Lond Côl - House Dimaethor: A fortnight of games and festivities

[Lantaelen]

Dimaethor Family Estate
Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

The Golden Harbour had long been a focal point and place of trade in the fiefs of Dol Amroth. Together, the two resident noble families, the traditionalist Dimaethors and the affluent Azrubêls guarded the approaches of a mighty river, that flowed from the White Mountains in the north down into the bay of Belfalas, permitting seaborne trade between the hinterlands of Gondor, the coastlands of Belfalas, and all the lands south and west that could be traversed by ship in those days. While both families possessed their own estates and local villages, together they shared maintenance and manning of a great river fortress, with towers and keeps constructed upon both sides, operating a sea-chain that could be raised during times of war to cut off potential seaborne invaders and corsairs from sailing northwards into the heartlands of Gondor.

During the War of the Ring, a small Corsair fleet had attempted to make the passage, in hopes of aiding in cutting off needed reinforcements from the main thrust against Minas Tirith. Indeed, many warriors of both Houses had gone thither, to the White City, and only a skeleton force remained behind. They were successful, with some loss, in preventing this corsair detachment from reaching the more vulnerable heartlands to the north. However, in attempting to take the river fort, the Corsairs engaged in much pillaging and raiding of the local countryside.

Now, years later, much of that hurt had been healed. New crops were sown, homes were rebuilt and refurnished, and the possibility of another such assault seemed a distant thing, with the return of the King and the renewal of Gondorian spirit. Indeed, it was with a great measure of relief and anticipation that the decision by House Dimaethor to host a celebratory joust was received by the local populace. Visitors and competitors would come from afar, rejuvenating the local economy with their coin and wares, while further establishing new links of alliance, deals, and friendship between the Houses of the Golden Harbour and all their fellow neighbours of the Kingdom.

A short distance from the family manse, a great space had been cleared, and in the weeks prior, many labourers had erected a complex of structures for the coming event. A jousting arena, with a long fence, where the competitors would tilt and strike at one another. All around, benches in elevated tiers surrounded the field of contest, where viewers both noble and commoner alike could be seated, though in the very center a special booth was crafted for the seating of the host family and their guests of honor. To the rear, tents and clearings for smiths, carpenters, and all manner of whatever support services a knight or competitor might need. To the fore, pavilions and stalls for merchants to ply their wares of food and drink. All around, clearing for visitors to pitch tent and hovel, if billet could not be found upon homesteads of either families of the Golden Harbour.

Normally passage across the river was conducted by ferry or small boat, but comprehending the level of traffic that would be descending upon their home, the Dimaethors had maneuvered their great warship, the Bregolalph, into the river, which served as the center point for a pontoon bridge, allowing pedestrian traffic whether on foot or by horse to easily cross over the river, in sight of the ancient river fort. The local ferrymen were not happy at the loss of toll and fee for their usual services.

Thus, Lord Zâinabên had promised a fortnight of games and festivities. Food and drink, jousting, archery contests, swimming races, foot races, promises of horses displayed from Rohan and exotic fruits from Umbar and the south, long since shut off to Gondorians. All would be welcomed. Qualifying jousts would be held in the first week, to determine the bracket of final competitors who would compete for the position of champion, until such times when the next great joust would be held.

Berio i refn-en-alph len! May the wings of the Swan bless and protect you!

The arrow (the hunting ground) points north

[Arnyn]

|
Macardil Himhathol | Silivren Himhathol
and @Karis Ziranphel
Travelling to the Dimaethor Family Estate in Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

The invitation had been relayed to Macardil by Amarthon Himhathol, his cousin and the warden of the Himhathol estate in Macardil's absence.

Surely the invitation had been meant for Amarthon himself, but Macardil's cousin was nothing if not a dutiful man. The two cousins had become an excellent tandem over the years; Amarthon was glad for his elevated position managing the estate in Macardil's absence, and Macardil was glad his cousin's efforts and skill granted him the possibility of absence in the first place. As such the larger estate had hardly felt the consequences of Macardil's months of incarceration - other than the inevitable scandal it produced for Amarthon and the rest of his family still living there.

If it had not been for Abrazimir Dimaethor's presence at the Poros mission, perhaps the nobility of Dol Amroth and Belfalas would have been none the wiser. Perhaps Macardil would have been released before they had even heard of his crime and following imprisonment. The fact that Abrazimir had been a friend, before, did not make it easier to read Amarthon's reports.

The former ranger glanced at his mother, standing a ways off by herself, her hands lightly holding the railing of the ship they had bought passage on. Silivren had even less of an idea what she was returning to now than he did. Her usual friends might not give her the light of day. Not until a good few things had been cleared up. And even then, you never really knew what would happen. Would the nobles agree to let go and accept them socially? Or would the old adage of 'where there is smoke, there is a fire' be applied to both Macardil and Silivren and were to be they be forever eschewed by the other families of the peninsula?

If there was one thing he had going for them, however, was that the nobility was nearly addicted to scandal. And Macardil did somehow manage to bring home one juicy story after another, which their bloodhound noses found very difficult to resist. They might choose to accept the King's pardon merely because he was such an excellent fountain of gossip.

Looking out at the vast expanse of the sea - they were drawing close to Lond Côl - Macardil closed his hand around his betrothed's. A wry smile appeared on his face. "I know you keep saying you will not change your mind," he mused. "And I am also well aware that delaying our wedding in favour of going to this event is not what you would have chosen to do yourself." He fell silent for a moment, his blue eyes still on the water on the sky above it. "And, myself, I would greatly have enjoyed calling you my wife the first time we would present ourselves to this particular... crowd. Yet perhaps it is better this way." He looked at her face then, his smile softening at the sight. "You are about to enter a different world, Ziran. Best you get a taste of it before sealing your fate by taking my hand in marriage."

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
With Macardil Himhathol and Silivren Himhathol
@Arnyn
Travelling to the Dimaethor Family Estate in Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

When the invitation had arrived for the Celebratory Joust, Ziranphel had initially been rather reluctant to change the plans they had made for these weeks, but she swiftly saw how important it was to Macardil to be present. A chance to make an appearance, not only to show that he was alive and well and still capable of representing the Himhathol family as his father’s rightful heir, but also to clear his name and introduce her to the other noble “society” present. Each of these was important, and if going to one such event could work toward those goals, she was willing to delay the month or more that it would take for their travels and the planned celebrations.

Now as they traveled, Ziran had begun to actually anticipate the experience. Despite never being impressed by her encounters with most nobility besides the sons of Denethor and the King, she did remember that Prince Imrahil had always been an honorable liege lord and a worthy commander. As an outsider, this would indeed be a different world. Macardil’s extended family was still very much involved in the society, even if he wasn’t, and she admitted to herself that she was curious. He had pointed out the distant tall hills and coastline as they passed the region where his estates lay, and she anticipated visiting there after their trip to Lond Côl, as she remembered him mentioning his fond memories of childhood there while his father yet lived.

She had taken ship to Dol Amroth before, first as a young Ranger, and later as an officer in the Army, both in travels to her home in Pinnath Gelin, and fulfilling orders from command, but she had never had much to do with the court except in passing. It felt different to be approaching their destination knowing that as Macardil’s betrothed she would have some form of status and likely societal expectation. Silivren had tried to prepare her a little during their conversations, but Ziran was rather different to the ladies of court, and would approach it like any other challenge. She narrowed her dark brown eyes slightly against the brightness of the sun and the salty breeze, but a smile touched her lips as Macardil took her hand and spoke. She curled her fingers around his securely, and looked up at him with his windblown hair for a moment before replying. “I look forward to it because it is a part of the whole that makes up your world, although I think I will enjoy the visit to your home more. I will still choose you either way, but the rest of this society I could take or leave.” She grinned slightly. “Still, I will make an effort for your sake.”

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Eglathor family with their guest, Iûldir Dringolben
Arriving at Lond Col

The news of the jousting event for Cormarë had spread like a wild fire among the residents of Dol Amroth, and so it was no surprise that the road was filled with travelers. The bay also saw an increase in boat traffic, all heading toward the river fort. Brenior had expressed some concern about his son traveling with them, but Caeleb insisted. (insisted was a nicer way of putting 'almost a tantrum') The lad refused to miss such an exciting event, no matter how much his mother or father said it would be best for him to keep quiet and rest. To his parents' even greater distress, he then insisted on not only bringing his friend, but allowing the blacksmith's son to travel with them. As an equal. Neither Brenior or Aurien could quite make sense of it, but neither could they dispute it, seeing as the boys' friendship had indeed helped Caeleb significantly. And he seemed on the verge of another tantrum until they conceded. It was Caeleb's older cousin, Dina, who pointed out how much improved Caeleb's health had been since meeting Iuldir, and convinced them to give in to the boy's wishes. His sister was not pleased at all.

And so, the group arrived by carriage, and were rather impressed to see the large war ship positioned to form a bridge across the river. The boys excitedly chatted about this and other sights as they slowly crossed over the expanse of water, and eventually came to stop on the opposite shore. There were many nobles and landowners and middle class and other folk who had already arrived ahead of them, which came as little surprise. Brenior had insisted the carriage travel slower than average, fearing a repeat of the accident that had left his son a cripple. Still, they would not be the last to arrive, and would have plenty of time to enjoy all of the festivities.

After the groomsmen had assisted the ladies down from the carriage, a servant took down the special chair that Iuldir and his relation had made for Caeleb, and the boy was carefully placed into the chair with wheels. His mother spent a while fussing about whether he was comfortable enough, and ensuring he had blankets tucked in around his legs until Aurien was satisfied that her son would be comfortable enough for the remainder of the day. Iuldir, having never been to anything of this sort before, looked around with great curiosity while he waited to find out what would happen next, while the girls stood a little apart. Dina listened to Meressel's eager gossip, but her attention was more focused on looking around with intrigue at all of the exciting sights around them.

[Rillewen]

Talven family, of Túrion Dornea
Arriving by boat at Lond Col

The trip from their home, Túrion Dornea, to Lond Col, was made with such regularity(at least four times a year) to visit the Dimaethor family, that the scenery was all mostly familiar to Dulinneth, yet it was beautiful and exciting, just the same. Traveling by boat, it hardly took any time at all to get there. All they had to do was let the boat follow the Ringlo's course until it reached the end, where Lond Col sat guarding the mouth of the river, preventing enemies from reaching their own estate upriver a ways. There had still been plenty of danger during the war, of course, as not all enemies traveled by water, and the forest had been vulnerable to various kinds of attacks, especially fire. Dulinneth remembered her father marching off to join the Prince in that battle in Minas Tirith, while her brothers(two of them anyway) fought to defend the borders of their land. Fighting to protect the precious resource of forestland, their main livelihood. The girl had been terrified that none of them would return home. Thankfully, there was less to worry about in that regard now, as days of peace abounded. Happier times were ahead, and dark times fading into the past. They all looked forward to the joyful future. Such as the event the family was traveling to this very moment. Two weeks ahead of them with exciting competitions and other such entertainment to enjoy!

Dulinneth was very excited, and stood gazing eagerly ahead as they drew nearer to their destination, enjoying the view of the glittering waters of the Ringlo, her wavy brown hair blown gently by the breeze. It had been some time since there had been a jousting tournament, and the twelve-year-old could hardly wait. Her only sorrow in this was that her favorite brother couldn't have come, too. She smiled though, thinking of the letter she had received not long ago. That was her secret. She had been overjoyed to receive word at last that Anurion was safe, and that knowledge was of great comfort to her. Yet he had once again impressed upon her, in his letter, not to share this news with anyone. That was the hard part.

Despite her declining health, Duvaineth had declared she would not miss a chance to visit with her old friend from her youth, Orelnith, and had eagerly looked forward to this occasion. Traveling by boat, it hadn't been taxing at all for her, since she could relax and enjoy the smooth voyage down the river, reclining comfortably in the luxurious cabin of the riverboat. It was much different than how things would have gone had they taken a carriage. Torthon and Toggornir often made the trip downriver for various business matters, but Dulinneth was rarely included in such things, so this was a treat for her. Upon arriving, the entire household disembarked from the riverboat and greeted the hosts of the Jousting Tournament with all due formalities, though it wouldn't be long before the ladies would branch off to chat and discuss all of the latest gossip and tales, leaving the menfolk to discuss other matters.

[Arnyn]

|
Macardil Himhathol | Silivren Himhathol
and @Karis Ziranphel
Travelling to the Dimaethor Family Estate in Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

He smiled faintly at her words, though the curve on his lips grew more pronounced when he looked her in the eyes. "I am very grateful,' he said with a courteous bow of his head. "Although, perhaps you would also consider making an effort for yourself? It would make the days considerably more enjoyable for you in case you could establish a friendship with at least one of the ladies. There are more moments than I care for where the women find themselves somehow removed from the men. My mother has promised to help where she can, but there will be times she may want to speak to those of her own generation. A friend more your own age woud help immensely at navigating the waters." His smile faded somewhat. There might be a few present who would not appreciate her... taking him off the market. And there would be those who would blame her, rather than him, for once again not marrying among 'his own'.

At least, he would still take the brunt of the thinly veiled attempts to point that out to him. And he had never cared much for what the other nobles might say to him, or of him. He did care, however, of what they might say to or of Ziranphel. They had better not offend her.

He turned in a way that would block his mother's sight. Silivren took the hint and walked along the railing in the opposite direction.

Macardil gently pulled his betrothed into an embrace and dipped down his head to kiss her. Then he whispered by her ear. "I should reiterate that the rules and expectations here are... rather peculiar. Luckily we have never been prone to public displays of affection." He pulled back from her arms and guided her to walk with him in the other direction, to the side of the ship that was facing the land instead of the sea. "Even married couples limit the ways they show their affection to each other. How we are walking now, without another's presence now my mother is out of sight... this would not even be acceptable for a betrothed couple." He sighed.

"But I give you my word that there will also be positive things about this trip of ours. Things to appreciate and to enjoy. Amarthon will have sent ahead all manner of things to Lond Côl, such as tents and furnishings." He hesitated before continuing, not finding the next topic a comfortable one to discuss, which is why he hadn't brought up it before. "Amarthon will also have sent servants. They will have set up the tent well before we even arrive. A squire, to assist at the joust and look after my mare. A lady's maid, given your presence. A footman." Each, again, with their own tents - although their own would be much smaller and decidedly less luxurious.

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
With Macardil Himhathol and Silivren Himhathol @Arnyn
Travelling to the Dimaethor Family Estate in Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

“Hmm.” Ziran nodded with a faint smile at Macardil’s points about trying to form friendships for her own sake, as well as being alert to less favorable opinions. Now that she could well see as being an issue for some. She wasn’t sure she cared about their opinions, but she was open to making friends if there were any sensible creatures among them. She didn’t reply right away though, as he bent to kiss her after shifting to block his mother’s sight and taking her in his arms.

She listened to his words as they strolled across the ship to the starboard rail and away from his mother’s presence. It was something that she was aware of in portions of society, particularly those of the nobility who felt they had to protect their daughters’ virtues. As an officer she had had to navigate the strange waters of being a woman with power in a traditionally man’s role, but knew she faced very different challenges here. It was indeed good that they were both accustomed to outward reserve.
“I’ll keep my eye open for treacherous shoals and good guides alike, and am thankful for your mother’s presence.” Whether she was thankful or not for a lady’s maid or not remained to be seen. It would take getting used to, although it also made sense if they were expected to be correct in all ways. It could be a lot of work to do one’s own clothing and laundry and camp work in addition to armor care and such. Servants could also help or hinder depending on their opinion of the one they served, although Ziran thought it likely that she would be able to trust any that were recommended by his cousin. She would have preferred to act as his squire herself, but knew that would most likely be frowned upon.

From Macardil’s hesitancy, Ziran guessed at where he might be leading with his speech, and raised a questioning brow at him even as her eyes sparked with humor. “It sounds like quite the entourage, but befitting your household status. And will this tent be a large family pavilion containing room partitions within, or shall we each have our own separate pavilions?” His cousin knew of their engagement, but she wasn’t sure what type of arrangements might have been made, especially given that societal expectations were so limiting as to not allow for a betrothed couple to walk unescorted. It seemed likelier to her that the second arrangement is the one that he would have made, even if she would prefer the first.

[Arnyn]

|
Macardil Himhathol | Silivren Himhathol
and @Karis Ziranphel
Travelling to the Dimaethor Family Estate in Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

Her question made him look at her, to catch the humor in those dark eyes and the lifted eyebrow. He narrowed his eyes at her, clearly suspicious of why she was amused. His discomfort had been more about the idea of a throng of servants than the question she now posed to him; as he had never found it easy to have everything taken out of his hands. Certainly - it was easy not to have to do each and every thing yourself. But he had never really felt comfortable with what everyone else had found so logical and habitual. The move to Minas Tirith had been a relief as well as an eye-opener.

Karis' mind was clearly on other matters. "Karis Ziranphel," he said in a feigned chiding tone of voice. "Have I not always been thoughtful of your honor? It would be far too much to ask of the families to trust either of us still had a shred of it, should we share a tent." He paused for but a moment. "You will have your partitions, but they will be in a tent of your own." Unfortunately.

Holding back a sigh, he looked back at the woman holding his arm. Seeing her face made him smile. "I am glad you are with me, Ziran. Thank you for agreeing to come." He might have some rough waters to navigate, himself. He looked back out at the coastline. "It's about time I go below. First to check on Night-shade, and to make sure she is ready to disembark and everything is gathered. Then to change." His blue eyes momentarily held a look she would not have seen too often. One of buried anxiety, only discernable by the keenest gaze. "House colours, and all that," he almost whispered. He took Ziranphel's hand and bowed to touch the back of her hand to his forehead. Then he let go of her and left the deck.

Silivren must have been watching them, or either possess incredible natural timing, for it only took a moment for her to appear at Ziran's side. "More likely than not, the Lord and Lady Dimaethor will not be present at our arrival at the harbour; they will have guests arriving by the water as well as the road over the span of a few days. They cannot be everywhere at once. Yet there is a slight possibility one of our hosts might make an appearance. At the very least, footmen will be there to bid us welcome and help move what we brought over to our designated spot of the field." The older woman's gaze travelled towards the spot where she knew the harbour would soon become visible. "And other arrivals will doubtlessly notice who we are and exactly how we arrive. Although I suspect he did not ask anything of you, Macardil knows this very well. While he may choose not to ask and accept the consequences of that decision, and yours, I would ask you to join me below, so we can prepare for arrival." Her tone was not at all demanding, but neither was it imploring. It was no more and no less than the words she spoke - a factual statement, if anything, followed by a question. She turned her blue eyes to her future daughter-by-marriage with a whisp of a smile on her face. "I am sure we can find something we are both comfortable with, Karis."

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
With Macardil Himhathol and Silivren Himhathol @Arnyn
Travelling to the Dimaethor Family Estate in Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

His response merely made her grin and laugh quietly at his tone of feigned chiding, and she placed her other hand on his arm. He had indeed always been most careful of her honor, above and beyond his own. She might tease him now, but it was her turn to be careful for his honor here in his homeland and among his peers in the realm. He who was so uncomfortable with the idea of being a Lord with servants, still had the grace of the best of them.

The barely discernible hint of anxiety in his eyes as he spoke of preparing had her taking a breath and brushing her fingers over his shoulder in a gesture of reassurance and acknowledgement as he brought her hand to his forehead. She didn’t lose her smile, but her voice was soft with affection as she whispered back. “Greet Nightshade from me and I’ll see you soon.” Her gaze followed him instead of the approaching coastline as he walked away, and yet it didn’t startle her when Silivren appeared by her side. Ziran listened to her quietly and then returned her smile in wry acknowledgement that her current clothing of comfortable shirt and trousers that she had worn for the voyage were not quite what she should be wearing for their arrival. “I am happy to join you, Silivren.” To say she was eager to change into fancier attire was not strictly true, but she was interested in not detracting from his reintroduction to their hosts.

They returned to their cabin to change and finish packing the last of the items that had been pulled out during the voyage. Ziranphel was grateful for Silivren’s knowledge and advice, as her mother-in-law-to-be had done her best to prepare her for expectations to come, as well as helping outfit her for their travels. Armor and travel clothes she had already had in abundance, but Ziran had never had many fancy or formal outfits beyond what was required for uniform or the occasional formal ball…where she often went in a variation of her uniform anyway. Her packs did contain some attire fit for the archery range and riding, but Silivren had accompanied her to the dressmakers of Minas Tirith to have a few gowns, chemises, long tunics, and split-skirted riding outfits made to her measure. Macardil’s cousin would be bringing yet more formal attire, but there was already sufficient selection of things that Ziran could stand to wear. A slight smile lit her face as she remembered the headache of the first trip to the stylist, but also how much the two women had learned about one another once they figured out what colors and styles would suit and still be acceptable. It was too warm for the heavier weight fabrics that would come out on rainy days or cool nights. Trousers and linen shirt were exchanged for a long white chemise that fell to the toes of her boots and tied at her wrists. Over it went a long tunic of black, trimmed and edged in blue and silver, and embroidered over the shoulders and sleeves. It was belted with silver and blue, and she hung her dagger at her side. She might be dressed as a lady, and wouldn’t bear her sword this time in the greetings, but she was a warrior and would not be entirely without arms. Her embroidered and hooded black dress-cloak she clasped over top before she turned to join Silivren with last minute preparations. Those completed, they returned top-side at the call to prepare. The harbor was near.

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen

The Lord Zâinabên and Lady Orelnith of House Dimaethor
Receiving guests, Dimaethor family estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

The ports and wharfs of Lond Côl were bustling with activity, as ships both great and small docked to unload their cargo of material or people. Some guests arrived by foot or horse, some by carriage, others by ship, but all roads congregated a short distance up the shoreline before the stone archway that had once been the great gatehouse to the expanded Dimaethor estate, that once encompassed dozens of households. Up from the coast southwards, or from the north or east from across the water, the roads met to pass under the archway, and there stood the host and master of these lands, Lord Zâinabên, in heraldry upon gleaming mail, flanked by many of his courtiers and household guards and servants. There, along with Lady Orelnith, he personally received guests both high born and low, to showcase the generosity and majesty of his House. All were welcome, none without exception.

