Eomer & Stormcrow's Warning
Dec. 19th, 2009 12:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
written_leavesMy liege fades under his counselor's hand
Like an old parchment slowly losing its words
Not to the brightness of sunlight
But to the spores and small creeping things
That favor the night.
Another set of two for Rohan - Eomer's despairing attempt at bringing a response from Theoden to deal with the death reaching in over their borders in Meduseld, and with it a sketch of how Gandalf is perceived by the Rohan people and court as a bearer of ill news, as he tries to warn them of the coming war.
Eomer
Meduseld.
The Golden Hall stands in the afternoon sun
Agleam with the bronze light.
Warmed thatch, scented of rich grasses and grains,
Leather and wood towers over me,
Blocking out the sky.
Below, the late winter fields wave, feather-ripple in the wind.
Bright equine eyes, long-lashed as any lover,
And more faithful, follow my steps.
A golden cage, a lush death bed
Scented with herbs and hay.
My liege fades under his counselor's hand
Like an old parchment slowly losing its words
Not to the brightness of sunlight
But to the spores and small creeping things
That favor the night.
Waves of skirmishes break over us with foam and blood.
My men lose their lives guarding the borders, yet
The enemy is among us at our very table,
A little bolder with every passing twilight,
Drawing the curtains against the dawn.
The golden home of my childhood
Slips deeper into slate-blue shadow.
I will meet him in that shadowed hall, and I will say
Look at me! Look me in the eye and tell me
You are a traitor, a murderer, a spy.
Look me in the eye and tell me plainly
You seek to secure only our death.
Speak aloud that you covet her,
That your allegiance is to another.
No more courtly games of words.
Meet my eye!
The horse-crests curve against the sky.
The tapestry of Eorl...
Where is the snake in that design?
If I find it I will trample it with my hoofs.
Under the pride of Eorl will I crush you...
The steps are strewn with old rushes.
The sun's heat lingers, bringing a sour smell,
Odors of neglect.
The orc-helm in my hand
Adds weight to the familiar climb.
The weight of the dead, memories of the faces of the slain,
Fill and overflow it like a cup.
I will pour it out before him -
How can he deny then?
Surely my liege will have to act
Then.
-
Stormcrow's Warning
On the dark wings of war he sweeps over the land,
Like a bit of cloth torn and tossed in the wind;
Grey as the gathering stormclouds of winter.
Stormcrow they call him, but with curled lip,
Giving no honor to his name in this place,
Seeing only the bearer of unwelcome ill-news.
They know not the cost of the paths he did choose.
He has traveled so far, in haste and grave danger
Seeking to aid them, to warn them in time.
Yet they hear only a pestilent doom-saying;
"Bad fortune follows where Stormcrow flies,
And battle nips close at those boot-clad heels,
A foul omen of war, this carrion-kind."
They push away the only help they will find.
Like wings, his grey cloak does sweep out behind;
Though weary, he urgently rides through the plains.
Beneath him his horse moves like one from a dream,
A song in white flowing over windswept green grasses,
He covers the leagues before enemy's legions,
No slackening of stride through valley nor ford
Til he paces persistently up to their doors.
Men shy away grumbling, defiant in their dread:
"Turn him away! Permit not his entrance;
Send the wanderer back to the fields alone.
We shun his dire words, like a fox among hens
His warning will prey on the peace of our people.
Send him out - for the storm is his chosen home."
But he would not yield, nor would he roam.
"A cursed jinx is he, bad fortune trails as his cloak,
Always his appearance means ill times approach.
Keep the Crow shut out, let this storm pass us by,
We want no part, let it follow him where it will,
Turn him away! All our gates are well-barred."
Guarded their greetings, all eyes hard and chill.
But strong indeed is his purpose and will.
Yes, where Stormcrow flies, war comes close behind.
And grievous the carrion birds surely to follow.
"If we can shut out this messenger of war,
Perhaps this homes will be spared this sorrow."
They turn their backs, deafen their ears in denial;
They try not to heed Stormcrow, Gandalf Greyhame -
But heed him or not, it will come just the same.
