so familiar?

-At once I stand within a glade of the Golden Wood. Is it morning? Several sunbeams have escaped the barricade of the trees, finding their way across golden leaves littering the ground before me, as though I stood on sparkling treasure.

-Where are you?  

-The air is peaceful and warm all about me, I know I am safe here.. Yet, my soul is wrought with anguish. There is pain, and fear.. I cannot reach out, others flee my silence. What has happened? It has stopped my utterance. I desperately search for a hand to hold, someone to tell me "I care," Someone who can understand my wordless speech, just a listening ear..

-Then, like soft wild cherry blossoms, I feel a hand has softly been placed upon my shoulder, a tender love expressed through touch.. Words are not needed here.

-I turn. Who are you, woman?
Why does your aqua blue eyes bring me such comfort? Your genuine laugh fills my heart with such childhood glee, I wish to run and leap across the golden trees.

-You have felt what now I feel, the loss, the panic, and need for someone to just be there. You understand, Yet I have not breathed a word..

For a moment, I pull my eyes from the woman clothed in blue. I recognize the tall old one, rich in golden leaf, and perch stretching forth for the tired wing. I often retreated here, below his ever steady watch. It offered understanding.. For it too stood silent, owning no voice.

This was my favorite spot, though at first hard to recall. It was here that I- .. I discovered you.. Returning my thoughts to the woman, I see a smile steadily grow over her face.    

-We visited kingdoms, flown with the fae-folk, sung with Ents, and danced beneath waters with River-maidens. Once I hid my eyes from you. My back turned, you ran from me and I could not find you. I searched till alas, the sun fell, and when I could not find you.. so did my heart. But you had chased behind me all the way, ne'er letting yourself be caught! When you saw my heart sink you came immediately with an embrace, letting me know it was alright.

-We shared secrets, our deepest desires.. Yours was of a wish for eternal love that lasts for far more then a century. We shared love for the beauty of our worlds, the seasons and flowers.. I shared with you my song of the trees, for you alone could hear my voice.. You captured the world on a canvas of color, but searched for more to make it choice.

-You own many a fault, Errors, you have known not a few. Yet you do not allow yourself to give in to the heartache there. Your frustrations have manifested long through the night, watering a pillow and from thus taking flight. However, something is there, amid the dark moments of your journey. A light, not your own, glows within your eyes. Your heart burns with something, reaching far above ocean and skies.    

- How could I have forgotten the days we spent in the Golden Glade? You were my comfort amid those lonely days. I never had to be more to you, you loved the way I stayed. You wished me to be happy, free from the dark past that surrounded me. Though you could not fix what had taken away my song, you offered companionship and play where there was none.

-I won't forget again, my friend. Those days we were together. You taught me there was healing near, one just needed to look past what dies. Though one disappears from our view, their not gone forever..  They wait where truth dwells. Each will see their own again, but a duty must be fulfilled. Which is why I stay upon the sand, and do not cross over to the sea. There is something keeping me..

-My role to fill has not ended, yet our time in splendor hath.  Though life continues on for me, I shall not forget that secret place, the time we were together. You will forever be my treasured memory that I won't ever again to bury..

-Never, will I forget...

~Assyle of Lothlorien      

Woes of the Playwright

The Captain's Paradox

Lynsyrien,

The Race of Man is a young one ... but it is aging quickly, I should think . There are a great many lessons to be learned, and we are not so privileged as the race of your kin to boast of a lengthy existence to learn these in . Even the Halflings time in this world, by comparison, is longer . Mankind is apt to failure, imperfections, and discontent . We chase shadows and danger in pursuit of happiness , but at the end of the day limp back to where we started, wondering why we ever left ...

Everything must have its opposite . How could we ever know how to truly appreciate the sweet if bitter had never passed through our lips? Would we really know happiness, if we had never experienced the suffering by which to contrast it? The nature of Man, with which you are well acquainted, dictates that we would not . We take for granted the happiness until we have experienced misery--happiness is simply the way things are, or were, until it is not, and we would become bored were it the only thing we ever knew and forever unmarred by a thing less pleasant .

