Quiet, and Unquiet in the Bell Tower
Top of the Bell Tower
The belfry of this tower is open to the air on all sides, each of which is in the shape of a wide arch. Through it, you can see the cloudless sky and the lands beneath it. Each side is a platform, while the centre of the tower is open all the way to the ground. A small but sturdy railing surrounds the drop. One may look out in each direction, to see the surrounding countryside.
The bell itself is made from fine silver with engravings in elvish runes on the rim. A long silken pull hangs from the beam, all the way down to the basement of this tower. Placed around the tower are small wicker benches with soft cushions to sit upon.
Contents:
Muirgheal
Obvious exits:
Down the stairs leads to Bell Tower, Third Level.
[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Late Afternoon on Sunday, Day 20 of August.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.
Real time is: 09:26:19 MDT on Fri Aug 08 2008.
[Muirgheal(#32535)] It's early morning, hazy grey twilight cloaking the valley, but off in the east, there's a faint glow on the horizon. Having lost so much sleep lately, Muirgheal has seen a good many dawns lately, but not from such a vantage point as this. The walk up here was long, but worth it, she feels, when she sees the entire valley spread out below in the pale light. She and Rhifaroth settle on one of the cushioned wicker benches. Such luxuries they have, here, and it's beautiful. Her dark eyes look all around. "I wonder if we can see the lake from up here?" She asks hopefully. No mention, of course, of what she -did- on her last visit to the lake.
Rhifaroth>
It's been a strange night, since last evening. Rhifaroth kept a tight hold on Muirgheal's arm all the rest of the evening, whether he faded in or out of awareness, until he slept. The next morning was pretty much like any morning the past two weeks. But, at least he's starting to deal with a few things on his own with minimal direction. Like dressing or undressing himself, or taking the spoon from Muirgheal this morning to feed himself. But whether he knows this morning who she is, or where he is at, is less certain once more.
Seated where Muirgheal put him, her husband seems oblivious to the view. He sits quietly and makes no comment.
[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal watches Rhifaroth, never having left his side at night or really slept much at all again. She's still pleased with the odd turn of events the previous afternoon, despite her guilt at making him fall off of a horse. She takes his hand in hers, and just wants to see if he's there, judging by the way she watches his eyes. She smiles at him, whether he sees it or not. "Rhifaroth?"
Rhifaroth>
For the moment, as she takes up his hand and speaks to him, no ... he's not 'here'. There is no reaction. But if she squeazes his hand a little tightly, or something more agreesive than softly speaking to him, she can get a flicker of movement from his eyes as though she were disturbing him from thinking of some other place, dreaming while awake.
[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal tightens her grip on his hand for just a moment, but the resulting reaction, that flick of his gaze, makes her feel as though she shouldn't have bothered him from whatever peaceful dream he was chasing. She wouldn't mind learning how to be more peaceful, herself. She puts her good arm around him, and her gold curls brush up against his face. "It's just Muir," she tells him, not too soft this time, hoping that perhaps he'll understand. All around them down below, the folk of the valley are already at work, moving about. She's watched Rochwen enough to know that they don't need sleep, and she envies that ability.
Rhifaroth>
He hears her now, feels the grip on his hand. Rhifaroth turns his head towards her, her hair close. For a breath he sits still, just registering this other person's nearness, holding onto him. He can smell her, the scent of lavendar water or whatever she washes with here. She doesn't smell of acrid, stale sweat, river muck, leaf mold, blood or urine - or any of those things that haunt him. Just something clean and fresh, and not hurting him. Rhifaroth's hands and feet are not tied. There is no rope choking him around his throat. These are things he dully becomes aware of in that moment that seems like reality, not dream. Dare he believe it?
A sigh, a leaning of his head against her. A return squeaze of his hand, faintly.
[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal's smile becomes broader when the signs that she's come to look for tell her that he knows she's here, at least somewhat, right now. "Hey, love," her clear voice says. "I know it's confusing, but...I cut my hair. It was stupid. I felt bad, so I did something bad. To keep me and the children safe." Her hand reaches up, plays with his hair, touches his cheek. Even if he isn't looking at her, she's there, a warmth against his side, the scent of lavender and vanilla, fidgeting every once in a while, very much alive, animate, especially her eyes. Slowly she adds, "I broke my arm...trying to find you here. See?"
Rhifaroth>
Rhifaroth is very still and quiet. But he listens, his eyes move a little to look at her arm that is close. Whether he's registering what her words mean there is no indication, but he seems like he is 'here' for the moment, absorbing input.
