Post by Ringlin on Dec 17, 2006 13:27:31 GMT -5
.....Ringlin settled the pack over his shoulders as the ships ramp boomed down. A deep-cowled hood shadowed his face in the bright sunlight, as the incoming tide lapped against the vast white stones piers of Rommena. He was dressed simply, in butter-soft doeskin, in dark blues and blacks, the heavy cloak of fine wool.
For a moment, as he touched the dock, he paused, seeing the swirl of the people on the quayside, before his head lifted, looking eastward and inland, to the fabled peak of Meneltarma.
The Land of Gift
While most men in Middle Earth lived savage and barbarous lives, - like that of his fathers people in the distant east, the Numenoreans grew in skill, in beauty, in wealth and power . They were to be the greatest nation of Men Arda was ever to see, so that even many thousands of years after its fall, one of the names for this isle, Atalante the Downfallen, would still be remembered, - although believed to be legend.
But it was a real place Ringlin walked through, leaving the sea behind him, as he walked . beautiful public buildings, and private houses opened around him, the streets were wide and paved, there were gardens glimpsed behind high walls, there were flowers and statues, a sense of spaciousness, cleanliness, affluence, the people brilliantly appareled, tall and comely. For their wars in the First Age, the Edain had been given a land fair, and rich, blessed in climate, and fertile, and their first King was Half-Elven.
Ringlin was also half-Elven, although whereas Elros was the son of Earendil the Blessed, the Mariner and also descended from Luthien Tinuviel, Ringlins own father was an easterling traitor, his mother a captured Noldoli woman who had died soon after birthing he and his twin sister.
Elros and his brother Elrond had both made a choice - the life of the Eldar, or the Life of Men, and so had Ringlin although never consciously, it had been quite simple really. At the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, he had seen his father betray the Noldor, the Sons of Feanor, and been horrified, shamed, anguished. Even before then he had been drawn to the Eldar, but after Un-numbered Tears he turned completely from his mortal side, and whilst he was not accepted by the Elves, he had their immortality, for he would certainly be dead by now.
He asked a passing guard where he might find a good inn and was directed up a straight street, to a sprawling building of three stories, with a courtyard full of activity, horses, wagons, people, and entered. Ringlin was a loner, both by necessity and inclination, and he was not easy in crowds. After being shown to a room and bespeaking supper, Ringlin bathed , and changed, and went back out, walking past a fountain which played in the evening sunlight he paused, and ran his fingers under the cold and sparkling drops. he had no destination in mind, but to see this great isle before returning to Middle earth.
It was also the very closest he had come westwards... towards Aman.
For a moment, as he touched the dock, he paused, seeing the swirl of the people on the quayside, before his head lifted, looking eastward and inland, to the fabled peak of Meneltarma.
The Land of Gift
While most men in Middle Earth lived savage and barbarous lives, - like that of his fathers people in the distant east, the Numenoreans grew in skill, in beauty, in wealth and power . They were to be the greatest nation of Men Arda was ever to see, so that even many thousands of years after its fall, one of the names for this isle, Atalante the Downfallen, would still be remembered, - although believed to be legend.
But it was a real place Ringlin walked through, leaving the sea behind him, as he walked . beautiful public buildings, and private houses opened around him, the streets were wide and paved, there were gardens glimpsed behind high walls, there were flowers and statues, a sense of spaciousness, cleanliness, affluence, the people brilliantly appareled, tall and comely. For their wars in the First Age, the Edain had been given a land fair, and rich, blessed in climate, and fertile, and their first King was Half-Elven.
Ringlin was also half-Elven, although whereas Elros was the son of Earendil the Blessed, the Mariner and also descended from Luthien Tinuviel, Ringlins own father was an easterling traitor, his mother a captured Noldoli woman who had died soon after birthing he and his twin sister.
Elros and his brother Elrond had both made a choice - the life of the Eldar, or the Life of Men, and so had Ringlin although never consciously, it had been quite simple really. At the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, he had seen his father betray the Noldor, the Sons of Feanor, and been horrified, shamed, anguished. Even before then he had been drawn to the Eldar, but after Un-numbered Tears he turned completely from his mortal side, and whilst he was not accepted by the Elves, he had their immortality, for he would certainly be dead by now.
He asked a passing guard where he might find a good inn and was directed up a straight street, to a sprawling building of three stories, with a courtyard full of activity, horses, wagons, people, and entered. Ringlin was a loner, both by necessity and inclination, and he was not easy in crowds. After being shown to a room and bespeaking supper, Ringlin bathed , and changed, and went back out, walking past a fountain which played in the evening sunlight he paused, and ran his fingers under the cold and sparkling drops. he had no destination in mind, but to see this great isle before returning to Middle earth.
It was also the very closest he had come westwards... towards Aman.