We, all of us, long to be truly understood--yet by whom?

I am reminded of the theatre, The masterful player entraps his audience with his performance ; I watch wide-eyed as his story unfolds before me upon the stage--but not a thing of wood and paint alone, for now, as I watch, it becomes his world . I live there with him, and not so, for I am a spectator only . I have a space that only his heart shares, knowing the things about him that only he knows . He expresses by a word, a movement, the expression upon his face those innermost thoughts to me, to his audience . For the story to be a story, we must be able to relate to him in that way, to understand and know those hidden things . His fellow players, in their act, do not know these things . Not until they are revealed to them .

So it is on the stage of our lives . The hidden things are known to the heart, yet not always to those with whom we share the stage . 

But this is not news to you, and such musings are meaningless, at the end of the day. For all the reason I try to put to it, this heart of mine cannot be satisfied . I desire an impossible validation . The madness is that I know such validation is outside my reach--if ever it existed to begin with--and yet I claw hopelessly after it, regardless .

Like the player on the stage, in the next act I too will remove the costume, peel back the mask . There shall be another under it, and, when it suits me, I shall exchange it for another . My name is Captain Evonfall . That is one of my many names . It is the one I favour best, at present . You know me better by another name, another guise--a guise that places itself before all others, which shuns responsibility and commitment . It makes itself giddy on stirring up trouble and drowns its misery at the tavern . I do not blame you in the least for questioning my motives .

You have the advantage, though . You have my trust where few others do . Perhaps soon you will be able to piece together each of my facades, for each one is truly a part of me . I would not have been able to keep them so long were it otherwise . I fear that Wavern has accounted all of it to just another layer of the mask, just another lie, and I have lost her trust .

I thank you, my friend, for remaining at my side . I cannot express to you how precious your company is to me . Hold on, I beg you, just a little longer . Let us see where this road goes . Two bloodlines course through my veins, as conflicting as the darkness is from the light . At the first I rejected the black destiny I was born for, and for years I have contented myself in the muddied place between the darkness and the light--ashamed of the dark, unworthy of the light . The time has come for me to truly explore the light--though I can no more fully embrace it than I can rid my blood of the blackness that taints it . Your support to me in this venture means more to me than you can ever know . Wherever this road leads, I must know its end .

Erauniel

Wanderer

Meandering about on the hillsides of the old Twilight Estates, Ragnbourg was lost in the reflections of the night while her mind seemed content to waver like a driven sea; tossing to and fro as if by a westward gale. Unexpectedly, however, a voice called her from her thoughts, and for the suddenness of the sound, Ragnbourg drew up her axe by the hilt!

"Peace, Daughter of Beorn." Spake the voice of the Elven maid standing amid the broken and entangled boughs of a lesser tree. Ragnbourg looked up, and knew not what to make of the stranger, for surely she had never seen this other before. 

"Who are you?" Ragnbourg said, and though her words were in her heart chosen for the confusion, they came to her lips rather coldly. 

"A wanderer." Was the simple reply, and the Elven maid, knowing these words would not satisfy, spoke on. "The two of us are alike in that way, are we not?"

Ragnbourg was quiet a moment, thinking of what she might answer.
 "I do not know you, stranger." The Beorning woman said after awhile. "Why do you approach me? It is not oft wise to seek my kind in the night, and but for my thoughts I might surely have been in a far different state than you see me now."

"Had that been the case, you would find that it would make no difference to me." Answered the Elf evenly. "I speak the languages of both men and of beasts, of trees and of the earth... Another thing, perhaps, in which we are alike."

Hearing this, Ragnbourg grew more confused at the appearance of this Elf, and ventured ask again in a voice more genuine than before, "Who are you?"

"I am neither a light in the void nor a shadow under starlight." Answered the Elf.

"You speak strangely. You have answered me what you are not, but not who you are." Ragnbourg replied. "If you will not tell me, then I do not know why we need speak further tonight."

"We speak because you are wounded, though you do not know it." This time as the Elf spoke, her voice was direct, and it caused Ragnbourg's blood to run chill with coldness. 