Muirgheal
This young woman is as tall as most Dunlending women are, standing at about 5'10". Her frame does not have an abundance of womanly curves, but instead is thin, hard, and wiry: all muscle from being born into a fighting clan. Her Rohirrim-Dunlending cross has given her beautiful golden hair, which is cut rather short for a woman, ending below her chin and getting longer all the time. The thick strands of gold are gently curly, and her hair is just long enough to be pulled back from her face and pinned up at the top. The many curls of brightness that have come loose frame a very comely face. Her breeding also has given her a touch of exoticism: gently off-white skin, tinted a shade or two darker than white. Her brows are just a little darker than her golden hair, and arch above sharp, dark, intelligent eyes. The lines of her face are smooth and her cheekbones pronounced, high and regal. Her lips, a faint shade of merlot, are full and lovely.
Atop her head is a silver circlet, set with a green jewel which glistens high on her forehead. She wears a dress of emerald green. It hugs her thin waist tightly, then trails out behind her in an overabundance of green cloth. It is sewn with delicate gold thread, and is obviously of Elven make. The neckline of the dress just makes visible the pinkish scar that begins on her chest and plunges down far out of sight. On the insides of her pale wrists, newer scars are visible, thin horizontal lines that look quite deliberate. She wears her own leather shoes on her feet, plain but sturdy black boots. The outfit is completed with a long, thick, dark green woolen cloak with hood. A simply designed clasp made of silver is formed into the shape of two leaping horses facing one another - the clasp halves fasten together by interlinking the horse's front legs. There is a beautiful, perhaps eye-catching piece of jewelry on the ring finger of her left hand to signify her marriage.
+inspect Mea's ring
+inspect Mea's name (for proper pronunciation!)
Carrying:
Aurlalaith(#26621Cae)
Studded Leather Armor
Studded Leather Helmet
Longsword
[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal decides to take the rare opportunity, his moment of such lucidity, and make the best of it. She takes his hand in hers again, to see if he'll let her bring his hand up to touch her hair. "See where it ends? It hurt to lose, but I wasn't thinking clearly." She smiles once more. "Look around, love. Look down. We can see the whole valley from up here. If this were a dream of yours, I couldn't...play your lute, now could I?" She tries to withdraw her hand, to pick up the object- perhaps familiar to this man- that she's brought up here with them. She'll put it on her lap, having only one hand with which to try this.
Rhifaroth>
Drawing just slightly back so that he can see her, Rhifaroth does feel her short, shorn hair. His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, looking a little fragile on his focus here and now. A glance out at the view, but he isn't really interested in that.
Still very quiet, trying to track on her movements, her voice, Muirgheal's husband's eyes shift to glance at what she pulls one handed into her lap. He feels so numb, so dislocated and distant from this. But even so, this has a sharpness dreams and memories do not hold.
[Muirgheal(#32535)] It will be a very jarring jolt of reality for the man, if he hears what Muirgheal does next. Her fingers start to pluck at the strings of the lute, each one making a different, but terrible twangy sound in her hands. Her singing is far more pleasant than this odd collection of notes hit at wrong angles, some too sharp, others flat. "I've been practicing your lute," she tells him cheerfully, proudly above the fray of notes. "How do you like it?" Well..it -is- something the real Muirgheal would do, if he can remember her clearly.
Rhifaroth>
This is ... very strange. Yes, definitely this does not feel like something he would imagine, nor does he remember this happening before. It feels very, very weird.
There is no wincing, no movement, no comment. But Rhifaroth sits very still and is watching her. His right hand lays lightly upon her thigh, his shoulder touching hers as she tries to play.
[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal frowns as she concentrates on making the horrible music louder, and...faster! Trying to capture the tune of one of her bar songs. Of course, being very new at this instrument, she can only make the music progress but so quickly. She looks a little frustrated as she hears a note that even she recognizes as being bad. "Can you help show me?" She asks, stopping the music for a moment and putting her hand on top of his. She looks down at the lute, but occasionally her dark eyes slip up to the man's face.
Rhifaroth>
The sound is ... grating. Almost, almost he started to move his hand to stop her. But Muirgheal stops on her own and puts her hand on his. Rhifaroth swallows as though something with his throat was still bothering him, trying to clear it. His breathing is a little faster than it would be if he were relaxed.
Muirgheal's question gets no answer. For a moment, her husband looks a little glassy eyed, loosing focus.
[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal sees Rhifaroth's eyes losing their focus, but she doesn't get frustrated by that. She takes a deep breath and releases it. He might be happy to know that a small bit of good has come from this: she's learning more patience, and control. She hasn't shouted at anyone in over a week now. Muirgheal sets the lute down. It's something to try again later, and obviously her playing wasn't too great. She puts her good arm around him again, slowly and sweetly drawing him near, to help him relax. "I just want you to know I'm here."
Rhifaroth>
Pale eyes blink, refocusing on here a bit again as he feels the woman next to him shift and draw him closer. Rhifaroth's breathing picks up a little again, heart rate skipping up. But this smooths back down as he leans against her. He can smell her, feel her warmth close against him. Turning his head to rest it against her, his hand tightens on her leg. The man seems content to just sit here with her, saying nothing.
