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piosenniel · 10-10-2002, 11:06 AM

***** DALE-Girion *****

'Tell me, how came Bard to send you? I know your King. He and my late father often held council together, which I attended.'

Girion had not the opportunity to answer Stonehelm's question. His concern for Orodan had refocused his attention, and he offered the support of his long friendship with the Elf to allay his fears.

But now, the watch had been set by Girion, and Orodan made less distressed by his own resolve. The Man sat near the Dwarven King, rubbing some medicinal salve on his wound. Hringa had assured him it would speed the healing of it. His eyes stung from the pungent vapors, even as a healing warmth spread about his thigh. Done, he eased his leg into a comfortable position and listened to the deep voices of the Dwarven singers. Their songs boomed out like hammers echoing in mighty caverns - the occasional high, clear counterpoint of a single singer shining forth as a well crafted gem.

He watched Stonehelm's face as the dwarves took up new songs. Each new grouping of singers challenging the next to outdo them. There was marked pride that played upon the young King's countenance for his companions, and an easy sense of fellowship reflected in his gaze. Yet, there was that sense of responsibility and command that always sat deep behind his eyes.

Girion marvelled at the naturalness with which the Dwarf moved between these roles. He thought of his own Father, then, and how such came naturally to him, also. He felt young, unschooled by such grace, and wondered if it might ever come to him.

[ October 10, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

10-10-2002, 11:06 AM	#203
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	*** DALE-Girion *** 'Tell me, how came Bard to send you? I know your King. He and my late father often held council together, which I attended.' Girion had not the opportunity to answer Stonehelm's question. His concern for Orodan had refocused his attention, and he offered the support of his long friendship with the Elf to allay his fears. But now, the watch had been set by Girion, and Orodan made less distressed by his own resolve. The Man sat near the Dwarven King, rubbing some medicinal salve on his wound. Hringa had assured him it would speed the healing of it. His eyes stung from the pungent vapors, even as a healing warmth spread about his thigh. Done, he eased his leg into a comfortable position and listened to the deep voices of the Dwarven singers. Their songs boomed out like hammers echoing in mighty caverns - the occasional high, clear counterpoint of a single singer shining forth as a well crafted gem. He watched Stonehelm's face as the dwarves took up new songs. Each new grouping of singers challenging the next to outdo them. There was marked pride that played upon the young King's countenance for his companions, and an easy sense of fellowship reflected in his gaze. Yet, there was that sense of responsibility and command that always sat deep behind his eyes. Girion marvelled at the naturalness with which the Dwarf moved between these roles. He thought of his own Father, then, and how such came naturally to him, also. He felt young, unschooled by such grace, and wondered if it might ever come to him. [ October 10, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ] __________________ Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.