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'But I must admit,' he added with a queer laugh, 'that I hoped you would take to me for my own sake. A hunted man sometimes wearies of distrust and longs for friendship.'

FOTR: Strider

~oOo~

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~oOo~


The sun beats upon my head so that the hair on my neck is a torture. I cannot bear to wear a scarf about my head and so have abandoned it. Still, though I wear my hair in a braid as always, errant strands cling to my skin. They itch and tickle and I push at them, wishing I had thought to coil their length atop my head. Ah, but it is hot! My very shift seems as a second skin pasted to my back. The current rushes burbling against my knees as I gingerly balance my bare feet on the river stones. The distant rattling beat of a woodpecker echoes over the river and, when I scoop up cool water and pat it upon my face and beneath the line of my shift, I search the trees for the bird's telltale flicker.
Continued here )

am bored

Oct. 24th, 2006 09:44 pm
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Or, perhaps it's "am procrastinating" as I should be writing Chapter 40, which is due... in 1, 2,3, 4 days. As is Chapter 41, which is also not written yet.

Anyway, I give you the "two word meme" stolen from [info]litch

Yep, he's a complete stranger.  We just happen to read the same RSS feed.  I really was that bored.  Though he seems like kind of a fun guy.
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‘That is the road to the vales of Tumladen and Lossarnach, and the mountain-villages, and then on to Lebennin,’ said Beregond. ‘There go the last of the wains that bear away to refuge the aged, the children, and the women that must go with them. They must all be gone from the Gate and the road clear for a league before noon: that was the order. It is a sad necessity.’ He sighed. ‘Few, maybe, of those now sundered will meet again.’

ROTK: Minas Tirith

~oOo~

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~oOo~


Ah, I daresay you have not felt such a tiresome wearing of the hours.

The people of the Angle, aged and young, stretch and rise from the soil upon the day's grey dawning. A coughing has awakened me and I can hear them from within our small nest of baskets and blankets where have curled my son and I. Ah, but the folk press ever around and there is no place of quiet and rest. And now all about is damp and chill, and the sheep and cattle protest the lack of pasture from their paddocks. For it had rained in the night, great black-bellied clouds drifting above us as the barges upon the Bruinen of my youth.
Continued here )
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Okay, well, now I *really* feel lazy.

Shrimp gone wrong
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Legolas stood before the gate and turned his bright eyes away north and east, and his fair face was troubled. ‘I do not think that any would come,’ he answered. ‘They have no need to ride to war; war already marches on their own lands.’

ROTK: The Passing of the Grey Company

~oOo~

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~oOo~


"Have you naught you would say, Master Bachor?"

The man sighs, running a hand through his dark hair.

"I am unsure whether any word of mine shall have a bearing on this matter, my lady," he says.
Continued here )
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I have to be rather cautious talking to [info]a_wordsmith, cuz she does this thing to me every once in a while.  We'll be having a casual conversation about, oh, coffee and trips into town, and then, suddenly, I'm spending the next 6 hours frantically trying to keep up with her ceiling-tall, doorframe-brushing-shouldered, deep-voiced muse.  He looms over me and insists I do nothing else but whatever idea she sicced on me.  No laundry, precious little lunch, not even much in the way of sleep.  Just WRITE or PLAY. 

This is the result of just such an incident:  Beautiful   

Lyrics by [profile] a_wordsmith and music by yours truly.

ETA:  an mp3 version that is much smaller and less burdensome to download beautiful mp3 version 
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As he ran the cries came louder, but fainter now and desperately the horn was blowing. Fierce and shrill rose the yells of the Orcs, and suddenly the horn-calls ceased. Aragorn raced down the last slope, but before he could reach the hill's foot, the sounds died away; and as he turned to the left and ran towards them they retreated, until at last he could hear them no more. Drawing his bright sword and crying Elendil! Elendil! he crashed through the trees.

TTT: The Departure of Boromir

~oOo~

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~oOo~


Footsteps and voices drift from the hall below me. I sigh and bury my face in the pillow, pulling it closer.

“My lady!” a voice calls, but still I am adrift in sleep, sunk beneath its warm blanket. Beyond the windows, rain falls in a steady patter and the cold night air seeks to slip through the shutters and winter rugs. My son stirs in his sleep upon his small mattress and then falls still.
Continued here )
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It was the pride and wonder of the Northern Line that, though their power departed and their people dwindled, through all the many generations the succession was unbroken from father to son.