Just behind him, the road led into the old grounds of the estate and accompany township, with the tournament grounds beyond. Banners and tapestries of many colors hung from rooftops and balconies that adjourned the main street that led thither, though often behind this front row of homes were the ruins and dismantled foundations of many homes that were deserted or abandoned as the fortunes of Lond Côl shifted across the water in preceding centuries. Some might become a den for mischief or criminality, as the usual guardsmen of the estate had their priorities elsewhere. Hopefully, the many booths and stalls set up by various merchants both here and outside the tournament grounds just north of the estate would keep the crowds drawn and from wandering off where they weren’t permitted. Or were they couldn’t be protected or watched.

Around the estate, all manners of tents and pavilions for the lodgings of the guests had been erected, with the most desirous pickings being the shoreline just above the sand and water, where mornings would be met with a broad expanse of the sea and a swift sun rising above it. But there were other fair areas to camp as well, on both sides of the river, by it or the shore, or deep inland upon the fields (except where the local farmers had their tracts of cultivated land) or by the forest. And those lucky enough to know any of the locals would have board and lodge under thatched or stone rooftops. And a few privileged might even have lodge within the Dimaethor familial estate itself.

All manners of tradesmen and women were present. Smiths for the upkeep and maintenance of the competitors. Stable hands for the keeping and lodging of horses. Carpenters and fletchers, drink merchants and chefs, flutists and trumpeters, a few jesters, jugglers, dancers, heralds, loremasters, poets, and even a fire-breather. And of course, if you wish to ply your trade, don’t forget to pay the Dimaethor organizers their cut for permitting use of their venue for one’s services.

”House Eglathor!” A herald indicated, when that particular clan arrived and dismounted from their carriage. Lord Zâinabên approached the family, the sixty-some year old Lord offering up a polite smile to the guests. ”Greetings and good welcome. I trust your journey was pleasant?” He addressed the Eglathor patriarch, Brenior, offering up his hand to clasp and shake. ”Lady Eglathor.” He greeted Aurien next, before giving the children a sweeping glance. ”And which one of these fine knights shall be taking the championship home this summer?” He teased them, Caeleb included. Poor lad was confined to a chair, though it was a remarkable device with wheels that still permitted movement.

”Anything you require, please do not hesitate to speak with me or my people.” He gestured to his various servants or guards, who in their groomed uniforms smiled and bowed. They were all rather young men and women themselves, many of the older veterans of House Dimaethor having fell in the War. But that was the nature of things.

Next came the Talven family and Lady Orelnith signaled to some servants set aside just for this greeting, who came forward bearing a silver platter with the best cups available. For the Lady and one of her most dearest friends. A drink! To celebrate Lady Talven’s arrival. Formerly Lady Taurhebor, the two were great friends and on a first name basis. ”Mellon nin!” Orelnith greeted Duvaineth with a close embrace. So very close, they had sought to join their Houses with a marriage pact, between Duvaineth’s eldest son and Orelnith’s youngest daughter. She had even fought tooth and nail with her own husband to make it so, as no doubt Azraindil could have fetched a better match, but Orelnith did not care about that.

”Welcome, welcome.” And gestured for the drinks, a toast to their reunion and many days of enjoyment to come. ”Was your journey eventful? How I’ve missed you. It has been many years since the War and yet the bustle and craziness never seems to end.” Orelnith said, drinking to her friend’s health, which had been poor since her eldest passed. ”How are you feeling?” She inquired in a softer tone. ”We shall find shade and rest later to talk, you and I. About everything.” Orelnith promised.

Zâinabên approached after seeing the Eglathor’s off and greeted Lord Torthon Talven, Lord being a…stretch, of the title. But the greeting was courteous all the same, a shake of the hands and a solemn nod. Toggornir received just a nod. "Gentlemen, welcome." But the Taurhebor lad was, as always, nowhere in sight. Something he would be sure to comment on…thankfully later though. There was no wine for the men, unlike the two women.

”And how are you, little one?” Orelnith addressed little Lady Dúlinnith, not so young anymore, but growing into a fine young lady. ”Are you excited for the festivities?” She inquired of the younger woman.

”Speaking of which,” Zâinabên put in, eyeing the two Talven men, ”I am assuming you two will be competing to showcase the strength of your House? I do not recall seeing your names put forward for the joust.” He noted, glancing between the two.

[Arnyn]

@Lantaelen

|
Macardil Himhathol | Silivren Himhathol
and @Karis Ziranphel
Arriving at the Dimaethor Family Estate , Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

His black mare was well-looked after, in no small part by himself during the length of the voyage. While Night-shade did not particularly enjoy ships, she tolerated them well enough - with a quiet pride that had drawn him to her all those years ago, when he had been allowed to purchase a horse of his very own. She was a courser, light, fast and strong, rather than the heavier and slower destrier, and she had always served Macardil well. He readied her for disembarkment, putting on her blanket barding before the saddle and the reins.

Back in his cabin, which felt lonely after starting to share his home in Minas Tirith with Ziran, he freshened up and changed his clothes. While his clothes were as a rule impeccable, the peninsula of Belfalas still required a different sort of presentation. Especially considering he was the head of his House and would need to represent it accordingly.

Macardil's trousers and boots were black, the boots polished. His shirt was pewter grey and made of silk, the end of the wider sleeves tucked into short bracers of grey leather covered with shining metal, engraved with the axe that was the main sigil of his house. Over it went a short-sleeved and high-collared tunic in blue, trimmed with an edge of white and silver geometric patterns and belted at the waist, to which he attached his one-handed axe. Below the belt, the tunic was split at the sides. Silver pins held a finely made summer cloak on the front of each shoulder, its color just a darker shade of blue than his tunic.

He returned to Night-shade and waited beside her as the ship pulled into the Golden Harbour. He wished he could play his violin, but it was packed away, ready for arrival. He was thus left to other devices to calm the mind and pull more layers of confidence about him. His usual quiet confidence would not entirely cut it here. And after all the rumours - and truths - the other families would have heard, he would need all the confidence he could gather about him. Words and looks needed to roll off his back like water ran from steel.

Ziran and Silivren had disembarked before him, as Macardil had waited for a signal from one of the deck hands to bring his mare out. It was no surprise to find his mother clothed in blue and white, with some spare grey detailing. Ziran, on the other hand, drew his eyes for a longer time upon his approach. When Silivren gave her son a knowing smile from her position next to his betrothed, Macardil couldn't resist a quick smile at the two ladies. For even though Ziran had never needed such attire to be a lady, she now definitely looked the part to a stranger's eyes as well. This would help her reception. Despite the dagger at her side, which Macardil personally found a telling and justified addition.

When Macardil joined Silivren and Ziranphel, someone familiar made his way up to them, bowing low and barely managing to keep the happiness from his face. "My Lord Himhathol!" the younger man nearly exclaimed, recognizing Macardil instantly. "Lord Amarthon gave clear instruction for myself and the driver to meet you here today. We have been waiting for many hours," he rambled, before bowing equally low to Silivren and Ziranphel. "Lady Himhathol. And Lady Ziranphel, I presume?"

Macardil smiled softly and moved to clap the man on the back. "It is good to see you. You seem well! I would apologise for the wait, but ships and their captains do have a timing of their own. Ziran, meet Ruthor. He has been sent to squire for me at the joust."

Ruthor, a young man seeming in his early to mid twenties, immediately delved into a fountain of apologies. "No, no, my Lord, I did not mean to say you were late, nor that you should have arrived early! Merely that it... well..." He seemed to realize he would not soon think of a way out of his predicament, so he merely held out a hand toward a carriage not far away. "Please! We are ready to ride to the Dimaethor grounds. All the tents and pavilions have been prepared. Our timely arrival ensured us prime position with views of the shoreline, as we know you prefer when you are in Belfalas, my Lord."

Macardil nodded. "Excellent. Lady Silivren and Lady Ziranphel may ride the carriage. I will ride Dúath beside you," he said, touching his mare's neck as he spoke her name. "We have much to catch up on."

And so they would soon arrive at the stone archway over the road into the Dimaethor estate.

And whereas House Himhathol had verily replied in favour of House Dimaethor's invitation, the confirmation of their presence had come from Belfalas, not from Minas Tirith. Given this fact, and the persisting rumour of Macardil's incarceration in the White City, surely the Lord Zâinabên and Lady Orelnith had expected Lord Amarthon Himhathol to arrive and participate in the joust. Not Macardil.

Yet it was Macardil Himhathol, head of his house, who rode his mare to the archway. And given his arrival, dressed in Himhathol colors on his black mare with Himhathol heraldry, there was no doubt indeed who would be participating in the joust on the behalf on their name.

Ruthor helped Silivren and Ziran down from the carriage, on the edge of the road, a ways removed from where Lord Zâinabên and Lady Orelnith seemed to be conversing with other arrivals. The driver and his squire returned to sit at the bench of the carriage, while Macardil dismounted to only loosely hold the reins of his black mare. He waited for Silivren and Ziranphel to join him, and then slowly led them toward their hosts, stopping at a very respectable distance until they should decide it was time to greet their next guests.

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Eglathor family with their guest, Iûldir Dringolben
Lond Col

Brenior was slightly worried, this being the first real, and lengthy, outing for Caeleb since he'd gotten his chair. Still, he smiled as he shook hands with the host. "Lord Dimaethor, how good to see you." He greeted the host. "Indeed, a pleasant enough journey," The nobleman replied cheerily. That wasn't entirely true, as he'd had to endure many complaints and sulking from his teenaged daughter, along with hearing her 'opinion' about the boys, but there was no need to spread his misfortune with the other man. "My entire household thanks you for the invitation to attend this marvelous event." He added cordially. "My son, Darcaeleb, especially, has been looking forward to this ever since the first news of it reached his ears," He added with a small smile down at the boy, who had never once been able to attend a joust or any other such event.

"Lord Dimaethor," Aurien replied with a soft smile, before turning to greet Lady Dimaethor as well, with compliments about her dress, and other brief chitchat while the lord Dimaethor spoke to the younger members of the group.

The teasing question brought different reactions from the various children. The eldest, Dina, short for Dinalogassel, smiled shyly and merely dipped her head out of courtesy, but kept quiet, too shy to make any reply. Despite living with her uncle for seven years now, she still felt uncomfortable and out of place at these things, and often felt she didn't know the right things to say.

Meressel, about a year and a half younger than her cousin, barely contained a scoff at the notion of her crippled little brother being a 'knight' but, contain it she did, as she dipped into a perfect little curtsy and smiled. While her mother had been fussing about getting Caeleb all situated in his chair, the cripple's elder sister had been fussing about her dress, and ensuring her curls were perfectly arranged. A long carriage ride did tend to mess up one's hair, after all. "I shall certainly look forward to seeing who will claim the championship, Lord Dimaethor," The girl replied. Indeed, she was eager to see the knights compete and see which one would become the next champion.

"That will be Caeleb, sir." The unknown boy spoke up, answering the question with a grin toward Caeleb, who grinned back at him in amusement. Despite their both being thirteen, Caeleb was significantly smaller and thinner than his friend. Between the two of them, Iuldir certainly looked far more likely to be winning any competitions.

"Ah, allow me to introduce Iuldir Dringolben, a close friend of my son's," Brenior spoke up, slightly worried how the young man's reply might be taken, fearing their host might conclude it to be insolence, or at the least, impertinence.

"I am honored to meet you, my lord, and lady." Iuldir responded, bowing politely, and including Lady Dimaethor. The smith's son grinned wider, remembering being told once that his late father had once assisted in making armor for a Lord Dimaethor, and if he was correct, that looked like his family's work. "Your armor looks magnificent, my lord." He added, but didn't get much chance to continue.

Aurien, rather anxious about her fragile little boy, fearing all the excitement would be too great for him, felt that they ought to find someplace for him to rest as soon as might be accomplished. There were other guests arriving behind them, anyway, whom the lord and lady Dimaethor would surely want to give their attention to as well. "We thank you wholeheartedly for your generosity," Aurien replied graciously to the latter statement. "Perhaps we should move on to find our lodgings, and let our good hosts carry on with greeting their other guests," She suggested to her husband, prompting their group to move along. There would be plenty of chances for further conversation at a later time. And so as the Talven clan arrived, the Eglathors and guest moved along, so not to congest the entryway.

Talven family, of Túrion Dornea
Lond Col

"Mellon nin, Orelnith!" Duvaineth replied joyfully, as she returned the embrace with her dear friend. The drink was welcome after the heat of the sun, while traveling all this way. Not that it was overly long, but still, cool refreshments were always welcome on a hot day. "Indeed, it has been far too long," Lady Talven agreed, sighing softly, as she sipped from the glass. There was less to celebrate these days, but it was good not to mourn all of the time, regardless how much cause she had for it. It was not easy to lose one son, let alone two. A faint smile came at her friend's inquiry. "Oh, some days are better than others," She answered softly. "But I would not miss a chance to come and visit my dearest friend," She added with a smile. Her friend promised to soon find a chance to catch up better, in a more shaded, and restful location. "I greatly look forward to that," Duvaineth agreed.

At her side, Dulinneth tried her very best not to fidget. Dressed up in appropriate attire for the occasion, she remained quiet while her mother greeted Lady Dimaethor, while trying to catch a glimpse of the stable man unloading the horses from the boat. There was Ebony, her father's steed, but before she could see whether Rhovan was brought forth, Lady Dimaethor addressed her. Dulinneth swiftly returned her attention to the hostess, and curtsied properly, smiling. "Very much so, Ma'am," She wasn't so sure she liked being called 'little one' but, as the youngest of her family, she could hardly argue against the title. And she was indeed excited.. most of all for the horse race. "And I am also quite eager to see Gaerlothriel, will she be here?" She wondered, hoping to see her older friend, and hopefully-someday-sister-in-law. If Anurion would ever return...

Torthon returned the courteous greeting from Zâinabên with equal solemnity. For his wife's sake, Duvaineth being such close friends with Lady Dimaethor, he had always made his best attempts at being friendly with Lord Dimaethor, though it would be a stretch to say they were 'friends'. "Indeed, I am," Torthon replied to the man's assumption, frowning slightly to hear that his name was not on the list. "I cannot say why that would be," He added with a sidelong glance at his son, who had been left in charge of that little detail.

Toggornir shifted slightly, uncomfortably made aware he had messed up and neglected to manage his father's instructions properly, but his father covered for him. As usual.

"Surely, one of the couriers has made a mistake," Torthon sighed, as if woeful of lazy or incompetent messengers, but then shook his head and seemed to put such matters behind him. "But rest assured, I have every intention of entering the joust. Toggornir shall be my squire," He added, clapping a hand on his son's shoulder. Over by the river's edge, his steed, Ebony, had been unloaded from their boat by one of the stable hands. But another horse was also brought forth, and that caught Talven's eye. He glanced in that direction and wondered at this. Why was Anurion's horse here? The only one who rode that animal, anymore, was Dulinneth. Naturally, the man cast a quick glance toward his young daughter, but now was not the time for asking such questions. She wasn't looking his way, however, and didn't see the Look.

"Indeed, we are all looking forward to the all of the festivities you have planned," Duvaineth put in, with a faint smile at her daughter's eager reply. "But for now, we ought not to block the entry overlong," She added as a hint to the rest of her family, becoming aware of others approaching the archway behind them. And turning to look, Lady Talven paused at the sight of the most recent arrival. The heraldry looked familiar, but the one who rode at the head was not entirely so, at least not at first, because it was so unexpected. "Is that..?" Lady Talven wondered, softly, only for the ears of the few standing closest to her. "I thought he was arrested?" She continued in a still lower tone. The rumors had indeed circulated a great deal concerning the disgraceful actions, and subsequent arrest, of the man now approaching the archway.

[Rillewen]

Dravedir, Trevadir, and Tobedir Thôrmaetha
Crossing the War Ship "bridge", from the Azrubel side, approaching Dimaethor side
End of Summer (September?)

Trev stopped suddenly as an uneasy feeling washed over him. Both feet now on the deck of the great War ship bridging the channel, he frowned. The feeling was both familiar, and uncomfortable. He hadn't quite expected to find himself on board another ship, especially so soon. And especially not this one, which had so often fired flaming missiles at him. But there was nothing to fear, he reminded himself. Still, he suddenly felt a better appreciation for Nal's reluctance, and realized he understood his friend's hesitance to set foot on board any vessel, big or small, no matter who was in charge. It wasn't so much that he didn't trust Trev.. or at least that's what Trev hoped was the case. It was more about.. the memories of what things had happened to him on board another vessel. Trev now understood... he had some unpleasant memories of his own, but had to remind himself that there were no pirates here, and he would not be swept off on some 'adventure' he wanted no part of, and no one would be attacking him here. Hopefully.

"You alright?" The younger Thôrmaetha brother asked, glancing back at him with some concern. Their grandfather paused beside him, waiting for Trevadir to catch up to them.

Taking a deep breath, Trev strode forward, joining them on the ship's deck. "Yeah, I'm fine." Trevadir replied, reaching out to steady his brother as the ship bobbed slightly in the current; Toby wasn't used to that feeling, and stumbled slightly as the deck pitched slightly. Trev grinned at him. "You alright?"

"Fine," Tobedir grinned back. "Thanks."

Trev shrugged, and continued forward. There were many times, still, that he wasn't sure what to say to Toby, who was no longer the little kid he had left behind. Things were different than they had been. Some in a good way, others.. not so much. But he no longer felt the same resentful attitude toward the younger boy.. hardly a boy anymore, but he couldn't stop thinking of him as such.

"You two had best hurry, else we will miss the festivities." The eldest Thôrmaetha spoke up with a slightly teasing smile.

"We're coming," Toby assured him, hurrying to catch up. "Trev, what's that?" He asked a moment later, pointing over at some part of the ship as they passed.

Trev glanced where he pointed, taking a moment to figure out what he was referring to. "You mean the openings? That's where they would place trebuchet.. when sailing into battle." He explained, recalling the times that such a weapon had been used against Dev's ship, and had even come close to hitting him. "They'd load it with a shot and set it on fire.. but they probably removed the weaponry so no one would mess with them." He explained, imagining the sort of chaos that could cause if some mischievous kids (like him and his friends some years back) happened along and got curious.

"Ohhh, neat." Toby looked around curiously. "Was this like the ship you sailed on?"

"No.." Trev answered slowly, hesitating, with a side glance at his grandfather, knowing such talk was likely to upset him. He lowered his voice as he slowed his pace, so that Toby did likewise. "It was a lot smaller than this." He answered. "This is a war ship.. the one I sailed on was a swan ship, faster and more agile..and um," He lowered his voice further, leaning a bit closer to his brother, "stolen. So.. best not to talk about that, alright? We don't want to upset Grandfather, and I don't want any of these people overhearing us.. and besides, I'd rather not talk about ships and sailing myself... you know?"

"Oh, right. Sorry." Tobedir nodded slowly. They were aware of the situation surrounding his brother's absence, and where he had been, but not many others were and they had agreed to keep it that way.

There was not yet a lot of time that had passed since the two brothers were reunited; after Trevadir's return to the city, he had hung back for a while, hesitant and nervous about meeting with his brother, fearing what sort of reaction his reappearance might evoke. And yet, when he finally did 'rip off the bandage' so to speak, he was relieved to find that Tobedir was delighted that he had returned. The younger had promptly urged the older to join him in the soon-coming trip to their paternal grandparent's home, in the village near the Azrubel side of Lond Col. Though Trev was nervous, he did feel it somehow fitting that he should return and complete that visit which he never made, five years ago. So here they were, and while his grandparents had been shocked to find Trev joining his brother at last, they were also overjoyed at the prodigal's return. And they were just in time, apparently, to attend the joust that was going on across the water!

Dravedir had finished his work for the day as soon as could be accomplished, being eager for them to all go and enjoy the festivities that had been the talk of Belfalas for some time now. To the aging grandfather, it seemed that such festivities could not have come at a better time.. as if it were all to celebrate the return of his missing grandson. Though his own son had brought great shame and disgrace to their family name, Dravedir held high hopes that the younger two would both accomplish deeds to overshadow their father's infamy, such as it was. For he furthermore hoped that Devedir's deeds were not commonly known by the majority of the public who would be present. For the most part, the man didn't like to remind people that Devedir was his son, and hoped that they did not remember the fact.

Unfortunately, the elder of his two grandsons looked remarkably similar to his father at that same age, and the falconer did have some concerns about who might remember the insolent young man who had used to stir up trouble constantly. There were certain noblemen who might recall a brazen young man who had dared to flirt with their daughters or sisters, once upon a time, before meeting the girl he married. Although Trevadir was a few years older than Dev had been when such transgressions occurred, he still resembled the transgressor quite a bit. The hat Trev wore didn't disguise the fact as well as he seemed to think, at least not to Dravedir's eyes.



Amid a great deal of other foot traffic coming across the great ship Bregolalph, the three Thôrmaethas came to the far end of the large ship, and eagerly descended onto the opposite bank from where they had begun. Trev was glad to find his feet on solid ground once again, and looked ahead. There were several boats moored along the river, and many carriages drawing up near to the archway ahead, each bringing noblemen and their households from their various estates. Most were rather unfamiliar to the younger two, at least. Both Trevadir and Tobedir were from Minas Tirith, and only recognized some of the most well-known heraldic emblems, and Trevadir had been out of the loop for a number of years. The only emblems of nobility that Trev recognized were some few who might have endured unfortunate encounters with a certain pirate crew, but he didn't see any of those anywhere around. The foot traffic approached the archway at a much slower pace than those in carriages and on horseback, but they would get there in their own time.

