❝ a mermaid belongs to the sea. she cannot stay on land without the guarantee of her death. ❞
❝ yes, but her heart belongs here. ❞
↳ gandalf the grey to queen marella
╔═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══╗
she belonged...
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THE NIGHT WAS DARK AND COLD on the plains of Rohan. With nothing but the glimmering, ivory moon gazing the land below, Rohan's plains proved to be a barren grassland for the majority of the night. It was nearing the seasonal change every end of February, and with the approach of March weather, the winds were irregular, but remained bristling and crisp throughout the night. The atmosphere was extremely serene, to the point where one would consider it eerie as the edge of the corrupted inch closer to Rohan.
Apart from the howling of the winds and the distinct groans reverberating through the trees from a distance, it was completely silent, only adding to the mysterious ambiance that befalls the land of Rohan that night. Anyone who would be forced to endure the hardships of this night with no shelter would have no choice but to suffer for the night was colder than it ever was, threatening to let the stars disappear and rain down.
Edoras was no different from the rest of its land. With the smallest, littlest fire burning by the entrance, the village was left to sleep the night away peacefully, protected and safe with the guidance of the Valar and the guards that patrol the outskirts and entrance of Edoras' walls. The Golden Halls of Edoras where the King resides in his leftover dignity is the only glowing structure of Edoras, sitting atop a higher hill than the rest of the city.
Three soldiers stand guard at the entrance of Edoras, receiving the brunt of the coldness of the night but executing their jobs dutifully. One guard sits at the taller tower, in charge of letting whoever enter through with a signal from the two guards below.
The dimming glow of the lantern sitting at either side of the arched entrance is the only source of light. They stand loyally against the brutality of the winds, eyes out and ears open for any hint of an attack or an intruder during the dead of night. The guard standing on the left side of the entrance was tall and high-spirited in spite of the breeze, brunette, chopped hair falling to his ears nicely and creating a handsome face. Another guard, one more strong and malice than the other, stands just as tall with a guarded spirit and a permanent scowl on his face.
"You ought to smile more," the left guard, named Edgar, would say happily.
"Be quiet, Edgar, and do you work!" the other guard, Grimmund, would reply with no care about his tone or his words, knowing fully well that the elated man would take no heed and remain undeterred. After all, they were friends for the longest time; it was only natural that they speak comfortably with one another. Edgar would only grumble in response to his friend's grumpiness but, as Grimmund expected, would never let himself falter under the harsh words uttered by the brunette. Grimmund had a knack for speaking his mind with no hesitation, which is what encouraged his foul words.