LOTR: Appendix A: Annals of the Kings and Rulers

~oOo~

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~oOo~


There they are, my lord leading his horse up the dusty path with my son perched atop. Edainion's fingers twist deeply in the horse's mane as he squeals.

"Mamil! Mamil!" he cries when he catches sight of me. "Look! I ride at'inya horse!"
Continued here )
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They heard of the Great Barrows, and the green mounds, and the stone-rings upon the hills and in the hollows among the hills. Sheep were bleating in flocks. Green walls and white walls rose. There were fortresses on the heights. Kings of little kingdoms fought together, and the young Sun shone like fire on the red metal of their new and greedy swords. There was victory and defeat; and towers fell, fortresses were burned, and flames went up into the sky.

FOTR: In the House of Tom Bombadil

~oOo~

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~oOo~


"How many does that make, Master Herdir?" I follow my lord's reeve as we enter the pasture, and he drags the gate closed behind us.

"Well, my lady," the man says, dropping the rope about the head of the post and squinting up at the sun. His fingers move in a swift dance upon his leg as figures no doubt play out in his head.
Continued here )
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The further you go, the less easy will it be to withdraw; yet no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will. For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts, and you cannot foresee what each may meet upon the road.'

FOTR: The Ring Goes South

~oOo~

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~oOo~


I cup the wick with its bright petal of flame in my palm. A mist creeps down the river and throughout the meadows of our home, muffling the sounds of nightfall. Indoors, we are comfortable, with the fire to warm us and our beds awaiting our slumbers. By rights, it is my lord's voice that should call the blessing, but in his stead it is I who give thanks.

"Thanks we offer to the One for the giving of his gifts," I say. "I name my lord, son of Arathorn, Lord and Chieftain of the Dúnedain, and am blessed for the strength of his will that shelters his people against the Shadow and preserves his life where his foes would claim it."
Continued here )
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There he said farewell to Eldarion, and gave into his hands the winged crown of Gondor and the sceptre of Arnor.

ROTK: Appendix A: Annals of the Kings and Rulers

~oOo~

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~oOo~


I am not well. Ai! Is it not enough my stomach must turn at the smell of the cold hearth and food sits there uneasily? But, now, once my belly has settled itself in these last months of my confinement, I have fallen truly ill.

I awoke in the midst of the night in a sweaty tangle of sheets and fur coverlet, aching and muddle-headed. When the morning came, my thoughts were no clearer. In my daze, I dreamed of boats scraping their hulls against the timbers of the river docks, only to rouse to the sound of Elesinda shifting tubs and barrels about in the pantry.
Continued here )
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'Only a Ranger!' cried Gandalf. `My dear Frodo, that is just what the Rangers are: the last remnant in the North of the great people, the Men of the West.'

FOTR: Many Meetings

~oOo~

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~oOo~


The next morning, I awoke early. The sky lightened slowly in the frame of the solar's windows and I, curled upon my side, watched the sun's rising and listened to the soft sounds my lord made as he slept.

A thing I have learned of him, my lord takes his pleasure most oft upon his awakening. Atimes, I would rouse to his lips upon the ridge of my ear and his hands upon me, calling softly to me. Others, he would stretch his limbs to find me waking and so draw me to him to gentle himself fully alert. And then there were the mornings when I awoke before my lord and held myself as if I slumbered still. For I knew, should I rise from the bed we shared, 'twas not likely I would feel his touch that day.
Continued here )
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'Few other griefs amid the ill chances of this world have more bitterness and shame for a man's heart than to behold the love of a lady so fair and brave that cannot be returned.'

ROTK: The Houses of Healing

~oOo~

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~oOo~


I think my lord and his kinsman in deep disagreement over me.

I came upon them in the hall from the buttery door, only to find the room cold and the men in it suddenly silent. My lord had a look of weariness about him and Halbarad was much agitated. They are not often at odds and it seemed to wear heavily on my lord's kinsman. For he paced and rapped his fingers upon the table, and then, clearing his throat, pulled roughly on the drawers beneath the settle, folded the blankets and otherwise tidied the place where he slept.
Continued here )
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The Men and Dwarves were mostly talking of distant events and telling flews of a kind that was becoming only too familiar. There was trouble away in the South, and it seemed that the Men who had come up the Greenway were on the move, looking for lands where they could find some peace. The Bree-folk were sympathetic, but plainly not very ready to take a large number of strangers into their little land.