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen @Karis Ziranphel @Arnyn

The Lord Zâinabên and Lady Orelnith of House Dimaethor
Receiving guests, Dimaethor family estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

The Lord Zâinabên smiled politely as greetings with the Eglathor clan was wrapped up. The children especially seemed varied in their mood, despite the assurances of the parents. Dina, polite and mannered, Meressel, seemingly aloof or maybe Zâinabên was just too old to interpret the dynamics of young children. ”Perhaps you will bless one with a token of your favor, young Lady.” He replied to Meressel’s well mannered reply. He could appreciate that, traditional and obedient. The boys, less impressive after that, though the mention of Iuldir Dringolben caught his attention. Like the family of Master Smiths? The ceremonial armor he wore was in fact forged by one of that name.

He gave the same fixed smile to the remark of Caelab, the wheelchair bound son of the Egalthors but said nothing, instead focusing on the boy who spoke up. ”Likewise, young Dringolben. Welcome. Your family always has friends here in Lond Côl.” The Dimaethor Lord answered his greeting. He smiled as his armor was praised and tapped it with a finger. ”You recognize it.” He just stated, matter of fact. Truly some smithing talent ran in their blood. But there wasn’t a chance to discuss their long, intertwined family histories, as the Eglathors moved on to their assigned lodging, with Lady Orelnith instructing one of their close servants to lead them on.

The meet and greets with the Talvens was more…eventful.

The two women were meshed with one another, speaking in excited tones that could be hard to follow, as was custom between old friends who had not seen one another in the lifespan of a cat, despite how interwoven their two clans were to be. Their little girl was well behaved, as most seemed to be, but Lord Zâinabên’s disapproval and disappointment in the absence of his future son-in-law was palpable. He should say something. He should ask. But now wasn't the right time to awaken old, and possibly new, sores. His mood was not bettered by Torthon’s rebuttal that the absence of their names on the jousting list must be at fault of someone else. Who else then, if not them? The Dimaethor’s? Is that the implication?

”Worry not, no names have been drawn yet for the qualification matching. Do so, with my Sergeant-At-Arms, when you have the chance. No later than by the end of the day.” He just instructed Torthon briskly. With his son as squire? Why not competing in his own merit? ”Yes, yes, there is much to do and enjoy here. Go on. Eat something, rest. There’ll be more ceremony and banqueting later tonight.” Lord Zâinabên beckoned to the two Talven men, glancing over to the women. He recognized that look on the face of his wife. Something…scandalous was being discussed.

He followed their gazes to a trio of newcomers who were coming up behind the Talvens, though he recognized them not. Lady Orelnith had spared only the briefest of glances, before turning back to her friend. Arrested? Did she say arrested? ”We’ll talk again soon.” She just promised her friend, Lady Duvaineth, rubbing her arm and nudging for them to continue on, summoning her chief handmaiden, an elderly crone, to assist and guide the Talvens to a place of lodge and board. Then she moved to join her husband and greet the two women…and the criminal with them.

The Dimaethor herald recognized the newcomers and pronounced their names for the privilege of the Lord and Lady. ”Families Himhathol and Ziranphel!” He declared and gestured that Macardil, Karis, and Silivren could approach. Lord Zâinabên and Lady Orelnith stood together and gave a brief bow of their heads in greeting, with very, very controlled expressions. Lady Orelnith had heard the rumors, though stories of far off scandals on the borders of Gondor in the days of War were either too vague or so excessive that they sounded desensitized. But she remembered this man.

Lord Zâinabên was a bit slower to the realization. Himhathol, Himhathol, where had he heard that name and in connection with what? Were they not disgraced by… His sea-grey eyes widened a little as the trio approached and it seemed to dawn on him. But, both patriarch and matriarch of the Dimaethors being old and learned in their advancing age, they knew how to control their expressions and reactions, betraying nothing of their…inner revulsion. That they should have a kinslaying traitor in their homes…

”Welcome, and well met.” Lord Zâinabên greeted the trio. ”The great family of Himhathol is known to us, and is always welcome in Lond Côl.” He looked past them, as if seeking another, but saw only the carriage and the drivers behind. No one else? ”I take it Lord Amarthon will be arriving later?” He inquired, glancing at Lady Silivren for a response, rather than at Macardil, who should have had the authority to speak given his gender. But it was almost as if he was being deliberately ignored. As if…

”Lady Ziranphel is well known to us as well.” Lady Orelnith then praised the other woman, changing the topic quickly before her husband said something he shouldn’t. ”Tales of her deeds go far. Our daughter, as well as many others of her age, are rather obsessed with the deeds of Lady Knights.” She said favourably towards Karis. Alongside Lady Azrubêl across the water, they were a credit to the entire Gondorrian kingdom and race.

She then tapped her husband’s arm and motioned past the trio of newcomers, past their carriage and horse, to another family approaching over the bridge. Now there was a real troublemaker on the way, with a history of trouble right here in the Golden Harbour, and not some far off rumor of trouble making and scandal somewhere on the eastern frontiers. Lord Zâinabên simply nodded and looked to the two women, Karis and Silivren, and Macardil.

”Go on, make yourselves at home. There is lodging, food, drink. My people will see any and all your needs are met while you stay here as treasured guests of my family and home.” Lord Zâinabên concluded graciously, gesturing for the three to continue on. Yes, his people will be looking after them…and looking at them, to ensure the peace, and that the traitor doesn’t get out of hand.

And further down the road past the arch, coming from the familial estate towards the entrance, was both Abrazimir Dimaethor, in his gleaming Swan-Knight armor, followed by his younger sister, Azraindil Dimaethor, coming at last to join their parents in the official meet and greets for the opening day of the festivities. They would stand aside to the road to allow the trio to past, but Abrazimir’s face would lighten with recognition as he saw…Macardil. He made no move to greet, whether with gesture or word, but merely watched, stared rather, as the man would go by. The very same man who put his weapon in the back of a superior officer, on the frontier, during war. And now he was here? Out of prison? For what, good behavior?

”What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His sister, Azraindil, said to Abrazimir, who had paused and watched from the side of the road as Macardil. Lady Silivren and Karis Ziranphel would go by. He should have at least said something in greeting to her, Karis, but the presence of the man in their company was shocking, to say the least. He rested his own hand on the pommel of his greatsword, thumbing it in a fidgety sort of way. Should he be wary and defensive?

Maybe he had seen a ghost. Maybe there would be new ghosts arising during this course of this joust. He didn’t know. They were just going to have to find out.

Azraindil didn't press, noticing her friend Dulinneth coming down the road as well with her family, her future in-laws, and broke into a grand ole smile, though only her ingrained mannerisms prevented her from racing across the road in front of other guests and people to greet Dulinneth. Patience, patience, they'll reach each other in about a half minute of normal walking and not be seen acting like rambuctious youth...

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
With Macardil Himhathol and Silivren Himhathol
Travelling to the Dimaethor Family Estate in Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age
@Arnyn , @Lantaelen

The harbor was deep enough at this point that the ship could pull right up to one of the long docks jutting out from the pier after some careful maneuvering. Ziran was glad when it was finally tied off and secured so that passengers were free to disembark. She made her way down the gangplank that made it possible to walk off the ship instead of needing to climb down the side, and then found a spot off to the side to wait with Silivren until Macardil arrived with his beautiful black mare.

Horse and man gave one another calm, although most wouldn’t know it by looking, and Ziran watched with a light in her eyes as they approached and she caught her betrothed’s gaze. Macardil’s sable hair was almost the same shade as the mare’s gleaming coat, and she always liked the sight of him in blue. She thought to herself that he looked every inch the Lord that he was, while remaining very much himself all the same.

Her attention was caught by the boisterous greeting given by the young man who approached them now. She dipped her head in acknowledgement of his bow and accurate assumption of her identity, while her gaze assessed him with calm curiosity. Ruthor, Macardil introduced him as. Her gaze sharpened as he added that Ruthor would be acting as his squire for the joust. She would be interested in seeing how well he conducted his duties. But he and Macardil both seemed happy enough to greet each other with familiarity and trust, teasing even. She would do her best to extend trust to this young man to care properly for her love. She smiled at him and returned his greeting before stepping into the carriage.

Ziran had been smiling at the sight of the festive decorations around the Manse and those gathered in front of the archway, but once she dismounted the open carriage with Ruthor’s assistance and walked forward with Silivren to join Macardil, she noticed the glances and could well imagine the whispers. Her expression cooled into perfectly collected politeness, and laughter no longer lit her eyes. She recognized the type from her many years in the streets and courts of Minas Tirith and Merethrond. Busybodies and gossips were the same all over even if they fancied it up with titles and airs. Her steps slowed as they waited to approach until the previous groups had moved on, but followed Macardil’s lead closely.

Upon their introduction to Lord Zâinabên and Lady Orelnith by the herald, they approached with collected dignity. Ziran noted the precise angle of the nods of greeting and only afforded the exact same back to them. She owed no allegiance as yet to this society of nobles other than the one at her side, and would not deign to afford them more honor than was due. Her breath stilled the next moment as the Lord of the place slighted Macardil despite his polite words of welcome. They obviously had not heard of the King’s pardon here. Frost touched her features until the Lady Orelnith hastened to give her a greeting.

Ziran's gaze warmed slightly at the reference to girls being interested in Lady knights, although she couldn’t manage more than a tight smile in return. "I am glad to hear of their interest. The kingdom needs shieldmaidens as well as swordsmen." In the next moment their host was dismissing them, so there was no good opportunity to inform them of Macardil’s honor being cleared. If they didn’t know that they most certainly mustn’t know of her connection to Macardil yet…She stepped up beside Macardil and shifted to tuck her hand through Macardil’s arm as they moved away, displaying clearly the Himhathol ring that graced her hand. Let them wonder about it as they may. She didn’t care in the least if they considered it improper, and she tightened her fingers imperceptibly.

Her expression lightened still more a few moments later when she saw Abrazimir approaching in gleaming armor beside a young woman with passing resemblance. She even smiled at them both in the hopes that at least one person that she knew to be sensible was present that she considered trustworthy, but her smile faded when he moved aside silently to stare at Macardil rather than greeting them in any way. Another who didn’t know. Her forehead creased, and she shook her head slightly at the former Ranger and fighting companion of them both, but held her peace as they continued toward the pavilions that Ruthor had set up. This was his home. They would see him later, and perhaps could speak then.

[Arnyn]

@Lantaelen

|
Macardil Himhathol | Silivren Himhathol
and @Karis Ziranphel
Arriving at the Dimaethor Family Estate , Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

He had known there would be whispers. He had known there would be looks. It was no surprise that they began even before the herald announced their family names. It was abundantly clear to Macardil that he was being accorded only the absolute minimum of the required courtesy. And while this fell well within his expectations, it was still a blow. Inwardly, he sighed, although nothing of the sentiment showed in his gaze or expression. If he were honest... what was he to expect more of Lord Zâinabên and Lady Orelnith? Nothing beyond this, to be sure. Not after those whom he had considered actual friends had dropped him as swiftly as a heavy builder that was rolled from a high hill.

When Lord Zâinabên asked about Amarthon with a look at Silivren, the latter tilted her chin - no more than a fraction. She was well aware of the slight to her son when Lord Dimaethor looked to her after posing his question. She would not condone it by offering a verbal response. Instead, she calmly turned her head to look at Macardil.

Macardil's expression, meanwhile, was as controlled as those of the Lord and Lady Dimaethor before him. He bowed his head, perhaps even slightly lower than the prescribed dip for such greetings. An indication that he understood their reserve and did not blame them. "Greetings, Lord and Lady Dimaethor. In fact, Lord Amarthon has deferred the honour of representing our house and participating in the joust on this joyous occasion to me," he stated. His deep voice was calm, although somewhat cooler than Silivren or Karis would be used to.

Yet Macardil's understanding was not boundless. His startling blue eyes met Lord Zâinabên's with a level look. "My cousin has not forgotten that such an honour will be mine for as long as I choose to claim it." A reference that his hosts would be wise to remember the same.
His words perhaps would have been considered subtle in a place such as the White City, but to the sensitive ears of the nobles of Belfalas they were closer to a reproach than Macardil would deem wise - after the fact, once he would be nearing the tented pavilions. However, assuming that Amarthon would also be here, as Zâinabên had done - out loud, no less -, was as much a slight as looking to Silivren for a reply. And while Macardil understood that he would not be welcomed with open arms, he expected all the basic courtesies from his hosts. Not a pick and mix of whatever niceties they might deign him worthy of receiving.

Lady Orelnith possibly saved the proceedings entirely by the gracious way she welcomed Ziran. Macardil's gaze softened as it shifted to the Lady Dimaethor. Her manner with Ziran was a pleasant surprise, and Macardil's eyes lit as he looked at his betrothed. It even allowed him to be gracious in return to Zâinabên's parting words.
"You have my gratitude, Lord and Lady Dimaethor, for your generosity and hospitality in opening your home to us." He bowed his head after these parting words, and walked through the archway with Ziranphel's hand slipping around his free arm, his ring on her finger for all to see. He had to keep himself from looking at her. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he walked with her by his side, his black mare on the other.

Silivren, who was walking next to Ziranphel, was nearly seething. The perfectly crafted mask of her expression showed no cracks, but her back was too stiff and she could not keep one of her hands from balling into a fist. Her fingernails bit into the soft skin of her hand as they passed Abrazimir and his sister Azraindil. While Silivren would know them for who they were, and would have otherwise greeted them without fail, she was at present too thrown by the immediate negativity that had been shown to her only son.

And there was the reason Macardil did not look sideways at his betrothed. For he had caught sight of his former friend in his peripheral vision, and was unsure whether he wanted to meet that stare. And beyond Ziran, beyond Silivren, there Abrazimir would be. And after not seeing him alongside his parents under the archway, Macardil had not mentally prepared to meet the man, after all this time. Nay. Not now. He needed to get his bearings, first.... Yet his need to be courteous above all else won out, and without meeting their gazes, Macardil bowed his head in recognition of Azraindil and Abrazimir as they stood to the side of the road and Silivren, Ziranphel , Macardil and his black horse walked by them. He caught Abrazimir's restless hand on the pommel of his greatsword. This made Macardil look away, rather than up.

And then they had passed them by.

When Ruthor caught up with them, Macardil indicated he would walk. For all his preparations beforehand, he still needed a moment now that they had actually arrived.

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Eglathor family with their guest, Iûldir Dringolben
Lond Col

Meressel beamed at the suggestion of Lord Dimaethor. "Indeed sir, I would be honored to bestow a token upon one of the knights." She replied with another curtsy. There were sure to be many handsome young men present, and she was looking forward to seeing which ones would be present, and which ones might be eligible. She thought her father ought to have at least begun seeking to make some arrangements for her future, if only he weren't so caught up with babying her dumb brother all the time.

The 'dumb brother' meanwhile was enjoying his first view of the Dimaethor estate, looking around with wide eyes at everything around him, with Iuldir still close beside him. The latter had grinned and nodded at the lord's comment, a bit curious about the remark about his family always having friends here. But he had no chance to speak further with the man, as Caeleb's parents had seemed anxious to move on and get Caeleb settled in wherever they were to be staying. Iuldir held back a sigh, wanting to point out that the other boy wasn't made of glass, and a little time outdoors doing normal stuff was sure to be good for him. But he'd promised to be on his best behavior, and knew such comments would only upset Caeleb's parents. He had wanted a chance to mention that his own father had helped in crafting Lord Dimaethor's armor, but had been rushed along before he had the chance. Perhaps he would have an opportunity to speak later with the host, although he figured Lord Dimaethor was sure to be busy for the duration of the event.

"Gaerlothriel!" Meressel waved as she recognized the older girl from prior meetings at various parties and such. With her arm linked through her cousin's, Meressel all but pulled Dina along so they could greet the siblings as they passed one another. "Greetings, Sir Abrazimir," The younger girl acknowledged the swan knight with a polite curtsy, which was copied silently by the older girl. "And how have you been?" Meressel turned to the knight's sister with a smile. "It has been far too long!"

"Your dress is lovely, Gaerlothriel." Dina remarked quietly, feeling she ought to say something, and according to Meressel it was always among the highest compliments to hear praise about one's dress. If she was anything like Meressel or any other lady of Nobility, it would have surely been chosen with great care, so as to make a grand impression upon the guests she would be welcoming to their home.

"Indeed, gorgeous!" Meressel agreed. Her own dress, of course, was chosen with care for making a proper good impression upon their arrival. She'd put nearly as much effort into selecting her cousin's dress for her, too, so that they would both look their best.

"You look quite nice as well, Sir," Dina added in a quiet voice, so not to leave him out. And it would be nearly impossible not to observe how well-maintained the knight's armor was.

Brenior and Aurien paused and offered proper greetings to the Dimaethor siblings but did not wish to linger. Caeleb had had far too long of a journey in her opinion, and needed to rest and recover. After a brief moment to exchange greetings, Brenior gently gathering his daughter and niece. "Come, we shall certainly have better opportunities for talk later." He smiled at the girls. With that he politely excused their group and they carried on down the road.

Yet despite the parent's hurry to settle Caeleb into a bed where he could rest after the long (and dull) journey, Caeleb had little interest in getting such rest. Much to his sister's annoyance, he continuously asked the servant pushing his chair to stop so he could look at this or that, and ask Iuldir what he knew of whatever had caught his eye. The latter had spent time on the other side of Lond Col, during summers when he had stayed briefly with his other friend, Tobedir, and so he seemed like almost an expert on everything around here, despite Iuldir pointing out he had never actually been on this side of the river. Still he had a wealth of information that Caeleb was lacking, having spent most of his life so far bedridden and isolated from all of these things. So it was that they were traveling at a slower pace, and would be easily caught up by others who were coming along behind them.

Talven family, of Túrion Dornea
Lond Col

After a whispered conference with Orelnith, Duvaineth had made sure the other lady was aware of at least the basic points concerning the 'news' Duvaineth had heard about the approaching Lord Himhathol. Until she had deemed it was time that they moved on, since the Dimaethors were still greeting their guests, who were still pouring in steadily. Duvaineth, in fact, was feeling a bit weary. Her face was a little flushed from the heat, and the sooner they found their lodgings, the better off she would be. It would obviously be some time before Orelnith was free to spend any lengthy time chatting with her dear friend, and Duvaineth had no intention of standing around in this heat all the while.

Her daughter, meanwhile, had stood nearby, trying not to fidget or sigh. Unable to hear very much of what the older ladies were discussing, she only heard snatches. Something about an arrest? And she gathered a general impression of their wondering what was he doing here? While her mother probably expected her to keep up with the latest gossip and all of that, Dulinneth was a bit preoccupied with other more important(to her) things. She'd finally caught a glimpse of the stableman's assistant leading Rhovon off of the riverboat, and it was a great struggle not to break into a grin. She'd only had a brief chance to visit the horse down below during their journey, and looked forward to finding him later to ensure he was comfortable enough. For now, she stayed with her parents as they set off.

Not long after they had passed beyond the archway, and the DImaethors, the Talvens paused at a subtle cue from Duvaineth. She had taken hold of her husband's arm, feeling so weak she thought she might collapse, but unwilling to let it become obvious to all and sundry who were around. They moved to the side, off of the main path. "We'd better wait for your horse," She murmured softly to him. This of course, seemed a good excuse for waiting, though it really had a lot more to do with Duvaineth needing a moment to recover. In a more normal tone, Torthon explained to the servant guiding them that he wished to wait a moment so as to instruct his own servants where to take his horse.

While they waited, Dulinneth tried not to openly show too much concern for her mother. Knowing how she preferred to keep others from seeing her in such moments of weakness, she turned her attention elsewhere. And then spotted Gaerlothriel ahead down the road. Dulinneth broke into another, bigger grin as she waved enthusiastically. She could hardly wait for them to meet, but it might be a little while.

A disapproving glance from her father, however, put a stop to the waving, as Dulinneth made an effort to rein in her enthusiasm. The grin faded to a big smile, with much effort. A few moments later there was a bit of a strange mood to fall over the family, as a certain party went by along the road. The passing of Macardil and company brought varied reactions from them each, three mingled with varying levels of disapproval, and the fourth simply full of inquisitive curiosity. Duvaineth turned her head away and murmured into her husband's ear, though what she said, only he knew. Despite requiring the support of her husband's arm, she had enough strength to summon up a disdainful look to send toward the backstabber who had the audacity to make an appearance here, when he ought to be in the dungeon.

Torthon meanwhile frowned as the group passed, and narrowed his eyes as he watched the Himhathol group. He was rather displeased, to say the least, to see Macardil there. He frowned, wondering whether a disgraced lord could even be permitted to compete against the rest of them. It was a wonder he was allowed to keep his land and estate! Such questions were soon put to his wife, whispering with her without bothering to conceal the fact.

Togg watched with curiosity. He didn't know the man, though he knew who he was. And what he had done, according to all the rumors. To see him here was unexpected, to say the least. "Why is he here?" The young man wondered, aloud, to his parents, not caring whether Macardil heard or not. The fact that Toggornir's father had been bested in many a joust by that very man did not help to win his favor in the least.

With a curious glance toward the group, Dulinneth tilted her head. She wasn't sure who it was or why it seemed to upset her parents and brother. "Why shouldn't he come?" She wondered quietly to herself, mystified by the older folk's almost hostile, and suspicious glances. No one paid her any attention. Shrugging slightly to herself, the girl decided it was probably nothing she wanted to know about. More gossip that may or may not even be true. She was far more interested in going to speak to her friend!

