| Subject: Shock |
Author:
Arwen
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Date Posted: 18:46:48 04/09/02 Tue
The carriage in front of her carried a man. She could not make out his face through the smears on the glass. About to open the door, Arwen stept upon a large wheel, to aid her grasp of the handle. As she did so, the horses, who presumably had been there for some thing, became aware of the change in weight. They bolted, dragging the cart and its passenger with them. The wheels turned at immense speed, and with no warning she fell. As her back hit the cobbles she caught a glimpst of the man inside. A mass of black covered his face- a beard and moustache. Tiny beetle eyes were nestled amoungst these tangles. Unless the impact of the floor had affected her memory, she had never seen the man before.
Arwen lay on the coldness of the stones for only a split second before lifting herself, and hobbling, bent double, into the shadows down a footpath that led from the main courtyard. As much as Aragorns attack had shaken her, she felt no fear being alone in darkness. As a child (and until the age of 700) she had never feared death, for the idea was too alien for an immortal. Now, mortal, she still was not afraid. This could, however, have been helped by her pearl topped knife. She wore it always, hidden in a secret pocket inside each of her underskirts.
Now alone, she reached for it, and tried to make her way back to the palace without being seen, or beaten home by her husband. Wherever he was.
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