-
Like an old parchment slowly losing its words
Not to the brightness of sunlight
But to the spores and small creeping things
That favor the night.
Another set of two for Rohan - Eomer's despairing attempt at bringing a response from Theoden to deal with the death reaching in over their borders in Meduseld, and with it a sketch of how Gandalf is perceived by the Rohan people and court as a bearer of ill news, as he tries to warn them of the coming war.
Eomer
Meduseld.
The Golden Hall stands in the afternoon sun
Agleam with the bronze light.
Warmed thatch, scented of rich grasses and grains,
Leather and wood towers over me,
Blocking out the sky.
Below, the late winter fields wave, feather-ripple in the wind.
Bright equine eyes, long-lashed as any lover,
And more faithful, follow my steps.
A golden cage, a lush death bed
Scented with herbs and hay.
My liege fades under his counselor's hand
Like an old parchment slowly losing its words
Not to the brightness of sunlight
But to the spores and small creeping things
That favor the night.
Waves of skirmishes break over us with foam and blood.
My men lose their lives guarding the borders, yet
The enemy is among us at our very table,
A little bolder with every passing twilight,
Drawing the curtains against the dawn.
The golden home of my childhood
Slips deeper into slate-blue shadow.
I will meet him in that shadowed hall, and I will say
Look at me! Look me in the eye and tell me
You are a traitor, a murderer, a spy.
Look me in the eye and tell me plainly
You seek to secure only our death.
Speak aloud that you covet her,
That your allegiance is to another.
No more courtly games of words.
Meet my eye!
The horse-crests curve against the sky.
The tapestry of Eorl...
Where is the snake in that design?
If I find it I will trample it with my hoofs.
Under the pride of Eorl will I crush you...
The steps are strewn with old rushes.
The sun's heat lingers, bringing a sour smell,
Odors of neglect.
The orc-helm in my hand
Adds weight to the familiar climb.
The weight of the dead, memories of the faces of the slain,
Fill and overflow it like a cup.
I will pour it out before him -
How can he deny then?
Surely my liege will have to act
Then.
-
Stormcrow's Warning
On the dark wings of war he sweeps over the land,
Like a bit of cloth torn and tossed in the wind;
Grey as the gathering stormclouds of winter.
Stormcrow they call him, but with curled lip,
Giving no honor to his name in this place,
Seeing only the bearer of unwelcome ill-news.
They know not the cost of the paths he did choose.
He has traveled so far, in haste and grave danger
Seeking to aid them, to warn them in time.
Yet they hear only a pestilent doom-saying;
"Bad fortune follows where Stormcrow flies,
And battle nips close at those boot-clad heels,
A foul omen of war, this carrion-kind."
They push away the only help they will find.
Like wings, his grey cloak does sweep out behind;
Though weary, he urgently rides through the plains.
Beneath him his horse moves like one from a dream,
A song in white flowing over windswept green grasses,
He covers the leagues before enemy's legions,
No slackening of stride through valley nor ford
Til he paces persistently up to their doors.
Men shy away grumbling, defiant in their dread:
"Turn him away! Permit not his entrance;
Send the wanderer back to the fields alone.
We shun his dire words, like a fox among hens
His warning will prey on the peace of our people.
Send him out - for the storm is his chosen home."
But he would not yield, nor would he roam.
"A cursed jinx is he, bad fortune trails as his cloak,
Always his appearance means ill times approach.
Keep the Crow shut out, let this storm pass us by,
We want no part, let it follow him where it will,
Turn him away! All our gates are well-barred."
Guarded their greetings, all eyes hard and chill.
But strong indeed is his purpose and will.
Yes, where Stormcrow flies, war comes close behind.
And grievous the carrion birds surely to follow.
"If we can shut out this messenger of war,
Perhaps this homes will be spared this sorrow."
They turn their backs, deafen their ears in denial;
They try not to heed Stormcrow, Gandalf Greyhame -
But heed him or not, it will come just the same.
-