Maerdor, the stableman, caught up to them leading Ebony, and it looked as if Duvaineth was feeling a bit better now. Well enough to move on, surely. Knowing that her mother would want to go directly to their quarters, escorted by her father, Dulinneth turned pleading eyes upon them both. "May I remain here with Gaerlothriel for a while?" She requested hopefully. There were far more exciting things going on, and it wasn't as if Mother needed her. She was only going to be resting and stuff, after all.

"Well, I suppose so.. as long as you don't get in the way." Duvaineth replied, being in favor of the young ladies' friendship. "And so long as you don't forget how to behave properly." She added, as if suspicious the girl might get into some sort of mischief the moment their backs were turned. It was certainly what the boys would have done.

"Yes, Mother." Dulinneth's smile widened again.

"I do think it would be best if Toggornir stayed with her," Duvaineth added as an afterthought, thinking of how many people were around. "She oughtn't be without an escort, after all."

"Of course, Mother." Toggornir refrained from heaving a sigh at his assigned role, and managed to keep the scorn out of his tone when he referred to her as 'mother'. She was, in fact, the only mother he had ever known, as his own had died with his birth, but that didn't mean he really thought of her as his mother. Still he had learned from a young age not to argue with Lady Talven when she gave an order. Hands clasped casually behind his back, the young man strolled alongside his little sister (half-sister, that is) toward the Dimaethor siblings. The lovely lady Gaerlothriel, as she was most commonly called, had just finished greeting a pair of younger girls, the Eglathor young ladies if he wasn't mistaken. At least he might have a chance to speak to her.

Dulinneth would much rather have left Toggornir behind, but obviously she could not protest her mother's decision. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes, but at least she had permission to go! Happily striding toward the others, she actually had to slow her pace so not to outpace Toggornir, who seemed in less of a hurry to reach them. Meressel and Dinalogassel were just leaving from greeting Gaerlothriel, she noticed. She remembered having seen them go through the archway just ahead of her family. They would probably end up all seated near one another during the joust and everything. Dulinneth would be the youngest of their number but that didn't daunt her one bit. Right now she was only excited to see her friend. "Hiii!" The girl could finally restrain herself no longer as she ran to close the final few steps between them, joyfully throwing her arms around her someday-future-sister. Despite the years between them, they had developed a close friendship, and often wrote letters back and forth. In fact, Dulinneth had boxes filled with them!

"Hail, and well met, Abrazimir," Toggornir greeted the knight as he approached, just behind Dulinneth. He smiled as he turned to acknowledge the fairer company present. "Lady Gaerlothriel," He added with a bow to her. "A pleasure to see you both." He said, though his gaze lingered upon her for a moment before he returned his focus back to her older brother. "It appears things are going rather well for your family, since the war." He remarked. Things must be going quite well, to be hosting such a large event.

"I brought it," Dulinneth informed Gaerlothriel in a conspiratorial whisper, her eyes shining eagerly as she referred to something she had mentioned in her last letter; that she was making something for her. A surprise, and that's all she would say in her letter. She grinned, unconcerned with anything else around them. From a pouch at her side, she produced a soft little bundle, wrapped in a handkerchief and tied with a ribbon to hold the cloth around it, and held it out to her friend.

[Arnyn]

@Rillewen

|
Macardil Himhathol | Silivren Himhathol
and @Karis Ziranphel
The Dimaethor Family Estate , Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

While Silivren waited on Ziran to decide whether she would stay and walk or ride the carriage, Macardil spotted a familiar family up ahead. The muscles of his back and shoulders tensed.

It was one thing to receive looks of disdain from the likes of the Taurhebor - or Talven, he should probably now say - family. He knew their names and their faces because they frequented the same circles in Belfalas, but that was the end of it. Their disapproval and dismay at his presence was unagreeable, to be sure - and the reason why he had blatantly ignored them when passing them by earlier.

Abrazimir's stare had been another matter. The stare had not spoken of the sentiments displayed by Lord Talven and his Lady, nor had it been an obvious slight such as which Macardil had received from the Lord and Lady Dimaethor. Thank the Valar.
No, in Abrazimir's case... If anything, his old - former - friend had not known how to respond to his presence. Much better than the former responses, to be sure, despite the fact that the man was one of the few who'd been present at the scene of Macardil's deadly crime. What his reaction had been, however, was entirely unencouraging. And disappointing, given the man's apparent and utter lack of interest in Macardil's fate despite having called him a friend.

And now... Now, Macardil, Ziran and Silivren were coming up on the Eglathors. Brenior had also been a friend. Would he be, still? While Macardil had not heard from the man since, that might not mean anything. They had gone more or less a year without reaching out to each other before. No matter the time which had passed, their friendship had always picked up right where it had left off. But... Macardil was well aware that it was not as easy for the man to navigate these circles as it was for many others. Brenior had no estate to speak of, you see, no lands to take care of on behalf of the Prince. He had his name, his title, and his esteemed profession. As such, it was unsurprising the man had always been mindful of what others thought and said of him. Sensitive to it, even. Not to mention that Brenior had fewer contacts in the White City than someone like Abrazimir - none at all, to Macardil's knowledge. If the cartographer had wanted to find out what had happened to Macardil after his arrest, he would have had to put in considerable effort. Effort he likely had little time for.

The former ranger swallowed as they drew alongside the Eglathor family. He drew in a breath and steeled himself, drawing also on the presence of Ziran and Silivren. Two anchors. Two certainties. They believed in him. He was not alone.

And so he turned to look at Brenior and check whether the man would meet his gaze.

"Greetings," Macardil said. His usual deep voice was friendly, but the cartographer would note the hint of a question in the tone, since he knew him well enough. It felt strange not to add 'my friend' to the salutation, but the thought that Brenior might take offense at such an appelation was not something Macardil wanted to entertain, let alone that he would be told as much.

"Lady Aurien." He lowered his head. "Lady Meressel, Lady Dinalogassel," he added, allowing some surprise to sink into his voice as his blue eyes smiled at them. "I hardly recognize either of you! Since last I saw you both, you have grown into lovely young Ladies."
His gaze travelled to Caeleb, next, and a boy with him whom Macardil did not know. "It is good to see you, Darcaeleb, although you probably do not remember me. Still, it gladdens the heart to see you alongside your family." He glanced at Brenior before greeting the other boy. "I do not believe we have met, young man. My name is Macardil Himhathol." He indicated the ladies next to him, one by one. "And this is Lady Karis Ziranphel, my betrothed, and Lady Silivren Himhathol, my mother."

Finally, he focused on Brenior. "Brenior..." The hint of the unspoken question briefly reared its head again, before disappearing once more behind a cloak of confidence. "How fare you and yours?"

[Karis Ziranphel]

@Arnyn @Rillewen

Karis Ziranphel
With Macardil Himhathol and Silivren Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

Ziran had flicked her glance up to Macardil’s face when he spoke to Ruthor about walking the rest of the way. Still simmering with energy herself, she felt the need to walk as well, and hadn’t quite connected that the squire was offering them the use of the carriage. She felt the suppressed tension in her love’s frame as it was conveyed through his arm as he looked at the families strung out along the road ahead and beside it. The pavilions that they were headed to were in the middle distance above the shoreline, and definitely not far. Ziran’s next glance was at Silivren, and she could see that the older woman would likely prefer the carriage but was waiting for her own decision. “Come Silivren,” Ziran’s voice was low but held a touch of challenge combined with levity. “ Let us stretch our legs and walk to the pavilions. I’ve had enough sitting around.” She knew that Silivren’s sense of propriety wouldn’t allow her to take the carriage and leave the two unchaperoned here, but she didn’t want to subject Macardil to walking that gauntlet of stares alone. She had no doubts about his resiliency and capacity to do so, of course, but would rather be with him. He was no longer alone.

So they walked that road together, and Ziran bore a look of calm and faint amusement at the sights that greeted them, with a smiling tilt to her lips and a look of challenge in her eyes. They were going to a festival after all! Internally, she marked the faces of those that looked particularly disdainful compared to those that merely looked troubled.

She felt the slight increased tensing of Macardil’s muscles as they approached one family that was much slower moving along the way to the tournament grounds. A sweep of her eyes took in the various individuals with curiosity and wariness. He must know them well. His indrawn breath confirmed it for her even as they paused and turned to face the small gathering. Ziran matched her step to his so that she halted beside Macardil. At his friendly tone of greeting, her smile relaxed somewhat as she heard the names spoken. Indeed, she had heard him mention them in the past, and she was curious to match faces with the names she knew. His obvious love of children and youths was always something she enjoyed observing. When he introduced her to them, she smiled more broadly and nodded in greeting. “A pleasure to meet you. Macardil has spoken highly of both your skill and your character.”

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn @Karis Ziranphel

Eglathor family with their guest, Iûldir Dringolben
Lond Col

There was much to see, so many bright colors, flags waving in the breeze, people bustling about in preparation for the tournament and other festivities, and so on. Caeleb hardly knew where to look as they traveled along the pathway. "Look at that!" The boy pointed to something of interest which he'd never seen before, and soon he and Iuldir were chatting about that, the more experienced explaining to the other what it was. Brenior smiled faintly, feeling perhaps it had not been such a bad idea to bring the other boy along, since it did seem to help Caeleb, having a friend his age to talk to.

As the boys were chatting, Brenior was watching his son, and so he did not see Macardil's first glance in his direction. Therefore, he was a little startled to hear a familiar, yet very unexpected, voice nearby, greeting him. Turning, Brenior blinked in surprise before his eyes widened slightly, recognizing his old friend. "Macardil..." He uttered in astonishment. Caught off guard, Brenior got as far as move a foot with the intentions of taking a step in his direction.. his first instinct to greet him in return.. then hesitated, holding himself back before he made any further moves. There had been much talk about the incident. The news about Macardil's actions had seemed like some ridiculous joke when he first heard it from another who didn't know the man. It seemed absurd to think of Macardil, of all people, doing what they claimed. And yet... when it was made known that he was indeed incarcerated, that there were witnesses... how could one not believe it? It was puzzling and shocking, to say the least.

Even more puzzling, was how he could be here, if he had been guilty of this crime? Though Brenior very much wanted to have a few answers, he was uncomfortably aware of all the others around them. Others who would judge and become suspicious of him, if they saw him talking with someone of his sort. A murderer. Traitor. Backstabber. What would people think about Brenior if they saw him being overly friendly with Himhathol? Stunned into silence, the cartographer stood by, somewhat at a loss for how to act, as the former ranger turned to greet the other members of his family. That, at least, gave him time to rapidly try and gather his composure and think of a proper response.

Aurien managed to swiftly cover her surprise at the encounter. Putting on a (slightly forced) smile, she responded in a soft but rather formal tone, "Lord Himhathol." Aurien did not often take the opportunity to attend formal events among the other nobility, and so she was often left out of the loop of various rumors. But this was one instance where the news came home to her, quite literally. Brenior had been quite troubled by what he had heard, and had shared the news with his wife. She had not expected that she would ever see him again. "And Lady Silivren, hello." Aurien offered a smile to her, as well as to the other lady she did not know, wondering who this might be. While it posed an awkward situation to be put on the spot like this, she did not want to offer a poor example to the girls, of how a lady ought to act. Still, her gaze was watchful and somewhat wary as Macardil spoke to the children.

Looking pleased at the compliment, Meressel smiled as she followed her mother's example in a curtsy. "Indeed, it has been long since you came to visit us, sir." She declared, oblivious to the reason why. She had somehow been shielded from the majority of the rumors about him, possibly due to the matter being kept from her as best as Brenior could do. The girl did, however, turn a curious gaze toward the woman standing arm in arm with him, and her eyes widened slightly upon seeing the ring on her hand. Beside her, Dina had smiled more shyly as she also curtsied, but remained quiet and let her slightly younger, but more practiced, cousin do the talking, though she looked thoughtfully at Macardil and the woman standing with him.

Turning his attention away from the exciting sights around him, Caeleb watched with curiosity as the unfamiliar man spoke to the other members of his family. Smiling as he was addressed, the boy tried to place if he had seen the man before. There weren't a lot of people that he had met in his life so far.. only a few servants and teachers, his family, and a couple of friends like Iuldir who'd managed to sneak past his overprotective parent's watchful eyes. "I'm afraid I don't remember you, sir," He answered regretfully. "But thank you. I am glad to finally join the rest of my family for this outing." He added happily, then listened curiously as the man then introduced himself to Iuldir. Yes, he was sure he had heard that name before, at times when he was told later about a friend of his father coming over to visit.

Iuldir had turned when he heard a new voice greeting the family of his friend. Standing quietly beside Caeleb's chair, he observed the exchanges between them each. He thought Caeleb's parents looked a little tense, and was wondering why. The man seemed friendly enough. But then it occurred to him maybe there'd been an argument or something. Friends sometimes disagreed about stuff, and it could affect their relationship if they let it. He assumed it must be something along those lines, and mentally shrugged at it, though hoped they would work it out. He was pleasantly surprised when the stranger chose to greet him as well. "Very pleased to meet you sir," The young man responded with a polite bow. "I'm Iuldir Dringolben, a close friend of Darcaeleb's." He turned to greet the two ladies with a smile and another bow to them each. "An honor to meet you as well, lady Ziranphel, Lady Himhathol." Really, he wasn't sure what Caeleb's parents had been so worried about, bringing him along. It wasn't as if he didn't know how to talk politely and stuff, and while his clothes weren't as rich and fancy as many other's, they were nice enough to not make him look like a pauper.


Brenior's surprise at seeing Macardil was topped by the fact that he had brought.. his betrothed? Not only was he not in gaol, but he had become betrothed as well? After his initial shock at the whole thing, Brenior managed a small smile to Karis as she spoke up. "Oh, is that so?" He asked with a slight smile, still a bit uncomfortable with the entire situation. It was confusing, and a bit awkward. During the entire awkward encounter, he cast a few subtle glances around them, as if to check whether anyone else was watching, and wondering how scandalous it appeared for them to be talking with him.

He was saved from having to think of ways to further the conversation, as Aurien spoke up. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ziranphel. Please excuse us, however. I'm afraid we've had a very lengthy trip, and Darcaeleb has never been this far from home. The journey was rather taxing for him, so we really must get him someplace to rest as soon as possible." She offered a courteous smile to the other lady along with a reasonable excuse, which was already their intention.

"Yes, we really must get him away from all of this excitement.. I fear it's too much all at once." Brenior agreed, slightly relieved for an appropriate excuse with which to extricate themselves from the situation. With a parting bow to the ladies, he started off with the rest of them, anxious to move out of this uncomfortable encounter, and find where they would be staying.

As they set off, Meressel whispered quietly into her cousin's ear, as if sharing some sort of secret, followed by a quiet giggle. After quietly hushing her, Dina gave the other girl a skeptical glance and spoke back softly. "He is a friend of your father's, Meressel," she reminded her in a soft tone. The other shrugged in a 'so what?' manner and continued walking, while Caeleb mumbled a complaint that he was not tired and did not want to rest yet.

[Karis Ziranphel]

@Arnyn

Karis Ziranphel
With Macardil Himhathol and Silivren Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

There had been a flicker of greeting and a lift to the man’s face before his expression shuttered and he turned stiff. The response, while polite, did not seem in earnest, and he kept sending surreptitious glances around as if he didn’t want to be seen talking to Macardil. Her betrothed had said this man was a good friend and yet he didn’t dare even ask for what the truth might be…Ziran had to fight to keep any form of smile on her face as the family quickly excused themselves in a patently false bid to be away. They had been dawdling along the road and were walking in the same direction, but suddenly couldn’t bear to linger or converse while walking? Cowards and spineless fools. The thought brought a bitter tang of fury to her mouth although she wouldn’t speak it aloud, and her smile disappeared into a tight line of lips as the family rushed to put distance between them and apparent contagion. She felt like calling after them and calling them out on their behavior, but knew he didn’t want confrontation. It seemed Dol Amroth had not learned anything from Gondor about caring more for empty lineage than living men.

That this Brenior had not the courage to ask if the rumors were true did not sit well with Ziran, nor did his escaping before anything else could be said. She blew out a long breath before looking up at Macardil and murmuring quietly. “I am sorry, my love.” He had said that all his friendships had evaporated, but she had hoped for his sake that some here would prove more loyal and actually show that they cared to find out the truth. “I wish there were a way to announce the truth. If one more…if one more treats you like that I make no promises.” They might see more than a glimpse of her warrior side despite her normal collected demeanor.

[Arnyn]

@Rillewen

Silivren Himhathol
with Macardil and @Karis Ziranphel
The Dimaethor Family Estate , Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

Silivren had refrained from rolling her eyes at Karis' words and tone to her. She did appreciate that Ziran did not wish for her son to walk alone, however. If it had been SIlivren alone, she would not have walked with Macardil despite wanting to support him. For neither she nor Macardil would want to give the impression he needed to be under his mother's wing for a mere walk along the grounds. It was different with Karis here. And that the female ranger had known this - or perhaps had merely ventured a lucky guess - pleased Silivren. "Alright, Karis." Her words were simple, unchallenging. They even held a note of approval, perhaps.

Macardil's mother watched her son greeting his friend, Brenior, with a soft smile. She wondered, indeed, how the cartographer and his wife would react. All in all, she was suspecting a better response from this pair than Macardil had received from the Lord and Lady Dimaethor. Pleased with how Macardil was handling himself, her blue eyes expectantly settled on the different members of this lovely family. Brenior seemed shocked first and foremost. He needed his wife to respond properly, who hid her surprise fairly well in comparison with the cartographer. Silivren nodded at the Lady Aurien, still smiling softly, granting her son's friend some time to overcome his initial astonishment. Such a first response was to be expected, after all, if they did not yet know Macardil had been pardoned by the King.

Meressel's reply was polite and well-mannered. Dinalogassel appeared polite but on the timid side, which was quite alright. Darcaeleb spoke well, despite not coming out to such gatherings much, if at all, before this. Breniorand Aurien had prepared them well enough, it seemed. And the temporary addition to the family in the form of Iuldir Dringolben was well-spoken, as well. Little did it matter that he was not of noble blood, if he conducted himself properly.

Karis' words came at exactly the right time, and spoke well of Brenior. It was the perfect addition to Macardil's opening, Silivren was pleased to note.

Thus, the response from the Eglathors was... Silivren's soft smile faded in part when the Lady Aurien excused her family with an excuse that, while it was sure to be true in part, was obviously geared toward steering clear of Macardil. Silivren's gaze travelled to Brenior, to see whether he would correct his wife. As he should. Yet the cartographer's words held no such correction. Instead, they were a severe disappointment. Silivren looked at her only son with compassion buried deep behind the blue eyes the two of them shared. She would not show or speak of this here, but her heart went out to him.

Karis was more verbal. And while Silivren did not catch all of the words, she caught the last part of the woman's sentence: "If one more treats you like that, I make no promises."
Silivren made eye contact with Macardil from behind his betrothed, and minutely raised one eyebrow. Respond, the eyebrow demanded. Nip this in the bud.

Macardil Himhathol
with Silivren and @Karis Ziranphel
The Dimaethor Family Estate , Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

As Ziran said she was sorry, Macardil was still looking at Brenior as the cartographer and his wife Aurien guided the children away. He caught young Meressel's whisper and Dinalogassel's reply. It would have brought about an awkwardly amused shake of his head under different circumstances, but it did not do much for his mood today.

Brenior's response to his greetings felt like he'd been strapped to a boulder which had been thrown off shore, now sinking into the depths of the sea. For all that, his facial expression remained open, friendly. Only the quality of his startling blue eyes had changed, the only possible indication of the change within him from a tentative hope into a restrained sadness. That, and the way he was squeezing Night-shade's reins.

His friend had not even replied to his question.

Macardil finally turned his head to look at Ziran when she spoke of something which was troublesome in more ways than one. He loved her for saying such a thing, but it would not be wise for her to respond with such fire as she seemed to be promising. One step behind Ziran, his mother raised a delicately arched eyebrow, obviously intending for him to see it. Inwardly, he sighed. And so the game that the nobility insisted on playing so stubbornly once again raised its viper head and hissed out its tongue.

He loosened his grip on the reins to a normal grip, and smiled at his betrothed. "Do not make more of this than what it is, Ziran. There is no need for you to feel such ire on my behalf." He looked back down the road, after the Eglathors. "They would have heard of what I did, and of my dishonorable discharge and encarceration as a result. They obviously have not heard much, if anything, of what happened after your return - months later. They are only human. Just as you and I. My appearance here must be confusing at the very least. They require a bit of time to get their bearings." Macardil slowly returned his gaze to Ziran, and held it. "Please do not say or do things you might regret after the dust has settled."

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn @Karis Ziranphel

Dinalogassel
Lond Col

The group went on their way with a little more speed than before, not letting Caeleb stop to look at things this time. The girls walked behind the others, Meressel mostly talking while Dina listened to her go on about this or that guy being handsome, or admiring someone's dress, occasionally whispering criticisms about this or that. And after a little while, when Dina could get a word in, the older girl suddenly 'realized' she had lost something. "Oh, I must have dropped it. I'll be right back," She whispered to her cousin, figuring she could slip off and be back before her aunt and uncle knew it.

Running was greatly hindered by the dress she wore, so the girl backtracked at more of a brisk walk before slowing once the other party was in sight. She hesitated, taking a deep breath before continuing. It wasn't so much about whether she wanted to do this, but felt that it should be done. Slow and timid, not wanting to seem intrusive, Dina approached Macardil and the ladies, her face faintly flushed but not from the briskness of her walk, but rather the uncomfortable facts of what had recently occurred, and the fact she was doing this at all.

"Lord Himhathol?" Dina hesitated long enough to be sure he heard and saw her. "I apologize if I'm out of line, but I just had to say.. I don't believe what folks have said about you. I can't believe you'd ever do such a thing and I'm sorry for how my uncle reacted, just now.." Her gaze dropped, feeling certain she must be breaking all kinds of nobility rules, but she didn't care as much about that. "I'm sure he doesn't truly believe those ridiculous rumors either, it's just.."She sighed. "I think he's become too worried about what people will think, and.. I'm afraid he's forgotten what's more important." She said sadly. "Perhaps I still have much to learn about all this," She motioned around, meaning the nobility life, "but I remember how friends ought to treat one another, at least. And I hope I never do forget that."

