The White Wolf
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
2,899
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
2,899
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter Two
Disclamier: I don't own the characters. I'm only borrowing them for a bit. All characters save for Dinrogion belong to the Tolkien empire.
The door clicked shut behind the king, blocking him from view. Outside, the first few snowflakes began to fall from the leaden clouds overhead, twirling downtouctouch the world with feather softness. As the wind picked up speed, driving the snow in cold, hard lines across sky sky, the birds on the balcony began to stir. One by one they flew away, until only one remained.
It was the smallest bird, the one that had not been singing when Aragorn ste stepped into his rooms. The snow melted against the warmth of its white feathers as the amber eyes stared with an unnatural intensity into the open rooms. The contrast between the warm, well-lit rooms and the dark, cold night that was falling was sharp and not easily refused.
The bird fluttered from the railing and into the room, landing silently on the carpet in front of the balcony doors. With a shiver that worked down his spine, Dinrogion shook off the confining form of the bird and returned to his most natural form, that of a tall elf. Smirking slightly, he brushed the snow from his hair and then shut the balcony doors and dropped down the drapes, closing off the room and turning it into a haven of warmth and relaxation.
Dinrogion moved deeper into the room with confident steps, taking in everything he could see. It had been a long time since he had last seen Aragorn, and though the trip from the Keep had been long and hard, it was one he should have made years ago. Relationships had to be tended or they would fall apart altogether, even though he was certain that Aragorn had not forgotten him yet. He had missed the ranger’s company, and was looking forward to renewing it.
The rooms seemed to fit Aragorn perfectly, a quiet mixture of elven and human art, of books and weaponry. The shelves had been filled with leather bound books of all s, es, elvish poetry and histories side by side with books of tactics and warfare. Several elven daggers lay forgotten on the shelves, and bits of armor and mail had been piled in one corner. The only weapon not covered with an air of disuse was Anduril, hanging in a place of pride over the fireplace in the sitting room.
Stacks of loose papers covered most of the desk, and when Dinrogion rifled through them he found the normal dry subjects required of smoothly running a kingdom. Tax papers, laws, complaints, guild memberships, crop predictions, trade lists, garrison deployments and many others of the same nature had been randomly piled together.
Shaking his head, a half smile on his lips, Dinrogion left the desk and moved into the darker sitting room, the door opening up across from the bath. A dining table sat at the back wall, while a large group of chairs and couches occupied the rest of the space. A fire in the fireplace and candles on the table provided a dim, almost murky light. But at least the room was warm, and a set of crystal decanters gleamed from a nearby table.
Dinrogion took off his heavy cloak and threw it across the back of one chair before going to inspect the tray of drinks. Most of them were full, which figured. To Dinrogion, Aragorn did not seem the type to let anything disturb his clarity of mind. Well, nothing that Aragorn could control, that was.
He poured a small amount of brandy in one tumbler before taking it and stretching out in on the couch in front of the fire. He sighed, gladly letting the warmth soak into him. He had been traveling ahead of the same snowstorm for days, and this had been his first opportunity in almost a week to take shelter inside. Even though he had not intended to stay here. He had only wanted to see Aragorn for a few brief moments, but the sudden snowfall had changed his mind. And the fact that now that he had seen Aragorn again, he was in no hurry to leave. There wasn’t anything that an inn could offer that he would not find here, and there were many things here that an inn would never offer. Such as Aragorn.
The man had changed since Dinrogion had last seen him, but not in any physical respects. Aragorn aged well, but there was a new hardness to his eyes and a tension to the line of his body that spoke of some deep, underlying stress. Dinrogion guessed that the crown was becoming heavy for Aragorn to bear, and he could well understand the pressure that such great responsibility brought. He was not worried that Aragorn would break under the pressure, but he was glad that he had come when he had. Too much more time and he might have arrived to find the king missing, and then he would have to hunt the man down.