"... How do you know this?" Rangbourg asked, and for the first time in a long time, she could not muster the slightest ounce of anger to defend herself from her fear.

"The thing is known to you, for it has caused you a hurt in previous days and although there has been no loss of blood or flesh, you are weighed down by a grievous affliction."  

The Beorning woman trembled. There was no way she could think of to explain why she did not argue, and nothing she could think to say that would dissuade the Elf from her words, for Ragnbourg knew verily that they were true. 
"Please," she ventured now, with so much timidity that she might later scarcely believe herself capable of it. "Will you not tell me who you are?"

Now, it seemed as if the Elf gave a moment to thought, for Ragnbourg heard her sigh softly in the boughs and there was a minute of silence. Then at length the Elf did speak, and her voice was gentle. "I will not give my name, for it displeases me when it is idly used. But this I will say; that on the Mountain on which you stand, though I belong not to it, I pass by and lend my hand withersoever I will in such matters. Tonight, I lend mine to you, for I know the cause of your stumbling, and I know also that I may mend it."

"How so?" Ragnbourg said, staring up at the figure in the tree with confusion in her eyes and earnest perplexity in her heart.

"I have eyes to see," the Elf replied. "And though I would hope this answer to be sufficient, I know you cannot understand it, so I will further explain; As light enables men's eyes to perceive images of the world around him, I may perceive other material that needs not be evident to be real." 

As Ragnbourg pondered this and tried to understand, her hands slowly tightened to fists and her feet relented their stance. "Very well. I do not know you, and I do not fully understand what you have said. But for reasons I cannot grasp, it is impossible for me to compel myself to disregard you. Therefore, you may take what you will from me."

"Nay, I will take nothing." The Elf answered quickly. "It is for the same reason that you feel so much anxiety for the earth that you cannot bring yourself to disregard me, because your ability to commune with nature also enables you to speak freely with me. Such is your gift, and mine. But put away your weapon, Daughter of Beorn, and I will come down."

Ragnbourg had not noticed that up until that moment she had retained her axe in her hand. Now being reminded of it, Ragnbourg drew the weapon back to her side, but in a moment of consideration, she hesitated to put it away. 
"Nay," she said aloud. "I will place it on the ground, so that I may not be tempted to use it, for I know readily that you can see my fear. Nonetheless, I will not take up my axe."

True to her word, Ragnbourg knelt down and laid the axe on the grass, then stood and took from it several steps.

The Elf watched Ragnbourg's actions carefully through her pale green eyes, and, as the axe was lain aside, she fluidly descended from the boughs. There was not a sound to be heard when the Elf alighted on the earth, nor did she seem much bent by the leap, but touched softly and stood erect.

"Will you draw off the covering of your head and shoulders?" The Elf asked gently.

Ragnbourg was hesitant, but she complied with the request and took off her hat and the fur shawl that was wrapped about her shoulders, placing both items on the ground.

Looking keenly but with a sensitive gaze, the Elf met eyes with the Beorning. "How did it happen?"  She said.

"I do not know." Ragnbourg replied. "I can scarcely remember the events that led to it. All I can recollect was that there were mounds of earth, and there was a cry from within, as if someone were in dire need. So I went in, and I remember no more until that terrible icy hand gripped my shoulder. I do not remember else after that, but I must have torn from the barrow with awful wrath, for when I came to myself again I found that I was no small distance away from that place and I was not as I was when I went in."

"Since that time," Ragnbourg continued, "It has been as if the smell of death, or whenever I have felt the presence of wandering shades, has caused me to be haunted by the memory, and my mind is soon overcome by insurmountable anger... I have kept it completely my own...."

"Know this, then, Daughter of Beorn," The Elf said, after hearing the tale. "That contrary to the whims and demands of fate, you have been made to continue another man's story, though it be ended. It was by little fault of your own, and in that you may have comfort, but I will tell you the tale that proceeded your coming to the Barrow of the Herdsman, and then tell you what must be done."