[Karis Ziranphel]

@Arnyn

Karis Ziranphel
With Macardil Himhathol and Silivren Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

Macardil had turned his attention to her as she spoke, and Ziran caught a hint of sorrow in his eyes before his gaze shifted slightly behind her. Some sort of silent communication happened, and then he was relaxing and smiling…and telling her she shouldn’t be angry on his behalf. Indeed, not only that but explained away the other man’s words and lack thereof before warning her not to speak or act in a way that she would regret. Ziran’s eyebrows rose during his speech, and she regarded him quietly for a long breath, intentionally not looking over her shoulder at Silivren. His rebuke was gently spoken, but a rebuke and warning all the same. She took up and abandoned many replies in those brief moments before calming her thoughts and finally speaking. Her words came slowly and quietly in return. “I understand what you are saying, Macardil, but understanding does not excuse the action. I can understand why someone might steal, but that does not excuse the theft. I still believe it displays abysmal lack of character to not seek out truth and even ask after, or attempt to defend, a friend.” She paused briefly.

His comments reminded her that they were still in many ways learning about one another anew in this context. She felt it was her prerogative to be able to defend him as much as he might defend her if the roles were reversed, but this was his home and his erstwhile friends that she was angry at. Not a single one of his friends had asked after him or sought out proper answers, then or now. Only his mother had defended his innocence, and it helped Ziran to remember that. It was not the same as when she had inquired after him before they were more than mere acquaintances. “My ire is justified, even if you feel none, if only because he claimed to be your friend and has shown that false in a way that I can tell wounds you, even if you excuse him. How will any of them change their hearts unless they are told the truth or called out in their behavior?” She shook her head, and the corner of her lips finally tilted up slightly. “If I have cause to speak or act, I rarely have reason for regret. It is only inaction that has ever truly led to that.” The what-ifs that plagued her were almost always things she had failed to do, or questions about why she had not chosen to act more decisively rather than with her usual long deliberation that rarely changed her initial instinctive choice.

Her peripheral vision caught the swift motion of the approaching young woman, but Ziran kept her eyes on Macardil until it became clear that the girl was headed directly for them.

[Pele Alarion]

Arriving off the ship to head for the Dimaethor family estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
~ End of Summer, Fourth Age

Pele looked somewhat worse for wear after the voyage - she almost regretted having brought Temper with her since she had spent most of the time below the deck with him to provide company and comfort instead of enjoying the wonderful views above. Yet they had finally arrived, and Pele had a firm grip on Temper's head to keep him from expressing his displeasure with such means of travel by biting innocent passers-by as she led him off the ship.

"Easy... Good lad..." she whispered in his ear, loosening her grip a little and patting his neck when they made it safely ashore and slightly out of the main stream of people. The black horse's eyes seemed to hold resentment and he raised his head up and away from Pele's touch as if offended and unwilling to communicate with her.

"I know you would have preferred to run all that distance, but this was a necessary evil. Here, let's make peace, no?" she attempted to earn back the horse's favour by fishing a sugar cube out of her pocket and presenting it as a reconciliation offering. Temper eyed her suspiciously, yet finally reached down to take the sweet delicacy from her palm and did not object against her gentle touch on his nose.

Pele could not help wondering if she looked more like someone's stablehand instead of a proper visitor. While her horse was in top condition, his fur glossy and with no speck of dust, so to say, she was dressed in simple travel clothes, now rather crumpled and somewhat stained from her undignified travel conditions, and a couple stray stalks of straw decorated her hair. She would have to get a hold of her luggage and find a place to change into something more befitting the occasion to make herself presentable.

[Arnyn]

Lord Macardil Himhathol
with Lady Silivren and @Karis Ziranphel
The Dimaethor Family Estate , Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

@Rillewen

Conflicting emotions warred within him as Ziran voiced her response and explained her reasons for speaking as well as why she would not regret doing so in front of anyone else. Gratitude, at the way she continued to hold him in such high regard. Affection, for the way she would defend him. But there were others that came into play as well, of a less positive nature. She was condemning Brenior for not defending a friend - and Macardil refused to fail to do so himself.

Macardil held her eyes until she was done, and then looked away from both his betrothed and his mother. Despite averting his gaze, he remained soft-spoken; his words quiet but well pronounced, his tone gentle but clearly not open to further protest on the matter.

“He is a friend. My friend, Karis.” His blue eyes swept across the Dimaethor grounds. “I would appreciate it if you did not call him a false one, based on one single interaction where he was utterly blindsided by my presence. You do not know the man. You do not know what concerns he has in life, what may keep him awake at night.” Concerns such as the physical and emotional wellbeing of his only son, for example. Or taking in his niece for all these years. Or having to raise a daughter and that niece in these circles, where a woman’s happiness largely and usually depended on the husband she ended up with, rather than her own strength of character. “Bigger concerns, closer to home, than those he may have about a friend he sees only a few times a year. And the truth is more difficult to uncover still when it is many miles away. Your anger is justified from your point of view, but you are not in a position to fully see his own.”

He would have said more, concerning the other points she had raised, if it had not been for Dina who was trailing back and now came within earshot. Macardil had spotted her from the moment she had turned back, but had not focused on the girl in his continuous sweep of the grounds as he’d been talking. He was surprised that she seemed to be heading straight for them, now, rather than wait until perhaps her uncle had warmed up a bit more - something Macardil was still fervently hoping for, beneath his outward composure. Speaking to Ziran, he had sounded calm, confident. And part of him truly was - but another part knew of how precarious someone’s social standing was in these circles. And how sensitive Brenior was to perception. Truthfully, Macardil had no idea what his friend, or perhaps former friend, would do going forward. Regardless, he had not given up hope.

“Yes, Lady Dinalogassel?” Macardil replied quietly to her address. Her next words stunned him for a moment, before a genuine smile mastered his features, starting at his blue eyes and ending in a small flash of white teeth in his tanned face. Even though the rumours were founded in true events, the spirit of her words lifted some of the heaviness on his shoulders. “To the contrary, my lady. I think many of the people here could learn a thing or two from you,” he said, bowing from the neck. “Thank you for your kind words. You have grown into a Lady, indeed.”

[Karis Ziranphel]

@Arnyn @Rillewen

Karis Ziranphel
With Macardil Himhathol and Silivren Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

Macardil showed his own character in his response to her, even if he looked away while forming his reply. He was swift to forgive and find reasons for his friend’s actions, and for his sake, Ziran wanted his defense of the man to be upheld. This was not the place for further conversation, even if he hadn’t shut it down with his tone. Someday she hoped he would see that he was worth as much grace as he readily extended to others. “I look forward to having my assumptions proved wrong and your good opinion of him proven correct, for that is indeed my hope.” Her words were a soft murmur, and all that she had time for before the young woman reached them. She sealed her lips on anything further and transferred her outward attention to the one who had been introduced as Dinalogassel. She would give him time to do things his way, and give his acquaintances here as much time as she could bear to change her opinion. It felt strange to be interacting thus here where they were no longer on equal footing.

Ziran’s sharp gaze took in the flush that appeared to be more embarrassment than otherwise and wondered at what would have drawn her back. One dark brow lifted at the words of apology that were expressed on her uncle’s behalf but not his instigation. So the youth shows better character than the elder. She inclined her head slightly in the faintest gestures of approval, but could see that the girl’s focus was entirely on Macardil. Macardil, whose features had transformed with his smile. It appeared that Dina’s words had healed some of the hurt caused by her uncle, and for that Ziran was grateful. A smile brought light to her dark eyes, but she remained silent as Macardil spoke.

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn @Karis Ziranphel

Dinalogassel
Lond Col

Dina was pleased to see that he looked happier, at least, after her words. She smiled shyly in return to his reply, though she wasn't sure about that. Them, learning from her? She might have shaken her head and denied it, but wasn't sure how polite that would be. "Thank you," She answered softly, unsure how else to respond. "Please... just 'Dina' is fine, though." She added, withholding a sigh. "Dinalogassel...really, what was my mother thinking?" She muttered, blushing lightly at the ridiculous length of it. Far too long for everyday use. Clearing her throat lightly, she realized she'd muttered that out loud. "I hope that I can persuade him to stop worrying so much about others' opinions, and remember the friendship you two have had for so long." She paused, then tilted her head thoughtfully. "I maaay have an idea how..." She smiled slightly as she thought of something.

Turning to the lady she had not even quite met, Dina gave a small curtsy to her. "I apologize to you as well. That was most certainly not an appropriate greeting, and I hope you weren't too terribly offended. My aunt does worry far too much over my cousin, I fear, so it wasn't untrue when she made that excuse. It is the first time he has had a chance to go anywhere away from home. We've traveled for days already because my uncle feared to travel too swiftly in a carriage, and felt that travel by sea would be even less safe." She refrained from rolling her eyes, but she did find it rather ridiculous. "Lady.. Ziranphel, wasn't it?" She asked, fairly sure she had heard the name right. "Congratulations on your betrothal." She said to them both, then glanced back toward where the rest of her family was still moving onward, and turned back. "I.. told Meressel I had lost something.. I probably should return soon. I just.. couldn't leave things as they were."

[Lantaelen]

@Karis Ziranphel @Arnyn @Rillewen @Pele Alarion

The Lord Zâinabên and Lady Orelnith of House Dimaethor
Receiving guests, Dimaethor family estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

The shieldmaiden remark could have drawn a scoff of contempt from the elderly Lord Dimaethor, had his manners been a bit less refined. His daughter, any of them, a shieldmaiden like some wild Rohirric woman? Preposterous, to say the least. He just gave his wife a side-eye glance, as if trying to nonverbally indicate for Lady Orelnith to drop that line of conversation. But Lady Orelnith knew that Lady Ziranphel wouldn’t be the first to grace their little seaside home with her prowess and legacy. Who knows, Valar willing, one of them might even win the tournament.

As for the prestigious Himhathol clan, Amarthon it seemed would not be joining the events, as Lord Zâinabên saw him as the one who truly held the reigns of power in that family, given that he commanded and governed the actual estate while the real patriarch, Macardil, had been off committing crimes. Now that was a loss, Lord Amarthon being perceived as a colleague of equal rank and standing as Lord Zâinabên, and the absence of such a ranking noble implied a whole host of problems. Was the affair not grand enough for Lord Amarthon? Was there some unknown offence given in the past? Lord Zâinabên had wished for all the local nobles and lords to have come. It showcased the influence and power of House Dimaethor. Instead, Lord Amarthon had sent this…criminal. Forgiven he might be, but the smell of blood, especially blood spilled in kinslaying, carried very far. And could linger well after they had departed.

And it had taken more than a millennia for House Dimaethor to wash clean, at least conceal, their own taint of kinslaying, since the days of King Eldacar and the Usurper Castamir. Whom the Lord Dimaethor of that time had followed as King of Gondor, foolishly.

My cousin has not forgotten that such an honour will be mine for as long as I choose to claim it. The statement was made boldly, challengingly, right to Lord Zâinabên. But he, who had sailed and fought with the present King when he had come to Gondor under his moniker of Thorongil was not so easily daunted, fixing Macardil back with a look of his own sea-grey eyes. ”Honour is something best claimed on a field of battle. Or through a contest of will. We look forward to your…display, then.” The Lord countered, before giving a nod to indicate they could pass onwards after some final, parting words. He would not argue Macardil’s claim to represent his family. But honour? It took a lifetime to gain and a second to lose it all. And even twice as long to regain it, if Dimaethor family history was any indication. Action would prove the merit of it, not words. And Macardil would have his chance.

They went on. Lady Orelnith looked at her husband with an unreadable expression. Like him, she was very conditioned on controlling her expression. They both ought to be, having lived nearly three score of years by this point. But as far as she saw it, her husband had taken a loss. And it was all his doing.

She looked forward again, adjusting some miniature discomforts in her dress and garment. ”Do calm yourself. See that another test of your patience now comes towards us.” She whispered carefully. For across the bridge came a more ancient trial of wills, from when Lord Zâinabên younger. And much less refined.

The Thôrmaethas…

The Dimaethor herald, who by sight and knowledge could pronounce and introduce most famous and noble Houses, seemed to know a little of his master’s mind, and history. He looked towards the Thôrmaethas and feigned ignorance, gesturing at them to approach. ”And who might I have the honour of announcing…?” He questioned the three, Dravedir, Tobedir and the last, Trevadir, who was indeed very much a ghost of an individual that the Dimaethors knew all too well. And had tried to know one of them all too well. She wasn’t here, thankfully, but if virtue could be passed down through bloodlines and generations, then why not sin as well?

---

The Lord Abrazimir and Lady Azraindil of House Dimaethor
Receiving guests, Dimaethor family estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

He was out. Macardil, along with Karis, walked by. He could scarce believe his eyes. It was indeed as his sister noted. A ghost from the past. Another time it seemed, an era of desperation and confusion and fear and…swords in the back. Of a commanding officer. What madness or betrayal had led to that, Abrazimir did not know. Last he heard, the man had been arrested and confined to a dungeon in Minas Tirith. That was the last he ever heard of Macardil. He never asked, no one ever told. Yet the man was here, suddenly. He looked to Karis next, a former comrade in arms, thinking she might have some explanation. But she only seemed to look at him with disappointment in her face and nothing else. That seemed to hurt more than all the Southron and Orc blades Abrazimir had endured.

His hand fell away from his sword. He didn’t need to showcase such responses before his younger, impressionable sister, who was studying him closely. But soon she had renewed distraction and there was thankfully no further comment on that.

Gaerlothriel! Her elvish name spoken out already brought the widest, most genuine smile to her face, the corners of which quivered with exertion as such grins weren’t something she was accustomed to in these later days, despite the peace and prosperity of the new Age. For many others, it was a time of victory and triumph. For her, they had always been few and far between, with her greatest trials yet to come. But in that moment, it all seemed to fall away. ”Messerel! Dina!” Azraindil, or Gaerlothriel as she was better known by, went up to greet them, blushing a little at the compliment on her dress. ”I’m so elated to see you both. You both look so lovely as well.” She extended the praise for both girls. ”I’m so excited you both came! There is so much to do.” She assured them both, reaching out to brush both their arms welcomingly.

Abrazimir turned his expression forward and tried to put the previous mystery out of his mind, though it was a daunting task. ”Lady…Meressel. Lady Dina.” Abrazimir nodded back to the younger girl’s greeting. He almost forgot their names! Then again he usually had very little reason to engage with them. ”Lord and Lady Eglathor, welcome.” He said to the parents next and to the boys, he smiled broadly. ”Gentlemen.” He said courteously. ”You must all forgive me, I must join with my parents. Welcome to Lond Côl.” He nodded and bowed his head again and then moved to take a step onwards towards where his parents were, before giving a glance back to Azraindil.

Azraindil wanted to say so much to both girls but Lord Brenior stepped in, indicating their need to continue on, to their lodgings and for some rest after their long travel. Azraindil smiled politely towards the boys, Iuldir and Caeleb, understanding the need. ”Welcome, Lord Eglathor and Lady Eglathor.” She just nodded towards the boys. She wasn’t allowed to talk to boys without some sort of supervision. Those were the strict rules of her upbringing. Because a certain someone had tried to mess around with her oldest sister, leading to a fierce restructuring of fraternization with the opposite gender in her family. ”Apologies for…” Azraindil started to say, feeling a little bad at having delayed them even a little. She just trailed off, letting them go by.

The Talvens were passing by now. Or rather, a mix of them and the Taurhebors. To them, Abrazimir had to stop and greet, at least saluting Lord Talven with a Gondorrian salute, and nodding to Lady Taurhebor. The future in-laws. ”Greetings Lord and Lady. Welcome.” To Toggornir, Abrazimir gave a solemn nod back in acknowledgement. ”Well met, friend. And yes, well enough, so far.” He said, speaking to someone with whom he might one day call brother. Azraindil smiled at him as well and performed an elegant curtsey for him and his parents. But she was more focused on the remaining member of that family.

”Dulinneth! Hiii!” All pretenses that Azraindil might be a noblewoman of prestigious stock was forgotten as she grabbed a fistful of her skirts, raising them slightly above her ankles so that she could run a little to greet her most amazing and greatest of friends. No polite curtseys and smiles and bowing of heads. Azraindil embraced the other girl, at once linking elbows. ”You look so pretty! Was it a long journey? Did you see anything of…note?” Azraindil asked rapidly, obviously speaking of interesting fauna that her partner in crime may have witnessed.

I brought it Dulinneth just assured her. Azraindil couldn’t help but beam with delight. Oh, a secret! She saw the little bundle and accepted it, though she didn’t open it yet. It was a secret. And the more people who stood around them and heard that these two girls had a secret made it all the more enthralling and exciting. What good was a secret if others didn’t even know it’s existence? The mystery was already eating her up and felt like death having to delay it’s revealing. Unlike her brother’s mystery, which had to do with actual death. She just caught Dulinneth’s eyes and flickered her own to the side, trying to nonverbally indicate they should find some space and privacy. Who cares if her parents got a little irritated by her delay? They were always irritated over something. How often did she get to see Dulinneth? It was worth a little consequence.

Abrazimir seemed to understand the secret language of best friends in conspiracy. ”Please excuse us, Lord Talven, Lady Talven, we are required to aid our parents in greeting. If you require any assistance, any of our servants or men would be happy to assist you.” With a final nod, Abrazimir turned and made his way towards his parents. Azraindil watched him go, and thought Toggornir would continue onwards with Dulinneth’s parents, and she and Dulinneth would be alone to discuss all the secrets and fun. Right? When Toggornir went on. When was he going on? Why wasn’t he going on?

Azraindil’s smile began to waver. ”I have something for you too but…well, I didn’t carry it with me. I didn’t know you were arriving today.” Azraindil explained, though her eyes flickered towards Toggornir then back to Dulinneth. Why wasn’t he leaving, so Azraindil could open her gift?

And her preferred chaperone, who absolutely hated doing that, had gone on. Abrazimir joined his parents just as the herald was speaking with the Thôrmaethas. None of the Dimaethors knew that an archnemesis was on their soil. Pirates. ”Mother, father.” Abrazimir greeted his parents, arraigning himself in full Swan-Knight gear and harness, helmet under an arm. ”What’s wrong, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He then asked his father, repeating his sister’s words to him.

His father had seen a ghost…the ghost of a man who once irritated his conscience and disrupted his family unity, for a time. But Trevadir was not that man, right? Right?

Lord Zâinabên just shook his head, tight lipped. ”It’s nothing. Stand here.” He briskly ordered his son, who was already obedient and didn’t need to be told twice, but Lord Zâinabên needed to take control of something, before he lost control of his emotions. Which was essentially his whole world. ”Come, come.” He then beckoned to the Thôrmaethas before the herald could even make their introduction. Lord Zâinabên knew who they were. Dravedir was a retainer for the family across the water anyways, though they rarely ventured onto the Dimaethor side.

”Your mistress has made great praise of your abilities, Falconer.” Lord Zâinabên said quite courteously to Dravedir. ”I trust you’ll be performing feats and displays worthy of this function.” And keeping your grandchildren’s hands to themselves, unlike your other seed.

”Welcome, Sir. Gentlemen.” Lady Orelnith said more kindly and acceptingly. ”Do we have our potential champion amongst these fine lads, you reckon?” She suggested, something Lord Zâinabên was supposed to be doing with the young men.

Abrazimir said nothing, standing as resolute as a statue. He didn’t know much of these two young men, if they even competed in jousts. They surely weren’t young boys to be teased about being potential champions so he didn’t quite get his mother’s sentiment. Behind them though he saw an old friend finally arriving, trying to catch Pele’s eyes and give her a nod in greeting, letting her know she would be up next to be welcomed as friend, family and kin even, in his home.

[Arnyn]

|
Lord Macardil Himhathol | Lady Silivren Himhathol
with @Karis Ziranphel
The Dimaethor Family Estate , Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

@Rillewen


He did not miss Ziran's discontent, which seemed so obvious to him but would be unnoticable to any others present - including Silivren. There was more that he had wanted to say, which might have taken the slight sting out of his words, but there had been no time. And perhaps saying more would have had the opposite effect from what he had intended. For it seemed the words he had managed to speak, had not garnered the result he'd sought after.

Silivren, on the other hand, was very pleased. As far as she could tell, her son had made his point and lady Ziranphel had understood.

Macardil smiled at Dina as she let some things pass her lips which others might have thought inappropriate. "Dina, then," he agreed. A shadow momentarily passed over his face as she said she might have a way to persuade Brenior to remember their friendship. Macardil would prefer the man to remember on his own, but he did not comment.
He was very appreciative of the greeting she extended to Ziran, however, which brought back his earlier smile easily.

A nod of the head was his first response to her congratulations on their betrothal, and since Dina had extended her congratulations to the both of them, he responded verbally as well. "Thank you very much. I am a lucky man." His blue eyes glanced at Ziran. "Truly." His words were genuine, and he hoped they might indicate to his betrothed that their ongoing disagreement was not a reflection of any sort of diminished regard for her on his part.

When his attentioned returned to Dina and the Eglathors, Macardil grew thoughtful. "I am afraid you are correct, lady Dina. You had best not linger. Your kindness is greatly appreciated."

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
With Macardil Himhathol and Silivren Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

It took some careful schooling of her features for Ziran to not show her reaction of surprise and slight disbelief at Dina’s responses to first Macardil and then herself. She bowed her head a fraction at the curtsey. Honor given was honor returned. Her smile relaxed at the words of congratulations and Macardil’s response, the sweetness of which brought a brief tightness to her chest.