FOTR: At the Sign of the Prancing Pony

~oOo~

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~oOo~


My lord sits in the dappled and shifting shade where the limbs of the old oak spread out above the stone wall. There Halbarad has carried his chair and the wind stirs the leaves to dancing above his head as he sits and looks out upon the folk of the village. Crows and rooks raise their harsh cries over the stubble of the fields where we set the beasts of the Angle to graze. My lord has asked me to stand with him and so I do, just within a raised hand's distance from the back corner of his chair where his Steward would be placed had he one. There I listen to the cawing echo deep against the line of the forest. Let the black-winged birds cock their glittering eyes to the ground and peck at the furrows. No longer do the children and dogs chase them away. We leave off our long battle and surrender the fields to them, for we have already carried off the greater prize. Rings and bushels of grain stuff our granaries full to the bursting and we can afford to relax our vigil against them.
Continued here )
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ACK!!!!

barf...hurl.. wretch..

WHY? Tell me WHY? Every time the apartment next door goes vacant for any appreciable length of time, the refugees make their way over HERE?

The first time, it was earwigs. They crawled through the cracks between the bathrooms and emerged from my shower door. lovely

And then, the next time, it was mice. After that guy moved out, they crawled all over the insides of my kitchen cabinets and pooped on my silverware.

And this time? O. M. G. You know, having grown up in the woods of Missouri and lived in the slums of Chicago, I'm used to bugs. But THIS? This was not an insect. My God! It sat up and talked to me.
Click if you dare )
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Newman, Paul. Daily Life in the Middle Ages. Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, 2001, pp. 12-13

Certainly the limitations of not being able to ship fresh fruits and vegetables in from distant lands that enjoyed frost-free weather or other variations in climate that produced different growing seasons meant that most Europeans had no access to these nutritious foods except when they were ripe within the immediate vicinity. Thus, from the late fall through early spring, many people during the Middle Ages endured monotonous diets, largely devoid of fruits and vegetables, and likely suffered some form of malnutrition, such as scurvy from lack of vitamin C. … the sudden reintroduction of such food can actually make them more ill, to the point of causing death, as their digestive systems struggle to break down and assimilate the sudden flood of nutrients.
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One of the travellers, a squint-eyed ill-favoured fellow, was foretelling that more and more people would be coming north in the near future. 'If room isn't found for them, they'll find it for themselves. They've a right to live, same as other folk,' he said loudly.

FOTR: At the Sign of the Prancing Pony

~oOo~

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~oOo~


My lord laughs, his back leaning upon his chair and his hand curling about a cup of ale, for Halbarad has returned and tells the tale of his travails.

"You left me Melethron. Of all men, Melethron?" my lord's kinsman protests. "He cannot keep a thought in his head that does not come out betwixt his lips. From here to the Last Bridge to Weathertop and back, ever his yammering sounded in my ears."
Continued here )
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Indeed there is a power in Rivendell to withstand the might of Mordor, for a while: and elsewhere other powers still dwell. There is power, too, of another kind in the Shire. But all such places will soon become islands under siege, if things go on as they are going. The Dark Lord is putting forth all his strength.

FOTR: Many Meetings

~oOo~

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~oOo~


"My lady," Elesinda says. "Shall I save this or put it to the geese?" She tips a bowl toward me with the heels and scraps of bread, near half a loaf.

"Yes, save it and let it dry," I say. "The plums ripen quickly and we could make a pudding of it."

She smiles and I know she thinks either of Halbarad's love of sweets or my attempts to cozen my lord, or perhaps both. Either thought brings a fondness to her face and I am well pleased.
Continued here )
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Look not to me for healing! I am a shieldmaiden and my hand is ungentle.

ROTK: The Steward and the King

~oOo~

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~oOo~


Scratches lie in faint trails upon the back of my hands as paths amidst dusty plains. Ah, but they itch for the stinging salt of my own sweat! No help for it but to keep on. The line of men snakes dark against the wall of grain, and, at a glance, I know the lass who bears the buckets of water makes her slow way hither. The men have stripped to the waist and bend their backs to the harvest, their sickles striking the straw and rattling the heads of rye. We women follow, binding what the men reap into sheaves. Dirt crumbles beneath my knees as I kneel and twist a thin handful of straw into a makeshift cord. Ai! But my throat is parched and waiting for relief a sore trial.
Continued here )
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Newman, Paul. Daily Life in the Middle Ages. Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, 2001, p. 154.

There is also some evidence that they may have taken a form of "sponge bath," using pitchers of water and small towels, moistening and wiping themselves down while standing or crouching in large, shallow pans made of pottery that caught the drippings.
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