Post by Anwyn on Jul 13, 2006 19:44:06 GMT
The group of riders moved unhurried across the field of Pelannor that lay before the great shinning city of Mina's Tirth. Though as they drew nearer the standard that they bore depicating a white horse running free across a banner of scarlet was held high fluttering gently on the breeze, the standard of the current ruler of Rohan. The great gates opened as the horses did not break stride as they four abreast into the city.
Anwyn rode at the head of the column astride a great bay stallion who was garbed in tack of ceremony, its head arched proudly as it trotted along the cobbled street. Anwyn sat tall and seemingly untouched by the sorrow that still clung to this city, adorned in an ornate gown of gold and a thin circlet of delicate silver flowers upon her brow her head was held high but icy blue eyes never stopped moving as they swept over the citizens who came fourth from there homes to catch sight of the procession. They were adorned yet in the dark colors of mourning for there king who had passed. The Rohirrim did not observe such a tradition of mourning, for frequently death was more cause for celebration of a life lived than any great grief. They had fought bitterly hard and long to chase darkness from there lands, why should they willingly adorn themselves in it?
Though Anwyn in her own way had grieved for the passing of the King amonst the privacy of her own halls once news had reached Rohan. Laements for Aragorn had been sung by all who had been touched by his goodness and wisdom but just as quickly arrangements had begun to journey to Gondor. The bond that had been re-forged in friendship and love years ago between the two countries was a strong one and Anwyn would not see it falter now with the passing of its King, so she made the three day journey personally to represent her country to whom would now rule this rule this land, amongst the greatest of realms of mortal men. Little word had reached her beyond the Kings Death, she knew not what she would ride to so she embraced this and rode readily forward prepared for whatever would be offered to the Rohirrim.
The procession wove its way through the several tiers of the city, Anwyn had come bearing gifts as a token of Rohans good will and friendship in this time. Finely crafted swords forged by the workers of the finest steel that could be found of the country. Several young Stallions, Fleet of foot raised and trained among the lines that were descendents of her own stock. At last reaching the apex of the city, The Citadel the group came to a halt and paused. The Riders who had accomponied her wore armor that had been polished to a high sheen, It spoke of times of peace that so much time could be devoted to such a show. Anwyn paused as well, reins resting easily in hand as she waited quietly for her presence to be acknowledged.
Anwyn rode at the head of the column astride a great bay stallion who was garbed in tack of ceremony, its head arched proudly as it trotted along the cobbled street. Anwyn sat tall and seemingly untouched by the sorrow that still clung to this city, adorned in an ornate gown of gold and a thin circlet of delicate silver flowers upon her brow her head was held high but icy blue eyes never stopped moving as they swept over the citizens who came fourth from there homes to catch sight of the procession. They were adorned yet in the dark colors of mourning for there king who had passed. The Rohirrim did not observe such a tradition of mourning, for frequently death was more cause for celebration of a life lived than any great grief. They had fought bitterly hard and long to chase darkness from there lands, why should they willingly adorn themselves in it?
Though Anwyn in her own way had grieved for the passing of the King amonst the privacy of her own halls once news had reached Rohan. Laements for Aragorn had been sung by all who had been touched by his goodness and wisdom but just as quickly arrangements had begun to journey to Gondor. The bond that had been re-forged in friendship and love years ago between the two countries was a strong one and Anwyn would not see it falter now with the passing of its King, so she made the three day journey personally to represent her country to whom would now rule this rule this land, amongst the greatest of realms of mortal men. Little word had reached her beyond the Kings Death, she knew not what she would ride to so she embraced this and rode readily forward prepared for whatever would be offered to the Rohirrim.
The procession wove its way through the several tiers of the city, Anwyn had come bearing gifts as a token of Rohans good will and friendship in this time. Finely crafted swords forged by the workers of the finest steel that could be found of the country. Several young Stallions, Fleet of foot raised and trained among the lines that were descendents of her own stock. At last reaching the apex of the city, The Citadel the group came to a halt and paused. The Riders who had accomponied her wore armor that had been polished to a high sheen, It spoke of times of peace that so much time could be devoted to such a show. Anwyn paused as well, reins resting easily in hand as she waited quietly for her presence to be acknowledged.