Ziran glanced up at him with an acknowledging quirk of her lips before turning her attention back to the young woman. “Indeed. Thank you, Dina. It has been a source of unexpected joy for us both. I look forward to meeting you again during these festivities.” Answering the most relevant of her comments and leaving the seemingly rhetorical questions felt like a safer road. There were spurts of girlishness still present, but the young woman showed signs of promising maturity. Hopefully there would be more here given similar dispositions.

“We should be moving on as well. Good day to you.” They had paused at each greeting, slowing their progress towards their pavilion, and Ziran was suddenly looking forward to something cool to drink after their travels and walking in the warm afternoon sunshine. Shade and a break from the glances would also not go amiss.

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn @Karis Ziranphel

Dinalogassel
Lond Col

Dina smiled slightly to hear their replies, hoping that she had maybe helped in some way to improve things for both of them. She still remembered when she first came to live with her uncle some years ago, as a shy and lonely girl who didn't know anyone. Though she was seventeen now, the memory hadn't faded that much. And she hadn't ever seen this lady before among the nobility, so she could only guess she was new to the scene. "You as well," She replied to Lady Ziranphel, smiling. With another small curtsy in return to their parting words, Dina then turned and hurried back toward her family, trying to catch up with the rest of her family.

---

@Lantaelen

Toggornir and Dulinneth Talven
Lond Col

"Ohh yes, many!" Dulinneth replied with a grin, eager to tell her friend all about the birds and squirrels and other animals she had spotted along the journey. "The journey wasn't too long, of course," She added. "But there were plenty of.. sights." She grinned, then trailed off, noticing Gaerlothriel's subtle flick of her eyes, a sure indication that she preferred to speak in private. Dulinneth glanced around to see if her parents were out of sight yet. They were already some ways on down the path, following the servant who would lead them to the guest quarters. Dulinneth smiled faintly; that meant she might be able to get rid of him. She turned back to her friend, leaning in to whisper. "Mother asked him to chaperone for me," The twelve-year-old rolled her eyes, sighing. "I'll see if I can get him to go away..."

She turned to her brother with wide eyes, putting on an expression as if excited. "Oh, Toggornir, you'll be so pleased. Gaerlothriel has just informed me they have some sort of wine or something, set out for the guests to enjoy, isn't that right?" She asked her friend, assuming this would be the case. Knowing how much he enjoyed drinking stuff of that sort, it seemed the most likely way to tempt him away from being her shadow.

"Oh?" He replied, turning his attention on Gaerlothriel, and hesitated. "That sounds quite enjoyable, but I'm afraid I shall have to wait on seeking out such delights," He mentioned regretfully. "I have been tasked with accompanying my dear sister until we reunite with our parents." Though he had no desire to babysit the girl, and knew Dulinneth did not wish to have a babysitter, he also knew both parents would be displeased if he abandoned his 'duty' to go and enjoy some wine.. appealing as that was.

"Well," Dulinneth shrugged. "Yes. I suppose you must do as Mother says. But I intend to stay with Gaerlothriel for some time. And didn't Father give you an errand to do?" She tilted her head, as if trying to think of something she'd overheard him saying as they were waiting for their mother to recover from her ailment. "Something about finding the sergeant at arms, to deliver some message.." She furrowed her brow slightly as if she couldn't remember.

Toggornir's eyes widened marginally as his little half-sister reminded him of that. Yes.. there was that matter he needed to fix. Father would be quite upset if he messed up on that again. He hesitated briefly, weighing the girl's words. Must? Since when did he have to follow his stepmother's orders? He was nearly twenty-two and could do as he pleased. Besides, Dulinneth was with her friend and nothing was going to happen to her with all these servants and folks about. While he would like to stick around and see if he might speak with the pretty lady Gaerlothriel, he also suspected he wouldn't have a lot of success in that endeavor. "Indeed, I should find him," he answered thoughtfully. "I suppose I have accomplished my task, in delivering my sister into your capable care, lady Gaerlothriel." He said with a proper bow to her. "Do you happen to know where I might find your Lord father's sergeant-at-arms?" After that, he could find the wine.

---

@Lantalean again

Dravedir, Trevadir, and Tobedir Thôrmaetha
Lond Col

When it had been suggested that Dravedir might show off his birds in some manner, the falconer had readily agreed so long as Lady Eressild had no objections to the idea. He would be using his own birds, not hers, for this. At the time, the man had not been sure whether his youngest grandson, Tobedir, would be able to assist him, though he greatly hoped so. The fourteen-year-old had apparently recently taken an apprenticeship with a carpenter, back in Minas Tirith, and Dravedir wasn't sure whether he would be able to get away. So when Tobedir showed up for his annual visit, along with his older brother, it had been quite a shock and a delight. Dravedir, at least, was thrilled by Trevadir's presence here. Even if Lord Dimaethor was not. He greeted the lord with a respectful bow. "My lord Dimaethor, thank you, I shall endeavor not to disappoint you. Indeed, everything has been made ready. I hope all will be suitably impressive and meet your approval." He replied, smiling happily. "And I am pleased to report that both of my grandsons will be assisting me with my work, throughout the festivities."

"Afraid not, m'lady," Trevadir answered quietly, with a small bow as he tentatively lifted his hat briefly out of respect, but kept his eyes downward, free hand fidgeting with the end of his flute which hung at his belt. "No jousting from me, or my brother." Still, he couldn't help smiling faintly in amusement, recalling his absolute fail when he had tried to get on a horse not long ago. Not to mention the extreme discomfort in his legs, after riding for a few hours. He had no desire to get back on a horse ever again, much less have someone ride at him with a pole and try to knock him off again. His fighting skills were of a different nature, and he had great hopes he would not need to use them anytime soon.

"We're mostly here to help Grandfather, but also to see the festivities." Tobedir spoke up with a grin. He could hardly stop smiling, he was so delighted to have his brother back in his life again. "I can't wait to see the jousting and everything, it's sure to be very exciting!" He was also excited at the thought of hopefully seeing a few of his friends, but he had no idea whether any of them would be coming to this. He was extremely glad it hadn't taken much effort to get the time off to come visit grandfather this year, and that he'd been able to work out the timing so he could come during this event! Even better, was how well the timing worked out for Trev to be able to come along too, though it had taken some convincing.

[Arnyn]

|
Lord Macardil Himhathol | Lady Silivren Himhathol
with @Karis Ziranphel
The Dimaethor Family Estate , Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

They need not walk much further before they reached the gathering of tents which had been set up by Ruthor and the others sent by Amarthon. It was as if they had their own miniature village. Three off-white pavillions had been set up, with smaller, round, blue and grey tents in between and around them. Silivren cast a quick look at her son. Macardil smiled faintly and explained. "I asked for a separate tent for each of us. I assumed you ladies would each appreciate a place that was all your own amidst the... festivities. A place to escape; a place to be alone - if only for a little while." He left it quite unsaid that Ziran having a tent all her own would also eliminate any unwanted oversight if either of them found they had tired of their limited show of affection. However, he did not even have to look all that carefully to see that Silivren was unconvinced of his proffered reason, and had likely drawn the very same conclusion he would have preferred her not to entertain.

The smaller tents belonged to the servants or housed some more chests with supplies of varied sorts. A lady's maid awaited in front of the blue tent in between two of the larger pavillions. "My Lady Himhathol - Lady Ziranphel." She curtsied to both of them. "My name is Marian, pleased to serve you." Silivren addressed her with the ease that came with years of experience around such servants. "You may accompany Lady Ziranphel to her pavillion and help her get settled, Marian." This was not SIlivren's first outing. Although chambers carried her preference to tents, they would still be set up with all the required comforts and she knew how they tended to be organised.

Instead, Silivren called the attention of the footman and the carriage driver. "Might you set up my pavillion so a raised flap may provide shade from the sun while still offering views of the coast?" she half-asked, half-instructed the two men. "I would offer my son and his betrothed refreshments."
Of course, Silivren would not offer them anything. The servants would be taking on that task. But, as the lady, would be the one to speak the words to Macardil and Ziran, and to take the reins of organisation upon herself.
Silivren walked toward her tent. Once in front of it, she turned to look back at her son and his betrothed. Waiting for Macardil to say his goodbye and for Marian to accompany Ziranphel into her own pavillion.

Macardil turned partially toward Ziran and regarded her for a moment, as if he were unsure of what to say. Then he bowed his head to her. "Excuse me, Ziran," he spoke quietly. "I must go settle in Night-shade, and check whether everything has been prepared in my own tent. We will speak soon." It was a promise, and his voice perhaps even carried the hint of an apology.

Then he took Night-shade away from their little area, toward the location of the stables. When Ruthor noticed what Macardil was doing, he ran up to him. "Lord Himhathol, let me take care of that for you," he offered eagerly, almost apologetically for not immediately setting his own hand to the task. "Nay, Ruthor," Macardil replied. "But walk with me. I have some questions for you."

As the two made their way to the stables, Macardil ignored the looks and whispers. He focused instead on Ruthor, and on finding out what he could through the young man about how the people were experiencing the day-to-day on the Himhathol estate.

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
With Macardil Himhathol and Silivren Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

The standard that caught the breeze over the pavilions bore the axe and winged pearl of their house on a field of blue, marking Macardil’s abode, while fluttering pennants marked each of the others. Ziran’s eyes lit with delight and relief at the sight of the sturdy pavilions with their taut canvas walls, that were placed close enough to the shore to give an excellent view and capture the best of the sea breezes when the sides were raised. She did not miss the meaning of the exchange between Macardil and Silivren, but kept her peace with just the hint of smile hovering on her lips. She tilted her head at his comment on having a place away where one could escape and have peace. That was important and true enough, especially as extended time amongst crowds and strangers could be taxing.


When the young woman curtseyed to them and introduced herself as Marian, Ziran smiled at her quietly and nodded acknowledgement. It would be different having a ladies maid, but she knew Marian could also be invaluable as a source of information and advice, not just help in dressing in the styles of the area. Hopefully there would be some form of rapport there. If not, it could well be miserable, but the look in Marian’s eye and the way she held herself seemed promising. Silivren indicated that Marian was to accompany her and assist with settling in before taking time for refreshments.


Ziran’s eyes followed Silivren briefly to see which pavilion she headed to out of the remaining two not marked by the house standard, before returning Macardil’s regard as he shifted toward her. “Of course, my love.” She replied to Macardil excusing himself. The walk had helped lift her spirits once more, and although her features were sober there was a brightness in her countenance as she spoke. She knew he preferred to settle his beloved horse himself, as that was part of their bond, in addition to seeing to the needs of his mount before himself in the tradition of the best horsemen. She brought her free hand up to rest over his for but a second before releasing his arm and dropping her hands.


Turning to Marian, she tilted her head. “Lead the way!” She had surmised correctly, as Marian led her to the far pavilion, where one of the flaps had been tied open to let the cool breeze in. Stepping inside, Ziran was rather amazed to look around. Her command tent on planned maneuvers had always seemed exceedingly luxurious because she occasionally had a cot to sleep on instead of the usual bedroll, folding tables and stools for laying out maps and providing seating for visitors, and brazures for warmth and light. This was a great leap beyond that despite the seeming simplicity of the decorations. The front half of the small pavilion was a space that could be used for receiving others or just to have a private room space under the shade when the walls were raised. There was a beautiful carpet over the floor cloth, with a chaise lounge that had been pegged together and heaped with cushions over the pad on the bench seat, as well as other chairs with padded seats. Two small tables stood ready, as well as sturdy stands to hold brazures. A flap in the partition that divided the pavilion in two was also tied open to show the bedchamber behind. Ziran ducked through the opening as Marian pointed out the chests that had been sent, the small one from their ship and a larger one from the estate. A rack stood to one side, and Marian had already worked to hang up several of the dresses that would be options for upcoming outings. The bed was a real one with four posts, slats and pegs, and most amazing of all, a real mattress! Ziran took in the sight of beautiful coverlets and pillows, and the wash stand with bowl and ewer standing ready beside it, and felt both gratitude and a bit dazed. “Thank you Marian, for all that you have done to prepare this. I think I will just take a moment to wash my face and then I will come out to sit with Lady Silivren.” She dismissed the young woman quietly, but with earnest gratitude in her tone. There would be time later to talk and get to know one another better, and she felt the need for that alone time now that Macardil had spoken of, even if his mother had suspected otherwise.


Marian left with a smile and a quiet, “Aye, m’lady. I’ll be just outside if you need me.” When she was alone, Ziran did another slow sweep of the space with her gaze before moving to the washstand. It was a very warm day despite the time of year, and that water looked blessedly cool. She washed her hands in the basin and rinsed them with some of the clean water in the pitcher before dashing some over her face as well to rinse away the sweat and light dust. Running her wet hands through her short hair helped cool her further, but then she took a moment to stand with eyes closed and hands resting on the edge of the basin to just breathe and let the tension flow away. She could do this. It was different, but that could be good as well.


Opening her dark brown eyes again, she sighed quietly, but then smiled to herself as she dried her hands and swept the comb from the bedside table through her short hair so that it looked a little less windblown temporarily. Unclasping her cloak, she hung it up and then turned to go back outside and join Silivren at her pavilion.

[Pele Alarion]

Dimaethor family estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
~ End of Summer, Fourth Age

While Pele still stood around, trying to get Temper into a more agreeable mood before moving closer to a lot of people, she caught Abrazimir looking her way. She gave a small shrug at first, and then a return nod, and a smile.

"I don't know, Temper," she then said quietly to the horse's black, soft nose when he blocked her view and searched to nudge her asking for more treats. "Had you not been such a big baby instead of a proper war horse, I would be more prepared to meet these lords and ladies. It is fine for you to smell like yourself but I doubt it would do me much honour to carry the same aroma, don't you think?" She spared him another delicacy, and then remarked: "No more. Even if you push me into the sea."

While she conversed thus with her four-legged companion, Pele found that her luggage had already been brought out, and two strong young lads stood by ready to carry it for her. "Thank you. I can take care of it myself," she said, slightly at a loss of how she should deal with this. She was used to bring with her only as many things as she could carry, though this time it was more than usual since she had assumed that a uniform would not do in this occasion and she'd need a few dresses along with her casual attire. Besides, it would probably not do to wear the same dress all the time as well.

"We will not let you touch these bags until they are in your lodgings, m'lady," one of the lads said and flashed a grin at her deserving a response of a slight roll of eyes as she did not find the right witty words to say right this moment.

[Arnyn]

Lady Silivren Himhathol
with @Karis Ziranphel
The Dimaethor Family Estate , Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

Silivren had deposited her cloak beyond the partition that sectioned off her bedchamber, for it was nowhere to be seen in the front half of the pavillion. It was perfectly neat, and Silivren would make sure it stayed that way. Drinks had been set up by the servants according to her instructions: water and cooled white wine. It was a warm day, and drinking wine alone would not be wise. Besides - Macardil would want to keep a clear head, she knew.

Her raven hair was freshly combed and she was had removed the top layer of her dress to reveal the layer beneath. The fabric was different, smoother, silkier - clearly she had not wished to expose it to the dust of the road, even if only for a short walk. She had not been sure there would be a carriage at the harbour, after all. If Macardil and Amarthon had agreed on it beforehand, her son had failed to tell her. More likely than not, the two men had not discussed it and Amarthon had simply taken the task upon himself to arrange what he thought was fit. Silivren made a mental note to thank him later.

"Karis," she greeted her future daughter-in-law with a friendly smile. "Please, sit. Would you prefer wine, or water?"

Marian, who had followed Karisfrom a respectable distance, was now paying close attention from within earshot, but obviously without the intention of being considered part of the conversation.

"What do you think?" Silivren asked then, referencing their accommodations. "While it is not as desirable as having rooms, it will serve us well, I should think." Karis had seen Silivren's home in Minas Tirith, and knew the woman did not live extravagantly. While Silivren enjoyed all the accustomed comforts, she did not have rooms that only looked beautiful and functional but never saw much use. She lived comfortably, and her furnishings were clearly high quality, but the wealth did not smack you in the face upon entering. So to speak.

[Ercassie]

Lady Eressild and little Lord Emeredir Azrubêl. with Lady’s Maid, Elen.
followed by Lady Ilisys Azrubêl and Anardil ‘Warder’ Thavron

Arrival at the Dimaethor Event/Side of the River
in Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil. Late Summer, 4th Age.
@Lantaelen @Pele Alarion

The Falconer and his grandchildren were the first of the local migrants to pass over the waters, from the one shore to the other. They were not the last by far. Behind them was a veritable tide of intrigued visitors, many bedecked in various showings of brazen gold or cerulean blue, though their exhibition be a simple ribbon to light some girl child’s hair, or the fiercely brandished flag a small boy had clearly constructed for the occasion.

This assembly, their faces a vast flood of excitement, strode and skipped and stared as they made their way. In no great hurry to bypass a single moment of such wonder. For few to none could recall now the last time that the austere folk across the way had promised games and fun.

Fewer still were more intrigued than the Lady Eressild, matriarch and unofficial head of House Azrubêl. Though she had subdued her curiosity quite long enough to avoid any threat of their host assigning her some menial chore or task from the get-go. Seated in the comfort of an open carriage, the Lady was primed to gain an unobstructed view of what the House of Dimaethor deemed an extravaganza. Despite the insistent distraction of her young nephew. That young lord being raised upon both his knees atop the cushioned pew, he leaned with reckless dare over the front of their ride’s pearl-hued shell. Emeredir was all of nine years old, already entranced by the four thoroughbred horses who sailed their ornate transport through the crowds with all the poise and dressage money could afford. He had begged to be permitted to ride, but no one would hear of it.


Elen had given up pleading with the child lord to sit proper in his place, since from her privileged own position, sat beside her Lady and mistress, the hand maiden was convinced most folk believed that she was Lady Sirdis; mother of their lord. She must play the more dignified part accordingly. For that more rightful representative of the family was so infrequently seen at public events, although she had vowed to take a turn at attending on the morrow, and to that Eressild was determined to hold her. But Elen was equally indispensable to her employer for all that; fluent in Sindarin, and of a tendency to whisper in such a disarming tongue demurely at her lady's ear, that all and any information would by provided at need. She was not, regardless, where most of the attention to this late arrival was likely to collect.

Behind the carriage rode a pair of armoured soldiers, high on horseback. The Lady Ilisys was in the forefront, with enough of an interlude between her and the back of her mother’s head, that she could smile even whilst imagining her parent’s disapproval at her refusal to consider sidesaddle. There had been words spent on the subject of the lady riding at all, as though she were owed no more grace than the young man who followed her in quick succession. Though in truth, if there were one member of the entire ensemble least likely to show them up, it would be the young Lady’s faithful Warder. One time squire to the former Swan Knight he shadowed, now a recognised leader of their local arms force on the other side of the river. Anardil Thavron may have dismissed all use of his presumptuous given name but still Eressild might boast there was no soul more devout of their contingent to tradition than this most unlikely contender.


While the first course of their company drew up level with the Lord and Lady Dimaethor, it was Warder’s delight to recognise the Ranger Captain, Pele Alarion, appearing somewhat ill at ease with her clearly recent arrival. It was his duty and honour to offer the illustrious warrior his service.

“Captain, hul,” the soldier smiled, falling back apace as time allowed while the head of their little procession stalled to pay due homage to their hosts. “Pray let me offer you this helm so all must await, with only the proper anticipation to behold what splendid visage you shall regale them with at some appointed hour. Make them wait and you shall make them wonder.” Extending his own helm in the nearest hand, the 'gift' would doubtless conceal Pele’s .. less than polished appearance if she was fretting upon such. He had been forced to adapt to many such ‘emergencies’ during his career, and more recently his extremely shy wife. Yet he knew that if the infamous Ranger preferred to face Lond Côl from the first, shamelessly as she had arrived, then she would assuredly say so. And he could not know disappointment in either circumstance. For Pele was here. And for that much he was beyond glad. For such a friend, he could survive her undecorated tendencies.


“Unless of course you wish to school us what a true warrior looks like ... The Captain of the King’s Rangers shall require her cloak,” Isys added calmly, glancing over her shoulder to the two young aides who were seeming unsure how to serve such an un-demanding celebrity as Pele. Five young pages from the Belfalasian’s own train scurried with haste toward their hushed meet, each proffering a different hued cloak across an outstretched arm. Grey eyes from Ilisys silently directed their offerings toward the welcome guest from Minas Tirith.

“For certain it shall take a fine cloak to match so formidable a steed,” Warder commended their old friend, much approving of her travelling companion. All about them waited while Pele was given time to determine or dismay over her choice of hastily presented costume. Certainly the Lady Eressild, if not her less stately young charge, would ably hold their hosts' attention long enough a time, while the rear of the latest noble party made themselves suitably prepared to follow suit.

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen

The Lady Azraindil of House Dimaethor
With her dearest friend, Dulinneth Talven, and her brother, Toggornir Talven

A greater display of patience might have gotten the two girls the conditions they sought for a safe and secure conversation. Perhaps like Azraindil’s own brother, Toggornir might eventually grow bored and seek a more lax pursuit of his chaperoning duties. Abrazimir knew the two young girls would hardly get into much trouble or nuisance and could trust them. But something about Toggornir that Azraindil couldn’t quite place had her doubting the existence of something similar in him.

Mimicking Dulinneth’s exciting smile with hardly a prompt, she joined her friend and nodded in agreement with several of the statements. ”Of course! Barrels and barrels of all sorts of colorful drinks. And food to go with it. And endless banqueting.” She added on to Dulinneth’s statements, perhaps over exaggerating a little, but to her it all seemed so grand in it’s preparation and scope. It certainly seemed so with how much she had been conscripted to help with. For all her father talked about their noble privilege, they hardly seemed able to even rest on such laurels, often aiding and assisting with even small chores and labours about the household and estate.