The noise of the door opening grabbed Dinrogion’s attention and he rose from the couch, his eyes shining as he went to greet his ranger for the first time in several long years.
The door clicked shut behind the king, blocking him from view. Outside, the first few snowflakes began to fall from the leaden clouds overhead, twirling downtouctouch the world with feather softness. As the wind picked up speed, driving the snow in cold, hard lines across sky sky, the birds on the balcony began to stir. One by one they flew away, until only one remained.
It was the smallest bird, the one that had not been singing when Aragorn ste stepped into his rooms. The snow melted against the warmth of its white feathers as the amber eyes stared with an unnatural intensity into the open rooms. The contrast between the warm, well-lit rooms and the dark, cold night that was falling was sharp and not easily refused.
The bird fluttered from the railing and into the room, landing silently on the carpet in front of the balcony doors. With a shiver that worked down his spine, Dinrogion shook off the confining form of the bird and returned to his most natural form, that of a tall elf. Smirking slightly, he brushed the snow from his hair and then shut the balcony doors and dropped down the drapes, closing off the room and turning it into a haven of warmth and relaxation.
Dinrogion moved deeper into the room with confident steps, taking in everything he could see. It had been a long time since he had last seen Aragorn, and though the trip from the Keep had been long and hard, it was one he should have made years ago. Relationships had to be tended or they would fall apart altogether, even though he was certain that Aragorn had not forgotten him yet. He had missed the ranger’s company, and was looking forward to renewing it.
The rooms seemed to fit Aragorn perfectly, a quiet mixture of elven and human art, of books and weaponry. The shelves had been filled with leather bound books of all s, es, elvish poetry and histories side by side with books of tactics and warfare. Several elven daggers lay forgotten on the shelves, and bits of armor and mail had been piled in one corner. The only weapon not covered with an air of disuse was Anduril, hanging in a place of pride over the fireplace in the sitting room.
Stacks of loose papers covered most of the desk, and when Dinrogion rifled through them he found the normal dry subjects required of smoothly running a kingdom. Tax papers, laws, complaints, guild memberships, crop predictions, trade lists, garrison deployments and many others of the same nature had been randomly piled together.
Shaking his head, a half smile on his lips, Dinrogion left the desk and moved into the darker sitting room, the door opening up across from the bath. A dining table sat at the back wall, while a large group of chairs and couches occupied the rest of the space. A fire in the fireplace and candles on the table provided a dim, almost murky light. But at least the room was warm, and a set of crystal decanters gleamed from a nearby table.
Dinrogion took off his heavy cloak and threw it across the back of one chair before going to inspect the tray of drinks. Most of them were full, which figured. To Dinrogion, Aragorn did not seem the type to let anything disturb his clarity of mind. Well, nothing that Aragorn could control, that was.
He poured a small amount of brandy in one tumbler before taking it and stretching out in on the couch in front of the fire. He sighed, gladly letting the warmth soak into him. He had been traveling ahead of the same snowstorm for days, and this had been his first opportunity in almost a week to take shelter inside. Even though he had not intended to stay here. He had only wanted to see Aragorn for a few brief moments, but the sudden snowfall had changed his mind. And the fact that now that he had seen Aragorn again, he was in no hurry to leave. There wasn’t anything that an inn could offer that he would not find here, and there were many things here that an inn would never offer. Such as Aragorn.
The man had changed since Dinrogion had last seen him, but not in any physical respects. Aragorn aged well, but there was a new hardness to his eyes and a tension to the line of his body that spoke of some deep, underlying stress. Dinrogion guessed that the crown was becoming heavy for Aragorn to bear, and he could well understand the pressure that such great responsibility brought. He was not worried that Aragorn would break under the pressure, but he was glad that he had come when he had. Too much more time and he might have arrived to find the king missing, and then he would have to hunt the man down.
The noise of the door opening grabbed Dinrogion’s attention and he rose from the couch, his eyes shining as he went to greet his ranger for the first time in several long years.