Although Ragnbourg did not yet understand, and nor could she fathom how the Elf knew of this particular matter, she was grateful for answers and listened with earnest interest.

"In an age I shall not name, only let it be said that it was long before your mortal arrival in this world, a man came to sojourn on the plains of an uninhabited land. From a boat he had come off the sea and made his mind to dwell amid nature's beasts, to serve them as healer, steward, and friend. To them, he was known by the name Keeper, after they came to understand his reasons for dwelling within their domain. There was peace and conflict-ended in his time, his days were spent in service to animals. But they were lonely days for a man, and they did not last, for men were at that age of the world engaged in great explorations and conquers - and conquering nature was no less their endeavor."

"Great ships arrived on the shore of the man's peaceful land, and those that came from them began their tireless effort to extract a living from the wood and bountiful riches of the earth that were found in plenty there. But where men toil they must also reap, and for strength they needed what-with to subsist themselves on, thus the animals began to be slain. It was the desire of this man that these unwanted visitors should leave, and discontinue their work of destruction, but try as he might to forbid them, they continued their work."

"What ire was raised! What terrible hatred poured forth, as the land began to be desolated! Woe befell the man, as it must needs do to all who cradle such loathing and animosity for their own race. He cursed the sailors with tongue and deed, and they cursed him when once they knew the cause of his fight - for they were desirous to be rid of him and thus actively hunted those beasts that he knew. All were slain, and with their passing a boiling wrath infested the man's heart, and drove him that he might enact vengeance for the loss of blood with more blood. So it was. Then, for all that was then done, the sailors conceived to bring an end to their torment, and thus sought out the man. Terrible was his end, and those that were his killers also were those that placed him within the mounds."

"But his spirit did not sleep, nor did his body rest - all for the wrath that was kindled in his heart. Deep was his barrow, and deeper still his hatred for men." The Elf maid said. "Long, however, was he made to dwell where light does not descend, and he plotted his revenge in those dark places of the earth, forbidden to rise."

Ragnbourg listened, and felt all the while much colder in body than she ever had prior.

"He knew well that he would never be able to escape his prison, Daughter of Beorn." The Elf said, and her voice was no less than it was before, though she could see Ragnbourg's unrest. "Therefore, he who's story was ended, sought another to act in his place." 

There was a stiffness in Ragnbourg's limbs and something quite hard to swallow in her throat, so she said nothing for the moment and the Elf continued.

"It might well be known to you, that had he found a person bereft of their own malice and anger, that nothing could have been done against you..." She said, and her pale green eyes leveled with Ragnbourg's gaze as she tilted her chin downward. 
 The Beorning woman was still, and said nothing. 

"But now, I have told you all that need be told, and what remains is what may be done." As this was said, the Elf turned and swiftly got herself back up into the tree, looking downward on the Beorning once again. "It is this: The wight can have no satisfaction in death for his crimes in life - and his hatred against those who wronged him will prove vain, for their time is far past. But his anger will thrive where it is given room to thrive, and his desires will not rest until his anger is no more. Therefore, the answer is one that is hard for mortals to hear, but nonetheless the answer; Forgive those who have caused you hurt, and release your own anger, then the Wight's Wrath will depart. But if you do not, then you will carry it to your grave, even as he did."  

Truly, even as the Elf had said, Ragnbourg did not find these words easy to hear, nor comforting, but after a moment she found the strength and bowed to collect her shawl and hat from the ground. When she stood again, she went to pick up her axe, and looked once more to the Elf in the tree. But where she looked, Ragnbourg saw only the gnarled branches and the empty night sky... the Elf was gone.

There was much to think about, and the night hills of the Twilight Estates felt even more quiet and lonely than before. But unlike how Ragnbourg had felt when first wandering here, the stillness and silence seemed dreadful and unwelcome, so she left the hills quickly, and went back to Ost Forod. Tomorrow, at sun's first light, she and her brother would depart from the hills and go again to Oatbarton, where there they would aid the folk of Northcotton on their errands.

 Such was the strange encounter of a wanderer in the hills of Evendim...

~Ragnböurg