Toggornir seemed enthralled, but espoused that merit of patience that Azraindil had failed to demonstrate when embarking on this conspiracy with her friend. Azraindil pouted when it seemed their efforts had struck a brick wall, Toggornir displaying a degree of discipline and adherence to rules. Ugh. But Dulinneth struck back, reminding him of a vague task or goal set to him by their father. Azraindil didn’t ask, knowing she could pick Dulinneth’s brain about it later. Probably nothing exciting anyways, especially if it involved the Master Sergeant-At-Arms, whom as her parent’s chief lieutenant, and enforcer of rules, Azraindil did not have a high opinion of. He was always reporting movements and behaviors to her parents, sometimes leading to disciplinary actions.

”Nothing to worry about, my Lord. She’s safe with me and my brother is just right over there. He can always step in.” Azraindil assured Toggornir pointing back towards her brother who was near the archway with their parents. ”I think Sadron- that is, the Sergeant-At-Arms, will be at the jousting grounds, overseeing a few final touches.” She said in regards to his second query. She thought. She didn’t quite know where the man was but the longer Toggornir stayed busy, the better. It wasn’t as if Azraindil and Dulinneth were going to run off into the wilds or out onto the wide, open seas or anything. A little harmless white lie. How often did they get to be alone without some guard breathing over their shoulder, possibly reporting everything said or done to a parent?

”Thank you, Lord Toggornir!” Azraindil then concluded, in the sweetest voice she could muster. She watched him depart until she was sure he was out of hearing range and then turned to Dulinneth with a grin, shrugging a little at the web they just wove. Totally without regret. ”Come.” She urged at first, drawing her friend off the main street and into the shade of a nearby building, where it was significantly cooler.

”I’m so happy you’re here. Mother said I can seat a few of my friends in the main box at the games, like we have our own section and everything! Right at the front.” She told Dulinneth right away. Her mother said not to tell anyone because she feared lots of the younger children might try to weasel their way there, given Azraindil’s charitable nature. But it was only Dulinneth she was telling. For now, at least. There was no harm in that. They were all supposed to be family one day, right? And yet he, the other he, didn’t come. If he ever came back. Azraindil only knew what she had been told, of which she was skeptical. Her first betrothed, killed in an accident. And the replacement, the younger brother, gone missing. Well, she couldn’t say she was a little pleased at the delay in such an arrangement but she didn’t want it like this, at the expense of the other’s health and safety.

In any case, today was supposed to be joyous and carefree. ”So, tell me everything! We still don’t have long, I know my parents will probably send Abrazimir to fetch me for my official hosting duties. But I never get to talk or say anything. Just stand there and be the final piece to complete the happy puzzle that is our family. Never mind, sorry.” She smiled sheepishly. ”I asked you to tell me everything and there I go, on a tirade. How are you?” She asked again, perhaps thinking some privacy would allow Dulinneth to give an answer that didn’t need to be filtered or rehearsed to appease some chaperone or relative.

---

@Rillewen @Pele Alarion @Ercassie

The Lord Zâinabên and Lady Orelnith of House Dimaethor, with their son, Lord Abrazimir
Receiving guests, Dimaethor family estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

Lord Zâinabên gave only a curt hum of acknowledgement to Dravedir the Falconer’s promise of suitable feats and performances for the crowd. Of that, the aging Dimaethor patriarch had little doubt. It was their family’s other talent that he had concerns about. His eyes flickered to the two grandsons in question, the eldest expressing in the negative that they would be jousting. He was not very impressed with that answer. Young lads Trevadir’s age should be martial in their pursuits and goals, and though the great War might indeed have finally come to an end, no one said it would be the end of Gondor’s woes. Peacetime should not allow sloth and easy living to settle in. Every opportunity should be undertaken by the younger generations to perfect the warrior’s arts.

But the elderly Lord was also a relic of the past, of an Age now ended, and what did he truly know?

The younger espoused all the tell tale marks of child enthusiasm, which was always greeted with polite smiles by the host and hostess. Now here was someone for which hope could still follow. Maybe witnessing demonstrations of prowess and knightly skill would draw out in the younger what seemingly was lacking in the elder. ”I’m sure you’ll find it plenty eventful between helping your dear grandfather and partaking in the festivities.” Lady Orelnith said encouragingly to the two children. ”But yes, we must not keep you waiting any longer to see the excitement and pomp! Please go on in, make yourselves at home. Eat and drink, and should you require any assistance, the household guards or servants will aid you. Welcome again!” She said and hurried the Thôrmaethas along, before her husband’s sour mood cast yet another dark cloud on one of their guests.

Besides, the Azrubêls were now arriving. Lady Orelnith had to piece and parcel her husband’s mood across multiple pot holes and bumps in this long road of hosting. And this whole affair was his idea to start with!

”Abrazimir, where is your sister?” Lady Orelnith inquired of her son.

Abrazimir glanced around, trying to look confused but he knew. With her friend. ”She was with me a moment ago. Probably greeting her friend.” He said, looking over his shoulder but he really wasn’t looking or searching. Like his sister, he knew what it was like to live under some strict boundaries. So he permitted his sister to take every opportunity to escape them, if even for a few moments or precious few seconds. It did wonders for the mood.

”Let’s get this over with. Call them forth-“ Lord Zâinabên began to say, ready to gesture to the herald to invite the co-owners of Lond Côl over, the wealthy Azrubêl clan. They could espy the young Lord, both Lady Azrubêls, Anardil Thavron, a few servants.

”Hold on a moment, father. There is another esteemed guest I’d like to introduce first.” Abrazimir cut in. He looked over to where Pele was, currently being greeted by Warder and Isys. So many reunions with friends, old and new. He also wondered if his former companions within the Rangers knew about Macardil’s release. ”Captain!” Abrazimir called out, indicating that Pele could come forward if she was comfortable doing so. At least his father seemed piqued by the presence of a high ranking officer. Captain? Now that was the sort of connections his children should have.

”Father, mother, this is Captain Pele Alarion, of the King’s Rangers, and formerly my superior officer and mentor when I served in that unit.” Abrazimir introduced her to his parents. ”Captain, these are my parents, Lord Zâinabên and my mother, Lady Orelnith.” He gestured between them.

”Well met, Captain.” Lord Zâinabên greeted first. ”I’ve actually heard tales of your deeds, though now I can put a face to the stories. I trust they are all true.” His father said courteously.

Welcome, Captain. I thank you for the safekeeping of my son while he served with you.” Lady Orelnith said next, even giving a respectful bow to Pele. ”Our son said you were to be held in especial esteem. Come, you must be tired from your journey hither from the White City. There is drink, food. And lodgings for you prepared, by the beachside, if you have a care for the sea. If not, more appropriate lodgings can be prepared further inland, if you rather prefer a love for the forests of Belfalas.” Lady Orelnith suggested to Pele.

”Couple other of our companions are here, already settled.” Abrazimir also informed Pele.

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
With Macardil Himhathol and Silivren Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

Ziran returned Silivren’s smile with a relaxed one of her own as she accepted the invitation to enter into the shade of the pavilion and take a seat facing the sea and at a slight angle to that of her mother-in-law-to-be. It felt good to sit down again after the walk, even though she had been restless before. “Thank you. Water please. It is a warm afternoon.” She nodded slightly to Marian. She was thirsty and the water would be more refreshing. She also knew she didn’t react well to drinking wine in order to quench thirst when it was hot, even with a weaker vintage, and wanted to keep a clear head.


She paused to accept the glass of water and take a long sip before answering Silivren’s question about the accommodations. “Yes, the pavilions are lovely and quite comfortable. Much more so than I am accustomed to, but I think I will enjoy it very much during our stay. They are well situated and furnished.” Indeed, Ziran appreciated that they were not ostentatious despite the lovely setup, as that would have made it more difficult to relax, while they added a level of daily comfort that would not go amiss with her joints that had begun to feel the sting of sleeping on hard ground a bit more each season. She tilted her chin to the mesmerizing roll of the blue-green waves not far away as they ebbed and flowed. “I think one of the highlights will be our proximity to the sea.” It was a view that she didn’t often get to see living in Minas Tirith, but one that had always delighted her with the constant sound and motion. The murmur of the waves was continuous, rarely changing, and calming. She also remembered Macardil describing the water as being one of his favorite memories of this land. “A safe haven and suitable retreat from the crowds when needed.”

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Dulinneth Talven
with Azraindil/Gaerlothriel Dimaethor
Lond Col

Dulinneth let out a happy sigh as she watched her brother bow in farewell to Lady Azraindil, and finally, took his leave after a few words of thanks to the young lady. Dulinneth giggled as she turned back to her friend, once he was out of earshot. "Really, 'Lord' Toggornir?" She repeated with a roll of her eyes. "You'll make his head swell, referring to him as such," Dulinneth informed her. While she and Tog were certainly nothing that could be described as remotely close siblings, she did at least know somewhat about him. And she knew he wanted to be called Lord very much, though that title was only barely applicable to their father, or at least as she understood it. Whatever though. It worked, and sent him away, and now they had a few moments alone.

Hurrying along with Gaer, Dulinneth stopped in the shade of the building, nearly bursting with excitement. "Open it!" She urged, eager for Gaerlothriel to see her present. "Yes, that sounds lovely!" She added, thinking about the box for watching the joust. "I can hardly wait, although I do wish.." Trailing off, she decided not to voice her wistful desire to have her brother there again. The other one, the one who was nice to her and didn't ignore her. The girl took a glance around, to ensure that they were alone, before leaning closer to her friend. "I brought Rhovan," She whispered, excitement gleaming in her eyes as she spoke of the horse she believed could win any race. "And I've arranged it so that.. 'Sûlion' will be riding in the race, and without someone learning of it." She whispered, rather proud of her accomplishment. And she had managed this all without her father learning of her secret plans. Of course, that wasn't so much of a challenge when he was busy with everything else. The bigger challenge had been in not letting her governess learn about it.

---

Dravedir, Trevadir, and Tobedir Thôrmaetha
Lond Col

Was it his imagination, or did Lord Dimaethor frown more deeply at the comment about the brothers not participating in the jousting? Trevadir wasn't really sure, seeing as he knew very little about the man. But he felt a deep sense of disapproval almost emanating from the man toward himself... whether that was in his imagination or not, remained to be seen. But at least he was not denied entrance. Trev let out a silent sigh of relief as he followed his grandfather through the archway, once the Thôrmaetha trio had been waved through by the host and hostess. The lady was cordial, at least, and bid them to enjoy the food and drinks, or ask for any assistance they may need. Since they would be bringing the birds over later, an extra few pairs of hands might be useful for carrying the cages.

Dravedir bowed again to the lord and lady and ushered his grandsons through, perhaps sensing that it would be best to move along. He had spotted the carriage approaching, and knew that Lady Azrubel would be a far more important guest for the couple to greet. He kept himself and both young men with him to the side of the road to allow for carriage traffic to pass, unhindered by any foot traffic. He wished to take a good look at the hunting grounds and get a feel for the area where they would be mostly stationed during these next two weeks, before he brought any of his birds across the river.

Beside Trev, Tobedir was excitedly looking around, wondering who all would be participating in the jousting, which was a thing he'd never had a chance to witness, himself. Not that there hadn't been any jousts during his lifetime, but he was never in the area at the time to see them. "Why don't you get into the joust, Trev?" He wondered, once they had passed through and were on their way toward the grounds. "It can't be all that hard, can it?"

"Tobe, I don't even know how to ride a horse," Trev mumbled, not really counting that mini-lesson he'd had from Macardil. "Anyway, I've had enough real fights to last me the rest of my life. And besides, I'm not really interested in showing off how well I can fall off a horse." He nudged his brother with a grin.
"I bet you're great at it." Toby grinned back.
"Uh... no, trust me. I'm not." Trev disagreed.
"No, not riding. I meant falling off," Tobedir laughed.
Trev laughed too. "Oh. Well, yeah. That I am good at." He smiled, glancing at his brother, a young man of fourteen now. It was hard to believe he was so grown up, and it felt good to be laughing with him, after so many years away, thinking he might never see his 'kid brother' again.

After asking directions to their destination from a passing servant, they headed straight toward the Jousting Arena. Coming first to the banqueting pavilions, Dravedir reminded the boys(he found it hard to think of them as anything else, despite their being no longer children) that they had tasks to accomplish before they should eat. On the opposite side of the arena were the stables and places for tradesmen to set up, but the Thôrmaethas had still further to go. Beyond that was their goal; the hunting grounds.

[Pele Alarion]

Dimaethor family estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
~ End of Summer, Fourth Age
@Lantaelen , @Ercassie

While she still stood around, taking in surroundings and the people, Pele found a couple familiar ones among them.

"Nice to see you too, Anardil!" she responded and flashed Warder a smile while her hand went for her hair automatically, and raked out one of the short hay stalks stuck in there. It would seem that her appearance would not be acceptable, and she was aware that her neat braid was probably no longer neat. "Think I would not sink in that helmet of yours?" she laughed, accepting the offer and fitting it on. It was slightly too big, yet it might do if Warder assumed that it was better than going without anyway. And when Isys had a whole collection of cloaks presented to her, she could not hide her amusement and let out a merry laugh. Yet she also did not deny the offer and from all the options chose a black cloak with a silver edge and lining. "This will do, if you insist," she said, her fingers exploring the texture of the soft fabric before she went on to drape the cloak around her shoulders and secure it with a clasp.

Still mindful to keep her horse in check, Pele then responded to Abrazimir's call, and at the warm greeting from his parents placed her hand over her heart and bowed her head respectfully, thinking that curtsy and such would go better with a lovely dress. She hoped that it was acceptable - after all she was presented as a captain - though she knew quite well that she would make a mistake sooner or later, or more likely a whole lot of mistakes at once not being sure of all the noble courtesies to observe.

"Lord Zâinabên, Lady Orelnith, it is great pleasure to meet you. Your have raised your son to be a fine gentleman and a very good warrior," she said, her blue eyes smiling warmly from under the helm, and glancing at Abrazimir for a moment. She could not help wonder what stories of her had reached Lond Col, but at any rate she assumed that those must have been made to sound better than they were judging by the warmth of welcome. Or perhaps no word of any of her mischief had come this way.

"I would gladly enjoy the view of the sea, thank you!" she responded gladly. It would make for a very good change of scenery, and even if she did not long for it she would not want to inconvenience the hosts by requesting other lodgings than offered.

Eventually she then looked at Abrazimir. "Who all have already arrived?" she questioned curiously.

[Arnyn]

Lady Silivren Himhathol
with @Karis Ziranphel
The Dimaethor Family Estate , Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

She nodded, a smile on her lips, her eyes on the sea, when Ziran complimented the pavilions for their furnishings and location. "Yes," Silivren agreed. "Amarthon instructed the servants well, and they have completed the task of preparing for our arrival admirably."

"The sea reminds me much of Alator." While the subject was one close to her heart, she did not sound emotional. It sounded more as if she were discussing the vintage of the wine on the table. "It brings me both great joy and sorrow." And she was reminded now that her son appeared stronger than she: for whereas Silivren had fled the shores of Belfalas to escape the many reminders of her late husband, Macardil had remained in Minas Tirith after the death of his wife.

"Are you planning on joining any of the competitions, Karis?" Silivren continued, in the same tone of voice. Her blue-eyed gaze finally travelled to Ziran. "There will be more than simply the joust, of course." As if that were a given.

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
With Silivren Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

Ziran’s gaze shifted from the sea back to Silivren when she mentioned her late husband, and studied her silently for a moment despite the calm tone of her words. She wondered what coming back here was like for her now. The death of a husband had not had the same scandal attached, and here she was as a warrior woman and once again not of the expected class. The short time frame for preparations had really only allowed for discussing clothing and accommodations, and the details of getting ready for Macardil to joust, not really the feelings behind it all. Then again, they were just at the beginning of getting to know one another as well.

The water was cool and refreshing, and Ziran had just lifted the glass for another drink when Silivren spoke again. Would she be participating in any competitions? She swallowed and lowered her glass to rest it on a crossed knee as she considered the question. “Perhaps, yes.” Her tone was even.“I would be glad to participate, depending on what the challenges are, and whether it is acceptable for me to join.” She never went anywhere without her gear and weapons, even though they were packed away.

It was rare for Ziran to join competitions unless she was bored or had needed to show her skills to those who thought she had grown rusty, but here it felt different. Here she would be happy to take the opportunity to thump one of those who walked around with airs, and give them stiff competition or even beat them with her bow. Yet as much as she was itching to wield sword or bow herself, and to prove what she could do and who she was, she was cognizant of the fact that it was better in this context for Macardil to be at the forefront. Tournament combat was as much about proving honor as skill with arms, and she knew it was an excellent forum to show the honor of the House. She was not yet officially part of it despite the ring on her hand. It was his honor.

Her eyes had briefly lost their focus, but they lifted to the blue gaze of Silivren once more. “Which would you consider acceptable,and will you be competing in any fashion?” Her tone was lightly curious, but the answer would be revealing.

[Arnyn]

Lady Silivren Himhathol
with @Karis Ziranphel
The Dimaethor Family Estate , Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

Ziran's tone was giving away nothing. Mentally, Silivren raised an eyebrow. Outwardly, her expression remained posed. "There are a few competitions which are traditionally more acceptable for ladies. The archery, I believe, will suit you better than, say, a bake off." She paused briefly. "It also helps that skirts are no hindrance to bend a bow. The dress only needs to allow for the right movements of the arms and shoulders."

She sipped her wine. "I do not believe I will participate, myself, no. These competitions are meant for those who enjoy the competition, or the event itself. Or for those who delight in the attention and the possible awe of victory. Sometimes it is for those who have something to prove. I fall into none of these categories."

She signalled Marian over, who brought over three small bowls of fruit and nuts and placed them on the table. "Macardil told me you are an archer, as he is. You would be free to partake, and I believe he would enjoy watching you compete, provided the jousting schedule does not happen to interfere with his presence. He might even join you in such a contest, if at all possible. He does love his bow, as well." She lowered her glass. "Regardless of his choice... both him watching and rooting for you from the stands, or the pair of you competing together - in harmony - could send a lovely message."

[Karis Ziranphel]

@Arnyn

Karis Ziranphel
With Macardil Himhathol and Silivren Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Nearing the end of Summer, Fourth Age

At least archery was acceptable, although the hint seemed rather strong that dresses were the correct attire for a lady to wear when participating in the sport. Ziran’s eyes narrowed slightly in amusement, and her lips tilted in a smile at the thought. She had never worn a dress to wield her bow, although she knew it was common for women to do so in more “polite” society, but she didn’t think it should affect her skills other than as a possible distraction. Perhaps she could repurpose her split riding skirt, as that would give her more practical comfort while still appearing more lady-like.

It seemed that Silivren had no interest in participating in the competitions, and Ziran gave a fraction of a nod at that, even as she amusedly wondered in which category she would place Ziran’s interest. She looked over as Marian brought over the bowls of things to nibble on, and she smiled with a quiet, “thank you.” It was interesting for her to hear Silivren emphasizing that Macardil would enjoy watching or participating with her, as they had spent time together at the range when they could and often enjoyed the activity, but she noted the emphasis on the message and appearance of them being together.

She nodded slowly as she took a small selection of fruit and nuts. “If Macardil is jousting, my priority will be being there to support him over competing myself, but aye, it would be nice to be able to participate together if possible.” She let the comment on appearing in harmony slide. She had no intention of speaking of what was private between them before others, or conveying anything other than a united front. She was here to support him and learn about this place.

[Rillewen]

Dravedir, Trevadir, and Tobedir Thôrmaetha
Lond Col

Arriving at the designated area for hunting, Dravedir nodded in satisfaction to see a large pavilion set up in an open area, the sides drawn up to allow fresh air, while still providing some shade, both for any people who might wish to come and observe the birds in action, as well as for the birds while they were at rest. As the trio approached the pavilion, two servants stepped out from the shade and greeted the falconer with smiles, explaining that they had been assigned to assist him in any way needed. Though surprised, Dravedir was pleased to have a little more help, for there were still things to set up and the birds to bring over.

After a brief introduction of himself and his grandsons to the two young men, Dravedir took a careful look around to see what the setup was, and whether he wished to make any adjustments.
"We have set up a place for you to sleep, as well," One of the servants informed him, leading the way to a smaller tent positioned at the back of the pavilion. "It was unknown whether you would be staying overnight through the event, or traveling back and forth to your home. So we provided it, just in case."

Dravedir smiled. "That was thoughtful. I don't intend to stay, however, for I have other responsibilities in caring for Lady Azrubel's birds, at her estate." He explained. "Although.."
"You could leave your birds here, Grandfather?" Tobedir suggested. "And me and Trev could stay and watch them." He smiled, eager for a chance to be helpful and prove he could take on some responsibilities. Plus it would give him and Trev some time to spend time together. "Then you wouldn't have to carry them all back and forth each day."
Dravedir considered this thoughtfully, thinking how much easier that would be for everyone involved, but glanced at Trevadir questioningly, wondering if the elder brother had any objection to this idea, remembering how he always used to vehemently object to having to spend any time with his younger brother.
"That'd be fine by me." Trev shrugged, surprising his grandfather by not protesting. "If..you trust us," he added, uncertainly.
After a moment's thought, the falconer smiled and turned back to the servants. "Can we arrange to have the tent set up for two, then?"
"Of course, that's no trouble." The young man assured him. "Where would you like to place the bird cages?"

Dravedir took a look around, and requested a partition be hung up across the back of the pavilion, sectioning off a small 'room' within the pavilion where they could place the cages so it was less likely the birds would be bothered during their down time, and would be close to where Trev and Tobe would be sleeping. After making these requests, Dravedir added another, asking for some chairs for the audience to sit within the main part of the pavilion. There would be many days ahead filled with a great deal of showing off the birds, demonstrating what a well-trained bird could do, and showing interested people how to use them for hunting, even giving small groups a chance to try it out.

