For drinkupmehearties
Feb. 23rd, 2016 09:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shieldofrohanShe might have broken him out, crept down to the dungeons in the dead of night and taken the keys with her. Truthfully, she might have walked down in broad daylight, and had him released on virtue of her name and her connections to the throne, and she would not have been punished over-harshly, for both King and Steward owed her great esteem.
She did not. Could not. She has more honour, more sense of justice, than that. She does not, in fact, come to his cell again at all. Instead, Jack will find himself collected by two men (tall by the standards he is used to; the shorter of them is well over six foot) and ushered courteously and firmly from his cell, up through the layers of the building, to the throne room. For all the grandeur of the building, there is nothing fussy to it, none of the overwrought ornamentation or ostentation Jack might expect from a royal palace. The throne room is largely empty, and well-lit, with daylight streaming in through the open windows.
He may recognise the man who sits enthroned there, a circlet on his brow and a expression of deep thought on his face. Aragorn was, after all, once imprisoned with them in the Capitol. So was Arwen, who sits beside him, her hand on his, ethereally beautiful in the afternoon light. Standing near is Éowyn, gowned in green velvet with her hair spilling loose over her shoulders. And beside her...
Well, she did say she was married. He is tall (very tall, by the standards of Jack's world; six and a half feet or more) and simply-dressed, his long dark hair braided back and his hands clasped behind his back, his handsome face still and thoughtful. From how close he stands to Éowyn and from the uncomfortable way she glances between him and Jack, it's clear who he is to her. All the more clear when, as Jack approaches, she reaches back to take Faramir's hand and squeeze it tight, looking for reassurance.
Aragorn looks down at Jack, from where he sits on a great stone dais, and frowns. "The Lady Éowyn says you are known to her," he says at last, when the silence has stretched to fill the whole hall. "Is this so?"
She did not. Could not. She has more honour, more sense of justice, than that. She does not, in fact, come to his cell again at all. Instead, Jack will find himself collected by two men (tall by the standards he is used to; the shorter of them is well over six foot) and ushered courteously and firmly from his cell, up through the layers of the building, to the throne room. For all the grandeur of the building, there is nothing fussy to it, none of the overwrought ornamentation or ostentation Jack might expect from a royal palace. The throne room is largely empty, and well-lit, with daylight streaming in through the open windows.
He may recognise the man who sits enthroned there, a circlet on his brow and a expression of deep thought on his face. Aragorn was, after all, once imprisoned with them in the Capitol. So was Arwen, who sits beside him, her hand on his, ethereally beautiful in the afternoon light. Standing near is Éowyn, gowned in green velvet with her hair spilling loose over her shoulders. And beside her...
Well, she did say she was married. He is tall (very tall, by the standards of Jack's world; six and a half feet or more) and simply-dressed, his long dark hair braided back and his hands clasped behind his back, his handsome face still and thoughtful. From how close he stands to Éowyn and from the uncomfortable way she glances between him and Jack, it's clear who he is to her. All the more clear when, as Jack approaches, she reaches back to take Faramir's hand and squeeze it tight, looking for reassurance.
Aragorn looks down at Jack, from where he sits on a great stone dais, and frowns. "The Lady Éowyn says you are known to her," he says at last, when the silence has stretched to fill the whole hall. "Is this so?"