"I think all that we lack now is to bring the birds." He decided at last. Leaving the two servants to see to the requested changes, Dravedir and his grandsons set off again to return to the other side of the river, this time going by the side route to avoid passing through the archway again (not wishing to trouble the still-arriving guests of nobility) and headed for the ship-bridge again, crossing back over. Dravedir's wife had remained home to prep the birds for their journey, so that all would be ready by the time they arrived to get the birds.

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen

The Lady Azraindil (sn. Gaerlothriel) of House Dimaethor
With her dearest friend, Dulinneth Talven

At last, the interloper was gone, and Azraindil could finally be herself around her friend. Really, ‘Lord’ Toggornir? ”Why not?” Azraindil, or as she was known in the tongue of the Eldar, Gaerlothriel, grinned back teasingly. ”Maybe we want his head to swell. Puffed up full of air so he’ll more easily float away.” She countered with a shrug. She knew technically that Toggornir was not really a Lord, since his father wed into the noble Taurhebor line, and that Dulinneth had two brothers that had a better claim to that Lordship. Had. Now her friend was down to just one brother, and who knew where in Middle-Earth he could be. Also her new betrothed to replace the loss of the elder. Whatever happened to him? He wasn’t coming to Lond Côl for the tournament? Maybe…hiding from Azraindil? Was there something wrong with her that required such avoidance?

There was little time to dwell on such thoughts, at least for now. Now it was time to be mirthful. A present was thrust into her hands, a usual formality between the two, though Azraindil couldn’t return the favor until much later, her gift to Dulinneth still at the family home. She took the present and opened it, revealing a doll in the likeness of a red fox. Azraindil at first could do nothing more but mewl in how adorable it was, immediately hugging it to her neck, cheek to cheek with it's soft exterior. ”It’s perfect! I shall think of a suitable name for him.” She continued to hold it, swaying a little even, as Dulinneth seemed about to share something grave with her. She wished for…what? But that thought was left unsaid. For now.

Instead, there was another companion to be revealed. Rhovan, her steed. To race, even! By...Sûlion. Azraindil, because of her parent’s sternness, had yet to grace her with her own steed so she was immensely envious of Dulinneth possessing one, and enjoyed it vicariously through the other woman. ”That is wonderful. There are so many horses, the little details so often get lost with my parent’s stable hands and such. He will be secret. How did you manage that?” She asked Dulinneth, holding her new fox dolly under an arm. She was rather old to be playing with one but that didn’t mean she couldn’t collect them, put them up on a shelf like a warrior put up their war trophies.

She paused in her next comment though as a family strode by, one Azraindil somewhat recognized. Good manners dictated she should step out and greet them but…to the Sea with the rules, she was with her friend. She held her tongue while the Thôrmaethas, Dravedir with his grandsons, Tobedir and Trevadir, walked by. There was a story behind them, and the Dimaethors. Her eyes followed them for a moment. Longer than a moment. Then they came back to Dulinneth. She could tell Linny about it later.

"So, Sûlion is going to attempt the race, huh?” She then inquired, referring to a certain conspiracy they had. Never acknowledged aloud, just spoken of in the third person through vague references. "How are they looking? Need any help completing his livery?" She asked, feeling there was something very mischievous about to be plotted here. The disguise. And she was all for it. Why should the adults and knights only have fun?

---

@Pele Alarion @ercassie

The Lord Zâinabên and Lady Orelnith of House Dimaethor, with their son, Lord Abrazimir
Receiving guests, Dimaethor family estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

The greetings were courteous and at least two of the three hosting thought nothing of Pele’s style. But of course, the solemn patriarch with his increasingly obsolete worldview thought that a Lady and a Captain should be two separate things but he held his tongue, in adherence to his wife’s warning about vocalizing such things. It was a new Age, built by individuals like Pele Alarion. Both parents returned the Captain’s bow with bows of their own heads. ”Enjoy yourself, Captain. Here, any warrior of Gondor is esteemed and honored.” Lady Orelnith said, casting a sidelong glance at her husband, who seemed to startle as if from a reprieve.

”Anything you might require, simply speak to our folk, and it shall be done.” Lord Zâinabên added, gesturing to one of the footmen in livery that stood nearby, who would serve as a guide and messenger for Pele, should she be in need of anything regarding her lodging and sustenance. But for the moment, he would have to stand by, as the Captain was engaged in talk with Abrazimir.

Who all have already arrived? ”Karis Ziranphel and Lady Himhathol, and Macardil.” Abrazimir reported at first, pausing a moment to let his lingering surprise at the latter’s presence show on his features. He really didn’t know. Did Pele know? ”Behind you is Isys and Warder, whom you’ve already met, I think. Those are all that I’ve recognized from my time in the Rangers. Others, mostly families from Belfalas, Dol Amroth.” Those were the names that Abrazimir thought Pele would know.

”Well, go on friend. You’ve had a long journey no doubt. Have some food and drink. Once my official duties here are complete, I shall find you and the others, then we can plot each other’s demise during the various competitions.” He grinned teasingly. ”I’m sure you’ll be participating in a few. Jousting, archery…?” He suggested, trying to gauge Pele’s interest in any. Then he joked. ”Poetry, perhaps?” He laughed and slapped her on the shoulder lightly. With any final remarks, the nearby Dimaethor footsoldier could lead Pele on to her offered lodging, a sturdy and comfortable domicile by the sea.

And then it was just…them.

The families of Lond Côl, the Dimaethors and the Azrubêls, the little Lord included as well. Lord Zâinabên raised his hand and gestured for them to come forward, while the herald announced them in full parade ground volume. ”Lord Emeredir of House Azrubêl, with his aunt, Lady Eressild and her daughter, Lady Ilisys, of House Azrubêl.” As for Elen and Warder, maid and retainer respectfully, they didn’t warrant such a declaration on account of their…lesser social rank. But all eyes would be on little Lord Emeredir, who was somewhat of a darling of Lond Côl, with his age and heritage. You know who would be perfect to watch over the young lad? The Dimaethor’s own young…lass.

”Where is your sister?” Lord Zâinabên demanded of Abrazimir yet again as the last tones of the herald’s echoing voice died out.

Abrazimir looked down the road and spotted her. ”She’s-“

”Never mind.” His father cut him off. The Azrubêls were here! No time for bumbling about. ”Welcome, Ladies, Sir.” Lord Zâinabên greeted the family, including both Elen and Warder this time, before crouching down a little to look Lord Emeredir more in the face. Now here was someone he could be proud of. A Lord of equal rank. A colleague. The son and nephew of old friends long gone. ”Look at you, a mighty and noble Swan Knight in the making. Are you going to put all challengers to shame when you conquer the jousting lists, little Lord?” Lord Zâinabên said in a surprisingly encouraging tone, which surprised even Abrazimir and Lady Orelnith, since he rarely, never, used such a kindly tone with them.

[Ercassie]

Lady Eressild and little Lord Emeredir Azrubêl. with Lady’s Maid, Elen.
followed by Lady Ilisys Azrubêl and Anardil ‘Warder’ Thavron

Arrival at the Dimaethor Event/Side of the River
in Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil. Late Summer, 4th Age.
@Lantaelen @Pele Alarion

Warder would only duck his chin respectfully when Pele’s fingers found at least one of the stray stalks of hay amongst the woman’s hair. For to confess in public that he’d even observed such an offensive article about her person, would have been impertinent to the extreme. The Captain’s choice to use his true name in hearing, he allowed, without even a visible grimace at the embarrassment. For this was the only woman who had ever campaigned long enough to stay him from calling her ‘Lady’ at every given interval. Point made, that duck of the man’s chin signified the matter was ceded in kind. He would keep to titling her as ‘Captain’, as a compromise. As was perfectly respectful and less likely to cause either of them unnecessary unease.

“A helmet would not hide her,” Ilisys remarked calmly, as she obliviously scattered the loitering aides by steadily approaching her trusted acquaintance. “There is no cause,” she nodded, approvingly, in quiet tones as Abrazimir hastened to welcome the celebrated Ranger Commander to his home and family. Warder watched on, albeit warily, as Pele was rushed toward greater honours than his own humble company, and could not begrudge the officer all due attention she deserved. As long as their hosts did afford the Captain all of the respect that she was owed, regardless of gender. Isys managed to observe Pele’s introduction from their distance, with rather less of an air of a fretful grandmother than her Squire could accomplish. Both riders knew all too well what the likes of the senior Lord Dimaethor was capable of thinking, about women wading into warfare. But the Ehtyar had observed Pele looking lost in her own skin back at the Cruise last winter, and it was extremely satisfying to witness her less so now, less than a year later. It was difficult to explain to her friend that he ought not have to worry for Pele’s reception. Ever since the Princess Eowyn had shown her strength on the Battle of Pelennor, .. things were changing. It would not be bourne after all, to express public distaste for the new bride of the much admired Prince Faramir. Attitudes toward women were coming around as a result … Admittedly some swifter than others ..

Still, it was one thing to present oneself without all superfluous props if they were found to be expected and yet perplexingly absent. It was another thing entirely to turn down the offer of any such saving embellishments that were offered, with grace and the perfect degree of disregard. Pele needed only all that she was. And had just proven it, probably without even realising. Isys smiled as Warder relaxed his concerns and stirred his horse to the far side of her, and slightly behind. As was custom, so that the noblewoman could be the better viewed, when they too faced the hosts officially.



*****

Unable to house his excitement upon the cushioned seat, Emeredir had risen, as he had been well instructed to, by his tutors in etiquette back home. Those same tutors would have yearned to personally see the young Lord descend from his elevated seat within the carriage and descend without guard unto it’s step, to admire the Family Dimaethor up close and better in person. But doubtless they trusted that his aunt would not allow him to err.

“It is an honour to observe your grand event, Lord Dimaethor, Lady Dimaethor,” the lordling recited, offering his equally well rehearsed bow before each of them; and affording himself just stiffly enough afterwards, with one hand to steady him on the ride’s edge, that it was evident he had been schooled to maintain such a pose. For some tiresome amount of days beforehand, so that his aunt could be assured it would be .. perfect. It was his duty and obligation, his tender age aside, that he speak for his family entire, at such an occasion. “Oh how I wish it could be so !” Emeredir met Zâinabên’s kindness at face value and a childish innocence. “But ..” a hesitating look betrayed his looking toward Eressild for approval, even as that Lady sat up taller in her own seat. “I do not believe I am permitted … ”

“I think perhaps .. not .. the joust, my Lord,” the elder Lady Azrubêl agreed.

“It seems that I shall have to console myself with watching your son joust this year,” the young boy could not very well conceal his disappointment at not getting to compete in person, although he did meet Abrazimir with an awed look and a wide smile, which lasted the longer that he gazed upon the gallant knight. “I am very much looking forward to it sir, sir” he repeated the appellation for each of the two noblemen in a head bobbing fashion.


“I have no doubt that Lord Dimaethor has prepared some sport of a kind for every one to partake,” Eressild interjected in the politest means possible from her seat. Having held to the expected nod and brief averting downward of her piercing aquamarine eyes, the matriach now determined that she not be forgotten by their neighbour. She was in a rather unenviable position, as it were, of both pride in her young nephew performing so well under pressure, and at the same time, greatly possessive of him, treasure that he was of their side of the river. Meanwhile Elen strove to neither slouch nor present herself too forcibly in view, but still observe the exchange from behind her mistress. So that she might better relay it’s make-up to Lotte later on.

“You will have thought of everything,” Emeredir and his nervous smile bowed with rather more than the required gusto before the Lady Orelnith, scarcely noting how his aunt caught her breath when the noble boy came clear to losing his balance on the ornate step.

Behind the carriage, Isys and Warder were very much engaged in conducting themselves without any noticeable amusement. Something which the one was better at, and the other one less concerned by all reactions to, regardless.

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Dulinneth Talven
with Azraindil/Gaerlothriel Dimaethor
Lond Col

Dulinneth giggled softly as Gaer declared her intentions of making the annoying Togg's head swell until he floated away. "Ohh, yes, that's a wonderful plan." She agreed, somewhat in awe of the clever thinking of her older friend. It was a delight to see how much Gaer loved her little fox friend, and Dulinneth smiled happily. "I'm so glad you like him." She declared with a happy little bounce on the balls of her feet. Her former wistfulness fled away like night when dawn came. "I'm sure whatever you name him, it'll be perfect for him." She added, grinning as her friend hugged the little fox doll. "He's been almost as eager to meet you as I have been to give him to you," She laughed.

Gaer wondering how she had managed her accomplishment brought a small shrug from the girl. "Maerdor helped me some," She answered, referring to the head stableman at her parents' estate. The friendly old man had been in charge of the family's stables for much longer than Dulinneth had been alive, and he was always kind and amiable. He had taught her how to ride when her brother left, and had even once saved her life when her horse was spooked by a storm. Dulinneth was very fond of him, and she was sure that Gaer had at least heard of him in the various letters she had sent her over the years, even if she hadn't met him personally.. Dulinneth couldn't remember whether she had or not. "And, well..." She hesitated, taking a careful look around, and waited as an older man, and two younger, passed by.

Once the area was clear again, she leaned in a little closer, conspiratorial-like as she lowered her voice. "Father asked Toggornir to send out the RSVP letter to your father, telling who was going to be competing and doing this or that. And he left it lying around while he was busy doing.. other things," by this she meant he was off enjoying some sort of wine or other liquor, "And I happened to come upon it quite by chance. So, I took the opportunity to add Sûlion and Rhovan into the horse races." She explained, quite proud of herself for taking the initiative like that. "And then I sent it for him too, since he'd clearly forgotten all about it." She added, with an eye-roll. Having no idea that this was, in fact, how the oversight had come about which had Togg now hurriedly searching for the sergeant-at-arms to correct his mistake, Dulinneth only knew this had enabled her accomplish her own goal. "Then Maerdor got Rhovan stashed away on the boat for me without my Father knowing. He doesn't ever bother to go check the horses himself, so I'm sure he never noticed." She shrugged.

Dulinneth then grinned as Gaer inquired further into the matter, asking whether she needed anything for 'Sûlion'. "Welllll," She considered. "I've made a few items for Sûlion to wear in the race, but I was hoping you might be able to help me with a few other things," She admitted. "Though I realize you ought to get back to your duties, now," She acknowledged regretfully, realizing she might have kept Gaer from those duties a bit longer than she ought to have. "And.. Togg has left me in your care," She remembered, and glanced toward where Gaer's family stood greeting the Azrubel family. "You don't think it will be a problem if I join you, do you?" She worried, unsure whether she would be out of place with Gaerlothriel's family greeting their guests. Though, seeing who was there now, she was quite interested in meeting the famed lady knight which her brothers used to speak so highly of. She had some dim recollections of watching a tournament from atop Aearonor's shoulders for a better view when she was very little... around four or five perhaps.. maybe six? and hearing him and Anurion cheer and talk eagerly about their favorite champions.

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen

The Lady Azraindil (sn. Gaerlothriel) of House Dimaethor
With her dearest friend, Dulinneth Talven
Summer's End, Fourth Age

Him. Azraindil was inclined to refer to the fox doll as a she, but he worked just as well. It was nice to receive gifts without condition or as a preamble to a request. ”He’s going to regret having met me because he’s never going to get away now.” She said a little mischievously. They were both in that mood, it seemed. Dulinneth had smuggled a horse and a whole persona to go with it, daring to try and race in the adult’s horse racing competition. She listened to the tale, of how Maerdor aided Dulinneth and Azraindil wondered if she’d ever have dedicated servants who wouldn’t tattle to her parents all her little comings and small doings.

They then talked more warily of familial matters. Toggornir was slack in his duties, allowing Dulinneth to make “Sûlion’s” participation a reality. It was comedic. Did no one over there dare to check the handwriting or anything? ”They are always so sure of themselves, aren’t they? Abrazimir can be the same way. I feel like he’s got some airs ever since he came back from the War.” Azraindil shrugged. Older brothers, who could say?

Dulinneth was quick to make the reminder that Azraindil’s presence was being missed elsewhere. And that did bear consequences. She waved her hand dismissively to Dulinneth’s concern about being included. ”Why not? My father is always going on about how our two Houses are to be joined. There should be no qualms about you standing with us.” She remarked with some edge in her tone, entirely directed at her overbearing father. She looked around and then touched Dulinneth’s arm, gesturing with her head to begin moving back to the archway and front, where the greetings were happening. With the prestigious Azrubêl family of all people!

”As for Sûlion, she- he has to have a scarf. All the best mystery knights and participants wear scarves.” Azraindil excitedly suggested to Dulinneth. Of those, she had plenty to spare. ”We can say he came from the sea! A child of Uinen even. We can make a seashell necklace – there are so many on the beaches! – and maybe we can put together a little badge to sew on the shoulder. It’ll be so official.” She wrapped her arm around Dulinneth’s elbow, walking together like two proper noblewomen who had never done anything wrong in their lives. Ever. Nothing that could be proven, anyways.

They neared the ancient stone archway that had once been the gatehouse to the Dimaethor castle-town, of old. Azraindil’s family had their backs to their approach, so it was easy for Azraindil and Dulinneth to fall quietly in behind and act like they always been there. Because they’ve done nothing wrong, ever…

---

@ercassie @Pele Alarion

The Lord Zâinabên and Lady Orelnith of House Dimaethor, with their son, Lord Abrazimir
Receiving guests, Dimaethor family estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

The little lordling Emeredir was infectious. He made even the elderly and stern Lord Zâinabên feel younger. These lands had not had such a young spirit in a long time, since before the dark shadow that came and went so abruptly. Now yesterday’s fears were hardly a tinge on the mind. The smiles were wide and grand as Lord Emeredir properly and respectfully pronounced his greeting. Yes, it was probably rehearsed but who cared? He was so enticed to be considered for the joust, even hopelessly outmatched he might be against veterans and true knights. He had heart and that was respectable, even as Lady Azrubêl.

”My son, yes. He will be competing. But not your kinswoman, eh my lord?” Lord Zâinabên asked the little Lord, giving a pointed look at Lady Ilisys, who the question was really intended for. Abrazimir, his son, might have let it go years ago when he was unhorsed by the eccentric daughter of the late Lord Azrubêl but Lord Zâinabên hadn’t lived it down yet. In the score card of his mind, they were up one on his family.

I have no doubt that Lord Dimaethor has prepared some sport of a kind for every one to partake… Lady Eressild put in. Lord Zâinabên straightened and shot her a blank look that conveyed an answer he wouldn’t speak. No, of course not, no one is interested in children’s games here. Fortunately, Lady Orelnith was more diplomatic and tactful and moved to answer this question. ”Of course! We’re more than happy to organize junior competitions, whether racing by foot or water. Or perhaps an organized scavenger search in the woods. With supervision, naturally.” She suggested, turning to look just as Azraindil and Dulinneth tried to sneakily fall in.

Azraindil averted her gaze apologetically, but also to hide her annoyance. Oh, was she going to have to organize that? Why was she still being put with the children? She was a young woman, she ought to get to partake and observe their activities, not be Queen of the sprats.

”Why, thank you, gracious little lord.” Lady Orelnith praised Lord Emeredir’s polite manners.

”Yes, of course.” Lord Zâinabên added quickly after his wife. ”For you, my esteemed friend and colleague, you’ll want for nothing. You’ll be grown soon enough in years to compete and joust, as assured as the rising of the sun every morning. Why don’t you come and visit with us more? You know my son, an accomplished Swan Knight of the Prince of Dol Amroth, would be happy to take you under his tutelage and demonstrate to you the knightly arts and style.” He suddenly suggested, putting the Azrubêls on the spot with such a request. While Lady Ilisys was more than accomplished herself to do the task, Lord Zâinabên was more traditionalist, that perhaps a boy like Emeredir should be taught by a man like Abrazimir.

Abrazimir of course had no opinion in the matter. He would do it if asked. And if not asked, he would not begrudge it. He shrugged his assent to the offer. He had something more discerning in mind to discuss with his colleagues, Lady Ilisys and Captain Alarion.

The greeting was at an end, as it was mostly small talk at this point. Lady Orelnith invited Lady Eresslid in the high box at the joust later in the week, alongside other women of rank and merit. Lodgings would be prepared for the servants, Elen and Warder, if they wished to stay on this side of the water, though their own lodgings were hardly an hour distance away back over the pontoon bridge. There were few others to greet. The day was growing late. Lord Zâinabên would linger by the archway, Lady Orelnith would take her friend, Lady Eresslid and her people further in. And the children…they were finally free.

”May I speak with you?” Abrazimir asked Ilisys and Warder. ”And you as well, Captain.” He made to include Pele. ”Let’s walk and talk, find us some nourishment. I apologize for…that.” He said with a shy smile and a flick of his eyes towards his father, now surrounded by his servants and guards, discussing various logistics. ”It has to do with your query actually, Pele. Someone I never thought possible arrived earlier and it was quite a stir and-“

”Can we come too?” Azraindil interrupted the adults, piping up with her friend, Dulinneth, and a strange doll she was holding. ”We won’t interrupt or bother you, we’ll just follow behind but we don’t want to stay here. Promise.” She said urgently, knowing she and Dulinneth must have chaperones given their parent’s mood. Abrazimir was the only one eligible. But he needed to talk business with his comrades. He supposed Azraindil knew how to linger at the edges and not be a pest and eavesdrop. Again, he nonverbally consented with a flick of his hand. The two girls could…follow. At a distance.

Abrazimir ran a hand over his face. Exhaustive. He looked around and the three he had approached seemed alone. ”Shall we?” He asked their consent again, to walk and talk about this issue he had. About Macardil Himhathol, a man who stabbed their Captain once upon a time, during war… He needed the truth of it and he trusted the judgement of these three foremost in Middle-Earth.